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saythenametotheworld · 1 month ago

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Did You Like Her in the Morning? | c.vn (18+)

How do you move on from the man you thought you'd marry? You can't. As you navigate the bittersweet memories of your shared dreams, you are forced to grapple with the harsh reality that Vernon has found someone new.

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Genre: strangers to lovers (to exes), smut Pairing: Chwe Vernon x afab!Reader Warnings: angstyyy, mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+), cheating!!! Notes: 27k words. Part 4 of the Heartbreak Hotel series, but it can be read as a standalone fic. Listening to Did You Like Her in the Morning by NIKI. This was too long and I tried to cut it down but I couldn't leave anything out lol. ENJOY~~ Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know them personally and do not claim they would ever behave like they were portrayed in this story.

Playlist: Did You Like Her in the Morning by NIKI, champagne problems by Taylor Swift, Fine by Taeyeon, His Car Isn't Yours by Wendy ,

“What are you making?” you heard Vernon’s familiar voice behind you as his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into the warmth of his embrace. He pressed a soft kiss on your cheek, and you leaned back into him.

“Eggs,” you replied, smiling as you rolled the omelet in the pan.

Vernon hummed, nuzzling his nose against your neck, sending a shiver up your spine. “I love eggs.”

“Good,” you chuckled, basking in the gentle intimacy. “Because that's all we have. We need groceries.”

“Then let's go together later,” he murmured, turning you to face him.

You smiled at the sight of your boyfriend, handsome in the morning light filtering through the windows of your shared apartment. There were remnants of sleep in his half-lidded eyes and messy locks of brown hair. His lopsided smile was something you’d grown familiar with but still couldn’t get enough of. He was beautiful in a way that made your chest tighten with love and disbelief.

You lifted the spatula, careful not to graze his neck as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Tiptoeing, you pressed a brief but tender kiss to his lips. “Did you sleep well?”

“The best sleep I’ve had in days,” he murmured, his voice low as he brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His hand lingered on your cheek, thumb tracing the outline of your jaw. “Thanks to you.”

You rolled your eyes, though the warmth in your chest spread. “You’re welcome,” you teased, “but go set the table. Let’s eat breakfast before we leave for work.”

He grinned, but instead of pulling away, he tugged you closer. “Breakfast is good, yes, but…” He paused, one hand traveling down the length of your spine and stopping at your backside. He cupped it with his hand, squeezing ever so gently as he pressed his lips on your ear. “There’s someone else I wanna eat.”

A soft laugh escaped you. “Now, now,” you said calmly, putting your hands on his chest and pushing him back slightly. “Food first.”

You turned back to the stove, turned it off, and put the rolled omelet on a plate. Vernon followed behind you, unable to keep his hands to himself as he tried to touch you everywhere while trailing kisses on your neck and jaw.

“Nonie,” you chided softly, though your body was doing something else entirely—tilting your head to the side so he could nip at your neck with ease. You let out a soft sigh—warmth and goosebumps spreading through you when he sucked on your skin.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, hand cupping your breast as he ravished your neck again.

Then, without warning, the world shifted. The comforting scent of eggs and the morning light faded. Your eyes fluttered open, and instead of Vernon’s embrace, you were met with the cold, dull gray of the ceiling above you. The room was deafeningly quiet save for the faint hum of the air-conditioning cutting through the silence.

You opened your mouth to breathe, eyes darting around the room as you tried to transition out of your dream and back into the dreary reality of your present. The faint ache in your chest grew sharper as you slowly sat up, pressing the heel of your hand to your temple, trying to shake away the dream—no, the memory that you thought would not visit you again until today.

On your nightstand, your alarm clock was glowing, highlighting bright red numbers, 9:30 pm. “Fuck this,” you muttered to yourself, rubbing your hands over your face.

In need of fresh air, you stepped out of your quarters and trekked the quiet hallways of the hotel, heavy thoughts weighing on your chest. Walking without a set direction brought you to the hotel bar, where the low murmur of conversations and the clinking of glasses provided a welcome intrusion to your scattered thoughts. Your eyes scanned the room, landing on Seungcheol, nursing a drink alone at the bar.

Sighing, you crossed your arms over your chest, leaning on the entryway as you watched him curiously. This enigmatic stranger came to your hotel seeking services in the form of storytelling. When you think about it, it was a strange request, asking a stranger to share anecdotes of her past relationships and why they failed. But now that you were watching him from this distance, with his eyes locked on his glass seemingly lost in his thoughts, maybe it wasn’t a strange request after all. Maybe, behind the enigma that is Choi Seungcheol, was a lonely man trying to make sense of the things that had caused his own relationship to fail.

“Whatever,” you muttered, walking straight toward him.

He looked up as you approached, surprise and relief washing over his face. “Good evening.”

You nodded, sliding onto the stool beside him. “Mind if I join you?”

“Please do.” He gestured to the bartender for another drink. “Your company is most welcome.”

You took a moment, watching the bartender pour your drink and push it toward you. Then for a second, you stared at it, swirling the contents of your glass. “How do you move on from the person you thought you were gonna spend the rest of your life with?”

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “Is this another story? I’m all ears.”

You took a sip of your drink, the spice lining your throat and leaving a bitter aftertaste on your tongue. “Alright then. Tonight, I’ll tell you about Vernon Chwe.”

“The one that got away?” he asked, leaning in with curiosity.

“Something like that,” you replied, your mind drifting back to memories that felt so fresh, that one would think it all happened yesterday.

Blind dating was a game of hit or miss. At least, that’s what you believed. When Mina set you up with her friend’s friend, you’d expected it to be just like any other blind date—awkward, forced, and uncomfortable, not that you’d been in one before. This was your first, and you almost didn’t show up if not for Mina’s insistence that you only need to do it this once then she wouldn’t bother you again if you ended up disliking the whole thing.

With lowered expectations, you walked into the restaurant, bracing yourself for nothing more than polite small talk between two people who didn’t want to be there. You weren't expecting much—a brief chat, maybe a rushed cup of coffee, and then an awkward goodbye.

The cafe staff pointed you to his table and you approached carefully, studying the back of his head.

“Mr. Vernon Chwe?” you prompted politely, peeking slightly at his face.

He glanced up at you and you were momentarily caught off-guard by the gorgeous pair of light brown eyes. His appearance alone was already surpassing your expectations by miles.

“Yes, hi!” he greeted, standing up at once and offering his hand for a shake. He said your name and it rolled off his tongue effortlessly, as if he had practiced it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He was well-dressed in a neat white shirt and a light brown button-down, the sleeves rolled just enough to look casual but put together. His hair—neatly styled yet effortlessly tousled��framed his face perfectly. And that face? Sculpted, handsome, with sharp features softened by a warm, welcoming smile.

“The pleasure’s mine,” you replied.

When he moved to pull out your chair, it didn’t feel forced or like he was 'trying too hard.' His gestures were smooth and respectful, like second nature. You blinked, trying to keep your surprise in check as you took the seat he offered.

“Thank you,” you said, setting your purse aside as he sat across from you, his movements just as easy, just as considerate.

“How was the commute? I hope it wasn’t too far for you,” he began, right as the waitress handed you menus.

“Oh, no, not at all,” you said, smiling. “I actually walked here. I live nearby.”

“That’s a relief,” he replied, his tone sincere, as if your comfort genuinely mattered to him. You were struck not only by his appearance but by how well-spoken he was. His voice was steady, polite, and confident without a trace of arrogance.

After you both placed your orders, there was a pause. But it wasn’t the dreaded awkward silence you had imagined. Vernon didn’t rush to fill the space with idle chatter. He simply sat there, watching you with attentive eyes, as though he had all the time in the world. You noticed then how carefully he observed you—his gaze steady but not overbearing, his expression open and genuinely curious.

You nodded, feeling more at ease than you expected. “Yeah, I do. And you’re in… software development, right?”

“That’s right,” he confirmed, leaning back in his chair. “But I promise I won’t bore you with tech talk.”

His playful smile made you laugh softly, and the ease with which the conversation flowed caught you off guard. It was seamless. No awkward pauses, no forced topics. And Vernon wasn’t just polite—he was thoughtful. He asked questions about your life, your interests, your thoughts on books and movies. And he listened, really listened, like every word you said was worth considering. Every now and then, he’d tilt his head slightly, his smile never far from his lips and his attention never wavering.

Time passed quicker than you realized. The conversation was so comfortable, so engaging, that it wasn’t until your phone buzzed that you noticed the hour.

“Oh no,” you murmured, frowning at the time. “I’d love to stay longer, but I have work tomorrow.”

“I understand,” Vernon replied, smiling warmly. “It’s getting late anyway. Shall we head out?”

He offered to walk you home, and you didn’t hesitate to accept. The night was cool, the air crisp as the two of you strolled through the quiet streets. You kept chatting until you reached your apartment complex. You couldn’t help but linger just a little longer under the streetlights, hoping time would stretch on and you could spend more time together.

“I had a really great time tonight,” you admitted, slightly embarrassed by how much you meant it.

“I’m glad,” Vernon replied, turning to face you. His eyes sparkled under the light, and for a second, you forgot where you were. “I’d love to do this again if you’d allow it.”

You paused, not because you were unsure, but because it felt almost too good to be true. You hadn’t expected this. Not from a blind date. And yet, here you were, standing in front of your apartment, feeling something stir in your chest that hadn’t been there at the start of the evening.

“Yeah,” you answered, a genuine smile tugging at your lips. “I’d like that.”

His smile widened, and there it was again—that effortless charm. Everything about him—from the way he carried himself to the way he spoke—felt disarmingly natural. His manners, his attentiveness, his respect for your space, all of it was impeccable. This was a man who knew how to make someone feel seen and heard. It was almost unsettling how easily you connected with him.

Before parting ways, he took a step closer, his hand brushing gently against your arm in the most careful, respectful way. “Goodnight,” he said, his voice low.

“Goodnight, Vernon,” you whispered.

And just like that, Vernon Chwe became someone you couldn’t stop thinking about. The blind date you thought would be awkward and forgettable had turned into the beginning of something promising.

“Tell me everything!” Mina gushed when she Facetimed you the next day. “Don’t skip a detail. What happened?”

“Aren’t you too energetic for a Monday morning?” you teased, patting moisturizer into your skin.

“Paul said Vernon kept talking about you after the date. Does that mean it went well?”

You smiled, remembering last night, and Mina caught on immediately. She clapped her hands. “It did! Oh my God! How was it?”

“It was great,” you replied, trying to sound casual but failing because you couldn’t stop smiling. “Vernon was... really great. He was nice, polite, funny—and he’s handsome too.”

You told her about the date while getting ready for work, and by the end of the call, Mina was patting herself on the back for setting you up. You laughed it off, but inwardly, you were grateful. She had insisted on this blind date, and now, well… things were looking good.

Later, at work, you greeted your coworkers cheerfully before settling in at your desk. It was going to be another mundane day of taking reservations and answering guest queries, but today felt different. The thought of Vernon had put a little extra bounce in your step.

“You look happy,” asked Sally, a coworker and a friend. “Date went well, I take it?”

“It went amazing, Sal. Don’t be surprised when I get a boyfriend in the next few weeks,” you chimed, lifting your shoulders with pride.

Sally sighed, leaning her elbow on the back of your chair. “Guess I’ll be eating my dinners alone from now on.”

“I hope not,” you chuckled. “And let’s not count our chickens before they hatch. We still have a long way to go.”

“You’re the one who’s talking about having a boyfriend!” she chided playfully, nudging your shoulder. As she walked away, the phone rang, so you took it to your ear.

“Diamond Hotel, how may I help you today?” you asked with practiced ease.

“Hi, is this…” The man on the line said your name.

“Yes, this is she. How can I assist you?”

“I’m calling to reserve a table at the Diamond Hotel Restaurant.”

You started typing away, already processing his request. “Can I have your name for the reservation? And when would you like it?”

“It’s uh… Vernon Chwe.”

You paused, fingers hovering over the keys as you wondered if you’d heard him right. “Vernon Chwe?” you repeated, heart racing at just the mention of his name.

“Yes,” he answered, and you could practically hear the smile in his voice. “I’m booking a table for two, but only if my date agrees to dinner on Friday night.”

He has a date? You pondered, a sudden pang of disappointment hitting you. That was quite unexpected. You just went on a date with him last night and you thought it had gone well. Now he has another date?

You chased your thoughts away, maintaining a professional tone when you said, “I’m sure she’d love to if you asked nicely, Mr. Chwe. The hotel restaurant has an impeccable menu.”

“You think so?” Vernon asked, sounding curious.

“Absolutely.”

“What’s your favorite off the menu?”

You hummed thoughtfully, pulling up the list of recommendations on your computer. “There are a few things I can recommend, but I’d suggest you check out the Menu of the Day once you get there.”

“I see, but I need to know your favorite so I can remember to order it for you.”

Ah, now you got it. You smiled, glancing around to see if anyone was listening. “Mr. Chwe, shouldn’t you ask your date first if she’s available Friday night?”

“Well, are you available Friday night?”

“Maybe,” you chimed.

Came Friday night, you met him outside your workplace, told him you canceled his reservation, and asked him to take you elsewhere.

“I lied about the hotel menu,” you said as soon as you approached him. “All fancy stuff, nothing that’s actually good. Let’s go somewhere else.”

Vernon laughed at your admission, throwing his head back as he casually offered his arm for you to hold onto. “So? Where should we go then?”

“Actually, I’m not sure,” you replied, sliding your hand around his elbow before you started walking down the sidewalk. “I know a place just around the block. Their fajitas are to die for.”

“Alright, then. Lead the way.”

Without thinking much about it, Friday nights became your thing. Vernon would pick you up after work, his car always parked at the same spot by the entrance, and from there, you’d go from one spot to another, trying different foods and discovering new places together. At first, he insisted on taking you to posh restaurants—decent places with cloth napkins and polished silverware. It was sweet, but you could tell he was trying a bit too hard and you didn’t want him to do that—especially considering the startup company that he had just launched with his friend.

One night, after yet another fancy dinner, you decided it was time for a change. You took him to a small, family-owned burger joint tucked between two larger chain restaurants. It was far from glamorous, but it had character—and, as you both agreed, the best fries in the city.

“See?” you said, grinning triumphantly as you dipped another fry into ketchup. “Hidden gem.”

Vernon chuckled, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied expression. “I guess I should’ve let you pick the places from the start.”

“It’s a perk that comes with working in the hospitality industry. You get to know where the best places in the city are,” you replied with mock arrogance, making him laugh again.

You watched him for a bit, taking in his easy demeanor and the slight flush on his cheek caused by laughing. He took some fries, dipped them in the sauce, and ate with gusto.

“I like this better than seared salmon. What do you think?” you asked.

Vernon glanced over, his eyebrow quirking in surprise. He seemed to understand what you were trying to imply. “Are you sure? I thought… well, I wanted to take you somewhere nice.”

“I know, I appreciate it. But I think our time and money would be better spent on food we would genuinely enjoy. Don’t you?”

He laughed, and the sound was easy and light. “I think so too.”

And from that night on, things became better. Your dates grew simpler—more relaxed and spontaneous. You spent Friday nights strolling along city streets, your hands full of fast food bags instead of wine glasses.

The pressure of formality faded, replaced by easy conversation and laughter that came naturally between bites of burgers or slices of pizza. You didn’t feel like you were trying to impress each other anymore. Instead, you were just getting to know each other—two people enjoying each other's company, no pretense, no expectations.

“You have ketchup on your chin,” Vernon pointed out one night, his eyes glinting with amusement as you wiped at your face, missing the spot completely.

“Where?” you asked, wiping again, only to have him shake his head.

“Here,” he said softly, reaching across the table to gently swipe it away with his thumb. The gesture was so natural, so intimate, that it made your heart skip a beat.

“What’s going on? Are we filming a movie or something?” you asked—an obvious attempt to defuse the growing tension between you.

“Yeah, and you’re a bad actress,” he retorted, grinning.

“Do you wanna know why?” you asked, cocking an eyebrow playfully. “It’s because God thought it wouldn’t be fair to other people if He had given me talents in acting and performing. I’d be unstoppable as a celebrity and He knew it. He had to draw the line somehow.”

You had expected him to roll his eyes, but Vernon chuckled heartily, scrunching his nose with what looked like cuteness aggression. “God made you so adorable too.”

You simply shrugged, as if to take the compliment nonchalantly despite the giddiness you were feeling inside. “Born this way. What can I do?”

You used to look forward to Fridays because it marked the start of the weekend when you needed not to go to work. Now, Fridays came with a different kind of anticipation—the kind that came in the size of a Vernon Chwe. Your ‘dates’ weren’t just dates anymore; they were a ritual, a habit, a comfort.

You got to know each other better this way, sharing dreams and aspirations. You told him how you were on the lookout for an opportunity to write, and he talked about his startup—how it was both exciting and exhausting to build something from the ground up. You listened intently, watching as he animatedly explained the challenges he face.

“I didn’t realize how much work it would be,” he admitted, taking a bite of his burger. “Some days, it feels like I’m making progress, but other days… I don’t know. It’s like I’m just treading water.”

“You’ll get there,” you said, offering him an encouraging smile. “I mean, Mark Zuckerberg’s Facebook didn’t become a billion-dollar enterprise overnight, did it?”

Vernon glanced at you, his expression softening. “Thanks. That is oddly reassuring.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words. He hadn’t said it outright, but there was a growing closeness between the two of you—a connection that went beyond the casual dates and easy conversations. It was in the way he looked at you, the way he listened to your every word, and how he valued your words like you were an important person in his life.

Bit by bit, these Friday nights were becoming something deeper. And as you sat there with him, sharing burgers and laughter, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, you’d found something you wanted to hold onto.

The more you got to know Vernon, the easier it became for him to bring you into his world. The first time you really saw him in his element was when he invited you to a tech convention as his plus-one. You hadn’t known what to expect—just a room full of serious people talking about things that flew over your head. Tech enthusiasts passionately discussing the future, engineers excitedly showcasing innovations, and the occasional investor looking polished and reserved—it was a melting pot of people who were said to be at the very core of humanity’s technological advancement.

“Come meet my business partner,” Vernon prompted, pulling your attention from the crowd.

You followed him to a table where a small group of people stood chatting. Vernon tapped a man on the shoulder, who turned around immediately.

“Vernon! Finally. Where have you been?” the man asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Sorry, man. Traffic was brutal,” Vernon replied. “This is my friend, Boo Seungkwan. We founded the company together.”

Seungkwan gave you a grin, his eyes glinting with humor. “Nice to finally meet you, though I heard nothing about you. He’s been keeping you a secret, something about not jinxing it, whatever that meant.”

You smiled. “That’s fine. I’ve heard plenty about you.”

“Oh, really?” Seungkwan leaned in, lowering his voice playfully. “Did he tell you I’m insufferable and run the place like a dictator?”

You laughed. “No, actually. He said you’re the best at managing the company’s money and keeping things together.”

Vernon shot Seungkwan a look. “See? No badmouthing.”

Seungkwan scoffed, turning back to you. “Give it time. Once you two get close enough, he’ll spill all my secrets,” he ranted jokingly, making you chuckle.

Watching Vernon in this environment where he clearly belonged made you realize how seamlessly he could move between these worlds—his professional world and the easy, laid-back version of himself you’d grown close to. While he was deeply immersed in this world, always kept an eye on you. Even in the middle of a conversation, he’d look over, checking in without saying a word.

As you settled into the flow of the event, Vernon was suddenly called up to the stage to present their latest project. He leaned in before leaving, his voice soft in your ear. “I’ll be back soon. Wish me luck.”

You smiled, giving his arm a squeeze. “Good luck!”

He flashed a quick smile before making his way to the stage. You watched as he stepped up to the podium, transforming from the Vernon you spent casual Friday nights with to the CEO Vernon Chwe—confident, composed, and incredibly eloquent.

“Good evening, everyone,” he began, his voice steady as he launched into his presentation. He spoke with passion, seamlessly balancing technical jargon with approachable explanations and engaging everyone in the room.

He looked different up there. Not in a way that made you feel distant from him, but in a way that made you see him in a new light. He wasn’t just the guy who made you laugh over greasy burgers. Up there, he was someone who commanded respect and attention—a leader, fully in control of his domain. His intelligence shone through in every word, and you couldn’t help but feel proud.

When he clicked through the last slide, the room burst into applause. Vernon gave a modest bow and stepped down from the stage, his eyes scanning the crowd until they found yours. He smiled—this time, not the professional smile he gave to the audience, but one meant just for you.

Seungkwan elbowed you lightly, leaning over to whisper, “He’s impressive, isn’t he?”

You nodded, unable to look away from Vernon as he approached. “Yeah,” you murmured. “Really impressive.”

As he reached you, Vernon sighed in relief. He glanced at Seungkwan and you. “How’d I do?”

“You were amazing,” you said, your voice soft but sincere. “You looked so cool up there.”

“Yeah, so cool. You totally sold it. Investors are gonna—oh! Here comes one now.” Seungkwan walked up to meet the man approaching your circle.

You both watched him for a bit as he engaged in a serious discussion with the man. Vernon’s touch on your elbow shifted your attention to him.

“I’m hungry. Do you wanna get out of here?” he asked, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Don’t you need to talk to these people?”

He shrugged. “Seungkwan will take care of it. He’s better at conversing with these people than I am.”

“You sure he won’t mind?”

“Totally,” he replied, taking your hand in his. “Let’s go.”

Vernon took you to a Mexican restaurant where you stuffed your faces with food and talked about anything and everything. After that, he said he’d show you to their office, and snuck you there in the middle of the night.

“This feels illegal,” you told him as he led you through the dim hallways.

“Well, technically, it is. Seungkwan is pretty strict about workplace conduct, so no girlfriends in the building, and especially not in the middle of the night like this.”

“I didn’t know I was a girlfriend already,” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

Vernon’s eyes widened as he stammered, “No, I don’t mean— I meant girlfriends in general, not just my girlfriend specifically. What I meant was if an employee or someone in the company had a girlfriend—or boyfriend—they’re not allowed to bring them here to, you know, hang out or whatever it is that people in relationships do.”

You smirked, enjoying how flustered he had become. “You know, you were really attractive when you were talking earlier. All eloquent and smart. I didn’t think you could ever stutter like this.”

He gave you a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “Is that bad? Did I ruin my ‘cool’ persona?”

“Not at all,” you replied, your voice softening. “Quite the opposite. You’re cute.”

He laughed, though it was soft, nervous even. “Thanks, I guess?”

You stood together in front of the sleek glass doors of their office building, and Vernon swiped his keycard to let you in. The lights inside were dimmed, casting a soft glow over the open-concept workspace. It felt intimate, like you were stepping into a new part of Vernon’s life.

“I swear, this place is usually more lively during the day,” Vernon murmured, his voice low as if he didn’t want to disturb the quiet.

“I can tell,” you replied, eyeing the desks. There weren’t that many of them, just about a handful. The office was just large enough for less than ten employees, and you could tell they were in the earliest days of establishment.

You stopped in front of a glass-walled office room, a small one with a desk at the center and a nameplate with Vernon’s name on it. “Is this the CEO’s office?” you teased, stepping inside and running your fingers along the edge of the desk.

“Something like that,” he replied, leaning against the doorframe, watching you. His eyes were darker now, his posture more relaxed, but there was a certain intensity in the way he looked at you. “This is where Seungkwan bosses me around, and I pretend I know what I’m doing.”

“You seemed pretty convincing earlier during the presentation,” you teased. “All eloquent and smart. I didn’t expect to see you in full business mode.”

He grinned. “You liked that, huh?”

You turned to him, taking a deep breath. “It was impressive, yes,” you began, voice soft. “And I have to admit, I did want to see your office but not in the middle of the night. It feels a like we’re breaking the rules.”

Vernon chuckled, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward you, hands shoved casually into his pockets. “I did say we were breaking a rule,” he said, his tone lighter. “But, for the record, I think Seungkwan would make an exception for you.”

You smirked, holding his gaze. “Would he?”

“I mean, I would,” he said, the words coming out more confident than before. He was close now, standing just a step away. “I’d definitely make an exception for you.”

There it was. The shift. The air around you seemed to hum, like the tension had finally caught up with you both. You could feel it, the way your heart started beating faster, the way Vernon’s eyes flickered between yours and your lips.

“That’s because you want to sweep me off my feet. Seungkwan doesn’t like me like that,” you teased, keeping a lighthearted tone and pressing an index finger on his chest.

He held your hand and kept it there. “Well? Am I good at sweeping you off your feet?”

“Well, you’re…” you paused, keeping your eyes locked with his as the space between you grew smaller and smaller. “...adorable.”

“Adorable, huh?” he murmured, his voice lower now, rougher around the edges. He seemed less concerned with the conversation and more focused on whatever was happening between you.

His hand came up, almost tentative, fingers brushing against the side of your face as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re making it really hard to follow the rules right now,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart raced at the closeness. “Maybe we don’t need to follow them tonight,” you replied, lips quirking into a small, daring smile.

Vernon smiled back. “I’ve never been good at following rules anyway,” he murmured, his thumb lingering just at the side of your face, his touch barely there but enough to send ripples of warmth through you.

You didn’t say anything, but you didn’t need to. Instead, you closed the space between you, rising on your toes just slightly, enough for your lips to meet his in a soft, lingering kiss. It wasn’t rushed or frantic—it was deliberate, the kind of kiss that had been building for weeks. Vernon responded in kind, his hand moving to cup the back of your head as he deepened the kiss. There was something sweet in the way he kissed you, something gentle that made your heart flutter, but there was also an undeniable heat—like he had been waiting for this moment as long as you had.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were a little breathless. “Okay,” you whispered, meeting his gaze with a teasing grin on your lips. “Now I can definitely say you’re adorable and hot.”

He laughed warmly. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Did you sleep with him?” Mina’s voice rang out, loud and direct through your phone. You hurried to cover the screen, as if that could somehow muffle her.

“No, I didn’t!” you hissed back, your tone sharp enough to scold. “We just talked, and then he took me home. That’s it.”

“Why not?” Mina pressed, not letting it go.

You leaned back in your chair, arms crossing defensively. “I don’t know. He just… stopped halfway. Then he said he’d take me home. I think he wasn’t ready to go there yet, and honestly, I was fine with that. I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.”

“Girl, even if you had hooked up, there’s no way this would be a one-off. You’re way past that.”

“Right?” you agreed, thinking it over. “I thought so too. But I kinda liked that he didn’t push for more. His actions told me he wants to take things seriously with me, don’t you think?”

“Totally,” Mina said, her voice buzzing with excitement. “Oh my god, I really like this Vernon guy for you.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at her enthusiasm. “I like him too. Thanks for setting us up.”

Mina made a smug sound, clearly pleased with herself. “You’re welcome. Now go make him fall madly in love with you, okay?”

You laughed, but as you ended the call, Mina’s words echoed in your mind. You hadn’t realized it until now, but you were falling for Vernon—slowly, deeply, and in a way that felt entirely different from anyone before him.

And you continued falling for him—with every Friday night spent together, with every late-night conversation when his deep voice lulled you to sleep, and with every weekend spent exploring new places and activities he thoughtfully picked out. Each moment felt more intimate than the last, a slow and steady unraveling of who you were together, effortlessly comfortable yet thrilling in its own way.

You noticed the little things that made him, well, him—his mannerisms, the politeness in his tone even when he was talking casually, his little thoughtful gestures, how he could somehow always remember exactly how you liked your coffee, or how he always made sure you were walking on the safe side of the sidewalk. These were the things that made your heart feel full, as if the entire world narrowed down to just the two of you when you were together.

One weekend, he asked if you wanted to see a movie with him—a break from your usual routine. It was one of those perfect days where everything just seemed to fall into place. The air was cool but not too cold, the traffic lights turned green just as you approached, there was barely a line at the cinema, and you got the best seats in the house. Even your popcorn tasted better than usual.

You watched the movie quietly. Every now and then, you felt Vernon’s eyes flick toward you. Whenever you caught him staring, he’d look away, only to glance back a moment later. He seemed... nervous.

Halfway through an intense scene, where the protagonist was inches away from confronting the villain, Vernon leaned in, gently tugging your elbow.

“Can I ask you something?” he whispered, his voice barely audible under the suspenseful music.

You blinked, startled by the interruption. “Now?”

He nodded, his smile almost sheepish. “Yeah, now.” You leaned closer, expecting him to comment on the movie or make a joke but instead, he took a deep breath.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

For a moment, you thought you’d misheard him. In the middle of a suspense movie, with the protagonist literally facing life-or-death stakes, Vernon had just asked you to be his girlfriend. You had to stifle a laugh, quickly covering your mouth to avoid disturbing the other moviegoers.

“Are you serious?” you whispered back, your eyes wide with amusement.

He nodded, his grin growing wider, though his nervousness was still apparent. “I know. I know, the timing’s weird. But I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I just couldn’t wait anymore. I wanted to ask you now. Here. I don’t know why… I just—”

You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the way he was practically holding his breath, waiting for your answer. The softness of his confession, paired with the ridiculousness of the setting, made your heart swell. It was so him—earnest, sweet, and dorky all at once.

You smiled, warmth flooding through you. “Of course, I’ll be your girlfriend. But you know this is the worst possible time to ask, right?”

Relief washed over his face, and he chuckled softly, clearly flustered. “Yeah, I kind of panicked.”

“If I had known you were gonna do this, I would’ve picked a rom-com,” you teased.

Vernon grinned, his hand slipping into yours. “It would make a funny ‘How Your Mom and I Got Together’ story though, don’t you think?” he whispered back, eyes twinkling with that familiar Vernon charm.

You rolled your eyes playfully, leaning your head on his shoulder. “You’re such a dork,” you whispered, your words filled with affection. And as the suspenseful music swelled around you, you couldn’t help but think that this out-of-place, spontaneous confession was exactly the kind of memory you wanted to hold onto.

And so you’d officially become his girlfriend, and even though nothing really changed in the way he treated you—still sweet, still thoughtful—it felt different in the best way. Everything felt a little lighter, like you were walking on cloud nine.

The next morning, you woke up with an inexplicable giddiness bubbling inside you. Vernon texted you good morning with a picture of his messy bed hair and a caption that read, “Your boyfriend just woke up. Isn’t he handsome?” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling at your phone.

You: the handsomest!

In the days that followed, being in a relationship with Vernon felt like the easiest thing in the world. There was no awkward transition, no need to overthink anything. You just were together now, and it felt natural.

You spent Friday nights hanging out at your place, sometimes ordering takeout and binge-watching your favorite shows. He’d wrap his arm around you, pulling you close as you both debated whether pineapple belonged on pizza—it didn’t, according to him, but you had other opinions. His hand would absentmindedly play with your hair, and you’d find yourself smiling for no reason at all.

You found yourself getting used to all the sweet texts, random kisses on your forehead, and the way he’d always pull you closer when you least expected it. There was a sense of security in being with him, like you didn’t have to worry about anything because Vernon was there—steady and kind.

You knew you’d made the right choice. Vernon wasn’t just sweet or thoughtful—he was the kind of person who would always go the extra mile, who made you feel cared for in the smallest but most meaningful ways. And being with him was fun. There was something light and easy about it, like the two of you were building something beautiful without even realizing it.

And of course, you also found a way to keep things interesting. One weekend, you planned a surprise road trip—“Just pack a bag and drive. Don’t ask questions,” you told him over the phone.

You ended up driving to a cozy cabin by the lake, where you spent the weekend hiking, making s’mores by the fire, and cuddling under thick blankets while watching the stars.

“Thanks, love,” he murmured against your hair. “I needed this.”

You snuggled closer into his warmth, letting him tighten his arms around you. “You’re welcome. You’ve been working nonstop since last week. I figured you should take a break.”

“Seungkwan’s gonna kill me for slacking off.”

You chuckled, tilting your head upwards so you could meet his gaze. “I don’t think he will. He was so happy when I told him I’d take you away for the weekend.”

“He was?”

“Yeah. He was so grateful,” you replied, reverting your gaze back to the starry night sky. “I thought he’d kiss my feet.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Have I been working too much? Didn’t feel like it.”

“People saw it. I saw it,” you said. “I know how important this is for you but you don’t have to push yourself too hard, Vernon. What’s the point of all this if your body gives out?”

“I didn’t realize I was that bad,” Vernon admitted, breaking the silence. “I mean, I knew I was working hard, but I didn’t think it was too much. Truth is, I feel like I should be doing more.”

“You do plenty, Vernon,” you replied softly. “You’re passionate. That’s one of the many things I love about you. But, you know, even superheroes need a break sometimes.”

He smiled, his hand gently tracing patterns on your arm. “You think I’m a superhero, huh?”

“Well, you’re definitely my hero,” you teased, nudging him playfully.

He chuckled, his chest vibrating under your cheek. “Thank you. I needed this. I needed you. It’s nice to have someone who reminds me to slow down.” His gaze turned serious for a moment. “You have no idea how much I appreciate that.”

His honesty touched you, and you found yourself smiling up at him. “Well, it’s part of the girlfriend duties, I guess.”

Vernon leaned in closer, his forehead gently resting against yours. “You’re doing a really good job.”

You giggled. “I also have to pull you out sometimes because what about me? I need your attention too!” you whined playfully, pouting. “Lots of it.”

“Right now, I’m all yours,” he chimed, nuzzling his nose on your cheek.

The air between you shifted, softening with the closeness. His eyes, normally so full of focus and energy, now held something softer, something deeper. Your breaths mingled, and the world around you seemed to fade into the background.

Your eyes landed on his lips—plump, pink, inviting, upturned in a lazy smile. Your heart fluttered with the thoughts of kissing him swimming in your mind. “You know,” you whispered, “you could thank me properly.”

His lips twitched into a playful smile. “Oh? And how should I do that?”

You bit your lip, the corners of your mouth curving up as you glanced at his lips, then back to his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Vernon’s smile widened, his hand moving to cup your cheek as he leaned to kiss you again—slowly, deliberately, deliciously. His hand slid down from your cheek to the small of your back, pulling you closer. His touch was tender, yet there was some strength in the way his fingers pressed into you—a subtle intensity that matched the growing heat between you both.

The world around you seemed to blur, the crackling fire and the cool night air fading away as you focused entirely on him—his lips, his warmth, his steady breathing. Your hands found their way to the nape of his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair. You could feel the shift in him too—his breaths becoming deeper, his body relaxing into yours while his lips moved with more intent.

When you finally pulled back, your heart was racing, your faces still so close that you could feel his breath fanning your face. His eyes searched yours, asking a question that he didn’t need to say out loud. There was no need for words—everything you both felt was there in the way you kissed and held each other.

Without breaking the gaze, Vernon leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on your neck, then another, his lips grazing your skin with such care that it sent a shiver down your spine. The tension was spurred not just physically but emotionally—a culmination of the trust, the affection, and the love that had been building between you.

“Vernon…” you whispered, moaning as he sucked a bruise on your collarbone. “Vernon, let’s… let’s go back inside.”

Without a word, he rose to his feet, lifting you with ease. You locked eyes only for a second before he leaned in for another kiss that he didn’t break until you were back inside the cabin. It wasn’t long before the two of you were lost in each other’s touch, filling the quiet night with labored breath and whispers of sweet nothings in each other’s ears.

Making love with Vernon for the first time was magical—so much more than you’d imagined. It was beautiful and satisfying. He was attentive to your needs and made sure you were comfortable all throughout. What you weren’t expecting though, was the aftermath. Ever since that night, there had been a small but unmistakable shift in Vernon—he couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself anymore.

He’d sneak up behind you when you were cooking, wrapping his arms around your waist, trailing warm kisses along the curve of your neck, making it impossible to focus on anything else. Sometimes he’d press his crotch on your ass, making himself known. If you were sitting on the couch, reading, or just relaxing, he’d find a way to pull you onto his lap, his hands gently resting on your waist or your thighs. Sometimes, you’d catch him staring at you with that look, like he was waiting for a chance to pounce and devour.

“Vernon,” you’d tease, laughing as you tried to push him away half-heartedly, but his arms would only tighten around you, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“What? I can’t help it,” he’d say, his voice low and playful. “You’re too irresistible.”

You couldn’t deny it—you loved how close you’d become, how his affection seemed to overflow in the quiet moments you shared together. And yet, there were times you had to remind him that the world existed beyond the two of you.

Like that one time at the grocery store, when he reached for your hand and tugged you into the nearest aisle, pressing you up against the shelves with a grin.

“Vernon, we’re in public,” you whispered, cheeks flushing as you glanced around to make sure no one was watching.

He just shrugged, his lips brushing against your ear. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to kiss you right now.”

You rolled your eyes, but you let him steal a quick kiss anyway, unable to resist the giddiness that bubbled up inside you every time he acted like this—like he couldn’t get enough of you.

“What happened to you? Since when did you get so….” you’d asked him one time when you had just arrived from work and he was already up on you.

“I got a taste of you. That’s when,” he replied, grinning before he pinned you down the bed.

It was both endearing and exhilarating, this new phase of your relationship, where everything felt so easy, so light. You were falling even deeper for him, caught up in the joy of just being together, in love, and in sync. It felt like you were living in a dream, where Vernon was both your best friend and your lover, and you couldn’t wait to see where this adventure would take you next.

Just like that, a year passed like a beautiful, fast-paced blur—a time spent in moments of laughter, late nights, and whispered intimacies.

Winter came first. You spent cozy evenings at your place, wrapped up in blankets, sipping hot cocoa, and watching snowflakes fall from the sky. One particular night, after a snowball fight outside, you’d collapsed on the couch, laughing and drenched from the snow. Vernon pulled you into his arms, warming you with his body and peppering your face with soft kisses, each one melting away the cold.

You spent that Christmas with his family, who welcomed you like you were one of their own. The fireplace crackled warmly, the glow of the Christmas tree lights twinkled like stars, and the scent of pine filled the air, wrapping you in a nostalgic embrace. You felt at home in their care, much like how Vernon made you feel safe and cherished every day.

Spring arrived, and with it, new adventures. You both took long walks through blooming gardens and parks, hand-in-hand, admiring the colors and the new life that seemed to pop up everywhere.

It was also the time when Vernon’s startup had taken off in ways neither of you had anticipated. After months of hard work and sleepless nights, the official launch of their software was met with enthusiastic support from consumers and investors alike. This new milestone in his career meant more late nights at the office, and while you missed him, you celebrated his success as your own, often texting him little reminders of your love during his busy days.

You often attended work galas together where you couldn’t be any prouder seeing him in his element, confidently navigating conversations with clients and investors. Vernon always had a way of making things look effortless. He’d occasionally glance your way, flashing you a soft, knowing smile whenever your eyes met from across the room, making you feel like the most important person there, even among the fancy suits and champagne flutes.

By the time summer rolled around, the two of you were already inseparable. He had earned enough to get himself a bigger apartment, and he’d invited you to live with him. Without a second thought, you accepted, giddy at the prospect of sharing every waking moment together.

On weekends, despite his hectic schedule, Vernon always made time for you. No matter how tired he was, he’d insist on going out for brunch or planning a mini-adventure to clear his head from the work week. It was one of the things you admired about him—his ability to balance ambition and affection, making sure you knew you were never second to his career, even when he was juggling so much.

You went on beach trips a handful of times—your way of making sure he gets his rest. You’d run down the shoreline, laughter echoing as he pretended to chase you, only to sweep you into the waves for a splash-filled embrace. The salty breeze tangled in your hair, the sun warmed your skin, and the sound of his laughter filled the air—it was a slice of pure freedom. You’d spend hours lying on a beach towel together, your head resting on his chest as he traced lazy patterns on your back, feeling completely at peace.

There were times when work stress started to get the better of him, though. He would come home exhausted, bags under his eyes, and you’d find him sitting on the couch, staring into space. During those moments, you’d sit beside him, take his hand, and just let him breathe. He’d always pull you into a hug, sighing in relief, as if just being near you helped ease his mind.

Autumn came swiftly, marking a year since you’d become official. Your jobs still took up most of your time, but you’d always come home to each other’s embrace. Almost a year to the day since he’d asked you to be his girlfriend, you both went hiking up a nearby mountain, relishing the crisp autumn air and breathtaking view. When you reached the top, Vernon pulled you close, his breath visible in the chilly air. “This past year with you has been the best year of my life.”

He wasn’t usually the sentimental type, but the sincerity in his voice made your heart swell. You kissed him, long and deep, filled with all the love that had grown between you.

Yet, your relationship wasn’t without its trials. You had fights too, arguments that were either petty or intense as you navigated the complexities of a steady relationship. Vernon’s calm and understanding demeanor guided you through the turbulent waters. Each time you emerged stronger, growing as a couple and as individuals.

“I know you’re a grown woman, and I know you’re capable of taking care of yourself, but—” Vernon paused, running his fingers through his hair in exasperation. “You still have to let me know when you’re coming home late and where you’re going so I’d know where to find you if anything bad were to happen.”

You pouted, arms crossed over your chest as you stared at the wall, unable to meet his gaze. He sighed, reaching for your elbow, gently tugging you face-to-face. “I hope you understand what I’m getting at,” he said softly.

“You still love me, right?” you asked, still scowling and still avoiding his gaze.

“Look at me,” he insisted, but you turned your head away. “Love, look at me when you ask me that.”

You finally glanced at him, biting your lower lip as you fidgeted with the sleeves of your T-shirt. Vernon pushed the hair out of your eyes and lifted your chin, his gaze steady. “I love you so much. Nothing’s changed.”

As the year drew to a close, you reflected on how much had changed since that first movie night. You had built a life together, rich with love, laughter, and countless small moments that brought you closer..

As snow began to fall once again, marking the beginning of another winter, you found yourself daydreaming about what the next year would hold for the two of you. Whatever came next, you knew one thing for sure—you were in this together, and that was all that mattered.

You stepped out of the closet, dressed neatly in your work uniform—a beige top with a matching beige pencil skirt. Vernon was sitting on the edge of the bed, phone in his ear as he talked to who you assumed was Seungkwan.

“Okay, got it,” he said, smiling upon seeing you. “Yeah, I’ll be there before 10. See you.”

“Is that your work wife?” you asked after he hung up, tying your scarf around your neck as you walked toward your boyfriend.

“Stop calling him that,” Vernon chuckled, his laughter warm and inviting as he welcomed you into his arms when you moved to sit on his lap. “He hates it.”

You grinned, tilting your head to the side as he pressed a soft kiss on your cheek. “Well, he is your work wife. Wait—no. I think ‘Work Mom’ would be better. He’s like a mom, very strict and always nagging.”

“Why don’t you two like each other?” he asked, fiddling with the scarf around your neck, tugging at it playfully until it came undone.

“Ex-wives and new wives don’t always get along, love. Everyone knows that,” you quipped, leaning back to meet his gaze.

Vernon hummed thoughtfully, his eyes glimmering with fondness as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “We gotta fix that. Can’t have my wives fighting all the time or else I’d crumble to the ground. You guys are the reason I’m still standing, did you forget?” His kisses trailed up your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

You giggled as his nose tickled your ear. “Yeah, no. Seungkwan and I are close. We just fight for fun. I thought you knew that?”

He took a long sniff of your skin, his eyes fluttering closed as he moaned quietly, clearly enjoying your scent. His hand began to unbutton your blouse, but you playfully pushed him back. “What?” he asked, his gaze dreamy and half-lidded.

You huffed. “You’re insatiable,” you grumbled, shifting your positions and pinning him down on the bed.

Vernon was caught off-guard but only for a second. He relaxed on the bed, placing his hands under his head as he watched you straddle him with amusement in his eyes. “You look amazing up there.”

“Really? Well, you look like you’re running late. Get up,” you demanded, standing up abruptly and striding over to the full-length mirror to fix your scarf, a playful smile lingering on your lips as you caught your reflection.

Vernon followed you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. The warmth of his body against yours was comforting. “Ten minutes?”

“No,” you replied without missing a beat, your smile widening at his hopeful tone.

“Seven?” he pressed on, his voice teasing. “Okay. Five. How about five?”

“No. You’re supposed to be at work by 10 am,” you chided, packing your stuff into your bag. “And I’m supposed to be in mine in thirty minutes.”

“Alright, fine,” he conceded, pouting playfully, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his exaggerated disappointment. You helped him put on his coat, patting it down and taking a moment to marvel at his sharp appearance. The way he looked in that coat made your heart flutter. “Do I look handsome?”

You giggled, tiptoeing to plant a quick kiss on his lips, savoring the warmth of his smile. “Very. Come on, let’s go.”

At work, the familiar hum of chatter and the soothing ambiance of the hotel welcomed you. Today was the day of the promotion announcements, and despite the anxious knots in your stomach, there was a flicker of hope within you. As you settled into your cubicle, you exchanged a smile with Sally, both of you sharing that unspoken excitement. You spent a few minutes organizing your workspace, distracting yourself from the jitters.

Finally, the manager gathered everyone in the conference room. Your heart raced, your mind wandering to what it would feel like to hear your name called. A promotion would mean more than just a new title; it would feel like a validation of your hard work, a step forward toward something more fulfilling.

“And finally,” the manager said, his voice pulling you back to the moment, “Sally, our newest concierge who will be gracing the front desk from now on.”

A round of applause erupted, but the sound felt muted, and distant. You clapped along, though your hands felt heavier with each passing second. Sally beamed, and while you were happy for her, a weight settled in your chest. You had worked just as hard and poured just as much energy into the job. Yet here you were, still in the same place, while Sally was moving forward.

As the applause died down and the meeting wrapped up, you returned to your desk, your steps slower than before. You felt pride for Sally but you were also frustrated about the recognition you thought you’d receive. You reminded yourself that promotions sometimes came down to factors beyond performance, like qualifications—Sally had a degree in Hospitality, while you didn’t. Undeniably, you were good at your job, but you didn’t have the same training as Sally and the others.

You sat down, staring blankly at your computer screen. You didn’t dream of managing reservations every day. Back in college, you’d chosen Communications because you had dreams of becoming a journalist, of writing stories that mattered. The hotel reservation desk wasn’t where you thought you’d be.

The phone on your desk rang, jarring you from your thoughts. You took a deep breath, forcing a smile as you picked up. “Diamond Hotel! How may I assist you today?”

You couldn’t deny how much you enjoyed the stability of your day-to-day life—especially with Vernon by your side. The two of you were happy, navigating life together, cheering each other on in your respective paths. Vernon, with his drive and passion for his startup, was thriving. And you, well… you liked being part of his success story, the one who was there to help him unwind, to be the arm candy beside him at work events.

But the more you thought about it, the more you realized—his success wasn’t enough to fill the gaps in your own. Vernon was doing what he loved, chasing his dreams, and growing in ways that inspired you. Meanwhile, you were stuck in a job that felt safe but unfulfilling, and every day, it became harder to ignore that nagging feeling in your chest—the one whispering that you were meant for more.

You glanced over at Sally, who was now chatting excitedly with your manager. Her promotion felt like a reminder of what you were missing. And while you weren’t resentful, the ache of unmet potential gnawed at you. It wasn’t jealousy—it was the realization that somewhere along the line, you’d stopped pursuing what truly mattered to you.

“Are you ready?” Vernon asked, walking into the bedroom to find you putting on a thick jacket over your dress.

“Yeah, let’s go,” you smiled, accepting his hand and letting him guide you out of the apartment.

It was the weekend and you were set to meet your family for dinner. The evening air outside was cold, with a chill creeping in as winter began to settle into the city. You walked hand-in-hand with Vernon, the streetlights casting a soft glow over the two of you as you headed toward his car. His thumb gently brushed over your knuckles, and you couldn’t help but smile at the small, affectionate gesture.

The drive to your parent’s place was quiet, filled with the comfortable silence that came after years of being together. This was Vernon’s first time meeting your parents in person, and although you knew they’d love him, you were still nervous thinking about how the night would unfold. Vernon must’ve sensed your unease because he reached for your hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

“You okay?” he asked, eyes searching yours with gentle concern.

“Yeah,” you nodded, giving him a small smile. Only then did you notice the slight but unmistakable furrow in his brows. Paired with his clenched jaw, you could tell he was nervous. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a little nervous.”

“Aw. Don’t worry. They’re gonna love you,” you chimed, kissing his knuckles. “Just like I do.”

He laughed softly, your confidence easing some of his tension. “That’s the plan,” he replied, eyes still fixed on the road ahead.

You had told your parents all about Vernon—how caring he was, how ambitious yet down-to-earth, and how he always knew how to make you feel at home. But seeing him interact with them, watching their first impressions form, felt like a major milestone in your relationship.

When you arrived, the familiar sight of your childhood home came into view, the porch light already on and your family’s laughter spilling out from the windows. Vernon parked the car and turned to you with a grin. “Ready?”

“Ready,” you smiled, letting him intertwine your fingers.

As soon as you rang the doorbell, the door flew open and your mother welcomed you with a warm embrace. “There’s my beautiful girl!”

“Hi, mom!” you greeted, hugging her back. Behind her, your father was standing with a smile. “Dad!” you exclaimed, moving to hug him next while your mom greeted Vernon.

“You must be Vernon,” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you,” he replied rubbing your mother’s back when she pulled him into a hug.

Your father regarded Vernon, greeting him with a manly pat on the back and a handshake. Letting them get to know each other, your mother guided you into the house, whispering in your ear, “He looks so much better in person.”

“Right? I told you he does,” you replied and you both giggled all the way to the dining hall.

Dinner was a lively affair, filled with stories, laughter, and, as expected, the occasional nudge about your future plans with Vernon. But you took it all in stride, enjoying the simple pleasure of being surrounded by family. Vernon, as promised, managed to deflect most of the pointed questions with his charm, turning the conversation back to lighter topics whenever things got too personal.

“How come you waited this long to bring him home?” your mom questioned, and you could only smile sheepishly.

“Oh, I know,” your father joined in, sniggering. “She wasn’t expecting him to last this long.”

“Dad,” you chided softly, shaking your head. “That’s not true.”

He turned to Vernon. “It is. She was trying to see if you can handle her and won’t run away at the first chance.”

“Well, sir, your daughter’s not going anywhere because I’m not letting her go,” Vernon boasted.

Vernon’s confident remark earned a few chuckles around the table, and even your dad smiled, seemingly impressed by his boldness. But soon, the conversation drifted toward Vernon’s work, a natural topic considering your parents’ curiosity about the man you’d brought home.

“So, Vernon,” your dad began, taking a sip of his drink. “I heard you’re running your own company. How’s that going?”

“It’s been great so far, sir. A lot of hard work, but we’re starting to see some real growth. I’ve got a solid team behind me, and we’ve been lucky to land a few big clients this year,” Vernon explained humbly, though you could hear the pride in his voice. It made you smile, knowing how hard he’d worked to get to this point.

“That’s fantastic,” your mom chimed in, her eyes gleaming with admiration. “Running your own business at such a young age—that’s no small feat.”

“Yeah, he’s been doing great,” you added, glancing at Vernon with pride. “He’s always working late nights, but I keep trying to remind him to take breaks.”

Your dad grunted in approval, nodding as he cut into his steak. “That’s the kind of dedication that pays off. Not a lot of young people can say they’re doing something they’re truly passionate about.”

And then, without missing a beat, he continued, “At least one of you is doing something they actually like.”

You froze, your smile faltering slightly as the comment landed a little too close to home. Your mother shot your dad a sharp look, her eyebrows raised in disapproval.

“Honey,” she scolded, her voice tinged with warning. “That was a bit uncalled for.”

Your dad blinked, genuinely clueless, his expression one of mild confusion. “What? I didn’t mean anything by it,” he said then a glint of recognition flashed in his eyes when he saw your face. “I just meant... you know... Vernon’s following his passion, that’s all.”

You forced a laugh, though it came out more strained than you intended. “It’s fine, Mom,” you said quickly, hoping to brush past the comment. But deep down, his words had struck a chord. You kept your emotions at bay, not wanting to spoil the night.

Vernon must’ve sensed something because his hand slipped under the table to give yours a comforting squeeze. You squeezed back, grateful for his silent support, even though you didn’t meet his eyes. You didn’t want him to see the flicker of doubt creeping in.

The conversation shifted again, your mom steering it back to safer topics—family trips, funny memories, anything that didn’t revolve around work. But even as laughter filled the room once more, the words lingered in your mind like a quiet echo, reminding you of the dreams you’d put on hold.

Another year passed, filled with love, laughter, and the small routines that had become the foundation of your relationship with Vernon. You marveled at how easy it was to slip into life with him—lazy Sunday mornings spent in bed, quiet dinners after long workdays, and spontaneous weekend getaways that kept the spark alive. He was always there, steady and present, his love for you unwavering.

But as Vernon’s star continued to rise, something inside you began to shift. You watched him become more confident, more assured in his path, while you remained exactly where you had started: sitting in your cubicle, answering phone calls, and managing hotel reservations.

You were proud of him, of course. His dedication and hard work were paying off, and you loved seeing him thrive in an industry he was passionate about. But every time you heard about his achievements, a small part of you felt left behind. While he soared, you stayed grounded, rooted in a job that had long since lost its appeal.

You told yourself that it didn’t matter, that you were happy supporting Vernon and building a life together. But as the months went by, the excitement you once felt about your own future dimmed. Conversations at dinner turned into Vernon sharing news of his latest deals or the new office space his company had acquired, while you had little to contribute beyond the mundane details of your day. He never made you feel small—quite the opposite, actually. He always asked how your day went, listened intently, and reassured you that your time would come. But his words didn’t reach the parts of you that had begun to wonder if it ever would.

You started to notice things about yourself that you hadn’t before. The way your excitement for work had faded, the way your once confident posture slumped slightly as you sat at your desk. You’d catch glimpses of yourself in the mirror at the end of the day, your work uniform feeling more like a costume than a true reflection of who you were or who you wanted to be. It wasn’t jealousy—Vernon’s success was well-deserved. It was more a growing uncertainty about your own place in the world, a feeling that maybe you weren’t doing enough, weren’t being enough.

The nights when Vernon stayed late at the office became more frequent, and while you told yourself you understood, it left more time for your thoughts to spiral. You’d curl up on the couch, watching TV alone, wondering when you had started feeling so distant from the person you used to be. The person who had dreams of her own, who had once imagined writing stories that people would read, maybe even resonate with.

And though Vernon never missed an opportunity to remind you how much he loved you, you couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of inadequacy. Like somehow, you were falling short of the life you were supposed to be living—that somehow, you weren’t good enough for Vernon anymore.

But you pushed those thoughts away, burying them under your love for Vernon and the belief that as long as you had each other, it would all work out. Still, the doubt lingered as the year came and went.

“Good morning, love,” Vernon whispered in your ear, the soft press of his lips against your temple stirring you from sleep. You blinked your eyes open, greeted by the sight of his tender gaze and his charming smile. “Happy anniversary.”

You smiled back, leaning into his embrace, soaking in the warmth he effortlessly offered. Vernon wrapped his arms around you tighter, placing a kiss on your forehead. You looked up at him, noticing how at ease he seemed, his head propped on one hand while his fingers lazily played with the ends of your hair.

“Happy anniversary,” you murmured softly as you cupped his cheek. He leaned down to kiss you, his lips lingering on yours.

It didn’t take long for the soft kiss to deepen, sending a surge of warmth through your body and a wave of emotions in your heart. Vernon’s hand moved from hair to you arms, featherlight as he traced the path slowly, deliberately, like he was memorizing the feeling of you.

Your hand slipped into his hair, tugging softly, pulling him closer as if you weren’t already skin to skin. When his hand reached your ass, he gave a good squeeze that set off goosebumps all over your body. He then pulled away for a second, eyes searching yours as if asking a silent question, one that you’d already answered the moment you returned his kiss.

Your kisses grew deeper, breaths becoming shorter, bodies pressing closer. You could feel the heat of his skin beneath your palms and the steady beating of his heart. There was no rush, you both took your sweet time, agreeing on an unspoken understanding that you had all the time in the world.

He kissed your neck when you threw your head back, and you let him trail his lips down to your collarbone while his hand tugged the straps of your nightgown down. Soon, you were naked under him and you watched his eyes widen slightly at the sight of your breasts, smiling as you reached for his neck and pulled him down. Vernon let you guide his mouth to one of your nipples, and the moan that escaped your lips was ecstatic once his teeth grazed the sensitive bud.

He worked his way around your body, squeezing, pinching, sucking—all that while you held on to him, bucking your hips forward to feel any friction in your aching sex. Vernon slotted his knee between your legs and you humped on it desperately.

Your patience was running thin while Vernon was hyper-fixating on your supple skin, kissing and nipping and leaving bruises at his wake. You reached for the waistband of his sweatpants, pushing your hand inside and grabbing his manhood. Vernon jerked back slightly, but you didn’t let go. You thumbed the head of his dick, spreading the precum in a circling motion.

“Nonie, I want this,” you whispered, deliberately using the nickname that never failed to get you anything you wanted from him.

He pulled back for a moment, eyes dark with desire but softened by his affection for you. His thumb brushed over your lower lip, a playful smirk playing on his lips. “Are you sure?” His voice was low, the question barely a whisper.

“Are you kidding me right now?” you retorted, rolling your eyes but you were grinning from ear to ear.

“Just say it,” he sang, kissing the tip of your nose.

“Yes. I’m very sure,” you replied, voice laced with mock-sarcasm, but that was enough for Vernon.

He kept his eyes on yours, not breaking eye contact as he cupped your pussy and pressed on it. Your breath hitched, making him smile before slipping his hand into your underwear. For a moment, he played with the slick that had gathered there, spreading it and using it to lubricate his fingers as he rubbed your clit.

Your fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt, a desperate attempt to hold onto something solid as your body began to sink into his touch. The delight was short-lived because Vernon’s hand suddenly left your pussy. In swift motions, Vernon sat up and stripped himself out of his clothes before positioning himself between your legs.

The next few minutes was a blur of lewd moans blending with the sounds of sucking and licking as Vernon ravaged your sex with his mouth. He went on and on, relentless even as your voice became hoarse and small tears trickled on the side of your face. And then with a strong grip at his hair, you focused on the pleasurable motions of his tongue and fingers, letting it drive you to the edge before a wave of orgasm crashed through you.

Your grip at his hair loosened, and your legs fell limp as you stared at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the high that took over you just now. Vernon appeared, hovering over you with an air of pride about him. You smiled a grateful smile, showing him how satisfied you were.

But then the sudden feeling of your cunt being filled to the bottom made you gasp, mouth gaping open as your back arched in response. Vernon lowered himself to kiss your cheek, cupping your face gently as he shushed you.

“You asked for it, remember?” he said softly, but the mischief in his voice was unmistakable.

In your titillating daze, Vernon moved and found his pace with practiced ease. Every nerve in your body seemed to come alive, making you lose your mind as every thrust gave you a taste of heaven on Earth.

The room was filled the sounds of your whimpers, his guttural groans, and flesh slamming against flesh. The world outside the bed blurred into irrelevance. Every touch felt amplified—each caress, each whispered breath pulled you deeper into one another. Your fingers tightened around his shoulders, your body responding instinctively to the rising intensity.

“Nonie,” you called in a hushed, breathless gasp as his touch sent waves of sensation rippling through you. Your mind was a haze, lost somewhere between desire and release.

The pressure was building inside you, slow at first, then surging all at once. The world seemed to still for a second—then everything came crashing down as another orgasm came washing over you in waves, leaving you breathless and spent.

He followed you soon after, your bodies perfectly in sync, his soft groan was the only sound between you as he rammed into you relentlessly. One final thrust had him stuttering curses, then he stilled for a good minute before falling in your chest, face buried in your neck.

For a long while, neither of you moved, your bodies still locked together, the aftershocks of your release pulsing through you. Slowly, your breathing returned to normal, the frantic energy replaced by an overwhelming sense of warmth and closeness

Vernon lifted his head to look at you. “I love you,” he uttered before kissing your lips.

The kiss was sweet, comforting even, but as he pulled away, a thought flickered through your mind—how perfect everything must look on the outside. Here you were, in the arms of a man who adored you, who made you feel cherished. And yet, beneath that perfect image, your heart was aching with uncertainty and self-doubt.

For a moment, you wondered if Vernon could see it—the quiet battle you fought within yourself, the creeping fear that you weren’t enough. But his eyes remained soft, full of love, oblivious to the storm forming under your calm exterior.

You gave him a small smile, pushing those thoughts aside again, and whispered, “I love you.” As long as you could hold onto that love, maybe everything else would eventually fall into place.

“I think self-doubt is the worst but most effective way to self-destruct,” you said, staring at the contents of your glass. The bottle next to it was half-empty, a quiet testament to how long you’d been sitting there.

“You know, when your own insecurities start eating away at you, and you just… let them? It gnaws at you until there’s nothing left. And when that happens, you don’t even realize—you become the monster, and you start eating away at everyone around you,” you continued, the words settling heavily in your chest.

You glanced at Seungcheol, and though he stared off into space, you could tell he was listening intently.

“People might say I should’ve communicated with Vernon—told him what was bothering me, how I was feeling, but…” You trailed off, shaking your head. “Pride is a god-awful thing too. It wouldn’t let me show my perfect boyfriend that I was flawed.”

Seungcheol took a sip from his glass, his silence offering a kind of understanding that didn’t need words. You sighed, running your fingers through your hair, feeling lighter but also somehow more burdened by the memories you had unearthed.

“Funny thing is, on the surface, everything seemed perfect,” you said, half-laughing. “We went to galas, work events, dinners. From the outside, we were that couple—successful, in love.”

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, his expression inviting you to continue.

You exhaled slowly, the memory of one particular evening surfacing. “There was this gala we attended. I wore this gorgeous maroon dress, and Vernon… well, he looked like he belonged there—he was in his element. The room practically revolved around him.”

Your mind drifted back to that night. The flash of lights, the clink of champagne glasses, and the elegant murmur of conversation all seemed so distant now.

You were standing by the champagne table, watching Vernon talk to a couple of people animatedly. You quietly sipped your drink, letting your thoughts spiral into another wave of self-doubt and feeling of inadequacy.

“It pains me to admit this, but you look ravishing tonight,” Seungkwan prompted, appearing beside you with a deadpan expression.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes playfully. “You don’t look so bad yourself. Is that Prada?” You fake exclaimed, eyeing his suit.

Seungkwan smirked, looking away and brushing his nose smugly as he puffed his chest. “This old thing? Stop. It’s nothing.”

You chuckled and let Seungkwan ruffle his feathers for a bit. Then he looked at you, really look at you. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course. Why’d you ask?” you questioned and it came out a little defensive.

“Maybe it’s just me, but your energy seemed off lately.”

Nervousness crept to your chest. “Off how? What do you mean?”

“I have no idea, but I can feel it. I have a good sense when it comes to these things.”

You couldn’t help feeling warm. Despite your cat and dog dynamics, you always knew Seungkwan cared about you. “I’m fine, Boo. It’s probably just the evening. I’m kinda tired.”

“If you’re tired, you should stop drinking,” Seungkwan said, taking the glass from your hand and setting it down. “Should I tell Vernon you’re ready to leave?”

“Thanks, but I’m fine. I’m not in a rush. Go have fun.”

“Okay,” he nodded as he started walking away. “No more champagne for you, alright?”

You sighed and waved your hand at him dismissively. At that moment, you spotted Vernon approaching you with a lady.

“Love, come meet Ms. Jean. She’s an editor for S Magazine,” Vernon introduced with a warm smile, gently placing his hand on your back. You turned to meet the woman standing beside him—a poised figure in a sleek black dress, her short bob neatly framing her face. She extended her hand toward you with a professional smile.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” she said, her voice smooth but authoritative.

You shook her hand, trying to steady your nerves. “Nice to meet you too.”

“Vernon’s been telling me a lot about you,” Ms. Jean continued, her eyes sharp but not unkind. “He mentioned you studied Communications. Have you always worked in hospitality?”

There it was. The subtle jab you always dreaded, though you knew she hadn’t meant it that way. You smiled, your response ready. “Yes, I work in hospitality right now, but I’m on the lookout for writing opportunities.”

Her eyebrows arched with mild interest. “Really? What kind of writing?”

You felt your heart race slightly, unsure if this was your moment to impress or if you were just another face in the crowd for her. “Mostly feature articles and creative pieces. I used to write short stories and some features for our school paper back in college.”

Ms. Jean nodded thoughtfully, taking a sip from her champagne flute. “Interesting. S Magazine has been expanding its lifestyle section recently. We’ve been looking for fresh voices, especially those with a knack for storytelling.”

Your breath hitched at the mention. The opportunity sounded almost surreal, but you tried not to get ahead of yourself. “That sounds incredible. I’d love to know more about what kind of pieces you’re looking for.”

She smiled, her expression professional yet a little distant, as though gauging your sincerity. “We’re always on the lookout for writers who can capture personal experiences in a way that resonates with a wide audience—something authentic yet relatable.”

Your mind buzzed with ideas, but doubt crept in alongside the excitement. Could you really fit the mold? Did you still have what it took?

“Tell you what,” Ms. Jean said, pulling out her card from a sleek case. “Send me a few samples of your writing. Let’s see where that takes us.”

Vernon looked at you proudly, beaming as if he could already see your success unfolding. You smiled back, though a small part of you wondered if you were ready for this—if you could really stand alongside people like Ms. Jean, in a career you once dreamed of but left behind.

“Thank you, Ms. Jean. I’ll definitely send some over,” you promised, carefully tucking the card into your purse.

The conversation shifted back to lighter topics, but your mind was elsewhere. As Vernon continued to chat away, you found yourself thinking of the stories you’d abandoned, the dreams you’d once nurtured. Maybe this was the sign you had been waiting for?

But even as that hope flickered, so did the insecurity, whispering in your ear: What if you’re not good enough for it?

“Shall we?” Vernon prompted, making you glance at him. The people he was talking to had left and you didn’t even notice.

“What?”

“Shall we go now? It’s getting a little boring in here.”

You smiled, tilting your head to the side at the familiar scene before you. “Are you using me as an excuse to escape again?”

“No, not this time,” he grinned, taking your hand and then kissing your knuckles. “There’s something I wanna show you.”

You laughed softly as Vernon led you out of the gala, his hand firmly gripping yours. The cool night air greeted you, and you welcomed the fresh breeze on your skin, letting it sweep away some of the tension that had settled inside you.

“Where are we going?” you asked, curiosity rising as you walked down the quiet street.

He flashed you a mischievous smile, the kind that always made your heart flutter. “You’ll see.”

You two walked for a few blocks, hand in hand, until you reached a small, familiar place. Your steps faltered as the brightly lit sign of the small Mexican restaurant came into view—the same one from your very first Friday night date. A wave of nostalgia hit you.

“Vernon…” you started, your voice trailing off as you turned to him. He gave you a knowing look.

“I figured it’d be nice to take you back here,” he said, opening the door and gesturing for you to step inside.

The restaurant was cozy, just as it had been two years ago. The dim lighting, the quiet atmosphere, and the scent of fresh tortillas brought back memories of that night—the excitement of getting to know him, the lighthearted conversation, and the comfort you felt by his side. You smiled at the memory, but it was tinged with an unexpected heaviness now.

You were the only ones there and Vernon led you to a corner table, the same one you’d sat at on that date. It felt surreal, like you were being transported back in time. After placing your orders, he reached across the table, his fingers brushing against yours.

“Remember that night? You canceled the hotel restaurant and brought me here,” Vernon said with a chuckle, his eyes softening as he gazed at you. “I was a little nervous back then. I wanted to impress you so bad.”

“You didn’t have to try too hard,” you smiled, your heart warming at the memory. “You already won me over the moment I first saw those eyes.”

He laughed, and for a moment, the tension in your chest eased. But as the conversation went on, you noticed that Vernon seemed different tonight—his eyes held a deeper intensity, like he had something more on his mind.

After finishing the meal, Vernon took a deep breath, his hand gently squeezing yours. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to say for a while,” he began, his eyes locking with yours in a way that made your heart skip.

You blinked, your heart suddenly pounding, unsure of what was coming. Before you could fully grasp the moment, Vernon stood up and moved to your side, dropping down on one knee.

Your hand flew over your mouth, gasping softly as the world around you came to a halt.

“From the moment we met, I knew you were gonna be very special to me,” he began, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “You’ve been my best friend, my biggest supporter, and the love of my life. I can’t imagine a future without you, and I don’t want to. So…”

With a swift motion, he pulled out a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a delicate ring that shimmered in the warm light. “Will you marry me?”

The restaurant faded into the background. All you could hear was the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. Your mind raced as his words sank in. Marriage. The thought had crossed your mind before, but not like this—not now. Not when you were in the midst of so much uncertainty about your own life, your own future. You felt your chest tighten as doubt crept in, louder than ever.

Vernon was everything you could have ever wanted, but the timing felt wrong. Then again, he had never been good with timing.

It wasn’t that you didn’t love him—you did, with every fiber of your being—but your heart was torn. Your career felt stagnant, your sense of self was wavering, and suddenly, the idea of committing to something as important as marriage felt overwhelming.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, seeing the love and hope in his gaze. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to speak past the lump in your throat. “Vernon…” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I love you, but I… I can’t. Not right now.”

His face faltered, the flicker of hurt evident in his eyes. He quickly stood, pulling you into his arms as tears slipped down your cheeks. You buried your face in his chest, your sobs muffled against the fabric of his suit.

“I’m not ready,” you choked out, your voice barely audible between sobs. “I want to marry you, I do… but I’m not in a place where I can think about that yet. There’s so much going on in my head and I don’t want to bring that into our marriage.”

Vernon’s arms tightened around you, his hand softly stroking your back. His voice was gentle as he whispered, “It’s okay. It’s alright, love.” But the heavy sigh he let out betrayed his disappointment, a subtle reminder of how much he had hoped for a different answer.

You pulled away slightly, your tear-streaked face tilted up to him. “I love you. I swear, I love you so much. I just… I need more time,” you pleaded, your heart aching at the sight of his eyes dimming with understanding.

“I know,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I understand. We’ll figure it out together.”

And yet, in the stillness that followed, your rejection lingered between you like a buzz in your ears—one that neither of you could fully shake.

You gulped down your drink, tilting your head back to finish every drop. As you reached for the bottle, Seungcheol pulled it away.

“We’re not even in the intense part yet, and you’re already cutting me off?” you teased.

Seungcheol sighed, unimpressed. “You’re about to finish the whole bottle.”

Giving up, you sighed, letting the tipsy haze settle. “You know what really happened to me at the time? I was in a phase where I had no idea what I was doing. I had a Communications degree with nothing to show for it in my resume.”

Shaking your head, you added. “How did I end up as a reservation agent in a fancy hotel anyway? I forgot, but I do remember working my ass off because the pay was good. And two years passed in a job I didn’t even like. Meanwhile, Vernon’s company was rapidly growing, his success was right around the corner, if not already achieved. He’d done so much in the same amount of time.”

“I was proud of him, but I was also jealous... and so insecure. I felt like I wasn’t enough for him, that he deserved someone on his level—and that wasn’t me.”

Seungcheol shifted in his seat. “Did you ever think that maybe what you did didn’t matter to him? That you were enough just as you were?”

You let out a humorless chuckle. “That’s funny, because that’s exactly what he said.”

Vernon said you’d figure it out together, but from that moment on, cracks started appearing in your seemingly perfect relationship. Vernon’s busy schedule, once something you admired, now felt like a gulf widening between you. Every time he stayed late at the office, every time he missed dinner plans, you couldn’t shake the gnawing thought that it wasn’t just work keeping him away. He would come home tired, still smiling, still full of affection—but you couldn’t feel it the same way anymore.

“You’re not even listening,” you snapped one evening after he zoned out during an argument about a towel he left in the bathroom.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said, rubbing his temples. “It’s been a long day. Can we talk about this later?”

But later never came. Each small incident piled on top of the last, and in your mind, it all added up to one conclusion: Vernon was pulling away because you’d rejected his proposal.

Then more cracks began to form, invisible at first but slowly spreading like cracks in a frozen lake. Everything he did seemed to tick you off and while you tried to keep your irritation at bay, sometimes you would just lash out without reaizing it.

One morning, as you both prepared for the day, you noticed Vernon had put your favorite mug in the dishwasher instead of the drying rack.

“Why did you put it in there? It was already clean,” you asked, unable to keep the annoyance from your voice.

Vernon turned, surprise flickering across his features. “I thought it was dirty. I didn’t want it to get mixed up with the clean dishes.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not that hard to tell the difference. I can’t believe you would even think that.”

His brows furrowed in confusion. “I’m sorry. I’ll make sure to leave it out next time.”

You didn’t respond. Instead, you muttered under your breath as you pulled the mug from the dishwasher. It was such a small thing, yet it felt like a big deal in the moment, like a representation of everything that was building inside you.

As the week progressed, the little annoyances multiplied. Vernon left his shoes by the door instead of putting them away, and you found yourself snapping at him, “How hard is it to just put them in the closet? It’s not like you don’t have a place for them.”

Vernon shrugged, his voice steady, “I’m sorry, I’ll get to it. I just forget sometimes.” He always took the blame, even when it felt disproportionate.

Then there was the time you both decided to make dinner together. The moment felt lighter at first, the two of you dancing around each other in the kitchen, laughter spilling out between you. But when Vernon tried to help chop the vegetables, you couldn’t help but comment, “Do you have to slice them that thick? They’re going to take forever to cook.”

His smile faltered for a brief second before he responded, “I thought thicker pieces would have more flavor. I’ll do it your way.”

“Just move. I’ll do it,” you said, frustration bubbling up again as you took the knife from his hands. “It’s just food. Why does it matter so much?” you muttered, more to yourself than to Vernon.

Vernon stepped back, hands raised in mock surrender. “I just thought we were cooking together, but okay.”

You glanced at him, guilt creeping in, but instead of apologizing, you huffed and focused on chopping, feeling ridiculous for picking a fight over something so trivial.

As you settled into bed that night, Vernon’s hand slipped under your nightgown caressing your thigh firmly. You scooted away from him, but he reached for you again. Annoyed, you sat up and glared at him. “Can’t you take a hint?”

His voice softened. “Right, sorry. Let’s just sleep.”

You lay back down, turning your back on him. He moved closer, hugging you from behind and kissing your cheek. You let him, sighing as you convinced yourself to calm down and just bask in the warmth you were familiar with.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asked softly, concern evident in his voice.

“Nothing!” you snapped, then added, “Just go to sleep.”

You hated that you were pushing him away, but the insecurity inside you felt like it was consuming everything. With each argument, the little cracks widened, and you felt more lost than ever.

Days turned into a blur of tiny disputes that left you feeling drained, and yet Vernon remained unfazed, always returning to his gentle, loving demeanor. He brought you flowers one evening, a bouquet of sunflowers that lit up the room.

“Just because,” he said, grinning. “I thought it’d make you smile.”

“Why? Do I look miserable?” you shot back, though your tone was sharper than you intended.

“Of course not,” he replied, taken aback. “I just wanted to brighten your day.”

You felt awful immediately, but instead of apologizing, you buried your guilt under a facade of anger.

“Do you want to talk about your day?” Vernon asked one evening as you sat on the couch, scrolling through your phone while he pulled off his tie.

“Not really,” you replied curtly, your eyes glued to the screen.

His brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing usually means something,” he pressed, sitting next to you and wrapping his arms around your waist. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

You huffed, frustration bubbling over. “Yes. I know. I’m fine. Can we leave it at that?”

He blinked, taken aback. “Love, I’m here for you, alright? Can we talk about this? Don’t shut me out.”

“There is nothing to talk about, Vernon. Why are you making a big deal out of this?” you said, but the rise of your voice was contradicting your statement.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know, maybe just actually listen when I say I’m fine?” you shot back, standing up and moving away from him. “Instead of thinking I need saving all the time.”

Vernon sighed, running a hand through his hair, a gesture of exasperation you recognized all too well. “I’m not trying to save you. I just want to understand you..”

You felt a rush of guilt but pushed it away. “Well, you’re not doing a great job of it.”

The evening passed in strained silence. You both tried to move on, but the weight of the argument lingered, coloring everything that followed.

Then came the email. You were sitting at your desk when the notification popped up on your phone. It was from S Magazine, inviting you for an interview based on your writing samples. At first, you stared in disbelief. You hadn’t sent them anything recently.

Later that evening, you confronted Vernon. “Did you submit my work to S Magazine?” you demanded, eyes narrowed as you watched his reaction.

He looked taken aback, his face contorting in confusion. “I did. I thought—”

“Why would you do that?” you cut him off, your voice rising before you even realized it. “You thought it was okay to make that decision for me? You had no right to do that without telling me!”

“I was just trying to help,” Vernon said, standing up from the couch, his brows furrowing in concern. “They told me you hadn’t reached out yet, and it’s such a great opportunity. I figured—”

“You figured what, Vernon?” you interjected again, frustration boiling over. “That I wasn’t good enough on my own? That I needed your help because I’m failing in my career while you’re off succeeding at everything?”

Vernon looked stunned, but his tone remained calm. “Whoa, hold on—” He walked over to you, gently placing his hands on your arms. “You’re upset, love. I can see that. Let’s calm down for a second, talk about this level-headedly.”

You swatted his hands away, your pulse racing. “Am I not good enough for you, Vernon? Is that what this is about?”

“What? No! Why would you even say that?” Vernon’s voice stayed steady, but the confusion was clear in his eyes. “I love you, just the way you are. I’m not trying to undermine you. I only wanted to support you.”

“Support me? Is that what this is? Why does it feel more like you’re trying to fix me?” you yelled, your heart racing. “What do you want from me, Vernon? To be some perfect version of myself so I can keep up with your success?”

He took a step back, his face contorting with hurt and disbelief. “I never said that. Love, where this is coming from?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them away. “It’s coming from me, Vernon. It’s how I feel every time you do something like this. Like you’re trying to make me better because the version of me that exists right now isn’t enough for you.”

His expression softened, but instead of comfort, it only fueled your frustration. “That’s not true,” he said quietly. “I love you—exactly as you are. I just wanted to give you a push toward something you’re passionate about, something I know you care about.”

“I never asked for your help,” you spat, throwing your hands in the air.

Vernon’s patience finally wore thin. “Why are you looking at this so negatively? We’re in this together. I am not against you.”

“You don’t understand!” you yelled, your voice shaking as you finally voiced what had been festering inside you for months. “I feel inadequate, Vernon. I feel like I’m stuck in one place while everything around me is moving forward. Every time you step in like this, it just reinforces that feeling. I’m fucking sick of it!”

His eyes widened, and he took another step back, stunned by your outburst. “That’s not fair,” he said, voice quieter now, as though the weight of your words had finally hit him. “I am so sorry if I made you feel like that, but I would never do it on purpose. I love you. I’m just trying to help you.”

You turned away, wiping your eyes quickly. “That’s enough. I don’t want to hear it anymore.”

There was a long silence before Vernon spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I love you,” he said, calling your name softly, as if it were a plea.

You heard him, clear as day, but his words felt distant—out of reach, like they didn’t belong to you anymore. Each fight, every misunderstanding, had been a drop in a bucket that now overflowed. The bitterness you felt was like a slow poison, creeping into every corner of your mind.

Vernon sighed heavily, and you heard him walking toward the bedroom, leaving you alone with your spiraling thoughts. The email notification from S Magazine was still open on your phone, but instead of excitement, all you felt was a hollow sense of dread. It should’ve been a dream come true, but now it only felt like a reminder of how lost you were, and how distant you were becoming from the person who loved you most.

A few weeks had passed since the S Magazine argument, but things between you and Vernon hadn’t improved. Every little thing seemed to set off another argument. Tonight, it started with something small—Vernon suggesting you take a break from work and relax. It was his way of showing care, but to you, it felt like a subtle dig at your career.

“I just think you deserve some time to recharge,” he said gently.

You crossed your arms, feeling the frustration bubble up again. “You mean because I’m not working as hard as you are?”

Vernon sighed. “Love, you know that’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you think, right? I can’t keep up with you.”

His face softened as he took a step closer. “I never said that. You’re amazing, and I wish you could see yourself the way I do.”

“How am I supposed to see myself that way when I’m always falling short?”

A heavy silence filled the room before Vernon spoke again, quieter this time. “I don’t know what else to do. I’ve given you space, I’ve tried to support your dreams, and I’ve never stopped loving you. But I can’t keep walking on eggshells, worrying that everything I say is gonna hurt you.”

“Oh? So you can’t do this anymore? Is that it? Do you want me gone, then?”

“No,” you groaned helplessly, rubbing his hands on his face out of frustration. He pulled you into a tight hug, one that made you want to just melt in his arms. “I love you so much. Please. I want to fix this.”

Your tears welled up, heart aching at how much love was in his voice. But that didn’t change the knot of doubt tangled inside you. “I don’t know what I need anymore,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “But I think this isn’t it.”

Vernon froze for a second before pulling away from the hug and looking at you with widened eyes. “No... no, love, don’t say that.” His voice cracked, raw with emotion. “Please, don’t do this. We can figure it out. We always do.”

Your heart clenched at his words, but the doubt that had consumed you wouldn’t let go. You took his hands off your shoulder. “I’m hurting, Vernon. And I’m hurting you. I don’t know how to stop it. I... I need to let you go.”

“No,” he whispered, cupping your cheeks and pressing his forehead against yours. “You don’t mean that. You can’t. Please... don’t leave me.”

Your tears spilled over, and you looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “I can’t keep doing this. I am so lost and I can’t drag you down with me.”

“Love, please,” he begged, his voice cracking now as desperation took over. “We can work through this. I’ll do anything. Tell me what to do, just... don’t give up on us.”

You could feel the sincerity of his love but the storm inside you was too strong. You shook your head, your tears flowing freely now. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered.

Vernon’s face crumpled, and he dropped to his knees in front of you, holding your hands as if holding on would make you stay. “Please,” he choked out, his voice hoarse. “Please don’t leave me. I need you. I love you.”

His words broke you, shattered whatever strength you had left, but you knew it wasn’t enough. You gently pulled your hands away, your heart breaking as you did. “I love you too, Vernon. But I have to go.”

He stayed on the floor, his hands dropping to his sides, eyes red and pleading as he watched you walk away, unable to stop the finality in your stride.

“And then, we broke up,” you said to Seungcheol, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “I moved out and just went on with my life. I cut off all forms of communication with him. It was like... I completely erased him.”

“Was it easy?”

“Fuck no. It was hard. So damn hard.” You took a deep breath before continuing. “After we broke up, I just threw myself into work. It didn’t matter how repetitive it was—I needed the distraction. I didn’t pursue S Magazine either. Just the thought of it reminded me of Vernon… of everything we fought about. So, out of sight, out of mind, right?”

Seungcheol watched you quietly, waiting for you to go on.

“Six months passed. I thought I was fine, you know? That I’d moved on.” You swallowed hard, the memory still fresh. “Then, one day, I heard that Vernon was seen on a date with someone. That’s when it hit me. He really was gone.”

Seungcheol’s brows furrowed. “How did that feel?”

You tried to smile, but it felt hollow. “Like everything came crashing down all over again.”

It was Mina who told you. She said Paul had mentioned seeing Vernon out on a date. It occurred to you that you didn’t tell anyone about the breakup—not your parents, not even Mina who had set you up.

For the last six months, you’d convinced yourself that you were fine—that the breakup didn’t devastate you. And you really believed it was the truth, but when someone finally asked about it, you realized just how painful it was. Mina was gentle, reassuring, and she comforted you. But she was also honest with you when she told you it wasn’t fair for Vernon.

“Your personal issues had nothing to do with him,” Mina said, sitting next to you on the edge of your bed. “Yes, it was awful, and I understand why you were so conflicted and stressed out, but none of it was Vernon’s fault.”

“I know, okay? But there was a lot of things I couldn’t say to him. We had a lot of stuff we couldn’t talk about. Now, there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s over. We’re done,” you had replied, frustration and defeat twisting inside you.

Mina looked at you with sympathy, but there was also that firmness in her words. “Exactly. So, let it go. There’s no point dwelling on it now that he seemed to be moving on with his life.”

You had nodded then, but deep down, you weren’t ready to hear it. You weren’t ready to face the fact that Vernon wasn’t coming back, or that he was moving on with someone new.

You pretended to be fine. “He’s allowed to date whoever he likes,” you told yourself, repeating the words over and over like a mantra. But at night, when the world went quiet and your thoughts grew louder, your resolve crumbled. You’d find yourself reaching for your phone, fingers instinctively pulling up Vernon’s profile, then Lee Suji’s. It started innocently enough—a quick check just to see how they were doing—but it quickly turned into a habit. Every night, without fail, you’d scroll through their posts, their stories, their pictures.

It was like they were living the life you’d once imagined for yourself. While you were stuck in your repetitive days—getting up, going to work, coming home—it felt like they were living in a different world. They went to fancy dinners, took weekend trips, and posted photos that made their life look like something out of a dream. We used to do that, you thought bitterly, remembering how you would whisk Vernon away to spontaneous trips to give him a break.

Even the small, intimate details made you bitter—the way he looked at her in pictures, his arm casually draped over her shoulders. He used to do that with me, you thought, jealousy gnawing at you. You pictured them curled up on the couch watching movies, the same way you two had on lazy Sunday mornings. Even her captions reminded you of things he’d say to you, the inside jokes you thought were yours alone.

At first, it was just small pangs of longing—a memory of his laugh, the way he’d hold your hand, the sound of his voice calling your name. But those pangs grew sharper, and soon, they twisted into something more painful, more unbearable. They were happy. You could see it in the way they smiled in every picture, the way they stood so close together. Suji was everything you weren’t—successful, elegant, effortless. The kind of woman who could stand by Vernon’s side without feeling out of place.

And with every post, every photo, you sank deeper into the realization that Suji wasn’t just someone he was dating. She was someone he shared the life you used to live with the man you used to love—still love.

You descended further into sadness and regret, your mind constantly comparing yourself to the perfection that was Lee Suji. No matter how hard you tried to shake it off, the feeling lingered, sinking deeper into your chest. It was suffocating. Every night, as you lay down in bed, your thoughts would spiral, and all you could see was Suji’s perfect smile and the way Vernon looked at her—the way he used to look at you.

Some nights, when memories of how Vernon used to touch you started creeping in your mind, the jealousy surged so intensely it left a bitter taste in your mouth. You could practically feel the ghost of his fingertips brushing against your skin—the way he’d run his hand along your back, how his fingers worked you up expertly, or how his lips traced every curve of your body as if he’d memorized them all. Those moments were so intimate, so second-nature between the two of you, that you didn’t even think about them until now—now that they were gone.

You imagined him doing the same things with Suji. Did he hold her the way he used to hold you? Did he memorize her body, just like he did yours? Did he whisper the same sweet words in her ear, making her feel like she was the center of his world? The thought gnawed at you, eating away at the edges of your sanity. It wasn’t just that they were together—it was the idea that your place in his life had been filled, your role in his heart now occupied by someone else.

You tried to shake it off, telling yourself it didn’t matter. He’s allowed to move on. You’re the one who left. But the logic didn’t lessen the sting. The jealousy would flare up, sharp and sudden, whenever you pictured him lying next to her, their legs tangled under the covers the way yours once were. You could almost see it—their lazy mornings, their heated nights, and the gestures of love and affection. You used to be the one he reached for in the middle of the night, pulling you close as if you were the most important thing in his world.

And now, all of that belonged to someone else.

One day, you bumped into Seungkwan at the supermarket—an unexpected encounter that caught you off guard. After exchanging pleasantries, for some reason, you both ended up sitting at a cafe down the street. The clatter of cups and faint hum of conversation around filled the awkward silence between you.

Seungkwan stirred his coffee absentmindedly, his eyes narrowing slightly before he finally spoke. “Her name is Suji, and she’s a friend of mine.”

You blinked at him, not quite sure where this is going. “Oh... I see.”

He took a sip, eyeing you with frustration in his eyes. “I should’ve introduced them sooner if I’d known you’d dump Vernon anyway.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you tried to shrug it off with a smirk. “Okay, Boo. I get it, you hate me. There’s no need to say it to my face.”

He set his cup down, the ceramic clinking against the saucer a little too sharply. His gaze didn’t waver, and there was no amusement in his eyes. “You see, that’s the problem with you. You jump to conclusions. You make these one-sided assumptions and cling to them like they’re fact. Right now, you’re assuming I hate you when I never did.”

The casual tone caught you off guard. You frowned. “But why—”

“You had your reasons,” Seungkwan cut you off, his voice firm but not unkind. “You had your own issues. I get that. What I hated wasn’t you. What I hated was what you did.”

You stared at him, the pit in your stomach growing heavier. “Boo...”

“I hated how you broke Vernon to pieces like it was the easiest thing in the world,” he said, his words blunt.

The sting of his words sliced deeper than you expected. You opened your mouth to defend yourself, but your voice comes out small, trembling. “You don’t get to say that to me. It wasn’t easy, and you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re right. I don’t know everything. I don’t know what it was like for you after the breakup. Maybe you were a mess, too, I don’t know. But I do know what a wreck Vernon was when you left him. Did it ever cross your mind how difficult it would be for him to deal with that?”

You stared down at your coffee, the steam swirling like the thoughts that had been haunting you for months. The truth was, you had thought about it—how much it must’ve hurt Vernon, how hard he was taking it. But you buried it, pushed it away because it was easier than facing how deeply you’d broken him.

“He didn’t deserve it,” Seungkwan continued, his voice softer now, more resigned. “Not when all he ever did was love you, support you, and try to make things better for you. You let your bruised ego push him away—someone who would’ve given anything just to see you happy.”

The words landed heavily, and you felt a lump form in your throat. Deep down, you knew he was right. You’d convinced yourself that walking away was the only option, that you couldn’t keep up with Vernon’s success, that you were dragging him down. But Seungkwan’s words twisted the knife—Vernon didn’t deserve it.

“I thought...” You swallowed hard, struggling to find your voice. “I thought I was doing the right thing. For both of us.”

Seungkwan scoffed, shaking his head. “Exactly. You alone made that choice for both of you, and then left him to pick up the pieces.”

The conversation with Seungkwan lingered in your mind the next day, following you like a shadow as you walked to work. Vernon had consumed your thoughts all night, leaving you tossing and turning, unable to sleep. By the time you reached the office building, you were moving on autopilot, too lost in your head to notice the man exiting through the doors.

You bumped into him, your balance faltering on your high heels as you toppled backward. But before you hit the marble floor, strong arms caught you, steadying you.

“Careful there,” the man said, his voice light.

You glanced up, meeting his gaze. His easy smile widened into something more familiar as recognition flickered in his eyes.

“Well, look who it is.”

Your brows shot up. “Kim Mingyu?”

“Kim Mingyu?” Seungcheol questioned, his brow lifting in mild surprise.

You waved your hand dismissively. “I know. The plot thickens,” you huffed, reaching for the bottle that Seungcheol had tucked away from your reach.

“No,” he said sternly, swatting your hand away.

Running into Mingyu after all these years was unexpected, but surprisingly pleasant. He was as charming as ever, his smile lighting up when he saw you, and after a few minutes of small talk, he’d casually asked if he could take you out to dinner and catch up. You agreed—there was something comforting in reconnecting with an old friend, especially someone who’d been a significant part of your past.

Dinner with Mingyu turned out to be more nostalgic than you expected. Over shared plates of pasta and wine, you talked about your lives, reminiscing over the days when things were simpler but also more uncertain. Mingyu had changed since the last time you’d seen him. The sadness that used to cloud his eyes had lifted, and he seemed lighter—less burdened by the weight of the world.

“So, how are you?” you asked, leaning back in your chair, swirling the wine in your glass.

Mingyu grinned, almost sheepish. “I’m doing better now. So much better.” His voice softened as he continued, “I don’t… disappear randomly anymore. I guess I’m finally where I’m supposed to be. I’m happier. Took me a while, but here I am.”

“That’s great to hear,” you said, smiling. It was nice to see him thriving, a stark contrast to the depression he’d struggled with before.

He met your eyes, his expression was sincere. “I’m gonna be honest, it was the bears.”

You were confused for a second, but then your remembered. “Oh, you mean— No way?”

“Way. Here look.” He pulled his phone out and showed you a picture of bear figurines on a desk with his nameplate on it.

“Are you serious? You still have them?” you asked, genuinely surprised. Mingyu nodded proudly. “Wow. That’s… amazing.”

“The bears were just an excuse,” he admitted, his tone softening. “Truth is, I have you to thank. You sent them back with a kind note. You encouraged me to figure it out, even when I was too wrapped up in my own head. It made a difference.”

You shook your head, feeling a bit bashful. “That note was cheesy.”

He chuckled, the sound full of nostalgia. “Actually, yes, it is kinda cheesy now. But, back then, I was desperate for a helping hand, so... yeah, it meant a lot.”

“Well, you’re welcome. Although, I think it was all you.”

Mingyu smiled, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe. But sometimes, when you’re lost, you need someone to remind you that you’re capable of finding your own way. That’s what you did. But yeah, I guess you’re right. It was always up to me to make the changes.”

You smiled, pride and humility swelling in your chest. You reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “I’m so proud of you.”

His eyes softened, and just as you began to withdraw your hand, Mingyu caught it, his thumb rubbing gently over your knuckles. “It’s really good to see you after all these years,” he said quietly, his gaze lingering on yours.

The dinner continued at the bar, where you talked some more over wine. You had forgotten how funny Mingyu could be, and now that you were rediscovering it, you couldn’t stop grinning and giggling at his anecdotes. He seemed equally amused by your stories, laughing heartily in a way that made you feel like no time had passed at all.

Before you knew it, you were in the elevator, lips crashing into each other with a kind of desperation. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, while your fingers tangled in his hair, holding onto him for dear life. The soft ding of the elevator doors opening barely registered in your mind as Mingyu led you, still kissing, down the hallway to his suite.

Fumbling with the key card, Mingyu finally managed to open the door, and you stumbled inside together, your lips never parting. The room was dimly lit, and the city lights from outside twinkled beautifully. Mingyu guided you toward the bed, but you broke the kiss, breathless as you looked up at him, your heart racing.

“Is this what you came here for?” you teased, your fingers brushing against his cheek.

He smiled, a little out of breath himself. “I’m here for work, but, this is a welcome distraction.”

You giggled, leaning closer and biting his lower lip. Neither of you was gentle but you weren’t in a rush either. The way Mingyu touched you now was different from the rushed urgency in the elevator—this was tender, deliberate, and fervent all at the same time. Each kiss, each caress, felt like a reunion of sorts, as if you were both rediscovering each other after so much time apart.

You forgot how you managed to take your clothes off, but you knew you were already naked the second Mingyu’s lips found yours again—softer this time, and you melted into the sensation, the warmth of his body against yours was a welcome comfort. He paused, pulling back slightly to look at you, his eyes filled with desire.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

You smiled, trailing your fingertips from his nape to his chest that had grown more muscular over the years. “Yes, totally.”

And in the moment, you tossed away every weight pressing down on your chest, letting yourself get lost in the euphoria of Mingyu’s touch.

In the morning, you made your way out of Mingyu’s suite with a pit in your stomach. The walk of shame felt heavier than it should’ve. You scolded yourself for letting things go too far, for taking advantage of someone kind who was blissfully unaware of the mess inside your head.

“I’ve missed you,” he’d mumbled sometime in the night, while you were wrapped around his warm embrace. “I missed you when I left. I missed you all these years. I tried to reach out several times but I knew it would be shameless of me to waltz back into your life without first fixing my own.”

And then, in your silence, he had added, “I’m all fixed now, baby,” just before he drifted off to sleep.

Mingyu probably thought last night meant something, that maybe you could rekindle what you once lost, and start fresh. But that wasn’t the case. You knew deep down you were just lonely, craving the warmth of someone else’s touch to fill the void Vernon had left behind.

When you reached the hotel lobby, you wrapped your coat tighter around yourself, hoping to slip by unnoticed. But as you neared the front desk, you froze. Vernon was standing there, talking to Sally.

Your breath hitched in your throat. For a split second, you considered turning around, making a quick escape, but then Vernon’s eyes caught yours. His face lit up with a polite smile, the kind that he often gave his friends. Your heart sank seeing that, knowing you’d never get to see him smile genuinely at you again.

And just like that, the weight in your chest doubled.

“Vernon,” you greeted as you approached him, forcing your voice to sound steady. “What brings you here?”

He took in your appearance, and you felt a rush of self-consciousness wash over you. You were aware that you didn’t look ready for work, the remnants of last night still clinging to you. “I, uh…” he hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly. “I wanted to talk to you about something, but I didn’t know how to contact you, so I thought I’d drop by instead.”

“What is it?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light, even as your heart raced.

Vernon glanced around for a moment, as if searching for the right words. “Well, I need your new address so I can mail back your stuff that you left at our—well, my apartment.”

“Oh,” you blurted, not registering anything but the slip of his tongue that almost made him say ‘our apartment’. “Okay. Um…”

You stammered for a second, unsure how to proceed. “Actually, what if I just go pick them up myself? That way, I can make sure I don’t leave anything behind.”

Vernon hesitated for a second. “Sure. That would be more convenient.”

“Cool. When can I drop by?”

“When are you free?” he asked back.

You searched his face for any hint of what he was feeling, but his expression remained carefully neutral. You cleared your throat. “How about Friday evening after work? I should be free then.”

“Friday works,” he replied, nodding slowly.

You felt a knot tighten in your stomach at the thought of seeing the apartment again, the place where so many memories lingered like ghosts. “Okay, I will,” you said, trying to sound casual but failing to mask the underlying anxiety in your voice.

He glanced down, shuffling his feet slightly, and for a fleeting moment, you glimpsed the Vernon you once knew—the one who could fill a room with laughter, whose eyes sparkled with genuine warmth. “I hope it won’t be too weird,” he added quietly, breaking the silence again.

You wanted to reassure him, to say that it wouldn’t be weird at all, but the truth was that it would be strange, and painful too. “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” you replied instead, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

He just nodded and you both fell quiet again. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, your mind filled with words you wanted to say but couldn’t. Not because you didn’t want to, but because there was no point saying them anymore. “I—uh, I should get going.” you prompted, not wanting to overstay your welcome but reluctant to leave him.

“Right,” he said, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary, as if he was searching for something in your eyes. “See you Friday, then.”

“Yeah, see you Friday,” you echoed, walking away.

The prospect of seeing Vernon again was both exhilarating and terrifying. But as you walked away, you reminded yourself that you were both on different paths now, and you should be moving forward instead of dwelling on what could’ve been.

Halfway through your shift, you stepped outside for lunch with your coworkers, the chatter around you was a welcome distraction from the morning’s events. As you returned to the lobby, your heart skipped a beat at the sight of Mingyu waiting for you. He greeted you with a broad smile, holding out a bouquet of vibrant flowers that seemed to brighten the entire space. You were flustered, and you became hyper-aware of the intrigued looks from your coworkers.

“You were gone when I woke up,” he said, his grin unwavering as you led him to a quiet corner of the lobby.

“Yeah, well. I have work,” you replied, motioning to the front desk. “Were you waiting for me?”

Mingyu nodded, still smiling. “Yes. I was wondering if you have time tonight.”

You felt a wave of guilt wash over you, and it clashed with the lingering happiness of the previous night. “Mingyu, I’m sorry. I don’t think we should do this. Last night was amazing, but I’m not really in the right headspace for any kind of commitment right now.”

His smile faltered for just a moment before he shrugged. “Oh, well. That’s a shame then.” You thought he’d be more disappointed but he seemed… indifferent? “I would have loved to try again, but it’s fine if you can’t.”

The sincerity in his voice tugged at your heart. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” he said, his grin returning like a boomerang. “Does that mean you wouldn’t want to hang out with me again? Even if it’s just… casual?”

You hesitated, weighing the implications. It didn’t sound so bad. “I… would love to. Heh.”

“Great! So, are you free tonight? I’m going to this gala later and I’m looking for a date.”

Caught off guard by the suddenness of his invitation, you blinked, your mind racing. A gala? With Mingyu? You didn’t want to lead him on, but the thought of dressing up, laughing, and being swept away from reality for a few hours was tempting. “Okay? Yeah. Sure.”

Mingyu’s smile widened, infectious and genuine. “Perfect! I’ll pick you up at seven?”

You nodded. “Sounds good.”

That night, you stood in front of the mirror, your silvery satin dress shimmering under the light. It hugged your figure perfectly, something you hadn't paid much attention to in the past six months. As you adjusted a strand of hair, memories of those glamorous nights with Vernon surfaced uninvited—how he’d surprise you with a new dress and an invitation to a posh party, how he’d walk into the venues with his hand on your back, swelling with pride because you looked graceful next to him. And of course, there were those moments when you’d leave those parties early to grab pizza in some greasy diner, laughing in your tux and gown, ignoring the puzzled looks from other diners.

A smile tugged at your lips, recalling the memories that used to warm your heart but now left a bittersweet taste in your mouth.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, pulling you out of your thoughts. Mingyu had arrived. With one last glance in the mirror, you grabbed your things and hurried downstairs, finding him by his car. He greeted you with a wide smile, taking your hand and brushing his lips against your knuckles. It was a sweet gesture, and yet, it felt… foreign.

“You look stunning,” he beamed, holding the car door open for you.

As soon as you sat down and he closed the door, you felt a sudden pang in your chest—one that pained both your heart and your soul. The car was nice, but the unfamiliar interior and smell weighed heavily in your chest.

“Are you ready?” Mingyu asked, prompting your attention. You didn’t even notice him getting in, too absorbed in your thoughts.

“Yes,” you replied, forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

When you reached the venue, the soft murmur of voices and the clinking of champagne glasses surrounded you. Mingyu’s hand rested lightly on your back as he guided you through the sea of guests, his presence warm and reassuring. Yet, despite his charm and ease, your mind kept wandering to the memories of the parties you’d went to with Vernon.

Then, in a moment that seemed to pull you out of the haze, you saw him—Vernon, standing by one of the tall, draped windows, dressed in a sleek black suit. For a second, your breath caught in your throat. He looked just as you remembered, the same effortless grace, the quiet confidence. And…was that a flicker of jealousy in his eyes? You thought it was—his gaze lingering on you and Mingyu as you passed by.

Your heart raced as you tried to gauge his reaction, convinced he was feeling what you thought he felt. But just as quickly as the thought surfaced, Suji appeared beside him. She was stunning—tall, poised, with an air of elegance that made her impossible to miss. You haven’t met her before, but she looked like the kind of woman who had it all together, someone who seemed to float through life with ease. The way she stood next to Vernon with her hand lightly brushing his arm, sent a wave of nausea rolling through you.

Your chest tightened. Why did he have to pick someone who was so much better than you in many ways? Someone who knew exactly what she was passionate about and pursued it. Someone who exuded confidence effortlessly, not only in how she carried herself but in how sure she was in her career, her life, her choices.

You couldn’t stop the flood of comparisons. It was like Suji was standing on this pedestal that you could never quite reach, her brilliance making you feel smaller with every passing second. It was the worst. Vernon had moved on to someone who was everything you couldn’t be, everything you had once dreamed of being but had never managed to become.

Mingyu said something, trying to catch your attention, but his words blurred into the background as you watched Suji laugh at something Vernon said. The sound of her laughter—genuine, light, carefree—echoed in your mind like a mocking reminder of all the things you weren’t.

He’s happy, you realized, the thought hitting you harder than expected.

You turned away, clutching the stem of your champagne glass a little too tightly, forcing yourself to swallow the bitterness rising in your throat. But the smile you gave Mingyu, like everything else that night, didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Was it a bad idea?” Mingyu asked, cocking an eyebrow at you. “Coming here with me, I mean. Is he not supposed to see us together?”

You followed his gaze and saw that he was looking at Vernon. You shook your head. “No. It’s nothing like that.”

“Are you sure?” He held his jaw and moved it. “What if I get smacked? My jaw still hurts from getting punched by some dude two weeks ago.”

“Why would someone punch you?”

Mingyu grinned naughtily. “Let’s just say I’m a main event everywhere I go and I invite trouble from boyfriends who couldn’t stand seeing their girls fawn over me.”

You smirked, rolling your eyes though you found his cockiness funny. “Well, then you don’t have to worry about your jaw tonight. He has no reason to break it because…” you trailed off, sighing. “Just because.”

“Alright, I’ll take your word for it,” he chimed before excusing himself to talk to someone and leaving you alone for a moment. You glanced around, trying to distract yourself from the heaviness that had been following you all night.

That was when Vernon appeared by your side. “Hey,” he said, his voice casual.

“Hi,” you replied, forcing a smile. “Good to see you. What’s up?”

“I thought I should let you know,” he began, a little hesitant. “I’m selling our apartment.”

You blinked, taken aback by his statement. “Oh. Well, you didn’t have to tell me. It’s yours, you can sell it if you want,” you replied, steadying your voice to hide the fact that your heart was racing.

“I know, but you lived there too, so you should at least know it’s going to someone else now,” he said, flattening his lips together. “It’d be good to grab your things as soon as possible too.”

“Of course! Friday after work, right? We agreed.”

“Yes,” he said before both of your fell silent.

You wanted to say something, anything, to cut through the tension, but everything felt wrong. Then, Vernon added, “I should go.”

You just hummed in response, nodding as he walked away. Mingyu rejoined you then, tugging your elbow gently as he faced you with a mischievous smile.

“Would you care to fill me in on this… situation?” he asked teasingly.

You rolled your eyes but you couldn’t hide the self-deprecating smile on your lips. “It’s a situation, that’s all you have to know.”

Mingyu took the flute from your hand and swapped it with a new one from the busboy who happened to pass by. Before giving it to you, he lifted it and grinned. “How many glasses of champagne before you willingly tell me everything?”

You scoffed. “Even if you give me an entire bottle—” you swiped the glass from his hand. “I’m not gonna tell you.”

“Boohoo. So boring,” he sniggered.

Some time within the night, you’d find yourself in a deserted hallway with Mingyu, making out with your back against the wall while he towered over you. The champagne buzz had reached your head and it didn’t help that you were clinging on a incredibly good-looking man who kept a firm hand on your waist all night. You knew you had to go back to his suite with him, and honestly? You were looking forward to it.

Soon, the party started to wind down. You and Mingyu agreed that it was time to go. You stepped out of the hotel with Mingyu’s coat on to shield you from the cold. His arm around your shoulders helped keep you warm too as you waited for the valet to arrive with his car.

Mingyu’s phone buzzed in his pocket and upon checking it, his brows furrowed darkly. “Damn it, not again.”

“What’s wrong?”

He sighed and then squeezed your shoulder before letting go. “I need to check something. I’ll be right back.”

You nodded and he pressed a soft kiss on your cheek before walking away. As you watched him leave, you tightened his coat around you, looking back at the hotel lobby and wondering if you should go back inside. You were doing that when your gaze caught Vernon’s.

He was standing just a few steps away with his phone pressed on his ear. He saw you looking and nodded as a greeting. You mirrored his greeting, looking away right after and hoping to avoid conversation.

Mingyu came rushing back in no time, his phone pressed to his ear, frustration lining his face. He muttered a quick apology into the receiver before hanging up.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, furrowing your brows.

Mingyu let out a long sigh. “My car won’t start. I was trying to get it sorted with the valet, but it looks like I’m going to be stuck here for a while.”

You glanced at the time on your phone, noting how late it was getting. “Oh no… do you need me to wait with you?”

Mingyu shook his head, his expression still annoyed but softening when he met your eyes. “Nah, you don’t have to. I’ll be fine, but you should head home. I’ll get you a cab.”

Before you could figure out how to respond, Vernon spoke up. “I can give you a ride,” he offered, his voice firm but not insistent. “It’s no trouble.”

You hesitated for a moment, glancing between the two men. Mingyu gave you a hesitant look. “Is that okay with you? Do you know each other?” he asked, though he already knew who Vernon was to you.

“Yes, but I’m not sure,” you replied, surprising yourself with your honesty. “I think I’ll take a cab. I don’t want to impose.”

“Please, I insist,” Vernon said, walking closer. He must have noticed you looking behind him because he added, “You’re not imposing.”

You stared at him for a while, gouging out what he was thinking, but there was no hint of it in the way his expression remained unfazed. Mingyu’s hand on your shoulders prompted your attention.

“If you don’t trust him, let’s just get you a cab,” Mingyu offered, but you could see the glint of mischief in his eyes. He was enjoying this. He probably thought this ‘drama’ was entertaining.

“I’m sure I’m far more trustworthy than any taxi driver,” Vernon interjected.

“Well… if you’re sure,” you mumbled, avoiding Vernon’s gaze. You met Mingyu’s instead, and you could almost see the triumph in his eyes. “What about you?”

“I’ll be fine. Just text me when you get home,” he said, waving goodbye. You could almost say he was excited to see you leave with your ex.

Mingyu gave you a soft kiss before saying goodbye. Still wrapped in Mingyu’s coat, you walked quietly behind Vernon, trying to steady your breathing and hoping he wouldn’t notice that you were nervous.

Vernon opened the passenger door for you, and as you sat down inside his car, a rush of memories hit you all at once. It was familiar, too familiar. Even the scent was engulfing you with nostalgia. This was the first time you’d ever felt like an outsider in such a familiar space.

“Where’s your apartment?”

You quietly typed in your address in the navigator and didn’t say anything else. Vernon seemed to understand your silence and he started driving without a word.

“I didn’t expect to see you tonight.” Vernon was the first to break the silence that had stretched on for about fifteen minutes.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Same here.”

“How do you know Kim Mingyu?” he asked, his eyes flicking toward you briefly before focusing on the road again. You couldn’t tell what his intentions were, nor could you grasp his emotions when he asked that.

“Why do you care?” you retorted, the words coming out sharper than you’d intended.

He paused before answering, his voice measured. “It’s fine if you don’t want to tell me. I just want you to be careful. I’ve heard things about him. He’s got a bit of a reputation for being… a player.”

You scoffed lightly, turning your gaze out the window. “He’s a friend from college. I’m sure I know him better.”

“If you say so.” There was a moment of hesitation before he added, “Just… take care of yourself. I’m not trying to tell you what to do. You can hang out with anyone you like. I just hope you’d be careful, that’s all.”

Your chest tightened at his concern, but instead of acknowledging it, you let out a small breath. “His car wasn’t yours.”

Vernon glanced at you, clearly puzzled. “What?”

You stayed quiet, refusing to repeat yourself. Soon, the car slowed to a stop in front of your apartment building. You unbuckled your seatbelt, hesitating before reaching for the door handle. Vernon’s hands remained on the steering wheel, his knuckles pale in the dim light.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said, your voice softer than before.

“No problem,” he replied with his eyes straight ahead, avoiding yours.

You opened the door but paused halfway out. There was something in the air between you and it made it impossible to just leave. You needed to ask him, even if you weren’t sure you wanted the answer.

“Vernon,” you started, turning back toward him. His name left your lips before you fully realized what you were about to say. He glanced at you, brows slightly raised in question. “Why didn’t you… why didn’t you fight for us?”

The question hung in the air, almost visible in the thick silence that followed. Vernon blinked, his expression unreadable at first. He shifted in his seat, letting out a slow breath as if he’d been holding it for a long time.

“I did,” he said finally, his voice low, like he was admitting something he hadn’t wanted to. “I did fight for us. But you—” He stopped, choosing his words carefully. “You were already gone. You’d made up your mind.”

You swallowed hard. “But you just let me go.”

Vernon turned his body slightly to face you, his eyes finally locking with yours. “I just let you go? I begged you to stay, did you forget?”

“No, I didn’t. But after that, when the emotional outburst was over, when we were calmer and more rational, why didn’t you try to fight for us?” you asked, your brows furrowed in curiosity.

“Well, why didn’t you?” he asked back, and suddenly, you forgot how to speak. Vernon watched you for a while, taking in your silence and seemingly coming to his own conclusion.

“I didn’t let you go because I wanted to,” he said, his voice rough around the edges. “I let you go because you wanted to. And I thought it was what you needed. And besides, I didn’t know how to fix it. Everything I did felt like it just made things worse. I loved you, but… I didn’t know how to make you stay.”

Something open inside you, something you hadn’t wanted to confront. But hearing him like this now, you had no choice but to accept the truth that it was your fault you broke up. You already knew, you just chose to delude yourself into thinking it was both your fault and his.

The car felt smaller now, with the tension hanging in the air so thick it felt like you were suffocating. You could hear Vernon’s breathing, steady but shallow, and you realized how close you both were.

“I should go,” you whispered, but your body stayed frozen in place. Neither of you moved.

Vernon just nodded, his eyes still searching yours as if he was trying to figure out if there was something more to say. In the dim light, they seemed softer, more vulnerable than you’d remembered. His gaze flicked down to your lips for the briefest of moments before returning to your eyes. It was barely noticeable, but you caught it and your pulse quickened.

You should leave. This wasn’t part of the plan—letting things get tangled up again, letting the past claw its way back. But instead, you stayed rooted in place.

You gathered your thoughts for a proper goodbye. “I’m sorry for everything, Vernon. I wished things had gone differently between us,” you said quietly. Your hand had somehow found its way to his arm, just resting there, the warmth of his arm seeping into your fingers. He looked down at your hand, and then back up at you.

“Too late for that now, isn’t it?” His voice was soft, vulnerable, and the intensity of it made your heart ache.

“I know,” you replied, smiling timidly.

Vernon didn’t say anything and just stared at you. You stared back, trying to understand the meaning behind his gaze and the significance of the slight scowl on his face. You didn’t even notice that you were both leaning in slowly. Only when you felt the warmth of his breath against your cheek did you realize how close you’d gotten. Your breath caught in your throat, your body frozen in place, torn between wanting to close the gap and knowing you shouldn’t.

For a split second, you thought he might kiss you. The thought sent a shockwave of emotion through you—longing, confusion, excitement and fear all at once. You tilted your head ever so slightly, your lips just a breath away from his.

But you stopped yourself. “No,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to break the spell that had momentarily taken hold of both of you. “This isn’t… we shouldn’t.”

“Right,” he said quietly, his voice flat. His jaw clenched, his eyes flicking away from yours as he leaned back into his seat. “I’m sorry.”

“I… I should go,” you repeated, this time you mean it. You pushed the door open and stepped out.

Vernon didn’t stop you. He just nodded, his eyes no longer meeting yours. “Take care of yourself,” he said softly.

You nodded, slipping out of the car, your body still buzzing with the closeness you had almost let happen. As you walked toward your building, you didn’t look back, but you could still feel his presence behind you.

And despite everything, as you climbed the steps to your apartment, a part of you wondered what would happen if you didn’t pull away.

The next day, you met with Mingyu just before he left. The conversation was easy, perfectly civil as if nothing significant had happened. He flashed his usual grin as he told you, “I’m flying back tomorrow.”

“It was fun having you around,” you said, offering him a polite smile.

“You liked the distraction, huh?” he retorted, wiggling his eyebrows.

Chuckling, you hit his chest. “Let me know if you’re ever in town.”

“Are you gonna show me a good time?” he teased, tilting his head as he leaned closer.

You rolled your eyes, a small scoff escaping your lips. “Just go away.”

After a tender kiss on your cheek, Mingyu waved you off, and just like that, he was gone—another fleeting moment in a series of encounters that left you feeling emptier than before.

By the weekend, you felt like dying, literally. It started with a sore throat, then chills, until finally, you found yourself curled up under layers of blankets, sick and miserable—alone in your apartment that felt too quiet, too cold.

You lay there, groggy and disoriented, and all you could think about was how Vernon used to take care of you when you were sick. He’d make you soup, sit by your bedside, and remind you to take your medicine. He knew exactly how to make you feel comforted, even when you couldn’t take care of yourself.

But now, Vernon was gone. You had to handle this on your own. You didn’t realize how much you’d miss being babied until now.

The day dragged on, your body was weak and heavy, and the hours blurred together in a feverish haze. It wasn’t until the afternoon that you heard a knock at your door—insistent, again and again, until it forced you to get up.

You shuffled to the door, body aching with every step. When you opened it, it was Vernon standing on the other side with a suitcase, most probably filled with the last of your things from his place.

“Hi. You didn’t come by yesterday, so I thought I’d just…” he started, but then his eyes took in your pale complexion, the fatigue written all over your face. “...drop your things—are you okay?”

“Peachy,” you managed to quip.

“Here, let’s take you back inside.”

Before you could protest, Vernon took you by the arm and guided you back inside to your bed. You were too weak to argue, your body giving in to the relief of being cared for, if only for a moment. He tucked you in nicely, and you watched as he moved across the room to adjust the lights and your thermostat.

“How long have you been sick like this?” you heard him ask, and although you opened your mouth to speak, you weren’t sure if you answered him out loud before drifting off to sleep.

The next time you woke up, the room was dim, and the afternoon light pouring into the windows slowly faded into the evening. You blinked, disoriented, and realized you were tucked neatly into bed with a fever patch on your forehead. Across from you, Vernon sat on the couch, scrolling through his phone. The sight of him there, in your space, felt surreal—like a piece of the past had materialized in your present.

I thought it was a dream, you pondered as you pushed yourself up with your hands.

When Vernon noticed you stirring, he stood, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Sorry. I was just about to leave,” he said, his voice quiet. “I left some food on the table.”

You sat up slowly, the blankets still tangled around you. “Why are you here?” The question came out softer than you intended, but you needed to know. It didn’t make sense—why he was doing this, why he cared enough to be here now.

Vernon hesitated, his hand hovering by the doorframe. “I just… wanted to make sure you were okay. That’s all.”

You frowned, not buying it. “You didn’t have to. You had no reason to.”

“I couldn’t really leave you like that,” he replied, a tightness in his voice. “I’m just looking out for you. For old time’s sake.”

“For old time’s sake,” you mocked, your words tinged with bitterness. “Right.”

He shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting away from yours. But the tension in the air had already thickened, pulling at the edges of the conversation. You couldn’t let it go—not this time.

“You’re lying, Vernon,” you said, sitting up straighter now, the exhaustion in your body giving way to something sharper. “You’re not here just for old time’s sake.”

Vernon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not lying.”

“Then why are you here?” you pressed, your voice rising. “Why are you acting like you care? If you don’t—if you don’t love me anymore, then why are you here?”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he didn’t answer. The silence stretched, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest.

“I’m just trying to do the right thing,” he finally said, his tone more strained than before. “It didn’t feel right to see you suffering alone.”

“You’re doing this because you still care,” you shot back. “I can see it. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

Vernon’s expression hardened. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?” you demanded, your voice breaking slightly.

His eyes met yours, conflicted, and for a moment, you thought he might say something—something that would change everything. But then he shook his head, stepping back toward the door.

“I’m leaving,” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper.

A sudden impulse surged through you. You rose to your feet, feeling a little dizzy for standing up too fast. “Do you love her?” you asked, making Vernon stop dead in his tracks.

You stared at his back, chest tightening with frustration and longing. “Vernon, do you love her? Are you gonna marry her?”

“I don’t need to answer that.”

“Why not?” you demanded. “How hard was it? It’s a yes or no answer, Vernon.”

“And it’s not going to help you. If anything, I might end up hurting you more.”

“Why do you care how I feel?”

He turned to face you, frustration etched on his features. “What do you want me to say? That I’m miserable without you? That I can’t stand the thought of you with someone else? Because that’s not the truth and it isn’t fair to any of us.”

“Not fair?” you echoed incredulously. “What’s not fair is you leading me on! Making me think there is something for me to hold on to when there isn’t! That is what’s not fair!”

Vernon took a step closer, his expression darkening. “I’m not leading you on. Just because I care about you as someone who used to be special to me, doesn’t mean I’m trying to get back with you. It isn’t my fault if you’re misinterpreting my actions. ”

You glared at him, heart pounding. “Then answer my question,” you huffed, grabbing him by the collar and staring right into his eyes. “Do you love her?”

Silence enveloped you both, the tension was so thick that you could hear nothing but the heavy breathing from you and Vernon. You both stood there, staring into each other’s souls, tangled in a web of unresolved emotions.

Before you could register what was happening, he reached for you, cupping your face with his hands. And then his lips were on yours, tentative at first, igniting a fire that had long been extinguished. You kissed him back, the familiar warmth washing over you, the taste of him awakening something deep inside you that you thought had faded.

As the kiss deepened, it felt right in a way that nothing else had in months. You were lost in the moment, the world around you blurring until there was nothing but him and you.

But just as quickly as the warmth enveloped you, a cold wave of doubt crashed over your mind. You pulled away panting, uncertainty clouding your thoughts, telling you this shouldn’t be happening.

“Vernon…” you started, but he was already leaning in again, capturing your lips in a desperate kiss that stole the breath from your lungs.

In the haze of passion, you both stumbled toward the bed, and everything fell away—time, space, even the reality of your situation. It felt exhilarating to be with him again, to feel desired and loved, even if just for a moment.

But as morning light filtered through the curtains, reality came crashing back. You blinked awake, groggy and disoriented, the warmth of the bed and the fading memories of the night before slowly coming into focus.

“You’re so beautiful,” Vernon had whispered in your ear last night. “You’ve always been beautiful.”

You forgot how you felt when you heard that from him, but you knew it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. Your heart raced as you turned to the other side of the bed expecting to find it empty—and it was. The space beside you was cold. The warmth that enveloped you last night was now replaced by an aching void. Vernon was gone.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, heart sinking as memories of the night flooded back—how it felt to be with him, how everything seemed to fall back into place, if only for a fleeting moment. But the bliss faded as quickly as it had come, replaced by a feeling of immense unease.

Rubbing your eyes, you stumbled into the bathroom where the harsh fluorescent light flickered to life. You blinked at your reflection in the mirror, and your heart plummeted at the woman staring back at you—disheveled, hair a mess, eyes filled with confusion and regret.

“What did you do?” you whispered, covering your mouth with your hand as you fell on weakened knees.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you felt a wave of disgust wash over you. The reality and the consequences of your actions came crashing down. You had crossed a line. You made Vernon cheat on his girlfriend all because you couldn’t bear the thought of him moving on. How could you have let this happen? You felt awful, a knot of shame twisting in your gut. You had chased a fleeting feeling, clung to a moment that meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.

And now as you sat on your bathroom floor, sobbing uncontrollably, you couldn’t escape the truth; you had betrayed not just Vernon or Suji, but yourself. Regret filled your mind, and all you could think about was the pain you’d caused everyone and how that would haunt you long after this moment faded into memory.

Seungcheol’s eyes didn’t leave you, the slight furrow on his brows was a clear display of his disappointment toward you.

“I know. I was disappointed in myself too,” you said, letting out a deprecatory laugh. “I was stupid and I regretted it.”

“I’m not disappointed. I can’t possibly judge you for that,” he replied, waving a hand dismissively. “It was just unexpected from you.”

“Oh, so you know me now?”

“You’ve shared three of these stories. I think I have a grasp on what kind of person you are now,” he replied, eyeing you with a hint of curiosity and amusement on his face.

You hummed, tilting your head slightly. “Touche.” You sat up straight, eyeing the bottle in front of Seungcheol. He saw how your eyes twinkled with mischief and as if in defeat, he took the bottle and poured you a glass with a sigh.

“Thanks,” you chimed, taking a sip. “So, since you have a ‘grasp’ of who I am now, how would you have reacted if you were my friend at the time and I told you what I did?”

Seungcheol didn’t miss a beat. “I’d tell you ‘you messed up’.”

You gasped, hands covering your mouth dramatically. “No fucking way.”

The first thing you did after realizing your mistake was take a long bath and cry your eyes out. After that, you called Mina, desperate to talk to someone who would listen. Her reaction was not what you had hoped for, but it was expected.

Anger flickered in her eyes and disappointment shadowed her face. “You messed up really badly this time,” she said, her voice sharp.

“Thanks… That’s exactly what I needed to hear at the lowest point in my entire life,” you replied, your tone biting. It was hard to swallow her judgment despite knowing you had crossed a line.

“No. What the actual fuck was wrong with you?” she hollered, placing her hand over her forehead in frustration as she paced around your apartment. “Why did you let that happen?”

“I don��t know. I was… I was desperate. I thought…” you trailed off, everything felt like an excuse now and you didn’t want to drag this out. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I was so stupid.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t—” She exhaled sharply. “What happened to you? Why did it have to come to this?”

You buried your face in your hands. “I don’t know.”

Mina must have sensed your frustration then, the weight of your actions pressing heavily on your chest. She sat next to you and hugged you, rubbing your back as she let you cry your heart out once again.

Later that week, Vernon asked to meet, and despite the turmoil churning in your gut, you agreed. As you sat across from him in the café, you couldn’t look him in the eyes. The quiet stretched on, both of you looking miserable, drowning in the weight of what had happened.

“I—I just wanted to say that what happened… it was a mistake,” Vernon finally said, his eyes avoiding yours. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”

His apology echoed in your mind. “It’s not just your fault, Vernon,” you replied, your voice trembling slightly. “You can blame me too. I pushed you into it. I should’ve just let you leave.”

“Still, it was me who—”

“I hope you’re okay,” you said, cutting him off. “I hope this doesn’t ruin what you have with Suji.”

“I hope so too,” he muttered, fiddling with his fingers. “I couldn't tell you I love her because we just started dating and I haven't fallen so deep in love with her yet. But I know for sure that I want things to work out with her. I like her a lot.”

His admission made your heart clench, not in pain but in relief. You were relieved to know he was serious about Suji, and that he’d try to make things work. For some reason, it gave you some sort of reassurance. It was odd because you didn’t know why you felt that way when you should be depressed over the fact that he really loved Suji and would not pick you over her despite what had happened between you.

“I wish you luck, Vernon.”

He smiled at you—one that was filled with affection, not for a lover but for a really dear friend. “Good luck to you too. I hope you find your own happiness soon.”

“You and me both,” you chimed.

You both agreed to move on properly, to face the consequences of your actions and try to find closure. As you parted ways for what felt like the final time, a heaviness settled in your chest, but it was a weight you knew you had to bear alone.

In the days that followed, you found yourself sinking into loneliness, drowning in your own thoughts. You replayed the events over and over, dissecting each moment until you could barely remember what had drawn you to Vernon in the first place.

It was in this solitude that you realized it wasn’t Vernon that you wanted. You didn’t long for him or the comfort of his presence. You were just insecure. You wanted to prove to yourself that you were valued, loved, and that you were not inferior to anyone. You didn't love him anymore; your ego was just bruised. The connection you thought you missed was really just a desperate need for validation, a desire to reclaim a part of yourself that you felt had been lost.

The ache in your chest began to morph into something different—something like a resolution. You could rebuild, not just from the ashes of your mistakes but from the ashes of who you had thought you were.

About two weeks later, you found yourself unexpectedly face-to-face with Suji at a library. As you watched her interact with children, you realized why Vernon was so taken by her. She really was amazing, not just because she was beautiful and radiant, but because she was soft-spoken, kind, and loveable. Shame washed over you, and you felt small in her presence, aware of the hurt you had caused her.

“Excuse me,” you managed to say while she was picking up the books the children had left behind. She glanced at you, eyebrows raised curiously.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “I don’t know if you know me, but there’s something I need to tell you.”

“It’s okay,” she replied briskly, a polite smile playing on her lips. But the warmth didn’t reach her eyes; instead, you saw animosity in them. “I already know. Vernon told me.”

You bit your lower lip, feeling even smaller under her unwavering gaze. “I just wanna say I’m sorry. It was my fault.”

“It is, but it was also Vernon’s. You were both foolish,” she said, still with a smile but her words were blunt.

“I’m really sorry,” you repeated, your voice a whisper. You could feel your heart pounding, desperate for her understanding. “I don't know what else to say. I have no excuse.”

“Vernon and I are trying to fix things. We both intend to make it work, despite what happened.” Her expression hardened. “And I’m going to be honest: I don’t like you. I don’t really hate you either, but I hope we never have to see each other again.”

“Suji, I—”

“If we can’t avoid it, let’s just pretend we don’t know each other. I hope you’d do me that favor.”

You nodded, the sting of her words cutting deep. “Of course. I just want you to be happy.”

“That includes Vernon. I don’t want you around us—around him.” She stepped closer, her face was calm but you could see the pain in her eyes. “It might sound childish, but this is the only way I’ll feel at ease.”

“Vernon is a good man. He would never hurt you. I—”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t,” she shot back, her voice steady. “But when it comes to the woman he loved so dearly in the past, I think we both know what could happen. It’s difficult, you know? To compete with the ghost of the past you and Vernon had. He may be over it now, but that didn’t mean he’d completely erased you from his life.”

You clenched your fists at your sides, trying to contain the overwhelming emotions. “I don’t wanna come between you two.”

“Do you still love him? Do you still want him back?” she pressed, her gaze unflinching.

“No. Not anymore,” you said and you were surprised because it didn’t feel like a life. In fact, it felt liberating to finally say it out loud.

“Then that’s good enough for me,” she replied, her voice softening. “Just stay away from us. Please.”

“Please forgive him,” you pleaded, desperation creeping in. “He made mistakes, but he’s still—”

“We’ll solve our own issues,” she interrupted again, her tone final. “And you’re in no position to ask me for any favors.”

You took a step back. “I know. I’m really sorry. I’m gonna… go.”

As you turned to leave, you could feel her gaze burning into your back. You wished you could have said something more in apology, but you were content with the conversation too.

“So, here I am,” you said quietly to Seungcheol. “A promotion was offered at work and I took it. I had to pack my bags and work halfway across the country, but that was the best part of it. I was able to leave. I couldn’t stay there. I needed a reset. Far away from the life I was now too ashamed to live”

There was a long pause, the air between you feeling lighter now, as if confessing this truth had somehow eased the burden on your shoulders.

“And now?” Seungcheol asked gently. “How do you feel about it after all this time has passed?”

You thought about it for a moment, really letting yourself feel the emptiness where all that regret used to sit. But instead of pain, there was something else there now. Something calmer. Softer.

“Now?” You sighed, the answer finally clear. “Now, I think I’m ready to move on. Not from Vernon, but from everything. From needing someone else to tell me I’m enough.”

You leaned back in your chair, feeling lighter than you had in months—maybe even years. “I’m okay with being on my own now. All this time away gave me time to rediscover myself.”

Seungcheol’s smile was small but sincere. “That’s the most important thing, isn’t it?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I think it is.”

For the first time in a long time, the silence that followed didn’t feel heavy or oppressive. It felt like peace. And for the first time, you let yourself believe it. You were free. Finally, truly free.

[fin]

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astraystayyh · 1 year ago

Text

Invisible Thread- two.

This is the second and final part of Invisible Thread. Here is the link to part one.

pairing: minho x reader. pre-established relationship. reader has she/her pronouns.

genre: fluff and domesticity. angst. healing. characters trying to become better. humans being humans.

cw: parent death. grief. talk about death. allusion to sex but no smut. suggestive at one tiny part but it's for the plot.

summary: In which Minho rewrites your entire relationship with love.

word count: 17k

a.n: this is, i hope, a gentle reminder to always be kind to yourself, and to the people surrounding you. this one is pretty personal because i see myself a lot in yn, but it was also challenging since i wrote about things i have never experienced either. so i hope you'll enjoy reading, and that the second part will live up to your expectations. it took me a long time to write this but it's okay!! English isn't my first language and this was also a reminder to be patient with myself. thank you. i love you all. truly. feedback is highly appreciated, as always <3

(here is a Spotify playlist i made for this second part, you can listen to it while reading if you'd like :))

Love. How lucky yet cursed we are to ever experience it.

The fear attached to this singular emotion seems ridiculous. Because we aren't afraid of experiencing anger, sadness, or nervousness. They might overwhelm us, but we accept them, we recognize them as they are and then we cope with them. Whichever way we know best.

But when love comes knocking on our door, we stray away from it, we try to shape it into something else- much gentler on the soul, less devastating if it were ever not reciprocated.

So, we name it a crush, attachment, infatuation; anything but the cursed four-lettered word- anything but love. As though merely acknowledging it would morph it into a sharp-edged sword, eternally wedged within us, making our blood dribble away slowly and with it, our souls awash.

You are no exception. Love has terrified you for the better part of your life. There was a time when the word did slip easily from your mouth, back when you were a child and your view of the world was still naive, undisturbed by what you now know. You loved ice cream, you loved candy, you loved your teacher who braided your hair.

But then the once light word grew heavy on your tongue. Because love is what made you crave your mother's warmth, only to find coldness awaiting you. It is love that made you seek shelter elsewhere, in the fleeting opinions of the people surrounding you, hanging your entire worth on the words they uttered about you- ones they forgot within hours but you carried for years.

But this view of yours got dismantled, slowly, day by day. You’ve come to learn that it isn't love that had hurt you, it was rather the lack of it.

It cannot be love that wound when it is the emotion swimming in your eyes, whenever they rest on Minho. You didn't dare say it to him, to name the feeling out loud. You were petrified that if it was ever out in the open, then the love would materialize into something tangible, and the universe would snatch it away, as it has done before with everything you've ever wanted.

But although you didn't say it, you felt it, deep within each one of your atoms. It spilled from you like infinite ink, rewriting your entire relationship with love, dismissing every wrong notion you've once established about it.

Love cannot hurt because you love Minho, and you'd hurt yourself before ever hurting him.

But maybe none of you would have to hurt. Maybe for once, you'd both be okay. That's what you'd like to believe as Minho's shoulders brush against yours. You are sitting at your usual table at Limbo, a gray cat sprawled on top of your laps. Finals ended three weeks ago. Summer break is here, the one time you've been dreading since you came to college. Because everyone is going back to their homes, but you don't have one to head back to.

"What will you do this summer?" Minho suddenly asks, putting down his iced americano. You scratch the cat's ears beside you gently- Lilia you've decided to name her. "I don't really have plans."

"Would you like to go camping?"

"With you?"

"I mean, unless you have another secret boyfriend, then yes, with me."

"Shut up," you giggle, swatting his arm playfully. "I'd really like that," you smile softly at him, to which he nods. "Oh, and we still need to celebrate your win this term."

"Mm. Let's just call it a date this time," he grins, taking a spoonful of the salted caramel cheesecake and bringing it to your mouth. "I need to go visit my family for a few days, and then we can go," he adds.

Sudden guilt floods your being. He had a family he could go to. It was selfish for you to want him to stay, to strip him from this privilege you weren't granted with.

"I don't want you to cut your time short with them for me," you mumble, eyes fixated on Lilia soundly dozing off on his lap. It still astonished you how all animals seemed at ease in Minho's presence. As if they could sense his gentle soul, carefully hidden behind his sarcastic retorts, and cheeky smiles- one you were lucky enough to have been touched with.

"I'm not. I just really wanna go camping," he says nonchalantly, but his hand raises to squeeze your shoulder lightly.

"You should go with them."

"I have a two-person tent in mind, it won't fit the three of us. And I want to come back to you."

His words painted a sweet picture- of him returning home after a long journey, and you were that haven he sought to rest. The idea that he'd discover such solace in you when you struggled to find it within yourself, seemed unfathomable to you.

So, you bite your lower lip slightly, before squeezing his knee in gratitude. "Okay. I'll be waiting."

✹✹✹

Blue and orange flames surge higher under the wind. You watch, mesmerized as their light dances upon Minho's skin, painting him with glistening, golden hues. Every feature of his face is chiseled to perfection, as if a sculptor spent hours perfecting his face, down to the tiniest detail. He looked in his element here, setting up your tent and grilling the meat and now looking up at the sky, a chilled lemonade in his hand. You should go camping more often.

Minho places his empty can of cola on the ground, before tapping his lap. "Come here," he smiles and you oblige, rising from your chair and settling on his thighs. You tuck your knees to your chest, curling yourself entirely in his hold. His arms encircle your body, making sure you don't slip down. You close your eyes, as Minho gazes up at the night sky before you. You are comfortable and safe. It is that safety that you've craved for so long. To be held and not fear the threat of a knife behind your back.

It still surprised you, how you came to crave Minho's presence. But it went beyond just being near him; you felt as if you needed to touch him, as if verifying his existence, ensuring he wasn't an ephemeral specter slipping through your fingers like grains of sand in an hourglass. Yet, even more surprising was Minho's own yearning for you. His hands were always drawn to you, subtly grazing your face, resting on your palm, skimming your shoulders. Each tentative touch filled an echoing void within you, slowly diminishing it until all that remained were faint whispers of it.

Minho has cared for you, long before he understood you. He saw snippets and fragments of you, and he cared for the patched-up version he made up in his mind. And when you unlocked your heart for him, he only cherished it even more, silently molding his behavior so he wouldn't cross any of your boundaries.

He was hesitant at first, in holding your hands and kissing your lips. He still asks for permission, in that gentle voice of his, to touch you, in case you’re uncomfortable. Which you aren’t, because his hands on you are infused with care, fingertips dripping with unguarded attention and softness, for you.

You sigh contently, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck as his arms tighten around you. Comfortable and safe.

"What's your favorite word?" he suddenly inquires and you giggle slightly. He often asks you these random questions, as though he wished to understand you in the most ordinary of ways and to care for you in each.

"I think it's the word soft. Whoever thought of the word really nailed it. Nothing else could have depicted softness like this one."

"The word does sound really pillowy, and gentle."

"See, I really love gentle too! Why is the word gentle so gentle? Does that make sense?" Laughter tings your question as he grins, his nose brushing lightly against yours.

"It does. They both remind me of you, actually."

"Really?"

"Mm. You're still so soft and gentle, despite it all... If they ever tell me there is one kind person left on this earth, I'd come looking for you."

Sudden tears flood your eyes as a shaky exhale leaves your lips. It felt rewarding, in a sense, to have someone acknowledge the strength it takes to be kind, in a world that had dealt you nothing but harshness.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Anything."

"Sometimes..." you pause, racking your brain for the best way to word this. "Sometimes it scares me how much I've come to care for you. How you make opening up not sound as daunting as before."

You grab his hand into yours, fidgeting with his fingers. The familiarity of their touch helps you calm down. "I'm not saying you'll hurt me. I just... I can't help this tiny voice in the back of my mind telling me to be cautious. It's gotten quieter, but it's still there."

"That's just your past selves trying to protect you," he smiles softly at you, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. "When I told you I'll be here, for as long as you'll have me, I meant it. Doubts and all."

"But I don't want to be closed off anymore," you admit. "It's very lonely that way."

"I know it is, love. But it's what you knew best back then, hm? You shouldn't feel bad about it, you did what you had to do to protect yourself. I'm just here to protect you too now."

"You think I can no longer do it myself?" you tease, your hand threading through his silky hair.

"Of course, you still can. But two shields are better than one. Also, this is exactly why I work out."

"Will your muscles protect me from my mind?" you giggle and he nods proudly. "Have you seen these?" he flexes his arms, before snorting, a bit shyly, eyes squinting closed. He's saying nonsense to make you laugh, and it's warming your heart beyond belief.

"I think these should just stay wrapped around me," you grin, guiding his arms around your back once again.

"No complaints," he smiles, as you settle against his chest. He places a soft kiss on the top of your head and you close your eyes. Safe and comfortable- Minho.

✹✹✹

Summer has been kind to you. Or maybe it was you who has been kind to summer, your laughter filling its air until it could do nothing but mirror your happiness.

Summer tasted like love with Minho by your side. In clementines he peeled for you, feeding you each slice with a soft smile on his face. In spontaneous bike rides at six am, to chase sunrises you've never witnessed before him. In numerous books he bought so you’d read them to him, his head on your lap, a tranquil expression coloring his face. And although the months have all been sweet, there are two days that you remember particularly.

You don't mark up the time with dates, but rather with the new feelings Minho bestowed upon you- the first time you wanted someone to stay, and they did.

"Baby?" Minho’s hand brushes against your shoulder and you startle, turning around to look at him. "Are you okay? You zoned out."

"I’m fine," the rehearsed lie slips from your mouth, long before you could think about it. A ping of guilt swarms your heart, you’ve promised yourself that you’d tell Minho about your true feelings, even if he couldn’t help you with them.

"Are you sure? You haven’t said a word since I came over..." He quickly glances at his watch, "Three hours ago."

"I’m sorry," you mumble, your thoughts swarming your head once again. You felt horrible for wasting his time. He had better things to do than sit with you in silence.

"I’m not asking you to apologize," he says cautiously as if he’s aware he’s threading along a dangerous line. You stay silent and he shuts his eyes closed, hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I just want you to be honest."

"I am."

"Are you, really?"

"What do you want from me?" you ask a bit breathlessly. You don’t know what you are saying, but you can sense your walls building up, higher than you could ever reach them.

"You’re clearly not fine and I-"

"I am trying, okay? I’m trying, please." You plead; you’re unsure for what exactly. For him to stop prodding, because you don’t have answers for him, not yet. Not when you haven’t understood it yourself.

"I'm going for a walk," he says, abruptly standing. You stay frozen in your place, as he quickly slips his shoes on, before leaving your apartment. You’re trying and it isn’t enough for him.

You don’t move from your place as time slowly trickles by. The seconds morph into minutes and suddenly it’s been an hour and a half since Minho left. There is a tantalizing fear making you stay put as if you ever dare to move a limb, then the stillness would be shattered and Minho wouldn’t come back.

It’s hard to reroute your brain entirely- old habits creep up on you swiftly, and suddenly you’re pulled back into the old you, woven into the web of horrible thoughts stitching all around you. Change feels sweet, with Minho, it feels like hope and the taste of a new beginning, but it is scary and different. And the familiarity of what you were before him calls your name from time to time. It was horrible and lonely, but there were no surprises in it. You knew what to expect at all times.

You could’ve told him that you weren’t feeling good, that you didn’t feel like talking and Minho would’ve understood. Because this isn’t the first time this happened, and it happens to him too sometimes. So, he understands, more than anyone you know. But instead, you lied and denied and Minho left. And you can’t blame it on anyone but yourself.

You grab your phone, its sudden light burning your eyes. You blink repeatedly, as you dial Minho’s number. It rings and it rings, then it goes to voicemail. You try again, through blurry vision. It doesn’t even ring this time- straight to voicemail.

Minho’s left. He’s had enough. You can’t blame him.

Three swift knocks resound loudly on your door. You don’t remember reaching the doorknob, your body’s moving on autopilot, but you pull it open. Minho. Your hold on the handle tightens until your knuckles turn white. You can’t look at him, you don’t want to see his face as he leaves you.

"Why are you crying?" he whispers, dainty fingers gently wiping away your tears.

"Don’t go. Not you too," you manage to utter, and you hear Minho suck in a deep breath, before pulling you tightly to his chest.

"What are you talking about?" he says, as he buries your head in the crook of his neck. The familiar scent of his cologne washes over you- you’ve memorized its earthy notes by heart now, easily recognizable between a thousand smells.

"You've been away for two hours and I called and you- you didn’t pick up. I thought you wouldn’t come back."

"My phone died while I was outside and I lost track of time, and- please don’t cry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry." He leans away, cupping your cheek delicately. "Im here, you see? Let’s go on a walk, hm?"

"You were just out," you mumble and he smiles at you. "I wanna go with you."

Minho takes off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders. He leads you outside, still clad in the bunny slippers he randomly bought you a week ago. His hand is warm in yours. His hand wouldn’t be warm if he was leaving you.

You walk in silence to the park near your home, and Minho sits you down on an empty bench. Your tears are dried up by now, cheeks cold from the night breeze; and his hand is still in yours.

"Chan didn’t leave our dorm for three days." He starts, clearing his throat. "He’s overworking himself, doesn’t even eat the food I make him. And I tried to tell him to take a break today. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t convince him. He’s probably still working on his music right now," he chuckles, but there is no trace of humor in the sound. "And then I come to you and you’re not okay. And I want to help but suddenly I’m pressuring you. And you’re trying, so hard and you’re doing so well and I’m pressuring you instead of helping. And I failed at being there for you both. What good I am if I’m not there for the people I lo- care about?"

"Don’t say that, please. You are good enough. More than enough," you cup his cheek, pressing his forehead on yours. "You’re always here. Don’t ever doubt that. I’m sure Chan appreciates everything you do for him."

"And you?" he asks, tone coated in such raw vulnerability that it knocks the breath out of you. At that moment, Minho was a plain hill, devoid of hidden nooks and crannies- nowhere for him to guard his emotions from you.

"Do you remember that night, when I asked you how I can help you feel yellow?" you ask after a while, and he nods, repetitive blinks rythming his silence. "I used to think that happiness was yellow, that sudden joy that drowns out the world around you. And I wanted to always feel yellow, the highest of highs. But that could only lead to another low, another extreme. I’ve since learned that true happiness is feeling peace when you lay in bed at night… And for your heart to beat soundly from contentment."

"I remember feeling this way only once, a long time ago. I woke up to see the sunrise, but I was a bit late to it, so I missed the orange and the pink," you chuckle slightly, as the distant memory floods you. "But I saw the blue, this really soft blue, and as I looked at it a strange sense of serenity washed over me. As if, as long as I looked at that pastel blue, I’d be alright. And now…" You smile softly, your thumb delicately grazing his cheek, Now, I can just look at you. You are my blue."

Minho’s eyes glisten with unshed tears as he looks at you, mouth slightly hung agape. You giggle quietly, before patting his head gently. "Thank you for staying," you whisper, and a sudden smile breaks out on Minho’s face. It’s so radiant- as if every star in this galaxy was ground to fine dust and then sprinkled into it. You can’t admire it for long since Minho crashes his mouth on top of yours, drawing you in for a kiss that leaves you breathless afterward.

"You know I had a really nice dream yesterday," he finally whispers against your lips, a newfound lightness in his voice. "I think this is the first time where my reality is much sweeter."

✹✹✹

The first time you felt loved, truly.

It’s a couple of days into August when Chan tells you that he has signed up with a producing agency- it’s a huge step for him, one he’s been rambling about each time you met him for the past few months. So now you’re over at his and Minho’s dorm, attempting to bake a congratulatory cake for Chan. It was Minho’s idea, one he mumbled into your ear nonchalantly, as if he didn’t wake up really early to scout all the ingredients you might need.

"Why is baking so much harder than cooking?" Minho whines, burying his head dramatically in the crook of your neck. You giggle, patting his back in faux sympathy.

"So, you're admitting you're not good at everything?" you tease and he straightens up instantly, brows furrowed as he looks at you.

"I didn't say I'm not good at it. I said it's harder than cooking," he drawls out and you hum in reply, a teasing "sure, sure" escaping your mouth.

"Do you know how to crack an egg with one hand? That's the cue that you're a great baker."

"Why would I when I have two hands?" you chuckle and he smiles cheekily, raising his eyebrows at you. "Well, I can do it."

"Fine," you huff, grabbing an egg onto your hand. "Teach me?" you smile sweetly and he grins satisfied, "Of course."

"Here, you just need to crack the egg gently into the side of the bowl. And then lodge your finger inside, slowly pulling the shell apart. Like this," he demonstrates and you nod in understanding.

"Your turn," he smiles and you follow his instructions, tongue poking against your cheek in utmost concentration.

"Min look! I did it" You grin widely, turning around to show him the egg now dropped into the bowl.

"You did! I’m proud of you," he smiles, placing a tender kiss on your temple. You pause, the egg’s shell still tightly clutched in your hand. You didn’t drop it into the bowl, and someone’s proud of you for it.

It’s late into the night, and your stomach is aching from laughing for hours on end. Your plates of cake are on the ground, with only crumbs left on top of it. Minho invited two of Chan’s closest friends over- Felix and Han, so now you’re all playing rounds of Uno, and the poor freckled boy is losing each time.

"This isn’t fair," Felix whines, before stealing a bite of the leftover cake on the table. "This is really good by the way," he compliments and you giggle, turning around to point at Minho, only to find him already looking at you, a soft smile on his face.

"It’s all him," you say, and Chan gets his face impossibly close to your boyfriend’s, a teasing smile on his face. "You love me so much."

"I don’t. Get back," Minho pushes his face away, but you can tell he’s lying, from the fond smile threatening to spill over his mouth.

"Sure," Chan sing-songs, before turning to look at you. You wink at him and he ruffles your hair affectionately, as he always does when he wants to tease you. "Thank you for the cake, yn."

"You’re welcome," you grin as an unfamiliar warmth spread through your chest. Is this how it feels to have a family? People you care for and who care about you in return?

Minho notices the sudden bittersweet expression etched on your face, so he grabs your pinky in his hand, squeezing it slightly. You turn your palm around, before blindly intertwining your fingers with his- something you’ve gotten much better at lately.

"We’ll get going," Han announces when it’s nearly midnight, as he and Felix both get up from the floor. "Sure you don’t want to come to the party?" Chan asks, eyes trained on you and Minho.

"Yeah, we’ll stay the night."

You stand up as well, following Chan to the door and stopping him before he leaves. "You don’t mind me staying the night, right? It’s your dorm too, so I should ask."

"Of course not. You can come over whenever, even if Minho isn’t here. You don’t ever have to ask me, okay?"

"Okay, thank you, Chan," you beam at him, relief coursing through you at his words.

Soon enough, the dorm is silent, and it’s only you and Minho once again. You go to clean up but Minho pulls you by your hand, ushering you toward his bedroom. "Let's leave it to tomorrow," he says, and his voice sounds like warm candle wax dripping down on you. You can’t say no.

You find that he’s already prepared a pair of pajamas for you, spread out nicely on the bed- his grey shirt and a pair of shorts he has apparently overgrown.

"You'll find a box there, under the sink, it’s for you," he announces, as you walk into the bathroom to change. It’s filled with anything you might ever need, tissues and makeup removal and pads and medicine, and your cherry shampoo.

"When did you prepare this?" you ask as you open the door wide for him. He peeks his head inside, eyes softening when they take a glimpse at your figure - wearing his shirt, in his bathroom.

"A month ago, or so. Just in case you ever needed to stay the night." He's so thoughtful, you're starting to believe that the word was molded after him. "Is it enough? do you need something else?" he asks tentatively and you shake your head, squeezing his hand lightly. "It's perfect. Thank you."

"Of course. let's brush our teeth?" he smiles and you nod, grabbing the blue toothbrush he bought for you. He squeezes some toothpaste into it, and your eyes meet in the mirror. You can feel a blush creep up your face, to match the tip of his ears turning pink. It felt innocent to blush at the mere act of brushing your teeth together- at the domesticity of it, and the future hopes that lay within it.

Minho washes his face with his cleanser and you do the same. He suddenly hoists you up the bathroom counter, before standing between your legs. his arms cage your body, as his doe brown eyes look up at you. "Do my skincare for me," he pouts and you giggle, diligently taking the moisturizer and applying it to his face.

You take your time, massaging it into his skin, rubbing soothing circles on his cheeks and the tender skin under his eye. His eyes close at your touch, body leaning forward and pressing onto your legs. You grab his lip balm, applying it evenly to his puckered lips, and then you kiss him. Softly, tenderly, hands going up and down his arms. His own find your waist, encircling it, thumbs skimming your sides.

You lean away, a giddy smile on your face. "Thank you for the lip balm," you say, before kissing the tip of his nose.

Minho's room smells like clean laundry and vanilla, courtesy of the candle he lit up. You've been here before, but this is your first time sleeping on his bed. He goes in first, before beckoning you in. You lay down on his silky pillow, your hair fanning all around you. Some strands of it go into your mouth, and you giggle faintly as you pull them away.

"Here," he says, leaning over your body and opening the drawer next to you. He takes out a hair tie, and a faint memory dances around in your mind- you tying up his hair at the convenience store near Limbo.

"You kept it?" you question incredulously, voice coming out in a faint whisper.

"I did," he says simply as if it's ridiculous for you to expect otherwise. "Can I tie it up for you?" he asks and you nod.

His fingers gather your hair, making sure no strands of it are escaping. They're magical, relieving every tension you have in your body. You feel him twisting the tie around, securing your hair in a low ponytail.

"All done." his voice is quiet, and so is the kiss he presses onto your shoulder.

You both lay down, facing each other. It's silent but it no longer scares you. Not when your fingers are grazing Minho's palm, tentatively, the way one dips their toes into the water to test its temperature. Your hands are dancing around one another, not yet holding each other, as if engaged in a dance only your body understands. His eyes are locked on yours- a brown shade so mesmerizing you wish you could paint the entire universe with it.

His gaze is always soft when it comes to you, pupils slightly dilated, eyelashes fluttering with each blink. They're so quick you almost can't catch them, as if he unconsciously wants the time in which he looks at you to last longer.

Minho's hand reaches behind you, before pulling the slipping comforter over your body. He tucks it in your sides, and warmth surrounds you everywhere; from him mainly. He's been so attentive to you tonight- a silent care you only truly appreciate when you've experienced a lack of it. It's as if he's pouring years' worth of missed love back into your life, and in return all the love you've held within, never bestowed upon anyone else, has found its sole destination in the man by your side.

Your hand circles his once again, and you watch intently the way your fingers graze one another, delicately, as if skimming on the edge of holding one another. You give in first, intertwining your fingers with Minho’s and squeezing them gently. They fit his perfectly, this is where they're supposed to be.

"I don't know what you’re doing to me," he whispers, his eyes locking onto yours once more. There is a newfound emotion gleaming in his gaze- incredulity, at the depth of his feelings.

"What do you mean?" you question, nuzzling closer to him. Your head finds its rest on his arm and he responds instantly by patting your hair.

"I want to keep buying toothbrushes for you." His voice is hushed and yet it resounds loudly within your being, as if shouted from a sky-high rooftop.

You exhale softly, curling your hand around the back of his neck, and pulling him down gently to your face. You press your lips on top of his, and they move slowly, deliberately, like a painter's careful strokes. Each touch of his lips against yours is there to make you feel something- things that he can't bring himself to say, so he shows.

You finally break apart, dazed from the raw emotions barging into your heart. You then lift your head slightly, planting a tender kiss on his forehead. Minho closes his eyes, as your lips linger in there far longer than necessary. They remain closed even after you pull away, and it is the look on his face that pushes you over the edge. The serenity painted across his features, but particularly, the trust. As if you could mold him however you want and he'd be grateful you ever touched him to begin with.

"I love you," you confess so suddenly, and the words feel foreign yet familiar as they stumble out of your lips. You expect a shift in the universe, a disastrous change as you verbalize this sentiment that's long haunted you. And yet, all that happens is Minho's eyes shimmering as they look at you. And you realize that you aren’t scared he'd twist the words and stab you with them. You know he'd cherish them, even if he didn't feel the same.

"I love you," he says back, a radiant smile lighting up his face, coloring each of his features in unadulterated happiness. Hearing those three words from him made your heart leap in your chest. There is so much more of what you feel that you wish to express. You’ve told him, but you want to show, to press your body to his so the feeling would emit from your heart to his own.

Your hand trails across his chest, and you feel his muscles constrict under your touch. "Can I?" you ask, gazes flickering between his eyes and the hem of his shirt. It's always about permission to you both- permission to touch, to feel, to kiss and the answer is always yes. Yes, yes, yes.

"Please," he whispers, and you tug his shirt quickly over his head. You are a goner after that when his hands caress your skin like you're delicate porcelain. He’s hovering over you, the candle's shadow dancing across his body. Your fingers are tracing every inch of his skin graced by the flickering light, which meant your hands were everywhere, and every touch of yours was mirrored by him. Every kiss he returned ten times fold, every gasp he drank in hungrily, only eliciting a louder one in return.

"Tell me if you’d like to stop," he smiled tenderly down at you, his nose nuzzling against yours. You never felt the need to. And as the night marched forward, you gradually grasped what the poets meant by ‘making love’. You felt as if you were truly making love, as if your every move conjured love in its purest essence between the two of you. The ebb and flow of your bodies served as a spell, heightening your emotions into a raw fervor. It was love that orchestrated your moves, binding you both in a cacophony of sweet sounds, meant for you only to hear.

Minho's gaze remained fixed on yours, as he uncovered parts of you you've never dared to show anyone. It only cemented every feeling you harbored towards him. And the safety. The safety of being in his arms. To be as bare as one could possibly be, and yet to still feel blanketed by his soft eyes on you.

✹✹✹

Dainty snowflakes coat the outside world in a pristine white blanket. It’s a mesmerizing view, one you’ve grown to be grateful for these past few weeks since it signaled the return of winter, and with it, Minho’s birthday.

It's hard to resent snow when it welcomes the existence of the person you’ve fallen in love with.

The outside might be cold but you wouldn't know, not when you are nestled close to Minho, his legs thrown over your lap. You stare fondly at his figure, too engrossed in eating the birthday cake you’ve prepared for him- a vibrant green frosting and a picture of his three cats printed on top, just like he requested some time ago. You lean in a bit, wiping away a trace of whipped cream from the corner of his mouth. He smiles at you tenderly, angling his head to press a soft kiss on your thumb pad.

There is a growing lump in Minho's throat, but it doesn't suffocate him, since it's formed by your love for him- you remembered what he said about the birthday cake. He was joking, obviously. But the fact that you brought his ridiculous wish to reality warmed him beyond belief.

You rummage a bit in your place, hands tucked under the pillows, and then you take out a purple envelope. "Open it," you say as you place it on top of his lap. Minho puts his plate down, straightening out in his place before looking at you, a curious smile on his face.

"More surprises?" he asks, referring to the gift you’ve already given him- a pair of t-shirts, all with cats and silly scriptures imprinted on them.

"Mm," you hum, as Minho finally opens the envelope. He pauses, as his eyes rack furiously over the content of the letter. "What's this?" he asks dumbfounded, trying to fully grasp the meaning of what he's reading.

"Because of constellations, people often think that stars always live together in a cluster. But oftentimes, they are alone. Or... if they're lucky enough, they get to roam the universe with a partner. They call them a binary star. Like you and me." Emotion simmers beneath your words, and you continue, your voice a gentle undercurrent.

"It's comforting to know that other versions of us are going through this world side by side too. To know that long after we're gone, there would still be two stars discovering the universe together, orbiting around one another. A token of the love we lived." You lift your gaze to meet his, to find him staring in awe at you. You take a mental picture of this moment, adding it to the collection of the ones you already captured of him.

"Our love may not be revolutionary, we're only two humans out of billions that have adored before us. But our love is grand to me. I try..." you bite your lip, reaching out for his hand- it will guide you as you try to speak. "I always try to find the words to describe how much you mean to me, to tell you how much you do to me. I used to always hold my hand out, in the hopes that someone would grab it. But no one did, so I curled it into a tight fist. And I thought it'd stay this way, for the rest of my life. Until you came, and you unclenched my fingers gently, one at a time, and then you grabbed it into yours." Tears are trailing out of your eyes now, but you show no effort to wipe them. Happy tears shouldn't be swept away.

"Thank you for existing, my Minho," you smile softly at him, and he nods, tears brimming in his waterline, cheeks flushed pink at your words. "Thank you for kissing my finger pads and reminding me that there is still softness in this world, all embodied in you." You cradle his cheeks tenderly in your hands, trying your best to let your love seep through your fingertips into his soul.

"I think you've carved yourself into me, carved your name into my heart. Your roots intertwined with mine, and thanks to you, I managed to crack through the hard earth and bloom again. Thank you for making me feel the warm sun again. I was so so cold before you." You whisper the last part, like a sinner's confession, eager for it to be carried away, forgotten.

Minho brings your body to his, as he buries his face in your chest. You can feel slight tremors shaking his body, and you place soft kisses on his shoulder blade- soothing, calming. You are safe in my love for you, they spell out.

"I can't believe you’ve named stars after us," he mumbles against you, and your fingers thread through his hair gently, flattening out stubborn strands of it. "It's nothing," you smile and he shakes his head vehemently. "It's not- it's not nothing to be loved by you. It's everything to me."

He leans away, bringing your head down to press his lips into yours. It tastes sweet from the cake and salty from his tears. It tastes like healing. You both kiss for mere seconds and yet it feels like an eternity to you. As if your mind stretches out time with Minho, knowing how valuable it becomes with him. He presses his lips onto yours one last time, before exhaling softly, melting completely in your hold.

"As long as you're with me, I don't ever need to look at the sky," he whispers. "There are enough stars in your eyes for me."

✹✹✹

It’s late December and the fragrant aroma of hot chocolate fills your apartment. You’re preparing two cups of the cozy drink in your kitchen, while Minho watches you fondly, leaning casually on the doorway.

"Are you just gonna stare at me?" you giggle, turning around to toss him a sly smile.

"Do you need my help making hot chocolate?" he raises an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Yes, I wouldn't say no to a bit of emotional support."

"Ah, my bad," he playfully bows, walking over to you. Minho gently wraps his arms around your waist, leaning his chin on your shoulder. His bangs tickle the side of your face, akin to the brush of a butterfly’s wing, and a soothing sense of contentment washes over you as he holds you close.

Minho places a soft kiss on your shoulder blade, and the touch sends shivers along your spine. "This is for warming up the milk," he mumbles, adding another kiss to your neck, "and this for mixing in the hot chocolate powder," and a final one to your temple, "and this is for pouring it in cups."

"Why thank you," you giggle, turning around to hand him his cup. "Do you remember what episode we stopped at?"

"37," he replies instantly.

"I think you love this anime more than me," you pout jokingly. "I plead the fifth," he answers solemnly and you chuckle as you both make your way to the couch.

Merely one episode in and you can already tell that Minho is no longer focusing on the show. He’s absently swirling the drink in his hand, his gaze lost within his cup.

"What did the poor hot chocolate do to you?" you smile, a beacon of curiosity piercing through his daze. His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, turning around to look at you sheepishly. "Just zoned out."

"I noticed. What's on your mind?" you ask, lowering the volume of the TV to fully focus on him.

"There is an upcoming dance competition. It's at a regional scale and I'm just... wondering if I should participate."

"You should!" you fervently reply, "You're such a talented dancer. You deserve recognition for your hard work."

"I'll become very busy, though. It's already hard enough to manage this degree," he speaks softly as if he's not fully convinced of this excuse himself.

"I've never seen you as happy as you are when you're dancing. You'll handle it, and I'll be there for you too."

"I should do it, right?" he asks, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You really should," you echo, your hand rubbing reassuringly across his arm.

"Okay. I will," he nods, and you beam at him, before pulling him in for a comforting hug.

"On second thought... Everyone will now see how talented my boyfriend is and they will fall in love with you," you playfully muse as you hold him close.

"But everyone's already in love with me," he says in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Mm, the heartthrob of campus."

"People throw themselves right and left at me, it's exhausting," he sighs, the giddy smile easily heard in his voice.

"Okay, now you're overdoing it," you giggle and he further buries his head in your neck, inhaling the scent of your perfume. "Don't worry," he mumbles quietly, "I'm only ever yours."

As weeks meld into months, your days become a whirlwind of preparation for the dance competition; where each participant is required to create a choreography from scratch, for a song of their choosing. You witness firsthand the immense effort Minho pours into this, just as he does with everything he undertakes. He spent hours upon hours in the university's dance studio, and you were often there with him. While he practiced, you sat in a corner, working on your laptop. He only paused to kiss the top of your head before diving back into his practice.

He chose a song you've never heard before, called Taste. It was mesmerizing to witness him become a vessel for the melody, like an instrument attuned perfectly to the emotions the song tried to convey. His body moved sensually, flowing like fluid water, perfectly controlled by him. Every beat in Taste was matched with a move of his, powerful enough to capture you, gentle enough not to overwhelm you, like the ebb and flow of the waves brushing against the shore.

The first two months slipped through the hourglass of time in a breeze. And although Minho grew busier, you still both managed to carve out time for quick dates. Strolls by the ocean and spontaneous trips to the cinema- outings that helped you recharge fully once again. But the third month coincided with your midterm exams, casting a heavier cloud over both of your lives.

Minho became overwhelmed, quickly, bearing the weight of his two worlds. He was smart, immensely so, he could handle his classes with ease, retaining knowledge faster than anyone you knew. But the day only had twenty-four hours in it, and he couldn't possibly do it all- finding time to practice, study and take care of himself. So, you tried to handle the last part, as best as you could anyways. Exam seasons always took a heavy toll on you- both physically and emotionally. It also didn't help that you went down with a strong flu for two weeks, making your energy levels plummet to zero.

It was only three days before the start of your exams when a soft knock resounded on your door. You opened it to find an exhausted Minho. He’s fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, beads of sweat glistening on his upper brow.

"I'm tired," he whispers, eyes looking absolutely devoid of emotion as they align with yours. You smile softly, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside, "I know."

You lead him to the bathroom and he follows silently. He's so compliant in your hands as if all the energy in his body was sucked out of him. "Bad day?" you ask, as you peel away his blue hoodie.

"Very." He says, voice barely above a whisper.

"It's okay. You're here now," you try to keep your voice just as quiet as you take off the rest of his clothes. You undress quickly as well, before pulling you both to the shower.

Minho rests his forehead on your back, as you check the water temperature. When it's warm enough to feel soothing on his skin, you pull him underneath the jet, and you both stand in there for a while. His head hung low, now buried in the crook of your neck; his breaths growing slower, more even.

"You did well, my Minho," you say, voice threatening to get lost in the sound of the water hitting the tiles, but Minho catches it. He tightens his hold on you in response.

Minho can feel you reaching over and grabbing something from the rack behind him. He recognizes the smell of your shampoo as you pour it in your hands, before lathering it gently on his hair. He almost starts crying right there and then, as your fingers skillfully massage his scalp. You are everywhere, pressed to his body and your hands in his hair, and your cherry scent that’s washing all over him. And the outside world suddenly seems so far away.

You rinse off the shampoo, before grabbing your conditioner and threading it through his hair, making sure that every strand is evenly covered. He shuts his eyes closed, as your hands move to his neck and start massaging it. He's so sore from all the dancing, tired from the studying he has to catch up on. But you’re making him feel okay now, as you unravel his nerves without uttering a word. How do you do it? He wants to ask; how do you always paint his world blue?

Your hands are trailing over his body now, not sensually, just easing the knots in his muscles. You're spreading body wash all over him, and his eyes are still closed, as he feels you place tender kisses on his soapy skin. ‘I love you', your voice reaches him like a faraway lullaby, 'you've been working so hard', 'I'm proud of you'; and your comforting words morph into hot tears lodged into his waterline, begging for an escape.

You finally turn the water off, before pulling him outside and wrapping a towel around his waist. He sits idly on the edge of the bed, as you quickly put on your clothes, before walking over to him. You help him wear his pajamas, the ones he's left in your apartment since he often stays the night. He can't move a limb, but you're doing it in his place- as if the life in you was blown into him, and he's only breathing thanks to you.

Once you’re both fully clothed, you sit behind Minho on the bed, legs on either side of his body. You grab a towel you warmed in advance and begin to gently dry his hair with it, patting each strand with care. As soon as you're done, Minho turns around, nestling his head against your stomach. You let him, hands rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"I already told you, but I'm very proud of you," you say, head lowered so he'd be able to hear you. "I'm so amazed by your strength and hard work. You inspire me a lot, Min. Just keep on going, and if you need a break, you can rest by my side, okay?" You place a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

"I love you," you add softly, and Minho tightens his hold on you. And then he crumbles. Completely.

He falls apart in your arms, painful sobs racking through his body. You panic, as the unfamiliar sounds knock your breath away. You've seen Minho cry before, single tears that managed to escape from his eyes, trailing on his cheeks. But you've never seen him so shattered, so consumed by his pain that he could no longer contain it. You’re caught in his storm, as uncharted waves of his hurt crash against your shores. Has he been hurting all along? Were you this oblivious to the pain brewing inside him?

Your body’s shaking as you press your chest to his back, your arms cocooning his curled-up figure. You try your best to shield him; you don't know from what exactly, but you know it has to go through you first to get to him again.

"I'm so- sorry you have to see me this way," he hiccups, his words digging their claws deeper into your chest.

"Don't say that, baby, please. It's okay, you can cry as much as you want. I'm here."

"I'm sorry," he repeats, voice quivering, and you can feel your heart slowly cracking, hurting in depths you haven't thought existed before.

"Minho, I don't- I don't only love you when you're happy. I love you when you're angry and frustrated and when you're sad. You deserve kindness and you deserve to be kind to yourself because you are still Minho. My Minho. No matter what emotion you're feeling."

"Please stay with me," he pleads softly, and you bite your lower lip, as traitorous tears escape your eyes and land on his shirt. "Where would I go, love? You're my home. I'm here."

✹✹✹

Selfish. Selfish. Selfish.

The thought that's been reverberating within your mind, echoing since the moment Minho crumbled in your embrace.

Selfish.

Of course you are, since you remained oblivious to his own struggles as he slowly chipped away, until he shattered unexpectedly. Akin to a seemingly sturdy building, struck by a minor vibration and suddenly reduced to ruins.

Selfish.

Each time you sought solace in him, you failed to realize that he was stripping away his layers to shelter you. You took and took from him, each time you called, each time he came over to brush away your tears. Your endless bad days didn't leave room for his struggles, unperceived amidst your turmoil.

Selfish and horrible. You weren't made to be loved.

Minho is sleeping right next to you. He looks peaceful, endearing bunny-like teeth peeking through slightly parted lips. He's undisturbed, like a placid river, until someone selfishly decides to skip some stones in it- you.

His chest rises and falls, erasing all remnants of his previous breakdown, like a scripture on sand washed away by the waves. You could almost forget it ever happened if it wasn't for the persistent echoes of his sobs. Raw pain had seeped through him, yet it could have been different. If you had asked more, he might have unraveled slowly. He would have talked and he would've never had to explode.

Selfish and guilty. There's a bitter taste in your mouth. It doesn't go away when you hastily gulp down water.

You'll keep your problems to yourself. There is enough for him to bear already. By sharing your load, you aren't diminishing it, only adding more to his.

You can't let your mother be right. Not about this. Not when it comes to Minho. You can't ruin his life too.

✹✹✹

You are being distant.

Minho notices it straight away when you stop coming over to his dorm. When you find excuses to not come to Limbo anymore, accounting it for the exams you're both taking. But he knows it's just excuses. You are straying away from him. Your light that shone on him every day suddenly turned into a distant lighthouse beam.

And it's his fault.

He's embarrassed by his outburst. How he broke down right in front of you. How he clung to your arms, counting on your words and touch to stitch him back together. How he wasn't enough for himself, but you were.

Guilt floods his being, making you sadder when you're already dealing with so much. He recounts your tears dripping into his hair, as you hugged him tightly to your body. He made you cry; he shouldn't have broken down. That's why you're staying away. He can't blame you.

He misses you. He saw you this morning and yet he misses you. Because you weren't there with him, you were somewhere else, in a faraway place in your mind. What if he can't reach you anymore? He wasn't sure what to do with himself without you.

It's 11 pm, and he's knocking softly on your door. You open it and he smiles tightly. You smile back.

He hovers around the entrance of your apartment, hands tightly clasped behind his back. You unclasp them, interlocking your fingers with his and leading him to your couch. You are warm, he missed you. You are here and he misses you.

You both sit down, and you're looking at him curiously. His eyes fall to your lips, pillowy and rosy and he can't help pressing his mouth onto yours. It'll give him the courage to speak.

"I'm sorry," he whispers against your lips and you lean away, confusion clearly written across your features.

"For crying the other day," he clarifies. "I've made you uncomfortable and you feel like you have to be cautious around me, and I'm sorry, I won't do it again."

"What are you saying? You didn't- you never..." you suck in a deep breath, inching closer to him. "Minho, don't ever apologize for that. please. You should never apologize for being human."

"But you are being distant," he says in a small voice, avoiding your eyes.

"Minho, I..." you bring your hand to his cheek, locking your gaze with his. "It's not what you think. I promise."

"Then what is it?"

You bite your lip, sighing loudly before speaking again. "You sobbed. And I had no idea you were hurting that much inside. I am so reclined on myself that I didn't notice. And I tried to distance myself so I'd sort my thoughts out. So, I could be there for you, fully. You're always here for me, and I feel... As if I failed you."

It's now his turn to cup your cheek, his thumbs gently brushing against your skin.

"I felt so loved by you that day. That's why I cried. because I've never felt that way before," he's quick to explain. "Yes, I was stressed and overwhelmed but it's not your fault. You were there for me when I needed you most. You didn't fail me; how could you think that?"

"Because it should've never gotten that bad. If I had noticed before, then I would've helped you and it wouldn't have gotten that bad for you. You don't deserve to feel sad, not when you’re... You. Someone like you shouldn't feel sad."

"Didn't you say we're humans? Isn't that what humans do? They fall down and they get up, I can't always be fine. It's not your fault."

"Minho you don't understand... How much more of yourself can you give to me, without hurting yourself in return?" You're so sure of these words you're uttering, as if you've drilled them into your mind by now. You couldn't be more wrong.

Minho blinks repeatedly, trying to gather the words in his mind properly. You weren't distancing yourself from him, because he had hurt you. But rather, so you wouldn't hurt him anymore. So, you'd be there for him more. A sudden relief floods his being. He isn't losing you.

Minho can't help the chuckle that escapes his mouth. He shakes his head slightly as he brings you to his chest. You're so warm as you wrap your arms around his waist. He still misses you but you're here, you aren't going anywhere.

"You memorized my coffee order. And my favorite pudding. You always bring me one when you come over. When you find a new flavor, I haven't tried, you always buy it for me. You look at me so excitedly when I try it. As if me finding a new favorite pudding brings your personal joy," he's talking softly, slowly, in the hopes that you'd understand what he means.

"You love spicy food, but you always cook without it when I'm with you. Because I can't handle it as well as you. You put snacks and water in my bag when I have dance practice, and then you come to check on me, even when you're busy too. You bought me an umbrella, and you placed it near the entrance of my dorm, so I wouldn't forget it. You give me the opened chopsticks package first, and you blow on my food so it wouldn't burn my tongue. And you let me pick the movie, every time. You let me pick it," he places a soft kiss on your shoulder, tightening his hold on you.

"You brush my hair away from my eyes when you think I'm asleep. And you make sure the blanket covers my body entirely, even if it means it doesn't cover you. I've never had that. Never had someone care for me this gently. Even when I'm not awake and I can't give them anything in return."

He leans back, smiling softly at you. There is a new palpable emotion in the air- love, in its most unconditional form. It smells fragrant and sweet- like you and him.

"I notice everything you do for me, every way in which you love me. You're here for me in more ways than you can ever imagine. And I love you. Please don't stray away from me. Promise me," he pouts slightly, nudging his pinky toward your face. You giggle in defeat, before wrapping your pinky with his.

"Didn't you think pinky promises were silly?"

"Nothing you like is silly."

"Not even that cheesy drama I watch?"

"Okay. Maybe that one is. But it makes you laugh," he trails off. "If it makes you laugh then I like it too."

"You'll talk to me more, right? About whatever's bothering you? When you're not feeling black yet?"

"I will, I promise. You too, right?"

"Mm. I will too."

"Good," he smiles, pecking your cheek softly. "I've missed you. And I don't mind feeling all the colors of the rainbow, as long as you're near me."

✹✹✹

The voices of your friends singing you happy birthday reaches you like the distant chirping of birds, fading away in the back of your mind with each passing second. You know that Mina is smiling at you, her head resting on Jeongin’s shoulders. And that Chan, Han and Felix are all clapping excitedly, their voices blending together in a somewhat harmonious melody. But you can’t seem to focus on any of it. Your eyes are set on Minho, who’s walking over to you, a vibrant pink cake in his hand. The surface of it is covered in candy- marshmallows and macaroons, and a dozen of lit candles. Their light flickers on Minho’s face, casting an ethereal glow on him.

And as your widened eyes meet his, he knows that it all just clicked in place for you.

Four months ago.

"What did you like to do, when you were younger?"

You stay quiet for a few moments, mulling over Minho’s question. The waves crash softly at your feet, the sound of them and Minho’s arms around you serving as a perfect cover to thread through your childhood once again.

"I had a bunny plushie. My aunt gave it to me one day when her daughter didn't want it anymore. She was going to throw it out, but I took care of it. We took care of each other, in a way. I used to stay alone at home a lot, and Caramelo would keep me company."

"Caramelo?" he giggles and you pinch his arm playfully. "I was six when I named it, sue me."

"Mm, and where is Caramelo now?"

"I left it in the house. I packed in such a hurry and it didn't fit in my suitcase. But I really wanted to bring it," you smile sadly and Minho can sense a shift in your tone, so he trails his hands across your arms gently, pulling you even closer to his chest.

"What else did you like?" he asks, placing a kiss under the shell of your ear.

"Playing in the playground, there was one really near home. I'd sneak out and go play in the swing, but there was no one to push me higher there," you chuckle slightly, burying yourself further in Minho's embrace.

"Oh, but I met a girl there when I was eleven, Lydia, I think. She was our neighbor, and she invited me to my first ever birthday party. Her parents prepared this huge cake for her, it was all pink with so much candy on top. I kept dreaming about having a similar one for my birthday. We also painted each other's nails and put on facemasks, and then we watched a movie. It was really fun," you recall, a wave of nostalgia washing over you. You were really shy and didn't talk to the other girls present, staying away in a corner. But Lydia grabbed your hand and pulled you next to her. She didn't let go during the entire movie.

You hoped she was okay, wherever she might be now.

"And... my mom took me one day to a hill near our home. We sat on a bench there, overlooking the city's lights. We didn't talk but she braided my hair since it kept getting in my mouth. That's my favorite memory with her."

Your voice is carried away with the wind, drowned in the waves. You hoped that one day your childhood memories will come back to you, like the sea foam dissolving at your feet. Gentle, incapable of hurting you anymore.

"You know what I really want now? A big cake for my birthday too," Minho suddenly whines and you giggle, turning around to look at him.

"Want me to bake it for you?" you tease and he nods, cradling your face between his cold hands. They warm up once they rest on your cheeks.

"Yes. I want the cats’ pictures printed on it, and..." he trails off, looking up at the sky. "I want it to be green.”

"Green?" you chuckle. "Isn't that a bit weird for a cake?"

"Are you questioning my vision?" he wiggles his brows at you, his hands coming to your sides.

"I am," you laugh, as he starts to tickle you, unwaveringly. You fall to the sand, and he's on top of you, hands roaming your body as loud laughter erupts from you.

Minho’s eyes soften as he gazes at your laughing figure, but he doesn't stop, not until you tap his arm multiple times, happy tears trailing from your eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Green is perfect, you are a genius!"

"Why thank you," he smiles, before leaning down and kissing your tears away. You shiver slightly, from the cold and the feel of his soft lips on your skin. He notices.

"Come on," he outstretches his hand and you grab it, standing up and dusting your pants. Minho squats slightly in front of you, and you giggle before climbing on top of his back.

"Don't you ever wonder who was the person who invented tickling? They were just sitting down and then they touched someone and they started laughing,” he suddenly muses.

"Right! And then they decided this was something they should keep on doing, and it stuck around for centuries."

"I think it's really cute. It says I love the sound of your laugh so much that I will sit there and tickle you just to hear it."

"And you just tickled me," you trail out. "I know," he mumbles, the tips of his ears suddenly turning pink.

"I like your laugh too, Minho."

"Just like?" He teases, in a futile attempt to diffuse his shyness.

"I love it. I love it so much I could pay my entire life savings just to keep on hearing it again."

"Stop," he whines and you giggle, swinging your dangling feet in the air.

"Have you ever heard your laugh? No other melody can compare. At this point, musicians should just retire."

"You're insufferable," he finally laughs and you sigh, melting into his back.

"And you like me."

"And I love you."

Present time

The realization dawns on you like a floodgate- Minho is recreating your happiest childhood memories.

From the pink cake of your dreams. To the obnoxiously glittery nail polish he brought home three days ago, spontaneously, you foolishly assumed. He insisted on having a pampering night, where you both applied face masks to one another, bunny headbands tucking your hair out of your face. You giggled as he painted your nails with the utmost concentration, and then begged you to paint his in return. He didn't explain why he wanted pink nails suddenly, you should've known.

You should've known when he suddenly knocked on your door at midnight, taking your sleepy figure to the playground near your apartment. "Why are you here so late?" you questioned, rubbing your eyes tiredly.

"We are sneaking out," he whispered in your ear, and you didn't question his flawed logic- who were you sneaking out from exactly? But all was forgotten as he pushed you in the swing, fueled by your growing high-pitched giggles. "Higher?" he shouted and you laughed loudly, the sound of it echoing around the park. "Yes, higher!" Until you felt as if you were close enough to touching the stars.

You should've known.

Minho places the cake on the table, his warm hand finding your lower back. He rubs it soothingly, as you mouth a heartfelt "thank you" to him, hot tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. You couldn't speak, afraid of bursting into sobs in front of all your friends. He understands what you're referring to.

It's far later into the night when your friends finally leave Minho's dorm. You've all cleaned up the place, soft music emitting from the speakers. You didn't need songs to fill the silence, the conversations flowing easily between you all.

You gather all the gifts you've received and take them to Minho's room- a pair of shoes you've been raving about from Mina and Jeongin, and new headphones from Chan, Han, and Felix, since your old ones stopped working not too long ago.

"You're okay?" Minho asks, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head.

"Better than ever," you beam at him, cupping Minho's neck and meeting his lips in a tender kiss.

"I'm still not done," he smiles secretly, brushing his lips against yours once more, before pulling away. You watch, curious as he heads towards his closet and takes something out of it. Your eyes grow wide as they settle on the gift in his hands. You can feel your lip quivering as you walk hastily over to him.

"Is this...?" you ask incredulously and he nods, a happy smile on his face. "Your Caramelo."

"How... When?" you stammer, as happy tears blur your vision, "How did you do it?"

"I have my ways," he smiles assuredly at you. "Do you like it? I'm sorry if I overstepped by bringing it to you," he adds softly, a hint of vulnerability in his words.

"No, Minho, this is the sweetest, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. I can't believe it- I... I don't even know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," he smiles, his hand rubbing your arm affectionately. "I figured this plushie should be in a loving home, with you. It helped you back then and now you're strong enough to help it in return."

There are overwhelming emotions that we can't quite express with words- like sorrow, sadness, or in your case, happiness. That's why touch was invented, you believe. As you pull Minho for a bone-crushing hug, Caramelo snug between your chests, you hope that he can feel everything you failed to express through words. That your soul will speak to him in a way your mouth couldn’t.

"When you told me there is a friend of yours, who lived in my town. There was no friend, right?" you mumble into his neck.

"No, I just wanted to know your address," he whispers, arms tightening around your waist.

"Did you meet my mom?"

"Yes. She's the one who gave it to me."

"Did she tell you anything... about me?" you ask cautiously.

Minho remembers snippets of his conversation with your mother- the indifference she showed towards you, as if it wasn't her daughter, her flesh and blood that she discarded away so easily.

"Nothing of importance. I promise you."

"Thank you," you whisper, voice caught up in your throat, bound by the ropes of your overflowing emotions. "Thank you for healing me."

Sleep didn’t come easily to you that night, and as Minho snored quietly next to you, you untangled your limbs from his, before heading to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water.

You find that the lights are already on and that Chan is working on his laptop, eyebrows furrowed as he gazed at his screen.

"Hey," you greet softly, careful not to startle him.

"Our birthday girl," Chan grins and you chuckle quietly, before settling next to him on the couch.

"What are you working on?" you question, taking in the different settings displayed on his screen.

"Just a new song," he shrugs sheepishly, "I'm almost done with it."

"That's nice," you mumble, tucking your knees into your chest.

"I suppose Minho already gave you your gift," Chan speaks softly and you startle, turning around to look at him.

"He didn't tell me what it is, don't worry. But I assume he pretended as if it was no big deal, that he got it."

You nod silently, fearing that speaking would stop Chan from talking.

"I told him that he should just walk up to your house, present himself, and then ask your mom if he can take some of your stuff for you. But he said it’s too risky, and there is a chance she might say no. So, you know what he did?" Chan chuckles softly, and you feel the breath slowly escape your chest. "He spent weeks researching all the moving companies that work in your town. And then he bought us uniforms that looked like one of theirs. With the name tags and all. We rented a truck and we drove there, so we’d pretend as if we were moving the rest of your belongings. Your mom didn't question it thankfully, and I've never seen Minho as relieved as when he climbed back into the truck."

An overwhelming need to cry threatens to consume you, and you bite your lip harshly to stop it from taking over. Not in front of Chan.

"For him to go these lengths for you, means that he loves you a lot. But also, that he feels really loved by you. So, thank you, for loving Minho. I'm very happy you guys are together now." Chan smiles softly at you, before getting up and ruffling your hair slightly.

You quickly go back to Minho's room, before bringing his body tightly to yours. And as soon as you touch him, he mumbles your name in his sleep before throwing an arm over your waist.

"Thank you for loving me. I love you so much too," you whisper into his back, as your tears dampen his shirt. You wished that the words would reach him in his dreams, making them sweeter for him.

You didn't make a wish that day, as you blew the candles, foolishly believing that everything you've ever wanted was already around you. But you should've.

Maybe that would've stopped the anguish to come.

✹✹✹

There is a bad feeling nudged into the space between your ribs. You rub a soothing palm across your chest, in the hopes that it will calm your spiking anxiety. But you only feel your heart growing more erratic in your chest, and the sound of it only makes you panic ten times fold.

You’ve just woken up. You can hear the water running in the shower. Minho has stayed over since you both studied late into the night. You listen intently, a small breath of relief escaping your mouth when the water turns off. He’s okay.

You drag a hand tiredly across your face, before shaking your head left and right. You’ll have a good day, you’ll open the blinds and the golden sun will stream through your windows, and you’ll feel okay.

You don’t.

The dread lingers in your being throughout the day, making the simple act of walking weigh heavily on your bones. You try to distract yourself, by focusing on your classes and listening to Mina’s rants about her latest date with Jeongin. But to no prevail. So, you surrender to that feeling, today’s a bad day, but tomorrow doesn’t have to be. You’ll make sure of it.

It’s five pm when you finally walk up the stairs of your apartment. Minho went to grab you both something to eat since you’ll be studying again tonight. You wish he’d come home quickly, so you wouldn’t attach your anxiety to him. As long as you see him, then he’s okay.

You open the door, pausing by the front entrance. Something in you tells you to flee, to turn back, and never set foot inside. You don’t listen to it. If you paid attention to everything your mind tells you then you’d never truly live.

You quickly change out of your clothes, before turning on the TV. You mindlessly scroll through the show suggestions, and settle on one you haven’t seen before. You turn up the volume, making sure that the voices of the characters would drown the ones in your mind.

But then, your phone rings. It vibrates from the coffee table, the name of your aunt illuminating your screen. She calls you from time to time, but why is she doing it today? You don’t want to answer, not when there is a bulge in your throat suffocating you.

You watch numbly as the phone call seizes. You breathe out a shaky exhale. You’ll call her tomorrow.

The phone rings again.

You bite your lip harshly, hands shaking as you bring the device to your ear. You’re overreacting, you tell yourself. Nothing’s wrong. Minho will be home soon.

"What’s going on?" you ask immediately, the question slipping out of your mouth before you even thought about it.

Your aunt sighs softly, and then her voice floods your being. It sounds hoarse like she’s been crying. "Look, I…" another sigh, and you imagine her fidgeting with the hem of her dress. She always wore dresses. All seasons mingled. With pretty flowers sewed into them and sometimes even-

"Your mother died in a car accident."

Silence. You can't hear anything after those words are uttered. You know that your TV is still playing in the background and that your aunt is still talking on the phone. But it's completely silent. For five seconds. Where the world stills, as if to allow you a brief moment to process what you just heard.

Your mom. Gone.

But then, sounds crash upon you like a relentless wave. The shatter of the characters in the background, the ticking of your clock, the dull buzz of the refrigerator. And your aunt, she's still talking, telling you about the funeral and when it will be held and you can't believe what you are hearing.

It's all too overwhelming, everything surrounding you is too much to bear so you simply hang up.

You put your phone down on the table. And then you turn it off. That's one sound dealt with.

You turn the TV off and dismantle the clock from your wall so it wouldn't tick anymore. You then unplug your refrigerator. Has its buzzing always been this loud? You wonder. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Now it’s silent. It's what you crave.

Minho will come home soon. You should make him something to eat. You think to yourself. A fruit salad. It's warm outside and the fruits are refreshing.

So, you grab a knife from your drawer, and then you start peeling an orange. Then an apple. It's rugged, and half the fruit is wasted with the peel. You've never really known how to peel the skin properly. So, you put the knife down. The blade is slightly red, you notice. There is blood oozing from your finger. You cut yourself. But it doesn't hurt, so you leave it be.

Light floods your apartment, a stark contrast to the shadows within you. But you want it to be dark, and silent. You already took care of that last part. So, you pull down all the blinds and turn off the lights one by one. Now it's pitch black. Now it's quiet.

You sit on the floor, running your hand across the tiles. You count them, one, two, three. When is Minho coming home?

The floor is cold underneath you, the sensation heightened since your every other sense is muffled. You can't see, you can't hear, but you can still touch. You wished you couldn't anymore. The smallest sensation overstimulates you.

The front door unlocks, but you don't hear someone coming in. You imagine Minho standing by the door, looking around in the dark. It's okay, he'll find you. He always does.

"Honey?" he calls out and you reply from the living room, "I’m here."

You don't have to yell, it's quiet enough for your voice to be carried around your home with ease.

Minho has his flashlight on, you notice. He's looking for you and he finally spots you on the ground. You move a strand of your hair behind your ear, and you feel something warm smear across your cheek. You forgot about your cut- a reminder of the pain lurking beneath the surface, waiting patiently to consume you.

"Baby?" His tone is soft and careful, and you can see the worry brewing in his brown eyes. Why was he worried? You're okay. Nothing happened.

"I made you a fruit salad. It's in the kitchen. Can you please turn off the light?"

"Okay." His voice is calm, and you don't mind him talking. You could bear it. He was different after all, to you.

He’s pulled into the abyss with you, as he sits down next to your rigid figure. His hand rests on top of your pinkie, but you recoil from it. Not because you hate it, but his hand is warm and the floor beneath you is cold. That's a contrasting sensation. You don't want that. You just want a stillness, to feel like a straight line. Straight lines are always sure of themselves, of where they're going. You were tired of feeling like a bent one at the hands of the universe.

"What happened, baby?"

"Nothing."

"Okay. What did you do when I left, hm?"

"Nothing much. I was watching this new show, I think you’ll like it. And then my aunt called. She told me my mom died in a car accident. And then I went to the kitchen and I cut up some fruits. But I didn't know how to peel them. Can you believe it?" you giggle, your voice suddenly high-pitched. "I mean who- who doesn’t know how to peel the skin of an apple? Isn't that such a basic skill?" You're laughing now, you don't know what's funny, but you're laughing.

"And I cut my finger, but I didn't feel anything, Minho. I don't- I don't feel anything," you're still giggling, hot tears trailing down your cheeks rapidly. "My mother died and I don't feel anything. Why- why can't I feel anything? Minho, I can't- I can't-" You're hyperventilating, words straining to come out of your mouth. The breath is knocked out of you and white spots cloud your vision, like the stars that dance around Minho’s eyes. They seem kind enough so you don't fight them. You want to welcome them in the hopes that they'd take this unbearable weight off of you.

"Yn, yn, breathe for me, baby. Listen to my voice," Minho calls out and it's as if you're pulled in two opposing directions. He sounds scared, so you try to do as he says. You don’t want him to worry about you.

"You're doing so well, breathe with me, okay? Breathe in... Breathe out... Perfect, let's do it again," he instructs and you try your best to follow suit. You can feel yourself shaking, your hands moving as if they have a mind of their own. You are cold, too cold, and you can't help but wonder if it's how your mother is feeling right now too.

The thought seems to drive you over the edge and you let out a guttural sob. It racks from within you, reverberating from the depths of your splitting soul. It's a pain unlike any you've ever felt. You try to find something to compare it to, a sensation you imagine must hurt the same. But you can't find any. You can't find a metaphor to make the pain more bearable.

So instead, you let out a heart-wrenching scream, slicing through the silence you tried desperately to maintain. Your throat aches from the strain on your vocal cords but you pay it no mind, not when there is a pain bursting open every seam of yours, undoing every thread you so carefully stitched back into your soul.

Amidst your pitch-black apartment, you see yourself quivering in the corner, head buried in your hands. And then it’s thirteen years old you sitting there, the one who wished for something so horrible to happen on the birthday she spent alone, yet again. Your wish came true, you want to tell her. You tried to take it back, but it came true.

Minho gathers you in his arms, and you clung to him. You know he's trying to wrap you up the best he can, his arms around your back and his legs pressed on you. He's trying his best to stop you from falling apart. From breaking beyond the point of no return. And you think to yourself that you've passed it. You've passed it and he's clinging helplessly into your remains now.

✹✹✹

The funeral went by in a blur, its details elusive in your memory. At times it felt like a fever dream, a mirage conjured by your mind. And sometimes you tried to believe it, to lull yourself into a comfortable thought. Where you don't talk with your mom and she doesn't know how you are doing, but she's still alive. On the other side of the country. She's still breathing.

But this fleeting comfort is quickly shattered. The thought barely lingers, like a whisper in the wind, never staying long enough for you to finally draw in a full breath. Because the grief clings onto your skin, and you carry it with you everywhere, like a stench that won’t quite leave you. You wonder if other people can smell it on you too.

Minho hasn't left your side, once. He's always next to you. His hands are resting on your back or brushing your cheek tenderly. They are always near. And you hold them tightly. You practically memorized the lines etched on his palm. It's all you stared at during the funeral.

It felt wrong and unjust to be somewhere where everybody knew your mother, except for you. You felt as if you were left out, robbed of happy memories to mourn as well. So, you remained silent, gaze fixed intently on Minho's palm. And he didn't mind; he never does when it comes to you.

He's gentle with you, he's always been, but he's particularly gentle with you these weeks. The countless times he's cared for you blur together- his soapy hands skimming your body, massaging the shampoo into your hair when your limbs felt too heavy to move; the meals he cooked for you, making sure that each bite was cool enough before feeding it to you. How he always told you he was proud of you, at random times throughout your days. ‘What for?’ you wanted to scream, ‘I'm barely alive as it is’. "For breathing," he'd add as if he heard the thoughts swirling in your mind. "For being here. For waking up today."

He did your laundry and he folded your clothes. Sometimes he even picked your outfits and dressed you in the morning. Leaving pecks all over your face after each worn clothing. You wanted to smile, to tell him how much you loved him. How his love felt like a sun ray peeking through the cell hole of a prisoner. But you couldn't speak. So, you hoped he knew.

He unburdened you of all these mundane tasks, so you'd focus on other ones. Like attending classes and taking notes and writing essays. Because as much as you wished for it, the world did not pause for your sorrow. In the grand tapestry of existence, where did you stand exactly? You were nothing but a mere speck of light. Your emotions, as profound as they were to you, did not hold the power to halt the world's march, to compel universal mourning.

But Minho made your world stop, just like he promised, almost a year and a half ago. When you finally found your voice, he'd listen to you talk, your head on his lap, his fingers weaving through your hair gently.

"I feel like I’m mourning two people. The person I knew and the person she could have been," you told him one night and he hummed, listening intently to you.

"The what-ifs are killing me Minho. It feels like I’m suffocating each time I think of what could have been. She left so suddenly. But she should've stayed. Maybe our relationship would've gotten better."

"Maybe… or maybe not, you can never truly know. And it’s not your job to find the answers to the questions she left behind. Maybe she didn’t even have them herself."

You appreciated how his hand never left yours, as you journeyed through seas of uncharted emotions. The anger- that came with her leaving so abruptly, leaving you behind with a heavy baggage to dissect. The sadness- from losing the woman who will always be part of you. Because we don't kill our hopeful past selves, we simply bury them and they remain just under the surface of our souls, a testament to everything we've been through.

The nostalgia- that creeps in from time to time, conjuring rose-tinted memories in your head. Maybe her voice was softer here. She did ask about your day one time. Wasn't that her sitting on the benches in your musical play? But it wasn't, it was just your brain trying to soften the harshness of losing her.

It is how our minds cope with grief, your therapist says. Minho convinced you to go see one. Because love doesn't mend everything. And he needed you to be okay again, for yourself.

He's always waiting for you after your sessions end. With coffee and a fresh pastry. You didn't eat them at first, because they tasted bland and you'd rather not waste them. But one time you bit into the strawberry muffin and it tasted sweet and citrusy. And you smiled at Minho.

He stared at you in awe that day, and then he kissed you softly, pressing his pillowy lips against yours. His eyes mirrored galaxies, tears tracing constellations down his cheeks. "You look so pretty when you smile," he whispered tenderly and you felt emotion bubbling within you, stuck in your throat. But you didn’t want to cry. So, you only smiled more brightly at his words, and you kept his compliment stored safely within you, right beside every sweet gesture of his since that day.

Minho didn’t have the answers to all your questions. He didn’t always know what to say to make it feel right. But he stayed there, he tried his best, to heal parts of you that you never knew could be bruised.

You tried one day, to go through the day normally. You woke up, opened the blinds, and then you made Minho breakfast. You ate lunch with Mina, making some jokes here and there. And when you saw Chan in the line of the coffee shop, you went up to him to talk.

And then you got home and showered, put on makeup, and waited for Minho to come to you. As soon as he opened the door, you were on him, hands busy unbuttoning his shirt, your lips pressed wildly on top of his. You missed him, missed the way he made you forget as he touched you, everywhere. As he showed you how much he loved you.

"I want you, please," you whispered, your lips grazing the shell of his ear, your hands roaming across his chest. Your tone was begging and Minho could feel the urgency in it, so he nodded, he could never say no to you. He watched as you guided him to the couch, as you straddled his lap. You kissed his neck and he tilted it back to give you more of an opening. His hands were on your thighs, cautious. Your lips on him felt heavenly but he couldn’t allow himself to get lost in the pleasure, he had to keep an eye on you.

You were urgent, with the way you sucked the tender skin above his collarbones, how you grinded your hips into his. As if you were on borrowed time and you had to make him reach his high as fast as possible.

"Tell me you’re mine," you muttered, between the kisses you imprinted onto his chest. He could see the lipstick stains you left behind as if you needed to mark him up for everyone to see.

"I'm yours," he says, his hand smoothing the top of your hair. He could sense that something was wrong now, because your eyes were glazed over, and your kisses were getting sloppy, as if your mind was somewhere else. So, he grabs your hips to pause you. "I'm yours, angel. You hear me?"

"Tell me you won’t leave, tell me you’re staying," you take his hands away from your sides, clasping them in a tight hold. You capture his lips in a desperate kiss, and Minho can feel the tears streaming down your face. "Tell me you’ll stay, please, I can’t- can’t lose you too."

"Hey, hey, love. It’s okay, calm down," Minho easily frees his hand from your grasp, bringing you closer to his chest. It’s all it takes for you to start sobbing. "Who said anything about losing me? I’m still here, I won’t ever leave you," he shushes, his voice sounding like honey to your ears. It manages to muffle the sound of your erratic heartbeat.

"I'm so so tired Minho, so tired," you sob, burying your head in his chest. You felt as if there was pain igniting the end of each of your nerves. You couldn't run away from it because the pain became you. "I try to be strong, but I can't. It hurts to wake up and- and to try to go on as if nothing happened. The thoughts in my head don't ever stop and I can't- I can't do this anymore. Please make it stop. Make it stop hurting," you press your palm onto your chest, a useless attempt to soothe the burn within.

Why did it feel as if in your attempts to put out the fire raging within you, you only ended up fueling it even more?

"I would- I would if I could but I can't do that, I wish I could-" his tone is desperate, raw pain dripping from it.

"What if I'm not strong enough to do it myself?" you cut him off, finally asking the question that's been haunting you. "What if I can't fill this hole within me and it keeps on growing until it swallows me whole?"

Minho tightens his hold on you, rocking you gently in place, trying to lull your heart to sleep, so it'd stop hurting, even for a moment, even for a second. You know it's selfish to expect him to have all the answers, but he's all you have. He's the only voice you can bear listening to.

"I can't promise you that you'll ever fill the void left by her absence. It will keep on bleeding and throbbing, begging for a temporary patch-up. But one day it'll stop, it can't bleed forever. And around that hole flowers will bloom, like a sanctuary, watered by your overflowing love. Because it is your love that's hurting you, not your anger. Do not kill your heart to stop feeling, please. It will do that on its own, it won't hurt more than it can bear."

"It will take time. And if you run out of your time, I'll give you mine too. You aren't alone in this, we are a binary star, right?" he smiles softly and you nod slightly against his chest. "I read that to the invisible eye, they look like a singular star. I hope that to the universe we'd look like one person too, so they'd pass some of your pain to me."

✹✹✹

It’s been a few months since your mother died. You didn’t like the term passing away, because it entails that it was gentle, in passing, as if you were expecting it. But her death was sudden and it made your entire world flip upside down.

"Would you like to talk to her?" Minho suggested one night, his knuckles brushing against your cheek softly.

"Will you come with me?" you ask quietly.

"Of course. If you want me to, that is."

"I can try."

Minho drove you to the graveyard the following weekend. It felt weird to see her name etched on the grave, a reminder that this was all real and not a figment of your imagination.

"I'm not a daughter anymore." You speak after a while, tone coated in sadness, and acceptance. "But I think I’ve never truly been one, since you were never a mother to me."

"Is it weird, that I miss you? I don't even know what I miss exactly since you were never there. But I miss you. I miss having a mother. And I'm sorry, that you were so angry at the world you couldn't find it in you to love me." You pause, blindly reaching out to hold Minho's hand. He grabs it instantly. "But I won't carry your anger anymore. I don't want to be mad at you, for leaving so suddenly. I want to be happy. I deserve to be happy. And I hope that you are too, wherever you are now."

You turn around, a small smile gracing your lips, and Minho wastes no time in wrapping you in his arms, your cheek resting against his shoulder. He's proud of you, the emotion shines clear as day in his eyes.

"I wanna take you somewhere," he tells you and you nod, wrapping your arm securely around his waist.

The drive is short and you recognize the place fairly easily. It's the hill you told him about a long time ago, the one that held your happiest memory with your mother.

You both sit on the bench, your head finding solace on his shoulder. The view unfolding in front of you is still as breathtaking, and with each passing moment, the tightness in your chest seems to ease. Memories of your mother and this serene spot intertwine like delicate vines, bringing you a bittersweet sense of comfort. Because mourning someone isn't straightforward, not when humans are this complex, never strictly good or bad.

"Cold?" Minho asks and you shake your head no. "You're a human heater."

"Only near you," he smirks and you giggle slightly.

"I remember your hands used to be so cold."

"So, I could find an excuse to hold yours."

"Are you flirting with me?" you chuckle and he nods, a proud smile on his face. "Is it working?"

"I haven't run away yet, so I suppose it is." There is a newfound lightness in your voice, one you’ve been achingly missing for the past months.

"Come here," he taps his lap with his hands and you promptly lay your head on it.

"Look at the sky," he instructs and you do as he says, squinting your eyes. "What am I supposed to see?" you giggle, but then you feel it, the faintest snowflake falling on your nose tip.

"Go away, I don't want to watch the first snow with you," you tilt your head towards Minho, who's watching you, a soft smile on his face.

You giggle at the distant memory, when you both left Limbo, two years ago. The first time Minho rewrote your memories.

"As if I could ever love you, that'd just be signing a death warrant," you repeat your words from that night, a knowing smile on your face.

"How's that death warrant going?"

"Horrible, so so horrible," you say as you intertwine his hand with yours, squeezing it lightly.

"Mm. I suppose we can't be the exception to the superstition."

"How unfortunate," you smile as he leans down to press a kiss on your forehead, before looking back at the sky again.

He looks perfect from your view. You can clearly see the mole on his nose, the pucker of his rosy lips, and his long eyelashes framing his eyes. You are overcome by a feeling of love for the man beside you, and you stand up from your place to pull him in for a deep kiss.

"What was that for?" he smiles once you lean away, his fingers gently grazing your lips.

"Thank you, for today and for every day since I've met you."

"Of course, my love. You took a big step today, what color are you feeling right now?"

"Whatever color loving you is."

✹✹✹

Hills covered in verdant hues, rows of flowers bursting with vibrant colors, stretching before your eyes. The birds are chirping somewhere near, intermingling with the faint melody of the wind brushing against your skin.

"Here," Minho comes from behind, placing his knit jacket on top of your shoulders. Its warmth seeps through you, and you lean your back against his chest, melting into his embrace. His arms encircle your chest, resting comfortably on top of your heart as if guarding it from harm.

You feel your breathing slow down as you both look out the window. You are somewhere far from the city and its buzzing lights, a small white cottage surrounded by nature, where only you and Minho exist.

Minho nuzzles his chin on your shoulder, placing a chaste kiss under your ear. A light giggle escapes your mouth, as goosebumps rise upon your skin. Your body still reacts as sweetly to Minho, proofs of his love imprinted all over you. His touch is familiar to you but still as soothing, never losing its effect on you. You believe it never will, even when you're both withering down; his touch will still be the only thing making you bloom.

"This is nice," he whispers, sighing softly and you nod against him, raising your hand to settle on top of his. His fingers instinctively find your wedding ring, playing with it as they've done for the past two years.

"It's always nice with you," you say and he smiles softly, squeezing your hand lightly. You remember how it felt when he held it for the first time. How he hasn't let go since. It was only ever his to hold.

"We did well, don't you think? For our first time being alive."

His words make a gentle warmth stir within you. It is your first life, and you're lucky enough to spend it with him.

"We did," you turn around, to find him already looking down at your figure, a fond smile on his face. "To think we probably wouldn't be together if it wasn't for our law classes."

"No," he shakes his head, hands gently cupping your cheeks. "I would've found you. On a random evening when you'd stumble onto Limbo. In the supermarket where you'd buy your cherry shampoo. In the park you used to play in as a kid. I would've found you."

You've once read that when humans are about to pass away, a film of their happiest memories plays in front of their eyes. You know that many years down the road when you're on the brink of going away, you'll remember this moment clearly in your head. You'll remember the cicadas chirping far away, and the zesty smell of the lemon muffins you made earlier today. You'll remember the cold breeze ruffling your hair, and Minho’s warm hands on you. And you'll sigh contently, from having lived a life filled with love.

"My soul is dipped in yours. It will always find you too."

1K notes · View notes

baby-yongbok · 11 months ago

Text

Boyfriend!Hwang Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

⇝ Genre: Angst then Smut then angst again. Dirty Drama.

⇝ Summary: We all have that one toxic person that we can’t let go of.

⇝ Warnings: Cheating , Arguing/Yelling, Dry Humping, Crying, Hyunjin is toxic - the manipulative type. (I think that's all, let me know if I missed anything!)

⇝ Word Count: 2.9k

⇝ A/N: I'm sorry in advance. I live for the drama, I'm so so sorry. My depresso has been prompting me to write angst and this is what I came up with today. It might be intense? I don't know honestly. All I know is that writing angst makes me happy lol + reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡ I hope that you enjoy! Please don't hate me 💕

✧ Part II ✧ Masterlist ✧

It started with him forgetting coffee dates. The small chunks of time that the two of you carved out of your day to spend with each other quickly turned into bottled Starbucks drinks and ignored texts while you made your way to work. He said that it was because of his schedule and Hyunjin would never lie to you.

Next were your nightly video calls. The two hours that you’d spend talking about your days and making future plans morphed into double and triple texting him until he replies with a lackluster night time send off and a declaration of love that you have no choice but to imagine leaving his lips. You haven’t heard from him in forever but it��s okay, you can fix this.

You’re an artist, a digital artist for a living but a painter as a hobby. This trait is one of the many things that you and Hyunjin bonded over so when you proposed that the two of you do Paint and Sip dates on Friday nights he was all in. Everything was fine for a couple of weeks, you’d pick the picture and you’d both get to painting while you listen to your shared Spotify playlist. You’d talk and laugh while sipping whatever wine he brought with him, everything was finally feeling normal again but there was one thing that kept bothering you.

His phone.

It kept blowing up, vibrating, dinging and lighting up throughout the night. You’ve always understood that Hyunjin is a busy guy and his friends may need to reach him at odd hours of the night but there was something more to what you saw. He would ignore a message or two from Jeongin or even decline Chan’s calls from time to time but whenever his phone lit up with that damned flower icon he’d drop his brush like his life depended on it.

You figured that as long as he’s here with you everything is fine. You never liked to micro manage and you're not the jealous type so snooping around wasn’t something that you were very into, until he canceled on you. Again. This is the third week that he’s said that something has come up and that he’ll be over at your place late. When you read his text you were already staring at his laptop wondering if it was really necessary to snoop through his cloud and read his texts. Surely he had a reasonable explanation for this right? Hyunjin would never lie to you. Right? You wanted to be right so badly and when you opened the computer, put in his password and clicked on the cloud you found out that you couldn’t be more wrong.

“What are you still doing up?” Hyunjin asked as he tiptoed into your bedroom. You were sitting at your desk with your phone in your hand, staring at your screen.

“How was your night?” You ask as you swipe on your phone, your eyes never leave the screen but Hyunjin doesn’t seem to notice.

“It was fine, got a lot done.” He turns towards your closet door but stops when he processes the mess around him. “Are these my clothes?”

“Yeah, you’re going to pack all of that along with whatever else you have around here and you’re going to leave.” He stares at you with pinched brows and then he takes in his scattered belongings again.

“What?”

“You’re going to pack your shit.” You stand from your chair, glaring at him with narrow eyes. “And you’re going to go stay with her.”

You can practically hear him choke on his inhale once your words hit his ear. “Who are you talking about?”

“I can always make time for you just give me the date and the place.” You read from the screenshots illuminating your screen as you stalk towards him. “I hate when you ignore me, you know how much your attention means to me.”

“Stop it.” He turns to face you completely, watching you with worried eyes glazed with guilt.

“It doesn’t matter who I’m seeing, you know that you come first.” You project your voice so that it echoes off of every surface, he doesn’t get to avoid this. “Call me, I need to hear my baby.”

“How did you find those, you -” He sighs as you cut him off, practically yelling the next message.

“You left too many hickies to cover this time, I’ll return the favor on Friday.”

“Enough of that, enough.” His tone tries to match yours but it fails, falling off into a pitiful whisper at the end. “You went through my computer?”

He looks over at you with a cocktail of disbelief and disgust smeared over his features but you’re more than sure that the look on your face has got him beat. “ You’re fucking your ex.”

“It’s not like that, it's -” You cut him off, taking a wide step towards him.

“It’s not like that? You’re begging her for her time. You’re texting her every minute of every day. You’re fucking her and then coming here and fucking me, Hyunjin.”

“I know, okay I get that you’re mad, I’m sorry I just can’t let her go yet. It’s like there’s a piece of me that only she has possession of and no matter how much I try to ignore it I just can’t.” He runs his hands through his hair, his eyes taking in the way that your gaze cuts into him.

“It’s been a year. I’ve been with you for an entire year. When did you have time to start this? How long have you been fucking her?” He shakes his head, turning towards the bedroom door to escape the situation in front of him. You follow hot on his trail, repeating your question. “How long?” You ask over and over until he finally snaps, yelling his answer in the middle of the living room.

“A couple of months, I don’t know five or six? Maybe even seven I don’t fucking know.” You scoff as rage floods through your veins and you pick up the nearest object and chuck it at him with all of the force you can muster. He dodges it easily but he doesn’t have as much luck with the remote that follows the path of the last item. “ Yara, stop it.”

The hiss in his voice turns into a loud gasp once he realizes his mistake. “Excuse me?” He called you by her name. His ex's name.

“Fuck, I- I didn’t mean to call you that, angel, I swear it’s because we’re talking about her. That’s all. You’re not her, you’re so much better I swear. Let’s just - just talk about this okay?”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I want you out of my house, now. I’m done, Hyunjin. I’ve been begging for your attention for months and you’re off giving it to someone who’s using you for sex and attention. I did so much, I’ve done everything, but clearly you love fucking so much that you fucked me over. Are you proud of that shit? Are you happy?” He takes a couple of slow steps over to you as you stand there, chest heaving and heart heavy with the sadness that has allowed your burning anger to be the star of the show until now. Maybe if he shows you that he wants you, maybe if he says that you two can fix this you’ll consider believing him.

We all have that one toxic person that we can’t let go of. He’s not at fault for being bound to her so tightly, even if he broke your heart in the process.

“Listen, angel, I love you so much. I want to be with you, I really do, no one else has fought for me and my time like you have. I don’t want to lose that, please let’s just talk about this. I’ll do anything for you, I swear.” Your glare softens, call it wishful thinking or maybe you’re blinded by the desperate burn of love in your chest but you believe him. You believe him just enough to let him splay his long fingers over the curve of your hip and pull you closer to him.

“Why do you need me if you have her?” You stare at the middle of his chest, watching it rise and fall.

“Because you love me in a way that she never could and never will.” He leans down, pressing a kiss to your temple as he brings his other hand to your waist. “She doesn’t see me like you do.”

He kisses over the shell of your ear, making his way down your neck. Your body is pressed against his as his hand kneads at the swell of your ass and he runs his tongue over the sensitive skin of your neck. You exhale heavily, bringing your hands up to rest on his biceps. You want to push him away, you want to get to the bottom of this and talk to him, so why are you pulling him closer? Why are you allowing small moans to leave your lips as he hypnotizes you into forgetting what he’s been doing to you.

“Hyunjin, stop it.” Your voice falters on the last word, giving way to the whimper fighting to escape your throat.

“Push me away.” He whispers into your ear, his soft lips brushing against the shell of it and setting your nerves on fire. “If you mean it then push me away.”

He stops everything, he doesn’t kiss you or squeeze you, you can hear the soft sound of his breathing and feel the gentle beating of his heart as his chest is pressed against your own. You can’t do this, you shouldn’t do this, your brain is screaming at you. You know better than to fall for this, push him away, now. Do it.

“Don’t stop.” Your eyes flutter shut when he squeezes your ass again, pressing your hips into his so that the bulge in his pants pokes your belly button as it twitches in anticipation.

“Say it again.” He plants a whisper of a kiss over your temple. “Say it again, angel, say my name.”

“Don’t stop, Hyunjin, please.” His kisses get sloppier as he gets closer to your lips, he plants a sloppy kiss to the corner of your mouth before catching your lips with his plump ones. You sigh into him, your hands fisting his shirt as your tongue tangles with his. He moans into your mouth, his hands tracing your hips as he takes some steps back, leading you both to the couch.

“Tell me that you forgive me, baby.” He sits once the frame of the couch hits the back of his legs, dragging you down with him so that you're straddling his hips. His bulge pressed firmly into your dripping heat and you can’t help but to grind against him. Before you can settle into a steady rhythm Hyunjin grips your hips, holding you still against him. “Tell me.”

“I forgive you.” You mumble, the words sound just fine when they roll off of your tongue. They taste sweet as you lick your lips, staring into your lover's eyes defeatedly. You’re too deep into the brain fog, too desperate to feel the love that you’ve been chasing for months. You’d say anything just to feel Hyunjin touch you. You’d do anything to keep him here.

“I knew you would.” He smiles up at you, starting to guide your hips against him. You throw your head back, your face contorting into a mask of pleasure. Hyunjin's fingers trace your jawline, sending chills down your spine. You close your eyes, allowing him access to any part of you he desires. “You need me too. Just like I need you, don’t you?”

You nod your head, picking up the rhythm of your hips as he starts to roll into you, matching your pace flawlessly. “I do, oh my god, I missed you.” You babble into the hot air as your hands find purchase on his shoulders. You can feel the night scarf covering your hair slip over the crown of your head and fall to the floor, your unruly hair frames your face and Hyunjin can’t help but to moan at the sight.

“I missed my pretty baby too.” He grunts, eyebrows pinching together as he watches where your clothed cores press into each other. “Oh, fuck, I missed you so much.”

His hands are all over you as you move against him like he’s trying to memorize the pattern of your skin. He’s reintroducing himself with every pulse point that he can reach, lighting every inch of your skin aflame with desire. “Tell me your mine. Tell me you love me, please, please say it.”

“I’m all yours, angel. All fucking yours.” His hips buck up into you as your movements become more sloppy, your climax is dangling right in front of your face. It’s burning in the pit of your stomach, a strangled moan drags from your lips as you get closer to it.

“Again p-please, please, so close ‘s so close Jinnie, again.” Your nails dig into his shoulder, whimpers following your fucked out sentence as your eyes watch Hyunjin. You watch how he bites the tip of his tongue as he gets lost in this bubble of pleasure with you. Your own perfect shield of hot desire.

“I love you.” He moans, throwing his head back against the couch, his grip on your hip tightens. The strength of his grasp is brushing yet delicious. “I’m yours. I’m all -”

The melodic sound of Hyunjin’s phone ringing cut him off before he could finish his sentence. His head snaps up as his eyes widen and he stops moving against you. “Get off.”

You whimper, confused eyes staring down at him through your fucked out fog. “Angel, move.” He pushes you to the side much rougher than he intended and you watch him as he stands quickly, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and swiping the green button immediately.

“Hey.” He clears his throat trying his best to not sound like he was seconds away from coming in his pants. “Yeah I can do that, just give me like twenty minutes, okay?”

You listen, coming out of your haze just enough to process the situation. That ringtone sounded familiar, it’s the one that he always answers… It's her.

“Hyunjin.” You reach forward, grabbing his wrist but he pulls away, glancing back at you for just a second before turning his attention back to the phone call.

“Nothing, that’s no one, I’m on my way.” You scoff, watching as he ends the call and starts to frantically fix his clothes. “I have to go something um - something came up.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.” Hyunjin ignores you, making his way over to your bedroom with you following close behind, a mirror image of what happened minutes ago. “You’re going to her?

“She said that she needs me and I don’t -”

“You just told me that you were mine. You just said that, Hyunjin.” You grab his wrist, prompting him to turn to you. He stares down at you with furrowed brows and glassy eyes like he’s in a fog, like he’s been hypnotized to follow a specific instruction.

“And you said that you forgive me.” He reaches up to cup your cheek and your body melts into his touch before you can even fully process it. “I’ll be back tomorrow, angel. I’ll be yours tomorrow.”

His touch is gone just as fast as it came, leaving you with an empty ache in your chest as you watch him grab his bag and jacket. You stay rooted in place, feeling like your heart has been ripped out of your chest. “Hyunjin.”

There’s a tremble in your voice as you say his name but he doesn’t seem to mind, it’s like he didn’t even hear you. “I love you.” He leans in to kiss your temple but misses completely, planting a half hearted peck against your hair as he rushes towards the door. You watch as he leaves, quiet and stunned. There are a million thoughts going through your head but you still feel unable to process what had just happened. The sound of the front door closing is what draws you out of your thoughts.

The silence surrounding you allows room for the reality of the situation to echo around you, bouncing off of the walls and drowning you in this painfully unfamiliar feeling in your chest. You take a sharp inhale as tears start to prick at the back of your eyes. What was supposed to be a stable step towards your bed leaves sinking against its frame. You find yourself grasping one of Hyunjin’s shirts on the floor beneath you, your eyes trail from that garment to the next frantically. He’s everywhere. You can smell him, the soft cotton of the shirt makes you feel like you can feel the beating of his heart beneath it. Tears blur your vision as you sob into the fabric, clutching onto it like it’s all that you have left of him. Maybe it is. You gasp, a choked sob struggling past your lips as the true weight of the moment finally settles on your shoulders.

We all have that one toxic person that we can’t let go of.

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thetriumphantpanda · 11 months ago

Text

i only wanna worship you | javier peña

Take The Weight Off His Shoulders - Chapter Seven

Chapter Summary | When a promising lead for your story turns to dust, you find comfort in the only person you know can make you feel better these days.

Chapter Warnings | mentions and discussions of drugs, drug consumption and the drug trade, swearing, flirting, explicit smut, oral sex (f), protected piv sex but nothing else.

Pairing | dbf!Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word Count | 4.4K

Authors Note | GUYS I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. Thank you so much for being so patient - my new job and the festive period kicked my ass, but we're back, and it's the one you've all been waiting for! I'm having so much fun weaving in the story along with these guys' relationship, and I hope it was worth the wait for you. If you're enjoying this then reblogs and comments really do help and if you’d like to support me further, please consider a donation to my Ko-Fi.

I no longer use taglists. Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs to be notified of new updates.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Series Playlist

You’ve been sat in the parking lot for what feels like ages. Turning up at the office that morning, you’d stared blankly at the article you’d written, listening to your managers voice in your head telling you that you could go and get your story, swirling the dregs of your coffee in your mug. It was almost like a switch had flicked in your brain and before your head could catch up with you, you were stuffing your supplies into your bag and swiping your car keys off the desk.

Now, your car is surrounded by others in the parking lot of Laredo’s biggest factory - one of the towns biggest employers of people who hadn’t gotten sick of it and left for college and never come back - waiting for Tyler Johnson to appear out of the front doors for his lunch break.

You watch the clock on your dashboard, counting exactly seventeen further minutes until his tall, lanky frame comes through the door. He’s fishing in his jeans pocket, pulling out a cigarette. He leans up against a brick wall just down from the front door, lighting the cigarette and taking a long drag. It’s now or never.

You get out of your car, deciding against taking your notepad and pen, you don’t want to spook him before you’ve had a chance to talk. You can feel the familiar nervous bubble in your stomach, something that hasn’t gone away when you blindly go up to someone to interrogate them.

“Tyler?”

He turns his head towards your voice as you come to a stop a few steps away from him.

“Depends who’s asking,” He looks you up and down, “But for you honey, sure thing,” He puts the cigarette into his mouth, reaches his hand out for you to shake which you do, “What can I help with?”

You take a deep breath, the speech you’d rehearsed in the car suddenly blanked from your mind as you try and figure out how to explain to him why you’re here.

“This is so strange, but can you remember hosting a party a few months ago?” You ask, “It was in town?”

You watch him think for a second, taking another drag on his cigarette, “Yeah I think so, was pretty wild if I remember, were you there?”

You reply with a nod, “Yeah, with my friend Liv,” You sigh, “Listen, I’m not trying to pry or anything, but you know that place was raided a few days ago, right?”

“Whole place knows it was raided,” He shrugs, “Been the talk of the town.”

“Right,” You’re thinking, how can you catch him in the act? “So, why were you hosting a party in a house that was empty, that was then raided for drugs?”

“Family own it,” He shrugs again, “Guy who rented it died and it needed doing up before we could get someone else in, so seemed like the best place to do it.”

“And the drugs?” You push.

“Listen, lady,” His tone sharpens but he doesn’t move towards you, you don’t feel threatened, “I haven’t got a clue as to why there were drugs there, okay? I haven’t been there since the party.”

“So you have no idea how they got there?”

“Not the faintest.”

“So it wasn’t you?”

“What the hell is this, twenty fucking questions?” He sighs again, flicks his finished cigarette to the ground, stamping on it with his boot, “I don’t know anything about the drugs, I’ve never taken drugs, I can’t even if I wanted to, we get tested here for them.”

“When was the last time you got tested?” You ask, eyebrows raised.

Tyler snorts at you, “You and everyone else in this fucking town are so predictable,” He shakes his head, “Just because I’m not a golden boy like my brother means I take drugs?” You’re about to open your mouth to reply when he started talking again, “I got tested about three weeks ago, and then probably six weeks before that too, clean as a whistle, always have been.”

“Do you have the test results?”

“You think I’m gonna show my drug test results to a random girl?”

You nod your head because it his trepidation makes sense, “I’m a journalist,” You finally let on, “I wrote a story about the drug bust but figured there was probably more to it than first meets the eye so I’m just digging around a little,” You shrug, “If you show me, it puts you in the clear though, means people’ll stop talking about you.”

Tyler rolls his eyes but starts walking towards a car. You follow behind him, waiting as he unlocks it and looks through the glove compartment, pulling out a couple of pieces of paper. He hands them to you, which you look through and just like he said, there are the result of his last three random drug tests, everything negative. Fuck. You try not to let your disappointment show as you hand them back.

“Sorry,” You mumble, “I’m just trying to get to the bottom of what’s going on here.”

“S’alright,” Tyler responds, putting everything back in order to lock his car back up, “I know how it is, but just…” He trails off, “Be careful, okay? I don’t know what’s happening either but this could be dangerous.”

“I’m a big girl,” You counter, “I’ll be fine,” You take a few steps back, “Sorry for bothering you though, I hope the rest of your day is alright.”

There is a part of you that would love nothing more than to roll over, push your face into your pillow and scream. When did having meltdowns like that become frowned upon? You’re sure when you were little they were cathartic, but what use was that at three years old? You needed to be able to scream at this age.

Instead, you lie on your bed, staring at the ceiling, frustrated that the one lead you had turned out to be a dead fucking end. Were you wrong about this whole thing the entire time? Were you barking up the wrong tree? Did you just need to cut your losses and publish the story as is, without needing to dig around further? You had no fucking clue.

Before you can think about what you’re doing, you reach over, pluck the phone off your nightstand and press the redial button. You don’t even need to tap in his number anymore, he’s the only number you really call these days. The phone rings three times before he picks up.

“Hello?”

“Javi?” You ask, although you don’t need to, you’d recognise that voice anywhere.

“You alright, cariño?” There is just a sigh that you let out in response, then his voice is back in your ear, “I’ve had enough bad days in my time to know that sigh, what happened?”

“I don’t know,” Is your response, you know you can’t tell him what’s really up because you know the deeper you dig into this, the more dangerous it’s going to get, “Just work stress.”

He’s silent for a moment, “What can I do? I can listen.”

“Can you come over?”

Even over the phone, you can hear him thinking it’s a bad idea. You can hear him thinking about how weird it will look if your parents find him in the house with you on your own, how you’d explain it, even if they didn’t necessarily catch you doing anything.

“They’re out at the moment,” You offer, “Dinner with some people on the force, and I won’t make you stay long, I promise.”

You can hear him do that thing he always does when he’s thinking - clicking his tongue against his teeth. He’s done it for as long as you can remember - a real tell that he’s battling with something in his head.

“I mean, you don’t have to,” You hasten to add, “We can just talk like this if you’d rather.”

“Need someone to make you feel better, huh?” His tone is lower now and it makes you squirm, all you can reply with is a small mmhmm sound, “I’ll be there soon.”

Then all you can hear is the dial tone. You lie there for a moment, listening to the sound through the phone, then glance around your room and panic. You slam the handset back onto the receiver and hop out of bed, dragging the sheets up to make the bed properly, aimlessly throwing abandoned clothes into the laundry basket, shoving half-read books back onto their shelves and generally tidying up enough so as to not look like a total slob.

Once you’re sure there’s nothing on display that you wouldn’t want Javi to see, you pace around the living room, drawing the curtains a little whenever you can see headlights bleeding through, until one set of those headlights are Javi’s truck. He pulls into the drive and sits there, before he’s reversing back out and driving off. Your heart sinks a little, until you can see his frame walking back up the street. You let the curtains fall back into place and stand by the front door, smoothing your hair and your clothes when he knocks twice. You don’t wait, just tear the door open.

“Waiting for me, huh?” He asks, stepping across the threshold, one hand slipping around your waist, the other letting the door close behind him.

“N-no, I was just by the door when you knocked.” You breath, so close to his mouth.

“That so?” He asks, eyebrow raised, “Someone else looking out the curtains then?”

He doesn’t give you the chance to answer. Instead, he dips his face to yours, lips pressed softly to yours. You can feel the aches and the stress leaving your body as he does, you bring your arms up to wrap around his shoulders, as Javi’s palm on your lower back presses you into his body fully.

“Y-you wanna m-maybe go upstairs?” You ask, lips still a hairs breadth from his, you don’t want to look at him whilst you ask.

“Is that what you want?” He asks, free hand cupping your cheek to make you look at him.

“I think so, yes.” You breathe.

“Well then, lead the way cariño.”

I don’t deserve this, is all Javi can think as your hand is clutched in his, leading him into your bedroom. He doesn’t deserve the flutter in his stomach when he looks at you, or the way your eyes look at him like he’s the best thing the world has ever offered you, and he certainly doesn’t deserve the opportunity to do what he thinks you’re going to let him do in the next few hours. All of the bad he’s done, veiled as something good, all of the shit he’s fucked up before, the people’s he’s hurt, the people he’s killed, whether at his own hand or as a knock on from his actions, he doesn’t deserve someone as good as you.

You’re stood at the door to your room, back pressed up against it, hands clasped behind your back as he stands in the middle of your room. He knows you’re nervous, you always are around him, and he wishes he could say something, express that he feels exactly the same around you, that you make him nervous too, but he thinks it would sound wrong if he tried to explain it, so he doesn’t, just holds out his hand and beckons you over to him.

The warmth of your hand slipping into his, the way he knows those hands feel when you touch him, the way your lips are soft when you kiss him, all of it makes him a weak man, a man who knows you need someone with less baggage, because he can’t say no to you, he doesn’t want to say no to you.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks, manoeuvring the two of you so you’re sitting on the edge of your bed.

He watches as you shake your head, “No, it’s honestly nothing, it’ll be fine.”

“What do you want then?”

You lift your head, flash those beautiful eyes at him and instead of fighting the strength to stay upright, he takes a single step towards you and drops to his knees, settled on the floor with your thighs spread to accommodate him. He puts his hands on your knees, looking up at you, and spreads them a little wider.

“This what you want?” He asks, trailing his hands up to your thighs, pushing the hem of your dress up with his hands as he goes, “Something to take your mind off things for a while?”

“Y-yes,” You gasp when his hands hit the material of your underwear wrapped around your hips, “Yes please.”

Javi hooks his fingers into the band of your panties, watching as you lift yourself off the bed a little so he can pull them down. He’s slow with it, making sure that the hem of your dress keeps you covered as he can. It strikes him now how much he wants this, how much he’s craved the opportunity to get you like this so he can really hear you, really see you for once, without having to worry about getting caught.

“You wanna show me that pretty pussy, hermosa?” He speaks lowly into the skin of your thigh he’s nuzzling at.

He watches from between your thighs as your cheek drops to your shoulder, trying to hide how bashful you’ve become, but it does nothing to help the growing bulge in his jeans. Javi lets his fingers push the hem of your dress up your thighs, pooling at your waist, your legs widening.

Javi thinks he might audibly gasp at the way you’re already glistening for him. He leans forward, puckers his lips and presses a single kiss to your clit. It’s gentle, he revels in the small gasp you suck in, then he’s on your properly, tip of his tongue flicking gently against that little bud. He can feel your hand gripping at his hair already, hips moving in time with his mouth, and he wonders if anyone has ever blessed you like this. He needs to know.

He pulls away, letting his thumb gently replace his mouth, looking up at you, “Anyone ever done this for you?”

You shake your head, “No, but even if they had,” You’re biting at your bottom lip, “I don’t think it would have felt like this.”

He can’t help but smirk as he brings his mouth back to you, suckling your clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it, listening to you the way you whine for him, the way you start moving your hips in time with the movements of his mouth again. You taste divine, he thinks, as his tongue drops a little lower, drinking up the slick you’re creating for him, dragging it back up to run over your clit again.

“T-that’s so g-good.” He hears you moan.

“Yeah?” He replies, barely pulling off you.

He hears a noise in reply, lets one of his fingers trace up the skin of your thigh until he’s slowly pushing it inside of you, amazed at how easily you let him in just like he had been in the alley. He slips another in, curls them up gently, moves them until you tip your head back and really cry out for him this time. Javi can tell you’re close - he’s made enough women in his life feel good this way to know the signs - the way you’re tightening around his fingers inside you, the way your hips are moving but your thighs are starting to tighten around his shoulders and the way your moans are louder but more breathy, he’s addicted already, he knows it’s bad, but right now he can’t find it in himself to really care.

“J-javi,” You breathe, fingers gripping at his hair, “I’m gonna-”

“Go on, cariño,” He urges, “You can come for me.”

And you do, God alive you do, and it’s the most wonderful thing he’s ever been party to. Your cunt goes tight as a fist around his fingers, slick drooling down into his palm, he can feel the way you flutter around them as you say his name over and over again in some sort of fucked up prayer, and he thinks about how it would feel around his cock. Your entire body convulses as he works you gently through the aftershocks with his mouth, fingers slipping from inside you to rest, wet and sticky, on your thigh.

All of a sudden, he can feel you gripping his shoulders, pulling at the material to try and drag him up to you.

“Slow down, baby,” He says, but he moves anyway, pushing you back onto the bed, settling himself between your thighs, “We’ve got all night.”

“Javi, please,” You beg, and he doesn’t think he’s heard anything nicer in his life, “I want you,” Your fingers are fumbling with his jeans, trying to move his belt, “Inside me.”

Javi moves, taking your wrists in his hands, pinning them above your head, letting his hips grind into your own, front of his jeans grinding into the soft wet of your sensitive cunt.

“Do you have anything?” He breathes right into your ear, teeth nipping at the lobe.

“Top drawer.” You say quietly, whining when he pushes himself up onto his knees to reach into the draw.

Javi fumbles around a little until the familiar crinkle of foil hits the tips of his fingers. He pulls it out, places it into his mouth as he works to undo his jeans, pushing them down only far enough to free his aching cock. In an ideal world he’d strip the two of you off, but there’s something about this image of you, laid out on the bed in your sinful little sundress, tits heaving as you breathe, that means he just can’t wait.

He almost cries when you reach up, smooth palm stroking at his cock, so slowly he thinks he might die. Tin foil packet between his teeth, he tears it open, rolls it into his cock like it’s muscle memory. He leans back down, feeling the head of his cock nudging at your aching pussy, gathering your wrists back into his hands to pin you down again.

Javi is looking right into your beautiful eyes now, looking at the very soul of you as he stills. He’s damning the both of you to hell with this. He thinks if he’d been stronger, he could have stopped this - sure your mouth around his cock in the bar had been like silk, and the way you’d let him touch you against the brick wall had him seeing stars, but he knows, once he’s sunk himself deep inside you, he won’t be able to come back from this.

“You sure?” He asks, lips pressing softly to your own.

“Please.”

And it’s all he needed to hear to start slowly sinking into you. He watches closely as your eyes flutter closed, head tipped back, throat exposed to his mouth. He listens as he inches in slowly to your panting breaths and your little moans, until he’s buried fully inside you. His hands are gripping at your wrists tightly as he stays still, your hips wiggling underneath him.

“Hermosa,” He pleads, warns with his tone, “Don’t m-move, please.”

Like the devil himself, you don’t listen, and when he pulls his face from the crook of your neck, you’re smirking, you know exactly what you’re doing.

“Javier,” You use his full name and he swears he feels himself throb inside you, “Fuck me.”

He should have known the whole time that this wasn’t going to be a shining star performance, it’s been too long since he’s felt like this, felt the warmth of someone like this, but he knows this is different, he knows that look in your eye, not quite love, definitely not quite love, but it’s something different to the girls of Colombia. He can’t offer you a lifeline, he can’t offer you money to get yourself out of a country that’s trying to kill you, they needed him for something, and he needed them for something in return. But here, he just needs you, no whistles, no bells, just you.

Pushing himself up a little, letting go of his grip on your wrists, he puts his palms on the backs of your thighs and pushing your legs back, folding you underneath him as he starts moving a little faster, fucking you a little harder, you let out a proper moan into the air of the room and he finds himself smirking.

“That what you needed, baby?” He coos as he fucks you, feeling himself reach the very end of you with each thrust, “Just needed me to fuck whatever was in that pretty head of yours away?”

He can feel you tightening around his length, can feel the sweat sticking his shirt to his back, and that tell-tale tightening he feels when it’s almost time. He wishes he could hold on, wishes he could string this out, make it better for you, but god he needs to feel you again, he needs to feel the way you come around his cock.

“Touch yourself,” His tonne is demanding, but he watches down at you as you smirk, bringing your hand to your pussy, finger circling your clit as his hips start to falter, “Come on baby, one more just for me.”

It happens all of a sudden, the way your body snaps under him, and that feeling he’s been chasing, the feeling of you clenching around him, arching your back into him. He can feel the effect it has on him, just seconds later he’s following you over the edge, stilling inside of you as he finishes, banishing the tiny thought in the back of his head that says he wishes he was filling you up without a barrier between the two of you.

Once he’s caught his breath a little, he pulls out of you, groaning into your skin, listening to you whine at the loss of him. He takes off the condom, ties a knot in the top, wrapping it along with the packet in a tissue to put in the bin. He puts his clothes right, before crawling back onto the bed with you, pulling you into his chest, sighing at the feeling of your arm draped over his stomach, your leg entwined with his own. He presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Did that help?” He asks quietly.

“Yeah,” You reply softly into the material of his shirt, “Thank you.”

“You feel okay?” He’s slightly worried he was too rough, maybe that you didn’t enjoy it, “Was it okay?”

You move your head, looking up at him with sleepy eyes, “Javi, please,” You whisper, “Stop worrying, it was perfect.”

He lies there for a while, wishing he could strip the two of you down, press your warm bodies together and fall asleep like this is all normal and you aren’t younger than him, or the daughter of one of his closest friends.

“I should go,” He muses, “Not that I want to,” He adds quickly, worried you’ll think he wants to make a quick escape, “Just need to leave before any eyes are around to ask questions.”

You move slightly, letting the warmth of your body drag away from his own, “One day we’ll be able to do this properly, I hope.” You say, pushing yourself up on your palm as he rises from the bed.

“I promise the next time I have you like that,” He’s looking at you now, chin held in his hand, “I’m going to strip you down, take my time and fall asleep next to you, I promise.”

He kisses you then, slipping his tongue into your mouth and it takes every inch of his strength to pull away.

“Go on,” You smile at him, “Before my dad comes home and shoots you.”

“He wouldn’t shoot me baby,” He smiles back at you, “He wants me back on the force too much.”

“Before he gives you a black eye then.”

He can’t help but laugh at that, giving you a small salute as he turns to leave, but there’s something niggling at that back of his mind as his hand reaches for the handle of your door, something he needs to ask before he leaves, “If something was bothering you,” He asks, turning back to you, “Or you were getting into something at work, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”

He’s looking right at you as you answer, searching for anything that says you’re not telling him the truth, and as you answer, he doesn’t find a reason to doubt you, “Of course I would.”

When he’s gone, twenty minutes later your parents are falling through the door, laughing at each other, too many glasses of God knows what over dinner have made them jolly and you find yourself smirking, biting at your bottom lip in the dark, that the two of them have no idea that Javier Peña left just twenty minutes ago after fucking you better than anyone else ever had.

It’s something that keeps you smiling, even as you fall asleep, eyes closing, any thought of work and dead-end leads forgotten and replaced by dreams of what else that man might be able to show you.

413 notes · View notes

lynaferns · 7 months ago

Text

The Forest On The Other Side

Chapter 1: I want to go home.

Ver. [ENGLISH / SPANISH]

EDIT: This fic is now on AO3

A girl gets lost in the forest and finds a misterious gate in the middle of nowhere. At the other side she meets a... very peculiar individual who seems to only want to befriend her and play. Everything seems fine. Until night falls and someone else joins to play...

Again, I appreciate feedback about the english adaptation. English is not my first lenguage and I still mess up sometimes.

This is in some way a more "joyful" story than BIOMáquina, still with its dark themes. I wrote this a year ago. By this I mean I forced myself to get it written down and ended up hating it and burning myself out. A couple of weeks ago I decided to reread it and I though it was pretty ok actually, so I edited it a bit to make it flow better. It used to be written more as a script for the comic I wanted to draw buuuut that didn't happen (cough stressed myself out cough forced myself cough don't force yourself to make content out of a hobby, a hobby is supposed to be for your own fun). I'm not completely satisfied with the final draft but I think is good enough for my first ever fic written.

I originally planned to make it a Y/N thing but that didn't last long. But I keeped the original idea of the first person POV. The Y/N stories I've read has always some narrator telling you what you do insert you in the story. I thought of making the MC the narrator, this way the reader can insert themselves like it's their story or they can read it as if someone else is telling them a story. This is also a bit limiting, since the narration is also the MCs thought process and sometimes I may skip details MC couldn't have seen.

AU, Magical forest, DCA centered, Sun fnaf, Moon fnaf, Elves Sun & Moon, OC, Selfinsert, Character & OC, platonic, friendship, slowburn (kind of), Moon is agresive at first, Moon is also a bit of a gremlin, Protective Sun (I think), OC is a potty mouth, Female Main Character, First person, Angst.

The first post where I showed this AU and my first sketches ideas.

Tumblr archive with all of the art, ideas and anwsered asks.

Youtube Playlist which I'm pretty proud of how it turned out :] It's in a specific order but you can put it on mix.

Note: even though I try to keep things light some things may be triggering for some readers.

CW: Anxiety, Suicide ideation, Implied death, Choking, Non sexual abuse.

Wordcount: 9,700 (It's not rounded, that's literally the number Word tells me it's at lol)

Welp.

Here we are again, in the old village house (yey...). Well, 'I am', my family won't arrive to settle in for another week. They brought me here beforehand a few days ago for organizational reasons. They took a quick look inside before they left to see the state of the house, if it needed any repairs and such, and they headed back to the city. While they finish preparing everything, I take care of the house and text them messages about anything that may be needed for when they return.

We haven't been here in years, the house needs some repairs, and I'm sorry for the spiders, but it could use a deep cleaning. We can't do a deep cleaning but I have been cleaning what I can these last few days, at least so that it looks decent... at first glance.

Well, it's not like anyone is coming to visit.

It's a quiet town, until the kids from the town next door come to make a racket with their bikes. They play in our field, scare away the cats and throw cans around. They are assholes.

Anyways, the people in the village are nice. The adults I mean, the kids I used to play with, I don't get along with them anymore. Some of them aren't kids anymore, we have grown up and are going down different paths. But those who are still kids... they're still interested in the only older kid in the town who listened to them and let them do whatever they wanted, to a certain extent.

I don't want them to come looking for me to go out and play. I've been avoiding them by saying that I'm busy cleaning the house and getting it ready for when my family arrives, but I feel like interacting with them less and less. That's why I'm going out to the woods behind the house to get lost for a while, as always. The kids don't go near the forest so they won't bother me there.

There is an area for tourism and hiking but not many people come, some police cars border the forest from time to time but they never go inside. The reports of missing people in this forest have been coming in for decades, only some lost children have returned but there is no trace of any of the adults who disappeared along with the rest of the children. The areas marked with signs are safe but you can't go out of bounds unless you want to disappear with those people.

And I, who right now am alone and with no one to notice my absence if I go missing, am going to head straight to the forest. Don't you think, I don't want to disappear, I just don't like people and I usually go into the forest but I don't go too far away. As long as I see my house in the distance, I know how to return.

I grab my bag with my sketchbook and pencil case, in case I feel like drawing (probably won't) and step out to the back porch. The outer sliding metal door that protects the inner one is rusty and difficult to open. It would be better to oil it but I don't know when it will be done, considering that the broken railing has had a wooden board tied to it for years. I already sent my mother a message talking about it.

I enter the forest and start walking around. It's hot, of course, it's early summer, but it's quite noticeable after being in the cool inside the brick and stone house. That's the good thing about coming here in summer, the houses are made to stay cold inside and it's great, sometimes I even need to wear a jacket. But outside I'm dying, the trees don't provide enough shade. In fact, some trees are missing. I used to have my routes memorized but time has passed and some paths have changed, some have disappeared and others have formed. I admit that it makes me a little sad... I began to walk absorbed in my thoughts not paying attention to where I was going.

I'm walking away, I should go back. I'm not going to draw anything here anyway, and it's hotter outside than inside so I'm gonna to turn around-

I hear screams and laughter in the distance, the sound of the voices produces me an immediate disgust. It's those kids from the next door village. They must have come to 'investigate' about the disappearances or maybe they don't care and they just came to be idiots-

They're getting closer.

I don't want them to see me. God. Don't let them see me. Anyone but them. They're getting closser. Don't let them see me. I can't go back home now. They're cutting me off. Of all the people who could have found me. It had to be them. No, please. Don't let them see me. I have to go further into the forest, I can't let them see me. They're getting closer. Don't let them see me. I want to leave. I want to leave. I'm getting too far. I want to leave. I don't see my house. I want to leave. I don't see the village. I want to leave. I don't see the kids.

...

Where am I?

Fuck.

Where am I?

I want to leave.

…

—

Now I'm wandering through the forest. I don't want to go back. I want to get out of here. Even though I'm walking in a straight line I feel like I'm going around in circles, and I'm not going to get out of here now. Great. I'm lost. Now what? People who get lost in this forest don't return, no one has returned except for some children.

...

I'm going to disappear.

...

For now I keep walking until something happens. Maybe there's an animal that kills people who get lost, or maybe it's a group of kidnappers, or maybe I should stop giving myself anxiety and focus on getting out of here. Maybe if I find a field or road, or even the tourist area, I'll be able to get out of here and return bordering the fores-

...

There is... colorful graffitis on the trees. Someone has painted eyes, hands, stars and more on the bark of the trees...

What's this?

I don't know where I've come to, I didn't know this was here, in the middle of nowhere in the forest. The trees have red leaves like in autumn even though summer has just started... The first thing I thought was 'climate change's fault' but there is something that stands out in the middle of this entire flat area and it is disturbing me.

In the center there is a kind of circular gate made of stones supported by roots.

Okay, maybe it doesn't sound aaaaas disturbing as, I don't know, a totem with a human figure being impaled or something, but it's giving me a bad vibe. What is this place? Who built a stone arch in the middle of everything and why?

A bird appears flying from behind me and goes through the gate, but nothing comes out on the other side... wait what? how? The bird has crossed the gate, and disappeared behind the stone arch? ...I had to imagine it, it's not possible that that happened. I approach the arch but not before picking up a rock from the ground and throwing it to the other side of the gate.

It's still there.

…

For some reason the thought of going through the gate makes me uncomfortable, so I go around it.

...

...And the rock? It's not there.

I go back and look from inside the portal.

The rock is there.

...

I look from outside. The rock is not there. I repeat this multiple times. Rock. No rock. Rock. No rock. Rock. No rock... What?

Alright, this is weird, this is VERY weird.

Even though it is clear that this isn't normal, I have to go back, pick up a fallen branch from the ground and pass it through the portal. This time I don't throw it, I've grabbed a branch long enough to see it peek out from the other side of the arch.

...

Welp.

I should be seeing not only the branch, but also my hand sticking out of the side, but I'M NOT SEEING IT. OKAY. OK. ALRIGHT. IT'S CONFIRMED. THIS IS WEIRD.

I'm asleep, right? Or unconscious. I must have passed out from exhaustion from endlessly wandering through the woods and I'm delirious or something. No, wait, it can't be, in my dreams I'm not this aware of what's around me. Where am I?

A breeze begins to pass through the gate. It's getting stronger but not enough to push me. The leaves rise from the ground and float towards the portal, none slipping outside, all entering through the stone arch. Suddenly the breeze that had become wind stops. The leaves fall to the ground.

...

I look back for a moment, as if there was something behind me that could help me make a decision. Grabbing with both hands my bag strap I look back at the portal again. Okay. Alright. This is possibly the death of me. I'm going to cross. I'm going to go to the other side. I'm just one step away from crossing. I wrinkle my face and narrow my eyes before taking the last step.

...

Nothing has happened. Everything seems the same. However, I know it's not the same... Or at least it doesn't feel the same!

Well, I've already crossed. I'm gonna... keep walking, I guess, even though this is scaring me and I don't know if I'll know how to go back. For now I'm moving forward. The red leaves have disappeared several meters ago. It's starting to look like a normal forest, except for the multicolored drawings and handprints that I keep seeing on the trees. In fact, it seems like the trees are taller with every step I take. So high that I can barely see the top. I almost tripped while looking up. Whether this is the same forest I come from, I no longer know.

This was a bad idea. I just hope to find something that'll help me know where I am, a sign or the road if possible.

*cling*

...?

I hit something with my foot. There is a ball attached to a small chain on the ground. Oh, no, wait. *cling diring ding* It's a rusty bell, I think. It doesn't have the typical cross-shaped hole or slot, rather it has several holes in a pattern. It looks like it can be opened.

There's nothing inside.

There's nothing? But I could have sworn it had rang. I close it again and shake it.

*...*

Nothing.

I'm going to put it in the bag, it's totally a good idea. I'll think about it later, for now I'm moving on.

—

I've been walking for a while now and throughout this time I had a constant chill on the back of my neck, as if someone had their eyes on me.

*din dirring* I hear a soft tinkling in the distance.

Okay, I'm not alone, awesome, what do I do now? Do I say hi and risk the potential danger finding me? Do I ignore the sound of bells and keep moving? It's very possible that whatever made that sound is watching me right now...

“Hello?” Still nervous, I try to say hello looking around “...” “Is someone there? H-hello?”

“-HEEEEELLO!”

“AAAAAH-!” I cover my mouth with my hands as I turn to look at what the hell has greeted me back. I take a few steps back while I look at the figure of earthy and sunny tones who responded, he seems as surprised as I am, I think (with the scream I made, normal), at least it looks like he's surprised. He wears a two toned wooden mask... it looks like a sun, with a crescent moon on its right... It gives the impression of two faces merged into one... Damn, he is tall, he's almost doubles my size. He appears to have two skin tones dividing him in half, his right side being the lighter and the left darker, especially the arm, which also has a light-colored tattoo of lines representing a sun symbol that covers from the shoulder to the pectoral and to the middle of the bicep. The right arm is covered by a long fingerless glove that reaches to the shoulder and is tied around the chest. He's wearing baggy pants with leaves coming out of the waist and legs, some... cloth boots? with a long toe bending sharply and curving in a geometric swirl with a bell at the tips, a bag hangs from the waistband of his pants and falls below his hips. His chest and neck are tied by ropes decorated with hanging stones, metals and crystals, he wears a pendant that ends in a carved symbol of a crescent moon with rays. Some of the 'sunrays' on his mask have ropes tied between them holding them in place and some metal dangling. Some red ribbons along with bells hang from his wrists.

“um... Helloooooo.” He greets again, this time he lowers his tone of voice. I manage to react, I turn around and walk away. “¡ah- eh- Wait!” Nope, I'm not going to wait and see what he does with me, I'm leaving. “He-! Hey!” Nope. I quicken my pace and try to get lost among the trees, changing direction every time he appears in my vision angle. “Human? Human-! FRIEND. Can I call you friend?!” Nope, nope, nopnop, nop, nop, nope. “Friend! Hey!” God, no, god, god, no, why are you following me? “Look, I know what you're trying to look for...! And believe me, you're not going to find it~!” How are you still following me? Where do you come from? “Hey! Listen! Why don't we do something else besides running in circles!?” Noooooooooo... “There are TONS of other activities we could do! Like... HOLY MOLY, look at this stick! Do you like sticks!?” Leave me aloneee... “You aren't looking at it! Okay, alright, you don't like sticks, erm... what might be of interest to you...” If I don't look at it it doesn't exist. “Could you help me a little here?” I want to leave... “Look, no matter how much you wander around, you won't find the portal-!”

“STOP—! STOP FOLLOWING ME! LEAVE ME ALONE!” The sudden scream startles him again, making him jump in place. He stands completely still looking at me. I'm leaving before he gets angry.

“B-but I- ...okay.” I thought I heard him say before I left him behind.

It seems that this time he's not following me, finally... Although I'm not calm, he could still be following me and simply not be in sight. Anyway, I think I'm coming back? I hope I am. I want to find that portal as soon as possible and go back to the house- what the fu-? “WHY?”

He's there. Right where I left him. Sitting on a rock. Waiting. “...! I haven't moved from the spot!”

“Yeah- but- WHY?”

“Because I knew you were going to come back here!”

“...What?”

“Is what I was trying to tell you! You can't leave! No matter how hard you try to find the portal, it won't appear before you!” The Sunman exclaimed.

“…” I'm just about to turn around. In fact, I'm already turning around.

“N-No, wait! Please don't go!” I stop in my track and look back at him. He gets off the rock he was sitting on but remains squatting, almost at my height, a little below. I move back, keeping my distance. He puts his hands up. “Look, I'm not doing anything! I won't chase you! Just- ...don't go.”

“…”

“L-look, listen, there's no way it's going to show up! Well, not to you at least. But even if you find it back, it won't work! It only works when it wants to work.”

“...” Let's imagine that I trust what he says “Ok... and when does it want to be working?”

“...” “No idea!”

“...”

I'm about to collapse on the spot. At least he doesn't seem hostile, for now. “...” “Okay... Good... Great...” “...” “FanTAS-tic.”

“...” “You don't seem like it.”

*ಠ_ಠ* I could only look to the side in frustration in response to that. I looked back at him with concern showing on my face and grabbing the strap of my bag with both hands. “And... what... do you plan to do with me?”

He took his hand to the chin of his mask and with the other he held his elbow in a comical thoughtful pose. “MmmmnnDUN know! What do you plan to do?” He asked so nonchalantly. He ended up sitting on the ground crossing his legs. “You have a good while until the portal opens again...!”

“...”

He started swaying. The silence has become uncomfortable for a while now, but I can't organize myself on what to say, and I don't know if I trust him. I don't even know if he's human, although something tells me he's not.

“You could wait here.” He suggested, breaking me out of my thoughts. “Or anywhere else, if you want. I would recommend somewhere high like the treetops (for no particular reason)! If you're going to wait... But wouldn't that be really boring?” There was something in his tone of voice... “Being there... at the top of a tree... waiting... alone... with no friends to hang out with (can I call you a friend?). Aaall on your own until the portal opens again.” He looks aside for a moment “...” And back at me again. “With no one to be with you.” He repeats the head motion “...” “alone...” Wow... I wonder what he's implying, ahem. “Wouldn't you want to have someone...? ...Someone...keeping you company?” Yeah, yeah...

“...” I guess... “I-I guess I wouldn't want to be alon-?”

He rises to his knees. “That's what I thought! Do you want me to accompany you? Only if you want! But can I?” He clasped his hands together as if asking a favor.

“um...”

“Can I?Can I?Can I?Can I?Can I?Can I?Can I?” He approaches, dragging his knees on the ground.

I'm starting to miss personal space. “Okay! Okay, alright...”

“REALLY?” He started hopping and jumping around me. “OH, ohoho hO! Great! Oh, there are TONS of things we could do! Like... Like...!” He moves faster, doing bigger and bigger flips and jumps, it almost seems that he is very light, as if the breeze of air lifted him. “We could paint and decorate trees! Or we can also paint on rocks! Or paint leaves! Or paint us! Oh! We can tell stories! I'm very good at making shadows and puppets.” He moves from place to place with each sentence he says. “We can also play something!” It's moving so fast all I can see is the wind and the leaves it stirs up as it moves. “Anything! Whatever you want!” Finally he stopped in front of me half crouched. “What do ya say?! Hmm! Friend!?”

“Don't... call me like that.” Makes me feel awkward.

“Oh...why not-? Oh true, true! How silly, I don't know your name! What do you call yourself, potential friend?”

“...”

“...” “Aren't... you gonna tell me your name?”

I twist the bag strap “Depends...” I must say I'm a little skeptical about this. “Are there any consequences for telling you my name?”

“...Consequences...?”

“Like... I don't know... Mmm-by telling you my name I become your possession and cannot regain my freedom until... certain conditions are met...”

“...”

“Why- how-? Where did you get that from!?” It did sound a bit stupid when I said it out loud.

“I dunno- that's what they say in old children's stories about elves and fairies!” I just hope the embarrassment isn't showing on my face.

“Really?” I could feel his deadpan expression behind the mask.

I shrugged.

“...” “Okay... Oh, what if I tell you my name first? Will you tell me yours? It's only fair, I'm Sun!”

“...”

“Can I know your name now?” He asked expectantly.

“...How do I know you're not trying to trick me?”

“...” I must be driving him crazy with this “The only thing I can do with your name is treasure it in my memory.” He put his hands together as if he was carefully holding something and brought them to the forehead of the mask. I gave him a distrustful look. It doesn't seem like it made him desist “Please?”

I grip at my worn out bag strap “...” “ Fern...” I ended up murmuring.

“Hmm? Fern? OH, I like it!” “Sounds like FRIEND.” He emphasized the last word by making a gesture like jazz hands, leaning to the side and moving his head closer to me.

“Yeah... I think you are missing a couple of letters.”

He straightened his posture again. “Nope, I don't think so!”

“You're still not my friend.”

“Oooowwwwwnnnnnggghhh” He lowers his head dramatically until it practically touches the ground “nnnnnnngggghh, alright!” And cartwheels to stand up again “So... what will it be?”

“Hm?”

He straightened his posture and puts his arms on his hips “We have plenty of time, ya? What do you wanna to do?”

“I don't know, what do you want to do-?” Bad mistake.

“Come with me!”

“aaAAAAA-!” Before I knew it, he had grabbed my arm and I was being dragged through the woods. We visited several places and he offered me an activity to do in each of them.

—

Sun took me to a place where the trees were full of colorful paint “We practice painting on the trees here!” He said.

“Ah.” That explains the crossed out lines and the repeated imperfect shapes. By the look of it is also where he tests the quality of the paint.

“Do you want us to paint something!?”

“Not really...”

“Oh, would you prefer it to be on a rock?”

“Nah.”

“...And in star leaves-?”

“I don't want to paint, Sun.”

“Oh... Well, I can show you more places!”

“OkayyEEEEEE-” And I'm being dragged away again.

—

He brought me to another area of the forest, the ground here seemed more leveled. Not a single tree was straight, all of them were twisted and even seemed to be hollow. “How about playing something!? Like hide and seek-! No, wait, I can’t let you out of my sight.” He mumbled at the end “And chase?! We can climb a tree and see who reaches the top first! We have a place full of vines and it's perfect for swinging- and jumping from one tree to another-!”

“I don't... really want to move a lot…” With the way he runs without getting tired and me, who doesn't exercise... he would let me dead.

“Oh... well, theeen-”

—

We arrived at a place full of vegetation and humidity. Sun seemed quite excited... “This place is full of insects! We can look for cool bugs!”

“Mmmmmnoooo... I don't want to.” I had to tell him, trying to show as little disinterest as I could.

“You don't like them?” He sounded a little disappointed hearing my reaction.

“No, I do like them, some of them, but I don't like to touch them.” And I'm terrified of them flying into my face.

“Oh, well, it's okay!” He said brushing it off and we moved on to the next stop.

—

“I know that bird!” He stopped us on the way to point at a robin high up on a branch.

“ah.” I said as I removed leaves from my hair and clothes, and checked that I still had my glasses.

“He's a little rascal!”

“...” I think the bird is making us the equivalent of 'mooning'.

—

“Look fish-! Oh, they're gone…” The noise must have scared them away “We can go find more places to look at them if you want!”

“...” “...no, pass...”

“…”

—

“Look at this stick!” Sun had suddenly sprinted past me, picked up something from the ground, and came back just as fast, showing me the stick as if it were a sword.

“oh.” It's a cool stick, must admit it.

“Do you want to look for more sticks!?”

“No...”

“oh...” He looked at the ground in disappointment.

“Why would we go looking for sticks? There are all over the ground.” Specifically, in this area the ground was all sticks. We are literally just stepping on sticks right now. I don't see the ground.

“Variety!” Sun said pointing at the ground with both hands. A branch is heard falling in the distance.

—

“That's a deer!” He pointed at the deer passing nearby. The deer stopped to look at us.

“Yeah, I see.”

“We call 'em Adoquín!”

“...Why is it called Adoquí-?”

*THUMP!*

“…”

The deer smacked itself against a tree when trying to run away. It stands still for a minute, processing the hit, looks at a side and then the other, then runs off again but this time avoiding the tree.

Another *thump!* is heard in the distance.

“...” Alright.

—

“Do you wannaaaa look for pine cones? There will be some fallen around here. Oh! We can also look for mushrooms!”

I keep saying no to everything he suggests and it doesn't look like he's going to run out of ideas to pass the time. In fact, he's very insistent that we do something. I guess at some point I'll have to say yes to something. “...” “...okay...”

“Hmm?! Okay? Okay to what?” His exaggerated surprise offends me but I don't blame him.

“To... I don't know, pine cones?”

“...You don't look very convinced.”

“…”

“OKAY! On the hunt for pine cones then!” I startle a little at the sudden shout. He makes a pose pointing in a direction, as if he were leading an expedition.

He takes me through the forest looking for pine cones. We aren't finding many, especially me who's not paying any interest. He tries encouraging me to put more effort into it but I keep looking at my boots.

We passed near a shingle river. I find a pebble at my feet and bend down to pick it up and take a better look. It's like a bluish gray, it has some reddish lines in the shape of waves, it feels good to the touch.

I hear the soft tinkling of a bell and feel a shadow fall beside me. “You like pebbles?” Sun is crouched next to me with his arms full of pine cones.

“…” I nod.

We go down to the river and spend some time collecting pebbles with curious shapes or small details of colors, lines, spots, etc. He comes over to show me one every time he finds weird shapes.

“…”

*rin* This time he's hunched over resting his hands on his knees. “You look… a little down.”

“…”

“Hey... we can do something else if you're tired of the pebbles.”

“...” I drop the pebbles I was looking at on the ground.

“...” He turns his gaze from me to the sky. It hasn't gotten late enough to be getting dark, but it's been a while between the walks we've taken (dragging me from here to there), looking for pine cones and then pebbles in the river. He looks back at me. “Oh, I know! Can I take you to one last place? A better place than the ones I've shown you!”

“…” I got up from the ground and waited for him to start leading to follow him.

We enter the increasingly thick forest. The trees are taller and bigger, in fact, I start to see platforms and bridges lying between the trees, I even see small shanties in them.

“Wait here!” He takes a run and jumps onto one of the trees with bridges. He takes three steps running up the tree, with a jump he pushes himself off and climbs with agility until he reaches the platform and climbs on it. “Just a moment!” It can't be seen from here but I can faintly hear some squeaks. I have no idea of what he's doin-

*rush*

“........eh?”

A rope.

A rope has fallen. At the level of my head.

“.......”

What?

…

He said he knew a better place.

No. It can't be this.

“Is it at a good height?! Can you reach it?!” He says...

It can't be.

A better place.

He can't be referring to this.

A better place.

A better place. A better place. A better place. A better place.

“Can you put your foot in?!”

“..........” For some reason what he said throws me off. “WAT-?”

“Can you put your foot in the loop and hold on to the rope so I can pull you up!?”

“..............”

“You can't climb trees, can you?! ...or you can?"

… “...” Oh “....It's...It's too high!”

“Okay!” Squeaks are heard and the rope descends to the ground.

I put my foot into the rope as he told me and hold on to it. “O-okay...!”

“Are you ready!?”

“Yes!”

“Okay!”

He begins to pull up the rope (which doesn't tighten around my foot as it supports my weight) and helps me up to the platform. (That's what it was for, obviously, what else would he want? I'm such an...) “Come on!” He says cheerfully, as always, and takes me over the bridges. “You seem tense... Don't tell me you're afraid of heights!”

“S-something like that... it's nothing.” He tilts his head at that but he says nothing. I have an unpleasant sensation in my throat.

We arrived at a high place with a view of waterfalls, I can't see above the trees. We sat on one of the bridges, resting our arms on the rope that serves as a railing and letting our legs hang off the bridge. I've thought about taking out the sketchbook to draw... but I don't really feel like it right now, so I just quietly observe the landscape. It is a better place, yeah.

…

I feel watched. I turn to look at him ...Of course he was looking at me. I don't even know whether to say something or keep quiet. ...I decide... not to say anything and look to the front.

“You... aren't very talkative, huh.”

“…”

“Not that it's a bad thing! Many people who have come here weren't very talkative at first either.” More people...

“...” “I have… nothing to talk about.” I don't want to talk.

“...” “Well, I do.”

“…”

“If it's okay with you, of course.” He laughed. Although something tells me that he is going to talk anyway.

“…”

“...” “What brings you to the forest?”

“...” Really? “I got lost.”

“Yeah, I already know!” He says between laughs “But what made you get lost?”

“...” “There was a group of kids I didn't want to get close to and I decided to go into the woods to lose them.” He makes a 'hum' sound and looks at me expectantly waiting for me to continue “And... I ended up getting myself lost...”

“...” “Only that?”

“...” “Well, yeah.” What do you mean 'oNlY tHaT'?

“...Mmm...” He places his hand on the chin of the mask.

“...” “What?”

“Nothing!” “...” “You know? You're the first human to visit the forest in a loooong time. For several cycles now…”

“Cycles?”

“Mhm” He nods.

“...What are cycles?”

Sun points to the sky “The turns that the Moon makes in the sky!” He emphasizes by rotating his arm in the air. It's pointing right at the Moon that's visible in the sky.

“Oh...” He uses the lunar cycles to know what day he's in, makes sense. “...” “So no one has been here in a while.”

“That's what I said! Well no, but yes!”

“A-and so the humans who came are still here? Have they been here all this time?”

“Yeah...! Well, no!” He paused. “They're gone!”

“What do you mean they're-?” He didn't let me finish the question.

“They are gone! They 'left'!” It sounded like he had given this answer many times already.

“What do you mean they left-?”

“They 'left'!”

“...” “...You mean...they disappear-?”

“Nope!” “...” “Something like that!” “…” “Mmmore or less…” He hesitated between one answer and another.

It seemed worthless to ask about the missing people. “...okay.” “Can I ask you-?”

“You can ask me anything!” A hint of nervousness escaped his tone.

“...okay. What is this forest?”

“My home! And the home of many other animals.”

“...” “Alright, and... how many are you...? How many of you live here? I mean. You have taken me everywhere and we haven't seen anyone of your…” I make a pointing gesture, spinning my hand around in the air. He can't be human, it doesn't look like he is. “...” “Honestly, I don't know what you are.”

“...” “There's only me... And someone else!” He looks away, as if trying to hide something.

“Oh... and who's that someone?”

“Oh! N-no, don't worry! He’s… just a friend… But it’s not important that you meet him or anything!” He brushes it off making a gesture with his hand. “Uh-um- How about we talk about you!? huh? What things do you like? Earlier, since you said no to everything, I thought you didn't like ANYTHING!” He continued talking without letting me respond. “I didn't know what to do if I ran out of ideas. I started to worry! But at least you're not one of those who spend all day shouting and threatening with a weapon in hand, ahaha...” He let out a nervous laugh.

“Um-”

“Well, you ran away screaming, yes.” He began to gesticulate widely as he complained “Like everyone-! No, not like everyone, some don't run, but those who, apart from running and screaming, attack you...! I mean...!” Something tells me he wasn't going to shut up and I was already half listening. “First they throw rocks at my head, then they insult me and run away. And I have to run after them because I can't just leave a human running around alone! No! I can't! Not in this forest! Anything could happen to them! But they never let me warn them!” He sounded tired. “And when I get them to stop running away from me, they throw things at me again and yell before demanding me to tell them where are they and how to get out of here, and when I explain it, they yell at me even more and accuse me of lying!” He turns to look at me with his hands pointing to his chest. “What reason would I have to lie?!” I don't know if he hasn't noticed or if he's ignoring the deapan I responded with. “UGH! I don't know what to do with those! But anyhow... I'm so glad we found something to do in the end!

“eh?” I snap out of my thoughts. It seems that now he is directing the conversation to me.

“The pebbles!” He sits turning his body towards me, leaving one single leg hanging from the bridge and the other resting on it. He takes out of his pocket some of the pebbles that he had been collecting with me. “I don't know why I assumed you wouldn't want to look for rocks. Maybe because you didn't want to paint them before... You left them back in the river in the end tho, I thought you would keep some.”

“Ah... I don't know. I didn't think I could take them with me.”

“You can keep some of mine!”

“No, it's okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“You suuuuure??” He insist.

“Yeees.”

He puts a pebble very close to my face “Suuuuuuuure?” Each 'u' sounding higher than the last.

“...” I push the pebble away from my face “Yeeeees.”

“mmmh... Okay! But I hope you don't regret it later when you don't have a cool rock like these and think 'Oh man, I could have a cool rock right now!'.” After a bad impression of me, he keeps the rocks in his pants. “So... Besides pebbles, what else do you like? Mm? I haven't been able to deduce much from today.”

“Don't know.”

“What do you mean you don't know!? Oh! Is it a secret?” He approaches and starts to whisper, putting his hands to the mask's mouth “I won't tell anyone, promise.”

“No. I don't know.” I looked to the side. “I can't think of anything... so suddenly.”

“ooow...” He slumps a little over the railing, looking sad.

“…” I hesitate whether to say something or not “...Drawing...”

“Mmm?!” He no longer seems sad.

“And listening to music, I guess.” “It's... all I do... most of the time.”

“Really!? Oh! I also like drawing! And music! But is that really all you do all day? Don't you do other kinds of things? Like reading! Or writting. Don't you go out for a walk or play with your friends?” I wrinkle my face at that last bit and he tilts his head in confusion.

“I don't go out.” “I have comics, but I rarely read.”

“Comics?”

“Um... They are stories but instead of narrating what happens there are drawings and only what the characters say is written.”

“...It's a book with drawings?”

“Yeah, but with a lot of drawings on each page, from start to finish.”

“WOAH.” He sounded perplexed. “That's drawing A LOT.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Ahh, I'd love to see what they look like.” He rested his arm on the railing to hold his head in his hand “Too bad I can't…”

“I didn't bring them anyway.”

“Do you normally carry them around?”

“No, it's just that I didn't bring them to the village with me, I left them at home.”

“...” “Oh!” It seems that something has clicked on him. “You are not from the village.”

“No, I'm from a more urban area. My family used to come to the village every year in the summer, but we stopped coming. Now it seems that we are trying to get back into the habit.” I sighed.

“Why did you stop coming?”

“...That's personal.”

“Oh... okay.” He let a minute of awkward silence pass. “Hey, I can bring some books that I have at home! I think you might be interes-!” He looks away from me to the sunset behind us, the sun is almost gone. “-ted...” I look at the sunset too and then at him with confusion. “...” “...oh...oh-OH, Oh-no!” He stands up abruptly causing the bridge to shake slightly. What could have he seen? “We have to move!” He extends a hand to help me up. “We have to start moving!”

I get up in a hurry on my own, ignoring his hand. “O-okay, to where?”

“Come, run!” Once again he grabs me by the arm and leads me over the bridges between the trees until we reach a tree hut. It's small and dark, it looks like a small shelter. He opens the door and enters “You'll spend the night here, stay inside, do not go out, try to hide well and don't open the windows or doors, okay? Here, there are some blankets. I'll come back later.”

“Wait wait wait! What? What do you mean you'll come back later? What's happening? Why do I have to hide-!?”

“Sssh-ssh-sh” He grabs me and covers my hand with his, his left hand resting on the back of my right hand. He begins to speak in a calmer tone, with a voice that I had not heard him use until now. “It's okay, nothing happens. I have to go, I'll come back, but I can't stay now. You hide, try to rest, I'll be back, I promise.”

“...” I take my hand away from his. “Okay.” “I'll stay, but don't take too long.” Please, I don't want to be here alone.

“Yes. I'll be back.” He affirmed one last time. I watch him run away and disappear among the trees and undergrowth. I enter the small shelter to inspect it.

*TAP TAP TAP* *PLOK* *TAP TAP FOOSSSH! *

…? A noise comes from behind me. I turn around and there's a pebble on the floor.

…

Okay.

I take out my phones flashlight to see better inside the house. There are what appear to be some trunks, small cabinets, and a trapdoor in the floor, It seems that there are corners and blind spots for the windows where the little moonlight that enters through the cracks cannot reach. It's freezing cold and I haven't brought my jacket. I leave the bag on the floor against the wall, I cover myself with the blanket and curl up in a ball in the most hidden corner I can find. I'm tired, I want to sleep, but I can't close my eyes.

…

—

It's been a few hours now.

…

I can't sleep, I simply can't.

…

It doesn't look like he's coming back.

*creek*

…?

*rin*

*tap tap, creek*

Sun?

“S-...” I pause before saying a word, I have the feeling I shouldn't speak. I remain silent and wait.

*tap, tap, tap, creeeeeek, tap*

*rin dirrin*

If it were Sun he would have already let me know it is him. That or he's playing a prank on me which isn't funny, but I'd better stay silent. From the shadow I look at the windows. I notice movement through the cracks, something has just passed through the wall next to me.

*dirriring dirring*

I cover myself more with the blanket, back against the wall, I stay as still as I can, I leave a gap between the blankets and the floor to see. A red glow sneaks through the cracks in the window and scans the room.

…

The glow is gone.

*tap, tap, rin, tap, dirring, tap, tap*

It's on the roof.

…

*tap, tap, tap...*

It moves again.

*rin *

…

It sounded on the other side of the wall.

…

“nghehe...”

It laughed. Why did it laugh? Whatever is on the other side of the wall just let out a laugh that made the hairs on the back of my neck and all over my back rise.

…

Oh no.

Oh no no no no no no no no.

I have to move. I have to get out of here. I can't stay here.

*creeek*

It came from the door. It's trying to get in.

*rin*

The trapdoor.

*rin dirring*

Where was the trapdoor?

*creek creeeek*

I crawl across the floor making the minimum noise, carefully feeling the floor, looking for the edge of the door.

*tap tap ring dirring*

…!

I found it. I open it carefully. It's too high. I'm at a very high altitude, I don't know if I'll be able to go down.

*rin, creeek...*

…

Fuck it. I slip through the gap quietly, closing it slowly, but that doesn't stop the door from creaking. I cling to the bark of the tree-

…

I left my bag. If it comes in and see it it'll know for sure that I have been there-

…

It doesn't matter now. I have to focus on getting down from the tree without killing myself. My fingers hurt and I can't put my foot down properly because of the soles of my boots. I feel like I'm going to slip at any moment. Somehow I make it to the ground. Still attached to the tree, I look up at the house. I don't see it-

…

A shadow appears from behind the tree. I press myself against the tree and hold my breath. It's looking for something. When he doesn't seem to look I move to a nearby tree, he moves to another tree, I move to the next, and the next, and the next. We continue like this until I start to get further and further away from him. When I think I've lost him I start running. I hide behind a tree to catch my breath.

…

I slowly peek out from behind the tree.

*rin*

…

It sounded above me.

…

I don't look up, I run.

“nnghehee...” He laughs.

He gives me a few seconds advantage before coming after me. The chase begins.

I run forward as much as I can, I hear his footsteps behind me but I don't look back, there's no time for that. I hear him laughing like a madman as he moves from left to right, from one tree to another, crawling on the ground, trying to confuse me, waiting for me to make the slightest mistake to catch me.

“Ah-” I trip. As soon as I fall to the ground I get up, ripping my stockings and scraping my knees, falling again, my nerves not letting me stand up.

“Nnhehehhehe...” Asshole. He has stopped running, he approaches by walking. I try to keep as much distance as my hands and legs allow me to move. I search desperately with my hand for something on the ground to throw. Finally my hand finds something.

I throw a rock at him “AGH!”

The rock passes by him, flying one or two meters away from him. He hasn't even moved, he didn't move a single muscle to avoid it, he just watches me still from where he is. I hear the nearby *pof* of the rock falling to the ground.

“...”

…

I get up and run. He grabs my leg and I fall to the ground again. He won't let me get up, every time I try he throws me to the ground. I struggle, I kick, but I don't break free from his grip. He never stops laughing, he is enjoying this. He drags me closer to him, no matter how much I twists, he doesn't let go. “ACKH-!...Hhhh-hh...-hh-h...” He grabs me by the neck, red pupils stared at me, I'm looking straight into his crescent moon mask (or waning, I don't know. Do you think I care right now?). He raises his free hand and his veins begin to glow a platinum color that extends to his fingertips. The hand approaches my face, I don't know what it's going to do to me, I'm scared, I don't want to look. I close my eyes, cover my face with my hands. I wait.

…

…?

Nothing's happening. It stopped. Why?

“Mun, nïe.” I hear Sun's voice. I open my hands a little to see what's going on. Indeed, it is Sun, several meters away from us... He looks exhausted. The one with the moon mask stares at him for a moment, until he decides to look at me again while bringing his glowing veiny hand closer. “¡Mun!” The Moonman looks at Sun again “Fehreh.” He seems to speak another language, I don't understand what he says.

“...” “Nïe” For the first time I hear him say something else besides laughing. Even though I can't understand him.

“Fïer pehgïer.” Sun responds.

“...” Moonman remains silent again.

“Bïelïe óubseh góuh...” Sun continues.

“Móu txehb móunsuvïe.” The Moon responds.

“Lïe bóu ¿Sóundïe mïesugïeb fehreh nïe txehtehrlïe?”

…

The air feels tense. Probably because of the hand grabbing my neck.

“¿Zkaóu fuóunbehb txehtóur tkaehnvïe nïe bóueh mehb zkaóu ïesreh rehuh óunsóurrehveh óun leh suóurreh?” Longest sentence I've heard him say so far.

“...” “Fïer óubseh góuh.” “...” “Vóuyehmóu óuntehrdehrmóu vóu óulleh” Sun takes a step forward “Nïe suóunóu fïer zkaóu ehtehkehr ehbu” Another step forward “Nïe sóunóumïeb fïer zkaóu txehtóurlóub... óubsïe” Another step “Óullïeb bïelïe óubsehn... fóurvuvïeb.”

“...” There's no response from the moon man.

“Behkehb tïemïe óub óubïe.”

“...”

…

The hand that grabbed my neck now grabs my shirt and yanks it. I grab his wrist as he pulls me to my feet and drags me to Sun, making me stumble. He throws me against him. Sun catches me before I fall over.

“Ska óubpkaóurhïe óub óun gehnïe.” The moon says something as he walks past. Sun puts a hand on his shoulder before letting him go, there's a pause between the two. The Moonman disappears into the trees. Wind and leaves are heard passing by.

…

He's gone. I feel dizzy. I fall down.

—

…

A faint light begins to seep through the cracks, illuminating enough to wake me up and make me open my eyes, I look around. I see my bag propped against the wall. I'm at the shelter where Sun left me.

…

My body aches, I have a hard time keeping my eyes open, it feels like I've been sleeping on the hard floor. No, wait, there are some blankets underneath me... It's still too hard to sleep well, either that or as I said, it shouldn't help me at all that everything hurts. After a while of staring at the ceiling I try to sit up. I emphasize trying. With every slight effort a pained moan escapes me.

“Oof...” Hurts.

*creek, tap tap tap tap*

Those wood creaks bring back bad memories from last night (which by the way, I'm alive, wow, I just realized), I can't help but cringe at every noise, I hear footsteps approaching, I try to move but the stinging pain prevents me from it.

*creek... *

The door opens.

Triangular shapes appear through the door followed by orange earth tones. “…Oh…!” “Early bird!” Thank god it's Sun and not the other one, or something worse “I didn't expect you up this early!” He says laughingly.

“ah?”

“How are you feeling?” He walks in. When he sets foot inside I lean back, towards the wall. “...” I don't really know why I did that. Sun stands at the door showing confusion with his usual head tilt. “...Arrr...re you okay, Fern?”

“...” I became tense suddenly. I really don't know still if I can trust him? He hasn't done anything to me yet but that doesn't mean that I can trust him. I don't know if he plans to do something with me like whatever that other one, the moon one, was going to do last night. “...ehh...hhh...h...” I can't get a word out, I'm afraid to ask.

“Mm?”

“...” I don't know what to say to him. My eyes go somewhere else.

…

He enters further into the house, ignoring that I keep my distance from him, leaves a bag he was carrying on the floor and begins to open the windows, letting in the little light of the dawn that is just beginning. He kneels on the floor in front of me with the bag. “Are you hungry?” He opens the bag and takes out an apple “Do you like apples?”

“...”

“No?”

“...”

“Um... I also brought berries... (It's what I had on hand coming here) There are... different types, you can choose” He brings the bag closer to me. I move further away. “uhhh...”

“...” I want to leave.

“You don't like them either...?”

“...” I don't want to eat. I want to leave.

“...”

“*snif... *”

“u-um...!”

“...*snif* *sob*...” I started crying out of nowhere.

“Ahhh...! D-do- don't cry! Ah-I-Um- Ca-can go find other things you might like-!”

I felt ashamed for crying and I put my hands to my face trying to wipe away the tears, but they wouldn't stop coming. “*hic, sniff, snif *” I looked away in an attempt to cover my face. I ended up looking at the floor, letting my hair act as a curtain.

“I can go in a moment!” Sun was already getting up.

“...w-want to leave...” I managed to get a murmur out.

“...W-what? Um...”

“...” *hic, hic *

“O-okay, um... If you aren't hungry... -we can do something else- uh- we can go look for rocks like yesterday in the river!”

“...” I don't want to do anything “...want to leave...”

“O-or we can do something else! Ah-bah-b-b-b- W-won't you like to go draw??! Somewhere, some landscape?! Wherever you want! We can draw together! If you prefer we can look for animals instead of landscapes!”

“...leave...want to...go... *hic, snif *”

“¡D-don't n- uh! ¡L-let's... um- let's not- uh!” He no longer knew how to order his words “H-hey, ¿Why don't we go to-?” He extends his hand towards my arm.

“I want to go home...”

He stops before touching me and removes his hand. “...” “...home?” There is a pause. He remains silent and unmoving. He finally speaks “Do you want…?” His tone became more serious.

“...”

“...to... go see the portal?” I look up slightly, I can't see through the tears and the fogged lenses of my glasses.

“...” I nod my head.

—

…

We didn't walk far until the red began to become visible. He brought me back to the portal. The same plain of red leaves and stone arch in the center of it all, as yesterday.

…

Sun has been quiet the entire time.

He advances towards the portal and stands facing it. He turns. “Come.” He extends his hand towards me. “You can pass through.”

“...”

I advance towards the portal. I stop before crossing. If it doesn't take me back home, what do I do? I don't want to stay.

A breeze begins to come out of the portal. The breeze turns to wind, the leaves rise, they pass through us. It's the same thing that happened yesterday when I went to cross. I turn to face Sun. Motionless, he looks back at me, the leaves pause in the air for a second as if time has stopped, the wind changes. From where the wind and leaves came now they come in, they push me towards the portal. I finally cross it.

…

Am I in the forest I know? I turn to look at Sun who stayed behind in the portal. “...Sun?” He's not there. I look around. He's not here. I've already crossed the portal, he must have left.

I notice a sudden draft pass by me. It's soft, like someone walking past you. I turn towards the forest, I have to start moving, I don't want to be here another minute.

...The air current that I noticed has lifted some leaves, they reach the trees, between them the wind does something strange, it forms a transparent silhouette. It looks like Sun, I can barely see him but I could swear it's him. The wind figure raises its hand and makes a gesture, it wants me to follow it. When I approach it turns around and walks into the forest, leaving a trail of leaves behind it. I follow the trail of the air current. Sometimes it stops to look at me, making sure I'm still following it. The red-leafed trees and the paintings disappear from view the farther we go. We crossed the forest until we arrived at the entrance of the town, near my house. There is no one on the street. If I walked into the house and pretended nothing had happened, officially no one would have noticed my absence.

I'm not one hundred percent sure if the wind figure that guided me is Sun or not, but I should at least thank him for bringing me back.

…

The air current has dissipated before I turn around. I look around, there's no one.

…

I enter the house, go up to my room and throw the bag on the floor. I go to the bathroom to wash. …I feel something strange in my hands but I couldn't say what. Doesn't matter. I change my clothes and get into bed, the tiredness of the previous night makes my body succumb immediately and I fall asleep instantly.

—

…

“ah...!” I wake up with my lungs begging for air. I need a moment to calm my breathing. I look at the clock without lifting my head from the pillow.

…

It is 12 midday. I rub my eyes and from my eyes I move to my face. I'm still tired. My body still aches. I stare at the ceiling.

…

My bag. I reach out to pick it up from the floor, making strange positions so as not to get out of bed.

I open it and search in the pockets. The bell. I put the bell to my ear. “...” I shake it.

*rin, diring diring*

“...”

I open it.

…

It's empty.

#my writing #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #fanfic #forest elves au #the forest on the other side #oc #selfinsert #platonic #sun & selfinsert #moon & selfinsert #dca au #The Forest On The Other Side AU

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a-aexotic · 1 year ago

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✫𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆, i can see you.

✫ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 cursing, mention of partying, lecturting, sarcasm ✫ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 hey guys! i hope you enjoyed the prologue. please show your love by liking and/or reblonging, they are very much appreciated. i am so beyond excited for this series and hopefully i meet my deadline lol. everything will be complete as of october 1st, 2023! ✫ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 (send an ask or comment to be added!) main masterlist. gilmore girls masterlist. playlist.

Manhattan was the type of city where you either love it, or hate. There is no in-between and depending on if you love or hate it, describes who you are as a person.

Y/N Cromwell loved Manhattan. She was as classy and sophisticated as they come, she doesn't own anything that wasn't designer or specially made for her. I mean, if you lived like that, you would sure as hell love it as well.

Y/N lived her life to the fullest, taking YOLO a little too seriously. Her mother, Nancy Cromwell, is a world-renowned fashion designer and she is never home. And when she is home, she is usually tucked in her office, away from the world and her daughter. But, she learned to adapt without her mother and she was slightly okay with her not being around as much as she used to.

Filling her closet with expensive purses and even more expensive perfumes, she lived like royalty. Her mother never set financial boundaries for her, so she spent as much as she wanted. She usually got away with everything. Key-word being, usually.

Y/N sat at the edge of her huge bed, tuning out the lecture she was getting from her mother. She tried to listen and nod but it wasn't an easy task to do for more than 5 minutes.

"—an irresponsible girl! I am tired of it, Y/N. Always going out with those girls, not playing attention in class or-"

That was where she stopped and corrected her. "I do play attention mom, how else would I have a 4.0?"

Her mom stopped her lecture and sighed, rubbing her temple frustratedly. "Is that the only thing you got from my whole talk?"

She sat up with a bright grin. "Well I'm not gonna let you sit here and lecture me about something that I hadn't done. I do pay attention."

"This isn't about school-"

"Then don't bring it up." Y/N said simply, smiling at her mother's vexed expression.

"Listen, Y/N, one more mess-up and you're done I'll send you to live with your father in Connecticut."

Y/N had no reaction whatsoever to the meaningless threat. Her mother always throwing that threat left and right, there was no way she'd actually go through with it.

Y/N feigned understanding and her mother sighed with a nod. "Got it, young lady?"

"Got it, ma'am." She mocked slightly before her mom finally gave up, walking out of her room. That was when Y/N finally let out an agitated groan, before taking out her flip-phone and clicked her friend's contact.

It rang before it finally picked up. "Hey, honey!"

"Are we going to Daniel's party or what?"

"I thought you were grounded, Y/N/N."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "That's not stopping me, Lindsay. We going or what?"

The black Prada glasses and sour expression sitting on Y/N's expression was very telling. She was either hungover or high right now—but unfortunately for her, she was neither at the moment. She was sitting in Hartford Airport waiting for her father's, now late, arrival.

Her mother's words kept replaying in her head. "One mistake in Connecticut and I'm sending you the Netherlands. And no, not the cities—the countryside." That alone sent shivers down her spine, having to live without electricity and texting. How can anything be worse than that?

Y/N had to get her act up. If she didn't, she would have to live among cows and pigs. She decided she was going to try her best to sell the 'good girl' act to everyone, whether they believed it or not.

She finally sees a familar face walking up to her. She let out one last annoyed groan silently before getting up and putting on her best smile. "Daddy!"

Her father immediately grinned, opening up his arms to give his finest bear hugs. "Sweetheart, how've you been?" He immediately paused. "That's, uh not a good question. Nevermind. How are you dealing with everything?"

He knew how dramatic his daughter could be. She loved New York and getting sent away would surely spark some anger in her and he did not want to be on the receiving end of it.

Y/N slid up her sunglasses to face her father. "I'm doing well. I think this is good." God, this sounded unnatural and wrong. She wasn't happy and she sure has hell doesn't think this will be any good for her. "To be away from the City will some good for me, being around my old... friends will surely make me feel better."

Her father looked surprised at her somewhat mature response. "Wow, well I'm glad that's how you're viewing this experience. Good for you, Y/N. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, dad. I really am trying, I'm glad you see that." Another lie. She almost felt bad for deceiving her father.

Well, that was until she got home. As they pulled in the house—it was exactly how they left it. Her father usually spends the summers with her in Manhattan so she hasn't seen this house in almost two years. It brought back so many memories. But she couldn't sit on the nostalgia because it quickly flooded away as she was struck with confusion. There was a slightly familiar woman standing outside the home, waiting for their arrival.

"Who's that?" Y/N sat up a little straighter in the passenger seat, her eyebrows furrowing.

"Well, uh honey I've been waiting for a right time to tell you this..." Her father swiftly put the car parked in driveway, turning face to face with Y/N. "I'm—well, we... we're engaged."

"Who’s we?" I asked I look outside the window to the mysterious woman standing on the porch.

Her father paused as his expression changed from excited to slightly agitated. "Your mom hadn't mentioned me dating Kristian?"

"You hadn't mentioned it either." You swallowed nervously. Her father was dating (and now engaged) to someone she'd never heard about from neither of them. She felt a little dread because she suddenly felt out of the loop.

Her father sighed. "Let's talk inside, honey."

Her father got her luggage and the lady greeted her politely and she did the same. At this point the only facts she knew was A. her name was Kristan, B. she looks a little familiar, and C. she's blonde.

As her father put her stuff back up in her old bedroom, they both sat in the living room awkwardly waiting for her father's arrival. He finally walked down the stairs and sat next to Kristan, putting an arm over her shoulder. Wow, he's really serious about her.

"So..." Y/N started the conversation. "You're engaged."

He cleared his throat. "Me and Kristan have been engaged about two months now and we've been dating a year and a half." And he somehow failed to mention anyone when he called or visited.

Y/N kept her slight disappointment to a minimum as she nodded politely. He seemed genuine about her and she knew she'd be an even more terrible daughter if she started a fit. He was happy and that's all that matters... at least that was what she was trying to convince herself.

Y/N got up from the couch and cleared her throat, putting on her pageant queen smile. "I'm, uh Y/N Cromwell."

Kristan laughed softly before doing the same while extending a hand. "I know that, sweetie. I'm Kristan Dugray, pleased to meet you."

Dugray... Dugray... Where had she heard that name before? Y/N furrowed her eyebrows as she thought until her question was finally answered.

The front door opened suddenly and she whipped her head to make eye contact with... Tristan Dugray? Oh, so that's where she's heard that name!

Y/N couldn't control as her mouth flew open. She also couldn't control the words that came out of her mouth as she saw him. "Oh, you've gotta be shitting me."

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harmonicakai · 7 months ago

Text

This Is Me Trying

Part 3 of the "Anyone Else But You" series

Pairing: Huening Kai x Reader

Summary: Being friends with Huening Kai would be much simpler if he didn’t give you butterflies all the time.

Tropes: enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, fluff, angst, stylist!reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: swearing, reader is insecure, mentions of death

A/N: I made a Spotify playlist for this fic if anybody wants to give it a listen hehe <3

“Remember how I used to be so Stuck in one place, so cold? Feeling like my heart just froze Nowhere to go with no one, nobody” —Magic, TXT

When the weekend comes around, you’re worried that you’ve hallucinated the entire situation, but when Kai knocks on your front door, he looks good. Really good.

“I–I like your outfit,” you say, taking note of the details. “It’s different from how you usually dress.”

“Yeonjun helped me pick stuff out. He said you’d like this.” Kai spins, allowing you to take in the full ensemble. He’s ditched his usual skater boy attire for a button down, slacks, and a chocolate brown wool coat that matches the color of his eyes.

“You didn’t have to dress up for me,” you say, shaking your head.

“Of course I did. You’re the coolest looking person I know.” Has he always thought that? “I don’t know how you do it every day, though. We probably spent hours picking out just this one look.”

“Every Sunday, I plan my outfits for the week. Sometimes it takes the whole day if I’m not feeling too creative.”

“That sounds stressful.”

“It is.”

“Why do you do it, then? I mean, you always look good, but does it make you feel good?”

You blink back at him. Nobody has ever asked you anything like this. You have no idea how to respond.

Kai can tell that he’s struck a nerve. “Sorry. I just meant that if it stresses you out, you shouldn’t feel pressured to do it all the time. There’s a lot to like about you besides how you dress.”

“Right. Should we get going?” you ask, fiddling with the hem of your cardigan. Suddenly you feel overdressed.

“Let’s do it,” he smiles.

All you can think about on the walk over to the concert hall is whether or not this is a date. It feels like a date. He’s dressed like it’s one.

He said he wanted to be friends, you remind yourself. Still, when he accidentally drifts close to you and your shoulders brush, you can feel your face heat up.

You sit together on the steps of the concert hall, people watching and pointing out your favorite and least favorite outfits.

“I like her hat,” Kai says, pointing to a toddler walking hand in hand with her mom. She’s wearing a fluffy beanie with bear ears.

“Maybe I can convince the team to let you wear one on stage,” you think out loud. “It would be really cute for a concert.”

“That would be so awesome, Y/N! But I don’t want you to think about work right now. Let’s just have fun today.”

“I’m always thinking about work,” you admit. “I’ve thought about clothes every second of my life for what seems like forever now.”

“You aren’t that old,” he points out.

“I’m one year older than you,” you remind him. He skipped the birthday party that Yeonjun threw for you last winter.

“Okay, I take it back,” he surrenders. “You’re old and should look into retirement soon.”

You know he’s just joking, but you can’t help but think that he’s right. Maybe you shouldn’t focus so much on what everybody is wearing all the time, yourself included.

“Y/N,” Kai says, snapping you out of your thoughts. You jerk your head up.

“I used to play in an orchestra,” you blurt out, instantly regretting answering a question that was never asked. Still, you have Kai’s full attention, and the point of this is for the two of you to get to know each other. “I, uh, I played the viola, but I wasn’t very good at it.”

“That’s so cool! I play the piano!” You already know that. Everybody does, but you appreciate how he seems to have forgotten that he’s world famous. “We should do a duet sometime! MOA would love it.”

“Uh, I’m not sure MOA would love seeing you with a girl,” you deflect. You’ve seen what dating scandals can do to someone’s career.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he agrees. You watch the cogs inside his head spin before a lightbulb goes off. “Maybe we can set Taehyun up with a fake one on Academy Reincarnation and you can play in the background. ”

“That… actually sounds pretty funny.”

“Ooh, Y/N, thinks I’m funny,” he muses, before turning away to face the busy square. “Seoul! Y/N thinks I’m funny!”

“Shh!” you laugh, cupping your hand over his mouth. You are not mentally prepared to deal with any crazed fangirls tonight. “We have to go inside, now.”

Before you can overthink it, Kai grabs your hand and the two of you rush inside, greeted by marble floors and draped velvets. It’s the most beautiful place you’ve ever seen.

“Wow,” you sigh, taking the entire lobby in. “You know, I haven’t been here since I was a little girl. My mom would bring me here all the time. She played the piano like you. I always wanted to take after her, but I have trouble forming chords.”

“I can give you lessons, if you want,” he offers. “I have a keyboard in my room back at home.”

“I’d like that,” you smile back. You try not to read too much into being invited into his bedroom.

“Why don’t you and your mom go to concerts anymore?” Kai asks, hoping that it isn’t too personal a question. His anxiety grows exponentially as you take your time responding.

“She passed away when I was nine,” you say calmly. It doesn’t hurt you to tell people anymore. “I wanted to come because today is actually her birthday. My dad is really sensitive about it, though, so it was just going to be me. But I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Oh… Y/N, I’m really sorry. I didn’t know. I don’t know what I’d do without my mom.” He stares at his shoes, guilt written all over his face. “I could’ve made things more special for you.”

“Don’t worry, Kai. It already is special,” you say, squeezing his hand in reassurance. “My mom would probably be happy to see me coming here with someone who loves the piano just as much as she did.”

His face relaxes again, and he does very little to stop himself from grinning ear to ear.

After you take your seats in the back of the balcony and the lights begin to dim, a strange sense of calm overtakes you.

Despite being in a crowd of strangers, sitting next to Kai in the dark and listening to the hum of strings as they warm up makes you feel like you’re the only two people in the world.

Midway through the concert, you realize he’s still holding your hand. Maybe he’s like this with all of his friends, considering you’ve seen him and Soobin skipping down the halls hand in hand on multiple occasions. Still, you hope he never lets go.

—————-

Even though it’s technically your job, it’s a rare occasion where you actually get to dress the boys. Today, all hands are on deck for the filming of their upcoming album’s concept trailer.

“I can’t believe they’re making you wear a white sweater,” you sigh, holding up Kai’s outfit for the Dreamer sequence. “Everybody else gets such cute colors.”

“At least I get to stand out,” he grins, always looking on the bright side. He’s already got on his eyepatch, but it’s a little crooked. You walk over to fix it.

“Hold still,” you say, adjusting it into place and smoothing his hair down. “There we go.”

“Was I better this time?” he asks. You look up at him in confusion.

“What?” His face is so close to yours that you can feel his breath.

“I didn’t move this time. That night at the club,” he explains, “Well, you were telling me the story of when we first met. How I flinched and walked away and it hurt your feelings.”

“Oh. Yeah, you were much better this time.”

“I’m glad. I’ll try to be good for you, Y/N. I’m really sorry about before. I feel like I really wasted our time being so… weird. We could’ve been friends much earlier.”

“It’s okay, Kai, really,” you say, stepping back and handing him his sweater.

“It’s not, Y/N. It was silly of me to be so nervous around you.”

“You were nervous?”

“I guess you don’t remember that part of the conversation either, huh?” he asks, pulling his t-shirt off. You’ve seen the rest of the group shirtless before, but Kai usually goes into the bathroom to change whenever you’re around.

Your cheeks flush as you stare at his smooth skin and his broad shoulders.

“Uh, Y/N?” he says. While you were checking him out, Kai managed to get himself stuck. “I think my shirt is caught on my necklace. Can you help?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” you say, working gently to untangle the fabric around his neck. You can feel how warm his chest is, reminding you of riding in the taxi on his lap. Eventually, you’re able to get him freed.

“Thank you,” Kai smiles. “I’m really glad you’re here. Everybody else is always rushing me.”

“I might get in trouble if you don’t hurry up, Hyuka.” You’ve never called him by a nickname before. It’s foreign to think about, but somehow rolls naturally off your tongue.

“Fine, okay, I’m ready,” he says, pulling the sweater on. The color actually compliments him really well. “Do you need to add any finishing touches?”

“Hmm, spin around,” you say, twirling your finger. Kai does his signature penguin stance and waddles in a circle, making you giggle. “No, you look cute.”

Your eyes widen as you realize what you’ve just said.

“You think I’m cute,” he smiles, doing a little happy dance. “Ooh, I’m the cutest boy in the world, huh?”

“Hey! I said you look cute,” you assert, crossing your arms in an attempt to play it off. He’s right, but you don’t want him to know that.

“Close enough,” he says, grabbing his crown off of the makeup table. “I should go. I’ll see you later. You’re the best!”

He pulls you into a hug, nearly lifting you off the ground. When you’re back on your feet, he presses a quick kiss to your cheek and leaves the dressing room. Yeonjun does it all the time, but it feels different coming from Kai.

Your hand moves to your cheek, lingering on the spot where his lips touched. Fuck. You might actually be falling for Huening Kai.

—————-

For the past two months, you and Kai have alternated picking out activities to do together. Last week, you taught him how to make banana bread. He almost set your apartment on fire.

Today, he’s invited you to his place to practice playing the piano.

You’re more nervous than you need to be. It’s your first time in his bedroom, but it’s completely innocent.

Except when you’re sitting on the piano bench together, knees and shoulders pressed against each other, and he’s got his hands placed over yours to help guide you, you feel butterflies in your stomach. That’s not how people who are just friends feel.

You’ve come too far to throw it all away over a stupid crush. He’s simply much too out of your league. Still, while he’s busy explaining chord progressions, you’re staring at how long his eyelashes are and how cute he looks when he’s wearing his glasses.

“Are you even listening to me?” Kai asks, pouting. “I thought you wanted to learn, Y/N!”

“I do!” you lie. “I am very interested in what you’re saying right now.”

“What did I even say?” He crosses his arms and furrows his brow in fake anger.

“Um…” you start. You know you’ve been caught. “I’m sorry. I was distracted.”

His face shifts to worry. “Is something wrong?”

“No! Nothing’s wrong. Let’s keep going,” you say, flipping through his binder of sheet music. “Oh, I love this song!”

You had never expected him to have the piano score to Night Changes by One Direction, but you aren’t complaining. In a way, TXT’s dynamic reminds you a lot of the long gone boy group.

“This song is kind of like us,” he notes. You shoot him a confused look. It’s a love song, after all.

“What do you mean by that?” you ask, your palms now sweaty.

“I just think it’s kind of crazy how things changed between us.” That’s not really what the song is about, but you’re not going to tell him that. “I’m glad we’re friends now.”

“Oh, yeah, super crazy,” you say, exhaling. “I’m glad we’re friends too.”

“Y/N?” he asks, his face close to yours. Is he about to do what you think he is?

“Yes?”

“You have an eyelash on your face.” He brushes a finger across your cheek and holds up the lost lash with a smile. “Make a wish.”

You blow it away, vowing to never let him know that what you asked for was him.

“I have to tell you something,” you confess. “I don’t actually want to learn how to play the piano. I’d rather just listen to you play.”

“Oh,” he says, pleasantly surprised. “I can do that. Should I serenade you, too, m’lady?”

“Yes, please,” you giggle. His goofy side is such a nice departure from the gloomy, quiet Kai you were used to.

You’ve heard this song probably hundreds of times, but Kai’s version feels brand new. As you watch his fingers dance across the keys and listen to his soft voice, the lyrics begin to seem like they were written just for the two of you.

—————-

Taglist: @orangesodafoam @deezbutz28 @ur-mother-realnotclickbait @iyeeeverydee @internet-folks @darlingz99 @foxyjun @stardustmooncakes @giaalorine @beomgyubabybear @niningtori @goquokka @csbenthusiast @moarmyjkhk @lizdevorak @sooberryworld @lonelybutterflytae @midnight-mochii @theresawtf @nowadays56 @jjklvr9

P.S.: Please shoot me an ask or a reply if you’d like to be added to (or removed from) the taglist!

#hueningkai x reader #hueningkai #huening txt #txt #tomorrow x together #txt imagines #txt fic #txt hyuka #hyuka x reader #txt x reader #txt fluff #txt angst #hueningkai fluff #hueningkai angst #hueningkai imagines

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nonclassyparty · 10 months ago

Text

tins without labels - prologue (j.wy)

summary: Jung Wooyoung's life was always somehow intertwined with your own. from living in the same neighbourhood as kids to attending the same college; fights, bickering, bruises, teasing comments and tears. Wooyoung and you were never complete strangers but never friends either. Always somewhere in between, growing up with each other but never actually knowing one another. The relationship takes a confusing turn in your third year of college after an injury that places your football career on hold. Lonely, lost and confused, you find yourself at your first college party in the presence of none other than Jung Wooyoung asking him to show you what exactly have you been missing out on. playlist // my main masterlist // moodboard (tba) // click to donate to Palestine

pairing: jung wooyoung x reader warnings: none for this chapter i think! word count: 9.3k taglist: just reply or inbox me if u'd like to be added c: a/n: pls don't say damn when u see that i started another story. listen LISTEEEEEN. i know what u all will say..."bree should u rly be starting another series when u havent finished or started the 4757 bajillion ones that u already posted?" the answer is YES. let me explain myself briefly, this summer has been rly hard for me bc i lost someone who was incredibly important to me and i just can't write...i just can't! everything looks like shit!!! im halfway done with soot and something just isn't letting me continue. i can't write pretty on the outside or literally anything else i've started bc its all simply too sad. writing is draining to begin with despite how much i love and enjoy it but writing angst is k wording my mental health lol! so....i present to you this series, mostly dedicated to myself literally no one asked for this, i just feel like its something i need to write and always wanted to so here i go! it will be a little heartwarming series with lots of humor and coming of age shenanigans and huge chunks of it written from personal experience and i hope u guys read it and like it. i had a lot of fun writing this prologue. (p.s. i literally know jackshit about football/soccer so if by some chance someone that reads this knows their football shit....just let it go pls lmfaoo)

(prologue; when we were kids)

and I couldn't find the words, i couldn't think of what to say and all that I can do is stop and think about the days when all we used to dream about was meeting after school

6 and 8 years old;

Your mom helped you build the snowman.

An entire morning of running around your front yard, laughing and playing in the freshly fallen snow, seeing the air you breathe out in front of you that you pretended was cigarette smoke to make your mom laugh as the cold nipped at your cheeks.

The snowman was almost twice your size (which wasn't a lot, you were a fairly small child) with pebbles stuck in as his eyes and teeth pulled up in a big grin. Your mom found a small bucket in the old shed behind the house which she placed on his head as a makeshift hat and because you didn't have any carrots, there was a small twig stuck at the center of the snowman's face to serve as a long crooked nose.

(The snowman didn't have any arms, a detail that went over your head at the time.)

After admiring the big statue in the farther corner of your front yard for awhile, you finally retreated into the house with your socks wet along with the majority of your hot pink snowsuit. As you kicked off the damp clothes and exchanged them for warm, dry ones and fuzzy socks and then settled in front of the TV in the toasty living room with a mug of cocoa - you couldn't help but feel that it was a happy day.

Which is why when, in the late afternoon, once you looked out of your window to see what once used to be your snowman is now nothing but a big pile of disheveled snow with his plastic hat rolling around the sidewalk and two boys running away down the street with shrill laughter echoing after them, you simply couldn't help but burst into tears.

"Mommy!" You screamed out, running outside your front door in fuzzy socks and your sweater, as dramatic as you were. But you were six and your life still ended and began with coloring books and favorite toys, so a snowman that you made with your mom getting destroyed, surely felt like the end of the world.

Once your mom stepped out after you, about to scold you for walking outside into the cold air with no jacket on, you burst into crocodile tears as you pointed to the spot where your snowman once stood.

"Oh, no." She breathed out with a sigh before grabbing her jacket and slipping into whatever shoes were available by the door (they were your dad's old tennis shoes) and walking across the front yard to collect the small bucket from the sidewalk.

All you could do was stand and watch as you wailed so loudly after your snowman that the entire neighbourhood could hear.

"Honey, it's okay." Your mom tried to soothe you as she walked up the steps to your house, carrying what used to be the snowman's hat. "It's just a snowman, we'll make another one tomorrow!"

But you were inconsolable, bursting out in another wave of loud cries as you stomped your tiny foot and pointed to the house across the street.

"They ruined it! W-Wooyoung ruined it!" You sob, waving towards the boy's house with all the anger a six year old could possibly muster. You knew it was him, recognizing the ugly red jacket he wore this entire winter and his even uglier looking friend, Chanwook.

You weren't friends with Wooyoung. He was older than you and all of his friends were mean. You once tried to play with them when you first moved to the neighbourhood but they didn't want to play with a girl. You cried about that too.

They often teased you. Wooyoung said your crooked teeth made you look ugly!

She sighs again, "And that was very mean of him. But, Y/N, we'll just make another snowman tomorrow."

"But-" You start again, tears still sliding down your face.

"We'll build him in the backyard where we have a fence, so no-one will be able to touch him." She offers with a smile, hoping you'll finally be consoled enough to walk inside and be safe from the harsh cold.

"But I won't be able to look at him from the window." You tell her quietly, voice going hoarse from the crying and bottom lip already wobbling as another wave of tears began to sunk in. She gives you a sympathetic smile.

"We'll get him a prettier hat and we'll use two long branches to give him arms!" Your mom offers again, trying to butter you up so the tears would stop. "We'll get a carrot for his nose and big pretty rocks for his eyes!" Once she realized it was working, she continued; "And we'll take a picture of you with him so you'll always get to look at him, even when he melts away!"

You peer up at her with a hiccup, finally bribed enough; "A picture?"

She nods, holding the door wider for you to finally walk inside as you inch towards the door, fuzzy socks now soaked, "A picture. We'll send your dad to the mall to develop them."

So, you finally walk inside the warm house again, changing your socks and immediately going to your father's home office to pester him about the camera and just how long will it take for a picture to be developed.

"-Y/N, we'll just make another snowman tomorrow!"

Wooyoung heard your mom tell you as he peers at the exchange from across the street, through his bedroom window, freshly changed into dry clothes after a long hard day of playing outside with Chanwook and now, warming his frozen hands on the radiator.

When Wooyoung saw the snowman parked in the corner of your front yard, just a step away from the sidewalk, he and Chanwook thought it would be funny to ruin it.

The thing was ugly and had an even uglier bucket at the top of it's head, perfect to kick around the street!

He didn't think too much about it, if he was honest. Just saw a big lump of snow he wanted to kick at until it collapsed, so that's what Wooyoung did. It was just a silly snowman.

Besides, you were already six years old. Far too old to be making a stupid snowman. You should've been going sledding with the rest of the neighborhood kids on the small hill just a couple of minutes away from your street. Wooyoung was mature now, so his mom allowed him to go without a chaperone this year. You were always so childish, no wonder your mom didn't let you go with them. You cried over everything.

But he didn't expect you to cry over the stupid snowman!

It was just a snowman. It would've melted anyway when the weather got warmer! Or gotten ruined by someone else!

The brief fear of your mom telling Wooyoung's mom about what he'd done struck him. He'd positively get grounded for ruining your dumb snowman if she found out and then the rest of his winter break would be spent inside of the house.

You could always make another snowman. A better one. And since you're such a crybaby, Wooyoung would make sure to tell Chanwook that they won't be touching that one. Leave that ugly snowman alone.

Just so you wouldn't cry anymore.

10 and 12 years old;

"It's a shame your mother is dead, maybe if she was still around she would teach you how to act like a girl!"

Your face flushed in anger as you stared the other boy, Beomseok, his chubby fingers still wrapped around your pencil case which was how the argument started in the first place.

He was in the same class as you and a typical bully. Bigger than the rest of his peers and always using it to his advantage to intimidate and tease them. Today, he took your pencil case and when you asked for him to give it back, he only gave you a gnarly smile and started running around the classroom and eventually out on the halls, screaming taunts at you. It would be a lie to say that you didn't scream some pretty mean stuff back but in your defense, he deserved it.

Now, you both stood as if you're ready to duel as the rest of your classmates and even some upperclassmen gathered to see what the commotion is all about, your fury rising so high that tears spring in your eyes at the mention of your mom as you observe his smug smirk. Obviously, from a very young age, you were bad at managing your anger.

"I hate you!" You scream out, voice high pitched. Then you jump on Beomseok with your full weight, successfully pulling him to the hard hallway floors as your hands curled into tiny fists that started colliding with his face.

And Beomseok, for all his intimidating build, talked an awfully big game just to end up bursting into tears as your fist collided with his nose. He was bad at fighting, you notice, if he could be beat up by a lanky girl almost two times smaller than him.

"I just-" Punch. "-wanted-" Punch. "-my pencil case-" A slap. "-back!"

"Somebody help!" He screams from under you, whining under each attack but his classmates were too busy cheering you on to come to his defense.

Once you start harshly pulling on his hair, two arms wrap themselves under your armpits and pull you off of your classmate. You're standing again and are turned by your shoulders to come face to face with your teacher, screaming at you.

"Is this a proper behavior in school?!" and lots of "Your father will hear about this!"'s and "You're going to the principle's office!" as she started pulling you by your arm down the corridor that was still filled with students.

"Everyone to your classrooms! Now!" Your teacher screams from the top of her lungs as she tugs on you and you follow after her with a frown on your face.

Stupid Beomseok.

Wooyoung's stomach hurts from laughing, clapping Chanwook's shoulder who was almost sitting on the floor due to his own fit of pure glee, as he watches Kim Beomseok roll around the floor in pain, clutching his nose.

There's scratches and bruises already forming on his cheeks, little bit of blood mixed with a lot of big, fat tears. It's hard to feel even slightly bad for Beomseok, when Wooyoung heard how he torments his classmates along with the younger kids during recess. Did it count as bullying if the bully is the one getting bullied?

Maybe he finally got what was coming for him, nobody usually stood up to him and Wooyoung least expected you to be the one to put him in his place.

He deserved it, Wooyoung thinks, after what he said about your mom.

Wooyoung remembers her funeral three years ago, he remembers how much you cried and how you didn't leave your house for a month that summer. He even rung the doorbell to ask if you wanted to come out and play one time which he never did because you were a child and he was much more mature than you, you two had nothing in common. But he felt sad for you.

Your mom was nice, she always brought Wooyoung a chocolate when she'd come for a visit.

Sadly, they discovered she had cancer when you were only seven and Wooyoung was nine. By the time they discovered it, it was already too far along and your mom passed away on a summer evening while you were outside playing hide and seek.

Wooyoung remembers feeling so bad how they always made you the seeker that day because you were the youngest kid in the neighbourhood and far too easy to convince that it was simply always your turn to look for the other kids.

Your dad opened the door, smiling sadly at Wooyoung and saying that you weren't feeling well enough to come out and play. Wooyoung didn't try again after that.

The teacher is pulling you by your elbow through the crowd, yelling at the top of her lungs for everyone to head to their classrooms since class should start in a couple of minutes. You silently follow her, face twisted into an angry grimace.

Your hair has fallen out of your ponytail, long strands sticking to your face and Wooyoung is pretty sure that your shirt got ripped during the brawl.

Wooyoung might've been laughing a bit too loudly because with angry eyes and cheeks flushed, your head whips towards him just as you pass by him.

Wooyoung opens his mouth with a smile, to say something like "Good job, Y/L!" maybe. He doesn't get the chance to.

"What are you laughing at, Jung?" You ask loudly and Wooyoung's laughter immediately dies down.

"Wha-?"

And it's then, that your foot meets Wooyoung's shin in a harsh kick that makes him yowl in pain and makes Chanwook burst into another wave of laughter as his hands grab at Wooyoung who doubles over in pain.

"Y/N!" The teacher screams out again, pulling you back by your shirt and going on another rant, filled with threats of calling your dad to school and something else he can't process at the moment.

Wooyoung is too busy feeling the pain and anger that fills him up as he rubs at the place your sneaker covered foot meet his leg.

"Y/N, you psycho!" He yells after you who is still getting dragged away. You don't even bother to look back at him.

(He still collects your pencil case from the floor and throws it on a desk that a classmate of yours says belongs to you before exiting the classroom and going to his own. Wooyoung tells himself it's for no other reason but just so your dad won't have to buy you a new one. He has enough on his plate already.)

14 and 16 years old;

Wooyoung has a girlfriend.

You don't know why that's something that bothers you so much.

Maybe because you don't understand what a girl could possibly see in Jung Wooyoung to willingly let him hold her hand or...God forbid, kiss her. Ew.

That's a lie, maybe even a bad attempt at coping on your part because there's a general consensus in your high school that Jung Wooyoung is good-looking.

You didn't even think he was ugly when you were younger, when he was pulling on your pigtails and teasing you for playing with dolls. He was cute for an annoying kid back then too with his chubby cheeks and bowl haircut.

He was especially cute now, a recent discovery of yours which you have no one else to thank except puberty. It did wonders on your hormones and it did wonders on Jung Wooyoung too.

His jawline got sharper the more baby fat he lost and lips grew fuller. His boyish smile was very attractive, even his smile lines were captivating. Wooyoung grew taller as well, not by much compared to the other boys in his grade but he was tall just enough so you'd have to look up to him when you argue but not enough to be intimidated by him.

So, yes, you supposed you'd understand the appeal if it weren't for his stupid mouth and mean words more often than not, directed at you. You threw shots back as well, sometimes even started an argument first if you were feeling particularly annoying but maybe that sums up why you're so bothered.

He started dating Chaeyoung at the beginning of this summer and since you have the fortune (read: misfortune) of living in the house right across the street from Wooyoung's, you were an unlucky witness to most of their dates.

And he was so sweet to her. He'd buy her cheap flowers and ice cream, they'd walk around the neighbourhood holding hands, they'd take Wooyoung's younger brother Kyungmin to the playground in the evenings. Wooyoung would smile a lot at her and Chaeyoung would always smile back.

You even saw them kiss. Just once.

When you were folding laundry in your bedroom, you looked through the window just in time to see their lips connect on Wooyoung's front porch. You quickly looked away, feeling shy and embarrassed, not understanding why you were blushing or feeling so sad all of a sudden.

Why was he so nice to other girls but never to you? You shouldn't think too much about it, the problem isn't you. Chaeyoung wasn't just some other girl but his girlfriend. Of course, he'd treat her special.

Whatever. You scoff as you watch Chaeyoung run to Wooyoung across the quad as you adjust your sports bag over your shoulder.

She jumps into his arms and you can hear his loud, annoying laughter even to here as his arms wrap around her and he picks her up from the ground.

"What are you doing?" You almost jump out of your skin at the sound of Ryujin's voice as she nosily tries to follow where you were staring at.

Ryujin was the first friend you met since you started high school two weeks ago. She might be the only friend you have for awhile since you haven't really been trying to even get to know your classmates as you were too busy trying out for the girls football team.

You don't remember when you started actively playing football exactly. You always played it for fun with the boys from the neighbourhood (Wooyoung included) but maybe it was around seventh grade when your dad pestered you into trying out a sport because he didn't know what else to do with you so he packed you up and sent you to a sports camp for two weeks one summer, that you started actually playing.

You went there only caring about your iPad and came back saying you'll be a professional football player.

Your dad doesn't want to say it but you know he thinks it's a fickle dream that will fizzle out with age.

Thankfully, Ryujin shared the same love for the sport as you so for now, you were relieved and content to spend time with her. She was nice.

You didn't need anyone else but maybe it would've been nice if someone who was older, who you were familiar with even if you always fought, would give you a couple of words of useful advice. Regarding the new teachers and subjects and all.

High school was scary.

"Nothing." You answer quickly, turning your back to Wooyoung and his girlfriend and fully facing your new friend.

"Nothing?" Ryujin gives you a suspicious smile, eyes darting over your shoulder once more before she ruffles your hair. You yelp. "Do you have a crush already, Y/N?"

You gently shove her away with a huff, fixing your bangs, "Don't be stupid. These boys are all ugly."

A crush. As if!

She laughs at that, throwing her arm around your shoulder as she directs you both to the field where practice was held, already yapping about her own crush.

"Hey, isn't that your neighbour?" Chaeyoung nudges Wooyoung with her elbow, nodding somewhere behind Wooyoung. He cranes his neck to follow the direction before his eyes land on you.

He snorts, "Yeah."

You were standing in the middle of the football field, sweaty and red in the face from all the running, with your hands on your hips as you paid attention to what your coach was yelling towards your teammates across the field.

The school's jersey seemed far too big on your lanky form and your hair was a mess, always slipping out of your ponytail. You were much smaller in build than the rest of the team and it looked funny to Wooyoung.

He didn't expect you to be into sports, let alone a sport like football. In fact, Wooyoung is surprised that you don't burst into tears when you start arguing with the makeshift referee played by another student. It's what usually happens if you spend longer than a minute arguing with Wooyoung.

And then he ends up being the bad guy for making you cry but no one ever mentions that you sometimes provoke him first as well but can't take it when it's dished right back.

Since you're such a crybaby.

He watches with an amused grin as you bare your teeth at the referee, who is really just a senior that thought it would be a fun time but now he has to stand arguing with you. And to Wooyoung's further amusement, the older boy who is almost two heads taller than you, looks like he's about to shit his pants in front of you.

Hm. Maybe not such a crybaby when it's anyone else but Wooyoung.

"I think she has a crush on you."

He turns to look at his girlfriend with a confused look, growing further confused when she smiles teasingly at him.

"Who?" He asks and she gives him a knowing look before nodding in your direction again. Wooyoung splutters out a surprised laugh, "Y/N?"

"Yeah." She nods excitedly, giggling, "She's cute."

Wooyoung scoffs with an eyeroll, "She's a kid."

A kid who might have a small crush on Wooyoung but still, a kid nonetheless.

He'd be stupid to say he didn't notice that you sometimes stare at him a little too much but what the hell is he supposed to do about that. You just started high school, you probably weren't even aware of what you were doing. It was a childish crush because at the end of the day that's what you are - childish.

Chaeyoung giggles again, the sound is soft and sweet, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"It's kind of sweet." She sighs dreamily and Wooyoung snorts because nothing about you was sweet, "You're her handsome neighbour, the only guy who's always been close to her since she was a kid, she probably starts those childish arguments with you so you'd give her attention and then writes about you in her diary and-"

"Y/N is the last person to have a diary, first of all." Wooyoung interrupts with a snicker before looking down on his girlfriend who is teasing him, "Second of all, you sound ridiculous."

Chaeyoung lifts her head up from where it rested against him and looks at him seriously, her lips pressed together. Then she starts imitating Wooyoung's last sentence in a deeper voice that sounds nothing like him, "You sound ridiculous-ah!"

She squeals when Wooyoung pinches her at the waist lovingly and it turns to tickling her as he presses kisses to her cheeks.

As they continue to exchange kisses between hushed giggles, the conversation about you is forgotten.

18 and 20 years old;

From the moment you opened the door to greet your date, you knew that the whole night would be a complete and utter disaster.

Maybe you watched too many teen movies that romanticized prom night so much that even you ended up believing and looking forward to the glorified fantasy of it but boy, were you in for a rude awakening.

Your prom date was a boy from your Calculus class named Eunwoo.

To be completely honest, you were convinced for the entirety of your senior year that you wouldn't have a date for prom at all because not much has changed since freshman year.

You still had one good friend (two, if you count Ryujin's friend that says she likes hanging out with you) and your focus was always on football. Add schoolwork and keeping up your good grades and you truly didn't have much time left for socializing.

So when Eunwoo pulled you aside after your football practice and asked you if you wanted to go to prom together with a handsome boyish smile on his face, your excitement for that night skyrocketed.

Eunwoo wasn't exactly a friend but he was nice to you during class, maybe you were wrong but his niceness sometimes even bordered flirting. Already, you were daydreaming about a possible boyfriend to spend your last summer with before you start college.

With a date or without one, you spend the bigger portion of your senior year saving up money for prom night or should you say prom preparations.

Makeup was never your strongest suit, in fact, it wasn't a suit of yours at all. You never wore it. You never did your hair either.

Even on the rare occasion that you went to a high school party, you never wore anything else aside from jeans and T-Shirts. You were an athlete and you committed to the bit entirely, always being ready to sweat and opting for comfort of loose clothes above anything else.

But you wanted to look nice for prom, pretty. Not because of Eunwoo but for yourself. Prom is only once and you wanted to make sure you do it with confidence.

All your saved up allowance went on the hair and makeup appointment along with your dress that Ryujin helped you pick out. The dress was quite simple in your opinion, a dark red one with a square neckline held up by two thin straps that clung to your curves and flared out at the bottom.

With your hair pinned up in an up-do with two curled strands framing your face and glitter on your eyelids, you thought you looked very pretty, beautiful even. Hell, it was probably the best you looked in your entire eighteen years of life. You could even put up with the painful heels for the sake of it.

Your dad made you pose over the whole house while you waited for your date to pick you up. First a photoshoot on the stairs, then one on the front porch, then a little in front of the living room fireplace.

He seemed so excited with his camera hanging around his neck as he followed you around the house.

It was one of the moments you wished your mom was here for but nonetheless, it was much fun with your dad only as well. You were happy.

It all went to shit though once you opened the door for Eunwoo and he started laughing in your face.

"Oh my God!" He laughs, almost doubling over at the apparent hilarity of your appearance, "What are you wearing?!"

You laugh nervously, ignoring your father's glance at you from the sheer embarrassment, "What? Is it that bad?"

"No, no." Eunwoo shakes his head, wiping a stray tear that escaped while he was laughing, "It's just not like you, at all."

"Oh." You give him a sour smile, your fragilely built ego shattering completely. "I was just...trying something new I guess..."

He snickers with a headshake before offering you his hand, "Come on, let's go take a photo?"

After a small moment of hesitation, feeling your cheeks burn from the humiliation, you let him grab your hand and step out on the front porch. Eunwoo places a hand around your waist to pull you closer as you both smile at your dad's camera.

A couple of photos later, you both head towards Eunwoo's car as your dad waves you goodbye. You give him a small, almost sad wave back as Eunwoo opens the door for you. You ask him;

"Do I really look funny?"

"No, you look pretty no matter what." He answers, helping you with your dress. "It's just doesn't suit you I guess, it's not like you."

"Ah..." You say staring at the dashboard as you watch him round the car to get into the driver's seat. You glance back at your dad just to see him get back into your house and for a split second, you want to call the whole thing off and go back inside with him.

Of course this doesn't suit you. You were the girl guys dapped up in the hallways, the girl that was always covered in hoodies and sweatpants and never wore makeup. You must look stupid, all dolled up like this. What were you thinking.

Prom celebration is usually held at a hotel not far from your high school. The ballroom is enormous, with vast marble floors and high ceilings illuminated by golden, shimmery lights. It looks straight out a fairytale with colorful dresses worn by pretty princess and handsome princes in their extravagant suits. Only, you don't feel like a princess at all.

Eunwoo and you find your table and you briefly say hi to Ryujin and her date. Ryujin tells you how amazing you look and you give her the first (and possibly, only) genuine smile of the night.

"So," Eunwoo starts the conversation a few minutes after you settle down at your table with drinks, "Did you decide where you're going for college? Any scouts?"

"I'm leaning towards SNU. Their Women's Football Club is really strong and I feel like they actually get proper investments and budget." You tell him and he grins interrupting your next sentence.

"See, this is why I like you. It's hard to find a girl who knows about sports and is so chill about everything."

Your mouth stays parted, the rest of your sentence (which was really just saying that the fact the male football team was hot contributed to your decision as joke) went unsaid as his words registered. Every "compliment" Eunwoo gives you is starting to come off so backhandedly that you're beginning to realize that while he thinks he has you all figured out - he doesn't actually know you at all.

You give him a fake laugh and pray to God it doesn't sound fake enough for him to notice as you take a sip of your drink.

An hour later, your heels are killing you so much that you've completely given up on dancing. You observe Ryujin on the dance floor with her date, still going at it and sigh with the silent question of when it would be your turn. Instead, you're stuck to the sidelines with shoes that feel awful on your feet and a date that can't stop talking about how it's attractive that you're a "girl that actually eats". Eunwoo's compliments are becoming weirder by the second.

"Should I just take you home?" Eunwoo asks with an amused smile as he observes you taking off your heels for the tenth time since you sat back down.

"Ah, would you mind?" You give him an apologetic smile, feeling like a burden and a not-so-much-fun date, "I'm sorry, Eunwoo, this is unfair to you-"

"Nah, I had a fun time." He shakes his head, downing the rest of his drink, "Next time, just be yourself though, yeah?"

The weirdly phrased statement makes you pause. "What do you mean?"

"You know, you don't have to dress like this!" He laughs, playfully playing with the thin strap of your dress. You subtly move away from his touch. "It's not like you at all. I don't know if your friends talked you into it just to fit in but you shouldn't let them push you around like this."

He's so wrong that you can't speak for a moment but even if you could, you feel like trying to explain yourself to him would be far too exhausting and would lead to nowhere. Nor do you want it to lead anywhere anymore, if you were honest.

"Girls like that are so exhausting." He gives a tired sigh. "Outfits and makeup aren't the only thing in the world."

"Girls....like that?"

"You know! Like, the touchy-feely shit. Everything is about color-coordination and nail polishes with them. God forbid their hair is out of place. What a headache!" Eunwoo runs a hand through his hear before giving you an award winning smile. "That's why I'm glad I got to hang out with you! You're real."

"I'm....real?" You ask with a cocked head as your eyes start to narrow. He's too busy thinking that you like what he's saying so he continues.

"Yeah. You know, you keep it real. You're not caught up in that frivolous, girly bullshit. You're so chill, Y/N." He keeps smiling at you like he just gave you the highest form of compliment he possibly could.

But you can't bring yourself to crack a smile even if someone held a barrel of a gun to your temple at the moment. In fact, you feel like throwing up. You should've know from the start, from the moment he was so unreasonably impressed with your lack of makeup at the beginning of the year.

Eunwoo was one of those guys.

"Um," You slide your heels back on and grab your clutch, "You know what, you stay. I'll go."

"Wait, what." His brows raise in half confusion and half surprise as he watches you stand up from your seat.

"Yeah, I'll walk home."

"Wait, Y/N. Why would you walk home? I already said I'd drop you off-"

"No thanks. I don't want to get in a car with a sexist."

"What?!" Eunwoo reels back, "What the fuck are you talking about?! I'm not a sexist! I respect women!"

You huff, turning to him with a glare. "You respect women who are "cool" and "chill" and basically act like men. You should've just taken one of your dudes to prom if these are your opinions. I'm out."

So, that's how you find yourself in your pretty dress sitting in one of the plastic chairs of a convenience store with a popsicle in your mouth as you watch the cars drive by. You were too embarrassed to arrive home so early, you hyped up prom night so much to your dad - you'd rather lie and tell him you had a good time.

If the night couldn't possibly get any shittier, while you eat away at your cherry popsicle feeling undeniably sorry for yourself, you hear a familiar laugh followed by sounds of shoes scuffing against the pavement towards the convenience store.

Of course. Of fucking course, Jung Wooyoung would show up now, when you needed him least.

You try to make yourself seem as small as possible in the plastic chair, hoping he or his two friends wouldn't notice you (which in retrospect was a dumb hope, you were sitting right by the entrance in a fucking prom dress).

Ever since Wooyoung graduated high school two years ago, you only saw him in passing. He'd come home for Christmas holidays or a week or two during the summers and you'd only catch him skunk out of his house and into his dad's car if you were lucky. Unlucky, that is of course.

Maybe you were hoping he wouldn't even recognize you and although it would kind of hurt (as embarrassing as that is to admit), you feel like it would be a better option.

But since you were on a roll tonight, obviously this is just another thing that doesn't go your way.

"Nice dress, Y/L/N." You hear Wooyoung's voice speak, followed by snickers from his idiotic friends and his own attempt at stifling his laughter as they walk past you and into the convenience store, the small bell above the door signaling their entrance.

That ends up being your last straw.

You don't cause another fight or yell something back after him, no, you don't have the energy to do that tonight. Instead, you feel like you will cry.

Tears are already burning at your eyes and your bottom lip wobbles, you're not even aware that your eyes follow Wooyoung through the display of the store, watching him as he picks up a pack of beer and heads for the cashier.

He got even more painfully handsome than he was when you'd see him every day before he graduated. His hair was double toned, the top of it black and the bottom strands bleached, brushing the nape of his neck.

You think you could even see a tattoo peaking under his shirt as he moves.

Jung Wooyoung was so not your type. Not that you really knew what your type was but all the guys that you found cute in your high school years were athletes, jocks who were organized and dedicated to their routine which in your opinion showcased their maturity, got good grades and were respected by their peers. Wooyoung was really the complete opposite of that so it was hard to explain why you so weirdly hung up over his approval.

He's still laughing about something with his friends, it would hurt so badly if it was about you, as his eyes dart through the display and connect with your own.

Wooyoung does a double take before his big smile slowly slips and dare you say, eyes soften as he looks at you and his lips part as if he wants to say something.

It could all be in your head though and you're feeling even worse now that he caught you staring at him like a total creep, so you throw your popsicle in the trash and get up with a sigh, slipping back into your heels and deciding to just go home.

"Hey, Y/L/N! Wait up, I'll give you a ride home!" Wooyoung calls out after you, the plastic bag swinging back and forth in his hand.

He can hear Chanwook's hushed objection which Wooyoung chooses to ignore, instead focused on walking closer to you. You couldn't make it far since you were basically limping in your heels.

"No thanks." Wooyoung hears your response and rolls his eyes. He hasn't spoken to you in the last two years at all but he can see that nothing has changed much - you were still too stubborn for your own good.

You didn't even bother to turn back and look at him, instead you hitch your dress further up and continue up the street and away from the convenience store.

"Y/N, come on. Quit being a brat and just wait for me to bring the car around."

"I said no!" You yell over your shoulder and let out a small yelp when you stutter a bit on your feet. To Wooyoung, you resembled Bambi right now.

"I'm trying to help you!" He yells back, still following you, "Just let me drive you back-"

"Wooyoung, seriously, fuck off!" You turn to face him with red cheeks and teary eyes (maybe that's why he's insisting so badly to drive you home, you simply look pathetic), "I don't need your fucking help!"

Wooyoung reels back at your tone and harsh words and then a wave of embarrassment washes over him when he hears Chanwook and Eunhyuk laugh behind him, at the fact that he just got told off by his little neighbour.

The embarrassment is followed up by anger that prickles at his skin like needles, he scoffs and if there's one thing Wooyoung will be - it's petty; "Fine! Limp home in your stupid heels then, see if I give a shit!"

You don't give him a response and Wooyoung doesn't bother to look for it either, instead turns around on his feet and heads towards his car (his dad's car). But not before telling a laughing Chanwook to shut the fuck up.

But once he's in the car with the keys in the ignition, he stares at the steering wheel in obvious contemplation before letting out a small groan, "Fuck."

Wooyoung turns to Chanwook, "Sit in the back, please."

His friend looks at him in surprise and confusion. "What?"

"Just sit in the back, will you? Please." Wooyoung repeats, avoiding Chanwook's eyes but feeling his stumped stare.

"Wooyoung, you cannot be serious." His friend laughs in disbelief as if reading his mind, looking around before giving Wooyoung another incredulous look, "She just told you to fuck off!"

Eunhyuk is quiet in the back which is a huge relief for Wooyoung, he really didn't need to defend himself to his other friend too.

"I can't let her go by foot in the dark, you've seen her! She can barely walk!" Wooyoung says defensively to both of his friends as Chanwook moves to the back with a huff.

"And that's your problem...how?" Chanwook, like the annoying pest he is, asks.

"It's not...." Wooyoung trails off, trying to look for an excuse as to why he was going out of his way to give you a ride home. "But...but her dad would kill me if he knew I saw her and didn't drive her back. It's only right."

Chanwook smacks his lips obnoxiously loud, "Sure."

Wooyoung doesn't even need to turn around to know that his friend is giving him a very bold side eye right now.

Eunhyuk snorts but doesn't say anything else. Wooyoung is thankful for that at least.

"She probably won't even want to get in the car." Chanwook comments quietly as they reach you on the sidewalk. He ends up being ignored.

Wooyoung rolls the window of the old car down so he can talk to you, he has to say you're walking at an impressively slow pace. "Y/N, get in the car."

He hears you groan dramatically from the outside, "Jung, you're not my dad. Stop telling me what to do."

Wooyoung ignores Chanwook and Eunhyuk's snickers in the back once again, he grows even more irritated, "I'll call your fucking dad right now and tell him you're walking home alone this late. How about that?"

You turn to him with your glossy lips twisted into a scowl, "You wouldn't."

Always ready to prove a point or in this case, lie straight out of his ass, Wooyoung makes a show of stopping his car next to the sidewalk and fishing his phone from the pocket of his jacket before opening up his contacts and beginning to scroll. He doesn't even have your dad's number.

But Wooyoung is a professional bullshitter so he keeps pressing random buttons with a straight face and presses the phone to his ear before turning to you with his brows raised-

"Okay, fine!" You exclaim with an angry huff and start rounding his car as your cheeks flush a pretty pink color. Wait, pretty-? You open the door and angrily plop into the passenger's seat with a glare directed towards him, "Fucking snitch."

Wooyoung ignores you, locking his phone without another word and beginning to drive away.

There's an awkward silence in the car, only sounds being made are those of the plastic bags filled with beer that keep rustling in Eunhyuk's lap.

"This isn't the way to our street." You say and Wooyoung might be crazy but you almost sound a little nervous at that. He glances at you before it dawns onto him. Of course, you'd be feeling nervous.

It's nighttime and you're in a car with three dudes older than you who you don't know that well. Wooyoung didn't even bother telling you about his plan before he started driving. A curse runs through his head before he clears his throat,

"I'll just drop these two off at a party nearby and then drive you home." He murmurs, chest constricting a little when he sees you cross your hands over your chest, a gesture which makes you seem smaller.

"Wait, wha-" Chanwook, gosh he was really pissing Wooyoung off tonight, starts from the backseat. "Woo, I thought you were going too-"

"I will." Wooyoung interrupts him with a clenched jaw as he pulls up to the house where the party is held, "I'll drop Y/N off and then come back, it won't take more than fifteen minutes. Now get out- Wait, give me that bag right there."

Eunhyuk hands him one of the plastic bags and Wooyoung fishes through it and pulls out two blueberry ice creams out of it before giving the bag back to Eunhyuk. Which he bought for himself, of course. Not because he saw your popsicle melting on the pavement or anything.

Chanwook watches with a dropped jaw before huffing, Wooyoung hears him murmur, "Doing it for her dad, my ass-"

"I'll be right back!" Wooyoung announces loudly, far too loudly, and Eunhyuk slams the car door shut so Wooyoung can drive away.

When he pulls away, the silence in the car is almost stifling so Wooyoung offers you the ice cream, "Here."

You look at him like a second head just popped out of his shoulder before looking back through the window and ignoring him completely. Wooyoung lets out a small groan. So stubborn.

"Oh my God, just take it." He says, placing the ice cream on your lap as he continues to drive. He bites back a smile when he sees you stare at the ice cream on your lap for a long second before grasping it and opening the wrapper so you can eat it.

Wooyoung really doesn't know what he's doing right now.

He doesn't know why he bought ice creams for you, he doesn't know why he insisted on getting rid of his friends first before dropping you off home, he has no idea why he keeps glancing at you every couple of seconds from the corner of his eye and he especially doesn't have a clue why he takes the longer route home.

When tomorrow comes and he wakes up hangover from the party and probably in someone else's bed, he'll give himself the same excuse he gave the boys. He wanted to make sure you got home safely because it's the right thing to do. There was nothing else to it.

But in this moment, right now, in the stifling silence and the breeze that flows through the opened window's because the air conditioning isn't working - Wooyoung notices things that he feels embarrassed to notice, or maybe he noticed them before but never allowed himself to appreciate them until tonight.

Like, how nice your bare neck and collarbones look now that your hair is pinned up in soft curls. A thin silver necklace graces your neck. Or how the two curled strands at the front frame your face prettily. Your eyelids are painted with something shimmery which Wooyoung doesn't know the name of and your cheekbones are a soft peach color intentionally placed there beforehand.

Your glossy lips wrap around the ice cream cone and you bite off a huge chunk.

"Why are you staring at me?" Wooyoung can decipher the question even through the mouthful of ice cream as you give him a slight glare.

Because you're pretty. Is what he wants to say, honest and bare, but he obviously can't because you're you and he's Wooyoung. "Because you have ice cream on your nose."

His hands tighten against the steering wheel when he sees you quickly look to the side and wipe at your nose self-consciously. You blush a scarlet red from the embarrassment. Great, now he feels like an asshole.

Wooyoung clears his throat, "Why did you look so sad? Back there, in front of the store."

He has no idea why he's trying to make conversation with you. You two never do that, never did. The closest thing to a conversation between Wooyoung and you would be the arguments you'd have in the middle of the school hallway when he'd tease you for your braces.

Those came off as well, by the way, he can see the pearly white teeth perfectly aligned now as you speak. No longer crooked. Maybe he'd like to see them pulled up in a smile but that's borderline wishful thinking now. You smiling at Wooyoung? Yeah, right.

"No reason." You tell him quietly, slumping in your seat as you continue to eat your ice cream. You sigh with an eyeroll, "Just...prom sucked."

Likely thing to happen.

The key is to go to prom with your expectations so low that you can only go up from there but Wooyoung had an inkling feeling that having low expectations wasn't in your nature.

Besides, you were a jock. He remembers even when you were a freshman, you were already running with the popular crowd without even being aware of it, with the athletes and the cheerleaders. Prom night is sort of a pinnacle of the high school experience for people like you.

Guess it's a bummer that you look like you had a shit time.

He hums, "At the end of the day, it's just another Friday night. Nothing special. So even if it sucked, you'll get over it."

Maybe he wasn't the best at giving advice or comforting people.

You side eye him and he pretends not to see it before you quietly add, "I don't usually spend a year worth of allowance on just another Friday night."

Wooyoung cracks a smile, teasing you being a second nature even if you barely spoke since he graduated, "What? Did you expect a prince charming to sweep you off your feet so you two can dance the night away or something? I didn't know you were into that corny shit, Y/L/N."

He hears you scoff, cheeks still red as you roll your eyes, seriously annoyed, "Whatever. Forget I said anything."

Wooyoung's gives a forced snicker just to annoy you before his smile drops again and his eyes flutter shut for a moment out of pure frustration at his own stupidity, internally cursing himself. If shooting yourself in the foot was a person - it would have Jung Wooyoung's photo and name posted under it.

Why can't you just be nice to her?

The air in the car turns even more awkward and Wooyoung shifts uncomfortably in his seat while you continue to eat your ice cream in silence as you stare through the window.

He slows down in front of your house just when you're finishing your ice cream.

You crumple the wrapper in your hand, place the second ice cream on the dashboard and grab the small bag laying on your lap before grabbing the door handle.

"I hope," Wooyoung starts and when you turn to look at him, he's overcome with a sudden coughing fit which is really just awkwardness and the need to fix whatever the fuck he broke a little even more tonight, "Uh, hope you took some good pictures tonight at least because..."

He trails off, feeling like it was his first time flirting with a girl. Wait, what the fuck. He was not flirting with you. Not even a little bit. Wooyoung was simply trying to pay you a compliment. Simple as that. It doesn't have to be anything more. You don't even need to be friends to pay someone a compliment, in fact, Wooyoung is positive that regular archnemeses complimented each other at least once.

Unfortunately, compliments aren't the norm between the two of you, so whatever nice thing he says feels wrong.

Your brows raise.

"You know," He trails off, scratching the back of his neck in an attempt to seem cool and collected. He nonchalantly adds but his side glances might give him away, fortunately you're too much of a ditz to notice, "You look good."

You stare at him for a long moment, seriously it's so long that he almost changes his mind and adds an insult just so you two would be back in those familiar waters of bickering and teasing each other but then your eyebrows fall back down and a scowl overtakes your features.

"Yeah, right." You mumble and Wooyoung almost feels insulted for some reason but then you continue, "Thanks for the ride."

And then you're out of the car and already moving across your front lawn before Wooyoung can snap out of it and remember to turn the car back on.

19 and 21 years old;

"10 more minutes! Y/L/N stop arguing with that asshole and get back into your position before you're out of the game completely!"

Your coach is red in the face from all the shouting and you know what's good for you, so you keep your mouth shut as you run to your spot, thoroughly ignoring the glare your team's captain shoots at you from your right.

The 'asshole' that your coach is referring to is the referee who didn't count a player from the rival team almost breaking your leg by bulldozing into you - as a foul.

"-stole Eunha's position from her and can't even play properly." You hear a snicker behind you and don't even have to turn to know who it's directed at.

Despite it being only your first semester, you haven't made the greatest impression on your teammates (nor did you try all that much to change that impression).

So for the time being, when there was no rival team, you were the collective enemy in the changing rooms and on the practice field. A freshman who kicked their friend from the spot she had since she started college. A freshman who thought she was better than the rest of her team. A freshman who didn't know how to behave at times. A freshman that made them run extra laps because she was bad at remembering all the new rules at times.

And now, a freshman that was playing badly and fucking up things for the rest of them.

"Y/N!" A hiss from your right is heard and your eyes zero in on your captain, Jihyo, who is staring at you. "Focus."

You swallow harshly and give her a quick now before focusing your gaze to the front.

In high school, you weren't used to losing. You were a winner, it's what you prided yourself in. Failure wasn't an option when it came to football.

But turns out in college, when all the other players are as good as you, winning isn't as easy.

In fact it’s a lot harder than you thought it would be. Nearing the end of the first half the score sheet is still empty and it annoys all of the players and the fans as well. The weirdest thing is how ball is not even on your team's side of the field most of the time; your defenders did not have a very entertaining start of the game in comparison to defenders from Busan, who already look out of breath from all of the attacks to their side. Not to mention that they keep teaming up on you specifically.

You can’t pinpoint what exactly is wrong and why there was no goal to this point; half of you thinks it’s because you didn’t blend well with the team.

"Run, run, run!" Yeonjin shouts, when Sinb loses the ball and Busan’s midfielders rush to their side.

The spike of adrenaline energizes you and your eyes zero on the ball, running after it. Mina’s figure passes from your left and both of you corner the midfielder, successfully getting the ball to your side. You have it and quickly pass it to Yeonjin, seeing her signal for the ball. You watch her run off when a body collides with your own and the impact is so strong, you lose your balance, falling down.

‘What?’ You ask yourself in disbelief not understanding how you're sprawled across the grass again, slowly standing up. At first you're shell-shocked but now anger fills you to the brim when you see that it's the same girl who intentionally collided with you the first time, watching you with a smug smirk and then you're just ready to fight.

You push back at her and get even angrier when the bitch doesn't fall.

"Are you going to go tattle to mommy?" She asks with a mocking concern and you can’t hear anything; you even forget that you are in the middle of the game because your anger turns your vision red.

With a loud groan, you launch towards her and grab her by the shirt, screaming to her face that 'she's a cunt'. There are hands around you, pulling you away, trapping you and not letting you go even when you try to break free.

Jihyo's face is in front of you and you can't register what she's saying but you can see her turn red from how pissed off she is. Maybe it's better if you're not listening to her, if you can't hear anyone actually...but then-

"Hey, number nine! You better not fucking cry!"

At first, you think the loud yell came from somewhere on the field. You thought another player from the Busan team was talking shit. And then,

"Number nine! Crybaby!"

There's some laughter in the audience and it's then that you realize the voice is shouting from the fucking bleachers.

A teammate is already pulling you in the opposite direction but your eyes are glued to crowd sitting on the sidelines, the annoying voice insistently yelling. Crybaby. Crybaby. Crybaby.

The worst part is that the voice sounds so painfully familiar, you just can't put your finger on it. Who.

You're about to let it go. You're about to be the bigger person and not act like a total brute on the field, just let it go Y/N. But then-

"Hey, hey crybaby!" You stop in your tracks, head whipping to the direction the voice was coming from and eyes coasting over the bleachers. "What kind of hill did you roll down from that you don't even know how to push someone back properly?!"

Finally, you spot it. Him. In a red hoodie, making sure to stand out in the sea of blue. It's no wonder the voice sounded so eerily familiar, you've heard it screaming at you for the majority of your childhood and a good chunk of your teen years.

Because he rolled down the same hill as you with only a street separating you.

When he realizes that you've caught onto him, he gives you that smile. That grin that never led to anything good, pearly white teeth gleaming under the lights of the bleachers as he taunts you.

You blood pressure jumps so, you take a deep breath and....scream;

"Jung Wooyoung!"

#ateez angst #ateez x reader #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung imagine #wooyoung smut #wooyoung angst #wooyoung fluff #wooyoung scenarios

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