#day6 x reader fluff

[daengtokki]

I’d love to read about Seungmin taking care of you while you’re sick. I know he’d be so sweet and loving 🥰

Kim Seungmin/gn!reader

wc: 1.1k

rating: fluff

A crash echoing in from the kitchen wakes you from your doze, and you groan so loudly you’re afraid he hears it. What could he have possibly dropped? All he was doing was grabbing the painkillers. He’s trying his best. He doesn’t even have to be here right now.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t get the drawer open, something was stuck inside…uh, here ya go.” His clenched fist hovers over you, and he drops two capsules in your palm. “Are they the right ones?”

And the migraine is just making you more sensitive. Having him with you while you’re feeling under the weather is brand new. "Yeah, thank you."

“Oh, you need a drink”

“No, I have my water”

He stops and turns back to you, a shy smile stuck on his face. This isn’t the first time, or the second time he’s been here, but it’s never for very long, and never overnight. And he doesn’t have to take time away from his own busy schedule for you, ever—you’ve told him that countless times. But now it’s late and Seungmin is still at your apartment, comfortable in his shorts and sweatshirt and his warm socks. You don’t think you’ve ever been more attracted to him than you are right now.

“I’ll be right back”

He spins and heads back to the kitchen, and you listen carefully to try to figure out what he’s doing. The faucet, the cabinet doors opening and closing, and the clink of cups, or mugs…he must be making tea. Eventually, the scent drifts into the bedroom—spicy and sweet. Seungmin returns with a mug in each hand, and he’s taking his time, being as careful as possible as he sets them on the bedside table.

“I’m not sure if it really works, but I saw it when I stopped at the store on the way here. If it just tastes good, I guess that’s okay, too.”

The pounding in your head becomes unbearable, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut. “What is it?” You whisper, trying not to sound too irritable.

“How bad is the pain…one to ten?” Seungmin carefully sits on the edge of the bed, your mug of tea in his cupped hands.

It does smell nice. “Uh…a seven, maybe.”

“It’s supposed to help with headaches”

“Oh, you’re so sweet. Come over here”

“Yeah?” You nod again, and he nods back. “Okay.”

This is also brand new, sharing a bed. It’s a shame the first time has to be under these circumstances, but you’ll take him any way you can get him. The original plan was to have dinner, but after a few subtle hints, you managed to turn it into a late dinner and a sleepover. The migraine ruined it, but Seungmin still insisted on coming over, even if all you did was stay in bed and put up with him.

“It’s okay if you don’t like it. It’s very gingery.”

“It smells good.” You take a sip, and it’s not too hot, so you take a bigger one. “Thank you.”

Seungmin keeps a careful distance on top of the blankets—too much distance, but he’s going to treat you like this migraine could break you at any moment. You have to look at him through squinted eyes, try to smile and let him know you’ll be okay if he gets closer. You’ll be okay if he touches you.

“The lights...I forgot to turn the lights down.” He’s up and headed for the kitchen again. The light clicks off. Back in the bedroom, he flicks the light switch on the wall, so now the only glow is from the hallway light spilling in through the cracked door. “That’s better.”

“Much better. Six.”

Back on the bed, same distance. He nervously rubs his thighs, and his knees.

“You look cute in your pjs. Is this what you usually wear to bed?”

The pink on his cheeks rises slowly, and ends at the tips of his ears. You don’t think it was that odd of a question, but Seungmin is clearly a little flustered. Hopefully it wasn’t too much.

“I’m sorry, too personal?” You laugh. It’s not—you know he isn’t that sensitive, but he ended up being much more shy than you expected.

Idol Seungmin is a different person. Seungmin with his fellow members is also a different person. Your version of him, at least so far, is quiet, a little unsure, and not always confident in his actions.

“No, it’s not,” he smiles. “I don’t wear this much to bed, usually, but that didn’t seem appropriate tonight.”

“Well, if you get warm…”

“I’ll take off my socks.” He wiggles his toes and moves himself closer.

It hurts your head, but you let yourself laugh. Seungmin is funny, and he knows it. You’ll indulge him every time. “Is that a promise?”

This is different. It’s not the same as your closeness on the couch, or in the back of the car—this is your bed, and it doesn’t get more cozy and intimate than this. When you let your pounding head rest on his shoulder, his cheek lands on you. Something finally gives, and he seems to relax. You’re not sure what you did, but he shifts again, and you feel his soft lips press against your forehead. “Four.”

“If I could kiss away the pain, I would,” he says under his breath.

“Can you try?”

Whether he’s ready or not, you wrap your arms around him and bring him closer. But he does the same. Seungmin squeezes, but not too tightly, and places another kiss on your forehead, on your temple, and down your cheek. Wherever he can reach.

“I think it’s working”

Seungmin keeps going, “it’s a good thing I came over,” and finally makes it to your lips. He kisses very cautiously, and not nearly long enough when he pulls away to look at you.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, just checking”

“I’m good…three and a half.” The strong fingers kneading into the back of your neck is the same move from his last visit. “That feels nice.” Hopefully, his next move is also the same as before.

“Does it? It’s not too much?”

You shake your head and close your eyes, and his lips press against yours again. This time he stays. His tongue slides across your mouth to gain access, and you let him in.

“Three," you somehow manage to get it out between his kisses, “two…”

[hyucksos]

1 to 10 — kang younghyun

pairing: kang younghyun x f!reader genre: arranged marriage, (one-sided) enemies to lovers, fluff, angst, romance wc: 12.6k synopsis: marriage was never part of your plan— especially not to brian kang, a man as composed and unreadable as he is infuriating. used to calling the shots in your own life, you struggle to adapt to sharing a home, a name, and a future with someone the complete opposite of you. but as bickering turns into something dangerously close to understanding, you realise there’s one thing you hadn’t accounted for in this arrangement: falling for the husband you never wanted in the first place.

You should have known your parents had an agenda the day you were introduced to Kang Younghyun and his family.

You had brushed it off as just that; exchanging pleasantries at galas were second nature to you, and just like the countless other families you had been introduced to that evening, you knew that the Kangs would be nothing more than another name in a long, forgettable list.

Even when you were handed his card, the words Brian Kang, Vice-Chairman embossed on matte cardstock, you had thought nothing of it, the small, unassuming rectangle quickly making home in your purse where you would eventually forget about it for months.

And forget about it, you do, until tonight, almost a year after you first met Younghyun��� or rather, Brian. You weren’t sure how to address him seeing as you never really had an actual reason to do so, so you settle for a tight-lipped smile as both his and your parents engage in conversation. You get a polite, dimpled one in return.

It is only when both of your families are settled in your seats, waiting for your first course to be served do you hear his voice for the first time that night. It’s the same as you last remember it— soft, gentle, and far too measured, as if every word is carefully curated to be agreeable.

And that’s when you remember why you hate Brian Kang.

Because no one is ever truly that nice— especially not people like you. The wealthy don’t do kindness without motive, and people only often act that way when they want something— your approval, a favour, or, God forbid, your hand in marriage.

And just as you take a sip of your wine, your mother clears her throat.

“It’s a wonder how Younghyun is stil single at his age, isn’t it?”

The comment is offhanded, but it still sends a wave of uneasiness down your spine. You know how your mother is— she’s the reason why you’re so wary of people like Brian to begin with. Because everything you assume about him? She’s already proven herself true.

Mr. Kang hums in agreement. “A man like him— steady, responsible. Any girl would be lucky to have him.”

The old man glances at you as he utters the last few words, and your grip tightens around your glass. Whatever it is that’s about to come next, you know you’re not going to like it.

“That’s why we’ve been thinking…” Now, it’s your father’s turn to speak. “It’s time you start considering a more suitable future for yourself. We’ve talked it over, and we believe Younghyun is the right match for you.”

A beat of silence passes by, as though everybody is waiting for you to react first. You even feel Brian’s steady gaze on you, and that’s when you realise— he knew. That asshole knew.

You don’t stop the chuckle that escapes your lips before it escalates into full-blown laughter, and if not for the tears in your eyes, you would’ve caught the awkward glances being exchanged across the table.

“Honey-“

“You-“ your voice comes off as hoarse. “You want me to marry him?”

“It’s a good match.” Your mother takes a bite of her steak, completely unfazed and completely dismissive of your slow descend into insanity.

“For who? For me? Or for your business connections?” You snap.

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” your father cuts in, unimpressed.

You scoff, turning to him. “I’m dramatic? You’re literally selling me off in the middle of dinner and I’m dramatic?”

Your mother sighs, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin. “Sweetheart, let’s be honest. You were never going to make a sensible choice on your own. We’re doing you a favour.”

Your stomach twists. You know what she’s hinting at. “Excuse me?”

“You’re wasting your time on a boy who barely has enough to pay for his own dinner, let alone yours. How do you expect us to trust your judgement?”

Of course. Of course, they’d bring up Wooshik. Your parents never took a liking to your boyfriend since you introduced him to them two years ago, and while that was an issue you’ve been putting off for a while now, always convincing yourself you’d cross that bridge when you got to it, you just never expected for it to catch up to you so soon.

Then again, you should have known. Your parents always play the long game.

You shake your head, your chair screeching against the marble tiles as you stand up. “You know what? I’m done.” You spare Brian a glare as you do so, the man infuriatingly calm as he watches the entire ordeal unfold ike he’s in a board meeting.

Oh, you hate him.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Your father calls out to you, his voice sharp.

You don’t bother to reply as your storm out of the dining hall, hailing down the first cab you see the moment you exit the country club. There’s only one person you want to see right now, one person who could make sense of this insanity. The one person who, despite what your parents think, chose you for you.

You arrive at Wooshik’s apartment in twelve minutes, your knuckles rapping loudly on his door. In hindsight, you should have given him a call first, knowing that he’s probably already asleep at this time, but in your frazzled state it seems that all sense has left you completely.

The door finally swings open after what feels like forever, but you’re met with someone who isn’t your boyfriend.

“Yes?” The girl greets you with an unimpressed stare. For a moment, you think you’re at the wrong apartment, until your gaze flickers to the number plate above the doorbell. Not that you even needed to; you’ve been here probably a thousand times. There’s no way you’d mistake your own boyfriend’s place, no matter how distressed.

And for the second time that night, your heart drops to the pit of your stomach, only for it to shred itself into little pieces when Wooshik appears, shirtless, eyes widening when they land on you.

“Baby-“

“Who is this?” You ask lowly, shakily, because even despite everything, you still have an inkling of hope that maybe, this is all just a huge misunderstanding. There’s no way that Kim Wooshik, your boyfriend of four whole years, would cheat on you, right?

But he only stays silent, and that was all you needed to hear.

Your heart pounds in your ribs, each beat louder than the last, but Wooshik still says nothing. He doesn’t deny it, doesn’t push past the girl in his doorway to get to you. He just… stands there.

And that’s when you realise— he’s not speechless because he’s guilty. He’s speechless because he doesn’t care.

“Oh, wow,” the girl hums, arms crossing over her chest as her eyes twinkles in amusement. “Took you this long to figure it out, huh?”

You turn to her slowly, fists clenched at your sides. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, c’mon,” she pauses to laugh, gesturing lazily to your boyfriend— if you could even call him that. “Look at him! What other reason could there be for someone like him to go for someone like you?” 

When you don’t answer, she raises her hands, rubbing her middle finger against her thumb. As though you needed a reminder— tonight, of all nights— the only thing people truly cared about.

Money.

And it was a good thing you had loads of those too, because being broke sure as hell wouldn’t be able to get you out of what you did next.

You punched her.

You don’t register it until it happens, the loud crack that echoes in the hallway— your knuckles, her nose, you’re not entirely sure which. One thing for sure, you’re seeing red.

She stumbles back with a shriek, but you’re already turning to Wooshik.

“You bastard.”

Your fist collides with his jaw before he could even stammer out an excuse, and his back hits the door behind him upon impact.

“Are you insane?!” He yells, cupping his bruising cheek as he pants.

Maybe. But right now, you don’t care. Even when you feel the stinging of your scalp as the girl fists your hair and yanks you backwards, you recover fast, and you think it’s the pent-up rage from before that spurs you to continue, disregarding your broken nails as you claw blindly and ignoring the contents of your clutch spilling onto the floor as you use it as a makeshift weapon.

“Stop! Stop it- people are looking!“ Wooshik hisses as he grabs you from behind, pulling you away from his mistress. You yank yourself free, whipping your neck to look at him.

“Oh, now you want to care what people think?” You laugh sharply, ignoring the curious eyes of his neighbours as they watch through the cracks of their half-open doors.

Before he could reply, you’re interrupted by the sound of sirens.

Loud. Distinct. And definitely getting closer.

And as the red and blue lights spill through the corridors, it finally registers.

You’re screwed.

The police station is desolate at this time of night, and if it weren’t for the position you were in, you could even say that it’s peaceful.

You’re seated across an officer— Officer Jung, as the placard on his table suggests— who’s flipping through his notes.

“So, wanna tell us what happened?”

You don’t answer, exhaling sharply through your nose— this wasn’t how you imagined your night to end.

“Seeing as there are no serious injuries, we could let you off with a warning and fine. But, if Mr. Kim and Ms. Shin decide to press charges, well, you might have to deal with a court date at a later time. If you tell us what happened, we could help you— make things easier, at least.”

You scoff humourlessly as you keep your gaze on your lap— your bloodied fingers fiddling with your clutch you miraculously still have with you. It’s bent out of shape and not even able to lock properly anymore, leaving you to notice that some of your items are probably still left on the floor outside Wooshik’s apartment.

And then, you notice it— a familiar sleek, black card, hidden away in a tiny pocket on the wall of your purse.

You haven’t used this bag in a while— it’s been almost a year, you believe, but you instantly know to whom that card belongs.

You look at Officer Jung. “I want to make a phone call.”

He looks taken aback at your sudden request, but quickly recovers. “You’ll get your phone call, but talking now could make things easier for you, if you’d just cooperate, Miss.”

You don’t reply, and the officer sighs.

“Fine. One call.”

He pushes the telephone on his table towards you, and you pick up the receiver while you take out the namecard with your other hand. The phone rings thrice before he picks up.

“Brian Kang speaking.”

“I need you to come pick me up.”

A pause.

“Where are you?”

“Gangnam Police Station.”

Thirty minutes later, you hear his voice again, this time in person. Brian is speaking to the officer at the front desk before he’s handed something to sign, and soon he’s directed to where you’re seated at the waiting area.

You turn away, suddenly feeling conscious of your appearance. You’re sure your mascara is smudged and your hair is a hot mess, and while you really couldn’t care less of what anybody thinks of you— much less Brian— you figure there’s only so much humiliation you could take in one night.

“Ready to go?”

You peer at him through your eyelashes, the man only looking back at you patiently like you’re not at a police station and he isn’t here to bail you out. Brian Kang, with his hair styled to perfection and his black tie still in a neat Windsor knot despite it being close to midnight. The only indication that he’s even been through a day is his blazer being unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, but even then, he still manages to look presentable.

Oh, how infuriating. You hate him.

You don’t say anything, standing up and smoothing out your dress in the process. Not like it did much, whatsoever.

“Oh, wow. And who’s this?” A voice sounds from the other side of the room, and you turn to see that it’s Wooshik, a lazy smirk on his lips despite the bruise blooming on his jaw. “Guess I’m not the only one who’s been unfaithful, huh?”

Your blood boils. “You-“

You want to lunge towards him, but a firm grip around your wrist yanks you backwards, and you feel Brian’s chest against your back as he holds you firmly.

“No.” His voice is calm but absolute, his grip tightening when you struggle. “Not here.”

“Let me go,” you seethe, but Brian doesn’t budge.

“And what?” He answers smoothly, tilting his head towards the officers who are watching you intently. “Get yourself in more trouble?”

Wooshik snickers. “You hear that, babe? Keep proving to everyone what a slu-“

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Brian cuts in, his tone so sharp that Wooshik actually shuts up.

You take the opportunity to yank yourself free, and giving Wooshik one final glare, you march out of the station.

Brian is close behind you, as you could tell from the sound of his footsteps, and when you stop, he stands right beside you.

“Brian,” you utter without looking at him, keeping your gaze trained on the almost-empty parking lots in front of you. Your fist your hands tightly, unsure if the pain you feel is from your injuries or from the utter betrayal you’ve received from everyone tonight. “Let’s get married.”

He chuckles softly. “You shouldn’t say things you don’t mean.”

You clench your jaw as you turn to him, just in time for him to meet your gaze. There’s a twinkle of something in his eyes— mirth. Amusement. Almost as if he’s teasing you, and you hate that.

“You don’t think I’m serious?”

“I think you’re angry,” he corrects, now turning to face you fully. He places his hands in his pockets, casually, like you’re not on the brink of lashing out and him not on the receiving end. “And people say all sorts of things when they’re angry.”

You can’t help but to let out a humourless scoff at his tone. You’d think that he’d drop his fake-nice act now that it’s just the two of you, but if anything, it’s even more infuriating. Who the hell does he think he is, talking to you like you’re a child— like he’s trying to gentle parent you, at that? Even your own parents don’t do that!

“I don’t like you,” you say bluntly, earning a raised brow from Brian. “But right now, I think I hate my life even more. So, really— marrying you doesn’t even sound like the worst idea.”

Brian exhales a quiet laugh as he shakes his head. “You’re doing this out of spite.”

You jut your chin towards him. “Oh, what, so now you’re a mind reader?”

“No,” he quips as he lowers his head to meet your eye level, and his lips stretch out into a wide grin. “I just know you’d rather set yourself on fire than to admit defeat and let your parents say ‘I told you so’.”

You grit your teeth. “Go to hell.”

He chuckles. “Tempting, but I think I’ll stick around for a while.” Brian straightens up, finally giving you space to breathe as he adjusts his cuffs, acting like he’s having the most normal conversation in the world. “So, rings?”

You frown. “What?”

“For the wedding?” He adds, tilting his head. “Unless you’d rather wing it and let your mum pick them out?”

You roll your eyes wordlessly before shoving past him, the sound of his mocking laughter trailing behind you. You don’t even know where his car is, but you keep walking anyway, desperate to put some distance between you and that insufferable smirk.

Just what the hell did you get yourself into?

Your wedding with Brian was nothing short of excessive extravagance, as is the rock that now sits on your finger. As stunning as it is, a three-carat diamond ring with a pear cut and matching silver band that fits perfectly, it’s a reminder of your legal bind to the man, whom, even over the last couple of months, you found yourself to still despise.

It isn’t easy to live with someone like Brian when he’s the direct opposite of you. Precise, methodical, and annoyingly put-together— that’s him, and he’s everything you’re not. While you struggled to remember in which box you packed your toiletries prior to the move, he was already done with colour-coding his sock drawer. As you were cursing yourself for dropping one of your favourite scented candles, he was quick to appear beside you with a broom and dustpan, and by the time you were done being dramatic, there were no more glass shards for you to accidentally step on.

The only upside that came with your marriage was the fact that you’d never have to deal with your parents’ suffocating expectations again, even if it meant having to coexist with Brian and all his… Brian-ness.

There were no I-told-you-sos, (because you never bothered to disclose the ending of your relationship with your ex-boyfriend), no condescending lectures, just quiet, satisfied approval, because you had done exactly what they wanted— married a man they approved of, and moved into a life that was deemed respectable. In return, that got you out of a house you never really got to call home to begin with, and for a while, that was enough, until you realised that sharing a roof with Brian came with its own set of problems— like the way he insists on organising the kitchen cabinets like it’s a damn grocery aisle.

“That doesn’t go there.”

You glance over your shoulder to see Brian leaning against the kitchen island, arms crossed as he watches you place a mug in the cabinet.

You arch a brow. “It’s a cabinet. For mugs. Where else should it go?”

He exhales before nodding to somewhere beside you. “Top shelf. Left side. Next to the tall glasses.”

You scoff, turning to face him fully with the mug still in your hand. “Seriously, Brian, do you hear yourself when you speak? It’s a cup. A cup. Who cares where it goes? Are you running a five-star restaurant in here? Are the housekeepers going to judge my mug placement skills? Does the fate of the world depend on whether or not my mug sits next to your stupid tall glasses-“

In the midst of your rant, you don’t even even notice him stepping forward, plucking the mug out of your hands before placing it exactly where he wants it without so much as a word.

“There. Problem solved.” He dusts off his hands before looking down at you. “Also, it’s Younghyun. I told you, Brian is for business. I’m your husband.”

“And our marriage is purely transactional. I’ll call you whatever I want,” you bite back.

“Hm, fair. Should I start calling you sweetheart, then?”

You know he’s trying to rile you up on purpose, and oh, boy, is it working.

You glower. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He merely smiles— that infuriating, knowing smile— and you know he’s noticed the way your cheeks burn in anger. But, being the asshole that he is, he chooses not to say anything.

And somehow, that only makes it worse.

“Sweetheart, could you pass me the salt?”

Your fingers stiffen around your utensils as you slowly turn to him with a glare, Brian not even looking at you as he continues to cut his steak, like nothing ever happened. Like that damn word didn’t just escape his lips; like he’s been saying it for years instead of just now, in front of both of your families.

He only looks up when he realises your silence, and even has the audacity to raise his brows as though to ask: what’s wrong?

You grit your teeth.

“Oh, I absolutely adore what you’ve done with the house! You know, with a space this big, there’s only one way to truly make it feel like home.” Brian’s grandmother beams from across the table.

You don’t like where this is going, but Brian, the ever-perfect grandson, humours her. “And what would that be, Grandma?”

Grandma Kang claps her hands, grinning in a way that reminds you of Brian when he’s teasing you. Now you know where he got it from.

“Filling it with little feet, of course! A house this grand shouldn’t be put to waste— imagine how wonderful it would be to hear children running through these halls.”

Even though you saw it coming, you still find yourself choking on your food as her words hit you before you could process it.

You grasp for your water, but before you could, Brian beats you to it as he slides his own glass towards you, his fingers brushing yours as he does so.

“Careful, darling,” he says, his hand coming up to pat your back. You barely get to register the warmth in both his touch and his voice before it leaves you completely, and he’s back to sipping on his wine by the time you turn to him.

Like nothing ever happened.

“We’re still young, Grandma.” Brian returns to the conversation with an easy smile. “What’s the rush?”

“Yes, but I’m not getting any younger, son,” Grandma Kang hums disapprovingly. “I do want to see at least one of my great-grandchildren before I die. You two haven’t even gone on a honeymoon yet! That won’t do— newlyweds should take time to celebrate.”

“Don’t say that,” Brian chides gently. “You’ll be around to spoil a whole football team’s worth of great-grandkids.”

You kick his shin from under the table, to which Brian doesn’t react— of course he doesn’t.

“I hope you don’t feel like I’m pressuring you, dear.” She turns to you. “It’s just that, I want to see the both of you happy and settled while I can.”

You settle with an awkward smile, though you’re sure it comes off as more of a grimace.

Out of everybody in this room, the old lady seems to be the only one who doesn’t make you feel like you’re under a microscope. She’s warm, affectionate, and genuinely delighted to have you in the family, which is why you can’t find it in you to tell her the truth— that you’re not in love with her grandson, and you don’t think you ever will be.

“But, speaking of honeymoons.” Brian swallows his food. “I do have a work trip coming up. Maybe we could make something out of it. What do you think, love?” He turns to you with a boyish grin, and you swear, if you hear another one of his stupid nicknames leave his mouth, you might just combust.

In anger, of course.

You frown. “A work trip is not a honeymoon.”

“It is if we say it is.” He shrugs, nonchalant. “Especially if it’s in the city of love.”

“Ooh, Paris!” This time, your mother gushes. With the way both Brian’s parents and yours have been quiet throughout the entire duration of dinner, you’d almost forgotten that they were there to begin with. Of course, your mother wouldn’t be your mother if she has to stay silent for very long, and the moment her sharp eyes meet yours, you know that the decision is already made for you.

You’re going to Paris.

You haven’t had a good sleep in days.

With the new project at work and your trip coming up, your schedule is packed, and with the endless emails and phone calls that don’t seem to stop, you’re not given the time to breathe, let alone rest.

It’s nearing midnight, and you find yourself still in the living room, the chandelier dimmed and your only source of light as it accompanies you while you finish up your report. You’ve been at it for hours, and your eyes are starting to blur from the screen, but you force yourself to push through.

You barely even hear the sound of footsteps until Brian stops next to the television, leaning against the wall as he watches you.

“You’re still working?” He asks, his tone quiet and laced with something you can’t really put a finger on. A part of you has a hunch, but you don’t want to acknowledge it.

“Yeah. I just gotta finish this before we leave. I’ll be fine,” you mutter distractedly, not even bothering to spare him a glance.

Brian doesn’t say anything as he continues to watch you, and you continue typing, hoping he gets the hint and leaves you alone.

“You need to take a break,” he finally says, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

“What I need is to finish this report, Brian.” You finally look up to give him a glare, and you’re surprised to see that for once, he’s being serious, devoid of the usual teasing shit-eating grin he always wears. Still, you don’t waver. “You’re not exactly helping by being here.”

“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. You haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. You need a break,” he repeats, his tone more firm this time. Still, there’s no real anger in it, only concern, and that’s the one thing you’ve been trying not to acknowledge. Your chest starts to twist uncomfortably, unfamiliar with this side of him.

You roll your eyes wordlessly, knowing starting an argument with him would only take up your time, and that’s the one thing you don’t have enough of right now.

You hear Brian sigh before he steps towards you, gently taking the laptop off your lap before placing it on the coffee table in front of you.

“Seriously-“ you scoff before getting to your feet, heart thumping erratically as your frustration finally bubbles over. “What’s it to you? Why do you keep acting like I’m helpless?” You snap. “I can handle this! I don’t need you to tell me what to do every five minutes!”

Brian doesn’t flinch. “I’m not telling you what to do, I’m telling you what’s good for you. And what’s good for you right now is to take a damn break.” Despite the tick of his jaw, his voice is calm, too calm. “You’re not fine,” he continues, a quiet challenge in his voice. “And you don’t have to pretend with me.”

That is what makes you crack.

You don’t know what it is, maybe it’s the exhaustion, mixed with anger— hell, it’s probably all the emotions you’ve been suppressing since you got cheated on and then getting married the following month— because the next thing you know, you’re crying uncontrollably with no signs of stopping.

You drop to the sofa, burying your face in your hands as you sob, your shoulders trembling with the weight of it all. You don’t even want to look at Brian; the last thing you need is his sympathy.

“Just go,” you croak, voice muffled behind your hands. “I’m fine. I’m just tired, okay?”

Brian doesn’t say anything, and for a moment, you think he actually left, until you feel him kneel down in front of you, gently prying your hands off your face.

For some reason, you let him.

He brings his hands to your face, cupping your cheeks gently as he wipes your tears. You shake your head to get him to stop, embarrassed, but he doesn’t move away, only holding you firmer.

“You’re not fine,” he murmurs, his voice a lot quieter now, but his tone is one you haven’t heard before. Soft. Almost tender. “And that’s okay. You don’t have to do this alone. Not as long as I’m here.”

His words catch you off-guard. You hadn’t realised just how much you needed to hear that, too used to carrying everything yourself, always being the strong one, so hearing Brian say that feels like a lifeline.

The fact that he’s actually there, not telling you to fix it or get over it, but simply… acknowledging it, makes everything feel a little less impossible, especially after he says:

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

You sniff before looking away. “You’re so annoying,” you mumble, taking his hands to remove them from your face, but you don’t let go as you let them rest on your lap.

Neither does he.

“You bring this up tomorrow, and I’ll kill you.”

Brian laughs, his eyes crinkling as he does so, and somehow, the sight doesn’t annoy you as much as you know it should.

“You’re joking,” you deadpan, fingers resting loosely on your luggage handle as you stare at the room before you. You turn to Brian. “One bed? Why the hell would you book a suite with a single bed?!”

“Grandma wanted to gift us. I couldn’t say no,” he utters with absolute indifference, like you’re both not standing before a king size bed with flower petals scattered all over it in the shape of a giant heart. The sight makes you shudder.

“It’s fine. I’ll just take the couch.”

“You better,” you murmur, too tired to deal with his nonchalance today. You had just gotten out of a fifteen hour flight— like that wasn’t already terrible enough. The fact that it was Brian Kang that you flew with made it all the more agonising.

He was the type of person who insisted on arriving at the airport way before necessary— which, in your case, meant that the three hours you thought you had to pack your luggage were cramped into a single, stress-filled one.

It didn’t help that Brian had a lot to say about your lack of preparation, chastising you for not packing earlier, which of course, then naturally spiralled into an argument that lasted twenty minutes (though, it was more of you yelling while he remained infuriatingly composed).

By the time you were good to go, you’re exhausted, out of breath, and completely over it. Meanwhile, Brian loaded both your luggages into the car with effortless ease like it was nothing.

Like the responsible adult he was, he had checked in for the both of you on time, and even went as far as to listen to the safety instructions in the plane intently like he was in a lecture. At that point, you wouldn’t even be surprised if he were to whip out a notepad and pen to jot down notes.

He was completely insufferable.

And now that you’re finally in Paris, some distance from Brian would do you good, you think— except, of course, he has plans.

While all you want is to sink into the ridiculously plush hotel bed and knock out for a few hours, Brian is already chattering on about his itinerary like he’s pitching a business proposal. Truthfully, you could barely even make out the places he’s listing with how lethargic you are, and he only stops when he realises you’re being weirdly unresponsive.

You’re fast asleep.

Younghyun scoffs to himself as he stares at the slow rise and fall of your back, your body curled up under the covers as you snore softly. Usually, he’d have something to say about how you shouldn’t be lying on the bed without changing out of your outside clothes first, about how you never listen to him when he tells you to get enough rest, maybe even tease you about how you always insist you won’t fall asleep right away, only for you to be knocked out cold the moment your head hits the pillow.

But for once, he lets it go.

Because despite how much you get on his nerves, and no matter how stubborn you are, he knows you’re exhausted. And maybe, he doesn’t mind giving in to you this time.

With a soft sigh, he gets up from the sofa and grabs his coat, making sure not to wake you up as he closes the door behind him softly. If you won’t take care of yourself, then he’d just have to do it for you. And if you’re too stubborn to go out to eat— well, maybe bringing something back would make it easier.

✦ ✦ ✦

By the time you stir awake, it’s dark, and you realise that you’re alone. You wonder if Brian actually did up and leave to go on that walk along the Seine he had been talking about earlier, and for a split second, you feel guilty. You quickly snap out of it, jolting up in the process.

“Am I going insane?” You laugh humourlessly to yourself, running a hand through your tangled hair. “Why the hell should I feel bad for him? He’s not my responsibility. He’s a grown man!” You try to justify, but deep down, there’s a feeling you can’t shake.

You didn’t even ask if he was okay, if he needed help, if he needed something. Nothing.

You groan fall back into the pillows, kicking your feet against the covers in frustration. Your hands find your head once again, and you tug on your hair. “Get out of my head, Brian Kang.”

“Why? Miss me already?”

You sit up again, this time twice as fast and almost falling off the bed in the process.

“I-I wasn’t talking about you,” you manage to sneer, to which Brian chuckles in response as he kicks off his shoes.

“Sure. Come eat.”

You frown, only now noticing the takeout bags he has in his hands before he places them on the coffee table in front of the sofa. As embarrassed as you are, you can’t deny that you’re hungry, so begrudgingly, you pad towards him.

You wait for Brian to shrug off his coat, his coat which you’re now noticing is damp and covered in little droplets. You didn’t even realise that it had been raining, and the same unfamiliar feeling tugs on your heart strings again.

“Really? You couldn’t just wait until the rain stopped?” You mumble, keeping your tone as casual as possible as you start unwrapping your food.

Brian shrugs. “It was just a little rain.”

“Yeah, well, don’t complain if you fall sick tonight and end up having to skip on your meeting tomorrow. I’m not gonna be the one staying awake to take care of you.”

Brian peers at you through his lashes with a knowing smile on his lips, and it only makes you realise how you may have sounded a little too concerned for your liking.

“I-I’m not worried about you, if that’s what you’re thinking. Stop looking at me like that,” you mutter, turning back to your food. You’re not sure if you can continue staring at him without turning yourself into a blubbering fool even more.

Brian laughs, but he doesn’t push it. “Speaking of tomorrow, do you have anywhere you want to visit? We can go after I’m done with work,” he answers breezily, placing a peeled shrimp in your container before resuming with his meal.

You, on the other hand, are frozen in your spot, still trying to process his gesture. You stare at the shrimp in confusion before glancing at him again, but Brian doesn’t even acknowledge you.

“Didn’t you already have a whole itinerary planned?” You ask when you finally find your voice.

“Yes, but seeing as we’re on a honeymoon, we should do things we both like, no?”

“This is not a honeymoon, Brian. Call it what it is, a work trip.”

“Younghyun.” His voice softens in a way that makes your heart tighten. “I know you’ve been working a lot lately, so this is your chance to enjoy Paris. We’ll make the most of it together.”

You want to argue, but somehow the words never come.You know what it is, and you’re finally ready to acknowledge it— the small pang of guilt that creeps into your chest.

“It’s fine,” you say with a sigh. “I don’t really have anything I want to do anyway.” You shrug as nonchalantly as you could, despite knowing that it’s a lie.

Of course, there are things you want to do while you’re here— things that you know Brian wouldn’t necessarily enjoy, and things that certainly wouldn’t fit in his structured itinerary. But you can’t find it in you to say anything, not after everything he’s done.

As much as you hate to admit it, and despite how infuriating and annoying you still think he is, he’s the only one who’s been doing everything while you’ve barely even contributed to the trip. Your mind goes back to his coat again, his stupid, damp coat, and the thought of him being caught in the rain all to get you some food just because you refused to go out today leaves an uncomfortable weight in the pit of your stomach.

So, you don’t say anything— for once, you’ll give in and agree to go along with his plans, even if it means having to drag your feet to the places you know won’t excite you.

Because the last thing you want to do is disappoint him.

✦ ✦ ✦

Brian is already asleep when you step out of the shower, the three-seater sofa only barely accommodating to his tall form. His legs are bent in a way that doesn’t look very comfortable, and he has his arm draped over his eyes to block out the street lights from the window next to him.

There it is again— the dreadful feeling of guilt that twists and turns in your stomach. It doesn’t help that the rain has gotten heavier now, the occasional sound of thunder a reminder that you won’t be getting a peaceful sleep tonight.

With a sigh, you trudge towards the bed, making sure to face the wall and not Brian as you get under the covers. Try as you might, sleep doesn’t come to you very easily, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’ve already had a nap earlier, the relentless rain outside, or purely the guilt from making Brian sleep on the couch. Maybe it’s all three.

You turn on your back, eyes wide open as you stare blankly at the ceiling.

“Are you asleep?” The question escapes you before you could stop it, and you cringe at how loud your voice sounded in the otherwise quiet room.

Surprisingly, Brian hums in reply, but he remains unmoving when you glance at him.

Before you could change your mind, you remove the extra pillow from behind your head, placing it to your right before you quickly turn back on your side.

“Just come here. But any funny business and you’re dead.”

It’s silent for a while, and you think that maybe Brian had gone back to sleep or is simply just ignoring you, until you feel the bed dip.

He exhales a small chuckle as he settles beside you, and even despite the grogginess in his voice, it’s laced with amusement.

“You say that like I’d even dare.”

It’s teasing, but he doesn’t push his luck. Instead, he shifts— just enough to get comfortable, but careful not to press too close. With the pillow now in between the both of you, it’s not like he could, anyway.

A beat passes before he adds, softer this time. “Go to sleep.”

You shut your eyes, opting not to reply him. While that had managed to clear up a little bit of your conscience, there’s still one issue you’re left with: the thunder.

It’s not like you’re necessarily scared of them. They just make you a little jumpy, is all.

Even now, when it booms and splits the dark in a second-long white glow, you yelp, only to bite your tongue right after and hoping Brian hadn’t heard you.

Silence stretches between you, until you feel him reach over to remove the pillow in the middle before it lands on the floor with a thud. You finally turn to peek over your shoulder, ready to ask him what the hell he’s doing.

But of course, Brian doesn’t say anything, eyes still shut like he’s already asleep. In the empty space between the two of you now lies his arm, outstretched, waiting, like a quiet invitation.

Just as you’re about to chide at him, another strike of thunder crashes through the sky, louder this time. So of course, naturally, you jolt.

Forward.

Right into him.

You gasp. “Bri-“

He shushes you. This asshole has the audacity to shush you as he wraps his other arm around your torso, pulling you impossibly closer.

He exhales, his voice low and laced with sleep. “You’re so jumpy.”

Your words get caught in your throat, so for a while, you don’t say anything. You can’t. 

“Am not,” you huff, though it doesn’t really come out as convincing given you’re practically curled against his chest.

He hums, and you know he doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t argue. And when thunder strikes for the third time, you feel his arms tighten around you in silent consolation.

You shut your eyes tightly, though this time, it’s not out of fear anymore. No, right now, you’re trying to ignore his warmth that’s already seeping into yours, and the way his featherlight touches are making your throat go drier than a desert.

You think you might need a glass of water, but you don’t exactly want to leave your spot right now.

“One word about this, Brian, and I-“

“You’ll kill me. I know,” he chuckles, the vibration of his chest against yours making you all too aware of how close you are.

You scowl, though it lacks any real bite. Smug bastard.

Still, you don’t move away.

And neither does he.

You wake up to an empty bed.

As you sit up to rub the sleep from your eyes, you almost forget where you are, still disoriented by the warmth lingering on the sheets beside you.

But then you hear the faint rustling from the other side of the room, and that’s when you see Brian by the vanity, currently buttoning up his white dress shirt with his tie still undone and slung over his neck.

Your eyes widen, and you find yourself falling back to the mattress as you stare at the ceiling, breaths slightly laboured.

What the hell is going on? Why is your heart beating so fast? Are you having a heart attack?

You squeeze your eyes shut, even going as far as to press your palms against your cheeks as though doing that would magically erase the memory from your mind.

Nope. Didn’t work. You did not just get flustered over Brian Kang of all people.

No matter how much you try to will it away, the image is already burned in your head— the sharp lines of his collarbones, the way his fingers worked the buttons with ease, the single strand of hair that falls in his forehead despite his conscious effort to style it.

“You okay?”

Suddenly, his voice is way too near for comfort, and your eyes fly open to see Brian peering at you over the side of the bed, his brows knit in confusion.

Thankfully, his shirt is buttoned up all the way now, sparing you from details you don’t want to see (rather, details that you know could potentially cause you to short circuit).

You must have taken a while to answer, gaping at him like a deer in headlights, because you only finally snap out of it when you register him reaching out to you.

“I’m fine!” You blurt, your hand extending out just in time to catch his wrist, his palm already dangerously close to your head.

“You sure?” He asks, not the least bit convinced. “You’re all red. Are you down with a fever?”

“No. Are you?”

Brian only arches his brows at your response, and you finally let him go, scooting further to his side of the bed to put some distance between you two, avoiding his gaze.

“Alright…” he scoffs, a tinge of humour laced in his tone. “I’ll be back before lunch to pick you up, okay? We could go sightseeing if you’re up for that.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you mumble. You had expected him to leave, but he doesn’t, and you finally turn to him again. “What?”

Brian tilts his head slightly, studying you with the same expression that always gets under your skin. Then, without warning, he leans in— just a little, but enough for your breath to catch in your throat.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks again, lower this time, like he knows something is definitely up; like he knows exactly the reason behind why your face is burning and he’s just waiting for you to admit it.

You swallow, gripping the sheets. “I said I’m fine.”

Brian studies you for a second more before he hums, finally straightening up. You don’t miss the flicker of amusement in his eyes, and you know he’s not pushing you further solely because he doesn’t want to embarrass you— at least, more than you already did yourself.

“Okay. If you say so.” He grabs his coat, throwing it over his shoulder. “Get some rest. I’ll see you later, love.”

And with that, he finally turns to leave, just like nothing ever happened.

You exhale sharply, bringing the covers over your head.

You’re so doomed.

✦ ✦ ✦

Your plans after lunch started at the Louvre. It was where you found out that Brian was someone who enjoyed art and history— because why wouldn’t he, right? You thought the gallery was far too crowded and you didn’t see the point in staring at paint splattered on canvas, but seeing how focused he was on reading every single plaque and description, you decided to just let him be.

He’d talk to you about it, too— feed you with fun facts about the artist or history of the painting which really, you couldn’t care less about, but as you took in the way his features would light up whenever he saw a painting he recognised, or the way his lips would twitch into a satisfied smile whenever he shared about something he found interesting, you found yourself holding back on any complaints.

Instead, you nodded along, when in reality you were much more focused on the enthusiasm in his voice and the way his fox-like eyes would crinkle at the corners when he smiled, making him look impossibly more endearing.

That was a thought you were quick to dispose of, of course, because this is Brian Kang you’re talking about. There was no way you were going to admit to anybody that your heart was starting to beat a little too fast to your liking whenever you were around him.

He took you on a boat cruise on the Seine right after, and you did complain this time, bringing up the movie you saw recently about sharks under Paris and how there was no way in hell you were going to let yourself get eaten by one. You weren’t about to tell him that it was boat rides in general that made you uneasy, but it seemed that Brian knew that already without having to ask. He merely laughed and held your hand, and that kept you quiet for the remainder of the ride.

You reach your final destination just as the sun is about to retire for the day, a quiet spot in Champ de Mars facing the Eiffel Tower. Your legs are hurting from all the walking, and with your last meal being lunch a few hours ago, you’re starving.

It was a good thing Brian had half a mind to stop by a sandwich shop on the way here, because your dinner was devoured within minutes, and you’re now left marvelling over the pretty lights that glimmer on the lattice structure before you.

You had no complaints, and it seems that Brian doesn’t have anything to say as well as he too remains quiet, but what you don’t know is that he’s looking at you.

The golden glow of the Eiffel Tower bounces off your skin, catching in the delicate curves of your face. Younghyun might have spent the day at the Louvre, surrounded by centuries’ worth of masterpieces, but hell if you’re not the prettiest thing he’s laid his eyes on.

“Sweetheart.” The name gently rolls of his tongue like he’s been saying it for years, and you hum in reply, clearly distracted, until realisation sets in and your brows furrow ever so slightly as you catch your own slip up.

You turn to him with your signature frown, but Younghyun knows it lacks any real bite. “What?”

He exhales a quiet laugh before pursing his lips, inhaling softly. “I wish you would’ve just told me that you weren’t enjoying yourself today.”

Your expression wavers, but only for a second. “What are you talking about?” You mutter before turning away, like you always do when you’re flustered. “That’s not true. I had fun.”

“You get this look on your face when you’re forcing yourself to have fun,” he muses. “Like you’re watching a movie with a bad plot and you don’t want to admit that you didn’t like it.”

You only scoff, further confirming his assumptions.

“You don’t talk back like you always do. You held back on your complaints when usually, you’d jump at the first opportunity to argue with me. Every time I caught you zoning out, you weren’t looking at what I was showing you— you were looking at me.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Of course, he saw right through you.

“Maybe you just had something on your face.” You glance at him.

Brian laughs. “Even you don’t believe that.”

You roll your eyes, but he isn’t done.

“You should have said something,” he continues, softer this time. “I would’ve done anything you wanted, you know?”

“Even if I wanted to go bungee jumping?”

Brian stares at you softly, a hint of a smile on his face. “I’d tie a rope to my ankle and dive a hundred feet headfirst if it makes you happy.”

Something warm stirs in your chest, but you don’t acknowledge it. You don’t want to, because if you do, then you’d have to admit that this tightening feeling in your chest could be something dangerously close to fondness.

That night, you place your pillow next to you before turning on your side, your back to Brian as he finishes up his work on the sofa.

You feel the weight of his stare as he shuts his laptop, and slowly, cautiously, he gets under the covers next to you, almost like he’s testing the waters.

“Are you asleep?” He asks, voice soft.

You don’t answer right away, not wanting to break the fragile moment. “No.”

He waits for a few moments, almost as though expecting you to elaborate, but when you don’t, he asks, “why?”

You stay quiet again, biting your lip, unsure of what to say. You don’t really have an excuse as to why you’re still awake even after the day you’ve just had. It’s not like it’s raining outside, and it’s not like there’s thunder to keep you up.

It’s not like you were waiting for him.

But Brian doesn’t press. He only stays silent for a while longer before exhaling softly, and just like yesterday, he removes the pillow that separates the two of you before shifting closer, his arm finding your waist as he pulls you flush against his chest.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he murmurs, like he’s read your mind.

Again, you don’t respond, but you don’t pull away either. You turn in his hold, slipping your arm over his torso just as he pulls you closer, and you try to ignore the unfamiliar feeling that constricts your beating heart.

You should be telling him that it’s wrong, that you don’t need this, but you don’t, letting yourself melt in his embrace instead.

Because for the first time, something about the way he holds you feels right.

Paris was weird, so much so that you were relieved the moment you arrived back in Korea. Even if it meant going back to your routine and getting drowned in backlog at work, it was better than having nothing to do, because having time to yourself meant having time to think about Brian Kang, which you found yourself to do every night before you went to sleep.

At first, you blamed it on the jet lag, but even after a week has passed and you've both well settled back into your usual rhythm which consisted of sleeping in your own separate rooms, you still found yourself thinking about him as you lay in your bed, staring at the ceiling. You wondered if Brian thought about Paris just as much as you did, about how safe he made you feel as he wrapped you in his arms, about how the steady beat of his heart, as opposed to your erratic one, had lulled you to sleep even with the raging storm outside. You wondered if he missed your warmth the way you missed his, and how easy it was to fall asleep beside him, like your body has decided for you that his presence was something to seek comfort in.

You wanted to hate it. Because if you didn't, then you'd have to admit that it wasn't just his warmth that you missed— it was him.

And that was something you weren't ready to face, at least not yet.

So instead, you busied yourself with something— anything, to keep your mind off him. And somehow, that brought you here, standing in the kitchen with his grandmother, sleeves rolled up to your elbows and apron tied snugly around your torso as she guided you with a recipe.

You don't even know how you got here. One second, you were staring blankly at your kitchen counter, contemplating on whether to make yourself some instant noodles, and the next you're on the phone with Grandma Kang— and trust that even the mere thought of this is enough to make you cringe— if she could teach you how to make one of his favourite dishes.

You don't know what it is. Was it guilt? Gratitude? Or maybe— no. You weren't going to entertain the thought that it was something more than that. Perhaps, you just wanted to do something nice for him, to repay him for putting up with you, even make him a celebratory meal for successfully closing a deal after his meeting in Paris.

That was all to it.

"So, how was Paris?" Grandma Kang asks as she stirs pot of kimchi stew.

The old lady, bless her, had arrived within minutes from your phone call, eager to spend time with her— and you quote— her favourite granddaughter.

She was the only who ever really checked in on you ever since you and Brian got married, constantly calling just to ask how you are and reminding you to eat if you haven't. She's just like Brian, and the love you felt from her was one you never really got from your parents. It's warm, unconditional— real.

Which is why you feel guilty.

Because whatever you have with Brian isn't, and all you're doing is deceiving her and letting her believe in something that isn't true.

You swallow, pretending to focus on slicing the vegetables. "It was... nice."

"Just nice?" She muses with a raised brow. "I haven't seen my grandson that happy in a long time, you know."

"He's always happy," you say lightly. "Nothing new there."

"No, dear. This was different."

You don't know how to respond to that, so you don't. You don't want to look too much into the reason behind Brian's unusually good mood, according to his own grandmother.

Grandma Kang sets the spoon down before turning to you.

"I know, you know."

Your grip tightens around hilt of the knife. "Know what?"

She smiles at you. "About you and Younghyun. It isn't real, is it?"

You stomach twists at her words. "Grandma, I-"

"You don't have to explain anything, my dear. I'm old, not blind," she chuckles, turning back to the pot. "My grandson has a lot of love to give," she says gently. "And he does it without expecting anything in return."

You exhale shakily, setting your knife down. "I know that."

She hums. "Then you should know that he's not trying to hurt you. He never has." She pauses to sigh. "Stupid boy. I know he only got married to appease me. His parents set him up with so many girls, you know? He was always polite to them, but his heart was never fully in it. Until you." Grandma Kang smiles at you softly. "It's scary, right? But that's also the beauty of falling in love."

"I don't-" you cut yourself off. Because what could you even say? That she's wrong? That you don't-

You can't. Because then you think you'd be lying.

"Grandma? I didn't know you were coming over." Brian appears in the kitchen, surprise etched on his features. He has his blazer draped over his shoulder, his tie loosened, and the sight makes your throat dry.

His eyes are quick to find yours, and you quickly turn away before he could notice the tears welling in your eyes— tears you're only now registering are there in the first place.

You don't even want to know why you're crying— you seem to be doing that a lot lately— but you may have a hunch.

"Ah, these damn onions, am I right?" Grandma Kang huffs, planting her hands on your shoulders as she moves you behind her; you're silently grateful for that. You take that time to dab your eyes dry, clearing your throat slightly and hoping your red face wouldn't give you away. "Why? Is there something wrong with me wanting to spend time with my favourite granddaughter?"

"Of course not, Grandma," Brian says gently, and you hate how the softness of his voice affects you. By the time you turn around, he's already peering at the dishes on the island, and he looks up at you with a grin on his face. "Did you make all of this?"

Somehow, his question makes your cheeks burn. You think it's embarrassment, having been caught doing something nice for a husband you never wanted in the first place.

You don't even know who you are anymore.

"With a little help," you answer, but your voice comes off as quiet. If Brian notices how uncharacteristically awkward you're being, he doesn't say anything.

"Give yourself a little more credit, dear! Younghyun, a lady who can cook this well? You better treat her right, or I'll come knock some sense into you myself."

Brian doesn't look at his grandma despite her chiding, still looking at you like you're the most valuable thing in the world. "Don't worry, Grandma." His gaze grows softer. "I don't plan on letting her go anytime soon."

✦ ✦ ✦

You find yourself wide awake again despite it being way past midnight. It's turned into a routine at this point, and you have no one else to blame but your housemate who's probably already fast asleep at the other side of the house.

You groan. You hate Brian for making you feel this way, and you really wish you meant it.

Knowing that staying in your room wouldn't do you any good, you decide to head to the kitchen— perhaps a hot drink could help ease the turmoil in your heart.

But alas, your heart only starts to thump faster when you realise the lights are already on, and you find Brian leaning against the counter as he nurses a mug of tea.

"Hey. Can't sleep?"

Your words catch in your throat, so you settle with a nod as you open the refrigerator for the mere sake of wanting something to do.

"You shouldn't be drinking something cold this late. Want me to make you some tea?" He offers, and despite yourself, you still find it in you to roll your eyes at his gentle nagging.

"No, I'm good."

"Milk?"

"I'm not a child."

"I'm afraid that's about all the options I have for you then, love," Brian chuckles before he stops, tone growing softer now. "What's the matter?"

You close the door, finally turning to him. "What are you talking about?"

"You just seem distracted lately."

"I'm fine," you mutter, and even though you know Brian isn't convinced, he doesn't push any further.

"Listen, if you're having trouble sleeping..." he trails off. "You can stay with me."

You blink at his words. "What?"

"If you want to." He pauses as though to gauge for your response, before adding, "would it help?"

You hesitate. You hate how easy the way he says it, so gentle and sincere, giving you an out like he knows how much you struggle with expressing your thoughts.

And as much as you still do, you know there's no use in hiding it anymore when he's already seen through you completely.

So you settle with a nod, a slight one, but one Brian manages to catch nonetheless.

His smile doesn't widen, and he doesn't gloat. Instead, he sets his mug in the sink before he takes your hand. "C'mon," he says softly. "Let's go to sleep."

The walk back to his room is a quiet one, and by the time you step inside, Brian lets go of your hand just long enough to pull back the covers.

"Go on," he says, nodding towards the bed.

You stall, but only for a moment, before slipping under the sheets. The mattress dips as he settles in beside you, and any distance between the two of you disappears in an instant.

Brian shifts slightly, turning on his side to face you. "Better?" He murmurs.

You still don't trust yourself to speak, so you only nod.

He smiles at you then, lips quirking up ever so slightly as he reaches over, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. The touch is fleeting, but it sends something through you.

"Good," he whispers, and like it's the most natural thing in the world, he wraps an arm around you and pulls you close— just close enough for you to hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat you missed.

And with your head resting just above his heart, you note the way his breaths even out as he falls asleep, and you know you should too, but your mind refuses to settle.

"Brian?" You call out softly, so softly you think you never meant for him to hear it at all. Maybe that's for the best.

"I think..." you swallow, gripping the fabric of shirt a little tighter. "I think I'm falling for you."

You let your words hang in the air, fragile yet certain, because you don't regret it at all.

And just like the first time Brian's held you in his arms, you feel like you could finally breathe again.

As it turns out, coming to terms with your feelings was more difficult than you thought, especially when every little thing Brian did seemed to mean something now.

The way his hand would find the small on your back when you crossed the street, the way he always ensured your coffee was the perfect temperature before handing it to you, even down to the way he looked at you— soft, knowing, like he could see right through every excuse you tried to make for yourself.

Still, you tried your best to brush it off. You're a grown woman, not some schoolgirl with a silly crush. You could handle this.

Or at least, that's what you told yourself.

Which is why, when you find yourself at his workplace, lunch bag in hand with a bento box specially prepared (a completely normal, thoughtful thing to do), you ignore the way your heart races at the thought of seeing him.

His receptionist greets you with a smile, telling you that he's inside his office, and you make the short walk down the hallway. For some reason, you're nervous, and while you'd usually blame it on your nerves, you should have known that it was something else this time.

Because there he is, smiling with another woman as she laughs at whatever he'd said. And Brian— that asshole— isn't doing anything to stop her either. He doesn't stop her when she bats her eyelashes at him, leaning in too close for comfort, and he doesn't stop her when she calls him Younghyun.

Younghyun, the one name that for some reason, you couldn't bring yourself to say, yet hated to hear from anybody else.

You left right then and there, slamming the bag on the receptionist's table on your way out.

"Tell him he can eat this if he wants," you mutter without turning back.

The poor receptionist stares at your retreating back before she hesitantly picks up the bag. You're obviously in a mood, and quite frankly, Eunji wanted no part of it. Not like she has a choice.

"Sir?" She knocks on Younghyun's door. "Your wife dropped this off."

Younghyun looks up from his paperwork, brows furrowed when he sees the bag in her hands. "I thought I told you to just let her in if she comes by."

"Well, yes." She tightens the grip on the bag. "I did send her to your office right away, sir, but she left not even a minute later."

Younghyun tilts his head as he stares at the bag. "And what time was this?"

"Five minutes ago, sir. She just left."

Younghyun takes in a breath before nodding. "Okay, just put in on the table. Thanks, Eunji."

Eunji nods before scurrying out, leaving Younghyun to lean against his chair, jaw tightening. This wasn't like you— it wasn't very often that you'd come by his office, only doing so when you started cooking, but the times that you do, you'd usually make him come down to get you, or at the very least, have a snarky remark at the ready as you handed him his food. But this? This was something else entirely.

Of course, the way you've been avoiding him recently wasn't lost on him, and Younghyun couldn't for the life of him figure out why.

He thought everything was fine— better than fine, even, now that you were sharing a bed, falling asleep in his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world, but somehow you felt more distant than ever.

He started noticing the little things at first— the way you still curled up next to him at night, but never reaching out to him first. He'd pull you close, only for you to stiffen for a moment before letting yourself melt in his embrace, as though you had to remind yourself that it was okay. The way you used to linger in the mornings, pretending to still be asleep so you wouldn't have to move away from him so soon, only to be the first to slip out of bed now. You barely meet his eyes when you talk to him, and you no longer found fault with him in the littlest things, be it the way he'd organise the fridge or how he'd double check his schedules multiple times even though nothing has changed.

And the worst part? You still made him coffee in the mornings, still took care of his meals, still made sure he had everything he needed— all except you, which was the one thing he actually did need.

The silence where your bickering used to be is almost worst than the distance. At least when you argued, it showed that you were paying attention to him.

Which is why now, when he finally finds you in the kitchen, awake and not pretending to be asleep to avoid him like you do, he decides to end this once and for all.

"You didn't tell me you dropped by earlier," he starts off, as casual as possible as he leans against the refrigerator, watching you do the dishes.

You don't even turn to him. "You seemed busy. Didn't want to interrupt."

"Busy? It was lunch time, love."

You don't answer, and Younghyun sighs. "Alright." He steps towards you before turning off the faucet, and you turn to him with a scowl on your face.

"Bri-"

"Are you gonna tell me what's wrong, or am I going to have to force it out of you?"

You waver slightly, not all used to this sight of Brian. He's isn't necessarily angry, but the edge in his voice as opposed to the usual gentleness that you're used to is enough to tell you that he's, at the very least, annoyed.

Still, you hold his stare. "Nothing's wrong."

"Don't lie to me." He clenches his jaw. "Why are you avoiding me?"

"I'm not avoiding you," you retort through gritted teeth before attempting to move past him, but Brian cages you in between his arms. You glower at him. "Let me go."

"Is this about earlier?" He asks.

Your fingers twitch. "What?"

"You saw me with her, didn't you?"

Of course. Of course, he's seen through you yet again. You let out a humourless scoff, not ready to admit it just yet.

"You think I'm jealous? I don't care what you do, or who you talk to, Brian. I don't care if you want to let other people call you Younghyun, or if you want to flirt, or-"

"Flirt? Youngji's my cousin! She was at our wedding? She's getting married next month."

You part your lips to reply, but nothing comes out. The room feels unbearably still, the weight of your own foolishness settling over you like a heavy blanket.

Brian exhales sharply as he runs a hand through his hair, and he finally takes a step back for you to breathe. "You don't even call me Younghyun," he mutters, scoffing humourlessly. "But you hate hearing it from anybody else."

You shut your eyes. "Younghyun, I-"

"Say that again."

You breath hitches, and when you open your eyes, he's already looking at you.

You lips quiver, and you don't know what possesses you to obey, but his name rolls of your tongue again in a hushed whisper. "Younghyun."

He smiles at you, and you now realise it isn't the same one you see him give to Youngji. It isn't the same as the polite, effortless ones he gives to strangers, or the one he gives to his family, full of warmth.

No, this one is different.

This one is just for you.

And for the first time since this whole mess started, you finally understand.

"Now tell me," he urges gently as he takes your hands into his. "Tell me why it bothered you so much."

It seems like he already knows, and he's purposely giving you the chance to say it.

"Because I want to be the one to make you smile like that," you say quietly, and Younghyun scoffs as he shakes his head.

"Baby, do you even see the way I look at you?" He asks, almost in exasperation as though he couldn't believe you aren't getting it yet. "You think I look at everyone like they hung up all the stars in the sky? You think I smile at everyone like they're the best damn thing that's ever happened to me?" His voice is quieter now, but no less intense. "Because I don't. It's just you. It's always just been you."

You don't stop the tears that roll down your cheeks, and Younghyun is quick to catch them as he cups your face gently before he leans his forehead against yours.

"Tell me," he murmurs. "Whatever it is that you've been holding back. Say it."

"Younghyun." Your lips quiver, and he reassures you with an equally teary smile. "I'm in love with you."

Relief flickers across his face, and despite his own emotions, his lips widen even more in a way that makes your heart ache.

"I knew I wanted you the moment you called me to bail you out of jail," he says softly, as though going any louder would break the moment. "So if you say you love me," he swallows, throat working as he lets his first tear fall, "just know that I've loved you for way longer."

You let out a shaky laugh, biting your inner lip as more tears slip free. He chuckles, wiping them away again as she shakes his head.

"Can't believe you thought I'd look at anyone the way I look at you."

You sniff. "Shut up."

But you don't pull away when Younghyun leans in, and you don't stop him when he finally kisses you— soft and slow, like you have all the time in the world.

And maybe, just maybe, you think you do.

[livewithgratitude]

🌷🐻for sungjin: soft & unaware

Sungjin never really thinks about the things he does.

Like now—you're both walking down the street, hands in your pockets, when a gust of wind sweeps past, blowing a few strands of hair across your face. Without missing a beat, without even looking at you, Sungjin reaches out and tucks them gently behind your ear. His fingers brush against your cheek for just a second—warm, calloused, so casual—before he pulls away like it’s nothing.

You, on the other hand, forget how to breathe.

But Sungjin just keeps walking, completely unaware of how your brain short-circuited in real-time.

Or earlier, when you were sitting across from him at a café. He was talking about something—music, probably—but you weren’t paying attention because he had just reached over, his thumb swiping at the corner of your mouth.

“You had something here,” he had said, still focused on his drink, still so unaware that your soul had just left your body.

And then there’s the way he always brushes dust off your sleeve, or tugs your hoodie straight when it rides up, or steadies you with a firm hand at the small of your back when you stumble. Like it’s instinct. Like taking care of you isn’t even something he thinks about—it’s just something he does.

The worst part? He never notices how it affects you.

Like right now.

You’re standing next to him, still reeling from the way he tucked your hair away so effortlessly, and he—completely oblivious—turns to you with that easy, boyish grin.

“You good?” he asks, sipping his drink.

No. No, Sungjin. I am not good.

But you just nod, swallowing hard.

Because how are you supposed to tell him? How are you supposed to say, Hey, do you have any idea what you’re doing to me? Do you realize how crazy you make me feel with just the smallest things?

He’d probably just laugh and call you dramatic.

So instead, you just keep walking.

And pray that Sungjin never, ever figures out just how weak he makes you.

[dearly-somber]

Viva la Vida | k.yh

-> pairing. idol!younghyun x non-idol!reader (f)

-> genre. fluff, established relationship

-> rating. 13+

-> w/c. 348

-> warnings. None!

-> a/n. Coldplay x DAY6 my beloveds <3

-> collection. songfic

-> started. ???

-> fin. Jan. 16th, 2021 @ 00:29

-> edited. Fri., Jan. 20th, 2023 @ 07:14

You welcomed Younghyun back with a large smile and quick peck on the cheek.

"How'd filming go?" you asked as you hung his coat up for him, giggling when he back hugged you and swayed around for a moment.

"It went well! It was freezing, though. Could you start up the fire?"

"Sure, love. You go grab us some drinks."

He nodded happily and let you go after pecking your cheek to grab some wine. You played some soft music in the background, humming along as you set the logs in the fireplace alight, making yourself comfortable.

"Here you go, m'lady."

You giggled joyfully as Brian handed you a wine glass, clinking them together before taking a sip.

"Come dance with me," you ordered, pulling him up with you and basking in the sound of his laugh.

Swaying around with his hands on your waist and your hands on his neck, your fingers played with the hair at his nape.

"This turtleneck looks good on you. You should wear it more often."

"Is that so?" He smirked, leaning in to gently kiss your lips. His hands traveled down your side. You laughed brightly when he suddenly hoisted you up by your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist as you kissed on the way to the couch. He laid you down, hovering over you as he kissed you to oblivion.

You hummed when he pulled away to nibble at your neck, your fingers intertwined with his hair, gently pulling on the strands.

"Now, now. Not tonight," you muttered after he tried sliding his hand up your shirt, grinning when he whined childishly in response. "Some other night, love. Right now I just want you to hold me."

Brian heaved a sigh but held you innocently, making himself comfortable on the couch. You wrapped yourself around him and kissed his jaw gently.

"I love you, you know?"

"I love me too," Younghyun teased, giggling as you gently smacked his arm. He kissed your forehead and pulled away to look at you quietly, admiring you.

"I love you more, dove."

[tangylemonade]

TWO

Eaj (boyfriend AU) x afab reader

18+ MINORS DNI (istg 🫵🏾 ಠ_ಠ if I catch you)

Word count: 2.2k

꧁ ☂︎ ⚠︎(smut) w/ f ☁︎(fluff) ꧂

Warnings: unprotected sex (don't forget the casing before you stuff your sausage)

To the anon that requested this I am so very sorry for the extreme delay. I was super busy and honestly I've not been writing much. I hope that if you read this you enjoy it even if only a little ♥️

Tick…tick…tick.

Time passed as slowly as the molasses you poured into your cookie batter. Warmth radiated from the oven but you still felt cold in your sweats. Feeling lazy, you hadn't changed from this morning. You only recently pushed past the unwavering exhaustion to eat a quick dinner and make you and your lover a treat. Cookies in the oven, you started on some tea.

“Ah shit,” you whispered to yourself quickly bringing your finger to your mouth in an attempt to soothe the ache.

Your dry eyes blinked as your thoughts wandered, and you lowered the heat while continuing to stir the bubbling beverage. Even though it was only 8 o'clock, the week had worn you out, leaving your head feeling heavier than ever. Taking your tea off the burner you checked the weather again and re-read Jae’s last messages.

Jae-Jae <3 ~

*This bug screwed us over.* - 6:34 pm

*we're gonna eat dinner here* - 6:45

*be home in an hour xoxo* - 7:23 pm

Jae had gotten up before you, having been called into work on a weekend due to a coding issue that you were too sleepy to fully understand when he tried to explain it to you. Your brows furrowed as you checked your watch for the hundredth time. Anxiously you checked outside the window as the gentle snowflakes that were fluttering down picked up speed.

Absent-mindedly, you went to fetch two mugs, running your slightly stinging fingers under some cold water as you rinsed them. Your two cats, Peanut and Butter, brushed against your legs, longing for attention and a taste of what you were preparing.

Carefully dodging the felines under your feet you placed the now steaming mugs on a tray before rushing to take out the cookies.

Perfectly golden and prettily plated, you set the cookies on the tray before cleaning up after yourself and heading to take a quick shower.

Refreshed yet somehow colder you nabbed one of your boyfriends sweaters before grabbing your phone to check your messages once again.

Beep! Beep! The sound of an incorrect password reached your ears before you could unlock your phone, followed by the exasperated swear of your lover. With a laugh, you unlocked and opened the door, quickly throwing yourself into his arms. He stumbled back slightly, his arm instinctively wrapping around you. The cold wind lashed at your skin through his sweater and your thin house clothes, but you hardly cared.

“Baby, it’s freezing. Let me get inside,” he said.

Your body warmed to the wistfulness in his voice as he squeezed you tightly and peppered your head and cheeks with his cold lips.

“You took soooo long,” you whined, waddling together back into the house. “I was soooo bored!”

“I thought you were going to catch up on some sleep,” Jae replied, using the few seconds you were willing to let him go to remove his coat and hang it in the closet. You reached up and pulled off his hat, dusting the snowflakes from it.

“Turns out I couldn’t sleep without you,” you said as you pulled him back into your embrace. “My poor baby, you’re freezing!”

“I just barely beat the snow. I feel bad for anyone who works further away than I do, the highway is already getting icy.”

“ I can’t believe they called you guys in on a weekend and in this weather, no less.”

“Assholes. And it was a mistake on their end.”

He gave you a tighter squeeze. “But enough about them… you smell so amazing… and warm.”

He tightened his grip again, pulling giggles from you as his cold cheek pressed against your neck, seeking warmth.

“I made cookies and tea,” you said proudly, pulling back to look at him. The bags under his eyes were heavy, but his smile still lit up his face as he gazed at you.

“I’m going to go shower,” he said, trying to pry your arms from around him.

“Wait.” You pouted.

He chuckled. “I’ll be back, and then we can relax.”

“Hurry.”

“Hurrying.”

You lived together and saw each other often, but your free time was limited. It felt like forever since you had hugged him like that. With one of you working overtime while the other left early, your daily life felt empty whenever you found yourself without each other.

Sitting in thought you blew on your tea between sips, the mug warming your cold numbed hands. Your thoughts filled with him like oxygen filled your lungs, and the warmth of the tea filled your chest.

Through the ups and downs of life, like a raft you kept each other above the floods of burn outs and constant burdens. You relied on those soft moments with Jae to help you heal from the exhausting weeks that crowded your schedules.

Jae laid his head on your lap, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Your hair is still a bit wet, love,” you giggled.

“I couldn't keep waiting,” he replied, turning to bury his face into your belly, causing his glasses to slip askew. You took them off for him and placed them on the coffee table.

Picking up a cookie you gave him a bite before taking one yourself. Warm in chewy you savored the sweet taste on your tongue. His hand reached up, popping the last bite of cookie into his mouth.

Jaes hands snaked around your waist, tickling your sides.

“What the heck, Jae?” you laughed, trying not to spill your drink.

His response was the delightful sound of his laughter as he sat up and took your mug from you.

He took a long sip before nodding his head in approval. “This is also very good.”

“Yours is right there.” You reached for your mug, but he pulled it away.

“Nah, yours tastes better.”

“They're exactly the same,” you said, rolling your eyes but still smiling.

“Impossible.”

“And why is that?” Your eyebrow quirked in response to his change of tone.

“Because yours tastes like you.” His eyes tracked your lips as you licked them.

“Well, then why drink that when you can get a taste from the source?” you said with a tilt of your head.

It felt so good to banter with him like this. The butterflies in your stomach danced warmly and familiar as you watched him put down the mug and turn back to you. Grabbing your hand, he pulled you to him, your legs settling around him as you comfortably fell into his lap.

Holding his face, your lips hovered close together, buzzing with joy just to be near each other.

“Gosh, I missed you,” you whispered against his lips.

Jae's lips brushed softly against yours, a gentle knock at your body's door. His fingertips sent chills across your skin as his caresses moved up your thighs to your hips, sliding beneath your shirt, and to your back. Your skin flexed and relaxed under his touch.

Your thighs squeezed around him, as your body craved more.

You pulled at his shirt and he chuckled softly against your neck, his hands gently gripping your arms to pause your desperate motions.

Jae pulled off his shirt before removing his sweater from your body along with your shirt. With flushed cheeks and blown pupils you watched his eyes devour you. Your chest heaved as Jae’s hands began once again to caress you, his mouth leaving hungry bites against your burning body. The grinding of hips came naturally as you both desperately desired the next portion of the intimacy you missed.

Throwing your head back you shut your eyes and allowed your other senses to enjoy the moment. Open-mouth kisses and gasps filled your ears, the smell of his body wash and freshly baked cookies, the warmth of his body radiating into you in electrifying ecstasy.

“Honestly,” Jae said between kisses, “my back hurts way too much to continue this on the couch.”

Your laughter broke the kiss and almost made you fall off his lap, but he caught you with hands wrapped securely around you.

“Sorry,” he said, holding your skin flush against his, hearts beating in sync.

“No worries.” You stood up, intertwining your fingers with his as you pulled him up with you. “Besides, I don’t like it when the cats watch us; it feels weird.”

Jae laughed, the sound light and infectious, as he followed you into the dimly lit hallway. “You know they don’t even care, right? They just want to be around us.”

You shook your head. “I don't know. It feels like they’re watching too intently.”

“Sorry Peanut and Butter.” Jae whispered, shutting the door quickly behind you two, locking the perverts out and only leaving behind their meows of protests.

You stretched out on the bed, heart racing with excitement.

Leaning against the doorframe Jae grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he watched your body in full.

“Now I see where the cats get it from.” You laughed.

With your finger you beckoned him closer. “Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna join me?

Seductively you slipped your thumbs into the sides of your shorts, catching your underwear as well, as you began to shimmy a little and pull them both off.

With a single, smooth motion, Jae closed the distance between you, his hands gliding up your thighs and grabbing your hands, igniting every nerve in your body. "That's my job," he whispered, breath warm against your ear.

His hands gripped your waist, his eyes roaming over you and drinking in your form up close in the low light of your shared bedroom.

You watched as his tired eyes darkened, arousing desire reflecting in them as he dipped down and captured your lips in a searing kiss. Jae’s hands roamed lower, exploring the curve of your hips before slipping underneath your shorts. His fingers brushed slender and electric against your delicate bud. His lips hungrily swallowed your gasps as the skill of his touch sent waves of pleasure rippling through you.

"God, I missed you all day." he groaned as he pulled back just enough to drink you in once again. The sight of you, vulnerable and eager, sent his senses into a frenzy.

Your own hands took the opportunity with him raised above you to roam along his chest and down to his waistband. Unsanctimoniously you grabbed him as you pushed on his waistband and pulled at his cock, freeing him from the confines of his clothing.

Jae let out a shaky breath, his eyes rolling back slightly at your touch.

Feeling restless and ready you whined as he slowly pulled down your shorts and underwear, kicking them off the rest of the way.

“Jae… the day was far too long for you to be playing around,” you complained as he pulled your hands away from him pinning them above you.

He chuckles at your neediness before letting go of your wrist and sitting up.

Jae's fingers trailed down your body before settling on your waist and pulling you towards him. Gripping your hips, he pushed into you and scattered stars into your vision.

Every thrust sent fireworks through your vision but that didn't stop you from trying to take in the look of pure ecstasy on his face when Jae felt your walls squeeze around him.

You could feel the tension building between you, a delicious pressure that promised a long overdue release. One hand reached for your clit, nearly throwing you over the edge as your bodies collided against each other. Normally you would hold out longer but your head was already spinning.

“Cum for me baby.” The low whisper of his voice was enough to set you spiraling as your body shook and your walls fluttered and squeezed his cock.

“Just like that,” he encouraged, his voice thick with desire, urging you on. You could feel him deep within you, every movement sending you higher into your orgasm. The sensations were intoxicating, and you surrendered completely, allowing the moment to consume you, your senses bursting in a kaleidoscope of pleasure. You felt him soon after, his hot seed spilling atop your chest as you tried to catch your breath.

Looking up you watched him in the glow of the city lights from your window. His eyes fixed on yours, your hearts still racing and bodies glistening with sweat.

"Let's take care of you," he murmured, his voice soft and soothing. He disentangled himself from you before retrieving a warm, damp cloth. After cleaning up, he returned the cloth to the bathroom and flopped back into bed next to you.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, you curled into him. With the covers pulled up to your ears, you let the warmth of his body envelop you, completely cocooning yourself in the moment. Jae's arms snaked around you, his nose burrowing into the crook of your neck as he pulled you impossibly close. Your bodies lay skin to skin, the quietness of the cold night embracing you and pulling you into sleep's welcoming arms.

THANK YOU FOR READING 😊

If you want more from me CLICK HERE

[mingyusleftbigtoe]

I NEED DAY6 FANFICS TO FEED MY DELUSION😭😭 THE POST CONCERT DEPRESSION IS HITTING💔💔

[thealexalcala]

Part 60 : Drunk or Possessed?

Prev | Next

Sweet Chaos

Youngk x Yn

Music. That is about the only thing Brian Kang and YN YLN have in common. And frankly, she has no interest in learning more about the boy she has deemed Mr. Perfect. Fate, however, does not seem to be in her favor when she finds they have been assigned to write and produce together. It can only lead to sweet chaos.

*times and dates do matter*

Tags :

@heyydolll, @yoonguurt, @kwanisms, @dino-16-avocado, @capndarby, @princeofshenzhenuwus, @iluvfin, @dramaticmyday, @wronqness99, @esprit-de-kyung, @dream-toaster, @no-jam1013, @anothershorthuman, @mistressvaekairanna, @aproudleo, @monstathedisco, @peachy-nctzen, @camlcara, @7luftschloesser, @jeetiesforthewin, @atinysparkle, @monstathedisco, @idontknowapil, @thrashhyuck, @d0ntfitin, @skylions-den, @sunsungie, @broken-c0mpass, @cherriechurros, @hxshwnufleur, @chasingmarkles, @enbyfriend98, @chibishae34, @deardayjm, @leomggg, @heart--cake, @ly-sithea, @marsophilia, @jaehyungparkiansbtch, @missmadwoman, @sinfulketchup, @yunhobug, @g0lden-sunset, @jaycheoluwu, @violagoth

[jishyucks]

˗ˏˋWhile the World Sleeps — njmˎˊ˗

Sure, it was a little creepy when a number addressed to you turned up at the end of your shift. And no, you were sure as hell not stupid enough to text said number without considering its consequences. But curiosity was one rather overwhelming emotion… maybe a ‘hi’ wouldn’t hurt… right?

pairing: bio-med major!na jaemin x nursing major!reader

genre: social media au, strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, secret admirer au, fluff, crack, some written parts 

status: ongoing ! (18.01.2025)

warnings: attempted humour (pls tell me if it's working thanks), some characters have chronic lowercase use, kms jokes, dirty jokes, me and fake LOL knowledge, will add more to this as I go!

[playlist] Daydreamin' - Ariana Grande | R.E.M. - Ariana Grande | Mahika - Adie | About Last Night.. - Yel | Comin’ Through - Hojean | Maybe We Could Be a Thing - Jesse Barrera | Used to Me - Luke Chiang | Buttons - Lyn Lapid | While You Were Sleeping - Laufey | She Smiled - Day6

profiles one | profiles two

one. I was baited wasn’t I?

two. you're like Shakespeare or something

three. FUTURE NURSE EVERYONE

four. NSFJ (not safe for jisung)

five. I'm transferring it to u guys

six. bro can take me to heaven

an: a taglist will be made if requested! I haven’t made an SMAU since 2020 so pls bear with me 😭 decided to make this bc it helped my writer’s block and it was also pretty fun to make—so disclaimer: this was for fun and meant purely for enjoyment and probably not the most jaw dropping, complex smau you’ll ever read lmao,, but I still put effort into it so it’s nothing half-assed. It’s been sitting and rotting in my docs since october and it would hurt me to not share it,,, so PLEASE ENJOY! 

[forlix]

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞・l.f.

— five times you want to tell your best friend you love him and the time you finally do.

words・7.7k

pairing・idol!felix x gn!reader

genres・fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn w/a happy ending, 5 + 1 trope, idiots in love who are also afraid of love, you do the math

warnings・alcohol consumption, discussions of anxiety, lots of emotional vulnerability, like a surprising amount of crying icl

playlist・jazz bar by dreamcatcher・spring day by bts・through the night by iu・eight by iu ft. suga・house song by searows・not mine by day6

a/n・i borrowed the title of this beautiful day6 song for this fic; give it a listen if you can (especially while reading part four). happy late birthday, lix <333 thank you for being you

One. The door to the café opens with a soft jingle, bringing a chilly draft into the room and causing you to draw your scarf tighter around your shoulders.

Theoretically, you come here to study—but people-watching has become a simultaneous pastime. There was that couple with a pair of samoyeds, so fluffy that they looked like walking clouds; a mother and son, hunched over their croissants, arguing in a classic “don’t cause a scene in public” tone; an elderly woman in bicycle shorts asking for extra shots of espresso in the menu’s most caffeinated item.

And now, there is him.

“Hello,” the ashy-haired stranger says to the barista with a quick, polite bow. “May I have a medium caramel latte? Hot, with sweetener, please. Thank you.”

His voice reminds you of the notes of a cello, of the feeling of running your fingers through tufted velvet. When he turns away from the counter, he’s slipping a card back into his wallet, and you catch a glimpse of long lashes and a scattering of freckles. You cannot see his face, as it’s covered by a black mask, but that only propels the question further: who are you?

And perhaps it is destiny herself who hooks a gentle finger beneath the stranger’s chin and tilts his head upwards, because when he inadvertently steps into a patch of sunlight, his brown irises illuminate like molten amber, and they are fixed upon you.

You feel your lips part, your stomach turn. You don’t know if your cheeks are so warm because of your piping hot tea (your third one today) or because of the newfound eye contact with someone so ethereal.

But you are sure that the corners of the stranger’s eyes crinkle ever so slightly, as if his lips have just curved into a smile beneath his mask.

“Felix,” the barista calls, and you turn the name silently on your tongue.

Maybe you are exhausted from work and not thinking straight. Maybe you are more starved for change than you’ve ever been. Or maybe you’re just prophetic. But you think you sense forever in this man, with his freckled cheeks and pretty eyes.

That is the first time you want to tell Lee Felix you love him.

Two. The second Felix comes into your line of vision, you sense that something is wrong.

You hold up a hand in greeting, and the smile he returns is sincere but muted, as if it pains him to move, to breathe. He sounded weary on the phone earlier—can I see you tonight? Just for a bit—but only now that he’s in front of you do you see the extent of his fatigue, seeping into his sunken shoulders and lightless eyes.

“Hi,” he says once he’s close enough.

“Hey, you,” you answer, rising out of your seat. Instinctively, he extends his arms toward you, and you draw him into a hug that is fleeting and familiar. He smells faintly of laundry detergent and vanilla, and it makes something within you ache, like an oyster searching for its absent pearl.

When you pull away, your hands move to your best friend’s cheeks, cocooning his face so you can get a better look at him. Even under the sparse streetlights, you see that his eyes are slightly bloodshot, the shadows beneath them deep and sullen. Has he been crying? 

“Bad day?” You ask, your hands falling back to your sides.

“The worst,” he returns with a weak smile. 

“Wanna take a walk?”

“Yes, please. How long do I have you for?”

This is what you do when your schedules are too packed for you to make real plans: take strolls wherever is most convenient, for however long either of you can spare. Sometimes that’s five minutes, sometimes five hours. But you know that you need to be here for him tonight.

“As long as you need me,” you say.

You turn around to pick up your drinks (a decaf caramel latte for Felix and a black milk tea for yourself), and you don't see the way his smile comes back a little bigger the second time, the way his cheeks warm slightly under the moonlight.

There’s a small park a few blocks behind your apartment. Granted, it's not a very good park, with only a tiny, sad playground and very little foliage, but it is an excellent stargazing spot, due to it being so dark and desolate. You and Felix decide to head there now, your arms touching as you walk through the quiet residential area.

Ten minutes later, blades of grass are poking the back of your head, and directly above you is a sea of scattered stars, flickering like millions of faulty flashlights. Felix’s voice is leaden when he starts to speak, breaking the park’s fragile silence. He tells you about his fears, about how earlier today they overwhelmed him so much that he wanted to lock himself away from the world and throw away the key. He tells you about his dreams, about how even in his relentless pursuit of them they sometimes still feel as amorphous and unattainable as fragments of mist.

The way he always does when he’s around you, Felix spills parts of himself that he never thought he could entrust to anyone. And you don’t say a word, your knee leaning against his, listening, understanding. (But you wish you could tell him a lot of things: that you care for him more than you ever believed yourself capable; that you hope for his happiness more than your own; that you don’t have the words to heal him, but you would give anything to find them.)

By the time the two of you leave the park, it’s almost midnight, and the streets have fallen silent save for the occasional whoosh of car wheels on cement and the distant lamentations of cricket choirs. You’re making small talk now, and Felix is smiling a little easier. It seems your conversation worked in cheering him up; a temporary fix, you’re sure, like a bandaid where stitches should be, but seeing his eyes crinkle and hearing his laugh again is enough to soothe your worry for the rest of the night, at the very least.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay going back yourself?” You ask once the two of you reach the entrance to your apartment building.

“Yeah, of course.” Felix touches the back of his neck apologetically. “I’m sorry I kept you out so late.”

“Nonsense, Lix. I’m always here for you.”

Felix averts his eyes to his shoes, and you’re caught off guard by his facial expression: exhausted but contemplative, and possessing a sense of tenderness. It is a look that you don’t think you’ve seen before, and you feel your heartstrings pull at its unfamiliarity, its strange softness.

You say your goodbyes, but your "let me know when you get home safe" is cut short when you feel a hand catch your wrist, just as you’re entering the building.

How Felix doesn’t notice your frantic pulse beneath his touch is beyond you, but instead he parts his lips, and his next words resound in your mind as you try and fail to fall asleep that night.

“I can’t explain why, or how—but I feel braver when I’m with you, Y/N. I meant to tell you that earlier.”

And those three words rush to your mind fleetingly, like saltwater crashing against the shores of your mind. Even when the tide has subsided, they remain on the sand, waiting to be read aloud.

“Thank you,” Felix mumbles, “for everything.”

You don’t read out those words, of course. Instead, you reach up to squish Felix’s face and call him a sentimental dork, to which he rolls his eyes affectionately and bats you away, and the moment is over. But when you turn to go, your heart is pounding so loudly that your reply may as well have been a confession.

Three. You sink into your mattress, careful to keep your tea within your mug’s rim, and let out a hybrid of a groan and a sigh that is strikingly reminiscent of an old man lowering himself into a worn armchair.

You can’t remember the last time you had a cold this terrible. It feels as if your lungs took a plunge in a vat of wet cement and then rolled around in gravel immediately afterward. And it’s got you in the mood to do nothing but listen to the heavy drops of rain knocking against your window, curl up with a good show and a hot drink, and bask in your own congestion.

But then your phone, which you left in the bathroom, emits four deafening notification sounds, and you haul yourself back out of bed with a groan-sigh that’s twice as anguished as the last.

When you reach the hellish device, your best friend’s name greets you, and your ire dissipates momentarily.

From: Lix 🐣 Hey hey From: Lix 🐣 We still on for dinner tonight? From: Lix 🐣 Just gonna be me, Minho, Seungmin. Jeongin has a vocal lesson From: Lix 🐣 Please don’t play the “if Jeongin doesn’t go neither do I” card again I’ve had enough of it!!! ENOUGH

You let out a throaty laugh that sounds like one of Minho’s cats battling a hairball, heading back to bed.

From: Y/N 🌙 ahhhh i meant to text you earlier, but i have the worst cold From: Y/N 🌙 no clue how or why i caught it but i feel like fucking shit. it’d be a bad idea for me to come over right now From: Y/N 🌙 sorry :( can we raincheck in a few days? From: Y/N 🌙 (that way jeongin can come too!!!)

Felix dislikes this last text, and you snort into your tea.

From: Lix 🐣 Yeah, of course. Don’t apologize From: Lix 🐣 Do you need anything? You’re eating and sleeping well, yeah? From: Y/N 🌙 sleeping, YES.  From: Y/N 🌙 eating, not really 😅 but i don’t have much of an appetite anyways From: Y/N 🌙 don’t worry about me. i’ll be raring to go in a day or two

Felix starts to type a response, but the gray dots disappear after a bit, and you set your phone face-down on your nightstand. He probably has to get back to work, and you have to get back to your episode.

Slowly, the soporific fragrance of chamomile and the lull of relentless rain start to weigh on your eyelids, and you slump unconsciously into your makeshift fortress of blankets, your show playing to nobody.

Night has fallen by the time the door of your apartment clicks open, and Felix pokes a head into your dark kitchen, cautiously calling out your name. When you don’t respond, he slips inside and moves to your kitchen counter, where he unloads the bags in his arms. A spare key to your place dangles from the opening of his hoodie pocket. 

There’s a quiet knock on your bedroom door, another call of your name—infinitely softer this time, like how one would speak to a dove. But Felix finds you out like a light, even when he closes your laptop and puts it on your desk, checks your temperature with a gentle hand to your forehead. It feels normal enough to let you sleep, but warm enough that he brings a glass of water and two pills of ibuprofen to your nightstand, placed within your reach, should you wake up in the middle of the night needing them.

Using only the slivers of light coming in from the hallway, Felix allows himself to look at your sleeping form. Your breathing is callous but steady; your face pallid but peaceful. And if only you'd seen see the tiny, helpless smile that pulls at his lips; if only you'd heard the pulse protesting against his skin, yelling at him “do something about this, you fucking idiot, and do it soon."

But you don’t see or hear anything; you just speak, instead.

“Stay with me,” you whisper, and Felix’s hand freezes on your doorknob, his eyes widening in the darkness. “Please?”

There is a lengthy period of nothing, during which neither of you makes another noise; there is only the sound of your clock ticking, raindrops rushing against the windows, and Felix’s heart in his ears.

And then he moves.

“C'mere,” Felix murmurs once he’s lying down next to you, and you nestle into his embrace as easily as if you've always belonged there, your face burrowing into the crook of his neck, your arms winding around his waist, searching for him, asking for him.

Felix has always expressed his affection for people through touch, and you’ve gotten used to his constant hand on your shoulder, his leg resting against yours. But he thinks this is the first time you’ve initiated physicality outright, and he feels a concerned pang in his chest at your unexpected vulnerability. He lifts a hand to cradle the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair.

“Gonna get you sick,” you say with a wet sniffle, your voice muffled against him. And Felix presses a kiss to the top of your head, perhaps without thinking as much as he should have; but who can blame him for forgetting to think when he’s holding you the way he is?

“Don’t care,” he answers readily. “I'm not going anywhere.”

At some point before you fall back asleep, you think your mouth actually forms the words I love you, subtly and silently and into the fabric of his hoodie. But you resume your slumber before you can think more of it. (Felix waits until your breathing is steady again, checks your temperature one more time; and only afterward does he allow his eyes to close.)

The next morning, you wake to an empty bed and a Post-It note explaining that Felix had to run to a recording session: Check your kitchen! See u soon x. Accompanied by a small, messy doodle of a baby chick popping out of its egg.

Your face melts into a smile when you see that the fridge is chock-full of fresh groceries and the pantry has been restocked with your favorite snacks, including a batch of Felix’s world-famous sea salt brownies—accompanied by another note with another doodle, this time a crescent moon wearing your sneakers. Sugar is prolly bad for you rn. Pls have in moderation!

When you pull out your phone to thank him for everything, you see his remaining texts from yesterday—and you feel momentarily empty, as if only then noticing that you've been missing a fraction of your soul your whole life.

From: Lix 🐣 I’ll drop by tonight to check on you From: Lix 🐣 Wait for me, okay?

And he is right in front of you, just out of reach.

Four. “This isn’t a bad idea, right?” Chan asks under his breath.

“Nah, they’ll be fine,” Minho replies, clapping a hand on the leader’s shoulder. “Y/N will take care of him.”

A loud yelp comes from up ahead, and the men whip around quickly enough to crack a joint—only to realize that the noise was the opening note of DAY6’s “Not Mine,” and you and Felix have just launched into song so terribly and so loudly that it’s probably awoken the entirety of Seoul.

“And who’s gonna take care of Y/N?”

The two men look at each other for a moment before deciding they’re not interested in talking the two of you out of a disorderly intoxication charge. 

“Let me know when you get back!” Chan hollers after you, and they reenter the karaoke bar in a hurry.

The members decided to go out for karaoke after finishing promotions earlier that week, and Felix invited you to come along. And you might've gone a little overboard with the mango sake, but your level of tipsy is nothing compared to that of the blue-haired boy draped over you.

Felix is rather prone to hangovers, you’ve discovered from past experiences, so the moment he started speaking in some kind of nonsensical Korean-English mutation that not even Chan could understand, the members tasked you with taking him home early. Now, Felix has his arm around your neck, less out of affection and more out of a genuine requirement for support, doing his best to walk in a straight line. He hasn't stopped grinning for the last hour, and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to run out of energy anytime soon, not as long as there’s more of DAY6’s discography to butcher.

In spite of your foggy mind, you're well aware that your best friend has never been prettier. He sets the bar high as it is, but then you throw in the flushed lips and cheeks, the lopsided, ditzy grin, the wine-kissed complexion, and life becomes terribly difficult for you. It doesn’t help that alcohol amplifies his proclivity for physical contact—he's been attached to your hip all night, holding your waist, pulling you into incidental hugs.

Needless to say, your current situation is a bit precarious; but you don't know that. Not yet.

The two of you finish your disrespectful rendition of “Not Mine” just as you pass the apartment’s front desk, and it is only when you see the deadly look that the receptionist gives you over the brim of his glasses that you finally feel sober again. You have the sense to incline your head in apology. Felix, however, launches into “You Were Beautiful” without a care in the world.

You dig a pointed elbow into his ribs as you hit the up button, and his singing abruptly falters with a pained huff. "Ow."

“Take an intermission, superstar,” you say. “The receptionist looks like he’s ready to throttle us.”

“Ah, he would never. We’re tight,” he returns, and before you can stop him he’s lifting his head, raising his voice. “Have a good night, Mr. Seo!”

Your nose scrunches into an apprehensive wince—but instead, you think you hear a hint of a smile in the man's cool reply.

“You too, Mr. Lee. Keep your voices down, please.”

“Yes, sir!” You and Felix reply in unison. Felix gives you a smile that says I told you so before he nestles his cheek against your shoulder, and you shake your head. Nobody is immune to the boy’s brightness.

Entering the building seemed to be effective in calming Felix down. The elevator ride up is silent save for a bit of quiet humming, and you finally see a bit of sleep on his face when you open the door of his dorm and turn on the living room lights. He lets you escort him to his bathroom without a word.

“I’ll be here if you need me,” you say, reaching to pat his cheeks a couple times. “Be careful in there.”

“M’kay. Thank you," he says with a drowsy smile, and closes the door.

You pull out your phone and open up your messages with Chan, remembering his parting request.

To: Chan 🐺 we got back safe!! To: Chan 🐺 lix is gonna be okay. i'll take care of him

A few minutes later, a notification appears at the top of your screen; Chan left hearts on both of your messages and sent two in response.

From: Chan 🐺 Thanks, good to hear :) you get some rest too, okay? From: Chan 🐺 Bro tore that sake UP

You begin to type back a retort—give me a break it was basically JUICE—when you hear Felix call your name, his voice muffled through the bathroom door.

“What's up?” You answer.

“I think I’m...stuck.”

Now what the hell does that mean?

“Can I come in?”

“Mhm.”

You open the door, and your attempt to suppress your laughter fails with flying colors. Felix is well and truly stuck in his crewneck, the gray material swathed around his head, his arms positioned in some kind of advanced pretzel formation.

“You are a hot mess, Lee Yongbok," you sing, moving toward him, and he whines from inside his cotton prison.

“Please don’t kick me while I’m down.”

Grinning, you bring your fingers to the hem of his top and attempt to lift it over his head. He’s managed to tangle himself quite impressively, and the next few minutes are spent with you trying to extract him, like he’s that one nose hair that your tweezers have never been able to reach, all while he's moaning and groaning about the fabric catching on his earrings, about his joints not being able to handle this kind of pressure anymore.

He emerges from the crewneck a while later looking positively disgruntled. You toss the gray mass onto the counter, proud of your handiwork.

“So maybe I‘m a hot mess,” he concedes. “A little bit.”

“That's alright. We all have our moments,” you giggle. “Come on, let me help you with your jewelry.”

For a second, he looks like he’s about to protest—but the look you give him reminds him that his motor functions are currently on strike.

“Okay,” he mumbles adorably.

You position yourself a little closer to Felix and lift your hands to the nape of his neck, where the clasp of his chain lies. It takes you a few tries to undo it, and you end up having to use the mirror above the sink for guidance. Soon, there is a soft click. You set the chain down next to the crewneck before your hands return to the sides of his face, this time to tuck long, light blue strands behind the cuffs of his ears. Your fingers run over the curves of his silver earrings.

“Are these bothering you at all?” You ask nonchalantly. “I forgot you had so many piercings.”

In your peripheral vision, you see Felix’s lips move, but no sound comes out. Puzzled, you move your eyes to meet his, and it takes you one blink’s worth of time to understand the source of his speechlessness.

Somewhere between your reaching up to touch his necklace and the present moment, you’ve come incredibly, dangerously close to him. Close enough that you can count the freckles that speckle his skin like fallen stars, that you can feel the heat of his body against your own, that Felix’s eyes are nearly crossed trying to maintain eye contact with you.

Your heartbeat lodges itself firmly in your throat, and your thoughts evaporate into complete and utter disarray. There are three differently-worded apologies on the tip of your tongue within seconds. You immediately start to pray that he won’t remember this tomorrow morning. And your strongest impulse is to move; to get as far away from him as possible, before either of you does anything you'll regret.

But there is something that overwhelms your every instinct, and stops you from budging an inch. And that is the way Felix is looking at you, unblinking brown eyes filled with something that doesn’t have a name. It is the same tender expression that’d surprised you the first time you saw it, and it is with a spiraling stomach that you finally realize what that expression is.

You reach your conclusion a second after he does.

Felix’s hand lifts to cradle your jaw, his face moving closer to yours. Your foreheads touch, wisps of his hair falling over the bridge of your nose, your senses engulfed by the vanilla of his cologne and the touch of sweet wine on his breath. The scene is as delicate as a dragonfly’s tail dipping into a pond’s surface; even a minuscule disturbance would shatter this limbo instantaneously.

A part of you wishes that it would, but nothing does. There is only his pulse, perceptible through the thin cloth of his tank top, vehement beneath your fingertips—and your heart, naked and frail, sitting upon the palm of his hand.

Felix doesn’t push you away; he doesn’t kiss you. He does something far worse.

“I love you,” he whispers.

A few seconds. That is how long you stand there for, with every word of every language you know inaccessible, every qualm and doubt and source of anxiety that plagued your mind moments before now distant memories, every ounce of your energy channeled into keeping yourself upright.

But the few seconds feel like forever. The same way he has always felt like forever to you. The same way you imagined you would spend forever loving him, close enough for him to love you back, but far enough that he’ll never know the true nature of your affection: greater and truer than anything anyone would ever call friendship.

An urgent question suddenly surfaces in your mind: is he still drunk? He was falling up, down, and sideways minutes ago. Surely this was an intoxicated slip of the tongue. But you discern the slight tremble to Felix’s breathing and the intensity in his heavy-lidded gaze, all far too intentional, far too conscious to be wine-induced—leaving behind one impossible possibility.

You should be having your happy tears kissed from your face right now. You should be over the moon, relishing in the sensation of two stars aligning at long fucking last, the way you’ve dreamed of since the very first time you laid eyes on Felix.

But instead, you just feel inexplicably and profusely afraid.

You won’t remember the specifics of the next few minutes. You think you stumble away from him and whisper I’m sorry through watering eyes, though you don’t really know what for. He sputters something in return, his tone so desperate and confused that you feel your heart break to pieces on the spot. You apologize again, leave the bathroom, and move towards the apartment door as if your life depends on it. In your peripheral vision, you notice the crease of concern on Mr. Seo’s face when you stalk past him, tears now flying freely down your cheeks. You run into Minho and Jeongin when you step out of the building, and you see the worry that creases their faces, hear their voices calling your name. Jeongin's hand closes around your wrist—are you okay?! What the fuck happened?—but you do not, can not say anything, not right now.

And then you are alone again, and you briskly walk the two miles back to your apartment. Your mind and heart are every bit as foggy as the somber night sky that hangs over your head.

Five. When the two of you step out of the restaurant and into the evening, Felix turns around to face you, launching into his best tour guide walk.

“And, with that,” he says with a glowing smile, “we are nearing the end of our tour of Sydney.”

“Noooo,” you lament, reaching your arm out. Felix falls back into step beside you and links it with his, the movement like clockwork. Your jackets scrunch up together where your elbows bend. “Already?”

“Okay, the tour’s been going on for two days and you haven’t paid a cent for my toil. Don’t push your luck.”

Your laughter spills into the otherwise quiet avenue, the setting sun throwing shadows across the cement, but it always feels like midday when you have the brightest man in the world by your side.

When the two of you discovered you had a free weekend on the same days, Felix conjured up the idea of going home—and suggested that you go with him. You’d freaked out for a bit, but then Felix reminded you that his mom texts you on your birthday and that you’re on multiple different subscription plans with his sisters, and you collected yourself quite quickly. There was a lot of cheering over the phone when Felix informed his family that they’d finally get to meet you in person.

But such a fast trip to the other side of the world proved to be no easy feat. Felix took on the task of piecing together a travel plan that would cover most of his favorite spots in forty-eight hours. The last two weeks were filled with him fretting over the details and you fretting over him, asking time and time again if you could help with anything, only for him to shoo you away with a single hand and a pointed “you are my guest. Now leave me.”

With assistance from every other resource at his disposal, though, he pulled it off, and the weekend has been wonderful thus far.

“I think that was some of the best food I’ve ever had, seriously,” you hum. “I’ll be dreaming about those appetizers for the rest of my life.”

“I'm glad. It took a Socratic seminar to choose the place, after all."

(The Socratic seminar in question: a two-hour FaceTime call and an intense match of rock-paper-scissors between him and his siblings, aimed to decide on where Felix would take you for dinner the second night. Only for his mom to ignore all of their efforts and insist upon her own choice of restaurant instead—no ifs, ands, or buts.)

“We have to try your sisters’ recommendations the next time I visit, don’t we?”

“Yes," he returns, shuddering. "I think my family is done for if we don’t."

He has one place left to take you, and the two of you head there now, shoulder to shoulder, arm in arm.

A month has passed since that night.

You’ve tried with every fiber of your being to put the whole thing from your mind, of course to no avail. You see Felix’s flushed lips and gentle gaze every time you blink; you hear his “I love you” every time you’re alone, the words whispered in the wind and dragged over the earth, in tandem with your footsteps.

You wanted to fucking die of awkwardness in the few days following, but it was never an option for you to avoid Felix for long. The two of you still went on convenience store runs together; still met up for coffee before work; still continued your business as usual, against all odds. And you owed it all to Felix and how he knows you better than you know yourself. He didn’t try to talk to you when he sensed that you had nothing to say; nor did he try to bring you back when you felt miles away. He would just silently slip a pack of your favorite cookies into your grocery basket or order your drink on your behalf.

Felix had questions and wanted answers; there was no doubt about that. But he held his tongue, granted you as much space as you needed to come back to him. And you did, in your gradual, meticulous way.

You’re finally going to bring it up tonight. You’ve planned to since the day you confirmed the trip, and you hope that the final stop of the tour will be the perfect place to bite the bullet.

“We’re here,” Felix says.

The two of you have arrived at the bank of a wide river, and you’re at a temporary loss for words. To your right is a bridge that spans the distance of the water, and to your left is a stunning, panoramic view of the city of Sydney. Twilight has turned the buildings into dark silhouettes against the autumn sunset, and the water reminds you of a palette of oil paints with how it reflects the pinks and oranges in the sky.

Felix feels you tighten your hold around his arm, and he smiles when he sees the wonder in your eyes. He wishes he could see this place for the first time again.

“Not bad, huh?”

“No,” you murmur. “Not at all.”

“C’mon.”

Felix leads you to the center of the bridge, where he props his elbows atop the metal railing and looks over the water. You join him and pull out your phone, but no settings or adjustments render your camera capable of capturing the landscape's beauty.

(Until Felix throws up a peace sign and pokes his head into the corner of your frame. Then it stands a fighting chance.)

“What is this place?” You ask, your shoulder touching his when you also lean over the railing. “Why are we the only ones here?”

“Crazy, right?” Felix says proudly. “I dunno. I think it might be private property, or something. But it’s only a few blocks away from my house and on the way I used to take to school, so I used to come here all the time, always around this time of day.”

Felix’s gaze moves over the sky, oblivious to the fact that his eyes hold whole rainbows of their own.

“There was never anyone around, but I could still hear the birds chirping and the wind in the leaves. It felt like a corner of the world had been sealed off just for me. I’m glad to see that nothing’s changed.”

Some time passes, and Felix tells you more stories about this peculiar bridge: how he asked someone to formal and got rejected and came here to reflect on his actions; how he had to take two different buses every day because his school was so far away from his house, but he always stopped here to feed the families of mallards that came out to swim in the mornings, even if it meant he’d be late; how this was the last place he went to before moving to South Korea, because he knew he’d miss this nook of Sydney most.

Of all the places you've visited, you think this one will remain with you longest. As time elapses, the colors of the sunset augment and deepen, dyeing the world in ways that remind you of the aurora. And then there is the man, wearing a gentle smile to match his softened features, his voice to your ears what honey is to a sore throat, telling you about his past, letting you into yet another chamber of his soul.

You are in no way prepared to butcher the sanctity of this moment, but you know that you can only run for so long and so far. You owe it to him. You owe it to yourself.

When the sun’s final rays are clinging the faraway mountaintops, Felix lifts himself off the railing and stands up straight. “Ready to go home?"

And your hand finds his, the pads of your fingers cold against his skin. Felix is surprised at first, but then he sees the hint of sadness in your eyes and the tension in your shoulders, and he understands what’s coming.

“I want to talk to you about that night,” you say.

Felix doesn’t respond for a few seconds. But when he does, his voice is so soft and so infuriatingly kind that hearing it makes you want to sob.

“...you don’t have to, Y/N.”

“No. I do,” you return, startling even yourself with the firmness in your voice, "I don’t want to keep dancing around the topic, not when you’ve been waiting for as long as you have.”

You feel Felix’s gaze on your face, as if he’s trying to read between your lines, and then he yields with a slight incline of his head.

“Okay.” And the stage is yours.

You don't start talking right away, your mind reeling with the effort to organize everything you feel and verbalize everything you want to tell him. It isn’t until Felix gives your hand a gentle squeeze—you’ve forgotten that you’re still holding his—that you feel rooted in the moment again.

It’s Felix you’re talking to; your soulmate, your sunlight. Nothing you are about to say will ever change that. This, you believe with every fiber of your being. 

So you take a deep breath.

“When you said those words,” you begin, and the words sound alien in your voice, despite how many times you’ve rehearsed this conversation in your head, “I couldn’t process a thing. I was so happy, but I was so, so scared. I’ve spent the last month trying to figure out why I was so scared, and I can’t say that I know for sure yet, but I have a much better idea now, and—it’s a lot of things.

“For as long as I can remember, I have only ever been able to love profoundly and deeply, with everything in me. And over time, I led myself to believe that nobody would ever be able to understand or reciprocate my love, not in the manner I want most.”

You feel yourself starting to waver, but you find strength in his touch.

“But you changed that, Felix. You walked into that café that afternoon with your voice and your smile, and suddenly I’d found you—someone who experiences life the way I do, who loves the way I love. And every day since, I’ve been surrounded by you and your effortless warmth and your beautiful soul. It was only a matter of time before I started hoping, constantly and stupidly, that you would one day love me, the same way that I—”

Your voice catches in your throat like a heel slamming into car brakes, “love you” hanging so dangerously from the tip of your tongue that you’re stunned it doesn’t fall out right away.

“But that’s why I’m fucking terrified,” you go on. “When you told me you loved me, I felt like I could fly. But I also felt like I was falling—and maybe this is because I was still tipsy, I'm not really sure—but in that moment I saw a world where we weren't there to catch each other, where something had gone horribly wrong and I'd wake up one morning and you’d—you’d just be a distant memory.

“And that was the thought that shook me so badly: losing you. Leaving you.” You’re crying now, tears paving golden trails against your cheeks. “For whatever reason, that was the first thing that came to mind, and it broke me.”

You need to wrap it up, and fast, if your faltering voice and racing heart are any indication.

“I meant it when I apologized to you that night. I’m sorry, Lix. I’m sorry I made everything so fucking complicated. I’m sorry that I ran away. I’m sorry that I hurt you, or worried you. But I want you to know that I feel more for you than you will ever understand; I just need a little more time to put it into words. So, wait for me—”

Your eyes squeeze shut, and you finally cave, your last word coming out in a shattered rasp.

“—please.”

And the syllable has barely left your mouth when Felix lets go of your hand, only to bring his arms around you and pull you to his chest with such urgency that the breath momentarily leaves your lungs.

When you fall against him, you fall entirely apart. You have no idea where all the feelings are coming from, only that they’re suddenly overwhelming your every sense. And you start to cry, really cry, your fingers seeking refuge in his jacket, in his hair. 

The sun departs at last, and night starts to fall. You lose track of how long you remain in this position, shaking with hushed sobs, fighting to regain control of your emotions. But Felix stays with you through it all, muted tears of his own intermingling with yours in the material of his scarf. He holds you carefully yet fiercely, like you really will crumble if he lets go.

And he waits, because of course he does. He would wait lifetimes for you.

One. The way you thaw is like melting snow.

It happens under your nose for the most part, but it is slow, sure, and irreversible, and you open your eyes one morning only to realize that the world outside has changed—and so have you.

You roll over and pick up your phone. There are unread messages from Felix sitting in your notifications, probably confirming the plans you made to get coffee before work today, but you put them on hold for now. Instead, you open up your camera roll and find an album, labeled with a sun emoji and yellow heart.

You made this a few months after you met Felix, and you’ve doted on it since, in the sense that you update it almost every day. Funnily enough, though, you’ve never looked through the album just to look through it. Maybe because you’ve never had the time or felt the impulse, but more likely because you know that the album is a visual time capsule of your relationship with the most important person in your life—which has never been purely platonic for you, despite how hard you’ve tried to change your heart.

Looking through it would mean acknowledging your true emotions, something you’ve never felt ready for.

Now, you open the album without a second thought, a preemptive smile on your lips. And you find yourself swept out of your bed and thrown back inside each of the pictures you see, reliving the moments as vividly as if you’re watching them on film.

This is one of your favorites, taken during a late-night tteokbokki run to a small restaurant behind Felix's company building. Felix was laughing so hard at one of your stories that he could only take bites of his meal every five minutes. His face had broken into a dazzling grin, his figure blurring as he lurched forward in his seat, trying to pull his hood over his face in secondhand embarrassment. Snap. He is always handsome, extraordinarily so, but you think you love the way he looks here most of all: every guard of his lowered, carefree, happy.

Another is from the first time you met Chan. Nowadays, your interactions with the boys consist mostly of running into them at Felix's dorm and making friendly small talk. But it's always been different with the oldest member. The first time Felix introduced the two of you, you clicked straightaway, and you had to have spent four hours after dinner just talking, scouring the city for something cold to eat. By the end of the sweltering summer night, the three of you were perched atop a short stone barrier in a secluded corner of Seoul, right outside the best bingsu place in all of South Korea. Felix had leaned over to steal the last cube of mango from Chan’s bowl, to Chan's dramatic protest. Snap. And Chan is like a brother to you now; you will never be able to fathom how much light Felix has brought to your life, be it through him or the people he loves.

A computer screen displaying a League of Legends scoreboard, in which Felix has died more times than there were minutes of the game. Snap. You (not sober) in the center of Felix's living room, your body poised in what is supposed to be the chorus of “Queencard," Felix and Bin completely losing their shit on the couch. Snap. His head bowed in anguish over a bowl of brownie batter after he mistakes salt for sugar. Snap. A low-quality, tiny Felix on stage, the brightest grin on his face when he finally manages to spot you in the nosebleeds. Snap. Your dining table creaking under the weight of all the gifts he got you for your last birthday. Snap. Him and one of your best friends from home, arms around each other, peace signs thrown up, beaming. Snap.

There are countless more, and they are all so incredibly near and dear to you, all thanks to the freckled boy in each. 

You respond to Felix's messages (“be there soon!”), and then move to get dressed. There is a new sense of certainty in your gait when you emerge from your building and into the quiet morning.

The weather is lovely, the fresh sunlight cream-colored against a cloudless sky, the light breeze shuffling the new leaves about. A hound’s ears twitch when you hurry past its home; it is too drowsy to investigate your presence further. The only sounds in the air are the chattering of sparrows in the branches above you and the soles of your shoes, moving quickly across the sidewalk. The wonder in the world is more palpable to you today than it’s ever been.

Soon, the chalk-written menu and hand-carved wooden sign of your favorite café come into view, and you open the door. There are only a few customers inside, and you spot your person right away: his long, dark hair partially pinned back, his figure flattered by a black long sleeve and jeans. He has a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, as well as two drinks on the table before him: one caramel latte and one black milk tea.

When he hears the door jingle, he looks up, and the smile that melts across his face is so fond that you can’t believe there was ever a time when you doubted his feelings for you.

The way his loving smile mirrors onto your face is as inevitable and involuntary as destiny herself.

“Hi,” Felix says, rising from his seat.

“Hey, you,” you answer. “Wanna take a walk?”

And so you do.

You link arms, as always; you try each other’s drinks, as always; you manage to talk about everything and nothing all at once, as always. But when his company building comes into view, your footsteps come to a halt, and your hand fastens around the cuff of his sleeve.

“Hey, Lix—"

When his eyes meet yours, the sun hits them just right, and you have not known anything as clearly and certainly as you do right then.

“—I love you.”

Felix can only stare, his eyes so wide that you can see the whites of them all around, his straw falling from his parted lips.

Then, a smile starts to creep across his face like spilt syrup.

“Say it again.”

“I love you, Lee Yongbok.”

He sets his bag and drink down on the pavement. “Again, please.”

“I love you,” you repeat, starting to laugh. “I love you, I love you, god, I love you, Felix, so fucking much—”

Felix brings his hands to either side of your face, leaning his forehead against your own. And this time, there is no hesitation, no fear—only starlight when he tilts your chin up and finally, finally presses his lips to yours.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach, hordes of them flapping so fervently you feel as though you might take off into the air, but you seek out his elbows, then his shoulders, and then the back of his neck, anchoring yourself to the earth, to him. Felix kisses you like he will never be able to again, and it is all you can do to savor how the curve of his smile feels against your own; how he murmurs the words “I love you, too” in between breaths. He tastes like sugar and smells like shampoo. He feels like forever.

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

[solecize]

fic announcement: through the mist | jungkook x reader

remember lookin' at this room, we loved it 'cause of the light now, i just sit in the dark and wonder if it's time ten years of being one and the same with jungkook as the country's it couple is the perfect disguise for the reality of a tumultuous relationship hidden behind the scenes. ten years of lies and love and crawling back to one another. once shy, budding first love that blossomed before the weight of fame, the cracks begin to surface amidst your respective rises to stardom and navigation of your twenties. either finding euphoria or the end of the world, there's never any in between in existence for you and jungkook. as you build each other up and break each other down in front of millions of eyes, there is a crossroads ahead with words of "marriage" and "military" looming in the air - all while ignoring the price of fame breathing down your necks. this is the story of love and the lessons learned from the man you made your religion. and i wouldn't marry me either, a pathological people-pleaser who only wanted you to see her

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: idol!jungkook/female idol!reader and fictional versions of various idols 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. idol au, on-and-off relationship, angst, i swear there's fluff, and themes of first love, growing up, struggles with fame, and marriage (ish) 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. portrayal of a toxic couple (implications of emotional abuse and control), infidelity, foul language, substance use 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. based off of "you're losing me" by taylor swift. this is a fictional portrayal of real-life people that implement some aspects of events that have occurred in real-life. the main character is a member of a fictional idol group. more warnings may be added as the story is written. 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒. wip.

 ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

one. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ hold me tight | bts two.ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ sixteen | samuel ft. changmo three.ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ kingdom come | red velvet four. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤthis ain't it | taeyang five.ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ didn't know me | heize six.ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤinvu | taeyeon ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ seven.ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ first time | day6

[outofconcheol]

Tune In For Love (KSM x GN!Reader)

pairing: college radio host!Seungmin x co-host!reader

genres/au/rating: sfw, mostly fluff, the mildest of angst, idiots to lovers, pg

summary: When you and Seungmin come up with a crazy new idea for your radio show, a week of chaos and unspoken feelings unfolds. As you learn more about relationships, will the two of you tune in for love? Or decide to shut it down completely?

warnings: swearing, fake exes trope, a playlist of seungmin coded songs mentioned, stupid amounts of pining, mentions of relationship drama, they almost kiss, then they actually kiss, one mild (joking ) threat of violence, Jeongin being the best wingman ever, RAIN, Ningning, Joshua, Cheol, and Day6 all make cameos

word count: 2.8k

a/n: happy Seungmin day!! honestly this could have been a whole fic on its own but i'm happy with this cute little drabble! this draws some inspiration from the ex talk by rachel lynn solomon. our boy deserves all the love, i hope you enjoy!

“Okay everyone, this has been another week at The Sound FM, the university’s #1 radio station! ____ and Seungmin signing off!”

Your voice fades out to the tune of the hit that Seungmin had selected for the week, ears perking up at the rumble of the bass and the tick tick tick of the hi-hat. Another Day6 song. Congratulations this time. 

“When will you admit that you’re Day6’s number one fan?”

“When you admit that you’re their number two,” Seungmin adjusts his glasses, a devious smirk lighting up his face. 

(You were, but you would never give Seungmin the satisfaction.)

“That segment on how to deal with the stress of midterms turned out great! What should we do next?”

You fidget with your pen, tapping it against your notepad, twirling it around in your fingers, before moving to put it behind your ear–

Seungmin’s hands shoot out, fingers clasping around yours for a brief moment, and a shiver runs through you, despite the fact that it was sunny outside with not a cloud in sight.

“I had an idea, actually, well it’s not my idea, Jeongin brought it up..”

For however composed the two of you were on air, you turned into awkward rambling messes when the mics were off. It had always been like that though. You’d been hosting the show with Seungmin for the better part of a year and you still didn’t know why you felt shy around him, or why you’d barely progressed beyond simple acquaintances.

“There’s this girl that uh, he, yeah he wants to impress, so he was asking if our next segment could maybe have something to do with dating advice.” 

“That is sooo much better than the segment on recycling tips I was planning,” you nudge him, oblivious to the way his ears turn red.

“Oooh but what if we make it spicy you know? Like approach relationships from a different angle?”

“What angle?” Seungmin rubs at the back of his neck. “As far as I know, neither of us are in a relationship. I mean, right?”

“Right but no one else has to know that! What if we pretend that we’re exes, who broke up? Hindsight is always 20/20, people will eat that up!”

“I thought I was supposed to be the menace here,” Seungmin’s tone is deadpan but his eyes sparkle with mischief.

“What can I say, you’re rubbing off on me Min,” you giggle. “So, what do you say we put your charm to good use?”

“You think I’m charming ___?” 

You miss the excitement in his tone, writing it off as enthusiasm for the whole absurdity of this plan.

“Who knows, Min! Maybe we’ll even find people! This is so exciting!”

Seungmin pauses briefly, a choked sound escaping his mouth, but you think you imagine it, watching him straighten and nod.

Laughter fills the studio as you bicker back and forth about what to include and how the next week would go. It was a risk, but you hoped it would pay off — both on the airwaves and maybe even for your stagnant love life. The possibilities were endless.

“Hello, and welcome to Tune in For Love! We are your hosts, ___ and Seungmin, and for the next week we’ll be tackling all your relationship questions and concerns!”

Your voice booms into the mic, echoing throughout the tiny studio, and you take a moment to mute yourself, heart pounding in your ears. Butterflies had begun to bubble up in your chest – you were really doing this.

“You ready for this?” Seungmin’s voice knocks you out of your daze, and you look over to see his lips twist into a lazy smile, running his fingers through his hair.

Fuck. Why did that make your stomach flip-flop?

You give him a shaky nod. It was probably just the rush of trying something new, so different from what you were used to. The simultaneous thrill and terror of dipping your toes into uncharted waters. 

Seungmin unmutes the mic, his softer, more melodious voice reverberating into the windscreen. He’d make a great singer, you think. Maybe for your next segment you could convince him to croon on air.

“We’re your resident experts on dating, whether it's still in the early stages of puppy love, the cool cruising of the honeymoon phase, or the bitter sting of love gone wrong. We have all your answers, right here, right now on The Sound FM!”

“Trust me, we’ve had experience with all of those,” you chuckle.

The story just falls off your tongue – a tumultuous end to a relationship that had never existed, one full of angst and heartbreak that even the finest writer couldn’t think of. Seungmin interrupts you spontaneously to respond to your dramatic anecdotes with dry quips of his, and you can’t believe it — you actually sound like a couple. A real couple.

“How was I supposed to know you were allergic to garlic? You let me take you to an Italian restaurant on the first date!”

“As my boyfriend, you should have asked my best friend about my allergies! That’s like standard dating protocol,” you shoot back, making sure to smile so that Seungmin knows you’re not serious.

“Noted, I’ll keep that in mind for the next relationship,” Seungmin grunts, the air becoming thick with a tension you can’t pinpoint.

Clearing your throat, your fingers hover over the buttons of the soundboard.

“How about we take some listener calls instead?”

The line crackles to life, a caller named Ningning groaning about how her girlfriend forget their anniversary and didn’t even apologize.

“It’s an honest mistake,” Seungmin mutters. 

“I don’t think so,” you counter, chewing your lip. “It’s important to be considerate of special moments like anniversaries, birthdays. It means you care. I mean Seungmin probably doesn’t even remember mine–”

“October 17th,” he interrupts you, and you go rigid. How did he even know?

I asked Jeongin, he mouths, and it only leaves you more confused. Why would he need to know that? It leaves you more embarrassed that you don’t know his exact day, only that it was sometime in September.  

Ningning rambles on, thanking you both for the added perspective and resolving to make things right with her girlfriend. You feel your heart warm at her determination, amazed at the effect that you and Seungmin had already managed to have on your listeners. 

Seungmin closes out the show, the easygoing and carefree chords of Polaroid Love ringing into the mic, and you think to yourself, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

As the sun sets, campus comes alive, buzzing with excitement. You glance out the window, watching students filter out of the library, walking towards the commons for a cup of coffee, or hugging outside their dorms. A deep pang of longing hits your gut, not sure whether its from watching them outside or the fact that you’re cramped here in the tiny studio, band posters all over the walls, and Seungmin is playing Love You For A Long Time, Maggie Rogers’ ethereal voice filling the space between you. 

“Had to ease you into our next listener call,” Seungmin grins into the mic. “This one is – ouch. It might hit home for some of us, I mean you all.”

“Hi, ___ and Seungmin? I’m Joshua, a senior. I’m calling because I have a dilemma – my best friend Seungcheol just started dating my ex, and I’m not sure how to feel. On one hand I wanna be happy for them, but on the other hand, I’m a mess. What would you do if you found out one of you was dating someone else?”

“Oh.” Seungmin breathes out, and he remains there, lips parted like he’s frozen. An awkward silence falls over the studio, and you’re sure Joshua is blinking on the other end of the line, wondering what the hell just happened.

“I’m not sure,” you shudder, thinking of the hypothetical situation. But it wasn’t so hypothetical. You and Seungmin were free to date people. There was nothing stopping you. But it still felt wrong somehow.

“I would give yourself some space, Joshua. Take time to confront your own feelings about this, and when you’re ready you can decide what to do. Let yourself heal first.”

“That’s a good answer,” Seungmin whispers, and you panic, muttering out a rushed goodbye before cutting the broadcast.

“Wow,” you sigh. “That was, I–, I guess I didn’t think of that when I suggested this.”

“Think of what?” Seungmin’s eyes glimmer with interest, and he leans in closer.

“How shit would get so deep? Like how would I actually react if that happened to me? I don’t even want to think about it.”

“Sometimes this feels almost like we’re not pretending,” Seungmin murmurs, a strained laugh escaping his throat, a mask for the change in his tone. 

You’re not sure what you want to say, but it feels like you should say something. The moment hangs heavy in between you two, and you don’t remember how Seungmin got so close, brushing his thumb against your cheek.

“Seungmin, I–” 

“You had a piece of hair in your face,” he responds, straightening up to stretch his arms. “It’s late, want me to grab you an americano?”

Shaking your head, you manage to muster up a weak response, telling him to go ahead without you. He nods slightly, before throwing his jacket on and slipping out the door, leaving you alone.

An unsettling dilemma dawns on you – this was supposed to be an act, but why did it feel so real?

“You know,” Jeongin’s loud chewing echoes in the dining hall, Seungmin bristling as he watches his friend stuff five french fries into his mouth at once. “I should revoke your roommate privileges for this stunt you pulled. I thought you were grumpy before, but breaking up with ____ has taken it to a whole new level.”

Seungmin scowls, cursing under his breath at Jeongin. Yanking his headphones out of his ears, the lamenting tune of These Days by Wallows cuts off abruptly. 

Outside the rain patters, echoing his stormy emotions. Over the course of the past week, his mood had felt like he was on the world’s most nausea-inducing roller coaster ride. The highs were the times he got to spend with you in the studio, cracking jokes and watching your eyes shine as the two of you came up with the next devious plot for the show. The lows were the knot in his stomach every time someone would call in with a question that hit a little too hard.

After this week, he was glad the show would end, and maybe you guys could go back to the way things were before. That easy, comfortable dynamic that always existed between you two.

“Bullshit,” Jeongin sees the way his eyes zone out, like he can read Seungmin’s mind. “I know you, and I know what you’re thinking and it’s absolute bullshit. You’re in too deep, hyung.”

“I’ll fucking punch you,” Seungmin hisses. “What the hell am I supposed to do, huh? Just spill to ___ that this isn’t some game for me? That my feelings are real? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Hyung–”

A gasp echoes from behind him, and Seungmin turns to see you behind him. Your lip trembles, and you lock eyes with him, a tear escaping the corner before you’re turning on your heels, running out of the dining hall. 

Seungmin stands there, frozen with the weight of what he’d just confessed, heart sinking to his shoes. All of a sudden, he feels a sharp jab to his arm, Jeongin’s fist colliding with it.

“What are you waiting for? Run!”

The rain pelts the back of Seungmin’s neck as he runs, indifferent to the fact that he’s probably soaked to the bone, slipping and sliding along the cobblestone. He can make out your figure storming ahead furiously, like you can’t get away fast enough, and he speeds up, panic in his voice.

“___, wait! Please stop.”

His voice turns hoarse from all the yelling, and he’s about to give up, turn back in defeat (and go sock Jeongin cry into his friend’s shoulder), when you stop under a streetlight, your figure slumping. 

Seungmin is by your side in moments, not caring that he takes your hands in his, blowing on them to give you warmth.

“Y-you d-don’t even h-have an umbrella, w-what were y-you thinking?” he chatters, and he watches your lips turn up in a smile. But your eyes remain downcast.

“What about you?” you whisper, and Seungmin cocks his head, looking at you in confusion.

“I left my jacket in the dining hall with Jeongin—”

“No Seungmin, I mean what about you?” your voice croaks desperately. 

Seungmin takes a deep breath. There was no use in pretending anymore.

“I think I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do,” he chokes out.

You take his hands in yours and Seungmin feels dizzy. The cold rain no longer bothers him, warmth filling his veins from the inside out.

“You think?” you sniffle.

“I know. I know I’ve been in love with you, since the day you walked into the studio and pitched your ideas for five-star dorm meals.”

“I really like your hands,” you blurt out, and Seungmin’s eyes widen in shock. That was not the response you’d been expecting.

“They’re warm when mine are always cold, I like the way they look when they’re holding a pencil, or when you bring me a cup of coffee. I like your voice too – the way you sing along to Day6 when you think no one is listening, or your annoying little laugh–”

“It is not annoying–”

You press a finger to his lips, and Seungmin thinks he might just evaporate. 

“Not now, Min. I’m trying to say something here. What I’m trying to say is that if there’s anything this whole week has taught me, it’s how much I like you. How much I want to have those crappy problems that everyone complains about with you, how much I want to celebrate birthdays with you, and anniversaries with you, and how I think I might collapse inside if I ever saw you with someone else—”

It’s Seungmin’s turn to interrupt you now,  cold lips colliding with yours, the initial shock replaced with heat. Your hands burrow into his hair and he draws you closer, hands weaving around your waist. The startled, frantic sounds of your breathing did nothing to help the pounding of his heart, and he wonders if you can hear it too. 

In this moment, Seungmin never wants to let go, holding you steady against him even when you part, your breath fanning in the cold air. 

“I just, I, needed to be honest. No more pretending.”

“No more pretending,” he smiles against your lips, nudging his nose against yours.

The wet slap of shoes against the pavement interrupts you both, turning to see the Jeongin behind you, Seungmin’s jacket in his arms. He takes in the sight of you two wrapped around each other, a smug grin lighting up his entire face.

“Hell yeah! It worked!”

“___ and Seungmin signing off, this is Tune in For Love on The Sound FM, and we’ve loved having you this week!”

The air in the studio buzzes with a different kind of excitement – the dreamy notes of Hypnotized by The Weston Estate filling up the room.

“Before we go, we have something to share with you–” your voice wobbles, and Seungmin reaches out immediately, squeezing your hand.

“Please send your email petitions in so our show doesn’t get canceled, but we’ve been faking it this whole time. We’re not actually exes.”

You can almost hear the collective gasp across campus, the soundboard going crazy as it lights up with calls.

“We are, as of yesterday, the happiest, and newest–, couple on campus,” Seungmin beams, his pride echoing through the mic and your heart lurches at how right it feels to be his.

You hit the answer button, the lines flooding with congratulations and well-wishes to the news.

“Congrats!” Ningning’s voice echoes. “I always thought you were the cutest together.”

“You make me want to find someone of my own now,” Joshua says in the background, and the studio fills with you and Seungmin’s laughter.

When the last call goes through, Jeongin gives you both a thumbs up, shutting off the soundboard. 

You turn to Seungmin, heart racing. 

“I can’t believe we actually did this,” he says,  half-laughing.

“Me neither,” you reply, a soft smile on his lips. “But I’m really glad we did. It feels… right, you know?”

“Thanks for being part of this with us,” he echoes through the airwaves, his voice sincere. “We’re excited to see what’s next—together. And while the show may be over, we hope you’ll still tune in for love every single week — no matter the topic.”

“Next – how to cook a five star meal worthy of any restaurant using just your dorm microwave…”

a/n pt. 2: As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (07)

chapter seven: built to break

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; the gorlies are fighting...?, not much for warnings in this chapter ig word count: 4.3k note: i finally got off my ass and wt is finally back lol. i had a last minute change of plans and thought "oh! you know what would be pretty neat? if we prolong the angst so everyone can be sad for longer!" <3 and this is how i announce that the next chapter is not wt8 but wt7.5 and it's written from his pov <3 merry christmas

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

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I’ll hold my breath as I wait for your answer I’ll leave it up to you Tell me whether it’s yes or no Baby, love me or leave me tonight

Love Me or Leave Me - Day6

The warning signs, they're there. You can see them before they materialize. You know your own tells.

Your metaphorical bags are packed, your shoes are already on. You're about to run again, leave a half empty house before it has the chance to become a home. No one has to tell you that you're a flight risk; you're well aware of it yourself.

Wednesday Min: got plans tonight? You: booked and busy with ze old canvas Min: tomorrow? You: same thing probably. sorry Min: u're working hard lately You: yeah this one is just driving me crazy and i need it to turn out decent Min: it'll be perfect. it's u

Thursday Min: running errands at the store Min: want me to bring u anything? that caramel popcorn u like?

Friday Min: don't work too hard. remember to eat

That was three days ago, the last time you'd heard from him after you left him on read. It wasn't a complete lie; this project is driving you kinda crazy and you do need it to end up a decent piece, but you weren't exactly holed up in your apartment to slave over your painting. And you suppose Minho didn't find it all that suspicious because you tend to do this sometimes - disappear for a couple of days and force yourself to focus whenever you had a project to finish, before you come back to everybody again. You've come back to him before; it stands to reason that you'll do it again.

It's been about two weeks since you'd seen him, though the memories of that evening are still fresh in your mind - the evening of the group dinner, when he'd kissed you goodnight and left for his parents' house the following day. True to his words, he did send you pictures of the cats - ones of Soonie wearing a matching hoodie with him, a few of Doongie and Dori napping at the foot of his bed. There was an accompanying text - The kids miss you - along with a frowning emoji, and it made you wonder if what he really meant was I miss you.

You wanted him to miss you, because you missed him too.

The photos brought a smile to your face despite the predicament you found yourself in. A smile that was short lived, a smile that was soon wiped off when you realized your heart shouldn't be swelling with that much affection for him. It shouldn't, but the truth was that it did and you don't know how to live with it.

Love isn't something you've ever learned to hold.

It's beautiful yet full of thorns, and your hands are too clumsy to ever keep it from slipping from your fingers.

You remember when you first met Minho. Freshman year, at some popular senior's house party.

It feels like forever ago when you were just an awkward freshman at orientation who didn't have a single clue on how to make friends. Jess was your first friend in college, and you'll always be grateful that you got along well enough that she adopted you into the group with the rest of the guys.

You didn't cross paths with Minho until you were already acquainted with everyone else. On the night of the party, you remember being enamored with him for those couple of hours, and it wasn't the side effect of too many solo cups of cheap beer. Who in their right mind wouldn't be infatuated with him? He was beautiful, absolutely alluring, and you would always tell him as much.

Back then, he had brown hair, slighter shorter than now but it was tinted with the most gorgeous shade of red. You didn't know much about Minho, only been told that he was pretty quiet and might be off-putting to new people. It was sort of true; that night, you were intimidated by the aura he exuded. Mysterious, couldn't be bothered, didn't seem to give a shit. He looked like a scary little thing, while you were the new kid who was only trying to observe everyone's dynamics, not wanting to overstep any unspoken boundary.

To this day, you're still not sure what really happened, how you two immediately clicked and he's been one of the most important parts of your life ever since.

Maybe it was just him. Maybe it's always been him.

Minho, the one who makes you smile when all you want to do is curl up and cry. The one who makes you laugh when you look for joy but the search comes up empty. The one who grounds you every time you lose your way. Your anchor, the safe harbor you can always return to. The light at the end of a long, long tunnel.

You don't know where you stand, don't know where it goes from here now that everything is changing. He told you so himself, that nothing changed for him, but how could he possibly know that everything is changing for you? And it infuriates you to no end because you don't even have anyone to talk about this with. You're the only person whose world is being turned upside down after all.

You can't tell your friends because they can't know about you and Minho. You can't tell Minho because what would you even say? That you think you're in love with him? That the implications of what it means are devastating to you?

For the first time, you regret everything. Kissing him that night, sleeping with him, becoming whatever this is with him. Letting down your guard and falling for him somewhere along the way and you didn't even stop to notice it. You regret all of the decisions you've made up until now, because they've only led you to the point of no return, the point of losing him. You made bad decision after bad decision after bad decision, until you couldn't anymore. All along, there's been no one else to blame but you.

Maybe it hasn't happened yet, but it's inevitable. You will lose him. You are going to lose him.

There's no other ending, no other alternative that you can imagine. You're going to leave because you're a coward and it's what you do best. You ruin things before they get a chance to hurt you. You leave because if you don't leave then you'll be left behind, and you'd rather not bear the brunt of it.

Now, when you think of Minho, the thought is always accompanied by a painful reminder - Nothing changed for him.

When you get to the cafe, Hyunjin and Seungmin are already seated in a corner booth, three drinks in front of them, one of which they'd ordered for you before you arrived.

You slide into the seat next to Hyunjin, smiling at him appreciatively for the drink. There's still over half an hour before you have to walk to your shared class, over half an hour before Seungmin parts ways with you two to do whatever or whoever it is that Seungmin does on his off days.

"I still think it's Nara," Hyunjin says, casually sipping his iced coffee.

"Nara from your Lit class last semester?"

"Yup."

"Why?"

"I saw them talking at a party once."

"Okay. And?"

"And what? That's it."

"That's... all the evidence you have to back up your claim?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

You wave your hands in front of them. "What are you bozos talking about?"

"He’s still trying to figure out who Minho is hooking up with," Seungmin is the one who answers you without missing a beat, then he turns back to Hyunjin. "Anyway, it can't be Nara. She's dating Jaehyun on the basketball team."

The friend next to you flails his arms like a petulant child, like he couldn't have possibly seen this coming, like he was so sure that he had finally solved the mystery. "Great. I'm back to square one again."

You straighten your back and reach for your drink, tentatively gulping down the beverage as if it'll hide the fact that you've gone stiff the second this topic is brought up. You feel bad about it, sure. These are your friends that you're lying to after all. They don't have to look anywhere far; the answer to the secret is right in front of them.

"We're still on about that?" you ask in the calmest, most nonchalant voice you can muster. You usually consider yourself a believable liar (which, to be honest, isn't really a flex at all), but whenever someone mentions this little arrangement between you and Minho that shouldn't be common knowledge for anyone else, you feel like you're been put under a spotlight for the whole world to scrutinize.

"Duh," Hyunjin says. "You know, I'm kinda surprised that you don't know. You two are like, attached at the hip sometimes."

You give him a thoughtless shrug, your hands fiddling with the sticker on the plastic cup as you avoid looking at either of your friends. "Maybe he just wants to keep private things private, y'know? You wouldn't like either if all of us is suddenly all up in your business. And besides, what if it's just casual?"

Hyunjin scoffs. "Please, I'm an open book. I tell you guys everything. I tell you every time I hook up with someone."

"Yeah, but you see, literally no one needs to know that," Seungmin says.

The taller one only scoffs, waving his hands around dismissively in Seungmin's direction before he turns to you. "If it was just casual, would he save her name as - oh my God, I forgot what her contact name is. Freaking bird person or something."

You make a face. "What?"

"Dude, seriously?" Seungmin rolls his eyes. "You forgot one word? Dove? What is the matter with you?"

Perhaps it's the half-hearted teasing judgment in Seungmin's voice that makes Hyunjin take offense and drop the topic. The conversation veers off course when they start bickering like children in the busy cafe. You suppose it works in your favor, but you can't focus. You drown it all out.

Your hand is still on the cup but the sticker has been left alone and forgotten, half peeled off, half still clinging to the plastic underneath the condensation.

The single word repeats itself in your mind, over and over and over again.

The entire time you're in class, you don't really focus on anything. You can't bring yourself to listen to whatever your professor is saying, not after what Hyunjin and Seungmin told you earlier. At some point, your friend has to nudge your shoulder to bring you back down to earth when usually, you're the one who has to remind Hyunjin to pay attention. Class ends soon enough though; time tends to fly by when your mind is lost elsewhere.

"What's wrong with you today?" he asks with his bag slung over his shoulder, slowing down his steps to match your speed as you walk out of the lecture hall together.

You scratch the back of your neck sheepishly. "Nothing's wrong. I was just tired."

"You wanna grab dinner with me and Felix?"

Any other day, you would've agreed in a heartbeat. But today, you want to be alone. Sometimes, you'd rather wallow in your own misery than settle for a temporary distraction.

You're still stuck on the conversation from earlier, on the small detail that Hyunjin and Seungmin had let slip in the cafe.

Dove.

His dove.

Maybe it doesn't mean anything. Perhaps it's only a nickname that he's assigned to you out of mere platonic fondness, but it makes you conscious about the dove on your own wrist nonetheless, the one that you feel compelled to hide from your friends underneath your long sleeve.

"No, it's okay," you tell Hyunjin. "I'll just go home and sleep it off."

"Okay. I can walk you for a bit," he says. "Just wait with me here. Minho's coming to give me back something he borrowed."

"Minho's coming?" you ask too quickly for it to sound casual. There's a panicked edge that you can hear in your own voice, though you don't think Hyunjin picks it up as he unlocks his phone and types something on the screen.

"Yeah, he was at the library. He's coming over right now, should only be a couple minutes. Then I'll walk back with you."

You shift on your feet uneasily, but you cover it up by rubbing your hands on your arms to pretend like you're just cold. There's no excuse that you could think of that would justify why you can't stand here with Hyunjin for just two more minutes, without giving it away the fact that you're avoiding Minho.

You take in a quiet breath, put on your best brave face. Casual, nonchalant. It's just Minho. Just Minho...

He comes up from behind, where you can't see him. A warm hand gently lands on your shoulder, and it takes everything not to shy away from his touch. It takes even more not to lean into his side.

You've missed it. You've missed him.

"Hey." He smiles at you while Hyunjin only gets a nod in acknowledgment.

"Hey." You return the smile, though you're sure you look a little rigid. You can tell there's an inkling of confusion in his eyes when he senses that your energy is off, but you're thankful he doesn't comment on it, at least not in front of Hyunjin anyway.

You don't notice the paper bag in his other hand until he hands it to your other friend with a simple Thanks, to which Hyunjin just nods along in a silent You're welcome.

"I was going to walk with Y/N for a bit and then meet Felix for food," he tells Minho. "You wanna get burgers with me and Lix?"

"No, thanks. I'm not hungry, I had a late lunch. I'll take the walk though."

You didn't plan on being alone with Minho today, even though you knew you had to talk to him eventually. You just thought you had a little more time, at least until you got your shit together and face him with a brave façade.

Minho's hand brushes yours the entire time you walk, and it's nothing if not confusing. It's unbearable, the way your fingers twitch with the urge to intertwine them with his.

It persists even after Hyunjin has waved you goodbye to you two and turned to head wherever he and Felix agreed to meet. You think Minho would hold your hand now that it's just you and him, but he doesn't. He lets your skin continue to brush, lets you suffer alone and wanting in your sunken disappointment.

It has very little to do with him and everything to do with you, the conflicting thoughts inside your head piling up one by one the more time you spend in his presence.

Dove, the brief display of jealousy at Yeonjun's party, the way he looks at you sometimes that you can't really decipher the meaning behind, how he kisses you so tenderly that it can't possibly be strictly platonic. You want these things to all mean something, and yet...

You want him to hold your hand, but you know you'd wave it off if he tries to reach for your fingers. You want him to stop you right then and there to kiss you breathless, just as he had that night two weeks ago, even though you're sure you'd only dodge his lips and push him away. You want to stay, you want to leave. You're terrified of things changing, but you wish that something, anything, would be different for him; that you aren't the only one who's spinning out of control. You love him, but you wish you didn't.

Eventually, Minho asks, "You okay?"

It's not until now that you realize this is the first time you've ever been this quiet around him. You purse your lips, glancing down briefly at your feet as you keep on treading the rest of the way home. "Yeah, all good. I'm just tired," you tell him, visibly unenthusiastic despite the smile you try to fake. "I just need to sleep it off."

"The project stressing you out?"

"I guess, yeah."

"And here I thought maybe you were avoiding me," he says, half a joke, half inquisitive. "Were you?"

"Was I what?"

"Were you avoiding me?"

You give him a weird look, one that's meant to be dismissive and call his question ridiculous even though you know you've been caught. And maybe it's the over-the-top glance that you throw his way and the way your pitch goes higher when you reply, "Why would I be avoiding you?" that makes him stop walking.

On the other side of the street, there's a couple of kids in high school uniforms, exchanging shy glances and sharing fond giggles.

Minho calls your name softly, and it's like you're just waiting for the ball to drop. You don't want to turn back and look at him, but what other option do you have? What else is there to do?

You can't decipher the expression on his face. He's still calm, but the air has turned serious, the silence of the mostly empty streets surrounding you only serves as the soundtrack of your impending heartbreak. The tender and innocent laughter fades away when young love moves further and further from where you stand. "What?" you ask with faux nonchalance as you look at him, another attempt at stalling. Biding your time even though a few more minutes aren't going to do any good for your case.

Anyone with half a braincell could tell that clearly it's not the truth, let alone someone who has learned to read you better than the back of his hand. He doesn't look like he believes you, though he doesn't push it, much to your surprise.

"Okay," he says after a moment of studying you, and this should be the part where you heave a sigh of relief because he's letting you off the hook for now, but your chest doesn't feel lighter at all. Your head is clouded with dread, with the anticipation that you're only delaying the inevitable.

You walk the rest of the way in awful silence, because you know that he knows something is wrong. You try your best to appear composed, but he sees right through you. You know he does.

You must look like a frightened animal, one that's about to take off running any second now.

When you reach your building, Minho is quick to keep you with him before you can make up a lame excuse and bolt.

"Hey," he starts, his voice so impossibly gentle that it hurts. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Heavier and heavier, it weighs you down until you feel like your chest is going to collapse. The nerves gnaw on you, clawing into you until you feel your heartbeat quicken, the overwhelming dread simmering low in your belly.

"I know," you say, but deep down, what you're really thinking is, Not this. This is the one thing I can't tell you.

"Is everything okay?"

It's the way that Minho's got his gaze set on you with those deep brown irises, the concern so apparent in them that it hurts you. It's the way he looks like he wants to reach out and touch you - a comforting hand on your shoulder or your back like you're so familiar with - but he has to hold himself back or you might slip away.

It's him, how he always puts you first, how he cares about you in ways that you've never been cared about before. He understands you, he sees you. It feels like it could be love if you let the lines blur just enough.

Is love supposed to hurt? Like this?

Maybe it's not that you don't know how to hold love. Maybe it's because you're not meant to hold it at all. Insignificant, unlovable.

And... it's the reminder that cuts through the dread like the sharpest knife.

You leave his question unanswered, because nothing is okay and you can't tell him any of it. You can't lie to him either, because it's the last thing that you want to do to him.

Instead, you ask, "We're good... right? We're okay?"

"What do you mean?"

You gesture between the two of you, though you're not sure what that's supposed to signify. "Just...," you trail off for a second, hesitant. "Nothing's changed, right?"

Minho doesn't answer right away. He looks at you for a moment, searching for something in your eyes that you can't tell if he's able to find.

He nods, seemingly wistful as he says, "Nothing's changed."

He seems unsure about it, at least more than he was just a few weeks ago when he told you the same thing in your apartment with his fingers wrapped around your wrist. The tug between his brows - though barely noticeable - tells you as much.

Is it because something is different now? Or does he only sound uncertain out of concern, because of you and how you're acting?

Then he continues, "For me, at least."

And there it is.

It's the confirmation this time around that turns you inside out so his simple words could cut into you.

You swallow thickly, put on a smile like you're pleased with his answer even though you're trying your hardest to stop yourself from shaking. Whatever energy you had left is instantly drained from you just because of a few words.

Your sentences get smashed together, tangled up like barbed wire and they only make you bleed when you try to pull them apart. All your nervous tics coming out to play despite your best efforts to keep them at bay. A frustrated hand running through your hair, gripping at the roots a little harshly. Your bottom lip pulled between your teeth and your eyes turning glassy for a split second before you blink the moisture away, because you can't let Minho see you like this. See you trying to keep your pathetic heart intact while he's none the wiser.

He's fine. And unlike you, he's going to be okay when this is over.

Unavoidable and inevitable, the end will come whether you like it or not. You're the only one who won't make it out unscathed, and it will only shatter you into more pieces the longer you drag this out.

Just rip the bandaid off. Salvage whatever you can. Stop digging the grave even deeper for yourself.

One second, then two, then three. You don't speak until you have enough faith that your voice is even enough to carry out a few sentences.

"Okay, uhm... I think I need some time for myself. We should..." But it isn't, and you crack halfway through. The sound is deafening to your own ears. "We should take a break. We should stop this."

Minho doesn't question if you mean the secret between the two of you, or your friendship entirely. Instead, he asks, "Why?"

"I told you." You clear your throat. "I need time for myself."

You can't tell what he's thinking, but the knife twists inside of you nonetheless.

He takes a step closer, you take a step back.

You watch as his face falls, and the same feeling mirrors itself within the confines of your ribcage. Your heart drops at the sight of his eyes, deep brown irises stained with a little confusion, then a little hurt though it lasts for only a few seconds. The slight slump of his shoulders, the absence of the familiar playfulness he always sports when he's with you.

He blinks.

"Time for yourself, or time away from me?"

You say nothing.

You don't address his question directly, and your reluctance to do so is a loud enough answer in and of itself. "Why does that matter? What's the difference?"

"It matters if I did something to upset you."

"You didn't."

"Okay. So?"

This is confusing, because he's not letting you rip the bandaid clean off and you don't know why. "Nothing's changed, right? If it didn't mean anything to you, why can't you just drop this?"

Minho is quiet for a beat. His eyes are searching again, but this time, you think he finds something.

Everything is still and you hate it - the silence of the streets, the scrutinizing orange glow of the streetlights as if they're watching the scene unfold, even the innocent cat that's sitting by itself on the balcony on one of the floors higher up. You hate all of it.

"I never said it didn't mean anything," he tells you.

It makes you a little angry for some reason, and there's enough red to cloud your vision because his words are contradicting and you're tired, you're so exhausted that you can't focus on what it is that he's really saying.

"So you lied to me?"

"I've never lied to you."

"I asked you before and you said nothing's changed. Now you're saying whatever this is didn't not mean anything. Make up your mind."

It gets redder when he keeps his eyes fixed on you, still so calm despite the frown that has returned to its place between his brows. Still so collected, while you're being pulled apart at the seams.

The ball doesn't drop the way you expect it to. It keeps falling so insufferably slowly, hanging over you like it's mocking you for being stupid, like it's milking every second of suspense to make you implode.

Until Minho speaks next and suddenly, it feels like the air has been sucked out of your lungs. His voice, still so soft and tender. His eyes, reading something in yours that you can't bear to admit out loud.

"You really don't see it, do you?"

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 24.06.2024]

[livewithgratitude]

🍀THE BOYFRIEND CYCLE

It starts the same way every month.

A slow, hazy awareness pulls you from sleep, something feeling off. Your body is too warm, your skin alive with sensation, your mind clouded with an unspoken need. Restlessness hums beneath your skin, an ache both undefined and undeniable. Your sheets feel too heavy, your body too sensitive, and no matter how much you toss and turn, sleep refuses to claim you.

And then—

A warm hand grazes your thigh.

"Morning, babe."

The voice is rich, deep, and entirely too comfortable in your space.

Your breath catches. Your eyes snap open.

A man.

A beautiful, unreasonably attractive man is lounging in your bed like he belongs there—shirtless, tousled, and smirking at you like he knows exactly what your body is going through.

Golden skin bathed in morning light, dark hair deliciously messy, a lazy, knowing smirk curving his lips—like he’s been here all along, like he’s yours. His arm drapes over your waist, fingers tracing light, teasing patterns against your bare skin, and he looks perfectly at home, stretched out beside you with a mix of confidence and mischief that makes your stomach flip.

Your brain flatlines.

"Who the hell are you?"

He chuckles, deep and amused, rolling onto his side. His elbow props against the pillow, his head resting against his palm as he watches you with a slow, deliberate once-over—taking in your tousled hair, your flushed cheeks, the way your chest rises and falls in startled confusion.

"Babe," he drawls, voice thick with amusement, "don’t act like you don’t know me."

You scramble back so fast you nearly fall off the bed, pressing yourself against the headboard as if the distance will make him any less overwhelming.

"I don’t!"

He sighs, like this is the most exhausting conversation he’s ever had. He drags a hand through his already-messy hair, letting out a low hum before fixing you with a look so devastatingly smug, it should be illegal.

"I’m Brian," he says smoothly, tapping a finger against his chest before flashing you a lazy grin. "Your boyfriend for ovulation week."

Your stomach does a violent somersault.

"My what?!"

"You heard me."

Before you can process that, he moves closer—close enough that his body heat wraps around you, close enough that the scent of him—woodsy, musky, intoxicatingly male—floods your senses. You don’t even like strong colognes, but somehow, on him, it’s devastating.

He’s watching you like he knows.

"Relax, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice low, smooth as silk. "I’m here to take care of you. Give you exactly what you need."

Your pulse stutters.

His fingers trail up your arm, featherlight, sending a shiver down your spine.

You gulp. "And what do I need?"

His lips quirk, a slow, knowing grin.

"Oh, babe," he murmurs, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. His voice drops to something dangerously soft, teasing. "Me."

Oh.

Oh no.

This is going to be a problem.

—

Brian is dangerous.

Not in the life-threatening sense, but in the I will absolutely ruin your sense of self-control kind of way.

He moves with the confidence of someone who knows he’s irresistible—and unfortunately, your body seems to agree.

Every glance, every teasing remark, every subtle touch he leaves on your skin feels like a slow, torturous game. A test of how long you can pretend you don’t want him.

And the worst part?

He knows.

You catch him watching you with amusement when you cross your legs tightly, shifting in your seat as if that will somehow shake the feeling of needing him. He smirks when your breath hitches at the accidental brush of his fingers against yours. And when you pretend to be unaffected, he just leans in closer—like he’s daring you to break first.

"You’re cute when you try to resist me," he muses one night, arms braced on either side of you against the kitchen counter.

You glare up at him, ignoring the way your heart slams against your ribs.

"Shut up."

He hums, his lips just barely brushing your ear.

"Make me."

Your grip on sanity is hanging by a thread.

But Brian never pushes.

That’s the thing about him—he doesn’t need to.

He waits. He lets you be the one to break first.

And when you do—when you finally fist his shirt, dragging him in for a kiss that steals the breath from your lungs—he groans against your lips, murmuring, "That’s my girl."

And God help you, you don’t even think to stop him.

—

Brian ruins you.

He kisses you like he’s memorizing the shape of your lips, like he knows exactly what you need before you do. He teases, pulls away just enough to make you chase him, smirking against your skin when he feels the shudder of impatience in your body.

"Admit it," he whispers one night, his fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns against your thigh.

"Admit what?" you manage, breathless.

He smirks, tipping your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"You need me."

You don’t answer.

But when he moves to pull away—when his warmth starts to disappear—you whimper, fingers curling into his shirt to keep him close.

And Brian just laughs, pressing a kiss to your jaw.

"That’s what I thought, babe."

But as always, the cycle never lasts.

Because just as quickly as he appeared, Brian disappears.

One moment, he’s pressing kisses down your neck, murmuring things that make your stomach flip. The next, he’s gone—leaving behind nothing but the ghost of his touch.

You wake up alone.

The sheets are cold. The bed smells like him. Your skin remembers him.

And you hate how much you miss him.

But there’s no time to mourn—because just as you’re curling back into bed, the next one arrives.

Wonpil arrives like the first breath of calm after a storm.

You don’t even know how long you’ve been lying there—curled up on the couch, wrapped in the same blanket you’ve had on for days, staring blankly at your phone screen. Your body still feels feverish from Brian’s touch, but the fire he ignited has long since burned out, leaving behind an ache you can’t explain.

And then—

A knock.

Soft. Tentative. Like the person on the other side already knows you might not be in the mood for company but wants to check anyway.

Your chest tightens.

For a moment, you debate staying still, ignoring it, letting the weight of your exhaustion and emotions keep you glued in place. But before you can decide, the door creaks open.

"Hey, love."

The voice is as familiar as a favorite song—gentle, soothing, full of understanding.

Your head lifts sluggishly, and there he is.

Wonpil stands in the doorway with two mugs of tea in his hands. His hair is slightly damp, as if he’d walked through a drizzle to get here, his oversized sweater hanging loosely off one shoulder. There’s a softness in his expression that undoes you completely—like he sees the exhaustion in your eyes, the weight in your posture, and loves you anyway.

Like he already knows.

Something inside you cracks wide open.

You don’t say anything. You don’t explain. You just reach for him.

And Wonpil—sweet, steady, unwavering—doesn’t hesitate.

The mugs are set down with quiet care, and in the next breath, you’re in his arms.

His chest is warm, solid, smelling faintly of chamomile and fresh linen. His embrace is secure but never restricting, one hand smoothing over your hair, the other resting gently at your back. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask what’s wrong or why are you crying—he just holds you.

And that’s all it takes for the dam to break.

A shuddering breath escapes you, then another, and suddenly, the sobs come—silent at first, then wracking, shaking, endless. You bury your face into the fabric of his sweater, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered.

Wonpil only tightens his hold, cradling the back of your head, his lips pressing softly against your temple.

"It’s okay," he murmurs, voice as steady as the ground beneath you. "I’m here. Let it out."

So you do.

You cry until your shoulders ache, until your fingers go numb from gripping onto him so tightly. You cry for reasons you can’t even name—because the world feels too loud, because everything is overwhelming, because one moment you feel like the saddest person alive, and the next, you want to fight the sun for existing. 

Because you watched a puppy video earlier and nearly sobbed at how small its paws were. Because your favorite hoodie suddenly feels like the enemy. Because you want to be held and left alone at the same time. Because your emotions are swinging so violently from one extreme to the other that you don’t even know who you are right now.

Because this happens every single month, and you’re so, so tired of it.

"It’s not fair," you whisper, voice hoarse. "We just have to go through this. Every damn month. No break, no choice. Just pain, and exhaustion, and—" Your breath shudders. "I hate it. I hate that it’s normal."

Wonpil exhales softly, his grip on you tightening, as if trying to shield you from something he can’t fight.

"I know, love." His voice is quiet, but there’s an undercurrent of something deep and raw—anger, maybe. Not at you, but for you. "It shouldn’t be this hard. And yet you go through it, again and again."

He pulls back slightly, just enough to cup your face in his hands. His thumbs brush away the tears on your cheeks, his gaze unwavering, heavy with the weight of everything he wants to take from you but can’t.

"You shouldn’t have to be this strong," he says, and it makes you ache all over again.

—

Wonpil doesn’t try to fix you.

He just is.

He moves through your space as if he’s always belonged there—cleaning up the mess you’ve ignored for days, gathering the mugs and plates you left untouched, tidying up the small corners of your life without making a big deal about it.

He doesn’t ask if you’re hungry. He just makes something light, sets it in front of you, and brushes a gentle hand against yours until you take a bite.

When you start overthinking, retreating into yourself, he doesn’t let you drown in it.

Instead, he pulls you close—tugging you into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You curl into his warmth, and he plays with your fingers absentmindedly, tracing slow patterns against your skin.

"Whatever you’re worrying about," he says, voice light but firm, "it can wait. Just breathe with me."

But the guilt creeps in.

You should be doing more. You should be better. You should be stronger.

And then it spirals—self-doubt, exhaustion, the unbearable weight of just existing. Your body betrays you, your emotions turn violent, and suddenly, you’re drowning in a cycle no one truly understands.

It’s knowing that tomorrow might be better, but today?

Today, you feel like you’re unraveling.

Everyone thinks it’s just hormones, like it’s some minor inconvenience, like it’s not a battle you fight every single month. Like it doesn’t reach deep inside you and rip you apart, making you question everything—your worth, your sanity, your ability to just exist without feeling like you’re too much and not enough at the same time.

Like it doesn’t make you wonder, even for just a fleeting second, why am I even here?

Wonpil’s arms tighten around you as if he already knows.

As if he can feel it—the weight, the suffocating pressure, the way your mind turns against you.

"You’re enough," he interrupts, voice steady.

You shake your head, throat closing up. “I don’t feel like I am.”

"That doesn’t make it true."

He cups your face gently, tilting your chin up until your eyes meet his. His gaze is unwavering—soft but so sure.

"You are enough, exactly as you are. Even when you don’t feel like it. Even when you don’t believe it. Even when your mind tells you otherwise."

Your lips tremble. “What if I never feel like I’m enough?”

Wonpil exhales, pressing his forehead against yours, grounding you with the warmth of his presence.

"Then I’ll keep reminding you."

—

One night, he sings to you.

It happens naturally, like it was always meant to unfold this way.

You’re lying with your head in his lap, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. The world outside is quiet, the soft hum of the city muffled by the safety of your apartment. Wonpil’s fingers trace slow, rhythmic patterns along your arm—grounding you, keeping you present.

And then—

A melody.

Soft at first, just a hum, the vibrations of it thrumming through his chest, traveling into you. Then, his voice follows—low and warm, like the gentle flicker of candlelight, wrapping around you with a tenderness that makes your throat close up.

Your chest tightens.

"You’re unfair," you whisper, eyes burning. You clutch the fabric of his sweater, voice small, raw. "I don’t want you to go."

Wonpil’s hand pauses.

A beat of silence.

Then, so, so softly—

"I know."

His fingers trace lazy circles on your arm as he adds, “But it’s my role, remember?”

You frown. “What role?”

He smiles. “I’m your Emotional Haven Boyfriend.”

Your brain stalls. “…You what?”

Wonpil chuckles. “It’s part of the cycle. Brian wrecks you, I patch you up. Standard procedure.”

You blink up at him, still in awe of how the universe—or whatever strange force governs your life—has somehow assigned you a boyfriend for every stage of your cycle. It’s ridiculous. It’s bizarre. It’s—honestly—kind of impressive.

And yet, here Wonpil is, embodying comfort itself, holding you like he was made for this moment.

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. “This can’t be real.”

Wonpil hums, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Just relax, love. You’re safe with me.”

But the next morning, he’s gone.

The apartment feels emptier without him, like the warmth he left behind is already fading. The blanket still smells like him. The tea he made is still sitting on the table, untouched.

And just as the weight of his absence settles—

The cramps start.

No dramatic entrance. No teasing smirks. Just the solid weight of a heating pad pressed into your hands, a bar of chocolate set beside you, and a quiet presence that feels like relief.

You blink up at him from where you’re curled on the couch, already half-dead from cramps, wrapped in your thickest blanket like a pitiful, suffering creature.

"Who—?"

"Eat," he says simply, nodding toward the chocolate.

You obey without question.

Because Dowoon isn’t the kind of guy you argue with. He doesn’t ask if you want something—he just knows what you need and makes sure you have it.

—

Dowoon is different.

Where Brian was temptation and Wonpil was comfort, Dowoon is stability.

He doesn’t hover or fuss. He doesn’t fill the air with empty reassurances or ask what’s wrong when the answer is obvious. He just observes, understands, and acts.

When you shift uncomfortably, pressing a hand to your stomach, he moves behind you, strong hands finding your lower back. His thumbs press into just the right spots, kneading slow, steady circles until the pain eases, until you exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

When you zone out from exhaustion, his voice anchors you—low and steady, breaking through the haze.

"Drink," he murmurs, nudging a warm cup into your hands.

You don’t even have the energy to argue. You just sip, letting the warmth seep through you, and he watches until he’s satisfied that you won’t neglect yourself.

And when the pain is too much, when you’ve exhausted every remedy and you’re still miserable, he doesn’t tell you to push through or be strong.

Instead, he lets you collapse against him, his hoodie soft against your cheek, his arm solid around your shoulder.

"I know," he says quietly, like he really, really does.

—

Dowoon doesn’t need words to show love.

He won’t make grand speeches or theatrical gestures. But somehow, he’s always prepared.

He knows which painkillers work best for you, which foods you can tolerate when your stomach feels awful, and that one brand of tea that helps—even though you always insist it doesn’t.

He stocks your kitchen with everything you might need before you even ask.

He wakes up before you just to make sure the heating pad is warm again.

He listens, even when you don’t say anything.

And somehow, no matter how insufferable you get, he never wavers.

Not even when you’re at your absolute worst.

"Dowoon," you whimper one night, buried under three layers of blankets, your face smooshed into his hoodie. You clutch at his sleeve weakly, tugging. "It hurts."

"I know," he says simply, adjusting his arm so you can rest more comfortably against his chest.

"Fix it," you mumble, barely conscious.

He doesn’t say I can’t.

He just reaches for another heating pad, pressing it gently against your stomach, then tucks the blanket more securely around you. His hand settles on your back, steady and grounding.

"Here," he murmurs, shifting so you can burrow deeper into his warmth. "Better?"

You don’t respond—not with words. But your fingers curl into his hoodie, gripping lightly, as if anchoring yourself to him.

He notices.

He doesn’t say anything about it. He just lets you stay.

Because Dowoon is the period boyfriend—the one who doesn’t just endure your worst, but embraces it. The one who doesn’t ask you to be okay, but stays beside you until you are.

When the pain finally fades, so does he.

And then, in the quiet aftermath, the last one arrives.

Sungjin shows up when the cycle has drained you completely.

His arrival is simple—no grand entrance, no unnecessary words. Just the soft rustling of movement in your space, quiet and sure. One moment, you're sprawled out on the couch, feeling wrung out and empty after surviving the past three weeks. The next, there’s a presence in the room, steady and familiar.

When you lift your head, he’s there.

Sungjin stands in the doorway, watching you with that quiet certainty of someone who has done this before—who has seen you at your worst and loves you just the same. He doesn’t ask how you’re feeling. He doesn’t have to. His gaze already holds the answer, the understanding sinking deep into your bones before he even speaks.

Then, he extends his hand.

"Let’s get some fresh air."

It’s not a request. It’s not even a suggestion. It’s an invitation.

And something about the way he says it—calm, assured, like he already knows you need it—makes you take his hand without hesitation.

His grip is firm, warm, grounding. And as he leads you outside, guiding you away from the exhaustion and weight of the past month, you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

Like maybe, just maybe, you can start again.

—

The post-period phase is like standing at the edge of something new. Your body, exhausted from battle, is slowly regaining strength. Your emotions, frayed and stretched thin, are settling into something quieter.

The world feels softer, lighter.

The air is crisp, a quiet contrast to the chaos of the past few weeks. The streets are mostly empty, the world moving at a slower pace. You walk side by side, your steps falling into an easy rhythm with his.

Sungjin doesn’t hover. He doesn’t coddle. Instead, he moves at your pace, hands tucked into his pockets as if he’s content just being here with you.

After a while, he speaks. "How do you feel?"

You exhale slowly, watching your breath curl in the cool air. "Tired. Kind of empty, I guess."

Sungjin nods like he expected that answer. He waits a beat before saying, "You did good."

You pause mid-step, blinking up at him. "Huh?"

His gaze meets yours, warm and unwavering. "You survived another month. Even when you felt awful. Even when everything felt too much. You’re here."

Something tightens in your chest.

"You make it sound like I ran a marathon," you mutter, looking away.

"You kind of did," he points out. "Your body went through hell, your emotions were all over the place, and yet you still got through it. That’s not nothing."

You swallow, your throat suddenly tight. "It doesn’t feel like an achievement."

Sungjin sighs, then does something unexpected—he gently tugs your sleeve, pulling you to a stop. When you look up, his expression is serious, steady.

"Listen," he says, voice low, careful. "I know it feels like this is just... normal. Like it’s something you should be able to handle without thinking. But that doesn’t mean it’s not hard. And just because you’ve done it before doesn’t mean it’s any less of a victory."

His fingers brush against yours. It’s the lightest touch, but it anchors you in place.

"I’m proud of you," he says, no hesitation in his voice.

And maybe you don’t fully believe it yet, but the way he says it—steady, certain, like it’s the most natural thing in the world—makes you feel undeniably, unshakably loved.

You don’t respond, but after a moment, you lean into him slightly. He doesn’t say anything about it—just shifts enough to make space for you, letting you rest against him.

The tension in your shoulders finally unwinds. The exhaustion of the past month still lingers, but it no longer feels so suffocating.

For the first time in weeks, you feel okay.

Safe.

Balanced.

Like yourself again.

—

The week passes in this quiet, steady rhythm.

You move through your days without the weight of your body fighting against you. Your mind is clearer. You can focus. There’s no more pain, no more irritability, no more exhaustion weighing you down.

You finally feel in control again.

And Sungjin stays—the steady presence in the background, neither overwhelming nor absent.

He checks in, but never too much. He encourages you to move, but never pushes. He reminds you to take care of yourself, but never makes you feel weak for needing rest.

He resets you—slowly, gently, like grounding a system that’s been thrown off balance for weeks.

—

But just as you begin to settle into the peace, the cycle resets.

And when you wake up the next morning, Brian is there—grinning like he never left.

"Miss me, babe?"

You groan, already feeling the heat rising under your skin.

It’s starting all over again.

God really said, let’s make this bitch suffer forever.

[dearly-somber]

I’m Yours | k.yh | day6

-> pairing. non-idol!younghyun x female reader

-> genre. fluff, s2l (strangers-to-lovers), university!au, pining

-> rating. 13+

-> w/c. 886

-> warnings. none!

-> a/n. I’m you-o-o-o-ours

-> collection. songfic

-> started. ???

-> fin. Oct. 18th, 2020 @ 20:23

-> edited. Fri., Jul. 14th, 2023 @ 23:45

Light summer breeze. Petals falling down in the most satisfying way, pooling at your feet as you walk to the beat of your heart, holding the handle of your umbrella tight enough to whiten your knuckles.

The crickets were out now that the darkness had fallen, a slight drizzle of rain warming your blood. You were wearing an oversized sweater and some shorts that were hidden underneath the fabric you wore on your upper half, a pair of old sneakers to match.

You had decided to take a late night walk, eyes red and puffy from too much crying. You had been having some boy trouble and had been embarrassed in front of probably your whole university, so crying was the only way to make you feel less shitty, and no one could tell you otherwise. You had been walking for a few minutes and stopped by your favorite café near Han River, going to stand over the bridge running over the river after ordering yourself some coffee. You were sniffing the air with closed eyes when you suddenly opened them to what you had assumed was an angel, before you realized that he didn't have wings.

He was wearing a creamy beige turtle neck sweater and jeans with ankle high boots, his black hair falling very gently into his face and accentuating his jawline as he watched the water as if it was the most interesting thing on earth. He had a see-through umbrella over his shoulder, the fairy lights that were attached to it only making him look that much more angelic, if it were possible.

You continued shamelessly staring at the gorgeous stranger, eventually wandering over and standing next to him.

"Penny for your thoughts, stranger?" you asked in a light voice, a warm smile adorning your face.

The angel turned to look at you slowly, eyes jumping around questioningly, as if to ask "Who? Me?"

You immediately decide that this angel was cute and that you wanted to keep him, your smile getting wider. Just a few hours ago you had embarrassed yourself in front of everyone you knew while talking to a boy that you liked, yet here you were making it seem effortless.

"Do I know you?" He asked in the most honey like voice you had ever heard, the sound strangely addictive. Still smiling, you shook your head with a shrug.

"Not at all." You giggled childishly at the way his brow furrowed in confusion, at his mercy, completely helpless to his charms. "I just noticed the way you were staring at the water and you look like you're thinking very deeply about something," you explained, heart jumping into his hands when he laughed in disbelief, tilting his head at you with a smile.

"Is that so?"

You nodded, your cheeks starting to ache from smiling too much.

"Why don't I tell you over a cup of coffee, since we're at a café?" he asked cheekily, a grin pulling at his lips.

You nodded eagerly, taking his hand and pulling him over to the seating area. You turned to look at him with a grin of your own before saying, "Great idea! I've already ordered."

---

After sitting down he introduced himself as Kang Younghyun, occasionally called Brian by his close friends, who was majoring in Business at your university with Music as his extra classes. You told him your name, telling him that you’re majoring in Writing, hoping to become an editor (since you weirdly enough enjoy editing), and that you were taking art and music as extra classes.

"So then, Younghyun, you sill haven't answered my first question," you said matter-of-factly, sipping at your latte with a raised brow.

"Oh, that? I thought that was you flirting?" he mused with a smirk, the teasing tone in his voice making you chortle.

"Oh no it was, but I'm genuinely curious," you said, chortling at the way he laughed disbelievingly.

"I was thinking about how I need to man up and ask this girl I like in my music class out." he said, shrugging as he sighed deeply.

"Oh, you like someone?" you asked dejectedly, playing with your coffee cup. Brian nodded, sighing again.

"Well then," you said, slamming your fist against the table and gaining not only Younghyun's attention but a few people around you's attention as well.

"I say, go for it! I doubt you have anything to lose," you encouraged him confidently. He raised a brow with a smirk, looking at you as if to say "excuse me what?"

You rolled your eyes before starting to explain.

"Listen, Brian—can I call you Brian?"

"Go ahead." He smiled.

"Right then, Brian, listen. You seriously have nothing to lose. Maybe a smudge of pride but that's nothing. I mean have you seen yourself? I'm sure every girl would be willing to throw themselves at you, hell, sign me up!" you rambled on, hands all over the place and not realizing the way Younghyun was looking at you.

"You really think so?" he asked softly, making you think of a puppy, your heart melting.

You nodded solemnly, smiling at him.

"Definitely."

With the most shit eating grin ever, he cleared his throat. "Okay, then. Y/N, I really like you and would like to take you to dinner."

“Oh, shit.”

[angstama]

04: traitor | l.jn

pairing: lee jeno x f!reader (ft. mark lee)

genre: angst, pure heartache, slight fluff!

synopsis — when jeno asked you to make his bride’s dress, it was more than fabric and lace—it was a reckoning. you never thought you'd be asked to create the wedding dress for the man you once loved, not after everything that had happened between the two of you. five years have passed since jeno walked out of your life, and now, he stands before you again—asking for a favour that stirs old memories and emotions you've tried to bury.

a/n: part 4 was a little painful to write... would love to take in questions regarding the characters themselves if there's anyone interested in having a interview like session with them~ as always, thank you so much for the support so far! <3 i had this song from day6 on replay while writing this! the lyrics really omg pain

chapter music: right through me - day6

traitor m.list | traitor's playlist | previous | next chapter (05)

the studio door shut with a soft click, the kind that barely made a sound but somehow echoed loud in your chest.

they were gone. for now.

you leaned back against the table, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding during the entire consultation. mark moved around the room in his usual quiet rhythm, gently stacking the sketchbooks, collecting loose fabric swatches, returning things to their places without a word.

you glanced at him. he didn’t say anything. he just gave you that familiar glance, like you good? and you answered back with a tired nod. sort of.

“you did good,” he said quietly, still focused on organizing the clutter. “jeno didn’t even blink when i talked about the tux. like i was born to design it.”

a soft chuckle escaped you. “you kind of were.”

he smiled, not pushing further. just let the silence stretch out a little before he asked, “you thinking about the dress?”

you followed his gaze to the corner of the studio—the untouched mannequin, still standing bare. the sketches had been finished for days, detailed and carefully thought out. but the actual dress... that was a different beast altogether.

“yeah,” you said, voice low. “i think i’ve been avoiding it.”

he didn’t press. didn’t offer advice. just waited, hands resting loosely on the back of a chair, like he knew you needed to say it in your own time.

“she said she wanted something dreamy. soft, with flower lace. and i knew, right then, that it wasn’t just any dress she was describing—it was almost like mine. not exactly, but... the feeling.”

mark finally looked up. his expression wasn’t concerned, just open. patient. “you’re not going to make her the same dress, though.”

you shook your head. “no. i can’t. i won’t. but the way she talks about love, about her future—it reminds me so much of who i was when i thought i had it all figured out.”

you moved closer to the mannequin, arms crossed. “she’s golden, mark. not in a perfect way. but quiet. like the kind of sunlight that sneaks into your room in the morning. soft, and warm. and kind. you want to be annoyed by it, but you can’t. because it feels like something you didn’t know you needed.”

there was a pause. you looked at him, the guilt sitting in your throat like a stone.

“she’s everything jeno needs. maybe even what he should’ve had from the start.”

mark didn’t say anything for a moment. then, slowly, he moved toward your worktable and picked up the lace you’d set aside days ago. he walked over to you, holding it out—not forcing, just offering.

“you don’t have to rush,” he said. “but if you’re ready... maybe just start with this.”

you looked at the fabric in his hands. familiar, delicate, full of all the feelings you’d tried not to name.

and then you reached out and took it.

“yeah,” you said softly. “we can try."

you finally went home while the sun was still out for the first time in a while. the golden rays filtered through the trees, casting a warm glow on the pathway that led up to your door. it was a small moment of peace in the chaos that had been consuming you, and as you stepped inside, the familiar scent of home wrapped around you, easing the weight in your chest just a little.

the moment you opened the door, a familiar sound made your heart flutter—a soft bark followed by the pitter-patter of tiny paws on the wooden floor. before you could even process it, polo came bounding toward you, tail wagging furiously. his fur had grown a little longer, but his eyes still held that same playful, innocent gleam that always made your heart melt.

“polo!” you exclaimed, dropping your bag at the door and kneeling down to scoop him up into your arms. you buried your face into his soft fur, laughing as he licked your cheek in excitement. the overwhelming sense of relief that washed over you was instant. it felt like you could finally breathe again.

you missed polo greatly. polo was the dog you and jeno had adopted together and he's been living at your parents’ place for a while now ever since your work schedule got too hectic to care for him properly. a part of you guilty for keeping him away from you for so long but you knew it was the right thing to do for now with everything that've been consuming you.

it was a saturday morning, and you were in the middle of one of your usual weekend brainstorming sessions with jeno. the two of you had always talked about getting a dog—how you’d both wanted a companion for years—but it always seemed like something you’d do “someday.” that day, however, jeno had a mischievous glint in his eye.

“hey, how about we actually get a dog today?” he suggested casually, as if it wasn’t the most outlandish thing he’d ever said.

you stared at him, trying to gauge if he was joking. "wait... what?"

“yeah, why not? let's go pick one out. i mean, we’ve talked about it enough,” he said, already pulling out his phone, looking up puppy adoption sites as though he’d planned it all out.

“are you serious right now?” you laughed, almost incredulous. but his grin was enough to convince you he was, indeed, dead serious.

an hour later, you found yourselves standing outside an adoption center, staring down at a small, scruffy puppy who was jumping up and down in excitement. jeno, with his usual practicality, eyed the puppy, evaluating its energy levels with a nod of approval.

“this one,” he said, pointing at the puppy, who immediately ran over to you, licking your hand with its tiny paws. you bent down to pet it, instantly charmed by the little creature.

“wait, jeno... how do we know it’s the right one?” you asked, still trying to process the fact that you were about to adopt a puppy—just like that.

“because he’s got the energy to match ours,” jeno said with a smirk, “plus, he’s got that ‘polo’ look to him.”

you blinked. “polo?”

“yeah,” jeno shrugged, “like the sport. fast, energetic, playful. fits him perfectly, don’t you think?”

you stared at the puppy as it hopped around in circles, full of life and excitement. jeno was right—it definitely had that “polo” vibe.

“alright, polo it is,” you grinned, already in love with the little guy. "he's ours now."

“hell yeah, he is,” jeno laughed, holding out his hands for the puppy to jump into. "welcome to the family, buddy."

and just like that, polo became a part of your world. the three of you left the adoption center, jeno carrying polo as you both laughed at how spontaneous the whole thing was. from that day on, the little puppy brought a burst of joy and chaos into your lives, just like jeno did—and in some ways, he became a living reminder of how you’d always said “someday,” but had ended up doing it today, without hesitation.

"looks like someone's missed you," your mom’s voice rang out from the kitchen, her tone light and warm. you looked up to see her standing there, smiling softly. you blinked, surprised to see her standing in your doorway. she didn't live with you, but there she was, and it made your chest tighten with a strange, bittersweet mix of emotions.

“mom? what are you doing here?” you asked, still holding polo close.

“i was just passing by," she said with a smile, but her eyes twinkled as she added, "polo here kept looking out the window for you, so i thought i’d bring him over. it seemed like you might need some company."

you stared at her for a moment, her words settling in. polo had been the one who made her decide to visit. the thought made you smile softly. in some ways, it felt like he understood you better than you understood yourself.

“thanks for bringing him," you said, standing up and walking toward her. "i didn’t realize how much i missed him until now.”

your mom nodded, her eyes softening as she looked at you. “i can tell. it’s been a while since we had a proper catch-up, hasn’t it?”

“yeah, it has.” you smiled, but the weight of everything that had been weighing on you lately pressed on your chest again.

she noticed, of course. she always did. without asking, she moved toward the stove and began pulling out containers of food, a gesture you’d grown so familiar with over the years. "i made dinner," she said casually. "thought you might need a proper meal."

you walked over to the table, feeling your stomach rumble at the thought of real food for the first time in what felt like forever. the simple, comforting scents of stir-fried vegetables and a warm broth were a welcome change from the stress and tension of the past few days.

you sat down, your mom joining you across the table. as you dug into the meal she’d prepared, the quiet hum of the kitchen felt like a balm for your overworked mind. polo, now content to curl up at your feet, added a sense of calm to the atmosphere.

after a few minutes of eating in comfortable silence, your mom set down her chopsticks and turned her gaze toward you. “so, how’s everything going? you’ve been keeping to yourself a lot lately.”

you put your chopsticks down too, meeting her gaze. there was no point in pretending everything was fine anymore. “actually well... there’s something i’ve been meaning to tell you.”

she raised an eyebrow, her expression soft but expectant. “go ahead, sweetheart.”

you took a deep breath, then, almost without realizing it, the words came spilling out. “i’m helping jeno. he's getting married... to her, wheein. and i'm designing his wedding outfits, including her wedding dress."

you could see the shift in her eyes. it was subtle, but there was a warmth there, like she understood without needing to ask more. after all, she had witnessed the love story that you and jeno shared, and the heartbreak that shattered you completely.

“jeno, huh?” she said softly, a nostalgic smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “you always had a soft spot for him. even when you two weren’t together.”

you paused, looking down at your hands as the memory of it all flickered through your mind. “yeah. it’s... it’s complicated, mom. helping him with all this, seeing him again, after everything... i don’t know if i should be doing it. or if it’s the right thing to do.”

your mom didn’t rush to fill the silence. she just sat with you, giving you space to process the words you were saying. when she finally spoke, her voice was steady and gentle. “sweetheart, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. but helping jeno, creating something beautiful for him and wheein—it sounds like something you’ve been called to do, even if it doesn’t feel that way at first.”

you shook your head, unable to fully articulate the knot in your chest. “i just feel like... like i’m holding onto something that wasn’t even mine to hold on to. and maybe it’s too late. maybe i’m just not ready.”

“no one ever really knows when they’re ready, darling,” your mom said, her voice soft but strong. “but you’ll figure it out, just like you always do. you’ve always had a way with turning pain into something beautiful—your designs, your work. this isn’t any different.”

her words settled around you like a warm blanket. you hadn’t realized how much you needed to hear them until that moment. for the first time in a long while, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you could stop carrying the weight of everything by yourself.

you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “thanks, mom,” you whispered, feeling the knot loosen just a little.

“anytime, sweetheart,” she said, smiling softly as she reached across the table, her hand brushing yours in quiet reassurance. "just remember, you're more than your work. you're more than this whole mess with jeno. don’t lose yourself in it."

as your mom got up to leave, you hesitated for a moment, your gaze drifting to polo, who was resting comfortably on your lap, looking at you with those big, soulful eyes. a sudden warmth filled your chest. oh how precious and just how much you missed him—how much you missed the comfort of his presence, the way he could make everything feel just a little bit easier.

albeit he was a byproduct of your and jeno’s happier days, polo had also been your greatest comfort when everything fell apart. he’d been there through the highs and the heartache, the laughter and the silence. and now, you couldn’t imagine leaving him behind again—not when he’d stayed by your side through it all.

you stood up, walking toward your mom as she gathered her things. "hey, um... would it be okay if i kept polo with me for a while?" your voice was quieter than usual, but there was a gentle pleading in it, the kind that only your mom would recognise.

she paused, looking at you thoughtfully, then followed your gaze to polo. she smiled softly, that knowing, maternal smile that always made you feel like everything would be alright. "of course, sweetheart. you don't even have to ask, he’s yours!" she brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. "he’ll keep you company, and i know he’s good for you."

a wave of gratitude washed over you as you nodded. "thanks, mom. it’ll be good to have him here."

with a final squeeze of your shoulder, she picked up her bag and made her way to the door. but before stepping out, she turned to you once more. “you sure you don’t want to talk to jeno? sometimes saying things out loud can make the ache settle a little easier.”

you offered her a small smile, already shaking your head. “i don’t think there’s anything left to say.”

she didn’t argue. she just gave you one last look—the kind that wrapped around your heart like a hug—and nodded. “alright. just remember you’re not alone in this, y/n.”

and then she was gone.

as soon as the door clicked shut behind her, you turned back to polo, who was now wagging his tail, excited for the attention.

"hey, buddy," you said, bending down to pet him, your fingers running through his soft fur. "you and me, huh? we’re in this together."

polo gave a little bark, his tail wagging furiously. you smiled, letting the comfort of his presence settle over you. for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel so alone in your thoughts. with him by your side, maybe things could be okay, even if just for tonight.

later that evening, you decided to take polo out for a walk. the sun had dipped just below the horizon, leaving the sky streaked in soft pastels. the air was cool, a little breezy—just enough to tug gently at your sleeves as you strolled down familiar paths.

polo trotted ahead of you, tail wagging like he had all the joy in the world stored in his little body. it felt nice, getting out, no thoughts of deadline hovering over your head, no thoughts of gown waiting for stitches. just the sound of leaves rustling and polo’s paws padding against the sidewalk.

but then, without warning, polo perked up—ears high, body alert—and bolted.

"polo!" you called, instinct kicking in as you broke into a jog after him. "hey, wait—come back!"

he didn’t stop. instead, he raced across the grass toward a figure by the benches. someone tall, familiar. someone you hadn’t seen in days, maybe weeks, not like this—not outside of fitting rooms or quiet studio corners.

you slowed when you recognised him.

lee jeno.

he was crouched down by the time you caught up, already scratching behind polo’s ears like it was second nature. polo, of course, was basking in it—completely ignoring the fact that he had nearly dragged you into a panic.

“hey, buddy,” jeno laughed, rubbing behind his ears. “long time no see, huh?”

you slowly came to a stop, heart pounding—not from the run, but the sight of him. jeno stood up straight, brushing fur off his jacket, his eyes already meeting yours.

"hey." he smiled. not out of politeness, but like he couldn’t help it. "he still remembers me, huh?" jeno looked up with a small smile, eyes soft.

you caught your breath, brushing hair from your face. "yeah... apparently a little too well."

there was a pause. the two of you looking at polo adoringly before snapping back to reality.

"i’ve never seen you around here before," you said, voice cautious but laced with genuine surprise. "i mean... i walk this park almost every week. i didn’t think you lived close.

jeno looked at you, a bit amused. "i live just two streets down..." he stood up slowly, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "guess we’ve just been missing each other."

you nodded, unsure of what to say. the sight of him here, so familiar and casual, was unexpected—too normal for how complicated everything still felt inside.

polo sat between the two of you now, tail sweeping back and forth, completely unaware of the quiet tension. or maybe he knew. maybe he was trying to fix something in the only way he knew how.

jeno looked at you carefully, almost cautiously. “do you… wanna get a drink or something? there’s that pet friendly café just across the street.”

you looked at him, truly looked, and saw someone familiar but distant—like a song you used to know all the lyrics to, now just playing faintly in the background of a memory.

“i don’t think that’s a good idea,” you said gently. “i’ve got things to finish. and…” you paused, eyes falling to polo, then back to him. “i don’t think we’re at that place anymore.”

jeno nodded once. not with disappointment, but with understanding. he knew.

he didn’t press. didn’t try to convince you. there was something almost reverent in the way he stepped back, like he didn’t want to disturb what little calm you’d found which almost made you feel bad instantly.

you saw how his hands were tucked in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched like he was bracing for a storm that might not come. he wasn’t asking for much—not forgiveness, not a second chance. just a conversation.

just a little space to exist with you again, even if it was only across a table, with coffee cooling between you.

“okay,” you said softly.

his head lifted.

“just one drink,” you added quickly, before he could mistake it for something else. “we can talk.”

and something in his expression settled—not joy, not triumph, but something gentler. quieter. like a weight he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying had lightened, if only by a little.

“thank you,” he said.

you gave a small nod, eyes flickering to polo. “he did this on purpose, you know.”

jeno laughed, a low sound that made your chest ache a little. “he’s always been smarter than us.”

you didn’t argue.

as the two of you walked slowly toward the little café on the corner—polo proudly leading the way—your steps didn’t feel as heavy anymore. maybe it was time to talk. not to reopen wounds, but to stitch them closed.

you weren’t sure what would come of it. but for now, you pray that you have the strength to pull through whatever it's coming for you.

the bell above the café door chimed softly as you stepped inside, the scent of roasted coffee beans and fresh pastries curling around you like a familiar memory. polo padded in beside you, tail wagging like he owned the place. jeno followed a few steps behind, respectfully quiet, his hands brushing the sides of his jacket like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

you chose a table by the window—out of habit maybe, or maybe because you needed the distraction of watching people go by, just in case the silence between you and jeno got too loud.

“americano on the rocks for you?” he asked gently, already halfway to the counter.

you nodded without looking at him. he still remembered.

jeno stood in line, eyes fixed ahead, but his thoughts flickered back to you like a film reel. the way you’d smiled at polo, the careful way your shoulders carried weight they didn’t used to. there was distance in your gaze now—measured and intentional. he wasn’t foolish enough to mistake this moment for hope. but still, he was grateful you said yes.

you, meanwhile, sat with your hands folded in your lap, thumb nervously brushing your knuckles. the chair beneath you felt solid, but your thoughts were anything but. you weren’t sure what to say, or why you were even here, really. maybe to prove to yourself that you could be.

jeno came back with two mugs and a glass of water, like he still remembered your caffeine made you thirsty. he placed the drinks down with quiet precision before taking the seat across from you.

“thanks,” you murmured, wrapping your hands around the cup.

for a while, neither of you spoke. it wasn’t uncomfortable—not yet. it was the kind of silence that felt like it was waiting for the right words to arrive.

“so…” he began, then hesitated. “i was surprised to see polo.”

you smiled faintly. “he’s been staying with my mom. she came by just earlier and i don't know... i just wanted him to stay with me again for awhile.”

“ah i see... that's nice.” jeno nods, “he always calmed you down.”

your eyes flicked up to meet his, unsure what to do with the way he said that—like he knew parts of you you’d worked hard to forget.

“yeah. he still does,” you said softly.

jeno looked down at his coffee. “i miss him.”

you could hear the unspoken second half of the sentence. i miss you, too.

but he didn’t say it. and maybe that’s what made it easier to stay.

“he remembers you,” you said instead. “he ran straight to you like no time had passed.”

jeno gave a small smile, eyes warming. “dogs are good at that. forgiveness.”

you didn’t answer. because you weren’t ready to talk about forgiveness—not yours, not his.

“how’s… work?” he asked after a pause.

you snorted lightly. “intense. stressful. emotional. the usual.”

jeno’s expression twisted in something between guilt and fondness. “i didn’t think you’d agree to this. designing… everything.”

you shrugged. “i didn’t either. but i did.”

he nodded slowly, his eyes not meeting yours. “wheein… was the one who suggested your studio,” he said softly, eyes fixed on the table between you. “i didn’t know it was yours. not at first.”

you blinked. that hadn’t come up before. not during the meetings. not in the silences. not when you stared at the sketchbook wondering how the hell you were supposed to draw the silhouette of someone else’s forever.

“when she said she wanted something different,” he continued, “something with more heart, more story… she showed me your brand, and something about it felt familiar. too familiar.”

you said nothing, letting him speak, though your fingers curled a little tighter around polo’s leash.

“i clicked through the pages,” he went on, his voice quieter now. “saw the seams in the way you write. the little details you always loved. i think my heart stopped when i saw the logo.”

he looked up then, and it was like seeing a younger version of him—one that had wandered into something he didn’t expect, and didn’t know how to walk back from.

“i didn’t tell her right away. i didn’t know if i should. but she loved your work. and i…” he paused. “i think i knew you’d say no. so i didn’t reach out. but when she emailed and your assistant replied with a yes... i just held my breath and waited.”

you felt your heart tighten. there it was — that strange twist of fate that had brought them here, to your doorstep, despite everything.

jeno continued, his voice low, "it wasn’t just about the wedding anymore. it was... seeing your name, your work, and knowing that i was going to ask you to help her. to help us. and i didn’t know if that was even fair to you."

you stayed silent, taking in his words. part of you still wanted to retreat, to protect yourself from this conversation that had been years in the making. but there was a part of you that was tired of running, tired of holding onto the past in silence.

“i never meant to hurt you,” he said gently. not the kind of gentle born from caution—but from knowing. from history. “and i don’t think there’s a way to say all this right. but i want to try.”

you didn’t speak. not yet. your eyes were on him, steady and unreadable, though your heart fluttered against your ribs like a bird that hadn’t yet decided if it was safe to fly.

“loving you never stopped feeling like home,” he said. “and for a long time, i thought that was enough.”

“i never wanted to fall for wheein,” his voice was low, tender—like he was speaking into a quiet that had lasted far too long. “i kept choosing you. again and again. even when things felt… off. i told myself that love is a choice, and i kept making it. until one day, it didn’t feel like love anymore. it felt like duty. and that terrified me.”

you could feel your heart tightening, that familiar ache in your chest, like it had never left. you had tried to move on too, hadn’t you? you’d spent so many sleepless nights telling yourself that it was for the best, that this wasn’t meant to be, that everything had a reason. but now, with his words — with the way he was looking at you — you realised just how much you were still holding on.

your heart wanted to leap into your throat, and your mind screamed at you to stop, to tell him that this conversation was too much. that you couldn’t do this.

but he kept talking.

"i kept trying to hold on to something that was slipping away," he said quietly. "and when I realised that... i knew i had to make a choice. not just for me, but for everyone involved. it hurt. it still does. but I had to let go."

“i never stopped loving you,” jeno added, his voice thick with emotion. “but it wasn’t the kind of love that could keep us together.”

the words hit you like a blow to the chest. you swallowed hard, suddenly aware of the way your hands were trembling. you looked at jeno, at the man who used to mean everything to you, and something in your chest twisted painfully.

“jeno,” you started, your voice shaking just slightly, “i don’t think i’m ready for this.” you forced yourself to meet his eyes, to say the words that had been building up inside of you. “i don’t think i’m ready to hear about... her. about your choices. about anything that’s... not us.”

jeno’s eyes softened, regret flickering in his eyes. “i’m not trying to hurt you, y/n. i just wanted you to know where i stood. to explain. i know we can’t change what happened, but i wanted you to understand why it happened.”

the pain in his voice was real, and you could hear it, but the more he spoke, the more you realised that the hurt in your chest wasn’t from him. it was from you. from still feeling so in love with him. from not being ready to let him go. you hadn’t realised it until now, but the reality of it crashed into you like a wave, and you couldn’t ignore it.

“you can’t just explain it away,” you whispered, fighting to keep your voice even. “it’s not that simple, jeno. not for me.”

he leaned in, his gaze never leaving yours. you could see the pain in his eyes, a reflection of your own. “i never meant for this to be so painful."

you nodded slowly. “you’re right. it was hurtful. not because you moved on. but because i was left with all the pieces. and then asked to dress them up.”

that made his head lift, and his eyes brimmed with regret. “i’m sorry. truly. for all of it.”

you held his gaze for a long moment, and when you spoke again, your voice was softer.

“i won’t pretend i’m not still hurting. or that i don’t still carry you with me in so many small, quiet ways.” you paused, choosing your words carefully. “but i also know love isn’t about possession. it’s about care. even when it hurts. even when it ends.”

jeno blinked, visibly moved. he hadn’t expected your grace. he didn’t feel like he deserved it.

the silence settled again, not heavy this time, just... still. like both of you had said what needed to be said, even if it didn’t fix anything. maybe it wasn’t meant to.

you stood slowly, and polo stirred beneath the table, giving a soft stretch and shake before looking up at you with those expectant eyes. jeno stood too, his hands gently resting on the edge of the table like he didn’t quite know what to do with them anymore.

you looked at him for a long second, then offered a small, lopsided smile — the kind you hadn’t worn in a while. the kind that wasn’t full of joy, but had a spark of something lighter buried in it.

“you know,” you said, tugging lightly on polo’s leash, “if i had known we’d run into each other like this, i might’ve at least brushed my hair.”

jeno blinked, then let out a quiet, breathy laugh, his shoulders relaxing. “you look fine,” he said, and then added, a little more softly, “you always do.”

you rolled your eyes, amused despite yourself. “still smooth with the compliments, huh?”

he smiled, and for a flicker of a second, you saw the old jeno — the one who made you laugh at 2am over burnt popcorn and bad movie marathons. the one who once said your laugh was his favorite sound.

but that was then.

now, you gave him a gentle nod as you reached for the café door but then paused. a small thought surfaced — not cold, not distant. just something that needed to be said.

you turned halfway, your hand still on the handle, eyes meeting jeno’s once more.

“by the way,” you said, voice soft but steady, “don’t forget about the fitting. we'll let you know when it's ready."

jeno blinked, then nodded slowly. “right. the tux.”

you offered him the faintest smile, a flicker of professionalism wrapped in something more human. “mark will handle most of it. i’ll just be there to supervise.”

a quiet beat passed between you both — an unspoken understanding that this, too, was part of the process. part of closing the loop.

“i’ll be there,” he said, his voice sincere.

you gave a small nod, then reached down to ruffle polo’s head. “alright, buddy. time to go.”

jeno watched you go — the door chimed softly as it swung open, and the evening air greeted you with a hush. the moon hung low in the sky, pale and full, casting a silvery glow over the quiet street. polo padded ahead, tail wagging, completely unaware of the weight in your chest. you let him lead the way.

you didn’t look back. but if you had, you would've have seen jeno still sitting there, framed by the café window, shoulders heavy with memory, eyes fixed on the place where you had just stood — as if trying to hold on to something that was no longer his to keep.

to be continued...

taglist: @starryeyesspice @bluedbliss @undomielsql @nshitae @starryeyesspice @spicyryujin @m8rkers @haechskiss

[lovetaroandtaemin]

Number One Girl

Ning Yizhuo x Reader

Word Count: 4,257 Genre: Fluff, Angst Rating: Some adult themes, MINORS DNI!

Summary: Hoping to get over her crush on Yizhuo, Y/N starts to distance herself from her friend. Turns out that was the exact push that Yizhuo needed to realize that she has a crush on Y/N too.

Content Warnings: Alcohol consumption, very brief mention of sexual activity but no smut, unrequited love that is later requited. If you think I missed a warning, please let me know!

A/N: This fic is part of the @k-vanity network's "Love in the Mix" event! The songs that I chose to base my fic on were "Empty Glass" by Nam Jin, "Sleepover" by Hayley Kiyoko, "Number One Girl" by Rosé, "I Like You" by Day6, and "Unconditional" by Jaehyun. If you like this fic, check out the other fics that are part of this event! I'll be linking the event masterlist here when it's posted.

Taglist: @xomakara

Fic is under the cut.

You always hated going to the bar, but you never stayed home when your friends asked you to go with them, either. After all, despite your lack of interest in the city’s nightlife, the bar seemed like the perfect place to meet someone and finally get over your ex. It had been months since she’d walked away and left you heartbroken, and all you wanted was to connect with someone new and heal.

Honestly, though, when you really thought about how many times you’d already tried and failed, you wondered why you even bothered anymore. With slightly more thought, however, you concluded that it was a sick combination of desperation, loneliness, boredom, and a miniscule amount of foolish hope that made you want to keep trying.

When you finally arrived at the bar, you were certain that nothing interesting would happen. Still, that little bit of hope in the back of your mind kept you going as you made your way to the bar and ordered a cocktail. While you enjoyed your first drink of the night, one of the most gorgeous women you’d ever seen walked into the bar and sat on the stool right next to you. She looked at you and smiled, and you let the hope that carried you through the door continue to carry you into a conversation with her as you smiled back and introduced yourself.

“My name is Yizhuo,” she replied, her voice filling your stomach with butterflies as she spoke.

“What brought you here tonight?” you asked, hoping to hear her speak again so that the butterflies would come back.

“I just wanted something to do. What about you?”

“My friends dragged me out,” you answered, laughing softly.

Yizhuo laughed at your answer and asked, “Well, why did you let them?”

“The short answer is boredom.”

“I understand that, honestly. There’s never anything interesting going on around here.”

“Tell me about it.”

As the two of you continued to talk, you found yourself thinking about just how beautiful Yizhuo was in every sense of the word and how badly you wanted a connection with her that lasted beyond just one night. You wondered if she felt the same way about you, but you knew that it was far too soon to ask. So instead, you asked, “What do you like to do for fun?”

“I love to sing,” she answered. “I don’t think I would ever want to do it professionally, but when there’s music on, and I’m singing along, I feel lighter than a feather.”

“That’s really beautiful.”

“What are some of your hobbies?”

There was a brief silence before you answered, “I really like to read. Sometimes I write too, but never anything that I would want to publish.”

“I’d love to read some of the stuff you’ve written sometime.”

“Well, I’d love to hear you sing sometime.”

Just then, you heard an unfamiliar voice say, “Hello, everyone, and welcome to our weekly karaoke night! If you would like to participate, come see me in the booth next to the stage to pick a song and a time slot.”

“That’s perfect!” Yizhuo said with a smile before walking away. You wanted to ask her where she was going, but before you could, she was across the bar, talking to the guy that made the announcement earlier. He nodded at what she said, and she followed him to the empty stage.

“Ok, everyone, please give a warm welcome to our first participant for this week’s karaoke night, Yizhuo!”

You didn’t quite hear the title of the song that she sang, but once she started, you didn’t really care. The combination of the seductive nature of the lyrics and her sultry voice had you in a trance for the entirety of the song. You were sure that you looked like an idiot as you watched her onstage, but you didn’t particularly care. All you cared about was how beautiful she was and how she really seemed to be in her element as she sang.

When her performance was over, you clapped, and when she got back to her seat, you said, “That was incredible! You have a beautiful voice.”

“Thanks,” she replied, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks.

The rest of the night continued with nothing major happening, except for butterflies in your stomach every time Yizhuo spoke or smiled at you. For a brief moment, you wondered if it was a good idea to ask her to come home with you. After all, she was gorgeous, and you really wanted to show her just how beautiful you thought she was. In the end, however, you decided against it, too nervous to try anything beyond asking, “Can I have your number? I’d love to talk more.”

“Yeah, of course,” she replied, holding her hand out to take your phone. You handed it to her, and she handed you hers. You each put your contact information in the other’s phone, and with a smile, Yizhuo added, “I really liked talking to you tonight. I hope we get to see each other again.”

Before you could respond, she walked away, and your friends were surrounding you and telling you that they were ready to leave. You reluctantly left the bar, disappointed that meeting someone new hadn’t gone the way you’d hoped but excited that you’d met someone new in the first place.

When you got home, you considered texting Yizhuo, but you didn’t want to come on too strongly and make her uncomfortable. So, you decided to just turn your phone off for the night and go to sleep. Before you could, though, you opened your phone and saw a new message.

Yizhuo: Hi! Just wanted to say I had a lot of fun tonight. I’d love to see you again sometime. Y/N: That sounds great! Just let me know when you know what days you’re free. Yizhuo: Will do. Good night! Y/N: Good night.

The next morning, you woke up and got ready for work, just like any other day. When you got to the office, however, you were pleasantly surprised by a familiar face.

“Oh my god, (Y/N)! Hi!” Yizhuo cheered, pulling you into a hug.

“Hi! What are you doing here?” you asked.

“Today is my first day in the legal department! I’m so happy to see someone here that I actually know,” she commented, laughing softly as she spoke.

“Well, good luck! If you need anything or have any questions, just let me know.”

“I will!” she replied, letting go of you so that she could get to work.

Nothing significant happened for the rest of the day, except for Yizhuo asking if you wanted to get dinner with her after work. You happily agreed, and the two of you decided to go to a local restaurant that was close to the bar you’d met at the night before.

At the end of your shift, you met Yizhuo at the restaurant. Once you sat down at a table and ordered drinks, she asked, “So, when did you start working at the Kwangya Corporation?”

“I’ve been working there for just under a year. How did your first day go?”

“Better than expected. I thought that I was gonna struggle a lot, but Aeri was a huge help. She’s in charge of training me.”

“Aeri is one of the best employees the company has. If anyone can help you feel more at ease and teach you how to do things the right way, it’ll be her.”

The two of you continued to chat for what felt like hours as you enjoyed your meal and relaxed after a chaotic day. You talked about everything from what you did at work to foods that you liked, and with every word, you found yourself continuing to fall for her. The way she treated you fell firmly into the “platonic affection” category, though, much to your disappointment.

At the end of the meal, Yizhuo smiled and said, “Thank you for hanging out with me; I needed to get out and have fun with a friend.”

“It’s no problem. I’m happy to hang out whenever, as long as I’m not busy.”

After you paid for your food, she pulled you into a hug and left the restaurant. As you got into your car and drove home, you wondered if she would ever see you as anything more than a friend.

A few weeks later, you were walking into work when you saw Yizhuo speedwalking toward you. She looked much happier than usual, and when she finally reached you, she said, “Oh my god, you’ll never believe what happened last night!”

“What happened?” you asked.

“I met someone.”

You were surprised, to say the least, but you still tried to seem happy for her as you asked, “Really? What’s their name?”

“His name is Shotaro. We met at the bar last night. Actually, it was the same bar that I met you! Isn’t that cool?”

“Yeah, totally,” you answered, hoping that the hurt you were feeling wasn’t too obvious.

Before Yizhuo could say anything else, you walked into the building and made your way to your desk, which was in a different department. You knew it was petty, but you really didn’t want to listen to her talk about the amazing guy that she met, at the same bar that she met you, no less. All you wanted to do was focus on your work.

The day went by quickly, probably because you were determined to focus solely on your work until you got home. As you walked to your car, however, you couldn’t help but start thinking about how lonely you really were. Sure, you had friends, and you were somewhat close to your family, but you really missed having someone to fall asleep with at night and kiss good morning. You knew that you would find someone eventually, but you couldn’t help but wonder just when that would be.

The next month of listening to Yizhuo talk about how amazing Shotaro was and how much she loved spending time with him was difficult, to say the least. You were happy for her, of course, and you knew that holding onto your hurt wouldn’t help you get over her, but you couldn’t help but think about her constantly. You knew it was stupid, but you slowly found yourself falling harder and harder for your friend.

The way you felt only got harder to ignore whenever Yizhuo spent the night at your apartment. She stayed with you one night a week, sometimes two if she had a particularly bad fight with Shotaro, and over time, those nights became your favorite part of the week. Every time the two of you watched a movie together on your couch, her arm wrapped around you as you leaned into her side, you found yourself actually relaxing, and part of you couldn’t help but imagine that one day, she might see you the same way you saw her.

At some point, Yizhuo and Shotaro broke up, and you were the first person that she went to for comfort. She showed up on your doorstep late at night, tears in her eyes and a stuffed bear that you’d given her for her birthday in her hands. When you saw her, you knew pretty much immediately what was wrong, and the second your door was closed, you pulled her into a hug and said, “I’m so sorry. Do you wanna talk about it?”

Yizhuo shook her head and said, “I don’t think it would help.” After a moment of silence, she added, “Can I stay here tonight?”

“Of course.”

Once she was fully inside, you led her to the couch and picked a funny movie to watch together. While the movie played, she relaxed in your arms, and you found yourself thinking about how badly you wanted her once again. You knew better than to tell her, though, especially because she was there for comfort after the end of a relationship.

Eventually, Yizhuo moved on from Shotaro and started dating someone new. The relationship didn’t exactly last long, though, and based on the fact that she never even told you their name, you figured that it probably wasn’t serious. Regardless, she was heartbroken when they broke up with her, and you found yourself in a similar situation with her once again.

With every new relationship that Yizhuo got into, the cycle repeated, and after a few months of continuing to fall for Yizhuo while she dated and hooked up with other people, you started to consider distancing yourself from her. Not because you didn’t want to be around her, of course, but because you thought that space was the only thing that would help you get over her. So, over time, you started hanging out with her less and less.

When Yizhuo realized that you were distancing yourself from her, she couldn’t understand why. She stayed up late every night wondering what she did wrong, and she couldn’t think of anything that would have upset you. Every time the two of you talked or hung out, you were like a ray of sunshine, never even hinting that you were upset with her. Despite your upbeat demeanor around her, however, she couldn’t think of any other reason that you would distance yourself.

You even started avoiding Yizhuo at work, much to her disappointment and confusion. There were times that she considered just asking you what she did wrong, but she worried that it would cause an argument and make you want to distance yourself further or even stop talking to her entirely, so she really didn’t want to do that. Instead, she just hoped that one day the two of you could be as close as you were when you first met.

After a while, you found yourself thinking about Yizhuo less and less, and you wondered if it meant that you were finally starting to get over her. Before you could think about that too much, though you decided to try putting yourself out there once again, hoping that you could speed up the process of getting over Yizhuo by getting under someone else.

On a night that you felt particularly lonely, you went to the same bar that you’d met Yizhuo, but instead of actually meeting someone, you went home completely alone. So, you decided to try again the next night. Your second attempt was also unsuccessful, so you went home, collapsed onto your bed, and sobbed, wondering what was wrong with you that no one wanted you.

At some point in the night, amidst the depression threatening to swallow you whole, you thought, “Fuck it,” and texted Yizhuo to see if she was busy. Sure, you knew that you had no chance with her, but you figured that it was about time for you to fix your shit and accept that she only saw you as a friend. Hell, maybe the two of you could even go out to the bar act as wingmen for each other.

One night, while Yizhuo was thinking about the sudden shift in your relationship, she finally realized that her feelings for you weren’t strictly platonic, like she’d always thought. It all started when she allowed herself to actually wonder why she even cared so much, and all it took was a surprise text from you to realize that she was indeed falling for you.

Y/N: Hey. Are you busy tomorrow? Yizhuo: No, unless you count work. Why? Y/N: Do you want to go out tomorrow? Yizhuo: Sure!

Yizhuo’s heart started to race at the idea of actually spending time with you again, and she recognized the giddy feeling from when she first met Shotaro. As she thought about the implications of that, she wondered why her feelings changed when they did and why she had to have the realization that they’d changed after you’d already distanced yourself from her. In the end, though, all she could do was hope that you didn’t change your mind about hanging out or start dating someone else while the two of you weren’t talking as much.

Before Yizhuo went to bed, she spent a long time wondering if she should just tell you how she felt. In the end, she didn’t exactly make a concrete decision one way or the other. Instead, she decided to wait and see how your plans tomorrow went. If you seemed interested in her the same way she was interested in you, and you didn’t mention dating anyone, she would tell you. If you mentioned dating someone else or seemed uninterested in her, she would keep her mouth shut.

The next morning came, and you and Yizhuo agreed to meet at a local park after work. The moment you arrived at the park and sat down on a bench next to her, the feelings that you’d tried so hard to get rid of came rushing right back. You wanted to run away the moment you realized, but a strange feeling in your gut told you to stay. Maybe it was hope that Yizhuo would reciprocate your feelings. Maybe it was desire to not lose your friend. Most likely, though, it was a combination of both.

“So, how have you been?” Yizhuo asked, hoping that the small talk would ease some of the awkwardness between you.

You thought for a minute about how you wanted to answer her question. Did you want to lie and tell her that everything was fine, or did you want to admit that you missed her and felt like an idiot for pushing her away? In the end, you chose the latter and said, “Truthfully, I’ve been a goddamn mess. I’ve missed you a lot.”

“Then why didn’t you talk to me?”

With a sigh, you answered, “I was hurting, and I thought that I was doing the right thing by stepping back until I had time to heal.”

“All this time I thought I did something wrong,” she said, seemingly deflating as she spoke.

“I never meant to make you think that. I am so sorry.”

There was a moment of silence before she asked, “So, we’re ok?”

“Yes. We’re ok. I’m so sorry for ever making you think that we weren’t.”

There was silence for a while after that, but neither of you seemed to mind. It was like the need to fill the space with words was gone, with only the joy of finally being in each other’s company again remaining. After a while, however, Yizhuo felt like she was going to explode if she didn’t find out how you really felt about her. So, with a deep breath, she asked, “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, of course. What is it?”

“What was going on that you felt like you needed to distance yourself from me?”

You sighed at the question, unsure if you wanted to admit to your feelings. After all, what if she didn’t feel the same way, and you lost her again? But then again, what if she did feel the same way? In the end, you decided to just bite the bullet and quietly say, “I realized that I like you in a not-strictly-platonic way. I thought that distancing myself would make the feelings go away, but I was wrong.”

Yizhuo was silent for a minute as she processed your words, and you started to worry that you’d fucked up your friendship permanently. Before you could worry for too long, though, Yizhuo turned to you and said, “I also like you in a not-strictly-platonic way, you know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I realized it at some point while we weren’t talking as much. I don’t know why it took me so long to figure it out, but I’m happy I did.”

There was another awkward silence before you started to ask, “Does this mean that-”

Before you could even finish your question, Yizhuo wrapped her arms around your neck and kissed you. You melted into her hold, and you couldn’t help but feel like an idiot for not just telling her how you felt sooner. In the end, though, the fact that you waited so long to tell her didn’t really matter, because you two still found your way back to each other in the end.

When Yizhuo pulled away from the kiss, the first thing she said was, “In case that didn’t make it obvious, the answer is yes.”

With a smile, you asked, “In that case, are you busy on Valentine’s Day?”

“I don’t have anything planned right now, but I can definitely change that. Why do you ask?”

“Why don’t we go out that night? It’d be nice to go on a proper date with you.”

“Is this not a proper date?” she asked with a laugh.

“Let me rephrase. It’d be nice to go out with the intention of it being a date. Despite the way things worked out, I really didn’t intend for today to be a date.”

Yizhuo smiled as she responded, “That does sound nice.”

The two of you continued to enjoy your time at the park until it got dark outside. At that point, you each went your separate ways, but not without Yizhuo kissing you one more time. It was early in your relationship still, but as you drove back to your apartment, you had a pretty strong feeling that the two of you would be ok.

Valentine’s Day finally arrived, and you spent most of the day worrying about whether the restaurant you’d picked was good enough or if Yizhuo would like the gift that you’d bought her. When you actually met your now girlfriend at the restaurant, however, you realized that you didn’t have anything to worry about. She greeted you with a grin on her face and a bouquet of flowers in her hands, the exact same pink roses you’d bought for her.

When you both realized that you’d bought each other the same flowers, you shared a laugh, and you put the flowers in your car before the two of you walked into the restaurant together. As the two of you were seated at a table, you found yourself wondering how you got as lucky as you did meeting someone like Yizhuo. Her smile made even your darkest days brighter, and she never let a day go by without telling you just how much she cared about you. Valentine’s Day, of course, was no exception. As soon as the two of you finished ordering your appetizers, she said, “I love you.”

You were caught off guard, since she hadn’t explicitly said that she loved you before, but you still smiled and said, “I love you too.”

The rest of your time at the restaurant went by in silence for the most part, with both of you enjoying each other’s presence too much to worry about talking beyond the occasional comment about your food. If you’d been out with anyone else, you would have been upset about the lack of conversation, but since you were with the woman you loved, you didn’t really mind.

After you left the restaurant, you went home to put your flowers in a vase. Then, you drove to Yizhuo’s apartment, just like you’d planned to do earlier. When you finally got there, you knocked on the door, and she answered, though she looked disheveled. You wanted to ask if she was ok, but before you got the chance, she said, “Hi, honey. You got here faster than I thought you would.”

“Are you ok, baby?”

“Yeah, I’m ok. Just setting something up.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll see. Can you wait here for just a minute?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Yizhuo shut the door, and you waited outside for her to be ready. While you waited, you heard her walking around her apartment singing the same song she’d sung at the bar the night you met, followed by a crash and a string of curses. After a bit more noise, she opened the door and said, “Come in.”

You entered her apartment and saw that she’d decorated her entire apartment with lights and balloons, and “Howl’s Moving Castle” was ready to play on her TV. With a smile on her face, she led you to the couch. Once you found a comfortable position, she sat down next to you, leaned her head on your shoulder, and started the movie.

About halfway through the movie, you noticed that Yizhuo was asleep. You really didn’t want to wake her, but you knew that her bed would be far more comfortable than the couch. So, you gently shook her and said, “Baby, wake up.”

“What’s going on?”

“You fell asleep during the movie.”

“I’m sorry honey,” she said with a pout.

“It’s ok, baby, I just figured you might be more comfortable in your bed than on the couch.”

With an exaggerated pout on her face, she asked, “Will you stay here tonight?”

“Yeah, of course. Do you have an extra toothbrush?”

Yizhuo nodded and stood up before helping you off the couch. After that, the two of you got ready for bed together. After you both brushed your teeth, Yizhuo gave you an extra set of pajamas to change into. Then, you both changed your clothes and went to bed. Your lover held you close the entire night, and you couldn’t help but think that you wanted to fall asleep next to her every night of your life.

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please like and reblog! If you wanna be tagged in future works, fill out the taglist form here! If you want to check out my other works, check out my main masterlist. If you want to see what else is in the works, you can check my upcoming works list! If none of that interests you, or there's something specific you want to see, feel free to send a request via my asks or dms!

Thank you again for reading. I hope you had a lovely Valentine's Day!