#do they drive me mad? to the brink of my sanity yep

[marimayscarlett]

Newest revelation to me: You don't pick your old man of choice. He chooses you and you then have to deal with it. Like a stray cat in the street you can't seem to shake off, no matter how fast you walk

[crescentsteel]

Keeping a Secret - Part 4

pairing: Tsukishima x f!manager of Sendai Frogs genre: sexual tension/crack/fluff/slow burn wc: 7.6k

[a/n]

Let me know if you want to be part of the taglist uwu

AO3

Part 3 || Part 5 || masterlist

Tsukishima might not like you, but at least you unspokenly agreed on how to treat the strange tension from last time’s meeting: ignore it. 

No one dared mention it. Since he arrived a while ago, no one talked unless needed. It’s not like the air is awkward, it’s just silent, devoid of last time’s weird shenanigan as you continued on with the unfinished assignment from his previous visit.

“I assume you’re done from how you’re spacing out at nothing,” he reprimands.

You flinch and realize that you’ve been staring at the wall behind Tsukishima. 

“Oh, uhhh.” You check your laptop to see your progress and surprisingly, you really are done. Your brain must have shut down on it’s own when it registered that you’re finished with your work for the day.

“Yep!” You snicker proudly at him. “Are we going to watch crocodiles doing the nasty now?” you ask him with eager interest.

You really have a way with words that always throws him off-guard, yet instead of scowling at you, he just gives out a resigned sigh. He knows you aren’t trying to irk him. That’s just how you really are.

It’ll be better for his sanity to just tolerate your and leave you be than drive himself to the brink of madness.

“Yeah,” he responds thriftly.

You giddily scurry over at his side of the table and comfortably seat yourself beside him. You hug your knees as he prepares several videos from BBC Earth and Nat Geo Wild that shows and explains crocodile mating behavior. He turns up the volume of his laptop to its loudest so you can both hear the audio clearly.

In the second video, the voice-over explains the kinds of display reptiles make to attract their potential mate. His eyes glance at you briefly. Not that he’s complaining about it, but you’re acting unusually docile today . You’ve been mostly quiet ever since he arrived.

It’s all good until he hears a wheezing noise that sounds all too real and all too weird for it to come from the video.

He looks to you and immediately finds the culprit.

Your lips are parted with your neck extended forward and your chin tilted up a bit while you produce guttural sounds, making it seem like you’re choking.

“What are you doing?”

You face him, still looking like an idiot as you continue making a sound he’s never heard of with the same absurd upper body posture. He looks at you with abhorrence when he starts to realize what you’re doing. 

Are you actually trying to imitate a crocodile bellowing for a mate?

You sit up straight and beam at him with pride. “How’s that for a mating call?”

If he were a male crocodile, he’d find another estuary to escape away from that horrible sound you were producing. “You sound like you’re dying,” he says as he remembers how it seemed like you were hoarsely scratching your vocal cords together.

“Wait, wait. Lemme try again,” you announce with determination, which he finds pointless and  totally unnecessary. He doesn’t care if you successfully do it. He even prefers you stop trying at all.

Yet, you still pressed on. You resume your earlier actions, looking even more ridiculous as you start to sound and look like a seagull squawking repeatedly. 

He should be irritated since you’re wasting time. Instead, he puts a fist over his mouth, attempting to hold back a snort. You don’t seem to notice because your eyes are on the laptop as you keep trying to replicate what you’re seeing on screen. 

When you actually start choking, he lets out the laugh that he’s been holding in which makes you look at him. You try to speak but it comes out distorted as you’re still coughing from your mating call attempt.

“You look like an idiot.” He laughs harder when regret surfaces on your eyes while clearing your throat.

He recovers from his outburst of laughter at the same time you manage to soothe your voice back to normal. He’s expecting you to be embarrassed from the stunt you tried to pull, which you appear to be seeing as you’re  covering your face with your palms. You don’t seem to be upset though because he can hear your muffled giggles.

You quickly remove your hands and face him. “I was sure I could do it, okay? You didn’t have to laugh that hard!” Despite the pout you show him, your eyes twinkle with levity as you hold his stare.

How the fuck you can you be so weird but still so pretty at the same time? 

No wonder you have the rest of them wrapped around your pretty little finger. You just flash them that delightful smile of yours and you completely have them under your spell.

But not him, of course. Definitely not him.

Also, he tries to convince himself, he didn’t think you were pretty at all.

He’s just looking from the perspective of his teammates on why they adore you so much. Nothing more, nothing else. 

To him, you’re still the irksome manager he knows you are. This set-up is just temporary. He’ll never forget how you really are - overbearing, cunning, and infuriating. This strangely charming  attitude you’re showing him is just because of the temporary ceasefire between the both of you, and this easy, comfortable atmosphere is just born out of necessity. When this project is finished, you’ll be back to the real you. So he shouldn’t be wasting his time reading into whatever’s happening between you two.

“Should we continue watching?” you ask him lightheartedly as you hug your knees again, softly leaning your head against them.

The nerve of you to ask that. You’re the one who disrupted the videos, not him. He should be the one berating you to get back to the project instead of you pleasantly asking him to continue where you left off. 

“You’re the one who interrupted the whole thing in the first place,” he spats rather than answering your question, wishing you’d retort with something stupid so he can go back loathing you silently.

Instead, you simper apologetically and mutter a timid, “My bad.”

Then you extend your arm to his laptop and rewind to where the video was before you distracted him with your audacious growling.

During the remainder of the videos, he glances every once in a while to check if you’re going to do something distracting again. Fortunately, (or unfortunately, he can’t tell anymore which is worse) you stay well-behaved and entirely focused on the documentary with your arms wrapped around your tucked legs tucked and your chin resting to your knee.

When the documentaries end, he pulls up the video he took with your phone from your crocodile farm trip. Compared to the produced output you’d just gone through, the amateur video he captured at the farm is evidently not as exciting to watch. The quality is not that great because his hand had been shaky while filming it. He remembered not looking at the screen of your phone while filming it because he had been looking at you. 

Rather than noticing that aspect of the video, you comment about the audio.  “I can’t hear anything from the breeding pen. I only hear my voice and Sara’s.”

He’s about to reason out that you’re talking non-stop but he immediately realizes that it’s not necessarily a bad thing because you were asking Sara questions related to the project at that time.

“I want to hear them growling,” you declare. 

“I’m not sure they even were. This is an artificial environment for crocodiles. Also, we’re a bit far from them,” he explains. 

You face scrunches up with disapproval. “Why didn’t you just zoom the camera in?”

His jaw drops from how appallingly dim-witted your question is. He’d think you were kidding but you look genuinely upset because you can’t hear the sounds you heard from the videos earlier. 

First of all, just like he said, they might not even be making sounds at all. Secondly, your phone, despite being a good model, wouldn’t be able to miraculously capture sounds even if he zoomed it outrageously close to the reptiles. Lastly and most importantly, are you actually that dumb?

He doesn’t even know how to condense all his thoughts properly and convey how revolted he is from the amount of brainlessness you can put in one simple question that’s less than ten words. 

Your eyes go wide when it finally hits you too.

“Oh God,” you mutter weakly as you put two palms to cover the lower half of your face. 

You two share the same expression of disgust as you realize how stupid you sounded while you hold his gaze. 

You press your lips together in a thin line then bust your gut out with an uproar laugh that fills your room. You tug the sleeve of his shirt as you look at him with glossy eyes.

“I’m a dunce,” you admit with trails of laughter still seeping from your voice.

“Glad to know I’m not the only one who thinks so,” he says with half-hearted insult as he’s still figuring out if he did something or is it your own stupidity that’s causing your outburst.

You bite your trembling lips in an attempt to fend off another laugh, but fails to do so when you clutch his arm tighter and another round of jovial laugh escapes from your mouth.

You try to form a phrase but it’s drowned out by your own cackles. Still, he catches on with what words you manage to utter. 

You are laughing at yourself. 

He always thought you liked making fun of others because you’re always simpering every time someone’s at your mercy -- those boys who relentlessly try to hit on you; any member of the team who gets flustered when you praise them; and him, especially him, who seems to be your personal favorite person to pick on. 

Yet, he’s never seen you this elated before, with your face scrunched up as you go hysterical from your own silliness. 

He can’t help but think that maybe he misunderstood you a little bit. You’re not actually a pompous bitch. You’re just a crackhead who finds joy in the littlest, most foolish things.

“I swear to God, Tsukishima. Our university is in ruin for making me a goddamn scholar.” You let go of his arm and sniffle while wiping your tears of joy.

When you look up to him, your face is glowing. Your cheeks are flushed, your eyes are gleaming at him effervescently, and your smile is not as annoying as it used to be. 

Objectively speaking, it’s similar to your usual ones, except it’s also totally different. He can’t really fully grasp why but there’s something about it that distinguishes it from all the others he’s seen from you.

He must have been peering at you more than necessary because your smile dissolves gradually while your mirthful expression turns into a puzzled one. 

You’ve been trying to ignore the thought, but Tsukishima is definitely acting weird today; weird because he’s not as mean as he usually is. 

Well, duh. You do have some sort of agreement for him to tone it down. Still, you didn’t expect he’d do it this well. Even when he was laughing at you earlier, it wasn’t as demeaning as it should have been.

And to make you even more puzzled, right now, he’s just staring blankly at you. 

Generally, Tsukishima’s empty glares at you are not really empty. They contain inhibited disdain which he has not failed to show you over the years you’ve been their manager. Even when he’s actually trying not to let it show, you still easily see through him. 

But at this moment, you have no idea what’s going on in his head. His eyes are studying you quietly and you return his stare, trying to figure out what he could possibly be thinking. 

You’re about to ask him what’s wrong but as soon as you open your mouth, a familiar glint surfaces on his face as his gaze drops on your lips.

If the latter parts of the previous meeting were awkward, this one goes beyond awkward.

There is an abrupt drop of weight that looms across the whole room, a weight so heavy that you find it difficult to breathe. The room is spacious enough for two, but you feel like it’s too cramped up all of a sudden. 

It’s an all too familiar feeling that you did not anticipate would ever come back. In fact, it should not be back at all. 

It is as exciting as it is terrifying when you realize: you want to kiss him. 

You previously justified your actions as something sort of a ‘one time madness’ and. until now, you were sure it was just that. It was a whim brought by his sudden closeness fueled by the atmosphere of the club at the time. 

You were wrong.

Even at this dull, academic setting with him barely even touching you, you itch to feel him close. You want to relive the feeling of his body pressed against yours and his lips latched fervidly onto yours. 

Damn it. He should stop staring at you like he wants the same thing. It’s tempting you even more to give in to the urge even though you know you’ll regret it later.

But no, you really can’t. Once was enough. Twice will be a different story. 

You had assured him and yourself that it wouldn’t happen again. If you cross that line now, you’re going to have to admit the irrevocable fact that you’re attracted to him. 

You let out a shaky breath as you avert your gaze from his. 

You’re about to replay the video when you hear a sudden thud on the floor. You look back at him with worry only to see his hand slammed against the floor as he swiftly lunges forward to close the gap between you and him. 

His free hand goes to your chin and tilts it up as he crashes his lips on yours.

It’s just as you remember - calm yet impassioned, successfully sweeping away any incertitude you had about kissing him. Your mind is only filled with how good he feels as he impatiently drags his hand to your waist and tugs you closer. 

You wrap an arm around his neck to completely eliminate whatever space is left between your bodies. You grasp the back of his head as you return his kiss with the same ardor, your mouths naturally cascading against one another with a rhythm you two can perfectly understand and follow without any words needed.

When he sneaks his tongue in, you begin to forget what he is to you outside the confines of this room as you helplessly moan into his mouth.

You can tell he’s not doing so well either with how tight he’s grasping the small of your back as the intensity of the kiss grows with each ticking second. 

“Tsukishima,” you puff heavily as you withdraw away from him with half-lidded eyes, the feel of his lips still lingering on yours. 

You hope that the soft call of his name will be the voice of reason for him to stop kissing you. He needs to stop for you’re totally powerless to do it yourself. He needs to stop before it escalates into something else, something more.

Thankfully, he does stop. 

He takes a deep breath as his eyes travel from your lips up to your eyes, meeting your gaze to study the entirety of your features. 

He thought you were going to ask him to stop, hence the conflicted tone of your voice when you said his name. But the look on your face tells him otherwise. 

You like this as much as he does. He didn’t want to admit it last time, but fucking hell. You really do make a complete mess of his rational thinking with how good you taste, how your determined eyes mellow down within his embrace, and how you yield right on the first touch of his lips. 

He knows he should stop. It’s the perfect chance to do so. It shouldn’t matter how soft and pliant you are when pressed against him. It shouldn’t matter that you look like you want him to continue wherever this leads to.

But it does. He doesn’t want to stop, and he knows neither do you.

He grits his teeth in annoyance as he hisses at you, “Shut up.” 

Just like he did a while ago, he easily covers the tiny distance between your lips. He gets a little more greedy this time and slides his hand underneath your shirt, experimenting with what he can do to earn him another whimper from you. He’d like to revel on the sound of your meekness once again. 

It didn’t really take much. At the first contact of his palm on the bare skin of your waist, you instantly give him what he wants. 

Your soft moan fills his ears that he doesn’t hear the sudden clack of the door. 

“Y/n, did you do our - oh!”

You violently tug his head past the curve of your shoulder, making him take out his hand from your shirt and ram it against the floor to support himself. 

“Couldn’t you knock?” you ask breathlessly to whoever’s on the door.

He tries to free himself from you but judging from  how firm your grip is on his head, it doesn’t look like you want him to move from his current position. It doesn’t help that you’re almost choking him from how hard you’re pressing his neck against your collar bone. 

“I can’t breathe!” he whispers infuriatingly, but you don’t answer. You only clutch on his hair tighter.

“My bad, dude. I didn’t know you got yourself a boyfriend,” your friend says defensively. 

Out of all the possible times she could choose to come over, it had to be when you and Tsukishima were making out. You’re a tiny bit grateful for being stopped when neither of you wanted to, but more embarrassed that it was because your friend walked in on the scene. 

“Can you come back later?” you ask almost nervously, concerned that she might recognize that it’s Tsukishima leaning against you. She knows him because they used to have classes together last semester.

Your friend just shrugs it off and is about to close the door when her eyes catch Tsukishima’s jacket. Her eyes widen in shock when she sees the logo of the Sendai Frogs. 

“Holy shit! Are you dating one of your players?” She looks back at you incredulously. 

“Get out!” you yell out from agitation. 

She flinches from the sudden raise of your voice but is quick to understand that you need the privacy right now. “Okay, okay. I got it,” she mutters apologetically and whispers, “Sorry,” before she finally shuts the door.

You let out a sigh of relief when she leaves without figuring out that it was Tsukishima. As for him, he tears your hand away and faces you with fury seeping from his orbs. 

“Were you trying to kill me?!”

You dismiss his anger and regard him impassively. “Then would you have preferred your face being seen?”

“So what? It’s not like she knows me,” he leans forward towards you a bit to emphasize his point with the same angry tone.

With his face too close for comfort, you suddenly become aware of the fact that you’re still trapped between the arms planted on both sides of you. 

“Um, can you back off for a bit?” You turn away tensely, worried that you might want an encore of what your friend interrupted if you continue staring at him from this distance.

“Huh?” He sounds like he has no idea what you’re talking about so you place both hands on his chest to softly push him away.

He must have realized it then because he lifts himself off of you and sits back to upright. 

You try to settle down but to no avail. Your heart is still beating abnormally, despite being now  rid of your nosy friend and his dangerous proximity. The deafening silence rings in your ears and the air feels heavy again, your mind drifting dangerously back to the earlier events.

“This is your fault,” Tsukishima mumbles with a frown. 

You gasp at his audacity. “Excuse me? You’re the one who kissed me!” 

“Because you ...” he trails off before he could say what was going on in his head: because you looked so damn fascinating that he caved to his want for a repeat of that night. So it really is your fault. If you hadn’t kissed him back then, he wouldn’t have found out how exquisite it feels to have you succumb to him. Then, he wouldn’t have been tempted to kiss you at all. 

Shit. He sounds stupid, justifying his own reckless behavior. 

He looks down at your waist which he was just touching. If your friend hadn’t barged in, how far will you two have gone? 

He shudders at the thought. No. There was absolutely no fucking way you two would’ve done that. He won’t be able to stomach it if that happens. You might have been tolerable today, but that doesn’t mean he can stand the idea of going beyond making out with you. 

Did he just admit to himself that he doesn’t mind kissing you? 

“Because I what?” you ask him with an addled look. 

“Nothing,” he answers as he starts fixing his stuff. 

“Hey, what’re you doing? We still need to do a comparison write-up for the videos,” you say,  watching him pack up. 

“Let’s just pick up where we left off when we meet again.” He can’t be around you any longer today. You’re causing too much havoc to his usually sensible mindspace. 

“Aren’t we going to talk about what just happened?”

Not bothering to heed your question, he continues what he’s doing. After he puts the only remaining binder he has out back in his bag, he faces you. 

“No,” is his answer before he slings his bag over his shoulder and leaves your room. 

--

Damn that Tsukishima. 

As if you don’t have enough on your plate already, he adds another massive one on the pile. You wish you can just disregard it, push it at the back of your head like you did the first time. But you can’t. 

You were supposed to study the Lion’s new line, but you just end up zoning out every five minutes as the scene replays in your head. You even transferred to the lobby even though you hated working there just for a change of pace.

It turned out useless as people you know kept on stopping by for small chats. You couldn’t focus on the game footages which needs your full concentration to analyze.

So there you are, restless and distraught,  as you enter the gym with no printed output because you hadn’t accomplished anything at all.

Not that they need it today but you just generally like to have them ready in advance. You know your team. Almost everyone has their day jobs or are students like you. You don’t want to spring a hell load of reading material on them days away from the game. 

On top of that, you’re lagging behind the schedule you set for your project with the Tsukishima. No thanks to him for walking out the past two meetings.

“Do you have the profile of the Lions ready?” Coach Mira asks first thing when you get to her side. 

Great. Just great. You were hoping no one brings it up, but of course Coach has to. You did tell her you’d have it prepared by today.

“Sorry, Coach. I’ll have them ready by next training,” you quickly compromise for your setback. 

She swiftly turns to you with concern. “Are you sick?”

“Oh, no. I’m totally fine, Coach. Just had something to do last night,” you lie despite the guilt in your gut. The last time you were late with the team reports was when you became extremely sick. This time it’s because of some blonde guy that’s somewhere across the gym.

She breathes a relieved sigh. “Thank God. I don’t really mind them being not as early as usual. I just don’t want our trusted manager getting sick.”

Her small compliment makes you feel a bit better. “Thanks, Coach.” You give her a faint smile.

“Alright, can you toss to the spikers?”

You nod and quickly turn around, only to see the cause of your delayed work blocking your path. Typically, you’d say something but you’re too bothered with what happened that you just move sideways to avoid him. However, he moves in the same direction you do. So you go the opposite way again, only for him to follow. 

At this point, you couldn’t suppress the dry laugh that comes from how spectacularly ironic the scene is. 

You look up to him. “Tsukishima,” you call out as you give him that too sweet of a grin he hates so much. “I’d appreciate it if you use those blocking skills on the court instead of me, hmm?”

This is the you Tsukishima is very much aware of - detestable to the core. Yet, on top of his annoyance is relief. It’s reassuring to see that you’re still very much the manager he knows you are, not the somehow tolerable person he made out with last time.

So instead of answering, he does the usual and turns deaf ears at you. While you’re sneering at him, he moves further to the side and successfully gets past you. 

He’d tell you about his fix for the current dilemma you two are having, but with Coach within earshot, he’d rather not. He doesn’t want anyone, especially the team, knowing that you’re spending some time alone with him, let alone getting physical with him. He’ll never hear the end of it from them, so he’ll just text you later. 

--

You can’t believe Tsukishima actually suggested doing the project at their home. You don’t think he’s the kind of person who invites classmates to their house just because of school work. It is hard to imagine him introducing people to whoever he’s living with, let alone you.

Maybe they’re gone for the day. That’s why he invited you over. 

You ring the doorbell of the address he gave you. Quite soon enough, another tall blonde person opens the door. He must be another Tsukishima - a nice Tsukishima with a pleasant face that looks nothing like the permanent nonchalance plastered on the face of your middle blocker. 

“Yes?” the pleasant Tsukishima asks. 

You greet him with a warm smile. When you ask for the other Tsukishima you’re going to work with, his face noticeably lights up. “You’re looking for Kei?” he asks softly but with audible excitement. 

“Um, yeah. He asked me to come.” You’re very curious as to why he looks so pleased, but it’d be rude to ask him upfront when you just met him.

Before the guy in front of you can even answer, you already hear the voice of the one you’re looking for. 

“Let her in, Nii-chan.”

Nii-chan? Oh my God. That’s the cutest thing ever! You didn’t think Tsukki’s the kind of guy to address his older sibling like that. 

“I’m Akiteru by the way,” the older Tsukishima introduces himself as he opens the door for you.

“Y/n. here,” you respond delightfully then give him a gracious bow before entering. 

As you remove your shoes upon stepping inside, you already see Tsukki seated in the living room with his stuff set up. You don’t know if he’s started working on the project but he’s already focused on his laptop.  

You would've made yourself feel at home, but this is not solely his place. You don’t want to be impolite. 

“You can go join him, Y/n. I’ll go to my room now,” Akiteru kindly tells you and turns around. 

“Wait,” you blurt out.

He faces your way again. “Yeah?”

“Can I call you Aki-san? I don’t want to confuse you when I say ‘Tsukishima.’” 

He gently holds both your hands and pulls them up as he clasps them together with his.

“You can call me Aki-nii-chan if you want,” he says with a hopeful look on his face. You can tell he’s got the completely wrong idea about you and Tsukishima, which confirms your earlier assumption.

Yet instead of being uncomfortable, you find yourself amused. Tsukishima must have never brought a girl home before, thus the excitement and false assumption from Akiteru. 

“I think I like Aki-san better,” you respond respectfully, hoping that you don’t have to spell it out for him.

“Stop it. She’s just a classmate,” you hear Tsukishima say.

Akiteru lets go of your hand and laughs apologetically. “Sorry about that. I’ll leave you two alone now.” He smiles briefly at you and heads upstairs.

You walk towards Tsukishima and sit beside him. “What were you thinking inviting me over?” you instantly ask. You know he must already be aware of the possibility that his relatives would very likely  assume things, which was just proven true by Akiteru.

“As much I despise the idea of having you here, this is better than being in your place,” he says with his attention still on his laptop.

“How so?” You glance at his laptop and see that he’s working on a different subject than the one you have together. When notices it, he closes the tabs and faces you.

“We’re not completely alone here. We won’t get unwelcome urges.”

Oh dear Lord. So that’s what this is about. He thinks that being alone with you is the cause of it.

“I hate to remind you this, Tsukishima, but the first time we kissed was in the middle of a club packed with people. It’s not the place that’s the issue,” you emphasize the last sentence.

Before you went there, you decided to just accept the fact that you and Tsukishima have this uncanny attraction towards each other. The last meeting’s events were proof of that. Instead of getting all worked up trying to deny it or disregard it as something else, you just acknowledge it for what it really is. 

“Then what is?” Unlike you, he seems to entirely shut out the disturbing conclusion you came up with. That’s why he decided to meet here instead of your place despite whatever his family might think.

Too bad for him though, you’re about to break the news to him.

“We’re attracted to each other,” you declare without any reluctance.

“No,” he quickly rejects the notion. “I don’t care what you feel about me, but I am not in any way attracted to you,” he says every word with solid conviction that you’re not sure if it’s meant to convince you or himself.

“Right. Why did you kiss me last time then?” you counter.

“Whatever the reason is, that doesn’t mean I’m attracted to you. I tolerate you when we’re not in the gym. That’s the extent of what I feel for you.”

You sigh as you rub your face with your palms. “Why do you have to be such a fucking tsundere, Tsukki? I’m doing this for the both of us.”

His face contorts to one that’s filled with utter displeasure. “How the hell is this beneficial for us?”

“Hear me out and think about it before you say ‘no’ again,” you begin. “I think we should just give in to this weird thing going on between us.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You’re starting to get annoyed at this point. His denial of the situation is making him stupid. Does he think this is easy for you? You don’t want this either. But what can you do? The thick, unmistakable attraction is there.

For fuck’s sake, do you really have to spoonfeed it to him?

“Tsukishima Kei,” you let out one heavy puff before you say it. “You’re allowed to kiss me when it’s just the two of us,” you announce.

You’ve never felt more offended than when he looks utterly disgusted at your proposal. 

“Your head’s way too big from all the moronic ideas you're stuffing in it. Just because I initiated it last time doesn’t mean I want to do it again,” he utters each word with unrepressed contempt that makes you feel humiliated for suggesting such a thing.

You’re not a sensitive person. You can easily laugh off whatever anyone throws your way. Especially with Tsukishima since you know much he dislikes you. But that one - that one hurt. 

You shake your head and start taking out your stuff. “You’re right. It was a moronic idea. So forget I even suggested it,” you say while setting up your laptop on the table. 

You can’t stand the repugnant look on his face so you keep your eyes in front of you even if your laptop is still booting up.

“Let’s just do what we should be doing. Sorry, I wasted our time with my stupidity.” You don’t want to, but now you’re starting to really feel sorry for yourself. 

It shouldn’t be new or surprising to you. This is Tsukishima. His personality is terrible as hell. Yet, you wouldn’t mind a few kisses from him every now and then. You bared yourself just now by admitting that. 

Tsukishima must be so pleased you finally shut up because you don’t hear anything from him. You’re thankful for it because you don’t want to talk either.

Instead of dwelling on self-loathing, you distract yourself by giving your all to the project at hand. You’re already behind schedule so all the more reason to be efficient. 

No one speaks while you completely lose yourself on your tasks for the day. You don't know how long you’ve been going at it but before you even know it, you’re almost done with your share of work for the day. 

You just need Tsukishima’s output to finish yours.

With your head occupied with the amount of work you need to get done, you easily got over the tiny pang you felt earlier. You turn to Tsukishima and ask him for his write up. 

He frowns at your request. “You’re done already?”

You nod. “Just need your thingy then I can go home.”

He checks your laptop to see for himself and scowls when he confirms that you really are almost done.

“Give me 30 minutes,” he says as he begins rushing his own work.

“Don’t rush it, Tsukishima. I can do other stuff while I wait for you. Also, if you don’t mind. Do you have coffee?” You can feel the exhaustion begin to set in your body. For the past four nights, you’ve been getting three to fours of sleep only. 

As the only manager of the Frogs, you constantly have to move around the gym to help them out. But unlike the players, your real work is outside the gym - sorting paperwork, gathering information about other teams, coordinating practice matches, and so on. On top of that, you have your academic subjects to deal with.

You’re honestly used to it. But being a graduating student this semester, things are tougher for you. Not to mention the shit with Tsukishima, which has been bothering you for the past few nights. 

Well, at least that one’s been dealt with already.

You must have spaced out because you did not notice Tsukishima leave, and are surprised when he’s suddenly beside you with a cup of coffee already at hand. 

“Did you put sugar?” You might have sounded a bit demanding, but you’re too tired to be polite.

“No. Did you want some?” he asks back.

You get the mug and take that first sip of coffee that wakes up your almost dead body. “No, this is perfect,” you comment with a weary smile as you replace the current doc file open with the draft of the Lions’ profile you’ve been working on. 

Tsukishima can’t help but look at you once in a while even though he needs to finish already so you can finalize yours as well.

You’re completely immersed in what you’re doing, taking the cup of coffee to your mouth every now and then without even taking your eyes off your screen. 

He thought you’re getting restless but the quickening clack of your keyboard is proving otherwise. In fact, it’s becoming distracting. He’s about to put his headphones on so he can concentrate on his own task when he hears the abrupt slowing down of your typing. What’s alarming is he starts hearing you take excruciatingly deep breaths that wavers when you let them out. 

One look at you and he knows that you’re not okay. You’re blinking way too fast and the corners of your mouth are almost drooping. Those and your uneven breathing is enough to cause him to worry. 

He grabs your shoulder and forces you to look at him. “Oy, what’s wrong with you?”

You look at him with no clue as to what he’s talking about. “Hmm?”

The lack of life in your orbs is very concerning. It’s nothing compared to how you looked like when you were dead beat on the way home from the crocodile farm. 

“Are you having hard time breathing?” 

“Oh, that,” you let out a laugh that seems to contain the last strand of energy you have. “I’m just palpitating. Sorry if it’s distracting. You should go put your headphones on,” you say with a dead tone as you start picking up the pace again on what you’re doing. 

Just palpitating? Jesus Christ. 

He quickly takes away your coffee and slides it to his side of the table. It immediately catches your attention, your eyes absent-mindedly following the cup. “Hey, that’s my coffee. I need that,” you weakly complain.

“You need to rest,” he contradicts you. 

“I don’t need rest. I need to finish this and for me to finish this, I need,” you involuntarily inhale sharply and release it heavily before you complete your sentence, “that coffee.”

He checks your laptop and finds a comprehensive report on the updated line up of the Hiashi Automotive Lions. For someone who looks like she’s about to faint, it’s consistent with the other reports you’ve given the team previously - organized and well done. 

“You’re almost done here. Go take a nap.”

“Why would I take a nap if I’m almost done?” Despite the exhaustion evident in your whole being, you’re still determined to continue working. 

“You look like you’re about to pass out and I don’t want to take care of you when you do. So take a fucking nap on the couch,” he snaps. He didn’t mean to sound that harsh but it’s really getting on his nerves how you’re almost killing yourself with overworking.

You stare at him vacantly for a short while but do what he said. You drag yourself towards the couch and lazily lie yourself on it.

You cross your arms and rest them on the cushioned surface. Then, you snuggle your head on top of your arms as you wiggle your legs to a comfortable position. 

“You can use the pillows” he informs you.

“I’m fine,” you mutter with your eyes already shut. 

As much as he wants to get things done as fast as he can, your uneven heaving is a cause of concern. He keeps glancing behind him to check if you’re okay.

If he knew you’d be like this, he wouldn’t have given you the damn coffee.

He’s only able to start focusing on the project when your breathing becomes steady. Still, it took him more than 30 minutes to finish. He looks over to where you are again and calls out your name. However, you don’t even move an inch.

He walks towards the couch and sits at the unoccupied space by your waist. From this distance, he can see that your features are a bit more relaxed now even with just less than an hour of sleep.

He’s certain that you’ve been overworking yourself. It’s only because of your stubbornness that you were able to pull off the things you accomplished tonight. 

He’d let you rest a bit more longer but it’s going to get too late for you to go home on your own if he does. So he places a hand on your arms and gently shakes it.

“Mmmmm,” you hum on the arm you’re leaning at before slowly opening your eyes. With heavy lids, you plant your hand on the cushion and forcefully prop yourself up. Yet when you manage to sit up, you rest your head on your shoulder and close your eyes again.

“2 minutes,” you mumble sleepily.

He watches you fight the drowsiness that’s completely settled in. Instead of complaining when you still haven’t snapped out of it, he moves to sit beside you. He puts a gentle hand on the side of your head and softly tugs you to lean on his shoulder.

The moment your temple touches his shoulder, you bolt right up. His unexpected action has sucked the sleepiness out of you for a moment as you begin to put your guard up.

“I’m up. I’m up,” you announce in an alert manner as you scoot away from him. You frantically rub your eyes to get them to open.

So he isn’t imagining it: what he said a while ago got to you. Else, you wouldn’t have moved away like you’re allergic to his touch. You had been unusually quiet after he lashed out at you, but can you blame him for doing so? You’re basically saying that it’s okay to make out when it’s just you two. It’s fucking ridiculous. You should be thinking about how to avoid the situation from happening again, not succumb to it.

So why does he feel like a dick for calling you a moron? And why is he upset now that you’re actually doing what he wants you to do? Also, how the fuck are you so charming even when you’re half asleep before him?

“Are you done with yer stuff?” you slur as you crack your neck side to side.

“Yeah. But you should go home already.”

You blink several times as you check the wall clock across the room for the time. “Okay. Just e-mail it to me so I can do it before our next meeting.”

“No. Focus on your other shit then continue it when we meet next time,” he sternly says.

“We’re already behind schedule, Tsukishima. Just send it to me,” you insist despite how faint your voice is.

“I said no.” He doesn’t dislike you enough to make you overwork yourself to death. 

You close your eyes again and shake your head in surrender. “Fine. I’m too tired to argue further.”

Just when you’re about to stand up, he grabs your arm to stop you. Your eyes open up as you peer at him with confusion.

“I didn’t mean what I said earlier,” he utters with his best attempt to sound unbothered. 

Your brows crumple up from his statement that came out of nowhere. He just hopes that your fatigued self figures out what he’s referring to because he doesn’t want to elaborate on it. 

Sure enough, a palpable glint of understanding shows in your face when your mouth opens to form a silent “ah.”

“That, huh?” You respond just as vaguely as he had been. “Don’t worry about it,” you come up with a thrifty smile as you return your gaze to him.

“You were right anyways. It is a moronic idea. I just thought that maybe if we just let it ride out, it’ll pass. But meh. I just misread it and thought you enjoyed it as much as I do,” you explain in a nonchalant manner despite the confession that came along with it in the end.

Then, you giggle disorientedly. “You can rest easy now, Tsukishima. These disgusting lips of mine won’t come anywhere near you again, mkay?” 

He should be relieved, rejoicing even, that he’s pushed you away enough to keep your distance from him.

Yet what you said is gnawing at him for he didn’t say that. He never said your lips are disgusting.

Admittedly, he regrets kissing you on both occasions that it happened, but he’s never thought of it as disgusting.

Infuriating, yes, but not disgusting. 

“I’ll go fix my stuff now,” you say.

“They’re not disgusting,” he utters before you get off the couch. 

You look at him with vacant eyes that have begun to droop heavily again as a yawn comes out of you. You cover your mouth with your hands then lazily drop them to your lap afterwards.

You open your eyes and try to focus your sight again.

“Sorry, I conked out for like three seconds. Did you say something?” 

On a regular day, he’d think that you’re messing with him so he’ll repeat what he said. But the exhaustion still evident on your face convinces him that you really didn’t hear what he said. 

“Yeah,” he responds flatly before he leans closer to your face. He tilts his head a bit to the side and gently captures the warm softness of your lips.

The kiss lacks the heated intensity the previous two had. It is just one tender nip where he lingers just a tad bit longer to savor the taste of coffee mixed with your own.

He slowly withdraws from you but remains only an inch away that he still feels your breath mingling with his. 

“Your lips aren’t disgusting,” he repeats for you to hear this time.

Part 3 || Part 5 || masterlist

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[7cypher]

Tied Together | 02

The last thing you needed when you had a demanding daughter and job was a divorce made difficult by your husband. Luckily for you, Min Yoongi—Seoul’s top divorce lawyer—stepped in to save the day. Well, more or less.

▸ PAIRING: Min Yoongi x Reader

▸ RATING & GENRE: PG-15 ; Angst, Fluff, Divorce Lawyer AU, Marriage AU

▸ WORD COUNT: 10,079 words

▸ A/N: Aaaah okay so I definitely enjoyed writing this part more. I hope you like the read and, if there are any questions/thoughts, feel free to message me! Disclaimer again that I have zero proper knowledge about law!!

▸ WARNING: Brief drunken cheating scene.

Part One | Part Two

Yoongi carefully made his way up. He was definitely in over his head. What the hell was he doing? He always made sure to steer clear of the messy, intimate parts of a divorce, yet here he was volunteering to fix pieces of it. He barely knew the little girl, had only spoken to her briefly once or twice and she had regarded him with such cool, calculating eyes that he felt threatened.

Knocking lightly on the door, he waited to see if she would respond. As expected though, none came. He creaked the door open slowly and peeked inside, “Mia, it’s Yoongi.” She still granted him no reply, even when he stepped in and found her bundled up with a blanket over her head. He observed how the cloth seemed to tremble and wondered again—what the hell was he doing? “Hey, can I talk to you?”

“Don’t want to,” she mumbled, still hidden from sight where she was a mound of cloth on the bed.

“Look, your mom—” he paused, taking a deep breath “—she’s been through a lot. I haven’t known her for long but I know that she’s been struggling plenty with everything that has been going on.”

“Don’t wanna hear it,” Mia said, voice muffled through the layers.

Yoongi bit on his bottom lip. This was probably an indication that he should’ve stopped, should’ve never stepped foot in the room in the first place. But his conscience had been pulling on the strings of his mind, urging him to pay attention. “She loves you a lot, Mia,” he added softly, “she didn’t want you to be hurt from all this so I’m sure it was hard for her to tell you.”

The fortress broke open with a whip of the blanket, revealing a red-faced ten-year-old that somehow still managed to scare Yoongi shitless. He backed away slightly and coughed awkwardly, trying to maintain his composure. He couldn’t believe he was feeling this disconcerted due to a child.

“But she should’ve told me!” she snarled, “that’s why I’m mad at mommy.”

“Well, um—your mommy was going to tell you but she was scared, yeah, she didn’t want you to be mad at her. That’s maybe why she held off on telling you.”

Mia narrowed his eyes at him, gaze almost piercing even in the dim lighting of the room. Her lips curled sourly as her glance darted away from him. He almost breathed a sigh of relief. She sighed quietly, “That makes sense.”

This kid really was petrifying, it’s no wonder even Namjoon always spoke so highly of her. “Yes, so I hope you’ll forgive your, uh, mommy. She’s really… sad.”

“I know,” she pouted, “but I’m still mad.”

Well, Yoongi didn’t have a solution to that. He did his best.

“Are you her boyfriend?” she asked curiously, tilting her head. Her eyes were suddenly bright with life, with assessment. He wanted to pee his pants.

“Uh, no,” he gulped, “I’m her lawyer, the one helping her deal with the divorce.”

Mia seemed to mull over this for a few seconds before shrugging, “I think you’d suit her better than my dad ever did.”

Holy shit. This was definitely way out of his comfort zone. Time to leave. “Uh—”

“But okay,” she huffed, “I understand. But I’m just going to stay in my room and make her think I’m still mad for a little while. That’s what she gets for keeping this from me.”

Fucking terrifying. This kid was a devil trapped into a child’s body and Yoongi was dead scared in that moment that he was going to be possessed too. There was a wiseness to her words, a mature cadence to her voice that made her seem older than she actually was. Like everyone has been telling him, Mia was a clever one.

Still, he couldn’t help but crack a smile at her. “You’re an evil little thing.”

“I take after the best,” she grinned right back, a malicious sparkle in her eyes.

“Alright, get some sleep and please talk to your mom in the morning okay?”

“Okay,” she nodded, tucking herself underneath the blankets.

Yoongi felt something aligning with pride blossom in his chest. He did a good thing, the right thing. He made his way to the door for an escape, but not before hearing a quiet “thank you” to which he simpered at on his own.

When the man returned after spending an excruciating number of minutes upstairs, you nearly leapt off your seat. “What did she say?” you asked, eyes pleading.

“Everything’s fine,” he assured you, choosing not to let you in on the secret Mia had disclosed to her plans, “she’s getting some sleep now but she should speak to you tomorrow.”

You let out a sigh of relief—this was the first bit of good news and, despite it not being the most significant, it was enough to assuage some of your worry. “Thank you, Yoongi. I really can’t thank you enough.”

“It’s no problem,” he said then adding, “maybe I should work for family therapy, I seem to be pretty good at this.”

His joke had you giggling lightly. “Not too late for a change in profession, Min.”

He smirked, “I’ll consider it. I should get going though, it’s late and I think we all need the rest tonight. Give me a call whenever you have time again and I’ll squeeze you into my schedule.”

“Will do,” you nodded, “thank you again. Let me know yeah when you get back?” He seemed surprised by the request, the reaction obvious in the slight widening of his eyes. You blushed slightly, unsure why you were so embarrassed by your demand, “Just so I know you’re safe.”

Yoongi’s lips twitched but he nodded nevertheless. “I’ll do that. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Yoongi.”

The following morning found you obsessively preparing a breakfast good enough to suit kings and queens. You had cooked up all of Mia’s favorites, an unconscious effort to hopefully conciliate with your daughter. Mia tended to be stubborn, has been known to hold grudges against those who wronged her, and you could only hope that you weren’t one of them.

When she came down, your body’s first instinct was to tense nervously. “Morning, Mia,” you greeted, hoping your voice wasn’t shaking as much as your insides were.

“Morning, Mom,” she yawned, “what’s for breakfast?”

“You can take your pick,” you said, finishing up the last of the pancakes and setting it along with the rest of the feast on the table.

Your eyes met and you found what you could only call devious glee. “You really didn’t have to do all this,” she huffed, but sat down and began to eat without complaints. You were thankful that she was at least speaking to you and exhaled the heaviness in your heart. “And,” she started again, mouth full of eggs, “I’m sorry for screaming at you last night. That’s not polite of me.”

You nearly wept, you really did raise her well enough. “It’s alright, and I’m sorry too for not telling you.”

“Your lawyer explained it to me and made me understand,” she nodded proudly, “I like him. He’s smart.”

Oh, that was new. You bit back a smile. “Yeah? You like Yoongi?”

“Yep,” she said, “maybe once you divorce dad you can date him instead.”

“Mia!”

Your company held an annual summer gala—a fancy shindig to reward some employees and invite the press, inducing good marketing while also allowing time for clients to mingle. It was a good opportunity to do some PR and get to know more companies in the industry. Of course, being one of the heads of the conglomerate, you had the chance to invite some of your closest peers and acquaintances.

Namjoon had been on the list ever since you could get your hands on it along with a few other tight friends whom you treasured dearly. However, this year, you figured it wouldn’t hurt to invite Yoongi as well. He had become a friend, after all, and he was also Namjoon’s friend so that would be another excuse to add him to the guest list.

Set in a large ballroom in a hotel downtown, the event was magnificently planned. You had spent the last two months stressing over the tiniest details, driving your own secretary to the brink of her sanity. But all your hard work and tears paid off when you saw the splendid venue. Guests were drifting across the floors, plates of scrumptious dinners in hand from the buffet catered only from the best restaurants. The hall seemed to light up brilliantly, shimmering with the hypnotic white light.

“You did good,” Namjoon nudged your shoulder with his own, a dimpled grin on his face. “I think you’ve outdone yourself.”

“That’s what you say every year,” you laughed, “but thank you, I’m glad you appreciate my taste in decor.”

“You know I got you, babe,” Namjoon winked.

You crinkled your nose at him, “Well, thank you also for making time to come. I know your days have been jam packed and I’m glad to see a familiar face.”

“Uncle Namjoon!” Mia chirped, running on her little legs, her glittery blue dress swaying around her legs. She launched herself around Namjoon’s ridiculously long limbs and he was quick to crouch down to embrace her in a tight hug. “I missed you,” she gushed.

“Missed you too, little monster,” he flicked her nose playfully. Ever since he heard you use the apt nickname, he couldn’t help but pick it up. “Have you been behaving for mommy?”

“Mhm!” she nodded.

“And classes?”

She held up a finger, “Number one!”

Namjoon beamed, “That’s my girl. Here, a present, don’t give it to your mom okay.” He held out an envelope and she practically glowed at the sight.

“Namjoon!” you chided but it was too late, Mia was already squealing, thanking him and running off knowing full well that you would take it out of her hands to return it to the man. Namjoon didn’t look the least bit shameful over his actions and instead said that she deserved it. “I can’t believe you’re bribing my child into liking you.”

“Babe, you and I both know bribery isn’t needed for that. I’m naturally charming,” Namjoon huffed.

“That’s a moot point.” This time it was another voice that had you and Namjoon turning away from the stage.

Wow. Yoongi had cleaned up for the event and you were somewhat pleased—no, scratch that—you were very pleased with the result. His bangs were slightly parted, revealing a hint of his forehead and his dangerous eyebrows. He donned a classic black suit ornamented with weaves of patterns that reflected light every time he shifted. Layering the jacket over a crisp white shirt tucked into black slacks, he also had slipped on a bowtie that worked very well with him. His ears—holy shit—he had piercings and had slipped on very small hoops. They worked very, very well with him.

You kicked away the sudden heat bubbling in your stomach and spreading all through your body. Licking your lips, you tried to hide the desire warming up your cheeks behind your flute of champagne.

He nodded in greeting to you, “Thanks for inviting me.”

“It’s my pleasure,” you brightened in return, “thank you for coming, it’s a good chance to finally come out of that office of yours. God knows Heechul can’t stand the smell anymore.”

At that, Yoongi scowled with a roll of his eyes. “Heechul can put up with it considering he’s spilled coffee on my shirt this week. Twice.”

You laughed, “I think you’ve scared him into oblivion. You should lighten up on him.”

“He definitely seems to have taken a liking towards you,” he nodded thoughtfully. Then he looked around, seeming to look for something or someone. “Where’s Mia? Thought she’d be around you.”

You waved it off then picked up a glass of wine from a waiter walking past and offered it to him. The last time you invited Yoongi over, he had refused a drink, calling champagne a disgrace to the alcoholic beverages category, but had reluctantly accepted when you insisted on wine instead. He thanked you and waited for your response. “Most of my colleagues are familiar with her so she tends to be here and there, burn off all that energy before the gala is done.”

He smirked, toasting his glass, “Smart.”

Namjoon eyed your interaction with great interest, tilting his own glass to let the fizzy liquid flow down his throat. “Didn’t know you two were that close.”

“Yoongi is around the house from time to time when we can’t meet in either of our offices. Mia sees him a lot too, seems to like him now,” you grinned.

“Mia? Liking someone other than me? Unheard of,” Namjoon gasped dramatically.

“She’s widening her horizons,” you noted proudly. The event planner made her way over to you, whispered something about someone uninvited causing a ruckus outside. There were always event crashers, usually drunk, usually manageable so it was surprising for her to come up to you. Judging by the look of discomfort on her face, you decided it would be best for you to handle it personally. “If you excuse me, gentlemen, I have to tend to another matter. But please, enjoy the food and beverages, I’ll see you both later.”

You followed the woman down a hallway outside of the ballroom and into another room where you could hear screaming from the other side. The last thing you expected when you went through the doors was for Sungjae to be standing in the room. Security was there attempting to hold him down, but it was clear that, in his inebriated state, he wasn’t having any of it.

“Sungjae.” The name slipped out almost instinctively. He looked up, halting his efforts in the battle in the process.

“Baby,” he grinned, a cloud of impairment glazing over his eyes.

“It’s fine,” you gestured for the men to stop and turned to the event planner. “I’ll take care of it from here, please ensure everything else goes undisturbed.” She looked a bit hesitant at your order, but nodded and signaled for the men to follow her out, leaving you alone with the man who was then staring at you.

It really was heartbreaking to see him in this state. His hair was disheveled, suit crinkled, a dark bottle in hand that he lifted to take another swig of. Gritting your teeth, you snatched the beverage from his hand and glared, “That is enough, Sungjae.”

“I haven’t finished that,” he growled, fire igniting in his irises.

“Enough, you’re being disrespectful to me and the company right now.”

“That’s right,” he drawled sarcastically, “you missed an invite, didn’t you?”

Every year, Sungjae has been invited as your date to the gala. Everyone’s grown accustomed to seeing him there, so acclimated to it that you had received plenty of inquisition about his whereabouts that night. You looked at him with concern, “You haven’t been home in nearly a month, Sungjae. I just assumed you wouldn’t be coming.”

“Seem to do a lot of that, don’t you? Assume,” he spat out mockingly.

“Sungjae, please. Look I’ll get someone to take you home, okay? We can talk about this—”

“How’re the divorce papers?” he smirked instead, plopping down on an empty couch and patting the spot next to him.

You ignored his invite and instead sighed, aggravated. “They’re going. You know you won’t win anything from this, right? You’re just wasting your time.”

“Trust me, baby,” he said with a curl of his lips, “I have all the time in the world. You’re the one who brought this on, why should I make it easy for you?”

What happened to him? You didn’t understand how much a man could change in a span of a few months with only one trigger to set it off. It was as if all hell that had been trapped inside him had broken loose the second he was released from his job. A part of you felt some form of culpability. Maybe you hadn’t been aware of all of his struggles, of his troubled thoughts. Maybe if you had been more curious and less caught up in everything that was you, you would’ve noticed and prevented all of this.

It took two to tango. You weren’t completely blameless in the downward spiral of your relationship either. Somewhere along the way, you had somehow lost that passion you once believed you had for him—and in turn lost all your faith in him.

“Sungjae, please, let’s just get this settled quickly. For both our sakes and Mia’s.”

“Don’t bring her into this,” he growled, “you know well that you would be given full custody of her. You dare bring her into this? You’re taking her away from me!”

“I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t deem it necessary! Don’t even try to deny it. This wouldn’t have happened in the first place if you didn’t start it.”

Sungjae sneered, “You think the entire fucking world spins around you, that you’re playing the martyr in this case. But we both know better than that.”

“I’m not trying to antagonize you in any way. I just want the best for her,” you snapped, “that’s what you should want to. You’re her father.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t want her to grow up without a father.”

You laughed in disbelief, “You think this is fatherhood? Your absence being so frequent that Mia doesn’t even ask anymore. Do you think it’s easy for me? Do you really think I’m happy to see our daughter not give a single flying fuck that her father isn’t around anymore?”

Something flashed in his eyes, something you hoped to be fear and remorse, but you couldn’t quite tell. The flicker disappeared as quickly as it had materialized. Before he could retort, the door opened and Yoongi stepped in. God, no. This wasn’t good. You could feel the fear creeping into your voice when he made his way over to the two of you. “Yoongi—”

“Really?” Sungjae directed this towards you instead, laughing bitterly, “Divorce isn’t even settled and you’ve already replaced me?”

“Jesus Christ,” you snarled at him, “he’s my fucking lawyer for God’s sake, Sungjae.”

Sungjae disregarded your words completely, instead standing to size up Yoongi. It was the stance he had taken even in college whenever he felt particularly threatened by another presence. It was familiar and it was childish. The man was wobbling with his buzzing mind, but he didn’t seem to care as he stumbled over to your friend.

“I think that’s enough,” Yoongi muttered then glanced towards you, his gaze briefly scanning over you to ensure that you were unharmed. “I hope you don’t mind my interruption. Namjoon was getting worried and I went to check on you. This wasn’t what I was expecting.”

“It’s fine,” you pressed your lips together. You weren’t pleased that Yoongi had shown up, but it was mainly due to the fact that your husband was behaving like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

“Sir, if you could kindly follow me out, we can settle this carefully. You don’t want to make your case worse for you,” Yoongi advised calmly, reaching for the man only for him to bat his hand away.

Sungjae jeered, his eyes turning as it to ridicule Yoongi’s attempt, “Piss off. Are you threatening me?”

“I am not, but I am her lawyer and I won’t hesitate to take this into court should it escalate.”

Your husband glared at you instead, pointing his finger accusingly at you. “Can’t fuckin’ believe you’re already doing this,” he barked.

“Sungjae, Christ, it’s not like that,” you muttered, “can you stop being a child for two seconds? Listen to him. I don’t want things to be worse for you. What would the judge say? Do you think they would even want to give you time to see Mia if this gets brought into the settlement?”

His eyes turned manic then, as if fear was fluttering through his system at breakneck speed. He swallowed, backing away from the two of you, mouth opening and closing with no words tumbling out. The sheer disbelief imprinted on the creases on his face was agonizing. As much as you did not like his intrusion to your event at the moment, you also wanted to reassure him that it was going to be okay, that they were going to be settle this quietly.

“Please, Sungjae, just listen to him,” you whispered.

“I can’t believe you, you’re a fucking—”

“Sir,” Yoongi interjected, moving to stand in front of you, “please follow me outside.”

“And you—you fuck right off! You have no right to get involved. This is between me and her.”

Yoongi’s lips tightened again. “Sir, I have to get involved. She’s my client—” pause “—and a friend. if you don’t listen to me, I will include harassment in the courtroom and you certainly do not need that on top of everything else. I suggest you take your leave now because there are already plenty of witnesses on the scene who saw you enter, witnesses that can easily testify on our behalf. You don’t need this to worsen.”

Sungjae’s eyes darted between the two of you. You begged him with your gaze. Please, just go. Don’t make this situation more awful than it already is. His predicament and inner dilemma was palpable in the way his eyes darted quickly between the two of you. He seemed to have come to a decision when he stalked off towards the door, shoving them open with a shout, “Whatever, see you in court.”

It was then that your knees began to give out but Yoongi was quick enough to catch you, arms wrapping around you to support your body and help you to a seat. All the adrenaline had dissipated from your body, leaving nothing but exhaustion and ache in your being. You didn’t know what you were supposed to do, what in the world—

“Breathe,” Yoongi bent down and looked up at you. “Breathe, it’s okay. He’s gone. It’ll be fine. I promise I won’t include this if you don’t want to.” His hands enveloped yours, thumbs running over the skin comfortingly. The action did little to actually alleviate your swelling apprehensiveness, but you appreciated the thought nonetheless.

“N-no, don’t,” you cleared your throat, breath hiccuping in your throat,“I don’t want to rub salt in his wounds. It’ll become messier for us too if we keep adding things.”

“Alright,” he agreed.

Namjoon burst through the doors then, hurrying over to your side and scanning you for any injuries. “Are you okay? I heard the last of it but security wouldn’t let me in—”

“I’m okay,” you swallowed weakly, “thank you.”

Mia was close behind him and quickly jumped on your lap, slinking her arms around your neck. She was whimpering softly and you apologized over and over to her, placing kisses over her hair to soothe her.

“I’m good, baby,” you smiled at her when she pulled away, “don’t worry. Uncle Yoongi helped me.”

“I heard Uncle Yoongi inside,” she nodded then turned to Yoongi with gratefulness oozing out of her. “Thank you for taking care of mommy.”

Yoongi offered a small smile in return. “Of course, Mia.”

After that, the rest of the event went by relatively uninterrupted. You had your speech, had to hear Namjoon clap and hoot from the crowd. Cleaning up with the rest of the team and thanking them for their hard work, you finished up the last of your duties for the night. You were beyond drained at that point, the activities of the night sucking the last drop of energy from your body.

“Did you drive?” Namjoon asked, tilting his head. “You don’t seem to be in any state of handling any vehicle at this point.”

“Wow, thanks,” you sighed. It was true, you looked worse for weary, blinking away sleep from your eyes as Mia held onto your hand.

“Yoongi, you brought your car, right? Why don’t you drive her back?”

Yoongi opened his mouth as if to argue, but Namjoon gave him a look that shut him up. He turned to you, “I can drive you both back and someone can pick up your car tomorrow.”

“No, it’s really fine. I can still drive.”

“I insist,” he supplied again, “it’ll be fine. I have enough room in the car for the two of you and I don’t have work tomorrow so I can deliver you both home safe and sound.”

You still looked dubious, but Yoongi insisted again that it was perfectly fine. Thus, you ended up caving, nestling into the comfortable passenger seat of Yoongi’s car. Mia was strapped in the back, bouncing and squealing about how cool everything looked. The ride was pleasant and the silence was constantly covered by Mia’s enthusiastic chatters about the people she met tonight. She seemed much more at ease with Yoongi, including him into the conversations and asking him for his own thoughts.

By the time the lot of you reached your home, she was fast asleep in the backseat, her voice having disappeared from the quietness just moments ago. While you collected your belongings, Yoongi volunteered to carry her upstairs despite your protests. He only waved you off, carefully picking the little girl up and bringing her to her bedroom and tucking her in. Thankfully, she was a heavy sleeper and was still out cold when Yoongi closed her door.

You were pouring yourself a glass of wine when the man returned to the dining room. “Care for a glass?”

“I think I’ve had my share tonight,” he laughed lightly.

“Oh, come on, it’s not everyday you get to sit back and relax like this. You wouldn’t make me finish this on my own, would you?” you wiggled the bottle before him.

Yoongi shook his head, amused, “Alright. Just one, then I’m heading back.”

Of course, it never ended with just one—not when the two of you were getting down to the nitty gritty of your relationship with Sungjae. Curiosity had gotten the best of the man and a question quickly slipped out of his lips about what happened between the two of you before he could contemplate it further.

You hummed thoughtfully, body warm and buzzing. “Hmm, I mean, I really was in love with him once,” you confessed, “we had a blast in college, never one without the other. When he proposed, I guess it was just… expected. He was expected to do it, I was expected to say yes. It seemed logical. But guess we should’ve waited a bit longer. Work took off for me but didn’t for him. I went to work and he went drinking. Love lost, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry, it must’ve been hard,” Yoongi rambled again. You could begin to hear his words stringing together, slurring over each other.

“I got used to it after a while,” you sighed, leaning your head on his shoulder tiredly. The two of you were nestled on the couch in the living room after the dining room proved to be too chilly for your liking. “It was hard at first, but the worst part I guess is being so tolerant and familiar with it. Who knew that I would be so… fine with him gone? Hell, a part of me even felt relieved at times.”

Yoongi remained quiet at that, breathing out and taking another sip of his drink.

“I’m sorry,” you jerked away, “that must sound terrible.”

“It’s reasonable. You had a reason to be,” Yoongi promised, “I think… you’ve done enough on your end, it’s time for him to make a change.”

“It just gets lonely, you know, it’s nice having someone to rely on again. You’re very dependable, you know that?” you giggled, poking his arm.

He snorted, “Thanks, good to know I’m doing my job right.”

“What about you? Any love stories? Any exes to look out for?”

Yoongi laughed quietly at that, “No, my current affections only lie in my workplace.”

“Including Heechul?”

“Including Heechul,” he smirked, “I haven’t dated in so long. I think I’ve lost my touch for it.”

You peered at him curiously, “Why not? I don’t think you would have any trouble getting anyone you had an eye on.” When he turned to you with an expression of sheer disbelief, you added in a wink. “Come on, Yoongi, it’s not like you don’t know you’re attractive.”

His response was only to take another gulp of his wine and look away, circling the rim of his grass with the pad of his finger quietly.

“Yoongi!” you chastised.

“What?” he chuckled, brilliant, bright eyes flying up to meet yours.

“You’re so—ugh,” you broke off, scoffing.

He laughed, louder this time, with a tip of his head. The pretty column of his throat exposed itself, almost tantalizingly drawing you in to the smooth skin. “I’m ugh? I don’t think that’s a very good sign.”

“Oh God, you have to know you’re like really good-looking.”

His milky skin seemed to tinge the color of corals, a sweet dusting across his cheeks. “Ah, thank you. I’m glad you think so.” His latter sentence seemed more of a question rather than a statement. He inhaled deeply, breathing out through his nose, “I think… being a divorce lawyer just keeps reaffirming that love isn’t for me, that marriage isn’t for me.”

“Feeds into your cynicism?” you smirked.

He matched your expression with a nod, “Can’t help it. When you see relationships fail on a daily basis and are supporting the cause, it’s hard to have faith in the impossible, you know?”

“It doesn’t have to be impossible,” you shrugged, “it differs between couples. I’ve seen some last a lifetime, some a month or so.”

“It’s not like I’m drawing anyone in anytime soon,” he snorted, “so I don’t really think too much of having no relationship.”

You bumped shoulders with him and grinned, “If you weren’t so intimidating the first time I met you, I might’ve actually liked you.”

“You don’t like me now?” he teased playfully.

“I might just like you more now,” you scrunched up your nose cutely at him, “you’re really cool but also super, like, humble? How do you even do that?”

“You’re flattering me too much, I have a feeling you’re going to be asking me for a discount for my employment soon.”

You gasped, smacking his shoulder, “How dare you accuse me of such a thing?” Cue a momentary pause before you looked up hopefully at him. “But did it work?”

He snorted, “Fat chance.”

“A girl can hope,” you sighed. You lolled your head back, groaning as you cracked your neck. The event had been more taxing than you initially imagined, you could feel the aching throbbing on the back of your neck. Yoongi’s eyes seemed to follow your movements, his gaze searing heat into your skin where it was exposed. You still had on the dress you had prepared for the gala earlier, an elegant, off-shoulder satin piece that draped over your figure nicely.

“You’re beautiful.”

The words that fell from his lips tipped over the balance of the atmosphere. Your breath hitched in your throat as you whipped around to look at him only for Yoongi to veer his body away from you, his throat moving with a swallow.

“Sorry, that didn’t seem appropriate.”

“I, um, no—I mean, it’s fine, thank you,” you stammered yourself, biting your lip as you felt heat creeping up your cheeks. That had been truly sudden. You weren’t sure how to react to it. “I mean, it’s flattering to know that you think I’m… pretty.”

“You are,” he murmured softly, glance flicking up to scan your eyes.

You giggled, a nervous twinge in your voice, “I hope you’re not just saying that to return the compliment.”

“‘Course not,” Yoongi grunted defensively, “I genuinely think you’re beautiful. You’re a very stunning, perspicacious woman and I hope no one’s told you otherwise.”

“Uh, no, no one’s told me otherwise. I think. Not to my face at least,” you mused, humored.

The two of you sat in silence for a second, for a heavy beat in the air, before you decided to spin your body. Yoongi met you halfway, touching his lips to yours. Your heart lurched in your chest, threatening to burst as you were taken aback by his boldness. However, it didn’t take you long to melt into the kiss. His lips were gentle, careful, moving against yours very cautiously.

Your hand reached up to curl around his neck, tugging on the strands of hair behind him. He breathed against your lips, tongue darting out to lick at your lips. You instinctively granted him access, opening your mouth and allowing his tongue to slip inside. The muscle stroked your insides, pressing up against yours, wet and hot. His arm slid around your waist, tugging you closer and, before you realized, your legs were thrown on either side of his body. Your arms drifted around his neck, pulling him closer and you pressed into him. His own limbs encased you, folding your body into his. Your beings practically molded together, two hearts beating rhythmically together in the silence of the room.

His hands stroked your cheek, fingers cool against the heat of your skin. You didn’t know how long you sat there just kissing—lips connected and twisting in synchrony. Your heart felt as if it was soaring and grounded at the same time, all the pent-up emotion that had mounted over the days, all your bottled up frustrations all began to dissolve into the sweetness of the brush of his lips against yours.

Neither of you seemed to be conscious of what happened next, but the two of you ended up tangled together on that couch, wrapped around each other, hearts still beating as one.

You were in the kitchen the next morning, absentmindedly preparing breakfast. Your body moved on autopilot, too distracted to really focus on the task at hand. Having woken up before Yoongi, you had quickly leapt away from him, contrition chipping away at your conscience. You had slowly pulled yourself away from him, allowing him to nestle into the couch comfortably. With a heavy heart, you had left him there to get ready for your day, bringing you to this point in time.

The thud outside the dining room had you rushing there in case it was Mia, but instead you found Yoongi wincing as he attempted to carry his shoes out the door. God, this was going to be painful. “You know,” you cleared your throat, drawing his attention. He whirled around like deer caught in headlights, eyes wide and lips parted. “You can stay for breakfast, I’m making something warm.”

“I’m good,” he stiffened, straightening instantly, “I have work.”

You bit back the urge to remind him that he had told you the exact opposite just the previous night. “It’s coffee and toast,” you offered again, hoping it would persuade him.

Yoongi flinched, nibbling his lip warily. Your name rolled off his tongue bitterly, like a piece of regret he was trying to rid himself of. “We really shouldn’t.”

It hurt, it did. Your offer had been one for a friend, a comrade whom you trusted and relied on. But it would also be a lie if you were completely innocent in your suggestion. A part of you wanted him to stay so the two of you could work it out and hopefully smooth things down to leave no awkwardness behind.

“It’s breakfast, Yoongi,” you pressed again, your voice surrendering more of your anger than you wanted. “I’m not proposing to you.”

That seemed to strike another chord with him and he startled a little. He gulped, looking everywhere but you. “Look, I think we should just draw the line here. I’m a divorce lawyer, I don’t quite do romance. None of us are cut out for it and I’d rather not have you get your hopes up on a hopeless feat.”

Your voice was quiet then as you contemplated your next reply. “It doesn’t mean you can’t try,” you whispered, “not every marriage nor love is doomed to fail.”

“All the marriages I’ve seen had been, I can only judge based on experience,” he said almost apologetically, a look of sympathy bordering on pity engraved into his eyes. When you provided him with only quietness, he continued, “I’m just trying to keep things clean here. This is work and work alone. I don’t think loose ends is a good idea.”

Your heart stuttered as you looked up at him in surprise, both hurt and shock flashing in your gaze. “Loose ends?”

“This is for the best,” he maintained and you weren’t sure whether he was trying to convince you or himself. His tone was almost patronizing, insulting. “I’ll see you in the office and court, okay?” With those last words, he slipped on his shoes and was out the door, leaving the hallway cold and unwelcoming.

The month of your divorce was spent in a flurry of court schedules and piling workload. It was exhausting to enter the courtroom and spend hours arguing to wipe your hands clean of Sungjae. He seemed quieter in the courtroom, less aggressive. It looked as if he had given up hope of attaining everything he wanted. It was an easy win for you and Yoongi—well, you mainly. You had gotten everything you requested in your documents. The judge had closed the case quickly, determining that it was clear who would be granted full custody of Mia.

Although expected, you were still flooded with relief at the results.

As everyone filed out of the courtroom, you felt your legs wobble and weaken, plopping you down on a chair in the hallway as you thanked the lords for giving everyone strength to make it through that painful debacle.

While you had obviously known that this would be you cutting ties with Sungjae, it didn’t make it any less hurtful to know that you’ve finally cleared yourself of the man who had given you the best and worst of memories over the past few years, some of the most significant in your life. It was terrifying to know that he would be gone, that it was official what you once had has ended.

Looking up at the shadow cast over your feet, you found Yoongi looking at you with a softness in his eyes. Softness you didn’t want to see from him. Your throat was still raw with the emotion that had overwhelmed you the last few hours.

He said your name and you got on your feet, interrupting him with a polite smile. “Thank you.”

Yoongi blinked, looking somewhat unsettled. Perhaps he had been expecting something else.

“I’m glad it’s over,” you nodded slowly, “no loose ends right?” Your smile was admittedly crooked, as if you were biting back sentiments threatening to spill into your expression. This was it after all. The end. “I’ll send the rest of the payment by Monday,” you reassured him.

He looked conflicted for a second, his eyes searching yours cautiously. His lips parted for a brief second and your heart dropped. No, no. Please don’t— he clamped it shut. Instead, he bobbed his head in agreement and held out his hand. You shook it firmly. He said, “Thank you for your cooperation thus far.”

“No, thank you.”

After that, the rollercoaster of your life seemed to stabilize. Your days ran smoothly, an endless cycle of the same routines. Your mind was occupied solely by your assignments at work, the never-ending stack that your secretary seemed to delight in adding to, and Mia who came by to play every once in a while. She entertained herself for a while, jumping from cubicle to cubicle and getting her hands on anything and everything.

But the worst times were the periods of boredom she suffered through, prompting you to suffer through them as well. She would swing her legs wildly on the office chair in front of your desk, big eyes peering up at you. “When’s Uncle Yoongi coming back?”

You sighed, “He’s not coming back, baby. It was only for work and it’s finished.”

She pouted petulantly, mumbling, “I thought you guys were at least friends.”

Your heart throbbed dully at the thought. “I thought so too.”

And you figured that was all the twists your life had in store for you, that the rest of your days would pass by insipidly with the exception of days Mia seemed to surprise you with something she’s done or instances you would flail to reach deadlines. It wasn’t until a knock on your door, two months after the hurricane had slanted your life on its axes, seemed to collapse all your expectations.

Your first instinct was to freeze as you looked at the man who stood before you, surprise would be an understatement. “Sungjae? What’re you doing here?”

“Uh, can I come in?” he shifted almost anxiously. He looked neat with a neat white shirt, dark trousers over his legs and his face shaved clean of any stubble. His hair was no longer a horrid mess but had been cropped short to show off his dashing looks. For a second, you were thrown back to college, how good he had looked at the time. But even then, your heart was beating a different rhythm compared to those days. Love lost.

You wanted to tell him no, to send him away.

“I-I just want to talk,” he stuttered in addition, “you’re free to say no, but I was hoping we could… talk.”

That was how you ended up seated in a coffee shop just blocks away from your home. You still weren’t quite sure of his intentions and thought it best to take things away from your household, somewhere public, in case anything went south. The both of you sat in silence, you staring at him in confusion, him fidgeting in his seat.

“I want to start by apologizing,” he blurted out, his words had you tensing almost instantly. “I know I’ve messed things up between us, for us, for the family. I know I won’t get a second chance with you, but I—I don’t want you to remember me that way, as selfish as that sounds.”

You were too stunned to respond so you remained quiet, encouraging him to push forward.

“I’m slowly getting myself back on my feet, got myself a job,” he laughed shortly, “something small. I’m working my way back up, trying to get back on that position. It’s going to be a long ride but I’m enjoying it so far, feeling the normal again, you know.”

“Sungjae,” you began quietly, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I’m not asking for you back if that’s what you’re scared of,” he added swiftly, eyes bulging in fear. “I just—we have history and the last thing I want is for you to remember me as is this asshole who fucked up our marriage, fucked up our family. I—” he paused “—I wanted to thank you mainly. I’m glad you asked for the divorce and went through with it. It was like a slap of reality, it cleared some things up for me. I’m still going to therapy, and I’m trying to patch things up. I know things still aren’t the same, and they never will be, but I’m just hoping to fix some of the damage I’ve done.”

You felt for him, you really did. A large part of you believed that he would do it, that he would get by, and you were relieved. Though a small piece of you was still skeptic of him and the meaning of his arrival, you chose to set that aside and gave him the benefit of the doubt.

“I’m glad,” you said earnestly, “I’m glad you are, Sungjae. It’s good to hear that you’re doing better and that you’re making the effort.”

He seemed mildly appeased by your words, offering a shaky smile. “Thank you, really. I appreciate your thoughts.”

“But that’s not the only thing, is it?” you asked. You’ve known him long enough to recognize his ticks and tells. His incessant shifting and moving eyes gave him away.

Guilt painted over his features as he nervously began again, “I know this is a lot to ask, but… I was wondering if you would give me a chance to start anew with Mia.”

That had you clenching your fist, fingernails digging into your palm, as you narrowed your eyes at him.

“I-I know I don’t deserve it—”

“You don’t.”

He faltered slightly and you almost felt guilty. “I’m still her father.”

“You lost that right a while ago.”

Sungjae swallowed, gaze falling to his hands. “I’m aware of that and I’m sorry, but I hope you’ll give me the chance to rectify that. One chance. It doesn’t have to be now or today, but… someday.”

Your first instinct was to reject his request and leave, drop everything right then. Sungjae, if he really has changed, would let the matter go as well—either that or the old Sungjae would’ve returned to persist until he got what he wanted. But your compassion kicked in. This was Sungjae baring himself to you, exposing his struggle and success since the last time you’ve seen him. The change was evident in his appearance, the penitence dripping in his voice.

“Check back in in a month and I’ll decide then.”

His eyes brightened with hope and your chest ached. “Thank you, thank you,” he whispered over and over, bowing from where he sat, “I promise I’ll do my best. I won’t let you down.”

You really hoped so too.

On the other side of town, Yoongi was sulking and snapping at Heechul. Again. He had been in this perpetual state of undeniable, cyclic annoyance towards everything around him. His secretary seemed to be the butt of all of his channeled rage. Heechul’s threatened to quit several times, but HR had managed to make him stay with the pledge that Yoongi’s mood wasn’t going to be permanent.

But jokes on him, Yoongi was always bitter. He was just more so as of late.

“She’s been working more you know,” Namjoon said, sipping his coffee casually as if he hadn’t just raised the taboo topic Yoongi had been attempting to avoid for so long.

The elder man gritted his teeth, focusing instead on picking on the pastry in front of him. “What she does has nothing to do with me.”

Namjoon snorted in disbelief. “Is that why you’ve been checking your phone every two minutes?” So Yoongi’s never been an avid phone user, but he has been obsessively refreshing his phone these past few… weeks. He was expecting important emails, that’s what he told himself at least. “And,” Namjoon continued as if he wasn’t annoying enough as was, “is that why you knew exactly who I was talking about?”

Yoongi scowled, biting down on his muffin angrily, “Look, I don’t need you on my ass about it.”

“You’re making it difficult when it doesn’t have to be,” the younger sighed, “you like her, why can’t you just admit that? Christ, hyung, it’s not like i’m asking you to drop on one knee and sweep her away to the Bahamas on a honeymoon. I’m just asking you to give things a try.” His words was a moment of déjà vu for Yoongi who had heard the exact same words from your mouth months ago. “I know your occupation makes you a skeptic of the entire romance thing, and so did your parents.”

He flinched, hating himself for reacting to it. His parents weren’t particularly a touchy subject, but he couldn’t deny that they played a part in his distrust towards marriages and relationships in general. Some section of his mind held onto those memories, to the failed love his parents had experienced, and expected him to do the same. He was aware of that, he just didn’t like to admit it.

Instead of responding directly to him, Yoongi said, voice low, “Do you know that the number of marriages reached its lowest point since 1974 last year?” Namjoon quirked an eyebrow. “Fell below three-hundred thousand. And you can guess why.”

“That’s a stupid argument,” Namjoon muttered, “and did you know that the divorce rate has been declining since it peaked in 2003?” Yoongi opened his mouth. “Yeah, dropped 1.7% last year too, down by 1,800. Amazing, isn’t it?” Namjoon laughed, that familiar look of self-satisfaction dancing in his eyes. “If you’re going to play dirty with numbers then you can bet your ass I’m going to use it against you.”

Yoongi wanted to hit him.

“I’m not asking you to jump for it, not asking you to drop everything you’ve believed in for her. That’s absolutely senseless and I know you’re better than that. I also know you enough that you never back away from a challenge, so what are you scared of, Yoongi?”

This was the worst.

If there was anything worse than dealing with incompetent employees, it would be dealing with a dozen screaming children running around your house while doing your best to be a good host to said children’s parents. It was bad enough that you were running the party on your own, with a little bit of help from your secretary who had a soft spot for your daughter, but couple it with mothers who didn’t know when to keep their mouths shut just made it ten times worse.

The divorce topic was hovering over the entire room, a question on why it happened. But none of them dared to bring it up on such a joyous occasion except one. You weren’t sure whose mother it was but you sure weren’t inviting her to any future engagements.

“I heard you recently got divorced,” she had started with a look of feigned sympathy, “I’m sorry to hear. Must be hard to be a single mom.”

You had laughed it off, told her it was fine. You were okay with it. Until—

“I can introduce you to a few men I know.”

Holy shit. You bolted out of there so fast with an excuse to replenish drinks out in the lawn where the kids were gathered. As the kids busied themselves with games hosted by the MC you had hired for the day—also known as your lovely secretary’s boyfriend, you went over to the door when the bell had rung. You were ushering a few of the kids who had disconnected from the group to check if it was the clown (it wasn’t) back inside, shouting at them to stay away from the vases. You huffed, tired, as you swung open the door.

Your entire body became paralyzed at the sight. You really didn’t think anything would surprise you more than Sungjae’s arrival, but once again life proved you wrong. Yoongi stood there, a bouquet of flowers in one hand, and a very, very big wrapped package in the other.

You couldn’t form a coherent response, so he took initiative, offering a small smile. “I remember reading in your files that your daughter’s birthday was today. I was hoping you’d be home and that—” a scream sounded somewhere in the distance, there was too much distracting ringing in your ear for you to acknowledge it “—that, uh, you’d celebrate here. Guess I was right, huh?” He awkwardly laughed.

You tightened your jaw. “What are you doing here, Yoongi-ssi?”

He flinched at the formality, looking almost guilt-ridden for a second. “Please don’t call me that. I think we’re past formalities.”

“It was just business, remember?” You knew you were being difficult, but it had been months. What made him think that he had any right to show his face here when—

“Uncle Yoongi!” The shriek reached the door before your daughter did, barreling past you to throw her arms around his legs. “You’re here!” Then her eyes found the blue box. “And you brought me a present?”

You tugged on Mia’s arms, but she was tireless as she whined and clung onto him. “Mia, enough. Go back inside, you have your friends.” A quick glance down the front hallway let you know that the mothers had grown curious at the sudden appearance of a handsome man at the door, their whispers carrying down the column.

“Invite him in, Mom!” Mia squealed. “Invite him to the party!”

“Mia—”

“Please, please,” she begged over and over.

You huffed, giving her a stern look, “I’m sure he’s busy.”

Mia scoffed as if the thought itself was absurd. “It’s my birthday,” she said, her words explaining everything, “he can’t be busy for my birthday.”

Yoongi, above her, choked on a laugh and nodded. His lips were still stretched wide in a thrilled smile as he ruffled her hair. “I cleared out my day today to celebrate with you.”

Hurt passed through your gaze as you gulped the guilt clogging your throat. Mia was still tugging on your dress, urging you to invite him. What choice did you have? Your hands were tied. Begrudgingly, you opened the door wider to let him in. Mia tugged him into the house, showing him the spread they had and all the games planned out for the day. Yoongi seemed content with following her around, but you still noted the glances he threw your way. Knowing he was in your home made you feel even more nervous. You kept yourself engaged with the most infinitesimal of tasks, picking on small things to make sure that things were perfect.

Meanwhile, Yoongi was beginning to dread this entire situation. Mia was still holding onto him and, as much as he loved her and was there for her, he also wanted to speak to you. It was wrong of him to use Mia to his advantage but beggars can’t be choosers. He was fine with Mia pulling him all over the place—that was, until he spotted Sungjae. The man was tucked into a corner, smiling as he looked over the kids, looked over Mia.

Yoongi knew he had no right to be possessive over the little girl, the little girl that was half of you and half of Sungjae, but his irritation still brewed hot and angry inside of him. He excused himself away from Mia, letting her return to her friends, before stalking over to Sungjae. “You know that the—”

“I know,” Sungjae smiled, completely ignorant of Yoongi’s annoyance, or choosing to ignore it, “but she invited me.” What the fuck? Something identical to fear took over his vexation, a gnawing feeling in his heart that told him to run, run, run. What if—what if you had taken him back? You both had a past, one that went far and deep beyond Yoongi’s reach. But he tamped down his questions for now, figuring that he would go to you for those answers instead.

But the man opened his mouth again. “She’s a keeper,” he hummed, a twinkle in his eye, “so you better get a hold of her fast if you don’t want to use her.” Yoongi thought that this man might just want to go with him right then and there. He was being purposely cryptic, something Yoongi didn’t appreciate.

He had other things to focus on, more important things.

You were still moving swiftly around the house to get everything in order. It wasn’t until you were in the kitchen that Yoongi trapped you. He had been attempting to catch you a few times, but his efforts were fruitless when you kept evading him.

Avoiding his eyes, you started, “Mia needs to—”

“She’s good,” he curtly intervened, “she’s playing with her friends.”

“I need to make sure—”

“Food is all stocked, the parents can feed themselves.”

You were growing incensed by his interruptions. “Yoongi.”

“We need to talk.”

Goddammit. You huffed, rolling your eyes, “There’s nothing to talk about. Plus, it’s been months. We could’ve done this talk months ago.”

Yoongi sighed, “I know. I’m sorry.”

“I have other things to do, Yoongi.”

“Please,” he pleaded again. It was a mistake to look at him then because his stare was brimming with desperation, one that made you cave.

Biting your tongue, you snapped, “Two minutes.”

“I don’t like mixing business with pleasure,” he began. This was not off to a good start. “You were my client. I had to maintain my professionalism, it wouldn’t have been right. Kissing you—” he paused, connecting his thoughts “—kissing you and staying with you that late had crossed too many boundaries we had when we were still working together, when you were still married.”

You stiffened. He had a point and that bugged you.

“It wasn’t fair to either of us, nor Sungjae. But I’ve been thinking about it these past few weeks,” he softly spoke, “and I guess we both fucked up a little.”

A gasp from the door (“he said a bad word”) drew your attention away from Yoongi’s face and to the menace that was peeking into the kitchen. “Mia!” you scolded, blushing, “stop eavesdropping!” Then she darted away and you could hear the resounding footsteps.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, “forgot there are kids around. But, uh, my point is. I did mess up, I should’ve came clean but I was—I guess I was still trying to piece my feelings together. I haven’t been in a relationship in so long, you have to know that. This is—this is like brand new territory for me, my affections towards you.” You looked up then, meeting his eyes. “I didn’t want to think about the possibility of having something beyond platonic emotions towards you, that there might be something more.”

“It—it just doesn’t sit well with me that you took this long to figure this out. I know you’re sorry about it, I’m sorry too. It wasn’t right for me to pressure you into it and I apologize. But why now? Why didn’t you speak up then?”

Yoongi swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. He took a deep breath and continued, “At that point, I was scared that it was also you just seeking company. You were alone after having been with Sungjae for so long, you were going through a divorce. People don't recover that fast and I didn't want you to jump the gun in case you changed your mind. Yes, I was scared, but I also wanted to play safe to make sure that you were sure about it."

Dammit. You took your words back. This was the worst. “I hate it when you make sense,” you muttered, “I hate that you can reason everything you do.” A huff escaped your lips, one that disclosed your displeasure, but also your defeat. “But, you’re right,” you breathed, “the timing had been wrong. I might not have been in my right mind then to make those decisions and you were the smarter of the two of us to understand that. So I guess thank you too for being careful with me. I was still attached, it wasn't fair. So I think I should also be asking for your forgiveness.”

Yoongi seemed to bloom with your words, something akin to hope gleaming in his eyes. “You know my answer to that already.”

You pinched your lips, suppressing the sudden urge to grin, “It would still be nice to hear it.”

He laughed, leaning his face closer to yours, bumping your noses together. “I forgive you, will you forgive me?”

“You know my answer to that,” you teased.

Yoongi growled, brushing his lips over yours ever so lightly. “You’re trouble.”

Somewhere in the close distance, you could hear Mia’s voice. “I think they’re kissing! They’re finally together!”

You groaned, tossing your head back in a thump against your wall. “Mia, stop it!” Yoongi only chuckled, amused as per usual. This would be a reoccurring experience.

Then a question: “Do I get to call him dad number two yet?”

“MIA!”