#junhui

[itsmahree]

SEBONG COMPANY

[bella-feed]

100 ways to not fall in love

pairing: playboi!Jun, clg-student!jun, non-idol!bf jun x f!reader (Nara), clg-student!reader (Nara). The reader's name is Nara.

warnings: suggestive (mdni), mentions of food, and alcohol. mentions of hoshi and a few other members. hoshi AND seungkwan are jun's bestfriend. mentions of flowers, swimming, going on dates, drinking alcohol and shi. jun is a playboy. bit angsty in the end. hopefully there’s a part two. lmk if I missed any warnings. 

genre: fluff, black cat gf x golden retriever bf, suggestive, angsty (at the end)

wc: 10.66k words (10,661)

synopsis: A bet, with three prominent and important conditions, resulted in you and Jun ending up together. But is it a forever thingy?

author: This is my submission for Yuki’s Milestone: 100 Collab. CONGRATULATIONSSSSSSS YUKIIII @eclipsaria. Grow more bbg, you deserve it <33. This was so fun to write ngl. THIS IS PART 1. THERE ARE ONLY 50 DATES MENTIONED IN HERE. THE OTHER 50 DATES ARE MENTIONED IN PART TWO.

credits: @supi-wupi, @flowerwonu, (beta reading); @sanaxo-o (beta reading and the banner); @cafekitsune (dividers)

tagging: @svthub @kstrucknet @k-films; @eclipsaria @shinysobi @nerdycheol @gyubakeries (admins of the event)

taglist tags: @mooniewrld, @syluslittlecrows, @joepomonerof, @potayaa

part 2

bella's masterlist || taglist

February 21st, 2025, Friday

"Hey s-sorry, I am late. The bus was delayed." Jun entered Seungkwan's apartment with a breath short from running up the stairs. He quickly removed his shoes, hung his jacket on the rack, and made his way to the group of friends sitting on the couch.

"Punk. Don't lie. We all know where you were and who caused the delay." Jeonghan deadpanned, making some space for the now grinning Jun.

He didn't utter anything, but quietly grabbed a can of chilled beer as the group evolved into discussions again.

After a few hours of chatting and drinking alcohol, the conversation had shifted to Jun.

"How are you so sure, Seungkwan-ah?" Hoshi, a bit annoyed, was ready to throw hands at Seungkwan.

"Because I am his best friend!?" He replied in the same tone as Hoshi's.

"But 100 dates, without falling in love....um, I think I side with Hoshi on this one. It's quite impossible." Vernon stated as he took another sip of beer.

"Are you questioning me?" Seungkwan's posture changed to one of seriousness. "Fine then." He continued at the lack of response, "How about this? Jun, you will go on 100 dates with...um...Kim Nara."

The group, including Jun, collectively gasped at the mention of her name. Nara was not only the prettiest girl at the campus, but she was also one of the people who had the highest grades overall.

She was a beauty with brains. Nara was respected by everyone for her indelible aura and her humble and kind nature.

She was the hardest to pursue. She minded her own business, topped all of her classes, and excelled in everything she did while being pretty.

Jun and she were like two sides of the same coin. Nara was a goal-oriented, no-nonsense girl, whereas Jun was the life of the party, a carefree and fun guy.

Chan coughed out his beer and, still in shock, uttered, "Nara?! It's impossible, hyung."

"Don't worry, Chan. I got this." Jun said, regaining his composure.

He cleared his throat, "Fine. I will go on 100 dates with Nara." 

“Okay then,” Seungkwan stated, a small smirk resting on his lips, “Starting from Monday, you will go on 100 dates with Nara.”

“Every day,” Jeonghan added. 

“No falling in love”

“And definitely no sex,” Hoshi added last, with a slight smirk, knowing Jun wouldn't be able to keep up with it. 

“Mhm. Crystal clear.” Jun said nonchalantly, taking a bite of the fried chicken. 

~~~

22nd February, 2025, Saturday

“Nara,” She heard someone calling behind her, a little too loud for the library.

“Jun! Hi, what’s up?” whispering, she smiled at the person behind her, even though she was surprised to see him there.

Jun broke into a smile, “Is this seat taken?” 

Nara was studying in the library to prepare for her exams after the summer break. She got an internship, which would cause her to work the whole summer. 

She was a very organised person, staying on track and not getting distracted. Sure, she did have a social life, but it was not as elite as some of the other rich kids in the college. 

Sometimes she did feel bad about not having fun in her own way, but then she’d get reminded by the motivational posters on her bedroom wall that being successful is the whole point.  

She never had it easy like the other rich kids, so she made sure that she had earned her success. 

“Of course not, come have a seat,” Nara said sweetly, moving slightly, making some space for him. Jun and Nara weren’t exactly strangers or friends. Like they both knew about each other's existence.

“Why are you studying now? Aren't the exams after the summer break?” He asked, curiously.

“I have an internship to work at in the summer. After that, I wish to visit my mom. So I don't really know if I'll have time to study later,” she explained quietly, following the library’s rule of keeping the volume down. Contradicting Jun's voice tone, which was loud.

“Ohh. I see. Ever the hardworking student, aren’t you? By the way-”

“Dude, volume down. Please?” A student interrupted Jun's loud voice. 

“Why? You have a problem, huh?” Jun got up from his chair, ready to throw hands at the boy.

“Jun– he’s right. Let’s go out and talk? We’d have more privacy, since you were about to ask me something, hmm?” Nara interrupted and then slowly dragged the pissed off Jun outside the library.

“Sorry about that,” he sounded less guilty.

“You don't have to be sorry. What were you saying earlier?”

“Umm, that– do you know Hoshi? Kwon Soonyoung?”

“Umm– yes, I do know him.” 

“He’s throwing a party, do you wanna go with me?” 

“To his party? When’s the party? Today in the evening or tomorrow?” 

“Uh– sure. If you want, it's today in the evening.”

With an eye raised, Nara replied, “Sure. But would you be okay to go with me?”

“Of course, I'd be. Otherwise, why would I have asked?” Jun replied with a small chuckle.

Agreeing to go to a party with him made the said boy a little excited. And Jun, himself was confused about this new feeling. Why would he be so excited? He goes to parties all the time with his friends and other girls. But something about Nara agreeing to him made him happy.

“Great, I'll see you then. At what time, though?”

“When will you be free?” 

“Can I text you?”

“Sure, here’s my number.”

“Okay. Thank you. I will contact you soon. I have to get back to studying.” She said with a smile after typing his number on her phone, and then shoving it in her back pocket of her jeans.

“Yes. Thank you. See you soon.” Jun smiled. he leaned in for a hug, but Nara walked back into the library, leaving the poor boy to be awkward all alone in the university’s lobby. 

~~~

"Hoshi, where are you?" Jun said as he entered his and Hoshi's shared apartment. In a hurry, he searched for him everywhere and at last stood outside his bedroom and barged into his room. He immediately closed the door and his eyes when he saw Hoshi naked with a girl in his bed.

“I'm so fucking sorry. Shit. But, Hoshi, you are throwing a party today in the evening,” he said from outside Hoshi’s bedroom, loud enough for him to hear.

He then walked back in the living room to the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of water and started inviting people for Hoshi’s party that evening.

“The fuck? No, we aren’t?” Hoshi entered the kitchen half naked in his boxers and lowkey pissed off at Jun for organizing a party on this short notice.

“Too late. Already sent out the invites on the classroom’s group chat, and Nara's coming too.” At the end of the sentence, Jun looked up from his phone and grinned. 

“You fucker. That’s why you are arranging this party, right? Motherfucker.” Hoshi said with a grin and moved towards Jun. He lightly punched him in the stomach before moving to the kitchen to get his girl something to eat.

They both laughed before Hoshi went to his bedroom again to get dressed up and actually start planning for his party. 

~~~

The evening rolled around pretty quickly, Hoshi and Jun’s apartment was full of life, with songs playing in the background. One corner was filled with guys and a few girls playing drinking games, and another was filled with people talking about everything and anything.

The main area was filled with people dancing their hearts out to the songs. The couch had been occupied by Hoshi and Jun's mutual friends. The corner near the bedrooms was filled with couples and their heated make-out session.

~~~

Jun was nowhere to be seen, since he had gone to pick up Nara. She texted him to pick her up at 7 p.m. because that was when she would be done with her studying for the day and would have some time to go to her dorm room to get ready. 

Both of them were texting each other all afternoon. At the start, Nara was giving dry replies, but Jun somehow kept the conversation going. Finally, Nara gave up on studying in the afternoon and focused on having a fun conversation with Jun. When she went to get ready, she realised that for the first time she chose having a conversation with a fuckboy over studying. Not that she minded.

At 7:05 p.m., Jun was leaning against his car under Nara’s dormitory. He had already texted her about his arrival. Nara responded, saying that she would be there soon.

A few minutes later, Nara stood in front of Jun, calling out his name. The boy looked up from his phone, and he swore his jaw fell on the ground. In front of him, Nara stood in a beautiful butter yellow dress, which stopped right above her knees. She paired the dress with silver strap heels and hoops. She carried a small black bag to fit her phone and some lip gloss, plus some cash.

“Let’s go?” The boy didn’t hear what she said, because he was still very stunned by her fucking beauty and how that dress fit her like a glove.

She tapped him on his arm, “Earth to Jun. Why are you staring at me like that? Do I not look good?”

“No– I mean, no, you look absolutely amazing. And, I wasn’t staring, lovie. I– I was just looking. Anyways, get in the car, otherwise we’ll be late.” Without giving her time to speak, he opened the passenger door for her and ushered her in.

He got in from the other side and started driving the car. His focus was half on the road ahead of them, and half was on the girl beside him. It is not that he didn’t hear or know about Nara’s beauty, but seeing her this close did something to him. It was not like him. 

He always heard from his classmates about her. How she was always god damn focused and never gave attention to boys. He had also heard stories of the most handsome guys of that university getting rejected by her. This lowkey made Jun wonder if she’d actually go out with him, for 100 dates that too. 

“Why did you call me ‘lovie’, Jun?” Nara said, breaking the lingering silence of the car. 

 That– that must have slipped out of my mind by accident.” He somehow (pathetically) lied.

Unconvinced, Nara hummed and continued staring out of the car in deep thought.

“Why did you ask me to go to Hoshi’s party?” She spoke, turning her head towards him.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you have never spoken to me before, or probably a few times. But we aren’t that close for you to invite me to his party.”

“Exactly. We have only spoken a few times before, I wanna change that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I will tell you later. Come on, we have arrived,” he said, parking the car and getting out of it, leaving Nara confused in her seat.

He got to her side of the car and opened the door for her. Nara, even though she was confused, didn’t say anything and waited for Jun to explain.

He led her into the apartment, offered her a glass of beer and moved towards the guys not before telling her to be close. 

“Son of a bitch, what took you so long,” Jeonghan said when Jun plopped down on his previous seat.

“Traffic.” He said simply and took a sip of the beer in his glass. 

“This is Nara. Nara, these are the guys, my friends,” he introduced the group to the girl. 

“Hi.” She said in a quiet voice. The guys reciprocated her action. 

The party continued, but hidden in the corner was Nara, who was alone with a beer in her hand. She low-key regretted coming to the party. 

She even forgot how she agreed to go with Jun. That reminded her of the conversation they had yet to complete. With that, she started looking for Jun in that crowd.

“Jun,” She called him when she found him near the ping pong table. She repeated her words after he couldn't hear her the first time. 

“Yes, lovie?” He did it again. 

“Can I talk to you?” 

“Of course, what's up?” He said, moving away from the table to give the other guys space to play. 

“Can we go to the balcony?” She asked quietly. 

“Of course, lovie.” Again! What is he doing? 

He took her hand in his and led her to the balcony of his room. 

But when he entered his room, he saw two random people having sex on his bed. 

“What The fuck!!!!!!” He screeched but immediately closed Nara’s eyes with his hand.

“What the fuck!?!” She trusted him, and they both went to the bedroom balcony. 

He uncovered her eyes, and they both stared at each other for a moment before laughing out loud.

“I am moving out of this room and giving it to Hoshi. I can't stay here anymore after seeing that.” Nara chuckled at his idea. 

When the laughter died down, Nara spoke again, “You never told me why you asked me to go with you to this party.”

“That’s because I like you, Nara,” He half-lied. He half lied because he definitely found her attractive and did not exactly like her. 

“What?” She was a bit amused by this information. She straightened up her position and looked into his eyes.

“Yes. I like you.” He gently held her hand in his. The woman was too stunned to speak.

To say that Nara didn’t find him attractive was a lie. She found him very attractive, now that she was constantly hearing about him. Jun, nowadays, was even more popular at the university because of how he led the university’s football team and won an important match. 

The girls in Nara’s dormitory were constantly talking about his achievement and “how hot he looked while playing the match.” As curious as a cat, Nara searched him up on social media and was hung up there for a good 30 minutes.

“I-I don't know what to say. I think I like you, too.” She muttered the last part quietly, but it didn’t go unheard by him.

“You like me too?” She affirmed his question with a positive nod.

Jun smiled before he immediately engulfed Nara in a hug. “It’s good to know that, lovie.” She hugged him back. 

“Do you wanna be my girlfriend?” The boy broke the comfortable silence that lingered in the balcony air.

Nara looked up to him with big doe eyes, which melted his heart. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, I am. Otherwise, why would I have asked you?” He said slowly brushing her hair out of her face with a gentle hand and smile.

She smiled, “Yes. I’d love to be.” In less than 2 seconds, Jun processed that and hugged her tighter than ever and placed a kiss on her forehead. 

“Guys, the party’s outside.” They both heard Seungkwan say that behind them. He had quietly entered the balcony and reminded the two new lovebirds about the ongoing party inside the apartment. 

“Right. We’ll be there.” Jun said and pushed him inside before asking Nara, “Can I take you out on dates, lovie?” 

“Of course.” Nara pressed her lips against his.

The bet begins. Jun smiled against her lips. 

23rd February, 2025 (Date: 1)

Junnie💕: where r u rn? 

Nara😛: in my room. gtg to the lib. 

Junnie💕: coollllll. i'm under your dormitory

Nara😛: what?! why?

Junnie💕: to drop you at the lib? duh?

Nara😛: ??? fine. i'll be there gimme 2 mins 

Junnie💕: coolsies. see you, lovie

Nara😛 reacted 🩷 to the message.

~~~

“Jun,” Nara called out to him as she walked out of her dormitory’s entrance. 

“Hi, baby,” Jun said, looking up from his phone. He was leaning against his bike and held his helmet in one hand and the phone in the other. 

“Thank you for your pick up and drop off service.” They both chuckled. He pressed his lips against her cheeks and gave her the other helmet he had hung on his bike, and helped her sit on the bike. 

He dropped her near the library’s main gate and kissed her forehead as goodbye.

“At what time will you be done?” He asked, taking off the helmet from her head. 

“Around 3? or 4?” 

“Okayyy. Cool, then, I'll pick you up at 4. We have somewhere to be.”

“What do you mean? Another party?” 

He chuckled lightly, “No, no. It’s a date. We are going on a date.” 

“Oh. Okayyy. Where are we going? But why today?”

“That’s a surprise. And why not? You're my girlfriend, and you deserve to be taken out on dates.”

She laughed at his cute pout and kissed his cheek goodbye, and entered the building. 

~~~

“Are you and your girl going out today?” Jun asked Hoshi as he entered the apartment and saw some bags packed on the couch. 

“Yes. To my parents' beach house.” He said, bringing in a couple more bags. 

“For how long?” 

“A week, probably. Why?” 

“Just asking.” He walked towards the kitchen, looking for something to eat from the fridge.

“Are you planning on bringing Nara here?” Hoshi side eyed Jun. 

“Hmm. I’m planning to use the rooftop for our date.” He explained his plan briefly.

“Since when did you start making so much effort? All of that for a mere bet?” Jun just shrugged his shoulders before the two men started laughing.

In the next hour or so, Hoshi and his girlfriend left to enjoy their little trip. By that time, Jun had ordered all the stuff he would need for their date. He took those three bags and went up to the rooftop. 

It was half-past two, and the sun shone brightly above him as he started unpacking those bags. He had ordered picnic blankets, bottles of beer, snacks, and some fairy lights. 

The rooftop of the apartment building where Hoshi and Jun lived was the perfect spot for stargazing at night, and that's exactly what Jun had planned for their date night. 

Within the next hour, he decorated half of the rooftop. He laid down the picnic blankets, a basket that included the stuff he bought for Nara. It included snacks, face masks, flowers, some accessories, and he later kept a pillow there.  

Jun neatly arranged the fairy lights and switched them on to check if they worked. He chugged down a bottle of water before leaving the setup as it was to go pick up Nara, just as he had promised.

At exactly 4 p.m., he stood outside the university’s library and saw her coming out. 

“You're on time.” Nara teased as she walked towards Jun, who was leaning on his bike with his arms crossed.

“I promised I’d be.” He smiled, setting the helmet on her head. He took her bag and threw it over his shoulder. Nara just adored him while he did that.

“First, drop me off at my dormitory, I have to change my clothes.” She said, placing her palms on his shoulders before shifting her weight and sitting down on his bike. 

Jun took off with a speed and within a few minutes, he dropped Nara off under her dormitory with a kiss on her cheek. He promised he'd be there after an hour or so, giving enough time for Nara to get ready.

After he dropped off Nara, he went back to his own apartment to get ready, too. He wore a polo shirt and comfortable yet stylish trousers and threw on some accessories.

He took his car keys and drove off to a restaurant to pick up his take-out order for their date. He reached back to his place and went straight to the rooftop. He placed his bags and checked everything once again, before returning back to his car to pick Nara up.

It had been an hour and fifteen minutes since he last saw Nara. He texted her to let her know about his arrival. 

Nara had worn a simple yet beautiful summer dress in blue. She let her hair down and wore simple makeup and accessorized a bit. She wore simple kitten heels, which matched her dress’ aesthetic. 

She walked up to Jun, who was leaning against his car. He gave her a small cheek kiss and appreciated how beautiful she looked. 

Like a gentleman, he opened the door for her and let her into the passenger seat. He walked around the hood and sat down in the driver's seat. 

After putting on their seatbelts, Jun gave the AUX wore to her so she could play her choice of songs. The car ride was approximately 45 minutes long due to the traffic. He parked the car in the parking lot of the apartment building and helped Nara get out of the car. 

Taking the elevator, they directly reached the building’s rooftop. Jun gently took Nara’s bag in his hand and led her to the section of the rooftop that he had decorated.

By then the sun had already set. The fairy lights, which Jun turned on, shone brighter. Everything fell in its place. Nara was definitely surprised by all the efforts he had put in. 

She gasped when she saw the gift basket lying there with items for her. She squeaked and engulfed Jun in a hug immediately. They both chuckled lightly before sitting down on the blanket. 

They sat against the pillows which Jun had arranged, and Nara started to dig into the basket. She kissed Jun on his cheek and thanked him for the surprise. 

He placed a kiss on her cheek and got up to get their dinner. He had ordered fried chicken, which was Nara’s favourite and some other Thai food. 

He also set up the projector and a white screen. On his laptop, which was connected to the projector, he played “Mamma Mia”. Nara’s eyes lit up when she saw that movie being played. 

They both started dancing to the songs in that musical. He held her close while she sang her heart out to “Dancing Queen”, and handed her tissues when she slightly cried to “Slipping Through My Fingers”.

It was unofficially decided that it was a marathon movie night, so after finally dancing (and crying a bit) they finally sat down and played a rom com. Classic, for the best marathon movie night. 

They finally started eating their dinner. Jun opened two cans of beer and handed one to Nara. They ate in silence, only the sound of the rom com playing in the background. 

Above them, the stars shone brightly. The sky, in fact, was filled with stars. After their dinner, they slightly cleaned up the litter, and snuggled against each other under a shared blanket. The rom com ended a long time ago, so they settled on watching a disney movie. 

But before that, Jun made Nara promise not to tell anyone that he watched a Disney movie, especially Hoshi. Because then, he wouldn't let Jun live it down. 

“Thank you.” Nara said in a low voice to Jun and kissed him on his lips.

He kissed her back, “You’re welcome, lovie.”

“Why do you call me that?” She asked him, playing with the rings in his hand.

“Call you what?” He questioned, slightly confused.

“That— lovie.” Nara said, looking up at his eyes.

“Because you are my lovie.” He smiled, kissing her on the lips again.

She smiled against his lips and they both again settled in silence. 

When the movie ended, Nara started packing up to go back to her dormitory.

“Where are you going?” He asked, not before holding her hand to stop her.

“Going back, it's getting late, isn't it?” She replied with a small smile.

“I agree….but you don't have any classes tomorrow, right?” 

“Uh huh.” She affirmed.

“Then, why don't we stay here longer? We'll lay under the stars.” He proposed the idea.

“Lay under the stars???” Amusement and confusion was evident in her voice.

“Yes! Wait, why are you so surprised— don't tell me you haven't slept under the stars before?” It was Jun’s turn to be amused now. 

He pulled her down on the blanket, by her wrists, which he was holding. She carefully laid down next to him. Still very hesitant and low-key judging him. 

“I mean- isn't it ridiculous?” 

“Nooo. It's not ridiculous. You not trying this earlier, is ridiculous.”

“Mhm. Unfortunately— or fortunately, I grew up in a beautiful house and now I'm stuck in a dormitory room.” She stated sarcastically.

“Only a foolish person, who hasn't experienced this, can say something so foolish.” He reverted back.

Nara smiled at his satirical comment, “Wow. I mean— I feel like I am doing everything wrong, Jun. Like it feels like I'm living my life in a closed box. And you— you're free, Jun.” 

Jun gently took her hand as his own, “Nara…The only time a person should be inside a box is when he is dead.”

She looked at him carefully, “Wow…I should learn from you, to live my life.”

He chuckled lightly, “I will teach you to have fun then.” He kissed her lips and they both slept under the stars, silently. 

One date down. 99 more to go.

5th March, 2025 (Date: 10) ZOO

1:30 a.m.

Hoshi was sitting on the couch in his and Jun’s shared apartment's living room. He was scrolling through his phone when he heard the keys rattle against the main door. 

“Yo!” He said, not looking up from his phone. 

“Hey!” Jun replied, taking off his coat and shoes, “Why are you up so late? Don't you wanna sleep?” 

“I was waiting for you, and I am hungry. I ordered some food and beer. Come sit.” He offered, finally looking up from his phone. 

“Nah nah. Not today. I am tired,” Jun replied while walking towards the kitchen to get some water. “Plus, I have a long day tomorrow. I’m taking Nara to the zoo.” 

“Zoo?” Hoshi questioned in confusion. 

Before Jun could answer, the doorbell rang. Hoshi got up to open it. After he opened the door he handed the delivery guy the money before grabbing his food.

“Yes. I planned a date at the zoo.” Jun replied to Hoshi’s previous question. 

“Why the zoo?” He curiously asked as he sat down on the couch, opening a bottle of beer and offering it to Jun, despite his denial earlier. 

Still denying the beer, he replied, “Vernon told me that a new zoo has opened somewhere downtown while Nara was with me. She asked me if we could go, and I couldn't deny.” 

Hoshi broke out in a small chuckle at his answer. “Of course.” He smirked, earning a slight hit on the head from Jun. 

“Shut up, you fucker. Anyways, I am going to sleep. Good night.”

Hoshi laughed before saying goodbye to him. 

~~~

8:30 a.m.

Jun quietly locked the door behind him and started walking down the stairs of his building. Even while getting ready, he was quiet. Assuming that Hoshi’s night ran long, since he was still sleeping. 

He reached his car and backed it out of the parking lot. He had texted Nara before he started getting ready, so that she'd have more time to get prepared.

Both of them woke up early to start their journey early, since the zoo was all the way downtown. He played nice and breezy songs, matching the weather of the day. 

Jun soon reached under Nara's dormitory and waited under it for her to come. As usual, he texted that he had arrived. 

Nara, as soon as she read his text, started packing to leave. To say the least, she was very excited to visit the zoo. Mainly because she loves animals and “has a special connection” with them. She’s just happy to be around them, always and whenever. 

Not so secretly, she was glad Jun agreed to take her, even if it was all the way downtown. When she saw Jun leaning against his car, her smile involuntarily widened. She was actually happy to be around the boy these days. 

True to his words, Jun made sure that Nara was genuinely having fun these days, and not just burying her head in books. Nara, definitely at first thought of Jun as a distraction, but not anymore. EVer since he respected her decision of sometimes studying or working over hanging out with him. Nara never knew about the challenge, and Jun definitely preferred it that way.

They both started their short road trip with energetic songs blasting in the car. Nara’s choice, of course. They made a small stop at a bodega to buy some coffee and breakfast for the road. They settled on simple bagels. 

~~~

When they finally reached the zoo, Nara bounced in her seat, her excitement hard to contain. She peeked her neck out the window, genuinely amused by the luxurious entrance .

“Two and a half hours and we made it!” Jun grinned, stretching his arms as he parked. “Didn’t even get lost this time.”

“You act like that’s a major achievement,” Nara teased, unbuckling her seatbelt.

“Actually,” He felt too embarrassed to say but did it anyway, “It low-key is.” Nara noticed it and chuckled lightly and slightly patted his head assuring her pride towards him.

Jun silently smiled, and tugged Nara’s cap down, so that she wouldn’t get sunburnt. He helped her get out of the car, too. 

He’s cute, she thought. Nara secretly loved how he always noticed the small things.

Walking through the entrance, Jun handed her a paper map of the zoo, "Lead the way, Captain Nara."

Jun did not expect it, but she dramatically saluted him. “Yes, sir!” And with that, she grabbed the paper map, and his hand, too, and tugged him towards the penguin exhibit first.

What Jun really loved—though he’d never say it out loud—was the way, along with Nara, he too would completely light up around animals. They’d both lean so close to the glass that their breath would fog on the glass. The couple stood there for 10 minutes watching the penguins walk clumsily, occasionally, Nara clicked a few candid pictures of the penguins, on her analog camera.

“Do you think they know how to swim better than you?” Nara teased, glancing at him.

“Listen, I can swim just fine. I just… don’t prefer it.” Jun tried to defend himself. 

“Oh, right.” She smirked. 

He playfully bumped his shoulder against hers, and she nearly lost her balance, giggling as she stumbled.

They wandered from one exhibit to another, with Nara stopping every few minutes to snap a picture on her digi camera. She clicked multiple pictures of multiple animals–lions, tigers, zebras, even monkeys

“Why don’t you just use your phone like a normal person?” Jun asked, amused.

“It’s not the same,” She explained with a gentle smile, “Film makes the pictures warmer, if it makes sense. But also when I’ll look back, the memory will feel warmer.”

Jun paused, watching her as she carefully used the camera. He swore, he felt something happen in his heart, at the sight.

At the snack and souvenir stall, Nara begged him to buy matching animal headbands. He groaned, but caved in when she put on a lion one. She bought Hoshi a tiger one, and made Jun promise to give it to him.

“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, but still took it from her hand, while she just smiled.

They sat together on a bench, munching on churros and sipping lemonade for their lunch. Nara rested her head on his shoulder, the quiet between them easy and comfortable. They both were tired from all the walking they did in the zoo for the past 3 hours. And they were hungry too, since they last ate 5 hours ago.

“You know,” She said softly, licking sugar off her thumb, “I thought I’d be too busy for stuff like this.”

Jun glanced at her, “Too busy for what?”

“For… moments like this. For you. For boys.”

He smiled, “Well, you made time. That’s what matters.”

They stayed until the sun started setting, just exploring a few more exhibits. On their way out, Nara dragged him to another gift shop where they bought small keychains—hers a penguin, his a sleepy panda.

When they got back to the car, Jun tossed his headband in the backseat but clipped the keychain to his car keys. Nara noticed but didn’t say anything. She just smiled to herself.

The ride back was quieter. Nara dozed off halfway through, her head leaning against the window, and Jun lowered the music, sneaking glances at her every now and then.

After another 3 hours of driving, Jun finally stopped his car under her dormitory. They skipped dinner, too tired to sit at another restaurant. But he did not have the heart to wake her up, because of how soundly she slept in that uncomfortable position, leaning against the window. 

He somehow lightly woke her up, and helped her to get out of the car. He waved her goodbye not before making her promise that she’d eat something, like a fruit. He waited under the dormitory, leaning against his car, until she waved him off from her dorm window, even though he was tired asf. 

He drove back to his apartment, and literally dragged himself upstairs to his apartment. When he entered, he literally just threw himself on the couch, too tired to even walk to his room. 

“Yo! You’re back.” Hoshi stated the obvious, while entering the living room. 

Jun did not reply to anything, just threw the tiger headband at him. Grabbing that, and giggling like a kid, he walked back to his own room.

Jun sighed tiredly, but slightly smiled, when he saw a notification on his phone from Nara.

Nara😛: thank you for today <33 can't wait to spend tomorrow with you. eat well and sleep well ❤️. gn :))

15th March, 2025 (Date: 20) LASER TAG DATE

Jun adjusted the strap of his laser tag vest for the third time. An annoyed expression again rested on his face as it slid off his shoulder once again. "Do they make these for people with huge shoulders? This thing is hanging off me." He scoffed. 

"Oh my god, Jun, it's fine!" Nara laughed, snapping her own vest securely into place. "You're just being dramatic."

"I think I'm being reasonable. This is a serious sport. My mobility is at risk."

"Your mobility? You're playing laser tag, not fighting in a war."

"You say that now, but wait until I completely destroy you."

"Oh, we're doing that?" Nara raised an eyebrow, grabbing her laser gun mockingly. "We’re making it competitive now?"

"It’s been competitive since you told me you’ve never lost a round, against your brother. I took that personally."

They stepped into the neon-lit maze, the walls reflecting in UV light curves and graffiti patterns that glowed under the dark lights. In the distance, electronic music played. The room next to them had a birthday party going on, so the kids’ occasional screaming and shouting could be heard too. 

Nara took a look over Jun’s shoulder as the countdown timer flashed on the overhead screen behind him. "Are you ready to lose?"

"Please," Jun scoffed, "I’ve been training for this my entire life."

"You mean playing video games?"

"Exactly."

The buzzer sounded, indicating the start of the ‘sport’, and they both sprinted in opposite directions. Jun ducked behind a low wall, his heart pounding, not from fear but from the sheer thrill of it. He peeked over the edge, scanning for Nara—she was fast. Much faster than he expected.

He zigzagged his way through the arena, narrowly dodging a few stray lasers from random kids who entered; shrieking and chasing each other wildly. It wasn’t long before he spotted her, crouched behind a fake barrel, laser gun perched on the edge as she scanned her surroundings.

Jun grinned, lifting his gun to aim. A bright neon green flashed on his vest, indicating that he just got hit; by Nara.

"What the—?"

Nara popped up from her cover, laughing, gun still pointed at him. "You need to learn to be careful"

"I was being careful! I just didn’t know you’d be sneaky."

"That’s laser tag, Jun!"

"Oh, it's on now."

For the next twenty minutes, the two of them chased each other around the maze, Jun quickly realizing that Nara wasn’t just good—she was ruthless. She knew the angles, the hiding spots, and even betrayed him more than once by faking a retreat, only to hit him when he fell for it.

He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his hoodie, panting as he crouched behind a pillar. This was not the kind of game he expected Nara to play, "Do you play in secret leagues or something?"

"Maybe I do," She called from somewhere he couldn’t see. "You’ll never know."

"Cheater."

"Loser."

Jun decided he needed a better strategy. The next time he spotted her, he did not march towards her. Instead, he moved quietly, moving with careful steps. He caught her hiding behind a barricade, scanning the other side.

He slid into a low crouch, sneaking up until he was just near her, and fired. The sudden hit on her vest startled her, and she whipped around in disbelief as Jun grinned.

"Gotcha."

"You—!"

"You taught me well."

"You literally just crept up on me!"

Jun just shrugged. They paused when the buzzer rang, signaling the end of the round. Both of them jogged back to the entrance, breathless, but grinning ear to ear. After 2 more rounds, the scoreboard flickered on the overhead screen.

"Winner: Nara."

"Nooooo," Jun groaned, dramatically collapsing onto the floor. "How? I literally hit you at the end!"

"Too late, my guy." She sat next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. "You got better, though."

"That’s not good enough. I demand a rematch."

"We can do another round. But I’m not going easy on you."

"I’d be offended if you did."

Jun grabbed two water bottles from the vending machine, tossing one to her. They chugged their drinks, both still a little out of breath.

“You know,” Nara said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, “this was a really good idea. I forgot how fun this can be.”

“Yeah?” Jun smirked, stretching out his sore legs. “Even though I suck?”

“You don’t suck,” she said, a little softer. “You just need better footwork, strategy and good instincts.” She grinned towards the end.

“I can’t believe you’re analyzing me that much.”

“I take my laser tag very seriously.”

“Noted.”

The next round, Jun stepped up his game. He wasn’t just running around like a lunatic this time. He studied her. He predicted her routes. He learned her habits—like how she tended to favor the left side of the maze, or how she always ducked behind the same crate when she needed to recharge.

He caught her more often this time, and Nara knew it. She even shouted at one point, half-laughing, half-frustrated, “Stop reading me!”

“Sorry,” he called back, “I’m just naturally gifted.”

“Lies!”

“Love you too!”

It slipped out without him thinking, Jun felt his heart stutter. The words hung in the air.

Nara poked her head out from behind a wall, her expression unreadable. “What did you just say?”

Jun lowered his gun, mouth dry. “Uh… nothing.”

“I heard you.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah. You said…” She stepped closer, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “‘Love you too.’”

“I mean… you know, sometimes people say things… in the heat of laser tag…”

She laughed, the tension dissolved instantly. “You’re so awkward.”

“Only sometimes.”

“It’s okay,” she said, walking up to him and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, “I love you too."

“I think you just gave me enough energy to actually win now.”

“Oh, please.”

The rest of the game was a blend of adrenaline rush in both of them, and bright neon lights. When the final buzzer rang, Jun won by a few points. 

“Victory!” he cheered, raising his arms like he’d just won some gold medal.

“I demand a recount,” Nara grinned, leaning into him as they walked out of the area.

“Nah, I think the numbers speak for themselves.”

“You’re so cocky now.”

“Hey, it took me a few rounds to earn it.”

They sat outside on a bench, eating convenience store ice cream bars while their sweat dried under the cool evening air. Nara rested her head on his shoulder, both of them watching the street lights flicker on.

“Thanks for today,” she murmured. “I needed this.”

“Me too.”

He nudged her playfully. “Rematch next week?”

“You’re on.”

And maybe it wasn’t the most glamorous date in the world since they were sweaty, sore, and covered in faint neon paint from leaning against the walls too much—but to them, it was perfect.

It was real. And Jun felt it too.

25th March, 2025 (Date: 30) COOKING DATE

1:30 p.m.

“I am off to Nara’s.” Jun informed Hoshi before leaving the apartment. The challenge was going pretty well. After the laser tag thing that happened, neither he nor Nara mentioned it. 

He made Nara promise not to tell Hoshi about it, otherwise, in Jun’s words, “That fucker won't let me live.” Nara was confused, yet agreed with him, still unaware of the challenge. 

Since the internships of the academic year had started, some of Nara's roommates were off to their parents’ house and others were off to where their internships were. Nara was going to stay alone in her dorm apartment for a few months, and she was low-key glad about it. 

Her dormitory, surprisingly, allowed guests to visit. And Jun completely abused the permission. Most of the days, they’d hang out at her apartment or when Hoshi begged Jun to stay out of their shared apartment. Nara would study and Jun would pretend to study.

~~~

Now, Jun didn't really realise how he got into where he was. One second he was teasing Nara about her obsession with watching cooking videos at ungodly hours in the morning, and the next thing he knew, she was challenging him to a cooking date.

 "Let’s see if you can actually cook, and not just survive on takeout and convenience store ramen." she proposed. 

So now, here he was, standing awkwardly in Nara’s small kitchen, sleeves rolled up, in a kitchen apron, trying to understand why there were so many different types of knives.

"Okay, chef. What's first?" Jun asked, pretending to sound confident as he drummed his fingers on the countertop.

Nara, already wearing an apron and tying her hair back, smirked at him. "First, you wash your hands."

"I know that much," he grumbled and rolled his eyes, moving to the sink.

Once his hands were clean, she handed him a cutting board and a pile of vegetables. "You're on chopping duty. Keep them even, or they won't cook properly."

Jun squinted at the onion like it had personally offended him. "How do I even cut this without crying?"

"You don't, you suffer."

Nara's casualness made him chuckle slightly. 

Jun's knife skills were questionable. He cut the onion into uneven chunks, and Nara teased him relentlessly. "They're supposed to be diced, not….whatever that is.”

"Hey, this is a unique technique. Abstract chopping."

Instead of replying to him, she judged him, giving him a side eye.

When Jun accidentally sent a piece of carrot flying across the counter, they both broke into laughter.

"At this point, we might just order pizza," Nara joked, but both of them knew it wouldn't happen. She was having fun, and so was Jun.

They moved through the recipe together, occasionally bumping into each other in that small kitchen, arguing over the seasoning, sneaking bites of vegetables, and trying to challenge each other on who could plate the food more aesthetically.

Nara taught him how to properly hold a knife, and Jun insisted that the sauce would taste better if he stirred it while dancing, like they did in the movies. She raised an eyebrow but let him have his moment.

When the pasta sauce started to simmer, the entire kitchen was filled with the aroma of garlic and tomatoes. Jun took a deep breath and looked over at Nara, who was focused on sprinkling herbs into the pot.

"Hey," he called softly.

She glanced up, a question in her eyes.

"I like this."

"Cooking?"

"Yeah. Cooking with you."

Her lips curled into a small, genuine smile. "Me too."

They set the table together, awkwardly maneuvering around each other in the tight space. The pasta wasn’t perfect. The vegetables were uneven, and the sauce was a bit salty, but they both agreed it was the best meal they’d ever had.

They sat on the floor instead of the table because why not? It felt more comfortable, Jun twisted spaghetti around his fork, dramatically, and Nara laughed as she popped a piece of garlic bread into her mouth. He folded his fingers, like the Italians did and miserably failed at trying to attempt the Italian accent. 

"This is a solid seven out of ten," Jun declared, after taking a bite.

"Excuse me? This is at least an eight."

"Okay, maybe an eight. I mean, I did most of the chopping."

"Badly."

“It's called art.” He tried to defend himself, but he knew it did not make sense.

After dinner, they cleaned up together, which honestly just turned into Jun trying to squirt dish soap at Nara and her flicking water at him in her defense.

They ended up sitting on the couch, slightly damp, slightly exhausted, but entirely happy.

"So," Nara mused, leaning against his shoulder. "Would you cook with me again?"

"Of course," Jun said without hesitation. "But next time, we're making something simple. Like instant noodles."

She giggled. "Deal."

Jun wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer. Her PC played in the background, a random cooking competition show they half-watched. Nara eventually dozed off against his shoulder.

Jun glanced down at her, his chest feeling warm and full. Maybe it had started as a challenge, but this felt like something he wanted to do over and over again.

Jun felt his worst fear come to life, him actually enjoying her company; him actually enjoying spending time with her on the dates; him actually looking forward to going on dates everyday.

4th April, 2025 (Date: 40) AMUSEMENT PARK DATE

12:30 a.m.

“Tomorrow, let's go for lunch?” Jeonghan proposed the idea. It was a boys’ night at Hoshi and Jun’s shared apartment. 

“I can't,” Jun said, popping a few salted peanuts in his mouth, “I’m taking Nara to an amusement park.” 

Some of the boys scoffed. Hoshi, taunting and teasing, asked, “How's the challenge going? You do remember the rules right? Or should I remind you?” 

The boys broke into laughter when Hoshi received a slight hit on his head from Jun. He still didn't reply to him. He preferred it that way. 

The rest of the night for Jun passed, fortunately for Jun, without any talk of Nara or the challenge. He ditched the boys to go to sleep early. Hoshi, of course, teased him, earning another hit on the head, yet again. 

~~~

12:30 p.m.

The sun shone brightly over the city. Jun was already under Nara's dormitory. Jun, not daring to stand outside in the heat, sat in the car and gave Nara a heads-up about his arrival. 

It was a rare day for Nara to not have internship work. She needed to get away from the internship and the university’s stress. She voiced it to Jun and for him the amusement park date had felt like the perfect choice .

Nara 😛: be down in two!!!!!! 

Even though Jun couldn't hear Nara, he felt her excitement practically vibrating through the text.

She appeared soon after, wearing comfortable clothes and her hair tied back, giving in to the heat. Jun got out of the car when he saw her approach near the car. 

“Can I drive today?” She asked standing near the driver's seat and not going around to the passenger seat. 

Jun was hesitant, but without saying anything to her, he threw her the car keys above the roof of the car. Nara squeaked and caught the keys effortlessly. 

Being a passenger princess for a day wouldn’t hurt, Jun thought. 

"Are you ready to lose to me in every single game today?" He asked climbing into the passenger seat. 

"Bold of you to assume I’m not winning everything," Nara shot back, climbing into the driver's seat.

The drive was an easy one, full of funky songs, fast food stops, and debates over who'd lose against who. Occasionally Jun would feed Nara, fries and would hold her cup of drink while she sipped it through the straw. He held her burger as she took a bite of it at traffic stops.

~~~

When they arrived, the amusement park was already filled with kids and adults. They could see some kids running here and there, some screaming at top of their lungs from a roller coaster ride which wasn't that high. 

Jun bought their tickets while Nara scanned the map with serious concentration. "Okay, first the Ferris wheel. It’s not negotiable," She declared. He did not answer her, just nodded his head like a puppy. 

Cute, Nara smiled looking at him. 

Jun followed Nara easily. "You just want to bully me for being scared of heights."

"Nah, I wanna comfort you, there's a difference."

They lined up, and fell into a conversation. Jun liked how easy it was with her now—no forced jokes, no forced smiles or anything along those lines. Just actually enjoying being with each other. When they finally got on, the creaking of the Ferris wheel made Jun grip the side bars a little tighter than he’d admit to Nara or himself.

Nara laughed, "You're seriously holding on like that?"

"I'm not scared."

"Oh? So you wouldn't mind letting that go and holding my hand instead?" She challenged him.

Jun hesitated but eventually reached out. Nara squeezed his hand, a grin resting on her lips. "See? Much better."

From the top, the park looked small, almost like a model town. Jun relaxed a little, distracted by Nara's fascination with the view. She pointed out every corner she could see. Jun wouldn't admit it, but he liked to see Nara get all excited and enthusiastic, he claimed to himself that it was the best view for him.

Jun’s “I'm-not-scared” personality did not falter, after the ride. They headed towards the games section, where Jun's competitive side fully emerged. "Okay, let me win you a prize."

"Oh, please. You're not gonna win anything with those weak arms," Nara teased.

"Watch me."

Jun aggressively tried the basketball hoop game, missing the first few shots but eventually landing one. He presented Nara with a small, poorly stitched teddy bear. "For you, my loyal supporter."

"Aww, he’s ugly. I love him."

They moved from booth to booth, failing at more games than they won, but laughing endlessly about it. Nara managed to beat Jun at a water gun race. She gracefully claimed a stuffed turtle as her trophy. "Don’t feel bad, some people are just blessed with skills."

"You’re unbelievable."

~~~

Lunch was again greasy fries but with giant pretzels, and lemonade that was mostly sugar. They sat on a bench, watching a parade pass by, the music loud and children dancing in front of the costumed mascots. Nara leaned onto Jun's shoulder, eyes half-closed. "This is nice."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Just us, outside, doing something stupid yet fun."

"Not studying, not worrying about work."

"Uh-huh.” 

After a minute of silence, Nara slowly sat up straight and kissed Jun's cheek, “Thank you.” She expressed her gratitude softly.

“For what?” Jun questioned confusedly, looking at her.

“For everything.” She placed another kiss on his cheek, this time leaving her lip gloss mark there.

“Anytime.” He smiled, kissing her on the lips. Her head leaned back onto his shoulder. 

They stayed like that for a while until Nara suddenly shot up. "Wait, we haven’t done a thrill ride yet."

"I was hoping you’d forget."

"Never. Come on, let's find the scariest one."

She dragged him toward the towering rollercoaster that looped aggressively. Like a psychopath, or as Jun thought, Nara was amused by it. The wait was long, giving Jun too much time to anticipate the terror.

"You nervous?" She asked, watching him bounce on his heels.

"A little. But you're here, so I'll survive."

"That was... actually sweet."

He shrugged, but grinned, "I know. I am sweet." Making Nara laugh.

The ride was a blend of the adrenaline, screams, and the wind tearing past their ears. Nara’s hand was tight the whole time, their laughter was somehow louder than the ride itself.

When they got off the ride, they both felt dizzy and breathless, Nara was the first to suggest, "Again?"

"Are you insane?"

"Little bit."

They (more like Nara) compromised with a calmer ride—the bumper cars. It quickly turned into a war. Jun targeted Nara ruthlessly, cornering her more times than she could defend against. 

"You said you weren’t scared!" Jun teased her.

"I’m not scared! I’m just being strategic!" Nara failed terribly at defending herself.

"Your strategy is terrible!" Jun pointed out, laughing at her defeat.

When they finally stepped out, Nara dramatically clutched her back. "I'm injured. I need ice cream."

"Fine. You earned it."

They walked to the nearest stall, sharing a double scoop and arguing over flavors. Nara deliberately stole the last bite, grinning as Jun groaned in mock betrayal.

As the day wound down, they headed toward the photo booth section. "Let's get proof of today," Jun said, pulling Nara inside one.

They chose silly hats and oversized glasses, making faces for the camera. One photo was of Jun pressing a kiss to her temple while she laughed too hard to keep still.

When the photo strip printed into two copies, Nara looked at it fondly, "We look like idiots."

"Happy idiots who had fun."

"Yeah."

They stayed until the park lights flickered on, the rides glowing against the dusk sky. On their way out, Nara stopped by a small gift shop.

"Hang on."

She returned moments later with a simple charm bracelet, sliding it onto his wrist. "For the champion of bumper cars. And the bravest roller coaster rider.”

He smiled, turning the charm between his fingers. 

He walked towards the shop and got her a small bracelet and a keychain. He slipped the bracelet on her thin wrist, “And for the queen of water guns.” 

"Thanks, Jun. For all of today."

"You're welcome, lovie."

The drive back was quieter, both tired in a satisfied way. Nara’s head rested against the window, her voice soft as she mumbled, "Let’s do this again."

"Whenever you want."

Jun glanced at her, his chest feeling lighter than it had in a long time. The kind of day that would stick with him, like the charm on her wrist or the crumpled photo strip in his back pocket.

What was happening to him? Was he losing the challenge? If so, he promised himself not to show it in front of Hoshi. 

Nara was surely different. He hadn't felt like this with any other girl at all. This baffled him a lot. The other girls who he used to be with were only there for sex and his money, not actually having fun with him or being there for him, like Nara was.

This is different from anything and anyone else.

14th April, 2025 (Date: 50) RANDOM BUS ADVENTURE

7:30 a.m.

Nara was in her dorm apartment, studying early in the morning. Her phone buzzed with a text from Jun:

Junnie 💕: let's do something dumb today!

Nara 😛: where and when

Junnie 💕: now. come to my place

Nara 😛: okies. will be there in 30

Junnie 💕: 30?!? why so long 😭😭?

Nara 😛: …..i have to walk. come pick me up?

Junnie 💕: 🧍🏻‍♀️ i love you, but i just woke up 😭🙏🏻

Nara 😛: 👎🏻 🍊 boooooo (issoakyyyy. ilyt)

Junnie 💕: 😕😔 (ly more. come soon 😙😗)

Nara 😛: 🤷🏻‍♀️ (😙😙 i will <33)

Nara closed her books and cleaned up her study desk and packed her bag, and left to do ‘something dumb’ with Jun.

~~~

After walking for 30 mins, she reached his apartment. Nara knocked on the door, and it swung open with a mischievous smile which rested on Jun’s lips.

“We’re catching the next bus. Wherever it takes us, we go.” He said as soon as Nara sat comfortably on their couch.

He offered her some water and silently turned on the air conditioner, seeing how sweaty and hot she felt and looked.

“No plan?” She questioned him after swallowing some water.

“No plan.”

Nara laughed, locking eyes with him. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You love it,” he teased, slumping down next to her on the couch.

“Let's go?” He asked, when Nara had finally calmed down and felt much better than before.

“Uh huh.” She affirmed with a small smile.

~~~

They were walking to the nearest bus stop, started running when they saw a bus arrive, catching their breath as the bus pulled up. They did not want to miss that bus. Without checking the route, they climbed aboard and took seats at the back. Jun kicked his feet up on the seat in front of her, leaning back with a satisfied grin.

“This is gonna be good,” he said, peering out the window looking at the city.

The bus moved along streets they didn’t usually travel, weaving through unfamiliar neighborhoods. They passed rows of old bookstores, and bustling street vendors selling street foods. The spontaneity made everything feel vivid.

“Where do you think we’re going?” Nara asked.

“Does it matter?” Jun replied, nudging her with his shoulder.

After half an hour, the bus stopped near a weekend flea market. Without hesitation, they jumped off.

“Let’s see what we find her.” Nara said, eyes sparkling.

They wandered through rows of stalls, laughing at quirky trinkets and odd vintage clothes. Nara made Jun try on an outrageously large sunhat, snapping a quick picture while he grumbled but secretly loved it.

They tried different street food: skewered fish cakes, and spicy tteokbokki that made Nara’s eyes water. Jun handed her his drink without saying anything, and she smiled, knowing he always noticed the small things.

“This might be my favorite bad idea,” she said between bites.

“We’re not done yet.”

They spotted a creative teenager sketching caricatures and impulsively decided to get one together. They sat side by side, awkward at first but soon giggling as the artist exaggerated Jun’s eyebrows and Nara’s dimples.

When the drawing was done, they stared at it, amused and a little touch

“It’s ugly-cute,” Jun said.

“It’s perfect,” Nara insisted, carefully rolling it up.

~~~

Their next bus stop took them near a quiet riverside park. The afternoon sun shone as they walked along the water, occasionally sitting on benches to people-watch and toss small stones into the river.

“You know,” Nara started, trailing her fingers over the wooden bench slats, “I didn’t think I’d enjoy a day with zero plans. But this?” She gestured around them. “This is really nice.”

Jun let her lean her head on his shoulder, his voice soft. “It’s not always about where we go, sometimes its about the people we go with.”

“Oh my god, so cheesy.” She laughed, hitting his chest slightly.

They sat there for longer than they expected, playing a simple game– to guess people’s names and their profession. They laughed like maniacs, occasionally, earning side eyes from old people sitting on benches near them.

They boarded another random bus, this time ending up near an old arcade. They played claw machines and battled it out in a rhythm game.

“You’re terrible at this.” Nara laughed, watching Jun’s miserable attempt at keeping up with the flashing lights.

“Hey, not all of us are great.” he defended, dramatically tossing his jacket off like he needed to be freer to win.

When he finally managed to beat her by a slim margin, he celebrated obnoxiously, lifting her briefly off the ground in victory while she shrieked in surprise.

~~~

As the sun began to set, they found themselves back on yet another bus, heading toward a part of town neither had visited before. The bus drove through streets where trees were lined up, eventually stopping near a small hill.

“Wanna climb?” Nara asked, already knowing the answer.

“Obviously.”

They made their way up, the path quiet except for the occasional group of cyclists passing by. The view from the top wasn’t grand—just rooftops and street lights flickering on and off, but it felt perfect to them.

They sat side by side, sharing the last snack they’d bought from the market, their legs dangling over the edge of a small bench rooted there.

“You’re always going to remember this, right?” Jun asked, looking at her.

“What? The day you dragged me across half the city on public transportation?” She teased, then his voice softened. “Yeah. Of course, I will.”

Nara reached out and gently laced her fingers with his.

The sky darkened, and the cold wind of the season started to blow., but neither of them moved to leave just yet. They sat in comfortable silence, letting the city light up below them.

“Thanks for today.” Nara said after a while.

Jun smiled. “Thanks for coming with me.”

~~~

Eventually, they caught one last bus back. The ride back home was that kind of ride where you start to feel drowsy, leaning against each other, tired but full in a way that had nothing to do with the street food. As Nara dozed lightly on his shoulder, Jun stared out the window at the passing lights.

Once they reached back to their place, Nara was still very drowsy from the day, so she lowkey crashed out on his couch. Hoshi and Jun ordered some food plus something to drink too, after a while. After their dinner, Jun drove her back to her dormitory.

He himself was very tired but still patiently waited, leaning against his car, for her to wave him back from her window. Only then he drove back to his own apartment, and crashed out on the couch, too lazy to even go to his own room.

[svtscans]

2022 Season's Greetings

[floraoleander]

I LOVE THE WAY THEY WRITE

company benefits 🗂️ junhui x reader.

you can’t really call wen junhui your ex-boyfriend. it was more of a friends with benefits situation—except you only got ghosted, while he got an internship at your recommendation. people always say to not bite the hand that feeds you; it looks like jun didn’t get the memo.

🗂️ pairing.  marketing intern!wen junhui x copywriter!reader.  🗂️ word count.  12k.  🗂️ genre/warnings. smut, romance, humor, pinch of angst. alternate universe: non-idol. mentions of alcohol, food; profanity. semi-public & unprotected sex. ex-situationship, forced proximity, tension... so much tension!!!, contract terms i’m not 100% sure about. soonyoung from eunha’s Be My Tigress? 🗂️ footnotes. this is part of the that’s showbiz, baby! collaboration. eternally grateful to all the writers in the server who motivated me to finish this. above all, indebted to @diamonddaze01, who pitched this collaboration to me over six months ago. what a pleasure to finally write a long fic for jun!!! goin to take a veryyy long nap now. 🎵 recommended listening ⸻ company benefits.

You never dated Wen Junhui.

You made out with him in the backseat of an Uber once. Shared a bowl of tteokbokki at 1:00 a.m. and left a toothbrush at his place. He sent you voice notes saying things like, “I wish you were here,” in that half-awake tone he got when he couldn’t sleep, which was often.

You spent entire weekends tangled on his couch, watching movies you barely remembered because you were too busy tracing the veins on his arm with your pinky. You cried once, in front of him. He didn’t flinch.

You never dated Jun, so when he shows up as one of the interns at your company, it's not like you can call him your ex. You can, however, nearly snap a Pilot G-2 pen in half.

The intern orientation is a thirty-minute slide deck with enough corporate jargon to resurrect a Roman senator. You're sitting near the back, doodling tiny skulls in the margins of your notes, when your manager says, “Let’s all welcome this year’s marketing interns!”

And there he is.

Wen Junhui. Hair longer than you remember. A navy button-down that you’re 90% sure used to be yours. He spots you in the crowd like it’s nothing. Like no time has passed. And then—the male audacity of it all—he smiles.

Your pen creaks, spine bending until the plastic gives a quiet, pitiful snap.

You recommended him. That’s the worst part. 

Back when he was unemployed and soft-spoken and yours in a way you never could quite name. You filled out a glowing referral form like an idiot. Said things like creative thinker and natural collaborator when what you meant was: makes me laugh when I don’t want to, makes me feel like I matter.

Now he’s here. Mid-career intern. Probably labeled as non-traditional in the onboarding notes. Definitely labeled as dead to me in your mental CRM.

You corner him in the coffee room after orientation. He’s stirring oat milk into some artisanal nonsense, back to you, as if this isn’t the beginning of your villain arc. “You’ve got some nerve, Junhui,” you declare, properly pissed. 

He doesn’t even flinch. Just turns, holding his mug like he’s in a toothpaste commercial. “... I was just getting coffee,” he answers, one perfect eyebrow already arched. 

You fold your arms. “What are you doing here?”

“Interning.”

“You’re in your thirties.”

“I’m only twenty-nine, actually.”

“You had a whole job before this.”

“And now I have a new one.”

You resist the urge to glower. “As an intern.”

“Mid-career transition,” he says smoothly. “It’s a thing. There’s a podcast about it.”

You’re aware. You introduced the podcast to him. “Why here?” you bite out. 

He sips his coffee, meeting your gaze without hesitation. “It’s the best, isn’t it?” he drawls. “And I always want the best.”

There it is. That infuriating sincerity, tucked behind some metaphor you can’t afford to unpack. That must mean I wasn’t the ‘best,’ then, you nearly snap, considering, you know, you up and left. 

You hate that your chest aches. You hate that he still looks at you like you mean something. Like he didn’t disappear. Like he didn’t cut the cord with clean hands and a lazy smile.

You made your bed. Now, you have to lay in it. 

–-

This Agreement was entered upon by Wen Junhui [“FORMER SITUATIONSHIP INTERN”] and You [“ABSOLUTE FOOL COMPANY”] and shall remain in effect until either party learns how to stop looking for closure in a coffee room.

–-

You decide to be a professional about it.

Which is to say: you ignore him. Flawlessly. The way an inbox ignores unread emails from old flings or the way a cat ignores physics. With dignity, aloofness, and a very calculated schedule of exits and arrivals.

You walk into Monday morning’s marketing sync with an iced Americano, a bullet-pointed agenda, and an expression that says try me. Jun, mercifully, sits at the far end of the table, between a girl who uses color-coded spreadsheets and a guy whose entire personality is PowerPoint animations. You pretend not to notice when he nods at you. You definitely pretend not to notice that he’s taken to twirling his pen the same way you do.

Soonyoung, the Marketing Director, is wearing a shirt printed with neon tigers. Again.

“Okay, okay,” he claps his hands once, then dramatically slaps a stack of post-it notes down. “Let’s make this week roar!”

The interns balk, but none of the full-timers bat an eye. You’re all used to it. The man once themed an entire quarter around ‘predator energy.’

You run through project updates with the calm precision of someone who did not threaten emotional homicide in the coffee room last Friday. You lead the discussion on the spring campaign revisions, answer questions, deflect unnecessary input, and even sneak in a joke that makes Soonyoung laugh hard enough to drop his whiteboard marker.

The meeting ends. You gather your things. You’re halfway out the door when he catches up to you. “Hey,” Jun says, gently, like he’s trying not to spook a wild animal. “You killed that. You always do.”

You glance at him, expression neutral. "Thanks."

He looks like he wants to say more. Like he wants to be invited to say more. But you walk away, shoes clicking a little faster than necessary.

You still remember the other times he said it. After your first promotion. After you helped him rehearse for a job interview he never got. After a random Wednesday when you had ranted over a headline you couldn’t get right and he said, I wish you could see yourself the way I do.

You don’t want to remember any of it, so you go get coffee with Jihoon.

The head of HR is not known for emotional delicacy. Or any kind of delicacy, really. He wears monochrome like it’s a moral stance and drinks black coffee like it’s a dare. But he’s your friend, and he gets to the point.

“I’m not asking for details,” Jihoon says, stirring his drink with the slow menace of someone thinking about a compliance form. “But I saw the way you looked at the new intern.”

You feign innocence while you still can. “Which one?”

“Don’t insult both of us.”

Short-lived. You sigh. “It’s fine. He’s fine. We’re professionals.”

“Good. Because if I get even a whiff of nepotism, I’m lighting your recommendation form on fire.”

“You’re throwing around the word nepotism pretty lightly.”

“Am I?”

You lean back. “Everything’s professional,” you insist. “I wouldn’t jeopardize my own career over someone who thinks career pivots counts as a personality.”

Jihoon gives you a look. You sip again. Neither of you smiles.

Business as usual.

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. Some of it fractures two days later, in the breakroom with the flickering fluorescent light. You’re there for a sad granola bar and a moment of peace. Instead, you walk into chatter. The kind with edges.

Three interns—clipboard girl, PowerPoint boy, and someone new who looks like she does CrossFit for sport—are huddled near the snack station, laughing in that tight, conspiratorial way that means something mean is about to follow.

“I swear, he’s like, ancient,” Clipboard says.

“Wasn’t he in finance before this?” PowerPoint Boy adds. “Kind of sad, right? Like, starting over in your thirties?”

“He’s not in his thirties,” CrossFit interjects. “I checked. He’s twenty-nine. But still. Mid-career intern? Kinda screams washed-up.”

There are no names being thrown out—the slightest practice of discretion. It’s not difficult, though, to nail the topic of their breakroom gossip. The oldest intern in the pool. The one who hasn’t quite meshed with the Gen Z-ers who take OOTD mirror selfies and film TikToks in the bathroom. 

You clear your throat. Loudly. The interns freeze, a tableau of bad choices and instant regret. “Funny,” you say dryly. “I thought interns were supposed to observe before speaking.”

Clipboard opens her mouth. Closes it. Tries again. “We didn’t mean—”

“You did,” you interrupt. “But that’s okay. Not everyone gets to be interesting on their own, so I understand the appeal of tearing someone else down.”

PowerPoint looks at the floor. CrossFit suddenly finds the nutritional facts on her trail mix fascinating.

Your words come out with their trademark sharpness, with the type of teeth that has silenced board rooms. “Jun has more experience than most of you. He chose to be here. He got in the same way you did. Maybe keep that in mind next time you’re measuring someone’s worth by your own insecurities.”

Silence. Blessed, blooming silence. You grab your granola bar and turn around.

And then you nearly walk right into Jun.

He’s standing by the doorframe, coffee in hand, eyes wide. You have no idea how long he’s been there. Long enough, judging by the way he looks at you. Not shocked. Not smug. Soft. And a little sad.

He doesn’t say anything. Neither do you.

You nod once. He nods back.

You walk away, heart tapping a rhythm that feels like a memory.

–-

IV. In addition, the Intern will be eligible to participate in bonuses and other employee benefits established by the Company for its employees. The Employer currently offers the following benefits to its employees: momentary witness to your better nature, free of charge.

–-

The assignment happens on a Wednesday. Which already feels unfair. Mid-week emotional warfare is always much more draining than, say, a Monday terror or a last-minute Friday deadline. 

You’re sitting in the glass meeting room with a half-dead laptop and a whole-dead espresso shot when Soonyoung bursts in with his usual flair, dragging Jihoon behind him like a reluctant paperweight.

“Alright, team!” Soonyoung announces, sleeves rolled and tie nowhere to be seen. “It’s time to mentor the future!”

Jihoon sets down his folder with the quiet judgment of a man who had no say in this decision. “Intern shadowing,” he says, flat. “Mandatory. Two weeks. No complaints.”

“Like a tiger teaches its cubs,” Soonyoung adds, teeth bared in a wide grin.

Pairings are doled out quickly. Clipboard girl is assigned to someone in data. PowerPoint boy goes to Accounts. CrossFit intern gets Soonyoung himself (“I will break her spirit or befriend her forever,” he declares).

And then—

“Junhui,” Jihoon reads. And then your name. 

You don’t flinch. You nod once, hand still moving across your notes. Professional. If the pen’s plastic creaks underneath your grip, that’s between you and whoever invented Faber-Castell ballpoints. 

Jun, across the table, shifts. “Is that... final?”

Jihoon frowns. Never a good sign, even if it is his default. “Would you like to dispute the legality of this HR-approved decision?”

“No,” Jun mutters. But he doesn’t look at you.

The meeting ends. People scatter. You’re organizing your things when Jun corners you in the hallway, by the glass copy room that reflects everything you don’t want to see.

“I was trying to give you an out,” Jun says curtly, almost explaining.

You glance up at him. “What?”

“Back there. In the meeting. I was trying to not make things worse.”

“By publicly questioning a department head’s assignment?”

“By not forcing you to work with me when things are clearly… complicated.”

You back out a laugh. “It’s just work, Junhui. Not everything is personal.”

He stares at you, like he’s trying to figure out if you mean it. You mean it. Mostly.

There’s a flicker of something—memory, maybe. The last time you fought, back in the vague non-label limbo of your not-a-relationship. Something about a canceled plan. Or the way he left your texts on read. It spiraled, and somehow you ended up half-yelling and then making out in his kitchen, back against the fridge.

Those arguments never lasted long.

This one already has.

You tuck a pen behind your ear, shoulders squared. “We’ll get the intern materials from Soonyoung this afternoon. I’ll book a conference room.”

“Okay,” Jun says. He still looks like he wants to say something else. Maybe everything else.

You walk past him before he can. The hallway feels colder than usual.

Just like that, the stage is set. You. Him. Two weeks. One shared desk. Zero unresolved tension whatsoever.

The project brief lands the next morning like a meteor.

Marketing strategy for upcoming romantic comedy starring Jeonghan, the email reads. The subject line includes a heart emoji. You click it with a growing sense of dread.

The film’s title? Just Friends.

“Fuck me in the ass,” you mumble underneath your breath, the same way a corporate slave does once or twice a week. 

You open the attached pitch deck. The logline reads: Two friends navigate the blurred lines of a no-strings-attached relationship until one of them catches feelings.

You close your laptop. You reopen it thirty seconds later. Professionalism, you remind yourself, is a decision.

By 2 p.m., you and Jun are in a borrowed conference room with Soonyoung, who has inexplicably brought snacks and a whiteboard shaped like a heart. “Okay! Let’s ideate,” Soonyoung says brightly, cracking open a soda. “No bad ideas. No wrong answers. Just vibes.”

“How about a trailer that ends with both characters alone,” you start, “because some things aren’t meant to be mutual.”

Jun’s lips quirk to one side. “A little bleak for a rom-com.”

“Not if it’s honest.”

“Or bitter.”

“Not everything has to be about you.”

Soonyoung pauses mid-sip.

Jun clears his throat of the faux pas. “We could do a digital campaign,” he offers. “Confession booth at the premiere. People record what they never told their almosts.”

You write it on the board. Then, without looking at Jun, you add: “QR codes on limited-edition tissues.”

“You still have those?” Jun asks, his tone a little snide. “Thought you threw them out.”

“I did.”

A beat. The marker you’re holding is probably going to run dry by the end of this hour. Jun’s fingers are tightly clenched over the table edge. Soonyoung is unashamedly looking back and forth between the two of you, as if this is a particularly interesting tennis match between Carlos Alcaranz and Jannik Sinner.

“Maybe a microsite,” Jun says quickly. “Where users can soft-launch their regrets anonymously. Could include heat maps for popular phrases.”

You nod. “We could include copy like Sometimes the fine print on friendship is heartbreak.”

Jun’s next words are spoken under his breath. “Right. Friendship.” 

Soonyoung raises his hand like he’s in school. “Sorry,” he squeaks. “Is this a pitch or—an actual breakup in real time?”

“Both,” you say simultaneously with Jun.

Jun clicks his pen. “At least I’m trying.”

“Is that what this is? Trying? Looked more like derailing.”

“Better than deflecting.”

“Better than ghosting.”

Soonyoung reaches for another snack. You turn back to the board. “Let’s bring in Jeonghan for a cheeky teaser. Maybe he narrates bad firsts. First kiss, first fight, first time you find their ex’s number still in their contacts.” 

Jun exhales, sharp. “How about the first time they refused to introduce you to their friends?” 

“Not as bad as the first time they said someone else’s name during sex.” 

Soonyoung coughs, intentional and interrupting. “Wow. Okay,” he exhales. “Let’s take a break, cubs. Hydrate. Process.”

No one moves.

You cap your marker slowly. “I’ll send a write-up.”

Jun’s stiff fingers flex on the table. “Looking forward to your notes.”

–-

V. The Employer also offers the benefit of one (1) shared creative meltdown in the presence of your manager, and unlimited awkward silence thereafter.

–-

Jihoon calls you into his office with the same tone someone might use to summon a guilty terrier who’s chewed through a power cord. You arrive with your laptop and your most composed expression. You know better than to ask what this is about.

He shuts the door. Points to the chair opposite his desk. You sit. Jihoon steeples his fingers. “Soonyoung says the marketing brainstorm was intense.”

“I’d call it thorough,” you say wryly. 

“He used the words ‘emotional combat.’ Also ‘trauma-fueled campaign ideation.’”

You exhale through your nose. “We delivered on the brief.”

“Is there something I should know?”

The question hangs. You think about deflecting. About redirecting. But Jihoon’s office is too small for half-truths, and cluttered with evidence of a man who lives off structure and caffeine. You suspect he can smell lies the same way bloodhounds smell fear.

You lean back into the chair and pick out the bullet points. “Jun and I were… sort of a thing. Before. It wasn’t official. But it also wasn’t not.”

Jihoon doesn’t even blink. “Yeah,” he huffs. “I figured.”

Your brow furrows. “Then why ask?”

“I wanted to see if you’d admit it like an adult,” he replies. “You passed. Barely.”

“I’m not going to make this a disciplinary thing,” Jihoon continues, flipping through some papers just to emphasize how above it all he is. “But you have to keep it together. Finish the project. Grin and bear it.”

“I am grinning,” you mutter. “Aggressively.”

“Good. Because this is what happens when you mix personal history with professional decisions.”

You squint at him. “You mean helping a qualified former friend apply for a job and letting HR do its job?”

“See,” Jihoon says, pointing with his pen, “this is why nepotism is bad.”

You groan. “It wasn’t nepotism. We weren’t even dating. He was unemployed. I had a moment of generosity.”

“And now you have a moment of regret,” Jihoon says. “Funny how that works.”

You cross your arms. “I liked it better when you barely spoke to people.”

“Me too,” he replies. Then, almost kindly: “Finish the campaign. Keep it clean.”

You nod. He returns to his laptop without another word. You take that as your dismissal.

As you leave Jihoon’s office, you hear him grumble, just loud enough: “God, I hate romantic comedies.”

You invite Jun for coffee the way some people file restraining orders. Terse. Cold. Legally sound. “After work,” you say, passing his desk without slowing. “Fifteen minutes. Corner place with the green awning.”

Jun, understandably, looks mistrustful. “Is this a trap?”

“Only if you make it one.”

Thirteen minutes later, he shows up. Hair slightly mussed. Shirt rolled at the sleeves like he’s trying to look less guilty. It doesn’t work. You’re seated already, nursing a decaf and a dull headache.

He slides into the chair opposite you. Eyes scanning your face like you’re a riddle he once solved and forgot the answer to. “If it’s not a trap, is it a truce?” he asks outright.

“Not everything has to be war, Jun.”

“You spent half our brainstorm launching missiles.”

“Well,” you say, sipping. “Some of them were paper airplanes.”

He grimaces. “I’m not doing this sober.”

You hate it when he’s right. 

The bar you two agree on is dim and semi-functional. Exposed brick. Mismatched stools. The music sounds like it was curated by a heartbroken DJ. Jun orders a peach soju; you get the blueberry one.

“So,” he says around the rim of his soju bottle. “Where should we start?” 

“How about,” you exhale, “with your obnoxious sipping habits?” 

“My what?” 

“The way you slurp. It still gives me the ick.” 

Jun’s responding laugh is humorless. The drinks go down quickly. The second round is unnecessary and immediate. 

“Remember that fight we had about ice cream?” you ask, after he chewed you out for being emotionally unavailable and unnecessarily anal-retentive about halving bills.

Jun laughs into his glass. “You said anyone who chose mint chocolate chip was self-sabotaging.”

“And you defended it like a personal religion.”

“You called it mouthwash in disguise.”

You shrug. “Still true.”

More drinks. More memory lane. There’s a half that has teeth, that tears through the gripes and frustrations. But there’s also a half that’s almost tender, that provides a montage of why it could have worked once upon a time. 

“You kept a spare toothbrush at my place,” he says.

“You gave me a drawer.”

“You never used it.”

“You never asked why.”

Silence. Real, this time. The music changes to something softer. A song you both know. You hate that you both know it.

“I was always trying to be careful,” he says delicately. “Trying not to overstep.”

You stare at your glass. “Yeah. Well.” 

In not overstepping, Jun ended up taking no steps at all. Another silence tugs. Longer. It doesn’t bite. Just lingers.

“We were never good at timing,” he says eventually. 

“We were never good at talking.”

You expect him to push back on that. He doesn’t. For a moment, you contemplate asking the million won question. Why did you ghost me? 

Before you can, though, he’s saying something too sincere for you to ruin. “Thanks for the rec. For the job.”

“Thanks for finally thanking me,” you answer, taking a long enough sip of your soju to ignore the way your heart flutters. 

He winces, smiles. “Small steps.”

You nod.

“So, we’re okay?” he asks.

You think about it. The ghosts, the drawer, the campaign brief that cut too close. “Whatever ‘okay’ means,” you say, because you never lied to Jun; you weren’t about to start now. 

He raises his glass in a wordless cheer. You clink.

The second brainstorming session is mercifully normal.

You arrive ten minutes early, not because you’re eager but because you’ve started pre-gaming meetings with silence. Jun arrives exactly on time, not a second more, not a second less. He looks at you like he’s bracing for shrapnel. You nod like you’re not holding any.

Soonyoung plops into the seat across from you both, wearing a tiger-print shirt that says FIERCE IDEAS ONLY. You want to make fun of it. You don’t. Growth.

The meeting flows. That’s the only way to describe it. No barbs, no barbed metaphors. Jun pitches clean, clever ideas. You counter with strategy. There’s laughter. There’s alignment. There’s a genuine moment where you look at him and say, “That’s a good one.”

He smiles, appreciative and maybe even a little fond. You have to look away from it. The compliment tastes like a penny on your tongue.

“Hehe,” Soonyoung cackles, eyes flicking between the two of you. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Just your reign of chaos,” you deflect.

“Horang-haaay,” he sighs. “Anyway. Love this direction. Run with it. Make it beautiful. Make it bite.”

You do.

The presentation goes well. Soonyoung beams like a proud zookeeper. Jihoon nods once, which is his version of a standing ovation. The execs approve the romantic comedy campaign with minimal edits. There are even murmurs of early awards submissions. You pretend not to care. You care deeply.

Jun catches you after the meeting, shoulder brushing yours in the hallway. “Hey,” he says. “We made that work. Really work.”

The pride blossoms in your chest, persistent and unwelcoming. “We did.”

“So,” he starts, casual but not, “Want to grab a drink? Just us. Not like before. Or maybe not not like before. Whatever works.”

You hesitate. 

If it were anyone else, you probably wouldn’t balk. This offer isn’t a romantic advance. It’s a grabbing-a-drink-with-your-workmate-after-a-job-well-done. Unfortunately, your mind is a slideshow of late texts, half-finished thoughts, and the sound of silence where a goodbye should’ve been.

“I can’t,” you answer. Not unkind. Just honest. You give no explanation, and Jun doesn’t press even though he flinches. Wavers. As if he’s remembering his place. 

He nods slowly. “Okay,” he says with faux cheer. “Another time.”

You don’t say yes. You don’t say no. He walks away like it doesn’t sting, and you stay rooted like it does.

To ease the hurt, you take yourself to dinner like a pity party with better lighting. Your comfort place is a hole-in-the-wall Italian spot tucked between a laundromat and a locksmith, which is, frankly, how you know it’s good. The tables wobble slightly, the waitress knows your name, and the carbonara tastes like a hug from someone who never judged you for your bad taste in men.

You order your usual. Set your phone face-down, then pick it up again. Jun’s contact is open. 

You don’t remember when you opened it. Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, caught between being impulsive and being pathetic.

You almost start typing. Something like, Hey, my schedule cleared up. Drinks on me? or Were you flirting with me or am I delusional? or I’m at the place where we had our first date. At the very same table we sat at, in fact. 

Then the door chimes.

You look up.

Jun walks in. Not alone.

He’s with another intern—the one from finance, maybe? She laughs at something he says as they walk toward the back. He’s relaxed. Rolling his sleeves like he wants to look like effort. He gestures to the menu like this place wasn’t once yours.

You watch, stone-still, as he orders. You catch fragments. “You’ll love the tiramisu.” “This place is a hidden gem.” “No, seriously, the carbonara—life-changing.”

You’re vaguely aware that you’re gripping your fork too tight. You don’t name the feeling. Not jealousy. Definitely not jealousy. Just territorial spite and righteous betrayal with a dash of indigestion.

Your pasta arrives. You pick at it. Every bite feels like chewing a memory that now has someone else’s fingerprints on it. In your head, it’s a litany of fuck you Wen Junhui, fuck you Wen Junhui, fuck you Wen Junhui. 

The carbonara is wrong. Too salty. Not al dente enough. And Jun is sitting a couple of seats away, smiling at his date. Blissfully unaware that he’s ruined your comfort food for life. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Fuck you, Wen Junhui. 

You flag the check. You tip generously, because if you’re having a terrible night, then the waitress might as well have a good one. 

Jun notices you only as you brush past his table. His expression morphs mid-laugh—first surprise, then something else. His companion’s gaze flits to you, recognizing you as a senior at the company.

“Hi!” she says politely. 

You give her a tight nod. “Hello.”

Jun rises. “Wait, hey—”

But you’re already pushing past the door. The air outside is cooler than expected. He catches up halfway down the block.

“Hey,” he calls, a little breathless. “I didn’t know you were there.”

“Clearly.”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“Didn’t ask.”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“Oh, what, colonize my safe spaces?” You stop. Turn to him. “I didn’t realize you gave restaurant tours now. How generous.”

He runs a hand through his hair. Frustrated. “I wasn’t thinking about it like that.”

“You weren’t thinking. That tracks.”

The words hang. Sharp. Petty. 

“Don’t be rude to your not-date,” you grit out. “Haven’t you got some life-changing pasta to share?” 

You don’t wait for his reply.

You walk off, fast. The kind of walk that dares someone to follow.

He doesn’t.

That, too, tracks. 

–-

VI. The Intern is entitled to unlimited paid time off (PTO) for as long as they do not do it at bygone date spots. In light of this, the Employer may claim a lifetime of pettiness. 

–-

Soonyoung makes the announcement as if it’s a reality show reveal.

“There might be one or two interns we absorb after the cycle,” he tells the room of department heads, bouncing on the balls of his feet like this is an exciting twist instead of a budget conversation. “Jun’s doing well. Also, that other one—what's her name? Finance intern? The one who has a nice laugh.”

You freeze mid-note taking. He means the girl from the restaurant. The one who knows about the tiramisu. Your stomach coils, and your poor pen jabs into your paper a little too hard. 

You make it through the rest of the meeting on autopilot, the kind of dazed professionalism that only corporate trauma can birth. Jihoon gives you a look on the way out. You ignore it.

As expected, you’re assigned to write Jun’s intern evaluation.

It’s a task you’d normally treat like any other. Bullet points. Benchmarks. But the cursor on the blank Google Doc blinks at you like a dare. Because it’s not just about campaign contributions or interpersonal skills. It’s about putting on record what he it, or what he isn’t.

You close the tab. You’ll come back to it. Maybe. After a lobotomy.

Two days later, Jun finds you by the vending machine. “You’re evaluating me?” he says by way of greeting.

You take your time selecting a soda. The machine whirs dramatically. Maybe if you ignore him, he’ll go away. 

He proves otherwise. “Soonyoung told me,” Jun presses. “He said you’re writing my assessment.”

You procure your strawberry Fanta with deliberate coolness, fingers already toying with the metal lid. “Do you greet all potential references this way?” you say dryly. 

“I just—I figured you wouldn’t be neutral.”

That stops you. You turn, slow. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, after everything. The way we—” He gestures vaguely. “That night. The restaurant. You were pissed.”

You laugh. You can’t help it. God, what did you do in your past life to end up in a situation like this? The last of your patience snaps like a rubber band, and the words spill out of you with a kind of cutthroat that could melt tungsten. 

“I gave you a glowing recommendation, Jun,” you snipe. “I said you were sharp and collaborative and vital to the pitch. Which, in case you forgot, you were. I did my job. Maybe try doing yours.”

He gapes. You don’t stop. “You’ve been the unprofessional one here. You keep making things personal. You bring other people to restaurants that aren’t yours to share. You act like I owe you something when I don’t even owe you eye contact.”

Jun opens his mouth. Closes it again. You toss your still-full can in a nearby bin. You don’t have the appetite for anything sweet right now.

“You haven’t changed, Wen Junhui,” you bite out—the last word, huzzah!—before walking off.

It’s not the cleanest exit, but it’s something final. And right now, that’s all you have.

Jun pretends like nothing happened.

You’re not surprised. Denial is practically his native language. He nods at you in meetings, leaves polite spaces between you in the break room. He’s mastered the art of the neutral expression, the kind that suggests nothing has ever gone wrong. That everything is fine.

Then a package arrives at your desk.

No note. Just a brown paper bag tied up with string, like something out of a middle school crush fantasy. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, is a bouquet.

Of ballpens.

Dozens of them, in your preferred brand and ink weight. All black, all clicky. Not one of them chewed, cracked, or snapped in half—yet.

You stare at them like they’re a coded message. Maybe they are.

Jun used to tease you about it. How you went through pens like breath mints. How he’d hear the telltale crack of a barrel and look over to find you sheepish, a half-dismembered pen in hand. Once, he said he was going to buy you a box just to see how long it would take you to kill them all. You laughed and told him that was the most romantic thing he’d ever said.

You use one of the pens in the next meeting. On purpose. Jun notices. You can see it in the flick of his eyes, the way he registers it with a twitch of his mouth that isn’t quite a smile.

After, as people are clearing out, he lingers.

“That one working okay?” he asks.

You click it. Unclick. Click again. “Still alive,” you say. “No casualties yet.”

He nods. You don’t say thank you. He doesn’t say sorry.

All the same, it hangs there, between you. The closest either of you has come to being a decent person.

–-

VII. The Intern will respect all intellectual property of the Company, and in return, the Company will provide necessary tools for productivity—and occasional forgiveness.

–-

The interns are tasked with planning the company party to cap off the end of their rotation. It’s meant to be a fun assignment. Low-stakes. High morale. Naturally, it turns into an emotional landmine.

Jun, for reasons you pretend not to think too deeply about, takes the lead.

He delegates well. Manages expectations. Schedules with military precision. In the end, what catches your attention is the uncanny accuracy of his planning decisions.

The venue is one of your favorites. The playlist includes that one obscure indie-pop band you once had on repeat. The snacks avoid all your known aversions—no olives, no red velvet, no sad carrot sticks masquerading as party food.

You raise an eyebrow when he unveils the plan in the department-wide meeting. He doesn’t look at you directly, but when you glance his way, he winks. Later, when everyone’s clapping for the effort, you wait for him to slide into the seat next to yours. You lean over and mumble, taunt just for him, “Stalker.” 

He raises one shoulder in a shrug. “I shadowed you for two weeks. I’m observant.”

The party is in a week, which is probably why you run into him at the grocery store later that night, arms full of sparkling water and overpriced string lights.

You’re already in line, clutching a frozen meal and a bottle of wine that screams dinner-for-one. He falls in behind you, a little breathless, a little smug.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he says.

“Is that rosemary sea salt popcorn?” you ask, peering into his basket. “Wow. Intern budgets have really changed since my day.”

He grins. “Only the best for Carat Company.”

You point at a tub of hummus. “That brand’s terrible. Too tangy.”

“Noted,” he says, and swaps it out for another without fanfare.

You don’t know what makes you say it—maybe the buzz of fluorescent lights, maybe the way he’s stacking paper plates like it’s an art form—but you tilt your head and ask, “Bringing a date?”

Jun doesn’t miss a beat. “Nope.”

“Finance intern not free?”

“She’s got better taste than me,” he says. Then, a little more tentatively: “Position’s still open, if you’re interested.”

You click your tongue. Before you can think better of it, a responding flirtation breaks free. “I could be convinced.”

Jun giggles, quick and honest. He tries to cover it with a cough, but he’s still smiling as he sets down his basket.

The next couple of days unfold with unnerving ease. You tell yourself it’s just the party approaching, just everyone being unusually cooperative for once. But there’s a rhythm to the way you and Jun move around each other now—a familiarity that feels inherited. Like muscle memory. Like relapsing. 

You catch him finishing your sentences, anticipating your notes in meetings, handing you the pen you’re about to ask for before the words even leave your mouth. It’s annoying. It’s also disarming.

You’re in the office late one evening, finalizing a last-minute asset for the event. A print layout no one else had the brain cells to catch. Most of the floor’s lights have gone dark, save for your corner, glowing sterile and soft. But Jun’s still there too, cross-legged on the carpet like he lives here, surrounded by poster tubes and tangled cable wires, wielding a stapler with the intensity of a man on the edge.

“You know we have tape, right?” you say, leaning against the copy room door frame, sipping cold coffee that tastes like regret. 

He glances up, squints. “Yeah. Tape’s a coward’s tool.”

You snort. It sounds like something he would’ve said back when you were sharing fries and arguments on your living room floor, when evenings blurred into 2a.m. discussions about plot holes in movies and whether hotdog sandwiches were burgers.

“Besides,” he adds, popping a staple in with too much flair, “this is more permanent. It says, I commit.”

You raise an eyebrow. “To the banner?”

“To the bit,” he says, deadpan.

You roll your eyes and go back to your screen, but your grin lingers longer than you want it to.

He offers you a ride home. Says it casually, like it’s a weather update. You accept. Too casually. Like you haven’t already memorized the way his dashboard lights flicker, or how he drives five over the limit.

In his car, it’s too quiet. The AUX cable is broken. His windows fog slightly from the humidity. The air smells like mint gum, vinyl from a new car freshener, and something else—something old. You give him the directions without thinking, because they haven’t changed. Neither has the weight that settles in your chest when he takes each turn with instinctive precision.

Outside your apartment, the silence hovers. “Thanks for the ride,” you say, hand on the door handle, already half-gone. Trying very, very hard not to think about the dozens of other times this ride has happened, and how each of them ended the same way. 

He doesn’t answer for a moment. He just watches you, head tilted slightly like he’s solving a puzzle or waiting for permission. You face him, nose scrunching with mild confusion. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says. 

And then he kisses you.

It’s not sudden, but it still surprises you. Your body forgets to protest, forgets the smart thing to do, forgets the narrative you’ve been building for weeks about being over this. His mouth is warm, and patient, and frustratingly familiar. The kind of kiss that bypasses logic. The kind that knows too much.

You kiss him back. Automatically. Completely. As if no time has passed. As if the ghosting, the tension, the HR talks and overused pens never happened. Just mouths and memory and momentum.

It isn’t until you break apart—his thumb still barely touching your jaw, breath heavy in the space between—that you hear yourself say, “What are you doing?”

He exhales a laugh, like he’s embarrassed. “Convincing you.” A beat. “Is it working?”

The panic rises in your throat like bile. You’re not sure what you’re about to throw up—regret, probably. But for what? Which part? 

You don’t know the answer to that question. And so you peel away from a confused Jun, and you open the car door. The night air rushes in, cool and intrusive. You get out without a word.

He doesn’t follow. Doesn’t call after you. You don’t know what you’d want him to say, anyway. For once, you’re grateful that Wen Junhui has never chased after you when it counts. 

The morning after, you walk into the office like nothing happened. Which is to say: you walk in five minutes late with a coffee too hot for your tongue and sunglasses still on because your soul isn’t ready for fluorescent light.

You make yourself a promise. You will not acknowledge the kiss. You will not dwell. You will do what Jun did months ago. You will ghost in broad daylight.

It feels very mature.

Except, unlike Jun, you have to see him at the printer. And at the shared snack drawer. And at the joint team huddle where Soonyoung teaches everybody how to this weird, new hand gesture he picked up on. 

Jun keeps looking at you. That too-familiar softness, that edge of disappointment creeping around the corners of his mouth like he expected better from you. You don’t return the look. You don’t even return the stapler he loaned you yesterday. If professionalism is a hill to die on, then consider your gravestone already drafted.

Two days pass. You think you’ve successfully rewritten history until Jun corners you by the vending machine. Again. Before you can half-joke we have got to stop meeting like this, Jun is already snipping at the strings of your defenses. 

“Is this revenge?” he asks, low voice, eyes scanning your face.

Your hand hovers over the button for salted almonds. “What?”

“This,” he gestures vaguely at the space between you, which has become somehow both intimate and unbearable. “You pretending like it didn’t happen. Like the kiss didn’t happen.”

You choose the almonds. Not because you want them, but because silence is at least with vending machine clatter.

“You kissed me back,” he says. Almost an accusation. 

You shrug. It’s not as nonchalant as you probably want it to be. “People kiss. It’s a thing.”

Jun recoils, and something like white-hot guilt flashes through you. You douse it as Jun huffs out his next words with poorly-concealed offense, “Wow. Is this what being the bigger person looks like now?”

You pocket the almonds. “Well, you always said I was good at taking notes.”

His jaw flexes. Hurt flashes in his eyes before he smooths it over with a tired smile. “Right. Got it.”

You don’t stop him when he walks away. For the both of you, it’s a lesson learned. Turns out, the taste of your own medicine is bitter. 

And, sometimes, it comes with a side of overpriced almonds.

–-

VIII. The Employee acknowledges that emotional clarity is not listed among official job responsibilities, and therefore will not be provided under Company policy.

–-

The company party is held at a rented rooftop bar with fairy lights, questionable shrimp cocktails, and cheap beer masquerading as an open bar. Someone’s playlist is stuck on a loop of early 2010s hits, and there’s a half-deflated inflatable swan in the punch bowl. It’s all very on-brand. 

There are icebreaker games, a makeshift red carpet, and a cardboard cutout of Soonyoung in a tiger costume posing with the slogan: ROAR FOR Q4! It is, in every way, excessive.

You don a black silk blouse tucked into tailored high-waist trousers, sharp and clean and the only ironed thing in your apartment. Your lipstick is a soft red. Strategic, not romantic. You wear your hair up, simple earrings, and shoes that are just shy of painful. You look like someone who planned not to linger.

Jun shows up in a white button-down with sleeves rolled past his elbows, collar slightly askew like he got halfway ready and forgot to care. There’s a wine-colored blazer slung over one shoulder and, unfairly, it works. He has the ease of someone who didn’t expect to be watched yet somehow is.

You avoid each other all night with the precision of two people still nursing unspoken sentences. You talk to other departments. He lingers around the interns. Jihoon drinks exactly one cocktail, makes direct eye contact with you for three seconds too long, and vanishes like The Judgmental Ghost of Situationship’s Past.

The party buzzes on. There’s a chocolate fountain that no one trusts and a dance floor that Soonyoung won’t leave. There’s a photo booth filled with props from last year’s pirate-themed anniversary campaign. You find yourself laughing at something someone from Legal says, and immediately hate that it reminds you of how Jun used to make you laugh just like that—like you were surprised by it.

It’s going fine. Almost.

Until the awards begin. Soonyoung, of course, is the MC, beaming with chaotic delight. “And now,” he grins, pausing for effect, “for the honorary award for Best Enemies-to-Lovers Plot Unfolding in Real Time…”

You blink. Jun blinks. You both know how this film is going to end, and sure enough, Soonyoung is screeching your name and Jun’s. 

There are cheers. Some gasps. Mostly laughter. You rise with the grace of someone preparing for emotional war. Jun’s already on his feet, giving you that look like this is either his worst nightmare or his best bit. Possibly both.

Onstage, you are handed a trophy of a basketball player bought from the dollar store around the corner. You and Jun pose awkwardly for a photo as a chant of Speech! Speech! Speech! resounds in the crowd. 

You contemplate handing in your two week’s notice tomorrow.

Under string lights and scrutiny, you take the mic first. “I’d like to thank HR for not firing either of us,” you say for the lack of better thing to say. 

Polite chuckles. Someone from the Events team yells, “Not yet!”

Jun takes the mic next. “And I’d like to thank, uh, Soonyoung. For teaching me what a ‘horanghae’ is. Seriously, it’s done immeasurable damage to my vocabulary.”

Louder laughter. A few whoops. You both smile too hard, too bright, too fake. 

Later, you spot him near the edge of the bar, half-shadowed by a potted ficus. He’s slipping away. Classic Jun, retreating mid-scene. 

You excuse yourself before you think too hard about it. You follow him down a stairwell half-lit by emergency bulbs, the music above thumping faintly through concrete. He hears your steps before you speak.

“You always leave like this?” you ask.

He turns, hands in his pockets. His expression—initially closed-off, ready to bolt—creaks open ever so slightly. “I didn’t think you’d notice,” he answers. 

“Can’t help it.”

He looks at you like it hurts. Like you’re saying too much without saying enough. “Is this the part where you ask me why I’m leaving?”

You fold your arms over your chest, over the maddening beat of your heart. “No,” you breathe. “I want to know why you left.”

You don’t care about tonight. Jun could leave this party and never look back at The Carat Company, and you wouldn’t blame him. You care about the way his texts stopped coming in, the way it was radio silence for weeks. How he didn’t even come to take back his things, so you made the executive decision to donate them to a thrift shop like it might somehow make you feel better about yourself. 

Jun exhales, long and tired. He shifts from one foot to another. For a moment, you think he’s going to make a run for it. 

He doesn’t. 

“I didn’t think I could be enough,” he says, finally. “Not for you. Not for the version of you that has her life together, who writes like a scalpel and moves like she’s never tripped over anything in her life. I didn’t want to hold you back. I didn’t want to be another unfinished thing in your life.”

When Jun had gotten laid off his previous job, he’d fallen into a rut that you tried so hard to get him out of. You sent him motivational LinkedIn posts. You pointed out Harvard courses and helped him scour JobStreet. All the while, you were working your ass off at The Carat Company. Coming home burnt out but still willing to help him back on his feet. 

You hadn’t realized how that might’ve looked like for him. You hadn’t seen the cracks, stretching like spiderwebs over his fragile male ego. Obscuring the reason why you did it all in the first place. 

Love. Crazy, stupid love. You clear your throat, refusing to let the rage tip out of you. Some of it bleeds into your incredulous question, anyway.  “So you decided for me?”

His shoulders flinch. “I was scared.”

“You don’t get to do that,” you say, your attempt at being cool fracturing. “You don’t get to leave me, then show back up like a better man, when the truth is—you didn’t even let me choose.”

He looks at you, stunned. “I—”

“No,” you say, stepping forward. “Who I want to suffer for is my call.” 

This time, you kiss him. 

It’s not clean. It’s not soft. It’s messy and fierce and fueled by months of bitterness and longing, of misspoken lines and things unsaid. His hands find your waist like they’ve never left it. Your mouth moves like a dare. There’s a wall at his back, and your chest at his front, and none of this feels professional at all.

It feels like something finally falling into place. Or breaking open.

Jun’s car is parked two levels down, the far corner of a concrete lot that smells like rain, gasoline, and the ghost of things unsaid. It’s far from the rooftop’s sticky laughter and company-wide inebriation. A hush broken only by the soft echo of your heels and the low, restless rhythm of your breathing. His, too.

You’re kissing again by the time you get nearer to the car.  This time, it’s slower. Hungrier. The kind of kiss that drags a sound out of him—half-sigh, half-swear. 

Jun groans into your mouth, hands moving instinctively. One finds your jaw, the other your waist, fingers curling with intent. Your back hits the side of his car with a quiet thud. You smile against his mouth, sharp and satisfied.

“You gonna run again?” you mumble, voice low, all edge.

He shakes his head, dazed. “Not unless you tell me to.”

“Good,” you say, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt, grazing hot skin. “Then shut up and get in the car.”

He listens. He always did know how to listen when it mattered.

The door slams shut, muffling the world. The air smells like him—clean linen, faint spice, something faintly sweet beneath it. The dash glows dim. Your blouse is unbuttoned by the time you straddle him, knees digging into the leather seat. He fumbles to push his seat back farther, and you don’t wait. You settle on his thighs, hungry hands pushing his shirt up, over his head.

His eyes are already wild. Chest bare. Breath uneven. Like he can’t quite believe this is happening. You kiss him again, rougher this time, teeth grazing his bottom lip. He gasps.

“You want this?” he asks, voice cracked, part awe, part fear.

You lean in, lips brushing his ear. “I need this.”

Clothes are tossed somewhere in the front seat—jacket, trousers, shirt, all lost to heat and haste. Your fingers fumble with his belt; he helps, hands shaking. You lift your hips, letting him drag your trousers down, your underwear already damp and sticking to your thighs. His knuckles brush the inside of your legs as he pulls them off, slow and reverent, then not-so-slow.

His fingers ghost along your inner thigh, then between your legs, slipping through slick heat. He exhales like it guts him.

“Still so wet for me,” he breathes, voice shredded. “How are you still so wet?”

You take his hand, guide his fingers to your lips, and suck your own slick clean. Your eyes on his the entire time. The sharp, guttural sound he makes is a reward in its own right.

The kiss that follow doesn’t end so much as it fractures. Broken by breath, by the heat of your thighs still spread over his lap, by the way your hips keep shifting like you haven’t quite had your fill.

Jun exhales sharply when you pull back. His mouth is swollen, his chest rising and falling like he ran a mile, and his hands—God, his hands—don’t stop touching you. One strokes your thigh, the other drifts higher, sliding back between your legs.

He groans, thumb dragging through your slick, and you shudder. “You always get like this,” he whispers, like it’s a secret meant only for you. “I touch you and you… fuck, you melt for me.”

You grind into his palm, voice already too hoarse to feign nonchalance. “Don’t pretend you’re in control right now.”

His eyes flick up, wide and wrecked. “I’m not,” he laughs. “Not even close.”

His fingers slip in. Two at once, with a stretch that makes your eyes flutter. You gasp, back arching, one arm braced against the seat in front of him as he starts to work you open. Slow. Deep. A rhythm that feels almost reverent, like he’s savoring this. Like he’s making up for every missed chance.

“So warm,” he grunts, forehead pressed to your collarbone. “So perfect.”

You reach down to find his cock still half-hard and twitching. Your fingers wrap around him, familiar with the way he likes to be touched, with how he reacts when you drag your thumb just under the head. He shudders. Moans. His hand falters inside you.

“Don’t—don’t do that,” he stammers.

You smile, sharp and smug. “Why not?” 

You jerk him slow, just enough to keep him on the edge. His eyes flutter. His mouth opens, breath catching on every exhale as your hand works him while his fingers fuck into you.

This is how it used to be, back when it was messy and undefined, back when you still pretended this didn’t mean something. His hands in your pants after a long day at work. Your mouth on him in a shared shower.  But this is different. Sharper. Hungrier. The way he looks at you now—it isn’t casual. It’s not temporary.

His lips graze your jaw. His voice cracks. “You feel so good,” he says, his words slurred with pleasure, “s-so good. I can’t think.” 

You lean closer, nipping at his throat. “Don’t think. Just give me your fingers.”

He does. He gives you everything. Curling deeper, pressing harder, stretching you out until you clench around him and gasp, nails digging into the side of his neck. “Shit,” you whisper. “There, please. Right there.”

He moans, like he’s the one being burned alive. His hips jerk up into your palm. “So polite,” he says affectionately, placing a quick kiss to your shoulder before going on, “You’re gonna come for me, baby? Huh? Just on my fingers?”

You grind down, breath punching out of you. The pleasure coils hot and fast in your stomach, that dizzy, electric pull that tells you you’re about to break. When you register that the old pet name had slipped out of him—baby—you shatter.

It hits you all at once. Tight, breathless, a wave crashing through your spine and curling your toes. Your moan rips through the silence, raw and wild, as you pulse around him.

Jun curses under his breath. Even as you climax, your hand hasn’t stopped moving. He trembles, thighs tight beneath you. “Fuck, stop, stop—please, I’ll come,” he pants. “I’ll come and I’m not inside you yet. Please.”

You still your hand, fingers flexing around the base of his cock. His hips twitch anyway, desperate. His head falls back against the seat, jaw slack, chest heaving.

You watch him. The boy you almost had. The man who’s trying not to lose you now.

“You good?” you ask, voice low. Fond. Worried. 

He nods, swallowing hard. “Barely,” he croaks. “Need you.”

You lean in, mouth grazing his. “You’ve got me,” you promise, and it’s the truest thing you’ve said all night. 

The second your hand lifts from his cock, Jun fumbles between your thighs with shaking fingers, lining himself up. His touch is clumsy, reverent, desperate. His breath hitches when the head of his cock drags against your slick, catching at your entrance.

“Fuck, yes,” he gasps, the sound raw, like he’s already too close.

You sink onto him in one motion.

It’s not graceful, not slow. It’s greedy.

Your body takes him deep, full, stretched wide around him in a single sharp thrust that leaves you both dazed. His head snaps back, mouth open in a moan that cuts off halfway, swallowed by the thud of your hips meeting. “Jesus Christ,” he chokes out. “You’re—fuck. Fuck. You’re perfect.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders, anchoring yourself. The leather creaks beneath your knees. You don’t wait, don’t answer. You ride him fast, rough, punishing—like you need him to feel just how badly you've wanted this.

His hands scramble to keep up, one sliding to your waist, the other gripping your thigh, then your ass, then back again. He can’t seem to pick where he wants to touch you, so he settles for everywhere.

“You’re taking me so good,” he groans, eyes flicking down to where you’re joined, completely lost in it. “So fucking deep. Missed this. Missed you.”

You grind down harder, pace unrelenting. “You missed me, or just my pussy?” you bite out, even as a moan escapes.

He laughs, broken and breathless. “Both. Don’t make me choose.”

You lean in and kiss him, open-mouthed and hungry, your teeth dragging against his bottom lip before you suck it into your mouth. His hands tighten, fingertips bruising. Your hips roll, bounce, grind. Every motion is intentional. Relentless. He’s twitching inside you already.

He lets out a strangled sound when you clench around him. “Trying to—hng—ruin me?” he whimpers, forehead pressed to yours.

“You’re doing that all on your own,” you exhale before chasing his lips. 

The car rocks. Windows fog. Sweat beads at your spine, your thighs, the crease of his neck where you bury your face to muffle a cry.

He’s fucking up into you now, meeting every downward slam of your hips with a thrust that has you seeing stars. His rhythm is messier than you remember, but it’s probably the moment. The setting. The reunion. 

“Gonna come,” he warns, voice wrecked. “Shit—baby, please.”

You pull back, lips brushing his ear. “Then do it,” you whisper. “Come—ah—inside me. Make a mess, baby.”

His whole body jerks. His fingers dig in. He groans deep in his chest like it hurts to hold on. You don’t let up.

Your pace gets rougher. Sloppier. He’s moaning, practically whimpering. The kind of sounds you’ve only ever pulled from him when he’s too far gone to pretend. “You sound wrecked,” you pant, dragging your nails down his chest. “You close, baby?”

He nods, dazed, unable to speak.

You fuck down harder. Grind meaner. Your clit drags against the base of him and your whole body tenses. It hits you without warning—full-body and sudden. Your orgasm crashes through you like a wave, ripping your breath away as your muscles seize around him.

He cries out, high and choked. His hips stutter. “Wait—wait, fuck, baby, stop—please,” he pleads, voice cracking. “Need this to last. Need to have you for longer.”

You freeze, panting against his mouth.

He’s trembling.

“Alright?” you ask.

He nods, frantic. “Yeah. Yeah. I just—don’t want this to end.”

You stroke his cheek, your body still sensitive in aftershocks.

He looks up at you, eyes glassy, lips kiss-bruised. “I used to dream about this,” he says, voice barely there. “After we... you know. Dreamt of having you again. But it never felt like this.”

“Like what?”

He swallows. “Like I could lose you if I didn’t hold on tight enough.”

The sincerity bowls you over, so you kiss him again. This time, you slow down. Not because you want to, but because you know you’re both too close to let it end like that.

Your next words are a tremble against his lips. “Don’t leave. Not this time."

“I won’t,” he answers without missing a beat.  

You don’t move for a moment. Just sit there, full of him, your body still trembling with aftershocks, hips twitching every few seconds like your muscles don’t know it’s over. Jun’s forehead rests against your sternum, his breath hot and uneven against your skin, his grip around your waist just this side of desperate.

You let it stretch. The quiet. The weight. The ache.

The car is still and humid, your skin sticking slightly where it meets his. All you can hear is the slow, syncopated rhythm of your breath tangled with his. Every now and then, your body clenches around him involuntarily, dragging tiny, startled sounds from both your throats.

After a couple of minutes, you start to move again. Just a slow, idle grind of your hips. Gentle. Lazy. The kind of roll that shouldn’t mean anything, but still makes you both react. A twitch from him. A flutter from you. You do it again. Then again. Just enough pressure. Just enough friction to keep you grounded in it.

He whimpers quietly, head tilting up to look at you through damp lashes. “This is torture.” 

You smile. Kiss his temple, almost laughingly. “I always did like making your life hard.” 

Jun huffs something like a laugh, more breath than voice. His hand curls around the back of your neck, thumb stroking over your pulse. The other traces down to your thigh, fingers dragging along the crease with slow reverence. You keep rocking gently, almost absentminded. Not fucking. Not chasing. Just—resting. Keeping him there. Letting him feel all of you, even in stillness.

It’s unfairly intimate, how your body fits against his like it remembers how. The arch of your spine molded to the shape of his chest, your forehead resting against the curve of his jaw, your hands cradling his face when you lift it.

His heartbeat pounds beneath your palm, too fast. Too vulnerable. “Can I…” he starts, voice cautious, almost shy.

You lift a brow. “Can you what?”

“Take some of the control. Just for a bit.”

It kills you. That he has to ask. That he still doesn’t think you’d give him the world. “Of course,” you say, the word murmured against the corner of his mouth. “Take me.” 

He doesn’t answer. His grip on your ass tightens, fingers digging into the supple fleshed. “Baby,” he says, wrecked and serious, “I’ve been dreaming of fucking you properly since the day I left.” 

Your teeth grazes his lips. “Do it, then,” you hum. 

And he does.

He plants his feet. Braces himself. Then lifts you slightly and thrusts up hard, cock dragging deep, unforgiving. The breath punches out of you like a hit. Your hands scramble for purchase on his shoulders, your head falling forward.

He does it again. And again. Brutal. Precise. Each upward slam meets the drag of your body grinding down, slick and hot and soaked with all the aftermath he’s still pulsing inside.

“That’s it,” he growls, his breath ragged. “Let me fuck you. Let me make you feel it.”

You let him.

You go pliant in his hands, let him chase the tempo, his rhythm messy but deep. Every thrust is a reminder of what you both lost and what he’s begging for now.

He fucks up into you like he’s trying to chase every unsaid apology down your spine. The car rocks with the motion. His arms strain with effort, sweat slipping between your bodies, your skin slapping wetly together with every filthy thrust.

“You’re unreal,” he moans. “So good. So fucking good. I forgot how you feel. I forgot how you sound when I—”

“You didn’t forget,” you cut in, panting. “You just—hng—thought you could survive without it.”

He whines at that. Literally whines. You tighten around him and his hips stutter.

The pressure rises again. Slower this time. No sharp edge. Just steady, building tension in your core. Your muscles twitch with each thrust, your chest pressed to his, damp and heaving.

Jun kisses you hard, tongue hot and desperate. “I wanna feel you come again,” he begs against your mouth. “Please. Please, baby. One more. Give it to me."

You nod, but it’s not conscious. Your body answers before your mouth can.

It crashes into you, serrated and mean. Your third orgasm claws through your nerves, your thighs clamping down around his waist as you cry out into his neck. It’s overwhelming. Scalding. Your body trembles, every inch of you unraveling in his hands.

That’s all he needs. He groans, deep and undone, shoving into you one last time and staying there. His whole body goes tight, shakes. You cup his face. Make him look at you.

The thought occurs to you for the nth time: Jun is so pretty when he comes. 

Even if he does it with a raw, wounded sound. He pulses deep inside you, buried as far as he can get, and you swear you can feel him shaking with it. Like it guts him. Like it saves him.

He clings to you afterward. Breathing hard. Drenched and unraveled.

You don’t say anything. You just stay. Let him hold you. Let him come back to you, slowly but surely.

Because this time, he isn’t running. And for once, neither are you.

The next morning, though, you wake to the absence of weight.

That’s the first thing you notice.

The second is the shape of your own anxiety, curling low in your chest, familiar as a bad habit. The other side of the bed is empty. The sheets are rumpled and cooling. There’s a single long strand of hair caught in the pillowcase. Not yours.

For a moment, you just stare at it. Then you look around. Bedroom door open. A thin shaft of light bleeds in from the hallway.

You don’t call out. You don’t move. You just go very, very still.

This is, after all, a familiar pattern. Boy meets girl. Boy runs away. Girl pretends she doesn’t notice until it’s convenient to feel something about it. The air smells like sex and detergent. The ceiling has a crack in it that you keep forgetting to report to the landlord. Your throat is dry.

Then Jun reappears.

Towel low on his hips, toothbrush in hand. He stops short in the doorway, mid-step, and you watch the exact moment he realizes what his absence must’ve looked like. The moment the air shifts. The look on your face must be something, because his shoulders drop in a slow exhale and his voice goes soft.

“Hey. I didn’t leave,” he says, swallowing his toothpaste—what a fucking psycho—before setting his tooth brush on to the nearest flat surface. “Just went to brush my teeth."

You raise an eyebrow. Try to mask the little betrayal that had already crept in. “You know, most people announce their morning survival before disappearing,” you say. “It’s customary.” 

Jun winces. “You’re right. I should’ve said something. I just didn’t want to wake you.”

You sit up, sheets falling to your waist. Your body aches in a way that feels earned. Your hair is a mess after the two, maybe three rounds that you and Jun had when he fell into your bed last night. You don’t care enough to hide the overthinking.

“You could’ve left a note,” you say. Half-serious, half-joking. “Or a sock on the door. A smoke signal.”

He laughs, crosses to the side of the bed. Drops the towel a little lower on purpose, the menace. “Noted. Next time I disappear into the bathroom, I’ll launch a full PR campaign.”

You narrow your eyes. “See that you do.”

His hand lifts to your face, thumb dragging just under your cheekbone. “I’m here,” he says, plain and simple as a promise. And he means it.

Maybe it’s stupid that you believe him. Maybe it’s messier than it should be, that you’re even in this place, in this bed, with this boy again.

But his hand is warm. His mouth is soft when he kisses your forehead. And when he climbs back in bed to hold you to him, you don’t say no. 

It’s a Saturday, so the two of you let the sun climb high enough to slice through your blinds. You’d move, but Jun is draped over you like a weighted blanket with abandonment issues. It’s clingy in a way that would be annoying if it weren’t also stupidly comforting. 

His leg is thrown across yours. His arm is a dead weight on your stomach. He smells like your shampoo and the faint citrus of your soap, and the whole thing is either domestic bliss or a very elaborate trap.

His fingers are tucked into the curve of your hip, not moving, just there. A quiet claim. As if anchoring himself will stop time or stop you from thinking of endings.

You’re not even annoyed, which is suspicious. You should be cataloging all the reasons this is a bad idea. Cross-department entanglements, your no-office-romance policy (written internally, unspoken externally), the sheer HR nightmare of it all. Instead, you’re memorizing the rhythm of his breathing.

“So,” he says after a long moment, voice still scratchy with sleep, mouth near your collarbone, "they offered me a job."

You blink at the ceiling. The fan clicks. One of the blades wobbles slightly. “‘They’ being The Carat Company.”

He nods into your shoulder. You feel the curve of his smile before you see it. It’s smug and sleepy and dangerous—a combination that should come with a warning label.

You hum. Neutral. “That’s… a choice.”

Jun shifts. Enough to glance up at you, catching your expression with lazy amusement. It’s probably somewhere between polite support and visible internal shrieking. “Wow,” he murmurs. “You are doing an excellent job of pretending that doesn’t horrify you."

You sigh, staring at the water-stained patch on your ceiling. “I just think our HR department is one passive-aggressive email away from imploding, and I’m not sure I want to share a copier with someone who’s seen me naked.”

He chuckles. Kisses your shoulder. “That’s fair. But relax. I’m not taking it.”

You pause. Blink. Turn your head just enough to catch his face. “You’re not?”

He shakes his head, pulling back slightly, grinning like a man who knows he’s about to get a dramatic reaction. You squint at him. "So?"

“Sebong offered me something better.”

Record scratch. Full stop. You sit up slightly, sheet dragging across your chest. “Sebong Corporation? Our most flamboyant and passive-aggressive rival?”

“The very same.”

You purse your lips. “The one that sent us cupcakes during Q3 just to say ‘Sorry about your metrics’?”

Jun grins. “A plus for petty. But yeah, they want me.”

“You’re going corporate spy now? Love that for you,” you jab. “Can you wear a wire to our next team sync?"

He shrugs, undeterred by your sarcasm as a coping mechanism. “They offered better pay, better benefits. Free espresso on every floor.”

You make a sound of mock envy. “Now you’re just bragging.”

“I am,” he adds, with that soft arrogance only he can pull off without getting slapped. “I think I’m gonna take it.”

“Why?”

He looks at you with the kind of gaze that burns just a little. Like he’s searching for a permission he already knows you’ll give. Then he says it. The same thing he said when he waltzed back into your life, self-assured and saccharine. 

“It’s the best, isn’t it?” Jun says. “And I always want the best.”

You roll your eyes so hard your ancestors probably feel it. But something in your chest stutters. This time, the words land different. Softer. Honest in a way that makes your ribs ache.

He’s making a concession. He’s doing something to make this, make the two of you, possible. 

He’s calling you something he wants, and calling you the best, in the same breath.  

Jun leans in, presses his forehead to yours, nose brushing yours like an apology. When he kisses you, it tastes like toothpaste and devotion. And also maybe like something terrifyingly close to commitment.

You lie there for a while. Wrapped in warmth and silence and the complicated calculus of wanting things that feel big and breakable. Like him. Like this. Like futures you haven’t even said out loud yet.

At some point, Jun shifts behind you, arms tightening around your middle. His chin rests in the crook of your neck, breath brushing your skin.

“You okay with it?” he asks.

You shrug. “I mean, it’s marginally better than you working across the hall from me and flirting over the printer queue.”

“We’d both get nothing done.”

“Exactly. Chaos.”

Jun kisses the back of your shoulder again. It’s like he can’t stop kissing you, like he can’t believe he can do it all again. Somewhere in the quiet that follows, your brain writes the paperwork.

--

This Employment Contract (“Agreement”) is made between Wen Junhui (“Boyfriend”), and you.

WHEREAS the Boyfriend agrees to remain shirtless in your apartment at least three mornings per week, and to bring the good coffee whenever you run out;

WHEREAS emotional transparency shall be upheld with the same rigor as quarterly reporting, including but not limited to: post-sex vulnerability, Sunday-night anxiety debriefs, and one (1) designated safe word for moments of self-sabotage;

WHEREAS both parties are permitted one (1) bad take per fiscal quarter, to be gently corrected and never mentioned again;

THEREFORE, both parties agree to exclusive rights to back scratches, late-night ramen runs, shared Spotify queues, and slow dancing in the kitchen when neither of you feels like cooking;

FURTHERMORE, cuddling shall not be used as a diversion tactic during emotionally intense conversations, unless unanimously approved by both parties in advance.

Effective immediately. Benefits include forehead kisses, a stupid amount of texting, sleeping on opposite sides but always ending up tangled, emergency ice cream runs, and never having to go to office parties alone.

[mejaemin]

can i get junhui and number 16 please??

junhui + person a is upset about something, and they just want to be in person b’s arms, their safe place

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, reader is a corporate baddie getting mistreated by stinky coworkers, o.c.l. cameo, juju is a sweet healing cutiepie angel sweetheart an: idk what to say in the note of this. ALO ALO T H U N D E R ALO ALO 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 oh yeah! 700 words long! because im v passionate about bf jun being the sweetest and best at comforting u when ur upset! ALO 🔥🔥 ALO 🔥🔥

you come home from work, eyes and feet burning, and you freeze as soon as you walk into your home.

your favorite mug is shattered on the floor.

open sits right next to the pile, sitting all cutely and carelessly as if this wasn’t your final straw. the other two are nearby, also watching over the crime scene with mirth. nope nope nope, you think, kicking your shoes off and booking it to your bedroom.

it’s empty, which you could expect being that junhui’s a city over for work, but that just makes everything so much worse. before you can even begin to consider how silly your tears are, they’re falling, your head falling in your arms as you flop onto the bed.

life has been just so stressful today. your boss was being an asshole, as per usual, calling your work inadequate and such as he usually enjoys doing. on top of working extra hard to make sure yours is immaculate, nearly half of your department also piled theirs onto you, and it took nearly all your willpower to not curse the entire building out and pour coffee all over them. and then, when you come home and think about having a warm cup of tea to calm yourself, you can’t! the cats broke it! it truly feels like the universe decided to shit on you today.

just as you get ready to scream into the pillow, your phone rings. you hadn’t turned it off do not disturb so you immediately answer, knowing there’s only one person it could be.

you leave your camera facing the ceiling, head back in your arms as the voice that heals you starts leaving the speaker.

“hi, baby, you must be home now! i do have some news though.. i might be coming home late. there’s..” junhui pauses to take a breath, “there’s a lot of work to be done here. if i don’t do it now, it’ll never be finished. you know me.”

you don’t say anything. you just heave a sigh, a huge one, air hissing through your teeth as you fight the urge to ugly cry. really? the one thing, the sole person who could fix every single problem you have can’t come home to you? literally all you need right now is for him to hold you, to listen to you and talk shit with you about your coworkers, and you can’t even have that.

he calls your name softly, “..are you okay?”

you shake your head, sniffling, before remembering he can’t see you, “no,” you whisper, warbly, trying to hide your tears.

“do you need me?” he asks, all soft and reassuring like he’s ready to sprint home right now. you know he would.

“p- please..” you say, voice breaking, and then you can’t help as you start crying all over again, makeup smudged all over your face and hands.

“okay, i’ll come. as fast as i can, promise. can i see you?” he waits patiently, smiling when he can finally see your eyes at the bottom of his screen. you can see him packing his stuff up already. “why don’t you go in the kitchen, make some tea, calm yourself down while i make the drive home, okay? i’ll go as fast as i can.”

you start crying even harder, shuddering and sniffling as you try to respond. “i- i can’t, because the cats broke my mug.. and i’m sorry, i just left it there, but i really can’t- i really can’t do this right now, i’m so fucking tired and i just wanted to come home and sleep and have you be there-”

“shh, shh, okay, lovie, calm down.. i need you to go in there and clean it up, okay? if you can’t just watch over the mess for me, we don’t want the kitties getting hurt.. i’ll take care of everything as soon as i get there. i’m already in the car, see? i’ll come home and fix it, and then i’ll hold you in my arms, forever and ever. i pinkie promise.”

and you know he’s telling the truth, because a thirty minute car ride was suddenly fifteen, and he was already cleaning the mess, walking in with a new mug, and holding you in his arms as you vent to him about today’s events.

1 to 13 🏷️ @markkiatocafe @ateez-atiny380

[cairafea]

my favourite genre of seventeen is when they're straight up lying

ref:

[wnjunhui]

JUN-kitty gets shy when he gets compliments 🥹

[userjunhui]

JUN - 2024 Douyin Spring Festival

[fairyhaos]

how seventeen get cuteness aggression for their s/o

requested by many people! counterpart to this hc <3

masterlist

seungcheol, woozi

has probably actually gotten mad at how cute you are at some point. like genuinely, looking over at you and then just freezing, before loudly complaining and making a whole fuss over how you can't keep looking at him like that because he will!!! he Will need to punch something bc of just!!! how!!! cute!!! you are. nonono, he's not punching you, he's gonna punch like. a wall or something. just to vent over how someone as adorable as you actually exists. and then he'll give you kisses all over until you're laughing because you are ridiculously cute and he needs to shower you with affection so you realise how enamoured he is.

jeonghan, joshua, minghao

only he could make cuteness aggression sound like the softest thing ever. he'll be aggressively squishing your cheeks so hard that your eyes are all squinty and everything you say is basically indecipherable, whilst he continues sighing and looking at you with all the fondness in the world and lamenting over how goddamn adorable you are and honestly, what is he going to do with you? the stark contrast between his soft, enamoured voice and the way he's ruffling your hair and kissing your face everywhere like you're going to disappear any moment makes you laugh, weirdly endeared by his behaviour. you're going to get him back for it, though. and ruffle his hair until he can't see a single thing.

junhui, hoshi, mingyu, chan

probably cries. he looks at you sitting there all pretty, completely minding your own business, and the feelings just bubble up inside him so aggressively because WHO is allowed to be that adorable whilst doing absolutely nothing? it's not fair. what starts out as a rant over your cuteness ends up with him a bit teary-eyed and sniffly bc you're just so pretty and he doesn't know what to do. you have to pat him on the head and wipe away his tears as he clings to you and continues to tearily confess that you're the sweetest and loveliest person he's ever seen. his episodes of cuteness of aggression always end with you getting cuteness aggression too bc of how adorable he is everytime he does this

wonwoo, vernon

he's not very showy about his cuteness aggression, at all, but that doesn't mean it's not obvious. he'll stare at you for hours with literal hearts in his eyes, fondness written all over his face, and anyone who looks at him will just know how cute he finds you, even though he hasn't said a word. acts like you're the most precious being in the entire world, and is basically dissolving into a puddle of adoration right then and there. god, he's so lucky to even be in your presence and be able to love you, bc you're just so pretty and so cute. “why are you staring at me so much?” / “you're just so cute, i don't know what to do with you.”

dokyeom, seungkwan

he is very, very noisy about how cute he finds you. i mean like genuinely screeching and being all loud as he complains that you are far too adorable and what about his heart?? have you thought about his heart? bc it's currently melting onto the floor and it's all your fault!!!! the loud screeching is Also accompanied by very clingy hands, so expect the sudden shout to then be followed up with him basically hanging off your shoulders and holding your face in his hands as he cries over how adorable and lovely you are. everyone within a fifty metre radius will know that he finds you cute, by the way. be prepared.

request guidelines

reactions tags: @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @newgirlygirl @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @wonranghaeee @yonabutnotyuna @crackedpumpkin @wqnwoos @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @icyminghao @valenhui @sweet-like-caramel @odxrilove @kyeomyun @chansburgah @pepperonijem @jeonride @kellesvt @kikohao @astrozuya @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @all-american-fangirl @f1uffyjun @sea-moon-star @nonononranghaee @isabellah29 @mcu-incorrect @hrts4hanniehae @suraandsugar @pan-de-seungcheol @dokyeomkyeom @melodicrabbit @bananabubble

[acrosstheujiverse]

I Like You So Much, You'll Know It

【📂】 summary: you used to think love had to be loud—full of sparks and spectacle. but now, in the quiet of your old school, you realize love was softer than that. love was junhui, waiting in the silence. 【🖇️】 pairing: patient!junhui x oblivious!reader. 【💿】 genre: slice-of-life; slow-burn romance; coming-of-age. 【🧺】 tags: high school reunion; unspoken love; memories; quiet devotion. 【📦】 w/c: 5.3k+

📬 — author��s note！this is inspired by the 2017 c-drama "a love so beautiful."

“everyone who watches the drama imagines themselves as jiang chen, when in reality, we’re all like wu bosong.”

dedicated to those who love quietly—for the ones who wait, give without asking, and still hold on to hope.

releasing this from the drafts (2021).

i like you so much, you'll know it (minghao's version)

« main masterlist | (SOON) »

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the old high school felt almost like a place you’d dreamed.

not because it had changed, but because you had.

the hallways were narrower, the doors lower, the colors faded slightly like old pages in the sun. the trees in the courtyard stood perfectly still, as though they had always been waiting.

somewhere near the gym, laughter spilled out from old friends catching up, voices full of stories stitched together with time.

but you weren’t drawn to the noise.

you were looking for someone.

not xu minghao—though there had been a time you believed your heart belonged to him.

minghao had always been easy to notice. not because he asked to be seen, but because he moved like someone who already belonged to the future.

he was calm, composed, bright in that quiet way stars are bright—you only notice them when you stop and look up.

he didn’t try to impress anyone. and so, of course, he did.

he was top of the class, played with grace on the court, served on the student council with a stillness that spoke louder than speeches.

you watched him the way you’d watch a reflection in water—carefully, afraid to disrupt it.

and maybe you thought if you looked long enough, he might look back.

but he didn’t.

the one who did—you barely noticed at first.

not until now.

because now, you were looking for wen junhui.

and he was there.

exactly where he’d always been.

under the tall tree near the court, where the sun filtered down in ribbons.

he sat as though he belonged to the light. still, but present.

he didn’t turn when you approached. somehow, you knew he didn’t need to.

“you’re still early,” you said, gently—your voice moving through the hush like the wind moves through curtains: soft, but not unseen.

he turned slowly.

smiled.

the same smile.

it felt like something small and familiar blooming in your chest.

“you’re still late,” he said, and the words held warmth. no edge, just memory.

you sat beside him. closer than before.

before, you might have left a space. but the years had softened the shape of that space, and now, it didn’t seem necessary.

the quiet between you wasn’t empty. it was full of things not yet spoken.

you watched the light move across the pavement, slow and golden.

“you waited,” you said—not because you wondered, but because you knew.

he didn’t answer right away. when he did, it was with the same steady gentleness that had always marked him.

“i didn’t know how not to.”

you couldn't help but smile, but it was a bittersweet smile, knowing you’d spent so long looking in the wrong direction.

chasing something beautiful, yes—but not what you needed.

minghao had been the idea of love.

junhui had been its practice.

“i used to think love had to be loud,” you said. “all-consuming. obvious. like a comet across the sky.”

“i’m not very loud,” he said, almost like he was apologizing for it.

“no,” you said. “but you were steady. you stayed. even when I didn’t see it.”

he didn’t flinch. didn’t protest. just let it be true.

“i liked you so much,” he said quietly, “i thought… maybe one day, you’d feel it.”

you turned to look at him—not just glance, but really see.

he didn’t turn right away, but you reached out anyway, and took his hand.

“i do,” you said. “i know now.”

he looked at your hand in his like it was something he didn’t expect to hold. and then he looked at you, and in that gaze there was something deeper than surprise. there was grace.

you were here.

you had turned around.

and somehow, that was enough.

“i’m sorry it took me this long,” you whispered.

“you’re here now,” he said. “that’s what matters.”

above you, the sky was turning soft and lavender, and the world felt as though it had exhaled. the kind of quiet that holds its breath not in fear, but in wonder.

you rested your head on his shoulder. he leaned into you without hesitation.

and just like that, the past didn’t feel wasted.

it felt like a long, winding path that had always led here—to this bench. to this evening. to the stillness wrapped around you like light through leaves. to the warmth of a hand that had always been waiting. and to the truth you said, finally and simply:

“junhui… i like you so much.”

and now, at last, he knew it.

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it didn’t happen all at once.

there was no thunderclap, no sudden blaze of knowing.

no lightning bolt of revelation, the kind that rewrites your story in a single instant. the world didn’t stop turning to bear witness.

it came slowly. quietly.

like a seed breaking open beneath the soil. like a star’s light, already shining long before you ever thought to look up.

you didn’t notice it at first. not because it wasn’t there—but because you weren’t ready to see it.

it began at the edge of things.

a soft ache, not quite pain.

a shift in the air.

not a burning, but a kind of warmth that unfolded in careful increments, like sunlight gathering on a windowsill.

unannounced.

unhurried.

unmistakable—once you turned your face toward it.

there were no grand declarations.

no cinematic turning point.

just the quiet accumulation of small, steady moments: the way he waited, the way he listened, the way he stayed.

it wasn’t loud. it wasn’t obvious.

and maybe that’s why it took you so long to notice.

because love didn’t come to you like a storm—it arrived like snow. soft. certain. each flake a whisper of something larger. and by the time you looked down, your hands were already full of it.

if you tried to trace it back—follow the thread through the laughter and the silence, through the missed chances and half-held breath—you’d always find yourself in the same place.

it began on the rooftop.

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you had said it in passing.

not as a demand, or a plea—just a thought you let drift into the air, soft around the edges.

half a complaint, half a wish.

“why doesn’t it ever snow here? i want to see everything turn white just once before the break.”

most of your friends laughed. not unkindly—just in that way people do when they think you’re only dreaming out loud, when they think nothing will come of it.

but junhui didn’t laugh.

he heard it differently.

like it mattered.

like a wish whispered into a well.

and maybe he didn’t know what to do with it yet—not exactly—but something in him folded the words carefully and tucked them away. like a note. like a promise.

-

it was three days before winter break.

outside the classroom windows, the sky had already turned that deep blue that slips in just after sunset—when the light is gone, but the dark hasn’t fully arrived.

night school had started. students sat restlessly at their desks, half-studying, half-drifting into the promise of freedom.

the teacher had stepped out for a moment, and the room buzzed with low conversation, like bees moving through the last minutes of the day.

then someone gasped.

it was a surprised sound. not loud, but full of something childlike. “wait—look outside!”

you turned, just in time to see a group of classmates rush toward the windows. the front row stood on tiptoes, palms pressed to glass.

“is that… snow?”

you blinked.

that couldn’t be right. the forecast had said nothing about snow.

you’d checked. twice.

you pushed your chair back and followed them, weaving your way through shoulders and coats and warm breath fogging the air. everyone was taller than you. the view was blocked. you couldn’t see.

“move,” you whispered. not angry—just wanting to see. “let me through.”

you made it to the window. rested your hands against the cold pane. and looked out.

and just like that—your heart caught in your chest. then fluttered.

white flakes drifted down beneath the courtyard lights. not heavy, but certain. snow.

it fell like a secret the sky had been holding onto. soft. light. timed perfectly, as if the world had been waiting for this moment and only now decided to begin.

you stood there, lips parted in quiet disbelief. it was snowing. really snowing. and for a moment, you felt like a child again—full of awe and impossible wishes.

you didn’t know you were smiling until someone beside you said,

“didn’t think we’d get any this year.”

but you didn’t answer. you were still staring.

and then—your gaze lifted.

the rooftop.

there was something about it. something in you stirred.

maybe curiosity.

but something whispered: go.

so you did.

you slipped quietly from the room—past the bathroom, toward the stairwell.

up there, the building was quieter. dim. lit only by emergency lights that painted everything in soft gray. your steps echoed on the tile. your breath came in clouds.

you weren’t expecting anything, not really.

maybe just a better view.

but the second you opened the rooftop door—

pshhhhht

you froze.

a burst of white shot through the air.

and across the rooftop—there was junhui.

running. laughing.

his buzzcut caught the rooftop light like it always did when he forgot his hat. his arms were full of movement. his sweater sleeves pushed to his elbows.

in both hands, he held cans of fake snow spray.

he ran from one end of the rooftop to the other, wide-armed, like a boy trying to make the sky believe in winter.

foam burst around him. it stuck to his sleeves, clung to his shoes, settled into the curve of his grin. his eyebrows were dusted with white. his head looked like someone had shaken powdered sugar over it.

he looked completely ridiculous. and completely joyful.

you didn’t say anything. you just watched.

watched this boy—who had always been nearby. quiet. steady. easy to overlook. until now.

your fingers curled gently around the doorframe.

your chest was warm and full and aching in a way you didn’t yet understand.

but you smiled.

softly. secretly.

you didn’t interrupt him. you let the silence bloom. let the rooftop fill with laughter and drifting foam. let the moment live.

when he finally slowed—breathless, flecked with white, grinning at no one in particular—you stepped back.

quietly. unseen.

you returned to the classroom, brushed your sleeves clean, sat down without saying a word.

you stifled your smile. but not completely.

and for the rest of the night, while classmates flicked through pages and the teacher talked over the hum of exhaustion, you kept looking at the window.

because it hadn’t really snowed that night. 

you knew that.

but somehow—somehow, that didn’t make it any less magical.

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you’d fainted during p.e.

the gym had been too warm, the air thick with sweat and shouting. you hadn’t eaten much at lunch—just a piece of melon bread and half a juice box.

exams were coming. the kind of pressure that doesn’t scream, but wraps itself around your chest and quietly tightens.

you didn’t remember falling.

only the way your knees gave way, and the lights above seemed to blur and stretch—like looking at the sky through tears.

then nothing.

when you woke, it was in the nurse’s office.

the cot was stiff. the overhead lights hummed like insects.

everything smelled faintly of eucalyptus and bleach.

your limbs were heavy. your lips were dry.

the nurse handed you a paper cup of water and touched your wrist with cool fingers.

“no visitors. no distractions,” she said gently. “just rest. just breathe.”

so you lay there.

the ticking wall clock was too loud.

outside the thin glass windows, the world kept moving without you. footsteps echoed in the halls. somewhere, a ball bounced in the gym. a motorcycle passed by on the road beyond the school wall.

you felt a little bit forgotten. not in a tragic way. just in the small, tired way a person feels when the world keeps turning and they don’t quite know how to step back on.

until—tap. tap. tap.

you blinked.

the window had been cracked open for air. now it brought something else.

tap. tap.

again. more insistent.

you pushed yourself upright, your muscles slow to respond, and shuffled to the window. 

peered out.

and there he was.

junhui.

awkwardly balanced on a dented metal bucket, half-hidden behind the hedges by the back wall. his vest was crooked. his buzzcut damp with sweat. cheeks pink from running or nerves—or both.

he was holding a sheet of notebook paper. on it, in thick black marker:

for your entertainment only — starring wen junhui

and underneath, in smaller print, careful and crooked:

(y/n): please laugh.

you didn’t know what to say.

he didn’t wait.

he raised a coin. his fingers fumbled a little. then—with obvious concentration—he pulled it from behind his ear. it nearly dropped, but he caught it just in time, lifting it toward the sunlight like it was something more than metal.

you giggled.

then came the flower. pulled from his sleeve. crumpled and slightly wilted from living in his jacket all afternoon. he twirled it between his fingers like it was enchanted, then bowed low, with all the exaggerated flair of a stage magician.

it was ridiculous.

clumsy. wonderful.

you laughed harder than you had in weeks.

the nurse glanced over from her desk, her mouth twitching toward a smile.

“you know… for someone who fainted, you sure are lively now. feeling better?” she asked.

you nodded.

“yeah… a bit.”

junhui offered one last bow from atop the bucket, then climbed down with care, tossing you a sheepish grin. he jogged away down the path—one hand waving, the other stuffed in his pocket like it was all perfectly normal.

you didn’t call after him.

you just watched. watched until he turned the corner and disappeared behind the building.

then you placed your hand against the window.

light. silent.

later, when you’d look back on that day, it wouldn’t be the fainting you remembered.

it would be this.

the bucket. the magic coin. the smile that asked for nothing except your laughter.

and somewhere between the nurse’s ticking clock and the glint of sunlight on junhui’s moist buzzcut—you felt something shift.

not just your body.

but your heart.

and maybe that had been the real trick all along.

୨:୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ · · ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨:୧

exam week.

your alarm didn’t go off—again.

you launched out of bed ten minutes before the bell, clothes half-on, brain still fogged from the night before. no time for breakfast. no breath to spare. you told yourself you were focused. but really, you just didn’t want to stop.

8:00 a.m. cramming in chemistry. reaction mechanisms blurring together, your eyes fluttering shut every few seconds like a warning you kept ignoring.

9:00 a.m. math. formulas circling like storms you couldn’t break through. you wrote and erased and wrote again, chasing answers that refused to settle.

10:00 a.m. english literature. hands trembling, highlighter smearing across lines of poetry that used to feel like old friends but now read like riddles.

by lunch, you were fraying.

you made your way to the vending machines—your last hope. you slid in four quarters and pressed the button.

nothing.

no snack.

just silence.

and the coins were gone.

you stared at the machine like it might change its mind.

it didn’t.

back to social studies at 11:15, where the teacher spoke of revolutions, but all you could hear was the quiet throb of your empty stomach and the distant roar of your own body asking you to stop.

12:00 p.m. a history test. the words on the page floated like fish beneath water—just out of reach. your pencil slipped twice. you erased until the paper bruised.

12:45 p.m. you stumbled out of the classroom like you’d been underwater. the test over. your energy gone. your thoughts knotted. your chest tight.

you made it halfway to the next class before your vision blurred.

no breakfast.

no water.

not enough sleep.

your body was done pretending.

1:00 p.m.

you slid into your seat in the self-study room, two minutes late. rows of desks under harsh fluorescent light. the room was split between silence and the frantic rustle of pages being turned too quickly.

you sat there—aching, on edge, jaw tight enough to crack. if someone tapped their pencil, you thought, you might actually scream.

you opened your notebook and started drawing nonsense in the margins—spirals, stars, anything to hold your hand steady.

and then—a soft touch on your shoulder.

you looked up.

a hand reached past you from behind.

in it: a mango juice box.

your favorite.

the straw had already been poked in, placed just right. there was no note. no announcement. just quiet knowing.

you turned.

junhui stood behind you.

calm and steady. that same gentle presence that didn’t ask for attention, but always noticed.

he didn’t say anything.

he didn’t need to.

the smile he gave you—small, warm, real—was more comforting than any word. 

it said: i see you. you looked like you needed this.

you took the juice box in both hands, exhaled softly through your nose, and let yourself lean into the sweetness. the mango scent filled your lungs. the straw touched your lips. you didn’t realize how hungry you were for kindness until you tasted it.

he nodded once. then turned. walked back to his desk like nothing had happened.

but something had.

something tiny—and yet vast.

he had offered you relief. not the dramatic kind. not the heroic kind. but the kind that says: you don’t have to keep doing this alone. and for a little while, that was enough. more than enough.

୨:୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ · · ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨:୧

it had started raining while you were in the library.

you’d been there for hours. tucked into your usual seat by the window, a half-finished stack of notes spread around you like a fortress.

outside, the sky shifted. first, a whisper of sound—just rain brushing glass. then, a steady rhythm. like the clouds had finally let go of everything they’d been holding.

you glanced up.

the courtyard shimmered. rain fell in clean silver lines, each drop catching the light like a bead of glass. water pooled in the bricks, danced across the rooftops.

a few students ran for cover under shared umbrellas, laughing—loud and bright against the gray.

you sighed and leaned deeper into your chair.

no umbrella. 

you knew even before you checked. but still, you opened your bag. just in case. moved aside flashcards. an old granola bar you’d meant to throw out.

nothing.

you could wait. but you were already tired, and your stomach had begun to ache in that dull, low way that hunger does when it’s been ignored too long.

your hoodie wouldn’t help. not in this kind of rain.

you were still trying to talk yourself into moving when a quiet voice broke through the hush behind you.

“you don’t have one?”

you turned.

junhui stood a few feet away. his sweater was damp. raindrops clung to the sleeves. his buzzcut looked darker wet—pressed close to his skin—and his cheeks were pink from the cold. he wasn’t out of breath, but there was something like urgency in the way he looked at you.

you gave a small, embarrassed shrug.

“wasn’t expecting rain.”

he followed your gaze to the window.

“weather app said clear skies,” he said softly, almost like he was apologizing for the sky itself.

then—without waiting—he stepped forward and offered his umbrella.

no drama. no explanation. just a hand outstretched.

“here.”

you blinked.

“wait… what about you?”

there was a pause.

not long. just long enough for you to notice.

then he smiled.

“my mom’s picking me up in ten minutes.”

he said it like it was true. like it had always been true. like he’d already seen the car coming around the corner.

“seriously?”

he nodded.

“go on. you’ll catch a cold.”

you looked at him for a moment longer—eyes tracing the damp lines on his sweater, the way his shoes squeaked faintly when he shifted.

then you reached out.

your fingers brushed his, just for a second. the umbrella handle was warm. it held the memory of his grip.

you mumbled a thank you, soft as the rain, and stepped past him.

the umbrella opened with a click. a canopy between you and the storm.

you walked slowly, boots splashing lightly against the flooded sidewalk, the rhythmic patter above your head like a song you hadn’t known you missed.

by the front gate, you hesitated.

you weren’t sure why. something in you pulled.

you turned.

and there—junhui was not under the overhang. not getting into a car.

he was already halfway across the courtyard, his hoodie up, bag slung over one shoulder, walking fast through the storm.

no umbrella. no ride.

just him—drenched, purposeful, vanishing into the rain.

he hadn’t told the truth.

but he had been honest.

he didn’t want you to hesitate.

didn’t want you to be cold, or wet, or worried about him.

so he lied in the kindest way someone can lie. so you could go.

you stood there a moment longer.

the umbrella in your hand felt heavier now—not because of the rain, but because it meant something. because he meant something.

and maybe you didn’t know what to say yet.

but you’d remember this moment.

this boy.

this small, quiet act.

because sometimes, love doesn’t ask for anything in return. sometimes it just hands you an umbrella, smiles gently, and says, “go on.”

୨:୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ · · ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨:୧

you lie in the dark. the ceiling glows faintly with borrowed light from the streetlamp outside. your mind hums—slow, full. you replay every kindness junhui ever showed you. the rooftop snow; the magic trick; the juice box; the umbrella.

each one plays back in quiet loops, like an old film reel—grainy around the edges but impossibly vivid where it matters.

maybe it started with the rooftop.

junhui laughing through the cold, arms full of canned snow, joy pouring out of him like light. it hadn’t been real snow, but it had felt real—truer, somehow, than the flakes you used to chase in your childhood dreams.

then the nurse’s office.

him on that ridiculous bucket, half-hidden, pulling coins and flowers from his sleeves like a boy trying too hard not to try too hard.

your heart had tripped then—clumsy as the magic trick.

the juice box came next.

mango. your favorite. offered in silence during exam week, no fuss, no ceremony. as if he'd reached into your thoughts and pulled out exactly what you needed.

and then… the umbrella.

the lie about his mom. it hadn’t been a lie to impress you. it had been a lie to protect you. a small, gentle untruth, offered not to win your affection but to shield you from discomfort. a kindness that asked for nothing in return.

and now, as you lie there in the quiet, you can finally say it: he’s always been there. always.

your thoughts drift to minghao.

the top student. the star.

quiet. composed. just out of reach.

you used to know everything about him—how he’d tuck his hair behind his ear when he was concentrating, how he’d glance away when your gaze lingered.

you’d fallen so easily. too easily.

and despite the notes you slipped into his locker, the deliberate smiles in crowded halls, the careful proximity during meetings—he never looked back. not once.

now, in the hush of this moment, you see it clearly.

you gave your heart to someone who never noticed. and missed the one who did.

junhui was never loud. never obvious.

but he was there—in the background, in the small spaces, in the in-between.

you didn’t realize it then. but he did all of it—for you.

not for praise. not for attention.

just to make you smile.

your pillow is warm beneath your cheek. your heart is full, but no longer aching. not sharp. not uncertain. just steady. sure.

this wasn’t a story of grand gestures.

no confessions shouted in the rain.

no fireworks.

just light.

quiet, unwavering light.

you turn your head toward the dark and whisper it into the stillness:

“it was always you, junhui.”

and as the words fall, so does the weight.

your breath softens. your thoughts settle.

in the silence, love doesn’t shout.

it glows.

୨:୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ · · ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨:୧

the rooftop hadn’t changed.

neither had the sky, or the rusted railing, or the faded paint clinging to the walls like old chalk dust. it was quiet now. everyone else had gone back inside—the laughter of old classmates echoing down the stairwell.

but you stayed.

wen junhui sat beside you, legs stretched out, arms resting on his knees. he looked at ease—like sitting next to you didn’t make his heart race anymore. or maybe it still did. maybe he was just better at hiding it now.

you turned to him, voice soft. a little uncertain. “can i tell you something?”

junhui glanced over—surprised, but open. “of course.”

you took a breath.

“i used to think… i realized i liked you during college. or after. when i stopped chasing things that didn’t matter. but that’s not true.”

he blinked—curious, quiet.

you smiled. just a little. “i knew way before that. i just didn’t know i knew.”

he didn’t speak. he waited—like he always had.

so you kept going. “do you remember the snow?”

he nodded slowly.

“you were running around like a maniac, spraying that stuff everywhere.”

junhui looked over, startled. “wait—you were on the rooftop?”

you laughed softly. “yeah. i pushed through everyone at night school just to see it. then i thought—why not go up top? so i snuck up there. and honestly… i thought it was real snow.”

he laughed too—low and a little sheepish. “i just wanted to make you happy.”

you laughed harder. and he smiled like it was the only thing he’d needed all day.

“i thought it was stupid,” you admitted. “but i went home and couldn’t stop thinking about how happy you looked—just trying to make me happy.”

your voice lowered. “i should’ve known then.”

your gaze dropped to your lap, fingers twisting in your sweater. “and when i fainted during p.e.—you came to the nurse’s office, even when no one was allowed in.”

he let out a breath of a laugh. “through the window.”

“you stood on a bucket and did the worst magic trick i’ve ever seen,” you said, grinning. “i laughed so hard the nurse scolded me for being ‘too lively for someone who fainted.’”

junhui groaned, embarrassed. “i practiced that trick for hours. it was supposed to look cooler.”

“it didn’t,” you teased. then, softer: “but i loved it anyway.”

he blinked. just once. the word caught him off guard.

“then there was the juice box,” you went on. “mango. my favorite. i didn’t even tell you, but somehow… you knew.”

he said nothing, but his expression shifted—like he was holding his breath beneath the quiet.

“and the umbrella,” you added. “you gave it to me and said your mom was picking you up.”

“she wasn’t,” he admitted.

“i know. i saw you running home in the rain.”

you looked at him, steady now.

“that’s when i realized something.”

he leaned in slightly—not pushing, just listening.

“every time something small made me feel seen… it was you. every quiet comfort. every laugh when i didn’t want to smile. every unspoken effort. it was always you.”

the air between you didn’t move. not tense. not awkward. just full—like the moment knew it was important.

you reached out and took his hand. “i’m sorry i didn’t say anything back then,” you said. “but i’m saying it now.”

his voice came out quieter than he meant it to. “saying what?”

you squeezed his fingers. “that i like you. that i’ve always liked you—even before i had the words. and now that i do… i don’t want to waste any more time.”

junhui’s gaze dropped to your hands. then, slowly, he lifted them to his lips and kissed your knuckles—soft and reverent, like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed.

“i would’ve waited longer,” he whispered.

you leaned your head onto his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. “i’m glad you didn’t have to.”

and the rooftop stayed still—like it was holding its breath for you. like even the sky knew that something quiet and beautiful had just come full circle.

- fin.

cookie scene.

in the quiet of the bedroom, lit only by the warm, honeyed glow of a desk lamp, junhui stood before the mirror. his reflection shimmered faintly—not because the light flickered, but because something inside him did.

his tie hung loose around his neck, a soft symbol of the day unraveling. his sleeves were rolled with care, like he was preparing not for sleep, but for something ceremonial. around him, the room held its breath. flashcards were scattered and half-buried beneath a hoodie, a calendar leaned tiredly against the wall, and socks clung to corners like forgotten thoughts. everything was ordinary. everything was holy.

in one hand, a worn coin. in the other, a bent silk flower. he looked at himself—not vainly, not with judgment—but with the quiet scrutiny of someone hoping to find something true. something brave.

he flipped the coin. it spun, glinted, missed. landed with a soft metallic sigh on the carpet.

“no, no, no…” he murmured, as though saying it aloud might pull the moment back.

he bent down, picked it up again, stood straighter. breathed deeper.

another try. the flip worked this time. the shuffle did not. the cards scattered across the floor like startled birds—red and black wings, paper-thin, slipping from his fingers.

he ran a hand over his buzzcut, not in frustration exactly, but in that quiet way boys do when they are trying not to cry.

on the wall, a sticky note trembled faintly in the air: make them laugh. written in blue ink, underlined twice. above it, smaller, quieter: just be brave. once.

he sat on the edge of his bed. the flower drooped between his fingers, brushing against his wrist like it was trying to comfort him. he turned it over in his hand. there—a frayed petal near the tip. it made him think of you.

you, and your laugh—the real one, not the one you used when teachers told jokes, but the one that crinkled your nose just slightly and made your eyes shine like you’d remembered something beautiful.

he stood again.

slower now.

he wasn’t rushing toward perfection anymore. he was moving toward truth.

coin in one hand. flower in the other.

he took a breath, not sharp or rushed—but full, like someone breathing in the sky.

“you got this,” he whispered, and this time the words didn’t feel like armor. they felt like hope.

he flicked the coin. caught it, cleanly. held it near his ear like he was letting the mirror listen too.

the flower slipped from his hand. fell.

he looked down, and then—he smiled. a small, crooked thing. not defeat. something gentler. acceptance, maybe. grace.

he picked it up, brushed it off like it mattered. and said, to no one and to everything,

“they better laugh.”

he didn’t sleep much that night.

not from fear exactly—though fear was there, fluttering inside him like moths behind a curtain—but because something in him wouldn’t stop reaching for that moment. that exact, shining second when it all came together. when he’d get it right.

he didn’t know yet that the next day you’d faint in p.e., that your knees would buckle like a puppet’s, that the nurse would wave everyone away with clinical hands and closed doors.

he didn’t know he’d end up outside your window in the bushes, balancing on a dented metal bucket with a paper sign and shaking hands.

all he knew—right then, in that small, lamp-lit room—was that if the moment came, even the smallest one,

he was going to take it.

because sometimes love doesn’t arrive with trumpets.

sometimes, it shows up in a boy with a coin and a flower,

trying.

- fin.

[larasraj]

if i speak, they'll have me committed.

[rmview]

drunk and needy, SVT.

featuring — seventeen members x gn!reader ( masterlist )

summary — an imagine of what the seventeen boys are like when they’re drunk and needy for you!

contents — fluff, drunk and cute, no warnings.

min ✿ gyu

mingyu is the epitome of a happy drunk. a couple of drinks in, and his usual clumsiness turns into something endearingly chaotic. he’s all smiles, cheeks flushed, and eyes sparkling as he gravitates toward you like a magnet.

“you’re so pretty, you know that?” he slurs, his deep voice slightly wobbly. without hesitation, he throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “why do you look even better tonight? is it me, or are you glowing?”

mingyu’s touchy nature becomes more prominent — he’s constantly holding your hand, poking your cheek, or resting his chin on your shoulder. his laugh is infectious as he insists on taking selfies with you, even though half of them end up blurry.

“you’re my favorite person in the world,” he declares, resting his forehead against yours. “promise you’ll never leave me, okay?”

though his antics are playful, his affection feels genuine, leaving you both laughing and flustered.

won ✿ woo

wonwoo is usually reserved, but when he’s drunk, he becomes surprisingly affectionate and soft. his usual stoic demeanor melts away, replaced by an almost shy boldness.

he sits beside you, his hand brushing against yours before he finally takes it, intertwining your fingers. “i don’t usually do this,” he murmurs, his voice soft and tinged with vulnerability. “but i feel like… like i need to tell you how much you mean to me.”

wonwoo leans closer, his head resting lightly on your shoulder. “you make everything better,” he admits, his tone sincere. “i don’t say it enough, but i’m really lucky to have you.”

though his touches are gentle, the way he holds your hand or brushes your hair away from your face feels deliberate, as if he’s memorizing every detail of you in his tipsy haze.

ho ✿ shi

drunk hoshi is pure chaos, a whirlwind of energy and affection. the moment the alcohol hits, he’s bouncing around like an overexcited puppy before zeroing in on you.

“honey!” he exclaims, throwing his arms around you in a dramatic hug. “do you know how much i love you? like, tiger-sized love!”

he’s endlessly touchy — holding your hands, squishing your cheeks, and occasionally resting his head in your lap with a pout. “you’re so comfy,” he whines, nuzzling closer. “don’t move, okay? i need to stay here forever.”

hoshi’s antics are paired with constant declarations of love. “you’re my everything, my sun and moon, my tiger!” he says, his eyes sparkling.

though he’s a bit much, his enthusiasm is contagious, and you can’t help but laugh at his over-the-top affection.

ver ✿ non

vernon is a quiet drunk, but his touchiness surprises you. he’s not the type to initiate physical affection often, but alcohol makes him bolder.

“hey,” he says, his voice low and slightly slurred as he sits close to you. without warning, he gently takes your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles. “your hands are so soft. did i ever tell you that?”

he leans in slightly, his dark eyes searching yours. “you’re, like… unreal,” he says, his words slow but genuine. “how did i get so lucky to know you?”

vernon’s touches are subtle — a hand on your knee, a light brush of your hair — but they feel meaningful. his usual reserved nature makes his drunken affection all the more endearing.

s. ✿ coups

as the leader, s.coups is often the one taking care of others, but when he’s drunk, he lets his walls down completely.

“you work so hard,” he murmurs, pulling you into a warm embrace. “i don’t say it enough, but i notice everything you do. you’re amazing.”

his touches are protective — an arm draped around your shoulder, a hand resting on your back, or his fingers brushing yours as he pours his heart out. “you make me feel safe,” he admits, his voice thick with emotion. “i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

though his drunken state makes him more vulnerable, his sincerity shines through, leaving you touched by his heartfelt words.

di ✿ no

dino becomes adorably clingy when drunk, his usual playful self amplified by the alcohol. he’s constantly by your side, leaning into you and holding your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“babe, do you know how amazing you are?” he asks, his voice filled with wonder. “like, you’re seriously the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

he wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “don’t leave, okay? stay right here with me,” he says, his tone soft and almost pleading.

dino’s touchiness is sweet and innocent, his affection brimming with pure adoration. though he’s a bit clingy, his sincerity makes it impossible not to smile.

jeong ✿ han

drunk jeonghan is the ultimate mischief-maker, but when it comes to you, his playful side takes on a softer tone.

he leans against you with a sly grin, his face flushed from the alcohol. “do you know how lucky you are to have me?” he teases, his fingers lightly brushing yours. before you can respond, he tilts his head, his hair falling into his eyes as he pouts dramatically. “but honestly… i think i’m luckier.”

jeonghan becomes touchy in the most subtle yet intentional ways — lightly tracing patterns on your arm, tucking your hair behind your ear, or resting his hand on your knee as he leans closer.

“you’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his usual teasing replaced by genuine warmth. “i’m serious, love. how are you real?”

even in his drunken state, jeonghan’s charm is undeniable, leaving you blushing and flustered under his attention.

jo ✿ shua

joshua is the perfect gentleman, even when drunk. his touches are soft and careful, as if he’s afraid of overstepping.

“you’re amazing, you know that?” he says, his words slightly slurred but full of sincerity. he reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing yours tentatively before holding it. “i don’t say it enough, but you mean so much to me.”

he’s the type to offer you his jacket even in his tipsy state, wrapping it around your shoulders while muttering, “can’t have you getting cold.”

joshua’s touches are thoughtful — a hand on your back to steady you, a light squeeze of your hand when he gets sentimental, or gently brushing hair away from your face as he smiles softly. “you’re my favorite person,” he murmurs, his words melting into your heart.

dk ✿

drunk dk is a ray of sunshine, his usual exuberance magnified tenfold. he’s all smiles and laughter, constantly reaching out to touch you as if to confirm you’re really there.

“baby!” he exclaims, pulling you into a spontaneous hug. “do you know how much i love being around you? like, you’re the best!”

his touches are playful yet affectionate — tugging lightly at your hand to dance with him, pinching your cheeks as he giggles, or ruffling your hair. “you’re so cute!” he says, grinning ear to ear.

as the night goes on, dk’s touches become softer, his hand resting on your shoulder as he looks at you with stars in his eyes. “promise you’ll always stay close, okay? i don’t think i’d survive without you.”

the8 ✿

the8 is usually composed, but drunk the8 becomes a quiet, thoughtful romantic. his movements are slow and deliberate, his touches gentle as he lets the alcohol loosen his guarded demeanor.

he sits beside you, his fingers lightly grazing yours before he takes your hand. “you’re different, sweetheart,” he says, his voice soft but steady. “special.”

his usual sharp gaze softens as he brushes a strand of hair out of your face, his fingers lingering for just a moment. “you don’t even realize how amazing you are, do you?” he asks, tilting his head as he studies you.

the8’s touches are understated but meaningful — a light hand on your arm, a soft squeeze of your hand, or a lingering touch on your shoulder. in his drunken haze, he becomes more open, letting you see the depth of his feelings.

jun ✿ hui

jun becomes adorably clingy when drunk, his usual playful nature turning into unfiltered affection.

“love,” he calls, pouting as he reaches for your hand. “why are you all the way over there? come closer!”

once you’re within reach, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a warm hug. “you’re the best thing in my life,” he says, his voice muffled against your shoulder. “did you know that? huh? did you?”

jun’s touches are constant — holding your hand, resting his head on your lap, or absentmindedly playing with your fingers. “i just wanna stay like this forever,” he mumbles, his eyes closing as he leans into you.

though his drunken clinginess might seem excessive, his genuine affection shines through, making it impossible to resist his charm.

woo ✿ zi

woozi doesn’t drink often, but when he does, he becomes surprisingly soft and touchy. his usual quiet nature gives way to a more open and affectionate side.

“you’re always taking care of me,” he murmurs, his voice slightly slurred as he places a hand on yours. “let me take care of you for once.”

woozi’s touches are subtle but intentional — a hand resting on your knee, his fingers brushing yours, or gently stroking your hair as he gazes at you with a rare softness.

“you’re… everything,” he admits, his cheeks flushed. “i don’t think i tell you that enough.”

even in his drunken state, woozi’s affection feels genuine and heartfelt, leaving you feeling cherished in a way only he can manage.

seung ✿ kwan

drunk seungkwan is a mix of chaotic energy and overwhelming affection. he’s constantly seeking your attention, his touches playful yet endearing.

“baby!” he exclaims, tugging at your hand. “did i ever tell you how much i adore you? because i do. a lot!”

he’s all about dramatic gestures — hugging you tightly, poking your cheeks, or dramatically leaning on your shoulder with a pout. “you’re too good for me,” he declares, throwing an arm around you.

as the night goes on, seungkwan’s touches become softer — a hand resting on your back, his head leaning against yours as he whispers, “promise you’ll never leave me, okay?”

though his antics might make you laugh, his sincerity shines through, leaving no doubt about how much you mean to him.

notes: i love them all so much istg

[seoksoonwoo]

JUN HOT @ Tecate Pa'l Norte 2025

[svtscans]

2022 Season's Greetings

[babygirldokyeom]

I love one man and one man only

[seyoungparkk]

SEVENTEEN FIC RECS

Tags: f - fluff, a - angst, s - smut, ❤️ - personal favourite

Seventeen

Imprinted Series - s,f,a

@viastro 's Masterlist - ❤️

In pursuit of wedded bliss - f,a ❤️

13 reasons why - f,a

@starlightxsvt 's Masterlist - ❤️

SVT Reaction to yelling at you for the first time/saying something hurtful pt1. pt2. - a

Choi Seungcheol

"S" on My Chest, 'Cause I'm Ready to Save Him - s,a

Withering for you - s,f,a ❤️

Kidult - f,a

Adore u - f,a

Under the moonlight - f

My last - f,a

In this life - f,a

Hello tutorial - f

The great war - f,a,s

Inflection Point(JeongCheol) - f,a,s ❤️

Read all about it - f,a

Yoon Jeonghan

Don't worry, for our souls are forever intertwined (JiHan) - f,a

8.07 - a

How many times does it take to get smarter? - f,a,s (Part 1)

How many chances are too many chances? - f,a,s (Part 2)

Just one day - f,a

Our dawn is hotter than day - f

Velvet varnish - f,a,s

Love café - f,a,s

We got along infamously verse - f,a,s

Holidate - f,a,s ❤️

I know, but don't say it - f,a (Part 1)

I don't want to tell you that anymore - f,a (Part 2)

twenty two days before we go our separate ways (twenty two days of not falling for you) - f,a ❤️

Lovin' me - f,a,s

Perfect misery (GyuHan) - a ❤️

Inflection Point (JeongCheol) - f,a,s ❤️

Illicit Affairs - f,a,s

One Shot/One Song #3 - a

Kidult - f,a ❤️

Of rainy nights and roses - f,a ❤️

Hong Jisoo

Don't worry, for our souls are forever intertwined (JiHan) - f,a

Why won't you love me - f,a

My favourite person - f,a

When you spoke to me - f,a

Fine line - f,a,s

Anonymously Yours - f,a ❤️

bad girls make good boys cry - f,s ❤️

Wen Junhui

melomanie - f,a

Stupid cupid -f,s

I don't understand but I love u - f,a

Would you like a receipt? - f,a

Kwon Soonyoung

Caller #17 - f,a

This Love - f,a

Jeon Wonwoo

All too well - f,a

Hi, Wonwoo - f,a ❤️

Until my lips turn blue - f,a

Sucker (for you) - f

I found love in your smile - f,a ❤️

Grease (The tragedy) - f,a,s

Lee Jihoon

Mr Lee's wingmen - f

Jihoon's puppy - f,a

Something about you - f,a,s

Crawling back to you - f,a,s

Xu Minghao

The letter - f,a ❤️

Now or never - f,a,s ❤️

Fixer upper - f,a,s

Kim Mingyu

Even when we're drown, we're still breathing - f,a

Birthday boy - f

May flowers - f,s ❤️

Make yourself at home - f,a

Just try - a

Drift Away - f,a,s ❤️

His smile - f,s

Love me out loud - f,a

Hallmark Moment - f,a,s

Perfect misery (GyuHan) - a

My daisy - f,a ❤️

Honeyboy - f,a,s ❤️

Lee Seokmin

Love scene - f,s

Boo Seungkwan

Destiny - a

Kind of love - f,a

Choi Hansol

Work husband - f

'Cause I still get nervous - f,a

Lee Chan

Run to you - f,a

Tinder (gone wrong) - f

The road not taken - f,a

Promise ring - f,a ❤️

Pansy - f,a ❤️