#mind you that is still a work in progress

[diamonddaze01]

EMAILS I CAN'T SEND [1]

✉ pairing: director of hr! lee jihoon x planning and recruitment specialist! f! reader ✉ wc: 8.1K of 16.4K (part two will be out on TUESDAY!) ✉ genre: semi-epistolary (in the form of emails and microsoft teams chats), a character study of lee jihoon, angst, it gets sad before it gets happy, coworkers to ????, etc etc etc ✉ warnings: mentions of alcohol, vaguely suggestive in part 2 ✉ a/n: this is part of the that's showbiz, baby! collaboration. i am so so so eternally grateful for all the amazing writers that took a chance on kae and i as we figured out our first ever collab. to the friends i have made, i adore you all so much. i could wax poetic about you all until kingdom come and it would still not be enough. to @haologram, who watched me devolve into a incoherent mess as i wrote this: thank you thank you thank you for giving me the love i needed to keep writing. and most of all, thank you to @studioeisa, who listened to the rantings and ravings of a mad woman six months ago. i love you!

To: youruser@tcc.com From: jeon,wonwoo@tcc.com CC: lee.jihoon@tcc.com Subject: Welcome To The Carat Company

Hello Y/N,

Welcome to The Carat Company. We’re lucky to have poached you from Sebong Corp—they have no idea what they’re missing out on. You seem to have a wealth of knowledge that will set you up for success here. 

You will be working very closely with Lee Jihoon, Managing Director of Human Resources (copied), so feel free to direct any questions you may have to him; however, I’ll be available to discuss any other issues you may have as you onboard. 

I look forward to seeing the personnel numbers and talent at TCC grow under your capable guidance. 

Cheers,

Jeon Wonwoo Chief Executive Officer The Carat Company Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****

To:  jeon.wonwoo@tcc.com From:youruser@tcc.com CC: lee.jihoon@tcc.com Subject: RE: Welcome To The Carat Company

Hello Mr. Jeon,

Thank you for the warm welcome! I’ll be setting up 1:1s with both you and Mr. Lee to walk through my staffing and hiring plans for this upcoming fiscal year. 

Y/N L/N Planning and Recruitment Specialist The Carat Company Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****

To: youruser@tcc.com ; jeon.wonwoo@tcc.com From: lee.jihoon@tcc.com Subject: RE: Welcome To The Carat Company

Jihoon is fine. See you Monday—I have some time for a quick 9AM. Please block the time off at your earliest convenience. 

-LJH

Sent from my iPhone

Jihoon has never been fond of messes.

His office, much like his apartment and the rest of his life, is minimal. Austere. A clean desk is a clean mind, he likes to think. Neatly arranged cables. One mug: white, no logo. His monitors at identical angles. Not a single paperclip out of place.

Order isn’t just habit. It’s armor. Ritual.

Monday mornings are always the same. They have to be.

5:00 AM. Wake up. No snoozing. The second alarm is a concession to humanity, not a need. He’s already up when it chimes. 5:05. Protein bar. Banana. BCAA in a bottle his father gave him two birthdays ago. 5:15. Elevator to the basement gym. The lights always flicker once when he walks in. Nobody else is ever there. Just the rhythmic clank of metal and the breathing that steadies as he shifts from warm-up into motion. Monday is push day—bench press, overhead, incline dumbbell. Same sequence, same reps. Progress measured, logged. 6:30. Shower. 6:45. Dress.

Monday is always the powder-blue button-up. The one his mother bought him when he was promoted to Managing Director of HR at 26—the youngest in Carat Company history. He’d wanted to return it. She’d insisted it was a “soft color,” something to “balance out his personality.” Jihoon wanted to argue, but he’s worn it every Monday since.

7:00. Pull out of his apartment garage in his 2018 silver Honda Civic. The same car he’s had since college. Seungcheol has been trying to convince him to buy something flashier for years. “You’re practically an executive, dude. You deserve something that doesn’t rattle when you hit 80.” Jihoon doesn’t drive above 65. And the Civic has never once failed him.

7:23. Arrive at The Carat Company headquarters. He always parks in B2, Row 3, where the sun doesn’t hit the windshield too hard by mid-afternoon.

7:26. Enter through the back lobby. The building hums at this hour, quiet but awake. Security nods. No badge check. Everyone knows him by now.

7:28. He stops by the lobby café. They don’t ask his order anymore. It’s always a vanilla latte, four pumps of vanilla, exactly 130°F. No more, no less. He’s tested it. 132 is too hot.

7:32. He’s in his office. Alone. Lights off. Laptop humming awake. Forty minutes to himself before the company starts crashing through the doors.

That’s the ritual.

It never fails him.

Until today.

Because today, there is… noise.

There is clattering. And humming. And something that sounds dangerously like a staple gun.

Jihoon steps inside and nearly drops his coffee.

The desk across from his, empty since Mark transferred out in April, is no longer empty. In fact, it's absolutely full. Drowning. Exploding.

There are papers. So many papers. Stacked, scattered, half-stapled in frantic clusters like a college student’s last-minute thesis sprint. There’s a bright pink water bottle sweating condensation onto a leather-bound planner. A ceramic frog (why is it always a frog?) with a missing eye. A chunky knit blanket draped over the back of the desk chair like someone’s been camping here for days. And worst of all—

Worst of all, you're standing on the desk.

Not beside it. Not reaching over it. On it. In sneakers. Pinning what can only be described as an aggressively unprofessional tapestry to the wall with a half-empty box of pushpins at your feet and an expression of utter, unbothered joy on your face.

Jihoon wants to throw up.

He doesn’t say anything at first. He just… stares. Takes a sip of his latte. Regrets it immediately. Too sweet.

You notice him eventually, still kneeling mid-stretch with a final pin between your teeth. “Oh!” you say, hopping down like it’s perfectly normal to greet your manager-slash-office-mate from a tabletop. “Good morning, Mr. Lee!”

“It’s Jihoon,” he replies, voice tight, already regretting the email he sent with that particular instruction.

You smile, oblivious. “Right, sorry. I’m almost done decorating. I just need, like, five more pins. You wouldn’t happen to have–?”

“No.”

A pause. Your smile twitches, not quite fading, but pausing, like maybe you’ve just registered the tone, the disapproval hovering like smog in the pristine office air.

You nod slowly. “Okay. Totally fair. I’ll borrow from Facilities. Or, like… steal. Mark left a stapler in the second drawer.”

Jihoon inhales through his nose.

This was supposed to be a quiet morning. His ritual—his peace—has been hijacked by a whirlwind in platform sneakers and a frog-shaped pencil sharpener.

He walks past you wordlessly, sets his coffee down on the left side of his desk (1.5 inches from the corner, exactly), and sits.

You, of course, keep going.

“I was just finishing up! I know it’s a little early but I get really antsy if I don’t personalize my space on day one, you know? Plus I heard Mark left it kind of bland, so I figured I’d fill the vibe gap. Oh, and I brought coffee! Not for you—you already have one. But for me. Mine’s in the thermos with the stickers. The one that says ‘Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss HR.’ Cute, right?”

Jihoon closes his eyes, prays for this to be some sleep deprivation-fueled nightmare. 

(He knows it isn’t, because he’s never deprived of sleep. It’s a part of his ritual—lights out at 9:00 PM on Sunday nights. No exceptions.)

You pull your chair up to your desk. It makes an awful screeching sound against the hardwood floor. 

“Excited for our 9 AM?” you chirp, logging into your laptop. “I made an agenda. Printed it out. Color-coded it, actually. I wasn’t sure what your preferred style was, but I guessed neutral tones? There’s a copy on your desk.”

Jihoon looks down. A salmon-colored folder rests atop his inbox tray. It looks garish against his other, far more sensible, manila folders.

He stares at it.

Then at you.

You’re sipping from your water bottle with the confidence of someone who doesn’t know the rules—and, worse, might not care to learn them.

He exhales. Opens his laptop.

9:00 can’t come soon enough.

The boardroom is too bright.

Jihoon hates this room. The lights are motion-activated, and they always flicker on two seconds too late, as though even the building itself doesn’t want to be here at 9 AM on a Monday. He sits down at the far end of the long conference table, opens his laptop, and aligns his pen with the pad in front of him—not to take notes, but because the symmetry soothes him.

You're already there, of course. Seated three chairs down with a thermos of something that smells aggressively like cinnamon and a laptop covered in glittery stickers. One says: “Certified HR Baddie.” Another: “Ask me about my onboarding karaoke night.”

Jihoon does not ask.

Instead, he watches you pull up your slides on the big screen with a flourish, like a magician preparing a reveal.

You click once.

The first slide appears: a bright pink title screen with comic sans font that reads, in bold, centered letters:

✨ Operation Vibe Overhaul ✨ Building Joyful Infrastructure, One Talent at a Time

Jihoon feels the first flicker of dread.

“Okay!” you begin brightly, gesturing like you’re hosting a game show. “So this is my preliminary Q1/Q2 planning proposal, centered on retention, culture, and morale-building initiatives. I based this on some of the programs I piloted back at Sebong—”

You’re still talking, but Jihoon has stopped listening. Not because he doesn’t care. He very much does. But because slide two is now filled with stock images of people clinking glasses at what appears to be a rooftop mixer. One of them is mid-laugh, mouth open too wide. Another’s holding a ukulele.

You’re talking about “optional happy hour cohorts” and “inter-departmental bonding pods.”

He resists the urge to claw at his tie.

Slide four: A color-coded table titled “Vibe Goals By Department.” There are emoji in the row labels. The one for HR says 🐸.

He discretely opens Teams and clicks on his private thread with Wonwoo.

[💬 Microsoft Teams – Direct Message to JEON WONWOO | 9:48 AM]

To: Jeon Wonwoo You did this on purpose, you prick.

From: Jeon Wonwoo We don’t use that kind of language in the office, Jihoon. I have no idea what you’re talking about btw. Just got off a call. How’s Y/N settling in? :)

To: Jeon Wonwoo A) F*** you (censored for your professional needs). B) A planning slide deck for the next fiscal year does not need this much color. We have slide templates (that I MADE, mind you). C) I repeat, you did this on purpose, didn’t you?

From: Jeon Wonwoo Play nice. She’s good for you. Don’t get your tighty-whities in a twist.

To: Jeon Wonwoo Now who’s using language inappropriate for the office?

From: Jeon Wonwoo My company, my rules.

To: Jeon Wonwoo Oh, you basta⌶ 

A throat clears.

Jihoon freezes. When he looks up, the presentation has ended. A final slide blinks at him in bold orange and pink:

✨ THANK YOU FOR LISTENING ✨

You’re watching him. Kindly. Expectantly.

He slams the laptop shut like he’s been caught watching something scandalous.

“I—I was taking notes,” he lies.

You nod, like you believe him.

He straightens. Adjusts his sleeves. Finds some scrap of dignity on the floor, brushes it off, and stands.

“Good plan,” he says finally, voice flat.

He holds out a hand. You take it. High-five it, actually.

“Go team?” you grin.

“No,” he replies.

“Oh.”

Jihoon is out the door before you can say anything else, footsteps brisk, tie slightly skewed.

To: youruser@tcc.com From: lee.jihoon@tcc.com Subject: RE: HR Snacks Survey Draft

Y/N– You cannot send out a company-wide poll asking “Which snack makes you feel most emotionally supported?”

-LJH

To: lee.jihoon@tcc.com From: youruser@tcc.com Subject: RE: HR Snacks Survey Draft

Hi Jihoon,

Trying to stock up the snack cabinets! Nothing like a hearty snack to boost employee morale!

Y/N L/N Planning and Recruitment Specialist The Carat Company Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****

To: youruser@tcc.com From: jeon,wonwoo@tcc.com CC: lee.jihoon@tcc.com Subject: RE: Q1/Q2 Planning Slides

Hi Y/N,

Just finished reviewing your retention plan deck. Absolutely love what you’ve put together. Really strong alignment with our broader TCC cultural initiatives, and your proactive approach to employee engagement is exactly what we need this year.

As you’re still new and building connections across the org, I’ve volun-told Jihoon (CC’d) to help you organize and launch the first few events, as he knows the org landscape better than anyone. And he’s got a great eye for logistics, even if he pretends not to.

Looking forward to seeing the plans in action! Let me know if you need support (or help convincing Jihoon to wear a team bonding t-shirt).

Cheers, Jeon Wonwoo Chief Executive Officer The Carat Company Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****

To: jeon.wonwoo@tcc.com From: lee.jihoon@tcc.com Subject: RE: Q1/Q2 Planning Slides

🖕

-LJH

Sent from my iPhone

To: youruser@tcc.com From: lee.jihoon@tcc.com Subject: Meeting Room Protocol

Please stop booking the largest boardroom for your 3-person planning meetings.

-LJH

To: lee.jihoon@tcc.com From: youruser@tcc.com Subject: RE: Meeting Room Protocol

I just like the acoustics.

Also, you never know when you’ll need space for spontaneous interpretive movement.

Y/N L/N Planning and Recruitment Specialist The Carat Company Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****

To: jeon.wonwoo@tcc.com From: lee.jihoon@tcc.com Subject: Please. 

Is it not too late to put her in Finance? 

-LJH

Sent from my iPhone

To: hr-team@tcc.com From: youruser@tcc.com Subject: 🎉 HR Happy Hour: Be There or Be Performance Reviewed 🎉

Hi everyone!

We’re officially halfway through Q1, and what better way to celebrate than with drinks, snacks, and some mediocre bowling?

WHEN: Friday @ 6PM WHERE: Lucky Strike Lounge (across the street from the building!) WHY: Because we deserve it and bonding is sexy

No pressure to bowl. Just show up, say hi, eat some onion rings, and let’s decompress together.

Teams invite has been sent out! RSVP by EOD! There may or may not be color-coded team wristbands.

Y/N L/N Planning and Recruitment Specialist The Carat Company Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****

Jihoon leaves the office every day at exactly 5:00 p.m.

Not 4:59. Not 5:02.

At 4:57, he begins to shut his laptop. At 4:58, he returns any lingering pens to the ceramic cup on the right-hand side of his desk. 4:59, he stands. 5:00, he walks out. No more, no less. The moment the minute hand clicks into place, he shuts his laptop with the finality of a courtroom verdict, slides his planner into his bag, and is out the door before anyone can even think about uttering the words “quick question.” 

 It’s carved into the bedrock of TCC culture—like the Tuesday team lunch or the eternal mystery of who keeps restocking the fifth-floor snack fridge with individually wrapped pickles (it’s Jisoo, but nobody has proof). The junior staff time their meetings around it. Wonwoo calls it Jihoon’s “corporate sunset.” No one bothers him after it.

No one, of course, except you.

You, who arrive at the most chaotic intervals imaginable.

Some mornings, your coffee mug is already half-drunk and sweating a crescent-shaped watermark into a scatter of documents before Jihoon even walks in the door. Other days, you're stumbling in at 10:37 a.m. with a tote bag sliding off your shoulder and your sunglasses still on, dropping your thermos onto your desk with the force of a meteor.

Jihoon does not deal well with unpredictability.

He glares at you when you're late. You smile back. Sometimes you salute. Once, you handed him a donut and said, "To earn my forgiveness." He took it. Ate it. Still glared.

But it's not the timing of your arrivals that gets under his skin the most—it’s your exits.

Or, rather, your lack thereof.

Because you don’t leave at five. Sometimes you leave at six. Sometimes seven. Once, he overheard in the breakroom that you left at 8:15 the night prior and had a minor existential crisis in the parking garage.

And because you don’t leave at five, you tend to… linger.

Which means that at 5:00 p.m.—the precise moment Jihoon’s routine is winding down, when the laptop is sliding shut and his brain is exhaling—your voice inevitably cuts through the still air like a dart aimed straight at his temple.

“Hey, you’re not coming to the happy hour?”

Jihoon freezes. You’re leaning against the doorframe to your office, holding a stack of flyers and a bag of plastic leis. Why you’ve chosen a tropical theme for a February bowling night is beyond him. He doesn’t ask. He never does.

“No,” he replies, not even turning around. “My work day ends at 5.”

You blink. “Right, but it’s not work?”

“It’s after hours.” He pulls out his phone, calmly opens the event invite, and selects RSVP: No.

You squint. “Thanks for RSVP-ing, I guess. We’ll miss you!”

He finally looks at you, expression flat. “Good night, Y/N.”

You raise your hand in mock salute. “See you bright and early, Jihoon.”

He doesn’t say anything as he walks past you. But he hears it—that slight shuffle as you cross the office back to your desk, humming something upbeat under your breath. You’ll probably stay another hour organizing name tags or printing out conversation starter cards for people who will absolutely ignore them.

Jihoon presses the elevator button twice, even though once is enough.

He hates how loud the silence feels when the doors close behind him.

To: lee.jihoon@tcc.com From: youruser@tcc.com Subject: Signature Policy

Afternoon Jihoon, 

Why do you never sign your emails? Just curious (and bored. And trying to draft an office policy on email signatures)

Y/N L/N Planning and Recruitment Specialist The Carat Company Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****

To: youruser@tcc.com From: lee.jihoon@tcc.com Subject: RE: Signature Policy 

I do. See below. 

I don’t think an office-wide signature is necessary. 

-LJH

To: lee.jihoon@tcc.com From: youruser@tcc.com Subject: RE: Signature Policy 

Okay, but where’s the MANAGING DIRECTOR, HUMAN RESOURCES

Y/N L/N Planning and Recruitment Specialist The Carat Company Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****

To: youruser@tcc.com From: lee.jihoon@tcc.com Subject: RE: Signature Policy 

I don’t need to beg for people’s respect by displaying my title in bold. They respect me regardless of my position. 

-LJH

To: lee.jihoon@tcc.com From: youruser@tcc.com Subject: RE: Signature Policy

Wow, how noble. What does that say about me? 

Besides, there’s a difference between fear and respect. You’re HR Batman. You appear silently in hallways and everyone shuts up.

Respectfully, 

Y/N L/N Planning and Recruitment Specialist The Carat Company Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****

To: youruser@tcc.com From: lee.jihoon@tcc.com Subject: RE: Signature Policy 

This thread is dangerously close to being flagged as hostile work environment documentation. 

Lee Jihoon Managing Director, Human Resources The Carat Company Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****

To: lee.jihoon@tcc.com From: youruser@tcc.com Subject: RE: Signature Policy

Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. 

Nice signature. 

Y/N L/N Planning and Recruitment Specialist The Carat Company Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****

Jihoon stares at the email longer than he should.

He rereads the line again, and again:

“There’s a difference between fear and respect.”

It’s stupid, he tells himself. A throwaway comment. A joke. You make those all the time: half-sarcastic, half-sweet, always smiling when you say them, like your words aren’t meant to leave a mark.

But this one does.

Because Jihoon knows what fear looks like. He sees it every time he steps into a room and someone closes their laptop a little too quickly. Every time an intern flinches when he passes behind their desk. Every time someone thanks him a little too formally for a perfectly normal piece of feedback.

It’s not news. It’s just not something people usually say to his face.

Fear, he’s learned, is efficient. It keeps people from overstepping. From asking too many questions. From getting too close. And Jihoon has spent most of his career relying on that distance like a scaffold—like armor.

He is not warm. He is not easy. He does not charm. He doesn’t try to.

But still, somewhere in the corner of his chest, something twists.

Because he’d always assumed that his precision, his preparedness, the way he catches mistakes before they happen, that those things inspired confidence. Stability. Trust.

Respect.

Not fear.

He sits back in his chair and crosses his arms, glaring at the far wall of his office as if it’s responsible for any of this. There’s a framed certificate there, something corporate and meaningless. He hasn’t looked at it in years.

Maybe he shouldn’t care what you think. You—with your stupid ceramic frog and your cursed tapestry and your way of being everywhere at once, dragging noise and neon in your wake. You’re not the first to misunderstand him.

But the worst part is this: he knows you weren’t trying to hurt him. That line came from somewhere honest. Somewhere careless.

You didn’t say it to wound.

Which is what makes it land all the harder.

His jaw tightens.

Eventually, he drags the cursor over your email and clicks “archive.”

But the words stay.

The meeting is supposed to be about performance review frameworks, going through slides that Jihoon already reviewed last night and flagged in a spreadsheet with more color-coding than is probably necessary.

Wonwoo’s got the slide deck open, half a croissant in his hand, and one socked foot tucked under him like he’s forgotten he’s the CEO of a billion-won company. Jihoon sits stiff-backed across the table, tablet balanced on his knee, stylus poised. He hasn’t taken a single note.

Not because he doesn’t care, but because he hasn’t heard a word.

The words are back.

People fear you. That’s not respect.

They loop through his head like a bad lyric, like a virus he didn’t know he’d downloaded.

Jihoon shifts in his chair. His spine’s too straight. His tie feels too tight, though he hasn’t loosened it yet.

Wonwoo must notice—he’s perceptive like that, always has been—because he squints at Jihoon over the lip of his coffee mug and asks, “Penny for your thoughts?”

Jihoon turns his head, slow and deliberate, and looks him dead in the eye.

This is the man who trusted him five years ago with the top HR seat—26, green but razor-sharp, no tolerance for fluff or sentiment. Jihoon never asked why he got the offer over people twice his age. He just said yes.

Now, he says: “Am I feared or respected?”

Wonwoo chokes on his coffee.

The laugh comes a second later—abrupt, bright, so loud it echoes off the glass walls. He leans back in his chair and throws his head toward the ceiling like he needs the whole room to hear it.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Jihoon?”

Jihoon crosses his arms.

It’s immediate. Reflexive. And as soon as he does it, he hates himself a little. He feels like a petulant five-year-old whose mom just said he couldn’t have another grape juice.

Wonwoo grins, delighted. “She got under your skin, didn’t she?”

Jihoon doesn’t respond. Mostly because he can’t. He drops his gaze resolutely to the conference table, then to the condensation ring his coffee cup is leaving, then anywhere but Wonwoo’s face.

“Oh my god,” Wonwoo wheezes. “She absolutely did. Fuuuuck, good on her. Honestly, it’s about time someone unwound you, you uptight little wind-up toy—”

“I am not wound up,” Jihoon mutters.

“Oh, please. Jihoon. When’s the last time you laughed? Like, actually laughed? Or smiled? Not one of those mouth-twitches you give when Seungcheol says something vaguely charming in all-hands. I mean a real one.”

Jihoon stays silent, chooses to continue his staring match with Wonwoo’s socks.

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow and continues. “You are clinically incapable of relaxing. You once rescheduled a wisdom teeth removal because it conflicted with quarterly audits.”

“They were impacted,” Jihoon says, as if that’s a defense.

“Jihoon,” Wonwoo sighs.

Jihoon doesn’t answer.Instead, he glares pointedly at the framed photo on the shelf behind Wonwoo’s desk—Wonwoo, grinning at a park picnic, surrounded by people who obviously adore him. His family. Friends. Staff.

Wonwoo’s well-liked. Has always been well-liked.

He knows people’s names. Remembers if they have loved ones. Sometimes even remembers the loved ones’ names. He walks into a room and the air loosens.

Jihoon walks into a room and someone minimizes a spreadsheet.

He grits his teeth. Wonwoo notices.

“Jihoon.”

He blinks. Wonwoo’s staring at him now, half-amused, half-exasperated.

“Why does it matter so much?”

Jihoon opens his mouth. Then closes it again.

He doesn’t have an answer. Not one he can say out loud, anyway.

Not that he feels the tiniest sting every time someone calls him cold. Not that he sometimes wonders what it would be like if someone laughed at something he said on purpose.

He presses his lips into a thin line.

Wonwoo leans back and shakes his head, smiling like he knows exactly what Jihoon isn’t saying.

📁 Drafts — lee.jihoon@tcc.com

[1]

To: youruser@tcc.com Subject: Regarding Your Earlier Comment

Y/N–

Earlier this week, in reference to a discussion about office perception, you mentioned that people fear me but do not respect me.

I wanted to clarify: was that a joke? Or do you genuinely believe that’s how I’m perceived at The Carat Company?

I don’t need praise. I just want accuracy.

–LJH

P.S. This is not a formal complaint.

P.P.S. Please don’t forward this to Wonwoo. This email has not been sent yet. Send during the recipient's work hours? 

[2]

To: youruser@tcc.com Subject: Professional Inquiry

Hi.

You’ve only been here a few months, but already people ask you things like you’ve been here forever. They trust you. They listen to you.

They respect you.

I don’t know how to phrase this without sounding like I’m trying to schedule an HR seminar on likability, which I’m not, to be clear.

I guess I want to know: how do you do it?

How do you get people to want to work with you instead of just… work around you?

Please ignore this email.

–LJH

P.S.  Please, please don’t forward this to Wonwoo.

This email has not been sent yet. Send during the recipient's work hours? 

The email lands in his inbox at 1:58 p.m. on a Tuesday. Two minutes before Jihoon’s last tea break of the day.

He sees the subject line first—HELP WANTED: Spring Gala Planning—and his first instinct is to archive it.

But something makes him click.

To: hr-team@tcc.com From: youruser@tcc.com CC: jeon.wonwoo@tcc.com Subject: HELP WANTED: Spring Gala Planning

Hi all, 

The Employee Retention team needs some help with some minor logistics for our upcoming Spring Gala. If you have some free time and would like to volunteer, you’ll have my everlasting gratitude (and free catered lunch for all planning meetings. Who doesn’t love catered lunch?)

Teams invite has been sent out to the whole team. If you can’t make it, please RSVP no.

Y/N L/N Planning and Recruitment Specialist The Carat Company Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****

Almost immediately, a Teams message pings in the corner of his screen.

[💬 Microsoft Teams – Direct Message to JEON WONWOO | 2:02 PM]

From: Jeon Wonwoo If you want to be respected, you know what you should do.

To: Jeon Wonwoo Is this a suggestion or an order?

From: Jeon Wonwoo Would you listen to either?

He doesn’t respond.

He just stares at the calendar invite. Opens it. Closes it. Opens it again.

He gets up. Makes tea. Returns. Refreshes the invite.

It sits there. Mocking him.

He has exactly three hours of work to do and spends most of it half-distracted, clicking over to the meeting window and then away again, like he’s circling a shark tank.

When he finally presses RSVP—one quick click, not even a keystroke—your head snaps up like you’ve been electrocuted.

“You—you want to help plan the gala?”

The incredulity in your voice rings out across the shared office like a fire alarm. Jihoon winces. He doesn't turn around. Not right away.

He stays frozen mid-motion, phone still in one hand, the other hovering near his keyboard like he’s considering taking it all back. Pretending it was a misclick. A calendar sync error. An accident.

He doesn’t look at you until he has no choice.

His eyes flicker to the screen, then to you.

And his ears, traitorous, are already flushing pink.

“I RSVP’d to your meeting,” he says, flatly. Like it’s a legal obligation, like someone strong-armed him into it in a back hallway under fluorescent lights.

You blink.

“Sorry, I just—I didn’t expect—”

“You asked for volunteers,” Jihoon says, already shifting his weight back toward his desk.

Your mouth opens, then closes. A grin threatens. He can see it, feel it, like heat pressing against his skin. Jihoon sighs and turns fully back to his desk, chair scraping as he sits.

“Don’t make this a thing,” he mutters.

You don’t say anything.

But when he glances sideways, the edge of your smile is still there—tugging at the corner of your cheek, small and real.

He turns back to his monitor and opens a spreadsheet at random.

His face is composed.

But his pulse is loud in his ears.

And the RSVP stays.

To: lee.jihoon@tcc.com From: youruser@tcc.com Subject: Gala Theme Ideas 🎉🌸✨

Hi Jihoon,

I’ve been brainstorming themes for the Spring Gala and I’m stuck between:

A) Garden Under the Stars B) Masquerade but make it ✨corporate✨ C) Retro prom night (someone has already offered to bring a disco ball)

Thoughts? Votes? Objections that I will pretend to consider but ignore entirely?

Y/N L/N Planning and Recruitment Specialist The Carat Company Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****

To: youruser@tcc.com From: lee.jihoon@tcc.com Subject: RE: Gala Theme Ideas

No.

-LJH

Sent from my iPhone

To: lee.jihoon@tcc.com From: youruser@tcc.com Subject: RE: Gala Theme Ideas 🎉🌸✨

No to which one?

All of them?

Even the disco ball?

You wound me.

Y/N L/N Planning and Recruitment Specialist The Carat Company Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****

To: youruser@tcc.com From: lee.jihoon@tcc.com Subject: RE: Gala Theme Ideas

All of them. 

Especially the disco ball. 

-LJH

To: lee.jihoon@tcc.com From: youruser@tcc.com Subject: RE: Gala Theme Ideas 🎉🌸✨

What would you suggest, then? “Gray Room with Fluorescent Lighting: A Corporate Affair”?

(…wait I kind of love that.)

Y/N L/N Planning and Recruitment Specialist The Carat Company Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****

To: youruser@tcc.com From: lee.jihoon@tcc.com Subject: RE: Gala Theme Ideas

At least fluorescent lighting is within budget.

-LJH

To: lee.jihoon@tcc.com From: youruser@tcc.com Subject: RE: Gala Theme Ideas 🎉🌸✨

You’re funnier than people give you credit for.

Y/N L/N Planning and Recruitment Specialist The Carat Company Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****

To: youruser@tcc.com From: lee.jihoon@tcc.com Subject: RE: Gala Theme Ideas

Don’t spread rumors.

-LJH

To: lee.jihoon@tcc.com From: youruser@tcc.com Subject: Gala Venue Visits – Next Week?

Hi!

A few of us are going to visit the potential venues next week, mostly to make sure they’re not secretly condemned buildings.

Want to tag along? We’re looking at three locations on Thursday. There will be coffee. I will bribe you.

(I have a latte with 3 pumps of vanilla with your name on it)

Y/N L/N Planning and Recruitment Specialist The Carat Company Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****

To: youruser@tcc.com From: lee.jihoon@tcc.com Subject: RE: Gala Venue Visits – Next Week?

I’ll join for the first two. I have a 4PM call.

(It’s 4 pumps, by the way.)

-LJH

To: lee.jihoon@tcc.com From: youruser@tcc.com Subject: RE: Gala Venue Visits – Next Week?

Re: Coffee, noted. 

You’re the best. 

(Don’t worry, I won’t say that out loud)

Y/N L/N Planning and Recruitment Specialist The Carat Company Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****

To: youruser@tcc.com From: lee.jihoon@tcc.com Subject: RE: Gala Venue Visits – Next Week?

Too late. You already emailed it.

-LJH

He notices it first on a Thursday. 

He’s late to the gala planning meeting. Only by three minutes, but still. Late. 

Jihoon hates being late; it disrupts his internal clock, throws off the way he likes to move through a room: silently, efficiently, unseen until he speaks. He adjusts the cuff of his shirt as he reaches the door, steels himself for the usual reaction—the way people hush like he’s a reprimand made of skin and bones, how chairs stiffen, how someone inevitably fumbles with a laptop or closes a browser window with a guilty click.

He pushes the door to Conference Room C open.

And nothing happens.

The conversation continues as if he hasn’t entered. Samuel is talking about caterers. You’re flipping through a binder of vendor estimates, a pen tapping absently against your lip. The screen at the head of the room still glows with a pastel color-coded calendar, and someone (he thinks it’s Eunji from PR) is pouring a second cup of coffee.

Then you glance up. See him. And smile.

“Hey, Jihoon,” you say like it’s just another greeting. Like he’s just another person walking into a room.

Samuel turns, lifts his chin. “You made it,” he says, with the kind of easy camaraderie Jihoon always assumed was reserved for people who laughed together in elevators.

When Jihoon slips into the open seat next to you, Samuel claps him once on the back, casual and friendly, like it’s nothing.

Like it’s normal.

Jihoon sits very still for the next ten minutes. Something quiet and unfamiliar hums under his ribs.

He opens his laptop and stares at the agenda. The numbers swim a little. Everyone’s still talking.

And no one is afraid of him.

It feels… strange.

It feels nice.

Thirty minutes later, the conversation is flowing and Jihoon still feels very, very strange.

“Fireworks are too expensive,” someone says, half-joking. “But what if we did, like, cold sparklers? Just to make the photo ops more fun.”

Jihoon’s been half-listening—half-disassociating, if he’s being honest—because the florist rep was fifteen minutes late and the air-conditioning is loud and someone’s catering mocktail samples in the corner like this is a tasting menu for a royal wedding.

Jihoon doesn’t even look up from his screen. “Sure,” he says dryly. “And maybe we’ll dig a moat while we’re at it. Hire a few swans. Build a drawbridge. Very on-brand.”

He doesn’t mean to be funny.

But you laugh. Loud. Bright.

The kind of laugh that fills a room and then folds into something gentler, just for him.

Jihoon’s head lifts, startled. Your hand is pressed to your chest, your eyes wide like you didn’t expect it either.

“Did you just make a joke?” you ask.

He blinks.

“No.”

You grin. “You did. Oh my god.”

Jihoon looks back at his screen, but something is buzzing under his skin now, like electricity arcing too close to water.

It’s nothing.

It’s a laugh.

But he remembers the sound for the rest of the day.

On Friday, Jihoon stumbles into the breakroom for his mid-morning tea after what has to be the longest hiring call he’s ever been on.

He has thirty-two minutes between meetings, and someone left a post-it on his desk saying the break room kettle is working again. He enters expecting silence.

Instead, Jihyo is there. He’s never really talked to her, he realizes with a start. A hi there, a “hope you’re doing well,” there, but never a full conversation. He regrets that a bit now. 

She’s standing with her back to him, shoulders slightly hunched, stirring something golden into a mug. Her phone buzzes next to her elbow. She glances at it and smiles, small and distracted. 

Jihoon remembers with a start that she has a boyfriend serving in the army (He makes a mental note to thank Wonwoo and his iron-clad memory of all of his employees).

Jihoon nods once in her direction. She doesn’t notice. He clears his throat. “Your boyfriend doing okay?”

Her spoon clinks against the rim.

She turns slowly, brows raised. He expects suspicion, defensiveness, maybe a polite smile with an escape plan behind it.

But then her face breaks open. Softens.

“Yeah,” she says. “He is. Thanks for asking.”

She reaches into her tote bag without thinking and pulls out a glass jar. No label. Just honey, thick and gold and unbranded. She holds it out to him.

Jihoon hesitates.

She tilts it toward him. “Try it with green tea,” she says. “Secret’s in the citrus trees.”

He takes it.

The jar is warm from her bag, the weight of it unfamiliar in his hand.

“Thanks,” he says.

She shrugs, already turning back to her phone. “You’re welcome, Jihoon.”

When he returns to your office with a steaming mug of green tea, he places the honey on the corner of his desk like it might bite.

You glance up from your laptop. “Oh,” you say. “You got the good stuff.”

“The what?”

“The honey,” you say, smiling. “The break room hierarchy’s best-kept secret.”

He stares at the jar again. “You knew about this?”

You shrug. “Not my secret to tell.”

He lets out a breath. It’s meant to be a huff of disbelief, but it comes out as something else. Softer. Almost amused.

A laugh, maybe.

When he looks up, you’re staring at him like you’ve heard something rare. Something worth holding on to.

Your eyes are wide. Not in fear.

Just surprise.

He turns back to his keyboard. The smile stays longer than it should.

That night, he drives home in silence. No music. No radio.

When he gets in, he doesn’t even take his shoes off before calling his mom.

“Jihoon-ah,” she answers, warm and surprised. “You’re calling early. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, automatically.

She hums like she doesn’t believe him. There’s the soft sound of her adjusting something on the stove. Then—

“You sound lighter today.”

Jihoon blinks at the ceiling. “Lighter?”

“Not so tired. I can hear it in your voice.”

He doesn't respond.

“And your face looks different in the last few pictures you sent me,” she adds. “You look…” Her voice softens. “Happy. Did something happen at work?”

Jihoon feels the back of his neck go warm. Then the heat crawls up—slow, creeping—to the tips of his ears. He presses a palm over one, like he can stop the sensation by hiding it.

“No,” he says quickly. “Just a good week.”

“Hm,” she says. A knowing noise. “If it’s someone, you can tell me.”

“There’s no one.”

“But maybe,” she says gently, “there could be?”

He doesn’t answer.

She doesn’t press.

But the silence stretches like taffy between them, and Jihoon finds himself staring out the window of his apartment. The light is pale and soft. There’s a gala planning document still open on his laptop. And a Teams chat with you, left unread for the last hour, still blinking at the bottom of the screen. 

And when he hangs up, he opens that chat window again.

You’ve sent a link. A mood board for centerpieces.

He stares at it for a long time.

Then, slowly, he smiles.

[💬 Microsoft Teams – Direct Message to Y/N L/N | 2:34 PM]

From: Lee Jihoon Are you just as bored as I am? 

To: Lee Jihoon gasp! a teams message! is this what the inner circle feels like

From: Lee Jihoon Yes, yes, you are now one of my elite employees. 

To: Lee Jihoon Lee Jihoon, chronic grump, did you just use a MEME? 

From: Lee Jihoon  I am not a grump. I am just selective with who I grace with my laughter and my favor. 

To: Lee Jihoon so you’re saying I’ve been… favored 👀

From: Lee Jihoon  Don’t let it go to your head.

To: Lee Jihoon Too late. Printing it on a mug as we speak.

From: Lee Jihoon  If that mug ends up in our shared kitchen, I’m filing an HR complaint.

To: Lee Jihoon Who would you file it to? Yourself?

From: Lee Jihoon Exactly. And I’d rule against you. With extreme prejudice.

To: Lee Jihoon so much for elite employee status 😔

From: Lee Jihoon You’ve never been more elite.

Jihoon doesn’t hear the question at first.

He’s still staring at your last message and trying to figure out what possessed him to send it. His cursor hovers over the message bubble, as if he can unsend it just by glaring hard enough. Across the room, you’re biting back a grin, your chin propped in one hand as you squint at the shared screen. Your knee bounces under the table, just visible beneath the edge of the conference table. You’re pleased with yourself. You know exactly what you’ve done.

He knows you do. And still. Still. It doesn’t stop the corner of his mouth from twitching upward.

He’s so focused on not smiling that he doesn’t hear the question.

“…Jihoon?” someone tries again.

Wonwoo clears his throat pointedly from two seats down. It’s theatrical, the kind of fake cough that sounds suspiciously like Don’t make me say your name again.

Jihoon blinks and sits up straighter.

“Sorry,” he says, briskly. “Could you repeat the question?”

Across the room, you don’t look at him.

But your shoulders shake with barely-contained laughter.

Jihoon sighs through his nose. Wonders how many more meetings he’s going to survive like this.

(Not many, he suspects.)

The meeting wraps with the rustling of papers and the awkward scrape of chairs against laminate floors. Jihoon shuts his laptop with a satisfying snap and stands, already mapping out the most efficient route back to his office—quiet hallways, minimal small talk, absolutely no—

“Elite employee, huh?”

Your voice is too close. It curls around the back of his neck, bright with amusement and something else he can’t name.

He glances to his left. You’re beside him now, walking in step, a shit-eating grin plastered across your face like you invented the concept.

You nudge him lightly with your shoulder. “Think I’ll get a raise in my next performance review?”

Jihoon exhales, too sharp to be a laugh, too soft to be a scoff. “Shut up,” he mutters, but there’s no weight behind it.

You keep walking beside him, unbothered.

You don’t say anything else. And neither does he.

You fall into that strange not-quite-silence you’ve started to share in recent weeks: companionable, teasing, comfortable in a way that makes the back of his throat feel tight. There’s the clack of your shoes beside his, the whisper of air conditioning overhead, the faint buzz of an email notification from someone else’s phone.

And then it happens.

Your pinky brushes his.

Just barely. A graze. A glancing touch that might’ve been accidental—should’ve been accidental. But it lingers for a breath too long.

The sensation is immediate. Sharp. Bright. Like static.

Jihoon’s spine goes ramrod straight. His hand doesn’t pull away. Instead, betraying every single instinct that’s ever kept him in control, his fingers twitch.

Just once. A small flex.

His skin still burns.

You don’t look at him. You don’t say a word. But when the two of you walk back into your shared office, the air between you feels different. Charged. Like something has shifted. Like something is about to break open.

Jihoon sits down. Doesn’t speak.

And across the room, you smile to yourself.

It takes him three full minutes to remember his log-in. 

To: hr-team@tcc.com From: youruser@tcc.com Subject: Breakroom Snack Cabinet

Hi team,

Please join me in thanking Jihoon for restocking the snack cabinets this morning! The chocolate-covered almonds are already gone (guilty 😅), and the sparkling waters were a hit.

Sometimes the little things make a big difference, and I just wanted to shout out the quiet effort behind keeping this office running smoothly. Thanks, Jihoon!

Best,

Y/N L/N Planning and Recruitment Specialist The Carat Company Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****

[💬 Microsoft Teams – Direct Message to Y/N L/N | 9:18 AM]

From: Lee Jihoon That email was unnecessary.

To: Lee Jihoon you deserve to be recognized for all the work you do for this team, jihoon.

[💬 Microsoft Teams – Direct Message to JEON WONWOO | 9:22 AM]

From: Jeon Wonwoo You like her, don’t you?

To: Jeon Wonwoo Kindly fuck off. 

From: Jeon Wonwoo Language, Jihoon. ….So you do like her. 

It happens on a Wednesday.

There’s nothing special about the day; no meaningful glances, no slow-motion sequence where you toss your hair back in golden light or say something profound that punches him square in the gut.

No. It’s Wednesday. The sky is gray. He’s wearing the same charcoal sweater he always wears when it’s under 35°F. You’re not even in the office.

That’s the problem.

He realizes it when he sits down at his desk with his usual morning tea, stares at the wall across from him, and feels… off.

The tapestry is there. Crooked, colorful, stitched with tiny stars and a cat wearing a top hat. It’s awful. Loud. 

And yet.

His eyes drift down. To the mug. That damn ceramic frog.

It’s hideous.

It’s perfect.

Jihoon exhales slowly, leans back in his chair, and lets the silence fill the space between him and the humming vent above. It’s too quiet today. No clack of your boots down the hall. No breathless rush as you slide into your seat with a thermos and an apology. No “Morning, Jihoon,” sung like a threat and a gift all at once.

And worst of all, God help him, he misses your laugh.

The one that sneaks up on him. Loud and delighted and entirely unfiltered, like you forgot who you were laughing in front of.

Jihoon stares at his screen.

He’s opened Outlook without meaning to.

Your calendar status reads: “WFH – doctor’s appt in the afternoon.”

He tells himself that’s why he notices.

It isn’t.

He scrolls back up. Opens a new email. Types your name. Stares at the blinking cursor in the message body.

And then he deletes the draft. Again.

He sits back in his chair and rubs a hand over his mouth. Doesn’t even realize he’s smiling.

Oh, shit, he thinks.

He likes you.

He likes you, and he likes your stupid colorful Powerpoint Presentations, and he likes your tapestry with the stitched cat and the crooked stars, and maybe he even likes that you always ask him to help plan things he claims to hate.

Worst of all, maybe he likes the way you make the office feel like something softer. Something warmer. Something that doesn’t need a policy document or a title in bold to have meaning.

Jihoon lets his hand drop to his lap.

And it curls, almost unconsciously—like it remembers the brush of your pinky against his, still seared into his skin.

📁 Drafts — lee.jihoon@tcc.com

[1]

To: youruser@tcc.comSubject: Gala Decor

What do you think about the navy-and-gold color palette for the Spring Gala? I found a local vendor that does some decent floral arrangements—simple, not too flashy.

Might balance out the... sequins you insisted on.

-Jihoon

This email has not been sent yet. Send during the recipient's work hours? 

[2]

To: youruser@tcc.comSubject: Quick Q

What color dress are you wearing to the gala? (Not because I want to match my tie. Obviously.) Just for logistics. For planning. Cohesion. Visual unity. I’ll stop typing now.

This email has not been sent yet. Send during the recipient's work hours? 

[3]

To: youruser@tcc.comSubject: Ride

Would you like a ride to the gala? It’s at the Marriott downtown and I’ll be heading that way anyway. I mean. Unless you have other plans.

This email has not been sent yet. Send during the recipient's work hours? 

[4] 

To: youruser@tcc.comSubject: Drink

Do you want to grab a drink after work sometime? Not a meeting. Not team bonding. Just… a drink. One.

This email has not been sent yet. Send during the recipient's work hours? 

[5] 

To: youruser@tcc.com Subject:

drinks? at lucky strike? no pressure

This email has not been sent yet. Send during the recipient's work hours? 

[6]

To: youruser@tcc.com Subject: today

I missed you at work today. It was too quiet. Your creepy one-eyed frog was still here, though. And the tapestry.

This email has not been sent yet. Send during the recipient's work hours?

[prometheus-rewound]

The theme for Cloudward Ho is already so good: The innocence of nature vs the haunted wisdom of man.

Like, it’s EVERYWHERE. Literally the first few lines after the intro flashback include “the Human Project.”

I mean obviously the mushrooms are a huge clue. Brennan literally says they are there to punish people’s hubris for trying to overpower nature.

But there are so many other good parts of this:

Montgomery— who fits the genre of a poacher, Teddy Roosevelt figure, is fighting to save nature. He sees the hearts of animals.

Even the bits— the Brontosaurus in the fighting ring gets compared to a bear frightened by stage lights, two animals being exploited by humans, who don’t have the capacity to understand what they are being made to do. “Chip, the bear doesn’t know it’s in a competition” was both funny and hit me like a truck.

None of the dinosaurs are Jurassic Park monsters. They are animals— intelligent, emotional, but still innocent because they aren’t plotting some larger goal.

I mean the real stand out moment was the Legio Rex bit. Like, it makes you think about that yea, humans at the end of the day are just animals too, but we have the capacity to understand the horrors happening to them. While the velociraptor-mind-people were just confused and frightened, the Legio Rex were forced to understand more than they could bare and little ate themselves to stay sane.

Human curiosity, progress, and wisdom is the villain this season I have my money on it. Like even Comfrey’s work is going to have some twist to it. Like she has the hubris to try and control nature, which is why she is able to be somewhat aligned with Mordershire— they both have the same hubris. Because as humans we have the insane ability to deconstruct how the universe functions and they is a blessing and curse to every other creature we share the planet with.

[junkuna]

°❀.ೃ࿔* ink me like one of your french girls - sukuna x reader

chapter 9 - banter ˎˊ˗

—————————————————

࿔ pairing - tattooartist!sukuna x tattooartist!fem!reader

| summary - “But I want to,” he said quietly, the words almost catching you off guard. “I want to be what you need.”

࿔ warnings - nothing in this chapter. we do argue with sukuna tho. but before that we have a rly cute banter moment. also he cracks a little and says smth he shouldn’t have oooouuuh this is a goodie! also i feel like in this chapter it sounds like reader wants sukuna but trust she doesn’t, not yet anyway. just trust the process

࿔ fic tags - they're both idiots so 0 communication, DEFO gets frustrating at times / shameless smut, mostly vanilla though for the chapters ive already written / megumi is ur apprentice which is cute / sukuna + yujir BROTHERS / mahito is an asshole, mentions of attempted sexual assault. / enemies (ish?) to lovers / trying 2 go 4 a slow burn but i fear it's not as slow as i wanted it to be. will add more as we progress probably be i suck at describing my work / hate sex - hate kissing…? / sukuna begging (very ooc) / soo fluffy yum yum / he’s also a bit of a dick sometimes / TOXIC relationship

࿔ wc - 5.2k

— a/n : HEY !! if u wanna be added to this taglist just reply 2 this chapter or send an ask ! ALSO — i’m now taking requests ! so if anyone has any requests just send an ask and i’ll do it hehehe

enjoy!! :D thank u 4 all the love!

════════════════════════════

The morning light slanted through the blinds, casting pale stripes across the bed. You stirred slowly, the heavy weight of sleep still clouding your mind — until you realized there was a solid, warm body wrapped around you.

You blinked, lifting your head blearily — and found yourself nestled against Sukuna’s chest, his arm draped casually around your waist like you belonged there.

He smirked down at you, lazy and amused, voice rough with sleep.

“Jeez,” he drawled, tightening his arm briefly around you before letting go. “Second night in a row of you ending up in my bed. People are gonna start talking.”

You jerked upright with a flustered little gasp, the blanket slipping down to your hips. Your cheeks burned as you scrambled to put some distance between you and him, ignoring the low chuckle he let out behind you.

“Shut up,” you muttered, running a hand through your tangled hair. You swung your legs over the side of the bed, taking a second to steady yourself before glancing back at him. He was still lounging there, bare chest on display, tattoos stark and vivid against his skin, an infuriatingly smug tilt to his mouth.

You swallowed your pride and said quietly, “Thank you again. For… everything.”

His smirk faded slightly, though a glint of amusement still lingered in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, voice softer now. “It’s fine.”

You looked at him for a second longer than you meant to — at the bruises forming on his knuckles, the large scratch just under his jaw that you hadn’t noticed last night. You had no idea what he’d done to Mahito after you sprinted into his shop, but you knew he hadn’t held back.

Something uncomfortable twisted in your chest. Gratitude, sure. But also something else.

You shoved yourself to your feet, ignoring the ache in your muscles and the thudding in your chest. “I should go,” you said, grabbing your shoes from the floor and shoving them on without looking at him. “I have work.”

He hummed, noncommittal, as you made your way toward the door. But just as you reached for the handle, his voice stopped you.

“Hey,” he said, a little quieter.

You turned your head slightly, enough to see him still sprawled in the bed, hair messy, red eyes half-lidded.

There was something almost lazy about the way he looked at you — as if he had all the time in the world, as if he wasn’t the reason your heart was knocking against your ribs like it wanted out.

“Stay,” he said, voice low and rough with sleep. “At least for breakfast.”

You blinked at him, thrown off balance.

“I can’t,” you muttered automatically. “I’ve got—”

He raised a brow. “Yuji’s got the morning shift, remember? You told him to open today.”

You hesitated, the handle of the door warm under your fingers. You had told Yuji that, yesterday — before everything went sideways. And sure, you could rush across the street, hover over him like a stressed-out parent, but… he was capable. He could handle it.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, glaring at Sukuna half-heartedly. “You’re very persistent, you know that?”

He just smirked, stretching like a cat in the morning sun, muscles flexing in a way that made you look away fast.

“Yeah,” he said lazily. “And you’re very stubborn. Guess we’re even.”

A beat of silence. You chewed your lip, tapping your foot against the floor, fighting the urge to just bolt — the safer, smarter option.

But your stomach gave a pitiful growl, and Sukuna grinned, victorious.

“See?” he drawled. “Even your body knows I’m right.”

You scowled, crossing your arms. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re starving,” he said, already pushing off the bed and grabbing a hoodie from the back of a chair. He tugged it over his head, hiding the lines of his tattoos but not the easy strength in the way he moved. “Come on, woman. I’m making pancakes. You like pancakes, right?”

You watched him shuffle barefoot toward the kitchen, muttering under his breath about you being a pain in the ass and stupidly stubborn. Something tugged at your chest again — the easy way he filled the space, how normal he made it feel even after everything that had happened.

The kitchen smelled like coffee and sugar and something a little burnt — Sukuna was many things, but a careful cook clearly wasn’t one of them. You leaned against the counter, arms crossed tightly over your chest, watching him wrestle with the ancient stovetop as if it personally offended him.

You hated how natural it felt.

How easy it was to stand there, the sleeves of your hoodie bunched around your hands, pretending this was normal. Like he wasn’t the same smug asshole who stole your apprentice, your supplies, your pride—and worse, had you melting into his arms last night, crying into his chest like you needed him.

Ew.

You shifted your weight, trying to pull the old anger back around yourself like armor. It was safer that way. Cleaner.

He didn’t deserve anything else. You wanted to remember that.

But every time you glanced over and caught the stupid, concentrated look on his face as he tried (and failed) to flip a pancake without ruining it, the hard edges inside you wavered.

“You’re burning it,” you said flatly, desperate to find something—anything—to be annoyed about.

He shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Adds character.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. “Adds cancer, maybe.”

He barked a laugh, deep and rough, and it snagged at something inside you before you could stop it.

You turned away quickly, pretending to dig through the cluttered cabinets for plates just so you didn’t have to look at him.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

Wasn’t he supposed to be an asshole?

Not the guy standing there, sleeves pushed up, hair sticking out in every direction, making you pancakes in his crappy kitchen at eight in the morning because he didn’t want you to wake up alone after last night.

When you finally found two chipped plates and thunked them onto the counter, you caught him staring at you — not in his usual mocking way, but something quieter. Something almost… searching.

You looked away first.

Of course you did.

“Here,” he said after a beat, sliding a sad, slightly blackened pancake onto your plate. “Breakfast of champions.”

You snorted, grabbing a fork and tearing into it with more aggression than necessary. “Breakfast of people with no standards.”

He just smiled that infuriating smile again and dug into his own plate.

You were still at war.

Still trying to hold onto your anger like a weapon.

But with every second that passed, every wordless glance and sarcastic jab, you could feel it slipping through your fingers.

You were halfway through choking down the burnt edges of the pancake when Sukuna leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms overhead with a lazy groan. His shirt — rumpled, half-twisted from sleep — rode up just enough to flash a sliver of toned stomach.

You forced your gaze back to your plate immediately, stabbing your fork into the mess of syrup and batter like it had personally offended you.

“So,” he said after a beat, voice casual but carrying a weight that made you tense, “about that collab.”

You froze mid-bite.

The word hung there, thick and heavy between you.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look up, to meet that infuriatingly smug tilt of his mouth.

“What about it?” you muttered.

He shrugged, but you caught the way he was watching you too closely — like he already knew exactly what nerves he was pressing on.

“Just saying. It turned out pretty good. Better than I thought it would, honestly.” He gave you a slow, deliberate look. “Considering how much you ‘hate’ me.”

You scowled, jabbing your fork into another piece of pancake. “Don’t flatter yourself. I carried that piece.”

He laughed — a rough, real sound that made your stomach twist for a whole different reason. “You wish you carried it. If anything, your pretty little lines needed my chaos to actually look alive.”

You slammed your fork down with a loud clang, heart beating faster for reasons you refused to examine.

“Excuse me?” you snapped. “Without my structure, your whole mess would’ve just looked like someone puked ink onto the skin.”

He grinned, wide and unbothered, resting his chin lazily in his hand. “Maybe. But you liked it. Admit it.”

“I didn’t—” You broke off, seething. He was baiting you, and worse, you were taking it.

“I liked it too,” he said, softer now, the amusement in his voice turning into something heavier.

”…Yeah?”

”Yeah. It was fun.”

You scoffed, grabbing your plate and standing up just to put some distance between you and the thick, heavy way he was watching you. “Yeah, well. You’ve got terrible taste, so that doesn’t mean much.”

Sukuna chuckled under his breath, low and infuriatingly fond. “Right. Forgot you know everything.”

You shot him a sharp glare over your shoulder, but he only grinned wider, leaning his hip lazily against the counter.

“I do know everything,” you said, tossing the plate into the sink with a loud clatter. “Especially about idiots like you.”

“Oh yeah?” he drawled, tilting his head like he was genuinely interested. “What else do you know about me, sweetheart?”

You stiffened.

You spun around, determined not to let him see how warm your face had gotten. “I know you’re an egotistical asshole who thinks he’s gods’ gift to tattooing just because he can draw a few angry skulls.”

Sukuna’s grin stretched wider. “Flattery’ll get you nowhere, y’know.”

You threw your hands up in frustration. “Flattery? I’m insulting you, you moron!”

He just laughed again, deep and shameless, and for one stupid, stupid moment you almost forgot why you were supposed to hate him.

Almost.

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” he said, voice dropping slightly, rougher around the edges.

Your stomach twisted violently, but you forced a sneer onto your face. “You’re annoying when you’re breathing.”

“Ouch.” He clutched his chest like you’d shot him, mock-wounded. “You wound me.”

“Good.” You grabbed a towel and started wiping the counter down viciously, just so you wouldn’t have to look at him.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything.

You could feel him watching you though, the weight of it prickling against your skin.

Then he spoke, voice lower, quieter.

“We made a good team. Admit it.”

You scrubbed harder at an invisible spot on the counter. “We didn’t not make a good team,” you muttered.

“Progress,” he said, so smug you wanted to throw the towel at his head.

Instead, you tossed it onto the counter and spun around, pointing a finger at him.

“This changes nothing. I still think you’re a cocky, selfish bastard.”

Sukuna didn’t even flinch. He just leaned back against the counter, his arms folding across his bare chest like he had all the time in the world to be insufferable.

“Yeah,” he said, tilting his head at you, smirking. “That’s why you spent two nights in a row in my bed, right?”

You felt your whole body tense up — your hands curled into fists at your sides, your heart hammering way too fast for how casual he sounded.

You hated how easily he could say shit like that. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like you didn’t mean anything.

You crossed your arms, glaring so hard you were surprised he didn’t catch fire.

“That wasn’t by choice,” you snapped. “Circumstances. Situational necessity. Not because I like you.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, amused.

“Oh, of course. Purely situational.” He chuckled under his breath, that infuriating, lazy sound that made your skin crawl in ways you didn’t want to name. “Could’ve fooled me, the way you were clinging to me last night.”

Your mouth dropped open.

“That’s… I was scared.”

He just grinned wider, like he enjoyed watching you get riled up. “Yeah? Could’ve ran to anyone’s door, but you picked mine.”

Your jaw tightened. The heat that rushed up your face wasn’t from embarrassment anymore, it was from anger. From fear you hadn’t fully shaken. From the way he kept treating it like some big joke, when all you could remember was the blind panic in your chest, the way your legs had almost given out under you, the way that guy’s hands had felt gripping your skin—

You angled your face away, pretending to be really fucking interested in drying a cup.

“Not funny,” you muttered.

The grin slid off Sukuna’s face almost instantly. You didn’t even have to look at him — you felt it in the air, how heavy it got. He shifted his weight awkwardly, his cocky arrogance draining away like water down a cracked sink.

“Hey,” he said, quieter this time. “I’m—” he hesitated, like the word caught on his tongue. “I’m sorry.”

You snorted, short and sharp, finally setting the cup down with a loud clack.

“You’re a dick,” you snapped, turning to face him fully now. “You think everything’s a fucking joke, but I was scared last night, Sukuna. Like, actually scared. And you’re here laughing about it like it’s some big fucking game—”

“I’m not,” he cut in, rougher than before. His jaw was tight now, and something almost defensive sparked in his eyes. “I’m not laughing at that. I just… fuck, I don’t know. You’re easier to deal with when you’re pissed off at me than when you’re scared.”

You froze, the words hitting you like a slap to the face.

“Easier to deal with?” you repeated, your voice cold, sharp. “What, so I’m a burden when I’m scared? You can’t handle me when I’m vulnerable, huh?”

Sukuna flinched, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of discomfort in his eyes — a crack in his usual indifference. But it didn’t stop you from fuming. It didn’t stop the flood of anger and frustration that welled up in your chest.

“You know what? Fine,” you spat, taking a step back. “If I’m so much of a fucking burden when I’m scared, maybe you should’ve just let me handle it on my own last night. Would’ve been easier for you, right?”

Sukuna’s jaw clenched, and he took a step closer, like he couldn’t help it, like there was an invisible force pulling him toward you. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” he said, voice low, but with that edge of tension that always crept into his tone when he was on the defensive. “I didn’t want you to be scared. But you’re always so goddamn tough — I didn’t think you’d need me.”

“Need you?” You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “I didn’t need you, Sukuna. I didn’t need anyone, but that guy—” Your voice broke for a second, and you pressed your lips together to stop the tremble. “I couldn’t get away from him fast enough. I ran because I had nowhere else to go.”

The room was suddenly suffocating, thick with everything you were saying and not saying. Sukuna stood there, his eyes softening for a moment, but his posture still tense — like he didn’t know how to reach you, how to bridge the distance you were putting between you both.

“I didn’t mean to make it seem like you’re a burden,” he said quietly, his voice edged with frustration at himself now. “I just… I didn’t know how to be what you needed.”

You stood still, watching him. A moment stretched between you, thick with everything unspoken.

“Whatever,” you muttered, trying to shake the feeling. “It’s fine. We hate each other, so you don’t need to be ‘what I need.’” You took a step back, the words leaving a bitter taste on your tongue. You wanted to sound more convincing, but there was a crack in your voice that betrayed the weakness you were trying so hard to hide.

His expression shifted, his usual smirk softening just a little. “But I want to,” he said quietly, the words almost catching you off guard. “I want to be what you need.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned by his admission. “What?” you asked, your voice sharp but faltering.

Sukuna rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking to the floor for a heartbeat before he gave you a crooked smile. “Never mind,” he said, and just like that the moment dissolved, leaving you with nothing but the thrum of your own heartbeat in your ears.

You cleared your throat, cheeks warm with the urge to press him, to demand what he’d almost said—but the air felt thin, fragile, and you didn’t want to break it. So instead you nodded once, abruptly, and stepped back. “Okay,” you muttered, fumbling for your jacket on the bedpost. “I should get back.”

He stood quietly, silhouetted against the pale morning light filtering through the window. His gaze followed you as you tugged the hood of your jacket over your hair, as you slipped your feet into your shoes. It was almost like he wanted to say more, something different, but the words never quite made it. Finally, he gave you a small, resigned nod. “Okay.”

The door clicked shut behind you, and you walked down the narrow stairwell with your mind halfway on the shop, halfway on the half-formed confession you’d almost heard. Outside, the air felt sharper, the city waking up with distant traffic and the hum of neon signs flickering off. You crossed the street, each step taking you away from him and the unasked question hanging in the loft like a ghost.

Back at your shop, you flicked the lock open and stepped inside, the familiar scent of ink and antiseptic wrapping around you like an old coat.

Yuji, ever the ray of sunshine, was hunched over in the corner, sketching out a new design with exaggerated enthusiasm. He’d been a bit nervous this morning—still getting used to the pace of things—but he had that earnest determination that made it hard to stay frustrated for long.

“What do you think of this one?” Yuji looked up, holding his sketchpad toward you with a hopeful grin. “I was thinking something like this for the next one.”

You leaned in, squinting at the design. It was… not bad. He had a solid grasp of structure, though it was a little rough around the edges, the proportions slightly off. You could tell he was still trying to find his own rhythm, his own style.

“Not bad,” you said, your voice thoughtful as you tapped your chin. “But you need to work on the flow of the lines. Maybe simplify some areas to make it cleaner. And the proportions on the hand are a little off. Pay attention to the details, Yuji. It’s those that’ll make or break a tattoo.”

He nodded, eager to take the criticism without getting discouraged. “Got it! I’ll work on it right now.” He grabbed his pencil and started to sketch over the lines, making adjustments. It was clear he was trying to learn as much as possible, not just from you, but from everyone around him. You had to give him credit—he was a fast learner.

You moved over to the station, preparing your tools for the upcoming session, still trying to shake the memory of Sukuna’s quiet words. Why did it feel like something had shifted between you two? You couldn’t explain it. It was strange, but at least you were trying to ignore it.

Yuji, still immersed in his sketching, suddenly spoke up. “Hey, you’re kinda quiet today. Everything good?”

You glanced over at him, meeting his wide, curious eyes. He was genuinely concerned, not in the intrusive way some people were, but just enough to make you feel seen.

“Yeah,” you lied, turning away to prepare the ink. “Just a lot on my mind. You know how it is.”

Yuji gave you a knowing look. “Uh-huh. If you need to talk about it, I’m all ears. I’m a great listener.” He flashed you one of those goofy grins of his, the kind that made it impossible to stay serious for long.

You sighed, allowing yourself a small smile. “Thanks, Yuji. I’m good, though. Just a little tired.”

With the brief distraction, you started setting up for the tattoo. Yuji watched you for a second, and then went back to his own sketching, his pencil flying across the paper. It was oddly comforting, the simplicity of the moment. For once, you weren’t thinking about Sukuna or the mess of feelings he stirred up. You just had work to do.

The rest of the morning passed with a slow, steady rhythm. You gave Yuji a quick rundown of some of the more basic techniques, explaining the subtle details that made tattoos work—the pressure, the angle, the way the needle should glide over the skin. He picked things up quickly, soaking in your instructions like a sponge. It wasn’t long before you gave him his first real practice session, helping him set up a design on a small patch of skin. You guided his hand at first, then let him take the reins, keeping a watchful eye as he worked.

“You’re getting better,” you said as you cleaned up his work, the lines sharper, the shading more even.

Yuji grinned, clearly proud of himself. “Thanks! I’ll be better than you in no time.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Not that fast, Yuji. It takes years of practice to get to my level.”

“Years, huh? Guess I better get started,” he said, flashing a determined look.

The afternoon flew by as you worked side by side with him, passing on tips and letting him experiment. Despite the weight on your shoulders, the tension in your chest that you couldn’t shake, you found yourself falling into the familiar groove of your routine. In some way, it felt normal—like this was the path you were meant to follow. Yuji, though still raw and unpolished, was eager, passionate. And that energy was enough to pull you through the day.

By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, you were both exhausted but satisfied. Yuji had made decent progress, and you’d spent the day pushing him further than he’d expected, all while trying not to dwell on everything that was going on in your personal life.

“You did good today,” you said, wiping your hands on a rag as you cleaned up the station.

Yuji looked up at you, his face bright with a mixture of exhaustion and pride. “Really? I mean, you’re the expert, so if you say so…”

You nodded. “You have potential. Just don’t expect me to go easy on you just because you’re my apprentice.”

He laughed, rubbing his hands together in mock fear. “I wouldn’t dream of it!”

You finished tidying up, the shop growing quieter as the day came to a close. You could hear the distant hum of the city outside, but inside, it felt still, calm.

He turned to you, looking a little hesitant for the first time all day. ��Hey, I was thinking… I know it’s been a long day, but maybe we could grab some food? You know, to celebrate my first official day.”

For a split second, you almost said no. You were tired, and you still had a lot on your mind. But then you looked at Yuji, his bright eyes full of hope, and you couldn’t say no.

You smiled, albeit a little tiredly. “Sure, why not. It’s been a long day.”

He beamed, his excitement infectious. “Awesome! Let’s go. I’m starving.”

—

The restaurant you and Yuji ended up at was a small, cozy spot, the kind of place that felt like it could be your new regular hangout. The dim lighting and the soft murmur of conversations gave the place a calm, inviting atmosphere, a nice contrast to the chaos of the day. You both slid into a booth, Yuji immediately starting to glance at the menu, though he clearly didn’t need it. He was the kind of guy who could eat just about anything.

You couldn’t help but notice how at ease Yuji was. He seemed like someone who could find the silver lining in any situation, no matter how bad things got. And, for once, you found yourself actually enjoying his presence. It was a refreshing change after the mess with the creep and everything else that had been weighing on your mind.

“So, what’s good here?” Yuji asked, glancing up at the waiter as they took your orders.

You pointed to a few things on the menu. “The ramen’s pretty solid. Can’t go wrong with that.”

Yuji nodded, already sold on the idea. “Ramen it is, then.” He gave you a grin, and for a moment, you almost felt normal again.

As the waiter walked off to place your order, a quiet silence settled between you two. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it lingered long enough that you felt the need to fill it. Your mind, as usual, wandered back to the things you didn’t want to think about, particularly Sukuna. There was something about him that made your chest tighten whenever he crossed your mind.

You hesitated, unsure whether it was a good idea, but curiosity got the better of you.

“Hey, Yuji,” you started, catching his attention. He looked up from his menu, waiting for you to continue. “Does Sukuna… ever, I don’t know… have girlfriends? Like, has he ever been in a relationship?”

Yuji raised an eyebrow, clearly a bit surprised by the question. He leaned back in his seat, eyes thoughtful as he gave a small chuckle.

“That’s an interesting question,” he said, tapping his fingers against the table. “Honestly, I’ve never really seen him with anyone like that. He’s… well, he’s Sukuna. He’s not exactly the type to have a ‘girlfriend’ in the way most people think about it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What does that mean?”

Yuji scratched the back of his neck, clearly trying to figure out how to phrase it. “Well, it’s just… he’s always been kind of… a lone wolf? You know, not really the type to settle down or get close to people in that way. I mean, he gets along with a lot of people—he has his way of charming them—but he doesn’t exactly make an effort to, uh, keep anyone close for long. You get me?”

Right, that basically means he’s a whore.

It was an odd answer, but it made a certain kind of sense. Sukuna was never the type to stick around for too long, always moving through life like it was a game. But you had to admit, there was a part of you that couldn’t help but wonder: why did it feel like he was trying to keep you close, in his own twisted way?

“Isn’t it weird, though?” you muttered, your fingers tapping lightly on the edge of the table. “How someone like him can just… avoid relationships like that? I mean, I get it, but it’s kind of… lonely, right?”

Yuji’s expression softened a little, and he shrugged. “Maybe. But I think Sukuna’s just… built different. He doesn’t need anyone to be happy. At least, that’s what he wants everyone to think.”

You chewed on that for a second, trying to process what Yuji had said. It was strange—Sukuna didn’t exactly seem like the type of person who would want to be alone. But then again, he had a way of keeping people at arm’s length. Even you, despite the strange, undeniable connection you had.

“Do you ever think he’ll change?” you asked, more to yourself than to Yuji.

Yuji paused, considering the question for a moment. “I dunno. I think he’s capable of it, but only if he wants to. Sukuna doesn’t do anything he doesn’t feel like doing. If he wanted a relationship, he’d go for it. But I don’t think he’s interested in one right now.”

At that moment, the waitress came and places two bowls of ramen in front of you and Yuji. Giving you a big smile before nodding and walking away.

You watched Yuji slurp another mouthful of ramen, the steam curling around his face as he chewed. His offhand comment about Sukuna’s lack of interest in a girlfriend had landed with a surprising thud in your chest. You’d felt that pang of disappointment, sharp and confusing. Why did it bother you so much that Sukuna wasn’t looking for a relationship? You barely understood it yourself.

“Are you okay?” Yuji asked, eyes flicking up to you again. “You look… disappointed.”

You forced a shake of your head, blinking away the sudden sting behind your eyes. “I’m fine,” you lied, pushing your noodles around your bowl.

”Oh my god, no way.”

”What?”

Yuji set down his chopsticks and gave you a thoughtful look. “You don’t seem fine.” He paused, then asked the question that made your heart suddenly hammer in your chest. “Do you… like him?”

You nearly choked on your ramen, heat flushing your cheeks as you slapped a hand over your mouth to stifle the rising gasp. “What? No!” you said, more loudly than intended, eyes snapping shut in mortification. “Don’t be an idiot, Yuji.”

Yuji’s expression softened into a gentle half–smile. “You care,” he said quietly, leaning back and folding his arms across his chest. “And you’re disappointed he doesn’t want someone right now—like maybe you were hoping it’d be you.”

You froze, the soup burning your tongue and the world narrowing to the small wooden table between you. There was no way to deny the thought that had wormed into your mind the moment Sukuna had admitted he wanted to be what you needed. You could feel the truth of it like a pulse under your skin, but you forced your expression into a scowl.

“That’s ridiculous,” you muttered, tearing your gaze away and stabbing at the ramen with renewed aggression. “Don’t be silly.”

Yuji watched you for a beat longer, his brow furrowed in concern. Then he reached across the table, lightly tapping your hand. “I’m not silly,” he said firmly. “And neither are you. You’re allowed to feel things, you know.”

You flinched at his touch, closing your eyes against the wave of heat it brought. “I said I’m fine,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

He gave a small, understanding nod and let his hand fall away. “Okay,” he said softly. “Just… don’t pretend you don’t feel anything. You deserve to be honest with yourself.”

You opened your eyes and met his gaze, the banter and bravado slipping away until there was only the raw ache of uncertainty between you. You weren’t sure how to respond, so you fell silent, letting the clatter of dishes and the murmur of the other diners fill the space.

But as you sat there, the late–evening light casting gentle shadows across your face, you knew that pretending would only make it harder to figure out what you really wanted. And maybe, just maybe, that was the scariest part of all.

—

taglist - @beabamboo @snapcracklen @fushiguroooozzz

[thequeenofthewinter]

Work-in-Progress uh--Someday

Hi, hello. I am back to some type of bullshit but it's not the usual bullshit. Nope. This time it is Anders flavored. Another mage done stole my heart and blew it into tiny little pieces.

This goes out to my beloved, @aldisobey for they have motivated me to come back to life and actually post something. <3 Actually, you get TWO WIPS. Bonus art after the writing.

Also tagging the dearies. I'm so sorry if I haven't gotten to your works or if I missed you. My will to create and interact is only coming back now. @redheadsramblings @caughtnyact @guacamolleee @the-bear-and-his-sunbird @silshinobii @sofiemystique @avantegarda @dragonracer @draco-illius-noctis @holdingontojupiter @theyearningghoul. Lemme know if you want tagged in whatever I am doing.

“That’s because he isn’t interested, and you and Varric—”

“Sweetie, the boy is interested. I’d bet my last copper on it.”

“You don’t know that!”

Isabela sighs as she leans over the bar, looking for the owner. “I think of anyone I’d know the look of interest. You know, he looks at you the same way that you do at him.”

“And how is that might I ask?”

“Like a stray dog with a bone.” Her lips curl into a smile. “And you could chew on his bone freely if you—”

“No, Isabela! No, I—” She shakes her head vehemently, arms crossing out in front of her. “I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

“Ah, so you’re scared. Pity.” She finally flags down the bartender and orders another round. “Care to make a wager?”

“First, you and Varric tease me relentlessly, and now you try to take my money.”

“I bet if you walk out that door, not 5 minutes later Anders would follow.”

“You’re out of your mind if you—”

“20 coppers.”

“I’m not going to—”

“2 silver.”

“This is—”

“5 gold. Take it or leave it. If I’m wrong, you take me for all the money in my pocket, and if I’m right…well,” she winks, “what happens in a back alley in Lowtown, stays in a back alley in Lowtown.”

“I—”

Isabela lifts a brow. “Pony up, and put your money where your mouth is, or go back to that table and make us all crazy with your lingering glances and breathy sighs.”

“Fine, fine. You know what? I’ll enjoy taking your money.” She is not sure what possess her to do it, but she slams 5 gold up on the counter, a finger pointing at Isabela as she narrows her eyes. “5 minutes. Do try not to spend all my money in that time.”

And for some art WIP. I'm still obviously tweaking this. I didn't decide to put clothes on them until after and I need to fix the proportions. <3

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 103: Fitz's Escape

Previous > Masterlist

tw: mind control, blood drinking, suicidal ideation

December 1925

"Killing the old man at his own party is a crazy idea. You're a madman."

"I'm desperate," said Fitz. "But you're calling me a madman when you're the one who's made a thrall out of a witch and a hunter."

"She's a prestige acquisition, don't you think?" Lily stroked her new thrall's hair, and she looked up at her madam with nothing but love in her eyes. Leave it to Lily to be confident enough in her enthrallment skills to keep a hunter by her side. Fitz certainly could understand the appeal, though. The enticing smell of her blood was a drain on his self-control, and turning a hunter into a docile little thing was a nice trick.

"She'd be worth a fortune, I expect. I'm surprised you're not selling her."

"There are some things more important than profit, even to me. I wanted to make sure she ended up with someone who properly appreciated her."

"I think our Lily has become quite attached despite herself," said Lex with a grin.

"I think you're right," said Fitz. "Isn't that what you've always warned us about?"

Lily scoffed. "I'm not unnecessarily attached, I just know good value when I see it. Now are you going to carve the rune or not?"

"Excuse me for being reluctant to drive a silver knife into my arm." Of course, that was the entire reason why Lily and Vivian were here, so that Fitz could test out the modifications to the rune. If everything went well, he'd be immune to his sire's powers, a theory they could test right away with Lex. If not, then both Lex and Lily would both be at the mercy of the Maestro's compulsions, making it next to impossible for them to kill him.

For all his big talk about the plans, though, he really did not look forward to how much this was going to hurt. The silver knife seared his flesh as soon as he touched it to his forearm, the sudden pain nearly causing him to drop it. It took all of his willpower, gritted teeth and embarrassingly pained noises for him to actually persist in carving out the rune. As he did so, Vivian sat up from Lily's lap, watching Fitz's progress intently.

"It's done," he said, gasping and panting.

Lex didn't congratulate him, though. Instead, he looked very sour.

"What's wrong? Are you worried about going an hour without being able to enthrall me? I promise I won't take advantage of it in any way you won't like."

Truthfully, Fitz's feelings on the matter were far more complicated than he'd like to admit. He'd forbidden Lex from enthralling him without permission as an attempt to establish his own presence as a vampire, and Lex had mostly respected it, as far as Fitz knew. But sometimes Fitz would just as soon be happy to let Lex plunge him into blissful unawareness. He wanted to ask Lex to do it, sometimes, but he had his pride. He was a vampire in his own right now and he didn't need Lex to sing him to sleep.

And if he did indulge himself too far, if he did become accustomed to allowing Lex to take away his thoughts, he might never return from it.

"It's nothing," said Lex, blatantly dodging the question, uncharacteristically irritated. "Let's complete the experiment."

Lex sang, a beautiful perfect clear note, and the already burning cuts on Fitz's arm seemed to sear into him. Fitz wanted to say that it hurt and ask if that meant it was working, but his voice failed him. There was nothing, nothing in the world but the song and its singer. He wanted to shut his eyes. He did so.

"Fitz? Fitz, wake."

His eyes snapped open. He was still sitting up, and he felt groggy. "What -- was I asleep?"

"Soundly asleep," said Lex. "It appears that rune configuration is a failure."

"It should be me to do the deed, sirs," Vivian blurted out, and all turned to look at her. "The rune works for me, and I have experience killing vampires. I've been training my entire life for the chance to kill this wretched monster."

"No," said Lex firmly. "We've tried before with hunters, experienced ones, and it was an abject failure. As skilled as hunters can be, they inevitably lack a vampire's speed and strength."

"But, sir --"

"Hush. It's too dangerous," said Lily. "And I will need you to protect me if things go sideways. Isn't that enough of a role?"

"Madam…" Vivian's brow furrowed. "I could best protect you by carrying out my duty and destroying the Maestro."

"None of that. Lex is right. A hunter won't be enough. Lex can draw close to his sire without arousing suspicion, as well." Lily stroked her hair, trying to soothe her agitated pet, and Fitz couldn't help but feel a bit uneasy. "Now, where do you think we've gone wrong with the protective rune?"

Vivian's mouth opened and closed. She clearly wasn't over the conversation, but she seemed too conditioned to put up much of a fight against her madam. Fitz knew Lily's talents firsthand, and knew how easy it was for her to wrap a human mind around her fingers. That had been him, once.

"The part we were most uncertain about is here," said Vivian, pointing to one of the symbols in Fitz's still-bleeding skin. "It's possible that our substitution of 'vampire' is in the wrong location, or in the wrong dialect. I think the next best thing to try…"

Soon enough, Fitz was carving another agonizing rune into his arm. Soon enough, he was unconscious and disoriented once more. Another failure.

They tried several times, Lex simmering in frustration as Lily grew impatient. Fitz was growing impatient himself. He was running out of room on his arms, and every inch of them burned. The wounds made him crave blood to heal himself, and the hunter smelled delicious, but he knew better than to lay a hand on her without Lily's blessing. The pain and the craving were driving his rational thoughts away. What would happen if they couldn't make the protective rune work on a vampire? Would Lex chance it anyway, hoping to catch his sire off guard? Or would they have Vivian attempt the deed, despite Lex's insistence that she shouldn't?

Would they fail again, and leave Fitz to be stripped of himself once more? He shuddered.

Lex sang his lullaby once more, and the rune burned, and…

Fitz looked up at Lex in surprise. He was still awake, somehow. "Are you running out of steam?"

Lex shook his head, brow furrowing, as he sang with more urgency. Fitz could hear the command in it, trying to lull him asleep, and yet here he was, eyes wide open. Could it actually be working? It seemed too much to hope for. Emboldened by the possibility of success, Fitz tackled Lex to the floor.

"Gotcha."

Stormy eyes bore into Fitz as Lex pulled him close, sang in his ear, and the rune carved into his arm hurt so much, but he kept resisting. Every moment he could keep resisting was a moment that Lex might be able to hold out against his sire, improving their chances of finally killing the old man. He shoved Lex away and rolled, standing up again. "You had better not be toying with me, Lex. Give me everything you've got."

The wave of enthrallment that washed over Fitz was dizzying, enticing him to sink back into sweet oblivion, but he still held out.

"We might actually do this," said Lily in awe. "We might truly pull this off."

It was definitely too much to hope for. He couldn't bear the thought of being captured by the Maestro for good, having his memories and personality obliterated and descending into an eternal hell. Yet he also couldn't bear the opposite thought, the thought that they might win, the thought that there could be a future.

Fitz remained numb to the possibility even as Lily cheered and Vivian clapped his back, even as Lex pulled him into his arms and kissed him. Oh, he maintained an outward show of cheer and good humor. It wouldn't help to pull everyone else down, and acting was always his forte, after all.

After Lily and Vivian had departed, satisfied at the accomplishment, Lex's mood dropped too. He flopped onto one of the overstuffed couches, beckoning for Fitz to join him, and Fitz wasted no time slotting himself into Lex's arms. Even after all these years and all that had happened, Fitz still felt safer there than anywhere.

"There's something very important I must ask of you before we carry out this plan," Lex murmured.

"What is it?"

"If I fail -- and I don't want to argue about this -- if I fail, I want you to take Oliver with you and escape as far as you can go."

"What on earth for?" Fitz asked. "What escape? We both know that there's no escape from him."

"We don't know that, not for sure. After all, he let you go overseas for years. He may not care to pursue you, once he has me at his mercy."

Fitz scoffed. "He'd never let anyone truly escape him for good. Not me, and especially not Oliver."

"But both you and Oliver can use the rune. You may be able to use it to prevent me from compelling either of you. Without me, he has no direct hold over you. He may be counting on being able to control you, and not realize he can't until it's too late for him to catch you."

"Seems like a long shot." Of course, it wasn't the risk that made Fitz want to reject Lex's request. It was the potential loss of his sure way out. If he were responsible for Oliver, if he were forced to make an escape attempt in earnest, he couldn't simply stake himself in the event of failure.

"I don't want you to kill yourself."

Fitz looked up, startled. "I wasn't --"

"I know you. I know you'd rather take your own life than be under my sire's control again." Lex's finger traced a pattern along Fitz's collarbone, close to the place where his old scar was. "But don't, for my sake, if not for your own. You deserve better than a lonely death. You deserve a chance to shine on the stage. To live without fear."

"Mm."

"And if you do make it, you can drink your fill of Oliver's blood. He's a good thrall who would serve you very well. He'd get along with Roger, too. You could make a good life for yourself, far away from here. From me."

Fitz pushed Lex away, standing up abruptly. "I need blood. I'm going to go feed."

"Right now? Are you okay? I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not upset. I just carved half a dozen runes into my skin, and I need blood to heal. I'll be back."

"All right." Lex looked wounded as Fitz retreated from the library.

He threw on his coat and shoes and made his way outside into the cold night air, looking up at the moon. The wind was crisp and smelled of damp earth.

And if he were taken by the Maestro again, there would be no more night air, no more moon, no more wind. No pleasure in any form, not even in his own mind, as even his dreams would be tightly controlled. He'd much rather die as himself, die while he still had some happiness left. Sometimes he wished he would have died before he was taken by the Maestro so many years ago, when he was still human and still remembered what the sun felt like and food didn't taste like ash.

It would be easier if he hated Lex, and Oliver too. He could easily deny Lex's selfish request, if he did. He could abandon Oliver, his replacement, and leave him to meet an awful fate. It wasn't his business. Lex should have never taken such a desirable thrall in the first place.

Of course, he couldn't hate either of them. He was drawn to Lex no matter how he thrashed against the desire, and every time he returned to his old lover, he was reminded all over again how good it felt to be wanted. Lex wanted him in a way no human could, vampiric need shining in his eyes, and he was the only one who could truly quiet Fitz's mind and give him peace. It was addictive, intoxicating, and although Fitz wasn't sure if he could love as a vampire (or if he ever could have loved as a human), this mutual possessiveness was probably as close as he could come.

And he couldn't hate Oliver, even though Fitz burned with jealousy at his replacement. He was too delightful, the ideal thrall, and he smelled so nice and took to enthrallment so well and reminded him so much of what Lex might have been as a human… no, he didn't truly want to abandon Oliver to be destroyed by the Maestro. It was a fate he wouldn't wish on anyone, much less this dusty, nervous intellectual who looked as if a strong wind could blow him away.

So his only choice left was to hate himself, and that was thankfully easy.

There weren't many people out at this time of night, well after midnight and edging close to morning, but he could still pick up a few scents on the breeze. The most enticing of those scents led him to an exhausted looking man in coveralls, probably returning home from a night shift at a factory. The smell of metal and grease couldn't block out the aroma of his blood, especially when Fitz was so famished.

"Hello," said Fitz, wasting no time at all to invade this man's space, grabbing one wrist and planting his other hand on the man's cheek.

The man tried to back up, but found he was held fast by Fitz's strong grip. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded. "If you're trying to rob me, you're going to be disappointed. I'm flat broke."

"Shhh." Fitz placed a finger across his victim's lips, tilting his gaze up to meet his eyes. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm a friend."

"A… a friend…?" The enthralling touch was clearly having an effect on this unsuspecting human, his eyes already starting to glaze over. Tired humans always made such easy targets. "I don't… I don't know you…"

"You don't need to worry about it." Fitz stroked his cheek tenderly, pouring his power into the poor man's defenseless mind, infusing him with bliss. He was rewarded with a dazed smile. "That's it, just relax. Let yourself feel good. It's been a long night, and you deserve to feel good, just like this."

The man nodded dreamily, slipping easily under Fitz's spell. Satisfied that the human was subdued, Fitz pulled him into a dark alley, away from any prying eyes, and backed the man against the wall. He didn't even try to struggle -- an easy mark. That was just as well as far as Fitz was concerned.

"Nothing's wrong, nothing at all," he whispered in the hypnotized man's ear. "You're going to feel even better when I feed."

"Feed…?"

"Shh, shh, nothing to worry about. Just enjoy yourself." Normally Fitz would draw this out more, enjoy playing with the cute defenseless human, but he was absolutely starving. He wrenched the man's shirt collar to the side, ripping it a bit in the process, and sank his fangs in. Deep relief flowed through Fitz as he satisfied his urges, the pain from the carvings on his arms lessening, his anxious monologue fading. At times like this he wished he could drink forever, keep filling himself up with a human's blood until he felt full and complete and human again himself.

He drank too much, of course. The poor soul collapsed to the filthy ground as soon as Fitz was done with him. Fitz licked the last of the blood from his lips, leaning against the wall. It wasn't as satisfying as Roger's blood, but then Roger was a top-grade thrall who had the benefit of familiarity going for him.

Fitz wondered what Roger was doing now, if he'd ever see his loyal thrall again. He hoped that if none of the rest of them made it out, at least maybe he could. He could take the cash Fitz left for him and start a new life, one without a vampire to wait on.

The man on the ground coughed, and Fitz came back to his senses. He wasn't in the habit of just leaving his prey unconscious, and that pesky bit of morality could certainly be inconvenient at times. He sighed and hauled the man up. "Where do you live?"

Bleary eyes cracked open, and the man mumbled some directions. Fitz carried him home easily, sticking to the darkness so as not to invite attention, and soon he was carrying his prey up the stairs of a rotten tenement. With his hunger sated and the human deposited on a thin mattress in a drafty room, Fitz felt that he could get back to Lex's manor.

Perhaps he should get some food for Lex, as well, but truthfully he was still irritated at Lex for how determined he seemed to protect Oliver, when he'd utterly failed to protect Fitz all those years ago. He didn't mind being a bit petty about it, because he knew he was going to agree to what Lex had asked. If Lex's plan failed, if he had the chance, he would take Oliver and try to run, and maybe, just maybe, they could find some kind of existence far away from all of this.

He didn't truly believe that, but he wanted to.

Previous > Masterlist

Thanks for reading about this vampire's trauma. Next week: Oliver is returned to Alexander, and has a pleasant chat with the Maestro on the way.

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[eclipsaria]

《 After the Bloom 》

Summary // In a world where vampires and humans coexist, a young vampire CEO reunites with her previously-vampire-now-human boyfriend from a past life, as they slowly rediscover the warmth of second chances.

Genre : non-idol fantasy(vampire) au

Pairing : EN- Sunghoon x reader

Warnings : mentioned of foods, blood bags, fluff, taking slow but not slow burn, reincarnation and second chance if you squint, stressed working environment, lmk if i missed out any

W/C : 21 981

Rating : [ 13+ SFW ]

Now playing : A Thousand Years - Christina Perri

Note //

This can be read as a standalone fic, but if you want to know more details, it is a continuation from the series Pure Nape of Hers preview

And yas, i have change my format this way,,, change for the better ykwim👍

↻ Main Masterlist Enhypen Masterlist Pure Nape of Hers Masterlist Taglist ↺

It has been a century since vampires stepped out of the shadows and into the light of everyday life.

In this new era, vampires and humans coexistet. Not in the same space, but in parallel cities connected by a single steel bridge. On one side: the ever-bustling Human City, grounded in tradition and cautious progress. On the other: the sleek and shimmering Vampire City, a beacon of innovation and supernatural advancement. The bridge between them symbolized peace, but it was also a guarded gate: humans were forbidden to cross, while vampires could only enter the human side with permits earned through rigorous examinations. The safety of humankind was non-negotiable, after all.

Still, cooperation had its benefits. Vampire hospitals offered cutting-edge medical technology in exchange for ethically donated blood, treating diseases once deemed incurable and sharing the sustenance with their own. Both cities thrived in this carefully maintained balance.

Among the most remarkable contributors to this new age was a group of young vampires, young by birth, but not by mind. Y/N, born a decade ago but with the appearance and maturity of a twenty-year-old, stood at the helm of a revolutionary fashion company. Alongside her were Choi Seungcheol, Lee Chan, Lee Seokmin, and Kim Mingyu—her closest friends and fellow founders, each brilliant in their own right.

Their company, launched boldly within the heart of Human City, was an instant sensation. The moment word spread that vampires—creatures known for their elegance, precision, and timeless beauty—were behind the designs, the public flocked to their doors. Trends shifted overnight. Humans yearned to wear what eternity wore.

Of course, success came at a price. Every month, the entire company shuts down for a week. Its founders returning to Vampire City to renew their permits and undergo the required tests. Not all vampires were willing to commit to such routines. Many opted to remain in their own city, letting opportunity pass in favor of comfort. But Y/N and her friends weren’t like the rest.

But beneath her ambition and the whirlwind of success her company brought, there lay a silent, unwavering hope, a reason that transcended fashion, technology, or progress. To find him, Park Sunghoon, the name still echoed like a heartbeat in her mind.

In her previous life, Y/N had been human, fragile and fleeting. Sunghoon, on the other hand, had been a vampire, graceful, powerful, and eternal. Their time together had been short-lived, stolen by a curse. But on the brink of death, as her body failed her, she made a wish, quiet and desperate, to meet him again in the next life. And that wish had been heard.

She was reborn as a vampire. Not through blood nor bite, but through fate itself. But fate, it seemed, had a sense of irony. Sunghoon, the vampire who once longed to understand the beauty and sorrow of human fragility, was now born as a mortal. A complete reversal. He lived on the human side, where she could not step freely, where the walls between them had become real, built not by prejudice but by policy.

So Y/N stayed hopeful. She faced the monthly examinations with quiet determination, not simply for the sake of her business, but to cross the bridge with permission, again and again, until she found him. 

She had to believe he was out there. And time, even for vampires, was not infinite.

The world had changed in more ways than one. Vampires were no longer truly immortal. Their bodies matured quickly, becoming physically twenty within a decade of life, and remaining there in their prime. But the stillness of age didn’t last forever. Fifty years after their birth, the signs of aging would begin to show slowly, subtly. Their powers would start to weaken, the light in their eyes would dull, and by their sixtieth year, they would transform. No longer a vampire, but fully human: blood no longer a need, powers stripped away, their bodies as vulnerable as any mortal.

It was nature’s new balance. A quiet reminder that even the eternal must eventually face the weight of time.

And so, Y/N raced against that invisible clock. Ten years old, appearing twenty, carrying the soul of a woman who had loved before. Her friends built an empire with her, but her heart? It built a bridge of its own. One that reached out into the human city, yearning for the day she’d lock eyes with the man who had once crossed lifetimes just to love her.

She found him on an autumn afternoon, standing just outside the bridge checkpoint.

Y/N, only ten years into her second life, still remembered the face from her past, the one etched so deeply into her memory that even death couldn’t erase it. And now, here he was, features hadn’t changed. The gentle curve of his lips, the thoughtful eyes, the faint dimple when he frowned, still the Park Sunghoon she remembered from another time just a lot younger.

He was ten years old, same as her, but when he looked up at her—tall, composed, and timeless in appearance—he blinked in awe before shyly murmuring, “Noona…?” and Y/N giggled, the sound slipping out before she could stop it. The way he said it, uncertain and endearing, made her chest ache in the most wonderful way. She knelt down just slightly to meet his height, pulling out a small sweet from her coat pocket.

“Here,” she said softly, pressing the candy into his palm, “for being brave.”

He looked confused, but his fingers closed around it anyway, his eyes still locked on her face. She smiled gently, soaking in every detail of him, every shift in his expression. And then, without him noticing, she inhaled quietly just once, memorizing his scent. For her, it wasn’t just a comfort, it was an anchor, a way to find him again, no matter how far the years stretched.

“Take care, alright?” she whispered, and before he could ask anything more, she turned and walked away, heart full. She didn’t need more time, not then. That one moment was enough to assure her that he was real, he was safe, and they were in the same world again.

She had found him.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

Ten Years Later

The world spun faster now.

You stood at the center of her fashion empire, no longer a rising vampire talent but a household name. You are still twenty in appearance, and this time, in age as well. The long hours, the relentless creativity, the thriving collaborations with humans and vampires alike… your days were full, your name known across cities. Choi Seungcheol, Lee Chan, Lee Seokmin, and Kim Mingyu had grown with you, the five of you running the company like a well-oiled machine. And yet, in the quiet moments between fittings and meetings, your thoughts always found him.

Sunghoon.

He is twenty now, no longer the wide-eyed boy at the bridge. He’d grown tall, his frame lean but steady, and his features sharpened into something heartbreakingly familiar. You kept your distance, always just close enough to keep track, never close enough to disrupt his life.

He was finishing university, awaiting the final results that would mark his official graduation. You heard through mutual networks that he was brilliant, popular, and humble, a combination that made him both admirable and frustratingly out of reach.

You possessed a rare ability—not the kind of mind control humans feared, the kind that forced others to act against their will—but something quieter, subtler, and far more dangerous in the wrong hands. You could alter memory. With just a touch and focus, you could plant thoughts like seeds. New memories, false flashes, feelings that never truly happened, or you could take them away, erasing pieces of someone’s life as if they had never existed at all, temporarily, or permanently. Forgotten moments or ddited truths.

But never once could you make someone do something. You couldn’t manipulate their will, nor force them to obey. Your power was not about control of the present. It was about rewriting the past, and that made it all the more powerful.

You could give someone the memory of love, or take it away. You could rewrite a friendship, remove trauma, or return lost fragments of a forgotten life. Yet you knew better than to use it recklessly. 

While you waited for him to graduate, waited for the day his résumé would finally cross your desk, you were far from idle.

You had already found the others. Six of them. All from his past life. Friends who once stood beside him, in laughter. Different ages now, reborn at different times, but when you saw their faces, you knew. Their appearances were unchanged, etched into your memory too deeply to mistake. You brought them in one by one.

Heeseung, who had always been the quiet strategist, was now a Manager Team’s leader. Smart, composed, and eerily intuitive. He had joined the company early, years before the others. He never questioned why you hired him after a single conversation, but sometimes he’d stare at you with a furrowed brow, as if trying to remember something just beyond his reach.

Jay had followed, sharp-tongued and stylish as ever. You placed him in your HR Team, a leader. He clicked with the company instantly, managing the company's employees and his relationship with the organization.

Jake—warm, grounded, charming—handled public relations. Humans loved him. Vampires respected him. He didn’t know why he was drawn to working under you, but you saw the flicker of something familiar in his eyes every time he smiled at you, like a feeling he couldn’t name.

Sunoo and Jungwon joined not long after. The former full of light, laughter, and occasional sass, worked in styling and wardrobe. Jungwon, ever the observant one, was recruited into internal operations. Both had unknowingly slotted into their past-life roles, surrounding you with the same warmth you remembered from lifetimes ago.

And then there was Riki, the youngest now, your intern, clumsy but brilliant. You saw him growing fast, about to be promoted into an official position. He never understood why you treated him with such gentle patience, but somehow, he never questioned it either.

They were all human now. All of them knew that vampires founded the building. It was public knowledge, after all. You never hid it, and yet, none of them flinched. None of them left, instead, they worked harder, stayed longer, as if something inside them whispered: Stay, this place matters. They didn’t remember their past lives, but you did, and sometimes, when you passed by the staff lounge or overheard them laughing during lunch breaks, the memories hit you hard. The bond between them hadn’t changed, reincarnation hadn’t taken that from them. They were still his friends, and now, they are your workers too.

But of course… among all of them, there was one you couldn’t just quietly wait on.

Sunoo. He had been the closest to you in your previous life, your anchor in chaos, your mirror in moments of doubt. The one who always knew when your smile was real, and when it was just armor. You used to joke that he was the moon to your dusk, soft light in your darkest nights. And in this life, that bond hadn’t changed. Not even time could dull it. He was still drawn to you like gravity, still slipped into your life so naturally it was almost frightening.

But something about that closeness... it made your heart ache. Because he looked at you every day now, sat beside you during meetings, leaned against your office couch during late nights, without knowing who you really were to him, and you couldn’t take it anymore.

One evening, as the company lights dimmed and most of the staff had gone home, you called him into your office. He entered without knocking(he never did). He had a cup of milk tea in one hand and a sarcastic remark ready on his lips, but when he saw the look in your eyes, the teasing fell away.

“Something’s wrong,” he said immediately, setting the drink down.

You smiled faintly. “No. Something’s been wrong for a long time.”

He tilted his head, confused. “Y/N-”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, standing from your desk. “I should’ve told you sooner. But I didn’t want to take away your peace.”

His brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

You stepped closer and raised your hand slowly. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do this to any of you, not unless I had to. But… you’re the one I can’t leave in the dark, you deserve to remember.”

He blinked. “Remember what?”

You placed your fingertips gently against his temple. He didn’t flinch. His eyes searched yours, calm and steady.

“I’m going to give your memories back. All of them. From before.”

And then, softly and deliberately, you let your power slip through your fingers and into his mind. It took only moments. A flicker, a breath, and then he gasped. His knees buckled slightly, his hand gripping your arm. You caught him, steadied him, watched as the confusion in his eyes twisted into something ancient, something deep, something familiar.

His lips parted. “I... remember. Everything.”

You nodded, trying not to cry. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to take this from you, but I also didn’t want to burden you.”

He stared at you for a long time, the weight of centuries behind his gaze. Then he smiled softly, steady, a little broken.

“You idiot,” he said, laughing through a shaky breath. “Why would you think I wouldn’t want this? You- you were something. We were all friends.”

You closed your eyes. His words were enough.

“I don’t have powers anymore,” he murmured after a moment. “Not in this life. I’m just human.”

“Then that’s more than enough.”

He reached out and held your hand tightly. “I’m with you, all the way, no matter what.”

And in that quiet office, under the low glow of your city’s lights, you finally felt less alone.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

It happened one evening, about a week after Sunoo’s memories had returned.

The two of you were alone again, your usual scene. He sat cross-legged on the office couch, sipping on strawberry milk, while you reviewed scheduling documents under the soft hum of lamplight. You could tell he’d been holding in a question the entire evening. His eyes kept darting your way, his foot bouncing impatiently.

Finally, he asked, “Hey… can I ask you something without you going all mysterious vampire boss mode on me?”

You didn’t look up, but your lips curved into a knowing smile. “No promises, but go on.”

He leaned forward, straw between his fingers, eyes serious now. “Why didn’t you approach Jake for memory restoration?”

You blinked once, then twice. The question wasn’t unexpected, but the timing was. You set your pen down and glanced up at him, watching as the old soul behind his boyish face studied you closely.

“Jake’s the one who’s going to be in charge of recruitment this year, right?” Sunoo continued. “He’ll be going through applications, handling interviews... Sunghoon’s resume will probably land on his desk first. So wouldn’t it make sense to awaken his memories before he accidentally brushes off the person you’ve been waiting for?”

You nodded slowly, appreciating the logic in his concern, then you rose from your seat, walking over to where he sat. You leaned your hip against the couch arm, arms crossed loosely.

“That’s exactly why,” you said quietly. “If Jake remembers too soon, his emotions might cloud his judgment. And I can’t risk that, not when it comes to him.”

Sunoo frowned, processing your words. “So... you’re planning to let Jake remember after Sunghoon’s in?”

You gave a small nod. “Once I confirm Sunghoon’s back for real… I’ll bring everyone else back in, slowly.”

Sunoo exhaled, eyes still on you. “That’s… really lonely, you know.”

Your smile was bittersweet. “I’ve been used to it.”

He fell quiet, then glanced up with a sly grin. “So… why did you pick me first, huh? Is it because I’m your favorite?”

You let out a soft laugh, then tapped the side of his head. “It’s because I trust you to stay level-headed. And… because from this year onward-” you pause for effect, “-you’ll be joining the interview team.”

His eyes widened. “Wait- what?!”

“It’s time to upgrade your position,” you said with a proud grin. “You’ve been here long enough, and it’s the perfect moment. I already spoke with the others. You're officially part of recruitment starting next month.”

He blinked at you, completely still. Then-

“YAAAAAAY!”

He shot up off the couch and bounced in place, arms flailing in pure excitement. “Wait, wait- does this mean a pay raise too?!”

You raised a brow, teasing, “Of course. Rank comes with compensation.”

“YESSSSSSSSSS!” He twirled in place like a child on sugar, despite being two years older than you.

You chuckled under your breath. “Sunoo, you’re twenty-two, not twelve.”

“I’m emotionally immortal now, thank you very much,” he grinned, finger pointing dramatically at the ceiling. “Also, this is the best news I’ve gotten since regaining centuries of forgotten vampire memories, so let me celebrate in peace!”

You laughed harder at that.

Sunoo had barely stepped out of your office before announcing the news to his team like he’d just won the lottery.

“I GOT PROMOTED!” he shouted with his arms stretched high, practically glowing. “Recruitment team, baby! Starting next month!”

A chorus of reactions followed immediately. Jake turned around in his chair with a slow clap, Heeseung gave a supportive nod like a proud older brother, while Jungwon and Riki exchanged a look before Riki jumped up and tackled Sunoo in a hug.

“Celebration drink after work?” Sunoo asked, grinning wide.

“Obviously,” Jay replied, already texting someone for a table reservation. “We’re celebrating your overdue pay raise too.”

You leaned on the railing from the upper level, watching it all unfold, their laughter echoing in the workspace, the familiarity between them, the way their energies still blended perfectly. Just like before. Just like in the life they had all forgotten. You smiled softly, letting the sight warm the corners of your heart. Behind you, you heard footsteps.

“Hey, hag.”

You rolled your eyes without turning. “I’m only older than you by one year, nineteen-year-old brat.”

Chan let out a light laugh as he came to stand beside you, arms casually resting on the railing.

“And you think that one year makes me a brat?” he teased, nudging your shoulder.

You smirked but said nothing, eyes still fixed on the boys below. Sunoo was now doing some kind of victory dance with Riki while the others filmed it, definitely not for work purposes.

“They’re really like brothers,” Chan said, voice quieter now. “Feels right seeing them like this.”

You nodded, the smile never fully leaving your face. A beat passed before he spoke again, this time in a lower tone, careful, but curious.

“So, how’s your boy journey going?”

You didn’t need to ask who he meant. Your smile widened just a bit more. “Just waiting for him to send in his resume. Hopefully to us... and hopefully, no one else accepts him.”

Chan hummed thoughtfully. “About that… I heard from Jihoon. His precognition flared up a few nights ago. He said your boy might be a hot topic. Lots of companies want him, like, everyone.”

The lightness in your chest dulled just slightly. You felt it immediately, that ripple of anxiety under your skin. You bit your lower lip, something you rarely did, fingers curling around your sleeve as your mind began spinning with possibilities.

What if he gets recruited by someone else? What if he never walks through our doors at all?

Then, without warning, *smack*. Chan flinched forward as Seungcheol passed behind him and smacked the back of his head with a loud thud.

“OW- what the hell, hyung?!”

“Don’t go scaring her,” Seungcheol said coolly, rubbing the back of his neck. He turned to you with his usual reassuring calm. “Don’t worry, Y/N. I’m sure your boy will come to our company. He’s probably already circling it.”

You blinked, surprised by the conviction in his voice. He always said less than he knew, but when he said something, he meant it. You looked at Chan, who now wore a sheepish grin, rubbing his head, then at Seungcheol, always steady, and finally, down again at the six boys laughing like time had never passed. You let out a small breath, trying to ignore the ache behind your ribs.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Hopefully.”

But still… even as the laughter and celebration filled the air, even as your friends reassured you over and over again, a small, fragile part of you couldn’t help but wonder.

What if Sunghoon never steps into your company? What if fate decides to play cruel again, as it had before? You turned toward Seungcheol, hesitating for just a moment.

“…Could you,” you started, your voice quieter now, almost embarrassed, “use your power… maybe just a small one? A tiny reality wrap, just enough to make sure he walks into our building?”

He looked at you slowly, blinking once like he wasn’t sure he heard that right, fhen he lifted his hand.

*Flick.* His fingers snapped against your forehead in a sharp, light sting. You flinched.

“Ow-! Seungcheol!”

“No,” he said simply, with that typical Seungcheol bluntness, offering no explanation at all. “That’s not what my power’s for.”

You pouted and rubbed your forehead, glaring at him half-heartedly. “You didn’t have to flick me…”

“You didn’t have to ask,” he replied, tone dry but not unkind.

You sighed heavily, dramatic and defeated. “Fine. Where are Mingyu and Seokmin, then?”

Seungcheol shrugged. “Last I saw, Seokmin was in the fabric archive obsessing over imported lace again. Mingyu disappeared right after lunch, probably apologizing over spilling onto keyboards again.”

With another long sigh, you turned and walked away, arms folded, steps echoing softly across the upper floor.

Maybe you didn’t get your reality warped. Maybe you couldn’t cheat fate, but you could still move forward.

You weaved through the glass corridors and quietly made your way toward the west wing of the building, toward the two other founders who always managed to brighten your day in the most unexpected ways.

Time to check in on your chaotic duo.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The day of interviews arrived faster than expected.

The energy in the building shifted the moment the doors opened. Even from your side of the hallway, you could hear the low hum of tension. Nervous laughter, shuffling feet, papers rustling as the applicants clutched their portfolios like lifelines.

You strolled casually toward the Interview Room, pretending like you were just passing through, but your eyes locked on Sunoo the moment you got close. He and Jake stood by the panel table, flipping through the files, settling their posture like professionals. Jake wore his usual calm confidence. Sunoo, on the other hand, looked unusually serious. Back straight, eyes sharp, that playful energy of his fully tucked away.

You tried to glance at the stack of resumes in Jake’s hand, but Sunoo immediately caught your subtle move.

“Ah-ah,” he said without even looking up. “No peeking. Interviewer team only.”

Jake smirked without lifting his eyes. “That’s protocol, you know. Not even a founder gets special access once the process starts.”

You gasped dramatically. “Are you seriously pulling rank on me right now?”

Sunoo finally looked up, grinning smugly, and tilted his head. “Exactly. Welcome to my world, boss.”

You narrowed your eyes, but couldn’t help the amused smile tugging at your lips. “Traitor.”

With a soft huff, you turned away, catching Sunoo’s subtle wink before you exited the room. You didn’t get the answer you wanted, but something about his smile told you everything. You stayed outside, near the large observation window just across the hall. It wasn’t a one-way mirror, but from here, you had a clear view inside.

The interviews had begun.

Each candidate entered in order, numbers called one at a time. You watched as the applicants sat across from Jake and Sunoo, trying to steady their breaths, some straightening their ties, others nervously tapping their fingers on their laps.

Some were honest. Some were over-rehearsed. A few were charming. One or two were painfully stiff. And then there was Sunoo, professional and poised, but with that extra sparkle you always knew he had. The way he nodded thoughtfully, threw out sharp follow-up questions, smiled to disarm even the most anxious ones… you knew then you had made the right choice promoting him. 

Still, your gaze drifted from the panel to the waiting area. You watched the next batch of candidates. Some whispered to themselves, practicing lines. Others took deep breaths, eyes closed in meditation. Some just sat frozen, fidgeting with their fingers, nervous energy thick in the air.

The scent of anxiety clung to the hallway. You couldn’t help but laugh softly to yourself, barely audible. As much as you wanted to walk over and reassure them, tell them it was going to be okay, you knew that one of the five founders approaching would only increase the pressure. So you stayed,  rooting for them quietly from a distance. And then, your breath caught.

Among the sea of suits and anxious faces, one stood out. Not because he was louder, nor more confident, but because the second your gaze settled on him, something inside you shifted. You leaned forward slightly, narrowing your eyes. Then, ever so subtly, you inhaled.

There it was. That unmistakable scent. Familiar, steady, and engraved in your soul.

Park Sunghoon.

You exhaled slowly, letting your eyelids flutter shut just for a moment. A smile stretched across your face, small but radiant. When you open your eyes again, your eyes flashes red before going back to brown. You took in the full sight of him.

Hair neatly styled, tie straight, suit sharp, lips moving slightly as he whispered memorized lines under his breath. He hadn’t seen you, he didn’t even know you were there, but you were.

Watching him from a distance, just like you had ten years ago, just like always. And this time… he was so close.

You turned your gaze back to the room. Jake and Sunoo were still locked in interviews, heads bent as they took notes. Neither of them had reached Sunghoon’s number yet. Your smile lingered as you stepped quietly down the hallway, leaving behind the tension and excitement of the waiting room. With each step, your heart felt lighter.

You returned to your shared office, where the other four founders were gathered. You settled back into your seat the moment you returned to the shared founders' office.

The familiar click-clack of your keyboard filled the quiet space as you typed out a summary email for the week’s event logistics, trying to keep your focus, trying not to think about the boy sitting just a few floors below, waiting for his number to be called. Just as you hit enter on the last sentence, you heard the sound of wheels sliding against polished flooring.

Seokmin.

He rolled his office chair right up to your desk, a file folder in one hand, an easy grin on his face.

“I heard that the interview began?” he asked, setting the folder down gently in front of you.

You hummed softly in response, eyes still on the screen, fingers not stopping. Across the room, Chan’s voice chimed in casually, nonchalant, almost bored, as he continued typing with his enhanced senses on the surroundings.

“She saw her boy.”

You froze. The moment his words dropped, your hands stopped mid-keystroke. A low groan slipped past your lips, and you let your head fall slightly forward, forehead nearly touching the keyboard.

“Seriously?” you muttered.

Chan didn’t look at you, didn’t even smirk, just kept clacking away at his keys like exposing your heart was just another bullet point in his schedule. Seokmin blinked, looking between you and Chan. Then, he turned back to you, eyes wide and curious. “So? Is he as handsome as his previous life?”

Your fingers hovered above the keys. Images of Sunghoon’s suit, his focused eyes, the way his lips moved as he rehearsed answers, everything played like a reel in your mind. The scent, the posture, the way time didn’t dull your ability to recognize him even among dozens. You slowly lifted your gaze, leaning back slightly in your chair. Your lips curved. Head tilted to the side, eyes soft, you answered, “Definitely.”

The word left your mouth like a secret made known, and then, with no further elaboration, you resumed typing, casually sending off the email before finally reaching for the folder Seokmin had left behind. He let out a dramatic, awe-filled noise under his breath. With that, he turned, rolling his chair across the room toward Seungcheol’s table, where another file awaited.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

Three days passed.

You buried yourself in work, though it barely helped. Sunghoon’s interview had come and gone, and since then, nothing. No word, no message, no “he passed” or “he didn't.", and the rules of the interviewer team were clear: no founders were allowed to interfere until final decisions were made and recorded. So you waited, and waited… and waited.

You spent the hours in your shared office with the other four founders, reviewing campaign materials, drafting outreach plans, managing budgets, and right now, sifting through a particularly dense file on marketing stock allocations for the upcoming winter collection. You had just circled a misaligned data column when the door burst open.

No knock, no hesitation, and no warning, just-

“Y/N!”

Your head jerked up. Only one person entered a room like that.

Sunoo.

He practically slammed the door behind him and stood with both hands on his hips, his blazer slightly askew and cheeks puffed out as if he had jogged across the entire floor.

You blinked. “Excuse you?”

“You told me I don’t have to knock anymore,” he declared proudly, chest rising like he just won an argument.

“That doesn’t mean slam the door like you’re announcing a crime scene.”

Chan snorted behind his monitor. Seokmin looked up from Seungcheol’s desk. Even Mingyu peeked from behind the cloth he was examining. Your fingers curled slightly against the folder, trying not to seem too eager.

“So?” you asked, voice even. “You’re here.”

Sunoo’s dramatic stance broke instantly, replaced with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He sauntered toward you, pulling something out of the inside pocket of his coat, a manila folder. He held it out and your heart skipped.

“You’re here because?” you asked carefully, not yet taking it.

“Because the interviewer team have a finalized list of new hires,” he said, placing the folder directly on your table.

Your breath caught, but your expression stayed neutral, barely. “You’re only supposed to submit that to HR team, aka Jay.”

“I will,” he grinned. “But I figured… I should deliver another copy one personally. You know, just in case.”

You stared at him, and he stared back. Then, finally, he leaned in close and whispered so only you could hear:

“He’s in.”

The words sent a wave of heat up your chest. You blinked once, twice, then slowly lowered your gaze to the folder. He stepped back with a pleased smile.

“I left a sticky note on the page you want,” he added cheerfully, already turning toward the door. “Anyway! I have celebratory pastries in the pantry. Byeee!”

The door clicked shut behind him. You stared at the folder for a few seconds longer, pulse in your ears, heart thudding like it had been waiting for just those two words to start beating properly again. Then you opened it, flipping through until you found it. A yellow sticky note.

“Page 6. You’re welcome. ❤️ – Sunoo”

You turned the page, and there it was.

《Park Sunghoon.

Accepted.

Position: Marketing Creative Assistant

Start Date: Next Monday.》

Your hand curled slightly at the edge of the page. You exhaled slowly. Across the room, Mingyu was in the middle of reorganizing fabric swatches for the winter edition fashion line. Layers of rich velvet, muted neutrals, and deep jewel tones stretched neatly across his workspace. He caught your expression the moment you placed the folder down.

“You can at least smile, you know?” he called out, not even looking up as he adjusted the soft folds of a burnt red wool blend. “Your boy’s coming to work with us.”

You didn't lift your head. Instead, you softly closed the file.

“My cheeks are going to hurt from smiling too much,” you muttered under your breath, clearing your throat as you opened the earlier document you were reviewing, marketing stock projections, page 14. You tried to scan the lines like before, pretending your heart wasn’t still racing.

Mingyu chuckled, low and amused. He didn’t tease further. Instead, he turned back to his station, carefully tucking the cloth samples into their protective sleeves. You could hear the gentle swish of fabric brushing against fabric, the small clicks of labeled tags snapping shut.

Moments later, his desk phone rang. He picked it up with a practiced hand, shoulder pinning it to his ear as he held up one of the thicker weaves against the light.

“Yeah, confirm Winter Material Batch B,” he said, his voice clear but calm. “We’re going with the heathered slate for the overcoats. And note the cashmere blend as base for the urban-fit outer layers. Keep the forest grey wool as backup.”

A pause.

“No, we’re not touching the glacier blue. Not this season. Too soft. We need edge this time.”

You smiled to yourself as he continued speaking, the familiar cadence of your team, the efficiency that came from working together for years. Even in the chaos of your emotions, the rhythm of your team always grounded you.

You glanced once more at the closed folder, where his name sat etched behind a simple layer of paper. Park Sunghoon. Soon, he would step through those doors—not as a ghost of the past, not as a memory—but as a new hire, walking right into the life you built from the ashes of another.

You inhaled quietly, smiled to yourself this time, just a little, and returned to your file.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The first day arrived like a quiet storm.

Outside, the city buzzed with the usual weekday rhythm, but inside your company’s glass-and-steel headquarters, everything felt just a little more electric, like the air was holding its breath. In the shared founder’s office, you and the other four were already dressed sharply, preparing for the introduction of the new hires. First impressions mattered, especially in a building where vampire and human cooperation set the tone for the future.

You stood in front of the mirror, clipped your hair up with practiced ease, then removed your work glasses, folding them neatly onto your desk. Your reflection stared back at you—serene, unreadable, and steady.

This wasn’t the day to tremble.

Chan tightened the cuffs of his sleeves beside you. Mingyu straightened the collar of Seokmin’s blazer while Seungcheol smoothed out a slight crease on his own lapel. Each of you knew the routine. Each of you had done this dozens of times before.

Without a word, you turned and walked out of the office, the other four falling into step beside you, like a unit, like a legend written into stone. The hallway cleared as staff instinctively moved aside, their respectful bows crisp and familiar. By the time you reached the main floor, the HR team was already assembled. A group of fresh-faced new hires stood neatly lined up, a mix of nervous smiles and eager eyes—dozens of them, dressed in new suits, holding dreams in their hands.

Sunghoon was there.

You saw him immediately. Tall, poised, that same subtle intensity in his eyes that hadn’t changed across lifetimes. He was near the center of the group, arms calmly at his sides, but his gaze locked on you the moment you appeared, he froze.

Jay, standing at the front with the rest of HR, began the introductions.

“As per tradition, we’d like to formally introduce you to our founding members.”

Your name was said first.

You smiled—polite, welcoming, even radiant. Your gaze drifted over each new hire, acknowledging them with warmth, but when your eyes landed on him, they lingered. Just a second longer, he didn’t look away. You swore you could feel the ripple of disbelief in his breath. Beside you, Chan leaned in ever so slightly, his voice low and effortless.

“I sensed it,” he whispered. “He’s shocked. Probably because he saw you ten years ago… and you still look exactly the same.”

You gave the softest hum in response, your expression never faltering. Then, the introductions wrapped. You stepped forward, nodding your thanks toward Jay and the HR team.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice calm but steady, just loud enough to reach the back rows. “To all of you, welcome. I hope you’re proud to be standing here, because you should be. You’ve passed a rigorous process, not just of skill, but of spirit. Of vision. That means we already believe in your potential.”

You paused, glancing around once more. When your eyes brushed over Sunghoon again, you swore his brows tensed just slightly. You smiled.

“And I look forward,” you continued, “to seeing what you all can bring to our table. Not just as employees, but as creators, innovators, and voices of this generation.”

You ended with a light bow of your head, and a gentle clap, followed immediately by the others around you. The room burst into polite applause, a soft wave of excitement blooming across the group. You stepped back into place beside your team, eyes forward, expression graceful.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

From the moment the founders stepped into the room, Park Sunghoon had felt like something cracked beneath his skin. He stood silently among the new hires, posture stiff but composed, his eyes following her as she smiled, welcomed them, and gave that elegant speech with an air of familiarity that made his chest ache.

He barely registered the words. He just kept staring. By the time the applause faded and the five founders had returned to their office, his hands were slightly clammy, clenched at his sides.

*Who was she? Why does it feel like I’ve known her before?*

He blinked rapidly, trying to anchor himself back to the present. The HR team was already moving, splitting off to assign newcomers to their guides for the day. Each staff member took one of the new hires, slowly thinning out the group.

Sunghoon remained alone. He shifted slightly, unsure if he was supposed to move, wait, or find someone to speak to. But before the awkwardness had time to settle too deep, a familiar face approached the head of HR—one of the interviewers from a few days ago. The same one with a sharp gaze but a surprisingly warm voice. They whispered something and the HR leader nodded once, then he turned toward Sunghoon.

“Park Sunghoon?” the man asked with a polite tone, extending his hand.

Sunghoon nodded, quickly stepping forward to shake it. “Yes, sir.”

“I was supposed to guide you through your orientation today,” the man continued, “but my schedule just got tied into back-to-back department meetings. So I’ll be handing you over to someone I trust.”

He gestured slightly. Sunghoon turned and saw him. A smiley-faced, golden-haired male with a cheeky glint in his eyes. He waved.

“Meet Kim Sunoo,” the HR leader said. “If you need anything, just approach me. I’m Jay Park. Lastly, welcome to the company.”

With a final clap on the shoulder, Jay turned and walked away, leaving the two of them standing face to face.

Sunoo stepped forward, extending his hand again. “Hey. You probably remember me from your interview, yeah?”

Sunghoon nodded, reaching out slowly to return the handshake. “Yeah… I do. Thanks for the opportunity.”

Sunoo smiled, but there was something in his eyes. Not judgment, not calculation, but something... knowing.

“Well,” Sunoo said brightly, “you’re stuck with me now. Let’s get you settled in.”

With that, he turned and began walking, gesturing for Sunghoon to follow. As they weaved through the gleaming halls of the company—past modern architecture, indoor garden pockets, collaborative workspaces filled with staff typing, sketching, and discussing—Sunoo explained the departments, introduced a few nearby staff, and kept the conversation light.

But he never left Sunghoon’s side. He made sure to explain each area twice, offered shortcuts to help Sunghoon memorize layouts, and never once made him feel like just another face in a crowd.

It was oddly comforting.

Sunghoon didn’t know why… but something about this man felt safe. Familiar.

The tour was informative. Sunoo was bright, thorough, and engaging. He explained each department clearly, gave helpful insider tips like which vending machine never jammed and which elevator skipped a floor when it was in a mood. Sunghoon listened politely, even smiled a few times, but part of him. quietly and persistently, kept circling back to one thought.

You..

He walked slightly behind Sunoo, glancing at the walls, the wide glass panels, the steady rhythm of employees going about their tasks. Everything was new, gleaming, and full of motion. But still. There you were, in the back of his head like a flickering image, elegant and composed as she stood during that morning’s welcome. He waited until they passed the last department before he asked.

“…Hey, Sunoo?”

Sunoo slowed slightly. “Yeah?”

“Is there a way,” Sunghoon hesitated, pretending to read the signage on the wall, “to… get to know the founders better? Like, their stories?”

Sunoo smiled. But it wasn’t teasing, it was too gentle for that. He looked at Sunghoon with something unreadable in his gaze before giving a playful shrug. “You’ll figure it out when the time’s right.”

Then, like nothing happened, he veered into the next subject.

“Now, about your actual position—Marketing Creative Assistant. You’ll be working under the current campaign team lead, directly connected to department heads but also under the creative board’s rotating schedule. Your tasks for the first month will focus on ideation and visual drafting. Basic reports due every Friday. And if anyone calls you into meetings last-minute, blame Mingyu.”

Sunghoon chuckled. “Duly noted.”

They ended the tour right outside a hallway branching from the central floor, where executive and special creative desks were placed. And then Sunoo stopped in front of a sleek workstation, desk untouched, monitor glowing softly.

“Here’s your space.”

It was quieter here. The air seemed still, almost reverent. Sunghoon placed his hand on the back of the chair and sat slowly, eyes scanning the desk’s pristine surface. Before he could fully settle in, the door beside him opened. His head shot up and there you are. 

You.

Sunghoon stood instantly, posture straight, bowing deeply. “Good morning.”

You didn’t speak at first. You walked in lightly, gaze sweeping across the newly arranged workspaces until it landed on him. And then you smiled, so gently and deliberately, as you approached his desk.

In your hand was a single sweet, wrapped neatly in vintage paper. You placed it in the center of his table.

“Here,” you said softly. “For you.”

And just like that, you walked away without another word.

Sunghoon watched you go, frozen. He looked down at the sweet. Familiar, frighteningly familiar. His fingers hovered above it before slowly picking it up. The scent, the wrapper, the way it was handed, he knew this. His mind stirred. A faint memory surfaced, like something long buried beneath years of silence. 

He was ten. Standing at the edge of the human side of the bridge, eyes wide with curiosity. He wasn’t allowed to cross. His parents had warned him. Everyone had. The vampire city was beyond that bridge, and humans weren’t permitted to enter. But curiosity burned inside him like a spark that refused to die. Still, he only dared to hover at the edge, never quite stepping forward. And then, she appeared.

You.

Wearing a white coat that fluttered around your legs and a calm expression on your young, but strangely adult-like, face. You didn’t speak much. You simply approached, handed him a sweet. Then, without fear or pause, you stepped across the bridge, past the barrier and into vampire territory. 

He remembered how he stood there frozen, and how, before disappearing fully, you had turned back and waved him off.

“Shoo,” you had said.

And he had. He walked home in a daze, weirdly trusting the girl who looked like she belonged to another world. That moment hadn’t returned to him in years. But now… seeing the same face, the same sweet, the same calm. It crashed into him like a forgotten dream.

You were a vampire, you always were, and now you were here again. Still the same, still you. He stared at the sweet resting in his palm and whispered under his breath, lips barely parting: “…It’s really you.”

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

Back in the shared founder’s office, your eyes flicked between two things.

The first: the digital board in front of you, renderings and budget breakdowns for the upcoming Winter Collection. A line you and Mingyu had been perfecting for months. Textures, silhouettes, color stories. Every detail mattered.

The second: the boy now seated just outside the glass panels of your office. Park Sunghoon. He looked good in his seat. Spine straight, brows furrowed, fingers gingerly testing the keyboard like he didn’t want to break anything on his first day. He hadn’t touched the sweet yet, but you noticed the way he kept glancing at it, like it wasn’t just a candy, like it meant something. You let out a soft breath and tore your eyes away.

*Focus.*

You clicked into the latest batch of design mockups and opened the production chart. The Winter Collection needed to be tight—no wasted fabric, no color mismatch, no delays. Mingyu’s call earlier confirmed that the glacier blue material had been rejected. 

You had two months left to finalize pieces before public reveal. This wasn’t just about clothes, it was your company’s seasonal launch, and a founding vampire-led fashion house couldn’t afford to fall behind.

Still, your gaze drifted again.

He was now leaning forward, reading a printed handbook Sunoo had left him. One hand rested against his cheek, his expression thoughtful.

You leaned back in your chair, trying not to smile.

“You’re not being subtle,” Chan murmured from his seat, not even glancing at you.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m supervising.”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m multitasking.”

Seokmin chuckled under his breath, not looking up from his tablet. “You need help with the budget sheets or are you too busy supervising love at first full-time job?”

You let out a long sigh and turned your attention forcefully back to your screen. “Winter Collection,” you muttered. “Focus.”

Mingyu, who’d just walked in with another set of cloth samples, placed them gently on your desk. “Let him settle in. He’s not going anywhere.”

You glanced up at the fabric—charcoal herringbone, icy navy, a thick slate wool blend. All perfect for outer layers. You ran your fingers across them slowly. The moment your hand then slipped away from the fabric, your eyes flicked again toward the glass, and there he was, still reading, still glancing at the sweet like it held the key to something unspoken.

You smiled to yourself.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

As the year inched closer to its end, the atmosphere inside the company thickened. 

Tension curled in every hallway. Voices that used to hum with idle chatter were now clipped, brisk, and driven. Meeting rooms rotated like clock hands. One group in, another out. Memos pinned themselves to digital boards faster than anyone could finish reading them.

You sat at the center of it all.

The Winter Collection process was in its final sprint. This was what you had planned. 

First: secure the design approvals and lock the concepts.

Next: pull out the selected cloth materials from inventory and begin shaping the garments—tailors, seamstresses, pattern cutters, all working overtime. In motion. In sync.

The products had to be ready and on display before September. That was the line. After that, it was your time, yours and Mingyu’s, to breathe. A short retreat, but only once the line was finished.

After September, it would be Seokmin and Seungcheol’s turn to be buried. Marketing strategy, media rollout, influencer partnerships, content shoots, press kits, every last channel activated like wildfire.

Meanwhile, Chan would already be deep into mind-mapping the Spring Collection. He preferred to begin conceptualizing while others were still busy with the cold. His ideas came best in contrast.

Your eyes skimmed through the reports on garment progress. Delivery logs, stitching completion rates, button inventory, shoe samples, and staff mood surveys. One of your fingers tapped anxiously against the glass desk. Behind the muted tones of the office glass, the design floor buzzed. You stood, walking along the corridor to check on production, eyes scanning for any signs of delay.

Mingyu was already out there, half of his sleeves rolled, eyes sharp as he circled the sample mannequins. When he spotted you, he simply held up a clipboard. “Third batch is halfway done,” he said. “But we need to adjust the hem length on the midnight wool coats. They’re swallowing the frame.”

You took the clipboard and nodded. “Adjust and remeasure by tomorrow morning.”

Mingyu gave a thumbs-up and turned to bark a few polite but firm orders at the cloth handlers.

You moved past the production tables, pausing only slightly as you walked by the creative marketing division. There he was. Sunghoon. Sitting with the design copy team, helping them align brand tone and graphic layout proposals. His brows were pinched, but his voice was calm. You caught the subtle nods from his team, the way he listened before speaking. Always a beat slower, but never out of sync.

You made your way back to the main office and slid into your chair again, sighing as you pulled open your screen with updated deadlines.

The meeting room was full of tension bottled up like steam beneath a sealed lid. All department leaders were seated around the long conference table, winter sample racks standing proudly along the walls like soldiers awaiting judgment. You stood at the head of the table, tablet in hand, the mood in the room sharp with expectation.

The final checkpoint before the duplication phase.

The moment to scrutinize every stitch, silhouette, and style before the fashion was allowed to be reproduced for full-scale launch.

Mingyu began, standing beside a mannequin dressed in the first finished set: a tailored wool trench with slate-blue lining, paired with layered textured gloves and a minimal crossbody made of structured leather. “This set is in line with our frost-edge concept,” he explained. “But I noticed the stitching on the left cuff is off by a few millimeters.”

You stepped forward, eyes sharp. You touched the edge, compared it to the prototype. He was right.

You nodded once. “Send it back. Re-align the seam.”

Seokmin leaned forward, tapping on his laptop. “On the third outfit—Model F, the black ribbed coat—we need to raise the collar height. It’s falling too flat in photos.”

“Agreed,” Seungcheol muttered. “We need sharper angles for that one. Especially for the key visuals.”

Notes flew. Adjustments were called out one by one. Hemline issues, sleeve proportion, the wrong tone of grey for the scarf set on Model H. Everyone was focused, intense, exacting. You kept your eyes on the samples.

Chan, leaning back with a subtle frown, pointed toward a muted ice-blue ensemble. “Lose the buttons on that one. Too vintage. Doesn’t match the theme.”

You considered. “Replace them with matte gunmetal buckles instead.”

Sunghoon, sitting quietly with the assistant creative team on the side, scribbled notes without needing to be told. His gaze moved from mannequin to leader, listening to how corrections were made, absorbing it like breath.

Another ten minutes passed. Every piece, every layer, every detail accounted for. You took one last look at the room before stepping forward. The room fell into silence. You spoke clearly, professionally—but with something quietly warm behind your tone.

“All errors have been recorded. The sample team will begin corrections immediately.”

You turned toward the lead fashion designers and tailors.

“Once adjustments are complete, proceed to full duplication. No product is to leave this building unless it is flawless. Once every copy has passed quality control-” your eyes narrowed slightly, “we release to the market.”

A unified nod circled the room. Mingyu straightened. Seungcheol closed his file. Chan tapped twice on his screen, while Seokmin leaned back with a visible sigh of relief. The room exhaled. 

Lights flicked on across every floor before the sun even rose. Elevator doors opened like clockwork. The scent of fresh fabric, dye, and steam filled the halls as the duplication process for the Winter Collection officially began.

Downstairs, the production floor buzzed.

Rolls of fabric were unspooled, layered, cut. The air was filled with rhythmic clicks of shears, the hum of sewing machines, and the precise clatter of tailor chalk tapping against cutting tables. Mannequins stood in rows like unfinished soldiers, each steadily being dressed with perfect replicas of the finalized designs.

Mingyu walked the line, sleeves rolled again, clipboard in one hand and coffee in the other, eyes locked on details only trained hands could catch. He didn’t need to say much, his nods and gestures were enough for the production team to understand.

Upstairs, you monitored the inventory system, watching the duplicate counts rise, one by one. You checked off completion percentages, supplier timelines, and approved each photo log sent from the tailors.

Two days later, with over 85% of the line completed and final QA checks approved for distribution, you called for a short team assembly. All of your and Mingyu’s design team gathered, tired but proud, eyes a little dull from sleepless nights, yet standing taller than they had all year. You stood at the front beside Mingyu, holding a tablet and a rare, visible smile.

“Everyone,” you began, “the duplication phase is nearly done. Which means our work is complete.”

Some eyes widened, whispers floated. Mingyu leaned on the edge of the presentation table. “Which also means, you can all finally rest. As of today, you’re officially off-duty.”

A few staff actually gasped.

You smiled wider. “We’ve set the company shutdown week for this weekend through next. No one is to report in. No emails, no late-night tweaks. It’s non-negotiable.”

“Wait- like... even the founders?” one assistant asked, blinking.

You nodded. “Especially the founders.”

Soft chuckles spread.

You continued. “In truth, the permit renewal only takes two to three days to complete. But the rest of the week…” you glanced at Mingyu, who simply gave a tired thumbs-up, “is a reward. A quiet before the storm.”

Seokmin and Seungcheol’s teams, the marketing core, stood at the back and arms folded, already bracing themselves.

Mingyu added with a half-laugh, “Rest while you can. The moment this break ends, marketing will burn bright, and we’ll need you all again in the spring.”

The room filled with claps and sighs of victory. One or two high-fives flew in the air. The design team could finally breathe. And you? You could finally relax just for a while.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The air was gentle that morning, cool with the breeze of early autumn. Your fingers curled around a porcelain teacup, steam swirling lazily upwards. The tiny café on the corner of the street was quiet, tucked between an old bookstore and a florist shop. A hidden gem only locals knew. Far from the weight of fashion deadlines and department briefings.

You sat beneath a green umbrella, reading the morning paper, eyes scanning the fashion section for whispers of rival launches. Nothing stood out, nothing sparked worry, your company still led the game. You took another sip of your lavender tea, letting the warmth calm you. Then, a voice. Familiar, Slightly breathless.

“Miss Y/N?”

You blinked, turning your head to the side. Park Sunghoon. Dressed in a soft oatmeal-colored sweater, fitted jeans, and sneakers that looked a bit too clean for someone coming from the market. A reusable tote bag hung from his arm, filled with neatly packed groceries. His hair was a little tousled from the wind.

He looked surprised to see you. Unsure whether to greet or bow. Unsure if he was interrupting. You gently folded the newspaper and set it down on the table.

A calm smile tugged at your lips. “Come sit down?”

He hesitated, eyes flicking from you to the table, the quiet café… and back again.

“I don’t want to intrude your alone time, especially after your permit examination,” he started, polite as always.

But then you tilted your head slightly, voice soft and reassuring.

“It’s okay. You’re not invading my space.”

There was something about the way you said it, like you had meant it for more than just today. He gave a small nod, almost like he couldn't help himself, and sat down opposite you, placing his grocery bag gently by his side.

You gestured for a waiter, who quickly came over with a notepad. “Whatever he wants, on me,” you added warmly.

Sunghoon glanced up at you, blinking. “You really don’t have to-”

But you were already leaning back in your seat, eyes amused.

“I insist,” you said.

He ended up ordering a cappuccino and a small lemon tart. The waiter left with a nod. You both sat in brief silence. It wasn’t awkward, just… quiet, peaceful. Sunghoon ran a hand through his hair, as if trying to make sense of how casually this was all happening.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he admitted.

“I could say the same about you,” you replied, your smile still gentle. “You look like you just came from the market.”

He glanced down at his bag and let out a small laugh. “Yeah. My landlord’s been sick, so I offered to run errands. Figured I’d enjoy the fresh air before everything picks up again next week.”

You nodded slowly. “Good choice.”

Another pause, then, almost too quietly, Sunghoon looked at you.

“…You haven’t changed.”

You raised an eyebrow. “In what way?”

He hesitated.

Then said, “You look exactly the same as you did… ten years ago.”

The wind tugged slightly at your coat sleeve. You didn't respond right away. Instead, you reached for your teacup again. Then, calmly and carefully, your smile gave you away, just a little. And he noticed, he stared into his cappuccino as the foam slowly settled.

You didn’t press him. You just waited, fingers resting lightly on your teacup, eyes scanning the street beyond as if the moment wasn’t pressing. 

He glanced up once, as if to check if you were still watching him.

You were.

So he spoke, hesitantly. “…Do you always go out alone like this?”

You smiled faintly. “Sometimes. I like quiet corners. They help me think.”

“I figured someone like you wouldn’t have time to think,” he murmured, then realized how that sounded. “I- I mean, you run a fashion company. One of the biggest in the city. Most people can barely breathe with a job like that.”

You chuckled softly, swirling your tea.

“Exactly why I need mornings like this,” you replied. “To remind myself I’m not just my work.”

He let out a small breath of a laugh. “Fair.”

Then he looked up again, a little braver this time.

“…You’ve always been calm.”

You tilted your head. “You think so?”

“Yeah.” He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table. “At the interview, during the founder’s introduction… even now. There’s this aura- you’re calm, but not cold. It’s strange.”

You smirked, amused. “Should I take that as a compliment?”

His ears turned slightly red. “I mean, yes. I just- I guess I’ve been trying to understand you. From the moment I saw you again.”

You met his eyes. There was something honest in them, something familiar, like he was trying to reach a memory without knowing it existed. You leaned forward slightly, voice softer this time.

“Well… why not take this chance, then?” you asked.

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“To understand me.” You placed your chin lightly on your palm. “I’m right here.”

He stared for a second, surprised by how direct you were, but not uncomfortable, not anymore.

“…Okay,” he said. “Then, can I ask-”

He stopped himself and you waited.

“-Why did you give me that sweet?” he asked quietly.

Your gaze softened, exhaled gently and smiled.

“Because,” you said slowly, “you looked like you needed something sweet in your day.”

A beat passed, then he smiled, too.

“…I guess I did.”

The waiter returned to refill your tea and brought Sunghoon’s tart.  You lifted your teacup, but didn’t drink. Instead, you closed your eyes for a moment, and in that quiet, unassuming moment, you smelled him.

Not the coffee, not the lemon tart, not the wind-kissed air, but him. His blood. Still the same scent, even after all these years and one entire lifetime apart. Sweet, warm and a little earthy. Today, a little anxious. You let out a soft giggle before you even opened your eyes again. When you did, your irises briefly glowed a vivid crimson, not aggressively, not threatening. Just naturally, instinctively.

His posture straightened at once, lips parting as he stared. But your red eyes faded back to warm brown in a blink, and your voice came gently.

"Don’t be nervous." You tilted your head slightly, amusement dancing at the corner of your lips. "I can smell it on you, you know. Your blood’s practically buzzing with anxiety."

Sunghoon gave a weak, sheepish chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I- I try not to be, but… it’s hard.”

You leaned back in your seat, smile not fading.

“Why hard?” you asked lightly. “I’m the same age as you. It shouldn’t be hard at all.”

He looked down at his coffee for a second before glancing back up.

“…You don’t feel like you’re twenty.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that your way of saying I’m intimidating?”

He chuckled softly again. “More like… you feel like you’ve lived longer. Like you’ve seen more.”

There it was again, that same innocent truth slipping from his lips. Not a memory, but a sense. His soul hadn’t forgotten, even if his mind didn’t remember yet. You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you folded your hands in your lap and smiled faintly, your gaze fixed on him in that quiet way you always did when you wanted to memorize something. And with that, the silence returned.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The week-long break ended with soft yawns and slow footsteps. For most teams, at least.

Designers returned to casual sketching. The production team cleaned out unused fabrics. The creative teams eased back into concept-building for the next season.

But not the marketing department. And definitely not Seungcheol or Seokmin. Inside the founder's office, chaos had already rooted itself by ten in the morning. Phones rang nonstop. Voices clashed. Seungcheol barked into his call on the left side of the room while Seokmin frantically paced on the right, fingers scrolling and tapping aggressively on his tablet.

“No, we didn’t approve that copy! I said winter luxury, not survival gear. Fix it!” Seungcheol snapped, slamming a hand against his desk.

A pause. Then a groan from Seokmin. He pulled his phone back to his ear. “We’re not moving the release event—who signed off on that? No, scratch that. Call a team meeting now.”

You, Chan, and Mingyu? Sat in complete silence. Not a peep. Not a breath louder than necessary. You knew better.

Chan quietly typed something on his laptop, eyes focused but clearly tuned out of the storm. Mingyu pretended to go over winter scarf prototypes, but his eyes hadn't moved from the same paragraph for ten minutes. And you? You sat between them, calmly reading the updated press release on your tablet. When the noise became too thick, Seungcheol’s voice rising again mid-call, you slowly raised your hand and pointed toward the door. Without a word, Chan and Mingyu looked at your finger… then at each other. Both stood silently. 

Seokmin shouted something about an urgent layout error and waved his phone like a dagger. You didn’t even flinch. 

Together, the three of you carefully walked to the door, stealthier than interns sneaking away from a late shift. Just as Mingyu reached for the handle to close the door behind you and Chan-

“Team B, meeting. Now!” Seokmin barked.

After Mingyu immediately closed the door, you, Chan, and Mingyu exhaled… together. Like synchronized swimmers surfacing from deep water.

“…Okay,” Chan whispered. “That was intense.”

You smirked faintly, brushing your coat sleeve down and turning toward Heeseung, who was coincidentally walking by, tablet in hand and dark circles under his eyes.

“How’s the marketing floor doing?” you asked lightly, though you already had a guess.

Heeseung just sighed loudly, and slowly shook his head. That was all it took. The three of you shared a solemn glance, then turned back to face the door that hides the anger behind. 

A moment of respectful silence. For the fallen. The marketing teams.

You patted Chan’s shoulder. “They’re warriors.”

“They’re survivors,” Mingyu added, adjusting his coat.

Then, turning back to your team and Mingyu’s, you pointed toward the elevators. “Go get lunch, all of you. Now. While you still can.”

The creative floor didn’t wait for a second invite. Half of them rushed for their coats, already murmuring plans for ramen or barbecue.

Just as you started to walk toward the lift yourself-

*BANG.*

The door behind you slammed open.

You didn’t flinch, but Mingyu instantly stepped forward, hand brushing your back, gently guiding you aside.

Seokmin stormed out, eyes blazing, hair slightly out of place, phone in one hand and a thick binder in the other. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t need to. You all stood still as he passed. And when the elevator finally arrived and the doors slid shut with a ding, you looked to Chan and Mingyu once more.

Another moment of silence, another respectful nod. For Seokmin, Seungcheol, everyone in Marketing. May the odds be ever in their inbox.

Chan and Mingyu had already waved you off, claiming they were going to try a “new yakitori place across the street that doesn’t feel like stress.” You let them go without protest, still standing outside the company building, your fingers scrolling mindlessly through food delivery apps, indecisive.

You weren’t particularly hungry. Just… tired of eating in silence. Then you heard the voices. Loud, laughing, unfiltered, you turned. All seven of them: Jake. Heeseung. Sunoo. Jay. Jungwon. Riki. And… Sunghoon. All walking in a semi-chaotic line toward the exit, like overgrown schoolboys on recess.

“Is Y/N joining us for lunch?” Jake called out with a grin, slowing down as the group approached you.

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you inviting me, or just announcing?”

Jake smirked. “Same thing.”

You laughed softly, and then your eyes caught on Sunghoon, who lingered slightly behind the group, hands in his pockets, soft smile pulling at his lips.

“Oh?” you said, clearly teasing. “You know them now?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking to Sunoo, who was happily chatting up Jungwon without a care in the world.

“Kinda impossible not to hang out with them,” he admitted.

“Sunoo practically drags me everywhere to meet his friends.”

You giggled, shaking your head. “That sounds like Sunoo.”

“See?” Sunghoon said with a faint grin. “You get it.”

Before he could say more, Sunoo turned around, grabbing his wrist. “Stop hovering. You’re coming.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes with a reluctant smile, but didn’t pull away.

You looked around at the group—lively, familiar, safe. None of them in the marketing team. All of them, thankfully, untouched by the warzone happening upstairs in Seungcheol and Seokmin’s domain. You exhaled softly.

“Alright,” you said. “I’ll join you.”

The cheers were low but excited, mostly from Riki and Sunoo, who declared you had no choice but to sit beside them. As you all walked down the street, the air somehow felt lighter. You didn’t talk about work, or permits, or stress. You just walked among them. And when Sunghoon, walking quietly beside you, asked if you liked tofu stew, you smiled and said yes, even though you didn’t eat it much. But today? Today felt like a good day for stew.

The restaurant was a tucked-away local gem. A cozy spot with wooden beams and handwritten menus, walls decorated with mismatched Polaroids and notes from past customers. The owner knew Jake by name, which probably explained how they snagged the largest table near the back.

The moment the group stepped inside, the energy shifted.

Not the kind that turned heads, but the kind that warmed the place instantly. Laughter, inside jokes, casual teasing that bounced from one end of the table to the other.

You sat between Sunoo and Riki, who were already fighting over what combo set to order.

“No, you can’t handle spice,” Riki argued, crossing his arms.

“Excuse me? I invented spice-”

“You cried over tteokbokki last week.”

“That was because the sauce betrayed me.”

You chuckled, leaning back as the server came to take your orders. Dishes were tossed around between voices. Kimchi stew, bulgogi, seafood pancake, spicy chicken, tofu stew for you and Sunghoon. No one waited for hierarchy. There were no founders here. Just you, them, just a long lunch table packed with overlapping conversations and easy laughter.

Sunghoon, across from you, was quieter, smiling whenever Riki cracked a joke or when Jungwon mistook vinegar for soju and nearly gagged. He looked relaxed though, his arm slung lazily over the backrest, tapping his fingers on the table to an unheard rhythm.

“You okay with tofu stew?” he asked you once the chatter dipped, just loud enough for you to hear.

You nodded. “Haven’t had it in a while.”

He tilted his head. “You eat human food?”

You grinned faintly. “It doesn’t do much for my energy. But it does taste better than warm blood in a glass, so yes, gladly.”

He blinked, then laughed nervously, but not discomforted. “Right… fair point.”

The food arrived in waves—sizzling, steaming, fragrant. Plates and bowls slid around the table, spoons clinked, voices got louder. And you? You were smiling more than you realized. You didn’t need food, not really. But the spice of the kimchi stew, the warmth of the tofu, the sweetness of the grilled meat. It all felt… right, like you were more than just a vampire with a permit, like you were living a moment you never got to have in your past life.

Sunoo piled more meat on your plate. “Eat more, you work too much.”

“You sound like Mingyu.”

“I’m more charming,” he said with a wink.

Across from you, Sunghoon was laughing at something Jake said, his face turned slightly away, but you caught it. That same side profile, that soft curve of his smile, unchanged even after a lifetime.

The table was alive with the kind of energy that only came from shared food and louder-than-necessary stories.

Jake was reenacting something ridiculous that happened at work earlier that morning, Jungwon was wiping sauce from Riki’s cheek like a tired older brother, and Heeseung was caught between laughing and trying to eat in peace. You were halfway through a spoonful of your tofu stew when Sunoo nudged your elbow under the table. You turned, eyes meeting his. He leaned in slightly, voice low enough that no one else could hear.

“When are you going to recover the rest of their memories?”

Your hand froze for just a second, spoon hovering above your bowl.

“It’s getting harder to pretend,” he continued, eyes flicking toward the others, his expression still bright on the surface, but there was a quiet exhaustion behind it. “I’m the only one who remembers everything. Sometimes I almost slip up.”

Your lips parted. He was right. You had meant to, you had wanted to, but with the winter collection taking up every breath and heartbeat of the past few months, you’d let it slip to the back of your mind. You placed your spoon down and exhaled softly.

“I’ll get to it,” you whispered back, nodding. “Soon. I promise.”

Sunoo stared at you for a moment longer, reading your sincerity. Then he smiled, just like he used to in the old life.

“Good.”

And just like that, he turned back to his plate, joking with Jake like nothing ever happened, slipping seamlessly back into the rhythm of the group. You sat there for a second longer, watching them. Heeseung, still a natural leader, even without memories. Jay, quick-witted and observant, keeping the group grounded. Riki, young and loud but carrying that same spark. Jungwon, balanced and intuitive, watching everyone’s mood like a quiet guardian. Jake, loyal to the bone, always carrying warmth wherever he went. And Sunghoon…

The one who still made your chest ache in the softest way. You smiled to yourself and picked up your spoon again.

Lunch ended with full stomachs and loud laughter. The seven boys slowly filed out of the restaurant, still joking with each other, a few of them playfully arguing over who would pay the bill before Heeseung shut it down with his manager tone and handed over his card.

You lingered near the entrance, adjusting your coat, watching them with a fondness you didn’t often show in public.

“Hey.”

You turned your head. Sunoo had stayed behind. He wasn’t smiling now, not in his usual teasing way, not in the chaotic, sunshine manner he used to fill the room. It was quiet. The both of you walked together down the sidewalk, trailing behind the group as they disappeared further down the street.

You didn’t speak right away, and neither did he, until you both reached the edge of a quieter alley beside a flower stall, where the city sounds dulled to a hum, and the warm breeze brushed lightly against your coats.

“You weren’t just saying that back there, right?” Sunoo asked.

His voice wasn’t accusing. Just… hopeful.

You turned to face him fully. “No. I wasn’t.”

He looked down at his shoes, then back up. “Because… it’s weird, you know?” He exhaled slowly. “I remember everything. All of them. And it’s like I’m walking around with a secret I can’t talk about.”

You nodded. “I know.”

“I see them laugh and mess around like always, but… they don’t remember. They don’t remember who they were. What they were to each other.” He paused. “What they were to you.”

You looked down at your gloved hands.

“I wanted to wait until the collection was done. I couldn’t risk anything disrupting the project.”

Sunoo gave a small nod. “Yeah, I figured.”

You looked up. “But I’m ready now. We’ll do it quietly. One at a time. I’ll make sure they don’t get overwhelmed.”

Sunoo exhaled, visibly lighter. “Okay. Just… start soon. They deserve to remember. Even if it hurts.”

You nodded.

“I’ll start with Heeseung,” you said softly. “Then Jake. Then the rest.”

He smiled faintly. “You’re still doing it in order of who was closest to Sunghoon.”

You didn’t reply to that. He smiled wider anyway.

“Y/N,” he said after a pause, hands slipping into his coat pockets. “You’re really brave, you know.”

You tilted your head.

He shrugged. “To carry it all alone like this. Again.”

Your throat tightened, just for a second, but you nodded.

“I’m not alone now,” you said quietly. And he smiled, because he believed you.

After Sunoo walked quickly to match his friend’s walking speed, Sunghoon slowed down beside you.

“Do you usually eat with everyone like this?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck again, clearly trying to sound casual.

You smiled. “Not often. But today felt like a good day for it.”

He gave a small nod, then glanced toward the door. The others were already piling out onto the sidewalk, laughing about who nearly spilled their soup. As you stepped outside with him, Sunoo caught your eye and shot you a secret thumbs-up, already ahead with the rest of the group. You just shook your head and grinned.

Sunghoon slowed a little beside you, matching your pace. The cold breeze swept past, but it didn’t bother you. Your coat kept the chill out; the company kept it warm. And just like that, the walk back to the company began—quiet, easy, with a subtle closeness neither of you dared to speak on yet.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The office lights hummed faintly above, casting the late evening in soft gold. Most workers had gone home, only a few lights remained on across the building, including yours.

You sat in your office, the blinds drawn, the cityscape twinkling behind you. 

The first file rested on your desk.

Heeseung.

He was the most stable and logical. The best one to start with. You needed someone who wouldn’t panic, who would understand the moment everything came flooding back. You took a breath and reached out your hand, fingers brushing the center of your forehead—eyes glowing a soft, ethereal red—and the moment you touched him, the flow began.

It started with a small meeting in his manager’s office, where you told him you’d be "testing an old technique to boost creative recall." He trusted you, of course he did.

When the memories returned, flickering like a reel of light and shadow, his silence was still. And for the first time since hiring him, Heeseung smiled with the kind of knowing only someone who had lived more than one life could.

The second was Jake.

He was confused, at first. Quiet, soft-hearted Jake, always so full of love, was shaken. The moment he remembered who Sunghoon had been to him in the previous life—his best friend, his brother in all but blood—he started to cry quietly in your office, shoulders trembling. You gave him time, space. He didn’t say much. Only: “Thank you. For finding us again.” And you knew he meant it.

Jay came next. Skeptical. Guarded. His memories came in waves that he fought against, until he finally whispered your name—not your company title, not your job—your real name. The one you used before. He held his breath for a while after that, until he smiled wryly. “Guess I still hate surprises.” But he thanked you anyway.

Jungwon and Riki came together, on accident. You hadn’t meant to do it at the same time, but the timing felt right, and their bond was too intertwined to untangle. Riki cried the most. He was the youngest before. Jungwon, mature as always, held his hand through the memory flood, even as his own chest heaved from the emotional pull of everything they had lost, and now, found again.

Sunoo watched them all. He watched as each one changed, as their laughter grew softer, deeper, as old habits returned without effort, as they began calling each other by names they hadn’t used in a decade or more. And still, Sunghoon didn’t know. 

You hadn’t touched his memories. You hadn’t tried. You couldn’t, not yet. He still looked at all of you with confused affection, like a man standing just outside the edge of a story he didn’t realize he belonged to. But now, the others were starting to glance at him differently. And you? You felt the weight of time pressing closer. But even as you passed the now-aware boys in the hallway, sharing a knowing glance with Heeseung or catching a secret nod from Jake, you still hadn’t moved toward Sunghoon.

But it was Jake who came to you.

The office lights had dimmed. The last of the winter collection work had gone quiet, and the halls had fallen into a lull. Jake stood at your door, hand on the knob, his gaze low but firm.

“He’s starting to notice,” he said softly. “He keeps asking why everyone suddenly feels… different. Why we’re closer, why Jungwon stares at him like he’s about to cry.”

You didn’t answer right away.

“Y/N,” Jake stepped in. “He deserves to know.”

You looked down at the papers in front of you, but you weren’t reading. You hadn’t been for the last ten minutes.

“I’m scared,” you admitted quietly.

Jake came to your side, gently placing a hand on your shoulder.

“So are we. But we’re here. And so is he.”

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

You found Sunghoon alone that evening.

The office was quiet, the sky beyond the windows dusted in gold and rose. He stood by the break room window, a cup of untouched tea in his hands, eyes on the horizon.

When you stepped in, he turned.

“Y/N.”

You gave a soft smile. “Can we talk? Just the two of us.”

He didn’t hesitate. He followed you to your office, silent the whole way. He didn’t know why his heart felt so heavy. Why your presence made his chest ache. Why lately, every glance from his coworkers made him feel like he was being remembered for something he couldn't grasp.

You closed the door behind him, and then you turned, eyes glowing softly as you lifted your hand toward him.

“Do you trust me?”

He stared at you, the air between you taut with a hundred questions. But he nodded.

“Yes.”

You stepped closer.

“I’m going to show you everything.”

He braced, uncertain, and then you placed two fingers to his temple. It all came crashing in, like a dam breaking.  Sunoo's precognition, the fate between you and him, the flirtings, the betrayal. Your laugh. His vow. The centuries of silence between lifetimes, the pain, the curse. Your hand in his. The way you ended it together.

His knees hit the floor. Tears rushed from his eyes before he even understood he was crying. And you, standing above him, were already crying too, tears slipping silently down your cheeks, hands shaking as you dropped beside him. He looked up at you, eyes wide, shining, broken.

“Why…?” he whispered. “Why did you end me, too?”

You choked on the air, reaching for his hands, but not daring to touch yet. “I never wanted to take you with me. I just… I didn’t know what else to do.” you said.

His voice trembled, but not with anger. He never raised his voice, he never shouted. He just cried harder, shaking his head.

“You could’ve let me suffer through it.”

You laughed, sobbed, a sound that fractured.

“And let you live with half a soul? I couldn’t, Sunghoon. I loved you too much.”

He didn’t argue, he didn’t blame you, because he knew, he remembered. You fell into each other then, sobbing quietly in the dark, the world finally heavy with memory again. His arms wrapped around you tight, like they once had, and yours curled around him like a promise that no longer had to be broken.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered over and over.

But he only shook his head again, his lips pressed to your shoulder.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

You didn’t see Sunghoon much the following week. Not because he avoided you, but because you let him go. After the flood of memories hit, and the tears dried on his skin and yours, you made a quiet choice, not to smother him with past promises, or cling to what you had. You let him return to the present. Let him remember who he was now, with the people who shared both his past and his current life.

Sunoo stuck to him like glue. Riki dragged him to lunch every day. Heeseung stayed close, watching him with soft eyes and always one word of comfort if the memories overwhelmed. Jake, Jay, and Jungwon laughed with him like they’d done across lifetimes, as if no time had passed at all. And you?

You watched from afar. You kept yourself busy. Meetings, edits, approving concepts for the early spring collection, and checking in on Heeseung’s team. You even made time for Mingyu’s new line preview, letting him drag you into fabric testing and pattern critiques just to keep your mind off him. But even so, every time you passed the hallway and heard his laughter, every time your eyes flicked toward the cafeteria and saw his back, every time you found one of your old photos taken lifetimes ago, the feeling returned.

Not the same wild, fiery love that once consumed you both,

but something gentler, like a soft burn in your chest that refused to go out. You liked him, you knew that, but you didn’t know if that feeling was real, or just a ghost of what used to be. 

Was it still you loving him? Or was it simply your soul remembering how? And worse-

What about him? Did he feel the same? Or was he just grateful for the memories?

You couldn’t take it anymore. So you asked Chan, one night while the others had left for dinner. He was lounging sideways on the couch in the founder’s room, flipping through analytics with one arm slung behind his head.

"Hey hag," he greeted lazily, not looking up.

"I'm still only a year older than you," you muttered.

He smirked. "Then stop looking so emotionally constipated and just talk to him already."

You sat on the edge of your desk, staring into your cup.

“…I want to ask if he still feels anything, or if he's just... haunted. Like I am.”

Chan finally looked up. His playful expression softened.

“Do you want me to read him?”

You hesitated. “Can you?”

He tilted his head. “I could try. But… not all senses can be read. You know that.”

“…You’re afraid you won’t get a clear answer?”

“I’m afraid you’ll think the answer I give you is the truth… even if it’s not complete.”

You swallowed, your fingers tightening slightly around your cup.

“So that’s a no?”

He nodded gently. “That’s a no.”

You looked away, your chest heavier than before.

“I just want to know if this feeling is still mine. Or if I’m just… dragging an old love into a new body.”

Chan stood and walked toward you, placing a warm hand on your shoulder.

“Then give him space to decide. And trust yourself enough to know. When he’s ready, he’ll tell you.”

You nodded, but it still hurt, because as powerful as you were… There were some things even memory couldn't restore. And love, real love, had to be chosen again. In this life, by both of you.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

It was a Friday evening. The sun had dipped just below the skyline, casting a soft orange tint against the wide office windows. Most workers had already left, leaving the building in a kind of peaceful hush. The kind of silence only a near-weekend could bring.

You were alone in the founder's office, going over leftover documentation from a shipment delay. Your mind wandering more than focusing. The file was open, but you hadn’t turned a page in ten minutes.

You didn’t hear him come in at first. Only when he gently knocked the glass frame of the door did your eyes lift.

Sunghoon.

He stood there quietly, still in his work shirt, sleeves slightly rolled up, hair messier than usual, one hand gripping the edge of the doorway.

“Got a minute?” he asked softly.

You blinked, nodding once. “Yeah. Of course.”

He stepped in, carefully closing the door behind him. You expected hesitation, maybe even nervousness. But when he walked closer, you noticed something had changed. His eyes weren’t lost anymore. His shoulders weren’t carrying the confusion of two timelines. He sat across from you, and smiled, just a little, just enough.

“I’ve been meaning to come talk to you for days,” he admitted, resting his hands on his knees. “But I didn’t want to come with my head still stuck in the past.”

You stayed silent, listening. He continued.

“Everything hit me at once, and it felt like I was drowning in it. The love. You. Us. And for a while, I wasn’t sure if I could separate what I felt back then from who I am now.”

You lowered your eyes, voice soft. “I know the feeling.”

A pause passed.

“I still feel something,” he said. Your gaze slowly lifted to meet his. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know what it is yet, but I want to find out. For real. No curses, no timelines. Now, just us.”

The words soaked into your heart like warm light.

You hadn’t asked for this. You hadn’t expected it, but it felt honest, measured, and rounded in this version of him. Not the one you once died with, but the one you could now learn to live with. You exhaled, slow and trembling.

“I’d like that,” you whispered.

He smiled again. “Then let’s start over.”

He stood, reaching a hand across the table.

“I’m Park Sunghoon. Twenty years old. New guy in the company.”

You looked at his hand for a second, then took it. Your voice trembled, but you smiled.

“Y/N. Twenty. Founder and boss of you.”

He laughed—really laughed this time, like old sunlight cracking through. And when your hands met, it didn’t feel like reaching back, it felt like reaching forward. 

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The transition didn’t happen overnight.

It came in little things. Like the way Sunghoon knocked twice now before entering a room you were in, even when the door was open. Or how he started bringing an extra coffee to meetings, placing it beside you without a word, then acting as if it was for no one special. It was always the same blend, your favorite. And you?

You stopped keeping your distance. You didn’t hover, but you didn’t walk away first anymore. You let him speak, linger, ask questions he probably didn’t need to ask just to stay around longer.

Sometimes, you’d meet eyes across the boardroom table when someone made a ridiculous suggestion, sharing the same silent amusement.

Sometimes, he'd bump your shoulder lightly in the hallway when passing by. Casual, light, like he was trying not to scare something too delicate. But it was comfortable. And that comfort was more precious than anything sudden or passionate.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The spring project slowly became the shared background to this new rhythm between you both.

Meetings ran long. Fabric samples littered the design room. Mingyu began sketching wild floral concepts on every surface, and Chan started placing cutouts of color palettes on the windows like stained glass.

You and Sunghoon ended up assigned to review the “organic collection” theme write-up together, part of a subtle push from Seokmin, who absolutely noticed everything, but said nothing.

You sat side by side on the small review desk.

He read aloud quietly while you scrawled notes on the side margins. When you absentmindedly started muttering your edits, he leaned in, offering suggestions that—though a little clumsy—were thoughtful.

You’d smile at him and he’d smile back. No rush, no pressure, just the soft unfurling of something real. You still had moments of doubt. You still stared at him sometimes, wondering if what you felt now was genuine or just familiar. And he, too, had moments where he looked at you like he was catching up with the fact that he wasn’t dreaming anymore. But neither of you forced it. You worked. You joked. You passed each other coffee and files and inside looks across crowded meeting rooms.

And on one soft afternoon, when the window blinds caught golden light just right and the spring breeze slipped through the tiny crack in the pane, Sunghoon passed you a copy of a finalized draft for the campaign.

You took it, scanning quickly.

It was flawless, but there, written in the bottom corner of the last page, in his slanted, unmistakably neat handwriting, were five small words: "I’m glad I remembered you."

You looked up, but he was already walking away. Not expecting a reply, not needing one. And for the first time in a long, long while, you didn’t feel haunted. You felt seen.

The spring season warmed the world little by little, and so did you and Sunghoon. No announcements, no confessions, just soft proximity in between busier days.

Sometimes he walked with you from the design room to the founder's office without saying a word, just quietly keeping pace beside you. Other times, he waited with two cups of tea outside your office, claiming the second one was “an accident”, but he always got the sugar level right.

It was in those small things that your hearts learned to speak again.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

One afternoon, the office was quieter than usual.

A light spring rain had kept most people inside, and your floor had fallen into a soft lull. You stood by the open window, listening to the droplets hit the sill, holding a file loosely in your hands when a soft knock came from your door.

You turned.

It was Sunghoon, hair slightly damp from earlier, a hint of spring wind still clinging to him.

“Got a minute?” he asked, holding up a book. Not a file, not a form—an actual novel.

You tilted your head. “For a book?”

“I read it recently,” he said, stepping in, “and… I don’t know. It reminded me of you.”

That froze you a little. But you let him come in, let him sit on the couch across from your desk. He placed the book down on your table. Worn, with folded corners and highlighted lines.

You glanced at the title: “Before the Next Bloom.”

A romance, subtle and slow, about two souls who kept finding each other across lives, never rushing, always waiting for the moment both hearts finally aligned again.

You looked back at him. He wasn’t watching you, he was looking at the rain outside the window.

“I'm not saying it’s us,” he said quietly, “but it made me think about how sometimes… love isn’t meant to start fast. Sometimes it’s meant to restart slowly.”

That made you smile. Genuinely, sadly, lovingly. You walked over and sat beside him on the couch. The silence stretched, not uncomfortable, just… patient.

“…I don’t know what we are now,” you admitted.

He nodded. “Same.”

“But I don’t mind finding out, at a pace that feels like ours.”

He glanced at you. You met his eyes, and his voice dropped lower.

“I like this version of you. The one that sips tea and still controls minds.”

You laughed softly. “I like this version of you, too. The one that brings books instead of swords.”

You both smiled, heads gently leaning toward each other. Not touching, not needing to. 

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The office building stood quiet.

For once, no footsteps echoed in the hallways, no printers whirred, no voices filled meeting rooms. The company had officially shut down for its monthly founder permit renewal—an essential part of every vampire’s right to continue living and working in the human city.

You had completed your own examination this morning. As expected, everything was approved. Your results were stamped, your record cleared, and your pass reissued for another 30 days.

And now, you stood in front of your mirror. Still in your apartment, still barefoot, still debating your outfit like a high schooler with a crush. Not because you didn’t have something to wear—your closet was filled with curated seasonal collections—but because this was something else.

Sunghoon asked you out.

One week ago, right after a team briefing, he had waited behind while everyone else left. Just that nervous, awkward stance he always had when he was trying to be sincere.

“Y/N?” You had looked up from your folder. “I know we’ve been… reconnecting, sort of. And I really like where things are going.”

You blinked. He pressed forward: “I was wondering if you’d go out with me. A date. Nothing heavy. Just us.”

You hadn’t hesitated and told him yes.

Now, tonight, you reached for something soft and neutral. Earth tones, clean silhouette, simple makeup. You didn’t want to overdo it, you just wanted to be you.

The sun was just beginning to fall when you arrived at the café.

It was small, tucked between a bookstore and a flower stall, with warm lighting glowing behind its windowpanes. A cozy place in the human city. 

You stood outside for only a moment before his voice broke the air behind you.

“You came early.”

You turned.

There he was, Park Sunghoon in a navy jacket and black jeans, his hair still slightly windswept, a soft smile pulling at his lips. He held no flowers, no dramatic gestures, but something about the way his eyes held yours was already enough.

“Couldn’t help it,” you smiled. “I had the afternoon free.”

“Lucky,” he chuckled. “Some of us didn’t spend the morning in a high-tech vampire hospital.”

You laughed. “Some of us also had our blood drawn and nervous systems scanned.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Okay, point taken.”

He reached out, opened the door for you, and you stepped in.

The place smelled of roasted coffee beans and something warm. Cinnamon, maybe. The lights were dim but soft, and the walls were filled with books and frames of old fashion posters.

Sunghoon guided you to a booth near the back. No one stared. No one whispered. It was just… normal, and somehow, that was the most surreal part. As the waitress took your orders and disappeared, you finally had a moment to look at him. 

He looked different than the boy in your past life. But the warmth in his eyes? That was exactly the same.

“You’re staring,” he said with a crooked grin.

You blinked. “You’re imagining things.”

“No,” he leaned back. “I’m pretty sure I caught you.”

You smiled down at your glass. “…Maybe I was.”

Silence stretched, but it was comfortable.

He tilted his head. “So, tell me. What does someone like you do on her day off?”

You glanced up. “Read fashion reports and cry.”

He laughed. Loudly. “Wow. Hardcore.”

“I’m a founder,” you smirked. “I don’t really get time off.”

“Then I guess I’m honored,” he said, more softly this time, “that you’re spending part of it with me.”

And just like that, your heart fluttered again.

Dinner passed like a warm breeze.

There were no grand revelations, no heavy conversations. Just laughter, soft glances, and stories exchanged between bites. The clink of cutlery and hum of background music wrapped around you like a gentle blanket.

You hadn’t laughed like that in a while, and as the final sip of coffee lingered on your tongue, and Sunghoon looked at you with eyes that didn’t demand anything, just stayed present, you knew this night couldn’t end here. So, as you both stepped out into the cool spring air, you turned to him and said: “Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.”

He blinked. “Now?”

You smiled. “Now.”

You drove quietly. The streets thinned out. The lights faded as the car left the center of the human city, weaving through winding roads and gentle hills. In the far distance, the bridge, that ancient structure connecting human and vampire lands, stood faint in the moonlight, like a silver thread across the horizon. But you didn’t go there. You parked just a short distance away, where the road met a trail tucked between trees.

“A hike?” Sunghoon asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Just a short one,” you smirked. “Trust me.”

He followed.

You led him up the familiar path. Earth is soft beneath your feet, night air crisp. The wind carried the scent of pine and blooming spring flowers. There was no rush, just steady steps and the comfort of walking beside each other. And then, after the final stretch, you arrived. A flat rock plateau, high enough to see everything.

Below, the human city sparkled like a blanket of stars fallen from the sky. Buildings blinked with neon lights and golden windows. The roads curved like glowing rivers. Farther in the distance, the faint edges of the vampire city shimmered—darker, sleeker, more ethereal. A realm divided, but never truly distant.

You stood at the edge, arms folded over the wooden railing as your hair swayed in the breeze. Sunghoon stepped beside you, breath caught in his throat.

“…Wow,” he murmured.

“Yeah.” You looked out too. “I come here whenever I need to feel small, or grounded, or real.”

“I remembered that moment,” he said. “You gave me a sweet. Told me to go home.”

You smiled. “You listened.”

He chuckled faintly. “You had red eyes. And you smelled like moonlight and citrus.”

You laughed under your breath. “We were ten.”

“And apparently, a romantic,” he said, grinning.

The two of you stood there for a while, in silence, the city far below. And when your shoulders touched, neither of you pulled away. No words, just two people, once tangled by fate, now slowly choosing each other again, but differently.

The stars were brighter than usual by the time the two of you made your way back down the mountain. There were still traces of laughter on your lips, the kind that lingered in your chest even in silence.

You stopped by your car, unlocking the door as Sunghoon reached for the passenger side, but instead of sliding in, he paused.

“I’ll drive,” he said, hand still on the door. “Let me send you home.”

You tilted your head. “No.”

His brows furrowed. “Why not?”

You smiled lightly, slipping into the driver’s seat. “I’m stronger. I don’t need sleep. And technically, I could carry this car back if I wanted to.”

“That’s cheating,” he muttered, sliding into the seat beside you.

“Not cheating,” you corrected, turning the key. “Just the perks of being a vampire.”

He huffed, crossing his arms playfully as the car pulled away from the curb. “You’re impossible.”

“You knew that before asking me on a date,” you teased.

“Yeah,” he said, glancing out the window with a small grin, “but it’s still fun finding new ways to confirm it.”

The roads were mostly empty as you drove, just the hum of the engine and the soft streetlights flickering past. It was late enough that the city was slowing down, but not so late that it felt deserted. A perfect kind of quiet.

“So,” Sunghoon said after a pause, “did you always want to start a fashion company?”

You blinked at the question, surprised. “Honestly? No. Not at first.”

“No?” he glanced over, curious.

“I wanted to be a writer,” you admitted. “Back in my first life.”

He tilted his head. “What changed?”

You smiled faintly. “I died. Came back a vampire. Got attached to aesthetics. And… my friends were stupidly talented in different things. We put them together and built something.”

Sunghoon chuckled. “So basically, peer pressure and immortality.”

“Exactly.”

He grinned.

You pulled into the quiet neighborhood where he stayed. Small homes with flowerbeds, glowing porch lights, and dogs that barked from behind wooden fences. As you parked in front of his place, he didn’t move to get out right away. Instead, he turned to you.

“Thanks for tonight.”

You smiled. “Thank you. For asking.”

His fingers fidgeted on his knee, but he looked… calm.

“Will there be a second one?” he asked, almost like a whisper.

You looked at him, something warm blooming in your chest.

“I’ll let you know,” you said, teasing softly.

He laughed under his breath. “That’s fair.”

He stepped out of the car, waving before heading toward his gate. You watched him go until the porch light clicked on and the door opened. Then, finally, you turned back toward the road.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The office was filled with the usual tension.

Spring collection had begun its sprint. Deadlines piling over creative outlines, production samples, budget checks, and marketing strategies. Even you and Mingyu barely had time to breathe, your desks stacked with approvals and emails blinking nonstop. For a while, it felt like you were working on instinct alone, chasing the momentum without pause. It wasn’t until your eyes strayed toward the window that you realized: The sky had turned dark.

Night had crept in silently, like a velvet curtain drawn behind your back while you were too deep in design revisions to notice.

You stood, stepping away from your desk, fingers sore, eyes dry.

Outside your glass-paneled office, the workers were still at their stations. Typing, sketching, drafting, the glow of their monitors reflected off tired human eyes.

That was when it hit you. They were still working, and they were human. Humans needed rest. Food. Sleep. Breaks. They weren't like you, born of blood and silence, able to push through nights like time didn't exist. 

You stepped out of the founders’ room. A few heads lifted, curious, some surprised. Without hesitation, your voice rang through the open space: “Everyone, wrap up for the night. You’ve done enough for today. Please go home and rest. You’ll be compensated for the overtime.”

There was a moment of stunned silence before a wave of relief and gratitude filled the room. Murmurs of "thank you, Miss Y/N," followed by chairs sliding back, the sound of files closing, and stretches from every direction. Workers began packing up, smiling tiredly, cleaning their stations with slow, grateful movements. One by one, they trickled toward the elevator, some yawning, others quietly chatting, and all of them clearly touched by the gesture.

You sighed softly, watching them go, then you cracked your neck and rolled your shoulders, ready to dive back in. You had work to do. The night wasn’t over, not for you, not for the other vampire founders. But just as you turned back toward the door, a familiar voice spoke behind you.

“Aren’t you going back home?”

You turned at the sound of it, Sunghoon, standing just a few paces away, his brows gently furrowed, concern soft in his voice.

A smile pulled at your lips.

“We’re vampires,” you replied easily. He opened his mouth as if to argue, but paused. Technically… you were right.

You winked and added playfully, “We don’t burn out that fast.”

With that, you turned and slipped back into the founders’ room, where the rest of your vampire team had already resumed working. Chan muttering about file placements, Mingyu rearranging fabric samples, Seungcheol and Seokmin grumbling over marketing plans.

Then came a knock. A soft tap, polite.

Seokmin, still scrolling through his tablet, called out, “Come in.”

The door creaked open, and in an instant, the scent hit. Blood. Fresh. Packaged, but potent. It flowed into the room like a tide, thick and sharp, and every founder froze. Five heads lifted, five pairs of eyes turned red.

You could hear the slight intake of breath from Chan beside you. Mingyu’s shoulders straightened. Seungcheol set his pen down, motionless. And there, standing at the doorway, was Sunghoon. In casual clothes, sleeves pushed up, holding five blood bags in both arms like a humble grocery haul. His expression held the faintest hint of pride behind his smile.

“Figured blood might be your version of coffee,” he said casually, “so I brought one for each of you.”

The room was quiet. Red eyes blinked back at him, then you smiled, standing from your seat.

“You’re dangerously sweet for a human.”

Sunghoon grinned. “Well, you did say you don’t burn out easily. Just figured I’d make sure of that.”

Seokmin took the first bag, lifting it with a grunt of appreciation. “Finally. A man of culture.”

Mingyu was already tearing into the seal, swirling it like it was fine wine. Chan gave Sunghoon a respectful nod, already sipping his own like it was fuel. Seungcheol smirked. “You’re not just smart. You’re learning fast.”

And you just watched Sunghoon with something that pulsed warm in your chest, you couldn’t help it. A soft giggle escaped your lips as you reached out, taking the last blood bag from Sunghoon’s hands. The way he stood there so casually, like bringing blood into a room full of vampires was the most normal thing in the world.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you murmured under your breath. You tore open the seal, tilting the bag slightly as the first gulp slid past your lips. And then, your eyes fluttered shut, and the shift came instantly.

Your irises swirled like a tide of crimson, the familiar sensation of warmth seeping through your veins like wildfire. The world around you sharpened—every sound, every breath, the tiniest shift in fabric, the ink drying on Mingyu’s desk—it all became amplified, alive. You sighed softly, lowering the bag.

“Mmm. Fresh. AB type?”

Sunghoon smiled, surprised. “You can tell?”

“Of course,” you hummed, licking your bottom lip. “It’s like guessing wine, only more personal.”

Seungcheol leaned forward from his desk, brow slightly raised in amused curiosity.

“Alright, kid. Spill it. Where’d you get these?”

Sunghoon rubbed the back of his neck, bashful but not shy.

“My school friend works in the medical supply division at one of the hospitals. Since Y/N dismissed everyone, I figured I had time before you all collapsed from overwork.”

He glanced at you then, a flicker of something boyish and proud in his eyes.

“So I asked for just five bags. Didn’t want to be greedy. Then I came back.”

Sunghoon smiled, a light pink creeping onto his ears.

Seungcheol smirked again, muttering under his breath, “Dangerously sweet,” before returning to his laptop.

You sat back in your chair, gaze lingering on Sunghoon a moment longer.

The room was quiet again, save for the occasional click of keyboards and the faint sound of blood bags being sipped like afternoon coffee.

Everyone had gone back to working. Seungcheol flipping through analytics, Seokmin scrolling through sales projections, Mingyu sketching seasonal transitions, and Chan zoning into color palettes. All with half-empty blood bags beside their laptops. But amid all that steady motion, your eyes flicked toward Sunghoon, still standing there.

He lingered awkwardly in the middle of the room, arms slightly stiff at his sides, gaze bouncing between the founders like he wasn’t quite sure if he was allowed to leave, or stay. You smiled faintly and leaned back in your chair, sliding your foot across the floor until it bumped into an empty office chair beside you. You curled a finger at him.

“Come here. Sit.”

He blinked once, then moved without hesitation. The chair wheels let out a soft creak as he pulled it closer and sat beside you. You caught the way his shoulders instantly relaxed, just slightly, now that he had a space beside you instead of floating on the outside. You turned your head just a bit, lowering your voice as you whispered,

“Didn’t feel like going home?”

His lips twitched upward, then down again, and he answered in the same hushed tone,

“Didn’t feel like abandoning you.”

Your breath caught for a beat, a flash of warmth spreading through your chest, before you looked away, trying not to smile too obviously. You reached out instead and gently patted the back of his head.

“Then take a nap,” you whispered, fondness lacing your voice. “I’ll wake you up when it feels like time to go home.”

He didn’t argue, didn’t overthink it, just whispered a soft, “Okay,” and leaned back in the chair, head resting against the top of the mesh support as his eyes fluttered shut.

You glanced at him one last time, watching the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the way his brows smoothed out in sleep, the blood scent still faint on his clothes from earlier. 

The final email slid into the outbox with a satisfying ping.

You leaned back, exhaling slowly as you rubbed the bridge of your nose. Around the room, the soft hum of work had long since quieted. Papers were stacked. Screens dimmed. The blood bags, now empty, lay discarded in the bin beside Seokmin’s desk.

A glance at the clock confirmed it: 1:12 a.m.

“Alright,” you said quietly, rising from your seat, “let’s call it a night. We’re no longer being productive.”

Mingyu stretched with a groan, Chan barely stifled a yawn, Seokmin muttered a thanks for surviving another sprint, and Seungcheol simply stood, already slinging his coat over his shoulder. One by one, they gave you nods of approval and exited through the glass doors.

But beside you, Sunghoon hadn’t moved.

You turned your head, and there he was, still fast asleep, head slightly tilted, long lashes resting softly against his cheeks. His breathing was even, chest rising and falling in a way that made him look younger than usual.

You giggled softly, unable to help the affection bubbling up as you leaned over and gently shook his shoulder.

His eyes opened instantly, dazed and unfocused, blinking slowly at you.

“Hi,” you whispered, voice gentle like warm silk.

He blinked again, smile forming sluggishly like he hadn’t quite returned to reality yet. Then, almost instinctively, he leaned into you, wrapping his arms loosely around your own, his cheek resting against your shoulder.

“Time to leave?”

His voice-

Raspy. Deep. Sleep-soaked. It sent an unexpected shiver down your spine, catching you off guard. You felt your heart skip a beat, your throat dry as you tried not to react. You gulped and nodded, patting the top of his head like you would a sleepy puppy.

“Yeah.”

“Let’s go then,” he mumbled.

And just like that, he pulled away too quickly, and you couldn’t hide the pout that ghosted across your lips as he didn’t catch it.

You stood, collecting your laptop and phone, sliding them into your bag. Sunghoon moved slower, still shaking off sleep, and you wordlessly led him out of the office. The halls were dim now, most of the lights turned down for the night, and the lift gave a soft chime as it arrived for the two of you.

Inside the lift, he leaned back against the wall, eyes half-lidded, head tilted like he was still drifting between worlds. You stole small glances at him through the reflective doors, a smile dancing on your lips. You didn’t ask if he had driven. You didn’t need to. He was in no state to get behind the wheel.

So when you reached the carpark and headed to your vehicle, he didn’t say anything, just followed. Like it was natural, like he belonged there beside you.

You unlocked your car, and without a word, Sunghoon slipped into the passenger seat, already slumping into the leather like it was his second bed. You walked around, slid into the driver’s seat, and reached over to gently buckle his seatbelt, your hand brushing against his chest for a split second.

Your heart thudded, loud and sudden. But he only murmured, “Thanks,” still sleepy.

As the engine purred to life, you glanced at him one more time. Eyes closed. Head leaning back. Soft breaths, relaxed posture. You turned your gaze to the road. This wasn't how you'd expected the night to end, but somehow… it felt just right.

You pulled up quietly in front of his house, the street dim, sleepy, and silent save for the gentle hum of your engine. The car stopped, but he didn’t wake. You sat there for a second, debating. You couldn’t go in, not without permission. Not even as a vampire with influence. It was a hard law, binding. So you reached over gently, fingers brushing his arm. 

“Sunghoon,” you whispered. “We’re here.”

He stirred. Brows twitching, his lashes fluttered before his eyes slowly opened, still dazed with leftover sleep. He blinked around, then turned to you with that same soft, dream-heavy smile.

“Thank you,” he murmured, fingers moving to unbuckle his seatbelt.

You waited for the door to click, but it never came, instead, he turned toward you fully, arms raising slowly until they wrapped around your shoulders, drawing you into a quiet, unexpected hug.

Your body froze. A soft hitch caught in your throat. Not because of fear, but because of the way his scent hit you. Warm skin, traces of shampoo, faint blood under the surface, and that uniquely human comfort that you couldn’t put a word to. Not hunger, not thirst, something entirely else.

Your heart beat painfully loud. You were glad he couldn’t hear it.

*He doesn’t know what he’s doing to me, you thought.*

But then,he giggled lightly. A sound so carefree it carved straight into your ribs. He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his voice soft but teasing as he murmured: ���You smell good.”

And before you could even process that, he was gone. Door open. Door shut. Walking up the steps to his house like nothing happened, as if he hadn’t just set your entire system into red-alert mode. You blinked once. Twice, and then realized, he was already inside. The porch light turned off.

“Oh my god,” you exhaled, sagging back into your seat.

Your hand went to your chest. Your heart refused to calm down, beating like it had a vendetta. Then, still dazed, you slumped forward, resting your forehead against the steering wheel with a long, heavy sigh.

“Stupid, stupid heart,” you muttered.

This wasn’t just the ghost of a feeling from another life, this wasn’t nostalgia, this was now. This was present. This was real. And if it wasn’t love yet, it was dangerously close.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The elevator doors slid open with a ding, and you stepped out, eyes still half-lidded from the drive. Coffee might not do much for vampires, but you had one in hand anyway, more for the routine than the effect. You rounded the corner into the lobby of your office floor, and there he was.

Sunghoon.

Leaning casually against the reception desk, mid-conversation with Jay, his voice light and pleasant. He turned the moment he sensed someone arriving, his eyes catching yours-

“Good mor-”

But you didn’t let him finish. The moment your eyes landed on him, your breath hitched. Images from last night slammed into your mind all at once. His warm arms around you, his cheek against your shoulder, the quiet murmur of "you smell good." That little giggle that wrecked your entire nervous system.

You didn’t even manage a smile. You ducked your head, muttering a flustered, “Excuse me,” as you hurried past him, your footsteps too fast to be casual. You could feel his gaze on your back, confused, but you didn’t stop. You pushed open the frosted door of the founders’ office and slipped inside, closing it behind you with a soft click. The second the door was shut, you exhaled hard. Back flat against the door, heart racing, eyes wide.

“Nope. No, no, no. This is bad.”

You slid down the door a little, hand clutching the paper coffee cup like a lifeline. Your cheeks were burning again, the tips of your ears practically glowing. Just the thought of him—his voice, his scent, the way he looked at you—made your composure crumble like paper.

He’s dangerous, but not in the way vampires were. No, he was dangerous because he made your heart do that stupid thing. The thing it hadn't done in a long time. The thing that made you feel alive, despite technically being undead.

You took a deep breath, then another.

The others would arrive any minute now, you didn’t have time to melt into a puddle on the floor. So you straightened up, forced your expression neutral, and walked to your desk. But even as you sat down and opened your laptop, your fingers trembled faintly on the keyboard.

You finally got a break.

Just ten minutes of stillness. No urgent calls, no last-minute edits. The spring campaign was running smoothly, and for once, no fires to put out. You leaned back in your chair, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, when a knock came at the glass panel beside your desk.

Heeseung stepped in, a file tucked casually under his arm.

“Delivery for the overworked vampire CEO,” he said, placing the file on your table with a little flourish.

You chuckled, sitting up straighter. “Thanks, Heeseung.”

But instead of turning to leave like he usually would, he lingered, tilting his head and sliding his hands into his pockets.

“Can I ask you something?”

You blinked. “Sure.”

He nodded slowly, his voice dropping into something a little more gentle.

“Are you okay?”

You stared at him for a second, thrown off. “I… yeah? Why?”

“Because,” he said carefully, “Sunghoon’s been worried. Said you’ve been avoiding him since morning. He’s been second-guessing if he did something wrong.”

Your face flushed instantly. That same warmth crept up your neck and bloomed across your cheeks. You closed your eyes and groaned into your palms.

“Ugh. That’s because he-” You cut yourself off, trying to find neutral words. “He hugged me. At his house. Just… hugged me. And then said I smelled good. And then left like nothing happened.”

Heeseung’s brows rose slowly in amusement.

“Oh,” he said simply. Then shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “So what’s the problem?”

You stared at him, exasperated. “What do you mean what’s the problem?! He made my heart race like mad, I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and I don’t even know if it’s love or just some leftover feeling from our past lives. What if it's all just... nothing now? A ghost?”

Heeseung chuckled.

“Y/N,” he said gently, walking over to lean his hip on your desk, “you lifted the curse in your previous life, didn’t you? There’s nothing binding your fates anymore. You two are free. No death timer. No twisted destiny.”

“But-”

He held up a finger.

“And there’s no law saying a vampire and a human can’t date or marry. Heck, people would probably ship you two harder than half the celebrity couples we style.”

You blinked at him, lips parted. He grinned.

“So… why not go for it?”

You looked down, fingertips grazing the edge of the desk.

“What if he doesn’t feel the same anymore?”

Heeseung shrugged again. “Then you’ll know. But what if he does, and you let it pass you by because you’re scared of something that’s not even there?”

That made your heart pause. Heeseung smiled, standing straight.

“Think about it. You’ve been through lifetimes, Y/N. This time... why not live?”

And with that, he turned, leaving the office with a confident little wave. You sat there, frozen, the file still untouched. His words lingered longer than the silence.

*"Why not go for it?"*

*"You’re free now."*

Your fingers curled slowly into your palms.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

Lunch break came, and you finally made your decision. You walked towards the group of seven, gathering at the lounge as usual. Chattering, laughing, bickering over where to eat like it was the most important decision of the day.

“Mind if I join you guys today?” you asked with a soft smile, hands clasped behind your back.

Jake blinked before breaking into a grin. “Sure! We were just arguing over which restaurant has better kimchi stew.”

“You were arguing,” Riki muttered.

They continued debating, slowly heading out of the building, and as expected, Sunghoon naturally fell into step beside you, subtly matching your slower pace.

Your heart beat in your throat. You could feel it even in your fingertips.

“Hey,” you started quietly.

He turned to look at you, eyes gentle. “Yeah?”

“I… I wanted to apologize.”

He tilted his head slightly, giving you his full attention.

“I’ve been avoiding you since that night,” you admitted. “And that’s not fair to you.”

He didn’t say anything, but his silence was listening, not judging. You looked ahead, watching the group slowly pull further away as they continued arguing over dumplings vs barbecue.

“I just—what you did that night…” You let out a small laugh. “You were tired. You’d just woken up. You probably didn’t even realize you hugged me, or told me I smelled good.”

The words made you want to curl in embarrassment, but you pushed through it.

“But I did realize. Every second of it. My heart… it wouldn’t calm down. I couldn’t sleep after that. My face was burning. I felt like I was in love all over again, and I didn’t even know if it was real or just a ghost from our past.”

Your voice faltered at the end, but you said it. Every piece. And still, he didn’t respond.

He stopped walking. A few more steps, and you stopped too, slightly ahead of him. The space between you felt heavy. You took a deep breath and slowly turned around, and there he was. Staring at you, eyes wide, soft, and completely focused. No smile, no confusion, just quiet, stunned awe. Your throat tightened.

“I like you, Park Sunghoon.”

The wind swept past gently, brushing your hair across your cheek like a whisper. It should have made you feel cold, but your confession had left you burning.

For a long second, nothing. And then-

“Hey!” Jungwon’s voice echoed from ahead, snapping the moment in two.

You smiled, trying to swallow the lump in your throat, interpreting Sunghoon’s silence as answer enough.

You turned back to the group, lifting your hand to wave, only to be stopped. A warm hand gently circled your wrist and pulled you back, right into his chest. You gasped, caught off guard by the sudden closeness. His arms didn’t wrap around you, but you could feel the heat from his body, his breath close, his scent dizzyingly familiar. You looked up at him. His eyes were no longer wide, they were determined.

“Don’t you dare think I’m rejecting you.”

Your breath hitched. He glanced once at the group ahead before back to you, and gently pressed a kiss to your forehead. Your heart exploded.

“This,” he murmured, lips brushing your skin, “is a prologue. A trial version. Because if I kiss you on the lips right now, our friends will never let us live it down.”

You blinked, lips parting in disbelief. Then a smile broke across your face, slow and radiant.

“I expect a kiss on the lips next time then, boyfriend.”

He pulled back, a rare smirk curling his lips.

“You won’t have to wait long, girlfriend.”

With that, he laced his fingers through yours—solid, certain, warm—and together, hand in hand, the two of you caught up to your friends. Jake turned around just as you rejoined them.

“Oh? You two caught up- wait, are you guys holding hands?!”

Sunghoon didn’t flinch. You just smiled.

— ♬ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ♬ —

The soft glow of sunset bathed the rooftop in warm gold as the applause from the lower floors faded away. The spring collection had not just done well, it had exceeded all expectations. Orders flowed in like waves, customers raved, and the fashion world was abuzz with your team’s name once more.

While the four founders—Seungcheol, Seokmin, Chan, and Mingyu—stood before the workers, delivering their speeches of appreciation, you stood slightly behind them. Silent, proud, and content. Your gaze swept across the crowd, but it stopped on him.

Sunghoon was standing with his friends near the back, hands behind his back, politely listening. When your eyes lingered on him, you saw it. The slight twitch of his lips. The teasing sparkle in his eyes.

You winked at him, swift and subtle. And in return, he raised an eyebrow with a cocky smirk, bit his bottom lip like he was flirting, then tapped the back of his wrist twice.

*Time.*

Your heart fluttered and you nodded ever so slightly.

The plan had already been sealed between the two of you earlier. A short rooftop date during this lenient work week. Just a little pocket of time to breathe, to laugh, to love. Away from paperwork, just the two of you.

After the speeches ended and the workers began to disperse with cheerful chatter, you quietly slipped away. And just as expected, the rooftop door creaked open, and there he was.

Sunghoon.

Before he could even say a word, you sprinted forward, leapt into his arms, arms wrapping around his neck with a giggle. He caught you with ease, his laugh bursting out. You pressed a quick kiss to his lips, warm and fast, like a spark.

“Hey, princess.”

The nickname made your chest warm.

“Hey my boyfriend,” you replied, giggling against his ear as he carried you over to the edge of the rooftop, where the bench sat in view of the entire cityscape below. He placed you down gently, letting you sit first before sitting beside you. His hand found yours easily, fingers intertwining like they always belonged there.

The wind blew softly through your hair as the two of you sat in silence for a beat, soaking in the quiet. The kind of peaceful quiet that only existed between two people who no longer needed words to explain how they felt.

You squeezed his hand gently.

“Didn’t think I’d look forward to sunset this much.”

Sunghoon turned to you, smiling.

“Didn’t think I’d be someone’s rooftop date,” he said, voice soft. “Especially not your rooftop date.”

“Well,” you said with a smirk, “there’s a first time for everything.”

He leaned in to bump his shoulder against yours. “What’s next after the rooftop date?”

You hummed, teasing, “You’ll find out. Maybe next time I’ll take you to the vampire garden.”

“Wait, that exists?”

“Of course,” you grinned, “but only for very special humans.”

“Am I special?”

“You’re holding my hand on a rooftop at sunset. What do you think?”

Sunghoon laughed, head dropping to your shoulder. 

The rooftop air grew cooler as the sun melted into the horizon, casting streaks of orange and lilac across the sky. The city's silhouette glowed faintly beneath it, alive but distant, as though it had no place in the stillness you and Sunghoon shared.

He shifted slightly, resting his cheek more comfortably on your shoulder. Your head turned toward him, watching the curve of his jaw, the softness of his expression, the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed beside you. Slowly, he lifted his head, and your eyes met. You both simply looked at each other.

You, with the quiet remnants of centuries in your soul. Him, with memories reborn, still raw but no longer heavy.

In that gaze, there was something deeper than memory or affection, something present. Something that made time slow down, the city disappear, the noise fall away. When he leaned in, it was gentle. And when you met him halfway, it was natural.

The kiss was soft. No urgency, no desperation. Just a slow, warm press of lips. You both pulled back at the same time, smiles tugging at your lips. Still close, foreheads nearly touching. 

And as the last light of the sun dipped beneath the skyline, your fingers squeezed his hand, anchored in the present, ready for the future, together. With him.

Tagging // @stvrrylove @sol3chu @firstclassjaylee @ateez-atiny380 @thetjtales @metaphorandmoonlight

[blueishspace]

(Shatter the Diamond section 2 p24)

Mumbo: There's a... Sapphire forming my diamond.

Blue Diamond: A sapphire? What a perfect choice Violet.

Grian: I thank you blue.

Blue Diamond: Are you perhaps seeking to establish a court of dignitaries and aristocrats like mine? If so, I would suggest perhaps jades and acquamarines next. Once you begin work on your colony of course you'll need lapis lazulis as well.

Grian: I'll uh keep that in mind Blue.

Blue Diamond: Don't tell Yellow this but I'm quite glad you're structuring your court to be similiar to mine, the prideful Hessonite generals and Emerald captains of her court tend to be too much.

Grian: Actually...

Blue Diamond: Violet? Do you wish to say something?

Grian: I'm not planning my court to be like yours or Yellow.

*Why is he talking??? You had her happy, why would he self sabotize*

Voice of The Star: He's acting his part Mumbo. If he lets her think he'll do something he doesn't plan to do then It's going to bite him in the back later.

*You don't appreciate your thoughts being interrupted by annoying voices*

Voice of The Star: Rude. Last time I'm helpful out of the kindness of my own heart.

Voice of The Dungeon Master: ...Since when-

*You focus back towards Grian while trying to ignore the discussion and/or flirting happening in your mind*

Blue Diamond: You don't?

Grian: White rules all gems but your court and Yellow's court focus on specific aspects. I too want to build a court that is can contribute to Homeworld in It's own merit.

*Grian speaks like he's holding in a scream, of course Blue Diamond doesn't notice that as it is the expression that Grian holds when talking with any of the diamonds*

Blue Diamond: An admirable goal Violet. I'm sure White will appreciate your maturity in this matter.

Grian: I'm going to build a court focused on the gaining of knowledge and the technological progress...of gem society. I chose a sapphire as their ability to see the future is...necessary for this plan to become reality.

Blue Diamond: I understand Violet. Ah, look at you, just emerged but already ready to be a proper diamond. Perhaps you could help Pink do the same in a way me and Yellow cannot.

Grian: I...yes, I'll think about it. May I go now to get the more extensive report.

Blue Diamond: Of course. You may go.

Grian: Blue.

Mumbo: My diamond.

*You and Grian leave*

...

*And after that Grian basically carried you away...then you remembered Scar was with you and the two of you went back to find him but he ended up wandering off at some point so it was a whole thing....but eventually you made it back to Grian's room.*

Scar: I'm going to lay down, everything hurts.

Grian: That's what happens when you try to shapeshift your famously fragile legs.

Scar: It's not fair. I'm a gem now, why do my legs still have to be fragile?

Mumbo: They are stronger then when you were a human, you can walk a lot better so-

Scar: They are still bad in reve-rese-rele...ok, words are hard, ...re la tion to the other gems!

Grian: I don't know Scar, it just happened like- ... Wait, gems, Mumbo, was that thing about the gems emerging true?

Prev Next First

[hikarry]

3/7/2025 The Good Fairy News #2

<- Previous Issue-> Next Issue

Aziraphale was spotted singing to a silly turnip in Crowley's room

Gays kept autonomously flirting so often that it appears the Coin Fairy population is getting annoyed and considering extreme sanctions

Adam Young (or...ya know, a prototype of the kid for now) entered the chat by @kingbeanpawz request. The Them to follow!

Aziraphale and Crowley spent, at the very least, 40 irl minutes outside their house, flirting right next to the construction workers, who didn't look very impressed.

Aziraphale took over Anathema's living room just to sit on the froggy couch and crochet - a welcome gift for Adam, I take it. Angel is a softie

Saw this 'standing still with love hearts around the head as they look at another fairy' interaction for the first time in the game. And of course Crowley was the culprit; the simp he is (with new earings, mind ya. My poor boy is still a work in progress, bless his heart).

Sudden juicy autonomous drama happened when I caught Maggie flirting with Mrs. Sandwich, and, by the looks of it, so did Nina. No one blames you, sweetheart. Sandwich is quite the snack indeed

Checked on the sillies after sending Madame Tracy and Anathema on an expedition and:

Apparently, Aziraphale had switched his book for a notepad, but Crowley was STILL standing in the EXACT same spot as he kept acting like a love-sick silly snek

Still taking more suggestions, since apparently the village can hold 30 fairies.

[driftvoid]

“ – I guess you’ll keep eating lunch at school? I’m not the best cook, I’ll warn you. I’m sure I’d manage to pack you a sandwich in the morning, but why change a working system, eh? – But I think I’ve read about that incident at your school. Well, at some schools around the country.” He nodded slightly and didn’t go into more detail. Discussing alien activity in public was never the best idea, and – well, they were here to get their mind off things, right? Apart from getting something to eat and trying to find some common ground.

And at least they were making some progress just talking, right? Even if he had to chuckle at Luke’s answer. “Chamomile tea? – And you made it sound like chips and gravy is a strange combination. Didn’t even know they’d serve tea here… But alright.” No judgement lingering in his voice, but honest amusement at the combination. Sure, chamomile tea was a good idea to calm down, and in light of the circumstances leading them here, it was an understandable choice. It still remained a weird combination, just as it was a weird situation. TIME was needed. Of course. He didn’t expect anything else.

“You’ll find us a place to sit, and I’ll order and bring the food to our table. Deal?”

Luke gave a nonjudgmental shrug of his own. “I was not a fan of them, no.” It was one of those things he would eat if there was nothing else, but he avoided ordering it. “My first day of Year 10, the food was off, so Mum had to pack my lunches until that was rectified. When I finally got a proper taste of the school’s food, it was serviceable. India must put that food to shame!” Despite the school food not being stellar, he avoided Sarah Jane packing his lunches. Kids had a way of judging him.

“Chips with salt and vinegar. That’s it.” He didn’t want to overwhelm his system. A piece of fish would be a treat, but he knew it was best to limit his intake of fried foods. The overwhelm of the day already had his stomach feeling a little out of sorts. It would pass if he took it easy. “...Oh, and some chamomile tea,” he added quietly.

[leaffiii]

I FORGOT I HADN'T POSTED ANYTHING ABOUT THIS SPECIFIC WORLD YET BUT. I spent like 7 hours making a model of her silly ass so take a look at her.....

This is Ran! She and her girlfriend (who I'll post later) are new agents at the Anti-Extraterrestrial Defence Agency (AETDA), joining the fight against a mysterious alien corruption and the invading organisms.

The universe of CODE-51 is something I'm developing as a world open to others to make their own characters for! It's inspired a lot by magical girls, media from my childhood, superhero stuff, Transformers and Mega Man, and a whole host of other things. Again, I'll elaborate later lol.

[a-s-levynn]

you know what, the mask is kinda lit in white

[hobgoblinsandpeachfuzz]

i think the date went well

you know despite the lies

[fairylando]

CHATTING WITH MAMA🧡❤️

[cassielsunstone]

Been slowly chipping away at a new character since my surgery :)

[peppermint-whiskers]

When they reach out and catch each other 💖💖💖

[impmansloot]

reading an article on narcissus and goldmund and thinking "this is way too focused on jungian archetypes and not queer enough. also not batshit crazy enough"