#most relationship development comes from angst or drama | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chocosvt · 10 months ago

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HER | part two.

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 22.7k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings: drug use (weed, cocaine, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!

the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s!

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

any smut or potentially triggering scenes are NOT MARKED bc the content is already quite mature, so just plz be aware of that!

bolded and italicized text implies the characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!

the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts.

updates: in terms of a posting schedule, i'm pre sure i'm just gonna post every saturday night ~12am EST (so technically sunday lol). taglist is included in the comment section since tumblr now has limit as to how many peeps are mentioned per post :p

thanks againnnn! 🌟

⇢ part one | part three | part four | part five | part six ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)

—MAY 12TH.

Wonwoo was sat on his couch with your laptop glowing in front of him, one hand holding up his chin while the other scrolled slowly through your writing. Finally, you’d let him actually glean your work, and he was quite impressed with your natural skill. He supposed the biggest issue was the choppiness—your sentence structures were much like your racing tangents, and in some areas the writing lacked flow and a smooth continuality. But that sort of ability would just develop on its own as long as you were practicing.

For the most part, Wonwoo was leaving behind small notes and highlighting areas that you could revisit at a later time.

“Okay, I’m going to do a handstand.”

However, as Wonwoo had been combing through your work for the past half-hour, that left you with an apparent boredness which somehow translated into an acrobatics session in his living room.

“I’d really prefer you didn’t,” he answered through the fingers covering his mouth, his eyes trained with focus on the document.

“No, no. I used to be so good at them. Watch.”

Wonwoo was in the midst of typing a note when a small, circular embroidered pillow had suddenly struck the laptop, nearly forcing it shut. It was then that Wonwoo looked up with a long sigh, acknowledging the devious, shining smile that sprung to your face.

“Now that I have your attention—”

Wonwoo titled his head, folded his arms, and propped one foot onto the coffee table, somewhat like an exhausted parent who was being heckled by their child to watch the “special trick” they’d just learned. He was internally praying you actually were good at handstands, because that fragile pottery vase and the antique gold clock sitting on the fire mantel had never looked so breakable until now. A cool breeze slivered in through the open window as your arms began raising above your head, and he heard you inhale steadily.

“Go!” You then shouted, either in motivation or impatience aimed at yourself, loud enough to make Wonwoo flinch.

The next moment, you were basically flipped upside down, your socked feet sticking pointedly in the air while your hands stumbled about on the brown rug for a few seconds, attempting to find their place rooted in the fuzz. Wonwoo pursed his lip, impressed.

“See! Told you!”

“I mean, I never said you couldn’t.”

“Are you amazed?”

He watched with a slight bit of nervousness as you walked a few paces forward with your hands, though he kept his calm composure from the couch and dealt you about three dull claps.

“Cirque de Soleil is asking for you, actually.”

To Wonwoo’s utter relief, you collapsed back onto your feet, probably because the blood was gushing to your head and he’d rather not have you faint squarely on the face in his living room. You then sat on your knees for a moment, rubbing slowly at your scalp.

“I’m almost done,” Wonwoo reaffirmed, moving aside the stitched pillow you’d chucked at him earlier and reopening the laptop.

“Don’t let me rush you.”

He chuckled instantly. “You mean to tell me you’re not bored out of your mind? Why else would you be doing cartwheels.”

Finally, you got up from the rug.

“Um, it was a handstand,” you were hasty to correct him, now sinking into the seat beside Wonwoo on the couch with the circle pillow pulled onto your lap. “I could do a cartwheel, though.”

“Yeah, not in this house you’re not.”

“Not in this house you’re not.”

He merely smirked at your attempt to mimic him by employing a cartoonishly deep tone that you found very amusing, made evident by your prideful giggles close to his ear. Just as Wonwoo scrolled to the end of the document to type his last note, you were piqued with curiosity and leaned over his lap, grabbing at the screen to examine how far he’d come during your hour together.

“So, where are you at anyway?”

Wonwoo pressed himself back into the couch, immediately removing his hands from the keyboard. It felt like at the most random, unpredictable times you would swoop in so close to him, and he never quite knew how to react. Most times he would freeze, become stiff and hardly breathing, run his eyes in all different directions around the room because everything seemed easier when he pretended you didn’t exist.

He adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat.

“I’m basically done.”

“You are? Okay. Hm… it seems like you made a lotta notes.”

Wonwoo squirmed in his seat as though it were scratching him. You eventually pulled away, but your knee was now resting on the side of his thigh and you were sitting much closer than before—close enough that your shoulder was digging into his and he could sense your full, bright eyes burning a stare at his pink cheek.

“They’re mostly easy fixes…” he mumbled, refusing to look at you, instead scrolling impetuously through the document with jerks of his pointer and middle finger.

“Well, what do you think of it?”

He paused, still staring at the laptop.

“Of what?”

“Wonwoo, my writing, obviously,” you said with a warm laugh and a soft breath that rushed over his neck in such a pleasurable, lightheaded way. “And look at me,” he heard you ask in a lower, more sincere voice, your fingers then ghosting along his tense jaw in a fleeting, sensitive touch as you guided his head gently in your direction, “I just want to know you’re telling the truth.”

He was accustomed to your eyes being filled with sparks and the readiness to pit the most sharp-tongued comment in history, and so Wonwoo was able to relax ever so slightly upon realizing how your gaze had become increasingly mellow, welcoming even.

“Well, you’re obviously good at it,” he managed to answer the question without his voice trembling, “just some pacing issues, mostly. You’ve got a bit of an issue with run-on sentences and closing up a scene. But you plan a lot, which is nice. I mean, you can only get better.”

An earnest smile picked its way across your face, framing your polished teeth and pushing up the apples of your cheeks. Wonwoo had to look away—sometimes it was too much—you were too much, and he refused to let himself drown beneath your intensity that he found purely terrifying. Your knee proceeded to pull from his thigh and you were now dragging your body off the couch, which meant that Wonwoo could safely exhale the breath he was holding. He wondered if you just wanted to hear the compliment, or if you were legitimately pleased with his praise.

You walked up to his fireplace mantel, examining the items left along the white, sparkling trim he’d spritzed clean of all dust.

“Did you make this?” Came your inquiry, a curious finger pointing toward the round-bottomed, thin-necked red vase.

Wonwoo shook his head.

“No, it was a welcome gift from the landlord.”

“She made it?”

“Yeah,” he hummed. “Didn’t I tell you? She owns the pottery business downstairs. Saskia. She immigrated here like, eighteen years ago, now. From Poland. I thought you might’ve run into her.”

Shaking your head, you turned back to the vase.

“I didn’t see her at all.”

“She was probably in her office.”

“How did she make all these little emblem thingies? Around the base? Like, this one’s got an elephant. This one is a fruit tree.”

Wonwoo squinted at the vase from his place on the couch. He hadn’t really examined it much, apart from when his landlord had thrust it into his hands while she welcomed him to the building. It never held any flowers, either—not even the brilliant ruby coloured poinsettias his ex-girlfriend's mother was supposed to send.

The relationship has disintegrated before it could ever happen.

“Fuck, don’t know. She has a bunch of little tools down there for more detailed work. Maybe a stamp. You’d have to ask her.”

“It’s really pretty.”

His brows furrowed. “Yeah? You like ceramics or something?”

You turned back to him, shrugging.

“I don’t know. I was just saying, it’s pretty.”

“It is. It’s very pretty.”

With a sigh, you climbed back onto the couch.

“Do you think you’re done editing?”

He picked up the laptop and set it down on the coffee table.

“I think so. For the day.”

“Perfect.” You smiled. “I’ll make time to read your notes tomorrow morning, if I can. Seems like there’s about eight-hundred.”

Wonwoo chuckled, “not eight-hundred. Try twenty.”

“Twenty?!” Your eyes bulged in shock as you gripped onto the embroidered pillow hugged back into your lap. “That’s so many!”

“What—twenty is somehow more than eight-hundred? What fucking planet are you living on where numeracy works like that?”

“Wonwoo, I have so much to do tomorrow!” You winced, tossing your head against the couch and slipping down the cushions.

“Okay, like what?”

“… Gosh… no, no. Fuck it. It doesn’t matter.”

“No, tell me. What have you got to do tomorrow?”

“I don’t want to tell.”

“Why not?” He murmured.

“If I talk about, then I’ll want to do it even less.” There was an empty sigh he heard from your chest as your arms curled tight around the pillow. “Besides, it’s squished all into my colour-coded block on the schedule. The pink one. I just—I don’t want to think about it.”

“Fair. I get that.”

“It’s complicated family stuff.”

Wonwoo huffed sympathetically. “I get that even more.”

“… So, we’re still good for Spring Street on Sunday?” You asked, staring up at Wonwoo from your sunken, defeated slump.

He nodded.

“I’ll be there if you are.”

—MAY 14TH.

The Spring Street Fair. It happened every single May, for three days straight, usually Friday to Sunday. In the daytime it was cheerier and more watered down for the children that came hand in hand with their parents, looking to feed the alpacas and ride those nauseating teacups and sob until exhaustion because they accidentally let go of their kitten-shaped balloon. However, at night, the fair had become a beacon for the older, rowdier university crowd.

Wonwoo never went despite all his recent years living in the city, but Vernon had, usually on accounts of “business” which really meant selling drugs for idiotic prices behind the Whirler or the Starship. You wanted to go, but hadn’t told Wonwoo the reason. He opted to assume it was another part of your story—maybe you ran into Mingyu at a similar fair when you were younger, and it was therefore very integral you go Spring Street tonight. It was the exact opposite of what Wonwoo typically appreciated doing on Sundays, and he knew for a fact he’d loathe it, every single part.

“No fuckin’ way!” Vernon’s voice exploded through the crackly static on Wonwoo’s phone as he stood in line for the fair, gazing over top everyone’s heads to gauge the ticket booth. “I can’t believe your loser ass actually crawled outta bed for that.”

Wonwoo scoffed, “yeah, it wasn’t my choice.”

“Then what for?”

“Her. She wanted to go. It’s for the book.”

He was supposed to meet you inside the fair. It was almost ten o’clock at night. The sky was beautifully clear, illuminated with pinpricks of starlight, and the air had once been crisp. Now, Wonwoo was beginning to smell sparked cannabis, and he assumed a likewise scent would follow him all damn night. The horrid, anxious process of standing in the mile long line was made palatable through his conversation with Vernon, who—shockingly—wasn’t even there.

“Ohh, the book, the book. Wait—she’s gonna write her book at the fuckin’ Spring Street Fair? How the fuck does that work?”

“No, it’s not like that,” Wonwoo chuckled. “It’s stuff about the settings, the environment; she uses it to help with her writing.”

“Hm, doesn’t make much sense to me, probably ‘cause I don’t like readin' or writin' or anything with books. But, damn, I’m jealous of you, Glasses. Do y’know how hard I tried to smooth talk my way into that girl’s pants? N’somehow, you can write good—”

“Write well, not good.”

“Oh, fuck you—write well—so she takes you everywhere like a little purse dog. When does that happen to me, yeah?”

The line started slowly pouring forward, and Wonwoo felt himself get dragged along. Probably another five minutes and he would be at the ticket booth, getting one of those neon bracelets circled around his wrist that were nearly impossible to rip off.

“Why didn’t you come?” Wonwoo asked.

Vernon groaned, “got into some bullshit with this guy who’s not payin’ up. I’m handlin’ it, though. If I can manage to get it all sorted, I’ll come later. It’s too fuckin’ easy selling those gummies to the first years, dude. Shit, it could be some Flintstone vitamins and they’re actin’ like Chicken Little. Cracks me the fuck up.”

Wonwoo cleared his throat, smiling. “You’re such a cunt.”

“Hey, hey, you are what you eat, okay? And, when you get inside or whatever, text me where you’re hangin’ so if I do come, I can see you for a bit. Dunno if your girlfriend will approve.”

The air began mottling with a thin, chalky smoke that drifted from somewhere down the crowded string of university students. Again, the line shuffled, and the congestion gradually broke up as more people were allowed into the fair. Wonwoo switched the phone to his other ear, getting his wallet ready.

“Don’t even start.”

“Start what? I said nothin’.” Vernon’s laughter was raspy and obviously laced with a smirk that Wonwoo could hear.

“Don’t be such a prick. She’s not my—”

Suddenly, Wonwoo’s phone began vibrating against his palm, and when he pulled it down an immediate lump conjured in his throat upon reading your name. His heart jolted, and it wasn’t until someone pushed hard on his back to urge him forward that he realized the line was once again ambling closer to the ticket booth.

Vernon sighed, “so, again, tell me where you’ll—”

“Shit—uh, gotta go. Talk to you later.”

A few remnants of Vernon’s miffed, guttural cursing managed to leak through the phone before Wonwoo could press to accept your call. In an instant, his friend was blipped away, and he heard your voice instead. He held back a cough from the astringent, cottonish air.

“Wonwoo, hello. I’m glad you picked up. So, where the hell are you? It’s nearly ten! Did you not get in line early?”

Wonwoo kept the phone secured between his shoulder and ear while he shimmied the coins out from his wallet.

“No, I did, promise. Just about to pay. Where are you?”

“When you get in, just follow the arrows. They're lit up with those blue lightbulbs. They go to the tavern. I’m having some drinks with my friends. Don’t worry. You won’t have to do much socializing.”

“Uh, okay,” Wonwoo answered, internally counting up the money in his hand until he was certain of the amount. “Mingyu’s there?”

“No. He always plays poker with his friends on Sunday.”

An unbeknownst pressure escaped his chest.

“Okay. I’m close to the front. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Sure. Don’t be late!”

“I know. Bye.”

Hanging up the phone, Wonwoo had just enough time to wriggle the device into his back pocket before handing the ticket booth clerk his coins. She dropped the cold change into his hand, then asked to see his wrist, where she proceeded to attach the bracelet with the words Spring Street Fair etched into the orange, plasticky-feeling paper.

Finally, he was let inside.

Blue arrows, blue arrows—that was all Wonwoo kept reiterating in his head like some religious hymn as he followed the glow throughout the fairgrounds, weaving his way between large groups of people that he gleefully didn’t recognize. Eventually, he saw the tavern you were referring to—an outdoor bar with picnic tables set up everywhere, beneath cheap little strings of warm, lambent lights.

Even with his glasses on, Wonwoo was still squinting as he walked between each table, attempting to discern your dolled-up face somewhere amongst the strangers sipping on their large mugs of alcohol, that was until he heard his name being called over the music rumbling from the bar’s horrible speakers. When he looked straight ahead, he saw you cutely waving him over. With each step he took, Wonwoo reminded himself to breathe, to loosen up, to stop clenching his fists so painfully tight as though he were going to split someone’s eyebrow. Breathe, breathe, breathe. Just breathe.

You stood up from the table to welcome him, and he felt your hand settle softly on his lower back. The touch was grounding.

“So, everyone, girls, if I could get your attention for just a moment despite the general impairment going on here—this is the mystery guy whose been helping me write. Wonwoo.”

God—he wanted to puke, all those big, curious, unabashed eyes soaking him in like freshly dipped watercolour to a cloth canvas. There was a cluster of high-pitched voices that repeated his name in a shrill, unison greeting. However, Wonwoo was unable to meet a single girl’s gaze, and so he opted to stare down at a paper plate on the table aligned with cinnamon-sprinkled churros.

Again, he wanted to throw up.

“So, of course, Wonwoo’s been the biggest help with everything,” you said, to which he could sense your nails subtly digging at him through his clothes, most likely a silent urge to say something so he didn’t seem so unprecedentedly stiff and metallic.

He cleared his throat.

“Uh, yeah. I’m just proofreading, really.” Wonwoo had to swallow. “Some tips here and there. But, she’s pretty good as is.”

“Is that your actual voice?”

His eyes darted to find who asked the question. She was toward the end of the picnic table, tucking a lock of short, coffee brown hair behind her ear. Before the girl was a gigantic and fluorescent pink drink, the glass resembling the shape of a fish bowl.

“… What do you mean?” Wonwoo replied.

She sat up on her knee, continuing to ogle him with those fixated but glazed chestnut eyes. Her mouth seemed to drag as though it was thawing when she spoke. Wonwoo could tell she was already well inebriated. There was no way that was her first drink.

“Your voice,” she repeated, “it’s so… deep.”

“Well… I don’t know. Puberty.”

His comment elicited some giggles from around the table, to which he could feel the cartilage in his ears burning.

“Wonwoo—” another girl then leaned forward with her head tilted up and a coy, drunk smile flittering on her mouth, “—I think it’s so, so great you’re helping Her write. I actually think it’s the sweetest, ever.” Her lashes were coated in smooth mascara and her eyelids were remarkably glimmery, drenched in an electric shade of blue that he couldn’t stop staring at. “Also, sorry, but you’re like, super gorge.”

“Super what?” He repeated, confused at her wording.

But she didn't seem interested in repeating herself, instead scooping the long and impressively silky black hair off her shoulder to spill down her pale back.

“Okay, okay, okay. We’ve all shared some impetuous conversation and we’ve all swooned over him now. Yippee. Unfortunately, we’ve gotta get going, friends.”

Wonwoo felt your hand land on his shoulder and gently tug him backward, away from the table. You then proceeded to grab the glass left at your seat, chugging the remaining alcohol until there was nothing but a melting block of ice cubes clicking at the bottom. While you wiped your mouth, you began aiming a finger at each girl.

“To make a long story short, that’s Princess, Clara, and Bells. Do you have any comments for them before we go?” The impatience in your tone was bleeding through with sheer apathy.

Wonwoo shrugged. “Uh, nice to meet everyone? I guess.”

“Short and efficient. How perfect. Okay, I’ll see you guys later, I think. Actually—probably not. So can someone eat my churros?”

Your arm curled around Wonwoo’s bicep as though to whisk him away as hurriedly as possible. Everyone left at the table began waving, and Wonwoo couldn’t even bring himself to force a fake, pleasant smile because he was still attempting to understand what all those comments even meant. You walked briskly until the poetic, firefly lights of the tavern were lost long behind in the distance, and when you finally paused, he had not a clue where he was standing—a busy centre with people mingling all around him, the wild whirring of carnival rides and chaotic, blinking hues strobing above his head.

When he looked down at you, he was surprised to see you were already staring back, and he could only hold the eye contact for no more than a few seconds or else his heart would skip a beat.

“Sorry about all that,” you said, rolling your shoulders, “I tried to be somewhat reasonable with my drinking for once. I can’t say the same for Clara and Bells. They guzzle cocktails like apple juice.”

“Bells is… the one with all that sparkly blue eyeshadow?”

“Oh—yeah. She loves sparkles. Glitter. Anything glimmery. She’s been like that ever since I’ve known her. Clara was the one who asked about your voice. She has a thing for guys with deep voices and you unfortunately fit the bill. And I’m sorry that Princess didn’t say anything. She kind of just looks and observes. Also I’m like ninety-eight percent sure she popped something in a porta-potty before we met up so she’s probably in a mental state of star-surfing. Anyway. You don’t have to worry about them, alright? It’s just us for tonight.”

“Well, that’s… easy enough.”

“I’m not sure if we should stand here.”

“Hm?”

You then pointed to something behind Wonwoo, and when he turned his head, he felt a gust of wind from the gigantic, spinning ride that resembled a flying saucer in the nighttime sky. It was always beyond him why anyone would choose to strap themselves into a machine that terrifying. It made him sick just watching.

“If I get throw up on my head, I’m killing myself.”

“Okay, so let’s find somewhere else.”

As he began walking away in search of a quieter area, you grabbed onto the back of his clothes. Wonwoo raised his eyebrow.

“We have to hold hands, or have arms linked,” you said.

For some reason, Wonwoo presumed you were joking, and so he tilted his head at you with a questioning smile. But when your serious expression didn’t crack, he realized it wasn’t a joke at all.

“Oh… why?”

“Because—” you then took a step toward him and spoke matter-of-factly, like you were reading a rule book, “—it’s the buddy system. Always have someone at your side, and make sure you’re linked in some way. It’s too easy to get separated in places like this, otherwise. Have you never heard of that before?”

“I have,” Wonwoo answered, adjusting his glasses. “My—um, my hands are a little cold. I don’t have the best circulation.”

The truth was, Wonwoo didn’t want to hold your hand. He didn’t want to link arms with you. He didn’t want you pressed into his side all night. He didn’t want to have the scent of your hair under his nose or feel your ticklish breath against his neck each time you spoke.

But he didn’t have a good enough excuse to fight it.

“Oh my god, who cares,” you retorted. “And I have super sweaty hands. Like, uncomfortably warm. We'll balance out.”

“Actually?”

“Yes! Is that a problem for you, sweetheart?”

Wonwoo quickly shook his head in response to your condescending tone. You then reached for his hand, which he offered up for your required holding, and chose to ignore the butterflies in the deep pit of his stomach when he realized how perfectly your fingers slotted with his. He followed your lead through the fair until you came outside a small lemonade booth. Wonwoo thought you would drop his hand, but you didn’t, and his knees felt like gelatine.

“I want another drink,” you told him.

He squinted at their options, which didn’t really consist of much. The prices were obviously insane—it was another reason he hated going to fairs. His wallet always got cleaned out.

“You’re going to have to use the washroom a lot.”

“Ugh,” you gritted in response, brushing some hair from your face, “I hate public washrooms. They’re so gross. Completely unsanitary. Awful maintenance. One time I was here and I walked into the washroom by the Mirror Hall and I swear, a freaking rat ran across the floor! I screamed bloody murder. I’d rather squat in the bush and risk getting, like, poison ivy. But the washrooms have mirrors obviously, and I like checking my makeup and stuff. I wish I could check now.”

“Right now? I mean, your makeup looks fine.”

Wonwoo saw your entire face freeze, and then begin to warp, as though he’d just said the most dreadful thing he could think of.

“Fine?” You glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He started stumbling over his words, feeling his chest tighten.

“So, what you’re saying is that I look ugly? That my makeup looks bad? Because if you really thought it was ‘fine’ then you wouldn’t have said it looks ‘fine’ because everyone knows that word is a substitute for passable and passable is just a substitute for ugly!”

He opened his mouth, then instantly closed it.

“So what’s wrong with it? Are my under eyes creasing? Is my contour too dark? Is my lipstick smudged? Did it get on my teeth? Ugh, I knew I should have brought my compact!”

“No, no, no.” Wonwoo squeezed your hand, hoping that he could somehow undo the damage he had no intention of even inflicting in the first place. “Uh—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. You look—” he wasn’t sure he could say the compliment without shivering, but Wonwoo didn’t care in the moment, “—your makeup is beautifully done. There’s no creasing or smudging, there’s none of that."

You kept touching worrisomely at your face. “Are you sure?”

“I promise.” Wonwoo confirmed, giving your hand another tight, reassuring squeeze that seemed to calm you down.

He had never seen someone switch gears that quickly. You could be perfectly amicable one second, and then break down into near hysteria the next, a slew of anxious thoughts running straight from your brain to your mouth like clockwork.

Wonwoo wondered how Mingyu dealt with such tangents all the time. The trait almost didn’t seem to fit your image.

The line moved forward another step.

“Are you going to drink anything?” You asked after a moment of silence, in a quieter voice. “I want to get the strawberry refresher.”

“Maybe.”

“What will you get?”

“I… don’t know. A regular lemonade?”

“No,” you shook your head, pointing toward the corner of the booth’s menu, “get the pina colada thing. I want to try it, too.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo agreed with a shrug as he retrieved his wallet, not really caring about what he drank. “I’ll pay for it. No worries.”

The longer Wonwoo was at the fair, the less he actually thought about why he was there, until the question leapt into his mind at random while he stood beside you, waiting for a seat on the dauntingly large Farris wheel. He removed the straw from his mouth, swallowing a gulp of his pina colada flavoured drink, and peered down at you. His hand was still interlinked with yours. You had finished the strawberry refresher in about five minutes.

Now, you were texting someone. He didn’t know if it was a friend from earlier or perhaps your boyfriend, but Wonwoo wasn’t a serious sleuth, so he opted to look away despite the natural urge that was pricking him. When you finally tucked the phone back into the small bag slung around your shoulder, Wonwoo lowered the plastic cup from his mouth, making sure to clear his throat.

“So, uh, why are we here, exactly?”

You sniffled. “What do y’mean?”

“Does the fair have anything to do with your writing? Is that why we’re riding the Farris wheel? Oh—speaking of which, I didn’t think to bring the camcorder, in case you wanted any footage.”

“Oh, no,” you said, waving a dismissive hand, “this has nothing to do with my book. We’re palate cleansing.”

“Palate cleansing?” He echoed.

“Yeah. It’s like, doing something different in between a routine, to keep yourself fresh. You always eat breakfast at home but today you skip it and go out for brunch. Y’know, shit like that.”

Wonwoo huffed in amusement. “You could have told me beforehand.”

“Uh, no—” your face scrunched up in clear disagreement, “—I couldn’t, because then you wouldn’t have gone. No offence, but you’re a hermit, Wonwoo. You don’t really like going anywhere or doing anything and you’re definitely one of those people who bores themselves into hating their own life because your stimuli is so limited. That’s why I didn’t tell. Again, no offence.”

“Oh.”

That was all he could string together in response—not even string together, because it was just one boring, monotone sound that basically got carried away in the chilly wind, tinted with the smell of buttery popcorn and weed. It sounded like something that was supposed to sting, but it didn’t really. Maybe he was growing more accustomed to your unprompted judgements on his personal life.

Suddenly Wonwoo had blinked and you two were next in line for the empty cart. The clerk pointed at Wonwoo’s drink.

“You can’t bring that with you,” he said.

Before Wonwoo could think to respond, you had already grabbed the cup from his hand, chucking it straight into the garbage.

“We’re not.”

Pulling on his hand, you guided him into the shaky cart, both of you squishing onto the cold, metal bench. It was quite literally the tamest ride in the entire fair, and yet Wonwoo was still feeling nervous about it—though, that was possibly the fact he was going to be sailed one-hundred feet into the satin black sky, left amongst the stars and the bright, shimmering halo of the moon with you and you alone. He was actually relieved you had tossed his drink, otherwise he might have dropped it due to the trembling in his fingers. It was easier to fiddle with them in order to disguise their shakiness.

“I guess I should have asked if you’re afraid of heights,” you said.

The cart jerked abruptly as the ride began to move and lift you two ever so gradually from the ground. Wonwoo peered over the edge for a brief moment to watch his distance grow from the people below, their jumbled mess of conversations fading in place of quiet.

“Uh, no. I’m okay with heights,” he finally answered.

He saw you glancing down as well, smiling to yourself.

Wonwoo wasn’t sure if he should attempt at conversation or just maintain the stillness between you. Usually, he couldn’t stand it, and the pressure to talk and fill the silence always tended to fail or squander something potentially enjoyable. But he supposed it was typically like that in a situation where two people weren’t the best acquainted—that’s why Wonwoo always quite liked Vernon, despite his rough, nonconformed edges and often vulgar way of speaking.

He was able to carry a conversation so naturally that the quieter moments never felt suffocating, instead falling exactly where they should, like puzzle pieces. But that was harder with you.

Maybe it was because you could be intimidating, unpredictable—Wonwoo was never truly relaxed around you because there was this intangible, looming worry that he needed to have the perfect responses and be the most perfect person. He found that perfect people only hung out with other perfect people and Wonwoo was certainly not that—perfect. You must have seen it by now. He was just as rough as Vernon no doubt, but in a different, hidden way that had to be dug into like an archeologist looking for broken bones.

The Ferris wheel slowed down, coming to a stop. You weren’t at the very top, though the air was notably cooler and much fresher. When he inhaled a long breath, it smelled purely of night and not overpriced, buttery fair food and burning weed. He noted that you stared straight ahead, at the crescent-shaped moon, which mirrored a backward stare with how squarely it sat in front of the ride. For once, Wonwoo wasn’t squirming, wriggling, stressing at the silence. When he spoke, he did it because he genuinely wanted to.

“How was your Saturday?”

“My Saturday?”

“Yeah. I saw the schedule. You had to run a bunch of errands with your mom. Looked like you were pretty keyed up.”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, I want to say I was overreacting the day before about how much I was dreading it. But then it fucking happened. And… I, uh… I realized I was exactly right. It was awful. I did get to your notes, though… yeah—I just—I squeezed them in between brunch with my mom’s friend who could talk herself to death and the excruciating car ride to the publisher’s office.”

“Mmhm.” Wonwoo smiled tenderly. “Did they help at all?”

“Yeah,” you breathed out, “a lot, actually… thank you.”

“I’m sorry your Saturday went so terribly.”

Huffing in response, you nibbled on your inner check.

“Yeah, well, it is what it is… I already knew it was gonna be a shit show. So, what is it that you write about, anyway? Because you seem like you know a whole lot. Seokmin says you let him read some of your poetry, but it was only like, two excerpts.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Wonwoo recalled the memory of Seokmin picking up his leather notebook when it fell out from his bag one day. He’d pestered him about the contents until Wonwoo succumbed and presented him with some lifeless, impatiently scribbled prose that he’d most likely jerked out on the bus or in between his lectures. Seokmin seemed to treat it like fine, prestigious gold, though Wonwoo knew it was the least personal of his work that he would never let another living soul on the planet breathe—not one scent of the ink or even the paper.

“So, you write poetry?”

“I started writing poetry, haikus and all that easy stuff. I developed the interest a lot more through high school. But I never sat down and tried writing anything like a novel until I... I started uni.”

“Yeah. Deciding to be a math major. I still don’t get it,” you sighed, fidgeting with some rings on your fingers. “But what do you even write about? Like, what’s your inspiration?”

Wonwoo paused, looking down at his knees.

“… Life.”

“Life?” You defeatedly slumped into the seat. “That’s the million dollar answer your intelligent brain chose to erect? It’s just that when I think about it, I’m letting you help me with my writing, but I’ve never even read a little smidgen of yours. How’s that fair?”

The higher the Farris Wheel climbed, the stronger the breeze blew, and Wonwoo could feel its tendrils lashing across his cheeks and parting through his hair. You huddled further into your jacket.

“Well, you took Seokmin’s word for it,” Wonwoo laughed.

Your eyes rolled, but you smiled gently. “I know.”

Suddenly, your hand had reached out, and you were pushing the floppy, black tresses off his forehead. Wonwoo’s fingers dug bluntly into his arms. You then angled yourself in the small cart, looking back at him, sculpting your gaze to each crest in his face.

“Why don’t you ever push your hair back?”

The question hit the dark, cold atmosphere like a sizzling ember and Wonwoo was afraid to even open his mouth because he was certain a dying squeak would come out. You continued to play around with the locks, earthing your fingers deep into its texture and attempting to style it despite the persistent, fluttering breeze.

“Um…”

“If you styled it like this—” you moved in closer, staring with so much focus at your nimble movements, “—yeah, like that. It shows off your forehead, gives you a bit of class. I mean, the wind’s messing it up. You don’t tend to do anything with your hair.”

“No.” Wonwoo swallowed, hard.

“Well, you should. Not all the time, obviously. And I’m not saying you look bad with it down—not at all. But you’ve got nice, smouldering features and they’re so much more… framed… when you show your forehead.” You collapsed back into the seat, and that tingly feeling he experienced when your fingers had been tugging and pulling was disseminating throughout his entire body. “I mean, look at how my friends reacted to you. I should apologize for that again, by the way. O-M-F-G, they see one hot guy, and they lose their grip.”

He nearly choked. “Hot?”

It didn’t sound right. Not at all.

“Well, what the fuck, Wonwoo? You’re not ugly.”

“Did you think that when you first saw me?”

You had folded your leg again as the Farris wheel came to another stop. This time, at the very top, at the centre of the night.

“Did I think what? That you’re not ugly?”

“Never mind,” Wonwoo grimaced, hearing the cart creek as you better positioned yourself to face him. “It’s pathetic like that.”

“No. I didn’t think you were ugly. Did you think I was ugly?”

Wonwoo wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of the question, but he smothered it down because he knew one little laugh might hit your ear the wrong way, and it would be flames, sputtering and spewing. Obviously, he didn’t think you were ugly—he never had, even before he ever spoke to you. But he wasn’t so shallow as to only regard someone’s physical appearance. You were still terrifying.

“I wouldn’t consider anyone ugly... and I wouldn’t ever use it to describe some aesthetically. But—I mean, I think people can become ugly through their personality, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah, like, if they’re rotten inside.”

“Mmhm.”

“I agree.”

“What was that word your friend Bells said?”

You shrugged, “which word?”

“She said something like, you’re super… I don’t know… super something.”

“Oh—” you sat up more in the cart, your back pressed against the uncomfortable corner, “—Bells said you were super gorge.”

“Meaning…”

“Meaning super gorgeous.” You made a big show of the rehashed compliment, parroting your friend's tone and swaying your shoulders.

“Oh… really?” Wonwoo shook his head. “I thought she was referring to gorge as in when you gorge yourself, from eating.”

“No,” you giggled at him, “it’s a short form, dumb-dumb.”

“Why make a short form out of that? Is it really that strenuous to say the word gorgeous? It’s only an extra syllable.”

“Okay, well, this isn’t the nineteen-twenties. We don’t all cross our T’s and dot our I’s. It reminds me of how you text.”

He furrowed his brow. “How do I text?”

Your eyes rolled frivolously. “I dunno. Like you’re typing to a business colleague or something. You’re so formal. When I think of you texting, I imagine it’s like someone using a typewriter. And that funny little ding sound it makes whenever you start a new line.”

“Oh.”

“What—no one’s ever told you that before? No way.”

“That I text like I’m using a fucking typewriter? No, actually. I can’t say I’ve heard that.”

“Well, it’s not a big deal. You’re just not very plugged into the internet, I suppose. Which is a good thing. It gives you prestige.”

At that, Wonwoo chuckled. “Does it?”

“Yes,” you smiled, eyes full of starlight, “and—just ignore Bells, okay? She was being kind of weird but that can be fully attributed to those three shots I told her not to take.”

“Hm.”

You continued to stare at him with a plotting smile.

“Hm what? What’s the matter?” The metal of the cart squeaked as you leaned forward, your voice suddenly lathered in mischief. “Did you think she was cute?” He heard your tone drop, and your low, smooth voice breathing hot against his ear. “Did you think about fucking her, Wonwoo?”

“No—what the fuck—not at all.” Quickly, he’d pushed you away and off his shoulder, to which you retreated into the corner with a giggle that should have made his skin crawl, but didn’t.

“Well, how would I know?” You answered, tilting your head and stretching out your arms high into the blackness, as though you were trying to reach for a star. “I never know, because you never look at me. It makes me think you just lied and you do think I’m ugly.”

Wonwoo glanced over the edge of the cart, at the almost nauseating distance between himself and the fairgrounds, covered with miniature, bustling people that seemed like breadcrumbs by comparison to their place in the sky. He didn’t want to sink into this conversation. Besides, how was he supposed to look at you when your fingers were just gliding through his hair and your lips were whispering close enough to brush up against his ear? How was he supposed to act composed? Normal?

“Hey, Wonwoo?” Your fingers snapped.

But he just kept thinking. Like he was cut from a separate cloth than you—the fabric of his universe wasn’t woven with yours and he could ruminate as much as he wanted to and it was impossible to hear your intrusions. Why couldn’t he look at you?

You intimidated him, yes. You scared him, double yes.

He already knew that. It couldn’t just be that.

“Wonwoo? God… you shut down over the simplest things.”

“I don’t know.”

You paused, staring him up and down, perplexed.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know why I can’t look at you.”

There was a lasting silence between you. Wonwoo felt like he might throw up for acknowledging the fact out loud, and his fist tightened in his lap as though to ground himself—to remember where he was and to breathe slowly, because having a panic attack on top of a stupid Ferris Wheel was the last place it should happen. He hadn’t even realized that you’d shifted closer, one leg curled beneath you while you spoke at the side of his head. But he didn’t hear you, couldn’t see you—there was a harsh void inside him that sounded like suctioning air and static. His fingernail was pressing so deeply into the flesh of his pale skin that it was beginning to faintly bleed.

And—all of a sudden—there were these hands cautiously gripping onto his face, pulling him toward you. He kept staring at the movement of your soft lips, focusing on their pronunciation until everything flooded back in one overwhelming whirl and it felt like being slammed by a freight train.

Wonwoo then grabbed onto your bare knee as a crutch. He didn’t mean to. But you didn’t seem to care.

“—everything okay? Wonwoo? Do I need to like, call someone? Because you look like you’re going to be sick.”

He heaved in a gaping breath, feeling how cold the midnight air was in the thinning atmosphere that encompassed him. It was soothing, akin to a hand massaging along his back.

“Wonwoo?” You repeated his name, sounding awfully scared.

Pulling off his glasses, he rubbed at his eyes. He blurrily saw you touch the spot on your knee where his hand had buried into.

“Sorry,” he then coughed through the heartbeat raspy in his throat, bringing the glasses back to his face, “I spaced out.”

“Spaced out?” You echoed. “That wasn’t spacing out.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He thought you fight might it.

“Well…” you sighed, glancing around uncertainly, “are you okay? Is there someone you want to call? I don’t know.”

But you didn’t. Thank God.

“No, I’m—” he stopped, gulping back the words.

“… Yeah?” There was a softer intrigue in your cadence.

Wonwoo looked at you. Fully this time. He looked straight into your eyes that were like a glossy, moonlit ocean, detailed with swirling riptides of surprise and apprehensiveness, but also immense depth that seemed genuinely appreciative of his gesture.

“I’m fine.”

And then he watched you nod, smile, and in return study his cavern eyes with the same intensity and wonder. It was such a peculiar experience, staring at you, understanding a little more of your truth, your gentleness.

He didn’t feel as scared.

—MAY 16TH.

Wonwoo had been standing before the mirror in his washroom for the past half-hour or so, primarily just staring, examining, and pulling at the long, limp fronds of his hair. There was a point in his life when he legitimately put effort into styling it, and all his old hair products were still sitting in the cabinet. Though, his ex-girlfriend had tended to help him with it most days, because he found the strands were just too thick and stubborn to work with.

However, since the Spring Street Fair, Wonwoo hadn’t been able to shake those comments you made—about how nicely his face could be framed and the smouldering nature of his features. He would never think to describe himself that way as it seemed particularly pompous and kind of foolish, but hearing you say it was different. The thing was, Wonwoo had no idea where to start, and attempting to rummage his fingers through his hair just didn’t feel as stimulating or electric compared to your meticulous, sweet touch.

In the midst of opening his cabinet for a comb, Wonwoo heard his phone vibrate. He looked down at the sink, seeing the screen brighten with a text notification from Vernon.

[ Vernon | 12:54 pm ]: hey Glasses

[ Vernon | 12:54 pm ]: Solar Pop at 2?

Wonwoo thought about it for a moment, running his thumb down the spine of the comb to hear the little thwip. And then he sighed in decision, texting back a thumbs up. It’s not like he was working later, and as much as Wonwoo would love to believe that today might be the day he made actual progress on his own story, he knew it was just wishful thinking. In reality he’d waste ample time staring into the document, pondering all the scenes and emotions and nuances he could write rather than moving to write anything at all.

Besides, he hadn’t eaten yet today. The thought of a juicy, sauce-slathered, bun-toasted burger being his first meal prompted the boy’s face to sallow greenly with sickness, but the longer he stood in the washroom, combing and slicking and running styling balm through the black bird’s nest on his head, Wonwoo felt the hunger start to bite like an emaciated, starved dog. He left his apartment knowing he would be somewhat late, but Vernon was always later.

And while Wonwoo sat in one of the booths at Solar Pop, flicking the laminated menu back and forth despite knowing the exact order he was going to place, he thought about sending Vernon another text to ask where the hell he even was. Wonwoo could only sip his slippery glass of coke for so long until the waitress decided he was crazy and had been one-hundred percent stood up.

“Hey, fuck, I’m here.”

2:24 pm—that’s when Vernon finally arrived, sliding himself into the leather bench opposite to Wonwoo while tossing his big, metallic clump of keys onto the table. The boy then proceeded to shimmy off his black jacket, propping his elbows onto the table.

If Vernon ever pulled a tardy stunt like that with you, Wonwoo imagined his friend would probably get stuffed into one of those boxes for sawing people in half. Except it wouldn’t be magic.

“Did you get pulled over or something? Police raid? Traffic stop?” Wonwoo asked, now resting his menu down flat.

Vernon laughed, shaking his head. “Uh, no. Couldn’t find my fuckin’ car keys,” he spoke in a breathless voice. “Sorry ‘bout it.”

“Couldn’t find them?” Wonwoo almost scoffed at the excuse while his friend began scouring his way through the menu. “Dude, they’re the fucking size of a bowling ball. How could you lose them?”

“Okay, okay. Fuckin’ skin me alive, why don’t you?”

“You didn’t come from your place, I’m guessing.”

At that, Vernon began to grin, the metal on his pierced lip glinting underneath a ray of sunlight through the blinds. He was still occupied with choosing which burger he wanted. Wonwoo picked the same choice every time. Vernon always tried something different.

“No, I didn’t,” he rasped, flashing his sharp teeth and flipping the menu over, “but when Maleeha Rabia sends you a text at goddamn one in the morning of her tits, you don’t roll over n’ go to bed like some loser. Besides, my ecstasy was just sittin’ around and I had to use it one way or another. Anyway, doesn’t fuckin’ matter. I think I’ll get the Double Bacon Crunch Burger. Sounds good as hell.”

Finally, Vernon threw the menu down with conviction.

“Jesus Christ—” his copper-burnt eyes then flared open as he looked across the table at his friend, “—who the fuck are you?”

Wonwoo itched his nose. “Um, what?”

Vernon leaned forward, seeming captivated. “Uh, your fuckin’ hair? How’d you get it like that? It’s all brushed over and soft lookin’ and shit. I feel like I shouldn’t be sittin’ with you, Prince Charmin’.”

“I just put some balm in it, combed it around,” he answered, reaching for his drink. “Took me a humiliating amount of time.”

“Well, consider me starstruck. What’s made you do all that?”

Before Wonwoo could answer, the waitress returned to the table with her small notepad and shiny pen. Vernon pitched his order first, and Wonwoo followed, asking for the regular quarter-pounder with a side of hot crinkle-cut fries. Once she whisked the menus away and promised to grab Vernon’s root beer float, Wonwoo realized he still had to answer his friend’s question. He didn’t exactly want to tell the truth, because he knew Vernon would never let him hear the end of it, but Wonwoo also didn’t want to be too dishonest.

“Your face is doin’ that thing.”

“What thing?” Wonwoo answered, swallowing his sip of soda.

Vernon crossed his arms on the table, accenting the canvas of darkly-inked tattoos needled into his skin. He shook his head.

“It’s ‘cause of your little girlyfriend, isn’t it?”

Fuck. Wonwoo should have just opened his mouth straight away and spieled out some quick-witted lie. Now he would be painfully subject to Vernon’s unfiltered teasing. Leaning back in his seat, Wonwoo unearthed a miserable sigh at Vernon’s smirk.

“You’ve gotta drop that bullshit.”

“It’s true,” Vernon pressured.

“No, it’s not.”

As though to interpret Wonwoo’s steadfastness as a challenge, Vernon leaned further over the table, dropping his voice but still smiling devilishly through every word he mimicked between his teeth.

“Oh, Wonwoo, your hair looks so fucking sexy like that. It makes you look so perfect. You’re from my dreams. Please, just fuck me right here, right now so I can push my fingers through it ‘cause it’s so soft and silky and I’m basically in love with you.”

“Shut the fuck up. Please.”

“That was a good impression, though, wasn’t it?”

In the loud space of Wonwoo’s disgusted silence, the waitress placed Vernon’s drink onto the table and ensured the food would be coming soon. Vernon watched her walk away, back into the kitchen.

“Hey,” he then grinned in capitulating fashion, “take a stupid joke, alright? I know she’s not in love with you and she doesn’t wanna suck your dick—she’s got a fuckin’ boyfriend. If it makes you feel any better, I’m just projectin’ ‘cause you know I’m jealous.”

Wonwoo sucked in a sip from his coke, shaking his head.

“There’s nothing to be jealous of.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Vernon dismissed, poking his spoon at the near perfect scoop of vanilla ice cream afloat in the frosty mug, “but just so y’know, your mopey ass left me out to dry on Sunday night. Shoved me off the phone, didn’t respond to one of my texts. You’re lucky I even asked you t’hang today. Did she take your phone or something’?”

Shit. When Vernon said it like that, Wonwoo seemed like a terrible friend. Maybe he did deserve a deal of teasing. But at the same time, Wonwoo knew how easy it was for your attitude to flip and he hadn’t been at all interested in starting the night with hostility.

“Okay, fair.” He admitted, rolling up his sleeves.

“And?” Vernon raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“I’m sorry.”

“There you fuckin’ go. That’s all I wanted t’hear, Glasses.”

The truth was, Wonwoo actually quite enjoyed his time with you that night—despite the transient, bickering hiccups and his nearly faltering panic attack, he had fun. Actual fun. Of course, as soon as your ride ended on the Ferris wheel, you’d clutched onto his hand like a snake sinking in its fangs and dragged him throughout the entirety of the fair to find a washroom. Nonetheless, he really loved playing some carnival games with you, like skee ball and the water pistol. He was even able to win you a pink stuffed bear that you had carried close to the chest for the remainder of your time at the fair.

Wonwoo thought he could spend another night like that with you again. Just to get out of his apartment, to feel exhilaration in the pit of his stomach, to laugh until his lungs dried out, to hold your warm, comforting hand in his even when it became too clammy or inconvenient because otherwise you would scold him for letting go.

“Food’s on the way,” Vernon perked up like a child about to be served a slice of birthday cake as the waitress walked over with two full plates, “if you can’t finish yours, I’ll take it.”

“Yeah—how about you focus on chewing and not choking to death first,” Wonwoo sighed, watching his friend’s metaphorical tail wag.

Once she set the food down, inquiring about any refills, and left while flashing her perfected customer service smile, Vernon grabbed the burger with both his hands, taking a gigantic, succulent bite that somehow didn’t singe the roof of his mouth. Wonwoo winced, instead going for his crisped, golden fries.

“Damn. You’re really that hungry?”

“I’m ravenous,” Vernon mumbled, picking up a few caramelized onions that fell onto his plate. “Dude, I woke up at noon in Maleeha’s bed. She was out cold. Nothin’ in her pantry but some stale fuckin’ Fruit Loops that I may have tried. I’m a grown ass man. I need a meal.”

“I’m glad you’re so proactive," Wonwoo answered, sinking his burning hot fry into the small side-bowl of ketchup.

It took them less than half an hour to clean their plates. Wonwoo tended to eat at a slower pace, with smaller, more savoury bites, while Vernon sloppily devoured his entire burger and gobbled down his fries with the occasional dipping into the root beer float’s ice cream. They scarcely talked in between, too focused on eating and drinking. Wonwoo pushed away his plate when he’d finished and proceeded to wipe off his salty, crumb-speckled fingers with a napkin, meanwhile Vernon took a moment to sink backward into the leather seat, placing a hand over his full, satiated stomach.

“Hey, do y’think they have any Life Savers?” He eventually piped up while sticking a toothpick into his mouth. “I want grape.”

Wonwoo scoffed, tossing the napkin onto his plate and taking out his phone. “Who the fuck likes grape?”

“Me, you smartass,” Vernon answered, turning backward in his seat and scanning the restaurant for any colourful candy bowls.

He couldn’t deny that he was hoping to see a text from you, but there was nothing, and his chest dropped. Wonwoo decided to open the schedule you had made, curious as to what you were even doing today—work until five o’clock, and then you were going out for supper with some friends at Terra Cotta.

He thought about texting you. His thumbs kept hovering above the keyboard in contemplation, even though he knew for certain he wouldn’t text anything. He would just stare and hope.

“Holy shit. Uh, oh my God. Wonwoo. I-I see—”

Vernon had suddenly reached a hand onto the table, slapping the lacquered wood a few times to garner his attention.

“What?” He mumbled in agitation, keeping his focus glued to the phone. “If you see the Life Savers just go up and take some. I swear, they’re not gonna fucking care you’re not twelve years old.”

“No, no, no, dumbass,” Vernon hissed, turning back around in the booth, his honey eyes glistering in oils of dread and panic. “Look, actually look. That’s Mingyu, isn’t it?”

Immediately, Wonwoo clicked off his phone, instead squinting into the distant corner of the restaurant where a notably tall, black-haired boy with tanned, amber skin had emerged from a doorway, standing in a somehow casual but imposing way that only be Mingyu.

It must be Mingyu, and that fact became glaringly obvious when Wonwoo made the unintentional, floundering mistake of staring straight into the boy’s wandering and earthen brown eyes.

“Oh my fuckin’ God, oh my fuckin’ God,” Vernon kept reiterating under his breath, bouncing his knee like an anxious student waiting for their test. “He definitely saw us. Or—he definitely saw you. This is so bad, man. I think he’s gonna rock me.”

“What?” Wonwoo whispered back harshly, attempting to float his gaze away from Mingyu in a casual manner. “For what reason?”

It seemed like Vernon almost wanted to gag at him. “Um—because of what fuckin’ happened between me n’ his girl! At that party? I told you about that shit, didn’t I?” He rasped from across the table, his bottom lip worried between biting teeth. “Dude, what if he tries to pull a fast one? You’re what—like six foot something? You have to help back me up. I can throw a pretty solid punch—even better when I’m shit-faced—but that might not be enough. Lady Liberty’s built like a brick.”

“Okay, you’re acting crazy,” Wonwoo uttered in disbelief. “I doubt he’s going to be anything but physical, especially in a public place. And, you said you didn’t know Her was in a relationship.”

“How the fuck do I know he knows that? Can’t exactly use my infectious charm on someone whose girlfriend I tried to rail.”

Vernon somehow dared to spare another rapid glance over his shoulder, only to shed an entire mould of colour from his complexion.

“He’s coming, he’s—”

“Shut up and relax,” Wonwoo mumbled. “I’m sure it’s nothing big—he’ll say a thing or two and be on his way. God, I’ll handle it.”

For some reason, Wonwoo thought he should be sinking into consternation a lot more than he actually was, but it’s not that his chest wasn’t thumping or his mind wasn’t spinning amuck with worry. It was more so that he was managing the whirlwind, as best he could, as much as he could manage. Mingyu wasn’t a complete stranger, and all their past interactions had been boringly cordial or even forgettable. Nonetheless, Wonwoo would still prefer to avoid the boy because that made his life simpler in the grand scheme of anxiety.

“Hey, Wonwoo,” Mingyu approached the table with a confident, leisurely stride, extending his large hand for Wonwoo to grab, exchanging a dap. “I almost didn’t recognize you for a sec.”

“All good,” Wonwoo answered, attempting a polite grin that felt much more sweltering on the inside than out. “How’ve you been?”

Mingyu shrugged, burying his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants while he gazed at the slitted curtains for a moment, pondering his reply. “Decent. Playing a lot of basketball. I don’t think I’ve seen you since I came to the pharmacy. You still there?”

“Still there.”

“Well, at least I haven’t had to come in for a fuckin’ pregnancy test yet. That’s good I suppose, yeah?” The boy chuckled, then tilting his head a certain way to crack a stiff spot in his neck.

“Aisle five if you ever need it.”

Mingyu responded with a smirk that perhaps lasted a second too long, and these slimming, analyzing eyes—a gaze that Wonwoo felt ripple in his gut. He chose to believe it was nothing dire, or else he would spiral right there on the spot and lose all fine-tuned control.

Meanwhile Vernon had been sitting quietly the entire time, most likely hoping he would remain in the dark, skulking shadows outside Wonwoo’s spotlight. But he must not have been hoping hard enough, because Mingyu proceeded to smile at him, again extending his hand for another dap, which Vernon yielded apprehensively.

“You’re a pretty recognizable guy, unfortunately,” Mingyu acknowledged with a husky laugh—a clear reference to the boy’s identifying tattoos and numerous facial piercings, “I think you deal to at least a third of my friends. It’s Vernon, right?”

“Mmhm. Yes sir.” To Vernon’s luck, he had a well-polished and gleaming smile that made it impossible for him to seem disingenuous, though Wonwoo knew he was wilting inside.

“I’m sorry about Dots.”

“Oh, uh. All good. It is what it is, y’know?”

Mingyu nodded.

“Hey—those tattoos are crazy good. Where’d you get them?”

Vernon looked across his arm. “Thanks. Mostly Liquid Impact—dude there that I call Funfetti ‘cause he eats Funfetti box cake all the time. Uh, but his actual name’s like, Axel or some white-boy shit like that. He’s done a majority of it. The others—man, I don’t know. Half the time I’m off my fuckin’ face and wake up with shit I never remember.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mingyu sniffed, running a hand through his long, shiny onyx locks of hair. “Guess you also don’t remember promising my girlfriend the best sex of her life, right?”

At that, Vernon looked straight to Wonwoo, and Wonwoo returned the enlarged, incinerating stare straight back, reading the split-second terror that swam like flopping fish in Vernon’s eyes. The atmosphere hit the ground with a palpable and ugly shatter.

“Yeah, um—about that—”

Mingyu then balanced backward on his foot for a moment, beginning to chuckle, sway his head, as though to dismiss the entire accusation in the same intense breadth it was mentioned.

“Nah, nah. I’m playing around,” the boy chuckled, rubbing at his nose. “You didn’t know she was taken. No hard feelings, yeah?”

Vernon immediately nodded his agreement, and the tension nailed into his broad shoulder line seemed to melt. “For sure. No hard feelings. I mean, she’s beautiful. Can’t even imagine what it’s like bein’ her boyfriend when you’ve got sluts like me around.”

Mingyu grinned, “no, you’re good. I know she gave you some attitude about it. Bit of a troublemaker herself. But, yeah. Water under the bridge.” The boy’s attention then turned back to Wonwoo, who was more than eager to somehow extinguish the conversation from you as a topic. “I know she’s hangs out with you right now.”

“Oh, yeah,” Wonwoo hummed, “the book thing.”

“She doesn’t like talking to me about it.”

“Well, don’t stress,” he answered, catching the sunlight that blitzed through the curtains and dipped like a gold paintbrush into the boy’s eyes, turning them to warm molasses, “she’ll show you the whole damn thing when it’s over and done with.”

Mingyu huffed, “I thought she’d have dropped it by now.”

“I don’t think she will. She’s pretty committed.”

“Hm.” He nodded simply in response, kissing his teeth.

Vernon folded his arms, leaning back into the leather seat with the toothpick again sitting in his mouth. “You got any plans for the summer, then? Doesn’t your pal always throw a huge party?”

“Yeah, actually. Doing it this year if we can manage. Seungcheol’s parents pretty much spend their entire summer bouncing around all the Great Lakes. We’re gonna do a co-hosting type deal and—shit, since you’re here, this is really good timing.” Mingyu then looked down at Vernon and lowered his gravelly voice. “I know what your main gig is. What about blow? You sell it?”

A slow but gradual, catlike grin trudged the edges of Vernon’s mouth, to which he pulled out his toothpick and set his elbows onto the table. “Look, can’t chop it up here, man. Ask one of your friends for my burner. I can get you to the ski slope, but it costs, obviously.”

“Nah, that’s fine. It’s just—my last plug fell through.”

“Tough.”

“Yeah. Okay, well, I should get going. I’ll follow up with you later. Do you care if Seungcheol knows the number, too?”

“No,” Vernon shrugged, planting the toothpick into the corner of his mouth and flicking it with his tongue, “just don’t go throwin’ it around. I could only get enough for a couple people, anyway.”

“All good. Okay—later, guys.”

Mingyu stepped away from the table with a wave and a flash of his pearled, charming smile, nothing but the mild scent of his fresh and expensive-smelling cologne to swirl through the now vacant space. In true espionage fashion, Wonwoo and Vernon both picked open the slots between the restaurant curtains, cautiously observing the boy’s stride into the parking lot and onto the sidewalk, where he at last disappeared into the warm, sunny afternoon.

Heaving a gigantic exhausted breath, Wonwoo took off his glasses and set them in his lap, massaging deep into his eye sockets.

“Y’know, he’s not that fuckin’ bad,” Vernon commented, “I mean, he scares the shit outta me, but that could have gone worse.”

"Jesus Christ—I can’t believe what I just watched.”

His friend laughed, banging his fist excitedly enough on the table to engender the silverware clattering on their plates. “Ha! I know, right? Dude—Seungcheol and Mingyu are the kingpins of that fuckin’ university you go to. They can cough up the big bucks for that shit. Just imagine the distribution pay I'm gonna get with them on my roster—actually, that couldn’t have gone better.”

“And where are you gonna get it?” Wonwoo pressured, at last settling his glasses back on, clarifying Vernon’s smudged, blurry face.

“Well, let me fuck around and work my magic.”

“I don’t want him to use you.”

“Pfft. I don’t give no fucks about being used,” Vernon cackled, wearing a self-indulgent, luminous smile and continuing to play around with the toothpick while he readied his wallet to pay. “You know what you should worry about, Glasses? Sweet talkin’ the fuck outta that dude’s girl and securin' yourself an invite. You probably don’t even need to try sweet talkin’—she obviously likes you.”

“No,” Wonwoo grumbled, “no way.”

“You don’t want to go?”

“Why would I want to go, dumbass? The last time I went to a party, I ran into you. They’re loud and suffocating. I’ll pass.” Wonwoo also pulled out his wallet, taking his card. “Besides, I get the sense Mingyu doesn’t trust me a whole lot. I’m not gonna stir the pot.”

Vernon shook his head. “You stir the pot every time you hang out with his girl to go write romantic poetry and run around, gigglin’ at Spring Street. N’yeah, exactly. You met me. I don’t get the fuss.”

“It’s nothing like that," Wonwoo answered in frustration.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a Patron Saint. I just want my Life Saver.”

—MAY 19TH.

Wonwoo was going to your apartment today for the first time, and it had nearly killed him in the process.

His abhorrent sleep schedule hung over his head every single instance he woke up at lunchtime, the entirety of his mornings wasted to weathered heartbreak and its lasting, stained consequences. Needing to be at your apartment for ten had Wonwoo buckling his face into anguished hands the night before, wondering how he was going to pull off such a triumph without wishing for death.

He did know one thing for certain—the sound of his alarm erupting into its timely, strident beeping made him instantly sick. In fact, the first thing Wonwoo did was half-stumble in complete bleariness out from his bed, dragging a white sheet along by his ankle as he burst into the washroom and hung his head over the toilet like he was sweating through a wicked hangover. But it wasn’t alcohol. It was months of bad, soul-stitched habit festered up in stomach bile and perhaps, a hatred for himself. It was his own fault, in a way.

And yet, when you texted him a half-hour later to reconfirm your address, Wonwoo replied with not the slightest hint that he was feeling pretty fucking terrible. The headache and shudders followed him down the street, onto the bus, and into the lobby of your notably opulent apartment complex. He felt rather incongruous amongst all the marble—the white trim, the clean, untainted air, even the breakfast table with dispensable lemon water and small, fruit-topped pastries that somehow made Wonwoo want to kill himself.

He looked down at his phone.

[ Her | 9:10 am ]: 717 thorton street, unit 61

[ Her | 9:45 am ]: are you almost here? :)

Wonwoo pressed the button to the elevator.

[ Wonwoo | 9:50 am ]: Yes. In the building.

His phone vibrated immediately with a text.

[ Her | 9:50 am ]: I’m so excited

The doors pulled apart. Wonwoo stepped aside for a couple who were leaving the elevator before he entered. Quickly, he clicked the button to close the doors, not wanting to share the space with anyone but himself and the headache throbbing at the forefront of his cranium. He sighed, glancing at his texts again to reply.

[ Wonwoo | 9:51 am ]: Do you have any Tylenol?

[ Her | 9:51 am ]: most def

[ Her | 9:51 am ]: what’s wrong?

[ Wonwoo | 9:52 am ]: Nothing much. Just a headache.

When he didn’t receive an immediate answer, he assumed you had put the phone down to search your medicine cabinet. Getting off the elevator, Wonwoo proceeded to find the correct apartment. He put his fist up to the door, and then, at the last second, stopped.

There it was again—the same melting pot of anxiety and butterflies that had bubbled up when you first visited his place.

He supposed the feelings never truly disappeared each time he would see you, and he was beginning to detest it. Why couldn’t his body just adapt? Get over it? What purpose did it serve to constantly remind him of his unkempt emotions? It was like the idea of you terrified him more than you as an actual person, because in person, he felt comfort, as crazy as it sounded. So why couldn’t his anxiety and security just complete that stupid sliver of a synapse for once?

Knock knock.

After a moment, the handle clicked, and the door to sumptuous unit 61 was pulled open. For the first time, Wonwoo saw your face without any makeup, and it sort of made him stutter in his words—not that he was shocked in abhorrence at the contrast, more so the vulnerability behind it, the fact you felt comfortable enough to shed your compulsion with always presenting a perfect, glamoured face. He was pleased to see you were in a fuzzy pair of pink shorts and a white, thin long-sleeve that were basically pyjamas.

Maybe it was weird to think, but you seemed more human.

“You made good timing. I’m impressed.”

“Thanks,” Wonwoo answered while stepping inside, toeing off his sneakers next to your plethora of shoes at the doormat.

“I would obviously say tour first, but I have your Tylenol sitting on the counter over here, for your headache. Can you dry swallow or do you need water?”

“Dry swallow?” Wonwoo laughed, following you toward the kitchen area. “Who the fuck dry swallows any sort of pill?”

“I don’t know! Personally, I don’t. But there are some freaks out there who do. I was actually testing you. And you passed.”

“Lucky me,” he sighed.

Taking a seat at one of stools displayed around the large, granite-surface island, Wonwoo waited for you to pour him some water. Obviously, the apartment was spacious, gorgeous—the large, white-fluffed rug in the centre of the living room was definitely suited to you, though he was surprised by the tall, lush potted plants aligned by the window panelling. He didn’t know you had a green thumb.

While placing down the water, you shifted closely into the seat beside him, and Wonwoo could smell the scent of strawberries on your skin. You let your chin press into the hammock made with your hands, watching as he set the pill on his tongue and gulped it down.

“So, is it really bad?”

Wonwoo turned the glass back and forth atop its coaster, deciding on whether or not he should tell the truth. It always tended to sting him when he lied, and so he turned to you, shrugging.

“I felt it when I woke up. But it’s manageable.”

“Oh, I get that sometimes.”

“It’s because of my repulsive sleep schedule, no doubt.”

You smiled at him, adjusting your leg under the island.

“Is that why you prefer afternoons all the time?”

“Pretty much. It’s a horrible habit. I’ll break it somehow, I’m sure. Just a stupid hump to get over. Anyway—” Wonwoo slung the laptop bag off his shoulder and onto the counter, “—your place looks pretty sweet. How are you? What’s the plan for today?”

“Well,” you hummed, slapping an arm down onto the reflective granite, “I’ve wrote some more this week. I’d love for you to proofread it. Maybe we can go out for lunch later, but you’d need to give me time to get ready. I mean, I did shower this morning…”

He watched you pause, and then swallow. "You don’t care, do you?”

“About what?” Wonwoo answered.

“Oh, well—never mind, then.”

“No, what is it? What don’t I care about?”

You started to grin, hiding half your face with a hand that slowly scraped across your cheek, as though to rub off any remaining lethargy from the morning light. Wonwoo waited for you to answer.

“… I look like a mole.”

He at last realized what you meant.

“No, you don’t.”

“I was just feeling lazy. I know, gasp, what an insane word to come from my mouth. But I’m glad you don’t care. I didn’t think you would, but I still wasn’t sure. At least your reaction wasn’t obvious. My chin is breaking out so please don’t stare at it, if you can help it.”

“Oh, well, you know, you look—” that one banished word almost slipped, but Wonwoo smoothly mended the break, “you—you have nothing to worry about. I get breakouts, too. It sucks, but it’s life.”

Your bare, soft face turned cheerful in a fawning smile.

“I know. I guess I'm just not very used to the feeling of people seeing me like this. Did you want to do lunch later?”

Wonwoo leaned back in the small seat, running his hands up his knees, knowing damn well he hadn’t eaten breakfast.

“Uh, I should probably start with like, cereal or something.”

“You didn’t eat?”

“No appetite.”

“I’ll fix you something. Unfortunately, no cereal. But I'll get some the next time Mingyu and I do groceries. So, what do you like best? Toast? Oatmeal? Scrambled eggs and toast? Orange juice? Bagel?”

At the mere mention of orange juice, his fist clenched. Attempting not to dwell so obviously, Wonwoo straightened up and smiled.

“I like toast.”

“That’s good. It’ll be easy on your stomach.”

Wonwoo watched you squeeze off the stool and open the fridge to pull out a plastic bag of bread. He watched you stand on your tiptoes to reach into the highest cupboard and grab a plate. He watched you pop open a jar of fresh raspberry jam and slot the bread into the toaster. He could watch you do anything, it seemed.

Anything at all.

It took Wonwoo about half an hour to eat his raspberry toast and skim through the newest additions to your document. You were getting more into the thick of your relationship with Mingyu—just as you’d warned—but Wonwoo was able to gloss most cloying paragraphs without too much bitterness or personal weight clouding his possible critiques. Wonwoo was still seated at the island, meanwhile you were lying face down on the plump-cushioned couch, an arm dangling off the side. In a morbid way, you looked very much dead if not for the shallow rising and dipping of your back.

“Done, for the most part.”

Your head perked up, and he was relieved to see you hadn’t fallen asleep or suffocated. “When will you add your notes?”

“After lunch. Is that okay?”

“Mmhm.”

“So…” Wonwoo slid down in the chair, reaching out his arms with a gigantic yawn, “you actually snuck into his basketball game?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, letting your chin snuggle into the blanket strewn underneath you, “I was obsessed with him. I couldn’t help it.”

“I wouldn’t expect your first date to be at the nature museum. The way you wrote about the butterfly exhibit was nice, though.”

“It was fun. Mingyu wasn’t the biggest fan, but I had always wanted to go. There was this huge skeleton of a blue whale, and sometimes the museum would play the whale’s ballad—” you flopped onto your back, staring up at the ceiling with a tender, ardent laugh as your fingers twirled the fluffy knots of the throw, “—it used to scare Mingyu so bad. He kept telling me he was gonna leave our date unless we went to another exhibit.”

“The sound can be pretty jarring if you’ve never heard it before, to be fair,” Wonwoo reasoned, now massaging down his legs.

Shoving your body to sit upright on the couch, you poked out your tongue at him, grinning, “don’t defend his loserness.”

He huffed in response, “my bad.”

“Should we do a tour now? I really want to show you my room. And if I keep lying on the couch, I’ll fall asleep.”

“Uh, sure. Do you want me to wash my plate?”

“No, no, it’s fine. Just leave it in the sink.”

After Wonwoo cleaned off the granite island, he came to join you in the living room, the white rug resembling what he imagined a cloud to feel like underneath his socked feet.

A thought had suddenly popped into his head.

“There’s a nature museum here, too.”

You grabbed the blanket, wearing it like a shawl around your shoulders. Wonwoo had never seen you so sleepy before.

“I know.”

“Have you ever gone?”

“No. Not at all. I did ask Mingyu once when we first came here for university. But I think he was still mortified from the whale thing. I dunno. Anyway, is that your round-about way of asking if I ever want to go? Because I would, to help with the story.”

Wonwoo scratched along his collarbone, heated with the itch of being blatantly exposed for his plotting. However, he hadn’t suggested the museum with the intention of employing it as a visual to sharpen up your scene-work. He was hoping to go just for the sake of it—like a palate cleanser, as you had previously mentioned.

But he obviously wasn’t going to articulate that.

“We can plan it more later,” he said.

The tour started in the living room, which Wonwoo had become well acquainted with throughout his half hour of sitting at the kitchen island, occasionally flicking his eyes toward the couch to ensure you were still alive. You explained that the pristine white rug was a housewarming gift from Mingyu’s parents when you first moved into the apartment, and he felt guilty for even stepping on it.

He decided to ask about the plants by the windows.

“Oh, I don’t actually look after those,” you answered, touching at one of the heavy and balmy-looking green leaves from a plant nearly as tall as you, “Seokmin comes over to water them and stuff, gives them special nutrient food—even sprays their leaves with this misty bottle thing. I tried giving them all to him, but he says he’s got no space at his apartment—which is total bull by the way.”

“Maybe he just wants an excuse to see you.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes, “doesn’t everyone?”

Wonwoo bit back a stupid little smile as he followed you into your bedroom—the place you seemed most enthralled for him to finally see. You twirled into the open space and threw the blanket off your shoulders, then whipping your hands into the air akin to a magician who’d just performed the most grandiose magic trick.

“Tada! Bedroom reveal!”

He pushed up his glasses, taking a good, solid look around at everything he could: the prestigious makeup vanity with the drawers left half-open, your dresser, lined with photographs of what he assumed to be friends, family, and Mingyu, the beaded, dangling chandelier, the ajar closet doors that revealed your unsurprising magnitude of outfits—skirts and dresses and professional blazers and lascivious things from threads of lace and silk. He finally looked to your beautiful bed, which you proceeded to flop onto.

“This is my favourite part,” you hummed.

Taking some further steps into the bedroom, Wonwoo began recognizing smaller details, though he couldn’t explain what he was feeling. He always thought a bedroom was such a personal, intimate space, like a treasure chest stuffed with memories and pieces of person’s essence that couldn’t be captured using words alone. To sit on someone’s bed, or sift through their drawers for a pen, or even grab a shirt from their closet—he felt it was all so… sacred. It was the reason he had such a hard time having others in his bedroom.

“The bed is your favourite?” He wondered.

“Yes,” you giggled, a glimmer flashing into your eyes like diamonds in the sun as you climbed onto your knees.

Before Wonwoo knew what was happening, you had clutched a hand into his shirt and jerked him toward the covers. He landed beside you, and his heart thrust with electricity.

“You could have just asked me to sit,” he chuckled, wiping some wrinkles off his shirt and adjusting his glasses.

“Nope.”

“Bed’s comfy.”

“Duh,” you sunk backward, smirking at him, “it’s a bed.”

“Hey, you should have seen the bed I had growing up in Changwon. My older brother and I, we hated it. Shit was like sleeping on a piece of cardboard. It didn’t get better for years.”

Propping your head onto a pillow, you continued to smile prettily at him with those entrancing eyes, and for a second, this piercing fear struck in the core of Wonwoo’s chest that he had just spoke about himself—actually spoke about himself—in a manner that screamed of vulnerability. He felt terror. Why did he do that?

“Hm. I guess I’m just spoiled, with my memory foam and all.”

At least you didn’t push into the topic. You were getting better at that, almost like you could interpret the subtle tweaks in his face or the stiffening of his bones. Wonwoo rested his elbows on his knees.

“Your room’s nice. It smells like you.”

He heard you giggle, “what? Like strawberries?”

Wonwoo pursed his lip, looked down at his fingers. “Yeah…”

For a moment, his eyes lingered unfaithfully on your exposed midriff, down to the fluffy hem of those pink lounge shorts. He squeezed his wrist tight, practically stopping his own blood flow, willing himself not to think anything unhinged that would simmer up to fuel his self-hatred later. The longer your head spent sinking into that plump pillow, the more your lids fluttered with sleep. As he continued to gaze about the room, he spotted the pink stuffed bear that he’d won you at the Spring Street Fair, sitting atop your bedside table.

“You’ve still got that?”

“Hm?” You pushed up onto your elbows, yawning. “Oh, yeah! ‘Course I still have her. It’s a perfect little memento from that night.”

“Well, I did go through a lot of effort to win it.”

“Oh, I’m aware... wanna know what I named her?”

“What?”

“Miss Priss.”

Honestly, Wonwoo was surprised you hadn’t stuffed it into your closet or abandoned the toy in some innocuous corner of your apartment. Instead the bear’s vibrant pink face and slightly lopsided eyes were staring him down, making him rerun Vernon’s words in his head: ‘you stir the pot every time you hang out with his girl to go write romantic poetry and run around, gigglin’ at Spring Street.’

Wonwoo immediately shoved the memory aside, letting the implications sizzle up and burn on the hot coals of his brain.

“Hm. Funny.”

You rolled your eyes.

Wonwoo tapped his wrist, thinking.

“So, uh, I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but why don’t you live with Mingyu? I know he stays over some nights.”

Lifting yourself up with one arm, you shrugged, opting to stroke a hand along the blanket to smooth out some crinkles. “I don’t want to move in with anyone unless I’m engaged.”

“Actually?”

“Yeah. I mean, that's what I told my parents, at least. They used to really push for us to have an apartment together. Which makes sense. They freaking love him. I swear, more than me," you laughed, picking at your shirt. "I get it, too. Mingyu and I have pretty much been tied at the hip all these years. But we agreed that we wouldn't live together until things went to the next level. He does keep a lot of his stuff here for when he does stay over, and vice versa. He’s got an extra key and everything, his own nightstand, bathroom stuff.”

“And that’s for certain?”

You tilted your head. “What’s for certain?”

“The engagement thing. Or was it just to shake off your parents?”

“Well… I guess I mean it. Is that weird to you?”

“No,” Wonwoo said. “I personally haven't heard it plenty.”

“Yeah, most people are surprised to learn we don’t live together. I guess we really give off the impression that we're together in most things, if not everything. It's good to get a little space, though."

“Well, I understand it—wanting to have your own space. I mean, I think everyone should try living alone, just once if they have to. You learn more about yourself, I suppose.”

You cracked a smile at him. “What have you learned?”

Wonwoo chuckled, knowing all the things he could never say were tingling right on the tip of his tongue. “Well, I meant in a general sense. I wasn't exactly talking about myself.”

“Ha—you learned how to be a hermit.”

“I'm pretty sure I was always like that.”

“Yeah, but probably not that bad.”

“That bad?” He furrowed his dark brows at you, staring straight into your eyes that twinkled with challenge. “Meaning what?”

“Please, you would not leave that apartment if it wasn’t for your commitment to the book. Maybe for work, some groceries every now and then. Otherwise, your ass is not leaving.”

“Damn. Just call me a loser.”

“Fine,” you huffed, pushing up onto your knees, “loser.”

Wonwoo managed to hold the penetrating, spirited strength of your gaze, and he was proud of himself for doing so, even if his heart felt like it was going to leap into his throat. It was still difficult for him to be routinely engaged in eye contact, but he knew how much you appreciated it—the feeling of being listened to and experiencing someone’s dedication to presenting their full attention.

Since it was getting close to lunch time, Wonwoo figured you might want to start thinking of where to eat. He was getting notably hungry, and having to function off some toast coated thinly in raspberry jam wouldn’t be enough to power him throughout his proofreading. He pulled out his phone, wanting to check the time, and began sliding off your comfortable, warm bed.

“Did you want to—”

“Hey, wait, wait, wait—” Wonwoo felt your hand curl around his bicep in a firm grip and begin to pull him back down, “—before we get up and everything, I want to talk to you about something.”

Oh no.

His stomach writhed.

Wonwoo started praying it wasn’t about his and Vernon’s encounter with Mingyu at Solar Pop—not that anything particularly terrible or concerning had happened—but maybe Mingyu had mentioned something to you. Maybe he didn’t like Wonwoo and thought it was best you stop writing together, stop seeing each other.

His mind started quivering with a steadfast hurricane of awful thought and Wonwoo knew the flushed colour had most likely drained from his face as quickly as a popped balloon.

Your hand remained on his bicep, squeezing it.

“Why do you look so worried, already?” You chuckled in a quiet voice, rubbing his arm until Wonwoo visibly relaxed. “I haven’t even said anything yet. Unless, you think I should be worried, too.”

“No.” Wonwoo shook his head. “Just—never mind.”

“Hm, well, that’s kind of what I want to talk about.”

As your hand drifted off his arm, Wonwoo sat crossed-legged, narrowing his eyes at you in question. “What do you mean?”

The conversation began with a clunk of silence, to which you glanced down at the bed for a moment, clearly biting on your inner cheek in contemplation. Wonwoo desperately wanted you to spit it out. He hated when empty words hung so burdensomely in the air.

“Well… there’s no easy way to bring it up. And I’m not sure you’ll even want to talk about it with me, but I keep noticing it, again and again. I think it’s at least worth it to put it on the table. And, if it’s not my business, you can freely tell me to screw off.”

“Oh… okay.”

And then you were looking at him, not with any sort of accusation or anger or even disappointment. Somehow, Wonwoo knew what you were going to say, and he braced himself for it.

“Do you… do you have anxiety?”

Wonwoo said nothing. He wasn’t sure if it was an issue of not wanting to speak or being unable to.

You breathed out heavily in response.

“Okay, silence, I definitely saw that coming—but, um, I’m not stupid, you know? Your face just gets so pale, and I feel like I can see the heartbeat in your chest… and you always do that thing with your fist. Clenching it. It always looks so painful but you never seem to care and—anyway—I just… I can tell when it happens and it kind of bothers me that you try to like, shrug it off or call it ‘spacing out’ when it’s really clearly not. And, maybe that’s my fault.”

His gaze had shifted to lock with yours.

Again, you weren’t staring at him with any malice or dejection—he’d come to learn that your eyes were actually quite soft most of the time, soft but always glittering, like a handful of silk. Still, Wonwoo couldn’t yet find his words, which must have come across as remarkably shocking for someone who spent their whole life grabbing all the shiny bits of possible vernacular.

You sat up straighter, touching his knee.

“Is it my fault you don’t want to talk about it? Can I at least know that much?” There was an imploring desperation in your face.

Wonwoo at last cleared his throat.

“I don’t talk about it with anyone.”

“Okay, I get that. But, did I make you feel like you couldn’t bring it up? At all?” Your fingers dug a little harder into his knee, though Wonwoo knew you probably hadn’t realized it. “I just—I do want to know, actually. Because sometimes I let myself get in the way of being present for other people. But I care. I honestly do.”

He nodded, cracking his knuckles.

“I mean… I definitely wouldn’t have thought to bring it up with you. I guess I felt like, if I did, what would it accomplish? You might think I’m incapable or… I don’t know.” He shoved his hands underneath his glasses, rubbing at the indents on his nose. “As you can see, I’m not the best at talking about it. I don’t talk about it.”

You folded your legs in similar fashion to Wonwoo.

“Well… um… do you… is there anyone that could, like… I don’t know what I’m saying. I guess, are you coping alright, is what I’m asking. I really don’t mean to overstep. I swear.”

At that, he chuckled quite loudly. Your face twitched in surprise at his reaction, and the hand slipped off his knee.

“It really doesn’t matter. I just deal with it.”

No. He took nothing. He did nothing. Wonwoo just sat and suffered and felt no initiative to help himself. At that point, he really didn’t want to dissect the topic any further. He could sense the slithering under his skin, the way his body physically bristled like a perturbed cat at the thought of having to be any more open than what he'd already shared. The choices he made in his life weren’t important if he was going to end up back in the same slippery trench.

“Oh. Well, I hope you take care of yourself,” you said with a smile, giving his bicep another gentle squeeze. “That’s all.”

—JUNE 2ND.

About two weeks had passed since Wonwoo visited your apartment. Afterward, you had met up four times to continue writing and making small ventures to places that you deemed vital for developing your story. Wonwoo found himself enjoying most trips.

He remembered the ice cream shop. Apparently, it was the date where Mingyu had officially asked you to be his girlfriend. You had gotten their most popular strawberry cheesecake flavour while Wonwoo ordered mint chocolate chip, which was a rather boring but favourite classic of his. No doubt, you sat across from him on their outside patio the entire time, pitting remarks about how awful his choice was in lieu of writing anything down in your document. With every spoonful he ate, Wonwoo had to keep reminding you to stay focused, and eventually, his repetitious ordering worked.

"Did you actually come here to get any writing done or did you just want the ice cream? We're not palate-cleansing are we?"

"Why can't two things be true at once?"

“Can I see your laptop?”

“No—hey! Don’t try to grab it!”

“Why? Because you’ve written fuck all?”

"For your information, I have a bullet-point list going."

"Oh, yeah. A bullet-point list, hm?"

"Yes. It has all my major writing points. Point number one: Mingyu seats me down at the table. He's clearly nervous. We've only been in the shop for a minute or two and he won't stop brushing his hair behind his ears. Point number two: Mingyu grabs our ice cream from the counter. He gives me his flavour, rocky road, by accident, and then we awkwardly laugh and switch. Point number three: I remember thinking his nerves were endearing, and—"

"Okay, okay. I get it."

"Exactly. Let this be a lesson in poor assumption. Don't try to assume anything about me, Wonwoo. It's probably wrong."

And then there had been the journey to Mooney’s Bay, one of the most well-known beaches outside the city—probably because the lake actually looked a clean, salty blue and the soft sand wasn’t littered with drifting pieces of plastic. It had been the first place Wonwoo took his brother when he came to visit from his office in Korea, and the picture they had taken together with their pant legs cuffed up, standing knee deep in the water, was still pinned to the corkboard in Wonwoo’s bedroom. However, Wonwoo hadn’t been back to the beach since, until you dragged him there in an hour-long car ride. He had mostly looked out the window, thinking, as always.

You said that Mooney’s Bay reminded you of a cove from your hometown, a more clandestine one, where you and Mingyu used to splash around in the isolated, iridescent waters at night, laughing into the chilled breeze and coughing up all the liquid splatted into the other’s face. Wonwoo had used the video camera to record some footage of the beach per your request. By evening, most people had packed up their coolers and umbrellas and sun towels, granting him more freedom to film wider, panned shots. He remembered standing at the foam shoreline, feeling the sand squelch wetly under his bare feet, recording you wading further and deeper into the water that reflected like a bleeding, scarlet portrait of stained glass.

“It feels amazing! You should come in!”

“I can’t. It’ll ruin the camcorder.”

“So put it down! In the bag! There’s enough footage.”

“But the sun is setting behind you. It makes for a good shot.”

"So just hurry up! The water is the perfect temperature."

"But—"

“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.”

"Well, I don't know... I, uh—I can't swim."

"This isn't swimming, this is wading. Just go up to your knees. It's been a hot, long day. I think this will help get the scowl off your face."

“… Fine. At least give me a second to fix my pants.”

The third location, while not his favourite, had been an open bar that was conveniently placed a few streets over from his job at the pharmacy. Wonwoo had went there a number of times with Vernon in the past, usually after he finished a midterm or handed in some grating assignment, though Vernon tended to drink more than his body could sufficiently handle. By the end of the night, Wonwoo would most often find himself being a mediator between his tattooed, foul-mouthed friend and whatever blundering, equally drunk idiot he happened to be arguing with.

It was too much for his anxiety.

Nonetheless, he’d met you there after work despite the churning cauldron of memories that he harboured, unsurprised to find you seated at a small table swarmed with dewy drinks and shots that interested observers had sent over. Wonwoo felt each digging, plying stare that sculpted against his back as he sat beside you—he even choked down one of your retched tequila shots (while not the best idea), hoping it would mellow him out.

You never really explained why the bar was pertinent to your history with Mingyu—or, maybe you had, and Wonwoo was simply one flaming shot past coherent of properly digesting your words. He did, however, remember your entire, almost scientific explanation of why you liked wearing low-cut or heavily revealing tops at the bar, and Wonwoo had listened along as best he could manage, even when that floating sensation started hazing through his mind. At one point, this girl who Wonwoo had never encountered once in his life came up to him with a polite tap on his shoulder and an inquiring smile.

“Hey—sorry to intrude—and this may be a super dumb question, but you are guys together?”

“No, no. Not at all. I’ve got a boyfriend. He’s single.”

“Oh, perfect. I was just—I was sitting over there, in the corner with my friends, if you can see. Anyways—I said something dumb about how you were really good looking, and now I’ve been dared to come up and ask for your number. So, um, yeah…”

“No, I’m good. Thank you.”

“O-Oh. Wait… are you… being serious?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Sorry. This is really fucking embarrassing… uh, I guess I won’t linger then. Bye.”

“… Jeez… had a bit much to drink or something?”

“No—just don’t like giving out my number to strangers.”

“She was cute, though. Probably a fun one-night stand.”

“Then you have sex with her, yeah?”

“Ha! You’re so funny. When’s the last time you even had sex? I mean, you obviously pull. At least, I think you do…”

“I don’t remember. Months and months ago, I guess.”

“Wow! Zero play. I kind of respect it. I could never, though. So… actually, let me guess: you’re the type of person that can’t have sex without attachment? You need to be in love?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m just asking.”

“I don’t know.”

“God. You’re so fucking boring, Wonwoo.”

“Because I don’t go out of my way to find some pretty girl to have sex with every week, I’m boring? How does that make sense?”

“No, not that. I mean the fact you never really want to discuss anything about yourself. Honestly, sometimes talking to you is like pulling teeth, y’know? Anyway, move back a little. Backwards cap with the earrings has been staring on and off for the last ten minutes and I want one more free shot before I call it a night.”

The most recent place you had been together was the popular drive-in at Richmond’s Farm. Wonwoo knew that in the autumn months leading up to Halloween, the venue was turned into a haunted carnival with all the typical attractions: pumpkin patches, horror movie screenings, corn mazes, and masked, fake blood-spattered psychopaths chasing people around with a roaring chainsaw.

Seokmin, despite being quite weak-stomached and completely disastrous when it came to anything horror-related, had actually implored Wonwoo to go the year before after hearing the raves about their newest House of Nightmares, although Wonwoo declined in order to study for a test.

Really, there was no test.

Wonwoo just hadn’t been in the mood for losing all his hair and being crammed into pitch black, narrow corridors with a murderer promptly waiting around the corner. He hoped Seokmin wouldn’t ask him again this year—then his excuse would be obvious.

In the spring and summer, however, the farm mostly broadcast screenings at their drive-in theatre behind the maize field, and you had leaped at the opportunity to go because it was the perfect chance to relive one of your favourite dates with Mingyu. By your explanation, he’d taken you to see Crazy, Stupid, Love before you two had departed your hometown for university. But the drive-in obviously wasn’t playing that movie, and so you two had to settle for watching their only available screening, 500 Days of Summer.

Wonwoo hated that movie.

Of course, he hadn’t told you that.

Before the movie had started, Wonwoo helped you throw down a blanket into your trunk alongside some couch pillows that you grabbed from your apartment, creating a makeshift lounge in the rear of the car. Since the screening was late at night—and way past your typical good girl bedtime—you were worried about falling asleep halfway into the movie, though Wonwoo promised he would keep an eye on you to ensure you wouldn’t miss anything important.

Since it was too dark to film anything of quality on the camcorder, Wonwoo left you alone in the blanket-pillow trunk to scribble down any nostalgic, limerent sentiments while he grabbed some snacks. You had told him to get gummy bears, because you hated the way broken pieces of popcorn kernel shells would sliver between your teeth and dig into your gums, neither did you want a soft drink since it would be an abundance of sugar before bed, and it always resulted in a breakout the next morning. He was able to make it back to the car just before the screening started.

He remembered how strange it all seemed, sitting so close to you underneath the blanket, occasionally feeling your elbow dig into his arm or your knee bump his thigh, and the sharp blip it would cause in his pulse. Wonwoo remembered how often you complained about the temperature throughout the movie—first, it’s too hot, now, it’s too cold, you’re too close to me, you’re too far away and I’m cold again, I need the blanket, I don’t want the blanket—Wonwoo hadn’t realized a person’s body temperature could fluctuate that drastically.

However, the worst part of that night happened about half an hour before the movie ended, just when Wonwoo was beginning to feel relieved about going home. You were getting sleepier by the minute, and Wonwoo could tell from the yawning every now and then, wanting desperately to rub at your eyes but refusing because it would smother the mascara into somewhat concerning, black whorls.

You had nudged his arm, and when he glanced over at your face, exhausted and half-illuminated under the watery, bright cast of light from the screen, you asked him in a quiet, dulcet voice: “is it okay if I rest my head on your shoulder for a few minutes?”

Wonwoo had wanted to say no—of course you can’t, because if you do, I will sit here stiff, and hardly breathing, and listening only to my own heartbeat. It will be the sole thing I’ll think about for the next three days no matter what I do to mask the memory. I’ll keep thinking about it until you burn out in my mind like a star.

But then Wonwoo had agreed instead.

He proceeded to clench his fist upon feeling the weight of your head sink softly to his shoulder. Your legs had been curled up underneath you, and your knees were then pressing flush against his leg. Every breath he inhaled was faintly tainted with the scent of your sweet, fragrant shampoo and it was fucking killing him.

“You’re so tense,” you had whispered in a giggle, “if it makes you uncomfortable, I don’t have to. It’s just because I’m tired.”

“No—” it had come out somewhat like a blurt, and Wonwoo just knew the tips of his ears were tingling red, “—it’s okay. I promise.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure… what?”

“Just wanted to look in your eyes when you said it.”

“Fuck, not that again.”

“I have to know!”

“Okay, that’s fine. Movie’s almost over, anyway. Just don’t fall asleep because then I really won’t know what to do.”

That had been four days ago.

Now, it was almost midnight. Wonwoo was sitting on the roof of his apartment with a messily rolled up blunt in his fingers—the second one he prepared, mostly out of impatience—drawing in a slow and deep breath that ghosted from his lips like wispy fog flowing down a shallow hill. He then coughed twice by his elbow, attempting to clear the stinging prickle that caught against his throat.

“You’re so fucking full of it,” Wonwoo laughed.

“No! I’m not.”

“You did not write thirty pages in a day.”

“Uh—actually, I did! And the fact you don’t believe me is a testament to your own wilted motivation. I am very motivated.”

He smiled at the sound of your voice crackling through his phone, which he’d been holding with the latter hand. Breathing in another hit, Wonwoo pulled at the sides of his black beanie, grinning through the thin cloud that was exhaled in a quick, neat puff.

“Okay, you wrote thirty pages. Didn’t have to fucking drag my career through the mud in doing so. I mean, I guess it’s a hobby.”

“For all I know, you’re the biggest poser that ever posed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I still don’t know what you write about.”

“I told you.”

“No—you fucking didn’t. You said something vague and ambiguous that could have meant literally anything. All I had to go off were some sing-songy praises from Seokmin.”

“I give you pretty good notes, though.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“So I must be decent.”

“I don’t even know why I bothered calling you. I was supposed to be in bed, like, an hour ago. You’re such a distraction.”

“Fuck,” Wonwoo laughed, tapping the warm blunt to knock off a clump of papery ash, “it’s been an hour already?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t know why you called either.”

“To complain about that lady whose makeup I had to do today! She was horrible. God, were you not listening?!”

“No, no, I was. She told you the makeup she wanted, you said it wouldn’t suit her too well, and then she got all pissed off when it looked exactly how you said it would. That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh. Well… I just thought you should know about it.”

“Mmhm.”

Silence followed his velvet, almost teasing hum, but Wonwoo didn’t mind it, and he assumed you didn’t either. Your phone call had been completely out of the blue, only a few minutes after he’d climbed onto the roof and started sparking his lighter. An hour had already passed—Wonwoo couldn’t believe it. Time had never seemed so blurred and insignificant before, like tomorrow didn’t exist at all.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

Wonwoo repositioned the phone in his hand.

“From time to time, yeah.”

“What strain?”

“Northern Lights.”

“I’ve never had that one. I mean, I’m not much of a stoner, and neither is Mingyu. I don’t like the way it feels in my throat—that dry, burning feeling. And I hate the cotton mouth afterward.”

“Shouldn’t be that bad if you’re inhaling it right.”

“Well, maybe you can teach me one day.”

He let the blunt hang from the corner of his mouth for a moment, a very fluttery-feeling smile taking shape. Not wanting you to hear that slight bit of giddiness in his tone, Wonwoo took another hit, holding the smoke in for longer than usual before exhaling.

“Do you, uh… do you still want to go to that museum?”

“Oh—the nature museum?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll have to do some poking around in my schedule. I have this stupid leadership council meeting for SSA that I have to go to.”

“That’s fine. Text me when you figure it out.”

“Okay… gosh, it’s really fucking late.”

“Yeah, you should get some sleep.”

“Are you pushing me off the phone? If anything, I should be the one pushing. You’re not doing anything to fix your terrible sleep schedule. And I certainly don’t want you to ruin mine.”

“That’s what I’m saying—you need to get some sleep.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have said it like that.”

“How did I say it?”

“Like you were pushing me off the phone!”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. How ‘bout this: I know how important structure is to you, and I am deeply concerned that this late night conversation we’re having may somewhat affect your sleep. And while I’ve thoroughly enjoyed talking to you and hearing your pretty voice through my shitty phone speaker, I think we should both go to bed.”

“That seems fair.”

“Great. So, goodnight then.”

“No! I want to be the first one to say goodnight.”

“Why?”

“Because, I say goodnight, then you say goodnight back, and then I get to be the one who hangs up first. It’s a courtesy thing.”

“Uh, okay then... I’m listening.”

“Goodnight!”

Wonwoo smiled. He smiled so fucking widely and brightly that he could feel the muscles in his face aching.

“Goodnight.”

—JUNE 7TH.

Since the quickest route to the nature museum was about half an hour from Wonwoo’s apartment, he suggested that you stop by around lunch time so that you two could make the walk together. It wasn’t too warm outside—the large smattering of clouds dotted in the sky and the typical city breeze helped to keep the temperature down.

“We’re not allowed to film in the museum,” you said from your seat at his small dinner table, “so don’t bother taking the camcorder, I guess. I’ll just try to soak up everything as best I can.”

Wonwoo was sat across from you, waiting for you to finish the heated-up carton box of creamy mushroom pasta that you’d raided out his freezer. He’d tried his best to eat beforehand as well, but the most he could stomach was some milk and cereal in addition a handful of blueberries. It was still better than his usual routine, which involved skipping any sort of meal post lunchtime.

“If you really needed to, I’m sure you could take a couple pictures,” Wonwoo answered, brushing a hand through his styled, pristine black hair that you had earlier littered with a flustering spiel of compliments. “I doubt the exhibits will be exactly the same, but if it's more so to capture the feeling, then it won’t matter much.”

You patted the corner of your mouth upon finishing the last few noodles left in the box, nodding your head in agreement.

“My journal’s in my bag. It should be fine.”

Wonwoo flipped over his phone to check the time.

“How was the SSA meeting yesterday?”

“Oh—I didn’t go.”

“Really?” Wonwoo asked while settling back in his chair, watching you toss the fork into the carton. “How come?”

“Because, it’s mostly pointless. We always sit there, in front of all those old, crusty men, trying to explain to them how we can improve the campus, the student experience, blah blah. And they act like they’re legitimately consuming our input, using phrases like: ‘oh, we hear you, we understand, we’re gonna try our hardest’—just for them to put, what? Another fucking seating area in the dining hall that no one asked for or cares about? It’s totally ridiculous.”

“Hm, yeah.”

“Anyways, I hate being on it. I hate going. I understand it looks good and whatnot, but it’s a huge waste of my time.”

Wonwoo picked up the pasta box, continuing to hum his agreement while taking it into the kitchen. He dropped the fork into the sink and folded up the cardboard to stuff into his recycling.

“It’s one meeting. A skip won’t kill you, or them.”

“That’s what I’m saying. Mingyu thinks I went, though. So, if you run into him or something and the topic fucking miraculously pops up—just don’t give anything away. It’s a little white lie.”

Coming back to the dining table, Wonwoo snatched up his wallet and shoved it into his back pocket, raising an eyebrow.

“Why wouldn’t you tell him?”

You pushed back in the chair, sighing heavily.

“He really thinks I should stick with it.”

Wonwoo didn’t say anything in response. He simply nodded, not wanting to hover on Mingyu as a conversation piece for too long, and waited for you to shoulder on your purse.

“Okay,” you then smiled, “let’s go look at some nature.”

Despite their boring, lacklustre reputation, Wonwoo had always enjoyed going to museums—art, history, science—he’d even been to a museum that delved into ancient coin minting and the development of currency. He supposed it was his appreciation for learning new information of his own free will, unlike the fast-paced, passion-draining, wringer system that was university. Furthermore, he was surprised that you would share his interest in the matter.

“Why wouldn’t I like museums?” You had stopped just before the acclaimed beetle species wall, aglow behind a glass sheet. “I wrote in my draft that Mingyu and I went to a nature museum, remember?”

“I know. I’m just surprised you have that much of an interest in them. Your life seems so upbeat. I didn’t think you would be into something that most people find fairly dry and anticlimactic.”

“Right.” Twirling back around, you continued walking down the corridor, your eyes tracing the organized arrangement of lustre-shelled beetles. “Because everyone else is too stupid and you’re the true upper echelon who actually possesses the mental capability required to appreciate something as seemingly trivial but totally enriching as…” you then paused at the glass, squinting to read the embossed label below an oblong-shaped beetle with an iridescent green shell, “… as the Chrysochroa Fulgidissima? I don’t know, something like that—also known as the Jewel Beetle. Its species is native to Japan and Korea. It’s a… woodboring beetle?”

“Why would I know?” Wonwoo laughed, coming to stand beside you and look at the plaque settled to the white background behind the display glass. “You’re the one reading it.”

“Ugh—doesn’t matter. I was going somewhere with my speech and now I forget… oh, yeah! So, you think you’re smarter than me?”

Placing a gentle hand on your lower back, Wonwoo urged you to keep walking forward in order to let the people faintly mumbling behind you examine the wall, who seemed much more interested.

“I never said that,” he answered softly.

“Okay—but, do you think you’re smarter?”

“In what sense?”

“Did you take the Frontiers evaluation for calculus?”

“Yes.”

“What’d you score?”

“9.8.”

“Shut the fuck up! No you didn’t.”

Wonwoo merely tapped the black-framed glasses further up his nose, smirking slightly, and began shaking his head while continuing down the exhibit. You hurried after him, remembering to lower your voice to match the collective quietness.

“Prove it,” you whispered.

“Go to prof Bradbrook’s office. My name’s on her wall.”

“I hate you.”

“Why? What did you score?”

“I’m obviously not going to say it now.”

Wonwoo still remembered the day his test score came back—he’d opened the envelope in Miss Bradbrook’s office, and while she sat across from him, practically squirming and jittering with anticipation, Wonwoo had glossed over the paper slip with the smallest, most low effort smile. He knew he was supposed to feel relieved in that moment—overjoyed probably—to realize his notable success and the upstanding conformation he was legitimately good at something. But in truth, he hadn’t really felt anything at all. He sort of just smiled. That was it. That was all he could muster.

And his life had mirrored that moment ever since. In the past, it would come and go. Yet, that day, it just stuck. The only time he ever experienced any glint or sparkle of happiness, it had come from his girlfriend—but even she couldn’t imbue much from him that day.

“Well, that’s not what I expected you to ask.”

You glanced over at him, adjusting the bag on your arm.

“Meaning?”

“There are different types of intelligence. I thought you meant, in a more general sense, am I smarter, or more knowledgeable. To be honest, I can’t say. I mean, I feel like I’ve experienced and seen a whole lot, but that’s just life’s illusion.”

“You won’t really know ‘til you’re on your death bed.”

Wonwoo returned your glance, squinching his brown eyes in a judgemental but innocuous way that gave bloom to his smile.

“Thanks.”

“I can’t help it. Museums make me think of death. I think it’s the really cold, still air. Especially in nature museums where they need to preserve things. Like, look at that fox. It’s a bit ominous.”

On the exhibit to his right, Wonwoo observed another display protected by glass. There was a fox, with a rusty, auburn coloured coat, poised atop a fake precipice of grass. Wonwoo knew what you meant—it was the eyes, like two leaf green beads, so immensely detailed but lifeless to an almost uncomfortable degree.

“I want to see the aquarium exhibit next,” you said, tugging twice at Wonwoo’s sleeve. “I heard it’s really dark in there.”

“Well, we can go take a look.”

“And we can eat afterward? There’s an atrium.”

“Sure.”

Wonwoo let your arm link with his, following the natural flow of museum-goers into the next exhibit, leaving behind the shiny, colourful wall of beetles and the auburn fox in its lonesome enclosure.

The aquarium exhibit was one of the most spacious in the entire museum, placed in a large, dome-topped room, with shadows creeping at every corner. There were some lights—deep, blue lights that rippled and wriggled across the floor, like waves patterned against ocean sand by the sun rays. He didn't know from where, but he could hear water sloshing, a very soft sound that led him to imagine the wet sand squelching under his toes.

You approached another display wall, filled with a school of lemon-yellow and azure coloured fish placed around vibrant, unique corals.

While you busied yourself with reading the informative plaque, Wonwoo spent his time taking a more in-depth inspection around the mystifying exhibit. He noted the stingrays and luminous jellyfish flocking above his head, held on near-invisible little wires that would occasionally glimmer if they twisted the perfect angle.

After a generously long venture throughout the room, reading all the plaques and pointing to different fish behind the glass just to comment, “I think that was in Finding Nemo,” you had wanted to sit down, spotting a bench positioned before an aquarium.

Wonwoo agreed, and you collapsed on the bench together.

There was a period of comfortable silence where you both watched the aquarium, meanwhile the dappling, blue pattern cast to the floor danced and flickered around at your still feet. The atmosphere seemed so vivid that Wonwoo was surprised the next breath he took wasn’t a mouthful of liquid and sea salt, or that his body wasn’t miraculously suspended and floating about in the echoey shadows.

And that’s when Wonwoo decided he liked the aquatic exhibit very much—more than all the others.

He looked down at the hands folded in his lap, specifically at the scarred, ruined cuticle belonging to his right thumb and how it had withstood years of his anxious scratching. Wonwoo then breathed out softly, feeling his heartbeat begin to pick up.

“Want to know something?” He asked.

You stared back at Wonwoo with an intrigued pique of your brow.

“Like what?”

“Well, first of all, we both took creative writing, you know.”

"Uh, okay," you sniffed, "sure."

"No, like, we took the course together. In the fall. Prof T?"

"Really?" You pinned him down in a non-believing stare. "Wait, you're talking about that basement auditorium, right? In Gildan Hall? It always smelt like old computers and dust bunnies?"

"That's the one."

Scoffing out some dry air, you leaned back.

"Woah. I don't think I ever saw you... did you go to each class?"

He nodded a few times. "Almost all. To be fair, I sat more in the back, off to the corner. I wasn't exactly thrusting myself into the limelight."

Folding one leg over your knee, you chuckled. "Sounds like you."

“I have this really specific memory from that class, when that random guy, whoever he was, sat in the seat you always took. Your so called unofficially-assigned-assigned-seat. And I remember that really tense feeling right before you walked in, because we all knew you were gonna chew him out for it. The way you marched straight up to him was already violating enough, and then you basically ruined his whole day.” Looking down at his hands again, Wonwoo smiled at recalling the memory. “You absolutely terrified me. I don’t even think you understand how much I wanted to avoid you.”

He caught your eyes, shimmering like the water-stained floor, with an emotion he couldn’t place.

“Actually?” Was all you said, hardly sounding surprised.

“Yeah.”

Your face began searching around the shadowed, sloshing exhibit for something unseen. He decided to let the silence settle like a thin sheet, instead listening to the tidal pushing and pulling. The soft sounds reminded him of being a child, wandering beaches into the late evening with his older brother during summer vacations, and picking up shells just to hear the ocean speaking inside them.

Aloud, you breathed in, shaking your foot.

“I can’t really remember what was going through my head that day. I know I’d had a fight with Mingyu before going to class, so I was feeling pretty amped up and short-fused. I knew I was going straight to another SSA meeting that I hardly cared about immediately after, and then I would work until the evening. I knew I would have to make dinner when I got home, even though I’d be downright exhausted, and the next morning, I’d have to wake up early to attend some bullshit press, social, interview breakfast thing for my mom’s new lifestyle magazine. Having that idiot sit in my favourite seat was probably just the straw that broke the camel’s back, I guess.”

“Hm,” Wonwoo hummed, suddenly experiencing a profound sympathy for you that he never imagined he would feel. “When you give it a bit more perspective, it doesn’t sound so…”

“Completely and utterly bitchy?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to use that word, but, sure.”

You grinned at him through the dusky rippling of auroras that flitted across the exhibit, seeming like you were under the sea—and he was, too, sitting side by side in the somehow peaceful depths of the chaotic whirlpool that had pulled you two together.

“I have a memory.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo returned your grin, “I want to hear it.”

“So, remember earlier how we were talking about the Frontiers evaluation for Bradbrook’s calculus class?”

“Mmhm.”

"So, after all the Frontiers scores came out, I'm not gonna lie—I really thought I had one of the better marks. It's not like I specifically trotted around, throwing out my grade to anyone passing by, but I was parading a little bit to my friends. And then, like, Clara or something, told me that there was this guy who almost got a ten. I asked her who, and she said she didn't know—just that she overheard some of the basketball guys talking about it.

I thought she was lying. I didn't say that, though. But I remember it was on my mind every night. Like, it was itching me so bad. I wanted to know who the fuck was smart enough to get a damn near perfect ten on Frontiers. Some of those problems are ridiculously hard. I started writing nonsense around A-block. They straight up give students problems that serious, esteemed mathematicians can't fucking solve. So, honestly... I was quite jealous of you... despite not even knowing who you were. I can't believe that was you, asshole."

Wonwoo cracked his knuckles, beginning to laugh at that intense but lighthearted glare you were sending his way. Of course, you mellowed everything out with a big smile he felt his heart skip a beat over. You had actually went to bed thinking about him.

Holy fuck.

Maybe not him in physicality. But in spirit.

That was close enough.

"I just did the study guide." He shrugged.

Your knee pushed into his. "Oh, yeah, the study guide. Jeez, why didn't I think of doing that? Let me go kill myself right now."

"Keep tabs on it for next time."

With a roll of the eyes, you laughed almost to scorn him.

“I hate people like you.”

And Wonwoo laughed back. “Meaning?”

“Things come to you so naturally. You don’t have to try.”

“Sure,” Wonwoo agreed, scratching his nose and proceeding to nudge up his glasses, “things like mathematics, numbers, problem solving, taking something whole apart and then looking at its pieces. I guess it does come to me naturally. I can’t complain. But there are also plenty of things that don’t. And… if I could, I’d probably trade all my stupid math and logic and puzzling for what I’m missing.”

You tilted your head, staring intently at Wonwoo through the blue sea between you, almost into his brain, it felt like.

“What are you missing?”

At first, Wonwoo didn’t respond. To answer your question meant an intimate exhumation of the flaws that he’d been willfully ignoring for the past year, if not his entire damn life. It meant at last turning over the round, flat rock that had been sitting at the foot of his wooden porch since childhood, and realizing the bottom was sculpted with the grittiest texture and wet with the thickest dirt. The rock was hiding long-legged spiders and ugly, skittering bugs and it would have probably been better to let the rock sit there, untouched, only facing the warm and comfortable glow of the sun.

Wonwoo didn’t want to turn the rock.

Not at all.

“A plethora of things, I’m sure.”

Squeezing onto your wrist, you smiled at him.

“I think I’m the opposite.”

“How so?”

He watched you inhale a long, slow breath, and then huff it all out through your nose. Wonwoo bumped his knee against yours.

“You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

“No, no. It’s not like that…”

Looking up to the glowing aquarium, the dull light reflected back unto your face, and Wonwoo again saw the glisten in your eyes.

“I just feel…” for a moment, your chest stilled, “… I feel like I’m so much of everything that I just blend into nothing. You know, like when a child takes a whole bunch of paints and squirts them all together thinking it’s going to create this beautiful, never-before-seen new colour? But, instead, it’s just greyish-brownish, nothing.”

Your face turned back to him. Wonwoo watched you chew down on your bottom lip, meanwhile your eyes glazed aloof, off to the side, as though you were rummaging through so many different thoughts and experiences that it required your utmost mental focus.

“And—” you swallowed tightly, and it sounded so painfully dry with stinging emotion, “—I just don’t want people to see that I’m so much of nothing. I just find myself covering it all up.”

Were you going to cry? Wonwoo felt himself jolt inwardly with panic. He had never seen you cry and he had therefore never developed the best protocol to tackle such a situation. Some people preferred immediate comfort, others—a reassuring stroke on the back, maybe some uplifting monologue. Or, maybe, they didn’t want to be touched at all. They just desired the simple, thinking silence and all its clarity. He remembered you saying something about it—that you did like to be comforted, but only in very certain circumstances.

First, Wonwoo subtly wiped off his hand against his thigh, and then he took in the softest breath. Through the flickering, midnight blue mirage, Wonwoo reached for your hand. He settled his cold fingers inch by inch under yours, and, with a timid but gentle thumb, Wonwoo caressed in a slow path along your knuckles.

You glanced to him appreciatively, saying nothing, but squeezing his hand in return. He figured he’d done right.

Maybe more things came to him naturally than he thought.

Before leaving the nature museum, you and Wonwoo had stopped at their atrium as promised to get in a quick meal. While you poked a fork into your sad-looking salad, making small scribbles every now and then to the journal at your elbow, Wonwoo ate a grill-pressed sandwich and flicked through his phone. He was surprised to check the time and realize you had spent about three hours there—it felt so much shorter. Wonwoo hated how quickly each moment flew past when he was with you. It was always so bittersweet.

He had wanted to know what exactly you were penciling in the journal, though he never asked, knowing he would probably be proofreading it from your document later. Obviously, you were thinking about that particular date with Mingyu from years back in your life—that was the principal point in going to the museum. However, Wonwoo had chosen to regard it more as hanging out, not caring if that was a particularly delusional or untruthful choice.

After finishing your meals and tossing the plastic remnants into the recycling bins, Wonwoo looked outside the atrium’s towering glass wall to note how cloudy the sky had become. From the bright, eggshell turquoise in the afternoon, to an especially muted grey that seemed brewing and heavy with a downpour. You adjusted the bag over your shoulder and suddenly grimaced at the sight.

“Jeez, is it going to rain?”

“It could,” Wonwoo sighed. “It very possibly could.”

“I swear. I obsessively check the forecast in order to plan all my outfits around it. It never said it would rain!” You then threw the bottle of iced tea you’d been drinking into the garbage with an aggressive slam. “This shirt is a horrible choice. It will be stupidly see-through."

Wonwoo glanced around the atrium.

“There’s lots of empty tables. If we want to sit and wait it out, then I don’t think anyone would get mad. But, I mean, it’s up to you.”

“Why’s it up to me?”

“I don’t know. Just—if you don’t want to get your outfit all soaked. I’m sure if we left now, we could make good distance before it really started raining. I’m not opposed to getting a little wet. But I have no issue with staying here and letting the clouds go over.”

You folded your arms, and your head fell to the side. He’d seen that look before. It was your own patented prelude to disaster.

“I never said I was opposed to getting wet.”

He laughed. “Well, you certainly insinuated it.”

“Do you think I'm some sort of whiny little priss?”

"I think you named your bear Miss Priss."

"I think you're a smart ass. Take that smirk off your face. Now."

Wonwoo wanted to sigh, but he didn’t. He then thought about trying to tenderly explain his way out of it with his smooth words. As much as he would think he’d figured you out, there was still a part of him that was very confused by you and how to adjust to your behaviour.

This time, he decided he would do nothing.

“Okay. Let’s go, then.”

He reached out his hand for you to grab.

“As if,” you scoffed, walking around him toward the exit doorway, into the museum garden, “not after you just insulted me.”

Wonwoo could do nothing but laugh in response, because he had caught that faint smile on your face as you passed him, and the sweet beading in your eyes. He simply followed you out the doors.

During the walk back to his apartment, it had yet to rain at all, not even a typical, humid summer drizzle or the smallest bit of spitting. Maybe it was just way more cloudy than usual, or it was a concerning spread of city smog tainting the sky. It’s not like he wanted it to rain, anyway, though more so for your sake than his.

About a little more than halfway through the walk, however, you came to an abrupt stop outside a flower shop, and Wonwoo watched you lift a doubtful hand to your cheek and wipe something off it. Before you could say anything, Wonwoo felt a big, cold, wet drop smack just above his eyebrow and begin leaking down. He used the sleeve of his shirt to clean it up, only to experience another fat droplet strike a second later, right onto his glasses.

“You can’t be serious…” he heard you mumble.

Making the mistake of looking up, more and more droplets fell swiftly from the daunting, dark grey blanket strewn across the entire skylight. They began painting all over the sidewalk, the roadway, shaking down into the brilliant purple and white petunia pots outside the florist shop. And Wonwoo froze for a moment, because he honestly hadn’t expected to be caught in the rain, let alone the downpour it was unfortunately shaping up to be.

“Ow!” You winced sharply. “One just fucking hit my eyeball!”

“Shit—let’s hurry.” Wonwoo hid his phone. “My apartment’s only like, ten minutes away, less if we run really fast.”

“Run?!” You gawked at him. “I don’t run!”

“No, you fucking sashay, I get it.” In a matter of seconds, those intermittent raindrops had evolved into an unrelenting, bathing barrage. Wonwoo could feel his clothes beginning to dampen, and his glasses were streaming with water. He slapped his hand onto yours, jerking you forward despite your stiltedness. “And I’m so sorry but you’re going to have to sacrifice one part of your pretty fucking princess routine for just five minutes so we can get back to my place.”

“My pretty fucking wha—!”

Once Wonwoo’s fingers were clasped tight with yours, he started to run, and whether it was voluntary or not, you ran along with him, shouting something that he couldn’t quite hear over the rain that bounced in loud splatters against the sidewalk and the adrenaline echoing in his own ears. He could hardly see through the downpour, but he’d walked that path so many times that it almost wasn’t necessary. At one point, he’d stepped onto the street prematurely, and he heard the loud, startled honk from a car.

“Jesus Christ, Wonwoo!” You half-laughed, half-coughed, clutching onto his slippery hand even tighter, “I’d ideally like to live!”

“We’re almost there!” He chuckled back.

“I think I’m going to lose my fucking shoe!”

“I’ll buy you a new pair!”

Wonwoo didn’t stop, and you didn’t either. He was soaked to his bones, with thick, drizzling fronds of hair plastered to his forehead and the glasses nearly slipping from his nose—the scent of earthy but ashen rain all around him—and still Wonwoo kept running, a very blithe smile permanent to his mouth despite all his discomfort.

Upon reaching the entryway to the pottery shop, Wonwoo almost skidded completely past it since the sidewalk was so slick and pouring like an angry river. You slammed into his back, and it was then that your hands unintentionally separated. Instead, he felt your fingers flesh into the sopping cloth covering his shoulders.

“Be careful on the steps!” He shouted overtop a reverberating crack of thunder that shook from behind the grey sleet sky.

“If I slip, I’m pulling you down with me!”

Wonwoo was pleased to hear the equally bright smile that bled into your words, meanwhile your fingertips dug even deeper into his muscle. Once inside the shop, a gust of wind proceeded to blow the door shut, and all Wonwoo heard was hard rain against the glass.

—END OF PART TWO.

#seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen x reader #wonwoo x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #wonwoo fanfic #jeon wonwoo #svt scenarios #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut

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lurkingshan · 5 months ago

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Shan's Favorite Dramas of 2024

The year is wrapping up and I have forced myself to narrow down to a list of 15 (I tried 10 but the choices were too hard!) of my favorite 2024 dramas across genres and countries of origin. This is not every drama I liked this year (that list would be incredibly long), but these are the ones that inspired the most brain rot and really stuck with me.

At 25:00 in Akasaka (Japan, Gaga)

The mood and tone of this drama was just perfect, and I loved the way it explored the blurred lines and confusion that can result when the real and fake aspects of a professional relationship get all mixed up. Hayama was a great character and I loved his arc, in particular.

Cherry Magic (Thailand, Viu)

I still can't believe how much I loved this adaptation. A fantastic example of taking a work from another culture and translating it to a new context while not only retaining the core narrative, but even enhancing it. This show gave us what the Japanese version didn't--the resolution to the physical intimacy arc at the core of the premise--and retained all the charm of the original while adding new humor. And delivered one of the best romances of the year while it was at it!

Don't Care for an Old Man's Underwear (Japan, fansub)

Oppan, my beloved. Easily the best family drama of the year, loaded with excellent messages while (mostly) avoiding feeling like an after-school special. Makoto's journey to update his thinking with Daichi's help, and the mutual friendship that developed between them, is one of my favorite relationships of the year. I loved every character's story; there is something for everyone to connect with in this show.

Fangs of Fortune (China, iQIYI)

This drama was just so much FUN. A gorgeous feast for the eyes, a wealth of fascinating characters and relationship dynamics, and a fast-moving plot that you don't need to try too hard to understand. It was a great binge and Li Lun was easily my favorite villain of the year.

Gyeongseong Creature (South Korea, Netflix)

A gorgeous period piece set during one of the darkest chapters of Korean history, this one took me by surprise (I am usually not a horror girlie). The writing for this show had surprising depth and I loved its themes around family and loyalty and survival under fascism.

Knock Knock Boys (Thailand, Gaga)

My boys! I loved this show about a group of four queer men living together in a shared house, getting into mischief and supporting each other through school and work and relationship struggles. The show is funny and breezy but also manages to tackle some serious issues with grace while delivering two strong romances and my favorite coming out narrative of the year.

Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo (South Korea, iQIYI)

Winner for best QL of the year, and a romance that will be sticking with me for a long time. Dohoe is one of the most honest and unflinching depictions of a an adult psyche shaped by childhood abuse that I have ever seen on my screen. It was healing to see him treated with such compassion and to see him and Juyoung find their way to a happy life together. An absolute must watch for all you angst with a happy ending fans.

Love for Love’s Sake (South Korea, iQIYI)

It's so hard to get a high concept premise like this right, but this drama did an amazing job with it. It's one of those shows where you can go back over everything that happened in retrospect and it all adds up, and I loved that the ending lent itself to so many different interpretations. One of the best watch experiences of the year.

Love in the Big City (South Korea, Viki)

Go Young, my beloved. This drama adaptation of the internationally successful novel exceeded my wildest expectations, and I am still a little stunned that we got the privilege of seeing it. It is, bar none, the most authentically queer show on this list, and a beautiful depiction of all the significant relationships in one young man's life. I will be rewatching it many times and keeping it close to my heart.

Love is Like a Poison (Japan, fansub)

A masterful blend of comedy, action, and romance, this drama about a lawyer with delusions of grandeur and the scam artist who decides to become his partner was a constant delight and gave us my favorite battle couple of the year.

Marahuyo Project (Philippines, YouTube)

I can't tell you the joy and relief I felt to get another high quality queer drama from the Philippines this year. And this one had such a great cast of characters, anchored by one of my favorite protagonists of the year in King. It's funny, it's romantic, it's touching, and as always for a JP Haboc production, it has an amazing soundtrack.

She Loves to Cook and She Loves to Eat (Japan, fansub)

My girls! I'm still amazed by how much this drama gave us in its second season by expanding the world of the show beyond our two main characters to include so many other women whose stories were just as fascinating. This is the season where Nomoto and Kasuga really came into themselves and started building the life they want to have together, and it was a real joy to watch.

Tender Light (China, YouKu)

The way this show had me in a chokehold while it was airing! Visually stunning, incredibly well-constructed, and featuring one of the best performances of the year from Zhang Xin Cheng, it's an exhilarating mystery and a very touching story of the unusual bond between a student and the older woman who fascinates and terrifies him.

The Midnight Romance in Hagwon (South Korea, Viki)

You know a drama is good when it has you deeply invested in a random topic you never thought you were interested in. In this case, that's the intense debate on pedagogical methods between the public schools and hagwons in Korea. Alongside delivering a great romance, this drama was passionate about teaching and it sucked me right in to the Korean literature lessons at the heart of the story.

Unknown (Taiwan)

No other drama inspired more brain rot in me this year than this story of a family rocked by changing feelings as the chosen siblings grow up. The loyalty and love and complex desire between Wei Qian and Wei Yuan is the heart of this story, and the drama did an incredible job of taking us along for the journey as things shifted and changed between them. I still think about them all the time.

Bonus: Favorite Classic Dramas Watched for the First Time in 2024

I am always catching up on an endless backlog of dramas alongside my live watches. Here are the best gems I finally watched this year.

Lost (South Korea, Viki)

I loved this deeply melancholy drama about two lost souls who connect unexpectedly. I finally pulled it up from my to be watched list because it shares director Hur Jin Ho with Love in the Big City (he did part 2 with Go Young's mom) and it sure feels like it! The characters are deep and complicated, the relationships are complex and carefully built, and it is hands down the best encapsulation of a failed marriage between two good people who truly loved each other that I have ever seen. It's heavy and not for everyone--mining the depths of human despair is kind of its thing--but if you like this sort of story it's world class.

Mouse (South Korea, Viki)

I was recently in the market for a good mystery thriller, so I finally watched this apparently very divisive 2021 drama--and if there's a divide I am firmly on the HELL YEAH side of the line. This drama had an interesting concept (that I will not describe bc holy shit spoilers, you should go in knowing nothing) that it unwound with remarkable patience and precision over 20 episodes. Its themes were strong and consistent, the lead characters were super compelling, the plotting and pacing and editing were unbelievably tight, the performances were incredible, and it made a lot of provocative points and ended well, feeling coherent and complete. It sustained my full interest and attention without any stumbles for ~25 incredible hours.

Mr. Sunshine (South Korea, Netflix)

Another one that's been on my watch list forever and finally got its moment when I was in the mood for a historical where ladies got to wield weapons alongside the men. And unsurprisingly, I loved it. Writer Kim Eun Sook is known for her big, glossy, epic dramas, and her style made a good pairing with a story about a rebel faction during the Japanese occupation of Korea. I really loved all the main characters in this show, and was moved by the complicated exploration of their loyalty (or lack thereof) to their homeland. This drama also has a very strong class analysis baked into its themes, which I very much appreciated. It was a traumatic watch, but in a way that felt right given the setting and the choices characters made.

The Miracle of Teddy Bear (Thailand, YouTube)

I watched this one on a mission and it was worth every moment. Nut is one of my favorite protagonists in any queer drama, and I thought the show made great use of its fantasy concept to explore some very real human experiences with depth and compassion. This show feels like an especially important counterpoint to the Thal BL bubble, and I recommend it highly for anyone who enjoys those dramas.

When I Fly Towards You (China, Netflix)

And we end on a light and sweet note, with my favorite coming of age romance that I watched all year. This drama was just lovely, and it will be a go-to rewatch for me for years to come. There’s something so comforting about a story where you start with the happy ending before jumping to the beginning, and just get to sit back and see how they get there. I loved all the characters in this and marveled at how it was never boring despite being decidedly low angst.

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thechurchoftheradiodemon · 8 months ago

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Good evening, denizens of Radioapple nation!

I think it's time for a new fic recommendation list. I have been reading some series you recommended and some others that I found on tmblr. My tbr is still shamefully long, you people need to stop being so talented, I can't keep up with all the content.

In any case, here goes my rec list for anyone that is interested. These fics are 100% unadultered radioapple, some sfw, some nsfw, but all of them with good aroace-spec representation and fantastic characterizations.

Without further ado, here we go:

• OSaS, by @morningstarwrites: no need for introductions. This is, I believe, the most famous fic of the fandom. So many hijinks, so much fluff, such character development, and a lot of lovely bickering. It's still going, and we are now entering the 6th arch, with promises of turning up the heat (so far, very much sfw and cute).

• De santos y pecadores, by Sun_Haworth: this is the Spanish version of Of Saints and Sinners (yes, the fic is this famous, it has translations). Very good translation work, I have to say, so check it out if you are a Spanish speaker or if you want to practice your Spanish!

• Lucid Dreams of New Orleans, by @radiaurapple: a "finished" one, with promises of more epilogues and some snippets to come. This is one of the loveliest, most heartwrenching fics I've read of the fandom. Pseudo-human Alastor AU, beautifully written, it will entrance you. You will long for New Orleans like you never knew you could. A must read, for sure. Sfw with the exception of this (highly recommended) snippet, 3 a.m. (Bonus track). I'd also recommend reading A LULLABY FOR MR SHINGLES of you are looking to be creeped out and for a good laugh.

• We should've been enemies, by @soot-and-salt: the gothic horror romance fic you didn't know you needed. It's almost finished, and it captures the creepy dark atmosphere so well. This one is nsfw and very sexy, if I may say so. The writing flows really good, and you can't miss their one-shots: I shine only with the light you gave me, such gorgeous premise and prose, it's a human Alastor AU; and Transubstantiation, based on a fabulous CMV, very gorey and ethereal, it bewitched me.

• All changed, changed utterly, by @tollingreminiscentbells: a finished one, nsfw. Human Alastor AU at the beginning, we follow an alternative narrative in which Lucifer and Alastor met each other before Hell. It is SUCH a gorgeous fic, very nicely written, with so much fluff and angst and character development. Domestic and romantic, without losing each characters essence. I binged it in a couple of days. A must read for any radioapple fan, for sure.

• Lucifer and his terrible, horrible, no good, very bad relationship, by @keelywolfe: this is another radioapple stapple, and rightfully so. Nsfw and still on going, a long read that's very worth it. The writing? Incredible. The evolution of every character? Astounding. The plot? THICK. An amazingly hooking fic, with so much fluff, hurt, confort, love, hate, secrets, drama and smut. A MUST, no doubt. You can also read the short Radioapple Standalones, they are a cute, dramaless and sexy read to rest from the chaos of the main series.

• Bedtime rituals to try out before the next angelic war, by @miribalis: finished and sfw. In this one, we find ourselves with a tricky hotel room and many sheanigans involving insomnia, managerial duties and feelings. Very very cute, writing on point and captures a cozy atmosphere that few do. Another binge-read for me, I just couldn't get enough domesticity from them.

• Blood, water and other bonds, by Minimalistless: nsfw two-shot. If you are looking for some self-indulgent radioapple smut, here is your fic. This one is really well written and fun. Worth giving it a shot.

• loml, by @radioapple-heathen: sfw and still going. A very cute fic, with some really angsty moments and pet snake sheanigans. Alastor and Lucifer discover they have many things in common, but their rivalry never fades... for now.

• Stolen Moments, by @mothballmilkshake: I'm still going through this series, but so far so very good. Nsfw and another very worthy long read. It's fun, it's cute, we see the development of their characters and their relationship, and so far it's becoming another favourite! Definitelly worth seeing how this continues unfolding.

• Strange Appetites, by Gotllphi: Nsfw, gorey (diegetic gore, I believe they described it) and still going. Currently on hiatus, but the author has the story all planned out and will resume writing as soon as they can! My first radioapple read and still on my top list. Human Alastor AU, with some very cute teen Charlie included here and there. The plot is highly adicting, the development of their relationship so much so, and the writing is fantastic. Give it a shot to encourage your local fic writers not to give up!

• Unhealthy Competition, by @theaffablescamp: I have to catch up with this one too, but it is, overall, fun, sexy and intriguing. Nsfw, still going, SO many hooking plot points, SO many hijinks. The radioapples navigate their personal issues while trying to understand each other. A good, entertaining read.

• Eat your heart out, by @seducipher: modern human Alastor AU, nsfw, gorey and unfinished. Very cool atmosphere and premise, good writing and tantalizing. I also binge read this one. Sexy and intriguing, can't wait to see how this one continues.

• @notherpuppet 's AUs: I usually put this one at the end bc it's not a fic per se, but the My Deer Nanny AU is another fandom classic, rightfully so. Fun, cute, fun, domestic, fun, heartmelting... it has everything a radioapple fan needs! They are also in a queer-platonic relationship, which I think is really refreshing and good for their characters. Don't miss their other AUs, art and short-comics. They are pure GOLD.

Also, as I should, have your read Primavera en Nueva Orleans? A great fic in Spanish about Alastor's last Mardi Gras, you should take a look, it's nice 👀

But, anyway, this is all folks! I'll post new fic recs in a while when I continue with my tbr. Thank you for listening and reading, and stay tuned!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #radioapple #appleradio #fic rec

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fallingdownhell · 2 years ago

Note

Inazuma men when you walk in on them in an intimate position with your sister/best friend.

YES, some angsty shit again! Uhhh, I like it when it hurts xD

Characters Included: Ayato; Heizou; Kazuha; Gorou

Content: gender neutral reader; she/her pronouns for your friend/sister; cheating; hurt/no comfort; angst and drama; you walk in on them; suggestive on some parts; Gorou being manipulated; non-consent on Kazuha's part, but not explicit!!

Word count: 2,4k words

Thank you so much for giving me an angsty request. Have fun reading!

Ayato

He would think so high and mighty of himself

Like, he was sure that he was hiding it pretty damn well and that you would never find out about his little secret

you have been engaged to Ayato for some time now, the wedding due to happen soon

it has been a marriage of convinience, both for him as well as your family, yet you were relieved when you found out you were going to marry Ayato, having had a crush on him for a little over a year now

you thought that over the time he got to know you, he also developed feelings for you, he certainly did tell you so

for a long time, you were blinded by the illusion you so desperately wanted to believe, ignorant to the sad and sympathatic looks Ayato's staff would give you

You excused his long and late hours away from you, telling yourself that he was just catching up on work and that he was alright

You only started to get somewhat suspicious when you noticed one of your friends visiting the Kamisato estate rather frequently, but only ever staying for a short period of time, while she never even talked to you when here

still, you gave them both the benefit of the doubt, thinking that they might just be working on something together

Thoma, however, knew what was going on behind your back. He wanted to tell you on so many different occaisions, yet he had to think of his own job as well and how his actions could put himself at risk, as well. So, he never said a single word to you, keeping you oblivious

until one day, it was late at night again and Ayato told you he would be working late again

you nodded and let him get back to his work, but later decided to surprise him with some snacks and refreshments you wanted to bring him

you were feeling kind of giddy when you approached his office door with the tray in your hands, as you noticed weird sounds coming from behind the doors

you didn't want to believe your ears, this couldn't be happening.. not your Ayato..

so you pushed open the door slightly, enough for you to peek into the room, only to have your world crushed in front of your eyes, along with all your hopes and dreams for the future

your ears did not decieve you, Ayato was, in fact, cheating on you this very moment with the person you thought to be one of your best friends

what's even worse was that he noticed you, standing by the door, having caught them in the act

and all he did, was smirk at you as he leaned down and bit into the other womans neck to which she let out a loud moan

shocked, the tray slipped out of your hands as you turned on your heels and started running down the halls, tears streaming down your face

you passed Thoma on the way to your room who shot you another sympathetic look.

He knew it... he was in on it..

now it finally dawned on you, and it all made sense.. why everyone was always looking at you like this.. they were all in on it.. you were the only one who wasn't aware..

still crying, you grabbed a bag and took some of your most important belongings as well as some clothes, before you left this estate you once hoped you could call your home

seems like some things just weren't meant to work out in life...

Heizou

he wouldn't want to do it, but he would if he could get some kind of benefit from it

Heizou has always been a very flirty personality, even while in a relationship with you. It caused arguments on more than one occaision

he would always tell you that he would stop doing it.. that promise would sometimes last for a week, often times shorter than that, before he got right back to his usual behaviour

the worst part was, that he saw nothing wrong with this type of behaviour

as long as it got him the results he desired, he didn't care for the method he had to use

it was cruel in a way, but he didn't want to acknowledge that he could do wrong as well

when this particular incident occured was when he finally realized how wrong his attitude had been

he had been stumped on a particular case for a few days now, no new leads showing up and the trail was starting to get cold

it frustrated him beyond anything else and to top it off, he was currently engaged in yet another heated argument with you

you were ticked off by the way he was shamelessly flirting with a shopkeeper, right in front of you while on a date

he tried to explain that he just tried to get some clues out of her, but you didn't seem to want to hear it

after some more yelling, you left the house to catch some fresh air and cool off, while Heizou stayed back

he sat in front of his files again, trying to make sense of all the clues when someone knocked on the front door

he recognised your sister there and while he planned on sending her away at first, she made him an offer he just couldn't turn down so easily

spending one night with her in exchange for the missing clues he needed to solve this case

he didn't think long before agreeing to this deal

she entered the house and it didn't take long before things got heated and they both landed on the bed he normally shared with you

it didn't really feel right to do this, but he was doing it for the greater good. He's sure you would understand that

while they were in the middle of things, with her being on top, riding him, he suddenly heard the front door open and a sharp inhale being taken

he whipped his head around, seeing you standing there, looking shocked and hurt

immediately after that, you turned and ran out the door again, he saw tears beginning to form in your eyes. He wanted to get up and run after you, but.... he couldn't. He had to keep up his part of the deal. He could always talk to you the next day

when he sought you out the next day, you were refusing to speak to him.. and the day after... as well as the day after that

he was getting frustrated, missing holding you in his arms. He grew irritated without you around..

the next day, he saw you in the streets of Inazuma City, so he walked up to you

However, once he reached you, he was met with a slap in the face. It stung, and he looked at you in surprise

tears welled up in your eyes again as you turned and tried to leave again, but he quickly snatched your wrist, trying to explain his reasons to you

you stayed and listened, but your expression was hard and ice cold the entire time

"I hope it was worth it in the end, because you lost me for good now"

that was the last thing you ever said to him again before you left his life for good

and finally, Heizou understood what he had been doing wrong this entire time... and he regretted his decisions like nothing else in his life...

Kazuha

now for Kazuha... he is a very honest and loyal soul

you never would have thought that you had to worry about anything like that with him, already having bad experiences from a previous relationship

Kazuha always made time for you, made you feel loved and appreciated, always told you how much he loved and adored you, whishing you would stay with him forever

you honestly felt the same way about him, already imagining a future together with him

but... we all know how easily Kazuha can get drunk.. and just how drunk he gets from so few drinks..

you were going out with some of your friends to party a bit, and you decided to invite your boyfriend along

he didn't mind it, deciding not to drink anything so he could keep an eye on you and make sure you're safe throughout the entire night

it went well in the beginning. You were moderately drinking with your friends while he was sipping on whatever non-alcoholic beverage he ordered for himself

he always kept an eye on you, but at some point of the night, he lost sight of you

while walking around the vicinity, looking around trying to find you, he ran into one of your friends, who was obviously pretty drunk at this point

she clung onto Kazuha, staying close to him, slowing him down immensely

at some point, she offered him a drink. He refused at first, but she kept insisting, promising that it would be non-alcoholic

being the sweetheart that Kazuha is, he gave in after some time, only to realize too late that she had been lying, it was very much an alcoholic drink

but it was too late already, she forced him to down the glass and then another one right after, getting him drunk

in this state, he didn't have control over his mind or his actions, he just went along with whatever she said to him

so what if she suggested to go into an isolated corner so that they could have some "fun"

in his inebriated state, he didn't realize that the person he was doing it with, wasn't you

only when he heard a gasp and saw you standing there a few feet away from him did he regain some of his consciousness back

he saw the tears forming in your eyes and he tried to run after you, but even in your own drunken state, you were faster than him, he couldn't catch up to you

the next day, he woke up again with a severe headache but still perfect memory from the events of that night

he immediately set out to look for you, finding you rather quickly

you had dark circles under your eyes and they were red and swollen from all the crying

he apologized to you over and over, telling you what had happened. He hated himself for letting this happen to him, yet he was still more worried over you

it is up to you if you want to forgive him or not, he will accept whatever decision you make. Just know that he is so, so sorry and if you choose to give him a second chance, he will make sure that nothing like that will ever happen again..

Gorou

oh, poor little Gorou..

he is soo easy to manipulate.. people can tell him everything they want, and he is prone to believe them until proven wrong

he loves you dearly, with all his heart, but he often doubts himself, fearing that he's not good enough for you

so, when someone else comes along, planting even the faintest bit of doubt in his mind about your relationship, he grows restless and insecure

you, having already a strained relationship with your family, especially with your younger sister, spent most of your free time with Gorou, so normally, there wouldn't be anything for him to worry about, right?

Well, the thing is.. your sister has always had a thing for Gorou, even before you two got together. She neve told you about it, but ever since you made the relationship official, she hated you for it

she wanted Gorou all to herself, yet you were standing in the way of that goal. She had to get rid of you somehow..

the first few months of the relationship went by great, you were both so in love with each other

yet, after that, your sister started to visit Gorou whenever you weren't around him. You could be at work or out doing something.. she would be there visiting him, leaving again before you returned again

at first, it was just normal visits. She would simply talk to Gorou, asking him how his day went, getting to know him better. Though she asked to keep this meet-ups a secret from you, since she claimed she wanted to reconnect with you on your terms alone

Gorou, being non the wiser, agreed to that

this went on for a while until she started to plant seeds of doubt in his mind. Spreading rumors to him how you were meeting up with some other guy, how the meet-ups became more frequent, that you were probably cheating on him, and so on

Gorou didn't want to believe her, choosing to trust you. But, being so gullible, he started to see things that weren't actually there. He imagined you coming home later than usual, thinking you were avoiding his gaze

he didn't want to admit it, but with every further visit from your sister, he believed her more and more, now doubting everything about your relationship with him. Did you ever even love him?

the final part of her plan came, when she convinced him to sleep with her to "get you back for cheating on him first"

it felt wrong to him, but he still went along with the idea. At some point, he did get into it, not noticing how you came back earlier than usual, flowers in your hand..

those flowers immediately dropped to the ground as you realized what you just walked in on..

and in that moment did he remember.. today was your anniversary.. 6 months togehter...

he immediately ripped himself off your sister, calling out your name, but you were already out the door. He quickly threw some clothes over himself to run after you, but your sister caught his wrist, begging him to stay

he paid her no mind and ran after you, yet he wasn't able to find you, no matter where or how hard he looked..

defeated, he returned to his place, curling in on himself.. tomorrow, he promised himself. Tomorrow he's gonna find you and talk to you..

however, the next day, he found out that you had left Watatsumi Island.. you went and found Kazuha, leaving Inazuma with him on the Alchor..

you were out of his reach, forever now, and it was all his fault.. he had no one else to blame but himself for his stupid actions.. he lost the best thing that ever came into his life, and he would never get you back...

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back2bluesidex · 10 months ago

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Hard Luck - JJK & KTH (18+) - Chapter 1

◆ Pairing: CEO Jungkook X Fem employee Reader X Legal advisor Taehyung.

◆ Summary: You have a good face, a nice body, a fat amount saved in your secondary bank account, a stable job that you love, loving friends and family, you are good in bed. You have almost everything other than a good luck in love. Sleeping around with random dudes don’t feel enough when your friends are getting married and having kids. If you are being honest, you have started getting bored of this prolonged singlehood already.

Your last light of hope fades away when your work crush, aka the hot guy from the legal department, Kim Taehyung (with whom you might or might not have slept once, okay! twice!), asks you to set him up with your work best friend (who, apparently, is the most asked out woman of the company). But what you don’t know is that the CEO of the company has taken a liking to you and has started on a mission of winning your heart.

But wait… Taehyung might have started developing feelings for you in the process of receiving your help.

◆ Chapter summary: Two meetings - One went good - another went downhill.

◆ Theme: Romance, drama, light angst, my poor attempt of humor, fluff and eventual smut. office romance au,

◆ Warnings: Tiny bit angst.

◆ Word count: 3.2k+

◆ A/N: let me know your thoughts.

Minors aren't allowed in this blog!!!!

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You have a very love-hate relationship with weekends.

Love because who the hell doesn’t like free times, no rush to drive to work, a quiet time on their couch with some unhealthy snacks and a good movie playing on the TV?

Hate because weekends make you feel alone. Today is just a copy of yesterday.

On most Friday nights you end up going drinking with your teammates, save your Saturdays for your friends and your precious Sundays are for yourself and yourself only.

But lately, your said friends have changed, not by choice but by circumstances. Two of them are married, one is engaged and another just started dating after a prolonged singlehood - leaving you completely out of the order. Now they name most of their Saturdays to their partners, which makes you angry but you know that’s the only normal thing to do.

So, now you are the one that neither has a partner and nor anyone to spend most of your Saturdays with.

You sigh as you scroll through netflix.

There is nothing that catches your eyes, intrigues you enough to start watching.

Just when you are about to read the description of this new cheesy romcom, your phone vibrates with a call.

It’s your mom - she calls you ten times a day.

“Hmmm?” you greet her absent-mindedly.

“Mia just gave birth to a baby boy!!!” she squeals on the other side of the phone. You can feel her excitement through the vibration of her digitized voice.

The news lights you up as well. Mia is your favorite cousin and older than you by a year only.

“Really? Woah! Is the baby fine? Is she fine?”

“Both of them are fine, ddal.” Your mother, now, replies calmly, “it’s only me who is not.”

“What? What happened? Joint-pain again?” you sit up on the couch.

“No. That's not it.” your mother whines. You love to hear her whines.

“Then?”

“When will I have my grandchild?” she huffs, making you laugh.

“Eomma, I’m only 27.” you remind her.

“That’s why I am reminding you, darling. If you start looking for a man now, you will be able to gift me a grandchild before I hit seventy.”

The mention of a ‘man’ draws a very particular face on your vision.

You know you should not think too much, read too much into someone’s actions. But at this age, when you already started feeling alone, feeling the desire for someone to come back home to, you can’t help but to feel the need of holding the next best person who shows you a silver of interest.

And Taehyung has shown a lot of it.

You will win in life if you manage to bag someone as nice, hot, handsome and successful as him.

“Maybe… maybe very soon, eomma.” you add a trail of words to end your thoughts.

“Omo! Really? Are you seeing someone?” she’s now way too much excited and her excitement makes you want more from the guy who only fucked you twice.

“No- it’s not that. I am just talking about the possibilities.” your voice sounds frail for some reason. Possibility is what it is. Nothing is confirmed.

You know you have a crush on Taehyung but at the same time you have no idea if there is more than just lust in his mind.

You try not to think of negative things and engage your mother in off-topic conversations. But in the back of your mind, Taehyung stays still, with his baritone voice and boxy smile.

“Good morning, sweetheart” Hani, the colleague you are the closest to, chirps in with her sweet voice.

She is the epitome of perfection.

The girl looks like a goddess, very friendly, the life of the party, smiles at everyone - doesn’t really matter if she knows them or not, is an amazing cook, and good at the job she does.

Her amazing persona accompanied by that next level face card, makes her the most desired woman of the company.

There is hardly any bachelor who hasn’t asked her out yet. And Taehyung is one of them (which makes you think that he must be into you).

Sometimes you are jealous of her - okay! Scratch that! Most of the time you are jealous of her ability to make friends, to have people wrapped around her fingers without having to do anything while you practically have to beg your own friends to spend their weekends with you.

And being asked out? That’s a completely different story.

What you have understood from your experience is that guys love to have you on their bed. You are a good fuck, you know that. But a wife material? No.

You are way too aloof, emotionally unattached to entertain anyone more than normal boundaries allow you to. Hence, you end up pushing people away.

And now - at an age where you should be in a long term relationship - you are alone.

“Good morning, Hani.” you reply with a genuine smile gracing your lips. Honestly, very few people can pull a genuine smile out of you and Hani is certainly one of them.

Had it been anyone else as popular as her, they would have a big fat ego. But Hani is different and that’s why you love her.

“How was the weekend?” she asks, placing her order for her usual iced americano. You still don’t understand how people consume this as the first thing in the morning. It’s nothing but cold and bitter.

You grab your iced vanilla latte and take a mouth full of the sweetness, “as usual. Boring. Only me and my couch and netflix”

“Oh? You could have called me in. I was mostly alone too.” she sips her aa-aa, and makes a delightful face. You scrunch your nose at that.

“Really? I thought you do those volunteering stuff on weekends?” you two walk towards the elevator while sipping on your beverages.

“That’s for day-time. I am usually free during the nights. So, try calling me if you need a companion.” she eyes you expectantly.

You know she feels alone too, just like you.

Hani came out of her two year long relationship just a few months ago. She probably feels alone during her free time as her partner is not there to entertain her anymore.

And maybe it’s a good idea.

Even though you don’t like to extend your professional relationships beyond the gates of your workplace - Hani can be different.

You can take this friendship a little further, you guess.

The elevator door slides open, revealing a certain someone you look for a lot these days.

Taehyung smiles brightly at you. Two strands of his dark hair fall on his forehead, his siren eyes are full of mirth as they quickly dip down to check you out. But then his eyes fall on Hani. And if you are not wrong then they have a brief eye-contact before someone behind asks you and your friend to get inside and make space already.

An odd feeling blooms inside your chest.

Taehyung checked you out, that’s for sure. But what were those love eyes that he regarded Hani with? Did he just fall in love at first sight or something of that sort?

You settle inside the dingy space of the elevator rather uncomfortably - both physically and metaphorically.

Hani is standing in front of you and Taehyung is just behind your back. You are sandwiched between the two of them and weirdly enough - you don’t feel too good about the situation. Because you can see Taehyung staring at Hani through the glazed metal door or the elevator. Something churns inside of you at the thought of Taehyung being smitten by your work best friend.

But maybe you are thinking too much? Maybe time will soon prove you wrong.

Wrong. Everything is wrong.

Your teammates do an impressive job everyday except for the days when there is an important meeting and you need documented reports.

Today is one of those days. And today is even more horrifying because this will be your very first meeting with the new CEO who took over less than a month ago.

Streets say he is as strict as his father if not more. That’s basically all you know about Jeon Jungkook. You don’t know what he looks like or what he sounds like. And that makes you anxious.

The prospect of having an one-on-one meeting with the new, young CEO has been freaking you out already and now your subordinate had to do a sloppy reporting job.

“Oh lord! Sooho! Why did you write ‘no penetration this month’ when the chart is at its peak?” You don’t like to scream at all but the migraine that is climbing up through the path of your neck mixes with your frustration and turns your sentence a little more high pitched than what you usually use.

“Oh?” your teammate blinks at you being dumbfounded, “is that called penetration?”

“Yes of course? What did you think? We are asking about your sex life in the reports?” you can’t help but mock the boy.

Laughter echoes through your workspace but it quickly dies down when you glare at your teammates. They mumble apologies but you pretend not to hear any of it.

“Sorry, seonbae. I will fix it right away.” he runs towards his cubicle.

“You have five minutes.” you issue a warning. Taking your phone in your hands, you find a text sitting on your screen.

Taetae: Any plans tonight?

Your chest heaves with the long breath that you inhale upon reading the text. See… Taehyung still wants to see you! It’s you he wants to see! And you went on an overdrive thinking he might ditch you now and start chasing Hani like the other men of the office.

Your nails clink against your phone screen as you type your reply.

You: nope.

You don’t even get the chance of putting down your phone because his reply comes right away.

Taetae: Then let's get a coffee after work. I will wait at the lounge.

You: Sounds cool.

You don’t know what you feel about this one-on-one meeting situation.

The previous CEO, Mr. Jeon Jae Gyeong, had meetings with all of the department heads at once and got done with it.

But the younger Mr. Jeon has sent out emails to everyone stating very clearly that he would be changing the meeting format.

So, now you are here. Waiting outside his massive office (that could fit your entire workspace and still leave space for a snack pantry), on the verge of an anxiety attack.

The more you wait, the more restless you feel. Your heels start tapping against the floor creating a rapid sound. The CEO’s assistant, a beautiful guy with blonde hair and soft features, looks at you with an assuring smile - as if to tell you that ‘it’s okay. Don’t get your nerves worked up.’

you smile back at him feeling a tiny bit better.

Just then the huge door of the CEO’s office slides open. The head of the finance team walks out and from the look on his face you can tell that his meeting didn’t go too well.

Your throat dries at the assumption of what you might face when you go inside.

You are not going to get fired, right? Right?!

Mr. Bae, the finance head, walks out in haste heightening your anxiety even more.

Just then the assistant receives a call on his line and murmurs something. He looks at you and says, “you may go inside now.”

Your legs almost give out. You start planning to go home and update your resume to look for opportunities.

Taking a long breath, you push the door open.

Your eyes fall on the prominent figure that is sitting on the large mahogany table. His eyes are focused on the ipad. Mouth shut tight, lips pursed, his downturned face is casted with a shadow, which prevents you from taking a good look at his face.

What you see is the silver ring that glints on his eyebrow. And are those tattoos on his hand?

Even if he heard you coming in he clearly didn’t plan on providing you with any of his attention.

“May I come in, Mr. Jeon?” you curse at the way there is zero confidence in your voice.

He then looks up at you and locks his eyes with yours.

Holy shit! He is handsome!

Your chest heaves with another long breath.

You wait for him to call you inside but he just sits still staring at you with big doe eyes. His gaze is piercing, intimidating and makes you weak on your knees.

His Adam's apple bobs as he gulps once before clearing his throat, “Miss Y/N. Please come in.”

You take careful steps towards his desk praying that you don’t trip and embarrass yourself. He ushers his hand towards the chair, asking you to take a seat voicelessly.

You do as he asks.

“How are you doing, Miss Y/N?” Jeon Jungkook asks without diverting his piercing gaze from yours.

He is looking at you so intently as if he has known you for a long time.

You give him an easy smile, “I’m doing fine, Mr.Jeon. What about you?” you return his courtesy.

“Doing great.” Jeon Jungkook gives you a very pretty, heart fluttering kind of smile.

If your heart really flutters a little - you are not going to dwell upon it.

“So, let’s talk about work.” he hums as he dives into his laptop and probably opens the reports you have mailed him earlier.

Taking a minute to check all the reports, he opens his mouth to speak, “pretty impressive. I have gone through the reports from previous months as well and as I am seeing this month's reports - you have been bringing great results. Online traffic is at an all-time high, ad-clicks have gone past the five million mark, there are an average of 20 real-time users and at least 5 of them are from the states. Great. I must say” he pauses to look at you, “I am very impressed.” The last part of his sentence comes out breezy, a little bit suggestive as if his words are not only about your work.

Your stomach feels light.

“Thank you sir.” that’s all you manage to reply. Absent-mindedly you take your lower-lip in between your teeth and nip on it.

The action catches Jungkook’s eyes.

“Are you nervous?” he places a very unexpected question, catching you off-guard.

“Ah- yeah. I mean, It’s my very first encounter with you as the CEO, so I could not help being a bit anxious. Apologies if my actions have disappointed you in any way.” you straighten your back and speak confidently this time.

He doesn’t seem rude at all. You allow yourself to feel at ease.

“Don’t worry about that. I get you. But be assured I am not going to eat you up.” he giggles. His giggle makes you break into a smile as well.

“That’s all for the day. Looking forward to working with you…” Jungkook extends his hand towards you. You wrap your smaller one around his palm and he mutters, “...closely.”

When you look into his eyes, you see mischief.

“Sure.” you reply, sucking in all the air you could.

By the time you come out of his room, your heart is thumping inside your ears.

What the fuck was that? How is he so handsome? And what were those eyes he looked at you with? Why did he murmur ‘closely’ like that?

No! You are overthinking again! You scold yourself.

The assistant gives you another smile as you bow at him a little and walk away. You find Hani waiting to be called inside.

When she sees you, she approaches you with a nervous grin, “how is the new CEO?” she whisper-yells.

“Very nice and handsome.” you whisper back. She makes an “O” with her mouth before she gets called inside.

You check your lips once more in the mirror.

Being too focused on perfecting your lip liner, you don’t see Hani coming inside the washroom. You only become attentive of her presence when she smacks your ass.

“Ouch!” a painful groan leaves your lips, “don’t do this! People might think we are dating!”

“I’d have totally dated you if I wasn’t straight.” Hani chuckles standing beside you, “what’s the occasion tho? Have a date or something?”

“Nope. Gonna meet Taehyung for a quick coffee.”

Hani’s eyes wide at that, “Taehyung? As in Kim Taehyung from the legal team?”

“Yup.”

“Ohh hooo” she sings “I didn’t know you guys have coffees with each other, huh?”

“It’s not what you think, Hani.” you look at her, raising a brow.

“Oh? Really? But I think he is a good guy. He even greeted me when we met during lunch and I’m sure he didn’t even know me before this morning.”

Huh? Taehyung greeted Hani? That’s weird. Because he hardly ever smiles at people he doesn’t know properly.

You don’t let your expression give away your thoughts when you murmur a little ‘yeah’ to your friend.

Teahyung looks like a painting - or better - a sculpture as he sits there facing the huge window of the lounge.

He is devastatingly handsome. A smile creeps up to your lips without you realizing so.

This time you walk confidently, marching towards him as if you own it all. The sound of your heels against the floor makes him face you and look up at you.

“Hey” he greets you as you sit down across from him.

“Hi” you greet back, waving your hand to a waiter.

“How was the day?” Taehyung asks, once you are done placing your order.

“Nerve-wracking. I almost fainted before the one-on-one meeting.” you recall the incidents, then the man.

Jeon Jungkook’s handsome face flashes before your eyes for a second.

Taehyung chuckles at your answer, “I know. Jungkook can be really intimidating.”

You pout, “oh? You’re talking as if you know him personally?”

“Actually yes. We are not at all close and probably talked a few times but we share the same group of friends.”

Your eyebrows shoot towards your hairline at the information, “Really? That’s great. It would have been easy for you to face him then.”

“Oh god! Not at all! He had me pinned at my seat for the entire meeting. All serious expressions and no smile.” Taehyung grimaces at the memory.

“He smiled at me though. Actually… giggled. He was super nice.” you start recalling the encounter again.

“He must have really liked you.” Taehyung muses.

Is he jealous? You ask yourself. Even though Teahyung sounds anything but envious.

“By the way, Y/N. I asked you to meet today for a selfish reason.” he smiles sheepishly.

“What is it?” you ask sipping your coffee that just arrived.

“Are you close to Hani?”

As soon as the words leave Taehyung's lips, your world stops moving. You know what is about to come and it breaks your heart but you are determined not to show it on your face.

“Yeah. why?” you manage to voice upon gulping the lump that formed in your throat.

All of a sudden Taehyung lunches forward grasping your hands with his big ones, “help me please. Set me up with her! Pleaaaaseeeee” his boxy smile is on full view.

Once that smile warmed you up but right now you feel nothing but cold.

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katyusha454 · 1 year ago

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I think I've found the most tragic ship in BG3 and I need to rant about it

I've seen a decent number of people discuss and write about Dark Justiciar Shadowheart, but they always focus on what she's like post-game when she's fully committed to Shar. Which is a fine thing to focus on! Especially when you're writing smut where she's a mean domme. Post-game DJ Shadowheart is a fascinating character. But I feel like people neglect to consider what she's like during the transition phase of Act 3, where she's become Shar's Chosen but hasn't yet Done The Thing that caps off her personal questline. And there is SO MUCH potential for angst and drama during that time frame.

IMO the most important aspect of this stage of her development is that she is not evil yet. She simply made a single bad decision and now she feels like she's in too deep to do anything but double down on it. She's spent her whole life trying to "fake it 'till you make it" and she's only just now starting to transition out of that and into sincere belief. All the misgivings and insecurities she's shared with you are still there, just buried deeper. That desire to love others and do good hasn't yet been completely stamped out. In my Dark Justiciar Origin run, I try to do good things whenever possible as long as I can find a way to rationalize it as benefiting Shar. (but I still ended up saying enough evil-sounding things to make Minthara incredibly horny for me)

So where does Karlach fit in?

Well, turns out when you play as Origin Shadowheart, Shar doesn't make you break up with your partner. In fact, Shar says absolutely nothing to you about your romantic situation. This is really weird if you're romancing anyone other than Karlach, but I think it makes perfect sense for Shar to tolerate a relationship with Karlach for the time being. It's the ideal opportunity for Shar to prove a point. Karlach is dying, and no matter what Shadowheart does, this relationship is going to end in painful loss. Shar wants Shadowheart to fall in love with Karlach only to have that love abruptly ripped away from her. It perfectly demonstrates everything Shar believes about love: that it's fleeting and will always hurt you in the long run. Better to just avoid it entirely so you don't get hurt.

And Shadowheart knows all this. She's studied Sharran scripture extensively, after all. She knows that Shar is trying to teach her a lesson, she knows that the longer the relationship lasts and the more emotionally intimate it gets, the more the end is going to hurt. So why doesn't she break it off? Partly it's because she loves Karlach and doesn't want to end things; she's probably in denial at least a little bit. But I think it's also partly because she's a bit of a masochist. She thinks she deserves to suffer because she knows, at least subconsciously, that she's still not a very good Sharran. She can see the loss coming and she hopes the experience will bring her closer to Shar.

You'd think Karlach would be unwilling to put up with DJ Shadowheart's fanatical bullshit, but personally I think Karlach would stick it out for a whole mess of reasons. Number one, she can still see the good in Shadowheart and she refuses to give up on her partner. She's clinging tightly to the hope that Shadowheart can still be redeemed, even though she probably understands that it's a long shot at best.

Number two, she blames herself. When you play as Tav/Durge or another Origin, Shadowheart will have a conversation with you before deciding what to do in the Shadowfell. But if you play as Shadowheart, none of your companions says a word to you. In the context of this ship, I choose to interpret that as Karlach being too trusting. She's seen the good in Shadowheart, after all. She's so certain Shadowheart will do the right thing that she doesn't think she needs to speak up. It's not until too late that she realizes what Shadowheart needed was for someone to say "hey, are you sure about this?" So now she feels she needs to make up for that failure somehow by continuing to try and nudge Shadowheart in the right direction even though it seems impossible.

And number three, Karlach's just plain lonely. As fucked-up as this relationship is, she's still getting companionship and intimacy, and she doesn't think she has time to cultivate a new relationship if she breaks up with Shadowheart. She wants someone to be with her and hold her hand at the end, even if that someone is a brainwashed cultist.

In sum, both of them know that their relationship is extremely unhealthy; that it's hurting them now and will hurt them more in the future. But they both refuse to end it for their own reasons. And good gods, the ANGST. ARE YOU FEELING IT NOW, MISTER KRABS?

#baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 #shadowheart #karlach #shadowlach #dark justiciar shadowheart

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shadowgast-recs-weekly · 2 months ago

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Featuring Eiselcross and Aeor: A Fanfiction Rec List

This week, we have Eiselcross/Aeor! Check under the cut for 7 fics that are set in the strange and icy land of Eiselcross, and don't forget to comment and kudos if you like them!

Like a Steel Trap by kaeda (12519, Explicit)

Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek figures out just how much Caleb knows (and just how much that turns him on).

Reccer says: Elaborates on the Kryn culture and capitalizes on the feats that make Caleb just that much extra. Just two wizards seducing each other with their brains.

In the Dark with No Stars to Guide by Somestreptomyces (46532, Teen)

Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek hopes to learn more about Caleb as they travel through Aeor together.

Reccer says: It's a great fic that pays a lot of attention to the worldbuilding and journeying, with a lot of introspection combined in with it. It's a really wonderful, cozy and longer read!

Like the love that discovered the sin by bloodredribbon (4960, Explicit)

Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

"When the wizards meet up in Aeor, Essek is woefully underdressed for the weather. Out of concern for his Kryn-friend's extremities, Caleb offers to help, with unforeseen (horny) consequences."

Reccer says: I liked it!

Hold Me Close, Cut Me Deep by CatgirlTheCrazy (14192, Mature)

Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Whilst investigating in Aeor, Essek gets Charmed by an Incubus wearing Caleb's face. The real Caleb goes to desperate lengths to save him

Reccer says: The best kind of whump, with a really sweet ending. It hurts so good!

Through The Frightening Door by Prolix (228,371 (but ongoing; currently at 34/40 ch), Explicit)

Reccer's Content Notes: canon typical violence, i��d say — so if that’s graphic, then graphic, but i wouldn’t say it’s more so than anything else

Post-C2 longfic. Ongoing. Essek POV. The classic Aeor exploration slow burn relationship study genre of fic, but the highest degree of Aeor exploration & slow burn & relationship study conceivable.

Reccer says: look. i’ve read a lot of shadowgast, and i’m picky about my shadowgast to boot. this is honestly the best characterization of their dynamic, the most interesting depiction of aeor, and the most well-written work i can remember reading — and there are some good fics out there, too! but prolix might solo em all for me, and the fic is not even done yet! if you’re someone who looks for legitimately good writing (like actually legitimately very good!!!), realistic, thoughtful characterization of both our boys (and the cameos we get of the other nein) and how they develop post campaign, an in-depth relationship study that lets things grow naturally and doesn’t manufacture drama/angst when unnecessary in order to rush OR delay developments unbelievably, as well as a frankly disconcertingly fleshed out version of aeor w/ insanely detailed, unique, innovative, meaningful, and thorough world-building, go read this fic. go now. it’s still updating! get in on the ground floor!

Snowed In in Aeor by bardlock (1133, Mature)

Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

While trekking through Aeor, Essek and Eadwulf get separated from Caleb and have to spend the night together when they’re out of spell slots to Teleport. It gives Essek plenty of time to think about the situation… and Eadwulf is no stranger to having to cuddle up with others for warmth.

Reccer says: The fic is a WIP, but I’m loving the previews that have been posted in AifL! The first chapter alone has me really excited for this fic, and I’m really intrigued by this exploration of Bren/Eadwulf vs. Caleb/Essek through Essek’s viewpoint of it.

The following fic received two recs!

Gravity, and all that's born within by SkyScribbles (163598, Teen)

Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Wizards returning to Aeor and realising not everything is as they left it while coming to terms with everything that has happened between them.

Reccer 1 says: I really enjoy the way the relationship develops, and the fantastic original characters.

Reccer 2 says: Quite literally my favourite fic I’ve ever read. The characters are perfectly voiced and the antagonists are complex and deep. The writing is so incredibly smart, it stands with the source material in terms of depth and development. I reread it every couple of months!

This is one of our weekly communally-generated shadowgast rec lists. Every week we announce a new theme and allow anyone to submit a fic recommendation.

And hey, anyone includes you!

Next week, we'll be featuring fics from Caleb's POV!

Any fics coming to mind? Well, then use this form to submit!

#shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #critical role #cr fic recs #fan fiction rec list #critical role fan fiction #cr fic #cr fics

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katebishopsbow · 2 years ago

Note

PLEASE MORE CHARLES SISTER READER !! i loved it so much. could you maybe do like a young middle teen sister reader who kinda has a grudge against charles for him never being around cause he was racing and then angst when they see each other again but it eventually turns to fluff/comfort? thank you i adore your stuff !!!

DAISY • CHARLES LECLERC

pairing: charles leclerc x sister!reader

summary: you and charles used to be inseparable, but with him constantly being away for all his races, an invisible wall began to form between you and him. it took a crash for you two to acknowledge what had happened, and try mending the broken pieces of your relationship.

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, miscommunications, charles being absent from reader's life

word count: 3.1k

(image is not mine)

─────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

The first reactions whenever you revealed to people that Charles Leclerc was your brother had always been jealous glances, envious smiles, and words like “That must be so amazing!” And it was amazing indeed – Charles was amazing. So why did you feel so isolated, like you were stuck looming in the hidden shadows of your brother sometimes?

You tried to be understanding. Charles was incredibly talented in racing, and these few years would be the most crucial years of his life in climbing the ladder to Formula 1 – his biggest childhood dream. So whenever your parents would tell you with the most apologetic smiles that they might have to miss your events at school because Charles had an important race they had to attend, you didn’t cry, you didn’t throw a tantrum, you just nodded quietly and went back to your room.

It wasn’t your parents nor Charles’ fault – you knew that. You understood that your parents would never purposefully miss your events or neglect one child for the other, and Charles never wanted to make you feel like the less important one in the family. But somehow, it still stung to glance down at the audience at whatever school performance you were having and not see your parents or brother there, to feel like you were quietly fading into the background, to know that you would always be seen as an extension of Charles and never your own self.

Of course, Charles had noticed you becoming distant from the family – he always noticed everything. It pained him just as much as it upset you whenever he had to miss out on your life, and so he tried hard to be there when you needed it. On the rare days when he didn’t have training or a race lined up, he would offer to take you out for a little “sibling date” and try making up for the times he wasn’t there for you. While you appreciated his effort, there was no denying that an invisible wall had developed between you two, dividing you and your brother with all your missed events and unspoken words.

How could you tell Charles that because of him, you felt like you were not seen? How could you tell him that it felt like his dreams and achievements took center stage of the family while yours had become shoved back in the dimmed shadows? How could you tell him that when you looked at him, you saw a stranger, that the bond that once firmly held you two together had begun to feel oddly unfamiliar? You simply couldn’t.

The wall continued to grow as the years went on, acting as a constant reminder that things between you two could never quite be the same. Your parents would always say to your relatives that you and Charles were such good kids because you two rarely fought. You were uncertain if that was really a good thing though – how could you fight when you barely even talk to each other?

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

There was a soft knocking on your door, and you didn’t need to ask to know who it was. “Go away, Charles,” you sighed exasperatedly, not wanting to speak to your brother just yet. He had done it once again – saying that he would come to your school’s drama performance but telling you last minute that he had an urgent meeting with his sponsor and couldn’t come. It wasn’t his fault that something suddenly came up, but it still hurt like hell, and it left you feeling like a complete idiot for believing for a second that you were more important to him than his race.

Despite your protest, he opened the door and came in anyway. “Hey, ange.” He still called you by your childhood nickname, but that word that once held so much endearment and affection only sounded foreign coming from his lips. “I thought since Mom and Dad won’t be home for dinner tonight, we could go to that restaurant that you like?” he asked with a tired smile, trying to make it up to you for missing your show.

“Just stop it, Charles,” you said to him, rubbing your hands over your face in frustration. Your brother looked at you confusedly, the smile dropping from his face as he asked, “What do you mean?” You considered for a moment to stay silent and continue to conceal your true feelings, to keep acting like everything’s fine – but you were just so, so tired of pretending.

“Stop pretending that everything’s normal between us! Stop acting like you care, or that you aren’t gone most of the time!” For the first time in years, you yelled at him, voice cracking at the emotions that had stayed buried deep within you for the longest time. “It’s fine if you’re not going to be here, Charles, but then just please stay gone… don’t come back and give me all these false hopes when you’re just going to leave me again. Please…” You were already choked up by the time you finished your words, raw hurt and disappointment lacing through your pleas – a mixture of so much love and hate toward your brother.

Charles said nothing, he just stared at you silently while allowing your gun-wrenchingly painful words to set in. The boy hardly cried – not when he performed terribly in a race, not when he suffered a nasty sports injury, not even when he thought his journey to F1 was over when he almost got disqualified at a rather important race. But as he stood there in the doorway of your room, feeling the words stabbing into his heart, he thought he was going to fall apart and shatter into broken pieces.

“I’m sorry,” he let out a barely audible whisper, voice trembling from the guilt that weighed heavily on his chest. Hearing your cries made his heart clench with pain, and it hurt him even more knowing that he was the cause of it all. When you were kids, the two of you always joked that he was going to beat up any boy who would dare break your heart. It was a cruel twist of fate that he, the person who had vowed to protect you, had become the very person to cause you heartbreak, and that realization killed him inside.

Knowing that nothing he said could make things right at this point, he glanced at you one last time before leaving your room. That night while you soaked through your pillow with tears and heartache, in your brother’s room at the other end of the hallway, Charles was crying silently beneath his sheets too.

Two hearts were broken that night, with both of you mourning the shattered pieces of your once unbreakable bond.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

The air was humid when your parents and you arrived at the circuit, rain pouring heavily as the scent of wet gravel loomed over the track like a bad omen. Flying halfway across the world to watch Charles’ race wasn’t initially in your summer plans, but your parents insisted that it would be fun to travel as a family. So alas, here you were, standing amidst the rain-soaked circuit to support Charles in the pursuit of his racing dreams.

“Mom! Dad!” The excited voice of your brother could be heard in the distance, and Charles sprinted through the rain to give your parents a quick hug. Then when his gaze shifted towards you, he gave you a slight smile – one that hovered on the edge of awkwardness. “Hey, ange. Thank you for coming,” he said, and you flinched when you sensed the subtle tension of your past conflict lingering around the air.

The two of you never mentioned that night again, pretending it never happened for the fear of reopening wounds that you both knew would never really heal. So you went back to your old routine – with Charles chasing his racing dreams in the bright limelights and you disappearing back into the shadows where the world couldn’t see you. It was less frightening that way, not having to face your fears and be honest about your feelings, to admit how much you missed each other.

“It’s fine – no big deal,” you answered, returning a tight-lipped smile with a shrug of your shoulders. Perhaps Charles was overanalyzing things like he always did, but he felt a punch to his gut upon hearing what you said to him. Having you there at his race to support him wasn’t “no big deal”, because to him it had meant the world.

He wanted to win the race and make you proud, to dedicate his victory to the most important people in his life, to celebrate the moment with you – his best friend and biggest supporter since day one. Though it seemed that this meant much less to you than it did to him, and despite the sadness that clouded over him, he didn’t let his smile falter.

“Well, I’d better head back soon,” he announced quickly as he glanced at the time, accepting the doting kisses and hugs from your mother before walking off into the pouring rain again. You watched as he disappeared into the distance, the “good luck out there” you had intended to say lingering at the tip of your tongue, joining the countless other unspoken words between you and Charles.

The rain had never really gone well with car racing, for the wet conditions reduce traction and control, turning the track into a treacherous playground with accidents waiting to happen. Your parents and you spectated the race from the garage, and you couldn’t help the unsettlement that consumed you as you watched your brother drive, more aggressively than usual.

Sure, Charles had always been a competitive person who wasn’t afraid to take risks on track, but not like this – never like this. It was on a particularly sharp corner when disaster struck. Charles, attempting to overtake the person in front of him, pushed the limits just a fraction too far causing his tires to lose grip, and his car spun out of control.

It wasn’t the first time you had seen Charles crash – he had his fair share of incidents throughout his karting days – but the horror and utter helplessness, as you watched his car hurtle towards the barrier as if time had slowed down, was just as bad as the first.

The piercing sound of screeching tires and colliding metals reverberated through the air, and you held your breath as you braced for the absolute worst – something you learned to do when your family was a part of the dangerous world of motorsports. When Charles’s car settled to a stop, only having a minor collision with the wall instead of a serious crash, you made sure to thank all the Gods in existence as you exhaled a relieved sigh.

Charles staggered out of the car looking relatively unscathed, holding a thumbs-up to signal he was alright and not severely injured as he awaited for assistance. Without hesitation, you headed straight towards the medical center when you watched Charles leave the scene with the medics, not only to check on him but to give him a proper scolding for driving so recklessly.

“Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc, what were you thinking?” you exclaimed as you made your way to Charles’s bed, feeling a palpable ache in your chest when you noticed the scratches on his face and the bandaged gash on his forehead. “How could you drive so recklessly…?” you asked again, your voice significantly weaker than before – how could you still be mad at him when he was already hurt?

Charles’s head dropped down in remorse after hearing what you had said, it’s only when the adrenaline during the race faded away that he realized how irresponsible he had been. “I’m sorry… I just really wanted to win and... make you proud.” You didn’t expect such an answer from him, finding it hard to fathom that your brother wanted you to be proud of him so badly that he was willing to jeopardize his safety.

How could you begin to express how proud you were of him – so proud that every time you thought of him your heart swelled with uncontainable joy, that seeing him race filled you with so much admiration and respect, that even with all that happened between you two, he was still your biggest role model who taught you everything you needed to know in life.

“Please don’t be mad at me, ange. Here, look at what I got you…” he said to you before reaching into one of the hidden pockets of his race suit, pulling out a little flower. A daisy – your favourite. It was missing a few petals, slightly mushed up, and the stem was bent at an odd angle, but it was the most perfect daisy you had ever laid eyes on.

“I saw it at the field before the race started and thought of you. You told me they were your favourite flower when we were kids, right?” he asked albeit already knowing the answer – they were indeed your favourite flower. “Charles…” you muttered in a hushed whisper, and you genuinely feared that you would start uncontrollably sobbing.

He had remembered. It was a warm spring afternoon when the two of you wandered into a grass field, playing an intense game of tag when you suddenly got distracted by a little white flower that adorned the ground – delicate and so, so pretty. “Charles, what kind of flower is this?” you said to your brother, to which he answered, “These are called daisies.” You studied the flower carefully, admiring its beautiful white petals and soft yellow center, and that’s when you decided, “This is my favourite flower.”

Charles chuckled beside you and teased, “You say that to every flower!” When you smacked his arm jokingly with an annoyed pout on your face, he pretended to yelp in pain and raised his hands in surrender, “Okay, okay! Whatever you say, mon ange.” The two of you erupted into a giggling fit and resumed your game of tag – the game you never seemed to lose because Charles would always let you win.

It was a precious memory you held dearly in your heart, a distant thought that you remembered with such fondness. The simple times when you and Charles were still close as ever, when he didn’t have to constantly be away because of his races and you didn’t push him away every chance you got, before all the unexpressed thoughts and misunderstandings had created a barrier between you two. You had always thought that Charles had long forgotten about it, but now you realized that the memory held a special place in his heart as well, and it made you want to burst into tears.

“Charles, I’m –” you hesitated, almost like you had forgotten how to be honest or vulnerable in front of your brother, but you knew you would never be able to get the words out if you didn’t do it now. “I’m sorry – for pushing you away, for not making an effort to fix things between us… And I’m scared, so scared that if I try, my effort won’t be good enough, and then I’ll have no choice but to watch you leave, ” you let out a sigh while keeping your gaze trained on the flower in your hand, knowing well that if you looked at your brother, you would start crying, and you weren’t sure if the tears would ever stop.

Charles’ face softened at your apology, shaking his head vehemently because he never once blamed you for anything that happened. “No, ange, it’s not your fault. I’m sorry for not being there for you and for ever making you feel unimportant, because you mean the absolute world to me… It’s my fault for not being the older brother that you deserved, and I want to do better, for you,” he admitted truthfully, taking the blame for all the hurt he had caused you over the years for being absent.

When you lifted your gaze to meet his own teary eyes, for the first time in forever, you felt… seen. You had gotten so used to being invisible, letting yourself fade away in the distance as the haunting loneliness swallowed you whole. But with Charles, you didn’t feel invisible, you felt like he could see you – the real you, down to every flaw and every insecurity, and instead of judgment, you could only feel acceptance and love.

Charles had always seen you, and remembered every little detail about you – even the small, unimportant things that you presumed nobody would care enough to notice. To him, you were not a mere extension of him like the world had always seen you as – Charles Leclerc’s sister. To him, you were your own person with your own goals and aspirations, with a heart so big it could embrace the world. You were his best friend, the one who knew him like nobody else, the only person who could understand all his unfunny jokes and odd sense of humor, and he loved every fiber of your being with every fiber of his.

“I love you more than anything, you know that right?” he asked while looking into your eyes, he was not going to let any more unsaid words get between the two of you again. You nodded your head at his question, because despite all your distance and miscommunications, you had always known you were loved. “I know.”

“And you know that I will always be proud of you regardless, right?” It was your turn to ask him, and Charles stayed quiet for a few seconds to think. In the world of racing and its harsh realities, your value was measured by your achievements – you performed well, and the world would love you. Charles had gotten used to that way of things, and so he pushed himself harder and harder each time on track for the fear of making a mistake and being discarded by the world. But with you, with your family, he knew that he would always make you guys proud. “I know,” he smiled.

“We’re gonna fix this, ange,” he said as he reached for your hands. His fingers felt calloused and rough, unlike the hands you had always held onto back when you were kids, but somehow it had felt so familiar, so comforting, so like Charles – those same hands that held yours when you two were running across the field, the one with all the beautiful daisies.

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc #f1 x you

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choikanghuening · 5 months ago

Text

Beyond the Doors (or simply “Stay”)

now playing: Stay - Rihanna ft. Mikky Ekko

synopsis: Beomgyu, a charming idol, and you, a confident and independent woman with a mysterious allure, are completely different. As your paths cross, your connection clicks and deepens in unexpected ways, despite the challenges and risks that come with it. Navigating a world where appearances matter, you find yourselves questioning what you’re willing to sacrifice for something real.

pairing: idol!beomgyu x afab!reader

trope: forbidden/secret lovers to exes to lovers (what can i say...)

genre: angst, smut (mdni)

wc: 14.9k (i got carried away)

warnings: tw: major character accident, not proofread, feat. the rest of txt, the name Minji is used here, lots of drama, lots of flashbacks (alternating with present), alcohol consumption (just a glass of wine), fingering (f receiving), protected sex (yay), Imk if i forgot anything (i prob did)

elle speaks: you ask and you shall receive. this is the second part of Hidden Doors (or simply Hotel/Mil Veces).

elle speaks²: english is not my first language, so sorry for any typos and mistakes. also im too distracted, so i probably repeated lots of words. i'll correct it later. feedbacks/reblogs/likes are appreciated.

elle speaks³: it's a long one bc I tried to answer some of your questions and develop their relationship. i don't think you necessarily need to read the first part, but it would mean the world to me if you did 🥺 👉🏻👈🏻

fic below the cut

Present

The studio is buzzing with the kind of electric energy that comes with high-profile luxury brand photo sessions. Photographers are shouting commands while light meters are changed, hairstylists are adding finishing touches, and assistants are juggling clothing racks. The space is bustling with activity. You are at the center of it all, holding a clipboard and speaking steadily in the middle of the commotion.

You have established yourself as a highly sought-after fashion industry producer by organizing extensive photo shoots for some of the most well-known luxury brands. After being given the amazing chance to work with one of Korea's most prominent fashion publications, you relocated to the country in your mid-twenties, having previously lived abroad. After three years, you've made your mark in this fast-paced environment despite the flurry of adjustment and hard work.

You are well-known for your exacting diligence and your capacity to remain composed and confident in the face of the most challenging circumstances. You live by yourself in Seoul, juggling the demands of living so far away from home with the highs of your career achievements. Although it's a difficult profession, you enjoy the challenge and constantly plan ahead to make sure everything goes smoothly.

“Minji, check the accessory tray for Look Three one more time. The gold cuff and the sunglasses are non-negotiable. Lee, we're going to fall behind if the lighting shift isn't finished in two minutes,” you remark calmly and crisply into your headset.

Authority emanates from your presence. These intricate productions are orchestrated by you as a producer, much like a maestro leads an orchestra.

A junior assistant flies by with a look of panic on her face. “YN! The strap broke on the gown for the next setup!” You instantly reach out a hand.

“Give it to me.” The strap hangs uselessly as the assistant hands over the fragile fabric.

You grab a needle and thread from an emergency bag and squat at a neighboring desk. Your hands have years of practice and move with accuracy.

With anxiety, the assistant hovers. “Will it hold? The designer will—

You politely interrupted her. “It will hold. Calm down.” As you complete the repair, your attention remains fixed.

You give it back, your eyes steady. “Take it to the cosmetics department. We are now back on track.”

The assistant nods, her face displaying awe. “You're fantastic, YN.”

As the gown enters the model's body, the photographer looks over. Astounded, he asks, “You fixed that?”

“Part of the job.” You shrug.

He chuckles. “You might want to start your own crisis management company if you ever get bored here.”

Although you smirk slightly, you don't answer and go straight on to the next task. You must ensure that the shoot ends on schedule; any delays are unacceptable.

Catching your attention, your phone beeps. A notification flashes on the screen: New message from Beomgyu.

“Same time tonight?”

You smile, remembering the first time you met as if it were yesterday. You weren’t starstruck, but there was definitely something magnetic about him.

Flashback

The crew was fighting to hold things together on a chaotic set, and it had been one of those crazy productions where everything seemed to happen at once.

When Beomgyu arrived at the stage, you were fixing an unforeseen lighting issue. He moved with effortless elegance, but there was a hint of hesitancy in his manner, as if he wasn't totally at ease with all the attention he was receiving. His dark hair framed his face with ease, and his keen features might have captivated anyone, but you had been drawn to his quiet shyness.

Another delay had been brought on by a wardrobe problem in the middle of the well-organized mayhem. You immediately stepped in when the stylist lost a tie, as you always do.

“Here,” you had said in a steady but gentle voice, holding the tie out to him with a no-nonsense calm.

Beomgyu blinked, taken aback for a moment by your bluntness. As he took it, his fingers touched yours. With his voice hardly audible above a whisper, he had murmured, “Uh, thanks.”

You gave him a modest but sincere grin and said, “You're welcome,” before turning to leave.

Present

As you finish up the last elements of the day's shoot, you settle at your desk and listen to the constant hum of the office. The never-ending stream of tasks weighs heavily on your mind, but for a split second, your focus is diverted by your phone's buzzing, which briefly interrupts the continuous flow of your thoughts.

It's a photographer's text, but then you see Beomgyu's, which is now hours old. A tiny smile forms on your lips, which you promptly conceal behind a business mask. Naturally, you've already seen it, but you neglected to respond.

Beomgyu differs from the other people you work with. Most idols never stop performing and contributing to the spectacular show. However, he always has a certain silence and a certain timidity about him, regardless of how much attention he receives. You don't often see it, especially in the world you live in every day. And it's… revitalizing.

“Yes, I can’t wait.” With a swift reply and a straightforward affirmation, you put your phone back in your bag and resume the stack of work that awaits you.

Flashback

As the photo session went on, Beomgyu's eyes kept coming to you. You were aware of it, yet you continued to study your clipboard and the task at hand.

Despite the commotion of the team, he still stood there looking a little uncomfortable, as though he were waiting for something.

You were navigating the set when he came up, hesitant but resolute.

“You're really good at this,” he murmured softly, surprising you with the compliment. Your face softened as you looked up.

“I try my best,” you replied, offering him a friendly smile and a trace of experience in your voice—something that came from years of managing chaos like this. It was clear—this wasn’t your first shoot.

Just as you started walking away, he spoke again, the words almost spilling out before he could stop them. “So, where are you from?”

You paused, surprised by the question, but there was a moment of hesitation before you answered with a casual smile, “I’m from overseas. I came to Korea for an opportunity, and… long story short, here I am.”

Beomgyu tilted his head slightly; his curiosity piqued. “That’s very… bold,” he said, his voice thoughtful but gentle.

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh, really?”

He shifted uncomfortably, as if he realized he might’ve said something too forward. “I meant it in a good way,” he added quickly.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly; the sound was light and genuine. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The conversation was short, but the air between you was thick with something unspoken. Beomgyu watched you for a moment longer, the curiosity in his eyes still lingering, as if he hadn’t quite figured you out yet.

Present

As the activities of the day wrap up hours later, you step outside, and the cool evening air greets you, brushing your skin and easing the tension of the day. The streets of Seoul hum with life, neon lights flickering in the dark as the city’s energy pulses around you. For a moment, you just stand there, inhaling deeply, feeling the heartbeat of the city sync with your own.

Your thoughts go to Beomgyu again. When you first met, he seemed so out of place, like a deer caught in headlights—unsure, polite, and navigating the chaos with a quiet grace. There had been something about him that made you linger a little longer than you should have.

And now, months into this affair, he’s a completely different person—mature, confident, and undeniably captivating. The boy who once seemed so awkward and uncertain has become a man who commands a room with just a glance. You’ve seen sides of him you hadn’t expected—sensual, caring, thoughtful. Every moment with him leaves you wanting more, even if he’s unsure all the time. Not that you cared. You just want him.

Flashback

During a break, you found yourself observing him more intently. Beomgyu’s every movement was deliberate, his demeanor polite and unassuming. Yet there was an undeniable charisma in his presence. He had a way of filling the room with an energy that didn’t demand attention but still managed to capture it.

After changing for the next round of the shooting, Beomgyu approached you, his steps measured. “Thanks for the tie earlier,” he said, his voice soft and sincere.

You glanced at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. His reserved nature stood out, and there was something disarming about it. “Don’t mention it.”

He smiled in return, the warmth in his expression lighting up his eyes even in the dim afterglow of the set. “I mean it. You are helping me more than you realize.”

You tilted your head slightly, intrigued despite yourself, though you quickly masked it. “Helping you? How?”

Beomgyu hesitated for a moment, a slight shift in his posture as he searched for the right words. “It’s just… with everything, you know?” He gestured vaguely to the crew packing up around them. “I don’t know how to explain; it gets overwhelming. But today, things are organized… you make it seem so easy.”

You studied him for a moment, something in his eyes catching you off guard. You quickly composed yourself, professional as ever. “I’ve been doing this for a while,” you said, your voice steady. “But trust me, it’s never easy.”

He nodded thoughtfully, with a quiet gratitude in his gaze. “Maybe that’s exactly what makes you so good at it.”

You chuckled softly; his sincerity took you by surprise, and for a moment, you wondered what it would be like to let your guard down with him. But you pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the role you had to play. “Well, we all have our strengths,” you said, offering him a nod. Your eyes met his for just a fraction longer than usual before you turned back to your work.

As you continued with your tasks, your thoughts kept drifting back to him—his quiet observation, his soft words, the way he seemed to make the chaos around you feel just a little more… still.

Present

As you enter your apartment, the day's exhaustion settles heavily, but your thoughts remain fixed on Beomgyu. You don't even bother turning on the lights, letting the dimness match the hum of your restless mind. Heading straight to the bathroom, the cool air brushes against your skin, grounding you momentarily.

The sound of water fills the silence as you step into the shower, the heat easing the tension from the day. Steam rises around you, droplets tracing paths down your skin as your thoughts return to moments spent with him.

Afterward, you towel off, the chill air raising goosebumps. You pause, considering what to wear tonight. A sense of determination rises as you settle on a deep red dress—sleek and form-fitting, with a daring neckline balanced by its sophisticated cut. It exudes confidence, commanding attention without trying too hard.

At your vanity, you apply makeup with precision: a flick of eyeliner to define your eyes and a soft nude lip, keeping your look understated yet striking. A spritz of your favorite perfume leaves a warm, subtle trace in the air as you smooth your hair, ensuring it falls perfectly. The clock catches your eye—it's time. Wrapping yourself in a white overcoat, you grab your car keys and step into the night.

Your phone buzzes; a message from Beomgyu lights up the screen:

“Are you on your way?”

A small smile forms as you type a quick reply:

“Yeah. See you soon.”

Driving through the city, you feel the familiar rhythm of these evenings. For Beomgyu, they’re an escape from the pressures of fame; for you, a break from your own demands. There’s an unspoken understanding between you—no strings, just moments stolen from the chaos of your lives.

Pulling into the hotel parking lot, you step out into the crisp night air. Your heels echo against the pavement as you approach the warmly lit lobby. Everything about this is routine now: the elevator ride, the quiet hum as you ascend, the anticipation sharpening with each step toward the suite.

At the door, you pause, the weight of expectation briefly stirring something deeper, then push it aside. You unlock the door and step inside, where the rest of the world falls away. Here it’s just the two of you, free from the complications of everything left behind.

Flashback

Later, as the shoot ended, Beomgyu lingered near the exit, his gaze following you as you gathered your things. You caught his eye and raised an eyebrow, sensing his hesitation.

“Something you need?” You asked, your tone calm yet still sharp, a subtle challenge in your voice.

He hesitated, a bit unsure, before finally speaking. “I just wanted to thank you again,” he said, his voice sincere, his posture slightly awkward as he scratched the back of his neck. “You made everything seem so effortless today.”

You gave him a small, knowing smile. “You really don’t have to thank me so much. It’s my job.”

Beomgyu smiled in return, but there was something more behind it. He paused before reaching into his pocket, pulling out a small paper bag.

“Here,” he said softly, his voice almost shy, as he handed it to you.

You raised an eyebrow in surprise. “What’s this?”

“It’s just a little something,” he replied, glancing away briefly before meeting your eyes again. “A treat from a café down the street. Thought you might like it.”

You took the bag, intrigued. Inside, you found two beautifully packaged pastries, still warm. The rich aroma wafted up, tempting your senses. You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow as you glanced at him. “I didn’t take you for the type to bring food gifts.”

Beomgyu chuckled sheepishly. “I’m not, usually. But you looked like you might be hungry.”

You studied him for a moment, your gaze softening. There was no pretense behind his gesture—just a genuine, simple thought. It felt real. “Thanks. I truly am,” you said, your voice quieter than before, as your eyes lingered on him for a beat longer than necessary.

Beomgyu smiled, the warmth in his eyes deepening. He stood there for a moment, unsure of how to respond. “I felt really at ease today… and that’s thanks to you,” he said, his voice almost unsteady.

You smiled back, a knowing grin tugging at your lips. “That’s what I’m here for,” you replied, your tone playful yet matter-of-fact.

Beomgyu chuckled, the last of his nervousness fading. “Seriously, though, you’re really good at this.”

You crossed your arms, a slight smirk on your face. “It’s not that I’m really good; it’s that most people aren’t,” you said, looking at him as if he should already know that by now. “You’ve done tons of shoots. You should’ve figured that out already.”

He laughed softly, his posture relaxing, feeling more at ease now that the shoot was over. “Yeah, I guess I have,” he said, with a smile that was both genuine and a little shy.

As you turned to leave, you heard him call out your name. “YN, right?”

You stopped and glanced back, an eyebrow raised. “Yeah. Why?”

He took a breath, his voice steady despite the slight smile still on his lips. “I just… I’ll remember it,” he said, his gaze lingering on you a little longer than necessary.

Your smile deepened, though you kept your expression neutral, a playful glint in your eye. “You better,” you replied, before walking away. The sound of his soft laugh lingered in the air, a quiet moment between you as you disappeared from the set.

Present

The hotel room feels too quiet; the familiar luxury is now heavy with something else. Beomgyu stands by the window, gazing out at the city's endless glow. His breath fogs the glass as he leans against it, running a hand through his blonde hair. The soft hum of the heater in the background only amplifies the buzz of his thoughts. He checks the clock again—still early.

His phone buzzes on the nightstand. His heart stutters when he sees your name.

“Just parked. Be there in two.”

Beomgyu lets out a slow exhalation, his thumb hovering over the screen. He sets the phone down without replying. The room suddenly feels smaller, as if your presence is already here, pressing in on him. Why does it feel different tonight? Anticipation? Unease? It’s not the first time you've met like this, but something about tonight feels heavier.

The soft sound of the door opening breaks through his spiral. He freezes, his pulse racing as he moves to answer it.

You enter the room, shutting the door. Your overcoat goes to the hanger, and he notices the way your red dress hugs your frame. You’re not smiling, but there’s that quiet confidence in your expression that always unsettles him.

“You’re early,” you say. Your perfume lingers in the air, intoxicating and sharp, filling the space between you both.

“I didn’t want to keep you waiting,” he replies, his voice low and strained.

Your lips quirk into a faint smirk as you set your bag on the armchair, glancing at him over your shoulder. “You look tense.”

“I’m fine,” he says too quickly, his hands twitching at his sides.

You turn fully to face him, your eyes scanning him with that knowing look that makes his chest tighten. You step closer, your heels clicking softly against the polished floor. Every step you take is deliberate, sending a current of electricity through the space between you.

“Liar,” you say, your voice soft but firm.

Beomgyu clenches his jaw, glancing away, as if that will hide him from you. But you won’t let him. You never do.

“Something on your mind?” you ask, tilting your head slightly, your voice taking on a teasing edge as you close the distance.

He hesitates, his mind racing for a response that won’t betray him. “It’s been a long day,” he says finally, but even he doesn’t believe it.

You laugh softly, low, and throaty. The sound wraps around him, pulling him deeper. “I’m not here to interrogate you, you know.” You reach out, your fingers grazing his arm in a fleeting touch that burns more than it soothes.

“I know,” he mutters, his eyes flicking to yours.

Your gaze lingers, sharp and probing, before you give a small shrug and turn away, heading toward the minibar. Beomgyu lets out a breath, a momentary reprieve, but it doesn’t last long.

“So,” you say casually, pouring yourself a glass of wine, as if you were old friends catching up. “What now?”

Beomgyu hesitates, the question hitting harder than it should. He doesn’t have an answer. His stomach churns as he watches you, so composed, so unaffected.

“I don’t know,” he admits finally, his voice quieter than he intended.

You glance back at him, your expression unreadable. Then, setting the glass down, you step closer again, closing the gap until you’re just inches away. Your fingers lightly brush against the fabric of his shirt, sending a jolt through him.

“Don’t think so much,” you murmur, your breath warm against his neck.

Beomgyu’s breath hitches as you lean in, your lips brushing his in a kiss that starts soft, testing. His hands hover at your waist, unsure whether to hold you or maintain the distance he’s promised himself. But the pull of you, the feeling of you, is impossible to resist. And the tone of your dress only sparks a memory he really doesn’t need to remember right now.

Flashback

The lively hum of conversation and laughter filled the magazine's gleaming lobby, the celebration in full swing. Glasses of champagne caught the light as they clinked together, a subtle symphony beneath the energetic beat of the music. The walls were lined with glossy spreads displaying the magazine’s highlights, including the striking cover featuring Beomgyu himself. It was supposed to be his night—a chance to revel in the success of the shoot and bask in the admiration of his peers. Yet his mind wandered far from the festivities.

At a sleek black table near the center of the room, Beomgyu’s friends—Soobin, Yeonjun, Huening Kai, and Taehyun—were mid-conversation, their laughter rising above the crowd.

“Man, you killed it in that shoot,” Yeonjun said, raising his glass with a smirk. “Everyone’s calling it the ‘Rebel Beomgyu Era.’ Iconic, really.”

Beomgyu’s lips tugged into a faint smile, but the usual spark wasn’t there. His eyes darted around the room, scanning for her in the sea of faces.

“Beomgyu, you good?” Soobin asked, noticing the detachment.

“Huh? Yeah,” Beomgyu said, his response automatic. He took a sip of his drink, hoping to ground himself, but his gaze betrayed him, flickering toward the far side of the room.

There you were.

You stood near a cluster of staff, chatting. Your scarlet dress seemed to draw the glow of the room toward you, like you were the center of its orbit. Beomgyu couldn’t look away. Your confidence wasn’t just visible—it was palpable. You moved with a grace that felt untouchable, your laughter cutting through the hum like a melody just for him.

As if feeling the weight of his gaze, you glanced over your shoulder. Your eyes met his for a fleeting moment. You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a small, knowing smile, before turning back to the conversation. The gesture was simple, but it lit something inside Beomgyu—an undeniable pull that made the rest of the room blur into insignificance.

Huening Kai nudged him, snapping him back. “Earth to Beomgyu. What’s got you so distracted?”

“Nothing,” Beomgyu muttered, shifting in his seat. He tried to focus on the banter at the table, but his grip on his drink tightened, his pulse quickening with every second. He resisted the urge to act.

Moments later, you excused yourself from the group, weaving through the crowd toward the exit. Beomgyu’s chest tightened as he watched you slip through the bustling room, your red dress vanishing toward the lobby doors. You weren’t grabbing another drink or heading for the bathroom. You were leaving.

His chair scraped against the floor as he abruptly stood.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” Taehyun quipped, raising a curious eyebrow.

“Bathroom,” Beomgyu mumbled, the lie slipping out as he avoided his friend’s gaze.

He didn’t wait for a response; his feet were already carrying him through the crowd. Each step felt heavier, his heart pounding as he followed your retreating figure. The celebration continued around him, but it all felt distant.

Beomgyu wasn’t sure what he’d say when he caught up to you. All he knew was that he couldn’t let you leave without trying.

Present

The present surges back with intensity as Beomgyu gives in completely, his arms tightening around you as if you’re the only thing grounding him in the moment. The kiss is no longer just a meeting of lips—it’s a surrender. His fingers press into the curve of your back, desperate, unwilling to let go, as though holding you closer might silence the storm inside him.

You respond in kind, your own desires matching his. Your hands tangle in his hair, nails grazing his scalp, a deliberate pull that sends a shiver down his spine. You know the effect you have on him and lean into it, your breaths mingling in the heated space between you. For a moment, there are no questions, no doubts—just the undeniable pull of your bodies answering the unspoken call.

“Beomgyu,” you murmur against his lips, your voice low and teasing but edged with something darker, something that hints at how much you crave this too. You tilt your head slightly, deepening the kiss; your movements are deliberate, drawing him further under your spell.

He breaks the kiss briefly, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing uneven. “This is…” he begins, but the words falter as his gaze locks onto yours. His eyes are searching, conflicted, and unsure.

“This is what it always is,” you finish for him, your fingers sliding down to trace the line of his jaw. “And you always come back.” Your words are calm, almost detached, but there’s a challenge in your tone—a reminder that he’s here because he wants to be.

Beomgyu swallows hard, his grip loosening just slightly, though his body refuses to fully let you go. “I…” he trails off, his chest heaving as he tries to pull himself together. Every time he’s with you, it feels like stepping off a cliff—thrilling, terrifying, inevitable.

Your lips quirk up into a small, knowing smile, and you lean in close again, your voice soft but firm. “Don’t overthink it, Beomgyu. We both know why we’re here.”

He closes his eyes for a beat, the weight of your words settling over him. When he opens them, there’s a mix of longing and restraint in his expression. But then your hands move, invading his shirt with a slow, purposeful intention, and the last of his resolve crumbles.

Without another word, he captures your lips again, this time with even more intensity. The tension, the hesitations, the unspoken truths—all of it melts away in the heat of the moment. In his arms, the chaos of his world fades, replaced by something he can’t quite define but can’t resist either.

For now, at least, the consequences can wait.

Flashback

The hallway beyond the main party area stretched out like a quiet sanctuary, offering a reprieve from the swirling chaos of the celebration. Muted laughter and the faint thrum of music faded as Beomgyu moved through the corridor, his footsteps light against the polished floor. The air felt heavier here, the dim lighting casting soft shadows that mirrored the unrest in his chest. He hadn’t meant to follow you—it was reckless, impulsive—but something about you called him—a pull he couldn’t resist.

He turned a corner, and there you were, leaning casually against a stone pillar at the end of the hallway. The glow from the wall sconces bathed you in warm light, catching the subtle shimmer of your dress and the faint curve of your lips. You were on your phone, fingers trailing idly along the hem of your skirt, your posture relaxed, almost languid. You hadn’t expected anyone to find you here, least of all him.

The faint flicker of surprise in your eyes melted into something more amusing as you noticed him standing there, caught in your orbit. You straightened slightly, your lips quirking into a half-smile. “May I help you?” you asked, your tone light, teasing, but your gaze sharp, curious.

Beomgyu froze. Words, excuses, plans—all of it evaporated in an instant, leaving him standing there, exposed. “I…” His voice faltered, the weight of your attention making his pulse race. “I wanted… I just—”

“You just…?” you prompted, your head tilting slightly as you studied him, a playful edge to your smile.

His nerves were on fire, but there was no malice in your teasing. It felt like you were testing him, daring him to say more, to step closer. Every instinct screamed at him to walk away, to retreat before he did something foolish. But your presence, the way you seemed so completely in control while his world tilted on its axis, rooted him in place.

“I just wanted to say that you are stunning tonight, and I can’t stop thinking about you,” he blurted, his voice soft but trembling with the weight of the confession. The air between you thickened as the words hung there, raw and unpolished, leaving him exposed in a way he wasn’t sure he could recover from.

For a moment, your expression shifted, your eyes widening almost imperceptibly. Then your smile returned, slower this time, your amusement giving way to something more deliberate. “And what are you gonna do about that, Beomgyu?” you asked, your voice low and laced with challenge.

The question hit him like a jolt. His breath hitched as he searched for your gaze for an answer, but words failed him. The pounding in his chest drowned out every coherent thought, leaving only the unbearable pull toward you.

Before he could think, before he could talk himself out of it, he closed the space between you. His hands found your waist, tentative but firm, and then his lips were on yours. The kiss was far from perfect—eager and messy, driven by weeks of suppressed desire. It was a collision of pent-up tension and impulsive need, his heart hammering in his chest as the rest of the world faded away.

You stiffened at first, your body frozen in surprise, but then you softened. Your hands slid up his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his blazer as you pulled him closer. You matched his urgency, your lips moving against his in a rhythm that felt both natural and electric. The kiss deepened, the intensity building with each passing second, until you were both breathless, clinging to each other as if the hallway itself had vanished.

When you finally broke apart, Beomgyu’s chest heaved, his breath coming in shallow gasps. His lips tingled, and he could feel the heat rising to his face. He searched for your expression, desperate for some sign of what you were thinking, but you were as unreadable as ever.

You touched your lips lightly, a soft chuckle escaping as your gaze locked onto his. “Well,” you said, your voice low and laced with amusement, “that wasn’t what I expected tonight.”

Beomgyu opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came. His mind was a whirlwind, and the only thought he could hold onto was how impossibly close you still were.

You reached into your bag and pulled out your phone, holding it out with a teasing smile that carried an undertone of sincerity. “Here,” you said, your tone light but pointed. “Let’s exchange numbers. Maybe next time, you’ll know what you want before chasing after me.”

He hesitated, your words playful yet unsettling, like a challenge he wasn’t sure he could meet. Slowly, he took the phone from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours in a fleeting touch that ignited a heat he couldn’t suppress. His grip felt unsteady as he tapped in his number, the weight of the moment making every action seem heavier. When he handed it back, you slipped it into your bag with effortless grace, an ease that only heightened his own awkwardness.

Without missing a beat, you plucked his phone from his hand and entered your number, the slight smirk on your lips sending his heart racing. “Don’t take too long,” you said, your voice carrying an edge of both warning and invitation. With a final wink, you turned on your heel and strode away, your steps deliberate and assured, each one pulling his attention like a magnet.

Beomgyu stood frozen, the faint scent of your perfume lingering in the air. His heart was still racing, his lips still tingling. He had crossed a line he hadn’t even realized he was approaching, and there was no going back now. Whatever he had started here, it was far from over—and the thought both thrilled and terrified him.

Present

The room hums with a quiet tension, every breath between you both heavy with unspoken words. Beomgyu's hands gently trail along your back, each gentle stroke sending a shiver through him as he pulls you closer. The sensation of your skin against his fingertips is intoxicating, almost like he is trying to memorize every curve, every inch of you. His lips brush against your neck, light and soft, sending waves of warmth and electricity through your body; the warmth of his touch lingers long after, and the softness of your skin beneath his mouth made his heartbeat quicken. Every part of you felt so real, so tangible at that moment, and yet the swirl of conflicting thoughts in his mind threatened to pull him away.

Was he ready for this? Could he handle it? The questions came and went like fleeting shadows. But he tried hard to keep them buried. Now wasn’t the time. Not when everything about you felt so pure, so magnetic.

You let your fingers slide through his hair, tugging him closer, the heat of his body drawing you in, the rhythm of his breath synchronizing with yours. His chest tightens, and for a second, you both just stay there, as if trying to decide what comes next. The pull between you is undeniable, the way you both seem to breathe in sync, but there's a vulnerability in his eyes, something unspoken.

His gaze never leaves yours as he carefully undresses you, each movement thoughtful, as if he's afraid of breaking something precious. The weight of the moment presses down on you, but there's no fear, only the quiet thrill of being seen like this. When your dress falls away, leaving you in nothing but a delicate lacy black underwear, Beomgyu's eyes darken, his dick pulsating inside his trousers.

He can’t stop himself from leaning in, his lips brushing across your right nipple while his fingers play with the left. You just grab his hair strongly and moan. After swapping his mouth and fingers between your hardened nipples, he pulls back. His breath is shaky, but his words come out like a whispered confession.

“You look…” His voice falters slightly, thick with sincerity. “Incredible.”

You meet his gaze, the rawness in his words settling over you. You feel yourself getting wetter and bit your lower lip, lost in desire.

“Every inch of you,” he says, his fingers gliding along your waist, then dipping lower, reaching your inner thighs, his eyes locking with yours. “It’s like I’m seeing you for the first time all over again.”

Your breath is caught in your throat when his fingers start caressing your clit. You feel like you’re on fire as he fingers you in a gentle way. The intensity of his gaze, paying attention to your every reaction, makes you want him more. His fingers move to your hole and caress you lightly there.

“So wet for me,” he says, his voice low and sensual, making you roll your eyes in pleasure. “I love your reactions.”

His heart pounds in his chest as his fingers invade your pussy, thrusting with a reverence that almost startled him. You almost scream with pleasure, moaning loudly in his ear, which makes him smile. With his free hand, he holds you by your waist, helping you to stay on your feet as you lose yourself in his deliberate touch.

As the heat of the moment burns between you both, memories of your first night together crash into him. The way he’d kissed you then, the way you’d kissed him back, the rawness of that night… It felt like a lifetime ago.

Flashback

The hallway had seemed endless as Beomgyu walked, each step heavier than the last. He had told his friends he was stepping out to visit his mom—a lie he had convinced himself was necessary, but he knew the truth. He was heading toward you, toward the one person who had been consuming his thoughts for far too long. His stomach churned with both desire and fear, the pull between wanting you and doubting everything growing stronger the closer he got to the door.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, a sudden distraction from the storm brewing inside him. He pulled it out quickly, his heart skipping when he saw the simple message: “I’m waiting for you.”

Of course, you were. You were always waiting. He had reserved a room in the fanciest yet most secluded hotel in Seoul, under the name of Ben, to avoid any suspicion and meet you. Now, there was nothing left but to face you—face everything you two had built in the silence and secrecy. But the reality of it—the intimacy, the risk—felt overwhelming.

Beomgyu’s hand trembled as he gripped the door handle. There was no need to knock. He had the key, the access, but still, he hesitated. His breath was shallow, his mind filled with doubts and questions. The door creaked open, and there you were.

The room was dim, shadows stretching across the floor, the air thick with tension. You stood by the bed, your eyes locking with his, unblinking, unwavering. Beautiful. Unfazed. Waiting.

His throat went dry. He couldn’t move. The weight of it all crashed down on him, but still, you remained calm and poised. You knew what you wanted. You were steady, unlike him, who was spinning in circles in his own mind.

“Hi,” your voice was soft but confident, carrying the weight of everything unsaid between you. You weren’t questioning yourself. You weren’t hesitating.

“Hey,” Beomgyu replied, his voice rougher than he had meant it to be. His heart was pounding in his chest as he stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind him. And still, there was a distance between you, an invisible wall he wasn’t sure how to break.

You tilted your head slightly, the corner of your lips curving into that familiar smile. It was small, but it held something far deeper—something he had always seen in your eyes. You weren’t rushing, or pressing him either. You were just there, waiting for him to meet you halfway.

“Are you okay?” you asked, your voice quieter now, as if you could sense his hesitation.

Beomgyu swallowed hard, unable to speak for a moment. The questions choked him, tangled up in his throat. “I… I don’t know,” he finally said, his chest tightening with each word. “I’m not sure if we should be doing this, you know?”

The words felt foreign on his tongue, unsure, as if saying them might make everything real. But you neither pull away nor retreat. Instead, you moved closer, your hand brushing against his chest, sending a shock of warmth through him. The simplicity of your touch grounded him in the moment and reminded him that there was no need for words, no need for all the confusion in his mind.

“Then let’s figure it out together,” you said, your voice steady, unwavering. You weren’t concerned about the future. You were here now, with him.

Present

When he can’t take it anymore, he removes his fingers from you and throws you into bed. You just laugh, amazed by how he loses control when you are together. You couldn’t want anything better: he is stunning, charming, sexy, and knew how to use his mouth, fingers, and his long and thick dick that makes your mouth water whenever he gets naked.

His hands find the hem of your underwear, quickly freeing you from that piece of clothing. Your gaze is dark, filled with desire, which makes his dick ache inside his pants. “You don’t know how much I want to…”

“Want to what?” You tease, your voice low but dripping with challenge.

Beomgyu hesitates for a moment, unsure if he should let his thoughts slip, but then he just smiles. There is no use denying it now that you are fully naked in front of him, almost begging for some action. “Want to fuck you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You prop yourself up on your elbows and give him a daring look. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Smirking, Beomgyu gets up to remove his clothes and grabs a condom in his pocket, tearing it open with his teeth and rolling through his length. He doesn’t waste any more time and positions himself, invading you in a hurry.

The pull is undeniable, and as Beomgyu moves to kiss you again, he realizes it isn’t just the physical attraction or the heat building between you—it’s something deeper, something more. The uncertainty remains, but for now, it’s drowned out by the quiet intimacy you share at this moment, your bodies speaking their own language.

Flashback

You moved first, stepping toward him, the space between you shrinking with every breath. Your fingers brushed his arm, sending a shiver down his spine, and the air grew heavier, more charged. “You look good,” you whispered, your voice thick with something more than just a compliment. Beomgyu swallowed, his heart racing as he leaned in, closing the distance between you. His lips brushed yours, tentative at first, like a question without words. But when you responded, warm and eager, he knew.

Your kiss deepened slowly at first, but then it turned urgent, as if you both could no longer hold back. Your hands moved with practiced ease, sliding beneath his shirt, tracing the lines of his skin, your fingertips grazing his muscles like you were memorizing every inch of him. Beomgyu’s breath hitched, his own hands trembling slightly as they moved to your waist, pulling you closer. The heat between you grew, the world outside the hotel room seeming to fade into nothingness.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, your gaze intense and unwavering. “So, are you gonna fuck me or not?” you teased, your voice husky, full of challenge. Your fingers tugged at the collar of his shirt, and without a second thought, he helped you pull it off, his movements desperate but eager.

The air between you crackled as your bodies collided, the intensity of your touch making everything else fade into the background. Your hands slid to the waistband of his jeans, slow but deliberate, each movement a promise. Beomgyu’s chest tightened, his heart racing, as he kissed you again, deeper, more urgently.

He murmured against your lips, “Are you sure?” But you didn’t answer with words—only with another kiss, one that swept him away, drowning out every doubt. There was no room for hesitation now, no space left for uncertainty.

As you fell into bed, naked, things felt lighter, simpler, and easier. Every touch, every kiss, every movement brought you both closer, the tension thick in the air. And as you finally gave in to the pull and to the heat between you, the world outside the room disappeared entirely.

Nothing mattered except the rhythm of your bodies, the feeling of your skin against his, and the undeniable certainty that you were both lost in this moment together.

Present

“Oh, Gyu, faster!” You moan, pulling his hair. He simply obeys, thrusting quicker, biting his lower lip to your sight, completely covered in sweat and at his mercy.

At this moment, the world outside the hotel room, the doubts, the uncertainty—everything—fades into the background. There is no fame, no fans, no company, no magazine, no tasks. It’s just the two of you, tangled in each other, your bodies moving in sync, as if you were one, your hearts racing in time with the beat of something unspoken.

Beomgyu’s voice breaks the silence, thick with emotion. “You have no idea how beautiful you are,” he murmurs, his words making your chest tighten in an unexpected way. “It’s not just your smile… but the way your eyes light up when you look at me… It’s everything.”

The weight of his words settles over you, and you feel something warm unfurl inside you, something you haven’t allowed yourself to acknowledge until now. You moan louder, your hands moving to the back of his neck, pulling him into another kiss, slow and deep. Beomgyu follows your lead, his mind drifting to how easy it is to get lost in you and how the weight of his doubts seems to fade when he is with you.

Breaking the kiss, your breath becomes more erratic, and you plead for more, and he knows you are close. He massages your clit again, and it is too much for you. You explode, digging your nails on his back, which makes him hiss and lose control, filling the condom with his cum.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. Beomgyu lets himself fall deeper into your world, where you guide him effortlessly, showing him what it means to let go. For a while, he forgets about everything else, losing himself in the way you touch him and the way your body responds to his. It’s all too easy to get lost in you. But as the hours slip away, and he finds himself tangled in the sheets beside you, something shifts.

He watches you, your breathing steady and peaceful as you sleep, your bare shoulder glowing softly under the pale light spilling through the window. He can’t help but marvel at how you seem to have everything figured out. You’re everything he’s not—fearless, confident, unapologetically yourself. The complete opposite of him.

And yet, even though everything in him wants to stay, to surrender completely to the pull between you, his mind begins to spiral again. He doesn’t belong here. He can’t stay. The reality of his life is looming just outside the warm bubble you two have created together. It’s not that he doesn’t want you—it’s the opposite, in fact. He wants you in a way he can’t explain, in a way that scares him, because he knows what it means to let himself feel this much.

But he can’t. He can’t let this go on any longer. He has to leave.

The thought cuts through him like a cold blade, and he feels a pang in his chest. It’s almost unbearable. The idea of walking away from this, from you, feels impossible. But he can’t stay. Not when he knows what the consequences would be. Not when he’s already risking too much just by being here.

Beomgyu glances at you again, your features soft in the dim light, your body so close to his. Every instinct in him is screaming to stay, to keep holding on, but his mind knows better. You deserve more than this. You deserve someone who can be with you fully, without hesitation, without the fear of what’s coming next. And he’s not that person. Not in the way you need him to be.

He sits up quietly, the movement careful, trying not to disturb you. He runs a hand through his hair, his gaze lingering on you one last time.

A part of him wants to wake you, to tell you everything—to explain the battle raging inside him, to explain why he feels like he can’t stay. But he can’t bring himself to do it. Not yet. Not when everything is so raw, so uncertain.

Beomgyu sighs heavily, rubbing his eyes, trying to push away the guilt creeping in. He’s made up his mind. He has to leave.

But as he swings his legs over the side of the bed, preparing to stand, the weight of it all presses down on him. He stops for a moment, sitting in the quiet, the sound of your breathing the only thing he can focus on.

For a second, he wonders if he could just stay a little longer. If this moment could last. But no. He knows that’s not possible. Not in his world. Not in the life he’s built.

The room is still dim when you stir, soft light filtering through the curtains. The warmth of the bed beckons you back to sleep, but the space beside you is cold—empty.

You sit up slowly, brushing your hair away from your face. The rustling of fabric catches your attention, and you find him across the room, standing by the window, already dressed. His fingers fumble with the buttons of his coat, the movement deliberate but strained. His posture is rigid, like he’s bracing himself for something.

“Beomgyu,” you call softly, breaking the silence.

He pauses, still facing away from you, then slowly turns. His expression is guarded, but his eyes… His eyes betray him, full of hesitation, of something raw and vulnerable.

“I’m leaving,” he says, each word heavy, like he’s been carrying them for too long. “For good this time.”

You look at him for a long moment, but you don’t feel anger, not even sadness—just a hollow space where something used to be. Something you no longer recognize.

“I see,” you reply, your voice even, almost distant.

Beomgyu takes a step toward you but stops just short of the bed. His voice cracks as he tries to explain. “I can’t keep doing this, YN. This… whatever this is between us… it’s not sustainable. The secrecy, the lies, pretending it’s okay when it’s not—it’s eating me alive. I’m scared of what it’s doing to us, to me.”

You don’t interrupt, though his words fall heavy around you. You let them sink in, and you nod slowly, your eyes steady. “If that’s how you feel.”

His confusion deepens, a rush of desperation in his chest. “You… don’t have anything to say?”

You take a breath before replying, your gaze unwavering. “What’s the point, Beomgyu?”

The words hit him harder than anything else could. He wants you to fight, to pull him back, to make this hurt less for both of you. But there’s nothing from you—just acceptance, a quiet that makes his heart shatter.

“You’re not even going to argue?” His voice is almost pleading now. “You’ll just… let me go?”

You stand slowly, walking toward the window, leaving the space between you untouched. You’ve always fought for him, but as he stands ready to leave, you realize this was never truly yours to hold onto. Letting him go isn’t surrendering—it’s accepting the truth: he was never meant to be yours.

“You made your choice,” you say quietly, not looking back at him. “I won’t make it harder for you.”

His throat tightens. Every word you’ve said, every moment of silence between you, weighs on him. He doesn’t know what to say anymore. The words are stuck in his chest, useless now. He’s already hurt you too much to ask for anything else.

Beomgyu steps forward, but his feet feel like they’re rooted to the ground. “YN, I—”

“If you’re leaving,” you interrupt, your voice flat, “just go.”

“YN…” His voice cracks, but you don’t turn. You don’t move. You just stand there, looking out at the pale light of morning creeping through the window, letting the weight of his departure settle in.

“Goodbye, Beomgyu.” Your voice is steady, but it carries a finality that cuts through him.

He lingers a moment longer, hand on the door handle, but there’s nothing left for him to say, nothing to undo the damage. He takes one last look at you—at the calmness, the quiet resignation in your posture—and leaves.

The door clicks softly behind him, and you stand by the window, your heart pounding in the silence. You don’t cry or shout. You just stand there, letting the world move on, knowing that this chapter has ended.

After Beomgyu left, you stayed in the hotel room longer than you planned, the cold, empty bed feeling like a void you couldn’t escape. You stood under the shower for what felt like hours, letting the warm water cascade over your motionless body. Your forehead pressed against the cool tiles as you irrationally hoped the water could rinse away the heaviness inside you. But it couldn’t.

When you stepped out and caught your reflection in the fogged mirror, you barely recognized the tense, tired expression staring back at you. You wrapped a towel around yourself, your fingers trembling slightly as you picked up your phone. A reminder blinked on the screen—a client meeting in two hours. You swiped it away with a frustrated sigh. Work was the only thing you could control right now, and it was what you would focus on.

By the time you reached your office, the city had shaken off its sleep, and the bustling energy matched your hurried steps through the glass doors.

“Morning, YN,” your assistant, Minji, greeted you with a warm smile, handing over a folder. “Here’s the client proposal. Also, Mr. Park moved your meeting to 3 PM.”

“Thanks, Minji,” you replied, flipping through the pages without really seeing them.

“Rough night?” Minji asked playfully, eyeing your slightly ruffled appearance.

You forced a smile. “Something like that.”

The day passed in a haze of tasks—emails, back-to-back meetings, design reviews, and putting out fires caused by an unreliable supplier. Your colleagues moved around you with curious glances, sensing your unusual quietness but knowing better than to pry.

Even as you powered through your responsibilities, your thoughts betrayed you. Beomgyu’s face surfaced unbidden—his playful smirk, his uncertain eyes, the softness in his voice when he’d said your name for the last time. Each memory was like a small knife, sharp enough to remind you of what you’d lost, but not enough to distract you completely.

A few days later, the rehearsal studio hums with activity, but for Beomgyu, it's as if the world has slipped into a muffled roar. His body is there, but his mind is miles away, stuck at that moment—walking out the door, leaving you behind. He rubs his face, still feeling the sting of it—the hollow emptiness that settled in his chest when he walked away. Nothing is the same anymore.

“Beomgyu, focus!” The choreographer’s sharp voice slices through the fog of his thoughts, yanking him back to the present. The music stops suddenly, and Beomgyu blinks as the silence seems to swallow the room. “What’s going on with you?”

“I—sorry,” he stammers, his voice thick with exhaustion. His hands tremble slightly as he wipes the sweat from his forehead. He’s not sure if it’s from the workout or something much deeper. He runs through the steps in his head, but everything feels… wrong. Off. His body refuses to cooperate.

His bandmates exchange concerned glances. Soobin is the first to step forward, offering him a water bottle wordlessly. It’s a quiet gesture, a silent understanding between them. But Beomgyu can’t return it with his usual ease; the weight of his emotions is too heavy to mask.

“You okay?” Soobin asks, his voice low, measured, like he can feel the storm brewing just beneath Beomgyu's calm exterior.

“Yeah,” Beomgyu mutters, taking a long drink of the water, but the lie tastes bitter on his tongue. “Just tired.”

“You're more than tired,” Soobin says, his gaze sharpening. “You're uncoordinated, out of focus.”

The staff approaches, their eyes piercing, ready to demand answers. “What’s going on?”

Before Beomgyu can speak, Yeonjun steps in, sensing the tension rising. “We all had a rough night,” he says, his tone even but commanding as he glances at the staff. “Construction near the dorm kept us up. Let’s take a break and reset.”

The staff hesitates, sizing them up before reluctantly nodding. “Fine. Beomgyu, don’t let it happen again.”

Beomgyu feels their gaze linger on him as they disperse. He’s the one out of sync, the one causing the delay. The emptiness settles back into his chest as he sits on the floor. The sound of his own heartbeat echoes in his ears, drowning out the noise of the world around him. He doesn’t know how to escape from this.

In the days that followed his departure, you made a silent vow to yourself: you’ll stay late at the office every day, working until exhaustion drowns out the thoughts of him. The office becomes your refuge, a place where you can bury yourself in work, enough to keep the nagging ache in your chest at bay. The hours bleed into each other as you throw yourself into spreadsheets, meetings, and design revisions.

By the time the office empties and the city lights begin casting long shadows across the room, you’re still at your desk, your mind buzzing with tasks.

“You’re still here?” Minji’s voice breaks the silence, her concern clear in her soft tone.

You don’t look up. Your fingers continue to move over the keyboard, steady but mechanical. “Just finishing up a few things,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.

Minji hesitates, studying your posture. “Don’t overdo it, okay? You’ll burn out.”

You force a smile, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’ll be fine. Thanks, Minji. Goodnight.”

She nods and leaves, and the quiet returns, heavy with the weight of your solitude. The silence in the office presses down on you, suffocating, but you stay where you are. Leaning back in your chair, you close your eyes and exhale a long, slow breath. You don’t want to go home, so you bury yourself in work again. You don’t allow yourself to think, not for a single moment. It isn’t until your stomach growls, protesting the hours without food, that you glance at the time. 11:45 PM.

You gather your things and step into the cool night air, the chill brushing against your skin like a reminder of the world beyond your desk. The streets are eerily quiet as you slide into your car, the hum of the engine a familiar comfort. The drive home should be peaceful—empty streets and the steady rhythm of the road beneath your tires. But your mind won’t let you rest.

Why does it hurt this much?

You grip the steering wheel tighter, your knuckles turning white as memories of him flood back—his hand in yours, the fleeting vulnerability in his eyes, the regret in his voice when you parted.

Your phone buzzes on the passenger seat, dragging you from your thoughts. You glance at it, your heart skipping a beat. It’s not from him. You know it won’t be, but the automatic reflex to check, to hope, lingers. The screen lights up with a new message, but your hope fades quickly. It’s just an email—a distraction, but nothing more.

In that split second, your car hits a slick patch of road.

The tires screech, the car swerves violently, and your heart races in panic. Everything happens so fast—too fast. The world tilts sideways, your grip on the wheel futile against the forces that take control. And then, with a sickening thud, the crash comes—a violent collision of metal against metal, glass shattering around you, the deafening sound of impact filling your ears.

Then, silence.

The world stills. The weight of your emotions, the hum of your thoughts, everything you’ve been running from, fades into nothingness as darkness envelops you.

The dorm door creaks open, and the group shuffles inside, their usual laughter and banter replaced by a heavy, uneasy silence. Beomgyu’s shoulders slump as he kicks off his shoes, his bag dropping with a dull thud near the door. He barely manages a glance at the others before he collapses onto the couch, his hands covering his face. Exhaustion and frustration mix, pooling together like a storm inside him.

“Alright,” Soobin says, his voice cutting through the stillness as he shuts the door behind him. “Spill.”

Beomgyu groans, muffling the sound in his palms. “It’s nothing. Just a bad day.”

“Bullshit,” Yeonjun cuts in, his arms crossing tightly, eyes narrowed in that knowing way. “You’ve been zoning out for weeks. Since when do you miss steps?”

Kai leans forward on the edge of the coffee table, his expression serious. “Are you sick?”

The air is thick, everyone waiting for him to speak. But Beomgyu doesn’t know where to begin. The weight of their stares presses down on him. After what feels like an eternity, he exhales a shaky breath. His hands fall to his lap. His voice is quieter than usual, fragile. “No. There’s… someone,” he admits, almost inaudible.

Four pairs of eyes widen in shock, the sudden admission hanging in the room, thick as smoke.

“Someone?” Soobin repeats, disbelief lacing his tone.

Beomgyu nods, keeping his gaze down. “We’ve been seeing each other. In secret.”

Yeonjun raises an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk playing at his lips. “Secret, as in ‘fans-can’t-know’ secret? Or ‘scandal-level’ secret?”

“Both,” Beomgyu mutters, the weight of it all evident in his voice, a heavy burden that sinks deeper with each word.

Taehyun leans in, his voice steady, cutting through the tension. “Who is she? And why all the secrecy?”

Beomgyu hesitates, running a hand through his hair. His mind races, but his chest feels tight. Finally, he looks up, meeting their eyes, and for the first time, he lets his guard down. “She’s a producer. We met at a magazine shoot.” A faint, almost imperceptible smile tugs at his lips. “She’s… amazing.”

The room falls silent as they process his words, the quiet intensity settling over them like a thick fog.

“Go on,” Yeonjun presses, leaning forward, his voice a mixture of curiosity and something more.

Beomgyu’s smile deepens, and for a moment, the weight on his chest lightens. He speaks more freely now, almost with reverence. “She’s a bit older than me, but she’s so beautiful. She’s confident, blunt, and incredibly smart. The first time we met, she didn’t treat me like an idol.”

Kai smirks knowingly, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Let me guess—she shut you down?”

“Completely,” Beomgyu admits, a genuine chuckle escaping him. “She was so professional that I was really impressed. And she’ll always make me forget about the world.”

“I see,” Taehyun observes, his voice a mix of amusement and curiosity. “And I assume you like that?”

“I love it,” Beomgyu says, the admiration clear in his voice. “She doesn’t care about the fame or the cameras. With her, I can just… be.”

Soobin’s expression softens, but there’s a flicker of concern in his eyes—the quiet worry that’s been with him all night. “If she makes you this happy, why are you falling apart?”

Beomgyu’s smile fades, the weight of the truth pulling him back down. His shoulders sag, the pressure of his own vulnerability heavy in the air. “Because it’s a mess. If anyone finds out, it could ruin everything.”

Yeonjun rubs his temples, the gravity of the situation settling in. “Damn, Gyu. But if she’s worth it, isn’t it better to fight for her?”

Beomgyu’s voice cracks, his next words barely more than a whisper, the raw emotion slipping through. “I don’t know,” he admits, his heart laying bare.

Kai reaches out, his hand resting on Beomgyu’s knee, a quiet gesture of solidarity. “You’re not alone, Hyung. We’ll figure this out together.”

Taehyun nods, his voice firm but understanding, the calm anchor in the chaos. “But you need to decide what you want. If she’s this important to you, you have to find a way to make it work.”

Beomgyu glances around the room, seeing the unwavering support of his friends, and something in his chest loosens just a little. “Thanks, guys. Really.” His voice cracks at the end, and he quickly clears his throat.

Soobin offers him a soft smile, his eyes filled with understanding. “We’ve got your back, Gyu. Always.”

Just as the silence lingers, a buzz cuts through the air. Beomgyu jumps, his stomach lurching as his phone lights up with an unknown number. His heart races. He swipes to answer, a knot of unease tightening in his chest.

“Hello?” He answers, his voice strained, almost panicked.

The voice on the other end is muffled, but there’s urgency in it. “Hello, is this Mr. Ben?”

Beomgyu’s mind races, that sinking feeling in his stomach growing heavier. He knows that name. Ben is the alias he used to rent the room. Only you knew about it.

“Yeah. Who is this?”

“This is Daewon Medical Center. We’re calling about a woman who’s been admitted to our facility. She listed you as her emergency contact.” The nurse’s voice is rushed and clipped. “There’s been an incident. A car accident.”

Beomgyu freezes, his breath catching in his throat. “Is she… How is she?” The words feel foreign in his mouth, the panic rising in his chest.

“We need you to come down here and provide more details,” the nurse continues, urgency mounting in their tone. “Please, come immediately.”

Beomgyu’s mind is reeling. He feels the blood drain from his face. His voice barely escapes him, shaken and weak. “I’ll be there.” He hangs up quickly, his hand trembling as it falls to his side.

For a moment, everything stands still. His friends are silent, their eyes wide, waiting. The room feels impossibly heavy.

“What happened, man?” Taehyun asks, his voice low, the concern unmistakable.

“YN,” Beomgyu’s voice cracks, his face going pale. “She’s in the hospital. She was in a car accident.”

“Oh my God,” Kai whispers, his voice trembling. “Is she… is she okay?”

“I don’t know,” Beomgyu chokes out, his eyes wide with terror. “I don’t know if she’s okay. I need to go to the hospital.”

Without waiting another second, Beomgyu grabs his coat, his movements frantic, almost desperate. His heart pounds in his chest faster than he can breathe.

Soobin is the first to move, his expression soft but filled with concern. “We’re coming with you,” he says, his voice steady, a quiet strength in the face of the storm.

Yeonjun is already moving toward the door, his teasing demeanor gone, replaced by a raw sincerity. “We’ve got you, Gyu. Let’s go.”

One by one, his friends follow, their steps synchronized with Beomgyu’s anxious heart. Every step feels like it’s taking him closer to something he’s terrified to face, but he knows he can’t face it alone.

You wake up in a sterile white room, the cold, harsh light above you making everything feel even more disorienting. Your head throbs, every pulse a sharp reminder of the crash. The beeping of machines and the low murmur of voices seems distant, muffled, as if you’re underwater, disconnected from the world around you.

You try to sit up, but the sharp pain that shoots through your limbs forces you back down. The ache spreads, deep and heavy, making you feel like a broken version of yourself. Your vision blurs as you blink against the light, trying to make sense of everything.

The last thing you remember is the argument with Beomgyu—the harsh words, the cold silence, the way everything fell apart. Then, nothing. Just darkness. You close your eyes again, willing the weight of the pain, both physical and emotional, to fade, but it doesn’t. It’s as if the ache in your head grows stronger the more you think about it.

A nurse enters, her voice soft as she asks questions, but you barely hear her, your mind lost in the haunting thoughts of Beomgyu. The kiss. The way he left you hanging. Was he really gone for good? Could you ever get past this?

“Can you tell me your name?” The nurse asks again, her voice gentle but firm.

You blink, trying to focus, your thoughts still cloudy. “YN,” you whisper, your voice hoarse and weak.

“Good,” the nurse says, writing something down. “Do you know what happened?”

Your heart sinks as you try to piece together the fragments of memory, but it all feels too far away, like sand slipping through your fingers. “I—I was in a car accident,” you murmur, the words small and distant.

“That's right,” the nurse replies. “You were brought in after midnight. There was nothing serious, but you'll need to stay here under observation.”

You shut your eyes tightly. You’re tired, your body is aching, and you just want the pain to end. You want to leave this sterile room and be anywhere else, anywhere but here—lost in a place where everything you’ve fought for has crumbled in an instant.

As your thoughts spiral, exhaustion pulls you under. The beeping machines, the nurse’s voice, the ache in your body—all blur together into a haze. You can’t fight it anymore. Your body is too tired, too broken from the accident, and from the emotional weight you’ve been carrying. Slowly, your breathing steadies, and the tension in your muscles begins to release.

Beomgyu’s heart pounds as he walks through the sterile hallways of the hospital, the weight of dread sinking deeper with each step. His friends—Yeonjun, Taehyun, Kai, and Soobin—follow closely behind, their faces tight with concern. They’re there for him, a quiet support, but their presence does nothing to still the frantic beating in his chest. The only thing on his mind is you: your face, your voice, and the crushing fear of losing you.

When he reaches your room, his breath catches in his throat. You lie still on the bed, your small frame framed by the soft hum of machines, the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor echoing in the silence. His body moves without thought, drawn to your side, but his heart is already breaking.

“Is she…?” Beomgyu’s voice cracks, turning to the nurse finishing her paperwork. She nods sympathetically, her eyes kind but professional, before stepping out, leaving him alone with you.

The room is too quiet; the only sound is the steady beep of the monitor and the soft shuffle of nurses in the hallway. Beomgyu stands there, rooted to the spot, his eyes never leaving your pale face. Each shallow breath you take seems too fragile, too tentative. It hits him then—this could be it. He could lose you. He has never felt more helpless.

Yeonjun places a hand on his shoulder, offering him a silent kind of support. “We’ll wait outside. Just… take care of her,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. One by one, they step out, leaving Beomgyu alone with you, the only person who’s ever truly seen him.

The door clicks shut behind them, and the silence becomes unbearable. His heart beats so loudly in his chest, it drowns out everything else. He can’t breathe, can’t think. His trembling hand hovers over yours, as though the simple act of holding your hand will anchor him to something real.

When he finally takes your hand, the warmth that lingers there shatters him. He had thought pushing you away was a way of protecting you, keeping you safe from the chaos of his world. But now, staring down at you, all those thoughts feel foolish. He’s terrified of losing you, and in doing so, he realizes he’s already lost you.

“YN…” His voice cracks, hoarse with emotion, each syllable slipping past the lump in his throat. He squeezes your hand tighter, desperate. “Please… please wake up.”

His chest tightens as he leans forward, resting his forehead against the edge of your bed. Tears fall freely now, his breath coming in ragged gasps as everything—the guilt, the fear, the regret—crashes down on him.

“I’m sorry,” Beomgyu whispers, his voice breaking. “I never should’ve pushed you away. I thought I was protecting you. I thought… I thought I could keep you safe, but all I did was hurt you.”

His fingers tremble, his grip tightening with each word. “I thought I was protecting us. If I stayed away… if I kept you out of my mess, everything would be okay. But I was wrong, so wrong, YN. I was just scared of how much I love you. I didn’t know how to handle it. And, to be honest, I still don’t.”

The rawness of his emotions overwhelms him, his voice cracking with each confession. “But I can’t hide anymore. I can’t hide from you, from what I feel. You’re the only person who’s ever really seen me. I’ve never been this vulnerable; never let anyone in like I’ve let you. And now, I’m just… scared of losing you. More than anything in my life.”

His breath hitches, his chest tightening with the weight of his confession. “I love you, YN. I love you so much that it hurts. And I’m so sorry. For making you feel like you didn’t matter. For letting fear get in the way of what we could’ve had. I was a coward. I thought I was protecting you, but I was wrong. And now… I don’t know if it’s too late.”

Tears fall faster now, each one carrying a weight of regret and guilt. Beomgyu wipes his eyes, but the tears keep coming. “I don’t care about the consequences anymore. I don’t care about the risks. All I care about is you. Please, wake up. Let me prove to you that I can be what you need and deserve. Please don’t let this be the end.”

He presses his face to your hand, as if holding on tight enough will pull you back to him. “I don’t know if you can hear me… But I just need you to know that I love you. I always have. And I always will.”

He cries quietly, his tears falling onto your hand, his heart laid bare in the stillness of the room. There’s no guarantee that you’ll wake up, no promise that everything will be okay. But all he can do now is confess his love and hope it’s enough.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours as Beomgyu sits beside you, his heart pounding with every word he’s just laid bare. His voice wavers under the weight of his confessions. He had expected nothing—no response, no sign of acknowledgment. Part of him hoped you were asleep, lost in a peaceful dream, because the thought of facing rejection after everything felt unbearable.

But you remain still, your eyes closed, you're breathing slow and even. Beomgyu’s words hang in the air like a heavy mist, each confession a tender cut, yet you say nothing. Maybe you didn’t hear him. Perhaps the words were too much. Maybe he was just too late.

A sigh escapes him as he slumps in the chair beside you, the exhaustion of the moment taking its toll. He’d spilled his heart, and now uncertainty weighs on him like a brick. Will you laugh? Push him away?

And just when he begins to lose hope, he notices it—your hand. It moves—just a twitch of your fingers, but enough to make his heart leap in his chest.

“YN?” His voice falters, uncertain.

Your eyes flutter open, barely enough to catch the moonlight casting soft shadows on your face. You blink at him for a moment, and then, impossibly, a smile pulls at the corners of your lips.

“Well, if you’re done talking…” You murmur, your voice thick with sleep but laced with something mischievous.

Beomgyu freezes. “You… you heard all that?” His voice cracks slightly, more surprised than embarrassed.

You stretch, your eyes twinkling with humor. “I didn’t sleep through your grand speech, if that’s what you’re asking. Are you always this dramatic?”

His face flushes instantly, his heart still racing from the weight of his confession, but now heat rushes to his cheeks from pure embarrassment. “I… I thought you were asleep,” he stammers, his words tangled in the confusion of relief and discomfort. “I didn’t know what else to say. I thought I’d lost you.”

You sit up, propping yourself on your elbows, your grin widening. “Well, it’s a good thing I woke up, huh? For all the emotional confessions and declarations.” You wink at him, your teasing tone lightening the air.

Beomgyu stands there, caught between relief and awkwardness, unsure how to navigate this sudden shift. His mind is still reeling from the confession, but now there’s a new energy between you—one he wasn’t expecting.

“Are you… not mad?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper, uncertainty creeping back in.

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Mad? No, not really.” You pause, the playful edge in your eyes softening just a touch. “I just didn’t think you’d care this much. I didn’t think you’d be this honest.”

His heart skips a beat. “But… you’re not angry?”

“More like… frustrated,” you affirm, the weight of your words settling between you both. “When you left… I didn’t realize how much it hurt until later. I told myself I was fine, that it didn’t matter, but I was lying. I was upset. I was sad.”

Beomgyu’s chest tightens, his heart sinking. “You were sad?”

“Of course.” You nod slowly, offering him a faint smile. “I pretended it didn’t matter. But it did. It really did.”

The words hang there, unspoken for so long, finally finding their way out. Beomgyu reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours, the touch grounding him in the rawness of the moment.

“I didn’t know,” he whispers, his voice thick with regret. “I didn’t know you cared that much.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of it all pressing on your chest. “Beomgyu, I never stopped caring about you.” The words feel almost too simple, yet they hold so much.

His eyes soften, the vulnerability in them making your heart ache. He doesn’t respond at first; he just watches you, as if letting your words settle into him. Then, finally, he speaks, his voice quiet but sure.

“I’ve been afraid too,” he confesses. “I didn’t know how to come back. How to tell you I never stopped thinking about you… that I never stopped loving you.”

A heavy silence follows, the unspoken truths filling the room like a melody. The distance between you two has always felt vast, but now, at this moment, it seems to shrink, drawing you closer with every beat of your heart.

“I’m sorry, YN,” Beomgyu whispers, his voice cracking with regret. “For everything.”

A small, sad smile tugs at your lips, and you reach up to gently touch his cheek, your fingers grazing the skin you’ve always known. “You don’t have to apologize. We were both just… trying to protect ourselves.”

Beomgyu leans into your touch, his eyes closing as he breathes in the softness of the moment. He takes your hand and presses it to his lips, kissing your palm with a tenderness that makes your chest tighten.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he whispers. “I just didn’t know how to make everything right.”

You shake your head, your voice steady despite the swirl of emotions inside. “We can find out together.”

There’s a pause—a shared breath, a moment to let the weight of the confessions settle. The silence isn’t heavy now; it feels like a delicate thread connecting you both, fragile but real.

But then, to your surprise, Beomgyu breaks the tension with a quiet laugh, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “So, why am I your emergency contact?”

You blink, caught off guard, before a grin spreads across your face. “I put you there for fun,” you tease, enjoying the sudden lightness.

Beomgyu’s confusion only deepens. “For fun?”

You shrug, nonchalant. “Well, I don’t have family here, and you’re the last person who’d panic if something happened. So… I thought you’d be fine with it.”

Beomgyu blinks a couple of times, trying to process. “But I actually panicked when I got the call from the hospital.”

You laugh softly, a playful sparkle in your eyes. “Oops. Sorry, my bad.”

“I wasn’t prepared for that kind of responsibility,” he protests, his nervous laugh bubbling up. “You should’ve warned me, you know?”

“Well, where’s the fun in that?” You tease, your smile never fading.

“You really know how to keep me on my toes,” he admits, his voice soft but warm.

You smirk, a wink following. “What can I say? You make it too easy.”

The playful banter lingers between you, but as the laughter fades, the weight of the moment presses in again. Beomgyu's gaze softens, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to memorize every detail. The air feels warmer now, and the distance between you is almost nonexistent.

Without a word, he moves closer, his hand gently brushing against yours before he tentatively cups your cheek. Your breath hitches, the anticipation hanging heavy in the quiet space. His thumb strokes softly across your skin, and you close your eyes, surrendering to the warmth of his touch.

“YN…” His voice is barely a whisper, but it carries everything he's been holding back.

And before either of you can think, you both lean in, lips meeting in a tender kiss that speaks volumes. It's soft at first, almost reverent, as if the moment is fragile and new. But the deeper you sink into the kiss, the more it feels like something you've both been waiting for, something long overdue.

When you finally pull away, your foreheads rest against each other, your breath mingling, and neither of you moves to break the silence. There's no need for words anymore; everything is already said.

Time passes, each day flowing into the next, but this moment feels suspended—just the two of you, cocooned in this hotel room, far from everything that once held you apart. What started in secrecy, shrouded by uncertainty and fear, has now unfolded into something raw, something real. The past is behind you, and now there’s only the present, soft, quiet, and heavy with meaning.

You lie back against the pillows, fingers tracing the familiar lines of Beomgyu’s chest. The touch is subtle but speaks volumes—both of the comfort you’ve found in each other and of the unspoken understanding between you. But tonight, the question that has been hovering is finally voiced.

“So, what happens now?” Your voice is calm, though there's an edge of curiosity, of longing for something more. You’ve come so far, but there’s still that gap you need to cross.

Beomgyu looks at you, his gaze soft but filled with something deeper now. It wasn’t a question he expected, not after everything that’s happened, but now that you’ve both navigated the hardest parts, there’s no more avoiding it. No more pretending.

“I… I don’t want to hide anymore, YN,” he says, the words coming slowly but sure. “I don’t want to pretend this isn’t real. I’m not going to let fear stop me from being with you. Whatever happens—whatever the world says—I’ll handle it. I’m choosing this. I’m choosing us.”

The weight of his words settles in your chest, and for the first time in what feels like forever, a lightness fills the space between you. You’ve always known he’d reach this point. But hearing him say it, seeing his determination—it makes everything feel more real, more tangible.

“You’re sure?” you ask, your voice soft but steady. It's not doubt, not anymore, but a quiet understanding of what this means. “The world doesn’t always give us what we want. It’s not just about us. It’s everything that comes with it.”

He nods, a quiet certainty behind his eyes. “I’m sure. You’re worth it. All of it.”

Your smile grows, and the joy that fills you is quiet but deep. In the silence between you, it’s clear. You’ve built something strong, something unshakeable. And now, with this moment, with his choice, it feels like you’re stepping into something even more solid. The future is still unknown, but for the first time, you’re no longer afraid of it.

“We’ll handle it. Together. Whatever comes, we face it together.”

There’s no hesitation in your voice, just a calm, tender conviction that makes his heart swell. You believe in him, in both of you, in this—whatever comes.

Beomgyu smiles, a sense of relief washing over him, as if a weight he didn’t even realize he was carrying has been lifted. “Yeah. We will.”

The silence that follows isn’t heavy. It’s full of understanding. You both took a leap of faith. There’s no going back now, and neither of you is afraid.

You lean in first, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that’s soft, slow, and lingering. It’s a promise, a quiet understanding of everything you’ve chosen, everything you will face together. When you pull away, Beomgyu’s hand cups your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek, searching your eyes for any trace of doubt.

“We’re going to be okay, right?” His voice is quiet but sincere, filled with the kind of trust that makes your heart ache.

You smile, your eyes sparkling with affection and certainty. “We will be.”

And at that moment, you both know that the road ahead will be anything but easy. There will be obstacles and challenges. But together, you’ll face them. Because now, for the first time in so long, you’re not just surviving—you’re living together.

Beomgyu pulls you closer, wrapping his arm around you as you both settle back against the bed. The world outside might keep turning, keep shifting, but it doesn’t matter. You have each other. And that is enough.

Epilogue

The day Beomgyu decides to come clean about his relationship is chaotic, to say the least. It’s a decision he doesn’t take lightly, but one that he knows is inevitable. His team, however, is far from prepared. As soon as the news breaks, there’s a whirlwind of calls, meetings, and endless debates. His career, his image, the group’s future—they argue it all. But Beomgyu stands firm.

He’s aware of the risks. The fans, the media, the public—everything about his life will be under scrutiny. But for once, he refuses to let fear dictate his choices. This is his truth, his happiness, and he’s not going to hide it anymore.

Yeonjun, Taehyun, Soobin, and Kai support him all the same. They’ve seen the internal struggle he’s faced, and now they stand beside him, understanding that he’s choosing to be open, to face the consequences head-on. Despite the pressure, they rally around him, unwavering in their support.

After hours of difficult discussions, it becomes clear: Beomgyu’s decision stands. The agency will release an official statement.

“Hello, MOA, this is Beomgyu.

I’ve always tried to be open and real with you, and in turn, you’ve always shown me so much love and support. You’ve been with me through the highs and lows, and I can’t express enough how much that means to me.

Because you’ve always been so real with me, I want to do the same and share something important about my life. I’m in a relationship. It’s something that has brought me happiness and peace, and I want you to know that I’m truly content.

I understand this might come as a surprise to some, and there may be questions or feelings about it. But I want to assure you that I’m not sharing this to seek approval or to change anything about our connection. I’m sharing it because it feels right.

This relationship is something that makes me happy, and I believe it’s essential to be honest with you all, just as you’ve always been with me. I hope you can support me, as you always have, and understand that this is just another part of my journey.

I’m so grateful to each of you, and I’ll continue to give my all, not just to my work but to this connection I have with all of you. You’ve been my strength, and I’ll always be there for you, too.

Thank you for your understanding and love. I’m truly lucky to have you all by my side.

With all my heart,

Beomgyu.”

The aftermath isn’t easy. Rumors swirl, articles flood the media, and the scrutiny from the public is relentless. Yet through it all, Beomgyu doesn’t waver. And neither do his friends. Yeonjun, Taehyun, Soobin, and Kai all stand by him, united. They know his happiness comes first, and they’ve got his back, no matter what.

You are right there with them, offering the same unwavering support. You’re his rock in the storm, always grounding him. But you’re not just standing by him—you’re thriving in your own right. Despite the chaos surrounding your relationship, your career continues to soar. You lead new projects with the same passion and confidence that have always defined you. Whether you're presenting designs or making strategic moves, you do it all with an undeniable strength, showing the world that you’re as much of a force in your field as you are in your relationship.

Your resilience is contagious. Even in the face of media pressure, you handle it all with poise, refusing to let negativity seep into your life. You brush off the hurtful comments with the same humor and confidence you’ve always had, and your work only continues to flourish as you rise to the occasion, showing everyone that you won’t be defined by anyone else’s opinion.

At home, after long days of work, you still manage to keep things light. One evening, after yet another exhausting day, Beomgyu finds you lounging on the couch in your shared apartment. Your eyes are glued to your phone, a mischievous grin on your lips.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, his tone light despite the exhaustion in his voice as he walks over to you.

You look up, your eyes sparkling with amusement. “Oh, just some hilarious tweets about me,” you say nonchalantly, your grin widening. “Mean ones, mostly.”

Beomgyu raises an eyebrow, concerned. “Why are you even reading that stuff?”

You shrug, unfazed. “Why not? It’s entertaining. People can say whatever they want. But at the end of the day…” You pause, your eyes locking with his. “I’m the one who gets this delicious man called Choi Beomgyu.”

Beomgyu laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re impossible.”

You lean into him, nudging him playfully. “Come on, you know you love it.”

Beomgyu’s laughter softens, the tension of the past few days fading with the sound of your voice. Your ability to find humor in the chaos is a reminder that you both will get through this, no matter what. You’re always there to lift him up when things feel heavy.

“I really do,” he admits, his smile genuine. “But I don’t want you to be upset with them calling you names.”

“Don’t worry, Gyu. I won’t be. I am what I am, and I don’t give a fuck.” With a mischievous grin, you meet his gaze, your confidence radiating. “After all, the mouth that’s eating me out is not complaining.”

elle speaks⁴: im not used to make second parts and this one demanded a lot from me, but i hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading ♡

disclaimer: this is a fanfiction created by me. the characters of TOMORROW X TOGETHER and the song mentioned are used for creative purposes only. this story is not affiliated with BigHit Entertainment or TXT, and all content is fictional and does not reflect reality. the song “Stay” is owned by its creators and used here without profit.

#tomorrow x together #txt #beomgyu #choi beomgyu #txt smut #txt angst #beomgyu smut #txt beomgyu #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu angst #txt x y/n #txt x reader #txt x you #beomgyu x female reader #beomgyu x you #beomgyu x y/n #elle writes #beyond the doors #stay

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word-wytch · 2 years ago

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Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 15

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 15/? 10k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ The aftermath of a kiss makes thoughts come alive — both desires and fears.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

✏︎ Chapter CW: smut 18+ (imagined oral f!receiving, piv, creampie), cumming in pants, angst

Wednesday, December 11th 1985

The flag was whipping in the wind. Towering above the parking lot in a blur of red, white, and blue, it cracked against the pale grey sky.

Meeting your eyes in the rearview mirror, you checked for any obvious signs of guilt. The harsh morning light made it clear what you’d missed in your haste to leave. You thought you had gotten it all, but the mascara resting in the lines beneath your eyes said otherwise. Truthfully, washing your face had been the last thing on your mind when you stumbled home after midnight, and it was clear you needed more than the five minutes you allotted this morning in front of the sink. After sleeping through your alarm, it was a miracle you were here at all. Swiping your knuckles across the bags under your eyes, you figured that would have to do.

With a final, bracing sigh, you opened the door and slumped into the freezing cold. Slamming the door, you marched across the snow-dusted pavement and hiked the heavy leather strap onto your shoulder. Students scattered around you with bright colored backpacks, rushing from their cars toward the squat, concrete building that loomed on the horizon. Eyes steeled on the glass doors ahead, you swallowed a sickness rising up from the pit of your stomach. Pebbles crunched under your boots as you dodged glances, offering little more than a timid smile and a raise of your hand at the greetings hurled your way.

Pulling open the chilled metal handle, that school smell—indescribable yet unmistakable—gusted hotly over your numb cheeks. The office was abuzz with shrill ringing phones and gently chiding voices. Eyes glued to the long, grey weather mat below, you approached the clock-in station.

“Good morning!” the receptionist greeted cheerfully at the back of your head.

“Morning, Judy,” you offered weakly, selecting your punch card from its wooden slot on the wall. With a shaking hand, you slotted the index card into the machine, lining it up with this week’s row of black-inked numbers. It snapped to life, stamping today’s date in a crooked line beneath the rest.

Tucking your thumb under the strap, you trudged along your usual path, raising your eyes just enough to see where you were going. Fluorescents danced over the polished tile, over the shimmering salt-stained boot marks and stray pebbles you were suddenly so captivated by. Past the glass trophy cases, inside the cafeteria, you crossed the row of principal portraits from years prior outside the teachers lounge. It was difficult to look at them today, the judgement painted so clearly on their features from inside their thick, ornate frames. Their eyes seemed to follow you as you passed. Dodging their scorn, you ducked inside the door.

Your soles met the padding of the threadbare carpet, marching toward the one thing you truly depended on, stationed at its post on the end of the long, veneer table — the coffee machine. The room was spinning with activity, a bustle of chatter you hoped you could hide in. Most were on their way out, making small talk and gathering belongings from their seats at the round tables. Your skirt swished forward as you halted before the machine, tapping the cuff of your tall boots. Grabbing a mug from the stack, you filled it with haste.

You wondered if anyone could smell it on you — the cigarette smoke that clung to your coat. Shrinking down into your turtleneck, you sidestepped to return the pot to the warmer.

“Good morning,” stated a voice behind you with cold professionalism.

The plastic slipped in your hand, coffee hissing against the metal plate as you fumbled it into place. “Principal Higgins! H-hi—good morning!”

She always terrified you, even as a student here. Even before last night. Standing all of about four foot ten, her stern, nun-like demeanor and white cloud of hair remained consistent with your memory, as if she had reached a point in her aging where she just plateaued.

“How are you?” she asked. Not as though she really cared, just as something polite to say.

Whipping around as the blood drained from your face, you addressed her. “Good! I’m good. Just getting things wrapped up for the semester. You know how it is.”

She nodded curtly. “Glad to hear,” she answered, though nothing about her expression seemed glad. It never did. You thought you saw her smile once in September, but it could have been a trick of the light. Smiling weakly at the floor, you dipped around her and shuffled toward the open milk carton. The air was thick and stuffy, filling your lungs in shallow draws. Peeling back the soggy cardboard, you swallowed your hammering pulse.

“Hey stranger,” Diane greeted warmly, grabbing a mug from beside you. “You ready for winter break yet?”

Fixed on the coffee as the milk swirled like smoke, you couldn’t find the courage to meet her eyes. “I’ve been ready since October,” you admitted through a strained chuckle.

Diane tipped her head back, laughing into the fluorescents. “Oh man I feel ya, I’ve been counting down the days myself.” Steam rose from her mug as she filled it.

There must have been a sign on your back. Something like kick me. A bump from behind had you lurching into the table, sloshing coffee over the rim. Snapping your head over your shoulder, you glared at the culprit.

“Jeez it’s crowded in here,” muttered Ms. O’Donnell as she lumbered over to the coffee machine. “Everyone mingling like a flock of hens, you’d think we’d all have places to be by now.”

With a sharp sigh, you grabbed a handful of flimsy napkins from beside the sugar. Diane glanced in brief annoyance before reaching through your line of sight for the milk carton. “So, did you catch Cheers last night?”

You froze, heat creeping up the collar of your coat as the coffee bled through the paper. Images of sweating glasses on cocktail napkins and plush lips clouded your vision as you blotted up the mess with a trembling hand. “No I uh, turned in early I’m afraid.” Your stomach curdled with the lie.

“Aww, well you’ll have to catch it on re-run because it was a good one. I won’t spoil anything,” Diane said, bringing the mug to her lips as she leaned against the table.

Grabbing the handful of warm, soggy napkins, you pivoted to toss them in the trash. Finally, she caught you with her eyes. Rich umber, deep with caring and kindness, captive for anyone who needed a good listener, for you on so many occasions. Diane was good like a cashmere cardigan, like a box of tissues passed across a desk. Your eyes met the floor again quickly, heat rising in your face. You shuddered to imagine what she’d think if she knew.

The room became a blur of scooting chairs, of vending machines whirring, of crackers and candy dropping into the bins below. Metal flaps whined and slammed as hands reached in to grab them. It was closing in on you — the copy machine ink wafting warmly across the room as it spat out stacks of tests, the hole punchers clicking and binders snapping open to devour papers with their jagged maws. You stood there in the middle of it all, spinning like you’d stepped out of a carnival ride.

Diane leaned closer, eyes narrowing. “You ok?”

Blinking rapidly, you snapped back to attention. “Yeah—yeah I’m fine.”

Folding her arms across her sweater, she knit her brows in disbelief. As the school counselor, it was her job to see through bullshit, and she was good at her job. Before she could comment, the bell had your stomach lurching. “I have to go,” you said with as much of a casual farce as you could muster. “I’ll see you later.” You grabbed your mug, shielding your face with it as you sipped off the top before vanishing into the hallway.

The AV cart was heavy despite its wheels. Avoiding your tired reflection in the glass of the large television, you braced the metal frame and peered around it, marching carefully down the crowded hallway. At least you had something to hide behind now.

There were footsteps all around you, weaving to accommodate the metal mass as you trudged slowly forward. What became unignorable was the set behind you, shuffling down the hall at an increasing speed, growing louder as they neared. Eddie halted just behind your shoulder, bumping it slightly in his haste. “Hey,” he breathed in your ear, curls tickling your cheek.

Sucking in a breath, you whipped your head around to meet his crinkling eyes. If he had a tail, he would be wagging it. “Eddie,” you hissed. “Get—” you elbowed him away, heart pounding into your temples as a hundred eyes passed by around you.

He didn’t seem phased. Hovering at an uncomfortable proximity, his focus stayed glued to you as if the rest of the world had fallen away. “Here,” he offered, reaching over to take the reins. The meat of his palms grazed your knuckles; warm and pliant like you remembered them.

“I’ve got it,” you insisted, gaze dutifully forward, gripping the metal frame firmly.

“Come on, let me help,” he muttered, leather forearms insisting against yours as he tugged the cart in his direction.

Face fully on fire now, you released your grip, repelling with a twinge of remorse from the solid contact of his shoulder. Head darting left and right, you scouted for faculty, keeping a steady pace beside him. Not so close as to draw suspicion, but close enough to feel his magnetism prickle your awareness. His fingers pinked under his rings, knuckles white in his grip as the strong angles of his hands kept the cart from veering. “It’s um—” Eddie started, dipping his head toward your ear again, “good to see you again,” he uttered with a fervency that could have evaporated you.

“Happy Wednesday!” chimed Ms. Click as she waved you down from outside her door.

The blood drained from your face. Raising a trembling hand, you returned a weak smile before locking your vision on the end of the hall. It was closing in again; the lockers, the voices, the squeaking of wet boots against the tile. There was the potent scent of cigarettes, fresh on his hair like the snowflakes that clung to his curls. They were melting, dripping down his wild ringlets onto his shoulders with every step. It was beautiful, the way they bounced and swayed in the wind as he walked. The way the droplets settled in the wrinkles of his leather coat. The way it tapered toward his narrow waist. As he braced the cart, you selfishly admired the angles of his shoulders — broad and capable. Selfishly, you wondered what else they could accomplish, how they would feel, bare under your palms. Crossing your arms coyly over your turtleneck, you snatched your mind from the gutter.

Eddie lolled his head toward you, peering under heavy lids. His smile was lazy and generous, brimming with boyish glee. “God you look pretty today,” he sighed. Your uterus beat your stomach to a backflip.

Halting outside the door to your classroom, you turned to face him. “Eddie, we can’t—” your desert mouth hung open as those soft umber eyes ushered your words into the din.

“I’m allowed to talk to you,” he asserted, shifting to the fullness of his height as he dropped his hands from the cart.

“Not like that. Not here,” you corrected, just above a whisper.

Brow lowering, he swiped his coat aside to access his hip, resting his hand above the chain that dripped toward his thigh. It was suffocating — the heat from his gaze, from your turtleneck, from the thoughts hammering like pinballs against the inside of your skull.

“Listen, I just…” you swallowed, “it’s just—” you glanced around, meeting the waves and bright hellos that passed through your door with a vacant smile before lowering your voice, “—hard to be back here today.”

Eddie tipped his head forward, shifting on the balls of his feet with a subtle nod. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

You huffed through your nose, eyes pleading with him as you shrank toward your door.

“I’ll see you later,” he promised, drifting in by an invisible tether with every inch you moved away.

“Yeah.” Your exhale was heavy, lingering in his gaze for an aching second before ducking through the threshold.

______

The static from the television prickled your forehead as you rewound the tape, fussing with the buttons on the VHS player seated on the shelf below it. The screen fizzled grey as as your fourth period class filed in, shuffling feet and relieved exclamations echoing behind you as they passed.

You could have left it alone and walked away, but you would take any excuse not to face them today. Leaning against the cart as you stared into the crackling static, that telltale scent wafted in on the air, tugging at memories of smoke rings and stage lights, filling you with equal parts dread and aching familiarity. You could see his silhouette out of the corner of your eye; tall and dark with a halo of frizz, boots heavy against the tile as he approached you. Swallowing your rising pulse, you couldn’t help but indulge for a second, shifting just enough to catch the soft pink of his smirk before his shoulder nudged yours in passing. Desks squeaked against the floor behind you, yielding to the weight of twenty students as they filled the five tidy rows. When the bell finally rang, you shut the door and mustered the courage to address them.

None of your classes were studying To Kill A Mockingbird. Irrelevant as it was to your lessons, you would excuse it to all of them by citing it as a great example of storytelling. Weak, but it was the best you could come up with on such short notice. You doubted anyone cared, they all seemed just as relieved as you were for a break from the fluorescents.

You flicked off the lights and pressed play on the VCR. The room was bathed in white and blue as the opening credits rolled, and you took your place behind the big desk. Propping your head wearily against your hand, you stared down at the sea of white below you. Eyes unfocused, black ink and graphite chicken scratch blurred together as a different film played out behind them.

The set was dramatically lit; a spotlight of interrogation that beamed down on your small chair facing Martha Higgins’ desk. The props were hyper-realistic; files she flipped through with her spindly, arthritic fingers containing your teaching license and contract for the year. The prominent lines on her forehead were growing increasingly severe as she considered the delivery of your inevitable punishment.

A jungle of items framed the papers that sprawled across your real desk — the spider plant Susan had given you when the leaves were beginning to blush with oranges and reds, the stapler you’d had since college, the mug with a quill printed on it which now held your pens. You wondered what it would feel like to pack them all into a banker box in the middle of a winter afternoon. To lug it down the hallway, dodging the scorn of your former colleagues. With a heavy sigh, you buried your spinning head in your hand.

Eddie was seated as he always was, cheek pressed to his knuckles as he watched you from his corner of the room. A straight shot toward your desk in front of him, he gazed with reverence as the white light from the television bathed your one exposed cheekbone in a holy glow. Picking at the chipped veneer on the desk with his restless thumb, he recounted the feeling of it in his hands. The angle of your jaw, the notch where it met below your ear, the soft skin of your throat that hummed beneath the pads of his frozen digits, warming them to life with every swell and swallow as his mouth enveloped yours. He’d played it over and over the whole drive home, every moment since he’d opened his eyes this morning, convincing himself with every replay that it wasn’t a dream.

He’d gotten a taste. Not enough to satisfy him — the opposite really. Like first bites often did, it only brought awareness to his hunger. The light played softly on your stiffened jaw. How he ached soothe it with his lips again, to feel the hard bone under supple skin, to hear and taste your sighs again; more moving than any music he’d ever heard.

The darkness gave quiet permission for his mind to play a film of its own. In this one, the room would be the same. Just as dark but empty, save for you and him. He would scale the isle in five swift steps. Lifting your worried chin with his knuckle, he would draw you to the fullness of your height, capture your body in his arms and pull you into a searing kiss. He knew what it felt like now, and that only fueled his wild imagination. He knew you’d melt like putty, let him be the only thing holding you together, keeping you from falling to the floor with the strength of his arms around your soft cotton waist.

He had memorized the shape of your lips, how slick with hunger they were as they slipped against his. Your hums would be quiet here, timid and shy as you glanced over his shoulder toward the door with worried eyes. On this set there were no real hallways, no extras making noise or slamming lockers. Nothing in the script suggesting an interruption, only the pretend risk that made a thrill rise in him like the tent in his jeans. The way you would shyly toy with the pins on his vest, insisting that “we shouldn’t,” and “it’s just not right.”

You wouldn’t protest for long, not in this script. Not when his teeth found your neck again, dipping down below the collar of your turtleneck. It was a nuisance really, nothing but a sponge for his spit as his tongue soothed over where his teeth left off. You would be needing it later because he would leave a mark this time. Several, tasting every moan you offered as he sucked bruises onto your delicate skin. He hadn’t tasted nearly enough of you, hadn’t felt nearly as much as he’d wanted.

Closing his eyes, he surfaced a touch-memory; the shape of you beneath your coat. He imagined the slope of your waist in his hands as it looked like today; where the cotton met the wool of your skirt, heaving against his palms as he left his sloppy trail. Impatiently, he would free you from the confines of it, tug at the cotton and greet your warm, soft flesh with his aching fingers. You, of course, would give him full permission to remove it once you felt the insistence of his touch, felt his thumb drag over the small of your back, across that dip he caught a glance of last night.

Tugging the cloying barrier up and over your head, he would shield you from the door with his body, letting the mass of the AV cart block any eyes wandering the hall from what he was about to do next. In the soft, flickering light from the television, your chest would rise and fall, spilling over from your white lace bra as it heaved in anticipation.

The real you sank deeper into your chair. Shoulders slumped, shielding your eyes with your knuckles as you stared blankly down into the sea of papers. There was a heat emanating from the back corner of the room, one you could feel with the crown of your head. You knew exactly where it was coming from, and from whom. Hesitant as you were to address him, it was burning too hot to ignore, boring into you with a palpable insistence. With a swift, upward glance, you faced off.

Eddie’s lids were heavy, cheeks pinking at the sudden confrontation. He licked his lips, eyes darkening as he swallowed. You could almost feel them again, cradling yours in a phantom kiss just like they did fourteen hours ago. His mouth had been so needy. So hot and plush, tongue slipping against yours like he’d been starving.

Eddie closed his eyes in a slow blink. When he opened them again, they were so heavy with want that it rippled from across the room, shooting straight between your legs. You’d never been kissed like that before. Kissed so hard it robbed you of your senses, of your oxygen, of your goodness. It was easy to imagine; doing it again. Especially when he was looking at you like that.

You indulged for just a moment, joined him in the scene. Alone together in the dark, empty room. It was easy to imagine what those lips would feel like going further; sucking your collar bone, grazing it with his teeth, trailing his sopping mouth to the place where your neck meets your shoulder before his calloused thumb slipped the strap of your bra to the side.

Wringing a hand behind your neck, you glanced toward the television with a sudden feigned interest. The feeling wouldn’t leave you though; clouding your mind with wet smacking lips and the chill of the air at your nipples.

He knew they would be perfect. He could just tell. They would heave beneath his watering mouth, puckered and primed for him to latch. Capturing one of them in his wet heat, you would melt into his waiting arms. Back arched, mewling so needy and loud it would cause the door to open if the scene was real. He was certain he’d be able to taste your hums through your skin here too. Even better perhaps.

Eddie shifted in his seat with a mild grimace, hand darting beneath his desk in time with a swift raise of his hips as chair legs scraped the tile. He glanced at his lap, then back up at you.

Your face became a roaring furnace, paling only to the heat pooling under you. The pale television light flickered across his flushed cheeks, his lowered brow, his smoldering eyes that held you captive. He wanted you to know. Indulging, you imagined what was going on under that desk. What it would look like if he were to stand, to scale the room in a few eager strides and show you up close.

“Need you now, Eddie,” you’d croon with a swipe of your hand up the generous bulge he was sporting, punctuating it with a pinch of his weeping head through the denim.

Eddie took his cue. In one dramatic swoop, the papers fluttered to the floor, the plant made a mess of the tile, the stapler clattered beside your shattered mug as pens rolled down the isles. Backing you into the edge of the big desk, he kissed you again. Hot and slick, body flush with yours, pressing his need against your pelvis as he probed your aching mouth. Parting only to shed himself of his outer layer, to lay it down behind you like a blanket, shielding your bare back from the cold wood.

From the confines of his small desk across the room, real Eddie took a deep breath, lids closing heavy on the inhale, fluttering open to a pained pout on the exhale.

Seating yourself on the edge of your desk on set, you would free him from the confines of his jeans. Pawing at his belt, you would tuck your fingers beneath it and tug urgently, rattling metal and leather before working his button free. Slowly, your nimble fingers would locate and lower his zipper, and a sigh would be the second thing that escaped.

You were an A-list actress, looking down at his proud length like you’d never seen a dick before in your whole life. The coyness with which you peered from under your lashes was thoroughly convincing. Oscar-worthy. With a timid, chalk-dusted finger, you would draw a line from base to tip, admiring the way it bobbed, the way your touch encouraged it to glisten. Real Eddie swallowed, drawing a deep, impatient breath. Convincing as you were of your innocence, he was certain those fingers would know what they were doing as they traced his ridges with a teasing curiosity.

Unable to take any more of it, his hands would find your knees; bare where the stockings left off. They would roam under your thick wool skirt, up those impossibly soft thighs and draw back the curtain as you braced yourself against the desk behind you. In this scene, of course, your costume called for nothing underneath. You would be ready for him. Back flush with his coat, legs spread, glistening with need in the pale light from the television behind him.

Impatient as he was, he would be remiss not take this opportunity to satisfy a curiosity of his own. Crouching down to level with your sex, he would take in your scent first. Breathe in your delicious, heady pheromones, let it cloud his vision further, as if there was room for anything else other than the persistent thought of you. Eddie wondered what you tasted like. Your mouth was exquisite, so what must you taste like here? With a generous swipe of his tongue, he would find the answer.

The real you crossed your legs tightly, as if that would stave off the throbbing between them. Real Eddie caught it, the shift in your seat, the subtle raise of your knee under your plaid skirt, the way you worried your lip with your teeth as you glanced shyly toward the papers still, unfortunately, on your desk.

What might his tongue feel like there? The question grappled for your attention despite futile attempts to shove it away. His tongue had a certain talent, you’d noticed, as it probed against yours in the dark last night. A sense of rhythm was a hard thing to teach. His tongue would be warm, you were certain of that, saliva slick as he pressed it flatly to your heat. He would take his time, savoring every groove and fold across this new terrain as if he were committing it to memory. Propping up on your elbows against the satin liner of his coat, you would catch those deep brown eyes, peering into yours with a smoldering hunger, lower lids pinching in pleasure as he drew slowly upward.

You would paw at the crown of his head, rake your fingers through his curls and tug, feeling his approving hum against your core. Halo of frizz tickling your thighs, his tongue would lathe slow and steady, closing those plush lips over your aching bud before sucking a kiss where you needed it most.

Exhaling deeply, you toyed with a pen on your desk; pressed your thumb into the cold metal nub, studied the tension a moment before releasing. Eyes unfocused, you were helpless as the film played out behind them. Click. Click. Click. Light flickered from the TV, twenty eyes distracted and oblivious. Throbbing, you shifted in your seat and caught the scent of your own arousal. Embarrassment flooded your cheeks. Never in your life had you been so grateful to be in the dark.

Try as you might to gleam a single chaste thought from the words printed below you, there was no space in your head for it. Just Eddie, crouched over you like a preying animal, looking at you with those lust-blown eyes like he’d make you his meal. Wrapping those ringed fingers around your hips, shifting his to meet them as he stood. You could almost feel it; his cockhead pressing with insistence at your entrance. Almost feel the safety of his shadow, how his curls would kiss his cheekbones as he hovered above you, how his lids would flutter as he pushed in. That deep, relieved sigh you would both breathe together as the long ache was soothed upon joining.

It was a moving picture.

From the back of the room, Eddie watched your face burrow into your hand; fingers splayed across your forehead and eyes, shoulders slumping on your ragged exhale. How desperately he itched to ease them with his hands, his teeth, his tongue. It was painful; his cock straining against the confines of his jeans. Silently, he thanked himself for grabbing the black pair from the pile on the chair in his bedroom this morning, certain he was leaking through by now.

Slowly, he shifted his hips upward, relishing in the drag of the fabric against his sensitive head as it moved toward his waistband. He paused before tucking it, arching forward again with sinful fulfillment. It felt good. Too good. Good enough to do it again. The way the cotton raked against the heart-ridge of his cock, the way the stiff bend in his zipper hit that sweet spot when his hips canted forward.

Eddie glanced around the room, flushing furiously. All eyes were forward. No one seemed to notice. Gripping the edge of the desk, he continued to rock his hips; slow and quiet micro-movements, careful not to creak the plastic chair. The shrinking, logical part of his brain couldn’t believe he was doing this. It was a new low. Perverted, even for him. But the tension was mounting, becoming unbearable, and the relief it offered was enough to drown out the shame.

He bet you would be so tight. He could almost feel those gorgeous legs wrap around his waist, your boots crossing at the ankles behind him, drawing him closer as you whined from the stretch. He could almost see you bite your lip and knit your brows, feel your fingers dig into his strong shoulders as you adjusted to his size. He would go slow, knowing it’s been a while for you. You would clench and arch but take him so well as he inched his way to the hilt. Then, bracing against the wood, he would happily give you what you needed — jack hammer hard, rutting like an animal in heat. You would be sinfully wet. He bet you were right now, sitting up there with your legs crossed and head down. Pity it would go to waste. If he had it his way it would be dripping onto the desk, slicking his balls as those pretty, perfect tits of yours bounced with every snap of his hips.

The fabric was hitting him just right, scratching that itch with each flex of his cock against the dampened cotton. It was a slow mount, subtle and teasing, but it was enough. Anything would have been enough. A breeze. Eyes closed, forehead hung on the heel of his hand in feigned boredom, he imagined it what you would feel like under his thumb; rubbing that little button of yours that made you squirm and moan so deeply he could feel it from the inside.

The hardest part was steadying his breath. He supposed he couldn’t fault his body, it was just doing what was natural in a place he shouldn’t be doing it. He couldn’t fault his heart for hammering, or his hips from wanting to buck, or his hands for itching to expedite the relief. What he would give to crank the volume on the television, to draw a curtain and just get it over with. God forbid you wisened up to his antics, although the thought did send a jolt to his dick. He knew he should stop before he did something utterly shameful, but the spot he was hitting was just too sweet, a feeling he was helpless but to chase.

He would give you everything you ever wanted. With gritted teeth he would ream you until you came undone, make that pretty face of yours contort over and over as you writhed against the desk, howling his name into the drop ceiling. The slap of skin on skin would echo off the tile until he’d rendered you utterly stupid, which was difficult to do.

“You want it, huh?” he’d huff into your ear, peppered with nip of your lobe. “Want me? Want my cum?”

Tugging the hair at the nape of his neck, you’d mewl your answer. “Yes. Please.”

Slumping forward in his desk, Eddie buried his head in the crook of his arm. Fuck. His boots dug into the tile, thighs straining, lip pinched in his teeth, desperate to restrain the bucking of his hips. There was an animal inside him, tugging like a rubber band waiting to snap. His aching balls begged as they drew upward, cockhead so sensitive it could feel every stitch. Eddie burrowed his nose into the desk, both chasing the feeling and running from it.

He would show you how much of a man he was, paint you with proof on the inside. Remind you as it slicked your thighs with every click of your boots down the hall.

Huffing into the dark cocoon, his free hand gripped the metal legs below him, holding on for dear life as the wave approached its crest. Hips stuttering, breath fogging the desk, he hit the wall. The one that made his mind go blank, his eyes roll back, his whole body tense and tingle like a yawn.

It came out like a whimper. Warmer and wetter with each pathetic spurt. A small, strangled sound threatened the back of his throat. It tried to escape his gaping, downturned mouth, but he choked it back. It was a relief to get it out, like a dirty confession. Wave after hot, thick wave of frustration pooled in his boxers, clung to his balls as he emptied them completely. When the last of it crested with nothing more to give, his hips rocked to stillness, and the rest of his body went limp.

He looked like a puddle of leather and hair. Squinting as you peered around the student in front of him, you wondered why his back was heaving like he had been running.

Eddie peeled his face up from the desk; cheeks flushed, mouth slack, looking at you in a way you could only describe as absolutely fucked-out. A stray ringlet swayed in his ragged breath. There was that feeling again, that pulse between your legs that made you clench them. Quickly as he’d met your eyes, he blinked away as if it burned.

Eddie was a mess. Shifting in his seat with a grimace, he could feel the cotton cling to his skin as he sobered to the chalkboard, and the desks, and the twenty other people he prayed were oblivious to what he’d just done. It was like he was waking up from a wet dream, only he had never gone to sleep. He blinked down at his desk, mortified as his cock softened happily, lolling in its sticky puddle. It was seeping through the denim, cooling in his lap as the seconds ticked by. Glancing at the clock, he calculated another twenty minutes before he could clean it up. Twenty whole minutes to sit with the consequences, to stew in a puddle of his own shame. He supposed he could excuse himself to the bathroom but that would, of course, mean addressing you. It would mean getting up and walking in front of your desk, and the entire class, while you handed him a hall pass like a fucking child. He would rather sit.

Blinking back your thoughts from the gutter, you righted yourself in your chair, chastising yourself as you uncrossed your legs, your own mess trailing cooly against your inner thigh. It was uncomfortable, embarrassing, but there was nothing you could about it now. Flipping through your Rolodex of thoughts, you searched for anything. Anything at all that was chase, or sensible, or mildly interesting.

Looking down at your naked hands, another scene fell open. This time the set came from memory. A pawn shop in early summer. It was vivid — the rain beating against the large window framing the on-ramp of the highway, Frank Sinatra mocking from the dusty speaker in the corner. The diamond sparkled magnificently as you passed the ring over the glass countertop. Brilliant rainbow fractals brought out by certain lights. They would catch you by surprise sometimes, tickle you with delight in the supermarket or the mall. It winked at you under the fluorescents then, a fleeting goodbye. In the moment, you weren’t sure which was worse — catching your own pained reflection in the glass below you or the pity in the eyes of the man who took your once-prized possession.

You left with twelve hundred dollars in an envelope, a fraction of what it cost him. The banker box rattled in the passenger’s seat as you slammed the door. Stuffed too full for a lid, your quill mug clattered against the plates your grandma gave you. You’d run out of newspaper wrapping your knick-knacks, resorted to your clothes to pad the rest.

The mug cast a shadow across your desk now, flickering in the light of the television.

You clenched your fists, fighting the touch-memory of Eddie’s ribs under your palms. You’d felt safe for a moment; nestled in his coat, in his hair, melting into the heat of his mouth. What you would give to live it all again, right now. What you would give to have him all to yourself, every day. For the luxury to go on a date, to be seen in public together, to explore where this was going. Glancing across the sea of twenty desks, reality stared back. Where did you think this was going?

Eddie’s pencil clattered to the floor. His curse was audible, even from the front of the room. Was this where you would place your trust? Your career, your future? In the reckless hands of a twenty year old man? He could ruin you. With a bold move, or a misplaced word, or a drunken gloat one night with his friends. Or god forbid it all went south and in a blind fury he lashed out and retaliated somehow. He wouldn’t do that, would he? You thought you knew him well enough to know that he would never, but did you really? You’d known Eddie Munson for all of four months, which felt strange to consider. It terrified you, the depth of your feelings in so short a time. Terrified you almost as much as the consequences for them.

Your hand twitched beside the green grading pen resting on the pile of tests you’d barely touched in the last thirty minutes. There were more in your bag to be graded — the stack you’d abandoned on your coffee table last night. It would all catch up to you eventually. The homework, the papers, the secrets. After all you’d been through, had you learned nothing? No one really knows what they want at twenty years old. You certainly didn’t. A head full of fantasies is what you had. Snatching your pen with a firm click, you slashed an X through one of the questions on the test below you and buried yourself in your work.

When the bell finally rang, Eddie hung back in his seat like he always did, waiting for his moment with you. But by the time he had stripped himself of his jacket and secured his flannel around his waist, you had already made for the door.

______

The metal serving spoon smacked the plastic tray, leaving behind a glob of tomato sauce over the tangle of limp noodles. With a tight-lipped nod of thanks, Eddie took it from the lunch lady and made his way into the settled cafeteria, finding his place at the end of the Hellfire table. Steamed carrots bounced from the tray onto the sticky veneer as it fell from his hands with a clatter. Slugging off his backpack to the floor, he slumped into the empty chair that had been waiting patiently for him for the past twenty minutes.

“There he is,” Jeff nodded to Dustin across the table.

“What’s the story this time? Got abducted by aliens?” chortled Dave.

He would think they would stop asking questions by now, but apparently he needed to teach them a lesson. “Nah, just… jerking off,” Eddie said with a deadpan shake of his head before spearing a meatball with his fork.

The half-truth earned him a rowdy chuckle from the peanut gallery, a gag from Mike. He would spare them the uglier details, like the balled up boxers shoved in the bottom of his backpack or how awkward it was to strip them off in the stall of a bustling bathroom. Glancing down at his lap, he checked that the flannel was still cloaking the drying white stain.

Jeff’s leather jacket squeaked from the bend in his arm as he leaned against the table. “I was just filling the boys in on the show last night,” he said with a glint in his eyes.

Eddie looked up with a full mouth, eyes like saucers.

“Yeah, told them about our special guest,” Dave added with a raise of his eyebrows.

He could only respond with a nervous huff, turning back to his tray as his stomach did kick flips.

“Is it true?” Mike asked Eddie. “She seriously got up and danced?”

Eddie swallowed the whole mouthful at once. He couldn’t lie his way out of this one. “I mean, nothing too crazy. Just for a song.”

“Yeah a song Eddie made us play for her,” Jeff said with a wink. Dustin and Mike’s mouthes fell open simultaneously.

“Think I saw her tits at one point,” Dave reminisced.

Eddie scoffed. “You did not see her tits, dude. You’re so full of shit.”

“I dunno man, her shirt was pretty short,” Gareth added with a playful nudge.

“They’re both full of shit,” Eddie shakily assured to the two youngest members.

They barely paid him a glance, chuckling amongst the rest while Dave rubbed lewd circles over his chest.

“HEY,” Eddie barked. “Look at me, all of you. This doesn’t leave this table, do you understand me? If I catch wind that any of you went and told anyone about last night I’ll skin you alive, I swear to god.”

Gareth shot him a tired look. “Jesus, dude. Nothing even happened.”

The knot in Eddie’s stomach released slightly. “That’s right. Nothing happened.”

Dave snorted, stabbing his bendy straw into a leftover carrot. “Yeah man, chill out. Nobody’s gonna get your girlfriend in trouble.”

The blood drained from Eddie’s face as the whole gang erupted in laughter. The uproarious, table slapping kind. It was a joke. A good one, it seemed. The word echoed like the pulse pounding in his ears. Girlfriend. Girlfriend. Girlfriend. A warm, gooey word. One that made his stomach churn with longing. Biting back venom, he wondered how their faces would change if he slapped them with the truth. Would they still be laughing? Would they even believe him? They could laugh all they want—for your sake at least—but it stung nonetheless.

Dave caught the bitter shift in his expression. “What? You clearly have the hots for her.”

“Who doesn’t?” Jeff laughed.

“ANYWAY!” Eddie punctuated with a smack of his hands against the table. “Gareth, you’ve been awfully quiet about your date this past Sunday. Please, regale us,” he gestured grandly.

Gareth chuckled nervously, pushing a noodle around with his fork. “Oh uh, nothing really happened there either.”

Dave rolled his eyes. “Seriously dude? You’ve been on like three dates and you haven’t even made it to first base?”

“I told you, Cindy’s not like that!” Gareth defended before glancing around sheepishly. “But we did…kinda… hold hands on Sunday.”

A long oooh emanated from the table. “Hands cupped or laced?” Dustin asked with a raise of his eyebrows, demonstrating with his own hands.

“Ok so,” Gareth began with an emerging smirk, “you know the Large Marge part of Pee-wee’s Big Adventure where her face goes all,” he demonstrated with a bug-eyed look, hands splayed on either side of his face.

The table responded with chuckles and nods. “Gets me every time,” muttered Dustin.

“Well, Cindy’d never seen it before, so she jumped and like, grabbed my arm,” he paused for effect, “so I just went for it.”

Approval bubbled up from his captive audience.

“Cupped at first,” he clarified, cutting through the noise, “but after like ten minutes she didn’t pull away, so,” he laced his fingers triumphantly. There was a barking applause, fists rattling the table. Jeff clapped him on the back with a blinding grin.

Eddie was an island. Oceans away, he managed a soft smile. His night had been far from innocent — a frantic tangle of hands, and tongues, and teeth in the frigid darkness. Phantom feelings that tugged at his lips and fingers, at the forefront of his every thought. Thumbing at the rubber rim of the lunch table, he dreamt of a universe where the walls and roles fell away, one where he could speak of his firsts too.

______

Eddie had been watching the clock all day. In eighth period trigonometry he watched second hand crawl around the clock face fifty times as his thumbnail worked the paint off a pencil, chipping at the indents his teeth left behind. The final bell was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. Slugging his backpack over his shoulder, he didn’t even bother to stop at his locker before ducking down the hall where your room resided. He almost collided with a straggling sophomore exiting your door on his way in.

Perhaps he had arrived too early. It wasn’t the scene he was accustomed to — you, standing at your desk, shoving folders into your satchel like you were trying to make a run for it. His small wooden chair still leaned against the wall. The AV cart still towered where it was when the lights were off. Glancing down, he quickly checked to make sure the flannel was draping correctly.

“Going somewhere?” he teased, unable to hide the concern creeping in.

Your smile was a coy, fragile thing. Chest rising with the kicking of your heart, you opened your mouth but had no words to show for it. Fumbling with an overstuffed folder, you hovered it over the opening of your bag before sliding it in with a sigh.

Eddie shut the door.

Turning over his shoulder, he snatched your eyes with a startling hunger. Your hands went slack, leather slumping against the desk as his heavy boots met the tile. He was slow in his approach, stalking past the empty rows, parched eyes drinking in every detail of your features. Like a moth drawn to a flame, you met him at the edge of your desk.

His curls were wild, chocolate eyes fiending, a soft concern weighing his brow. Under the fluorescents you could see very clearly what you’d felt last night. The shadow of stubble, the dip of his cupid’s bow, the soft ball of his nose that was cold against your cheek. Under his jacket, the taught landscape of his chest rose and fell. You swallowed, toying with the wool of your skirt.

“Hey,” he half-whispered, lids drooping ever so slightly.

“Hey,” you replied, like your tongue was feeling the word for the first time. It tugged a gooey softness from the corners of his mouth, and you cursed yourself for the pang to taste it again. So plush and pink, drawing your gaze long enough for him to notice.

Eddie dropped his backpack to the floor, tossing it hard enough to collide with the wall below the chalkboard. Shoulders unburdened, he rolled them back to assume the fullness of his height. With pupils blown, he darted out his tongue to wet his lips, looming like a wolf that sees a rabbit.

He closed in with a step, to which you retreated. The edge of the desk bumped the back of your thighs. Heart hammering, you peered into his hungry eyes. You’d been here before. Not long ago, in your imagination. Different, darker, quieter.

Eddie drank in the sight of you — your tight cotton shirt and your soft heaving chest. How the band of your skirt hugged the curve of your waist. You, woman.

Like a false sense of safety, his scent enveloped you. It was dizzying, how badly your hands burned to trace the swell of his pecks, to tangle in his hair, to capture his hot, slick mouth again. Terrifying, the part of you that begged for him to press forward, to tumble you backward, to take his place on top of you. Timidly, your fingers curled over the corner of the desk.

As he leaned closer, you could feel the tingle of heat from his chest, the ghost of his breath on your face. His arm became a cage as he steadied his palm against the wood behind you. “Been thinking about you all day,” he murmured in your ear.

You shivered, lids fluttering closed for a selfish, greedy moment. Glancing over his shoulder at the narrow sliver of a window in the door, you peered at the lockers on the other side of the hall. There were some still slamming, slowly petering out as voices drifted further with each passing second. “Eddie,” you warned, placing a hand over his sternum. Eyes dipping slightly at your touch, the solid swell of his chest expanded under the cotton. He stepped back with a gentle push, your palm lingering before falling away.

A deep breath fumed through his nostrils, heavy and tired. With a tight lipped nod, he backed away, pivoting toward his folded chair beside the door. It screeched as he dragged it across the tile, past the rows of desks, in front of yours, all the way to his usual place beside you. He snapped it open and paused, gripping the wood in his palms, staring down at the place where he’d sat countless times. How small it was compared to yours; padded with armrests and wheels.

“So we just…” he flexed his fingers and shook his head, unable to suppress the sting in his voice, “go back to normal then?”

Eyes cast down at the empty seats, you sighed. “I don’t… think we can.”

“Good,” he stated, shoulders relaxing slightly. “Come on, let’s sit down.”

It was enticing, that chair with its worn leather padding. What was more enticing was the space beneath the desk; a safe haven for hands and arms, for cupped palms and laced fingers. On top of the desk lay your bag, and your keys, and the plant still alive in its unbroken pot. Your head was pounding; a dull ache that had been radiating from your temples since lunch. Lockers slammed outside the room, fluorescents hot on your skin. With a deep, lamenting sigh, you gave him all you could manage — your honesty. “It’s been… a hell of a day for me—”

“You could say that again.”

“I—” you sighed sharply, “I really think I just need to go home a-and… think things through.”

“What’s there to think about?” The words tumbled out like an avalanche he couldn’t chase. Your balking expression made him wish he could suck them all back.

“Oh gee, I don’t know,” you gestured wildly to the classroom, “we could start with my job.”

“I’m sorry that was—y-you know what I mean.”

“Do I?” The steam from the pressure could have burned him.

“We—we both clearly have feelings for each other,” he explained, lowering his voice. “I just… thought we would figure it out.”

There was a gap between you, cluttered with papers and pens. Your bag slumped in the middle of the mess, gaping and stuffed to the brim. Pulse hammering behind your eyes, you blinked them slowly with a pained sigh. “I know,” you admitted, toying with the strap. “Eddie, please, I need some time to think about all this.”

It hurt to imagine. You, going home, sitting there in your slippers at your coffee table and deciding that he wasn’t worth the risk. Closing the flap on your satchel, you tugged the leather heap across the desk, but Eddie’s hand was quick to pounce. “No, we need to talk.”

Frustration pinched your brow. “I know but—”

“Then let’s talk, yeah?” he gestured to the chairs.

A cluster of shadows passed by the window over your shoulder. “Not here, not right now.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Then let’s get out of here.”

“And go where? A table at Benny’s?” you snapped.

“You’ve got a place, right?”

Folding your arms, you shot him an incredulous look, though the thought was both thrilling and terrifying. You lowered your voice. “What happened last night was… impulsive.”

“I’d say it was a long time coming.”

You sighed. “Regardless, I think that’s enough for this week.”

Eddie would disagree, but his tongue had a wrangle on the words this time. In the pause, it was easy for both of you to picture; his clothes on your bedroom floor. Easy to picture the ways he could ruin you in private — fold you like the chair under his wringing palms. Still, the ways he could ruin you in public were equally vivid.

You turned to grab your coat, brushing past him. The arm of his jacket was smooth against yours. Electrified by the contact, you lingered for a moment, unable to abstain from drinking in his form, his scent, from basking in the prickle of his aura.

He could see it clearly in the harsh light — the shadow that clung beneath your lower lashes, the sagging exhaustion in your eyes. Gravity tugged at the corners of your natural lips, so different from how they appeared last night — dark and dusty red, framing a smile that outshined the moon. His fingers twisted against the wood. “Please stay,” he begged softly.

Your eyes drifted shut, a split-second relish in the sweet pang of his voice, though the words rung a different bell; a different man saying them. In a flash, another scene appeared — you, at the door of your old home in Indianapolis, cradling the last of your belongings as your free hand gripped the knob.

Opening your eyes to the radiator, and the windows, and the pale grey sky before you now, you relinquished a shaky sigh and tucked your fingers under the thick collar of your coat. It still held a subtle fragrance, clinging to the memory of last night, desperately as you were. Eddie watched with rapt attention as your brow pinched in pain, fingers twitching under the wool he’d memorized the shape of you through. When your lip began to tremble, his hand lost control.

“Hey,” he whispered, meeting the soft cotton slope of your shoulder with his palm.

Your head snapped toward his umber eyes; warmer than the hand that thawed your shoulder, callus catching on the cotton as his thumb soothed over it. You followed it down to his wrist, to the tendons flexing beneath the chain, dipping under the sleeve of his worn, leather coat. How desperately you longed to wrap yourself inside it again, to nestle into his beating chest and hide there forever.

A voice crackled over the loudspeaker, and reflex had you flinching. “I’m sorry,” you mouthed, tears burning behind your eyes as you snatched your coat off the hook.

Bitterly, he dropped his hand. The contact hurt to break, almost as much as it hurt to watch you don your coat, to snatch your bag, to sling the heavy strap over your shoulder. Helplessly, he stood there, feeling like a fool until the welling of your eyes made it unbearable not to advance. “It doesn’t have to be like this,” he pleaded. “Like—like a big deal. Not if we don’t make it one.”

You froze, eyes narrowing as a pained fume left your nose. “That’s easy for you to say.” With a bitter huff, you turned on your heel and left him in the classroom with only the echo of your footsteps.

______

A/N: Yes, in my story Principal Higgins is a woman. I know in canon Eddie says “flip him the bird,” but for some reason my brain didn’t register that until literally two months ago. I always pictured Higgins as a stern, ancient, nun-like woman and I can’t seem to shake that characterization from my brain. Perhaps I’m just scarred from Catholic grade school. I think it works well for this story, so Martha Higgins it is.

Also sorry I never stated this in the tags but the upside down does not exist in this universe.

The smut is coming very soon. Pinky swear. Our Lady of Internal Conflict is just having a moment.

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @mantorokk-writes @storiesbyrhi @trashmouth-richie @carolmunson @blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @idkidknemore @alizztor @godcreatoreli @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @mrsjellymunson @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @barbiedragon @ladylilylost @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi @sllooney @lunaladybug734 @callingmrsbarnes @ajkamins

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#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson older reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x teacher!reader #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson angst #don't stand so close to me #dssctm

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