#navigation light recess | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luvknow · 5 months ago

Text

sanguine satellite | lee minho

Summary: The last time you saw Minho was five years ago when you rejected him to live out the rest of your twenties in the city. The next time you see him is on your birthday with another woman in his arms, and it sparked everything that was good, bad, and ugly. Now, after years of not being in each other’s lives, Minho tries to repair the friendship he broke while you fight your changing feelings. As you struggle navigating your friendship with him, you struggle more to navigate being single in this next stage of your life. Characters: Lee Minho x fem!Reader, feat. other idols Genre: friends-to-strangers-to-lovers, romance, angst, emotional hurt with comfort, happy ending, slice of life Additional warnings: cheating, alcohol consumption, food, aged up a bit and in turn age insecurity, a lot of mentions of a best friend with another idol WC: 18.1k

Today was a pivotal day in the office. Quarter two earnings were released to the public and other divisions of the company and, well, let’s just say with the increasing rise in inflation and the impending recession that everyone refuses to acknowledge, no one wants to buy anything. As a result, the earnings reported negative and stocks dipped, morale was low, and to top it off, it was only Monday.

In a way, this was a metaphor for your life; a tumbleweed of all things that could go wrong did go wrong and formed into an amalgamation of nothing to show for. Some people found value in the mundane, but this was supposed to be the peak of your career, your magnum opus, before progress plateaued and you couldn’t stand the idea of not feeling enriched. To wake up, leave, work, and go home was the reason you wanted to leave your home in the first place for something richer in the heart of the city. But you felt defeated after clocking out at 8:30 PM and slumped on the seat in an empty train cart.

The view of the lively apartment high rises and the warm light of slow brick-and-mortars made the late night train rides worth the twenty minutes. Work wasn’t always this draining, but after climbing the corporate ladder, more money meant more responsibilities and it quickly drained the light from your eyes as it did with many of your peers and friends. Youth was fleeting and today you felt like Ponce de Leon searching for the fountain to no avail, but at least the train would take you as close to it as it possibly could.

After packing up your life from home five years ago to move with your friends, the only plans twenty-something-year-olds ever had in place were reservations at 9:00 PM because you called the hottest spot the day-of and drinks at the bar next door after clocking out at 5:00 PM. You were young, excited, and hungry for life, barely sober most days and experiencing what it meant to be young; but what must be given, something must also be taken. Now, rent was rising, salary increases were few and far in between, and instead of deciding what martini you should be ordering, you were stuck wondering if being a worker bee individual contributor was worth the lull schedule or if taking the path to management and telling whiny subordinates what to do was worth the salary bump.

You and your friends once joked that stuff like this was what people in their thirties worry about. Today is your thirtieth birthday.

You didn’t have time for dinner and once again thanked the real estate Gods who put a restaurant so greasy at the corner of your block that you practically slid on a snail trail to the front door of your loft. So, here you were; eating under-salted french fries, chugging a crispy diet cola, with oil stains on your white button-up, ready to spend the rest of your birthday and probably the rest of your life alone on your overpriced and uncomfortable couch watching the latest drama you’d sob your eyes out to. All you needed now was a pet as your companion and you’d be the whole single-in-your-thirties package. Maybe you’d use that as leverage in your dating apps: looking for a partner, a pet, or both.

After fumbling with the keys, you sighed into your dark, cavernous home and dropped your bag at the door. When you turned on the lights, you saw the ghost of your soul leave your mouth in a loud gasp.

��Surprise!!”

You were greeted with streamers, glitter, balloons, and your closest friends wearing little party hats with their beautiful smiles. You never doubted they remembered, and most wished you happy birthday at midnight, but you should have sensed something was wrong when Chaeryoung asked for your door passcode because she ‘forgot her chapstick on your coffee table.’

She was the first to tackle you in a tight hug. “Happy birthday, mi amor!”

“Let the woman take her shoes off first, damn,” Jisung scolded.

“Wow, there’s certainly a lot of you,” you giggled after prying her off. “You guys shouldn’t have. Really! It’s Monday.”

“All the more to celebrate something worthwhile,” Chan grinned, handing you a glass of wine. “Welcome to the club.”

“Ugh, thanks.” Chaeryoung yanked away the oily bag of fries while you were distracted with the happy juice. “Hey, I’m hungry!”

“Don’t fret! We are having a dinner party because that’s what thirty-year-olds do.”

“Except we ate already because we thought you were coming home well before 9:00 PM,” Hyunjin grinned sheepishly.

“No, yeah, I love when my friends watch me stuff my face.”

The dining table was decorated with burgundy candle sticks, red roses, and black bows. It was definitely a step-up from your twenty-first bubblegum pink and pastel confetti birthday, but this almost seemed… meek? Romantic, sure, but a little dark for a birthday. As Chaeryoung scrambled to fill your plate with take-out and prepare the cake, everyone took their place back at the table. The lights dimmed and out came a jet black cake with a toy knife and red frosting that read, ‘Happy Deathday to Your 20s!’

“A bit dark, but accurate,” you mused.

“Make a wish-!” A knock came at the door. “Shit.”

Everyone looked at each other awkwardly. Chaeryoung, Chan, Hyunjin, Jisung, and their partners were present and those were the only people you regularly hung out with. Who could be left?

“Are people still coming?” you asked.

The boys collectively shot a look at a wide-eyed and frozen Chaeryoung, none of them willing to break the news or catch a stray. “Um…”

“What did you do?” you accused. “You didn’t invite that one guy I told you about last month, did you?”

“No, but I wish I had.” Another knock. “Coming!”

“It’s not a coworker, is it?”

“Worse,” Jisung mumbled. “For you, at least.”

“Minho!” Chaeryoung exclaimed happily. “You’re just in time!”

“What -” you hissed at the boys, “- the hell?!”

They all held their hands up in defense. Minho passed the threshold and your twenties flashed before your eyes. The once blondish short and styled middle part now hung loose in soft chocolate strands; eyes that once held the universe were dark and doe-like; and arms that once moved freely in his sleeves now tightened around them. He was a completely different man who you hadn’t seen in five years and here he was at a pivotal moment of your life, about to celebrate you and the life you’ve lived without him for the better half of the last decade. It took all your might to lift your sore legs to walk over to greet your guest and restrain from strangling your best friend. He wore clothes appropriate for a casual dinner party that didn’t spill into the blues of corporate-wear, clearly aware of this occasion, and a small gift bag. His appearance was intentional, not upon happenstance, which made this whole ordeal a lot weirder.

Following him in, hand-in-hand, was a woman. A stranger. Two strangers in your home.

He pulled away from Chaeryoung’s death grip and you locked eyes. It’s awkward, to put it politely; to put it rudely, it was horrifying. Your nervous system certainly felt nervous, firing fight-or-flight responses the way he drank you in like the first sip of a bitter negroni. How someone could evolve and change to the point of being unrecognizable should be studied by Darwin.

He’s the first to break with a small smile to ease the tension. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you breathed.

“Happy birthday, _____.”

The bag is small and neatly wrapped with care in your favorite colors. The woman behind him smiled sweetly. “Thank you. You really shouldn’t have. And thank you…?”

“Oh, right. This is Karina, my girlfriend of two years.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” she said. “I’ve heard a lot about you. And happy birthday!”

You brain buffered when she bowed. How awkward, because you haven’t heard anything about her other than her existence. You never thought he’d have someone so beautiful. Minho blocked you on social media a long time ago, so you wouldn’t have recognized her. Chaeryoung had to kick you back to life. “Ah, it’s nice to meet you, too! Welcome to my home.”

“There’s wax on the cake!” Jisung warned.

“Oh, hurry in! _____ was about to make a wish!” Chaeryoung pushed the three of you to the dining area.

There’s a bitter taste on your tongue watching him dap up the boys and watching her hug them so warmly. You never faulted them for being neutral. They were just as much as his friends as they were yours but having him here created a thick glass wall on your side of the table, like he was icing you out in your own home; that you paid with your own hard-earned money, mind you! This was as close to a defense mechanism you could build.

Nine people were watching you, all of whom were paired with another in the room except Chaeryoung, in your home. There’s a heavy shroud of dread that’s draped over your makeshift invisible box you struggled to keep upright. This was supposed to feel like a celebration of you, but it quickly turned rotten when you realized you were the only single person on your own side of the table, being made a spectacle as the couples moved closer and watched more intently. It was like they were watching a ghost of singles-past, feeling more appreciative of the life they procured together as you watched their hold on each other tighten ever so slightly.

“Make a wish,” Jisung sang.

You stared blankly at the three sparkling candles. What was there to wish for? You had a good career, a warm home, food on the table, and loved ones who kept you up on your feet. You supposed a better work-life balance would be feasible, but that was something within reach and in your control. To wish is to pray and to pray is to beg, and you weren’t one to beg for anything except for the pickles Chaeryoung picked out of her sandwiches. What was something that even you couldn’t control, something you had to ask some spirit dwelling in the ether for?

A flash of Minho’s eyes boring into yours made your face hot. Maybe you’d just let this wish go to waste instead.

You blew out the candles and applause erupted with Chan eager to cut into the cake. It was your favorite flavor from your favorite local baker whom you trusted every birthday and holiday to deliver the finest treats. At least this part of your birthday was perfect.

“So, what does thirty feel like?” Hyunjin asked. “Do you want the number of the senior home down the street from me?”

“Ha ha,” you drawled. “Aren’t you next, Hwang?”

“Actually, Minho’s next – ow!”

Chaeryong didn’t hide how she elbowed his ribs. She then gave a wide smile and her fingers danced. “Do you feel more mature?”

“As mature as a dry-age steak.”

“Well, you pair well with red wine, at least.” Chan raised his glass. “Here’s to you and to all of us, our priceless friendship!”

Most of us, you wanted to correct, but decided against being uncouth. “Cheers!”

When you were all in the younger halves of the twenties, conversations were about memes, pop culture, and the new hottest bar that just opened. Now, as you were ranting about quarter one earnings and the Windows 11 update, the others doubled down on the corporate jargon. Even Karina, who revealed she was a consultant in tech, participated in the conversations. Minho was the only one who remained quiet, but he was simply enjoying the company, leaning back in the chair with his arm around his woman. For someone who had never visited or even wished well on past birthdays, he was making himself quite at home.

Your birthday dinner lasted long enough to finish off three bottles of wine between everyone and for all the food to disappear, making clean-up much easier. As everyone scrambled around your home clouded in buzzed-up nonsense, Jisung was the one to tour your apartment with Minho and Karina, telling the tale of every picture you hung on a wall or framed on a credenza.

“This was when we went to London one summer after my graduation,” he said. “I’m the youngest, so I was the last one and we decided to make it a big celebration. I think this was the day Minho and _____ got lost and almost hopped on a train to Edinburgh by accident. This one was from Chaeryoung’s twenty-fourth birthday. I think Minho took this picture, actually.”

“Where are you in these pictures, Minho?” Karina wondered innocently.

There’s a breath of silence in the loft aside from you who didn’t pay any mind to his girlfriend’s ignorance. Not like you expect your fallout to be a topic of conversation over a candle-lit dinner date, anyway. You also didn’t expect that look on Minho’s face when he realized that to be true.

“He’s usually the one behind the camera!” Jisung answered, not exactly lying. “You’ve seen his Instagram and how he composes his cat pictures.”

Minho didn’t try to correct him, and they quickly moved on.

As it was the first day of the working week, Chan, Hyunjin, Jisung, and their partners were the first to leave. For whatever reason, Minho and Karina decided to stay back. Karina’s motive was unclear; either she was really bad at reading the room or the effort to be friends was genuine, but even when Minho asked if she wanted to leave with everyone, she decided against it.

“Let me help you take the garbage out,” she offered Chaeryoung.

“I can do it,” you and Minho said in unison.

“Nonsense! It’s your birthday and this one had a little too much to drink before coming here and when we got here.”

Chaeryoung gave you a sympathetic look as they carried several bags out to the ground floor. What a convenient day for the chute to be broken! They’d take the five-to-ten minutes of traveling to the ground floor out to the back where the bins were.

And then there were two, standing on opposite sides of the kitchen island, unable to look each other in the eyes after five years of abandonment.

“Hi,” he greeted again, lips flat-lined and unsure of how to move this conversation forward.

You beat around the bush. “What are you doing here?”

His tongue poked his cheek. “I ran into Chaeryoung last weekend at the bar I work at and asked what she was doing for your birthday.”

“Why would you ask that?” you asked coldly.

“I… just knew she'd be doing something for you. Maybe she took it as me asking to get invited, but that wasn’t my intention. I think she panicked, invited me anyway, and here I am.”

“You could’ve said no.”

“I could’ve,” he agreed, and there’s a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that asked, ‘but why would I?’

You looked away. “Isn’t this a far drive for you?”

“I live here now. Well, not here; on the other side, closer to downtown and near that bar.”

“Oh. How long have you been a city dweller?”

“About two years now.”

That lined up with his relationship status. It was a fact that it was easier to find partners in the metropolitan, yet somehow you were the only one to remain alone after being one of the first to move here. How was it that Minho managed that in under a month? And if he’s been here for two years, how have you not realized that?

You swallowed the rest of the wine in your glass. “How do you like it?”

“I love it.” He ran a hand through his tired head of hair, creating a split down the middle. The redness on his face had spread from his nose to his cheeks, as it always did when alcohol invaded his bloodstream. “I see why you wanted to move here.”

He, too, must have seen how time was of the essence, and with what little time you have in your young lives, the highest quality of life would be to live where your peers were thriving. If only he understood this years ago.

You nodded sourly, feeling the loneliness resurface after having to repress it for so long. “I’m happy for you.”

“Your mother once told us, ‘mean what you say and say what you mean.’ You don’t have to lie.”

“Don’t tell me what my mother says.”

Tension as thick as jell-o separated you from him. There’s a brief stare down after your threat, or what sounded like a threat, and you swear there’s hurt behind those big eyes of his, but he wouldn’t be the victim here; not when he was the one who left your life and blocked you out of his. He didn’t have the right to be offended by your unwelcoming attitude when he was never welcome to begin with. On your birthday, at that.

Chaeryoung saved the evening and rushed back inside, afraid of the damage you’d tell her later.

“Ready?” Karina asked, squeezing Minho’s bicep.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, being the first to break contact. You didn’t help him see his way out, but he said over his shoulder once more, “Happy birthday, _____.”

“Thank you for coming,” you called out sharply.

“It was nice meeting you!” Karina said cheerfully.

“You, too.”

Chaeryoung, the kind woman and hostess as she is, hugged them both and hastened to lock the door. She rushed back, clinging to you and holding your arms inside, likely afraid that you’d break something or chug the rest of the fourth bottle.

“I’m so~o sorry!”

“He told me how it happened. Tell me why I’m not surprised?”

“It was at the bar near your work that I told you about. You didn’t come because you had some reports to submit before midnight. And who do I see behind the bar? Minho, of all people! He was running that shit like the navy! It was hard to talk long over the music, but we said our hellos and he quickly brought up the fact you were turning thirty and asked what I was doing because he knows how much I love you and I’m the bestest friend ever – Anyway, I told him about the surprise, and he looked so damn sad! Jesus Christ, so you know me, an empath, I had to at least offer him an invite. I didn’t think he’d take it, nor did I think he’d ask to bring a plus one, like, yesterday!”

In the midst of her ramblings, you squirmed free from her grip and pulled the poor pouty girl into a tight hug. “I will not let him ruin what you’ve done for me. I love you and appreciate you.”

“It was so hard!” she whined. “The boys are so unreliable! I ask them to buy something for decorations, they don’t answer, and when I ask a few days later they’re like, ‘I got it a while ago,’ and I’m like, ‘why didn’t you say something?!’ and they’re like, ‘I didn’t think I’d need to as long as I brought it the day-of.’ Can you believe that?!”

“After over ten years of friendship, yes, yes I can.”

After cleaning up the remaining crumbs and dishes, Chaeryoung found the gift that Minho and Karina left on one of the chairs. “Did you open it?”

“No. What if it’s a bomb? Can you do it?”

She tossed out the tissue paper and peered inside fearlessly. “Oh!”

“What is it?”

“A gift card and a perfume bottle; a pricey one. Ooh, it smells good!”

The gift card was to a new bar that was opening on the same block as your office. Your boss was excited to finally have a happy hour location so close that you haven’t gone a day without hearing about it since its announcement. The name on the card said ‘DAHLIA’ and the amount it held was five hundred dollars.

“Huh,” Chaeryoung mused, “isn’t this address very close to where you work? And you like dahlias. Scary coincidence.”

“Do you think he’s stalking me?”

“Maybe it’s Karina.”

The perfume was in a sleek clear bottle with a white face and gold cap. It smelled of marshmallows, orange blossoms, and neroli. It would be the most expensive thing you’d own, cosmetics wise.

“They open on Friday,” she said giddily. “We should go!”

The projected menu on their social media did look really good… and they had variations of your favorite drink and ones you’ve never heard of.

“Think of it as a ‘celebration’ to the start of a new quarter! Since it’ll be slower now, right?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, accepting that poor-quality reasoning for a twenty dollar cocktail. “Ok, let’s go!”

Your best friend squealed happily and dug through your closet, plucking out the shortest skirt in your wardrobe.

On Thursday, Chaeryoung canceled on you to go on a third date with the guy she’s been seriously interested in. She was hoping to finally become an exclusive dating couple; not exactly boyfriend-and-girlfriend, but they’re not allowed to see other people since they’re exclusive, so it’s a label-without-the-label situation that you struggled too hard to grasp. If the majority of your peers thought that way about dating, maybe it was a good thing you remained single.

When you exited your office’s high-rise that day, on your way to the train, you passed by an alley in between the Italian place and the coffee shop you and your co-workers frequented. There was an inconspicuous red ‘OPEN’ light at the end above a black door that caught your attention. In a small serif font, the letters ‘DAHLIA’ was stamped on the door. Friday was supposed to be the official opening day according to their social media pages, but there was no mistake it was open as indicated by the bouncer standing guard.

You did have the gift card in your wallet, and you were craving that crispy green tea highball they had in one of their posts. It was only 6:00 PM, maybe they’d have some happy hour deals going on and you could report back to Chaeryoung with your findings.

You walked up to the doorman. “Hi, are you open –”

“I.D.”

Well, that answers that. He allowed you to pass into the low-lit glowing bar. It wasn’t busy like a Friday evening, but almost all of the tufted couches and chairs were filled, leaving a semi-vacant bar up for grabs. The aura of the bar is what one might describe as ‘vibey and chill’, as the low hum of the bass from the hip-hop song in the background vibrated your heart. This was as soft as a soft-opening could get.

On the menu, there was a special on the drink you were looking forward to and a snack pairing: rice paper and seaweed chips with a salt and togarashi seasoning. You knew all those words separately but couldn’t comprehend them together.

“I.D., please,” the bartender asked.

You fumbled for your wallet and mumbled, “Why bother carding at the door if you’re just –”

You dropped your wallet when you saw Minho at the other side of the bar in a white button-down that was buttoned barely half-way. His lips curled teasingly.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you gasped, popping your head up after picking up your wallet. “What are you doing here?”

“Is that the only way you’ll greet me from now on?”

You felt your face burn even before any alcohol entered your system. “Chaeryoung mentioned you worked at the other bar nearby.”

“I own that one, too. This one I just opened.”

“Oh, well, that makes more sense. Wait, ‘own’?” He nodded sheepishly. “But that bar has been there forever. I thought that old guy owned it?”

“He was looking to retire, so I jumped the gun and bought it. Kept it mostly the same, added some things I thought would pick up a trend, and it did so well that I was able to open ‘DAHLIA’.”

“That’s incredible,” you congratulated. “I guess I shouldn’t feel so bad that the gift card is so expensive.”

He smiled, but it didn’t translate to his eyes. “Do you work nearby?”

“At the tall building down the street.”

He’s just as taken back as you are. Maybe he wasn’t stalking you. “Crazy coincidence. But it’s late already. Long day?”

You sighed. “Most days are this long.”

“Yikes. Can I get you a drink?”

“The green tea highball looks good.”

“Coming right up.”

Minho rolled up his sleeves to his elbows and did his witchcraft. In a highball glass, a ludicrously elongated ice cube was placed. Then, two shots of Japanese whiskey from the mid-shelf (never mind the overpour), an ounce of cold brew jasmine green tea, and what little space was left was topped with club soda. Using a long bar spoon, Minho mixed its contents and offered it to you with a stainless steel straw.

You hummed happily. “Whoa.”

“I agree.”

“Where was this on my twenty-first?”

“I dare you to Google the whiskey I used and see if you think we could have afforded that at twenty-one.”

“I see your point.”

There’s a long pause of waiting for the other to say what they mean and to mean what they say. You thought about how coldly you displayed yourself to Minho and it ate up your thoughts the whole week. Even when he was the one who wanted you out of his life, he was the one to find you and it seemed he was here to stay, to be next to where you worked, and to be a part of your everyday life as you’d think about him every time you passed this alley between the office and the train. Was this a gift or a curse?

The wound was still fresh, but he was not the only one to blame.

You cleared your throat. “Listen, I –”

“I think –”

You both paused again. After all these years, your wavelengths were still in sync.

“Go ahead,” you offered.

“I think…” …We shouldn’t talk when we see each other? I shouldn’t have given you a gift? We should unpack the trauma we gave each other over coffee some time? “You should try the snack pairing.”

Possibly the best words to leave his lips. “Please.”

“One sec,” he said before running to the kitchen.

Your palms were sweaty, but if anyone asked, you’d feign it was from the condensation on the glass. Your first real conversation with Minho in five years was more stressful than presenting to upper management. Any courage of apologizing had fizzled and the fear of being vulnerable was chilling. You hoped the rest of the drink would give you that push.

Minho came back slightly breathless with a bowl of curly seaweed and rice chips with red seasoning. He stared at the glass that was almost full just a second ago.

“Would you like another one?”

Your vision was already swirly. “No, thank you. But these look delicious.”

The crunch from the fried rice paper was loud enough to make some heads turn. It was salty and the seaweed flavor shined through. The punch from the togarashi made you wish you had taken up the offer on another drink.

You let out another happy hum, and your sinuses cleared. “Wasabi!”

“Really sobers you up, huh?”

“I can smell colors.”

He let out a genuine laugh and you got a glance of his little bunny teeth. You wondered if he’d still have them when he was sixty.

The shy bartender fiddled with the kitchen towel. “You were going to say something?”

“Right. I’m –”

“Excuse me!” a customer approached the bar. “Can I have an espresso martini?”

“Absolutely!” Minho said in his customer service voice.

Espresso martinis were all the craze these days, especially with the ladies. You understood why, they were delicious and reminded everyone of a sweet little treat before the work day. You watched as Minho threw in his Boston shaker ice, vodka, coffee liqueur, and cold brew, and shook with all his might. The muscles you noticed on your birthday shined through, as the veins on his forearms and biceps were put to work. Your eyes traveled shamefully to his open chest, focusing on the groove in between. He poured the creamy drink into a martini glass and added it to her tab.

You drank the complimentary ice-cold water before he returned.

“Sorry about that.”

“No, no, I’m the one interrupting your work.” Despite drinking a multitude of fluids, your throat was dry and sharp, like the words were scraping skin on their way out. Just say it, dammit! “I’m sorry how I treated you on Monday.”

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have ambushed you like that after so long.”

“Yeah, you really shouldn’t have.”

“For that, I’m sorry. But I’m not sorry for attending.”

“You should have chosen another time to meet.”

“Your thirtieth birthday is important. It’s a huge milestone. I couldn’t dream of missing it.”

“I don’t think that’s for you to decide.”

He hung his head in a way that a puppy would when being punished. “I know.”

“You –” you choked. “I don’t know. I don’t know what or how to feel.”

“Maybe we could start over.”

“Start over?”

“Hi,” he held out his hand for you to shake. “I’m Minho, I’m a bartender and chef, and we met when we were nineteen.”

“Minho –”

“Would you like to get coffee next door some time?”

“You are ridiculous.”

The rush of after-work over timers hit the bar like a thirsty school of fish. Two other bartenders jumped in, but they needed Minho to keep up a good speed. From his navy pants pocket, he pulled out his business card and slid it over.

“My number’s on the card.”

It was different from the one you had saved on your phone and he knew that. “Wait, I need to close out my tab.”

“It’s on me. Let me make up for Monday.”

He didn’t allow you to get a word in before taking the next customer. His mannerisms made every customer smile or blush. ‘Come closer’ he’d gesture with his finger, leaning in to hear their order, and winking after handing off the final product; rinse and repeat.

You left a hefty tip under your glass and slipped away from the crowd. At home, you spent half an hour rubbing your cheeks, unaware of how sore they were after the train ride.

The business card hung on your fridge under a London magnet. Every day, you’d wake up, stare at it while filling your water bottle, leave for work, come home, and stare at it some more as you prepared dinner. In the same serif font in black ink, in the center of the card was his full name. Under it said ‘Restauranteur’, followed by ‘DAHLIA’, the Japanese flavors-inspired bar, and ‘RED LIGHT’, the one with American flavors. His phone number and email were in small print, all information embossed on an off-white business card. ‘Classy’ was the most appropriate description of such a card, while yours was so plain in comparison. Technology products didn’t need that kind of pizazz, to be fair.

The next time you saw Chaeryoung was for a girls’ night-in on a Wednesday to gush about her new exclusive not-boyfriend. She noticed the business card while putting the dishes in the sink and plucked it from the fridge, already aware of what transpired on Thursday before.

“‘Restauranteur’,” she scoffed. “Ok, Minho.”

“I know, right? Can you believe he bought out that sleazy old man?”

“I always wondered why the quality went up all of a sudden. I can’t believe he hid that from everyone else, too! We’ve all been meeting around that area for months! Why did he give you this, though?”

“I guess he changed his number.”

“What? He’s had this number for a while now.” You shot her a deadpanned look. “Oh, right. You wouldn’t have known whether he changed it or not. Did you hit him up?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why would I? It feels… too soon.”

“Five years feels too soon?”

“No,” you sighed, unable to form the words in the right sentence. “We’re already on awkward footing after my birthday. And seeing and talking to him made my blood pressure spike to an unhealthy degree.”

“So, you’re nervous?”

Nervous wasn’t right. It felt much deeper than that. “Afraid.”

If anyone knew the degree of pain and confusion you held for Minho, it was Chaeryoung. She always did her best to understand, but there are some things one must experience to understand, and this was one of them. She held you firm by the shoulders and knitted her brows.

“Give me your phone.”

“What?”

The music streaming on your phone paused as your best friend moved swiftly to the couch, already propping her feet up on the chaise before you could register what happened. The clicking of your phone keyboard over the bluetooth speaker snapped you back and you ran to join her.

“Wait, don’t!” you warned.

“‘Hey, bro’,” she said as she typed, “Too casual?”

“I’m thirty. I don’t say ‘bro’.”

“All right, jeez. ‘Hello, Minho. I hope this text finds you well. Per our last meeting – ’”

“Now you’re just being a dick.”

“I’m kidding, relax! ‘Hi, it’s _____. It was nice seeing you on Thursday.’”

“I wouldn’t say it was a ‘nice’ meeting.”

“Oh, my God, shut up. ‘Good to see you on Thursday,’ happy? ‘Would you like to get coffee some time?’ And send. This is fun, it’s like when we used to project our dating app DMs on the TV! Oh, wow he’s typing already. Asshole, he never answers any of us in the group chats until the next day.”

Texting a boy and sweating, waiting for his response… Were you thirteen again? The notification ding made your heart jump.

Your brows furrowed, matching Chaeryoung’s. “‘Hey! Of course I would. Just tell me when.’ Um. Tell him sometime next week?”

“‘Tomorrow at 11:00AM?’”

“Chaer!”

“‘See you then.’ You’re welcome!” she cheered, tossing your phone on your lap.

“Now he’ll think I’m excited…”

“Whether you are nervous, excited, or afraid, shouldn’t that mean something? That maybe you still have him in your cold, dead heart somewhere?”

“It took years of therapy to heal what was wounded. I don’t know if this will feel like closure or if I’m opening up my stitches.”

“And I’ll be here to help suture if it comes to it; again and again!” she encouraged, leaning her head on your shoulder. “I just want our friend group back together, you know? This is a start, sort of.”

“I know. Don’t get your hopes up, though.”

“Too late.”

The day it happened, the clouds were grey, and they cried and cried, pouring down the heaviest rain of the year. It rattled Minho’s windows like bullets made from hail, drowning the silence and filling the room with nothing but sorrow.

Tonight, you were celebrating your new job and the big move. After the plates were emptied, the music that played over his speakers slowed, and filled with wine and tenderness, you two swayed to the rhythm in each other’s arms. First, he had your hand in his and lightly hovered over your waist, leading the waltz across the living room with ease. As the songs progressed, his hold on you tightened. He laced his fingers with yours, traveled his hand to your lower back, then placed the other there, too, after wrapping your arm around his neck. He pressed his forehead to yours, the tips of your noses touching and nuzzling so sweetly it made your heart soar.

He sighed happily, shoulders relaxing under your arms. “Should we be doing this?”

“Hm, I don’t know,” you replied light heartedly, “you are just a friend, after all.”

“Do friends do this? Should we ask Chaeryoung and Jisung?”

“Not if you want to hear them gagging all night.”

His breathy laughs hit your lips and his eyes fluttered closed. “I want to kiss you.”

You’ve wanted to kiss him for five years. “Then kiss me.”

“And I want you to stay.”

“Stay?” You took a step back, hating the cold air that replaced his space. “What do you mean ‘stay’?”

“Don’t leave,” he begged.

“Minho –”

“Stay here with me.”

“No,” you said firmly. “This is the biggest thing to happen to my career, and I’m not throwing away this grand opportunity. Won’t you come with me instead?”

“You know I can’t leave my family right now.”

“Then,” you sighed, “do I wait for you?”

“Wait? We have options; what about long distance?”

“You know how vigorous my career is. I work long days and long nights. I can’t call you or text you the way that other people do.”

“So what?” he argued, throwing his hands up in frustration.

This was the first time you were having this talk. Never before had either of you revealed the feelings that mingled in the air whenever you were in the same room together. For years, you repressed them, too scared to cross the thin line that separated friendship from lovers and unwilling to feel vulnerable and reveal the true feelings of your heart. Because truthfully, you wouldn’t have time. You wouldn’t have time to drain and pour your heart into something – someone – that wasn’t the projects that laid out on your office desk, and how was that fair to someone you loved so dearly? As much as you wanted to love and to give, you couldn’t.

“I can’t,” you repeated. “That’s not fair to either of us. We deserve one hundred percent of each other, not fifty, or even ninety.”

“You’re not even willing to try?” he mumbled.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “How could you spring this on me the weekend before I leave?”

“This was my only chance –”

“No, it wasn’t. You had five years. Five years! And you know how important my career is to me!”

“What about me? Aren’t I important to you, too?”

“Don’t,” you stuttered.

“No, it’s not that I’m not important, it’s that your career is more important. Is that it?” When you couldn’t answer, he nodded his head, accepting the poor answer. “All I wanted was for us to try.”

“I can’t give you one hundred percent of me.”

“Then I’ll give more! One hundred ten percent; one hundred fifty!”

“How long can you last like that when you don’t know when we’ll be together again?”

“I won’t know unless we try.”

“I don’t want to try. Trying means uncertainty. For five years, I have been certain about you. But I’m certain it won’t work when we are not present.”

“We’re going in circles.” Minho turned and ran a hand through his fluffy, light bronze hair. This color on him, you remembered, made him look so young.

“I can wait,” you whispered. “We can be friends still, and –”

“I don’t want to be friends.”

You couldn’t decide if your mouth should hang open or sew it shut forever. Still, you managed to slip out, “What?”

“It’s all or nothing for me, _____.” His eyes mirrored your glossy ones and the tip of his nose that was just on yours a second ago was reddening. “I don’t want friendship with you. I want love and passion, and I want you to tell me you want it, too. We aren’t friends; we never were really just friends, you know that, don’t you?”

“I know.”

He closed the gap and his hands found yours, squeezing so tightly it was almost painful. “Then show me that you know! Tell me you want this! Tell me you don’t want to be just friends! Tell me you want me, desire me, that you can’t go a day without having me, the way I would for you!”

You shook your head. Long distance relationships never worked. You witnessed it through your coworkers, through friends, and bosses, and even old classmates who had deleted every existence of their past love and left no digital footprint on their timeline. Every relationship you ever knew to be long distance had never worked out, and you knew this one wouldn’t be any different.

He let go and stepped away. “I wish you a fulfilling life in the city –”

“Don’t do this.”

“– and I’m sorry, but I can’t be friends with you –”

“Minho, please…”

“– I can’t be just friends with someone who has my heart and doesn’t know what to do with it.”

Instead of rescinding, instead of apologizing and taking the leap of faith, taking the risk that came with being vulnerable and open and raw so you could see what it meant to be loved and cherished by someone who wanted to love and cherish, you decided to lock your heart away and to never reveal it to anyone ever again.

That was the last time you saw Minho. On your thirtieth birthday, he broke every layer you built to protect yourself in a matter of seconds.

“Earth to _____!”

In between ‘DAHLIA’ and your office, there was a coffee shop with outside seating. As you waited at one of the tables, the record player in your head had recalled that night, and once it started, it wouldn’t stop until it finished. Just as you finished, Minho arrived and waved a hand in front of your face and you wondered how long it took for you to notice.

“Sorry! Daydreaming.”

“About work?”

Did he truly think your mind was entirely consumed about work? “Yeah. Work.”

“Well, you keep daydreaming, and I’ll get us coffee. What would you like?”

“No, it’s my turn to get you something!”

“Nonsense! You also tipped me way too much. You still order the usual?”

If you were one thing, you were consistent. “The usual.”

Minho would do this finger-gun thing when he was feeling awkward, and he did so as he walked to the counter. His outfit wasn’t as formal as the night you saw him at the bar. His jeans were black and his sweater a bright cobalt; a color that allowed him to be the center of attention when he wasn’t asking for it.

You were the one to ask him to meet - or rather Chaeryoung was - but you didn’t consider what you’d talk about.

He came back with your usual and his usual, which was an iced americano. At least he, too, was consistent, and that hadn’t changed.

“Busy at work?” he asked, clearly not sure what to talk about, either.

“Yeah. Always busy, sadly.”

“You weren’t kidding when you said your hours would be long.”

“No,” you confirmed, “I wasn’t. What about you? What’s your work day like as the city’s coolest restaurateur?”

“You flatter me. I work at ‘RED LIGHT’ during the day, and head to ‘DAHLIA’ at night.”

You tried to estimate his work hours in your head. “Back-to-back?”

“Yup.”

“Everyday?”

“Kind of. If it’s slow on like, a Monday or Tuesday, I’ll head out early and let the closers handle it. Otherwise, my day off is whenever I feel like it, but it’s not a real day-off. I use those days to answer emails and organize the budget or the inventory. Takes every waking moment to run a restaurant or bar, you know?”

“I don’t know. How do you balance everything?”

“Well, I love my job. It’s hard, but I don’t find it draining. I guess that helps. I don’t mind waking up at five in the morning, working, and going to sleep, at least not yet. I’m sure I’ll hit a wall someday, but I’m doing my best to not let that happen.”

You’re afraid to ask the next question. “How do you balance your relationship with Karina when you’re so busy?”

“Phone calls, Facetime, designated nights for dates, surprise visits, little gifts and flowers here and there,” he nodded, looking at the table. “It’s hard, but we’re trying. That’s what’s important.”

Your coffee’s bitter and you didn’t want to bother with it after a couple of sips, but you keep at it to keep your lips occupied and to hide the way your teeth grit at the underlying accusation. “That takes a lot of patience. Some people struggle with that.”

He caught your drift and it appeared he realized he deserved that. “And you? Seeing anyone?”

“No.”

“Not even casually?”

“No. Some dates here and there, but they never stick.”

“Why is that?”

“Either they’re boring, too intimidated by a strong female corporate supplicant, or I’m the problem.”

“Isn’t it -” he began but stopped himself. “Never mind.”

“Say what you mean,” you pushed light heartedly.

“Isn’t it lonely?”

It’s true that it seemed like Cupid made his way around your friend group and you were the last to get hit. When your friends came home at night, they’d be welcomed into open arms and warm bodies. You came home to snacks and warmth was in the form of a fuzzy blanket you kept on the couch. At the height of your career, you once believed that love could wait, that it would find you at the right time and you’d know right then you were ready. As Minho sat across from you picking your brain about the emptiness that came with climbing the corporate ladder, the fear of feeling incomplete was imminent.

You wouldn’t let him see that part of you.

“I like my alone time.”

“But you have so much love in your heart.” He cleared his throat, regretting the arrangement of those words when he saw how your face twisted. What would he know about what’s in your heart? “Who do you give your affections to?”

“Must it be romantic?” you retorted. “My love is given to those you saw on my birthday.”

“I guess not. You’ve always been a romantic, though.”

“Five years is more than enough time to change who I was the last time you saw me.”

“Is that change good?” he asked nervously.

‘Is the result of feeling loveless from rejection and isolation a good change? Are you an idiot?’ you wanted to ask. But that would put the blame on him and blaming him meant acknowledging how much he affected you after all these years.

“Is that change good,” you repeated thoughtfully. “Neutral.”

“Neutral?”

“I think the decision we made five years ago put us where we are today; we’re both successful young adults thriving in a beautiful city. But I lost you as a result. So, the good must come with some bad. That’s neutral, no?”

His lips formed a smile, but again, it did not travel to his eyes. “You know, I was scared to come here today.”

“I’m not that terrifying, am I?”

“At first I thought, ‘wow, Chaeryoung did not try hard to pretend to be you at all.’”

You giggled. “No; no, she didn’t.”

“And then I thought, ‘we’ll be in public. She won’t kill me in front of people, right?’”

“Kill you!”

“But I know that wouldn’t have stopped you either way,” he grinned. “You haven’t killed me yet. Is it crazy of me to think of this as a good sign?”

“A sign! Is there something you’re looking to gain out of this meeting?” you teased.

“Yes,” he admitted, “a friend.”

Your mouth hung open slightly, unsure of what to say, but your face twisted in a way that mimicked your thoughts. “A friend?”

“I know you and I have said and done some unkind things back then that we may not be able to forgive each other for, but after seeing you on your birthday, I couldn’t stop thinking of you. You may not believe me, but I miss you.”

Your head and your heart were in conflict. You had spent all this time trying not to miss him. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, unwilling to say the truth. “I… I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t be. I shouldn’t have sprung that on you all of a sudden. But… do you think it’s possible? That we could be friends again?”

How quickly would you lose him a second time? “I think we shouldn’t force it.”

“Friendships bloom naturally, of course.”

A flash of pink blurred your peripherals before it became the center of your attention. Karina held a finger to her lips as she approached Minho from behind, covering his eyes with her slender fingers. He took her hand and kissed it, leaning back to look at his glittering diamond with hearts in his eyes. They were a beautiful couple and it was as clear as day how much they adored each other. Witnessing love was supposed to be like looking at a garden of roses, but as you sat across in a front-row seat, you thought to yourself how much you disliked the smell of roses, anyway.

“Hi!” she greeted happily. “Sorry to interrupt, but we have lunch plans.”

You shook your head, dismissing the tightness in your gut. “No, please interrupt. I’m sorry for keeping him.”

“Would you like to join?”

You would rather jump off the roof of your fifty-floor office building. “Thank you, but I made plans with my co-workers already.”

“Then, we’ll have to get dinner some time!”

It pained you how much you disliked her. She didn’t deserve it. “Dinner some time sounds great.”

As Minho got up to leave, he leaned over the table and in a hushed tone said, “I just want you to know that you still cannot hide your feelings on your face.”

“My boss thinks it’s my killing charm.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

Minho’s wink was like a button that set off every alarm in your body. As he walked away, hand-in-hand with the love of his life, you tortured yourself watching them recede until they rounded the corner.

–

Unfortunately, it was common workplace etiquette to have drinks with your coworkers after hours now that your schedules had slowed down. How convenient it was that ‘DAHLIA’ was open and even more so that your coworkers were eager to go. Initially, you tried to wiggle out of going, but your close comrade Choi San wouldn’t allow it.

He slammed his veiny hand on your desk, and you jumped. “Jesus -”

“_____ _____,” he boomed, loudly announcing your government name.

“No.”

“Come on! You haven’t joined us in, like, forever!”

“Forever will continue.”

“And if I bribe you with free drinks?”

You paused typing. “I’m listening.”

“You, me, and the forty-fifth floor at ‘DAHLIA’ in ten minutes.”

“‘DAHLIA’?” you repeated. “Does it have to be that bar?”

“Mingi already called the place to reserve. Why, is it not good?”

“No, quite the opposite.”

“Then make haste, my lady!”

The whole way across the street, San had his arm around your shoulder in a tight grip, too afraid to let you slip at the slightest chance of hesitancy. The smooth skin of his forearms touched your neck and it was close enough to smell the cologne he dabbed just minutes before leaving the building, which you now realized to be on purpose.

Inside, a bunch of young corporate acolytes gathered all throughout the bar, all of whom you worked and were familiar with. Minho, though busy taking their orders, saw you and San come in. He did a double take, eyebrow twitching upwards at the arm suffocating your neck. Your lips formed the words, ‘kill me’, as San guided you forward to the line to order.

Small talk with San was never small when he easily filled you in on his latest interests and hobbies. The other women in the office who were nearby engaged with him enthusiastically. Admittedly, there were a multitude of reasons why San was popular around the office. He was intelligent, always willing to lend a helping hand, had a positive attitude even when days were long and tough, and most importantly, he was so hot that your boss had to jokingly warn him several times to tone it down. His argument was it wasn’t his fault that button-downs were tight on his back and arms.

Minho was the one to usher you forward with his index and middle fingers.

San wrapped his arm around your shoulder again for no apparent reason. “Hello!” he greeted enthusiastically.

“Hi. _____,” he addressed to you informally.

“‘Sup, Minho,” you sighed.

“You two know each other?” San inquired. “Is that why you didn’t want to come?”

San’s only flaw was that he talked too much. Your jaw ticked. “Old friends. And no, that’s not why.”

“Oh!”

“What can I get you two?” You thought you heard ice in Minho’s voice, but you must be mistaken.

You needed something strong. “A negroni, please.”

“Double that,” San said.

Minho neither confirmed nor denied hearing the order before starting on it. Finally, you’re able to breathe easier when the weight of San’s muscly arm lets you go, confident that you wouldn’t book it out the bar. He instead turned his body to you, creating a wall and making you feel like you were under a microscope.

“Your presentation to the team yesterday was, um, amazing,” he stuttered.

Calling a weekly work presentation amazing was odd; he’s heard you lead them probably a hundred times by now. “Yeah? Thanks.”

“And the way you were able to answer all of the questions Boss Man fired at you? It’s no wonder you’re his favorite.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m his favorite.”

“Well, you’re my favorite.” As soon as those words left his lips, he pursed them together and shut his eyes. “I-I mean the team’s favorite.”

You nearly snorted, though your smile was hard to hide. “That’s�� certainly an honor -”

“Two negronis,” Minho interrupted as he pushed the glasses forward.

“I got it,” San reiterated.

“Thanks. I’ll get the next one. I’ll meet you over in a bit; gonna talk to my good ol’ friend here,” you forced a grin. Like an obedient dog, San joined the others at the reserved tables.

“Wow, he’s…” Minho trailed off. “A lot.”

“Mother always said not to say mean things.”

“That was me being nice. Don’t tell me that’s your type.”

“Minho! That would be highly inappropriate workplace behavior,” you teased, though he didn’t seem amused. “Besides, what do you know about my type?”

He smirked. “I think I would know better than anyone.”

The twinge in your chest was crushing. Had Cupid returned with sturdier arrows? “Remember, things can change.”

“Did they, though?”

Why did that matter? “I’ll see you later, Minho.”

The whole night, San hovered over you like a shadow, more than he ever had before. Maybe he saw Minho as competition after your coworkers prodded for the story behind you and the hot bartender. He wouldn’t have to worry, though, as he was highly mistaken about both Minho and having interest in someone you worked with.

You would thank San in the morning for dragging you out that night because he reminded you the importance of camaraderie. It was nice to be surrounded by people who shared the same professional struggles as you and it was freeing for everyone to let their walls down. Many of your co-workers were also single and struggling, filling the bar with chatter about failed dates and competing to see who had the worst one as of late. This was the first night in a long while that you had fun, and even though the man that haunted your thoughts was less than twenty feet away, you wouldn’t let him ruin this one night out of many.

But you felt it; that burn in the back of your head like twin cigarettes had bore themselves into your skull; the piercing eyes of an onlooker who couldn’t look away from you and the buff man next to you all night. Each time you tried to catch him in the act, he had anticipated it, busying himself with a customer or peeling orange twists, and when you looked away, you’d feel it again.

Like a worm eating its way through an apple, the fire in Minho’s eyes consumed you.

–

‘Wya?’

On a random weeknight, Minho texted you this just as you were leaving the office. You looked around outside looking for a sniper or an inconspicuous spy but did not see anything suspicious or sensed any danger. To that, you replied with, ‘Leaving the office. Why?’

‘Don’t move.’

If you weren’t panicking before, you were now. Then, from around the alley where ‘DAHLIA’ was, Minho popped up with a tote bag on his arm and an apron slung over his shoulder. He waved and flashed his feline smile, unaware of how cryptic his texts were.

“You didn’t literally have to not move,” he teased.

“Maybe you should normalize giving context.”

“Context is: do you have dinner plans tonight?”

Your plan was to pick up grocery store sushi and binge watch TV, if you’d call that a plan. “Not really. Why?”

He gestured to his tote bag. “I was going to my test kitchen. Do you want to be my guinea pig?”

You considered saying no, but free food was involved. Plus, this is what friends would do, right? “Where’s this test kitchen of yours?”

“In my townhome. ‘Test kitchen’ just sounds cooler.”

The train ride to Minho’s place was the same distance as yours, just in the opposite direction. There wasn’t a ‘nice’ or a ‘bad’ side of the city, but you definitely wouldn’t classify this as the ‘bad’ side. Rows and rows of townhomes occupied endless streets in this neighborhood and each one had its own charm. Minho’s was right in the middle and the reddest, brickiest one on the block while the others had conformed to a more modern grey stucco-style.

The inside was anything but traditional though, with touches of modern style and technology. The first floor was similar to your loft, with an open floor plan combining the kitchen and living room meant for a true host and entertainer. The kitchen, of course, was the most updated, with a fancy six-burner stove, a magnetic display of different knives, and a giant white-granite island.

Soonie, Doongie, and Dori greeted Minho first by rubbing up against his calves and then greeted you second, unaware of the time that passed and recognizing your scent like you were only gone on a short trip.

You gasped happily, scratching their little heads and ears. “My fat ‘n furry step-children!”

“Looks like they missed you,” Minho chuckled.

“Oh, I missed you, too!” you cooed. “Can I help with any prep?”

“Can you help wash the produce?”

“Yes, chef.”

You tried not to stare too long at Minho while he tied the apron around his waist and rolled up his sleeves. There were vegetables in his tote bag you’ve never seen before, like the bulbous onion-like thing that smelled of licorice and a variation of a mushroom that looked like it would turn you into a zombie.

“Everything’s a vegetable or a fruit,” you noted.

“I’m attempting some vegetarian and vegan options outside of a salad and some dessert. If it doesn’t work out, the Thai place down the street is really good.”

Minho instructed you to cut vegetables in ways that you didn’t even know had a name to the technique. You had to tell him to talk to you like a five-year-old because you were not someone who knew what it meant to julienne a carrot or prepare the mise en place.

The first dish was a seared cabbage wedge. Cut the head into wedges; sear on the pan; make a soy-sugar-rice-vinegar saucy thing; shave a potato and toast it like a breadcrumb; retrieve the soy-and-smoke-cured egg yolk and… shave it?

“What do you mean ‘shave it’?” you muttered, holding the hardened yellow orb of congealed something in one hand and a sharp sword-like thingamabob in the other. “Isn’t it going to burst?”

Minho, bless his heart, stood behind you and guided your hands together. His hands, despite going through hundreds of washes and touching all things hot and cold, were soft and warm on top of yours. He had you shave one quarter of the solid egg yolk over the dressed cabbage wedge.

“The yolk is cured, so it’s solid all the way through,” he said.

His breath tickled the shell of your ear and it turned hot. Was the oven set to a thousand degrees? “O-Oh! Wow, that’s cool. Is it done?”

It was only then that Minho released his hold. “Yup. Try it.”

Cooking was a hidden form of sorcery. It was one of the most complex and delicious dishes you’ve ever eaten. Salty from the potato breadcrumb, savory from the egg yolk, and sweet from the soy sauce, feeling different textures and flavors so good you had to stop yourself from moaning.

“Good?” he asked. All you could do was nod vigorously with eyes wide and glittering. He smiled genuinely and his eyes sparkled, too. He opened his mouth and said, “Ah~”

That was your cue to feed him a bite. You gathered the perfect amount of everything onto a fork for him. As he chewed, his brows knitted together thoughtfully and you’re unsure of what that expression meant. From his pocket, he took out a small field notes book and scribbled something quickly.

“You don’t like it?”

He shook his head. “No, I like it a lot.”

“Why is your face like that?”

“What’s wrong with my face?”

“You look so angry.”

“That’s just how my face looks.”

Next was a vegetarian bone marrow. Nothing about bones or marrows sounded remotely vegetarian, but Minho handed you two fat king oyster mushrooms to halve and remove the centers while he sautéed a medley of other mushrooms in salted butter, garlic, and thyme. There was a comfortable silence in the kitchen as you both worked. Nothing felt awkward, or forced, or as bitter as your last meetings were.

As you waited for Minho’s further instructions, you toured the living space and observed all the pictures. You were in about half of them. Most were of your entire friend group, but many were significant moments in your lives, like graduation, birthdays, talent shows, or candid solo pictures. After all these years, when you kept any evidence of him hidden in a shoe box in your closet, he displayed you loud and proud. You glossed over the number of pictures of Karina for your own sake but seeing her face that many times made you stop looking.

When you turned back, Minho was staring at you so intently, he forgot to pretend he wasn’t watching.

“What is it?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he cleared his throat. “Um, the next step is ready.”

Under an immersive blender (“Immersion blender, silly.”) was the sautéed medley and the guts of the king oyster mushroom, softened cream cheese, and olive oil. The paste was bagged and piped back into the charred and seasoned center of the cut-out king oyster mushroom. With a flame torch, Minho darkened the paste, creating a bruleed outer layer, and topped it off with pink peppercorns, pecorino, and chives. Triangles of buttered toast were the vehicle.

Minho took a spoon and scooped out the center. “A little bit of ‘marrow’ and voila. And the ‘bone’ is edible, too, obviously.”

Your eyes teared up at the fireworks of umami. “Will you cater for my next birthday?”

“For you, I will.”

After course upon course of seared and leafy bites of savory and salty goodness, you greenlit practically all of them to Minho’s dismay (“Guinea pig means to critique, not suck up to.”). Dessert was the final leg of courses. From preserved lemon sorbets to chocolatey bites of flourless cake, you would fall into a deep sleep tonight on a cloud of spun sugar.

“I’m drunk on life,” you sighed happily.

“I like you best that way.”

“Seriously, Minho, you have something really good here. I’m no expert, but I think –”

“Wait!” he interrupted. “Chocolate on your lip.”

“Huh? Here?” you licked once.

“Not even close.”

“Here?”

“No.”

“Where’s a napkin?”

“Hold still, will you?”

Minho held your chin between his thumb and index finger and tilted up. Like a surgeon, he meticulously wiped away all evidence of your inner chocolate-devouring goblin with his other thumb. For a moment, he lowered his hand to wipe it on his apron, but he caught you looking at his lips.

“Th-Thanks,” you whispered.

He took the chocolate-covered thumb and sucked it clean, maintaining his gaze before it lowered. “My pleasure.”

The kitchen felt hot and it was hard to breathe. The alarms in your head went off again; the longer you stayed, the faster you’d fall. “I-I should go.”

“Wait –”

“This was great by the way!” you called as you backed up towards the door. “S-So good! And thank you, I will pay you back for any groceries!”

“That’s not necessary, I invited you here.”

“Let me know what you decide to add to the menu, and I’ll-I’ll stop by some time, yeah?”

You didn’t give him the opportunity to answer before running out the door.

–

The following weeks after your inappropriately intimate tasting, you avoided Minho as long as you could. It hadn’t even been a month since you saw him for the first time and you already crossed the thin line that was never meant to be crossed. You couldn’t even be strong for that long before you fell back into the routine of desiring the one man you weren’t allowed to have.

This was the curse of Cupid. He had successfully shot and landed an arrow into every friend you loved, pairing them up with their person and the match-up was so right it was scary. Somehow, at the perfect time under the correct circumstances, your friends found the ones that completed their other half, or so they said, and you witnessed love in full bloom every time it happened and everyday since. When it was shoved in your face like that, how could you not think about what you were missing out on every single day of your life?

You used to think considering a couple as two halves was a disservice to humanity. Halves implied that part of you was missing; it suggested that one could never be whole alone, that they spend their whole lives finding someone who fit the two-piece puzzle. A two piece puzzle was supposed to be the easiest puzzle in the world, but in a box filled with over eight billion pieces, it would take forever for Cupid to pair the pieces. At twenty-five, after that stormy night, you once believed that you could survive as one single piece among the eight billion for the rest of your life at the bottom of the pieces pile, if it came to it; but now that you’re the last of the friend group to yet find your match - at thirty, at that - maybe Cupid had a point to the whole two halves make a whole argument.

Because admittedly, as much as you tried to convince yourself on your thirtieth birthday, you didn’t feel whole. Hell, you barely felt like half; and every time you saw Minho, bits of you were being chipped off to the point that you were scared of losing your half of the puzzle.

To distract yourself from thinking about Minho licking chocolate from your lips, you finally jumped the gun and downloaded dating apps for the first time. Well, Chaeryoung and Jisung did.

“Put on your bathing suit,” she ordered.

“Excuse you.”

“What? All your selfies are so normal!”

“Normal is a good thing, Chaer.”

“But it’s not,” Jisung piped in. “Dating is not what it used to be. Before, it was as simple as looking pretty, saying your favorite song or movie, and naming the restaurant you want your first date to be at. Now, you have to get personal. Name a niche hobby, what character from a TV show represents you the most, what childhood trauma affected your frontal lobe development -”

“Ok, I get it.”

Jisung and Chaeryoung sandwiched you tightly on the couch even though the view of the tablet was easily seen. Chaeryoung filled in all the prompts for you a little too enthusiastically while Jisung was there to judge through the lens of the male gaze and snacks.

The woman beside you cackled evilly. “This is so much fun! I can’t believe you’re finally doing this. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment?”

“Seriously. What man made you do this?” Jisung teased.

You yanked the tablet back. “No one.”

“Liar.”

“Who do you think, Han?” Chaeryoung stated bluntly. “Who else could have brought this blessing upon us?”

“Oh,” he mused, “duh.”

“Shut up, both of you! No one made me do this. Am I not worthy of finding love?”

“Of course you are. Just not this way.”

“Why not this way?”

“Just watch.”

The second someone completes their profile, it’s like the app forces it at the top of everyone’s algorithm. You received a lot of interest and private messages in the first five minutes, many of which were… bold…

“Men are so uncouth,” you groaned. “Is sex all you think about?”

“Yeah,” Jisung shrugged, pointing to his head and then his groin. “Two heads, two brains.”

“Ugh, gross.”

Chaeryoung swiped left at lightning speed. “Too young, too old, too short, too tall, too smart –”

“I like smart,” you pouted.

“The key to a healthy relationship is to be smarter than them.” Jisung didn’t argue, as he was happily committed to his intelligent partner (a mystery to all, as no one knew how he bagged a research fellow).

There’s a knock on your door. The three of you look at each other in confusion.

“You two need to stop secretly inviting strange men to my home,” you accused before getting up.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Jisung defended, “did you?” Chaeryoung denied.

When you opened the door, a disheveled Minho stood there with an oily bag in his hands. He raised a brow. “Am I that strange?”

Just as you were trying to trust in the dating app algorithm, the Gods and Cupid said, ‘let there be chaos!’ “You, specifically? A little bit.”

“Ha ha,” he drawled. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Yeah!” Jisung called from the couch. “This is girl time, Min!”

“Shut up!” Chaeryoung pulled Jisung up from the couch and they both patted your head before rushing out the door. “We’ll see you later, _____!”

“Y-You don’t have to leave!” you practically begged.

“Honey, it’s past-nine on a weekday, yes we do!”

“I didn’t realize the time,” Minho frowned, looking at his watch. “I was nearby with Hyunjin and thought I’d stop by with some fries to make up for Chaeryoung tossing them out on your birthday.”

You don’t even remember that happening. “That’s so nice of you.”

“I can come back another time.”

“No!” you said an octave too high. “No, please come in!”

Minho’s outfit was more casual than ‘DAHLIA’s typical button down and tight slacks and you deduced he was working at ‘RED LIGHT’ today. There were multiple oil and/or beer stains on his shirt and his hair was parted and pointing in different directions, evidence of his hand having to go through it several dozen times out of stress.

“You look…”

“I know,” he sighed, plopping the bag on the table. “There was a work-lunch event today that turned into dinner for some corporate slugs. Then, Hyunjin was looking at a location for his coffee excursion and asked for my help. Four hours later, I’m starving and thought of you.”

He was thinking of you a lot lately, it seemed, and it was hard to deny that you reciprocated. “This is wonderful, thank you. I owe you two dinners now.”

“You don’t ‘owe’ me anything. Friends don’t owe; they treat.”

“My treat next time, then.”

“And the next,” he reminded with a smirk. “What were you girlies doing just now?”

“Um,” you hesitated, cheeks stuffed with potato. “Making me a dating profile.”

He raised a brow in the same way when he saw you walking in with San: questioning and dissatisfied. “You never had one before?”

“I was on-and-off when I first moved here, but I couldn’t stand to open the apps after a couple days of usage.”

He does the thing with his fingers when he gestures to come close. You noticed his hands were veinier now than when you were younger.

“Let me see.”

“Let you see my dating profile?” He nodded. “Absolutely not.”

“C’mon, I’ll give you an opinion through the male gaze.”

“Why do you think Jisung was here?”

“Certainly not that.”

Defeated, you handed him your phone with the app open. There’s a twinkle of curiosity wondering how he’d react, but you wanted to tame that fire quickly. He scrolled and swiped, then scrolled, and scrolled, and scrolled.

His face was stern when he said, “You already have a lot of admirers.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

He didn’t answer and continued to scroll. “What about that guy you work with?”

“San? What about him?”

“Nothing came of it?”

“Didn’t I tell you that would be inappropriate?”

“Is that the only reason stopping you?”

You squint your eyes at your all too curious friend who hadn’t looked up from your phone since taking it. He popped fries in his mouth rhythmically like a metronome until he caught the heat from your gaze. He looked up and did a double take.

“Hm?” he asked.

“Why are you so curious?”

“So, there’s another reason stopping you?”

“And if there is?”

“And if there is…” he repeated, fiddling with your phone charm. “Would you tell me?”

The inkling of assumption tickled annoyingly at the corners of your mind. Was he asking to let you know that he knew he was the reason for your desires? Or was he asking to tease you, to prove to you that if you had made the right decision all those years ago, you could have been in Karina’s position? That all this time you spent away from him, your journey for companionship started too late. And sure, your bank account was as filled as your stomach, but was it worth it when you had no one to share it with?

He waited patiently for your answer, but you heard his foot tapping rapidly on the wood. Your mouth opened, then closed, and you finally shook your head in shame, because your lips were cursed to speak the truth or nothing at all and you would rather deny than to admit.

He licked his lips, and that gesture alone sparked something in your core. Then he nodded in a way that expressed sourness, as if this confirmation was exactly what he expected but not what he was hoping in both the nonverbal response and the underlying tone that trailed behind it.

You broke the silence. “How’s Karina?”

“Good.” He was quick to shake his head. “Actually, I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since lunch a month ago.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’ve… been too busy.”

Shameful and embarrassed, was what you gathered from his response. As he should; to criticize your decision only to repeat the cycle when he found fulfillment in his career was so… Hypocritical was not a strong enough word. Betrayal, perhaps, was the most correct, but that didn’t satisfy you, either.

You wouldn’t get satisfaction from any angle, though. No matter how you viewed it, it was selfish to consider yourself relevant here. Minho was hurting; everything you feared about relationships had flowered before him and crushed the idea that perfection could be achieved as long as both people tried. But it seemed that although he tried, it wasn’t enough, and maybe his ideals were more out of the ordinary than he anticipated.

“It’s put a bit of a strain on our relationship. She wants to settle down and I… I thought I did, too, but… you know, my places have been growing so much, and…”

As he trailed off and off through a list of excuses, it took you all the way back to the night that it rained. You also spat excuses from your pockets and got nowhere. Now, Minho was on your side, but it didn’t feel great, either.

“What’s more important to you?” you asked.

That was the age-old dilemma, wasn’t it? What was most important to someone as an adult who spent most of their life getting educated and preparing for the professional world to milk money from consumers; the career they adored and earned or the love they found along the way? One could argue they could live without love, but could one live with themselves if they gave up their dream? How many rom-coms have you and Minho laughed at where the world that movie was set in was in a vacuum and the couple always chose each other? Though the plot was fake, the dilemma was real, and the choices they made in the movies were just not realistic.

“Important,” he chuckled, understanding what you were getting at. “Why can’t both be important to me?”

“They can, but it’s clear your efforts are imbalanced in one direction. Otherwise, we would not be having this conversation.”

The fries were long gone. Minho stood up and tossed the bag in the trash before grabbing the unfinished bottle of wine leftover from your birthday and two glasses. You supposed tonight would be the most appropriate night to finish it off. Plus, Minho needed it, apparently.

“I tried, you know,” he sighed, “I really did. I text every night; I send her flowers to her office; I cook for her, shower her with gifts, and tell her regularly that I-I…”

Minho didn’t complete his thought, but you knew what he meant to say. Why would he not, for your sake? “That you love her?”

“Yeah. That I loved her.” Your glasses raised in sync. “I get it. I’m not as present, and I get her love language is quality time, but when did the thought stop counting?”

“Have you considered you two aren’t compatible?”

“Anyone can be compatible, no? Where’s the effort?”

Now you were feeling annoyed. Were these digs subconsciously at you? “Effort can only go so far. You said her love language is quality time. You could do everything in between, but you’re not there to hold her, to kiss her, to tangle under the bed sheets as much as she wants, then guess what? She’s never going to feel the love that she wants and deserves.”

“What about me? What about what I want?”

“I don’t know what you want. Does she? Do you?”

Minho chugged the rest of the cabernet in his glass, nose wrinkling, before pouring in more with a heavy hand. You ignored how cute his nose looked. “I don’t know what I want.”

“Ok, so you can’t complain is what I’m hearing.”

A chuckle huffed through his nose, annoyed that someone who he confided in didn’t feed into his fantasy that his ideology was gospel.

“Ahh!” he groaned loudly to the ceiling. “Fucking hell. I thought this was supposed to get easier when we were older?”

“What? Love?” you scoffed. “Look at us; I’m stuck on the apps and you’re stuck in your ways. You think this gets easier just because we have more ‘life experience’?” Your air quotes were overly exaggerated. “No, dude. People are dumb at every age.”

“I’m not dumb,” he pouted.

“You’re a little dumb.”

He giggled a bit and it traveled down his belly to a full laugh. You couldn’t help but smile, too, which grew into your own fit of laughs, and the condo was filled with ugly laughs and tears of joy, pain, and all that was locked inside your’s and Minho’s souls since inception. These nights were the ones you once looked forward to.

When the giggles died down, he stared blankly at the swirling wine in the glass and asked, “Do you think we could have worked out?”

You felt your cheeks and nose flare brightly. “Worked out? Like if we tried?”

In some other tangential timeline, Minho moved to the city. Maybe he still bought out ‘RED LIGHT’, and you would visit him everyday after work and bring your coworkers in to show off your hot bartender boyfriend. Then, you’d take the train home together. You’d wind down on the couch watching a couple episodes of something light and crawl into bed in each other’s arms. Your lips would never leave his unless it was to come up for air, arms wrapped around his naked torso as he crawled on top, and mumbling praises and poems of how much you adored him.

Like an asteroid that orbits a planet, you revolve your life around him and his happiness. If you tried long distance or if you gave up your career, it would be a difficult feat, and happiness would not be found in that desert. Leaving for the city was for the best. He eventually found his oasis, and you were still on the long journey of finding yours in between the infinite dunes.

Before you realized, your nose burned some more and your vision blurred. “I think it still would have been really hard.”

“Would it have been worth it?”

“I think…” you hesitated, but the wine in your veins was overtaking, “it would only have been worth it if it was with you.”

“Then, why?” he begged. “What happened to ‘it’s better to have loved and lost’?”

“After all this time, you still can’t see what I see. I never want to risk something where I would lose you. So, I didn’t think I’d lose you if I said no.”

“This is… so stupid…”

“Don’t insult me in my home.”

“No, I… I…” he stuttered, and it’s just now you see his eyes were glossy, too. “I can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s so fucking stupid.”

It was stupid; you moved out to move on, and here he was at your door bringing you french fries and opening bars across from where you work, invading your life like a decade-old infectious disease with no ailment known to man-kind. It was stupid; he was taken, spitting out confessions of his failing love story to the one he ended, telling you he still thinks of you before he sleeps. It was very stupid, and it pained you not to fall for it.

You shook your head. “Don’t.”

“______ -”

“You can’t think of me.”

He reached out across the table to take your hands. You allowed it, because you were a weak, weak woman, starving for touch and hungry for him. His skin was rough and tired from the dehydrating soaps of the service industry, but they felt so right.

“Tell me you don’t think of me,” he demanded. “Tell me, and I’ll leave.”

“What does it mean for you to leave? You will leave my home, and then what? Will you try to be better for her? You’ll stay in my life and we can be friends? Or will you leave permanently and change the dynamic of our friend group forever for the second time?” By now, the tears were falling and words choked as they came out, but your grip on him betrayed you and you held on like he was hanging off a cliff.

“I… The… The former…”

“Then, no. No, I don’t think of you. I’m not tormented by you, I’m not in ruins when I see you, I don’t smell you on my clothes, I don’t see you when I close my eyes, or in stranger’s faces when they pass, I don’t dream of you, and I definitely don’t think of you every second of everyday!”

“You can’t even convince yourself anymore. Why won’t you be vulnerable with me?”

“Vulnerability is weakness, Minho! I have been strong for so long; without you, at that!” your voice was shrill and loud and you couldn't be bothered to sit. You were up from your chair, leaning over the table, and he winced as you kept going. “You come here, turn my life upside down, and ask me to be vulnerable? To lower my guard around you? After you abandoned me all because the circumstances weren’t right at that moment? Fuck you.”

He got up from the table to get to you and towered over you, torso much wider than you remembered. He was too close, and you could feel him feel you. Your body hadn’t turned to face him, too scared to face your biggest fear, so he forced it upon you by holding your shoulders. His eyes, so big and brown that it was easy to drown in them, dug deep into yours and pleaded with everything he had in his heart.

“Fine, don’t be vulnerable, but show yourself some mercy, for fuck’s sake.”

“Mercy? I want someone I can’t have. How does that merit mercy?”

He faltered a bit and you regretted the moment you invited him in. His eyebrows furrowed in what you thought was pity. Your head dropped in shame; that was the last thing you needed. His hands moved to hold your face as if he never wanted you to drop something so precious to him ever again.

“Don’t,” you repeated.

His forehead connected with yours and suddenly, you felt young again. It’s what you needed, what you wanted, but…

“I want to kiss you.”

The rush from five years ago hit you like a truck. “I want to kiss you, too.”

Every emotion, every desire, collided into the kiss. His hands swiftly moved to your waist and pulled you in until every millimeter of you touched some part of him and soon your hands were lost in his hair. His lips were soft, and you always imagined them to feel like petals of a tulip, but he was earnest and there was some pain in the amount of pressure he pressed into you. The pain felt good, the feeling of being wanted made your heart soar, and you two exchanged gasps and moans as your lips moved fervently, hungry for indulgence after being teased with temptation. But his tongue tasted sour, and bitter, and nothing like the coffee and chocolate you once dreamed of, because this circumstance was yet again not right. He tasted like rotting fruit because stolen fruit was never sweet.

You broke away, gasping and sniffling and it was so hard to breathe. “You’re not mine,” you cried.

“But you have always been mine,” he whispered, with his breath ghosting your lips.

You shook your head, over and over until you freed yourself from his grip, wishing you’d be free of him forever. You turned your back to him, unable to show your face as you said, “I think you should leave.”

Back then, you wished he fought for you as much as he wished you to do the same. You wished he’d followed you, or waited for you until the time was right, but of course time didn’t wait for anyone. Deep down, as you broke into pieces in your dining room, you hoped he’d fight for you then, too, and proclaim that his heart belonged to only you. You were fooled twice, and as the saying goes, shame on you.

The failure of reciprocity would weigh you down just as much. You never fought for him the way you wished he would for you for the simple fact that you weren’t allowed to. He was a taken man, a man who said not too long ago how he told her he loved her every single night, and it would destroy you how he’d go home later and still say those words.

You believed everyone was worthy of love, including you. The love you wanted wasn’t supposed to feel tainted or spoiled. No matter how much you wanted him, how much he claimed he wanted you from the very start, you wouldn’t be that kind of woman who stole someone’s man, and therefore you would not confess to anything else that lay hidden away in your heart.

Minho left quietly. The battle was over, and you broke down on the floor.

Heavy and loud sobs escaped your quivering lips in a poor attempt to dissipate the pain that expanded in your chest. Your cries echoed into the open loft until you couldn’t stand the sound of your voice and wasting tissues, but your body wouldn’t let up. So, you transferred yourself to the bathroom, running a hot shower and curling up on the tile until the water ran cold. Here, your cries were muffled by the artificial rain, just as you had cried into the storm that ugly night long ago.

You called in sick the following day.

–

For the next quarter, you were happy you were swamped with work, for once. That meant waking up early, taking the train when the sun had barely risen, and leaving when it had long gone to sleep. It was the same for most people in the office and you were blessed with not having to conjure up a lie to get away from San’s advances to get you to happy hour.

In sum, you hoped it meant you’d be too busy to think of him, but when you had only a single moment, a single second of freedom, he invaded every bit of you. He was a virus, a parasite, sucking the life out of you like he was reminding you what you desired that once was within arms reach was now lost forever. Like Icarus, you fell from the ether into despair, surrounded by darkness from the absence of the sun in your only moments outside of the office. On days when you were off, you had begged your boss to let you come in, to distract you with some enrichment of any stupid task even if it meant gluing together inadvertently shredded proprietary documents for sixteen hours, but HR would catch on too quickly, was what he said.

You hoped to fall hopelessly in this troposphere of purgatory forever, operating through the days on autopilot, but your heart had sunk to your gut and it ached to land on the earth to end the pain. Just as you were getting the hang of flowing with the wind, Minho called once. Then, he called twice. On the third, you almost answered, but when your eyes welled and you struggled to breathe, you figured it was your body’s reaction to falling faster and further beneath the clouds. You spent those nights he called curled up in some corner of your home under a multitude of blankets waiting for the headache and heartache to subside, but by then the night turned to dawn and time was limited.

Chaeryoung would call, too; she’d text; she’d send you food, coffee, and chocolates, and much of it went cold because any sight of food made you nauseous. Lately, you moved so slow that sustenance wasn’t a necessity anymore, nor was it a pleasure. She was always quite the worrywart, so you tried to answer as much and as vaguely as you could, but at one point it was too exhausting to keep up the lie and you gave up, leaving her with one-worded answers that didn’t satisfy either party.

And so you continued to fall; continued to cry, rot, and falter when all you had done was taste forbidden fruit.

His birthday approached faster than you could get over him.

For a while, no one seemed to mind your absence besides Chaeryoung and Minho, who had called to see if you were attending any of the last-minute get-togethers or planned reservations in the recent month. The one big one you regretted missing was Chan’s birthday, who was rightfully miffed, but you hoped the gift you shipped would make up for it. You kept up with social media, though, and liked all the pictures that came from those nights.

Each post, you’d look for him. You’d admire what he was wearing; you’d wonder what cologne he was wearing; you’d imagine the way his eyes lit up when Karina walked in the room. But she wasn’t in any of the photos.

You didn’t tell anyone what transpired the second time with Minho. It was too embarrassing to have fallen for him twice, which sent feminism back at least a decade. You were going to conjure up some work-related lie to get out of his birthday celebration, but Chaeryoung wouldn’t allow it and even went as far as messaging San for confirmation about your work schedule.

In a huff, she busted through to your home before you could reject her kindness. Normally, your girl was all smiles and full of expressions, but tonight she was strict and stern, which meant she was mad. Very mad.

“I need you to not message my coworkers, please,” you said as she filtered through your closet. “I don’t want a meeting with HR on Monday.”

She didn’t turn to face you when she snapped, “It felt like you were lying, so I had to double check.”

“I wasn’t lying. It was busy, but we just lightened up after the deadline yesterday.”

“So, why couldn’t you tell me that?”

“I needed an excuse to not go tonight.”

She shook her head, clearly frustrated with how insufferable you were being. She turned to you with glossy eyes and you regretted avoiding her lately. “Aren’t I your friend?”

Her having to ask really stung. “You’re my best friend.”

“Then can’t you tell me why you disappeared for three months?”

“I… it’s hard, Chaer…”

“For God’s sake, _____, you’re thirty. Act like it, and use your words!”

“I can’t,” your voice cracked, “I can’t see Minho.”

Her face softened, realizing maybe that night when she left you with someone you saw as a stranger was not what a best friend did. You watched her scan through your slumped posture and sunken eyes before she lunged and hugged you tightly. Tears burned, the feeling of gentle humanity fulfilling your highest hierarchy of needs overflowing all your emotions.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“We kissed,” you whispered back.

“And?”

“I kissed back.”

“But?”

“He’s not mine.”

She pushed you to arms length, eyes knitting sternly. “I think you should go tonight.”

“Chaer -”

“Trust me. You might regret it. It’s his thirtieth, after all.” She pushed away the hairs that cling to your forehead before running to grab some make up. “Let me do your make-up! It’ll be like your twenty-first all over again.”

She sat you down on your bed and began to dab away at the color-correcting pallet. A box of tissues lay next to her so she could catch the tears before they fell. She created a large pile in the end.

“Do you want him to be yours?” she asked after a long moment of silence.

You wanted to smell him on your clothes, adore him in your dreams, and wake up next to him. You want him to be yours, only yours, and to not have to share him with someone who he also chose. Under this sanguine circumstance, still, you smiled at this very thought, because of course the answer was, “Yes.”

And she, too smiled, her own tears forming while she dabbed yours with another fist full of tissues. “Then, go to him.”

“But -”

“_____,” she breathed sternly, sniffling a bit. “You stupid, stupid people-pleaser. Fight for yourself, for once.”

When you thought the battle was long over, little did you know you were still fighting all this time.

Despite trying not to think of him, as his birthday approached, the calendar terrorized you to get him a gift. Just in case, you know? It was a fancy Nakiri knife whose steel was decorated in waves. The Internet told you that a chef’s knife was similar to that of a samurai’s sword, so only the highest quality of Damascus steel was preferred. As you held the box in your hand at his front steps, your mind and heart kept battling with each other and debated whether or not getting a personal gift was too intimate versus a gift card to some generic restaurant to establish a boundary.

But wasn’t the boundary already too blurry, anyways?

Chaeryoung pushed you inside the already-unlocked door. All the boys and their partners and Chaeryoung’s now-official real man were already there surrounding the island. Minho, who just had a grin on, dropped it quickly upon seeing you come in and straightened his back. It’s like deja vu from your birthday.

Karina wasn't present.

Your body’s instinct was to turn and run out the door, but Chaeryoung anticipated your every move and was quick to block you. She squeezed your hand and tugged you further inside. You greeted the boys and their partners first, who all said a variation of, ‘long time, no see,’ before reaching Minho. His expression was still starstruck and confused. He didn’t appear angry. Perhaps it was a feeling worse than that, which could not be translated through his face.

With sweaty hands, you handed him the small rectangular box. “Happy birthday.”

He was hesitant to take it, as if to question the possibility of diffusion of poison through the skin. His hesitancy allowed you to get a whiff of his bourbon vanilla cologne. “Thank you.”

“Oh, so you’ll come for Minho’s birthday, but not mine?” Chan pouted.

“Some things are worth coming out for,” you retorted.

The night went on and you played your role as an onlooker in the background, hoping to blend in with the walls and remain unnoticed so as to not ruin the night. You watched him and the boys shove each other playfully and inhale any and all food Minho made. Who’s to say that thirty was old when the epitome of youth was in the souls of a group of hungry boys? Conversations and debates picked up from when they last saw each other. Some of them filled you in and others forced you to answer without knowing the majority opinion. Laughs and giggles filled the kitchen and even when it seemed that Minho didn’t want to whenever you answered, he couldn’t help himself from smiling at your ridiculous answers, though he stopped when he’d catch you watching him.

As the clock ticked forward, your anticipation for Karina to pop in at any moment dwindled. Maybe she was also having a rough quarter three and taking a late night at the office, but to miss her boyfriend’s thirtieth was… a choice, even if they were fighting or some other strange reason. But then four hours turned to six hours and then it was, ‘damn, it’s already 2:00 AM?’ and she never came.

“Are you ready to go?” Chaeryoung asked at the front door.

Minho was now alone in the kitchen and there were a lot of dishes left to wash. You should help him.

“No,” you said. “I’ll call you later.”

She had a hard time hiding her grin as she left.

You approached him slowly like how you’d approach an angry cat because he was scrubbing the dishes a little too furiously. He didn’t look up despite knowing what you were up to.

“Can I help?” you asked.

Still, he refused to look at you, but he handed you the sponge. Well, that was progress, right?

Dishes and clean up were completed in silence. No chit-chat, no music, just the sound of running water and dishes clinking in the cupboards. The task was finished in good time, and just before you decided that your stay was long overdue, he pulled another deja vu card.

“What are you doing here?” he mumbled to the floor.

“It’s your thirtieth birthday. Chaeryoung told me to come.”

“You could’ve said no.”

“I could’ve.”

A salty laugh - or perhaps a scoff - was uttered. He was tired, you were tired, and the air was cold and stale. The topics orbited like a satellite, coming ‘round for another turn for a different thirtieth celebration, if either of you would even call it that.

Minho let out a big sigh. “Only you can disappear for three months and come back into open arms.”

The words arranged sounded like a compliment, but it was clearly the opposite. “I don’t expect to be forgiven.”

“No, you shouldn’t. I tried calling you.”

“I know.”

“Texting. E-mailing. Fuck, even snail mailing!”

“I know…”

He threw his hands in the air, as he did whenever he was frustrated, and turned to take a breather from your nonchalance. You were supposed to be fighting for him, not letting him slip away like this, but why was this so hard when loving him came easily?

“I shouldn’t have come over that night,” he said after returning. “I was trying too hard to be friends again and I crossed a point where I couldn’t return from.”

“Isn’t that the story of our friendship?”

“Is that how you feel?”

“We were never really just friends, were we?” you teased.

“No,” he admitted softly, “we never were.”

Your eyes met for the first time that night. His were red and puffy, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in three months.

You swallowed the rock in your throat. “Where’s Karina?”

“I don’t know. I broke up with her a while ago.”

Your chest felt tight and your voice bubbled out a garbled, “Why?”

And his mirrored, to the point where he had to clear his throat. “I don’t love her anymore.”

“So, is it true? Is it better to have loved and lost?”

“I wouldn’t exchange my days with her for anything.”

It didn’t make sense; it just didn’t. When someone loved that deeply, how could they throw that person away so easily?

“I’m sorry,” was all you could say.

“I’m not.” He cleared his throat. “I loved her and she loved me. It was fulfilling, and now it’s not. It’s just how it is.”

“Isn’t that painful?”

“If it means I get to feel like I’m flying, I think I can handle it.”

The concept, the idea of that, was just too hard to grasp. It took your wax wings melting to realize that the journey upwards was worth the descent.

“Enough about my failures,” he said hoarsely, “What about you? How… how are you doing?”

How were you supposed to admit that tonight was the first night you had a proper meal? That sleep only came under the influence of some generic-brand silver liquor? That you plucked a fist full of grey hairs the day before? Would admitting to vulnerability prove that you were fighting for this? For him? Or would it make you look pathetic?

“I’ve been doing fine.”

The centers of his brows scrunched together and his lips pursed. He inhaled heavily, his sniffles echoing through his quiet home.

“Are you?” he stuttered, voice distorted and desperate. “Really?”

No, of course not, and that much was clear when you started to cry.

“Because,” he continued, “if you can’t tell, I’m… dying on the inside.”

“Because of me?” you whispered, feeling the weight of your actions collapsing.

“Because of you. It’s always because of you. Everyday for the past ten years. It’s always been you.”

“Why couldn’t you forget me? Why? When you were the one to throw me away?”

“How!” he cried out. “How could I forget about you, when all I wanted was you?”

“You wanted to change me! You wanted me to abandon my career.” “I wanted you to try!”

“And you were right!” Sobs choked in your chest. “You were right. If I loved you, I should have fought for you. I should have tried harder. And I really shouldn’t have admitted those feelings to you when you were not mine. For everything that I’ve done, I’m so, so sorry.”

“You should be. You are so mean,” he hissed, pointing harshly. “You torture me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Even when I close my eyes, I see you.”

“I’m sorry -”

“I named my fucking bar after your favorite flower! And now you stand here in my home asking me to forget about you? How am I supposed to even begin doing that, hm? How, when everything around me reminds me of you?”

Your sobs were visceral and messy, and you buried your face in your hands. Maybe tears held the youth Ponce de Leon searched his whole life for the way yours could fill the fountain in minutes and how wiping them took away two decades of your life.

“I’m going to ask you once more,” he whispered. “One last time, and I’ll leave it be forever because I’m fucking tired. Do you think of me as often as I think of you?”

You caved in when all else went wrong and there was nothing else to hide. “Everyday.”

“Do you want me as much as I want you?”

“No,” you replied, “Because I need you. Now, let me ask you: do you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you?”

His lips quivered before he laughed and you do, too, because that was the cringiest thing you’ve ever said. He held your face, that precious face of yours that he adored so much, dabbing away your tears. His eyes fluttered to your lips, a habit he couldn’t shake off after all these years.

“I need you to kiss me,” he demanded.

He tasted like honey and his lips fit yours like the second half of a two-piece puzzle. This was slow and deliberate, no longer going at the crushing speed of fervent passion because you had all the time in the world together now, and Minho was always the type of man to take his time. You couldn’t stand to leave his lips even for air and they ghosted his only for a few seconds before you tip-toed and pressed yourself deeper against him. Your hands were occupied with gripping his shirt at his waist to keep him in place. When you felt his smile on your lips, you grinned back and held him by his beautiful face.

“I need you to stay,” he formed on your lips.

“All I need is you,” you answered.

Even while traveling to his bedroom, both of you refused to separate as you bumped into furniture.

“We should take this slow,” he mumbled, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

“Get acquainted with each other, or whatever,” you concurred after removing his belt.

“Maybe get coffee some time?” he asked into the crook of your neck.

“Or a drink? I know this really cute bar called ‘DAHLIA’.”

He threw you onto his bed. After removing his shirt, he crawled on top. “I think I’ve heard it.”

“Oh yeah?” You undid his pants zipper. “I know the bartender. A little narcissistic, though; he thinks he’s so hot.”

He trailed kisses down your lips, to your neck, to your sternum, to your stomach, until the top of your panties where his fingers hooked. “I know he is.”

You called Chaeryoung the next afternoon. At first, she scolded you for not texting her when you got home, but when she checked your location during the call, she screamed so loud that Minho dropped the spatula while making your breakfast.

The sanguine satellite would continue to orbit her world and revolve her life around his happiness; and he would continue to do the same.

#lee minho #lee minho imagines #skz #stray kids #stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #lee know fic #lee know x reader #romance #friends-to-strangers-to-lovers #angst #emotional hurt with comfort #a doozy................. my longest one yet me thinks #nawt to bring in one piece but the way i screamed TAKT looking at that minho pic yeah

167 notes · View notes

sluttyten · 30 days ago

Text

Little Shop of Wonders

Kinktober Day 8 | Kun Masterlist | Member Masterlist

tags: sex pollen, free use, consensual free use, fuck toy, shower sex, lots of cum, facefucking, masturbation, bukkake, cunnilingus, blowjobs, slight exhibitionism, subspace

length: 5971

The bell over the door jingled as you pushed it open, stepping foot inside the shop.

You’d never noticed this place before. An old shop with big glass window displays filled with plants and crystals, its heavy wooden door recessed from the street, an old brass lantern hung above the door offering only a small puddle of flickering light over the doormat.

“Welcome,” the doormat had scrawled across it, “to the Little Shop of Wonders.”

You weren’t sure what to expect, but it was a cool, damp October night, and the shop looked like a dry place to wait for your boyfriend.

Kun had an appreciation for magic. Usually, he favored card tricks, sleight of hand, but he’d shown you before that he was intrigued by more magical magic. He would like this place, too, so you texted him the address since he was already on the way to pick you up from work.

From deep in the recesses of the store, you hear a woman’s voice call out, “Welcome! Have a look around, and I’ll be there to help you shortly!”

The store is very old, if you had to guess. The floors are hardwood, bleached by ages of sunlight, dry and dusty with each step you take. The boards creak, and even when you pass over a thick rug, the floor groans beneath you, belching up dust. Dried flowers and herbs hang from the rafters. Strings of lights drape the edges of the room, occasionally cross-crossing the space in between. You spot more of those brass lanterns hanging at the ends of heavy wooden bookcases, the shelves of which are weighed down with heavy tomes and knick knacks that range from crystals and cute animal carvings to disturbingly realistic wooden figurines of people and a skull with a candle melted atop it.

This place gives you the creeps while simultaneously pulling you in deeper. It feels like magic. It tingles over your skin, smelling sweet.

You don’t know how long you’ve been walking around before you hear the door jingle in the distance.

You bump into a viney potted plant on the floor, and a cat bolts out of the shadows, streaking through a gap in the shelves. You follow the cat, discovering that it’s leading you back into the center of the store from where you’d drifted to the back edges. You can see the front door, the misty blue twilight sky outside the front windows.

Kun stands in the doorway, framed by that eerie light, though the light of the lantern glows on his face, radiant.

“There you are,” he says with a grin, stepping inside the store fully. “What kind of place have you found?”

“Welcome to the Little Shop of Wonders,” says the same woman’s voice as before, although now it sounds as though she’s floating above you.

You twist around, looking up at the ceiling, and you find her. She’s a wiry older woman, her curling gray hair tumbling around her shoulders, a long skirt and apron swishing around her legs as she very carefully balances and navigates her way across the beams.

When you look back at Kun, he’s watching her with a bemused expression, which shifts to that of one impressed when the woman leaps down from the beam and lands lightly on her feet.

She brushes her hands off on her apron, and looks at the pair of you with a wide, warm, inviting smile on her face.

“It’s so nice to meet you.” Her hands go to her hips, and she looks the pair of you over, her gaze studying the way you gravitate towards each other. “What can I help you with?”

“Oh.” You and Kun glance at each other, and then you say, “We’re just looking around.”

The woman nods her head. “Of course! If you look long enough, whatever you’re meant to have in here will jump out at you.”

You take Kun’s hand, and for a little while you browse the shelves, occasionally coming across a cat or the witchy woman herself, humming as she passes through different areas of the shop.

Finally, after you feel that you’ve spent nearly an hour together looking at the small oddities and interests in the store, you realize that it’s time you leave so you can get home. But Kun’s interested in the live plants the woman has sitting beside a window towards the back of the shop. He brushes his fingers along a blush pink leaf, lifts his fingers along the stem, and cups one of the curved bloodred petals.

“I’d be careful with that one, if I were you.” The woman appears suddenly at your elbow, nudging her way between you and Kun. She cups the plant’s pot in her hands, lifting it gently. “This one’s a powerful aphrodisiac. Quite a strong stimulant.”

Kun peeks at you over her head. You stifle a giggle against your hand.

“Doubt me if you like,” she warns, “But this plant’s pollen is known to cause intense arousal when ingested. Whether that means if the residue is on your skin, or if it’s contained within a bottle of honey.”

Suddenly she’s lifting a hand, a small vial of glinting golden honey sits in her palm.

“Are you saying that’s a bottle of sex honey?” You ask, trying to keep from laughing.

The woman’s mouth tightens. “Yes, dear. Essentially. A taste of this honey, and you and your boy would be bound to fall into bed together. THat’s why I have it labeled for sale over in the love and sex section of the shop. Now, if you ingest the pollen directly, say if he were to lick his fingers now after having touched the plant, the effects would be much stronger. Arousal lasting days, possibly.”

Again, Kun catches your eye over the woman’s head, and you watch your boyfriend daringly lift his hand to his lips, and he pops his index and middle finger both into his mouth.

“Oh, darling….” The witchy woman shakes her head while looking at Kun. She quickly sits the plant back down among the others, and she waves her hand towards the front door of the shop. “You should leave now. Good luck. And you, my dear,” she says with a look in your direction, “You may want to purchase a bottle of the honey, just so you can keep up with him.”

“I think we’ll be fine, but thank you.” You wrap your arm around Kun’s and walk towards the door with him, calling over your shoulder to her, “Maybe if this goes as well as you’re promising, we’ll be back for some of that sex honey.”

You swear that instead of swinging gently shut as it had when you opened it, the door slams behind you as you and Kun step out onto the sidewalk outside the Little Shop of Wonders.

“Come on.” Kun slides his hand down into yours, leading you away to where his car is parked. “Let’s get home.”

On the ride home, you both laugh about the woman’s warnings. It just sounds so silly, the things she was saying. Kun keeps sucking on his fingers, saying that he’s still waiting for it to kick in like she promised, that from the sound of it, he’ll need to fuck you as soon as you get home, but it must be slow acting. “I’m not even a little bit hard, yet. Maybe her plant isn’t working right. Not that I need the help, but she’s made it sound like one taste of the pollen and I’m going to be rock hard for days.”

You laugh, tipping your head against the seat to watch as Kun flicks his tongue between the V of his index and middle finger. “Kun, I promise, if you’re rock hard for days, if this pollen truly works as well as she’s said, you can fuck me however, wherever, as often as you want.”

“I have free use of you?” Kun’s teasing, looking over at you as he rolls the car to a stop at a light. “You’d be my little fuck toy?”

“Anything for you, Kun.” You’re playing, but some part of you is actually serious. You love Kun. Since you started dating him, you’ve wanted him a ridiculous amount. It’s only because you can’t constantly be on his dick that you haven’t let on to him how horny you frequently are. You’ve tried to tone it down, but honestly, giving him free use to fuck you however and wherever and whenever he likes is exactly what you’ve needed all this time.

If only the ridiculous notion of sex pollen was real and not just the imaginary creation of some batty woman in a mysterious shop.

When you get home, you hop in the shower while Kun starts to prepare dinner.

You’ve been in there for only about five minutes, when the door to the bathroom opens. You pull the shower curtain back a bit, peeking out into the steamy bathroom. Kun’s right there, already climbing into the shower, yanking the curtain back shut behind him as he backs you towards the wall.

“What’s this?” You giggle, reaching for his arm. “Did the pollen kick in or something?”

“Yeah,” Kun murmurs, and then his lips are on yours, his hands on your hips.

You can’t believe he’s really going along with this, playing into it just to have shower sex. You let him spin you around so your chest and cheek are against the wall. Kun pulls one of your arms behind your back, the other you lift above your head to brace yourself a bit.

“Any time, anywhere, that’s what you said right?” Kun confirms as he grinds forward against your ass.

“Mhmm,” you moan, rolling your hips back to meet his movements. “Yes, Kun.”

His mouth moves fiery hot over your bare shoulder, his skin hot against yours everywhere he touches. “Perfect.”

And then he’s thrusting forward, driving his cock between your legs, rutting forward again and again until his cock slides inside you.

With no prep, it burns a little, but you like it. You like when Kun gets a little rough from time to time. Like right now, when he just starts plunging into you with these big thrusts, clearly just chasing his own orgasm. His hand holds yours against your lower back.The shower spraying down on you both has your skin all slippery, your bound hands sliding with each of Kun’s powerful thrusts.

Your moans echo around the bathroom, and Kun’s breaths come hard and fast against your ear.

Kun presses up against your back, pinning you between him and the wall, his weight bearing down on you as he fucks into you. Each press of his cock inside you, each catch of his breath against your ear, the heat in your belly stirs a little more. But it doesn’t stir as quickly as Kun, he cums with his mouth against your throat, his body flush against yours.

One of his hands slides around down your belly, down between your legs, fingers against your clit as he thrusts several more times. Kun fucks his cum deeper inside you, gliding against your G spot while stimulating your clit, and you fall apart in his arms, feeling like you’re dissolving into sweet bliss as he keeps rocking his hips forward and tracing his fingers over your sensitive clit.

He keeps going until you’re whining, until he’s spilling inside you again.

Your legs shake as you actually put them into use again. Kun steps back, leaving you empty and on your own two feet. He rinses off quickly, running a hand down his body, over his cock. You twist around to watch him, biting your lip as you watch his hand run along his cock.

“Keep looking at me like that, babe, and I’m going to have to feed you something other than the dinner I started.” He leans in quickly, dropping a kiss to your lips, and then he steps out of the shower, calling back to you, “Shower quickly, dinner should be ready in a few minutes.”

You finish your shower, dry off, dress in a camisole and cotton shorts, then you head to the kitchen.

Kun’s standing at the counter, chopping a few toppings for the stew he’s made. You walk up behind him, wrap your arms around him and lay your head against his bare shoulder. He’s only wearing sweatpants that hang low on his hips. You run your hand over his bare belly, up his chest, and back down to the edge of his sweatpants.

Kun sits the knife aside.

You turn your head, brushing your lips over his warm skin. Kun lets out a shaky breath. You let your pinky finger tuck beneath the edge of his sweatpants.

“It smells good,” you tell him. “I’m ready to eat.”

Kun’s hand trembles as he picks up the knife again, and you rest your cheek against his shoulder, watching as he tries to chop up the last few ingredients. And then you notice.

He’s really so warm, his skin flaming hot beneath your cheek.

“Kun?” You take a step to the side, peering at his face, lifting a hand to his cheek. “Are you sick? You feel feverish.”

His eyes are dark when he looks at you. His pupils are blown wide, and he nearly moans at the cool press of your fingers against his warm cheek. “I’m not sick. I feel fine, except I don’t think that lady was lying about the pollen. I’m still so hard, babe, it hasn’t gone down at all.”

You look down to his sweatpants, at his cock that’s still ragingly hard, tenting the front of his pants.

Your mouth fills with saliva, and you lift your gaze back up to meet your boyfriend’s. You swallow to keep yourself from drooling when you say, “I meant what I said in the car, Kun. However, wherever, as often as you like. I can take it. Use me as your fucktoy.”

“Fuck.” Kun sits the knife aside again, and he reaches for you, twisting his fingers in your hair, and he forces you to your knees.

Your mouth drops open as Kun uses his free hand to push his sweatpants down. His hard, heavy cock springs free, already wet at the tip, leaking a crystalline thread of precum. You don’t need Kun’s hand in your hair to guide you; you dive forward, catching the falling bead on your tongue and following it up to the source, sucking Kun’s cockhead in.

That’s when he takes over, hand pressing against the back of your head, forcing you deeper on his cock. His hips jerk forward at the same time, triggering your gag reflex as he hits the back of your throat. Not that that stops him, if anything it encourages him to go harder, faster, and you take it all, hungry for his cock shoved down your throat even as your eyes begin to water, as your jaw and throat ache from the repeated pressure. You slurp around him as he starts to drag your mouth off of his cock. His fingers tight in your hair, Kun allows you a brief breath before he’s fucking back into your mouth.

You’re drooling all over his cock as Kun holds the back of your head, fucking his cock into the deep warmth of your throat. And when he cums, he just keeps going, filling your mouth and shooting down the back of your throat, it leaks from the corners of your lips, and you think you’re going crazy because you want more.

Kun drags you off his cock by your hair.

Spit and cum and tears streak your face, dripping from your chin as you look up at Kun.

He releases his hold on your hair to run his thumb under your bottom lip. “You’re so beautiful, babe. Get up, here you go.” Kun offers you his hand, and you slide your palm against his as he pulls you up to your feet. “Good girl, now sit down. It’s time for dinner.”

You obediently sit at the table, still a little fucked-dumb, still dripping his cum even when Kun serves you a bowl of the stew he made. It smells heavenly, rich with spices, and you dig in, the flavors of it only made better with the added flavor of Kun’s cum lingering on your tongue.

Kun pretty much inhales his helping of the stew, and he doesn’t even wait for you to finish eating before he’s walking over to you. You’re quite hungry, so you don’t want him to pull you away from the meal, even though you can see his cock still bulging his sweatpants, staining them with a spot of precum.

“Keep eating, babe,” Kun tells you, reaching out to stroke your hair. “You need to eat to keep up your strength. If what the lady said is true, I’m probably gonna be like this for a few days.”

You think back to him sucking the pollen residue off his fingers, licking his hands clean. Who knows how much he ingested?

You eat a spoonful of stew, eyeing his erection out of the corner of your eye. Is he just going to stand there and not take care of it? You look up at Kun, and it’s a horny little demon inside you that speaks with your voice, saying, “You don’t have to wait for me to finish eating, Kun. Until this wears off, I’m yours to do what you want with me.”

His cock twitches in his pants. Kun groans.

“Do you mean that, though? Really?”

You nod. “Anything you want. Within reason. No bringing anyone else into this–”

“I don’t want to share you!” Kun interjects.

You continue, “Nothing that we haven’t talked about before.”

Kun smirks at that. “Well, that pretty much leaves everything on the table, then doesn’t it?” He strokes your hair again. “All I want right now is to cover you in my cum, babe, head to toe. I want to fuck you in every room in this house, fuck you until we both pass out. I want to treat you like my doll.”

You turn back to your bowl of stew. You shrug, “Then do it, Kun.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him draw his cock out of his pants. You watch him start stroking his cock, but you focus on eating your stew, blowing on it to cool it off, taking your time to lick the spoon clean after each bite. You eat the stew like your pussy isn’t throbbing with arousal watching Kun jerk off inches away from your face.

He cums again when you’ve got your spoon halfway to your mouth. Kun’s cum streaks over your cheek, landing in your hair, across your lips, some of it hits your spoon and your hand. You eat that spoonful too, enjoying the extra salty addition of his cum to it. Kun keeps stroking his length, a few last spurts striping your cheek as you reach for the bowl. You lift it to your lips, quickly draining what little is left because as soon as it’s gone, as soon as you’ve sat the bowl down, Kun is pulling you to your feet.

When he moves you so your ass is on the edge of the table, you expect Kun to push your shorts to the side and slide his cock right inside you.

You don’t expect Kun to sink to his knees, for him to tear your shorts down around your ankles, and bury his face between your thighs. He spreads your legs with a hand on each thigh, massaging them as he licks at your pussy, as he fucks his tongue into you, as he sucks at your clit and licks up your wetness as you’re drenching his tongue, writhing against his face, needing more and more.

Kun moans loudly, eating you out in the most noisy manner he ever has.

You cum on his tongue, hands knotted in his hair as you ride it out, grinding against Kun’s face.

“If this is what we have in store,” you gasp as Kun licks a strip up your pussy one more time, “I think I could get used to this. You’ve never given better head, honestly. I need you to be this horny all the time if it means I get eaten out like that.”

Kun scatters kisses over your thighs. “We’re just getting started, babe.”

- - -

For the rest of the night, Kun has you sit on his lap, cockwarming him while you watch a movie together.

Kun’s hands are constantly moving – stroking along your thighs, dipping to touch your clit while forcing you to sit still on him; he pulls the neckline of your camisole down to expose your tits, and he teases your nipples until you’re whimpering and fighting the urge to fuck yourself on his cock. But as soon as you get desperate enough to beg for it, Kun stops.

He’ll have you sit up, kneeling above his lap with just the head of his cock still buried in your pussy as he jerks off, cumming inside you so he can watch it drip back out of your pussy. Instead of letting you cum, when you’re teetering on the edge, he’ll have you kneel on the floor, cockwarm him with your mouth instead so he can cum across your tongue and cheeks again, adding even more to the mess he’d made at dinner. He edges you again, and then he fucks your tits, cumming across them then taking his time afterwards to clean it up with his tongue, feeding it back to you and watching you swallow everything before he returns his tongue to your nipples, flicking his tongue over the hardened buds until you’re rocking your hips up off the sofa restlessly.

Kun cums more times than you can keep track of, and you take all of the cum he gives you, hungrily sucking his cock, feeling him fill your pussy, spreading his cum across your tits with your fingers, moaning as he shoots his load across your back while he’s got his fingers inside you.

Kun edges you through it all until finally your body can’t take anymore, and you cum around him while Kun’s got you riding him. He’s hugging you to his chest, his mouth locked with yours, and he is once again spilling into you when your orgasm finally explodes through you.

You don’t remember him carrying you to the bathroom, don’t remember Kun rinsing off with you in the shower, or when he carries you to bed. You remember only a brief glimpse of his cock finally going soft when he settles into bed beside you.

And you think that’s it.

The sex pollen ran its course.

You’re a little bit disappointed at that thought, truly. When you wake in the morning to pale sunlight, you check on your sleeping boyfriend, and Kun is all spread out beside you. He’s kicked away the sheets in his sleep, and although he still feels warm to the touch, his cock is soft against his thigh.

You know maybe you should feel like you had enough yesterday. The never-ending edging paired with the amount of fucking you and excessive cumming Kun had done should have satisfied you. But you were having fun. You liked Kun treating you like a cumdump.

Maybe you should go back to the Little Shop of Wonders, ask the witch for that vial of honey or maybe purchase the whole sex pollen plant.

You crawl quietly out of bed, pull on a shirt of Kun’s, and you tiptoe to the kitchen to deal with the mess from last night. Neither of you had bothered with the dishes from the stew, which are still spread out on the table. You get to work cleaning, tidying things and doing the dishes.

It’s probably for the best that Kun’s already gotten over the effects of the sex pollen, you think as you finish the dishes from last night and start making breakfast instead. Kun is supposed to work today. He’s got a deadline coming up, so he needs to get in the studio today, and he’d been complaining to you yesterday morning about a meeting he has this morning. He’s got things to do, people to see, he can’t call in sick today because he’s too busy dealing with a sex pollen crisis, though at least the people he’s working with and having meetings with are some of his closest friends; they just might understand the situation.

“Good morning,” Kun says suddenly behind you, startling you a bit, but before you can turn to him, his arms are around you, and his hard cock is against your ass. “I guess this isn’t over yet, babe.” He kisses your cheek. “I thought when I fell asleep that it must be. I’d gone soft, but I just woke up hard as I ever was yesterday.”

He thrusts against your ass.

“So I’m gonna fuck you, babe. But you keep doing what you’re doing, hm?” Kun pushes up the back of the shirt you’re wearing, revealing your ass to him. “God, you’re truly unbelievable, you know that? So fucking pretty, my babe.” And then he’s pressing in, cock pushing inside your pussy.

You brace your arms against the countertop, and you try to keep finishing the breakfast prep you’d been doing before Kun came in. The way that he’s fucking you makes that a little more difficult, but you try, and Kun seems to like that.

“Yes, babe, look at you. You’re taking it so well, letting me use you like this.” His cock twitches inside you.

It’s not easy, that’s for sure.

Your focus starts to slip when Kun pulls your hips back, angling you just right so each of his thrusts is nailing against your G spot. He’s moaning behind you, praising how sweet and tight and warm you feel around his cock. Your pussy just keeps growing wetter and wetter as he reaches up beneath your shirt to grope at your tits, as you try to keep on task even as Kun’s fucking you into delirium.

Kun cums, flooding your pussy, pressing in deep a few more times.

He steps back, and although you try to keep tight, to keep his cum in, you can feel some of it dripping out, sliding down your thigh, dropping to the floor.

Kun pats your ass, then pulls the shirt back down.

“Good girl.” He kisses your cheek again.

He sits down at the table, and a few moments later, the breakfast you were making is ready, so he pulls you into his lap to dine together.

“Kun,” you say after a while, “Don’t you have to go to the studio today? Don’t you have a meeting too?”

His erection is digging into your thigh, unable to be ignored.

“I do, and I was actually thinking about that.” He brushes his lips over your neck. “What if you come with me? This reaction isn’t going away, so I’m going to need to cum regardless of whether you’re there or not. So I could jerk off every five minutes, or you could come along and we’ll both get something out of it. What do you say?”

Twenty minutes later, you’re in the car with Kun. He’s flying down the streets.

Even though his eyes are focused on the road, his driving is worse than usual, though that almost certainly has to do with the fact that as soon as he’d pulled onto the road, he’d tangled his fingers in your hair and urged your mouth down into his lap.

You eagerly sucked at Kun’s cock, stroking him with both hands, leaving kisses along his length, drooling over the tip, choking yourself on him. Kun lays his hand on the back of your head, directing you when he really feels like he needs to. As you draw closer to the studio where Kun works as a producer, he starts taking over, pushing you down around his cock, his hips rising off the seat to drive himself deeper down your throat.

He cums right as he’s pulling into the parking garage of the studio. You clean him up as he navigates to a parking spot, and you wait patiently in the passenger seat as Kun gets out. He comes around to your side, opening the door and taking your hand like a gentleman, and he pulls you into a kiss as soon as you’re both standing outside the car.

He takes you into his studio, sitting you in his lap while he starts working, though that only works for so long. Soon he’s getting distracted by the pressing need he keeps grinding against your ass, so he has you slide to your knees beneath the mixing board. You pull up the sweater you wore, and Kun has you push your tits together around his cock, and he fucks between the softness of them, cumming across your tits and then immediately dragging your mouth around his cock.

You’re still kneeling there beneath the mixing board with your mouth full of his cock when his friend, who is also the artist he’s recording today, walks in. YangYang either doesn’t notice you down there or chooses not to say anything. You obediently keep your mouth around Kun, suckling and shifting on your knees.

YangYang chats with Kun for just a couple minutes, and then he heads into the recording booth.

Kun drags you off his cock, and you look up at him. “Babe, I really need to focus on this recording session, okay? So I’m gonna need you to take everything I give you, no whining or touching yourself, okay?”

You nod, sticking your tongue out, offering your mouth up to Kun again.

“Good girl.” Kun pushes you back down around his cock. You hear him press a button above your head, and then he says, “Alright, YangYang, go ahead.”

You bob your head on Kun’s cock, working your hardest to get him to cum for you, knowing that if he doesn’t cum, Kun’s going to be distracted. All you have to do is keep him satisfied, and then he’ll be focused.

He cums within minutes, but you keep going, and Kun tightens his fingers in your hair. You bring your hands up to his cock too, stroking him into your mouth, letting some of his cum and your spit slide down to lube the way. You’re making a mess of him; his cum leaking out of your mouth is pooling on the front of his pants, but you can’t help it. You’re swallowing around him, swallowing the first load of cum, but before long he’s cumming again, letting out a grunt as you choke around his cock.

“Dude, you good?” YangYang asks from inside the booth.

“Fine. Try that verse again.”

Kun’s hand weighs down against the back of your head, pushing you all the way down around his cock, and you close your eyes, letting him do it. You sink into some kind of state where you’re not asleep, but you’re not fully conscious either. All you know is the weight of Kun’s cock on your tongue, the taste of his cum, the smell of him as your nose is buried at the base of his cock. You can hear his voice, but he could be talking to you or a whole crowd of people, and you wouldn’t know the difference.

Eventually, Kun lets you up again, tugging lightly on your hair.

You gag as you’re pulled off of him, coughing and gasping for breath. Kun’s cum drips from your lips and chin.

“Are you okay?” Kun asks when he takes one look at the dazed expression on your face. “Babe, are you good to continue.”

You nod, feeling your lips form a loose smile.

Kun brings his hand up, wiping at your cheeks and chin and lips. His fingers are gentle beneath your chin as he brings you forward into a kiss. His lips leave yours, brushing over your forehead.

“We’re done with this for now.” He helps you the rest of the way to your feet. “You’re too far gone, you can’t even speak to me right now. If you could see the look on your face right now, my love, you would understand. Don’t pout.” You didn’t realize you were until Kun said that, and you try to tame your expression. He smiles, leading you over to the sofa along the back wall. “Take a nap. You’re amazing, and I love you, and once this all wears off, I owe you something huge.”

You hum, sinking down onto the sofa, laying your head down, and immediately you can feel a tired pull.

Kun strokes his hand over your head, kisses your forehead one more time, and you’re asleep before he walks away.

- - -

You sleep it off there on the sofa, waking hours later to go home with Kun.

He fucks you senseless a few more times that night at home, and when you wake the next morning you stay in bed with him, waiting for him to wake, waiting for him to need to fuck you again, to let you suck his cock again even though you’re pretty sure at this point, your throat is permanently molded to the shape of Kun’s cock.

But when he wakes, Kun just pulls you against his chest. His cock doesn’t grow hard. He just sighs and holds you close, and you’re actually perfectly content with that change of pace too.

But a few days later, as you’re heading home from work, you get the thought into your head to return to the Little Shop of Wonders, to see if that witchy woman will sell you a vial of that sex honey.

The pollen had been a lot. Your body is still aching days later, and Kun swears his balls are sore from how much he came in such a short span of time. But you’ve both agreed that maybe the honey would be nice to have – a less intense version of that that lasts only a few hours wouldn’t be bad to experience from time to time.

You walk down the side street you’d passed down just a few days ago, and you search the shopfronts for the window displays filled with crystals and viney plants, for the recessed doorway with the brass lantern and the ancient-looking wooden door.

But you pass up and down that street three times, checking each shop before you finally give up. It’s not here. It’s as if the Little Shop of Wonders was never here at all, but you know you couldn’t have imagined it.

Weeks pass, you forget about it, too swept up in the holiday season closing in around you. Christmas is just days away, winter staking her claim over the city with a snowstorm blowing in this afternoon, ruining your plans to go shopping for Kun a Christmas present and a birthday present, since that’s a week later.

You’re hurrying home from work, bundled up against the chill, thinking about what you can get Kun that he’ll truly appreciate.

And then, from the corner of your eye through the swirling snow, you see a gleam of bronze. You turn your head.

A brass lamp.

A wooden door.

Large plate glass windows frosted over, but not entirely concealing the displays of crystals and books and a wreath of candles and symbols.

A new wooden sign creaks above the door, blowing back and forth in the wind.

The Little Shop of Wonders sits waiting, promising the perfect present for Kun.

a/n: I could've gone on and on with this one honestly! I was going to write a few more scenes, but it's getting late and I really need to post this.

I hope you enjoyed! Reblogs are deserving of my eternal gratitude, likes are greatly appreciated, and your thoughts and comments are always welcome !

#nct smut #nct #wayv #wayv smut #kun #kun smut #qian kun #qian kun smut

146 notes · View notes

soscarlett1twas · 2 months ago

Text

Caleana

↳ Earis and Zaros confess to eachother. ↳ 3k words / also available on ao3! ↳ Content warning for mentions of alcoholism and aphobia (?)

Serulla’s new dawn was not painted in hues of red, orange, or even pink; Instead banners of green unfurled, replacing their old midnight blue, and the kingdom’s crown rested on a new dynasty’s head. The Atha’lin family had won.

Zaros had won.

And you were left in the shadows of a fleeting night.

You could hear the whispers of those who passed you: How pathetic you were for lingering past your welcome. No matter tonight was the first official marker of Atha’lin rule. You were expected to be forsaken, gone before light of the new era hit you. In all honesty, you had expected that as well.

The Ilves earis had little intent on watching the parade of their mistakes. But you found freedoms in no longer being such, no longer the ‘Ilves earis.’ One of which was being able to more fragrantly disregard social conventions. So for one more night, you stayed.

Yet you clung to recesses of the atrium. They were celebrating renewal, but you couldn’t help but feel like they were praising the soon-to-be absence of you. A pit plagued your stomach.

It didn’t help that lime clung to your throat like a paste. It wasn’t an unfamiliar flavor, like the chocolate which also accompanied the western delegates, but it was strangely heavy. A film coated your mouth from the drink – it was unlike any lemonade you’d had before, similarly spiked or otherwise.

You turned your straw, clinking the glass against the cup.

It was strange to be pushed aside. Before, all attention gravitated towards you whether you liked it or not. Light had caught your jewelry into spun gold, a threaded trap for roaming eyes. You were sought and coveted. Single conversations could change social dynamics for months.

And now you were dust, a relic of the bygone. Serulla’s nobles changed their minds quickly, and the karmic weight of that punishment fell heavy. The Atha’lin’s suffered it. Now it was the Ilves’ turn.

Though, there was one benefit to the isolation: romance. Your hand no longer held some great diplomatic importance, and your once-potential suitors fell to the same disinterest of you that you once had for them.

Good riddance.

You took a swig of your drink, disregarding the straw. You still couldn’t tell if you liked it.

As if on cue, the music swelled. Still, nobody danced, idle chatter filling the space where shuffling footsteps might. Two women passed you, arms linked together. One caught a glimpse of you and sneered to her wife.

Maybe it was best to get some fresh air.

You turned away, taking long strides to one of the atrium's many exits. Your hand found a pillar and you curved around it, swinging you into a dimly lit hallway.

You did not need light to navigate. This was your home. For twenty-odd years, you roamed these palace hallways with confidence now unknown to you, a sense of belonging which you never expected to lose. Its towering architecture never frightened you. The ghosts of family members past never haunted you. You were the earis, and everything would be yours one day.

As a child, that ‘one day’ felt like it would never come. Even then you knew it never would, an intuitive sense always imploring that you weren’t meant for the royal life, not meant to be earis.

Your stroll slowed as you took a short stairwell up into an upper-level cloister which overlooked the sprawling gardens. Thick marble pillars held the roof, encrusted with gold and painted in seemingly a million hues. There were no windows – latticework filled the space between pillars, creating an array of shapes for moonlight to pool in across the floor.

You placed your half-drunken lemonade on the banister and walked towards one of the arches, leaning against its, rather thick, sill.

This was an older part of the palace. Early rulers from the Faysel house commissioned the wing, along with the expansive atrium below, to show off their riches. You supposed it worked, though came off as… outdated nearly six-hundred years later.

I suppose we’re both history now, you thought, running a hand along the stone.

What wasn’t old, and in fact had to be quite new, were the flowers. A flowerbed was situated snugly between the lattice and sill, seemingly never in use before today. Strange blooms perked up through the soil. They almost looked like birds.

You squinted to get a better view.

“Admiring the flying duck orchids,” a familiar voice asked. You turned.

Zaros Kymen Atha’lin stood paces away from you. He stood tall in his favored kameez, and if it weren’t for the time you spent together in the Trials, that smirk may have intimidated you. His blonde hair draped across his back with perfectly symmetrical strands pulled to the front. You had always been (quietly) jealous of his grooming – though tonight, your attentions were pulled to the diadem around his forehead. Lattice patterns danced across his skin as he moved to stand beside you, elbows resting on the sill. He used two fingers to prop up one of the flowers.

When right beside you, even in darkness, you could tell how much he was improving. His eyes held a spark they didn’t before, not when he was at the bottom of a bottle every night. Slowly but surely, he was waning off. Something akin to pride tightened your heart.

“They’re reliant on a fungus. It’s not native to Serulla, however. These were specially imported for the sake of,” his free hand waved, “all this. How special am I?”

You huffed. “Well of course, dear Eminence, you are very special.”

“Thank you, thank you. A shame, though. They’ll wither soon.” You glanced at him, his attentions fully on the plum bird. “They don’t belong here.”

“Some things don’t.”

He glanced over at you, painfully aware of your intentions to leave after tonight.

A moment passed in near-silence, the distant yet cheerful whistle of music lofting up to you. They must have started dancing.

“Why aren’t you down there?” You asked faintly.

“May I not say goodbye?”

“You may.”

Zaros shifted to face you, though you held your gaze on the duck orchids. The petals were almost velvety under your touch. “I wish I didn’t have too.”

“You must.” You sighed and dropped the flower, turning to him. “There’s no other choice. And quite frankly, its my own – I’ve long made peace with it.”

“But you made it out of necessity, didn’t you.” Something in Zaros’ gaze softened, turning almost intimate.

“That’s how we all make choices, don’t pretend like either of us have an abundance of free will. You didn’t join the Trials because you wanted to. Still, look how that ended up.” You didn’t mean for the last part to sound so bitter.

“No, I didn’t. And I prayed I would be given some other option.”

“Don’t we all.”

From your peripheral, you saw him smile.

You registered the texture of silk first. Zaros’ hand graced your jaw, ever-so-lightly, sending bumps along your arms. He didn’t even need to shift you. You looked back at him immediately.

“But I think I can give you one.”

“What are you saying, Zaros?”

He sounded breathless as he responded: “Rule with me.”

Your heartbeat stopped and quickened simultaneously, and something in you ran cold. The pit in your stomach seemed to curdle. Zaros long had ideals of a future you’d likely never witness, but this? This was talk of a madman.

Unwittingly, your cheeks doused in warmth.

“Zaros…” You began.

“Think of it,” his voice low and hopeful. “A solution for both of us. You’re able to stay in Serulla, and I’m spared of a life without you.” His touch snaked down to your wrist. His lips grazed your knuckles.

It did not dawn on you that this gesture was meant to be anything but horrific.

Zaros – an old rival, an older friend, your first tryst. Your only tryst. He enlightened you rarely with his words, though often with actions. And the monumental gift he had given you was clarity. Through your attempt at loving him did you realize it was impossible. You were not meant for romance.

And here he was, in all Zaros fashion, ready to break you back down.

He lifted his other hand to cup yours, which had begun to perspire profusely. “Stay, with me.”

“The politics, they’d never allow it—” You were not sure who ‘they’ were, but were willing to invoke anything to shoot this idea down.

“I’m the Eminence. I don’t think anyone has much sway over me,” he chuckled. His expression was dazed.

“What were the Trials for, then?” You muttered. “There can only be one.”

“Don’t you think this could ease us into a new era? Society isn’t going to adapt to Atha’lin rule so easily. Not after decades of rumors. A union of the old and new – Ilves and Atha’lin – could be just the solution.” He was close. You could feel his breath.

“Though, I admit, it is not the reason I ask,” he added playfully. “I’ve never chased the feeling of love. So of course, right when I do want something, it appears. Before I couldn’t imagine a life with you in it, not after our initial falling out. Now I can’t imagine one without you, where we both toil for Serulla, together. I admit, you were the one thing that made it bearable.”

There was a deep-set disturbance within you. It racked your entire body in a profound hollowness, as if you had no skeleton, no organs. You could tell him to back away. You could yell, as you did so often in the past. But this was different. This was a Zaros reborn in what he cited to be your love, not a schoolyard bully or political adversary. He could have nothing to do with you anymore.

But he was here, pouring his deepest confession into a request.

Your hand in marriage.

And you could think of no fate worse.

When you failed to respond, he went on. “I understand your hesitancy,” he murmured and knelt before you. “But earis, my dear earis, the lifetime we spent without each other was our darkest. I haven’t forgotten those late-night discussions.”

Sleep-deprived and bored of studying, the two of you had taken to revealing secrets in the library’s candlelight. Both of you uttered things never once said aloud. Admissions of alcoholism among them.

You also had done things never spoken of again.

The kiss flooded back to you – it was reckless, but as you watched Zaros that one evening, you felt your resolve slip. Maybe you weren’t so hopeless. Maybe romance could be in your future, ironically with the man who’d once convinced you otherwise.

But when your lips had met, it came rushing back to you. The revulsion, not with him, but the act, its implications…

That must have been what convinced Zaros to do this, you realized. You’d tricked him with your own fickle desire.

And your horror slipped into an intoxicating guilt.

“We did it once, do you remember? We could try again. It’s a familiar dance, we just need to follow the steps.”

“We were kids.” You broke on the last word.

Drawling realization dawned on Zaros’ expression as he understood this bashfulness was not a byproduct of flattery.

An eon stretched between you.

Eventually, “I’m sorry, Zaros, but no.” It was barely above a whisper.

When you mustered up the strength to look at him fully, the unravelment stunned you. Gone was the pristine, newly-crowned Eminence, and in his place was a heaving shadow of a man. His throat and chest bobbed to unsteady rhythms. His hair, fraying from their pinpoints.

Gone was the lovesick bleary-eyed king who dreamed again beyond his gardens and politics. You did not know who had replaced him, only that this mask of Zaros’ was one unique to this very moment – one of unadulterated heartbreak, so crushing you almost heard his paper heart crumble.

Now was your turn to take the lead.

“It was never you,” you said delicately, if only because your voice was hoarse enough. “If it were anyone, it would be you. But it’ll never be anyone.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand.”

“I don’t really either.” You exhaled, a mockery of laughter. “But I know it to be true.”

You took a steadying breath.

“It felt treasonous to admit that before, but I’m no longer expected to be the next link in my family. Even now, you call me ‘earis’ — it is all I’ve been designed to be. And what is a dynasty meant if it cannot be continued?”

You shook, grappling for the windowsill.

“That expectation, the need to marry was suffocating. I know you’ve felt it, even for someone who’s not only capable of experiencing it, but has. How do you think I felt, unable to? I thought I was nothing.”

‘Nothing’ was an apt word, but far from encompassing. It did not express the loneliness, of watching the world turn to synchronized heartbeats, your own just paces too slow. It did not express the fear of still be propagated up to suitors, your skin crawling in disgust at the idea of actually pursuing their offers. It did not express the guilt to your mother, but even you could barely articulate that.

“Being earis warped my perception of life in many ways. You were the first to call it out. But what you never saw was how I distorted countless emotions into what I thought was ‘love.’ You only suffered from it. I’m sorry, Zaros. I am. For what it’s worth, I thought I did love you. And you’re the only person who made me second guess myself. Because, in truth, I do love you.”

You gently took him by the shoulders, making you face each other fully.

The silence echoed. Static ringing in your ears died down, and you realized just how close you were to tears — hot and pitiful, welled up, ready to eternally shatter your attempt at civility.

You swallowed. For years you’ve lived with a lie in your heart, plastered to your expressions as you feigned flattery and blushes. What was one more conversation? You could hold it together.

But your voice came out pathetic, and you realized that with the denouncement of your title and life, one you swore you hated, your gift mimicry fled you as well. “Just… not in the way you want me to.”

Zaros scanned your face, brows pushed to an expectant furrow. You lowered your gaze.

“You are my closest friend. You alone understand me, understand the Trials, understand everything. I would not have told you any of this if it weren’t for my deep, abiding love for you — but it is not romantic.”

Your breath hitched.

“You are a brother to me. The world whispers about how the Atha’lins may have taken my first, but in truth, they gave me the only one I’ve ever known.“

Your hand relaxed on his sleeve, though the other looped down to grip his forearm.

“Just please,” your voice breaking, “don’t hate me again.”

And in some act of cosmic irony, you finally let him go.

A cool breeze wafted into the hallway. The open lattice chilled, night having fully set in. Even the moonlight seemed to sharpen as its pallor against the flooring turned to a silver. The world had come to a bleary fuzz.

It wasn’t until Zaros spoke that it resharpened.

“I’m nobodies replacement,” he said.

What?

“Mourn however you like, but don’t bring me into it. I never made you out to be my grandmother.”

“Zaros that’s not what I—“

“Don’t.” He raised a gloved hand. Lines stressed his face, and a quiver you’d never seen before attacked his bottom lip. He didn’t look at you.

You didn’t know what to say, how to rebuttal.

“You could’ve just said ‘no’.” His voice broke on the syllable. It took you a moment to process: Zaros Atha’lin, crying before you. “You don’t have to lie.”

You opened your mouth.

“But instead, you still insist on humiliating me – is that the only thing you know how to love?” He reared to look at you. Bitterness poisoned every word that dripped from his mouth. “You’ve lead me on for how many years!?”

“I didn’t know!” You practically screamed it, voice cracking as all restraint left you. “And I’m sorry, Zaros, I am – I never meant to hurt you.”

“But you did, that’s all you’re good for! Taking and taking and taking… some Eminence you would’ve been.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I can believe I,” he kept stuttering over his words, “I diluted myself into believing you would ever change. That you’d ever be worth my time.”

“Is this… are you fucking serious?” Your nails bit into your palms. “Was that all I was to you, some affair? Can you really not believe in us being friends again like you could me swooning for you?”

“I never thought of you as an affair! I wanted us to be together—”

“Well that’s what I want, too! I wanted my best friend back—”

“You want your brother back.” “No! I want you!”

Both of you panted, baring into one another. You realized you kept saying the wrong things. Each time you bordered on what could be a confession, a small spark lit in his eyes.

He was egging you on. If he couldn’t get it his way, he’d find another way for his sick satisfactions.

Leech bastard.

Just as you were about to retaliate once more, Zaros stiffened, as if reading your mind.

“You were right about once thing. There can only be one.” He sounded like he was puking the words up, unwanted but spilled nonetheless. His expression was far more violent. “And for Serulla’s sake, lets be glad it was me.”

He turned away, feet pounding against the floor.

When he reached the stairwell, you saw his figure pick up your cup left on the banister. You looked away before you could see him drink from it.

#sakuverse #zsakuva #zsakuva zaros #zaros atha’lin #aromantic!earis #divider by cafekitsune

99 notes · View notes

sw5w · 10 months ago

Text

The Situation Has Become Much More Complicated

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:21:56

#Star Wars #Episode I #The Phantom Menace #Coruscant #Galactic City #Federal District #Naboo Royal Starship #navigation light recess #Qui-Gon Jinn #Jedi tunic #unidentified airbus #Jedi robe #repulsorlift landing platform #Supreme Chancellor Finis Valorum

1 note · View note

stayxlix · 11 months ago

Text

off the deep end. (07)

~(part seven) the last nail in a shared coffin~

pairing: rebel!felix x reader (f)

genre: non-idol au, post-apocalypse/dystopian au. wc: 20.6k

series rating: 18+ **minors do not interact**

chapter warnings: violent mature themes, explicit sexual content (consensual, unprotected sex, oral sex), nightmares, mentions of murder/death, mentions of parent death, mentions of hunger, oppressive government, fighting, weaponry (knife use, gun use), panic, injury, blood, language, a whole lot lot of angst, please lmk if i missed any!!

a/n: thank you all so much for your patience and continued support, it really does mean the world to mee.<3 any feedback, likes, comments, and reblogs are more appreciated than you know. im so excited to share the next part of this journey with you!! as always, i hope you enjoy.♡♡

series masterlist

"fear and love are like interwoven threads—immutable and bound together by celestial forces. the sun and moon navigate the intricate dance of light and darkness for eternity, echoing the delicate balance between the two emotions that every heart must learn."

Felix had always been able to divide fear into two distinct entities.

The first was immediate, tangible. The kind of fear he’d grown accustomed to like an old, unwelcome acquaintance. The kind that crept beneath his skin when he could no longer ignore hunger’s gnawing ache. When he observed the hollow eyes of his companions after scouring the barren landscape, only to return empty-handed. It was the frigid air that seeped into his bones during long winter nights, the kind that set his pulse racing when footsteps echoed too closely in the darkness.

The second was deeper, a phantom kind of fear that stained the recesses of his soul. It was a desperate gasp for air in the suffocating grip of hands that devoured the weak. The cool touch of a steel barrel against skin that bore the marks of a merciless world. It was fear in the phantom weight of invisible chains that had once coiled around his neck—chains wielded by demons from a past that clawed relentlessly at the barriers of his sanity.

It was the dread that he would wake up one morning to discover a void where seven—no, eight souls had once stood beside him. To find his humanity stripped away again, replaced by the savage instincts he had fought so hard to overcome.

The kind of fear that crept into his dreams belonged to the second category.

Nearly six hours had slipped away since the first glimmer of morning light, when you had woken Felix from the nightmare.

"Felix,” your voice—your real voice—not the distorted echo from his nightmare, had called out. Clear and reassuring, summoning him from the depths of his own subconscious.

“Felix, wake up. You’re dreaming.”

His eyelids shot open, pupils dilating wildly as they struggled to adjust. A sharp gasp pierced the stillness as his body surged forward. Disoriented, his hands instinctively sought you out as he struggled to untangle the threads of the nightmare from reality.

"It's okay,” you whispered, fingers gently gripping his shoulder, "you're safe."

You’re safe, you'd said. And those words, while meant to comfort him, had almost caused Felix to laugh, at the absurdity of the idea that he could ever be tormented by a nightmare involving his own harm.

His head lifted, glossy eyes still clouded with the remnants of fear. Yet, relief began to glimmer within their depths. Because your lips were not stained red, there was no blood-soaked knife clutched in his hand, no imaginary blade pierced through your chest.

Felix drew in a shuddering breath, reality slowly stitching itself back together. Piece by piece, thread by thread.

You watched him closely, concern dancing in your eyes as you tried to grasp the torment of whatever horrors he had witnessed in his sleep. And then you’d sighed, heavy with affection and a touch of sadness, before shifting closer.

Your arms enveloped his shoulders and, to his own surprise, Felix didn't resist your touch—though maybe he should have, given what his subconscious had just inflicted upon you. But he couldn’t find the strength to keep his arms from making their way around you in return.

His head dropped to your shoulder, the tension in his muscles easing. Warm touch met cold, trembling skin. The physical contact was grounding—you were grounding. A lifeline anchoring Felix to the reality he so desperately needed to return to.

He strained to listen until the steady rhythm of your heart found his ear. In the stillness, the sound grew and grew until it was the only thing he heard. Every beat was proof that you were real, breathing and alive. But as the moments stretched Felix began to fear that it might slow, that every beat might be the last before an eternity of silence, that he would look up to find a dagger buried in it once again and—

The air in his lungs became thin, his grip tightened, fingers digging into your back. “I couldn’t do anything," his voice rumbled low, muffled by the fabric of your shoulder. And he didn't even know what he was saying but the words had come out trembling. As if the nightmare had lodged itself in his throat, constricting his vocal cords.

“It’s okay,” you hushed, your lips grazing his ear in a soft caress. “It’s just a dream, it can't hurt you."

But it's not about me, he thought. It's not about me, it's never been about me. But it remained a silent confession. Because he could not bring himself to tell you the real reason the nightmare had left him so shaken. A quiet truth that hung heavily in the air, tethered to the gruesome image of you that still clung to his mind.

With a gentle tug, you encouraged him to join you in lying back down. Felix hesitated, his gaze falling toward the cave’s entrance—a reminder of the harsh reality waiting outside. But you cupped his cheek and, with a tender smile and the quiet utterance of his name, convinced him to stay.

Your bodies melded together against the uneven contours of the cave floor. Your fingers threaded through his disheveled hair, tracing the curve of his scalp with each gentle stroke. Another hour might have unfolded as you clung to each other in silence, but it never would have been enough. Time slipped away, ignoring Felix's silent plea for it to slow.

When the rest of the boys began to stir, you shared a hesitant glance. Despite his obvious reluctance for you to withdraw, slowly, gradually, you did. Your fingers left Felix’s hair and his hands slid away from your back. He let you go, eyes following your retreat, and the ache in his chest returned at full force.

As you reclaimed your original spot a few feet away, you stretched, covering a yawn. Your casual expression revealed nothing of the profound moment—the profound night—you had shared with Felix. A night of stolen intimacy, waiting to resurface again in the quiet moments when the world turned its back.

As he drove the motorcycle, squinting against the pale brightness, Felix used the sun’s position in the sky to track the passage of time.

Early afternoon, he figured. Maybe eight hours now since the group had abandoned the safety of the cave. And despite the solace he’d found in your touch that morning, a growing shadow of guilt threatened to consume his mind.

With every hour, the weight of the nightmare's horrors slowly eased, though they never fully vanished. Every time he dared to close his eyes, that agonizing image of you returned—a cruel reminder of the violence he had once been capable of.

The violence that he was still capable of.

Felix had always recognized his nightmares as a manifestation of his deepest guilt. They had always been sinister—disturbing, and yet, this particular nightmare was unlike any he had faced before. Because he wasn't afraid for himself, he'd never been. But he was terrified for you. Of what he might be capable of doing to you.

Even if Felix knew deep down that he could never intentionally hurt you, there was that persistent voice in his head reminding him of every mistake he'd made, every violent impulse he'd ever had.

His fingers flexed on the motorcycle, feeling as though the handlebars would slip through his grasp at any moment. He squeezed until his knuckled turned white, trying to hold on to some semblance of control. Because Felix was acutely aware of his capacity to lose control. Giving in to that dormant beast lingering just below the surface.

As the nightmare replayed in his mind, Felix couldn’t help but wonder if it had also been a consequence of what he’d said to you that night in the tavern—that you would already be dead if he'd had things his way. Such a careless thing to say considering that, even if he hadn’t known it then, his affection for you had existed in those early moments too.

With every jolt of the motorcycle, Felix fought the nausea that settled in his empty stomach. Caught somewhere between the past and the present, the sensation of your arms around his waist served as a physical reminder of how far he'd come since that conversation. How he'd transformed from someone potentially willing to end your life, to someone committed to protecting it at all costs.

Felix killed the engine and dismounted the bike, muscles rigid from hours of tension. Late afternoon now. Half a day had gone by when the group unanimously agreed that it was time for a break.

As he refueled the bike, its exhaust pipes still crackling with heat, he wondered how long he and Chan were going to ignore the diminishing weight of the fuel containers. But the thought was quickly drowned out by Minho and Changbin—bickering over the now unfolded map.

Felix tuned them out, making note of the way you lingered by his side. He sensed the silent inquiry in your eyes, seeking reassurance about his well-being after this morning’s ordeal. But now wasn’t the place or the time to talk about the nightmare. It was still too heavy, too raw, and to be honest Felix wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to find the words to articulate it all.

He didn’t even know where to start.

So, despite the solace he found in the quiet strength you exuded, Felix distanced himself from your side. He sought out a flat rock, its cool surface soothing against the back of his neck as he reclined. The setting sun caressed his face, and if he had summoned the courage to close his eyes completely, he thought he might have been able to envision himself back on the rooftop. To the moment Chan had first revealed the plan for the raid—a memory bathed in similar sunlight, when the breeze had carried the scent of a world that felt unrecognizable now.

Felix allowed himself to wonder, only briefly, if he should long for the simplicity of that memory. At a time when he hadn’t felt much of anything at all aside from his love for the seven boys around him. But even that, he had done his best to dull. The numbness had been a shield, but it was a defense he no longer seemed to possess. Because now, every gust of wind seemed to carry the whisper of your name. The moon, a constant observer of his fondest memories and reflections, couldn't even come close to the comfort he found in your embrace. Even the warmth of the sun on his skin could never compare to your touch. Feelings he couldn’t begin to comprehend had taken place of that numbness, battling the darkness that had lingered for far too long.

With a slight tilt of his head, Felix cast a subtle glance in your direction. He found you seated next to Seungmin a short distance away, and he wondered whether you were truly managing the way you’d claimed you were last night. Maybe it was the weariness displayed in the lines of your face, the slight downturn of your lips, the way your shoulders always seemed to carry an invisible weight—things that didn't escape his notice because he understood them all too well.

Because Felix was beginning to understand you too well, maybe.

After discovering your identity the night of the raid, Felix had done everything he could to convince himself that you were just the daughter of a monster—a pawn in a cruel game. But despite his best efforts, he could never bring himself to see you that way. He'd failed miserably at hating you, he couldn’t even dislike you, and what terrified him most was not just the acknowledgment of his potential to love you, but the possibility that maybe he always had. From the very beginning. From that fateful moment in the alley when your paths had crossed, and your lips had met, and you’d saved his life for the first time.

Of course, he hadn’t known who you were then, he’d had no clue what you might be running from, but he saw the desire to escape it in your eyes. Almost leading Felix to believe that if he'd extended his hand and whispered for you to come with him that night, you would have said yes.

Somewhere nearby, the argument between Minho and Changbin dissipated, fizzling out under the weight of exhaustion or hunger, or the recent encounter with your father's guards—undoubtedly still on everyone's minds.

Felix couldn't help the way his ears perked up when Seungmin filled the silence by engaging you in a conversation about archery, debating the finer points of how to hold a bow. Seungmin—who’d always had a very particular knack for reading the group's dynamics. Whose trust in you was something that hadn't gone unnoticed by Felix, either.

As he immersed himself in the melody of your voice and the subtle accent woven into your speech—how you pronounced words like Minho once had in those first few months after he'd joined the group—Felix allowed his heavy eyes to drift shut.

Even if he'd always been skeptical of it, Felix suddenly found himself clinging to the hope that Chan so fervently believed in—the fragile hope for a better world. And if it really did exist, then he would do anything in his power to make sure you would be there to see it.

He couldn't pinpoint exactly when it had happened—maybe he would try to figure it out some day if he lived long enough—but all he knew for certain was that somewhere along the way, the mere thought of you experiencing harm had become more terrifying to Felix than any of the horrors that had marred his own existence.

And so, he resolved to protect you from the brutality of your world, from the looming threat of the war against your father, and, most importantly, from the darkness that still dwelled within himself.

With a grin, you held the bow aloft. “See? It's all about the grip. If you don't hold it just right, your aim will be completely off."

Seungmin—who you'd quickly come to realize was never one to back down from a challenge—shook his head, streaks of chestnut in his hair catching the sunlight. Rising to his feet, he extended an arm.

“I get that you’ve had official lessons, but you’re missing the point. It's all about intuition and feeling the shot,” he continued as you handed him the bow. “You can have the perfect hold on it any day but if you don't connect with it on a deeper level, you'll never hit the mark.” He mimicked drawing an invisible arrow from the string to emphasize his point.

Intrigued by your banter, Changbin strolled over with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I don't know, I think it’s more about the stance," with a nudge, he disrupted Seungmin's balance, causing him to stumble. Changbin reached for the bow, and a smile tugged at your lips as the two began to fight over it.

A gentle breeze swept over you, carrying with it the faintest hint of distant pine, and your attention was immediately drawn away.

A few strides to your left, Felix lay reclined with his hands resting comfortably behind his head. His eyes were closed, raven-dark locks absorbing the sunlight. To anyone who didn't know the circumstances, he would have appeared content. To anyone who didn’t know Felix, he might have appeared relaxed, even.

Yet, you wondered what might be taking place beneath that calm exterior.

Felix had felt unusually distant since that morning. His glazed-over eyes seemed to wander endlessly, in every direction but to you. Something had claimed his thoughts, and you could only hope that whatever it was had nothing to do with the torture that had unfolded in his past.

You watched as he ran a hand through his hair—a habitual gesture for the boy with the freckles and the stars in his eyes. The boy with a narrative of scars on his back and a tapestry of secrets in his soul. Secrets you feared you wouldn't have enough time with him to uncover.

The muscles in his forearms flexed as he sat up, fingertips trailing across the stone beneath them. The memory of those fingers on your skin from the night before sent a tingle down your spine, igniting that familiar heat between your legs..

A small pebble came tumbling down the hillside behind you, landing gently on your outstretched hand. Startled, you glanced over your shoulder to find Minho and Jisung making their way back down the rocky incline. "Nothing as far as we can see," Minho reported.

The absence of your father's guards on the other side offered a momentary respite, but it was a fleeting moment of safety that you were well aware wouldn't last forever.

“Nothing for now," Jisung added, meeting your eyes as if he had tuned into your thoughts.

"We should keep moving," Chan appeared at your side, taking in the surroundings. "The longer we stay in one place, the more vulnerable we become."

Sure..unless the path ahead leads to an even greater danger.

Unless your father was paranoid enough to figure out where you were headed.

If he'd sent guards after you on a more direct route, you wondered if they might make it to Miroh before you. The thought of them lying in wait in anticipation of your arrival stirred up a new, particularly unsettling, concern. But when Chan turned his focus to you, you responded with a firm nod, tucking away your fears to discuss with him later.

The days were waning, leaving you to realize that summer had quietly begun to slip away. It didn’t take long for the sun to complete its descent below the jagged horizon, plunging the world into shadows once more.

The scattered rock formations took on menacing shapes—their outlines frequently obscured by passing clouds above. Under the veil of darkness, each turn of the wheels became a gamble, increasing the chances of veering off course or stumbling upon unforeseen obstacles.

Amidst the growing danger, Chan's voice cut through the rhythmic hum of the motorcycle as he called for Felix to slow down.

Felix, however, seemed determined to press forward. His muscles tensed, ignoring Chan's plea as the engine roared defiantly. And you had a feeling it wasn't just the desire to reach your destination that drove him, but a reluctance to stop and rest.

To sleep, perhaps.

"Felix,” you urged, leaning in, "it isn’t safe.”

A sudden acceleration of the bike was his only response. It surged forward as if he were trying to outpace not just your words, but the night itself.

You squeezed his waist, a silent plea for him to listen. "Lix—"

In a single, decisive motion, Felix abruptly yanked the motorcycle to the side of the rugged path. With wide eyes, you watched as he stepped down, his movements reflecting restless energy. As the dust settled, he deliberately avoided meeting your eyes, turning his focus to the rover as it pulled up beside you.

"I'll take first watch," he declared, boots crunching on loose rocks as he left your side.

You’d intended to follow him but Hyunjin was quicker. He leaped down from the rover before it’d even slowed to a stop, darting ahead to catch up with Felix.

You watched as they approached the edge of a cliff that lie straight ahead from where you stood. A frown tugged at your lips as your mind went to the twin rings they wore.

I've known Felix a lot longer than you.

As you considered the unspoken dynamic between them, whatever the hell it might be, a shadow fell over the periphery of your vision.

Jisung slipped beside you, his eyes flitting from you to the two figures now seated at the edge of the cliff.

"I spoke with him earlier," you said, eyes tethered to the outline of Hyunjin’s back. "It didn't exactly go well."

"Sometimes Felix gets like this—"

"Not Felix."

"Oh.." Jisung sighed with understanding, following your gaze to Hyunjin. "Hyunjin is protective, especially when it comes to Felix. It's been a long time since someone new joined our group, and considering your.."

"My background.."

"Yeah..that," Jisung mumbled, raking a hand through his hair. “There's history between those two, but it's mostly things that happened before I found my place in the group."

"When did you join the group, Ji?" you turned to face him, dragging your eyes away from whatever was unfolding at the cliff.

Jisung shrugged. "That is a story for another time," he said, flashing his signature grin. "Promise."

You surveyed him for a moment, sensing layers and layers of depth behind his carefree demeanor. His eyes held a narrative waiting to be told, but it was a chapter he wasn't yet ready to reveal. "I'm holding you to it," you replied, and Jisung's smile grew a little wider.

Devoid of any trees or significant cover, the wind howled through the surrounding space, sweeping up from below the cliff where Hyunjin and Felix remained. An exposed campsite meant that, to avoid the risk of drawing unwanted attention, there would be no warmth from a fire tonight. And so, the blankets were spread in a circle on the cold, uneven ground. Pulled close together for warmth.

You settled in, rummaging through your nearly empty backpack, picking at your nails, brushing the dust from your pants over and over again—anything you could to keep your eyes from straying back to the cliff.

Chan claimed the space to your right, handing over a portion of stale bread that was noticeably smaller than usual—a clear indication of your dwindling supplies. But you accepted with a grateful smile nonetheless, pushing down another concern to discuss with him later.

Too much later though, and you may need to start a list.

Unlike the night before, when adrenaline after the chase from your father's guards had fueled the sharing of memories, tonight carried something different. Animated exchanges had been replaced by contemplative silence as the boys seemed lost in their own thoughts behind heavy-lidded eyes. The exhaustion that had been building throughout the day had finally caught up with them, it seemed. And you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel it too.

Your head lifted a bit too eagerly to be discreet when the sound of approaching footsteps reached your ears. A spark of anticipation flickered within you, only to be extinguished as your eyes landed on Hyunjin.

Hyunjin settled down on Chan's other side, their words too hushed for you to catch the details. Slowly, their whispers melted away, a seamless transition from hushed dialogue to the ambiance of rustling blankets and the occasional creaking of the rover.

Your gaze wandered skyward where the stars blinked in and out of view. You watched them for a while, chewing on your bottom lip as you tried to pick out constellations Jisoo had once taught you the names of. Names you had long forgotten, not that it mattered now. Tears pricked at your eyes at the thought of your former best friend, but you didn’t let them fall.

Shifting on your side, you cast a glance at the solitary figure that remained unmoving at the cliff's edge. Moonlight painted his frame in pale shades of silver as he overlooked the expanse below.

The rational part of your mind whispered that you should let him be.

Chan’s body heat would keep you comfortable enough to fall asleep, no doubt about that. And to your other side, Jisung's familiar presence offered an added measure of comfort.

But it was your name Felix had called in his sleep that morning.

And your heart that had a tendency to rebel against the logic in your mind.

You sat up, mindful not to disturb the sleeping figures around you. The water canteen felt light in your hand as you retrieved it from your bag, quietly making your way to where Felix sat. His head turned in acknowledgment as you approached, and although his expression remained guarded, he shifted to make room for you on the beside him on the rocky outcrop.

It gets easier with time.

If this was easier than you didn’t want to know what it had been like for him before.

“You should rest. We're safe tonight,” you said through chattering teeth as the frigid earth seeped through the fabric of your clothes.

Daring a cautious glance over the edge of the cliff, the world seemed to disappear. Swallowed by a pitch-black void, the perilous drop was only discernible thanks to scattered dots of flickering light below—tiny beacons of firelight.

Felix shifted, dangling his legs over the edge. “Any one of those fires down there could belong to them."

Them.

The mention of your father's guards stirred up that uneasy feeling in your stomach. Their pursuit would be relentless, safety tonight would never guarantee safety tomorrow. But as you looked to Felix, you knew there was more to it than that. Something had changed since that morning. The distance he'd kept, the guarded look in his eyes—it mirrored the same intensity that gripped him when he'd faced down the man from his past at Yellow Wood.

And it dawned on you that maybe he wasn't referring to your father's guards at all.

You extended a hand, offering him the canteen. "At least drink something if you're going to stay awake all night.”

Felix pressed the cool metal to his lips and took a long, necessary drink before handing it back. “Thanks,” he said, fingers brushing across your own.

As the minutes stretched, the cadence of his breathing created a soothing backdrop. The heat from his body called out to you, a magnetic pull that made sleep even more inviting.

And the next time you opened your eyes, the world had shifted. Your head had found a resting place on his shoulder, your eyes having closed long before the conscious decision to sleep was made.

"You don't have to stay," Felix murmured, a subtle indication that he'd sensed you stir from the drowsy embrace of sleep. His fingers tugged at your jacket, pulling it snug around your neck to fend off the biting cold. "I'm fine, princess,” he added, making your heart flutter at the nickname. “I just don't want to close my eyes right now."

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked quietly, lifting your head from his shoulder.

"Not really. It was just a dream," he said. But his voice carried a defensive edge, leaving no doubt that it was in fact not just a dream.

“We don't have to..But I can tell its bothering you,” your brows raised in gentle invitation, urging him to share the burden.

Felix stilled before letting out a breath, a hint of frustration taking over the exhaustion in his eyes. "Why do you care?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question.

You thought of everything you'd been through—the stolen moments entangled within the danger and chaos, the intimacy you'd shared up to that point.

“I thought it was clear.." you replied, looking away. But as your words hung in the air, doubt crept in. Maybe it hadn't been clear to him that it wasn't only physical for you.

Had you even allowed yourself the chance to fully accept that?

"It's not that simple," he muttered, shifting his gaze back to the distant firelight below. He toyed with the rings adorning his hands, and you tried to ignore which one his fingers gravitated to first.

Vulnerability danced in his expression, and for a heartbeat, the desperate wish that life could indeed be that simple was palpable between you.

Felix reached up to claw through his hair, tugging at the strands. When his eyes finally returned to yours, you realized it wasn't frustration you had seen in them moments ago, but something akin to fear.

"Felix.."

And Felix winced—he winced at the sound of his name falling from your lips. A subtle movement that might have been imperceptible to most, but painfully evident to you.

“You should go get some sleep,” he stated, jaw tensing with the effort of holding back words begging to be said. The quiet command held a touch of finality, causing a knot to form in your chest.

You took a steadying breath, the crisp night air stinging your lungs.

And maybe you shouldn’t have, but you said, "I care because I see more than the darkness in you, Felix. Those moments from the past that you think define you, they don't. I know you don't see anything good in yourself, but I do."

You set the canteen down beside him with a resounding clang before rising to your feet. "I care because I see someone worth caring for," you sighed. And then, with a slow shake of your head, you cast a final glance over the vast expanse below before turning to walk away.

Had Felix not been broken a very long time ago, your words that night might have shattered him completely. He fought hard to keep his eyes open, determined to avoid the return of the nightmare, but he fought harder against the overwhelming urge to chase after you.

Too many silent hours stretched before him until the sun would rise. Too much time for Felix to wrestle with the echoes of your words—for him to question exactly when he had begun to fall in love with you, and if it really was going to get you killed some day. Leaving him restless and tormented, alone beneath the sprawling canvas of a starlit sky.

The morning unfolded in a haze, draping the landscape in layers of fog that hung low and thick. Changbin had the map spread out on the hood of the rover, tracing the faded lines that marked the outskirts of District 5. "According to this,” he said, “we should be nearing the border of District 4 soon.”

Beside you, Seungmin leaned forward to catch a glimpse for himself. "What do we know about District 4?" he asked.

Changbin disguised any tension in his shoulders with a casual shrug, and it struck you then that you might not be the only one unfamiliar with the outer districts.

Chan tossed an empty supply bag into the back of the rover. "As we go further, we don't stop unless absolutely necessary," he said. And maybe you would've asked him why, if your attention hadn't been drawn to Jeongin at his side. His slender fingers grasped at the frame of the vehicle, strained knuckles betraying his effort to conceal the pain as he noticeably favored his injured foot.

You walked around and dropped an armful of folded blankets into the vehicle, making a mental note to keep an eye on Jeongin.

While the group prepared to continue the journey, the silence between you and Felix pulled at your thoughts, too. You’d hesitated for a moment before climbing onto the motorcycle behind him. His stoic expression, like always, did an exceptional job at masking whatever he was feeling.

Summoning a deep breath, you nudged the thoughts surrounding him to the edges of your mind. The urgency of outrunning the guards, reaching Miroh, an inevitable confrontation with your father some day—there were far more pressing concerns that demanded your focus.

And so, when the motorcycle roared to life you shifted your arms around Felix, intentionally loosening your hold.

If the freckled boy sensed the subtle change, he didn't let it show.

The moisture in the air hinted at an impending change.

It wasn't long before thick raindrops began to break free from low-hanging clouds. The motorcycle's wheels fought for traction, skidding on the slick terrain. Puddles formed in the lowest areas as the rain intensified, visibility deteriorating rapidly.

Raindrops pelted Felix's leather jacket as he lifted an arm to shield his eyes from the downpour. Casting a fleeting glance behind, you struggled to discern the faint outline of the rover.

Your head snapped forward again as the bike slipped, threatening to lose balance. With one hand, Felix firmly corrected the course of the motorcycle. His free hand reached out unexpectedly, and you felt the warmth of his touch as he intertwined his fingers with yours. He pulled one of your hands further around his waist, ensuring with subtle pressure that your hold around him was secure.

When he lifted his hand, you maintained the grip, fingers securely entwined.

The rain poured and poured, drenching you both. Yet, steady progress was made. You entered a narrow mountain pass, the landscape unfolding in glimpses as you pressed forward.

Steady progress was made, until the ground beneath you gave way without warning—sending the motorcycle into a sudden descent.

Even with his seasoned reflexes, Felix barely had enough time to react as it plunged downward. The air was stripped from your lungs, a dizzying mix of exhilaration and fear coursing through your veins. Your eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught of wind, and you didn't open them again until—with a jarring thud—the motorcycle reached the bottom of the incline.

The impact sent vibrations through your bones, mud spraying in a messy wave as Felix steadied the bike with a foot.

Rain-soaked strands of black hair clung to his forehead when he whipped around to face you, droplets streaming down his face. “Shit are you alright?!” his voice cut through the thunderous pounding of your heart in your ears.

But you hardly registered his words at all.

Your focus was entirely captivated by what lay over his shoulder.

A vast expanse of towering evergreen trees stretched before you. Tall and imposing, they stood like sentinels guarding whatever secrets lie inside from the rest of the world. The branches swayed as if the forest itself was alive, pulsing with energy that seemed to beckon you closer.

You were almost certain that nothing like this had been marked on the map. And it was massive. A beast all its own.

With a scowl, Felix dismounted the bike, boots sinking into the damp soil beneath. As he approached the forest, you turned to survey the steep incline behind you.

The landscape extended high and wide, like a colossal step down in the earth, stretching as far as you could discern through the curtain of rain. As you studied it, the rover appeared at the top. A sudden apparition against the stormy backdrop, the glimmer of its headlights and the silhouettes of the boys appeared as faint outlines.

Blinking against the rain, you took a few steps over to the foot of the incline. As you strained to comprehend Minho and Chan's growing shouts, Felix materialized at your side. His voice joined the chorus in an attempt to shout back however, like them, his words were swallowed by the storm.

Abandoning their efforts to communicate with you and Felix, the boys leaned together to discuss something amongst themselves.

“What are they doing?” you questioned as the rover began to make a cautious retreat from the edge above.

Felix craned his neck, squinting against the rain. "Probably going to find shelter to wait out the storm, I saw a cave entrance not too far back—"

A brilliant streak of lightning slashed across the sky, illuminating the entirety of your surroundings in a bluish-white glow. The accompanying crack of thunder tore through the air, the sheer force of the noise making your heart lurch in your chest.

Felix lowered his eyes, a softness creeping into his expression upon discovering your hand clasped tightly onto his sleeve. “If they’re going to wait it out, we'll do the same,” he said, taking your hand.

He led you across the tree line, to a colossal evergreen. Its base was substantial, the lowest branches forming a natural canopy like the skirt of a dress—large enough for both of you to slip underneath. His grip on your hand tightened briefly before pulling away. “I’ll be right back. I need to get the bike."

Reluctantly, you let go of his hand. "It’s just a little rain, princess,” he said softly before darting back out in the direction of the forest’s edge.

Beneath the the sheltering branches of the evergreen, you huddled closer to its trunk. Rough bark dug into your back as you pulled your knees up. Thunder rumbled overhead, shaking the earth beneath you.

You shut your eyes—counting the seconds, the breaths.

You thought of a refreshing cave spring echoing with deep laughter, a motorcycle ride underneath the stars. You pictured freckles like constellations, dark eyes reflecting the night sky.

Relief flooded your veins when you looked up to find Felix slipping back beneath the branches.

His shoulder brushed against yours as he sat down beside you with a tired sigh. Stretching his legs out, shadows played on his face as he gazed up through the lattice of pine needles above. “You really don't like storms, do you? You had the same look on your face that night in the tavern.”

“I’m fine,” you protested, the words coming out sharper than you'd intended.

“So fucking stubborn,” he grumbled under his breath before shrugging out of his jacket. Every flex of his muscles was accentuated by the wet fabric that clung to him.

Not that you'd been staring.

When he draped the jacket over your shoulders, the urge to protest simmered beneath your skin, a lingering effect of your earlier frustration with him. But it was warm, familiar, and for some reason, his scent was more comforting than you'd ever understand.

So, you said nothing.

Your bent knees found a resting place on his thigh. And beneath the heavy weight of his jacket, the thunder and lightning gradually began to lose their intimidating edge.

When you crossed your arms for added warmth, your fingers brushed against the handle of your mother’s knife. With a subtle flick, you pulled it out and tossed it into the ground. Your eyes traveled from the gleaming blade to the engravings on the hilt, the dried blood in the crevices. And as you watched the rain wash it away, you were reminded that your father's guards weren't the only thing Felix was running from.

There was a different kind of sinister out there—a malevolence engraved into the scars you'd felt along his back. You'd wielded the knife to free him from one of them, but you weren't naive enough to think that there weren't more out there.

The mere thought of how many might be hunting him at that very moment sent a spark of something searing up your spine.

Not fear, or sadness, but anger. A raw, primal hatred that surpassed even the disdain you felt for your own father.

“Keep clenching your jaw like that and your teeth are going to shatter,” his deep voice pulled you back from your thoughts. One of his hands found a resting place on your knee. “What’re you thinking about?” Another ominous rumble echoed from somewhere above, and he added, “Aside from the big scary thunder."

You rolled your eyes, sorting through the myriad of thoughts in your head.

Having to relive what you've been through in nightmares.

What I said to you last night.

What we did the night before.

You took a deliberate breath, the scent of rain and earth filling your lungs, and nudged his shoulder with yours. “You first.”

His head, still resting against the tree, tilted to the side. The way he met your eyes asked, do you really want to know?

When you refused to look away, he sighed. There was a flicker of hesitation in his expression, letting you know he was on the verge of revealing something deeply personal.

“Most of the time," he began, "my memories feel like someone else’s," his throat moved, swallowing down the weight of those memories.

"But there are moments where it all comes back."

Moments.

Moments, as in those nightmares.

Your next thought slipped past your lips, spurred by genuine concern. “Lix, are you okay? Not just after yesterday morning but..I know you've been through a lot, and..”

"I'm fine, princess," Felix managed a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "If you want to know the truth, in a strange way I’m thankful for the nightmares.”

Because I feel like I deserve them.

The unspoken words were written all over his face.

You noticed the subtle tremor in his fingers as they began to tap against your knee. You adjusted your position so that you could look. at him. Really look at him.

His dark eyes, pools of endless regret, met yours. And in them you found a well of profound sadness, a lingering ache from wounds that would probably never fully heal.

A delicate touch trailed from his thumb as he brought it up to caress your bottom lip, gently drawing it back. Your breath hitched in response to the intimate contact. A sigh escaped him as he contemplated..something. And then his thumb retreated, leaving behind a tingling trail of longing in its wake.

"You wouldn't look at me like that, if you knew everything.”

You frowned at his words, at the sudden shift in conversation and the evident self-loathing in his tone.

Before you could come up with a response, his head crashed back against the tree. “When I asked why you care last night, it's because you shouldn’t," he said.

"What do you mean?”

”I mean you shouldn't be worrying about me or my nightmares or any of the shit I carry with me," he answered immediately. "There is so much you don't know about the way I've lived, the things I've done..I am not who you think I am."

“Then help me understand,” you urged.

But there was a flicker of something in his expression that suggested he didn’t believe he was worth your understanding.

“You can’t,” Felix emphasized. A distant look clouded his eyes, a flash of whatever it was that had crossed his features after the nightmare seemed to resurface. “You grew up with servants to meet your needs while the rest of us bled for every scrap of food and warmth. You can’t understand, y/n. And even if you could, it won't change who I am or what I've done. The blood on my hands will never wash away.”

For a moment, the only sound was the relentless percussion of rain on the forest floor. Then, you felt something inside you snap. The princess role, the sheltered naivety that had plagued your entire existence—the pressure from pushing it all down was suddenly released under the weight of his words.

“Is that all you see when you look at me?" your voice was sharp, edged with years of pent-up frustration. "Just a sheltered princess? Do you think that was my choice? You think I’ve never felt pain, Felix? That I haven’t seen things that will haunt me for the rest of my life?”

You shifted, the jacket slipping from your shoulders and dropping to the mud. “And who are you to decide what I can or cannot understand? You of all people should know that there is more to someone than the history they carry.”

Ignoring the bewilderment in his expression, you stood and pushed through the dense branches, pine needles scratching across your face as you stepped into the open forest. Cool droplets splashed across your skin, mingling with the heat that had begun to fill your veins. Your vision blurred with rain and tears that threatened to spill over—the culmination of years spent hidden away, a lifetime of being taught not to care about anything finally starting to unravel.

Footsteps splashed behind you. “Wait—I’m sorry,” Felix pleaded, his hand finding your shoulder with firm, gentle strength. “I didn’t mean to belittle what you’ve been though," he said, stepping in front of you.

He blinked against the falling rain, freckles glistening. "Please, y/n. I see your strength and I see how much we—I need you. And that terrifies me more than anything because—”

He caught himself, choking on the words. The voice in his head told him to let you walk away, just like he had done last night. But Felix was so goddamn tired of acting indifferent to everything around him. Whether it was the lingering tension between him and Hyunjin, the fact that the nightmares had been devouring him for years, or the way he tried to ignore how losing you would obliterate whatever small part of himself he thought might actually be worth something.

He wasn't tired, he was fucking exhausted. And the fatigue of pretending that he wasn't human was killing him.

Maybe it had been for a very, very long time.

And maybe that is why Felix found himself unable to bear it any longer. The accumulation of secrets, and pretense, and hidden emotions, it pushed and it pressed against his chest until it hurt. And it made him want to live—to experience the complete depths of life that he had been depriving himself of for as long as he could remember.

“When I said you were my weakness, princess. I meant it," he confessed, taking a subtle step closer. "There are very bad people chasing me, and they always catch up. They will again, and I can’t stand the thought of anything happening to you because of me. The things they will do to you if they find out what you mean to me," he took a steadying breath, "I'm only trying to protect you, because what I feel for you is..”

His throat bobbed, preparing to continue. But before he could, you lifted a finger and gently pressed it against his lips.

With a feather light touch, you traced a path from his lips to his cheek, to his temple and down his jawline. You stopped to caress the sensitive skin on his neck, as if trying to erase the memories burned there beneath your fingertips.

You felt his warmth, the rapid beat of his pulse.

And you weren’t entirely sure your own heart was beating when you leaned forward to connect your lips with his.

His breath caught, as if not quite expecting it. He kissed you back, applying a tender pressure against your lips before abruptly pulling away. “If you knew what I am capable of—"

“I don’t care what you have done, Felix,” you interrupted, "I. Don’t. Care," you drowned his protests in another kiss, and his lips tasted like rain and longing and everything you were afraid to lose. "I want you, I want every part of you. And if you choose to share your past with me, although I might not fully comprehend it, it won’t change that."

You pulled back and held his gaze. "I am not afraid of you. Pushing me away won't protect me, and I'm not asking you to change, Felix, but I need you to see me for who I am now. Not the person I was expected to be in that palace. I was so broken and alone, and I don't think I even realized it until I met you. And I don't know who I am yet, but I am figuring it out because of you—because of all of you. So don't take that away from me by telling me that I shouldn't care."

As your words settled in the space between you, you decided that Felix had never looked more human to you than he did in that moment.

A lone droplet slid down his cheek, and when you leaned in to kiss it away, the taste of salt lingered on your lips. Revealing something far more profound.

Before you could react, his hands slid to your waist, warm and possessive as his lips claimed yours. He guided you until your back collided with the bare trunk of a dying tree. "I'm sorry," he whispered, thick accent sending shivers down your spine. "I'm not good at things like this, but I care about you, too. Too much, sweetheart. More than I should." The sincerity in his voice resonated with you. He meant the words—truly meant them. "There's nothing I wouldn't do to keep you safe. You know that, right?" he added, thumb brushing your cheek.

And you did. You'd felt it in his touch, when he kissed you, the way he looked at you. You nodded, tracing the contours of his face, "I’m yours, Lix."

The words came out quicker than you could register, but you didn't regret them.

Maybe it made you fucking selfish, to crave losing yourself in him when the entire world was perched upon your shoulders, but you didn't regret them.

"You were always mine," Felix breathed, "before we met, before all of this, you were never their princess," he leaned in, pressing his lips to your forehead. "You were always mine.”

And then, Felix kissed you like he was making up for all of the wasted time before you’d met—for all of the time you would lose when fate inevitably ripped you apart. He kissed you like he had been chasing you through every life before this one, and would follow through every one after.

When he ground his hips against yours, the intensity of his desire was evident in the way he murmured your name. A low, rumbling growl escaped his throat, making you acutely aware of the silence around you. The rain had ceased, leaving only the sounds of your heavy breathing and the occasional rustle of branches above.

When you shifted to grant his wandering hands access to your backside, his boot slipped in the mud. Your lips curved into a smile against his as you realized the absurdity of the situation—how ridiculous you must look shivering and drenched in rainwater, wrapped up in each other like this.

"Smooth," you teased.

Felix responded with a subtle shake of his head, a shy smile playing on his lips. Closing his eyes, he groaned softly and pressed his forehead against yours. "I hate this," he said.

You pulled back, your puzzled expression prompting a low chuckle from him.

"I just wish there was somewhere we could go," he clarified, "somewhere warm and dry," he swiped the lingering raindrops from your cheeks.

"Somewhere we could be alone," you added, lifting your arms to wrap around the back of his neck. "Just us."

Felix hummed in agreement. The desire was reflected in his eyes, a shared longing that resonated between you. But the idea of a place where the two of you could exist peacefully, away from the unforgiving grasp of reality, felt like an elusive fantasy that might always be just out of reach.

Suddenly, as if a switch had been flipped, Felix's expression gave way to a surge of profound intensity.

"Some day," he dropped his voice, "When all of this is over, I'm going to carry you back into that palace." His lips found the curve of your jaw, trailing a heated path down. "I'm going to take my time with you, princess," he nipped at the sensitive skin on your neck, causing your core to flutter with anticipation. "And then," he whispered, "I'm going to lay the world at your feet."

You held your breath as he brought one of your hands to his chest, spreading your fingers out over his beating heart. "Its yours," he said, "and I don't care what you do with it."

With your palm still pressed against his heart, a quiet realization rippled through your mind.

You might love him.

You might be a fool to think there was any part of you that didn't love Felix. And maybe you were a coward, too. Too hesitant to say the three little words hovering on your tongue, for fear that you might become addicted to how it would feel to hear them back.

Your eyes widened as another realization crossed your mind—the understanding that, in some way, loving Felix might always have been inevitable.

And you wondered if he had known it long before you.

Don't let me love you.

You hesitated, the weight of the promise casting a shadow.

But when Felix leaned in to capture your lips with his, the pull between you was too strong to resist. Something cosmic, two souls irresistibly entwined. And you only hoped he could decipher the silent declaration of your emotions lingering in the spaces between each breath.

The kiss deepened into something desperate. Heated and sensual as your tongues collided. A soft, needy sound escaped your throat when he slipped his hands underneath your shirt, cold rings making you shudder. Your arms tugged around his neck, urging him to press his body closer.

Curling your fingers in his hair, you pulled firmly, because you knew how much he liked it.

"Are you trying to get me to fuck you in the middle of this forest?" he said, stifling a groan when you repeated the action.

You laughed—a small, lighthearted chuckle against his lips. "A forest? Never. I prefer caves, actually."

He let out an amused scoff. "Is that so? I'd think someone of such high status like yourself would be into more sophisticated places..like closets."

Your mouth fell open in mock astonishment, a smile playing on your lips as you remembered that night at Clé. "What the hell were we thinking?"

"I know what I was thinking," he responded, leaning in to press his lips to your neck. "I was thinking that you're fucking irresistible," his breath against your ear made your entire body heat up. “That every time I look at you, I want you wrapped around my cock. That when we're with the guys and one of them looks at your ass," he moved his hands around to give a firm squeeze to your backside. “Or your tits," he brought his hands up to grope at your breasts, making you moan. “I want to fuck your pretty pussy in front of them until you're leaking with my cum."

A chill traveled throughout your entire body, covering your skin in goosebumps.

"Then why don't you?” you purred, “fill me up with your cum, I mean," you clarified. Although something about the idea of Felix taking you while the rest of the boy watched stirred up something in your core that you’d never felt before.

“You know why,” he groaned. His adam's apple bobbed as your hands traced along his belt, fingers grazing the skin just inside his waistband.

One of your hands slowly slid down, and you weren't surprised at all to find his already hardened cock pulsing through his pants. The hiss he let out turned to a weak groan when you tightened your grip. And god there was nothing you wouldn't have given to be alone with him and a fucking bed. You needed to taste him, to feel his heavy length on your tongue, stuffed inside your aching cunt.

He started rocking his hips into you slowly, pressing your back further into the tree. "Princess," he dragged out the word against your neck, sucking at the skin. You whimpered in response, head falling against the tree."Do something for me?" he asked.

"Anything," you managed to say.

"Jump."

And you did. Without hesitation you jumped into his arms, locking your ankles around his waist. Felix's eyes sparkled as he turned, surveying the distance between the two of you and the tree you'd taken shelter underneath earlier.

He began to step—but not toward the tree. No, toward the motorcycle beside it.

He lowered you down gently in front of the handlebars before putting his hands on them, closing you in. You recognized the glazed over look in his eyes, and you thought it might be your favorite look of his.

You knew what it meant, and you needed him too.

When your lips reconnected it was fervent. Wild, and raw, and vulnerable. His hand found its way to your neck, making your pussy throb when he lightly squeezed. And your moans mixed when his crotch rubbed against yours, pushing your ass against the front of the motorcycle.

Felix groaned deeply, trying to focus on you and not the growing throb in his dick when you grabbed his hand and shoved it to that needy spot between your legs.

"Felix," you whined, bucking your hips into his touch, "fuck me, please. I don't care where we are, just fuck me."

There was nothing Felix wouldn't have given for the chance to take his time with you. To have the luxury of time without interruption, where the whole entire world would simply fuck off for a few blissful hours. Days, maybe.

But time had never been very kind to Felix. So, without wasting any more of it, he helped you shove down your pants and underwear.

And then, his knees buckled.

He hit the ground and immediately began kissing your inner thighs, moving his face closer and closer to your cunt. And it was when he tilted his head to the side, stopping to look up at you, that you knew you were fucked. The pleasure was already building in your lower abdomen and he hadn't even put his mouth on your pussy yet.

Your eyes squeezed shut as you let out a shaky breath when his tongue finally met your folds, licking a long stripe through them. Felix brought one of your hands to his hair, and you were instantly tangling your fingers in the damp locks. He swiped his tongue in a jagged pattern, brushing his nose against your clit because likes the way it makes you squirm.

He mumbled to himself, something about how good you tasted, before his puffy lips latched on to your clit. You were on the verge of tears, hips jerking when he started sucking on the bundle of nerves, flicking at it with his tongue.

You tightened your grip on his hair, shoving his face against your pussy as your other hand reached for the handlebars behind you, feeling yourself getting closer to the edge.

He brought his fingers up and plunged them inside of you with ease, using them to scissor you open as he made out with your cunt.

“C-close,” you stuttered as his tongue dipped into your hole.

He looked up, and the sight of him on his knees with your arousal glistening on his face, was more than enough to send you over the edge.

Your thighs closed around his head, eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure ripped through you. You moaned his name, pussy throbbing and clenching around his fingers as you came.

Felix smirked against your core, slowing his pace to help you work through the orgasm.

And then, before you'd even had the chance to open your eyes, you were being flipped around and bent over the handlebars. Felix pressed the palm of his hand on your lower back, forcing your body to lean over it further.

Your eyes widened, mouth watering when you heard the clink of his belt unbuckling.

"Gonna take you like this,” he growled, the words rumbling out from his chest. And you were suddenly very thankful for the bike, because it was the only thing keeping you upright.

Felix shoved his pants down, just enough to reach for his thick cock. "Feel what you do to me baby?" He tapped it against your ass a few times before using the tip to spread your folds, gathering your slick.

"Felix," you gasped, swallowing hard. "Don't be gentle."

"Desperate little slut," he cooed, aligning himself with your dripping entrance. "My desperate little slut. Always so good for me, so wet and ready to take my cock like you were made for it."

Without warning, he slammed into you. The full length of him, so heavy and solid and filling you up so well, had your eyes rolling back in ecstasy.

"Oh," you gasped when he landed a harsh smack to your ass.

"Feels good, huh?" Felix smirked, chuckling lowly when you began to vigorously nod your head in response.

"Move, Lix," you cried, "m-move, please move."

And although he'd like to make you beg just a little bit more, Felix physically couldn't hold back any longer. He grunted as he set a steady rhythm. "Pussy's so good, fucking sucking me in baby," he moaned, pushing you further over the handlebars. He picked up the pace when you told him to, burying his face into your neck and sinking his teeth into the sensitive skin.

You emitted a broken, strangled moan when he tugged your head back by the roots of your hair, brain growing foggy with every drag of his cock along your walls. He drilled into you until his thrusts turned sloppy and irregular. When you started fucking yourself back on his dick, his hips trembled, stuttering into yours.

"Princess," he panted, breath hot against your neck, slowing his pace to try and keep himself from spilling inside of you. And Felix thought it might just be the hardest thing he'd ever had to do, when you start to beg for his cum. Whimpering incoherently about how badly you needed him to fill you up with his seed.

"Felix," you cried, feeling your second orgasm building, "feels so fucking good, keep going, keep going, I'm g-gonna—" you whimpered, inhaling sharply as you cum again, tears pricking at your eyes as you cream on his cock.

Felix bit his lip as your walls fluttered around him. His deep moans turned into pretty high-pitched sounds. And he was cursing, words you’d never even heard before, when his hips suddenly stilled.

"Ah, fuck—" he shuddered when he started to spill inside of you. He hurriedly pulled out, wrapping his hand around his pulsating length as he finished in his palm.

When you were coherent and able to feel your limbs again, you turned to look at him.

Felix was panting, chest heaving, as he came down from his own high. His hand was covered in his own sticky release. And you weren't quite sure if it was leftover rain or beads of sweat rolling down his face, but he was beautiful. Lips parted, dark eyes blown wide with pleasure.

He looked up, meeting your gaze with a tired half smile, and it broke something within you.

In that split second, you recognized that you might love him even more than you'd thought. And it was a feeling tainted with a subtle undercurrent of fear—the metaphorical nail in a shared coffin.

Because you're pretty sure it is going to get both of you killed some day.

Imprinted on your skin, Felix's scent mixed seamlessly with the clean breeze that enveloped you upon stepping out from beneath the trees—his warmth a comforting presence at your back.

Something caught your eye, bringing your attention to the top of the incline where the rover had returned, its metallic exterior gleaming.

As you surveyed the narrow drop, a daunting realization began to take hold. The slope stretched on in either direction, leaving no choice but for the boys to make their own descent if you were to reunite.

While you contemplated whether or not the angle might be gradual enough to allow for a cautious descent, Chan's voice rang out from above. “Stay back! We'll come to you!"

Felix cast a worried glance up and down the slope. "It's too steep," his lips tightened into a thin line as the tires inched closer to the edge above.

Charged, electrifying silence filled the air, heightening every detail of your surroundings—the engine's low hum, the rhythmic drip drip drip of water from the branches at your back.

"Maybe they should.." you hesitated, searching for an alternative that didn't exist. But it wouldn't have mattered anyway, because your voice was drowned out by the screeching protests of metal against rock.

With a sudden lurch, the rover initiated its descent.

The first tentative movements sent a cascade of loose rocks tumbling down the slope. The vehicle jerked and swayed in tandem with Chan's adjustments to the wheel, suspension audibly groaning underneath the strain.

Just when it seemed it might conquer the descent unscathed, the air was shattered by a stark crunch as one of the headlights collided with a protruding rock.

The impact sent shockwaves throughout the vehicle, a collective gasp escaping the group as Chan lost control.

In a frantic sequence of events, Minho leaned over, grappling with the wheel to help Chan regain traction. Changbin shot an arm out to grip the open frame, and Jisung buried his head in his hands.

Felix took a shuffling step forward, propelled by instinct to help the boys. Your fingers wrapped around his arm, yanking him back as the rover slammed against solid ground at the bottom of the incline.

The collision resonated through the air, leaving each of you speechless.

Jisung's wide eyes met yours, peering up from beneath the curtain of hair that had fallen into his face at the impact. A disbelieving smile fell across his lips, as if the absurdity of the situation had struck him in that moment. And you couldn't help but return the smile, shaking your head in relief as you acknowledged the collective insanity that had become your reality.

Chan's shoulders slumped and he bowed his head, taking a moment to collect himself. A mere ten seconds passed before he straightened his posture. Stepping down from the vehicle, he crossed his arms over his chest, muttering a curse as his eyes narrowed to the broken headlight.

The rest of the boys disembarked following Chan. Changbin pulled the map from his jacket, taking note of its condition before handing it over to him, and the group gathered around their leader in anticipation.

Chan's brow furrowed in concentration. A moment of disbelief crossed his features before he began to shake his head. "This entire forest isn't even on the map," his eyes lifted to sweep across the endless expanse of trees.

An exchange of looks rippled through the group as you waited for his next words.

"We can waste fuel trying to get around it,” he finally offered, "Or..." his gaze returned to the map.

“Or,” Minho interjected, catching everyone's attention, "we go through it."

The simplicity of his statement held a sense of something bold—a willingness to face the unknown head-on.

The forest did represent the unknown..But it had to end eventually. The fuel was dwindling, every one of you knew it, and wasting it in an attempt to find a way around the forest could be just as dangerous as navigating straight into its heart.

A decision loomed, demanding a choice that balanced the unknown with the practical constraints you faced.

Chan looked to Felix, seeking guidance in the unspoken language they shared. Felix, in turn, redirected his gaze to Hyunjin. The exchange unfolded like a ritual, a pattern the three of them had followed countless times before.

Silent affirmation in the form of a single nod from Felix was all it took for Chan to make the decision. “We go through," he declared.

Jisung cleared his throat, placing a hand on the back of his neck. “It can’t be any worse than what we’ve been through so far, right?”

His attempt at optimism, although appreciated for its intent, was quickly overshadowed by the ominous presence of the trees that loomed behind you.

Changbin squared his shoulders, cocking the heavy weapon in his arms. "Too late to turn back now," he caught your eye, and you nodded in silent agreement along with the rest, his voice echoing endlessly in your mind.

Too late to turn back now.

The forest held an ancient energy, a guardian of untold history. The growl of the engines harmonized as they wove cautiously between trees with an undercurrent of something otherworldly, something wild.

The further the group pressed on, the more it triggered an unexpected wave of discomfort in Felix. His chest tightened as vast horizon was replaced by the suffocating confinement of dense foliage. It brought to light an aspect of himself that he hadn't consciously acknowledged before—how deeply he had come to rely on the open sky and the sense of freedom it provided.

As the familiar feeling of being hunted settled in his bones, his eyes darted anxiously back and forth, scanning for shadows that danced in patterns at the edges of his vision. The words he'd confessed to you about who was chasing him echoed in his thoughts, and he half-expected their figures to materialize from the shadows at any moment—

No.

They couldn't have followed the nine of you out here.

The journey, the logistical challenges it would've taken to track your path through the districts..Not to mention that your group would’ve been long gone by the time they'd realized the fate of the man they'd sent after him at Yellow Wood—the man you'd killed to protect him.

The man whose name was enough to elicit a visceral response from Felix, the scars on his back tingling with every syllable as it resonated through his mind.

"They couldn't have," he muttered under his breath. They couldn't have followed you. They couldn't have.

But what if—

"Felix!" your shout pierced his thoughts, snapping his focus back to the path in front of the motorcycle.

Shit.

The wheels jerked violently as he veered to avoid a large ditch filled with rainwater and mud. The bike danced on the edge of disaster, narrowly avoiding the hidden hazard.

Felix’s eyes widened in realization as he twisted around. “Chan, watch out!” his voice boomed, echoing through the trees, but the warning was futile.

The rover was following far too closely behind.

It's front end plunged first, followed by a moment of suspense before the back wheels followed suit—the mud greedily swallowing them whole.

Despite the churning tires, the vehicle was forced into an abrupt halt. A chorus of frustrated exclamations filled the air, Chan's curses cutting through the loudest as he slammed his hands on the steering wheel in defeat.

You and Felix quickly abandoned the motorcycle, hands pressing onto the muddied surface of the rover. The rest of the boys, excluding Chan and Jeongin, joined you in a synchronized effort to push it out.

Muscles strained, boots sank into the earth, the wheels budged slightly, but despite your collective strength..

Nothing.

Chan unleashed his building frustration by forcefully slamming his foot on the gas pedal once more. The engine responded with a thunderous roar—thick clumps of mud scattering in every direction from the tires, still locked in a futile struggle.

"Chan, stop!" Minho called out, covering his eyes as he stepped back.

Thick sludge splattered across your clothes, adhering to every fiber. You rubbed your eyes to wipe it from your face, and when your vision cleared you realized that the situation had transcended beyond mere inconvenience.

The fading daylight had begun to cast eerie shadows around you. The gravity of your predicament sank in—how utterly alone you were, and it was the first time you thought that might be a bad thing.

Jeongin, confined to the vehicle due to his injured foot, swiveled around to observe the group. He put a hand over his mouth to conceal the sound that escaped his lips. However, what began as a tentative giggle soon evolved, bubbling up from the depths of his chest into hearty laughter. "You guys look awful,” he mused, dimples on full display.

The group exchanged glances, surveying their disheveled appearances.

Hyunjin, in particular, appeared thoroughly offended by his ruined clothing. His disgusted expression only fueled the laughter that had begun to grow around you.

Seungmin protested as Changbin (forcefully) pulled him into a hug, smearing even more mud onto his clothes.

And beside you, Felix's perfect face was seemingly untouched by the mess that adorned the rest of him. It prompted you to swipe some of the mud from your cheek and transfer it to his. The act elicited a surprised, but amused reaction from the freckled boy as the corners of his mouth twitched, his eyes meeting yours with a hint of appreciation for the unexpected playfulness.

Even Chan couldn't stifle a small chuckle as he stole a glance at the group through the rearview mirror.

Surrounded by the laughter of those you had slowly come to trust, you were reminded of what had brought you there in the first place—why it was so important to dismantle your father's oppressive regime for good.

Despite the encroaching night, darkness had yet to fully envelop the surroundings. There was still daylight left. One more challenge was added to the list of those you faced, but there was something about the boys and their resilience that instilled a small sense of hope in you. Making you feel as if their collective strength might just see you through the uncertainties ahead.

And if not, well it was far too late to turn back now.

With the ground unsuitable for spreading blankets, the process of setting camp mainly involved finding patches of drier ground to rest.

You observed the deliberate effort each of the boys made to avoid peering at the rover, the eyesore that it was. Chan was the only one who hadn't left its side, his mind undoubtedly concocting some kind of plan to free it come morning. “Hopefully”, he said to no one in particular as he kicked one of the tires, “we’ll be able to get it out after the mud dries.”

Your fingers fiddled with the laces of your boots, tying them over and over again to divert them from scratching at the drying mud on your skin. With each of you reluctant to waste your precious water supply on a mere rinse, you held on to the possibility that tomorrow's journey might lead you to a stream.

A yearning for the refreshing waters of the cave spring developed within you, intensifying with each passing moment. But it wasn't just the longing for cleanliness that fueled your desire to be back there.

Your eyes darted to Felix, crouched down beside you. Absorbed in concentration, his tongue habitually poked out the side of his mouth as he worked alongside Changbin to start a fire. His dark hair was up, a few strands escaping the confines of the tie to delicately frame his face.

You shook your head, refocusing your on Jeongin seated against a log at the edge of the clearing.

Felix glanced up when you touched his arm gently. His eyes followed your movement as you stood, the soft crunch of leaves beneath your boots resonating in the quiet surroundings.

The mossy surface of the log pressed against your back as you lowered yourself down next to Jeongin. "How're you holding up?" you asked, eyes trailing back to Felix as he returned to work on the fire.

"Could be worse," Jeongin replied softly. You pursed your lips, a moment of silence passing between you before he spoke again. "Can I be honest?"

"Of course," you said, inviting him to share his thoughts.

His fists clenched, fingers digging into the soggy grass beneath.

"Please don't tell the others," he began, quieting his voice. "But if we can't get it out," he gestured toward the rover, "I'm worried about slowing everyone down. I just don't want to be a burden if we have to continue on foot, you know?"

"Jeongin you are not a burden," you were quick to reply, "and nobody is leaving you behind. Whatever happens, we'll find a way to get to Miroh. All of us."

When he failed to respond, you reached out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. You turned to meet his eyes, and your stomach dropped.

A film of sweat covered his forehead. His complexion had taken on an unsettling pallor, and you guessed that if you were to press your hand to his forehead, it would be burning hot despite the chill in the air.

You fought to maintain a reassuring smile as your gaze swept across the clearing, landing on Minho. He was engrossed in the meticulous task of inspecting and wiping down the remaining firearms with Jisung.

With silent intensity, you begged him to look up.

The air seemed to still as you waited, sounds of the forest fading. When Minho finally raised his eyes to meet your own, the unspoken plea in your expression was clear.

With quick, fluid movement, he excused himself and made his way over where to you and Jeongin sat.

Minho knelt down in front of Jeongin, breaking the tension with small talk as he carefully unlaced his boot. He gently pulled back the bandages to assess the strain on the wound, and despite the stitches holding together well, the surrounding skin displayed signs of inflammation.

Amidst your focus, a sudden grunt of frustration sliced through the air.

Your eyes followed the source of the disturbance to Changbin and Felix. The duo was still locked in a battle with the damp leaves and twigs that refused to ignite—each failed attempt only deepening their shared frustration as the daylight waned.

You stole one more quick glance at Jeongin’s food before rising to your feet. “We need to find dry wood,” you announced.

But you were immediately caught off guard when the deep, resonant timbre of Felix's voice intertwined with Minho's softer tone as they both volunteered to accompany you.

The unexpectedness of Minho's offer left even Hyunjin standing motionless with raised eyebrows across the clearing.

Felix cleared his throat, maintaining his crouched position next to Changbin. A hesitant glance unfolded between him and Minho before he muttered, “Yeah..you two go.”

Minho got to his feet, seemingly unbothered by the reaction he'd caused. Stepping up to your side, he gestured to the forest behind you. "We're losing daylight."

Obviously.

As he strode past you, heading for the trees, you briefly glanced back to the others.

Felix had already returned to the task of trying to coax a spark from the wet kindling. Chan had found his way around the back of the rover—now absorbed in taking inventory of your remaining supplies. Jisung gave you a meaningful look, motioning with his eyes for you to catch up to Minho..

And so, with a determined breath and nothing to lose, you followed the boy from District 9 into the encroaching twilight.

It was as if even the forest held its breath, as if it were sentient and fully aware of the undercurrents of tension between you and Minho.

Silence draped between you, thick and uncomfortable, as Minho guided the way. You glared at the back of his head, making note of the distinctive shade of his hair—gray or perhaps a faded light blue, with grown out roots revealing the natural color underneath.

In District 9, it wasn't uncommon for residents to dye their hair various shades—a symbol of status due to the expense of such indulgences. The gradient of Minho's hair made you wonder just how long he had been away from his home district.

Your home district.

As you considered the shared connection between the two of you, Minho broke the silence. “His foot, its..”

"I know," you replied.

"Infections can spread fast, especially out here.”

“I know.”

Minho sighed in annoyance, as if holding a conversation with you was some sort of burden. “I didn’t want to discuss it with the others,” he snapped.

And it dawned on you that it wasn't the burden of talking with you, but rather the responsibility of his concern for Jeongin that strained his expression. He didn’t want to discuss it with the others because he didn’t want to worry the others. Choosing to confide in you instead.

“What can we do?” you asked softly, although the answer was already clear.

“Not much,” Minho confirmed, “start a fire, boil water to sterilize it with, and..”

"Wait," you breathed, without missing the way he tensed at the word.

Cleaning Jeongin's wound would be a temporary measure. It wouldn't heal the infection, but it might prevent it from worsening too quickly. Which would give you the time you needed until you got to Miroh where there might be medical supplies. Antibiotics, if you were lucky.

And if not..

“Look," your eyes caught on a fallen tree with branches that appeared drier than the rest. Relief, albeit a small thread of it, weaved through your senses. You pointed to it and began to cross the distance, Minho falling into step beside you.

Together, you began to break off the dead branches. The brittle material snapped easily underneath your grip, the silence interrupted only by the sharp cracking of wood as you worked. But your fingers stilled when you caught sight of that thin bracelet adorning Minho’s wrist. The trinket glimmered softly in the fading light. Its delicate beauty contrasted sharply with your surroundings, reminding you you once again of the life you had left behind—the privileges and sorrows intertwined in your past.

You studied the intricate design and elegance of that gold piece..so out of place.

Why wear it out here, where its value could mean a death sentence?

Lost in the depths of your thoughts, you didn't notice the pause in Minho's own movement. His fingers wrapped around a branch while his gaze bore into you, even as yours remained fixed on the bracelet.

In that moment, a daring impulse seized you. Screw it, you thought. The seething hatred you held for District 9 and the memories it carried ran deep, yet a peculiar sense of comfort washed over you in the knowledge that Minho might understand in a way that the others couldn’t.

For the briefest instant, you allowed yourself to wonder if perhaps Minho shared the same longing for someone who understood.

Screw it.

“If I hadn’t already known you were from District 9,” you started, “that would confirm it.” You brought your eyes from the bracelet to meet his gaze as you resumed your work, snapping another branch.

Minho’s own eyes tinged with something darker than nostalgia as he let out a dry chuckle. “There's no sob story to it, if thats what you’re wondering. No lost loved one, no tragic incident. It's just a piece of metal.” His tone suggested a desire to seal off the conversation, end it there. But your intuition sensed the unspoken pain behind his words.

“If it doesn’t have any meaning,” you pressed, “then why wear it? Isn't it dangerous? Valuable things like that..I’m sure people would kill for them out here.”

Minho’s eyes flitted away, as if trying to decide whether or not to continue. “It did belong to my mother,” he admitted, “but I don’t wear it for her. She was a cruel women and she probably still is. I have no love for her memory."

His gaze returned to yours, firm and resolute. “I wear it because it reminds me of why I left.”

Minho’s sudden vulnerability left you wondering what had changed between you, brow furrowing. “Yes, my family is from District 9," he continued, “and they live comfortably while so many struggle to survive. This bracelet is a symbol of that privilege, of the divide."

“Sounds a lot like more than just a piece of metal to me,” you mumbled, eyeing him cautiously.

A brief pause suggested Minho had shared as much as he was willing. His gaze swept over you, scrutinizing the details of your disheveled appearance. He took in the worn edges of your clothing and the mud-streaked lines on your face, before his eyes landed at the spot on your neck where Felix's mark had once been.

You pulled your jacket up, raising your eyebrows at him.

What?

Minho let out a puff of air from his nose, a sort of half-laugh, half-scoff. The tension in his forehead slowly relaxed, the sharp angles of his expression softening. “I spent the majority of my life in District 9, closer to the palace than you might think," he revealed, "and I never once caught a glimpse of you. There were rumors of your existence, but nobody ever saw you."

A resigned sigh escaped his lips. “I hated every moment of my life there—the constant surveillance, the price paid by those who dared to step out of line. And I think I’m finally starting to understand how unbearable it must have been for you to be confined within those walls. Unseen, unheard, without any idea of what was out here," he gestured to the surrounding wilderness.

The stillness following his words was disrupted by the involuntary snap of a branch succumbing to the pressure of your grasp. Your mouth dropped and you attempted to conceal the subtle gasp that followed, praying Minho wouldn't be able to discern the astonishment you felt.

As your eyes lifted, preparing to articulate the thoughts still struggling for coherence in your mind, your attention was captured by movement just beyond his shoulder.

Amidst the foliage, a delicate tendril of smoke curled upward, spiraling into the sky. You followed the trail down to the source, where a barely visible chimney revealed itself through the trees—an apparent sign that you weren't as alone as you had once believed.

You returned to the campsite cradling a bundle of dry branches in your arms. Felix's face lit up at the sight, however his dark eyebrows raised in silent inquiry when he noticed the expression on your face. He accepted the branches as you handed them over, kneeling down beside him.

"Did something happen?" he asked, following the trajectory of your gaze to where Minho was approaching Chan across the clearing.

“We found a small cottage not too far away," you began, helping him arrange the branches. "We didn't get close enough to see if anyone was inside, but there was smoke coming from the chimney.”

A mixture of curiosity and apprehension took hold of his freckled features as you continued. “If someone lives there, there could be medical supplies or something useful for Jeongin's foot."

His eyes drifted toward Jeongin, now dozing off with his head on Seungmin's shoulder.

"He has a fever, Lix," you added with a note of urgency.

Felix swallowed, grappling with your words. "Let's say they do happen to have what we need," sparks flew from the friction of wood meeting wood beneath his hands. He maintained focus, coaxing the flames into existence. "You think they’ll just hand it over to a group of strangers?"

A brief pause followed before he asserted, "They won’t."

"Then we’ll take it,” you answered plainly. Felix’s eyes widened and you emphasized, “Without hurting them.”

His eyes sparkled as the first glimmer of flames emerged, heart-shaped lips curving into a smile. “Well would you look at that, princess," he mused, "you might just be one of us after all.”

The weathered stone cottage stood as an oddity against the wild, untamed forest.

The towering pines devoured the moonlight, plunging the surroundings in velvety darkness. Beside, you, Felix moved as if he were part of the shadows themselves—someone who had adapted to the darkness in ways you could only begin to imagine.

The two of you—along with Minho, Chan, and Hyunjin—had dispersed around the cottage to get a better idea of who might be inside.

Its circular windows were devoid of curtains or cover, as if whoever resided within had nothing to hide from prying eyes. Flickering light spilled out into the darkness as the scent of burning firewood filled the air—an indicator of the warmth within those walls.

Each step Felix took was guided by muscle memory—a hunter’s instinct, as he left no trail of his passage behind. Darkness seemed to seep from his eyes to combat the soft moonlight. The lethal gleam behind them whispered of his past deeds, reminding you that he was the survivor of a world in which he had been forced into the role of predator rather than prey.

Felix pivoted without a sound, hands delicately grasping your arms. His eyes softened upon meeting yours, acknowledging the fleeting startle he'd caused you. "Stay here," he whispered, a soft command. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he turned back toward the cottage.

You watched with bated breath as he approached one of the open windows. His eyes narrowed, catching on something inside, someone, perhaps—

“What the hell is he doing?!” a voice hissed from behind you.

You whirled around, instinctively reaching for your knife.

“Shit, Chan.“

“I said not to get too close,” Chan continued, disregarding the glare you shot him.

Before you could voice your irritation any further, Felix silently returned to your side. His hand made its way to your lower back, a feather-light touch to alert you of his presence. “There’s a man inside. Just one, from what I can tell.”

The sudden crack of a brittle branch underneath a heavy boot had all three of your heads snapping to the left. Minho and Hyunjin emerged from the shadows, their words echoing Felix's earlier revelation about a single man within the confines of the cottage.

"If he's the only one inside, we might be able to explain our situation and ask for help," Chan said.

Felix withdrew his hand from your back, deftly pulling down the bandana that matched each of your own. The fabric slid down the lower half of his face, unveiling tense features. "We don't know who this man is or what he's capable of.”

“What if he seems hostile or refuses to cooperate?” Hyunjin chimed in. As his slender fingers adjusted the strap across his chest, the metallic clink of the firearm secured to his back punctuated the air.

The tension thickened as Chan took a moment to contemplate the options. His hand fell to his own weapon, subtly tracing the familiar contours. "Maybe we should wait until morning,” he suggested. And the words, like always, came out laden with the weight of responsibility. “People can be unpredictable. If we wait until morning it gives us the advantage of daylight and more time to assess the situation.”

Impatience flickered across Minho's features, his eyebrows drawing together. "We can't afford to wait," he stressed, "Jeongin has a fever and it isn’t going to improve on its own. If we wait until morning, even a few hours, it worsens that much more. And it will just keep escalating until—"

"Alright," Chan conceded, features softening at the mention of the youngest. “If we're going to do this we need to be cautious. Charging in blindly could make things worse, not only for Jeongin but for all of us.” He swallowed hard, eyes traveling across each of your faces.

"So, what's our plan?" you spoke up, highlighting your commitment to whatever course of action they chose.

"What if we should just knock," Chan shrugged, "it's a simple gesture, non-threatening..”

Felix scoffed audibly from beside you, the sound startling a bird into flight from somewhere above. “Knock?" he lowered his voice to a whisper, "we might as well hand over our weapons while we’re at it."

"Paint targets on our foreheads too," Hyunjin muttered.

Chan shot each of them a disapproving glare. His hand instinctively rose, fingers tracing the scar along the bridge of his nose.

Although walking up and knocking on a stranger's door in the middle of the night did seem a bit absurd, you understood the rationale behind Chan's strategy—an attempt to approach the unknown with some semblance of diplomacy before considering more aggressive measures.

"I should do it," you offered, aiming to sound as indifferent as possible despite the quickening thud of your heart in your chest. "I might seem less threatening, and he might be more willing to talk if he sees me alone."

All eyes suddenly turned to you. Felix stiffened, but Minho intervened before he could protest.

"She has a point,” Minho looked to Chan, “given the circumstances, if he thinks she’s a woman alone in the middle of the night he might be more inclined to trust her and offer aide.”

Felix's expression twisted into a deep scowl, blatantly directed at Minho. "Or take advantage of her," his voice dropped to a near growl.

"That's why we'll be right here,” Chan offered.

Felix restrained himself from voicing any further objections, yet the discontent on his face remained visible. He was desperate to help Jeongin, too. He acknowledged the necessity of the plan, understood the logic, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Hyunjin shifted restlessly. "What if we wait until he goes to sleep?" he said, turning to you, “approaching his doorstep in the middle of the night might raise suspicions."

“So what, you want to break in instead?” you countered.

"It's not like we haven't done it before," Hyunjin snapped.

Your arms crossed as you locked eyes with him in a challenging stare. He gritted his teeth and ran a hand through his golden locks, a self-assured gesture that—as much as you would rather die than admit it—highlighted the way Hyunjin was objectively quite stunning.

As his gaze held yours, there was a slight falter in the sharpness of his stare. Almost hinting that that he had made the suggestion in a discreet attempt to protect you from approaching the man alone.

Almost.

Feeling the weight of the others' eyes shifting between you and Hyunjin, you drew in a breath. "I'll go," you said, addressing Chan. “There’s no way this ends well if we get caught breaking in. If I talk to him, I might at least be able to find out if he has what we need. And if he refuses to help us then we can do what needs to be done for Jeongin.”

Chan nodded. "Talk to him at the doorstep. If things seem off, call for us. We'll be right here, yeah?"

"Just be careful," Felix added quietly from beside you.

The corners of his eyes creased with worry, but there was trust within them. He reached over to tap on the hilt of your knife, a silent reminder of its presence, and you offered a faint smile in reply.

Aware of the collective gaze fixed on your back, you warily approached the cottage. The sight of Jeongin's fevered state replayed over and over in your mind, propelling every step as you inched closer to the plain, wooden door awaiting your touch.

Lifting a hand, you prepared to rap your knuckles against the weathered surface when an unexpected disruption seized your motion.

Before you could make contact with the door, it began to creak open. The hinges groaned, worn with age, as a sudden brightness flooded out into the night.

Squinting against the intrusion of light, your eyes instinctively dropped to a pair of worn-out leather shoes visible just across the threshold.

“I've been wondering when you lot were finally going to gather the courage to come and talk."

Your head shot up to meet the source of the voice, eyes widening as they settled on the man standing before you. His features were a testament to years spent at the edge of the wilderness. Dark hair, unkempt and graying at the temples, framed a face adorned with a rugged beard. The beard, though not long, carried a battered look, much like the rest of his appearance.

Despite the late hour, there was something peculiar about the way his eyes gleamed, a gaze perpetually attuned to his surroundings. A faint smile played on his lips as he studied your reaction, regarding you with calm curiosity.

Then, in one swift motion, he moved to close the distance between you. You stumbled back, heart drumming a rapid beat in your chest.

“Come on out!” his voice shattered the night, startling you into a breathless pause. He raised an arm and made a sweeping gesture directed at where the boys were hidden, as if he were inviting them over.

Your mouth fell, the astonishment in your own features reflected by each of the boys as they cautiously emerged from the brush.

The man turned, leaving the door open as he retreated back into the dimly lit interior. "You're lucky you found this place when you did," he said, addressing you over his shoulder.

Hesitant to follow, you lingered in the doorway, absorbing the details of the interior.

Stone walls enclosed the space in a large room, a single hallway extending out of view at the other end. The thatched roof was woven meticulously from bundles of dried straw, forming a gentle slope overhead. A narrow opening ushered smoke from the fireplace into the night sky, and an armchair sat facing the flames, a stack of freshly chopped wood at its feet.

Dry wood.

To your left, a small kitchen area was tucked against the wall. The air inside the cottage was rich with the enticing aroma of something savory bubbling above the rustic stove. It was a scent so captivating that it coaxed you to take a step over the threshold.

As the boys cautiously filtered in behind you, the man settled down at a small table adorned with scattered parchment. His relaxed demeanor made it seem as though he were accustomed to welcoming unexpected, armed guests into his home.

Felix took a deliberate step forward to position himself between the man and the rest of you. His eyes drilled into the stranger, scouring for any sign of ill intent. Despite the absence of a weapon, the way Felix stood made it clear that he didn't need one.

Chan hurriedly moved to join him. His hand found its way to Felix's shoulder, settling on the area where the branded mark lay concealed beneath his clothing—a warning touch. A silent caution to tread carefully.

As Chan visibly grappled with the situation, his mouth opened and closed in a struggle to find the words to start some sort of conversation.

The man chuckled, "You're wondering why I've welcomed you into my home."

The boys stood their ground, but not one of them spoke. They just stared, making you wonder if this was the first time they'd been willingly invited into a stranger's home.

The man leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You’ve been circling my home for the better part of the night. I figure if you'd wanted to kill me you would have gotten to it by now," he said, eyes flicking to the imposing firearm strapped to Hyunjin's back. "But something tells me you didn't come all this way just for a friendly chat, did you?"

“Actually...Uh, sir,” Chan managed to find his voice, but you cringed a bit at the awkwardness it carried. "What we're looking for are medical supplies."

Minho stepped up. "Something to combat infection or fever," he clarified.

The man leaned back in contemplation. He surveyed each of you individually, eyes alight with amusement as if he found the whole situation mildly entertaining.

When his gaze fell upon you, Felix executed a deliberate shift in position. He planted himself directly in front of you, an unmistakable signal that he was fiercely protective of your well-being.

The man's faint smile morphed into a wry, knowing smirk as he looked Felix up and down. "Medical supplies, huh? You all look fine to me," he remarked.

"It's not for any of us," Chan's voice carried a hint of desperation. He paused to gauge the man's reaction before adding, "It’s for our youngest," likely hoping to evoke some sympathy.

The man arched an eyebrow. “There are more of you?"

Minho nodded, "We are a small group, just trying to survive."

"Survival," the man drew out the word, tasting it. “This is not the first time survival has brought strangers to my home in search of help."

"We don't have much to offer in return, but we are willing to trade," Chan offered.

The man's eyes narrowed, probing for sincerity behind his words. "Your friend must be very important to you," he stated, "but trading is not something I require. As you can see, I have everything I need within these walls.”

His fingers began to tap rhythmically against the arm of his chair, an unsettling sound that filled the air as he weighed the value of whatever he was considering.

"Despite that, I will provide you with what you need," he settled on.

A subtle release of tension spread through the room. Minho's stoic facade betrayed a flicker of relief. Chan allowed his posture to ease ever so slightly, Hyunjin withdrew his hand from the weapon strap across his chest.

Yet, amidst the delicate shift in energy, Felix remained an exception. Unmoved by the apparent relief settling in around him, his taut stance, though not overtly aggressive, showed no signs of relenting.

"Go collect your friend," the man waved a hand at the door, "I will shelter you for the night. You're young, exhausted, and it looks like you've been through quite a lot."

Alarm bells should have been ringing in your head.

The whole situation should have been unnerving. And in several ways, it was. But there was an inexplicable aura surrounding the man. Beneath the sly arrogance that colored his expressions, an undercurrent of compassion emerged. As he spoke, you couldn't help but notice the sadness that flitted across his eyes when he took in your group. There was a depth of profound humanity within those eyes—the kind of empathy you had never witnessed in your father—and it resonated with you.

As Chan started to voice his reservations, the man halted him with a raised hand. “I understand the reluctance to trust a stranger. You're cautious, and rightfully so. I see the weapons you carry, I know that you had the means to storm in here and take what you need, perhaps at my expense. Yet, you opted to knock on my door,” he chuckled lightly, shaking his head, "and that tells me something about each of you. Kindness begets kindness. Your group has demonstrated a courage that not many possess. And for that, I offer my aid.”

A stunned silence enveloped the room.

"Thank you," Chan expressed softly, each syllable carrying the weight of collective relief.

While the boys prepared to leave, your focus lingered on the man. A slight limp accompanied his movement as he stood—the permanent mark of an old injury to his left leg.

Felix glided across your path with a gentle brush to your arm, a silent signal to get the hell out of there. He took the lead, aiming to be the first one outside to ensure that there weren't any potential traps or threats awaiting you beyond the door.

Just as you were about to cross the threshold, something prickled at the edges of your senses. A barely perceptible exhale, too close for comfort, brushed against your ear.

The man's raspy voice came as a hushed whisper, intended for your ears alone. “A loyal guard dog you've got there,” he murmured, jerking his chin toward Felix.

You froze.

The blood in your veins threatened to boil at the comparison of Felix to a dog. But there was no malice in his tone, only a recognition of the connection. Almost as if he were measuring your reaction, trying to elicit a response from you.

And so, you willed that surge of heat to simmer.

Suppressing whatever fiery response had been brewing inside of you, you picked up your pace and stepped out into the night.

The decision to regroup and head back to the cottage had been met with skepticism. But, nine against one felt like decent odds, and the weapons your group possessed seemed to tip the scales in favor of the majority.

Upon re-entering the stone walls, you found the atmosphere had shifted. The man—still a mysterious figure with an unnamed identity—was in the midst of preparing something new over the stove.

Shallow breaths escaped Jeongin's lips as he settled into the armchair. The firelight played upon his features, highlighting the film of glistening sweat on his skin.

"I'm making a remedy from the herbs I've gathered,” the man announced from the kitchen. “This will help reduce his fever and fight the infection. Nature provides us with everything we need, if we know how to use it."

He went on to explain the properties of each ingredient he'd carefully measured and crushed. His words suggested a deep connection to the land and its resources. Everything felt genuine enough, and still, your intuition screamed at you to be cautious. A scowl crept across your face as he periodically glanced to you, his earlier comment about Felix ringing in your mind.

The collective watchfulness of the group intensified as the room filled with the soothing aroma of a fragrant tea. "This will help him," the man stated calmly as he poured a cup.

As he approached Jeongin with the steaming amber liquid, Felix's hands clenched into tight fists. The freckled boy focused intently on Chan, as if he were waiting for some kind of signal to release the restrained energy inside of him. The darkness swirling in his eyes hinted that, at the slightest cue from Chan, he would spring into action without a moment's hesitation.

You swallowed. Hard. When the man extended the cup toward Jeongin's lips, a sudden surge of panic gripped you. "Wait—"

Felix flinched sharply beside you, a ripple of tension coursing through his frame. Hyunjin, startled by your interruption, reached for the firearm still strapped to his back. Changbin took an instinctive step forward, ready to shield if need be.

The room held its breath, each of you caught in the precarious balance between conflict and composure.

The man turned, observing each of your faces. A sigh escaped him. A heavy, pitiful sound. And then, he lifted the cup and took a measured sip, his eyes locking onto yours.

“It is safe," he said after swallowing, "I have brewed this remedy countless times for myself." He held the cup out to you, making room for you to take his place beside Jeongin.

Cradling the cup in your hands, the warmth seeped through your fingertips. Jeongin stirred, eyelashes fluttering against the pale flush of his skin as you stepped up beside the armchair.

Feeling the need for guidance, you thought of Chan. Then, Felix. Jisung, an unpredictable force, lingered in your considerations too.

But when your head lifted, it wasn't Chan, Felix, or Jisung you looked to.

Minho nodded in silent reassurance, and it was all you needed to bring the cup to Jeongin's lips.

After he'd taken the last sip of the remedy, you turned and looked the man dead in the eyes as you pushed the cup back into his hands. "If anything happens to him because of this," you asserted, "I won't hesitate to kill you myself."

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Felix's lips twitch upward. And in that subtle expression, you could’ve sworn you detected something that looked a lot like pride.

As the night wore on, something incredibly rare began to settle over your group—a blooming sense of trust. The culmination of the day's events, coupled with the comforting atmosphere inside the cottage gradually pulled each of you into a sense of security.

With Jeongin's condition showing signs of stabilizing, Hyunjin and Changbin decided to venture back to the rover to fetch supplies, too wary to leave them out in the open. Leaned against the armchair, Seungmin was first to fall asleep after Jeongin. Minho and Jisung had found solace in each other's presence near the hearth, where the dancing flames bathed their sleeping forms in a subtle glow.

In the midst of it all, Chan had occupied a seat across from the man at the table. They were deep in hushed conversation, discussing matters out of earshot, but the sound of their voices mingling carried an odd sense of security with it.

You found your own sanctuary nestled discreetly in a corner beside Felix. Shielded by miscellaneous objects and shadows, the position rendered you just out of direct eyesight from the two engrossed in conversation at the table.

The firelight played upon the subtle arch of his nose, the gentle curve of his lips, the way his eyelashes cast delicate shadows on his cheeks. Your hand gravitated toward his, and he responded by entwining his fingers with your own.

"I'll stay up with you," you murmured softly, "wasn't planning on falling asleep tonight anyway."

Felix responded with a soft kiss to your temple before guiding you to lie down with him, finding a more comfortable position. He pulled you into his chest and you raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry, glancing to the others. But the freckled boy only grinned as he pulled you closer.

“Sleep,” he murmured softly.

Succumbing to the moment, you laid your head down against his chest, relishing in the comforting beat of his heart.

As his fingers began to trail across your back in soothing circles, you hesitantly draped an arm over his waist, too tired to care about what the others might think—what Hyunjin might think, when he returned to find you like this.

Your mind drifted as you tried to keep the exhaustion at bay.

You imagined waking up to a rooftop bathed in gentle sunlight. You pictured the soft glow of a lantern in a narrow alleyway, reflecting off of sad eyes that carried so much more when they looked to the moon.

The last coherent thing that crossed your mind was the confession you'd been holding back since the moment you'd spent with Felix in the rain.

You might have murmured his name as those three little words resurfaced in your thoughts, but the boundary between wakefulness and dreams blurred.

A sudden jolt snapped you back from the brink of sleep, leaving you momentarily disoriented.

Still wrapped in Felix's arms, you anticipated to find him awake when you lifted your head from his chest. However, the features that met your gaze were softened by the gentle embrace of sleep. As your eyes lingered on him, you hoped that he would be granted solace from the nightmares tonight.

You brushed a few strands of hair from his face before sitting up, settling into a watchful position. It couldn't be too much longer now until Hyunjin and Changbin returned.

The rover wasn't that far.

You blinked, trying to regain a hold on your surroundings. As your tired eyes struggled to focus, they fell upon Chan. He now sat leaning against the wall next to the door, a testament to his determination to wait for Hyunjin and Changbin. His eyes were closed, head resting back, chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm—likely never intending to succumb to sleep.

A subtle noise caught your attention across the room, where man stood at a small basin in the kitchen, washing the pot he'd used to brew Jeongin's tea. His back was turned to you, the slight limp in his step evident as he shifted on his feet.

Glancing around the cottage, you made note of the various items scattered about. An aged book sat on a small table next to the armchair. Beside it lay an ornate silver necklace, its chain interlaced with dried white flowers that you didn't recognize.

Across from you, a glimmer reflected off of a small chest on a bookshelf, as if it had been purposefully tucked away amongst the clutter.

Your heart skipped a beat as you focused on the lock—at the symbol engraved on it.

So hauntingly familiar..

You squinted.

And then, your heart plummeted. Right down to your stomach.

You were standing before you'd even willed your feet to move, fueled by sheer instinct as your hand found its way to the knife securely strapped to your waistband.

The blade gleamed as you pulled it out. Your footsteps fell light as a whisper on the wooden floor as you approached the man, tightening your grip on the knife's handle to give you some semblance of control.

His hands, still glistening with water, hovered in the air as he twisted his head to acknowledge your presence.

"Why,” you growled, “does that chest bear the symbol of—"

You stiffened as he turned around, wiping his hands on a thin towel. "Sit," he urged, nodding to one of the two chairs positioned around the table.

“No," you lifted the blade and pointed it directly at him, surprised at how steady it was given the tremor coursing through your body. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t—”

"You are correct," he cut you off, "that chest indeed bears the mark of your father's army. But it also carries the weight of my own history."

A chill slithered down your spine as you could physically feel the blood drain from your face. The room swayed around you as you staggered, clutching at the edge of the table to steady yourself.

Despite the shock that painted your expression, the man remained impassive. You stood frozen in place, muscles locked with fear, as he navigated the intimate confines of the cottage to retrieve the small chest from the shelf.

He cradled it in his hands before placing it on the table with deliberate care.

"Sit," he repeated, settling into the chair across from you.

“H-how," you stammered. Your eyes darted over your shoulder to Chan, at the heavy weapon across his lap. But before you could muster the words to call for him, the man spoke again.

“I suspected who you were the moment I saw you standing on my doorstep. Initially, I mistook you for a ghost," he shook his head, voice softening, "the resemblance you bear to her is unmistakable. But it wasn't until this very moment, with that knife in your hand, that I knew for sure."

Without a word, you lowered yourself into the chair across from him.

Pleased with your reaction, the man reached beneath his shirt to reveal a necklace with a dangling key. He used the key to unlock the chest, extracting a worn cloth from within.

The cloth was unraveled to reveal a blade. It was identical to your own in size and shape. Yet, despite the apparent resemblance, the engravings told a different story. Crimson red flowers adorned the handle of the knife in his hand, a stark contrast to the white blossoms etched into your mother’s.

“A lifetime ago," the man cleared his throat, drawing your attention away from the twin blades. "I was a commander in your father's army. But in truth, I was more than that. A confidant, an advisor, and dare I say, his friend. Your father was never entirely sound of mind, even in his youth, but power has a way of magnifying the cracks in one's sanity. ”

He swallowed thickly, as if the following words were difficult to articulate. "I cannot absolve myself either," he confessed, "in the pursuit of my own power and blind loyalty, I too committed unspeakable acts. I followed orders without question, turning a blind eye to the suffering we caused. I assisted your father in making the decisions that stain his hands—decisions that haunt me still.”

"Stop," you croaked. Your chest tightened as you grappled with a rising tide of nausea. And you questioned whether your legs would even hold you if you tried to stand. "How is it even possible that we found you.."

The ghost of a smile crossed his lips. "Fate, my dear, works in mysterious ways," he answered, "and it seems to have conspired to bring you here tonight, to hear my truth."

After a brief pause, he redirected the conversation. "Many years ago, there was a woman, a guide of sorts, known for leading those from the outer districts to District 9 in search of a better life.”

Hira.

As best as you could, you veiled the flicker of recognition that sparked within you at her mention.

“Your mother was amongst those brought to District 9, to the palace. The moment your father laid eyes on her, he was consumed by a new kind of obsession. Within a week they were married. And the world, entranced by fear of his power, did not dare question it. He bound her to him—not out of love, but in the twisted grip of an obsession with her determination, her beauty, and her strength. Of course, there was also a dire urgency to ensure that his lineage persisted, rooted in the truth that only his bloodline could unlock the secrets of a hidden sanctum nestled deep within in District 2."

"Miroh," you whispered shakily.

He offered a solemn nod. “Your father saw your mother as a means to an end. He stripped away her dreams, her hopes, and caged her spirit. Yet, in the shadowed corridors of the palace, I came to understand her," a wistful smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "She was resilient, even in the face of cruelty. During the stolen moments we shared, she taught me about the outer districts and those we had oppressed. Through her, I learned not just about the struggles of these people, but about love, kindness, and hope.”

The sigh he let out carried the weight of a lifetime. The pain and the tenderness in his words echoed as you recognized that these were the most intimate details anyone had ever shared with you about your mother.

"Months later," he continued, "your mother entrusted me with a secret that would alter the course of our lives. I saw the fear in her eyes when she told me she that was pregnant—the fear that your father could pose a threat to the life growing within her. The following morning, duty dictated that I embark on a routine scouting mission in the outer districts. While I was there, my heart drove me to make a harrowing decision," he closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. "I slit the throats of the guards who had accompanied me. I burned their bodies beyond recognition, and in doing so I faked my own death. I built this cottage and the plan was simple—return for your mother, liberate her from the clutches of your father so that she may raise her child in peace. However, a year elapsed before the circumstances permitted my return. When I finally slipped back into the heart of District 9, under the cloak of darkness, it was only to learn that she had.."

He trailed off, unable to utter the painful conclusion.

Your stomach churned with the deep, unresolved ache tied to the memories of your mother. At the thought of her existence being shrouded in some kind of tragic narrative, and the the crushing realization that you would never know the full truth of her journey because she was gone.

The man's eyes fell to the blade in front of him, fingers tracing the engravings as if seeking solace in their familiar touch. And you didn't even know if you could believe a single word he'd said, but you wondered if he was the one to have given your mother the counterpart.

“I loved her, your mother,” his voice broke. The words hung in the air—dense, and fractured, and he did not look up as he continued.

“I loved her deeply, but in our time spent together I never summoned the courage to tell her those words. I believe she knew it, I know she did, and yet, it haunts me still. It always will. More than anything.”

The sorrow and regret etched on his face told the story of a lifetime's worth of remorse. It was a familiar expression, the same torment you had seen in Felix's eyes countless times before.

You glanced to the freckled boy, his silhouette barely visible in the dying firelight.

And then, another realization struck you. With a tremor of uncertainty in your voice, you turned back to the man. “You and my mother..Did you ever..Is there any chance that you could be my..” the words faltered with the possibility of a truth too profound to fully grasp.

He brought a hand up, rubbing at his face. "I don't know," he shook his head, "your mother and I were together before I left, once. But there is no way to know for certain until you reach Miroh. If you cannot open the lock, if it is my blood that runs through your veins instead of his, then I have damned us all."

The man fixed you with an intense stare. "If he finds you before you reach Miroh,” he quieted his voice to a gravelly whisper, “if he finds you, if the rebellion fails, he will kill them all—“

"I am not afraid of him," you croaked.

"You should be," he warned, "You should be terrified of him. Because he will save that one," he nodded his chin in Felix's direction, "for last. He will draw it out because of the way you look at him. And he will savor it until the bitter end."

His eyes bore into yours, urging you to understand the gravity of his words. "If you love that boy, tell him. Even if you think you may love him, tell him. Before it is too late.”

It was then that you registered the hot tracks of tears on your cheeks.

You were going to be sick.

As the vivid, gut-wrenching image of Felix suffering at the hands of your father seared through your mind, you were going to be sick.

You pushed the chair back, stumbling to your feet.

Desperate to put physical space between yourself and the cruel fate that had been painted before you, you burst outside, gasping for air.

As you doubled over, clutching at your chest, the rhythmic echoes of footsteps reached your ears. There were tears streaming down your cheeks when you turned around to confront the man, ready to demand answers.

But it wasn't his figure that stepped into the dim light seeping from the door.

As Felix took a cautious step forward, the expression he wore told you he had heard everything. Including the very unsettling possibility that your blood might not be the key to Miroh—that the hope every single one of you had clung to might always have been nothing more than just a fragile, fragile illusion.

"What if my blood doesn’t work?” you choked out through tears as he closed the distance between you, the weight of his gaze holding you in place.

"We don't know for sure yet, okay?”

"Felix," you pleaded his name like there was something he could do. As if he weren't just as helpless as you.

"I will not let anything happen to you," he whispered as his arms enveloped your trembling shoulders. "You're okay. We're okay,"

You shook your head, closing your eyes as Felix gently lifted your chin. "I will not let anyone hurt you," he vowed, traced the path of your tears with his thumbs.

But Felix could sense the panic tightening its grip on you, rendering your breaths shallow and uneven. The ache to alleviate your distress clawed at him. He would've done anything to make it stop. And so, in that vulnerable moment he summoned the courage to articulate the only thing he had left to offer.

“I love you,” he whispered, “I love you, princess. No matter what.”

Felix closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against yours. He reveled in the feeling of his own admission, and it was something even fear could not outweigh.

You breathed him in.

You knew this would not last forever with him. Nothing ever does. And you wondered if you will ever be able to accept that, even when you no longer have a choice.

But in that moment, Felix was there. You extended a hand, and he was warm. He was real, and he felt more like home than anything ever had.

You loved him too, and it was a feeling you did not dare let go.

Part 8 coming soon..

thank you so much for reading<33 if you would like to be added to the taglist please don't hesitate to let me know :)

taglist: @astralis-is-typing @skz-streamer @vixensss @yangracha @toplinelix @lixiesw1fe @slytherinatheart @hash2013 @skzswife @xosugardoll @sunnyhonie @skzcollision @hydroyaksha @l1xvanter @nimx9 @ilychee08

#lee felix x reader #felix x reader #lee felix au #stray kids au #skz au #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids angst #skz angst #lee felix anst #felix angst #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #felix smut #lee felix smut #stray kids smut #skz smut

251 notes · View notes