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estellan0vella · 2 days ago

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Love In Print│Bang Chan

Chapter Twenty Seven: Epilogue SS: 0 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 4.9K Content Warnings:

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The bridal suite is a chaotic blend of nerves, laughter, and love. Sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm, golden glow over Ayame as she stands in front of the full-length mirror.

Her wedding gown is a masterpiece: an off-shoulder design with sheer, shimmering long sleeves that glint like morning dew. The bodice fits her like a glove, accentuating her frame before flowing into a cascading skirt of satin and tulle, the delicate overlay catching every glimmer of sunlight.

Minho, Hyunjin, Seungmin, and Soojin orbit her like a dysfunctional but devoted bridal squad, each playing their part in this final moment before the ceremony. Soojin holds a glass of champagne like it's a lifeline, her eyes misty as she hands it to Ayame.

"You look fucking unreal," Soojin says, her voice thick with emotion. "Like a literal goddess. Chan is going to lose his goddamn mind."

Ayame takes the glass with a soft smile, tilting her head slightly as Hyunjin fusses with her veil, muttering something about symmetry and perfection.

"He better," Ayame quips, her tone light but her nerves palpable. "I didn't spend hours squeezing into this for him to not cry like a little bitch."

Hyunjin gasps dramatically, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "Oh, he's going to cry. Men like Chan don't stand a chance against this kind of slay."

Minho, perched against the windowsill with his own glass of champagne, raises it in salute. "Maknae, fair warning: when I walk you down that aisle, I'm going to cry. But not the cute kind. I'm talking snotty, hiccuping, embarrassing crying. People will think it's my wedding."

Ayame rolls her eyes, though a genuine smile breaks through. "Oppa, if you ruin my moment, I swear I'll have Seungmin escort you out."

Seungmin smirks from his spot on the couch, legs crossed and utterly unbothered. "Ruin it? Minho's dramatic sobbing is basically a family tradition at this point. Wouldn't be a Lim-Ayame-Lee-Minho production without it."

Ayame laughs softly, the sound laced with tension. Then she catches sight of her phone on the vanity. For a moment, she hesitates, her fingers hovering over the device before she picks it up, her face tightening with resolve.

The room quiets as Ayame dials, holding the phone to her ear. The line rings once, twice and then connects.

"Who is this?" Lim Ailiseu's sharp voice cuts through the line. "I don't have this number saved."

Ayame's chest tightens, but she doesn't respond. Her lips press into a thin line, and after a moment, she quietly ends the call. She places the phone down with a deliberate motion and downs her champagne in one swift go.

"Well, there we go," she mutters, her voice bitter and low.

The room feels heavy with the weight of her unspoken pain. Soojin, always quick to diffuse tension, stands abruptly. "I'll... I'll go get Chan," she says, her voice tentative.

Soojin exits the suite, leaving Minho, Hyunjin, and Seungmin to exchange glances. Minho moves to refill Ayame's glass. "You know what fixes shitty mothers?" he says, pouring generously. "More champagne."

Hyunjin wraps an arm around Ayame's shoulders. "I'd throw hands, but I don't want to ruin my manicure. Just say the word, though."

Seungmin nods solemnly. "We're all ready to fight her. Physically, emotionally, spiritually."

Ayame snorts, the sound half-laugh, half-sob. "Thanks, oppas. Really."

Meanwhile, in the groom's suite, laughter echoes as Felix pins Chan's boutonniere to his lapel. Jisung, Changbin, Jeongin, and Jess are in various stages of chaos, but the room falls silent when Soojin bursts in, her face flushed.

"Ayame called her mother," she blurts out, her voice tinged with anger. "And it turns out that charming woman deleted Ayame's number."

The silence grows heavier. Chan's jaw tightens, and without a word, he strides toward the door. Jess's eyes narrow as she mutters, "I told you I should've hit her months ago. Felix, you should've let me."

Chan doesn't stop, his pace purposeful as he heads for the bridal suite. When he steps inside, his gaze softens immediately upon seeing Ayame sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands gripping her empty champagne flute. Minho, Hyunjin, and Seungmin take one look at Chan and wisely shuffle out, though Minho pauses in the doorway to whisper, "Don't fuck this up"

Ayame looks up, her eyes meeting Chan's. Her expression is vulnerable, her usual fire dimmed. "I don't even know why..." She shakes her head, her voice breaking slightly. "I don't know why I even called her."

Chan crouches down in front of her, taking her hands in his. His thumbs trace soothing circles over her knuckles as he speaks. "Because she's your mother," he says gently. "And no matter how shitty she is, you hoped for more. That's normal, Ayame."

She lets out a bitter laugh, her eyes glassy. "Expect disappointment, right?"

"Not from me," Chan says firmly, his gaze steady. "Never from me."

Her lips twitch, a small, wry smile breaking through. "The Bang Chan guarantee."

"Damn right," he replies, standing and helping her to her feet. "Now, I've got to get back to my suite and finish getting ready. But I need to know, are you okay?"

Ayame nods, her smile softening. "Minho's got a bottle of champagne with my name on it. By the time I walk down the aisle, I'll probably be stumbling."

Chan chuckles, pulling her into a brief but tender embrace. He presses a kiss to her forehead, lingering for a moment. "Just make sure you make it down the aisle to me."

"I will," Ayame whispers, watching as he heads for the door. Her voice is soft but steady as she calls after him. "I promise."

The Australian summer sun is blazing, casting a golden glow over the beach, the sand glittering beneath the perfectly arranged white and blue wedding decor. The soft, salty breeze ruffles the petals of blue hydrangeas and white roses that line the aisle, and the scent of the ocean mingles with the flowers, filling the air with a serene, intoxicating fragrance.

Ayame stands at the start of the aisle, her pulse quickening with every soft crash of the waves against the shore. Minho is beside her, adjusting his tie in a dramatic fashion, his expression a mixture of smugness and nervous excitement.

He turns to her with a smirk, offering his arm. "So, you ready? If you want to bail, I've got a car parked behind the dunes. We can just roll out."

Ayame exhales deeply, a mix of nerves and anticipation clouding her chest, but a smile tugs at her lips. "Thanks, oppa, but I think I'm ready. At least for the ceremony."

Minho's face softens for a brief moment, his eyes scanning her with genuine affection. "You look fucking beautiful, Ayame. I swear, if I didn't already know you were mine, I'd be considering my options right now."

She rolls her eyes, but her grin widens. "Don't you dare. You're supposed to be walking me down the aisle, not trying to steal the show."

Minho laughs, his hand squeezing hers reassuringly. "Let's get this over with, then." He leads her forward, his usual playful demeanour replaced by an uncharacteristic seriousness, as though he's fully aware of the weight of this moment.

As the soft, haunting chords of Flightless Bird, American Mouth begin to drift through the air, Minho quirks an eyebrow at Ayame, unable to resist. "Seriously? This song? It sounds like a fucking breakup anthem."

Ayame nudges him lightly with her shoulder, her lips curling in a teasing smile. "It's a good song, oppa. Just trust me."

"Fine, fine," Minho mutters, shaking his head. "But if anyone starts fucking sparkling, I swear I'm out."

Their steps echo on the wooden platform as they walk toward the guests, all eyes turning in sync. The gasps that ripple through the crowd are audible even over the music. Ayame is a vision in her gown, each step making the delicate fabric shimmer like water under the sun.

The sheer sleeves float around her arms, barely brushing her skin, while the satin skirt glides with the soft breeze, catching the sunlight in a thousand tiny glimmers. Her veil trails behind her like a dream, as though it belongs to another world.

Jess, seated in the front row with Felix beside her, can't hide the tears welling in her eyes. She's dabbing at them furiously with a handkerchief, whispering something to Felix that makes him grin in that way he always does when he's about to burst into laughter. Nari, sitting a few rows back, is openly sobbing, her handkerchief practically soaked through. Her face is red, but her smile is pure pride.

Ayame's eyes are locked on Chan, who is standing at the end of the aisle. He looks impossibly handsome in a crisp navy suit, a soft white tie draped over his collar.

His groomsmen, Jisung, Felix, Changbin, and Jeongin, are a sharp contrast in dark suits and matching ties, but none can match Chan's radiance. His eyes are fixed on Ayame, a mixture of awe and love so intense it's almost palpable. Jisung, standing closest as best man, leans in and whispers something to Chan that makes him crack a smile.

Minho and Ayame finally reach the altar, and Minho releases her arm, stepping back with a sly grin. He turns to Chan, his voice low but laced with a kind of ferocity that only Minho could pull off. "You hurt her, and I swear to fucking god, I'll take your fingers, your toes, your dick, and your balls. In that order."

Chan doesn't flinch, his gaze unwavering, but there's a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Understood."

Minho gives a satisfied nod, stepping back with a slap on Chan's shoulder that's half reassuring, half threatening. He joins the bridal party to the side, casting one last protective glance at Ayame.

Ayame takes a deep breath, her heart pounding as she steps closer to Chan. The noise around her fades, and all she can focus on is the warmth radiating from him. The moment feels surreal, like it's both speeding by and slowing down all at once. She stands before him, her chest tightening, but her smile never wavers.

Chan's voice is barely a whisper as he looks her over, his eyes soft but full of awe. "You look..." He swallows hard, struggling to find the right words. "Perfect. You're perfect."

Ayame's lips twitch into a small, teasing smile, and she leans in just slightly, her voice warm and playful. "And you don't look too bad yourself, Mr. Perfect."

Chan chuckles softly, his hands moving to cup her face, his thumb gently tracing the curve of her jaw. "I think we both know you're the perfect one here, though."

She laughs, the sound light but full of emotion. "You're lucky you're the one standing here," she says, her voice soft, but the edge of nerves is gone now. The confidence that she feels in his presence melts all the tension away.

He smiles, his thumb brushing over her lower lip before he leans in, whispering against her ear, "I'm not going anywhere, Ayame. I'm here for you. Always."

The officiant stands before them, his voice a calm, measured contrast to the palpable energy of the crowd, the wind, the ocean. Ayame and Chan stand close, hands clasped tightly. Their fingers feel like they're buzzing, the heat from each other's touch almost sparking. They share a nervous glance, both of them trying to hold it together, but failing miserably.

"Chan, Ayame," the officiant begins, his voice carrying effortlessly across the beach, "Repeat after me: I, Chan, take you, Ayame, to be my lawfully wedded wife..."

"I, Chan, take you, Ayame, to be my lawfully wedded wife..." Chan's voice is thick with emotion, the words nearly stuck in his throat.

Ayame feels the lump in her chest grow, but she forces herself to stay composed, her voice steady as she repeats, "I, Ayame, take you, Chan, to be my lawfully wedded husband..."

The officiant gives a small nod, then turns to Ayame. "To have and to hold, from this day forward..."

"To have and to hold, from this day forward..." Chan's thumb brushes against her knuckles, and Ayame feels a warmth spread through her chest, the anxious jitters melting away under his touch.

"For better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health..."

"For better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health..." Ayame whispers, her eyes locked on Chan's. The words come so easily now, like they've always been there, waiting to be said.

She's lost in him, lost in the certainty of this moment. The past, her mother's cruelty, her doubts, the arguments, the stress, feels like a distant memory. All that matters is Chan, and this perfect moment.

The officiant smiles at them, his tone warm, almost conspiratorial. "Now, please, exchange the rings."

Jisung, practically vibrating with excitement, hands Chan the ring. Chan's hands tremble slightly, but he steadies himself as he slides the ring onto Ayame's finger. It fits perfectly like it was made just for her. His heart races as he looks up at her, his eyes full of awe.

Ayame takes the ring from Minho, her hands shaking, but she's steady now. She slides it onto Chan's finger, and for just a second, the world goes completely still. It's like time is holding its breath, waiting for something monumental to happen.

"You may now kiss the bride," the officiant declares, his voice breaking through the moment like the final, joyful punctuation.

Chan doesn't wait. His hands are on her waist, pulling her to him in a single motion, his lips crashing down onto hers. The kiss is soft, tentative at first, as though they're still testing this new reality. But then it deepens, their mouths moving together in a rhythm that feels familiar and new all at once. The kiss is slow and sweet, full of promise, but there's an intensity there too. A fire they've only just begun to stoke.

The crowd erupts into applause, but in that moment, it's just them. Just Ayame and Chan, caught in the whirlwind of their own love, the world spinning around them as if nothing else could possibly matter.

Minho, standing just off to the side, has turned into an emotional wreck. His shoulders are shaking as he tries to hide his tears, sniffling loudly into his sleeve. Jess squeezes his hand, tears streaking down her face, her expression a mix of joy and disbelief. Hyunjin has his phone out, snapping picture after picture, clearly capturing every second of the day.

"I'm going to need more tissues," Nari mutters under her breath, voice trembling as she dabs at her eyes, her face flushed from the tears.

Jess lets out a loud, half-laugh, half-snort, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "It's a wedding, Nari, not a funeral."

Ayame pulls away from the kiss reluctantly, her lips still tingling from the contact. Chan grins at her, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Bang Ayame," he says, his voice playful, "The motto of my life."

Ayame throws her head back, bursting into laughter, shaking her head in disbelief. "Stop it! You're supposed to be serious, it's our fucking wedding, not some goddamn porn movie."

"I'm serious," Chan insists, his grin widening.

"Stop!" Ayame laughs again, but she can't help herself. "You're ridiculous. Can't believe you went there."

Jisung, who's been standing nearby, absolutely cackles at the comment. "Hell yeah! That's perfect! I can already picture the tagline: 'Bang Chan, banging Bang Ayame!'" He throws his head back in laughter, his voice carrying over the crowd.

Chan's aunt, who's been seated at the front, gasps loudly, clutching her pearls in scandalized horror. Her face is a mixture of shock and disapproval, eyes wide. "Good heavens! What kind of language is that?!"

Ayame rolls her eyes, already exasperated. "Oh, for fuck's sake, not again," she mutters, turning to Chan. "Why did we even invite her?"

Chan snorts, shaking his head. "I don't fucking know. After all these years, and she's still clutching those damn pearls like she hasn't heard me make some disgusting joke before."

Ayame groans, rubbing her temples. "Seriously, we're all grown adults. Let's stop pretending that we don't know exactly what happens in honeymoon suites."

"Except Auntie," Jisung adds, leaning toward Felix with a grin that's as wicked as it is mischievous. "She's living in denial, and it's fucking hilarious."

Chan, still chuckling, wraps his arm around Ayame's waist and pulls her in closer. He presses a soft kiss on her cheek. "We're married now. You ready for all the fun that's coming our way?"

Ayame raises an eyebrow, her lips curling into a wicked grin. "Don't even think about it," she warns, but there's a playful glint in her eye. "I'm in for whatever comes next. But you better be prepared for the chaos."

And with that, they turn to face their guests, the laughter, the love, the life ahead of them stretching out like an endless summer. It's only the beginning.

The moonlight spills across the beach, casting a silvery glow that makes the whole world feel dreamlike. The waves lap lazily at the shore, their rhythmic sound punctuating the stillness of the night.

Ayame and Chan walk hand in hand, their bare feet leaving impressions in the soft sand, the warm summer air swirling around them. Ayame's white dress flutters in the breeze, clinging just slightly to her hips, while Chan's half-unbuttoned shirt is whipped against his chest, giving her fleeting glimpses of the muscles underneath.

It's perfect. Quiet, intimate, the kind of moment that feels suspended in time. Everything around them, the salty tang of the ocean, the hum of distant voices from the wedding reception, fades into a soft blur. All that matters is the feeling of his hand in hers, the steady beat of their hearts in sync.

"You're so fucking lucky to have grown up here," Ayame murmurs, gazing out at the dark expanse of the sea, her voice soft but threaded with a touch of envy. "Look at this place. It's like something out of a postcard."

Chan chuckles beside her, squeezing her hand. "Yeah, it's beautiful, but it wasn't always easy. Growing up here, with the ocean in front of you, it made everything feel... heavier, you know? Like, whenever I fucked up or felt like shit, I'd just dream of running back here. It was my escape."

Ayame glances up at him, her expression softening. "Would you have run back if things didn't work out with me?" she asks, her voice almost hesitant.

Chan halts, bringing her to a stop as well, his face turning serious. He looks at her, eyes full of something unspoken, something deeper than the waves crashing behind them. "Not a fucking chance," he says, voice steady and full of conviction. "You're my home now, Ayame. No running from this."

Ayame feels a warmth spread through her chest, the words settling into her heart like a perfect fit. She smiles, cheeks warming under his gaze. "Well, aren't you just the biggest romantic?" she teases, nudging him with her shoulder.

Chan grins, the corner of his mouth lifting into that signature mischievous smile. "Shh, don't spread that around. I've got a reputation to uphold."

Ayame laughs softly, and then, with a sudden spark of energy, she tugs on his hand. "Come on, Mr. Bang. Let's see if you can keep up with your wife."

"Wife," Chan repeats, the word tasting like heaven on his tongue. "I like the sound of that."

Ayame grins, and before he can say another word, she pulls him toward the waterline, her bare feet sinking into the sand as she moves. The cool ocean breeze rushes past them, and her dress flutters around her legs as she picks up the pace. Chan, still trying to catch up, yells after her. "Hold up, hold up! These pants cost more than my fucking phone, Ayame!"

Ayame raises an eyebrow, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Live a little. Stop being such a fucking coward."

"I'm not a coward!" Chan protests, though the way he digs his heels into the sand as she drags him further into the surf says otherwise. "I'm practical! These trousers don't just-"

But before he can finish, Ayame laughs and lets go of his hand, bolting into the surf herself. She laughs wildly as the water splashes up around her waist, the cool waves nipping at her skin. She spins in the water, her dress clinging to her legs, the ocean's reflection in her eyes.

"Come on, Bang Christopher Chan!" she shouts, her voice daring him to chase her. "Your wife commands you!"

"God help me," Chan mutters under his breath, eyes gleaming with amusement. He watches her for a second, the way her dress sticks to her curves, the way her laugh echoes across the quiet night, and then, with a half-shrug and a shake of his head, he sprints toward her.

The cool waves crash around his legs as he charges after her, his expensive trousers now soaked. "No way I'm going out like this," he calls, his voice teasing but full of admiration as he reaches her. "Your dress is gonna be see-through in a second."

Ayame smirks, taking another step closer to him, her fingers trailing slowly up the soaked fabric of his shirt. "Are you complaining?"

"Not at all," Chan murmurs, his breath catching as her touch sends a jolt through him. His hands find their way to her hips, pulling her in closer. "Just warning you."

But before he can get another word out, Ayame suddenly lunges at him, tackling him into the surf. The cold water slams over them, and for a second, the world is a blur of bubbles and the taste of salt on their lips. They both go under, disoriented but laughing like mad. When they surface, Ayame grabs his face and kisses him, the kiss wild and uncoordinated, but exactly what they both need. Wet, messy, and perfect.

They break apart, gasping for air, their laughter mingling with the sound of the waves.

"Why the fuck did I marry you?" Chan says, his voice mock-exasperated but his eyes full of warmth.

Ayame, still grinning, brushes wet strands of hair out of her face. "Because I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you," she teases, her eyes flashing with that familiar mischief. "You're welcome."

From the shore, a voice cuts through the moment, and it's Minho, standing there with his hands on his hips like some pissed-off parent. "What the fuck are you two doing out there?" he yells, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. "Changbin's about to lose his shit because you haven't cut the damn cake yet! Hyunjin had to suck him off just to stop him from face-planting into it!"

Ayame bursts out laughing, nearly doubling over in the water. Chan groans, running a hand through his wet hair. "Jesus Christ," he mutters. "I'm gonna ban Minho from every future event."

"Good fucking luck with that," Ayame laughs, swimming toward the shore. Chan follows, his soaked trousers clinging to his legs, but he's smiling, the irritation gone from his face.

As they approach the shore, Minho's still standing there, arms crossed, glaring at them like a disappointed father. "Look at you two," he scoffs. "You're fucking dripping wet! Do you have any idea how hard it is to get saltwater out of clothes? It's a nightmare, you know that?"

Ayame leans against Chan, water dripping off her dress, and grins up at Minho. "Calm down, Minho. We're here now. Let's go cut the cake before Changbin kills someone."

"And before Hyunjin gets lockjaw," Chan adds, a wicked grin playing at the corner of his mouth.

---------------------

The reception is still in full swing by the time Chan, Ayame, and Minho return, the former two are completely drenched from their impromptu dip in the ocean. Chan's aunt, standing near the snack table with a glass of wine in hand, spots them approach. Her eyes immediately widen as she takes in the sight of Ayame's now-transparent white dress clinging to every curve, making it impossible to ignore the outline of her body.

Chan grins wickedly. "Yeah, don't mind us, just living our best lives," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he lets a strand of wet hair fall into his eyes.

Minho, already several steps ahead, shakes his head, muttering under his breath. "For the love of fuck, you two. You're lucky I didn't have to beat Changbin's ass for nearly eating the cake without you two here to cut the fucker. Jesus Christ."

But just as Ayame takes another step toward the reception, the unthinkable happens. Chan's aunt, staring directly at her drenched form, faints. It's as if the mere sight of Ayame in a clingy, wet dress has short-circuited her brain. She crumples to the ground, her arms flailing helplessly. The wine glass in her hand drops, spilling red wine across the sand, but no one even notices.

Ayame stares down at her, wide-eyed, her jaw practically on the floor. "Oh, for fuck's sake. Seriously?"

Chan snorts, clearly fighting back laughter. "You've got to be kidding me. Really?"

The guests, still holding their breath, stare in stunned silence. Jess immediately rushes over, looking at Felix with wide, urgent eyes. "Felix, take her somewhere else. Get her the hell out of here. Fan her, or something. We can't deal with this shit right now and no one wants to"

Felix, who's been standing off to the side with a drink in hand, sighs dramatically. "God, this family is cursed with bad timing." He walks over, kneeling next to Auntie Bang and checking her pulse with exaggerated care. "She's fine. Just fainted. You know, just the usual, she'll be up in a second, and she'll probably have a fucking heart attack from the shock." He glances at Soojin, who's already approaching with a fan. "We need a stress test for my fucking heart after this family reunion."

Soojin, rolling her eyes, follows Felix over to where Auntie Bang is now sitting, looking as though she's just witnessed a fucking exorcism. "Jesus, this woman is dramatic," she mutters, fanning the woman's face with a bored expression.

Ayame, now standing next to Chan, feels awkward. She can't help but chuckle nervously. "I've literally never caused anyone to faint before. This is a new one for me."

"Well, you have now," Chan grins, wrapping an arm around her waist, dripping wet and unbothered. "Guess you'll have to apologize when she wakes up or, you know, when she dies of shock seeing you in that dress. Sorry, it's a sacrifice we all have to make."

Ayame snorts, and before she can respond, Changbin, ever the opportunist, suddenly shouts from across the beach. His voice rings out like a sugar-high toddler at the most inappropriate moment. "Cake! The two of you doing the fucking cake! GET OVER HERE!"

Ayame's face lights up, and she bolts toward the cake table. "Thank god," she mutters, already heading toward the centrepiece of the evening. She's had enough of fainting relatives and unnecessary drama.

As she and Chan make their way over, Hyunjin, who's standing nearby with a drink in hand, calls out with a dramatic sigh. "Thank fuck you two are back. My jaw is killing me from all the fucking blowjobs. Changbin made me give him three while you two were off frolicking in the fucking ocean. That man is a fucking monster, Ayame."

Ayame blinks, trying not to choke on her own laughter. "Jesus, Hyunjin," she says, her eyes wide. "You brave soldier. A fucking champ. You deserve a goddamn medal for surviving that."

Hyunjin grins like he's been through a war. "Yeah, medal for 'Best Boyfriend Ever.' I'm a fucking saint."

Jisung, who's been snickering quietly off to the side, chimes in with a wink. "Oh, Ayame, nice thong. Can totally see it through your dress. Looks cute."

Ayame flips him off without hesitation, not even breaking stride. "Fuck off, Jisung. You're lucky I'm in a good mood."

But before anyone else can speak, Chan's aunt, who's just now regaining consciousness, lets out a high-pitched gasp that rings through the air. Without warning, she faints again, dramatically collapsing back into her chair like a ragdoll.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Chan exclaims, throwing his hands up in frustration. "She's like a fucking fainting goat. One sight of my wife, and bam! Out like a light."

Felix sighs deeply, rubbing a hand over his face. "How the hell did I end up with all this responsibility? You two are pure chaos."

Everyone cracks up at the sight of Felix, his face a picture of resignation, as he starts fanning Auntie Bang's face again. He's muttering under his breath, probably cursing every relative he's ever had. "I need a vacation from this fucking circus," he grumbles.

Ayame shakes her head, feeling equal parts exasperated and entertained. "Alright, alright," she says, finally moving toward the cake table, eager to shift focus away from the ongoing family drama. "Let's do this."

She hands Changbin a piece of cake, grinning like a devil. But then, in a moment of pure spite and love, she turns to Chan and, without warning, slathers a huge glob of frosting across his face.

Chan freezes, blinking as frosting slides down his nose, his eyes going wide for just a second. Then, he lets out a low chuckle, and his mouth curls into a grin. "That's it. You're going to fucking regret that, sweetheart."

Ayame tilts her head, her voice laced with playful confidence. "Not worried. You love me anyway."

"True," he murmurs, pulling her close, frosting-covered face and all. "But just you wait. I'm getting you back for that shit, and it's going to be fucking glorious."

The cake-cutting ceremony is officially chaos. Frosting flies in every direction, laughter rings out, and guests cheer, some still trying to revive Auntie Bang while others cheer the newlyweds on. Jisung is taking pictures, Minho is shaking his head in disbelief, and Felix looks like he's considering running for the hills.

This is it. Married life. Beautiful. Insane. Perfectly fucking imperfect.

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cheollollipop · 2 days ago

Text

Fragments of Us - Chapter 3. | c.sc

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader

genre: angst, fluff, smut (MDNI)

warning(s): kissing😏 yn is dramatic af over a packet of chocolate powder. that’s pretty much it.

summary: two years after a messy breakup, seungcheol and yn reconnect unexpectedly.

word count: 5.4k

start date: nov. 20, 2024

end date: -

a/n: THIS IS SO LONG OVERDUE AND ITS NOT EVEN THE GOOD STUFF IM SO SORRY!!! this chapter is… a filler, yes. i’m sorry i know i just gotta develop subin and yn’s relationship but. i promise good stuff happens next chapter please don’t hurt me omfg.

Friday rolls around like clockwork, but this time it drags with it the unmistakable agony that I've come to dread. I wake up to a stabbing ache in my abdomen that feels like my insides are at war. My groan echoes through the quiet morning as I force myself out of bed, clutching my stomach for some semblance of relief. Every step to the bathroom feels heavier than it should, as if my body is actively working against me. Even the faint light slipping through the blinds feels cruel, adding to the overall sense of injustice.

When I finally reach the bathroom and flip on the light, I brace myself. Sure enough, the dreaded sight confirms my suspicion: my period has started. Of course, it couldn't wait for a more convenient day—it had to strike now, when I had a to-do list and absolutely no patience to deal with this.

"Are you kidding me right now?" I mutter. It's not like I was expecting sympathy from anyone—there's no one here but me—but voicing my frustration feels like a necessary release. The frustration bubbles up as I slump onto the toilet lid, head in my hands, cursing my uterus and whoever thought this monthly torture was necessary. I sit there for a few moments, letting the wave of annoyance and discomfort wash over me, trying to summon the will to move. The stabbing ache in my abdomen sharpens as if to remind me there's no escape, and I sigh.

Resigning myself to the inevitable, I force myself into the shower, hoping the warm water will work its magic. The second the hot stream hits my skin, I feel some of the tension in my body start to ease. It's not a cure—far from it—but at least the cramps relent just enough for me to stand upright without wincing. I close my eyes, letting the water wash over me as I mentally prepare for the day ahead. It's going to be a battle: heating pads, painkillers, stretchy clothes, and sheer willpower to push through the fatigue and discomfort. My mind drifts to the only comforting thought I can muster: a steaming cup of hot cocoa, piled high with big, fluffy marshmallows. The thought alone is enough to coax a small glimmer of hope through the haze of frustration.

After what feels like an eternity, I step out of the shower and dry off, the warmth already fading from my skin. The trek back to my room feels impossibly long. I throw on the comfiest pair of sweatpants I own and an oversized tee, both practically begging me to crawl back into bed. But the promise of hot cocoa propels me to the kitchen. My stomach churns, both from hunger and from the cramps twisting through me, as I open the cabinet where I keep my stash of cocoa mix.

And then I see it. Or rather, I don't. The shelf is empty. My mind refuses to process it at first, and I blink, hoping that somehow, in the haze of pain and exhaustion, I've simply overlooked it. But no—there's nothing there. My heart sinks.

"No. No, no, no!" I slam the cabinet shut and yank it open again, as though the act of closing and reopening it will somehow summon the cocoa mix into existence. My hands grip the edge of the counter as I stare into the empty shelf, frozen in disbelief.

A choked sob escapes me, and before I know it, I'm sliding to the floor in a dramatic heap. The tears come harder now, and I don't even try to stop them. It's ridiculous, I know that. I'm crying over cocoa mix. But in this moment, with the pain, the exhaustion, and the sheer unfairness of it all, it feels like the final straw. My body shakes with sobs as I sit there on the cold kitchen floor, and for a fleeting second, I want to laugh at how absurd this all is. A sick joke—surely, it has to be.

But there's no punchline, just me, a throbbing stomach, and the realization that today, like my uterus, is completely unforgiving.

From the corner of my room, I hear my phone buzz on the nightstand, and then the sharp ring pierces the air. I try to shush it as if the noise would magically stop if I willed it hard enough. But it doesn't. The ringing continues, relentless, until I drag myself up from the kitchen floor, feeling every ounce of effort it takes. My feet shuffle against the floor as I make my way to my room, throwing myself onto my bed with the weight of defeat.

The ringing stops, but a notification pops up on my screen. A text. I groan as I reach for my phone, not ready to deal with the world yet. The name on the screen catches my eye. Subin.

"Hey," I say, my voice dry and strained as I call back.

"Oh, uh... Did I wake you?" he asks, his tone hesitant but light.

"No. I'm out of hot cocoa," I reply flatly. My words hang in the air, and I can only imagine the expression on his face, a mix of confusion and amusement.

"I'm...sorry...?" he says, clearly unsure of how to respond.

"I would say it's fine, but it's not. I started my period, I am in excruciating pain, and the only thing that could make this day better is hot cocoa. But I'm out, and now I'm about to start crying again." The words spill out of me in a rush, each sentence rising in pitch as the tears threaten to make a second appearance.

"The only thing?" he teases, his voice tinged with a playful tone.

I sigh heavily, the weight of the day pressing on me. I know he's trying to make me laugh, to lighten the mood, but my world feels like it's ending in that moment. "I can't be mean to you. Please help me," I plead, my voice breaking slightly.

"Alright, I'm sorry," he chuckles softly, his tone shifting to something warmer, more comforting.

"How about this: we cancel tonight's date. I'll stop by after work and bring you some hot cocoa. You can rest and recover. How does that sound?"

"I suck. I'm sorry," I mumble, guilt creeping in for ruining our plans.

"You do not suck. Periods happen, it's no biggie. I'll stop by after I'm off, okay? Hang in there for me, champ," he says with a reassuring tone.

"Okay," I whisper, and we end the call.

For a moment, I stare at my phone, the screen dimming as I replay the conversation in my head. The promise of hot cocoa and his presence gives me something to look forward to, a small glimmer of light at the end of this particularly dreary day.

I lay back on the bed, pulling the covers over me as the cramps continue their assault. The heating pad I'd forgotten about sits abandoned on the chair, and I lazily stretch out to grab it, plugging it in and placing it on my abdomen. The warmth spreads slowly, soothing the sharp ache into a dull throb.

My mind drifts, and I let the quietness of the room envelop me. The ticking clock on the wall fills the silence, a rhythmic reminder that time is passing. I'll survive this day. I've done it before, and I'll do it again. But for now, I let myself sink into the comfort of knowing that help and hot cocoa—is on its way.

I spend the majority of my day drifting in and out of sleep, curled up in my blanket cocoon, trying to will away the cramps. The heating pad has become my closest ally, alternating between its usual position on my abdomen and being squished against my lower back. By mid-afternoon, hunger forces me out of my room, though every movement feels like a Herculean effort. My body protests with each step, reminding me that it's firmly in charge today.

As I shuffle toward the kitchen, my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I grab it on my way out of the room, glancing at the screen. It's Sonya. I answer with a weary voice as I open the pantry to check if there's anything I can stomach.

"Sonya," I say flatly, pressing the phone to my ear.

"Oh. Someone's on their period," she quips, her tone dripping with mock sympathy.

"You are correct," I sigh, setting the phone on speaker and placing it on the counter. I reach into the cabinet, eyeing the ramen packets stacked in the corner, mentally debating between spicy or mild.

"Poor babe. Have you had your 'cup of joe' yet?" she asks, her voice tinged with teasing. My heart sinks as her words remind me of my earlier heartbreak. Hope surges for a brief second, and I open the cabinet where I keep my hot cocoa mix, praying against all odds that it was just a bad dream.

But the shelf is still empty.

"Don't remind me. I'm out," I reply flatly, closing the cabinet door with a little more force than necessary.

"Out?! How are you alive right now?" she exclaims, her dramatic tone matching mine from earlier.

"I honestly don't even know if I am right now," I reply, grabbing a pot and filling it with water. "Subin is stopping by in a bit to bring some, though."

"Subin, huh?" she drawls, dragging out the name in a way that makes me roll my eyes. "Interesting development."

"Not the time, Sonya," I say firmly, dropping the ramen block into the boiling water. The sizzle and steam fill the kitchen as I rummage around for the seasoning packet.

"Fine, fine," she says with a chuckle. "Anywho, I called to see if you wanted to come out with us later, but I guess I got my answer, grumpy pants."

"Who's 'us'?" I ask, curiosity piqued despite myself.

"Wonwoo, Jeonghan, Joshua, Dino, and me," she says casually, as if this lineup isn't a bit random.

"Evil twins, the youngest, and the fiancé... What an interesting set of people," I say, smirking as I sprinkle the seasoning into the pot. The spicy aroma wafts up, making my stomach growl in response.

She laughs. "I know, right? It's like the start of a bad sitcom. But you should totally come! It'll be fun, I promise."

I shake my head even though she can't see me. "Besides," I start, lowering the heat on the stove, "Hannie hates me now, so there's that. You guys have fun, though. Tell everyone I say hello."

Sonya sighs, her voice softening. "He doesn't hate you, Y/N. You know that."

"Whatever you want to call it," I reply, brushing her comment off. I don't have the energy to argue about this right now. "Bye. I love you. Be safe!" I say quickly, not giving her a chance to linger on the topic.

"Love you too, grumpy pants. Tell Subin to hurry so you don't burn down your building," she says with a chuckle, and the call ends.

I stir the noodles idly, letting the quiet kitchen fill the void left by our conversation. The spicy scent of the ramen is comforting, a small reprieve from the otherwise miserable day. I ladle the steaming noodles into a bowl, settling myself at the table. As I take the first bite, my mind wanders back to Sonya's words.

Jeonghan doesn't hate me. At least, not technically. I push the thought aside, focusing on the warmth of the broth and the way it soothes my empty stomach.

For now, I let the world outside my apartment keep spinning without me. Subin will be here soon with hot cocoa, and maybe—just maybe—the day will start to feel a little less like a disaster.

A loud knock jolts me awake, and I blink groggily, disoriented by the sudden noise. My eyes dart to the clock on my nightstand, and I realize I must have dozed off without even meaning to. The knock sounds again, insistent but not harsh, and I force myself to sit up. My body protests, stiff from lying in one position too long, but curiosity leads me toward the door.

I peek through the peephole and feel a rush of warmth when I see Subin on the other side, a familiar, easy grin plastered across his face. His hands are full—two bags dangling from his arms, brimming with who-knows-what. I swing the door open, and his grin widens as soon as he sees me.

"There you are," he says, lifting the bags triumphantly. "Delivery for one very grumpy period warrior."

I step aside to let him in, my heart doing an involuntary flip at the sight of him. His smile is disarmingly bright, the kind that makes it hard to look away. "Sorry I took longer than expected," he continues, nudging the door shut with his foot. "Had to make a few stops."

"No worries," I reply, trying to ignore the way my heart flutters in his presence. "I slept most of the day anyway." I gesture to the bags he's carrying, chuckling softly. "So, what's all this? Did you bring the entire convenience store?"

"Ah, yes," he says dramatically, holding up the bags like some victorious knight. "I come bearing gifts." He hands them to me with a flourish, and I carry them to the living room, plopping them onto the couch.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I dump the contents of the bags onto the cushions. My eyes widen as I take in the haul: my favorite snacks, a few random comfort foods, and as promised, not one, but two boxes of instant hot cocoa. "How did you—" I start, staring at the array of goodies.

Subin scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. "I may have overheard a conversation between you and Nayeon about your favorite snacks during this time of the month," he admits. "I promise I'm not a creep. Just blessed with the memory of an elephant." He offers a self-deprecating smile, his dark eyes watching me carefully, almost nervously.

I stand there, momentarily stunned, my brain struggling to process the thoughtfulness behind his gesture. He notices my silence, and his smile falters. "Is it too much?" he asks quickly. "I'm sorry. I just wanted you to feel—"

Before he can finish, I take two quick steps forward and press my lips against his, cutting him off mid-sentence. For a moment, he freezes, but then he melts into the kiss, his hands finding their way to my waist.

When we finally pull apart, his forehead leans against mine, and he grins. "I take it you're not creeped out?" he mumbles, his breath warm against my skin.

"Stop talking," I whisper, smiling despite myself. I tug his hand, pulling him toward the couch.

We collapse onto the cushions, surrounded by the chaotic mess of snacks, and I lean my head against Subin's shoulder. The day's pain and exhaustion feel like a distant memory, replaced by the warmth of his presence and the steady rhythm of his breathing beside me. As if on cue, he reaches for the box of hot cocoa sitting amid the pile of treats, holding it up like a trophy.

"Think you're up for some?" he asks, his voice soft and teasing.

"Always," I reply, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. In that moment, everything feels a little lighter, a little brighter, and I allow myself to sink into the comfort of it all.

"I've been told I make a mean cup of cocoa," he says with mock arrogance as he stands, offering me his hand to join him.

"Really now? Well, as an instant hot cocoa connoisseur, I guess I'll have to be the judge of that," I tease, letting him pull me off the couch and lead me to the kitchen.

"Be prepared to have your mind blown," he declares confidently, and I can't help but laugh.

He immediately gets to work, rummaging through my cabinets with a sense of purpose that's both endearing and hilarious. I settle onto a stool at the counter, chin propped in my hands, watching him in action. Subin narrates his every move, recounting his day in between steps—how his boss nearly ruined his lunch break, the traffic on the way over, and how he almost forgot the marshmallows until the last second.

I find myself smiling at the way he talks, so animated and unfiltered, like he's entirely at ease here. But then, he does something that nearly stops my heart.

"Subin..." I say slowly, eyeing the small jar in his hand. "Why are you putting cayenne pepper in my hot chocolate?"

He pauses mid-sprinkle, holding the jar up as if to admire it. "Just trust the process," he replies, completely unfazed.

"I'm not sure I want to," I say, narrowing my eyes.

He finally turns to look at me, his expression equal parts amused and serious. "Do you trust me?"

I hesitate, crossing my arms over my chest. "After seeing that? I'm not so sure," I say with a chuckle, and he laughs too, the sound warm and infectious.

"You'll love it," he insists, turning back to his concoction. "And if you don't...you're lying. It's the best, I promise."

I sigh dramatically, resting my head in my hands as I watch him skeptically. "Fine, Chef Subin. But if I don't like it, I'm making you drink the entire pot by yourself."

He grins over his shoulder. "Deal. But don't worry, that's not going to happen."

Minutes later, he sets a steaming mug in front of me with a flourish. The rich aroma of chocolate fills the air, mingling with a faint hint of something spicy that makes my nose twitch. He slides onto the stool beside me, his own mug in hand, and watches me expectantly.

"Go on," he urges. "First sip's yours."

I lift the mug cautiously, the warmth seeping into my hands. Taking a deep breath, I bring it to my lips and take a tentative sip. The flavors hit me all at once: the creamy sweetness of the chocolate, the marshmallows melting into soft clouds on top, and then, the unexpected kick of the cayenne pepper. It's bold, surprising, and oddly... perfect.

"Okay," I admit reluctantly, lowering the mug. "This is actually amazing."

"Told you!" he says triumphantly, nudging my shoulder with his own.

"Don't get cocky," I warn, though I'm already taking another sip, savoring the way the spicy warmth lingers on my tongue. "But seriously, how did you come up with this?"

He shrugs, leaning back casually. "Saw it in a movie once. Thought I'd try it out, and now it's my secret weapon. Figured you deserved the best tonight."

His words are casual, but they hit me in a way I wasn't prepared for. I glance at him, his face lit up with genuine satisfaction, and feel a flutter in my chest that has nothing to do with the cocoa.

"Thank you," I say softly, my voice almost drowned out by the hum of the fridge in the background.

He looks at me, his expression suddenly serious. "For what?"

"For this," I gesture to the mug, the snacks, and everything else he's done today. "For making me feel... better. I know I was being dramatic earlier but this really does mean a lot to me."

His smile softens, and he reaches out to brush a stray strand of hair from my face. "Anytime," he says simply, and I believe him.

We sit there for a while, sipping our cocoa in comfortable silence, the warmth of the moment wrapping around us like a cozy blanket. The rich scent of chocolate fills the air, mingling with the faint spice of cayenne lingering in my cup. For the first time all day, I feel like I can breathe. Subin shifts beside me, breaking the quiet with a question.

"So tell me," he starts as we make our way back to the living room, cups in hand.

"Hm?" I hum, settling back into the cushions.

"Why hot chocolate?" he asks, tilting his head curiously. "I mean, I'm no period expert, obviously, but that's a new one for me. Most people go for ice cream or, I don't know, heating pads or something." His lips quirk into a small grin, and I chuckle softly at his attempt to make light of the question.

I take a slow sip of my cocoa, gathering my thoughts before answering. "When I first got my period, I was terrified. I had no idea what was happening to me. My mom...she did everything she could to help me through it. One night, I remember being in the worst pain but also having these insane cravings for chocolate—like, I couldn't think about anything else. It was late, though, way too late to go to any stores. So, she did what she could and whipped up the finest cup of hot chocolate I'd ever had in my life. She even added whipped cream and marshmallows, the whole works." I pause, smiling faintly at the memory.

Subin's eyes stay locked on mine, his attention so unwavering that it almost makes me self-conscious. "That sounds...amazing," he says quietly, prompting me to continue.

"It was," I nod. "But what made it even more special was what came after. We sat there that night for hours, just the two of us. She explained to me what it meant to be a woman, how to navigate all of this—the pain, the mood swings, the unpredictability of it all. She shared stories about her first period, how she felt just as scared and confused as I did, and how she got through it."

I take another sip, letting the warmth of the cocoa soothe me before continuing. "After that, it kind of became our ritual. Whenever I was in pain or feeling down, she'd make hot chocolate, and we'd have these long talks. Sometimes it was about life, sometimes it was just silly stuff to make me laugh. It became this comfort thing for me, a little tradition that made everything feel less overwhelming." My voice softens as I add, "Even now, when she's not here, it still feels like a way to connect with her. Like she's still taking care of me, in a way."

Subin's expression shifts, a mix of admiration and something softer—empathy, maybe. "She sounds like a wonderful woman," he says, his voice low but sincere.

"She was," I whisper, the words catching slightly in my throat. I look down at my mug, tracing the rim with my finger. "Always there for me, no matter what. She just...knew how to make everything better."

The room falls silent for a moment, the weight of the memory settling between us. Subin leans back, his gaze never leaving mine. "You know," he says after a pause, "that explains a lot about you."

I frown slightly. "What do you mean?"

He shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips. "The way you care about people. The way you notice the little things, like how someone's feeling or what they need, even when they don't say it. It's like...it's second nature for you. Now I see where you get it from."

The compliment catches me off guard, and I feel a faint warmth rise to my cheeks. "You're giving me too much credit," I mumble, looking away.

"I don't think I am," he counters, his tone firm but kind. "You probably don't even realize it, but you're the kind of person who makes people feel safe. Like, even when you're the one having a rough day, you still have this way of making everyone else feel better. That's rare, you know?"

I meet his gaze again, and the sincerity in his eyes makes my heart ache in the best way. "Thank you," I say softly, the words barely audible.

He smiles, "Anytime."

We sit there a while longer, the quiet between us feeling more like a warm embrace than a gap to fill. The chaos of snacks scattered across the coffee table remains untouched, a colorful testament to the spontaneity of the night. But neither of us seems to care. This moment—unpolished, imperfect, and entirely unplanned—feels just right.

After what feels like forever, Subin finally breaks the silence. His tone is teasing, his words laced with an exaggerated dramatic flair. "I'm going to say something," he begins, stretching out his legs and leaning back against the couch, "I just want to say that this is probably the best three-date streak I've ever had."

I tilt my head, raising an eyebrow. "You're definitely just saying that."

"No, I'm serious!" he protests, his grin widening. "Each time, I learn something new about you. Something interesting, something that makes me..." He pauses, as if searching for the right words. "I don't know. It's like you're making it very hard not to like you."

I scoff softly, shaking my head as I glance down at the mug in my hands. The rich scent of cocoa swirls around me, but the weight of his words lingers heavier. "My life is a mess, Subin," I admit quietly. "You don't even know the half of it."

"Hey." His voice softens, and when I look up, he's already leaning toward me. With a feather-light touch, he tilts my chin, guiding my gaze to meet his. His eyes are warm and steady, and for a moment, the chaos in my mind stills. "We all have our demons," he says gently. "It's how we handle them that matters. And whether or not you choose to share yours with me, what I've seen so far is someone who still finds a way to get through the day. Someone who treats people with kindness, respect, and compassion, no matter what."

His words hit me harder than I expect, and I blink, unsure how to respond. The sincerity in his gaze, the warmth in his tone—it's almost too much. So, instead of addressing it directly, I do what I do best. I deflect.

"Are you just trying to butter me up?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at him in mock suspicion.

"Yes," he admits without missing a beat, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. But then his expression softens again. "But I'm also telling the truth. I don't know what you've been through to make you see yourself this way, but that kindness you give to everyone else? Make sure you save a little for yourself too, okay?"

Before I can respond, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of my nose. It's such a simple gesture, yet it makes my chest ache in the best way. As if sensing the emotions bubbling beneath the surface, he shifts, pulling me closer and tucking my head against his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath my ear, grounding me in the moment.

"Now," he says after a moment, his tone brightening, "I don't know about you, but I could definitely use a good movie to lighten the mood. What do you say?"

I exhale, relieved at the shift in conversation. "You read my mind," I murmur, leaning into his warmth.

"How about Twilight?" I suggest, tilting my head up to gauge his reaction.

His eyes light up with amusement. "I can get down with that," he says with an exaggerated nod. But then he raises an eyebrow, his expression turning mock-serious. "But the real question is: Team Edward or Team Jacob?"

"Edward, duh," I answer immediately, giving him a look that says there's no other possible choice.

"Consensual king," he agrees with a dramatic nod of approval. Then, with a sly grin, he adds, "Although... he is very gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss, no?"

I whip my head toward him, staring in disbelief. "What?! Why do you even know what that means?"

"What?" he says innocently, holding up his hands in defense. "I know things. I, too, have access to the internet."

I burst out laughing, the sound filling the room. It's ridiculous—he's ridiculous—but it's exactly what I need. The heaviness that lingered earlier evaporates, replaced by the effortless lightness he always seems to bring with him.

"You're ridiculous," I say, shaking my head, though the smile tugging at my lips betrays me.

"And yet, you're still here," he points out, flashing me a smug grin.

"Well yes, this is my apartment," I retort, rolling my eyes as I reach for the remote.

"Admit it—you enjoy my company," he challenges, his grin widening.

"Let's just watch the movie," I say, pressing play before he can push me further. But as I lean back against the couch, his arm casually draping over my shoulders, I know he's right. I do.

"For a date that completely derailed, I'd still call this a win."

I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms. "Oh? And what part of tonight screams 'win' to you?"

"Well," he said, counting on his fingers, "I was crowned 'Best Hot Cocoa Maker', I managed to save the day by making said hot cocoa, and I'm ending the night watching Twilight with you, so really, I'm thriving."

I roll my eyes but couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled out. "The bar is on the floor, Subin. Truly."

"Maybe," he teased, "but I think you like it there."

"Okay, fine," I shot back, leaning a little closer. "What if I told you my best friend Sonya is having an engagement party soon, and I'd like you to come with me? Think you'd still be thriving then?"

His grin falters for just a second before his eyes softened. "You want me to go with you?"

"As my date," I clarify, trying to sound casual, but my heart was practically sprinting. "You know, for moral support. Sonya and Wonwoo are...a lot. I mean you've met her, sort of. And I figured it'd be nice to have you there."

Subin leans back, a mock-serious expression on his face. "Hmm, let me think about it. Free food, free drinks, the chance to charm your best friend and annoy her fiancé... Yeah, I'm in."

I laugh, lightly shoving his shoulder. "You're impossible."

"I'm a catch," he corrects, his voice dripping with faux arrogance. "And let's be real, you just want me there because I'll make you look good."

"Right," I say dryly. "It has nothing to do with me liking your company or enjoying your terrible jokes."

"See?" he says, pointing a finger at me. "Admitting you like me is the first step."

I could feel my cheeks heating up, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, I grab the remote and gesture toward the screen. "Let's just start the next movie before I regret inviting you anywhere."

"You could never regret me," he says smugly, but he settled down beside me without another word.

New Moon begins, and Subin immediately launches into commentary.

"Why does Jacob never wear a shirt? Like, I get it, he's ripped, but does he have an aversion to fabric?"

"Shh," I say, trying to stifle a giggle. "He's a werewolf; they run hot."

"Hot and allergic to decent pants, apparently."

"Subin!" I laugh, swatting his arm, but the smile didn't leave my face.

As the movie went on, our laughter gave way to comfortable silence. I lean into him without thinking, my head finding its way to his shoulder. He didn't pull away, instead adjusting slightly so I fit there better.

"I was serious by the way. Even if tonight didn't go how we wanted, I'm glad we had it."

"Me too," I say softly, my eyes feeling heavy.

Somewhere between the werewolf drama and the overly intense stares, my eyes drifted shut. I feel Subin's hand brush lightly against mine, and though neither of us moved to hold the other's, the touch lingered—like a quiet promise.

By the time the credits rolled, we were both asleep, the space between us closing as naturally as if it had always been meant to.