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yehet-me-up · 6 years ago

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A Truth Universally Acknowledged - Chapter One

Pairing (this chapter): Junmyeon x Reader (female)

Genre: Jane Austen-inspired, Regency fun + angst

Rating: PG (this chapter)

Word Count: 5,296

Summary: A chance meeting brings a handsome, charming man named Jun into your life and your heart. But as your family gets used to their new life after a scandalous loss of money and status, the obstacles between the two of you stack up.

Moodboard by @gingersaysjump A GODDESS, TRULY 😍

A/N: I’m indebted to Shanae and Kat @yeoldontknow for support and plotting with me and for fanning the flames of this series. 💕😘

Story Masterlist

The meal is half finished by the time your father finally joins the breakfast table; ambling and struggling to remain proud even in the face of ruin.

He sits down at the head of the table like the king of a crumbling country, lost and diminished with lack of purpose.

Your mother watches him anxiously, her toast abandoned on her plate as she takes in his drawn brow. He clutches a letter in his hand, his mouth thinning to a tight line.

Across the table, you and your sister meet each other’s gaze. She chews anxiously on her bottom lip and you give her a small shrug of surrender. Since word came out that your family’s fortune was lost in a series of bad investments, the news of your fate has felt like a sword hanging above your head.

But now, apparently, the sword has fallen.

Your father clears his throat. ‘John has written to me.’ The words stretch out into a pause.

With a noise of frustration your mother drops her glass to the table. ‘And?’

He can’t meet her eyes, staring at the unfolded paper in his hand. ‘The house has been purchased. And at ten percent over what we asked for.’

Your sister raises her brow. ‘Why on earth would someone pay more?’

He clears his throat, awkwardly looking out the wide dining room window to the lush garden beyond. ‘We... came to an agreement.’

Dread settles low in your stomach. Whatever this agreement is, you have a sickening feeling it involves you.

‘As Mary and Daniel will be coming with your mother and I to Bath, the house will be lacking proper help,’ he says softly, ashamed. ‘The new owner inquired as to whether my daughters would be willing to remain at the house under his employ. Your room and board will be provided for.’

Your sister stands, fire in her eyes. She slams her palms on the thick wood table. She is a spark, always a roaring blaze, while you are the embers, burning hot beneath the surface, consuming yourself with indignation.

‘You mean he offered us the gracious opportunity to be servants in our own home? And you accepted?’ She demands sharply, rooting out the truth with a voice like a knife.

Next to you, your mother drops her head into her hands, quietly weeping. ‘How could you?’ she pleads.

When she looks up her cheeks are shiny with tears. ‘How will our daughters ever find husbands now Richard? What will become of them?’

He straightens, trying to regain some of his pride. ‘It seemed the best situation… for all.’

Your mother and sister scoff but all you can do is stare at the way the light glints off the water in your cup in front of you. Sadness settles over you, heavy and resigned, and you try to find something positive to cling to.

‘This is humiliating,’ your sister hisses. She folds her arm and goes to stand at the window, radiating shame and heat.

‘We have hardly enough money for your mother and I to live. There is not enough to- you would have had to support yourself somehow anyway. There are still those in this village who are sympathetic to us. It seemed... the best solution.’

‘What about Bradley?’ your sister asks. The fact that your brother is able to work a respectable job and earn his own living is a wedge between him and you two.

‘Your brother will remain here in town, as well,’ he says. ‘The Allens have consented to let him sleep in the back room of the shop, in exchange for some extra work he will do from now on.’

Silence falls in the room.

Finally you speak, resigned to this fate. ‘When?’

Everyone turns to your father. ‘Well. Your mother and I are essentially packed. The furniture, the art, most of the clothes will remain here with the house or be sold to appease our debts.’

‘We can’t even take our clothes?’ your sister demands. Her one true love is fashion and this must cut her deep.

He raises a hand. ‘Now, now darling. You can select three gowns to take with you to the servant’s quarters. That should be plenty. And Mary has a few spare work dresses she can leave behind for you and your sister.’

She glares at him, resembling a snake, spitting venom. ‘When? A month? A week?’

Your father pauses, rubbing his eyes. He looks as old as time itself when he finally looks around the table. ‘Tomorrow.’

The word is akin to a punch in your gut and you gasp. It’s drowned out by your mother and sister speaking in unison.

He makes a noise like a bear. ‘Your mother and I will depart in the morning. The two of you will move into the servants cottage tomorrow and begin preparing the house for the new tenant. Anna will be staying here, she will show you what to do.’

‘I’ll be meeting him later today to formalize the papers with the clerk.’ Message delivered, he slumps back in his chair. The last of his kingdom gone.

The wounded pride, your family name tarnished, you could tolerate. What use have you for the opinions of the small-minded people in town, as long as those you love are happy and in good health?

But the sight of him like this, broken and hollow, undoes you. Robs you of the naive hope you’ve kept hidden in your heart for weeks. That somehow this was all a joke. That it would somehow be fine.

The stories you read had built up in your mind a fervent hope in divine intervention. A distant relative who would take you in. A gift from a wealthy friend who takes pity on you. A fairy godmother or a magical witch to grant your deepest wishes.

But as you listen to the sounds of baking through the open kitchen door, you know it is well and truly over. Neither of your parents have siblings of means. Your best friend, Maggie, has to work as a seamstress to help her husband’s meager income. Fairies and witches only exist between the pages of books.

No one is coming to rescue you.

Your parents will be far away. Any hope you had of a life spent in the gardens - reading and laughing with your sister and Maggie - is dashed. Freedom leeches from your life and you find it suddenly very hot in the room.

Soon, you will be forced to marry to survive, whoever will take you. Either that or spend your days working in the kitchens, scrubbing pots and floors and pillow cases until your fingers grow old with age.

‘I’m coming with you,’ your sister says harshly. ‘I want to look this man in the eyes before you sign our fates away.’

He waves a hand listlessly in agreement. Despair roars in your chest and you stand abruptly, chair clattering to the floor behind you.

‘I’m sorry, I have to- I can’t breathe,’ you say, heart thundering in your chest.

You turn and rush through the entry to the kitchen, your father calling after you. But you don’t stop as you run through the back door out into the yard. The chill of winter is finally melting from the earth and it cools your skin as you run like a woman possessed.

The length of your dress threatens to trip you and you gather the fabric in your arms with an uncharacteristic growl of frustration. Frustration at the stupid material, impeding your desperate run. Frustration at your father and mother for what feels like abandonment. Frustration at the men in your family for losing your very livelihood.

Frustration at whoever purchased Springwoods for offering this ludicrous arrangement. He must be an old man, you think savagely, as you leave the neatly trimmed garden of your family’s home and enter the wild field beyond.

The path through the expansive, unclaimed territory at the edge of the town leads to a small hill and you dash up it as though salvation is at the top.

An old man with a miserable wife and several greedy children. You hate them all already with a fire you didn’t know you possessed.

The vitriol of your thoughts makes you stop and catch your breath. You drop to your knees in the long grass with surrender.

No, you shake your head. No matter how horrible this feels, you vow to not let circumstances turn you cruel, mean, and bitter.

For long moments you breathe, savoring the sweet smell in the air. It must have rained last night while you slept, for the air is rich and full with the scent of earth and the ground is damp beneath your palms.

You wish it would rain again; cleanse the world back to what it was before the news of your family’s ruin. But the sky is clear and the sun shines tauntingly through the white clouds.

If the world refuses to offer you relief, you’ll give it to yourself. Underneath the great tree at the top of the hill you allow the tears to fall. Up here there’s no one but the wind to hear your sobs.

Just when you begin to wonder if there are no more miracles in the world, you see something that feels positively magical.

On your left you hear barking and you watch as a large golden-brown dog comes barreling up to you. Your mouth falls open with surprise as the creature reaches you.

He pants, his tongue to the side. His mouth pulls back in what you would consider a smile if he were human.

‘Well, hello there,’ you say with a laugh. He roots himself under one of your arms, wiggling to settle himself against you. ‘Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.’

You giggle when he looks up at you, eyes wide with innocence. Without hesitation you begin to pet his head. He closes his eyes and makes a rumbling noise of pleasure that melts your heart.

‘Where did you come from, little love?’ you ask him around the thickness in your throat.

He lifts his head and his tail starts to wag, thumping against your side and back. You see what he’s excitedly watching - a man is making his way up the hill.

A noise of surprise leaves you. You can’t help it, this man looks like an angel or a God; something powerful and radiant, impossible and otherworldly.

His black hair sweeps messily across his forehead in the wind. The white shirt and black pants he wears fit him perfectly. He must have some money, then, if he can afford such nice, tailored garments.

He’s not from here, though; you absolutely would have remembered meeting him. He seems to have appeared suddenly from your imagination. His face is open and unbelievably handsome in a way that makes you smooth your free hand through your hair self-consciously.

When he reaches you and your new furry companion, he laughs. The sound is melodic and deep, reaching down to your bones.

‘There you are, you rascal,’ he says to the dog with amusement in his warm, dark eyes. ‘I see you’ve made a new friend.’

His attention turns to you and heat blooms in your face under his gentle scrutiny. There are several boys in town you entertained a fancy for growing up, but none of them made you feel this way - the way the air feels heavy and dangerous when a storm is brewing.

But this is not a boy, you think. This is a man.

To avoid embarrassing yourself further you turn away, wiping at the tears on your cheeks with the back of your hand.

From the edge of your vision you see him sit next to you, leaning his head on one elbow and stretching his legs out in front of him. He does it casually, as though he happens upon women crying in the wild every day.

You sniffle, hating how small and fragile it sounds.

‘I think our new friend is sad, Oliver,’ he says softly, petting the dog’s head. ‘I wonder if there is anything we can do to help her.’

When you turn back to him he’s looking up at you with warmth and compassion. The sincerity and honesty of him is readily apparent.

‘You already did, just by being here,’ you answer, attempting a small smile.

He smiles broadly and you think of the stars, shining on a clear summer night. You think of him as a creature from the forest beyond this field, sent by magic to come and whisk you away from your fate.

You imagine him riding away with you on a great white horse like some knight of old. In this moment you’d go wherever he wanted to take you.

‘No one should be alone when they are crying,’ he says gently.

His mouth tugs to the side, his thick brows pull together. He looks as though he speaks from experience and you wonder what sadness has visited his life.

Against reason you feel instinctively protective of him. Something in his nature is too open, too ready to help, and you feel a desire to shield him from everyone in the world that would take advantage of him.

Oliver shakes himself before resting his head on your knee, looking at you and begging you to pet him. You chuckle and wind your fingers through the soft fur at his neck.

The man laughs, the rich sound spreading along your skin like a balm. ‘Sorry about him, he’s a bit… wild. He’s not used to being in the company of beautiful ladies.’

He fights the tug of his lips as he watches you. His words undress you with his boldness, warm your heart and make your chest feel pleasantly heavy.

‘Untamed, wild things are the best of all, I think,’ you answer confidently, leaning back on your own elbow, mirroring his pose.

Oliver stretches out in response, sticking his nose in between the fabric at your knees and huffing. The man sighs. It’s impossible to tear your focus away from the playful glint in his eyes, the comfort you feel around him wholly unprecedented

He raises a brow and cocks his head, considering. ‘Yes, I think you are absolutely right.’ He smiles at you like the two of you now share a secret.

If he were Joseph, the barrister your mother has been shoving you towards for years, he’d turn the conversation to matters of politics. If he were Lord Clarke, he’d bore you to tears with tales of his days at sea with the Navy. If he were your brother Bradley, he’d make some inappropriate joke to get a rise out of you.

But he proves himself to be an unexpected kind of man.

‘Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave…’ he says dreamily, looking up at the swaying branches of the great tree before meeting your focus once again.

This time there’s a heat, a knowing, in his expression that feels like the time you burned yourself on a candle. But this burn is far more pleasant.

You laugh with joy and surprise, the grief and anguish from an hour ago feel acres away from you.

It occurs to you to remember your manners. You should sit up, straighten your dress; ask after his name, his family, his occupation. But up here, above the town, slightly damp and dirty, amongst the wind and the unruly grass, you can’t find it in you to care.

‘You like Keats?’

He nods. ‘I prefer Lord Byron, myself. But I can’t deny the beauty of Keats.’

Delight flares in your chest. ‘I adore Byron, the scoundrel. ‘Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.’’

He smiles and hums, satisfied at something. The sun breaks through the clouds and he follows it, watching as it dances along the folds of your dress down to the sliver of exposed skin at your ankle.

You should find your dignity and cover it. He should stop looking. But neither of you move.

He breathes deeply and you watch as the motion moves the fabric of his shirt. Absently you wonder what his skin would be like beneath your lips. If it would be as warm and soft as it looks.

The bell in town distantly sounds the hour and you both jolt; the spell is broken. You tuck your legs under you, feeling as though a pitcher of cold water has been poured over your head.

The wildness in his eyes is hidden safely away when he looks back to you. ‘I’m sorry, I have an appointment in town I cannot miss.’

You nod sadly, wishing you could stay here forever. ‘I should get back to-’ you start, unable to give voice to the tangle of circumstances that await you back home. ‘I should get back.’

He stands, dusting himself off. Oliver stirs, raising himself and running in a lazy circle around his master.

The man moves closer, offering you his hands. Something warns you not to touch him. Warns you that once you know what his palms feel like against yours, the sensation will haunt you all the rest of your days.

Ignoring reason, you reach for him with a recklessness born of longing. He clasps his hands around yours and pulls you upright. You stare at him and savor the heat and the roughness of him against you, unwilling and unable to release him.

His thumbs lightly stroke the top of your hands; a thrilling and foreign sensation builds in you. The way he watches you reminds you of the cover of a book you saw, hidden away in the back of the shop. Swirls of reds and oranges. A couple in an embrace. Hands and lips and nakedness and everything forbidden and raw and sensual you had longed to know.

Your rational mind reminds you of your family, waiting for you, mourning and broken. You take a step back, dropping your hands and regarding him with surprise and a tinge of fear.

This is a dangerous thing. And you cannot afford the luxury of danger.

You curtsy for him, trying to remember how you are supposed to act. ‘Good day, sir.’

He frowns, shaken. But his good breeding takes over and he bows to you formally in return, dissonant with the lawless nature sprawling around you.

‘Good day, miss,’ he says politely in return. ‘I hope to see you again.’

Swallowing all the desperate and foolish things you with to say to him, you simply nod. Before you can do something truly reckless you turn and hurry down the hill.

‘Wait, I forgot to get your name!’ he calls out, sounding desperate.

You turn and don’t fight the smile that graces your lips. You shout your name to him and he reaches a hand in the air, pretending to catch it and tuck it in his breast pocket.

‘My name is Jun,’ he shouts back and you mimic his motion, pretending to hold his name in your hand.

For long seconds you hold his gaze, once again wishing you could leave with him and never return. When you turn from his sight you imagine hiding his name away inside your chest.

The walk back to your house feels effortless, as though you are floating on air. A giddy lightness lives in your heart alongside his name and refuses to abandon you.

You skip breakfast and stay in bed the next morning for as long as you can, savoring the softness and comfort of your bed, knowing you won’t sleep in it again.

When you cannot delay any further you rise and dress yourself in a simple purple dress and plain shoes.

With a heavy heart you pack two more dresses, one plain and blue, the other white and finer, into a square of fabric with some underclothes. Along with that you add a pair of sturdier walking shoes, the essentials you need for your hygiene, and your favorite book of stories.

Once the task is complete you linger to make the bed, straightening the already tidy room, and to stare out the small window out at the garden and the field beyond.

You sigh. Yesterday you felt magic in your fingertips, that around Jun anything was possible.

Today, by yourself, you feel small and human and fragile. As though you are already fading away in the background of his house.

‘Time to go,’ you say to yourself, to the room that is no longer yours.

Gathering the corners of the fabric together, you pull the small bundle into your arms. In the hallway you find your sister with a similar pile of fabric and items.

‘I don’t care what he says, I’m taking four dresses,’ she says, indignant and regal, like a queen.

You laugh, reassured that even though everything has changed, you still have each other.

The departure of your parents is strained and emotional, but neither you nor your sister cry as they drive off. You’ll need all the strength you have to face the days ahead and it wouldn’t do to break down now.

Once their carriage disappears around the bend you go to set up your meager possessions in the small corner of the servant’s cottage. Two beds and a small closet to share now belong to you and your sister. A short few minutes later you head off to the house to begin your new life as servants.

The two of you find Anna, the housekeeper, in the kitchen inventorying the food. Lucy, a woman in her early twenties and a close friend of you and your sister, gives you a nod as she kneads a mound of dough.

Aside from Anna, the only members of the staff left are Frederick the butler, promoted from footman at Daniel’s departure, and Lucy, a kitchenmaid who is now the head cook of the house with Mary gone.

Anna notices you both standing there. ‘Good morning ladies. We all know the state of affairs here,’ she says with characteristic bluntness.

‘Your father told me the new family is bringing a ladies maid. So, one of you will help out in the kitchens with the cooking and one of you will need to tidy the rooms and do the laundry. It’s up to you to decide, I know you’re both capable young ladies.’

You and your sister look at each other and both start talking at the same time.

‘Well, obviously -’ ‘Of course, I’d-’

She laughs and looks at Anna. ‘I’ll cook and she’ll clean.’

‘Exactly,’ you say in agreement, a smile pulling at your lips.

Everyone knows you’re an awful cook and she’s messier than a hoard of wild animals. Anna chuckles and rolls her eyes. Maybe this won’t be so awful, you think with a small candle of hope in your heart.

‘What time are they arriving?’ you ask Anna, already imagining the dozens of things that must need to be done.

‘They’ll be here for dinner.’ She says before waving a hand at you both. ‘Go on, get out of the house. Enjoy the day. Lucy and I have the meals for today. The house is in fine state. We can start on your duties tomorrow morning,’ she says with a wink.

‘Let’s go to the market, shall we?’ your sister asks, a light in her eyes you haven’t seen in weeks.

The air in the town is hot and close, crowded with shoppers and sellers. You and your sister cling to each other until you pass through to one of the quieter side streets.

Neither of you are inclined toward melancholy. Despite the change in fortune and status, you’re both determined to enjoy yourselves.

‘Hmm, what shall we buy today?’ she muses, knowing full well neither of you can afford a single thing.

Always ready to play a game, you join her. ‘Let’s buy another horse for our extravagant carriage. Perhaps some jewel-encrusted slippers for the next ball.’

She laughs, squeezing your arm. A shop selling ribbons, bows, and other assorted fabric is just ahead. She dashes inside and unfurls a length of long pink ribbon from a display, wrapping it around her waist dramatically.

‘And I shall buy a new dress, the most lavish and expensive one we can find,’ she says, fanning her lashes and pouting her lips absurdly.

You laugh so hard you almost snort and clasp your hand to your mouth. She fixes the ribbon and twines her arm through yours again, pulling you forward, cackling happily in your ear.

On days like these the loneliness and drudgery of country life seems far away and manageable. On days like these, when the sun is shining and there are reasons to laugh, life seems downright idyllic.

The two of you round a corner and the sight of a pair of men up ahead makes your heart leap into your throat.

Though he’s cleaned up a bit, one of the men is definitely Jun. Color rises in your cheeks at the sight of him, the way his lips pout as he speaks to his companion.

He laughs, reaching a hand to the other man’s arm in delight. This man wears the standard red and gold military dress, highlighting the auburn tint to his hair. Jun is much more formally attired today in white trousers, polished leather boots, and a high-collared, deep blue shirt, confirming your suspicion that he has money.

His eyes crinkle in the corners and your stomach flips with something hot and untamable. You freeze to the spot and your sister tugs on your arm.

‘What? What is it?’ your sister asks, looking around.

You pull her back slightly around the corner so you can observe. ‘That man, up ahead. That’s the one I met yesterday. Jun,’ you say, unable to help your grin when you say his name.

She turns and scans the crowd before frowning. ‘Oh no. Him? In the blue shirt?’

You frown in confusion at the intense dislike in her voice and follow her gaze. ‘Certainly you can’t dislike Jun?’ you ask, searching her face for signs she’s joking. ‘He must be new to town, what can he have done?’

Aside from Jun and his friend the only other people on the street are women and children shopping for food at the grocers across the way.

‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, but the gentleman in the blue shirt - I met him yesterday,’ she points, none too discreetly, to Jun. Her intense bright eyes brook no laughter. ‘That is Lord Junmyeon Kim, the man who has purchased Springwoods from us.’

‘Oh.’ Your whole being sags in disappointment against the stone wall.

Already your foolish and impetuous heart had fantasized about seeing him again. Last night, when you told your sister about the things he said, the way he made you feel, you’d felt brighter than the moon shining in the sky.

But if he is the new owner of your family estate, then there are several monumental obstacles between you now. While he is no old man, he might be mean and dreadful underneath his cheerful exterior.

When he realizes you are not only a servant, but a servant in his very home, he will certainly never take you seriously. You clasp your hands together at your chest to stifle your dismay. How on earth can you face him now?

‘And so we meet again,’ comes a warm male voice to your right.

You turn, gasping in surprise when you see Jun and his companion standing next to you. You were so distracted you didn’t even hear them approach.

He’s fighting a smile again, his lips twitching at catching you off guard.

‘Hello again, Lord Kim,’ your sister says pointedly, curtsying to him. ‘May I introduce you to my sister?’

You grit your teeth and follow her lead, forcing yourself to keep your emotion locked inside as you curtsy to the new Master of Springwoods. Your hope and joy at his presence turns to embarrassment in the pit of your stomach as you straighten to look at him.

He looks to your sister and falters, his attention darting between the two of you, no doubt putting things together. His easy, open expression draws back into something confused. After a beat he bows to you both.

‘Pleasure to see you again, ladies,’ he says, resigned, brows pulled together. ‘You must be Lord Hayward’s youngest daughter then?’

You nod. The moment stretches out while you get lost in his eyes once more. You wish there was some way to undo this moment and return you to the purity and lightness of yesterday on the hill. No doubt he realizes how lowly you are in comparison to him and wants nothing further to do with you. Given the circumstances, you shouldn’t want anything to do with him, either.

Blessedly, you're all saved by the military man.

He bows. 'Don't worry, I'll introduce myself,' he says gamely. 'My name is Colonel Kim Minseok. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, ladies.'

The corners of his mouth tip up like a cat and you feel your sister grab at your elbow like you've always done when trying to discreetly get each other's attention.

There's something playful and mischievous in his face and you look between the two of them. Your sister's cheeks color and she bites her lip. As always, she is able to recover and cut through awkward situations with grace.

'So, what brings the two of you to the market today?' she asks the Colonel in an attempt at conversation.

'Ah, well. My friend Jun here is new to the life of a Lord and I decided he simply must stop dressing like some retired military scoundrel and look the part,' he says, motioning to a shop up the road.

'Oooh, I love Taylor and Sons,' your sister exclaims, clasping her hands together in delight.

She takes a step towards the Colonel and asks how a military man came to be have such exquisite taste in fashion. In the space left by the pair of them you and Jun regard each other.

‘And how are you today... Lord Kim?’ You hope he can’t see the way you knead your palm with your thumb in the folds of your dress, doing your best to stay composed.

He winces. 'Please, call me Jun.' His expression implores you, attempting to draw you back into his warmth.

But if your mother bred nothing else into you, she always encouraged you to be polite and formal. Though she could never curb your wild and imaginative nature, you can't help but follow her lessons on decorum. It gives you the feeling of being in control in spite of your aching heart, and you cling to it.

'I think we had better remain on formal terms, Lord Kim, given our mutual statuses,' you say softly.

'Please, if we could -' he starts, reaching a hand to the space between you, seeming saddened at thought.

But something behind him catches your attention and he stops speaking to look at what caused the sudden change in your mood.

Your older brother Bradley steps out of the men’s club opposite you, looking far more disheveled than usual, especially given the early hour. He looks awful, hair matted and eyes hollow, a large stain on his shirt.

He darts a calculating look up and down the street before turning up his collar and hurrying off. It's such an odd moment you can hardly believe it's the same person you've known all your life.

'Do you know that man?' Jun asks, perplexed.

If he was gambling... Gods, how much more trouble can this family cause in one week, you think with a sigh. An instinct to preserve what is left of your family’s reputation makes you move.

'Sister, we must go,' you call to her abruptly, interrupting her conversation and stepping forward to grasp her clothed elbow.

She looks at you with confusion, as do Lord Kim and Colonel Minseok. 'Now?'

'Yes, now,' you say, trying to convey to her the urgency of the moment with a look. 'Please.'

With a sad look to the Colonel she nods and winds her arm through yours. 'Well, it's been a pleasure Colonel.' She smiles at him and her mouth sours with tension when she looks at Jun. 'Lord Kim.'

The last thing you see as you pull her back towards the direction Bradley went is the unguarded expression of longing on Jun's face as he watches you hurry away.

#exo fanfic #exo au #exo x reader #suho x reader #suho fanfic #junmyeon fanfic #junmyeon x reader #exo fluff

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