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the-midnight-blooms · 16 days

Text

ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴛɪꜱᴛ'ꜱ ꜱᴛᴜᴅɪᴏ

pairing: painter!choi san x painter!reader

AU: historical au, joseon dynasty

word count: 10.5k

masterlist

I reach out to my lover, he’s trapped within a painting. The muse of a Renaissance artist- he’s so divine he may have even started the movement.

Her feet pattered down the cold floorboards, pushing through the salmun doors-the fabric of her purple hanbok bunched up in her palms. The midnight bloomed in the depth of the spring, where the cherry blossom trees roared with the wind. A captivating beam from the candle paved the way to the front doors, her heart lurching in her chest as she felt an enchanted soul beckoning her name; her vessel bowed in his essence as if the rapping of the door knocker was to the beat of her name, echoing every syllable. With her hand outstretched for the doors, she hauled it open finding a man whose eyes were squinting as the the coarse rain battered against his supple skin; his teeth chattering with the cold. With a brown leather bag sloped over the shoulder of his light yellow hanbok; hands gripped steely over the handle of his heavy cases. He was tall, with broad shoulders, she quickly discerned but his face almost seemed obscured by the dark clouds and the night slowly filtering into the star studded sky.

"Please, Miss, I'm here to see Mr Yim. I'm a new apprentice at the local government office." His voice was almost mellowed by the crash of thunder against the sky, which had them both flinching at its mercilessness. A surge of relief rested upon him as a slender arm in purple outstretched towards him; the warmth easing the shattering goosebumps bestowed upon his delicate skin. With a contented sigh, the figure in front raised the candle to his face; the soft glow illuminated his crescent eyes which bored into another's burgeoning with curiosity.

"Your name, Sir?" Her honey like voice, slid into his ears; lashes gently fluttering as he breathed in the sight before him the beaming light from the candle forging a halo around this angel. Her tight jaw and deadpan expression was immediately dissolved between the influx of enigma that flooded into her eyes.

"Choi San." Nodding diligently, she gesticulated for him to follow her to her father's study. The hallways of the Yim estate were particularly large, a few candelabras were perched on top of the drawers plastered across the panelled walls-the smoke infiltrating into the empty space. They graced the floor with minimal sound, as if there were ghosts traipsing the corridors rather than real people.

Stood outside the large door, she dipped her head in politeness as he gently caressed the lumber; soft knocks restituting off the walls. With the candle perched within a hand of his own, yet another door opened; the esteemed artist tumbled through the doorway into another life.

Just over two decades ago, on a winter night, where the trees were bare of crisp leaves and the ground was brazen with purest of snow; a couple sat by the fire in their bedroom: a new-born cherub encapsulated within her mother's arms. Mr Yim, the father of the child, was a member of a group of scholars who advocated the need for the government to foster commerce, industry, and technology. He was a part of one of the four schools of thought in Joseon that shifted from speculative theory to attending to more taxing socio-political issues. Therefore, despite being renown for his hard work, and steadfast nature, he was also known for being quite reserved- to put it nicely. There were no 'good mornings' or 'good afternoons' from Mr Yim. Nor were there dirty looks and unwelcoming mannerisms bestowed upon his acquaintances. He liked to keep to himself, Mrs Yim being the only woman in the world capable of seeing that man smile.

"Would you like to hold her, dear?" His wife called, the gentle babbling of his child sending a jolt of fear rushing through him. Eagerly, he dismissed the opportunity, to which Mrs Yim had sighed staring down at her beautiful daughter. "She is your daughter, too. You're going to have to hold her at one point."

"I'll hold her when she is a little older than what she is now."

"Before you know it, she will become a woman and you will reminisce all the opportunities you had to cuddle her when you could." Truthfully, Mr Yim was afraid of fatherhood; he never really understood the notion of it but if having a child would make his darling, Mrs Yim, happy then Mr Yim would give her all the children in the world. How could he raise a child when he was left to raise himself? What could he even teach except say to his daughter after every stumble, every mistake, every stutter, every cry for help but: 'find your way'?

Thus, his aloof nature extended to his daughter, who having been pinned by her mother's side until her unfortunate death, became wholly estranged from her father. He was no longer her mother's husband, but rather just a kind stranger who fed her, clothed her, kept her under his roof and gave her almost anything she wanted.

Miss Yim was rather bizarre.

Or at least, that's what the townspeople thought through her poignant introvertedness; maintaining scant friendships, rejecting all marriage prospects almost immediately preferring the confines of her large quarters-which in themselves were situated in the segregated division of the family home. Her rooms were not bright, but panelled with a dark wood that foremost created a dull atmosphere, there was minimal light other than what streamed in through the open doors and windows that overlooked the vast lawn. A porch ran around the whole building, where Miss Yim frequented, all year round, as she drew.

Oh! The most compelling thing about Miss Yim was that in contrast to her academic father, she had particularly excelled in the arts, often taking on commissions from local noblemen requesting venerated portraits of their wives. As well as the opportunity to put her skills to practise, she saw it as a way of putting a few extra pennies in her pocket. In alignment with her reserved nature, Miss Yim found that she preferred to draw using defined, darker mediums such as charcoal, ink and graphite pencils. There was something so true about the loneliness that could be felt from the intricate brushstrokes as the ink spilled across the page. As if the figurines were her, simply founded to be a mere prop in a large frame.

Smoothing down the hairs on her head, she snapped away her gaze from the mirror to the window overlooking the side of the garden, the silhouette of the hanok roofs, carving elegantly into the sky. The trees rocked and the grass rippled with the pending ferocity of the wind. Indeed, the storm would not subside within the next few days. The door to her bedroom slid open, the older maid stumbled in settling the tray upon her bench.

"Will I not be eating with my father today?" Ina looked up from where she was kneeled on the floor, settling the bowls onto the bench.

"Mr Yim is currently accompanied with Mr Choi. Your father requested that you eat by yourself for the duration of his stay, you know how it is." Nodding, she took her seat opposite Ina patiently awaiting for the maid to stop assembling her dishes in a neat line in front of her. Whilst women typically dined by themselves, her father had allowed her to eat with him almost daily; except when there were guests. Despite his neglect towards his daughter, he still valued her feminine dignity and did not trust the vulturous eyes of men that rested their predatory gaze upon her.

"Who is this, Mr Choi, and how is it that I wasn't aware of his arrival until he was knocking on our door?" She questioned, Ina's careful gaze flickered to her before staring out into the open space in contemplation.

"A new apprentice. He’s appointed here, on request of his father." Leaning forward, Ina's voice dropped an octave. "Apparently his father says he's been 'engaging in sin' so he's been estranged from his parents until he gets his act together." Raising a questioning brow, she looked down at her bowl.

"Is he a homosexual?" Immediately, she was wacked on the back of her head by the older maid who didn't miss a single second in scolding her. Her hand sped to the back, rubbing the jolt of pain that seared through her, a temporary look of irritation glazed over her eyes.

"You insolent girl! How could you say such thing, you know how disgraced that is!"

"You said ‘engaging in sin'. I can't think of anything more sinful other than fraternising with men or women." Ina's dirty look penetrated through her bones, provoking a sense of humiliation that would rattle through her in the depth of the night. Scowling at her mistress, she rolled her eyes before getting up from the floorboard.

“Hurry up and eat your food. You need to go to Mrs Kang’s today." Following Ina's orders she gulfed down her food, drowning out the maid's muttering about her being crude and dishonourable.

The light chatter from the front room fell deaf at her ears as she sauntered to the entrance, which the two kitchen maids scuttled in through. Bowing at their mistress, they made a fowl attempt at suppressing a fit of giggles as they subtly snuck a glance into the room. Following their gazes, she warily traipsed in, catching her father converse with their new guest.

"Ah, speak of the devil! Mr Choi, this is my daughter." He teared his gaze away from his mentor to draw his eyes across the room and find the infamous Miss Yim perched by the doorway, gripping onto her onto the full skirts of her dark blue hanbok.

It was hard to deny that Mr Choi was amiable. He was tall, well-built with a toned torso that was still perceptible through his uncreased peach coloured hanbok, dimples adorned his perfectly structured cheeks. He nodded with such elegant eagerness, at her father's command harbouring the position of an obedient son, almost leaving her wondering what was so 'sinful' about that man in the first place? What could he have possibly done so wrong that he had practically been disowned by his family?

"Miss Yim, it's nice to formally meet you." She gave him a polite nod, choosing to stay silent than say something and be met with her father's harsh stare.

"Mr Kang told me you've been over at his home, a few times." Her father spoke breaking the awkward meeting. A breath became lodged in her throat as she anticipated some sort of wrath, after all Mr Yim was supposed to be oblivious to her going out and painting other women for a light commission. She didn't exactly know how he would react to that. "He appreciates your help with Mrs Kang's pregnancy." Mrs Kang is pregnant? That would explain the engorging belly, the mood swings and the other number of odd behaviours that she was listing off in the past few weeks she had been challenged with drawing the difficult woman. At times, Miss Yim thought she ought to have more empathy, it wasn't that she lacked it, it was that she tended to not gift her empathetic abilities to the prejudiced. It was women like Ina, and the cooks that worked in the kitchen that deserved her compassion. Women who strived to be breadwinners, even if it was due to poor socio-economic circumstances. Because women like Mrs Kang were hypocrites to be preaching the old values, pre-Confucianism, when they neglected their own sex.

"Yes, she's been enjoying my company. I intend to go again to deliver herbs she’s asked from Ina’s garden.” She recalled glancing down the extensively large page, as Mrs Kang moaned and groaned when the servants were too late to serve her namul and kimchi.

"Red raspberry leaf, dandelions, echinacea." Grimacing, she looked over her sheet to give the woman a look. "You can just get this from the market, why do you need this from Ina's garden?" Mrs Kang simply pouted rubbing her belly. Now that she thought about it, how did it not occur to her that she was pregnant? Perhaps it was because they begged to slim down her figure in the painting.

"Fresh herbs are good for babies." Were the herbs from the market not fresh enough for her? “I need them picked before they’re here.”

"Perhaps I should add lemon balm to burn that fat." A discourse of exasperated gasps rippled over the room, Mrs Kang waddled out of the room wailing for her husband. It was ruthless and unkind, keeping the unsympathetic Miss Yim awake at night before she travelled back to the Kang estate to see a very unhappy couple.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Kang. You’re beautiful just the way you are, even more with the little belly.” The pregnant woman’s tight grip around her neck, as they hugged, almost choked her to death.

Mr Yim's eyes outcasted through the doorway, there was a light patter of rain yet the howl of the wind had subsided significantly. He let out a small hum before returning back to the young pair staring, ardently, back at him.

"I say Mr Choi, should be your chaperone. It's a little unsafe to be going out by yourself." Before she could open her mouth and argue, her father held out a hand to silence her thoughts. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she nodded once more, before dashing from the room to have a flustered Mr Choi following her.

Hitching up her skirts, she trudged through the field, the sun had filtered into the sky radiating its essence onto the young souls as they surpassed the reams of houses. Had it not been for the joyous discord of infantile laughter, it would have been quiet; San mustering the courage to initiate a conversation. He cleared his throat, she merely blinked at his futile attempt at grabbing her attention.

"Miss Yim, you must slow down I can't keep up with your pace." He declared, striding faster towards her, the tall grass brushing against his knees.

"I think you can cope, Sir. Your legs are longer than mine." Walking through the grass wasn't difficult but when her hanbok was floor length, lifting up the heavy fabric proved tiresome and not to mention her shoes were sinking into the muddy fields, squelching miserably under her heavy steps. Eventually, San matched her pace as they made their way up the steps to the Kang estate.

A shrill voice eructed into the airs, the domestic staff worked at a proficient speed as they amended the damages inflicted from the storm. As a group of servants raised the logs from the path, San ran to their aid significantly lightening their work load. His charity had left her silent contemplating her initial thoughts on his persona. There must be something impure under all that. Surely? There had to be some reason why his father practically disowned him.

Kang Yeosang stood by his front doors, watching as his staff worked the lawn and through the large home. He sought the enigmatic painter launch up the steps, with an unreadable look painted on her face.

“Good Morning, Miss Yim.”

“Morning, Yeosang.” She greeted, he laughed a little at her dull tone.

“I take it, there’s nothing particularly good about this morning.” He jeered, she huffed at his characteristically exuberant manner.

“Not when my father’s spy is here to be my chaperone.” She turned around on the steps, the pair looking down at San moving the heavy logs from the path, dirtying his robes at that. “He’s the new apprentice at the local office, Choi San, I think he said his name was.”

"Oh, the country boy." Country boy? "He's from Yangdong, have you not heard? His family is amongst the richest, they're both scholars and farmers, now." Across the country, Joseon farming techniques had taken a turn within the last few decades, especially with the establishment of irrigation and rice transplantation methods- bringing Joseon to a state of flourishment. It was safe to say, which farmer wasn't rich now? The admirable farm boy was pushed away by the servants, making his way up the steps. Leaving him with Yeosang, she made her way in the direction of the couples' shared quarters, Mrs Kang draped over her bed, her wrist dramatically resting on her forehead.

"Hello, Mrs Kang." The woman jolted up from her seat, an obnoxious groan emitted from her as she propped her back up against the wall. "I brought you your herbs."

"Thank you, my love. You left your paints, they're just on my dressing table." The herbs were exchanged from her paints, digging into the pockets of her hanbok. The older woman began to natter, the discordant tonality rattling in her ears. Mrs Kang loved to talk. Even if it was about absolutely nothing, that woman talked for the whole of Joseon.

I'm leaving this place with a headache.

She often wondered how it was that Yeosang put up with his insufferable wife. Was it love, or a promise that he had made to Mrs Kang's parents that he would never leave her? The thought made her sigh in pity- to be permanently bound to someone in matrimony seemed like too much effort at times. Perhaps the effort itself is what subdued her mother to misery, the poor Mrs Yim eagerly handing her soul to the Angel of Death. Or maybe Miss Yim had possessed a stone-cold heart frozen over by the neglect of life's intimate essence; overpowered by a sense of maturity held over by her mother's early death. She took it upon herself to make it clear that by the time she was thirty, if there was no proposal that had come around she was going to wholly abandon the idea of marriage and work herself to death.

"That man is so pretty." She spoke, dreamily, Miss Yim's eyes lazily fled in the direction of Mrs Kang's. Her head poked through the doorway where both Yeosang and San were travelling down, engaging in intelligent discourse. "Not Yeo, the other one." The pregnant woman clarified.

"He's ok, I suppose. Not bewitching enough to tempt me."

"That has to be the biggest lie I have ever heard."

"What is Miss Yim lying about now?" Yeosang provoked as both men entered the room. Both women shared a look before the painter slumped onto the dressing table chair. "I suppose you're awaiting your payment."

"Well, my services aren't free." She declared, pompously. Yeosang rolled his eyes before he moved to the opposite end of the room, San had almost drawn his body out of the bedroom, a little embarrassed as the pregnant Mrs Kang ogled her eyes at him. Stretching her limbs, she got up taking the velvet bag. "Thank you, Mr Kang. I'll visit when the baby arrives."

His perfection had her repleted with such distaste for him. Simply put, Miss Yim hated Choi San because he was loved by all. Her father loved him, Ina adored him, the maids were constantly drooling over him it shot her with a sense of annoyance. He quickly became a household name, spoken of when he was at the office with her father and even when he was at home. Everywhere she went it was just him, him and him. The worst thing was, was that he was even trying to be nice to her prevailing through her grim looks and hard words.

“San this, San that. Honestly, he’s not even as esteemed as everyone claims, Ina. He’s just a man, like every other man. And all men are the same. So what if he's good looking, does that suddenly make him god’s greatest gift?” Burying her face into the pillow, an exasperated huff escaped her lips. Ina fell onto her bed, reaching her arms out to stroke her mistress’ back. With a contented sigh, she felt her eyes drooping a little as the maid's soft caresses were gently lulling her to sleep. Her touch felt like that of her mother's, soothing the aches of her heart whilst simultaneously provoking the nostalgia of a mother's love. To have her mother again, to have that woman encircle her into her arms. Rock her back and forth. She longed for her mother's scent again, often chasing the whiff of her familiar saccharine redolence as one chased butterflies in an open field.

“Yet you think of him often. He occupies your thoughts as much as he occupies ours.”

“Hardly, I-,” She stammered in a desperate attempt to recollect her thoughts into a single ambience. “I envy him. How is that he steps into this home for a second and I see my father smile?” Ina’s face dropped, a breath caught in her throat as her mistress spoke aloud the forbidden words she denied her staff to even breathe. The older maid had been rendered silent for too long, giving Miss Yim all of the answers she needed to press forward with her wistful assumptions.

"Perhaps if you grew to understand him, you would know why your father has inhabited such emotions for him. Think of him like a son-in-law. He will love him but not as much as he loves you." The maid reasoned.

"Then that makes him my husband." She grumbled, pulling the duvet over her shoulders.

"Now is that so bad?” Ina teased, before pulling her weight off the bed. With no strength to argue, her eyes fluttered to a close; her soul being dissolved by the night.

The following morning, it was too cold to be even sitting on her porch and with eyes tired of the same dreary scene, she ventured out of her quarters, delving into parts of the home she had missed. By the kitchens, the late Mrs Yim had reserved herself a small room decorated with the tools of all her hobbies in order to enact time alone for herself, away from motherhood and social responsibility. The room was consistently cleaned but usually left empty having it being full of painful memories of the beloved mistress of the household. For the first time in a long time, Miss Yim had felt the drive to find the room again and read her mother's poetry she had spent hours pouring over in the rooms.

Yet it had been almost shot stone-cold dead when the door opened to find San sat by the window hands raised towards the canvas. The anger within her refused to simmer or boil, it was rather the smooth swaying of the soft waves lapping the crust of sand. Her hands feebly reached for the poetry book on the table.

"I didn't know you were a painter, Mr Choi." She proclaimed, her breath hitched in her throat as her eyes sought the intricate details on the canvas. Her eyes glossed over the colours, the succinct shapes, drawing on the brushstrokes herself with the sharp movements of her eyes. It moved her. When was the last time she had been left this breathless?

"You never asked, Miss Yim." Immediately she felt intimidated by his artwork, her own revered drawings felt meek in comparison to his. A mere apprentice in an important official’s presence. To even be this close to him was considered a blessing. "You can sit next to me. I don't bite." Tentatively, she drew closer seating herself on the floorboards next to him; the brush of their fabrics sending a tidal wave of timidness over her. Where was the bold, steadfast Mrs Yim? Long gone, lost to the large expanse of the sea. Drowning under the ocean of his perfection. She didn't even want call for help, allowing herself to be enveloped by his allure. You draw so beautifully, she wanted to say. It's perfect, like something-someone even.

"You should have been a royal painter." The remark was swallowed into a melancholic void within his heart. Sparing a glance, he dipped the tip of the paintbrush into the crevice of the cerulean blue paint before raising to illustrate the canvas.

"Don't say that to my father." She sought the gloom glossed over his brown eyes. Was he, too, held down by social responsibility and expectations? She didn't think it was possible for a man's dreams to be mauled over by society; for she saw it with her father who had the whole world at his feet-picking dreams as if he was picking daisies from a meadow. Dropping her book onto the floor, she rested her head on her knee, solicitude fulfilled the serene atmosphere. Her eyes fell over the fancy metallic pots situated around the easel, which she knew to be various colours of paint pigments. Resting her head on her knee, she tenderly rocked her body from side to side as she watched his hands elegantly work through the canvases.

"Did you ever consider pottery? That's supposed to be quite popular now." Her question breaking through the quiet airs, the delicacy of her voice startling San. It was devoid of boredom, or disinterest like he had always perceived. No lace of judgement like he was silently praying to be diminished from her soul.

"It'll grow out of popularity soon." He stated, resting the paintbrush down to exercise the tense muscles in his hands. "I heard this was the late Mrs Yim's room, I hope you don't mind me being here." It, too, came as a shock to her when she shook her head-with no care in the world that he had colonised the room that she was once sure was hers.

It was sunny for once, which was odd for this time of year-she thought throwing open the door to the porch finding San surrounded by a large number of logs and an axe.

"What's he doing outside?" She pondered, Ina folding up the washed bedsheets before tucking them away into the drawers.

"They stopped properly chopping up the logs so we can use them for the fire, so Mr Choi offered to help." Wandering out through the doors, a smooth current of air tousled her hair, a book held tightly against her chest.

God, he really was toned. Rolling up the sleeves of his hanbok all the way to his bulging biceps, the maids all stopped in their path to rest their elbows on the low garden wall overseeing the vast expanse of grass. Effortlessly he picked up the axe, raising it over his head to slice down the log of wood. She rolled her eyes at her maids, as they watched him with dreamy faces. They nattered in hushed tones, giggling amongst themselves unbeknownst that their mistress was stood behind them. Leaning down to where they were sat on the garden wall, she poked her head in between the sea of charmed maidens.

“What are we looking at?” They squeaked, jumping up from their seats upon sight of their mistress- flapping their hands as some rushed back into the kitchen and others tended to garden duties. “Well? I would like to know too.”

“You wouldn’t understand Miss Yim.” Yes, yes she was the narcissistic Miss Yim who harboured no feelings for men and couldn’t deduce their charming airs. She was the Miss Yim who rejected countless marriage proposals, not based on looks but merely because she found that no man possessed the kind quality in a man that she was seeking. No patience, no loyalty. They were not even ruled by a sense of ambition. So how could she be hypnotised by the sacred beauty of a man, specifically, Choi San.

“Yes, I don’t understand why you’re not doing the job that we’re paying for you to do. All of you, out of the garden, it’s already been tended to!” She shouted, in an instant all of the maids dispersed back into the home. Huffing, she slumped onto the garden wall, glazing her ink pen over the defined lines on the page. Occasionally, she’d peer her eyes over the pages at San, tending to the curve of his body, and the horrific cinching of his waist. When he looked to his side, she hastily returned back to her sketchbook, feeling a blush decorate her cheeks as his steady gaze burned into her skin.

“Very accurate, Miss Yim.” Jumping up from her seat, she screeched the pot of ink spilling onto his face and neck. Whoops.

“Oh goodness, I am so sorry. Ah.” She let out a pained sound, battling with her internal conflict as she grabbed his hand rushing them into the direction of the porch that led to her quarters. Powerfully, she slid the door open darting inside and towards the washroom. Hauling him down to his knees in front of the washing basin, with a soaked rag in hand, she scraped away the ink splashed across his face. “Take this off.” She ordered, signalling to his hanbok.

“W-what?” He stammered, his face heating red.

“Well you’ve got ink and dirt all over it. I can get a new one for you.”

“I can’t just return back to my quarters and change?”

“Well no because then my father will see you and he’ll know I stole his ink again.” An annoyed huff escaped from his lips as she handed him the rag to clean himself. “Here, I’ll go get you a spare set of clothes.” Jumping up from where she was kneeled, her foot slipped over a puddle of water his arms snapped out towards her waist. Gripping his shoulders for stability, a faint blush trickled over her face, their noses barely an inches distance.

"Be careful." Quickly unravelling her hands from his shoulders, Miss Yim ran out of the room towards his quarters. Slipping past the double doors, she rummaged through the drawers for his clothes-picking up a light green set.

"Mr Choi?" A maid's voice called out from behind the closed door. Discerning their shadow moving closer, she made a beeline through the open doors leading into the garden. Scuttling into her washroom, she practically launched the hanbok at him before hiding in her room.

A breath of relief had finally escaped from her when he left from her room, both of their faces burning red in the midst of this shameful meeting. Yet San seemed persistent to know her, feeling that there was still something beneath the stone-cold façade she had constructed; something emotional and raw that he had felt he had to know. And Miss Yim was too becoming more curious, by the day, as to what Choi San’s secret was and why his father perpetually hated him.

Ina had forced them to go on a walk together, she groaned, silently, as they left the home behind making their way down to the meadow. At first an odd tranquillity permeated the air, eventually she grew tired of the jarring dissonance of absolutely nothing.

“A penny for your thoughts?” She inquired.

“I’ll keep the penny. I almost feel you’d judge me for having thoughts.” San bemused, she rolled her eyes, a faint of a smile on her lips. Just the tiniest, but it was practically gone within the same second.

“I don’t judge you, Mr Choi. I do, however, envy you. You’ve taken the place I wanted in my father’s heart.” She confessed, he looked towards her sympathetically, with knowingness that she was indeed right and the Mr Yim, famous for being just as aloof as his daughter, had somehow softened a little upon his arrival. Perhaps it was a son that he had always wanted, not a daughter but the scholar was reserved; San being too terrified to pry.

“Your place is best occupied elsewhere. Somebody else has it, I’m sure. He keeps it safe with love that is too potent that even dreamers can’t feign.” Of course was reading her mother's poetry, she didn't think many could understand the abstract nature of her words; of course it was him out of all who admired her poetry as it was his own.

"I am not pretty enough for that." Miss Yim argued, looking down at her feet. After all, the marriage proposals were not because of her vague good looks, but mainly because Mr Yim claimed an abundance of wealth.

"I disagree with you on that." Her face heated with his affirmation.

"Well, I am no Jang Ok-Jeong."

"There are many beautiful women in Joseon, not all of them have ever been recorded."

"She caught the eye of the King, a man who has a kingdom at his feet, he is supposed to be too superior to even look at his subjects. And he looks at her? Is that not a beautiful woman?" They were both fuelled by this argument, the debate igniting a set of powerful emotions that roared within them. This, was what they both deeply felt conversations were supposed to be. Potent discourse about society, literature and art. Not idle chatter on the weather, marriage and the social laws that subdued them.

"A man is supposed to be ruled by his head, not emotions. I say if any man bestowed more than a single glance, on a woman, and his breath was taken away, then she is more gorgeous than Venus herself."

"Not that wretched painting. It's so...vulgar." San snickered, squeezing his eyes as he let out a melodious laughter. "It says so much about the male gaze." She spat out as they trudged through the fields back in the direction of her home.

“I wonder if you like any art, at all? Other than your own?” He questioned.

“Owon is good. Apart from the vulgarity of Renaissance paintings-,”

“Which I must say is the majority of the whole movement, pray, continue.” He teased, his pestering smirk seemed to stitch wings on her heart, for it fluttered at his amiability, his devoutness to mankind and all of its endearing qualities and his perseverance. Despite her uncompromising attitudes and distasteful demeanour, he seemed compliant with listening to her, talking to her, truly trying to understand her and not just turning a blind eye. Choi San truly wanted to know her, for her; and not follow some false allegation that she was devoid of a heart or soul. He commended she had both and they were wrought with an existentialist quality that he wanted nothing but to huddle in the corner of a library and read away his life until it dissolved under the cover of her persona.

"What about you?" She questioned, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her own ear. At once, San was drawn into the world of virtuosity describing each of his favourite pieces as if it could be encapsulated into a single globe. The sweet dissonance of his voice lugging her into a dreamscape as they gently glissaded through the empty hallways of the Yim estate. They sought their eyes over the panelled wall, following the intricate lines of carved wood. They could almost be called mad people loose from the dreaded ward. For their eyes did not see the same way a normal persons did. He saw the shimmer in the air, the light poring through the crevices, the faint blemishes on a skin unseen with a naked eye-too vague to be called a taint, a mark, a scar. And she would see what he saw, whether it was not there she could reach to the depths of her sanity and pour out the image before her eyes to satisfy him.

It became a wonder to her how they spent several nights, the light patter of her feet as she rushed to his quarters with fulfilling arguments over art pieces, sharing techniques, rifling through each other's sketchbooks. His style was a stark contrast to her own: luminous watercolours, velvety acrylic paints, oily crayons. His muses were full of life and wonder, the strokes brimming with fruition. It was if a single segment of his painting held more hope than what could exist in her whole being.

There was something about him, too. She could see it now, his compassion, his adoration. As the weeks spun by, she became less repulsed by his sincerity and opened up to it more, almost finding herself craving his attention. His affection was much welcomed; she often wondered what it would be like to be so loved by him.

In her mother's old drawing room, she found him again, his large hands drifting over the pages again. Peering over his shoulder, she softly blew into his ear; the warmth tickling him.

"What are you drawing?" Her eyes scanned over the cartridge sheet, its intimacy striking her. It looked like her. Every sketch line, every shade, every little detail, every little blemish on her face.

"You." He answered, he didn't dare tear his eyes away from her for her hair was falling down her face in perfect waves that lured him into uncharted depths.

"You drew me so pretty."

"I only drew what I saw." Her heart wavered in piety, his devotion provoking an arrangement of madness. He was going to drive her insane and she was content with it.

"I wonder, what was it that you were excommunicated for?" Her silence broke through the passionate airs, culminating the objectivity that fulfilled among them as his sins held heavy on his tongue.

"I am not a scholar, a farmer or a devout son. I am an artist, a man who sees the world despite all of its maliciousness. I see the world so raw, it almost disgusts me but I am not terrified by its honesty. I find it so beautiful, it belongs on a page: drawn." Her body swayed towards him, hypnotised by his delicate words drawn his intoxicating tenacity, filling her with such immitigable rage that within that severe moment all she wanted was him. "I was 'excommunicated' because I am not the man my father wants me to be. I return as soon as I am devoid of all the emotions he renders vile." Tentatively, her fingers curled through his hair his eyes fluttering shut under her gentle touch.

"What about you Miss Yim? Why are you so solitary?" He murmured, their quiet voices serenaded the room.

"I am not solitary by choice. It's been enforced upon me and I know nothing and no one else but myself." Her whispers, though full of hurt and pain, were seldom dulcet. He thrived himself upon her words alone, it was enough to send him into delirium but her whole unmatched beauty with her words? He was sure to be sent to the wretched institute.

With an envelope gripped in her hands, she made her way over to his quarters slipping into the warmth, his smile greeting her as she slumped onto the chair in front of him.

"Mrs Choi? Your mother?" She inquired, handing over the envelope. San snickered at her nosiness, rolling her eyes as he took the sheet from her grasp, ripping open the seal to reel his eyes down the page.

"Actually, it's my wife." He announced, sparing her a single glance as he continued to read the words sprawled across the page. A sharp pang penetrated through the barriers in her heart, she felt her feet slipping under the ground, the walls pulverising as they caved in on her. For some reason, the room felt much more smaller than it was. Her heart was beating faster than any poetic declaration he had bestowed upon her, any time he had made her feel as if she was truly a worthy soul of being loved. Her heart palpitated faster than when he made her feel she would not die from a cataclysmic loneliness.

"I didn't know you were married." She breathed out, gripping the sage green silk in hand; feeling almost disgusted with herself for fixating her whole being on a man who never belonged to her in the beginning.

"We'll be officially married when I return back home." With a teasing smile on his lips, he grabbed a clean sheet from his desk and began elegantly carving the characters onto the page. "I'll be sure to send you an invite, if you'll come?"

“Of course, I’ll come. You know, for the food.” She quipped, his dimpled smile shattering the months of pining she had set for this revered soul. “I’ll take your leave, San.”

She fled from the room her bare feet blessing the sweet earth, the velvety wisps of the wind taunting her as tears welled up in her eyes. With a breath hitched in her throat, she fell onto her bed; bottom lip quivering as pearl tears escaped from her eyes dribbling down her cheeks before splattering onto the bedsheets. Her painful howl terrorised the desolate quarters as she had done on several dispassionate nights, the skies mimicked her torment, the light patter of rain hit against the window as if it understood all her wretched emotions. As if it understood her anger, hatred and hurt. As if it understood how disgusting it felt be left vulnerable by a man who could never be hers.

Was it some false delusion that she had been seduced by? That he, who was carved from a sculpturers most wild emotions, by all of his tenacity and his violent rage that he wished to create a being made of light: could truly be hers? By his yearning and pent up sentiment, by his dying wish that this world was not at peace until some divine figure from a concealed land would touch her world? Her hands shook as she sought to remove the tears streaming endlessly down her face. After all it had now made sense to all of the sympathetic souls that had heard her be plunged through such pain, to read her tale and understand the reason for her aloof nature.

Up the walls went back up. Brick by brick.

Curse you, Choi San, for breaking them down in the first place.

San had not seen Miss Yim for the remainder of the week or the subsequent. Granted, he had been flooded with an overwhelming amount of work but such was to be expected with the incredible staff shortage and Mr Yim’s high expectations. Regardless, he missed the snarky comments and unrelenting stares from across the room. He missed her moodiness, how ever infuriating it was at times; he missed the sense of quietude she presented at his feet and its ability to render his mind numb. Overall, he missed her. Yet, she seemed to be nowhere in sight and in fact missing even under the cover of the night.

“Ina, do you know where I can find Miss Yim?” He questioned, the agony rupturing the sutures of his weak heart apart.

"In her room, Mr Choi. She's, specifically, requested not see anyone." Oh. His mood deflated after that concession, wracking his mind for all the things he had said in their last engagement; anything potentially hurtful or offensive but he didn’t recall anything particularly endangering. His quest to venture into her quarters, despite her ruthless commands which had the servants petrified over her uncharacteristic (but not abnormal) behaviour, had been cut short by Mr Yim’s desire to keep a tightened hold on the apprentice. He thought about bringing it up as he ate dinner with his mentor.

“How is Miss Yim? I heard she’s isolated herself in her quarters?” He raised, tentatively, as Mr Yim’s eyes scoured down the reports. Her father was a little too quick to dismiss her actions.

“Never mind her, that’s not something new. I was surprised she was even roaming around the house when you arrived…” Mr Yim trailed off as a thought infiltrated his mind, shutting the book close, his furrowed brows silenced the questions in San’s mind.

The moonlight spilt in through the window, the luminous shadows dancing with the light breeze. With dried tear tracks staining her puffy cheeks, she circulated her finger around the cotton sheets pulling up the heavy duvet over her shoulders, a trail of heat comforted her. The door to her room, silently, slid open; oblivious to the soft bustling of footsteps she stretched her limbs sitting up in her bed.

“Miss Yim?” Her head snapped up at the deep voice, its familiarity sending an agonising wave of heartache through her being. There he was, the perpetrator himself, settling in front of her with a teacup in his palms as if nothing had happened in the first place. “Are you ok? I know you don’t like echinacea, so I got you lemon and ginger tea.” Placing the tea cup on her night stand, he rested his palm against her forehead.

“What are you doing here, San?” Huffing, she fisted up the hair in her palms before sticking a dry paint brush through it to create a tight knot.

“You’re burning u- were you crying?” His finger lightly smoothed her damp skin, shaking her head she pushed his hand away from her face. God, she felt awful for his wife who had to endure his infidelity. “What’s wrong, jagiya, speak to me?” Biting down on her lower lip, Miss Yim threw her gaze out of her window, she sought the light shimmering as her vision blurred.

“Just leave, please.” There was no more hostility left in her tone, a coarse throat lacerated with the phlegm that built up from endless nights of sobbing herself to sleep. Tiredness gnawed at her, she just wanted to dissolve back into the covers. Pleading, begging she’d do whatever she could to force him to leave because if he didn’t then she would tear down the path to the Angel of Death and beg him to take her dwindling heart. On her knees she would go, for the mere sight of her lover crumbled the steadfast walls she had tried so hard to rebuild.

“Are you upset because I’m going home next week? If that’s the case-,”

“San, are you dense?” She interrupted. He was subjugated to silence, a look of hurt flashing over his face. “Leave means leave.” Adjusting her body so she could slide under the covers, she stridently hauled the fabric over her head, gripping her lips tight shut, so no more pitiful sobs escaped her and she was no more a servant to his cruel love.

The Yim estate was left with a melancholic air as the venerated bachelor made his preparations to leave the home. The maids were forlorn as they’d no longer have the privilege of seeing his striking face to bless their monotone days. Miss Yim had finally mustered the courage to take a stroll through the garden, avoiding San's quarters at that. Lingering by the flowers, she wrapped her arms around herself to manifest a sense of warmth that failed to prevail with the awful weather. She didn't notice her lover tear down the garden to her, his heart leaping within his own chest.

"Miss Yim?" Her body whipped around upon his words, her hands balled up into fists the anger displaced by fear. "Do you know how painful it has been for me to go days without seeing you? I am leaving for Yangdong, today, and god knows if I didn't even so much as see your face I would have gone feral."

"I- why?" She stuttered, at a desperate attempt to collect together her words and form a sentence. How and when did he culminate such passionate feelings for her?

"Why? Isn't it obvious? I am in love with you." He declared, she shook her head, profusely, at him.

"How can you say that?" Her voice raised an octave, parrying against the harsh winds that blew at them.

“If being in love with you is a deadly sin, then I am the greatest sinner there is. I will walk up to the gates of hell and open them myself. Hand over my arms and ask them to bound me to its greatest depths.” His chest heaved up and down, tears brimming at the front of her eyes. “I cannot live without you. I would not even do so much as breathe unless you asked me to. If you asked me to stop breathing, I would!”

“You’re a married man, San. Do you know how god awful that sounds?”

“I’m barely married but engaged. When I go back home, I will once again beg to not be wed off to her. I don’t love her, how can my father expect me to marry her? How can you expect me to marry her?”

“I don’t think you understand, San. I can’t love you.” His arms outstretched for her waist, hauling her towards him, the rain beating down on them both. With the gentle flick of his finger, her head tipped up to peer into his eyes.

“Look into my eyes and tell me you don’t love me, or even feel as much as a small emotion for me. One word from you, would silence me forever.” She bit furiously down on her lip as his vehement fixation tore through the borders of her soul. When did she fall so vulnerable in his conquest for her being?

“I don’t love you the same way you love me. I am incapable of doing so.” His own brown eyes fulfilled with hot tears, pouring soundlessly down his cheeks. Her heart wavered with misery as he ripped away his grip, stumbling backwards upon her untruth.

“I understand. Thank you, Miss Yim. For the first time in my life, someone saw me for who I really am and not who I am meant to be.” Once again, the thunder cracked against the sky as San turned his back on her striding back into the home. The maids ran out to shut the doors, summoning their mistress back in but she sunk to the floor erupting into a fit of sobs; a wave of shock rattling through them. Her heart burned with such pain, even as Ina cooed lifting her up from the floor to guide her back into the home. Melting into the older woman's arms, her ears drowned out the distant sound of her lover ambling far, far away from her to a land in which even its notion would never grace the depths of her mind.

Her father's office was warm, but not the comforting kind as the biting airs of Joseon persisted. It was more suffocating as they sat across from each other in his office, discussing the state of her future now that he had managed to complete some of burdening tasks at work. He had several proposals lined in front of her, some prospects from his workplace, some from Mr Kang and even Ina had managed to find one or two seemingly agreeable men within their social class. A sigh fulfilled her, it would be a lie to say that she didn't look for the smallest hint of San within them all.

"I'm sorry Father, I don't like any of these men." He closed his eyes in indignation, rubbing his face before collecting the sheets from in front of her and throwing them into the fire. The embers cackled in a slow, seething ferocity as he leaned back in his chair.

"I honestly don't know what to do with you anymore. You won't marry, you won't leave your quarters. You've stopped helping around the house. All you want to do is sit in your room all day and stare into space." He scolded, she shook her head before raising from her seat. "You are becoming a burden to me."

"Well if I am such a burden to you, then just get rid of me." She taunted. An animosity truanted through him at her discourtesy.

“What do you think I have been trying to do since your mother left us? It should have not been your mother that had died! It should have been you! I would trade my soul to have your mother in place of you.” He blurted, before quickly slapping the palm of his hand to his mouth, cursing him for the spoiled words that left it.

“I would trade my soul too, to have my mother where you stand. You are a poor excuse of a man and to call you my father is an insult to me.” She hissed through gritted teeth, the shock reverberating at Mr Yim’s core; the severity of her words pulsating through his blood.

“You shouldn’t have been a father if all I was going to be to you was a pretty doll in a picture. The truth was she didn’t die because she was ill, it was the heartbreak of carrying a whole marriage on her back. It was the fact that you didn’t care about her wants, but your own.”

"You are in no position to say that to me. I loved your mother like it was breathing, I loved her as if she was the greatest blessing, as if God had granted me mercy for all the times I had done him wrong." His chest suspired, brittle hands shaking as a heavy tension remained suspended in the air between them; Ina loitering outside afraid to walk into the war zone.

"But you didn't love me! It was my mother who loved me, and I wasn't allowed to have her! I wasn't my mother's daughter, or my father's. I was a daughter of a servant with my name merely attached to you." At the end of the day, she was the figure in those paintings. Trapped within a frame, four equidistant lines on a piece of cartridge paper, bound by brushstrokes, sketch lines, constricted and held down by the artist. Subservient and stuck to a position in which she could not move.

Mr Yim deserved the brutal honesty of those words, no matter how harsh it was, and with a pounding headache, she ran out of his office ignoring her father’s calls for her to return to his side. This was it, there was nothing and no one by her side now and she was now the destitute figure that she had feared she would become.

“What’s wrong my dear? What’s hurt you so much?” Ina’s soft voice dilapidated at her mistress’ gloom, one she had seen prolong within her late madam too. Squeezing her eyes shut, she summoned the courage to spill her heart to her maid. She told her of how much she adored him, how deeply she wanted him and the ways in which he had made her fall in love with him. And how he had hurt her too.

“So call me heartless and apathetic all you want but I couldn’t take another woman’s man from her.”

“My love.” Ina’s weak fingers travelled through her hair. “You are far from heartless and apathetic. A man who you love is your whole life, you gave your life away to another woman.” She looked over to Ina, falling into her motherly embrace, breathing in her scent. There it was. The same scent that her mother had, the scent she was dreaming to come back to her in the midst of the night, and her a fool to dismiss that it was in front of her the whole time.

“What should I do now?” Her weak inquiry, breaking her heart, sinking deeper into the void than she already was.

“Go back to him and tell him you love him. He is a gentleman who accepts despondency like a soldier. So you, his general, must go back and tell him to return home to you.”

“Ina-,”

“Do not deny yourself of what you deserve. Your mother did, I won’t see you walk the same path.”

“I will let time run its cycle. Time will tell if he is meant to be mine.” She declared, to which the maid rested her palm on her cheek.

Mrs Kang’s baby boy, Kang Minho, was indeed a beauty. His bedazzling little eyes stared up at her in wonder, babbling as she lightly drew the tip of her finger over his chubby cheeks. It was astonishing for Mrs Kang to see that it was merely a little baby that would eruct a smile out of the secluded Miss Yim. It had been about four months since San had left the estate, and a while it took for her to leave the confines of her quarters. Once again, she took requests after requests painting and painting until her hands became stiff and sore. And so even more marriage prospects came, and her eyes lingered slightly over a potential husband. Both Ina and her father were pleased when she stayed a little longer at the doorway of their home talking to one of the young apprentice’s at the office. He was tall, handsome and kind; perhaps it was flickers of San she saw within him that had her thinking that spending the rest of her life with this man: wouldn’t be particularly gruesome. Regardless, she made no firm decision but still, for her father this was significant progress.

“He likes you.” Mrs Kang chimed, grinning down at her baby. She hummed carefully, softly tickling his smooth cheeks.

“Maybe I like him too.” Her gaze lightly flickered to the elated mother. “Where is Yeosang? I didn’t see him on my way in?”

“Oh he’s in his office with San.” Her head snapped up from the baby at the sound of his name. Goodness, how long had it been since she had heard that single syllable name, forever it seemed it would merely reverberate inside her head. “Did you not know he was in town? He came to see Minho.” Shaking her head, she got up from the bed consoling herself.

“I- I think I’ll leave now. I’ll come visit another time.” She announced, before awkwardly patting Mrs Kang’s head; a poor endeavour at affection but for Mrs Kang this affection was whole-heartedly appreciated. Her footsteps sped down the hallways, she came to an abrupt halt at the exist of the Kang estate.

There he was, stood there with Yeosang conversing if they were age-old best friends her heart palpitated with anxiety, knowing that she’d have to walk past him again. The sight of him almost triggered her, she gripped onto her deep purple skirts, his own yellow hanbok beaming like the sun.

“Miss Yim! I didn’t know you had arrived, leaving so soon?” Mr Kang chirped from the door. She shook at her head at him.

“I’ve been here for over an hour and a half. I’ll visit another time, especially since Minho is the only tolerable person in this household.”

“Just say you love him.” A grumble erupted from her lips, she rolled her eyes- with a delicate playfulness- before squeezing past the pair of men. A pounding of footsteps travelled after her as she trudged back through the fields in the direction of her home.

“Miss Yim, allow me to accompany you.” San professed, breathlessly. With a diligent nod, she transgressed forwards ignoring his burning gaze into her skin. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been fine. What about you?” He responded he was great all the same, reporting that the weather in Yangdong was a little warmer than in her hometown.

“When is your wedding date? I’m still awaiting on an invite.” It was a joke, nonetheless, but one that didn't hesitate to puncture holes in her heart.

“We broke off the engagement, it was mutual really. She was in love with someone else.” With a breath lodged in her throat, her stare tore away from the fields piercing straight into his eyes. It was then she had realised how burdened he truly was. Where was the San that always smiled and joked, and was so full of love it seemed inhumane to have so much of it? They didn't need to say anything to each other in that moment, they stopped walking subsided to a silent, paralysed position. "I think I'll just take your leave." His voice quivered, sending a jolt of agony through her.

Hadn't she made him suffer enough? After all he was the same man who loved her as if she was the vessel that kept the blood running through his veins, his heart beating and his feet walking.

Go back to him and tell him you love him.

Tell him to return back home to you.

His body almost disappeared behind the vast expanse of buildings, when she raced down the fields, as fast as her legs could carry her, ignoring the vicious ache gnawing at her muscles and the agitated pounding of her heart against her chest. Tearing down the path towards him, in the chance that if she didn't run any faster she was going to lose her lover to the wind.

"San!" Her shout echoed in the breeze, but reached to his ears anyway, a tug at the weak strings that had barely held down his soul. He turned, so desperate that she would come to him like she had done in the dead of the night. Feeling his lover crawl into his arms, pledging that she would never leave from his side.

"Miss Yim, what's wrong?"

“I lied to you, when I said I didn’t love you. I really, really do, I almost feel disgusted by it. I never thought, that someone as ruthless and as cold as me would be privileged enough to fall in love but when you entered my life I felt like my mother.” She sucked in a deep breath, her lover making gentle steps toward her as the wind whipped their hair. “I felt like her when she said: ‘If he was the muse in a painting, to be an object, a fleck of paint, or even dust on it would be my greatest honour.’” Warm tears forged in his eyes, biting down his bottom lip to prevent them from escaping. She wanted to outstretch her arms towards him but it was too soon.

“So, Choi San, it’s an honour to be loved by you. I came back, because I had to tell you that. I hurt you so much. I was scared that being vulnerable to love would only hurt me but the only person who gave me such torment was myself.” Her confession disturbed her, yet it was the unspoken truth that only he was entitled to. A tense silence suffused the air as she pended his response, but all he could do was try to convince himself that it was not a dream and she really had said all of the words he had spent countless nights praying that she would declare.

“I love you, Miss Yim. I loved you yesterday, I love you today and I will love you for eternity. There is simply nothing that one can do to tear my heart away from yours, not even you.”

"Do you mean that?" It was a stupid question, but she could not help the words be spilled from her mouth. He nodded violently.

"I do. With my whole entity." Choking back on her sobs, her arms reached out for him throwing them around his neck. Nuzzling her face in the crook of his neck, her grip tightened as he ensnared his hands around her waist; breathing in her scent as if it was oxygen. "Come home with me my dear, come home and be mine."

•••

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

'Yim' meaning light

A/N: the long awaited painter!san fic (with a twist 😏) that i've been waiting too long to put out. I hope you liked this one. :))

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

tags: @n0v4t33z @potatos-on-clouds @jjongwho

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hinaaspanda · 10 months

Text

pretty boy on lockdown! | k.gv

pairing: popular guy! kim gyuvin x fem, student president! reader warnings: swearing like three words, mentions of food genre: fake dating, reverse grumpy x sunshine, super fluffy, angst if you squint but even then it's not that much, crack fic wc: 9,752

Kim Gyuvin was begging on his knees trying to get away from his crazed fangirls. He just needed a moment of peace. Along came you, the stingy student president who didn't even know who he was! You were the final piece to the puzzle; the perfect addition to his perfect plan. It was simple; you two pretend to date and drive away all of Gyuvin's weird fangirls. You only had one rule, though; Gyuvin has to drive you everywhere!

a/n: hiii i'm back with my first fic for zb1! I love kim gyuvin with all my heart omg this fic was actually so fun to write! please support zb1 and their new song, crush, too! I tried to make this one super fluffy so hope u guys enjoy~

You were holding someone’s hand.

The hand was much bigger than yours, most likely a man’s. The metal surface of what you assumed was a ring had shocked your skin cool. His knuckles were calloused, rough—he seriously needed to invest in some hand cream. Contradictingly, his palms were warm and clammy; a sensation you didn’t particularly enjoy, either.

More importantly, however, you didn’t have a clue who this man was.

It seems he didn’t catch that memo.

“I already have a girlfriend,” the owner of the hand bogusly smiled at the two girls who cornered you in the middle of the hallway. Stupefied, you gazed up at his towering frame and broad shoulders, with his sports bag flush against his chest. You glanced at his flushed red ears, sweat beading from his forehead, his puppy dog eyes that were full of determination. You admit; he would’ve been cute if it weren’t for this non-consensual hand holding habit of his. The creepy-hand-guy glanced at his feet. “I can’t date you, sorry!”

“Awe, Gyubinnee!” one of the girls whined, a sound synonymous with an air horn. “Since when were you dating someone?”

You seconded the air-horn girl’s testaments. Since when were you in a relationship you didn’t even know about?

His hand clung around your fingers tighter. “It just sorta happened, you know?”

The two girls took quick glances at each other, whining some more before ultimately walking away, their shoulders slumped to the floor. Creepy-hand-guy waited a few paces, his eyes tracking the girls like a sniper on the kill. The girls turned the corner at the hall, and only then did the creepy hand guy exhale from relief. He held a hand against his chest, as if his heart was minutes away from falling out of place. Clearly, creepy-hand-guy was forgetting something.

“Are you gonna let go?”

“Oh, shit,” he jutted, his hand flying away from yours. He took two lengthy steps away from your figure, as if he finally learnt the meaning of personal space. Took him long enough. You heave a sigh, using your finally free hand to continue what you were originally here to do; gathering your things to bus home.

“I’m really sorry—those girls were killing me.” He cradled the nape of his neck with his palm, flashing the grin. A genuine one, this time. Though it was laced with nervousness. “Thanks for helping me out. I’m Gyuvin.”

Gyuvin pushed a hand out to your direction, making this the second time you’ve ever held his hand. You hugged your books against your chest, leaving one hand open to shake his hand. “y/n.”

“Do you usually hold random girl’s hands in your free time?” Turning around, you took a jab at him as you shoved your books into your school bag. It elicited a nervous chuckle from his chest. Gyuvin clung onto his bag strap. “No, those girls back there—they keep harassing me and asking for my number. So, I, uh, had to improvise? Yeah.”

Throwing your bag over your shoulder, you couldn’t help but giggle at his lack of coordination. Gyuvin fiddled with his fingers, lighting up at the sight of your amusement. He really did resemble a puppy.

You clicked your phone open, your eyes scanning the time left you had to rush over to your bus stop. Shock ran though your spine, sweat beaded from your forehead. 8 minutes. You had 8 minutes before the bus would arrive, and the closest bus stop resided on the other side of a massive hill. Slamming your locker shut, you dashed to the exit, brushing past Gyuvin’s shoulder. You quickly turned back, greeting the puppy boy with a weary eye-smile.

“Good luck with that—”

“Wait!”

His voice tethered you to the ground, your body frozen. You couldn’t quite figure out why you bothered to listen; the clock was ticking—fast. Gyuvin adjusted his figure to face you upfront before bending over in a 90* bow. Your brows furrowed, speechless. What was this guy doing?

“Can you be my fake girlfriend?”

You choked, eyes spilling from your sockets. This felt like some joke, like a prank camera crew was moments away from jumping out and exposing their true intentions. You glanced around just to be safe. You caught a glimpse of the boy before you, slowly straightening his posture—his eyes flooding with determination. Your lips part. He wasn’t joking, was he?

The puppy boy continues his wild claim, his palms facing you in defence. “I know it sounds crazy, but those girls have never listened to me before! This is the first time they’ve actually back down after I’ve told them to go away.” Gyuvin held a hand to his chest. “If I make it seem like I’m in a believable relationship, I might actually have a shot at making those guys leave me alone.”

Gyuvins eyes drilled into you, his voice softening. “I really need your help—please.”

Feelings of guilt started to seep into your chest, but you quickly swatted them away. You barely knew this man, why would you give into his psychotic request? You checked the bus time once again; 6 minutes. Shit.

“No thanks!” You jutted from your chest.

With that, you dashed out the door, your bag swinging side to side as you ran. As heartless as your actions were, you didn’t bother to look back. You simply let the puppy boy fend for himself. It didn’t matter, you’ll never see this guy again.

Right?

Running. Kim Gyuvin was running. His breath hitched against his chest, sweat

beaded from his forehead, his sports bag swaying frantically at his hips. He barely took notice, though; his brain was too occupied with escaping the two random girls who asked him for his number this afternoon.

Correction: girls who asked for his number and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Gyuvin tucked himself away, hiding behind a wall of lockers to catch his breath. He combed through his hair, his chest heaving. This wasn’t the first time this happened. There have been countless times where Gyuvin had to run for his life from random people in his school; people that claimed to be fans. It was one of the downsides to being popular.

Gyuvin knew it was vain. He knew people would die just to be in his shoes. He knew people would love to be adored the way he was adored. Yet one massive thing completely goes over their heads; it was exhausting. People didn’t fully understand his struggles; the constant noise, the lack of privacy in the classroom and the bus ride to and from school. The only reason he studied his ass off to get his licence the minute he could was to get away from those fangirls who had no clue about personal space.

Now, they’re going so far as to wait for him after practice, and chase him down for his number. Gyuvin needed to put an end to this. Now.

Hastily, Gyuvin scanned the barren hallway. Nothing but a sea of beige lockers; all closed. It was natural, it was well after school hours—almost everyone had to be home by now. Gyuvin’s shoulders sunk to the floor, his heart losing hope for a successful escape.

The sound of rustling suddenly crept up to his ears as he turned his head to the left. He found the figure of a girl turned away as she moved books and papers around in her locker. Her face was buried into the nook of the locker, paying no attention to the world around her. Her surroundings, baren and quiet. Gyuvin envied her a little; she looked like she was having a peaceful day.

Another glance at the locker girl and a lightbulb bounces from Gyuvin’s brunette head. The locker girl was none other than you, Park y/n. According to Gunwook, you were the bossiest class president in your year, and you often stayed late after school for your various class president duties. Ricky dubbed you a tryhard for it. Gyuvin, however, didn’t have much to say on the matter—he’s never had the chance to talk to you.

Gyuvin found himself staring at you, time standing still. His eyes widen before he sends a swift slap onto his cheek. Yet, that didn’t stop from curiosity bubbling in his chest.

The echoes of steps and faint voices bounce from further down the hall, Gyuvin’s spine freezing in fear almost immediately after, his brain being thrown straight back into reality. Shit. They were back. Gyuvin had to act fast. In a panic, Gyuvin’s eyes landed on your hand, which was dangling nonchalantly against your side as you fiddled with your phone. An idea perked up in his mind, an idea he swatted away instantly. But as the steps grew faster, and his time ran shorter, he knew he had no other choice.

Gyuvin gulped as he dashed over to you. Guess it’s worth a shot.

So much for your peaceful day.

“Alright, I’ll pick you up at 4, we’ll get something to eat, then we’ll head to the concert venue.” Your best friend, Matthew listed out; his voice muffled by the crunch of cornchips. His thumb swiped over his phone, his other hand tossing more chips into his mouth. You sat across from him on your living room floor, your frame buzzing with excitement as the two of you planned your most anticipated weekend yet. Your favourite artist was holding a concert in your city and you needed to go; your life depended on it.

Cheerfully, you nod at Matthew’s rundown of your weekend plans, a grin plastered on your face. A grin that would disappear. The cause? Matthew's snoopy ass.

“We’ll figure out the rest later—tell me more about that hand holding guy!”

Right. That was another reason for your best friend’s visit; for him to probe you for answers regarding the weirdo, Kim Gyuvin. You only sighed. You only graced him an ominous text about it last night before you went to bed, it was only fair. You took one last swing of your soda.

“He was running away from some girls. Apparently, they can’t get the hint when he tells them he's not interested.” You wave your hand nonchalantly when images suddenly pop into your mind. The image of Gyuvin bowing down like a dork, his puppy dog eyes full of determination. The image of Gyuvin’s cheeky smile—a smile that was plastered onto his face for the entire 10 minute interaction. Your brain lingered on that image for a little while, though you weren’t fully sure as to why.

“Oh, and get this,” You finally continued, waving those weird thoughts away. “The guy asked if I could be his fake girlfriend. Like—what?”

“What, really?” Matthew erupted into a fit of giggles, his figure folding up into a ball and rolling around like some unbalanced egg. “That’s so stupid. Did he even tell you his name?”

You nipped at your lip. “Yeah. Gyuvin.”

Matthew choked on his chips, his eyes spilling from their sockets. You stood still, frozen as curiosity took over your frame. Did you say something wrong?

“Wait. Kim Gyuvin?”

“Yeah?” You furrowed your brows. “Does that matter?"

Matthew scoffed. "He's only one of the most popular guys at school? How did you not know this?"

You only shrug. Being class president didn’t leave much room for a social life. This was no exception. Matthew ran a hand through his hair, his jaw grazing the floor in awe. You, meanwhile, only brought your soda can to your lips, nibbling at the metal as you thought back to the puppy boy. The way he fumbled and stuttered on his words, the way he so desperately ran away from his supposed fans. This guy was supposed to be your school’s hotshot pretty boy? Nah. That was impossible.

Matthew leaned back onto the couch, a mischievous grin stretched across his face. “Go for it.”

You choked. “What? No!” You swat the air, huffing a sigh. “I’m way too busy for something that silly. Besides, it sounds like he’s got a whole roster of girls to choose from. He doesn’t need me.”

“I dunno, sounds like he does. No one just asks a question like that,” Matthew shrugs. You wince, memories from that afternoon with Gyuvin popping into your brain; your cruel rejection in particular lingering well past its welcome.

“Maybe it’ll be fun for you, too! Your social life needs some work—OW.” Your palm smacked his shoulder. Deserved.

“I don’t need a fake boyfriend for that, I have you.”

“Yeah. Your only friend. I can’t hang out all the time!”

“Whatever,” You swat the air again, not putting much thought into Matthew’s words as you dug your hands into a newly opened bag of chips. Matthew was just being delusional anyways. There was no point in listening to him.

There’s no way you’d give Kim Gyuvin the light of day.

Luck wasn’t on your side this particular afternoon.

It started with the bipolar weather of your city. Blue skies of the afternoon quickly shrivelled up into thunderous grey clouds, and soon later, showers of rain drenched the outside. Luckily enough, your student council meeting had just ended, meaning you’d be trapped in the pouring rain. Without an umbrella. Yay.

You pushed through your school doors, being immediately greeted with harsh rain as you took your first steps outside. You tried to salvage your face, at least. Pressing your hand against your forehead in a makeshift visor; but it was no use. Your makeup had practically washed off of your face, like a tiny floatie amidst a grand wave. You only nipped at your lip, the rest of the trek to your bus stop becoming a cold, shivering blur. As you finally approach the barren bench and bus stop pole, you pull your phone out, only to be met with another devastating piece of news.

32 minutes. The next bus was 32 minutes late. Your heart sank into the drenched sidewalk.

A sigh escapes your lips as you look up at the droplets before you, the splotches of gloomy clouds crowning over your once innocent sky. You didn’t even have the energy to complain, it was no use. As much as you wanted it to, whining wouldn’t make the bus get here faster, or miraculously send a ride your way to get you away from this mess. And so, you stood your ground, convincing yourself that everything was fine.

Happy thoughts. Like the warm shower you could take the moment you arrive home, or the concert outfit you could plan even though the concert was still weeks away. Yeah. Just think happy thoughts, y/n.

Your phone buzzed against your palm, your eyes scanning through the numerous water beads cascading off the glass.

matthew! [6:49 pm] GIRL I'M SO SORRY MY PARENTS JUST GROUNDED ME

matthew! [6:49 pm] I CAN’T FUCKING GO TO THE CONCERT

Your heart shattered. No. This can’t be happening. You and Matthew; that's how it was supposed to be. You couldn’t just go alone! Who else were you supposed to go to the concert with? Frantically, your thumbs swipe up the screen, summoning the phone keyboard.

y/n [6:50pm] WHAT

matthew! [6:50 pm] I KNOW

matthew! [6:51 pm] I stayed out past curfew like ONCE

y/n [6:51pm] is there really no way to change their minds??

y/n [6:52pm] like chores??

matthew! [6:54 pm] no :(( I already tried everything

matthew! [6:54 pm] just go without me

You nipped at your lips. You doubted being able to go, yourself. Your parent’s hand one stipulation when allowing you to go to the concert. You needed a ride. Neither one of your parents were available, nor did they want you on a 2 hour bus ride to the other side of town. Matthew was your only option, and now he’s gone. Your heart beats rapidly beneath your chest. What were you going to do?

“y/n?”

The voice shook you to reality. You could tell the voice was yelling, attempting to overpower the crashing rain and its new friends; thunder and lightning. Your eyes move to follow the voice, your poor pupils meeting with a strong beam of light. You wince, using your arm to shield the light. A car sat in front of you, oddly enough. A car you didn’t quite recognize. Though the owner of the car would supposedly beg to differ. You bent down to get a better few of this mystery owner.

You choke.

It was Kim Gyuvin.

You glance around before taking a step closer. “What are you doing here?”

“What?”

“I said; What are you doing here?” Your voice grew louder at the end.

“Oh,” He picks at the nape of his neck. “I was driving by when I saw you. Who takes the bus in this weather?”

Your eyes fall to the ground; your soaked shoes. “Nobody could pick me up.”

The blanket of your silence was overwhelmed by the rapid taps of the rain droplet hitting against Gyuvin’s windshield.

“Do you want a ride?”

Your eyes widen, spilling from their sockets. Was he being serious? Kim Gyuvin, the man who you knew for about 48 hours in total, just offered you a ride in his car. Was he insane? Between this and his little hand-holding habit, you were starting to get the impression that personal space was not in this man’s vocabulary.

“What? No tha—”

A sudden strike of lightning flashes down near you, the earth below rumbling and jolting in fear. You clearly did the same, yelping out a shriek as you almost lost your own balance. Fear shot down your spine faster than the lightning strike you had just witnessed. Your eyes bounce back to Gyuvin’s car. Fuck it.

“Alright, fine.”

Cold. Your clothes were cold against your skin as you leaned back in Gyuvin’s passenger seat. The seatbelt pushed the wet fabric into your skin further, making you shiver at each movement. Your fingers fumbled with the straps of your bag, eyes boring into the neon green light of his car radio. Gyuvin’s eyes darted to you, overflowing with unease. “Music?”

“Uh, it’s fine.” Your eyes wandered to the crashing raindrops outside; the sky painted a deep navy blue. Your eyes followed each streetlight that flew by your view, desperate for a distraction.

The two of you were drowning in awkward silence, nothing but the rumbles of thunder booming in your ears. You were suffocating. What else were you supposed to do? You didn’t exactly know what to say to the boy who asked you to be his fake girlfriend. You tapped your fingers against the nylon of your school bag.

“Those girls from the other day,” Gyuvin’s voice suddenly peaked, his thumbs drumming against his steering wheel. “They hadn’t approached me at all, today. That fake relationship thing really worked.”

You only nod. Did people really think you were a couple?

The thought makes your stomach feel funny.

“Is it really that bad?” You looked over to him.

Gyuvin huffed a sigh, his cheeks puffing up with air. “It happens almost every day. It drives me crazy.”

You gulp, Gyuvin’s response rendering you speechless. The most popular guy at school hated being popular. Ironic. Guilt clung onto your chest again. You had to admit; you felt bad for the guy. Having people chase you down the halls on a daily basis wasn’t an easy feat. And yet, he chose to stay popular. You couldn’t help but wonder why.

Maybe you were a little curious when it came to the school’s pretty boy.

You choke. What an absurd thought.

At that moment, intrusive thoughts flooded your brain. Thoughts of Matthew and the concert; thoughts of waiting for the bus on cruel, rainy days; the fact that this was the fastest you’ve ever gotten home after a student president meeting. You took note of the heater effortlessly thawing your frozen body, the shield of the windows protecting you from the crashing rain.

Eventually, Gyuvin pulls into your driveway. He sets his car into park, fidgeting with the buttons to unlock the car doors. Your eyes met Gyuvin’s, which were already staring back at you. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Wait!” You began without thinking. Gyuvin’s brows furrowed together, confused.

“I'll do it. I’ll be your fake girlfriend.”

Gyuvin’s eyes split from their sockets. He leaned forward in shock. Maybe a little excitement, too. “What?”

“But,” You lifted a finger to the sky. With the way he stared back at you, you were convinced Gyuvin forgot to breathe. You continued. “I’ll only do it if you do something for me in return, got it?”

“Yeah, anything!” Gyuvin’s heart began racing.

“Drive me everywhere.”

Drive me everywhere.

Your voice replayed in Kim Gyuvin’s head. It replayed during the lacklustre lectures of his biology class; during the repetitive drills of his basketball practice warm ups. It was odd. The presence of you in his mind made his boring day a little less boring.

As baffling as your demand was, Gyuvin couldn’t help but accept. In exchange for a fake relationship that would drive away the fangirls he had to deal with on a daily basis, Gyuvin would drive you to and from school everyday, as well as wherever else you wanted to go. It’s a win-win situation; a way to finally escape the horrors of those obsessive fangirls. A way to finally be at peace. Besides, he always felt a little bad watching you bus home everyday.

Gyuvin’s chest bubbled up with excitement. He wasn’t quite sure why.

“No hugging? Really?”

The two of you sat in Gyuvin’s car, scribbling down what you both thought were important ground rules to have for this peculiar fake relationship. You’ve only agreed on three so far.

Kim Gyuvin drives Park y/n to and from school

Kim Gyuvin takes Park y/n to concert

Park y/n scares creepy fangirls away >:))

You grumble. It clearly didn’t dawn on you how much of a headache this would give you. Gyuvin leaned back on the driver’s seat, exasperated. You watched as he ran a hand through his hair, his brow’s furrowing at your seeming outlandish claim. You only nibbled at your lip; unsure of what exactly was so wrong with what you said. “Yeah. No hugging. Or touching, for that matter.”

“How would anyone believe us if I can’t hug you?” Gyuvin throws his hands in the air like a big baby.

“I dunno? I’m just not a touchy person—It’s not a big deal.” You shrug, swatting away his concerns. Gyuvin springs up from his laid back stance, snatching the notebook away from your unassuming hands. You stay stunned, brows furrowing at what he was doing. You watch as he scribbles profusely before facing the journal your way the minute he finishes.

Kim Gyuvin and Park y/n MUST hold hands (to avoid suspicion!)

The notebook drops onto your lap as you gaze back at Gyuvin, an unamused stare lining your face. “Really?”

“What? Holding hands isn’t that bad!” Gyuvin grins. “It’s not like we haven’t done it, either.”

Heat creeps up to your cheek. His remark earns a punch to his shoulder.

“Are you obsessed with my hands or something?” You scowl.

This time, it was Gyuvin’s turn to grow absolutely flustered. His cheeks grew into a deep red, the wash of colour spreading all the way to the shell of his ear. He coughed out a lump from his throat as picked at the nape of his neck. “What? No—shut up!”

Gyuvin gulped, slightly turning away from you. “It’s a nice middle ground.”

You sigh, your shoulders sinking into the plush of his passenger seat. “Fine.”

You never thought you’d be spending your Wednesday afternoon eating ice cream atop the trunk of Kim Gyuvin’s car.

It happened seemingly out of nowhere. One minute, you were sitting peacefully in the passenger’s seat. Your mind wanders absently as you hum along to the faint radio emitting from Gyuvin’s crummy speakers. Your windows rolled down halfway; just enough for the wind to graze against your face, to refresh your skin.

The next minute? Kim Gyuvin gasps at a sight on the road. With the way his eyes spilled out of their sockets, his jaw grazing his lap, and his finger jutting out before him, you would think there was a bear on the road, or something. Gyuvin begins to literally howl at the sight, his figure bouncing in his seat like a kid with candy. You finally look over to what the puppy boy was currently losing his mind over.

It was an ice cream stand. On the side of the road. It wasn’t candy, but it was close enough. You rolled your eyes.

“Wanna get ice cream?” Gyuvin’s puppy eyes glimmered with whimsy and wonder; you were at a loss for words. You picked at your lips, eyes avoiding his. “I dunno. I gotta be home soon—”

“But these ice cream stands always change locations—and their stuff’s the best!” You felt the car slowly move to the side of the road before coming to a slow halt. There was no point in arguing now. Gyuvin shifted the car in park. “We’ll be quick, I promise!”

You glanced up at Gyuvin’s eyes once more. They bore into you, glistening in a way that made your heart melt. Damnit.

“Alright, fine.”

“YAYYY THANK YOUUU!” Gyuvin yelped at the top of his lungs as he sprung out of the car. He didn’t forget to dash to your side of the car, opening your door for you before practically skipping his way to the ice cream stand.

You sat on the roof of his car’s trunk, your knees tucked up against your chest as your arms hugged them close. Your fingers loosely latch onto your cone of chocolate ice cream, the frosty exterior stopping you from holding onto the cone with a firm grip. Gyuvin sat beside you, leaning back with his legs sprawled over the trunk’s surface. He brought his mango-flavoured cone up to his lips, about to take his first bite before latching his attention onto you. “Aren’t you gonna eat?”

You gazed up at him. “Yeah, yeah. I will.”

It was peculiar; the way you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. He didn’t look different in a physical sense; same hazelnut hair, same basketball team jacket hugging his frame, same broad shoulders and tall physique. Yet, something was off.

Kim Gyuvin was supposed to be the campus pretty boy. This elusive celebrity of the high school hallway. Completely untouchable to the masses. This Kim Gyuvin, however, was nothing of the sort. He was bubbly and bright. He was clumsy and jumpy. His energy worked overtime, it almost amazed you. He didn’t seem unattainable at all.

It was almost cute.

You choke. What were you thinking? Kim Gyuvin wasn’t cute. Were you crazy?

“y/n!” The touch of a finger poking against your cheek pushed you back to reality. Your eyes once again met Gyuvin’s, now with a mad expression lining his face. “Hurry up and eat—I was waiting for you!”

You finally lick your ice cream cone, stupefied by the creamy consistency and perfectly sweet flavour. The treat melted in your mouth; it was addicting. You couldn’t stop eating it. In your peripheral vision you watched as Gyuvin watched you, a proud grin lining his face. “So? What do you think?”

“...Yummy,” You mutter in between bites. Gyuvin only chuckles. You watch as his puppy eyes fold into crescent moons and your heart melts faster than the ice cream in your hands. With his free hand, Gyuvin pokes out his index finger before lightly tapping the tip of your nose.

“You’re so cute, y/n.”

Your heart performed backflips at his words. Maybe you were starting to prefer this bubbly Kim Gyuvin.

Sweat beaded off your forehead. Nervousness drilled through your skin.

The reason? Kim Gyuvin, who was currently standing outside of your classroom door.

You knew that today was your first “official” day of the scheme. Hell, you planned the whole scheme out last night on call. Nevertheless, fear shot down your spine. You’ve seen Gyuvin’s fangirls first hand—you knew they wouldn’t handle this new relationship lightly. You weren’t sure if you’d make it out of today alive.

Worst of all? It seems Gyuvin was actually enjoying this.

Gyuvin’s shoulder leaned against the door frame as students funnelled through the narrow exit. Girls glance up in shock, whispering to their friends at the sight of the infamous Kim Gyuvin waiting for someone at the door. Waiting for someone that wasn’t them.

Gyuvin’s eyes finally meet yours, a mischievous grin stretching across his face as waved at you. You glare back at him, looking around for a clear path before stomping over to him.

“What are you doing here?” You seethed through your teeth, jutting a finger at his chest.

Gyuvin only grinned. “I came to visit you before practice, baby!”

The nickname summoned glares from all around you. You were done for. Your voice got quieter. “Didn’t we agree on meeting in the car? So I don’t, you know, die?”

“That would take too long,” Gyuvin waved his hand. “I just wanted to see you.”

Your cheeks flare up at his words. You frantically sweep your hands, gesturing to him to leave. “Well, you see me now, right? So shoo! Before more people kill me with their eyes.”

“Alright, alright,” Gyuvin dragged on his words before his fingers laced in between yours. You jolt, most definitely not ready for the stupid stunt he was about to pull.

Suddenly, Gyuvin gently cupped your hand in his, his thumb softly swiping against your skin as he lifted your hand up to his lips. Air stops right before it reaches your windpipe; you couldn’t breathe. Your heartbeat surged with energy as your eyes widened. He looks back at you one last time before grazing his lips against the heated, flushed surface of your skin. What was Kim Gyuvin thinking?

“Wish me luck at practice, love!”

You choked. Red paint smeared on your back, drawing out the image of a target. The stares of every girl in your homeroom burned through your skin. You glanced up at Gyuvin, a mischievous grin now sweeping across his face. A grin that calms you down in seconds. Odd, considering it's the same grin which sent your heart through turbulence just minutes before.

Maybe Kim Gyuvin is an idiot.

Maybe he took it a little too far with that stunt he pulled.

He couldn’t help it, though. He saw it in a movie once, and always wanted to try it out. Besides, your reaction was priceless. The way your eyes shoot out of their sockets, your jaw hanging to the floor.

The way your cheeks flared up in minutes, like a milk bun in a toaster preheated way too high. The way you nibbled on your knuckle from your stress. The way your eyes glistened beneath the school’s building lights as you shot him a deathly glare. He could have sworn you carried a galaxy within them.

Gyuvin couldn’t ignore how small your hand was compared to his, either.

Soon enough, Gyuvin’s heart was pounding through his chest. Images of you clouded his vision.

Gosh, you’re adorable.

Gyuvin practically skipped on his way to practise.

Your stomps of fury echoed throughout the hallway leading up to your school's gym. The impact earned concerned stares from the students passing by, but you didn’t pay them any mind. You were laser-focused on one thing; getting answers from Kim Gyuvin. That cheeky asshole.

What kind of stunt was that? Kissing your hand in front of the sea of fangirls at his disposal? Did he want you to die? With the way your heart was racing, you felt as though you were going to die anyway. You just chalked it up to your rage.

It couldn’t explain the way your cheeks ignited in flames, though.

Your frame burst through the gymnasium doors, the boom bouncing off every surface of the barren room. The facility was practically empty, save for a few students dressed clad in their gym strips and packing their bags to go home for the day. You counted maybe a handful of them standing around, gazing at you like a deer in headlights, but it didn’t matter. You were here for one person, and one person only.

“Gyuvin!” Your voice leaped out of your chest without thinking. You gulp, watching as Gyuvin’s teammates slowly turn towards you, Gawking at you like some foreign creature of the wild. Gyuvin catches your figure in his gaze shortly after, a small smile hooking onto the corner of his lips. “y/n?”

“I need to talk to you.” Your voice softened this time around. A faux smile lined your lips as you made your way towards him.

“You miss me already?” Gyuvin innocently asked, a not-so-innocent grin smacked across his face. You only rolled his eyes. “Oh shush! What the hell was that stunt you pulled just—”

“Wait! These guys don’t know yet!”Gyuvin suddenly nudged your shoulder gently, interrupting you. Pressing a finger to his lips, he tilted his head towards his friends, his voice hushed. “They think we’re really dating!”

“So?” You crossed your arms, your voice meeting his.

“So, we gotta act like a couple!” Gyuvin’s hand gently traced the outside of your arm, slowly falling until he reached your fingertips. He clung onto your fingers loosely, the act making your heart race. “Remember the deal?”

Suddenly, a cog in your brain switched. All eyes were on you, each student curious what would happen next. All attention; laser focused on you. You weren’t looking for an answer, anymore. You wanted to make Kim Gyuvin pay for what he did; for drowning you in a sea of embarrassment. You wanted revenge.

He wanted an act? Oh, you were gonna give him one, alright.

“I mean—Of course I missed you, baby!” Your voice sang sweet like honey. As you raise yourself onto your tippy-toes, your face inches closer to him. You watch as Gyuvin’s eyes spill from their sockets and his face plumps pink. He’s stunned to his core; you’ve turned him to stone. Your free hand cups the side of his face. A smirk lined your lips as they graze against Gyuvin’s cheek in a sweet kiss.

Sweet, sweet revenge.

You step away from the stunned puppy, clinging onto his fingers. You made sure not to miss the stunned faces of Gyuvin’s teammates, their jaws grazing the floor. And who could forget Gyuvin’s reaction? You certainly couldn’t, with the way his face drowned in red, his hands cupping over his mouth. You send him a flirty wink. “I’ll be in the car. Don’t keep me waiting!”

You skipped your way out of the gym, totally ignoring your racing heartbeat. It was just from the adrenaline, anyway.

“What happened to Matthew, sweetie?” Your mom tilted her head to the side.

You picked at your fingers, eyes darting between your socks and the coffee table just paces beside them. “He couldn’t make it tonight. Gyuvin offered to take me instead.”

Currently, you and Gyuvin are sitting on your living room couch, facing your parents. Barely facing, anyways; you have never been more nervous in your life than at this very moment. A gulp pushed through your chest. You weren’t fully sure why the campus pretty boy was currently in your home. You just wanted him to pick you up right before you had to leave for the concert that evening. Instead, he insisted on coming half an hour early to introduce himself to your parents. Was he crazy?

All of this felt so formal. Like it was a real date. It made your stomach swirl in on itself.

As his forehead proceeded to shed bullets, Gyuvin clumsily shot up from his seat, jutting a hand towards your dad. “My name is Kim Gyuvin, sir! I am y/n’s classmate and I happened to—uh—have tickets to the same concert as her—I have no ulterior motives with your daughter sir, we are just friends—” Gyuvin spat out in a rushed, single breath. Your body cringes as you watch from the sidelines. Your father hesitates, his brows furrowing as he takes the hand of the lost puppy.

“Alright, then. Have her home by 11,” Your dad simply says.

Gyuvin’s chest puffs up, determination swelling in his cheeks. “Yes, sir!”

You gaze up at him from your seat on the couch. The way his brunette head gleamed beneath your living room lights. You watched as his hands moved from fidgeting with his belt loops, to aggressively brushing through his hair, to clinging behind his back. You watched as his eyes burned with a passion you’ve never seen before. As if he was committed to making the best first impression to your parents. A weird feeling bubbled up your chest.

You shot up from your seat and b-lined for the kitchen. “I’ll get everyone some water!”

Escaping to the solitude of your kitchen, you swing open the cabinet door. You reach for the first cup you find before drowning it underneath the faucet water. The white noise of the water pressure flooded your mind. Your weird, weird mind.

“Is that your new boyfriend?” The voice of your mother popped in your ears, nearly making you spit out your water.

Boyfriend? Kim Gyuvin? Was your mother crazy?

You took another gulp of water. Your mother was only half wrong, you suppose. You were technically his fake girlfriend. But that wasn’t the same. Still, the thought made your heart race.

“What? Mom—no!” You quickly brush the thought away. Or try to, anyway. “We’re just friends. It’s not like that.”

You keep eye-contact with your socks as your mother’s voice peaks up again. “That’s too bad. I like him for you.”

You picked at your lips. Why was your heart beating so fast? “What do you mean?”

“The boy seems sweet. Not many guys your age are willing to drive someone around like that. He seemed so eager to meet us, too—that's rare. Plus, he's handsome!” Your mother sent you a soft smile. “Boys like that are hard to come across.”

Images of Gyuvin rush to your mind. Images you couldn’t swat away easily. With no final words, your mom slips out of the kitchen, leaving you to drown in your thoughts.

It was odd, to say the least.

Music was blasting in Gyuvin’s ears. It was blasting so hard, in fact, that Gyuvin could feel the bass ruminate in his chest. And when there wasn’t any music, the screams of fangirls filled in those gaps. Neon lights blared like sirens from the front of the stage; the brightness almost hurting his eyes. He was drowning in a sea of people; fans dedicated to the music of whatever band was playing before him. There were a multitude of distractions in front of him.

Yet, Kim Gyuvin still had his eyes on you, standing beside him in the crowd.

The way your eyes sparkled the moment the band played your favourite song. The way you threw your arms in the air, dancing to the beat of the music and singing the lyrics with all your heart. The way your smile never failed to brighten up the dim concert hall. It was all Gyuvin could focus on.

Gyuvin couldn’t keep his eyes off of you as his heart beat beneath his chest, overpowering the pressure from the music around him. The heat creeping under his skin could have easily been chalked up to the crowd of people pushing up against his body, but Gyuvin had a feeling that wasn’t it. The culprit was you, taking over every thought he had in his mind.

What if it wasn’t fake?

You and him. Park y/n and Kim Gyuvin. What if it was real?

Gyuvin’s stomach flipped in on itself.

He couldn’t help but laugh as a stranger’s shoulder bumped into him, jolting him back to reality. There was no way you’d want to be with him. This was all just one big lie, anyway. Gyuvin was just reaching for the stars.

Maybe front row tickets weren’t the smartest idea.

As expensive of a purchase as they were, many people were still able to afford them. As a result, you were swimming in a crowd of avid, committed fans—and you could barely float. Don’t be fooled, you loved this rare opportunity to see your favourite band perform live. Nevertheless, standing in this crowd was exhausting.

Soon enough, the concert had entered its third and final set of the night. But rather than losing their energy, like what was expected to happen at the end of the night, the crowd gained energy. Slowly, the people around you surged with energy; jumping up and down, shoving left and right. Your shoulders roughly crashed against those of your neighbours, but nobody noticed. Everyone was too busy enjoying themselves.

You, however, weren’t. With each strike against your frame, fear shocked through your body. You felt closed in, trapped. You held your limbs close to your chest, out of fear that you’d hurt yourself. You needed a way out.

Suddenly, the face of a certain someone appeared in your mind. A certain someone that you couldn't quite find at the moment.

Where was Gyuvin?

You whip your head around, eyes frantically scanning the blurry, messy crowd. No one resembled the tall puppy boy you grew so familiar with. Your eyes could practically dry out with how hard you worked on them, searching for Gyuvin in a heated frenzy, but he was nowhere to be found. You were enclosed by waves of strangers, not one face looked vaguely familiar to you. Your breaths began to quicken as fear shot down your spine. Your body froze on the spot—a deer in headlights.

Without warning, the touch of a hand grazed against your wrist. You didn’t have time to react before the hand clung onto you, pulling your figure to your right. Soon later, you crashed onto the tense surface of someone’s chest, their body heat swiftly igniting your own.

You glance up, your eyes meeting those puppy eyes you know and love.

Kim Gyuvin looked down at your figure, his gaze overflowing with worry and fear. Your heart finally begins to calm down, your mind finally clearing. You watch as his free hand reaches up to touch you, but it hesitates at the last second. The hand that clung onto yours, however, never dared to let go.

“Stay close, okay? I don’t wanna lose you.”

You gulped, butterflies fluttering at the pit of your stomach. Only now did you fully register how close you two were. You were snug against his chest, faces just centimetres apart. You gazed up at his figure; the way his adam’s apple bobbed up and down, the way his once brunette hair blazed a cool indigo underneath the blaring stage lights. The way that his eyes collected stars as they hung onto you—only you. His breath wisps onto your skin, his shoulders effortlessly caging your frame in his. Your skin suddenly felt hot, flushed.

There was something different about Gyuvin, tonight. You couldn’t put your finger on it.

You didn’t know what came over you, or what monster had possessed you just now, but you found yourself resting your head on Gyuvin’s chest for the rest of the concert. It felt safe there; a part of you never wanted to leave.

“Thank you,” your voice didn’t reach past a whisper.

10:48pm. The sun retired beneath the sky. Stars peeked through the ebony fabric. The small glimmers of light you did see were in the form of streetlamps, quickly passing you as Gyuvin drove you home.

It was night-time. It was dangerously close to your curfew. Yet you didn’t want to leave.

Gyuvin’s car came to a soft halt as he drove into your driveway. He brought you home right before the hour of your curfew hits, like the gentleman he was. It made your stomach flip in on itself; made your head spiral in directions you didn’t deem possible before. What was Kim Gyuvin doing to you?

The air was tense, quiet. Neither of you spoke as you exited the car, the light outside your house cascading over your figures like liquid gold. You watched as Gyuvin’s eyes grazed through the gravel of your driveway; the leaves of your front yard hedge—but never on you. Though you did the same, it still made your heart sink a little. Was this really the end of the night?

“Hey,” Your voice peaked beneath the silence. “Thanks—for tonight.”

Finally, his eyes land on you. His hand reached up to cling on the nape of his neck. “I mean, you made me come here.”

“Hey! You started this, you know.” You roll your eyes to the stars above, crossing your arms and leaning back on the side of Gyuvin’s car.

Gyuvin’s eyes stayed on you as his figure inched closer. He shoved his hands in his pockets, the cool air condensing his breath into puffs of air every exhale he takes. You felt your heart race beneath your chest again, forgetting to breathe, yourself, as Gyuvin rests a hip beside you. His eyes folded up into crescent moons.

“And I don’t regret a thing.” His voice was soft, fragile. It made your heart leap.

It was as if the space around had faded away, leaving only you and Kim Gyuvin in its wake. This world was yours and yours alone. You felt your body shifting closer and closer to Gyuvin’s frame. Your figure slowly encases itself in his warmth; his body heat. Your eyes darted back and forth between your shoes and Gyuvin’s eyes. Butterflies bombarded your stomach.

You thought back to your mother’s words from earlier that night.

What if everything was real? What if you had something more?

Adrenaline shot through your chest. It was an absurd thought. But, you clearly weren’t thinking straight.

Your eyes latch onto Gyuvin’s lips. Your hands fiddled with the hem of your jacket. You took note of Gyuvin’s arm, reaching out to you before hesitating, eventually leaning on the roof of his car. His eyes lured yours in, holding them hostage as your hands developed a mind of their own; resting atop of Gyuvin’s shoulders. With your heart springing from your chest, your bodies move closer. Gyuvin’s palm slides up against your cheek as your eyes flutter shut. You felt the puffs of his warm breath graze against your skin. Sure, maybe you weren’t thinking straight. You haven’t been since the concert, but for once, you haven’t felt more sure about anything in your life.

“y/n?”

The voice of your father jolts the two of you back to reality. You jump back, a wall of awkward space slicing through you. Your head darts over to your house’s front door, where you found your dad in his sleep robe and pyjama bottoms, leaning against the door frame. “What are you doing out here? It’s late. Get inside.”

You and Gyuvin simultaneously cleared your throats, your eyes dodging each other as you scramble to collect yourselves. You and Gyuvin said your hesitant goodbyes as you trekked into your home.

Gosh, you’re so stupid.

Kim Gyuvin couldn’t move out of your driveway. His figure was frozen, immobile as he sat in the driver’s seat. His hands hung loosely around the stagnant steering wheel as his mind ran in circles.

Kim Gyuvin is an idiot.

He was rash and reckless; a complete fool. He should’ve known better than to try and kiss you. He knew this relationship—this fake relationship, was nothing but a complex business venture. He knew that no real feelings were supposed to mix in this cauldron of lies. Things would turn messy if they did. You two had a simple deal; he would drive you around, while you drove away those crazy fangirls he had seemed to forget about.

He also knew that none of that seemed to matter anymore. The more time he spent with you, the more he focused on you. You had his heart on lockdown; and he didn’t mind it one bit.

He also knew that you could feel it, too. The way you leaned into him, your hands clinging onto his shoulders, pulling him in. The way you gazed up at him, your eyes glimmering golden from the streetlights above. Maybe it was too early to tell, but the excitement was already buzzing through his chest.

Maybe he had a chance.

There was only one way he could find out.

Sitting up straight, Gyuvin shifted his car in reverse before slowly backing out of your driveway. He opted to wait for another day, seeing how late it was in the evening. But that didn’t stop the adrenaline from coursing through his body.

Kim Gyuvin is an idiot.

An idiot who has fallen for you.

“You almost WHAT?” Matthew’s voice jumped out of your phone like a fish out of water. You dug your head in your hands, a million different emotions rushing through your mind. You spun around in your desk chair, getting dizzy as you stared up at the ceiling. It didn’t matter though; your mind was already spinning. Spinning with thoughts of Kim Gyuvin.

“We almost kissed.” You muttered, your head sinking onto the surface of your desk. “When he dropped me off yesterday. We just started talking outside his car. One thing led to another and—God, I wanna die.”

A series of incoherent mumbles erupted from Matthew’s line. “What stopped you? Why didn’t you just kiss him?”

“My dad caught us outside.” You groan, your fingers digging into your temples. “Besides, I was just being stupid. I shouldn’t have tried to kiss him.”

Matthew finally calmed down. You could hear him munching on a snack through the phone. “Why’s that?”

Wasn’t it obvious? You weren’t supposed to be with Kim Gyuvin. This relationship was supposed to be fake; a strict business plan. You had no real chance with Kim Gyuvin—he was the campus pretty boy, after all. You huff a sigh from your chest.

“I can’t be with him. Everything we had—it’s all fake. A fake relationship so he could get away from those crazy fangirls, and I could stop taking the bus in the rain. We can’t just—”

“Do you like him?”

Matthew’s words cut through yours like a knife. You choke. Stubbornly, your mind ventures out to images of Gyuvin Images of Gyuvin’s puppy dog eyes—those very same eyes that would fold up into heart-wrenching crescent moons every time he smiled. You thought about his touchy tendencies and the ways he made your heart race. From booping your nose to kissing the back of your hand. You thought about how you first met; how he clung onto your hand for dear life. How you thought it was weird then, but now you didn’t seem to mind. No one seemed to make your heart flutter the same way Kim Gyuvin did.

“Yeah.” You heard yourself answer without much thought. Heat creeped up to your cheeks.

“Then none of that matters!”

Your stomach flips in on itself. Matthew was right. You liked Kim Gyuvin; and you weren’t going to let anything get in your way.

“I’ll call you back, Matthew.” You quickly swipe at your phone.

“GO GET YOUR MANS—” Matthew’s voice peaked through the mic before you hastily ended the call.

You were more than disarrayed when it came to getting ready to leave the house. A haphazardly draped sweater hung over your figure. You didn’t bother to change out of your pyjama shorts as you slid on your house slippers. You weren’t fully sure if they were matching, either; you didn’t have the time to care. With your stare blazing with determination, you only cared about one thing; making your way to Kim Gyuvin.

With more strength than you anticipated you swing your front door open, immediately greeting the harsh welcome of the afternoon sunlight and crisp breeze. After wincing at the light, you look up.

You choke.

It wasn’t just the weather that greeted you with an extra shock factor this afternoon. With a rose in one hand, and his other hand balled up into a fist in the air—you assumed he was about to knock on your door—a figure stood before you. His puppy dog eyes stared back at you with determination as your heart performed backflips beneath your chest.

Kim Gyuvin was already there; at your front door, waiting for you.

“Gyuvin?!” You jolt, stepping out of the house and sealing the front door behind you shut. Kim Gyuvin towered over you, his tall frame shielding you from the blaring afternoon sun. But the warmth on your face stayed, all the same. You gulp, immediately aware of your less than tasteful current appearance. You swipe at your hair, taming any potential fly aways before fiddling with the handle of your zipper. You winced in embarrassment. “What are you doing here?”

Gyuvin nervously scans his surroundings before looking down at the rose in his hand. He pushes it forward; towards you.

“I, um—I thought of you.”

Your heart simultaneously surged with energy and melted into a puddle; were you having a heart attack? Your fingers grazed the rose, your chest buzzing with a feeling you couldn’t explain. You part your lips to say something, but it seems Gyuvin wasn’t finished.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you, actually. Ever since I met you and randomly held your hand, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You gulp. “Gyuvin—”

The puppy boy gazed down at his shoes, the shell of his ear turning pink. “Maybe this is selfish, but I don’t like having to use some weird, intricate plan to spend time with you. I wanna drive you around, but not just because it’s a rule we discussed on a piece of paper. Everything in me is telling me that I need to be with you. Like—really be with you.”

“Gyuvin—”

“I know you probably don’t wanna hear this. I just wanted to get it off my chest. I guess I should’ve planned this out more, sorry about that—”

“Gyuvin!” You watched as the puppy boy jumped, his eyes collecting stars in broad daylight; it amazed you.

Gosh, you couldn’t take it anymore.

It all happened in mere seconds. Your heart danced beneath your chest as it heaved with energy. You were a balloon seconds before popping. Your limbs gained rebellious minds of their own, your legs inching closer to Gyuvin’s frame as your arms reached out to cling onto his jacket. Gyuvin only gazes back at you, his figure not daring to step away from you as he lets you pull him closer. A thread of space hung in the balance of your faces. With your mind splitting in different directions, and your heart finally leading your body, you squeeze your eyes shut;

Capturing your lips in his.

Candy. Kim Gyuvin tasted like candy as your lips melted into his. Slowly but surely, your figures began to move. Gyuvin’s touch was soft, fragile. His arm gently snakes around the small of your waist as the other supports your head by the palm. Your hands slip on either side of Gyuvin’s face, pulling him closer. He was snug against your frame—so close that he could feel the butterflies erupting from the pit of your swirling stomach. So close that he could touch the heart that was beating rapidly. Rapidly for him. Nevertheless, you wouldn’t dare to let him go.

Your lips hesitantly pluck apart, both of you torn between reaching out for another kiss and taking a much needed deep breath. Your chest heaves as you glance up at him, your face drenched in flustered heat. Kim Gyuvin wasn’t any better, with his face smeared in red blush. It was gut-wrenchingly adorable. You gulp, still breathless.

“I wanna be with you, too.”

Gyuvin only gapes at you, completely stunned as you continue. “From the moment I met you, you never failed to amaze me. Everything with you has been so spontaneous and fun—it’s all so new to me. But I don’t hate it. I wanna experience more with you, Gyuvin. I wanna be with you—for real, this time.”

The silence, accompanied by the squawks of the birds in the sky, drops you into reality as your skin runs hot from embarrassment. Gyuvin only gulps, his hold on your waist tightening ever so slightly. His eyes gaze into yours, practically forming into hearts as he pulls you close.

“God—I like you so much, y/n” Gyuvin’s chest buzzed with excitement as he peppered small kisses all over your face. Your heated, flushed face. You reach up to play with his brunette hair, a smile staining your cheeks.

“I like you more, dummy.”

Kim Gyuvin leaned against the doorframe of your classroom.

You skipped your way over to your boyfriend as the clamour of students packed up their belongings for the day. Eyes of every girl in your class darted towards you and Kim Gyuvin. It was the school’s latest hot topic; the campus pretty boy and the stingy class president—a match made in heaven.

It was as if your bodies were made for one another; the way you folded into each other’s arms with immense ease. Gyuvin’s arm snaked around your waist as you clung onto the nape of his neck, pulling him in for a sweet kiss.

“You got practice?” You ask after pulling away.

“Yeah.” Gyuvin huffed. “Just wanted to see you!”

“You’ll be late, Gyuvin.” You cross your arms, cocking an eyebrow. “You’re not just trying to stall and eventually skip, are you?”

Gyuvin only dragged on a long, indecisive hum before you sent a fist to his shoulder. “Go to practice!”

“Okay, fine!” Gyuvin bends down and places a quick peck on your cheek. Even as your boyfriend, Gyuvin never failed to make your heart flutter. “I’ll see you later, baby!”

As you retired back to your desk to retrieve your things, you felt the stares of various fangirls burning through you. But they didn’t matter. Unfortunately for them; you had Kim Gyuvin’s heart on lockdown, and you wouldn’t have it any other way!

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