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daechwitatamic · 2 months ago

Text

Cinnamon || KMG

banner by @sailorrhansol

Written for the Lonely Hearts Cafe Collab!

Cinnamon mingyu x fem!reader (nicknamed Sunny), reader x male oc for a while fluff smut angst best friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, idiots to lovers all apply NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: You finally decide to try and move on after years of waiting for Mingyu to return your feelings. But when you start bringing your new boyfriend around more often, things with Mingyu get... difficult.

WC: 19k

Warnings: language, recreational drinking and overdrinking, a brief mention of throwing up from a hangover, angst and hurt feelings, not miscommunication but definitely refusal to communicate, kissing (some with mg and some with a male oc), arguments, reader and mingyu are both imperfect people who make mistakes and do things wrong... theyre not bad or toxic people but their choices can be hurtful... theyre humans who mess up have to just do their best to do better going forward, quick and prosey smut scene with piv penetration

A/N: thank you to @sailorsoons and @eoieopda for beta-inggggg iluuuuu

December

“Good morning, Sunshine.”

You grumble in response, eyes still mostly closed, as you make your way by muscle memory to your apartment’s barely-functioning coffee machine. Only once you’ve poured a mug, stirred in everything you need to make it palatable, and taken your first sip, do you speak actual words.

“Morning. You’re up early.”

Jeonghan, one of your three roommates, nods solemnly. “I have a nine o’clock meeting today, but I need to get some files together first, so I’m trying to be there by eight,” he tells you. You glance at the clock on the microwave - it’s already 7:20.

“You might want to get moving,” you warn him.

He makes a face that says, I know, but - and cocks his head towards the bathroom the four of you share. The door is closed and the light inside is on, which means it must be occupied. It’s not usually a problem, even with four of you - your schedules are just different enough that it works out.

You frown. “Wonwoo isn’t gone yet?” He’s usually the first one out of the house on weekdays since he’s got the longest commute.

Jeonghan shakes his head, but then the light clicks off and the door opens. A girl you’ve never seen before steps out cautiously, then pauses when she sees the kitchen isn’t empty.

“Oh,” she breathes. “Hi. Good morning. I’ll just -”

She gives you each a polite nod and slips quickly back through the nearest door - Mingyu’s bedroom.

You face Jeonghan again and roll your eyes. He gives you a bit of a grimace and gets up, hurrying into the now-empty bathroom.

You take his seat at the table, sip slowly at your coffee. Having three guys as roommates means this happens with relative regularity, though usually the guys keep their conquests to weekends and holidays. Mingyu must have really liked this girl to bring her home on a weeknight. You glance back at his closed door; you can faintly hear their voices, but not what they’re saying. She was pretty.

You tuck away whatever feelings you might have about this, just like you always do, wipe your heart as clean as a classroom chalkboard at the beginning of a new day. Jeonghan vacates the bathroom, clearly in a hurry, and you take his place, turning the shower on and praying that there’ll be enough hot water left to get you through. (There’s not.)

Later, as you sit on the train amidst a sea of other morning commuters, you check your phone.

Roomies 💕

[8:07am] (jeong)Han Solo: i would like to issue a formal complaint

[8:07 am] wonuuu: i left plenty of coffee bro

[8:07am] (jeong)Han Solo: not that

[8:09am] Cinnamingyu: if this is a noise complaint… i’m sorry but also no i’m not

[8:09am] You: you’re disgusting

[8:09am] Cinnamingyu: you love me

[8:10am] You: 🙄

[8:10am] (jeong)Han Solo: so does the girl whose presence in our one (1) bathroom made me late this morning

[8:10am] (jeong)Han Solo: if i get fired you’re covering my part of the rent

[8:11am] Cinnamingyu: have fun defending that in small claims court

[8:11am] You: i am happy to be a witness on your behalf

[8:11am] Cinnamingyu: et tu brutus?

[8:11am] You: my shower was lukewarm at best

[8:12am] You: you will be hearing from my counsel

[8:12am] You: thanks in advance wonwoo

[8:14am] wonuuu: for the millionth time… I cannot be your counsel. I’m not qualified yet.

[8:14am] You: yet ☝️

[8:17am] Cinnamingyu: let’s not ignore the real problem here… we need another bathroom

[8:21am] (jeong)Han Solo: ok great, tell me when you win the lottery so we can move out

Chuckling, you slide your phone back into your coat pocket as the train pulls into your stop. You hurry through the train station, tucking your chin into your coat collar as you speed through the icy December morning. It’s one of those dry cold days, where the air around you feels frozen, almost hurts to breathe. Everything is grey - sky above you, buildings around you, ground below you. Fast steps take you the three blocks to your office building, where you sigh in relief as the heated air hits your face, chasing away the chill.

You check your phone again as you hang your coat on your chair in your cubicle. As usual, Mingyu has texted you privately, away from the group chat.

[8:31am] Cinnamingyu: sorry about the hot water :(

[8:38am] You: you should be. i shivered through my whole conditioning routine.

[8:38am] Cinnamingyu: poor sunny baby :( :( :( will you ever forgive me?

You roll your eyes, but you’re fighting a smile. You hate that Mingyu can just charm you right out of a mood, and you hate it even more than he knows it and weaponizes it. He’s the one who gave you the nickname Sunny (or Sunshine depending on how cranky you were at the given moment) back when you were a college freshman. Your other roommates picked it up, but Mingyu was the only one who ever turned Sunshine or Sunny into Sunny Baby.

It’s absolutely horrendous, unfathomable, deeply unfair that it works, that it makes you melt into goo when he uses it. Still, you try to hold strong.

[8:38am] You: don’t you Sunny Baby me Kim Mingyu, you have crimes to answer for!!!

[8:39am] Cinnamingyu: ill cook for you tonight as penance. and then maybe a movie?

You frown. You wish you could take him up on the offer. Mingyu’s a great cook. One of the many things you love about him.

[8:39am] You: rain check. i won’t be home for dinner

[8:39am] Cinnamingyu: what’s this? did you manage to bag a man????

[8:39am] You: i hate you so much

[8:39am] You: yes you absolute scrambled egg, i have a date

Mingyu sends you a gif of an old man suggestively wiggling his eyebrows, and you laugh out loud. Then you stash your phone behind your keyboard and get to work. But when you check it again a few hours later, after your first meeting of the day lets out, he’s texted you again.

[8:40am] Cinnamingyu: is it the same guy as last week? date number TWO?? 😮

[10:51am] You: yeeeeees 🤭

[10:51am] Cinnamingyu: wow, big moves for you. a second date! do we need to have The Talk?

[10:51am] You: blocked and reported

This is an ancient song and dance for you and Mingyu. When you’ve been friends as long as you have, some things just become routine. Like you, gracefully ignoring the handful of girls that you never see a second time. Like him, acting like it’s monumental when you actually give someone a chance.

He’s used to you giving no one a chance, ever. He knows it doesn’t happen much.

But you had a good first date with Daeyoung last week. A really good first date. You’d been texting a lot since then, too. He was funny - witty. And cute. So you’d thought to yourself… what the hell. Why not? Why not go out a second time? What else were you going to do tonight?

(Stay home and eat the food Mingyu cooks for you. Watch a movie together on the couch.)

And, sure, you do want to do those things. But going out with Daeyoung tonight won’t change a thing between you and Mingyu. He’ll grill you about it when you get home, maybe tease you a little, and you’ll do food and a movie another night.

Daeyoung takes you bowling. You weren’t sure how you’d feel about it, not having been in a bowling alley since you were a kid, and remembering them as vaguely sticky places. But it ends up being kind of cute, maybe even nostalgic. Daeyoung buys a pitcher of beer and sets it on your - yes - sticky table, and walks with you as you select a pink ball that is definitely meant for children.

“You know that’s only six pounds, right?” he asks you, smiling playfully.

“Bold of you to think I could lift a heavier one,” you deadpan, and he laughs. You like his laugh - it’s easy, light, like he’s wholly uncomplicated. You could use some uncomplicated in your life.

You're terrible at bowling - you score a 42 on your first game, the ball finding the gutter more times than it stays on the lane. Even so, you manage to have fun. Daeyoung doesn’t make you feel weird about it - in fact, he barely pays attention to the actual bowling. Instead he talks to you about your day, asks about your family, doesn't seem like he's freaked out that you live with three guy friends. He doesn’t even ask the very common, “so, has anything ever happened there?” for which you’re grateful.

He’s got three sisters, you learn, and grew up with cats but still wants a dog someday. He graduated two years before you, has never traveled outside the country.

You offer back your own resume of sorts - an older sister and a younger brother, no pets growing up and allergic to most mammals (perhaps humans included, as has been pointed out by Mingyu on many occasions, usually in the same conversation that he’s calling you Sunshine and pinching your cheeks like your attitude is cute). Graduated with Honors and haven’t traveled much either, though you’d love to when you have some money saved up.

Your phone lights up on the table every so often, and you check it while Daeyoung takes his turn on the lane. A few are Jeonghan and one of your co-workers, and one is your little brother asking how to get blood out of laundry which is super alarming - but the rest are from Mingyu.

[7:19pm] Cinnamingyu: just know that you are missing one of my best creations

[7:19pm] Cinnamingyu: but dont worry i will save you some ☺️ because i’m the best roommate ever

[7:31pm] You: thank youuuuu! I might not have any tonight but you know i’ll eat the leftovers!

[7:31pm] Cinnamingyu: hows the date?

[7:36pm] You: i am very bad at bowling actually!!!

[7:36pm] Cinnamingyu: aim for the pins

[7:43pm] You: have i mentioned that i hate you?

[7:43pm] Cinnamingyu: guess i’ll throw these leftovers out then

[8:12pm] Cinnamingyu: what time do you think youll be home?

[8:15pm] Cinnamingyu: sorry i didnt mean that like WHEN WILL YOU BE HOME YOUNG LADY

[8:15pm] Cinnamingyu: i was asking bc i was deciding if i want to start a movie or wait for you i wasnt trying to

[8:15pm] Cinnamingyu: you know

[8:15pm] Cinnamingyu: anyway. aim for the pins. wear protection. etc. see you later lol

[8:38pm] You: young lady 🙄 go away mingyu!!!

[8:38pm] Cinnamingyu: you dont mean that

[8:38pm] You: i don’t 😘

[8:47pm] You: if you wanna save a movie for me… i should be home by 11

Daeyoung drives you home after the date, and you note that his car is clean, but not serial killer clean. A green flag.

When he asks if he can see you again soon, as he's pulling the car up to your building, you tell him yes without hesitating. It’ll be your first third date in maybe ever, and you make a little note in your brain that you should probably talk to him about this, make sure he can be on the same page - that this is fun and you’ll keep going out as long as it’s a good time, but you aren’t really looking for serious.

When he pauses, leaning in a little closer, you feel yourself smile, and you let him. It’s a nice kiss.

He’s a nice guy.

There’s no reason you couldn’t follow through with this. There’s no giant problem with him, no personality quirk or inherent difference that makes him ineligible.

But.

You push the thought away. “Thanks for tonight,” you tell him. “I had a good time.”

“You’d have a better time if you listened to my advice and used a heavier ball,” he says seriously, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes that tells you he’s teasing. “You can’t expect to knock down pins when they weigh more than what you’re throwing at them.”

“Sounds fake,” you joke, and hop out of the car. Before you shut the door, you pause. “See you next weekend?”

His smile unfurls, pleased. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ll text you.”

You practically skip back into the apartment. You pause at the closet by the front door, pulling off your boots and hanging up your puffy winter coat. You can hear the tv on in the living room and water running in the kitchen.

You step into the kitchen, heading for the fridge. Mingyu stands at the sink, his back to you, up to his elbow in suds. You bump him with your hips as you pass by, and he kicks at you and misses. You open the fridge and grab a can of seltzer. Mingyu smiles at you from the sink, and just like that, Daeyoung evaporates from your mind.

He calls you Sunny, but he’s the sun. Has been that way as long as you’ve known him - since undergrad.

You’d met in your freshman year - he was puppy-dog cute, back then, not the chiseled sculpture of a man who takes up half your kitchen now. You’d been in the Arts and he’d been in the Sciences - something mathy - but you’d bonded in one of those godawful general requirement classes, and somehow the friendship had taken hold.

Mingyu holding your hand - metaphorically and literally - through your two required math classes and two required science labs was the only reason you’d even managed to graduate. Of course, you’d also written every single formal paper he had through the whole four years, so it evened out.

You complement each other that way, in every area. He’s outgoing and friendly, you’re cranky enough to be given the nickname Sunny in pure irony. Mingyu likes puzzles and problems he can work out, you like to turn the brain off for any and all hobbies. Mingyu is sunshine and big smiles, you are made of salt and sarcasm.

But you love each other - have been best friends since almost the moment you met. There is nothing in your life you’d be willing to lose less than him.

You wander up to him and lean against his arm, mostly to be funny because he continues to wash dishes even as it jostles you around, and it becomes a little game of him trying to shake you off and you refusing to be shaken.

“How was your night?” he asks finally, reaching to turn off the water. You automatically pass him a dish towel to dry his hands. He takes it, drying, and then reaches around you to hang it back up near the oven.

“Not as good as yours,” you snicker, noticing a purple blotch near his collar.

He flushes dark, slapping a hand over the spot. “Yah,” he complains.

You laugh. “She was cute!”

“She’d be cuter if she spent less time in our bathroom!” Jeonghan’s disembodied voice floats from the living room.

“Alright, we get it!” Mingyu calls back hotly. “You’ve only been complaining about that for fifteen hours!”

Cackling, you follow him out into the living room. Jeonghan is sprawled sideways on the two-seater, a show you don’t recognize playing across the tv screen. Down the hallway, Wonwoo’s door is open about a foot, casting the hallway in flickering blue light that tells you he’s gaming and you probably won’t see him for the rest of the night.

“So,” Jeonghan says dryly, without peeling his eyes from the tv, “I noticed your boyfriend’s car idling outside for quite a while before you came in. Were we necking?”

“Necking?” you splutter. Beside you, Mingyu is biting on his lips, trying not to laugh at your expense. “What year is this, 1950? And he’s not my boyfriend. You know that.”

You can’t help the defensive edge that creeps into your voice. From where he’s plopped on the couch, Mingyu reaches up for your hand, tugging. You let him pull you into the space next to him and he rubs a soothing hand across your shoulders before taking his hand away. It’s a silent, quick moment - easy to miss if you aren’t looking. But you are looking, always, and you wonder if he even knows he does this - reads your moods, rushes to fix you.

Unbothered by your ruffled feathers, Jeonghan asks lightly, “So, are you seeing him again, or…?”

The bastard hasn’t even looked away from the television screen.

“You’re such an ass sometimes,” you grumble at him.

Now he looks over at you, smiling beatifically, innocently. “There’s my Sunshine.”

“Fuck off.”

“Well?” Mingyu asks from next to you, eyebrows raised. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” you say, trying to sound casual. You can tell the jackals are in a mood tonight.

Jeonghan’s face splits into a delighted grin. “A third date? My goodness.”

“We all know what happens on a third date,” Mingyu says sagely, and you punch him in the thigh, extra hard since you can only reach him and not Jeonghan too.

Wonwoo’s voice comes from down the hallway. “Leave Sunny alone, you guys.”

“Yeah,” you grumble. “Leave Sunny alone.”

Mingyu stretches over your lap to reach for the remote. It brings his torso almost flush against yours and you feel your face heat.

“I was watching that,” Jeonghan complains before Mingyu even presses anything.

“Sunny and I are watching a movie,” Mingyu says flatly. “Go watch on your laptop if you care so much.”

Jeonghan reaches towards your couch lazily and slaps at the air like he can’t be assed to work any harder to hit his roommate. “You’re cranky today,” he observes, the arm not trying (sort of) to slap Mingyu’s leg folded behind his head. “Why might that be?”

Mingyu doesn’t answer him, just settles back next to you, his arm against yours, and starts scrolling through movie options.

He still hasn’t picked one when Wonwoo appears in the living room’s doorway, leaning against the wooden frame, his LED headset looped around his neck and his eyes on his phone.

“What are we watching?” he asks absently.

“Nothing, apparently,” Jeonghan quips.

Beside you, Mingyu growls a little.

Unphased - this is so normal for them, it would be more alarming if they weren’t pissing each other off - you look up and Wonwoo and say, “I didn’t think you’d emerge tonight.”

“I’m heading right back in,” he admits. “Hydration break. Anyway - question. What’s everyone’s plans for the holidays?”

Mingyu stops scrolling, pausing to think.

“I’ll be home,” Jeonghan says, meaning his hometown.

“Me, too,” Mingyu adds. “I’m leaving on Sunday. Next Sunday, I mean.”

Wonwoo lets out a little sigh. “Okay. My folks were asking when I was coming. Sunny, you’re going home, too?”

“Uh, no, actually,” you admit. “I was staying here.”

You feel rather than see your friends share a glance.

“I can stay, then,” Wonwoo says, a bit tightly - you can tell that wasn’t the plan. “So you aren’t alone.”

“No,” you protest. “I’m perfectly fine being here by myself, you know that.”

“Sunny Baby is an indoor cat,” Mingyu notes, and you bump him with your elbow.

“It’s fine,” you insist. “Plus, I think Daeyoung will be around, so I won’t be alone the whole time anyway.”

Mingyu’s eyes bore into the side of your face, but you don’t look at him; if it’s pity he’s leveling at you, you don’t want it.

“If you’re sure,” Wonwoo says, and when you assure him you do, he vanishes into the kitchen and then back into his room. Mingyu clicks on a movie and you settle in, eventually getting sleepy and shifting sideways, your head resting comfortably on his unfairly sculpted shoulder. He shifts to let you get more comfortable, and the night passes as simply and pleasantly as hundreds before.

When the movie ends, you pick up the bottles and cans from the coffee table while Mingyu does a quick lap of the apartment, turning off lights and making sure doors are locked. You meet outside the bathroom - occupied by Jeonghan - both waiting your turn to brush your teeth and whatever else before bed.

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu says softly, something tentative in his voice, and you look up at him, heart suddenly thumping. He’s looking at you earnestly in the dim light from the bedrooms down the hall, something you’re not sure you can name on his face. It’s almost pleading, but that doesn’t make sense. “Are you sure you don’t want to come home with me for the holidays? My family would love to have you - they’re obsessed with you, you know that.”

Your heart calms. “It’s really okay,” you promise. “But thanks for checking.”

The bathroom door opens and Jeonghan slips by, leaving a wave of toothpaste-mint in his wake.

“You go ahead,” Mingyu says.

“You were in line first,” you argue.

He rolls his eyes but knows how stubborn you are, so he disappears into the bathroom. You lean your butt against the kitchen table and check your phone for the first time in a while.

Daeyoung had texted shortly after he drove away - probably as soon as he got home.

[11:24pm] Daeyoung: I had a really good time tonight. Looking forward to next week :]

[12:51am] You: me too ☺️

The bathroom door opens and you turn off your phone screen with a click, bidding Mingyu goodnight as you slide into the bathroom’s light.

–

January

New Year’s Eve

Roomies 💕

[11:13pm] (jeong)Han Solo: sunny where’d you end up tonight?

[11:13pm] You: i’m with the girliesss!!! where are you guys

[11:13pm] Cinnamingyu: sunnnyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy baby baby baby

[11:13pm] You: yyyeeesssss??

[11:14pm] (jeong)Han Solo: we’re downtown. mingyu cant come to the phone right now but i think he wants you to come hang out with us

[11:14pm] You: lmao nooooo he didnt even make it to midnight??? thats sad, kim mingyu

[11:16pm] Wonuuu: u ever think about that phrase “can’t come to the phone”… from an era in which you had to walk to the family’s landline phone in the kitchen or whatever… none of us were even alive for that

[11:16pm] You: wow apparently you guys are having a much better time than me

[11:16pm] (jeong)Han Solo: only wonwoo lol ok be safe and have fun!! see you at home

–

[11:14pm] Cinnamingyu: come out!!

[11:14pm] You: i am out! Lol

[11:15am] Cinnamingyu: you know what i mean

[11:16am] You: im sorry :( but we’re across town and by the time we got there we’d miss the countdown

[11:16am] Cinnamingyu: ok 🙁

[11:16am] You: don’t pout!!! i’ll see you at home tomorrow and we can hang out all day

[11:16am] Cinnamingyu: not the same!

[11:17am] You: ok lets take a shot together!!

[11:17am] Cinnamingyu: ???

[11:17am] You: go order one and tell me when you’re ready!!

[11:18am] Cinnamingyu: lmao on it 🫡

[11:28am] Cinnamingyu: ok im ready

[11:28am] You: ok when you get this count to three and take your shot!

[11:29am] You: geonbae or cheers or salute or whatever

[11:29am] Cinnamingyu: or whatever 🙄

[11:29am] You: 😘

New Year’s Day

Roomies 💕

[12:00am] You: HAPPY NEW YEAR LOVES OF MY LIFE LET THIS BE THE BESTEWT YEAR FOR US EVER EVER EVR!!!!!

[12:00am] Wonuuu: happy new year sunny 🙂

[12:00am] (jeong)Han Solo: happy new yearrr 😽

[4:09am] You: home safe ♥️

[10:33am] Wonuuu: i’ll be home tomorrow sunny

[12:42pm] (jeong)Han Solo: i’ll be back tonight but probably not until after dinner

[12:42pm] You: ok! i’ll be here

[3:17pm] (jeong)Han Solo: is mingyu alive???

[3:17pm] You: lol yeah he’s home. he’s just… not in the best shape asfjkasfhaio

[12:00am] Cinnamingyu: happy new year sunny baby 🩷

[12:01am] You: happy new year best friend!!!!!!! ily ily ily!!!!

[12:32am] Cinnamingyu: you kno you could still meet us out nw

[11:23am] Cinnamingyu: can u open the front door… my head hurts too bad to make the keys work

You stagger to the apartment’s front door, eyes squinting against the harsh daylight streaming into the living room and kitchen area. When you unlock and pull open the door, Mingyu almost collapses on top of you.

“Get up,” you groan, shuffling backwards. “You’re too heavy, I can’t hold you!”

“Shhhh,” he whispers, but rights himself to standing.

You stand there for a minute, both of you just grappling with the horrible reality of being awake and upright and, god, very hungover.

“I need to lay down,” Mingyu says finally, very clearly, like he’s had a sudden burst of self-preservation.

“Come on,” you wave at him vaguely and make your way back to bed. You collapse right into the spot you’d vacated when he texted, pulling the blankets up to your ears and closing your eyes, waiting for the bed to dip beside you.

It doesn’t.

You open your eyes again. “Mingyu?”

He appears wordlessly in your doorway, then makes his way over to his side of the bed. The empty side of your bed. Not his. You have to stop thinking that way.

You’re puzzled, but then he leans over and presses a cold water bottle into your hand. Despite his whining, he was still trying to take care of you.

“Did you take any pain killer?” you mumble.

“Probably more than was actually advisable,” he admits, twisting his own water open and drinking noisily. You don’t see a problem with this - Mingyu is gigantic, and you can imagine his dosing needs would reflect it.

“Okay,” you say with a little sigh. “We’ll sleep for a while and then maybe we can try to eat.”

“God, don’t talk about food,” he moans, taking one of your extra pillows and covering his face.

You chuckle lightly, and then roll to hide your face somewhere near his bicep, breathing in his familiar cinnamon scent and matching your breaths to his until you slip back under. The millionth time you’ve fallen asleep next to your best friend, and you’re already eagerly looking ahead to a million and one.

You’re awakened by the sound of someone retching in the bathroom, clear on the other side of the apartment. You scrabble for and glance at your phone - hours have passed. The light in your bedroom has slipped closer to golden as mid-afternoon begins to wane. You sit up tentatively; this time there’s no wave of dizziness as a punishment for being vertical, though your head still pounds.

You drink some of the water Mingyu brought you, answer a text from Jeonghan, then decide to go make sure Mingyu’s alive.

“You need anything?” you call through the door. You can hear the sink run, and the door opens.

“A lobotomy,” he deadpans. He looks miserable, frown pronounced and eyes puffy.

“Get back in bed,” you tell him gently, and he ambles off towards your room. You detour into the kitchen and start a pot of coffee. It might not save him, but you could use some caffeine.

While it brews, you poke your head into your bedroom. Mingyu is back in your bed, curled up pitifully, that pouting frown still prevalent on his face.

“What time did you take something?” you ask him.

“Like ten thirty,” he mumbles into your pillow.

You glance at the clock. “You can have more,” you tell him, and head back across the apartment to pilfer through the medicine cabinet.

With the pill bottle in hand, you stop in the kitchen long enough to pour yourself a cup of coffee. Carefully balancing so as not to spill, you bring it into the bedroom, placing it carefully on your nightstand and then nudging Mingyu’s shoulder.

He whines a response.

“I have drugs for you,” you tell him, and he holds up an open palm without lifting his face.

You drop the medicine into his hand and get comfy back in your spot, even though you think you’re done sleeping for now. Beside you, Mingyu takes the pills and settles back into sleep. He’s snoring before you can even choose a show to watch on your phone.

You look over at him fondly, disaster that he is. Then you settle in deeper, content to let his warmth radiate over to you, content to be by his side.

–

[12:02am] Daeyoung: happy new year! wishing you luck and happiness ☺️

[4:23pm] You: thank you!!! to you as well!!

–

February

Valentine’s Day is an emotional minefield. You don’t know if you want to lean into the bitter and single thing, or if you want to go all Gal-entines and pamper your friends, or if you want to just keep your head down and treat the day like any other fuck-ass Tuesday in winter.

The universe surprises you with a secret fourth option. Or, rather, Daeyoung does.

You’ve lost track counting your dates with him at this point - you are simply dating. Neither of you has pushed for a what is this conversation, and you’re relieved. You like Daeyoung, you like the time you spend together, and you’d be sad if things ended. But at the same time, you don’t feel things getting deeper, and if he pushed you to make this serious, to put parameters on it, you’re not sure how you’d feel.

Something inside you keeps it light - enough so that you don’t even think of doing anything for him to celebrate the holiday.

Apparently, you’re an asshole.

Sometime after ten, your office’s secretary calls you, asking you to come up to reception for a minute. You’re suspicious, but you don’t do the mental math about what day it is until you turn the corner and see the small vase of roses - three of them, arranged with some baby’s breath and a few other fillers you can’t name - sitting on the reception counter.

“These got delivered for you,” she tells you, and it’s clear on her face that she’s dying for you to spill. “Are they from that guy? The tall one who looks like a movie star?”

This would annoy you if you weren’t so used to it. Everyone asks you if you’re with Mingyu - they never understand why you’re not when you two are attached at the hip.

It had happened once - just a kiss at a frat party, in the middle of the dance floor. You’d both been drinking, of course, and pressed close together to dance, his chest against your back and his hands on your hips and then you’d turned and tipped your chin up and his sparkling eyes had gone molten before he’d kissed you and your whole world had been swept away -

And you’d been interrupted, had been literally pulled away to deal with some drama happening in the kitchen, and somehow… you’d never talked about it. It never happened again.

Sometimes, you wonder if you only dreamed it. It wouldn’t surprise you.

But, no. Your imagination is good, but it’s not good enough to come up with the minute details of how his pecs had felt under your hands, how his fingers had felt pressed into the small of your back, how he had almost sighed into your mouth when it opened for him, how he had tasted a bit like cinnamon, courtesy of the fireball shots the frat was giving out like candy.

Anyway. Life goes on, right?

“No,” you tell the secretary quickly, because you know the roses aren’t from Mingyu. Even if he’d done something today, as your friend, he knows you aren’t much of a roses girl. “We’re just friends.” You will the words to leave your mouth without leaving ashes in their wake.

You reach for the small card tied around the thinnest part of the vase to see who did send them.

Thought you deserved something pretty today. Don’t freak out. :] - Daeyoung

The secretary is still watching you, harmlessly curious.

“It’s just a guy I’ve been seeing,” you say. “It’s not serious.”

“Wow,” she says, eyeing the simple arrangement. “Looks like he thinks it’s a little serious - or that it could be.”

“That’s probably true,” you muse out loud, taking the arrangement back to your own cubicle and setting it on your desk. You snap a photo and text it to Daeyoung with a thank you and a row of sobbing emojis. Then you stand behind your chair, eyes on the red petals, your hand pressed to your mouth, processing.

You didn’t expect to feel like this. A fluttering, a rush of excitement. Even though you aren’t into roses, specifically, the thought is very nice. And no one has thought of you, not like this, in a very long time.

When you get home, the apartment is dark and empty. You wonder if any of the guys have dates tonight, or if they’re working late, or with family. You set the roses on the kitchen table, hang up your coat, and then shoot the grouptext a quick “where is everyone?”. Then you head into your room, eager to take a quick shower and change into something comfy.

You freeze when you flick on your bedroom light.

The clutter on your small desk has been pushed to the side, and a clear vase holds a thick bouquet of sunflowers - your favorite.

You hear yourself gasp, the sound echoing through your head on a loop as you stare at the bright, yellow blooms. You step forward on shaky legs, reaching for the tiny card that’s slipped under the vase.

Sunny flowers for Sunny Baby. Love you. - M

The tears come with such unexpected force that you almost laugh through the third sob. You can barely see through the sudden stream of tears, can hear yourself struggling to inhale. You hurry to shut your bedroom door, locking it for good measure, and then those shaking legs of yours give up, and you sink to your knees and weep into your hands, trying to muffle the sounds, just in case anyone comes home.

You cry so hard it makes your abs hurt, makes the muscles in your face feel stretched, nearly makes you gag. You haven’t cried like this since undergrad.

Because he loves you, but he doesn’t love you, and even though you’ve been pretending for so long it’s as unconscious as breathing, it doesn’t shatter you any less.

Because he’s perfect, and he’s yours, but somehow you still don’t have him, and in the meantime no one else will ever be enough - just for not being him.

Because being thought of earlier by Daeyoung was nice, but it is so much better to be known, like this. Mingyu knows you don’t like roses. Mingyu knows your favorites. Mingyu knows you.

And it’s a waste. It’s all for fucking nothing.

When the tears start to settle and you can breathe a little better, you push yourself back to your feet. You listen at your bedroom door and don’t hear anyone, so you hurry across the apartment and into the bathroom, where you blow your nose and splash your face with cold water.

When you come out again, Jeonghan is in the kitchen.

“Hey,” he says, his back to you. When he turns, he freezes, his face dropping. You must be puffy and red, still.

“Hey,” you reply meekly.

“Oh, Sunny,” he says mournfully, stepping closer. “I told him he shouldn’t, but he asked why not, he’s your friend, and I couldn’t say -”

You let out a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah,” you mutter. “It’s fine. It’ll be fine.”

He watches you carefully, probably trying to gauge if you’re lying. Then he spots the roses and lights up.

“Well, well,” he says, a sly smile showing up on his face. “Those are nice.”

“Yeah,” you say again, the only word in your arsenal. “They are. I, um, I think I’m gonna shower. Do you need the bathroom first?”

Under the spray of hot water, you cry a little more, like an aftershock hit you. It’s quiet this time, and you try to shoulder through it as you condition your hair, ready to put this whole episode behind you once you step out into the chilly bathroom air again.

When you emerge, Jeonghan is on the couch. By the sounds coming from down the hallway, Wonwoo has just gotten home and is dumping the contents of his life onto his bedroom floor. Jeonghan opens his mouth to say something, but you lift a fluffy-bathrobe-clad arm and silently shush him.

“It’s fine,” you say again, firmly.

Jeonghan had been your friend first, back in undergrad. You’d brought him into the friend group the same way Mingyu had brought Wonwoo. The four of you had worked cohesively as a friend-and-roommate unit for a long time, but sometimes those old alliances seemed to matter more than others. Jeonghan would never cross the line without your permission, would never tell your secrets if you weren’t willing to tell them yourself. Wonwoo, on the other hand, was much more likely to open his mouth - especially if he thought he was helping.

The front door bursts open, and Mingyu enters the apartment in a cacophony of noise and dropped items, oranges spilling from the bag in his arms and rolling across the floor. You move to pick a few up as he puts the bag of groceries down and pulls his boots off.

“Sunny!” he says, all excitement, eyes shining. “Did you like my gift?”

You can’t even look at Jeonghan, turning your back to him completely as you hold out the oranges you’d collected. Mingyu takes them, but watches you eagerly, waiting for your answer.

“Yeah,” you say honestly. “I loved it.”

His smile triples.

You were wrong when you said Mingyu was the sun. Mingyu is an avalanche. Rushing, rolling, thundering over and through you until there’s nothing left but a glinting field of ice and silence. Nothing else matters - nothing else exists - in his wake.

“You better watch out, Mingyu,” Jeonghan says from the couch, and your blood runs as cold as that field of ice, because you know he’s about to start some shit. “Sunny got flowers from her lover today. That guy’s coming for your woman.”

You’re opening your mouth to reprimand him - tell him to shut up, or something - but Mingyu beats you to it.

“Sunny’s not mine,” he says simply.

All that ice evaporates in an instant like it was never there.

“My lover,” you echo with a frown, when you can speak again. “Don’t say it like that, you weirdo.”

“Well, isn’t he?” Jeonghan asks innocently.

You head for your bedroom with a roll of your eyes. “Goodnight, Jeonghan.”

“That means yes,” he sing-songs, and you slam your door shut.

Wonwoo’s voice floats through the door. “Who pissed off Sunshine?”

Mingyu’s grumble responds, “Who do you think?”

–

You and Mingyu lay side by side in the grass, a late spring night unspooling with cricket song and a smattering of flickering stars above you. His arm touches yours and you can feel his chest shift as he breathes deeply.

You feel content - you feel infinite - you feel like one of those blinking stars. You feel like you could lay here next to him in silence and be happy until your light goes out, just like theirs.

“Mingyu,” you say, turning to look at him. The grass tickles your cheek.

He turns to look at you, too. It’s dark, here behind the university’s main hub, most of the lights on the far side of the building. Still, there’s enough light to see his eyes, steady on you, his gaze serious.

“Sunny Baby,” he responds, voice low, like he’s telling you a secret. “I love you.”

You startle awake, heart pounding, and you’re immediately furious.

“Fuck,” you hiss, punching your mattress once.

The pathetic truth is you dream about that night in undergrad all the time - you and Mingyu on one of the last nights before summer break, leaving a party together and laying in the grass behind the advising department building watching the constellations rotate above you.

The pathetic truth is the dream never follows the script, always turning the scene sideways, making it something different than what it was.

The pathetic truth is that Mingyu had been blacked out, more fucked up than you’d ever seen him, and you’d laid in the grass because you physically couldn’t keep him upright any further than that and you’d had to text Wonwoo to come help you.

You hadn’t said anything to Mingyu - at least not something meaningful. You might have said please don’t puke on me, or god, you weigh a ton, or how many jaeger bombs did you do?

He had said he loved you - had slurred it, eyes closed.

You had laughed, even though it had sent a dagger through your chest. “Okay, Romeo,” you’d teased, and checked your phone to see if Wonwoo was on his way to help.

“I do,” he’d insisted, one hand patting the grass next to him like he was trying to find you. “Sunny, I love you.”

You didn’t know how he meant it - still don’t know, to this day, because you don’t think he even remembered saying it and you’d been too afraid to bring it up.

What were you supposed to say? Hey, when you were blacked out last night, you said you love me… do you mean like… platonically… or…?

God. The idea of it is just as humiliating now, years later, as it had been in the weeks that followed that night. And though he’s said it regularly since then - like on this fucking card with the sunflowers - he never said it like that, and you never pushed it.

Now, awake and furious and sad at three in the morning, you grab your phone and climb out of bed.

You know you shouldn’t. You know it’s only making this worse for you. But you make your way on light steps through the dark and silent apartment to Mingyu’s door and push it open.

Is it mithridatism, this thing you do? Microdosing on the poison so that a full dose won’t kill you? No, that isn’t right. A full dose of Mingyu wouldn’t kill you. It’s an absence of Mingyu that you need protected from.

You climb into his bed and poke at his calves with your toes until he grunts as he wakes. Then, as he gathers his senses, he rolls to look at you over his shoulder.

“Bad dream?” he asks, voice kind of breathy with sleep.

“Mhm.”

He rolls the rest of the way, lifts his arm so you can scoot a little closer. You breathe easier immediately. It makes no sense that the thing that hurts you is also the only thing that makes you feel better.

“Won’t your lover object to you getting in bed with me?” he asks, and you can hear the edge in his voice as clear as day.

You let out a single, wry ha. He’s got a point, but Daeyoung isn’t your boyfriend, you aren’t exclusive, and what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Nah,” you say easily. “I’m not his.”

March

March can’t make up its mind if it’s winter or spring. Warm days lull you into a false sense of security, and then a blistering cold rushes in just to call you a fool.

You’re the last one to get to the bar on Friday night after work, and you have to stand awkwardly next to the booth the guys have staked out and unwrap yourself - hat, scarf, gloves, puffer coat, big heavy sweater - before you can actually slide into the empty spot next to Mingyu.

“Hi bestie,” he says, immediately draping his arm behind your shoulders, resting on the back of the wooden bench. “How was your day?”

“Fuck Marcus in Accounting,” you answer.

“Fuck Marcus in Accounting,” your roommates all answer solemnly, because this is a common gripe.

“Fireball and ginger ale it is, then,” Mingyu says, and climbs over you to head to the bar, his own empty beer glass in hand. When he slides the cocktail glass in front of you and scoots back to his original spot, you fill the guys in on Marcus’s Bullshit of the Day.

“And then,” you finish the story, “I was like yeah, I know you did, Marcus, because she blind-copied me on her reply and you should have seen the color his face turned so I think it’s fair to say I won this round.”

“I’m surprised they aren’t all scared of you,” Wonwoo remarks.

“Marcus is,” you say, glowering at your now-empty cocktail glass. “That’s why he’s such a dick. He hates that he’s intimidated.”

Mingyu’s arm has slid down from the back of the bench and rests lightly across your shoulder by this point, and he gives you a playful squeeze into his side as he laughs.

He starts telling a story next, and you listen as you slip your phone out and check your texts. Daeyoung had texted you a while ago, and you shoot him a quick answer that you’re out with your roommates for Friday drinks, and then dial back into the conversation.

When Mingyu’s glass is empty again, you rise, taking the empties up to the bar and signalling for another of each. While you wait, elbows on the bar, you check your phone again. Daeyoung had texted back, asking where you guys were drinking.

You hesitate. The idea of incorporating Daeyoung into the group makes you nervous. Behind you, you can hear Mingyu yapping a thousand miles a minute, and Jeonghan’s distinctive heh heh heh in answer. It’s not that you don’t think the guys will be nice… it just feels like a big move.

It might be nice to have him there, though - someone on your side when Jeonghan and Mingyu gang up on you and Wonwoo is too in his own world to be effective back-up, someone to hold your hand and get your drinks, someone to be in your own private little bubble with when the conversation ebbs and flows away from topics you can engage with.

You send him back “just a little place by the apartment!” which is technically true, and then grab the refreshed drinks for you and Mingyu.

The guys are getting up, making noise about a just-vacated darts board, so you swivel and turn to follow them, a cold drink in each hand.

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu tells you, half an hour later, bending down low so he can talk close to your ear over the loud music, “you have to put more muscle into it. You have to throw it like you want to pierce it.”

“I don’t think it’s that serious, actually!” you tell him cheerfully, and down the rest of your drink, pushing the empty glass into his giant hand. His turn.

He shoots you a grin so sharp and devilish that it makes your whole body fight a shudder, and then he disappears off to the bar.

You heckle Jeonghan through his turn (unsuccessfully - he’s way better at this than you) and then glance at the bar to see if the bartenders have gotten to Mingyu yet in the crowd. He’s facing you, his arms crossed, that same devilish smile on his face. He leans sideways on the bar, where your drink and his own beer sit sweating, forgotten.

The girl he’s smiling at has her back to you, which is a miracle, because if she’d been able to see your face fall, she probably would have back-pedaled out of the conversation immediately - it would be impossible for her not to see that she was walking into a flashing neon sign screaming this situation is a mess!!!!

When she laughs, throwing her head back, and reaches a hand out to touch his forearm, you feel the whole bar swoop sideways around you. You’re fumbling for your phone, even as you hear Mingyu’s answering laugh cut through all the loud music and conversations filling the space, even as you watch through your periphery as he gives her a return nudge to the shoulder, playful, that smile only growing.

You’re going to be sick.

You shoot Daeyoung a text - sorry, I should have told you which bar. I’m leaving now though. Do you want to come get me? We could chill for a little? - and then you push your way through the bar, not even bothering to tell Jeonghan and Wonwoo goodbye. You make an extra effort to skirt the opposite wall as the bar, hoping you get out without Mingyu spotting you.

There’s no way you could fake it right now. Zero chance. If he came after you, it would all be out in the open.

Daeyoung answers you almost immediately - no worries! sure, send me your location. you want to hang at my place?

Outside, the cold air assaults you. You immediately hesitate, wishing you’d grabbed your coat. You’ll get pneumonia waiting for Daeyoung without it.

You’re saved the trouble of going back in - the door opens and someone comes out after you. But it isn’t Mingyu - it’s Jeonghan, giving you the heaviest side-eye you’ve ever seen from him, your coat in his hands.

“Thank you,” you breathe when he’s close enough, taking the coat and sliding it over your arms. “It’s freezing.”

“Sunny,” he says, and something in his voice makes you pause. “I think we should talk.”

You cover your face with one hand, embarrassed and spent and tired. “About what?” you ask flatly, just to buy yourself a second. You know the answer. Of course you do.

He levels you with a look. “This can’t continue,” he says firmly. “For you, or for him, or for me and Wonwoo.”

You scoff. “What do you two have to do with it?”

You’ve never seen him this serious, and it scares you a little. “Do you think it’s easy for me to watch you get hurt?”

You lower your gaze to the ground and don’t answer this; it feels rhetorical.

“But you’re right - it’s not about us. It’s about you. Something has to give,” he says gently. “Either face it and get your answer, or let it go.”

“It’s not that simple,” you argue.

“Yes, it is that simple,” he retorts. “It’s just scary. But that’s not the same thing.”

“I can’t tell him,” you say, because it’s true. You can’t. You can’t. “What if it messed up everything for all of us?”

What if you lost him completely? What if he moved out? What if he stopped talking to you?

Jeonghan doesn’t reply to this at first, he just watches you carefully, then tucks a long strand of dark hair behind his ear.

“You can,” he says finally, still gentle. “But… if you won’t… then you have to let him go.”

Your stomach drops at the words, even though this is a truth you’ve been aware of for ages, have been doing your best to avoid.

“I don’t know how to do that,” you whisper. And it’s true - loving Mingyu feels as instinctual as your heartbeat, intrinsically part of who you are. How can you separate it out, shut it down?

“Stop sharing a bed with him,” Jeonghan suggests, and it’s so simple and straight-forward and correct that you can’t think of a single argument. “Quit texting him but ignoring everyone else. Stop cuddling with him on the couch after work. Quit-”

“Alright, I get it,” you snap, the defensiveness rising up again like muddy waters.

“I’m not sure you do,” he says, and the gentleness is gone from his tone; you’ve moved into the Tough Love section of the lecture, apparently. “You can’t keep playing house with him, pretending you’re together, and then falling apart every time he makes it clear that it isn’t real. You’ll never feel better like this. It will never change, Sunny. You��ll be like this, forever. Is that what you want?”

Your throat is tight and sharp, and you blink quickly, eyes on the ground again.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he says it like he aches. Maybe he means it. “You could talk to him, you could at least see what he says -”

“No,” you interrupt. “No. I can’t do that.”

He shrugs, big and exaggerated. “Then move on. There are other people in the world who’d be happy to love you the right way. You can’t give any of them a proper chance if you’re holding it against them that they aren’t Mingyu.”

Like the one you ignored all night, who is still on his way to pick your ass up right now…

You push your hands against your eyes like you can block out the truth of what he’s saying, but you don’t say anything.

Jeonghan reaches out and rubs your shoulder. “I’m gonna go back in,” he says, gentle again. “It’s freezing out here. Just… think about it.”

“I’m thinking,” you say dryly.

He nods, then disappears back into the bar, the wave of sound crashing and fading as the door opens and closes.

You stay outside and wait for Daeyoung’s car, your hands going numb from the cold. You run the whole thing over and over in your head, replay Jeonghan’s words, daydream a hundred conversations with Mingyu each with different endings.

You think maybe you should take Jeonghan’s advice - put some physical distance between you and Mingyu, just as a starting point.

You hate the idea of it. But you know he’s right.

When Daeyoung pulls up, you slide into the passenger seat and tell him thank you, leaning over to kiss his cheek. He smiles at you, all sweet, and then whisks you away. Halfway to his place, he glances over at you.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he observes. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you lie, and then instantly feel bad for it. “Just… argued with my roommate. I’m kind of cranky.”

He reaches out and squeezes your knee once, reassuringly. “Well, you’re welcome to stay with me,” he says, and when you whip around to look at him, he laughs. “I wasn’t being presumptuous. I just meant if you needed some space from them, you’re welcome. That’s all.”

“Yeah, okay,” you repeat, settling back against the seat. “We’ll see.”

You keep your eyes on the window for the rest of the drive.

You wonder if Mingyu brought that girl home, and then you shove that thought away, because you’re letting him go, starting tonight, and those thoughts aren’t going to serve you anymore.

And then you wonder the same thing again five minutes later.

–

April

Winter softens, the temperature sturdies itself, and the season forms solidly into rain-logged spring.

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu sings. Even on the greyest, soggiest days you turn to him like a plant turns to sun. “I’m bored.”

“That sounds like a personal problem,” you quip.

He drapes himself over you in retaliation, long arms and legs hanging heavy towards the floor as his torso smothers your face, drowning in you in his cinnamon-tinged scent.

You protest wordlessly and shove at him, and he laughs, his abs working near your chest with the motion.

“Entertain me,” he whines.

Things have been different - weird different, sometimes even bad different - for a few weeks now, all because of Jeonghan. You choose to blame him, anyway.

What he said to you plays in your head on loop all day every day, and suddenly you don’t know how to act right with Mingyu, causing you to overcorrect and swerve wildly. Sometimes you’re spending the entire day with him, touching and talking and leaning into it - then you think about it too hard and you spend the next two days icing him out.

It’s confusing for both of you. You can tell he notices, can tell he’s baffled by the change. More than once you’ve caught him looking at you like you’re a problem to solve - that face he makes when something isn’t working, or he’s got an equation of some sort to work out. But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make you feel bad about it, doesn’t confront you, just takes what you’ll give him with a smile.

You haven’t gone to his room in the middle of the night since your talk with Jeonghan, either. It feels like quitting something. The withdrawal eats at your nerves, the cravings taking over until you can’t focus on anything else. More than one night since then you’ve laid awake, staring at your ceiling, heart pounding as you argue with yourself - just go, you’ll sleep and you’ll feel better waging war against Jeonghan’s you can’t keep pretending you’re together and then falling apart when he makes it clear that it isn’t real.

Each time, you’d ended up staying in your own bed. Jeonghan is right. You knew it when he said it, and you know it now. You have to let go if you’re ever going to be happy. You can’t keep living in the shadows of Mingyu’s life, waiting for him to come give you just a slice of himself and pretending to be sated by it.

“I can’t entertain you, you pain in my ass,” you say, as he allows you to roll his heavy body off of yours and onto the other side of your bed. “I have a date with Daeyoung in like an hour. I need to go shampoo.”

“Booooo,” he complains. Then he props himself up on one elbow and gives you that familiar look again - the math problem look. Not calculating, exactly, but definitely evaluating. “You’ve been seeing him for a while,” he remarks, and you can hear the effort to keep his tone casual, which makes you wonder what he’s hiding.

“Like four months,” you say, not sure if this is agreeing with him or not.

He nods, then rolls to face your ceiling, arms behind his head. It does disgusting things to his biceps, and you look away, sitting up and reaching for your phone to check the time.

“How’s that going?” he asks, still all casual.

“Good,” you say airily, still not looking at him.

“Sunny,” he says, a bit more seriously, and it’s enough to make you glance his way. He’s facing you, arms still behind his head, but watching. “Why won’t you talk to me about it?”

Ice flows through your veins so quickly that you have the urge to blow on your fingers to warm them. Talk to me about it. You take a calming breath, remind yourself that he’s asking about Daeyoung, not about your feelings in general.

“I don’t know,” you say with a shrug. “Just feels weird.”

“It didn’t used to,” he says, and you know exactly what he means. You’d always talked to him about anything - including boys and crushes.

He doesn’t ask so what’s different now, but you know the answer anyway. You’re afraid you’ll say anything, and Mingyu - who knows you better than anyone else - will hear everything you aren’t trying to say. How you feel about him, how you’ve been trying to create distance and boundaries, how it’s been unsuccessful because you have no sense of consistency, how you can’t seem to accept that you don’t get to have him, how Daeyoung is so nice and fun and cute but still can’t silence the urge behind your ribs that screams for Mingyu.

“Yeah,” you sigh, acknowledging that he’s right - that you used to tell him everything. “I don’t know, Mingyu. It’s good. I like him. Like… I don’t necessarily think he’s The One or anything, but I’d be upset if we broke up?”

Mingyu nods, something complicated on his face. “Well,” he says finally, “That’s good. I’m glad it’s going well. You deserve it.”

There’s something flat in his voice, and you stand because you can’t just sit there next to him right now.

“Thanks,” you say, because you don’t know what else to say. “Well… I’m gonna go shower so I’m not late.” You grab the few things you need from your room and pause in your doorway. He’s pulled out his phone, his thumb swiping slowly and his eyes on the screen, and you carry on across the hallway, leaving him behind.

The way you need to. The way you’re trying to.

Daeyoung takes you to dinner, making you laugh so hard you have to wipe under your eyes, and listening intently when you bitch about work (and, yes, Marcus in Accounting).

After, as you walk along the river, looking out at the lights, Daeyoung reaches for your hand, and you link fingers.

This is what you need - to lean into it with someone, to really try with someone. Maybe that will ease this process of shifting Mingyu to the background. Maybe you just need to try.

Like he can read your mind, Daeyoung slows, turning to look at you. He says your name hesitantly, and you match his slowed pace, waiting.

“We’ve been doing this for a while,” he says, kind of hesitantly, “and I kind of wanted to see if we’re on the same page.”

When you just look at him, he forges ahead, the words rushing out of him now. “I really like you, and I really like this… and I was wondering how you’d feel about… maybe being more official?”

You feel yourself flush, a smile tugging at your lips. “Are you… asking me to be your girlfriend?”

He smiles back, relief washing over his face. “Yeah,” he says, much more confident now. “Yes, I am.”

You lick your lips, suddenly unsure. “Daeyoung,” you say, and you watch his face fall. You hurry to amend - “No, I’m not saying no! It’s just… I don’t know… I feel like we’ve kept things pretty… light. And I just worry that if we get more serious and you see more of me… you might…”

You trail off. He watches you intently, and then finishes for you, “Change my mind?”

You nod meekly. What if you can’t do it - what if you can’t push Mingyu out of your head and heart, what if you can’t start fresh with someone? Daeyoung has been wonderful to you. He doesn’t deserve to get hurt. He doesn’t deserve to be second choice, doesn’t deserve to be a consolation prize.

You can’t say yes if that’s what this will be. You need to be sure you’re all in, you need to be sure you want him and not just the fresh start he represents.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you say instead, quietly.

He considers this, watching you carefully. “Why do you think you will?”

It’s a fair question. “I’m… trying to get over someone,” you force yourself to say. He deserves to know what he’s walking into.

You watch his face for any change in expression. His expression does ripple a little, and then he licks his lips and asks, “And how’s that going?”

You scuff the toe of one shoe absently along the pavement. “Goes better when you’re around,” you admit. “But I don’t want to be… like… using you, I guess? It feels… unfair.”

He nods. “I appreciate that,” he says, looking away from you, at the river. He’s quiet for a while and then asks, “Are you into this? With me?”

“Yes,” you say emphatically, because despite the Mingyu of it all, it’s true. “I just don’t want you to end up with regrets.”

He smiles kind of ruefully. “Thanks for being honest,” he says, brushing the back of your hand with his thumb.

“What are you thinking?” you ask in a whisper. You really hope you aren’t breaking up right now, but you wouldn’t blame him if he called it off.

He lets out a long breath, very slowly, measured. “I’m thinking that no one can make promises at the beginning of a relationship.”

Your stomach jolts, terrified, at the word. He continues, oblivious.

“But,” he says, “you just take it a day at a time. That’s all I’m asking for - just a day. And then maybe another. We can go from there.”

You consider this, that tiny smile returning. He waits for your answer.

“Okay,” you say finally. “Yeah. If you’re sure you want that, then… yes.”

“Yes?” he repeats, like he needs to be sure. He’s already grinning, despite the turn the conversation had taken on the way here.

You laugh, feeling suddenly shy. “Yeah. Yes.”

He kisses you next to the singing river, and later you take a selfie together beside a food cart. You post it to social media with a blue heart emoji for the caption.

You swallow hard and swipe roughly to remove the notification when Mingyu likes the picture minutes later.

–

May

“Kim Mingyu!” you bellow, scooping up an armload of shirts and socks from the living room floor. “Get your gross, sweaty clothes off of our shared couch! The hamper is like three feet away!”

“Yah,” he complains, coming to take the offending pile from you. “You never cared before!”

“Well now her boyfriend is coming over,” Jeonghan says, somehow making the word sound sleezy. “She wants it to be pretty in here.”

“I hate you both,” you say. “I only like Wonwoo. He’s my only friend. Wonwoo, you’re my only friend.”

Wonwoo gives you a very deadpan finger heart from his spot on the couch.

Unfortunately, Jeonghan is kind of right.

You’ve mostly spent time out with Daeyoung or at his place - mostly because he lives alone and you live with a cast of clowns. But he has come over a handful of times. Sometimes he’s only there long enough to stand awkwardly by the front door while you finish putting on jewelry and shoes before whisking you away; other times he’s stayed to eat take-away and watch a movie as the aforementioned clowns filter in and out, leaving snappy comments like use protection in their wake.

Tonight’s the first time that the plan is for everyone to hang out. To say you’re nervous is an understatement, as evidenced by the uncharacteristic way you pace the house, adjusting items Daeyoung has already seen out of place as if it makes any difference.

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu finally says, coming up and putting his hands on your shoulders, trying to still you. You pull back from his touch as gently as you can, trying to make that space with some subtly. “Why are you freaking out? He’s been here before.”

“Yeah, you’re right, why would I be nervous?” you ask sarcastically. “Why would I be nervous to have my boyfriend come over for games and movies with three notoriously very nice people who never make trouble?”

“Rude,” Wonwoo remarks from the couch.

“Not you, Wonwoo, you’re my only friend,” you tell him without even turning your head. You hear Jeonghan snort.

“You said three,” Mingyu points out seriously, stepping back from you like he silently got the memo about space. “That includes Wonwoo.”

“Fine, I retract my statement. Two people who make trouble, and then one person who knows how to be normal sometimes.”

A knock on the door interrupts you before anyone can push your buttons any further.

“Be nice,” you tell them sternly as you head to open the door. “Be normal. For the love of god, at least try.”

“She has no faith in us,” Jeonghan says sadly behind you.

“We probably shouldn’t try Monopoly tonight,” Mingyu remarks, and you hate that he’s right.

You all almost broke up over Monopoly, once. You never played again.

“Yeah, put that one away,” you agree, as you pull the door open.

Daeyoung greets you with a smile and a small bouquet of flowers - nothing too fancy, just a little something. You pay for them with a smile and a kiss, lifting onto your tiptoes to reach his lips.

“Awwww, so cute,” Jeonghan coos from across the apartment.

“Jeonghan,” you say sharply. “What did we talk about?”

Daeyoung feigns a pout. “You don’t think we’re cute?”

You slap at his arm playfully and step back to let him in. You head to the kitchen to find a vase for the flowers, listening as the men all exchange heys and how’ve you beens.

You all settle for a variation of Rummy, sitting around the kitchen table with a smattering of snacks and drinks, chatting easily as you play.

At the end of the second hand, you ask, “Wait, what does that put me at?”

“Sixty-two,” Daeyoung says, just as Mingyu says, “Sixty-three.”

You look at them both blankly. You and numbers don’t vibe.

Jeonghan looks at the little note on his phone where he was tallying scores. “Sixty-three,” he confirms.

“Whoops,” Daeyoung says apologetically. “I wasn’t trying to short you on points, sweetheart.”

All three of your roommates stiffen, and you feel your face heat. “No worries,” you say quickly, reaching to cut the deck for the next hand. “Whose turn is it?”

Be normal, be normal, be normal, you mentally beg the clowns.

“I think it’s mine, sweetie-pie,” Jeonghan deadpans. You kick him ferociously under the table, not even trying to be subtle, and he swears.

“Knock it off,” you growl.

“You’re upsetting pookie, hyung,” Mingyu says somberly.

“I hate all of you,” you whine. And then, on instinct, “Not you, Wonwoo.”

Daeyoung looks around the table, amused. “Is this always how it is around here?”

“Basically,” Wonwoo admits. “Just usually with a lot more -” He stops short, coughing, and reaches for his drink. You all wait, your heart thrumming nervously. You’re sure he’d been about to drop a crack about you and Mingyu’s physical affection. “A lot more yelling,” he finishes. “This is everyone on their best behavior, because Sunny threatened us.”

Daeyoung laughs, and you pray that the moment went unnoticed. You can tell Mingyu is a bit still on your other side, and if it was a month ago you would have reached over to him already, soothed a hand down his arm or pressed your cheek to his shoulder until he untensed. You rest your hands in your lap, instead, eyes on your cards.

After Rummy, which Jeonghan wins by a landslide, you all head to the couches for a movie. Your roommates and you have always had unspoken “spots”, but Daeyoung’s presence throws the balance off entirely. Normally you’d be next to Mingyu but he takes Jeonghan’s spot, leaving the other guys to buffer as they try to figure out a new arrangement.

“Here,” Daeyoung says, tugging on your wrist until you settle on his lap, legs hanging just off the side of his own, “we can make room.”

Jeonghan tosses you a small blanket and a wink and settles in on the far side of your couch, giving the two of you lots of room. Wonwoo flicks off the overhead lights and settles next to Mingyu, the two of them awkwardly squished on the two-seater. But, blessedly, no one complains as the opening score emanates from the sound bar.

As the movie begins, you relax, leaning sideways against Daeyoung’s chest, his arms looped around you. You stomp down on the intrusive thought that wants to compare how comfortable this is to how comfortable you’d been with Mingyu for past movie nights, internally hissing at your own brain for the unwelcome thought.

“You good?” he murmurs, voice low, only for you, one hand rubbing the small of your back lightly.

“Mhm,” you assure him, reaching up to kiss the edge of his jaw, the only bit of him that you can reach comfortably. He smiles down at you, endeared, and then turns his attention to the television again. You can feel someone’s eyes on you, but you refuse to look, refuse to give attention to whoever is trying to heckle you right now. They can’t just let you live, huh?

Halfway through the movie, Mingyu stands, moving out of the way of the screen quickly and heading to the kitchen. You don’t lift your head from Daeyoung’s check, just watching him go through the corners of your eyes.

“Anyone need a drink?” he calls from the kitchen. “Hyung? Sunny Baby?”

Daeyoung physically recoils, his head snapping back so he can look at you, wide-eyed. You look back at him the same way, feeling like you’ve been caught at something.

“It’s just habit,” you say, quietly, and Jeonghan turns away, shifting awkwardly next to you two. “Old nickname from a million years ago.”

Daeyoung nods, but his face is still a bit stricken.

“Hello?” Mingyu calls from the kitchen. “Beer? Anyone?”

“No, thanks!” you call back, trying to force your voice to come out cheerful.

When he returns, flopping unceremoniously into his spot next to Wonwoo, Daeyoung’s arms tighten around you.

You close your eyes, frustrated. You hope you can salvage this. You’d been afraid from the jump that the Mingyu factor - even with the changes you’ve been purposely making, all that space - would damage what you have with Daeyoung, as effective as a drop of ink in a bucket of water.

When the movie ends, Wonwoo gives a polite goodbye and vanishes into his lair and you lead Daeyoung back towards the front door. Behind you, you can hear the tell-tale clicks of bottles as Jeonghan and Mingyu start picking up the food and drinks.

“I’m sorry,” you say, as soon as you have some semblance of privacy in the entryway. “I knew hanging out here was going to be a mess.”

Daeyoung manages a smile. “It wasn’t a mess,” he says. “I just didn’t realize how close you all were.”

He’s being too nice. You feel terrible.

“I think we might get less close very soon if they can’t get their shit together,” you grumble, which makes him laugh, some of the tension alleviating.

“Well,” Daeyoung says, suddenly turning conspiratory, “while your place was very fun… what would you say to some fun at my place now?”

You giggle. “I wouldn’t hate that plan,” you say coyly, smiling up at him. “Quieter, there. Fewer clowns.”

He laughs again, even as he reaches to tilt your jaw up, shuffling you backwards against the entryway wall as his lips find yours.

As the kiss warms you, your hands finding the front of his shirt and bunching it into your fists, heat beginning to trickle out of hiding in your belly, you hear footsteps and an abrupt, “Oh - shit - sorry - my bad -”

“Your place,” you say against Daeyoung’s lips as Mingyu retreats back to the kitchen. You can practically feel through the wall how red his ears are.

Daeyoung lets you out of his embrace and you hurry to your room to toss a few things together - toothbrush, phone charger, clothes - and come to get your jacket.

“Bye, idiots!” you call through the apartment. Then, “Not you, Wonwoo!” and you close the door behind you with a giggle, following Daeyoung down the stairs.

On the other side of the wall, safely hidden in the kitchen, Mingyu stands staring blankly at the pantry, one hand over his mouth, still as a statue. What is this feeling churning in his gut? He feels sick, and he can’t put a name to it but he hates how it crawls through his system.

Jeonghan appears next to him, placing two more dirty cups in the sink. He lets out a single, wry laugh when he sees Mingyu standing there.

“Yeah, dude,” he says easily as he leaves again. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

–

June

You and Mingyu lay side by side in the grass, a late spring night unfurling with distant thunder and a smattering of fireflies lazily drifting through the trees beyond the garden. His arm brushes yours and you can hear his breathing as he exhales slowly.

You feel happy - you feel infinite - you feel like one of those distant cracks of ferocious thunder. You feel like you could lay here next to him in silence and be happy until your joy has to burst from you, just like the clouds on the horizon.

“Mingyu,” you say, turning to look at him. The grass tickles your cheek.

“Sunny Baby,” he responds, voice low, like he’s telling you a secret. “I love you.”

You wake up with faint tear-tracks on your cheeks, and you growl out a frustrated breath.

“I need a lobotomy,” you grumble, wiping at your cheeks and trying to get comfortable again, hoping to go back to sleep - with less ridiculous dreams.

It doesn’t happen. You flop from side to side over the course of half an hour, and then give up. You reach for your nightstand to see if you have any water, but there’s nothing but your phone and the lamp. With a sigh, you push yourself out from under the blankets and pad into the kitchen.

You’re letting a glass fill with tap water when you hear one of the other doors down the hallway open. You turn, peering through the moonlit living room, to see who else is up. The clock above the stove says it’s four in the morning.

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu says, his voice rough with sleep. His hair is sticking up in the back. Your stomach lurches with the sick desire to smooth it down. “Why are you up?”

“Had a bad dream,” you lie. It was a good dream. Nothing bad about it until you wake up and feel guilty because of Daeyoung, and angry because your brain and heart are holding you fucking hostage. “Couldn’t get back to sleep.” That part’s true.

“Poor Sunny Baby,” he croons, coming closer, the darkness making his form seem even bigger. “Come on - we’ll get comfy.” Just like we used to, he doesn’t say.

Your heart slams against your chest. “Oh,” you say softly. Because, yeah, a few months ago you wouldn’t have even needed him to invite you - you would have been there already, snuggling into the space next to his ribs, breathing him in until sleep returns to you. “Mingyu, I can’t.”

The blanket of darkness makes him bold. He scoffs, not even trying to hide it. “Why not? Because of that guy?” Like he doesn’t know Daeyoung’s name, like the last five months never happened. That guy.

“Because I want to respect my relationship?” you correct gently. “Yes, that’s why. It wouldn’t be right, and you know it.”

You stand in silence for a moment, barely able to see each other across the darkened space, at an impasse. Then, he scoffs again, lighter this time.

“Fine,” he says, moving past you towards the bathroom - probably the reason he was up in the first place. “Suit yourself.”

When he passes back through the living room on his way back to bed, you’re curled up on the couch under one of the blankets, the tv on with the sound turned low. He doesn’t even look at you as he turns down the hall and shuts his bedroom door behind him. You hear the lock click. You press your hands to your face and will yourself to breathe deep. Crying over him while asleep is one thing. Doing it while awake feels like a betrayal.

Just one more you can add to your list.

–

“Hey!” you yell across the noisy room. Mingyu turns from where he’s standing near your bedroom door, talking to a few guys who you’ve seen around here but whose names you forget. Seok… something. The other one might be a Chan, you’re not sure. Mingyu lifts an eyebrow, waiting for whatever request you’re going to shout at him.

“Can you get the door for me?” you call, trying to be louder than the music and chatter. Your apartment is bursting with people as Mingyu’s annual summer bash is well underway. You’re at the pong table - your kitchen table, shoved halfway into the living room - a slightly sticky plastic ball in hand. “Daeyoung is here, I can feel my phone going off.”

Mingyu gives you a wordless salute and shuffles off towards the front door, and you close one eye, lean forward as far as the others will let you without calling a foul, and line up your shot.

You sink it just seconds before you feel someone’s hands on your hips. You straighten up and turn to greet Daeyoung with a kiss, firm and confident courtesy of many drinks. The party’s been going for a few hours already, and you and the guys pregamed before the guests started showing up.

“Hi!” you chirp when you part. “Glad you made it!”

“This is a lot of people,” he says back, looking around your living room and kitchen a bit incredulously. “You said you guys do this every year?”

You nod seriously. “We bribe our neighbors. I mean, they’re all invited of course, but we also try to do something nice to make up for the one night of noise. Last year I baked cookies. This year we just went straight to cash.”

He laughs, and you lead him through the throng of people into the kitchen for a drink.

“I’m glad you came,” you say again, as he stands before the open fridge, scanning beer bottle labels for something palatable. He sends you a smile over his shoulder, then picks a bottle and turns. You place the opener into his waiting hand.

“You look good tonight,” he tells you, all glinty, looking at you sideways. You pretend to preen.

“Sunny always looks good,” Jeonghan asserts, breezing in behind you holding a bowl full of chips.

“Are you sharing those?” you demand. “You can’t gatekeep the good ones, Jeonghan. We’ve talked about this.”

“Gatekeep, girlboss, whatever the third one is!” he replies, zipping back out of the kitchen as quickly as he’d come.

Out in the living room, you hear the familiar sound of the karaoke machine booting up. There’s a telltale scraping - the pong table being shoved against the far wall to make more room for jumping around while aiming for that perfect score.

When you and Daeyoung make it into the living room again, Mingyu and one of the friends whose names you forgot are singing together. Mingyu’s all irony, eyes closed in mock passion as he clutches his mic with both hands, but his friend is actually good, voice sailing over the higher notes without error.

“Wow,” you say. “That guy can actually sing.”

One of your friends, a girl you lovingly call Ethel because of the style of grandma glasses she favors, stops in front of you, pushing little plastic shot glasses into your hands.

“Are you the boyfriend?” she asks Daeyoung, somewhat breathlessly. “I’ve been dying to actually meet you. She’s been keeping you a secret.”

“I have not!” you reply hotly, as Daeyoung laughs, introducing himself.

“It’s nice to meet her other friends,” he says, and she rolls her eyes.

“I know, it’s hard to separate her from these guys,” she says. “They deserve a sitcom.”

“I’m standing right here,” you protest.

Jeonghan appears behind you, too close. “We have a little problem in the kitchen,” he whispers.

You excuse yourself, leaving Daeyoung with Ethel - who will hopefully say nothing too incriminating about you and Mingyu’s blurry-lined friendship.

In the kitchen, Wonwoo is kneeling on the floor, his upper body hidden in the cupboard under the sink. When he shuffles back out, the front of his shirt is wet. You can see a bit of water starting to pool on the boards below the cleaning supplies.

“Uh oh,” you say.

Mingyu appears to your left, solid and warm against your arm. Then he crouches, peering under the sink.

“Can I have someone’s phone?” he asks, and you pass him yours. He turns on the flashlight and shines it at the pipes. You watch his face do that thing - that calculating look, the problem-solving look.

“It’s this one,” he says, pointing to something you can’t see under there. “Where’s our toolbox?”

“Great question,” Wonwoo says, mouth twisting as he tries to remember. “Laundry room?”

“I think so,” you say. “I think it’s on the shelf in there.”

Mingyu scoots out from under the sink and disappears into the little nook you all graciously call a laundry room, since it does have a functional door, then reappears with two tools in hand. You don’t know what they are - you’ve never needed to.

You and Jeonghan and Wonwoo stand around him, worried, like you’re waiting for a doctor to emerge through hospital doors to report on the status of a loved one. When Mingyu backs out of the cabinet again, it’s with an air of smugness.

“All set,” he says, one side of his mouth quirking proudly.

“Our hero,” Jeonghan deadpans.

“This is why we keep you around,” you tell him.

“Get the man a shot,” Jeonghan says, swiveling to the collection of bottles on the counter.

Daeyoung finds you on the kitchen floor, using a rag to wipe up any bits of water. Wonwoo and Mingyu both disappeared to change into dry shirts, you think.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you tell him, wiping one last spot and leaning up on your knees to look around for any areas you might have missed. The last thing you need is for someone to slip in here. “The sink broke. It’s okay now, Mingyu fixed it.”

“Well, thank god for Mingyu,” he says, and you look up at him, not sure if you’re imagining the edge in his voice. Are you? Did you project that?

“Well,” you say, “kind of! Because four of us live here, and only one person could solve the problem.”

He laughs reluctantly. “I can fix a sink,” he says, a bit of a pout in his voice.

You stand, returning the rag to the counter. “I’ll make sure to ask you first next time,” you say, leaning up to brush your lips teasingly across his. “I just thought the rent-payer should handle the problem before the guests.”

“I guess that’s fair,” he allows, smiling bigger.

A while later, you find yourself in Wonwoo’s room, leaning against the wall watching somewhat absently as he and one of his friends play a POV shooter game, their brows furrowed in concentration and fingers flying on the controls.

Daeyoung had been with you only moments ago, reporting into your ear on the game’s happening like a sports commentator to make you laugh, but he’d gone to get you each a new drink. Mingyu appears in his absence, and you can tell immediately that he’s sloppy.

“Sunny Baby,” he sings, draping an arm over your shoulders.

You can’t help but smile, even as you try to shift out from under his arm. “Yes?” you sing back teasingly. “Can I help you?”

“Mhm,” he hums. “You can stay just like this.” He wraps his other arm around you, and you laugh, pushing very gently at his chest.

“Mingyu,” you protest, laughing. “Get off me.”

“I will in one second,” he says, smiling cheekily. “You haven’t let me hug you in a hundred years, I have to take advantage now that your defenses are weakened by cheap vodka.”

“Mingyu!” you laugh again.

And then you see Daeyoung in the doorway behind him, face unreadable.

“Mingyu,” you say again, deadly serious now. “Let go.”

Daeyoung slowly reaches to put the two beers on Wonwoo’s dresser and turns, wordlessly retreating down the hallway.

“Damn it, Mingyu,” you hiss, extracting yourself and hurrying to follow him. Daeyoung makes it clear outside and down the front steps before you catch him.

“Daeyoung, wait!” you call, and he finally slows, turning to face you. You jog to catch up, a bit breathless. You’ve had way too much to drink for this kind of confrontation, but you try to get your shit together enough to defend yourself. Or apologize. Or both.

He doesn’t say anything, just raises his eyebrows and waits.

“Don’t -” you start, and then switch tracks quickly. “That was nothing. He’s like that when he’s had too much to drink. He’s just being silly.”

Daeyoung laughs once, sharp and sarcastic. “Don’t lie to me,” he says flatly.

“I’m not!” you protest. “It’s true.”

He shakes his head, swipes his thumb across his phone screen and taps around.

“Don’t leave,” you beg. “I’m sorry. I was trying to tell him to let go.”

He twists his mouth, refusing to look at you. At the far end of the street, you can see approaching headlights. He’s ordered a ride home.

“When you said you were trying to get over someone I didn't pry,” he says flatly, “but I guess I should have. You could’ve had the decency to tell me that you live with him.”

The slam of the car door feels final, the sound passing over you like shrapnel.

The blink of red taillights has just vanished around the corner when strong arms wrap around you. Mingyu must have followed, must have been watching from the door, must have seen it happen.

You’ve been trying to make space, you’ve been trying to stay away, but you’re buzzed and you’re sad and you’re weak. So, you turn in his arms, burying your face in his shirt and letting yourself cry.

He holds you through it, doesn’t say anything to you, just holds on tight until you can breathe again.

“I don’t want you to see this,” you sniffle finally, and he lets his arms drop, stepping back so he can look at you. “This shouldn’t be you.”

“That’s fair,” he murmurs, sounding much more sober than he had inside. “But I’m the one who’s here. Tell me you want me to go, and I will.”

Your heart cracks.

“I don’t want you to go,” you whisper.

“Okay,” he says, wrapping you up again, leaning his chin on the top of your head and swaying you a little bit. “Then I won’t.”

Eventually, you both lay in the grass. You don’t want to go inside, and Mingyu says he doesn’t want to leave you alone in the front yard. Instead, you lay side by side, far enough away that you’d have to stretch to touch. It feels like that night in undergrad, but also completely opposite. In your memories of that night, you felt warm and good like your place in the universe was guaranteed, your cog in the great machine fitting perfectly and spinning without difficulty. Tonight, you feel off, cold and angry, like your piece has been displaced and can’t fit anywhere anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Mingyu says, breaking the silence. “I didn’t mean to make problems for you guys.”

“I know you didn’t,” you allow.

“It was just us being us,” he says, a bit defensively.

“Yeah,” you say slowly. “I think that was the problem.”

He has nothing to say to that.

Daeyoung calls you, much later, when you’re back inside and tucked in your bed.

“Were you sleeping?” he asks.

“Of course not,” you say. “I’m lying awake agonizing over you storming out on me.”

He laughs quietly, and you feel hope bloom behind your ribs. Is this salvageable?

“I might have overreacted,” he admits. “It’s easy to be intimidated by that guy.”

That guy again. What is it with these two?

“You shouldn’t be,” you tell him. “He’s an idiot.”

Daeyoung laughs again. “So am I,” he says.

“You don’t need to worry about him,” you say. “I’ve been really trying to adjust the boundaries of our friendship, and it’s a big change from how we used to be. Usually we do better… Like I said earlier, he was drunk. He just forgot himself, went back to how things used to be.”

Daeyoung is quiet for a second. “I should have let you explain yourself before I left,” he says evenly.

“I’m sorry I put you in that position in the first place,” you counter. “I didn’t mean to. I’m in this with you, Daeyoung. I promise.”

“I know,” he admits. “I know you are.”

You smile into the phone. “Our first fight.”

He laughs again. “Hopefully not one of many.”

“Eh,” you say. “It’s normal. Anyway, I’m glad you called. I would have been a mess waiting to hear from you. Might have embarrassed myself blowing your phone up.”

“Maybe I should have let you embarrass yourself,” he teases.

“It’s like that, huh?” you joke.

“Yes,” he sniffs. “Until I feel better.”

When you finally hang up, you creep through the apartment to pee before trying to sleep. You notice Mingyu’s light is on, though his door is shut. You pause, looking at that sliver of light, and then continue on back to your own bed.

–

July

“Move over!” you giggle, using your hips to scoot Daeyoung out of your way, a wooden spoon in your hand. The simmering stew on the stovetop smells delectable, and you give it a stir, make sure nothing is stuck to the bottom of the pot.

“Ask nicely!” he retorts, but he’s smiling.

Mingyu watches the scene covertly from the couch, trying to keep his face neutral, trying to keep his face tilted towards the tv so he doesn’t get caught watching. Or worse, caught sulking.

You and Daeyoung eat and wash up most of what you used to cook, offer the leftovers to anyone around to hear you (so, just Mingyu), and then leave, giggles and flirting dissipating and leaving Mingyu in a quiet that he absolutely can’t stand.

When you return the next day, trying to look nonchalant with your overnight bag clutched in your hands, Mingyu is at the kitchen table, eating some of the leftovers and watching videos on his phone.

“Hey,” he greets you, pausing the video.

You give your overnight bag a light toss; it lands with a thump over near the couch. “Hey yourself,” you say, heading into the kitchen for a drink. “The food’s good, right?”

“Yeah,” he admits. “Your man can cook, huh?”

“Hey!” you object. “I did most of the work!”

“Hmm,” he says, rising and coming into the kitchen to rinse his plate.

You cross your arms, eyes narrowing. “Hmmm what?”

He shrugs teasingly. “We’ve lived together a long time, Sunny. I have a hard time believing you’re the chef in that relationship. You never helped me cook anything.”

Your eyes narrow even more. “You never asked me to,” you retort, suddenly defensive. “There’s a lot of things I do with Daeyoung because you never asked me to.”

Silence falls on the kitchen like a rockslide.

Mingyu takes one very careful step backwards. “Because I never asked you to?” he echoes, his voice shaking just slightly.

Your pulse races, and you fight a wave of nausea. A Freudian slip if there ever was one.

“That you never asked me to,” you amend firmly.

Mingyu hesitates. Then, “I don’t think that’s what you meant.”

That defensiveness moves inside you like a thing alive, your temper flaring in an effort to protect you.

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” you snap, suddenly pissed.

Mingyu doesn’t rise to the bait, doesn’t match your temper at all. Calm and steady, he says, “So then you tell me. How do you feel, Sunny?”

That rockslide hits you. You can’t breathe, too bruised by the onslaught. All the years of secrets and feelings and broken rules and truths that you knew but pretended not to spill around you, impossible to escape.

“You don’t get to ask me that,” you hiss at him. “Not now. That’s not fair.”

His calm cracks, just slightly, his tone going hard. “What are you talking about?”

“Why now, Mingyu?” you demand. “Why now, when I have someone? Why not any of the years before now, when I was only yours?”

You’re breathing hard, having spat the words like they’re venom, and you wait him out. He blusters, splutters, has nothing to say to this.

Your temper pulls you like a wave, a momentum you can’t fight.

“You don’t know the answer?” you ask sarcastically. “That’s fine - I can tell you: because you had me. You had me, and you didn’t need to share me, and you could still do whatever - or whoever! - you wanted and I’d still fucking be here afterward.”

You know exactly the moment you start crying through the words, because Mingyu’s body jolts, like he instinctively moved to touch you but remembered to stay back.

“And now?” you continue, because you’re on a roll, everything you’ve held in for years finally bursting from you with the fury of a cracked dam. “Now that’s changed. So, what is it? You want your toy back now that someone else is playing with it?”

“Of course not-”

“Fuck you, Mingyu! You sat me on the shelf for too long. I don’t deserve that.”

“Sunny, no,” he tries again. “It isn’t like that. I lo-”

“Yes, it is!” you shout. You’ve never shouted at him in your life, and it actually shuts him up. Tears are still streaming down your face, but you ignore them. “It is, and until you see that, I can’t expect you to change it or fix it.”

You start to storm past him, but you whirl on him, a finger pointed in his direction. “And don’t you dare try to tell me you love me!” you add furiously. “No you don’t. Not the right way, not like this.”

And then you slam out of the apartment, barely remembering to grab your keys off the hook as you go.

–

[5:22pm] You: if i send you a list of what i need, can you please put a bag together for me and leave it in the hall

[5:22pm] (jeong)Han Solo: :( sunny

[5:22pm] You: hannie please??? i can’t go inside. i really can’t.

[5:23pm] (jeong)Han Solo: he’s a fucking wreck

[5:23pm] You: i don’t care

[5:24pm] You: i mean of course i fucking care that’s the whole problem

[5:24pm] You: please? my things?

–

August

August 3

[10:02am] Mingyu: sunny please talk to me

[12:17pm] Mingyu: please let me apologize to you

[12:17pm] Mingyu: i dont want to do it over text but you wont answer my calls and no one seems to know where you are

[12:22pm] Mingyu: you were right. about all of it.

[12:22pm] Mingyu: and you were right that you dont deserve it

[12:22pm] Mingyu: please call me back or come home so i can say this to your face

[5:38pm] Mingyu: there’s one part you were wrong about

[5:38pm] Mingyu: i do love you. the right way. maybe it took losing you to someone to get my ass moving but i loved you way before he was in the picture

[5:38pm] Mingyu: dont ever question that again

[11:04pm] Mingyu: god, sunny, answer your phone!

August 4

[7:43am] Mingyu: you’re killing me

[7:43am] Mingyu: are you happy sunshine???? KILLING ME!!!

[1:36pm] Mingyu: come home

[1:36pm] Mingyu: please

[8:02pm] Mingyu: we HAVE to talk about this, sunny

[11:51pm] Mingyu: i’m not going to give up

[10:23am] (jeong)Han Solo: are you staying with daeyoung for a while?

[10:23am] You: no. my mom’s.

[10:23am] (jeong)Han Solo: ok. im glad you’re with someone who can care for you.

[10:23am] (jeong)Han Solo: we miss you :(

August 5

[8:00am] Mingyu: fine, i’ll say everything over text like an asshole

[8:00am] Mingyu: just know you made me do this!

[8:04am] Mingyu: i fell in love with you in undergrad when you had to take that statistics class that you almost failed. when you saw your midterm score was passing you told me i love you for the first time and i swear to god i almost proposed to you right there. And it never went away. It was never less.

[8:08am] Mingyu: i love you because you wield your attitude like both sword and shield. I love you because you can barely count but you make me feel so stupid sometimes with how clever you are. I love you because you’re beautiful and funny and empathetic and you make me want to be better than i am. I want to be more competent for you, to be able to take care of you and provide for you when you need it. I love you because when i’m sick you take care of me and you let me take care of you when you’re down too. I love you because when i’m with you i feel like someone’s GOT me, someone understands me and has my back.

[8:09am] Mingyu: i cant believe youre making me say this all in TEXT i hate this!

[8:10am] Mingyu: i have more. I have a hundred more reasons.

[8:10am] Mingyu: come home so i can tell you

[11:58pm] Mingyu: goodnight sunny baby. Please come home soon.

You show up to Daeyoung’s unannounced. His face is grim when he opens the door; you haven’t answered his calls or texts in a few days, either. He probably knows what this is.

“Hi,” he says, stepping backwards to make room for you in his doorway. “This is a surprise.”

“I’m sorry I vanished,” you tell him. “Something happened. I’ve been at my mom’s.”

He eyes you warily, like he’s not sure if this is a I got in a car accident kind of something, or a I cheated on you kind of something, and he doesn’t want to react for the wrong one. “Okay…” he says slowly.

“Daeyoung,” you say, after taking a breath to steel yourself, “I care about you, and I like you, and I have real feelings for you.”

“I sense a but,” he says dryly.

You smile sadly. “But I dont think this is fair to you. I shouldn’t be with someone - anyone - until I’m over him or he’s out of my life… and I can’t seem to make either of those things happen.” You don’t need to say which him. You both know. ��I wanted to. I wanted to do it right and I thought I was… but I was wrong.”

He shrugs, face blank. “Okay.”

“Daeyoung.”

“What do you want me to say?” he asks, frustration seeping into his tone. “I can't argue with any of that. I can’t change it for you. I can’t be better than him, I can't become him. You’re right, you shouldn’t be with someone else if what you really want is that guy.”

That guy. Again.

“You’re right,” you whisper, looking at your feet.

He lets out a breath. “So, it’s done then?”

You nod miserably. “Yeah. I’m sorry, Daeyoung. I hope someday you can believe that this isn’t how I wanted it to go. You deserve better.”

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t let you go out with any optimism. You and your misery trudge back to your mother’s, fall asleep in your childhood bed.

August 6

[8:00am] Mingyu: good morning ☀️

[8:00am] Mingyu: i have more things to say today

[8:00am] Mingyu: i will give you two 2️⃣ minutes to respond or you get it all thru text AGAIN

[8:00am] Mingyu: and you know how i feel about that.

[8:03am] Mingyu: fine.

[8:03am] Mingyu: you’ve always been so fucking stubborn sunny. just let me apologize to you!

[8:05am] Mingyu: i’m sorry i kept you on hold

[8:05am] Mingyu: you’re right. that’s what was happening. but i didn’t MEAN it like that.

[8:05am] Mingyu: idk if you believe me bc i can’t see your face 🙄

[8:06am] Mingyu: but its true. I just… liked how things were. Youre right… i counted on you always being there waiting for me.

[8:06am] Mingyu: i thought it was okay though… i thought if you wanted it to change you had the power to change it

[8:07am] Mingyu: like, you could have said something to me.

[8:07am] Mingyu: and i dont mean that like its your fault or anything, it was just how i rationalized it to myself. Like if you werent complaining then it must be fine?

[8:09am] Mingyu: i’m an idiot

[8:14am] Mingyu: but i’m an idiot who loves you, and misses you, and wants to do better

[11:59pm] Mingyu: please come home

[12:32pm] You: i broke up with him.

[12:32pm] (jeong)Han Solo: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[12:32pm] (jeong)Han Solo: are you okay???

[12:32pm] (jeong)Han Solo: come home so we can take care of you!!

[12:58pm] You: i cant face him. not yet. im not ready

August 7

[8:00am] Mingyu: good morning sunny ☀️

[8:00am] Mingyu: i’m sorry i took you for granted. even if we walk out of this only trying to repair the friendship, i swear i’ll never let it happen again.

[11:58pm] Mingyu: goodnight sunshine. I love you.

August 8

[8:00am] Mingyu: good morning sunny ☀️

[8:00am] Mingyu: dont work too hard today

[8:00am] Mingyu: dont take any shit from marcus in accounting

[12:12pm] Mingyu: having lunch. call me if you want? it doesnt have to be heavy. Just hello.

[12:39pm] Mingyu: i need you back sunny. in whatever capacity youll let me have.

[11:57pm] Mingyu: hope you had a good day. Goodnight, i love you.

August 9

[8:00am] Mingyu: good morning sunny

[11:58pm] Mingyu: please. Please come home.

–

When you return home, a week after you left, it’s nearly dawn, the light from outside the living room just turning blue enough that you can see the outlines of the couches as you close the door as quietly as you can.

You step lightly, avoiding the spots you know will creak and groan when you step over them. You peer down the hallway to see that the guys’ doors are all shut, no lights on - not even the blues of Wonwoo’s computer monitor.

You open your door and look around; your room looks exactly how you left it, down to the glass of water on the nightstand, now nearly empty. Except… the blankets on the bed are wrong. You set your bag down gently next to your dresser and creep closer, squinting through the dimly lit room.

A dark head of hair peeks out from under your comforter.

You can’t help it - you smile to yourself. For all the things Mingyu is - intelligent, funny, athletic, competent - he’s also a big baby. And he’s sleeping in your bed, because he misses you, and it comforts him.

It makes you want to forgive him for every wrong, press your lips to his sleepy forehead, listen to him lisp out Sunny Baby.

He hurt you, it’s true. But you believe it that he was lying to himself, pretending things were fine. Weren’t you doing the exact same thing? You can’t hope Daeyoung will forgive you for your mistakes if you aren’t willing to do the same, too.

You close your bedroom door and approach your bed. Mingyu stirs, making cricket legs under the blanket and stretching one arm towards the empty side. Towards you, though he doesn’t know it yet.

Then he freezes. His voice comes out paper thin. “Sunny?” he asks, pushing himself to sitting.

“This is not your bed,” you tell him, and he launches himself across the mattress, scrambling to reach you.

You allow him to wrap his gangly arms around your middle, pulling you to him as apologies pour over his lips so fast that he’s nearly babbling.

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, pushing at his shoulders. You back away and he follows like he’s tethered to you, clambering from the bed and standing before you.

For a moment, you just stare at each other through the thick blue of encroaching dawn.

And then he says your name.

Not Sunny. Not Sunny Baby. Your real name.

“I am so sorry - for everything,” he says, the ache in his voice clear and open. Then he drops his voice to a pained whisper. “Please. Tell me I can fix it.”

You press your lips together, looking at him. He looks awful - like he hasn’t slept much, or been eating well. You feel a little bad that you stayed away for so long, but you’d needed the time by yourself. You’d needed the clarity of being alone to figure out what you want.

“I think we can,” you whisper back, since the rest of the apartment is still sleeping. We, because this was on both of you.

He crushes you in a hug, surrounding you in the smell of cinnamon, his cheek pressed to your head. “I’m sorry,” he breathes into your hair. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please let me try and do better.”

“I broke up with Daeyoung,” you respond, and he snaps his mouth shut, stepping backwards to stare at you.

“Why?” he asks finally, hoarse, like he can barely get the word out.

You look up at him. “Because it wasn’t right to be with him. It wasn’t right to be with him when I’ve been in love with someone else the whole time.”

He closes his eyes, his whole body seeming to sag.

“I forgive you,” you say quietly, “and I do believe that things will be better now. If we talk about it - if we’re working together to make it better.”

“Yes,” he says quickly, desperately. “I will - I’ll do whatever I need to -”

“Both of us,” you say again, emphatically. “You were right, this wasn’t just your fault. I let this go on for… years. I counted marks against you but I never once spoke up.”

“No,” he protests, shaking his head. “It was my fault, Sunny, I took it for granted and I should have been loving you, spoiling you -”

You laugh. “I mean, maybe,” you say. “But if I’d talked to you… maybe you would have been.”

“I want to now,” he says. “Can I? Will you let me?”

You smile up at him, and he grins back, taking your smile as an answer.

You reach up and touch his eye-tooth gently with a fingertip. “Your stupid fang is so fucking cute,” you whisper. “It is truly unfair how cute it is.”

He pretends to scowl at you. “We’re having a serious moment, here, Sunshine.”

You smile again, gentler this time. “I love you,” you tell him. “If you want to prove you can do this right… then I’m all in.”

He whispers your name again, then looks at you.

His eyes are molten again, the way they were the night you’d had your only kiss. It’s almost hypnotizing, the strength of his gaze on you, pulling you in wordlessly until your body is flush with his. You look up at him, breathless.

“I’ll start proving it now,” he murmurs, so low you barely catch it, and then his mouth snags on yours, forceful, his hands cupping your jaw gently, a juxtaposition.

He touches you so tenderly, his fingers feather-light against the skin they uncover as you undress each other in hushed silence. It feels holy, somehow.

He licks spices and heat into your mouth, trails calloused fingers down your bare arms, pulls your hips into his as his teeth trace down your jaw, makes sure you feel his want for you.

You slide your hands from his waist up his stomach and over his pecs, revelling in how he hisses and leans into the touch.

“Wanted to do this for years,” he grumbles, like he’s complaining, before lowering his lips to your chest, sucking on supple skin to see how you like it, then doing it harder when you dig your fingers into his shoulders, gasping at the sensation.

“Should’ve,” you scold, even as your eyes close and your head tilts back. “Could’ve been.”

But you aren’t thinking about your wasted time when he kneads both hands in the meat of your ass, or when you slide a flat palm up the length of him, delighting in the weight and heat you find straining against his Calvins. You’re thinking about how his hands are searing, about how you want to taste him but maybe not yet, not this first time. You’re thinking about his fingers sliding between your legs and the belly-deep rumble he makes when he feels how ready you are for him.

And when you finally come together, his mouth pressed to yours as he lays you back on the bed you’ve shared countless times, you’re only thinking about him and his beautiful smile and molten eyes and infectious laugh and empathetic heart. When he’s pushed as far into you as your bodies will allow, his hips tight against you and a whine slipping between his lips, you’re overcome with emotion. As you adjust to him, his eyes trace your face, and he reads what’s there with perfect clarity.

“Love you, Sunny Baby,” he whispers into the crook of your neck.

You swallow against the thick rise of feelings and run your fingers through his hair. “Move for me,” you beg. And when he does, it’s just as perfect as the rest of him.

You press your forehead to his when you come, his thumb rough on your clit and his mouth gasping broken breaths against your lips, pulsing around him in waves so dizzying you think they trigger even more. His hair sticks to his forehead as he presses deep inside you, and he shelters you between mountainous arms as he finally lets go.

Mingyu is sunrise, leaking orange and pink and yellow and white and chasing away a world of purples and blues. He’s so bright you have to squint, a promise of a fresh start, an end to the darkness of night.

He’s perfect. He’s perfect, and you love him, and finally you can have him.

You lay in his arms, heartbeat slowing bit by bit, and feel wholly at peace - like everything finally settled into place, everything landed exactly as it was meant to. Your cog in the universe, spinning correctly at last, grooves fitted perfectly to Kim Mingyu’s.

The peace lasts…. until you check your phone.

[8:26am] (jeong)Han Solo: when you two are DONE…. we went out for breakfast if you want to join 🙄

—

November

“Baby,” Mingyu says, but it’s stern. “Quit fixing the pillows.”

“It has to be perfect in here!” you whine.

Mingyu wraps his arms around you like a cage, squeezing until you’re laughing too hard and drop the throw pillow from your hand.

“They lived with us for years,” he says, entirely too rationally. “You can’t fool them.”

He releases his hold on you so you can turn and pout at him. You’re about to protest - argue that it’s Jeonghan and Wonwoo’s first time visiting you and Mingyu’s new place, that this is momentous, a special occasion - but you’re cut off by an obnoxiously outlandish knock on the front door.

“I’ve got it,” Mingyu tells you. “You just try to relax.”

You will, in just a second. But first, you lean over to the candle you have burning on the coffee table and adjust it just slightly to center the label, which reads Fall Harvest and Cinnamon.

thank you so much for reading!!!!

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fxstpace · 5 months ago

Text

the very first night

summary: the search for a new place to live takes a turn for the worse when the only person willing to split rent with you is your ex-boyfriend.

⇢ pairing: kim mingyu x fem!reader ⇢ genres: romance, angst, smut, exes to lovers au, roommates au ⇢ word count: 19.7k ⇢ warnings: profanity, alcohol conusmption, explicit sexual content (oral sex, fingering, protected sex) ⇢ a/n: title is the very first night by taylor swift. reposted from my old blog.

ONE

You think that all the decisions you’ve made in your life so far have all boiled down to this one moment.

Karmic retribution, if you will.

Despite the six months for which you and your ex-boyfriend have been separated, Kim Mingyu looks the same. The same floppy hair that never quite sits flat on his head—though he’s let it grow a tiny bit, and now it curls behind his ears—and the same tight-fitting black shirt you swear you tried stealing from him once. Wire-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and warm brown eyes that peer back at you. Pink lips which beckon you with a small, yet welcoming smile.

“Hey.” The word drags from his mouth, and he extends the last syllable for a second longer than necessary. “You’re here early.”

Shit. Even his voice sounds the same.

You heft your suitcase and place it by your feet just so you can avoid eye contact. Under different circumstances, Mingyu probably wouldn’t have let you carry your suitcase all the way up the stairs to the third floor—the elevator has been out of commission since before you even met him, and that doesn’t appear to change anytime soon. He probably would have lugged the whole thing upstairs, despite your protests and claims that you’re strong enough to do it on your own. But now, you can only sense his gaze on your figure as you place it securely on the floor.

When you straighten up, he’s still looking at you. He has an eyebrow raised and his arms crossed over his chest, but his eyes are clouded, almost as if he’s built some kind of impenetrable fortress against you. You have your walls up, too—in the slight clench of your jaw and defiant raise of your chin—and it’s something someone else wouldn’t be able to notice, but you’re sure Kim Mingyu has.

“Yeah. Um.” You attempt to smile, pray it doesn’t visibly appear as a grimace, and gesture behind you with your thumb. “The packers and movers came by pretty early, so everything ended up moving faster.”

“I see.” He purses his lips, evidently running out of things to say. (Good for you, really, because there’s nothing for you to say either.)

You take the chance to glance behind him—a feat in itself, considering how broad his shoulders are—and observe the interiors of what is going to be your home for the next year. Beige walls, the ratty sofa he bought off a garage sale, the television set he originally used to play video games on but ended up using it to watch shows instead—and a potted succulent placed in the corner. That wasn’t there before.

Before you allow your lips to tug up amusedly, Mingyu speaks again. “Is that all? When’s the rest of your stuff coming in?”

“The movers said they’d have everything ready within two days. It might take me longer to get everything sorted out, though,” you reply, aiming your gaze downwards at your suitcase.

It’s an old thing, with fraying fabric and rusty wheels, but it currently contains a fraction of your belongings: Clothes, toiletry, a small pouch where you keep items that have a special significance to you. Only the bare essentials, really. Mingyu had assured you that the room was furnished, with a bed, closet and desk. His old roommate, Minghao, had moved out but left the furniture behind because he had no reason to take them with him—not when he moved in with his girlfriend in her own apartment. All that’s left for the movers to bring over is your bookshelf, your book collection, the rest of your clothes, the Ikea drawer you and your best friend, Park Jihyo, built together, and other smaller items like your desk lamp and office chair.

“That’s okay,” Mingyu says. “Take as long as you need.”

You nod, mumbling a “thank you”, then bend down to pick up your suitcase.

Mingyu moves aside, granting you enough space to roll it across the floor and head over to the side that leads to the Minghao’s old room. Right opposite you is the doorway that leads to Mingyu’s bedroom, and further to the side is the corridor that opens into the kitchen, the small space where he keeps a dining table, and the bathroom.

In a way, you’re glad your room is situated further away from those places. Ghosts of memories linger there, ones that you can’t bear to revisit.

No, it’s better this way; you’re away from everything that you used to consider a second home. Maybe if you close the door behind you, you can pretend like you’re in some kind of void where the only things that exist are you and the bed.

“Wait, Y/N.”

You pause, feeling… something. The way he says your name, so casually, as if it’s second nature to him (it used to be) and nothing has changed at all, has you on edge—not in the good way, but not in the bad way either.

You turn around. “Yeah?”

“Um.” Your ex-boyfriend hesitates for a second. “I’m… going out for dinner with Minghao and some others, is that okay? It might be late by the time I come back.”

“Okay.” Then, feeling the need to clarify something, you say, “You—you don’t have to tell me that. We don’t… owe each other an explanation for where the other is.”

Mingyu stays quiet, and you look away, teeth worrying your bottom lip. You wonder if he’s going to say anything—or even show any kind of reaction at all.

“Right. We don’t.” His voice is toned down with a kind of uneasiness that you don’t blame him for. Heck, even you feel a twinge of hurt rise up your throat at your own words. “I’ll… let you get some rest.” He nods once, places his hands in his pockets, and walks back to his room.

Your grip on the suitcase handle tightens. Once you enter your room, you let out a pained sigh. You shut the door and turn your back to the wooden blockade that separates you from the rest of the apartment.

This is not going the way you expected—but then again, what had you expected? That everything between you and Mingyu would just vanish and you could talk to him normally without feeling that tiny pinprick of bitterness stab your chest every time you address him? You and Mingyu have a history, filled with good times and bad times, and six months spent away from each other will do nothing to erase that.

You think of what your old roommate, Jihyo, would’ve said. He’s just a boy, Y/N. Make him clean the toilet all the time so he’ll automatically get sick of you.

You smile to yourself, unlocking your phone. Jihyo is probably too busy settling down in her new home in the city she moved to, so she can’t pick up your call. You decide to send her a text message instead.

You switch to the food app, order your favourite dishes from the Indian place a couple of streets away, and toss your phone onto the bed. Kneeling, you unzip your suitcase and unpack the few items you have with you. As you move around, you can already imagine how to decorate the place, how to make it feel more like a home and less like you’re an intruder. The closet is just enough for all the clothes you own—the ones you’ve packed and the ones stored in cardboard boxes yet to arrive. The desk placed opposite to the bed is perfect for when you have to work on your laptop late at night; if you place your lamp on it, you might even forget that you’re not in your old apartment. The bed already has a mattress with clean linen on the bedspread. You place your old Looney Tunes duvet on it.

Thirty minutes later, the doorbell rings. You pause your unpacking to get the door and thank the delivery guy for the food. Mingyu has already left, judging by the lack of noise in the rest of the apartment. You just hope he doesn’t come back home drunk and shit-faced—that would definitely ruin the rest of your night, and the much-needed sleep you require.

You decide not to use the kitchen table, instead opting to take the food containers into your room, where you can eat and watch a show at the same time. It’s lonely, but at least you can have your meal somewhere comfortable.

Your phone rings with notifications. You pick it up, carefully balancing the bowl of curry on your knee.

(19:47) Jihyo: hows the apartment??? did u make mingyu clean the toilet yet?

(19:47) Mingyu: hey, i’m at a thai place. do you want anything to eat at home? i could get something packaged.

You smile at the first text, tense up at the second one, and place your phone down next to you. Not replying to either of their messages might be a bad idea, but right now, all you want is to have your spicy curry and naan in peace—your best friend and ex-boyfriend be damned.

TWO

It’s only after you move in with Mingyu that your separation from Jihyo truly sinks in. Now, there’s no one you can wake up at two in the morning because your period started and you ran out of pads, or gossip about that one campus couple who broke up in public at your favourite boba place.

Not to mention the fact that living with your ex-boyfriend is mildly awkward at best and stupidly melancholic at worst.

It’s been a week, but you and Mingyu seem to have figured out a way to work in tandem. It appears as though neither of you want to see the other—just yet, at least. He goes for a morning jog at six; your alarm rings at six. He comes back reeking of sweat at seven in the morning; you’re getting ready to leave for work by then. You do the dishes on the days he vacuums the apartment and vice versa. It leaves no room for conversation, other than the occasional greetings and small talk when you happen to cross paths.

In fact, ever since you purposefully ignored Mingyu’s text asking if you wanted anything from the Thai restaurant, he’s made a conscious effort at avoiding you.

You nearly jump out of your seat when someone taps your shoulder. “Hey.”

You turn around and meet your co-worker, Lee Seokmin’s eyes. He smiles at you, eyes curving into little crescents.

“Hi,” you say, smiling back automatically.

If there’s one person you can count on to bring a smile to your lips, even if it’s eight o’clock in the morning—at work, no less—it’s Lee Seokmin. His cheerful nature and lively personality is infectious. His happiness radiates outwards in waves that everyone gets swept up on. You might even consider yourself envious of how easily he sways everyone, with that exuberant smile and those good-natured compliments he doles out to everyone like they cost him nothing. (Which they don’t, you suppose.)

“Something on your mind?”

Your smile turns into a grimace. “You could tell?”

He gives you a little half-shrug, still smiling. “You had a weird, serious, think-y face. And before you come at me for think-y not being a real word—I’m very aware of that, thank you—it’s the best way I can describe you.”

“You chose think-y—” you bite back a chuckle— “as the best word to describe me? Come on, Seokmin, you can do better than that.”

“I can,” he agrees, “but only when the situation is appropriate.” His face turns grave, and he continues, “But seriously, Y/N. Did you have a rough night?”

His eyes roam over your face, evident concern shown in the curve of his lips and the slight dip of his eyebrows. You control your wince, wondering if the swollen bags underneath your eyes aren’t as concealed by your makeup as you thought.

Rough week, more like. But you don’t say that to him. “Something like that,” you say.

“You moved out a while back, right? How’s the new place?”

“It’s… good. Close to the supermarket and all that. Everything is within, like, a ten-metre radius, so I don’t have to go very far to get things.”

“That’s nice to hear,” Seokmin says, and you can tell he really means it. “I bet you’re tired, though, with all that packing and unpacking and moving around.”

He bends closer, the front of his loosely tucked shirt just barely touching the back of your chair. This close, you can smell the faint scent of Seokmin’s deodorant and fabric softener. He taps his finger on the arm of your chair. “Do you want to get some coffee with me?”

“Um.” You look back at your laptop and the pile of binders next to it. Seokmin seems to know what you’re thinking, because he huffs and says, “C’mon, I’m sure Seungcheol wouldn’t mind if you took a coffee break.”

“I guess,” you return, flashing him a smile when he rolls your chair backwards to give you space to stand up.

Getting up, both of you weave your way to the third floor, where the only functioning coffee maker is housed. The elevator is too crowded and busy for you to use to get down from your position on the seventh floor, so you settle for using the stairs. Throughout the ten-minute walk (which effectively turns into a fifteen-minute one, thanks to him), Seokmin waves and greets every single fellow office worker you pass by. By name.

You roll your eyes and bite your lip to hold back your laugh when a young, female intern—probably still in college by the looks of it—flushes bright red because Seokmin complimented her barrette.

He catches your eye and grins. “What’s so funny?”

You shake your head good-naturedly. “It’s nothing. Carry on with whatever you were doing.”

“What was I doing?”

“Oh, you know,” you say airily, “making everyone fall head over heels for you because you’re just so nice.”

His grin only widens. “You make it sound as though being nice is a bad thing.”

“That’s not what I meant at all,” you protest. “I’m just— Greeting every single person you see? By name? How do you even know everyone in the building?”

“I just check their ID card,” he explains, shrugging slightly. “I read this WikiHow article that said if you speak to people using their name, it creates a good impression and makes you appear more confident than you really are.”

“Really?”

Humming, Seokmin nods, before adding slyly, “I’m not sure what you mean by making everyone fall in love with me, though.”

“Please,” you snort. “You’re way too charming for your own good—and I don’t mean that in a bad way.”

“You think so?”

You can hear the smugness in his tone and you roll your eyes again. “Yes, I think so.”

“Then…” He trails off, gazing at the handrail.

Seokmin’s voice turns softer, more serious. Contemplation bleeds into his features, and when he speaks again, he lacks the bravado he had with all the other people he spoke to on your way down.

“Guess I better work on charming the right people, huh?”

You blink, but before you can digest Seokmin’s words, he gives you another bright grin before rounding the corner and striding towards the coffee machine. You follow, the need for caffeine in your system overriding your instinct to mull over what your co-worker said. Unfortunately, it seems you and Seokmin aren’t the only ones who want coffee; a long queue runs ahead of you. Your coffee break might end up taking longer than you thought.

“So,” Seokmin casually drawls, one hand in his pocket and the other fiddling with his ID card’s lanyard. “Do you want to talk about your rough night?”

“I…” You pause and consider.

Should you tell Seokmin? You trust him enough—you’ve known him for as long as you’ve been working in this company—and he’s always been friendly to you, offering you a ride home when both of you work overtime and paying for your food on the occasional visits to a café or a coffee shop. Besides, he’s the closest person you have to a friend, now that Jihyo lives in a different city and you can’t call her up whenever you feel like it. You decide to tread the waters first, only telling him the bare minimum.

“Hypothetically speaking,” you begin, “if you move in with someone you don’t like but have known for years, what would you do?”

“That’s a tough one.” He scratches his chin, pretending to think. “I guess it depends on the kind of past you share, y’know? But either way, I would try to… make peace with them, I guess. Like a ceasefire. Offer them an olive branch. Hypothetically speaking, of course.” He grins knowingly at the last bit and you shove his shoulder.

What Seokmin said makes sense. You and Mingyu are living together; your past relationship shouldn’t come in the way of talking to each other. But it does, so much more than it should. Try as hard as you might, every time you think of Kim Mingyu, the first thing that comes to your mind is all the kisses you’ve shared, the way his arms feel around you, how both of you broke the promises you made to each other—all because you were too proud and he was too stubborn.

You still are proud. For all you know, Mingyu might still be stubborn.

What a pair, you think drily.

You and Seokmin shuffle forwards. He stays silent, allowing you to process your thoughts and wonder how, exactly, you’re going to get over Mingyu and talk to him without feeling like your stomach is twisting into a million knots.

Once you reach the coffee machine, Seokmin hands you a cup. “It’s hot,” he warns, before carefully handing you the styrofoam cup filled to the brim with the bitter brew. You cautiously take a sip, wincing when you almost burn your tongue and make a face at your co-worker when he chimes, “I told you.”

The walk back to your floor doesn’t take as long as the walk down. Before you part ways, Seokmin offers you a small smile and a pat on your shoulder.

“If you’re wondering how to approach your roommate,” he says, lowering his voice, “maybe start off by offering them food. Works like a charm every time.”

Food. Yeah, you can manage that. Dinner with your ex-boyfriend.

Should be a piece of cake.

THREE

Asking Mingyu if he would like to have dinner with you is decidedly not a piece of cake.

When he comes back home from work, Mingyu has only one trajectory: Travel in a straight line from the door to his bedroom, offering you a tight smile if he sees you along the way. His bag is always slung across one shoulder and his shirt is always untucked and his hair is always a wild mess. If his appearance wasn’t achingly familiar, you would probably laugh every time you see his unruly figure.

It takes a week for you to muster up the nerve to look Mingyu in the eye, after your conversation with Seokmin. He’s been pestering you incessantly, almost exactly like Jihyo. When you told her about Seokmin’s suggestion, she had been nothing short of enthusiastic. Your phone has been blowing up constantly with texts from her, egging you on and on and on to make a move first and raise the (hypothetical) white flag.

“If you keep putting it off, you’re going to be very miserable for the rest of your immediate future,” was her reasoning when you called and spoke to her on the phone three days ago. “But also if you don’t fucking ask him to have a meal with you within the next week, I will fly over and have you both sit in a room, alone, and force you to talk.”

Both the options are pretty much the same. You didn’t have the energy to tell Jihyo that.

It’s on a Monday evening that you catch Mingyu and pop the question. A Monday evening that’s insignificant, really. Almost laughable at how normal the evening is. Mingyu unlocks the door, closes it while toeing his shoes off, and gives you the same tight smile—one where it doesn’t reach his eyes, his jaw is slightly clenched, and his lips thin into almost straight lines.

“Mingyu.” Your voice comes out breathless, like you’ve been jogging for miles before coming to a stop in front of him. He pauses, wind-ruffled hair framing his face in cloudy wisps.

“Yeah?”

“I—uh—” you force the words to tumble out of your lips, before you can overthink— “I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me?”

Mingyu purses his lips, looking at you warily. He’s careful, cautious, when he asks, “Is… there any special reason?”

You swallow. “No,” you say honestly, not allowing your eyes to tear away from his. “There isn’t. But I tried making lasagne today, and I would like to share it with someone.”

For a minute, he doesn’t say anything, only lets his bag fall into the crook of his arm. “Okay,” he says finally. “Let me just change and wash up.”

You nod, making your way to the kitchen to bring out the casserole. You’re not usually one for cooking—you prefer ordering takeout because it’s easier and they make the food better than you, anyway—but simply ordering food didn’t sit right with you. Lasagne is a dish you’ve made a few times before, and you would rather make something you’re familiar with instead of trying to whip up something new.

When you go back into the kitchen, you find Mingyu already there, bent over an open cupboard’s door as he fishes out some plates and cutlery. He’s wearing a loose white shirt and grey sweatpants, fringe falling freely over his forehead and obscuring his eyes.

“Are our regular plates okay or do we need the china ones?” he asks, still bent over.

“Why do we need china plates? Wait, why do you even have china plates with you in the first place?”

He looks over at you and shrugs. “Dunno. Minghao had a china cutlery phase, I think.”

That does sound like a phase Xu Minghao would have.

“The regular ones are fine.” You don’t want to risk breaking Minghao’s precious cutlery.

While Mingyu wipes the plates with a dishcloth, you grab two mugs and pour orange juice from the fridge into them. You take one in each hand and follow Mingyu to the kitchen table, placing both of them on either side.

“Orange juice?” Mingyu’s eyebrows are raised.

“Yeah. So?” you challenge him, raising your eyebrows as well.

But he doesn’t say anything against your choice of beverage, only shrugs and mumbles, “We should really stock up on alcohol.”

Your lips twitch. You don’t allow yourself to smile.

Instead, you pull your chair back and sit down, steepling your fingers in front of you. Mingyu piles some food onto his plate. For some reason, you feel weirdly nervous. What if it’s not as good as you think? What if he doesn’t like it?

You shake those thoughts away. This is Kim Mingyu. Even if the food was bad, he wouldn’t tell you; he would only grin, compliment your culinary skills, and continue to eat despite everything.

“Is it… good?” you ask tentatively, after he takes a forkful into his mouth and chews deliberately.

He waits until he’s swallowed before answering. “It’s great. Really good,” he affirms, and you can hear in his voice that he means it.

Well, almost.

It’s the slight dip and intonation of his tone, but it’s one you’re familiar with. You narrow your eyes at him. Mingyu continues eating, oblivious to your glare. In fact, he shovels more lasagne onto his dish and eats with more gusto, pausing every now and then to gulp down some orange juice.

“Really?” you say casually. “I’m glad. Maybe I should try some too.”

Mingyu’s reaction is so instantaneous, it’s almost comical. His eyes widen by a fraction, and he immediately reaches for the casserole. “You should definitely try some,” he says. “But it’s so good, I wanna have some more.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, watching Mingyu stuff more food into his mouth before deciding to put him out of his misery.

“Mingyu. Tell me the truth. How’s the food?”

He pauses, swallowing the food in his mouth and answering with a subdued, sheepish smile:

“It’s too salty.”

FOUR

“Why are you leaving so early?” Jihyo’s voice crackles through your phone placed on your bed.

“Seokmin said he wanted to try out the croissants at the new bakery that opened nearby,” you reply, fiddling with the buttons of your shirt. “He also said he wanted to buy a baguette so that he could whack his roommate with it. Something about going all the way to Paris to buy it but his roommate used it to hammer a nail into the wall and broke it.”

A pause, and then, “Is his roommate okay in the head?”

“Good question.” You grin at your reflection in the mirror, pat down the hair at the back of your neck, and grab your phone. “I’m heading out now. I’ll text you later.”

“’kay,” your best friend says. “Tell Mingyu I said hi.”

“I will,” you say, but you already know you’re not going to greet him on behalf of her.

Things between you and Mingyu are… still pretty much the same, honestly. After that dinner fiasco, you’ve been too embarrassed to properly address him, and he’s not made much of an effort on his part. Or maybe you’ve been consciously avoiding him so much that he doesn’t get a chance to put his foot forward. Either way, your cheeks still burn up whenever you think of that night’s dinner, so for now, hiding in your room is quite possibly the only way you can prevent yourself from catching fire completely.

Stupid logic. You’re a grown adult, with the ability to make good judgements and make decisions. Unfortunately, your decisions are mostly borderline idiotic.

Shouldering your bag, you leave your room and head to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. There’s a Post-It note stuck on the refrigerator. Peeling it off the fridge’s door, you read it curiously.

Got some cookies from Minghao’s friend’s bakery. I’ve kept them in the pantry. Enjoy! :)

Mingyu’s familiar scrawl is branded into your head, and seeing the yellow square of paper makes nostalgia bubble inside your chest like a bath bomb dropped into a bathtub filled with water. You pocket the note, and smile so widely, your cheeks hurt.

Maybe he’s put his foot forward, after all.

Seokmin is already waiting for you outside your apartment building by the time you go out. He grins at you, his eyes crinkling in the corners and teeth flashing happily.

“Hi,” you greet him. “Did you wait long?”

“No.” Your co-worker shakes his head, still smiling. “I just got here, actually.”

“I’m glad.” You return his smile. “Should we head out?”

Seokmin nods. “Of course,” he says, and you fall into step with him.

He has a never-ending list of topics to talk to you about—and for the most part, you’re glad that he’s so outgoing. In twenty minutes, you’ve learnt almost everything there is to know about his roommate, Jeonghan, his older sister, his fear of ladybugs (you snort out loud at that particular anecdote), and his favourite anime (Haikyu!! and One Piece). In return, you tell him about that time you and Jihyo accidentally walked into the wrong restroom at a bar, and how you got dumped by your high school crush because he thought you were better than him at playing basketball.

It’s comfortable. Talking to Seokmin always is.

But you still don’t talk about Mingyu. You try hard to stop thinking of him, but he’s always there at the back of your mind, an unopened gift that you don’t unwrap.

Finally, you and Seokmin round a corner and find yourselves standing in front of the just-opened bakery. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafts through the open door. An array of different types of breads and other desserts is placed carefully on a display at the counter, and the owner greets you with a welcoming smile.

“What do you want to have?” Seokmin asks, holding your elbow and leading you in.

You eye the basket of croissants. The buttery confection looks delicious, but so does the tray of muffins placed next to it. And the bagels placed beside the muffins. “I can’t decide.”

“How about one of everything?”

You glance at him to see if he’s joking, but Seokmin looks completely serious. “You’re kidding, right?” you say, grabbing his arm. “There’s no way I’m going to let you buy one of everything in this store!”

“I would,” Seokmin admits, a flush creeping up his neck, “if you asked me to.”

You groan. “Seokmin. Please don’t.”

“Alright, alright.” He raises his hands in defeat. “I’m just saying, if you wanted me to—”

“One croissant, please,” you interrupt, addressing the owner. “To go. And he will have…”

“Make that two croissants,” Seokmin finishes. “I’ll have whatever the lady’s having.”

“How gentlemanly of you.”

“I know.”

Seokmin pays for his croissant, and you pay for yours. The owner wraps them up and hands them to you, asking you to visit again. Once you exit, you unwrap yours and take a small bite. The bread is soft and melts in your mouth, leaving a sweet aftertaste. You take another bite, and it’s only then that you notice Seokmin looking at you, a corner of his lips turned upwards in a crooked smile and one hand in his pocket.

“What?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious. “Do I have crumbs on my face?”

“No,” he replies. “I just… I would really love to do this again, Y/N.”

Oh.

Seokmin looks at you so hopefully. Like he’s been waiting for this opportunity for a long time. Like he needs to get something off his chest. Like he never wants this moment to end.

“...I’d like that, too,” you say.

Somehow, the words leave a bitter taste in your mouth, one that even another mouthful of the sweet snack can’t erase.

FIVE

It’s getting late, and yet Kim Mingyu is hellbent on getting you to keep him company. The worst part is that it’s working—though you would never admit that to him.

Being friends with your ex isn’t that uncommon. You and Mingyu can be friends. But how long are you willing to put up with this ruse before it all blows up in your faces? Friendship between two people who used to date isn’t that much of a big deal—but that’s just it, isn’t it? You and Mingyu weren’t just two people who used to date.

How did you even let him talk you into spending time with him? Or maybe that’s all on you; you’ve never been able to say no to him. One minute you’re looking at his face and remembering the lasagne gone wrong, the next he’s asking if you want to watch a movie with him. Except neither of you have updated your Netflix subscription, so this was a bad idea all along.

Maybe talking to Mingyu is a bad idea.

Maybe you should go back to your old ways, locking yourself up in your room and only acknowledging his presence when you happen to cross paths.

But the socialite in you nags, what if he thinks you’re some kind of hermit who only comes out to eat and drink? Besides, he’s here now, right next to you on the sofa—keeping a respectable distance between your bodies—as he watches a rerun of America’s Next Top Model because it was the least shitty thing playing on all the channels you scrounged through fifteen minutes ago.

Normally, you would be elated at the idea of poking fun at random reality shows, expressing your exasperation at the poorly-written scripted drama and the even worse acting. But even if the showoff between two aspiring models both named Jessica and sporting the same colour of fake tan and bleached blonde hair was somewhat interesting, you find your gaze keeps wandering to your ex-boyfriend.

You trace the contours of his face with your eyes—the cheekbones that jut out only slightly, the furrow created on his forehead as his eyebrows kiss, the way his honey-brown eyes stare at the screen in front of him with a focused intensity. Even the way his lips curve ever-so slightly upwards, despite him pressing them together, has you recalling just how soft they felt against your own.

His warm, soft skin. The prominent collarbone that you used to press small kisses to whenever you wanted to get his attention. The moles scattered all over his body, creating a canvas for you to paint on by tracing them with your fingers. The flex of his fingers as he bunches them into a loose fist.

Everything about him is so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time.

Even this semblance of friendship that has bridged the drawn-out distance between you both feels strange—as though somewhere in the back of your subconscious, you recognise that this camaraderie is either a really good thing or could go extremely wrong. You’re in the middle of that bridge, trying your best not to lean too much to the right or to the left, but even a slight misstep could lead to everything going downhill.

“Are you rooting for Jessice H. or Jessica C.?”

“Huh?” You blink, escaping your haze of thoughts. “I’m sorry—which one is which?”

Mingyu glances at you with a deadpan expression. “We’ve been watching them trying to one up each other for the past ten minutes.”

“Sorry.” You smile sheepishly. “Both of them look the same to me.”

“Fair enough,” he acquiesces, before returning his focus to the show. “It’s the fake tan, isn’t it? Although the hair is similar too… No wonder they’ve been arguing about who put on their mascara better—it looks identical.”

You play along. “Or maybe it’s the supposed Gucci belts. I had no idea Gucci made handbags with fake crocodile skin.”

“The more you know…”

You laugh at that, and Mingyu looks at you—really looks, the same way he used to when you made a bad joke and giggled at it yourself. He looks at you with adoration written all over his face, in the upward twist of his lips and the crinkling in the corners of his eyes.

You clamp your mouth shut immediately, feeling a sense of nostalgia, longing and wistfulness seep into your skin, through your flesh and settle deep into your bones.

Too much. It’s too much, and it’s way too early, and you don’t want to dwell on anything at the moment. So you do what you do best: You hide.

You tear your gaze off him and rub your palms on your old jeans. You hear Mingyu’s sharp intake of breath, but you force yourself not to look, not to think about him.

“Hey, uh—I was supposed to call Jihyo right now,” you lie, and even you think it sounds lame coming out of your mouth, so there’s no way Mingyu can’t see through it.

“Y/N,” is all he says.

You hate the way your chest clenches—just because he said your name—but what can you do? Escape the situation and never bring up the obvious elephant in the room?

Yeah. That’s exactly what you do. Making decisions isn’t your forte, but you’ll deal with the consequences of your actions later. Much, much later, if you can avoid it for as long as you’re living here.

You get up and make a beeline for your room, and Kim Mingyu doesn’t say anything to make you stop.

SIX

Whenever you faltered, Jihyo was your voice of reason. She would help you back to your feet, give you a solid nudge on your shoulder and list out the pros and cons of everything, allowing you to formulate your own opinion and come to a decision.

She isn’t being very helpful right now.

“Think about it,” she reasons. “Before, he was your ex. Now, he’s the guy you live with. You have to talk to him, no matter what.”

She’s right. She knows you know she’s right. You still refuse to acknowledge it, because pride comes before a fall, but you haven’t fallen yet. It’s more like you’re dangling off the precipice.

“How’s Jaehyun?” you say instead, referring to the guy she’s been crushing on ever since she moved to the new city.

Jihyo lets out an unimpressed sigh, the grainy image of her face on your phone screen contorting slightly. “Don’t think you’re being super smart by changing the topic, Y/N. And he’s fine. We went out for boba the other day.”

“Yeah?” You play with the fraying edge of the duvet thrown over your body. “That’s nice.”

Jihyo hums, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. “And then he asked if we could hook up.”

You guffaw. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She nods vigorously, affirming her statement. “I said no, obviously.”

“Why? Afraid he’s too much to handle?”

“Please,” your best friend snorts. “Have you seen him? I think I’m too much for him to handle. He couldn’t even pay for the boba without tearing his pocket because he was too enthusiastic in getting his wallet out.”

You smile thinly. Jihyo might be poking fun at the man, but you can tell from the twinkle in her eyes and the way her voice is filled with infectious joy that she’s enamoured by him. You wish you could meet him in person. Instead, you have to settle for checking out his Instagram profile.

“Anyway,” she continues, stifling a yawn, “it’s late and I have to head out tomorrow. I’ll call you later.”

“Okay,” you say. “Good night. Don’t dream of Jaehyun.”

She flips her middle finger at you and you roll your eyes, pressing the end button. Just when you’re about to fluff your pillow so you can lie down, you hear a knock on your door.

“Y/N?” Mingyu sounds remarkably active, considering the fact that it’s currently fifteen minutes past midnight. “Are you awake?”

Curiosity compels you to answer honestly, “Yeah. Is everything okay?”

You tread over to the door, swinging it open. Mingyu is in his sweatpants—a pair you know he only wears for bed—and a loose graphic T-shirt. You’re wearing pretty much the same attire, except your shirt is an old one, worn-out from your high school days, and it doesn't fit you that well anymore. You tug the hem over your hips consciously.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Yeah, everything’s okay. I was just…” He pauses, raising a hand and ruffling his hair. “Do you wanna get some ice cream?”

Of all possible things you expected Mingyu to ask you, this certainly wasn’t one of them. You blink, bemused.

“Or—or we don’t have to,” he backtracks, when you don’t say anything immediately. “I was just craving something sweet, that’s all—”

“Okay,” you say, surprising yourself with your answer. Mingyu is trying to extend the olive branch you placed in between you both, and you have to appreciate that. Regardless of your personal feelings. Besides, Jihyo was right—he’s the guy you live with, and you need to be able to spend time with him. As friends. Nothing more.

“Okay.” He exhales, relieved. “It’s right across the street.”

“I think I know the one you’re talking about.”

The ice cream parlour is a ten-minute walk from your apartment, but walking with Mingyu makes time fly. He says something about mint chocolate being an underrated flavour, and you insinuate that it deserves to be, and just like that, conversation flows between you both as though your past is some kind of a fever dream.

Where Seokmin is a bright ray of sunshine lighting up your way on a cloudy day, Mingyu is moonlight, skittering over your figure and providing solace in the dark. Seokmin is infectious laughter and gleeful smiles; Mingyu is whispered jokes and shared silence.

Perhaps it’s those very qualities that made you fall so hard for the man next to you. You know for sure it’s those very qualities that still have you in his grip, even though he doesn’t know it. Maybe that’s why talking to him is awkward—because how do you move on from someone who captured your heart and kept it for safe-keeping but know that there’s one big, gaping hole in your chest where his heart is supposed to be? Even now, a small part of you belongs to Mingyu, like a little token which he’s kept locked up and hidden the key.

Six months is a long time, but neither you nor Mingyu seems to be able to bring up what happened. Maybe it’s for the best, you think. You would rather have a small bit of this domesticity that feels familiar than have everything blow up in your face because of the harsh words you exchanged.

You ignore the tightening in your chest and focus on the warmth pooling in your stomach when Mingyu grins and offers you a chance to redeem yourself when it comes to good ice cream flavours. You say mint chocolate is tolerable, but only because Mingyu likes it.

SEVEN

Seokmin drops by your cubicle almost every day now. He offers to drop you back home, too.

Each time, you smile but decline politely. You still feel guilty about saying that you would like to spend more time with him as well—but in your defence, you didn’t really lie; you do want to spend more time with him, but only as a friend. Seokmin didn’t specify how exactly he wants to go out with you.

It’s getting harder to say no, however. Seokmin is everything if not persistent, and his determination to take you out has you crumbling under his forlorn gaze and pleading words.

He doesn’t make your heart beat faster, or make butterflies erupt inside your belly. Being with Seokmin doesn’t come with bright fireworks or flashy songs. It’s finding the extraordinary in the mundane, and laughing yourselves silly over jokes that aren’t even that funny.

So. It’s not Mingyu, but Seokmin is nice and friendly and stable, and you think you can fall for him. You and Mingyu aren’t going to cross the threshold of friends ever again, anyway. There’s nothing stopping you from going out with Seokmin.

“Okay,” you say when he asks you again, a half-resigned look on his face when he assumes you’ll just say no again.

The way his expression morphs to elation is worth it, you think. He surges forward, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in for a tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispers into your ear, and the joy he feels is infectious—as most good things with Seokmin are—so it’s no surprise that your cheeks are already hurting from smiling too hard.

When you update Jihyo about the latest turn of events, she tuts disapprovingly and says, “Have you told Mingyu?”

“No,” you say, feeling defensive. “I don’t have to tell him, do I?”

Your best friend waits for a beat. “You don’t, I guess.”

Mingyu interrupts your call then, and you quickly tell Jihyo you’ll text her later. He stands in the living room, holding up a pair of button down shirts, one in each hand, forehead creased and mouth downturned.

You lean against your doorway, amused. “You called?”

His face clears as he looks at you, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “I have this work event I need to attend tomorrow, but I don’t know what to wear.”

You observe the shirts he’s holding up. One is cream in colour, long-sleeved and ironed neatly. The other is black, with a thin white stripe along the collar and sleeves.

“The black one,” you say immediately. And then feel your cheeks heat up with your quick answer. In your defence, Kim Mingyu has always looked alarmingly handsome in black. Objectively speaking.

“I haven’t worn this one in a long time.” He brings it close to his face, squinting at it. “It probably stinks.”

“Smell it, then,” you say, chuckling at the mortified look on Mingyu’s face. “What? You’re telling me you’ve never worn your underwear inside out because you forgot to do the laundry? This isn’t that different.”

“I have never done anything of the sort.” He sniffs petulantly at you, before his eyes narrow. “Wait. Does that mean you’ve worn your underwear inside out?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Gross. I thought you knew me better than that.”

Mingyu tenses up at your offhand comment, and you look down, wondering why that even slipped out of your mouth in the first place. Of course you screw everything up just when things are going decently well.

“I do,” he mumbles. “I do know you better than that.” When you look at him, he has a wan smile on his lips. “Which is why I’m going to trust your judgement and wear the black shirt. Even if it’s musty from sitting in the back of my closet for so long.”

“Oh, shut up,” you huff, walking over to him and grabbing the cloth out of his hand. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

He only raises a single eyebrow at you.

That’s what prompts you to sniff at it. At his goddamn shirt. Like you’re one of those police dogs they use to find missing people.

It… doesn’t smell unpleasant. A little bit musty, like Mingyu said, but that can be attributed to him not wearing it often. Mostly, it smells of faint fabric softener and deodorant—and underneath it all, a scent that is solely Mingyu’s. (Pine and citrus and lavender, all mixed together, in a way that only Mingyu can pull off.)

“It smells fine,” you say, shoving it into Mingyu’s chest. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m not the one who grabbed it and shoved my face into it,” he says, “so who’s the real dramatic one here?”

“I didn’t shove my face into it!” You swat at his shoulder, but he laughs and dodges, eyes twinkling with playfulness.

“If you say so,” he returns, still chuckling to himself.

“When is this event?”

“Tomorrow evening,” he answers.

“Both of us won’t be at home then,” you say, and he raises an eyebrow. “I… have a date tomorrow,” you explain, and regret it almost instantly. Why are you even telling him that? He doesn’t need to know.

“Oh,” is all he says, followed by a quieter, “Have fun.”

EIGHT

Seokmin picks you up at exactly six o’clock, wearing a loose button down shirt and slacks, and his hair styled carefully. He perks up as soon as you wave at him, jogging over to you with a smile.

“Hey,” he greets you. “You look good.”

You return his smile, tugging at the edge of your blouse and smoothing out your skirt. “Thank you. So do you.”

Seokmin’s grin brightens, which you didn’t even think was possible. “Thanks,” he says, and then gently takes hold of your elbow. “So… the plan for today is to take you out for dinner, and then a movie. How does that sound?”

“It sounds… good,” you say, letting him lead the way. It’s basic, yes, but you’re a firm believer in clichés—there’s a reason they become popular, after all.

He doesn’t stop talking, and neither do you. Throughout the entire half an hour dinner in some hole-in-the-wall diner that Seokmin discovered a month ago and serves the best blue lemonade mojitos you’ve ever tasted, and the entire two hour movie that’s way too boring for you to focus on the screen anyway, you and your co-worker keep up an endless stream of banter and silly anecdotes and you find yourself enjoying it more than you thought you would.

It’s refreshing, and when you and Seokmin finally make the walk back to your apartment, you find it difficult to let go of his hand. He pulls you to a stop in front of the building, rubbing his thumb gently across the back of your hand.

His smile is as bright as ever, albeit tinged with slight disappointment. “So. I’ll see you on Monday, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, nodding. “Thank you for today, Seokmin. I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too,” he returns. “Listen, I—”

He’s interrupted by someone stumbling across the sidewalk—not someone, you realise. It’s two people, tightly coiled around each other in a manner that is entirely indecent for the public eye. But as they trip around one another—still holding each other tightly—your heart sinks deep into the pit of your stomach.

One of them is Mingyu.

The other person is some girl, hair falling loosely across her face, Mingyu’s fingers tangled into her tresses, while his other hand bunches up the material of her dress at her waist. They kiss and kiss and kiss, and you don’t tear your eyes away until Seokmin makes a noise of disgust.

He turns around, blocking your view of them and takes both your hands in his. “I… I’ll call you. Okay?”

You nod numbly. “Okay.”

Seokmin leaves with a bright smile and a lingering kiss on your cheek. You plaster a smile onto your lips until he moves out of your line of sight, after which you begin the arduous trek back to your—Mingyu’s—apartment. Normally, the three floors you climb aren’t much of a strenuous task; tonight, however, every step you take makes you feel like your legs are made of lead.

You fumble in your purse for your key, the image of Mingyu kissing that girl not leaving your mind. It’s not supposed to hurt, you’re not supposed to be bothered by it. But it stings, like the biting cold on a freezing winter morning, making your fingers stiff and your ears chilly.

You hear footsteps right when you twist the key into the lock.

The last thing you see before you enter the apartment is Mingyu clambering up the staircase, clearly drunk but surprisingly upright. He has a lipstick stain leading from the corner of his mouth to his cheek, his hair is tousled—no doubt from someone running their hands through his silky locks—and his shirt is untucked and wrinkled.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you grab the door handle and step inside, because the last thing you want to confront is the fact that your feelings for Kim Mingyu might not be as forgotten as you believe.

Which is fine, all things considered, except Kim Mingyu doesn’t give a damn.

You let the door slam shut behind you before Mingyu can get in. Technically, it’s his house. Technically, he’s the one who has the right to lock you out.

Technically, you’re acting like a child throwing a tantrum, and technically, Mingyu is allowed to kiss whomever the fuck he wants.

You wish Jihyo was here. She would ground you, make you see everything calmly and rationally. But she’s been having boy problems of her own (Jeong Jaehyun, who is decidedly not as romantic as Jihyo was led to believe), and the last thing you want is to dump your boy problems on her.

Besides, it’s no big deal. Right?

Mingyu lives here. He should have his own copy of the keys. He’s also drunk. (Drunk and half-laid, your mind helpfully reminds.)

Before you start overthinking about letting the door close behind you, you decide that what you really need is a warm shower. So you let your feet lead you to the bathroom directly, and don’t allow thoughts of ex-boyfriends and overly friendly co-workers to enter your brain.

You don’t hear the sound of keys turning in the lock the entire night, but you shove down the guilt that bubbles up your throat. It’s Mingyu’s fault for not carrying them with him wherever he goes; you’re not his caretaker, anyway.

Your phone pings with a text message from Seokmin, and you pick it up.

(19:47) Seokmin: I had a great time today. Thanks for coming with me :)

Despite the fact that you only have a towel wrapped around your body, and the fact that your hair is dripping wet, you feel a tingling warmth creep up your chest.

NINE

Monday is a horrible day.

You woke up half an hour later than usual, which led to you rushing through your morning routine. Your clothes aren’t ironed, which is fine usually, but the shirt you pick doesn’t tuck in quite right and you don’t have the time to change it. You almost tripped over the curb in your rush to get to work and nearly spilled a cup of coffee—which is far too sweet for your liking, due to the dollop of sugar you added by accident—all over yourself. Your manager, Choi Seungcheol, doesn’t approve of the project portfolio you compiled, and the deadline is fast approaching, which means more late nights for you.

And to top it all off, your car engine won’t fucking start.

You’re really not in the mood for Seokmin and his exuberant enthusiasm, which is something he probably catches onto, considering the fact that he stands silently next to you, waiting for you to finish cursing the piece of metal you call a car. Once you’re done resisting the urge to burn down the automobile, Seokmin places a placating hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, training a concerned gaze over your figure. “I can drop you back home.”

“No, it’s fine,” you mutter sullenly. “I’ll just call a cab or something.”

“Y/N, please. It’s no trouble.” He pauses, and you glance at him, at the sympathetic crease of his forehead and the genuinity reflected in his eyes. It’s touching, and Seokmin flashes you a small smile. “I was gonna head over that way anyway—I wanted to get some stuff from that bakery we went to.”

“I—” You hesitate, and he takes the chance to slide in.

“You call the mechanic. I’ll wait for you in my car, okay?”

He scurries away, leaving you biting your lip and staring at your phone. You should probably call Mingyu; he can help. Knowing him, he would probably want to help, regardless of who was asking him. Instead, you search up the nearest mechanic shop and dial in their number, giving them the details of where you are. They arrive a couple of minutes later, and you watch as they hook your car onto their big tow truck and drive away.

Seokmin waves you over to his car, a sleek Hyundai that's probably a few years old but still looks brand new. He opens the door to the passenger seat with a smile before grabbing the stack of folders you had kept clutched to your chest. You let him take them. You’re far too tired to argue.

Briefly, your mind wanders to Mingyu—what he would do if you had told him. Probably run all the way here, your brain supplies, prompting a wry smile to form on your lips. You press them together when you think of Mingyu with that girl immediately afterwards.

The drive to your house is silent, only the rumble of Seokmin’s car and the soft noise of some interview playing on the radio filling the silence. He pulls to a stop near your apartment, bundles up your work folders in his arms and gestures for you to lead the way to your flat.

The door swings open before you get the chance to pull out your key. Mingyu stands opposite you, dishevelled—just woken up from a nap, it seems. His mouth parts when he sees Seokmin standing behind you.

“Who’s this?” he asks by way of greeting.

You shift uncomfortably, wanting to say something, but the words stick to your throat like you’ve swallowed chewing gum. Seokmin reaches out from next to you, and you don’t need to see him to know he’s positively beaming.

“Hi, I’m Seokmin,” he says. “I work with Y/N.”

Mingyu shakes his hand, eyes roaming quizzically between you and Seokmin. “Nice to meet you,” he says distractedly. “I’m Mingyu, Y/N’s… roommate. And ex—”

“Come on in, Seokmin.” You glare at Mingyu. He only raises an eyebrow in retaliation. Seokmin coughs slightly, blows out a puff of air, and follows you inside.

“You can just…” You wave your hand around vaguely. Gritting your teeth does nothing to bring you out of your haze. It only exacerbates it.

“Did something happen?” Mingyu moves aside, but you feel his eyes on the back of your neck.

“Y/N’s car broke down,” Seokmin supplies. “It’s at the mechanic’s right now, so I offered to drop her back home.”

“I see.” His next statement is directed at you. “You could’ve called me. I would have come.”

It’s only then that you turn around and face him. He doesn’t move, gaze locked unwaveringly on your hunched-over figure. It’s almost like he’s challenging you to say something.

“I know that,” is all you say, voice low.

Mingyu nods. “Good.”

You avert your attention to Seokmin. He appears lost, gaping at both of you as though he can’t quite catch onto what’s going on. “Let’s go to my room, Seokmin. You can leave my stuff there.”

“Okay.” Seokmin nods, giving Mingyu a hesitant smile. “It was nice meeting you, Mingyu.”

“You too.”

It’s a tiny exchange, but it’s enough to cause a fissure inside your heart. Seokmin is always so nice. He gives out niceness like he’s handing out free candy to toddlers. The only time you’ve ever seen him get remotely angry was when another co-worker of yours forgot a pen drive containing a crucial presentation to an important client—even then, all he did was level a glare at her before calmly asking for a backup drive to be brought.

Mingyu, on the other hand, is like a burning ember. Calm one minute, and angry the next—and it’s the reason you love him, but it’s also the reason you broke things off. You and Mingyu are far too similar, hot-headed and careless to a fault, like two candle flames competing to see who can burn their wick the fastest. You didn’t burn the wick. You ended up burning each other instead. Let it not be said that playing with fire isn’t one of your specialties.

Seokmin lets out a breath that sounds like a huff and a sigh simultaneously as soon as he enters your room. “You can leave the stuff here,” you say, pointing at your desk.

He obliges, carefully placing the stack on the table. “That’s your roommate, huh? Y’know, when you said that you were living with someone you didn’t like, I didn’t think you meant your ex-boyfriend.”

You look away, biting the inside of your cheek. “It’s… difficult. I needed a place to live and he was the only person who offered on short notice. It just happened.”

Seokmin nods understandingly, lips pursed in thought. “He seems like a nice guy.”

“He is,” you agree. “One of the nicest people I know.”

“Yeah?” Your co-worker lifts one corner of his lips in an amused half-smile. “What does that make me?”

The answer is on the tip of your tongue. You know Seokmin is expecting it. Hell, you’re expecting the words to just come out. The nicest guy of them all. That’s all you have to say.

“You’re… Lee Seokmin.”

The words are flat on your tongue. Seokmin’s expression falls—just the tiniest bit, a crack in the foundation—but you feel a terrible weight in your stomach, pulling you down, down, down until your head sinks below the surface of the metaphorical waves and the water erases your existence.

Seokmin is a nice guy—you know that, and you’ve reiterated it so many times. The only thing stopping you from being in a proper relationship with him is your ex-boyfriend, only separated from you by a wooden door and cement walls. Mingyu doesn’t like you anymore, not in the way he used to, and it’s clearly time for you to stop dwelling on what you had.

You swallow, looking at Seokmin directly. “And…” You take a step closer to him. “I consider myself lucky to have met you.”

Seokmin looks at you, his gaze unsteady, but he takes one of your hands in his. “Yeah?” His throat bobs when he speaks, and that’s how you know he’s nervous.

“Yeah,” you confirm, letting his fingers slip in between yours.

He shuffles closer to you, and you can smell his woody cologne intermingled with sweat. You can count the moles on his face, see your reflection in his pupils.

“Y/N, I really want to kiss—”

There’s a knock on your door, and you and Seokmin jump away from each other like a pair of schoolchildren getting caught doing something you’re not supposed to. Seokmin looks down at his feet; you clear your throat before letting out a hoarse, “Yes?”

“You left your phone outside,” Mingyu calls. “The mechanic just called.”

“Oh, um. I’ll be right there.” You turn back to Seokmin, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Of all possible times for Mingyu to be a cockblocker, why now? “S-sorry about that.”

“No, it’s—you’re fine,” he stammers out, clearly as out of it as you are. “I should probably leave too, I still need to stop by the bakery.”

“Oh, yeah!” you say. “I forgot. Do you want me to come with you?”

“It’s alright,” he says. “It’s getting dark outside and you need to get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” you murmur. “Thank you for today, Seokmin. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Cursed your car to oblivion, probably,” he teases.

You flush, heat creeping up the back of your neck and ears. “That—you didn’t have to see that.”

“I thought it was cute,” he returns easily, corners of his lips twitching.

Against your will, your lips twitch upwards too. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

Seokmin opens your door, and you follow him out of your room. He gives Mingyu a grin, says, “See you around,” and lets you close the door behind him.

Mingyu crosses his arms over his chest. You glance at him. His eyebrows are knotted together, lips pressed into a stoic line. You bite the inside of your cheek, suddenly feeling awkward.

“Hey,” he begins, voice soft, “is that… your boyfriend?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Does it matter?”

He huffs, shifting from one foot to the other. “Yes—no. No, it doesn’t matter. I was just curious, okay?”

You open your mouth, then close it, at a loss for words. Are you and Seokmin together? Not really. Both of you haven’t done or said anything to define your relationship—if there is one in the romantic sense, at least. Seokmin wanted to kiss you, but Mingyu interrupted before anything could even happen—it’s your irritation at the day being shitty, and Mingyu being an asshole after everything he did that makes you roll your eyes at him and snap at him. “It’s none of your business.”

Mingyu’s face turns stony, a hardness to his features that you’ve only seen a few times before—it was directed at you the last time, too. “Okay. Fine. Sorry I asked.”

“Are you?” you retort, and before he can say anything to retaliate, you storm back into your room and lock the door.

Your heart feels like it’s been split into two, one half yearning for the comfort and familiarity that comes with still liking Mingyu, and the other excited to explore what Seokmin could offer you—and what he already has offered. But for now, you decide to get some sleep. Your heart can wait.

TEN

Jihyo is back.

Jihyo is fucking back, and she’s standing in your—Mingyu’s—living room, arms wide open and a grin on her lips so wide, her eyes crinkle in the corners. It takes all of your willpower not to launch yourself into her arms. Instead, you slow down, toe your shoes off, let your bag drop to the floor, and then launch yourself into her arms.

She laughs at your overzealous demeanour, and you giggle into her hair. God, you’d missed her. Texting every day and video calling every weekend can only do so much, and it’s nothing compared to seeing her in person.

“Hi,” she says, pulling back enough to escape your cage-like hold around her body.

“Hi,” you greet back, smiling so wide and so hard, you can feel your ears pop. “You’re back.”

“I’m back.” She confirms your statement by nodding. “Only for a week, though.”

“Ah.”

Your best friend lets out a sheepish chuckle, and you take a step back. Her suitcase is on the floor next to her, and she’s kept her backpack on the sofa. “Are you gonna stay here?” you ask.

She winces. “No, there isn’t much space here. I booked a room at a hotel nearby. It’s, like, ten minutes by walk from here and it’s not very expensive either,” she assures.

“Okay,” you say, a little deflated. If Jihyo stayed with you, at least the awkwardness between you and Mingyu might be reduced by a small fraction. Her overbearing nature and ability to make conversation with literally anyone would be a lifesaver, given the situation you’ve dug yourself into.

A situation that she knows nothing about.

You haven’t had the time to keep Jihyo updated about the latest turn of events—not when she was busy juggling a relationship with her sort-of boyfriend, Jeong Jaehyun. She doesn’t know about Seokmin, and she doesn’t know about your lingering feelings for Mingyu.

“Hey, you’re back already.”

Speak of the devil.

You turn around and find Mingyu leaning against the doorway, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. You feel your breath hitch. He continues, “I guess Jihyo already beat me to it, huh?”

“You knew she was coming?” you ask him, almost accusatory.

“You didn’t tell her?” Jihyo echos, a curious tinge to her tone.

He lifts his shoulder in a half-shrug, lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile. “Wanted to surprise you, that’s all.”

Against your will, you find yourself grinning at him. Mingyu dissolves in the slightest—a small hint of surprise—before he grins back at you, teeth flashing and eyes crinkling. Jihyo lets out a small huff from next to you, but you know nothing can put a damper on your mood right now. Not even your resurfaced feelings for Mingyu, nor your newfound ones for Seokmin.

Your best friend squeezes your arm. “I have some time before I need to check in at the hotel. Do you wanna check out our old place?”

You turn to her and nod. The prospect of going back to the place where you created cherished memories with someone so dear to you is enticing; then you remember your car is still at the mechanic’s. “My car is out of commission.”

Jihyo only turns and stares at Mingyu. He sighs resignedly, pushing himself off the doorway and heading inside his room. “Let me grab my keys.”

“Might as well stop for ice cream along the way,” Jihyo calls out gleefully to his retreating back.

You gulp. This… might not be a good idea. If Mingyu tags along with you, this would be the first time since last week where you’re speaking to him normally, making conversation that isn’t just along the lines of “Did you do the laundry?” or “I bought some vegetables”. Of course, if you told Jihyo what happened, she would immediately make sure Mingyu doesn’t come. You chew on your bottom lip, but before you can come to a decision, Mingyu emerges from his bedroom, car keys dangling off his fingers.

“Ready?” he asks.

Jihyo grabs onto your arm, excitement so visible on her face that it prompts the tension in your own features to melt away. You let yourself get carried away by her giddiness, not noticing the fond glances the only male in the group keeps giving you whenever he’s sure you’re not looking. If you’d met his eyes once throughout the drive to your old place, you’d see the way his eyes still twinkle at you with the same intensity as they did months ago, but you’re too busy catching up with Jihyo to notice.

Mingyu pulls to a stop in front of your old apartment building—a dilapidated structure that’s not half as modern as the current building you stay in. At least the elevator is still functioning; you purse your lips to contain your laugh when Mingyu looks at it, eyebrows raised in visible astonishment. Jihyo grips your hand tightly when you reach your floor. You tighten your hold on her hand as well, feeling a sudden burst of emotion erupt inside your chest like lava escaping from a volcano.

You and Jihyo round the corner to the apartment that used to be yours, Mingyu following closely. The door is the same dull brown it was back then as well, but someone has put in the effort to redo the varnish. There’s a potted fern next to it as well.

You let out a shuddering breath. Jihyo wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close; you aren’t sure if it’s just the wind rattling through the open window, but you hear something like a sniffle.

This is the place you lived in when you had your first boyfriend, when you had your first heartbreak, when you cried your lungs out at some stupid TV show that you were invested in at the time but can’t possibly remember the name of now. This is the place where you and Jihyo bonded over crappy supermarket deals and made a mess of the kitchen whenever you tried to learn how to cook something new.

This is the place where you first met Kim Mingyu.

You tilt your head at him, watch as he stares resolutely ahead of him, like if glares at it strongly enough, he can bore two holes straight through the wood. Eventually, his eyes land on yours.

His lips part but no words come out. He offers you a small smile instead, one so tender and heart-warming and achingly familiar. You blink, and the moment is gone. You’re left with the same sense of wistfulness and longing that you always feel around him.

Jihyo squeezes your shoulder, eyes shining. “Should we ring the bell?” she asks, and then presses the doorbell before you can respond.

A muffled “Coming!” from inside, and the latch is pulled open to reveal a college student—a few years younger than you, perhaps, with sleep bags underneath his eyes and a cup of coffee clutched to his chest. He looks confused—as anyone would be, you suppose, when you see a random bunch of strangers standing on your doorstep—but his expression clears when Jihyo explains who you are and why you’re here.

He says he’s living here with his boyfriend and their pet cat—a beautiful Siberian who coils itself around his legs, tail upturned—and you feel your heart swell with the knowledge that your old haven is being taken care of well. Jihyo consistently badgers him with questions and he answers each one patiently, to his credit.

A flicker of uncertainty crosses your mind, however. Does Mingyu not remember this? He was looking for apartments in this building, too, when you met him. Doesn’t he remember the old landlady conversing with you? Doesn’t he remember the way people constantly asked if you two were together, which is what even prompted him to ask for your number in the first place?

You’re shaken out of your thoughts when you feel a slight pressure on your shoulder. Mingyu’s hand is on your shoulder. Your gaze flits over to him.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, ducking his head. “There was a mosquito.”

He’s lying.

He remembers.

ELEVEN

“Spill.”

“The… tea?” you ask cautiously, looking at Jihyo. She’s holding a steaming mug of tea in her hand.

“You think you’re so funny.” She rolls her eyes.

“I know I am,” you quip, and she rolls her eyes again, taking a sip of the beverage.

“You’ve been distracted since yesterday,” she states matter-of-factly. “Since we went to our old place.” Her voice quietens, “Is it Mingyu? Did he do something?”

You eye her warily, sitting down on the plush armchair opposite her. “No,” you say.

“Then what is it? Did—did you not want me here?”

“No.” You’re quick to alleviate her concerns. “Of fucking course I wanted you here. I missed you. So much.”

Your best friend smiles at that, swirling the tea in the mug. “But something’s bothering you.”

“...Yes.” You admit it slowly, playing with your fingers splayed out on your lap. “It’s not important. You’re here only for a few days, we should do something fun.”

“Y/N,” Jihyo says slowly, enunciating every syllable of your name like she’s speaking to a troublesome child, “if you’re worried about me feeling bad or anything, please don’t. I want to help you.”

You wave her away. “You have your own shit to deal with.”

“What, you mean Jaehyun?” She snorts. “I’m over him. I was over him ages ago.”

“Are you sure?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Just.” You look down at your feet. “You really liked him, didn’t you?”

Jihyo cocks her head to the side, studying you carefully. “Yes. I did. What about it?”

Your shoulder slump, dejectedness seeping into your figure. “How… did you do it?” You glance up at her, note the way she observes you carefully. Your voice is almost pleading when you continue, “How did you get over him?”

Your best friend’s expression clears, comprehension dawning on her face. She places her mug down, leaning forward and clasping your hand with hers. “It’s Mingyu, isn’t it?”

You shake your head miserably. “Not just him.”

“There’s someone else?” She doesn’t sound surprised, only intrigued and concerned.

You take a deep breath, lock gazes with her—and everything comes spilling out of your mouth like the tide receding into the ocean. You tell her everything, about Mingyu and Seokmin and how conflicted they make you feel; how one is like the living personification of sunlight on a gloomy day, and the other reminds you of clouds providing shade on a hot afternoon. You tell her about how guilty you feel, as though you’re leading Seokmin to believe that you’re ready for a committed relationship when a part of your heart still belongs to Mingyu. You speak until the words end up garbled and slurred, and your breathing turns heavy and salt water streaks across your cheeks, your best friend rubbing them away with the pad of her thumb.

When you don’t know what to say, Jihyo pulls you into a hug—it’s an awkward position, your elbows locked around her arms while your neck is bent at an odd angle, but it’s comforting, and you let your eyes close tiredly.

“Y/N,” she says, rubbing her thumb on your shoulder soothingly. “I know it’s hard for you to decide, but you have to know: What do you want?”

The question makes you contemplate. What do you want?

“I don’t know,” is all you can get out, slumping further into her arms.

She hums softly. “But you’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

Will you? You’re not so sure. Maybe when the time is right. But for now, you rest your chin on your best friend’s shoulder and let her rub circles onto your skin.

You pull back when the position becomes too uncomfortable—you can already feel a crick in your neck—and Jihyo wraps her fingers around her discarded mug. She raises it in a half-hearted toast. “To sexy girls who don’t need men in their lives.”

You giggle, rubbing your eyes. “Men are pieces of shit, anyway.”

“Damn right they are,” she croons, falling dramatically back onto the couch. “We should just get married instead.”

“If you propose to me the right way, maybe I’ll consider it.”

Jihyo grins at you, and it’s infectious enough to make you grin back at her. “Consider it done,” she says. “I have a ring in my nightstand drawer with your name written on it.”

“If it’s not pure diamond, I won’t accept.”

“Tsk. So greedy.”

TWELVE

Introducing Seokmin to Jihyo was not a part of your agenda for the week.

But it’s Seokmin and it’s Jihyo, so really, what else did you expect? Both of them integrated themselves seamlessly into your life, and they have no plans of leaving anytime soon. Might as well get the introductions over with.

Ironically, it happens when you go to collect your car from the mechanic’s, and once they’ve exchanged names and small talk, Jihyo and Seokmin are inseparable. The former regals him with tales of your college shenanigans, while the latter listens enthusiastically, eyes flitting between you both amusedly.

“Okay, that’s enough,” you hurriedly interrupt the conversation, right before Jihyo can go into the messy details of how you wanted to marry the toilet when you were drunk once and Mingyu had to physically carry you out of the house because you were convinced the white ceramic was proposing to you.

“You and Mingyu were together for a long time, huh?” Seokmin asks you quietly, once Jihyo is finished with her sulking at you interrupting her story. She’s at the side, conversing with someone on the phone, leaving you and your co-worker alone in front of your car.

You’re so startled by the question, you nearly drop your keys. “I—why do you ask?”

Seokmin licks his lips, a seriousness to his figure that you haven’t witnessed many times before. “Just… curious, I suppose.”

You look down once, see how he’s twisted his fingers together—even the Lee Seokmin gets nervous, after all—and look back up at him. “Yes,” you admit softly, voice hitching slightly, “we were. We… were in love, I guess you could say.”

He’s silent for a minute, tongue darting out to lick his lips again. “And now?”

“I don’t know, Seokmin,” you answer him honestly. Your heart flutters inside your chest, while your stomach twists into tight knots—two reactions you didn’t think would go hand-in-hand, yet here you are, leaving your heart bare for Seokmin to take while gatekeeping a part of it to yourself.

He raises his head, warm eyes capturing yours. You see the smallest flicker of hope and sadness, two thin wisps of emotion dancing in his eyes—but even then, his lips are turned upwards, because it’s Lee Seokmin.

“But you could try?” he asks, so softly you can barely catch the words.

You push down the emotions that threaten to swallow you whole, swirling around your entire body like the blood that flows through your veins. “I don’t know,” you say again, no less honest than the first time.

He opens his mouth, but Jihyo walks back to you both, mouth downturned. “My company said they need me back as soon as possible.” She says it calmly, but disappointment and bitterness seep into her voice.

For a moment, you freeze, and then ask, “When do you need to leave?”

“Tomorrow,” she answers with an apologetic shrug of her shoulders. “They’ve already booked the flight.”

“Okay.” You nod. “I’ll drop you to the airport.”

“I’ll come with,” Seokmin chimes in, and adds, in true Seokmin fashion, “Make sure Y/N doesn’t drive us all into a ditch or something.”

You shove his shoulder, muttering an “asshole” under your breath, and his smile only widens. Jihyo glances in between you both, lower lip caught between her teeth, before she sucks in a breath and smiles. “Good to know my best friend is in good hands.”

“The best hands, actually,” Seokmin teasingly corrects.

You roll your eyes at the two of them. “Can we go home now, or not?”

“Home it is,” Jihyo agrees, “but first, I demand Taco Bell.”

“Fine,” you concede, letting her grab the keys from your outstretched palm.

Seokmin grabs your hand once she clambers into your fixed car. His palm is broad, skin warm, and his fingers wrap around yours with ease. He squeezes your hand once, gently, and it feels like a promise and a farewell at the same time.

Seokmin asks you out again three days after Jihyo leaves.

This time, he takes you out to an Italian restaurant. He’s dressed up in a suit and a bowtie—and actual blue velvet bowtie that sits snugly at the hollow of his neck—and he’s the perfect gentleman, pulling your chair out for you and pouring champagne into your glass like a professional. (When you compliment him on his drink-pouring skills, he just mutters bashfully about how his dad taught him that to please a lady, you need to be good at pouring drinks; it does nothing to ease the quickening pace of your heart.)

Lee Seokmin compliments your dress, says that that specific shade of pink looks beautiful on you. He recommends you try out their vegetable lasagne, says it’s one of the dishes the restaurant is famous for. He laughs about his favourite show, tells you he would love to rewatch it with you someday. He asks if you like gardens because his neighbour is trying to convince him to grow a rosebush outside his house, but he can’t look after plants even if his life depended on it. He wants to go out for ice cream afterwards, but the night is too chilly for the cold dessert so you opt against it.

Throughout, you play someone who’s on her first date, who thinks this is all there is and everything she’s been dreaming of has come true.

You would like to think you’re a good actor.

Kim Mingyu has seen you in nothing but sweatpants and old t-shirts and he used to whisper praises against your skin, flushed with sweat and sweet words. He ate the shitty lasagne you made without complaining, no matter how bad it tasted. He watched whatever was playing on television with you, just because he enjoyed your company and wanted to be wherever you were. He’s not particularly good with plants, but he has a little succulent named Spurt, making sure it gets enough sunlight and water. He likes mint chocolate ice cream, and would defend the flavour with his life.

Kim Mingyu and Lee Seokmin: Two sides of the same coin.

Jihyo’s question resonates in your mind as you and Seokmin walk back to your car.

What do you want?

As you near your vehicle, Seokmin puts a gentle hand on your arm. “Y/N,” is all he says, and you hate the way your chest clenches at that—just because he said your name.

“Did you have fun today?” he continues, eyes roaming over your features like he’s committing you to memory. Like a soldier leaving his wife before he heads out to the frontlines.

“I did, Seokmin. I really did.” You place your hand over his, tracing the veins on the back of his hand, pressing lightly on his knuckles; you need him to know that you truly enjoyed today—desperate for him to know, because it’s the least you can do for him after everything he’s done for you.

“Good,” he says. “I—I had fun today with you, too. I always have fun when I’m with you, Y/N.”

He bends down. You can feel his breath fan out on the shell of your ear and it makes you shiver. He turns his head, and his lips brush against your cheek. A small, soft farewell.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t—” you begin, feeling your voice begin to wobble.

“Don’t be sorry,” Seokmin whispers, but he sounds firm. “We’re still friends.”

Your heart plummets deep, deep down, a free fall that isn’t orchestrated by gravity. You think you know the answer to Jihyo’s question now.

“Thank you,” you whisper back to Seokmin.

THIRTEEN

The light is on when you enter the apartment. Mingyu’s figure lies hunched on the sofa, head in his hands, a half-empty beer can next to him. You quickly shuck off your heels and drop your purse onto the shoe rack.

Your ex-boyfriend looks at you when pad over to the living room. “You’re back.” He sounds hoarse, tired.

“Have you been drinking?” you say in return, raising an eyebrow.

Mingyu glances at the can in his hand then back at you. “Yeah. Long day.”

“Me too,” you admit quietly.

Perhaps it’s the quiet ambience of your shared home—silent, despite the noise of the city outside—that compels him; or maybe it’s the idea of coming home to someone you think you know better than the back of your own hand. Either way, when Mingyu pats the cushion beside him, your feet move automatically and you sit down, letting out a weary sigh.

It’s quiet, but not in the awkward sense. Not like back then, when Mingyu thought you and Seokmin were dating. Not even when you visited your old apartment. Exhaustion makes its home in your bones, and you suspect it’s taken over Mingyu too; there’s no way this shared piece of night can be so comfortable otherwise.

“Want some?” he asks after a few minutes.

“No thanks.”

Mingyu shrugs and puts the can down on the coffee table. “Wanna talk about it?” He leans back against the sofa, arms crossed behind his head.

“No,” you answer, and then, “Do you?”

“No.” He clears his throat, glancing sideways at you. “Were you with… Seokmin?”

“...Yes.”

You don’t have to look at Mingyu to know he’s clenching his jaw. It’s a pure rush of adrenaline that makes you ask, “Why does it bother you so much whenever I’m with him?”

Silence.

You turn your head, cheek brushing against the back of the sofa. Mingyu’s eyes are closed, hair falling in loose strands around his forehead and neck. You wonder what he’s thinking.

His answer excites you—in the rawest form possible. Anticipation builds up in your chest, threatens to explode through your windpipe. You don’t know what he’s thinking, but when he opens his eyes and meets your gaze, there is nothing you can do to stop your heart from rabbiting inside your rib cage.

“It doesn’t,” he says finally, an air of decisiveness about him.

For the second time that night, your heart plummets, and you tear your eyes off him. “Okay,” you say. “That is, um, good information to have.”

“Isn’t he your boyfriend?”

“How does it matter to you?”

Mingyu crosses and uncrosses his ankles, this time staring resolutely at the floor. “I don’t know. It just does.”

You purse your lips. He isn’t being fair to you. “What about you?” you demand. “What about that girl you almost brought back home, huh?”

His mouth twitches. “You saw that.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“I’m not blind, Mingyu,” you retort.

Your roommate lets out a sardonic chuckle at that, slowly dragging his eyes up. “I highly doubt that.”

“What do you mean?” You scowl at him, feeling your chest begin to heave. “You—you’re like some kind of a riddle, Mingyu. I can never tell what you mean by anything, and it’s even worse now that you’re drunk and—”

“I’m not drunk, Y/N,” he interrupts.

“I don’t care if you’re drunk or not—” you don’t realise your voice is caving in, growing softer and softer by the second— “stop saying things you don’t mean.”

“I want to kiss you,” he says finally. “I want to kiss you and I may be slightly drunk, but I don’t fucking care. And I mean it.”

You swallow, blood pounding through your veins. “Say that again.”

“What?” he says, sounding genuinely confused. His gaze never leaves your face, every ounce of earnestness and honesty written plainly on his features.

“Say it again,” you repeat.

“I want—”

You surge forward, capturing his lips with yours, pressing them firmly against his even when he lets out a muffled gasp. He doesn’t kiss back immediately, but his hands find their way to your waist, gripping tightly and crumpling the flimsy material of your dress. He kisses you back then, mouth jutting insistently into yours, tongue sliding against your lower lip. You arch your back, scramble to find some balance in this precarious position, and your hands end up tangled in his hair. He tastes like beer and aftershave and something that’s so distinctly Mingyu, you want more.

You pull away when air becomes a necessity, blinking even as Mingyu’s arms pull you closer to him.

“This isn’t over,” you manage to get out in between huffed breaths.

“Tomorrow,” he promises, but his eyes are glazed. He looks at you like a man starved, and tilts his head and kisses you again, kisses you like he might never see you again.

You let him. It’s Kim Mingyu, after all, and you’ve always been a little weak for him.

You don’t think of Seokmin; don’t let him come out of the tiny pocket you’ve preserved in your heart just for him. Instead, you wrap your arms around your ex-boyfriend’s neck, leaning into his chest and kissing him back with equal fervour, letting him know that you need him as much as he needs you.

God, you’d missed him. Way more than you thought. You’ve memorised his touch, branded it into your mind, but it still feels new. Like the first time you were with him, kissing like two teenagers with reckless abandon.

His cold fingers find their way underneath your waist, hitching up the loose material of your dress around your thighs. You kneel on the couch cushions in front of him, almost straddling his lap but not quite. His fingers brush against your sides in a way that sends shivers down your spine.

He nips at your lip, asking for entrance to your mouth to which you accept, parting your lips enough for him to get a taste. As he moves his tongue around yours, exploring your mouth in every way possible, you can’t contain the slight whimper that escapes your throat.

Mingyu groans, leaning his weight onto you as you both start moving together until you’re laid flat against the couch. He’s impatient, you can tell; his fingers dig into your skin, and he groans again when you bite down gently on his lower lip. He pulls back and moves downwards, kissing your jaw and behind your ear, suckling gently on a sensitive bit of skin with expertise. “Tell me to stop,” he says, whispering the words against your skin.

All you do is moan in response, rubbing your thighs together to get some friction with the way he’s moving his mouth against your skin.

“Tell me to stop,” he says again, more firmly this time.

“Shut the fuck up, Gyu,” is all you reply with, the nickname falling out of your lips with familiarity.

Maybe it’s the use of something that used to be your thing—something the two of you shared, the shortened version of his name—but hearing it come out of your lips again does things to Mingyu that he isn’t sure he’d ever be able to put into words for you. Trailing his movements down to your neck, he stops at your chest, a small smile spreading on his face. “Forgot how much I loved it when you called me that.”

Looking down at him, you hadn’t realised he’s moved further down your body and his fingers trace the edges of your underwear. Your dress is bunched up above your thighs, skin exposed to the cool air. “Gonna make you feel so good,” he mumbles, pressing a tiny kiss to the inside of your thighs. He toys with the elastic of the waistband, chuckling when you shoot him an irritated glare.

He stares down at your clothed core, mouth watering while his hands move faster than you can comprehend. It takes him two seconds to hook his slender fingers underneath the waistband of your panties before he pulls them down to your ankles and tosses them onto the coffee table.

You feel a wave of shyness overcome you—with the way he’s looking at you, desperate for your taste—and you try to close your legs, before his hands land on your thighs, halting your actions. “So pretty,” he murmurs. “I want to see all of you.”

Heat burns your cheeks and flows through your body. You turn your head to avoid his burning gaze as you feel him part your legs. He readjusts himself, laying as flat and comfortably as he can with what little space he has on the couch until he’s face-to-face with where you need him most. He tests the waters, leaning in with his tongue out, letting it graze your clit. You stifle a moan, biting your lip so hard, you think it might bleed.

He smiles, loving how you’re holding back. “So quiet, baby. Wanna remember how I used to make you feel.” Laying his tongue flat against your clit, he gives you slow and soft strokes—so gentle that it drives you insane.

“You’re such—such a tease,” you gasp out, right when he swirls his tongue around the nub.

Mingyu only raises an eyebrow at that. “You haven’t changed.” But all the same, any plans he had to be patient with you go straight out the window; he wraps his arms around your thighs to pull you down further to his face. The sudden pull surprises you, and you gasp a little while searching for something to grab onto. He indulges in your pussy, tongue exploring your pulsating hole that clenches around everything and nothing all at once. He relishes in the way you feel on his tongue, groaning against your folds while bringing a hand up and rubbing his thumb on your neglected clit.

You’re a mess under his touch, squirming on the sofa, loud groans and soft mewls escaping your lips wantonly. Your fingers find their way into his soft locks, pulling gently on his hair and scratching against his scalp. He lets out a moan against your pussy, lapping at your juices as if you’re his last source of water. “F-fuck, Gyu, ‘m gonna—” a gasp— “‘m gonna cum.”

This only encourages him to work his mouth harder, wanting to watch you fall apart just by his mouth alone. You tug harder at his hair, moans growing louder and more desperate by the second, and your thighs shudder around his head, feeling the rush of your high come so close, you aren’t prepared for it.

With two final sucks to your clit, you come undone on his tongue followed by a string of moans with broken pieces of his name somewhere in between. Mingyu looks up at you with bright eyes and a satisfied grin, as if he didn’t just eat out your pussy like he would never get the chance to again. The mixture of saliva and your juices dripping down his chin makes your eyes widen even as you squint down at him.

With careful, deliberate motions, he moves away from you, the grin on his face replaced by a more serious expression. You sit up, leaning on your elbows. The aftermath of your passionate actions catches up to you; reaching over, you snatch your panties from the coffee table and swing your legs over. Throughout, Mingyu doesn’t say anything. He only watches, in that quiet, observant way of his, swiping at his mouth and chin with a tissue he grabbed from the tissue box next to the couch.

You glance at him. Is he going to say something? Or is he going to let you walk away again, with all the words you want to say to him lying on the tip of your tongue, always there but never released?

“Y/N.” He scrambles to his feet when you stand up, clutching your underwear in one hand and adjusting your dress with the other. He sounds… uncertain. Completely unlike the Mingyu who cockily asked you if Seokmin was your boyfriend, or who joked around with Jihyo like it was second nature to him.

You bite your lip. “Yes?”

“Do you… do you want anything? Water?”

You melt a little at his words like an ice cream left out for too long. Kim Mingyu, always so kind, always so caring—you know that better than anyone.

He can be cruel too, in the way he chips away at your already broken heart. He doesn’t know it but he does—lift your hopes only to let it all crumble down. Like how he broke the promises you made to each other, and how you broke the words you’d sworn to say to him alone.

It hits you again, how you and Mingyu were meant to be, and how lonely it was when he left. You wonder if he feels the same way—did he spend sleepless nights in bed, thinking of you? Did he ever think that if he could travel back in time, he’d do it all over again?

You shake your head no at him. He doesn’t say anything after that, but his lips part slightly. He watches you as you walk over to grab your purse and head inside your room.

That night, you don’t sleep at all—despite wrapping yourself up in your Looney Tunes comforter and the comforting weight of your pillow beneath your head that usually puts you to sleep instantly.

Instead, it feels like the very first night you and Mingyu broke up all over again.

SIXTEEN

You don’t tell anyone about what transpired between you and Mingyu. It remains hidden between you both, a secret neither of you are willing to bring up.

Jihyo is back to work at her new city, now completely devoid of boy problems of any sort, since Jeong Jaehyun has shifted his affections to another co-worker. (“It’s better this way,” she tells you, “he didn’t want a committed relationship, anyway.” You can tell she’s truly not bothered by it, so you grin and agree.)

Seokmin doesn’t come around to your cubicle the way he used to earlier, either. Your days at the office are dreary and boring, now that your co-worker’s sunshine smile isn’t there to keep you company. In fact, the only person who still talks to you voluntarily at work is your boss, Seunghcheol, but even then it’s mostly just a sympathetic smile he offers you followed by a new deadline or a project.

You and Mingyu are back to whatever it was you had when you first moved in, before the lasagne fiasco. Not talking to each other, but not not talking to each other either. You swerve around each other in tandem, finding more and more excuses to avoid whatever happened in between you both. He lied when he said he would talk to you about it the next day, after he ate you out on the couch.

You can’t blame him completely; you’ve made no effort to reach out to him, either.

Weariness seeps into your skin with every passing second. You rub at your already half-closed eyes and hide a yawn behind a closed fist. The letters on your laptop screen swim in front of you. The stack of folders next to it drags a tired sigh out of your lips.

You’re so tired. Not just physically, but emotionally you’re drained out, all the liveliness sucked out of you like someone vacuumed up the inside of your heart. The lack of sleep is getting to you; the lack of someone to brighten up your days is getting to you more.

If you and Seokmin were still on a talking basis, he would have sauntered over to your desk by now, hands in his pockets and the same question on his lips: “Coffee break?”

He’s not here now, probably tucked into his corner of the floor. Maybe his smile is directed at someone else. Maybe he’s taking someone else on the daily ritual that you used to consider yours. Maybe it’s time you get out of your fucking swivel chair and get some coffee.

You’re not doing it alone, of course. No, coffee at the office—no matter how shitty the machine is and how long the line for the coveted caffeine is—is yours and Seokmin’s thing. Besides, he said you’re still friends; it’s time for you to step up.

Stifling another yawn, you blink slowly before pushing yourself off your chair. It occurs to you that you don’t know exactly where Seokmin’s cubicle is—he’d mentioned it was by Seungcheol’s room once. You decide to start there.

It doesn’t take you long to find Seokmin. You walk into him—literally walk into him. A startled gasp leaves your lips when you collide into someone’s chest, an apology already on the tip of your tongue.

“Are you okay?”

You blink once. The voice is familiar. You direct your gaze at the person you bumped into.

“Seokmin,” you breathe out weakly.

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “The one and only.”

“I-I’m sorry I bumped into you,” you quickly apologise. “I was on my—”

“It’s okay, don’t apologise,” he interrupts. “I should’ve looked at where I was going too.”

“How… have you been?” The question spills out before you notice, and you realise that you’re genuinely concerned about his wellbeing. You’ve missed him, missed his companionship.

Seokmin looks briefly surprised that you’ve asked him. He clears his throat, once. “Oh, um. I’ve been fine—y’know, the usual. Work, home, sleep and then repeat. How—how about you?”

“I’ve been better,” you admit. “You look tired, though.”

He lifts his hand and rubs his cheek with an accompanying embarrassed chuckle. “You could tell?”

He has bags underneath his eyes. His shoulders sag ever-so slightly. His usually perfectly styled hair isn’t as neat as it used to be. You nod. “You look exhausted.”

“Ah.” Another embarrassed chuckle; you can tell he doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Coffee break?” you offer, a small, lopsided smile gracing your lips.

This time, the smile Lee Seokmin gives you lights up his eyes.

SEVENTEEN

“This is ridiculous!” you call out for the nth time, glaring at the door with as much intensity as you can muster.

“Jihyo’s orders!” Seokmin calls back, from outside the room. “I have proof that she asked me to lock you two up in order for you to talk it out.”

Mingyu huffs out a breathless laugh from behind you. He’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, sheets crumpled and pillow on his lap. You turn around to level your glare at him.

“Give it up,” he advises.

“Don’t even.” You pinch the bride of your nose, closing your eyes in exasperation. “This is all your fault.”

“My fault? No one told you to tell Seokmin everything!”

“Well, how was I supposed to know he would go and tell Jihyo?” you splutter out, opening your eyes and bringing your hand down. “I didn’t even know they’d exchanged numbers!”

“Might as well get it over with,” Seokmin’s voice travels through the barricade once more. “The sooner the better.”

“I didn’t ask you, Seokmin,” you mutter.

“He’s right, you know.” Mingyu pats the space next to him, inviting you to sit down. “If Jihyo hadn’t forced him to do it, I would have found some way to do it myself.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” you retort. “You’ve been avoiding me since the day we—since the day we kissed.”

“I would have tried,” he reasons. “But since you’re here now, can you at least please listen to what I have to say?”

“Oh, so now you have things you want to say,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest. Regardless, you sit down next to him. You’re curious, you will admit. This conversation could potentially break your heart, or it could also change the trajectory of your relationship with Mingyu.

Your ex-boyfriend takes a deep breath before beginning.

“The other day, when I said I wanted to kiss you—I wasn’t lying, Y/N. I truly meant it. I’ve wanted to kiss you the minute I laid eyes on you again. I wanted to hold your hand, to take you places around the neighbourhood, to come back home to you.

“I thought we were making progress. I thought we were friends again, and I could somehow win your heart back.” A wry smile crosses his lips. “But then Seokmin came by, and you both just seemed so close. He—he brought back this life in you; your eyes sparkled whenever he was around, and you were always smiling when you were with him. I never saw that after we… after you moved in. You were always so jittery with me—understandably so—and I… I let my jealousy of seeing you with Seokmin get the better of me.

“That day, when I—” he pauses, glancing at you; his eyes are imploring, and you sense that he’s laying himself bare for you— “when you saw me kissing that girl, I did it on purpose. To make you jealous. And then I saw the look on your face, and even when I was drunk, I knew I’d fucked up. So I left her, and I followed you back inside—you closed the door just as I caught up with you. I called up Minghao, spent the night at his place. I think that’s when I realised completely that I—that I still love you.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his words. Your heart is hammering inside your chest. You can’t believe you’re actually hearing these words.

Mingyu swallows. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. Even after we broke up, even after all the things we said to each other—some part of me knew that I shouldn’t give up on you. I have loved you throughout. I will continue to love you throughout.”

He looks down, staring at his hands. In that instant, he looks so small. Vulnerable. As if giving his entire heart to you on a silver platter isn’t enough. As if he’s giving all of himself to you, mind, body and soul.

You need to tell him that your mind, body and soul have always been his.

“Mingyu,” you begin, watching as his eyes travel over to yours uncertainly, “you absolute fucking idiot.”

His lips twitch up briefly. “Wha—”

“I love you, too, idiot.” The words rush out breathlessly. “I never stopped.”

Mingyu’s eyes widen and his mouth opens imperceptibly. You continue, “I knew this would happen. The minute I stepped foot into your house, I knew I would fall for you all over again.”

You reach out and grip his hand, needing something to tether you against him. “And I did.” A watery laugh escapes your mouth. “I fell in love with you all over again.”

A pause, and then Mingyu’s free hand cups your cheek, skin warm against yours. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

Mingyu smiles at your confession—a full smile, with his eyes crinkling in the corners and his lips turning upwards. He leans forward. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

You beat him to it, covering the distance between you both with one swift swoop. You capture his lower lip in between yours, hands resting on his shoulders to steady yourself. He kisses you back with equal fervour, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you impossibly closer. You close your eyes and slide your tongue across the seam of his lips, smiling when he lets out a silent groan.

He only pulls away once he needs air, but even then he doesn’t let you go. He pulls you forward, making you straddle his lap as he kisses your cheeks, your nose, the column of your throat. You relish in his touches, tangling your hands in his hair and tugging gently at the silky strands.

“We should probably stop,” you whisper, when a particularly sharp nip at your neck elicits a soft moan from you. “Seokmin’s standing outside.”

“Fuck him,” Mingyu says. He presses another kiss on your jaw, looking up at you like you’ve hung up all the stars in the universe.

You roll your eyes affectionately at him. “C’mon. I don’t want to scar him for life.”

“Who cares?”

“I care,” you say, slowly getting off his lap. Already you can feel the absence of his warmth.

“Fine,” he agrees, once you stand up fully and brush yourself off. “I love you.”

Warmth shoots up your chest and onto your cheeks and neck. Your heart swells, and you find yourself grinning involuntarily. “I love you, too.”

“Good.” Mingyu stands up and pecks your cheek. “Now let’s go save Seokmin from his misery.”

(Later, if you find Seokmin with bright pink ears as he pointedly avoids yours and Mingyu’s gaze, that’s no one’s business but his.)

EIGHTEEN

Mingyu sucks on a sweet spot right underneath your ear and you can practically hear his smirk when you let out a whine. You fist your hand in the sheets, feeling the soft material crinkle underneath your fingertips.

“Such a tease,” you whisper out.

He lowers his head, nips at your neck and then runs his tongue over the spot, soothing it. “So you’ve mentioned.”

Your retort dies on your lips when he moves lower and lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses on your collarbones and shoulders. You whine again when his fingers find your nipple, pinching the bud lightly in between his thumb and forefingers. He moves lower, breath ghosting over your abdomen and belly button, until he finally comes face to face with your clothed pussy.

He hooks his finger into the waistband of your panties, nails scraping against your skin. You squirm under his touch, lifting your hips to help him pull the flimsy garment down your legs and toss it to the side. Mingyu sucks in a breath sharply when he sees your exposed cunt—despite already having seen it before, and you feel a rush of pride at the fact that you still have this effect on him. “So pretty,” he murmurs, eyeing your folds hungrily.

Mingyu works on your clit expertly, thumb rubbing against the nub, eliciting a loud moan from you. He licks a stripe up your folds, grinning when your hand automatically finds itself in his hair again. When he finds you’re wet enough, he slides a finger in. You inhale sharply, hole clenching around the digit. He circles his thumb around your clit once more, before sliding another finger in.

You gasp at that, tightening the hand in his hair. Mingyu leans forward, swiping at your clit with his tongue one more time and pulling both his fingers out at the same time. He relishes in the sounds coming out of your mouth, feeling proud that you’re not trying to hide anything from him. You’re completely under his mercy, as is he when it comes to you.

He slides both the fingers back in, hissing when your walls contract against them, pumping the digits in and out a few more times. The way you moan—because of him—makes him finger your hole faster, enjoying the way your moans increase in pitch. When he sees your eyes beginning to cloud over, Mingyu quickly withdraws his fingers. You whimper at the loss of his touch and he chuckles. “Patience, baby. Don’t want you to cum just yet.”

Your head falls back on the pillow and you mutter a string of incoherent words under your breath. “Look at me,” Mingyu tuts.

You lift up your neck curiously. Mingyu waits for your eyes to land on his lips before he slowly, deliberately puts his two fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digits and licking your juices off. He doesn’t fail to notice the way you bite your lip at the sight.

Once he pulls his fingers out, Mingyu bends down and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Are you even gonna fuck me, Gyu?” you grit out, and his eyes widen.

“Call me that again,” he orders.

“Fuck me, Gyu.” Your voice is borderline a whimper, and, well—who is Mingyu to prevent you from getting what you desire? After all, he’s always been a little weak when it comes to you.

He gets on his knees, holding his throbbing cock in his hand. He pumps it a few times, groaning softly, before positioning himself at your entrance. “You’re on the pill?”

“Yes.” You nod almost desperately, waiting for him to slide it all the way in.

Mingyu enters you slowly—the pace is almost unbearable—but he shudders when he feels your walls against his dick. You grab onto his shoulders, nails digging into the flesh. A loud moan escapes your lips when he jerks his hips forward, his cock pressing into your cervix. Your eyes screw shut, and Mingyu grunts, pulling out and thrusting back inside with more force. Almost unconsciously, you wrap your legs around his hips, granting him more access to your hole and allowing him to push himself deeper inside you.

He leans down and captures a nipple in his mouth, rolling his tongue around the pebbled bud. You gasp out moans wantonly, and it spurs him to thrust faster and faster inside you. He watches you fall apart on him, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips when your moans become interspersed with chants of his name.

Your grip on his shoulders tighten and the muscles flex under your hold. Your cries reach a crescendo with one particularly sharp thrust; Mingyu can tell your climax is approaching.

He speeds up, pumping into you with as much strength as he can muster. Your nails leave white-hot trails along his back, his shoulders—you try to hold onto him as best as you can. You cry for more, beg him to keep going. A bit redundant, in his opinion—he has no plans of stopping until you’ve orgasmed.

Mingyu thrusts into you one last time, throwing you over the edge. Your walls clench around his cock tightly, black stars floating in your vision as you cry out his name. He pumps into you weakly, letting you ride out your orgasm while chasing his own high. He buries his face in your neck, breathing heavily, and when your walls tighten around him, he comes inside you, his movements coming to a pause.

You stroke his sweaty bangs away from his forehead, both of you catching your breaths. He remains sheathed in you, even as he pulls you onto your side so both your chests are touching.

“Feel good?” he asks, one hand carding through your hair gently.

You let out a tired, but satisfied hum, smiling softly at Mingyu.

You spend the night curled up in his arms. He sleeps soundly next to you, eyelashes brushing against his cheeks and hands wrapped protectively around your figure. The steady thrum of his heartbeat sounds against your ear, and you smile, even in your sleep.

NINETEEN

“You have your thinking face on.” Your boyfriend saunters into the kitchen, a knowing smile on his lips. You roll your eyes at him.

“You can’t tell me you don’t see it too,” you say pointedly, waving your wooden spatula at him.

Mingyu chuckles, moving over and wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. He presses a sweet kiss to your shoulder. “What, that Seokmin and Jihyo are meant to be? That smells amazing, by the way, love.”

“Yes,” you huff out, stirring the soup inside the pot boiling on the stove. “And thank you.”

From the living room, you can hear your two friends laughing over something you couldn’t possibly begin to comprehend. Jihyo still lives in another city, but she comes over to visit whenever she can. You and Seokmin remain friends, and he often comes over whenever you, Mingyu and Jihyo decide to hang out—though, you suspect his enthusiasm to join you three has more to do with one particular person rather than the entire group.

“If you say so,” Mingyu agrees. “I think they’re just friends.”

“Friends don’t look at each other that way,” you say matter-of-factly.

“Really? I seem to recall him looking at you the exact same way not too long ago.”

“That’s different, Gyu. Here, can you taste some? I don’t want it to be too salty.” Grabbing a large spoon, you dip it in the pot and offer it to Mingyu.

He obliges, letting you shove the spoonful into his mouth—and yelps almost immediately. “Ouch! You didn’t tell me it was hot.”

You only raise an eyebrow at him, but a small hint of amusement dances in your eyes. “How does it taste?”

Mingyu rolls his eyes at you but rests his chin on your shoulder; his hair tickles your ear. “It tastes amazing as always, love.”

“You’re sure? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”

“I’m offended you think I would lie to you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you deadpan, and it makes Mingyu giggle.

“I’m serious, it tastes good.” He smiles at you, peeling himself away from you. “Let’s go join the other two.”

“Coming.” You put the stove on simmer and grab Mingyu’s extended hand. His fingers slot in between yours easily. Your lips curl upwards on their own accord, and your heart feels so full, it’s close to bursting.

You’re there, in a room with all your favourite people, and it’s perfect.

The very first night you and Mingyu broke up is pushed to the back of your mind, never to slip out of the corner you’ve tucked it into. The nights after made up for it, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. You rebuild the promises you made and make new ones along the way.

You’d write it in the sky if you could, but you and Mingyu don’t need that.

#mingyu x reader #seventeen x reader #mingyu smut #seventeen smut #mingyu imagines #seventeen imagines #mingyu x y/n #seventeen x y/n #mingyu x you #seventeen x you #svt x reader #svt smut #svt imagines #svt x y/n #svt x you #seventeen #svt #kim mingyu #mingyu

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luviestarz · 10 days ago

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kim mingyu fic recs!✮

✮ hot or cold? - @jjuniehao (when looking for something on his phone, you find an email you didn’t expect…)

✮ SHAVE — kim mingyu x reader - @yikesmary (with your boyfriend’s comeback approaching, mingyu asks you to help with shaving.)

✮ TEXT ME - @blue-jisungs (just very whipped mingyu :'))

✮ give it back! | Kim mingyu - @haoboutyou (fluff, fwb!mingyu suggestive, swearing)

✮ ; protective!bf mingyu. (tw: violence) - @m1ngyuism

✮ REPETITION / RARE LOVE - @nnight-dances (it's simple enough: you and mingyu are perfect for each other. you've told him as much but after years of him avoiding the topic, you leave him alone. but when your long-time infatuation with jeonghan gets rejected, you have nothing to distract you from your desire to be with mingyu. all it takes is you making out with the wrong person and a can of beer for mingyu to come to his senses. OR: maybe you don't hate repetition as much as you claim to.)

✮ stuff to talk about | kmg - @kkaetnipjeon (angst. fluff. drunk confessions. mutual pining. idiots to lovers. minors do not interact or i will set off a decades-long revenge plot against you and enlist minghao's help to do it)

✮ lipstick remover | kim mingyu | mdni 18+ - @wonwootattoo

✮ the very first night - @fxstpace (the search for a new place to live takes a turn for the worse when the only person willing to split rent with you is your ex-boyfriend.)

✮ perv!mingyu ⟡ kmg - @suhsweet (when your roommate mingyu is a filthy, dirty pervert obsessed with you)

✮ 𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀 | k.mg - @gyubakeries (angst-fluff scenario of mingyu getting jealousy and also a bit insecure with another guy talking with the reader)

✮ second servings - @diamonddaze01 (And what better way to show you how…grateful I am than to kneel in front of you?)

✮ - 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 - @sunniques (mingyu will do anything to make sure no man takes his place in his stepsister’s life.)

✮ — debauched | ft. stepbro! mingyu - @monamipencil

✮ lost in the west | kmg -@starlightkyeom (where your best friend pretends to be your boyfriend for the holidays so you can avoid more nagging from your mother. except your whole family thought you were already dating)

✮ no more wine for you - @seungcheorry

✮ what do i call you? 🕹️ k.mg [m] - @haologram (your best friend is a man of many facets - a creative architecture student, a skilled football player, a wonderful friend and a sought-after lover. not that he'd ever truly glance anyone's way, especially not when his heart has always been set on you.)

✮ better late than never — kmg - @seungkw1 (smut, best friends to lovers, non-idol au)

✮ BIRTHDAY BOY - @odxrilove (It’s Mingyu’s birthday party, and Hoshi lets something out under the influence of alcohol. Apparently, you have two gifts prepared for him– completely throwing out the one-gift tradition your friend group strictly follows. However, Hoshi’s a liar — and a bad one at that — but it’s already too late. Even though Mingyu knows he’s supposed to be excited about all the gifts he’s receiving tonight, he’s (not so surprisingly) only interested in everything you’re giving him.)

✮ good behavior .ᐟ.ᐟ - @ddeonghwa-s (you're riding kim mingyu and find him absolutely beautiful and perfect. and so it's so easy for good boy to slip from your lips. little do you know that's all he needs to take full control so he can truly show you how much of a good boy he really is.)

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cheollvrs · 2 months ago

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WARNING ❗ nsfw audio

🎀 one of mingyu's favorite things to do with you is eating you out while he jerks off his hard cock. . .

#mingyu x you #mingyu smut #mingyu x reader #mingyu imagines #mingyu x y/n #mingyu headcanons #kim mingyu x reader #kim mingyu x you #seventeen x reader #seventeen hard hours #svt x reader #svt imagines #seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen imagines #cheollvrs

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svtiddiess · 7 months ago

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Thot Hour

Synopsis: You're supposed to be mad at Mingyu, but how can you when he's looking so delicious working out…wearing only his boxers?

Pairing: Mingyu x afab!reader

Genre: smut, one shot, established relationship

Rating: mature

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: pet names (baby, puppy), unprotected sex (don't do this!), penetrative sex, overstimulation, sub!Gyu, thigh riding, creampie, jealous reader, biting, Mingyu in Calvin Klein boxers (yes, that needs a warning), jealous reader, kinda mean dom!reader, big dick!Gyu, lemme know if I missed anything!

Note: This was inspired by a dream I had. Guess which part I dreamt of.

Big love to @tomodachiii and @tusswrites for helping me with the plot and beta reading!

Click here to join my taglist!

Read on ao3

Reblogs are appreciated ♡

.ᐟMinors/blank/no age indicator blogs will be blocked.ᐟ

"Baby, I said I was sorry."

You could hear the desperation in his voice as he apologised for the umpteenth time today. He stands before you, placing your hands against his chest, whipping out the puppy eyes. You'd fall for it in any other instance, but today, when you're this annoyed, nothing works.

"Baby, I told you what I did was just fan service. They don't mean anything. You're the only one I have feelings for," you hear him almost whine as he pouts at you.

Yes, that's what you're pissed about: him giving fan service. You may seem petty, but you have valid reasons for getting upset. You don't mind him giving fan service; it's part of the job. But lately, it seems as if he's giving a bit too much fan service.

Several moments of his fan service have gone viral, littering your feed with constant comments from fans stating how he's the perfect man. And he is, but just not at the moment. Not even when he looks down at you with his precious big eyes blinking at you, resembling a puppy. If you stared hard enough, you could swear his ears had drooped a bit, lips pursued in a pout that seemed to dissolve your anger.

Stay strong; you have to prove your point.

Huffing, you snatch your hands back from his, afraid you'll cave in if you stare for even a second longer. He lets out a defeated sigh, walking away, leaving you to brood alone.

Several minutes pass, with you wallowing in your self-pity before you are interrupted by the sound of grunting. Straining your ears, you catch on to the louder grunts and huffs from the other room. Shifting your eyes to the nearby clock, you stare at the time and widen in realisation.

It's 6 pm.

6 pm is Mingyu's usual workout time, infamously known as Thot Hour. Why, you ask? Well, it's the time of day when you sit back, relax, and shamelessly ogle at your beefy boyfriend working out. If you're lucky enough, he might end his workout with cardio, which involves you between his legs.

Losing the silent debate in your head, you make the right decision to go and watch him work out; just cause you're mad at him doesn't mean you're not allowed to appreciate eye candy. You will not let the fangirls take this away from you.

You enter the home gym that Mingyu has slowly built over the years, jaw-dropping at the sight. There he is, your boyfriend, Kim Mingyu, working out in nothing but his Calvin Klein boxers.

"What are you doing?" You ask, clearly not expecting the sight in front of you.

He sets down his weights with a grunt and then looks at you with a straight face.

"Working out," he deadpans as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"In just your boxers?" you ask, waving hands around his body to emphasise your point.

"It's a hot day today," he shrugs casually, but you can see him fighting off a smirk.

Cocky, arrogant son of a bitch.

You scoff and turn around to take your prime seat to watch him work out; you will not let him win. You pull out your phone, purposefully ignoring him (or trying to, at least). Upon noticing this, Mingyu grunts and moans even louder, trying to win your attention. And while you try your best to ignore his obnoxious sounds, you can't help but get a peek at him from your peripheral vision.

Ooh, you're drooling on sight. His muscles contract and relax every time he moves. His head's thrown back; his eyes scrunched up in concentration while his already big muscles visibly get even bigger due to the pump. Your eyes are drawn to the sweat dripping down his almost naked sculpted body and the prominent bulge straining against his boxers.

Fuck, he looks so juicy.

Your boyfriend was big everywhere, and he prides himself on it whenever he splits you open. His bulge looks so big, and he's not even fully hard yet. Gulping hard, when you notice a small wet patch on his boxers. Too bad he notices you staring and smirks.

"Like what you see, baby?" He asks with a cocky cadence to his voice.

You quickly snap out of it and scoff, remembering you're supposed to be angry at him. You go back to staring at your phone, making him chuckle. God, you wanted to wipe that smirk off his face so bad.

Then it hits you: the perfect revenge plan. You smirk to yourself as you put away your phone and start stripping down to your underwear as well.

Two can play that game, Kim Mingyu.

He's halfway through his set when he notices you. He drops the weights and turns to look at you, visibly confused.

"What're you doing, baby?"

"Like you said, it's a hot day," you shrug, mirroring his actions from earlier.

He looks with intensity as you move to unroll a yoga mat. You smirk to yourself when you hear him groan when you begin stretching and purposely manoeuvring your body into tempting yoga poses. From the corner of your eye, you can see Mingyu get more and more riled up as the poses get more and more provocative. You hear him whine by the time you’re doing the 'Cat-Cow' pose, your ass facing him. You shift to face him with a cocky smirk on your face.

"Why're you whining, Gyu?"

"I can't focus if you act like this baby," he whines.

"Like what?"

"You know what," he huffs and pouts like a child.

You shrug, then go back to doing more poses. You see him approach you with a permanent pout plastered on his face. He crouches down to your level and tries to touch you, but you quickly swat his hand away.

"Thought you were working out?"

"Baby, please," he whines, and you can almost taste the desperation in his words. This is fuelling your ego a bit too much.

"I need your help; it's becoming too painful," he strains, and you look down at his now fully hard bulge. It was huge and had you salivating, but you can't give in, not yet, at least. Not when your pettiness from earlier sets in.

"Go ask your fangirls for help," you huff and scoot away from him, sitting down on the mat.

He shifts to kneel in front of you. "Please, baby. I'm sorry. I'm yours and only yours. I promise I won't act out of line ever again. Please, please, please just touch me. It hurts so bad, baby, please," he's full-on begging at this point, and you're sure you can see tears pricking the corner of his eyes.

Something about a 6-foot-something man kneeling in front of you and begging for you to touch him makes you feel powerful. You smirk, knowing you have Mingyu exactly where you want him, desperate and needy in front of you. If he's going to act out of line, then you'll just have to put him in his place.

"You want me to touch you, Gyu?" You tilt your head and pout in faux sympathy.

"Please," he whispers, voice straining as he tries his best not to cry.

"Sit down."

You stand up, giving Mingyu room to sit on the yoga mat. He sits down with his legs outstretched on the mat. Shifting above him, you move to sit on one of his thick thighs, almost moaning at the contact.

"You're gonna sit here and take whatever I give you like a good puppy; if I catch you touching me, I won't let you finish. Okay?"

He nods frantically, desperate for anything at this point. Slowly, you start grinding against his thigh, moaning his name and holding onto his shoulders for support. He moans at the feeling of his thigh slowly getting more and more coated in your arousal. He throws his head back and grips onto the yoga mat below to prevent himself from touching you.

You lean forward and start leaving bite marks on his neck and shoulders. You make sure to bite down extra hard in places that would be visible even if he was wearing a shirt. He whimpers and groans at the feeling of your teeth digging into his skin.

"Mine," you mumble against his skin.

"Yours, only yours," he whimpers, body straining to keep still.

You start grinding on his thigh faster, determined to reach your high; Mingyu notices this and flexes his thigh, giving you more stimulation. You pant and whine out his name, getting close to the edge.

"Fuck, please cum. Cum all over my thigh, please," Mingyu whines out desperately, tipping you over the edge.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, making him hiss as you cum all over his thigh, your arousal drenching the bare skin. Resting your head against his shoulder, you take a minute to catch your breath.

"Baby, please, need you so bad. It hurts too much," he whimpers.

You look down and notice the wet patch on his boxers got bigger. You snake your hands down and cup his bulge, making him hiss.

"Yeah? It hurts?" You whisper whilst grinding your hand against his bulge, making him moan out and nod frantically.

"Please, I can't take it anymore," he whines, tears escaping his eyes.

"I don't know, Gyu; I don't think you earned it," you hum in faux pity, jutting your lips in consideration.

"No, no! Please, I'm begging you. I can't take it anymore," he cries out, desperately bucking into your hand.

"Why don't you ask your fangirls, huh? Since you seem to be more desperate to please them than me," you mock, squeezing him hard, causing him to let out a desperate sob.

"No! No, please! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! It's only you that I want. I'll be good. I promise!" He cries out, distraught clear in his eyes, with tears now streaming down his face. You can see him try so hard to restrain himself from touching you.

You smirk with satisfaction as you watch your big, beefy boyfriend break under you. You remove your hand from his bulge and move it to wipe his tears from his face.

"Oh, you poor thing," you coo, "How badly does it hurt baby?"

"It hurts so bad," he sniffs, "I need you so badly, please."

"I don't know," you hum and move to get off his lap, "You've been a bad puppy lately, and you know bad puppies get punished, right?"

His eyes widen, and his hands fly to grab your hips to prevent you from moving away from him.

"No, no, no!" He begs, "Please, don't leave! Please!" Tugging you back onto his thigh, he pleads, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'll be good! I'll be a good puppy! I swear!"

"What did I say about touching me?" You tch, and his mouth falls open in realisation, and he quickly retracts his hands as if he's burned you.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to, please. Forgive me, please," he whimpers.

You shake your head and sigh. "I did warn you, Gyu," you sigh and stand up.

In an act of desperation, he manhandles you back onto the mat, making you lie on it. You let out a squeak as your back hits the mat.

"Fuck, I can't take it anymore," he murmurs before smashing his lips onto yours into a messy and desperate kiss. You kiss back with equal fervour, tangling your fingers in his permed hair. He starts grinding against you like a bitch in heat, letting out small whimpers and pants between the kisses.

He separates from you and quickly discards whatever remaining clothing the both of you have, throwing it to god knows where. You look down at his cock; it's thick and angry, with beads of precum dripping down it. Spreading your thighs, he aligns his tip against your entrance and starts slowly pushing in. You gasp and grab onto his shoulders; no matter how many times he fucks you, you can never get used to his huge size.

"I don't think I can go slow," he rasps. He's not even halfway in, and you already feel so full. Without warning, he slams the rest of him into you, causing you to scream out his name so loud you're sure the neighbours heard you. Your eyes roll to the back when you feel his tip kiss your cervix.

His thrusts are sloppy and erratic. Neither of you are thinking straight anymore. Your thoughts are only filled with how big he is and how good it feels being split open on his cock whilst his own thoughts are only filled with how warm you feel and how you're perfectly wrapped around him.

"S-Shit, I'm cumming," he pants out. He cums whilst moaning out your name, filling you up to the brim with his seeds. He chokes back a whine, but he doesn't stop thrusting. He snakes his hand down to your clit and starts rubbing it in circles, desperate to make you cum as well.

"Please, cum. Please cum all over me," he whines out, body shaking from overstimulation. After a few more thrusts, you cum, hard, convulsing around him. He pants and whines as you squeeze around him. After a few more clumsy thrusts, he collapses onto you.

"Gyu! You're heavy!" You whine.

"But you're so cuddly and warm," he says breathlessly as he wraps his arms around you and squeezes you, making you grumble.

"Are you still mad at me?" He looks at you with a pout.

You grin an easy smile, wrapping your legs around his waist and squeezing him, causing him to groan reflexively.

"I don't know. Maybe you should fuck me again just to be sure."

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yongvillage · 11 months ago

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ⓘ mingyu x reader

overstimulation

wc 0.1k

mingyu just couldn’t help himself. could you blame him? your pussy was just too good and so so tight, he wanted to milk every last drop out of your trembling and weak body. you felt like you were on the brink of passing out, mewling and whimpering for mingyu to stop.

“n-n’more.. no more gyu, pl-please..”

“safe word baby.” he stated simply. you always wondered how mingyu had so much self control, you had already came five times while he was still working towards his first one. your entire body was on fire, and there he was unscathed, with an occasional drop of sweat every once or twice.

tears ran down your face, but you knew mingyu was right, you didn’t actually want him to stop, not when you were so close. you liked when mingyu fucked you like this, pushing your limits, tip toeing on the line between just right and too much.

“no? no safe word?” he chuckled, “that’s my girl, taking everything i give her so well.”

“cl-close! m’close gyu..” your stomach churned and your face was hot and damp, mingyu leaning down to wipe the sticky hairs out of your face.

“yeah i know you are baby, let go just like that, f-fuck..” he groaned, your pussy clamping down on him as your juices squirted all over his pelvis and dripped onto the bed sheets, leaving your cunt glistening.

you were left breathless, mingyu soothingly caressing your stomach.

“you’ll give me one more, right?”

@yongvillage | ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১

#slater-♡-writes #svt smut #seventeen smut #svt x reader #svt hard thoughts #svt imagines #seventeen x reader #svt hard hours #mingyu smut #kim mingyu smut #svt x y/n #mingyu x y/n #mingyu x reader #kpop smut #mingyu imagines #mingyu scenarios

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hoshifighting · 3 months ago

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Can you please do svt members who eat out their girls because they want to pleasure them vs those who genuinely fucking love the taste of pussy vs those who are so into eating out they might just cum totally untouched while eating you out

why svt like to eat pussy?

WARNINGS: pure putaria and smut, oral (f. receiving), pussy-drunk analogy.

eats you out bc he wants to pleasure you

seungcheol: the type to give you a speech about how he’s a man of duty and literally write essays about making sure you have toe-curling, back-arching, crying-in-pleasure levels of satisfied.

seungkwan: gold star service provider. it’s giving “nothing but the best for my baby.” he type to ask for feedback mid-session like, “is that good? or do you want me to go harder?”

wonwoo: mf reads books about anatomy to perfect his technique. he’s meticulous as hell, but he’s also so quiet and focused while doing it that you’re left wrecked because how does he even know your body better than you??

seokmin: he’s just so happy to make you happy. he’s the king of telling you how good you’re doing while he’s down there, and it’s the most wholesome yet sinful thing ever.

vernon: this man’s lowkey about it. he’s not saying much—he’s just doing it. very intuitive, very chill, but still SO effective. the kind who gives lazy and broad licks but somehow leaves you shaking. and when he’s done, he’s like, “you wan’me to order some food?” like he didn’t just wreck your entire existence. would probably frown at the sight of your legs shaking. (gives this vibe of that one meme: my boyfriend just left me trembling, and now he is playing minecraft)

2. loves the taste of pussy

jeonghan: smirks while wiping his mouth this man will straight-up tell you he loves the way you taste. and the thing is, he’s cocky but he’s earned it. you’re left wondering who’s being pleasured here because he’s moaning like he’s the one getting off.

joshua: sweet, until he’s between your legs like a man possessed, act like you’re a full-course meal, and he is starving. will kiss you after, totally unbothered that you can taste yourself on his lips.

minghao: he’s the type to tell you you’re delicious with the most deadpan sincerity while licking his lips, and it’s lowkey terrifying how good he is at it.

jun: this man is an enthusiast. he’ll legit say, “I could do this all day,” and you believe him. will pause mid-session to kiss your thighs just to prolong his enjoyment. he is is savoring you like the main course you are.

vernon (again, because he’s sneaky like that): listen, once he gets a taste, it’s game over. sure, he acts chill, but he’s obsessed. you’ll hear him humming into you, vibing just like when the waiter put your fav food on your table.

3. so into eating out they might cum untouched (y’all already know these men are problems)

mingyu: he would grind against the mattress and your leg just from how turned on he is. you’d hear him moaning WITH YOU, and suddenly it’s not just about you anymore—he’s a mess, and it’s hot.

hoshi: would put his whole chest into it like it’s a performance. he’s slurping, he’s whining, and he’s holding onto you for dear life while losing himself in the process. will look up at you with those wide, starry eyes like, “did I do good, baby?” (might need a minute after because he is too into it)

woozi: his arms are locked around your thighs so you can’t run. his tongue is completely illegal. you’re sobbing, and he’s just groaning into you like it’s his orgasm. would cum untouched 100% and then smirk about it.

chan: this man is hungry. his whole vibe is;; “you’re my first meal of the day, and I’m starving.” mf has no shame, no chill, and no limits. he’s gripping your thighs like his life depends on it, grinding into the mattress because he’s that turned on. when he cums untouched, he’s shocked AND EMBARASSED like he wasn't literally eating you out seconds ago.

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kissbyoon · 3 months ago

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( 🐚 ) . ݁₊ “CLINGY”

╰┈ clingy boyfriend mingyu headcannons!

₍ 𝑓𝘵. ₎ 𓈒 민규 ˶ fluff, est. relationship * skinship, kissing, (lmk if more) ⎯⎯ ^^꒱ ✦ bf!mingyu x f!reader

♪ A/N : I think we all know how shy and down bad gyu would be for his s/o~ | @wonkierideul ^^

Clingybf!mingyu who claims to be 'the kissing monster' so he could shower you with kisses and no complaints.

Shybf!mingyu who, whenever finds you laying down in bed, would snuggle close to you and take your hand to rest it on his head, silently asking for head pats.

Clingybf!mingyu who swears there is a monster in your shared bedroom's closet when you both have an argument and you tell him to sleep on the couch, so he insists on sleeping next to you so he could 'protect' (cuddle) you.

Clingybf!mingyu who would follow you to the bathroom in the mornings when you dare to take your warmth away from him; the only thing stopping him from doing so—you.

Clingybf!mingyu whose love language, no doubt, is physical touch—but another one, only reserved for you, is gift-giving.

Clingybf!mingyu who cannot go a day on tour without facetiming you, or atleast, hearing your voice. “It's you that keeps me happy all day, but now that you're not here, your voice does!”

Clingybf!mingyu who would sulk all day if you couldn't reply or call him, only to facetime you with a pout and unshed tears in his eyes. (he misses you)

Clingybf!mingyu who, as much as he loves your personal space, would never go overboard if you don't want him to.

Clingybf!mingyu who doesn't believe actions speak louder than words. Because for him, both of them speak loud if it's genuine and full of love.

Clingybf!mingyu who never misses a chance to flirt or compliment you, with a kiss on your hand or cheek.

Clingybf!mingyu who has so much love to give, and he is beyond grateful to be loved back the same way he loves, by you.

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kathaelipwse · 21 days ago

Text

The barista who stole his heart | K. Mingyu

TROPE: Idol x Non-Fan | Barista AU | Mingyu Falls First | Found Family | Heavy Insecurity to Full Acceptance | Protective Love WARNINGS: Mentions of past toxic relationships | body shaming | Public scrutiny | | mild social media hate | Lots of fluffy affection | soft romance | Mingyu being the ultimate green flag™ | NO PROOF READING WAS DONE WORDCOUNT: 5051 words {Reading time: 18mins} SYNOPSIS: You never expected a regular customer at your café to be a famous idol—especially not one as kind and ridiculously handsome as Kim Mingyu. What started as casual interactions turned into lingering glances, playful flirting, and a slow, inevitable fall. But when your past insecurities resurface and public attention turns critical, Mingyu makes one thing clear: he’s not going anywhere. AUTHOR'S NOTE: This one-shot is for anyone who’s ever doubted their worth because of society’s beauty standards. You are enough. You are beautiful. And if Mingyu were for us girlies, he would absolutely worship you. Enjoy this soft love story!

The café, a cozy haven nestled amidst the urban sprawl near the broadcasting station, hummed with a quiet, almost reverent energy. Its walls, painted in warm, inviting hues of cream and ochre, absorbed the city's relentless clamor, replacing it with the gentle whir of the espresso machine and the comforting aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. You, a silent guardian of this tranquil space, moved with a practiced grace, your movements fluid and efficient as you prepared orders. The late shift was your sanctuary, a time when the world outside faded into a distant murmur, allowing you to immerse yourself in the simple rhythm of your work.

The evening was drawing to a close, the last few stragglers trickling out into the cool night air, when the bell above the door chimed, announcing a late arrival. A figure stepped into the café, impossibly tall, his silhouette framed against the streetlights outside. He moved with a quiet weariness, his shoulders slumped, his steps measured. Yet, despite his exhaustion, there was an undeniable magnetism to his presence, a quiet intensity that filled the space.

As he approached the counter, you looked up, your gaze meeting his. His eyes, dark and deep, held a hint of fatigue, yet they sparkled with an inner warmth that caught you off guard. His face, sculpted with sharp angles and softened by a gentle curve to his lips, was undeniably handsome, a fact you acknowledged with a professional detachment.

"Americano, please," he requested, his voice a deep, resonant rumble that sent a subtle shiver down your spine. It was a voice that held a quiet authority, yet it was laced with a gentle politeness that was almost disarming. The way he looked at you, a quiet searching look, made you pause just a moment longer.

You nodded, maintaining your professional demeanor, your gaze unwavering. "Name?"

"Mingyu."

The name was simple, ordinary, yet it lingered in the air, a quiet echo in the stillness of the café. You scribbled it on the cup, your mind already moving to the next task, the familiar routine of grinding beans and steaming milk. A moment later, you placed the cup before him, the name scrawled on the side in your hurried handwriting: Minkoo.

He stared at the cup, a flicker of surprise, almost disbelief, crossing his features. He blinked, then looked back at you, a subtle question in his eyes. "It’s Mingyu."

"Mingyo?" you repeated, your brow furrowed slightly, as you tried to match the spoken word to the written one.

His jaw dropped, ever so slightly, a subtle disbelief etching on his usually composed face. He looked around the empty cafe, then back to you. “…She really doesn’t know me?” The thought was almost spoken aloud, a quiet, incredulous murmur that hung in the air.

For the first time in a long time, Kim Mingyu, the idol known for his charisma and widespread recognition, was caught completely off guard. He was accustomed to the whispers, the gasps, the immediate recognition that followed him like a shadow. He was used to the way people’s eyes widened when they saw him, the way their voices rose in excitement. But here, in this quiet café, under the soft glow of the overhead lights, he was just another customer, another name to be misspelled, another face in the crowd.

The lack of recognition was a strange, almost liberating experience. It was a novel sensation, a breath of fresh air in the midst of his carefully constructed public persona. He watched as you moved about the café, your movements unhurried, your focus unwavering, and he found himself intrigued. There was a quiet confidence in your demeanor, a self-assuredness that was both captivating and disarming.

He took his coffee, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary, a silent question hanging in the air. As he turned to leave, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this encounter, this simple misspelling, was the beginning of something unexpected, something that would disrupt the carefully orchestrated rhythm of his life.

The "Minkoo" incident, as Mingyu privately dubbed it, became a peculiar sort of lodestar, drawing him back to the café night after night. It wasn't just the coffee, though it was undeniably good; it was the quiet, almost surreal normalcy of the place, and most importantly, you. He found himself inexplicably drawn to your unpretentious demeanor, your calm efficiency, and the way you seemed utterly unfazed by his presence.

He started timing his visits, subtly adjusting his schedule to coincide with your shifts. He’d arrive just as the evening rush was dying down, the café bathed in the warm, golden glow of the setting sun. He'd sit at the counter, a quiet observer, watching you work your magic behind the espresso machine. He’d study the way your brow furrowed in concentration as you measured out coffee grounds, the gentle curve of your lips as you smiled at a customer, the soft sway of your hips as you moved around the small space.

His members, ever vigilant, noticed the pattern. "Look who it is, Mr. Americano," Seungkwan would tease, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "Back for more of that… Minkoo special?"

"What? Their coffee is good!" Mingyu would protest, a faint blush creeping up his neck. He'd try to sound casual, but the slight tremor in his voice betrayed his growing infatuation.

"So is every other café, but you don’t go to those, do you?" Hoshi would chime in, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "You only go when she’s working."

Mingyu would ignore them, his gaze drifting towards the counter, where you were engaged in a lively conversation with a customer. He was captivated by your laughter, a warm, melodic sound that filled the café. He was fascinated by the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled, the way your hand gestures punctuated your words, the way you seemed so effortlessly you.

He started trying to engage you in conversation, asking about the daily specials, commenting on the weather, even attempting a few clumsy jokes. He’d try to flirt, subtly, with lingering eye contact, playful touches on the counter as he paid, and compliments slipped into casual conversation. "You have really nice eyes," he'd say, his voice low and sincere.

You, however, remained blissfully unaware of his growing infatuation, attributing his attention to his naturally friendly demeanor. You’d laugh at his jokes, offer him a friendly smile, and engage in polite conversation, but you never seemed to see him as anything more than a regular customer.

The moment it truly hit him, the moment he realized he was falling, was a simple, unassuming exchange. He’d made a joke about his clumsiness, a self-deprecating remark about his tendency to trip over his own feet, a habit that often became a source of amusement for his members. "I swear, I’m a hazard to myself," he’d said, shaking his head with a rueful smile.

Without hesitation, you’d said, "Well, I think it’s kinda endearing."

The words were simple, but their impact was profound. For the first time, someone hadn’t teased him, hadn’t made light of his insecurities. They’d found it endearing, a quality to be cherished, a quirk that made him unique. The sincerity in your voice, the gentle warmth in your eyes, it was like a balm to his soul.

And in that moment, his heart wasn’t just beating; it was sprinting, a frantic rhythm that echoed in his ears. He felt a strange mix of exhilaration and vulnerability, a raw, unfiltered emotion that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He wanted to know more about you, to unravel the mystery of your quiet confidence, to understand the depth of your kindness.

He wanted to erase the distance between idol and regular customer, to bridge the gap and see if there was something more, something real, something that could withstand the scrutiny of his public life. He wanted to be seen by you, not as Kim Mingyu the idol, but as just Mingyu, the man who found your simple kindness utterly captivating.

The café, usually a haven of quietude, was buzzing with an unusual energy that evening. A small group of young women, their faces flushed with excitement, had gathered near the counter, their eyes darting between you and a certain tall, handsome customer. You paid them little mind, focusing on the intricate latte art you were creating, the delicate swirls and patterns a testament to your practiced skill.

The illusion of anonymity, the comfortable bubble of normalcy that had enveloped Mingyu during his visits, shattered when one of the young women, her voice trembling with excitement, recognized him. Her eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat as she whispered to her friends, "Oh my god, you’re Kim Mingyu!"

The name hung in the air, a sudden, sharp intrusion into the quiet atmosphere of the café. The other women gasped, their eyes widening, their whispers escalating into excited murmurs. You paused, your hand still hovering over the latte, your brow furrowed slightly. You looked up, your gaze shifting from the excited fans to Mingyu, who stood near the counter, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

"Wait… you’re Kim Mingyu? Like, the Mingyu?" you asked, your voice laced with a playful skepticism. You'd seen the name before, heard the excited chatter from some customers, but you'd never put two and two together. It was just another name to you.

Mingyu braced himself for the inevitable wave of excitement, the squeals, the requests for autographs, the sudden shift in your demeanor. He was accustomed to the instantaneous recognition, the way people’s eyes lit up when they realized who he was. He watched you, a silent observer, wondering how you would react.

Instead of the expected fanfare, you just smirked, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you assessed him. "Damn, if I knew you were famous, I would’ve charged you more."

The unexpected response caught him off guard. A breathy laugh escaped his lips, a mix of relief and amusement. He watched as you returned to your latte art, your movements unhurried, your focus unwavering. There was no starstruck awe, no fawning admiration, just a playful jab and a return to your work.

The fans, initially taken aback by your nonchalant reaction, erupted in a flurry of questions and requests for autographs. Mingyu, however, found himself drawn to your quiet composure, your lack of pretense. You treated him like any other customer, a regular who happened to be famous, and he found it strangely refreshing.

He lingered at the counter, watching as you interacted with the fans, your smile genuine, your demeanor polite but firm. You politely declined requests for photos, explaining that you were working, but you offered to sign a napkin for them.

As the fans finally departed, their excited chatter fading into the night, Mingyu turned to you, a curious smile playing on his lips. "You’re not… impressed?" he asked, his voice laced with a playful challenge.

You shrugged, your eyes focused on cleaning the espresso machine. "Impressed by what? You’re a customer. A regular customer, in fact. And one who gets his name spelled wrong, apparently." You gestured to a stray coffee cup, a faded "Minkoo" still visible on the rim.

Mingyu chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. "Right. Minkoo."

The air between them shifted, a subtle change in the dynamic. The anonymity was gone, the illusion shattered, but something new had taken its place. There was a spark of curiosity, a flicker of intrigue, a sense that this unexpected revelation was just the beginning of something more. He was no longer just a customer, and you were no longer just a barista. They were two people, their worlds colliding in the quiet intimacy of a late-night café, and the possibilities were endless.

As the days turned into weeks, a comfortable familiarity settled between you and Mingyu. The initial awkwardness of his revelation faded, replaced by a quiet intimacy that thrived in the late-night hours of the café. He’d linger after his orders, engaging in conversations that stretched into the quiet hours of closing, sharing stories and laughter that filled the empty space.

Yet, despite the growing closeness, Mingyu couldn’t ignore the subtle but persistent habit that lingered beneath your easygoing demeanor: the way you deflected every compliment, every word of praise, as if they were poisoned darts. It was a subtle flinch, a momentary tightening of your shoulders, a forced laugh that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

"You look beautiful tonight," he’d say, his voice soft, his eyes tracing the delicate curve of your cheek, the way the soft light of the café illuminated your features.

"Pfft, yeah right," you’d reply, a dismissive wave of your hand, a self-deprecating chuckle that betrayed a deep-seated insecurity. "Don’t lie to me."

He watched you, his brow furrowed, a growing concern etching his features. He saw the way your smile faltered when he complimented your eyes, the way your gaze dropped when he praised your laugh. It was a subtle language, a silent conversation of self-doubt that whispered beneath the surface of your confident exterior.

One night, as he helped you close the café, the quiet intimacy of the empty space emboldening him, he decided to confront the unspoken pain that lingered between them. The last customer had left, the chairs were stacked, the counters wiped clean, and the only sound was the gentle hum of the refrigerator.

"Why do you do that?" he asked, his voice low and serious, his gaze unwavering.

You froze, your hands stilling on the cloth you were using to wipe down the counter. "Do what?"

"Act like I’m lying when I say you’re beautiful."

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. You hesitated, your gaze dropping to the floor, your fingers tracing invisible patterns on the countertop. The silence stretched, a tense, fragile quiet that amplified the unspoken pain.

Finally, you sighed, a soft, resigned sound that spoke of years of ingrained self-doubt. "Because I don’t fit the standard, Mingyu. I never have. My exes made sure I knew that."

The words were barely a whisper, a fragile echo of past hurts, but their impact was profound. Mingyu’s heart clenched, a wave of protectiveness surging through him. He saw the vulnerability in your eyes, the raw honesty that trembled in your voice, and he wanted to erase the pain, to heal the wounds that had festered for so long.

His grip tightened on the counter, his knuckles white. "What did they say?"

"That I was too heavy. That I wasn’t what guys wanted. That I didn’t belong." Your voice was barely audible, a fragile confession that spoke of years of emotional scars. "They said I was too much, or not enough. That nobody would love me like this."

Mingyu’s expression darkened, a fierce protectiveness surging within him. If he could go back in time, he’d shake those men until they realized the magnitude of their foolishness, the precious gem they’d discarded. He’d make them see the beauty they’d overlooked, the strength they’d underestimated, the love they’d rejected.

Instead, he made a silent promise, a vow etched in his heart. He would rewrite your narrative, replacing the lies with truths, the pain with love. He would show you the beauty he saw, the strength he admired, the love he felt. He would make sure you never felt that way again.

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek, his touch feather-light, reverent. "They were wrong," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "They were blind. You are beautiful, inside and out. You are strong, you are kind, you are worthy of love. And I… I see you. I see all of you, and I love every part of you."

His words hung in the air, a silent promise of unwavering support, a vow to heal the wounds that had been inflicted by others. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, that the years of ingrained self-doubt wouldn’t vanish overnight. But he was determined to be your anchor, your safe haven, your unwavering champion. He would show you, day by day, moment by moment, the truth of your worth.

From that night forward, Mingyu embarked on a quiet mission, a personal crusade to rewrite the narrative of your self-perception. He became your most ardent admirer, your fiercest champion, a constant source of unwavering affirmation. He showered you with compliments, not empty platitudes, but genuine expressions of the beauty he saw, both inside and out. He wanted to re-educate your heart.

He’d trace the gentle curves of your stomach, his touch light and reverent, whispering, "I love how soft your stomach is. It’s warm and inviting, perfect for cuddling." He’d kiss the soft skin of your inner thighs, his lips lingering, his voice husky as he murmured, "Your thighs drive me crazy, you know that? They’re strong and beautiful, and I could lose myself in them."

He’d hold you close, his arms wrapped around you, his chin resting on your shoulder, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "God, I could hold you all day and never get tired. You feel like home, like the safest place in the world."

And he did hold you, often. He’d lift you effortlessly, his strong arms cradling you, spinning you around just to hear your laughter, a melody that filled his soul with warmth. He’d pull you into his lap, his arms wrapped around your waist, his hands tracing the lines of your body, his touch a constant affirmation of your beauty.

"Mingyu! Put me down! I’m heavy!" you’d protest, a playful blush coloring your cheeks, a hint of lingering insecurity in your voice.

He’d just smirk, his eyes sparkling with mischief, his grip tightening. "No, you’re perfect. Every curve, every inch, every part of you is perfect."

He worshipped every inch of you, finding beauty in the places others had found flaws. He’d kiss the small scar on your knee, tracing its delicate line with his fingertip, whispering, "This tells a story, a story of strength and resilience. It’s beautiful."

His favorite things:

Kissing your neck, shoulders, and collarbone when you’re tired, his lips leaving a trail of warmth, a gentle reassurance that you were safe and cherished. He'd whisper soft praises against your skin, telling you how hard you worked, how beautiful you were when relaxed.

Back hugs while you cleaned, his arms wrapped around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder, murmuring soft praises into your ear, his voice a soothing balm against the lingering insecurities. He’d tell you how much he admired your work ethic, your dedication, your quiet strength.

Tracing his fingers over your stomach folds, his touch light and reverent, grinning as he whispers, "So soft, I love this," his adoration palpable. He’d kiss the soft skin, his lips lingering, his touch a silent declaration of his love.

Resting his head on your thighs, looking up at you with pure adoration, his eyes filled with a love that transcended words. He’d tell you how much he admired your strength, your intelligence, your kindness.

Holding your hand while you walk, his grip strong and reassuring, a silent promise of unwavering support. He’d intertwine his fingers with yours, his touch a constant reminder that you were never alone.

Pulling you into his lap when you're sad, whispering sweet nothings until your tears cease. He'd hold you close, his arms wrapped around you, his touch a comforting presence.

Kissing the inside of your wrists, and the soft skin under your ears, his worshiping kisses a silent prayer of adoration. He’d linger over the delicate pulse points, his touch a reverent exploration of your skin.

Falling asleep with you in his arms, his hold tight but gentle, as if he's afraid you'll slip away. He'd hold you close, his breath warm against your hair, his presence a comforting weight.

Running his fingers through your hair, his touch soft and soothing, a silent lullaby that eased the tension from your shoulders.

Making you laugh until your sides hurt, his playful teasing a constant source of joy, a reminder that life was meant to be enjoyed.

Gaze at you while you work, his eyes filled with a soft adoration, a silent appreciation for your dedication and skill.

When he pulls you close, and kisses you deeply, a kiss that tells you how much he loves you, a passionate declaration of his unwavering devotion. He will sometimes pull back, and just stare at your lips, like he is memorizing every curve.

He wanted to rewrite the narrative of your self-perception, to replace the lies with truths, the pain with love. He wanted to show you the beauty he saw, the strength he admired, the love he felt. He wanted to create a safe haven within his arms, a place where you could finally believe in your own worth.

As your relationship with Mingyu deepened, the inevitable public scrutiny began to surface. Whispers turned into rumors, rumors into articles, and articles into a full-blown media frenzy. The internet, a double-edged sword, became a battleground of opinions, some supportive, many cruel.

When dating rumors surfaced, accompanied by candid photos of you and Mingyu sharing a quiet moment in the café, not all fans were kind. Some comments were venomous, laced with jealousy and prejudice, questioning why an idol, a figure of perfection in their eyes, would choose someone like you. They scrutinized your appearance, your background, your very existence, dissecting you with cruel precision.

The harsh words echoed the insecurities you’d carried for so long, a cruel reminder of past hurts. They whispered doubts you’d tried to bury, amplified the voices that had told you you weren’t enough. The online vitriol began to seep into your daily life, a constant barrage of negativity that threatened to erode the fragile confidence Mingyu had worked so hard to build.

Mingyu, however, didn’t stand for it. He was a force of nature, a shield against the storm of negativity. His response was swift, unwavering, a public declaration of love that sent shockwaves through the internet:

"If you can’t support the person I love, then you don’t support me either."

The statement was bold, a clear line drawn in the sand. He chose you, unequivocally, without hesitation. He chose love over the fickle adoration of those who couldn’t see beyond their own narrow perceptions. He made it clear, your happiness, and safety, were his priority.

Behind closed doors, in the quiet sanctuary of his apartment, he held you tighter than ever, his embrace a silent promise of protection. He ran his fingers through your hair, his touch soothing, his presence a comforting weight against the storm raging outside.

"Don’t listen to them, baby. They don’t know you," he’d whisper, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes filled with a fierce protectiveness. "They don’t see what I see. They don’t see your kindness, your strength, your beauty. They don’t see the way you light up a room, the way you make me laugh, the way you make me feel like I’m home."

"You belong here, with me," he’d murmur, his lips pressed against your hair, his breath warm against your skin. "You belong in my arms, in my life, in my heart."

He’d hold you close, his arms wrapped around you, his touch a constant reassurance that you weren’t alone. He’d kiss your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, his touch reverent, his lips a silent prayer.

He’d spend hours talking to you, reminding you of your worth, of your strength, of your beauty. He’d recount the moments that made him fall in love with you, the small gestures, the quiet kindnesses, the unwavering strength that shone through your vulnerability. He’d remind you of the way you laughed, of the way you smiled, of the way you made him feel like he was the only person in the world.

He’d cook for you, even though he was terrible at it, just to see the smile on your face. He’d play your favorite music, holding you close as you danced in the living room. He’d watch your favorite movies, even the cheesy ones, just to cuddle with you on the couch.

And slowly, little by little, the walls you’d built around your heart began to crumble. The doubts, the insecurities, the ingrained beliefs that you weren’t enough—they began to fade, replaced by the unwavering certainty of Mingyu’s love. He was your anchor, your safe haven, your unwavering champion, and he wouldn’t let anyone, not even the cruelest of online trolls, take that away from you. He made sure you knew, his love was a shield, and he would always protect you.

As the storm of public scrutiny subsided, a quiet peace settled between you and Mingyu. The initial intensity of his protective fervor mellowed into a gentle, unwavering love that permeated every aspect of your lives. You began to see yourself through his eyes, to embrace the beauty he saw, to believe in the worth he so tirelessly affirmed.

One day, Mingyu called you beautiful, his voice soft and sincere, his eyes filled with a quiet adoration. And for the first time, you didn’t deflect, didn’t dismiss, didn’t shrink away from the compliment. You simply smiled, a genuine, radiant smile that lit up your entire face, a smile that reflected the newfound confidence blooming within you.

And in that moment, he knew—this was love. Real, unwavering, unshakable love. A love that transcended superficialities, a love that embraced every imperfection, every vulnerability. A love that was built on a foundation of acceptance, respect, and unwavering support.

Their relationship blossomed, a quiet intimacy that thrived in the small, everyday moments. Late-night conversations over steaming mugs of coffee, stolen kisses in the quiet corners of the café, hand-holding during long walks through the city streets, shared laughter during mundane tasks. They found comfort in each other’s presence, a sanctuary in each other’s arms.

Mingyu loved to trace the lines of your body, his touch a gentle exploration, his lips whispering praises against your skin. He loved the way your laughter filled the room, a melodic sound that chased away the shadows of past insecurities. He loved the way your eyes sparkled when you were happy, a reflection of the joy he’d helped to cultivate. He loved the way your hand fit perfectly in his, a silent affirmation of their connection.

He’d bring you flowers, not just roses, but wildflowers, sunflowers, and other unusual blooms, each one handpicked and chosen because it reminded him of you. He’d leave small notes around the apartment, tucked into books, slipped into pockets, reminding you of your beauty, your strength, your worth. He’d cook for you, even though he was terrible at it, the burnt edges and lopsided dishes a testament to his love.

You, in turn, learned to appreciate his quirks, his clumsiness, his infectious laughter. You learned to see the quiet strength beneath his playful exterior, the unwavering loyalty that anchored his heart. You learned to trust his love, to believe in his words, to embrace the woman he saw within you.

Their love story was a quiet revolution, a testament to the power of acceptance, the beauty of vulnerability, and the unwavering strength of a love that defied all odds. It was a love that found comfort in imperfections, strength in vulnerability, and a forever in the quiet moments shared between two souls destined to find each other.

It was late, the café bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights outside. The last customer had long since departed, leaving behind a quiet stillness that hung in the air. Mingyu sat on the counter, his eyes fixed on you as you wiped down the espresso machine, his gaze filled with a quiet adoration that spoke of a love that had deepened and matured over time.

Then, without thinking, without hesitation, you turned around and said it. "I love you."

The words were simple, yet their impact was seismic, a ripple that spread through the quiet space, altering the very fabric of their world. Mingyu froze, his breath catching in his throat, his eyes widening with a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming joy.

Then, his knees buckled, a sharp exhale leaving his lips as he gripped the counter, his knuckles white, his gaze fixed on you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

"Say it again," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion, a plea that trembled in the stillness.

You stepped closer, your heart pounding in your chest, your eyes filled with a love that mirrored his own. "Mingyu—"

His hands found your waist, gripping like he needed to ground himself, his touch both tender and desperate. His forehead pressed against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, his body trembling with an emotion too profound for words. "Say it again, please."

So you did, your voice soft but unwavering. "I love you."

Mingyu laughed—a breathless, disbelieving sound that echoed through the empty café. Then he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, his lips curved into a smile that radiated pure, unadulterated joy.

"God, you just—" He shook his head, unable to articulate the depth of his emotion, before crashing his lips to yours, a desperate, passionate kiss that spoke of a love long held in check, a love that had finally found its voice.

When he pulled away, he cupped your face, his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks, his eyes filled with a love that transcended words. "I love you more. So much more. So much, it actually hurts."

He showered you with kisses, his lips tracing a path across your forehead, your cheeks, your jaw, his touch reverent, worshipful. He kissed your eyelids, your nose, the soft skin beneath your ears, his touch a silent prayer of adoration.

He held you close, his arms wrapped around you, his body a warm, comforting presence. "I’m never letting you go," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You’re mine, forever."

And in that moment, in the quiet intimacy of the empty café, surrounded by the scent of coffee and the warmth of their love, they knew—their forever had begun.

778 notes · View notes

babyleostuff · 8 months ago

Text

𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲

𝜗𝜚 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄: fluff 𝜗𝜚 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: dad!mingyu x mom!reader 𝜗𝜚 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 588

⦗💌 ⦘ mingyu loves his two girls to death. even if he gets bullied by them on a daily basis.

“daddy! daddy look!” a comically small hand grabbed the hem of mingyu’s jumper, and pulled at it. with a small smirk (that obviously went unnoticed by the carbon copy of his wife because according to her he was a giant), mingyu turned his head towards the sky, just to tease the little girl.

“mommy!” she whined, wrapping both of her arms around mingyu’s legs, “daddy is ignoring me again!”

you sighed, and shook your head. what was supposed to be a nice post-dinner stroll around the neighbourhood turned into the usual - mingyu teasing your little girl with no end, because a minute of peace was too much for him. at least bopul was behaving himself.

but then an idea struck you. mingyu could tease you and your daughter as much as he wished, but you both had him wrapped around your little fingers, and there wasn’t much you had to do to leave your husband pouty and sulky. you crouched in front of your little girl, and tucked her hair behind her ear. “tell daddy no kisses for a week. and no pre-bedtime cuddles,” you whispered, and kissed her cheek gently.

she nodded vigorously, matching your bright smile. a lot of people told you she looked exactly like you (except for mingyu’s eyes, and the little mole on her nose), but her personality had to be even more similar to yours. making mingyu suffer had to be one of her favourite things as well.

“kim mingyu,” she said, tilting her head towards the sky. “up,” she added and put her hands up, something she did whenever she wanted mingyu to carry her.

“gosh, when did you become so bossy, hm?” he cooed at her, but the little girl didn’t fall for her dad's sudden change of heart.

“mommy is bossy, and i want to be like mommy,” she said as a matter of fact, like that didn’t just make your heart burst with love. “besides , that’s not the point,” she took mingyu’s face in her tiny hands, “no kisses, and no pre-bedtime cuddles for you, daddy.”

you had to stifle a laugh, as the corners of your husband’s mouth momentarily turned down. “w-what do mean no-”

“no, daddy. you were being mean to me,” your daughter smushed his cheeks in between her hands. “and,” she leaned into mingyu’s ear, “you won’t get any kisses from mommy either. she’s angry too.”

mingyu looked over his daughter's shoulder and sent you a pleading look. "i was just joking," he said, the slight pout evident in his voice. your little girl giggled and snuggled into her daddy's neck, making mingyu tighten his embrace around her. "girls, please."

“not this time, kim mingyu,” you smiled and walked over to your daughter and husband. "us girls have to stick together, right honey?" you rubbed the girl's cheek, making her laugh even more.

"yes, mommy," she said and nodded eagerly.

mingyu sighed and shook his head in resignation. if it was anyone else he’d keep fighting just to strike their nerve even more, but when he looked down at you smiling fondly at your little bundle of love and chaos that he was holding in his arms, mingyu didn’t have it in him to keep teasing his daughter.

“i love you two so much, you know” he said. “and if you won’t give me kisses, then you can be damn sure i will.”

“words min-,”

“oh shut up,” he said, and wrapped his free arm around your waist to pull you to his chest.

natalia's note: i don't know how children work, so if something is inaccurate - sorry (i have no idea why i wrote this)

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @jeonghansshitester @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @itza-meee @eightlightstar @immabecreepin @whatsgyud @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @vicehectic @dkswife @uniq-tastic @marisblogg @aaniag @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @isabellah29 @f4iryjjosh @bangantokchy @mrswonwooo @bangtancultsposts @lllucere @athanasiasakura @onlyyjeonghan @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng @valgracia @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @mirxzii @hhusbuds @wonranghaeee @rosiesauriostuff @gyuguys @tomodachiii @veryfabday @lilmochiandsuga @asasilentreader @mrsnervous @bewoyewo @sharonxdevi @wondipity @gyuguys @raginghellfire @treehouse-mouse @waldau @wonootnoot @hellodefthings @dokyeomkyeom @sourkimchi @bbysnw @hoichi02 @aaa-sia @haneulparadx @minvrsev @zozojella @wonootnoot @kimingyuslover @wntrei @honglynights @jihoonsbbygirl@uhdrienne @bloodcanbehot @iamawkwardandshy@icyminghao@heeseungthel0ml@goyangiiwonu@bath1lda@ruurooozz@ny0sang@luuxian

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nonushu · 5 months ago

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k.mingyu and your lipstick

pairing : bf!mingyu x reader | genre : fluff | wc : 190. this is all i got😭

note ; reader wears lipstick, unedited

"stay still," mingyu murmurs, his fingers gently tilting your chin up.

you purse your lips together, biting back a smile. “you sure you know what you’re doing?”

mingyu's brows furrow in concentration, bringing the lipstick close to your lips. “i’m pretty sure i’ve watched you enough times to know what i'm doing. besides,” he leans in closer, his breath warm on your cheek, “i’m a fast learner.”

you try not to burst out laughing, but it’s impossible to keep a straight face with mingyu looking so focused. “don’t mess it up,” you warn.

“shh, babe, i won't," mingyu tuts, brushing the colour over your bottom lip, "just lemme make you the prettiest person in the world..."

"you already think i am, though."

mingyu chuckles, thumb grazing your cheek as he steadies your face. "yeah, but now everyone else will see it too."

when he finishes, he pulls back with a smug grin. "perfect."

you raise a brow at him, "perfect? ooh, let me see!"

mingyu grabs your shoulders, stopping you. "wait! i need to fix one more thing." he takes the chance to peck your lips, the shade appearing on his. "okay, now it's perfect."

"you nerd." you giggle, tracing the stain on his lips.

"yeah, but your nerd."

#nonushu.works #mingyu x reader #seventeen x reader #mingyu fluff #seventeen fluff #kim mingyu x reader #mingyu x you #mingyu x y/n #mingyu scenarios #seventeen scenarios #svt x reader #svt fluff #mingyu imagines #seventeen imagines #mingyu fanfic #seventeen fanfic #mingyu #seventeen

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pargaliteo · 5 months ago

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bf texts with mingyu! (4)

genre: fluff, crack, smau, fake texts

warnings: suggestive, mingyu is a boob person, he’s also horny

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taesjpq · 2 months ago

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Jealousy part. I

genre — suggestive fluff, best friends to lovers, smut (maybe in part II) ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ pairing — female!reader x best friend!Mingyu summary — You, Hoshi, Wonwoo, and Mingyu—inseparable. Their apartment feels like your second home. But one of them makes your heart race in ways you wish it wouldn’t. He treats you like you’re special—attentive, caring, almost like a boyfriend. But he’s not your boyfriend. He’s your best friend. He treats you this way—this is just how Mingyu is, right? word count — 4,3k (part l)

Warnings and notes under the line.

WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, jealousy/insecurity, unrequited/complicated feelings, emotional distress, avoidance/coping mechanisms, mild possessiveness (towards him), possible hangover, waking up next to someone, suggestive elements/mild sexual tension, light kiss [let me know if I forgot something]

notes: san (ateez) cameo (you will better understand in part II) Hoshi, Wonwoo cameo. This is my first published ff ever, I hope you like it. I‘m actually very nervous about it, so feel free to give your opinion. I just wrote this, when I felt down bad for Mingyu again (he‘s so boyfriend istg). The question is, when i am not exactly down bad for Mingyu? He‘s the standard.

"Any plans for the weekend?"

San held the office door open for you, his gentle smile as familiar as ever.

You sighed quietly, relieved that the exhausting workweek was finally over. It had been chaos—half the staff out sick, leaving you drowning in double the workload.

San had been your lifesaver, stepping in every time you thought you might break under the pressure.

"Actually, I'm meeting my friends at a restaurant," you replied, noticing the faint flicker of something wistful in his eyes.

"Why am I not surprised?" he teased, his grin widening as you stepped through the door.

San had a way of always asking about your plans, like he was hoping, just once, your answer might include him. But it never did. Just: „My friends, my friends, my friends.“

It wasn’t a lie, though. You practically lived at their apartment. Gaming nights with Wonwoo, gym sessions with Mingyu, and endless meals with Hoshi—that was your rhythm, your second home.

"Thanks for the coffee, San. Next time, it’s on me," you said, flashing him a grateful smile.

"Anytime," he replied, his gaze lingering for just a moment longer before you parted ways.

You arrived flustered, breathless from rushing. Of course, they were already here.

As you pushed open the door, the warm buzz of conversation and clinking plates enveloped you.

Your eyes scanned the restaurant, locking on them almost immediately: your boys—and a girl. A girl?

She was sitting beside Mingyu, close enough that their arms nearly brushed. Her laugh carried across the table, light and unrestrained, and something about it made your stomach twist. Who was she?

"Finally!" Hoshi greeted you as you approached, his voice brimming with playful exasperation. "We thought you’d ditched us."

You forced a smile, settling into the usual chaos of their teasing welcome.

"This is Hana," Wonwoo explained casually when he caught the question in your eyes.

"And? don’t you think she looks just like me?" Hoshi added, grinning as he gestured dramatically toward her.

You studied her more closely, and the resemblance hit you. It was uncanny—her smile, her energy. She could’ve been his twin.

"I’ve been crashing at their place for a few days," Hana said, extending her hand toward you. "Hoshi insisted."

Your polite smile barely reached your eyes. Why hadn’t anyone told you?

"Nice to meet you," you said, shaking her hand and glancing around. There wasn’t an empty chair for you.

Mingyu noticed immediately. Without hesitation, he stood, grabbing one from a nearby table and setting it beside him.

"Thanks, Gyu," you murmured, your voice softer than you intended.

He nodded and gave you a gentle smile.

Oh, how you’d missed him. His warmth, his silly jokes—the way his laughter could dissolve the stress of your week. You’d been looking forward to this, to catching up with him. But now, it seemed difficult.

As the group settled into conversation, you tried to focus, tried to join in. But your attention kept drifting—to Hana, to how close she sat to Mingyu, to the way she leaned into him when she laughed. Her fingers grazed his arm casually, like she belonged there.

"So, Hana, how do you like the city so far?" Wonwoo asked, drawing her attention.

"It’s great," she said brightly. "Hoshi’s been showing me around—it’s been so much fun."

Her hand lingered on Mingyu’s shoulder as she spoke, and your stomach knotted uncomfortably.

Just then, the waiter arrived, placing drinks on the table. Four sojus. Your eyebrows lifted in surprise—they’d ordered before you arrived. That wasn’t how things worked. You always waited. It was a small tradition, but it mattered. Or, at least, it used to.

"One soju for me too, please," you said quickly, catching the waiter before he walked away.

But the unease didn’t leave. Hana’s touchiness continued—her laugh too loud, her attention on Mingyu too focused. He didn’t seem to mind, even smiled at her a few times. Yet, every so often, his eyes flicked to you, as if checking for something.

You didn’t know why, but every time Hana’s hand brushed against his arm, you reached for your bottle. Every time she giggled a little too sweetly, your glass met your lips. The warm burn sliding down your throat was easier to deal with than the twist in your chest.

"You should see these two at the gym," Hoshi chimed in suddenly, pointing between you and Mingyu. "They’re like workout aliens or something."

The group laughed, and you managed a small smile, but your heart wasn’t in it.

Hana giggled, leaning closer to Mingyu. "Maybe you can show me some moves sometime," she said, her tone playful.

Your fingers tightened around the glass. Without thinking, you poured yourself another shot—your third, or was it the fourth? You weren’t keeping track anymore.

Mingyu let out a small chuckle, and that was it—you tipped your head back and downed the drink in one go.

Your chest tightened. Mingyu was your closest friend. Your partner for everything. The one you laughed with, teased, leaned on. Seeing her in that space, acting like she belonged, made your skin crawl. You probably were just overreacting- and yet, you just kept drinking.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” you lie, the words tumbling out too quickly, barely convincing even to yourself.

You needed space—air that wasn’t thick with your confusion, your frustration. If you stayed another second, your face would betray you, exposing the childish jealousy simmering just beneath the surface.

The cool evening air hit you like a lifeline as you stepped outside, goosebumps forming on your arms from the crisp breeze.

You closed your eyes briefly, letting it kiss your flushed cheeks, but it did little to soothe the ache in your chest. The dull, relentless throb of longing refused to fade.

“This isn’t the bathroom.”

The familiar voice sent a jolt through you, every nerve in your body suddenly on high alert. You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

You glanced back anyway, already masking your shock with a strained smile. Of course, it’s him. It’s always him.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said, forcing a lightness you didn’t feel. “This looks like a bathroom to me.”

He chuckled, that low, warm laugh that always did things to your chest, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. And despite yourself, you smiled too, because how could you not?

God, you were so hopelessly in love with him.

Without a word, he steps closer, draping your jacket over your shoulders. “You’re probably freezing,” he says, his voice gentle, but with a tenderness that makes your stomach tighten.

His hands brush lightly against your skin as he adjusts the jacket, and it sends a shiver through you—not from the cold, but from the barely-there touch.

You look up, your breath catching in your throat as your eyes meet his. His gaze softens, a flicker of concern crossing his face.

The silence that followed stretched taut between you, thick and heavy with unspoken words. Neither of you seemed willing to break it. The faint hum of traffic and the muffled buzz of laughter from the bar filled the empty space.

You shifted uncomfortably, your fingers toying with the hem of your dress. Don’t say it. Don’t bring her up. Just let it go. But the question clawed its way out of you anyway.

“I didn’t know Hana was staying at your place,” you blurted, the words sharper than you intended, laced with something raw and exposed.

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, his exasperation evident. “Yeah, I didn’t know either. Trust me.”

You raise an eyebrow, still unsure. “Hoshi didn’t mention it?”

“He forgot,” Mingyu mutters, shaking his head. What a Hoshi thing to happen, you thought.

“I walked into my room, and she was already asleep in my bed. I didn’t have the heart to wake her, so I took the couch for the week.”

Your stomach twisted, the weight of his explanation sitting heavy. Of course, he wouldn’t complain. He’s Mingyu—always generous, always selfless. Always giving more of himself than he should.

“Oh,” you managed, your voice too light, too fake. “It’s just funny to think… if I showed up at your place, I’d find her instead of you.” You tried to laugh, but the sound was hollow, even to your ears.

He shrugged, casual and unaffected. “It wasn’t a big deal for me. I worked overtime all week, so I wasn’t home much anyway.”

Of course, it wasn’t a big deal to him. But to you? It was everything. Every single thing.

You felt the sting of tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away quickly. Not here. Not now.

The night had been shallow and hollow, a void you couldn’t seem to escape. All you’d wanted was a quiet evening with your friends, especially Mingyu. Just sitting beside him, leaning against his shoulder—feeling the solid warmth of him—would’ve been enough.

But instead, you’d spent the evening watching Hana, her laughter, her touches, her presence invading spaces you’d always considered yours. Even if you don't have the right to do so.

The ache in your chest sharpened, spreading through you like wildfire. You couldn’t stay here any longer.

“I’m gonna head home,” you said, your voice flat, eyes fixed on the ground. “I think I need some rest after this week.”

You felt his gaze land on you, heavy and searching, and for a moment, you wavered under its weight.

“I’ll take you home,” he said softly, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.

“No, it’s okay,” you replied quickly, trying to steady your tone. “I have my car.”

“I know,” he says, stepping closer, his presence almost overwhelming. His eyes scan your face, tracing every inch of you, as if reading you in ways that make your heart race. “But you shouldn’t drive. You drank too much.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, frustration bubbling up. “I’m not drunk.”

And then, he speaks again, voice softer, more tender.

“Your cheeks,” he murmurs, his thumb gently brushing against your flushed skin. “They’re red. That happens when you drink too much.”

You freeze, his touch lingering. Your heart pounds in your chest, and his proximity feels like a punch to your gut. He looks even more handsome than usual—his messy hair falling over his forehead, the soft fabric of his shirt still loose and unbuttoned just enough to make your breath catch. The way he stands there, effortlessly composed, but so close that you can almost taste the air between you—his scent wrapping around you like a warm, familiar blanket.

God, you feel weak in front of him.

“I can’t let you drive like this,” he adds softly.

You want to protest, but the words catch in your throat. He cares. He always does.

“Unless…” he tilts his head slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’ve got other plans?”

A sharp, throbbing pain pulsed through your head as you reached for your phone, your limbs feeling heavy under the weight of sleep.

The sunlight filtering through the curtains was way too bright, making you wince as you blindly swiped to answer the call without checking the caller ID.

“Hello…?” Your voice was hoarse, thick with exhaustion.

“Mingyu, where are you?! I’ve been trying to reach both of you for hours!”

Your brows furrowed, confusion washing over you like a cold wave. Mingyu?

You pulled the phone away from your ear to check the name on the screen. Hoshi Hyung.

Your headache made it hard to process, but one thing was clear—you would never save him like that.

Why the hell was he even calling you about Mingyu?

Just as the pieces of the puzzle refused to click into place, you felt it—a presence beside you.

With a slow, sinking feeling, you turned your head to the right.

And there he was.

Mingyu.

All 187 centimeters of him, sleeping peacefully under your blanket like he belonged there. His hair was tousled, his breathing deep and even, his broad chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm.

Your eyes widened, your grip on the phone tightening. You hung up immedietly.

Fuck.

Before you could spiral too much, Mingyu let out a deep sigh, his arm stretching out lazily—almost like he was reaching for you. His eyes, still hazy with sleep, fluttered open but instantly softening the moment they land on you,— The way you were staring at him, as if he'd just appeared out of nowhere —his lips curled into a knowing smirk.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice deep and rough with sleep.

“It’s 2 p.m., Mingyu.”

He blinked slowly before lazily glancing around the room. “Shit, really?” His voice was raspy, thick. He let out a slow breath before sinking deeper into the pillows. “I slept so fucking good.” A lazy smile tugged at his lips as he let his eyes fall shut again.

You watched him. His dark hair was a complete mess, strands sticking out in every direction, and yet, somehow, it only made him look softer. His skin looked warm and tan against the white sheets. His lips—full, slightly swollen from sleep—parted just the tiniest bit, and for a moment, you had to fight the urge to reach out, to trace them with your fingertips, just to see if they were as soft as they looked.

You swallowed hard. "I... uh—what happened last night?"

Mingyu let out a soft chuckle, rolling onto his side to face you properly. “You really don’t remember?”

Your silence was answer enough.

“Oh, this is fun,” he mused, resting his cheek against his palm. “You were very affectionate. Like, I knew you liked me, but I didn’t expect you to cling to me like that.”

Your face burned instantly. “Shut up.”

He grinned wider. “You wouldn’t let go. Kept saying I couldn’t leave, that I should sleep next to you.” His voice dropped into something teasing. “Should I start staying over more often?”

The heat in your cheeks deepened, and without thinking, you grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at him. He laughed, catching it effortlessly before it could hit his face.

“Ohhh, so violent first thing in the morning,” he teased. “Where’s all that love from last night, huh?”

You wanted to escape the awkwardness, so you stepped away from the bed, but as you did, your gaze betrayed you—flicking toward Mingyu. His white shirt hung loosely on his frame, almost completely unbuttoned, exposing a hint of his chest and the silver chain resting just above it. The sight made your breath catch for a moment, your heart skipping.

Mingyu caught your glance. His eyes met yours for a heartbeat, but then they dropped—slowly, unwillingly, lingering on your legs just a moment too long.

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling the fabric of your dress inching up, revealing more of your legs than you'd intended. The air between you both seemed to thicken, heavy with something unspoken.

In an awkward flurry, Mingyu began buttoning his shirt, his movements too quick, too self-conscious, like he was suddenly aware of every inch of space between you.

You cleared your throat, trying to fill the silence, and nervously stammered, “I—I’m making breakfast.”

Mingyu immediately sat up, “I’ll do it.”

You turned to glare at him, a bit sharper than you intended. “I can make it on my own.”

“I know you can,” he said with that same, effortless ease, his tall, towering frame moving toward you without hesitation. “But let me.” His voice was softer this time, the teasing gone.

His eyes flickered over you briefly—the exhaustion, the headache written all over your face, the way your clothes were still crumpled from last night.

“You should take a shower,” he added, voice gentle. “It’ll help with the headache.”

You blinked at him, and looked down on you after.

“Yeah..probably.”

You hesitated for a second before heading towards the bathroom, still feeling like you were stuck in some weird dream.

The moment you stepped in front of the mirror, you almost flinch.

Your makeup was smudged, your hair an absolute mess, strands sticking to your forehead. Your dress from last night was wrinkled and slightly loose on one side.

You looked horrible. Greasy. Disgusting.

Mingyu slept next to this?

You suddenly wanted to cry.

Taking a deep breath, you quickly peeled off your clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the weird feelings in your chest.

By the time you were done, you felt human again.

There was no way you were putting that dress back on, so you grabbed your bathrobe, tying it tightly around your waist before stepping out.

Your hair was still damp, strands clinging to your skin as you walked barefoot toward the kitchen, following the smell of food.

Mingyu stood at the stove, moving effortlessly like he belonged there, he changed his white shirt. His black t-shirt now clinging just enough to make you notice. The sleeves stretched over his biceps, broad and defined, flexing slightly with each movement.

And then he turned around.

For a moment, it was like time froze.

Mingyu’s breath hitched the second his eyes landed on you.

The damp strands of hair framing your face, the way your robe sat snugly around you, revealing the delicate curve of your collarbone—he was so unprepared for this.

His fingers twitched around the wooden spoon, and for a split second, he forgot what he was even doing. His grip almost faltered.

He was staring.

Hard.

You raised an eyebrow. “You good?”

Mingyu swallowed, snapping out of it. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, I’m—uh, food’s almost done.”

He forced a smile, turning back to the stove way too quickly—like he needed a second to compose himself.

You didn’t question it, shrugging as you took a seat at the table.

Mingyu, on the other hand, inhaled deeply, gripping the spoon like it was the only thing keeping him from completely losing his mind.

Yeah. He was so screwed.

“So.” Mingyu cleared his throat, a little too forcefully. “How’s your headache?”

You barely looked up, scrolling through the endless messages from Hoshi and Wonwoo. “Hm? Oh-It still hurts. But I’m sure I’ll feel better after eating something."

A beat of silence.

Too long. Too heavy.

You, sitting there like that—bare-faced, hair still damp, wrapped up in your robe—he had seen you like this before. And yet, right now, it felt… different. His fingers flexed against the edge of the kitchen counter.

He didn’t want to think about why.

“How’s work been lately?” he asked, voice casual—too casual. “You looked exhausted yesterday. And, well… the number of drinks you had kind of spoke for itself.”

You let out a dry laugh, stretching your legs beneath the table. “Yeah, work… Work has been insane. Feels like half the office is out sick, and I’m the lucky one picking up the slack.”

Mingyu frowned as he turned off the stove, moving with practiced ease. “That’s bullshit.” A pause. “No wonder you were exhausted.”

That wasn’t the reason you drank last night, but he didn’t need to know that.

You shrugged, watching him. The way he knew where everything was. The way he moved through your kitchen like he belonged there. Because he did.

Mingyu set a plate in front of you before settling into the chair across from you. He picked up his fork but didn’t eat right away, just watching you for a beat.

“You really need a break,” he muttered, mostly to himself. Then, his eyes flickered to yours, and something shifted in his expression. A smirk tugged at his lips. “Or maybe just… new clothes.”

You blinked. “What?”

He gestured vaguely toward you. “I mean, I knew you had a couple of my things, but—” He gave you a pointed look. “At this point, half of your closet is mine. I could practically move in here.”

You almost choked on your food.

That little shit.

Mingyu leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “You know, I always wondered where my stuff kept disappearing to.” He tilted his head, pretending to think. “For a while, I actually believed I had a hole in my closet.”

You swallowed your bite. “Weird. Sounds like a you problem.”

He scoffed. “Oh, really?”

You nodded, keeping your face blank. “Mhm. No clue what you’re talking about.”

His gaze flickered over you, his smirk deepening. “So, you’re telling me my hoodies just magically disappeared? Along with my t-shirts? And my beanie? And—”

“Okay, okay,” you cut in, groaning. “Maybe your clothes are just… way too comfortable. Not my fault they’re basically begging to be stolen.”

“Begging,” he repeated, like he was tasting the word.

“Yes.” You met his eyes, feigning innocence. “I don’t see the issue.”

Mingyu let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

You smirked, tilting your head. “And yet, you still let me steal your stuff.”

He exhaled through his nose, picking at his food. “I don’t let you. You just take it.”

“Semantics.”

Mingyu rolled his eyes, but there was something in his expression—something warm, something familiar.

For a moment, it almost felt normal again. Like the weird tension from before had settled into something softer. Something easier.

But then his eyes lingered on you a second too long.

And suddenly, it was back.

That unspoken thing between you.

Neither of you acknowledged it.

You just kept eating.

And Mingyu?

Mingyu was so, so screwed.

Your phone started ringing. Hoshi was calling.

We were screwed.

By the time evening settled in, you had changed into something comfortable—his clothes, to be exact. He was still here, lingering in your space, and for a few fleeting hours, everything felt right. As if this was how it was always meant to be. As if this was your everyday. But deep down, a small voice whispered, warning you not to get used to it.

After dinner, Mingyu is still here.

You’re in the kitchen, washing dishes side by side like it’s nothing, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hand brushes against yours when he reaches for a plate, and it’s almost too quick to register. But you don’t pull away. Neither does he.

He leans against the counter, arms crossed loosely, watching you as you load the dishes into the dishwasher. His voice breaks the silence, low and casual, but there’s an edge to it, something like hesitation.

“Do you still have a headache?”

Before you can speak, he’s close. His presence fills the space between you. His left hand gently presses against your forehead.. His right hand moves to your neck, fingers brushing lightly over your skin.

You barely notice it at first, but when you shift slightly, you feel it—your back pressing against the counter. Mingyu is so close, standing in front of you, subtly caging you in You can barely breathe. You don’t know what’s worse: the fact that he’s so close, or the fact that you want him closer.

Your voice falters when you answer. "I’m fine now. It’s... better." You watch as Mingyu’s face softens in an instant at your words.

Neither of you moves, standing close, too close.

Mingyu’s lips quirk into a grin, but there’s a hint of something more in his voice. “My clothes look good on you. I should let you steal them more often.”

You laugh, but it’s breathless. You stretch up, reaching for his face, your fingers brushing his skin. You squint your eyes, making a playful face. “I’d do it anyway. Don’t need your permission.”

Mingyu chuckles, but his gaze shifts, sharpening just enough for you to notice. He steps closer. The warmth radiating off his body, the faint brush of his leg against yours, the way his chest is so close that if you just leaned in the smallest bit, you'd be pressed against him. It’s intoxicating. You don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing for a second until you force yourself to inhale, only to take in the faint scent of him—clean, familiar, utterly Mingyu.

He watches you with an intensity that makes the room feel smaller, more intimate. His eyes flicker to your lips, and that’s when it happens—the hesitation. Heswallows hard, fighting the urge to close the distance entirely. He’s trying—really trying—to resist, to keep this from crossing a line neither of you can come back from. But it’s impossible when you’re looking at him like that, when your body is so close, when the scent of you wrapped in his clothes makes his head spin.

And then, he inches closer, almost without thinking, and his lips brush against yours—just the lightest touch, so soft that it could almost be a breath. Your body tenses, and for a second, everything stills.

But fuck, it’s enough to send heat coursing through his veins.

His lips are soft, teasing, brushing lightly against yours. The kiss is slow, barely there, but enough to leave you gasping for more.

You inhale sharply, your breath mixing with his. You don’t move away. If anything, you shift closer, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.

His lips linger, hovering, teasing. Testing.

His self-control is hanging by a thread.

He tells himself to stop. You were loosing yourself in it. You-

- Ding Dong

The sound of the doorbell rings, slicing through the tension. You both freeze. The world shifts back into focus. The heat, the closeness, everything evaporates in an instant.

You step back, your breath coming in uneven gasps. Mingyu looks away, running a hand through his hair, trying to regain his composure.

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scoupsakakitty · 2 months ago

Note

Could I please request a idolhusband mingyu x wife au? Where the wife surprises him (and svt) at practice with their children?

Family Surprise | idol!mingyu x wife!reader | fluff

The practice room was filled with heavy breathing and the faint echo of music fading into silence. Mingyu ran a hand through his damp hair, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to catch his breath.

“Let’s take five,” S.Coups called out, clapping his hands together.

A chorus of relieved groans followed as the members dropped to the floor or grabbed their water bottles. Mingyu stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension. He loved performing, but long rehearsals like these made him miss home more than anything.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, his lips tugging into a small smile as he glanced at the lock screen—a photo of his wife and their two children from earlier that morning.

Jeonghan, who had been watching him, smirked. “You miss them already, don’t you?”

Mingyu didn’t even try to deny it. “Obviously.”

“You just saw them this morning,” Joshua pointed out, shaking his head with a chuckle.

Mingyu shrugged. “And? I miss them every second.”

The others laughed at his lovesick response, but before anyone could tease him further, the practice room door swung open.

“Appa!”

Mingyu’s head snapped up, his eyes widening at the sight of his two-year-old daughter waddling toward him with tiny, determined steps. Behind her, his wife stood with their newborn son cradled in her arms, watching the scene unfold with a soft smile.

For a moment, Mingyu could only stare in shock. Then, without thinking, he rushed forward, scooping his daughter into his arms and spinning her around.

“You’re really here?” he asked, still processing the unexpected surprise.

His wife chuckled. “You’ve been working so hard. I thought you deserved a little visit.”

Mingyu barely heard the response, too busy pressing kisses all over his daughter’s chubby cheeks as she giggled. His gaze then shifted to his newborn son, still wrapped snugly in his wife’s arms.

“And this little guy?” Mingyu gently brushed a finger over the baby’s tiny hand. “Did you miss me too, buddy?”

The rest of Seventeen, who had just processed what was happening, immediately erupted into chaos.

“Wait, what?” Seungkwan threw his hands up. “Why did no one tell us we were getting special guests today?”

“Oh my God, look at her! She’s grown so much!” DK gushed, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Let me hold her!” Dino reached out, and the toddler happily extended her arms toward her favorite uncle.

Mingyu watched in amusement as his daughter was passed around, each member taking turns doting on her. His son, meanwhile, was being held with extreme caution by Wonwoo, who studied him like he was the most fascinating thing in the world.

“She’s too cute to be Mingyu’s,” Woozi commented as he tickled the toddler’s cheeks.

Mingyu pouted. “Why does everyone say that?”

“Because it’s true,” Vernon chimed in.

Hoshi, who had been watching with a dramatic pout, sighed. “I’m jealous. Mingyu has it all—a beautiful wife, cute kids… What about the rest of us?”

Woozi didn’t miss a beat. “You could too, if you actually tried.”

The room burst into laughter as Hoshi clutched his chest, pretending to be mortally wounded.

Mingyu, still holding onto his wife’s hand, smiled as he watched his family being showered with love. No matter how exhausting work got, moments like this made everything worth it.

He turned to his wife, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple. “Thank you for this.”

She squeezed his hand in return. “You deserve it.”

Mingyu couldn’t ask for anything more. He already had everything he ever wanted—his family, his brothers, and a life filled with love.

And in this moment, that was all he needed.

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hannieween · 6 months ago

Text

ladies' night | wicked games series | k.mg

Kim Mingyu came into your life at a time when you needed a friend the most. And that he was: a friend that you could confide in and laugh together, share your secrets with and perhaps, share a burden that was too similar to his.

☆ pairings: kim mingyu x female reader ☆ genre: angst, smut [18+] ☆ aus: bartender mingyu, friends to rebound fucking, fwb to lovers (attempt at a slow burn) ☆ word count: 16k

› read more

› warnings under the cut

☆ warnings: alcohol consumption, smut with plot, sub mingyu, soft dom reader, pussy drunk mingyu, manhandling, mingyu is low key a simp, reader is so down bad for him it is embarrassing, reader is on birth control, both mingyu and reader are lowkey toxic, size kink, big dick mingyu, use of sex toys, squirting, masturbation, foul language, dirty talking, lots of making out, reader has a bit of difficulty reaching her high, a bit of dry humping, oral sex (f. receiving), body worshipping, cowgirl, edging, unprotected p in v sex, creampies, aftercare. pet names: baby, shorty, pretty, (hers)

☆ acknowledgements: first things first! big thanks to @nonuify who suggested the title for the series! thanks to @onlymingyus who suggested a cute pet name for reader (that is, sugar which will come in the future), @miniseokminnies, @bitchlessdino and @wonustars for helping brainstorming for ideas hehe ty ty 🩵

also thanks to vee and @wooahaeproductions who helped me proofread this 🩵

☆ author's note: helloooooo! welcome to the hannieverse! where every single fic i've written is connected somehow! this series is closely connected to heartbreaker. though i don't think it is necessary to read that one in order to read this one here, but if you haven't read that one yet, be my guest hehe

☆ author's note 2: we have another reader self-insert!! i wish i could start self-inserting the things that are actually nice about my life... and not angst, bad sleeping habits and heartbreak (┬┬﹏┬┬) anyway, i hope you all enjoy this one

☆ disclaimer: minors DO NOT INTERACT. this post is intended for 18+ readers. please have your age stated in your description and try not to look like a bot please or i will block you.

ladies' night

Lately, work had become your second home.

Not by choice, no. It was a thing that you forced into your life to keep yourself busy. Running a business was not easy, but you had reached a point in your life where you no longer needed to work 16 hours a day. Now, you felt like you needed to be working all day long. Or else, you would go insane.

Routine. You swore by it. Wake up, get ready, go to work, traffic, clock off, more traffic, come back home, sleep, repeat.

You could make time for yourself. But there was nothing else to dedicate your time to.

Coming back to a half-packed apartment was quite discouraging. Boxes piled up. The furniture you worked so hard to buy, gone, sold. You did not even bother to turn on the light, you had memorized your way through the maze of cardboard boxes.

Maybe I should get a dog.

The keys hanging from your fingers jingled as you reached your bedroom, tossing them on the nightstand to begin undressing yourself and getting ready to sleep.

There was a row of neatly folded clothes occupying one side of the bed, clothes that were ready to be packed away. Or donated. Whatever you wanted to do the following day.

You finished peeling off the last piece of clothing from your body, neatly disposing of it in the hamper, and dragged yourself to do your nightly skincare routine.

The biggest, and probably recurring challenge you had to get through was going to sleep. You faced your bed, half covered by small towers of folded clothes making you feel a deafening agony that you could not get rid of.

You set your phone on the side table before commanding yourself to sit on the bed, your back to the piles of clothes. You had to purposefully ignore your phone before going to bed if you wanted to get an interrupted sleep.

Lying on your pillow, you stared at the ceiling, your arms sticking to your torso, fingers curled on the bedcovers. The part you dreaded the most.

You closed your eyes, avoiding every thought completely. It was a difficult feat, it was impossible.

Slowly, and tentatively, you slid a hand beneath the bed sheets, reaching out to your side, feeling the weight of the piles of clothes pressing down on your arm. The side of the bed would remain empty, and you never dared to sleep on that side.

The side where your former partner used to sleep.

A part of you itched to grab your phone. What was the point, you concluded, retreating your hand and sticking it to your body again. There was no point in trying to reimagine a life in which you had not asked your ex to leave. There was no point in wanting someone that left you feeling so empty.

Maybe I should sell the bed too.

You stared at the ceiling once again, your gaze outlining the four margins of the bedroom. Whenever the night got bad, you would do this, over and over, until everything faded to black Until you fell asleep.

You woke up before your alarm went off.

It took you some moments to realize that you did not have to go to work that day. A heavy reluctance fell upon you, making it harder to drag yourself out of the bed you were planning to sell the night before.

You brushed the thought off. Okay.

You were okay. You were going to be even better.

The morning was bleak, the pale light making you squint your eyes as soon as you drew the blinds up. But you started working at once. The first task was putting the clothes in boxes, emptying space on the bed.

You wasted no time, removing the covers and the bed sheets without much thought. You did not want to think that even though you washed the pillowcases, you could still smell your ex's cologne in them. You did not want to think back to the time you bought the bed sheets with him when you moved in together.

It was too late.

Crushed, you closed the moving boxes, moving them into neat piles. The silence was nearly deafening.

You sat on the bed and waited.

The doorbell rang. People came in and stuffed a van full of all of the boxes and the bed. When it was time to go, you took one look at the place you swore you would live with the love of your life for a long while and closed the door behind you.

Three months later.

Your old routine started to tear you down. A silent killer, slowly destroying bits and pieces of your already fragile state. You were too slow or too ignorant to see it, but in protecting your precious routine, you were destroying yourself.

First, it was your sleep. Then, it was your closest friendships. Then, you could no longer pay attention at work. You were tired, and alone.

Enough is enough, you told yourself sternly.

You decided to do new things. Explore a bit more, distract yourself, pamper yourself. Watch a new show someone recommended to you ages ago, or actually read one of the books you bought and forgot.

Living in a new part of town should not be this challenging.

You knew every single corner of the neighborhood, yet you knew no one. And living in a city so vast and so populated demanded you to do activities in the company of someone.

Part of running your own business meant that you could manage your own time. That you did, shaving some hours off of your heavy and self-inflicted work schedule and taking some time for yourself.

The first thing you did was go shopping since it could be one activity you could do by yourself. And it was distracting. You went back home, and read that book.

Maybe I could put on this show while I unpack.

Some things were still kept in boxes from when you moved into the new apartment. Mainly those with stuff you did not require immediately. Clutter. Mostly bought by you to make your other apartment feel more lived in.

Time went by and you finished watching that show. You finished reading through the pile of books you got ages ago. You bought new clothes, and got rid of those that once occupied your ex's side of the bed.

You were slowly becoming someone else.

Waking up to a new reality happens in an instant. In the middle of the day. In the middle of traffic. It is realizing that in the past you is no longer present, and you need to become someone else to fit into that reality.

At least, that was how it felt.

The red light turned green, and you pushed yourself through the traffic slowly. Maybe I should sell the car. You turned left, driving past the badly lit gym that stood on the corner, its uninviting neon purple and red lights outside.

Abruptly, you pulled up. Grabbing your purse, getting out of your car and meekly pushed open the door to the place. The myriads of different noises startled you at first. The very loud speakers mounted on every corner, the clanking of the heavy weights hitting the floor, planks hitting each other, and the occasional loud grunting of men.

The person wearing the staff uniform greeted you. The young man, though seemingly your age, looked at you up and down with bright doe eyes.

“Hi,” he nodded politely, showing you a smile adorned by a couple of ring piercings. “Welcome! How can I help you?”

The question seemed to drive a dry joke in your mind, but you paid no attention to it. “I want to register.”

His expression broke in a downturned smile, almost as if this were a quick reflex of his. You realized then, you were being quite dry.

“Please,” you added two seconds later.

“Sure,” he smiled, recovering from the awkward exchange without issue. “Follow me.”

The gym was packed, it got hotter the more you entered the place. The guy wearing the staff uniform appeared to be quite the popular person around, waving at gym goers left and right with great attitude.

You thought of mentioning it but, you just kept walking behind him to an office room secluded in one of the corners. He turned on the light and went around the small desk, sitting down on the battered office chair with a heavy sigh.

“Okay, first things first,” he turned on the chair to one side, showing you with his hand to a table pushed to the corner of the office, an old coffee maker huffed as it finished brewing. “Coffee?”

You looked at the coffee machine, and then to him. An eyebrow lifted.

“It's Thursday,” he shrugged. “We serve coffee every Thursday.”

You huffed, a small smile appearing on your face. “And on Fridays?”

“Ah! Do not get ahead of yourself. Maybe we can find that out tomorrow, miss...?” he pushed his eyebrows up, pulled one pen from the pencil case, and clicked it on, ready to fill out a form.

You fought the urge to laugh in his face, the awkwardness from the whole situation making your tummy feel uneasy.

You sat down on the chair, robbing the pen from his tattooed fingers. His doe eyes snapped open in surprise when you pulled the form from under his hand and started filling it out.

“Tell me prices,” you muttered, eyes focused on filling out the form, so you did not get the chance to see him smile when he let out a small breath.

“Well, that didn't go to plan,” he whispered to himself, seemingly.

Cute.

“Has it ever?”

You darted a look at him through your lashes. The guy had his eyes slightly widened, probably not expecting you to strike up a conversation of this type.

“Uh, well, yeah, but,” he stammered, like a deer in the headlights. “Only when I don’t mean it to,” he smiled sheepishly, bringing a hand to scratch the back of his neck.

“Well, then, I suppose that you can give me your name so I can give you mine,” you offered, though amicably. You finished writing on the form, putting the pen down.

“Jungkook,” he nodded his head politely. “Jeon Jungkook, miss.”

You smiled at him and told him your name, pushing the form to him on the desk.

Jungkook read the details you penned on the form intently, his lips softly mouthing each word, and then he turned to the old computer sitting on one side of the desk. But then, he shook his head swiftly. “Shit, yeah. Right,” he hissed. “Prices,” he turned to you.

“You know what,” you blurted, heartbeat racing when you pulled out your card from your purse. “Just sign me up.”

“Okay,” he nodded once again, his smile growing into a more content one, leaving the shyness behind. “Welcome to Casa Pump House,” he announced proudly.

His whole face had lit up, even his eyes seemed to glimmer under the pale overhead lights. The pause that followed told you that he was expecting you to match his energy, to smile, to say something.

A stiff smile stretched the features of your face, you nodded back at him. “Thank you,” you said. However, what he did not know was that the last thing you wanted to get out of your registration to the gym was working out.

You just needed another distraction.

The man stood up at the same time you did. “Let me show you around,” he said, demeanor completely changed. He seemed nervous now.

“Oh, is it okay if we leave that for tomorrow?” you asked, suddenly feeling out of place in your work clothes.

His mouth hung open for a brief moment. “Sure,” he replied. “Of course. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” you echoed, walking out of his office promptly. “Thank you, Jeon!”

You rushed through the rows of all types of machines. The noise from the heavyweights clashing together, the loud music coming from the overhead speakers, and the noises coming from men, exhaling, grunting, and such had you taking a deep breath when you came out of the place.

The night was cold, slightly damp from the mid-summer breeze. It was a stark difference from the humidity inside Casa Pump House.

You snorted. I should learn to ignore my impulsive thoughts.

You found your car, unlocking the doors. But a flashing thought overwhelmed you even more: having to sit through yet another thirty minutes of traffic, alone with your thoughts.

Turning your back from your car, you locked the doors once again, walking down the street. It could be a Thursday night when your usual would be heading home and sleeping. But the city was very much coming alive with nightlife activities.

People were walking close together, laughing, chatting, or looking at their phones. All of them had somewhere to go, somewhere they were being waited for.

Two girls holding hands walked past you, they were giggling, talking about some innocuous thing, but it caught your attention, they were pretty and looked happy.

They stopped in front of an establishment that was clearly a bar. Namely The Spot, in big neon red letters and pushed inside the place, which was booming with loud music, and the buzzing from the people crowding the place.

Once again, you sighed.

Impulsivities.

You were not exactly a drinker. But as soon as you crossed the door, you realized that the place was the answer to your every prayer. Well, no. Not quite. But close.

The place was dark, only lit by neon signs and low-hanging lamps. A cacophony of various things filled your ears: the sound of music, paired with the chattering of the crowd, the billiards in the distance clashing with everything too.

The good part was that no one paid attention to you. You quietly and inconspicuously slid on one of the high-top chairs at the lacquered bar, being approached by a girl a second later to take your order.

“Can I have a coke, please?” raising your voice over the loud speakers made your heartbeat race. You rarely ever did such a thing lately, it felt weird to do something like that again.

The girl nodded and in seconds, she slid the can of coke and a glass with ice in it in front of you.

You were glad that you were not met with concern when you ordered a coke at a bar. But then you realized that no one cared.

The place was packed with mostly women, you realized as you familiarized yourself with its adorned walls and black and white checkered floors. The bar top held a chalkboard that explained it in neat handwriting: ladies' night, buy one get one free.

“Does it apply for non-alcoholic drinks too?” you asked the girl tending the bar.

She shook her head no. “But this one is on me,” she winked at you in a friendly way, when you sent her a questioning look, she just shrugged: “You look like you need it.”

Then the girl turned and continued working, tending to other orders in the bar quite skillfully. You wondered if you announced your sadness just by walking into the place, and people noticed. Or was it that being alone in a ladies' night instantly meant that you were going through a rough time?

You need new friends.

When you broke up with your ex, you hid from the world that revolved around you as a couple. The friends you shared, the places you used to go with him, the activities you liked doing with him… It all got shoved into a drawer at the back of your mind.

So now, you felt like coming back to life. Essentially, you were finding yourself after the pain of a heartbreak. The reason behind all your most recent life's decisions.

You would never go to bars alone, for instance.

Not that you did not enjoy a drink. You did. Though during the time with your ex-partner, it was a true rarity for you to go out and drink.

So being in a bar, on a Thursday was something you had not done in years.

It was quite overwhelming. The buzzing noise, the loud music, the clanking of glass and billiards, the booming laughter and chattering...

The mood was low, dimly lit in red neon lights, the noise seemed to die down upon laying eyes on the tall man going behind the bar, passing in front of you and blocking the sight of the huge neon red sign that read, HEARTBREAKER. The contrasting light against his tall frame made him alluring, you could not help but stare.

However, your trance was cut short. He might have sensed your eyes glued to him because his zeroed on your face, unsuspecting at first. You realized instead, you know this man, the thought fell heavily in your mind, settling in the pit of your tummy.

The dark eyes glinted with recognition, the corner of his lips rising to uncover the predominant fangs as he smiled politely at you.

Kim Mingyu took one step towards the spot you were sitting in, the smile fading at once as you jumped from your stool, swiftly slipping through the door and out of the bar altogether.

Once out, you released a puffy breath. Did you just run away from Kim Mingyu?

“But did he recognize you?” your best friend from college, Mona, asked. She toyed with the tail of a cherry, dragging it on the foamy surface of her pina colada.

“I don’t know,” you squished your cheek on your palm as you propped your elbow on the table. “I didn’t stick around to find out. I don’t think he did, though.”

“Are you sure about that?” she mused.

“I’ve changed a lot, Mona,” you explained, though pointlessly since your best friend already knew what you meant. “I’m not the same kid I was when I was seventeen.”

“True. So why did you run?” she asked, blowing a puffy air up her fringe to keep it off her long eyelashes.

“It was some sort of impulse,” you tried to explain but the truth was, you did not even know the answer to that question. Hence why you resorted to call in for a meeting with the person that knew you the most.

Though it was not a meeting. You had already set a date for you to meet with your best friend long before you found out that Kim Mingyu worked at the bar around the corner of your apartment.

It had been long since you saw your best friend, partly because you kept coming up with excuses to not meet with her.

“I think,” he started, now popping the cherry in her mouth. “That you have been so buried in your own shit that you’ve started to forget how to socialize.”

You coughed up a chuckle. “Right,” you said dismissively. “And what is your recommendation, doc?”

“You should return to the bar,” she shrugged. “You have been hiding for too long. It’s time you go out more, meet new people.”

Her dark eyes bore into your face. You could feel your own pulse in your tummy. “I know,” you confessed with a strangled tone. “I’ve gotten better. I no longer think about him, you know?”

This was the reason why you had been dodging your best friend’s calls. Or cancelling plans at the last minute. This conversation was one you had been putting off for far to long but could no longer keep inside you.

“Good,” she sighed with relief, her heart-shaped face lit up with a kindness that warmed you up. “And how do you feel?”

“I feel… I used to feel angry. At him. For failing his promise to me,” you pursed your lips, swallowing hard as your voice dropped. “But now I just feel like I’m letting it go. I think that things had to happen like that for a reason.”

“He did you a kindness,” she nodded with a wise expression on her face.

You huffed. Kindness is not the word you would use. In fact, you could not come up with words to use to describe what he did to you.

“Seriously,” she insisted, straightening on her seat. “Imagine you got married! Then you would have been a loser’s wife!”

That elicited a genuine chuckle out of you. “True.”

“Not only that, but you would’ve also gotten divorced. Or who knows. But he spared you the pity of being married to him, divorcing him, or having children with his sorry ass.”

You pondered over her words for a second. Mona was there for you when you broke up with your ex. She was the first person to know the news, dropped everything to be at your doorstep within the hour of that happening.

You were grateful for Mona in more ways than one. She gave you space to grieve when you needed it. You did not even have to say it.

“So, are you going back to that bar some time soon?” she pried, leaving the tail of the cherry on her napkin, a knot neatly tied in the middle.

“Yeah,” you admitted. “I chickened out. I think he did see me, and I don’t want to leave that impression.”

“Do you need back up?” she threw you a cheeky look.

Oh, she knows.

“No, I think I got it,” you reassured. “I’ll just pop in, say hi and that’s it.”

Sundays were the worst for you.

The bustling noise from the bar drowned out the heavy thumping of your heart. Keeping your head down, your eyes darted forth and then down to the glass you kept twirling with your fingers on top of the lacquered, pristine bar top.

Kim Mingyu was busy that night. Prancing side to side behind the bar, a white dishcloth resting on his shoulder. He went to pick up a new order, yanking it from the small printer and pretending to read it.

His chocolate brown eyes lifted, locking on you. With a nervous jolt in your chest, you looked at your hands again, grabbing your phone to hopefully distract yourself from the awkward but swift exchange.

“I know you.”

You drew in a breath, jolting so hard that somehow your hands pushed your drink, making some of it spill on the polished surface. “God,” you exhaled in both embarrassment and surprise.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Kim Mingyu blurted, grabbing the cloth from this shoulder and pressing it on the spilled drink. “Shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you like that.”

“No, it’s okay,” you blurted, equally nervous as him. “You caught me off guard.”

“You know what they say,” he said, pressing his lips into a smile and discarding the cloth elsewhere, setting the palms of his hands on the edge of the bar top. “People with naughty thoughts in their heads get scared easily.”

“Nobody says that,” you raised your eyes from his hands to meet his face, his smile had grown, showing now the beautiful fangs that crowned it.

“I'm pretty sure I’ve heard it before somewhere,” he tilted his head to one side.

“Or maybe you just made it up,” you arched one eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he conceded, biting his lower lip to try and hide his shy smile.

A wave of warm embarrassment washed over your face, but you found yourself smiling at the man. “It’s been a long time.”

“So you do remember me.”

“Of course I do,” you replied with a meek smile burning your cheeks.

“Then why didn't you just say hi?” he replied with some faux indignation, pursing his lips into a pout. “I thought you hadn’t recognized me and that’s why you freaked out and left.”

“You didn't say hi either,” you shrugged, shaking your head lightly when you realized it was a bad excuse. “And it hasn’t been that many years, Mingyu,” you giggled. “Of course I remember you.”

The low chuckle that came from him ignited many memories from the past. “Really? Haven’t I changed? Not even a little?”

You rolled your eyes. The very last memories you had from Kim Mingyu were when you were still in high school. Even after many years, he kept the kind smile and bright eyes, the dark long hair. The only different thing about him was that he looked huge now.

He crossed his arms, waiting patiently for your answer. It was funny to you that even when his biceps bulged beneath his black t-shirt impressively, the starry eyes brought that boyish charm he has always had.

“Nope,” you said, shaking your head slowly. “Still the same.”

“But you have changed,” he remarked, nodding his head once. You blinked at him dumbly, so he just added: “Your hair is longer. Braces are gone.”

You let out a chuckle, enjoying how the features of his face went lax at the sound of your laughter, much as if he were holding in a breath until the moment that he made you laugh.

“Spot on,” you mumbled awkwardly, grabbing your empty glass.

It was totally the opposite, though. You feel like you had lost half of your younger self when you entered your twenties. The baby fat from your face was long gone, your skin was leagues better after the brutal hormonal changes. And your body of course was not the same… there were some improvements.

“Sorry, let me refill that for you,” he quickly got to work, pulling out a new glass, filling it back up, and with one move, he slipped it into your hand. “One whisky sour.”

“Thanks,” you pressed your lips in a shy smile.

You watched as he parted his lips, pausing for a second before speaking out, until another voice, a powerful one, boomed from across the bar.

“Kim Mingyu! Get to work!”

He straightened up as if mentally being whipped by the firmness of the command. The man who called was leaning back against a pool table, arms crossed on his chest. But instead of wearing a frown on his face, there was a broad smile in it.

“Ah! Shit, I’m sorry,” he replied in a nervous stammer, wincing when the man handling the bar alongside him slapped him on one shoulder.

“Focus, Min,” the guy who slapped him playfully smiled in a mischievous way, directing a swift glance at you and pursed his lips to keep himself from smiling any wider.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he repeated, shooting an annoyed look at the guy and rolled his eyes at him. “I thought you had it for a minute.”

“Yeah, I did,” he shrugged. “But you don’t get paid to flirt. Plus, boss is watching,” the man pressed his lips into a sly smile.

“I’m not flirting–hyung,” Mingyu widened his eyes, gritting: “She is a friend.”

“Hi,” you raised one hand at the pair of bartenders, waving at them. “I’m a friend.”

“Oops, I’m sorry,” the tall man adjusted the watch sitting on his wrist before waving back at you. “Jeon Wonwoo. Also a friend.”

“Flatmate,” Mingyu gibed with faux dismissal.

“So I’m not your friend anymore?” Wonwoo clicked his tongue, raising his eyebrows. “Good luck with flirting again on the clock without having boss complaining.”

“I wasn’t flirting!” Mingyu whined, grabbing the upcoming order expelled by the little printer behind him.

“Since I’ve been downgraded to just being a flatmate, I’m going to take a break,” he announced with an overly dramatic tone of indignation.

Mingyu’s jaw dropped in a sign of it being unjust. “Hyung!”

“I trust you can handle the bar on your own?” Wonwoo said, undoing the knot tying his waist apron that was previously wrapping him from the waist and left through the back door.

“Tsk,” Mingyu huffed, but then, despite his situation, he smiled widely. “I’m sorry about that,” he offered you a kind look. “He’s just teasing me. Please don’t mind him.”

“It seems like all of your co-workers like teasing you,” you pointed meekly, darting a look towards the other two people standing over the end of the bar.

Mingyu shot a look back, finding the girl that had welcomed you some nights ago, standing beside a tall man of pale blond hair. Both exchanged a smile, looking giddy.

“Tsk, aah,” Mingyu shook his head, and the couple laughed. “Don’t mind them,” he pleaded, resuming to focus back on his work, though part of you assumed that he was too embarrassed to face you.

So, you watched as he busied himself taking orders, handing them out to the pretty girl tending the tables. You continued sipping on your drink, distractedly looking at your phone and sending him glances, noticing that he too was looking at you. Every now and then, he would just shake his head at her in disapproval, which she ignored with a wide smile on her face.

Whenever he tried to stop in front of you to chat, he would be quickly swept away by a new order, or someone would call his name, and he would excuse himself with a quiet apology and a shy smile.

Later, the man that introduced himself to you as Jeon Wonwoo returned to the bar, slapping Mingyu on the shoulder to draw his attention. They exchanged some words, Mingyu looked aback for a second and the other pouted, mouthing: “I don’t know,” and shrugging with ease.

“Hey,” Mingyu came to you after thanking his friend. “Wanna get out of here?”

“Eh?” you tilted your head to one side, the question making your stomach drop.

“So we can catch up,” Mingyu let out a sweet giggle, realizing how his question sounded. “I’m getting kicked out for the night.”

Your eyes widened in bewilderment. “Oh, Mingyu, I’m sorry, that is not what–,”

“Relax,” he sighed. “My flatmate is covering me. He owed me one.”

“Oh,” you blurted. In that case…

“It’s been a while.”

Mingyu hummed thoughtfully, casting a look at the night sky. “Uh, eleven–ten, ten years?” he calculated.

You were exiting the bar, walking down the side of the street after you told him you were just gearing up to head home already, and he kindly offered to walk you home. “Yep. Ten years.”

“Wow,” he sighed. “We’re getting old.”

You braced yourself for one of those talks. As you entered the second half of your twenties, things got a little awkward for you. Once you would think they were stuff of fiction, something you would only see in romantic comedies or in tv shows: characters see the people surrounding their lives getting married, going on dates, honeymoons, having children while they remain a perpetual loner.

Now, you could not relate to that more.

But Mingyu was a person who did not care for those things. Even when you were both seventeen. He did not care for material things, or superficial things.

“Yeah. A little.”

You drew in a breath through your nose. The night was cold, and you could tell in the summer’s breeze that it would rain later.

“I saw that you went in that fancy college,” he mentioned and then laughed. “And then you disappeared off the face of the earth.”

“Yeaaah,” you mumbled awkwardly. “I sort off eliminated all of my social media,” you frowned, remembering the reason why you had done that.

“I get it, it’s exhausting,” he shrugged.

“Did you go into that fancy college?” you returned, remembering Mingyu in those days in which he used to talk about the future, whenever you went out with your friend group. You remembered thinking that he had a bright future ahead of him whenever he would talk about studying mechanical engineering.

“Nah,” he clicked his tongue. “I quit those plans once I started working and making money. So, I’m not a mechanical engineer,” he let out a lazy giggle.

“Mmn,” you nodded. “Yeah, that happens. I’m not a graphic designer.”

“Why?” he frowned. “That’s all you talked about with your friends!”

You looked at him, perplexed to know that Kim Mingyu ever paid attention to you. Within your friend group, you were the least he had in common with. So even when you crossed paths, you never talked to each other aside from small friendly stuff.

“I started working as a translator… Started making money,” you sent him a knowing look.

“Yeah, I get it,” he chuckled. “But do you enjoy it at least?”

“Of course,” you smiled, though you could not ignore the way that your heartbeat faltered. “I work independently, though I do rent an office not far from here actually…” you said, pointing to the street where you were about to turn.

“Nice! I live in the area too, so maybe we’ll run into each other one day,” he mentioned.

“It’s nice to know I have a friendly neighbor,” you smiled. “I just moved here.”

“Oh, then let me show you around some day!” his eyes lit up. “There are a ton of places you probably don’t know of, like the bakery on the next alley, or the coffee shop right next to it, they serve really good breakfasts.”

“That would be nice,” you grinned.

Mingyu showed you a toothy grin, pausing in his step so you could catch up to him since he moved faster than you.

“Hey, about what happened back at the bar,” he motioned a finger to the bar. “I’m sorry about that. My friends can be a bit of dickheads.”

“No, it’s alright, I get it,” you shrugged. “A bit of in-work bantering can lighten up the shift sometimes,” you put simply.

“That and the fact that they have been teasing me for a while now. They try hard to distract me,” he rolled his eyes. But realizing how he came off, he added. “I had a nasty breakup not too long ago. It’s like they think I’m going to break soon. It’s annoying.”

“Can I ask how it happened?” you wondered, feeling your heartbeat falter when you finish uttering the words to a question that perhaps, might be too daring.

Kim Mingyu dug his hands in the pockets of his black denim jeans, sucking in a breath between his teeth. He pushed his shoulders up, that was when you noticed that the chill in the summer air was finally starting the get to him.

“She got into a new job,” he started, his eyes set far ahead on the way in front of you. “At the beginning, I thought that she was just happy from getting her big job. But then, she started saying things.”

As you walked beside him, you tried to keep your eyes trained on the tall man, but then he blinked rapidly, dropping his puppy eyes to his feet.

“She'd say things about my job,” he swallowed hard, and you could almost feel the pain he felt upon remembering. “I thought nothing of it at first, thought she was encouraging me to get a job with higher pay but...”

You nodded, and he sent you a glance in understanding. He did not need to say more about it, and he probably did not want to repeat the hurtful comments.

“And then,” he continued, and his tone dropped: “She started talking about her boss.”

He shook his head silently and exhaled through his nose, lifting his gaze up to the night sky.

“Time passed and the comments got meaner, she started ghosting me and I thought of breaking things off,” he swallowed hard once again, as if trying to mask his pain with it. “I got a call one day from a friend, telling me they saw her entering a restaurant with another man,” you saw him turn his hands into fists inside his pockets. “I guess she forgot that I had the day off that day, so she never thought I'd be waiting for her outside her apartment.”

“Did she...” you blurted out, your heart palpitating in your ears. You braced yourself to hear it, because you knew from before that his pain and yours were too alike.

“Yeah,” he croaked, blinking for a long second. “For weeks.”

“God, I’m so sorry,” you covered your mouth with one hand. “I'm sorry, Mingyu.”

“I'm alright,” he shrugged once more, nodding as if to himself. “I think I'm grateful for her mean attitude towards me because in a way she softened the blow, but it still hurts.”

“I know,” you conceded. “It isn’t easy.”

However, you were raging inside. Some nights, the worst ones, you wonder what you did wrong to deserve everything that your ex did to you. The broken promises, the lies, the ghosting, your trust being brutally shattered.

“The worst thing is the shame,” he sent a glance at you, dragging his foot on the concrete to kick one rock that stood in the way of the park.

You nodded in silence.

“I never told my friends,” he confessed, his eyes were outlining the tree branches. “When it happened, I just told them that she was the one who broke up with me... I've never told them the truth.”

“You are not obligated to,” you muttered, a cold shudder added to your already chilled body making you pause.

“I just couldn't do it,” he muttered. “And the reason isn’t to protect her image, though at the beginning I thought it was… I just don’t want to the pity.”

You crossed your arms close to your chest. “And how are you now?”

“I’m okay,” he said with a reassuring tone. “I like to think that I’ve let it go already.”

Something made your tummy twist. You were familiar with the feeling, but decided not to mention it, since you felt that your past with your ex was no longer relevant.

“I’m sorry,” Mingyu said.

You frowned at him. “What for?”

“For dumping all of this on you, I shouldn’t have done that.”

You realized that as you walked down the park, that you had remained quiet, and perhaps Mingyu mistook your silence for something other than you just pondering about how familiar his situation was to yours.

“Oh, please no, don’t worry, Mingyu,” you showed him a kind smile.

“I don’t want to bother you with that. I just…” he scratched his neck absentmindedly. “I had never talked about this with anyone, and the words just flew out of my mind, you know?”

You nodded; you knew that all too well. “It’s okay, Gyu,” you insisted. “I’m not bothered. I don’t think it’s wrong to talk about that. After all, it is part of you, and I asked because I was curious.”

Mingyu looked at you for a long second. “I appreciate that,” he kissed his own lower lip, nodding in gratitude. “Thanks for hearing me out.”

“Hey, it’s nothing. You’re walking me home, so consider us even,” you pointed.

“You owe me nothing for that,” he pouted slightly, pausing his step in the middle of the basketball court you both were crossing to get to the other side of the neighborhood.

“I’m just saying,” you shrugged. “Since you were kind to me, I guess what I can do is listen to your woes,” you added playfully.

“My woes,” he grinned, clicking his tongue. “Really? You’re a tease,” he insisted, his eyes spotting something on the far corner of the court.

He sprinted towards the forgotten ball, grabbing it with one hand and started to bounce it as he walked back to you.

“Remember when we used to do this?” he asked, standing outside the box and turned to look at you, raising his arms with the ball ready on one hand.

Your tummy fluttered at his words. “Course I do, Gyu. It wasn’t that long ago,” you pointed.

He referred to the times when you used to go out in your friend group, you would go to stroll and have picnic nights with booze right next to the river, and then you would go to the park to watch the boys play basketball.

“I feel like seventeen happened forever ago,” he sighed, confidently throwing the ball which dodged the hoop quite miserably.

You snorted.

Mingyu shot a sullen look at you. “D’you think you can do better than me?” he challenged, but a shy smile drew on his face.

“Oh, most definitely,” you chuckled, but caught the ball with your hands when he passed it to you.

“Right, show me,” he nodded to the hoop.

You grinned, getting ready to shoot your shot. “What do I get if it goes in?”

Mingyu blinked. “You get,” he paused to think. “A round of applause.”

“What?” you gasped.

“A chocolate bar,” he giggled but when you did not reply, he said: “And if you don’t, you’ll get a forehead flick.”

“What, why?” you asked with a faux scandalized tone. “You didn’t get a forehead flick, why should I?”

The giggled that bubbled in his mouth was high and cute at the same time. “Those are the rules.”

“Your rules suck,” you huffed, and finally threw the ball.

It of course, did not go even near the hoop. Mingyu laughed the second that the trajectory of the ball dived before it even went close to the hoop, the sound was so contagious you found yourself resisting to laugh.

“Rules are rules,” he said, locking his middle finger with the pad of his thumb, forming a circle with his joined fingers.

“No, wait—Mingyu!” you squealed then the tip of his middle finger clashed with your forehead, flicking you swiftly. Pain flashed across your skin, but it quickly dissipated, leaving a tingle behind.

“Those were the rules, you agreed!” he giggled again, dodging your hand as you tried to push his shoulders.

“Then you should get one too,” you struggled to keep up with him, every single one of the fists you threw at him dodged quite effortlessly.

“The rules were settled after I threw,” he let out a small squeal when one of your fists nearly collided with his shoulder, but he was still quicker than you.

“Come here you-,” you gasped, your body was neatly trapped in his arms.

Your gaze shot up to find his, overwhelmed by the very pressure of his skin against yours.

“Stay put,” he panted. The tips of his ears were painted red, his eyes had lit up. The smile he wore on his face was just as overwhelming as feeling his big arms surrounding you.

But you sneaked a hand between your bodies, flicking off his forehead with a triumphant smile. “Dummy,” you whispered, a giggle bubbling in your chest. Joy bloomed inside you, warming up your face.

He lifted a hand to rub his forehead, letting you go. “Ack, but you played dirty!” he complained, holding the pads of his fingers to his forehead.

“No, I didn’t, you did,” you remarked, looking at him as he gave you a lazy smile.

“So that’s how it’s going to be,” he kissed his teeth. “I’ll get my revenge on you.”

“Oooh, I’m so scared,” you lifted your hands, flickering them in a scared motion.

The sky rumbled above you. Mingyu looked up and you followed. “We should get going,” he said.

As you left the park, you made your way along the sidewalk where your building was located. Then a hand came to your waist, gently prompting you to walk along the side of the buildings instead of along the edge of the sidewalk.

The touch was minimal, fleeting. But your mouth went dry, searching his face for any sign that he knew what he had done to you with such an insignificant gesture.

Your heart stammered against your chest, quite uncontrollably, it made it hard for you to breathe properly. You raised your head when you got to your building. “We’re here,” you stepped in the first step of the stairs that led to the door of the building, pausing to look back at his face. “Thank you, Min.”

The smile that drew on his face knocked the air out of your lungs. “You are welcomed,” he said, emphasizing each word adorably.

“I guess I’ll be seeing you,” you muttered awkwardly, hating that he had flustered you with so little and had no idea about it.

“Oh, yes,” he swiftly fished his phone from the pocket of his jeans. “We should exchange numbers, in case there is anything you need.”

You sighed shortly through your nose, a thing he did not notice. “Sure,” you said, pulling out your phone and gave him your number.

“I’m mostly busy at the bar but, maybe we could go out for coffee, so we can catch up properly?” he asked.

That gave you a reason to pause. You were certain that he was not asking you for a date, but why had you become so nervous at the thought of going out with Kim Mingyu?

“Of course, I’d love that,” you grinned. “Goodnight.”

And then you ran into your building. Running away from Mingyu for a second time.

You struggled to get sleep that night.

Staring at the ceiling, you grew more and more restless, and even more aware of the thing that lied beneath your bed, inside one of the drawers of the bed frame.

A long, whiny sigh of resignation spilled from you before you could get a hold of your actions. You rolled to the edge of the bed, flinging an arm over the mattress, and yanking the drawer open. Another sigh as your fingers reached for the pink satin bag and bottle of lube.

Tossing the covers off your already hot and pulsating body, fingers trembling slightly as you pulled the vibrator out of the satin pink bag you kept it in since you bought it. There had been only a couple of times that you had actually touched the pretty toy with your hands. The toy was pink, the material was soft, thick, and just about enough inches long to satisfy you. Or so you hoped.

Unsure as to how to go about this, you thought of removing just the lower part of your sleeping clothes, including your panties. Breathing hard, and feeling hot in the face and neck, you lied on your pillows, staring at the ceiling.

Your heart was banging fast against your ribcage, as if it wanted to get out. You liked your lips, before grabbing the bottle of lube you had tossed beside you and pumped the cold, thick lube on your fingers, gently applying it between your pussy lips.

You sucked in a breath through your teeth upon the chilly contact against your warmth. But wasted no time, grabbing the pink rabbit dildo from your sheets and holding the button with your thumb.

It came to life with rapid vibrations, the buzzing sound made you jolt in your bed again. But mustering some courage, you brought the tip in, pushing it inside your entrance gently at first. The fast mechanic motions of the vibrator made it hard to concentrate, or to even get pleasure out of it.

Your eyes outlined the edges of the ceiling, anxiously pushing a few more inches inside your needy walls. The thickness of the dildo made your mouth part, releasing a tiny moan of both pain and from feeling your pussy stretching and pulsating around it.

Slowly, you familiarized yourself with the feeling of it, and you grew to like it as the seconds went by and you found a mode that felt good. Your body responded naturally, coming alight with the mechanic patterns of the vibrator massaging your walls. You pushed it all the way inside you, to the part that met your clit.

A strangled moan came out of you, letting your body be submerged in a puddle of pleasure. You sank your head back onto your pillows and spread your legs more so that the dildo reached deeper inside your walls.

It was electrifying. You felt your muscles tighten, your legs burn and begin to tremble, you turned your head to muffle a moan in your pillow and closed your eyes.

Behind your eyelids, you saw him. You saw his tall frame, the beautiful way that he moved. You saw the outline of his lean torso, the t-shirt clinging onto his abdomen. The way he smiled when he noticed your eyes on him, winking at you knowingly.

The way that every nerve in your body sizzled when he laid his hand on your waist. The memory only contributed to the pleasure blooming inside your body, pushing you closer to the edge.

You slowly succumbed to waves of pleasure washing over you, you moaned and thrashed but made no attempt to pull out the vibrator continuing to pleasure you, taking you to the edge. Your orgasm became brutal, fast fiery waves consuming you, tearing through you.

It was hard to ignore the urge to remember his large hand on you, the way he lowered his gaze to meet yours, his seductive smile. You wanted his hands on you, all over you.

A series of airy moans resounded across the walls, you arched your back from the bed, legs shaking uncontrollably, the burning feeling spreading from your throbbing walls to every corner of your aching body.

You held in a breath, putting an end to your implacable moans. The intense feeling coursing through your body making it harder to stop, so when a warm and wet gush came out of you, your thumb pressed the off button, realizing that you had just wet the bed.

Breathless, and shaking, you sat up on the bed, looking at the wet spot in your bed sheets. It was the first time you squirted, the first time you even felt pleasure so abundantly like this. You pondered over how you had to resort to thinking about Mingyu to achieve your climax.

With a sigh, you gathered yourself, cleaning your bed, yourself, and your toys before throwing your ruined bed sheets in the washing machine. You placed new ones and tucked yourself back in and stared at the ceiling.

Though you were completely languid at the time, your vision faded to black, falling into a deep slumber but one thought remained.

I think I’ll accept that coffee.

Easier said than done.

As the following Monday rolled around, you fidgeted with the sleeves of your large hoodie as you approached the door of Casa Pump House. Nerves wrecked up in your system when you pushed the door open using your electronic key.

It had been some days since you saw Mingyu. Some nights since you dared to touch yourself thinking of him. And you were trying your best to keep him out of your mind. Utterly ashamed, you did not even want to think of what you had done.

Because you had enjoyed it.

In the back of your mind, a tiny voice begged for you to visit The Spot again. Whenever you went to the convenience store, a flashing thought warned you that you might run into him there. Or at the gym, even.

“Heyyyy,” Jungkook rasped, elongating the word. “You have been MIA.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled awkwardly. “Stomach flu.”

He made a face. “Ew. You’re good now?”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t ew me,” you gibed. “Yeah, I’m good.”

But Jungkook did not know the stomach flu had a name, and you have been doing everything to not cross paths with him. So why were you at the gym, knowing full well that you could potentially run into him around that time?

“You’re here early,” he pointed, leaning his head to one side.

“It’s noon already!” you quipped.

“That’s early for you,” he remarked. “You always come here when I’m leaving.”

“Well, I missed you so I thought I could come here earlier to see your face,” you returned.

“You know what, I’ll take that. I missed your silly face too,” he said, smirking triumphantly.

“Shut up,” you rolled your eyes.

“Well,” he clasped his hands together, comically drawing in his eyebrows in a deep-set frown. “Let’s get to work, twinkie.”

“What did you just call me?” you demanded at him.

“Twinkie,” he shrugged, motioning a finger at your body. “You look squishy, like a cute twinkie.”

“Hey!” you frowned, pointing a finger at him impishly. “And you look like you were left alone with a sharpie started doodling on your skin.”

His mouth parted in a tiny o. “Touché.”

You giggled. “Okay, let’s get to work,” you rolled your eyes in resignation.

“Let’s start with some warmup,” he nodded to the elliptical machines behind you. “Ten minutes. And then you are going to do RDLs, okay?”

“Okaaaaay,” you mumbled, reluctantly taking your body to the elliptical machine.

You climbed the steps, pressing buttons to see what made the machine start. Once you found the button that made it work, you started moving. You dove into the pocket of your hoodie, looking for your earbuds and your phone to distract yourself from the monotony of the gym.

“Hands out of your pockets!” Jungkook yelped, a second later you saw the man rushing to your side. “You’re gonna get squished, twinkie.”

“Stop calling me that,” you giggled with embarrassment.

“I will when you get a nickname for me that suits me,” he negotiated.

“God, you’re terrible at flirting,” you pointed with a laugh.

“I’m not flirting,” he chuckled, awkwardly moving away from you.

You let out a puffy breath, drawing out your earbuds out of your pocket.

“Mingyuuuu, it has been ages!” Jungkook chanted, his voice resounding across the lonely gym.

Your stomach twisted, an anxious rush of blood barrelling throughout your body. Your gaze snapped around the place, finding Jungkook pressing his phone to his ear. “This Friday? Uh, yeah, maybe I could. Let me check and I’ll let you know, okay? Okaaay.”

It could be anyone else, you reasoned, placing the earbuds inside your earholes with embarrassment controlling your body. However, it seemed all too likely that it was the same Kim Mingyu on the phone. After all, Jungkook and Mingyu seemed like the kind of goofballs that would get along.

A probability that you did not want to find out yet.

As you continued your best to follow your routine, something had damaged it. And it was not that you were still ashamed of yourself. Or that you were still flustered about your last encounter with Mingyu.

The realization that you could feel something other than monotony. From the moment you broke things off with your ex, everything felt the same, tasteless, colorless. And you knew that you had put in the work to break out of that dullness in your life, you went out more, you were meeting new people.

But nothing compared to that night. And you found out that you wanted more.

However, it was not easy. You had drowned yourself in work in order to keep avoiding it. So there you were, trapped in your little office you rented for yourself, working yourself to exhaustion so that you could just get back home and sleep immediately.

You turned off the computer after reading the clock that it was three in the morning already. So you grabbed your phone, and your apartment keys and went out of the building.

Damn you, summer rains.

They always came when you least expect it, in the blink of an eye. The air felt so hot as you went out of your office that you could barely walk outside, but then the rain was pouring over you with no notice.

Walking down the sidewalk in working shoes was not the best idea. In fact, you were heavily contemplating removing them and just going back home barefoot.

You came to a reluctant halt in the middle of the deserted sidewalk, as heavy droplets of water fell on your face, on the back of your head as you stared at your shoes, getting wetter and wetter as you pondered over your dilemma.

“Lost something?”

Taking one big gulp of air, you shot a look across the sidewalk, only to find Kim Mingyu standing, wearing his usual attire for work. The features of his face looked relaxed despite the heaviness with which he approached you, carrying his fatigue in his limbs with each step.

His white T-shirt began to accumulate wet spots on his shoulders and chest. His cheeks were wet, as was his long messy hair.

You gaped at him in question. The dilemma occupying your brain dissipated into the void, quickly replaced by the shock of seeing him after days of keeping him at arm’s length without failure.

“Hi there,” he muttered once he stood one step before you.

“Hi,” you smiled, having to tilt your head to find his face.

“You’ve been gone,” he said with some air of urgency, much as if he did not want to lose you at some lazy excuse on your part. “I was starting to wonder that you didn’t want to hang out anymore.”

You hated his straightforwardness sometimes. “Sorry,” you scrunched up your nose in discomfort, receiving more fat droplets of water on your face. “I needed some me time.”

“Then you should’ve just said so, dummy,” he pointed, rolling his eyes at you as if his point were the most obvious thing in the world.

“I struggle to say things sometimes,” you retorted in a whiny tone. “Look, I’d love to continue this conversation but we’re literally just soaking in the middle of the street.”

Mingyu raised his eyebrows, as though he had not noticed the rain pouring down on both of you. “I’ll walk you home,” he motioned in the opposite direction from which he was previously coming.

And with that, he turned around and started to walk down the street.

You fell into step at his side, struggling to keep his steady pace. “Slow down,” you exhaled.

“Right,” he giggled sweetly. “Short legs.”

“Shut up,” you readjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “You just walk really fast.”

“Because I’m taller than you, my legs are longer,” he motioned to his legs, taking one big step that amounted to three of yours.

“Well, then walk slower, please,” you huffed with exhaustion already building up in your feet.

Mingyu noticed, still looking at your face as he walked. “Fine, sorry,” he conceded. “Are you just clocking off work?”

You nodded, noticing your ponytail heavier now that your hair was soaking. “I wanted to finish everything before the weekend.”

“It’s three in the morning,” he gasped in dramatic reprimand.

“Don’t give me that look,” you frowned, pointing a finger at him. “I could say the same to you! You also just clocked off.”

“But that is normal for my job! What you do is not something specifically for night hours,” he argued, matching your tone.

“What do you know about what I do?” you tried to argue but a smile fought to curve your lips. “I could hold office hours specifically from 11 pm to 3 am,” you giggled impishly.

“Ah, really you are…” he rolled his eyes but shook the thought from his head. “Could you finish?”

Droplets of water slid down the bridge of his nose, dropping from the tip and onto his cupid’s bow. You remembered the cute little beauty mark sitting on the tip of his nose. You wanted to kiss it.

It took you one second to understand what he was implying. “Oh, yes, I did,” you stammered, crossing your arms over your chest.

But Mingyu did not notice the meaning behind your gaze. “That’s good,” he nodded, pressing his lips together.

The short spasm returned in your chest, making you tear your eyes from his face and keep walking beside him, staring at the sidewalk.

“How was work tonight?” you returned the question, trying to get as much light conversation as you could without falling into the deep craving tugging in your insides.

“It was alright,” he shrugged. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“What would that look like?” you ventured.

“Ah, well, drunk people tend to be funny,” he showed you a toothy grin. “One guy celebrated his birthday at the bar one night, and after a few drinks he lost control, went insane,” he laughed in the memory of it. “He started thinking he was an idol, he requested a song and got on a top of the bar and started dancing.”

His laugh was contagious, you could not help but respond with a giggle of your own. “Oh, no, that sounds embarrassing. What did you do?”

“He lost his balance and fell to the floor,” his smile vanished, shuddering slightly. “He broke his nose, I had to call an ambulance,” he finished the story, scratching his nape absentmindedly.

“That’s not how I thought the story would end. Talk about a night to remember,” you huffed awkwardly.

“Well that is one story of many,” his eyes widened slightly.

“But you like it?” you raised your eyebrows. “D-do you like your job?”

“I do,” he reaffirmed with a nod.

The rain had completely succeeded at soaking your clothes, your button shirt felt cold against your skin, and your jeans were tight and damp, it was starting to get hard to move.

Whereas you felt like a wet ragged doll, Mingyu looked like a supermodel. His long dark hair was dripping wet onto his beautiful face. His white T-shirt was clinging to the muscles of his body, letting you view the well-defined lines of his abdomen.

“Were here already?” Mingyu asked when you came to a halt in front of your building.

“Yeah,” you said distractedly, sending him a look as you opened the door to the inside of the building, welcomed by the smell of humidity and dust. “Don’t just stand there.”

The man followed you inside without much insistence. You started machining in your brain your next movements while climbing the first flight of stairs to the door of your apartment, which you opened with a shaky hand.

You staggered awkwardly against the door frame, trying to keep your chin up to hold his gaze. One hand brushed the worn edges of the frame, resting on it as you caught your breath. Mingyu noticed your eyes this time around. And you almost did not want to realize that his eyes were on your body as well.

“Do you want to come in?” you asked meekly, darting a look at the dark interior of your apartment, aside from the little lamp you always left on when you went out. “I can make something to eat. And lend you a towel, fresh clothes, maybe.”

Much to your fortune, the man nodded with his head. “If you want,” he mumbled, so you slid back inside your apartment for him to follow inside. “Though I’d have to reject the clothes,” reluctantly, he strolled inside your haven, looking at the abandoned big frame and leaning against the hallway wall.

“Why?” you asked, still walking backward as he paced before you.

“Because they might not fit me,” he chuckled, his smile knocking the air out of your lungs.

“What do you know, I could have something that might,” you smirked, getting him a towel you had discarded earlier in the morning.

He gave you a light gesture of gratitude with his head, thanks, he mouthed before pressing the towel to his face.

“Do you…” you hesitated. “Can I offer you something?”

He sneaked a look at you with the towel pressed to the lower half of his face.

“Like water?” you suggested with a sheepish smile. “I have ramen–and rice in the fridge.”

He contemplated you as you swayed your body on the balls of your feet ever so gently. “You don’t need to do that,” he finally replied.

“It’s just food, Mingyu. You walked home with me,” you shrugged, motioning to the kitchen, your fingers grazing the rim of the dining table.

The man took one step towards you, making your step stutter. “I mean that,” he smiled. “You don’t have to repay nothing, shorty. That’s what friends are for.”

You stumbled against the edge of your dining table, a gasp leaving your lips that you quickly tried to replace with a muffled chuckle. “You know, I could say the same thing.”

“How long are you going to keep this up?”

“What?” you breathed, completely perplexed by both the proximity and the question. “Ke-keep what up?”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” he muttered gruffly, pushing you to lean back against the dining table without laying one finger on you. He was just so close to you that you had no room to breathe.

“Noticed what? Mingyu–,” you giggled in utter shyness when he knowingly smiled at you. The blood rushing to your face made your skin tingle, you bit your lower lip.

“Am I making you nervous?” his voice dropped, his dark eyes reading the features of your face with avid curiosity.

“Yes,” you admitted, leaning back with your hands gripping the wooden rim of the table as he towered over you. “I like you, Kim Mingyu.”

His triumphant smile crushed your heart with its beauty. Damn you, Kim Mingyu.

“I like you too,” he whispered, leaning closer, the smile fading softly as you stopped moving back.

“Mingyu,” you whispered, hating how much you were flustered at his confession, your voice waning.

Mingyu paused, but it was not out of hesitance, his gaze swimming on your features quickly softened once you dared to reach out to him. Using the proximity of your bodies, you found his face with your hands, realizing how warm his skin was.

“Yeah?” he whispered back, nodding slightly with his head. Mingyu wanted this too.

You are not sure what happened, if you moved first or he did. You closed your eyes, breath hitching as his lips touched yours, your skin coming to life with a fiery rush of blood. From pressing his lips against your own, he quickly moved to kiss you deeper, using one hand on your chin to tilt your face to him.

Your heart stammered in your chest, his hand returning to park in your waist. Friends don’t kiss, you wanted to tell him.

Who were you kidding, you had never wanted someone like you wanted Mingyu.

But this is wrong, you thought over and over again.

“Mingyu,” you breathed when his fingers on your chin tilted your head for him to kiss the underside of your jaw, slowly pressing his lips twice.

“Mn?” he hummed really close to your skin, so you felt his short sigh, his breath brushing your skin.

“We should stop,” you brought a hand to the middle of his chest, feeling his hard pecs beneath your palm.

“Why? Am I doing something wrong?” he asked, backing away from you so he could take a look at your face.

“No, not at all,” you said, short of breath, rigid in your muscles in a weak attempt to resist what you wanted to do.

“Okay, if you want to stop, then we stop,” he offered with a kind tone, slowly following your gaze as you palmed his chest over his t-shirt.

“I- I mean if we do this…” you stammered, feeling stupid. “I don’t want us to change.”

A toothy grin spread on his lips. “How would this change us?” he shot a look to your eyes then your lips.

“I don’t want to cross a line we can’t come back from,” you explained, still not letting go of him.

He stilled completely; you saw it in his eyes when he started to craft a plan. “You draw the line.”

“Mingyu…” you whispered, your lips pouting around the last sound of his name.

This was not the same as playing basketball in the middle of the night with him. This could potentially tilt your world upside down. He did not know yet the way he made you feel just by being around you.

“You can draw it here if you want,” he offered, his tone was nothing but kind.

A smile stretched your lips slowly. He made things harder for you like this. Letting you be the one to choose was dangerous, if not stupid. But he did not know.

“I don’t want you to look at me differently,” you quivered. It was still hard to breathe since he was still within arm’s reach. Your hand lingered still right on top of his heart.

“I won’t,” he whispered back, gesturing a no with his head slightly. “I promise.”

Mingyu did not know that you were all too familiar with the pain that he carried. Even if he were not hurting at that moment, you knew what he was going through.

Mingyu looked at you as if he had just dipped into the stream of your thoughts but were left unbeknownst to your actual insecurities. “You’re safe with me,” he mumbled, offering you the ghost of a smile.

You thought of all the nights you wished for something like this to happen. The moments you wished to get a touch, to feel what you felt the first time he placed his hands on you.

Mingyu grabbed you by the waist, easily lifting you off your feet and placing you on the small dining table. He did this carefully, but you could sense that he wanted you in a position where he could kiss your face freely. His hands held your face lightly, while he continued pressing kisses on your lips, your cheeks.

This time, as he dives back in your lips, his tongue brushes against yours, lightly at first but enough to elicit a throaty moan from you. The frenzy pulsing in your throat turns into a warmth, blooming from your neck to your face.

He realized you liked that, and tried it one more time, his tongue lingering on the tip of yours before he pulled back. “I should go now,” he whispered, the pad of his thumb caressing your chin gently. “Or I won’t be able to stop.”

You grabbed his wrist. “Wait,” you breathed. “Please don’t. Don’t go. I don’t want you to leave.”

Did you want him? Or did you just not want to spend the night alone, wondering about him?

Mingyu seemed to desist, much as if the rigidness that he used to command himself away from your body had dissolved once he heard your plea. You caught sight of his throat bobbing when he gulped hard, searching your features as if he would find what to say in them.

“Stay the night with me,” you blurted uncontrollably.

“Sure,” he replied, grabbing the edges of the dining table as though he were withholding the urge to touch you again.

“Do you want to, Mingyu?” you asked, reluctant about his general lack of resistance to your offer.

He smiled as he tilted his head to one side. “I would’ve said no if I didn’t want to,” he raised his eyebrows in question. “If I stay, I do want to know one thing. Are you sure about this?”

Before you uttered the same quippy response he gave you, the flashing thought of sabotaging yourself crossed your mind. He knew this. Mingyu knew that you had a tendency to be a people pleaser, of trying to make everyone happy.

“I am,” you reassured, and it was the final blow to what little self-control you had left. “I want you, Mingyu.”

The words caused an impact on him. He breathed in slowly, but his eyes widened ever so slightly, shooting up a glance to your features. His eyes lit up, his beautiful lips curving in a small, but shy smile.

Finally admitting that aloud, and to him also caused something within you. Your pulse quickened, followed by a heat rushing inside you, stretching so far that it reached the tips of your fingers, commanding them to his face.

The pads of your fingers touched the line of his jaw in a gentle caress, urging him back to your lips before you could say something even more damming to your soul. The stammering of your heart was distracting, telling you to let go of this man before he could hurt himself in the tumultuous and dark path that led to your heart.

But you could not. Take the risk, the words echoed in the back of your mind.

“Mingyu,” you blurted, parting from his lips. “Couch, sit.”

You heard an airy chuckle left him as he broke away from the kiss, walking back and blindly falling on the couch, not bothering to look around to make sure where he was heading. You jumped from the dining table, crossing the space to follow him.

His hands pulled you in, his grip on your waist coming back to command you to sit on top of him, which you did willingly, pressing one knee on the couch, then the other, framing Mingyu’s thighs.

Now that you were straddling, a tiny voice in the back of your mind wanted to pull the breaks, but your hands found his face again, your palms caressing his cheeks as you slid your fingers in his long dark hair, brushing it back before sinking your lips in his.

His hands roved your back, starting from your waist up, his fingers getting caught in your hair when he reached your shoulder blades, pressing on your skin over your dress shirt. Your hands went around the back of his head, sliding down to find his thick neck.

Your tongue rolled inside his mouth, swiping a line on his lower lip in the process. Your body came alight with a shudder when a raspy moan coiled around his throat, you felt it beneath your fingertips.

A soft wet sound bubbled between your lips and his when you stopped kissing him, pausing for air. You thought of what to say, resting your forehead on his.

“Do you want to keep going?” he asked.

Every inch of your skin tickled when you heard how gruff his voice had turned. You nodded with your head.

“Yes,” you replied. “You? What do you want, Mingyu?”

The inner corners of his eyebrows twitched ever so slightly, but you noticed it. The question caught him off guard as if that had not been a consideration before. It broke you.

“I don’t want to stop,” he said with a sigh. But realizing that he only half answered your question, he added: “I want you. I’ll go as far as you let me.”

The tiny voice grew more alarmed, but you ignored it besottedly running the pads of your fingers to brush back a rebellious strand of hair back from his face. Mingyu was beautiful, the most beautiful man you have ever seen. But the pull you felt for him went beyond the physical. You needed him.

“Take control, baby,” he whispered.

And you obliged. The strangled sound that bubbled inside you was almost foreign to you. You were on his lips again, kissing him hungrily like you had never kissed someone else before. His hands grabbed your hips, bringing you impossibly closer to his body, pushing your chest flush against his.

You palmed his chest, appreciating the warmth radiating from him with a low hum, which he reciprocated, his hands daring to move farther down your back, cupping your ass and pulling you down on him, pushing your crotch against his.

“Mingyu,” you whimpered in his mouth. You grounded your hips on him, replicating the motion by swaying your hips back and forth on him once, then twice.

“Fuck,” he blurted, then shut his eyes tightly. “Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you whispered, continuing to ground your hips on him, rubbing yourself on the hard bulge beneath his blue jeans. “Do you like this?”

“Yeah, yes, baby,” he rasped. “But I want you to feel good, shorty. C-can I move you to the bed?” he shuddered.

You stopped grinding on him. “Sure-,” you gasped. Before you could finish your sentence, Mingyu was rising to his feet, scooping you up with him.

He giggled softly when you squealed in surprise. “I got you,” he wrapped your body effortlessly, his arms carrying you safely.

Your arms went around his neck by instinct, but he crossed your tiny studio apartment faster than your brain could even process. As he laid you on the mattress, you noticed that he had made sure that only your legs were hanging on the edge of the bed.

Mingyu placed a hand on the mattress, right next to your shoulder, then the other. “Stop me if you don’t like anything at all,” he muttered, climbing on top of you, and lowering his hips to meet yours.

He was heavy—heavier than you had expected or imagined in your most delusional nights. And he was not even lowering his full weight on you.

You swallowed thickly. But recovered when your hands found the hem of his t-shirt. “I want to see you without this,” you toyed with the damp cotton fabric, sending him a look.

Mingyu smiled and pulled back on the mattress, standing on his knees before you. He crossed his arms, grabbing the hem of his t-shirt to pull it up his torso, and off his head, showing his skin unabashedly.

A shudder flashed down your spine. You wondered before what was beneath that t-shirt, but what little you dared to imagine did not compare to the actual beauty he was. Before you could even take the image before you, Mingyu was already leaning over your body, propping a chaste kiss on your lips.

“Fair is fair?” he asked meekly, a thumb brushing over one button of your dress shirt.

“Yeah,” you showed him a smile, realizing you were jittery.

You watched his hand trail down as he undid each button, your shirt parting and slowly revealing the white bra you wore. It was nothing too daring, but it fit you well, accentuating your breasts nicely.

You darted a look at his face. Mingyu finished undoing the buttons of your shirt, his gaze lost in you as he palmed your tummy with a gentle caress to uncover more of your skin to him.

“God, you’re so pretty,” he gasped, leaning to press a hard kiss on your lips, his hand cupping your cheek.

Too astounded to even bring yourself to reply, you whimpered into the kiss, his tongue outlining your lower lip, his hand on your waist inched to your chest, setting your skin on fire. He cupped one of your breasts, groaning in desperation before hiking up the cup of your bra, to touch you freely.

Your hands flew to undo his belt, hastily undoing the button and zipper of his jeans too. “Get up,” you gasped, his thumb swirling your nipple, getting it to pebble, a tingle spreading on your skin beneath his touch.

Mingyu obliged, knowing where you were going before you even made a move. His gaze followed you as you pushed his jeans down, getting rid of them. In two full motions, your dress shirt was discarded on the floor along with your bra before you returned your back to the mattress.

He looked at you like no one else had before. There you were, splayed on your bed beneath him, and he was just taking you in with his gaze, making your heart flutter wildly.

His fingers grazed the skin of your thigh, inching closer to the band of your panties. You trapped his index and middle finger in your hand, his gaze snapping to yours.

“Fair is fair,” you reminded him with a grin.

He stood before your bed wearing a pair of grey boxers only. Pushing the inside of his cheek with his tongue, he sighed shortly. “You played dirty,” he pointed, but he removed his hand from your grasp.

You sat up, stopping him when you shot him a look, wordlessly telling him you wanted to finish undressing him yourself. You enjoyed the look on his face, his features going soft when you ran a finger from his belly button to the band of his boxers.

You palmed the outline of his cock, darting a quick look at his face when you felt the wet patch of precum on the last piece of clothing he wore. When your fingers finally curled around the waistband of his boxers, you could not help but conceal your smile by biting your lower lip.

Mingyu was fully hard, and he was big. A shudder tore through you. He stepped out of his boxers, looking at the bewildered expression on your face as he stood wholly naked, and proudly so.

Before you could even utter a word, he motioned you to lie back once more. You smiled, helping him get rid of your wet and ruined panties, which he yanked down your legs, tossing them to the floor, littered with your and his clothes.

“Gyu,” you whimpered, his lips pressing a sweet kiss on your lower, moving to capture it in a deeper kiss.

“Need you,” he whispered against your skin, his breath hot and quivering slightly as his hands palmed your breasts, his thumbs brushing your perked nipples. “I need you, baby.”

Your hands roamed on his back, feeling the outlines of his hard muscles. “Take me,” you blurted. “I’m right here.”

He placed a kiss on the underside of your jaw, and you tilted your head back for him to kiss your throat. “I want to eat you out,” he husked against the plain of your chest, kissing the swell of your breasts, taking his time with each as you raked your fingers on his scalp. “Can I?”

“God, yes, Mingyu, please,” you gasped, his mouth wrapped around one of your nipples, making you stir your back on your mattress.

Mingyu hummed as he licked your tits, his tongue swirling around your areolas, kissing your nipples and suckling at them. His hands caressed the inner side of your thighs, spreading them open as his mouth trailed down your tummy, kissing your skin, making it prickle.

A moan coiled in your throat. You needed him now. “Hurry,” you blurted with a whine.

Mingyu obeyed wordlessly, getting down on his knees. Kissing your mound, his hands cupping your inner thighs focusing solely on your pussy before diving in, his tongue swiping a broad stroke on your pussy lips, licking you fully. The feeling overwhelmed you at once, and you knew you would not last long.

“God,” you gasped, as he licked your folds sending you a look from between your thighs. The view was so lewd, beating any experience you had ever had in the past in a matter of seconds.

Silence flooded the room, aside from the wet sounds of his mouth on your pussy, licking your folds, and your increased breathing. Your mouth had fallen open, and you forgot to breathe.

His hair tickled your skin, his warm hands holding you down as he licked, suckled, and nipped at your pussy, as though he were getting familiar with it, as though he just wanted to taste if first before moving his tongue to your clit.

And when he did, you knew there was no going back.

A breathy moan escaped, and you drew in a breath again. “Mingyu…” you called after his tongue swirled around your swollen clit. “Do that again,” you asked, your tone whiny and pathetic.

He did not skip a second before doing a figure-eight motion with the tip of his tongue, and again. And again. You wondered if you would come before he grew tired, but then you realized that he was not stopping, nor faltering.

You propped half of your body on the mattress, letting your eyelids fall shut for a brief moment, focusing on his tongue teasing your clit relentlessly. You caressed his long dark hair, drawing his puppy eyes to yours. “I’m almost there,” you choked out, your limbs tensing in response.

“God, Gyu,” you tilted your head back, a tiny giggle escaping you. “You’re so good at this,” you whispered aloofly.

Your fingers curled in his hair, feeling like you were falling, sinking into a puddle of pleasure. Arousal and drool dripped on the covers of the bed as the tension in your body brimmed you to the point you were shaking.

“Min-mingyu,” you choked out, so close to the edge you could barely hold out. “I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m co-,” your orgasm rippled through you, body going limp with sweet pleasure, shaking, and whimpering pathetically.

He placed one final open kiss on your clit before rising from the floor, a satisfied look on his face. “Shorty?” he mumbled.

“I’m good,” you gasped dazedly.

“Want more?” he asked, climbing back on top of you.

“I need you,” you cupped his neck, pulling him into a fervent kiss. You tasted yourself in his mouth, his chin wet with your arousal, making your walls throb around nothing. “I need you now.”

That brought a wolfish grin from him. “How do you want me, baby?”

“Lie down,” you breathed, finding his hard chest with your hands.

You knew it was incredibly hard to push his body, but somehow you did. Pushing his broad shoulders as you managed to get on top of him again, but this time, as you were both utterly naked in your bed, it felt completely different.

“Oh god,” he blurted, his hands gripping your hips instantly as you lowered your ass to sit on him.

“You were amazing,” you husked, placing a chaste kiss on his lips that resounded with a lewd smacking noise.

His fingers dug into the skin of your hips in reaction to your praise, groaning as he captured your lips with his own again.

“Do you have a condom?” you asked, your tone weakened by the pleasure and the urge of feeling him.

He blinked for one long second. “No,” he rasped. “Do you?”

You shook your head. “I could suck you off,” you mumbled meekly, your gaze shifting between his eyes and lips. “But I’m on birth control.”

“I’m clean,” he mumbled. Your heart deflated just a little.

“I want you, Min,” you whispered, brushing his lower lip with the pad of your thumb.

A silent groan escaped him. “Please,” he replied in kind. “I want to feel you, baby. Now.”

The sound of his words emboldened you. You sat back on his thick thighs, once you straddled him you realized how big Kim Mingyu actually was. You raked the skin of his torso with the tips of your fingers, making him suck in a breath and shut his eyes close.

“Don’t tease me, please,” he choked out, kneading the flesh of your thighs. “Play later, baby.”

The whiny tone of his plea did not go unnoticed by you, but you kept caressing his skin, exploring it under the pads of your fingers until you reached his pelvis. Mingyu was well groomed, you found out when you grazed the short hairs with your index finger.

“Please,” he breathed, a hand shooting to circle your ankle.

“Alright,” you giggled.

You grabbed his hard cock with one hand, swallowing hard when you felt his soft skin, the thin vein trailing on the underside of his thick shaft. It was heavy and warm as you pumped him, spreading the precum leaking from its reddened tip.

Lifting your hips, your gaze locked on his, he trapped his lower lip behind his teeth, you guided his cockhead to your folds, a moan bubbling in your chest when his hands gripped you tighter. Mingyu sucked in a breath, swallowing a deep moan as you sank down on him.

“God,” you sighed, tears brimming in your eyes at the euphoric sensation of his cock stretching your walls deliciously.

But none of you broke eye contact, much as if neither wanted to miss the reactions you got from feeling each other.

“Fuck,” he whined once you bottomed out on him with a moan from your part. He closed his eyes, shuddering hard underneath you, his hands lingered on your hips, kneading your thighs as if that helped him cling to sanity.

“Okay?” you whispered.

“God, you…” he sighed, licking his lips. “You feel like heaven, baby.”

You smiled at him. “How long have you gone without getting fucked?” the question flew out of your mouth before you could even stop yourself.

“A while,” he admitted with a raspy tone.

You gave him a smile, before you anchored your hands on his chest, pulling your hips up, and then pressed them back onto his, feeling every naked inch of him. Your mouth fell open. “You’re so big,” you gasped.

“Am I hurting you?” he whispered.

You shook your head, though the stretch had stopped hurting, you were enjoying it. You tucked your feet beneath you, propping them on his thighs to help yourself angle your hips on top of him. “Okay?” you asked again, riding him slowly.

“Perfect,” he replied, lifting his hands to cup your tits while his eyes explored every curve of your body.

You moaned, his fingers toyed with your pebbled nipples, making your hips buckle. “God, Mingyu…” you sighed, picking up the pace on top of him, enjoying the glazed look on his face.

“Fuck,” he gritted, pushing his head back on your fluffy pillows. “I’m gonna come. Baby, I’m g-gonna come.”

By pure instinct, you lifted your hips from his completely, making him sigh heavily but did not complain. You laughed impishly at the frown setting on his face.

“Please! Please, don’t stop, baby,” he whined, his hands clutching your waist. “I can keep going… just let me come, please. I need it.”

Oh, you could become addicted to this. You quickly realized.

You conceded without more begging from his part, sinking down on his cock again. Mingyu let out a long, whiny moan, shuddering when you started bouncing on him again. You leaned forward, managing to trap his lips with your own in a heated kiss. He hummed in your mouth, his hands roaming on your back.

“Fuck, baby,” he gasped. “I swear, you feel like nothing else baby.”

You moaned, feeling your eyebrows pinch involuntarily. “You’re close, Min?” you asked, your tone going sweet and velvety for some reason.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Don’t edge me again, please.”

“Okay,” you giggled. “Wanna come inside me, Min?” you brushed his long dark hair back.

You caught sight of awe shooting on the features of his face. “Ye-yeah,” he breathed. “Please, please I’m so close, baby…”

You left a small peck on his lower lip, bouncing on him gently. “Come inside me, Mingyu,” you whispered.

“Oh god,” he gasped, grabbing your hips, helping you ground on him at the speed he needed to find his release, which came quickly, making him squeeze his eyes shut for a second before finding your eyes. “Baby, I’m coming, fuck, fuuuuuck…”

His mouth parted, a sharp intake of breath resounding across the walls right before a raspy moan came out of his pretty lips. The sight was so alluring that you feared the image would never leave your mind, you knew it would haunt you every night.

His grip became limp, and you stopped swaying your hips on him, kissing his lips as he came down from his high.

“Don’t stop,” he breathed, finding your thigh with one hand, then the other, caressing your ass before he motioned you to continue moving on him.

“Mingyu-,”

“I told you, shorty,” he said, showing you a lazy grin. “I can keep going.”

An ecstatic feeling rushed through you.

“It’s okay, Mingyu,” you said. “I’m good.”

“I want you to come,” he muttered, his voice thickened and gruff by arousal. “Do you want me to help you come, baby?”

“I- yes,” you sighed. “God, yes, Mingyu.”

Mingyu nodded, grabbing your hips as he shifted on the bed, planting the soles of his feet on the mattress to lift his hips, fucking into you, his cock reached deeper inside your walls, and deeper. A whiny cry escaped your mouth, your hands flying to grab onto his shoulders.

“Mingyu!”

Then he started plowing into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin becoming louder, impossible for the whole neighborhood to ignore. The headboard banged against the wall, mattress creaking with each of Mingyu’s hard thrusts.

He gritted his teeth, his eyes lost on the features of your face as you wailed, and cried out on top of him, nearing your sweet release.

“Fuck, fuck, Mingyu, I’m coming, I’m coming,” you cried out, a low whiny moan escaping you as you reached your second orgasm. This one was fiery, consuming you fast and mercilessly. Mingyu grunted, and you knew just by the fucked out look on his face that he was coming with you but kept fucking into you through your high, dumping his second load inside you.

You were panting, shaking, languid with pleasure as he lowered his hips back on your bed again, reaching out for you by putting a hand on the back of your head, prompting you to lie on his chest.

“You’re okay?” he asked with a sigh.

“Yeah, yes,” you breathed raggedly. “Perfect. You?”

Mingyu chuckled, wrapping his heavy arms around you in a warm embrace. “Perfect.”

You closed your eyes, ignoring the alarming voices in your head.

There was a thing you were certain of: you were playing with fire. But you wanted him, even if that also meant that you wanted to make him forget his broken heart. You wanted to ease his pain.

“We need to clean up,” you said, lifting your head from his chest.

Mingyu smiled, brushing your hair, tucking it behind your ear with his fingers. “Can’t we stay like this for a minute?” he said with a lazy drawl.

“Okay,” you whispered, leaning down on his chest again.

You listened to his heartbeat, caressing his chest with one hand. You smiled.

“What?” he asked, hearing your tiny giggle.

“Will you accept that ramen now?” you asked.

Mingyu chuckled, his eyes lighting up. “Yeah, I think I will.”

The following Sunday rolled around and you did not go to the bar this time, feeling like it was a little too soon to see Mingyu again after the night he spent at your place. And thankfully, you did not feel hollow for once, even as you sat quietly in your apartment.

That was until the loud buzzing of your phone broke the perpetual stillness of the living room.

[8:40 PM] min: Are you free tomorrow? [8:40 PM] min: Can I come over to yours? [8:40 PM] min: I can't stop thinking about you.

That drew a big smile out of you. You replied in an instant, letting him know that he could come to yours, sealing the deal with Mingyu, whom you never thought would make you feel something real again.

☆ author's note: hi there! (⁠•⁠ө⁠•⁠)⁠♡

don't hate shorty for her actions, she had to take risks lol. she is a hot ass mess but give my girl a chance, she'll get better (✿◠‿◠) this fic is lowkey inspired by the song two weeks by fka twigs and my personal life experience

the journey of this fic is. . . kind of long. i started drafting this fic back in december 2023. i originally intended it to be a one shot, only focusing on the rebound aspect. but for some reason i couldn't get myself to write it and then. . . my ex partner and i broke up after years of being together. i kind of understood why i couldn't write this fic. and so here it is.

not me oversharing on tumblrdotcom oh well you could practically see into my soul in all my fics, c'est la vie haha

also my general taglist is a mess so,

IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED FOR THIS SERIES, PLEASE COMMENT ON THIS CHAPTER, PUT IT ON YOUR REBLOG TAGS OR SEND ME AN ASK PLEEEEASE PRETTY PLS OR, JOIN MY TAGLIST

anyways,

toodles

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