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fxstpace · 2 months ago

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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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lewisvinga · 7 months ago

Text

so high school | max verstappen x fem! singer! reader

summary; in which max feels like a sixteen year old in high school whenever he’s around y/n

word count; 976

warnings; ?

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1 @minseok-smaus @goldenmclaren @ollieshifts @lavisenri @graciewrote @xoscar03 @c-losur3 @fall-bambi

note; requested ! i dont listen to taylor swift so im not familiar w this song, but i hope this is good enough!😫 n so sorry this took a bit longer than usual, a lot of things happened in my life rn + i’ve had major writers block 🙁

masterlist !

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

i just want to find you in a crowd just to hide from you

Max stood at the podium with a proud smile on his face. Another race won another race closer to being the world champion. The sound of his nation’s national anthem filled his ears as his hands found their way through his blonde locks.

His bright eyes scanned the crowd searching for her.

The start of the season was always a grand event. Drivers often brought their girlfriends along with them to enjoy a sunny Bahrain and the beginning of the season. When the first race of the season came around, Max couldn’t help but ask his girlfriend of just a few months and a world-famous singer to accompany him.

He thought it was a good idea. He really did.

However, the second his eyes landed on her wide smile from the top of the podium, he felt his heart skip a beat. She stared at him with so much love in her eyes that he became flustered. His cheeks began burning up and he secretly hoped and prayed that others would think his rosy cheeks were from the bright sun.

He had to hold back a laugh, a giggle even. Max Verstappen, The Max Verstappen, giggling and blushing over a girl that was already his? It was unheard of. He knew if he kept staring his cheeks would be too red to be just from the sun.

As quickly as his eyes found her, he looked away and instead focused on calming down his heart rate.

i’ll drink what you think and i’m high from smoking your jokes all damn night

Max was always the type to drink his coffee black. No cream. No sugar. That changed the moment he started dating Y/n and learned about her addiction to a milky and very sweet iced vanilla latte.

She claimed it helped her and her melodic voice that he adored so much.

It was another late-night session in the studio and the Dutch driver had brought over two iced vanilla lattes, one with just a little less sugar than the other.

He honestly hated the sugary milky beverage. He could barely stand a sip but he refused to tell Y/n that. He only drinks the vanilla iced lattes because he loved to see her face light up whenever he’d give her the rest of his drink because he ‘didn’t want to finish it’.

“Here, have the rest of mine. I don’t want it.” Max said with a chuckle as he noticed her pout after she finished her own.

“Are you sure, Maxie?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Here.”

Y/n laughed and pressed a gentle kiss on his cheek, leaving behind a pink lipgloss mark. Max couldn’t help but laugh with her as she happily took his drink.

She sat down across from him on the couch in the studio. She began to tell him a story about something that happened to her and Lando days prior. He honestly wasn’t focusing much on the story. His focus was 100% on the smile on her face and the laughs she’d let out every other sentence.

If her laugh was a drug, he’d sure be high every second of the day. Hearing her laugh was an addiction to him. He adored it and if forcing himself to drink a sugary ice vanilla latte to accompany her during studio sessions just to hear her laugh, he’d do it without a problem.

the brink of a wrinkle in time, bittersweet sixteen suddenly.

Y/n let out a yawn as she walked down the halls of her and Max’s shared home. She needed a break from writing songs. Her mind was blank and she couldn’t think. The iced vanilla lattes weren’t helping her creativity flow and neither Jimmy nor Sassy helped.

She was walking towards Max’s gaming room where she knew he’d be on the simulator. She suddenly heard him say her name and she stopped right outside the slightly open door.

“No, yeah, Y/n and I are great. It’s just-“

“Just, what?” She recognized Charles's voice and his laugh.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“Tell me! I won’t tell a soul.”

“No, it’s stupid.”

“C’mon, Max.”

Y/n furrowed up her eyebrows as her heart rate began to pick up. She immediately assumed the worst. Did Max cheat on her? Did he no longer want to be in a relationship with her? Did she annoy him?

She bit her nails as she anxiously waited for his response.

Max sighed, running his hands through his blonde locks. “It’s just that I feel like I’m a teenage boy in high school around her. She makes me flustered, like actually flustered. It’s like I’m sixteen again!”

Y/n almost let out a sigh of relief from his words, but kept quiet as she knew that he would hear her. She quietly yet quickly walks away. She finds herself back in the living room with her notebook in hand. She began scribbling across the page, finally getting the creativity she needed to write the last song for her album.

She hums in satisfaction as she finishes off the song. ‘So High School’ she had scribbled at the top of the page. Right as if it were on queue, she hears Max’s voice.

“Any luck with songwriting?” The Dutch driver curiously asks, sitting beside her on the couch.

“In fact, I’ve had plenty of luck.”

“Let me see.” He mumbled, his hand reaching towards the book.

“No!”

“C’mon, schat! Let me see!”

Y/n quickly kissed his cheek in an attempt to distract him. Fortunately for her, it did. His cheeks began to turn a rosy shade of pink. He rolled his eyes, moving his attention from the notebook to Sassy who found her way to the couch.

She had to hold back a laugh as she noticed his ears also turning pink. He really was like a 16-year-old in high school.

#formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 scenario #formula one scenarios #f1 imagine #formula one imagines #formula one imagine #f1 scenarios #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen scenario #max verstappen imagine

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likeabloodstain · 9 months ago

Note

no pressure at all but i need you to update your album word search with the anthology

Don't you worry, I will be getting the TTPD word searches done this week!! Redoing the one for TTPD and then making a new one for TTPD: The Anthology.

#answered #taylor swift word searches

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imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul · 7 months ago

Text

Safe and Sound - Jacaerys Velaryon

A/N: Hi, hi! The hotd brain rot is REAL. All I can think about is this beautiful prince above. I'm working on a longer story for him, but in the meantime, enjoy is blurb. This was jointly inspired by a genuine bad dream I had (the brain rot!!), and the Taylor Swift song that was playing when I was writing this at work. Hope you enjoy!

TS Prompt #7: Safe and Sound

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader Word Count: 1.3k Synopsis: Jace comforts the reader after they wake up from a terrible nightmare.

Warning: This does not follow the canon, but I do base the nightmare off of real events that have yet to happen in the show. Do not read if you don't want spoilers.

Sweat drenches your brow. Swords clash, arrows whistle through the air, and dragon fire paints the sky orange.

Your heart thuds as you spin around amid the chaos, searching for a green dragon or for a head of dark, curly hair. For any trace of Jace.

An ear-splitting scream rattles the sky, and before you can make sense of what you are seeing, Vermax's body crashes into the water, sending up a raucous wave.

Panic flows through your body. Searching, searching, searching. You need to see any sign that he made it, that he is alive. The water is riotous, making it impossible to figure out where he landed.

You nearly fall to your knees in relief when you see him crawl up onto floating wreckage, injured badly, but still breathing. You know you need to get to him, need to do whatever it takes to get him out of enemy-infested water.

As you move towards the coast, you have no plan in mind. Out of the corner of your eye, you see an approaching ship, making its way towards Jace. You run, wanting to scream his name, but also not wanting to give away his location.

You reach the shoreline and the water laps at your feet. Jace spots you the moment the approaching ship spots him.

You know he won't be able to get to the shore in time. You wade into the water, watching as he struggles to swim towards you. He's too far away, too weak, and you're not strong enough to pull him back.

The sound of a crossbow trigger pierces through the crash of waves. Jace's eyes widen - looking into yours - as the arrow speeds towards his chest.

"Jace!" you scream.

You tear out of your dream in a cold sweat, waking to your dark bedroom.

Jace wakes when you scream, crying out his name. His eyes adjust too slowly to the darkness, so he grabs for you blindly. He needs to know you're alright, needs to feel your warmth, your pulse. It thunders beneath his thumb as his hand wraps around your wrist.

His eyes finally adjust and he sees you sitting up in bed, your night gown wet with sweat.

"What is it?" he asks, sitting up next to you. "What happened?" He does a quick scan of the room, confirming his first guess. The room is unchanged from the evening before. There is no danger within its walls, just within your head.

You've had another nightmare.

He brushes the hair off your forehead as you put a hand to your pounding heart, clearly coming to the same realization. Jace leans closer and kisses your shoulder gently.

"It was just a dream," he says lowly, his lips still pressed to your skin. You take deep breaths as you try to relax. You have yet to look at him.

"Y/N," he says, "It was just a dream." He tugs on your arm and finally, you look at him. Even in the dark room, he can tell your skin has paled.

"It didn't feel like just a dream," you say. He frowns and rubs soft circles on your back.

This has become your miserable routine. You wake up in the middle of the night, screaming, and he sits next to you, feeling useless to change anything.

"Tell me about it," he says quietly.

"It's the same dream I always have," you say, looking at him sadly, trembling. He pulls you into his arms, holding your shaking hands in his. His gaze focuses on the Valyrian steel ring he put on your finger a year ago. The promises he made to you that day flash in his mind.

"The Battle of the Gullet," he says in response.

"Yes."

"I regret ever telling you about that day," he says with a shake of his head. The movement jostles his hair, and you tuck it behind his ear gently, your hand linger on his face. "I'm fine, Y/N."

"I watched you die."

"What do you see now?" he asks, taking the hand cupping his cheek, pressing a loving kiss to the palm. He moves it down to his bare chest, to the beating heart beneath his warm skin. "I am alive and well."

You continue to frown at him, but your hand presses to his chest. You take a few more deep breaths.

"I'm sorry," you say, tears forming in your eyes as you look up at him. He shakes his head, his heart hurting that you would ever think that your pain was an inconvenience to him.

"Hey," he says, pulling you into his chest, your tears falling onto his skin. "You don't ever have to be sorry."

"I know that we are safe now. That war is over. But I am still so scared," you say, and on the last word your voice breaks. Jace holds you tighter.

"I know. I am, too, sometimes."

"Really?"

"Really," he says, "You think I don't have nightmares about that day? Or any from the past year."

"You don't ever tell me about them," you say, pulling away to look him in the eye.

"That's because I don't want to worry you," he says, smiling shyly, playing with your hands. "There are memories I have that I wouldn't dream of sharing with you, that I don't want you to carry."

"That doesn't seem fair," you say, "You get to worry about me but I don't get to worry about you?"

"It's hard," he says, his eyes still focused on your hands. "Sometimes I still see the dying dragons. Still remember when I'd look outside and see everything on fire. Still see the war raging."

"But you don't seem like any of it haunts you," you say, leaning in so he'll look at you. He gives you a soft smile, his thumb tracing circles on your hand.

"Guess I've gotten good at hiding it."

"Tell me how," you say quietly. He hates that he can hear the longing in your voice. He notices the dark circles under your eyes. How many nights in a row have you woken from your sleep like this?

"I just try to remember everything good that I still have. Vermax is alive. My mother is alive. You are alive," he says. "Safe and sound."

"Safe and sound," you say disbelievingly.

"You are, I swear it. I won't let anything happen to you," he says. "Ever again."

"I know," you say, touching his cheek softly. "I love you."

"I love you," he says. He draws you in close and kisses your lips slowly, his movements languid, like he's got all the time in the world. He hopes you feel it. Hopes you realize that this is what the rest of your existence together looks like. No wars, no death, just the pair of you in this room, reminding each other what you fought for.

"Let's get some sleep," he says as he lays the two of you down. He adjusts the sheets around you, keeping you close to his body. You run a hand over his chest, humming softly.

"I'm not sure I'll be able to," you say.

"Just close your eyes," he says, kissing your forehead, feeling the pull of sleep wash over him. "You're alright, Y/N. No one can hurt you or I now."

"Promise?" you ask.

"I do."

"You'll never leave me here alone," you say. It's not a question.

"I'll never let you go," he says, tucking you in tighter. "You and I are safe and sound."

"Safe and sound," you mumble. Jace waits a few moments for your breathing to fall into a slow rhythm. When he knows you're asleep he lets himself close his eyes. He vows to himself that he'll do whatever it takes to make sure you never feel so scared again. He vows that you'll never feel ashamed to talk to him when you do. And he vows to have more moments like this, with you asleep on his chest, his hand in your hair, and less like the one he jerked out of sleep to.

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon x you #jace velaryon x reader #jace velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon #jace velaryon #hotd #house of the dragon

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pucksandpower · 8 months ago

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Disturbing the Peace

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Max Verstappen x Vettel!Reader

Summary: an environmental activist disturbs the carefully constructed peace of Max’s life and turns his whole world on its head (or in which environmentalism and being a menace both run in the Vettel family)

Max strides across the tarmac towards his sleek private jet, ready to head up to the Red Bull Racing factory in Milton Keynes after a weekend of relaxation back home in Monaco. But he stops short as his eyes land on a cluster of protesters glued to the ground around his jet’s landing gear.

A gruff security guard approaches Max. “Sorry sir, we’ve got a bit of a situation here with these Greenpeace loons. They snuck past the perimeter and glued themselves down before we could stop them.”

Max scowls as he reads the words Fossil Fuels = Destruction scrawled across one of the protester’s shirts. He storms over, fists clenched at his sides.

“What the hell do you people think you’re doing?” he fumes, glaring at the seated activists. “You realize you’re costing me tens of thousands just by delaying my flight?”

“That’s kind of the point, bro,” one long-haired guy shoots back with a snide grin. “You’re one of the worst celebrity polluters on the planet.”

But Max’s gaze is drawn irresistibly to you — a beautiful young woman with fierce eyes and hair whipping around your face in the coastal wind. There’s an intensity and passion burning behind your stare that Max finds himself unexpectedly captivated by.

You rise gracefully to your feet, the only one not glued down, and take a step towards the fuming Formula 1 star. “Max Verstappen. Out of all celebrities last year, you were the 20th highest personal polluter. Even higher than Taylor Swift.”

There’s an unmistakable blend of reproach and attraction in your tone that throws Max off balance. He scoffs, trying to regain his bravado.

“What, are you stalking me or something? And I’m supposed to care what some random activist chick thinks?”

You level him with a pointed look. “Not some random chick. Y/N Vettel. Sebastian’s sister. And yes, you should care, because this is your planet too.”

Max blinks in surprise at the familiar surname, now recognizing the resemblance to his former competitor.

Oh fuck, not this girl.

He can’t resist giving you another once-over, taking in your lithe frame, the jut of your chin as you stare him down defiantly.

An amused smirk tugs at his lips despite himself. “Vettel, huh? I should’ve known. You two do have a thing for causing drama wherever you go.”

The dig lands but you don’t rise to the bait, shaking your head minutely. “This has nothing to do with drama, Max. It’s about doing what’s right for the environment before it’s too late to save it.”

“Oh, spare me the self-righteous preaching,” Max scoffs, reflexively going on the defensive even as a small part of him admires the conviction in your voice. “Like your jet-setting around to protest events is really doing the planet any favors.”

You raise an incredulous eyebrow. “Jet-setting? I take public transit everywhere. Planes are the exception for international events, and I always buy carbon offsets.”

Max feels a flicker of grudging respect at that before quickly stamping it down. He folds his arms across his chest, fixing you with a challenging stare. “Yeah? Well what about your clothes? I’m guessing that shirt was made from petroleum-based synthetic fabrics.”

A look of surprise crosses your face before you recover with a small shake of your head. “It’s actually bamboo. Petroleum-free and sustainably sourced.”

“Your shoes then,” Max presses, gaze dropping to the canvas flats on your feet.

You lift one demonstratively. “Recycled rubber.”

His eyes narrow as he struggles to find another example to poke holes in your lifestyle. You watch him search with ill-disguised amusement, finally taking pity.

“Listen Max, I’m not saying I’m perfect. Nobody is. The point is to keep trying to do better where we can.” Your eyes hold sincerity and — though Max is loath to admit it — wisdom beyond your years. “But you’re in a position of power. With all your money and influence, just think what you could do for sustainability initiatives. How many trees you could plant or clean energy projects you could fund with just a fraction of what you spend on private flights and gas-guzzling supercars every year.”

Max shifts, discomfited by the practicality of your words. It’s harder to be glib and dismissive when you’re not ranting incoherently about the planet dying, but making reasoned arguments. Especially with that intense, scrutinizing gaze fixed so squarely on him.

He clears his throat, resorting to sarcasm as a defense mechanism. “Yeah, that’s cute and all. But then who would keep all those gas station attendants employed? I’m doing them a public service, really.”

The ghost of a smirk curves your lips in a way that makes Max’s chest tighten unexpectedly. “How very philanthropic of you.”

He has to look away from the spark of challenge and — yes, flirtation — in your expression. Max isn’t sure when this stopped being a confrontation and turned into some sort of tense back-and-forth bristling with inexplicable chemistry, but it’s rapidly becoming unnerving.

Seeming to sense you’ve flustered him, you lean in conspiratorially. “You know Max, for someone who acts like such an edgy bad boy, you’re not so tough. I think deep down you know I’m right.”

Max’s jaw ticks stubbornly even as his cheeks burn at your proximity, at the sweet floral scent of your shampoo drifting across the scant distance between you. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

In a daring move, you reach out and lay a hand on his arm. His breath hitches just slightly at the contact as you hold his gaze intently. “Then help me understand. Join me for dinner sometime and we can talk more about this over something other than just shouting at each other.”

The gentle touch, combined with the sincerity shining warmly through those big widened eyes, takes Max completely off guard. He opens his mouth, then closes it, abruptly unsure how to respond to such an olive branch extended from his vehement critic just moments ago.

Before he can formulate a reply, the wail of sirens pierces the air. A police cruiser pulls up as four officers jump out, advancing menacingly towards your compatriots still glued to the pavement.

“Alright, that’s enough here,” the barrel-chested sergeant barks gruffly. “You’re all under arrest for criminal trespassing and failure to obey airport security.”

You hurriedly step between the officers and your fellow protesters, palms raised placatingly. “Please officers, don’t arrest them! I was the one who orchestrated this, I’ll go quietly. Just let them go.”

Max’s heart does a strange little flutter at the selfless gesture, at the protective way you shield your group from the aggression of the snarling police officers.

Before he can think better of it, he’s striding forward and planting himself at your side, a steadying hand on your arm. “Actually officers, I’m afraid I can’t let you detain this woman.”

You blink up at him in surprise. The lead sergeant looks far from impressed, folding his beefy arms across his chest.

“And just who the hell are you to make that call?”

Max lifts his chin defiantly. “Max Verstappen. I’m sure your supervisors would love to hear how the biggest name in racing got falsely arrested on the tarmac because one of their officers couldn’t exercise some restraint.”

The sergeant’s eyes widen almost comically and he takes an unconscious step back, disarmed by Max’s threat to leverage his fame and money. “Oh. Er … Mr. Verstappen, sir. I’m sure, um, we can sort this out ...”

Max cuts him off with an imperious wave, turning his attention fully to you. Your expression is a mixture of shock, curiosity, and — though Max certainly doesn’t dare name it — just maybe a tiny flicker of attraction in return.

“You asked me to try and understand your perspective. Fine, I’ll take you up on that dinner.” He looks you squarely in the eye, expression unreadable. “But you have to promise to hear me out too. No judgements, no protests. Just two people trying to figure out how to make the world better in their own ways.”

You stare searchingly at him for a prolonged moment. Then a slow, wondering smile spreads across your face, crinkling the corners of your eyes in the most disarmingly beautiful way. You give a small nod.

“Deal. I’ll keep an open mind if you do.”

Max finds himself returning the smile before he can stop himself. “Deal.”

He doesn’t know why this odd, passionate woman has gotten under his skin so quickly. Or why he suddenly cares what some environmental activist thinks of his choices. But as you take his proffered hand and he helps you step carefully away from the cluster of protestors, Max feels an unfamiliar stirring of hope. Maybe there’s more to this situation — and to you — than meets the eye.

The sergeant looks between you two skeptically, but seems to think better of pressing the issue further with Max’s steely gaze trained on him. With a resigned sigh, he waves his officers back.

“Alright, we’re going to let this one go. But I better not catch you trespassing and causing problems again, you hear?” He jabs a meaty finger at you in warning.

You just smile serenely, still not releasing Max’s hand. “No worries, officer. I have a dinner to get ready for.”

As the police pull away, you turn that brilliant grin on Max again. He finds himself returning it almost against his will, captivated by the fire that dances behind your eyes. For the first time, he wonders if going toe-to-toe with an idealistic environmental warrior might actually be worth momentarily putting his own deeply-held beliefs aside.

Stepping in close, you surprise him by leaning up on your tiptoes to whisper conspiratorially in his ear. “Thanks for playing along back there. I owe you one, Max Verstappen.”

The warm breath tickling his neck sends an unexpected shiver down his spine. You pull back with a mischievous wink before turning and rejoining your fellow activists, hips swaying in a tantalizing way that has Max’s gaze lingering perhaps a moment too long.

As he watches you go, Max can’t shake the strangest sense that he’s suddenly entered uncharted territory. And that this is only the beginning of you continually barging into his life and turning everything deliciously upside down.

***

Max lets out a grunt as he heaves the heavy barbell up over his head, sweat beading on his brow from the intense weight training session. After securing the bar back on its rack, he straightens and grabs a towel to wipe his face.

His phone starts ringing from across the room, an unknown number flashing on the screen. Max debates letting it go to voicemail but finally relents with a resigned sigh, scooping up the device.

“Yeah, hello?”

There’s a brief silence before an automated voice responds. “This is a call from a corrections facility. To accept charges and connect this call, press 1.”

Max frowns, caught off guard. He presses 1 warily, curiosity getting the better of him. The line clicks and then a new, very familiar voice comes through.

“Max! Oh thank god you picked up.” It’s you, sounding mildly frazzled but still unmistakably your unique blend of passion and composure.

A surprised laugh escapes Max’s lips before he can stop it. “You? Calling me from jail? This I’ve got to hear.”

“Don’t sound so delighted,” you chide, though he can hear the smile in your voice. “Yes, I’m in a bit of a situation here. You remember the big event we had been planning to protest that oil baron’s ridiculous superyacht docking in Monaco?”

Max raises an eyebrow even though you can’t see it. “The one where you said, and I quote, ‘No Max, you can’t come. Your pouty little rich boy face is just going to distract everyone from the real injustice we’re protesting here.’“

“... Yes, that one.” You don’t miss a beat. “Well, we may have taken things a step too far. The police showed up and arrested all of us for trespassing and disturbing the peace.”

“You don’t say?” Max leans back against the weight bench, a teasing lilt to his voice. “So let me get this straight — you got yourself chucked in the slammer for causing your signature environmentalist dramatics, and now you’re calling me to help get you out?”

There’s a slight pause before you respond, tone turning softer. “I didn’t want to call Seb. You know how he gets — he’ll just give me that disappointed head shake and lecture about being more responsible. Acting like I’m still a reckless teenager instead of a grown woman fighting for a noble cause.”

Max feels a small pang at the uncharacteristic wistfulness in your voice. For all your sparring back and forth, he knows how much your activist work means to you. And how tirelessly you dedicate yourself to it, often at the expense of other aspects of life.

Chewing his lip, he considers his next words carefully. “I may give you endless shit about being a tree-hugging rebel without a cause, but you know I actually respect what you’re doing, right? Even if your methods are … shall we say, dramatic.”

You let out a small surprised huff of laughter at that. “Did Max Verstappen just pay me something resembling a genuine compliment? Aww, you really do care.”

Max rolls his eyes at the teasing, though his lips quirk in a reluctant smile. Something about your back-and-forth banter has a way of putting him at ease in a way he doesn’t quite understand.

“Don’t let it go to your head. I’m still holding out hope this is just a pesky phase before you eventually come to your senses and realize the error of your ways.”

“Fat chance, hot shot.” The warm amusement in your tone is impossible to miss. “But anyway, since you’re in such a generous mood — think you can do me a favor and come bail me out?”

Max hesitates, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know, bringing you home with me seems like a surefire way to get your activist cooties all over my ridiculously expensive non-vegan furniture.”

“Max ...” You let out an exaggerated whine that has him fighting back another grin. “Come on, I’m begging you here! I’ll be a model prisoner, I swear.”

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Max pushes off from the bench and starts grabbing his shoes and keys. “Fine, fine. Twist my arm, why don’t you? I’ll be there in twenty minutes to ply your jailers with my generous pile of my money and spring you from the clink.”

You let out a squeal of delight that has his heart doing an odd little flip despite himself. “You’re the best, Max! Seriously, I owe you huge after this.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t expect me to make a habit of it. This is a one-time kind of deal.”

The two of you say your brief goodbyes and Max hangs up, head shaking in bemusement. He’s not sure when his friendship with the passionate eco-warrior became so effortlessly comfortable, bantering back and forth like a long-married couple.

But he also can’t deny the way his pulse kicks up just slightly at the thought of seeing you again — windswept hair, fiery eyes, and that bright smile that still catches him off guard every time it’s directed his way.

As Max jogs out to the garage to grab his Ferrari for the short drive to the station, he vehemently tells himself it’s merely because he’s intrigued by the novelty of your clashing personalities. That your relentless conviction is a fascinating change of pace from the empty glamor that usually surrounds him.

But a tiny voice in the back of his mind whispers that he’s lying to himself. That there’s something magnetically addictive about you and your tireless ability to see the world through a different lens than his own. Something that challenges him, stimulates him, reels him in over and over again no matter how much he pretends to resist.

He quickly banishes the thought, jaw setting in stubborn determination. Max Verstappen isn’t the type to get pulled into a girl’s orbit, no matter how intriguing she might seem on the surface. He’ll bail your reckless ass out of jail, have another enjoyable round of opposition-attracts banter, and then carry on with his usual life of racing and living by his own well-established rules.

Right?

The sleek crimson SF90 Stradale tears through the winding Monaco streets, wind whipping through Max’s hair as he pushes the pedal towards the floor. The adrenaline pumping through his veins feels vaguely familiar to the thrill of a heated race — though he refuses to dwell too deeply on why bailing out an eco-terrorist gives him that same edge-of-the-seat excitement.

He pulls up to the modest local jail in record time, the guard at the entrance giving him a skeptical once-over before waving him through. No doubt recognizing the signature Ferrari and flashy persona of the championship-winning driver.

Max swaggers up to the front desk where a bored-looking officer sits shuffling through paperwork. The young man startles at his approach, shooting to attention with widened eyes.

“Oh! Mr. Verstappen, sir! How can I help you today?”

Puffing out his chest just slightly, Max gives the officer his most imposing stare. “Yeah, I’m here to post bail for one of your … residents. Y/N Vettel.”

The cop’s brow furrows as he scans the intake files. “Ah yes, here she is. Environmental activist, part of that big protest at the marina. Disturbing the peace, trespassing, and a few of them even got hit with property damage charges from graffiti.”

Max scowls, that damned protective streak rearing its ugly head again before he can stop it. “I’m only posting bail for Y/N Vettel. The hell did she get charged with?”

“Just peaceful trespassing and disturbing the peace.” The cop frowns contemplatively. “Well, and resisting arrest when she tried to stop us cuffing one of her friends. But that’s about it.”

Rubbing his temples with a pained sigh, Max can’t resist a rueful grin. “Yeah, that tracks. Listen, what’s it gonna cost me to grab her so I can get out of here?”

“For those charges? €1500 bond should cover it.”

Max scoffs at the paltry sum, already pulling out his monogrammed money clip and peeling off a stack of euros. “Whatever, here’s double. Keep the change for your trouble.”

The cop’s eyes widen almost comically, but he knows better than to question Max freaking Verstappen. Hurriedly taking the bills, he produces some paperwork for Max to sign and process the transaction.

“Alright Mr. Verstappen, just need your signature here and here. And if you’ll allow me to get your fingerprints as well for the release forms ...”

Max begrudgingly complies, wanting to get this circus over with as quickly as possible. He taps his foot impatiently as the officer takes his prints and finalizes everything in the computer system.

“Okay, all set. I’ll have one of the guards bring Miss Vettel around to the release lobby. Might be a few minutes.”

“Yeah, yeah, just hurry it up,” Max mutters distractedly.

He crosses his arms and leans back against the wall, letting his eyes drift shut for a brief moment as he tries to compose himself. Your voice rings in his ears, that unmistakable mixture of sheepishness and determination that seems to sum up your entire persona.

Goddamn it, why did you have to call him? Why couldn’t you have just phoned up your doting big brother like a normal person instead of dragging Max into this? Part of him wants to be annoyed at how easily you’re able to play him, batting those big eyes and pleading for his help like you knew he would give in.

But the thought of leaving you to stew in a dingy jail cell somehow makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. Almost like he’d be letting you down in some weird, convoluted way. Ridiculous as the notion is, Max can’t deny this increasing pull you seem to have over him.

His eyes fly open as the door to the cellblocks finally opens, heavy footsteps approaching. Max takes an automatic step forward, pulse kicking up in anticipation despite himself.

And then you’re there. Hair tousled, t-shirt and jeans covered in smears of dirt and grass stains from the protest scuffle. But those defiant eyes are still ablaze, jaw set stubbornly as the guard leads you out in handcuffs.

“Max! You’re actually here!” Your face splits into a bright, surprised grin at the sight of him.

He tries and fails to suppress his own answering smile, raking an admittedly appreciative gaze over you from head to toe. “What, you didn’t think I’d show up for my favorite little jailbird?”

Shrugging nonchalantly, you flash him a sly look from under your lashes. “I don’t know, I had my doubts Mr. Bigshot Racer would sully his palms rescuing little old me.”

“Well, you know what they say.” Max steps in close, dropping his voice to a faux-seductive murmur as he leans towards you. Your eyes widen infinitesimally but you hold his gaze, seemingly transfixed. “I just can’t seem to quit you.”

You bite your lip in a badly suppressed grin at his corny line. “Did you seriously just incorrectly quote Brokeback Mountain at me right now?”

“Maybe.” He rocks back on his heels with a shameless wink. “Doesn’t make it any less true, does it?”

A delicate blush blooms across your cheeks in a way that has Max’s heart stuttering unexpectedly. The guard clears his throat loudly, shattering the moment between you.

“Erm, right. If you’ll just sign here for Miss Vettel’s release ...” He offers a clipboard to Max.

Tearing his eyes away from you with concentrated effort, Max scrawls his signature across the form. You watch him intently, an unreadable look flickering across your features for just a moment before the guard undoes your cuffs with a loud click.

You immediately bring your newly freed hands together, rubbing at the chafed skin of your wrists gingerly. Max’s jaw tightens at the sight.

“You good?” His tone is gruff with concern despite himself.

Glancing up, you give him a reassuring smile and nod. “All good, just a little tender. It’ll be fine, I promise.”

Something about your easy dismissal of the discomfort rankles Max in a way he can’t fully explain. Like he wants to grab your hands, bring them to his lips to inspect the damage more closely. The sudden urge catches him off guard and he quickly tamps it down, fists clenching at his sides.

The guard seems oblivious to the undercurrent between you, simply giving a curt nod and motioning towards the exit. “Right then, off you go. And try to stay out of trouble from now on, Miss Vettel.”

You shoot the cop your signature wry grin. “No promises, officer.”

Rolling his eyes skyward, Max grabs your elbow lightly and ushers you towards the doors before you can cause any more scenes. You fall into step beside him easily, shoulders brushing in a way that has his skin tingling with awareness.

As the two of you step out into the late afternoon sunlight, you turn to him with those warm eyes that never fail to set his heart racing just a little faster.

“I really do owe you one, Max. Thank you for coming to my rescue, even after everything“

He gives an exaggerated huff, fighting a smile. “Well, it’s a tough job but someone’s gotta bail out all the reckless idiots who can’t stay out of handcuffs for five minutes.”

You laugh brightly, punching his arm in playful admonishment. A spark of electricity seems to jolt between you at the contact and Max freezes almost imperceptibly, mesmerized by the radiant smile you’re beaming up at him.

In that moment, with the sunlight catching in your hair and reflecting those fierce, captivating eyes, Max is struck by how breathtakingly beautiful you are. Not just physically, though that’s certainly undeniable. But the whole intoxicating aura of your idealism, your passion, your relentless fighting spirit that leaves him in a constant state of incredulous attraction no matter how much he rails against it.

You cock your head slightly, drawing him out of his reverie. “Max? You still in there?”

“Huh?” He blinks dazedly before recovering with a shake of his head, shoving his hands into his pockets in what he desperately hopes is a casual gesture. “Yeah, no, I’m good. Just thinking.”

Your brow furrows in concern as you study his face intently. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” Max clears his throat, avoiding your piercing gaze. He nods jerkily towards the car glinting fetchingly in the sun. “Come on, let’s get out of here before they decide to re-arrest your ass for loitering.”

As the two of you make your way across the parking lot, Max resolutely ignores the persistent voice whispering that he’s in deeper than he’s willing to admit this time. That you might just be addictive enough to become something he can’t simply shake off when he’s had his fill.

But rather than finding the notion disconcerting like it should be, he finds himself fighting the strangest flicker of excitement at the prospect instead.

***

The Monaco paddock is a dizzying whirlwind of activity as teams and personnel rush about in their usual pre-race frenzy. Max weaves through the chaos towards his driver room, helmet tucked under his arm.

He pauses as a familiar voice reaches his ears — that unmistakable passionate cadence that always has a way of stopping him in his tracks these days. Max turns to see you holding court in the middle of a cluster of wide-eyed engineers and PR reps, gesticulating emphatically.

“... and that’s just the start! We also need to look into renewable energy sources to power the entire paddock operations. Sustainable cooking practices in the hospitality suites. Comprehensive recycling and composting initiatives. Not to mention overhauling the travel logistics for a lower carbon footprint when we’re shipping this whole circus around the globe every other week.”

One of the hapless reps looks shellshocked, struggling to keep up as he scribbles notes furiously. “I … yes, of course, Miss Vettel. We’ll look into all of that right away. Anything else?”

You fix the poor man with one of your signature intense stares, full lower lip catching between your teeth as you consider. Max feels his heart skip at the seemingly insignificant gesture, cursing under his breath.

“Well, we haven’t even touched on sustainable sourcing for uniforms and merchandising yet. Or the complete overhaul needed for fuel compositions and racing technology to align with a realistic net-zero roadmap.” Your eyes spark with renewed fervor. “But we can circle back on those aspects later. For now I want you to-”

Sensing an opening, the bewildered rep seizes his chance to politely extricate himself. “You know what, Miss Vettel? Why don’t I go gather all my notes on your suggestions so far and we can regroup for a more structured meeting on next steps? I’ll, uh, be in touch!”

He scampers off before you can protest, leaving the rest of the staffers gaping at you with a combination of terror and admiration. You just shake your head bemusedly, rolling your eyes skyward as you catch sight of Max watching from across the way.

“What?” You shrug innocently at his raised eyebrow, the very picture of angelic nonchalance. “Someone’s got to light a fire under these people if we want to actually get some sustainability practices in place.”

Max bites back a grin, sauntering over with exaggerated slowness. “Is that what you call demolishing that poor rep’s entire understanding of the world? Just lighting a fire?”

“Hey, we’re not being paid to settle for complacency and half-measures,” you shoot back without a shred of remorse. “I got hired to shake this whole damn organization to its core until it goes fully carbon neutral. And that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

Your unapologetic defiance never fails to send a peculiar thrill zinging through Max’s veins. He rakes an admittedly assessing gaze over your crisp pantsuit and loosely swept updo — quite a change from the scruffy activist’s getup he’s so used to seeing you in.

“You clean up nice, I’ll give you that,” he muses teasingly. “Who knew you could look so respectable in professional garb?”

Rather than rise to the bait, you simply flash him a wink and smoothing your hands over the fitted blazer, drawing his gaze helplessly to the enticing curves beneath the tailored lines. “What can I say? I’m a woman of many talents.”

Heat prickles at the base of Max’s neck at the unexpected flirtiness, his tongue suddenly thick and useless in his mouth. He quickly masks the moment of flustered silence with a dismissive scoff.

“Great, so in addition to harassing race staff you’re assaulting my senses too? Good to know where your priorities lie, Vettel.”

You laugh easily, canting a hip as you fix him with those dancing eyes that never fail to set his heart racing. “If you can’t handle a little playful banter, Verstappen, you’d better get used to keeping your distance now that we’re colleagues for the foreseeable future.”

The words slam into Max with surprising force, hitting a little too close to the bone. Unconsciously, his gaze darts over you in a way that feels far too intimate for mere colleagues. Lingering on the delicate curve of your neck as you tip your head back, the lush pout of your lips, the swaying tendrils of hair escaping your updo which he inexplicably longs to brush back into place.

All at once the reality of your new role truly sinks in — that he’ll be seeing you at every single race from now until god knows when. The thought fills Max with a dizzying blend of elation and trepidation.

On one hand, the prospect of having you perpetually woven through his life in this shiny new professional capacity is enough to make his pulse kick up in giddy anticipation.

But on the other, it terrifies him to his core. You have an uncanny ability to constantly keep him off-balance, as endlessly fascinating as you are maddening. This casual flirtation between you has taken on undercurrents he’s no longer certain he wants to shy away from acknowledging. At least, not when the thought of shutting it down fills Max with a hollow ache he can’t put words to.

He’s pulled from his spiraling reflections as an impeccably dressed older man in a crisp suit materializes at your side, placing a wizened hand on your shoulder.

“Ah, there you are, Miss Vettel! I was just coming to fetch you for our preliminary sustainability council meeting with the rest of the advisory board.” The man’s eyes twinkle with unmistakable approval as he regards you. “Although from the looks of it you’ve already started getting the lay of the land around here and, ah, asserting your new directives shall we say?”

You shoot him a conspiratorial grin, leaning in as if sharing a secret. “Let’s just say I’ve had a productive first day on the job so far, Mr. Haywood. They won’t know what hit ‘em.”

Max recognizes the man as Stephen Haywood, one of the senior F1 board members and the person primarily responsible for bringing you on in this ground-breaking new eco initiative. He chuckles indulgently at your quip.

“That’s exactly what we’re counting on from you, my dear. Ruffling some feathers and dragging this whole operation into the future, come hell or high water. I have the utmost confidence you’re going to revolutionize Formula 1 in ways we can’t even conceive yet.”

You beam at the praise, visibly swelling with determination. Haywood gives your shoulder another squeeze before gesturing down the paddock. “Shall we? We’ve got a long agenda ahead to tackle your big plans.”

“Absolutely,” you say eagerly, turning to follow him. But not before pausing to shoot Max one last heated look from over your shoulder, dropping your voice to a sultry murmur. “Don’t go too far, Verstappen. I’ve still got plenty more to say to you later.”

And with a tantalizing wink, you sashay away after Haywood in that maddeningly hypnotic way that you know reduces Max to an incoherent mess every time. All he can do is gape after your retreating figure, the sway of those hips in that perfectly tailored skirt rendering him utterly useless.

As you disappear around the corner, Max feels the dam inside him finally burst in a torrential flood of overwhelming emotion. Everything suddenly clicks into startling clarity in one shuddering epiphany that leaves him unmoored:

He’s in love with you.

Desperately, all-consumingly, recklessly in love in a way he never saw coming and is wholly unprepared to process. All those months pretending you were just an amusing diversion, a source of intrigue and refreshing friction in his otherwise orderly life. All the times he battled against the obvious chemistry simmering between you, tried to downplay it as mere physical attraction between opposing forces.

But now it washes over Max in one shattering wave of truth — the way his world tilts off-axis whenever you’re around, the gravity of your presence drawing him in against his will. How thoroughly and irrevocably you’ve embedded yourself under his skin without him ever truly realizing it was happening until now.

He grips the wall for support, legs feeling abruptly unsteady as his head spins. How is he supposed to reconcile this revelation? That his heart now lies so completely in the hands of this fierce, untamable woman utterly hellbent on dismantling and revolutionizing his entire life’s work in the name of environmentalism.

The delicious contradictions of having fallen for someone whose core values and purpose seem to exist in such direct opposition to his own are enough to make Max’s head throb dizzily. You are his antithesis in so many ways — that headstrong passion a perpetual thorn in his side, continually pushing and prodding him out of his self-imposed boundaries.

And yet … he couldn’t be more completely enthralled.

It’s that relentless challenging of his beliefs, that refusal to settle for complacency, that has drawn Max in and held him captivated against his will from the very beginning. In you he’s found a riveting counterpoint to the blinkered single-mindedness of his existence, a refreshing perspective that somehow makes him want to be a bigger, better version of himself.

Even now, just the phantom echo of your parting words has him straightening unconsciously, feeling almost chastened and bereft in the wake of your absence. Max has never been one to dwell on his emotions, preferring to analyze and compartmentalize until they’re boxed away into neat, manageable parcels.

But this all-encompassing feeling storming through him in your wake is anything but neat or manageable. It’s wild and catastrophic, crackling with the dangerous intensity of a lightning strike clawing its way across the horizon in slow motion.

Just the thought of looking into those blazing eyes and owning the truth of his feelings for you sends Max into a panic, chest squeezing with anxious breath. You have always seen through his feigned nonchalance, cut straight through to the bone with that penetrating stare. He has no idea how to even begin existing openly in the same space as you without his heart shining through brazenly for the entire world to witness.

His fist clenches against the cold metal of the garage wall as an irrational surge of bitterness lances through him. How dare you just sweep into his rigidly controlled life with all that blistering confidence and conviction, making him feel things he never wanted to feel? Upending his carefully maintained reality without a second thought, all in the name of your damned causes?

You weren’t supposed to get this far under his skin. He was just supposed to have a bit of fun, indulge in your company as a momentary diversion at most. And now Max is in so disastrously deep that he has no idea how to drag himself back out.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there warring with himself, torn between exhilarated possibility and vehement denial. What he does know is that his entire world has been turned upside down. And despite the terror rattling his bones, despite the desperate urge to somehow ignore the sheer enormity of this jolt to his system … he can’t muster the will to try and wrestle back control.

Not when the thrill of finally surrendering to you sends such intoxicating electricity crackling through every fiber of his being.

Max peels himself from the wall with renewed resolve, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He needs to steel himself, because avoiding you is clearly no longer an option. Not when your irresistible pull is only amplified now that you’ll be a near-permanent fixture in his life.

He has to face this head-on, confront the exhilarating chaos you’ve wrought in his carefully cultivated existence. Which means pushing down the churning jumble of emotions rattling around in his ribcage before they become too overwhelming.

“Get a grip, man,” Max mutters sternly to himself, knocking the heel of his palm against his temple as if to physically dislodge his internal storm. “It’s just Vettel. You’ve dealt with her shit-stirring antics a million times before. You can handle this new ... development.”

His words carry neither confidence nor conviction, but Max forges on anyway, straightening his shoulders as he plunges back into the fray of the paddock. If he can just maintain some semblance of outward equilibrium, he can get through this.

One foot in front of the other, he winds past the crowd towards his driver’s room as if in a trance. Any minute now, you’ll saunter back through in that mouthwateringly crisp ensemble, eyes bright with hard-won strategy and single minded intent.

And Max will just … what? Calmly confront you as if his entire understanding of your dynamic hasn’t undergone a seismic fucking shift in the last five minutes?

He barks out a mirthless laugh at the impossibility of such a scenario. Any pretense of indifference has surely been shattered between you now. All his meager attempts at deflecting through banter and heated bickering ring hollow to his own ears after this shattering realization.

No, for better or worse, Max has finally tumbled over that precipice he’d been teetering on for so long when it comes to you. Now more than ever before, he dreads and craves the prospect of your next meeting in equal, searing measure.

Because whether he’s ready or not … whether he thinks he can handle the fallout or not … you’ll be able to read every devastating truth written across his face this time.

When your paths inevitably cross again, Max knows there will be no more hiding from you the shift of feelings you’ve unleashed within him.

This time, he’ll be entirely and terrifyingly laid bare.

***

Three Years Later

The crisp mountain air fills Max’s lungs as he straightens up, wiping a trickle of sweat from his brow with a satisfied smile. The freshly tilled soil stretches before him in neat rows, ready and waiting to nurture the seeds you meticulously selected.

“Nice work, Mein Löwe,” you call approvingly from across the yard, one hand resting on the swell of your pregnant belly. “That plot is going to be perfect for all our veggies.”

Max’s chest warms at the undisguised pride in your voice as you survey his handiwork. Just a few years ago, he would have scoffed at the idea of voluntarily getting his hands dirty like this. But ever since that fateful day at the airport … everything has changed.

“Yeah, well, be sure to put me to work weeding and watering too,” he shoots back with an easy grin. “Gotta earn my keep as the cabana boy around here.”

You roll your eyes in playful exasperation even as an affectionate smile tugs at your lips. “I’ll be sure to get you a tiny little outfit.”

The teasing remark might have once pricked Max’s fragile ego. But now he simply shakes his head with a low chuckle, marveling at how natural, how right it feels to be the subject of your gentle ribbing. In the years since that first charged encounter, your barbs have sanded down his prickly edges until only his core of wry tenderness remains.

You cross the yard toward him, sunlight glinting off the tousled tendrils of hair that frame your face. Up close, Max can make out the dark crescent smudges under your eyes from many sleepless nights spent mapping out plans for this property — from the aerogel insulation in the walls to the extensive geothermal heating system to the solar panels spanning the roof.

Most people would have long ago surrendered in exhaustion when presented with building the world’s most environmentally sustainable home from the ground up. But not you. You had steadfastly urged him onward, determined to make this place a paragon of renewable living for your growing family.

His growing family, Max mentally corrects himself with a jolt of surprise that still hasn’t faded, even after all this time.

As if reading his mind, you pause before him, gently taking his calloused hands in yours. “Think you can handle planting all those seedlings tomorrow without me? The back pains are really kicking my ass lately.”

Max’s lips quirk upwards at the feisty lilt to your voice. “Getting a little too old to be bending over in the dirt for hours, liefje?”

“Hey, watch it!” You protest with a laugh, playfully batting at his chest. “I’m literally growing an entire human here. Maybe have some sympathy for your poor wife?”

“Alright, alright,” Max chuckles, sliding his hands reverently over the swollen curve of your belly. A sense of awe washes over him, just as it does each time he’s reminded of the incredible miracle blooming inside you — a tiny life that is half him, half this fierce, passionate woman he once couldn’t stand.

He leans in to press his forehead tenderly to yours. “I’ve got it all covered tomorrow. Why don’t you take it easy for once?”

You let out a derisive snort at the suggestion. “Yeah, like that’ll happen. Maybe if you massage my back tonight, though ...”

“Deal,” Max murmurs without hesitation, tilting his head to steal a lingering kiss.

Your lips are soft and pliant against his, still electrifying even after all this time. Max marvels yet again at this strange, thrilling new world you’ve ushered him into — one of quiet moments and domesticity and fulfillment. A world that his former self, obsessed with roaring engines and adrenaline, could have never envisioned.

But even as your mouths move in that timeless, familiar dance, Max’s mind drifts back to that fateful first encounter outside his jet all those years ago. The sheer force of your convictions had rocked him to his core then, cracking open the crusty shell around his heart. And before he could blink, you had blossomed into so much more than an impassioned activist — a friend, a confidante, a lover … and now the mother of his unborn child.

At last, you pull away with a contented sigh, cradling Max’s face in your tender palms. “Have I told you lately how grateful I am for you?”

“Once or twice,” he teases gruffly, though his chest clenches with an all too familiar ardor. “But you know I never get tired of hearing it, schatje.”

You beam up at him with utter adoration shining in your eyes. A look that never fails to disarm Max straight to his core. How had it taken so many years of chasing empty accolades for him to finally find this all-encompassing serenity?

“I just ...” You pause, worrying your full lower lip between your teeth. A sure sign you’re struggling to untangle an emotion webbed with complexity. “I never imagined I could be this … content.”

Your gaze drifts wistfully across the sweeping valley before your mountainside property, the majestic peaks dusted with snow on the horizon. For a beat, Max envisions it all through your eyes — the staggering beauty of this utopia you’ve carved out for your budding family, its self-sustaining existence treading as lightly on the earth as possible.

“After so many years fighting and railing against the system, to find this pocket of peace ...” You shake your head slowly, almost deliriously. “It’s more than I could have dreamed.”

Inexplicably, Max feels his eyes prickling with a sudden thickness at your reverent murmur. A lump forms in his throat, welling with all the indescribable gratitude and tenderness that still threatens to overwhelm him at times like this.

“You know,” he rasps out at last, tracing his thumb reverently over the sharp line of your jaw. “After that day at the airport in Nice … I tried so hard to shake the way you made me feel.”

A wistful smile plays across your lips at the memory as your eyes meet his in silent invitation. You’re hanging on his every word now — a state Max still struggles to wrap his mind around at times.

“No matter what I did, or where I traveled, part of me couldn’t escape your voice in my head,” Max continues, pushing through the lump in his throat. “Demanding that I question my way of life, open my eyes to how careless I had been.”

You nod slowly in recognition, lacing your fingers through his. The remembered combativeness from that long ago confrontation has faded now, giving way only to understanding between the two people who recognize each other most profoundly.

“At first, I just tried blocking you out,” Max admits with a rueful chuckle. He dips his head until your foreheads are brushing again as his voice lowers to an intimate rasp. “But the more I pushed you away, the deeper you burrowed inside me. Until I finally stopped fighting it and just … listened.”

He feels your sharp inhale as his words skate warmth down your skin. Slowly, almost unconsciously, your fingers tighten around his in solidarity.

“And look at us now,” you murmur at last, awestruck and achingly tender all at once.

In your eyes, Max glimpses the past, present and future stretching out in dizzying symmetry — those first fierce sparks of passion blossoming into the steadfast love that shelters your growing family. He sees the painstaking nurturing required to transform a confrontation into a partnership over years of effort and understanding.

Most of all, he sees the promise of new dawns yet to come, with each one awakening to your cherished, reverent teachings about the earth’s splendor and fragility.

His heart clenches fit to burst as Max drinks in your beauty — flushed and glowing with new life, still beaming with that incandescent fire that had first seared into his soul. Only now, it burns only for him, a flame stoking devotion and passion and sanctuary.

Just as Max leans in to capture your mouth in a searing kiss, the shrill chime of the doorbell shatters the moment. You spring apart with a breathless laugh.

“Fuck, I forgot Seb was supposed to be coming over today!” You give Max’s chest one last pat before turning toward the house, waddling slightly with the added weight of your pregnant belly.

Max grins fondly, trailing after you at a more leisurely pace. He can’t resist one last admiring glance over his shoulder at the pristine vegetable garden stretching behind the cottage — an oasis of sustainable beauty, just like the life you’ve created here.

As you reach the front door, pulling it open eagerly, Sebastian’s familiar lopsided grin greets you both from the other side. Your brother’s eyes immediately zero in on your rounded midsection, his expression melting into one of pure adoration.

“Oh, Bärchen, you’re positively glowing!” He exclaims, sweeping you into a gentle hug. “How’s my little niece or nephew treating their mom?”

You let out a dramatic groan, leaning back to shoot Max an exaggerated look of suffering. “This kid’s already high maintenance, just like their father. I’ve got swollen ankles, back pains, you name it.”

“Hey now,” Max interjects with a chuckle, sidling up to join the familiar banter. He claps Sebastian’s shoulder affectionately. “If they end up being anything like you in the baby stage, we’re in for a whole new world of sleep deprivation.”

Sebastian returns the grin, unfazed. “Like you aren’t an even bigger handful than me.”

You snort indelicately, looping your arm through Max’s as you shuffle back to allow Sebastian inside. “Are you kidding? With my influence, this baby will be an expert environmentalist before they’re out of diapers.”

“You wish,” Max shoots back with a smirk, his eyes twinkling. He knows better than anyone the depth of your convictions — and appreciates them more than he can put words to.

As the three of you bicker playfully, Max’s chest fills with an overwhelming sense of contentment. Just a few years ago, he could have scarcely imagined this scenario — the love of his life heavy with his child, her doting brother at their side, their sprawling eco-paradise as the idyllic backdrop.

But now, as he guides you both into the spacious, sunlit living room, Max knows without a doubt that this is exactly where he belongs.

Here, sheltered in the passionate wake of your ceaseless quest to better the world. Here, in the eye of the storm you had first raged into his life, upending everything until his soul had no choice but to still and listen.

You shoot him a private smile, reading his thoughts as easily as breathing. In your bright eyes, Max sees the future stretching out blissfully — a path paved by your determined heart that he will gladly tread in partnership forever.

All because on one fateful day, you had dared to make him question everything. And in doing so, unveiled the peace and purpose he never knew he craved.

1K notes · View notes

reidology13 · 15 days ago

Text

imgonnagetyouback

Spencer Reid x fem!reader - Undercover with your ex boyfriend

cw: suggestive, age gap, a gun is shot, a lil angst?

wc: 2.9k

a/n: this took sooo long and idk what to think of it, but it's something!!

As you stood outside the club, arms linked with Spencer Reid – your coworker and ex boyfriend – you wondered how exactly you ended up here. None of this would have happened if Prentiss knew about your history. Keeping your relationship, and the end of it, a secret had seemed like a good idea at the time, and had been going well until earlier that day. Prentiss calling you and Spencer into her office had already been unexpected, but being assigned with an undercover mission, as a couple, was enough to shock you into silence for a moment. Still, no amount of shock could have kept you from fighting Spencer when he argued against you being undercover with him. You were perfectly capable of doing your job, Prentiss knew that, Spencer knew that, and he would pay.

“We watch him from the bar, put on a show until he notices us, then we walk out and hope he takes the bait. Okay?” You were so caught up in your thoughts that it took a second for the sound of his voice register. What didn’t need time to sink in was the feeling of his breath, hot on your skin.

“I know the plan.” You rolled your eyes, tensing as he slipped his arm out of yours, wrapping it around your waist, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt, “Dick.”

“Time to head inside. Remember, this unsub needs more from a couple than just a younger woman, he needs you to be physically affectionate.” The disembodied voice of your Unit Chief filled your ears, and Spencer gave you a look that had to be designed entirely to piss you off. It was working.

“We can do that, Prentiss.” Spencer said, the smile barely hidden in his voice, his thumb rubbing over one of your ribs.

“Let’s go.” You stepped out of his reach, grabbing his hand and dragging him with you into the club. The moment you were inside he pulled you closer to him, keeping you glued to his side as he steered you towards the bar. The way he took charge of the situation shouldn’t have been nearly as attractive as it was, a cruel reminder of what you had been. The awkward, nerdy Spencer Reid was gone, replaced by a version that even you had only seen a few times. It was a side of him that only came out on days – well, nights – when he needed to take control after a bad day.

Or, apparently, whenever he wanted it to.

As you sat at the bar, he seemed to decide the small gap the stools put between you was too much, shuffling to the edge of his and leaning in as far as he could. It was a precarious position, and if you hadn’t been undercover, you would have given him a shove and watched him scramble for the seat. That was what you would have done a few months ago, and he would have scowled, and you would have laughed until his pride gave up and he joined in. Instead, you mirrored him, leaning in until you could hear his hushed words in your ear.

“Can you see him?” You pulled back a bit, giving yourself a wider view of the crowded room as you searched for the suspect. Not that he was really a ‘suspect’ anymore, the profile and every single piece of evidence pointed to him. All that was left for you to do was get him out of the club and into a location where he would be of no danger to the public when your team apprehended him.

And you would, because there he was, near the wall at the back of the room, concealed in the crowd. Your eyes flashed back to Spencer’s immediately, you couldn’t risk blowing your cover because the unsub caught you staring.

“In the corner of the room, to your left.”

“Well then,” The momentary professionalism was gone from his voice, replaced by that infuriating, seductive, punchable smugness, “I guess all we have left to do is wait.”

Waiting was the last thing either of you would be doing. An unsub like this needed to be constantly entertained, like a cat distracted by the nearest movement. The job was to draw and keep his attention, and to be honest, that was the last thing you wanted to do with Spencer. It was also the only thing you had ever wanted in your entire life, which was why you were not giving your hormones an ounce of attention.

“Okay, but right now he hasn’t looked our way once, so either we get moving, or we might as well pack up and leave.” You hissed under your breath, the tone of your voice harsher than you had intended.

“He's not going to take the bait if you keep glaring at me like that, we're supposed to be a couple, remember?” He might have been the most infuriating person whose presence you had ever been subjected to, but he was right. You contorted your face into a smile, waving the bartender over and ordering the first non alcoholic drink that came to mind.

“I really don't like you, you know that right?” You ran your hand over his chest, fingers toying with the collar of his shirt.

“I know.”

You didn’t respond, opting instead to take a small sip from your glass, carefully ignoring the man beside you. Everything these days had to be careful. Answering the team's questions as to why you two had gone from best friends to barely talking, avoiding all of your old haunts, prying the remnants of him out of your life. You were tired of it.

“So, how are we supposed to draw his attention?” You sighed, placing your drink down as you glanced at the unsub, not at all surprised to see him looking in the opposite direction to the two of you.

“Come here.” He wasn’t even looking at you as he tapped his thigh, barely sparing you an ounce of his attention as he looked around the room.

“Fuck you.”

“That was my plan B.” If you weren’t already rolling your eyes, you would have then. Still, there was something about hearing the immature, juvenile jabs from Spencer Reid, the man who was known for his grasp of language that was almost – almost – endearing.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You’re still sitting on your stool.”

“I’m not going to sit anywhere else.” You flinched when you felt his hands make contact with your waist.

“And how do you expect the unsub to target us when you won’t let me touch you?”

“Fine.” You slid off the seat, allowing his hands on your waist to help pull you up the extra distance, bringing you to perch on his lap. It made it worse that you had to face him to keep eyes on the unsub, meaning that your lips were only a few inches apart.

“How easy was that?”

“I don’t care about this,” you gestured to the space—or lack thereof—between you, “I care about how smug you’re being.”

“Why?”

“Because you didn't want me here in the first place, and now you're trying to punish me in some weird, sick game of yours.”

“I'm not trying to punish you, and the only reason I didn’t want you here was how dangerous this is.” You tried to focus on the anger you felt at him thinking you couldn’t handle yourself, rather than the part of you that revelled in how protective he could be.

“Then why have you been like this all night? All annoying and flirty?”

“I'm not sure about the annoying part, but do you expect me not to flirt with the beautiful woman on my arm?” He took a glance at where you were perched on his knee before correcting himself, “In my lap?”

You weren't sure how you were planning on responding to him, but luckily you didn't have to, catching the unsub’s gaze on the two of you out of the corner of your eye. He seemed mildly interested, not overly intrigued by the display, but enough to have marked you down as a possibility.

“He's looking at us.” You murmured to Spencer, resting your head on his shoulder, the position designed to force you to keep your eyes off the unsub, no matter how tempting it was to steal a glance.

“When you’re sure you have his attention, walk out and go to the alley behind the building.” Emily’s voice in your ear felt like a slap to the face, a nice reminder that you and Spencer were under constant surveillance, and that you were at risk of a stern conversation after this was over. Inappropriate workplace conduct, probably. You mentally thanked Garcia and Morgan for greasing the wheels.

“Yes, ma’am.”

A jolt ran through you when Spencer’s fingers dug into the flesh of your thigh, the sensation so deeply entwined with good memories that it was almost nostalgic. You ran a hand down his arm slowly, almost sensually, a romantic gesture to anyone that saw, unaware of the subtle pinch you gave his wrist. You held back a snicker when he hissed under his breath and loosened his harsh grip, but refused to move his hand from its new resting place.

“What was that for?” His voice went all high pitched and whiny, the cute annoying way that it always did when he complained.

“Don’t act dumb, Spence, it doesn’t suit you.” The nickname slipped out absentmindedly, it didn’t cross your mind that you hadn’t even called him by anything but his last name in months. His breath hitched, and you lifted your head from his shoulder to see what was going on, to make sure that he was okay.

Your heart skipped a beat when you saw him, slack jawed and gazing at you like you were the only being in the universe. It was the way he used to look at you when you were curled up on his couch, when you were writhing underneath him, when he whispered ‘good morning’ with a soft kiss to your shoulder. When you were his. It might as well have been another one of his miraculous magic tricks, the way it made every sane thought in your head disappear.

Which was probably why you made no move to stop him when his lips crashed into yours, hands cupping your cheeks with a familiar intensity. You melted into his touch, almost forgetting why you were there in the first place. Your hands roamed all over him, frustrated at the inability to be everywhere at once, eventually settling for tangling in his hair. A small cough from the bartender separated you, Spencer holding your bottom lip for a moment too long as he pulled back. It was hard to tell how long the kiss lasted, only that you were so oxygen deprived by the end of it that your head spun. Or that was just a side effect of him. Probably.

Reality sunk in, and you couldn’t bring yourself to meet Spencer’s eyes again, keeping your focus on his messier-than-usual hair. That you had caused.

Fuck.

“That was…” His breathless voice was almost too much, like he had just come up for air after being underwater.

“Nothing, Reid.” If he had been holding his breath, you had been drowning.

“Say it again,” He tilted your head with the hands that were still holding your face like it was made of porcelain, forcing you to meet his gaze. Dark eyes bore into your own as you let go of his hair, hands falling numbly to your sides, “my name.”

“We’re at work.”

Although the reminder had been intended for him, saying the words prompted you to direct your focus back to the case. You glanced subtly in the direction of the unsub, hoping to find him fixated on your display, only to discover that he wasn’t there. Panic rose in your chest at the thought your momentary distraction had allowed him to get away, follow some other couple out. If new victims popped up the next day it would be your fault.

And then you saw him, significantly closer with his eyes locked on you both, and you were sure that you had never been so relieved to be the target of a serial killer. Unfortunately, he wasn’t caught yet, and it was still up to you and Spencer to lure him out of there. Which meant more touching, more talking, more him.

“Baby, let’s get out of here.” You made sure to speak loud enough for the unsub to hear, and gave the bartender a look of annoyance, as if he was being an imposition by asking you to not rip the clothes off of each other in public. You might have felt a bit guilty if lives weren’t at stake.

Spencer nodded, keeping his hands firmly on your waist even after he had helped you get down from his lap. He leant down to press another kiss to your lips, and you forced yourself to keep your head on straight, giggling as he pulled back, chasing his lips playfully. Up on your tiptoes, you kissed his jaw lightly. The whole walk out of the club was spent all over each other, like you couldn’t get enough, one of you was always touching the other.

As you meandered onto the street, you spotted a statue of a little cherub angel, saying something cheesy and romantic. Spencer leaned down, breath hot on your ear as he whispered in an exaggerated sensual tone, “Don’t even blink. Blink and you’re dead. They’re fast, faster than you could believe.”

That time, you couldn’t tell yourself the laugh that fell from your lips wasn’t real, it was so Spencer to make a joke about Doctor Who while you were actively being stalked by a serial killer. You took advantage of his proximity to pull him into another kiss, stumbling into the alley where the ambush was to take place. He pushed you against the wall, peppering your face and neck with kisses, his hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise. You heard a shuffle in the alley, the cock of a gun, and the rest was a blur as the two of you were knocked to the ground, just as a gunshot rang out.

.*☆¸•

When everything was over, when the unsub had been apprehended and the team was back at the local police station, you couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed. Not that the unsub had been caught, of course, but at the fact that was most definitely the last time you would get to touch Spencer like that.

You hadn’t expected him to show up at the door of your hotel room at two in the morning, about an hour after you had made it back from the police station.

“What are you doing here.” It wasn’t a question, it was a polite way of telling him to go away before you did something stupid, like slap him. Or kiss him. Or both.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” He ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair as he stepped forwards, the fire with which he looked at you bordering on a glare. Every second he spent in the room with you was clouding your thoughts, at least the sensible ones that were reminding you of every reason why you shouldn’t just drag him over to the ran through hotel bed.

“Get out.”

“Tell me that it wasn’t real.” In a few short steps he was standing right before you—fuck, his legs were long, which shouldn’t have been as hot as it was—with those brown eyes staring into your soul.

“You know I can’t.” You wished you had more control over what you said, and you wished that he had more self restraint when it came to his actions.

Neither of you did, however, and you had always been weak when it came to him, too weak to care when he leant down and pressed his lips to yours. It wasn’t soft, it was restrained, as if it was taking everything in him to hold back. You didn’t want him to hold back, even if it was out of respect for you, impatience was your vice. Grabbing the collar of his stupidly sexy sleep shirt, you pulled him in deeper, hoping the sensation of his tongue could lick away the bitter taste in your mouth.

This time, when you separated, he was the one to pull back, his breathing heavy and a feral glint in his eyes that were otherwise filled with sorrow.

“I’m sorry.” Neither of you needed to clarify what he was referring to, and neither of you wanted to. The few months after he was released from prison were Hell for both of you, for entirely different reasons.

“I don’t care about that, we’re okay.” It was only half a lie, murmured against his neck as you pressed desperate, sloppy kisses to his skin. Of course you cared, but that care was being swiftly overridden by much more single-minded feelings. You weren’t okay, but maybe you could be.

He looked right through you in that way only Spencer Reid ever could, and he knew just as well as you did that you were lying. You both needed to talk, and you would, at least that’s what you told yourselves.

Not that night, though.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

tysm for reading!!

Tags: @reidmoony-toast + a little dedicatory tag for @darkmatilda ty for being like the entire reason I finished this

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vi-steponmeplease · 1 month ago

Text

YOU'RE LOSING ME

pairings - overwhelmed!billie x caring!reader

genre - angst, fluff near the end

synopsis: billie returns from a week-long trip to korea, leading to an intense argument that threatens your relationship.

tw: slight emotional abuse, relationship conflict, reader and billie are in an established relationship, billie calls reader clingy

word count: 2.7K

and the air is thick with loss and indecision i know my pain is such an imposition

⟡

i gave you all my best me's, my endless empathy and all i did was bleed as i tried to be the bravest soldier

✩₊˚.⋆🕸️⋆⁺₊✧

As the first rays of sunlight stream through the curtains, you slowly open your eyes, your vision blurry for a few seconds as you gaze out the window. Extending your arm, you touch the empty spot on the sheets beside you—cold and untouched.

Your girlfriend Billie has been in Korea for what feels like forever, though it’s only been a week. Her long-awaited album just dropped, and she’s been consumed with interviews and appearances. She hasn’t been responding to your texts much, leaving you feeling lonely. Still, you remind yourself how hard she’s working and try not to let it bother you too much.

Pulling yourself out of bed, you shuffle to the bathroom, turning on the tap to run a warm bath. Back in your room, you grab the hoodie Billie gave you before she left. Her signature scent still lingers, drawing a small, bittersweet smile to your face as your chest tightens with longing. You slip it on over matching sweatpants, preparing for a strawberry-scented bath to shake off the ache of missing her.

Today’s the day Billie finally comes home. The thought brings a flicker of excitement, breaking through the gloom of the past week. You've been counting down the hours, longing for the moment you'd see her walk through the door, ready to wrap her in your arms. You’d planned everything—dinner, her favorite movie, and the kind of quiet, comforting night you know she loves.

You’ve spent the whole morning searching Instagram for recipes, carefully selecting her favorites. After your bath, you tie your hair up into a ponytail and get to work, letting the rhythmic hum of a Clairo playlist fill the air.

Two hours pass, and you’ve prepared mashed potatoes, a fresh salad, and a pot of pasta with vegan meatballs. The table is set, the living room prepared, and her favorite movie is paused on the TV.

At about 6 PM, the sound of keys jangling at the door makes your heart leap as you set two plates on the coffee table. You rush to greet her, a bright smile on your face as the door swings open. There she is—Billie, standing with her luggage in hand, looking as stunning as ever.

“Hey,” she says, her voice soft but distant, her expression tired.

“Hi, baby,” you reply warmly. “I missed you.”

“Me too,” she says, forcing a small smile. But there’s no hug, no kiss, no affectionate greeting. Your stomach knots at the coldness in her demeanor.

“How was your trip?”

“Busy. Lots of interviews.” Her tone is flat, almost disinterested as she runs a hand through her black hair.

“I made you dinner,” you say, stepping aside to reveal the table you’d prepared. The sight of her favorite dishes and the movie queued up for the night should’ve brought a smile to her face, but instead, she sighs, rubbing her forehead.

“That’s great, baby, but I think I’ll pass.”

Your smile falters, but you quickly push aside the sting, which is instantly overpowered by your care. Checking on her is one of your priorities, and you know her well. You two have been together for a year and a half, so by now, you can immediately tell when something's wrong. “Are you okay? You seem... off.”

“I’m just tired,” Billie mutters, avoiding your gaze.

“Well, we can relax on the couch, eat something, watch the movie—”

“I wanna be alone, Y/N,” she interrupts sharply. Her tone cuts through you, the weight of her words hitting harder than you expect. “You’re going to want to cuddle and... I’m just not in the mood.”

“Oh.” The hurt threatens to spill over, but you swallow it down. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t do that,” she snaps, crossing her arms as her piercing gaze meets your confused expression. “Don’t guilt-trip me like this.”

“I’m not trying to guilt-trip you,” you reply softly. “I just—”

“Just drop it, okay?” she says firmly.

You hesitate, but something inside you refuses to let it go. “Okay, no. You don’t get to treat me like this after I’ve spent all day trying to make things nice for you. I know you’re tired, but that doesn’t mean you can push me away.”

“I didn’t ask you to do any of this,” Billie says, gesturing dismissively at the table. “You’re the one who went overboard.”

“Because I care about you,” you argue, stepping closer. “Because I wanted to make you feel better after a long week. All I wanted was to spend some time together, but apparently, that’s too much to ask.”

Billie’s eyes narrow. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” You throw your hands up in frustration. “You’ve barely answered my texts, you’ve been distant all week, and now you’re acting like I’m the problem for wanting to spend time with my girlfriend.”

You almost can't recognize the person in front of you. Is this why she'd been so cold lately? Usually, after long trips like this, she'd get extremely clingy, refusing to leave your side while repeatedly claiming how much she'd missed you and peppering your face with a billion kisses.

"I've been busy, Y/N. You can't expect me to be on my phone 24/7," she argues, a frustrated groan slipping out. "What, are you gonna strangle me for doing my job?"

"Billie," you resolutely call out as you cross your arms defensively. "When have I ever not been understanding to your circumstances? I know how hard you work, and I know your job means you gotta travel around the world. And I've always been okay with that."

She lets out a dry laugh, her tone dripping with exasperation. "So, why are you acting so goddamn needy right now?"

The word hits like a slap. She knows how much that word cuts you, how deeply it taps into your insecurities.

"Why are you being so unbearable right now?" you retort, matching the volume of her tone. Not yelling, but not calm either.

"Just stop it. You're making a big deal out of nothing—"

"No, I'm not. Stop trying to make me sound crazy."

You make your way to the kitchen and grab a glass cup from the dish rack, filling it up with cold water before taking a sip. Your throat had begun to to run dry since you haven't eaten or had anything to drink all day. "You could've been nicer about it. Why are you acting surprised and attacking me for wanting to spend time with you after a week apart?"

billie follows you and leans against the counter, feigning indifference as you stare at her from the other side of the kitchen, your eyes scorching with fury. "A week's not that long."

You scoff after setting the cup on the counter in front of you. "Yeah, says you who literally couldn't wait for me to come home after I slept over at my sister's house for two days."

"That's different." She rolls her eyes and prods her tongue against the inside of her cheek. The audacity leaves you speechless for a second before you regain your composure.

"What changed?" You shake your head in disbelief as you replay the memories of the sweet nothings she would whisper in your ear after being gone for so long. Whether she'd be gone on tour for a month, or if she'd just go visit her parents and Finneas for the weekend, she'd always return to you. "Why are you acting so weird?"

Billie lets out a pained sigh as she shuts her eyes tightly, hoping this moment would just disappear. This is the first time you've seen her show a single emotion other than apathy the whole time she's been back. "I think..." she trails off, not knowing how to correctly word the sentence on the tip of her tongue.

"You think what?" you ask, growing a little impatient as you watch her part her lips again.

"I can’t do this anymore,” she says, the words spilling out like venom. “I think we need a break.”

Your eyes widen and your jaw goes slack. "What the fuck?"

Rounding the corner of the counter, you gently reach out to hold her hands, but she withdraws herself and steps further away. The room seems to tilt as her words sink in. "Where the hell is this coming from?"

“I just... I can’t be in a relationship right now. It’s too much.”

Your voice breaks as tears blur your vision. “Billie, please. We can figure this out—”

“It’s not up to you,” she says, her tone colder than you’ve ever heard it.

“Don’t do this,” you plead. Never in a million years did you picture tonight ending this way, with you practically begging her to take you back.

She steps back, shaking her head, her emotionless blue orbs meet yours, damp and red. “I need space.”

"If you just listened when I told you to leave me alone earlier, this wouldn't be happening right now." Billie's voice rises, although she's never yelled at you before. Every time you two would argue, she'd still try her best to steer clear of doing or saying anything she might regret afterwards.

"Don't you fucking blame me," you yell back, your knuckles turning white as you tighten your grip on the edge of the counter. "I just wanted to spend the night with my girlfriend after being away from each other for so long. You're the one who—"

She lets out another humorless chuckle as she steps forward, leaning closer until your faces are mere inches apart. "Say one more fucking word and I'm never coming home again." She watches your furious expression falter as your eyebrows scrunch together, a crease forming in your forehead. You remain silent and that's when she pulls back. "That's what I fucking thought."

You lower your gaze as she moves out of your view, striding towards your shared bedroom. All you hear is the sound of her footsteps padding across the ceramic floor tiles and trailing further from where you helplessly stand, before you hear the door slam. The sound reverberates through the house, leaving you frozen in place.

Your reticence lingers for a few minutes, almost as if you're too afraid to utter a single word or she'd walk out on you. A quiet sob escapes your lips when your legs give out and you slump onto a stool, burying your face in your hands as the tears finally fall.

The food's cold. It's all you can think about.

The food you spent all of last night planning out, and most of today to make. It's cold. Untouched.

Her words from earlier hit you like cinder blocks. The weight of each sentence uttered makes your heart sink further into your chest as if it's been attached to an anchor.

Questions flood your mind, each one heavier than the last. What went wrong? Was it something you did? How long has she felt this way?

You sit there for hours, drowning in your thoughts, wondering if she’s lying awake like you are, or if she’s already moved on—emotionally gone from what once felt unbreakable.

This isn't something she'd ever normally do. Billie's the most gentle person, especially with you. She'd never do anything to hurt you.

Hues of red and orange begin to spill through the living room window, painting the walls with soft, warm light. You take a shaky breath, turning your head to the window. The sunrise is breathtakingly beautiful—an ironic contrast to the emotional storm you've just endured through one of the worst nights of your life.

You sniffle quietly, wiping away the lingering tears with the back of your hand, your lips trembling from the strain of holding back sobs.

In the bedroom, Billie sits on the edge of the bed, knees drawn to her chest as she stares blankly at the wall. The faint light of the bedside lamp reflects the glimmer of dried tears streaked across her cheeks. She hadn’t bothered to turn it off, too lost in her own thoughts. Her lips are pressed into a remorseful line, her usual confidence replaced with raw guilt. She knows she messed up—knows she acted ungrateful when all you wanted was her.

A heavy sigh escapes her as she swings her legs over the side of the bed, forcing herself to get up. Thirst claws at her throat, but so does the anxiety of facing you. Deep down, she half-expects you to be gone by now—out of the house and her life for good after everything she said. But as she shuffles into the living room, Billie’s breath catches when she sees you still there, perched on the same stool by the counter where she’d left you hours ago.

Her stomach twists as she takes in your figure: slouched shoulders, tired eyes, and the faint, broken sniffles that fill the otherwise silent space. Each sound cuts deeper into her chest. She hesitates for a moment, her hand twitching as she reaches out, wanting to comfort you, but unsure if she even deserves to. Slowly, she steps closer, finally giving in to the ache in her heart.

Tentatively, Billie wraps her arms around you from behind. You flinch slightly, startled by the touch, a quiet gasp escaping your lips. It's the last thing you expected.

“I’m so fucking sorry, baby. You have no idea,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. Her grip tightens as though afraid you might slip away. “I don’t know what got into me last night. I never should’ve yelled at you or called you needy. You just wanted to be with me, and I—I was awful. I’m sorry. There’s no excuse for what I did.”

Your chest heaves, struggling to regulate your breathing. You can’t bring yourself to speak, the lump in your throat too heavy. After a long beat of silence, Billie pulls back slightly, moving to face you. Gently, she tilts your chin up, her heart sinking when she sees the toll her words took on you—your puffy, tear-streaked face, trembling lips, and bloodshot eyes.

Her hands cup your cheeks, her thumbs brushing away the dampness. “I did this to you,” she says, her voice barely audible, as if scolding herself. “I made you cry.”

“Was I… too much?” you croak, your voice cracking. The question hangs in the air, fragile and weighted with insecurity. “Too clingy?”

Billie’s brows knit tightly, and she shakes her head vehemently. “No. Never. You’re never too much, love. I’m so sorry.” She rests her forehead against yours, her voice soft but firm. “I’ll never lash out at you like that again. I promise.”

“It’s seven,” you whisper hoarsely, your voice still trembling.

Her eyes widen slightly. “You spent all night here crying?”

You nod wordlessly, and she exhales shakily, guilt washing over her anew. Without hesitation, Billie takes your hands, guiding you off the stool. “Come on,” she murmurs gently, leading you back toward the bedroom. As the door shuts softly behind you, she repeats, “I’m so sorry.”

You chuckle faintly, the sound raw and tired. “You’ve said that a billion times.”

“And I’ll say it a trillion more if that’s what it takes,” she replies, her lips curving into a soft smile as she wraps her arms securely around your waist. Her tone grows tender. “I love you. You’re never, ever too much for me.”

The warmth of her words soothes your aching heart, though the memory of the night still lingers. “You said you wanted a break,” you remind her, your voice a fragile whisper.

“I don’t,” she says quickly, her gaze earnest. “I was overwhelmed and stressed with everything. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. That’s on me.” Her fingers gently tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, her touch featherlight. “But I don’t want a break. I want you. I'm sor—"

You shake your head, letting out a fragile laugh. “If you apologize again, I swear—”

Billie cuts you off with a soft, passionate kiss, pouring every ounce of regret and love into the moment. Your hands instinctively move to her shoulders, pulling her closer, grounding yourself in her warmth.

When she finally pulls away, she rests her forehead against yours, her blue eyes shining with affection and sincerity. “Let’s get some sleep, baby,” she whispers, her voice like a balm to your soul.

And for the first time that night, you feel the weight on your chest begin to lift.

#billie eilish #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish angst #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish x you #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish fic #hit me hard and soft #billie x reader #lesbian #Spotify

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guiltyasdave · 9 months ago

Text

delicate

pairing: modern!Oberyn Martell x f!reader

word count: ~3.9k

summary: You meet a mysterious man at a club. He's just as attracted to you as you are to him.

warnings/tags: explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), alcohol consumption, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, very soft dom!Oberyn, protected p in v (who am I), dirty talk, fingering, anal play (m receiving), a hint of angst, romance because I can't help myself

a/n: written for @dancingtotuyo’s on repeat drabble challenge, based on the song delicate by taylor swift. this is honestly just feral, i have nothing to say for myself.

dividers as always by @saradika-graphics <3

find my full masterlist here and follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates!

Lights are flashing, colors dancing over the exposed skin of your arms and shoulders; the bass is pumping, making your whole body feel like it’s vibrating from within. You’re clinging to your friend, your arms intertwined as you navigate your way through the crowd of people to the bar.

You first see him as you’re gulping down your drink, welcoming the cool liquid in your parched throat. Your eyes are observing the crowd, flying over him and then flickering back to take a second glance.

He’s gorgeous, his dark hair a mess, a beard framing his face, his skin shining under the lights. He’s wearing a shirt that flows around his body, threads of gold weaving through the fabric and reflecting the dancing lights. It’s almost entirely undone, giving you a generous look at the expanse of his toned chest, at the sun-kissed skin that you feel a sudden urge to run your fingers over. A massive gold chain with a lock hangs around his neck, an accessory that you’re convinced would look absolutely ridiculous on anyone else. But on him, it somehow only accentuates the strong cords of muscle that ripple under his skin in a way that makes you want to lick your lips.

He moves with a confident ease, his body in tune with the stomping beats, his whole being exuding an almost cocky self-assuredness. You keep drinking him in, fascinated in a way that you can barely understand. You realize that you’ve been staring when your friend follows your line of sight and you hear her quiet gasp beside you.

“Haven’t seen that one around before,” her voice floats into your ear over the music and you shake your head in silent agreement. You’d definitely remember if you did.

You both watch him move with the body of a woman next to him, watch him bend down to whisper something into her ear, watch the way his lips curl into a smug grin as she grinds against him in reaction to his words.

“Too late, I guess,” you laugh, downing the rest of your drink and tearing your eyes away.

The two of you head back into the crowd, swaying your bodies to the beat. You try to get lost in the feeling of it, but your eyes keep searching for him, hungrily grasping at the glimpses of him that you can spot. Eventually, you watch the retreating backs of both of him and the woman head toward the exit, their bodies closely intertwined. Like you said, you try to shrug it off, too late. It’s not a big deal, there’s more than enough other guys around you.

But you don’t go home with any of those guys, none of them able to catch your interest the way he did, and when you lie in bed in the early morning hours, your head pleasantly buzzing with the remaining alcohol in your bloodstream, you still see him behind your eyelids.

A few weeks go by and while you hope to catch him every time that you’re out, there’s no trace of him. It isn’t until your friend’s birthday celebration, a tradition that the two of you have kept up for years, that you see him again.

Again, you’re leaning against the bar, your eyes aimlessly drifting over the dancefloor while you’re sipping on your drink, when you spot him. He’s wearing another colorful shirt, his chest almost entirely on display, and he’s shamelessly grinding against another young man as they’re both moving to the beat. You can’t tear your eyes away, apparently staring so intently that he catches you and throws you a wink across the room.

You feel heat rising in your cheeks and almost turn away, but he’s already on his way, moving towards you with a cat-like grace, effortlessly weaving through the crowd of moving bodies.

“Hey,” he says, leaning into you so close that his breath fans hot against your ear, causing goosebumps to rise on your neck. “Saw something you like?”

You grin at him over the rim of your cup, biting your lip and nodding. He mirrors your grin, an almost predatory glint in his eyes. He’s even more gorgeous up close, a light sheen of sweat on his face and his eyes a smoldering brown, his dark hair a mess with strands sticking to his forehead. You take in his toned chest, his broad shoulders and you desperately want to touch your hands to his golden skin. A foreign accent is lacing his words in the most delicious way, only adding to the pull that you feel towards him.

“Let me buy you another drink,” he purrs and you accept, thanking him and offering him your name. You relish in the way you have to lean into him so that he can hear you, greedily soaking in his scent and his body heat that make your mouth water.

His name is Oberyn, you learn, a name that sounds foreign on your tongue and you could swear that a quiet growl rises up his throat when you repeat it back to him.

You’d love to spend your evening dancing with him, pressing your body against his, find out if moving with him feels as good as it looks from the outside. But it’s your friend’s birthday, and you’re gonna stick together, dance the night away with each other and no one else, the way you do every year.

He shrugs it off when you tell him as much, an unbothered grin on his face as he promises you another time then. His hand wraps around your wrist, the warmth of it sinking into your skin as he pulls your arm out towards him, a black marker suddenly in his other hand.

“What are you–” you begin to ask, but your voice dies at the sight of him pulling the cap off with his teeth, something that really shouldn’t affect you this much.

He bends over your arm and it takes your hazy mind a moment to register that he’s writing numbers onto your skin. You’re getting lost in the feeling of his hand on you, even in such an innocent place, and your thoughts are already jumping to fantasies of how it would feel trailing up your arm and over your body.

“There,” his voice floats into your ear and you almost jump. The smug look on his face leaves no doubt that he knows exactly what kind of effect he has on you. He leans in close again, so close that you can feel his breath on your skin. Your mouth feels dry.

You look down at your arm, now adorned with digits in black ink. A phone number.

“Give me a call,” he smirks, and leans in even closer, until his lips move against the shell of your ear and a shudder runs down your back at the sensation. “Just think of the fun things we could do.” He throws you another wink and slides away from you, back into the crowd.

You text him the next day, worried if it’s too soon, if it makes you seem desperate. Then again, you have to admit to yourself, you are desperate. Desperate to hear his voice again, desperate to feel his hands on you again. Texting him is less awkward than you had hoped, his demeanor putting you at ease almost immediately. You catch yourself smiling at the screen, already down bad for this man.

You’re in bed, struggling to calm down enough to sleep when your phone’s screen lights up the darkness of your bedroom from where it’s lying on your nightstand.

He’s asking you to meet him in a dive bar, right now, if you want to. You’re reluctant at first, once again worried to appear too eager, but the almost magnetic pull that you feel towards him eventually leads you out of your apartment and to the address he sent you.

He’s waiting for you in the back, just like he told you. Wearing dark jeans and a white t-shirt, the fabric stretching around his broad chest in a way that makes it hard not to stare, dressed much more casually than you’ve come to know from him. It doesn’t take away from his persona one bit, he’s still exuding that energy that seems to let him command every room he’s in, that makes it so hard for you to resist him.

He buys you a drink and pulls you into a corner booth with him. Talking to him is easy, he’s an attentive listener and his quick remarks make you laugh, leaning into him when you do. You learn that he’s not from around here, that he flew in to visit friends but that he’s thinking about moving here permanently. It almost scares you, how giddy that prospect makes you, the idea of having the chance to keep seeing him. His arm finds its way around your shoulders eventually, his fingers drawing shapes over your skin. The innocent contact makes you feel like a teenager, suddenly sixteen again.

He walks you home later, his arm still wrapped around you, pulling you into his side. It feels good, a sense of safety and intimacy that you feel yourself getting lost in. You had thought that he was hot, that he would be a fun hookup, but as the minutes tick on, you realize how much you already like him. How much you want this feeling to last.

It feels so natural, turning around to face him when you reach your building, both of you leaning in simultaneously until your lips meet, like it’s the only possible way for this evening to end. You think that it is.

Kissing him feels even better than you had envisioned in your mind, and you melt against him, one hand braced against his chest while the other comes up to pull at the hair in the nape of his neck, needing him closer, not ready to let him go. He’s cupping your face in both hands, his thumbs caressing your cheeks, and you feel him smile against your lips. You lick into his mouth, revel in the groan that rumbles deep in his chest.

You don’t let go of him, holding onto his hand when you pull him up the stairs, soak in the feeling of him pressed against your body when you unlock your apartment door, let him connect his lips with yours again when he walks you backwards down your hallway.

Everything about him feels so right, so safe and yet like the most exciting experience you’ve ever had. You breathe him in, ecstatic with the sensation of his broad form against you, with the way you feel his muscles move under your fingers where you’re grabbing at his shoulders.

He lets you lead him into your bedroom, his hands still all over you. You push him down to sit on the edge of your bed and he follows your lead, sinking down on the mattress with an easy grin on his face, regarding you with hooded eyes. He wraps his hands around your waist as you’re standing in front of him and he pulls you closer. His fingers find their way below the hem of your skirt, dancing over the supple skin of your thighs, slowly inching up higher.

You whine, already squirming under his touch, and his grin widens.

“So soft,” he coos up at you, tightening his grip on your thighs and moving you to straddle him, your legs already spread wide to accommodate the thickness of his thighs beneath you. One hand comes up to cradle your face again, his thumb nudging at your lips and you flick your tongue against the digit, making him chuckle.

“And so pretty,” he continues, leaning in to connect your lips once more. You want to melt into him, let him consume every fiber of your being.

Your hands tug at his t-shirt, pulling it up, desperate to satisfy the need to be closer to him, to feel his bare skin against yours. He helps you, lifting the fabric over his head. You’ve seen most of his chest before, but not like this, not revealed just for you, in the dim light of your bedroom, yours to look at, yours to touch. He somehow seems even broader without clothes on and you’re almost transfixed by the thick cords of muscle of his arms and shoulders that are on display for you now.

He chuckles again, placing another kiss at the corner of your lips.

“You alright, princess?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, feeling breathless, overwhelmed with how much you want him.

His hands splay over your thighs, fingertips dipping beneath your skirt again, slowly, teasingly skating higher.

“Take this off for me.” It’s phrased like an order, but it’s still so soft, not leaving a doubt in your mind that you could say no if you wanted to. But you don’t. You want him to see you, want to feel his eyes on you, want to have this hungry look that’s trained on your face burning all over your body.

He groans when you obey, a deep, rumbling sound that goes straight to your core and you know that he feels your thighs clenching on top of his. His mouth is on your bare skin within seconds, kissing and sucking, his tongue moving against you like he’s going to devour you.

You arch against him with a whine when he circles your nipple, first with his fingers and then with his tongue before sucking the sensitive bud between his lips. It’s all encompassing, the wetness of his mouth, the strong grip of his hands, the heat of his chest seeping into your skin where you’re pressing yourself against him.

“Please, Oberyn,” you whimper, not even sure what you’re asking for, just knowing that you need more. His responding moan sends vibrations from his mouth straight through you, before his fingers dig into your waist and he flips you over, until your back is resting on your sheets and he’s hovering over you, your thighs still spread wide around him.

The image alone is enough to send another wave of arousal through you, the way he looks just as wrecked as you feel. His large hands spread your thighs wider as he leans back, his eyes trained on your panties, where you know the fabric must be soaked already.

“So pretty,” he mumbles again, more to himself than to you. His eyes fly back up to meet yours, almost black, his pupils blown wide. “Can I take these off?” He dips a finger under the lace covering your hip, pulling it away and letting it snap against your skin.

“Please.” You don’t care how desperate you sound, not when he looks up at you with the most sinful smirk on his face. His hands grasp the fabric and you lift your hips to help him pull it down, but his smirk widens as he tears the lace in half, ripping the shreds off of your body.

“Fuck,” you whine, not a single thought wasted on the fact that those were some of your favorite panties, every part of you focused on how badly you want his hands all over you.

His eyes stay focused on your expression, eagerly drinking in your every reaction as his fingers dip between your legs, so close to where you so desperately need him. He groans when he feels the wetness seeping from your folds, swirling his digits through it before reaching your clit. He’s ghosting over the sensitive nub with barely any pressure, but it’s enough to elicit a moan from you, your hips canting up to follow his touch. You’re distantly aware of the pleas that are falling from your lips, giving way to a loud whine when he finally sinks two thick fingers into your heat.

He thrusts into you, curling them just right, and his name tumbles out of your mouth again, laced with pure need. You watch in fascination when he sucks his slick-coated fingers into his mouth, eyes still trained on your face, a rumble forming in his chest at the taste.

“Tastes so sweet, princess.”

Your thighs fall open wider, shamelessly offering yourself to him, to his eyes, his hands. You reach out, grabbing at his waist, the need to feel all of him nearly overwhelming. His fingers intertwine with yours, pulling your hands away from his body. He lifts them up to his mouth and presses soft kisses against your knuckles, a whisper of patience on his lips before he lets go of you and rises up to rid himself of his jeans.

Your eyes widen at the sight of him, a needy sigh escaping you when you think about feeling him inside you, about the way he’s gonna stretch your walls. You sit up, eagerly reaching for him again. Your fingers wrap around his cock, mesmerized by his girth, and he hisses when you move your hand over his length.

You hear the crinkle of plastic and then his hand is on yours, gently tugging it away, much too soon for your liking. You watch as he puts the condom on with practiced ease, the sight of his own hands on his cock enough to send another wave of arousal through you.

He’s back on you before you know it, sliding in between your spread legs, his large hands splayed over your upper thighs, pushing them further apart. His eyes are trained on your weeping pussy, a hungry darkness in them. You whine when he rubs his cock through your wetness before tapping against your clit.

“You want this?” he asks, his voice husky.

“Please, Oberyn.” Your desperate plea breaks off into a filthy moan when he sheathes himself inside of you, breaching your tight walls with the most delicious sting, and you feel your eyes rolling back into your head.

Pleasure grows inside of you as he starts to move, slamming into your pussy in a forceful rhythm. You feel so full of him, the sensation almost overwhelming as he hits the perfect spot over and over. The wave inside of you crests so suddenly that you barely realize what’s happening, the need that you’ve felt brewing all evening finally reaching its peak.

You gasp his name, nails pressing into his shoulders as he fucks you through it, until you’re a trembling mess beneath him. He slows, moving in and out of you with shallow thrusts, his lips on yours once more.

You stay like that for a moment, arms wrapped around him, holding him close while you bask in the bliss that you’ve just experienced. But his continuous movements have the hunger for more growing inside of you once more. You meet his thrusts with your hips, needy to feel him deeper again. He props himself up, and it’s sinful how good he looks, his face glowing, a sheen of sweat on his skin.

You suck one of your fingers into your mouth, eyes wide and holding his gaze, feigning innocence. He watches you, a curious glint in his eyes, as you trail your hands from his shoulders down his back until you reach his ass and pull him further into you, fingernails digging into his flesh.

You let your saliva-covered finger reach further, gently massaging the puckered ring of muscle and he gasps, thrusting into you with so much force that it jostles your whole body and you cry out, the sensation of him so deep inside you a heady mix of pleasure and pain.

“Fuck,” he grits between his teeth as you keep up your ministrations, delighted to have this effect on him. “Fuck, princess, just like that…”

You bite your lip, grinning up at him. “Do the girls back home touch you like I do?”

He breathes out a laugh and shakes his head, his movements never faltering as he gathers your wrists in his hands and pins them down on the mattress beside your head.

“No. And you’re gonna make me come if you keep this up, but I’m not finished with you yet,” he purrs, leaning down and sucking bruising kisses into the soft skin of your throat, the scratch of his beard only adding to the sensation. You free one of your hands from his grip to tug at his hair, your fingers burrowing in the soft strands at his neck and scratching against his scalp.

“You can give me one more, can’t you?” His voice in your ear makes you shiver and you nod, a breathless please on your lips.

“Good girl.” His kiss is soft against your cheek before he pulls away, his thrusts speeding up, as he grabs your hips, holding them up, giving you no choice but to take him. “Touch yourself,” he demands, the tendons in his neck straining with exertion.

Your fingers are on your clit within moments, rubbing against it, slick with your arousal. The coil inside you tightens again, desperate for release once more.

“Give it to me princess, come on.” His voice sounds wrecked, and it’s the thing that makes you leap over the edge a second time, stars exploding behind your eyelids as you pulse around him, pure pleasure soaring through you.

He comes to a stuttering halt, hips pressed flush against yours, and his groans are almost enough to make you want to come again. He falls forward, forehead pressed against yours, and you share a lazy smile.

You think that he really is the most beautiful person that you’ve ever met.

You fell asleep curled against him, your head resting on his chest and soaking up his warmth, with his arm around your shoulder, but when you blink awake to soft morning light falling through your curtains, you are alone. You roll onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. You’ve seen him at the club, he’s probably in a different bed almost every night, you shouldn’t be surprised that he snuck out of yours in the morning. And you sure as hell shouldn’t be disappointed.

You get up with a sigh, pulling a t-shirt over your head and padding down the hall to the kitchen. You come to an abrupt halt in the doorway, met with a sight that you hadn’t expected. He’s standing in front of your open fridge, the expanse of his back bare and turned towards you. There’s a swoop of excitement in your stomach.

You exhale loudly and he turns towards you, an easy smile on his lips. “Good morning.” His voice sounds raspier, still thick with sleep.

“Hey,” you say, returning his smile. He closes the distance between you and cups your face, the sensation of his thumb against your cheek already a familiar one. His lips find yours and you get lost in the feeling of it, in the fantasy of this being your every morning, in pretending that he’s yours.

When he pulls away, the words are out of your mouth before your mind is able to catch up.

“I think I really like you.”

You want to bite your tongue immediately, to take them back. Too early, the voice in your head screams. Your eyes widen as you search for something else to say, but he doesn’t waver, still regarding you with that relaxed smile on his handsome face.

“Is– is it okay that I said that?”

He hums, his large hand still on your cheek.

“I think I really like you too.”

as always, if you enjoyed this, please consider putting a smile on my face by reblogging, commenting or sending in an ask <3 thank you for reading!

#oberyn martell #oberyn martell x reader #pedro pascal #game of thrones #oberyn martell fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #oberyn martell smut #oberyn martell x you #oberyn martell x female reader #oberyn martell x f!reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories #janas fics #fic: delicate

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saythenametotheworld · 3 months ago

Text

Plot Twist | c.sc (18+)

A chance encounter blossoms into a whirlwind romance when you become enchanted by the enigmatic stranger—Choi Seungcheol. As you spend more time together, one question lingers: could he be the unexpected plot twist that changes your story forever?

one | two | three | four | five

Genre: strangers to lovers, smut Pairing: Choi Seungcheol/Scoups x afab!Reader Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+) Notes: 24k words. Last part of the Heartbreak Hotel series, but it can be read as a standalone fic. Listening to Plot Twist by NIKI. Finally down to that last part! I loved working on this fic. Kinda sad now that it is over. Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know them personally and do not claim they would ever behave like they were portrayed in this story.

Playlist: Plot Twist by NIKI, Nobody Gets Me by SZA, long story short by Taylor Swift

When Choi Seungcheol first arrived at the hotel, you pegged him as just another rich man passing through—the noble charisma he was exuding made that clear. But unlike most guests, he hadn’t just come to book a room. He had asked for something far more unusual—stories about your past relationships.

At first, you thought he might be a writer, searching for inspiration for his next novel. But then he handed you his card and, no, he wasn’t a writer. He was a young CEO of a holding company. That alone was impressive, but his request? Odd, to say the least.

Then again, what did you have to lose? All you had to do was share a few stories from your past and pocket the fee he offered. You could even make up the most dramatic story ever and he’d probably bite. Yet you found yourself being completely honest, revealing parts of your life you hadn’t thought about in years.

You told him about your first real heartbreak with a guy who wasn’t even your official boyfriend. You spoke about an unforgettable relationship you had with the most breathtaking man you’d ever known. And you relived the time when your own insecurities ruined what was beautiful and perfect.

“I actually skipped the depression part of my breakup with Mingyu,” you confessed, rolling your eyes at your own expense. “It was kinda embarrassing telling a stranger all that. But I had a feeling you could see through me.”

“Not really, but I figured,” he shrugged, sipping his drink. There was a knowing look on his face—one that he didn’t bother to hide. “And honestly, I didn’t mind. I was a stranger after all. I was surprised you told me anything at all.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Yeah, well, I guess I needed to talk about that stuff more than I thought.”

“So,” he said, leaning forward with genuine curiosity, “is there anyone else?”

You paused. “That’s it. That’s all of them.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You never dated much, huh?”

“No, not really,” you said, laughing. “There are others but it's not worth telling. They were either so-so, just passing through, or, you know... toxic.”

“Hmm. I see.” Seungcheol reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet. He slid out two checks, handing them to you. You took it and your eyes widened slightly at the numbers on them.

“This is... a lot,” you stammered. “Surely, my stories aren’t worth this much.”

He met your gaze, his expression unreadable. “I disagree. But if you think so…” He nodded at the checks still in your hand. “Consider it a tip for your—remarkable—room service.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Except, we didn’t even have it in the room, did we?”

“We could have,” he said smoothly. “But you weren’t interested in seeing my room.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his shift in tone. “Is that your way of inviting me to your room, Mr. Choi?”

He tilted his head slightly, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “No. But now that you mention it... maybe it is.”

You hummed, biting your lower lip. “And here I thought you’d be the assertive type.”

“Well, I was raised to have manners, but if you’re into assertive men then.” Seungcheol’s demeanor shifted in an instant. His eyes, once playful, turned sharp, commanding. “Come join me in my room.”

Your heart skipped a beat. And the way he said it made your skin tingle. You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. “Okay.”

Seungcheol’s suite was spacious and immaculately tidy. Though the interior resembled every other suite in the hotel—neutral tones, minimalist decor—you couldn’t stop your eyes from looking around the space he’d been staying at for the past two days. Sure enough, there were almost no signs of him anywhere—not a stray jacket, a personal belonging—nothing that would give you the slightest clue about who he was or what kind of life he led outside this hotel.

“More champagne?” Seungcheol offered, motioning to the bottle of champagne sitting on a bucket of ice. He didn’t wait for you to respond, reaching for it and pouring some of the sparkling liquid into the glass. The soft clink of the bottle against the flute felt almost loud in the otherwise quiet room.

“Thanks,” you said softly, taking the glass he handed you as you sat down.

You didn’t need more champagne, not really. But the cool bubbles offered a welcome distraction. Anything to give your hands something to do, and your mind something to focus on other than the thick tension swirling between you both.

You took a slow sip, eyes flitting to the abstract painting on the wall—blotches of color, indistinct shapes that blurred the longer you stared. But no matter how much you tried to focus on the artwork, you could still feel Seungcheol’s gaze on you.

He’s the one who asked me to come here, you thought, fingers tracing the rim of your glass. He should say something.

You didn’t know exactly what you were expecting when you agreed to join him in his room—but you do know that the conversation part was over. There was nothing left to talk about, this time right now was not for talking. You couldn’t trust yourself to look at him, afraid that meeting his gaze would confirm what you already knew—the desire building between you both, the unspoken question lingering in the air.

Seungcheol shifted on the couch across from you, the sound of fabric brushing against leather making your heart race. You wanted to ask him what he was thinking, but the words got stuck in your throat. Instead, you took another sip of champagne, more to keep your hands occupied than anything else.

It felt like an eternity passed before his voice finally broke through the tension.

“Come here,” he said, low and commanding, his tone sending a ripple of warmth down your spine.

“Yes,” you blurted out, standing up almost too quickly because your body was responding before your mind could catch up. You crossed the space between you in seconds, your heart racing in your chest, as though you had been waiting for that very invitation all along.

Seungcheol’s eyes were dark as he tugged lightly at your hand, pulling you down onto his lap. Your legs straddled his, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. And as you stared into his eyes, a mutual understanding passed between you without having to say a single word.

With one hand, he cupped the back of your head, drawing you in until his lips met yours. His lips were warm and firm, and the moment they touched yours, everything inside you unraveled. The knot of tension that had been coiled in your stomach loosened, sending heat through your entire body as his hand traveled down your back.

But just as quickly, you pulled away, breathless. “I—uh… I think we’re moving too fast,” you muttered, trying to collect your thoughts.

Seungcheol nodded. “Yeah, too fast,” he said, though his eyes remained fixed on your lips.

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the tension between you crackling like electricity. Then, without thinking, you leaned in again, your lips meeting his with more urgency this time, more need. The kiss was hungrier now, both of you pushing against the boundary you had just set, as though the pull between you was impossible to resist.

His hands found your waist, fingers curling into your skin as he pulled you closer, his body pressing against yours. But again, the rational part of your mind kicked in, and you broke away, laughing breathlessly.

“Definitely too fast,” you whispered, though you made no effort to move away.

“Definitely,” Seungcheol agreed, his voice low, amusement flickering in his eyes as he kept his hands on your waist.

And yet, before you could stop yourself, your lips were on his again, the heat between you too consuming to fight. This time, neither of you pulled away. You let the moment stretch out, giving in to the pull as words fell away and your bodies did all the talking.

You were back at your usual spot at the front desk the next day, almost as if everything was completely normal, as though nothing of note had happened the night before. It didn’t help that the hotel was quiet with barely any people coming in, so your mind kept slipping back to Seungcheol. His intense kisses, his tender touches, the rush of heat that coursed through your veins, the ecstatic high—all of it was still fresh, vivid as if it had left a permanent mark on you. You caught yourself smiling for no reason, or at least, no reason that anyone here could understand.

“Are you alright?” Elena asked as she passed the front desk, her sharp gaze narrowing when she saw your flustered expression.

“Huh? I’m fine. What’s up?” you responded, hoping you didn’t sound too defensive.

“You’re flushed,” she noted with a raised eyebrow. “You look like you’re coming down with something,” she added, giving you a suspicious glance before walking off.

You touched your face, realizing with a start that your cheeks were warm—whether from embarrassment or the memories swirling in your head, you couldn’t tell. Pulling out your phone, you opened the camera app to check your reflection, only to be greeted with a slight flush coloring your skin. You stared at your reflection for a moment, wondering how much of last night’s excitement was still etched into your features.

Before you could think too much about it, the telephone rang, snapping you back to reality.

“This is the front desk. How may I help you?”

“Hi,” Seungcheol’s deep voice resonated from the other line, causing your heart to skip a beat. “Could you send housekeeping up? This suite is in dire need of tidying.”

His tone was casual, but there was a hint of mischief in it that made your stomach twist pleasantly. You knew exactly what he was implying. The memory of last night’s aftermath flashed through your mind—as if you hadn’t already been thinking about it all day.

You cleared your throat, trying to maintain a professional tone. “Absolutely. Housekeeping will be there shortly. Is there anything else, Mr. Choi?”

There was a brief pause on his end before his voice dropped a little lower. “Is it too early to request room service?”

Your heartbeat hastened, knowing full well that he wasn’t just talking about food. You could almost picture the smirk he must have had on his face, enjoying how easily he could fluster you.

“Have a good day, sir,” you replied, brushing him off in the most polite way possible before hanging up the phone.

You were still grinning to yourself when the phone rang again. Glancing at the telephone, you didn’t even have to guess who it was. You picked up the receiver.

“This is the front desk. How may I help you?” You kept your tone as professional as possible, but the smile was hard to hide.

“I know you’re thinking about me,” came Seungcheol’s teasing voice, playful and smooth.

Your breath hitched as you tried to suppress a laugh. “Whatever are you talking about, Mr. Choi? It’s inappropriate to speak to staff this way during work hours,” you chided playfully.

“You’re right. I forgot my manners for a second,” he replied, the humor in his voice evident. “I just woke up and I am starving, so I was thinking of actually ordering room service.”

“You just woke up?”

“Yeah. Alone, but somehow, I had a feeling someone was here with me but they sneaked out came morning light,” he replied, still teasing.

You raised an eyebrow, enjoying the playful banter. “Maybe because they have a job and said job requires them to wake up and get ready by eight in the morning?”

“I figured. Still, it would’ve been nice to get a proper goodbye.”

“Didn’t wanna disturb you,” you replied in a low voice, your index finger drawing circles on the desk in front of you. “Anyway, work hours,” you said, more to yourself than to him.

You tried to get back into professional mode. “Why don’t you just eat in the restaurant? It’s much more comfortable down there—and you won’t be in the way of housekeeping.”

There was a brief pause, and then he chuckled softly. “Are you allowed to tell guests what to do?”

You laughed, shaking your head at the playfulness in his tone. “No, technically not. We’re supposed to cater to their every need, but since I know you, I’ll take my chances and tell you what to do.”

“Oh, so we’re at that level now?” he teased. “You think you can boss me around now?”

“Only because I know you’ll listen,” you shot back, unable to resist the smile tugging at your lips. “I’ve got a good read on you, Mr. Choi.”

“I don’t know about that,” Seungcheol hummed, amusement thick in his voice. “Maybe I’ll just stay up here and starve, wait for housekeeping to finish.”

“Or you could go downstairs and eat like a normal person,” you retorted. “How about that instead?”

He chuckled again, and you could almost hear the smile in his voice. “Alright, alright. I’ll head down.”

“Good. I’ll have the restaurant expect you,” you replied, feeling satisfied.

“Mm-hm. But don’t think this means I’m done with you for the day,” he added, his tone lower, more suggestive. “We’ll pick this up later.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the promise in his voice, but you managed to keep your composure. “I’ll take you up on that. Enjoy your meal, Mr. Choi.”

“Thank you,” he said before hanging up, leaving you grinning like a fool at the front desk.

The day had dragged on slower than usual. Being in a remote area meant there weren’t many guests, so it was quiet—almost too quiet. After taking care of a handful of check-ins in the morning, you spent the afternoon fielding calls, helping with some basic concierge tasks, and trying not to think about the previous night with Seungcheol. It was hard to concentrate with his voice still ringing in your ears from the teasing call earlier, and the stillness of the hotel only amplified your wandering thoughts.

As the evening rolled around, you were grateful to finally be clocking out. You grabbed your things and made your way out of the front desk, ready to head out when a familiar figure appeared from the corner of your eye.

Seungcheol stood there, casual yet polished as ever, with his hands tucked into his pockets. His presence was magnetic, and you could feel your coworkers’ eyes darting toward him and then back to you in curiosity.

“Going somewhere?” Seungcheol asked smoothly, his smile playful as he leaned casually against the counter.

“Just clocking out,” you replied, trying to sound composed despite the flutter in your chest.

“Well, since you're off the clock… how about you join me for dinner?” His invitation was simple, but the implication made your pulse quicken.

You hesitated for a moment, feeling the intrigued stares of your coworkers lingering on the both of you. But the thought of spending another evening in his company was too tempting to resist.

“Sure,” you said, keeping your tone light, though your heart was racing. “But first, I need to change.”

“Alright,” he chimed, blinking slowly. “You can take your time. I’ll wait for you at the restaurant.”

As you made your way toward the employee exit, you passed the kitchen, where Leo, one of the chefs, caught sight of you. His grin was playful as he leaned on the doorframe.

“Somebody’s got a boyfriend,” Leo asked with a teasing lilt, wiggling his eyebrows. “After all this time, and after all the guests who tried to sweep you off your feet, someone has finally tickled your fancy huh?”

Drea, another kitchen staff, appeared beside him. “Looks like it. They’d been hanging out all weekend.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “I’m just making a friend, guys. There’s no need to be all giddy about it.”

“Sure, sure,” Leo chuckled as he turned back to the stove. “Make as many ‘friends’ as you want.”

Drea fell into step with you as you walked toward the exit, lowering her voice to a whisper. “So… I guess your ‘friend’ let you crash at his place last night, huh?”

You blinked in surprise. “What? What are you talking about?”

She giggled softly. “I saw you sneaking back into your quarters at the crack of dawn, sugar.”

You grinned, waving her off with a laugh and gesturing for her to keep it down. Drea mimed zipping her lips before heading back to her tasks, letting you continue on your way in peace.

The restaurant had a cozy ambiance, with warm lighting and soft music playing in the background. As you settled into your seat across from Seungcheol, the enticing aroma of food filled the air, making your stomach growl.

“What’s the best thing you’ve ever eaten here?” Seungcheol asked, leaning back in his chair as he scanned the menu.

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” you replied, running your finger along the edge of the menu. “I don’t eat here unless I can’t help it.”

His eyes sparkled with mischief. “So, I’m your first real dinner date at this place? How flattered am I?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you laughed lightly, but your heart raced at the playful glint in his gaze. “It’s just dinner.”

“Last night begs to differ,” he commented, making you gasp audibly.

Before you could say anything, Seungcheol gestured for the waiter who approached immediately. You ordered a rich pasta dish while Seungcheol opted for the steak.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asked after the waiter left.

You shook your head. “No, not at all. I’m just not the type to openly talk about… you know, my activities in the bedroom.”

“Alright. I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, smiling as he watched you curiously. “What do you usually do when you’re off the clock?”

You shrugged, feeling a twinge of embarrassment. “Not much. Just… binge-watch shows or read.”

Seungcheol chuckled. “A woman of refined tastes, I see.”

“Hey, everyone needs a little escapism,” you shot back, your cheeks warming. “What about you, Mr. CEO? What keeps you busy?”

His expression shifted slightly, the playful facade dropping just a notch. “Well, I run a holding company that invests in other businesses.”

You leaned in, intrigued. “That sounds interesting. What does that involve exactly?”

Seungcheol took a sip of his drink before answering. “We invest in companies we think have potential and help them grow. Sometimes we acquire them and either hand them over to other people to manage or strip them down for parts.”

“Sounds awful for the owners,” you remarked, unable to hide the frown forming on your lips. The thought of someone losing their livelihood sent a chill through you.

Seungcheol shrugged, his expression neutral. “That’s just the way it is. We usually only acquire companies on the brink of bankruptcy. It’s better than losing everything, right?”

“What do you even gain from a failing company?” you asked, tilting your head in confusion. The whole business seemed ruthless, a world away from your warm hotel lobby.

Seungcheol chuckled, a hint of challenge in his eyes. “Are you seriously enjoying this conversation?”

“Not really,” you admitted with a laugh. “But there’s nothing else to discuss.”

“Then let’s talk about you,” he said, leaning closer, his eyes searching yours. “Why are you still in hospitality?”

You felt your defenses rise. “Hey, that’s straight-up prying into someone’s personal business.”

“Weren’t you prying into mine just now?” he challenged, crossing his arms.

“Not the same! I was asking about how you make money; you’re asking about my life choices,” you shot back with a pout.

“I can see why you wanted to be a journalist,” he said, his voice softer now.

“What? How?” you asked, genuinely surprised.

“I just know,” he replied, an enigmatic smile on his face.

“Okay, Mr. Can See Through Me,” you laughed, but deep down, you wondered how much he could actually see—and if it was more than you intended to show.

After what happened with Seungcheol, you figured you’d be back in his suite once or twice more while he stayed in the hotel. When you think about it, like really think about it, it felt strange to hook up with a guest you’d known for only three days. But it didn’t bother you as much as you expected. Maybe because you’d already shared so much with him; intimate stories and personal memories that left you feeling vulnerable, strong, even a bit broken. Somehow, being with him physically felt minor compared to the depth of everything you’d revealed.

That said, you weren’t expecting to just keep sleeping with him the whole time. No. He was amazing—that was an understatement. And it wasn’t just because you hadn’t had any action in months; it was simply the truth. But Seungcheol didn’t seem like the type to put physical needs before familiarity.

“Good night, then,” he said, smiling as you both lingered in the hallway between the elevator and the employee exit.

“Good night, Mr. Choi,” you smiled back, trying to keep it light. “Thanks for dinner.”

“No problem. I had a great time,” he replied, closing the distance to place a gentle kiss on your cheek. In your ear, he whispered, “And please, just Seungcheol.”

“Sorry, I keep forgetting that,” you chuckled softly. For a moment, you stood there, eyes holding each other’s, as if something else was left unsaid. You weren’t sure what exactly, but you could tell he felt it too.

“Go on, then,” you prompted, nodding toward the elevator.

“No. You can go first. Don’t worry about me.”

You shrugged, reluctant but trying not to show it. “Alright. See you next time.”

“Tomorrow,” he corrected with a grin. “Hope you’re not sick of me yet.”

You laughed. “Not yet, but we’re getting there,” you teased. Leaning forward, you brushed a quick kiss over his lips.

Seungcheol’s hands settled on your waist just as you started to pull away, his eyes searching yours. You grinned, tapping his arms twice to signal he should let go.

“Would you like to—”

“No, thank you,” you interrupted a bit too quickly. His face fell, and seeing it made you laugh. “I would’ve if you’d asked earlier.”

He sighed, shaking his head with a small smile tugging at his lips. “Didn’t want to overstep.”

“I know. And I appreciate that.” You walked toward your exit, giving him another smile before pushing the door open. “Good night, then.”

“Good night,” he replied with a small wave.

The next day, the morning felt lighter somehow. You went to work in high spirits, smiling at coworkers more than usual, even humming a song to yourself while you were sitting at the quiet front desk, scanning the deserted lobby.

You caught sight of Seungcheol a few times throughout your shift. Once in the lobby, sitting by the window with his laptop and a coffee, his expression focused and distant; and later, he walked by while in a quiet exchange with someone on the phone.

In those moments, he was just like any other guest, a charming yet distant stranger. Yet every time he passed by the front desk, his eyes would flicker up, a sweet smile plastered on his lips.

At the end of your shift, you found him waiting in the lobby, leaning against the marble pillar with his hands tucked into his pockets. “Dinner?” he asked, his tone casual yet warm.

“Sure,” you replied, smiling. “Give me a few minutes?”

“Take your time. I’ll wait for you in the restaurant,” he said easily.

“Alright then.”

You and Seungcheol got to know each other more this way. During work hours, he didn’t cross any lines, and neither did you. It was almost like an unspoken rule between you—when you were on the clock, you were strictly concierge and guest.

But in the evenings, he would swing by the front desk, waiting for you to clock out to invite you to dinner. Dinner became a quiet ritual for the two of you, a rhythm that felt almost natural despite how suddenly it had started. On the second evening, Seungcheol had ordered in from a local restaurant he claimed had the best ramen in the area. You laughed when you saw the spread of takeout boxes arranged across his room’s coffee table, a bottle of wine between them.

“Who told you this place had the…” you made air quotes, “ ‘best ramen’ around here?”

“Uh…” He narrowed his eyes, thinking as he uncorked the wine. “The internet?” he said, just as the bottle popped open.

“The internet? Right,” you teased, sinking into the armchair across from him. “Do you always look up best ramen places online?”

“Not usually,” he admitted, handing you a glass of wine. “But I was craving something more familiar than steak and pasta.”

The rich, savory aroma of the ramen mingled with the scent of the wine, filling the room with a cozy warmth. You clinked glasses and sipped quietly, the casual laughter and teasing slipping in like it was second nature. Between bites, he asked about the town, and you shared stories—of slow nights at the hotel, odd guests, and a few personal memories you hadn’t thought about in a while.

The conversation flowed easily, often sidetracking into random topics that carried you late into the night. He asked you about more stories from your past, not always about relationships—just small things, places you’d always wanted to see, anecdotes from college, or dreams you’d put on hold.

At some point, you found yourself telling him about your old plan to be a journalist, how you’d gone through a whole phase of pitching stories to magazines, only to give it up when you didn’t hear back from any of them.

“You ever think about going back to it?” he asked, watching you with curiosity.

“Sometimes,” you admitted. “But I don’t know… it feels far-fetched now. I think I’ve lost the ‘spark’. Besides, this job is steady.”

“Steady is good, but there’s usually no progress in steady. No room for growth in a place that doesn’t challenge you.”

You glanced at him, surprised by his statement. He held your gaze and you could see the sincerity in his eyes that caught you off-guard. “I guess not,” you admitted softly.

He leaned back against the couch, his eyes holding yours. “How about doing what excites you? You know, taking risks and challenging yourself?”

You scoffed lightly, though his words hit a nerve. “Like running empires, taking over companies?” you quipped.

He raised a brow, his lips quirking into a playful smirk. “Something like that.”

And then the conversation turned light again. He kept surprising you in small ways. He’d remember details, ask questions that dug deeper than the usual surface-level chatter, and share a few of his own stories, mostly humorous or random, yet still holding a touch of mystery.

And after dinner, you put on a random TV show, but barely pay attention to it. His hand rested on your leg, and you could feel the warmth of his touch through your skin. At some point, he leaned in to kiss you, and the rest of the night became a blur of tangled sheets and stolen breaths.

It was unsettling how easy it felt, how natural it was to be with him. There was no awkwardness, no need for pretense. When you weren’t kissing, you were talking—about everything, really, but especially your dreams. Seungcheol kept pushing you, nudging you to think beyond the walls of the hotel.

“You’ve got something to say. And it’s about time you said it,” he’d told you once.

His belief in you always left you speechless for a moment. You didn’t need anyone to tell you that you were capable, but it felt good to be encouraged. Your friends and family, even Vernon, constantly encouraged you to pursue your passion. Only now were you realizing that you could have been unstoppable with their support if you weren’t so hung up on your own insecurities. You didn’t realize it then, but their belief in you was genuine, and they looked at you the same way Seungcheol did—as if they saw something in you that you hadn’t allowed yourself to see.

“You’re glowing these days,” one coworker had said, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

Drea couldn’t resist chiming in as you walked past the kitchen. “Dinner again tonight?” she asked, winking. “Must be some guest to get that kind of special treatment.”

You’d laughed it off, but there was a part of you that knew they weren’t entirely wrong. Something was shifting between you and Seungcheol—something that went beyond casual hangouts or even the growing physical intimacy. It was like you were slowly unraveling pieces of yourselves to each other, bit by bit, until there was nothing left to hide. He knew more about you, your past relationships, your fears, your dreams, than anyone else ever had.

And the pattern continued: dinner in his room, sometimes in the restaurant, laughter mixed with stolen kisses, and whispered conversations that lasted well into the night. The more time you spent together, the harder it became to ignore the growing connection between you.

And while the teasing at work stoked the fire, you brushed it off with a smile, trying not to think too hard about Seungcheol and everything that had happened between you. He was a guest, sooner or later, he’d go back where he belonged and he’d be nothing but a fever dream—someone who stirred up your usually mundane days in this hotel. It is best not to get too attached to someone who will eventually leave. Maybe you’d meet again, maybe not, but you’d remember the few days you spent with him—easily, no doubt because he was simply unforgettable.

You had just finished drying your hair when you heard soft knocks on your door. You glanced at the clock and frowned. No one ever came by this late. Opening the door a crack, you were met with the familiar grin of Seungcheol, leaning casually against the frame with that same mischievous glint in his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” you whispered, feeling both surprised and thrilled. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

He shrugged, a small, playful smile tugging at his lips. “Rules can’t be that strict if they let me get all the way up here.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, glancing behind him to make sure no one was around. “You’re lucky the night staff doesn’t usually do rounds here. Come in—before you get us both in trouble.”

As you closed the door behind him, he looked around with a curious gaze, hands in his pockets. The small, modest space suddenly felt even smaller with him there.

“So, this is where you retreat after charming all the guests in the lobby,” he mused, taking in the sparse decor and impersonal furnishings.

“I think this is like, three times smaller than your suite,” you quipped, feeling a little self-conscious.

“Yeah, but it’s much cozier,” he replied, flashing a warm smile.

His eyes softened as he looked around, and for a moment, you watched him walk around your space. Then your stomach growled—a loud, unmistakable sound in the silence. You both froze before dissolving into laughter.

“Hungry?” he asked, barely containing his amusement.

“Starving,” you admitted, covering your face with your hands. “I skipped dinner because you weren’t there to pick me up.”

“Seriously?” he scowled, concern evident in his voice.

You burst out laughing. “No, silly. I had dinner with some coworkers but I didn’t eat much.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Oh, I thought you were serious. I was in a virtual meeting with some people earlier so I couldn’t treat you to dinner.”

“Hey, it’s totally fine,” you said briskly, shaking your hands. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“Alright but we should still do something about that,” he replied, pointing at your belly. “How about a late-night snack?”

“I could go for that,” you agreed, grinning. “But only if you’re okay with whatever random ingredients are lying around the hotel kitchen.”

A few minutes later, you led him into the quiet kitchen. Inside, the quiet hum of the fridge filled the room as you checked the shelves for ingredients available for employees. Seungcheol leaned on the counter, watching with amused fascination as you assembled a simple meal from what you could find.

“You know, I think you’re a little too comfortable in here,” he remarked, eyebrows raised as he watched you pull down a pan with a smirk.

You shrugged, turning on the stove and tossing some ingredients into the pan. “Just another perk of the job,” you replied lightly. “Besides, if anyone asks, I’ll say it’s for an important guest.” You gave him a wink.

He laughed, and as you stirred the ingredients together, he kept up a steady stream of questions about your work, your routines, and little quirks about the hotel you hadn’t realized you’d noticed. You could feel his gaze on you, warm and steady, and for a moment, you forgot about the quiet kitchen and the hotel entirely.

When the food was ready, you both sat down at the small table, sharing bites and laughter as though this were something you did every day. He listened closely, chiming in with his own stories, asking questions that went deeper than you’d expected. You found yourself opening up easily, letting him in on things you usually kept tucked away.

Once the plates were cleared, Seungcheol reached for the dishes. “I’ll take care of these,” he said, standing and moving to the sink before you could protest.

“Sure, but…” You trailed off, watching as he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, muscles flexing in his forearms. You’d seen those arms several times before—even felt them holding you close—but somehow, it still left you speechless how effortlessly captivating he was.

A sudden urge to close the distance between you overcame you and it was too tempting to resist. So you did, slipping behind him and wrapping your arms around his waist. He chuckled as he rinsed the dishes with care.

“You’re not very good at standing idle, are you?” he murmured.

“Not when I have such a sexy man washing the dishes for me,” you replied, resting your head against his back. His back vibrated when he chuckled.

“Oh, is that so?” he asked, amused, just as he set the plates aside and peeled off his gloves. Turning to face you, he wrapped his arms around you, his eyes meeting yours. “You’re pretty sexy yourself. And your cooking’s top-notch,” he added, lifting your chin to give you a quick kiss.

“What can I say? I have many talents,” you teased.

Seungcheol pressed his thumb on your lower lip, staring at it with desire in his eyes. “About that sleeping quarter of yours,” he murmured, voice lowering. “Think you can keep it quiet in there?”

You bit your lip, shaking your head with a soft laugh. “Definitely not.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “We’d better not stay there then,” he said with an almost playful glint in his eyes. “Do you have work tomorrow?”

“My shift starts at noon,” you whispered.

“Good. You can sleep in,” he grinned before pulling you into a deep, feverish kiss.

Back in his suite, laughter turned into whispered words, and conversation faded into shared warmth. He watched as you moved to his bed, peeling away your clothes one by one before sprawling across the bed, hair fanned out against the pillows, a mischievous gleam in your eyes. He stood there a minute, enjoying the view with half-lidded eyes.

“Are you just going to stand there?” you lilted, propping yourself on your elbows, watching his reactions as you spread your legs open for him. “Or do I need to invite you properly?”

Your confidence shot through the roof when you saw how he clenched his jaw and narrowed at the sight of you. He chuckled darkly, crossing the room with deliberate slowness, pausing at the edge of the bed. “Proper invitation, huh?” he murmured, leaning down, his face hovering just above yours. “Maybe I’m waiting for you to make the first move.”

“This is my first move,” you replied in a low voice, trying not to just go ahead and kiss him right there. You arched a brow, and with a grin, reached up, looping your arms around his neck to pull him down beside you.

Seungcheol closed the distance, capturing your lips in a torrid kiss. You swear you could feel the tension crackle in the air as he trailed a slow line of kisses from your jaw down to your collarbone, each one making your heartbeat quicken.

Your eyes met again, just as his hand cupped your naked sex, making you bite your lip. His laughter softened the intensity as he whispered, “How long can you stay up?”

You tutted, shaking your head playfully as you unbuttoned his shirt. “Don’t start making promises you can’t keep now.”

“You think I can’t keep it?” he challenged, putting pressure between your legs. Your body arched ever so slightly.

“How would I know if we’re just gonna keep talking like this?” you retorted, reaching down to grab the erection underneath his pants.

“Are you always this impatient?” he chuckled before leaning in to kiss you again.

You melted together, movements slow and gentle at first, then deepening as his hands roamed your body. He didn’t miss a spot, touching every crevice with his hands, kissing every sensitive spot, and sucking where he knew you’d love to be sucked.

He kept his promise—not a wink of sleep was had that night until dawn came through the windows. You’d given up at that point and just passed out next to him on the bed.

When you were trying to leave Seungcheol’s suite late the next morning, he had given you a soft kiss on the lips, bidding you goodbye but his arms were tight around your waist, unwilling to let go.

“You seriously need to let me go now,” you chided softly, though you weren’t making a move to leave either. “Elena’s gonna kill me.”

“Then she’d be in jail for murder. I’m sure she doesn’t want that,” he quipped, biting your earlobe softly.

You giggled, pushing his face away. “Stop. I’m serious. I have work to do.”

Seungcheol pouted his already pouty lips and gave you the saddest puppy face you’d ever seen from a man. He even tilted his head for a dramatic effect.

“Is that the best you can do?” you sneered, rolling your eyes. “It’s not working.”

His face softened back to his usual, easygoing look. “This is why you should leave this job.”

“No, this isn’t.”

“No, but this could be," he shot back.

You chuckled, letting him pull you back into his arms. You settled against him, knowing you really should go but letting yourself stay in that comfortable quiet until the very last possible second.

When you finally rushed out, you had to practically sprint to your quarters to shower and throw on your uniform. Even as you hurried to the lobby, Seungcheol’s words and the warmth of his last kiss lingered in the back of your mind.

You settled into your morning routine, shaking off the haze of the late night, but two hours into your shift, you caught sight of Seungcheol stepping out of the elevator hauling his luggage while looking as composed and put-together as ever. An unsettling sensation crept into your heart, causing it to beat rapidly in your chest.

“Leaving already?” you asked when he approached, struggling to keep your voice casual.

“Yeah,” he replied with a small smile. “Can’t avoid work forever.”

You nodded, trying to mask your disappointment. You’d known from the start that this was temporary, but the reality of him leaving still hit harder than you’d expected. “Well, I’m glad you stopped by to say goodbye,” you said, managing a small smile.

He tilted his head, gaze softening. “Doesn’t have to be goodbye, you know.”

“Huh?” You blinked, surprised. Seungcheol didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, and a moment later, your own phone buzzed in your pocket. When you checked it, you saw a message from him. It was a link to a job posting.

“It’s a publishing company I’m investing in,” he explained. “They’re looking for new writers for their magazine,” he explained with a playful tilt to his tone. “I could make a call and help secure you a position there, but I don’t think you’d like that.”

You raised a brow jokingly. “Are you serious? I’d kill for an easy way in.”

“Really?” he asked, his eyebrows lifting slightly as if actually considering it.

“Of course not,” you laughed, shaking your head. “But… thank you. I’ll definitely check it out.”

“Good,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets. “See you soon?”

You nodded, voice softening. “Maybe, if you ever find yourself back in town.”

“Or,” he countered, his smile widening, “if you find yourself in mine.”

You smirked, leaning in a little closer. “No promises, but I’ll keep you posted.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he murmured before pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, pulling back with a look you couldn’t quite read. “Take care, alright?”

“You too,” you whispered back. With a final glance, he picked up his bag and walked toward the doors. Watching him disappear, you glanced down at the job posting on your phone, your lips curving into a small smile.

The days that followed Seungcheol’s departure drifted by in a slow but steady routine. You returned to work, easing back into the usual rhythm of the hotel. Tasks that once kept you occupied now felt a little empty, missing the spark his presence brought. Although you kept in touch, neither of you could commit to a steady chat correspondence because you both had work to do.

The teasing began as soon as he left, of course. One morning in the break room, Drea and Clara from housekeeping cornered you with knowing smiles.

“So,” Drea began, leaning in with a smirk, “guess Mr. Loverboy had to hit the road?”

“Heartbroken already?” Clara teased, nudging you lightly.

Rolling your eyes, you tried to brush it off. “Please, I knew he was going to leave. He was here for business, not for… whatever you’re implying.”

“Uh-huh,” Drea said with a slow grin, “and all those late-night chats and ‘work dinners’ were totally normal, right?”

You felt the heat rising in your cheeks and huffed, trying to keep your cool. “Can we not do this right now?”

They both winced, and Drea placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Sorry, we’re just teasing. You looked a bit gloomy after he left.”

“I’m not. Maybe I’m just…” you trailed off, smiling sheepishly. “Maybe I’m just missing the ‘work dinners’, you know?”

They laughed, and you joined in, letting humor push away the gloom—even if only temporarily. As you returned to your duties, their words lingered, nudging a realization you’d been trying to ignore. Seungcheol had stirred something within you—a restlessness, a desire for something more than the steady routine you’d settled into at the hotel, this place far from home.

The days dragged and you buried yourself in mundane tasks. You updated records, tweaked guest files, and even took extra shifts, but the thoughts of what you wanted next kept creeping in. There were quiet moments when, mid-shift, you found yourself idly scrolling through the job posting he’d sent, rereading the requirements and trying to imagine what it would be like to actually take the leap.

In the quiet of your room, you’d take a pen and paper and scribble down short articles on random things: the day’s specials, trends in the hotel’s online promotions, even quirky stats like how many times housekeeping was called to the same suite. It was practice, a taste of what it might be like to write for real. The more you wrote, the stronger the pull grew to step beyond the winding roads of this small city.

Your coworkers noticed the change. Sometimes, they’d catch you smiling to yourself, drifting off mid-sentence, or jotting ideas on scrap paper between check-ins.

“You’ve got that ‘I’m making a big decision’ look,” teased Leo, always keen to know when something was brewing. “I’ve seen it a hundred times before. Spill it!”

You laughed, brushing it off at first, but as days went on, your secret plans came into focus. Each conversation—some encouraging, some bittersweet—helped you admit to yourself that maybe it was time to step forward. Even the strict, watchful General Manager Elena took notice.

One day, on an unsurprisingly slow afternoon, she called you into her office. When you entered, she had her glasses on, nose deep in some paperwork, but she looked up with a rare softness in her usually stern demeanor.

“I heard you’re considering leaving,” Elena said, getting straight to the point.

For a moment, you couldn’t find the right words. “Actually… yes. I’ve been thinking about it. There’s this job posting that might be… a better fit for what I want.”

She studied you, her expression unreadable. “That’s a shame,” she finally said. “You’re good at what you do here. But I understand. We all have paths we need to explore.”

It was strange hearing those words from Elena of all people—the one who seemed to keep everyone on a tight leash. You hadn’t expected her understanding, and her support only fueled your desire to follow through. Still, you didn’t make a decision right away. The idea had gotten so real, you could almost touch it, yet you kept putting it off.

“You’re still thinking about it?” Leo would ask, crossing his arms with a look that was half-concerned, half-excited.

“Yeah, but… it’s not easy to let go of something so familiar,” you’d admit, trying to make sense of it yourself.

Eventually, after more late nights of wondering and overthinking, you knew what you had to do. It took a deep breath and a lot of inner pep talks—you even came up with a small mantra for yourself—but you finally handed in your resignation to Elena. She accepted it with a knowing smile, and, much to your surprise, added, “You’ll be missed. We don’t get people like you often.”

They gave you a two-week transition period to train the new concierge. It was bittersweet, teaching someone else the ropes, walking them through routines and the hotel’s small quirks. You realized how much you’d grown attached to it all—the people, the quiet corners, the smell of fresh coffee in the lobby. Each day brought flashes of memory—Tony pulling you into yet another crazy story; Leo cooking up a storm during restocking season; late-night conversations with Drea; and the soft light filtering through the lobby as you’d start your early shifts. It was your life for the last seven months, and letting go felt like peeling away a part of yourself.

On your last day, you finished training your replacement and said your goodbyes, packing up the small personal items you’d kept at your station—a worn-out notebook, a stray earring you’d misplaced months ago, and a couple of pens. Standing at the door, you took a last, quiet look back at the lobby, thanking it silently for what it had given you. Then you stepped out of the hotel, feeling strangely sad and excited at the same time. It was time to open a new book. Hopefully, this one would have a different plot, and maybe, just maybe, a plot twist you so badly needed.

The train pulled into the city’s central station just as the sky softened into late afternoon shades. Stepping off with excitement and nerves twisting in your chest, you took a deep breath and pulled out your phone to dial Seungcheol. You hadn’t told him about your decision to move, and as the call connected, you wondered briefly if surprising him like this was a bit too sudden.

“Hi. How are you?” Seungcheol’s voice came through the receiver. You could hear a faint chatter on the other line and he said, “Excuse me,” to someone.

“I’m fine, where are you?” you asked, unable to stop the slight tremor in your voice.

“I’m here and there.” You could hear the sound of a door opening and closing. “This is a pleasant surprise. You never called during work hours. What’s up?”

“I just thought I should call you,” you replied, unable to stop grinning. “You did tell me to let you know if I ever find myself in your city.”

He didn’t say anything at first, just let out a soft chuckle that seemed to hold both relief and excitement. “Where are you?”

“At the station.”

“Don’t move. I’m coming to get you.”

The city loomed around you, humming with life and endless possibilities. For a moment, you stood in the crowd, letting the sound of distant conversations and the sharp aroma of fresh coffee sweep over you. It hit you then—this was a new chapter, and there was no going back.

Fifteen minutes later, Seungcheol’s familiar figure came into view, weaving effortlessly through the crowd. The moment he spotted you, his smile widened, and as soon as he was close enough, he swept you into a tight hug, burying his face in your shoulder.

“Aw,” you cooed, hugging him back. “Did you miss me?”

“You should’ve told me you were coming,” he murmured against your hair, his grip on you firm and almost possessive.

You laughed, pulling back just enough to look at him. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Well, you nailed it,” he replied, leaning in to press his lips to yours. The kiss was deep, lingering, as if he’d been holding back all this time and could finally let it spill out. It felt like no time had passed at all since you’d last seen each other, yet there was a new energy—an excitement and sense of anticipation in the air between you.

The drive to his place was filled with teasing and sidelong glances, his hand never quite letting go of yours. Arriving at his penthouse, he wasted no time with pleasantries, trapping you in his arms as soon as you walked in and locking your lips together. His hands roamed your body, exploring familiar curves, while yours tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

You left a trail of clothing on the floor as he guided you into the bedroom. With each kiss, you melted into him, feeling his heartbeat quicken against yours. You failed to notice the marvelous view of the cityscape stretching out under the setting sun, reflecting shades of orange and pink in the tall glass windows. The world outside simply faded into a blur, leaving just the two of you in a connection that was charged with all the longing that had built up during your time apart. As your bodies moved together, a sense of urgency guided you—each touch igniting a flame that had only been waiting for the right moment to burn.

When you finally caught your breath, lying intertwined in the soft glow of the fading sunlight, you stared at the ceiling with pleased smiles on your lips. The warmth wrapped around you like a soft blanket, and a comfortable silence settled between you.

Seungcheol reached for you, and you glanced at him, smiling as you scooted closer and tucked yourself into his side, resting your head on his shoulder. “So,” you started, grinning up at him, “do you mind if I stay with you for a little while? Just until I find my own place.”

His face shifted, the tiniest smirk tugging at his lips as he looked down at you. “Actually, I think it’d be smarter if you stayed until you got the job.” His hand slid down your back. “Then you can pick a place close to work and save yourself a long commute.”

The logic made sense, of course, but the glint in his eyes told you there might be more to his offer. “Or maybe you just want to spend time with me day in and day out. Be honest,” you teased, narrowing your eyes at him.

He laughed. “I was trying to be cool, but alright. I want you here with me everyday. That’s the truth.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “You could at least continue pretending to be hard to get. You’re no fun.”

“What?” he asked, confusion written all over his face. “I thought you wanted honesty?”

“Whatever. No fun,” you said, fighting back a grin.

But inwardly, a warmth spread in your chest at the thought that he wanted you here—that he wanted you close. You didn’t know where this leap would take you, but sitting there with Seungcheol, the uncertainty felt like something you could embrace.

After Seungcheol gave you a quick tour, the two of you found yourselves tangled up on the couch again. His hands skimmed over your arms, your back, your thighs, tracing over your skin with a familiarity and a desire that sent your pulse racing. The TV murmured in the background, but his slow, deliberate kisses made the world feel quiet and distant.

Just as you were beginning to sink into that familiar haze, the sound of his phone ringing on the coffee table cut through the moment. You both glanced at it, sharing a look, but Seungcheol ignored it, his focus solely on you as he wrapped his arms tighter, pressing his lips to yours as he eased you down onto the plush couch. His hand slipped under your shirt, leaving a trail of warmth along your skin, and you couldn’t help but surrender to the pull of the moment, melting into him completely.

But the phone wouldn’t stop. The ringing resumed, persistent enough that eventually, you couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh, gently pushing him away. “Aren’t you gonna take that?”

“No,” he murmured against your skin, moving to kiss the sensitive spot near your collarbone. “Ignore it.”

Yet another ring, and you couldn’t help but laugh, giving him a playful push. “Take the call, Cheol. It seems important.”

With a sigh, Seungcheol pressed a quick kiss on your lips, and then moved to grab his phone. There was a slight furrow of annoyance on his face as he answered. “What is it?”

You were sitting so close that you could faintly but clearly hear the other person speaking. “Where did you run off to, man?”

“What is it?” Seungcheol repeated, ignoring the other guy and adding weight to his own question.

“Dude, you left in the middle of a meeting. The Takahashis were livid.”

Leaning back against the sofa, Seungcheol rolled his eyes as though this wasn’t worth his time. “Buy them out.”

The other voice paused, clearly taken aback. “What? I thought you wanted a partnership?”

“The man is senile, Josh. Can’t even remember his own son’s name. There’s no point partnering with someone who doesn’t know when it’s time to step down. Let’s buy them out.”

You could hear ‘Josh’ sighing on the other side. “Alright. But it won’t be easy to convince them after your little disappearing act.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” Seungcheol said with confidence. “Bring Yoon Jeonghan with you.”

“Alright. Is everything okay? Where are you? What was so important that you had to rush out like that?”

Seungcheol glanced at you, his gaze heavy with what seemed like an unspoken answer to his coworker’s question. The small smile that tugged at his lips told you exactly what he wanted to say without saying it. Rolling your eyes, you gave his arm a light slap.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Seungcheol said with a smile.

“Tomorrow? Dude, we have 4pm scheduled with the construction company. Don’t—”

Seungcheol ignored the rest of Joshua’s protests as he hung up and tossed the phone aside, refocusing his attention entirely on you. He pulled you back toward him, his lips finding yours as his arms wrapped around you in a familiar, easy embrace. But before he could deepen the kiss, you pressed a hand against his chest, pausing just long enough to catch your breath.

“Go back to work, Cheol,” you said, trying to keep your tone firm. “I can’t believe you ditched work for this.”

He gave a nonchalant shrug. “I’d rather be here.”

When he tried to kiss you again, you dodged, shaking your head with a grin. “I’m serious. You can’t just skip work whenever you want, even if you’re the CEO.”

“I thought being CEO means I can do just that?” he teased, watching your expression. When he saw your jaw drop in playful shock, he laughed. He took your hand, pressing it gently against his chest. “Alright, I’ll go. But only because you told me to,” he said, stealing another kiss.

You rolled your eyes and let him cup your cheek. “Are you sure you want me to go?” he asked.

“Yes. Stop being dramatic. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Seungcheol sighed, glancing at his watch for a second and turning back to you. “Alright, but I’ve got time before my next meeting. Anything you want to do before then?”

You thought for a moment, glancing at your bag. “Actually, yeah. Can you drop me off at an electronics store? I need to get a laptop.”

“Sure. Let’s go,” he invited, but instead of standing up, he lunged at you with a kiss that had you staying on the couch for a good five minutes.

The very next morning, Seungcheol sat across from you at the dining table, his coffee steaming as he watched you scroll through company profiles on your laptop. “It’s important to think about their vision, not just the job title or pay,” he said, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against his mug. “A company’s culture and goals say a lot about how they’ll treat you and how you'll grow there.”

You glanced up, catching the intensity in his gaze as he shared his thought process—like a glimpse into the inner world he often kept guarded. “When it comes to investing, I look for places that share my values or at least lean in the same direction. Even if they’re a little off, if there's room for alignment, and they have really good potential I give them a shot. But if it's a hard no from the start…” he shrugged, smiling a little. “Then it's not worth my time.”

“So, I should find a place that’s worth my time?”

He smiled. “Yes. If it’s worth you time, then it’s exactly where you fit.”

His words echoed in your mind as you stepped into the publishing house for the interview. The receptionist greeted you warmly, and as you waited, you couldn’t help feeling lighter—more confident. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you were making choices that aligned with who you were and who you wanted to become.

Over the next few days, Seungcheol’s advice seemed to anchor you, guiding your approach to each application and interview. Whenever he was out for work, you spent your time filling out forms, researching companies, and drafting cover letters. And with each application, you felt a step closer to rediscovering a part of yourself that had gone quiet.

One evening, you found yourself staring at your laptop, a small smile spreading across your face. It hit you suddenly how long it had been since you’d felt the drive to pursue something. The doubts that had once held you back seemed far away now, chased away by the growing belief that you still had what it took to make this work.

When the rejection email arrived, it hit a bit harder than you’d expected. You stared at the screen for a moment, feeling the disappointment settle in. This was the company Seungcheol had suggested—the one that aligned with everything you’d been hoping for.

Seungcheol found you still at your laptop when he got home, catching sight of the email over your shoulder. Without a word, he placed a comforting hand on your back, leaning in close enough that his warmth almost made the disappointment a little easier to bear. “Hey,” he murmured gently, his thumb tracing soothing circles. “These things happen. A rejection doesn’t define you. If anything, it just means that place wasn’t ready for someone like you.”

You sighed, leaning into him for a second before tilting your head up with a small, determined smile. “You’re right. Anyway…” You toggled to a few other emails on the screen. “Who cares if H Publishing isn’t ready for me? I’ve got three other alphabets practically falling over themselves to snatch me up.”

His eyebrows rose, and he chuckled, folding his arms as he looked at you with mock admiration. “Three companies? Wow, look at you. Guess I gave pretty solid advice, huh?”

“Oh, please. I’m the one with the charm and talent.” You grinned, crossing your arms in triumph. “But yeah, some random guy did tell me to find a place that really fits. He was very wise.” You leaned over, planting a quick, playful kiss on his cheek.

Seungcheol’s face softened as he pulled you in for a real hug, resting his chin on top of your head. “Wise guy, huh? He sounds like he wants you to be somewhere that lets you shine.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” you teased, glancing up at him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He laughed softly, his arms still wrapped around you, neither of you in any rush to pull away. The moment lingered, easy and unhurried, as if you both knew things were exactly as they should be.

Once you’d finalized the details with your chosen company, the reality of your situation began to settle in. Your start date was fast approaching, and with it, the understanding that your time in Seungcheol’s apartment was coming to an end. He hadn’t mentioned anything, but you knew that, now that you had a stable job, there was no reason for you to stay here anymore.

It was bittersweet. In the past three weeks, you’d become more attached to this life—sharing a space, a routine, even the quiet moments with him. The thought of going back to an empty bed, waking up without Seungcheol’s warm embrace, or the comforting ritual of morning coffee together, weighed on you. But this was a necessary part of starting over; after all, you’d come here to stand on your own, not to fall into the comfort of living with someone you weren’t even officially dating.

Wait… You paused, realization dawning on you. You and Seungcheol weren’t exactly in a relationship… were you?

Up until now, you hadn’t given it much thought, but now that you’d asked yourself the question, suddenly, it was all you could think about!

Was this casual? It was while you were still a guest and a concierge in a faraway hotel. Right now, it doesn’t seem that way anymore. What kind of relationship would you have if Seungcheol had already offered you his home, supported your dreams like it was his own, and focused on you with a warmth and attentiveness that made you feel like his world revolves around you?

“Do you even have feelings for him?” Jill asked when you told her about it over the brunch you’d planned with her a few days ago. She lived in the same city and while you were genuinely happy to spend time with her after all these years, she noticed that something was bothering you and managed to coax you into talking about it.

“No?” You answered, though it sounded more like a question directed at yourself. “I don’t know. I just… hadn’t thought about it until now. Everything felt so easy and so natural. I guess I forgot that things like this might need an actual label.”

Jill’s eyebrow lifted. “Things only need a label if you’ve got feelings and aren’t just hooking up.”

You flattened your lips, contemplating. “Does ‘hooking up’ mean making me breakfast every day for three weeks? Bringing home random gifts just because he thought I’d like them? Or being completely supportive of my career and dreams like it was his too?”

Jill’s knowing look softened as she studied your expression. “Well… when you put it like that, no,” she said, a teasing smile creeping in. “It sounds a lot more like someone who wants to be in your life than just in your bed.”

You sighed, feeling the warmth of her words and, at the same time, a little overwhelmed. “So… what do I do now? Ask him if he wants to be something more?”

Jill shook her head, reaching out to pat your hand. “Relax. You’ve got a lot going on already. You don’t have to figure it all out now,” she said, her voice calm and reassuring. “Just let things unfold naturally. Enjoy this stage, see where it takes you. If it’s meant to be more, you’ll both feel it, and you’ll know.”

And yet that was the problem. You weren’t patient. When something bothers you, you just have to get to the bottom of it as soon as you can.

That evening, as you were preparing dinner together, the inevitable topic was finally brought up. You’d just plated the food when Seungcheol leaned back against the counter, watching you with a contemplative smile.

“So… you’ll be looking for apartments soon,” he said, almost casually, though his gaze held something deeper. “Have you found any places that catch your eye?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you set the plates down on the table. “No. I haven’t gotten to it yet. But I’ll start tomorrow, don’t worry.”

A flicker of something—disappointment, maybe?—crossed his face before he gave you a small nod. “Right. That’s good.”

For a moment, silence hung between you, thick with the things you both weren’t saying. The thought of leaving left a strange ache in your chest, and as you looked at Seungcheol, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he felt it too.

“Do you want me to go with you?” he asked just as you sat down to start eating.

“What about work?” you asked back and he shrugged.

“I don’t have anything important to do tomorrow, so I can leave it to them.”

You gave him a smile, one with a hint of sadness about your impending departure. “Alright, then. I could use some company who could show me which neighborhood would be best for me.”

The next morning, the air felt different as you and Seungcheol set out for apartment hunting. As you drove through the city, Seungcheol pointed out various areas, describing their unique vibes.

“This neighborhood has some great coffee shops, and the park nearby is perfect for a morning jog,” he said, gesturing toward a tree-lined street bustling with life.

“Looks perfect,” you replied, though your mind lingered on the idea of leaving his apartment behind.

As the realtor showed you a particularly spacious unit, you couldn’t help but compare it to Seungcheol’s massive penthouse with its high ceiling and floor to ceiling windows. Then again, you had to brush it all aside. This was a hunt for your home, the place you’d be spending your days in while doing what you loved. Somehow, shifting your perspective that way filled you to the brim with excitement.

At the next stop, you walked hand in hand, your fingers interlaced as you each enjoyed churros from a nearby vendor. You wandered through a vibrant farmer’s market, the scent of fresh produce and flowers enveloping you. Picking up a bundle of herbs, you turned to Seungcheol with a grin. “What about an apartment where I can have little herb pots by the window?”

He nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Do you think they’d survive though? What if I can’t take care of them well enough?”

“I think you’re capable of anything as long as you put your mind into it,” he replied and you felt a tug of familiarity in your chest. You were sure you’d heard someone tell you the same thing before, you just forgot when or who it was.

After picking up a few fresh ingredients to bring home, you resumed your hunt for an apartment. You stepped into an open house at a newly-built complex, just two blocks from your workplace. The agent who welcomed you in boasted about the high-tech security system and beautiful amenities, showcasing a rooftop garden that took your breath away.

“Based on your description, Ma’am, this unit might suit your taste perfectly,” said the agent, guiding you into a unit that was a bit smaller than the previous three-bedroom one he’d shown you. “It has one bedroom, a spacious living room, a kitchen, and a bathroom with both a shower and a tub. And of course, a bay window with a beautiful view of the city.”

You marveled at the empty space, envisioning it as a blank canvas waiting for your personal touch. As you exchanged glances with Seungcheol, his eyes sparkled with curiosity, mirroring your excitement. It felt like the beginning of a new chapter, one where your dreams were within reach.

“Feel free to look around and let me know what you think,” the agent said, noticing the delight on your faces. Someone called his name outside, and he excused himself, closing the door behind him.

Practically vibrating with excitement, you walked up to Seungcheol, wrapping your arms around his waist and beaming up at him. “Do you like it?” he asked.

“I love it!” you exclaimed, pulling away to explore the living room further.

Seungcheol leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with a fond smile. You pushed open every door, gasping at each detail that captivated you.

When you finally felt satisfied, a realization tightened in your chest: It’s happening. You took a deep breath and met Seungcheol’s gaze. “This is it. This is the place.”

He offered a soft smile, one that reached his eyes. “I know. I like it too.”

Once again, the sinking feeling of leaving his place overcame you. “I’m gonna miss your house.”

He pushed off the wall and walked toward you, gently squeezing your shoulders. “You don’t have to go just because the job is set, you know?”

There it was—the invitation you hadn’t dared hope for. But as much as you wanted to stay, your resolve to stand on your own was stronger than any feelings you had for him.

“No, I have to go. I can’t keep invading your space,” you said, smiling, though the sadness flickered in your eyes.

He pulled you closer, wrapping your arms around his waist. “You’re not invading, sweetheart,” he said softly, cupping your cheeks and pressing a tender kiss to your lips. “I like having you there.”

“I know,” you scoffed playfully, rolling your eyes at his obvious affection. “But it wouldn’t make sense to stay there when the purpose of me moving here was so I could pursue something of my own.”

He sighed. “Why did you have to be so independent? Can’t you just stay with me forever? If you haven’t noticed, I’m very capable of making you live a life of luxury without you having to lift a finger.”

“Really? Wow. I didn’t notice,” you deadpanned in mock-surprise. You both laughed for a bit and the quiet that followed was heavy. You just stared at each other, conversing with your eyes but not coming to an understanding. “I’m sure you can make that happen, but forever is such a long time, Cheol.”

“It is,” he replied, his voice low as he looked into your eyes.

“You know, the most common factor that caused my past relationships to fail was our lack of communication. After the last one, I realized I have to make communication the very foundation of my relationships with people—friends, family, boyfriends.”

Seungcheol’s brow furrowed slightly as he absorbed your words. “I get that. Communication is important,” he said slowly, his gaze steady on you.

You felt a surge of courage as you met his eyes, willing yourself to be vulnerable. “That’s why I want to know exactly what you think about us. If this is casual, or if there’s more to this than what we both intended. I like what we have, but I also know that the beginning of our relationship was unconventional and we haven’t known each other that long. But I like it, I like you. Maybe not so much right now, but I’m willing to see where this takes us. So…” You took a deep breath and reached to cup his cheek. “I need to know where you stand.”

His expression shifted, and for a moment, you could see the hesitation flicker in his eyes. But then he leaned into your hand. “I like you more than words could ever describe, sweetheart. I haven’t felt this way for anyone, ever.”

You felt your heart skip a beat at his confession, a mix of relief and excitement coursing through you. “Do you mean that?” you asked softly, searching his eyes for sincerity.

He nodded, his gaze unwavering. “I do. I agree that we started off in a weird way, but I wasn’t even expecting to form something so profound with you in the first place. Still, I’ve enjoyed every moment we’ve spent together. You make me feel different... better.”

A warm flutter spread through you, but the uncertainty still lingered. “So, where does that leave us? I mean, I’m glad we like each other but I don’t want to jump into something without knowing we’re on the same page.”

He leaned to kiss you softly and slowly, as if it was the answer to your question. When he pulled away, there was an affectionate smile on his lips. “There. I jumped first. What are you gonna do?”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and crashed your lips into his for a much deeper, much fervent kiss. The world around you faded, leaving just the two of you and the electric connection that buzzed between your bodies. As the kiss deepened, you felt a rush of warmth flood through you, and your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

Seungcheol responded eagerly, his hands roaming your back. The heat of the moment enveloped you both, and soon you found yourselves pressed against the wall, lost in the embrace. The kiss grew more passionate, hands exploring—fingers tracing along arms and waists, as you both got lost in the vice of each other.

But just as you felt the desire to take things further, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway, pulling you back to reality. The agent’s voice cut through the haze, followed by the sound of the doorknob clicking. You pulled away abruptly, breathless and wide-eyed, a rush of embarrassment flooding through you. Seungcheol looked just as startled, both of you momentarily flustered. The heat of the moment dissipated, replaced by the urgency to regain composure.

The agent’s smiling face appeared from the foyer, greeting you cheerfully. “So, what do you think?”

“We’ll take it,” you replied abruptly, still flustered.

“Yes. It’s ours,” Seungcheol added.

“Mine,” you corrected gently, patting his chest.

“Huh?” he asked dumbly, gawking at you for a second. “Oh, yeah. Hers.”

The transition into your role as an assistant editor felt seamless. The initial apprehension faded quickly, replaced by a surprising confidence as you organized articles and collaborated with your team. Being in a creative environment was thrilling and fulfilling. It didn’t even bother you that the pay was average—this was your passion in action, it should be priceless.

Twice a week, Seungcheol would sweep you off to dinner, the routine becoming another cherished ritual. He watched you with a fond smile as you animatedly discussed your day, your words flowing freely as you shared your small wins and challenges.

“I was nervous because they asked for my input out of nowhere but guess what?”

“They liked it?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“They did. They thought it was fantastic!”

“Wow, you’re brilliant.”

You giggled. “Oh, and earlier the chair gave out when I was—” you stopped, realizing how much you were rambling. “Sorry. Was I talking too much?”

“It’s okay I’m used to it,” he smiled, offering you a slice of his food. He smiled when you accepted it. “You could go on for hours once you start telling stories, remember?”

You sighed, remembering when you used to recount stories about your exes at his request. “Of course. But back then, you actually wanted to hear it. This is just me going on and on.”

“I like it,” he murmured, nudging another bite your way. “It’s endearing.”

“You’re saying that because you like me too much,” you teased, rolling your eyes playfully before taking the bite from his fork.

His laughter echoed in your ears, affectionate and genuine. You continued eating and talking. Every little touch, every shared smile, left a warmth that lingered even as the plates were cleared. And as you both walked home, Seungcheol slipped his hand into yours, fingers intertwining effortlessly.

“Do you wanna sleep over?” you asked, leaning against his shoulder as you walked.

“Can I?”

You hummed affirmatively. “It’s kinda cold and I kinda missed you.”

His chuckle was low and warm. “Do you miss me every day?”

“Yes,” you replied softly, sniffing the sleeve of his jacket. “Every single day.”

He glanced at you, a glint of mischief visible in his eyes. “Then what do you think about moving in with me?”

“Don’t you ever get tired of asking?” you scoffed, though a smile tugged at your lips.

“It’s fun. Who knows? Maybe if I keep at it, you’ll give in,” he teased, nudging your shoulder.

“Or maybe I’ll kick you out of my life forever.”

“You can try.” He smirked. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

The two of you often spent your evenings at your apartment since he’d pick you up from work, and your place was closer. His job demanded much of his time, even on weekends, so you’d only managed a couple of trips in the last few months. Still, you made time to hang out at his place whenever you could.

Seungcheol always treated you with warmth and care, never missing a chance to hold you, lean against you, or pull you into a hug. It felt like he was always close, a steady presence you’d come to cherish.

“Yes, right there,” you exclaimed, moaning in delight as Seungcheol massaged your tensed shoulder with expertise. You grinned, aware of how you were affecting him. “Oh, Seungcheol. That is so good.”

“Keep doing that and I’ll give you something to really moan about,” he teased, shooting you a look that made you quickly mime a zipper over your lip.

You settled back, savoring the massage, though you couldn’t resist letting out a dramatic moan here and there just to tease him. Seungcheol, as it turned out, is more in control of his urges than you’d expected.

When he finished with your shoulders, he moved to the carpet beside the couch, taking one of your legs into his hands and massaging it. You gave him a warm smile. “You know, I really enjoy being treated like a princess by you,” you mused.

He paused, tilting his head at you. “Princess, huh?”

You nodded with a giggle. “Mmhm, exactly.”

Seungcheol chuckled, setting your foot down with exaggerated care. “Maybe I’m not doing enough, then.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait—what? You’re already doing more than enough!”

“Then why are you a princess and not a queen?”

Your mouth fell open in mock surprise before you started laughing at the cringe line. “Alright, alright. I get it. You’ve got rizz. Come here.” You leaned forward, cupping his cheeks with both hands as you guided him up to meet your lips.

“Choi Seungcheol?” Mina asked, glancing up at you as she leaned back in the salon chair. You’d been looking forward to this weekend with her, Jill, and Lea, a chance to unwind over manicures and girl talk.

“Yeah. Do you know him?” you asked, mildly intrigued.

Mina sighed dramatically. “Do I know him? Everyone in the industry knows him. The guy’s a genius.”

“Really?” You tilted your head, genuinely curious.

“I don’t know all the details, but he founded his holdings company back in 20XX, and it only took him seven years to build a multimillion-dollar empire,” Mina explained, her tone awestruck. “He’s actually one of the investors at my company.”

You blinked in surprise. “That’s... impressive.”

Mina gave you a look. “Wait—didn’t you know this?”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I mean, I knew he had his own company, but he doesn’t talk much about it.”

Jill chuckled. “Your boyfriend is mysterious.”

“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend.”

The three of them stared at you, expressions of disbelief on their faces. Finally, Mina broke the silence, “If he’s not your boyfriend, what is he?”

You hesitated, then admitted, “I mean, well… We’re together, but he didn’t really ask me to be his girlfriend. And I didn’t ask him either. We just came to a consensus that we wanted to be together.”

“Girl, that’s literally what dating is,” Jill deadpanned, rolling her eyes.

You laughed. “Fine, maybe you’re right. I just didn’t want to dwell on labels, you know?”

“Unbelievable,” Mina muttered, but her grin softened the words.

“So, is he self-made or did he get help?” Lea interjected, steering the topic back to Seungcheol’s career. “Nepo baby?”

Mina shrugged. “Not entirely sure. I heard he started out with just one investor—apparently the father of his business partner.”

“Or maybe he’s a genius who just knows how to make the right investments,” Jill mused.

As they chatted, your mind drifted, replaying Mina’s words. You’d never asked Seungcheol much about his past because he was usually reserved about it. He’d drop hints now and then, but he never got into the deeper details. You didn’t even know whether his parents were wealthy—or if they were alive. Somehow, you’d just assumed he’d built his company on his own, out of necessity.

But now, a strange, almost bittersweet curiosity tugged at you. Just who was the man you’d grown so close to? Why did it feel like you barely knew about him?

The weekend went on as the four of you bounced between shopping, brunch spots, and lazy strolls through the streets. Your friends were great company, their laughter and stories taking you back to your youth when things were much simpler. Yet, every now and then, your thoughts wandered back to Seungcheol and the half-formed questions he’d unknowingly left with you.

Had he really kept his career and his life so under wraps out of modesty, or was it just a deliberate choice to keep you in the dark? Was his interest in you genuine, or were you just another distraction to him—an easy escape maybe?

“Earth to you!” Jill’s fingers snapped in front of your face, pulling you back to the table. She looked at you, brow raised, with a teasing smirk. “Where’d you go off to?”

“Oh—nowhere,�� you said, smiling sheepishly.

Mina shot you a knowing glance. “Does ‘nowhere’ happen to be a certain tall, good-looking, and mysterious Choi Seungcheol?”

Your cheeks warmed. “Maybe.”

“Thought so.” Mina took a sip of her drink, eyes twinkling. “You’ve been a little preoccupied. Did something bad happen?”

“Not exactly. It’s just…” You hesitated, picking at the edge of your napkin. “I just realized I didn’t know much about him, which is dumb because he probably had me memorized by now. What if there’s more he’s not telling me? And what if he’s not telling me these things because… you know, I’m temporary?” You winced, not quite sure how to put it into words.

Jill reached over to squeeze your hand. “That’s understandable. I mean, the guy’s clearly got a lot going on. Maybe he’s just waiting until he feels it’s the right time?”

“Or maybe he’s afraid of something,” Mina chimed in, thoughtful. “A rich guy like him? People probably approach him with motives all the time. Maybe he’s cautious around people he cares about.”

You sighed, staring down at your coffee. It didn’t help that Seungcheol hadn’t called or messaged you since Friday, leaving a quiet ache you hadn’t quite anticipated. Usually, you’d hear from him at least once, even if it was a short message to check in. Although he did promise he won’t bother you while you were hanging out with your friends. Still, this silence felt different, unsettling.

The afternoon passed by in comfortable, busy distraction. You all wandered through shops, trying on clothes and laughing at ridiculous sunglasses, sharing in the small, simple joys of being together. But every so often, while waiting in line or glancing at your phone, you found yourself hoping to see his name light up your screen, only to be met with empty notifications.

“Are you okay?” Lea asked later, when the two of you found yourselves alone for a moment, the others a few steps ahead.

You managed a smile, brushing it off. “Yeah, I’m totally fine.”

She gave a sympathetic nod. “You know, it’s okay to ask him these things. Better than sitting around wondering. Just… don’t let it ruin your weekend, okay?”

You appreciated her concern, and as the evening stretched into night, you pushed the thoughts aside, letting yourself laugh along with the others and lose yourself in the joy of good company.

On your last night together, you especially looked forward to tomorrow, knowing you’d finally see Seungcheol again. But as you and your friends shared wine, the conversation turned deeper and more personal.

“To be honest? You get the worst when it comes to relationships,” Mina slurred drunkenly, pointing a wavering finger at you. “Jill always attracts cheaters, but she has never let them walk all over her, no.”

Jill raised her glass with a laugh. “Never!”

“Lea is engaged to her high school sweetheart,” Mina continued, gesturing at Lea, who grinned proudly. “And I’ve always dated long-term—though I’m single now,” she added with a shrug.

You chuckled, finding Mina’s drunken antics endearing. She turned her gaze back to you, suddenly serious. “You, my darling girl, you…”

She stumbled over to you, landing next to you on the floor, and you reached to steady her. She rested her head on your shoulder, taking a deep breath before nuzzling into your warmth. “Why do you always get hurt?”

“I don’t do it on purpose,” you replied softly.

“Of course not. Who would ever choose to hurt themselves?” she chuckled bitterly. “I just mean… you always find these amazing guys, only for them to slip through your fingers in the end.”

Lea scoffed playfully, joining Mina on the carpet. “You’re one to talk. You always date long-term, then break up anyway. What’s the point of dating for years if it’s not going anywhere?”

“You wouldn’t understand, Lea, since you’ve only dated one guy since high school,” Mina teased, nudging her. “But with my exes, they were all great at first, only to turn out to be self-absorbed jerks or cheats.”

“So why am I the worst?” you asked, running your fingers through her hair.

“You’re not the worst,” she sighed, leaning her head on Lea’s. “You just have the worst luck out of all of us.” She closed her eyes, voice softening. “Mingyu was broken, and you were right to leave him, but if he’d been in a better place, it could have been beautiful. You wouldn’t have had to go through that heartbreak when you were still young.”

You nodded, feeling the memories settle heavily between you all.

“And Wonwoo…” Mina continued, “well, he was perfect. But he was just passing through your life. And of course, there’s Vernon…”

Mina paused, and the others went quiet. You held your breath as she looked at you, her gaze full of sympathy.

“Breaking up with him… that was your lowest point,” Jill murmured, joining the huddle, her hand resting on yours.

You huffed, a self-deprecating smirk tugging at your lips. “Worst time of my life, to be honest.”

Mina tilted her head, her eyes meeting yours with earnest sympathy. “Do you know what happens to you once you’re in a relationship?” she asked quietly. You shrugged, feeling the gentle press of her hand urging you to listen. “You hyperfixate on them. You forget you had a life before them.”

A pang of guilt struck you, sharper than expected. She was right, and you already knew it—had felt it but never fully admitted it to yourself. In the background of every relationship, your friends and family had often become shadows. You swallowed, words heavy. “I’m sorry, guys.”

Mina waved her hand dismissively. “That’s all in the past. But honestly?” She gave you a half-smile. “It’s a little frustrating to see you dissociate this weekend, drifting off because of your current guy.”

“It really is,” Jill agreed, chuckling. “And you’re not exactly subtle about it.”

“Come on, girl!” Mina sighed, though her tone held a warmth only close friends could manage. “This weekend is supposed to be for us, but your mind’s clearly somewhere else. I get it, we all do, but… I guess I just wonder why that part of you hasn’t changed after all these years.”

You opened your mouth to apologize, but Jill cut you off, her tone softer. “Hey, you don’t have to be sorry. We get it. It’s just… we worry about you.”

Mina’s hand found yours, giving it a light squeeze. “We just hope you find your happiness soon, whatever that looks like.”

You managed a small smile, touched by her words. “So do I, Mina. So do I.”

As you settled into bed that night, Mina’s words lingered in your mind. Her gentle yet unflinching honesty made you confront a truth you’d avoided for years: once you entered a relationship, you tended to lose yourself in it, almost as if everything else faded to the background. And while the connection with Seungcheol felt different, you couldn't ignore the uneasy feeling that you were once again falling into old patterns.

You rolled over, staring at the ceiling as a strange but comforting realization took shape in your mind. For the first time, you decided to hold onto your own life and interests alongside a relationship. You’d never thought about it before because it never seemed necessary, as if love could fill every space. But now, you understood that nurturing your own dreams and friendships was just as vital—that it was the way to truly keep the people you love close to your heart for as long as you could.

The next morning, you found yourself surprisingly refreshed. As you packed up and prepared to leave the villa, you felt a lightness that hadn’t been there before—a sense of confidence that came from knowing you could hold onto yourself, too.

When Seungcheol arrived to pick you up, he stepped out of the car with his usual charm, dressed in his usual suit and tie outfit that drew appreciative glances from your friends. He greeted them warmly, offering a firm handshake and a genuine smile that seemed to put everyone at ease. You introduced each of your friends, watching the small exchanges of laughter and chatter that followed.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” Seungcheol said, a warm glint in his eye. “You’ve been taking great care of her, I can tell.”

“We try,” Lea teased, elbowing you playfully.

With a grin, Seungcheol offered, “How about I treat you all to brunch, as a thank you?”

The girls exchanged quick glances, and Mina, always the spokesperson, politely declined. “That’s sweet of you, Seungcheol, but she’s all yours. We’ve already had her to ourselves all weekend.”

They bid you both goodbye, with Jill pulling you aside for one last, quick hug. “Remember what we talked about, okay?”

You hugged her back, nodding. “I will.”

As you settled into the passenger seat, Seungcheol reached over to clasp your hand, his thumb tracing small circles on your skin. You glanced over at him, feeling both the comfort of his presence and, for the first time, a quiet certainty that you didn’t need to lose yourself to love him. That this time, you could have both—your life and his presence in it, without one overshadowing the other.

Seungcheol glanced at you as he pulled onto the road, catching the thoughtful expression on your face. “Good weekend?”

“Yeah,” you replied, squeezing his hand. “It really was. I think I needed it more than I realized.”

He smiled softly, eyes returning to the road. “Glad to hear that. I think it’s important you keep in touch with friends. They’re usually the ones who know you very well.”

You nodded. “They really are.”

When you reached your apartment, Seungcheol immediately pulled you into a kiss, his arms tight around you. You couldn’t help but smile, coming to a conclusion that he’d been waiting for you.

“Miss me?” you teased, fingers tracing idle patterns on the back of his neck.

“Always,” he replied, his voice a low murmur against your temple as he brushed a kiss there, slow and unhurried.

You tilted your head to meet his gaze, your fingertips trailing up to his jaw, grazing the hint of stubble there. “Then why didn’t you call me?”

“You said you were gonna catch up with your friends,” he pouted, burying his face on the crook of your neck. “I took everything in me not to text you. I spent three hours in the gym every night just to distract myself.”

You giggled, rolling your eyes. “Liar.”

“I’m serious.” he shot back indignantly. “I would never lie about that.”

You scoffed, but your grin was hard to conceal. Seungcheol kissed your cheek. “I miss you so much,” he said softly, his hand sliding to the small of your back, drawing you close.

Your fingers curled at the back of his neck, pulling him down until your lips met in a slow, languid kiss. You could feel him smile against your lips, his fingers tracing gentle circles as he pulled you even closer as if you weren’t already pressed flush against each other.

Soon his mouth left yours, trailing down your jaw to your neck. You sighed into him, savoring the warmth that wrapped around you, letting your heart and body override your brain and lose yourself to the vice of Seungcheol’s touch.

The warmth grew more intense as the familiar press of his body against yours stirred your passion awake. Soft sighs escaped your mouth each time Seungcheol’s teeth grazed your skin and sent a ripple of pleasure throughout your nerves. His strong hands traced slow, deliberate lines along your back, mapping the familiar curves with ease, not stopping when he reached your ass all the way down to your thigh.

Without warning, he lifted you off your feet, making you yelp. Seungcheol grinned, kissing your lips briefly before walking straight into your bedroom. Inside, he dropped you down the mattress and you bounced slightly as you fell.

“You’re such a tease,” he commented, making you blink in confusion and chuckle.

“I’m a tease? I’m not even doing anything,” you retorted, rolling your eyes.

“I know. It’s crazy,” he grinned, discarding his shirt and crawling toward you. “You’re not doing anything and yet…” he guided your hand to his crotch, leaning into your ear as he whispered. “...you’re making me lose my fucking mind.”

Your breath hitched when you felt how hard he was under his pants. His cock pulsed against your palm and it sent a sudden wave of desire through your body that made your pussy tingle with anticipation.

It didn’t take long before you were both naked on your bed, lewd sounds of pleasure and skin against skin echoing through your apartment. If your neighbors could hear you, you wouldn’t know—you didn’t even care anymore at this point. Each kiss and every thrust spoke volumes, a language only the of you knew, built over countless moments like this, yet still feeling as thrilling as the first.

Seungcheol’s pace was delightfully rough, rutting into you with a force that reached the very core of your of cunt and made your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your mouth was gaped open the whole time, letting every moan and whimper escape your throat.

It was wonderful the way he seemed to know you so well, understanding every sigh and shift in your expression. You found yourself responding instinctively, matching his pace as if you were two parts of the same whole.

“Cheol,” you managed to gasp, feeling your body clench with the familiar ache in your belly. You clawed his back frantically, desperate to hold onto something in fear that the intense euphoria would actually send you into orbit. “Please… don’t—don’t stop!”

Recognizing the slight scrunch on your expression, Seungcheol maintained his pace, lowering himself so you could hold onto him properly. “It’s okay. Hold on tight and go ahead. Go ahead, sweetheart. Let it all out.”

Time seemed to slow down, as he rasped your own name in your ear, his voice amplifying the need for release. Eyes rolling back, you let out a dragged-out moan, back arching as you came undone underneath him. He held you by the waist, pausing while he was balls deep inside of you and your walls pulsated around him. He watched your fucked-out expression with a proud smirk before slowly setting you back down, your body twitching a few more times with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

You smiled at him, pushing him up just enough so he could continue. Seungcheol didn’t need to be told, immediately thrusting into you and riding the high that hadn’t even left you yet. Your moans were throaty, losing your mind once more as he rammed into your overstimulated cunt.

And when he finally stilled, he let out a guttural grunt you’d ever heard before collapsing next to you. He wrapped an arm around you, holding you as if letting go wasn’t an option as if you could stay this close forever. You pressed a kiss to his forehead, feeling the quiet warmth settle between you, a deep, steady comfort that lingered even after the last whispers of passion had faded.

“I love you,” you whispered, just as Seungcheol drifted off to sleep.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Your career was blossoming, you were closer with your friends, and you talked to your parents more often. Adding in Seungcheol by your side, your life felt fuller than it ever had. In this new chapter, you embraced everything as it came, ready to weave your dreams into the fabric of your life.

Then again, life just likes taking a turn when you least expect it to. After all, if it’s all sunshine and daisies, then it isn’t life at all. Challenges are necessary for growth. In this chapter of your life, the ‘turn’ was both familiar and new. Something you’d seen before, but somehow, it felt different.

“Would you like to come with me this weekend? There’s a party and I could use some company,” Seungcheol asked while you were lounging in your living room one night. “A gorgeous one,” he added, winking at you.

“What party?” you asked, considering the invitation but needing to know the details first.

“It’s the anniversary of Hong Industries. I’m close with them so I can’t miss it,” he explained.

“Alright,” you chimed, smiling at him. “But first, am I your girlfriend?”

Seungcheol paused, looking at you with a slight scowl on his forehead. “Of course, you are.”

You hummed. “Just making sure there’s an actual label to this.”

Seungcheol chuckled, placing his spoon down and giving you a fond look. “Of course there is. What happened? What made you ask me that out of nowhere?”

“Nothing. I was just checking,” you replied, shrugging. “If I am to accompany you to a party where I might meet your acquaintances, I should know how to introduce myself.”

“You’re not gonna go there and introduce yourself as my girlfriend, are you?” he asked, looking genuinely perplexed.

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

Seungcheol shrugged as if the answer should be obvious to you already. “You could introduce yourself as a writer.”

“I’m an assistant editor at a publishing company. Not a writer.”

“Then you can introduce yourself that way too.”

You leaned back on the couch, crossing your arms over your chest and looking at him with playful suspicion. “Do you not want me to be known as your girlfriend, Choi Seungcheol?”

“Again with the full name.”

You smirked. “What? I thought you liked it when I called your name?”

“Oh, you’ll call my name alright,” he smirked, tugging his necktie off and lunging at you. You let him lay you down on the couch, but you didn’t let him kiss you, covering his mouth with your hand.

“Come on. Tell me the truth,” you said sternly, narrowing your eyes at him,

Seungcheol smirked. “You know, I could lie right now just to get what I want.”

“Yes, but you wouldn’t. You’re not the type to do that,” you challenged, feeling confident despite the voice in the back of your mind telling you he was changing the subject and avoiding the question.

“You know me too well,” he lilted, kissing your lips softly. “You’re my girlfriend, and we can introduce you as such to anyone and everyone who would care to listen.”

“See? How hard was that.”

Seungcheol sighed, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “I just don’t want you to feel... overshadowed. Being my girlfriend might sound simple, but trust me, it’s not gonna be easy. They’ll see you through that lens first and it’s gonna stick.”

You studied him, intrigued by the rare moment of openness. “I get it, but I know who I am. I’m okay with the label if it’s one we’re both proud of.”

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss you again. “See? You’re one of a kind.” His hand slid down your arm, pulling you closer, and you nestled into the warmth of his embrace. The ease of your familiarity made your heart flutter, the way it always did.

As the evening of the gala approached, you slipped into a fitted, elegant gown, one that was classic yet alluring, the kind that made you feel like you belonged in the world Seungcheol occupied so easily. You finished with a touch of makeup, something that highlighted your eyes and a bold lip to match the confidence you wanted to project tonight. Right on cue, Seungcheol arrived, stepping out of his car looking every bit the part in a sharp black tuxedo. He stopped when he saw you, taking a moment as his gaze swept over you.

“You look marvelous,” he said, reaching for your hand and kissing your knuckles. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

The gala venue was grand, a historic mansion converted into a luxury event space. Tall windows lined the walls, offering a stunning view of the city skyline. The chandeliers bathed the room in a golden glow, illuminating guests dressed in designer clothes, mingling with ease over champagne and laughter. As you stepped into the space, you felt Seungcheol’s hand slip to the small of your back, a subtle gesture that felt both protective and possessive.

“Stay close,” he murmured, guiding you through the crowd.

Seungcheol was a magnet for attention tonight. As soon as you arrived, people began gravitating toward him, friends and colleagues, associates he had to greet. Each time, he would introduce you with an easy, charming smile. “She’s an assistant editor at V Publishing,” he’d start, then add with pride, “and also my girlfriend.”

Every introduction made you feel both more part of his world and distinctly aware of how different it was from your own.

“CEO Choi!” someone called from the crowd.

You and Seungcheol turned toward the voice, spotting a man approaching with a friendly, approachable charm. He looked polished in his navy-blue tux, his expression warm. Seungcheol sighed as he saw him, a subtle reaction that made you wonder if he wasn’t fond of this guy.

“Hey, Josh,” Seungcheol greeted, his tone drier than usual. The name triggered a vague recognition in your memory.

Joshua ignored Seungcheol, focusing on you with a bright smile as he extended a hand. “You must be her—the woman who made CEO Choi go AWOL for a whole week in some far-off hotel. I’m Joshua Hong, COO of his company.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly but shook his hand anyway. “Somehow, I feel like you don’t like me already.”

“Oh, I adore you! I’ve been dying to meet you,” he said with exaggerated enthusiasm, though you weren’t quite convinced.

“Okay…” you replied, raising an eyebrow.

Before you could continue, another voice chimed in from behind. “Well, would you look at that,” a smooth voice said. You and Seungcheol glanced over your shoulders to find a strikingly handsome man with blonde hair, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “If it isn’t Choi Seungcheol with the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Jeonghan,” Seungcheol replied flatly, sighing as though he’d already braced himself for this. “Just my luck.”

Jeonghan slipped over to Joshua’s side, eyeing you with a knowing smile that made you feel self-conscious. He looked you over with a slow, appraising gaze.

“Alright, you two are creeping me out,” you said, scowling slightly. “What’s going on?”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t checking you out,” Jeonghan teased, his gaze shamelessly drifting from your face to your dress. “You’re kinda hot.”

Seungcheol stepped in, placing a hand on Jeonghan’s chest and pushing him aside. “That’s enough. Don’t make her uncomfortable.”

Joshua stepped forward, positioning himself on your other side with a friendly grin. “Sorry about my friend. He’s a bit of a creep,” he said, nodding toward Jeonghan before offering his arm. “Can I get you a drink?”

You glanced at Seungcheol, who nodded reassuringly. “He’s my friend. Go ahead if you’d like.”

“Hey, why does he get to be her escort?” Jeonghan protested, raising a hand in mock indignation.

“Because you’re a creep,” Joshua replied, dismissing him with a wave of his fingers as he guided you to the minibar.

At the minibar, Joshua handed you a glass of champagne and leaned in with a warm, curious smile. “So,” he began, “how did you and Seungcheol get together?”

You took a sip of your drink, feeling a bit on the spot. You didn’t go into the details but gave him the briefest version. “It just sort of… happened, I guess. We kept running into each other.”

Joshua nodded, looking amused but a little surprised. “Seungcheol doesn’t usually bring dates to these events. I mean, he keeps his private life pretty close to the chest, so seeing you two together tonight is definitely a first.”

You glanced across the room where Seungcheol was in conversation with another guest, his eyes occasionally drifting back to you. The thought that he’d brought you here when he normally came alone gave you a quiet, warm thrill.

Before you could say anything else, Joshua shifted the conversation with a curious glance. “He told me you’re an assistant editor. That must be exciting work. Jeonghan over there,” he nodded toward his friend who was in the same circle as Seungcheol, “he’s in the broadcasting industry. They’re always on the lookout for writers, you know.”

“Oh,” you replied, taken aback by the suggestion. You hardly considered crossing into a field like that, especially given that this was one of Seungcheol’s friends.

Joshua noticed your hesitation and chuckled lightly. “I know Jeonghan comes off… well, a little intense. But he’s actually a decent guy—he just likes to mess with Seungcheol as much as possible.”

You laughed, feeling more at ease. “Yeah, I did notice they seem to have that kind of friendship.”

“Exactly. But hey, if you’re interested in exploring other avenues with your writing, Jeonghan would be a good contact. You’d be surprised at the kinds of opportunities that open up in broadcasting.”

You nodded thoughtfully, his words sparking an idea you hadn’t considered. Working as a writer beyond publishing was unfamiliar but intriguing, and the prospect made your heart race a little. “Thanks for the tip, Joshua. But I’m fairly new in the industry. I will consider it though.”

Joshua smiled at you with a kind of charm that made you feel at ease. But before the conversation could deepen, someone pulled him aside, and he gestured he’d be quick. You nodded, mouthing that he could take his time. As you sipped your champagne, your gaze drifted over the crowd—and then you spotted a familiar face. Mingyu, with that warm, easygoing grin, met your eyes and lit up immediately.

Within seconds, he’d crossed the room in a few quick strides. “Oh my god, I can’t believe this—how long has it been?”

You laughed, surprised and genuinely happy to see him. “Not too long. How have you been?”

Talking with Mingyu felt like no time had passed at all. He was as charming and witty as ever, and soon you found yourself reminiscing, falling into a rhythm as if the year between you had been just yesterday. Mingyu asked about your work, your life, and sprinkled in stories of his own misadventures, making you laugh and remember what had drawn you to him once.

But out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Seungcheol approaching, his gaze locked onto you and Mingyu. His steps were unhurried, but his eyes held an intensity that sent a shiver through you. He slid his arm around your waist as he reached you, claiming his place at your side in a way that left no room for doubt.

“Hey,” Seungcheol greeted before pressing a quick kiss on your cheek.

“Hi,” you smiled at him and then turned back to Mingyu. “This is Choi Seungcheol my—”

“Boyfriend,” Seungcheol cut in, his voice steady but carrying an edge that made your stomach flutter. “And you must be Kim Mingyu.”

Mingyu’s face brightened. “You know me?”

Seungcheol’s gaze shifted to you briefly before replying, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Really? It’s nice to meet you! CH Holdings, right?” Mingyu asked, genuinely enthusiastic.

“Yes,” Seungcheol replied coolly, sizing Mingyu up in a way that was hard to ignore. The silence that followed, though brief, felt thick and awkward. Mingyu was the first one to break, glancing at you with a smile.

“I’m really glad we ran into each other. We should catch up sometime,” he suggested, glancing between you and Seungcheol with a hint of his usual playfulness.

“Why?” Seungcheol’s reply was direct, and though his tone was mild, there was a possessiveness beneath it that made Mingyu laugh.

“Relax, man. I’m not trying anything. We go way back, that’s all,” Mingyu assured.

Seungcheol’s hand on your waist tightened slightly as he responded with a controlled smile, “Doesn’t seem that way to me.”

Mingyu blinked, taken aback for a moment. “What?” He glanced at you, clearly confused.

You could sense the tension simmering beneath Seungcheol’s composed expression, and though Mingyu was mostly oblivious to it, you could feel the subtle line that had been drawn. Seungcheol wasn’t letting his guard down.

“Alright, that’s enough,” you said, gently squeezing Seungcheol’s arm, trying to diffuse the situation. Turning back to Mingyu, you offered, “It was good seeing you, Mingyu. Let’s catch up soon.”

“Definitely. Enjoy the party!” Mingyu’s smile was genuine as he gave a small wave before heading off, but he glanced back at Seungcheol with an amused look as he went.

Once he was out of earshot, you looked up at Seungcheol, catching the faintest trace of jealousy in his expression. “What was that about?” you asked, arching an eyebrow as you leaned into his arm.

Seungcheol shrugged, trying to play it off. “Just remembering what happened the last time you bumped into him.”

You laughed softly, a bit incredulous. “You think something like that would happen again?”

He gave you a look, not entirely joking. “Who knows?”

“Okay, that’s offensive.”

“What do you mean?”

Your smile faded as you let out a short, sharp sigh, feeling a twinge of hurt at his insinuation. You shook your head and stepped away. Seungcheol reached out as if to follow, but before he could say anything, a group of men gathered around him, clearly eager for his attention. He glanced at them, then back at you, his gaze following you even as he nodded along to their conversation.

You were offended, and rightfully so. How could he see you as someone who would betray his trust so easily? Your encounter with Mingyu last year had been a fleeting moment of comfort during a time when you were single and lonely. But now, you’re with Seungcheol. Surely he wouldn’t think you’d jeopardize what you had with him by sleeping with your ex, would he? Did he really really think that low of you?

You barely noticed the woman who approached you until she spoke. “Are you Seungcheol’s designated arm candy? You’re pretty.”

“Excuse me?” you blurted, startled by her sudden appearance and appalled by her question.

“You have an attitude too, hmm,” she commented nonchalantly, looking you up and down before walking away.

You watched her walk away, bewildered by her casual insult. Was that really how people saw you—just a pretty accessory to someone like Seungcheol? Did everyone at this gala see you through that narrow lens?

The woman's words lingered in your mind, twisting with the doubt that had already taken root from Seungcheol's earlier comment. You clenched your fists, trying to shake off the feeling of inadequacy that threatened to creep in.

As you scanned the room, the laughter and chatter around you felt distant and muted. You wanted to enjoy the evening, to stand alongside your boyfriend with pride, but your thoughts kept spiraling back to the weight of his mistrust and the woman’s dismissive tone.

The car ride back to Seungcheol’s penthouse was quiet and tense. He kept glancing your way, trying to coax out the reason for your anger, but you merely stared out the window, letting the city lights blur together into a wash of colors.

“Please tell me what’s wrong,” he asked again, his voice laced with concern.

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to speak without letting your frustration spill over. The truth was, you didn’t want to talk; you didn’t want to explain the whirlwind of emotions inside you.

“Come on, sweetheart, don’t shut me out. I know something’s bothering you,” he pressed gently, reaching for your hand. You pulled away slightly, feeling the distance between you growing.

Once you arrived, you wasted no time making your escape. You hurried to the guest room, locking the door behind you. After a quick bath, the warmth of the water soothing your nerves, you slipped into bed, the exhaustion from the night settling in as you closed your eyes. You heard the soft creak of the door sometime later, feeling the mattress sink behind you as Seungcheol lay next to you. But you pretended to be fast asleep, too tired to face the rift coming between you.

“I’m sorry. I was just jealous,” he murmured, pulling you closer. “I trust you with my life. I know you would never go behind my back. I’m so sorry.”

You heard him clearly, but you were intent on your pretense so you didn’t respond. Instead, you allowed yourself to relax into his arms, grateful for the warmth, even if your heart felt heavy.

Morning light seeped through the curtains, casting yellowish light into the room. You blinked against the brightness, feeling the soft fabric of the blanket wrapping around you. You soon waddled out of the bedroom, dressed only in your underwear and Seungcheol’s oversized shirt. As you entered the living room, the casual atmosphere was shattered by the sight before you.

Seungcheol was standing with his hands on his waist, facing a woman sitting comfortably on the couch as if she belonged there. It was the woman from the gala, the one who’d called you an ‘arm-candy’. She was beautiful, with an air of confidence that emanated from head to foot. And she noticed you as soon as you stepped into the living room, raising an eyebrow arrogantly.

“You have a guest,” she said, making Seungcheol glance over his shoulder. The hard expression on his face softened upon meeting your gaze.

“Who is this?” you asked Seungcheol, trying to mask your discomfort with a casual tone.

Seungcheol opened his mouth to answer but the woman was quicker. “I’m his fiancee,” she announced, standing up at once. “Nice to meet you.”

You froze, your mind buffering at the declaration. Seungcheol held your hand and with a warning tone, he said, “Jiwon.”

The woman—Jiwon—raised an eyebrow. “If you like her so much, you should have told her about me sooner.”

“Get out,” Seungcheol practically growled, but that didn’t seem to faze Jiwon. She smirked, picking up her purse and heading for the door.

Before leaving, however, she said, “You’re free to play around as much as you want, Seungcheol. But only for now. I won’t stand for this disrespect once we’re married.”

It felt like your world came crashing down, a weight settling heavily on your chest as you stood there, trying to make sense of it all. Your mind was spiraling, processing the information painfully fast and coming into a confusing conclusion: was your relationship with Seungcheol simply a distraction from his obligations to Jiwon?

“I can explain,” he began, his voice urgent as he stepped closer. You recoiled when he reached for you, looking straight at him with confusion and hurt. Instead of listening to his reassurances, you turned away, the sting of tears blurring your vision. You retreated into the bedroom, your footsteps thundering against the floor as you shut the door behind you, leaving Seungcheol’s voice echoing faintly in the hallway.

Your hands were shaking as you tugged on your clothes, every movement fueled by a whirlwind of emotions—hurt, confusion, and anger. You were just about to change when you felt Seungcheol’s arms wrap around you from behind, holding you tightly against him.

“Please don’t go,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear, a hint of desperation softening his voice. “You said you want communication to be the foundation of our relationship, and yet you walk away when I try to do just that.”

“I didn’t wanna hurt myself even more,” you muttered under your breath, but he heard you just fine.

His voice grew firmer. “I would never hurt you.”

“That’s too big of a promise,” you whispered, biting back fresh tears. “You already did.”

He sighed, and you reluctantly turned to face him, tears spilling over. “Is it true? Is she your fiance? Are you engaged to that woman?”

His expression softened, and he pulled back slightly to look into your eyes. “Yes, but—”

He held your gaze, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Yes, but—”

Before he could finish, you slipped out of his hold, pulling on your own clothes as if it would shield you from him. Seungcheol reached for your arm again, but you swatted his hand away. Seemingly frustrated, he tugged your shoulders so you would face him.

“Please listen to me.” He reached for your arm again, frustration crossing his face as he gently tugged you to face him. “Jiwon is only engaged to me because of our families’ wishes. It’s a business arrangement, nothing more.”

You tried to absorb his words, but all you could think about was how little you actually knew about him. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re engaged to someone else.”

He sighed. “It’s not that hard to deal with it. I can even go ahead and break it off right now.”

You pushed him away, stepping back to keep a distance between you. “Alright, fine! Let’s say it is that easy to break it off, but that’s not the point, Cheol. You were engaged with another woman. It doesn’t matter what the circumstances were, the fact that you couldn’t tell me—your girlfriend—something so important? That is the problem!”

“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol sighed. “I never meant to keep it from you. I just want to protect you from all this chaos. I know I should’ve been honest from the start. I’m sorry.”

Your gaze didn’t falter, not even after his heartfelt apology. “I hardly know anything about you, Seungcheol. Who were you before becoming such a successful businessman? How did you grow up? What’s your family like? Did you have a good childhood? You never told me any of these things.”

Seungcheol’s brow furrowed, and he took a deep breath. “I thought it didn’t matter. My life was uninteresting until I met you.”

“But I want to be a part of your life, and for that to happen, you need to open yourself up to me the same way I’ve bared my heart and soul to you.” Your voice trembled as you spoke, frustration mingling with despair. “I don’t know what reasons you have, but all I know is that your refusal to share the intimate details about yourself implies that I am just a temporary phase in your wonderful life.”

“That’s not true!” Without hesitating, he reached out to cup your face. “I’ll bring you into my life. I’ll show you everything—my family, my past, my business. I want you to understand who I am, and I want you to be a part of it all.”

His sincerity pierced through the haze of hurt clouding your mind. You wanted to believe him, to trust that there was more to him than the wealth and the privilege that surrounded his world. But doubt still lingered in your heart.

“I swear,” he added, his gaze unwavering. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work. Just don’t walk away from me now.”

His words hung between you, a lifeline in the storm of confusion. You felt the warmth of his body against yours, a reminder of the connection you had built. It was fragile, but it was real. And in that moment, you wanted to fight for it.

You nodded slowly, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “Okay. But you have to promise to be open with me. No more secrets.”

Relief flooded his features, his soft smile brimming with gratitude. “I promise.”

As you felt his arms around you again, you found yourself holding onto hope, even as questions lingered in your mind, waiting to be answered.

Seungcheol’s promise of taking you to meet his family came sooner than later. His parents always held a regular family dinner in the grand hall of their estate, the kind you’d only seen in movies. Chandeliers hung low from the ceiling, casting a soft glow over tables with silver cutlery that gleamed as if they’d never been touched. Seungcheol’s hand stayed firm around yours as you walked in/

He had told you about his family situation before coming here. His mother remarried when he was a kid, and while his stepfather wasn’t hard on him in any way, he wasn’t exactly affectionate either. And that lack of connection made Seungcheol feel distant from him, causing him to feel like he didn’t really belong in the family.

He leaned in, whispering, “Stay by my side, okay?” You nodded, but even his warmth couldn’t ward off the unease settling in your chest.

Seungcheol introduced you to his mother first, a graceful woman with soft eyes and a welcoming smile that made you feel at ease, if only briefly. “It’s so lovely to meet you,” she said, her hands clasping yours warmly. “Seungcheol’s told me about you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

Just as she was about to say more, a tall, sharp-featured man walked over—the infamous stepdad. He nodded curtly, his handshake firm but impersonal. “So, you’re the one Seungcheol’s been seeing.” His voice was low, with an edge that made it hard to gauge if he was simply reserved or disapproving.

“Yes, sir,” you replied, and though he made no further comment, his cool gaze lingered on you for a moment before he turned away to greet another guest. You glanced at Seungcheol, who gave you a small, reassuring squeeze of your hand.

As the evening wore on, you began to feel the walls closing in. Each relative seemed to carry an opinion, judging you silently, as though Seungcheol’s mere association with you was an odd choice they couldn’t understand. While his parents were civil, the whispered conversations and lingering looks from his extended family didn’t go unnoticed by you.

As if that wasn’t enough, Jiwon was there too and she made her hostility impossible to ignore. She was seated just across the table, her gaze flicking over to you now and then with a displeased expression. Eventually, she leaned over when Seungcheol stepped away to speak with his mother.

“You surprise me, seriously,” she said, eyes sparkling with a smugness you couldn’t miss. “Where did you get the nerve to come here, meet his entire family, and act as if you would ever be an actual part of his life?”

You sighed, careful not to let your emotions show. “Say whatever you want. I’m here for Seungcheol, not you.”

“Hmm,” she hummed, lips curving in a faint smirk. “I hope you can keep that attitude. His parents may be civil, but everyone else?” Her eyes swept over the hall and you couldn’t help copying her.

The unease in your chest transformed into an unsettling fear as you caught the sharp gazes of the other family members. It was as if you’d found yourself thrown into a den of venomous snakes waiting for a chance to attack.

“Seungcheol’s life is complicated, you see,” Jiwon said in your ear, her voice low. “If you think your love—or whatever you think you have, is enough to conquer all of this, then, good luck.”

You clenched your hands in your lap, holding back the urge to respond, knowing anything you said would only give her more satisfaction. The evening continued in much the same way, the subtle jabs and dismissive glances wearing you down. By the time Seungcheol returned to your side, you could barely manage a smile.

“Are you alright?” he asked, brows furrowing as he noticed the strain in your expression.

You forced a nod. “It’s just…a lot to take in.”

He sighed, eyes scanning the room as though seeing it through your eyes. “Do you wanna leave now?” he murmured. “We don’t have to stay here.”

His voice was reassuring, but it didn’t change the way you felt, and you weren’t sure anything could. Every glance, every whispered word, reminded you of the differences between you and the world Seungcheol lived in. Your heart felt heavy with the painful realization.

“Let’s get out of here,” you whispered, forcing a smile to at least offer comfort for him.

As you waited for Seungcheol to finish his goodbyes to his parents, an elderly aunt approached you, her lips pursed in a look of utter disapproval. She regarded you up and down, her eyes narrowing as though you were something stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

“So, you’re the fling,” she muttered, her voice dripping with disdain. “That ungrateful brat. If he had even the tiniest ounce of self-respect, he wouldn’t parade some crook in front of the people who raised him.” She let out a dry chuckle, glancing pointedly at the oblivious Seungcheol. “He’s not even a part of this family. The least he could do was have enough decorum to not disrespect the fiance picked out for him.”

You felt the blood drain from your face at her words as they echoed bitterly in your mind, ripping through the thin layers of composure you had left. You thought you could endure it, but the attack on Seungcheol stung sharper than any quiet insult directed at you all evening.

As you settled into the car, a heavy silence lingered between you and Seungcheol. He shot a worried glance your way, brow furrowing as he took in your strained expression.

“What happened back there?” he asked, his voice gentle.

You looked down, fiddling with your fingers. You opened your mouth, but all that came out was a shaky breath. It felt as though the right words were slipping through your fingers, too fragile to grasp. You took a deep breath, willing your heart to calm down.

Finally, you met his gaze, and the words tumbled out before you could stop them. “I don’t think I belong in your world, Seungcheol.”

His expression shifted, shock clouding his features. “What are you talking about? Of courses, you belong in my world. That there is not mine. It never was.”

You shook your head, holding back the tears that threatened to spill over. “Your family, your friends… the life you come from—it’s so different from everything I know. Tonight just proved that to me, over and over again.” You paused, voice catching in your throat. “I can’t pretend like it doesn’t matter.”

“Who cares what they think?” he countered, his voice rising with frustration. “You’re not dating them, you’re with me. I’m not gonna lose you over this.”

The hurt in his voice tugged at your resolve, but the memories of those sneering faces and whispered words echoed in your mind. You bit your lip, unable to hold his gaze any longer. There was so much you wanted to say—how you didn’t want his family’s disapproval of you to affect how they saw him. The thought of him facing endless judgment and criticism for choosing you, no matter how strong he was, filled you with an aching guilt.

You looked out the car window, gathering your thoughts before speaking. Then, with a quiet voice, you asked, “Why did you date me, Seungcheol? If you knew everyone would be against it?”

Seungcheol’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as he drove. “I don’t care what they think. I care about you. You’re the only one I want.”

His words felt sincere, but it only frustrated you more. “Just tell me why?” You turned to him, voice trembling. “Why did you stay in that remote hotel just to spend time with me? Why did you sleep with me? No—actually, let’s go back to the very beginning, why did you ask me to tell you about my exes in the first place?”

He pulled the car to a stop outside your building, silence stretching between you. Finally, he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just wanted to hear it,” he admitted, his voice soft, almost uncertain.

“Yes, but out of all the people, why me?” You leaned closer, searching his face for answers.

“Because I didn’t know what love is!” he burst out, cutting through your frustration. The rawness in his voice made you pause, your breath hitching at the vulnerability laid bare before you.

“I didn’t single you out. You just happened to be there, and I was desperate.” His frustration spilled over as he punched the heel of his palm on the steering wheel. “I didn't know what love felt like or how it looked. I had an idea, but it wasn’t enough to grasp the whole concept.”

You watched him, heart aching as he avoided your gaze as if it shamed him to tell you all of this. “I thought that maybe I just needed someone else’s perspective. Maybe if I could find someone who’s willing to let me in on their experience of love and being loved, I would come to understand it.”

“Cheol…” you trailed off, heart heavy with sympathy.

“I didn’t mean for it to be you,” he continued, eyes distant, lost in his memories. “You rejected my offer and that was it. I was ready to look elsewhere, but then you came to me and said you’d tell me. I was grateful and I looked forward to it. I was only there for the stories, for your perspective. But then… but then I saw you.”

His gaze flickered to yours, softening with affection. “I saw that you’re the type who wears your heart on your sleeve. I noticed how your eyes twinkled at the happy memories, how your face fell with the sad. You offered the most sensible insights about love and relationships—you made it so easy to understand.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he confessed, leaning his head back against the headrest, exhaling slowly as if releasing a weight. “But the more you spoke about love and its beauty, the stronger I was pulled toward you. You intrigued me, and made me curious about you. I stayed awake all night, looking forward to seeing you again and being greeted by that vibrant smile. I…”

Seungcheol took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto yours again, revealing the depth of his feelings. “I fell in love with you, and I didn’t even know that’s what it was until right now.”

You couldn’t find your tongue, utterly dumbfounded by his confession and the raw honesty he was willing to share. Your heart raced with confusion, empathy, and heartbreak, making it difficult to breathe. How could he feel this way yet remain so unaware of the consequences?

You wished you could fully embrace this moment, but the reality of the world outside felt suffocating. Would this love be enough to bridge the gap between your worlds? Did that world even matter when Seungcheol was ready to leave it all behind, defying everything just to be with you?

“Choi Seungcheol you…” you trailed off, and you never got to finish what you were supposed to say.

It has been over a year since you last came home. The familiar sights and sounds of your hometown wrapped around you like a warm embrace. You strolled through the tree-lined streets, savoring the laughter and chatter of families and children playing in the parks. Every corner held a memory, a fragment of your childhood and your youth, and it felt good to reconnect with your old life.

One afternoon, you decided to explore the downtown area, a vibrant hub that had seen its fair share of changes over the years, though it looked almost the same as when you left it last year as a heartbroken woman determined to pick yourself up from the god-awful slump you’d found yourself in. As you wandered through the streets, your heart swelled with nostalgia. The familiar shops, cafes, and the old movie theater brought back a flood of memories.

As you passed by the sleek glass building that housed Vernon’s company, a wave of pride washed over you. You couldn’t help but marvel at his accomplishments. You had always known he was meant to succeed, and it felt rewarding to see him thrive in a world that was once a part of you but not felt so distant. You paused for a moment, contemplating your lives, wondering how he was doing now. And while you hoped he was doing great, you had no intention of checking in on him. You knew better.

At home, after a cold shower, you found your phone buzzing incessantly on your bed. You opened a message notification and found yourself added to a group chat with your old friends from senior year of college. The lively banter and enthusiastic greetings flooded your screen, and you couldn’t help but smile.

Lea: �� Heyyy guys! Guess who’s finally in the group chat?! Mina: My girlie! I missed you! Lea: I added her last because her account was deactivated a few days ago. So mysterious 😏 Seokmin: My honeybunch sugar plump! I missed you! You: you guys are so energetic lmao Hoshi: Hi hiiii! Don’t worry. It’s a bit awkward talking to your ex on here but it gets easier lol lol Mina: IDK. You’re the only one who feels that way. You: 😳 Can we not bring up exes? Seokmin: @/wonwoo Hoshi: @/wonwoo Junhui: @/wonwoo You: You know what guy? Fuck you Wonwoo: 😅😅😅

The conversation flowed effortlessly as you reminisced about inside jokes, embarrassing moments, and late-night study sessions. It felt like no time had passed at all.

Jill: What’s everyone up to these days? I feel like I’m in a time warp! Mina: I just got a promotion at work! 🎊 Now I’m officially a project manager! Seokmin: Nice, Minmina! What’s your secret? Mina: Coffee and panic! Hoshi: Did you guys hear about Wonwoo? He’s working at a big company in London now! You: Really? That’s amazing! Junhui: Living his dream fr! Proud of you man! Hoshi: And he’s also dating a supermodel now, right? Seokmin: Ugh, goals. 🤩 Wonwoo: False. Guys don’t listen to him, he’s an idiot Mina: Some things never change. Hoshi: HEY LOW BLOW! YOU USED TO TELL ME I WAS YOUR IDIOT? Junhui: smells like a comeback

The chat continued to buzz with excitement as everyone chimed in, sharing their own updates and encouraging each other to reconnect. You felt a warmth spread through you, a reminder of the bonds that had shaped your past. You found out later on that Lea made the group chat to tell everyone she was getting married. You spent the rest of the afternoon lost in conversation, laughing and sharing memories.

On the fourth day of your weeklong leave, you walked down the busy sidewalk of the downtown area again, running an errand for your mom who had asked you to buy some bread. When you turned a corner, you almost collided with a couple exiting the same corner.

“Jiwon?” you exclaimed, stepping back in surprise. Of all the people you could run into, Jiwon was the last person you’d expected. “What are you doing here?” you asked, eyes flitting back and forth between her and the guy she was clinging on to.

“Hi! It’s been ages,” she greeted exaggeratedly, catching you off guard. She smiled, though you could see the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “I didn’t expect to run into you. Do you want to grab a coffee and catch up?”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure where this was going. She turned to the man beside her. “She’s an old friend. Can you go back first? I wanna catch up with her for a bit.”

“Alright, no problem,” he chimed, kissing Jiwon briefly and then smiling at you before he walked away.

As you settled into a cozy café, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped you both. You were reluctant to join her, but curiosity got the best of you. She spoke first and the initial awkwardness began to fade as you exchanged pleasantries. But soon, she leaned forward, a serious expression on her face.

Is she worried you’d tell someone that you saw her with another guy? Maybe. She was probably gonna ask that you keep it a secret. That was what you were thinking while she was hesitating to speak.

“Do you love Seungcheol?” she asked suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

You blinked, taken aback by the question. “What does that have to do with you?”

Jiwon sighed, her shoulders sagging as if the weight of the world pressed down on her. “I just... I need to know if there’s a chance. I mean, if you could make it so we didn’t have to marry each other, that would be great.”

“Why?” You couldn’t help but challenge her. “That has nothing to do with me.”

She shook her head, frustration lining her features. “I’d hate to tell you this since we’re not close, but I’m the oldest in my family with no brothers, and misogyny is a thing that runs deep into my father and forefathers’ bloodstream. I could never be heir to my family’s estate so I have to marry a rich man and produce a male heir.”

You winced before you could stop yourself. What a backward way of thinking, you thought to yourself. But who am I to judge? “You’re free to follow your traditions.”

“That’s the thing, I don’t want to follow tradition. I don’t even want the estate. My boyfriend is wealthy too, but they preferred Seungcheol over anyone else.” She paused, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’m sorry for being mean to you before. I have no excuse. I just felt it was unfair that Seungcheol gets to openly date someone he genuinely liked while I can’t.”

You felt a surge of empathy for her, a realization that her harshness stemmed from her own insecurities and the pressure she faced. But you kept your thoughts to yourself, knowing that to her, any hint of pity would only feel like an insult. While you empathize with her, that didn’t excuse her actions before. She was rude and mean, regardless of her personal problems, she had no right to take it out on other people.

You leaned back in your chair, adopting an arrogant demeanor. “I’m not going to love Seungcheol to do you a favor. If that happens, the reason would simply be the fact that it’s how I really feel.”

Her expression faltered, surprise mixing with frustration.

“And honestly,” you continued, your voice steady, “I couldn’t care less about your issues, or what happens with the agreement between your families. If Seungcheol chooses me, then that’s all the reason I need to fight for our love.”

You didn’t want to tell her what to do, nor offer any advice—you were not in a level of familiarity where you could do that. You didn’t even want to confess your love for Seungcheol to anyone else, but it was your way of subtly supporting Jiwon’s pursuit of true love. It was up to her to interpret.

Jiwon looked down at her coffee, deep in thought. You hoped she was thinking about her options. “I guess that’s fair,” she murmured finally, her voice barely audible.

You watched her for a moment, curious about the vulnerability she’d hidden behind arrogance and pride. Perhaps, in another life, you could have been friends. But in this one, you were on opposing sides, each fighting for your own happiness.

As you walked home, the weight of your conversation with Jiwon lingered in your mind but you were feeling lighter as if a thorn had been pulled out of your chest. You pushed open the front gate, the familiar sound of creaking hinges echoing in the quiet evening. Your heart raced at the thought of what the future held for you and Seungcheol. You tried to get him out of your mind, but now you miss him so badly.

“Hey,” came a familiar voice and made you stop in your tracks. Standing at your front porch, silhouetted against the soft glow of the porch light, was Choi Seungcheol.

“Cheol?” you whispered, eyes wide. You took a step closer, your pulse quickening.

He sighed. “I know I said I’d give you time, and I promised not to bother you while you’re trying to collect your thoughts, but…” His voice cracked slightly, the vulnerability evident in his tone. “I can’t help it. I miss you so much I felt like I was gonna die.”

The sincerity in his words struck you like a bolt of lightning. It pierced through the confusion and doubt that had clouded your mind before you left him a few days ago.

You smiled, walking up to him and pulling him into a tight hug. Seungcheol hugged you back, gripping you so tight that it felt like you would soon melt into his very skin. With his tight embrace and the soft, slow kiss that followed, you knew you were ready to fight for your love, no matter the challenges that lay ahead.

Your family took to Seungcheol like they’d known him for a long time. Watching him charm his way through conversations with your parents, sharing laughs with your siblings, you couldn’t help but feel pride swell in your chest. Seungcheol fit in effortlessly, his laughter echoing alongside theirs, his smile as warm and familiar as home itself. He would glance over at you, eyes shining with that unmistakable spark, and your heart would skip every time.

That evening, you invited him out for a walk after dinner, where he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as he murmured your name again and again. His voice was soft, as if every syllable of your name was a song he needed to sing.

“You’ll be sick of that name if you don’t stop saying it,” you chided softly as you both settled on a park bench.

“You think so?” he asked, genuinely curious. “That can’t happen.”

You grinned as you watched him zip his mouth. When he glanced at you and saw you smiling, his eyes softened with immense affection. You took the chance to make fun of him. “You like me that much?”

Seungcheol didn’t say anything, instead he let out a long sigh of what sounded like relief and helplessness. That made you raise an eyebrow. “Okay, that’s too much. You’re exaggerating at this point.”

“Am I?” he questioned, more to himself. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m so obsessed with you.”

“I think you’re trying to say you love me,” you quipped, leaning on his chest and basking in his warmth.

“Yes. Fuck that. I do,” he replied, tightening his arms around you and kissing the top of your head. “It’s true that I’m obsessed with you though.”

When it was time to return to the city, Seungcheol was practically vibrating with excitement. He bade your family goodbye, leaving with a promise to visit over the holidays. You sat in the train with him, reading a book with your head on his shoulder while he answered emails on his tablet.

Back in the city, your relationship reverted back to its usual steady course, navigating days of blissful highs and small, inevitable disagreements. Dinners were still a regular thing, though instead of the restaurants, you spent more of it in your homes, sharing home-cooked meals. You cooked together most of the time, laughter echoing in the kitchen as you worked together with ease. Sometimes, his busy schedule left him tired and withdrawn, but he’d still text you, asking about your day, eager to connect even in the smallest of ways. And whenever you argued, his sincerity cut through the tension—he’d listen, apologize if needed, and somehow make everything feel right again.

Your days were made special by small, loving gestures: the way he’d bring you your favorite coffee, or how he’d lean in to whisper something funny during a crowded gathering. You often made him his favorite food, even helping him keep a tidy appearance every day at work. He had sworn that he never needed sunscreen at work, but since you made him use some, Seungcheol has never stopped buying it regularly.

Through it all, he treated you the same—if anything, with more care and respect than ever before. Every little moment, every shared smile, built a quiet foundation of trust and affection, one that felt stronger with each passing day.

And today, as the glow of candlelight flickered across the apartment, you swayed gently with Seungcheol, your arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders, soft music filling the room. It had been a perfect evening: the surprise dinner, his careful planning, and the way he looked at you as though he couldn’t believe you were really there with him.

He held you close, his hands settling comfortably at your waist, pulling you just a little nearer. “Did you like the dinner?” he murmured, his breath warm against your hair.

“It was wonderful,” you replied, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Then, with a smirk, you looked up at him. “But if you’re planning to propose right now, please don’t. I’m not ready to even talk about it.”

He chuckled, his laugh vibrating against you as he shook his head. “Relax, I’m not proposing,” he said, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “We’re not there yet. We still need plenty of time to figure things out.”

You were relieved to hear that, but even with his agreement, the idea was taking shape in your mind. You realized that you couldn’t imagine a future where he wasn’t beside you, bringing out a side of yourself that you’d thought had faded long ago. He was patient, steadfast, and the way he looked at you told you he was here to stay, whether or not there was a ring.

“I love you, Seungcheol,” you whispered, almost to yourself. “Before this, I thought I’d never find love again. I’d convinced myself that I was… I don’t know, incapable of this, given my history. I told myself that there’d never be anyone who would fit.” You hesitated, wondering if he would understand, if he could feel what you couldn’t quite say.

Seungcheol’s hand gently tilted your chin up so your eyes met his. “I don’t believe that for a second,” he said softly. “You were always going to find someone. I just got lucky that it was me.”

The corners of your mouth lifted, a warmth spreading through your chest. He was right there, looking at you as if you were all that mattered. This was more than just a moment, more than just the fleeting connection you had once feared it to be. Choi Seungcheol had somehow become the unexpected twist in your life, the chapter you hadn’t known you needed. And as the two of you continued to dance, you realized with quiet certainty that this was just the real beginning—your beginning, together.

[fin]

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