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awrkive · 1 year ago

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NEIGHBOR BLUNDER, pt. 1 — JJK

in hindsight, you should have seen it coming. had always known your luck – or lack of it, thereof – and the universe's meticulous plan of your downfall made it easy for you to get tangled up in a series of unfortunate events, which presents itself as the neighbor that lives across from you, jeon jungkook.

PAIRING jungkook x (fem) reader

GENRE r18+ (fluff, angst, (eventual) smut) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

CHAPTER WORD COUNT 18.2k

CHAPTER WARNINGS/MISC neighbor!jk, bsf!jimin, accountant!oc software engineer!jk, jk and jimin are chaebols lol, minjoon boyfriends <<<<3 mature language, this chapter's pretty tame (for now) but theres a lot of FLIRTING, if u squint this story is a mosaic of every shows i love lmfao, for the apartment complex just imagine the namil villa from the kdrama fight for my way NB!JK VISUALS

NOTES hello im back!!!!! remember the jk in tech xmas fic i told you about last year? this is it except its not a xmas fic anymore lmfao. had an idea to make it a full blown story and im just sooo excited to share it with u guys on this platform!!!!! if ur from wattpad, the chapter system is gonna be a little different here but the content is not <3 anyway let me know what u guys think!

READ ON WATTPAD | AO3

PART ONE | TWO

You never settled your relationship with the summer season. To put it simply, it was a love and hate sort of thing; you liked that it was dry, and the air always felt like it was filtered and healthy even though you were well-aware of the current shit-state of the Earth's ozone layer. There were beams and sunlights and street vendors and people lying on the park's ground. Summer felt nostalgic, like the first time you bought a vinyl in highschool and listened to Fleetwood Mac in secret because your mom was certain they peddled cocaine and all sorts of illegal drugs, and with a highschool friend you no longer talk to, not because of a friendship-breaking betrayal but something more melancholic than that like drifting apart as you got older — the ambience, generally, was what you loved the most about it.

But regardless of those, summer got hot. Sure, you could forgo layers of clothing and it was always nice to lounge about in short bottoms and strapless tops and sandals, but at the end of the day, you needed to set your AC on the lowest temp, and it cranks up your monthly rent a greater percentage which causes a detrimental result to your monthly pay. (And you always had to reapply make-up every now and then whenever you went outside because if not, you'd be a sweating mess.)

In the grand scheme of things, though, there was nothing more than you disliked than Park Jimin, your best friend since college, asking you to be his plus-one on his mom's birthday dinner. For the second time.

“I told you, Jimin, I’m not doing that anymore. Your mom called me fat and recommended a bunch of expensive skin care products to treat one single zit on the side of my forehead the last time you brought me there. I hid that with my bangs and she still saw it, like what the hell? The baked lasagna might have tasted good but I’m not stepping one foot in your house ever again.” You spat out, rolling your eyes at your friend who just dramatically flopped himself on your bed.

“Okay, so I’m really sorry about my mom. She’s a…” He trailed off, looking at you with meaningful eyes that weighed words you knew he couldn't exactly say without feeling bad, and you sighed. Nodded in understanding. Jimin’s face contorted into a cringed expression at that. “... yeah. But! Please. I swear! This is the last time. I just really need you to be there. They’re setting me up with Heesu, okay? You know that snotty nepo baby of the Kang clan who owns Kang Tech?”

“Jimin, you’re a nepo baby.”

He hit you with a pillow. “I am but I can earn a hundred thousand won without my family’s money. They can cut my credit cards and I'll still be thriving.”

You broke the serious demeanor and laughed loudly at his seemingly confident claim.

“I’m sorry but you could not even get a job at a burger joint without some nepotism let alone have a hundred thousand without your dad’s credit cards. Bitch, you’re just lying.”

“Fuck you. I was employee of the week at Seventh Street Burger.” He backfired, referring to that point in time in your sophomore year where you picked up a part time job during the summer at a burger joint and Jimin just decided to come along randomly. He got it because the owner knew of his dad.

“Yeah, because Sowon had a crush on you?” You said, remembering the owner’s daughter, who was also helping out at the store at that time. She was so smitten by Jimin you almost felt bad for her.

“Okay, fair, point taken. No need to be such a bitch about it,” Your best friend said with a dismissive wave of his hand, telling he was over it. You only laughed at that, boisterously, might you add, just to piss him off for no reason. Jimin deadpanned. “But seriously. I think they’re planning to marry me off to Heesu.”

Your face fell out of genuine concern this time.

“Oh my god, really?”

Jimin once again cringed visibly. “Yeah. I mean from a business lense it makes sense. But me marrying at 33? That makes me – like – a child groom.”

“Oh… yeah…” you trailed off, sympathizing with him. Not that you've ever been in the situation where your parents forced you in a sham marriage for their own wealth because there was no wealth to begin with. But you felt bad for Jimin. You always have, when it came to this particular subject.

You knew how it was with rich people, having known Jimin for almost half your life. It was true that arranged marriages were still a thing, and while Jimin seemed that he could pretty much do everything he wanted because of his free-spirited nature, his parents could still most likely make him marry someone he barely knew. Solely for business.

“Ugh.” Jimin groaned. “Should I just come out at the dinner so they can stop linking me to women? I’m gay as fuck, man. My cousin Park Youngdam would have a field day given that homophobic fucktard has been calling me the f word ever since he learned it in seventh grade.”

You shook your head, visibly cringing at his words. You didn't have family yourself. It was your mom who raised you alone for all your life, until she died five years ago. Didn't know any extended family. But frankly, you thought it was better that way than to deal with a complicated family like Jimin's.

“Nah. I mean if you’re ready, well, do it. But like, your parents are…” You two shared a look together again, and Jimin just slapped his palms over his face, indicating his doom. Your face twisted with another shot of deeper sympathy for him.

“This is it for me. They’ll marry me off to Kang Heesu and we’ll fly to the US and live in Massachusetts to fulfill her white picket fence fantasy. I’ll be a miserable husband and she'll be an even more miserable wife because she’ll eventually find out I’m gay. The neighbors will start talking and the white republicans will shun me out of the town church. We’ll have a surrogate baby and—”

“Jimin, what the fuck!” You hit him hard on his arm as you couldn't keep a straight face anymore at his dramatic monologue. “You’re not gonna marry Heesu and you won't live in fuckass Massachusetts and no one’s gonna shun you out of the town church and you won't have a surrogate baby.”

“It’s a possibility.” Jimin shrugged.

“I feel like you're guilt-tripping me into agreeing to be your date again at your mom's birthday dinner and I think that's very evil of you.” You said, squinting your eyes at him.

“Well, duh? But also, I’m really kind of lowkey highkey scared they’ll marry me off to someone now that I’m pushing forty.”

"You're quite literally seven years away from forty." You countered.

He looked at you with an expression of I know right! And he told you so.

"That's what I said to mom and dad, but they're acting like my sperm will freeze next year. God, I can't stand them!"

Jimin, for all his jokes and unserious and bitchy behavior, was someone extremely important to you. Yeah, sure, he was rich as hell and he annoys you when he says something that reeks of too much nepotism but he was never intentionally snotty, never thinks he was better than everyone else (Jokes about how he thinks he has the fattest and juiciest ass in the world, though), and he wasn't at all like the rich people you've had the misfortune of interacting with at his mom's birthday party last year. He might be a self-proclaimed bitch but if you put him together with those people, he might as well be one of God's disciples.

For all his crass language and rather strong personality, Jimin was a doting friend who was there for you every single time. You could call him up at 3 am and he’d be at your door bringing Chinese take out and two tubs of ice cream, ready to hear you vent about your stupid job or a guy that you fumbled by being weird and off-putting because you didn't know how to handle a relationship. He was the kind of friend who would defend you in front of anyone else but will mercilessly tell you off and list down all points of your stupidity once you were in closed doors. He was the kind of friend that would ask you to be his pretend partner at a birthday dinner party, but he was your best friend ultimately and even if you had a big problem with his family and their extremely traditional (read: toxic) ways, you didn't want him to be pressured into coming out just so he could avoid to be engaged off to another random heiress. Didn't want him to do something he wasn't ready for. Didn't want him hurt or anything of the sort.

The last dinner wasn't even that bad, if you were to be honest. His parents were shitty, yeah sure, and the other guys in there that consisted of politicians and businessmen and people in the showbiz industry were something taken out of the toilet bowl for how stinky their elitist, better-than-you personalities were, but you both just totally forgot all about it by getting wasted at the local bar right after leaving. Not that his mom’s words didn't sting a bit or didn't make you a little conscious, but at the end of the day, you weren't actually dating Jimin so you didn't care what his parents thought of you.

Additionally, you didn't have something planned for the next two weeks when the birthday would be happening. You were supposed to, but that ship has long sailed when you fumbled a date with the guy at the IT department. For the record, you didn't really like him that much and he talked too much about his job and while you didn't mind that, it was getting a little too tiring. If you wanted IT lessons you would’ve majored in it in college. Still, Shin Taemu was handsome. And he wore those rounded glasses. Was tall. Had nice arms. Too bad he wanted to be the next Mark Zuckerberg. Fuck that guy.

“Ugh, I don't know,” you groaned. “It's just so disgusting to be your girlfriend, okay?”

Jimin audibly gasped. “How dare you? A lot would jump on this ass.” He said with incredulity seeping through his voice, pointing to his bum.

You rolled your eyes. “Not me, obviously. Before you take offense—”

“Offense taken.”

“—it’s just that you're like my cousin and when you call me honey I want to crawl out of my own skin.”

Jimin laughed at that while you looked miserable, remembering those moments from last year. Seriously, how could you have fooled anyone in that party that you were banging? You swore you looked like Ariana Grande and Troye Sivan in that one music video? (Jimin was the one who showed that meme to you, by the way.)

“So I won't call you honey. Just babe.”

“Ew.” You quickly retaliated.

“Ohh, the homophobia is sho-wing.” Jimin sing-sang, ever the mature individual he was.

“Fuck off, seriously.”

Jimin just giggled and then scooted closer to you. “No but like, are you coming? ‘Cause jokes aside, I'm just gonna find someone else if you really don't wanna do it. But you know you're always my first choice.”

“First choice when you do some stupid shit.” you countered, rolling your eyes for the nth time that night. Jimin would be the cause of your eye surgery if ever they got dislocated or something.

“That’s my biggest act of love.”

“I don't want it.”

“I’ll double what I paid you last year.”

“Double it again and give it to the next person?”

Jimin flipped you off. “I’ll give you my nintendo and I’ll get you a card at that coffee shop you love so much.”

That caught your attention. You raised your brow. “On god?”

“When did I ever lie to you?”

You deadpanned. “We won't finish this conversation if I list all the times—”

“Okay, okay, point taken. But I'm really serious. Please, please, please, please be my pretend girlfriend on my mom's birthday party please, please—”

“Shut up. Ugh,” you could already feel the big smile creeping up Jimin’s face when you let out a big sigh. “Okay, I’ll do it. Buy me boba now.”

Jimin tackled you to the bed and hugged you and kissed your forehead.

“Thank you! Best best friend ever.” he delightfully said, grinning widely, eyes almost disappearing in his triumph.

Your face contorted into a disgusted expression while Jimin just laughed as you pushed him so hard he almost fell off the bed.

“You are a disgusting limpy sack of dicks! Also, I’m not your best best friend, you don't have a wide selection. I'm your best friend. Period.”

“Unfortunately.” He waved you off and when you were about to retort something his phone suddenly rang. You watched quietly as he put it over his ear. “Hey, you just landed?”

If it was a private conversation Jimin would've left the room but since he didn't, you decided to stay in bed, kind of listening in to the conversation, but also not, as you turned the volume down of the show you were watching earlier on your laptop.

“Nah, you want me to pick you up?” Jimin sat up on the edge of the bed and you looked at him curiously. “Sure, I’m free, Kook. You have a place to stay? Hotel suite or something?” He nodded to whatever the other person was saying on the other line. “Oh, you're here for three months? Thought you were just flying in for mom's birthday?”

It was moments after they said goodbye that Jimin turned to you to ask, “Well, my cousin’s apparently staying here for three months. Got this job thing going on.”

“Is that one of the non-problematic twenty percent cousin lineage of your very complicated family tree?" You asked, referring to him telling you one time that his family, including the extended ones, was eighty percent shitty and twenty percent decent.

Jimin chuckled at the inside joke. "Well, yeah, he's one of the good ones. Knows I'm gay."

"Oh, nice."

Jimin stood up from your bed. “I’ll get you your boba and head off. Gotta pick cousin up or he’ll start throwing tantrums at the airport.”

“Add extra pearls please.” You told him, watching as he clicked away on his phone to get you your drink.

“I spoil you too much.” Jimin said, clicking his tongue, eyes still on his phone.

“What are you here for if not my glorified sugar daddy?”

“I will kill myself in front of you.” Jimin deadpanned, getting a chuckle out of you.

You didn't know the psychology — or if there even was psychology — behind feeling embarrassed when you were about to cross a path while carrying huge boxes. It was a normal task, and yet, it always felt like a huge walk of shame when you did it.

It was probably because you had to carry it over a flight of stairs, and there was no way you wouldn't trip on yourself carrying two heavy boxes in your hands that were already disrupting your vision.

Maybe it was your fault for choosing the pick-up option when you were checking out these furniture online, all because there was a huge increase on the fee for door-to-door delivery. For the record, there was a huge gap and the boxes were not really that heavy to the point you could not carry them both. It's just a lamp and a portable desk, you thought a week ago when you opted for the pick-up option, I could carry it all the way to the unit just fine — and obviously, your delusion has resulted to this very moment.

As soon as you managed to walk over five steps, you felt as if your oxygen supply just got cut back, panting like someone fresh from a marathon. Damn. You definitely needed to work out a little. Maybe do some squats for your New Year’s resolution, commit to it for three days straight then forget about it for the next 362 days of the year.

You looked ahead of you and a string of curses let themselves out of your mouth automatically as you estimated the number of stairs you needed to get through to get to your apartment.

This day sucked! It was Sunday and you planned to wake up at five am to have a productive day but then you slept through your five alarms and woke up at eleven am instead. You ran out of eggs and you had to go to the convenience store to eat a sad meal of yogurt and kimbap. And now there were these boxes that you needed to carry over what seemed to look like six million of stairs. You weren't Sisyphus! And where were your goddamn neighbors when you needed them?

"You need help, ma'am?"

"Jesus Christ—" you turned to look to your right only to see a man who seemed to own the previous voice.

And Jesus Christ, indeed.

He was wearing a white shirt and some shorts, Nike sliders on his feet and a pair of headphones on. He was wearing glasses. And he had a tattoo sleeve.

What the fuck.

What the fuck!

It has been so long since you thought a man was crazily attractive. Okay, well sure, the guys from the IT department were something else (or you just had a weird eyeglasses fetish, Jimin once pointed out, that you still — to this day — vehemently try to deny) but you’ve never been this taken aback by someone’s face before.

The guy’s lips tilted a bit, some sort of greeting maybe, and you quickly looked away, embarrassed, fearing that he caught you looking at him longer than necessary.

Oh god. This was pathetic! He was a stranger! He was a man! He just had a cute face attached to a very good body with an arm full of tattoos and he was tall but you were sure he wasn’t six feet two. Also, he had hair that looked fluffy from where you stood and a pair of eyeglasses but Jimin was just bluffing when he said you had a fetish for them. Right?

You were performing mental gymnastics until you realized he was asking a question.

"Oh! Uh, no, thank you. It's fine." You said, embarrassed at the way you almost jumped in surprise earlier.

But the whole thing was ridiculous. What, because there was a very fine man across from you the universe suddenly decided to fuck up your fate by making you be seen by that very man struggling with boxes all the way up to your unit? Couldn't it just have been on a day when you did your make-up and dressed up in that overpriced dress you bought hundred bad choices ago?

You fumbled with the boxes a little bit before continuing your way up, nevermind the guy whose response you didn't wait for because you needed to get the fuck away from him before you say something weird and off-putting.

Truthfully, you could use the help. But at what cost? A fine man carrying them? Okay, that wasn’t so bad. But what were you supposed to do with... all of that?

As if the universe was indeed trying to prove to you that you were, in fact, not its favorite creation, you almost tripped. And the guy most definitely saw it.

Fuck.

You turned to the side to see him looking at you, concern etching his face. You wanted to convince yourself that it was genuine concern because you'd commit something that would totally change the trajectory of his life if he was to laugh.

But you thought his own unit must be way up as well, as he was going to the same path as you, and if that was the case, he must have been a new neighbor in the complex because you've never seen the man before.

“Well, it’s not that heavy but…” you trailed off, looking blankly at the cardboard boxes. And then at him. "I could use some help, if you don't mind."

The guy just chuckled. Oh wow, his laugh was very... low.

You didn’t even know what the fuck that meant.

“I’ll get them for you.” He said, crossing the small distance between you and taking over the pile, leaving you with nothing in your hands.

“Oh, no, I’ll have that one. It’s fine.” You said, stepping closer to take the other one but he was already securing it in his hold, with stability this time, ready to take off.

He let out a small laugh again and you bit your tongue to not think about how cute he looked. If he was a new tenant, you hoped you didn't cross paths with him ever again.

"It's okay, ma'am."

He's got to stop calling you that before you do something drastic.

“It’s quite far from here, I'm all the way up to three-three-six.” You uttered, pointing forward, a few steps behind the guy, who hummed at what you said.

You quickly caught up to him. "Really, thanks for doing this."

"No problem, it's nothing." He said, smiling at you. Warm and kind. All cute. "I'm all the way up to four-four-six as well."

Your eyes widened. "No way, that's just across mine."

The stranger, apparently your neighbor now, grinned.

"Nice coincidence, huh?"

A sheepish smile formed on your lips. You didn't dwell on that comment too much. Knew it was just small talk.

"If you don't mind me asking, are you a new tenant here?” You asked out of genuine curiosity. You had never seen someone come out of the unit across from you out of all the four years you'd been here.

He nodded, agreeing with what you presumed.

"Yeah. Just temporary, though.”

“Oh…” A surprised sound. Maybe it was a good thing he was only staying temporarily... “I hope I didn’t inconvenience you or anything. You really don’t need to bring the boxes over to my apartment.”

The man just chuckled, dismissing your worry. “You looked like you could use a hand, these boxes are big. Anyway, I was just out checking 'round town. Settling in.”

From the sound of it, you'd assume he was not only moving in in a new apartment complex, but new city as well. Perhaps country? But he most definitely looked Korean. But maybe he came from abroad. Who knows.

“Yeah, there's a really nice coffee shop three blocks away. You should check it out sometime. Ji—my friend and I are obsessed with their iced caramel macchiato. And the boba.”

His brows furrowed in pure interest. “That must've been the one I passed by this morning. I’ll make sure to try that one.”

“You really should. And the barista gives you a brownie on Sundays if he likes you.” You shared like it was gossip, mentally taking note to visit the cafe sometime this week.

“And I'm sure not everybody gets the privilege?” The guy looked at you funny, and that made you laugh.

"Of course, yes! You have to earn it, I think. I feel like I spent over a million there before he started giving me brownies."

"Hope my charm works on him as well," he said, and it caught you off guard.

What did he mean, "as well"? Like he was speaking from the basis that you had charm and so he hoped he had it as well to get the barista to like him?

"Well. He's strict." Was all you could say, before you spotted your apartment. "Hey, I'll take it over from here."

The guy looked over the plated number on the door, reading three-three-six just as you said earlier. Trudging forward, he set the boxes down on the side of the porch.

"Thank you, really. This was really nice of you."

You extended your gratitude once again as if you didn't spend the walk up to here thanking him non-stop, sounding like a broken record. Thank god the guy didn't seem to mind your over-the-top gratitude, only waving his hand.

"Told you, it's fine. You need help with a few boxes again and just ring me up across," He joked, turning around slightly and looking at the door across your unit, Unit 446. It earned a chuckle from you. His face turned serious now, but there was still a charming smile on his face. “Hey. I’m actually pretty new in this town. I was thinking about visiting a few restaurants downtown, maybe you could recommend me some?”

You didn't mean to, but you took note the way his doe eyes seemed to shimmer even behind the frame of his glasses.

“My favorites are just, like, a ten-minute walk away. There’s this restobar near that drugstore when you turn left from this building, right?” The guy nodded, and you were slightly delighted he knew right away. “Yeah, their ramen's great, you'd thank me forever.”

He chuckled at the way you said it and you smiled.

Your interactions with new people were always a range from pure silence to oversharing; talking to them like they were your long lost friend whom you’ve milked goats with in your father’s orchard. It was probably just a product of introversion; not knowing the right approach to socializing.

“Thanks for the recommendation.” He said, a genuine appreciative tone lacing his words.

“You’re welcome. If I can ring you up to help me with some boxes, you can ring me up for some restaurant recommendation.”

"It's an exchange, then. Deal."

"Why not?" You shrugged, laughing along with him when he did so.

You both stood there for a while until seconds passed. You didn’t know exactly how to end the conversation, not that you wanted to, but there was nothing that went to your head to talk about more. And besides, he was probably headed somewhere, so you began to speak.

“Hey, so I’m going in—”

“What about we—”

“Oh.” You stopped. “Sorry, what was that?”

The guy just shook his head. “Nah, you’re probably busy. Thanks for the recommendation again.”

“No, seriously, sorry I didn't hear it the first time...”

“I was just gonna ask about the name of the restaurant.”

“It’s Midday Miso.” You told him, smiling.

“Midday Miso,” The guy nodded, “Yeah. Got it. Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome, and, uh, thanks. For the help.”

You took your keys out from your shorts and you didn’t expect to still see him standing in front of you when you turned around. You jokingly squinted your eyes at him.

“Yeah, you first, get in.” He said with a low chuckle.

It was a little embarrassing and pretty stupid how your heart fluttered a bit at that.

“What a gentleman you are,” You respond with a snort, opening the door to your unit and pushing the boxes inside your apartment. When they were in, you turned to look at the guy again, saying, “Okay, bye for real. See you around. Hope you like Midday Miso if you try it. And the coffee shop. It's called Brown Coffee.”

“See you around.” He did a little wave that made you both laugh before you closed the door.

When the lock system clicked, you stood on your doorway for a little while.

And then fake-cried.

You quickly clicked on Jimin's pinned contact on your phone.

You [5:35pm]: JIMINNNNNNNNN You [5:35pm]: POP EMERGENCY You [5:35pm]: POP EMERGENCY BITCH IF U DONT RESPOND You [5:36pm]: I HAVE A DIABOLICAL CRUSH AND ITS GOING IN THE MEMOIRRRRRR

It wasn’t even one full minute when Jimin replied.

cuntress #1 [5:37pm]: oh my god SHUT UP!!! im at a training program for ghis stupid ass company my fathers been running fir 600 years cuntress #1 [5:37pm]: whats up cuntress #1 [5:38pm]: its always a crush and never a job 😒

You [5:39pm]: yeh so remember when i told u im oacking up my vagina last summer

cuntress #1 [5:39pm]: many such times

You [5:40pm]: 🖕 You [5:40pm]: SO raincheck!!! You [5:41pm]: COZ I just met a fine man at my apartment AND flirted with him You [5:41pm]: i think

cuntress #1 [5:42pm]: ohhhhh OK???? cuntress #1 [5:43pm]: cuntress #2 flirting???? now thats not uninteresting go on while i fake a restroom break 👀

You [5:45pm]: this story is not for the imessages baby get ur ass up and ICE CREAM WITH ME NOW.

cuntress #1 [5:46pm]: omg 😭😭😭😭 cuntress #1 [5:46pm]: i’ll be off 7:30pm wait for me 😭😭😭 cuntress #1 [5:47pm]: i also have #stories to tell

You [5:49pm]: 🤭

There must be a time where you finally grow up and learn to cook.

You were a twenty-eight-year-old woman and yet, your meals sadly ranged from instant noodles, canned goods, and food from the nearby twenty-four-hour provision shop. Sometimes, you had the gall to cook something from scratch—but with scratch you meant scratching off the labels from food take-outs and reheating them in your microwave.

Jimin had told you one time you would die at twenty-nine with your lifestyle. You told him he couldn't tell you shit because he didn't know how to cook either, he just worked out and ate healthy stuff, and you did, too! But Jimin knew you, and in an evil manner, clocked you with, "Buying fresh produce and not consuming them does not count as healthy living."

Anyway, you never understood why you were so bad at cooking. Your mother, as you remembered her, was decent at it but you guessed it was because she never really taught you and you never really bothered, either. In some immature way of thinking, you'd like to think it was a win for feminism as you were battling patriarchal standards by not conforming to stereotypical "female" qualities. But deep inside, you knew cooking should be a survival skill.

Well, maybe Jimin was right and you would indeed die at the ripe age of twenty-nine. On the bright side, at least you wouldn't have to pay off your student loans and your monthly rent.

In relation, not knowing how to cook meant impractical visits to the restaurant, and that was how you ended up at Midday Miso for dinner after your shift.

It was only a little over seven pm when you entered the restaurant, the ahjumma quickly greeting you and preparing your usual, a sign of familiarity that implied your countless visits ever since moving in at your current apartment building.

Regular visits meant usual sitting spot, and in your case, it was the high stools that faced the glass walls of the restaurant's facade where you could see the busy street making that little area of the town alive.

As minutes overlapped with one another, your food was served and you were hit with the waft of the restaurant's delightful signature beef ramen and bibimbap that the ahjumma made sure to add extra beef on.

Eating with a happy heart made you feel like nothing in the world mattered but you and the food before you, so, you didn't pay attention to the person who was coming to your direction and eventually sat beside you, but what caught you off guard was when said person suddenly said,

"Hi."

When you turned to the side to see who it was, your eyes widened as you said in both recognition and surprise, "Unit 446?"

"That's me." He, Unit 446—in the flesh—said with a low chuckle, twisting himself so that he was sat appropriately on the high stool. Still, his body leaned towards you when he continued to say, "Fancy seeing you here."

You grinned, flattered at the casualness of his approach.

"Same to you. I wonder who told you about this local gem."

He pursed his lips. "A nice neighbor across my place... whom I still don't know the name of."

"Oh, shoot!" You'd face-palm right now if he wasn't looking, but truthfully, you didn't even think about that! You've just been referring to him as the Staircase Guy slash Neighbor 446 in your head and when you told Jimin about him. You laughed at the thought. "That neighbor of yours is __."

Neighbor 446 nodded and extended his hand to you

"I'm Jungkook."

It was a little silly but you shook hands, anyway, and knowing it was, indeed, silly, you both laughed together at your joint connection.

Jungkook. Huh. Not exactly a common Korean name, but it wasn't rare either. The name does ring a bell though, felt like you've heard it somewhere before.

You brushed off the familiarity as inconsequential.

Unlike the completely casual attire he adorned the first time that you met him, he was now in some sleek slacks and a white polo which sleeves were ridden up half high, which exposed the vines of ink on his right arm once again. There's a coat that hung around the back of his chair, and he had forgone the glasses this time around, which was a bit of a shame on the part of your brain that might have a silly crush on him.

Jungkook's clothes seemed to mirror your own business casual ensemble, and that made you think about what he possibly did for a living. Maybe he worked a corporate job just like you, and the prospect might have made you down a little—only because as far as you were concerned, corporate people weren't the most pleasant people you could encounter—but it was not something you dwelled on too much because you couldn't care less. If Jungkook was corporate, he sure didn't seem to be one the way he was.

Besides, you wouldn't be the one to bring up the depressing and aggravating conversation about gross grown-up things like... jobs... Eurgh. You both could just talk about the weather or how insane the ahjumma's ramen tasted for eternity.

"Well, hello, Jungkook." You greeted him. All warm and soft, testing the syllables of his name on your tongue. Rolled off well enough. He had a nice name that sure fit his face for some reason.

"Hi, __." He mirrored the soft smile on your lips, and just as he said it, the ahjumma was heading towards your direction to give him his order.

In that usual way grandmas reacted, the ahjumma gasped audibly—and dramatically, might you add—upon seeing Jungkook, but what she said next made you want to dig a hole under your seat.

"__-dear! Is this young man your boyfriend?"

Good thing you weren't consuming anything as of that moment, because it would've entered the wrong track.

"Ahjumma!" You laughed, totally not authentic at all because your face didn't match it, looking at Jungkook who just sent a shy smile her way.

Ahjumma must have seen you both talking to each other and had completely jumped to a conclusion. An insane one at that!

Shaking your head, you clarified, "This is Jungkook. A friend. He's new in town and checking out all the stuff around here. I recommended him this place."

You saw Jungkook nodding along with your words while he helped her set his table.

The ahjumma just shook her head. "I apologize, then," She looked at Jungkook and as if gossiping with him, whispered in a not very subtle way, "I keep on telling this girl to date already! Such young beauty shouldn't be wasted, you know."

A tsk-ing sound made its way through her mouth, and as much as you were starting to feel embarrassed that she was telling on you on Jungkook—who was literally a stranger to you a day ago and whom you may have a teeny tiny bit of crush on—you knew ahjumma did not have any malicious intent and just chose to laugh the whole thing off.

You heard Jungkook do the same.

This was ridiculous.

"Ahjumma, I told you, you're gonna be the first one to know when I date. For now I'm just a part-time accountant and a full-time promoter of Midday Miso." You pout at her, trying to dodge the topic of romance altogether.

Not in front of Jungkook.

"Ayee," She gave you a side-eye. "Fine. I'll bring over some extra beef."

You mouthed an enthusiastic "yes!" and raised your fist in the air with excitement, and Jungkook looked at the interaction with a smile on his face.

As the ahjumma walked away, you looked over at him.

"I'm glad you came by—" You identified his order to be the same one you used to be obsessed with the first few months you came to the restaurant. "—and ordered their best seller. You sure know how to be a tourist."

"Looked good on the menu. The ahjumma also seems to be nice. Seems like she's a close friend, huh?" Jungkook said.

"Totally."

And it was the truth. There was just something about ahjumma that made you feel reminiscent about the grandmother you've never had. Ever since you moved in and became a regular at this place, it felt like she's taken care of you and your relationship had been special since.

"This is really good." Jungkook commented after having his second bite, and you nodded in agreement. "She was serious about the beef thing?"

You chuckled at the mention. "Yeah, she always gives me extra."

"You just always get free stuff around these areas?" Jungkook joked which earned a hearty laugh from you. You remembered telling him about the free brownie on Sundays at Brown Coffee, a little bit surprised he recalled that.

"Now that you said that, I actually do." You proudly shared. You've been in this town for so long that the various faces just went from familiar to friends.

Jungkook nodded, his face showing amusement.

"I have to learn your ways, then."

"The secret to that is be incompetent at cooking. It means it's either take-out or eat out. Business owners around here have no choice but to see me every three days because I can't cook my own meal."

You could see Jungkook's amusement growing every second, and to add faux insult to injury, he joked, "Oh, bummer."

You decided to ride along with that.

"You mean you're a good cook? That's the real bummer! And here I thought we were bonding." You said, purposefully trying to sound scandalous at his implication of being a good cook.

He shook his head instantly, chuckling. "Okay, nah. I'm not that good. Just decent. But I'll have you know I can make a mean tangsuyuk. Any other complicated stuff is out the window, so there, we are bonding."

"I appreciate that you're under the assumption that I know where to begin with the non-complicated stuff. You're already putting way too much faith in me."

"I seriously doubt that." Jungkook laughed once again.

"You know what my friend tells me? That I'd die at twenty-nine because I don't know how to cook."

Jungkook almost keeled over hearing you say the words, and as much as you were amused at his own amusement, you decided to further add on the joke because you were enjoying this way too much.

"Wow. I wouldn't doubt you'd be an accessory to my murder the way you're laughing way too hard at my impending death. That's next year, you know."

Jungkook reached over for the glass of water and drank it. While he did so, the ahjumma had come over to give you the beef she promised. You did not forgot to thank her as soon as she went away.

You did hope Jungkook didn't notice the malicious wink she sent your way.

"Fuck, sorry." Jungkook's laughter had gone down this time, but his eyes still showed a hint of mirth when he asked, "You're twenty-eight, then?"

You nodded. "Yep." Unfortunately, you thought.

"Oh, that's actually surprising."

A gasp left your mouth. Jungkook was quick to correct himself.

"I meant it's surprising because I thought you were way younger."

Oh.

"Don't flatter me. I won't share my extra beef with you."

"I thought—" He shrugged. "—Early twenties."

"I'm guessing you are in your early twenties." You joked back.

"Okay, now, don't flatter me. I know how old I look." Jungkook said with a dismissive tone, but nevertheless light-hearted. Just like how this whole thing was going.

God, you were so in awe of how good he was at talking to you that he was practically bringing out the extrovert in you you only ever show to exclusive people like Jimin.

"So, you're like, fifty, then?"

Incredulous, Jungkook burst into laughter. "Wow."

"Sorry, just that you sounded like you were five years from retirement! Anyway, you look like we're the same age?"

He shook his head. "Three years older. Turning thirty-one later this year."

Jaw dropped. Not physically, but mentally.

"Oh wow, you're basically—" a fucking DILF! What the hell!

Thankfully you managed to cut yourself off before Jungkook could think you were way off your rocks and embarrass yourself in front of him for eternity. You could just hear Jimin from miles away telling you off about calling thirty-year-old men DILFs even though you didn't know if they had a child.

What do you mean this guy was thirty and why did that just make him even hotter in your head... He's got to stop this madness before you do something completely incomprehensible.

"—A senior." Was the lame thing you came up with to finish your sentence.

"Ouch." Jungkook said, but his word was completely opposite to the expression he was wearing on his face the way he just couldn't suppress the grin that had been visible on his mouth since you started talking.

You brought your hands up.

"Totally didn't mean that in a negative way."

Which was the entire truth. So far, the things you knew about him was that he had tattoos, a nice body, a nice personality, good ass freaking conversationalist, and that he was thirty! Thirty! As in, the peak of male hotness. The evil psychological concept of most men only getting hotter as they age.

"I'm sure, I'm sure," Jungkok nodded. "By the way, are you heading out after this?"

"Oh, yeah. Don't have anywhere else to go. I have a nine A.M tomorrow so..." you shrugged, and he nodded in understanding.

"You work as an accountant, right, from what you told the ahjumma?" Jungkook asked you curiously.

"Yeah... it's a very tedious job." You grimaced a little bit. "What about you?"

He tilted his head a bit, picking up a dumpling on his plate. "I'm a software engineer."

"Oh, that's cool."

You nodded to yourself while you processed what he said.

Works in fucking tech; another thing you just learned about him.

You weren't actively seeking out guys in tech, but why did they seem to come to you voluntarily? God forbid you saw someone who wasn't in there! Was every man working in tech now? Was Jimin really only being truthful when he said they were exactly your type?

"Have you made any software or is that, like, a wrong assumption about you guys?"

Jungkook merely chuckled at your retort.

"Not entirely, no. I've designed a few software in college—I'm still doing it. I'm just currently doing more business stuff now." He gave you a sheepish smile. "You?"

"Well, it's just... you know—I actually work at a tech company. I'm a junior accountant. And, uh, nothing interesting, really. You get to do cool math like programming, and I get to do boring math like calculating money I don't have. It's always a great day at work." You said, couldn't help the laugh that skipped your mouth at your own sarcasm.

Nothing like joking about hating your job to someone who you just met yesterday.

"Programming and coding are not all that, either. It's tedious and... it's just a really boring job. But... it all pays the bills."

You chuckled.

"Yeah. Totally."

Without minding it, you raised the small glass of soju, initiating a toast, one that Jungkook understood immediately and met you in the middle of it.

The night was still you when you walked out of Midday Miso, but unlike any other nights, it was with Jungkook this time walking beside you.

"So you just—what—hid him for three months?"

"Well, yes! I wasn't about to get a notice for that! And besides, he was really cute. But he's in good hands now, his owner still sends me pictures of him. He's very grown and big."

"That's insane."

You peered at Jungkook who watched you in awe as you told him about the story of Alfredo, the cat whom you rescued on your way home from work a year ago. The landlady obviously had her fair share of rules and regulations in her building, and keeping pets was an absolute no, which was a shame. Definitely wasn't a shame when you first just moved in the complex, but things got lonely sometimes when you were living alone and company was almost a luxury.

Anyway, as told, you managed to keep Alfredo out of the landlady's sight until you found a highly qualified parent on some online forum who you still kept in contact with to this day.

But as you watched Jungkook, you noticed the way his expression fell into something concerning. He looked worried, which made you feel the same way as a result.

"What are you thinking?" You asked him curiously.

"Oh, nah, I was just... thinking. See, I actually have a dog."

"Oh!" You looked at him wide-eyed.

He has a dog; another thing about Jungkook that would qualify him on the regular rounds of hot boy of the month on Twitter dot com.

"Yeah."

"You didn't read the terms and conditions of the building?" Your eyebrows formed a concerned expression.

Jungkook chuckled and shook his head. "I did. I just—suddenly thought about him, is all. He's being taken care of some place. But, you know, I missed him, and I was thinking about getting him here and showing him around my new place and all that."

"Oh... that's a bummer, then. The landlady's strict, even with the small dogs, can you imagine? Is he small, by the way, your dog?

"He's a Doberman, so definitely a big one."

"He must be really cute. What's his name?"

"Bam." He smiled at you, and you could totally see the pride showing on his face at the mention of his dog. And with a tone that you could only identify as someone who's suppressing his enthusiasm a little bit, he added, "You wanna see a picture of him?"

"Sure!"

Jungkook took out his phone from his pocket and showed you images of a big, chocolate brown dog. Bam definitely wasn't like the other regular Dobermans you'd see around. His ears weren't cropped, and his tail wasn't docked either. You didn't know if the lack of surgery was intentional from his side, but you'd like to think he kept it that way because he knew it hurt the dog greatly. From how you've been knowing him, you were certain he just didn't want to put his dog under unnecessary pain, which was honestly heartwarming to think about.

Jungkook was becoming way too good to be true in you head little by little.

"Awe, he's adorable!" You cooed, especially when he swiped through the picture of his pet, Bam, as a pup in what seemed to be Jungkook's arms based on the familiar tattoos that peeked from the exposed arm as seen on the picture. The tattoos also seemed to be new at that time as well, considering that the skin was still yet to be fully covered like now.

"I'm flattered you think that."

"Where is he, by the way? If you don't mind me asking."

"He's at a... friend's place in New York. He's not very good at flying so I didn't bring him with me here, and I thought, I'll only be here for three months, anyway, so." Jungkook shrugged.

Three months. Well. He did say he was only staying here temporarily.

You nodded. "For business, right?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"You grew up there?" You kicked the stone that was caught at the tip of your shoe, putting your fists in the deeper part of your coat's pockets. Summer may be hot during daytime, but it sure as hell was cold on nights like these.

"Nah, I'm from Busan. Flew to California for college and have been there since. Until now, that is."

Jimin was also from Busan, you thought. Though he said they only lived there for a few years until his parents moved to Seoul, but he made sure to visit his hometown every now and then. Most of the time, he made you come with him which you never had complaints about. You lived in the city all your life so going there, especially in the more urbanized area where you and Jimin stayed. Felt like fresh air—which Busan had, quite literally.

"My best friend's from Busan too."

"Really? What about you?"

You chuckled before answering, "I, unfortunately, did not come from any interesting place. Born and raised in Seoul, through and through. Though my mom told me she lived in Daegu for many years prior to having me."

"Seoul is an interesting place, though."

"Eh. It's okay." You shrugged, and your nonchalance made you both laugh.

The walk to your apartment building from Midday Miso was not that far. Still, it was five blocks away and while you and Jungkook were currently sharing conversation together and seemingly walking the same path, you weren't sure if you were both walking together there.

As if he read your mind, he suddenly spoke after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

"You mind if we walk together to the building?"

You decided to joke to get the jittery feeling out of your system.

"Scared of the dark, Jungkook?"

"Sure... my five-eleven self is."

You squinted your eyes at him. He did not just go there!

"Is that a slight against my height because I'm five-seven, mind you."

Jungkook stopped in his tracks which made you do the same, and you watched as he put his hand on his waist while the other reach up to his face to place a finger over his chin, seemingly assessing you up and down. You looked at him incredulously.

"You're bumping your height to two inches." He seriously said.

You gasped audibly.

"Oh, shut up,"

You rolled your eyes and turned your back at him, continuing your walk as you heard him behind you bursting in laughter at your reaction.

"I'm kidding!"

You first met Jimin at a college party. He was five years older than you, supposedly out of college by the time you attended, but he always had a problem with rebellion–what with his ragged relationship with his parents, he would intentionally flunk his courses as a message to them that he'd always be a black sheep and a proud one at that, hoping it would be enough to convey that they could not force him to be the heir of their company. (Obviously, it had taken him nowhere, given that he was now currently attending a training program to work at said company).

But maybe it was a blessing in disguise that he was set back to five years for graduation. Because you got to know him, and he got to know you.

On the outside, you might look like the total opposite of each other–because Jimin was the definition of extroversion who wasn't afraid to put himself out there–while you, admittedly, were more reserved and usually shied away from any public attention.

As much as you were welcoming to a lot of people, you didn't have a lot of close friends growing up–at least not the kind of friends you'd see on TV shows–but when Jimin came to your life, you clicked so instantly you could not even figure out where you two exactly began.

The instant way you two clicked, you realized, was like your relationship with Jungkook nowadays.

Ever since that night at Midday Miso, you've been seeing a lot of each other. Granted that it was only in the same place, same time. You'd usually arrive past seven and he, a few minutes later. Jungkook, cladded in his slacks and long-sleeved polo, was becoming a usual sight after a shift, and your business casual clothes was turning as one for him as well.

Your usual seating spot became his as nights passed, and ahjumma, thank God, no longer asked you if he was your boyfriend. You were glad that she was slowly getting acquainted with him though, greeting him with a friendlier smile and tone reserved only for customers like you when he entered the restaurant, and Jungkook seemed to welcome the newfound friendship wholeheartedly.

On the consecutive nights you'd spent with him, it was almost as if you lived quite the same life. Though, you didn't know when he went to work. In fact, you didn't see him during the mornings even though in theory, it could be easy, granted that you both lived across each other. But strangely enough, you'd never caught him retiring to his flat to go to the bus station. You assumed he started earlier than you or way later.

You never asked, it never came up either.

Still, there was some sort of tranquility in the thought that you could spend some time with someone after your shift and just talk about whatever–and whatever meant a lot of things. Random at best. You once told him about the first raccoon you met in your life, and he told you all about the lioness he got to watch when he went to a South Saharan trip a few years ago.

Sometimes, the conversation went around what happened in the office that day. Jungkook noticed the little blot of ink on the cuff of your baby blue long sleeves, and you told him about the jammed printer in the accounting department. He'd told you later on about how he almost fucked up a report, said he was nervous because he was taking on a new role in the office.

Those moments were shared in long walks from Midday Miso to your apartment building, because naturally, you both established a small tradition of walking home together after a night of eating your hearts out at ahjumma's restaurant.

It was a rather sweet gesture, if you were honest to yourself. But you chose not to linger too much on the romantic thoughts that floated in your head, especially when you'd notice the way he made sure to walk on the outer side of the sidewalk, and when your fingers got too close the tips almost touched.

Because Jungkook, for how objectively good looking he was, was more than just his pretty face and physique.

He was kind and funny and genuine unlike any other straight men you've met in your life. Maybe the bar was low, but for all the times you've gotten to talk to him, he never showed any signs of ego most men would by the second hour of your meeting.

In the dating scene as an adult, a lot of men would come up to a date talking about how high they were placed at their company's hierarchy and how much they made in a month, and when they hear about yours, they'd always have a backhanded comment about how "you could only go up from there, right?" and those moments were always a bummer. Yawn-inducing, to be more accurate. Men and their predictability was boring and it was the reason why you'd declare to Jimin almost every time you got home from a date that you were retired from looking for them because most men just plainly fucking sucked.

But with Jungkook... was it different.

You found he didn't talk a lot, and one time you asked him if you were doing it–the talking–way too much, but he just chuckled and told you that he didn't mind.

Later on, you learned that he was just more of a listener rather than a talker, and that was not only a pure assumption of yours because he did listen attentively, alright. As for all the random things you've told him about, you never expected him to recall a single thing, not until one time when you passed by a food truck.

"Hey, didn't you say you like sundae?" Jungkook asked, and when you followed where his eyes were, it was at the food truck parked just a few steps ahead from where you both were.

"I do... wow. It's been so long since I saw a food truck around here." You said, following his steps towards the vehicle.

They had tables to dine in, and even if you were still full from eating at Midday Miso that night, the sundae was just too gratifying to decline. Jungkook was the same with the tteokbokki on his small plate, telling you he missed eating at one of these things, as they didn't exactly have anything like this abroad.

After he paid for the food (and of course not without a long, silly, light-hearted argument about it), he came back with two sticks of Melona ice pops which you looked at with widened eyes, animated expression written all over your face especially when he thrusted the purple yam flavor to you.

"Oh my god, how do they have these?"

"I was surprised as well... this is the first time in a while I'm eating this again." Jungkook said and then gestured to the ice pop in your hand, "You like the purple yam, right?"

"Yeah!"

You were about to ask him how he knew, but then you briefly remembered that one time you had a passionate rant about people hating on purple yam ice cream and why they weren't right.

And as you looked at Jungkook, he seemed to remember it all too well.

Jungkook showed genuine interest in the things you'd tell him about. He'd visit the cafes and restaurants you recommended to him as much as he could, and because you've come to exchange numbers with him eventually after almost two weeks of casually hanging out, they sometimes came during lunch break.

1 message received from Jungkook (Unit 446)

That day, you only exchanged contacts the other night, so seeing him on your phone so quickly like that caught you by surprise. It was welcomed though.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:36pm]: I went to Cafe Heaven for lunch and loved their ice americano

As soon as you read the first message, another one came.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:36pm]: This is Jungkook by the way :)

You laughed at his introduction. As if he didn't see you type his name on your phone last night–like he didn't jokingly complain about you putting the (Unit 446) in there but giving in eventually and also adding (Unit 336) to yours in his own contacts.

You [12:38pm]: Hi Jungkook! You [12:38pm]: im glad u went!!! u should also try their fettuccine alfredo

Seconds later, he sent a picture of the dish you just mentioned which put a smile on your face.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:39pm]: i'll get my refund from you if this doesnt taste good

You [12:40pm]: 1 week of friendship and ur already ripping me off 🤐

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:40pm]: 😁 Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:40pm]: first bite Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:41pm]: second bite

What was he on, you didn't know. But you were glad that he was slowly coming around, his jokes getting more... how would you say it... less polite? He just stopped apologizing after he said them! He usually would in the first few days, but now in your newfound closeness, it was like you were out of that stage where you tiptoed around each other still, feeling the other one out, trying to figure them out, all that stuff.

Nowadays, it was just more natural. Smooth-sailing. Paradoxical, almost, because of how the relationship felt more defined as well as loose.

You found you liked it that way.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:42pm]: I like it 👍🏻

And to your surprise, he sent you a picture of him, indeed, holding a thumbs up.

You'd like to think you were an expert on going along with the tide because even though you would be classified as introvert by most, you did pretty well in forming relationships with people–granted, most of them were fleeting, at best, hence the lack of bigger circles in most of your life–but you were great with making friends, regardless.

And maybe it was how you ended up with this whole thing with Jungkook. Because you were friendly and open, although you wouldn't dare to take all credits because as you mentioned before, he was a great conversationalist.

He didn't talk much as you said, but he didn't ever make you feel like you were talking way too much because he made sure that you knew he was listening, and when he talked, it was always engaging; conversations with him transitioned to different subjects in perfect seugue you would never noticed how you jumped from Melona ice pops to the existential dread you fought every morning before going to work.

When it came to humor, Jungkook's was different from Jimin's, of course, and your dynamic with your best friend could never be replicated with somebody else but Jungkook was close to truly becoming your friend, and for that, it was getting easier to ignore his handsome face.

You may have had an embarrassing moment of panicking mentally at seeing such a man in the first meeting, but nowadays, you could hold a conversation with him without thinking how hot he was.

Dare you say, you were starting to think more platonically about him rather than romantically. As you said, you were an expert on going along with the tide.

Or maybe that was too soon a declaration, because there were moments, like now, when you were certain juvenile flirting insisted on happening between you, steering you clear from completely feeling wholly platonic about Jungkook.

"I certainly have a bigger hand than you."

As if you didn't know that, Jungkook brought his hand up to show you it. Confused but not totally minding the whole thing, you proceeded to extend your own hand towards his, pressing them both together. Predictably, his hand could have engulfed the entirety of your own.

Jungkook laughed at the sight, and you didn't know exactly who broke the physical contact first but you were glad it was over as soon as it started.

But you couldn't have forgotten the electric zap along your spine when your hand got so close like that to his. Couldn't have ignored the hot feeling in your cheeks when you were made aware of what you just did.

Wow.

Were you guys flirting? Was he flirting? It was flirting, right? Juvenile, at best, because this was what kids did in high school! And Jungkook's hand was so...

You never imagined what it felt like–never even crossed your mind until now. Expectations about how his hand felt never formed in your head because you sure as hell never thought about that kind of thing happening in the first place, but Jungkook's hand was the right balance of soft and hard. Calloused in a way most men's hands naturally were, and soft like enough comfort when held and touched.

It wasn't clammy, thank god, but you also wouldn't have thought he had clammy hands, solely because he just looked like he didn't. But god, was it big.

And my goodness, did it make you feel things.

You drank your water fast and cleared your throat, subtly, so that he didn't think too much of it.

"O-okay, but that's just genetics. Doesn't mean you could throw stronger punches."

You said in retaliation to one of your useless debates which now covered the coin-operated boxing arcade machine across the bus station nearby.

Jungkook leaned back against the monobloc chair that was definitely way too flimsy for him.

You were currently hanging out at the dining area of the food truck you came across a few days ago, forgoing Midday Miso for the night. Lately, Jungkook and you have been exploring a few more places other than there. You've tried other restaurants nearby, but ultimately, Midday Miso was still the top favorite and the food truck was becoming a staple in lieu of its convenience and just the overall vibe of eating outside and feeling the breeze of summer night air.

"You got me curious about the boxing machine." Jungkook said, crossing his arms.

"I held the highest score there for like a week, you know? Only did it though to impress the kids who liked to watch."

At that, Jungkook's face lit up in interest.

"We should do that sometime."

"Oh... I see, I see. You wanna impress the kids, too?" You playfully accused, squinting your eyes at him.

He chuckled and waved you off.

"It can be a challenge." Jungkook shrugged and looked at you with a hint of mirth in his eyes.

You let out a puff of breath, amused at his obvious antics.

"What's the catch?"

"Well... free boba delivered to your door for a week if you get the higher score. How's that sound?" He looked at you expectantly.

You chuckled before saying, "I'm gonna rip you off so bad, Jungkook."

"Only if you win, though." He said with a mischievous smirk.

"Oh, wow. When, you mean. When I win. So what's in it for you?" You leaned your elbow on the table and studied his face.

He looked at you for a while, then, the smirk from earlier was wiped off and exchanged with a much gentler smile.

"Home-cooked dinner at my place next week Friday."

Your eyebrows met.

"You want me to cook you something? Jungkook, do you have a death wish? I may either give you unintentional food poisoning or burn your house down, there's no in between."

"No," Jungkook laughed at your insane conclusion. "Sorry, I should've specified. I mean if you lose, I'll be cooking us a meal at my place."

"Oh."

You were left staring at him, a bit dumbfounded.

He just said he wanted to cook you guys a meal. At his place.

He was inviting you to his place. His personal space.

"It won't be better than Midday Miso but I think I can keep up." Jungkook added with a sheepish smile and scratched the back of his head in that seemingly boyish manner.

"Sure..." you responded, a bit delayed, much to your effort of not showing your big surprise at his offer. Before he noticed the way you were not believing what you heard, you chose to quip in a (hopefully) cheeky, "That is if you win, though."

Jungkook only hummed and then nodded.

"If I win."

He said, smiling at you.

This was dangerous.

The whole thing was teetering to something that was not very platonic, and just as you were starting to think this whole thing was!

Jimin always told you that you were bad at flirting, but in your defense, how were you supposed to know, exactly, if someone was flirting with you? A lot of people were friendly like that! Jungkook was maybe like that? Had you shown interest and he noticed so now he was playing into it? But that would be uncharacteristic of him. You didn't think he'd be the type to do something cruel like that...

But the tide was always rising and falling, they said, and the good thing was; you knew how to go along with the current.

So you did what you do best.

"Would you like to donate to the poor?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but there's a chance this card's gonna decline because I am the poor."

The cashier looked you in the eye with an even more impassive look than the one she had before you got your turn on the counter.

"Could've just said no." She said, punching your order away and you had to shamefully swipe your card and leave to go over where Jimin was.

"The cashier just snubbed me for being poor." You complained to Jimin, moving your coat to the next seat and settling in in yours.

Jimin took a sip from his latte and looked at you dead in the eye and said, "I'll call the manager if you want."

"Fuck off." You retaliated immediately. Jimin snorted at your way too predictable response.

See, this has happened way too many times more than what your fingers could count. You could not even pinpoint the exact time when Jimin started to joke about going full-on Karen-mode when you complained about a single little thing at the places you went to.

Anyway, you were currently on a lunch break when Jimin texted to see if you were free. What better way to spend your lunch than with your best friend? The company's canteen food was getting tired and they hiked up their prices. Your office's kitchen also ran out of Solhee's – your coworker – biscuits and so you thought you had to make do of Jimin's money for that day. You told him your motives yourself and as a petty retort, he told you to pay for your own pasta — at a café that was way too expensive for its own good.

You stole a bite off his churros, and predictably, he rolled his eyes at you.

"Why'd you want to see me, by the way? What's up? You don't have training?" you glanced at your wristwatch, reading 12:40pm.

Soon, you were casually taking over his plate of churros. For how ridiculously priced it was, it sure tasted good as hell.

"I got the day off." Jimin shrugged.

You eyed him suspiciously almost immediately.

"Did you really...?"

It was a few seconds before Jimin gave in and took back his plate.

"Okay, no, I ditched the training today but for the record it's for a very important reason."

You put your hand over your chest and contorted your face in an awed, touched expression.

"The important reason being... meeting me?"

"Ew, no," Was Jimin's quick, disgusted, response – which earned a laugh from you as usual.

From your peripheral vision, you saw the waiter heading towards your direction and so you waited for him to come over and serve you your pasta and frappe. After thanking him, you huddled closer to your best friend and asked, "Okay, what is it then?"

Jimi pursed his lips, making your eyebrows meet.

"It's kinda... bummer news."

"You're pregnant?"

"No, you'd be way too happy and I can't be a single dad," He shook his head as if not even wanting to imagine that.

"Namjoon looks like he's gonna take care of it with you." You sing-sang, sipping on your coffee and winking at him indiscreetly – emphasis on indiscreetly because you never knew how to wink properly.

What you did not expect, was the look on Jimin's face when you mentioned Namjoon.

"Well..." He trailed off, and you waited for it curiously; anticipating his impending answer in return because your conversation was always quick-witted like that. But right now, Jimin's expression was devoid of any jokes.

Not something you expected when you just mentioned his boyfriend.

"I— did something happen?" You quickly dropped the teasing tone and exchanged it with a concerned one, eyes looking at him with worry.

Jimin closed his eyes for a while and let out a deep breath. "See, that's the bummer news."

"Do you want to tell me? Or we can just—"

He cut you off before you could even finish your sentence. But he did it with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes – and this was Jimin. His eyes did not not reach his eyes when he smiled!

"He's going to Italy."

"Oh."

When the pause prolonged for over a minute, with you looking at him mouth agape, Jimin let out a heavy sigh once again and shook his head.

"I know. It's work... and I always understood that. He travels a lot and we're both okay with it. But it was usually just around the country, not another continent. I mean, what did he mean Italy? And that's not even the worst part. He knew a month ago he was going but he only told me two days ago and he's leaving Thursday," Jimin looked at you to take a pause, seemingly trying to look for a reaction.

You thought, that's tomorrow.

As if he read your mind, he nodded, sounding almost defeated.

"I know."

"Oh, Jimin..." You said, not exactly knowing what to say.

Jimin and Namjoon had been together for over a year. At least, officially, because they spent the last three years just casually hooking up on and off. You liked them together and had been more than glad when they finally put a label to it – exactly why you knew Namjoon enough to not badmouth him when you usually would men Jimin usually dated. You knew perfectly well that Namjoon genuinely cared about your best friend and he loved him. So if Jimin was at a loss for this obvious mistake on his boyfriend's part, even more so you were.

"He's been blowing up my phone ever since." Jimin added, glancing at his phone on the table. "Intentionally didn't charge my phone today so I don't receive his calls and texts."

That prompted you to remember the message you received from Namjoon last night.

"Oh, that's why he texted me yesterday. He asked about you, and I told you through text but you didn't answer." Things were starting to make sense now, and as you observed Jimin's face, they were getting clearer. "You never talked since?"

Jimin pursed his lips. He took his coffee back to his mouth and sipped while looking away. "Nope."

"Jimin." You tilted your head.

He looked at you again, and you knew exactly that he was thinking the same thing as you: It was within his right to feel off about what Namjoon did, but regardless; Jimin was being a little petty, and he needed to communicate with his boyfriend instead of giving him the cold shoulder.

There was a pout that formed on Jimin's lips right after.

"I know. I just..."

"He could've told you sooner?" He nodded at your words. You mirrored that. "He should have. Italy is not Busan – it's not just a train ride away."

Jimin sighed, looking exasperated now. "I told him that exactly. I'm not even mad he's going to Italy, I just think I deserve to know right after he was told about it."

You nodded. "You should really talk. It sounds like he wants to apologize, anyway, given that he's now trying to talk to me to get through you."

"Sorry you got caught up in this. I'm gonna talk to him about it."

"Eh, it's fine. Joon and I are also friends, you know?" You shrugged, genuinely not minding Namjoon coming to you.

You liked Namjoon and thought that he was the perfect match for Jimin. They were cute together and just seemed to... take the best out of each other. You'd go to any lengths to keep them together, as long as Jimin wanted Namjoon and as his boyfriend. You've seen Jimin go from relationships to relationships, some just fleeting and simple dalliances, and most destructive and were just... not good for him. You've never seen your best friend truly happy and committed in a romantic relationship other than with Namjoon, and as someone who cared about him, you'd do a lot of things to make him happy.

"Here's another thing, his flight is tomorrow at 11:30pm in the evening. Mom's birthday dinner is at 10." Jimin usually had his composure everytime, and it was very rarely you'd see him show any worry because he liked everybody to think he was in control of every situation. You smiled. Classic Jimin. He'd only ever show his true nature to you though, and that was exactly why he looked at you with worried eyes and continued to say, "I really wanna be there to send him off."

The call time for his mother's party was at 10 and naturally people would start swarming in way past that time. If Jimin were to sneak out way too early, you knew his mother was not going to be happy about it and his father would give him an even bigger shit for it. Sure, he could cancel, but what would he say? That their supposed cishet son is sending off his boyfriend at the airport for the night? He couldn't reason work either because he didn't exactly have one.

After having his wrongful DUI accusation last spring– which was actually already settled, on the grounds that it was definitely not DUI and the owner of the other car just overreacted to a fender bender, the media was adamant on tactically using that to taint his family's image and it unfortunately succeeded – hence, why Jimin had been laying low these past few months; going to training programs, obeying his parents more than usual, doing what they wanted...

You sighed. Your best friend deserved so much better.

"Don't worry, I'll find a way to get us to leave early." You told him after awhile.

Jimin arched his brow, intrigued.

Waving him off, you said, "I can fake something."

As if hearing some magic words, Jimin suddenly perked up.

"No way you're using the diarrhea card?"

Giving him a dirty look, you shook your head. "Nah, not during a dinner party. It's gotta be something new and less... gross."

"Oh, oh!" Jimin put a finger over his lip. "What about a sprained ankle? Can you pull that off?"

You deadpanned. "Okay, you ought to pay me more if you want me to do that."

"I can, but I won't. Stop ripping me off, I'm your best friend."

"Jimin, I'll save you from your family. I'm great at this." You said jokingly, but you hoped that he knew you weren't just jesting and were serious about it.

With the appreciation masking your best friend's face, though, you knew he got the message right away, but as you looked at him longer, you realize that he was about to say something and you quickly pulled back, shaking your head.

Jimin quickly reacted. "No! You know what, I'm gonna say it—"

"Don't say it." You quickly cut him off, giggling while you shake your cup of coffee.

"You can't keep me from saying I lo—"

"Jimin, I will tell everybody in this place you watch dubbed anime, I'm serious."

He gasped, quite dramatically.

"You did not just go there!" Then, he lowered his voice a bit, arching his brow at you, vindicative when he said, "You wore skinny jeans a month ago."

"How dare you, you wore a fuckass poncho last week. I saw on your IG story."

"That was from Namjoon and he also gave you one, FYI."

You grimaced. "Tell him I love him but I'm not wearing a poncho, Jimin."

"I was gonna tell you I love you and that you're the best person ever but now I have to rethink all of that." He rolled his eyes, and when the banter ended with you having the last words, you laughed at his face.

"God, you're just never beating me at this."

"Please, we both know you write your mediocre insults on your diary every night trying to one-up me, __. But let's talk about something else."

"I'm not even gonna acknowledge the diary thing but, sure, shoot." You said, starting to eat your pasta.

Jimin looked at your food full of judgement and grimaced. "Is that shrimp? Your doctor is growing grey pubes as we speak," He commented, and you knew he was referring to your shrimp allergy so you shushed him.

"This is vegan shrimp. It's tofu."

He just shook his head, disagreement written on his face. But he let it pass, anyway.

"Anyway, how's Mr. 446?"

The pasta suddenly entered the wrong track.

"Girl," Jimin was quick to offer you the glass of water on his side and you were just as fast to drink it. "You okay?"

"I'm sure there are existing cases of people dying because food got on the wrong track while they're eating, but yeah, sure, I'm okay." When you finished the water, you looked at Jimin who was just doing the same thing.

Crossing his arms, he eyed you expectantly. "Well?"

"I mean... what do you want me to say?" you told him, and you could've sworn you did not want to show anything on your face but you were certain there was a huge smile on it and for some reason, you couldn't help it.

Jimin's jaw dropped, expressions of disbelief and amusement when he asked you curiously, "What do you mean by that?"

"Okay, look, Jimin—" You scratched the back of your head, feeling a little sheepish to tell him all about Jungkook. "He told me we'd get dinner at his place this Friday if he wins this... thing."

His mouth was agape by then and you couldn't help but laugh.

"You... slut."

You would absolutely be rolling off the floor if you weren't at a public place the moment he mouthed the word, but still, you couldn't help but retort back.

"Shut up, you can't be the only one whoring around in this friendship." Jimin snorted at that and you both had to stifle your laughter when you noticed a woman from across the room eyeing you both.

This was one of the reasons why Jimin and you didn't belong in public places other than bars or clubs – because you were way too rowdy together for civilization.

"So you're saying you're whoring around?" He eyed you suspiciously.

"Wrong information. It's actually kind of platonic."

Jimin quickly waved you off. "Babe, if a guy invites you to his place, nothing is ever platonic about it. What do you think you'll do together there? Stare at each other for two hours straight?"

God, you hated and loved that he enables your delusions.

"Okay, you're being insane about this. It's just dinner," Trying to fight off the not-so-very-platonic things that suddenly played in your head after hearing his previous remark. To show that you didn't care, you added for good measure, "—And anyway, we had some sort of deal about it so it's not definite."

Your best friend just shrugged. "I'm all for it. But you're sure he isn't a serial killer, right?"

"Jimin, god, no," you chuckled at that. "I mean, I don't really know for sure, but we're friends now and as far as I know, he's never shown signs of psychopathy."

Jimin and you hadn't hung out in a while, so you haven't really told him all about Jungkook yet and the things you got to know about him. He didn't even know his name. As far as he was concerned, Jungkook was still Mr. 446, and you were fine keeping it that way. He had a lot on his plate right now, anyway.

"Just being cautious." He sing-sang, putting both his hands in the air.

You shook your head.

"Anyway, we also need to talk about what we're gonna wear tomorrow," Jimin suddenly said. "You got the Pinterest board I sent you, right? For the inspo."

Grinning, you grabbed your iPad from your bag and got to the link immediately. Your phone died on the way to the café. Good thing you had another device and brought it with you.

"I also added a few things in here. Gold and black's the theme, right?" You clarified, scrolling through the board you and Jimin both contributed to. Your best friend took it upon himself to transfer seats so he could be beside you and look at your screen at the same time.

"You're gonna look so good in Schiaparelli, babe," Jimin said while checking out the pictures you added.

"It's just an inspo, I don't actually need to wear a Schiaparelli." You chuckled.

"Who do you think your best friend is?"

You both laughed at that but it stopped when a notification popped up on your computer. Recognizing the address as your work email, you were quick to hover over it. When you were about to open it to see the full message, your iPad suddenly died.

"Shoot." You looked at Jimin with a straight face. "I forgot to plug it in. Didn't notice the battery."

Jimin grimaced. "Didn't bring any power cable."

"We'll have to do with a phone. Mine died."

You were just about to ask him for his but then you remembered what he said about avoiding Namjoon, hence, his phone was of no use either.

"We're gonna have to freestyle."

Last year, Mrs. Park's party was held at a theater hall – your first time at one, by the way.

Tonight, it was at their mansion.

You've only ever been to the Park's a total of one time, which was now. Stepping a foot inside here for the first time in your life, the house felt unreal. It was the epitome of money and wealth and everything regal in the world – like a palace of some sort. They had butlers and guards at the gates so maybe that wasn't an exaggeration, but damn, Jimin truly came from money.

Regardless of how shiny the whole building was in both literal and figurative senses though, there was an emptiness to it. It didn't look lived in – which was a fair assumption for a house this big. It definitely did not look like people liked staying here, and maybe that was not a stretch, because as soon as he turned 18, Jimin moved away and lived in his own place ever since. You asked him on your way here and he told you it was his first time this year to visit his own house.

The decoration was sick, though. Granted, they must have surely hired people to do it but at least they'd hired excellent ones. You wouldn't have expected anything less from Jimin's mom.

Jimin and you arrived at 10pm sharp, and thankfully, people were already starting to fill the place up. It was now past 15 minutes to 10pm since you arrived and there really was nothing different that went on from last year; you saw some familiar faces, politicians, and celebrities. Jimin introduced you to some people as his girlfriend, and you got to have quick chats with his model friends.

You knew it didn't actually matter if you thought about it carefully, but there was truly nothing compared to the feeling you get when you see someone in the flesh that you only see on TV all your life. You didn't feel lucky to see them in person, per se, you were just poured over the realization that these people were actually real and they weren't just some sort of simulation to keep the entertainment industry of your country afloat.

Although, you did meet Han Sol – an actress whose works you genuinely admired. Jimin just told you her husband was his second cousin.

It wasn't later that Jimin and you were invited to his family's table, where some of his cousins and immediate family were.

The greetings went pretty normal. Normal as in: Jimin's mom didn't say anything about your weight first thing first. Granted, she didn't try to hide the look of disappointment on her face when she saw you with his son. Probably reeling at the fact that you were still "dating" each other even after a year — she was probably under the impression that it wasn't serious between you two last year. His father, meanwhile, was... quiet. As usual. A man who obviously didn't really say much except ask Jimin about the training program and his siblings' jobs.

Mr. Park didn't really talk to you, just like last year. Like you were almost invisible to him – and you were glad that was the case. He probably didn't like to acknowledge your supposed relationship in the first place. Probably knew that you were working a middle-class job and didn't want to know any further. But at least, he wasn't saying anything. That was nice.

"Where's your cousin?" Asked Jimin's mom suddenly, looking at his son.

"He said he got caught up in traffic. Sent 20 minutes ago." Jimin shrugged. You would ask him about which cousin they were referring to but they had like millions of it at these events so you didn't bother.

Mrs. Park shook her head disapprovingly. "That kid. Always late to the family dinners. Did Junghyun ever teach—"

"Hey,"

Your attention was then focused to the man who just arrived. Black tie, tall... dashing. Jimin was a good-looking individual and his family, as evil as they may be as per his words, were blessed with good genes. If you were to look at the new man that arrived to the table very carefully, you'd say he almost looked familiar.

"Oh, Junghyun!"

Jimin glanced at you and discreetly mouthed, "Cousin."

"Aunt, happy birthday." He said after laughing at Jimin's mother coos. He looked across the table and continued, "Hi, uncle. Jaeyul, Sunghoon, Jimin." They all greeted him back and you could feel the hairs on your nape starting to stand up when his eyes landed on you once again. "And this is...?"

"Oh, that's Jimin's girlfriend, __." Jaeyul, Jimin's brother said.

"Hi." you greeted him, waving a bit.

"Oh?" Junghyun immediately looked at Jimin, eyes not hiding his shock. When you trained your eyes on Jimin, you felt his fake smile. "That's great, man. I didn't know you had a girlfriend. Hi, miss...?"

"It's __." you filled in.

"Nice to meet you, __." He said with a smile. The more you looked at him, the more you could almost pinpoint who he looked like – but that shouldn't really matter.

Junghyun looked over Jimin's parents once again, "Anyway, sorry I'm a bit late, got caught up in traffic."

Jimin cleared his throat.

"How about you, Junghyun? Got a girlfriend yet?" He asked as soon as Junghyun sat on the opposite side of the long table.

You could see Jimin's mother's curiosity peaking at that.

"Tell us, dear. Last time you were dating Kang Iseul, right? The actress. You're still with her?"

Everybody at the table nodded while you almost choked on the smoked quail you were eating. He was dating Kang Iseul? She was a popular actress who announced a hiatus three years ago. That actress Kang Iseul?

Junghyun chuckled and shook his head. "Nah, aunt, that was my brother, and uh, no, I'm not dating anybody currently."

"Oh well. I just wish your brother stops dating that woman. I never really liked that girl. She acts way too self-righteous! I mean, who cut ties with their billionaire father and live independently just so they can say they're self-made? It's ridiculous." Jimin's mother said in that usual snotty tone of hers, and you could not possibly process all of what was going on.

If it wasn't clear to you a moment ago, it was crystal now. Unfortunately, you were a bit chronically online and were there in real time when one random tweet blew up about Kang Iseul being a nepotism baby. But was this guy's brother really dating her? The most important and concerning thing, though, was that: why was Jimin's mom always so annoying about who her family members date? And this was not even her immediate family, mind you.

"Jina," Jimin's father had a warning tone when he called her but Jimin's mom just shrugged him off with a "tsk!"

"Kids are so ungrateful nowadays, don't you think? Anyway, Junghyun dear, you remember the Kang gala I told you about two months ago?" Jimin's mom looked pointedly at Jimin and you bit your lip.

Of course, here comes her passive aggressive disapproval of you.

"Kang Heesu and her sister Kang Hani will be there. Heesu is a wonderful woman," she chuckled, looking over at Jimin's direction subtly. You had to physically restrain yourself from rolling your eyes. Couldn't she be more obvious about acting as a wingman for Jimin and Heesu? But she continued, just like she always did. "I also heard Kang Hani is going for senior partner at Yoon and Yang, you may be interested. Pretty lady."

Junghyun just awkwardly laughed. "I'll keep that in mind."

Jimiin's father suddenly spoke, making everyone look at him.

"Where is that kid?" He said, authority dripping through his voice. Jimin was obviously not close to his father, and who would be? Mr. Park was way too intimidating. You found it funny to think if he ever did anything remotely paternal towards his children.

"We were supposed to go together but he said he had something to finish. He'll be arriving later." Junghyun said, obviously not oblivious to the "kid" Mr. Park was referring to. You were way too uncaring to actually try to figure that out.

"I see." Jimin's father nodded. "How's Jeon and Min, Junghyun? I heard you were just appointed managing partner last week."

Junghyun responded with a "yes" and they started to talk about the law firm – you assumed – and other people they mutually knew related to the business.

You knew Jimin's complicated family tree was composed of all sorts of professionals, but damn, they had lawyers in here too. It was like out of a career day event at grade schools.

"Is it true Gukka's going to be CEO?" Jimin's mother said, joining the conversation.

You were glad they were doing all the talking. Last year, they talked to you like they were interrogating you and that was not nice.

"Well, dad's not giving up the company so soon. Gukka's going for interim CTO first." Junghyun said with a polite smile.

Gukka. That must be the brother of Junghyun, although it sounded more like a nickname than a real name.

"Your brother's a hard worker. He's looking at a CEO position, some are still at training programs." Jimin's father remarked with a pointed tone.

Oh, fuck me, you thought to yourself. You thought it was gonna take awhile for the comparison to start, but it seemed they were determined to beat their record of one hour from last year.

You tried subtly looking at Jimin to see if he was okay or anything, but you felt him squeezing your wrist under the table. His face was devoid of any emotion as he continued with his own food.

Junghyun, meanwhile, was obviously taken aback by the response and also looked over at Jimin. He was quick to recover, though – probably knew that was a jab at his cousin just like every other person in the room. Atmosphere grew tense, and you had to squirm in your seat a little bit.

"Training programs help a lot, though." Junghyun awkwardly laughed. You were starting to feel bad for him as well.

"Well, you're lawyering. Trainings are important. Mine's kinda stupid." Jimin said which made everybody look at him, including you.

"You're learning anything yet, son?" His father pointedly looked at him.

"We'll see."

Jimin's dismissive tone made you feel the eye roll he would've done after saying that.

Look, he rebelled for the most part of his life so him being passive-aggressive towards his family was not a new thing, but to witness it was both nerve-wracking and honestly... funny. His parents were such assholes so they probably deserved his attitude.

Mrs. Park smiled a fake one before looking at you.

"Well, what about you __ dear? You're a... what was that again? How is that going for you?"

Because you wanted to piss them off, you mirrored her fake smile and said, "I got fired six months ago at my accounting job."

"Pft—" you pinched Jimin's arm at his reaction.

Of course he'd laugh at that. You asked him how you could piss his parents off tonight just to get back at them from last year and he told you to pretend to be unemployed or you work a minimum wage job because that was their biggest ick. Jimin didn't know you were going to come through.

"Oh."

The look on Jimin's mom's face looked as if she heard the most scandalous thing ever, and if his father's frown was deep even before the dinner started, his face was now below the ground. It felt satisfying to get those looks on their faces. Good! They were such assholes. Imagine getting devastated at someone being unemployed? Okay – for the record, being unemployed was devastating but these people weren't sympathizing with that, they found it humiliating in an elitist way– criminal almost.

You nodded, your lips almost getting tired from stretching them too far.

"Yeah. Anyway, I started working at a local burger joint. You should visit us sometime."

"I'm vegan." Jimin's mom said, her face now drained with the fake joy she's worn all night.

"We have vegan options." you quipped. Jimin once again made a sound beside you, hiding his laughter.

"Wait, really? They offer vegan options at a street burger joint?" Sunghoon, the youngest of the Park brothers, asked.

You almost laughed at the genuine curiosity in his voice. He was still in high school and from what Jimin told you, he was a nice kid. He wasn't very close to any of his brothers, though.

"Nah, it's the only one in town." You bullshit one more time, drinking the wine beside you. "Sorry, can I excuse myself for a minute?"

They nodded and you stood up, heading to the bathroom, brisking once you got out of their sight to get there more quickly.

It was now 10:30 pm – meaning, you had to do something to get Jimin out of here now if he wanted to be on time at the airport to send off Namjoon.

Once you got inside, you looked at yourself in the mirror and sighed.

This whole thing was sucking the shit out of your soul, but you needed to get through it.

It took you awhile to finish your pep talk in the bathroom.

If only you could've have locked yourself in there to avoid socializing with anybody, you willingly would. But you were running out of time and unfortunately, you had something to do and that was to fake some illness to get both Jimin and you out of here.

When you got out to approach the family's table one more time, you suddenly stopped in your tracks.

The table was at least fifteen meters away from where you stood, but you could clearly see the side in which Jimin's cousin, Junghyun, sat, facing your direction. He wasn't the issue – no, far from it. It was the guy beside him who wore the same set of black tie as him; the face attached to the body who wore it though, was someone you did not expect to see.

Why the fuck was Jungkook, Unit 446, here?!

From where you were, you could see him engaging with Junghyun and Jimin's parents. You couldn't hear them, of course, but it was clear that they were acquainted – close – even from afar.

Why did he look so comfortable with the Parks? Why was he at the family table laughing and conversing with everybody, including Jimin? Why did he seem like he went to many of these, like this was just another Thursday for him?

There was a waiter who walked past you and you were grateful for it because had it not been the case, people would start to get weirded out about you standing on the same place longer than necessary, looking stoned. That was also an opportunity to run away from the situation without Jungkook possibly seeing and recognizing you.

"I'll take this," You told the waiter and grabbed the glass of champagne and quickly turned on your heels, heading to the opposite side of the family table where the Parks, and apparently, Jungkook were.

You found yourself heading to the bathroom again, your feet seemingly developing a mind of its own as it led you there unconsciously. You knew you'd be in trouble if they found out about you putting the champagne glass in the sink, but you needed to get inside the toilet and think over everything that was happening tonight.

What the fuck. What the fuck! Again, why the hell was Jungkook here?

As far as you knew, he was just a regular man that happened to be living across from you. He was just supposed to be some guy you were regularly hanging out with nowadays. Your friend. Your crush – whatever! What he wasn't supposed to be is be here at your best friend's mother's birthday party and hanging out with his family!

Your phone dinged, a message notification from Jimin welcoming you.

cuntress #1 [10:32pm]: girl what happened I saw u going back to the bathroom?

You didn't know why it was suddenly too hot, but you felt the balls of sweat starting to form on the side of your forehead.

You [10:33pm]: im going with the diarrhea excuse

cuntress #1 [10:33pm]: tbh idc atp I just wanna go to joon 😔

"Shit!"

Right! Joon. Namjoon. Jimin needed to go to Nmajoon as soon as possible.

cuntress #1 [10:33pm]: also another cousin has arrived u rmr jeon jungkook he's junghyun's brother cuntress #1 [10:33pm]: love this guy but moms starting to compare me to him and I need out right NEOW im justt aking hits after hits jesusssssss

You could just feel the blood draining from your face as soon as you read Jungkook's name in the text.

Jeon Jungkook. Jungkook. Gukka. Kook-a.

That was why the Junghyun guy looked familiar. Because he had the same coloring of Jeon Jungkook. Because they were goddamn siblings.

You started to replay some memories in your head, trying to figure out if you've ever heard Jungkook talk about his family in one of your conversations. But as far as you remembered, he never did. All you knew about him was that he was from the States, and he only got here because of work and he had a dog and as far as you were concerned, his cousin was definitely not Park fucking Jimin, your best friend.

Pacing around the confined space of the toilet, you tried to wrack your brain if you've ever mentioned Jimin to him and in the event that you did, why he never told you that he was his cousin – but you came up blank. Blank because you never told him about your best friend's name... and in turn, Jimin didn't know what Mr. 446's name was, either. They were both genuinely oblivious about the whole thing and couldn't have made you a fool in the situation.

In short, you were the one who was stupid as hell for not connecting the dots sooner.

"Hey, you just landed?"

"Nah, you want me to pick you up?" Jimin sat up on the edge of the bed and you looked at him curiously. "Sure, I'm free, Kook. You have a place to stay? Hotel suite or something?" He nodded to whatever the other person was saying on the other line. "Oh, you're here for three months? Thought you were just flying in for mom's birthday?"

It was moments after they said goodbye that Jimin turned to you to ask, "Well, my cousin's apparently staying here for three months. Got this job thing going on."

"Fuck me." You hissed, remembering that time when Jimin told you about his cousin staying here for three months because of work.

cuntress #1 [10:35pm]: its either ur taking a guinness world record breaker piss there or u really do have diarrhea now and ur shitting cuntress #1 [10:36pm]: anyway get this, jungkook's gonna be interim cto at your company did u know that??????????????????

You almost dropped your phone upon reading the last message.

What the hell did he mean by that?

Heart beating fast as if it wanted to break out of your own ribcage, you closed your eyes and read Jimin's message once again. There was no way he would be shitting you about any of this. He knew where you worked at and you knew your current company was his uncle's, and now that you knew Jungkook was his cousin...

Shit. Was this what they were talking about at the table earlier? About Junghyun saying his brother was gonna be interim CTO? Did he mean Jeon Jungkook all along? Your freaking neighbor?

Suddenly, you remembered the email you received that afternoon that you never bothered to check again because you simply forgot about it. Who even actually checks their work email? Literally no one. You spend your weeks facing your computer while email flew in like porn ads on a shady website, you weren't about to willingly go to the app and check it on your leisure time.

But maybe you should have.

Fingers involuntarily shaking in their wake as you switched to your work email on your phone, you clicked on the recent unread message that was on top from the HR department.

Subject: Invitation to Ceremony: Announcement of Interim CTO Dear Blue Nexus Inc. employee, We hope this email finds you well. We would like to inform you that a ceremony has been scheduled on July 29, 2028, 10:00 am at the AVR Hall 5, 12th floor. The purpose of this meeting is to announce the appointment of our interim Chief Technology Officer (CTO), Mr. Jeon Jungkook. As you may be aware, our previous CTO, Mr. Shin Juman, is currently on medical leave recovering from a stroke. While he is recuperating and undergoing treatment, it has become necessary for us to appoint an interim CTO for an indefinite period of time to ensure the continuity and effectiveness of our operations. Your presence at this ceremony is highly valued as we introduce the new leadership to the team and outline our strategic direction moving forward. Light refreshments will be served. Thank you for your attention to this matter. We look forward to seeing you at the ceremony. Best regards, HR Department

You knew that feeling when you were just taking hits and hits? This was it.

So not only was Jeon Jungkook Jimin's cousin, he was also gonna be the interim CTO of the company you were currently working at. He was technically going to be your boss, and you would be both working in the same place all the while living across each other where he would see you taking out your trash every Sunday morning in your worn-out highschool PE shirt and pants. He was going to be your boss working at the company you complained to him about on the nights you walked together to your shared apartment complex.

You flirted with Jungkook. You flirted with the guy who was the son of the owner of your whole company building – and not only that, he was your best friend's cousin, to add salt to injury.

You [10:38pm]: jimin we need to get out of here

cuntress #1 [10:38pm]: ive been saying

You [10:38pm]: but i cant go out there again. Just tell them i had a problem in the bathroom??

cuntress #1 [10:38pm]: ok on it cuntress #1 [10:38pm]: im kind of convinced u shitted in there tho????????

You rolled your eyes, but at the same time found an opportunity in that. Jimin can't know the truth.

You [10:39pm]: u cant judge me for having a very human experience fuck u the cake i ate earlier was giving cake boss

cuntress #1 [10:39pm]: KJAHFKGSIDFHDSHASFHSKJBF

You [10:39pm]: im literally doing this for u and joon

cuntress #1 [10:39pm]: IKNOW!!!!!!!!!!!!thanks to ur stomach problems cuntress #1 [10:39pm]: im going there

You [10:40pm]: make sure they don't see us again to really sell the whole im-embarassed-thing

cuntress #1 [10:40pm]: ON IT! Were going out the back door I don't think they'll notice

You couldn't even find it in you to laugh a little bit at your silly exchange and scheme, because you were way too stressed about what you just found out.

You let out a controlled, heavy breath, leaning your back on the door and shut your eyes aggressively.

"What the hell am I gonna do after this?"

PART TWO | ....

#fic: nb #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook #jungkook x you #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook

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earlysunshines · 6 months ago

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thief!

minatozaki sana x fem!reader

synopsis: everything you own is actually sana's, obviously. she's your girlfriend after all.

warnings: nooone ; pure fluff ; lovebirds homos lalalalla ugh sana my love ; not proofread

a/n: HAPPY SANA DAAYYYY how could i miss it?? here's my once in a blue moon sana fic loool

long, acrylic nails gently scraping against your scalp earn a soft hum from your lips.

sana feels your hand snaking around her waist further, tightening your hold on her as if she were your personal teddybear. a small smile forms on her lips, her eyes open just a bit more, and her fingers work to move your bedhead away from your face.

"cute," sana mumbles, turning ever so slightly just so you can rest your head on her shoulder comfier.

your lips are parted just barely, your nose buried in the hoodie sana is wearing, and the only thing in filling the silence is your slow breathing. you mutter something incoherent, and sana hums confusedly as if you'd really answer. she laughs, massaging your scalp just a tiny bit harder.

"mmm," you groan, enjoying the feeling even as you're asleep against her. she feels your leg moving over one of hers and under the other, then feels you tugging her closer.

wow, she really is your teddy bear, huh?

sana blinks hard, shutting her eyes tightly before rubbing them with her free hand. she looks outside, the sunlight shining brightly through the blinds. it seems to be noon—maybe if you two hadn't binged three episodes of some kdrama last night you'd be awake earlier.

"baby," sana says softly, her voice like honey. "it's late, let's wake up."

"mmmmmmm," you drag on your groan, clinging to her tighter. sana knows you heard her, but sana is sure that you did not process a single word from her.

"baby," sana giggles quietly, "gosh, you're gripping onto me like i’ll run off."

"what if you do," you mutter tiredly. "it's too early for this..."

sana pats your head twice, then checks the small digital clock on the bedside counter. the clock reads 12:21 pm. early would be... well, incorrect to a general consensus.

"it's noon... c'mon, we can cuddle more after we run some errands."

"sanaaaaaa..." you drag out sleepily, shifting so you can rest your nose in the crook of her neck. you breathe in deeply, taking in the scent of roses and something sweeter. "it's your birthday..."

"and we're already halfway through."

"are you saying that me clinging onto you isn't enough? is this not the best way to spend your morning on your birthday?"

"well no..." sana starts, then kisses your head before continuing, "but i would love to do a little more than just stay in bed like this with the love of my life—as much as i love her."

"you're evil."

"you're just like a koala, always so sleepy." sana chuckles before pinching your cheek. she pulls away just a bit to examine your face, eyes still closed with a smile on your face. she presses a kiss to the tip of your nose, then to your cheek, and a quick peck to your lips. "five minutes... birthday girl says no longer than that."

"fine, fine." you sigh, opening your eyes (finally) and blinking a few times to focus your view. wow. you must've fallen asleep next to an angel, because she's still in the same bed as you and looking as cute as ever with her puffy morning face and soft smile.

your hand reaches over instinctively to rest on her cheek, knuckles dragging against her soft skin.

"awake yet?" sana asks.

"has anyone ever told you how gorgeous you are?" you say in awe, sounding like a fool in love. "because you look beautiful miss minatozaki."

sana rolls her eyes, then pinches your cheek again. you chuckle weakly, still groggy from sleep.

your eyes drift to the hoodie she has on. the shade of gray and the design look oddly familiar, so you use your hand to rub the material. the hoodie also looks a little large for sana, and then it hits you:

"is that my hoodie?" you question.

sana blushes. "what are you talking about."

"that's my hoodie... isn't it?"

"well technically it's our hoodie."

"and who declared that?"

"the universe, obviously." sana says through a smile that leaves your whole body feeling all tingly. "ever since we became girlfriends it was basically in the contract."

"i don't remember signing any agreement saying that you can take my clothes whenever."

"you don't? because i do." sana has that stupid grin on her face, the same one she always has before she says something both idiotic and heartwarming. "remember when we kissed for the first time? yeah, that was the signature."

"really now?"

sana nods. "and when you kissed me again it renewed the contract. and when we makeout with tongue and share saliva and all that—"

"grrrooossss!" you say, knowing you quite literally did everything the night before.

"—it basically sealed that contract through the exchange of dna."

"so you're saying french kissing is what makes it acceptable for you to steal not only my hoodie, but also my t-shirts, jewelry—i even saw you in my socks! is that really—"

"well not just french kissing. normal kissing too."

"you're such an idiot." you push her away and sana makes a high-pitched noise that's in between a groan and a squeal. then, you scoot over and pepper her face with kisses. "i love you, now let's get up, you've convinced me." you mumble, "i can't take all this kissy talk in the morning."

"afternoon." she corrects. sana pushes you away so she can hold your face with both hands, squishing your cheeks like she's pressing a sandwich in between her hands. she smiles, eyes crinkling at the ends and all that.

—

the birthday girl had requested that you give her a piggyback ride to the bathroom. after being set down on the counter so gently, brushing her teeth with you in between her legs as she sat down near the sink, and being able to kiss you so easily after she finished her skincare; sana had requested that you carry her everywhere the rest of the morning, both on your back and bridal style.

now she's being placed gently on the couch while you head back to the kitchen to grab the cups of teas for you to enjoy as you cuddled close on the couch catching up with messages. sana let you rest on her shoulder throughout the whole ten minutes of responding to friends and family, even sneaking a picture while you were focused on some game you've been into on your phone.

in the midst of it all, both of your stomachs growl at the same time.

you and sana glance at each other before bursting out laughing.

"someone's hungry," you tease, poking at sana's stomach. sana rolls her eyes before you add, "i guess that means we should go out for brunch, huh?"

"maybe..." sana kisses your forehead and finishes her tea. "let me fix my hair and get changed, i'm too lazy for makeup."

"you're already so perfect without makeup."

sana snickers. "stop being so smitten, loser."

"hey!"

—

"is that my—"

"maybe." sana says, zipping up the puffer jacket that's not only oversized on her but also the exact same model as the one you had bought the month before. it's definitely your jacket, but sana looks cuter in it. maybe the contract is real.

"thief." you roll your eyes before putting the hood up on her, it falls over her eyes and right above her nose. "you'll catch a cold."

"you're so caring, what a lover."

"gross." you groan playfully, earning a disgustingly adorable pout from sana. you glance at the beanie on her head after she fixes the hood, it looks oddly familiar. "is that...?"

"contract."

you giggle. "right."

sana puts her shoes on, then reaches for your hand before she opens the door. you zip up your work jacket before intertwining your hands and heading out together.

maybe your girlfriend is a thief. throughout the day you start to notice that the tinted lip balm she uses after brunch is most definitely the same balm that momo had gifted you a few days prior. you also notice the t-shirt under her, scratch that, your jacket that is also yours. you let her have that one, though, it was too small for you anyway, and sana rocked the perfect fit.

you don't think on it too much, that your girlfriend is an experienced clothes stealer borrower, because one: it's her birthday, so you might as well give her today. and two: she looks ridiculously good in everything that's yours.

maybe it's not stealing if she belongs to you too. she's your girlfriend, and with every kiss shared throughout the day it makes you realize that maybe that contract isn't just something stupid made up from the lingering drowsiness after waking up.

whatever it is, you could really care less. it's sana's day and if sana has a smile on her face—who cares if your wardrobe is shrinking day by day.

#kpop x reader #sana x reader #twice x reader #minatozaki sana x reader #minatozaki sana

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aquasoftware · 2 months ago

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YOU GOT ME LOOKING FOR ATTENTION!!

Cw: Discord mod! Satoru, Kpop! fanboy satoru, fem! reader, fluff to smùt, Satoru lives with his parents, hcs, e-sēx/phone sēx, mūtual màsturbàtīon, long distance, lots of petnames, he calls you kitten (1), + ML

Kpop fanboy! Satoru who spends way too much time on discord servers, he’s got notifs consistently blowing up on his computer which drives his parents insane from having the racket memorized.

Kpop fanboy! Satoru who joins a server for every group, and he’s a discord mod in four. He shoos his parents out of the basement when they advise him to get a real job.

Kpop fanboy! Satoru who’s the guy who posts fancams with lovesick captions like “I’m on my knees for Chaeyoung again. 😍”

Kpop fanboy! Satoru who has a custom emoji reaction for every mood. He owns lightsticks and photocards with them displayed on a glass shelf like prized possessions.

Bonus: He still brags about having McDonald’s BTS bags in general chat too.

Kpop fanboy! Satoru who meets you through a kpop fan server he’s in, It started with a random reply to your message about the worst kpop songs. You clowned the instrumental ‘Sticker’ by nct 127 which led to him writing paragraphs on how it’s the best kpop songs to exist.

(of course he likes sticker it’s chatoic just like him.)

Kpop fanboy! Satoru who slides in your dms after the small banter, especially after seeing a picture of you in the selfies channel.

Kpop fanboy! Satoru who sees the “Dms open!” Sticker In your bio and uses the stan list you posted in intros to his advantage hitting you with a “yo, u lowkey got taste” eventually ending up chatting for 4 hours about your ultimate biases, kdramas, and conspiracy theories about choreo symbolism. He calls you lovey dovey nicknames like “Pretty girl,” and “cutie,” but adds a lil winky face that seems very intentional…

Kpop fanboy! Satoru who sends you memes regularly, you wake up to 60 unread messages. All memes. All chaotic. Some are thirst traps of idols with stupid little “me when I see u” captions.

Kpop fanboy! Satoru who flirts with you all the time at first it’s subtle—he calls you his “bias wrecker.” As a joke Then it’s voice notes of him humming your fave song in a deep voice that makes you question what his whimpers sound like.

Kpop fanboy! Satoru who sends you packages of snacks he’d think you’d like from japan.

“This one always makes me think of you, probably tastes as sweet as you too.. wait, oh… not like that..”

Kpop fanboy! Satoru who eventually gets close enough to call you, it’s awkward at first. It doesn't last long with his typical charisma though, his voice is deeper than expected, teasing, alluring. He calls you “Baby” jokingly, but your stomach flips. You both giggle the entire time, doing karaoke, watching different shows together and don’t sleep until your time zones force you to.

Kpop fanboy! Satoru who one day hears your shaky breathing paired with small moans and stops mid sentence about a new group debut in confusion. He's talking fast, all excited until you go unusually quiet. Then he hears it. Soft, yet heavy breaths. The kind you don’t make unless you’re doing something intimate. His voice pauses mid-sentence. “Wait… are you okay?”

Kpop fanboy! Satoru who eventually catches on that his online bestfriend is playing with her sweet cunt, so he shoots the obvious question “You touchin’ yourself Y/n?” He’s shocked for half a second. Then smug, talking low. “Awh, I feel so flattered..” The teasing tone doesn’t hide how hard he’s breathing now too.

Kpop fanboy! Satoru who gets cocky when you don’t answer and says “You can tell me, you don’t gotta be shy.” He’s biting back a moan, palming himself through his sweats. “You can admit it. You want me to talk you through it, don’t you?” He beams behind the screen already knowing the answer to his own question.

Kpop fanboy! Satoru who when you admit it he finally takes his poor throbbing cock out of his sweats masturbating with you. The sound of your moans drives him crazy. He’s got one hand on his long veiny shaft, the other gripping the phone tighter every time your voice cracks. “Nghh, you sound so fucking pretty. Wish I could see that adorable face right now.” The call turns filthy fast—panting, loads of breathy praise, and crying out each other’s names.

Kpop fanboy! Satoru who talks you through your orgasm He guides you with tender groans, “That’s it, kitten… rub your clit just like that… mmph, you close? Lemme hear it, you can be loud f’me..” And when you cum, he does too, shooting thick ribbons across his expensive keyboard; gasping your name like a prayer, hips stuttering into his fist.

Kpop fanboy! Satoru who has the prettiest whimpers, so loud he hopes he doesn’t wake his parents he still lives with. His head falls back in the gaming chair, mouth parted with high-pitched whines and desperate curses he muffles himself with a hoodie sleeve. “Shittt, hahh—hope, no one heard me” But he’s a little too far gone to care anyway.

Kpop fanboy! Satoru who secretly craves having phone sex again with you. He replays your moans in his head like a broken record. Nearly texting “What are we?” But proceeds to play it cool, immediately deleting it, instead sending “Missed your voice, pretty girl. <3”

Kpop fanboy! Satoru who’s wrapped around your finger. ❤︎

Dividers/boarder creds | toastray

Note | Lmk if I should turn this into a full fic, or send a request based off of this.

I appreciate reblogs, comments, and likes, THANK YOU!!

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crocodile-tears-and-a-dream · 3 months ago

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a series of unfortunate confessions

summary: after trying to confess to your crush countless times, you finally decided to give up. but then...

pairing: shoto todoroki x reader

warnings: fluff, todoroki is a bit dense, reader is worse than marinette from miraculous

word count: 1.7k

a/n: my friend found my acc so i panicked and privated everything… this is being put here in fear😰

you had been crushing on todoroki for months now. the way his hair split perfectly down the middle, the quiet, almost shy way he smiled—everything about him made your heart race. but you were determined that today was going to be the day. no more pretending. no more overthinking. you were finally going to tell him how you felt.

“i like you. would you like to go out with me?” you rehearsed the line in your head for what felt like the thousandth time as you walked down the hallway toward his usual spot, leaning against the lockers. he was standing there, looking as cool and composed as ever—like he didn’t even realize how much you adored him.

you stopped in front of him, inhaling deeply, straightening your back. this is it.

“hey, todoroki,” you said, trying to sound calm, your voice shaking slightly despite your efforts. “i need to tell you something.”

he glanced at you, tilting his head slightly. “what’s up?”

you took a deep breath. i got this!

you stepped forward with newfound confidence, but why would anything go your way. you tripped over absolutely nothing and into his arms. except this wasn’t a kdrama, and now the only thing left for you to do is to dig 6 feet down from where you stand. the snickers of passing by students did nothing to aid your embarrassment.

“are you ok?” he asked, caring as ever. his stupid, perfect face looking at you with concern and his perfect voice, the way his eyes…

and you’ve been staring for 5 minutes.

you scrambled to your feet, cheeks bright red. “oh yeah i’m great! awesome sauce even..”

“awesome sauce?” the boy repeats after you.

smooth. real smooth. you stand there planning your funeral until he interrupts again.

“-you wanted to say something?” he reminds you.

“oh yeah i wanted to say that i uh- i really like… your hair!”

you stand there shifting awkwardly forgetting how to stand like a normal person.

todoroki blinked, obviously confused. “uh… thanks. i like your shirt?”

your stomach twisted in embarrassment. this wasn’t how it was supposed to go at all.

the best part about texting was the fact that you could sit in front of your phone and reread the text you had typed out for hours before sending it.

the plan was simple really. just text him.

unfortunately you just had to find a way to mess this one up too.

...you pause, wondering if this is a bad idea. but you’re already typing.

“hey todoroki, i need to tell you something important…”

you stared at the screen for a while, reading it over and over. no, that’s too formal. you’re not texting a business partner. so, you deleted it and typed again:

i like you. i really do. please go out with me.

after a second of hesitation, you hit send and put the phone down, avoiding looking at it for a solid minute. you were such an idiot. he was probably going to think you were weird and pushy. you probably ruined everything.

your phone buzzed, and your heart skipped too many beats.

you picked it up and stared at the message, expecting something dramatic.

the message was short and simple.

milk?

you blinked at the screen, unable to comprehend what had just happened. you looked at the message again. did you send the wrong one? no. no, this was his response.

what? you typed, feeling a wave of panic wash over you.

todoroki replied even more confused, the note… it’s a grocery list.

your eyes widened in realization. you had mixed up your heartfelt confession with the grocery list you’d written earlier in the day. how could you mess that up?! you quickly texted back:

omg, i’m so sorry!! that was the wrong message. ignore it. i’m dumb.

you groaned, burying your face in your pillow.

his reply came a few minutes later. it’s okay. you don’t need to explain yourself.

you were officially a colossal failure.

attempt #3 was the worst of them all. you had enough of awkward moments and embarrassing mishaps. this time, you weren’t going to let anything stop you. you had prepared yourself, stood in front of him with determination, and blurted out, “i like you!” without thinking.

for a long, agonizing second, todoroki stared at you, his expression unreadable. then he blinked, looking a little puzzled. “oh. you like… my shoes?”

your eyes went wide, and you wanted to crawl into a hole and die. “no! i mean… yes, your shoes are great, but—”

“oh, thanks. i got them on sale.” he smiled slightly. “glad you like them.”

you felt like your entire world was crashing down around you. this was not happening.

you had tried. god, had you tried.

you tried in the hallway. you tried over text. you tried to his stupid, perfect, beautiful face.

and yet, every single time, the universe seemed determined to humble you. at this point, it was personal. you were convinced fate itself was standing in the corner, with a bucket of popcorn, watching you struggle for its own amusement.

so, you did the only thing that made sense. you gave up.

no more stammering, no more overthinking. you couldn’t possibly mess up if you just did not try.

so when todoroki asked you to meet him after class, you weren’t expecting much. maybe he’d ask about homework, maybe he’d comment on the weather—maybe he was about to tell you your latest confession attempt was so bad he had secondhand embarrassment and that if he was you, he'd leave the country.

what you were not expecting was for him to sit next to you, stare straight ahead, and say—

“i like you.”

…

huh?

you blinked. once. twice. a third for good measure, but he was still sitting there, looking completely unbothered, like he hadn’t just shattered the fabric of your entire existence.

“you…” you struggled to form a coherent thought. “you what?”

“i like you,” he repeated. casual. effortless. like it wasn’t a big deal. like it wasn’t something you had been agonizing over for months.

you stared at him. he waited.

todoroki was a patient guy, but even he eventually raised an eyebrow. “you’re not saying anything.”

oh. right.

you took a deep breath, attempting to restart your system. “you like me?”

“yes.”

“like… like like?”

todoroki blinked, tilting his head slightly. “would i have said it if i didn’t mean it?”

you just sat there. completely, utterly stunned.

this wasn’t how this was supposed to go. you were supposed to confess first. you were supposed to have a moment. and yet, here you were—your grand plan ripped away from you before you could even execute it.

you slowly turned to him, eyes squinting. “so you’re telling me… that the whole time i was struggling to confess, you were just sitting there? watching?”

“i had a suspicion,” he admitted, completely unfazed.

oh, you wanted to scream.

you buried your face in your hands. “i can’t believe i spent all this time embarrassing myself, and you knew.”

“i didn’t know for sure,” he said, like that was supposed to make you feel better. “but i figured you’d never actually say it at this rate.”

the audacity. the nerve. you lifted your head, ready to argue—except when you saw him looking at you, amusement barely visible at the corners of his lips, all the fight drained right out of you.

because he liked you.

shoto todoroki liked you.

and somehow, despite all the chaos, despite every failed attempt, despite how absolutely stupid this entire journey had been—

this was perfect.

even if you had no clue what to do now.

#shoto todoroki #shoto x reader #todoroki shoto #todoroki x reader #todoroki x you #todoroki x y/n #todoroki x gn!reader #mha x reader #my hero acedamia #my hero academia fanfiction #bnha #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #mha fanfiction

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kdramaladies · 4 months ago

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#KDRAMAWOMENSWEEKS 2025 —March 1st - March 31st

HAPPY 10th BIRTHDAY TO KDRAMA WOMEN'S WEEK!!! For its 10th year anniversary, the event is evolving into a month-long celebration and becomes KDRAMAWOMENSWEEKS. We invite you to join us in March for a whole month dedicated to showing our love to our favourite women of Korean drama and film with prompts created by @dramaheroine. We are forever grateful to @digimoo for creating this event with @undergroundkdrama. A massive thank you to those who hosted and organized the event since 2025: @dramaheroine , @gudansoo and @gudongmae.

Join the event by creating visual content (gifs, fanart, edits, etc.) or just talking about your favourite kdrama women inspired by the prompts below. Please tag your posts with #KDRAMAWOMENSWEEKS and/or #kww2025, so they are easier to find, admire, and reblog.

The Double

This is all about giving the spotlight to those behind the scenes. A prompt for the increase in dramas both written by women and directed by women, the rise of many female directors, the continued power of the big names, the lesser-known stars, all those behind the camera…

Throwback (or first love is best love)

This is all about remembering where we started and our shared decade in Kdramas. A prompt for the female centric kdramas and female characters we have loved over the past decade, maybe our first loves that started it all (2015-2025)...

Hitmaker

This is all about giving them recognition and credit. A prompt for the actresses with double-digit smash hits, critical success-makers, those who navigated their way into becoming the headliners, the ones don’t get recognition they deserve

Into the new world

This is all about seeking the goodness out there. A prompt for dramas that highlight issues concerning women and marginalised groups, that give hope and assurance for the future of kdramas and maybe of the world…

Please also feel free to be inspired by the prompts from previous years (2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020, 2020 Part Deux, 2021, 2022, 2023, 2024)

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psalm40speakstome · 2 years ago

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Not since this drama

has a drama managed to be this good at the heart

and the humour

#for me anyway #just my opinion #kdrama #my KDrama rambles #the best hit #hit the top #twinkling watermelon

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wheeboo · 11 months ago

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tell me that you love me | joshua hong {part two}

SYNOPSIS. in which you and joshua are simply different in more ways than one, yet only seem to find a common ground in struggling to chase your dreams. so why does life keep throwing you two at each other, despite your different worlds, and why does it feel so terrifyingly right? PAIRING. musician!joshua hong x deaf-artist!reader (ft. cafe owner!jeonghan, musician!seokmin, best friend!seungkwan, best friend!wheein, producer!jihoon) GENRE. fluff, slice of life, kdrama romance-esque, mild angst, strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn WARNINGS/TAGS. cursing, shua and reader has some self-doubt issues :(, someone makes insensitive comments about reader, mention of alcohol (beer), mention of cigarettes, everyone ships them, kissing, terms of endearment, Softie Domestic Joshua™, it conveniently rains when they're together, this is 85% fluff and 15% plot and the brainrot was giving me an existential crisis, honestly there's not much warnings it's just a love story <3 WORD COUNT (FOR PART TWO). 17k WORD COUNT (FOR FULL FIC). 37k

notes: for some reason even tho this whole part is almost as long as the first part it still feels rushed asf lmao. there are a bit of time skips between most sections, and prob a noticeable decline in quality the more u read HAHA. idk what else to say other than i hope you all enjoy and thank you for joining me on this journey <3 your feedback and reblogs mean the world to me !!

part one | part two

The taste of the salty breeze is sharp on your tongue. Sand raids onto your sandals and crawls playfully up to your ankles as you step foot on the expansive beach.

“Ahh, it’s been a long time since we’ve gone to the beach!” Wheein exclaims proudly while running up to you and locking arms with yours, her hair tied back in two french braids, the carefree grin to her face infectious as ever. “No sad thoughts today. We’re here to have fun, ‘kay?”

She grabs you by the shoulders and eagerly shakes your body before you have the chance to respond. Wheein is right𑁋no sad thoughts today, it is. Seungkwan dashes up from behind as well, carrying with him two plastic bags full of drinks and snacks when the three of you stopped by the convenience store earlier. You carry a large blanket in your grasp as you all make your way to a spot a good distance away from the water. Ah, and you’ve brought your camera along too.

It turns out that Wheein and Seungkwan had planned a surprise trip to the beach solely to celebrate your art being selected for the museum. But even though that didn’t happen, they still wanted to cheer you up and lift your spirits (meaning, they stood by your front door for nearly half an hour and constantly shone their phone flashlights to get your attention inside, practically dragging you out of bed. You still love them either way).

The beach isn’t that busy at this time in the late afternoon during a weekday, so finding a quiet spot is easy. You lay out the blanket on a patch of smooth sand, making sure it's free of any debris. Seungkwan sets down the bags of snacks and drinks, and Wheein helps arrange everything neatly.

The water laps calmly up the coast, stretching for miles under the soft glow of the sun. As you settle yourself on the blanket, you catch sight of a trio of seagulls flying peacefully overhead while feeling the warmth of the sand below you and the cool breeze hitting your skin.

It’s hard not to look at the picturesque scene right before your eyes. A sun, sunrise, or sunset on the beach is something you’ve painted many times before, but you probably wouldn’t tire of it. There’s a variety of colours that the sky contains𑁋from fiery oranges and bright blues to soft pinks and purples𑁋and many people would say it’s the easiest background to capture on a canvas. But you know better.

Taking a hold of the camera around your neck, you adjust the lens and frame the seemingly endless skies right within the small viewfinder. The shutter clicks a few times as you capture the vibrant hues of the sunset slowly but surely beginning to take its course, freezing a moment of beauty in time.

After taking a moment to review the photos, you bring the camera back up to your eye again and whip your head around with the intent of taking some candid shots. However, you certainly don’t expect to capture the face of Joshua mid-laugh. He's not looking at you, or the camera, but at Wheein and Seungkwan who seemed to have quickly dropped their belongings in order to greet him. There’s two other boys behind him too𑁋Jeonghan was one of them, the other one you weren’t able to put a name on, but the wide grin on his face was enough to tell you all that you needed to know. All of them are too far for you to be able to read what they’re talking about.

Happiness looks good on them, You think.

Zooming out just slightly, a singular click is all you need to capture. It’s like everything that you need in a small, rectangular frame𑁋an encapsulation of pure joy. You lower the camera and take a few seconds to admire the candid show, the way the sun casts a golden glow on their faces, and the unguarded expressions of happiness that make the photo more than just perfect.

Bringing your camera back around your neck, you stand up from the blanket and slowly approach the group. Joshua is the first to notice you come up, as he always is, and his face doesn’t shy away from seemingly brightening up. He’s wearing a plaid button down shirt with a few of its buttons undone, a seashell necklace around his neck, and a pair of black shorts. You also notice his guitar case slinging on his shoulder.

You muster up a surprised look towards Wheein and Seungkwan about the guests you weren’t aware that were invited𑁋not that you’re complaining at all.

Wheein waves a hand in front of your face, directing your attention towards her.

“They’re here to sing!” she tells you, signing animatedly to you.

You lift a brow, letting your hands move in the air as if you’re conducting. “Sing?”

“I thought it would be a fun touch!” Wheein exclaims, then she steps closely right in front of you, seemingly lowering her voice and signing briskly so the others wouldn’t see, “I’m doing you a favour here.”

“Y/N! This is Seokmin,” Seungkwan gestures to the boy who finally has a name standing right next to Joshua, spelling out the letters of Seokmin’s name with his hands.

Immediately, Seokmin switches whatever he was holding in his right hand𑁋a microphone stand?𑁋to his other hand before extending it out to you for a handshake in perhaps the most humourously, gentlemanly way possible. The goofy grin on his face is enough to make you giggle as you shake his hand firmly.

“Nice to meet you,” You sign to him, and Seokmin’s eyes light up in awe at the way your hands move. He turns towards the others with a questionable look, and when they tell him what you signed, his grin widens even more.

“It’s nice to meet you too!” Seokmin exclaims, the enthusiasm bouncing off him. Then he briefly glances between you and Joshua, wiggling his brows and adding, “I’ve been told a lot about you.”

Glancing over at Joshua, you notice the way he brings his head down to his feet for a moment, but then he lifts himself back up and meets your gaze with a fond smile.

“Okay, you guys can go set your things up. Seungkwan and I will set up the snacks and drinks,” Wheein says. “I say we go in the water after the performance. Who’s in?”

Right away, the remaining five of you come to a simultaneous agreement. Jeonghan, Seokmin, and Joshua begin to move towards a spot a little further down the beach where they can set up their equipment. Wheein and Seungkwan grab the bags with the food and drinks to set them up near the blanket, leaving you behind to soak in the sight of the beach once more.

“Right here is good.” Joshua motions to a spot on the ground where Jeonghan sets up the speaker for the microphone. “Did you bring the extension cord?”

Jeonghan pleasantly rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he whips out the extension cord and connects it to the speaker with ease. “You really don’t believe in me, don’t you?” Then he glances past Joshua’s shoulders, smirking faintly to himself. “Target incoming. Six o'clock.”

Joshua turns his body around, wiping away the sand from his hands, and his eyes land straight on you approaching up to him. The corners of his mouth turn upward at the sight of you, dazed eyes lingering on the way you carry yourself quietly toward him. The sunlight catches in your hair, and the backdrop of the ocean makes you appear like a painting that had come to life. He quickly clears his throat.

When you come up to him, you hold out your phone towards him.

Didn’t expect to see you here today

Joshua stifles a half-hearted laugh, plucking the phone from your grasp to type right below your line.

Is that a bad thing?

As you read the message, you could only scowl playfully, before taking your phone back.

How did you even know about this anyway?

After scanning your message, Joshua glances around before pointing at something behind you𑁋to Wheein and Seungkwan, who were both dashing away from a wave that was washing onto the shore.

“Your friends are really adamant about cheering you up,” he remarks teasingly. “I couldn’t just say no.”

You could visibly see the utter panic in Wheein’s face from afar when Seungkwan nearly stumbles into the wet sand, her hands coming to grab the younger boy’s arm to pull him up. Then their faces shift into a fit of laughter. You really don’t know what you would do without them, honestly.

“Thank you,” You sign to Joshua when you turn back to him.

Joshua’s eyes roam over your face with a soft, contemplative expression. Then he motions down to your phone that was in your grasp, and you hand it to him, your fingers briefly brushing against each other.

A thoughtful look spreads across his features, before he types a response on your phone, fingers moving swiftly over the screen, and you read his message:

You look beautiful today.

The words on the screen seem to glow brighter than usual, and you feel a rush of affection flood into you like the waves at high tide. Your hand nearly goes limp, almost dropping your phone into the sands below, your heart stuttering in your chest as you regain your composure. For once, even communicating with your hands feels clumsy, inadequate.

But before you can say anything, a damp hand lands at your shoulder, and you whip your head around to see Wheein standing there, hair dripping wet and chest heaving with exhaustion.

“If we don’t start, I’m going to kill Seungkwan,” Wheein says while exaggeratedly signing, face scrunched up in annoyance.

You scratch the back of your neck bashfully before turning off your phone and averting your eyes away from Joshua. You drag Wheein away to help her dry off while the others set up the rest of the equipment.

By the time everything is set up, there’s a small gathering of curious beachgoers nearby who seem to be drawn by the preparation going on. Some were sitting on blankets spread out on the sand, while others stood in small groups at a respectful distance.

You find yourself sitting on a blanket with Wheein and Seungkwan right next to you. The two of them were conversing with each other, and all you could do was watch Joshua. He takes out his guitar from the case before sitting on a folded up plastic chair. He runs a hand through his hair and seems to strum a few notes, probably checking the sound levels𑁋Jeonghan sends him a thumbs-up from the side. Seokmin also sits down in a chair right next to him, adjusting the microphone to his mouth and tapping a few times on its head.

“Hello, everyone!” Joshua announces into the microphone. He’s too far away for you to read his lips properly, but he’s still signing for you, for you to understand even when you’re not directly in front of him. Did he practice all of this beforehand? “Thank you all for stopping by to listen.”

It’s hard to fully catch what he signs next. He might be nervous, you think, but that’s still endearing in itself. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue over the beach, as Joshua begins to strum his guitar. Seokmin fixes himself up to the microphone, fingers tapping beats against his thigh. His face shifts into focus, eyes closing to the music taking over that you can feel reverberate through the fresh air.

Joshua's fingers dance across the strings, then Seokmin's voice joins in. You watch their performance unfold, catching glimpses of their expressions𑁋Joshua's focused yet occasionally glancing your way with a reassuring smile, Seokmin's eyes closed in immersion with the music.

At the corner of your eye, you see Wheein and Seungkwan swaying to the music. When Wheein turns towards you, she reaches down to grab your hand into hers and lifts it up into the air with a grin, swaying your hands together from left to right. She also does the same with Seungkwan, and it’s just the three of you moving your bodies enthusiastically to the music as it swarms throughout the lively atmosphere of the beach. The small gathered audience around seem caught in the moment too.

When the first song ends, you clap along with the others, feeling the exhilaration of the performance blossom within your chest. Joshua lets his eyes roam around, briefly settling in your gaze for a moment, and the sight of your genuine joy only encourages him even more. He nods to Seokmin, who flashes him a thumbs-up, and then they dive into the next song.

It’s an emotional one this time. You could tell from the pensive looks on everyone's faces𑁋Seungkwan seems like he’s even about to cry𑁋and it only makes you think what they’re singing about. But you don’t let it bother you; instead, you still slowly sway your body, closing your eyes and letting yourself immerse in the moment.

Grains of sand slip through the cracks of your fingers. The sun has almost fully set at this point, merely just a golden half-circle sinking into the horizon. Water drips down your hair and skin onto the towel below you, goosebumps crawling its way up your arms from the night breeze that was beginning to settle in. You have no idea what time it is right now𑁋the beach is probably going to close soon, you think.

The others are still wading in the water, except for Jeonghan who might be passed out on another blanket not that far away from you. The events from the past few hours have started to rain down on you, a small yawn leaving you as you use the towel below to dab at your legs.

However, you feel something encase around you suddenly, and you perk up to the warm feeling of a towel being draped over your shoulders. Looking up, you see Joshua standing right above you, a towel of his own in his hands. He places himself down right next to you as if it was the most natural thing to do, and you let him. You like… being close with him like this.

Joshua dries off his hair with the towel, and you have to take your gaze away from the fact that his arms are exposed because of the sleeveless black top he was wearing. His hair comes out in a loose mess, wet strands sticking to his forehead. He glances over at you for a second, sending you a brief smile, and again, you avert your eyes away, moving your neck around to ignore the heat creeping up your body.

You don’t suppress the smile passing over your own face, though.

A light nudge at your side blinks you back to reality, making you turn to see an illuminated phone screen right in front of you.

Tired?

That was all to make another yawn leave you once again. Joshua just chuckles at the way you angle your face away from the phone screen, trying to hide your weariness. He brings the phone back to type something else before showing it to you.

Feeling happy though?

You almost want to scoff at that, but you don’t. It’s hard to not notice the way you feel happy right now. Maybe you’re glowing or something, maybe the pain that you feel in your cheeks is from all the smiles that was plastered on your face throughout the day. Whatever it is, you can’t deny it𑁋yes, you feel happy.

Joshua sees it too. There was probably no use in asking. The answer blooms on your features, perhaps brighter than the first stars beginning to twinkle above.

And so, you simply nod.

When Joshua retrieves his phone back, there’s a subtle shift in his face that was noticeable in the light. His fingers start typing across the screen, but then it stops, starts again, and stops.

He turns to you, expression turning serious. “Is it okay if I ask you something? You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.”

You huddle more into the towel and meet his gaze with a curious tilt of your head. His eyes flicker between you and his phone. After a few minutes of quiet contemplation, he hesitantly shows you the screen.

Have you ever wished that you could hear again?

For some reason, Joshua expects for you to be taken aback by the question, maybe even awkward or offended. But, instead, a relaxed look graces your features, a subtle curve at your lips, and you shake your head. Then you take the phone, typing out:

Not really. When I lost my hearing at 7, I used to cry to sleep knowing I won’t be able to hear my parent’s voices again. But over time, I didn’t let it bother me. It’s a part of who I am. It doesn’t make me any less than anyone else. It doesn’t make the world any less beautiful than it is now. There will always be challenges, like missing out on a joke or an important announcement. But I’ve learned to find beauty in the little things. Like feeling music through vibrations, or how sunlight hits my skin and tells me that the day is beautiful. I could read people’s faces and feel their excitement or their sadness. These are sounds in their own ways. So no, I don’t really wish I could hear again. I’ve found my own way to listen and be heard.

You even feel out of breath after typing all that out, but you feel lighter. Your heart feels completely vulnerable right now, all the thoughts swirling around you seem easy to catch in another’s hands. But Joshua is gentle with those thoughts, as if he’s placing them back down on the ground for you to navigate them together. You notice a flicker of something akin to awe wash over his features as he quietly reads your words to himself, a thoughtful crease forming between his brows. Then, he starts to type.

For me, I’ve been surrounded by sound all my life. Voices, instruments, the noise of the city. It’s kind of hard to imagine going through life without it. I’ve learned to grow up analyzing tones, pitches, chords, and notes. And because of that I get afraid of being the one off-key. But I like being quiet with you. And I like talking to you. And I like getting to know you. There’s a part of me that thinks I wouldn’t get tired of looking at you. I don’t know if it’s the silence that helps me focus, but I just know it helps me focus on you.

You swear you don’t even blink when you read over his words, once, twice, five times over. There’s a tugging at the strings of your heart, a sweet ache spreading through your chest, a sensation much to the pull of the ocean’s tide. When you draw your eyes away from the phone and to Joshua, his gaze meets yours in the middle, a hesitant question lingering painted over his features.

He brings his hands once more. He points to himself first, then faces his hand towards his chest, putting his thumb and index finger close to his chest with the other fingers extended out. Next, he slowly moves his hand forward, bringing his thumb and index finger closer together. And finally, he points to you, like you’re the last piece of the puzzle.

“I like you.”

A lump forms in your throat, and that familiar flutter of butterflies takes flight in your stomach, but it’s demanding this time and impossible to ignore. Letting your eyes drift over his face𑁋from his somewhat damp, tousled hair and down to the curve of his lips𑁋you know exactly how you feel.

Without hesitation; without doubt, you kiss him the next moment. It’s a tentative touch at first, making Joshua’s eyes widen in surprise and you pull away with uncertainty. For a second, he could only gaze at you, but then an adoring smile blooms across his face, an admiring sparkle in his pupils. Then he tilts his head just slightly, almost in a teasing manner, and leans back in to capture your lips against his once more.

Even when your eyes flutter to a close, you still feel his smile against your skin, matching the warmth that spreads through you like strokes of paint on a canvas, like music that fills a silent space. Something comes to cover over your hand on the towel𑁋Joshua’s hand rest over yours, warm and securely, thumb coming to reassuringly rub over the skin there.

When you pull away, you have the urge to bury yourself in the towel wrapped around you or run away in a fit of panic. You end up doing the former, burying your face further in the soft cotton. But Joshua doesn’t let you completely disappear, a shy chuckle of his own leaving his lips as he reaches out to gingerly tug the towel down just enough to reveal your eyes.

“Hi there,” he says softly, before some worry stretches across his face. “Are you okay?”

You loosely release yourself a bit more from the towel’s grasp around you and meet his eyes with a small, reassuring smile.

“I meant what I said,” Joshua continues. His hand still rests on yours while he lifts the other one to sign again, “I like you. I really do.”

Glancing down at your laced hands, you absentmindedly brush away a few grains of sand that stuck to his knuckles. His skin is warm to the touch, and the intimate gesture makes you take a shallow breath. You lift your gaze back to this, and he follows the way you bring your hand up.

You stick out your pinky finger, almost like a promise, and extend out your thumb as well, before moving your hand back and forth to sign,

“Me too.” You continue to run the tips of your fingers over his hand. I like you too.

“Did Seokmin tell you about Jihoon?”

Joshua sprays a bottle of disinfectant on a table before grabbing the rag that was hanging loosely on his shoulder. “Who?”

“The producer guy.”

The smell of the chemicals sends an unpleasant crinkle to Joshua’s nose. He pauses his cleaning for a moment. “Haven’t heard of him.”

“Well, he’s a producer apparently. A fairly new one. I think Seokmin mentioned that he went to high school and university with him𑁋wasn’t entirely close to him, though. Just a name that was sort of tossed around.” Jeonghan stops to take a loud bite out of a bag of chips. “But I’ve heard he’s got a studio opened now somewhere. So maybe…”

Joshua lightly chuckles. “You know I’ve gotten scammed from this type of stuff, right?”

“I’ve done my research.” Jeonghan promptly sits up in the chair (yes, he’s not helping with cleaning at all). “No heinous crimes have been committed. If anything, the only thing I could find on him is𑁋”

“Yo, Jeonghan! Where do you want this box of shit?”

Jeonghan turns somewhat annoyedly towards the source of the voice: this guy named Wonsik that he had hired recently since having Joshua as the only other worker around was proving to be insufficient. Joshua can’t say he’s exactly a fan of him though. His attitude is a bit… brash, to say the least.

“Just leave it in the storage room,” Jeonghan says, pointing in the direction with a chip in his hand.

After wiping off the final corner of the table, Joshua feels his phone vibrate in his back pocket. As he takes it out and catches a glimpse of the notification, he can’t help but smile to himself.

Joshua takes off the apron he’s been wearing, neatly hanging it up on a hook by the door that was designated for staff.

Jeonghan catches him mid-chew. “Curfew time?”

“Yep.”

“Gross,” Jeonghan mumbles sarcastically while crumpling up his bag of chips. “You know, just because you’re in a relationship now doesn’t mean you get to slack off on closing duties.”

Joshua rolls his eyes playfully. “Whatever, I’ll make it up tomorrow.”

Wonsik emerges from the storage room, catching Joshua’s attention with his loud, assertive footsteps and nearly running into him, the scent of cigarette smoke trailing behind him. He mumbles something about finally finishing taking in all the boxes, carrying the last one labeled with supplies, his expression a mix of boredom and disdain as he spots Joshua preparing to leave.

“Finally taking off, huh?" Wonsik sneers, eyeing Joshua up and down. “Off to be the hero for your little deaf partner?”

Whatever politeness Joshua had to his features had faded away in an instant, his jaw clenching tightly to the words. He adjusts the strap of his guitar case on his shoulder and meets Wonsik's arrogant gaze evenly.

“Watch your mouth,” Joshua says sharply, a warning edge to his voice that cuts through the room like a knife.

“What? I’m just saying it must be hard to deal with them, that’s all. Like how do you even communicate? Doing your little hand stuff? Must be an ass to handle all that shit.”

Joshua's nostrils flare at that, sensing his patience wearing thin at Wonsik's blatant insensitivity. His fists clench at his side momentarily, but he keeps in his anger, knowing that losing his cool most definitely won't help the situation at all. Taking a deep breath, he meets Wonsik's eyes with a steely glare.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Joshua replies firmly. “Don’t you have some human decency and respect in you?”

Wonsik just scoffs haughtily. That dumb, conceited smirk on his face widens even more as he leans casually against the counter, folding his arms across his chest. "Hey, I'm just saying what everyone else is thinking. It's not like I'm wrong, right? You could do so much better, man. You’re just pitying them because you feel bad.”

Just at that, his words strike a nerve in Joshua. “Y/N is more than capable of handling themself. They don’t need anyone else’s pity, least of all mine. So why don’t you mind your own business? Learn some respect while you’re at it, asshole.”

Wonsik shoots Joshua a final contemptuous glance before turning on his heel, shoving past Joshua, and disappearing back into the storage room, muttering something under his breath that Joshua isn’t bothered to decipher.

Heading back into the main area of the café, Joshua stops right before the door to turn towards Jeonghan. “Do me a favour and𑁋”

“Don’t worry,” Jeonghan interjects, waving him off dismissively. “He won’t come back tomorrow.”

Joshua’s shoulders visibly relax at that. “Thanks,” And when his hand lands on the door handle, he stops again. “I’ll do that thing, by the way.”

“That thing?”

“Mhm.” Joshua just nods. “I’ll ask Seokmin about Jihoon.”

Joshua hums quietly after every pluck of his guitar string, twisting the tuning pegs at the head of the guitar with every note deemed off-key. The sounds leaving his guitar bounce off the walls of your apartment and blend with the smell of leftover ramen that lingers in the room.

You sit across from him with two steaming cups of tea in your hand, carefully placing them on the coffee table in front of him. He glances up from tuning his guitar, eyes softening as they meet yours. Resting the guitar against the arm of the couch, he gratefully takes the mug that was waiting for him on the table, taking a quick sip of the jasmine tea you had prepared.

You peer at him worriedly, forming a claw shape with your hand and moving it downward to sign, “Hot?”

Joshua shakes his head, sipping once more and setting it back on the table.

“It’s perfect,” he tells you reassuringly.

Placing the guitar back on his lap, he positions his arms comfortably over it as if preparing to play something. Yet he catches the way your eyes watch his fingers glide over the strings. Joshua fixes his posture and presses his back against the couch behind.

“Do you want to try?” he asks. His fingers rest lightly on the strings, demonstrating a chord before letting them hover, waiting for your response.

The hesitation within you is shunned aside from the subtle hope of his invitation. Warily, you shift closer to him, settling between his legs as he positions the guitar in your grasp. His hands cover over yours, guiding your fingers over the frets and showing you how to press down on the strings. The wood of the guitar is smooth under your touch, vibrating weakly as you pluck the strings a few times tentatively.

His breath fans over your skin as he leans closer to help adjust your grip on the guitar neck. You have to turn your head in order to see if he’s saying anything to you. His face is so close to yours now that you can see the fine details in his expression. There’s a slight tiredness in there too, but you don’t comment about it.

Joshua's fingers move dexterously as he shows you another chord. This time, you press down with more confidence, and the sound resonates more clearly. He watches your face light up, and you can feel the vibrations of the strings through your fingertips. It’s a bit ticklish and you can’t help but giggle softly at the sensation. His hands still hover over yours for a few moments, but then he pulls back to give you a bit more space.

The chords you're playing aren't perfect𑁋they come out off-pitch and you aren’t able to tell, or the strumming patterns are a bit uneven𑁋but Joshua doesn’t mind. He doesn’t seem to notice or care about the mistakes.

After some time, you cautiously set the guitar on the floor, letting it lean back against the couch. By the time you finish taking another sip of your tea, Joshua is already holding out his phone to you.

If I wanted to get your attention without accidentally scaring you, how could I do that?

A feeling of déjà vu slithers down your body at the question, and you could tell Joshua feels it too. Briefly, you think about the first time the two of you met. It’s quite surreal how far you’ve come already.

You grab his phone to type:

I wouldn’t worry about scaring me like before, since I know that it’s you. I’m familiar with you. A small tap on the shoulder is okay, or you can flash your phone light. Wheein and Seungkwan do that to get my attention if they’re outside the door

Joshua reads your response, then shoots an understanding look, a thoughtful curve to his lips. The next thing that you catch is a yawn leaving him, which he tries to cover up with a sheepish smile.

“Tired?” You sign to him.

“A little bit,” he replies meekly. “Just some things on my mind.”

You tilt your head slightly, curiosity piqued at that.

Joshua practically melts into the couch, the exhaustion in his posture evident as he stretches out his legs and lets out a soft sigh.

“Work has been picking up a bit, people are ridiculous sometimes,” he starts, a twinge of frustration to his features. “I haven’t been able to go busking recently either, but… I think an opportunity came up. For music.”

Your eyes widen with interest, and you lean forward slightly, encouraging him to continue.

But he only hesitates. “I just don’t know if it’s worth pursuing. There are so many people out there who make big promises, but not all of them deliver. I don’t want to get involved in something that could turn out to be another dead end.”

A frown crosses its way across your lips. You can sense his apprehension and understand the reason behind it, but you also recognise the glimmer of hope in his eyes. Slipping out your own phone, you type:

You should go with what your heart is telling you to do. I’ll be there to support you either way :)

Your words drip of care and affection, feeling the uncertainty in his heart soften when he pinpoints the sincerity in your eyes. For a brief second, his gaze flickers down to your mouth before returning back up to your gaze. Without another word, he leans in, letting his lips brush against yours in a fleeting kiss.

Even in the few weeks the two of you have been together, moments like these will take some time to get used to. It’s both intimidating and exhilarating, comforting and thrilling all in one. But it’s undeniable that it feels… right, natural.

As cheesy as it sounds, that is what his heart told him to do at that moment𑁋to kiss you as a way to say thank you. A shy, boyish grin tugs at the corners of Joshua’s mouth when he pulls away. He takes a visible deep breath, as if drawing strength from your closeness, attentive eyes roaming over your face for any discomfort, but he finds none. The tips of your ears feel like they’re on fire, if anything.

“Cute.” He lightly taps the bud of your nose, causing you to scrunch up your face in response. “Thank you. I mean it.”

You only smile and nod under his gaze, signing with a simple, “I know.”

You lose track of time in front of the canvas when a yawn of your own leaves your mouth. Admittedly, it’s been hard motivating yourself to paint lately ever since your rejection at the exhibition, but somehow this time around, the colours on the canvas look more… livelier.

You glance between the unfinished canvas and to the candid picture that you took that day at the beach of your friends’ smiling faces. If this is how you’re going to encourage yourself to get back into painting, then so be it: painting a moment that you could simply define as happiness.

When another yawn leaves you, you swirl your paintbrush in a murky cup of water to clean it off before setting it aside. You stand from the chair and stretch, feeling the stiffness in your muscles from sitting in one position for too long. When you shift your gaze behind you, the sight that appears before you sends a leap of surprise through you.

Your eyes land on a sleeping Joshua, whose head rests against the arm of the couch, relaxed body slumped against the cushions, and one of his arms dangling off the edge. Tiptoeing over to him, you grab a blanket that Wheein had crocheted for your birthday from a nearby armchair and drape it over him. He shifts slightly at the movement but doesn’t wake, instead settling more deeply into the couch with a soft, contented sigh.

You don’t have it in to wake him up, because this feels right𑁋him at your place, falling asleep, and a sense of peace floating through the air.

If Seokmin didn’t come along, Joshua would probably have turned around on his heels by now and declined the offer.

Apparently Jihoon’s studio was located in a somewhat sketchy part of the city, and it took only one tumultuous month later to finally set a date to meet up. Joshua glances around the area, taking in a few worn-down buildings and graffiti-covered walls, wondering if this is really the right place.

“This place better not be a dump,” Seokmin mutters under his breath, scanning around nervously. “I swear, Jihoon has always been a bit of a mystery, but he’s got talent for sure. He was practically the maestro of the entire music program back then.”

“And you reunited with him… how?”

“At the gym,” Seokmin answers, but it’s more under his breath as if he was a bit embarrassed by it. The sly laugh that leaves Joshua makes him jut out his bottom lip. “I wanted to know his workout routine! I didn’t even recognise him after all these years.”

Joshua just rolls his eyes, the lighthearted banter lessening some of his nerves.

It would be his first time to walk into an actual studio. Somehow, Jihoon’s place was a good size to accommodate a variety of sound equipment and a living space at the same time. Compared to the gritty exterior, the inside certainly had more of a calming ambience. Neon lighting illuminated the room, casting a warm glow over the sleek equipment and musical instruments. Records lined the shelves and posters of artists decorated the walls, all bringing more character to the place.

Jihoon himself was the epitome of calm and collected, bringing an aura of meticulous confidence that caressed every inch of the studio. He’s been working independently this entire time, and according to Seokmin, he's been steadily putting a name for himself in the underground music scene right after graduating from university.

“So,” Jihoon starts, spinning around in the chair he was sitting on. Even when he was wearing a simple pair of sweatpants and a black tee, he still appeared effortlessly cool. “you’re a singer?”

Joshua looks down at himself for a moment as if questioning his own presence here, fingertips gliding steadily over the strings of his guitar. “Yeah. Been busking for the past year or so. Played guitar for my entire life. I’ve written some of my own songs, too.”

Surprisingly, this is enough to convince Jihoon. “Alright, then. Show me what you got.”

In its entirety, it was a surreal experience, and there’s just this inkling, this pinch of hope in the space between the tips of Joshua’s fingers whispering to him that he’s finally on the path to accomplishing his dreams. He’s never heard the sound of his voice so clearly before. Unlike the studio, there are no walls surrounding him when he busks𑁋only the open air, the street sounds blending with his music. But in the studio, the environment is different.

It’s as if his music is finally being given the space it deserves to breathe and thrive, just like he had always wanted for it to do.

The excitement is even evident in the way he’s gripping your hand as the two of you are walking back to your place together later that same night. Walking together has always been routine between the two of you, yet now there’s a certain lightness in the air knowing you both share the same love for these moments together.

Joshua feels the way you squeeze his hand, and when he looks at you, you’re holding out your phone for him to read.

So are you planning on seeing him again next week?

A contemplative look crosses his face, but it doesn’t take long for the corners of his lips to curve up.

“I think so,” he answers, eyes lighting up with optimism. “I think I might be getting to where I want to be, you know?”

The excitement that trickles down his body flows through your interlaced hands, and you find yourself smiling alongside him. You love knowing you get to be a witness of this pivotal moment for him. You love seeing him happy just as much as you love being happy around him.

When you reach the entrance of your apartment building, your hand still hasn’t left his. Joshua gazes past your shoulder towards the door, and then back to you.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” he asks, a teasing tilt to his head. “Even for just an hour?”

You wiggle your eyebrows at him, only giving him a simple shake of your head.

“Hm, am I that much of a distraction?” he muses, stepping just a tad bit more closer to you, and you know you’re digging yourself more into the ground at this point. “I love watching you paint though.”

You attempt to power through the way his words send a jolt through you, stubbornly standing your ground with the most serious expression you could muster. It’s not that you don’t want him to stay with you a little longer𑁋because you might quite possibly set everything aside for him without a doubt𑁋but you’ve made it a goal to get back into painting on your own terms and slowly but surely regain your confidence.

After putting on a small pout, Joshua’s gaze just softens. “Promise me you won’t stay up late?”

You nod, feeling the warmth of his concern and signing, “Promise.”

He still doesn’t let go of your hand, his thumb coming to caress tenderly over your knuckles. Joshua’s eyes flicker to your lips, and he leans in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you wanted to. But you don’t. Then he leans in and pauses once more, nose briefly brushing against yours, before pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Goodnight,” he signs when he pulls away, running a hand down your arm before reluctantly stepping back.

You could never get over the satisfying wave of relief that hits you whenever you complete a painting.

The first time you finished a painting was when you were eight years old. It was a simple watercolour painting of your family house, distinctively placed on a large hill instead of being surrounded by your neighbouring homes. Your mother had stuck it on the refrigerator for as long as you could remember alongside other family photos until it got too worn out from being taken down and put back up so many times, even being forgotten at some points when other mementos covered it. The fridge seemed so empty without it.

Seeing that painting every day reminded you of the joy of creating something with your own hands𑁋filling a space with something beautiful and meaningful, just like you had envisioned it in your mind. It’s not just about copying the photograph you used as reference; it’s about translating those fleeting, joyful moments into something real. You want people to look at your painting and feel the same happiness, the same warmth that you felt in that moment. It’s about capturing a moment in time and making it last forever. This is what art means to you.

“This is stunning, Y/N!” Wheein exclaims when you stand right next to her. “You made the sand look so real! And you used such a gorgeous gradient for the sky. You gotta give me some tips later! Have you thought about showing this to your teacher?”

You frown a little at that. You haven’t exactly been putting in the effort to show up at all. The sting of that rejection at the exhibition still lingers, making you hesitate to put yourself out there again. You’d rather put on a show for yourself before determining whether or not it’s worth sharing with others.

“I don’t know,” You answer.

“That’s okay!” Wheein says brightly. “But whenever you’re ready, let me know. We can make a killer portfolio together.”

You let out a laugh at that, mentally taking note of her offer for the future. Wheein just nudges you lightly on the hip with her own.

“You seem so much happier lately,” she acknowledges teasingly, a sly smirk crossing her face. “probably because of a certain someone…”

You feel a light flush creeping up your cheeks, and you glance away with a smile that you can’t quite hide. It hasn’t even been that long since you and Joshua have been together. Yet even though you can call him your boyfriend, he still gives you the space to grow, to dream, and to be yourself, just as you do with him. And in those times you two are together, reveling in the quiet language of your hands, letting your guard down has never felt this easy. You could share a simple smile with each other and the world seems a little brighter, a little more colourful, and a little more hopeful and meaningful.

“Oh my gosh, you’re smitten!” Wheein exclaims amusedly. “If that’s not love in your eyes, I don’t know what is.”

Love. What a silly, little word𑁋so small, yet carries so much in between its letters.

You just chuckle to yourself, savouring the way the word swirls around you.

[07:15 PM | y/n] are you nearing the place? I’m waiting by the front

You turn your phone off and bring it down, searching around for any sight of Joshua. Passerbys fill up your field of vision, all of them rushing past or casually walking by with their own different lives, but you don’t see him among the crowd. You check the time again, noting that he’s already fifteen minutes late, but you remind yourself that he’s been at Jihoon’s studio for the majority of the day and has probably been busy.

As you continue waiting, the slight chill of the evening air runs through your bones. It’s getting noticeably colder outside as winter is approaching closer and closer. You glance at your phone again, but the screen remains dark. Another ten minutes pass, and you could feel the worry creeping up your spine. It’s not like him to be this late without a reason.

The vibrant evening around you slowly begins to lose its charm, the excitement within you boiling down into a pit of disappointment, and the thought of standing alone any longer becomes unbearable. So, with a heavy sigh, you decide to walk away, pushing away the disappointment with every step that you take.

[07:28 PM | y/n] I’ll be heading home. let me know when you’re finished at jihoon’s

You slip your phone into your pocket, feeling a twinge of sadness as you start walking towards the nearest crosswalk. Above you, the streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement below and swallow the lively colours of the evening.

Approaching the crosswalk, the signal light shines a deep red, instructing you to stop and wait. A crowd of people all stop behind you as you wait for the light to change, and you become acutely aware of their presence surrounding you.

Your eyes wander across the street, where the traffic light turns red, and cars begin to slow down. Anticipating for the light to signal for you to cross, a sudden flash catches your attention from across the street. It looks like a flashlight, and it was flickering in a deliberate pattern.

The moment the signal light turns green, the flashing stops, unraveling Joshua standing on the other side. People brush past you in order to cross the street, yet you can only find yourself frozen. There’s a flash of urgency you catch to Joshua’s features, and your focus narrows on him as he dashes across the street toward you.

He’s breathless the second he reaches you, and his face is flushed with relief and desperation.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologises, signing frantically to you. “I lost track of time. I tried getting on the bus to get here faster but the traffic was bad. I…” His shoulders sink in dismay. “I’m sorry.”

You just shake your head dismissively, but it’s not hard to miss the subtle hurt in your face and the way you sign back to him. “It’s okay. I know your music is important to you.”

“You’re my top priority,” Joshua says quickly, eyes intense with sincerity. “Let me make it up to you, okay?”

His words send a flutter that makes your heart ache in your chest. Joshua reaches down and takes ahold of your hand in his, squeezing reassuringly. You feel a warmth spread through you as he intertwines your fingers.

“Would you like to have dinner back at my place?” Joshua offers, his lips curling up in a hopeful smile. “Jeonghan is staying at a friend’s place tonight, so it’ll just be us.”

You look up at Joshua, your heart racing at the thought of spending the evening with him.

“Okay,” You sign to him.

It’s been years since the last time you saw a record player. Your parents used to have one in the corner of the living room. It was a vintage piece, and you remember how your father used to meticulously handle the vinyl records, placing them carefully on the turntable before lowering the needle. You didn’t hear the music that came from it𑁋the music that they played before you lost your hearing was vague to memory𑁋but you loved watching the way the needle danced across the grooves of the records.

Joshua has an entire vinyl collection, and you look through each one curiously. You see names like Amy Winehouse, Radiohead, Pink Floyd, Elton John, Frank Sinatra, Nirvana, The Beatles, and even some contemporary artists like Billie Eilish, Boys Like Girls, and Lana Del Rey. The covers of each one are like pieces of art themselves, with their vintage charm and intricate designs.

When Joshua turns away from the stove, he looks at you, where you’re already peering at him.

“Do you want to play something?” You sign to him, thinking that he might want to listen to something while you’re here together.

Joshua’s eyes only soften as he takes in your question. “You don’t have to play anything.”

You smile bashfully. “I want to.”

He feels a tug at his heart at the pleading expression to your face. He briefly checks the food cooking on the stove before walking to where you’re sitting on the floor, his vinyls scattered in front of you.

“Okay,” he tells you. “Pick whichever one you want.”

Joshua watches as you carefully pick a vinyl𑁋you end up picking The Beatles, a classic𑁋and with practiced hands, he helps you place the record on the turntable and lowers the needle. You watch as the record starts to spin and the needle settles within the grooves.

You turn toward Joshua, signing, “Is it playing?”

The sound that comes off the record player is a bit distorted at first, but after some time, it manages to smooth out. Joshua just nods, his face lighting up with a smile at the way you appear so engrossed by the spinning record.

Dinner comes by in a jiffy. The singular kitchen light hangs above the small table that you both are sitting at, the aroma of Joshua’s cooking wafting through the air. It wasn’t anything spectacular, but the simplicity of the meal𑁋steamed vegetables, grilled chicken, and fluffy rice𑁋makes it all the more comforting. You definitely would have preferred this over restaurant food.

You eat slowly, savouring the flavours of each bite. You can feel Joshua's eyes on you, and you can't help but smile.

“Good?” he asks.

You give a few enthusiastic nods, and the sight lights up Joshua’s face even further.

The record player was still faintly playing music in the background, yet the quietness that he gets to share with you is what he cherishes the most. It’s not awkward or forced; it’s a comfortable silence that pleasantly wraps around you both. The occasional pop or crackle from the record player blends in with the sounds of your contented chewing and the soft clinking of utensils.

Afterwards, you find yourself settling on the couch in Joshua’s living room as you wait for him to come back to the bathroom, and you take the time to peer around his space.

You already know that he’s living with Jeonghan too, so you love how you’re able to easily distinguish the small snippets that belong to Joshua. Apart from the collection of vinyl records, you also see a few microphone stands and a keyboard set up in one corner, as well as an empty guitar stand where you know his guitar belongs.

Letting your eyes drift, the coffee table in front of you catches your attention. There’s a couple of coasters, the remote for the TV, a cute succulent in the middle. But then your eyes land on something else.

On it, you spot a book laying flat on the table. Curiosity piqued, you reach over to examine it. The book is a sign language dictionary. You open it to find that it’s filled with detailed illustrations of hand signs, and throughout the pages you see Joshua’s handwriting scattered throughout. Some of the pages are marked with sticky notes, others you spot silly doodles of smiley faces in the corners.

You hardly ever thought about the amount of effort he put into learning how to talk to you, to understand you. A small part of you feels bad that he has to go through all this trouble to learn sign language. But then you remember that he chose to do this, that this was his decision, not yours.

The spot on the couch right next to you dips down slightly as Joshua sits down. He glances at the sign language dictionary in your hands and glances at you with a soft, curious look, and it makes you look away sheepishly.

Dropping the book in your lap, you fumble for your phone, typing out:

You did all of this for me?

When Joshua reads the message, a small chuckle leaves him.

“I wanted to get to know you better,” he tells you, your eyes flickering between his hands and his lips. “I don’t regret it at all.”

As his words wash over you, you feel your fingers struggle to put together how much this is affecting you. You type after a few thoughtful moments.

It must have been hard. I’m sorry

Joshua only shakes his head. “It was worth it. I promise.” He pauses for a moment, gears turning in his head. “Do you want to know the first word I wanted to learn?”

You watch as he picks up his right hand, opening it up so that his fingers pointed up and his thumb toward his cheek. Then he fans his fingers across his face, and closes his hand in a relaxed fist to sign the word beautiful.

“You’re beautiful,” he finishes, his fingers gracefully forming the sign again. “I happened to have thought that the first second you walked into the café.”

You could only stare at him incredulously. Even though it isn’t the first time he’s expressed this kind of affection in your few months of being together, it still takes you by surprise, still sends those surges of flutters shooting down your limbs, still makes your mind go blank and your hands go limp.

Cowering behind a hand of your own, you motion a shy finger at him, before rolling your hand over your face, then forming a Y-shape with your hand, and shaking it slightly.

“You’re beautiful, too.”

Joshua purses his lip together at that, suppressing the giddiness threatening to stretch across his features.

“Well,” he starts, cocking his head to the side endearingly. He won’t ever get over how adorable you are when you’re flustered. “I say we compliment each other quite well then.”

From there, the two of you let out some shared, heartfelt laughter, and it sounds like absolute music to Joshua’s ears. He shows you the pages he’s gone through in the book𑁋from the alphabet and grammar, to basic common phrases, and to more, nuanced, complex sentences𑁋and it looks like he’s more than halfway done with reading and annotating through it. He eagerly points out the words and phrases he's already mastered, and the ones he's still struggling with. It's cute seeing the little doodles and notes he's written in the margins.

When he places the book back on the table and turns to you, a lightbulb goes off in your head.

“I can teach you,” You sign to him, a willing passion in your hands.

Joshua lifts a brow, copying your movement. “Teach me?”

When you nod, his face morphs into a pensive look. After a few moments, he brightens back up.

“How about the seasons?” he suggests. “We can start with those.”

You begin with spring. Your hands move as if they’re opening up to new life, the gesture mimicking the blossoming of flowers. Joshua watches intently, his eyes following your movements carefully, before mimicking the motion a few times.

Next, you move on to summer. You form a fist with your palms down at your forehead, before taking your index finger and drawing it across your brow a few times, almost as if you’re wiping away a drip of sweat.

For autumn, you use your hands to mimic falling leaves from a tree off your non-dominant elbow, making a gentle fluttering motion.

Finally, you teach him winter. You simply make a shivering motion, as if you’re cold, and Joshua chuckles as he imitates the sign. You watch in awe as he successfully goes through the signs a few times without a hitch. Giving him a few rounds of claps, he gives a shy, pleased smile, clearly proud of his progress.

“I hope we…” Joshua starts, some unsureness flowing through his hands, but he signs the seasons so easily (unbeknownst to you, he already knew them). “...we get to see spring, summer, autumn, and winter together.”

Perhaps he could feel the way your heart swells in his hands, because he’s cradling it so preciously as he speaks, and he looks at you with such hopeful eyes.

You want to spend every single season with him.

Later that night, you find yourself standing in front of the sink in Joshua’s kitchen, washing the dishes because you lost him to a game of rock-paper-scissors.

As you’re rinsing off the final dish, a light tap lands on your shoulder, making you wince for a second before quickly relaxing. A pair of arms then sneaks around your waist, pulling you close and causing you to nearly lose your grip on the plate.

Joshua gently rests his chin on your shoulder from behind. His breath hits your neck as he wraps his arms around you. He stays like this for a few moments, simply savouring the closeness of your presence against him. Then, with a mischievous smile that you don't see, he brings a finger up and slowly begins to trace your back lightly with the tip, almost like a whisper against your skin.

I…

Curious and slightly ticklish, you crane your neck slightly to look back at him over your shoulder, scrunching your face up as you try to focus on deciphering what he’s trying to write.

… l… o… v… e…

Joshua pauses momentarily, sneaking a glance at the way you’re standing so still in his hold, before tracing the final letters.

…y… o… u.

Eyes widening, you shift around in order to face him, and Joshua rests his arms on either side of you, hands gripping onto the counter behind and practically enclosing you in.

He leans in, and the world seems to narrow altogether. His half-lidded eyes flicker between your eyes and lips, as if asking for permission, and you could only anticipate what’s coming next as you squeeze your eyes shut.

Chuckling softly, Joshua inches even closer to you, and you feel his nose lightly brush against yours. But instead of pressing his lips against yours, he first kisses your forehead softly, making you shoot your eyes open in a bit of a confused daze.

But before you can fully process everything, he’s leaning in once again, and this time, his lips gently meet against the tip of your nose. You crinkle it back as a pout runs across your mouth, and Joshua’s grin widens even more.

“What’s with the face?” he teases, feigning a hurt look. “Is it because I haven’t kissed you properly yet?”

You answer with him a shy, petty tug at the fabric of his shirt.

“Give me a smile then,” Joshua insists impishly. “Please?”

Just from that alone, a shy curve sprouts at your lips, and Joshua just watches with a satisfied look.

“Hmm,” he hums skeptically, but is leaning in closer anyway. “I’ll take it.”

Then he finally kisses you, mouth moving with an ardent sweetness against yours that renders you breathless. He playfully chases after you as you manage to escape out of his grasp. But he’s quick to catch up to you anyway, the sounds of your giggles mingling with the soft crackling of the record player as you both collapse on top of the couch.

You tentatively trace I love you on his back when you’re both settled on the couch together, legs intertwined and your head perched at the crook of his neck. He’s asleep, you consider𑁋you can tell by the way you feel his chest rising and falling against yours.

Yet after you write those words, a shaky, relieved exhale leaves him that you don’t hear.

“All you have to do,” Jihoon starts, offering a seemingly heavyweight set of headphones in his other hand towards Joshua. “is press play right here, and tell me what you think.”

Joshua takes hold of the headphones as Jihoon scoots a bit of his chair away to give him some room. He places it carefully over his ears, feeling the soft cushions envelop them. Then after taking a deep breath, he reaches over to press the play button on the keyboard, and Joshua can feel his heart racing in anticipation.

Upon playing, he’s greeted with the familiar sounds of his guitar filling his ears, and then his voice comes in. Hearing himself in such a professionally produced track and not just as raw vocals bouncing off the walls of his room is absolutely unbelievable. He could also pinpoint the subtle layers Jihoon has added to the track𑁋a faint drumbeat and soft vocal harmonies.

It was a song that was once simple lyrics in a dusty journal and a few rough guitar chords. It wasn’t meant to be anything grand; it was originally a personal project made on a whim in the middle of the night just to channel his feelings and his dreams into something palpable.

But now, hearing it with such rich yet attenuated production for the first time, it feels as if the song has taken on a life of its own.

“Holy𑁋wow,” Joshua says the moment he takes off the headphones, staring at Jihoon with disbelief. “Are you sure this is my song?”

Jihoon chuckles at that. “Positive, man.”

Joshua’s eyes remain wide. He holds the headphones in his hands, turning them over and inspecting them closely as if trying to decipher the magic hidden within.

“I never imagined it could sound like this,” he admits meekly. “I mean, I’ve always dreamed about this, but... to actually hear it like this? It’s incredible.”

Jihoon nods encouragingly. “You had the foundation; I just built on it. I’m telling you, with the right push, it could really connect with people.”

Joshua leans back in his chair, still holding the headphones in his grasp like it's a sacred bar of gold, and lets out a deep breath. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“The recording will be on this USB drive,” Jihoon shows off a tiny, ruby red drive in his hand. “I’ll work on polishing it up a bit more, but this is essentially it. You could also gain some attention from your busking gigs. What do you say?”

Well, it’s not like he can say no to that.

“I’m in,” Joshua replies with a grin.

The minute that he steps out of the studio later that day, a breeze of cold air suddenly nips at his cheek. Joshua brings his head up to see the sky thick with clouds, and to his amazement, delicate snowflakes begin to fall, gently drifting down and settling on his hair and shoulders. It’s the first snowfall of the season.

There’s something almost magical about the way the snow falls, he thinks. As he continues to walk through the streets, there’s a sense of renewal that washes over him, a fresh start, just like the song he’s worked so hard on and the dreams he's held at the tips of his fingers. He takes a deep breath, letting the cool air fill his lungs, and pulls out his phone to text you.

[05:39PM | joshua hong] Still have time to meet up later?

Your reply comes in almost instantaneously.

[05:41PM | y/n] just left the museum :) it’s snowing outside!!!

[05:42PM | joshua hong] Dress warmly ❤️ I’ll meet you at your place?

[05:42PM | y/n] I will. see you soon ❤️

Chuckling to himself, Joshua pulls the jacket tighter around his body and stuffs his hands inside his pockets, quickening his pace at the thought of seeing you.

When the season of spring rolls over, trees are budding with beautiful, bright green leaves and flowers are blooming in a vibrant array of colours. Spring has always been one of your favourite seasons, and this year is no different𑁋especially if you get to see it with the people close to you.

You’ve been coming back to attend your art class at the museum, and you’ve decided to pick up a small side role as a teacher’s aide to earn some extra money since more people have been enrolling into the art programs. So far, it’s been very rewarding and fulfilling, and meeting new people who share your same passions has been a joy.

Plus, you could proudly say the spark for painting has been getting stronger and stronger each passing day.

Wheein greets you with enthusiasm when you walk out of the classroom, explaining with annoyance about how one of the girls in her classroom was someone she heavily despised back in high school. Seungkwan shows up when you both step out of the museum, and you have to remind them that you can’t sacrifice your plans with Joshua to hang out with them at the arcade that just opened down the street.

“They’re in their honeymoon phase,” Seungkwan rolls his eyes teasingly.

“They’ve been in their honeymoon phase for, like, half the year now,” Wheein grumbles, though her irritation is more playful than serious. “It’s not like they’re going to stop anytime soon.”

“And Y/N is practically dating a celebrity at this point. Have you seen the way people are talking about his music online?”

Your best friends are boasting about your relationship right in front of you, making you roll your eyes. But you can’t help the way your cheeks colour with a tad bit of embarrassment and… a hint of proudness too, because they’re right.

Joshua has had a few more songs released under his name, and performing at the busking centre has become a regular part of his schedule, his days working at the café lessening as he’s been focusing more on his music. His performances have been slowly drawing more attention, both locally and online, and it’s clear that his passion is shining through. You’re incredibly proud of him𑁋you’ve always had been.

Your footsteps are as light as a feather by the time you reach the busking centre. There’s already a good size crowd gathered around, and you can see Joshua sitting in the middle, propped on a stool with his guitar. Seokmin is there too, sitting on a stool of his own with a microphone in front of him, and there’s one more person. Judging by the small details that Joshua alludes to𑁋with the man’s distinctive button nose and laid-back stature𑁋you could only assume it’s Jihoon sitting behind the keyboard with a calm and focused expression.

As you, Seungkwan, and Wheein find a spot at the edge of the crowd, he seems to spot you almost immediately in the midst of singing a song, his eyes lighting up the moment they meet yours. He gives you a small smile, and you can’t help but feel a rush of warmth spread through your chest. Joshua looks completely at ease as he tunes his guitar, his fingers moving cleverly over the strings.

He looks really, really pretty. The sun seemed to be shining down on him in all the right ways, the sleeves of the white collared shirt that he was wearing pulled up to reveal his forearms, and a dainty pair of glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. The subtle spring breeze rumples his hair just enough to make him look effortlessly handsome. You couldn't take your eyes off him.

The entire crowd is captivated, yet it's as if he's singing directly to you, and in a way, he is. The vibrations fly through the air and hit every inch of your skin and into your chest, each note reverberating in your heart. You watch the way his lips move, the way his eyes light up, and the way the crowd responds𑁋it all tells you just how special this moment is.

As the song comes to an end, the crowd erupts in applause once again, and you find yourself brightly clapping along with everyone else. He looks over at you, and for a moment, it feels like time stands still. Then he stands up with Seokmin and Jihoon following, the three of them taking a bow together, before he sets his guitar down and makes his way toward you.

Seungkwan and Wheein give you knowing looks before stepping aside to give you two some space, leaving to approach Seokmin and Jihoon.

“Did you like it?” he asks while signing to you.

You purse your lips together, shooting a musing glance up at the sky, before signing, “You already know what I think of it.”

“In fact, I do not,” Joshua responds playfully, stepping a bit closer to you. “That’s why I’m asking you, love.”

You narrow your eyes at him, feigning mock suspicion, and he seems to already know what you’re trying to point out.

“Of course I’m fishing for compliments,” he adds on with a cheeky grin, endearingly wrinkling his nose that his glasses slide down just a bit. “Your opinion matters the most to me. Winning your approval means that I’ve accomplished the world, you know.”

You can't help but laugh faintly at his words, though his earnestness warms your heart. Tentatively, you reach out to adjust his glasses, pushing them back up the bridge of his nose. His gaze follows your movements as you pull away from him slightly, the corners of his lips twitching up even further.

“It was wonderful,” You sign back bashfully. A blush creeps up your cheeks as you realise how cheesy it sounds, but Joshua’s features only soften as he reads your hands and catches a glimpse of a twinkle in your eyes when you look at him.

He reaches down and takes one of your hands into his. “That was all that I needed to know.” Then he glances at the time displayed on his phone and looks back at you. “The aquarium is still open, right?”

Your eyes widen at that𑁋that’s right, you were too caught in the moment that you nearly forgot about your plans𑁋and you give an eager nod.

“Perfect,” Joshua chips eagerly, his hand squeezing yours encouragingly. “The painting you did the other week reminded me of the jellyfish exhibit.”

“This awfully feels like a break-up.”

Joshua furrows his brows at that while folding one of his shirts and placing it inside a box. “What are you even talking about?”

“You’re breaking up with me,” Jeonghan retaliates jokingly, fauxing a sulky pout. “and moving out. I thought we had something special going on here.”

“You were the one who wanted me to move out in the first place.”

Jeonghan sighs dramatically, slumping his body against the doorframe of Joshua's now half-empty room. “That was before I realised how lonely it would be without you here. And now you’re spreading your wings and flying off.”

As sarcastic as that sounds, the corners of Joshua’s lips turn up fondly. If it weren’t for Jeonghan taking him in as his roommate from the very beginning ever since moving away, he wouldn’t lie about feeling a little sentimental.

After packing up the remains of his clothes, Joshua stands up from sitting on his ass on the floor for two hours straight, crossing his arms together and shooting Jeonghan a pointed look. “You know I’m only going to be living like… fifteen minutes away, right? And I’ll still be working at the café.”

“I’m officially putting you as full-time then.” Jeonghan’s lips quirk up in a smirk.

“Screw that,” Joshua huffs with a laugh. “I’ve already got enough on my plate.”

“Right, because you’re so famous,” Jeonghan remarks exaggeratingly. “Heard you signed a napkin for someone the other day.”

Joshua snorts at that in response. Okay, he’s certainly not as famous as Jeonghan depicts him to be, but apparently famous enough for someone to approach him and ask for his autograph on a napkin. Apart from the gigs in the busking centre, he also has a few social media accounts set up where he can post song covers on occasion and drop updates about his music.

All he has is his presence, a guitar, and a dream that’s slowly taking shape right before him. He knows it’s a long road ahead, but even with the small progress that’s been made so far, he’s hopeful, determined.

The new apartment is small but cozy. It’s not much, but it’s a place to call his own𑁋his own little corner of the world. He decides it’s not worth the energy right now to unpack everything and instead settles on top of the lone mattress that’s currently on the middle of the floor, feeling both exhausted and oddly content.

He stretches his body on top of the soft surface and lets out a sigh of relief as he sinks into the mattress, gazing aimlessly at the barren ceiling above him. The remnants of packing are scattered about the place, with boxes sitting in corners and unopened bags lying around. His guitar sits on its stand right next to the window. There are still many things to figure out𑁋how to decorate the place, where to put everything, what this all means for his future.

But for now, he allows himself this moment of stillness; this brief, quiet pause before turning the page to the next chapter.

After nearly nodding off, a few knocks at the door jolt him awake. He blinks in surprise, pushing himself up from the mattress. Stretching out his tired limbs, he makes his way to the door, opening it to find you standing on the other side.

You stand there with a bag clutched at your side, suspended under the singular hallway light that highlights the fondness in your eyes. You shake the bag lightly.

“Food?” You sign to him.

Joshua swears his heart drops down to his knees just from that alone, his exhaustion melting away from your simple offer. Then his stomach rumbles, as if in agreement, reminding him that he hasn’t exactly had a proper meal the majority of the day from how busy he was with moving in. The nod he gives you makes you chuckle.

As you step inside his new place for the first time, you take a moment to gaze around at the barren walls and scattered boxes. Like any new, fresh canvas, the space holds so much potential and possibilities. If it’s home for Joshua, then it’s also… home for you too.

The two of you sit down cross-legged on the mattress while unpacking the bag of its contents. The aroma of takeout food travels through the air. You spread out the food between you, and Joshua seems to light up upon seeing the familiar, comforting dishes.

Sharing a meal together feels a bit different now. You don’t exactly know why, but there’s a subtle shift in the air you haven’t noticed until this very moment. There’s a sense of beginning, of making this place feel like home, and it’s oddly intimate. It's a blank slate waiting to be filled with new memories. New memories that you can’t wait to make with him.

Joshua feels a nudge at his knee while chewing on a sushi roll, seeing that you’re holding out your phone for him to read.

Can I show you something?

He swallows his bite of sushi and looks up at you with curiosity, taking a second to clear his mouth while giving a nod.

Shrugging off the nerves, you set your plate of food down to reach into the bag. You pull out a small canvas, and when you turn it over to show him, it shows a beautifully painted scene of a sunset casting over the horizon. The vibrant hues of yellow and orange blend seamlessly with soft blues and purples. Along with that, the silhouette of a couple sitting together𑁋with one leaning their head on the other’s shoulder𑁋under a tree completes the picture.

Joshua reaches out to touch the canvas, letting a fingertip caress over its coarse surface.

“This is beautiful,” he tells you. “Did you make this for me?”

You nod, and he watches closely as you type on your phone.

I wanted to give you your first piece of decoration for your new place

Joshua’s eyes soften as he reads your message, the warmth in his chest spreading to his entire body.

“It’s perfect, honey,” he says. “I’ll be sure to hang it somewhere special.”

In your eyes, you can already imagine it hung on the empty wall beside the window, where the morning light will cast a gentle glow on it and bring the colours to life. In your eyes, you can imagine your easel sitting right below it, with Joshua’s guitar propped right beside it…

“I should have the stuff to hang it in one of the boxes. I’m not sure which one though.” Joshua’s eyes flicker between the unopened boxes standing intimidatingly in the corner of the room, letting out a small, airy laugh. “But I’ll find it soon, I promise.”

You give him a warm, reassuring smile, as if conveying that there wasn’t any rush in finding it right now.

When you both finish eating and cleaning up, you find yourself sitting on the mattress, body turned so that you are staring out the window of Joshua’s apartment, reveling in the stillness of the summer night and the way moonlight filters on the wall. Your silhouette is quickly joined by another one as Joshua settles closely beside you, your shoulders brushing lightly.

At the corner of your eye, a glowing phone screen catches your attention, on it displayed a message from Joshua.

What are you thinking about?

The question almost seems silly somehow, yet you ponder for a few moments, before taking the phone to type back:

I made a big decision today

Joshua lifts up an intrigued brow, and he tilts his head inquisitively at you, the soft brown tones of his eyes glistening like honey. It makes you lose your train of thought briefly as your fingers drift clumsily across the screen.

I’m going to participate in the upcoming exhibition at the museum. I’ve been thinking of trying again for a while now

“You are?” Joshua’s eyes widen. “When is it going to be?”

“During fall,” You sign in response.

Fall isn’t that far away. The reminder seems to gnaw uneasily at your nerves, and Joshua notices it right away.

“Feeling nervous about it?” he asks.

You nod slowly, the weight of your decision settling heavily in your chest.

“It’s okay to be nervous. I know it didn’t go well last time,” Joshua continues. “But, well𑁋you already know what I’m going to say, right?”

Now, the nod you give is a bit more confident. You bring your hands up to sign, “I believe in you.” You wonder if it’s his favourite phrase, since he’s said it to you so many times before. It holds a special place in your quiet conversations.

“Exactly.” He wiggles a playful finger in front of your face, the moonlight makes his eyes twinkle with reassurance. “I believe in you. I’ve seen the way you pour your heart into your art. No matter what, you’re going to shine, love. And you have to believe in yourself too, okay? That’s the most important step.”

Joshua reaches over to grab your hand into his, squeezing firmly, before bringing it up to his lips to place a kiss right at your knuckles. You melt at that𑁋probably into the mattress at this point𑁋and hang your head down bashfully.

When the silence rolls over again, you lean your head on Joshua’s shoulder, your silhouettes intertwining together on the wall.

Maybe this is where you belong, after all.

There’s a quiet comfort you find in the palette of fall: the colours of leaves changing to warm oranges, reds, and yellows, the subtle crispness of the air that reminds you of the sweet taste of cinnamon rolls, and the way the sunlight feels a little softer on your skin.

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm the racing thoughts in your head. This is it. The moment you’ve been dreading and anticipating for weeks. You toy anxiously with the sleeves of your cardigan as you walk into the museum, the grand hall stretching out before your eyes.

It’s all familiar just like last year𑁋the same setup, some familiar and new faces. More people are probably participating than last time since the art program has grown exponentially, and the thought fills you up with trepidation, if anything. Wheein is also here too engaging in the exhibition, Seungkwan was going to come later, and Joshua had already texted you that he's on his way after ending his performance at the busking centre early (though you insisted he didn’t have to… yet he did anyway) though you’re unsure when he’s going to arrive.

Along with the other artists in the room, you take a seat as you wait for the exhibition to finally begin. Then you feel a tap on your shoulder, and you perk up to see Wheein quickly engulfing you in a hug before pulling away.

“Jeez, there you are! You’re sitting like a wallflower and I couldn’t find you anywhere,” she rambles quickly that you don’t entirely catch what she’s saying, but you could tell she’s nervous too. She takes a visible breath, and brings her hands up. “How are you feeling? Heard there’s more competition this time.”

You offer her a small, reassuring smile. “Nervous, but excited. I feel more prepared.”

Wheein nods, her eyes lighting up at that. “Good. You've got this.” She glances around the room before turning back to you. “See you on the other side?”

“Definitely,” You assure her, feeling a surge of confidence flow through you.

Wheein squeezes your hand with a firm look one last time before moving off to find her own spot. A short while later, the exhibition officially begins with a long speech by the museum director once more. There’s still no sign of Joshua anywhere, but you tell yourself that you got this.

Ignoring your sweaty palms, you spot your artwork hanging on the wall. It feels like a small part of you is now on display. And for the first time, there’s a feeling of pride that wraps around you comfortably. You feel more prepared than last time; with the help of Wheein, you wrote down some written statements you could present to the critics and the visitors who come by if they ever ask about your piece.

A few minutes later, an interpreter approaches you𑁋one who isn't late this time, thankfully𑁋and you greet her with a friendly nod. She offers a kind smile to you, and you feel a bit more at ease, knowing that you’ll be able to communicate effectively with any critics and curators.

As people start to crowd around the extravagant hall, you find yourself observing their reactions from a distance. Some pause to study your piece closely while reading the written statements you prepared. Others seem to take in the scene with thoughtful silence and then move on to the next artist after you. However, before you know it, time seems to slip away fairly quickly, and you’re surrounded by a sea of curious faces willing to engage in discussions about your painting.

It’s a bit overwhelming having to explain and answer to so many people at once where you can feel their eyes practically boring into you, but you’ve rehearsed this part so many times that you feel yourself becoming more comfortable, more natural in the way you’re confiding in your work.

As much as art can be interpreted, reinterpreted, and misinterpreted, you know that in the end, beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder. Your work is supposed to continue conversations, not end them. And you hope that yours does just that.

After talking to a sweet-looking old couple, you take a moment to catch your breath. You can’t tell if the stars have possibly aligned for you or if it’s just the magic of the night that’s making everything feel so right.

Just as you're starting to relax a bit, a familiar, comforting sight at the corner of your eye captures your attention. And when you bring your head back up to welcome the next visitor, you find Joshua right in front of you, coming up with his arms behind his back and a playful look on his face. He’s dressed in a comfortable navy blue sweater and a pair of beige jeans, appearing effortlessly handsome and soft as always.

“Hello,” he greets warmly before stopping in front of you, letting his eyes trail past you in order to roam over the large painting that sat behind. So this is what you’ve been keeping a surprise all this time. “Your painting is beautiful. Can you tell me more about it?”

You blink in surprise at his sudden performance on being a visitor, biting back a smile creeping up your lips and the affectionate flutters bursting in your stomach.

Gesturing to the painting, you start to explain as your interpreter steps in to translate to Joshua. You start with the basics of your piece: the inspiration, the styles and techniques you used, and what you hoped to convey, and Joshua listens attentively, though he seems to be more focused on you than anything else. For some reason, him being the only one standing here is making you more nervous than the group of people you talked to earlier.

“I could see the passion you put into your piece,” Joshua says softly. “It’s admirable. It was the first thing that caught my eye when I walked in here and I could tell that there’s something truly special about it𑁋that there’s a lot of heart in it. So thank you for sharing this part of you to the world. You have a gift, honestly.”

You find every ounce of wanting to thank him shy away as a blush rises to your cheeks. Instead, you give a small nod, head hanging down as if the floor was the most interesting sight in the world, feeling overwhelmed by his words. If you look at him, you’d feel like you would melt into a puddle on the floor.

Joshua chuckles quietly at your reaction before giving you one last lingering look. You watch as his shoes walk out of your line of sight, his presence leaving behind a comforting feeling to settle in your chest, right by your heart. You feel like you can conquer the world right now.

When you finally bring your head back up, you don't spot him anywhere. For a moment, you scan the large room, looking for the familiar navy blue sweater, but you assume he’s already moved on to another part of the exhibition.

You let out a breath you hardly noticed you were holding until now.

As the evening winds down and time is getting closer to the dreaded announcement of results, the atmosphere in the museum starts to shift from the excitement of the exhibition to a more anticipatory hush as everyone returns back to their seats. The tremble in your hands returns back once more as you peer around anxiously, hoping to see some sight of a familiar face𑁋of Joshua, of your best friends, of anything.

Minutes later, Wheein and Seungkwan run up to you with wide, beaming grins. Joshua isn’t with them, though. Your shoulders deflate slightly.

“They’re about to announce the results!” Wheein exclaims, signing to you with more enthusiasm than you can ever have right now. “How do you feel?”

“I swear I saw so many people gathered at your painting earlier,” Seungkwan adds in. “That’s got to be a good sign, right?”

“Not all the time,” Wheein reassures him with a disappointed tone, but she keeps a light-hearted smile. “Usually it just means people were interested, but hey, it’s definitely a good sign! You should be proud of yourself, no matter what happens, Y/N, okay?”

You force a smile at that, trying to hide the nervousness that’s crawling up your spine. You're not sure if you're ready to hear the results, yet at the same time, there’s a pang of excitement that’s hard to not acknowledge too.

The museum director steps up to the podium once everyone scrambles to return to their seats. You shoot glances around the room, spotting familiar faces, some looking calm and composed, others nervously tapping their feet or fidgeting with their clothes. You can hardly catch up with the way your heart is racing like it's running on overdrive, but you attempt to readjust your focus to the director.

“Now, I would like to formally express congratulations to all who have claimed a place in this year’s annual exhibition. We had an outstanding number of participants and submissions this year. It was a very challenging time for the judges…”

The director’s voice is steady, yet each word that you watch leave his mouth seems to stretch on as your nerves make the second feel like minutes then to hours. Your palms have become clammy, and you grip your hands into tight fists, your nails digging into the skin of your palm.

“…the judges have taken into consideration to select the works that stood out in originality, technique, and emotional impact. And now, for the results…”

Your breath catches as the director begins to announce the winners slowly but surely, one by one, heartbeat thumping stronger with each one. The names come and go, each following with a few moments of applause erupting around the room that you echo along with as the artists hop onto the stage to retrieve their certification from the director. It’s like a momentary pause of time before the next.

The moments that pass feel as if a small weight is being lifted from your shoulders, only to be replaced by a heavier, more pressing sense of anticipation, of dread, of doubt. Déjà vu starts to seep into your thoughts as you bite at your bottom lip and bring your eyes down from the stage, feeling your chest tightening with hopelessness. There’s no point.

And it’s because you’ve become so attuned to your thoughts that you don’t notice the collective murmur of excitement that ripples through the crowd right before you. You pick up to clap your hands for the name was just called, only to be met with quite literally everyone’s faces on you. Nothing but confusion clouds your mind.

Are they… clapping for you?

The realisation hits you hard, and for a few long seconds, you’re caught between disbelief and elation. Your body feels absolutely frozen in place; everyone’s mouth is moving too fast for you to fully process; the world around you feels like it’s spinning. The moment seems to stretch into an endless void, and you can barely believe what’s happening. The crowd’s faces blur into a sea of smiles and congratulations… for you.

Your name𑁋your artwork𑁋had been recognised.

You nearly tumble on the way to the front at the way your legs feel numb underneath you, each step feeling as if you’re floating on air. Perhaps this is really just one, long, tortuous dream, but the way your trembling hands clutch the certificate as you receive it from the director feels startlingly real.

The director offers you a handshake and an acknowledging smile, but you hardly register it all in your mind. In those short moments, you take the opportunity to swiftly scan the room, catching sight of Wheein and Seungkwan clapping happily for you, and Joshua standing right next to them. He’s clapping along too𑁋is that a bouquet of flowers in his hands?𑁋with a warm, proud smile painted across his features. You consider it more important than any of the applause around the room; more important than the award itself, ironically.

You make your way back to your seat, the certificate feeling both heavy and light in your hands. Every congratulatory smile that the other artists send to you is like a burst of warmth against the cool autumn night.

As the last of the names are called, you find yourself drifting among the crowd, eyes in search of your friends. But it isn’t long for your body to be engulfed by the arms of Wheein and Seungkwan who have managed to squeeze their way through the crowd to find you, their faces glowing with uncontainable excitement.

“Y/N, you did it!” Wheein exclaims, her eyes glistening with joy as she shakes you by the shoulders. “I knew you could! I’m so proud of you!”

“I told you it was a good sign!” Seungkwan remarks to Wheein before facing you with a wide grin. “Shit, I’m about to cry again𑁋I’m so happy for you, Y/N!”

As their words sink in, an overwhelming bubble of triumph grows within you. A shaky laugh leaves you as they continue to shower you with their happiness, heat beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes from how much your heart feels so fully right now.

Wheein drags Seungkwan by the wrist to greet the other artists, and you’re left standing at the very side of the museum, gazing wandering around through all the faces within your vicinity. You don’t see any sign of Joshua anywhere. Did he get lost?

With that, you pull your phone out to text him, before your eyes widen in surprise at the way you missed a message from him sent five minutes ago. You were a bit too distracted by everything else that you didn’t feel the notification of his text.

[09:03PM | joshua hong] I’ll meet you outside ❤️

Without any hesitation, you slip your phone back into your pocket and make your way toward the exit of the museum, leaving behind the lively inside and into the peaceful night. The cool autumn air greets you with a refreshing embrace as you step outside, the sky painted with the soft hues of dusk.

Joshua isn’t standing that much farther away from you, spotting him waiting idly by the small gate at the entrance of the museum, a singular spotlight shining down on him from above. As you start to approach him, he seems to notice and turns his body toward you, a smile spreading across his lips.

“What are you doing out here?” You sign to him curiously.

Joshua’s lips form a thin line in thought, signing back expressively while answering, “Too noisy in there, and I thought you deserved some fresh air. Plus, I wanted to give you something.”

After that, he pulls out the bouquet of flowers from behind his back and extends it toward you with a sheepish look.

“I know you probably already saw them, but I couldn’t hide it any longer,” he tells you. “Congratulations, my love.”

The pleasant fragrance of the flowers float to your nostrils as you take them into your grasp. The flowers themselves are a perfect assortment of colours you find dear to your heart, like each one was personally handpicked for you. The thought and everything else has heat prickling at the corners of your eyes. It’s all too much and just enough at the same time.

Joshua grabs ahold of your hand, pulling you close to him so that one of your arms is wrapped around his waist. He places a small kiss on the top of your head before leaning down to look into your eyes.

“Look at you,” he coos softly, perhaps a pinch of tease behind his words you detect. “You’re glowing.”

You nearly laugh at that, coming out as a shaky and probably ugly snort instead that makes you bury your face into Joshua’s shoulder. Maybe you are glowing, maybe it’s just the spotlight hanging over, or maybe you’re just too happy to even care. You feel his chest lifting and receding from the laughs of his own as you cling to him. For a moment, everything else fades away𑁋the museum, the crowd, the nerves.

When you pull away slightly, he’s still looking at you, taking the chance to let a finger slowly caress the skin of your cheek. There’s stars in his eyes that you could pinpoint, ones that seem to shine brighter than even the largest of constellations. You feel like you could get lost in them, in him, and for a moment, you do. Your breath hitches in your throat.

A gentle breeze carries the scent of fallen leaves, the soft rustling of leaves surrounding the two of you. It's as if the world has paused, giving you a moment to simply be with each other.

You bring the arm that was around his waist back to your side. He still holds you by the hips as you bring a hand up to sign.

“I know that I can’t hear,” You start to sign slowly, his gaze flickering down to your hands curiously. “but I can feel your voice when you hold me.”

Joshua nods thoughtfully. He seems to contemplate something for a moment, before bringing his hands from your hips and up to sign.

“How does it make you feel?”

You purse your lips in thought, trying to find the right signs to express what you're feeling. It's hard to put into words, or even signs, the way you feel when you're with him.

“Safe… loved…” You draw your fingers graciously through the air, and Joshua’s eyes soften with affection as he watches. “...heard… understood…”

The words fly off your hands and swirl around like a planet orbiting its sun. As you peer into Joshua's eyes, you know he understands. He's always understood.

“I want…” You begin hesitantly, somewhat feeling silly at what you’re about to ask from him. “...to feel you say something to me.”

Joshua’s eyes widen slightly, and he tilts his head intriguingly, waiting patiently for you to continue.

You start with taking the fingertip of your hand touching your chin, before drawing it away in the form of a small arc. Next, you point to yourself, then you point towards him. Taking both arms, you cross your arms over your chest as if you were hugging yourself. And then finally, you point back at yourself.

“Tell me that you love me.”

A faint hint of a smirk crosses his features, before it softens into a simple look, a simple smile. Joshua just steps back forward and takes you back into his embrace, letting you press yourself against his chest. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close enough that you could possibly even feel his heartbeat. You love feeling that as well.

You swear that if there was one place you could stay in forever, it would be in his arms. And right now, it was only the beginning of something beautiful.

“I love you,” he tells you. For the first time, you don't read his lips to know he said it, yet you feel those three words resonate through your entire being and down to the very core of your heart, just where they belong.

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tomorrowsdrama · 2 years ago

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Yeah, Netflix-produced kdramas have huge budgets, fancy sets, high tech cameras, sleek cinematography, and big name actors, but do they have:

Dramatic tea slaps?

Evil stepsister ripping up and eating her paternity test results?

Very important shareholder meetings held in school auditoriums that are attended by maybe 20 people max?

Dramatic fights between father-in-law and daughter-in-law?

Tacky over the top fashion that screams "I'M EVIL!" in big flashing neon lights?

Dramatic close ups that make it seem like it'll take an eternity to hit the main character?

And last but not least, this gem of a woman who totally understood the assignment and is living her best campy evil stepmother life?

I didn't think so!

#perfect marriage revenge #kdrama

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sohnric · 1 year ago

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partners in crime – j. changmin

after a series of unpredictable events, you and ji changmin, the foster kid with a shady reputation, become partners in crime. in a world where every choice has a consequence, you two must decide how far you're willing to go as you balance on the edge of danger with the promise of a better life.

pairing: ji changmin x fem! reader

genre: criminals au. coming of age, slice of life. angst, hurt/comfort. thief! changmin. partners in crime au (duh). slight high school au. inspired by a real case of robbery in a jewelry store here lmao. also loosely inspired by the kdrama extracurricular!

wc: 33k (33.689)

warnings: mentions of alcoholism and juvenile behavior, swearing, changmin's character is a little inconsistent at first. changmin is a foster child, dysfunctional families, financial issues, yn's father is absent. mentions of minors going on dates with older men, a man trying to take advantage of the reader, a physical fight (with the use of a knife), fake gun, robbery and that should be it...?

playlist || teaser || ao3

a/n: i had worked on this fic since december and only finished it at the beginning of may i am so glad it's finally out TT thank you SO much to my best friend @csenke for beta reading this, your comments were what made me feel more secure about this fic to actually post it. i know it's a lot of work and i appreciate you<3 i always wanted to write a fic like this and it's finally here, i hope yall like it hihi taglist: @songchan @luumiinaa

One of the police officers drags you up from the chair by your shoulder, urging you to move outside of the room. The one that’s been sitting opposite of you smiles sadly at you– something akin to sympathy, but not enough to really get through and hit your core– while the other one opens the door and shoves you down to sit at the plastic chair outside of the office. His movements are more stern and strong, tone of voice more stingy when he talks to you– it’s not hard to differentiate which one of them has kids at home, which one knows the tired eyes of a teenager more.

“Wait here until your mother picks you up,” the officer says, a stone cold look making you shiver.

“She doesn’t know that I’m here. You called her and she didn’t pick up, so–”

“I don’t care, young lady. Either your mother comes to pick you up, or you stay here forever, for all I care,” he mutters, sending you another one of his sharp looks before he turns around and disappears back into the room you came from, shutting the door behind him with a loud thud.

Figure jumping at the sudden noise, you settle deeper into the uncomfortable chair. Christmas will come earlier than your mother, and that’s a lot to say, since it’s March– and it seems that nobody really cares if you stay here forever. It’s not surprising, actually. Not at all. You don’t know what you were thinking anyway, but hey– desperate times call for desperate measures, and you had no other way of going around the situation. You don’t regret trying. You just regret getting caught.

Head resting against the hard wall, intending to rest your eyes closed and maybe take a nap before a miracle happens and your mother somehow starts caring and appears on the doorstep of the police, your orbs are met with another pair sitting opposite of you, silently watching the previous exchange. The intensity of his gaze almost makes you jump in surprise again, only relaxing when you recognise the owner of the dark chocolate irises and visibly shudder, embarrassment creeping up your neck.

It’s not every day you meet a guy from your school at a police station. Well, it’s not every day you end up at the police station, but being caught by someone who is aware of your existence makes this whole encounter even more uncomfortable.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Ji Changmin chirps, something akin to an amused smirk appearing on his face. His composure is light. He seems to be comfortable with the situation– well, as much as you can read from his blood-smeared face– and you start to wonder how and why your silent classmate from English class would end up at the police station, with a cut on his lip, a bruise on his upper jaw and scraped knuckles on full display, as he rests his intertwined hands in his lap.

“Could say the same about you,” you shrug, biting back at him.

“Oh please,” he snickers, shaking his head in disbelief, “I’m a regular here.”

The sentence catches you off guard. It’s not every day you meet a guy from school at a police station, but considering his words, it seems like you would meet him here every day, only if you were dragged here by rough hands of a police officer as often as he has.

“Oh,” you gasp, not really knowing how to react to such a confession, “good… to know…?” you mumble, nodding to prove your point.

You expect the conversation to die down– you don’t really know what to talk about with someone you barely know at the most unusual place you could imagine for a conversation. Ji Changmin is one of the classmates you’ve never talked to before, but would say hi to when passing them by on the street. He seems polite and easy-going enough to not feel uncomfortable with when left alone in a closed space together, but aloof enough to not have many friends himself. You barely know anything about him– apart from his marks in the one class you share, since you are often chosen to be the one to hand out graded tests at the beginning of English– and you don’t expect things to change just because you met him in unfortunate circumstances.

At least you know this won’t get out in any way. Not like you have any reputation to withhold in the first place– you’d just hate to have the reputation of someone being chased around by the police. Trying hard to find the light in the things, you thank all higher forces that out of everyone, the one classmate that could witness all of this is the guy with seemingly no friends to tell.

Changmin seems to have different plans, though. For someone that isn’t interested in making bonds with people, he seems to be interested in casual talk with you.

Well, if you could call this casual.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, “they always let the kid from the foster house get away with it. They blame it on the trauma, or something, make me sign some papers and then someone comes to pick me up and the cycle repeats itself over and over again.”

The information catches you off guard. Truth be told, you didn’t know that about Changmin– you doubt anyone from school really knows, except for the teachers, and the sudden confession makes you hesitant. You don’t really know why he’s telling you this. If you were in his position, you’re sure you wouldn’t. It seems like everyone has a different measure for what’s appropriate to tell someone you barely know, though, and Changmin seems to enjoy the weird intimacy of the quiet police station enough to dump this information on you.

“Oh…” you say, chewing on the inside of your cheek. Not wanting him to think you’re distressed with the information, disturbed, even, you try hard to think of a conversation topic to discuss with him. “What… what did you do this time, then?” you ask, mentally slapping yourself for being so awkward.

“Tried to pickpocket someone on the street,” he says, chuckling to himself. His eyes move to his bruised hands, shrugging. “Seems like I picked a bad victim. See, he had this fancy watch, so I saw him as a jackpot, but then he swung at me and… here I go,” he says, laughing as if it was a funny story.

He must be a regular here. He is too comfortable with being arrested to not be.

“That’s… unfortunate,” you hum, watching as the boy in front of you shrugs, eyes curious as they land on yours.

“It is… I could buy so much with that money,” he sighs, shaking his head, “what about you, though? How did you end up here?”

“Oh, uhm…” you gasp, scratching the back of your neck, suddenly a little shameful to admit it once you’re asked, “I… I tried to steal something and I was caught by the store owner, so he called the police on me…” you tightly smile, hoping to seem nonchalant.

“Shoplifting?” Changmin chuckles. “What did you want to steal? Designer clothes, or something?” he snickers, obviously mocking you. And it’s valid– you are a teenage girl, after all. You seem to have everything you need in your life, but that’s only because you don’t let anyone even suspect that there is something wrong. To an outsider's eye, they might think there is nothing more you could need to be happy if not designer clothes or jewelry. It’s what most teenage girls get caught stealing– you guess he’s not wrong for making such a guess.

Still, you feel a bit hurt at seeming so vain. Locking eyes with the boy, you shrug. If he’s going to share every small detail of his life with you in the comfort of the walls of the police station, you guess you can unveil at least something to him, desperate to make him feel ashamed for assuming.

“No, actually,” you say, the tone of voice suddenly calm and collected, “I was stealing groceries.”

And it finally seems to down on him– because if you try to steal something, it means you’re lacking it, right? Why would you steal something you can easily buy?

That’s right– you wouldn’t.

Changmin’s eyes soften with the realization, his mouth opening to say something– anything– before he’s cut off by the door to one of the offices opening, the kinder one of the policemen approaching you with a solemn look in his eye, leaning towards you to talk quietly into your ear.

“You can go home now, okay? We’ll let you off with a warning this time,” he says, smiling at you.

“But my mother–”

“Just go.”

You guess the object you’re stealing makes a difference in the way you’re treated at the police station. Also, you guess it’s good that people still have sympathy.

Usually, you hate the sad looks from people that are aware. This time, you leave the police station comforted, happy to know that you still have a future without a criminal record.

You’ll have to be more careful next time.

Eyes catching the glimmer of the silver chain in between your fingers, you press your skin into the metal and drag your nail over the stones in the pedant. You watch over the glass vitrines situated all around the store, various different shades of gold and silver staring back at you, almost laughing to your face with the prize tags slapped onto them, showing prices worth more than your groceries for the month.

Contemplating your next decision, looking behind your shoulder to catch the security camera watching you, you think over your next steps. Angling your body so that it’s shielding what you’re doing with your hands, you gently take out the drawer that you’ve taken the silver chain out of, pretending to put the jewelry back where you got it from.

Your movements are careful, calculated. You’ve rethought this plan over and over again, birthed in your mind the moment you saw the sign ‘hiring’ on the glass door of the fancy jewelry store in the town center– made adjustments to it, tweaked it around and tried your hardest to make a good impression on your boss so she wouldn’t suspect anything– but now that you’re actually in front of the important part, the one that’s supposed to help you the most in your hunt for money, you can’t really bring yourself to do it.

Who knows. Maybe you could just keep the job– you don’t make much, though, considering you only work part-time. With the way your shifts are scheduled and the amount of time you have to put into working, you don’t really see the jewelry store as a good source of income– you are barely home and have time for anything.

And it’s not the kind of money you need. Not at all.

Sighing to yourself, you shake your head to clear it off all thoughts– it’s time to do it. You can be sneaky. You can be uncaught. You just have to put your head to it.

Fingers shaking, you move the chain towards the front pocket of your jeans, ready to hide it in there and then sell it in the pawn shop a few weeks later to not raise much suspicion– when the sound of the front door opening brings you out of your thoughts, making you jump in surprise. Eyes snapping to the customer entering the store, you get ready to sport the kindest, warmest smile you can– to seem innocent and not at all suspicious. However, the grin stops growing mid-way as you recognise the appearance of the customer, smile freezing and turning into a concerned frown.

This is not how you’d expect a customer of a fancy jewelry store to look.

The person is dressed in black, skinny jeans adorning their thighs, the hood of their jacket pulled over their head and a mask covering the bottom half of their face. Before you get a chance to dwell on it any further, they take out a gun– and they point it to your face.

There’s a moment in time where you feel like everything freezes. A moment in time where you just stare the gun into its eyes and wait for the person to shoot you, a moment in time where you can’t even think. Your brain clears, the only thought present at the tip of your tongue being– this is not how I imagined to go.

Your hands start shaking as you put them above your head, pupils dilating in terror. You guess this is something you should’ve expected when taking the job in an expensive jewelry store, but even though you’re aware a situation like this could exist in your timeline, you don’t really expect it. It’s like that with all bad things in life– you keep telling yourself that there’s no way something like that would happen to a person like you.

There’s no way your father would leave. There’s no way your mother’s world would crumble. There’s no way you’ll be left in charge of everything. There’s no way you’ll have to be the one to steal groceries because you can’t afford to buy food to put into your sister’s mouth.

There’s no way a man would pull out a gun on you in the middle of your shift.

And yet, it happened. Everything.

In a moment of absolute terror, though, it feels like the world starts spinning again and the force clutching your chest relaxes a little when you stare into the man’s eyes.

Strange, isn’t it?

There’s a sense of familiarity in his gaze. Something mirroring a weird kind of surprise, a weird kind of recognition. A million different thoughts flow through your brain, eyes scanning his figure– the skin of his hands as he grips the gun that you now recognise to be one of the kinds you use when you play airsoft, not a real one– the lean posture of his figure, but most importantly, the spark in his dark orbs that somehow invites you to do everything he tells you to. Not because he’d kill you if you don’t– but because somehow, you know this might be of gain for you.

Trying hard to play out your previous panic, riding off the erratic heartbeat in your chest, you walk over to the cash register and open the drawer. Eyes meeting with the intruder, you precisely take out the bills stacked in the register, throwing them on the counter in a careless, yet seemingly nervous manner.

“The jewelry,” he mumbles, pointing towards the vitrines with his chin, waiting for you to obey his words.

It doesn’t take you much to take out the drawers full of silver and gold, letting the man take whatever he pleases, his bag filled with expensive chains and rings, all while he keeps the gun on you to get the full effect.

You could be given an Oscar for how good your acting performance was in this very moment.

Your eyes lock in another meaningful gaze, one that suggests that all cards are on the table now and you share a secret you will never be able to shake off, before he disappears out of the store into the dark. Acting stunned for the camera, you only reach for the phone when you’re certain he’s far enough to not be caught, dialing 911 and telling the line all about the robbery.

Ji Changmin chose the bad jewelry store to rob.

Or maybe, he chose the best one he could.

You find him sitting on one of the tables with built-in benches at the corner of the school yard, alone and seemingly lost in thought. His eyes are dark, deep as the ocean, the black bangs falling into his eyes only helping more with pushing his mysterious appearance. The tie around his neck is a little loose, since Changmin was never the believer of wearing your school uniform properly, and when you approach him, he barely notices your presence.

Clearing your throat, you finally catch his attention. The male stares up at you, raising his eyebrows in question, as if to ask you what you want from him. And it’s valid– as you’ve never been the one to talk to him first, since he was the self-believed outcast in the school (and self-preserved too, since he never really made any attempts at connecting with others) – but you think that after your recent encounter, you reaching out to him is not something that shall surprise the boy. More so, he should’ve expected it.

“Changmin,” you hum, as if to tell him that he should be the one to talk to you first, the one to bring up the matter. If you really think about it, he should apologize. If not for making you lose your job (which was mostly your fault, because you didn’t make the attempt to call the police on the thief fast enough), then for the emotional damage and very obvious trauma his little play could’ve cost you, had you not recognised him and the fake gun aimed towards your forehead.

“Y/N,” he smiles, the tug of his lips almost looking ironical. He looks like the Cheshire cat, mischief almost reeking of him as he pats the place next to him on the table, legs resting on top of the bench crossed, showing his casualty. “Fancy seeing you here,” he says, and with that, you know he sees right through you.

He knows damn well why you came. Hell, it would be weird if he didn’t. He also knew that you’d come crawling to him first, almost taking advantage of the fact that he has the upper hand on you with knowing the information you confided him with at the police station. No person that steals groceries is a millionaire, after all. Only someone who desperately needs the money goes ahead and steals something so trivial.

Maybe it's a bit of an asshole move from Changmin, if you really think about it. You let him get away with it, and now, he’s pretending like you owe him one, not the other way around.

“What do I owe the pleasure to?” he asks, tone of voice laced with irony. He is almost a little too lighthearted for someone who robbed a jewelry store just three days prior, and it suddenly makes you wonder if he’s done this before. How often does a boy like him just run around town and steals things from big corporations? You’re all for the eat the rich agenda– it’s just a little weird to think about how skilled Ji Changmin looked in the act. How calm he was. As if he’s done stuff like this before. As if he was an expert.

Was this his hobby? A way to pass time?

“Cut it out, Changmin,” you grunt, tugging the edge of your skirt down as you sit on the table next to him, covering your thighs, “you know why I’m here.”

“I’m afraid I have no idea,” he hums, pursing his lips and acting out a perfectly staged face of surprise. If you could punch him in the face right now, you’d do it. You didn’t notice the boy to be so smug back at the police station– maybe it was your own distress shielding your judgment.

“Come on,” you roll your eyes, sighing. “I didn’t let you off just to have you laugh in my face about it. Where’s my cut?” you ask, feeling a little impatient at this point.

“Your cut?” he asks, chuckling. “I wasn’t aware you were the one doing the dirty job, you know. All you did was let me off because you were scared–”

“Of your airsoft gun? Mhm, you are so correct,” you cut him off, noticing his face spread into one of irritation. A crease appears in the middle of his eyebrows at your reaction, his jaw hardening when he sees the annoyance in your eyes. You don’t know what he was thinking– that you’re just gonna leave him off with all the money? He couldn’t be that stupid, could he?

“Look, it was me who did the work, so I don’t understand why you would think that you get a cut,” he shrugs, crossing his arms at his chest.

“You do understand that I can just walk up to the police station and tell them that it was you?” you say, suddenly turning stone cold and serious. You thought yours and Changmin's little secret could do you something good– now it seems that you were wrong. “They wouldn’t bat an eye before sending you to jail, I bet. They have hoards of evidence of your past criminal behavior, but I don’t think they could overlook this one–”

“Now, don’t get all threatening on me, sweetheart,” he grunts, kissing his teeth. “There’s no reason to get all defensive–”

“Oh really!” you exclaim, catching the male off guard as you stand up from your seat, suddenly too heated to be in his presence. “I do believe that I have all the right to get defensive, though! You know damn well I didn’t do this so you can run with the money and spend it on fuckall! Because guess what, Changmin– I did this to get something out of it. Not everyone gets to go around and do stupid shit for fun, so you best believe that when I basically became an accomplice to your crime, it wasn’t just for shits and giggles.”

The male opens his mouth to reply to you, but before he gets a chance to do so, you continue, running your hand through your hair. “And if you think that I steal groceries for fun, then you’re terribly wrong. So if you don’t let me take the part of money I rightfully deserve by basically dropping the hundred dollars worth of jewelry right into your grabby hands so I can survive for the next few days, you best believe I will do something about it.”

There’s a moment of silence between the two of you, the only thing heard around being the chirping of the birds and the sound of the wind hitting your eardrums. Your hair gets in your face from the strength of the breeze, the fabric of your school uniform’s skirt ruffling against your thighs. It’s like the world stopped, something behind Changmin’s eyes changing at seeing your obvious distress. You’re really starting to think this was all a game for the boy. Something to pass the time– something to occupy his bored mind with.

He doesn’t reply to you even after a few seconds, though, which makes you even more mad. The anger is tinted with disappointment and fury as you turn around and shuffle your feet through the school yard, accompanied by the sound of the school bell in the distance announcing your next period. You’re ready to leave the boy there, already thinking of all ways you could go around telling the authorities without ratting yourself out in the process too.

Suddenly, something comes into contact with your wrist, pulling you back. Your legs stumble a bit, but you manage to stand your ground and throw daggers with your eyes at Changmin still holding you in your place. “Let me go–”

“Look–”

“I have class, Changmin,” you grunt, attempting to take your hand out of his grasp, but failing. His hold is firm. Unpainful, but strong. It makes you annoyed.

“Will you listen to me for just a second? Gosh,” he rolls his eyes, dropping your hand as if it was poisoned, shaking his head at your antics. You stare at him with raised eyebrows, waiting for what he has to say after having the opportunity to speak before, but ignoring it altogether and leaving you with the cold shoulder. Did he change his mind in that split second you showed him your back? Did he realize you were serious with your threats?

“Of course I’m gonna give you the cut,” he grunts, scoffing. “What do you think I am? I was just keeping it for some leverage.”

The question sounds a bit ironical out of his mouth, since he spent the last couple of minutes trying to convince you that you have no part in his little robbery and that you have no right for the money he gained from it. The other half of his statement makes you intrigued, though. Not in a good way– just in a way that makes you wonder what the fuck he was talking about.

“Leverage?” you ask, squinting at him in question.

“Well,” he starts, staring at the sky for a split second, as if collecting his thoughts into coherent sentences. Scrambling for something in the back pocket of his pants, he takes out an envelope seemingly filled with cash he’s gained, offering it to you, but retracting his hand as soon as you start reaching for it. “Let’s say I have a bit of a plan for us two. A plan to make even more than this,” he says, pointing towards the envelope.

Squinting at the male, you scoff. As if you would ever agree to something so reckless. If this interaction with Ji Changmin taught you anything, it’s that the boy is not to be trusted. You can’t read him. You can’t tell when he’s joking or when he’s serious, you can’t tell if he’s going to save you or throw you under the bus the moment he has a chance to. And if his plan is anything similar to the ways he’s shown himself to you before, you’re fairly certain that you want nothing to do with his endeavors.

“Yeah, no, thank you,” you say, snatching the envelope from his hand and turning on your heel, ready to leave before he changes his mind again and takes what’s rightfully yours out of your grasp, like the thief he seemingly is.

“Think it over, Y/N. You said you need the money,” he calls after you, not making a move from his previous spot in the corner of the yard. His words sting you a bit, but you guess he’s not wrong– no matter how embarrassed or ashamed you feel of the situation. The outside of the school is completely empty now, everyone back to their classrooms waiting for the lectures to start, letting his words resonate in the stranded field. “I think we could make a very good team.”

Not looking back, you walk through the grass, taking a look at the amount in the envelope. You don’t know the exact ratio he split the money into, since you don’t really know how much he earned after selling everything at the pawn shop, but it’s more than you expected.

More than you would’ve made with your initial plan.

Still– you want nothing to do with Ji Changmin. This only happened once, and you’ll make sure it never happens again. Associating yourself with someone like him will do you more bad than good in the future, and that’s something you really can’t afford right now.

No matter how hard he tries to persuade you, you two will never be a part of the same plan.

Lunch breaks are almost always spent alone lately. Or at least that’s how it’s been in the last few months, the last few years. It’s not like you don’t have any friends or acquaintances to spend them with– you’re not that antisocial– it’s just a lot easier to mask the fact that you have no food to put into your mouth when nobody pays attention to whether you eat or not.

The last amount of money you could afford to spend was pressed into the palm of your younger sister when you walked her to school today. There was no way for you to buy something at the canteen, and the last groceries that were edible were eaten last night. There was no way you could satisfy your hunger during the lunch break today, and to spare being embarrassed by the fact that you are barely holding your life together (since you’re 17 and taking care of everything), you decide to spend the few minutes in between classes in the school yard, sitting in the grass at the far corner of the school property.

Your eyes are pressed into your notebook, scribbling away as you try to pass time and ignore the pain in your stomach, chewing on the inside of your cheek in a bad attempt at focusing onto something else. When the sketch of the tree to your right turns out badly the third time in a row, you sigh and scribble all over the little drawing, wanting to see no more of it, wanting it to disappear. The very moment the tip of your pen lifts off the paper, something falls into your lap, the sound of a plastic bag rustling in the wind making you jolt in surprise.

Taking the item into your hand, you notice the sandwich wrapped in a tissue paper staring back at you, as if you wished it to existence and it fell into your lap from the sky with the sheer impact of your thinking. After more consideration, though, you look around and find a raven haired boy looking down at you, an indifferent look adorning his face.

“Changmin,” you hum, acknowledging his presence.

“Y/N,” he nods, taking a seat next to you on the grass, completely uninvited. His invasion of your personal space makes you sigh, but his gesture makes you even more frustrated. Pointing towards the sandwich he threw into your lap, you ask.

“What is this?”

“A sandwich,” he shrugs, “I bought extra, we can share.”

A heartbeat passes of you and him having a staring contest, something inside of you turning bitter at the otherwise nice gesture. Is he making fun of you? Or does he pity you?

You hate both alternatives– you almost can’t decide which one you despise more.

“Look, Changmin,” you scoff, shaking your head in disbelief, “I don’t know what the fuck you’re trying to do right now, but I am not your charity case. Just because you know I’m too poor to buy my own lunch, it doesn’t mean you can humiliate me and do it for me,” you grunt, throwing the sandwich back into his grip. He catches it with no trouble, fast reflexes working on full time.

“I didn’t get it to humiliate you,” he says, rolling his eyes at your antics. It seems to be hard for you to accept actions of service from people– and Changmin somehow understands. He’s been through it with people around him his whole life. They show him any kind of kindness or pity for the fact that his parents decided he wasn’t good enough to keep and threw him into the adoption system, and Changmin feels himself crawling out of his skin. He doesn’t need pity. He hates the considerate looks.

But after years of living that way, he learned to use those instances for his advantage. There’s no excuse as useful to getting him out of trouble as “I’m sorry, I live in a foster home.”

“Yeah? Then why did you?”

Changmin sighs, closing his eyes and paying more thought to how he’s going to reply to you. Speaking with you feels like working with a wild animal– any bad step could shoo you away, or make you attack. He doesn’t want either of those options. Actually, he wants something completely else. “It’s a bribe, really,” he shrugs, watching you and waiting for your reaction.

“A bribe?” you scoff, your chuckle almost sounding amused. “I already told you I want nothing to do with your plan, so you can take your stupid sandwich and fuck off.”

“I’m persistent when I want to be,” he just replies, watching you with an unmoving expression.

Ignoring his antics– as if to test how persistent he really can be– you point your eyes back towards your notebook, scribbling random lines and shapes into the thin paper. There’s only so much silence he can bear before he realizes you won’t pay him a minute of your time, you think, but the more you scribble away and the more the birds around you chirp and the distant voices of kids enjoying their lunch break preserve, the less confident you are in your assumption. Ji Changmin is a strange individual.

“Look, we don’t have to lie to ourselves now, Y/L/N. You know shit about me that could get me to jail, and I know shit about you that you don’t just show to everyone. Involuntarily, but I know that stuff,” he starts, tone of voice almost careful, almost a little caring as he speaks. “You and I both know you need money. And me? Well… I could use some cash too,” he hums.

When he doesn’t get a reply, he continues with his little speech. “You need money and I have a plan on how I’m gonna get it for you. For us. But it will only work if us two do it together. It’s a foolproof plan, but I need you on-board,” he says, clasping his hands together. Glancing up from your paper, you watch him with examining eyes.

He repays you with eye contact, as if speaking to you through his orbs. There’s a hint of understatement in the air, an aura of a connection you don’t quite comprehend yet, but suddenly, the presence of him in your personal space feels less invading and more… alleviating. Like you’re not judged, like you’re not pitied.

Your stomach churns and Changmin chuckles, offering the sandwich back to you. There’s a moment in which you contemplate your next decision, knowing that if you take the food from him, it’s your own way of sealing the deal. You have no idea what his plan is, you’re completely unaware of what you’re getting yourself into– for all you know and predict, it’s not going to be the most legal thing under the sun– but the more you think about it, the more you come to the conclusion that with the way your life is going right now, maybe you don’t have that much to lose.

“So? What do you say?” he asks, eyes lighting up when he notices your lack of resistance. “Will you at least hear me out?”

The wind makes his raven bangs move, revealing his forehead. He looks like he has a thousand tricks up his sleeve, hundreds of ways to get his way, no matter what he wants. He looks as sly as a fox, messy exterior with his tie loose around his neck, dress shirt a little wrinkly around the collar. Ji Changmin looks like he’s bad news. Like he can never bring you any good.

You should stay away.

Still, you take the sandwich into your grasp, hand fishing for the food in the green plastic bag. Biting down into the seemingly homemade lunch, you avert your gaze into the sun.

“What is it, then?”

“So.. what do you do for work?” you ask, twirling a strand of hair around your finger as you sit facing the man you don’t even remember the name of, a plate of fancy food in front of you almost untouched even though you’ve been starving for multiple days now. Truth is, you don’t really know which fork and which size of spoon to use when having those meals, since you’ve never been to such an expensive-looking place before– and even though you think your current date doesn’t really mind, you don’t feel like adding public humiliation to the list of your worries.

“Oh, I do real estate, honey,” the man replies, smiling at you with something sly in his eyes. Everything about the male sitting currently in front of you irks you a bit. The very obvious power imbalance in between the two of you, the age difference, the different social class… The fact that he only sees you as a young girl to spoil and get to do something more for him– no matter the fact that you’re underage. Judging by the way he kept getting into your personal bubble the moment you arrived at the restaurant, you’d even say he was enjoying the fact.

You were told to act gullible and stupid. Men like him like that, apparently, and so, despite your best judgment and everything you know about life, you do just that. “And what is that?” you ask, eyes big and curious, putting on your most innocent face.

“Buying land and then turning them over, renting places, all kind of stuff,” he nods, “a lot of money gets around in this sphere, sweetie,” he adds another sugary nickname to the mix, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up all alert, disgust slowly creeping up your neck, but thankfully never reaching your mouth.

“So you’re a landlord?” you ask him, the last remains of your personality shining through as you bat your eyelashes at him, trying hard not to focus on the chest hair peeking out of his opened dress shirt. It’s quite difficult to do when the golden chain around his neck blinds you with every movement, the surface illuminating in the beams of the sunlight.

God. You should’ve chosen a more attractive male to trick, at least.

The male laughs in shock, not really anticipating such a title. Maybe he’s offended, but still, he doesn’t let it show as he looks you over– mainly your cleavage and the girly way you managed to style your hair today– before he sighs, as if disappointed, yet happy to show you that you were wrong. “Not really, no. I’m a real estate investor, actually.”

Gasping, showing that you now completely understand what he’s trying to explain to you– that he’s basically a landlord, but hates being called that because it isn’t such a fancy title– you take another sip of the champagne in your glass. You’ve never drank before, and quite frankly, you hate the taste of alcohol on your tongue, you despise it with everything in you. If it was your choice, you would’ve ordered orange juice, or something– it seems that the man in front of you would hate nothing more than if you sat in front of him without a tall glass in between your fingers, and so you satisfy his sly looks and leave a lipstick stain on the rim of the champagne flute.

The breeze plays with your hair, sun kissing your exposed shoulders as you bathe in its light. You wore your prettiest sundress today– the one that you only grew into this year after inheriting it from your older cousin– and while you did feel pretty when you looked at yourself in the mirror, you’re not really satisfied with what you’re currently doing. Nothing makes you hate yourself more than working for money like this. Nothing makes you loathe your reflection in the mirror more than hanging out with old rich guys for monetary gain– no matter how beautiful you feel with the dress you got from your cousin three Christmases ago and the sandals you’ve owned since 15 and had thankfully not yet grown out of.

There’s one advantage to sitting outside of the fancy restaurant, though– and that is the fact that your plan is going smoothly. The man’s bag is on the chair next to him, just like Changmin predicted, and although it took you some time convincing him to sit at the table on the edge of the veranda, you’ve done your part in entertaining the male, making sure he’s as distracted as he can be.

Eyes averting to the right, seeing your accomplice with the hood of his black hoodie over his head, a mask over the lower part of his face, you lock gazes in what seems to be some silent kind of communication. One wouldn’t notice him if he hadn’t tried hard enough, but Changmin’s been standing on the other side of the road for as long as you’ve been sitting in the restaurant, keeping an eye on you. He’s dressed all in black, looking all mysterious, but not eye-catching enough for anyone to be suspicious of his presence.

Raising your eyebrows at him only in the slightest manner, making sure your date doesn’t notice you nonverbally communicating with the teenager on the other side of the street, you get your reply from Changming almost immediately, a nod of his head sent your way to start your little plan.

Ready, yet a little stressed of executing it, you clear your throat and focus all your attention back on the male in front of you again. He’s currently talking to you about something you have yet to grasp, not really interested in the first place– but doubting you’d know what he’s talking about anyway. After hearing a part of his little speech, you conclude that he is mansplaining something to you, and although the fact would make you infuriated with any other male in your presence, you think this is a perfect opportunity to dibble more into your little school girl play. (As if it was a play in the first place.)

Nodding at him, showing that you’re listening, you put on your best doe eyes as you reach over the table and enclose your palm around his. You haven’t watched enough movies about this to know how to flirt with a man, but you think it comes to you naturally as you part your lips the slightest, biting on your lower lip in a sensual manner. It’s inappropriate, not at all something you should be doing at your age with a man at least twice your age, but you can’t help it– if you need the plan to run smoothly, you need all his attention on you and you only.

And it works. It does, you conclude as the man runs his thumbs over your hands and gently pats your leg with his under the table, feeding into your actions. His eyes are focused on your lips and you suddenly pray for Changmin to work quicker– fast enough for the man to not find an opportunity to kiss you, at least. Your brows furrow the tiniest bit, on purpose, of course– to look more dumb, to look more in love and enchanted with the male in front of you– when you notice a figure in black passing the two of you, their hand slipping easily into the opened contraction of the male’s bag.

Changmin works fast. It seems easy to him, you can see it in your peripheral– there’s no wonder that he’s done this countless times before. You wonder why he likes this kind of adrenaline. You wonder how he even taught himself– how he even came to the conclusion that he should try something like this in the first place. Either way, you must admit that it’s kind of admirable. Kind of cool.

You see Changmin taking out something from the man’s bag, and just as silently and unsuspiciously he came, he also disappears. You let the man play with your fingers for a bit more until you’re sure that your partner is a safe distance away from the restaurant on the other side of the street again, before you lock eyes with him, being let off with a victorious crinkle of his eyes.

“Will you excuse me?” you hum, tone of voice laced in sweetness, puckering your lips as you cut the male off, something about an annual turnover hanging in the air as you don’t let him finish. “I have to use the toilet,” you say, already breaking contact with him.

Unsuspecting, the male only nods at you, letting you off. You can almost feel his eyes watching every move of your ass as you walk back to the building. As your feet enter the interior of the fancy place, you don’t even aim for the bathroom– Changmin checked it before you arrived to the restaurant, chewing on his lower lip in distress as he announced to you that there’s no windows in the stalls– and so you take yourself straight to the other side of the room, taking the other exit out. “Look, it’s even easier, Changmin. I’ll just walk out the other way,” you reassured him, concluding the last step of your little plan.

Feet shuffling through the red velvety rug, you pay no attention to the waiters watching you as you walk through the big dining hall, escaping through the other door without looking back. Ji Changmin is standing on the other side of the street, taking off his initial place as soon as he saw you safely inside of the restaurant, waiting for you to rejoin him and celebrate the end of your successfully finished mission.

Running towards him, a smile breaks onto your face. Changmin stays in his place, not going as far as reaching you midway.

“Did you get it?” you ask, raising your brows at the male.

Wordlessly, the boy shows you a leather wallet, taking it from the right pocket of his zip-up. A gasp escapes your throat at the realization of just how easy this was– just how fast you gained a stack of cash you can use to survive another week. Sure, you still feel a bit weak in your knees, you still feel like your blood pressure is a bit high, but the thought of the green notes soon secured in your hand makes it all worth it.

“Let’s get out of here before he notices,” Changmin says, tugging down his face mask and reaching for your elbow, dragging you to the opposite direction, away from the restaurant.

Somewhere along the way, you start to run. There’s a sense of childlike wonder in you. A sense of excitement you shouldn’t feel from stealing money from someone unsuspecting. Sure, you could argue that the rich person in the restaurant doesn’t need the money like you do– he has enough of it to not even notice its absence– but it was still morally wrong.

It was still a crime. But hey– you’re only 17 with a seemingly big weight on your shoulders. So if getting the money you need in an illegal way takes some of the pressure off your back, you think you’re not so wrong for being excited about the success of your little plan.

Changmin catches up to you, his face mirroring a weird mix of annoyance and disbelief. He understands, though. The adrenaline of your first act of successful crime is a moment one doesn’t forget. “Wasn’t that hard now, was it?” he asks.

And when you lock your eyes with him again, a foolish laugh escapes your lips. Maybe he was right. Maybe this was the way to go around things.

Maybe it was good to accept his offer. Something about the inkling in his eyes tells you that he won’t betray you.

Standing in the middle of the aisle, your eyes soaring from the pack of gummy worms you wanted to buy for your little sister and the chocolate bar you’ve been wanting to eat the whole week, you roll the coins in the palm of your hand around, as if counting them over and over again is going to make more money magically appear in your possession. Ji Changmin (who for some reason decided that by being your partner in all things illegal, he has to be glued to your hip at all times when he has nothing interesting to do), standing next to you, sighs at your composure and clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth.

“Y/N, Y/N…” he hums in disapproval, almost sounding disgusted at the fact that the logical thing hasn’t appeared in your brain yet, “I see you need a bit of a lesson in shoplifting, yeah?” he whispers into your ear, his breath hitting the side of your face and making you jolt away from him.

“What?” you whisper-shout, punching him in the shoulder. “Don’t be ridiculous. What we do is already enough. I’ll just pick one,” you say, rolling your eyes at the fact that your new friend always somehow finds a way to make everything an illegal act. It really must be his hobby at this point, no?

“Whatever you say, sweetie,” he shrugs, but the more he watches you move your eyes from the gummy worms towards the chocolate bar, noticing the sparks behind your eyes every time you eye the rich cocoa treat wrapped in red plastic and the fondness behind your gaze when you eye the sour worms, the more he’s convinced that you’re going to go with his previous proposition. Once the temptation is there, it’s hard to resist it.

And he’s right. A mere second later, you eye him with pleading eyes– as if to silently say ‘okay, you win. Now teach me how to do this thing,’, and that has the boy chuckling at your antics.

“Okay, newbie,” he nods, patting your back. “First thing first, the number one rule of shoplifting is: always choose a gas station. Check! Why? Frankly, the people working here are underpaid university students that could care less about the company they work for, so as long as you’re not too obvious with it, nobody is going to run after you.”

Nodding, showing that you’re following, you wait for the actual tutorial. “Step two,” he says, voice loud enough only for you to hear in the empty store, “look casual. Walk around a bit. Pretend you’re contemplating your choice of treats– check. Wow, Y/L/N, it seems to me that you are a born natural!”

Rolling your eyes at his useless comment, you sigh. Changmin seems to get the hint that you want to know how to actually shoplift, and not how to prepare to do the thing, and so with his next tip, he is a bit more specific, which you welcome with open arms. “Okay, okay. So, now you wanna look for the cameras. Try to look for any blind spots,” he says, casually glancing around the store.

You follow his motions, trying hard to stay as unsuspicious as you can, and before you can say anything or try to find the blind spots he was talking about, the serpent-like boy tugs you by your forearm into another corridor. Your hands are now covered by the regals, only the tips of your scalps visible under the security camera, and before you know it, Changmin ushers another order into your ear.

“Now, take the more expensive thing and put it into your pocket,” he says. That has you pointing a sharp gaze to him, question marks accompanied by exclamation points striking into his skull, which has the boy utter out a quick explanation to your very confused state. “Trust me. Putting it into your bag is way more suspicious,” he hums, looking around the gas station and pointing his gaze towards the energy drink stand in front of you, acting as if he was contemplating on buying one for himself.

Hesitantly glancing behind your shoulder, finding the coast clear, you chew on the inside of your cheek before you swiftly put the pack of gummy worms into your pocket. Clearing your throat to signal to the boy that you’re done with the task at hand, he turns his head to you and raises his brows, smiling. “Are you ready to pay, finally?” he asks, his voice now a little louder. You think it’s to not cause any more suspicion, since the two of you have been murmuring amongst each other for the past few minutes.

Humming, feeling a buzzing in your fingertips, heart quickening– you’re really doing this– you nod and let your friend lead you to the counter. You’ve tried shoplifting before, of course, but the last time you did so, you were dragged by your hair to the police station, so you think you have all the right to feel the tiniest bit paranoid when trying for the second time. There is stress settling to your shoulders when you awkwardly shuffle to the counter and put the chocolate bar in front of the cashier, but when you notice the fact that Changmin was right and the clark was barely paying attention to the store at all– there was Candy crush turned on their phone behind the POS machine– the nerves seem to fall off a bit.

“Cash or card?” the girl behind the counter asks– she is chewing on a gum and her neon pink hair is falling into her eyes. She seems a few years older than you, but she seems to be still in college. There are dark circles under her eyes– she seems tired. Not letting yourself to shield your next actions with the usual waterfall of empathy, you clear your throat and try to speak up with the most casual voice.

“Cash,” you peep, taking the hurdle of coins back from your pocket– the one that doesn’t currently hold a pack of gummy worms– and quickly count the sum of money you need, putting it onto the counter.

“You need a receipt?” the cashier asks, completely uninterested in her job. You can tell she has this situation rehearsed– she must have been working here for a while.

“No, thank you,” you nod, taking the chocolate bar into your grasp and spinning on your heel, following Changmin on his way outside of the gas station. Before the door closes behind you, the boy heaves out a cheerful ‘Goodbye!’ which has you mirroring his actions, yet your walking still speeds up with the weight of wanting to be outside and done as soon as possible.

You never know. What if she noticed and a policeman will come and catch you at the last minute for stealing those gummy worms? You can’t afford getting a criminal record– this won’t land you any job in the future.

As soon as your figure moves outside of the building and you’re sure you’re not being followed by anyone and there’s no police cars parked in front of the gas station, you feel the weight of the situation finally leave your physical form, your breathing finally becoming more normal. Changmin glances at you over his shoulder, a grin spreading over his features, patting your shoulder like a proud father.

“See? Wasn’t so hard now, was it?” he asks, having you roll your eyes at him.

“I’m sorry, man,” you snicker, “I still have some PTSD from that one time…”

“It takes a few tries to perfect the art, I get it,” he says, nodding as if to admit your struggle. It’s hard to believe Changmin has ever failed at anything he tried before– in all situations you’ve encountered with him, he seemed completely capable and knowing. It’s as if he’s been doing this his whole life– and for all you know, he might as well have been.

“Well, not everyone takes joy in doing illegal activities like you clearly do,” you sigh, having the boy look at you with furrowed brows.

Unknowingly, you lead the boy towards your house. He doesn’t seem to mind walking with you, and although you did just commit a crime, you’re happy with the comfort of not having any committed against you– a girl in her school uniform walking home in the evening is an easy target for all men who’d love to take advantage of you and fulfill their dark fantasies. It’s funny to admit that you feel safer with Ji Changmin walking you home, but it’s also a natural cause of the fact that you two have been working together on fake dates with rich men for a few weeks now. (So far, you’ve gone on three. They all worked and went by the plan. You suddenly question why you didn’t say yes to this plan earlier.)

“Living in the foster home makes you fight other people over everything, Y/N-ie. Over food, old donated board games, treats, clothing, parents…” he chuckles at that, a bitter tone coating his words, “my point is… If you don’t take what you want forcefully, it will be taken out of your grasp one way or another. And if that piece of candy is stolen from you by an older kid at the foster home, you’re gonna have to find a way to get yourself one as well,” he explains.

You feel a little embarrassed for assuming. Changmin doesn’t reveal much about himself to you. Neither do you. For this reason, you’d describe your relationship with the raven-haired boy like something similar to being coworkers. You don’t tell each other about your personal lives, you don’t talk about your issues or intentions. All you know is that the both of you need money, so you’re willing to work together to get it.

The sudden confession hangs an uncomfortable air of vulnerability over the two of you. It’s strange– hearing him chuckle so bitterly about his situation, seeing the shift behind his eyes when he realizes what he just said. You don’t really know what to say back to him– do you console him? Do you try to play it off, ignore what he’s just said? Before you have any chance to take action, though, the boy clears his throat and does damage control on his own. (Which is probably for the best. You wouldn’t want to overstep any boundary– so you’ll act according to his.)

“But after a while, it became kind of fun, yeah,” he laughs, shrugging. “I like the adrenaline rush.”

“You’re a freak.”

“A freak with useful tactics,” he points a finger-gun at you and winks, making you roll your eyes at his misplaced pride, but laugh along with him nonetheless.

It’s good to make fun of your situation sometimes. Didn’t someone say humor is one of the most useful coping mechanisms? Or maybe a sign of unhealthy coping mechanisms? Well, one way or another– you have to cope with it some way anyways. A little joke never hurt anyone.

“Half of that is mine, by the way,” he points towards your favorite chocolate bar in your grasp. “I earned it by helping you get it,” he says, content face beaming at you in mischief.

His features are a little sharper under the yellow lampposts, his dark hair falling into his eyes making shadows appear under his eyes. He looks like a cunning fox– much like always– but you think you’re growing used to the charm. “What?” you huff, face scrunched up in frustration. “I bought this, actually, so–”

“So you’re telling me you would’ve chosen the chocolate bar, had I not opened your eyes to the wonders of shoplifting?”

“What does that even have to do with anything–”

“Exactly what I thought,” he nods, taking the chocolate bar out of your grasp and tearing it open, not even sparing you a chance to defend yourself, “if I wasn’t there, you’d buy the gummy worms, so the fact that you bought this is my work and I deserve a half of your treat, thank you very much.”

“How can you even be so sure–”

“Y/N?” a thin voice calls for you, making you stop the little petty argument you’ve been having with your crime partner and look around, noticing both facts of the reality at once– one: you’ve reached your street, and two: your little sister is watching you from the doorway of your house, big eyes worried and hair tousled.

She’s still wearing the clothes she wore when you sent her off to school in the morning, and by the way she keeps chewing on the inside of her cheek, you know that she hasn’t eaten. She always does that when she’s hungry and doesn’t want you to know. A pit opens up in your stomach at seeing your sibling in such a state, and although it’s not as uncommon as you’d like to say it is, you know you have to put up your big sister act.

“Aerin-ie? Has mum not come home yet?” you ask, watching as the little girl walks out of the house and through the pathway of your house, standing only a few meters away from you.

“No,” she shakes her head. You’re not surprised by the answer. Maybe, you’re not even disappointed anymore. You learned not to have any expectations when it comes to your mother.

Sighing, you nod, chewing on your lower lip. “Go inside, we’ll eat something together and then you’re going to sleep, you have school tomorrow, okay?” you hum, tone of voice compassionate and gentle, the way you always talk to your sister ever since the issues started. There is no room for quarrel between siblings when you’re too busy making sure your little sister is eating well and going to school. There’s no room for sibling fights when you’re more of a motherly figure now.

“Okay,” she nods, but doesn’t move from her spot in the middle of the yard.

“Well? Go–”

“Is that your boyfriend?” Aerin asks, pointing towards Changmin. You momentarily forgot that he was still here, so when you finally take in his silently standing figure, it almost makes you jump. Waving your hands around in panic, not wanting your young, gullible sister to get any ideas, you eagerly try to take her out of her lapse of judgment.

“God, no. No, no, that’s–”

“Hi! I’m Changmin!” the boy suddenly waves, smiling at your little sister. “I go to school with your sister.”

Aerin watches the boy with big eyes, as if scared. You understand her– Changmin doesn’t seem as the most approachable of people (although his smile does feel unusually warm and contagious right in this moment)– and she didn’t have much experience with male figures in her life to feel secure with any new men entering her life. Not that Changmin will be entering her life anyway– but you get the gist of it.

“You do?” she hesitantly asks.

“I do. Tell her to study more, because if she keeps it up this way, she’s going to have to go back to school with you and retake all the lessons for smaller kids,” Changmin hums, poking fun at you.

“Hey!” you thunder, kicking the boy into his shin in a weak attempt of defending yourself. “That’s not true!”

Hearing your sister laugh at your misery– an action you never thought would warm your heart up so much– you lock your eyes with Changmin only for a split second, and in that, you come to some sort of mutual understanding. You talk without words– you learned something about me today, I learned something about you today. Your secret is safe with me.

He doesn’t know the full truth of it all– quite as much as you don’t know about his life, but somehow, this evening brought you two a little closer. You moved from being coworkers to now being coworkers who know more backstory about each other’s lives, and you don’t really find yourself hating it.

“Y/N got something for you,” Changmin muses, pointing a finger to your pocket.

Somehow, he has it all figured out.

“Oh, right!” you gasp, taking the gummy worms out of your jacket and offering them to your little sister. Her eyes light up instantly, that kind of joy you only feel when you are 12 and presented with your favorite treat, and you get a solemn feeling on your insides comforting you– you’re doing all you can. She’s smiling. She’s still mostly unknowing.

“I heard they’re your favorite,” Changmin keeps talking to your sister. It’s a surprising sight– how welcoming he suddenly seems.

“They are! Y/N, can I have some?”

“After you eat dinner,” you nod, seeing the little girl furrowing her brows and opening her mouth to protest, a sense of blissful normality shielding you all from reality.

“But–”

“After dinner, Aerin. Now let’s go inside so you can sleep,” you hum, walking over to your sister, “you get fussy in the morning when you don’t get enough sleep.”

Something about your hand on her shoulder has the little creature moving closer towards your house, the two of you walking alongside each other through the pathway. Looking behind, you wave at Changmin. He offers you a gentle smile– one you haven’t seen on him before. It moves something within you.

He doesn’t know much, but somehow, he understands.

Before you close the door behind you, you mouth him a silent ‘Thank you’. The boy salutes you before he disappears into the dark.

“Do you want some lemonade or something?” you hum as you enter your house, tugging uncomfortably at the hem of your short skirt, throwing the knock-off purse Changmin got you from the donation bins at the foster home into the corner of the entrance hall. It’s midday, you are supposed to be at school and having your lunch break, but instead, you’re tiredly slugging home with your classmate tailing your back, done with yet another date.

“I’m good,” Changmin shrugs, “I’ll just have some water.”

“Amazing choice,” you nod, pointing towards the tap in your cluttered kitchen, “didn’t feel like making you a fucking lemonade anyway,” you sigh, watching as the boy helps himself to a glass of tap water and you get yourself a taste of the old coffee your mother must have made herself in the morning before leaving, furrowing your brows at the bitter taste.

After you’re done chasing down the thirst that’s accumulated in your throat, you walk upstairs into your room, followed around by the boy. There was a silent agreement between the two of you to let him stay over at least until the acceptable time to come back into foster home was– if he came before school ended, he’d get in trouble. (You wonder why he’s afraid of this and not the fact that he was dragged from the police station multiple times, but you choose to not question him anymore.)

It’s strange to have him in your house. It doesn’t make you uncomfortable, per se– you just wonder how much your living conditions say about you. It’s very clear that you don’t live with your father. He left shortly after your little sister was born and you haven’t seen him since– you wish you could say you don’t mind, because you never really had a good relationship with him anyway, but the truth is, maybe he was the whole reason for the downfall of your quality of life. The mess all around the house suggests that nobody has time or energy to clean it. You try your hardest to keep it relatively clean on most days, but it gets significantly harder when you also try to bring food home into the house.

If Changmin makes anything out of the state of your living, he doesn’t mention it.

Settling into the mattress of your bed, totally uninvited, he squints at your ceiling. You, on the other hand, turn towards your wardrobe and take out some comfy clothes– the preppy mini skirt you were dressed in before you left to meet up with another rich old guy was starting to get on your nerves. Turning your back to Changmin, you slip your blouse over your head and put on a big T-shirt, one of the clothes you got at the Dollar store when you grew out of your last pajamas, and after you dress yourself in comfortable sweatpants, you walk up to the boy with an outstretched hand.

A mutual understanding falls over you as he puts the leather wallet into your hand. Opening it, you flick through several credit cards, squinting at the owner’s ID– by the birth year on the card, you calculate that he was even older than he told you he was– before you count up the money and cut it in half, throwing the rest into Changmin’s lap.

The more often you do this, the more you wonder how it keeps working. It’s surprising to see just how many wealthy men are carrying cash around and being reckless with their belongings. Changmin almost never has any trouble with stealing their wallets– either when they’re not looking, or when the man foolishly leaves to the bathroom and leaves his bag behind on the chair. It’s like they’re inviting you to do it, at this point.

The more often you do this, the more you start hating yourself, though. There’s only so much objectifying you willingly submit yourself to before it makes you want to crawl out of your skin. If there was a better way to do things, you would.

Sighing, you open your sock drawer and sit cross-legged on the floor. Taking out the sock balls and unraveling the items of clothing onto your thigh, putting bills into them and rolling them back into neat balls, throwing them back into their designated place very un-Marie Condo style, you hear Changmin ask a question after minutes of watching you in silence.

“What do you need all this money for, by the way?” he asks. “Except for keeping your sister alive, of course.”

The question has you halting your movements, looking up at the male with a blank look. You two never discuss deep things– you two never talk about your lives and the reasoning behind your actions. You just do things and don’t think of consequences– you just get as much money as you can without telling the other one what you need it for.

Locking your eyes with him, you shrug. There’s a hint of understatement behind his orbs that shows you that maybe you can trust him. Maybe him knowing isn’t that bad– what could he possibly do with the information? You two know about each other’s crimes far too much to betray each other, you think.

“I… my family… we have debts,” you say, nodding to yourself. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you chuckle before speaking up again. “My dad left shortly after my sister was born and then we couldn’t really afford paying for the house anymore. My mum refused to move, though, so she got another loan to cover the previous one, but it’s…” you drift off, remembering the day you found out the harsh truth only a few months ago.

You hear your mother’s sobs as you walk into the house after your classes, making your heart drop to your stomach. It’s not every day you hear your mother cry, since she tries hard to pretend everything is okay even though it’s not– and the empty bottles of alcohol waiting by the trash can every day are the clear sign of both that and her not really handling it well. This feels different, though. The crying doesn’t sound like someone pitying themselves once again– the crying sounds like someone in such a deep despair, hopeless and lost.

Socked feet shuffling through the house as you take your shoes off at the door, you find your mother crouching above the kitchen table, a glass in her hand. There’s a sheet of paper staring back at her from the void, the scene almost appearing in front of you in grayscale. You didn’t expect your life to change so much in such a simple afternoon. You didn’t expect to grow up with a click of a finger.

“What happened?” you ask, carefully approaching the wounded animal of your mother. You learned quickly after she picked up drinking that you need to handle the fragile woman with care. A bad word and she could break– an incorrectly crafted sentence and she could turn into a volcano, erupting with screams and swearing, cursing you out.

No answer reaches your ears, though, so your only resolve is to take the paper into your hands and read it over. And now, you’re no expert in legal things and contracts, but it doesn’t take a lot of knowledge to recognise a loan contract. It’s a company you don’t know, though– one of the not famous ones, one of the fishy ones that give you the money quickly– and before you even get a chance to read over the fine print at the bottom of the page, you already know you’re in deep, deep trouble.

The knowledge of trouble only intensifies when you come home to strange men escaping your house one day. There are no groceries in the fridge for a few days after, making it vastly clear to you that your mother simply couldn’t afford to get food for her kids to eat.

It only takes one crying fit and an argument with your mother to find out the harsh reality– your mother fell for a loan that is too difficult to handle, one that makes you pay back fast and with big amounts monthly. She already had a warning.

If she is late with her payment again, you lose everything.

“It’s… it’s difficult to pay it back,” you conclude, watching as Changmin only nods in understatement. The air around you is suddenly too heavy, but you figure the whole truth won’t hurt anyone. Maybe the weight on your shoulders would feel lighter if you finally tell someone– however selfish the sentiment feels. “If we don’t pay it back within the next few months, we will lose our house. My mother fell for a loan shark,” you say.

“All the years of her telling us to not fall for scams, and then she does this,” you mumble, trying to make fun of the situation.

“Y/N, that’s–”

“I was also thinking of leaving one day,” you add as you cut him off, not letting him psychoanalyze you or make you feel like he pities you. “I was thinking of getting enough money to settle all of this and then just… move out. Disappear. I need to get away from this house before it suffocates me,” you bitterly laugh, seeing the boy shift his eyes from the ceiling back at you, pressing his lips into a tight line.

“I get you,” leaves his mouth after a heartbeat of silence. Never in your life have you feared being judged as much as in this moment. It’s strange to face your biggest fear– being vulnerable with someone, opening up to them about everything you’re going through– and find that it wasn’t at all as difficult. It’s strange to face your biggest fear and realize that maybe, you had nothing to be scared of in the first place.

It’s strange to hear that you’re understood. That somebody gets just how hard it is to breathe every day, walking through the house you grew up in, but which is now haunted. If it was anybody else, you’d try to argue with them. How could they understand? How could they possibly know what is going on inside of your head on a daily basis? How could they get the extent of how far you have to go every day just to survive and keep your sister out of the mess, totally unknowing?

Ji Changmin may not know everything about you, he may not be in the same situation, but still; he knows how you feel. Coming from a background like that, you don’t get to keep a lot of freedom either.

“It’s… it’s a work in progress. I don’t really have a plan either, I just… I just know I need to save up enough to sort things out, move out and leave everything behind. I can’t… I can’t keep doing this forever, y’know,” you shrug, snickering to yourself.

Changmin hums in understatement, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He looks so out of place in the middle of your white sheets, dressed in his all black attire. The contrast of his clothes and the brightness of your laundry cuts through all major parts of your life as well– where there’s anxiety, there’s also Changmin’s ability to turn everything into a joke. Where there’s mess and confusion, there’s Changmin’s calculated plans and thought-out strategies. Where there’s loneliness, there’s also Ji Changmin’s sheer presence next to you during the lunch break. It’s strange, just how quickly you found comfort in the serpent-like boy. It’s unfamiliar. The novelty of it all both scares you and comforts you all at once.

The boy is silent for a while before he speaks up, processing the information. As if knowing that there’s nothing he could really say to make you feel better about the situation– or fearing that anything he could utter out would make it worse– he entrusts you with a secret of his own.

“If I don’t get adopted before I turn 18– which, let’s be real, with my history and everything, won’t happen– I age out of the system and I’m all on my own,” he says, shrugging, “I’ll need money to get on my own feet. To leave, too. Fuck, I need to leave that house and this town. I need to start over somewhere where they won’t know every single thing that happened to me in the past.”

You hadn’t realized just how much your plans align when you first nodded to this agreement. You think it adds a sense of reliability now. Both working towards the same plan, knowing that if you fail, the other’s fate is at stake as well.

Before this, you didn’t know just how serious it was for Changmin– you didn’t know if he needed the money on reckless spending, on buying drinks and cigarettes to chase down his boredom, or if there was a greater sense of ironical responsibility behind it all. Knowing that there’s so much on the table, so much of both of your future’s that are at risk if you don’t try your hardest to make your lives better– because no one else in the whole world will help you, it seems– brings a greater sense of alliance hang in the air between the two of you.

Shared secrets, plans, view of life. Shared responsibilities, burdens, desperation. That bonds two people like nothing else does.

“You can count on me, Y/N,” Changmin hums, tone of voice barely louder than a whisper. Your eyes don’t meet in the confidentiality of it all, but your heart still squeezes on itself. “I’ll get us out of this town even if it’s the last thing I do.”

The low murmur of the school cafeteria lands into your ears as you stand in the line for food, Changmin’s tall figure in front of you turning to face you, an annoyed sigh heaving out of his throat. “Now I remember why I never fucking go to this place.”

“Oh, right,” you nod, shrugging to yourself as if to show your absolute fury with the fact that you’ve been standing in the line for more than 10 minutes now, a third of your lunch break already passing by like a flash, “it was never because I was too broke. The line was always the problem.”

The male in front of you snickers at your ironic remark. You’re convinced you could count the amount of times you’ve been to the school cafeteria to buy lunch on the fingers of one hand. Most of the time, you take whatever remains of food you can find at home with you. Lunch money is reserved for your little sister only– and even that is on special occasions. Usually, you try to buy her the cheapest things you can find at the store downtown– the retailed bread that’s too old to sell at original price now, but still fresh enough to eat– but when you figure you have enough money in the week to spend, you give her enough to buy lunch at school. For you, buying your own warm lunch at school feels like a holiday. You’ve lived through more Christmases than cafeteria lunches, you think.

“Starting to doubt if it’s even worth it anyway,” Changmin fusses, folding his hands at his chest. You don’t think you’ve ever met a more impatient person than him. If things take too long, he gives up on them– like the line in the grocery store the other day. You made the mistake of inviting him to buy groceries with you, but when he realized the self-checkout lines were too long, he just carried your groceries out without paying, grinning at your shocked face the moment you unsuspectedly got out of the store. ‘It’s okay to steal from big corporations,’ he justified. ‘They won’t feel the loss.’

“Changmin, this is my first time buying lunch this year,” you sigh, “have some patience. Of course it’s worth it– it’s a celebration of our hard work.”

“Does this feel satisfactory?” he doubts, pointing a thumb behind him to show the line in front of you two– which, just by the way, moved a ton, meaning it’s gonna be your turn soon.

“Not yet,” you admit, chuckling to yourself, “but the feeling will come once I bite into the soggy, half-cold pizza. Trust,” you point a finger to him and poke him in his stomach, that has, just by the way, growled in hunger three times since you’ve taken your place in the line for food.

“Of course you chose to get lunch on pizza day…”

“What do you have me for?” you scoff. “I have some culture.”

“Says the person who hasn’t seen Train to Busan before. Girl, you’re the farthest thing from cultured, trust me.”

“You call Train to Busan our national treasure?” you ask, blinking at the boy in pure confusion. You don’t trust a man like Ji Changmin to be the film critic of modern age, to be fair, but you think even this opinion is quite far-stretched.

Changmin furrows his brows at you, clicking his tongue. “You’re only saying that because you haven’t seen the movie.”

“Well, I haven’t been given the opportunity to watch it, so I don’t see how that’s my problem.”

The line finally moves and lets you two get your lunch. The lady behind the counter looks even less pleasant than you remember her– with more gray hair and a more tired expression on her face– and the food isn’t much either even by looking at it. Still, you feel a sense of satisfaction run through your veins when you look at the sad-looking plate. You earned this pizza. This soggy, bad, a little shoe sole-looking pizza. You put a lot of effort into buying this plate, and although it doesn’t necessarily represent the determination, at least it represents the morality of your earned money– and you know what, at the end of the day, you think that’s fair.

Walking away to one of the empty tables in the cafeteria, carrying your tray in both of your hands and following Changmin’s lead, you feel your stomach churn at the image of the pizza on your plate. It sure doesn’t look great, but it looks edible– you still consider it to be a reward.

However, before you get a chance to sit down and bite into the meal, your side suddenly comes in contact with something firm, yet soft, the impact of the hit making you stumble and fall over to the hard linoleum. The tray of food you’ve had in your hands is knocked out of your grasp, falling to the ground with a loud noise, and the force in which you hit the floor makes your butt sting in pain. The moment comes by like a blur, and before you even get a chance to register what happened, a train of apologies lands into your ears.

“Oh my god, Y/N, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to–” a boy a little shorter than Changmin (that’s just standing by your side, looking a little taken-aback, but still uninterested in the commotion, not at all trying to help you out), stutters out. You recognise him to be your classmate Eric Sohn– one of the people you’ve never really spoken to before, because you had no reason to do so. He is a loud extrovert, a people person, a bundle of never ending energy. He’s charismatic, but not someone you would find yourself hanging out with (not that you really hang out with anyone other than the criminal by your side anyway)– and a little inkling in your brain tells you that one of the reasons for this fact is Eric’s high social status.

“Are you okay?” he asks, offering you his hand to bring you back up to your feet.

Wincing in pain as you take his grasp and get back into a standing position, you wonder if he was running– there was no way the sheer force of him walking would send you to the ground. Once you take a closer look at the boy, you notice his blushing cheeks and an incredibly guilty look on his face, notifying you of the fact that you haven’t replied to him yet, still too shocked by the events. “I’m okay, yeah,” you nod, eyes shifting to the plate on the ground. It didn’t break, but your pizza slice is very visibly on the ground– and no matter how desperate you are for food right now, you consider it too contaminated to be eaten.

“I am so sorry, Y/N, I wasn’t looking where I was going– oh god, your uniform is all dirty,” he points to your white button-down, now stained with the last remains of the soup that was seemingly in one of the plates your classmate was carrying.

“It’s… it’s okay–”

“I’ll pay for you to get it dry cleaned!” he stammers, eyes wide and bangs falling into his eyes, the boyish, panicked aura around him making you feel kind of bad for him. Which is strange– you are the one in pain and without lunch now. Not him.

“No, really, it’s okay, Eric… It was an accident–”

“And your lunch is ruined! God,” he grunts, scrambling to pick up all the dishes from the floor, cleaning up the mess. “I’ll get you a new one. Just… wait here, I’ll be right back!” the boy assures you, running off with the trays and plates, aiming for the area designated for discarding them.

Like in a trance, you take a seat at the table, following Changmin. Scratching the back of your neck, you sigh and aimlessly stare at your companion, watching as he eats his pizza. Casually speaking the fact into existence, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, the male decides to make you choke at his words.

“You should get on that, Y/N,” he notes, snickering.

“Huh?”

“You know what I mean. Man’s rich as fuck, Y/N,” he says as he swallows down the bite, shrugging. “He’d fit perfectly into your little plan,” Changmin schemes, pointing a finger at your face.

“Stop being ridiculous,” you grunt, “why would I do that? He doesn’t even like me, so–”

“Oh, as if,” Changmin rolls his eyes, speaking with his mouth full, “he looked at you as if you were Jesus fucking Christ, Y/N. He clearly has a crush on you. And, respectfully, any man would want to get with someone like you– why do you think our plan is working so well? You’re hot enough, that’s why,” he shrugs, making you blink at the male in surprise.

Hot enough? Did Ji Changmin just call you hot? You’d rather not focus on that part of the exchange.

“Shut up, Changmin,” you sigh, “besides, I’m not doing that to him.”

“Why not? I thought our motto was ‘eat the rich’, no?”

“Yeah,” you grunt, nodding to the boy, tone of voice ironic, showing him just how stupid he sounds right in this moment, “but it’s ‘eat the icky old rich men’, not ‘eat unsuspecting, innocent rich’, Changmin. Got it?”

“You’re missing out on–”

“I said no,” you cut him off, pointing a finger right in the middle of his forehead. Something about your authoritative tone gets the point across, making the boy sigh.

“Jeez, okay, if you really say so…”

Opening your mouth to continue on with the sentiment, you’re quickly cut off by Eric’s voice coming from beside you, the boy suddenly appearing at your table. “Here,” he says, a bashful look on his face as he puts the tray in front of you, two slices of pizza and a box of orange juice settled on the red plastic dish, “I’m really sorry again! And…” he starts, scratching the back of his neck, “and here is my number, so if you want me to… uh… pay for the cleaning of that, or whatever, just… let me know, okay?” he smiles awkwardly, pointing to a piece of paper settled under the juice box, having you blink up at him in surprise.

Before you get a chance to protest, Eric pays you two his goodbyes and rushes out of the cafeteria, cheeks red and an expression a little alarmed. You’re not an expert in body language, but the more you think about it, the clearer it gets.

Ji Changmin is right. Eric Sohn does clearly have a crush on you.

If that even means anything…

The house is silent. Your naked feet clad through your room as you open your drawer, fingers reaching for the soft fabric of your socks. It’s gotten a bit chilly, so you automatically go and try to warm yourself up with one of your thick garments. Fingers unraveling the sock ball, prepared to find dollar bills inside– already knowing you’ll take a part of it and give it to your sister in the morning so she can get some lunch at school– a momentarily shock washes over you when you find the sock ball empty.

Confused, you furrow your brows and check the insides of the socks. You remember very clearly that you put some of your money into this specific pair just a few days ago.

Or maybe you didn’t… You’ve been tired the last few days. You could be remembering it wrong. Maybe this particular sock ball didn’t have money in it in the first place.

Still, you reach for another sock ball, hands a little shaky as you look through it. When you notice the lack of bills inside, your heart starts hammering against your chest, sweat appearing on your forehead. Searching through another one and another one and another one, you find all sock balls empty. There is no money where you hid it. It’s all gone.

Thousands of won gone. Vanished. Nowhere to be found.

Where could they go? Who could’ve taken them?

In the few seconds that pass before the fact that all of your money is nowhere to be seen fully settles into your brain, your feet react on themselves and drag you out of the comfort of your room, making you jog downstairs. Reaching the living room, finding your mother laying on the sofa with a bottle of rum next to her on the ground, you feel the amount of patience you’ve had with her slowly overflowing, frustration taking its deserved place in your body as you scream at her sleeping figure.

“Did you take my money?” you yell, watching as your mother slowly opens her eyes at you and blinks in confusion, the alcohol haze around her stinking and making you sick to your stomach. The woman looks at you with zero ounces of sympathy behind her eyes, no words escaping from between her lips as she continues to wordlessly stare at you.

“Mum! Did you take my money?” you scream, clenching your hands into a fist, chewing on your bottom lip in frustration.

“I needed the money,” she says, a groggy voice cutting through the silent house.

Running your hand through your hair, an amused chuckle leaves your throat. “Did you use it all? Is it all gone?”

“I needed it,” she only adds, turning on her side and proceeding to ignore you, which makes fury hammer against your chest with more force than ever before.

“You needed the money. You needed it,” you laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “For what, mum? You needed the money to give to Aerin so she could have lunch? You needed the money to buy groceries? To pay for the bills when a man comes to our house and tells me we haven’t paid enough for our electricity bill? You needed the money for all of that, right?” you chuckle, frustration making you kick your foot against the side of the couch.

“Or did you need the money to buy alcohol, mum? Is that what you needed it for? Is that more important?” you bite, watching as your mother looks at you with stern eyes, the words finally entering her bubble and getting to her heart.

“Don’t speak to me like that. I am your mother.”

“You’re only my mother when you want to scold me!” you yell back, your words resonating through the silence. “Why won’t you be my mother when I need to feed my sister? When I need to take care of the house? Why aren’t you my mother when I need you?!” you scream, a sob involuntarily dragging out of your throat as you finally verbalize the words you’ve been biting back since this whole situation arised.

“I brought you to this life. I raised you!” she screams back, merciless words stabbing you in the back like daggers coming for your heart. “So when I say I needed the money, I have every right to take it!”

“Do you?!” you argue. “Do you. Did you earn that money, mum? Because the last time I checked, you got fired and the only person trying to keep this family afloat is me!” you scream, watching as your mother sits up in her place, a tired sigh escaping her throat.

“Don’t you dare yell at me!” she gestures with her hand.

“Well, then don’t take what’s not yours! Because now, I’ll have to work my ass of to get all of that back, because you won’t try to get your fucking life together–”

“Don’t swear at me,” your mother drags out, tone of voice stone cold and serious. It sends chills down your spine, a teardrop trail down your cheekbone and towards your jaw. You have a staring contest with your mother, one in which you question just how much impact your argument has on her– if she recognises the fury and anger and translates it as grief, just like your insides have been doing for so long now.

Behind her glossy eyes, there’s not much for you to read, though. You lost that ability a long time ago. It’s one of the things you mourn the most.

“Y/N?” you hear a small voice call from behind you. It has you snap your head around and watch your sister shrinking away in the doorway behind you, holding on to the wall. Aerin’s eyes are glossy and scared, shaking from you to your mother, her little face morphed in anxiety as she chews on her bottom lip in nerves.

That has your fury dissolving– at least on the outside. You can’t afford to fail at protecting your sister from everything. Wiping your own tears harshly, you clear your throat and move to her hunched-over body, placing a comforting palm on her back, leading her upstairs to her bedroom.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” you hum groggily, sniffling on your way to the top of the stairs, “it’s okay. Me and mum just didn’t… we had a bit of an argument, but it’s nothing to worry about.”

As you cover up your sister with the duvet on her bed, she looks at you with watery eyes, a little voice shaking as she inquires. “We don’t have money?”

“Of course we do, dummy,” you snicker, shaking your head. “We do. Don’t you worry, Aerin-ie. I’ll take care of everything, yeah? Get those worries out of your head.”

“But you said–”

“Let the adults deal with this, yeah? It’s gonna be fine.”

“But you’re not even an adult yet,” Aerin furrows her brows, restless eyes not closing as she tries to wrap her head around the situation. No child ever should worry about things like this. And she’s right– you’re not an adult yet either, but as the older one of you, you think it’s your responsibility to take care of things. Just because you can’t afford to not worry about your situation doesn’t mean you will let your sister down and drag her with you.

“That’s right,” you sniffle, laughing airly as you rub her upper arm through the fabric of the duvet, “so that means I can still share a bed with you, yeah?” you force a smile to your lips, watching as your sister nods and scoots over in her place, letting you hug her from the side and snuggle into the warmth of her sheets.

“Everything will be alright,” you whisper into her ear, trying hard to provide her head with some distraction.

It’s kind of ironic, if you really think about it. Both of your parents failed you, but you were only truly hit with the reality of your mother’s betrayal. Who is your father if not the first man to ever disappoint you, right? You came to peace with the fact a few weeks after he left for good– you thought you didn’t need him. You could be good without him.

It seems like your mother needed him more than anything, though. Sometimes, you wish she chose her children instead.

Holding your little sister to your chest, you decide to do everything to protect her. You’d do anything it takes if it means she won’t have to worry about her future. If that’s your responsibility, then so be it– you are more than willing to carry it.

“I don’t think this looks right,” you mumble as you stare at your reflection in the mirror, furrowed eyebrows on full display as the girl staring back at you doesn’t look half similar to how she usually appears.

You’re wearing a skirt you bought from your savings last month– wanting to treat yourself to something nice– and a cropped shirt that shoves a trace of your skin in the midriff. You’re wearing your old shoes that admittedly throw off the whole look a little– but you don’t have anything else to wear, so that’s what you’re going with. The outfit wouldn’t be the strangest thing about your appearance today– although you’re not the one to wear skirts casually, with the only exception being your school uniform.

The thing that is throwing you off the most about your apparel is the coat of makeup on your face. You and Changmin walked into a drugstore after your classes were over, trying your hardest to make you look the most enchanting you can. You did your makeup with the testers, going through three different lipstick choices before your companion was satisfied, and only when you finally escaped the fluorescent lights of the store and looked at yourself in the daylight is when you realize just how different your face looks to its usual.

“It does,” Changmin shakes his head, standing up from his place on your bed and walking over to your figure, prompting a finger below your chin to angle your head a little, staring at you from up close. His eyes glaze over your skin, making your throat dry out from being so closely examined. “You look different, but it doesn’t look bad.”

“It doesn’t look good either,” you sigh, escaping his gaze and turning around in your place, watching yourself in the mirror once again. The male leans against the desk behind him, communicating from your behind.

A sigh escapes Changmin’s throat at your words, rolling his eyes. “Be serious for once. You look good.”

“My face is all cakey,” you frown.

“You only notice when you see it from up close,” Changmin says, “and I don’t think Eric’s gonna look at you from up close. He’d shit his pants.”

“You’re not helping.”

“That’s because you won’t let me help,” he grunts. “No matter how many times I tell you that you look good won’t change the fact that you won’t admit it to yourself.”

“I don’t look like myself.”

“You do!” he runs his hands through his hair, shaking his head in frustration. “You always look pretty, it’s just… today you look like you put more effort into your appearance,” Changmin huffs, his voice growing a little more quiet at the end of the sentence. Your eyes meet with his in the full-length mirror, watching as the tips of the boy’s ears tint a pink hue, the warmth spreading to his cheeks at the compliment that just so casually slipped through his lips. “Which– which is good, because you wanna look like you put effort into a date with a rich boy, y’know?” he adds, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

His words comfort you a bit. Trying hard not to meet his gaze in the mirror– because you suddenly feel a bit bashful under his gaze– you nod to yourself and focus on the hem of your skirt for the thousandth time, making sure it fits right against your skin. “How does one act on a date? I’ve never been on one.”

“You go on dates every week,” Changmin snickers.

“I meant real dates. The dates you have with people your age,” you roll your eyes, watching as the boy cheeses and shrugs to himself.

“Well,” he starts, “he already likes you. Like, a lot. So making him fall for you won’t be a problem, because I’m quite certain it already happened.”

His words have you feeling a little bad for Eric Sohn. He’s just an unsuspecting teenager that just so happens to be born into a rich family. He likes you– quite obviously so– and you’re going to break all the trust he has in you and use him for your own personal gain. It’s not morally good to do anything like this. You should be ashamed of yourself.

But then again, you think of all the paths you have to take just to survive. You lost a lot of money, and you need to get it back again– and you need to do it fast.

There’s no time for you to feel bad for Eric. You have to think of your sister first.

“I think you just have to pretend you like him back. Like… listen to him when he talks about boring stuff. Smile a lot– he’ll go crazy over your smile. Don’t be too touchy on the first date, or else it would come off as you being too eager, but if you manage to get a casual touch in without being too clingy, that’s bonus points,” Changmin hums, listing off all advice he can think of.

“Just be yourself, honestly. You have the guy wrapped around your finger anyway,” Changmin shrugs. “Let him pay for everything. Abuse the power you hold, Y/L/N.”

Nodding to yourself, you take a mental note of everything Changmin told you. “I don’t think it’s really fair to him, still.”

“Well, when was ever life fair to you?” he asks, tone of voice suddenly more sincere, more tender than the usual way he speaks to you. It has your eyes meeting again in the mirror, an unspoken understatement making you feel a tinge of bittersweetness in your insides, your gaze communicating the words you can’t quite materialize into existence.

The eye contact is broken as the male stands up from his place and pokes your exposed midriff with his finger, laughing at seeing you squirm before he dives into your bed sheets once again, a muffled yell sent your way from the cushion of your pillow.

“Go get him, tiger!”

“Why don’t we finish this at my place?” the man– you think his name was Baekho– asks you with a suggestive smile on his face after he pays for your dinner.

This man was particularly hard to get to. He seemed smarter than the others– keeping his belongings close to himself, paying more attention to his surroundings. You and Changmin didn’t manage to go along with your initial plan, which made you tense on the inside as it was– his suggestion only made your heart drum harder against your ribcage, the self-preservation instinct within you telling you to run.

“I am actually not really feeling well, so I’ll head home,” you nod, a stern smile fighting its place onto your lips.

“Don’t be silly,” the male opposes, shaking his head at you like you would at a child when it does something wrong and you can’t believe a human like that will someday grow into a fully functioning adult, “the night is still young, baby.”

Standing up from your place, following his motions, you turn your head sharply around and send a look full of worry to your companion. Changmin raises his eyebrows at you in question, but for the sake of your secrecy, you don’t pay him much of an answer in fear of where an explicit call for help would lead you.

“Thank you so much for the dinner, really,” you try to seem welcoming, you try to play it off and put up a nonchalant facade, smiling at the man that towers over you, “but I really should get going.”

“Let me give you a ride home, then,” he insists, glazing your elbow with his hand, making you shudder at the action, acid hunting your tongue.

“That won’t be necessary, I don’t live far–”

“Oh, don’t be stupid. Let me show you my car,” the male grunts, harshly gripping your elbow and dragging you away from the restaurant.

One of the biggest mistakes you made today was the fact that you chose to meet with this man in the evening. Most of the dates you go on happen in the afternoon, providing you with more sense of safety– you should’ve known that this gathering would end differently to all the other ones you’ve been to. You get dragged away into one of the poorly-lit alleys, no cars in sight, and you swear you can feel the imprint of his hand burning on your skin.

“Please, let me go so I can–”

“So you think you can just go on a date with someone like me, bribe me to buy you dinner, and then leave me nothing in return? That’s not how it works around here, sweetheart,” the male grits through his teeth, dragging you along the alley despite you trying to wrestle your way out of his grip.

He’s stronger than you, and he’s taking that into advantage. The danger in your chest hammers stronger than any time before, alerting you of the fact that if a miracle doesn’t happen, you’re going to either die tonight, or be marked by the events of this date forever. Oh, what a foolish idea it was to go along with this. You should’ve known this was bound to end in a disaster from how well it’s been going since the start.

Trying to kick around in the male’s grip, huffing and screaming out– but knowing nobody’s going to hear you in the buzz of the nightlife– you gulp on nothing and try to use all your adrenaline for getting yourself out of the situation.

“Stop squirming, you know it’s not going to help you–”

The male suddenly grunts, a wince of pain flashing through his eyes.

A miracle happens. Ji Changmin with his mask pulled up and his cap down low shielding his face appears in your point of vision, a bloody knife in his hand. When your shaky pupils look around, taking in your surroundings, you notice the man crouching down and holding his leg, growling like a wounded animal.

Too shocked to do anything yourself, you let Changmin drag you behind him with his arm, shielding you from the man. You faintly notice him launching after your companion, but before he has a chance to fight with him, Changmin puts the knife up, threatening the male. You haven’t seen him fight anyone before– only heard of the quarrels he’s gotten into in the foster home or on the streets– but something about his swift movements and the kicks aimed at your attacker makes you feel a little safer, a tinge of relief flowing through your veins. He looks like he knows what he’s doing. He seems to have the situation at least partially under his control.

“Run!” you hear Changmin yell at you, only paying you attention for a spare second as he looks at you over his shoulder.

You do as you’re told, but still keep looking back at your savior, watching as he kicks the man into his crotch area and slices the knife against the skin of his upper hand before he stabs him again, the pained groans echoing against the walls of the alleyway. There’s something terrifying about Changmin’s skills, leaving you wondering where he learned all of this– but before you get a chance to ponder on the origins of his self-defense skills any further, you hear his voice calling for the male.

“Don’t follow us, or this will end up worse,” he growls, still threatening the male with the pocket knife. “Try to go after us and I’ll tell the police you’re a pedophile– she’s only 17. You heard me?”

When the male doesn’t give him a reply, Changmin lets out a satisfied snicker. “That’s what I thought.”

Changmin runs up to you and drags you by your hand, tugging you out of the alleyway. The bloody knife is quickly hidden in his pocket as you charge through the streets, making sure you’re as far away from the man as possible. You stumble a little over your feet, making Changmin hold onto your hand a little stronger, dragging you behind a corner of a 24/7 bistro on the end of the street two blocks away, hiding you from the sight of the main road by the shade behind the building.

“Shit, are you okay?” he asks, looking you over with examining eyes. His shaky fingers take ahold of your chin, turning your face around to see any possible damage, letting go only when he’s sure there are no bruises on your cheeks, gripping your shoulders instead, breathing heavily. “Fuck. I’m so sorry,” he sighs out, his composure faltering a little, the contrast between him from a few minutes ago to now so big it leaves you weak in your knees.

“I’m okay,” you nod, barely registering the shakiness of your own voice.

The words have him tugging you close to him, arms wrapping around your body. He holds you as if he’s making sure you’re still there, all intact and alive, a hand sneaking into your hair petting it in an affectionate act you’ve never received from the male in the months you’ve spent working with him. “I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault,” you choke out. The previous sense of danger slowly evaporates out of you, heart relaxing, your brain getting the signal that you’re finally safe and sound. Closing your eyes for a minute, you allow yourself to mold against his figure, foolishly adjusting to the way his grip around you brings you a sense of newly found serenity and calm.

“Kinda is. We’re never doing this again,” he says, and if you tune in with his body hard enough, you feel a slight tremble of his arms.

“It’s fine, we can–”

“No,” he sighs, “there’s other ways. Safer ones.”

And it’s kind of strange– the way Ji Changmin demonstrates that your safety matters to him more than the money gain you’ve been both chasing after for the past few months. The things you two do to get by are never morally right and never the safest options, but when he lets go of you and holds his face in his hands before giving you a head pat, you know what he means: he’ll rather take the harder way than to leave you so vulnerable ever again.

Your shoes get discarded at the doorstep and your feet are quickly put into the guest slippers that reminds you too much of the ones you see in fancy hotels on the TV– the white, thin footwear you wear only to be polite, since they do nothing to keep your feet comfortable or warm, your heels thudding against the floor with as much force they would’ve if you wore only your socks. Eric takes off your coat and hangs it in the hall, like the true gentleman he was raised to be, and leads you into the house.

The ceilings are high, walls are various shades of white and cream, floors either mirror-like marble or expensive, hard wood. The whole house looks like it was taken out of a furniture catalog or made for one, everything fitting together in a simple, yet polished beauty. The decorations are simple and sleek, but they still make the whole place look put together. The floors are clean, not a speck of dust on either of the bookshelves you pass when the boy leads you into the common area, not a single mug misplaced or a dish forgotten in the sink. The air is fresh in the spacious rooms, yet it’s still quite overbearing, not letting you breathe.

“Do you want anything to drink?” he asks, almost a little nervously.

“Just water is fine, thank you,” you smile, agreeing. Your throat is suddenly dry, almost begging for the cold liquid to splash down and hydrate it a bit before you completely choke out.

Eric nods, leaving you alone in the living room. The big plasma TV seems to be framed against the wall, like an artwork in the gallery, and although it still gets a look full of awe out of you, you find the sentiment a bit ridiculous to look at. You feel like you’re in the Truman show– everyone’s watching your reactions through the camera, laughing at the fact that this is the first time you’ve set your foot into a place filled with so many expensive things, making you scared to even move in fears of breaking something more than your yearly rent. You must look like a deer in the headlights, clueless and shocked at the state of your surroundings, and it suddenly makes you self conscious as you decide to walk around the room and focus on what you’re here for– the plan.

Eyes scanning the contents of vitrines, the crystal glasses and expensive wine bottles, you try hard to mentally calculate the worth of everything in the house– you find yourself failing, though, since you can’t even tell just how much each thing costs, too far out of your league to even assume the price tag. There’s a particular display of jewelry you recognise from back when you worked in the store, scoffing when you add up the prices of the chains you once sold to an old man wanting a gift for his wife’s birthday– something about the number of digits making you feel just the tiniest bit infuriated.

How come some people have so much, yet you have so little? What makes them deserve it and makes you work tirelessly to afford a living? Why can they afford vacations in Greece and Dubai, yet you keep gluing together the last remains of your money to buy groceries for your sister?

It’s ridiculous. It’s frustrating.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you move towards a wall filled with pictures– each framed in a white or silver frame so they fit together like a jigsaw puzzle for your eyes, aesthetically pleasing each guest that’s ever crossed the threshold of the house– gazing at the memories captured on the photos.

You recognise the little boy on all of them to be Eric. There’s a girl, a few years older than him, but undoubtedly his sister, with her arm around his shoulders, a silly smile plastered on both of their faces so similar the resemblance is uncanny. There are a few pictures with all 4 of them on the wall as well, sun shining into their eyes as they all squint into the camera, posing in front of various monuments. A few of the mementos are from the beaches of Europe, some are from the hiking trails of Asia, and the one with Eric’s hair longer and in little curls, very obviously one of the most recent ones with how much he resembles the boy currently in the kitchen fetching you with a glass of water, standing on a surfboard, was taken in the waves of the american west coast. You remember him saying something about having family there, so it’s not unusual for him to visit often.

A knife laced with the green poison of jealousy cuts you somewhere into your abdomen. It’s not only the expensive luxuries he gets to experience that make you long for a life like his– it’s also the carelessness, the joy. It’s the care you see in his parents’ eyes on the pictures, the obvious love shared in the photographs– they’re taken not to boost their privilege, but to remember their happiest moments. You wish you had something like that. A functional family. One that cares for each other. One that doesn’t put obstacles under each other’s feet.

“Here you go,” Eric’s voice wakes you up from the slumber, making you jolt and take the glass of water he’s offering to you into your grasp, taking a sip.

“Thanks,” you nod, smiling.

Watching Eric from under your eyelashes, you notice his eyes glazing the frames you’ve been focusing on before. Licking his lips, the boy speaks up with a voice laced with genuine absurdity, pointing towards the wall.

“You must think this is just ridiculous,” he notes, scratching the back of his neck. Eric Sohn isn't stupid– although he grew up in luxury, he can still recognise the imbalance of resources the two of you have. You don’t know why he is being self-conscious about it, though.

“Not really,” you note, shrugging, “it’s just… quite unbelievable, to be fair.”

“Yeah,” he snickers, “we don’t really go on many vacations anymore, to be honest. We used to go on many when I was a kid,” he says, making you recognise the fact that most of the pictures did indeed look older– back from when Eric was younger.

You never really went on vacations when you were little. There was always something that got into the way– your parents either had a fight just in the middle of the summer, or you simply didn’t have enough money to travel anywhere, since you were surviving from paycheck to paycheck. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you start to wonder about the difference it makes to miss something you once used to have, and the desire for something you never got to experience. Which one is worse? Or are they not really comparable at all?

“My dad started working much more, so he doesn’t really have time. My sister got married, so she has her own family to worry about,” he shrugs, trying hard to play it casual– somewhere in the depth of his dark orbs, though, you notice that he’s battling away the fact that it upsets him. “I was really close with my sister,” he chuckles, pointing towards one of the picture frames where she’s putting up a peace sign behind his head, photobombing their own picture together, “I miss her sometimes.”

The role of the older sister is perhaps the one you try your hardest to keep. Will your little sister miss you the same way Eric does now with his own sibling? Will it hurt her less or more? Will she resent you? You can’t imagine a world in which your sister hates you– do you choose to protect her always, or do you take a step forward so you can breathe too?

“Does she visit you at all?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he hums. “It’s just not the same. That’s alright, though,” he shrugs, pressing his lips together into a tight line, “little Eric had a very happy family, at least. Can’t complain about that.”

And when you lock eyes with him, the sympathy oozing into the spacious, silent, almost lonely-looking place, you recognize the reality of it all– that no matter how fortunate you are in life, no matter how much money you have, there will always be struggles. Life always has its way of finding your weak spots and hitting where it hurts, strangling you and leaving you breathless in the battle of it all. You either don’t go on vacations at all, or you once did and now you can’t– either way, it hurts to think of what ifs and to remind yourself of all that once was and is now wasted.

For the first time since you met Eric Sohn, you start to see him as human. You start to see him as someone with his own life, his own emotions, his own struggles.

Maybe Changmin was wrong to tell you to get closer with the male. Now, having the insight to his thoughts, having the image of his once so idyllic life that’s now so far away, lonely, makes it harder for you to think of what you’re supposed to do when the time comes– mercilessly, completely selfishly.

You’re not so sure you can proceed with the plan anymore.

You miscalculated your abilities.

“Do you really need to write it all down?” you squint at your companion, feeling at least a little comical when you watch him scribble down a list onto a lined sheet of paper, blue ink twinkling in the sun.

“Yeah,” he nods, totally focused on the task at hand. “So we don’t miss out on any important information. Everything’s useful.”

A sigh leaves your mouth at that, making you shaking your head in disbelief. Changmin is currently laying on his stomach in the grass, not a picnic blanket in sight– just his bare shirt against the ground– and as you sit cross legged against the tree in the very corner of the park, enjoying the breeze playing with your hair, you start to wonder just how innocent and carefree you must look to the rest of the people. Just two friends enjoying their weekend in the park. Nothing else. No shady business going on– you promise!

“So you said there was a bunch of jewelry?” Changmin asks, tapping the glitter pen against his chin. You don’t really know where he came across one, but you don’t dare to ask. You know he was eyeing one of the fancy glitter gel pens in the dollar store when you last went to buy a notebook for class with him after school, so you guess you know the source of his newest shiny toy. He’s like a crow, you think. Both with the love for anything that glimmers and the love for stealing.

“Yeah,” you hum, “like at every rich person’s house,” you shrug, not really knowing what his deal was.

“Okay, good. Visible? Unprotected?”

“Are you asking if it was locked like in a jewelry store?” you snicker, rolling your eyes at him. “Because if so, the answer is no, Changmin. Who in their right mind has their personal belongings locked in their own home? Right. No one.”

“Just making sure. I don’t know how it works with rich people, I’ve never been one of those,” Changmin hums, not paying your sarcastic remarks much mind. “But this is good, it works in our favor. What other valuables have you laid your eyes upon during your visit?”

You try to think back to the day you went over to the Sohn’s mansion. You didn’t really see the majority of the house– since Eric didn’t give you a full tour and you didn’t really think it was appropriate to ask for one– so all you know about the stuff he has at home is from the living room, the entry hall and his bedroom.

“A game console of some kind? I don’t know, dude…”

“A PS5?”

“God, I dunno,” you mumble, furrowing your brows at the boy. “Do I look like an expert?”

“Right,” he sighs, licking his lips. “Well, we can only assume. Next?”

His glitter pen scribbles the words ‘PS5 (?)’ into the notepad right below the words ‘expensive jewelry’, making you chuckle. You really don’t know what he’s trying to achieve over here– well, the main goal is clear, you’d say– you just don’t really know why he has to have a complete list. It’s not like you’re going to rob his house of everything. You don’t have the capacity to do all that.

“Well, I don’t know. I doubt you want me to carry out his plasma TV or something, so I think this is all I can really give you right now,” you mumble, shrugging. “As if this whole thing isn’t totally immoral in the first place.”

“Y/N, sweetie, I told you to forget about morals long ago.”

“Not everyone is morally gray by default, Changminnie. It takes a while to recalibrate,” you say, rolling your eyes at his phlegmatism. If only you could live your life with Ji Changmin’s mindset. You bet handling a lot of things would be much easier.

Eyes searching through the trees and the greenery, you take a mental note of your sister’s whereabouts. You’re glad you were finally able to take her out of the house. Her friends invited her out, and although it’s only in the neighborhood, you’re much happier with keeping an eye on her, just in case. You’re much more concerned with safety of your little sister ever since you came in contact with breaking the law– you realized just how many people with bad intentions are on the planet, and although you’re not one of the people engaging in child trafficking, something about tasting danger on your tongue makes you feel more cautious when it comes to Aerin’s safety.

She is currently laughing at something with her friends before she runs off, seemingly playing tag. The park is big enough for the girls to roam around without getting on the road, and it’s good for her to get some physical activity in. Shifting your attention back to Changmin, noticing him doodling shapes in the corners of his notebook, your mind settles back into conversation with him.

“Or maybe you’re just starting to like your boyfriend a little too much,” Changmin scoffs, making you furrow your brows in confusion.

“I don’t think me not feeling 100% happy with planning to rob someone I know is the cause of me suddenly being in love with my fake boyfriend,” you note, “that’s just, y’know. Being a human being with basic empathy.”

“Fake boyfriend?” Changmin repeats, completely disregarding the rest of your sentence.

“Well, it’s not exactly real, is it?” you laugh, a hint of discomfort on your tongue. “Makes me feel kinda bad, but–”

“So you’re dating?”

Blinking once, then twice at the boy in front of you, you scratch the back of your neck in nerves. “Is that not what you wanted me to do?”

“No, it is, it’s just… is it, y’know, official?”

“Define official.”

“Does he call you his girlfriend?”

Plucking a stem of grass from the ground, twirling it around in your fingers– because looking into Changmin’s eyes is suddenly too unbearable in this situation– you shrug. “Sometimes.”

“Ah,” the male nods, an unreadable expression sitting at his face. “So it’s pretty official, then.”

Not really giving him an answer to this argument– both because you’re suddenly a bit embarrassed, cheeks burning and ears ringing (even though you really don’t know what made you have this reaction, since you have no romantic feelings to your current significant other) and because you don’t really know what to say– you only chew on the inside of your cheek, examining the greenery in between your pointer and your thumb.

“Have you two kissed already?” Changmin asks, quite confidentially, making you kick him in the side of his thigh.

“God,” you sigh out, shaking your head. “No!”

The male in front of you clicks his tongue, a grin spreading over his features. There’s a boyish sparkle behind his eye, his expression not understandable to you, making your insides squeeze in a weird tinge of anxiety. “What?” you ask, but get no reply– just a soft laugh coming out of his throat, battling its way to your heartstrings.

“Nothing.”

“Changmin! What’s so funny?” you ask, hiding your cheeks into the palms of your hands. “It’s just– I don’t wanna do it if I don’t like him like that, y’know? It’s not as embarrassing as you make it to be–”

“Not for you, that is.”

“Changmin!”

“What?” he asks, the dimple on his cheek at full display when he faces you, clearly amused at your reaction. “Look, it’s just that if it was me–”

“Changminnie! Changminnie!” a high-pitched, female voice cuts your friend off, making both of you turn your heads towards the source currently running to you at full speed, laughter escaping your little sister’s throat.

“I bet you can’t catch me!” Aerin says, touching your friend by his shoulder to tag him into the game before she runs off, the rest of her friends looking behind their backs and watching as he scrambles up from his lying position, a smile of a beaming sun plastered onto his face.

You never learn what Changmin wanted to tell you that day. You don’t ask later– you forget, not really deeming the information as that important. The memory you have of the afternoon spent in the park is mostly the image of your friend running after your sister, the laughter of the little girl resonating through your brain like a distant taste of childhood you wish to visit.

Ji Changmin is a fast runner, but he makes sure to play according to the girls’ pace. His voice is cheerful as he taunts them, calling after them in the spacious park, and when he looks back over his shoulder at you, eyes locking, your heart is left soaring in your chest before an invisible hand pierces through your lungs and takes the muscle into its hold, as if to offer it to him.

You wish to make your sister’s laugh last forever. You hope to make her joy prominent in the memories of her childhood. You pray she never turns bitter.

And when one of the girls starts chasing after Changmin, her legs half as long as the boy’s, pace slower and muscles more tired, you watch the boy theatrically trip and fall to the ground, shielding his fall with his outstretched arms. The girls laugh as he loses the game, getting tagged, and after the male almost comically slowly gathers back up to his feet again, a thought flashes through your brain– how amazing life would be if it was just you three in it– just you, Aerin and Changmin, spending your afternoons together, free of any trouble.

How happy life would be if every afternoon went like this. How good life would be if you spent days together just like this, like family.

For the first time since your decision, you start to doubt your life plan. How can you leave a fantasy like this behind?

How could you ever leave your little sister alone?

“It’s happening soon, right?” Changmin asks, the two of you sitting next to each other on the bus stop. Changmin sometimes takes the bus back to the foster home after class when neither of you have plans, but due to your poor time management skills and awfully slow pace of packing your things up, it just so happened that the poor boy missed the earlier bus– which you tried to repay him for with offering him both your chocolate milk and your time as you stayed with him on the bus stop and waited for the nearest bus to the other side of the town with him.

“Hm?” you ask, a little confused at first. Then, it dawns on you. “Ah. Yeah, I guess.”

Changmin’s voice is soft, almost careful when he talks about the topic. You don’t often discuss your plan out loud together. It happens once a fortnight– after sealing the deal in the school yard that day, there always was a feeling of mutual understanding hanging over the two of you that said that even though it’s the reality you’re striding towards, you don’t really mention it out loud. As if not to jinx it.

Or maybe, the both of you just don’t really want to discuss something so difficult. It’s easier to prepare for it when you pretend it’s easy. When you don’t open up about just how scared the both of you clearly are.

“Are you… are you ready?” he asks, making you look at him with confused eyes, a hearty chuckle escaping your throat.

“As ready as I’ll ever be– which actually, just for the record, means no,” you say, watching as your companion hums and nods to himself, head clearly full of thoughts he’s a little afraid to say out loud.

You don’t blame him. Not at all, actually. Your own mind is full of conflicting thoughts and feelings, a battle of morality and selfish desire making a pit open in your stomach every time you think of the next step of your little plan. A part of you desperately needs to leave, to settle things once and for all, but another part of you is still hesitant. Maybe there’s another way. Maybe you could do something about it. Maybe you could try contacting your father again– one more call left to be sent into the voicemail really won’t hurt you right now.

You’ve been thinking a lot of similar things lately. Questioning the nature of your plan. Wondering if you’ll succeed, if it’s all worth it.

You don’t really talk about it, though. Not until now. You don’t know what gets you so weak and fragile.

“What if… what if there’s another way?” you ask, watching as the boy’s head spins to face you, eyes glossy as they stare back to yours.

“Hm?” he seems confused. “What do you mean?”

A little sigh escapes your throat at that, your head turning so you face the road again. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you shrug. “I was just… I was just thinking, like… what if there’s a way for me to do all of this without leaving? Y’know, I could just…” you trail off, not really finishing your sentence. Truth is, you don’t really know where you were going with that statement either. Maybe you just said it out loud in hopes that Changmin would finish it and figure it out for you, offer you a different perspective, make a new plan– a plan where neither of you leave, a plan where neither of you have to cut ties with everything you know back home.

That’s a foolish thought, though. “What? Get 20 million won in a month a different way? A legal one? You’re gonna get another loan, or something?” Changmin chuckles, not really taking you seriously. Or maybe he is– you just feel a bit childish for having such unrealistic views.

“I don’t know,” you say, jaw clenching. “Maybe I could get another job, and start going on those dates again, and–”

“Yeah, no,” Changmin cuts you off, a huff escaping his lungs. “I know it’s hard, Y/N, but this is all you can do. This is the last resolution, or else you’re gonna lose your house, your mum will be homeless, and you two with Aerin will either end up with your dad– which is unlikely, from what you’ve told me– or at the foster home. If you’re lucky, maybe they’ll put you both to the same one–”

Something about his words feels like daggers are thrown into your skin. Like poison is on his tongue and you’re getting burned with each honest sentence that is uttered out your way. The truth hurts, it makes you feel like he’s only adding salt to an open wound, and it’s not fair of you to react that way– you’re certainly aware– but you can’t help it. The world is toppling over onto you, the weight is all on your shoulders, and you feel totally, utterly helpless. You feel overwhelmed. You feel tired.

“Okay, I get it,” you cut him off, shaking your head in a dismissive way and rolling your eyes at the boy. “It’s just that I don’t really like the thought of doing illegal stuff just to survive, y’know? It’s not exactly easy to steal and do all of this shit, and then leave. I know it must seem fun to you, since–”

“Fun?” Changmin cuts you off. A heartbeat of silence passes by between the two of you, and suddenly, you know you’ve crossed the line. You and Changmin can tell each other many things, but this time, you sound a lot like the people judging him on the street. You sound a lot like the police officers always letting him off without punishment– he’s a kid from the foster home. He does this stuff for attention, doesn’t he? For fun. For satisfaction. He doesn’t know any better– that’s how he was raised. Right?

“Fun,” he repeats. “You think I’m doing this for fun, huh?” he chuckles. You notice his knee bumping up and down in the periphery of your vision, a nervous action just begging to tick you off. “That’s not exactly something I expected you to say, but okay–”

“Well, that’s how we fucking ended up here in the first place, didn’t we?”

“I’ve been doing this for you!” he spits, voice rising and making you flinch. “For you, and for me. For our fucking futures,” he says. You refuse to look at him even when he stands up from his place on the bench, situating his figure in front of your body still hunched up on the hard wood. “I’ve been doing this for the both of us, because we deserve a better life than this, Y/N.”

“A better future?” you laugh, bitterness dripping off your tongue. “In hiding. On a run.”

“Do you prefer being homeless? Being thrown into the foster home for a few days before you age out of the system and your little sister is left there with the other kids? Kids like me?” he says mercilessly, only adding gas to the fire.

“You know that’s not what I meant–”

“Oh, trust me, Y/N, I know,” he says, irony slipping through his words. “You’re just saying this because you’re scared. Because you feel selfish–”

“And isn’t it true, Changmin? Isn’t selfish what we both are?” you say, your eyes finally meeting with the boy’s. His hair is disheveled as if he’s been running his hands through it in frustration, eyebrows furrowed and a displeased expression is sitting at his features. On most days, Ji Changmin looks like a cunning fox– full of mischief, full of secrets. Now, though, it’s like you see right through him. Somewhere along the way, you feel like you’re the one that started building up a wall in the middle of this argument. “How could I ever just leave my sister there? You could never understand–”

“I can’t, huh?” he says, nothing close to the gentle softness in his voice now, all disappearing from when he spoke to you just a few minutes ago. His voice is harsh, hoarse, even, something behind his eyes shifting in the middle of the fight. “Why? Because I don’t have siblings? Because I have nothing to lose?”

“You wouldn’t know how leaving someone behind feels,” you let out, but even as you’re saying it, you feel immediately disgusted with yourself. How could you ever say this to his face?

Changmin looks like he was slapped in his face. You swear he winces at your words, bottom lip trapped between his lips as he stares you down. The corners of your eyes start burning like there’s been acid poured into your sockets, hands trembling in the reality of your words. The boy in front of you nods to himself, harshly breathing in.

“I wouldn’t know how leaving someone behind feels,” he repeats, nodding to himself. “Yeah. You’re right. Because I don’t have anyone,” he admits. “I don’t have siblings like you do. I never met my parents, because they never gave a shit about me enough to keep me in their lives in the first place. Nobody fucking cares at the foster home, because I can’t seem to make meaningful connections with anyone. And you know what, yeah. It’s just so easy for me, because there’s no one here who would give a single flying fuck if I leave, because they don’t even really care if I’m alive or dead.”

“Changmin–”

“Just say it, Y/N. Say nobody cares,” he says, eyes stone cold, an avalanche taking place in your lungs. It’s hard to breathe and your eyes are hazy, fists crawling in themselves as you relish in the catastrophe you’ve caused.

“That’s not what I–”

“And you know what? Maybe you’re right, Y/N. I have nothing to lose, I am not leaving anyone behind, I wouldn’t know how it feels. Call me selfish, for all you like. Call me selfish for wanting something for myself, for wanting to leave this town and start over somewhere new. I don’t care. I’m doing this for myself,” he says, the noise of an approaching car landing in your ears through the sound of his words. “But don’t you fucking dare give up on your future just because you feel guilty. Don’t you dare call yourself selfish when you’re doing everything you can to keep the rest of your family afloat. Don’t call yourself selfish when you’re paying back a loan that isn’t yours and taking care of your sister’s future by doing all of this alone, yeah?”

A hot trail of liquid falls down your cheek as you hear the bus approaching the stop. Taking a shaky breath in, you open your mouth to say something– anything– but no words come out.

“And I know it’s hard for you. I know you’re tired, I know you’re exhausted and I know you’re scared and god do I wish I could make this easier for you, but Y/N, don’t you ever say it’s fun or easy for me, when I’ve been putting everything on line trying to help you. To help us.”

The bus door opens. Like a child that’s being scolded, you refuse to meet his eye. There’s shame flowing through your veins, embarrassment creeping up your neck. It feels like you betrayed him. Like you cut right where it hurts, tried to use everything you had on him against him, hitting all his weak spots– all because you were suddenly too prideful to admit to yourself that you’re scared and wallowing in guilt. It’s hard to bear the weight alone. You wish you could make Changmin feel guilty.

That’s something he won’t understand. It doesn’t make it easier for him, though. He was right– you could never do any of this differently. You could also never do any of this alone.

“And if you still think it’s selfish, then, well,” you hear him sigh, “I think it’s okay to be selfish sometimes. I think it’s fair of you to be selfish right now,” he says, the words both feeling like a hug and a punch to your sternum, leaving you cut open in the empty road.

“I’ll see you on Monday.”

The bus drives off, the boy’s figure peeling itself off your proximity, entering the other side of the town. You sit at the bus stop for a long while after, aggressively wiping your tears away with the back of your palm, embarrassed to cause such a scene. You never meant to fight with him. You never meant to act like a toddler, playing the victim in a situation that you sadly cannot change, in a situation you unfortunately cannot solve in any better way.

Ji Changmin is the only person you can lean on in this situation. You feel bad for using him as your punching bag. You’re deeply flawed to take it out on him.

In the silence of the street, the thought hits you with full force, making your knees weak and your throat dry up like the desert, a dagger straight through your heart as you realize you’re the only person Changmin would be leaving behind.

And after everything you two went through together, he would never do such a thing. Ji Changmin will hold on to you like a lifeline, because you’re everything he’s got– everything he keeps fighting for. He could give up on everything, had you not been on board.

He could never give up on you, though.

Warm sunlight peeks through the windows as you sit in silence side by side, neither of you daring to say anything, as if you were scared to break the atmosphere hanging over the calm library. You and Changmin haven’t talked to each other much the whole day, something in the air remaining tense and strained after your previous argument on Friday, but you still tagged along with him when he asked you if you wanted to do homework with him in the library. This is the first time you see your companion doing any school work at all, so you figure you don’t want to pass out on the revolutionary moment– and also, you still feel kind of bad about your latest interaction. You take the fact that he invited you to spend more time with him as a good sign, though.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you decide to break the bubble and move a little in your place, reaching for something inside of your bag. Changmin promptly ignores your movements, but when a carton of banana milk appears in his vision, he pays you a glance.

You’re too prideful to say sorry with words. You don’t want to mention it and go back to the topic you were discussing, much preferring to let things be the way they were before you had an emotional outburst at the bus stop. While you can’t say you aren’t glad that the words are now out in the open, the two of you are more vulnerable in front of each other than ever, you really don’t think you can handle another argument. Some things are better left unsaid. Ignored. There was mutual understanding over you two anyway– there was no use saying those things out loud.

And when you move the banana milk closer to Changmin’s elbow resting on the table with a push of your pointer finger across the dark-wooden desk, you see his eyes softening. He understands, taking the drink into his hand and tearing the plastic off the straw, sucking in the beverage. Ji Changmin accepted your offering, and somehow, you feel like there was some weight lifted off your shoulders, a force unsqueezing your heart.

“You’re not working on your homework?” he asks, voice hushed in the silent library.

“No,” you shake your head, deciding to lean over the desk and rest your weight on your folded arms, prepping yourself into a comfortable napping position. “I’ll just borrow your notebook before class and copy it.”

“Is this you finally admitting that I’m smarter than you?” he teases, shaking his head at your prompt laziness.

“If that helps you sleep at night,” you shrug.

Changmin snickers at your reply, eyes hovering over you for a few seconds as you get comfortable next to him. He takes another sip of the banana milk before he offers the drink to you, the straw hovering over your lips. Like a baby being fed through a sippy cup, you open your mouth and let him slot the straw between your lips, sucking the liquid in and relishing in the sweetness of the beverage.

You shoot him a smile when the carton is back in its place on the desk, his eyes promptly moving to the monitor in front of him. You don’t really know what he’s working on in the first place, the hoard of assignments mixing up in your brain, but you refuse to let your mind wander over equations or foreign languages now. It’s Monday afternoon, and even though it’s only the first day of the week, you feel like you deserve to rest.

Changmin types something on the keyboard of the library computer, eyebrows furrowing as he focuses on the contents of the screen. You find yourself glued to his motions, watching him from the side, studying the way his expressions change in milliseconds, irises dialing by the second. When he focuses a little too hard on the information his eyes are scanning on the device, he traps his bottom lip in between his teeth, tugging on it. He also has a habit of licking his lips every few seconds, leaving a wet trail glossing over his mouth, making you feel foolish at the examination of that part of his face. Hair is falling into his forehead, black locks messily trimmed and mostly unstyled, oftentimes leaving you eager to brush your hand through the raven strands to tame them into place.

His features have grown familiar to you over the months. He has the face of someone you’ll remember even in a few years. He looks like someone you’d take pictures of in photo booths and tape the strips up in your room. You don’t have any pictures like this, though, and your room isn’t worthy enough of being made prettier with such a photo strip. Maybe in the future, you think. When I live somewhere else.

His voice wakes you up from the slumber, your heart hammering at the interruption. Changmin speaks to you casually, the monotone hum of his voice making you listen attentively to what he has to say.

“Where do we eventually want to settle?” he asks, making you raise your brows at him in question.

“What part of the homework is that?” you joke, watching as the boy’s cheeks tint pink, a dismissive wave of his hand shutting up your teasing.

“I’m already done with that,” he clears his throat, “I’m just… doing research.”

“Research,” you repeat, nodding to yourself. You nuzzle your nose into your hoodie sleeve, thinking for a while as you contemplate your decision. You never really thought of where you’d go. ‘Away’ was always your destination– never specified. You just knew you’d have to leave one day, eventually.

“Busan, maybe?” you hum, laughing to yourself. “I dunno. I always wanted to go to Japan, but I don’t think our funds will reach as far.”

“I don’t really think the language barrier would be ideal either,” he agrees, nodding to himself. “Busan sounds nice.”

“Doesn’t it?” you grin, locking your gaze with his only for a few seconds before he looks back to the computer.

“We could get a little flat somewhere in the middle of the city when we save up enough, eventually,” he says, tone of voice sweet and gentle. There’s something about planning your future with Changmin that leaves you feeling particularly vulnerable and fragile. Not in a bad way, just in a strange type of way. In a way that makes your insides ache and heart tremble. You never thought you’d plan your future with someone.

Ji Changmin never planned his future either. Somehow, he assumed there was nothing good waiting for him after aging out of the system.

The intimacy folded over you two like a blanket makes you panic. “We’re moving in together?” you tease, watching as the boy’s face heats up more, a hesitant shrug of his shoulders acted out to seem casual.

“I think it’s more convenient that way,” he hums, trying to stay logical. “We can split the rent and groceries, and one of us can cook while the other one cleans…” he trails off, scratching the back of his neck. “We are leaving together, so I assumed…”

A dumb smile battles its way onto your lips. “I was just joking,” you assure him, watching as he shies away from your gaze. It’s not an usual reaction from him. Ji Changmin doesn’t really get bashful– at least not with you. You try not to question it for the sake of your own comfort.

Forcing your eyes off his face, you watch as he types something on the keyboard again, attention glued to his digits. Dark bruises paint his knuckles, scratches glazing the backs of his fists. Eyebrows furrowing, you act on instinct as you reach out your hand, stopping him from typing as you take his palm into yours. “Did you get into a fight again?” you ask, thumb absent-mindledly tracing the outlines of the scars.

“Maybe,” he admits light-heartedly, lips pressed into a thin line when your warm hand locks with his, the tender touch of the pads of your thumbs against the open wounds making him shiver. If asked, the boy would blame it on the breeze coming through the window. It’s getting late and the air is colder. That has to be it.

“No getting in fights after this is all over,” you say as you let go. “Wouldn’t want our landlord to kick us out for delinquency.”

Changmin laughs, the absurdity of the situation and your foolish dreams downing on both of you at once. Unaware that even though you were both forced to grow up much faster than other kids your age, you were still childish at heart– as if chasing the time of your life that was forcefully taken out of your hands– older, but still needing to live through that stage, you fold back over the table and force your eyes closed, scoffing at the sentiments.

“Don’t you worry, Y/N,” he laughs, “we’re starting clean. Hell, I’ll even give back to society. We can start volunteering, if it makes you sleep better at night.”

The joke makes you chuckle, warming your heart. It’s nice to think about the future with someone. It’s good to feel like your dreams might be tangible. The future is in your hands, and you will do everything you can to make it worth it.

It’s good to have someone you can lean on.

“Can I help you with that?” Aerin asks you from behind, startling you in the small kitchen space. Turning towards her, you offer her a smile and shake your head, watching as your little sister takes her stance next to your figure, observing your cooking.

When it comes to cooking, you wouldn’t call yourself a professional. A lot of the times, what you end up with isn’t as delicious as you expected it to turn out when you started making it, but at the end of the day, it’s food anyway and you eat it– because throwing it out would be a waste of money and resources, and you have to eat something. There are a few foods that are easy enough that you perfected them, though– and those are ramen, an egg omelet, fried rice, and lastly, the pre-made foods you get at the grocery store that you either just boil or heat up in the microwave.

“No, it’s okay,” you say as you work on one of your master dishes– the one that satisfies everyone, including your little sister: ramen. You can never go wrong with ramen, you think.

“But I wanna learn to cook as well,” your sister insists, crossing her arms on her chest, “I’m not a child anymore, and I have to learn how to look after myself.”

A dry chuckle escapes your throat, shaking your head in disbelief at her mature words. In your eyes, she’s just a child, though– a kid that’s not to be trusted with knives and boiling water, a little girl that isn’t as careful with the utensils as she should be, which can undoubtedly end up with her getting hurt.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you smile, throwing your little sister a caring look. “You just focus on studying and I’ll be there to cook for you so your little stomach is never empty,” you say as you slice the spring onion to add into the noodles boiling on the stove.

Aerin seems to be disappointed with your answer. Her cheeks grow twice as big as they usually are as she pouts, a frown overtaking her features. You take it as your sign to engage your little sister more in the grown-up activities, sighing to yourself as you realize just how fast your little sister has grown. Even though you try to shield her from all the troubles of the adult world, you can’t really prevent her from maturing faster than the other kids her age. Hell, she’s not blind– as much as you’d like her to be. She knows what’s going on. She might not be able to grasp it fully, might not be able to understand everything with her childish brain, but she knows– to a certain level, that is.

Nodding to yourself, you try to put up a smiling face. “Okay, then,” you say, “I’m making ramen.”

Your sister seems to be intrigued with your sudden tutorial, eyes growing big and focused. Something grows impossibly soft and fond in you, watching her scanning the surroundings, trying to find any task to help you out with.

“You can just open the pack and put the noodles in the water to boil, if you want to do it the easy way,” you start, “but if you want to make it more delicious, like I do, you can add some other ingredients in with it.”

“What do you add?” Aerin asks.

“Spring onion,” you hum, pointing to the vegetables you’d been cutting when she approached you, “soy sauce,” you point towards the black bottle on the counter, waiting to be opened and added into the dish cooking on the stove, “and lastly, I crack in an egg.”

“That doesn’t seem hard,” Aerin says, earning herself an amused chuckle out of you.

“It’s not,” you admit, “I’m not a professional chef, or anything, so I keep it simple.”

“Can I do it, then?” she asks, looking at you with big, hopeful eyes. You can’t possibly turn those eyes down. A passing thought emerges in you that she needs this– she needs someone to teach her even the smallest things. She needs you to teach her how to cook ramen, because you know how hard it is when you have no one to show you, when you have to figure out everything on your own.

Nodding, you step aside and put the black bottle of soy sauce into her hand. “You can pour in a little bit. Not too much, though, or else it will be too salty.”

“How much?” she asks, furrowing her brows.

“I’ll tell you when to stop,” you smile, watching as her smaller hand opens the lid of the bottle, positioning the glass above the pot. Black liquid soon drips down, tinting the broth a dark brown color, the spices mixing in and making the ramen instantly twice as delicious as if you’d just thrown it on the stove with the spices that come in the packaging.

“That’s fine,” you say, halting your sister in adding more and over-seasoning your lunch.

“Now the egg?”

“Yeah,” you nod, watched by the focused eyes of your little sister. You take the small sphere you’ve prepared onto the kitchen counter before you started cooking, offering it to Aerin. “Have you ever cracked an egg before?” you ask.

“No.”

“Okay,” you laugh, “so this is your first time. Don’t worry, nobody gets it right the first time. Just crack it on the counter and then open the shell. Be careful not to spill it everywhere, though,” you instruct, watching as your little sister moves with much uncertainty, small hands shaking with the delicate ingredient in her grasp.

The touch of the shell with the counter is almost delicate the first time, as if she was afraid the egg was going to spill everywhere and make a mess on the kitchen counter, but the second time, she’s a little more confident, cracking the egg on the corner. Pure concentration is shown on your sister’s face as she moves the ingredient above the pot, her little fingers having trouble with opening the shell and dropping the egg in. She struggles, nails digging into the light tan, putting in more force than necessary and breaking the shell even further, having the yolk spill all over her fingers, dropping to the pan with a crash.

Aerin gasps in surprise at her own actions, a frown instantly overtaking her features as she notices that the shell fell in, disappointment so evidently running through her veins.

“It’s okay,” you say, petting her arm, “as I said, nobody gets it right the first time. Throw the shell into the bin and wash your hands, I’ll finish this,” you smile, trying to transfer all your feelings of pride into her.

She is growing up right in front of your eyes. It’s a feeling only older siblings can understand– seeing someone transform from a baby to an elementary-school kid, being there for every step of their journey. You’ve known her her whole life. It’s a bond that you never want to break.

But there’s that bugging voice in your mind that keeps telling you to enjoy this, enjoy it while it lasts, enjoy it while you can, because soon, you’ll be gone and you won’t see her take the next steps, you won’t see her grow up. A chill runs down your spine at that, an unsettling feeling making you feel heavy, making you trap your bottom lip between your teeth and gnaw on it in a poor attempt to ground yourself.

Crouching over the boiling pot, you take out a spoon and fish for the cracked shell in the noodles, not really being in favor of getting an upset appendix. Your eyes get hazy, stinging at the corners– maybe you could blame it on the steam.

“You did well, Aerin. You’ll be a better cook than me in no time,” you praise her.

“I have to learn,” she agrees, the sound of the tap turning on as she washes her hands flowing into your ears with her next sentiment. “You won’t be here forever to do everything for me, after all.”

With your back turned to her, pretending to still dig around the noodles for the egg shells you already got out a few seconds ago, you hum. You catch yourself mid-sniffle, quickly wiping your cheek with the back of your hand, turning off the stove– maybe you could blame it on the spring onion. Cutting it always makes you tear up. It’s just the fumes getting in your eyes.

You won’t be there forever to do everything for your little sister. The day that happens is maybe sooner than she’d expect– you can’t tell her, though. You can’t prepare her for your departure.

By bringing this up, though, it’s almost like in the corner of her soul, she knew. It’s almost like she had it all figured out, it’s like she saw right through you. It’s like her own way of telling you not to worry– she’ll be a big girl and take care of herself. She’ll be strong, even when you’re gone.

You won’t be there forever to do everything for your little sister. You really, desperately wish you would, though.

Carisoprodol, sold under the brand name Soma among others, is indicated for the relief of discomfort associated with acute, painful musculoskeletal conditions in adults. Carisoprodol is a white, crystalline powder, having a mild, characteristic odor and a bitter taste. It is slightly soluble in water; freely soluble in alcohol, chloroform, and acetone; and its solubility is practically independent of pH. SOMA should only be used for short periods (up to two or three weeks) because adequate evidence of effectiveness for more prolonged use has not been established.

“What if it kills him?” you ask, chewing on your bottom lip.

“It won’t,” Changmin says, placing his hand over yours, the package of pills resting in your open palm. “Trust me.”

The recommended dose of SOMA is 250 mg to 350 mg three times a day and at bedtime. The recommended maximum duration of SOMA use is up to two or three weeks.

“Where did you even get this?” your eyebrows furrow as you listen to him instruct you on the ways of using it. Your stomach is already burning with acid at the thought of what you’re going to do. It’s what you’re dreading, but it’s also what needs to be done.

“Our caretaker back at the foster home takes them,” he says, shrugging. “So I just borrowed some.”

SOMA has sedative properties and may impair the mental and/or physical abilities required for the performance of potentially hazardous tasks such as driving a motor vehicle or operating machinery. There have been post-marketing reports of motor vehicle accidents associated with the use of SOMA. In some patients, however, and/or early in therapy, carisoprodol can have the full spectrum of sedative side effects and can impair the patient's ability to operate a firearm, motor vehicles, and other machinery of various types, especially when taken with medications containing alcohol, in which case an alternative medication would be considered. The intensity of the side effects of carisoprodol tends to lessen as therapy continues, as is the case with many other drugs. Other side effects include: dizziness, clumsiness, headache, fast heart rate, upset stomach, vomiting and skin rash.

“Just give him two of these. He should be out within an hour.”

A chill runs down your spine. This is nothing close to the occasional stealing at the grocery store or the lying you used to do to get money out of old men that are predatory towards a girl knowing she’s underage. This is twice as morally wrong and twice as dangerous for everyone involved. If you had to draw a line at what you can excuse yourself, you think all of this is far over it.

“If this goes wrong, I’m ratting you out and we’re both going to jail. You hear me?” you say, eyes bearing into Changmin’s.

“That’s the plan, baby,” he grins. “If you go down, I go as well.”

The usual dose of 350 mg is unlikely to engender prominent side effects other than somnolence, and mild to significant euphoria or dysphoria, but the euphoria is generally short-lived due to the fast metabolism of carisoprodol into meprobamate and other metabolites.

You watch the boy from up close, his eyes now blown out and big, blonde hair falling into his forehead in a messy manner– yet he doesn’t find it in him to drag his palm across the strands and push them out of his vision. You’re laying in the bed with him, side by side, staring into each other’s eyes. You watch as the drug slowly takes over him, as the boy in front of you slowly starts slipping into a more and more sleepy state, completely unaware of the fact that you dropped two white, round pills into his drink when he went to the toilet.

Your conscience starts stinging more and more with the passing time. Eric Sohn looks at you like you hung the stars onto the sky, like you made the whole world with just your two hands– and this is what you’re repaying him with. This is what you decided to do, this is what path you chose to take.

Millions of excuses flash through your alert brain. Maybe it’s just your mind trying to rationalize everything, trying to make you feel better about the mess you’re just now going to create– either way, it’s helping only a little bit with the rapid beating of your heart.

You keep telling yourself that it doesn’t matter. That Eric would never understand the life you’re living, that he wouldn’t even want to date you, had he known just how much money your family owes. You keep telling yourself that it’s okay, because he has a lot of money, and it’s not like you’re stealing it all– you’re just stealing the valuables he showed you. And maybe it’s his fault for trusting you. After all, he was the one willingly taking you back to his house when his parents weren’t around. This is his lesson– he should start being less gullible and vulnerable. He should stop hanging out with people like you.

You and him, you don’t belong together. Eric Sohn is supposed to stand by the side of another rich heir, showing her off to his parents. He’s supposed to be proudly going around the town with his newest girlfriend, not hiding with her in the shadows, knowing, sensing that she’s flawed and not like him– not like others.

He’s going to wake up and find out who you are– the reality, not just what you’ve been pretending to be all this time– and he’s going to be disappointed, sure, but he’s going to move on to better things. Because what you’re taking from him is just a fraction of his wealth, just a small part of what he has. He won’t even feel the loss.

But for you, you’re taking everything you can– everything you need.

It’s not like any of this– your relationship– was ever real. You two haven’t even kissed yet. You hang out with him and hold his hand, you listen to him while he talks to you with sparkles in his eyes, but there’s no depth. Surely, he must feel it. Surely, he must know there’s something wrong.

“I love you, Y/N,” he suddenly says, tone of voice hushed, almost not audible in the silence of his room. The sentence is like a knife to your heart, a dagger stabbing you in your back. Something inside of you crumbles, your stomach burning with guilt, hands shaking as you pretend you didn’t hear him. If you ignore it, maybe it’s like it never happened.

It’s the effect of the drug. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. It’s not real– how could it be? He doesn't know you. He doesn’t know who you really are and what you’re about to do. He can’t love you.

Fingers playing with the loose threads of the blanket thrown over the two of you, your eyes avert from his, big and honest, still like water. It takes everything in you not to stay here with him, wait until he’s back from the sedation, and apologize. It takes everything in you not to back out. Every time the weight of your actions becomes too unbearable, the weight of responsibility and your family’s well-being drops onto the other side of the scale, though, and you’re back to square one– this is what you need to do.

“You don’t have to say it back,” he says to you despite not meeting your eye, “you… I know…” he trails off, but doesn’t finish the sentence, as if changing his mind. A dry chuckle leaves his throat at that, words sweet like honey lacing your throat, choking you up with the thickness of them, the richness of his unreturned care. “I just wanted you to know.”

You’re a terrible, terrible human being. The force of your teeth against the side of your cheek suddenly gives out, making you taste iron on your tongue. Promptly ignoring everything he says, focusing on calming down your breathing and the erratic beating of your heart, you wonder if he knows. If he’s aware you’re just playing with him– if he knows you never cared for him in a way he does for you.

Because if he knows, it’s like he’s allowing you to break him. Isn’t that what love is, though? Being vulnerable, offering someone your whole heart, and expecting them to take care of it? Love is cruel in that way. It can take away all of you. It can consume you.

And would he still love you if he knew what you were going to do to him? Is his love unconditional? You chuckle at that. He doesn’t know anything about love.

A while passes, the two of you laying in silence. When you finally battle away the fear and look up at him, you find him asleep. His eyes are closed and his breathing is steady, and when you touch his arm– testing to see if he will wake– you find him unresponsive. This is your cue.

Standing up from his bed and straightening the wrinkles on your clothes, you take a deep breath in and out to calm yourself down. Your hands grasp the backpack you brought with yourself– the bag that was supposed to be filled with clothes so you could sleep over, yet that is now empty, just waiting to be filled– and you walk out of Eric’s room, feet dragging you towards all the empty rooms in the corridor.

The first part of the plan is now in action.

Walking into the master bedroom, dashing to the walk-in closet, you take all the jewelry you can find. The mental calculations of the worth of the chains and golden earrings in your bag are adding up slowly, the digits growing and making a sense of satisfaction flow through your veins. Maybe something rubbed off on you from hanging out around Changmin so much– you get the thrill now. You get the adrenaline. It’s like working for something you want, something you need, and although you know there are other ways, they’re not as fast and effective. The thing is, you need the money now.

Fastly getting through room by room, taking everything valuable you can see with the idea of turning it into profit in a pawn shop somewhere along the way, when everything is settled and you’re on the run, starting your life somewhere new, you find that it gets easier to operate. It’s like you’re working on auto-pilot, the full weight of your actions slowly slipping through your consciousness. You’re only an actor in your life right now, looking at yourself from a third person view– like you’re playing a video game.

Detached from everything, hands now more steady and breathing almost normal, you take the jewelry from the living room as well. A dry chuckle leaves your throat as you eye Eric’s wallet thrown lazily on the shelf by the front door. You never leave your money out in the open and unhidden at home– don’t you know that? Haven’t you learned about the dangers of that yet, Eric Sohn? Oh, what a blissfully unaware life you lead.

Opening it, taking the bank notes into your fingers and folding them into your pocket, you stop as you put your shoes back on at the front door. Looking around the big, empty space, not really allowing yourself to dwell on your actions just yet, you take your phone out of your pocket and before you completely turn the device off, block Eric’s number.

The doorknob is cold in your hands as you open the front door, walking out. It’s like you’re leaving who you once were and who you could’ve been in that big house behind you– it’s like you’re saying goodbye to the life you once led and anxiously awaiting the new one waiting for you behind the corner.

Getting sentimental won’t help you in this situation, though. Being emotional and afraid won’t drag your family out of the depths of loan sharks’ teeth.

And so you walk off the property, mind set on the meeting point you agreed on with Changmin. It’s now or never.

The first part of the plan has been completed. You have something to fall back on when you discard all the money into the loan shark’s hands. Eric Sohn’s wealth is now your safety net.

You meet up with your partner in crime at the corner of the neighborhood. Your backpack gets hidden in the bushes, away from the eyes of everyone, on the route you’re going to take when completing your second part of the plan. The next couple of steps are completed on autopilot.

Flashes of Changmin’s face. A ski mask pulled over his head, a hood pulled over your hair, disposable mask covering your nose. He throws one of his spare black hoodies over your body, leaving you to put your arms through the sleeves and zip the clothing up, the two of you masked to the point of not being recognised even to the eyes of people that know you.

You two make a silent entry to the empty road leading towards the town square. Not much conversation is shared between the two of you because of the adrenaline running through your veins. The stride in your step is consistent and fast-paced, the timing of your plan set to a tight schedule. When you cross the corner, nearing your target, the two of you put on sunglasses and keep your head low. Your heartbeat is so fast you can hear it in your ears, your body responding to the stress with the help of your sympathetic nervous system– breathing growing fast and hands a little sweaty.

Your mind is repeating ‘It’s gonna be okay, It’s gonna be okay, It’s gonna be okay’, a silent plea that constantly gets overthrown by the rational side of your brain. Is it too late to back out now? You don’t know– but at the same time, you recognise that you don’t particularly want to. You’re just scared– you know it. You recognise it.

And it’s okay to do things afraid. It means you have the courage to do them– it means you have what it takes to change the situation you’re in.

Your eyes lock with Changmin’s, his face mostly hidden in a shadow. You can’t really read his expression– it’s dark and his features are covered– but it seems like you two operate on the same frequencies. One nod is all it takes– the world stops for a second before Changmin turns on his heel and moves towards the jewelry store you once worked at, a heavy rock he prepared close to the sidewalk thrown through the door giving you an easy entry to the property.

The alarm goes off instantly. That means you only have about 10 to 15 minutes before the police come and you’re busted.

You have to act quick. Changmin climbs into the store like he owns the place. You have the background information from working there that could very well get you caught quickly, if the police are smart enough to connect the dots in the investigation. The plan you and Changmin have is efficient, fast and smart. You thought about everything– you can’t make a single mistake. The way you move and operate is calculated and thought-out. There’s no way you’re giving yourself to the hands of the police tonight.

While you run to the back and rummage through the manager’s room, looking for the key to the cash register– you know where it’s usually kept, since you closed with her many times before and watched her do all the tasks with innocent eyes, not yet knowing that you’re going to end up using this information for your good one day. When you find it– on the top of the shelf, almost invisible if you hadn’t known that’s where to look for it– you move to the safe in the corner of the room. The sequence of numbers is easy to remember– or at least for you. Your father used to tell you that you’re good with numbers. You’ve grown to hate every quality of yours he ever complimented, but you must admit it’s coming in clutch right now.

Your fingers work on the lock, the junctures of the metal unclasping under your touch. Your hands are still sweaty, but a little more steady now– you notice as you open the door to the safe and take out the rest of the money binded with rubber bands, throwing it into your backpack. You work fast, not really giving yourself an opportunity to mentally count and estimate the amount, but something in your bones is telling you that it should be enough.

Running back to the main store area after you’re done, not bothering to close the safe after yourself, you reach the register to get the last remains of cash from this store. The alarm is still going off, making your ears ring and your stomach churn with acid, but as you get the key in and forcefully take out the drawer, you feel a little calmer at the sight of the bills inside.

From the corner of your eye, you watch Changmin getting out jewelry from each shiny glass vitrine, smashing it with his gloved fist. Countless earrings, watches and necklaces get thrown messily into his bag, expensive metal rising your worth with every passing second.

When the cash is in your bag, you quickly pace around the store and try to help Changmin. As soon as your hand goes to smash the window, though, he takes you by the wrist and shields you from your attempts. Furrowing your brows, you meet eyes with him, wordlessly asking for an explanation. Does he not want your help? Does he want you to fully stick to the plan? But you’re done with your part– the best thing you can do at this moment is help him with his side, no?

Your question is quickly answered when the man keeps tugging on your hand, leading you out of the store. Your feet buckle the tiniest bit when you cross the threshold, but that’s when you hear it– the sirens.

You didn’t notice them over the sound of the alarm and the whooshing of your blood in your ears. You have to leave– they’re close.

Changmin takes the lead, his sneakers making a loud noise against the pavement. You run after him, your pulse quickening with each meter. They could be anywhere, you think. They could stop you right here, on the run. You have to be careful.

The paranoia gets the worst of you, making you constantly check over your shoulder. Pupils shaking, you scan your surroundings– there could be anyone watching you that could tell the police that they saw you on the run. There must be cameras everywhere. You can’t hide. They’re always watching. You’re going to get caught, and you’re going to be sent to juvie. You can’t help your family–

“Y/N,” you hear him call from in front of you, the anxious thoughts vanishing from your brain fast, like the strike of a lightning.

His sunglasses are off, your eyes meeting. Something inside of you comes to a calm, your heart leaping, squeezing on itself. His hand grabs yours, a force dragging you to his level on the pavement. He’s not letting you fall behind, his legs giving the pace as you follow him, left, right, left, right… You’re almost there. You’re almost done.

It gets to the point of the route where Changmin bends down and searches through the bush. Your backpack is quickly found, thrown over his shoulder. He’s carrying both now, one on his back and one on his front, leaving you leaping behind him with a smaller duffel bag on your shoulder. You carry a lot of money with yourself right now. You don’t think you’ve ever seen so much money in one place in your whole entire life.

And then you’re finally there– the police sirens are no longer audible, there are houses all around you and the only thing accompanying the silence are the lampposts and your heavy breathing. Bending over at his waist, Changmin finally lets go of your hand. His fingers grasp the ski mask on his head, tugging it off and letting him finally breathe in the oxygen freely, not restricted by the thick fabric.

Your heart starts to calm down as you take more air into your lungs. Wiping your sweaty hands onto the fabric of your jeans, you unzip the hoodie and fan yourself with your shirt, hating the way it’s sticking to your sweaty skin.

It’s calm. Quiet. Just like any other day. Tonight, it feels a bit strange.

Changmin looks up at you, hair messy sticking up everywhere, his sweaty forehead glistening a little in the moonlight. A heartbeat passes by of you two just staring into each other’s eyes before his lips turn into a lazy grin, the dimple on his cheek showing itself to you in its full glory. It’s a strange situation to smile in, but it still makes your heart leap and thunder, a similar expression taking over your face. Then, he laughs. Like it’s funny. Now, this is getting ridiculous.

Still, you can’t help but mirror him. He must be crazy. Surely, you’re both going insane.

Shaking his head, he straightens his back and takes a step forward to where you’re standing, offering his hand to you for a high-five. When you meet him in the middle, he locks his fingers with you, squeezing your palm with his. “Almost there.”

“Almost there,” you repeat, nodding.

Now, all it takes is to settle the loans and leave. Leave fast, that is.

You take both of the bags into your hands and slowly, quietly enter your house. Changmin doesn’t follow you– he’s on to the second to last part of your plan as you walk up the stairs to your room and lock the door behind you. Unzipping the bags and dropping the money onto the rug in the middle of the floor, your breathing heavy as you prepare to count, you crouch and let your eyes wander for a bit along the notes in the middle of your room.

You’re rich. Only for a moment, though. You try to salvage the feeling the best you can– the satisfaction doesn’t hit your brain, though. You can’t fake it. You can’t make yourself believe a lie.

Pulling yourself together, your fingers slip across the smooth surface of each bill, your brain working fast as you rustle with the cotton. The amount gets added up, the sum growing bigger and bigger, and after each ten thousand, you put a rubber band on the roll and drop it back into one of the bags.

You’re using your school bag to carry the money to settle your family’s debt. There’s something deeply ironic about the sentiment. It almost makes you chuckle.

The light pink backpack gets filled with expensive pieces of paper, each roll lifting the tiniest bit of weight off your shoulders. Only a few more and you have enough, you think– and although you hate to admit it, the remaining sum you see scattered across your floor is less than the amount you expected. It’s okay, though– you know how to live with nothing. You’ll survive. You’ll get through it.

After you’re done counting, you zip up the bag. Shaky hands reach for the last notes on the floor. You take out the envelope you hid under your pillow and put the money inside before you hesitantly drag out the piece of paper you’ve treasured inside, letting your eyes scan over the last words you’re leaving for your sister.

My sweet Aerin.

Don’t look for me. Don’t worry about me. You’re safe now and everything is going to be okay. Take care of mum while I’m gone and make sure to study well so you get into a good university and make your big sister very proud. There are some things you are too young to understand, but I’m sure you’ll get it when you’re older.

Please don’t hate me. I’m always thinking about you. We will meet again one day.

Love, Y/N. :)

P.S.: keep this money safe. Only use it when you really need it.

The corners of your eyes burn, making you blink away the tears. Although your heart wishes for one last hug, one last goodbye, you know you can’t grant yourself the benefit. If you held your sister for a second, you know you’d want to hold her forever– and that’s something you can’t do anymore. Not after what’s done. You can’t look back and keep holding on to something so selfishly– there’s no going back after what you’ve done. You’re a criminal now– a proper one, but you did it all for your family. You hope that one day, at least your sister might understand.

Wiping the stray tear that’s rolled down your cheek, you breathe in to calm your erratic thoughts. Putting the letter back in and sealing the envelope, all while simultaneously gathering all the bags, you walk into your sister’s room and leave the envelope under her pillow.

Her sleeping body is still shorter than yours, but she’s no longer so little. She’s grown so much over the years. The thought of not seeing her grow into an adult pains you, but it’s the price you have to pay for her comfort.

You close the door to her room quietly. You walk down the stairs of a house you can no longer call a home, foot stepping over the threshold of a place you’re never coming back to. You don’t allow yourself to look behind you. You don’t allow yourself to say a proper goodbye.

The jog towards the car parked in your driveway feels like a marathon– you’re slowly running out of breath. You didn’t train hard enough for the responsibilities you’ve taken on your shoulders. It’s like you’re jogging with a bag of rocks on your back.

Changmin opens the door to the passenger’s side for you. The bags are dropped onto the backseat. When he asks you if you’re ready, you don’t look into his eyes when you nod. There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach telling you that he’ll see right through your lie– but you can’t waste any more time than you already allowed yourself back in the house.

Changmin twists the car key in the ignition and starts the car. You drive away towards the other side of the city. Your baby pink school bag is dropped at the gate of the expensive-looking house of which you found the address of on one of the contracts somewhere in the middle of planning your escape. You drive away before anyone notices. Somehow, it feels like by leaving the bag there, you’re losing your youth with it. You can never take that backpack back to school with you.

But then again, you’re never going back to school. Somehow, you know you lost your youth before you had a physical reminder. Your shoulders hang heavy even without the weight.

The drive is silent. You try to distract yourself by watching the stars.

When you were little, you promised your sister that you would be by her side forever. She was only 6 when she came home from school crying, telling you that her friends all went out alone without her and talked badly about her behind her back. It took everything in you to not go out of your way to hunt down those little heathens and give them a piece of your mind back then, but you remember it as if it was yesterday, telling your sister that ‘It’s okay, because you will always have me,’ as her big eyes glistened with tears, ‘remember, I’m your best friend forever, okay?’.

You don’t really know if she remembers that day. It was ages ago and she made new friends just two weeks after this whole fiasco, forgetting all about it. It stuck in your brain like a sticker, though, the one that you try to peel off but the residue stays behind, tearing at all edges, getting beaten up and looking rather pathetic– just like your words resonating in your brain, bouncing off the walls of your mind.

You broke the only promise you ever meant.

“You did well,” you hear a voice cut through the silence, the buzzing of the engine not really lullying you to sleep anymore, “you did the best you could.”

Eyes darting to your companion on the driver’s side, you hear yourself let out a soft chuckle. Teeth catching the flesh in your mouth, biting on the inside of your cheek to battle with the tears begging to haze your eyes, you try to focus on his side profile, studying the slope of his nose and the hair falling into his eyes instead, burning this image into your memory. You do everything but think about the events of the night.

Still, you ask. “Do you think she hates me?”

“I don’t think she could ever hate you, Y/N,” he says, voice tender and sincere, trying his hardest to fight the battle with you, to hold you up when you’re falling.

“I think that one day, she will grow up and she will understand. She will get why you did what you did,” he hums, eyes still sternly glued to the road ahead of him, “she will understand that you did it for her.”

Swallowing hard, for you feel like there’s a lump in your throat, you nod and look back outside of the window. This is something you’re going to need more time to get through, but this is a start– this is something. You have someone that understands. You have someone who shares the burden.

“Thanks,” you whisper.

The lampposts blur behind the glass with the speed you’re going at, your surroundings unfamiliar and strange to you. You don’t really know where you are or where you’re heading to– you let Changmin handle that side of the planning, since you don't really care where you’re gonna end up– but the hills and forests cornering the right side of the landscape make you feel strangely at peace. You must be far, far away from Seoul right now. Maybe you’re heading north. You don’t really mind. Maybe you don’t really care.

“How did you even get this car, by the way?” you ask, turning your head back to the boy in the driver’s seat.

“Oh, this?” he snickers, shrugging. “I know a guy. We used to be friends when he lived at the foster home. He aged out of the system like three years ago, but he knows a guy who knows a guy, and he just so coincidentally had this old thing laying around, so I figured we could use it for some time,” he says, nodding to himself.

Shaking your head in disbelief, you wonder just how far connections can take you in the world. It’s not quite as easy as if you were born to a rich businessman, per se, but you’ll take the off-handed nepotism of the underground world, if it makes your life go smoother– just for the time being, at least.

“Do you even have a license?” you ask.

“No,” he shakes his head. “But nobody has to know that–”

“Changmin!” you exclaim, terror shaking with your body.

“You really thought I was allowed to drive a car when you got into the vehicle, Y/N? Come on, I’m a foster kid. Do you really think anyone paid for my license?” he laughs, eyes darting to your figure momentarily, forming moon crescents when he notices the look on your face. “My friend taught me how to drive, though! He got adopted a few months ago, a super rich family– can’t say I’m not jealous, but that’s a story for another time–” he hums casually, as if it’s not a big deal, “and they bought him a car. Anyways, we stayed in contact and he let me try it at this empty parking lot, you know, where the abandoned factory is? And–”

Watching him speak, arms flying around the air making him look like an animated character– going as far as comically noticing that the car is heading to the left by itself when the wheel is unoccupied, quickly taking ahold of it with both hands and trying to make it stay on the road– it’s like a weight is slowly being lifted off your shoulders. It all seems so ridiculous. Insane. Crazy.

A laugh battles out of your throat. Changmin’s eyes meet with yours, a big smile spreading across his face. A dimple appears on his cheek, his essence contagious.

Suddenly, you can do anything in the world. Nobody can stop you. You fought with your future. You changed the trajectory of your life. You helped your mother. You protected your sister.

What’s a few years in hiding?

A foolish thought passes by your brain. You don’t dwell on it much longer, but it’s a nice thing to reflect on when you’re alone in the hostel room late at night, hyper-aware of Changmin’s presence on the other side of the bed– because it’s more expensive to get a room with two beds and it doesn’t matter anyway. You will push it back into the corners of your mind, ignoring it until this moment happens. But it’s there– creeping around, waiting for you to pay attention to it– and it says that as long as you have Changmin, you’re sure you can get on with anything. You can get used to this.

“Aren’t you hungry? There’s some snacks in the compartment over there,” he says, pointing towards it. Magically, your stomach starts to churn– he must have said it into existence. It stinks a lot of black magic, if you really think about it. You knew you should’ve been more careful around him.

Still, your hand reaches for the compartment, opening it. There’s an opened pack of Lay’s chips, a bottle of soda, a wrapped sandwich, and a small chocolate bar, wrapped in red packaging, smiling at you brightly from the darkness of the car. It’s looking at you with big heart-eyes, your favorite flavor of them all– peanut butter covered with tasty milk chocolate, a heaven on Earth– and then reality hits you like a truck again, your eyes burning with the realization.

Fingers wrapping around the treat, you study the packaging for a while– as if you weren’t familiar with it already, having the chocolate bar on days where you really felt like you deserved it, on days where you really felt like you earned it.

When you look up, you see Changmin altering his point of view between the road and your face, a bashful smile playing with his features. “Bought it for you this time,” he notes, “as a new start.”

A sniffle. Your hands shake a little, your lungs betray you with the intake of oxygen.

“No, you’re not gonna cry on me now,” he panics, shaking his head, “no, no, no. Open the chocolate and eat it, you moron, we don’t have time to be sentimental–” he grunts, although his intentions are too clear even without words– the silent support still makes your weak heart squeeze on itself.

You laugh, unwrapping the chocolate and taking a bite. Somehow, you manage to let out:

“You remembered.”

“Of course,” he hums, “how could I forget, I mean, you had a whole hour-long dilemma about it back at the gas station–”

“Shut up, you’re ruining it,” you grunt, tearing a piece of the chocolate bar and holding it up in front of his lips, “I’ll share it with you this one time just to make you shut up,” you say, shaking your head.

The boy takes a hold of your wrist to steady it, taking the sweetness into his mouth. He stays silent for a bit as he chews on it, but his fingers still stay wrapped around your skin as he moves your hand away from his face, resting it on your thigh. Warmth covers the back of your palm as he rests his own on it, his digits intertwining with yours. When he squeezes your fist in tender reassurance, you feel your heart skip a beat.

Orange hues appear behind your window as you drive off the highway. The land is still sprouse with buildings, but you enjoy watching the sun slowly waltz onto the sky, greeting you into the new day. Watching the side of his face as he focuses on parking in front of a lone diner in the middle of nowhere, you finally get in tune with the fact that Ji Changmin’s everything you have right now– everyone you can lean on and fall back on.

Maybe it’s been that way for a while now, but it only downs on you when you’re essentially on the same level now, no illusions playing with your mind– nobody’s son and nobody’s daughter.

“Breakfast!” he exclaims as he turns the engine off, seemingly impressed with his parking skills. When you get out of the car and he marches up to you, putting a cap onto your head and tugging it low to cover your face, ‘just in case’, tugging you by your hand into the diner, you can’t help but wonder– if anyone unsuspecting saw you right now,

would you look like lovers, or partners in crime?

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