#today is the day i learned what that playlist was

[entitiesandeggbutts]

got a fun tag game from @teamrocketgender

The rules are: Shuffle your On Repeat playlist and share 10 tracks, then tag 10 people so off we go!

1. Stampede - Bitter Ruin

2. Before Your Father Hears Us - The Family Crest

3. The Obstacle is the Path - sleepmakeswaves

4. Opening - Maybeshewill

5. Howl - The Family Crest

6. Abandon Ship - fin

7. The Song with Five Names , a​.​k​.​a. Soapbox Tao, a​.​k​.​a. Checkmate Atheists! a​.​k​.​a. Neospace Government, a​.​k​.​a. You Can Never Know Lyrics - Will Wood and the Tapeworms

8. Hearts on Fire - The Family Crest

9. Leather for Hell - Bitter Ruin

10. Euthanasia - Will Wood

tagging: @arrows-for-pens @necrodancerscrypt (with the sick double tag) @scarletpiano @skaiawards @nightflame22 @lizeon @vann-haal @ashenhartkrie @cyanampersand @idontevenhaveone and anyone else who wants to play

[flaming-toads]

.

[paarksunghoon]

resignation | sunghoon

SUMMARY: For the last six years, you’ve dedicated your career to ensuring Park Sunghoon never misses a day of work in his life. But you’re tired of endless days that seem to blend together, and seeing him living his fun, luxurious lifestyle makes you think about what else you might be missing out on. When Sunghoon finds your resignation letter on his desk, he does everything in his power to convince you to stay.

NOTES: desperately need to rant about my life and I’m doing it by way of enhypen 😩 this is a small little chapter and I have no idea if I’m gonna make this a whole thing, but we’ll see. enjoy for now and let me know your thoughts! xx

WARNINGS: none :)

SERIES PLAYLIST + SERIES MASTERLIST

***

Like a bird stuck in a metal cage, you feel trapped in an enclosure that’s meant to prevent you from flying away. That’s what it feels like to work at Park Inc., an international venture capitalist firm that serves Asia and the greater North American and European landscape. Your job is boring and meaningless, and today is the day you decided to do something about it. 

Your alarm rings every morning at 5 A.M. on the dot and today is no exception. Since becoming Park Sunghoon’s assistant six years ago, you’ve learned the masterful art of never hitting snooze after hearing an earful from Sunghoon himself when he requested your presence the following hour (you failed to arrive in time and learned to never go back to sleep unless it was your day off). 

This life seemed like a dream at the ripe age of twenty-one. Freshly graduated from college with no real career goal in mind, one of your academic mentors suggested entering the workforce as a personal assistant to gain social capital and learn about different areas of industry that could potentially lead you towards a career. Your measly business degree left you feeling unfulfilled and your parents’ aloof demeanor towards the lack of job offers lining up after graduating wasn’t the kind of news you were ecstatic about. You jumped at the chance to work as a personal assistant with the assumption that it would be the kind of job that you could pursue in the meantime until something else came along.

This position at Park Inc. fell into your lap like some kind of dumb luck. The role wasn’t posted on any job site. Rather, your name had been submitted on behalf of your academic advisor, which got you your first interview. You suppose that must be some kind of nepotism. After six separate interviews over the course of three months, the job was yours.

You’d saved up enough money, working the night shift at a local restaurant to afford a rundown apartment and a new office-appropriate wardrobe from the local second hand stores in your neighborhood. Pencil skirts, fashionable blouses, heels that promised to last a long time, and blazers that looked professional enough lined your closets for future use. It was an exciting prospect and starting your new life after graduating university felt like a different ball park than when you were still pursuing your degree. 

Despite all of that, you feel listless.

Your days begin before the sun rises and ends just after sunset. Anticipating Sunghoon’s needs is seamless for you, to the point where you’re able to think on his behalf without second guessing yourself. He agrees on most days and doesn’t put up much of a fight when it comes to business matters because you’ve been by his side for over half a decade. You’ve picked him up from many late night rendezvous with women who definitely wanted more than he was willing to give, and you’ve accompanied him to events where he couldn’t bother asking somebody to be his date. You’re his assistant, and therefore you’re always available. 

But you’re just the help. You don’t have any real stake in Park Inc., nor does anybody take you seriously unless Sunghoon agrees with your opinion. You know this company inside and out, and you know exactly how Sunghoon envisions this company to succeed. You act like you’re a managing partner without the title because you’re by his side nearly every hour of the day, and it’s gotten to a point where people me either whisper about a silent affair, or look at you with sympathy because Sunghoon can’t seem to function without you. 

It was fun, at first. Learning how to stand on your own two feet while leaving everything you knew behind felt exhilarating. Abandoning your hometown to explore the big city was a dream come true, and you envisioned all of the late night food runs you’d go on in an attempt to explore each neighborhood within Seoul. The beginning was tolerable at best—if you count crying in your small apartment after thinking you’d never get the hang of this job—and Sunghoon knew to delegate tasks to you based on experience level. He had you fetch coffee and take care of his dry cleaning in the first few months, on top of organizing multiple reports until you were ready for more. He was kind like that, and you’re sure his willingness to help you in your career was why you stayed for as long as you have. 

Six years ago, receiving the amount of responsibility you carry felt like you’d reached the top of the tallest mountain after dreaming of the day Sunghoon could trust you enough to let you do your job without much supervision. You could complete a task for him before he delegated it to you, because you understood his workflow and what needed to be prioritized. The both of you worked well like that, and after six years of getting to know each other, many would say you’re both joined at the hip professionally. 

It comes to a point where you learn that the Sunghoon you see is far different than the Sunghoon everybody else sees. He’s naturally funny and a bit clumsy. He’s professional and stoic when he needs to be, but behind closed doors, Sunghoon laughs your ear off about old men who think they can walk all over his business tactics and people who are too rich to see that they’re the problem. Sunghoon is the best boss you’ve ever had, bar none. 

He’s unlike any of the wealthy, stuck up assholes you deal with on a daily basis. Sunghoon hides his witty, flirty personality behind a professional face in the eyes of higher ups and investors who he does business with. He keeps his personal and work life separate, as far as he can, with the exception of occasionally letting women he meets accompany him to select events that almost always end up in having to kick them out of his penthouse apartment the morning after if they haven’t left already. His lifestyle is one you’ll never get used to. Even after six years working beside Sunghoon, you go back to your humble one bedroom apartment, the same one you moved into once you were able to afford living without any roommates. 

It seems as though life moves for Sunghoon. He doesn’t have to do or say much to get people to fall to their knees or grant his every wish. He’s good looking (that’s something you’ll never deny because he’s objectively handsome), he manages to say all the right things, and he’s really good at his job. Sunghoon comes from a powerful and wealthy family that’s existed in Seoul for as long as anyone can remember, and there aren’t many bad things people say about him behind his back. He’s risky but strategic, gambling on chances that would typically slip through the cracks if not for his watchful eye and modern approach to business. 

You’ve learned a lot from him, too. Sunghoon grew into the man he is today. He’s no longer the overly arrogant and cocky person he was when you first met him, and he’s gained a deeper understanding of the company he’s about to inherit once his father transitions his title unto him. There’s much to be said about powerful men who choose to view everybody he works with as an equal, and while you might legally be his personal assistant, Sunghoon has allowed you to partake in the business too. You’ve been his right hand man ever since he realized you knew the company as well as he did. Yet, you can’t help but feel utterly stuck in this endless cycle of work, work, and more work.

There must be something out there for you that doesn’t consist of answering emails and letting your inbox pile up until the stress eats you alive. Being able to travel alongside Sunghoon for business opportunities has granted you a pathway to see the world, but it’s not enough to accompany somebody else. You want to explore the world by yourself and create agendas for your taste and likeliness, not Sunghoon or potential business partners while you sit in the back and take notes during every conversation. You want to live your life without being chained to a desk and learn what it feels like to try something new. 

For the past six years, your life has been dedicated to Sunghoon and only Sunghoon. 

“Sir?” You say tentatively, knocking on his door while pushing the heavy wooden door open. 

“Come in.” 

You know well enough he’s got nothing on his schedule that would impose a distraction. You slip into the room and close the door behind you with your fingers gripping a beige Manila folder behind your back. Sunghoon wears a suit that’s tailored to his likeness and his hair is slicked back like he’s trying to resemble Patrick Bateman from American Psycho. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of an unscheduled interruption?” Sunghoon asks with humor in his tone. He knows you typically keep to your inbox unless something is imminently urgent.

He turns around from looking outside of his window and watches as you hesitantly walk towards his desk. The office space is huge, bigger than your entire living room, and the sudden realization that you’re about to make the biggest change of your life is weighing on your shoulders. Your feet feel heavy beneath you when Sunghoon glances between your face and the folder in your hands. 

“What’s this?”

You don’t hesitate to open it and put it on his desk facing up.

“My resignation letter.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Sunghoon stares at the letter you’ve typed out and notices the large, black signature at the bottom of the page. His eyes flicker back at you as if to detect any lie in your face before he scoffs with a short laugh.

“Right. April Fool’s Day has already passed. No need to keep me on my toes like you usually do, though I appreciate a good joke.” 

You shake your head. “I’m being serious, Sir. I’m quitting.” 

The seriousness of your voice seems to catch him. He takes a seat on his leather chair and pulls himself closer to the desk to fully examine the letter.

“Dear Mr. Park, I am writing to inform you that I will be resigning from my position as your personal assistant at Park Incorporated. My final day will be two months from the day I hand you this resignation letter. I am committed to ensuring a smooth transition, and will facilitate seeking a replacement while I complete projects and tasks on my docket.” 

He looks up at you.

“You’re breaking up with me.” 

“No, I’m quitting this job.”

“Which is the same as breaking up with me. You’re my business partner, for God’s sake. You come with me to every meeting and important event that requires my presence.”

“I’m your assistant. There are many people who would die to be able to do that for you.”

He looks at you like you’ve set his office on fire. “I will not let you quit.” 

You tilt your head. “That’s not how it works, you know. Soobin from HR will process my resignation, even if you beg him not to. I’m giving you a two months' notice because that is how much I value my time here.” Sunghoon clasps his hands as if trying to make sense of the matter.

“But why? Why now? You’re impeccable at your job. Is the pay not suitable enough for you? I can give you a generous bonus and pay raise, if that will convince you to stay. Do you want a bigger office or reduced working hours?” 

“I don’t need any of that. I’ve made up my mind, Sir.”

“Why?” 

With a sigh, you sit down in front of him. “I’ve spent nearly every day for the last six years catering to the needs of you and this company. I’ve loved my time here, and I credit my ability to navigate this industry to you and this job. You’ve given me incredible opportunities that I probably wouldn’t have gotten elsewhere, and it’s been fun learning the ins and outs of this business.

“But I don't have a personal life at all. My days are spent catering to your needs. I don’t have many friends aside from the people I see in this building. I don’t travel and I’ve had to miss important family milestones because of work obligations.”

“Is more time off what you need?” Sunghoon interrupts. “You’ve earned your fair share of requested time offs, even if it’s a personal day for no reason. You’re responsible enough for me to know you can handle your workload when you get back.” 

You shake your head. “It’s not just that. I…I don’t meet new people anymore. I don’t make new friends and I don’t date because this job eats up my life. I feel like I’ve been wrapped up in this company and doing whatever it takes to help it succeed while neglecting my own needs. I’ve had six incredible years, but it’s time for me to move on.”

“…Date?”

With a sigh, you respond. “Yes, Sir. Just because you can find women at the snap of your fingers doesn't mean that everybody else can too.” 

“You don’t date at all?”

You scratch the inside of your wrist at his question. “I can’t date. I don’t have the time to.”

“So you’re quitting because you want to date.”

“No. I’m quitting because I want to experience life without being on call for when you need my help.” 

Sunghoon purses his lips and you can’t read his expression. In the years you’ve worked with him, learning his every mood has been critical to maintaining cordial balance between the two of you, and with other people who Sunghoon isn’t particularly fond of. You’ve extinguished emotional fires just by glancing at him, but the way he looks at you is something you can’t seem to figure out. 

While you wouldn’t say you’re exceptionally close with Sunghoon, you’d argue your relationship to him is far closer than other assistants in the firm. He might be hard headed and stubborn, but he’s compassionate and understanding. He doesn’t expect you to stay in the office until he leaves unless explicitly stated (which consists of half the week, but you can’t complain when some of your colleagues are constantly working longer days than you). 

He compensates you well from time to time, buying you new wardrobe for events he’s requested you to be at. You have a drawer full of exquisite jewelry. You’ve had the privilege of accompanying him on international business trips. From the outside, your life looks like one glamour shot that’s been afforded to you through diligent work, which is partially true, but seldom do people see the dark circles underneath your eyes or how many meals you skip because you need to cater to Sunghoon’s needs. 

For as lucky as your career has been thus far, it’s all on company time, and nothing is ever because you want to. You get the perks, but it’s a transaction. There’s nothing you want more than the freedom to choose what time you wake up and what time you go to bed.

“I can’t say I’m too happy with this news,” Sunghoon says as he leans back on his chair. “You and I work together really well. I don’t think I’ve ever had an assistant as diligent and as smart as you.” 

“You had three assistants before I came into the picture.” 

“They were terrible. Why did you think you went through six interviews?” 

“I can train my predecessor to be as excellent as I can be. I can do it in two months because that’s the time it took me to get used to you and your habits.” 

Sunghoon remains silent for a moment. 

“They’ve got big shoes to fill.” 

Part of you thinks he’s accepted your resignation. He doesn’t immediately grab the Manila folder with the papers in it. Rather, he closes it and keeps it shut on his desk with his hands clasped like he’s afraid it’s going to materialize and escort you out of his office.  

“You’re still needed for events and other internal-facing meetings until your time comes to an end.” 

“Of course, Sir.”

The corner of his mouth tugs upwards. “There’s one tonight. I wasn’t going to have you come to this one initially, but given the circumstances, I think it’s fair that we squeeze in as many as possible before you’re off the hook, no?”

You can’t say you’re incredibly excited by the idea, but knowing Sunghoon, he’s either forgotten he needs someone to act as arm candy or one of his many flings bailed on him at the last minute. 

“I’ll have my car pick you up from your apartment at 8 P.M. Don’t worry about checking in early tomorrow, either. Come in at nine instead, and get some sleep tonight.” 

Nine is still early, especially if you’re going to accompany Sunghoon to an event this evening, but it’s better than getting four hours of shut eye before you’re needed the next day. 

***

A section of your wardrobe is dedicated to items Sunghoon has gifted you throughout the years you’ve been with him. They’re far more expensive and of higher quality than the garments you buy for yourself, and the jewelry is far too precious for you to mix in with your everyday wear. They sit in their own designated section, away from your business attire and weekend wear.

Back when you started this position, Sunghoon found it amusing that you refused the luxurious gifts he’d offer for large tasks such as acting as a liaison at black tie events or helping him with projects that required you to look more presentable than remaining in an office. He bought you enough dresses, shoes, and jewelry until you were able to rotate a few pieces so that you’d never have to wear the same thing twice in a row. To assuage your mind about the prices of each item, Sunghoon would tell you to wear it out on a date with a special someone or to important events that required you to dress up a bit.  

When you pull out a sleek baby blue powder dress that hugs your body in all the right places and jewelry to match, the memory makes you laugh. There hasn’t been any time for engaging in those types of things and your life does not reflect that of Sunghoon’s. They gather dust in your closet until you’re needed to make an appearance as his well-trained, capable assistant. His colleagues know to defer to you unless Sunghoon’s word needs to be confirmed, and that’s how the dynamic has been for the entirety of your working relationship with him. 

You don’t put much effort into your appearance tonight. After touching up your makeup and slipping on a pair of black sling backs that match a black Italian clutch purse he had gifted you on your first international trip, you wait for the car to arrive at your doorstep. 

Surprisingly, Sunghoon steps out from the backseat and holds the door open for you.

“…Sir?” 

“Right on time. You look stunning.” 

His compliment flies over your head as you try to make sense of what you’re seeing. You’re used to meeting Sunghoon at the fairgrounds and not holding the door open for you in his personal mode of transportation. The only time the two of you arrive together is when you depart from the office. Sunghoon is a busy man who makes work his priority. He doesn’t escort you from place to place. That’s your job.

“What are you doing here?” 

He beckons you inside of the car. The partition is raised to give the two of you some privacy. Sunghoon slides into the backseat and puts a respectable distance between the two of you when the driver begins to drive away.

“It dawned on me that I rely you on you for so many things, and yet, I can’t seem to take an hour of my day to ride with you to events I’ve asked you to be at.” 

“It’s my job.”

“No, your job is to make sure I don’t lose my head.”

“If letting you work while I drive alone makes your head stay on your shoulders, I think that’s a job well done.” 

He purses his lips. “Still, I don’t think ending my workday early to pick you up will kill me.” You raise your eyebrow at him.

“This isn’t changing my mind, Sir. I still plan to leave the company.”

Sunghoon shrugs. “Worth a try. But I meant what I said about accompanying you. We’re a team, even if your position is just my assistant.”

“Sir—”

“Sunghoon,” he interrupts. “Call me Sunghoon.”

“...Sunghoon.” He smiles.

“That’s more like it.” 

***

will there be a part 2? who knows

[madamechrissy]

=͟͟͞♡ Healing Hearts =͟͟͞♡

=͟͟͞♡ Pairings:-Doctor Gojo x Intern F!Reader

=͟͟͞♡ Summary- You are the top Surgical Doctor intern, along with Maki, Yuta and Toge. You all are exhausted from passing the first month, sixteen plus hour days, days you don't even go home, all to get a top spot with the star Surgeon, Dr. Gojo, your resident doctor and boss. Or as you call him, Dr. Hojo. He's takes nothing serious but his surgeries it seems, and has a reputation for being a player, but he has that top spot, so you want to prove your worth! You just have to ignore those stupid butterflies he gives you, and those pretty blue eyes, along with his interest in you, and focus!

=͟͟͞♡ Contents/warnings- MDNI- Warnings- overuse/incorrect use of prescription meds, angsty asf in places, scene of a medical procedure, heavy subject matter, some sexual tension. Reader, 26, Dr. Gojo 34- Grey's vibes - this chap, misuse of prescription drugs, snorting said drugs, light angst, explicit sex, like A LOT of sex, oral (f recieving) talking you through it, multiple positions, TOXIC attraction, possessive Gojo, yandere tendencies tbh, lots of drama and feelings =͟͟͞♡ WC this chap- 9k

♡ Reblogs and comments appreciated if you enjoy ♡

=͟͟͞♡ Part Seven =͟͟͞♡ Playlist =͟͟͞♡ Masterlist

Part Eight

“It’s beautiful here, Satoru. Thank you.” You’re in the most elegant of dining rooms of this restaurant, already so fancy you feel just a little out of place, but Satoru seems to know everyone, grinning as they fawn over him and you.

“I had a feeling you’d love it. Plus this way some privacy.” His voice drops just an octave, rushing over you in waves, the desire you feel for him is hard to ignore, but you know you need to learn more. Despite the temptation of his plump lips as they smirk just a bit, while the waitress pours you each a glass of wine.

You sip it then, moaning at the taste. “What is this!?”

“House plum wine, it’s our specialty.” She smiles at you sweetly, then eyes Satoru, leaning over just a bit, you can tell she’s trying to get his attention, far too close to him for comfort. “Dr. Gojo, would you like your usual?”

“That depends on what my girl here wants.” He doesn’t have to say that, do that, you two don’t even know what you are, but here he is, an arm around you, essentially brushing off the pretty waitress to hold you close. “What are you thinking, love?”

Love.

Satoru is calling you love. God if you don’t wish it could be true, that maybe Satoru could love you enough, maybe he does in his own way, but it’s a cruel torture, the worst sort of joke. To love someone who clearly doesn’t love himself, despite the outer appearance that he does, the cocky, conceited jokes, the winks and smirks so self sure.

But you’re already learning, it’s to hide something.

“You pick for me, maybe some seafood?” He nods then, and spits off two orders that you don’t even understand, smiling as he hands her the menus, you notice she looks just a little dejected. “Did you sleep with her, Hojo?” Satoru gasps, putting his hand to his chest then.

“Rude! Calling me some floozy hmm?”

“Well, you were?” He sighs now, tilting your chin up just a bit.

“Before I kissed you, after that it was over.” His thumb brushes your lower lip, when they bring in appetizers for you all, sitting on pretty ceramic plates, the soft music gently flowing in as the doors open again.

“You love to fuck my brain up, Doctor.”

“Love to fuck more than that, intern.” His voice is soft, flowing over you as he pops a little hors d'œuvre in your mouth, watching you as you chew it thoughtfully, eyes fluttering shut as it hits your taste buds. “That look, fuck. Is that better than me?”

“So much better.” He chuckles when you laugh a bit.

“So… how was the day, overwhelming?” You nod, sighing, as the two of you start to talk about Choso now, the device possibility, so much today alone had gone on, but then every day at the prestige hospital was rather hectic.

The plates are served, and you both find it easy to be on this date - a true date - not a rushed little bar encounter, or a night spent at each other’s homes, it felt so real and tangible. The topics get a little heavier soon, dinner is done and dessert is being served, the most decadent little morsels you could imagine, as more of the sweet wine fills your bloodstream.

It’s so perfect for a moment you forget how you got here, forget just how horrible it was before, and he can almost pretend that you don’t need to know his flaws. But you have already seen him at his bad point, you already know some of what makes him not good enough for a girl like you, but he can’t prevent himself, he wants you and only you, and he needs it like he needs air.

“Why are the doses so high? High tolerance?” Your question is soft and delicate, as you ask the question carefully, sipping your drink once more and looking right into his pretty blue eyes, a conundrum of feelings scattered in them like stars.

“Very high, I’ve always had one, could drink a fifth and act straight- I’m not much of a drinker though, a little wine here and there.”

“Well thank goodness, drinking with Xanax…”

“Yeah, Klonopin, Ambien, all of them don’t go too well with it.”

“And how do you function? Honestly, the levels…”

“The more you take them, the higher the tolerance. But I typically don’t just snort them, unless I need them to hit quickly. But even then, that night in the locker room I had taken several.” He’s quiet, as are you, remembering the night so vividly. “I was upset and overdid it, even for me.”

“Upset because of our fight.” He nods now, jaw clenching.

“I don’t want to lose you.” Satoru strokes your cheek, you feel it, your emotions rising, heart pacing in your chest, as you struggle to keep your composure.

“But you never want to live together? No kids I guess I get now, no marriage I can understand, but how do you not live with someone ever? I don’t mean now or even soon, but never? It’s like you’re afraid to let someone in.” Satoru runs a hand through those silky white locks, frowning then.

“The main reason for that is,” Satoru sighs a bit, as he leans so close to you, you practically taste the sweet plum wine on his breath, mingling with yours, before he leans back, his adam’s apple bobbing with a gulp. “I think whoever would live with me, would grow to hate me.”

Your heart shatters at his words, tears swimming in your vision, hating that this man could feel that way. You ease back yourself, looking up at blue eyes that hide far, far too much pain, slipping a hand up the softness of his sweater, then higher, brushing along the line of his jaw. He’s watching you so seriously, like he’s waiting for a blow, jaw so tense you try to rub it to ease it.

“Oh, Satoru…” Your voice is shaky as you speak, taking a tremulous breath, hand now slipping up over a high cheek bone, brushing across where he’s flushed just the lightest shade of pink.

“You know a little more about me now, but it can get bad, my depression - it’s a reason I’m on it all. And the reason I work constantly, but at home alone sometimes… It's really bad. And I get… angry, frustrated. Fuck I can be mean, you’ve seen all of it.” His hand comes to brush your hair off your shoulder, fingers long and elegant against the delicate slope of your shoulder.

“Think I can’t handle that?” You raise a brow at him. “Have you met my ex, he was a shit.”

“Yeah you have bad taste.” You roll your eyes, but your breath catches when his fingers dance along your shoulder, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “You could handle it because you’re strong, doesn’t mean you should.”

“I think you’re mean to yourself.”

“Oh?” He frowns now, hand falling.

“Yes, you’re afraid to let anyone know you, because you want them to think you’re ‘perfect’.”

“Ouch, psychiatrist is your calling.” He’s trying to make light of it, a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes, but you cup his face now, leaning forward, his lashes lower, eyeing your bitten lips, dying to press them against his. Dying to kiss every inch of you all over again.

“I want to know all of you. I won’t get scared away easily, if you have a bad day, you could talk, tell me. We could… I won’t tell you not to take them, but you could talk to me first. Before you…”

“Snort them?” He cuts you off, and you nod, Satoru sighs now, easing his head further against your touch, as his hands come to grip your waist. “Are you asking me to take them as prescribed, intern?”

“I think they’ll last longer and be used less, yes.”

“Is it a doctor’s order?” His lips quirk up, but he’s hiding it, the vulnerability now, you can feel it, even as his hands warm you through the layers of your cashmere sweater, igniting so much held inside of you.

“It’s a special request from a girl who adores you.” Satoru blinks back emotion, pulling back completely, making your lips tremble, heart hammering. “I shouldn’t have said it…”

“No, no.” He needs to compose himself, your words almost break him then, words he never knew he wanted or needed, but to come from your perfect lips, he feels you gripping his chest like a vise.

“It’s just a gentle suggestion. I’ll date you anyway. Okay? Satoru I will never judge you, ever.” He almost cries, someone so strong reduced to tears because you make him feel more than he should.

He doesn’t deserve you.

Your hand comes to his shoulder, he’s still turned away in the elegant dining room, the two of you alone, soft music filtering in from the restaurant, mingling with the gentle noise of laughing and chatting couples and friends. But the two of you are alone, and all you can hear is your heartbeats, yours erratic, as you wonder if you’re asking too much, pushing too hard.

“If I wasn’t selfish I’d leave you alone, I’d let you go be with someone who can give you everything.” Satoru’s words are hoarse, as he turns back to you now, and you see tears in his beautiful azure eyes, bringing tears of your own, burning your eyes. “You’re young, you think you could fix something so broken.”

“I don’t want to fix you, and you’re not broken. Stop it. I’m not that young, okay? I have my own experiences in growing up quickly.” Satoru sighs now, shaking his head.

“Shit, you had no parents… I’m sorry. I’m not… thoughtful.”

“You are. You’re more than you give yourself credit for. Are you perfect, no, you’re kind of a mess.” He smiles a bit, as you’re swiping tears, he hates it, you seeing them, seeing his weakness.

You’re his weakness.

“But there’s a lot of good. A lot.”

“Don’t deserve your presence.”

“Satoru…”

“I don’t. But I’m greedy, baby, so I’ll take you anyway.” He yanks you to him now, against his hard body, a hand tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck, brushing your own tears with his other hand, before thumbing your lower lip, running the pad of it across your lip. “I’ll take anything you give me.”

“Why’s that, hmm?” Your eyes flutter shut when he kisses your cheeks, then your nose, your eyelids, your hands grip his sweater, body overheating.

“Because I can’t get you off my fucking mind, out of my heart, you’re seeped in so fucking deep, do you know?” He’s kissing down the side of your neck, moaning as he hears your soft cry. He loves you, fuck he does. He doesn’t know how to say it, he doesn’t know if he deserves to speak it, if it will just hurt you in the end.

“You think you haven’t sunk into my soul, Satoru Gojo?” Your words make him pause, pulling away and looking down at you, brushing back your hair, his other arm possessively wrapped, pulling you so close you’re almost on him. “I’m falling.”

Shit, you said it.

He pauses, then exhales, a shaky breath with a soft moan, before making you gasp, when he stands, picking you up shoving aside your ceramic plates of untouched desserts, and sits you right on that thick white table cloth. Your heart hammers in your chest as you stare into eyes that reveal it all, swirling with every emotion he tries so hard to hide.

“I’ve already fallen for you. Fallen so fucking deep it’s killing me slowly, breathing your air but not holding you, kissing you,” he does just that now, as you whine into his mouth, his words washing over you. “Being deep inside you, feeling you, kills me so much I fucked it up, and I’ll fuck it up again.”

“Satoru, you-” He’s slammed his lips once more, an arm on either side, pinning you to the table, stepping between your spread thighs, kissing you stupid, drugging you like the xanax in his bloodstream.

“But I’m selfish, so selfish, I’ll let you be with someone like me, even though I should love you enough to be with someone who deserves you.” You’re sniffling, shaking your head, but he cups your face, eyes devouring you, and you sink deeper and deeper into the pit that is your feelings. “I will take anything of you.”

“Then have me, all of me.” Satoru moans and pins your wrists, as he presses you back on this high, fancy banquet table, yanking up your top, his hand slipping up it, your chest heaving as he finds you over your lace bra, making you cry out.

“I can’t let go if we do it again. I won’t let you leave, I wish I was fucking kidding, do you really wanna get dragged down with me?” His words are dark, but you are past pretending, caring, any of it. You just nod, and he sighs, shaking his head, hand slipping down under your waistband, finding your slick heat, moaning as he does. “I can’t let you go.”

“Then don’t- ah!” He’s running his fingers between your drenched folds, so ready to sink his cock in you again, fill you like your body is begging for, looking down at your pretty face, already fucked out from a touch. A face so pretty he’s not sure he deserves it either. “Please…”

“Gonna be mine, hmm? You sure sweetheart?” His desperation breaks through, and you nod now, giving him the go ahead, he moans softly, sinking two fingers deep in your tight entrance, pressing up just so, you scream out at it before covering your mouth, realizing though alone people could still hear. “No.”

He yanks down your hand, and you’re biting your lip, gasping and gripping his wrist, which flexes as he fingers your slick walls, that grip him so good he almost cums from it. “C-can’t be quiet…”

“I need to look at your face when you cum. You can’t cover it.” You’re whining out, as his intense gaze and his fingers press your spot, like he knows you so fucking well. “I want to see your mouth open, your eyes roll back, wanna see the sweat that breaks out on your brow.”

“F-fuck…” You’re barely able to function, your walls convulsing around his thick fingers, soaking and loud, echoing in the elegant room, mixing with your soft cries, so drunk off him your head spins.

“No one can make you feel this, huh baby?” He’s insane again, his eyes dilating, like he’s in some fucking trance as he plays you, as you drown in his eyes, swirling storms that you can’t stop looking into. “Asked you a question sweetheart.”

“No one.” He moans then, fingers even deeper, thumb pressing into your twitching little clit, all while he watches you unravel.

“That’s it, let go f’me. Wanna watch you fall apart.” You do then, cries muffled barely by you biting the fuck out of your lower lip to the point it’s almost bleeding from your teeth tearing your skin, as your pleasure washes over you in waves, back arching up, and Satoru nearly cums from just watching you, feeling you. “Beautiful, fuck.”

“Please, in me.” Your whisper destroys him, surely even though you’ve rented the room anyone could just walk in, but you’re far past caring any longer, and he’s ready to give you all of him, you wouldn’t even care if a whole restaurant saw you at this point, cunt pulsing around nothing when his fingers slip out.

“Fuck, I want to but I can’t keep quiet.” His lips quirk up just a bit, and you breathlessly giggle, perhaps the first time you’ve felt relief since it all, as he puts those fingers to his mouth, sucking them up and exhaling. “Come to my place.”

“So much for taking it slow.” You murmur, sitting up now with his help, shaking when he presses a kiss to your lips and you taste your sweet arousal all over him, kissing it right off him. Satoru sighs, cupping your face, hand entangling in your hair, pulling it at the nape of your neck, making your head fall back.

“I’ll fuck you slow if you want.”

“Shit. Let’s go.”

The drive through the snow is quiet, aside from music Satoru has slowly playing, and you’re snug against him, hand brushing up and down his chest, like you can’t get close enough to him, and he’s kissing you at every stop light. You’re so fucked up on him, on how your panties are soaked against your leggings, the heat warming the two of you so much.

“Need to be inside you, fuck.” He’s murmuring, his hand slipping to your waist, while you kiss on his neck.

“Focus on the road.” You’re breathless when he softly whimpers, while you find a spot right on his neck.

“Shit…” He’s clenching the wheel, cock leaking precum again, dying to bury itself in your slick little cunt. When the two of you finally get to his place, he’s quickly dragging you inside, kissing you desperately, yanking your sweater right off. You’re hastily repeating the action on him, gasping when he turns you around, unsnapping your bra and letting it fall.

He’s pressing you against the front door, littering your shoulders with bites, hot and hungry, his hand slipping down your spine, sending shivers down your body, as he brushes hair off the nape of your neck. “Satoru, please.”

“Let me savor this, been dreaming of you all week.” You’re whining out when he turns you again, kissing you hungrily, big hands gripping your tits as he’s yanking you against him, thigh between yours, making you eagerly grind against him. “You’re all I’ll ever want.”

“Don’t say that, mmm.” You’re shaking your head and he sighs, on his knees before you then, unbuckling your boots and easing them down, as your breath comes quicker and quicker, echoing out loud, mixing with the pounding of blood rushing through to your ears.

“I’ll never want anyone else.” His raw declaration terrifies you, fuck you know he’ll probably hurt you, damaged beautiful man, so opposite of you it’s insane, but you’re drawn to him with inexplicable need. His blue eyes under white lashes are drunk when he finally glides your leggings down, moaning when he sees you. “You’ve ruined your panties, baby.”

“Mnh! Please…” You’re gripping his shoulders to balance, throwing your thigh over his shoulder, gripping you by your ass so rough you gasp. “F-fuck!”

“Let me drink you, please, I need you so badly baby.” He’s damn near slurring his words, lapping a stripe over your panties before he pulls them to the side, revealing your glistening, drippy cunt. “God look at you.”

Your moans are throaty when he’s drinking you up against the door, fuck you’d not even made it a step inside before he does, before he’s soaked from you, dripping all over his pretty face, and he can’t get enough of you. He’s moaning, fucking your tight entrance with his long tongue, soaking you into his tastebuds, never wanting to leave your thighs.

He looks up to see your pretty tits bounce as you grip his hair, head falling back to smack the door, while Satoru laps up all your arousal, groaning against you, making it vibrate. “I’m c-cumming!”

“Good, cum all over me.” You’re done then, cunt gushing so much he can’t catch it all, it’s falling down his chin, even when he gulps as much as he can, feeling your quivering cunt grip and pulse around his tongue. You’re blinded as it hits so hard, you nearly collapse, but he’s holding you firm, kissing your clit, neglected aside from little bumps of his nose.

“Oh my god…” You’re delirious, so much held back for so long for him, fuck even before you were so afraid to get hurt you held back, but you’re done holding back any longer, you’re so ready to let him have all of you. “Take me.”

“Fuck…” He stands up so quickly you get dizzy, snatching you up in his arms, kissing you hungry, messy, while he carries you to his room, hastily flicking on the soft lights.

“Why on?” You murmur, blinking your fuzzy vision as you land on his soft, plush bed, in his spotless fucking room, gripping his egyptian cotton sheets, thick and soft as he unbuckles his belt with a click.

“I need the lights on to see all of your anatomy.” You bite that lip again, thighs pressing together, leaned up on your hands as you hungrily watch him strip fully, pretty, perfect cock springing out, begging for attention. You go to grab him but he pins you down, shaking his head. “Won’t last if you touch me, wanna embarrass me?”

“You always last long, Doctor Gojo. Think I don’t miss touching him?” He exhales now, lifting a thigh, pressing his leaky tip at your entrance now.

“You can after, I need to be inside you.” You nod then, giving him the go ahead, and he shoves inside so deep you scream, so ready it’s insane, you can’t stop your shaking, convulsing while he breathes so heavy over you, one hand on your wrists still, pinning them to the pillow. “Fucking feel you.”

“Mnh!” You’re already fucked out from two, three strokes, splitting you in half like only Satoru Gojo can. Your cunt stretches to accommodate, gushing down his veiny length, down his heavy balls that smack your little ass hole now, as he pounds your cunt so merciless.

But that’s not all that fucks you up, no it’s his damn eyes, so dark and desperate for you, he can’t rip them from your face, fucking up into you harder, losing himself while your hands go numb in his grip. “God, never felt anything this good.”

He’s whispering words in your ear, as he rests his head, snowy locks tickling your cheek, the loud sounds of skin smacking in the air. He pulls back, watching the bulge move inside you, putting his hand over it to feel him fucking you, his cock moving slowly in and out, all while he feels you pulse around him. Your head falls back, hips arching, slick walls just gripping his cock way too good.

But mostly he sees your pretty face, screwed up in pleasure, a face he didn’t think he’d get to see again, and he dies over it. Letting your wrists free, you touch his abdomen, fingers running over perfectly defined muscles, slick with sweat from his exertions. You watch them flex and tremble, slipping higher to his chest, feeling his erratic heartbeat against your palm.

“Satoru…” You’re breathing out his name, so close now, he leans over you again, his other hand dipping between your bodies, finding your clit and rubbing it in circles, pressing against the twitchy little nub, watching you fall apart.

“Need to cum all over my cock, don’t you baby?” You just nod, ever so weakly, drowning in him, in Satoru, words threatening to spill from your lips- just how much you love the man that you’ve only scratched the surface of. “Then cum f’me, all over my cock, make a mess. Ah, that’s it sweetheart, almost there.”

He’s talking you further over the edge, slamming his cock so deep then you do fall apart, nails pressing and leaving crescent shapes in his back, head falling to the side for his teeth to sink into. Your orgasm washes all over you until you’re weak, twitching and shaking, just gasping for breath, the sounds sinking into his ears, as your pleasure injects into his veins.

You are the best high there is.

“God, you’re perfect.” You shake your head weakly, and he slows, lifting his finger off your clit now, slowing his stroke to agonizing slowness, in and out, letting you feel every single inch, every ridge and vein on his cock. “You are. I never want you to leave this bed, fuck.”

“Mmn… you don’t…”

“I do.” He’s kissing you deeply, and that is when you fall off the imperceptible ledge he had you on, that’s when you kiss him back with fervor, giving a heart you’re terrified he will break, but how can you not? How can you not drink this man is, even knowing the pain that will follow.

Satoru flips you with ease, he’s got you on your stomach, as he hooks a thigh over yours, smacking your ass and groaning as he watches it bloom with his handprint. “Ah!”

“I need you to be mine, can you? All mine?” He is insane, but you’re insane too, nodding, knowing the version of ‘his’ is so different from what you truly think of.

Are you willing to fall?

He’s got a hand around your throat, shoving his thick cock back inside you, breathing right in your ear, even his breaths, so heavy and desperate push you on further. Your head falls back, ass arching against his pelvis, when he slams so deep inside you, long body taking over your much smaller one, as his very essence wraps you like the darkest shadow.

Darkness, swirling, heady mixing with the scent of him, with the feel of him, when the deprivation of everything but him happens, and you’re getting your throat squeezed at the sweetest pressure. “Tiny little neck, like it when I squeeze?”

You weakly whine in response, when he pushes you to that edge again, you’ve lost count of how much pleasure he’s brought you, how many orgasms wreck you, as he chokes your throat, squeezing just perfect on your pressure points. It’s fuzzy, your mind, it’s all gone, instinct only allowing you to feel the pleasure instead.

“Want me to fill you up baby? So full of me?” You nod eagerly, as Satoru busts inside you, hot white cum coating your quivering walls, and you lose the last thread you had left in your brain, the last thing connecting you to anything rational.

“Ah!”

“Fuck… god, she’s milking me for it all…” He’s slowing his strokes, exhaling now, while he peppers kisses across your shoulder, then up your neck. “Fuck I didn’t know I’d get to ever again.”

“What would you have done?” He eases out now, sighing and continuing his kisses all over your chest.

“What would I have done?” You nod then, sitting up a bit, legs pressing together, cunt throbbing, you feel his cum seeping out of your abused little hole now, as he runs his fingers down your smooth legs.

“Yes, gone to your Hojo ways?”

He laughs softly, shaking his head, kissing your ankle now, as you’re still reeling from what had just happened. “I’d have jerked off and snorted pills and cried.”

“Shit.”

“Mmhmm… shit, can I snort a xanax once more before I call it quits?” You blink a bit, and he grins. “I wanna snort one off your cunt.”

“No! What!?”

“Inner thigh?” You’re torn between thinking it’s hot and thinking it’s bat shit insane, he sees it, smirking. “It’s a dream of a dying man.”

“You’re not dying, you're just insane.” You’re still trembling from how hard you’ve cum, and he’s too pretty pouting like that. “Okay once.”

“I love you.” You snort, shaking your head, when he drags a tray from the table, black and gold filigree designs, xanax bar crushed with quick skill, like he’s done it a million times. You tense a bit, watching him gather it with a razor blade, then onto a thick cardstock. “I thought xanax tasted the best, until your pussy.”

“You’re comparing me to chemicals?” You cross your arms, and he grins, the devious psycho doctor that he is, coming to lean over you now, spreading a thigh.

“Nothing tastes as good as you, but xanax is close.” You’re watching with quick breaths as he sprinkles the white powder on your inner thigh, exhaling nervously when his snowy white hair bends down. “My nose will never be the same.”

“It’ll be happier, you know.” He smiles up at you, snorting the powder up quickly, his breath far too close to your cunt, you’re whining softly at the sensation, as he laps the residue up with his tongue now, moaning. “Does Xanax taste that good?”

“It does. Here.” He’s leaning up, kissing you now, and you moan as his saliva drips against your mouth, and you taste it.

“Must be acquired.” You whisper, saliva string dripping between your lips, and you see it, his eyes dilate, his body relaxes.

“Nothing tastes as good as you. Especially with my cum pouring from you.” He’s shoving the tray aside, prone position again, licking your cunt and groaning. “God I knew it would be the best mix.”

“Mnh! You’re f-fucking insane…”

“I know, baby.” He’s lapping his cum out of you, while you grip him, and he’s fully fucked up, the xanax hitting and making him enjoy your pretty cunt even more.

“Last time.” Your soft cry warns, and he sighs, nodding, pulling your lips apart to watch more of his white cum leak out of your slutty hole.

“Last time, doc.” You roll your eyes at him, but it’s soon them just rolling back, when he’s sucking on your clit, and it drools all along him.

“F-fuck!” Your hoarse voice just makes him impossibly more ready, pressing his still sticky cock against the mattress.

“Again.” His quiet command is impossible to ignore, you simply nod just a bit, swallowing nervously, when he leans back over you, slamming his thick cock so deep so soon, it shocks you, making you scream out, as he moans in pleasure, damn near a quiet growl. “Fill you up every day.”

“Satoru…”

“Every minute, every hour. Fuck you in every room in that goddamn hospital.” You’re unable to speak when he pulls back, watching his bulge in your tummy move with every agonizingly long stroke, jerking those hips just so. “Every corridor, I’ll drink you up in every elevator.

“Insane, f-fuck!” He laughs a bit, the drug has clearly entered his blood stream, you see it on his face, unleashing whatever bits he’s apparently been holding back from you.

“Am I insane? Or are you, for lying under me sweetheart?” Your lips part, but you can’t form a word, instead just another cry as he fucks you harder into his soft, dense matress, the blankets and sheets crumbling beneath you, your hands gripping harder and harder.  “Answer me.”

“You’re the c-crazy one.” He laughs even as he shoves his cock so deep you scream, drooling tip smashing a cervix already hurt from him pummeling it just minutes ago. “Insane fucking man.”

“You love it though.” You won’t answer, not this insane man with far too much in his bloodstream, the man ruining you over and over, breaking you apart with his strokes to put you back together with his kisses.

“Think I love it?” Your whisper is against his lips now, he leans over you, soft white locks falling over his brow, as he studies your face so carefully.

“I fucking love you.”

What.

Huh.

What!?

You’re blinking in confusion, wondering if he’s finally fucked you actually stupid and not just theoretically. You can’t even answer, when he pulls back once more, slamming his cock and bottoming out, stuffing you so full you can’t stop your scream, hoarse and then weak. He cups your face with one hand, sighing as he shakes his head over you.

“I do love you. It’s why I can’t ever let you go.” You’re too stunned and confused to find any sort of word, any protest. “You don’t have to say it back, just you need to fucking know.”

You’re cumming once more, and he’s pulled with you, groaning and busting deep inside you, his words disorienting right along with his cock filling you up so much you feel it everywhere. Satoru’s in your cunt, your stomach, your goddamn head, and your fucking heart.

He’s everywhere.

*****

The next morning, you yawn, stretching in Satoru’s luxurious bed, reaching to find the rumpled sheets are cool. You sit up now, hearing the front door click, standing on the plush rug and stepping out of his room now. He smiles as he walks inside, and you lean on the doorway for a moment, seeing two cups in his hands.

“Morning, sweets. You finally have joined the living.” You giggle a bit, stepping closer now.

“You kind of zonked me.”

“Must be the xanax on your pussy.”

“Satoru!” He’s just grinning now, setting down your cups and pulling a multicolored pill case out of his jacket.

“What, it’s probably a hell of a high.”

You watch him, methodically taking each med, smiling at you as he hands you your coffee, and something breaks your heart then, that he thinks he needs just that much. Seeing your hesitation, he frowns a bit, swallowing them up with a sugary concoction, a little foam on his lip that you gently swipe away, studying the man illuminated by the sun filtering in through his floor to ceiling blinds.

“What is it?” His question is soft, curious, you look down at the cup, shaking your head a bit.

“Nothing.”

“Tch, one thing you suck at, is lying.” He sips his drink again, stepping closer, eyeing your sexy body in his dress shirt, so long on you it’s precious, the sleeves rolled up several times, he sees the outline of your body as the sun showcases it, making him ache again.

God he can’t get enough of you.

“I just wish you didn’t need so much. I’m not judging you, I promise. I’m not… trying to ‘fix you’ you’re a grown man. But it hurts to see.” Satoru falters then, as if it’s not what he expected, coming even closer until his hand presses on your waist, gently but firmly, burning through the thin layer of his white dress shirt.

“Last night is the last time I’ll snort them, okay? I will respect what you asked. But you… don’t believe me.”

“No, no, I do. It’s just… so many. On an empty tummy?”

“Need to feed me then hmm.” He’s trying to make light of it, push it off, but you have trouble letting that go, and he sees it then. “Wanna know why I’m on each one?”

“Do you want to tell me?” He nods now, pulling out one of his black kitchen stools at the bar.

“Sit.” You do just that, and he sits next to you, legs wide, setting his cup down on the pretty granite counter that damn near shimmers it’s so clean, shit all of Satoru’s house is spotless.

You suppose you get why he wouldn’t want kids, or even pets it seems, everything has its order, its place.

“I was once a lowly intern like you.”

“Lowly!” You shove at him playfully, he chuckles a bit, but the laugh doesn’t quite meet those eyes, snowy long lashes lowering while his fingers brush on your bare thigh, leaving intricate networks of goosebumps in their wake.

“I was one and not as good as you, shit not close. You’re remarkable, you know.” You pause at that, cheeks heating up at his praise, when he’s so close, too close, intense eyes boring into you. “It’s one of the reasons I fucking love you.”

“You shouldn’t say that…”

“No? Why?”

“Because you don’t really mean it…”

“Oh, honey,” he rests his forehead on yours as he takes a breath, hand gripping your thigh so tightly, while you start to lose focus. “I mean it.”

“I’m scared shitless, Satoru.”

“I know.” He kisses your forehead then, smiling just a little sadly. “I was not as bold then, not like you, not even close. I was scared to fuck up, so much pressure with my family, and already I was with Hime.”

“Oh I imagine a lot of pressure.” Your soft voice comes, as you put your head on his shoulder, hugging his strong arm over his coat, letting him speak as you try to reign in your own emotions.

“It was. But with her as well, we were at a constant war, a back and forth to piss each other off. Shit she would bring people home, so would I, and at a point I got so depressed, that we were stuck together- also pressured to have kids. Archaic fucking mentality.”

“Yeah… I see.” You can’t look at him not when he brings it up, you don’t even want to think of it right now, the fact that you probably won’t get that if you stay with Satoru.

And you can’t imagine a world where you don’t always love him.

“So I was very tired after we had a thirty six, remember your first?”

“Oh god yes.”

“And I… missed something. I was so tired, I…” His voice breaks, and you pause, looking up at him now, hating the sorrow on his perfect features. “I fucked up, and someone died, because of me.”

“Satoru, no-”

“Yes. Yes they did.” He’s so tense he’s shaking now, shutting his eyes and shaking his head.

“We all make mistakes, we’re just human-”

“No, I needed to be perfect. Top of my class, top of every interns, fuck I have always been the best at everything. And then, the guy was dead because I was sleeping.”

“You cannot blame yourself!”

“I do. That’s when I decided I needed to make sure I wasn’t tired, and then I tried a few different meds, but adderall? Fucking perfect. Literal speed and pure focus.” He speaks of the medication like it’s a lover, soft in his caressing voice about it, smiling just a bit. “Then however, I was so hyped up, I couldn’t come down at night.”

“So… Ambien.” He nods.

“Ambien, knocks me the fuck out. But during the day, I was still under so much stress, living with the one mistake I made, and knowing I could never do it again, also the stress of the marriage. It was overwhelming, that was when I realized I needed a good anxiety med.”

“Xanax.” Your soft voice is met with his nod.

“Best anti anxiety there is, but it is strong, I found it worked best with Klonopin, a mix of the two? Couldn’t care less about shit in the world, and my mind is so fucking crystal clear. And that, intern, is how I became the top doctor there is, and how I’m about to be the top surgeon, and run the hospital.”

You blink a few times now. “You are?”

“Yeah I haven’t told anyone yet, but you should know.” He cups your face so gently, kissing your lips, tasting like the frappuccino, pure sugar as his lips dance across yours. “You’re brilliant, caring, fuck you’re gonna be such a perfect doctor, I can already see it.”

“Thank you, Satoru.” You kiss him back, gently, sighing as you sit in his embrace, in his quiet kitchen.

“I could get over the… living together. If you wanted one day.”

You blink at him then, shock, confusion and… of course happiness, making you gasp. “What?”

“You’ve seen it, and still choose to deal with me. Why, I don’t know… but I want to be open to it for you. I can’t… I never want kids, or marriage, but I could try to live with you.”

“Ah.” You pull back, and he swallows then, feeling how tense you are. “What if it happened by accident?”

“Pregnancy?”

“Yes.”

“Abortion.”

Your eyes go wide, mouth dropping. “What!?”

“It’s the simplest solution, but if you wanted to go off birth control, I could just get a vasectomy. It’d never come to that.” You can’t explain the devastation his words bring, and he notices your demeanor shift, cursing. “I need to work on how I say things, shit.”

“I would never get one.”

“What?” His shock is evident. “What do you mean never?”

“Never. Personally. I’m for them of course, we help perform them, and I’ll always respect a woman’s right to choose that. But I would never.”

“I see.” He looks away for a moment, then sighs. “I’ll get one, so shit never comes to that.”

“Satoru, that’s permanent damn near? What if you want kids later-”

“I never will.”

“With someone else!?”

“It’s only you. I only want you.” He’s kissing you now, dragging you against him, the stool itself screeching along the titles, breathless as he stares up at you. “I will never share you, with anyone or anything, I just want you. I can give you all that I fucking am, everything I have, anything.”

“I just… mmm…” He’s desperate in his kisses again, hands slipping up your thighs, and you feel the mix of arousal and terror growing in your heart.

“I love you.”

“Don’t say it if-”

“I do. I love you, only you. Fuck more than any drug, I’d inject you so goddamn deep baby.” You’re gasping out when he’s standing picking you up like you’re nothing, mouth devouring yours, kissing any sense away you had left. “I’ll make you so fucking happy all the time, you could walk all over me and I’d thank you.”

“Satoru!”

“Use me. Any way you need.” He’s got you laid out on his kitchen table now, exhaling as he sees your glistening cunt, eagerly unbuckling his jeans as he slips a finger between your slit. “Love your body, fuck.”

You’re crying out when he has his cock out so quickly you don’t process it, as he leans over you, still half dressed, you grip his jacket, legs trembling on either side while he runs his tip along your folds. He kisses you when he presses in, and you’re so tight he can barely get that thick, mushroomed tip in, you cry out against his lips as he groans.

“Perfect, tight little cunt, fuck.” He’s pulling back, shoving deeper, as deep as she could take him, and your eyes roll back in pleasure at the burn, the impossible stretch, while he kisses down your breasts, lapping a nipple over his own dress shirt.

“Oh my god.” You’re trembling when he pulls out again, going deeper, deeper inside your snug walls, which pulse and drool around the invasion, as he kisses his way back up your neck.

“I love you. Only you. God, just you.” Satoru kisses your worries away, and it’s not a good thing, it’s a horrible thing, because how the fuck can you even think of anything of your future when you can’t think. “I want you here, every fucking day.”

“Shh.” You kiss him now, desperate and hungry, hips arching off the cool wood to take more of him, he groans as he sinks deeper, and suddenly your phones are both going off, and you all know.

“Goddammit.” He groans out, kissing you again. “Getting called in.”

“We should…”

“No, you’re cumming first.” You gasp when Satoru yanks you down, turning you and pressing you against the table. “Arch that pretty ass, intern.”

You do just that, and Satoru’s yanking on that dress shirt, using it as leverage to fuck into you as your legs just dangle there off the floor, and you scream out your pleasure, earning his satisfied moan. His strokes are mean, brutal, but you want them - no - you fucking need them, need Satoru to fuck all the problems out of your goddamn head.

And fuck does he.

“L-love you…” He pauses now, cock throbbing inside you, leaning over and tilting your face to his, eyes glimmering, black again - from you or the cocktail of pills, you don’t know - so intense you can’t breathe.

“How could you love someone like me?” His broken voice makes you shake with sobs, you shake your head now, as your phones go off again.

“I do love you, Satoru. I do.” He whines out as you’re clenching him so fucking tight, kissing you desperately, a hand under your chin.

“God, those words, fuck. I’m dreaming.” He buries his face against your neck, slamming in so hard you both whimper, the arm that’s wrapped slides down, finding your pretty little clit that he loves to toy with, feeling you shaking in his grip, tightening down like a vise. “That’s it, cum f’me baby, you can do it.”

You fall apart in his embrace, lost in his pleasure, in his obsession, knowing this is a horrible idea, knowing this is a horrible person to fall for. Knowing you’re going to fucking lose yourself, but you eagerly give it all to him, to Satoru Gojo, who’s got you drooling, swiping it off as the wet noises of your slutty cunt mix with his filthy string of cuss words and tender declarations.

You’re in so deep you may never climb out.

*****

One Week Later

“Hey pretty doctor.” You smile at Choso later that afternoon, so excited for him now that you got the news.

“Hello Choso, you’re gonna love me.”

“I already do!”

“Mhmm.” You’re giggling as you shut the door, coming up to put a hand over his, and watching his heart rate jump. “Relax.”

“You’re too pretty, I'm sorry.” He’s pouting far too cutely, as you sit on the edge of the bed now.

“We just got the call, there’s a heart at another hospital.” His violet eyes light up, then dim, lashes lowering. “This is good, Choso, it is.”

“What if it doesn’t…”

“It will work. I know it. You’ll have the best surgeon-”

“And you?” You smile now, nodding at him, seeing his exhale of relief. “You’re gonna see all of me huh?”

“All your insides.” You both laugh, your hand still on his, he turns his own, thumb bruising your knuckles, making you just a bit flushed.

Your heart is stolen by a selfish doctor, but Choso is probably the sweetest human you’ve met, and you’ll be damned if anything happens to him. He’d chosen not to do the device yet, and to his benefit, because now he wouldn’t be weakened by a previous surgery.

“You’d make the best mom you know.” It’s so random you blink a bit, and he sighs, shaking his dark head. “That’s weird to say, you just have a nurturing instinct, you remind me of how my mom was.”

“Oh, was she amazing, hmm?” You try to play it off, and he nods now, as you stuff all your fucking feelings down.

This week has been amazing with Satoru, he's stayed at your place one night, you at his the other, you perform surgeries better and better as a team, he’s thoughtful, perfect, everything. He’s more considerate of things and what he says, he’s not seeming like he’s over using the prescriptions, you cannot complain one bit about Satoru and how much he’s trying.

But the elephant in the room is just what Choso casually said.

You’re giving it up forever.

“She was amazing, and I try to be that way with my little brother.”

“Oh, Yuuji, I’ve met him a few times now, he’s so sweet!”

“He is a good kid. I helped raise him with dad… gone.” You frown now, nodding and understanding.

“Mine is gone too. I appreciate you saying that Choso, it’s nice to know someone thinks I would be.” Hearing the pain in your voice suddenly, his thumb pauses its strokes.

“Who wouldn’t think that? Do you think you’re too busy for a kid or…”

“No. Not that, um.”

You suddenly feel it, the emotions hitting, you’ve been crying a lot for no good reason the past few days, hearing Choso was getting a heart was a bright spot, along with Satoru’s presence. But that’s always tinged with uncertainty, with pain, so very bittersweet in its beauty.

“It’s personal. I talk too much to you, I’m sure I-”

“Stop it, I love talking to you.” You lean forward, pressing a kiss on his cheek then, which blushes right away, bright pink. “You’re fast becoming a very good friend to me. I was so excited to tell you.”

“I’m glad you did. I didn’t know if… it would happen.” He smiles as you pull back, brushing your hair back just a bit. “You really are my angel.”

“Am not!” You’re giggling when the door opens, and Satoru sees the two of you, jaw tensing as he does. He knows you’ve gotten close, and Choso is so happy when you’re around everyone has let you focus on him lately.

But it smacks him in the fucking chest.

He wants to rip you off of him then, you’re his and only his, and he can’t stand for people looking at you let alone touching you. You peer back and smile at him, so pretty of course Choso is falling, clear as fucking day. He knows it’s not on your end, he knows he has you cumming on his cock every day, multiple times a day, but still something is infuriating him in that moment he can’t describe.

“Tell him the good news?” He smiles, putting on a mask like he doesn’t wanna pull your hair and drag you to him, like he doesn’t wanna fuck you until you can’t even look at anyone.

He knows it’s bullshit, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t run through his goddamn head.

“She did, I’m really excited. You’re the best, right Doc?”

“I am indeed.” Satoru comes up now, tensing as he sees you’re holding hands, and you pull back then, clearing your throat a bit. Satoru sees tears in your eyes. “Everything okay?”

“I told her she’d be a good mom. I think it was extra.”

“No, it was sweet.” You grin now, eyes glimmering, and Satoru feels it like a punch to the gut.

What if he would give you kids, would you fucking leave Satoru over it?

It’s not like he ever can. He knows he’s too selfish to love another person, and too obsessed with you as it was. He couldn’t have a whole child around, and he doubts he’d be any good. Hard to take your kid to practice when you live at work, and are constantly on things to not feel - or to feel.

But this week has been so fucking beautiful, by your side, inside you, on top of you, behind you. Finally confessing his love, and you returning it, why would you not want to keep it? Did he need to do more, to make you happier, so he could make sure you’d stay?

He can’t live without you.

The thought rips him to shreds.

“Ah. Well you need rest, we’re going to get that heart today.” Satoru gently helps you off the bed, and when you all walk out, he grabs your wrist, leaning down. “He’s getting awfully comfy with you.”

“He needs to be happy and strong for this. I’ll help him however I can.” You ease your wrist from his grip, raising your brows at him. “You’re the only person for me, I just care for him.”

“Rationally I know that,” he leans down now, a hand on your hip, pulling you close. “Irrationally, I wanna fuck every thought of him out of your pretty head.”

“Satoru…” He sighs, pulling back now, leaving you trembling in your goddamn scrubs in the middle of the hospital.

“What he said…”

“It was true.” You leave him to ponder it, turning away now. “I’ll see you in an hour to get the heart.”

“Yeah… okay.” You’re walking away too quickly, swiping at your tears as you go, leaving Satoru to curse under his breath.

How can he keep you if he’s not sure he’s worthy?

You rush away from him, trying to compose yourself, until you’re in the locker room, looking at your reflection in the mirror.

You’re happy, right?

This story is slow on updates but I do appreciate Dr. Gojo's 11 fans VERY much hehe. I hope you all enjoyed the toxic fuck fest- let's get Choso a damn heart!! (dw he'll be fine <3) and their drama isn't close to being done.

@lostfracturess @unfortunately-tia @allofffmypeaches @makingtimemine @antisocialinlw @meg3mis @zoeyflower @wstaley2 @bunheadusa @blue-musingss @ameliariddle @labelt-san @jkslaugh97 @shadeowz @gojo1228 @jaeminaur @httpstoyosi @angel1of-death @seeing-stars-alt @bol0-de-morang0 @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @trishiepo0 @inthedarkshadows000 @gina239 @san-it-is-i-guess @pelicanpizza @gojo1228 @ducky1232 @inthedarkshadows000 @eclecticmentalitypersona @burguhndy @levislug @addehehe @sluttyofgojo @msniks @xixflower @ambiguouslady42 @kiaraandrea @jjknanamin @suguruscousin @silverfangmarks @atiny-99 @thatssoambs @kanekisheart @mahalsuya @kimkimoruo @hoelynecujoh @abiiebibie @procastinatingbitch

[boxfullaturtles]

I’m Bored and Anxious So I Slapped Together a List of Fan Fic Writer Asks

1. Share a song that makes you think of [fic title] 2. Do you read/reread your own fics? 3. What's your favorite fic that you've written? 4. How many WIPs do you have right now? 5. What's a fic idea you've had that you will never write? 6. Are there any fics from others you reread all the time? 7. How many ideas for fics do you have right now? 8. What project(s) are you currently working on? 9. Do you write every day? If you wrote today, share a sentence of what you’ve written! 10. Is there a fic that got a different response than you were expecting? 11. Do you have specific playlists for writing fics? 12. Do you have a playlist for your current WIP(s)? Share it! 13. How much planning do you do before writing? 14. If you could see one of your fics adapted into a visual medium, such as comic or film, which fan fic would you pick? 15. How do you come up with titles for your fics/chapters? 16. At what point in the process do you come up with titles? 17. What's something you've learned about while doing research for a fic? 18. What's one of your favorite lines you've written in a fic? 19. Give us a small teaser from one of your WIPs. 20. What's a favorite title for a fic you've written? 21. Have you ever deleted an entire scene after spending hours laboring over it? If so, why? 22. Do you know how your fic will end before you start writing? 23. How do you choose where to end a chapter (if you have multi-chapter works)? 24. Share a moodboard for (one of) your current WIP(s). 25. Have you ever upset yourself with your own writing? 26. Is there something you've written that you would never want your family to see? 27. Is there a fic you were nervous to post/share? Why? 28. Have you ever tagged a fic “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat”? 29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.) 30. Ask anything!

[studioeisa]

babe for the weekend ❄️ soonyoung x reader.

Everybody thought that you and Kwon Soonyoung were a foregone conclusion, but then he had to go and change the ending. Six years after the breakup, he decides to come home for the holidays— and now, you’re stuck between your pride, his dreams, and the road not taken. ‘Tis the damn season, indeed.

୨ৎ pairing: dance studio ceo!soonyoung x lawyer!f!reader. ୨ৎ genre/warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, romance. alternate universe: non-idol. mentions of food, alcohol consumption, swearing/cussing. post-breakup dynamics and quarter-life crises. high school lovers to exes. law terms. spiteful reader. rated T for languages and themes. title and synopsis shamelessly reference taylor swift's t'is the damn season. ୨ৎ word count: 16.6k ୨ৎ footnotes: this is part of @camandemstudios's winter with you collaboration! ´◡` thank you so much for trusting me with soonyoung. also eternally grateful to @shinwonderful and @biniaiahs for beta reading. may revisit this to do edits in the future, but for now, we settle.

in the words of a, i am the 'harbringer of doom and angst.' happy holidays, everyone! + tag list in the comments.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ winter with you masterlist ┆ my masterlist ┆ the official babe for the weekend playlist.

This has to be the universe’s idea of a joke. 

It’s like the time your professor refused to round up your grade in college and you almost got set back a semester. Or that one day at work, where the forecast said it would be sunny— only for you to get caught in a downpour on your way home. 

The universe had to be an aspiring amateur comedian, because why else would Kwon Soonyoung be in front of you right now? 

“What?” Soonyoung chirps. “No ‘hello’ for your favorite ex?” 

Six years. It’s been six years since you last saw each other, and those are the opening words he decides to go with. 

You’re torn between smacking him upside on the head and strangling him. Maybe both, you muse, as you survey the ways he’s changed over time. 

His hair is blonde now. His once-pale skin is a little more tan. And— as much as you loathe to admit it— he looks more fit. You can vaguely make out the muscles straining underneath his casual wear.

Dancer’s build, you begrudgingly concede.

When Soonyoung calls you out in a bid to snap you out of your daydream, you physically flinch. Your name still rolls right off his tongue like honey. You don’t have the right to call me that, a small, bitter voice says in the back of your mind. You don’t have the right to talk to me at all. 

“Hellooo,” he sing-songs, waving one of his palms inches away from your face. “Did you have a stroke or something?” 

That prompts you to speak.

After all that time, your first words to Soonyoung in six years are cold and curt: “Get out.” 

A corner of Soonyoung’s mouth twitches upward. The infuriating bastard. He probably anticipated a reaction like this from you. 

He straightens until he can shove his hands into the pockets of his winter coat. “I don’t see any signs that say I’m not allowed to be here,” he says. “Did I miss it?” 

He makes a whole show of looking around your family’s restaurant. A part of you is grateful that you’re the only one on today’s shift; your parents would’ve undoubtedly had over-the-top reactions to Soonyoung’s sudden reappearance. It’s only through years of conditioning that you’ve learned to keep your reactions under control, even when the world throws you curveballs such as these. 

Your expression is perfectly blank as you dryly note, “There’s a sign out on the front, actually.” 

“Oh? Really?” 

“Yeah. No strays allowed.” 

Soonyoung shakes his head. “Brutal,” he says, but there’s still that hint of a smile on his face.  

If you strained your ears, you might hear the trace of affection in his tone. The thought of it— of Soonyoung holding any sort of fondness for you— makes you want to scream. 

You manage to tamp that urge in favor of jerking your head towards the front door of the restaurant. “Out,” you repeat, your gaze briefly flickering to the CCTV in the corner of the store. 

Your father would probably kill you if he found out you were turning someone away. A supposed family friend, at that. But this wasn’t just a customer, and you weren’t sure if you could still call Soonyoung a friend, and it’s been six years, damn it.

“Is that any way to treat a customer?” Soonyoung goads.

“You’re not a customer.” 

“You haven’t given me the chance to be.” 

“That’s because you’re not welcome here.” 

“It’s pretty bad for business that—” 

That wasn’t going to fly. You weren’t about to take business advice from Kwon Soonyoung of all people. 

One minute, you’re behind the counter with your hands clenched into fists. The next, you’ve closed the space between you and Soonyoung. He falters as you approach, looking almost like he’s holding his breath. 

It’s not a slap that greets him. Most definitely not a hug, either. 

Instead, one of your hands dart out until you’ve got a firm grip on his ear.

Soonyoung is still taller than you, but he folds over at your rough tug. “Ow, ow, ow!” he screeches, his own hands flying out of his pockets in a futile attempt to either push you off or shield himself. 

In his split second of indecision, you manage to haul him back over to the entrance. Because you had been manning the fort, you hadn’t even noticed that it had started to snow. The first of the year. 

You don’t have the time to appreciate it. Your focus is entirely on channeling your energy to shove Soonyoung out of the restaurant. He stumbles out on the sidewalk where he rubs his offended ear with a scandalized expression on his face.

A lesser man might have snapped back, might have demanded an explanation for being manhandled so shamelessly. To your sheer annoyance, Soonyoung only laughs. 

It’s a full-bodied sound, one that practically bounces off the street. He laughs, and he laughs, and he laughs, clutching at his stomach like this is the funniest thing in the world. 

Remember how, earlier, you thought you might scream? Now, you truly almost do. Because the years have passed— but Soonyoung still laughs exactly the same. 

You don’t stick around to find out if you do end up yelling. Instead, you march right back into the restaurant with your chin jut up in a show of confidence. You can hear him trying to choke out words between his laughing fit, something akin to, “Hey, wait—,” but you’re not about to hear him out. 

Not today, not ever. 

It’s the most satisfying feeling in the world, getting to slam the door in his face. 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“I got hungry.”

--

“ — tried to give me business advice! Me, business advice!” 

You punctuate your exclamation with a slap to your office table. Jihoon and Wonwoo are a little too familiar with your fits of passion to be surprised; Wonwoo barely looks up from his round of Block Blast, while Jihoon only shakes his head. 

“Sounds like something he would do,” Jihoon offers empathetically.

You lean back into your chair, your expression contorted into one of utter frustration. The three of you rarely meet in your office, but you had called a DEFCON 1 situation in light of recent events. Jihoon and Wonwoo lounged leisurely in front of you as you ranted your heart away for the past thirty or so minutes. 

“Who does he think he is?” you seethe. “Showing up here unannounced!” 

Wonwoo pipes up. “It wasn’t unannounced.”

Jihoon silences Wonwoo with a warning glare. You can only glance between the two boys before Jihoon heaves out a sigh and admits, “We knew that he was coming back to visit.” 

The look of betrayal on your face must be clear as day, because Wonwoo guiltily pauses his game to flash you a sheepish grin. “We met up with him— yesterday, was it?” 

Yesterday. “And you didn’t tell me?!” Your voice is a little shrill and a whole lot incredulous.

Ever the pragmatic one, Jihoon quips, “You’ve always said that you want nothing to do with him. I presumed that involved knowing whether or not he was coming home.”

Damn it. Jihoon got you there. 

You’re not sure what you would’ve even done, really, if you’d been given a heads up. Would you have boarded up the doors to your home? Would you have sought him out yourself in a prideful bid to maintain some twisted sort of upper hand? 

You’re still mulling it over when Wonwoo delicately says, “Look at the bright side. You probably won’t run into him again.”

Jihoon attempts to distract you by getting you to talk about your most recent client— a stubborn chicken shop significantly behind on mortgage payments. You give in, if only because you want so very badly to believe in Wonwoo’s words. 

--

You should’ve known better, really, because of course your friends would lie to you. 

That’s the only thought on your mind as you keep your eyes firmly ahead and away from the smirking blonde in your peripheral vision. Already, you’re contemplating the bodily harm you’ll cause Jihoon and Wonwoo for leaving out this vital piece of information. 

But you can’t be wrathful. Not in front of the kids. 

The gaggle of twenty-something elementary students sit cross-legged on the floor, their gazes all trained on the newcomer. They’re whispering excitedly among themselves, so much so that Teacher Kang has to clap more than thrice to recapture their attention. 

“Now, everyone,” Teacher Kang announces. “Do you remember what I said about having a very special guest for today?” 

A high-pitched chorus of “Yes, Teacher Kang,” resounds throughout the auditorium. 

“Very good. Can we please give a warm welcome to Teacher Kang’s friend, Soonyoung?” 

Soonyoung makes his way to the front of the gaggle with an easy grin and a relaxed gait, like he belongs here. And maybe a part of him does. This was his turf once, too. 

“‘Soonyoung’ is a bit long, isn’t it?” he says, speaking to both Teacher Kang and the kids in front of them. It’s a small grace that he isn’t calling you out just yet, though you wouldn’t put him past it. 

“Everybody!” Soonyoung proclaims. There’s a bit of a flourish in how he moves, how he looks down at the awe-stricken kids with a bright, wide smile. He puts up one hand to his face and bends his fingers in an imitation of a paw. “You can call me Hoshi!”

The kids echo it back to him— “Teacher Hoshi!” “Hello, Mr. Hoshi!” “What’s a Hoshi?”— while Teacher Kang only smiles fondly. For your part, you keep your expression perfectly controlled, even though you’re telepathically trying to get Soonyoung to combust. 

It’s one thing for him to waltz back into your life like it’s nothing. It’s another thing for him to come around and introduce himself with the pet name you used to have for him. 

Suddenly, you’re teenagers again, visiting the zoo on a field trip. The two of you had tried so hard to hide from your chaperones that you were holding hands in the pockets of your winter coats. In hindsight, it had been the most obvious thing in the world. 

Soonyoung had excitedly pointed out the Bengal tigers lounging in their enclosure, and you joked about how similar he looked to them. 호랑이의 시선. Horangi-ui siseon, the tiger’s gaze. 

Soon after, you took to calling him Hoshi when he was on stage, when the two of you were arguing over something petty, when you wanted to be affectionate. Hoshi, let’s get ice cream today. Hoshi, take me to the library. Hoshi, I love you!

Something that was once yours alone was now everybody else’s, too. It bothers you more than you care to admit. 

You’re so caught up in reminiscing that you almost miss Teacher Kang saying, “Soonyoung— er, Hoshi— is going to help us with the Christmas showcase. He’s a very popular dancer in Seoul, so we’re happy to have him here.” 

The betrayal that rises up within you is sharp albeit short-lived. Teacher Kang didn’t owe you a warning the same way that, say, Jihoon or Wonwoo might’ve. But still. Any indication at all would have been nice. 

One of the younger students— an absolute sweetheart by the name of Iseul— tugs at your pant leg. You lean down so she can cup her little hand over your ear. 

“Do you know Mr. Hoshi?” she whispers conspiratorially. 

How fitting, for a five-year-old to pose the million-won question. It’s a loaded gun of a query even though there’s technically no right or wrong answer. 

Of course you knew ‘Mr. Hoshi’. Your mothers were best friends. The two of you were in the same classes. You dated him throughout high school. You knew him well, like the back of your hand. 

That was before he got up and left without so much of a glance over his shoulder, though. 

You give Iseul a tight-lipped smile. “I knew him once,” you answer. It’s not quite the truth, but it will have to do for now. 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“Took a wrong turn and ended up here.” 

--

“Are you going to ignore me the whole time, or…?” 

You answer Soonyoung’s prodding by ignoring him. 

The past week has been largely uneventful, sans Soonyoung’s occasional effort to poke his nose into your business. He at least had the decency to not show up at your family’s restaurant again, and whether or not he knows of your office is yet to be seen. 

Your interactions with him have been largely limited to the one-hour a day that you’ve dedicated to Yangjeong Elementary School. 

Yangjeong was yet another thing that the two of you shared. You were once a pig-tailed menace who outran all the boys on the playground, and Soonyoung was your snot-nosed partner-in-crime. 

Planning Yangjeong’s Christmas showcase has been your yearly commitment for as long as you can remember. Even when you were off at college, you had made it a point to set aside time for it. Volunteers have come and gone throughout the past, though this year’s volunteer was undeniably one of the more annoying ones. 

“You’re going to have to talk to me eventually, you know.” Soonyoung practically flops himself onto the desk in front of you, the sudden weight of him making the table creak. As you turn your face away, you catch sight of the pout beginning to form on his lips. 

You almost snipe at him, something along the lines of stop that or grow up or that doesn’t work on me anymore. You hold your tongue, in favor of wordlessly getting up to move to a different chair.

Soonyoung is right. You will have to talk to him soon enough.

But as you sit as far away from him as possible, readying yourself for the day ahead, you can at least decide that today will not be that day. 

Preparations for the showcase involve discussing the program with the teachers and readying the students for their performances. It’s never anything spectacular— just your run-of-the-mill rotation of tone-deaf singing and middling dances— but the town’s overzealous parents are always more than happy to indulge the show. 

Today, you and Soonyoung are set to meet with Teacher Kang to discuss the showcase’s overarching theme. 

The sixty-something-year-old woman had been your teacher as well, and so it’s understandable why she’s eyeing the pair of you with poorly concealed amusement. There’s a palpable tension between you and Soonyoung, though a significant majority of the awkwardness is likely from your end. 

“Have the two of you not kept in touch?” Teacher Kang asks as she sets down two mugs— coffee for you, hot chocolate for Soonyoung. 

“No,” the two of you say simultaneously. 

Soonyoung steals an all-too obvious glance. You keep your eyes on the coffee in front of you. 

Teacher Kang— bless her heart— decides not to push it. She settles in her own seat, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea. 

“The principal wants all the kids to do a number. Nothing too flashy, but something that will give everyone a chance to be on stage.” The elderly teacher sips at her drink before going on. “That’s why I called you in, Soonyoung.” 

“I’m the reinforcements,” he jokes. 

Teacher Kang gives a short laugh in response. “Something like that.” 

She turns to you, then, with that same motherly simper that you’ve never been able to say ‘no’ to. You wonder if she’s doing this on purpose— pulling all the stops to get you to agree to what she’s going to say next. 

“I know your hands are going to be full with the program and the staffing,” she starts. “But you’ll work with Soonyoung, won’t you?” 

What kind of person would you be if you said ‘no’? If you threw a fit and demanded for Soonyoung to be thrown out?

“Of course,” you say, the word gritted out through your teeth. 

At your side, Soonyoung lets out a loud cough to disguise his grumble of ‘bullshit’. You fight the urge to kick him in the shins.

The beguiling expression on Teacher Kang’s face is merciless. At this point, she’s no longer hiding the way that she’s watching you and Soonyoung’s heatless bickering. And when she comments on it, when she says “You two haven’t changed,” you almost walk out then and there. 

I’ve changed, you want to insist. He’s changed. We’re both changed; we had to.

Otherwise, it wouldn’t have been worth it. The breakup, the distance, all of it. 

Soonyoung recovers before you do. 

“Ah, before I forget!” He digs for something in his pants pocket, which he eventually holds out for Teacher Kang. “You asked me for this, the last time we saw each other.” 

Despite yourself, you can’t help but try and crane your neck to catch sight of what had been handed over. Soonyoung catches the small shift and huffs out a laugh. 

“You could just ask, you know,” he says, reaching back into his pocket. 

Your protest of “I don’t—” is cut off by him shoving the same thing in your hand. Your fingers close around the calling card bearing the illustration of a tiger and a string of unfamiliar numbers. 

Hoshi, A.K.A Kwon Soonyoung, it also says. Chief Executive Officer, Eye of the Tiger Dance Studio. B1, 47, Dogok-ro 27-Gil, Gangnam-Gu, Seoul. 

“So you know where to find me,” he says with the world’s most obnoxious smirk. 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“I forgot something.” 

“From six years ago?” 

“From six years ago.” 

--

Everybody thought that you and Soonyoung were a foregone conclusion. 

It had been your stereotypical small town romance. You were kids together and then you were teenagers together. Some might have blamed it on forced proximity, but you like to think that the attraction and affection was real. That it wasn’t a matter of not having any other choice. 

You had chosen Soonyoung happily. He had chosen you right back.

After an awkward dance of ‘will-they-won’t-they,’ the two of you started dating in your freshman year of high school. It was the type of thing that had everybody— your respective families, your mutual friends— breathing a sigh of relief. Something akin to finally. 

For nearly four years, Soonyoung was it for you. 

He was the one walking you home, the one you messed around with behind the library building. The two of you shared nearly every first that mattered. Every first that a high schooler could afford, anyway. 

First date.

First kiss. 

And, so it goes— first heartbreak.

Soonyoung had worn his heart on his sleeve; it was abundantly clear to everyone what he cared about. Two things in particular defined him: You, and dancing.

If you really tried, you can still remember the first time that Soonyoung had choreographed a dance himself. He had been young, scrappy, hungry— all the qualities that made it possible for him to tear up the stage and leave the rest of you in awe. 

He went on to be president of your school’s modern dance club. He went on to compete, both in groups and by himself, and win. 

You picked up on it, too, if only to indulge him. The two of you had your fair share of semi-viral dance covers and podium finishes at local contests. It was yet another testament to your partnership, to what everyone presumed would spell out endgame. 

Except you only loved to dance, while Soonyoung lived for it. 

“Come with me,” he had invited you the night before your high school graduation. 

The two of you were supposed to be in bed, but your phone buzzed underneath your pillow and you couldn’t resist one last act of rebellion. You climbed out your window and met up with Soonyoung at your typical halfway point— the derelict playground the two of you have long since grown out of. 

“To where?” you asked, your sandaled feet dragging through the sand beneath the swing. Uncharacteristically, Soonyoung hadn’t kicked off at all, instead opting to remain still. 

His fingers had been tightly clenched around the rusting chain of the dated swing. You remember that much. In hindsight, he looked nervous. 

There is a timeline where he might have proposed to you that night, might have asked for an early hand in marriage, with how on edge he was acting. 

But, instead, you had prompted, “Have you finally decided on a uni?”

A beat. 

His voice— soft and vulnerable— broke the silence of the February evening. “I’m not going to uni.” 

You should have stopped swinging, then. Should have ground to a halt and grabbed Soonyoung by the shoulders. Should have called him crazy, insane.

Maybe you should have asked him to reconsider. That might have changed things. 

Except you only kept on pushing. Back, forth. Back, forth. Like this was just a normal conversation and not a relationship-defining, life-altering moment for the two of you.

“I’m going to Seoul,” he elaborated, desperate to fill your silence. “I’m going to try and be a dancer. You— you could, too.” 

Your answer was immediate. “I’m not as good as you.” 

“You are,” he argued. A muscle in his jaw jumped, then. You’d known him for long enough to recognize his little tells and ticks, and that had been one of them. An indicator of a lie. 

“I’m not.” You kept swinging, kept your face angled away from your boyfriend who was slipping through your fingers. “I’m going to uni, Soonyoung.” 

“But—”

“But what?” 

You’ll never admit this, but you had been cruel back then. You know that now.

There are things you would have done differently. You wouldn’t have snapped. You would have looked at him. 

You were young, though, and angry. Your heart had been shattering in your chest and the only thing you could do was go back and forth on that creaking swing as Soonyoung tried to get through to you. 

It hadn’t been that much of a surprise. Soonyoung’s general disinterest in college applications— and his constant rumblings about city life— had given you some idea of what his plans might be. 

You just thought you would be more involved in it. That you wouldn’t be simply handed the decision, as if it were something you would have to accept.

Young, angry, and selfish to boot. 

“Nothing.” Soonyoung eventually said. His words sounded like a concession, like some form of twisted acceptance. “You’ll go to uni.” 

“And you’ll go to Seoul.”

In your peripheral vision, you had seen Soonyoung tilt his head away as if trying to hide his face from you. Six years is a long time ago. You can’t tell if he had cried, or maybe you’ve chosen to erase that from your memory. 

“I’ll go,” Soonyoung repeated, an edge of defeat in his tone. 

You swung, and swung, and swung, like it was the only thing keeping you tethered. 

Back, forth. Back, forth. 

The quiet had stretched, giving you a chance, an opportunity. To convince him otherwise. To change your own mind. 

But— 

“And I’ll stay,” you had responded. 

That’s the thing about endings: They’re susceptible to change. 

--

The first civil words you utter to Soonyoung are “Yeah, I think the kids will enjoy Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.” 

He’d been spewing out prospects for the showcase’s group dance, though each idea had to be delicately shot down by Teacher Kang. Jingle Bell Rock? Performed three years ago. Baby, It’s Cold Outside? Perhaps not the most appropriate for children. 

You can see from a mile away, the signs of Soonyoung’s growing frustration— the downturn of his lips, the furrow of his brows. When he recommends the Maria Carey classic, you throw him a bone. Just to try and wipe that look off his face.

You immediately regret your kindness, because Soonyoung’s head whips around and he looks at you with the most disbelieving, wide-eyed expression. You return the overreaction with a half-hearted glare. 

“What?” you ask defensively. 

“It’s—” He pauses, his eyes flicking to Teacher Kang. “Nothing, nothing.” 

His jaw ticks. All that time apart and he’s still never learned how to get better at lying. 

You don’t have to poke and prod to know what’s coming. Once your little meeting draws to a close— Teacher Kang eventually agreeing with Santa Claus Is Coming to Town— Soonyoung makes a beeline for your side, his excitement barely concealed. 

“Is the world ending?” he asks you.

You attempt to shoulder past him, but he only follows you out of the classroom, sticking to your side. “You said we would have to talk eventually,” you point out. “Here’s your ‘eventually’. Don’t be too happy about it.” 

“But I am happy about it,” he responds, his tone almost like that of a whining puppy. “Not too much. Just an appropriate amount.” 

So help me, God. 

You keep your gaze ahead as you walk out of the school. Soonyoung matches your pace, humming underneath his breath. You better watch out, you better not cry. You better not pout, I’m tellin’ you why. 

Once the two of you are out the front doors of the school, you’re greeted to a light dusting of snow on Namyangju’s sidewalks. 

“So,” Soonyoung says casually as you pull out your phone to check the weather for the rest of the day. “You don’t work full-time at your parents’ restaurant, do you?” 

Involuntarily, a derisive snort of laughter escapes you. “Small talk? Really?” 

There’s a boyish grin on Soonyoung’s face. “Gotta take advantage of you being chatty,” he shoots back, which only prompts you to shake your head. 

You could ignore him, like you always have. You probably should. That had always been Soonyoung’s style. 

Give him an inch and he’ll take a mile. 

And yet—

“No,” you grumble, your eyes still absentmindedly scanning your weather app. “I only work at the restaurant part-time.” 

“The rest of the time?” 

“I didn’t realize this was going to be a talk show.” 

“Haven’t you heard? I’m primetime’s most charming host—” 

“Law. I work at a law firm.”

The answer is ripped from you in a bid to avoid Soonyoung’s theatrics, and you find yourself blinking with mild surprise, like you hadn’t prepared to divulge the detail at all. Soonyoung notices, and his lips curl in a smug smirk. 

“I know,” he says simply. “Jihoon told me.” 

You make a mental note to berate your mutual friend as you exasperatedly say, “Why did you ask, then?” 

“Because I wanted to hear it from you.” 

Soonyoung lets his words hang, linger, before he goes on. It’s just four words, what he utters next, but it still threatens to tilt your world on its axis. 

“I’m proud of you,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

You’ve heard your fair share of the platitude throughout the years. From Jihoon and Wonwoo, when you first got into law school. From your parents, when you passed the bar exam. From Teacher Kang, every December, when the Christmas showcase is pulled off. 

This is something entirely different. This has you shoving your phone back into your bag, just to hide the way your hand had begun to twitch at the words. 

“You can’t say stuff like that to your ex,” you snap. 

Soonyoung’s answer comes without a moment’s hesitation. “Why? Being exes doesn’t take away the fact that I’m proud of you.” 

Too much, too much, too much. It’s too much for your pride, your emotions, your heart. You wish you could take this for what it is— a compliment, some kindness— but the history goes deep, and the words feel like a scab being picked. 

You do what you do best. You turn on your heel and begin to walk away. 

Thankfully, Soonyoung doesn’t follow you. But he’s nothing if not vexatious, so he squeezes in a sing-song cry of “Byeee, attorney!” as you leave. 

You quicken your pace just a little bit more. 

--

Jihoon has the tendency to look like a kicked puppy when he’s being told off. 

He doesn’t pout, no, but the expression on his face is a close thing as you give him grief over telling Soonyoung about you. Wonwoo, stuck in the middle as per usual, only calmly cuts into his lunch. 

“Why did you have to tell Soonyoung about my work, huh?” you demand as you slice a little too forcefully into your bulgogi. “Giving him free ammunition or something?” 

Jihoon finally gets a word in edgewise. “It’s because he asks about you,” he deadpans. 

The thought of it is so insane that you bark out a laugh. The retort— bullshit!— is right on the tip of your tongue, but it dies out when Wonwoo bobs his head up and down.

Wonwoo has always been the less likely of the two to lie to you. You’re still a bit baffled even as the bespectacled man confirms, “Yeah. He asks me, too.” 

“Asks what?” 

“How you’re doing.” Wonwoo is so nonchalant about the whole affair that you’re tempted to call him out, too, but the lack of teasing in his tone gives you some sense of where his head is at. “What you’re up to. Stuff like that.” 

Kwon Soonyoung has kept tabs on you. 

In the years that you’ve tried to bury the memory of your friendship, of your relationship, Kwon Soonyoung has kept tabs. 

“He—” You clear your throat when your voice comes out a little more high-pitched than usual. If Jihoon and Wonwoo notice, they mercifully don’t call you out. 

You manage, “He could have just reached out to me.”

Jihoon, who had taken advantage of the reprieve to shovel some spoonfuls of rice into his mouth, swallows hard before speaking. 

“Would you have answered?” he inquires, one eyebrow arched upward. 

The truth— rarely plain, never simple— lies in a single, two-lettered word. No. No, you probably wouldn’t have answered. And even though you want to defend yourself, to claim otherwise, both Jihoon and Wonwoo would only do what you had wanted to do earlier. Call bullshit. 

You let out a groan of defeat, slumping forward until your forehead has planted on the table in front of you.

“No further questions, Your Honor,” Wonwoo chirps, and though you can’t see him, you can already imagine the smirk that he’s sporting. 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“I thought there would be a high school reunion. I think I got the date wrong.” 

--

The abundance of existing routines for Santa Claus Is Coming to Town makes it somewhat easier for you and Soonyoung to dumb it down for the kids. 

You spend the next week keeping the students in line as Soonyoung teaches them how to shimmy, how to slide, how to do jazz hands. Every so often, you catch him at a loss— like when one of the younger boys tries to eat a crayon, or when the kids go into a scream-filled debate about the existence of Santa Claus. 

These are things you’re used to. These are things you can handle. 

Taking the crayons away or assuring the kids that Santa Claus is real is far, far easier than being in forced proximity with the one that got away. You’re reminded of that, now, as Soonyoung taps out for a breather and you sub in to go over the routine with the kids once more. 

They’re more prone to listening to you, and so you easily get one run of the song down without a hitch. In the years that you’ve voluntarily choreographed for the showcase, you’ve never thought too much about the technicalities of your skill. You danced well enough to teach, to pull off a decent, child-appropriate routine. That had been enough. 

But with the scrutinizing eyes of dance studio CEO ‘Hoshi’ following your every move, you feel that simmer of competitiveness in your stomach. 

After three more runs of the number with the children, you let them go. As you go to catch your breath over one of the auditorium’s bleachers, you’re surprised by a hand holding out a Cool Blue Raspberry Gatorade. 

“Is this still your poison?” Soonyoung asks with a hint of amusement as he settles into the space next to you. 

You don’t answer. Briefly, your mind goes to those days— the salsa competitions, the random play dance events. How Soonyoung’s backpack always had his Game Boy Color, a change of clothes, and a blue Gatorade. The last one, always for you. 

You uncork the drink, tilt your head back, and take a long swig. It’s as close to a confirmation that you’re going to give him. 

The two of you sit in silence as the children begin to file out of the auditorium. Once the only two of you are left, Soonyoung speaks up, the words far too quiet in the otherwise empty room. 

“You really are good, you know.” 

It takes you a beat too long to realize that he’s talking about your dancing. If the two of you were on better terms, you might have teased him about that night on the playground, many years ago, when he had fibbed about you being as good of a dancer as he is.

As it is, you can only respond with an equally soft, “Thanks.”

Being the bigger person lasts for all of fifty seconds, though, because Soonyoung’s next words prickle. 

“Could’ve been much bigger.” 

“Excuse me?”

He freezes, an oh shit type of expression crossing his face. Even so, he doubles down. “I'm just saying,” he starts, his tone growing slightly more defensive. “You could have done much more—” 

Your words are cold as your fingers close tighter around the half-empty bottle of Gatorade. “Am I not doing much where I am right now?” 

“You’re twisting my words,” he shoots back.

“Those are exactly your words,” you fume. 

It’s an old wound, one that Soonyoung poked with something sharp the second he returned home and made his presence known. You’ve done everything you can to ignore it, to keep the ache and the bitterness at bay, but you can’t help the way that it rises in your throat like bile. Something acidic, and foul, and unwelcome. 

You get to your feet, leaving the offered Gatorade on the bleacher. “Sorry not all of us moved to the city and had a big break, Kwon,” you say as you begin to gather your things.

“Jesus Christ.” Soonyoung’s cuss is punctuated with a laugh, but it’s not like any of the laughs you’re used to from him. The sound is annoyed, pained. Almost hurt, even, though you try not to dwell on that. 

Your relationship, your breakup, is an old wound that hasn’t completely healed. It’s been on the edge of festering ever since you lost contact with him. 

And, now, as you leave him stewing in his emotions, you figure that it’s only going to fester some more. 

--

Back then, the two of you had dubbed each other The Great Pretenders. 

Dating in high school required a certain level of delicadeza. While your relationship was largely accepted and acknowledged, there were still a number of things you had to hide from your families and friends. Tear-stained faces after petty arguments. Hickies under the collars of your school uniforms. 

It’s been years, but The Great Pretenders makes a reappearance when the pair of you have to face Teacher Kang the next day.

It goes unspoken that whatever the hell is going on between you two shouldn’t affect the showcase, shouldn’t be obvious to anyone that matters. And so the two of you update her on the kids’ progress, and sip the warm drinks that she offers, without any indication of having had a spat. 

The check-in winds to a close after a couple of polite exchanges. Teacher Kang seems pleased with preparations so far, though she looks even more happy about you and Soonyoung’s perceived civility, which damn near bowls you over. 

“By the way, Soonyoung,” Teacher Kang says conversationally as the three of you pack up for the afternoon. “How’s the studio?” 

“All good.” He pauses, like he realized he hadn’t given that sufficient of an answer. “We’re usually busy around this time of year, but I have one of my staff keeping watch while I’m here. I plan to head back once the holiday season is over.” 

You should’ve seen it coming, but something beneath your rib cage still twinges at the thought. You ignore the feeling in favor of shouldering your backpack. 

“You shouldn’t wait so long before coming back again,” Teacher Kang half-jokes.

Soonyoung’s chuckle— a dry, unconvincing huff of ha-ha— is chased with the cool delivery of “I’ll try to make it a more regular thing.”

In the corner of your eye, you catch what Teacher Kang misses. The most imperceptible tick in Soonyoung’s jaw. 

Liar, you think. Liar, liar, liar. 

You and Soonyoung had mastered the art of pretending, sure, but you could never quite get away from each other. 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“I’d forgotten the sound of my mother’s voice.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

--

The snow returns with a vengeance. 

It’s that time of winter where the streets are blanketed with white, where the sleet and rain makes conditions horrendous. You have no choice but to soldier through the soft hail as you make your way to the school, which you’re committed to reach come rain or shine.

Except when you get to the front doors, you’re greeted by a bemused-looking Soonyoung. 

You pat down your snow-clad clothes as you look him up and down. “Where are you going?” 

He answers your question with one of his own. “Haven’t you heard?” He holds up his phone. “Practice is cancelled today. Everybody’s snowed in.” 

You were rarely the type to walk and text, so your phone has been sitting pretty in your pocket this whole time. When you go to check it, you find messages from Teacher Kang. Canceling showcase preparations in lieu of the weather. Stay safe and dry. 

“I just found out myself,” Soonyoung says delicately. 

Ah. That explained why he was the only other person around. 

Disgruntled, you glance at your surroundings. There’s barely anyone present, and the snow is only seeming to fall heavier with each passing minute. You’d be lucky to get a cab at this rate—

“Or I could just drive you.” 

You jump a bit. At what point had you started saying that last thought out loud? 

“That’s not necessary,” you start to say, but Soonyoung is already fishing for his car keys in his jacket pocket. 

“I know you hate my ass,” he responds bluntly. “But that hatred isn’t worth freezing to death over, no?” 

His face is turned away from you, so there’s no way for you to tell what expression he’s sporting. It’s a small grace. Even though you dread the thought of being stuck in a small space with nothing but your thoughts and an old ghost to keep your company, you do hate the prospect of hypothermia even more. 

That’s how you end up in the passenger seat of Soonyoung’s beat-up Hyundai Pony, which stutters and bucks every time he has to take a turn. It’s the very same car that you both learned to drive in, though it’s looking significantly worse for wear. 

While nostalgia has proven to be a bitch, you can’t resist the jab on the tip of your tongue. “Jesus,” you breathe, your fingers tightening around your seatbelt as Soonyoung barely makes a corner. “I can’t believe this thing’s still alive.” 

“That makes two of us,” he quips with a grimace. 

Once the car miraculously makes its way past a snowed-out road, Soonyoung notes, “Remember when my dad first taught us how to get through rain?”

The memory brings the flicker of a smile to your face. “You were so scared you might run a squirrel over,” you say. 

“You swore up and down that you’d never drive on a wet road,” Soonyoung shoots back.  

“I still don’t,” you respond, glancing out the window for the lack of a better thing to look at. “I ask my dad to drive whenever it’s raining.” 

Soonyoung’s next words make you pause. “Your dad hated me,” he huffs. 

You let out a snort of laughter. “That’s not true. He really liked you.” 

“He always left the room whenever I came in,” Soonyoung argues. 

“He wanted to give us privacy.” You can’t help the sigh that slides past your lips, the sound edged with annoyance. “Really, you’ve got to stop blaming other people for why we didn’t work out.”

The words hang heavy in the din of the car. You wonder, for a second, if you’d been too callous, but there’s something like a rueful smile that tugs at Soonyoung’s face. 

“Sorry. Coping mechanism,” he responds, and you don’t push any further. 

An awkward couple of moments follow. Unfortunately for you, Soonyoung has never learned the art of tact— always pushing it just a little bit, right to the point where the tension is drawn like a rubber band. 

“You know, my mom has been asking about you,” Soonyoung says conversationally as he turns into your neighborhood. “Says I should invite you over for lunch.” 

Your grasp on the seatbelt is white-knuckled. It wasn’t like you were actively avoiding the Kwons; you were perfectly polite when you saw them in public, when you ran into them in the supermarket or at church. But it’s been years since you last stepped foot in their house, and for obvious reasons, too. 

“I’m not ready for that,” you answer tersely. 

Soonyoung is either oblivious to your agitation or ignorant of it. Regardless of which, he goes on, “I said the same thing. I guess she still thinks—” 

“Let’s not go there.” Your tone is just cutting enough to give Soonyoung pause, to have him stammer to a halt as he pulls to a stop in front of your house. “I’m hot having this conversation with you, Soonyoung.” 

He doesn’t apologize, though he does back down. “Right,” he mumbles as he parks. “Right.” 

You unbuckle your seatbelt, careful to keep your gaze trained away from Soonyoung. “Thanks for the ride.”

Soonyoung is graciously quiet as you step out of his car, though that lasts for all of ten seconds— just enough for you to almost close the door on him— when he speaks up. 

“Hey. For the record,” he starts, leaning over the center console to get in the last word. “I don’t blame anyone else for our breakup. I know whose fault it is.” 

You raise an eyebrow. He throws you an infuriating grin before reaching over to pull the door close himself. 

Soonyoung peels away, once again leaving you with more questions than answers. 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“It’s cold in the city, during the winter.” 

--

You and Soonyoung find yourselves doubling your efforts as the date of the showcase looms.

You spend more of your time with Teacher Kang. You extend a little more patience to the kids. You dance— dance the routines, dance with Soonyoung, dance around the truth. 

But when the elephant in the room is as big as it is, ignorance is not an option. And Soonyoung never did learn how to keep his mouth shut. 

It’s late in the evening, the two of you having pulled extra hours to work on decor. You’d felt like it was going a little too well with the way that the two of you were uncharacteristically cordial throughout the afternoon. But of course that was too good to be true, because just as you were packing up for the night, Soonyoung had to go and say— 

“Are you happy here?” 

You freeze midway into packing away the multi-colored, Christmas tree-shaped banners. That familiar flash of frustration, that inkling that he’s looking down on you, rises up again. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you say, and he’s immediately prickly. 

“It’s nothing.” He shoves some of the props behind the stage, hasty in his pursuit to end the conversation as fast as possible. “Forget I said anything.” 

“Come on,” you bristle. All the while, you’re also putting things back in place— your movements just a little more forceful than necessary. “Spit it out. You started it.” 

“I was just asking.” 

“You’re never ‘just asking’. Go on, say it.” 

“You—” 

The two of you are glaring at each other, now, your face red and Soonyoung’s fists balled at his side. When you speak, it’s with a tone that could cut through ice. 

“Just because I chose to stay,” you say. “It doesn’t mean my dreams are smaller than yours.” 

Soonyoung looks dumbstruck. His voice is impossibly tight; his words, reverberating in the otherwise empty hall. 

“I wasn’t going to say your dreams are small. It’s just… We—” He backtracks, like the pronoun had been a scalding slip of the tongue. “You could’ve sold out auditoriums.” 

Your answer is immediate, if not a little strained. 

“A sold out auditorium doesn’t matter if the one person you want isn’t at the recital,” you say. “Some people find happiness right where they are, and this is mine.” 

And that’s always been the crux of it, hasn’t it? Soonyoung has tried to make a name for himself in cities, in rooms full of people cheering his name. His definition of success was only achievable in quantity, in scale. Yours was different, and he could never really quite accept that. 

There’s a moment where Soonyoung doesn’t say anything, just looks at you with a pinched expression on his face. He opens his mouth like he might say something— 

“Oi! You two!”

You and Soonyoung jump, the tension that had been simmering between you two disappearing at the interruption. The school’s ancient janitor lingers by the door, squinting at you two. 

“Whaddya think yer still doin’ here?” the old man croaks, wielding his broom in a fashion that still makes you recoil. “It’s past curfew! Geddout!” 

Never mind the fact you and Soonyoung were now in your late twenties and long out of high school. The two of you still cower and meekly mumble, “Sorry, Mr. Cho.” 

It’s snowing again when the two of you step out. Soonyoung’s face is set in stone as he mumbles, “Get in my car.” 

Right. Like that was going to happen. 

With a wordless huff, you begin to march in the opposite direction to him. “Hey,” he calls out. “Where are you going?” 

“Home!” 

“In this— hey, it’s snowing!”

“That’s what happens during the winter!” 

You’d be a little more conscious about having a screaming match in the streets if it wasn’t nearly midnight. Something about the incessant snowfall and the cloak of darkness gives you just a little more courage to speak your mind, to toe that line that the two of you have so haphazardly drawn. 

Soonyoung marches after you, his own misgivings about the weather momentarily forgotten. He’s raring to fight, and it shows in the way he stomps through the snow like an overgrown child. 

“So that’s it, then?” he hollers from a couple of paces behind you. “You’re just going to stay here for the rest of your life, playing it safe? Work at the family restaurant because of filial piety? Marry— I don’t fucking know— guy-next-door Joshua Hong, and have babies, and—” 

“What is your problem?!” you snap, rounding on Soonyoung. He skids to a halt, stopping himself from completely barreling into you. “Why are you acting like you know me?” 

“Because I do!” His voice cracks on the last word. “I know you!”

“No, you don’t.” 

“I know you very well.” 

“From what? Jihoon and Wonwoo’s stories?” There’s a muscle straining in your neck from the way you’ve raised your voice, but you can’t find it in yourself to back down. “Think that’s enough to fill a six-year gap?” 

That seems to get Soonyoung. “You never reached out to me! Not once!” he seethes. 

“Well, neither did you!”

“I didn’t think—” His breath catches. He pushes on. “I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.” 

“That’s a bullshit excuse and you know it.” 

“What’s your excuse, then?” he shoots back. “Come on. I’m dying to hear it.” 

What’s your excuse, he’s asking. Why haven’t you reached out? If you were so angry and upset about the radio silence, why did you do nothing about it? 

Several answers occur to you at once. There was Soonyoung’s own flimsy reasoning. I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.

There was something close to the truth, something a little too vulnerable to be spoken out loud. I was mad at you. I hated you for a bit. I think I still hate you even now. 

There was the whisper of something treacherous, something damning. I was scared that I would only end up asking for you to come back. 

None of those words come out. You stay standing across from Soonyoung in the wake of his challenge, your face flushed, your gaze narrow. He glares right back at you, unyielding in his pride and his pain. 

The silence stretches. It becomes an answer in itself. 

“Exactly,” Soonyoung says with a heavy exhale. There’s a spark of flint in his eyes, a flicker of something that could almost be likened to hurt. “It takes two people to break up. You always seem to forget that.” 

As he begins to stalk away, you’re overcome with that feeling again. That heavy weight in your chest, put there whenever you know he got the last word, whenever he turned out to be right. Soonyoung has only taken about three steps away before you’re bending down and cupping some snow in your hands. 

The hastily-made snowball hits Soonyoung on the back of his head. It splatters against his hair, leaving tiny, glistening flakes tangled in his blonde strands. 

He freezes, but only for a moment. In the blink of an eye, Soonyoung is already crouching down to retaliate. He’s quicker and much more savage, and his revenge soars through the end to land squarely in your chest. 

You stagger backward, the gasp catching in your throat. Oh, it’s on.

What ensues is the most ruthless snowball fight that your small town has seen. Snowballs are hurled with reckless abandon, the ice crystals getting everywhere from your clothes to your socks. Neither of you even bother to try and hide from the onslaught. The two of you take each other’s attacks, every hit punctuated with heatless insults that have simmered too long. 

“You never called—” Soonyoung screeches, sending a cold sphere against your shoulder. 

“You didn’t visit—” you shriek as you shape ammunition in your gloved hands. 

“You deleted every photo of me off your Facebook—” A snowball to your side. 

“You talked to Jihoon and Wonwoo, but not me—” Another square hit to Soonyoung’s chest, sending a puff of powdery snow up into his face.

“Coward!”

“Asshole!”

It feels like hours before the two of you let up. 

The two of you are covered in snow from head to toe; your chests heaving from exertion, your cheeks ruddy from the cold. The heat of the exchange leaves you both puffing breaths that cloud the air between you. 

There’s a hint of something in your stances. Something that feels like it belongs to another time— before the breakup, before the distance. 

Quietly, Soonyoung starts to laugh. 

His hands are on his hips and his head is tilted back. The flakes catch on his eyelashes, his hair, but he keeps his face upturned to the sky as he laughs, and laughs, and laughs. 

That old, familiar sound. The one that warms you up from the inside, whether or not you care to admit it. You’re doubled over, your hands on your knees, as you watch him look more and more like the boy you loved and lost. 

“I hate you,” you choke out, though a corner of your mouth has twitched upward. 

He doesn’t even look at you as he responds.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Missed you, too.” 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“Am I not allowed to?” 

--

“Soonyoung says you two kissed and made up.” 

You shoot Jihoon an unamused glare. 

From across you, he raises his hand in a defensive gesture. “I didn’t believe him, of course,” he insists, though you don’t miss the way he and Wonwoo try to discreetly exchange money under the table. 

Wonwoo catches your suspicious expression and gives you an apologetic grin in return. 

“Made a bet,” he says. 

“You two suck,” you groan. 

Your three’s weekly lunch has gone mostly swimmingly up to the point that Jihoon had brought up Soonyoung. Now, though, with the topic broached, neither of your friends see the need to be discreet about it. 

“I do wonder why Soonie decided to come home now, after all these years,” Wonwoo muses aloud, toying with his chopsticks as he speaks. “Seems a bit out of the blue, doesn’t it?” 

“He came home because Teacher Kang asked him,” you point out. 

One of Jihoon’s eyebrows cocks upward. “Teacher Kang has asked him every year for the past couple of years,” he says. “So it’s not just that, I’m sure.” 

Wonwoo chimes in with, “Must be something real important, then.” 

Jihoon nearly smirks. “Or someone.” 

What feels like your nth groan of the evening escapes you. “Put a sock in it, you two,” you grumble, drawing snickers from your friends.

Jihoon mouths something to Wonwoo. You can’t make it out for certain, but it looks suspiciously like a wordless grumble of Bet’s still on. 

--

Civility is a rare thing to share with Soonyoung. 

With the showcase mere days away, it’s a welcome development. At least it’s easier for the two of you to iron out the chinks in the routines, to ensure the program is up to par with the school’s standards.

But with civility comes an even more fragile thing— hope. 

It’s in the way Soonyoung will hold open doors for you or haul the heavier props on your behalf, much to your chagrin and to Teacher Kang’s amusement. 

It’s in the way Soonyoung starts to make small talk about everything from your day job to your parents, never minding much that he’s the one who has to carry half the conversations. 

It’s in the way Soonyoung tries to make you laugh, and how, one afternoon, he finally succeeds.

You can’t even remember what it was. Some terrible joke about the kids, maybe. All you know is that a snort of laughter had slid out of you, the sound not quite the derisive giggles you’d been giving him the past couple of weeks. 

You’re still chuckling when you see Soonyoung’s face. 

Immediately, you sober up. “What?” you ask, because he’s staring at you with his jaw slack and his eyes slightly wide. 

He tries to rearrange his expression into something more acceptable; it’s too late, given that you’ve already caught him. Soonyoung may have not always been honest, but he was expressive. 

You glare at him, indicating that he’s not about to escape, and he huffs out a defeated sigh. 

“It’s just— I forgot, okay?” 

“Forgot what?” 

“How good happiness looks on you.” 

Who the hell says something like that on a random Thursday? 

Soonyoung still has that vaguely dazed look in his eyes, even though you’ve begun to stare at him like he’s insane. As he walks away to go and refill his water bottle, he nearly collides with one of the auditorium’s poles, drawing raucous laughter from the kids. 

You shush them, the tips of your ears beginning to flame. 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“It was about time.” 

--

It’s nothing short of a miracle, how you, Jihoon, Soonyoung, and Wonwoo all end up at the same table at Taco Joe’s. 

Jihoon had been the one who proposed the idea. So casually, too, like he was readying himself for one of your infamous tirades or a flurry of your punches. Soonyoung wants to grab drinks with all of us.

To Jihoon and Wonwoo’s surprise, you had only responded with, “When?” 

Neither boys want to look a gift horse in the mouth, so they’re extra careful in playing their cards right. Wonwoo vows to be the designated driver. Jihoon holds back on making any jokes about the whole affair. And, Soonyoung— well, he’s just happy to be there. 

“This place really hasn’t changed, huh?” Soonyoung snickers as he sips at his beer. 

There’s not a lot of bars to choose from in your small town, making Taco Joe’s something of an institution. Its low lights, Top 50’s playlist, and cheap drinks attract more of the mid-twenties crowd, though there had been a time in your teenage years when you’d all tried and failed to sneak in. 

“Joe threatened to ban us for life when we first stepped foot in here,” Jihoon reminisces. 

Wonwoo pushes his glasses up his face by the bridge of his nose. “Worse,” he says. “He said he would tell our parents.” 

Simultaneously, the four of you shudder. A small smile tugs at your lips as you extend your cocktail for the boys to cheers with. 

“To vindication,” you announce. 

There’s a ripple of laughter among your friends. 

“Vindication,” they echo, clinking their bottles and glasses with yours. 

A part of you is suspicious at how pleasant the night is going. The conversation is easy, if not a little on the safe side. The drinks are good. The music is more often a hit instead of a miss. It’s shaping up to be a decent evening, though there are a handful of interruptions here and there. 

Kwon Soonyoung is a bit of a local celebrity, after all. 

Everybody and their mother knows about his swanky dance studio in the city, about the idols and celebrities he’s met in his line of work. Every so often, someone will stop by to greet him, to exchange a word or two with him. 

Soonyoung is perfectly amicable to all of them. His smile, practiced; his words, cool and smooth. After the fourth or so person has come up to say hello to the Hoshi, Jihoon voices out what you’ve all been thinking. 

“It’s so exhausting hanging out with you,” Jihoon says dryly.

Soonyoung giggles mid-swig of his alcohol. “Can’t help it.” He fakes a tired sigh, his shoulders rising in a shrug. “Everybody wants a piece of me.” 

“I’ll tear you to pieces if anyone else comes up to us,” Wonwoo warns. 

Your gaze flicks over Wonwoo’s shoulder, towards someone approaching your corner table. “Get those claws ready, Wonu,” you say.

When Joshua Hong saunters up to your group’s table, though, his greeting for Soonyoung is cursory at best. 

“Nice to see you back, Kwon,” the man says politely before turning his attention to you. “Hey, you.” 

You straighten in your seat. Jihoon and Wonwoo exchange a look. Soonyoung’s eyes narrow ever so slightly as he gives a grumbled ‘hello’ to Joshua’s lackluster greeting. 

It’s apparent that Joshua isn’t there for him, because Joshua is instead smiling at you. “Hey,” you respond in kind. “What’s up?” 

Joshua had been an upperclassman during your school days, part of the infamous trio featuring troublemaker Yoon Jeonghan and varsity captain Choi Seungcheol. But Joshua was more on the mild side, known for his volunteer work at the local choir. He wasn’t any less unattainable, though, and you’re reminded of why Soonyoung so callously threw his name out during your more recent spat. 

Prior to dating Soonyoung, you did have a raging crush on Joshua, after all. You’re briefly reminded of it as he flashes you a warm smile. “I was hoping I could buy you a drink,” he says. “For… you know.” 

There’s absolutely nothing coy in Joshua’s words. He’s not suggestive, not trying to come on to you. All the same, the three boys at your table react like Joshua had just proposed. 

Jihoon bites back a grin. Wonwoo cocks his head to one side. Soonyoung shoots back a quarter of his beer. 

For… you know, Joshua is saying, and you know exactly what he means even though the rest aren’t privy to it. You’re already getting to your feet before you can register it. “Yeah,” you say, nodding towards the bar. “Let’s go.” 

None of your friends say a thing as you step away with Joshua, but you can feel their eyes on your back. You know you’re going to get hell for it later— but, for now, you focus on the small talk that Joshua has to offer. 

He lets you pick out your cocktail of choice. As the bartender goes to make it, Joshua smiles down at you. There had been a time where you might’ve keened over at the sight of it; now, though, it only makes your heart flutter a bit. 

His voice is just loud enough to be heard over the thumping music, but low enough that it’s just for the two of you. 

“Thank you for your help,” he says. “Really. You’re a life-saver.” 

Your expression softens underneath the lights of the bar. “How’s your dad?” 

Joshua’s smile is a little tight, but not any less sincere. “Better,” he responds. “It’s rough, of course, but he’s coping.” 

Earlier in the year, Joshua’s father had been one of your firm’s clients. It had been a lot more challenging than you thought, working with someone you personally knew. The arduous process had involved unsecured debts, scarred credit scores, and seized collaterals, but you were ultimately able to help the Hongs in closing down their music school. 

“I’m glad.” You pause, as if realizing that’s not quite the right thing to say. “I’m not glad about what happened—” 

Joshua’s laughter cuts through your tirade. Your shoulders ease when you realize it’s not a particularly mean laugh. More of an amused sound at your panic. 

“Don’t worry, I get it,” he reassures as the bartender slides your drinks to you. Joshua gives the other man a nod and a mumbled promise of tipping later.

“I don’t want to keep you,” Joshua says. “Just wanted to show my appreciation.” 

“You didn’t have to.” Your fingers wrap around the drink he brought you. “But thank you, anyway.” 

Joshua nods, grins. The lines are clear as day. He’s not flirting, not trying to get in your pants or anything. The drink is exactly that: A show of gratitude. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Some old version of you might have been disappointed. Tonight, you are only oddly relieved. The two of you talk a little more— about things that are neither here nor there— before Joshua lets you go. 

Upon your return to your table, you’re greeted with a sight for sore eyes. 

Somehow, in the fifteen or so minutes that you were gone, Soonyoung had already shot back his first bottle of beer. As you slide back into your seat next to Wonwoo, your bespectacled friend quietly divulges, “That’s his third one.” 

“Third?” You glance toward Soonyoung, your eyebrows raised quizzically. “Are you trying to get alcohol poisoning or something?” 

Soonyoung only flashes you a grin before taking another swig. He ignores your question in favor of chatting Jihoon’s ear off; the latter throws you a bemused look before going back to his conversation with Soonyoung. 

You huff out a sigh as you go to nurse the cocktail that Joshua got you. 

“I wonder what’s gotten into him,” Wonwoo says, his tone just a little too smug for his own good. 

You shoot him a sideways glare. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip, hiding his blooming smile behind a sip of his soda. 

As the night wears on, you begin to feel that familiar buzz in your system. The telltale signs of your tipsiness leave you pleasantly sated— your laughter a little less restrained, your brain a lot more empty. So when Soonyoung leans across the table to yell at you, “Let’s dance!”, your first instinct is not to say Fuck off. 

The words that come out instead are “To what song?” 

Soonyoung is already standing up and moving around the table to get to your side. An intoxicated Jihoon and sober Wonwoo only watch on, spectators to this impending dumpster fire, as Soonyoung reaches out to tug you out of your seat. 

“Any song,” he breathes. His face is flushed a deep shade of red, but his eyes are as bright as ever. “Anything you want.” 

There’s a right thing to do in this situation.

The right thing to do would be to let Soonyoung down politely. To tell him no, you’re not interested in dancing. You’re happy to drink with him and your friends, but you’re not about to indulge him with the thing that once made the two of you so close. You don’t think your heart can take it. 

But you’re two cocktails in. The music is good. And Soonyoung is looking at you with that absolutely incandescent expression, faring not any better than you in the game of sobriety. How could you deny him? 

You let him pull you to your feet. His hand stays wrapped around your wrist as he drags you out onto the dance floor, as he leans over to the DJ and yells, “Do you have any GD?!”

The current track transitions into the unmistakable beats of Good Boy. Soonyoung’s face lights up like a firework. 

You’re drunk enough to laugh at him, with him, as you easily fall into the decade-old dance routine. No matter how long it’s been, it seems like your body still remembers every step, every hand movement. 

You’re drunk enough to not care that Wonwoo is not-so discreetly filming the two of you, that Jihoon is wearing a knowing smirk. Come tomorrow, your friends will have a lot to say about this moment. But, right now, it’s all inconsequential. 

You’re drunk enough to dance. To dance in a way that isn’t simply for Christmas showcase purposes. To dance and remember why you loved it so much in the first place. 

To dance with the boy who got you into it in the first place. 

Good Boy spins into Home Sweet Home, then Fantastic Baby, then Gee. You and Soonyoung dance through it all. Honestly, you’re no longer built for this the same way that you once were, and you’re certainly not up to par with Soonyoung.

His drunkenness does nothing to dampen his energy or his dancing skills. He moves across the floor with the practiced ease of a professional, putting everyone to shame without even trying. His toothy smile never leaves his face as the two of you swing and pop and glide. 

By the time the DJ starts to play more modern pop, you call for a time-out. Soonyoung stumbles after you and the two of you collapse onto a nearby couch, boneless from the non-stop dancing. 

Wonwoo is off to one side, chatting with a girl, while Jihoon is nowhere to be found. You wouldn’t hold it past the latter to be on a smoke break of some sorts; nights out always tended to drain him, after all. 

“Insane,” Soonyoung croaks out. Blonde strands of his hair stick to his face due to sweat. You resist the urge to fix it.

“I haven’t danced like that in ages,” you say, rolling your shoulders to fight off the growing ache in your body. 

Soonyoung tries to laugh. The sound comes out more like a wheeze. His next words are mumbled in between attempts to catch his breath. “You’re good, babe.” 

Come Back Home is thumping through the speakers. You try to focus on that instead of Soonyoung’s Freudian slip; you fail miserably, and it must show on your face because Soonyoung sucks in some air through his teeth. 

“Sorry.” He’s laughing, but the sound is a bit rough around the edges. “Moment of weakness.” 

A beat. “Wanna dance some more?” he prompts. 

Whether it’s a desperate bid to run from his words or a sincere offer by a man who simply lives to dance, you don’t question it. “Yeah,” you say a little too quickly. “Let’s dance.” 

You dance until you feel like your feet are going to fall off. Soonyoung matches your pace, never missing a beat. When he needs to take a break, he drinks some more— an endless cycle of dance floor shenanigans and drawn-out sips of beer. 

It’s probably why he’s swaying by the time that you’re all calling it a night. Wonwoo and Jihoon flank Soonyoung on either side, the blonde still somehow having the tenacity to chatter while dragging his feet. He’s talking out of his ass about one thing or another, like music these days “not being as good as the OGs,” and you can sense Wonwoo’s exasperation over the whole thing. 

“Living in Seoul has done absolutely nothing for your tolerance,” Wonwoo grumbles, prompting Soonyoung to go into a long-winded rant about the cultural differences in drinking culture. 

The relief on Wonwoo’s face is palpable as he shoves Soonyoung into the backseat of his car. 

Jihoon gives a nod of his own. “You’ll be good to drive?” he asks Wonwoo.  

“Didn’t drink a drop,” Wonwoo chirps. “You?” 

“Sobered up, like, two hours ago,” Jihoon says wryly. He gives you a vicious side eye— wordlessly blaming you for not being able to go home any earlier, since he was your designated driver— and you raise your shoulders in a half-shrug. 

“You were the one who invited me out to drink.” Your voice is hoarse from all the alcohol, from the physical exertion of non-stop dancing. 

You’re somehow lucid enough to register that Soonyoung is calling for you. There’s a slight pout on his face, like he’s upset to be missing out on the conversation. He’s bracing himself against the frame of the car door, his legs swung over the seat, as you gingerly approach.

“What?” you ask.  

This close, you can smell his faint cologne, mingling with the scent of alcohol and sweat. 

This close, you can see the way his eyes are slightly unfocused; his mouth, still bearing the hint of a glowing smile. 

“You—” he croaks out. 

His gaze darts to your lips. It’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment. You don’t miss it.

Your breath stills in your chest, and Soonyoung is looking up at your face like he’s searching for something. Denial? Reciprocity? 

He must not have found what he was looking for, because the words he grumbles are, “I’m going to hurl.” 

Wonwoo’s panicked shriek cuts through the otherwise quiet parking lot. 

“Not in my fucking car, asswipe!” 

--

Soonyoung’s hangover the next day is comical. 

You can’t help but snicker as he rolls up to the showcase’s dry run with shades over his eyes and a large cup of coffee in his shaking hands. 

“You suck,” he hisses to you as he slides on to the bench next to you. Teacher Kang is busy heralding the students, getting them into their costumes and places, so the two of you have a minute alone before the hubbub strikes up. 

“You’re the one who can’t hold down his alcohol,” you respond, eyeing his slumped form with amusement. 

Soonyoung mumbles some incoherent cusses, his free hand reaching up to rub at his temples. 

“God, my last memory was Hong coming up to the table,” he grouses. 

You’re reminded of the inordinate amount of alcohol he downed in your brief absence. I wonder what’s gotten into him, Wonwoo had said. 

“That clears,” you say sympathetically. 

There’s a moment’s pause before Soonyoung tentatively asks, “Did the two of you ever…?” 

You don’t immediately register what he’s asking about Joshua. When it hits you, though, you find a startled laugh sliding past your lips. Because there’s Wonwoo’s answer, even though you don’t recognize it then and there. 

“Hong? No, no.” For reasons you can’t quite explain, you feel compelled to tack on, “I haven’t really had the time to date.” 

“Oh.” It kills you, how Soonyoung almost sounds relieved. “Me, too. I mean— me neither.” 

“Ah.” 

“Running a dance studio is a lot of work.” 

“Right.” 

“And I’m sure— law school, right? That was a lot of work, too.” 

“Right, yeah.” 

It’s a stilted conversation, one heavy in its implications. The real things that the two of you want to say, want to address, linger on the surface, but neither of you seem to want to break that ice. 

You settle, instead, for this moment. For the negligible distance between the two of you on the bleachers and how it closes, slow but steady, like the ticking hands of a clock. 

Your shoulder just barely presses against Soonyoung’s. 

Neither of you move away. 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“Because I love you, and I miss you.” 

“You’re lying.” 

“Only one of those is a lie, actually.” 

--

You’ve always liked being front of house during the showcase.

You’re a familiar face to the parents of the children, to the community members who attended the event every year. Their warmth is a welcome reprieve from your nerves. 

You make small talk. You usher people to their seats. You try not to wonder where the hell Kwon Soonyoung is. 

Despite having his calling card, you haven’t deigned to reach out. It’s tucked away in a drawer at home; you don’t quite know what to do with it. Maybe you’ll actually save his number one of these days. 

You’re entertaining the thought when you feel a hand at your elbow. The smiling face of Iseul’s mother— the pompous but well-meaning Mrs. Hwang— greets you. 

“There’s no need for that,” she says with a chuckle as you fold into a bow. You don’t miss the way she nonetheless preens at your formalities. It’s why you keep up with it. 

You let her link your arms and, out of instinct, you begin to lead her to one of the free seats in the auditorium. “Are you excited for this year’s show, Mrs. Hwang?” you ask conversationally. 

“You know it,” she answers. “Iseul has been talking non-stop about her performance, but she refuses to tell me what song to expect!”

You’d recognize Mrs. Hwang’s baiting tendencies from a mile away. With a curt giggle, you tell her, “You’ll find out soon enough, Mrs. Hwang. I promise it’ll be worth the suspense.” 

The older woman gives you a disapproving frown, but it smooths out as she seems to realize a change in topic. The auditorium is notably a little more packed this year, enough to have the volunteers bringing out additional Monobloc chairs. 

“I guess people want to see what the Kwon boy has done to the showcase, hm?” she notes, speaking into existence the fact that you’ve neglected to acknowledge so far.

Surprisingly, you don’t feel bitter about it. People were showing up to assess Soonyoung’s choreography, to bask in the product of his labor. There’s a twinge of something in your chest. It could almost be mistaken for pride.  

Mrs. Hwang tacks on, “Mighty shame.” 

That throws you off. “Pardon?” 

She doesn’t respond immediately, her eyes zeroing in on an empty chair by the front of the stage. She practically drags you there as she continues, “It’s really so unfortunate. The whole thing about his dance studio tanking.” 

The whole thing about his dance studio tanking. 

What the hell was she talking about? 

The universe, once again, had to be messing with you. You’re convinced this is some skit. Some buildup to a joke. 

But the punch line never comes, and you end up admitting, “I don’t think I’ve heard about that yet, Mrs. Hwang.” 

Your voice is surprisingly even for someone whose world was closing in. If Mrs. Hwang can sense the trepidation in your demeanor, she makes no indication of it. You’re grateful for her obliviousness, even, because she only keeps talking as she settles into her seat. 

“My girls are always talking about it,” she says, referring to the group of forty-something-year-old women who like to gather and gossip in the town’s sole Italian restaurant. “That’s why he’s back. Couldn’t hack it out there.” 

When she glances up at you with a scrutinizing expression, you just know you’re not going to like what she says next. You’re proven right when she says, “We thought he’d ask for your help, actually. Isn’t liquidation your specialty?” 

You can’t be bothered to correct the woman over the technicalities. You give her a tight smile, a nod of your head, a polite ‘goodbye’ as you take your leave. 

There are much more pressing matters, you think to yourself, as you go to greet more guests, make sure the music is all queued up, check in on the host’s script.

You didn’t spend over a month preparing for tonight only to lose yourself before it’s even begun. You refuse to let the new piece of information trip you up, even though it has your heart acting like a caged animal underneath your ribs. 

The showcase goes by without a hitch. The children are more than phenomenal; they’re perfect. 

The audience is enamored. The teachers are overjoyed. 

You want nothing more than to go home and tear up Soonyoung’s calling card. 

As the showcase wraps up to enthusiastic applause, Teacher Kang snatches the microphone from the host for one last announcement. 

“This wouldn’t have been possible without two of our very tireless volunteers,” she says, and— from backstage— you wince. Before you know it, you’re being pushed out onto the stage.

Soonyoung exits from the other stage wing.

He’s managed to evade you the entire showcase, and now you realize why. In his arms, he holds a monstrous bouquet. Yellow acacias, striped carnations, bunch-flowered daffodils. Your first thought is how expensive it might have been, to find out-of-season blooms in the thick of winter. 

Your second thought is that you want to hurl, but that’s neither here nor there. 

As Soonyoung strides in from the other side of the stage to meet you in the middle, he sees it. He sees the hint of trepidation underneath your practiced grin, sees the way your eyes flash momentarily. His own grin drops ever so slightly. 

But the two of you are in an auditorium, on a stage in front of Namyangju’s best and brightest. Neither of you can afford to give voice to what you feel. 

Soonyoung hands you the bouquet. You nod in acknowledgement. 

The two of you instinctively reach for each other’s hands.

You hadn’t noticed that the crowd had gotten to their feet. A standing ovation. It feels like an echo of the past, a cruel reminder of an alternate universe. 

Even so, your smile never wavers. Neither does Soonyoung’s. He raises your hand. The two of you take a bow. 

The Great Pretenders put on their best show yet.

--

“What was that?” 

A part of you is surprised that Soonyoung found you. The moment the showcase officially concluded, you were booking it out of the auditorium before he could even get a word in edgewise. Gracefully, the dozens of people hounding him for photos and small talk let you widen the gap. 

Still, he caught up. Just as you were passing by the godforsaken playground that had witnessed the ending of it all. Oh, the universe and its jokes. 

Soonyoung is red-faced, like you’d embarrassed him somehow despite the convincing act you both put on. Your fingers tighten around the bouquet he gave you. 

“What was that?” he repeats, and what little restraint you had left snaps. 

“Why did you come home?” you ask point blank. 

“Teacher Kang—” 

“Don’t,” you snipe. “Teacher Kang asked you last year. And the year before that. Why did you come home now, Soonyoung?” 

The question hangs heavy in the early December evening. You and Soonyoung are staring at each other, mere paces away from the swing set where the two of you made your choices.

He doesn’t answer right away, so you prompt him with, “Is it because of me?” 

Soonyoung misinterprets the question. You can see the way his eyes light up, the way his lips part like he’s just about to say something of consequence. 

You almost feel guilty about the next words that tear out of you. “You’re going bankrupt,” you say, and the hope on his face fizzles out like a popped lightbulb. 

“Who told you—” he chokes out. 

“So it’s true?” 

Kwon Soonyoung is struck dumb.

Soonyoung, whose mouth ran faster than his brain. Soonyoung, who was full of quick quips and witty remarks. 

Soonyoung, who is now staring at you like you’ve told him the world was about to end. 

You contemplate throwing his bouquet in his face. It will make for a dramatic, pretty picture— the petals falling onto the soft snow, the fuck you loud despite being unspoken. For now, you only clutch the arrangement closer to your chest like it's a lifeline.

“And here I thought—” Your breath hitches on a scoff, the puff of air visible in the chill. “I was a fool who thought you came back for me.” 

The truth cuts. Your laugh bitterly as you go on, “I guess you still did, though, huh? Because you need me. What? Were you hoping to avail of cheap services, Kwon?” 

“That’s not—” 

“That’s exactly it!” Your tone is shrill. Soonyoung always did bring out the worst in you. “You were away for six years, and now you’ve come crawling back—” 

“Do you think I wanted to fail?” 

Soonyoung’s voice rises, his frustration bubbling over to match yours. 

“I starved out there,” he bites out. “Ate cup noodles for a year so the studio could afford rent for one more month. Sold half of my stuff so I could pay my employees. It was so hard.” 

The way Soonyoung’s voice breaks on the last word makes something in your heart clench. For a moment, you think it might be pity, but you kill the feeling as soon as it tries to make itself known. 

You don’t want to pity Soonyoung, which is both an insult and a grace. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you ask instead, even though a part of you already knows the answer. 

A sound that’s almost like a delirious laugh escapes him. “Not when I was the one who made it out,” he responds. 

You never realized how much you’d prefer Soonyoung’s cocky, self-assured self over this version of him. This boy— man— who is defeated and resigned. Even in your anger, there is a small part of you that wants to do something to wipe that look off his face.  

“I made it out,” he repeats wearily, like it’s taking everything in him to face the truth of being Namyangju’s failing poster boy. 

He continues, “I gave up everything to be there. I gave up you.”

Your grip on the bouquet tightens. There’s a faint prickle behind your eyes, but you refuse to let those tears fall. “You did that like it was easy,” you mumble, your voice just loud enough to carry. 

Soonyoung meets your gaze. He looks like he’s on the verge of sobbing himself, but his tone brokers no arguments. 

“It wasn’t,” he says.

And that was that. 

You’ve never been able to stand not having the last word. You clear your throat, attempting to speak through the lump forming there. “Yeah, well,” you say shakily. “You’re not the only one who lost something.” 

It’s a shitty comparison and you know it. Soonyoung’s sacrifices dwarf yours. You weren’t the one who moved away, who bore the weight of an entire city’s pride. 

Thankfully, Soonyoung doesn’t call you out on it. He only takes a sharp exhale and turns his gaze away, his eyes fixed on the swings. 

When he speaks, his voice is quiet. Almost like the words are an afterthought. “For the record— that night?” he says. You don’t have to ask for clarification. You know exactly which night he’s talking about. 

“I was hoping you’d change my mind,” he confesses. 

A physical blow to the chest would have hurt less. You stagger, but you try to mask it like you’re taking a step back. Like you’re walking away, even as your eyes never leave Soonyoung’s face. 

“And I was hoping I’d be worth staying for,” you say with a humorless laugh, the distance between the two of you growing, growing, growing. 

Your parting words are the proverbial nail on the coffin: “I guess we both didn’t get what we wanted.” 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“I didn’t know where else to go.” 

--

For once, Jihoon and Wonwoo have nothing to say. 

No wisecrack. No jab. No exchange of money in some backhanded bet. 

They listen as you recount the salient points of the argument. You keep the personal stuff out of your own retelling, focusing only on the broad strokes. The biggest concern lies in one nagging question. 

“Did you know?” you ask, your hands bracing the table in front of you. 

“No,” Jihoon says immediately. 

Wonwoo chimes in with a quiet “Me neither.” 

You know these boys. You’ve seen them lie to their parents about their homework, lie to their girlfriends about where they were. 

They’re not lying now. You know that much. 

A shaky exhale escapes you. It’s been three days since the fight and you’ve yet to run into Soonyoung. You wouldn’t hold it past him to avoid you, either by steering clear from the places you frequent or getting on the first bus back to Seoul. 

“When he asked about how you were doing,” Jihoon says gruffly. “I thought it was just— yearning or some shit.” 

“Me, too,” Wonwoo adds. 

Yearning or shit. The words almost make you laugh. 

The pinched expression on your face prompts Wonwoo to ask, “Are you upset?” 

‘Upset’ feels like too light of a term to describe the maelstrom of emotions within you. There are facts: You wish you had known. You could have afforded to be kinder. You are afraid that you will never stop being angry. 

You answer Wonwoo’s question with a mumbled, “Would it be cliché to say that I’m just disappointed?” 

“Ah.” His face is thoughtful, understanding. “Because you expected something from him.” 

“That’s not it,” you say dryly. 

It is. 

The three of you lapse into contemplative silence. Jihoon breaks it after a couple of moments, his tone soft and serious. 

“I know it’s shitty,” he says. “But I do hope that he’s okay.” 

That would be the mature thing to do. Even Wonwoo is nodding his agreement, willing to set aside his own gripes in favor of well wishing.

You can’t bring yourself to do the same. The platitude sticks in your throat until you feel like it will suffocate you. 

--

Soonyoung has an alibi for not showing up to Teacher Kang’s post-processing session. 

You’re grateful that the elderly woman doesn’t go on about the details of his absence. She mentions something about him being busy with the holidays, and you take it in stride. 

You try not to picture the way his jaw might’ve twitched before sending out the text, before lying to get away. 

“Everybody loved the show,” Teacher Kang gushes. “I’m so proud of you, dear. I really do hope we can have Soonyoung on board more often.” 

An offhand joke of “we’ll probably be seeing a lot more of him in the near future” crosses your mind, but you hold it back. You may be calloused, but you’re not heartless. 

You nod. You agree with Teacher Kang. You hold it together, up until you’re halfway out the door and she calls you back for one last word. 

“You know,” she starts. “I remember the two of you when you were kids.”

You’d been dreading this— the inevitable trip down memory lane. You thought you had escaped it, but now you’re facing it with one of the world’s fakest smiles. 

“That was a long time ago,” you say. 

“It was.” There’s a glimmer in Teacher Kang’s eye. Something unbearably tender. “Soonyoung always made you smile a certain way. You’ve started smiling like that again. It’s nice to see.” 

You don’t know how you manage to laugh it off, to bid Teacher Kang goodbye and make your way back to your car. Your hands are shaking as you slide into the driver’s seat of your car.

The school’s parking lot is gracefully empty. It’s a good thing, because then no one can hear you as you fold in half and screech. 

You scream until your voice goes hoarse, until the windows shake. 

You scream until you can’t hear the way your chest is caving in on your heart. 

--

Your theory of running into everyone but Soonyoung is proven when you’re sooner to cross paths with Mama Kwon.

Your carts nearly collide in the pasta aisle of the grocery store. You’re already bowing, apologizing profusely, when you realize that you recognize the woman holding a can of pesto.

She says your name with the fondness that could rival your own mother’s. It takes everything in you not to bolt at the sound of it.

“What a coincidence,” she says with a tinkling laugh. 

You know in your heart of hearts that it’s exactly that. A coincidence. Still, you can’t help but think some higher power is out to get you. Call it karmic justice. 

“How have you been, Mrs. Kwon?” you ask, feeling the slight nip of not addressing the woman as you typically might. 

She notices too, if her slightly furrowed brow is any indication. She manages to rearrange her expression into something more neutral as she answers. 

“You know how the holidays are,” she says, wielding her pesto bottle in an absentminded gesture. “It’s a full house!” 

That stings. 

You’ve heard from your mother how the past couple of years, Mama Kwon would complain about her household feeling empty during the holidays. The seat at the dining table stayed vacant for the son that refused to come home. 

You don’t know how much she knows about the state of the dance studio, so you decide to play it safe. “I’m sure it is,” you say. 

The small talk is tearing you up from the inside, but you don’t want to be rude. Don’t want to be a stranger to the woman who once cared for you so deeply— who probably still cares for you, if you really thought of it. 

The question is out of you before you can hold it back. “Are you with Soonyoung?” 

What would you even do with that information? Would you have booked it if she said ‘yes, he’s right around the corner’? Would you have cried if she revealed that he headed back to the city? 

You’re not sure. 

Here’s what happens instead: A sigh nearly breaks out of you when Mama Kwon responds, “He’s in the next shop over, getting some repairs for the car. We’re meeting at Italianni's for lunch.” 

Still here, a small voice murmurs in the back of your mind. Hasn’t left for Seoul just yet. 

You shake the thought away as Mama Kwon delicately prompts, “Would you like to join us?” 

Mama Kwon is probably not inviting you solely out of politeness. She’s making the offer because she wants you to be there. She wants you to be at the same table as her family, sharing a pizza and whatever the restaurant’s special for the day is. She wants you to sit next to Soonyoung and play nice, even though you currently can’t stomach the thought of being anywhere near him. 

For some reason, it makes you want to cry. 

To lose somebody in a breakup is painful, yes. To lose all the things that came with it— like the family that you might have learned to love yourself? 

A different type of ache all together. 

Your smile is so painfully fake, almost hurting the edges of your mouth, as you try to let her down gently. “I wouldn’t want to impose,” you say. “But thank you for thinking of me.” 

For once, The Great Pretenders is met with negative reviews. 

Then again, nothing ever really escaped Mama Kwon’s scrutinizing gaze. She surveys your expression and purses her lips. You can practically see the way that the cogs turn in her brain, as if trying to decide on the response that will do the least amount of damage. 

It doesn’t matter how gentle she tries to be. The words that she eventually extends still hurt like a bitch. 

“He still talks about you a lot,” she muses. 

Oh. 

“Oh?” 

“Nothing bad,” Mama Kwon says quickly. She laughs again, smiling very much like how her son might. 

“Just—” She leans in. Your body autonomously mimics the action.

You’re reminded of being younger, of when she’d do the exact same thing to whisper you some ‘secret’. I got Soonyoung new shoes for Christmas. The car side mirror is busted because of me. I packed you extra of those choco pies you like. 

Today, she whispers, “I think he came home for you.” 

--

“Why did you come home?”

“I had a nightmare that I visited and I couldn’t recognize a thing. All the street names were different. The buildings were new. I kept running, trying to look for something familiar, and I just— I was just lost. And that sucked. This was mine once. You know?” 

“It still is.” 

“You don’t have to lie to me. It isn’t anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time.” 

--

“You know, I really have missed your mother’s cooking.”

You smile ruefully at Soonyoung’s words. 

He’s digging heartily into your mother’s signature kimchi jjigae, and you have half the mind to tell him to close his mouth as he chews. Instead, you let him devour the dish. 

It had taken a little bit of masterminding to pull this off. Maybe it would’ve been easier to send Soonyoung a text of Let’s meet up, but your blasted pride was one of the last things you had left. You’d be damned if you were going to give that away, too. 

You enlisted Jihoon and Wonwoo’s help in orchestrating this, in convincing Soonyoung that he could sneak into your family restaurant undetected. Sure, the blonde had been more than a little miffed when his friends ditched him and left him with you, though his irritation was short-lived in the face of the food he had been craving for God-knows-how-long. 

“Maybe that’s because you’ve only been eating shin ramyun,” you point out. 

Soonyoung barely looks up from his bowl as he shovels more food into his mouth. “Low blow,” he says in between bites.  

You wince. “Sorry.” 

“You’re not really sorry.” 

“No, I am.” 

That drags Soonyoung’s attention away from his stew. 

His guarded expression slots right back into place, like he’s realizing you have some ulterior motive beyond feeding him. He rests his spoon against his bowl and leans back into his chair. With one eyebrow raised, he says, “This feels a lot like the lead-in to a breakup.” 

A bark of laughter escapes you. Of course Soonyoung would make a joke like that. 

You reach into your pocket until you’ve found what you’re looking for. Wordlessly, you slide it across the table until it’s resting by Soonyoung’s hand.

“I’ll give you a discount,” you tell him. “But only, like, fifteen percent. Anything more than that is just pushing it.” 

Your calling card stares up at him. It bears your name along with your firm’s address, your phone number, and your title. Consumer bankruptcy lawyer. 

Even now, Soonyoung can’t help but be expressive. His wide eyes are fixed on the card you’ve laid out. For a moment, your offer hangs in precious balance, but you don’t have a single urge to take it back. It’s entirely, wholly for Soonyoung to take. 

He asks the question that you know is coming. “Why are you doing this?” he says, his words like a raw nerve. 

You almost smile. Almost. 

In the past week that you’ve mulled it over, you’ve reached at least a dozen different answers. 

Because Jihoon and Wonwoo worry about you.

Because it’s the right thing to do. 

Because Teacher Kang talks about you like you hung the stars and the moon. 

Because I owe you one. 

Because I don’t want you to let Mama Kwon down.

Because I’ve missed you, and I want you to be happy, even if that happiness has nothing to do with me. 

The answer that eventually, finally comes to you is none of the above. 

You simply say, “Because you’re my favorite ex.” 

--

The call asking for your help never comes. 

A couple of days after that lunch, you find something on your desk. Your calling card. 

If it weren’t for one small thing, you would’ve thought that it was a stray card of yours that you’d forgotten. But then you catch sight of a doodle in one corner right before you’re about to tuck the card away in your closet. 

A crude drawing of a tiger, with crescent-shaped eyes and a toothy smile. 

You instantly know what it means. Sure enough, you hear from Jihoon that same evening. 

Kwon Soonyoung has left as quietly as he arrived. 

There is relief. There is regret. How you feel ultimately doesn’t matter, because you knew it would always come to this— a choice being made.

He left. You stayed. 

The world spins madly on. 

The last of the snow is melting on an unassuming Tuesday afternoon when your phone pings in your pocket. You fish it out to find two texts from an unknown number. The first is a link to a news article. 

You’re suspicious, but curiosity always did kill the cat. The article loads and fills your screen.

Eye of the Tiger Dance Studio To Start Offering Child-Friendly Dance Lessons

By: Xu Minghao

SEOUL, South Korea – Eye of the Tiger Dance Studio, founded by renowned choreographer and performer Kwon Soonyoung, better known as HOSHI, is expanding its mission to inspire a new generation of dancers. The studio announced it will officially begin offering child-friendly dance lessons following a successful pilot program last month.

Parents and young aspiring dancers can look forward to the official launch of child-friendly lessons early next year. According to HOSHI, the initiative aims to “nurture the joy of dance from an early age and build a foundation for self-expression and confidence.”

The studio piloted its first all-children dance classes in January, offering a creative and supportive environment for young dancers to explore movement. The program’s success has led to an upcoming showcase featuring the children at the KB Art Hall in Gangnam. 

HOSHI, celebrated for his innovative choreography and passion for dance, revealed the inspiration behind this new direction. 

“There was a time I felt lost, like I had lost my purpose for dance,” HOSHI shared, reflecting on a challenging period in his career. “I was going through the motions, using dance as a way to distract myself from everything else, rather than embracing it as a part of who I am.” 

“But I realized something important recently,” he goes on. “Dance shouldn’t be an escape or a vacation. It should be a homecoming.” 

And that’s exactly what they hope to do with their upcoming showcase. Details on the event can be found here. 

The second text bears only a couple of words, but it changes the ending of everything.

There’s only one seat that will matter in that auditorium, it reads.

Please make sure it’s not empty. 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“Home had you.”

[ahundredtimesover]

I Want You to Stay (13) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: boss!JK x assistant!reader; idiot strangers to lovers; slow slow burn; k-drama feels; angst, drama, fluff, smut

Chapter Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption; arts, business/property devt, and book publishing talk that’s probably inaccurate; mentions of injury, trauma; family drama; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters; they're still idiots;  explicit sexual content (making out, oral (m & f receiving), body praise, mutual masturbation, protected sex)  (18+)

Chapter Word count: 29k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

Series summary: Working for Jungkook isn’t the same as working for Hoseok. For starters, Jungkook doesn’t smile, he doesn’t appreciate you, and he gives you too much work. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome and has women at his beck and call. But as the tension grows, it becomes impossible to resist him. You’ve dedicated yourself to your job for 8 years so when you finally decide to put yourself first, he asks you to reconsider. And while you know that leaving is difficult, you learn that when it comes to Jungkook, staying is always so much harder.

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

A/N: It's here! This is a long one so I hope you enjoy and savour it all. We're close to the end! So thank you so much for all the support and love for this story 🤭🤭

And as always, my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight  🥰

You take up Yoongi’s offer of a listening ear on Saturday, the day after your last day at the company. You spent last night wallowing in sadness over not being able to see Jungkook during your farewell dinner and in regret for not telling him what you wanted to say - that you were thankful, that you wished the Arts Center would be everything he imagined it would be, and that hopefully, you’ll see him again. 

Maybe if he showed up, you would’ve said more - that you’re terrified of everything he makes you feel, that you’re too burdened by your past, and that you want him even if you don’t know if you’re ready to be with him.

You spent much of today convincing yourself that it was better that you didn’t see him, even if you kept imagining his shy smile and the feel of his lips against yours, and then you got frustrated all over again. 

With all that’s going on in your head, you figured that spending dinner on your own today would make you feel more sorry for yourself, so you’re currently seated in front of Yoongi with your wonton soup barely touched while he’s just slurped the remaining noodles of his. 

“Your soup’s getting cold,” he nudges your foot as you mindlessly gaze at your bowl. “It’s not gonna eat itself.”

“Apparently, I don’t eat much when I’m sad,” you sigh, turning to him. 

“Well, that sucks. It’s really good soup,” he hums. 

Yoongi looks at you patiently just as he has for the past half hour. You told him you wanted to eat out, and he agreed immediately, even offering to drive you home after. But you haven’t said much since you arrived at the restaurant and he hasn’t forced you to say anything either.

“I’m sorry for not being a fun dinner partner tonight,” you say. 

“It’s okay. When I told you the other week to call me if you wanted to talk, I didn’t expect you to actually talk,” he chuckles. “I know sometimes you just need someone to be with. And there’s nothing wrong with that. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.���

“It’s not that I don’t want to. Like I said, it’s complicated,” you reply. “I can't even figure myself out.”

“It’s only complicated if you make it,” he counters. “Human beings are complex, yes. But feelings of desire aren’t. They’re quite straightforward. You want something and that should tell you everything. It’s pride and fear that complicate things. If you set those aside, then you’ll be able to figure out what you really feel.”

“What if they contradict each other?”

“The push and pull isn’t always equal though. One overpowers the other in some way. So you’re either more happy about leaving or more sad about it. And then ask yourself why.”

“I’m sad about leaving Jungkook,” you admit. “I don’t regret my decision but it doesn’t make me happy right now.”

“And why doesn’t it make you happy?”

“Because it hurt him. And then it hurt me.”

“Why did it hurt the both of you?”

“I don’t know about him,” you pout.

“Then what about you? Why did it hurt you?”

“Because he kept his distance - he replaced me, shut me out. And then he didn’t show up to my farewell dinner.”

“So what’s painful about that?” Yoongi pushes, wanting to help you make sense of things.

“Because I want him close to me,” you say quietly, letting the words sink in. You’ve always known this, but saying it to someone else somehow makes it feel more real this time. “I want him… with me.”

“Told you it was simple,” Yoongi shrugs.

“But it isn’t,” you argue.

Yoongi is a straightforward man, and you suppose the only way for him to understand is for you to tell him the truth, so that’s what you do. 

You tell him about your ties to the Jeon family, why you stayed in the company for as long as you did, all the attempts at leaving, and the plan of doing so after the Arts Center opening. You share about your life in the process - your childhood of staying at the library and your coping mechanisms, your life in Busan, going back to Daegu then leaving for Seoul, working to repay a debt, and then losing yourself because of it. You talk about the closeness you developed with Jungkook, all the times that he was there for you, the kiss and the aftermath, why you pushed him away and why you also feel bad about how he reacted. You say a bit about the things that scare you - getting hurt being one of them - and why staying for Jungkook would be difficult, and why leaving him would be the same. 

Yoongi looks at you earnestly. He’s always known about you being guarded, keeping parts of yourself that you don’t really share with others. This is the farthest you’ve let him into your world, and he sees so much of Jungkook in you. There’s that fear of not being wanted but also of being wanted; you’re scared of not being enough to be loved but also of not loving the other person enough. You’re unable to express how you feel because you don’t know if the person will respond with the same vulnerability and honesty, and you don’t like baring yourself with no one there to tell you it’s alright.  

All of it feels like how his friend is. He’s seen it since the moment Jungkook stepped foot into the office a year ago; he’s seen it everytime Jungkook disengages from you or gets mad at you; he’s seen it even when you’ve started to become comfortable with each other, and Yoongi has seen it these past weeks of Jungkook dealing with your departure, especially recently. 

“So after all that, you mean to tell me that you didn’t actually tell him how you feel?” Yoongi points out. “That he just overheard you say that you like him but you didn’t actually tell him? Not your feelings nor your fears, not your contradicting emotions, nor the fact that you want to be with him? Because I’m hearing you, ___. And all I hear is that you’ve found someone you’re willing to give your heart to but you’re too afraid to do anything about it. Even after he’s told you how he feels, because you don’t think that he would be open and honest enough to you to mean them.”

You let out a breath and pout, Yoongi’s words making it seem simpler than it actually is. In hindsight, maybe it is, because after everything that you shared, the first thing he points out is how, despite the obvious reciprocated feelings, you’re the one who’s afraid to give in.

“You talked about how Jungkook made you feel braver during the times you were scared and alone and hurt,” Yoongi says, seething at your experiences that made you look towards Jungkook for strength. “Why can’t you be brave enough for him? I mean, I get it that you want to leave the company, no one questions why you would. He did but he’s accepted it because he understands, but why do you have to let him go? Is it just because of the ties to his family? Or is it because you’re afraid of what he feels for you that isn’t tied to you being his assistant?”

His last question causes your face to fall, and Yoongi knows he’s hit a nerve.

“You’ve been living your life trying to prove that you’re more than your past, that you’re capable and that you deserve all that you have now,” he adds. “This job was your life. You told me before that you don’t know if you’d like yourself outside of it, and maybe you’re thinking that Jungkook wouldn’t, either.”

“I… don’t think I’m that great, Yoongi,” you confess. “I mean, just think about what the guys I dated said about me.”

“Those don’t count because they’re absolute jerks.”

“Even then, I… I’m terrible at a lot of things. I pull away, I get scared, I… I don’t know how to be someone’s anything. I don’t know if I want to be. I don’t know if I can, or what that even means,” you stammer. “For a second there, I let my guard down for Jungkook and—”

“He did the same and that terrifies you,” Yoongi finishes. “Being wanted back terrifies you. It’s why you feel confused and conflicted, ___. You have the chance to have something you’ve been yearning for and—”

“I’m scared I’d lose it,” you interject. “And I won’t if I don’t have it. I’m scared of heartbreak, Yoongi. I gave in when it came to Jungkook but I saw the possibilities with him and heartbreak was one of them. This is why I don’t give in to anything. I mean, it’s why I didn’t give in to you. I… I was scared we’d hurt each other and that I’d lose you and… I’m sorry I’m bringing this up now.”

“It’s good that you are,” he assures you. “Because do you see the difference? You didn’t give in to me but you did to him. You never know if the person is worth the pain until it’s there but you at least know that he’s worth a try. I wasn’t, and I don’t take offense, but that’s the point. He’s the guy you try for, ___. He’s the one you climb out your walls for. So don’t cower inside. Be brave for him this time.”

It’s a while before you’re able to say anything. The background chatter in the noodle house fades away in your mind as you take in Yoongi’s words. And he’s not wrong. 

You never told Jungkook what you felt; you didn’t know how to. You kissed him to express that, but you pushed him away just as quickly, but you never got to say anything else, especially after. And now you’re left to wonder - what was the fear really about? And what was the need to let go of him because of it?

You’re scared of a lot of things; you’re scared of every single thing you want to have. You learned some time ago that Jungkook was the same, but you think that you’re probably more terrified than he is. 

You’re a walking contradiction, too - you want to cut ties with him because it reminds you of a past you don’t want to be defined by, but in doing so, you’re cutting yourself off as what you started as - his assistant, and you’re scared to be anything else but that. You were good at it - you were competent, capable; you managed his life and the team well. But being with him means you have to be someone else for him - his partner, his companion, his lover, and you don’t know how to be those things for him. You don’t know if you’d like yourself, and so you don’t know if he’d like you if you tried. And that scares you.

But like Yoongi said, you thought Jungkook was at least worth it; you wouldn’t have kissed him if you didn’t, even if you thought it was a moment of weakness. You just have to follow through with that belief this time, and be brave enough to not just want him because you do; you have to be brave enough to let him want you back. You have to be brave enough to believe that he’ll stay. 

“How… how do I do that? How do you become brave for someone?” You finally ask. 

Yoongi relaxes in his seat, his eyes the most comforting they’ve ever been. 

“You just tell them how you feel,” he says. “You face it head on because you know that there’s something more important than a possible heartbreak, and that’s losing on the possibility of happiness with them.”

You let out a breath. You know Yoongi’s right. You’d said that you want to know how it’s like to be truly happy with Jungkook, and it’s this paralyzing fear and stubbornness that’s keeping you from finding out. But you suppose that when you’ve gotten used to keeping a lot of things in, just telling someone how you feel isn’t that easy.

“It’s hard for you, I know,” he continues, reading your mind. “But how would you learn what your heart is capable of if you don’t follow it?”

“Then you’ll just risk it getting broken,” you argue.

“You do,” he hums. “Hearts break. But it’s not the only thing they do.”

The words are simple, just as the thought is. You almost feel embarrassed that Yoongi has to remind you of these things, about the inevitability of pain and loss and how it should be worth it in the end. But the fear comes from somewhere, from a heart that’s close to your own that shattered so many times, you wondered at one point if it was still capable of loving. 

“I told you that I never met my dad, right?” You share, willing to bare a bit more of yourself to him. “He left before I was born because he wasn’t ready. But mom… Mom loved him deeply. I found a photo of them under her pillow one time and I asked her about it, and she had me lay my head on her lap while she told me about him. I was around 6 years old and probably didn’t understand much but I felt her tears drop on my cheek, and then everyday for weeks, I’d hear her cry, all alone in her room. And somehow, she just cried harder every time I hugged her.”

You remember those days. You learned what it felt like to have your heart broken at that age, and it was because of seeing your mom try to smile through glassy eyes; it was hearing her tell you that she loved you, even if the other half of you was the reason why she was hurting in the first place.

“Eventually a man came along and he made her laugh until he stopped,” you continue. “Until all he could do was hurt her. And that… that felt worse. She’d just learned to share herself again but then he just broke her. And I… I felt that, too. I felt it every time she hugged me, kissed me, covered my ears to drown out his yelling… I felt it every time I had my head on her lap so I wouldn’t see her break down.”

Your eyes wander into the streets outside, recalling those difficult years when your mother protected you, even as she was in pain herself.

“They say that a parent feels the pain their child is feeling,” you say. “I guess it’s true for children, too. I felt her pain, I felt her heart break. Her heart was my heart. And I guess ever since then I’ve just been scared for it to happen to me, knowing how much it hurts. It took years before she could recover. That was hard, too.”

“How long did it take her to give Min-woo a chance?”

“Years,” you shake your head. “She was so cautious. But he stuck around, and she realized he was worth it all. And she gained two other daughters who adore her in the process.”

“Her heart was your heart,” Yoongi repeats your words. “And all she did was love. That means your heart is capable of just as much. It’s just as strong, too.”

You’ve never thought about it that way. You've always believed that the one thing you took from your mother was her grace. Perhaps if you tried, you’d learn that you took her strength, too. Maybe her unyielding ability to care. Perhaps it’s her faith in what she was capable of no matter how broken she may be. 

“I… I needed this,” you tell Yoongi, your eyes misty at his words. “It’s been hard understanding myself lately. And you, you just know me. You know what to say all the time.”

“It’s because I risked something, too, when I told you how I felt about you all those years ago,” he replies, the reminder of his unrequited feelings no longer awkward for either of you. “And at the end of it, I learned how I could care for you, and that I could care for you much better as a friend.”

“And well, you’ve been an amazing one to me, especially this past year.”

“Good, so for my sake, especially since you and Jungkook give me so much headache,” Yoongi laughs, “remember everything I said, okay? Your heart is capable of so much. So please give it a try and follow it. I doubt it will be broken this time around.”

You spend the entirety of Sunday at home, cleaning up the place and tending to your growing collection of plants. It was a cool enough day for you to walk up the neighborhood to buy some things from the store, and as Yoongi’s words from the night before ring in your head, you find yourself hurting more at the absence of Jungkook in your life. 

There’s a new recipe for fried rice that you saw online, and he was your first thought because you think he’d like it. You read an article about Lee Jaemin in the morning where she mentioned the Arts Center, and you wanted to share it with him and gush over her words. His favorite Japanese chef has opened a new restaurant in Insadong and you wonder if he’s already tried it. The playground at the park is closed because they’re doing repairs after you told the council about how rusted the swings have become at Jungkook’s suggestion. 

They’re little things, really, and you realize even more just how much of yourself you’ve shared with him, and how much of himself he’s shared as well. Whatever lines that were drawn up due to your respective positions were crossed long ago, even before that kiss. It started when you both started to care for each other, and when you both started to wish for the other’s happiness and healing. On your end, you’d hoped you’d be a part of that and that he’d be a part of yours. You don’t think that has changed though.

There are still many things you want to share with him, you realize again, especially on that Monday afternoon when you find yourself at Rkive Publishing for your contract signing that has you looking at Namjoon in question. 

“Are… are you sure?“ you ask him, as you read through the document. 

He’d sent a version of this for your review a few days ago and you’d given your verbal confirmation. You expected to come today to just sign the contract, but he asked you to review it again since he made a few changes. The salary is one of them. 

“Are you asking me if I’m sure of offering you a higher compensation package?” Namjoon raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. 

“Y-yes?” You say. “I mean, not that I don’t prefer it but… why?” 

You knew that working for a smaller organization, and for a publishing company at that, despite having a higher position and more responsibilities meant that your pay wouldn’t be significantly different from what you were getting at the Jeon Corporation. You’d accepted that, and it was something you’d talked about with Namjoon. But still, this little bit of increase is something you hadn’t expected.

“We’ll, let’s just say that we’ve had many applicants in the past who oversold themselves. You did the opposite,” he responds. “You impressed me and the panel enough with your resume and interview and we thought you were a good fit but that recommendation letter from your company’s President showed us just how qualified you were, and that there’s so much potential there. I was also able to speak with your most recent boss.”

“VP Jeon?”

“Yes, I was on a call with him last Friday. He elaborated on the strengths you’d mentioned and that Mr. Jung had noted,” Namjoon responds. “They’re top executives of a well-known company who have worked closely with you, who saw your growth, and can attest to your potential. Given all those qualities, we thought it was just fair that we increase your compensation. We’ve learned it’s important to trust and be committed to our staff, and this is how we show that.”

“This… this is deeply appreciated,” you manage to say, not realizing just how valuable the references were. You check to see that your responsibilities didn’t change much, so you know that this is really them, believing in your worth.

“We’re looking to expand in the next few years and are working towards establishing our position in the industry,” he adds. “We don’t just need competent individuals - we need leaders, we need people of good character who can embody all the things that we stand for. We’re trying to build something here and someone like you would be a wonderful asset. You can help us grow, ___. And I, well,” he continues, shyly smiling. “I just really wanted to make sure that we got a good start. Your role is critical. It’s also one of the toughest ones out there and I wanna show you that we want you here. I mean, I was sure a lot of companies were trying to get you and we’d have to compete for you.”

“I was already convinced early on, Namjoon,” you assure him. “To be honest, meeting you at the bookstore that day felt like some sign from the universe that it was time for me to carve my own path. I guess I didn’t just need a new environment, I needed a blank slate, too, where I could start over and feel like I was really doing this for myself, that I wasn’t trying to prove anything to anyone else, not even to me.”

“Glad I took a chance on talking to you, then, even if I sort of freaked you out,” he chuckles. “I’m still sorry about that.”

“It was fine,” you laugh. “In hindsight, I’m also glad you did. I told you, it was a moment that stuck with me. It’s what pushed me to learn about what you’re all doing here, to learn about you. I… I do well when I’m surrounded by good people, by those who believe in their work, and those who believe in others. I know it won’t be easy but I already know I’ll thrive here. So thank you for giving me this chance, too.”

You and Namjoon talk some more and then lock in a date for your first day. You agree to start in three weeks - that gives you enough time to properly rest and mentally prepare yourself for this new phase. You’ll still be in a fast-paced and high-stress environment, but you’ll control your time and directly manage a team. Everything’s going to be new, and you want to be ready when it all happens, which is also why you’ll be doing your onboarding a few days before. 

“I wanted to give this to you,” he says, handing you a book as he walks you out the door. “I always give one to new staff as a form of welcome because books are our heart and soul, you know?”

“This is lovely, Namjoon,” you smile at him. “This will definitely be my companion for the next few weeks.”

“Good. It’s always meaningful to have something tangible like this,” he smiles back. 

There’s warmth in the way he does it, as if every time he talks about books, it elicits special memories. You think being around someone like that will be good for you, as you try to hold onto good memories yourself despite the sadness you still feel.

“I hope you like it,” he says before bidding you goodbye. 

You walk through the neighborhood and picture yourself going through this route everyday. It’s definitely nothing like the busy streets that you’re used to. There are more trees and quaint cafes and boutique stores here, and even just this change is already making you feel lighter; you can imagine getting over your stress with surroundings like this. You suppose that’s how Namjoon remains as calm and hopeful as he is despite his responsibilities - there’s so much energy you get just being outdoors, and it’s something you decide you’ll do today. 

You have all the time in the world now, so you grab coffee then head to a park to enjoy the early summer cool air. 

The book that Namjoon gave you is a novel published five years ago about a woman who quit her job in search of herself. You don’t think it’s a coincidence, as in such a short time, you've come to know him as a thoughtful man who’s very assuring, and you suppose this is his way of telling you that everything will be okay as you take on this new journey alongside him. The bright color palette of the design seems to reflect the hopeful subject of the book, and right as you’re about to start reading, the sound of children laughing catches your attention.

There’s a playground nearby, and your mind immediately goes to Jungkook. There’s an image of him looking happy and safe in a place that made him feel those things that you keep in your heart. You don’t know how he looks like as a child but you can somehow imagine a little boy riding the swing and coming down the slide with the softest smile and thinking that he can do and be anything he wants, that he feels capable enough for it, and that he’s able to share that joy with whoever who’s with him.

You think about earlier when Namjoon was talking about your capabilities and how you were able to see yourself the way Jungkook and Hoseok see you as a professional. You think about how it felt being supported that way, how their trust and confidence in you made you trust and be confident in yourself, too. There’s this pride you feel at being able to make that much of an impression on your new boss early on and there’s no stress, there’s no pressure. 

Sure, you want to show that all those aren’t empty words, but there’s no urge to prove yourself that you earned your spot unlike how you’ve been these past nine years. There’s just this desire to live - work is a part of it but so is reading stories, meeting people and learning about them, walking through quiet streets and appreciating the sunlight peeking through the trees. There’s this yearning to experience the day and not just survive it. 

You look at the book in your hands and know that someday, you’ll be holding one that you had a hand in creating. And it would be something that you poured your heart and soul into, one that you experienced in its entirety, and it would make you so happy knowing that you could touch it, that you can hear it, that you can see the story come to life in your mind.

You trace your fingers down the front cover and realize that this beautiful thing is tangible. And then you realize another thing - happiness is tangible, too. You’d felt it, you’d heard it. You’d seen it smile at you. You’d felt its lips against yours, too, but then you pulled away and became too afraid to take it back. Happiness was so close - it breathed you in, it held you close; it wanted you, and you were too scared to let it stay.

You spent so many years chasing it. You’d found it in your friends and your new family, but there was always something more that you wanted, one that you couldn’t find. Until him. And you’re slowly learning just how painful it is to let it slip away.

Jungkook stays in your mind for the rest of the evening, and you find yourself wanting to share about your day. 

You want to tell him that you felt a little shy when Namjoon was praising you but that you felt proud of yourself. And that you wanted to thank him. 

You want to tell Jungkook that your new work environment is quite charming, that the surrounding areas are inspiring, and that you might just start spending time outdoors from now on. And that you wish you get to explore it with him. 

You want to tell him that you’re excited to start your new job and that you’ll maybe start reading books because you’ll have a hand in creating the finished products. And that you want to share that with him, maybe make him read it, too.

You want to tell him that you’re sorry. That you shouldn’t have doubted what he felt, that you should've stood by your feelings regardless and fought for them. You want to tell him that you don’t regret quitting, but that you regret losing him in the process. That no matter how hard you try, he’s still the one you look for, the one you want to talk about your day with, the one you want to share your dream and hopes to. 

Jungkook has made you feel free in a way that you hadn’t before - an irony, considering that working for his family made you feel constricted, burdened, stagnant. But there are so many possibilities with him, so many reasons - to smile, to be brave, to hope, to yearn for more, to believe that you deserve good things that you can touch. And you want to know what those are like; you don’t want to lose out on that chance and lose him completely. 

Perhaps all you had to do was free your heart so it could feel what it’s supposed to. Like what Yoongi said, maybe you just had to follow it to know what it could do. 

It’s why on Thursday of that week, you find yourself inside his office with an envelope in hand, as you hope that actually freeing your heart and following it isn’t too late. 

You were scheduled to come today so you could get your final pay and sign some documents with HR. You arrived mid-morning and got to those right away. It didn’t take long, which is why you were able to pass by Hoseok’s office to update him about your new job and thank him for the recommendation. You headed to the support team’s office after, and they were quick to make lunch plans with you. Jungkook’s at the Arts Center, they said, so they can take their break in half an hour, but they can’t be out long. There are lots of things they have to do with the opening happening on Friday of the next week.

Lucas told you that he’d found some of your supplies that you’d left and they’re in a drawer in his desk, and you told him that you could get them yourself. They were easy to find, and you took the time to leave little notes for him in between folders and files; you figured that finding them on days when he doesn’t expect them could give him encouragement somehow. 

Jungkook’s door was slightly opened, and you took the chance to enter and take in a piece of him. The last time you were here, it felt like there was so much you still couldn’t say, there were feelings you were too afraid to face and words you weren’t sure he wanted to hear. Being back here, you feel a lot braver, and you know it matters that now, you’re trying to be brave for him. 

You stand in front of his desk, almost cradling the letter you’d written last night. You’ve spent the past days outdoors, finding cafes and quaint spots in areas that you’ve never explored before. You’ve been reading the book, too, and the more time you spent by yourself - not being tired, not being stressed, not feeling lost or burdened - the more you realized just how much you’ve been missing and yearning for things. And that you deserved whatever it was you wanted, and that included Jungkook. 

The life you’d started to live without him convinced you that the intimacy and connection you’ve been desiring is something you can find with him. You want to know what that’s like; you want to know how happy you could be with him, and you’ll only know it if you express it to him this time. You owe it to him to do that; you’re scared that any more time apart will push both of you farther away, too far to pull the other back because the anchor wasn’t set securely in the first place. You don’t want him to be your what if; you don’t want him to be your biggest regret.

Telling him how you felt was another thing, though, and writing a letter took you longer than expected. You don’t know how he’ll take it, but you could only hope he’ll see your sincerity through it, and that he’ll still want you, even if it took you quite a while to accept what he felt, too.

His desk isn’t as organized as it usually is, but you place the envelope on top of a folder of blueprints that you know he’s going to get to soon. You know how he is - he always likes his things in their proper place. The center is the urgent pile so you know he’s gonna find this once he gets back and that maybe, he’ll go to you right after, hopefully to tell you that he still wants you, that he still wants to be with you, and that like he’d asked before, you’ll figure things out together. 

There’s fear just as there’s excitement. You hope at the end of all this, you’ll find yourself in his arms - everything forgiven, with nothing but more good memories you’ll create. 

You head out to lunch with the team shortly after and hold off on asking how Jungkook’s doing or about the changes in the Arts Center. Everyone looks tired enough as it is and you don’t want them thinking about work during their break, so you settle on talking about your new job and how excited you are. They’ll be supporting the books, they say; you can’t help but think again about how much you want to share them with Jungkook, too. 

You spend the rest of the day at home, waiting for that phone call from him or perhaps, his knock on your door. You’re unsure if he’ll come today; you don’t want to think that he wouldn’t, even if he has reasons not to want to see you anymore after what you’ve done. 

But the hope lives, as you convince yourself in the evening that maybe he got back to the office late and hadn’t seen your letter. 

You do the same thing the next day - you stay at home, hesitant to leave in case he comes, and then tell yourself that there’s a reason why he hasn’t shown up at your door yet. 

You do it again the day after, then the next, and then again.

The hope remained but it has now withered away. It’s Tuesday afternoon, and he still hasn’t come.

Jungkook sinks in the seat of his desk, breathing heavily as he tries to catch a break. It’s not much, but it’s the only moment he has of complete silence where he forces himself to not do or think about anything. He gives himself only ten minutes each day for this, other than when he’s sleeping. He does it only between meetings or calls or visits to the Arts Center, which he fits all in one day. 

It’s only 2PM on Thursday but it might as well be late on a Friday evening. He’s exhausted, as if he hasn’t rested for days, as if he hasn’t been sleeping properly, and as if he hasn’t stopped working. And all of those are true. 

Ever since he’d decided on making changes in the Arts Center, he’s been going nonstop. From drawing up the design, purchasing materials, to constructing the room, Jungkook has been doing it all, on top of managing the rest of the work being done. He’s employed the help of Yoongi and a project manager to help him, but Jungkook has been the one making all the decisions, and that definitely didn’t go well with his father. 

He caught the ire of the old man right away, with the CEO scolding him for doing this weeks before the opening and for going over budget, which is why Jungkook stays in the Arts Center most of the day, going in the afternoon and then staying or returning at night, doing the manual labor himself so he doesn’t have to pay more for the workers. He paints the walls as well as some of the furniture, and that’s taken so much of him these past weeks, especially his time, time that he’d taken away from seeing you. 

He wasn’t really present during your last days at the company. He approved all your leaves and he was sincere about having you take them, but during the days when you were in the office, he was barely there. He was either physically at the Center or his mind was. 

Other times, he was performing his executive functions, with Hoseok reminding him of his Vice President duties. Jungkook had neglected some of them, as evidenced by his messy desk that’s giving him a headache. He’s always been organized with his things but not recently, not when all he’s been doing is working himself to the bone like what he’s used to. But this has more at stake for him; this isn’t just some structure or room he’s building. It’s so much more.

One other thing he’s been doing is regretting that he wasn’t there during your last day to bid you goodbye and to see you for the last time, it seemed like. He wished you well and thanked you, even if there was more he wanted to say. He knew he wouldn’t be able to, and he wouldn’t have handled lingering, too, if that would give you a chance to say something more to him that would make him express what he’s really feeling, and he’s scared that would push you further away. 

He was never good at that. The one time he told you what he wanted and felt, things didn’t go right - the timing was off, you doubted his sincerity, and there was so much you kept hidden from him. He hasn’t known what to do nor say since then, which is why he’s doing what he’s doing for you. It’s more than the words he doesn’t know how to say; it’s something he won’t regret as it expresses everything that’s been in his heart, and it’s lasting, it’s constant, it’s comforting; it’s everything he wants to be for you. 

But then again, all this work kept him from seeing you for the last time, and it’s a reminder again of how he’s been living his life - diverting his attention to other things instead of facing what’s important. 

There’s not much he can do now, though. Everything has been completed. All the certifications have been secured, all the invitations are out, the promotion for the opening is all over social media, and the support team is on top of everything that’ll take place tomorrow. With the end of it just within reach, he’s able to take a breath, and it’s why he’s able to extend his short break to 15 minutes. 

The Arts Center is being cleaned and security checked, so he has no choice but to stay away from it until it opens tomorrow. So right now, he has the time to work on his other responsibilities, such as draft plans for a project that Hoseok’s working on that he’d asked Jungkook to review. 

“I had Lucas leave the blueprints on your desk last week,” the older man says over the phone after being asked if the files are still with him. “You should see it right away. It was urgent so I told him to put it at the center.”

“Well, that’s one of many that’s apparently urgent,” Jungkook sighs as he sees the pile of documents in front of him. It seems like he’s neglected a lot of other things this past week. “When did you say you left them?”

“Thursday morning,” Hoseok responds. “You would’ve seen them immediately.”

“I would’ve… except I haven’t really been at my desk in days.”

Which is the truth. Jungkook has been sitting on his desk only to go through his emails and then signing documents that Lucas gives him before heading to meetings and the Arts Center. It’s been his schedule this entire week, which is why he hadn’t seen the designs that Hoseok’s talking about. And as Jungkook goes through the pile - of memos for checking, of studies from Yoongi - he sees something else that makes his heart drop.

The last time he found an envelope on his desk with your handwriting on it, his world took a complete turn. He remembers reading that resignation letter and thinking that he’d really screwed things up, that life wasn’t going to be the same without you next to him everyday, and that there was no way he could have you again after how things turned out. 

He doesn’t know what to expect with this, not when he hasn’t seen you in days, and not when he doesn’t know how you’re doing right now.

“Kook?” Hoseok says on the other end after the prolonged silence. “Are you still there?”

“Did ___ come to the office this week?” 

“She was here last Thursday. She signed some HR stuff and dropped by my room. Why?”

“She… she left a letter on my desk.”

“Oh… What does it say?”

“I… I haven’t opened it. I’m not sure I’m ready to know what’s inside,” Jungkook says, his hands trembling as he places it back down.

“It could be many things but you won’t know unless you read it,” Hoseok responds. “Both of you have been keeping your feelings to each other from each other, Kook. This… this might be something that changes that.”

“Did… did she say anything to you when she visited?”

“Just about her job. She seems content and excited. Whatever else she feels, I’m pretty sure it’s in there. So read it, and don’t worry about the designs. Those can wait.”

Jungkook drops the call, noting that he’ll thank his cousin later on. This letter is the most important thing right now, even if he’s nervous about what’s written on it. 

He finally opens the envelope and the first thing he sees are pictures - one of an empty playground, and another one of you on the swing, smiling. It’s been weeks without your smile, and remembering how much comfort it’s given him is what makes him calm down; it’s what makes him have the courage to read through the letter.

Jungkook,

I took the photo of the playground during my birthday trip using the gift you got me. We passed by a park on the way to one of the towns and we stayed there for a while. It was so beautiful, so peaceful. I felt a kind of comfort I’ve never felt before, and it made me think of how I feel when I’m around you. 

I was thinking of you, too, when Soomin took my photo. I seem to do that a lot, I’ve learned. I think of you and smile, and there’s this unfamiliar feeling of joy. There’s this yearning to feel it everyday, and that scares me. We kissed and the desire for you scared me even more. So did the thought that I can’t be what you need me to be despite what we feel, and that there's a possibility I’d get hurt along the way. 

But I learned that what scares me the most is losing you.

I don’t regret leaving, but I regret how I did it, and I’m so sorry for everything. I wish I got to tell you what I really felt, and I wish I realized much sooner that the happiness I’ve been looking for is one I can find with you. 

I’m scared of many things, Jungkook, but you make me braver. This is me being brave for you. Please come and find me. I hope it’s not too late. 

XX

Jungkook reads the letter one more time. It’s nothing like he imagined but everything he hoped. You’ve wanted him all this time; you still want him after everything. He senses the sadness and the hope in your words, and they’re things he feels, too. 

You want him to find you. And just like you, he hopes it’s not too late. 

He rushes out of his room and instructs Lucas to cancel all his meetings for the day. Jungkook heads to the support team’s office to tell Mr. Ri that there’s somewhere important they need to go. 

“Where to?” The older man asks once they get inside the car.

“___’s place,” Jungkook pants. “Get there as fast as you can.”

Mr. Ri doesn’t ask any more questions. He drives off and merely glances at the rear view mirror. 

“We’ll get to her,” he says. “One way or another, we’ll get to her.”

Jungkook could only hope, but when he gets to your apartment and finds it empty, that hope slowly fades. He’d call you but that’s not how he wants to fix things, he thinks. That’s not how he wants to ask you to be with him. He probably won’t even be able to say what he really means. So he tries one more, knocking and calling out your name, but no one comes.

“She’s not here,” someone calls out. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

Jungkook turns around and finds your elderly neighbor, a woman he’d seen that one day he visited you after you got injured. You’ve mentioned her a few times and how she sends over food on some nights and invites you for tea on some weekends. She looks kind and warm, and definitely curious.

“She… she asked me to find her,” he says dejectedly. “But I didn’t know she wanted me to. I didn’t see her letter right away and now… now it’s too late.”

“You’re the man she was waiting for,” she hums, walking closer. “She’s right, you’re very handsome.”

“She… she talked about me?”

“A few times. I asked about how she got home when she hurt her ankle and she said you helped her,” the woman smiles. “I don’t see anybody visit her other than her friends. And I’ve known her for years; I haven’t seen any other man she’s allowed in her home in all that time, nor has she talked about one. I knew then you meant a lot to her. But she said things were too complicated and that always held her back.”

“That always held me back, too,” he responds. He’d smile at the thought that you’ve talked about him, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re gone. There’s a reason why you stopped waiting. “Has she been well?”

“She has. She seems to have more life in her now. I always felt like her old job tired her out so much,” she says. “She’s excited to start fresh, and I’m proud of her. Oftentimes we stay in one place for too long and we just lose ourselves in it, you know? We lose sight of the things that make us happy and it was really brave of her to leave behind everything she’s known.”

“It was. I know that now,” Jungkook sighs. “Did she say if she found it? What makes her happy?”

“She did. She said she found you.”

The words hit him, as he knows it’s the same for him. You may have found each other in the place you’ve both been in for so long, but it’s losing each other that perhaps made you both realize what it was you couldn’t live without. Letting each other go showed what happiness actually looked like, and that neither of you wanted to be without it anymore.

“I found her too late, I think.”

“That’s for her to decide, though. You won’t know unless you look for her,” she hints. 

“When did she leave?”

“Tuesday afternoon. That was just two days ago. I doubt she’s changed her mind,” she smiles again. “Well, I’d love to stay here and chat but I have some grandchildren to pick up. And I believe you have someone to find.”

“I think I do,” he responds, the nervousness evident in his voice. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’re welcome,” she hums. “Get to her, okay? She deserves someone who won’t give up on her.”

You don’t, Jungkook agrees, as he nods in goodbye and heads back to the car. That’s not something he will do this time. All he’s done was let his fears and worries speak for him these past months and he doesn’t want to do that anymore, not when there’s more of you that he’ll lose. 

“She’s not home,” Jungkook responds to Mr. Ri’s questioning look. “I… I didn’t get to her in time.”

“Where to, then?”

Jungkook breaks as he imagines you in your apartment, waiting for him, wondering when he’d call or knock on your door. He can’t imagine you still doing that after he made you wait, but the one thing he’ll do this time is go to where you are and tell you everything he needs to. 

After the heartbreak he caused, he assumes you’d go to either your family or your friends. He remembers the way you’d talked about your mom in the past, and how her comfort was always the one you sought.

“Do you mind driving to Daegu?” Jungkook asks. 

“Not at all,” Mr. Ri smiles. “I figure she’ll be there, too.”

The long drive feels that much longer with Jungkook in the passenger seat, just looking out the window and watching the buildings and houses pass him by. He turns to the man next to him every once in a while, asking about how you were during your last weeks in the office.

“She was trying her best, making sure she had everything organized. She spent a lot of time with the team, too, and I think that lessened her guilt, because she felt that,” Mr. Ri shares. “She hated that she had to leave at this time, but I knew it meant a lot to her that she was finally doing it.”

Jungkook hums, thankful that the team assured you that it was all okay. But still, he wondered some more, and the look on his face is something that the older man reads. 

“She hated that she had to leave you, too,” Mr. Ri adds. “I think it mattered to her that she didn’t feel tied to your family through you, even if she was always going to be. It mattered that she made that choice to leave you, that she came to terms with who she is and her past and decided that it didn’t matter, that she still wanted you despite all of that.”

“You sound hopeful,” Jungkook laughs dryly. “That makes one of us.”

“You can tell how much someone cares by how they hurt, Jungkook. And during her farewell dinner when you didn’t show up, she… she was hurt,” Mr. Ri says. “I had to wipe her tears that night. I think that’s also when she realized how much she really felt for you, when she saw what life could be like without you and knew it wouldn’t make her happy.”

Knowing he made you cry again when he wasn’t there on your last day frustrates Jungkook. He held himself back that time, thinking that a short goodbye would be better for both of you. Then he spent the rest of the day at the Arts Center and he’d completely forgotten about the dinner. In his mind, he already let you go; seeing you another time would pain him again. But that’s what hurt you in return. 

“Why are you going after her now?” Mr. Ri bursts through his thoughts. “After all these weeks of avoiding her, of convincing yourself that letting her go was the right decision, why now?”

“It hurts so much without her. I guess it’s how I know.”

The older man gives a satisfied smile. He always knew that only both of you could decide for yourselves when the pain was too much because only both of you would really know what to do about it. You've done your part and now it’s Jungkook’s turn.

They make it to your neighborhood in over three hours, with only one stop over at a service center. It’s the house in the corner, Mr. Ri says, and realizing that you’re so close again, Jungkook starts getting anxious. He doesn’t exactly know what to say. He supposes that coming out here to see you on a work day is enough of a statement, and maybe you’ll both just take it from there.

The car stops and he looks at the man to his left, as if pleading to take the lead for now. 

“Aish,” Mr. Ri huffs. “Are you really gonna make me ring the doorbell and ask for her after driving you all the way here?”

“Yes,” Jungkook pouts. “I… I don’t know what to say. What if she doesn’t wanna see me because I made her wait too long? What if she’s angry? What if she realized while waiting for me that she made a mistake?”

“Over three hours sitting in the car and that’s what you came up with? That she’s angry?” Mr. Ri scowls. “Don’t make me think you’re hopeless.”

“Please?” 

The older man sighs, thinking that Jungkook just needs time to pull himself together before facing you. 

They both get out of the car, with Jungkook standing on the side of the entryway, hiding behind the shrubs just in case you answer the door. 

Mr. Ri rings the doorbell and not long after, the gate opens. And for all the years that Jungkook has known the older man - with his firm and often stoic disposition - this is the first time that he’s ever seen his face soften, the gentle smile appearing and lingering. There’s a beat of silence, a moment of appreciation it seems, before he says anything.

“Hye-soo. It’s so nice to see you again.”

“Byung-hun,” the woman greets. “It’s been so long. When was the last time we saw each other? Was it ___’s 25th birthday?”

“I think it was. That was a really great day. Your house looked much different back then.”

“Who knew an old house needed repairs and renovations to stay up,” she laughs. “But it all worked out. We’ve got more space now.”

“Space enough for Yoon-chae and Yeo-jin to run about?” Mr. Ri chuckles. “I remember their tag game then. They complained how it always ended so fast. But ___ also told me they’ve grown up so much now. And that they adore you. How’s it like raising teenagers at this time?”

“Ah, difficult,” she chuckles. “But it’s wonderful. They… they truly see me as their mother and I… I get to do things right this time.”

“Hey, you always did,” he comforts, having seen her do everything she could for you. “No one could’ve raised and loved ___ better than you. You got through the toughest times because of that.”

“With a little help, of course,” she smiles. “You know I couldn’t have done it without you. And years later, you’re still looking out for her. That means the world to me.”

She’s where all my love goes to, Mr. Ri doesn’t say. He knew early on that the only way to not lose himself in losing her is to care for the one person she loves the most - you.

“And you? Have you been well?” Hye-soo asks. 

“As well as I could be,” he hums. “The stress isn’t the same as when I was working next to Jae-sung but he still tasked me to babysit his son; that in itself is a bit tough.”

“And why is that?” Hye-soo giggles, knowing there’s affection in his words.

“He’s a bit of a hard-head, you know? Pretty stubborn, too, just like his father,” Mr. Ri laments, disregarding the scrunched eyebrows of the man just meters away from him. “And he makes me drive all the way out here, only to be scared to face the woman he’s been looking for.”

“Is that so?” Hye-soo asks, picking up on the man in front of him gesturing towards the side. “I hope he knows that he has nothing to be afraid of.”

Mr. Ri finally turns to Jungkook, motioning for him to get out of hiding and do what he came here for. Jungkook sighs in his place, thinking that this is the first time he’s meeting your mother, and it’s after he’d made you wait and think that he doesn’t feel the same way. With his head bowed down, he walks towards the gate. 

There’s a softness on his face when he looks up, and Hye-soo beams in delight at how the man she hasn’t seen in over 20 years looks very much like the 10-year old boy who used to quietly draw cars and houses on the Jeon mansion living room floor. It’s that same shyness and those same wide and curious eyes that made her have a soft spot for the younger son. They reminded her so much of you. 

“Jungkook,” she says with such warmth. “You’ve grown up so well. It’s nice to see you after all these years.”

She definitely has your smile. It’s welcoming and assuring and perhaps the one thing he didn’t know he needed before seeing you. There’s so much comfort in her eyes, and there’s this subtle strength that she exudes, one that’s oddly giving him the courage to face you. 

“Mrs. Cho,” he bows. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I wish it was because of other reasons, though.”

“What’s wrong about the reason you have today?” She wonders. 

“A lot of things,” he sighs.

“Nonsense. You’re here. That’s all that matters,” she smiles. “Would you like to come in?”

“That would be great.”

Jungkook follows inside while Mr. Ri opts to stay behind. 

There’s something special about entering someone’s house. People spend time and energy to make it feel like home, to make it be a place of safety and warmth. It’s a place filled with all the things they care about, of all the things they love. 

Jungkook never designed the places he’s lived in; an irony, considering his profession. But his residences have always been a place for him to just move into, to just sleep and eat and work at. They’ve always been… empty - grand, expensive, well-designed, but empty. They’re superficial, he would say, a reflection of what he’s always felt. Which is also why he never really welcomes anyone other than his friends. The women he used to bring home don’t count - he’d let them in and make them leave; he never makes them stay long enough to be comfortable, to feel like they belong there. Sometimes he doesn’t feel like he belongs there, either, as if it’s a place reserved just for him to feel alone in. 

And so being welcomed in someone else’s home feels different. You’d done it to him, and being in your apartment both times made him feel at ease and familiar. Now, your mother welcomes him to the place where you grew up and it feels the same - there’s that comfort, that sense of nostalgia, even if he knows he’s never been here before.

“Welcome to our humble mansion,” your mother says. “Please, feel at home. Would you like some tea?”

“Uh, yes. Tea is fine,” he bows.

She heads to the kitchen and Jungkook is left to look around. It’s not a small house but it’s not large, either. He’s in the middle of a spacious living room, with shelves lining up the walls - one has family pictures in it, the other one has books and small framed paintings. The dining and kitchen are to the right; on the left is a hallway that seems to lead towards the bedrooms. There’s a screened door that also leads out the backyard. 

The entire space is airy, with lots of natural light coming through the windows. He spots some renovations done over time, as there’s some mismatch of materials, something only trained eyes could see. But they’re done well, and he could see the love that created this home for all of you. 

Your mother returns with two cups and places them on the table. She asks him to sit down, and Jungkook makes himself comfortable, facing the door as he gazes out at the sky and admires the beautiful changing of the colors. He knows you’d probably admire how it looks, too.

She observes him - nervous as he meets her eyes, a kind of desperation and fear evident as he constantly shifts on his seat. He’s grown up so much, but he’s still that shy little boy she remembers meeting all those years ago. She used to regularly go to the Jeon estate for some private events, and she won’t forget how Jungkook was the son who always kept to himself, content with a sketchpad and some crayons or riding the swing in his custom-built playground. 

“Do you remember me at all?” She wonders. 

“No,” he shakes his head. “Did I see you often?”

“A handful of times,” she responds. “Your father introduced me to you and your brother when I first started and I’d see you whenever I had to go to your house. But you were always so shy.”

“I was, but I… I wasn’t really good at paying attention. And I guess, there were a lot of things from when I was younger that I don’t remember,” he explains. 

The faraway look in his eyes says that there’s more to that, that they aren’t just things he doesn’t remember but they’re memories he tries not to, that he blocks out. 

“I’m sorry about what you had to go through as a child,” your mother says, having wanted to express her apology for years, knowing how much the experience haunted him. “I involved your parents in a very personal matter and that deeply affected your family. It affected you.”

“It wasn’t your fault. And I know it wasn’t my parents’, either,” he sighs, feeling regret over the resentment he felt and the distance he created. 

“They were just trying to protect you. I hope you know that now.”

“I do,” he hums. “Do you… do you know what happened that night? In the woods?”

“Byung-hun told me,” she nods. “I’ve never seen him so broken over not finding you sooner. He carried that guilt with him, too, that he didn’t look out for you the way he should’ve.”

“I… I didn’t know that.”

“That man feels a lot even if he doesn’t show it. He’s got the biggest heart that I know and he cares for you so much,” she smiles. “A lot of people do. That includes my daughter.”

At the mention of you, Jungkook’s eyes perk up, the softness mixed with sadness evident once more.

“She and I didn’t want our ties to your family to be known,” she explains. “It was a way for us to move on from all that happened. But in no way did she mean to deceive you. She… she would talk about you with such admiration and fondness. And you showed her that it was okay to let people in, that it could be worth it to follow her heart. She’d hoped that you could see past her decisions and know that she was sincere about everything. That she was sincere about what she felt for you.”

“I… I know that now.”

“And I suppose that’s why you’re here?”

“It is,” he sighs, wanting so badly to see you, even if he doesn’t know how to say everything he wants to. “Is she around?”

There’s a prolonged silence after his question, and your mother’s eyes flit to the far end of the house before they return to him. 

“She, uh, she picked up the girls from school and decided to have dinner out and watch the movies,” she excuses. “I’m not quite sure what time they’ll arrive. And it’s a shame that you came all the way here. Is there anything you want me to tell her?”

Jungkook debates whether he should wait to say all this to you, perhaps when you’re ready and able to see him, or to say what he can now, knowing it’s important that he gets to express whatever he can at this moment, knowing it will get to you somehow. 

But he also doesn’t know how much longer he can hold everything in. All the emotions he feels for you - the regret, the yearning, the desire to have you next to him - have been festering and he just needs to say them. Maybe doing so in front of your mother might be a bit of pressure, but if there’s anyone who can relay all this to you, it would be her.

“There’s a lot of things I’m not good at, Mrs. Cho. Opening myself up is one of them,” he starts. “But your daughter, she… she showed me that it wasn’t so bad. That it’s something I’m capable of doing, and that it’s safe to do that with her. Even when I distanced myself, she didn’t go anywhere, and that does a lot for a person.”

“She’s quite stubborn, isn’t she?” Your mother laughs, remembering those hard times when she’d tell you to get ready for bed, with you disobeying her because you wanted to hold her hand while she cried.

“She is,” he echoes. “It’s one of the reasons why I like her. One of many, actually. She’s also so patient and gentle and understanding… everything I’m not but… all the things I want to be for her. And I wish I’d told her all this when I had the chance but I was so blinded by my own needs that I… I eventually pushed her away. But she was still the one to reach out. She left that letter but I only saw it today and I…”

“Came all the way here to see her,” she finishes. 

“Is it too late, do you think?”

“Between the both of us, not at all,” your mother smiles. “She’s all those things you said but she’s human, Jungkook. She gets scared, too, and hard-headed and tired and upset because she feels so much when she allows herself to do that. And sometimes she needs someone to just show her that it’s worth it, that having fears is valid but that they’re not the only things out there. And you being here… I think it’s what she needs.”

She pauses so he could process her words, meeting his eyes so he could feel them even more. 

“You’re all she thinks about, you know? She likes being home with us and she’s excited for her new job but I can tell that there’s something missing. And I know that's you.”

“She’s all I think about, too,” he expresses, feeling more at ease now. “It doesn’t matter what I’m doing or where I am, I just always think about being with her. And I know that made her doubt, too. I’ve gotten so used to her presence but that’s not out of necessity. I’m not… a boss when I’m with her. I’m just… me. Because she made me see myself as someone beyond all that I do, someone worthy, and it’s that person who wants her, who needs her.”

Jungkook bows his head, angry at himself as all the words come out now, at a time when you’re not in front of him to hear them, to see that he means all of them. For weeks, all the things you said rang in his mind and every time you were in front of him, there were so many things he wanted to say but he never could, afraid of your rejection, of losing you for good. Now they’re out in the open, but somehow the words don’t seem enough. He realizes that when it comes to what he feels for you, nothing is. 

“These are the things I should’ve said to her but I just got overwhelmed at the thought of losing her,” he continues. “I don’t want that, Mrs. Cho. I don’t want to lose your daughter. I want to be with her and tell her that she doesn’t have to be scared anymore, that I want to protect her and take care of her. I want to make her happy.”

It’s the most he’s said about how he feels for you, and he feels quite overwhelmed about expressing them. But he has to say them. You have to know, even if you’re not the one in front of him. They’ll get to you, he’s sure of it.

“I know she wants that, too, Jungkook. And seeing you now, I just know you’ll find your way to each other again, and you’ll both be free from whatever it was that was holding you back,” she assures. “But if it’s not too much, do you mind being a little patient with her this time?”

“Of course,” he nods, knowing that everything that’s happened could make you a bit cautious again, and that’s not something he could blame you for. He’ll give you as much time as you need, and you’ll be the one to find him once you’re ready. “I’ll just be where I always am. And uh, the Arts Center opens tomorrow. It would be great if she could come.”

“She’ll know where to find you,” she smiles. 

He feels that he’s said all that he could, so he finishes his tea and stands up. He remembers that he bought something for you, initially hoping that it would make you smile once he gave them. 

“Could you, uh, could you give this to her?” He asks, handing your mother a plastic bag, somehow feeling ashamed that this is all he got as a peace offering. 

She peeks inside, her eyes widening in delight.

“Chocopie?” 

“Yeah,” he smiles shyly. “I would’ve given her flowers but I just thought this would make her happier. ___ told me that it’s her favorite because you’d give it to her as a treat while she waited for you to get off work at the school. She said it always made her day.”

“This was your favorite, too, wasn’t it?” Your mother asks. 

“It was. My mother said I always hoarded the ones she’d bring home and wouldn’t share it with anyone,” Jungkook chuckles, recalling those days of stacking them in his room and quietly eating them while he drew houses on his drawing pad. 

“You shared it to ___, though,” she says.

It catches him by surprise. He’s never done that, as far as he knows. This is the first time he’s even getting it for you. 

“That night those years ago, after I told your father what was happening, he offered us to stay at the staff house of your family’s estate until I’ve sorted things out,” she recalls. “We were in the living room while your parents talked to me and there was little ___, hiding behind my legs. I noticed her let go for a bit and that’s when I saw you, handing her some chocopie. She was always a shy kid but she took what you were giving, and I remember the smile on her face. Everything was new and scary for her and that… that was the first time she smiled that day. And I’ll never forget it.”

Jungkook stands in silence, as much of his memories from those years have been buried deep in his mind. He remembers hiding away whenever there were visitors at home but perhaps he looked on, curious about the girl who seemed scared and maybe something prompted him to share the treat with you, and something pushed you to take it. 

“I thought she was just being nice,” your mother continues. “She didn’t really like sweets then but she ate the ones you gave her. And when I’d take her to the convenience store after that, it’s what she always picked out. I’ve just been getting it for her since then, and that’s probably what she remembers but it was you, Jungkook. You’re why I bought it for her every time.”

“We’ve… we’ve met before. And I didn’t even know,” he manages to say, thinking now about the familiarity of your presence and the need to always look out for you. 

It’s something he always wondered about, how someone could just pull him in and make him feel things he’d never felt before - that comfort, that warmth, that desire to be good for someone else. It turns out, he’d felt those long before he knew much about the world. And while so many things happened that got both of you here, there’s still something serendipitous about not realizing you met as kids, and then finding each other decades later. There’s all this pain and sadness between the both of you, much of them intertwined, but at the end of it, you heal each other, you make each other stronger, braver. 

“She didn’t know, either,” your mother hums. “And this just means that she always kept something of you from that day. Without realizing it, you were always a good memory that she kept; you let her forget the bad things even though she'd forgotten about you, too. It’s how I know that even if she’s not the one in front of you right now, her heart will always search for you.”

Your mother’s smile is reassuring, as if she knows that it’s what he needs. He’d meant to find you today and tell you everything he feels, but somehow he believes it would’ve been hard for him to do that, and so expressing it is all he could do. He feels like he’s gotten so much despite not seeing you though. Learning that missing part of his childhood that had you in it is overwhelming enough, but perhaps it reinforces what he’s known all along - that his heart will also always search for you, it’ll always find you, and it will always be what he wants to hold close to him.

“Thank you for welcoming me to your home, Mrs. Cho,” he says as he bows another time and heads out to leave. “It means a lot meeting you today.”

“It does for me, too,” she states, leading him towards the door and out to the street where Mr. Ri waits. “And thank you for being good to my daughter. She’ll find you. You have to trust that she will.”

He nods, knowing he’ll just have to have faith in what you feel for him. And he hopes that as he walks away and gives you the space you need, you’ll trust in what he feels for you, too.

Your mother bids you and Mr. Ri goodbye, the longing look between friends hitting Jungkook deeply. They’re each other’s what if’s, and while one was able to live out another love, the other kept living out the one he let go of. It’s painful, and Jungkook now can’t imagine making that choice of letting you go completely. 

Love is a big word. It’s something he’s forgotten how to feel. He knows there’s still so much more to experience with you and love could be one thing, and that’s a possibility he’s sure he wants to live out one day.

He enters the car and sighs as he sinks in his seat. It’s been a long day and an even longer trip back home, but Mr. Ri insists that they take it.

The older man starts the car and looks dejectedly to his side. “So, she wasn’t there, huh?”

It takes a while but Jungkook answers. “She was.”

It’s a wild guess, but somehow he knew you were there, probably inside one of the opened rooms or in the hallway, just meters away from him but still so far away. Your mother had said you were out, but the way her eyes constantly flitted elsewhere, the way she gave him the time and space to just talk and express his feelings, and the fact that she’d shared that story about both of you meeting as children as if she meant to say it to you, too, all told him that you were right there. 

Maybe you hadn’t expected him to come. Maybe you didn’t know what to say this time. Or maybe you thought that seeing you would leave him tongue-tied again, unable to express everything he means, and you wouldn’t be wrong. He just focused on what he felt and not the right things to say or how you’d react at that moment, and he supposes that allowed him to be vulnerable, too. 

“And you’re not there with her because?” Mr. Ri wonders. 

“Because she needs time,” Jungkook states. “And it’s the least I could give her. And I’ll wait until she’s ready. We’ve spent all these months avoiding each other, thinking that letting each other go is the way to move forward but I… I know that’s not what I want. She is. And I’ll show her I mean it.”

“Well, you went to her. And that’s not all you’re doing.”

“I’m not good with words, you know that,” Jungkook shakes his head.

“I do. She knows that, too. So when she sees everything that you’ve done… she’ll know you mean it.”

It's the assurance that Jungkook needs, and he’ll hold onto that, too, until the time you find him again. Right now, he’ll focus on the Arts Center - he owes it to you to make sure that all the work you put into it is worth it. He knows you’ll want that, too. 

The long drive to Daegu had him think about how much of yourself you’ve given to the project that means the world to him. You may have done so because it was your job, but he can’t help but think that in the midst of it, you saw what he was yearning for, what he was trying to attain for himself, and that it mattered to you that he did. 

Jungkook and Mr. Ri go to a restaurant for dinner on the way back to Seoul, and the serious expression on the older man’s face has returned. This is his default state, but his soft, longing look is something that Jungkook won’t forget soon.

“How was it like seeing her after all these years?” Jungkook wonders. “Does… does it still hurt, knowing what could have been and the life she lives now?”

It takes a while but Mr. Ri finally replies. “In an alternate universe, Hye-soo and I are living with our family on some farm. We talked about that a few times, about wanting to grow old in a place that’s peaceful,” he recalls, all those long drives and hectic days becoming worth it whenever he shared them with her. “But this is the universe and lifetime I’m living now. The decisions I made brought me here, but they also set her free. You’ve met her, you’ve seen her home. She’s happy where she is and even if it’s not next to me, that’s the life I always wish she’d have.”

Jungkook hums, unable to fully comprehend the heartbreak of letting someone go like that, and then seeing them live a life that he could’ve shared with them. Thinking about meeting you at a park or something years from now, perhaps with a husband or children, and then wondering what would’ve happened if he didn’t let you go plagues him. That’s not the life he wants. It’s not a decision he wants to make, and he could only hope that neither do you. 

He looks across at the man in front of him with all that love for the woman he can’t have, and Jungkook wonders where all of that goes, recalling a conversation from not long ago, when Mr. Ri first revealed about a woman he’s held onto for years. 

“Does it all go to ___, then? All that love?” 

“It does,” Mr. Ri hums. “It also goes to your family, Jungkook. It goes to you. Those have kept me going all these years and they always will, so seeing you and ___ care for each other means a lot to me, too.”

It’s a comforting thought, knowing that at the end of everything, Mr. Ri still finds happiness in others, that he hasn’t allowed himself to fall into a kind of despair that paralyzes him. Jungkook recalls growing up and seeing the older man always by his father’s side, joining him on his trips and then coming back with some treats that he gives to Jungkook and his brother. When he was in Singapore, Mr. Ri visited often, showing up whenever he had a project launch. Jungkook also knows that he stayed in Canada for a few months, helping Jeong-sik recover after an accident left him with broken limbs. 

And there was that incident that Jungkook carries with him, how he was powerless and alone under the rain but it was Mr. Ri who searched for him, who didn’t give up, who dealt with that guilt for years. And Jungkook doesn’t know if he’s ever thanked the man for all he’s done. 

They engage in light talk for the rest of dinner. Jungkook offers to drive the rest of the way home, insisting that it’s a way for him to preoccupy himself instead of thinking about you. They spend it recalling his growing up years, how he slowly isolated himself, and then how he gradually opened up again. The older man expresses how proud he is, that regardless of what happens after all this, Jungkook pursued his happiness, and that’s what matters.

“Thank you, for uh, for everything,” Jungkook says as he exits the car, hoping that his simple words would convey all his emotions. 

There’s a softness on Mr. Ri’s face this time, one that Jungkook has seen only twice in his lifetime, both of which were today. It speaks of care and warmth; he knows now that it also speaks of love.

You lay on your mother’s lap, needing the comfort you always felt whenever she held you close and ran her fingers through your hair. It’s something she always did when you were a child, and she knows that despite having grown up, you need it now just as much as you did before. She doesn’t say much, letting the silence of your bedroom envelope the both of you this Thursday evening. 

It’s been a roller coaster of emotions this past week, and today pretty much took you on a deep plunge that has you holding onto your chest and wanting the stability of being on the ground. After you left that letter on Jungkook’s desk last Thursday, you stayed in your apartment and waited for days. 

In hindsight, maybe it was silly that you stayed put when you could’ve called or gone back to his office in an attempt to talk to him. But you weren’t sure what he was feeling, if he was harboring resentment for how you chose to leave, or if he was too busy with the Arts Center opening to even think about you. He kept himself busy during your last weeks after all, and he missed your farewell dinner, too. 

That letter was your way of expressing yourself without the fear of outright rejection. And giving him that decision to find you was your way of telling him that it was his call, that if he still wanted you, you’d be waiting for him. And that’s what you did, day in and day out - you waited for that knock on the door or for the ring of your phone. 

It drove you crazy, thinking that you could be with him already, but the possibility of him also deciding that that’s no longer what he wanted plagued your mind; it’s what kept you from making that call or paying him a visit. There was that part of you that couldn’t help but think that he might’ve wanted things to just remain as they are. It made you realize that despite taking that step of being brave, there was still fear within you that held you back.

The hope dwindled by the weekend despite the comforting conversation you had with your neighbor, and on Tuesday afternoon, the sadness took over. You packed your bags and decided that if you were to get over this, being with your family is where you need to be. You knew your mother would convince you to wait for Jungkook a little longer. She’d be the reasonable one and say that maybe he’d missed the letter. And she may be right, but if you were to pursue him again, you knew you needed to be around people you loved to give you back that strength and confidence.

It turns out, your mother was right. Jungkook did miss the letter. It took him days to see it, and he didn’t waste his time and went to find you right away. Perhaps that certainty that you’ve been needing is what turns out to be the one that overwhelms you in the end. You walked out of your room to find him in your living room, and you froze. You stayed rooted in that hallway, listening to him talk about what he felt for you, and all you could do was hug your knees as you sat on the floor, taking his words in, hoping they’d heal your heart as quickly as his silence broke it.

“Do you think he knew I was there?” You look up to your mother in question. 

“I think he did,” she hums. “I doubt he would’ve said as much as he did to me, someone he’s just met, unless he knew you could hear him. He had this look on his eyes - it was sad and sincere, full of regret but also of hope. And it just felt like was baring himself right there, hoping you’d know exactly what he felt.”

You think about it. Knowing Jungkook, he wouldn’t have let himself be that vulnerable to someone that easily, even if it was in front of your mother. He’s not always able to express himself to you, and maybe that’s why. Maybe like you, he loses his words and caves in in front of the person he wants. It’s happened so many times to you, and it’s one reason you chose a letter to express your feelings; saying it to him directly with all the uncertainties just terrified you. 

But he’d been bold, he’d been honest. And you got to hear his every word, and you believed all of it.

“Why didn’t you want to see him?” she asks, given that you’d shaken your head when she looked at you after he’d asked if you were around. “What were you so afraid of?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “It felt so long being without him, and I was holding onto this hope after leaving that letter and then the wait just… it discouraged me. Somehow seeing him there paralyzed me a little,” you explain. “Suddenly I wasn’t ready. I had all these feelings that were hanging in the air and to hear that he returned all those was just… I… I was overwhelmed because he was finally within reach.”

“Both of you are in this constant push and pull that’s keeping you from each other,” she points out. “At some point, you’ll have to just get over the fear and meet him where he is and he’ll have to do the same. No one wins in fear, darling. Weren’t you the one who told me I owed it to myself to give Min-woo a chance? You’re the one who said it was better to be scared with him next to me than to be scared alone.”

“Easy to say that when I’m on the outside, it seems,” you chuckle. “I get what you were feeling then, mom, and I understand now how hard it must’ve been.”

“That’s true, so you’re gonna have to trust me that what you said was true - it was better that I was scared with him next to me than if I was alone,” she repeats. “But I made that choice and it was the best one, because I can’t be any happier than I am now because I let him love me, and I allowed myself to love him. You and Jungkook could do that. You just have to trust that it’s all worth it.”

You nod. At the end of the day, you know it makes a difference that it’s your mother reminding you all of this. It’s her pain that you carried, it’s why you were always scared of opening up and sharing your whole self to another person. And it’s also why it matters that it’s her happiness that she reminds you of that pushes you to get over your fear, or at least, to choose to be with Jungkook in spite of it. 

She tucks you in bed and tells you to get some sleep now. It’ll be a busy day tomorrow, she says, as you have to make that long trip back to Seoul in time for the Arts Center opening. 

“As your mother, I’m kicking you out of my house,” she teases. “You are to head out there and tell that man how you really feel, okay? I won’t allow you back here until he’s with you.”

“That’s unfair,” you pout.

“It is, but so is keeping yourself away from him,” she shakes her head. “You take after me so much. Stop being stubborn.”

You laugh this time, knowing that while it’s that stubbornness that pushed Jungkook to open up to you, it’s that same trait that’s keeping you away from him.

“I will. And I’ll head out tomorrow,” you promise. “I’m so tired of being sad.”

“Good. No one gets tired from being happy, so that’s what you should try to be.”

Jungkook stares at himself in the mirror, tightening his necktie and then spending half a minute to determine if it’s aligned or not. 

It’s something he’s started doing. It’s been weeks since you left and stopped doing it for him, and even if Lucas has pointed out a few times that it was crooked, the younger man never really attempted to fix it. Jungkook didn’t really have a choice but to learn how to do it himself. For an architect with trained eyes, he’s ironically terrible at assessing something as simple as this. He never knows if he’s done it right, and he’ll always be amazed at how you do it. 

He finally decides he’s done it correctly, and he takes his coat to complete his look for the biggest day of his professional life. He opts for the classic suit this time, needing that refinement and elegance that a Kim Taehyung tailored outfit gives. Despite his best friend’s suggestions of trying something a little different, Jungkook insisted that simple is what he wants - the attention shouldn’t be on him, adamant that a textured charcoal ensemble would do its job. The pattern differentiates it from an ordinary suit so he at least doesn’t blend in too much and it’s a good compromise. You agreed with him on this months ago, and hearing you assure him that it looks good on him is something he’s missing.

He shakes his head at the thought. Here he is again, his mind going to you. Perhaps it’s his body’s way of dealing with the nerves; somehow thinking of you calms him down even if you’re not around. You’ve always had that effect on him, and with the unveiling of most important project of his life as the company’s Vice President, that composure and confidence is what he needs. 

It doesn’t stop him from wishing that you’d taken to heart what he said yesterday, not just about what he feels but about finding him. You know most of the details of today’s opening, and if you wanted to, you’d come to show your support even if he kept you in the dark during your last weeks. And if you really wanted to, you’d come to tell him that you want to be with him, and that you’re not going to walk away this time. 

It’s difficult to have today, of all days, be somewhat of a determinant of how things are going to go for both of you. He’ll definitely wait for as long as he needs to until you’re ready to face him again, but if it’s not today, he’s afraid there’s more that’s holding you back, and that not getting to you early on must’ve really hurt you. 

But he’ll keep on, as so much has happened for this day to be as successful as he hopes it to be. Hoseok constantly reminds him of the entire team’s hard work and that it’s what will pull him through. But beyond the expectations from his parents and the Board and past the importance for the artists involved, this was Jungkook’s dream as a professional, and he made it happen. He’ll hold out hope until the last moment that he’ll see you there, though, but if he doesn’t, he’ll just have to deal with your absence like he’s been doing these past weeks.

Jungkook exits his bedroom and gets approving looks from his best friends who’ll be his support system for today. He’d gone to the Arts Center early in the morning despite last night’s long trip back to Seoul, wanting to make sure that everything was okay. It took some reprimanding from his father to finally go home to fix up, the older man claiming that Jungkook will need to collect himself before all the activities in the afternoon. 

There’s an interview with the Culture Minister, a press conference right after, and an afternoon tea spread in the nearby hotel for all the artists whose work will be exhibited for the opening - all before the ceremony scheduled for 5PM. It’s a big day and an even bigger evening, and he’ll have to preserve his energy and learn to manage, and it’s the first big event without you. He knows it’ll be hard, so do his friends, which is why they're here to show their support and lend their energy when needed.

“You look like the star of the show,” Seokjin praises. “It’s a really good suit.”

“The stars of the show are the artists, actually,” Jungkook corrects. “And the public. It isn’t me.”

“Too bad. It’s a simple suit but you’re styled to still get attention so own it,” Taehyung states. “You look really good, Kook. So chin up, okay? It’s all gonna be fine.”

Jungkook tries to smile, hoping that faking it would eventually make it look real.

“We know it’s tough and you wish you could share it with ___, but just think that she’d want you to enjoy this either way,” Seokjin comforts. “You also owe it to her to give it your best today.”

He knows his friends are right. So many things had to come together for today to happen. Everyone involved did their parts. He heard that there’s so much buzz on social media about the Arts Center and the registration that opened to the public exceeded expectations, and that’s only the beginning. Thinking of all the possibilities excites him, and he’ll hold onto that to get him through the day. Or the week and even beyond that, if needed. 

Jungkook nods and thanks his friends, saying that it means a lot that they’re there for him. It catches them by surprise because he’s not one to easily express gratitude or any level of sentimentality. They suppose it’s what having you around had done for him, and maybe losing you also reminded him of the importance of being vulnerable. 

They head to the hotel that’s one block away from the Arts Center. Jungkook goes through the interview with ease, and with the support of his father, Hoseok, Ji-woo, and Lucas, he manages the press conference, too. He takes some time to collect himself after all that engagement, then he proceeds to the event hall to meet with the artists, curators, and craftspeople and show his appreciation. 

He feels a sense of accomplishment already just knowing that they’re as excited as he is. The inaugural exhibitions feature their work, and the products created to commemorate them are all beautiful. It’s truly come together, he thinks, and he allows himself to feel pride for the first time, knowing that more than the structure, it’s the connections and the art that they’re all celebrating, and it’s what he always hoped to achieve with this project.

It’s not long after when he finds himself in the Arts Center, first doing the customary ribbon cutting with his father and the Culture Minister before entering the lobby where he’ll give the formal welcome and signal the official opening of the center. 

It feels different with so many people present, all awaiting to see how the structure was renovated and what new features they’ll look forward to. There’s a buzz of excitement that Jungkook internalizes, as he sits on a chair by the stage. He watches on as his father and cousins go around to meet the guests, opting to save his energy for his speech. It’s the feel of his mother’s touch that makes him realize he’s shaking, and he turns to her and is met with her warm smile. It’s been a while since he allowed that to comfort him, and at this moment, it’s what he needs. 

“It already looks gorgeous, son,” she assures him. “And you’re going to do amazing up there. People listen when you talk, and they believe in what you say. I’ve seen it. So just trust in yourself, okay? At the end of the day, the structure speaks for itself, and that’s what the people will remember.”

“Thank you, mother,” Jungkook smiles back. “And thank you for staying here with me. And uh, for all the other project launches that you attended.”

“Of course, Jungkook. I’ll always be there to support you,” she says. “Anything that makes you happy makes me happy. Anything that you work on will be something I’m proud of. Never forget that.”

He nods, feeling a little lighter the more he accepts the love and support of those around him. He never really knew what that felt like, and he knows that’s all on him. He’ll try to change that now, and he supposes that expressing and receiving gratitude is one thing that he took from you. He just hopes he gets to have an opportunity to thank you again - he wouldn’t have done any of this without you.

Chin-sun approaches him to say that they’ll begin shortly, and Jungkook looks at the growing crowd one last time, that sliver of hope that he’ll see you keeping him going. There are so many moving parts to this entire project, but he knows he’s not alone. After tonight, he can breathe easy and look back at the year that’s passed and know that he put his all into this, and that it turned out to be exactly how he imagined it to be. 

It’s not long after when the program begins. CEO Jeon gives his opening remarks, followed by the Culture Minister, before Jungkook takes the stage. It’s a much longer speech he gives this time, as he wants to make sure that he gets to thoughtfully express his hope and purpose for the Arts Center. He talks briefly about its conception and then delves into the ideas of connection and intimacy, how he wants art to be experienced by people as both spectators and creators, and that he wants this to be a hub for people to create meaning, all while celebrating Korean culture in an environment that reflects the merging of tradition and modernism. 

He keeps his eye contact with the audience, and he sees their warm reception to his words. A video plays to introduce the artists and craftspeople who are featured, and then he ends with thanking everyone who was involved in the process - from the laborers, suppliers, and contractors, to the Board, the investors, and the executive team. He gives a special message to his project team and management support team, asking them to join him on stage because they deserve all the praise for how the Center turned out. 

There’s a resounding applause, and once that’s settled, he finally asks for all the doors to be opened. 

“There are so many things to explore here,” he says. “Please savor every space you enter and take your time. The meaning of art is something only you could define but the beauty is in the experience, and the experience is even more fulfilling when it is shared. Thank you very much and have a good evening.”

He watches the crowd disperse and he releases a breath. The night is far from over and the toughest part for him is just about to start, and that’s going around to see how everything is being received. His mother greets him after, congratulating him again. Hoseok and Ji-woo tell him how proud they are, and his father gives him that assuring nod, with words expressing pride and encouragement accompanying it. 

Jungkook quickly meets the team and gives instructions on how to divide and conquer before he heads to one of the performance halls. He sees Yoongi hanging around and there’s a warm smile on his friend’s face, a rarity because it’s not usually directed at him.

“You’re getting the hang of these speeches,” Yoongi hums. “___ would be proud.”

“Only if she’d heard it,” Jungkook sighs. “I looked around but I didn’t see her. Do you… do you know if she’s here?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “I haven’t heard from her. I’m sorry.”

Jungkook nods, knowing he’ll slowly have to accept that maybe you’re not ready yet, or that asking you to find him here at a time when there are so many people might have been too much. There’s hope that you’ll give him a call or maybe meet him at another time. He understands what you must’ve felt while you waited for him, and he hates himself for making you go through that. It’s excruciating being on the receiving end of it, and it’s only been a few hours. 

“Let me know if you see her,” Jungkook instructs. “I’ll just be…”

“Around,” Yoongi chuckles. “I will. But your job continues, so go out there and find out what people are saying. I’ll be on the lookout for her.”

Jungkook thanks him and continues visiting the different halls, engaging with the artists and Board members and some other visitors along the way. He searches for your face in every space he enters, exiting them in disappointment when he doesn’t find you there. His heart slowly breaks, and he hangs on for a little longer until he starts to feel too much, with the tiredness from being on the go the entire day getting to him. 

It’s a hard call but he decides to leave. Hoseok assures him that it’s okay; he’s talked to every important person already and that’s enough. People will explore for as long as the Center is open, and he’s got the project and support teams to hold the fort for him. There’s not much else he needs to do anyway; their subsidiary company tasked to manage the operations has already taken over, and Jungkook’s main tasks have been fulfilled. It eases him, knowing that he’s not abandoning anyone by deciding to step out. 

As the hours go by with no sight of you, the heavier he feels. He needs time alone, not just because his battery’s gone out but also to just wallow in the sadness. It’s pitiful but it seems better than constantly hoping he’d see you here while being surrounded by so many people.

He goes to one final area before heading out. It’s the most special one, the one he dedicates to you, the one he hopes you’d one day see and know that he thought of you everyday, even during the days when it didn’t seem like it. He wonders if you’ll like it, if it would remind you of what you grew up with, and if it would be a place for you to feel safe and free and happy in, all the things he’d wished you’d feel with him.

One last look and there’s still no sign of you. He calls Mr. Ri and asks to be dropped off at the office. It seems like a better place to be in when he’s sad and upset. 

The building is empty on a Friday night. Everyone’s either at the Arts Center or gone home and he’s ironically the one craving for the loneliness of this place. He’s committed himself to his job for a decade and doesn’t know much of who he is outside of it. He learned a bit of that in the midst of the biggest change he’s experienced and the most challenging year he’s had, and it was through you. 

He learned that he’s actually quite caring, that there’s a protective side to him, that he steps up and shows up when he’s needed, and that he finds joy and peace in the outdoors. He’s passionate and a perfectionist but he wants to be a bit spontaneous, too. He makes mistakes and can apologize for them. He’s capable of kindness and in some instances, enjoys the company of other people with whom he can observe and laugh with. Being alone often made him feel lonely, and he realized that he’s someone who craves companionship, who wants intimacy, and that he’s someone willing to be vulnerable and share himself with the right person. And while he tends to be impatient most times, with you, he’s willing to wait. And for you, he’ll try to be better.

He enters his office and lets the silence envelope him. The city looks alive from his window but there’s dullness from within. He’ll get over it, he thinks, but until then, that sadness will remain for as long as you’re not in his life, for as long as you’re not next to him.

You look at yourself in the mirror, the elegance of your rose-colored midi dress a contrast to the stress painted all over your face. You give yourself only a few seconds to admire how you look - there’s a bit of that sexiness from the v-neckline and front slit, and the flutter sleeves and other vintage details lend to a classic look. Your hair isn’t as fixed as you want and your makeup is too pale for your liking, but with time no longer on your side, those are the least of your problems. 

You couldn’t sleep last night despite your mother insisting that you get some rest. The image of Jungkook leaving your house plagued your mind. You should’ve ran after him and told him that you were sorry, that it doesn’t matter anymore if you waited, for as long as he found you. You should’ve stopped him to say that you wanted to be with him, that you were done with running away from what you really wanted, and that you’re willing to always be brave for as long as he held your hand and eased your worries. You should’ve gone back to Seoul with him, but you’d been too overwhelmed to move, to speak, to chase after what you’ve been yearning for. 

Deciding to come to the Arts Center opening wasn’t always certain. You knew you were going to visit one day. You worked hard on it, too, and you wanted to show your support even if Jungkook would never know. But when he asked you to find him there, you knew you had to go right away. You imagined him making that speech that you helped him draft months ago, donned in the gray outfit that Taehyung was proud to make for him. You envisioned the smile he’d have on as he looked around to see all his plans come to life and the visitors taking it all in. 

You just didn’t expect to sleep through your alarm and then miss the train by a minute. The travel wasn’t bad. The chocopies that Jungkook got you kept you satisfied the entire trip, but it was halfway back to Seoul when you realized that you didn’t have anything nice enough to wear. The ones you have are either too formal, too casual, or meant for a night out. 

Taehyung had designed a dress for you but you said it was no longer necessary after you resigned; it was fortunate that he hadn’t started making it yet, and so the guilt wasn’t too much. You didn’t want to go to the opening in just anything. While it mattered to get there, you didn’t want to get any attention, and so dressing appropriately was your plan. Everything else in your closet would make you look underdressed, and you made the quick decision to pass by a store and grab the first nice dress you could find and then head home. 

The clock was ticking, and it didn’t help that you got stuck in traffic on the way to your apartment, and that a vehicular accident at the intersection outside your village forced the cab driver to take a longer route to the Arts Center. Before you knew it, the sun had set, and the program was over, and Jungkook would probably now be in the midst of engaging with so many important people and you don’t want any of the attention that your arrival might bring. 

You finally make it though, and while minutes ago you were stressed and just desperate to make it to the Arts Center, now that you’re here, you’re quite nervous. You’ll face him again after so long, and the fact that happiness would be within reach brings about an unfamiliar feeling. But you also can’t wait to experience it. It’s a kind of joy and contentment you’ve only dreamt about, and you’ll finally know what it’s like.

Exiting the cab, you look around in awe. From this view, you could imagine the sunset framing the main building so beautifully. You enter the lobby and it’s even more spacious than you remember. Perhaps it’s the absence of all the laborers and materials on the floor. Now, it’s just this open space with art pieces placed around. The floor-to-ceiling windows would bring so much light in. It was one of the big changes to the old structure, and with the moonlight shining through, it feels as if there’s a natural spotlight on the art pieces. 

You’re enamored by the grandness of it all. Even more by the many people around, perhaps taking their time in exploring all that the Center has to offer. It’s such a massive space that it’s impossible to absorb everything after one go around, and you already can’t wait to take it all in the next time you visit.

It’s tempting to get lost in it but right now, your priority is finding Jungkook, but as you’re about to head to the second floor, Do-hyun’s whisper-yelling of your name catches your attention. She gives you a tight hug and there’s suddenly an air of sentimentality as the old team is together once again. It was just a year ago when you all took on the biggest project together and after all the highs and lows, it’s finally here. And while you missed out on the final weeks of preparations, they assure you that you’re just as much a part of those as they are. 

“You had to deal with the last minute changes, though,” you insist. “That must’ve been hard.”

“Only at the beginning,” Chin-sun says. “We were barely involved. We just helped with procurement but Mr. Jeon was the one who worked tirelessly on it. He had just two other people help him construct it and I guess that’s why he spent so much time there. But it turned out beautifully, and you wouldn’t have known it was only an addition.”

“Wha-what is it?” You ask, the curiousity taking a front seat for now. 

“It’s—”

“It’s something you need to see for yourself,” a familiar voice says. 

You all turn around and bow at the sight of CEO Jeon. He looks at you and smiles, gesturing towards one of the doors. You excuse yourself from the team and follow the older man, walking next to him in silence. 

“I was worried you weren’t going to come tonight,” he says. “I think that so was Jungkook.”

“I… I tried to come earlier but there was all this traffic and… I, uh, how did he do?” You ask. 

“Great, as always,” CEO Jeon answers. “He had everything under control and managed all the socializing impressively. He’s come a long way, hasn’t he?”

“He has,” you smile, recalling the anxiousness that he used to feel at just remembering names and keeping up with people’s energy. 

“He’s come a long way in other aspects, too. Smiling, believing in himself, being kinder to himself… it’s great to witness,” the older man continues. “And standing by and caring for someone the way he did with you, that was… that was new, too.”

“I didn’t intend on feeling this way for him, sir,” you say, recalling that the last time you spoke, you weren’t ready to talk about it. “And I tried to suppress it, and that pushed him away but I guess, sometimes we lose people for a reason; we find them again for a reason, too.” It’s a statement that CEO Jeon had told you the last time you talked, and it’s one that stuck with you. “I’m here to find him again.”

“Good. I was hoping you would, so at least I’d know that all this wasn’t in vain,” he chuckles. “And I really do hope you see his heart with this, ___. He takes after me, and I didn’t realize just how much until he came up with this plan.”

You lose him for a bit, suddenly unsure of what he means. CEO Jeon notices, so he gestures towards his right and you follow his lead, and that’s when you see it. Your eyes widen in shock, and you can’t help but gasp at the space before you.

“He’s not always good with words but he tries. And this is how he does it.”

You noted entering the grand library as he spoke. The walls and design were familiar, as you’d gone in here during your last few visits. But this area that you walk into is new. It’s not a large space but it feels like it now. It used to be a section of historical books and archived materials that were put on display, almost like a museum of literary artifacts that a historian had sold off. But it’s nothing like that now.

The glass enclosures have been replaced by shelves and bookcases, all easily accessible and reachable by anyone. The framed walls are no more - instead, there are reading nooks and character murals painted artistically, bringing them to life outside of the books they only lived in. The lights are not blinding; they’re warm and inviting, illuminating a space that makes you want to just sit or even lie in, especially with the large stuffed animals spread across. The chairs aren’t the same, too; there are couches all around, all soft and comfortable, decorated with knitted dolls and colorful pillows. 

You walk further, mouth agape as you take in every inch of the space that brings back so many memories from your childhood. This place is new but familiar. It looks nothing but everything like that neighborhood-run library that your mom used to take you to. Towards the back is a little activity area, with a large, leveled table and a row of shelves filled with coloring books and paper dolls. 

You feel chills as you realize what this place is supposed to be, and who this was meant for. 

You remember the first time you told Jungkook about this. It was after that incident at the restaurant. He took you to a park and told you how the playground was his favorite place, how it made him feel free and safe, how it allowed him to just be himself and imagine doing and being everything he wanted. You shared a piece of your childhood, too, and described that library you frequented, how you felt sad that you didn’t get to say goodbye to it, and that you hadn’t seen a place like that again.

But now you have. That last minute change that he made… It was this. 

You turn towards CEO Jeon and try to find the words to say but nothing comes out. You’re overwhelmed by what you see, by the memories they elicit, and by all the emotions overtaking you all at once. 

“Jungkook called me one evening and said that he was going to re-do the archive section in the library,” the older man says. “He wasn’t asking for my approval because it was his project, he’d said, but he just wanted to let me know. He made all the decisions and most of the design. He painted the walls and some of the furniture, too. He spent every afternoon here and stayed until the evening. He barely rested. He just… he just wanted this done. It was so important to him.”

“I… I told him about a place like this, that I used to go to,” you manage to find your voice now. “He never saw it but it… it looks like this.”

“Maybe you described it really well,” CEO Jeon smiles. “It’s how he’s always been. Just a few words and then it comes alive in his mind.”

“That’s why this Center is as beautiful as it is,” you hum. “He’s good at that, bringing to life everything that he envisions.”

“It’s his way of saying the things he can’t say, too. It’s something he got from me, I think. I’m not good with words either,” he admits. “So when Byung-hun told me that your mother used to spend her lunch breaks taking you to a library when you were younger, I knew this was Jungkook expressing everything he feels for you.”

“It’s a bit grand, don’t you think?” You say shyly. “Building something for someone is… so personal, so—”

“Sincere,” he finishes for you. “And intimate, I’d say. But my son, he feels a lot. Which is why I think he tries not to, and why he distances himself from others. He felt like he’d lost you, ___, even before he had you and that… messed with him. He needed to do this for you, but I think he also needed to do it for himself. If at the end of the day, you’ll no longer be a part of his life, this would remind him that you were.”

You blink away the tears that you quickly wipe off as you look away. If at the end of the day, he’s no longer a part of your life, this would also remind you that he was. But you don’t want that, because you want him in your life, you want every part of him that he’s willing to show, and you want to hold every bit of that in your arms, care for it, and never let it go.

The time you spent with so little of him in your life made you feel his absence, and that allowed you to recognize the pockets of joy you had with him. It gave you something to look forward to, to connect with, and to treasure. The first step was resigning, and that itself felt like freedom. You get to pursue that connection and deep desire by choosing him this time. Knowing yourself means knowing how your heart heals and loves, and you want him to be at the receiving end of that. 

“I… I need to see him,” you say, not wanting him to spend another minute without knowing how you feel. 

“You should,” CEO Jeon nods and motions towards the door. “I’m sure he’s wondering where you are.”

There’s a soft smile on his face and you mirror it, as if to tell each other that all has been forgiven, that everything has been accepted, that there’s no more blame or burden to carry anymore. 

You rush out, wondering where to start looking for Jungkook. Turning to the left, you see Yoongi, who quickly rushes to you.

“What do you think?” He asks, gesturing towards the library where you’d just come from. “Is it close to the one you used to go to?”

“Yes,” you respond. “Did you help him with it?”

“Kinda had no choice,” he chuckles. “We were working on it while everything else was being completed. He didn’t want anyone else to know, especially you. I didn’t even know why he wanted to build a children's library all of a sudden when it wasn’t in the plans until that night you told me about your childhood. It clicked then.”

“He was already dealing with so much but he still had time for this?” You say, still in shock that Jungkook pushed through with this despite everything.

“He had a lot to say to you but he didn’t know how to. And I guess working on this was a way for him to deal with losing you,” Yoongi answers. “You mean a lot to him, ___. He was a mess without you.”

You think back at the times you felt that he was quickly replacing you, that he was distancing himself, that he was probably upset because you’d messed up his plans, and that he just wanted to move on from you. All this time, he was working on something that he could leave you with, all because he knew how much it meant for you to have a place like this.

“Now I just have to find him,” you say. “Have you seen him?”

“Not in the past half hour. He’s just been going around but I did tell him I’d let him know if you came. You should call him.”

“I wouldn’t be able to say anything if I did,” you sigh, knowing that it’s probably the same reason why he didn’t call you after not finding you in your apartment yesterday. 

There’s too much to say that can’t be said over the phone. You’ll probably be tongue tied once he picks up. 

You decide to call Mr. Ri, the possibility of Jungkook having left swimming in your mind after thinking of how long he would’ve been socializing. It’s been hours since the opening; it’s possible that he’s gotten tired from it all.

“___? Everything okay?”

“Do you know where he is?” You ask, desperate now. “Is he still in—”

“I just dropped him off at the office,” the older man answers. “I don’t know why he wanted to be there but I’m on the way back to the Arts Center. Do you want me to pick you up somewhere?”

“I’m here right now and I just saw what he made. I need to see him.”

“You can wait for me and—”

“It’s okay. I’ll find my way there. Thank you.”

You drop the call and start heading towards the exit, with Yoongi on your tails, offering to drive you.

“You’ve done so much already. And you’re needed here,” you say. “It’s okay.”

“True, I have. It sucked witnessing you two constantly going in circles when you both clearly can’t get enough of each other,” he chuckles. “So go, find him. You can both stop being such idiots now.”

“Rude,” you laugh. “But thank you, Yoongi.”

He smiles, and it’s a sight that’s gotten you through some of the toughest days. He tells you again to leave now, and you rush out as you book a cab, slowly getting impatient as you want nothing more than to be with Jungkook already. 

You get inside the car and watch the city pass you by. So many nights you’d done this, wondering about your life and where it was headed, hoping that one day you’d find the strength within you to go for what you’ve always wanted, whatever it was. A smile paints your face as you do it again now. One day is today, and with another act of bravery, you’re heading towards that other piece of happiness, and you’re finally claiming it for yourself. 

The office isn’t far, and with the traffic having eased despite the hour, you make it to the building in no time. 

You’re suddenly nervous once you enter the lobby. You’re used to late nights but it’s different this time. The security personnel assigned tonight still remembers you, and he doesn’t ask questions when you say you want to head to the VP’s floor. 

It’s a little nostalgic walking down the hallway, even if you were here just last week. It’s knowing that you’ll be seeing Jungkook at the end of it that makes you emotional, your heart beating fast as the seconds tick by. You quietly make it to his room, and with the door opened, you wonder if he expected you to be here.

You stand at the entrance and see him standing by the window, looking out into the city below. His sleeves are rolled up, and he has one hand in his pocket and the other holding a glass of whiskey. You spot the bottle on the edge of the table and not far from it, the mess of folders and blueprints piled on the desk. 

“Why are you out here celebrating on your own?” You say, your voice soft despite the yearning you’re feeling. 

He hears you though, as the swirling of his drink stops and he slowly turns around to look at you. He looks tired, but you don’t miss the way his eyes light up. You wish he notices the way yours do, too.

“The Arts Center is beautiful, Jungkook. You should be enjoying it with everyone else.”

“It didn’t feel right without you,” he answers, walking towards his table where he places the glass next to the bottle. “It felt incomplete without you around. You… you were a big part of that.”

“Why did you leave, then? That’s where you said I’d find you.”

“Is that what your mother said?” 

“It’s what I heard,” you say. He doesn’t look surprised, and maybe a part of you knew that he knew you were there, but still, he asks.

“Why didn’t you see me? Why didn’t you want to talk to me?”

You start to walk closer and see the sadness in his eyes. It brings you back to this room weeks ago, how those same eyes looked at you in dejection, in guilt. You hate hurting him, and you don’t ever want to do that again. 

“I realized that I easily accept it when I’m told that I’m being selfish and that I don’t deserve happiness. But when it comes to someone’s genuine feelings, I cower,” you respond. “Your sincerity scared me and maybe that’s why I doubted it the first time and I’m sorry that I did.” 

Your voice starts to shake now as the emotions intensify with every word you say, and with every inch of distance you eliminate. 

“I’m sorry that I pushed you away, that I left, that I kept my past from you. I’m sorry that I was so scared about everything, especially about the way I felt, only because it was all so new. It was all so much; wanting you became too much, I didn’t know how to stop. But I…” you blink away the tears, not realizing they’ve been waiting to fall. “I realized I was more scared to lose you. I was foolish to think that I could just move on and forget about what I feel for you. I thought it’s what you wanted to do, too, and—”

He shakes his head, and it’s the most reaction you’ve gotten since you started speaking.

“All I’ve done since that night you left me here was think about you,” he says, now able to say what he’s been meaning to. “I didn’t know how to stop that either. Wanting you was no longer enough and I wanted to be with you but I didn’t think I could, not when I thought you didn’t want me. You left and I… I didn’t know what to do.”

“I knew it’s what I needed,” you admit. “I… I reached a point where if you asked me to stay, I probably would and I didn’t want to. I wanted to know myself outside of all this and I didn’t want you to be the reason why I’d stop myself from doing that, from searching for whatever would make me happy but I realized that it’s you.”

You take another step, your body aching for him as your heart beats faster. “I felt free but it didn’t feel like I thought it would be. I didn’t want to be here but I wanted to be with you. And I’m sorry it took so long.”

“I didn’t find you right away,” he whispers, as if he still carries that guilt with him. “I was so caught up with everything else, with dealing with the fact that I lost you.”

“The library,” you say. “You were caught up creating something for me.”

“I… uh, I didn’t know how to say everything that I wanted to say,” he sighs. “And I’ll probably always struggle with that but… I just thought that as you go about your new life, I could build you a place where you’ll always feel safe and free, and that if I can’t be that person to comfort you, you’ll have a place that can do that. Selfishly, I didn’t want you to forget me. But I also just wanted you to know that I was always going to think about you.”

“Doesn’t it feel a bit grand?” You ask now, inching closer once again as he takes another step forward. “Building a library for someone is a pretty big deal.”

“You would’ve been my biggest what if. I probably deserve something grand to remind me of how stupid I was that I let you go.”

“You’re not gonna do that again, are you?” You teasingly smile. “Because I won’t.”

“No,” he says a little seriously. “I put you through so much, ___. I just… I just want to be someone who would care for you and would make you happy.”

His words are simple but they carry so much. You suppose at one point, that’s all what’s started to matter. All he wants is to be part of that happiness you’ve been searching for. Maybe it’s what’s been missing in his life, too, and all you want now is to be a part of it.

Another tear falls down your cheek, and you appease the worried look on his face by saying that it’s a happy tear.

He softly smiles, wiping it off with his thumb before cupping your face in his hand. He’s gentle as he caresses you, and you learn everyday just how capable he is of giving warmth, that there’s such tenderness within him that he’s unable to fully show. 

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” he admits. “So many times that I’ve seen you cry and I’ve just been… so powerless to do anything.”

“Now you aren’t,” you breathe out as you eye his lips, knowing they’re what you need at this moment. “Now you can—”

His proximity stops you, as he bends down and closes the distance. His mouth presses against yours, the hint of alcohol intoxicating you a little but it’s the feel of him that makes your mind hazy. With his hand still cupping your cheek, he pulls you towards him, his tongue merely licking your own when he slides inside as if to tease. 

“Do that,” he finishes, pulling away only a little bit to allow you to answer.  

“Yes,” you heave, wanting so much more now that you’ve had a taste of him again. “I won’t stop you this time.”

“Good,” he pants, grazing the tip of his nose on yours. “I don’t plan to.”

You’re unable to take a breath before his mouth crashes against yours, but you don’t mind, not when you immediately lose yourself to the way he feels. The kiss is desperate, with his tongue seeking entrance right away and then entangling with yours. Yet it still feels gentle with how he holds you, as his one hand continues to caress your face while the other glides down your side torso, settling on your hip to pull you closer. 

Your fingers grip his dress shirt, needing that anchor to ground you as you feel yourself drifting, getting lost in what you’re feeling - pure desire, an insatiable need, a sense of relief that there’s finally nothing holding you back. He angles your head, allowing him to go even deeper, and you let him take control, you let him breathe you in, let his tongue explore your depths before he pulls back and nibbles your lower lip. 

But he doesn’t stop just like he said, as he makes his way to your neck. You moan once you feel him lick the shell of your ear, the sound urging him to do more. He finds spots that have you grunting in pleasure, sucking and licking and pressing soft kisses on them, leaving you a pleading mess. You chant his name, grind against him for that friction you badly need, and pull on his shirt, as if wanting that barrier gone. 

“Fuck,” he groans, meeting your hips. “Fuck, you sound good.”

Jungkook feels the shiver of your skin, as his mouth slides up and down your neck while he grabs your  waist. He loses himself in the sounds of your moans - constant and yearning - just as heavenly as he remembers. You’re pliant, moving your head to give him access, letting him explore whatever’s exposed for him to do as he pleases, to taste whatever you can offer right now. 

He pulls you for a kiss once again, and there seems to be more desperation now, as you try to dominate, to taste him, to keep him there. Your hand finds his, guiding it to map your body, to let him know where you want him, to tell him where he can go. He curses under his breath when he feels your breast, fondling it for the brief moment it’s there before you direct it further down. You know exactly what you want and he’ll give it to you. 

The front slit of your dress makes it easy, and when his finger grazes your clothed cunt, you let out a sound that rings in his ear, and he wants more of it. 

“You like that?” He huffs in your ear. “You want me to touch you like that?”

“Ye—yes,” you mumble, unable to say anything more.

Jungkook hears your desire. He feels it, too, but he teases a little, gliding down the wet patch before slowly pressing on your clit. You jerk a little, briefly pulling away from him so you can take in a long breath. You bite your lip and he knows that you’re holding yourself back.

But he wants more and he can tell that so do you. He doesn’t care where you are right now; all he wants is to taste you, to feel you pulsate against his tongue, to make you feel good and let you know what he can give.

He looks down where his fingers have slipped past your underwear then back at you, the lick of his lips his way of seeking permission. You seem to know what he means, and you nod, granting it to him. He pulls you again for a kiss, much rougher this time, before he pushes you against the desk and lifts you so you could sit on the edge, just like that first time. But like you said, you won’t stop him anymore. And he truly doesn’t have an intention to.

His mouth moves down actively, kissing every clothed and exposed part of you it passes while slowly lifting up your dress. He kneels on the floor and spreads your legs open, aching to taste even more of you. But he glances up and sees the anticipation on your face, his mind hypnotized even with just this view alone.

Holding your gaze, he teases, with his tongue merely grazing your throbbing cunt.

You tense up but it’s what gets you pleading.

“Please,” you whimper, the sight of him from below leaving you in a daze. “Jung—want—plea—I—”

You’re unable to form proper words so he finally gives in, pulling your underwear to the side. He grunts, as the sight of your wet lips has his dick getting even harder. Your desire matches his, and all he wants is to fulfill your need.

With the barrier gone, he presses his tongue flatly over your clit, warming it up first before he starts moving around. He alternates fervent licks on it with slow movements everywhere else - on your lips, on the sides of your thighs, and inside your hole. It’s messy and absolutely mind numbing, as your scent and and the way you taste divine have him burying himself even deeper into you, losing himself even more when he feels your hand in his hair, pushing him towards you as if you don’t want him to go anywhere. And he wouldn’t mind. He’d live here if he could.

You start to give in, your legs slowly closing on him but he pushes them apart, keeping them open so he could do more. With his movements, he pulls you closer to the edge - of the table, of your orgasm - and he buries his face there again, licking and sucking and moaning like a man starved. 

The sounds you make drive him crazy, and that's with you still holding back. You’re still in his office, doing something you both definitely shouldn’t, and he supposes you don’t want your obscene sounds to echo throughout the floor despite it being empty. He can’t wait to hear you without anything stopping you. 

You start to shake and that’s how he knows you’re close. He feels your uneven breathing, hears your broken chants of his name, and sees your grip on the table getting tighter. He wants to take you there, and with one final nip of your clit, you crash, the low, long-winded sound satisfying his need to pleasure you.

You try to catch your breath while he laps up your juices. You’re still sensitive, as your legs jerk with every movement of his. He takes a peak and sees your half-lidded eyes and parted mouth, but you eventually return to your senses and meet his gaze. You’ve had enough, it seems, as you pull him up and meet his lips. 

Jungkook tastes of you, and you kiss him languidly, still out of breath and definitely in a daze. You want more of him, though; you want to bury yourself in him and elicit hypnotizing sounds that’ll have him chant your name, too, so you start to palm his hard length in return. But he goes soft on you, taking your arms and wrapping them around his waist before he cups your cheeks again while he returns your kisses.

“This feels quite familiar,” you hum against his lips.

“Really? I don’t remember you pushing my head between your thighs the last time,” he teases.

“Oh, shush,” you frown, quickly realizing exactly what you’d done. “I can’t believe I had you eat me out on your desk. In your office. On a work night, too. And while you have an event going on. Your father will be so angry.”

“Good thing he won’t know,” Jungkook shrugs, clearly unbothered. 

But you aren’t, so you pout at him. “What was I thinking?”

“Maybe you missed me too much, and I can’t blame you, since you know, I did, too,” he reasons, his shy smile turning cheeky in a second. “Or maybe you wanted to leave me with a gift or something,” he smirks. 

“True. When you’re stressed at work you can just remember what you did to me here and then you’ll feel better, I guess.”

“Actually, that’ll probably frustrate me,” he chuckles, pulling you closer again and wrapping his arms around you. “Thinking about how good you sound and how amazing you taste without you around… Yeah, I’d be angry.”

His praise flusters you, and you briefly turn away. But he assures you again that his father won’t know, and that you’re in the clear despite the indecency you both committed. 

“And it doesn’t matter,” he continues. “That is worth whatever trouble I’ll be in, if it happens. I… I couldn’t wait any longer. I just wanted you right away.”

The heat rushes to your cheeks again, and you giggle and bury your face in his neck. It’s comforting, the way he giggles back but hugs you tighter. He smells just as you remember, and you think that this is how you want your days to go from now on - flushed against his chest, cradled in his arms, with his soft lips giving you shivers as he kisses your forehead. 

It’s just your joint breaths that you hear now, and you turn to him, your soft smile making his heart skip a beat, and he knows that this is how he wants his days to go from now on - safe in your embrace, with your soft lips tracing his jaw and leaving teasing pecks on his cheeks. He captures them in his, basking in the taste of you, and it’s not long after when the kiss intensifies, leaving him wanting more again.

But just as you return his desire, it’s at that moment when the phone rings, catching both of you off guard and in surprise. He appeases you, as your eyes look at him in worry. He picks up the call, and he hums in confirmation before putting the phone down.

“The building is scheduled for sanitation in half an hour,” he says. “We have to go.”

“Oh right. I remember putting that in our calendars,” you hum, getting off the table and feeling the dampness of your underwear.

You fix your dress, trying to make it less uncomfortable. You turn to him who looks at you shyly.

“Can I take you home with me?” He asks. “Maybe we could, uh, continue this and you know, make up for the time we spent apart?”

“Yes,” you respond, feeling your heart race at the possibilities of tonight. “I’d like that.”

He nods, unable to control his own smile. He motions towards the door and you walk out side-by-side, knowing enough that there are security cameras around. There’s at least that unspoken agreement that neither of you want the attention that could come from having this exposed, whatever this is. But you suppose you have time to figure it out. You’ve both expressed enough that you want each other; you’ll just have to talk about how to move forward and make up for all that’s happened. 

It’s cheeky glances from the elevator down to the car. But once he drives out of the building, he takes your hand and intertwines his fingers with yours. He smiles when you tighten your hold, as if to say that you don’t want to let go of him, too. 

You explain that you woke up late and had to buy a dress that’s why you didn’t get to him earlier. You share how you met the team and then his father, and the anticipation you felt on the way to the office to see him. 

Jungkook narrates how his day went, saying that the interview and press conference were successful, and that he received so much praise from the artists for how the Arts Center turned out. You compliment him, too, saying how everything looks grand but that each individual space feels intimate, personal, and that you can’t wait to explore it further. 

The conversation is a good distraction, as the moment from earlier still has you reeling internally. His taste is addictive, and there’s just so much more of him you want to see, to feel, to immerse yourself in. He seems a bit impatient, too. He’s driving close to the speed limit, perhaps wanting to get to his place as soon as he can to continue what you both started. With everything that’s happened, you wouldn’t mind doing it all night. 

You finally make it to his building, and he constantly pulls you close as you make your way up, with his hand snaking around your waist while you smile at him. But when he opens his door and you enter his penthouse, he keeps his distance, letting you walk through his hallway and into his kitchen as he looks on.

He walks slowly towards you and his heart starts to beat faster, knowing he’s got you alone now, and that there’s no limit to what both of you could do. But though he wants to just take you in his arms, feel you against him again, and kiss you until you both run out of air, he decides to savor this first - the sight of you back in his apartment. 

It’s been so long. And with you looking as beautiful as you do in your pink dress, he wants to ingrain this image of you in his mind - happy and content, with a tender smile that’s already healing the parts of him that once hurt. 

“Your place looks the same as the last time I was here,” you say, looking around.

“Well, I haven’t really been spending time here,” he shrugs. “I was too busy being an idiot and making this children’s library for this girl that I’m really, really into to make up for it. And well, she’s here with me now. I feel like this place is going to start feeling like home.”

“Plants would help. And maybe some personal photos,” you tease, but you reach out your hand that he takes and you pull him closer, wrapping your arms around his neck and grazing your nose against his. “But I’m also here. And I’m not going anywhere, Jungkook. I just happen to really, really be into you, too.”

He laughs, and it’s a sound you once said you want to hear all the time. You think from now on, you will. 

“Good. I’d like to keep you for as long as I can.”

His eyes turn serious and it makes you feel hot all over. It’s hard not to use his playboy lifestyle as a basis for how he’d be, and you can’t help but think just how good he’s going to make you feel. There’s always been so much tension with him that in hindsight, you’ve always tried to quell or overlook, but there’s no need for that anymore. You’ll let your desire take over, release all that lust and yearning until he knows just how much you want him in ways words could never express. 

But just as he closes the distance between you, the doorbell rings, and his groan of frustration makes you laugh. It’s as if the universe is edging both of you with these distractions. 

Jungkook looks at you in apology and agony. “That might be Mr. Ri. Or Lucas,” he says, remembering that they’d said that they’ll drop off some of the gifts he received in celebration of today. If he doesn’t answer, they’ll probably enter on their own, since he’s given them permission to.

So he lets you go and heads towards the door while you scurry to the left towards the hallway. 

You doubt whoever it is would come all the way inside so you don’t really attempt to hide, but you do lean by the wall and listen in. You’re appeased to know it’s Mr. Ri, as you see him enter with several gifts and packages. 

“These are from the artists and the Board. There are art pieces in the cart outside so just bring them in,” he instructs, oblivious to you standing not far away. “They gave you lots of alcohol, too. I thought to bring them here already for whatever reason you might need them.” 

The older man chuckles and finally looks up and sees you.

“And I assume that reason is to celebrate,” he smiles now, and you don’t miss the smug look on his face that makes you feel flustered. “I was just gonna say that ___ was looking for you,” he turns to Jungkook. “Looks like she’s found you.”

“She… she did,” Jungkook smiles back. 

“Good. It’s about time you kids made up,” he teasingly rolls his eyes. Heavens know how much he had to deal with, with you and Jungkook being such hard-headed idiots.

“We were in the middle of it but then we got disrupted,” Jungkook frowns, to the amusement of the older man.

“Oh, I wonder who did that,” Mr. Ri teases. “I better get going then.”

He sets aside the boxes and turns to both of you. 

“But before I leave, I just… I just want to congratulate you, Jungkook. The Arts Center is a beautiful piece of artwork. And that… that last-minute thing you did… I’m telling you now that it drove your father crazy. But he… he told me how proud he is of you,” he continues, his look softening as he recalls their recent conversations, including the one just before he drove here. “To do all that for someone you care about, that takes a lot of heart. I think that you, finding it and using it is what he’s happiest about.”

His words are followed by Jungkook’s nod, perhaps in appreciation, and silence, as you’re unsure what else could be said after that. Mr. Ri excuses himself after bringing in the last set of gifts and there’s still that soft smile on his face before he leaves. 

It’s happening, he thinks, and despite all the time it took for you and Jungkook to get here, he supposes it was the only way. It would’ve been easier if he or even Yoongi or Hoseok went ahead and spoke to both of you, perhaps to say it was all a misunderstanding or that there was nothing to be afraid of, not when you both undeniably felt the same way. 

But he also knew that you both had to come to that realization on your own, that life without each other isn’t something neither of you wanted. You also had to make that decision for yourselves - to be vulnerable, to be brave, to take risks, and to find out that it would all be worth it if you’re just honest about how you feel. It seems you’ve both figured it out now, and he can finally feel at ease that two of the most important people in his life can now take care of each other, and that the love he gave helped both of you to get here.

Jungkook leads him out the door then returns to you, and as he walks to where you are, you’re finally able to appreciate how he looks. It’s just like the other times when he had an event to go to - hair slicked back, long sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his dress shirt accentuating his toned chest, and the fit of his trousers showing off the rest of his figure. You eye him up and down and he smirks at you in response.

“So… you exposed yourself, Mr. Jeon,” you say, pulling the neck of his tie to bring him closer to you. “Who taught you how to use your heart like that?”

“Who knew I even had one in the first place?” 

“I did.”

“Not at the start though,” he says, with a hint of guilt in his eyes.

“It was there, you were just hiding it. But I saw it. And I got used to it. Then I couldn’t get enough of it, of you,” you say, meeting his eyes. “And now I just… I want more of it, Jungkook. I want all of you.”

Having you be so bold about what you want does something to him. It already got him weak in the knees when you directed his hand where you wanted it earlier and when you looked at him to grant permission about having a taste of you. Hearing you say you want all of him causes his mind to short circuit, but he recovers quickly, as he nods and releases a breath before cupping your face in his hands then crashing his mouth into yours again. 

It’s sloppier this time, as you both try to take in as much of each other as you can. Your tongues battle for dominance, you nibble and lick each other’s lips, and you moan with every breath as he’s got you caged against the wall, your hands gripping on his shirt to pull him even closer.

You feel Jungkook’s length hardening as he’s flushed against you, and you grind against him, needing that friction badly. He meets your hips and releases your face from his hold, supporting your back that now arches as you chase him, as he finds purchase on your neck, licking and sucking to elicit the most obscene sounds from you. He kneads your ass while you moan his name and plead for more, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt this much pleasure with just this, and you can’t wait for what comes after.

“Please,” you beg, as you feel your cunt throb in pain.  

Jungkook doesn’t need you to say anything else, as he has the same desire to feel your body. There’s so much he wants to do to you, so much more he wants to touch and feel. He wants to know how else you sound like, what makes you lose your breath, what makes you quiver and shake. He wants to know how else his mouth could make you come and how his fingers can drive you wild. He wants to know how your mouth feels wrapped around his cock, how much of him you can take, and how it’s like to be buried deep inside your warm walls as your essence coats him. 

He wants you right now, so he heads towards the closest room, guiding you backwards as he unzips your dress and removes your bra. His hands immediately map your bare body, feeling the shiver in your skin with every movement. You whimper when he fondles your breast, and the thought of you being sensitive to his touch makes him even harder.

The back of your knees hit the edge of the bed and he guides you to lie down. He trails downward, nibbling as he goes and memorizing your body this way. His mouth reaches your waist, and from here, he finds himself intoxicated from your scent. He slowly removes your soaked underwear and the sight of your went cunt makes him throb in pain.

You’re so fucking beautiful, he thinks to himself. He can’t believe he waited so long to have you like this.

He thumbs your clit, and your continuous moans and calls of his name make him give in. He stands up and smirks at you and, taking your hand, he replaces his fingers with yours, his eyes ordering you to touch yourself.

You follow, and though it doesn’t feel as good as how he does it, the pleasure hits differently when you watch him loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt. All those months of doing your morning routine comes back to you - now you get to see all that’s underneath the clothes you prepare, and when he pulls down his trousers, your mouth drops the same time it does. He’s thick and veiny, and you can’t wait to feel him inside you. 

His eyes are on your sopping cunt while yours are on his fingers as they stroke his length, getting himself ready for you. He opens the drawer and pulls out a condom, and while there’s the tiniest bit of disappointment, you don’t mind. It’s something you’ll eventually talk about. Right now, you just want him inside of you and you call out for him another time, prompting him to smirk once again and walk towards you.

He replaces your hand with his fingers this time, and when he returns to touching you, he climbs on the bed and hovers over you, lowering himself for a searing kiss.

“Good girl,” he hums against your lips.

You lose it, as if you hadn’t lost yourself already, but his deep voice and the way he grunts against your skin do something to you. You feel his cock not long after, and no amount of yearning for him could prepare you for how good he feels. He fills you up just right, and the gradual way he enters you while his eyes bore into yours has your stomach in knots and your heart beating out of your chest. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he mouths as he goes deeper. “Fuck, baby, you feel so, so good.”

He hits the edge and he settles for a while, letting you get used to the feel of him, but when you start to grind against him, he decides to do the same.  

He moves his hips, pushing then pulling out then pushing harder. He raises himself and intently watches your face distort in pleasure - your breath hitching, your lips parting, your eyes half-lidded as you moan his name, as if it’s the only word you’ll remember after all this. He starts to increase the pace, loving the way your breasts bounce in response. Then he slows down, only so he could capture one of them in his mouth to suck and the other, in his hand to touch. 

The feeling of ecstasy overtakes you. He doesn’t go rough all the way, as you initially expected he would. Instead, he paces himself, going fast for a period of time and then slowing down to let both of you bask in the feel of each other. He doesn’t seem to want either of you to come right away, you can tell, by the way he moves and the way he looks at you - with a kind of longing and desire that feels so intimate.

He gets back on his knees after and spreads your legs, giving him more space to pound into you, and with his hands gripping your hips, he pulls it towards him to meet his. You feel him deeper inside, and it has you holding onto your breasts, pleasuring yourself there, too, as he starts fondling your clit once again. 

You’re feeling everything everywhere, and your mind starts to go hazy when he lifts your leg and places it over his shoulder, allowing him to enter you from an angle that has you mewling in intense pleasure. You feel your eyes rolling out, but somehow they land on him, and the way his head tilts back while he grunts in pleasure as he caresses your thigh is a sight that you want to keep seeing. That image of his clenched jaw and strained neck will be ingrained in your mind from now on.

You continue with this pace for a while until he lowers himself and kisses you, hard and deep the same way he thrusts into your hole. With his chest flushed against yours, his mouth sucking and licking your neck, and his hand flicking your pert nipples, you come, the deep inhale and the exhale of moans echoing inside the bedroom. 

Jungkook feels your essence despite the barrier, and it’s a kind of euphoria that pushes him to reach his peak. He hovers over you again, pinning your hands to your side for that anchor he needs. He meets your tongue with his, and then he pounds hard, wanting that high as you come down from yours. But you don’t hold back, as you meet his hips and curse and tell him how good he feels 

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you seethe. “You fuck me so good. Fuck, fuck, yes. Keep going, please baby. Keep going.”

Your words push him over the edge, and he crashes before he knows it. He grunts as he catches a breath, a way to express the intense pleasure he just experienced. But he sees you still panting. You may have already come but another one won’t hurt, so he nibbles on your breasts again, knowing it won’t take long. You’re already close, and with a few more flicks of his fingers on your clit, he feels you quiver again. 

“Come for me again, baby,” he mumbles. “I wanna hear your pretty sounds again.”

It doesn’t take long. There’s a tone of your moan that lets him know you’ve reached your peak, and he keeps that in mind for everyday that he plans on doing this to you.

You catch your breath, feeling as if you’re in a daze with what you just experienced. As you come down again, you meet his eyes. They were intense and lustful earlier but they’re soft now, just as his smile is. There’s contentment on his face and adoration. He kisses your lips, and that’s soft, too, before he turns to your side and lies on his back. 

Jungkook feels the exhilaration from that ride with you, and he definitely wants to do it again. But he knows he’ll have to recover. He turns to you and thinks that you’ll need some time, too, but he can’t help himself. He presses soft kisses on your torso, up until he reaches your cheek, and that causes you to smile.

He finally stands up and tells you he’ll clean up, and you nod, somehow needing a moment alone to wrap your mind around what just happened. 

It’s different, you think, when sex is with someone you actually feel really strongly for. All the ones before don’t compare. Sure, you were attracted to the men you dated, but they never made you feel anything close to this. Perhaps it’s Jungkook, but maybe it’s also you - for the first time, you’re giving more than just your time and your energy. For the first time, you’re giving your heart, too. All of it.

The thought makes you giddy. It also makes you shy because it all feels new. And it suddenly makes you hyper aware of where you are. 

You look around. This is a new room. Other than Jungkook’s bedroom, you’ve only been to his study; this door was always closed and you never had a reason to see what’s behind it. You know he doesn’t really have people over but you assume an extra bedroom is always good to have.

You start to feel cold without Jungkook’s warmth, so you shift on the end and pull the covers, burying yourself under it. You don’t remember where your dress is, and you’re suddenly too shy to just head out the room and get it. It’s at the same time that Jungkook exits the bathroom with his boxers on, and even that has you feeling all kinds of things. 

“Hey,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Are you cold?”

“A bit,” you respond.

He looks around and spots his dress shirt on the foot of the bed. He takes it and pulls away the blanket so he can make you wear it. He buttons it and fixes your hair, parting the damp strands and tucking them behind your ear. He helps you stand then you scurry towards the bathroom to clean yourself up. 

You don’t take long as you don’t want to make him wait, and when you open the door, you see him with his trousers back on, fixing the bed. On top of it are your folded dress and underwear. Between that and the shirt you’re wearing, something inside you stirs as you’re reminded again of how thoughtful Jungkook is. You like him for so many reasons, and now that you get to be with him like this, you’ll get to know him even more.

You don’t realize you’re staring at him as he moves about until he starts walking towards you. 

“I’ll get your clothes dry cleaned. Is that okay?”

You nod, giddy again and unable to speak. 

“I was also, uh, thinking. Do you want to spend the night with me? And maybe the one after, too?” He asks.

“I’d like that,” you smile. 

“Good,” he smiles back, kissing you deeply. “I was really hoping we get to do more of that.”

You laugh in response even if deep inside, you’re screaming in excitement. You’re still overwhelmed by all this, but you know that spending the evening and then waking up next to him will let you ease into this new life that you have. 

He laughs, too, when your stomach grumbles, and you realize you haven’t eaten anything since you left your mother’s house, and that was almost 12 hours ago.

“I actually don’t have anything in my fridge so let’s just order out.”

You nod, and shortly after, you find yourself sitting on the couch with him, your legs laying over his lap while his fingers caress your thigh. He’s got his arm around you and you sit there, just talking, while you wait for your dinner to arrive. 

You stay on the dining table when it does, and you remain there after you’ve both wiped out all the food. You both clean up, liking the domesticity that feels more real now, even more when he takes your hand and leads you to his bedroom. 

“I don’t have any makeup remover or anything like that,” he says from inside his bathroom. “Just cleanser. Is that okay?”

“Uh, yeah, that should be fine,” you say, following him inside. 

He places some skincare items on the counter and says that he’ll buy your brand this weekend. He grabs a towel and places it on the stool next to the shower before he turns to you. 

There’s a look of desire in your eyes, and though he’d initially thought that maybe you’d want to wash up on your own, the way you’re biting your lips makes him think that maybe you don’t.

He walks towards you and, with his fingers fiddling with the buttons of his shirt you have on, he looks at you in question as a way to seek permission. You nod, and it’s his confirmation. There’s something about you speaking to him with your eyes that has him nervous, but every approval you give stirs something in him. There’s your shyness but there’s also that desire to have him close.

He undoes the shirt, and though he’s already seen your bare body earlier, it still takes his breath away, as if it’s the first time he’s being graced with this, only because he’s been craving it for weeks.

Not much is said when he undresses after you, but you don’t really need words. Right as he turns on the warm shower, your lips are already on his. It’s sensual this time, as you both seem to want to savor this now that you have more time to spare. There’s still so much he wants to know and to feel, and he supposes there’ll be more days to learn all that. 

But then again, that could also be today, as you kneel on the floor and take his hardening dick in your mouth. You’re just as heavenly as he imagined, even more when you let him come on your chest and he’s dazed with how turned on you look. He finishes you off with you caged against the wall, your breasts in his mouth and his fingers inside your hole. It’s more languid kisses once you decide to actually take a shower, and going slow as you caress each other’s bodies is another feeling that he wants to keep having.

He gives you one of his shirts to wear before you both head to his bed. It’s past midnight and the day has started to catch up to him. He’s been tired since midday, and he would’ve crashed on his couch after finishing a bottle of whiskey if you hadn’t come. 

But you did, and the past few hours have been nothing short of amazing, as if it’s a dream he doesn’t believe is really happening. You lay next to his side, looking warm and comfortable with the softest smile on your face, a contrast to how you looked when you took him so deep in your mouth and moaned curses while you pulled on his hair as you came on his fingers. 

“What are you thinking about?” You ask him.

“A lot of things. Also nothing,” he says. “So much has happened today and I just… I just wanna sleep but I also want to stay awake with you a bit longer.”

“We’ll have more time together though,” you assure him. “We can talk about them tomorrow.”

He hums, knowing that his weekends from now on will no longer be boring like they used to be. 

“What about you, what are you thinking about?” 

“That your bed is so soft and your pillows smell so nice,” you respond, earning you a laugh. “Better than the one earlier. Although come to think of it, I didn’t even know you had a guest room.”

“It’s, well, uh… I wouldn’t really call it a guest room. I don’t really make people sleep there. Unless, they, uh, stay the night even if I told them not to.”

With his embarrassed face, the thought dawns on you. 

“You have a room specifically for your hookups?” You gasp. “You fucked me in your hookup room!”

You don’t seem angry but still, he supposes it doesn’t sound good when you say it like that.

“That… that was the closest room with something to lie on and I just wanted you so badly,” he explains, truly looking like he feels bad about it. “I only have that because I don’t let people in my room and well, you’re here now, aren’t you? I don’t like people being inside my space but you… I want you here. I’m sorry.”

He looks at you with apologetic eyes and you suddenly feel bad for reacting the way you did. It’s not a big deal. Maybe it isn’t ideal when you look back on it but then again, he fucked you so good, it doesn’t really matter. It also doesn’t matter where he does it. But maybe claiming other parts of his penthouse isn’t so bad.

“It’s okay, you made up for it,” you say, kissing his pouty lips to let him know it’s fine. 

There’s really nothing you can complain about, not when you’re next to him and feeling the safety and warmth of being by his side. There’s that comfort of being able to say and do what you want to, including expressing your desire without holding back anymore. That itself feels like freedom, and you get to live that out with him.

“We should probably skip that room for next time,” you add. “I mean, you have a nice bathtub and a spacious closet and a large couch and a wide dining table.., you have a study, a gym…” you smirk, something he does, too. “We have so many options.”

“We do,” he laughs, leaning in to kiss you now. “We also have my bed, in case you forgot.”

“I was just about to say,” you giggle, sitting up and motioning for him to lie on his back. His smile is replaced with a lustful look once you start grinding against his clothed dick. “So, uhm, shall we?”

He grabs your hips and aids your movements, immediately feeling pleasure that he fortunately isn’t too tired to build on. He sits up and catches your lips in his. 

“I can do this all night,” he whispers.

And with languid kisses and curious hands mapping each other’s bodies, you feel the beginnings of learning what your heart could do. Right now, it’s racing, as it feels the desire to be one with him, to share in intimacy and vulnerability as you bare parts of yourself to him with no reservations. 

You know that starting today, there’ll be more that your heart will learn to do, like understand and forgive. One day, it will heal. And as it soars and finds a home in Jungkook’s arms, you know that one day, it will learn how to love, too.

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[maybankslover]

diez dias despues- jj maybank

jj maybank x fem!reader

warnings: pure angst, pregnancy, season four part two, death, in this they take his body back to the island.

summary: he's gone and now is only them.

playlist: diez dias despues by airbag (live version) / pink skies by zach bryan / walking in the wind by one direction

a/n: i translated the song it's called 'ten days later' by and argentinian band called airbag. listen to it, the rythm makes sense with the lyrics.

i just remembered i forgot to tell you the best part

tell you how i learned to say sorry, to ask for forgiveness

i can't stop myself from thinking

why life was so unfair (fragil) on you

jj's voice invaded her mind, his 'wooohooo' and his loud laugh when she told him she was pregnant two days before leaving to morocco. she wondered how they went from planning their future to planning his wake. her hands still stained with his blood, the blood of the love of her life as she watched his lifeless body being taken inside a plane where she would be flying too.

the kids are in town for a funeral was what the whispers said.

it was as nice as a funeral could be, her parents, pope's and kie's parents, the pogues, a few of the cut who appreciated the boy and rafe cameron of all people. john b's words were beautiful as far as he got to go before his voice broke and he had to sit down and let pope to continue.

"i like to think it's not so much how many years you get to live but what you do with them and jj packed it in, a whole damn life in those twenty years." he looked at the picture at the altar of the church. "he did everything for the one's he loved and if he was the king of anything, he was the king of friendship." his voice cracked and pope took it from there while his friend made his way back to his seat in between sarah and y/n who took his hand in hers.

"he is our glue, he was loyal as they come. jj maybank was the best friend we ever had." he looked up to the ceiling. "we love you bro, we'll take care of them."

i see you everywhere i go as an allucination of sorts

you didn't even warn me you were leaving

the lights are off in the city, i can't see where you're going

maybe tomorrow you'll be back

her belly grew fast, she was already three months in when he passed and she hated she didn't had anyone by her side who'd get as excited as he would've at the first kick their baby gave her.

everyone was grieving, john b and sarah had asked for permission to name their own baby 'jackson' and she gave it to them because she how could she not? john b was grieving his brother and it was something jj would've wanted.

every person she crossed paths with said how sorry they were for her loss, lies but she thanked them for it even kooks who hated jj maybank gave her their condolences. no one had the heart to be mean to a pregnant girl who had lost her boyfriend.

and she saw him everywhere, every morning in the kitchen, beside her in the nights and in the beach was were she saw him the most. any blond head surfing in the sea gave her hope it'd be him but she knew he wasn't, he was in a little box at each house of the pogues and in the sea. it was what he would've wanted.

i remember how we lost control

in the craziness and need to survive

i can't stop myself from thinking how you'd be if you were still here

her memories were all filled by him. she couldn't think of anything else, just him and his face full of life and pain when he went in front of her.

"hey baby." she smiled at the tree john b and pope had helped her to put in the backyard, she had spread some of his ashes under it to have a place where she could feel she could to talk to him. where her baby could talk to their father. "we're seven months today which means it's been four months without you."

she rubbed her belly and closed her eyes as the wind kissed her skin.

"he's in jail you know." she chuckled. "rafe, don't you dare laugh at me, caught him in morocco with the pogues, cleo almost kills the man or at least is what kie told me." a yellow butterfly flyed in front of her. "i guess this is your way to tell me you're laughing at me." the tears didn't wait to come. "and luke gave me the house, signed it to my name and said it was the least he could do for us and that he was sorry. i haven't seen him since."

"sarah and john b's baby will be called jackson, i know you'd have loved that." her head rested against the wood. "i miss you."

i see you everywhere i go as an allucination of sorts

you didn't even warn me you were leaving

the lights are off in the city, i can't see where you're going

maybe tomorrow you'll be back

a knock in her door while she ate the dinner cleo made her. she and kie continued to live at the maybank property while john b and sarah bought the house next door with the money sarah inherited from ward and pope went from cleo's room to his parents place.

the business continued but she was alone tonight for the first time in a while. she didn't expect rafe cameron to be on the other side of the door when she opened.

"rafe?"

"hey." he smiled at her. "can i come in?" things had changed a lot, sarah and her brother had made up in some weird way. no one could forget the things he did to them but he stayed true to his word and was now engaged to some girl from the cut she knew.

"sure?" she stepped to the side to let him in and closed behind him.

they sat on the couch.

"i'll cut it short because i know it's weird that i'm here." she nodded and he chuckled. "this isn't charity or pity but i want to offer you a job."

"you're kidding right?" rafe cameron offering help?

"no. i know the history we have, the history i had with maybank but none of you deserved what happened." a lump in her throat formed. "and you're pregnant." she once again nodded. "i know you're good with numbers, you did the for the country club."

"yeah what with that?"

"you could do them for a restaurant we're opening down town, i don't expect you to start right now or shortly after you give birth but you could have health inssurence if you agree and then we'll see when you'll start."

"where's the catch?" he knew she wouldn't trust him and she had the reason not to.

"there's no catch, i'm paying for sarah's inssurence and being honest none of you will be able to pay the hospital bills if you don't have one so just think about it." he stood up. "you and your kid deserve a better chance."

you were a slave in this hostil world

you were a slave in this cruel world

she talked about it with the pogues, she didn't think they'd agree with rafe.

"this isn't what jj would've wanted." she told kie.

"jj would want you both safe even if it came from rafe's." she kissed her friends cheek before leaning down to kiss her belly too. "talk to him and then you can decide."

and she found herself under the tree like every single day.

"it's not fair that i have to make all this decisions by myself maybank." she cleaned her watery eyes. "you took the easy way out j." she couldn't stop herself from sobbing, clunching onto the shark tooth necklace hanging on her neck. "give me a signal of what you think, should i take rafe's offer?"

i see you everywhere i go as an allucination of sorts

you didn't even warn me you were leaving

the lights are off in the city, i can't see where you're going

maybe tomorrow you'll be back

she woke up sweating, wanting to go back into her dream. 'take it baby, i didn't want to deprive you of my love. you need the security i can't give you.' he whispered as an angel kissing her round belly before sending her back to reality.

it wasn't my intention to deprive you of my love

i didn't want to hurt you

it was a boy, blonde mop of hair and blue eyes rested on her arms. james kailan maybank a combination of his dad's name and what his dad was.

james meant son of ther spirit and kailan, a hawaiian name kie mentioned, meant moon and ocean. jj would've loved it.

i see you everywhere i go as an allucination of sorts

you didn't even warn me you were leaving

the lights are off in the city, i can't see where you're going

maybe tomorrow you'll be back

jj would've adored his little boy.

eight years went by but she continued to be in solitud.

"i hope you can see how well jackson and him get along, is like seeing a new version of you and john b." she looked down at the tattoo on her wrist. 'jj&j'. "there's no one new, i don't think i'll ever have the heart to."

she couldn't stop herself from crying.

"he loves to hear about you, to see videos of your surfing and asked pope to teach him." she laughed. "you would've laughed at him, i did it for you, everyone laughed actually even pope."

she took a deep breath in.

"i'm still mad at the world for taking you away from me but he's just like you. you would've been such a good dad j, i love you baby."

maybe in another universe she wouldn't have to think how things would've been if he was still there. maybe in another universe she wouldn't have to think what would've jj wanted.

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[silens-oro]

You Know Where You Are: Part II

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!Musician!Reader Angst/Established Relationship Part I | Part III

The Pitt Playlist located here The Pitt Masterlist

Synopsis: Dr. Robby's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Morning bleeds into an Even Worse Afternoon. Word Count: 3,579 Content Warning: Reader is in her 30's; mass shooting; death; blood; gunshot injuries; angst - if I've missed any, please let me know. A/N: Just know my rubbing my lil fly hands together nefariously. Thank you for all of the love on the first part!

Robby was relatively good at schooling his emotions at work, locking them away so as to not let them cloud his judgement when dealing with patients. They deserved his full attention, no matter who they were. The med students and residents deserved to learn from him in an appropriate setting. That’s not to say that Dana didn’t clock the black cloud that clung to him the second he walked into the ED, because that’s exactly what she did. That and she knew Robby like the back of her hand.

“Good morning. Surprised to see you today,” Dana greeted, a knowing smile gracing her features. Robby just grunted his greeting, confirming her suspicions. “Hate to make your questionable morning worse, but Gloria is looking for you.” 

He couldn’t wait for this day to end.

The cold water from the bathroom sink hit Robby’s face with a jolt. He brought another handful up to follow the first for good measure. This day just kept derailing in one way or another -more than an ED usually derails in a day. He dried his face and pulled his phone out.

He sent you a text just after Jake came to pick up the backstage passes from him and sighed when he saw the ‘Read 11:26 AM’ under his message, then looked at the clock -12:51 PM. You were busy, he told himself. He was lying to himself, but with the day that he already had, it was the only thing allowing him to tread water.  

Between the fight with you, the anniversary of losing Adamson, the patients lost, and the hysterical families he’s dealt with today -add on the possibility of a future school shooter on the loose, Robby was heavily regretting his stupid decision to ask for this shift. 

And it was only one in the afternoon. 

This was his punishment from the universe. 

“You good?” Dana had asked as Robby stopped across from her at the nurses station and set down a tablet. He had pushed his glasses up to squeeze the bridge of his nose, scrunching his eyes closed. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop the migraine that was edging at the corners of his eyes. Robby let out the deepest sigh before letting his glasses fall back down. 

“Define good.” His face was still pinched as he looked down to Dana.

“That bad?”

“You don’t know half of it.” Dana walked around the station and gently grabbed Robby’s arm to lead him to the breakroom. 

“Perlah, can you handle this for a few? I’ll be right back.” Perlah nodded as Princess tried not to obviously crane her neck behind Perlah to listen in as well.

“I don’t know what he did, but I’m on her side.” Princess said to Perlah in Tagalong, referring to you. Perlah nodded with an “mhm” before going back to her computer. 

“This have anything to do with why you’re here and not at PittFest?” Dana asked with an eyebrow raised as they got to the breakroom. She closed the door as Robby leaned against the counter, arms crossed, and guarded. Dana came to stand next to him, busying herself with making two cups of coffee to give him room. He’d open up if she did this right, otherwise she’d be adding to the natural disaster of a cloud that followed him during their shift and that’s the opposite of what she wanted to do. They still had four hours of their left before they could call it quits and he needed to let some of that steam out before whatever was inside boiled over.  

The last time you spoke to Dana over coffee, you told her how excited you were to get Mike out of the house -out of the hospital. She couldn’t agree with you more that the man needed a break. Robby needed to experience things that weren’t the ED and anything within a five block radius of the hospital. Sure you got him out of the house on the occasion that he was up for going somewhere further, but he needed joy, and hanging with you and Jake outside in the sun, fresh air, music and food would do just that. That was the plan, anyway. Dana just needed to piece together where the plan that was set in stone went sideways.

Robby pins Dana with a look and she knows she’s at least hit that nail on the head.

“What happened?” She asked softly, leaving the question open so Robby could respond in a way that didn’t corner him. Placing the cup of coffee she made for him on the counter, she held hers nestled between both of her hands. 

“I happened.” He rubbed his face with both hands. “I didn’t tell her I wasn’t going until this morning.”

“Robby!” Dana whispered the exclamation, eyes wide. He held up a hand.

“I know, believe me, I know. It was stupid.”  

“Stupid is an understatement, doc. Listen, I know why you did it. I get it. Today is heavy -emotionally and mentally. You need to stay busy and any downtime leaves room for too much thinking. Working does that for you.”

“Yeah.” Robby sighed, tapping his fingers on the counter. At least his arms had left their defensive position crossed over his chest. That was a win in Dana’s book. 

“But that doesn't mean it’s right. You can’t hide yourself away here when you’re going through something, Robby, not when you have someone who is willing to shoulder that burden with you.” Dana corrected him gently, placing her hand over his bicep. The worst part about this conversation was that Robby knew Dana was right. He knew he went about this the wrong way entirely, but he can’t seem to get out of his own goddamn way sometimes. You would’ve understood, even encouraged him to do what he needed to- “Communication is important, you know this. It’s nothing I haven’t said to you before.” Dana finished softly. Goddamn communication. If only it was that easy, that simple. 

“God, you’d think I’d understand that by now.” He chuckled sardonically. 

“There’s always time to learn.” She encouraged Robby. “She loves you -I know that for a fact. Reach out, leave the ball in her court. Let her know you understand.” He was already ahead of her on that suggestion, and it felt like he was stranded at sea with a single life preserver and no rescue ship in sight. 

“No luck?” Dana asked when she saw Robby looking down at his cell in the few spare minutes he had just after a particularly unruly patient in South 15. He shook his head and pocketed it, departing to meet Langdon so Dana couldn’t dig further. She meant well, but it was starting to grate on his nerves and the last thing he wanted to do was snap at Dana. Because that would be the last thing he ever did once she got through with him. 

Robby had been off and everyone who worked with him on the daily took notice -outside of Dana who clocked him the second he came through the doors. The glances from the residents and nurses said as much. The new interns and residents didn’t know anything was off until Whitaker overheard Langdon talking to Mohan about it. Gossip spread like the wildfire in the ED. The second it was out, there was no reeling it back in. 

Robby knew he was cutting it close, that your band’s set was scheduled for a 5 PM start, but he texts you again around 4 PM to ask you to please call him when you had a few minutes -that he loved you and just needed to talk. You replied with a simple ‘busy’ and that was somehow worse than no response at all. Robby knew he was in the doghouse when they both got home -if you even decided to come back to his place that night. “You know what, Mike…probably not” Robby winced at the memory and carried on with his neverending shift. 

The exasperation that laced your voice and the frustration that shined in your eyes this morning made Robby bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself present. He would apologize, genuinely -profusely-, when you decided to speak to him again. He would listen. He would communicate. He couldn’t risk this driving a wedge between you like it had in his past relationships. He’d fix this. This was fixable, he told himself. He didn’t want to think of the alternative. That was the last thing he needed after the day he had, but he knew he was an asshole and you were generally too understanding of him and his quirks -today notwithstanding. 

At the 5:15 PM mark, he got a facetime call from Jake. Excusing himself from South 10, leaving the patient in Mohan’s hands, he quickly stepped into a more quiet hallway to answer. A smile lifted his lips for the first time all day when Jake’s beaming face came onto the screen.

“Robby!” Jake shouted over the festival noise.

“Hey, bud!” All of Robby’s emotions nearly broke through the dam he crafted at the beginning of the shift.

“Me and Leah just wanted to say thank you for the passes!” The phone panned down to a young blonde next to Jake. She beamed up at him, then down to the phone. 

“Thank you so much, Robby! This is incredible!” The phone twisted back up to Jake’s face. 

“You’re coming with us next time, Robby! This is insane! Look at this view,” Jake flipped the camera to capture what he saw from the back lens. Jake was backstage facing the crowd. You were the first thing Robby saw. He recognized the song and could hear the crowd singing along to it as you moved across the stage. 

Robby’s heart clenched. Seeing you in your element was mesmerizing no matter how many times he had seen it before. He met you well after your career was established, but he still felt pride nonetheless. You were successful, humble, and grateful above all else to do what you loved -and to make a generous living on top of it. 

You toured the world, saw everything there was to see, and sometimes Robby felt like an anchor in the worst way. It felt almost like an insecurity that he wouldn’t be the person to experience those things with you, but he had been warned before you both decided to try your unorthodox relationship out -just as you had been warned about his profession and what that entailed.

This was the first time in Robby’s life that he had ever been in a relationship with someone who had an equally, if not more demanding job when it came to sacrificing time at home. It worked for you both so far, to the surprise of everyone. 

Your band had taken this year off from touring to write and record a new album, and you had a tour across North America scheduled for the following spring once the album was released in February of next year. The thought of not seeing you for months at a time was anxiety inducing, he would admit. The last time you left was on a 3 month tour through Europe and Asia, and Robby didn’t realize he could miss someone as much as he missed you. 

On the flipside, you hadn’t ever had a partner who wasn’t in the industry, so leaving him behind was brutal in its own way knowing he couldn’t just hop on a plane to meet you for a few stops. You got homesick when you never got homesick before meeting Robby. He had become your home in the last three years and it was a welcomed adjustment. 

This year was a nice cushion of time to relax and play solitary shows at local festivals or secret shows in smaller venues around Pittsburgh and occasionally Philly. Sometimes Robby made it to them, sometimes he didn’t. Some of Robby’s coworkers that you had met would show after you’d extended an invitation to any of your home shows. Dana and her husband, surprisingly, were the first to take up the offer. No one in the ED would believe you when you said she was wild on a night out, her husband encouraging her to let loose. After that, you and Dana had been two peas in a pod. Langdon still could not believe that Robby was dating an actual rockstar and was a little starstruck every time you showed up. 

That being said, you had been home more often than Robby was as of recent (whether you both landed at your place or his) and you never complained about anything really. You were just happy with the time you got with Robby and you spent every second you were afforded with him together. You rolled with whatever each day brought you and it was a breath of fresh air for Robby. He didn’t have to walk on eggshells when things didn’t go as planned and maybe he had gotten too comfortable with that. 

Robby was going to be sick -physically, viscerally, all-consumingly ill. There’s an active shooter at PittFest -Robby could have collapsed in that ambulance bay the second those words left Dana’s mouth as his work phone beeped in unison with hers. He wasn’t afforded even a second to panic before he had to shift to Dr. Robby and get all hands on deck to prep the ED for what was sure to be a mass casualty event. 

Robby called Jake, then texted Jake, then called him again, then moved on to calling and texting you, begging both of you to contact him in any way you could to make sure you Jake was okay -that you were okay.

5:46 PM, you were supposed to be on stage until 6 -Robby made a mental note. He prayed to whoever was listening -if anyone was listening- that the three of you got to safety. He nearly loses it when he sees Jack walk through the doors with his backpack in tow, ready to take on whatever this event brought through their doors. 

Dana was on a rotating call between your phone and Jake’s to try to get through to either of you as she prepped the nurses, and every time Robby asked her if she had gotten through, it broke a piece of her soul when she had to shake her head. 

You were fine. Jake was fine. Those were the words repeating in his brain over and over as triaged patients started to flood the ED. These people needed him and they needed him present, so he shut himself down emotionally and did what he knew how to do -he gave the best possible care under the current circumstances.

It was a lull in between songs while you were talking to the crowd when you saw an unusual scatter of patrons in the back cluster of people on the east side of the festival. You pulled out your ear monitors and heard screaming -blood curdling screaming, not the type of screaming from a normal crowd. In a split second, Nick -your guitarist and lifelong friend- collapsed to the floor of the stage, the guitar emitting a horrific feedback over the amps. Gasps and screams erupted from the crowd and mass panic set in. People started trampling each other as shots started ringing out. 

Your first instinct was to drop the mic and run over to Nick and that’s exactly what you did. The people stuck at the barricade were horrified and scared beyond belief because they were pinned in the crowd with nowhere to go as people dropped like flies. Blood pooled around Nick where he lay crumpled when you reached him.

Then you felt it. The sheer power was enough to knock you off your feet and you heard your name as you tried to crawl to safety. Fire radiated through your torso as you tried to lift yourself enough to move, but when you tried to pull yourself forward, your hand slipped in the blood on the stage that was leaking from somewhere on your body. Every instinct in your brain shut off with the exception of fleeing. Your brain screamed at you, begged you to go, go, go somewhere, anywhere, but your brain and your body could not connect so you simply lay there on your stomach, your eyes catching the crowd dispersing in mass pandemonium, blood pooling around you just as it had with Nick with your last coherent thought being that of Jake. Was he safe? Losing Jake would kill Robby and you couldn’t protect him. 

Your hands were noticeably cold, your body shivering regardless of the end of summer heat. The warmth of your blood pooled against the side of your face that was resting against the stage felt warm, warmer than you did and it was oddly comforting. Buzzing from your back pocket kept you present, awake, and aware, but you couldn’t move -you could barely breathe. 

“Leah, stay!” Jake’s panicked voice cracked as he flipped you onto your back and grabbed one of your feet to try to pull you to the side of the stage. 

“I have her other leg, just pull-” Another shot and you heard someone drop. 

“Leah!” Matt, your bassist, and a couple of the roadies put themselves in danger to help Jake drag you and Leah off the stage while Casey, your drummer, pulled Nick off to the side.

“Pressure! Put pressure on them!” You screamed incoherently when someone pushed something onto your stomach -at least you thought it was your stomach- and pain radiated through every limb and up your neck shooting blinding white light through your brain. It was enough to leave you breathless, wheezing, and falling in and out of consciousness. 

“Help pick her up on my three -one, two, three,” Someone lifted you into their arms and you were moving. You didn’t recognize them, possibly one of the roadies who didn’t work with your band or possibly just a good samaritan, but his face blurred every time you tried to look at him. “Hey, hey, don’t close your eyes.” He said as he kept looking down between you and where he was going. “We’re getting you out of here, alright? Stay with me.” He tried to coax you, shaking you in his arms to keep you awake. You didn’t even realize your eyes had closed. Your head tilted back, resting against his arm as he ran with you.

The sky was clear, you noticed, clearer than it had been in the past couple of weeks. The periwinkles of dusk were settling into the violets of night and you were getting colder by the minute. 

“Jake,” You wheezed out, the teen coming to the forefront of your mind. You tried to move in the man’s arms, but he held tight. “Leah,” Your voice slurred.

“The kid is alright.” He reassured you, only half answering -not that you were coherent enough to notice. “Just hold on, alright?” The next thing you knew, you were pulled into the bed of a pickup truck. “We’re gonna sit you up, alright?” You grunted as your back hit the cab of the truck. “We need you up so you can keep track of Jake, right Jake? He needs you to talk to him, alright? Talk to him about anything, you hear me? Don’t stop talking. Keep pressure here,” Not questioning him, you nodded and held someone’s balled up shirt to your torso with the stranger’s help. You grasped his bloody hands with one of yours to stop him before he could take off.

“Thank…you.” He looked at you, an emotion you couldn’t pinpoint flooded into his eyes, and he nodded as he squeezed your hand. 

“Mac, ma’am. Wished we met under better circumstances.” You chuckled groggily. You gave him your name. “You got ‘em?” Mac asked Jake. Jake nodded and Mac smacked the side of the truck to let the driver know to get the hell out of there and to the nearest hospital. 

Once the truck got moving, things got incredibly fuzzy while it tore out of the lot of the backstage area. Jake called your name and your eyes refocused on him and Leah. He was covered in blood and holding another shirt over the wound on her chest. 

“I’m fine, Jake,” You wheezed out. “Focus on Leah. Is she talking? Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, she’s talking,” His eyes danced between you and Leah. “I’m fine.” 

“Good,” You nodded sloppily, “Good. Focus on her. I’m alright,” You tried to reassure the kid, but you could see that he did not believe you. You blinked and felt someone hitting your foot.

“Keep your eyes open,” Jake demanded. Your eyes felt like they were filled with sand, weights pulling each one down further and further. Your skin was losing its color, the tone turning gray as each minute ticked by.  

“Just blinking, kid.” Your eyes were closed much longer than a blink and Leah’s speech was starting to slur as she looked up at him. He finally let his tears fall, his lips quivering in pure helplessness as it engulfed him when your head started to nod to the left. Jake’s voice sounded like it was under a tidal wave when he said your name again before you were out.

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[baisemains]

Elements of Desire

Chapter 6: On the Mend

single mom!sevika x reader

word count: 6.3k

contains: angst-ish, tension, language, food mention, vi (iykyk), some fluff!

description: school is back in session and after learning of some good news, you and sevika must learn to chart unfamiliar waters.

ao3 link | spotify playlist

previous | next // sevika masterlist

Monday morning, your eyes spring open before your alarm can even do its job, and you waste no time getting ready. Putting more effort than usual into your look today, you try at least four different outfits before deciding on one that’s a perfect balance between eye catching and comfortable.

Loading your things into your car, you put on your feel good playlist for your drive to work, determined to have a great day. Once there, your nerves start to creep in, but you do your best to settle them and remember that there’s no stakes involved with your announcement later. Sort of.

As usual, Ekko is the first one to arrive to class and he walks right up to your desk sporting a huge grin.

“Who has two thumbs and is going to the next round of the science fair?”

Pointing to himself, you match his smile and round your desk, hugging the boy.

“So proud of you dude, you have no idea how happy I was when I read your name in the email.”

Ekko had submitted this same project the previous two years but failed to make it past the first round each time. You had suggested doing something different this year but he stuck to his gut and it paid off.

“Thanks Teach, I couldn't have done it without your support, though.”

Letting him go, you place your hand on his shoulders and shake your head.

“That’s all you kid, from the idea to the execution. I was just a sounding board.”

Smiling, you walk up to the whiteboard and start writing the topic for today’s lesson, conversing with Ekko about what he did over his break. A few minutes later, the conversation ends when students start filing in and he turns around to walk to his desk, you doing the same. Pausing when you remember something, you spin around and call out to the boy.

“Hey! Um, Powder doesn’t know that she got in yet, so if she asks you about it, just say I haven’t said anything, cool?”

“Wait, she passed too?”

Nodding, you see his eyes light up as he fights back a smile and you quirk a brow. Interesting.

“Yeah, I forgot to email her mom when I told your parents,” you lied.

“Cool. I won’t say anything then.”

Schooling his face back into a neutral expression, Ekko continues his journey to his workstation and you face the whiteboard once again. You thought he would have been annoyed at best that Powder was also accepted, his lab partner being his competition for such a prestigious prize seems like it would be a nightmare.

Starting to think about it, the two have had tension between them since they met, but you honestly thought it was because they just didn’t get along. Smiling to yourself, you think, could there be a little crush there?

A couple more kids arriving brings your attention back to what you were doing, and you quickly finish writing what you had to on the board. Eventually, most of the class is in their seats, and when you glance up from your computer, you see Powder walking up to you.

“Hi Teach,” she says, unusually shy.

Smiling at the girl, you realize that you know nothing about what her last couple weeks have been like and it tugs at your heart.

“Hi Powder, how was your break?”

Beaming, Powder starts relaying everything she did, the girl’s animated storytelling making you laugh several times. She sees how your expression slightly changes every time Sevika is mentioned, and it almost makes her frown.

“So, I brought you a little something back. Or a couple somethings, actually.”

Reaching into her bag, she pulls out three keychains and raises them in your direction. You instantly pout, not expecting the gesture at all.

“Powder, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

Taking them in your hands, you look at each one in detail, loving them instantly.

“I wanted to though, these last few months would’ve been a lot harder without you.”

Looking up, you see the vulnerable look on the girl’s face and it almost brings a tear to your eye.

“Plus they were too cute to pass up, look at the dolphin one.”

To prove her point, she flicks one of the keychains, causing it to spin in circles. Setting them all down on your desk, you walk to stand in front of her, engulfing her in an embrace.

“This was so nice of you Powder, thank you. It means more than you know.”

She returns the hug, giving you a quick squeeze. No matter what her sister said, she believed you were a good person, and conversations like this only proved that.

“You’re my favorite teacher, I had to.”

Pulling apart, you thank her again and Powder begins heading to her seat. You catch Ekko’s eye, nodding your head to remind him of what you said earlier. Once everyone else arrives and the bell rings, you get their attention and begin the day’s lesson.

Soon enough, the end of the day rolls around and Sevika will be arriving shortly for your impromptu meeting. You’ve somehow managed to not think about it since the morning but as the clock ticks by, your nerves return. Busying yourself with organizing your classroom as if it’s something she’ll care about, you flit about from corner to corner, tidying up.

You hear footsteps in the hallway and almost sprint to the front of the room, cleaning off the board in an attempt to look casual when your visitors walk in. Hearing a knock from the doorway, you slowly turn around, instantly making eye contact with the woman who’s been plaguing your thoughts.

Neither of you say anything for a moment as you observe each other, and your stomach does a little flip when you see Sevika look you up and down. All that time picking out my outfit was worth it, then. You notice that her skin is a bit darker than the last time you saw her, and you mentally thank the beach Powder was telling you about this morning. She’s wearing a boxy work jacket you’ve never seen before over her signature plain white tee and dark jeans and though it’s simple, it brings a tingle to the back of your neck. She looks good.

“Hey Teach.”

Powder is absolutely beaming when you look over at her, recognizing her presence as well. Knowing you’ve been caught, you clear your throat and straighten up your posture, welcoming them in.

“Hi Powder. Sevika. Please, come sit down.”

The two of them move into the room and you allow yourself to stare at Sevika’s profile while you can, taking in every detail. It gives you deja vu, but there couldn’t be a bigger difference in your situation from then to now. Once they take their seats, you walk over to them, leaving a healthy distance between you.

“So, I received an email from the science fair committee last night regarding their decision. And I know I said that I would let you know as soon as I heard anything, but this felt important enough that I had to give you the results in person.”

A sharp inhale catches your attention and your gaze shifts to Powder, looking like she’s about to faint.

“Oh jeez.”

Sevika glances from Powder to you, an expectant look on her face. She didn’t show it, but she was actually nervous, and your tone wasn’t helping.

“What did they say?”

Taking a deep breath, a smile spreads onto your face as you tell them the news.

“Congratulations Powder, you made it to the next round.”

Jumping up, the girl immediately runs over to you, shoving her face into your chest as she wraps her arms around you, eyes welling with tears.

“Really?!”

At the same time, Sevika leans back in her chair as she brings both hands to her face, letting out the breath she was holding. Once you and Powder separate, she stands up, speed walks over to the two of you, and picks her daughter up, spinning her around.

Before you can blink, Sevika puts her down and embraces you next, catching you off guard. Immediately melting into her, you hug her back, feeling the muscles rippling underneath your fingertips while her cologne fills your nose. You vaguely hear a sigh, and you’re unsure of who it comes from.

Once Sevika realizes what she’s done, she straightens up and lets her arms fall away. Clearing her throat as she takes a step back and runs a hand through her hair, the tension hangs between you.

“Um, wow, this is amazing news.”

Nodding, you take a breath to try and clear your head of the Sevika induced brain fog. Itching to reach back out for her, you settle your hands on your hips in an attempt to keep them occupied.

“Absolutely, it’s well deserved too, her presentation was amazing.”

You then begin discussing what will likely come next, hearing from other teacher friends of yours who have been through the process before. The entire time, Powder’s eyes are bouncing back and forth between the two of you, a smirk plastered on her face. She knew Sevika still had a thing for you, and you clearly returned the feeling.

“And I’ll email all of this to you too, it’s best to have it in writing.”

Looking at Sevika, you try your best to keep a neutral expression as you talk, but a smile is fighting its way out the entire time.

“Like before, Powder will have to start staying after school again to work on this, and even though she’s up against less kids than before, attention to detail is going to be incredibly important and what’ll make her stand out from the rest.”

Nodding along, Sevika is absorbing everything you’re saying and reality starts settling in. The two of you will be back in constant communication, and as much as she thought she’d be upset about it, she actually feels a bit…happy. Yes, she had sprouted a little crush on you, but more importantly, you had begun a friendship, and she missed that more than anything. She decides that that’s a problem for later, and by the time you wrap up the meeting, her discomfort has subsided and she actually smiles.

You end your spiel with a nod and a smile, confident that Powder has what it takes to get to the next level.

“Take tonight, celebrate, and tomorrow, we’ll talk about when to start up again.”

“Sounds good.”

Sevika moves to give you a handshake, debating if she should say what else is on her mind. Not seeing any reason not to, she continues.

“And thank you for everything you’ve done for Powder, it means more than you know.”

Shaking your head, you tell her it’s not a big deal and Powder gives you another quick hug, waving as the two of them begin making their way toward the exit. Sevika then turns around, giving you a quick smile before she disappears through the doorway. You can tell it’s genuine, and a feeling of joy bubbles up in your chest.

Arriving home, Powder sprints out of the car to tell her sisters the news, leaving Sevika alone to take a breather. It was so nice seeing you in person again, even if she wouldn’t admit it to anyone.

She missed the way you brightened up a room with your positivity, always making her feel comfortable. It was so easy to talk to you, she never felt like she had to force anything, and though she had other friendships, it was different with you. Shaking her head, she gets out and walks in the house, thinking about what to cook for dinner.

By this time, Powder is already relaying what happened to the other girls, bouncing with excitement. They immediately congratulate her, Vi giving her a noogie, causing Powder to chase her around the house until Sevika walks in and Vi takes refuge behind her.

“Mom, Vi keeps messing with me!” Powder whines as Vi sticks her tongue out from behind the woman.

Taking no time to assess the situation, Sevika groans and pushes the two girls apart.

“Come on guys, we just got home.”

The two teenagers start bickering when Sevika claps her hands once, the noise silencing the room.

“Enough. We just got some great news, you guys should be happy.”

Caitlyn and Isha only look at each other, containing their laughs as the two get scolded.

“Anyways, I was thinking, you guys feel like going out to dinner tonight? We should celebrate.”

All the girls cheer at that, eating somewhere outside their home was a rare treat. Not that they had many meals that could top Sevika’s cooking, but it was always a fun experience. Looking towards Powder, Sevika asks her if she had any place in mind and her eyes light up immediately.

“Hibachi! I wanna see if I can catch more shrimp than last time.”

Of course, Sevika thinks. Leave it to her middle child to choose somewhere they play with your food and light it on fire.

“Okay then, give me a bit to shower and change and we’ll leave.”

Heading to her room, Sevika hears Powder and Isha grabbing snacks to practice for the restaurant, making sure to tell them not to fill up before dinner.

Once they arrive at the restaurant, Powder chooses the middle seat directly in front of where the chef will be, leaving everyone else to fill in around her. Sevika chooses to sit two seats down from her, putting Isha in the middle of them, and Vi and Caitlyn take their seats on the other side of Powder.

A little while later, almost all of the seats around the grill are filled and Powder can't wait for dinner to start. Her and Isha are going over strategy when she sees someone stop in their tracks behind Sevika and looks up, eyes widening.

“Teach!”

As soon as your meeting with Sevika and Powder ended, you were in a happier mood and it took you no time to pack up and grab your things.

You didn’t feel like staying home, though the weather outside was miserable, and texted your roommates if they were free to go to dinner with you. Two of them said yes, the other was at work and wouldn’t be home until later so she declined. Hearting all of the responses, you drove home and thought about where to go.

Once there, your roommates were almost ready to leave, and when you saw their outfits, you decided to upgrade your look into something a bit nicer than what you had on.

When you all finished, you piled into your car and put on a relaxing playlist for the drive. The three of you started talking about your days, and eventually the conversation landed on Sevika and the meeting. You confided in them how seeing her in person made you feel, and after they exchanged glances, they asked you what you planned to do moving forward.

At that question, you paused and thought of your answer carefully.

“I’m not sure, there was a little bit of a moment when she hugged me, but that could’ve just been excitement, and because she doesn’t want it to be awkward. The next deadline is in a month, so we’re gonna be around each other until then.”

You swear you could’ve heard a record scratch at the casual confession.

“Wait, back up. She hugged you? Like a full on ‘arms wrapped around you’ kind of hug?”

Sheepishly glancing at your friends, you nodded.

“Yeah, she was happy about the news, it’s understandable.”

“Right, I’m sure she goes around doing that to all her kids’ teachers.”

Exhaling harshly, you attempted to gather your thoughts.

“Honestly, I’m trying not to think about it too much cause I don’t wanna get excited over something that isn’t concrete.”

Your roommates nodded in understanding and one spoke up next.

“Well, we’re always here for you, no matter what happens.”

You looked at her through the rearview mirror and smiled in gratitude, they really did always have your back.

When you walked into the restaurant, your two roommates continued their conversation behind you as the host led you all to your table. As you made your way over, you saw a familiar silhouette sitting towards the corner of it and your stomach sank as your fear was confirmed.

So now here you are, standing in front of the woman you were just thinking about, eyes locked with a tension so palpable you can’t tear your gaze away. Her eyes look you up and down, even more intensely than earlier, and heat begins crawling up your back before spreading throughout your body.

Remembering you still haven’t responded to Powder, you snap out of it and say hello, looking at everyone else sitting with her. When Vi catches your eye, you see the scowl etched on her face and she looks away, ignoring you.

Isha leaps out of her seat to give you a hug, arms wrapping around your waist. You return the gesture and let her go as she signs that she’s happy to see you. Meanwhile, your roommates are behind you, watching this entire interaction with curiosity.

Standing back up, you glance around the table and see that the only empty seats are next to Sevika.

Just your luck that it would be fully packed on a Monday.

“Do you mind if we take these?”

Looking back at the woman, she quickly shakes her head as she extends her hand out towards them.

“No, of course not, go ahead.”

You, being the closest to her, take the seat right next to Sevika as your roommates sidle in beside you. Your heartbeat is thrumming by now, hyper aware of your movements and how close the two of you are.

Turning away from her, you see the looks on your roommates faces, slight frowns as they glance over at Sevika. Mouthing stop it, one of them rolls her eyes as the other looks at the menu in front of her. A waitress then comes by and quickly takes your orders before leaving you alone with your thoughts again.

Now you’re stuck. You’re not sure if it’s rude to ignore Sevika, while also feeling like you’re obligated to talk to her because you’re sitting next to each other. Rubbing your temples, you hope the chef comes out soon so you can have some sort of a distraction.

Your prayers are shortly answered when she arrives a minute later, immediately throwing food on the grill, causing Powder to cheer. You watch as her and Isha are enraptured by the flames, bringing a smile to your face. Those two may usually be shy kids, but seeing their personalities surface like this warms your heart.

Hearing your name, you turn around and see your roommates engrossed in a conversation, one of them catching your eye and leaning in towards you, whispering.

“That’s the oldest daughter? The one at the end?”

You try to recall the seating order from memory, not wanting to turn around and have someone catch you looking.

“The girl with the red hair, yeah, next to her is her girlfriend.”

Seeing her glance over, she looks up and down, assessing Vi, you assume.

“Hm. Okay.”

“Stop looking, I don’t need to give her another reason not to like me.”

Looking towards the chef, you watch her for a few seconds before your attention is brought back to your roommate.

“Hey, why don’t you just tell her what really happened? Clear the air and let her know that’s not the person you are.”

At her comment, you slowly shake your head, knowing Sevika wouldn’t go for that. Why would she believe you over her own daughter?

“I think it’s too late for that. She didn’t reach out the whole two week break, that says enough.”

Looking at Sevika from the corner of your eye, you see her staring at the fire with a blank expression, seemingly lost in her own thoughts.

“Wait, didn’t you say you had copies of all the texts between Gert and the side bitch?”

Suddenly, old memories come flooding back. You had emailed yourself screenshots of Gert’s cheating when you were still deciding whether you should leave her. That was only meant for your eyes though, showing them to someone else who wasn’t involved didn’t seem right.

“I don’t know, that feels…wrong.”

Sighing, they look at you with exasperated looks on their faces before one of them speaks up.

“Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but if you like this lady, you have a way to clear your name, that’s all I’m saying. Don’t keep letting your old shit get in the way of something new.”

Leaning back in her chair, she turns to watch the chef tossing shrimp to people at the table, ending the conversation. Sighing, you know she’s right, and you needed the tough love, it was just the idea of exposing how badly someone treated you that made you apprehensive.

You hear Powder’s voice next to you, turning your head and seeing her almost stand up from her chair to get the cook’s attention. Everyone cheers when she catches a piece, and you clap for her, setting your hands on the table when you brush something. Looking down, you see that Sevika also has her hand laid on the table and you freeze.

How had you not noticed it was so close to yours until now?

You were suddenly extremely aware of her, realizing the woman was sitting closer than you thought. Sevika must have noticed too, because her hand twitched and pulled away, moving to lay on her thigh instead.

Before you could react, the chef calls out and you look back toward her to see what she’s talking about. Holding a piece of shrimp on her spatula, she gestures towards Sevika, who sternly shakes her head, much to the disappointment of her daughters. Powder and Isha start jeering before she quiets them with a raise of an eyebrow, reminding them of where they’re at.

The chef then turns to you, and your eyes widen. Opening your mouth to tell her no, you hear a “Yeah, Teach!” to your left and see Powder smiling at you. Isha gives you two thumbs up and even your roommates start quietly cheering you on. With so much attention directed your way, you feel obligated to say yes so you look back towards the chef and nod.

Watching the shrimp fly through the air, you can tell you won’t catch it unless you move, so you lean back just a bit further in your seat, or so you think. It feels like everything is moving in slow motion as your feet leave the ground and your chair starts tipping back, the feeling of falling settling in your stomach. Hearing gasps from around the table, you brace yourself for impact, praying your ego will recover from what’s about to happen.

Suddenly, your chair stops moving and you fly forward, all feet planted back on the ground. Glancing around, you then see Sevika’s arm wrapped around the back of your seat and a worried look on her face. Clearing your throat, you scratch the back of your neck and tear your gaze away from her, knowing your entire table, and maybe the whole restaurant, just witnessed you almost falling on your ass. Powder and Isha look shocked, and behind them, Vi has a smirk plastered on her face, clearly enjoying your misstep. You hear your friends asking if you’re okay, and after slightly nodding, you face Sevika to give her your gratitude, fighting through your embarrassment.

“Um, thanks. That could've been really bad.”

She only nods, looking at you with an understanding gleam in her eye.

“Don’t mention it, I’ve seen my fair share of falls with those three.”

She points her head in the girls’ direction, and you know she has stories. Holding back a smile, a vision of a tired Sevika protecting her rowdy girls springs to mind, and it’s adorable.

“Yeah, I bet they keep you on your toes.”

You look over at the girls, who are talking amongst themselves, no doubt about what just happened, and let out a small chuckle. It’s not hard to imagine them as little runts, constantly running Sevika ragged. Thinking about what an amazing parent she is, your gaze returns to the woman to see her already staring at you.

Her gaze catches you off guard, and she breaks eye contact right away, turning back towards the flame. Looking down towards your hands in your lap, you smile to yourself, starting to watch the chef again before hearing her voice cut through the noise of the restaurant.

“The girls missed you.”

Whipping your head towards her, you see that Sevika isn’t looking at you but straight ahead. You weren’t expecting her to strike up a conversation at this point in the night but you take advantage of the opening.

“I…missed them too.”

A sad smile adorns her face at that, and you get the urge to kiss it away. Thankfully, she speaks before you can embarrass yourself further.

“They didn’t stop talking about you our entire trip. Did Powder give you the keychains she bought?”

Slowly nodding, she turns her head towards you and lets her eyes flicker between yours, giving you the chance to do the same.

God, she’s beautiful.

“Good. She was really excited about them.”

The two of you make small talk from there, talking about the restaurant and the weather. After a few minutes, the conversation naturally ends and you no longer feel the awkward tension from earlier. You pick up your glass to take a sip when your attention is grabbed once again.

“So…when should Powder bring her project back to school? I get off early tomorrow so I can bring it with me when I pick her up.” She clears her throat, “If that’s okay with you.”

Looking over at her, you see the apprehension on her face and let yourself smile this time.

“Yeah, that works. You know where to park.”

The two of you get pulled into other conversations but the thought of seeing each other the next day carries you through the rest of the evening.

Eventually, dinner comes to an end and it’s time to go your separate ways, all of you standing up to leave.

Powder and Isha are the first ones to say goodbye, hugging you and telling you they missed you. Hearing them echo Sevika’s words from earlier warms your heart and has you squeezing them a little tighter. Sevika follows behind them, bidding you and your roommates good night with a tight lipped smile, and you return the gesture, albeit with a genuine one. Vi brings up the rear, dragging Caitlyn past you, but not before Caitlyn can sneakily wave at you behind her girlfriend’s back.

Not until they leave and you start your own journey to the exit do you realize that you failed to introduce everyone. Thinking about it, it probably wouldn’t have gone well so you decide it was for the best. Your roommates then pipe up behind you as you all reach the car.

“The girls were so cute saying bye to you, they seem really sweet.”

You beam as if they were your own, getting in and buckling up, checking all your mirrors.

“Yeah, they’re really good kids. Sevika’s doing a great job with them.”

The two of them exchange a knowing glance but say nothing. The drive home is filled with jokes and banter, and once you arrive, you see that your third roommate is in the living room on her laptop. Skipping hellos, your other two friends immediately start telling her about how the night went, not leaving out a single detail. When they get to the part where you almost fell and Sevika caught you, her mouth is agape and she starts laughing.

“Listen, I’m not her biggest fan but that was smooth, I’ll admit.”

They then tell her about how you two started talking later on, and they ask you what the conversation was about.

“Literally just the weather and how dinner was. And that she could bring Powder’s project back to school tomorrow.”

“So…that means you guys have to talk again?”

Biting your lip, you think thankfully.

“Well yeah, it’s the same schedule as before. Except now we have less time before the next deadline.”

Your roommate only nods at that, hearing the slight nerves in your voice, and you change the subject, afraid of getting your hopes up.

An hour later, you all decide to head to bed, tired from the day. Gliding through your bedtime routine as if on autopilot, you climb under the covers and wrap them tightly around yourself. That night, you dream of grey eyes and steady hands.

The next day passes by uneventfully, and after the final bell rings, Powder walks in, holding onto her backpack straps with a smile.

“Hey, Teach.”

You turn around and wave her in, clearing off your desk. Sevika had texted you a few minutes ago that she was on her way with Powder’s project so now the two of you are waiting for her, talking about a new movie that’s coming out soon. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and when you check the screen, you see a text simply saying “Here”.

You both walk out to the parking lot, propping open the main door as you make your way over to the truck parked nearby. Sevika’s already grabbed the two biggest boxes, hauling them with no effort and the sight never fails to make you swoon.

“The smaller two are in the backseat, you guys can grab those.”

Breezing past you, you’re able to stop yourself from looking directly at her, but the little bit you catch in your peripheral has you smiling. Snapping out of it, you remind yourself that you’re only trying to be cordial with her, nothing else.

Picking up the remaining boxes, you and Powder quickly follow Sevika inside to your classroom, setting them down in the corner. Looking around, you try to decide between asking if Powder can start working on it now or letting her go home for the day.

Sevika watches you walk in with an indiscernible look on her face, arms crossed over her chest as she waits for your direction. As the boxes are set down, she takes her phone out of her pocket, looking at something and making the decision for you.

“I’ve gotta head back to the shop real quick, but I can leave Powder here if you guys want to get started.”

Shifting her gaze towards you then Powder, you tell her it’s fine and she puts her phone back into her pocket, kissing her daughter on the head as she heads towards the door. Turning around, she calls out to you.

“Be back in a bit!”

As soon as she’s out the door, Powder starts to work, taking out the supplies she needs before placing them on the table. Watching her for a moment, you decide to start some grading at your desk, turning on your computer and pulling up the stack of papers.

Time seems to blur as you’re distracted by the numbers and comments you’re putting on the tests. Glancing back up, you see that Powder is still working diligently. You’ve come to appreciate how good she is at staying focused.

A rough knock at the door breaks you out of your thoughts, your head whipping towards the sound. You call out to let the person come in, assuming it’s Sevika.

When the door opens, you’re surprised to see Vi standing in the doorway. Her eyes flick around the room, a curious expression on her face when she sees Powder working, but a scowl replacing it as her gaze lands on you.

“Sev got caught up with something else, so she sent me to pick up Powder.”

You murmur out a stern okay, watching Vi stroll over to her sister as she looks over her shoulder at the project.

“What is it?”

Powder looks up, eyeing the girl.

“If I explain, will you understand what I’m talking about?”

“No.”

“Then why would I?”

The interaction causes you to hold in a smile, careful not to let them see you. Powder is feisty when she wants to be.

After a couple minutes, Powder grabs her things and walks over to your desk, Vi a few steps behind her. She lets you know what she worked on today and you smile, telling her you’ll look it over and give her your notes tomorrow. Telling you goodbye as she walks out, Vi follows, giving you a once over but not saying anything.

A few minutes later, you’ve written down your notations for the project, sliding them into your desk. Letting out a sigh, you gather your belongings, shoving your laptop inside, deciding you’re also done for the day. You’re ready to go home, eat your leftovers, and numb your brain with as much reality television as it will let you.

That week, you and Powder get into the swing of things with no problem, back to how they were before break. The only thing that was missing was Sevika’s homemade cooking waiting for you when she picked Powder up, and you missed it more than you realized.

On the bright side, you and Sevika were back to talking on a regular basis, which you were ecstatic about, even if it was only about Powder’s schoolwork. Two weeks of no contact didn’t sound like much, but you had grown accustomed to hearing from her daily and you missed your conversations more than anything. It was hard to find real connections as an adult, and if friendship was all that was in the cards, then that was good enough for you.

The comment from your roommate about showing Sevika the texts replays in your head the next few days, and you decide to go along with her idea. More than once, you almost had a chance to bring it up to Sevika, but something always interrupted the moment. A couple times, it was a work call she had to take, but most of it was by way of Vi hanging in the background, always watching you.

She had decided to start accompanying Sevika to pick Powder up after school, surprising all of you. You learn that she doesn’t have to be back at school for another month, and with nothing else to busy herself with, she decides to become Sevika’s personal chaperone. Knowing the reason why, you can’t blame her but you still wished she’d leave the two of you alone long enough to let you rectify the situation.

Another week passes, and your frustration starts to build. Sevika is still keeping your discussions very surface level, and you feel less and less confident about explaining your side. Even Powder has started to notice that something is wrong. She’s a very perceptive kid and sees the way that your shoulders have slumped, interactions with Sevika more reserved from your side.

As she works on her project, you sit at your desk, pretending to look over some papers so you can watch the door. Today, your eyes are glued to the clock, the seconds ticking by like hours.

As if you summoned her, a familiar figure steps into the room. Sevika, dressed in her work coveralls, glances over at Powder before her eyes catch yours. Giving you a small nod, she smiles faintly but her eyes still hold that weary look you’ve grown used to.

As usual, Vi is right on her heels, walking over to lean against one of the desks, propping her hands on top and crossing one leg over the other. They both watch Powder start to pack up her things, the three of you waiting for her to finish.

“How’s she doing?”

Sevika glances over at you, expectant.

“Really good. We’ve tweaked a couple things so she’s in the process of testing the new model but I have high hopes.”

You smile softly at the woman, sincerity laced in your voice. She grins back and her gap makes an appearance, causing you to look down at her lips. Luckily, Powder starts walking over that very moment and grabs everyone’s attention, causing Sevika to speak up.

“Ready, kid?”

“Almost. There was something I wanted to show Vi in the gym.”

The teenager in question looks up from where she was texting on her phone with a puzzled look.

“What?”

Sevika’s gaze flicks between Powder and Vi, looking as if she’s about to protest. Her hand even reaches out, just a fraction, but Vi is already putting her phone away and standing up as she groans.

“Fine, make it quick though, I got things to do.”

“What, like your girlfriend?”

Powder whispers that part, but in the quiet room, it reaches everyone’s ears. Seeing the angry look on Vi’s face, she sprints out of the room and down the hallway, her sister following close behind. Sevika can only sigh, closing her eyes as she rubs her forehead.

“Those girls are going to be the death of me, I swear.”

You stifle a snicker, taking the opportunity to fully stare at Sevika. Her uniform is old, covered in stains and the occasional frayed tear. It’s slightly unbuttoned at the top, leaving her throat and the middle of her collarbones exposed. The hand on her face is smeared with oil, and you think this might be your new favorite look of hers.

She shifts to stand up, and you realize the two of you are alone for the first time in weeks. A weight settles in your chest as you register that this is the chance you’ve been waiting for.

“Hey, can we talk?”

taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @vii-v @runawaybaby3 @ferxanda @sevikas-whore @vikashoneybee @sleepingwasp @savedforlaterr @lia-winther

[hwaslayer]

wildfire (cs) | thirteen.

—spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 7k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing, we catch a lil moment with belle 🙄, crying .. lots of crying, just lots of hurt and heartache, more misunderstandings, we see a bit of parents from both sides - esp san's dynamic with his father, flashback scene with smut: oral (f. receiving), 🤠, praises, lots of sweet kisses and tender moments, some nipple play, soft and slow smut!!

—a/n: fic announcement soon!

If the texts yesterday afternoon weren't nerve-wracking enough, it was the downtime in between the texts and seeing San that had you ready to curl up in a ball out of anxiety; fetal position, rocking back and forth as an attempt to rid the feeling. San hadn't texted much after deciding the two of you should talk the following day, and you never questioned why he couldn't just see you the same night he had told you he needed to talk. 

you: 😞 you didn't even look my way when you walked back into the office and i haven't heard from you all day.

you: i hate how all my papers and presentations are due this week. plus ppl have been weird, idk. i just wanna cuddle 😭

san: i'm sorry. it's just been a day.

you: that's never stopped you before... ☹️ what's wrong, san?

san: we should talk, baby.

you: oh.. okay. so let's talk tonight? i just need to finish up a few things, and i'm halfway done on most of my papers and presentations. i think they can wait a bit.

san: no, you should finish up. i've got a ton of things to catch up on so tonight won't work. can we do this tomorrow? i'll come pick you up once we're both done in the lab.

you: are you sure?

san: mhm. i'm sorry again, it really just has been kinda all over the place today.

you: it's fine, san. as long as you can promise me we're okay?

san: we will be. i'll talk to you tomorrow, okay? try to take breaks and rest well.

You accepted it, even if it felt excruciating and painfully long.

These things never turn out well, and you knew your case wasn't gonna be an exception. You were afraid for it, you were nervous and you were wondering what San might do to try and lessen the blow of whatever was coming.

He wouldn't hurt you, right?

He meant it when he said you two would be okay, right?

Even if he tried to be as reassuring, everything about it felt off and cryptic. None of it felt like sunshine and rainbows, none of it felt like the San you felt in love with. None of it felt like the giddy excitement, the comfort, the safety you had come to know and love. 

You hated automatically assuming the worse, but nothing was preventing you from doing so— not even San.

Today was actually pretty uneventful, nonetheless. Despite the wait and silence from San, you felt like you managed to get by in one piece. It still felt like everyone was looking at you; like they had all known your deepest, darkest secrets. Like they had been following your every move, especially while you were with San. It still felt awful, but you had learned how to push aside because people could talk and assume— but they would never know the true story.

And who knows? Even if you tried to explain yourself, they wouldn't get it.

You didn't really owe that explanation to anyone, you think.

The only other weird part about your day was when you had tried to help Belle earlier since you had some downtime and she brushed you off completely. She had been avoiding you, and it was pretty obvious she was letting the talk get to her head. She didn't maintain eye contact with you, she didn't acknowledge you, and she didn't talk to you the way that she used to.

—FLASHBACK

You walk into the lab, passing by a few of your labmates with a tiny, toothless smile etched on your lips. There was no Sunwoo around, but there was Belle; yet, she still hadn't turned to acknowledge your presence. You had gotten through your to-do list for Sunwoo's project, leaving you with extra time to spare today. You hadn't been able to dedicate a lot of your support to Belle lately due to all those technical issues you needed to troubleshoot for your project with Sunwoo, and you figured this would be a good time to make up for it.

Unless she had other plans.

"Hey Belle!" You come to her desk, pulling the courage from deep down within you to approach her first. She looks up at you, a brow cocked up before returning her attention to her laptop. "I have some time to help—"

"No thanks, I'm good." She doesn't look at you. "Just so you know, I don't really need extra help anymore. I've got everything figured out already."

"Oh, okay." You step away from her desk, fiddling with your fingers while you stand there looking dumb. "Are you sure?" She pauses her typing before finally looking back up at you with her brows knit tightly together. 

"I just said it, didn't I?"

"I-I'm sorry, I just wanted to make sure since I had the time and I haven't been able to help you out as much cause of Sunwoo's project."

"Why don't you go and use your extra time with Professor Choi since you've been doing that anyway?" She gives you a look that settles in the pit of your stomach. You don't say anything to her, even as she shuts her laptop close and stands— brushing past you to get to one of the behavior rooms. You feel a bit hurt, and your other labmates aren't even paying attention to the whole thing; or, maybe they are, and they just don't wanna say anything to dig deeper into the wound. 

So, you turn on your heel with your head down, returning to your desk to continue your data analysis in silence.

—END

You try to tell yourself that it doesn't really matter— that you didn't need anyone's reassurance or validation. It hurt despite not being super close to Belle, but you knew she thought of you in a different light now and that wasn't really fair. You could see how it'd look problematic on the surface, but you thought she knew you better than that.

Guess it's also your fault for assuming.

When it's time for San to pick you up at your usual pick-up spot, you grab your keys and head out— still not having changed out of your outfit for the day. You try to take slow steps to not seem too eager, but you can't help it when you see San parked in his usual spot. This time though, he isn't watching for you in the rear view mirror. 

"Hey." You swing the door open and slide in. San gives you a small smile, followed by a:

"Hey." He watches as you dip forward to kiss him on the lips like you always do, and he surprisingly takes it. You were getting ready for the rejection or some kind of pull back; but, to San's own knowledge, he did it because he knew it'd be the last time he could savor it.

"You okay? Were you able to finish everything you needed to?"

"Uh, yeah. Think so." He says with a subtle chuckle before driving off. 

"Are we going to your house?"

"Thought we could sit at the view and talk, if that's okay with you?" You slowly nod, keeping your eyes trained on San as he drives.

"Okay. You're scaring me, Sannie." He shakes his head. 

"Please don't be."

"Then why couldn't we just talk about this like normal at your place?"

"Y/N, you trust me, right?" He quickly looks at you as he comes across a red light. You silently nod, just in time for him to drive off and continue onto the destination. "Okay, so trust me." He's still being so cryptic and distant that you don't even know how to respond. You quietly sit back in your chair and watch the surroundings pass you by, trying to settle the queasiness you feel building in your stomach.

These things never go well, and your case doesn't seem to be a one-off.

San continues to remain silent as he drives the rest of the way to the view, the music softly filling in as background noise that's enough to distract you. When he pulls into the small empty side lot and parks his car, he lets out a sigh and sits back.

"How was your day today?" He asks softly, still avoiding contact with you.

"It was okay, I guess. Better than yesterday."

"That's good."

"San." You adjust your position so you're looking directly at him, body facing him. "What is it that you wanted to talk about?"

"I don't know where to start."

"You have to start somewhere." He sighs again. "You know, whatever it is, you can tell me. We can figure this out together." You raise your hand to cup his cheek, almost somewhat of a gesture to force him to look at you. And for a minute, you feel him relax under your touch. You can tell he wants to turn and kiss the palm of your hand like he usually does, but he doesn't. "Sannie—"

"We should stop this." Your mouth slightly drops even though you don't know what to say. Your eyes widen, your touch turns cold. You retreat your hand while you let the response sink, San still keeping his gaze out of the window because he truly can't dare to look at you right now.

He'll fold.

He'll forget all about this and risk everything for the both of you.

He shouldn't.

"W-what?"

"We need to stop this, Y/N." He finally looks at you and his gaze feels like an icebox. Everything feels so cold and distant, even if it's supposed to be a front; it's working, and it's fucking you up completely.

"All of a sudden? I-I thought we were fine, what happened? What did I do wrong?" He shakes his head.

"Nothing. It's not anything you did, I'm just trying to be realistic here."

"Realistic? I thought you didn't care about the outside noise?"

"We're only prolonging the inevitable, don't you get it? Everything is going to come crashing down on us whether we like it or not. No matter how hard I try to stop it, this is what it'll eventually come to." You don't really understand where he's coming from or what he's getting at, but it's too late— you feel the tears steadily streaming down your cheeks.

Then, you're sobbing into your hands and you feel pathetic. But San feels terrible, he hates this. He doesn't wanna do this but he's conflicted between right and wrong, between being selfish and letting you go. "San, why?"

"Y/N, please hear me out on this, okay?" He's barely able to answer.

"Why? You ask him again. You cry in his passenger's seat, wiping it away with your sweater sleeves. "You said I could trust you, a-and that you wouldn't hurt me because you didn't care about anyone else."

"I need you to understand that I'm doing this because I care about you."

"But, I love you." San shakes his head as tears streak his own cheeks.

"We're being too selfish." He looks at you. "I am. I'm being too selfish and I don't need this to ruin things for you more. I need to put you first—"

"Why do you get to decide what that looks like for me, San?" He doesn't respond. "So, you don't want this?" He lets out a shaky sigh. "Us?"

"That's far from how I feel and you know it."

"Why can't you just say it back? Why can't we just let this be? I don't care—" You tug on his arm and he grips your hand before shaking his head.

"Because this is already hard as it is. Y/N, listen to me." He pleads, cupping your cheeks. He finally looks deep into your eyes, his thumb gently caressing the surface. The life in his eyes are gone. The glow, the stars. Now, his eyes are dull. They're holding back. They don't show you anything. "We should stop. We need to. Namjoon and the dean are discussing your future at the school, and I need you to keep going in this program. I need you to keep going forward even if that means I can't be right there with you every step of the way. You deserve to be here and you deserve to finish this until the very end. You've worked so hard to get here, and I refuse to let them lose out on you simply because of me."

"This makes no sense to me. Why do we have to do this? We can just be more careful and plan better. We can just—"

"I'm trying to protect you." 

"Protect me? From Namjoon and the dean? Or are you trying to protect yourself?"

"I don't give a damn about me, Y/N!" He's a little angrier with this response but you know it isn't directed towards you. It's towards Namjoon. The dean. Yunho and Iseul. This whole fucked up situation. "I'm always gonna put you first. It's always been about you and it'll always be about you." You cry a bit harder at his answer, unsure of what to make of this entire thing. You don't know if San really means this or if he is just trying to protect you. You don't know what to do, you don't know if you should keep trusting him the same way. 

You don't know if you can, and that's probably because you're blinded by all the overwhelming emotions you're feeling right now.

The both of you sit in this thick silence, your cries now filling the space while San tries to muster up the last bit of his energy to try and make you feel better— to get you to understand this better.

It's not that he wants to, he has to.

"I don't—" He swallows thickly. "I don't wanna do this but I have to. You have to understand." He says at a whisper, more tears streaming down his red-stained cheeks. "You have to understand, baby. Please." He begs. "I don't want them to do anything to you and I don't wanna jeopardize your future. Just listen to me. We have to do this." He leans forward to cup your cheeks and wipe your tears away with his thumb.

"No, we don't." You almost whine, but all San can do is shake his head and sit back in his seat.

"I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you, but I have to do what's best for you." His voice shakes. "I really am so sorry, sweetheart." He answers lowly, wiping his remaining tears before retreating back into his shell and showing off his cold demeanor for the remainder of his time with you. "I should get you back."

"I should've never trusted you. I should've known this was all too good to be true. You didn't care." You cry, repeating all this nonsense to try and get him to hurt the same way as you somehow. Because he'll never understand. Everything had led up to this and you were still unprepared for this. Even though you knew you'd be here at some point, nothing would have ever prepared you for the way your heart drops to your stomach; the way you feel nothing but thunder and rain.

Blue and grey.

He does, though.

In fact, he's probably hurting the most because he had to pull the trigger and let you go.

He hates it. He fucking hates it. 

He's trying to drown out the rest until he gets you back to your building because he can't take it. He can't take hearing you cry anymore, he can't take hearing you say these awful things because you're angry at the moment. He hopes that you'll see where he's coming from eventually because all he's ever wanted to do was protect you and keep you safe.

All he's ever done was care about you, and you only.

All he's ever felt was love for you, and you only. You showed him what love was like again and he'll never take that for granted.

This was him showing you love. He needed to put you first.

"I care about you more than anything. I'm trying to do what's best—"

"Without involving me? Deciding for me? Yeah." You wipe away at your cheeks once more before unbuckling your seatbelt. "Whatever San, save it." You tell him before swinging the door open and stepping out. "You were just trying to protect me. I get it."

"Baby, don't be like that. Please don't make this harder than it already is. I would never intentionally hurt you. You know this." He tries to reach for your hand, but you move it away.

"You don't get to call me that anymore." You roll your eyes. "Anyway, goodluck, San." Is all you say before slamming his door shut and storming off. You begin to cry to yourself again, feeling sorry for yourself and stupid. You know deep down that San was only trying to do the right thing and that he was trying to protect you. But, right now, you're angry, you're sad, you're upset. You feel empty and betrayed and you just need to feel this out in order to let it pass.

This too shall pass.

When you head upstairs, you quickly pack up a few things, along with your laptop and other school-related necessities before locking up and heading to your car. You feel a migraine coming on, which definitely means you should take it easy and stay behind; but, all you can think about is getting to your mom and being away from school for a few days.

Nothing's better than a mother's love and comfort, even though you aren't entirely sure how she's gonna react to this, how she'll feel about San.

In the end, you don't hate him. 

You can't.

You could never.

—FLASHBACK

"That was a good girl's date, wasn't it? We got massages, our nails done. Now we're eating a banana split under this nice weather." Your mom chuckles. "You need to come home more often."

"I know, I know." You scoop up a good helping of the banana split, internally conflicted on when is a good time to let your mom know about what's been going on. She would probably be surprised and scared for you, but your mom had a good way of choosing her words. She had a good way of being there for you but making her concerns known without pointing fingers or putting any blame on your actions.

"How has school been? Your friends?"

"They've been good. We've all been busy with our labs."

"Jiung's been good? You think you guys are all gonna stay in the labs you're currently rotating in?"

"He's good, yeah. And I think so, they all seem to be enjoying it."

"How about you?" You poke at the banana before scooping another helping. Your mom can already tell there's something else on your mind, but she's gonna let you take the floor and open up about it when you're ready.

Which is now. 

You just don't know if she's ready.

"Uh, yeah. It's been good!" You give her a small smile. "I'm still deciding on my route, but it's been good." Pause. "There's actually something else I've been meaning to tell you."

"Okay, try me!" She chuckles. "What is it?"

"I've been seeing someone."

"Oh?" She laughs. "Well, isn't that great?! I mean, you never needed a man, okay. But, as long as they make you happy and add value to your life. I just want you happy." She laughs. "Who is he, where did you meet? Tell me everything!" You sigh and take a deep breath before starting.

"We met at school. In the lab. Because.. he's my rotation professor." You give her a look, afraid of what she'll say. She stops mid-bite and almost chokes, setting her spoon down before looking at you with knitted brows.

"Your.. what?! Y/N—"

"Mom, please. Just hear me out before you start assuming and saying things. He didn't abuse his power, I didn't throw myself on him, okay? It just happened." You immediately say and look at her with puppy eyes. "We just happened. We grew feelings for each other and just clicked really well. We've been keeping things lowkey."

"But, Y/N. Honey, I say this sincerely. What if people find out? Not that I want them to, but they will." You shrug.

"I don't know, we'll figure it out."

"H-how old is he?"

"32."

"Oh, okay. He's young."

"And handsome." You rest your chin on the palm of your hand and smile. "His name is San. Choi San. He's pretty popular in the bioengineering and neuroscience world."

"That's good." Your mom is slightly shutting down and you know it's because her thoughts are traveling at 100mph and she doesn't know what to think or do.

Or say.

"Mom, I'm sorry. I know you're worried but I'll be fine, okay? I promise. It'll all be fine." You add to break the silence and reach for her hand.

"I just don't want him to hurt you and then you lose everything you've worked so hard for over him."

"I just don't know where this is gonna take us. Things feel too overwhelming. Like.. I just don't want any talk getting into his head about us."

"It could really ruin things for the both of you, Y/N. Please be smart about your actions. Don't throw everything away because of him. That's all I ask. Just by the looks of it, I know he makes you happy and you're riding cloud nine, but you need to remember who comes first— yourself."

"I know. I hear you. I don't mean to cause any unnecessary worry or anything."

"No, you're not. Lovey, I'm your mom, I'm always gonna worry regardless. But, I trust you enough to make the right decisions and to take care of yourself. I know you'll be smart and I know you won't be completely reckless. I'm not gonna lie, this— this isn't a 'conventional' relationship and I'm not sure how I feel about it yet." She sighs and looks at you with a hint of concern in her eyes. "I'm trying hard to see this from your side, not from my side, and I think it'll take me time to get used to. In the end, I just don't want you to get hurt. I don't want people to think bad about you, and I don't want you to lose everything you've worked so hard for."

"I know, but it's all okay. I promise." You promise her, but you don't even know if you believe the promise yourself. "You can trust him." She doesn't say much, and you can tell she's trying her hardest to swallow her true emotions.

"Just becareful."

—END

San picks up the phone to call Namjoon, hands slightly trembling. He's still sitting in his car, still sitting in the same spot because it's his turn to cry and let out all his feelings. He hits the steering wheel before running a hand through his hair, second-guessing all his decisions.

Why did it have to come down to all of this? Did he really have to? How long before he folds and comes back to you?

Before he says fuck this all together and chases after you?

He keeps trying to remind himself that he needs to protect you and let this blow over. He keeps trying to remind himself that it'll all be worth it and you both will find your way back to each other again.

In time.

"San."

"It's over with." Is all he is able to say before Namjoon lets out a small sigh on the other end.

"I'm sorry, San. Look, just give this time—" Quite frankly, he doesn't wanna hear it anymore. Not today, not tomorrow, not for awhile.

"It's fine." He cute him off. "You don't have to say it. Just please make sure nothing happens to her."

"You got my word. I'll figure this out. Don't worry." San ends the call before he's digging his head into his hands and cries.

And cries.

And cries.

Because now his days are going to blend back to the black and white filter he used to have on. He'll never experience that warmth, those colors, without you around.

He'll never witness where the sea meets the sky, when the sun sinks below the horizon. When dawn meets dusk. 

His days will be monotone and dull, lifeless and cold. Gloomy. Days he had prayed to get past and never return to.

But, he's here again.

And somehow, this pain feels worse this time around than the first time.

—FLASHBACK

San sighs when he pulls up to his parents' house, aggressively shifting the gear to park before taking a moment to himself. He wasn't happy when his father left him a voicemail, scolding him for the rumors going around about him dating his student. He was quick to call him names and demand him to make things right before his name could be tainted in the industry. San isn't gonna lie, he's always looked up to his father. Things changed when San started making a name for himself in the academic industry, creating some kind of competitive tension between the two. Well, San never felt that way. His dad strongly did though, for whatever reason.

He never understood it. It's whatever.

What San wasn't having was the fact that his father kept calling you a little girl who only wanted to use him to work her way in and up.

He slams the door to his car, adjusting his hat and his jacket before tapping the code into the keypad on the front door.

"San, is that you?" He hears his mom's sweet voice call out to him. He smiles softly when she comes into view in the hallway, opening her arms for a hug. "Please don't mind your father, you know how he is. He's just concerned." She gives the back of his neck a reassuring massage.

"Mm, yeah. I can feel the concern especially when he starts calling me out my name."

"San." His mom gives him a look before his dad looks up from the paper he's reading on the couch, forehead crinkling when he sees his son walk in.

"Why are you here?"

"Hi to you, too." San says while his mom steps in the middle.

"Honey." She turns to his father.

"So, what was up with that voicemail?" 

"Why don't you tell us what's been going on with you and your so-called girlfriend? Do you even care about yourself or what this could do to your career? You're so careless—"

"So what if I'm careless! You don't even know her so you don't have a right to do that!"

"Are you actually that stupid, San? Do you know how damaging this could be for you, for us?"

"What does this have to do with you?!" San's voice raises. 

"It has everything to do with us! Everyone thinks you either forced that girl into a relationship or she threw herself on you and you stupidly took the bait!"

"Even if I said it wasn't like that, you wouldn't listen anyway!"

"Are you serious about her?"

"What makes you think I'm not? We're two grown adults who are capable of making our own decisions and knew the consequences from the very beginning."

"And you think she'll stay? Someone that young and who is just getting started with her life, basically. You think she'll stay and be there for you when times get rough?"

"Absolutely." His dad scoffs.

"Is that so? Wishful thinking. You couldn't even keep Iseul and now you're downgrading to a st—"

"Hey!" San's mom cuts off his father's statement. "That is enough from you. Don't finish that sentence."

"You have no idea what Iseul put me through!" San's tone is louder to match his father's energy. "I found somebody who genuinely and truly cares about me and who I am. That isn't enough for you? Just because she's a student, but a grown adult at that?! You can't even be happy for a second? You still find a way to be on Iseul's side even though she cheated with my bestfriend!"

"Maybe it's time you realized you pushed Iseul away. That was your own doing. And this girl? Don't come to me and make me tell you 'I told you so' when she leaves after she's gotten everything she needs from you." San's dad is fuming in front of him. "How could you be so sure things will be smooth sailing with her, hm? What makes you think this can work?"

"This is fucking bullshit, I'm not explaining myself to you. If you don't wanna be happy for me and support me, then so be it."

—END

San thinks maybe his dad was right; maybe this wasn't meant to be, and was just supposed to be another fleeting moment, another lesson.

Even though deep down, he knows it's far from it.

As he sits in his home office, he scrolls through old pictures of you and him together— you, pictures you've sent him. He feels the rush of sadness hit him like bricks, his chest almost physically hurting from the ache. He has this sudden urge to text you and call you, tell you how much he misses you.

But, he stops himself.

What if you stopped caring? What if you were so mad at him that you hated him?

He couldn't bear with it.

If only he knew how much you cried and yearned for him every night, if only he knew how much your head hurt while you laid on your mom's lap while she ran her hands through your hair— gently cooing you and shushing you to help you get some sleep.

If only he knew.

"Mom, I'm sorry." You cry and cry, laying your head on her lap as you let everything out. "You were right, I messed everything up. This was all so stupid. I'm so stupid."

"Don't say that." She shushes you and tries to coo you. "Don't ever say that again." She looks at you. "What happened?" You gather the strength to tell her everything that's been going on. How deep your relationship went with San and how well he took care of you. How you weren't always the most careful but the only reason why things blew up was because of Hae-jin, Iseul and Yunho. How Iseul and Yunho just keep trying to get in between, how Jiung even went to Professor Kim about all of this.

How San broke this off claiming he wanted to protect you and put you first.

How utterly sad and betrayed you feel.

"I'm just so tired of feeling this way. I hate how alone I feel. I hate how much I miss him. I hate how this unfolded the way it did."

"I'm so sorry, honey. You need to let things be for now, okay? I know that's not what you wanna hear, but you need to. Especially for school and yourself."

"Why does anyone care? Why does it matter?"

"People have nothing better to do, and I'm sorry it had to be those two and Jiung."

"I'm so tired, mom. When will this pass? What did I do wrong? Why did he leave so quickly?"

"Lovey. You did nothing wrong. It wasn't you at all, and it wasn't San either. The circumstances are just tough. You didn't know it would play out this way and I'm sure he has his reasons."

"What if he's just using that as an excuse? What if he really doesn't want this anymore?"

"If he really cared about you, why would he lie, Y/N? I'm sure he was doing his best to protect you both, especially you. I know it hurts right now, hun. But, maybe this is for the best." You don't wanna hear it even though your mom might be right.

Maybe this is for the best. Maybe this was just telling you this could never work between you two.

No matter how hard you both tried.

San's urge to text or call doesn't lessen as the next few days go by, especially when he notices he hasn't seen any trace of you. He'll usually see you walking towards the biology building for Yunho's class or making your way to the dining hall with the girls.

If San hadn't overheard Sunwoo telling his lab mates that you were sick, he would've gone crazy.

It still doesn't help that you're feeling unwell and he can't do anything about it.

"Sunwoo." San pokes his head out of his door, causing Sunwoo to lift his head from his laptop and shift his attention towards him. "Can you meet really quickly?"

"Yeah, sure thing. Be right over!"

"Thanks." San heads back to his desk and lets out a breath, waiting for Sunwoo to come. It takes him less than 5 minutes to finally make his way into the office, rubbing his hands down his jeans. "Hey." San looks up at him. "Thanks for coming in on short notice."

"No prob! What's up, Professor Choi?"

"I wanted to talk to you really quickly because I wanted you to hear it from me directly. Starting next week, we'll be losing Y/N's support. She'll be heading to Professor Kim's lab."

"O-oh. Okay. Damn." Sunwoo ticks his head to the side. "Professor Kim with the steal." San chuckles a bit.

"Yeah." San can't even hide his sadness when he looks down at the papers beneath his hands that Sunwoo catches on and he feels bad. He still doesn't know the details and he never will, but if it's one thing he can gather right now, it's the fact that the room feels cold and empty.

It's the fact that San literally has to force himself to smile and deliver this news like all is okay and no big deal— when in fact, it fucking is.

Sunwoo feels so bad.

"So, I know she's out sick right now, but will I still get to see her before she goes? I wanna talk to her to wrap things up, too."

"When she returns, we'll make sure she has time to close loose ends with you and gather her things."

"Hm." Sunwoo nods slowly. "Okay."

"I'm sorry this came up so suddenly, but I had to make a few changes around here. We all thought she'd be a better fit with Professor Kim." 

"I see. She's super smart and incredibly great at what she does, I know she'll do well in whatever she does and wherever she goes." San nods.

"Yeah, she will." He sighs. "There's another rotation student that I might bring in next quarter that might be a good fit to work with you, too. His name is Baehyuk."

"Cool. Down to meet whenever the time is right."

"Thanks, Sunwoo."

"No, thank you for always giving me some help and pushing me forward." San gives him a small smile. "Everything will work out."

"Yeah." Is all he could say in response. Because he hopes it will. 

Right now, it seems like a far reach.

All San wants to do is love you, rather than hiding just how deeply in love he was with you.

—FLASHBACK

"Here, baby." He turns to hand you a plate with a smile on his face. "Think you can help me dry the last of these dishes and put 'em up?"

"Course, chef." He chuckles, watching as you tip-toe with nothing but his shirt on to reach over and place the dry dishes into the proper cabinet. You follow suit with the last three dishes, setting the towel aside while San wipes away the water droplets around the sink. "We did it, babe! All clean."

"Sure did." He laughs, caging you in against the counter to kiss you sweetly. "Thank you, baby."

"You're welcome." You giggle. "Thank you for making dinner."

"As long as you enjoyed." You nod.

"What do you wanna do for the rest of the evening?"

"Mm, we can watch a movie and fall asleep here on the couch without any worry."

"That's fun." You smile.

"Or, we can do other things that I have in mind." He brushes the hair away from your face while you wrap your arms around his neck.

"Ooh." You reply in a sing-song tone. "Care to indulge?"

"Absolutely." He says just as he swiftly carries you and wraps your legs around him. You squeal as he walks over to the couch and gently plops you down onto the soft cushions, wasting no time to attach his lips to every inch of skin he can. He slowly hovers over you, hands roaming up your shirt and tugging material along with it as he continues to move upward— exposing your cute pink panties from beneath. He sinks to his knees and pries your legs open after fixing your position to the edge of the couch. "Let me make you feel good, love."

"Yes please, Sannie. Please." You beg, watching as San slides down your panties and tosses them aside. His hands caress your thighs, giving them a good squeeze while laying open-mouth kisses along the surface. You continue to watch him, biting on your lip when he hovers over where you need him at most. He licks a stripe up your folds, causing your head to cock back against the cushion. He begins to gently kiss and suck at your heat— a satisfying, breathy moan leaving your lips as you let San relish being in between your thighs. He laps away at your clit, tonguing down your pussy as if he had been deprived of you for years.

You love/hate how good he is at this. "Babe—" You moan loudly, hips now working on their own terms against his mouth. He subtly nods as he continues to suck and lap away at your heat, tongue keeping you wet and filthy; just the way he likes it. "God, right there—" You whine, hips rolling upward and grinding against his mouth, his tongue. 

You used to be so shy.

Now, you're not afraid to tell him what you want and he fucking loves it. "Oh—San— gonna—" Your statement comes out broken as you continue to work against his mouth, orgasm crashing down like a harsh wave against the shore. You grip his hair, body twitching as San continues to latch on and groan against your pussy; incredibly hard while watching the way your body surrenders all. "Fuck." You whisper, still twitching due to the aftershocks from your first orgasm of the night. 

"That's my girl." He's back to kissing your thighs, hands gently rubbing up and down your leg as a way to soothe you. 

"Need you." You tug him by the shirt to plant a messy kiss against his lips— shirt soon to be discarded on the floor, along with his sweats.

Now you're on his lap, slowly riding his cock just the way he likes it— the couch's throw blanket resting against the small of your back and draped along San's lap.

It's his favorite position after all.

"Mm— just like that, baby." He whispers against your lips as you continue to ride him slowly on the couch. "Just like that." He repeats. "You're my good girl, right? Just mine?" He asks lowly and you nod, letting out a sweet moan as he pinches your nipple and watches your head tilt back in pleasure. "Oh, fuck— just like that." His head rests back against the couch, feeling your walls brush against him and drag against his rock hard cock. "All mine."

"Mm'fuck, Sannie." You keep your head back, intense pleasure bubbling at the pit of your stomach. You take him slowly, deeply; his cock hitting all the right spots every time you do a 'lil tug and pull— hips carefully rolling against him. 

"So fucking sexy." He groans. "God, you're everything." His lips drag against your skin, tongue swirling around your perky nipples as your hands tug on the ends of his soft, black hair. "Everything to me." He whispers as if your skin could hold all of the universe's secrets. The blanket is barely keeping up with your movements. San's hand comes up along the base of your neck, bringing you back down to envelope your lips with his. 

The kiss is full of hunger.

The kiss is slow and steady.

The kiss is messy.

You break the kiss first, body slowly crumbling in his grip when you feel your high approaching quick. You moan loudly, breath ragged as you pant; hips slightly picking up the pace to push yourself further and further until you reach the edge.

"Oh—" San matches your moans. "That's it, sweetheart. Cum for me." He praises you, voice deep— tone sending vibrations all the way down to your core. "Give it to me. Wanna feel you cum all over this dick, angel." Hearing San talk the way he's talking is enough to make your coil snap. He continues to coo you as you come undone on his lap; stuttering in your movements and trembling in his grip. He places his hands on your hips, fingers digging deep into the flesh while he fucks up into you— reaching his high shortly after you with a loud groan and hiss. "Fuck, that was so good, baby." You giggle, forehead against his while his hands gently caress and your back. You leave a tender kiss against his plump lips, and he chases with a few repeated kisses before bringing you down with him on the couch. The both of you lay underneath the throw blanket, now properly covering most of your bodies while San holds you from behind. He has his propped up by an arm while you both watch the show on TV, but San finds his thoughts wandering elsewhere at some point. He begins to look around the house and notices how different it feels since you've been around.

Good different.

A space that used to he so grey, so lifeless; now has remnants of you everywhere.

Your polaroids.

Pictures of you and San in frames.

Your little stuffed animal keychains and rings thrown onto the kitchen island, or the room. Or even his desk in the office.

Your little post-it notes. Your favorite chips and snacks littered around the pantry.

You were there everywhere he turned, and he finds it's one of his biggest blessings.

Especially when you lay here on the couch with him, completely not minding the idea San proposed of just falling asleep on the couch together while sorting through movies.

You agreed so quickly and so happily.

No matter how big or small, most ideas just seemed silly in his last relationship.

But, now he has you— someone who is happy to just be with him and spend time with him. No matter how big or small the idea, the plans.

San loves you.

And he'll never take it for granted.

—END

—taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @sanhwalvr @angelqueendom @barbielibra @brown88 @choisansplushie @yunhoswrldddd @hyukssunflower @vickykazuya @lucid-galaxys-world @jaytheatiny @pommelex @thechaotictheoryy @vixensss @santineez @nopension @domfikeluva @in-somnias-world @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @mountiiny @naoristerling @onmymymyway @thecutiepieme @wyrated

[vampsol]

CHEMTRAILS | 전원우

⟢ PAIRING: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader ⟢ WORD COUNT: 11K ⟢ GENRE: angst, smut, sprinkles of fluff ⟢ TAGS: heavy themes of grief/death including a mentioned drunk driving incident (do not tread lightly if these topics are difficult for you to read), minor character death (including a child, but it is all offscreen), coworkers au, pet names (baby, doll, etc), light breast play, fingering, protected sex. ⟢ SYNOPSIS: Wonwoo is the last person you expect to find at a grief support group, but he may just be the peace that you need to weather all of your storms. LINK TO FIC PLAYLIST -ˋˏ✄┈┈ AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is an incredibly personal story for me, as I have suffered parental loss and it is one of the hardest things I've gone through, but in a way, writing it out has helped heal a small part of me, so I am happy to share this with you all. Bless to my friends beta-ing this for me—Allie (@lovetaroandtaemin), Raven (@shadowkoo), Lily (@prkhaven), Sulkie (@innocygnet), and Tiya (@gyubakeries), and everyone else who read snippets of this before it became what it is now. The fic's title inspo is from a song by Lizzy Mcalpine!

GRIEF DOESN’T END, BUT IT CHANGES SHAPE OVER TIME.

The white text over the image of a pastel sunrise initially made you gag when you stepped into the room, the church’s banner haphazardly put up to prepare for today’s session. Now, it’s all your brain can focus on as the surrounding attendees share their stories. The initial greetings stopped thirty minutes ago, with many at the waterworks now to your secondhand chagrin. Others nod and provide supportive commentary, but you don’t have it in you, silence the only usable response. A few people you recognize from the first few weeks surround you; others are brand new, red-faced as they meander through the reasons for their attendance. 

The four walls reek of silent regret and raw sadness, the sniffles and coughs of those trying to hide their pain sticking to the air like heat on a summer day. You’d prefer it to be a hotter season, if only to focus on something else but the ridiculous text looming over you. But the winter chill that accompanies the gloomy atmosphere is another unpleasant reminder of the dangers of wishful thinking.

You could say all the stories and puffy expressions don’t hit a nerve somewhere deep inside of you, but then you’d be a liar. As you’ve learned in the past year, though, you’re getting very good at hiding and denying.

 It’s been forty-five minutes of passive listening on your end, but your attention remains on the chalky slopes of text against the yellow sun disappearing into the mountain formation.

“It’s been six months, and I still don’t know what to do. When I think I’ve gotten over one stage, I’m reminded of something that sets me back.” One attendee you’ve known from the start, Suzy, continues on while staring into the coffee cup in her hands. She’s typically meek in tone, solemn while her hands stay in her thick coat as she recalls the details of her twin sister’s battle with leukemia. But today, there’s a new aura about her, something clipped and biting that is unique to see in this place.

Maybe she’s on the stage of anger this week.

“You know I’ve said healing isn’t linear, Suzy,” Seungcheol, the director of the group, says in a supportive tone.

“I get that, but can I get a break from feeling more than one stage at once? For the love of God.” She blanches immediately and mutters out an apology, making you chuckle to yourself.

You used to think that the phenomenon was a myth, a way for people to rationalize their pain by separating all of it into clear, definable chunks. While you’re now well acquainted with each piece of grief, they all remain a mystery in your eyes. You’re unsure who to ask for the right answers, and you’re not opening your mouth now to humor the group with questions.

The plan has always been the same: attend each session like you’re supposed to, get your slip signed off, and go home. That was the routine for the past two weeks, nothing more to add or subtract. When people addressed you, you weren't unfriendly, but you didn't offer any information. These things considered, you’re adamant about keeping with tradition for the remaining six meetings, including this one.

Yet, the second the door of the church opens, and you see Jeon Wonwoo enter, you know it’ll be impossible to continue staying under the radar.

Wonwoo apologizes profusely as Seungcheol pulls up a chair for the newcomer. Wonwoo’s wearing a scarf that covers a substantial amount of his face, but you’d recognize his wire-frame glasses and that black mop of hair anywhere. He may barely be an acquaintance, but he’s not terrible to look at. “My car was giving me trouble this morning, so—”

“No problem, man,” Seungcheol cuts him off. “Nobody’s late here. You’re always arriving somewhere at the moment you’re meant to, I always say.”

You roll your eyes and tuck your arms tighter into your chest. The older guy always has a plethora of slogans for personal growth up his sleeve. You reckon he probably made the fucking sign with the awful font and stereotypically hopeful photography? It’s anyone’s guess, but you have a good one.

Some hair falls into your face just as Wonwoo sits across from you in the large circle. You think that just might save you from being seen, but recognition crosses his face out of the corner of your eye, and you curse under your breath, knowing you’re fucked.

Jeon Wonwoo, from the legal team at the publishing house you both work for, sees you, the quiet girl from the marketing department. He must have some idea why, given his department’s close relationship with your higher-ups, and that makes your intestines twist in a way akin to food poisoning. You think it may be the perfect time for the world to split open under your feet and take you away, but that’s only a dreamer’s level of luck.

“So, Wonwoo, you’re a newcomer, as we can see. What brings you to the group?”

Wonwoo stutters on an explanation, his cheeks turning a shade of pink. “I think the lady before me was in the middle of her story, but maybe I can share after.”

Seungcheol winks in acknowledgement and goes back to Suzy, continuing where they left off in their discussion. “So, for the stages…”

You feel the heat of Wonwoo’s gaze from across the circle. He’s probably trying to decipher just exactly what led you to this place. Not the church, per se, but the situation at hand. Tired of the burn of his irises on you, you turn your stare on him. His eyes look small under the guise of his glasses, but they enlarge considerably when you make it known you’ve caught him ogling. With your mouth in a thin line but your eyebrows quirked up, you send him a silent dare to continue staring. To your pleasure, he pales and turns away, looking in the same direction as everyone else as Suzy continues on with her rant.

Any secondhand inkling you had to share with the group before the end of the program dies with the turn of Wonwoo’s head, and you prefer it that way. His presence gives you an excuse to not break from routine. Not like you were going to, anyway.

“He was there?” Wooyoung ruffles his hair in secondhand embarrassment, the sound of his nervous expel of breath drowned out by the music in the bar. The local hotspot was a mere five blocks away from your work, and it rarely became overcrowded before you guys had the chance to leave, so coming around now and then with your best friend was still doable, even under your circumstances. It was hard to say no to Wooyoung when he gave you such toothy grins and pleading words. “You barely come out anymore, at least try to spend some time with me for a bit? It’ll be good for you.”

He had to be the only person left you could stomach being around, and the last man on the planet who could handle your latest less than sunny disposition.

Wooyoung immediately goes back to making his shot for the solid blue ball close to the top left-hand pocket when you shoot him a glare that even he can’t joke himself out of. “You think he’ll say anything?” he asks as he moves his pool stick back and forth, testing the waters of the angle he’s chosen to hit the cue ball from.

“I hope not.” You groan and knock your head against your pool stick. Replaying yesterday afternoon in your head, you barely could get through the workday filled with pitch proposals and strategy meetings. You couldn’t help but wonder if Wonwoo was lurking around every corner of the building, waiting to discuss how he saw you and tease you for something not meant for teasing. He didn’t seem like the type to do so, but you expect less and less from the male population with every passing day. “He probably already knows about what happened anyway.”

Wooyoung hits the ball, but it veers a little too far for the shot to be completed. He swears, an audible “fuck me” rolling off of his tongue. You make haste going for the striped orange ball, and with no seconds to spare, you hit it into the center right cup. You land another two before your best friend has a chance again, but it doesn't matter. All that’s left for you to shoot in is the eight ball.

“One day I’ll manage to get close to beating you.”

“The night’s still young,” you respond before chugging down what’s left of your bottle of soju. The alcohol goes down your throat smoothly, but it doesn’t soothe the itch that still sits under your skin. With another few drinks, and you teetering on the line between buzzing and full-blown drunk, you think you’ll be able to forget the feeling exists.

That sting only intensifies when you see a handful of guys from the legal team walk in, Vernon and Jihoon trailing behind Wonwoo’s towering form. Their presence causes you to miss the eight ball entirely, the cue ball slowly rolling towards a pocket until it falls in.

“Goddamnit, man,” you curse. You reach for your drink, but you curse again when the empty bottle touches your lips.

Before Wooyoung can ask, he turns his head to see the men going up to the bartender and gnaws at his lip. “Maybe they won’t notice us?”

“That’s as likely as you getting a girlfriend,” you tease. You pull a couple of dollar bills out of your pocket and set your pool stick down when you see the men edging away from the bar-top. It may be a risk when they’re still so close by, but your dry mouth tells you to take the chance. “I’m gonna get us another round.”

You place your hands firmly on the shining wood of the bar, the gloss of it contrasting with the rough calluses and paper cuts across your hands. A few fingers beckon the bartender over with a new set of soju bottles. The green glass that holds the liquid refracts against the overhead lights. It’s so bright, you don’t notice the figure whose shadow mars their outlines.

“Didn’t think you were the drinking type,” Wonwoo finally pipes up. Where his voice yesterday was quick and bashful, and his typical tone at work is clinical to the letter, the cadence of it now is warm, like a smooth pool of honey.

His arm brushes yours as he places a few bucks of his own on the bar for the bartender to take. The contact raises gooseflesh across the space where his skin met yours for the briefest of moments. It sends a new itch up your spine, one that’s barely familiar and on the cusp of foreign. You lie to yourself with careful precision, swearing in hushed tones inside your brain that it doesn’t ignite a long, burnt-out flame somewhere inside of you, and you almost believe it.

Almost.

“I also didn’t used to go to work-mandated support groups, but here we are.” You aim your bottle in his direction with the slightest of tips, a sarcastic salute that doesn’t make your secret any easier to address out loud. You sip gingerly, the pull of your lips from the bottle long and slow, but the alcohol holds no solution for your bitter tongue or sick stomach.

You know this, and you drink anyway. It’s better than the alternative.

Wonwoo’s the one who takes the bottle from your mouth. A few dribbles of soju trickle down your chin, but before you can snatch it back, he says, “I’m not going to say anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I wasn’t worried to begin with.”

He nods with a close-lipped smirk, in no way believing your glib. The bartender brings three gin and tonics for Wonwoo’s troupe, and you can’t hold back the giggle that erupts from deep in your throat. “Typical.”

“What? G and Ts are too good for you, miss marketing expert?” Vernon and Jihoon call their coworker with a loud shout of his name when they see their drinks are ready, but Wonwoo throws them an expression that shuts the younger men up.

“Who said I was an expert? That’s Soobin’s role, anyway.” You tut your head in a random direction. You have nothing to prove to Wonwoo, but you take pride in your job being higher than one of meager content creation. He chuckles, and the sound tickles your ears in a way you push down. “I’m a trend analyst.”

“Oh, really? Is that why you don’t speak during the meetings? You’ve already predicted that sharing is a waste of time?”

You sober immediately at his questions. You grip the neck of the soju bottle tighter as you try composing an answer, anger prickling the base of your neck. What can you say that gives nothing away and keeps with the pre-set banter, all while you remain even-keeled? You land on, “It’s not like that,” and make your move to walk away, bored with the conversation now.

Wooyoung looks over at you like you’re crazy, and you know the thoughts immediately swirling in your best friend’s head. You haven’t flirted with a man in probably half a decade, at least, but if the nerd isn’t getting any, the very least you could do is entertain some sort of romantic attention for the two of you.

Wonwoo grabs your arm softly, his fingers setting the same fire the contact from before did, but it holds an entirely new scope and set of stakes. “Humor me. What’s it like, then?” His voice is featherlight, gentle in its prodding. He holds no judgement, his earlier words only teasing but clearly striking a nerve in you he’s trying to amend with his new tone.

You avoid his gaze, finally landing back on the pool table where Wooyoung awaits. The kernel of an idea pops up alongside your smile. “Play me for it.”

“What?” Wonwoo chuckles, perplexed. You point towards the table with your index finger, and Wooyoung immediately turns his head, attempting to hide his spying to no avail.

“You win, I’ll tell you why I’m in that group.” Your smirk grows, the cheshire cat smile that now adorns your face growing with every word. “I win, you tell me what you were doing there yesterday in the first place.”

You put a hand between your incredibly close bodies, a fact you did not realize until you offered some ante for Wonwoo to chew on, and he takes the bait like you expected him to. “Deal.”

He shakes your hand firmly. It’s another set of touches that warms you to the bone in a way liquor never has before. You shuck that information to the side as you walk to the pool table with Wonwoo hot on your heels. He stops to deliver the drinks to his awaiting team, but he makes it to you with a few quick strides.

“Want me to break, or do you need to prove you can play first?” you ask with the same tantalizing smile you wagered him with.

He takes a hefty sip of his tonic and licks his bottom lip to catch the alcohol that threatens to spill over. “By all means.”

If only he knew how stupid it was to let the lady go first this time.

Wonwoo stares down into the pocket the eight-ball just flew into. While he’s mystified how you managed to just destroy his record and prove him wrong in a matter of ten minutes and three plays, you smirk openly. It always used to bug ex-boyfriends and situationships when you were better at a more masculine task or hobby than they were, but you always flicked their comments back with a middle finger and a nonplussed demeanor. It’s a delightful change of pace for someone as attractive and confident as Wonwoo to be mystified by your capabilities, even at the expense of his pride.

“She beats me all the time, man. Don’t sweat it.” Wooyoung tries to walk up and rustle your newly defeated opponent on the shoulder. He thinks better of it when Wonwoo gives him the same glare you threw at the younger guy a short time ago.

Your best friend offers to grab you another drink as you laugh, but you shake your head. “Gotta head home. Carat can’t feed herself.”

Wonwoo gives you a quizzical expression as Wooyoung leaves, and you respond with, “My fish. Very adamant about her feeding schedule.”

He flashes a high-wattage grin, and the feelings he’s stirred in you tonight try to scratch their way back to the surface, but you repress them once again. It means nothing, anyway. You won’t act on it, and the guy is probably ready to hightail it back to his friends by now.

He offers to walk you out, and all your preconceived notions upend themselves into the air. Wooyoung pulls you by the shoulder when you say goodbye and whispers, “If you miss out on that guy now, you’re even more ridiculous than I thought. And I’ve seen you suck your thumb while you sleep, remember that.”

When you make it to the driver’s side door, you remember it’s time to collect your payment. Now or never. “So, gonna tell me why you were in the group yesterday? Or will you chicken out with the best two out of three rounds?”

“Easy, I’ll tell you,” he says, concealing a grin until his next words come out. “But, it’ll be during dinner tomorrow night. My place?”

You gulp down heavy air, again recognizing the clear proximity of your chest to his. You can see the slow rise and fall of his upper body, his heart steady but clearly put on edge. He’s patient but barely, waiting for you to either accept the invitation or decline with bated breath.

“Why?”

You don’t mean for the word to come out the way it does, one-fourth hopeful and the remaining three-fourths speculative. It’s not like you’re unappealing under normal circumstances, but the girl who would’ve jumped at the opportunity for a date with a cute guy is not who’s standing in front of Wonwoo right now. You want to be her, trade your place for hers to make the smile on his face brighten, but you’re unsure how to get her back, and if there’s any point.

“Because I owe you, don’t I?” You shrug your arms, not saying no but not giving him confirmation either. “And you’re not the type to not collect when you’re owed something.”

“What makes you think that?” Some of your fire returns as you cross your arms, body posture exemplifying your intrigue.

“Because you wouldn’t have bet against me knowing you’d win if you were.”

There’s no witty remark or sarcastic comeback that comes to mind. He so easily saw through you, it scares you into saying yes right there. But, even while ruminating for a moment, you search for reasons to deny him of your company, and you find none. If tonight wasn’t so bad, what’s one more without expectations?

“Sure,” you finally say, and he gives you the grin you were looking for that could go toe to toe with any city streetlight. That mesmerizing, gum-revealing grin that makes a part of your knees weak.

You knew he was nice to look at from faraway in the secrecy of your cubicle, but it’s at a new level now, one that’s unquellable.

On the drive home, as you replay his smile in your mind’s eye, you know without a doubt that the buzz in your veins isn’t just because of the soju still lingering in your bloodstream.

It’s not, under any circumstances, a date. 

You parrot the words as you move around your bedroom, the clock on your dresser practically screaming at you to leave while the day is young. Work ended an hour ago, and you’re still stumbling on what to do about your attire.

No way is this a date. I’ve been on them before, I know it when I see it.

The recesses of your mind try to commit every sentence to memory as you put on lipstick, curl your hair, and throw an old dress under a denim jacket. It’s habitual to look nice for a new person, you remind yourself. It’s not like Wonwoo won’t welcome you into his home if you’re wearing a greasy t-shirt and pair of sweatpants, but you digress. You’re simply collecting on your payment, and if he takes it any other way, that’s his problem to deal with.

The ride to his apartment is tense, to say the least. A million thoughts run through your head while you grip the steering wheel tight during every turn and stop through the city to his downtown complex. You try to make light of the building that greets you, thinking about how much legal counsel must make to afford such swanky living spaces, but it doesn’t help. Your hands tremble, no matter how forcefully you clench your fists to stop the shaking.

He’s Wonwoo, a guy who has an interest in seeing you outside of a professional setting, and you’re you, half emotionally composed on your very best day as of late. You have some basis for being nervous, no matter what one would call the meeting arranged between you two today.

He called it dinner, so you’ll start there.

Greeting you at your door in a black V-neck and gray jeans, he looks too clean for someone who must’ve been lounging around before you arrived. “You look nice. Got a hot date or something?” He bites his lip in satisfaction when you huff out a breath of air, blowing off his harmless dig.

“I’m here for the information I won last night. And the plate of food you promised me.”

He beckons you inside with a smile and an arm pointed inside, and you walk through the threshold with all the knots in your stomach, reminding you of their presence with every step.

Wonwoo’s living space appears to be stereotypical for a guy in his mid-twenties. The apartment’s all dark wood and grey wallpaper, from his industrial bar table to the kitchen marble, but he’s made it his in his own way. Some action figures line a bookshelf near the kitchen, and a guitar sits on its stand in the corner of the entertainment center dominating the living room. But you glean little pieces of information about him from the tchotchkes that surround you. The black cat plushie that sits on the sofa, the NASA magazines he must have a subscription for, and the sounds of jazz playing low on the TV all indicate the quiet eccentricities of his personality.

He’s a secretively unique guy on the page and in person, and you admire it. Some part of it scares you, how easily you’ve grown accustomed to him in a few short meetings, but that’s not anything to mull over right now.

“I was just fixing the pasta when you showed up. You can sit anywhere.” He moves his head in either direction of the couch or the table, but you saunter over to his side instead.

The aroma of the tomato wafts across your nose, the sauce definitely homemade rather than store-bought. You peer over into the pot, the margarita-covered penne mixed in with vegetables and meat. “Who knew you could cook?”

Wonwoo chuckles, hearty and deep, as he stirs the food in the pot. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet.”

Yet. He says the word with such relaxation, like it’s inevitable you will discover more information about him. Like he’s certain you’re not going anywhere. It has to be a delusion of the future filling him with such confidence, without a doubt.

Shortly after that, the table’s decorated with towering plates of pasta and a lit candle at the center. The mixed scents of vanilla, jasmine, and tomato sauce blend harmoniously somehow.

You share small talk about Wonwoo’s cooking skills and your pool abilities over dinner, bantering throughout with the dry humor you delivered yesterday. Wonwoo takes it all with a smirk, volleying it back at you with charm that makes you forget your dinner exists altogether. You don’t eat all the food on your plate, but you’ve never been more full.

Both of you migrate to the couch with your glasses of wine, leaving the plates on the wood’s high-top and getting comfortably lost in more conversation. Suddenly, you remember exactly why you’re there, and you turn the tides of the conversation to address the purpose of your attendance. “So, the support group.”

Wonwoo laughs into his glass, shaking his head in a gesture that tells you he was just waiting for the inevitable. “What do you wanna know?”

“Why were you there?”

Wonwoo’s smile turns small, still bright but a tad dimmer, and a stone sinks down deep into your stomach. “It was my mother’s birthday that day. She died three years ago in April, but her birthday is always the hardest day for me to get through.”

“It was a sudden sickness, one that we didn’t expect her to get.” He runs his thumb along the ring of his drink, his finger leaving an opaque smudge. He looks back up eventually, the ghost of his small smile haunting his features. “I’m just grateful I had the time with her that I did before it was too late, you know?”

Wonwoo’s words reroute all the knots from your core to your throat, making you unable to speak. You click your own nails against your drink in a pattern, counting the beats in sequence to avoid the tears welling in your eye ducts. One, two, three, four taps. 

Four becomes five until Wonwoo brushes a hand along your knee. “Are you alright? I know that was heavy, but a winner deserves her prize, right?”

You appreciate Wonwoo trying to lighten the mood that you’ve darkened with your silence. The slam of the bottom of your wine glass startles Wonwoo a smidge, and while you didn’t mean to scare him, you know you need to leave before you fall apart.

“This was fun, Won, but I-I have to go.” A tear falls from your face as you speak, another escaping before you can make the waterworks disappear. Wonwoo holds your arm the same way he did a day ago when you were so close to leaving before. This time is different, though.

Wonwoo’s worry for you and whatever’s haunting you replaces his previous somberness. You recognize the contortion of his face like the back of your hand. You’ve seen it in family members and their condolences. The friends you kept and even the ones you lost from being distant. Even coworkers you never spoke to and random strangers who could recognize the shadows of loss.

It disgusts you, and you can’t bear to see it from Wonwoo of all people. You attempt to yank your arm away like your life depends on it, but he doesn’t let you slip away so easily. “Will you talk to me, please?” he asks. “You don’t have to hold back whatever you want to say.”

“I’m not, not at all. And it’s presumptuous of you to assume I am.” You shake your head, voice sputtering on some kind of laugh. “You don’t know me.”

“I think I do.” Again, the space between you and him is virtually nonexistent. Your hearts match in rhythm, despite your sadness and apprehension. The unspoken strings between you snap one by one with every movement of his hand, slowly reaching higher until his hand cups your face. His thumb runs over your jaw bone.

You don’t know whether to pull him closer or run now that’s holding you with a looser grip, and the thought is as sobering as his mouth a breath from yours.

“I have to go.” You clutch his wrist with your hand, but you make no move to turn and walk away. You leave indents in his skin from your nails gripping him, but he doesn’t break his hold either.

Then, in a broken trance, he lets you go and steps back, swallowing hard. “I’ll see you at work, then?”

You nod. “Thank you for dinner.”

“Anytime, really.”

You think about the importance of words, what they carry and how deeply they can mean when a person you care about says them. “Yet” and “anytime” have never been of significant value to you before, passing vocabulary that’s left little for your heart to grasp onto. But he says it without facades, each vowel and consonant holding the undercurrents of his desires. You feel your knees buckle a touch as you ponder it on your way out of his apartment and to your car. Your thoughts dwell on what that kiss would’ve felt like, and the panic that follows when you realize how badly you wanted it.

A week flies by, and then two more, until you realize you’re always passing Wonwoo’s cubicle with a cup of coffee, or he’s pestering you with a sticky note or two regarding legal jargon you’ll never read up on.

Neither of you mention what almost occurred in his living room so long ago, but it feels like only a second between that moment and the present when he’s inhabiting your space at work or blowing up your phone.

You don’t know why he started calling and texting right around the time you were prepared to shut your eyes for sleep, but it was a comfort you didn’t mind cherishing before dreamland took you under its wing. His explanations of corporate law terminology to the plotlines of One Piece became your lullabies.

A regular person can’t cement themselves in your life overnight, but Wonwoo is anything but regular.

As you’re filling out your timesheet for the week, your thoughts circle back to Wonwoo as you notice him in the conference room with the rest of the legal team. Vernon talks animatedly with his hands as Minghao and Jun type down notes. It’s a riveting silent film, but the only actor you’re interested in is pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose incrementally, and it makes you melt in your chair.

You have emails to type, spreadsheets to complete, and here you are acting like a high schooler with an unrequited crush.

Pulled sharply from your daze, Wooyoung bats you on the shoulder with his clipboard. San from HR laughs at your best friend’s assault on you, your acquaintance’s chest rippling as you rub your shoulder and give Wooyoung your signature glare. “What the fuck?”

“You should focus on the November report instead of ogling your new piece of man candy.”

"I don't know what you're talking about," you reply, calm and collected, even though someone has now turned the judgement on you for your prying eyes. Wooyoung had his own priorities as a market strategist; he had no business judging you for taking time off of business tasks to ogle.

You return to your initial view of the conference room, watching the gentleman in the confines of the glass office.

You don’t expect Wonwoo to be staring right at you when you turn your attention back to their meeting. Wooyoung and San talk amongst themselves about your comical behavior in the third person, but you don’t mind them and their idiocy. You’re too focused on the man who’s a dozen feet away.

Wonwoo practically gives you the same glare you delivered to him in the support group the first time he was there, but his eyes are all humor and no bite. He holds his binder up a smidge, signaling somehow for you to look down at the one propped against your laptop. You find a blue sticky note sitting on the front of it, and you know Wonwoo must’ve stuck it there when you went to the bathroom a half hour ago.

7 PM showing of Spider-Man Saturday. You in? X

It’s a measly set of perpendicular lines in Wonwoo’s handwriting, nothing extravagant on the sticky note itself. How can the letter and his proposition turn your heart into mush so easily? And why does it make you immediately nod in Wonwoo’s direction?

What was he doing to you?

You’ve watched the 2003 film many times in your life—you could recite the lines by heart, truth be told—yet seeing Toby McGuire swinging around in a latex suit still brings childlike wonder out in you. You smile into your handful of popcorn at the scene before you, the kicks and punches between Spiderman and the Green Goblin in the middle of Manhattan amplified by the theater’s sound system.

You dressed up a bit more this time for the outing with Wonwoo, despite your self-insistence on keeping it casual. Nothing had happened between you up to this point, only the opportunity for a kiss that never came. Who was to say anything romantic would happen now in the darkness of a theater?

The movie cuts to Spiderman swinging Mary Jane to a hotel high-rise away from the chaos of Times Square, and Wonwoo picks that moment to take the hand not holding more popcorn into his own.

It’s a funny feeling, the moment before something unexpected happens. It’s like your body bristles to a point of high alert before you’re struck with the reality something is occurring, for better or worse. He rubs the back of your hand in slow, delicate circles, and it feels like the start of something good while every cell inside of you screams to run.

The flutter inside of your stomach at his touch dies when you give into the spiraling thoughts, a cruel voice reminding you the butterflies won’t last. It carries the face of a person you’d rather forget. A smile that haunts every hour of your existence, and eyes you wish you could look into one more time outside of your nightmares.

You tug your hand free and speed out of the theater, not bothering to look behind you to see if Wonwoo is following you. You know he is, his calls of your name muffled amid the horrendous laughter ringing in your ears. When you’ve stopped running, you realize it’s raining all around you outside. The alleyway behind the theater only provides so much cover, but Wonwoo doesn’t care. All he wants to do is hold you as you’re hyperventilating, so he does.

“Hey, hey, hey. What happened?”

You hiccup, unsure how to go about saying the words when a phantom hangs over your shoulder and whispers words you have no willpower to fight. What makes him any different from everyone else? Nothing, and you know it.

“I’m right here,” he swears like it’s true, and you see red.

“Until you get sick of it, right?” You can’t look him in the eye as you say it, but it doesn’t make it feel less true expressing it out loud. “This isn’t gonna change. You’ll always wonder what’s wrong. I’ll never give you a valid excuse because I barely fucking know myself and shut you out. You’ll get bored really quick, Wonwoo, so what’s the point?”

“What are you talking about?” His mouth hangs at you accusatory questions, and it only makes you laugh harder. 

It’s easy to pretend your tears are only rainwater splashing down your face.

“There’s no point chasing after me anymore. I’m not worth the hassle, and it’s too much baggage for you to unpack, so don’t waste any more of your time.” You move his hands from your face with weak fingers and watch his arms fall limply at his sides as you turn to head towards the sidewalk and back to your car.

Wonwoo’s laugh is so bitter, you can taste it on your tongue. “You may think that what you’re going through is something nobody can understand, but a part of you knows you’re being ridiculous right now.”

You shake your head and continue down your path, barking back at him with a “Go fuck yourself.”

“You’re not the first person to lose someone, and you won’t be the last!” You stop walking down the alleyway, and you hear the sharp intake of breath on Wonwoo’s lips. He takes another second and set of steps to get closer to you before saying, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

You turn sharply, hair whipping across the open air. “You wanna know why I’m in the group, Won?” Your question drips with rhetoric like venom, sarcasm bordering on fury. “Because I got tired of all the noise of everything after…after—Chaewon just wouldn’t leave me the fuck alone about work and what was going on with me. And everyone at that point kept poking with their pity until the shit I said and did that day happened.” You flail your arms at your sides, the rain soaking through your sleeves. 

It was unprofessional, a huge moral deficit, as your boss put it. Especially when all Chaewon asked for was a valid reason for an extension on your trend report. “No coworker, especially not a subordinate, should treat another coworker that way. Your personal matters should not impede on your ability to be a team player.”

Your boss used every administrative play in the book while looking over the materials you ruined for the newest magazine issue, and that was before you screamed in your department head’s face. You didn’t mean to hurt Chaewon the way you did, but admittedly, it felt good to do it.

It was nice to let a part of you run free, even if it was a vulgar and unapologetic piece. But if you had known it would cost you every ounce of your pride and some semblance of your privacy, you would’ve thought twice. 

Your entire body is drenched by the time you finish your tirade, as is Wonwoo’s. “So yeah, that’s why they put me in that pity party of a support group. Because God forbid I snapped one fucking time for a valid fucking reason.”

“They just wanted you to get some help. Everyone needs that sometimes,” Wonwoo murmurs. He tries to step closer, each movement apprehensive, like he’s cornering a rabid cat into a carrier.

His movements make you feel like one, a wounded animal in need of immediate attention without regard for its unwillingness to accept it. It turns your eyesight red, and you think you may just be feral at this point. “I don’t need anyone’s help, Wonwoo! Not that group, not Seungcheol, not the damn lackeys in that fucking office, and especially not—”

Wonwoo gives up the pretenses and yanks you into his arms. He plants a hand across your hair and squeezes you in his hold, still tender despite the vice grip he has you in. The tightness of his hug shakes something loose in you, and you barely recognize you’re crying until Wonwoo cradles you closer and shushes you, even as the rain beats down on you both. “I’m here,” he promises.

“I don’t need to be saved, Wonwoo,” you say through fractured, sob-laced hiccups. Your eyes look past his brown ones, into the depths of his soul as you ask—plead even—“I just want to make the pain stop.”

“Let me help,” Wonwoo offers, rubbing the apples of your cheeks with his thumbs. It may be the most ridiculous, careless thing you can do at the moment, but when the urge to kiss him comes, you don’t stop it.

Call it an emotional break or a sudden rush of your suppressed desire shining through, but the second you press your lips to his in that brick alleyway, you don’t regret it. He tastes like salvation, of unbreakable promises. It could either heal or ruin you, but you don’t mind if it’s a little of both.

The raindrops cling to your clothes like a second skin, latching onto every curve. It’s easy to shed with the help of Wonwoo’s hands. By the time you’re an inch away from the doorframe of his bedroom, he’s wearing his briefs, and you’re left in your underwear. His warmth wraps around every part of your body like a campfire, stoking all the cold out of you and bathing you in the heat he provides. The thunder roars on, and lightning splashes the sky in white streaks, but the only light that sustains you is him.

“Is this okay?” He mumbles as he grazes the underside of your bralette. The material is so drenched that he can see the peaks of your nipples through it, but he’s trying to keep his composure and go at a speed you’re comfortable with.

You don’t hesitate, not wanting the moment to be dampened by your worst thoughts. They’re at bay now, and you want to use that time for what it’s worth. “More than okay.” You unclasp your bralette from your back, letting the wet garment plop to the floor. “Touch me, please.”

His index finger drags so slowly across your nipple, the ripple of electricity that tickles your skin follows the same tempo. While you’re willing to go fast, Wonwoo cherishes you with reverence. Even as he takes your nipple between his lips, moving his fingers down your stomach and into your underwear, he remains patient. “So wet,” he groans against your skin when he guides his fingers along your slick folds. It’s like he’s discovering a precious treasure before him, twirling your wet curls in his hair with his free hand as he runs the pads of his opposite fingers through slick heaven.

You tremble in his hands, all the nerves in your body a hot, frenzied mess in his hold. He thumbs your clit in slow circles, making it hard to stand any longer in the in-between space of his living room and bedroom. “Woo, I want more.”

He takes his fingers from your center and lifts you into his arms. Your legs wrap around him instinctively, and he chuckles into your throat. “Needy little thing, aren’t you?”

You giggle before he reattaches his lips to yours. His kisses taste like rainwater and second chances, physical proof that not everything has to be lost. He never lets you go or takes his mouth away on the slow trek to his bed.

Wonwoo sets you down gently, his eyes giving away all of his vulnerability. “You’re beautiful, you know that right?” You blush, wrapping an arm around your face, but he pulls it away and kisses each finger on your hand. “Every inch of you.”

The words go unsaid, but the bite of his lip and dark hood of his eyes tell you his desire goes beyond lust. I want to explore you forever.

Even the parts of you that you’ve deemed too dark, too painful, too unworthy of anyone’s entry. His expression tells you he may just take the risk and split you open fully to see what’s inside. With his eyes peering deeply into your soul, you think all he sees is hope. Like your heart holds the sun that peers out after the worst downpour in the world.

He rolls his briefs down his hips until his length springs free, knocking into the lower segment of his abdomen from how hard he is. “And you called me beautiful,” you say, breathless. Wonwoo’s cock drips pre-cum at the swollen tip, and you have no qualms sitting up and reaching out to encase him in your palm, running his essence across his skin.

He tips his head back and his mouth goes slack, a curse leaving his tongue. “You may kill me.”

You smile and run your lips along his neck, dragging your canines along the skin of his jugular. “If I do, I promise it wasn’t my intention.”

Before he can get too lost in the pleasure of your fingers wrapped around him, he traps your body between his own and the sheets below you. He doesn’t stop kissing you once he finds your lips again, even as he stumbles finding a condom in his bedside drawer and rolls the latex onto himself.

You don’t need to prepare for the eventual drag of his cock between your walls, already dripping from his previous touches, but he envelops you completely when he fills you to the hilt. He fits so snug inside of you; you think he could sit there forever and never leave. “You’re so tight, holy shit,” Wonwoo moans as he begins moving his hips.

You release a garbled moan, the sound practically swallowed by his tongue in your mouth. He takes and teases, but he always gives it back, rolling his lower half into you with a deliberate pace that helps you inch closer to a release. It paints the back of your eyelids in slow strokes. The act of getting there is as beautiful as the release itself when it’s with someone like Wonwoo giving you such perfect bouts of pleasure.

This feeling, like Wonwoo, is addictive and addicting in the same instance. You think you could get used to this, and it’s not just the lust having its way with your mind. Having all of him like this, his days and nights, rain or shine, may just be possible with the way he pours his devotion into your body. You just have to give him the opportunity.

He kisses you with the strength of a thousand stars exploding at once, and that’s the moment you fall apart underneath him. You let yourself bask in the feeling of your orgasm. You clutch onto his shoulders tightly as your walls spasm around him, sucking him in for every drop of pleasure he has to give.

He spills into the condom soon after, his hips stuttering and his kisses stilling as he feels his body succumb to the same pleasure you felt a few moments ago. The look on his face is pure bliss, the laugh on his lips the softest sound to accompany the pitter patters of rain on the window.

He throws the latex away before nestling back into the bedsheets with you. His arms wrap around you like vines as you rest your head on his chest. It's a comfortable silence between you, no words needing to be said to express your feelings for him.

I know you could love me forever if I give you the chance to.

You feel his response in the slow fall of his heart rate and the small snores he emits in the crown of your hair. The softness of his being is all you need to fall asleep too, and you think it may just be worth it to let him in.

The moment you wake, you feel a wave of nausea creep through you. The thoughts that erupted in that rainy alleyway a handful of hours ago come back with a vengeance. They clutch your throat with a begrudging hand until water streams from your eyes, hitting Wonwoo’s pillows like bullets. You try to subdue the sobs that rack your body, terrified of waking the man sleeping next to you, but it proves to be a fruitless fear. He sleeps like a stone through it all, immovable and solid.

With weak limbs and a fuzzy mind, you unbind yourself from Wonwoo’s hold and collect your things when you get out of the bed. Every piece of your heart breaks, the glued pieces of porcelain cracking once again into a heap on the floor as you walk away and out of his apartment.

It could only last for so long, that peace he provided, and you feel foolish for thinking a few hours of pleasure could change the new reality you’ve come to grips with long ago.

What the fuck did I do? I shouldn’t have gone out with him again. I’m so stupid.

Driving home in the rain, you try to turn on the radio to something that will be loud enough to drown out the spiraling thoughts and the sounds of your sobs reverberating through your tiny car’s interior. With a cruel twist of luck, Billy Joel’s “Everybody Has A Dream,” blares through the speakers. The piano chords and Joel’s whistles are ones you could recognize anywhere, and it stops your brain from falling further down the hole you’re accustomed to.

It’s his song, the song you have barely gotten through a note of without bawling.

You stop your car in the center of the road, despite the light being green in front of you. Cars screech behind you and blare their horns, some even roll down their window in the soaked night to curse at you, but you don’t care. The entire world could burn down, and all you would hear is the keys of the piano signaling your send-off.

The rivers on your cheeks become floods, all-encompassing and combating the leftover parts of the storm raging on outside of your vehicle. It makes the veins in your head pulse like a bass drum, but there’s nothing else to do, even if the song’s faded out by now. The DJ’s voice fills the space, but you can barely hear him.

You hate your father; the realization strikes you like a penknife to the heart as you press your forehead into the steering wheel, knocking your knuckles into its center until your own horn screams back at you. You hate him for leaving you alone to pick up the shards he created by going away too soon, sooner than you were prepared for. How could he part from you with such a gaping hole left in your chest and no roadmap for how to fix it? Was it even possible to mend such a wound when its shape was present everywhere you looked?

You continue to sob, no grounding techniques or motivational words coming to mind as your heart restarts just to bleed out all over again. 

Some time after the funeral, a doctor told you grief often changes the chemistry of a person’s brain. It undergoes neuroplastic changes and leads to alterations in emotional regulation and cognition. It made sense, given the way you exploded on Chaewon two months ago in front of everyone in the office. And all of that, the choice to either take a mandatory leave or seek counseling, led to that ridiculous fucking support group. And all the moments you shared with Wonwoo since then.

Guilt bubbles up behind your anger until it overtakes it, the way you’ve been acting almost shameful. You don’t regret him, but you regret this tugging you’ve done with his emotions alongside your own. But what other options have you had at your disposal? You’ve been stumbling around in the dark for so long, the light is not something someone easily accustoms themselves to again.

And Wonwoo is a person who exudes a radiance unlike anyone else you’ve ever met. You can’t believe there’s a chance he can truly seep into the darkness you live with now and soak it up for you. Not without him taking on some of it himself. 

You decide when the tears come at a slower pace that you won’t let him; he’s worth more than that. And it might break what’s left of the fraction of hope you held onto when you met him, but you’re grateful he gave you something at the very least. It’s better than nothing.

“I still think about what it would be like to kill him, even if I know it wouldn’t solve anything.” Hongjoong grumbles, twiddling his pack of nicotine gum between his fingers. “In my dreams, I do. I do it before he has the chance to make it past my driveway. Before I forgot to watch her playing.” Hongjoong breaks into a fit of angry sobs, and it tugs at your heartstrings bitterly.

The police and cops ruled the death of Hongjoong’s five-year-old daughter vehicular manslaughter. The guy who committed the crime had been remorseful and received less time because of his allocution. According to Hongjoong, he forgave the stranger a long time ago, but you don’t think anyone blames him for the anger and resentment that still lingers.

“Do you think your wife or other children gain anything by continuing to harbor this anger?” Seungcheol asks with no judgement, just objective curiosity.

It strikes a nerve in you, so deep it pulls a response out of your lips before you can stop it. “That’s a fucked up question to ask.”

Suzy gasps, hiding the sound behind her coffee cup. Hongjoong looks surprised himself, but Seungcheol is pleased to hear your voice. He’s only ever tried to make small talk with you while he’s filled out your slips after every session, but you’ve never given him any room to work with. Until now. “Why do you say that?”

“Because…” you ponder the answer, the coherent reasoning jumbled amongst your impulsive thoughts. “It’s a bit unfair. Sure, maybe he’s not the same husband and father he used to be, but what does anyone expect? His oldest kid dies, and he’s supposed to shelve that for the sake of others?”

“Nobody’s asking that of him,” Seungcheol responds. “I asked if it serves anyone for him to hold onto negative emotions.”

“Whether it does or doesn’t, big fucking whoop. Grief doesn’t serve anyone with anything purposeful. It’s all bullshit pain we’re supposed to make better somehow in just the right amount of time or else. Otherwise, everyone has to tread around it like it’s a disease. It’s exhausting.”

You barely registered Wonwoo’s presence in the room, but his messy mop of waves concealed in a beanie adds a second layer of pain to your words. You’ve evaded his texts and calls for the past two days. Avoiding work yesterday didn’t help the way you thought it did, Wooyoung texting you profusely with secondhand messages you didn't want to be reminded of.

It was better this way. You repeated the words to yourself like a mantra when the first batch of Wonwoo’s messages appeared on your lock screen. But seeing him now, you know it was a lie.

Heartbreak, like grief, lacks a purpose beyond the demand to be felt.

Wonwoo clears his throat. He tries to pose the question to the entire group, but he stares so deeply into your eyes when he says it, everyone knows it’s only for your ears to cling to. “Have you ever considered that the reason you think it serves no purpose is because you don’t let anyone in to help you make sense of it?”

Your bottom lip quivers despite your urge to compress your feelings, the anger that was simmering in your stomach now at a rolling boil. You kick the chair from under your legs as you leave the circle, cursing the entire time. You hear Seungcheol request a ten-minute recess for the session, and you know without a doubt the walking slogan is following you.

You keep your focus on the brick wall of the bakery that shares a back alley with the church when Seungcheol finally makes it outside. “Don’t say—”

“I’m just out for a smoke. Was needing a break anyway.” Seungcheol flicks his lighter to life and has a cigarette between his lips in the next second. A huge plume of smoke leaves his lips, and the acrid smell of smoke hits your nose, but you don’t turn from it. He reaches into his pack and hands you one once he lights it.

You chuckle sadly as you weigh the cigarette between your fingers. “How did you know I used to smoke?”

“You suck in a breath when you get angry, and your hands shake like you’re going through withdrawal. That used to happen to me when I tried quitting the first time.”

You nod. “I haven’t really done it in a while. Haven’t had the energy to go buy anything besides frozen meals and water.”

The silence between you both is deafening. Seungcheol doesn’t pry, although that’s his very job, to help you face your emotions head-on, and you don’t elaborate on your points from earlier in the group session.

“My wife died five years ago,” he finally says. He flicks the cigarette at his feet, digging the ashes into the surrounding dirt with his foot. “Was a drunk driver on the way home coming back from a restaurant. I was driving.”

You try to respond, but no words come. The lining of your throat kills them all before they can leave you, like butterfly wings that never unfurl. He goes on amidst your silence. “It took a long time to realize it wasn’t my fault, just terrible timing.”

You turn to look at him, but he keeps his attention on the shops and sidewalks surrounding the church, cold air leaving his mouth in grey clouds. “I’m sorry,” you say, the two words with no serrated edges this time, the anger from your voice gone.

“‘S nothing for you to apologize for. You didn’t know, and I don’t talk about it all that much.” He gives you a knowing stare with the shrug of his shoulders, no bitterness in his expression as he explains without words that you’re more alike than you would’ve known. You can’t imagine the guy having a bitter bone in his body, even if he has reason to. “But that’s why I started this. Going on about it may not help all the time, but I can let some of it go when I know I’m not alone, even if that feeling only lasts for a minute.”

“Are you saying that I have to explain why I’m like this with everyone to feel better? That’s your nugget of wisdom?”

Seungcheol's eyes turn solemn, disappointed but not surprised at your rhetorical questions. “What I’m saying is that pain isn’t avoidable. You know that better than anyone by now. And locking yourself away clearly isn’t working.”

You fight back the tears passing through your eyelashes and puff again. “I don’t need your backdoor psychology, Choi. Even if you and everyone in that group has more than some idea of what I’m going through, it’s not the same.”

Seungcheol chuckles without humor as he hands you another cigarette, his fingertips lingering over your palm in a familial way. His touch is warm despite the winter weather, the contact a salve over the cracks that have formed in the past few days, and it makes you feel worse somehow. “Whether you push people away or not, your capacity to hurt isn’t going anywhere. Wasting time you’ll never get back by being alone does nobody any good, especially yourself.”

“I don’t do anything for anyone like this,” you respond, words breaking. Your hands shake as you take two more drags, smoke filling your lungs as the shadows continue looming. “I can’t give any parts of me when I don’t know what’s left to give at this point.”

“Speaking from my experiences with you—which I know are limited—I’d say you’re not giving yourself enough credit.” Seungcheol plucks the cigarette from your hands once you make it to the end. “And I bet your little friend would say the same thing, if not more.”

Like the call of a siren song, Wonwoo comes through the back door of the church, a bit embarrassed to intrude, but relieved to find you before you left. It’s all over the sudden sag of his chest and the downturn of his eyes.

Seungcheol smirks to himself while he puts his pack back in his coat pocket. “Speaking of the devil, I’ll leave you to it.” He pats Wonwoo on the shoulder as he makes it to the door of the church. The closing of the back door punctuates the silence between you.

“Are you finally gonna talk to me?” Wonwoo asks, his voice teetering on desperation and indignation. He doesn’t want to be angry, you can tell, but it all comes out in the crinkle of his eyes and the line of his lips.

You don’t blame him, either. You’re the one who left him as soon as you woke up, no verbal or written explanation left behind to keep him from assuming the worst. “What do you expect me to say, Won? I don’t—”

“Don’t say you don’t know what I want from you. I’ve been clear about that since the first day we saw each other in this fucking church.” You’re taken back by him cursing, the act one you’ve not seen from him often, but he keeps going. “I want to help you. Whether that’s as your friend or something more, I can accept that. But what I can’t accept is you keeping up this act you’ve been putting on.”

“It’s not an act,” you say defensively. “It’s too hard to let anyone in. It may be hard for you to accept, but that’s the truth.”

“You need better practice at lying, sweetheart.” When your face crumbles with defeated confusion, Wonwoo goes on. “If it was so hard, you wouldn’t still have Wooyoung in your life. You wouldn’t have kicked my ass at pool, and you definitely would’ve done a better job at avoiding me. You may not want to admit it now, but you’re using your grief as an excuse to run away from feeling anything else.”

“You don’t know me,” you say, the words an echo that reaches through time with an entirely different meaning.

“I think I do.” His chest is barely an inch from yours, and before you know it, your lips join in a bruising kiss. It’s desperation from the days you spent without each other, almost stitching the time between that night you were in his bed and now together like a crochet tapestry. It’s yearning to be better than how you’ve been, to do better for the man who wants to teach you how to find happiness again.

Most importantly, it’s hope, unadulterated and unembroidered with the promises of what would’ve been. It’s only now, and that’s enough. It would always end this way, you think. Wonwoo holds you so close he may squeeze you into his coat to keep you from running away. A muddled cry escapes you before your lips connect again, your tears wetting the space between your mouths.

When you part, you think you may never let him go again, and this is the penance you’ll pay for the rest of your life for thinking you could ever handle being without him. “Where do we go from here?” you ask with glassy eyes, finding a glimmer of peace in the way Wonwoo holds you close to him with all the gentleness and love in the world.

“We heal.”

ONE MONTH LATER

None of the group members believe it when you offer to go first during the second to last session. You had half a mind to not to, promising Wonwoo you would share on the final meeting day so you wouldn’t have to suffer through another gathering with everyone knowing your story. Wonwoo only held you closer, stilling your trembling body with kisses to the crown of your head and his reassuring words whispered into your hair. “You’re stronger than anyone in that room, and it’s time you prove it.” You love him for that, among the plethora of a million other things, but that’s another conversation for another time and for only the two of you to share.

Suzy, Hongjoong, and the rest of the group follow you with understanding eyes, a response you used to dread. But now, you accept it just to get by. Seungcheol stares with immeasurable pride behind his eyes as you clear your throat.

“My dad passed away a year ago now,” you start, hands shaking but firm against the plastic coffee cup. “It was sudden, so sudden when the call came I didn’t believe it. I called the cop that told me about the accident a liar, like it couldn’t be true. It couldn’t happen to me, and not to him. Not yet, anyway.”

“You always think that you have more time to spend with someone, to tell them all the things you didn’t have the courage to say to them when they were still around. And that’s how I felt about him and our relationship, like I’d have a lot more moments to fix what I needed to for the two of us, and for myself. Maybe I never would’ve been ready, anyway, but—I couldn’t accept that all those chances, all those opportunities, were gone when he was, too. Most of the time, I still don’t. It doesn’t feel real, like it’s this thick fog I’m under that’ll eventually clear.

“And that’s why I’m here with you guys. And maybe talking about it now can help me to get through it the right way.”

You don’t look up from the floor as you continue, but Wonwoo’s hand on your thigh and Seungcheol’s leading questions ground you through it all. The tears flow, and the words leave your lips with all of their broken seams. Each thread of your heart unwinds, the experience equal parts freeing and devastating in the release.

Whoever the creator of the slogan from that third week of the support group is—Seungcheol, a random stranger, or a prophetic person who knows all too well the tragedy of grief itself—you’re growing to believe time can bend every sad emotion into something manageable, especially grief. And yes, you have yet to see what your own grief ultimately turns into, but you know you’ll take comfort in the fact you won’t be alone when that day comes.

@gyubakeries @loserlvrss @innocygnet @ghstzzn @xylatox @bambiihee @prkhaven @lunarlaina @jjunberry @frenchkisstheabyss @okiedokrie-main @chanranghaeys @brownbunnyb @lovetaroandtaemin @livelaughloveseventeen @aaa-sia

𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 ── .✦ @kstrucknet @k-films @kvanity-main @lapydiaries @moadiarynet @pirateeznet @/sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @deoboyznet @violetanet @whipped-kpop-creators

𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫 𝑴𝒀 𝑶𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑲𝑺 𝒐𝒓 𝑱𝑶𝑰𝑵 𝑴𝒀 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑺 © 𝖠𝗅𝗅 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖧𝖤𝖤𝖢𝖧𝖶𝖤; 𝖣𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖻𝗎𝗍𝖾 𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍.

[yvesssssssss]

Hii! I'm new and I really like your writings! I was wondering if I could request Sakamoto days characters when you're on your period if you haven't done that already. Sorry for the bad grammar. english is not my first language😅

🪷 anon

Ketchup packet

Hii! Welcome, and thank you so much—that means a lot! Your English is totally fine! I hope you like it!!

Nagumo yoichi

He'd act all nonchalant at first, like, "Aw, my girl’s bleeding out and still looks cute? You’re insane. I love it." But he's incredibly attentive under that teasing. Buys your favorite snacks without asking, casually hands you a heating pad like it's part of his daily loadout, and lets you hog the blanket during movie nights.

If you’re moody or cramping?

“Wanna stab something together? No? Okay, plan B—cuddle time. You get middle spoon today.”

He’ll joke around to distract you but immediately tones it down if he senses you're genuinely in pain. He’ll even learn your cycle and set little reminders for himself like: “Don’t forget the strawberry milk thing. She gets cranky without it.”

Shin asakura

Shin’s super sweet about it. He knows what’s going on the second he hears your thoughts or sees your expressions shift, even if you try to hide it.

“You don’t have to pretend to be okay. Just tell me what you need, alright?”

He gets flustered but tries his best—googling stuff like “foods that help with cramps” and making you ginger tea even if he burns it the first time. He’ll cuddle you gently, rubbing your back, checking in every few minutes like, “Does this help? Want me to stop? I can read to you or something.”

Also, he's so scared of doing the wrong thing that he over-prepares. You’ll come home to a blanket fort, heat packs, three kinds of chocolate, and a playlist labeled “Bleeding But Beautiful.”

Gaku

Totally panics the first time.

“Wait, you’re DYING?! Oh—oh it’s normal??”

Once you explain, he just goes, “…That sucks. I’ll kill whoever invented this.”

He doesn't totally get how to help, but he wants to. So expect weird but cute efforts like bringing you a plate of spicy chips and raw cookie dough while looking very proud of himself.

He’s not good with soft comfort, but he’ll lie beside you, playing video games silently, making sure you’re not alone. If you’re in pain, he’ll offer his lap, awkwardly stroke your hair, and whisper, “Should I go punch the moon for doing this to you?”

And if anyone annoys you while you're on your period? He gets so defensive.

“She’s bleeding and still more powerful than you. Shut up.”

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Hey lovelies! Just a heads up—if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist, now's the time to let me know! I don't want to flood anyone's inbox unnecessarily. 🫶

Drop a comment or send me an ask if you'd like to be added/removed!

Thank you all so much for being here! You all are the best!🫶🫶

[luvfae]

LOST IN TRANSLATION, PT 3

summary: after four months apart, you finally make it back to seoul—back to su-bong .

parings: thanos x foreigner reader

warnings: romanised korean, slight language barrier, smut, creampie, oral, swearing

part two

It's been four months since Korea.

Four months since his hands were on your skin, his breath in your ear, his voice in that low, growling tone that made your knees give out.

Four months since you left — suitcase overstuffed, heart wrecked, promising yourself you wouldn't cry at the airport.

You did.

And you haven't really stopped.

You used to be the fun one.

The one who sent drunk texts at 2 a.m.

The one who dragged everyone out on Tuesday nights for karaoke.

The one who said yes to everything.

Now you ghost through your days.

Gray skies. Cold coffee. Emails you delete without reading.

Your job feels like static. Your friends feel like strangers, even when they're right beside you.

Your body is here, but your soul?

Your soul's still somewhere in Seoul, pressed against a boy who kissed you like it was a language.

Your phone lights up.

Su-bong:

밥 먹었어?

(Did you eat?)

You smile.

Not because you're happy.

But because it's him. Because even miles away, he still finds a way to ask if you've eaten.

He doesn't say "I miss you." Not directly.

You don't either.

You keep it casual. You have to.

Because neither of you is dating.

You're not his.

He's not yours.

You just... talk.

Every day.

Morning check-ins. Nighttime calls. Shared playlists. Memes.

You've even started learning Korean — clumsily, but with effort. He teases your pronunciation over FaceTime, laughing when you butcher things and grinning when you get one right.

You say "jagiya" once as a joke. He goes silent for five seconds. Then asks you to say it again.

You do.

Twice.

Just to hear him groan and cover his face like he's trying not to fall.

Your friends have noticed.

You're quieter. Distant. Always somewhere else.

"You okay?" they ask.

You lie. Every time.

Because what would you even say?

No, I left part of myself in Seoul. I think I'm haunted. I still feel his hands on me like ghost limbs.

No one would understand.

Except him.

And right now, he's on your phone again.

Su-bong:

오늘 너무 춥다. come keep me warm.

(It's cold today)

You:

don't tempt me.

You don't hit send.

Not yet.

Because the truth is, you're tempted.

All the time.

It's past midnight when your phone buzzes again.

You're lying in bed, curled up in an oversized hoodie that doesn't belong to you — because of course it's his. You've worn it so many times it barely smells like him anymore, but you pretend it does. You pretend everything does.

Su-bong [FaceTime Incoming]

You swipe to answer before it finishes ringing.

The screen lights up with his face — hair messy, shirtless, laying on his side with his cheek half-pressed to a pillow. His voice is slow, a little gravelly. Eyes low-lidded and pink at the corners.

"Jagiya..." he drawls. "You look cute."

You snort. "Are you high?"

He doesn't deny it. Just grins. "Little bit."

You roll onto your back, tucking the blanket under your chin. "Is this going to be one of those weird stoned calls where you tell me philosophical shit and then ask what clouds smell like?"

"Yes," he says, completely serious. Then, "Also you're glowing."

"I'm literally under a ceiling fan."

"No, no." He waves a lazy hand. "Different glow. Seoul-missing glow."

You narrow your eyes. "Is that your way of saying I look depressed?"

"Sexy depressed," he clarifies, nodding solemnly. "Like... tragic romance movie heroine. I like it."

You laugh — real and warm. "You're so fucking weird when you're stoned."

"And still handsome." He grins. "Very unfair."

You tilt your head. "You been thinking about me?"

"All day," he says. "Every day."

You chew your bottom lip, and for a minute, the silence stretches. Not awkward. Just full.

You watch him blink slow, eyes a little unfocused. Then he murmurs something so soft you almost don't hear it.

"Saranghae."

You freeze.

Not because it's the first time he's said it.

But because it's the first time you understand it.

He's said it before — in bed, whispered into your shoulder when he thought you were asleep. At the airport, when you hugged him like you'd never see him again. Once, at the end of a late call just like this one, slurred and casual.

Back then, you didn't know what it meant.

But you've been studying. Practicing. Listening.

And now?

Now you know exactly what he just said.

I love you.

Your breath catches.

"...You love me?" you ask, voice small. Unsteady.

His eyes snap open. He stiffens on screen, fully alert now, blinking like he's just woken up.

He stammers, "I—no, I mean—fuck—" Switches to Korean, muttering under his breath, "aish... shibal... michigesseo..."  Then louder, "aniya, I mean—ahh, it slipped, I'm high—"

You cut him off. "I know what it means."

He stares at you, frozen.

You smile. A little shaky. "I know what it means now. And I'm not freaking out. You don't have to panic spiral or whatever the hell this is."

He doesn't speak. Just keeps blinking, lips parted, the tips of his ears turning red.

You exhale, then whisper it back, "saranghae."

His breath hitches so sharp it sounds like pain.

"Are you sure?" he says, barely audible.

You nod. "I've been sure for a while."

A beat.

Then another.

And then he exhales a shaky breath and drops his forehead into his pillow, groaning. "Ahhh, fuck. My heart. My heart is dying."

You laugh, tears stinging behind your eyes.

He lifts his head again, eyes impossibly soft now. Serious. Real.

"Come back, jagiya," he says. Voice quiet. No teasing. No smirk. Just him. "Even just for a little."

Your heart aches.

Because you want to.

God, you want to.

But you don't answer yet.

Not because you don't want to — but because you're already looking at flights.

You're scrolling with your thumb, barely listening as he keeps talking. The usual airline sites. Budget tabs. Currency converters. You've done this dance before, but this time?

This time it feels different.

The lowest fare you find is still gutting. Almost $1,200.

You wince.

Your bank account is already limping from that two-month whirlwind trip across Asia. Seoul was your final stop, but it ended up costing you more than just travel expenses — it cost you your peace of mind, your sense of direction, your emotional stability.

You frown, chewing your lip as you squint at the total.

"I don't think I have the money right now," you admit softly.

That makes him go quiet.

You glance back at the screen.

His expression is unreadable for a beat — then his brows lift. "How much?"

You narrow your eyes. "What?"

"How much is flight? I'll help pay."

You snort. "Su-bong—"

"No, I mean it." He shifts on the pillow, suddenly sitting up straighter, more serious. "Why not? I want you here. If I had a passport, I'd be there already, but I don't. So I'll help you come. So you be in my arms, hmm?" He smirks like he thinks this is romantic.

You groan, shaking your head. "Absolutely not. I'm not taking your money."

"Why?" he protests. "I buy girls drinks in club all the time, and they don't even call me after. You? You say you love me and don't even let me buy airplane?"

You glare. "That is not the same thing and you know it."

He pouts dramatically. "But jagiya—"

"No," you interrupt, laughing now despite yourself. "No pouting. No charming. I'm not letting you. I'll pick up a few more shifts, okay? A couple doubles. I'll be there soon."

He squints. "You promise?"

You nod. "I promise."

A beat of silence follows.

His voice softens. "Okay. I wait."

You grin. "You better."

He holds up his pinky to the camera.

You link yours to the screen. "Pinky swear." Then, quieter,  "soon."

—

TWO WEEKS LATER

You're sitting cross-legged on the floor of your apartment, sorting through a pile of laundry that's been haunting you since last week, when your best friend kicks open your bedroom door with a full iced coffee in hand and zero regard for boundaries.

"You look like you're gonna cry again," she says casually.

You blink up at her. "I'm not."

She sets the drink on your nightstand. "Are you gonna tell me why you've been humming Korean love songs under your breath for the last five days?"

You bury your face in your hoodie. "No."

She sits next to you and yanks your hood back. "Try again."

You sigh, voice small. "I'm saving to go back."

Silence.

Then—

"Thank fuck," she breathes. "I thought you were gonna rot here forever."

You blink. "Wow. Thanks."

She shrugs. "I'm serious. You've been a ghost since we landed. I watched you go from hot girl summer in Seoul to sad girl winter in this hellhole, and frankly? It's been depressing."

You can't help but laugh — a little hoarse, a little helpless. "I've just... missed him. All of it. Him, the city, the food, the way I felt there."

She nudges your knee. "Then go back."

"I'm going to." You nod. "Soon. Just need to work a little more—"

Ding.

Your phone buzzes.

You glance at the screen.

$500.00 deposited.

From: Sugar Mommy

Memo: "For your dickdown fund."

Your eyes widen. "What the fuck."

She sips her coffee, cool as ice. "Consider it an investment in my sanity."

"Take it back," you hiss, already opening your banking app. "I'm not taking your money—"

"I'm rich," she snaps. "Well, technically my parents are, but still. I wouldn't even notice if I set $500 on fire."

"Girl—"

"Shut up."

You glare. She glares harder. Eventually, you groan and fall back onto the carpet. "You're such a bitch."

"You're welcome," she sings, tossing a sock at your face. "Now shut up and book the damn ticket."

You check your balance.

She just knocked off nearly half.

And you already had the rest.

You could book a flight right now.

Tonight.

And still cover your rent, your bills, your life.

Your thumb hovers over the screen.

And your heart?

Your heart's already halfway to Seoul.

So you do it.

No overthinking. No hesitation.

You scroll back to the cheapest ticket. Direct flight. Leaves tomorrow night.

You hit purchase with trembling fingers, your friend watching you like you just launched a missile.

"Did you—"

"I booked it," you breathe, staring at the confirmation screen. "Holy shit. I actually booked it."

Your friend shrieks, launching herself at you like she's the one about to get laid across the Pacific. "Bitch! You're going back! You're going to get your back blown out by your Korean boyfriend!"

"He's not my boyfriend," you say automatically, already pulling out your phone.

"Mhm. Sure. Keep lying to yourself."

You tap FaceTime before you can second-guess it.

It rings once. Twice.

And then it connects.

You're met with a blur of flashing lights, noise, and a very familiar voice yelling:

"JAGIYAAA!"

The screen stabilizes just long enough to show Su-bong's grinning, flushed face — cheeks pink, hair messy, his chain catching the neon from somewhere offscreen. He's clearly out, clearly tipsy, and clearly ecstatic to see your face.

"Wait, wait," he slurs, already moving the phone. "Look who it is!"

He pans the camera wildly to the chaos around him — and you see them all:

Nam-gyu, double-fisting drinks.

Min-su, throwing peace signs like it's a photoshoot.

Gyeong-su, yelling "HELLO!!" like it's the only English word he knows.

Se-mi, who leans into the camera and goes, "You are glowing, babe. Is that love or just good lighting?"

You laugh, and then flip the camera to your friend, who's waving wildly.

"Annyeo... annyeo-noseyo?" You cringe. She shrugs. "Close enough."

Su-bong's voice cuts through the noise again, sharp and warm. "You okay? You look happy."

Your smile widens, your face starting to ache from how hard you're grinning.

You look at him — at this glitchy, beautiful man in a bar across the world — and say, "I leave tomorrow night."

The camera shakes. A chorus of "WHAT?!" erupts behind him.

His jaw drops. His eyes go wide. "Tomorrow?!"

You nod, biting your lip. "I land in Seoul two days from now. Save me a bed. Or don't. I'm not planning on sleeping much."

Su-bong is blinking, laughing, blinking again.

"Jinjja?" he asks breathlessly. "You're really coming?"

"I'm really coming."

—

TWO DAYS LATER

Su-bong wakes up with a hangover and a mission.

Your flight lands tonight.

And for a man who swore he wasn't the romantic type, he's losing his entire mind in the privacy of his tiny ass apartment.

His morning starts reckless.

He shaves — twice — because the first time he fucks up his jawline from nerves.

Mumbles "Shibal..." under his breath when he cuts himself.

Stares in the mirror for five solid minutes like: Is this enough? Am I enough?

Then changes shirts three times.

A black tee. No, too casual.

A button up. Who am I, Nam-gyu?

Back to the black tee. Silver chain, simple cologne, no bullshit.

Except his heart is racing like this is bullshit.

Like he didn't just spend the last four months playing it cool on FaceTime, smirking every time you called him sexy, making fun of your Korean.

Like he didn't fall in love with you anyway.

By the time he gets to Incheon Airport, he's pacing.

Hands in his pockets. Hood pulled up. Mask on.

Not because he doesn't want to be seen — but because he needs something to hide behind.

He checks the arrivals screen so many times the security guard starts side-eyeing him.

Estimated Arrival: 7:32 PM

Status: Landed

His stomach drops.

The kind of drop that has him chewing the inside of his cheek, staring at the sliding arrival doors like they personally insulted his ancestors.

And the second they start opening—

His whole brain empties.

Blank.

Nothing.

Just—

Shit. Shit. Shit.

There you are.

Dragging your suitcase. Messy hair. Sweatshirt too big. Eyes searching the crowd with that tired, travel-wrecked look.

And still?

Still the most beautiful thing he's ever fucking seen.

His heart kicks hard.

Hard enough to knock all the nerves out of his body and replace them with something else.

Want.

Need.

Yours.

When your eyes find him — hood up, mask on, but eyes soft, wide, locked only on you — you break into the biggest fucking smile he's seen in his life.

You jog the last few steps.

Drop your suitcase.

And before he can even think you're in his arms.

Arms around his neck, legs around his waist, like this was always inevitable.

Like Seoul was always waiting for you to come back.

You pull back just enough to look at him — to really look at him.

His hood's fallen back, mask hanging loose around his chin, and god — he looks wrecked in the best way. Eyes dark and soft, a little pink like he hasn't slept, like this moment's been keeping him awake for days.

You cup his face in both hands, thumbs brushing along his cheekbones.

And before you can even think twice—

You kiss him.

Slow.

Sure.

Like four months of late-night calls and I-miss-you smiles and unspoken please waits all crashing into this one second.

Your lips brush his as you whisper, honest and small, "I missed you."

His breath catches.

And then?

It's over for him.

Completely.

He leans in again — kissing you deeper, slower, like he wants to taste every syllable you just said.

"Jagiya..." His voice is rough against your mouth. "You kill me, really..."

You laugh softly, still not letting go. "Good."

He smiles — wide and a little shy — and then shakes his head, leaning back just enough to stare at you like you're impossible.

"Ya," he says, almost scolding, "You're not allowed to disappear for four months ever again."

"Geureol su eopseo," you reply — shaky, grinning.

His brows shoot up. "Wahhh—look at you."

"Can't," you clarify in English, cheeks warm. "Geureol su eopseo... I can't. Right?"

His mouth twitches like he's fighting a smile way too big for his face. "Ahh... perfect. Perfect Korean. Perfect girl."

"Ani," you tease, shaking your head. "Perfect boy."

He snorts. "Perfect man." He corrects, cocky as hell.

"Ya, crazy man," you shoot back without thinking — the Korean slipping out too natural.

He laughs so loud people glance over.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath. "You're really here."

Like he can't believe it.

Like he's scared you'll vanish if he looks away too long.

Finally — reluctantly — he slides you down from his arms, setting you gently on your feet. But he stays close. His hands smoothing down your arms like he's trying to memorize the feeling of your skin all over again.

Without missing a beat, he grabs your suitcase in one hand like it weighs nothing.

And with the other?

He laces his fingers through yours.

Warm. Certain. No hesitation.

"Come on, jagiya," he says, tugging you with him through the crowd, his thumb brushing slow over your knuckles. "Let's go home."

And god — home.

Home doesn't even feel like a place anymore.

It feels like him.

The walk to his car is a blur.

You trail behind him, hand in his, suitcase rolling clumsily over sidewalk cracks because neither of you are really paying attention.

He opens the trunk, tosses your suitcase in — but when he shuts it?

You don't move.

Neither does he.

You just... stare at each other.

Like the weight of the last four months finally caught up.

Like touching him wasn't enough.

"Hey," you murmur — quiet, teasing — "why're you staring?"

He huffs a small laugh, already stepping closer.

"Because I missed you like crazy," he says, honest and low. "I look at you because I couldn't for four months."

And that's all it takes.

Your hands are in his hair.

His mouth is on yours.

Right there against the back of his car — messy, slow, hungry — like neither of you can wait until you're inside or alone or anywhere else. His hands grip your waist like he still can't believe you're real, thumbs rubbing beneath your sweatshirt.

You bite his bottom lip just enough to make him groan.

"Shibal..." he mutters against your mouth.

"Missed me?" you tease.

"Jugeul geot gata," he exhales. (Feels like I'm dying.)

You grin. "Me too."

Eventually, he pulls himself back with a curse and a wild, wrecked grin.

"If we don't stop now, jagiya..." he warns, dragging a hand through his hair.

"Later," you promise.

"Fucking later," he agrees, breathless.

The car ride is quiet at first.

Not awkward — just soft.

Your legs are tucked up in the passenger seat, your face turned toward him like you can't stop staring. The city lights blur past outside the window, but it's him — the profile of his face, the line of his jaw, the little scar near his eyebrow — that's got you hypnotized.

At every red light, he glances at you.

Like he's checking.

Like he's making sure you're real.

His hand slips over your thigh halfway through the drive — casual at first.

But then it stays.

Thumb stroking slow circles into your bare skin like it's second nature.

Like it belongs there.

"You okay?" he asks quietly.

You nod. "Yeah." Then, almost shy: "Na... na jom hangug-eo haeboilkkayo?" (Can I... can I try speaking Korean?)

He blinks — surprised — before his whole face lights up. "Wahhh..." He grins. "Of course. Try."

You clear your throat, cheeks warm.

It's clumsy — the words awkward in your mouth — but it's yours, "Neo... neomu bogo sip-eoss-eo." (I missed you so much.)

He actually groans, like the sound physically punches him in the chest.

"Ahh, jagiya... kill me now," he laughs, shaking his head like he's helpless.

"Was that bad?" you ask, nervous.

"No," he says immediately. "Perfect. Fucking perfect."

At the next red light, he leans over the console just to kiss you.

Soft. Sweet. Like it's nothing. Like it's everything.

"Tell me more," he teases when he pulls back.

You giggle, still a little shy. "Neo..." You try again, thinking hard. "Jal saeng-gyeoss-eo." (You're handsome.)

He bursts out laughing.

"Aishhh, stop, stop—" he groans, clearly loving every second. "Dangerous girl."

"Saranghae," you whisper, bold this time.

His hand tightens on your thigh like you flipped a switch inside him.

"Geurae?" (Yeah?) He says it low, soft, almost smug — but his eyes are so goddamn warm. "Me too, jagiya. Saranghae."

The rest of the drive is full of sleepy kisses at stoplights. Soft little touches — his thumb tracing your knee, your hand playing with his silver chain.

And every once in a while?

That small, dangerous smile he keeps sneaking your way.

Like he's already planning all the ways he's going to ruin you once he gets you home.

By the time he pulls into his neighborhood, your heart's in your throat.

Everything feels hazy. Dreamlike. Familiar in the most dangerous way.

The second he parks the car, he's already moving — grabbing your suitcase with one hand, grabbing you with the other.

It doesn't feel like enough.

Not even close.

His apartment looks the same.

Dim lights. Shoes at the door. The faint scent of whatever cologne clings to him like skin. Your stomach twists at the sight of it — this stupid, messy, too-small place that somehow feels more like home than your own bed ever did.

But you barely step inside before he's kicking the door shut behind you with a dull thud — and then?

Then he's on you.

Suitcase forgotten, dumped haphazardly by the wall.

His hands on your face, your waist, everywhere at once like four months of patience just snapped clean in half.

"Shibal," he mutters against your mouth, already kissing you like he means to leave bruises. "Fucking missed you."

You gasp into him, fingers tangling in his hair. "Show me then."

That's all it takes.

Big hands slide down to your thighs, gripping tight.

And in one quick, almost reckless motion he's lifting you — like it's easy, like you weigh nothing, like he's never letting you stand on your own again.

Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, breath catching as he presses you back against the door for just a second — hips tight between your thighs, mouth moving from your lips down the line of your neck.

"Missed this mouth," he groans, kissing lower. "Missed this body. Missed... fucking everything."

"Su-bong..." you breathe, already dizzy.

"Mmm, neomu yeppeo..." (So fucking pretty...) he mutters against your skin, kissing over your pulse.

You whimper, your hands fisting in his shirt. "Bed. Now."

He pulls back just long enough to look at you — flushed, messy, so fucking his — and laughs, low and wrecked. "Anything you want, jagiya."

And then he's carrying you straight through his apartment, not even sparing a glance for your suitcase, the door, the world outside.

Nothing matters.

Not anymore.

Just you.

And him.

And four fucking months of wanting.

He carries you into his bedroom like it's instinct — like muscle memory — but once the backs of his knees hit the bed, you press your hands flat against his chest.

Firm.

Stopping him.

His eyes flash — dark, curious — but he doesn't fight you.

Doesn't have to.

Because you're already shoving him backward until he drops down onto the edge of the mattress, legs spread, shirt rumpled, hair wild like he doesn't even remember how to breathe without you.

And fuck — the way he watches you?

Head tilted back slightly, lips parted, hands loose between his thighs like he's ready for whatever you're about to do?

It lights something sharp and dangerous in your chest.

Slowly, you start peeling your clothes off — top first, tossed somewhere near the door, then your sweats, until you're standing in front of him in nothing but your panties, flushed and hungry.

His tongue swipes across his bottom lip.

"Aish... fuck, jagiya..." His voice is low, wrecked already. "You wanna kill me tonight?"

"I want you wrecked," you murmur. "I want you stupid for me."

You step between his legs, straddling that heat pouring off him like you own it, hands curling behind his neck as you kiss him — slow at first, sweet — but it turns messy quick.

Because his hands?

Immediately full of you.

Palming your tits through your bra, thumbs brushing your nipples until you arch into him, whimpering into his mouth.

"Shibal... missed these," he groans, tugging the bra down to expose you fully. "Missed your sounds. Missed your taste."

Your fingers slip under his shirt, dragging it up — rough, impatient — and he lets you tear it off over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him.

You pull back just enough to look at him.

Broad chest.

Tan skin.

Tattooed, scarred, sweat already beading along his collarbone like he's overheating from just this.

And then — slowly, deliberately — you sink to your knees between his legs. His breath punches out of him.

"Shibal..." he mutters like a prayer, running a hand through his hair, watching you with that razor-sharp look that makes your thighs ache.

Your hands slide up his thighs, slow, teasing, nails dragging over the rough denim of his jeans.

And when your gaze drags up to meet his?

Dark. Wanting. Ready?

His big hand reaches out — gentle, reverent — curling under your jaw, thumb hovering over your bottom lip like he's thinking about ruining you right here.

You don't even hesitate.

You part your lips and take his thumb into your mouth.

Slow.

Deep.

You suck, tongue swirling over the pad of his finger.

He groans deep in his chest. "You tryna make me come from that mouth?"

You pull back with a filthy pop, grinning up at him like sin incarnate. "Pants off," you whisper.

He's already moving — unbuttoning, shoving them down — his cock heavy and hard, leaking at the tip like you've already won.

"Hold my hair up," you mutter, crawling closer.

His breath catches.

"Yeah?" His voice is wrecked. "Fuck yes, baby... gimme that pretty mouth."

His hand slides into your hair, gentle but sure, gathering it into a loose fist, holding it off your face like it's the most natural thing in the world.

And you don't waste time. Your mouth is on him.

Hot. Wet. Filthy.

Your tongue drags up the thick vein on the underside of his cock, swirling the tip before sinking down, taking as much as you can — slowly at first, moaning low in your throat just to feel the way he twitches in your mouth.

"Ahh... fuck, fuck..." His head drops back. "Look at you... pretty fuckin' mouth made for me, huh?"

You hum around him — teasing, daring — bobbing your head a little faster now, hand wrapped tight around the base, stroking everything your throat can't take yet.

"Shibal... look at me," he groans.

You glance up.

Eyes glossy. Drool slicking your lips. Face wrecked in the most perfect way.

And Su-bong?

He looks absolutely gone.

"Fucking... perfect," he rasps, voice shaking. "My good girl... takin' me so deep... so greedy for my cock."

You pull off just long enough to catch your breath — panting, lips swollen, chin slick.

Your hand stays wrapped around him, stroking him slow, teasing, watching the way his cock twitches, flushed and angry and wet from your mouth.

Then you do something that makes his entire body lock up.

Without breaking eye contact — without even fucking hesitating — you gather every bit of spit in your mouth and let it drip from your tongue right onto his cock.

Slow.

Heavy.

Messy.

"Holy fuck..." he rasps — voice low, completely wrecked, almost shocked. His hand tightens in your hair automatically, eyes dark and blown wide. "Ya..." he mutters in disbelief, shaking his head slow. "Jinjja... what the fuck..."

Like no one's ever done that to him before.

Like no one's ever looked at him like this before.

"Fucking crazy girl," he groans — but it's full of awe, full of want, like he's not even mad about it — like he might never recover.

"Mine tonight," you murmur, thumb sliding through the slick mess coating him, teasing his tip until his stomach tightens. "Want it messy. Want it everywhere."

His jaw flexes hard — Adam's apple bobbing.

"Aishh... fuckin' evil," he hisses through his teeth, watching you like you're the most dangerous thing alive. "Come here... come here right now..."

Like he can't take it anymore.

Like if you don't get back on him this second he's going to lose his goddamn mind.

You watch him fall apart like it's the prettiest thing you've ever seen.

Chest rising fast. Abs tight. Thighs tense beneath your palms. Still staring at you like you're doing shit to him he's never even imagined before.

And you're not done.

Not even close.

You lean back in — slow at first, teasing him with kitten licks over the flushed, leaking tip — and his whole body jerks.

"Shit, jagiya..." His voice breaks — deeper now, almost fucked-out already. "Gonna fuck your throat properly next time... but right now?"

You wrap your lips around him again — sink deeper, hollow your cheeks — and he groans, so guttural it vibrates through your core.

"Wanna come on that tongue... fuckin' deserve it after this..."

His hand tightens in your hair, not rough, not forcing — just there, shaking a little from the tension rolling down his spine.

And you give it to him.

Take him deeper. Throat tighter. Sucking hard, spit and slick everywhere now, dripping down your chin, messy and perfect.

"Shibal... fuck, fuck, fuck..." he curses in rapid, broken breaths — hips twitching helplessly as he fights not to just lose it completely.

Your throat clenches around him, spitting and swallowing him like this is worship, like he's yours to ruin tonight.

And judging by the way he's cursing in both languages, tugging your hair just enough to feel the sting?

He fucking loves it.

He's gone.

Absolutely fucking gone.

His thighs are shaking now, breath ragged, hips starting to stutter — instinct trying to fuck into your mouth even as he fights it.

"Jagiya..." His voice breaks. Pleading. "Gonna... fuck, baby... gonna come..."

You moan around him — filthy, encouraging — hollowing your cheeks harder, your hands tightening on his thighs to hold him still.

That's what does it.

His whole body locks.

His head snaps back, mouth open, voice spilling out rough and ruined:

"Shibal... ah fuck, fuck—naneun... Cumming, fuck—eat it up, pretty mouth—"

And then he does.

Hard.

Deep.

Hot and messy against your tongue, spilling into your mouth like he's giving you every last bit of himself.

"Jagiya... shit... fuck—" His hand fists tighter in your hair but he doesn't pull — just holds — watches, half-terrified and half-worshipping, as you swallow every drop.

Slow.

Greedy.

Eyes locked on his.

Like you own him.

You pull off with a wet, filthy pop, licking your lips like he's the best thing you've ever tasted.

He stares at you.

Wrecked.

Stunned.

Silent for a beat too long.

"Fuck me..." he mutters, voice gone, dragging you up without warning — hands on your face like he's scared to even touch you too rough. "C'mere—c'mere—fuckin' unreal—"

And then he's kissing you.

Tongue tasting himself from your mouth like he's never going to get enough of you as long as he lives.

"Nae geoya..." he whispers against your lips.  "Jagiya... fuck... how the hell am I supposed to let you leave again?"

You barely have time to answer — barely have time to breathe — before he's grabbing your hips, hauling you onto the bed like you weigh nothing, like you're his fucking prize and he's finally taking it.

You crawl forward on shaky limbs, heart hammering, every nerve ending on fire — but Su-bong's already behind you.

Already yanking you back by your hips.

Already tearing your panties down like they offended him.

"Look at this," he mutters under his breath — rough, reverent — palming the curve of your ass, spreading you open with both hands. "Four months..." His thumb drags through your soaked folds. "Shibal, four fucking months and still this wet for me."

You whimper, arching back into his touch, desperate.

"Say it," he growls, eyes burning into the slick mess between your legs. "Say who makes you like this."

"You—" your voice breaks, breathless. "You, Su-bong. Nobody else. Nobody ever."

"Geurae?" A harsh groan rips from his chest. "Fucking mine, huh?"

"Yours," you whimper. "Always yours."

He fists his cock at the base, dragging the thick head through your folds, coating himself in your wetness, watching it drip down.

"Look at this pussy..." he mutters, almost in disbelief. "Made for me."

Then — one slow, brutal push — he sinks inside. You gasp, body arching, thighs shaking.

He feels too big like this.

Too deep.

Too perfect.

"Oh my god—Su-bong—"

He groans, guttural. "Shibal... so fucking tight, baby... ngh, I missed this—"

He pulls back — not all the way — just enough to make you feel the stretch of every ridge, every vein — then slams back in, rough enough that your knees nearly give out.

You cry out, clinging to the sheets.

He leans over you — chest grazing your back, mouth hot at your ear.

"You think you can leave me after this?" he rasps, hips snapping up into you with filthy, punishing thrusts. "You think anyone else can fuck you like I do?"

"Nobody," you whine. "Nobody."

His hand curls in your hair — not yanking, just holding — while his other palm presses flat to your lower back, keeping you arched perfect for him.

"Neomu yeppeo..." He's losing it. Groaning curses in Korean between filthy praise and rough thrusts, fucking you deep, fucking you slow just to feel all of you. "Nae yeoja..." (My girl)

Your arms shake. Your legs are gone.

And when he slips out — accidentally — mid-thrust, thick and dripping against your inner thigh?

You sob — raw and wrecked.

"Put it back—" your voice breaks. "Put it back in, Su-bong, please— need it—need you so bad—"

He curses, grabbing your hips harder, dragging you back, lining himself up like he's losing his mind.

"Greedy girl," he growls, pushing back inside with one brutal, perfect thrust that makes you wail. "You missed this fucking cock so much, huh?" he pants, snapping his hips. "Couldn't wait, couldn't forget it—"

Your eyes roll back, moaning so loud you swear the walls shake.

"I'll fuck it in deeper then..." he groans. "Make sure you never forget me."

His pace turns ruthless.

Devastating.

Skin slapping loud, the whole room filled with nothing but gasps, moans, the filthy sound of him ruining you from behind.

Your orgasm builds fast — burning hot, white, your body on the edge of breaking.

"You gonna come, baby?" he rasps, breath shaking. "Come all over my cock like a good girl?"

"Yes—yes—fuck—Su-bong—" You choke on a sob, dizzy, shaking .

He loses it. "Aishh... fuck... geurae, jagiya, that's it—"

Your whole body locks up — splintering apart — climax crashing over you like a goddamn storm, shaking, crying his name out like a prayer.

"Shibal... there it is..." he groans, hips jerking — "That's my girl... fuck—"

He follows you seconds later — spilling inside you so deep, so hard, you swear you feel him in your stomach — his moan low, broken, hot against your shoulder.

"Mine," he whispers — rough, sweet, reverent.

Your body is still shaking.

Still folded beneath him, legs spread wide, knees half-giving out, your skin burning from every place his hands touched, every place his mouth had been.

He stays pressed to your back for a moment longer — chest rising hard, breath hot against your shoulder — before he finally pulls back.

Slow. Careful.

His cock drags out of you with a wet, filthy sound — thick with both your releases, messy and perfect — and it's only then you feel it.

The way it leaks out of you immediately.

Sticky. Warm. Dripping down the inside of your thighs.

You whimper — not from embarrassment.

From want.

And when you glance back over your shoulder at him — eyes still glossy, lips swollen, face flushed and ruined — Su-bong looks like he could lose his fucking mind all over again.

Because without thinking — without even hesitating — you reach back.

Fingers dragging down between your thighs, slow, gathering the messy spill of his cum that's already starting to slide down your legs.

You bring those fingers straight to your mouth.

Suck them clean.

Slow.

Filthy.

Eyes never leaving his.

Su-bong blinks, like you just killed him dead.

"Shibal..." He breathes it out like he can't believe what he's seeing. His voice goes rough — thick — softer in a way that sounds dangerously close to fucking adoration.

"Jagiya..." His eyes are dark, blown out, full of something deeper than lust now. "You are my best foreigner."

You pull your fingers free of your mouth with a soft pop, your smile wrecked and lazy. "I hope i'm your only foreigner, Su-bong."

He's quiet for a beat.

Staring at you like you're not real.

Then — soft. Small. Honest like it slips right out of him, "Saranghae."

Your heart flips. You blink. Breathe shaky.

And the way he looks at you after he says it — fuck — like he's helpless, like it's just the truth, like of course he loves you — it knocks the wind out of you more than any orgasm could.

"You really love me?" You whisper — small, awed, smiling even as your voice wobbles.

His smile curves — soft, shy, the tiniest dimple threatening to appear. "Yes. Fucking crazy for you."

It takes him a second to get his legs under him, but when he does, he's already moving — already sinking to his knees in front of you, palms on your hips, thumbs stroking your bare skin like he needs to touch you or he'll lose his mind.

"You kill me," he murmurs — kissing the inside of your thigh, right where his cum is still dripping. "But I'll die happy."

You laugh — breathless — running your fingers through his messy hair. "You're so dramatic."

"And you're so perfect," he counters, grinning against your skin.

But then — tender — he grabs a towel from his drawer, wiping you down with the gentlest hands you've ever felt from him. His palms cupping your thighs as he cleans you up, kissing every inch of skin like a silent apology for fucking you that hard.

He helps you onto the bed after, tugs his shirt over your head — drowning on your frame — before dragging the blanket up over both of you.

And then?

Then he pulls you into him.

Tight.

Chest to your back. Arms wound around your waist like he's scared you'll disappear again. His face buried in the crook of your neck, breathing you in like it's the only thing keeping him alive.

Your fingers trace his forearm lazily. The scar on his wrist. The tattoo peeking from under his sleeve.

"You okay?" He mumbles against your shoulder.

"Mmm," you hum. "Perfect."

"You're crazy," he says, voice rough but full of so much affection it makes your stomach flip.

"You love it," you tease.

"Saranghae," he says again — like a promise this time.

Your heart squeezes. "I love you too, Su-bong."

His arms tighten around you.

And right before sleep pulls you under, you swear you hear him whisper it again — quiet and sure — right against your skin.

—

The morning comes slow.

Warm. Heavy. Tangled in limbs and heat and the soft weight of Su-bong's arm slung low across your waist like even in sleep, his body refuses to let you go.

You stir first — barely — eyelids fluttering against the faint spill of sunlight leaking through the thin curtains.

It's quiet.

Seoul hums somewhere outside, the distant sound of traffic, life, morning routines—but here? In his bed? It's a world away.

You shift just slightly, enough to feel the soreness between your legs — a slow, delicious ache that makes you shiver when you remember why.

That's when you feel it.

His lips.

Soft at your shoulder. Barely there at first, like instinct. Then again — firmer this time — the lazy, half-conscious drag of his mouth down to the curve of your neck.

"Mmm..." His voice is rough, low, heavy with sleep. "Morning, jagiya..."

You smile without opening your eyes. "Morning."

Another kiss. Another. Between your shoulder blades now. Slow and greedy.

"Wake up," he murmurs, words brushing your skin. "I miss your face."

"You saw it all night."

"Not enough."

You laugh — sleepy, wrecked — rolling over just enough to peek at him.

His hair is a mess. Sticking up on one side. Face soft with sleep, jaw shadowed, lips swollen from too much kissing, not enough rest.

He looks like sin and safety all at once.

"How'd you sleep?" you whisper.

He hums, pulling you closer until you're almost fully draped over him. "Like shit."

You blink. "What?"

He grins — small, lazy. "Kept waking up... had to check if you were real."

Your heart stutters.

He noses at your temple, another slow kiss landing right at your hairline.

"I thought you were dreaming about me again," you tease.

"Nightmare," he teases back. "You left for four months again."

You go quiet.

Because yeah.

That's still hanging between you.

And after a beat, he asks it — soft, hesitant.

"When do you have to leave?"

Your stomach drops.

You shake your head immediately, curling tighter into him. "Don't," you murmur. "Don't talk about it yet."

His chest rises slow beneath you. Heavy sigh.

Then — quieter — rougher —

"Geurae..." (Okay...)

But he presses a kiss to your bare shoulder anyway — long, lingering — like he's already dreading whatever day that's going to be.

Like he's kissing you now to make up for all the mornings he didn't get to.

Minutes pass like that.

Quiet.

Safe.

Until he speaks again — low, rough, words spilling out between lazy kisses against your shoulder, your neck, your cheek.

"Jagiya..."

"Hmm?"

Still half-asleep, still kissing down the line of your jaw, like maybe he's been holding this question in for weeks.

"When you go home... are you still mine?"

Your breath catches.

You pull back just enough to look at him.

His eyes are so soft.

Hopeful.

Raw.

"Be my girl, hmm?" he says quietly. "Official. Mine. Everywhere."

It knocks the wind out of you.

Because it's not even a question, really.

It's just true.

Has been since you met him.

"Of course," you whisper, smiling like your heart might burst. "I'm already yours, Su-bong."

His grin curves slow — wide — eyes dark and so fucking warm.

"Good," he mutters — pulling you back down, mouth already finding yours again. "Cause I'm never letting you go."

You lose track of time after that.

Lose track of everything except him.

The warmth of his chest beneath your cheek. The slow stroke of his palm up and down your spine like he's memorizing every inch of you all over again. The way he kisses you now — slow and lazy — like you've got forever. Like he's trying to convince himself you do.

Eventually, hours later — after more kisses, more teasing, after he feeds you ramyeon straight from the pot in his lap like an absolute menace — the sun's dipped low enough that the city outside his window glows that hazy, Seoul-orange kind of light.

You're standing by his window now — his shirt drowning on you, his chain hanging loose around your neck because he slipped it over your head like it belongs there.

Like you belong here.

He wraps his arms around you from behind — chin hooked over your shoulder — and stares out at the skyline with you.

"You gonna tell me when you're leaving?" he asks finally. Quiet.

Your throat tightens.

"Not yet," you whisper. "Let me just... be here a little longer."

He hums low.

You feel his smile against your skin.

"You're here now," he says.

Simple. Sure.

And maybe that's all that matters.

Because right now?

Right here?

You're his.

And Seoul doesn't feel a holiday destination anymore.

Seoul feels like home.

[cheoliehansolie]

The Hoodie

Summary: Wonwoo learns something interesting about you wearing his hoodies.

Word Count: ~2.8 k

Pairing: fem reader x Wonwoo

Warnings: Implied smut and a bit suggestive

an: I'm finally back after accidentally taking a break for a month. Thank you guys for waiting patiently <3. As always, if you liked reading this, please reblog or leave a comment. If you have any suggestions or you just want to talk, send me an ask and we can be friends 💕

To read more, check out my masterlist.

---

You woke up to the soft rays of sunlight filtering into your room through your blinds. Waking up to the warmth of sunlight on your cheeks had to be your favorite part of spring. Glancing at the clock on your bedside table, you shock yourself with how early you’ve woken up on a Saturday.

Normally you’re one to sleep until you absolutely need to get out of bed on the weekends, but today you’ve somehow managed to wake up at 7:30. Feeling proud of yourself, you decide to take this as your sign to be productive and to spend the day finally cleaning your apartment.

This past week had been hectic with work and the semester coming to an end that you barely had time to sleep, let alone clean your space. So, your apartment had been looking like a tornado blew through it for a while now and it definitely was not helping your mental state.

Deciding to bite the bullet, you shove your blanket from off your figure and force yourself out of bed. What? Just because you woke up early and decided to be productive in your head doesn’t mean that it’s not hard to get out of bed, especially when the mornings are still cold.

You rush into the bathroom to quickly brush your teeth and shower to warm yourself up. Once you’re done with your shower, you put on a pair of leggings and your hoodie (yeah, definitely yours and not your boyfriend’s).

As you’re tying your hair up into a ponytail, you make your way out of your room and into the living room. You immediately groan seeing all your college papers on your dining table which is serving as your makeshift desk, the trash on your kitchen counters, and the pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

Seeing the amount of overall filth in your living space, you were extremely tempted to just go back to bed and pretend you never had plans of cleaning, but you knew that if you didn’t clean your apartment now, you never would. So, you grab your phone, blast your cleaning playlist, and get to work.

—

It took you basically all morning just to clean your kitchen and it’s safe to say that morale was at an all time low. You collapsed onto your couch out of exhaustion and hunger. You hadn’t expected it to take so long to clean so you thought you could just eat breakfast after cleaning.

The second your body began relaxing on the couch, you heard a knock at your door. You laid there silently hoping that the person at your door would leave, but less than a minute later the knocking continued.

You let out a groan of frustration as you force yourself off the couch and make the trek to the front door less than a few feet away.

You swing open your front door, a frown still on your face. It takes you a second to register who’s at your door, but when you do, you’re left confused.

Wonwoo stands in front of you dressed casually a pair of gray sweatpants and a black tee shirt. You notice in one hand he’s holding a white plastic bag, which you can only assume contains take out.

“Wonwoo? What are you doing here?” you ask as you wrack your brain trying to remember if you had plans to see each other today.

“You weren’t answering any of my texts so I decided to stop by and make sure everything was okay.” he explains as you step aside letting him into your apartment.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I spent the past few hours cleaning. I haven’t been on my phone since I got up. I didn’t mean to worry you.” you say with your lips slightly down turned and eyebrows furrowed.

You felt bad for making him worry to the point that he felt the need to come to your apartment.

“Hey, it’s fine.” he says softly, noticing how upset you looked at yourself. “I wanted to see you anyways, so you not answering gave me an excuse to see you.”

Once Wonwoo took his shoes off, he finally registered what you looked like. His lips almost immediately turned up into a small smile as he realized that the hoodie you were wearing was none other than his own. He noticed the subtle flush in your cheeks, the thin sheen of sweat creating a film over your skin, and the way strands of hair were falling out of your ponytail. 

Noticing the fact that Wonwoo was just silently standing in your entryway, you ushered him deeper into your apartment. Honestly, you had noticed his eyes wandering over your figure and you couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed by the current state of your appearance. You and Wonwoo had been dating for about a year, but something about the way he looks at you makes you feel the same way you did during your first date.

“So, whatcha got in the bag?” you asked, looking pointedly at the plastic bag in his right hand.

“Oh, this? I picked up lunch from your favorite place. I thought you might’ve been sleeping or something when I texted you so I thought it would be nice to bring you some food.”

“Aww, thank you so much babe!” you exclaim in excitement. “Why don’t you go sit on the couch and I’ll just grab us some plates from the kitchen?”

Wonwoo gives you a nod as he makes his way to the couch. He places the bag of food on the table in front of him and he watches as you walk around the kitchen grabbing plates, utensils, and glasses of water for the two of you. He can’t help but coo every time you tug at the sleeves of his too large hoodie to grab everything.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” you ask once you’ve joined your boyfriend on the couch.

“No reason. You just look cute in my hoodie, that’s all.” he says, a small smile of endearment grazing his lips.

You feel yourself flush at his statement and pull your hair out of your lopsided ponytail as an attempt to distract yourself from how flustered Wonwoo still makes you even after how long you’ve been dating.

“Let’s eat, shall we?” you ask, trying to steer the conversation to more neutral territory. 

Wonwoo can’t keep himself from smiling a little wider at your flustered state, but he decides to take pity on you and drops the subject. Just this once, though.

Soon enough, conversation flows easily between the two of you as you share your meal together. Before you know it, the plates in front of you are empty and there lies another thing left for you to clean. Just as you’re about to get up to clean the small mess in front of you (it merely is a drop of water in the ocean of a mess your apartment is), Wonwoo beats you to it and is stacking the dirty utensils in his hands.

“Wonwoo, I can clean it.” you whine when he motions for you to stay seated as he continues cleaning.

“You can rest on the couch. Didn’t you say that you spent the entire morning cleaning?” he asks.

“Yeah, but I -” before you can finish your sentence, Wonwoo cuts you off.

“No buts! You looked exhausted when I got here. The least I can do is clean up the mess I helped make. Besides, I’m not called the dishwashing fairy for nothing.” he says with a smile.

Before you can protest, Wonwoo gives you a pointed look and you realize there’s no way that you can change his mind so you collapse backwards onto your couch letting him do whatever he wants.

You’re left alone with your thoughts for the first time today with the soft clattering of dishes coming from the kitchen serving as white noise. You’re suddenly aware of how warm you feel and you feel as though you are overheating. 

You had spent the day either distracted by cleaning or distracted by Wonwoo that you didn’t realize the rise in temperature in your apartment. It was finally spring time and as much as you loved it, you despised how it would be so cold in the mornings and evenings but warm in the afternoons making it almost impossible to dress appropriately without freezing in the morning or melting in the afternoon.

Feeling sweat prickle on your skin, you decide the only thing you can do is change out of Wonwoo’s thick hoodie into a thin, flowy tee shirt.

When you get up to go change, Wonwoo can see you from your kitchen sink a few feet away and he’s instantly curious as to what you’re up to.

“Where’re you going, love?” he asks from the sink as he continues to scrub the plate in front of him.

“I’m gonna change into something thinner. It’s too warm to be wearing a hoodie right now.” you say as you stop at the entryway of your kitchen to respond to him.

“Why do you need to change for that, though?” he asks, taking his eyes off the plate in front of him to glance at you with his confused eyes.

“I just told you, I’m overheating.” you say, confused as to why he’s confused.

“Can’t you just take it off here?”

You feel heat rush to your face, and you’re now feeling warm from embarrassment.

“Well… I would but…” you trailed off, hoping that you would just disappear or he would drop the subject.

“But…?” Wonwoo asks, having finished washing the dishes and giving you his full attention.

You take a deep breath to steady yourself. Just say it quickly, it’s like ripping a bandaid off. you think to yourself.

In one breath, as quickly as you can, you say, “I would but I’m not wearing anything underneath.”

It takes Wonwoo a second to understand what you said, but when he does, less than ten seconds after the words left your mouth, you’re already in your room with the door closed behind you.

Wonwoo feels his cheeks heat up as he realizes that this entire day, including the past hour plus that the two of you spent together, the only thing separating your top half from the rest of the world was his hoodie. He originally thought you looked so cute drowning in his hoodie and while he still does, this new information changes his entire perception of the time you’ve spent together.

Meanwhile, you were pacing around your room silently screaming at yourself. I can’t believe I just told him that I was both shirtless and braless under his hoodie. Why would I do that? What if he thinks I’m weird? Or worse, what if I made him uncomfortable? 

Letting out a defeated groan, you force yourself to push all these worries out of your head. You decide that you can’t hide in your room forever, mainly because you know Wonwoo would come looking for you at some point. So, you change into a loose fitting shirt, take a deep breath, and step out of your room.

Your eyes immediately search the kitchen to see if Wonwoo is where you left him, but he’s not there anymore. You wander deeper into your apartment and you find Wonwoo sitting on your couch, casually scrolling on his phone. 

You don’t think he notices your presence and based on how calm he looks, you feel hopeful that he either a) forgot the conversation happened or b) didn’t think it was as much of a big deal as you made it out to be in your head. But when you sit on the other end of the couch and Wonwoo drops his phone to the side to look at you with a knowing smirk on his face, you realize that you were so, so, so wrong.

“So, you wanna talk about it?” Wonwoo asks with a teasing glint in his eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you respond, feigning innocence and looking anywhere but your boyfriend sitting a few inches away from you.

“Really? Because I seem to recall you saying that you weren’t wearing anything under my hoodie today.”

Your face flushes for the thousandth time today and you can’t help but feel a little guilty.

“Listen Wonwoo, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable earlier. That wasn’t my intention.” you say, looking into his eyes earnestly.

“Wait, why are you apologizing?” he asks you confused.

“Because it’s obvious that I made you uncomfortable earlier.” 

“Babe, I don’t know why you would think I would feel uncomfortable by it. The only reason I didn’t respond was because I was just a little shocked, that’s all. If anything, it’s kinda hot now that I know that you’ve been walking around with nothing underneath my hoodie.”

Feeling embarrassed by assuming that Wonwoo was uncomfortable and by hearing his true feelings, you grab a throw pillow from your couch and bury your face into it.

“I can’t believe I embarrassed myself in front of you twice in one day.” you mumble into the pillow.

“Hey, this can’t be as embarrassing as when you tripped over Vernon’s bag and ended up spilling your drink on Mingyu’s lap.” Wonwoo says.

“I thought we all agreed to not bring that up anymore.” you whine as you hit him with the pillow in your hands.

“I’m just saying, you’ve done more embarrassing things in your life than telling me you're naked under my hoodie.”

“Wow, thank you so much Wonwoo. I feel so much better about myself.” you say sarcastically.

“Aww, babe I’m sorry.” he says as he reaches for your hands.

“Forget it.” you say, faking annoyance as you get up to go clean off your dining table turned desk.

“Babe.” Wonwoo whines as he rushes behind you and grabs your wrist.

Before you know it, Wonwoo tugs at your wrist pulling you close into his chest. Your breath hitches at the boldness of his actions and you peer up at him through your lashes to see what his next move is.

He removes his hand from your wrist and gently raises your chin so he can look into your eyes.

“I’m sorry babe.” he says.

When you’re about to open your mouth to tell him it’s fine, you’re silenced by his lips on yours. Deciding that you actually had nothing to say, you choose to melt into the kiss instead. 

Once the two of you part for air, you say “I guess you’re forgiven.”

“You don’t sound too confident about your answer.” he says, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Maybe I’m not confident in my answer. What’re you gonna do about it?” you challenge.

“Then let me make it up to you in a different way.” he says as he pulls you into another kiss.

It’s safe to say that you didn’t get any cleaning done for the rest of the day.

—

When you go over to Wonwoo’s place for movie night a few weeks later, Wonwoo is more than happy to see you wearing one of his hoodies you’ve taken from him.

While the two of you are cuddling together on the couch, Wonwoo can’t help but let his curiosity get the best of him. When you’re engrossed in the movie, Wonwoo takes his hand that was resting on your thigh and brings it up to the hem of hoodie loosely covering your frame.

This grabs your attention and you turn to him to look at him with your eyebrows furrowed. But Wonwoo’s eyes are fixed on the screen in front of you and it makes you wonder if you were just imagining things. Deciding that you were just being weird, you turn your attention back to the screen.

When Wonwoo notices that your attention is on the movie again, he takes that as his sign to move his hand again. He slips his hand under the hem of the hoodie and he slowly inches closer and closer to your chest.

Although your eyes were trained on the movie playing in front of you, all of your attention was on Wonwoo’s hand slowly grazing your skin as he made his way up your body. Your breath hitched when you felt his cold hand gently graze your bare breast and you turned to face Wonwoo.

He looked at you with a smirk on his lips and a mischievous glint in his eyes. Something told you that you wouldn’t know how the movie would end.

[glowettee]

the feminine urge to be that student effortlessly ✧˖°

there’s something undeniably magnetic about that student. the one who always has her life together; notes perfectly highlighted, grades effortlessly high, coffee in one hand, an annotated novel in the other. she’s the girl who glides through hallways with a quiet confidence, always prepared, always composed, always one step ahead. but the truth is… she doesn’t just wake up like this. she became her.

if you’ve ever looked at an aesthetic studyblr post and thought, i wish that were me, it already can be. being that student isn’t about obsessing over perfection, it’s about creating systems that make success effortless. and when you master that? discipline doesn’t feel like a struggle. it feels natural.

being that student sometimes is subjective, so take this post with a grain of salt, don't change yourself, but become the better version of yourself. this post is to give you some tips that i personally use to become "that student". academics is so important to me, and it always has been. i've always shoot for the highest, and honestly? even though i sometimes feel like "i hate studying" or "i don't want to go to school". i never succumb to it, i have a gravitation towards studying, and good grades. academics is not just about grades, but learning skills to improve your life, your career, relationships and don't forget, your brain! so please try to see school and academics as improving yourself, not just about using grades to define who you are. - mindy

☁️ how to become that student effortlessly:

✧ romanticize your study sessions – make your desk a space you want to be in. light a candle. play soft classical music. use a pen that glides smoothly. let studying feel like self-care, not a chore. pretend your rory gilmore, or even paris geller.

✧ develop signature study rituals – always start with a cup of tea/coffee/matcha/ANY DRINK, a five-minute review, or a fresh page in your notebook. habits make it easier to start, and starting is half the battle.

✧ master ‘bare minimum’ studying – not every study session has to be two hours long. learn how to get the most out of 10-15 minutes. review flashcards while waiting for your coffee, summarize a chapter in the notes app before bed, listen to an audiobook while getting ready.

✧ have a ‘default’ study outfit – cozy but polished. a chunky sweater, soft leggings, blue-light glasses, a sleek ponytail. when you dress like the kind of student you admire, you become her.

✧ use strategic aesthetic motivation – pinterest boards, beautifully organized notion pages, a soft academia playlist, these are not distractions, they’re tools. use them. let the aesthetic inspire action, not replace it.

✧ learn in layers – don’t cram. absorb knowledge naturally throughout the day. read your notes over breakfast. explain concepts in the shower. let studying weave into your routine like second nature.

✧ stop glorifying stress – good students don’t burn out. they rest, recharge, and protect their mental clarity. discipline is not exhaustion, it's balance.

☁️ mindy’s personal tips for being effortlessly studious:

✧ “the 2-minute review” – every night, spend two minutes looking over what you learned that day. your brain loves repetition. what feels hard today will feel effortless in a week.

✧ “the open book trick” – leave your study materials open on your desk, bed, or counter. you’re 10x more likely to glance at them if they’re already in front of you.

✧ “library aura” – if you struggle with focus, go to a place that forces you to be productive. a coffee shop, a library, even just a quiet corner of your room with your phone in another area. change your environment to change your mindset. i personally love studying during eating brunch and drinking frappes with my friends at starbucks <3

✧ “study like a writer” – instead of just passively reading notes, rewrite them in your own words. like you're explaining them in a diary or a letter. it makes the information stick. tip: one study method i loved using when i took ap art history, was writing an essay on each individual artwork, even if it was just 200 words long, i was able to write it in my words, it's another method based on active recall. it helped me so much, and i ended up getting a 5 on the ap exam thanks to this amazing method <3

✧ “live like a student you admire” – every day, ask yourself: what would the best version of me do? would she scroll mindlessly for an hour, or would she review her flashcards? would she procrastinate, or would she get started now? act accordingly.

☁️ the truth? being that student isn’t about talent. it’s about mindset. show up for yourself. build effortless habits. make learning part of who you are. and soon enough? you won’t just look like that student. you’ll be her.

xoxo mindy