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choerrypuffs · 2 years ago

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fast times.

pairing: co-worker!donghyuck x reader

genre: fluff, slight angst

word count: 7.6k

synopsis: throughout the snapshots of your life, lee donghyuck is always there. (or, you realize that you’re in love with the bane of your existence.)

author’s note: i started grad school and it’s literally eating me alive so i wanted to write something short and sweet to de-stress and then it ended up being almost 8k words 😭

warning(s): excessive drinking, family tension

playlist: fast times by sabrina carpenter ― the bottom by gracie abrams ― stress by taeyeon ― ruin my life by zara larsson ― cruel summer by taylor swift

ST. PATRICK’S DAY 2022 sun’s up too soon like daylight savings, mixed emotions are congregating

Liquid courage, as the poets say.

Well, don’t fact check that, but surely Wordsworth or Coleridge or whichever poet that Taylor Swift talks about in the lakes mentioned something about getting shitfaced during a St. Patrick’s Day office party.

Regardless, you’re going to pretend like they did because it’s a lot less romantic (lowercase r, not capital like the movement) if you’re just drunk off your ass at an office party without an artsy-fartsy literary reference to back you up.

You’re one too many shots of tequila deep, swaying to the shitty techno music that someone is blasting from their pretentious Spotify playlist while stumbling past the office cubicles, including yours and He Who Shall Not Be Named’s, on your wobbly trip to the bathroom.

Despite the copious amounts of alcohol in your system, the remaining coherent part of your brain is sounding the alarms that you’re probably going to throw up soon. You wish that part of your brain would just shut the hell up because you don’t want to think rationally right now.

You don’t want to think about He Who Shall Not Be Named and how he’s in love with your best friend. You don’t want to think about how his eyes found her the moment she walked into the office, how his gaze melted into a pool of honey, his head swiveling towards every direction she went like a stupid bobblehead. Not that you blame him; everyone is in love with Karina. It’s not his fault, but you’re mad at him anyways.

Ugh, see? You’re thinking about him again.

Anyways, you’re also grateful for that part of your brain because the poets definitely do not write about spewing chunks in front of your co-workers. You just want to hurl in peace and wallow in your misery with the porcelain toilet bowl by your side.

The poets probably wrote about that.

You finally make it to the hall where the bathrooms are, having steady yourself against the wall as you make your way down because walking in a straight line has become a luxury. However, you only get about five steps (at least you think it’s five, numbers are hard) when someone grabs your arm. You don’t even realize your legs are in the process of buckling until there’s a pair of hands supporting your waist to keep you upright.

“Jesus, Y/N,” someone breathes in relief, exhaling loudly.

You’d recognize that condescending tone anywhere.

He Who Shall Not Be Named carefully leans you against the wall, one hand still on your waist while the other removes the bottle of Jack Daniels that you didn’t even know you were clinging onto from the nook of your arm. With one smooth motion, he tosses the bottle into the trashcan and doesn’t even flinch when the bottle very audibly shatters inside.

“I know you’re a loyal worshiper of mine, but just Y/N is fine,” you slur, not sounding nearly as cool as you’d hope, “though it’d be pretty fucking funny if you washed my feet.”

He huffs and pauses, like he’s debating on whether or not he should say what he wants to say next. And because he’s a piece of shit, he says it:

“For the record, Jesus washed his disciples’ feet. Not the other way around.”

You groan, shoving him hard. He barely budges, so most of the force in your shove kicks back to you. Feeling yourself tip forward, you grab his shoulders out of instinct to avoid busting your head open against the hard tile. In the process, your forehead slams into his chest, and he lets out a soft grunt. His hands grip your elbows, fingertips warm against your even warmer skin.

“I hate you,” you sniffle, burying your face in his shirt. He smells exactly like a fluffy towel that just came out of the dryer. “You’re tactless and you never let me win and you have shitty taste in movies.”

“And you’re drunk,” he replies nonchalantly, “Why do you drink so much when you’re such a lightweight?”

“You don’t deserve Karina,” you continue angrily.

He actually laughs at that. “Okay, young lady. I’m going to drive you home now. Come on.”

You lift your head so fast that you nearly slam it into his jaw; luckily, he sees it coming and steps back before you can knock his teeth out.

“Don’t,” you hiss, poking his chest. “I don’t want you to drive me home. Don’t drive me home unless…”

He raises an eyebrow. “Unless what?”

“Pretty boys can never be trusted,” you hiccup.

“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about, but let’s continue this discussion when you’ve sobered up,” he sighs, crossing his arms. “And when you are sober and realize that you don’t want to talk about this anymore, like I suspect you’ll do, I’ll even pretend like this conversation never happened because I am a gentleman.”

“Do you think I’m pretty?” you whisper blearily.

You’re wearing a green t-shirt that has “Kiss me, I’m Irish” plastered across the chest in big, bold white letters. You borrowed it from Karina when you realized you didn’t have any green in your closet. Of course, only Karina would look good in something like this, but you really didn’t want to be pinched the entire night. Someone had plastered four-leaf clover stickers all over your face, though you’re not sure how many of them are still on at this point. Your makeup should be intact since you haven’t been sweating, even if you probably have mascara residue under your eyes. You’ve certainly looked better, but this definitely isn’t the worst state you’ve been in.

It’s a stupid question though, really. No matter how pretty you are, he’s already chosen Karina.

When you glance back up at him, he looks like one of those cartoon characters that have two perfect red circles on their cheeks when they blush.

You haven’t seen him this flustered in a long time. He’s always had this smug, impenetrable mask of an expression that you want to punch off his face―like he’s constantly one step ahead of you in something.

You want to take out your phone and take a picture of his expression so badly.

Instead, you hunch over and throw up on his expensive shoes.

VALENTINE’S DAY 2018 my feelings used to be serrated, but you speak in such a perfect cadence

Pretty boys should never be trusted.

That is your ultimate mantra in life.

Especially pretty boys that claim to be “nerdy.” The ones that smell nice and aren’t misogynistic but also like games and anime and know how to code. The ones that wear indie band t-shirts and actually enjoy the band but don't care if you wear the same t-shirt just because you like the aesthetic. The ones that wear rings on their fingers and metal-rimmed glasses on the tip of their noses.

The ones that other girls would claim were “written by women.”

It’s all a trap.

If anything, they’re worse than the obnoxious frat boy chads. At least those are straightforward about what they want. Nerdy pretty boys are professional manipulators, meticulously slicing your heart into thin little pieces to use as a garnish for their own ego.

So when the new intern swaggers into the office, hands tucked into the pockets of his designer slacks, your Pretty Boy senses start to tingle.

He’s wearing a crisp white button-up (not a band tee since he’s at work), and he’s got rings on his fingers and metal-rimmed glasses right on the tip of his nose. His hair is a little curly and falls into his eyes in that messy but charming look. He’s got a round face and pouty lips, looking just sweet enough to disarm someone.

After he walks in, the CEO of the company follows, and now everything makes sense.

“Everyone, this is my grandson, Donghyuck,” Mr. Lee explains, smiling warmly.

Nepo baby, you realize, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

“I want you all to know he won’t be getting any special treatment,” Mr. Lee says firmly, “He will have to work his way from the bottom, just like everyone else.”

Right, that’s why you’re personally introducing him to us, you think wryly.

After receiving a load of ass kissing from the employees, Mr. Lee finally leaves, and your team leader points Donghyuck to the empty cubicle right next to yours. He strolls over with an ease as if he owns the building (he technically does) and takes a seat. He smiles at you, though it reads as more of a smirk than a good-natured smile.

“Hi, I’m Donghyuck.”

When he looks at you, he does so with his whole body. His lanky frame is completely angled towards you as he unabashedly drinks in your side profile with his mischievous, twinkly eyes. The way he stares at you with such intrigue makes you jittery, and you keep your line of sight glued to your computer screen, refusing to indulge him even through your peripheral.

He’s deploying his Pretty Boy tactics, you warn.

“I know,” you snap back. You don’t mean to come off that aggressively, but you just know he’s trouble. In an attempt to remedy your curt response, you softly tack on, “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You don’t like me very much, do you?” Donghyuck asks, the quirked grin on his face growing.

You blink in surprise. You were not expecting him to say it so straightforwardly. “I…just met you.”

“You’re not answering the question.” He tilts his head, though he doesn’t seem particularly bothered by it. Rather, he probably already knows the answer.

You’re not sure what to say to that, and Donghyuck doesn’t try to continue the conversation either. Instead, he begins to unpack his stuff and set up his work space. When he turns on his personal laptop, you see League of Legends downloaded onto it.

Yikes.

Like the standard pretty boy, he starts hanging up an indie band poster, along with some anime ones you don’t recognize and―a Twilight poster.

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head when you see it. Men, even the pretty boys who are trying to make themselves as appealing to girls as possible, rarely ever admit to watching, much less enjoying, Twilight.

Okay, so maybe your Pretty Boy tingle got one thing wrong, but it doesn’t change the fact that he checks most of the Pretty Boy boxes―

“Are you Team Edward or Jacob?” Donghyuck asks, an amused smile tugging at his lips.

You have no one else to blame but yourself for snooping, but you still grow hot from your face to the tips of your ears and all the way down your neck.

“I’m Team Charlie,” you reply breezily, sounding pretty calm for someone who’s screaming on the inside.

His eyebrows slightly raise, and he just laughs quietly to himself.

You relish in that tiny victory.

As it turns out, Donghyuck is an extremely fast learner.

And despite being a nepo baby, he puts his money where his mouth is. He picks things up extremely quickly and utilizes everything he has learned efficiently. In fact, he’s doing so well that he’s starting to threaten your position as the office’s favorite intern.

And of course, on today of all days, you fuck up.

Another intern messed up the report, and you somehow overlooked it while you were checking. However, the responsibility falls on your shoulders because it was your job to make sure the report was correct. You get viciously chewed out by your team leader, and you’re guaranteed to have to work overtime to fix everything.

Ultimately, it is your mistake, and you’re not disputing that; you just know that you’re being made an example of so the office can look good in front of the CEO’s grandson.

So, while everyone is gathering their stuff to leave, you’re the only one still at your cubicle, fingers clicking away on the keyboard. Your eyelids are already starting to droop, despite the fact that you have at least a couple hours left of work. Giving yourself a couple of smacks on the cheeks, you try to shake away the brain fog and keep going.

You’re so immersed that you almost don’t notice Donghyuck set down a cup of coffee on your desk.

“I bought two for myself, but I think you need it more than me,” he admits, actually seeming a little sympathetic.

“Thanks,” you say, a little wary but still appreciative. You’re too tired to even question his motives.

He gives you a wave before leaving. Once he’s gone, you turn back to your computer and start to work again. You nearly forget about the coffee until you pause to take a big stretch, noticing it in your peripheral. Picking it up, you notice there’s a message scrawled on it.

happy valentine’s day! maybe i’ll grow on you :)

You smile, but only a little bit. Only because he’s a little cute.

When you finally take a sip, you nearly spit it all over your computer screen.

It’s so bitter that it sends a shudder throughout your whole body. You start to cough, feeling like even a single drop of that coffee getting in your system is going to make your short circuit. You’re not even sure if this poison could be considered black coffee. It might be actual black tar. Frantically digging through your drawers to find some candy or gum to offset the bitterness, you begin to curse Donghyuck in your head.

When you finally find a half-melted caramel cube and pop it into your mouth, it occurs to you that Donghyuck didn’t even have a cup of coffee in his hands even though he said he bought two.

“That asshole,” you whisper.

Cracking your knuckles and rolling your neck, you start to type again with a renewed vigor, thinking of all the ways you were going to make Donghyuck pay to power you through the rest of the night.

ST. PATRICK’S DAY 2022 sun’s up too soon like daylight savings, mixed emotions are congregating

You’re not sure how He Who Shall Not Be Named manages to clean himself up and wrangle you into his car in such a short timespan, but he does it. Most of it is a blur to you, though you do recall him throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carrying you through the parking garage after you started trying to fistfight him.

Now, you’re leaning your head against the cool window, watching all the buildings whizz by, as he drives in silence. Well, not complete silence. Music is being softly played on the radio. It’s that stupid indie band he likes, and you hate that you know exactly what song it is. You remember it from last time.

I’ve only been in his car twice, including now, you think groggily to yourself.

He must really like this song.

APRIL FOOLS 2019 three stories up here contemplating, but what the fuck is patience?

“Is this some sort of sick April Fools’ joke?” you demand.

“Come on, Y/N. Surely, you don’t think a prank of mine would be this lame,” Donghyuck retorts, offended.

The two of you are fighting again. At this point, it’s a daily occurrence in the office. In fact, Karina likes to say that the official work day doesn’t really start until you and Donghyuck start going at each other’s throats. You feel bad that everyone has to constantly deal with your bickering, but Donghyuck asks for it every time.

“You can’t just take someone else’s client,” you say through gritted teeth, wanting to smack that insufferable look right off his face.

“I didn’t take anything,” he corrects haughtily, “I was assigned your client, who is now my client. Take it up with the team leader.”

“The team leader would suck a fart out of your ass if you asked him to,” you hiss back.

He shrugs like you have a point.

“Fine,” you snap, grabbing your bag. “I’ll go talk to my client myself. I’ll get them to request to be transferred back to me.”

Before marching out, you grab the coffee on your desk and down it all in one go. It’s been sitting there for a couple hours, so it’s ice cold. The cold temperature in combination with the extreme bitterness is just the right mixture to light a fire in you.

Unfortunately, that fire is dimmed when you step foot outside and realize it’s thunderstorming heavily. The wind howls so piercingly that it almost hurts your ears, and the onslaught of rain is so strong that you can barely see the cars on the streets. You weigh your options: you have no car, there’s no way you can wait for a bus, and there sure as hell aren’t going to be any available taxis.

Just as you begrudgingly decide to do the walk of shame back into the office and wait out the storm, you hear a loud honk and see an obnoxiously red Ferrari pull up. The tinted window rolls down, and you find yourself staring at nepo baby Lee Donghyuck.

“Need a ride?” he shouts over the pouring rain.

“Not with you!” you holler back, turning to go back inside.

“Are you really going to wait it out?” he teases. “Their office closes in twenty minutes.”

You want to keep walking and ignore him, but your traitorous feet plant themselves on the concrete and refuse to let you take another step.

“Thanks for the new client, I guess!” he continues in a sing-song voice. A car behind him beeps, and you hear his window roll back up as he slowly starts to drive away.

“Damn it,” you mutter. Not giving yourself to think, you whirl around and dash out into the rain. Luckily, he decided to leave at a snail’s pace, so you have time to fling his car door open and slip inside.

Even though you were only in the rain for a few seconds, you’re soaked to the bone. Your pants make a squish noise when you settle yourself into his expensive leather seat. You want to make a joke about ruining his seats, but your teeth are chattering too hard for you to even speak.

Donghyuck reaches over and turns your seat warmer on before also blasting the heater. Your thin blouse has become see-through, and you awkwardly cross your arms over your chest, hoping he hasn’t noticed. Unfortunately, he has noticed, judging by the way he loudly clears his throat and reaches into the backseat to give you his hoodie.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, pulling it over your head before slipping your arms through. The sleeves are too long, so you roll them up to your wrists. His hoodie smells like fabric softener.

“No problem.” His voice cracks.

Neither of you say anything after that, only the sound of the rain pitter-pattering against his car filling in the silence. Eventually, he turns on the radio.

It’s a song you don’t recognize, but you deduce it’s from one of his indie bands when he starts humming along. You’re not even sure he’s aware that he’s doing it, though you don’t really mind. He’s not a bad singer, and you actually enjoy the song.

The two of you spend the remainder of the drive just listening to music, neither of you really feeling the need to speak. It’s a calm, comfortable silence―something that you never thought would be achievable between you and him. Rather, you wish you had more moments like this.

By the time you arrive at your client’s office, the rain has stopped. You assume he’s going to leave after dropping you off because it’s not raining anymore, and especially since the meeting ends up lasting way past the office’s closing, but you see his Ferrari still there when you come back out.

Walking over to him, you knock on the window.

“You didn’t have to wait up,” you say when he rolls it down, slightly touched.

“You have my hoodie,” Donghyuck states plainly.

Well, there goes the moment. You can always count on him to say something to piss you off.

“Right.” Rolling your eyes, you start to take off the hoodie in the street.

“I’m just kidding, Y/N,” he grins, “Come on.”

You let out a small huff, even though you’re smiling too, and you climb in. He turns the radio on again, and the two of you fall back into the ambiance. It occurs to you that Donghyuck’s car smells overwhelmingly like rain and leather and him. When you cross your arms, the scent of the fresh fabric softener from his hoodie wafts back up to you. You feel warm―the kind of warmth that blooms in the pit of your stomach and then melts throughout your body, like when you take a sip of hot chocolate on a cold day.

“How was it?” he finally asks after the song ends.

“Who do you think I am?” you scoff. “Of course I got them back.”

He smiles, and it makes you feel proud.

“You can tell the team leader to suck the fart out of my ass,” you retort.

This gets a laugh from him before he hesitantly adds, “I really didn’t want to take your client.”

You’ve never heard him sound so serious and so…vulnerable before. He says it with a slight desperation, like he doesn’t think you’ll believe him.

“I know.”

And much to your own surprise, you do know.

Now that’s a sick April Fools’ joke.

ST. PATRICK’S DAY 2022 sun’s up too soon like daylight savings, mixed emotions are congregating

“You don’t deserve Karina,” you mumble, coming in and out of sleep.

He Who Shall Not Be Named laughs again at that, though he sounds a lot more exhausted. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Don’t think I didn’t see it,” you slur. “You were making those stupid moon eyes at her all night long. Looking like some lovesick puppy. Gross.”

He laughs for a second time, but there’s not a hint of humor in it.

What if it had been me, you want to ask him.

NEW YEARS EVE 2019 tiptoeing past so many stages, but what the fuck is patience?

You’re not sure what possessed Mr. Lee, probably the fact that his grandson works for the company, but he randomly announced one day that the entire office was getting an all expenses paid trip to a fancy ski resort as a New Years present. Needless to say, everyone was absolutely ecstatic.

But you should’ve known something was going to go wrong when Karina suggested that the two of you leave the bunny slope and move straight into the advanced slope, despite the fact that neither of you have ever skied in your lives until now.

You’d like to think that Karina’s sudden bravery was due to the adrenaline of being on such a luxurious trip. You’re going to blame your lack of judgment on the adrenaline rush as well because you actually agreed to it.

Of course, things derailed almost immediately and literally because the two of you ended up veering off the course due to your lack of steering abilities and somehow found yourselves in a random, remote wooded area off the edge of the slope. Karina also twisted her ankle after landing incorrectly, so there’s that too.

Oh, and there’s a snowstorm.

Well, it’s not really a snowstorm. It’s more of a flurry, but it’s terrifying nonetheless because of your current situation. Karina can barely move, and neither of you have any clue where you are nor do you have any sort of communication device since you left it all at the resort. It’s not like you can leave Karina by herself to get help either. You can really only hope that someone finds you before the frostbite starts settling.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Karina sniffles, her nose redder than Rudolph’s.

You hug her tightly, both to comfort her and to keep the two of you as warm as possible. “Stop crying, you’re going to dehydrate yourself. You can apologize when we get out of here.”

She chokes back a sob.

You want to cry too, but you bite down on your lower lip and just cling onto Karina harder.

“Damn, and I was finally going to follow through with my New Year's resolution of fixing my sleep schedule,” you joke, voice trembling.

Karina laughs weakly at that too. “You say that every year.”

“I know,” you admit sheepishly, “but I really am going to this time. I need to make sure I’m in tip-top condition because there’s no way in hell I’m letting Lee Donghyuck get that promotion over me.”

That’s right, you tell yourself. I can’t die here. Not before that dumbass.

You’re not sure why you’re suddenly thinking about him again, but it makes you feel a lot less scared when you picture his dumb smirk and that sly glint in his eyes when he’s gearing up to say something to piss you off. He always knows which buttons to press on the exact wrong day to press them.

You kind of wish he was here now. He would probably be cracking stupid jokes and distracting you―

“Y/N!”

Blinking the snowflakes out of your eyes, you squint past the sheet of snow and tall trees, trying to make sure you aren’t hallucinating. You see a blurry figure running towards you and Karina, the beam of their flashlight peeking through the darkness. When did the sun start setting?

Speak of the pretty boy, and he shall come, you suppose, because Lee Donghyuck is suddenly kneeling in front of you.

The smug look he always dons is wiped clean from his face, instead, his eyes are wide like two saucers and his hands are trembling. You can feel how tightly he’s clutching your arms even through the thick material of your parka. His hair is damp against his forehead; whether it’s from snow or sweat or both, you’re not sure. His face is flushed, and his nose is red like Karina’s, but you want to reach out and boop it for some reason. You can see his labored breath come out in white puffs due to the temperature.

“I found them!” Donghyuck calls out, turning behind him. A couple of your other colleagues emerge from the trees, all holding flashlights. Then, he reverts his attention back to you. His face is all furrowed up, like he isn’t sure whether to be mad at you for being reckless or collapse with relief.

“Are you hurt?” he eventually asks, voice strained as he helps you to your feet. He brushes the snow out of your hair and lifts your ski goggles from your eyes, scanning your face.

“Karina twisted her ankle,” you reply numbly, unable to feel your lips.

He glances over at Karina, who’s being helped by your other co-workers, before looking at you again. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head.

Donghyuck exhales loudly, and you watch his shoulders relax. Then he says, “What the hell were you thinking?”

You flinch at his sharp tone. He’s never raised his voice at you before. You’ve always been the one yelling at him.

“You can’t even drive a car, so what on Earth possessed you to try and ski on the advanced slope?” he continues to reprimand you. “What’s the point in being this smart if you’re not going to use common sense―”

You burst into tears.

You cry for many reasons: the sheer terror you’d been trying to keep at bay finally catches up to you, you’re grateful to be alive, you’re upset that Donghyuck is scolding you, you’re happy that Donghyuck is scolding you, and most of all, you know he’s right. He’s right, and you’re glad he’s right. You’re glad that he’s standing in front of you.

“You’re such a dick,” you wail, “I can’t believe you’re yelling at me when I almost died. Why can’t you just comfort me like a normal human with empathy?”

Donghyuck grows quiet, and you see his expression soften. Sighing, he reaches over and swipes the tears from your face. When you sniffle, he takes his expensive cashmere scarf and wipes your nose with it. He doesn’t even blink at the snot on it as he cups your frozen cheeks with his gloved hands. Grinning evilly, he squishes your face together, a mush of tears, snot, and puffiness.

“I’ve never wanted you more,” he teases.

“I’m going to kill you,” you grumble, shoving his hands away. Though you do find solace in the fact that he’s making fun of you again.

Your colleagues call the two of you over for help, and you make your way to Karina, who’s still unable to get up.

“Hyuck, do you mind carrying her back to the resort?” One of them asks, their hands too full with Karina’s skis and their own emergency supplies that they brought.

Donghyuck hesitates for a moment, his eyes inadvertently flashing towards you, before he kneels down and turns his back to Karina as he prepares to give her a piggy-back ride.

“I’m heavy,” Karina warns as she carefully climbs on.

“Don’t worry, I do five pushups a week,” he replies breezily, and despite his joking, he stands to his feet without a problem.

She laughs at that, sounding like an angel descending from the heavens.

He adjusts her thighs in his arms slightly, pausing to ask, “That didn’t hurt your ankle, did it?”

She shakes her head, and he says something else that makes her laugh again.

It’s not that you’re jealous that he’s carrying Karina. After all, she’s injured, so it would be a bit obnoxious to be upset over something that isn’t anyone’s fault. And it’s not like you’re any more special to him than Karina.

No, this feeling isn’t jealousy. It’s…uncertainty.

You’re uncertain that he would do the same for you if you were in Karina’s position. Has he ever reassured you with such ease like he did with her? Has he ever treated you like you were made of glass? Has he ever spoken to you so tenderly like that?

You suddenly feel so cold.

Three.

When you get back to the resort, there’s an ambulance waiting to take you and Karina to the hospital for a checkup. You try to tell everyone that you don’t need to go to the hospital, but your colleagues, Karina, and the paramedics insist on you doing so.

“Your glove is torn.”

Before you can even register his words, Donghyuck is holding your hand and flipping your palm over. The fabric of your right glove is ripped, exposing the tip of your pointer finger. You must’ve scraped it against something in the middle of all the chaos because there’s some dried blood caked around your nail.

“You should go,” he says softly, giving your hand an encouraging squeeze before letting go.

Once Karina is properly settled on the gurney, you’re ushered into the ambulance after her. As the doors close behind you, you catch Donghyuck’s eyes one last time. You don’t get to see what his expression is because you look away almost immediately, focusing your gaze on your finger.

Now that the adrenaline has worn off, it does sting a little.

Two.

Once the hospital finally discharges you and Karina in the middle of the night, the two of you call an Uber back to the resort and clumsily stumble up to your room like two people that just came home after a long night of partying, completely exhausted.

You’re so busy fumbling with your room key and nearly miss the gift that someone has set in front of your door. Picking it up, you realize it’s one of those hot chocolate sets that come with a cute little mug and are wrapped in holographic plastic. There’s also a separate bag of marshmallows beside it.

You don’t really examine it that much, simply handing it off to Karina.

“Looks like you’ve got a secret admirer.”

One.

Karina doesn’t notice the note tucked into the holographic plastic until she’s hobbling to the trashcan to throw it away.

happy new year! maybe i’ll grow on you :)

She turns to you to ask you about it, but you’re already tucked in bed fast asleep. Shrugging, she crumples the note up and tosses it away without another thought.

“Happy New Year,” she whispers to you before crawling in bed herself.

It’s a shame you didn’t get to see the fireworks.

ST. PATRICK’S DAY 2022 sun’s up too soon like daylight savings, mixed emotions are congregating

“I’m hungry,” you whine, jolting awake and hitting your head against the hard leather headrest on your seat.

“Probably because you emptied out the contents of your stomach onto my Air Jordans,” He Who Shall Not Be Named says wryly.

You ignore him, getting distracted by the hot dog vendor that you drive by.

“I like hot dogs,” you say absentmindedly.

HALLOWEEN 2021 picturing us in all these places, ahead of myself’s an understatement

You just wanted to get away from the crowd, really.

The party was getting a little stuffy, and it’s pretty easy to get overheated when you’re in a thick Teletubby onesie. You and Karina had the bright idea of dressing as the purple and red Teletubby, but neither of you considered just how hot it would get.

So, that’s why you’re wandering around the dim hallways of the office, munching on a handful of candy―only to end up hearing a conversation you shouldn’t have.

“You are my biggest failure.” That’s Mr. Lee’s voice, hushed but angry.

“More than my mom? I’m honored.” It’s Donghyuck this time. He laughs, a bitter and choked sound.

You nearly yelp when the sound of a loud slap echoes down the hallway. No one else talks after that, and you only hear the sound of footsteps walking away.

Actually, walking away sounds like an absolutely amazing idea, so you turn on your heel to make a quick escape―

And of course, on today of all days, you fuck up.

All of the candy that you had been clutching to your chest slips from your sweaty palms, clattering to the floor. Every single clatter makes you shrink further and further into yourself, and you have no choice but to step out from the corner you were hiding in.

In probably one of the most poorly-timed situations of all time, you have to face Donghyuck while dressed as the purple Teletubby, and he has to face you while dressed as a hot dog―right after you just involuntarily witnessed a glimpse of his strained familial relationships.

“Hi,” you greet awkwardly, gesturing to all the candy that just fell on the floor. “You, uh, want some candy?”

When he looks at you, all the words die in your throat. There’s a red mark on his cheek, and he looks like a little boy again. He stares at you like a deer in headlights, a mixture of horror, embarrassment, and frustration all over his face. He seems so lost and alone, and you don’t know what to do to help him.

“No thanks, Tinky Winky,” he finally replies. He gives you a half-smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“What?” You blink.

“You’re dressed as the purple Teletubby, and you don’t even know his name?” He raises an eyebrow as he sits down on the floor, leaning against the wall.

“I think it’s weirder that you do know his name,” you try to tease.

He doesn’t react to that, and you just stand there. Not wanting to leave him alone, you squat down and start to pick up the candy on the floor to keep yourself busy.

“You should go back to the party,” Donghyuck says quietly.

“It’s too hot,” you complain.

“Y/N.”

“Wanna watch Twilight?” you suddenly ask.

He stares at you for what seems like forever, his expression unreadable as he searches your face. After a bit longer, he just says, “Okay.”

You gather up the rest of the candy before taking a seat on the floor right next to him, brushing your shoulder against his. Pulling out your phone, you open the Netflix app and start to play Twilight.

You pretend you don’t feel him trembling, and you tell yourself he’s crying because he knows Bella will eventually choose Edward over Jacob. The two of you watch in complete silence; he doesn’t explain, and you don’t ask.

Instead, you push your hood off so you don’t poke him in the face with your triangle antenna and lean your head against his shoulder. Then, you lace your fingers through his and hold his hand without a word.

A hot dog and Tinky Winky the purple Teletubby watching Twilight, who would’ve thought?

ST. PATRICK’S DAY 2022 sun’s up too soon like daylight savings, mixed emotions are congregating

“I hate you, Lee Donghyuck.”

He doesn’t say anything to that.

CHRISTMAS 2021 outlines on bedsides, give me a second to forget i ever really meant it

It happened on the last day of work before Christmas break.

You gawk at the opened box in your hands, a pair of fluffy white angora gloves wrapped in fancy wrapping paper staring back up at you. Even though there’s no receipt included, you already know that these gloves cost more than three month’s worth of rent for your apartment.

“Did you steal these? Is that why you’re giving them to me? So you can frame me for your crime?” you ask suspiciously.

“Please,” he rolls his eyes, “as if I’d let you take the credit for any one of my crimes.”

You carefully take the gloves out before tossing the box at him. Catching it deftly and handing it back to you, he pretends to wipe away a tear dramatically.

“I went through the trouble of remembering how your gloves were ripped during the ski trip, so I meticulously picked these out for you,” he whines. “And I can’t believe you’re now questioning my goodwill.”

That makes you pause.

Is he talking about those cheap gloves that you used only once for that disastrous ski trip and then threw out immediately afterwards? The gloves that you haven’t thought about once since then? The gloves that you had to rack your brain to recall when he started talking about them just moments before? You can’t believe he remembered something so random.

Why did he remember?

It’s a question that haunts you on the entire plane ride back to your hometown and follows you throughout all of your family dinners and even when you’re lying awake on your cramped childhood bed.

It’s a question that both baffles and angers you at the same time. You wish he didn’t remember, and you wish he never gave you those gloves in the first place. The company is always generous to their employees around the holidays, and you know that this isn’t anything special, but it makes you feel special. It makes you want to be special. To him.

He is just a pretty boy. A pretty boy that likes indie bands and wears rings on his fingers and metal-rimmed glasses on the tip of his nose. A pretty boy that likes League of Legends and Studio Ghibli and Twilight and that one Hallmark movie you once caught him watching in the break room. A pretty boy that drinks black coffee. A pretty boy that drives a red Ferrari. A pretty boy that gave you a ride in that red Ferrari when it was raining. A pretty boy that looked for you for an hour during a snowstorm. A pretty boy that dressed as a hot dog for Halloween. A pretty boy that gave you expensive gloves because he remembered.

When did he go from Pretty Boy to Donghyuck?

But he can’t be Donghyuck. He can’t just be Donghyuck to you. Because that would be too real, too unrestrained. Because Donghyuck makes Karina laugh, so he can’t make you laugh. There needs to be decorum, after all. If he’s just Donghyuck, then what happens after?

That’s right. He can’t be Donghyuck. From now on, you won’t say his name. You’ll only know him as He Who Shall Not Be Named.

It happens when your mom tells you to take the casserole out of the fridge.

You see it, that traitorous pack of hot dog sausages.

You think back to Halloween, and then―

Oh my God, I like him.

“What the fuck,” you groan loudly.

That gets you a couple of gasps from your elderly relatives and an asswhooping from your mom.

ONE DAY AFTER ST. PATRICK’S DAY 2022 ― PRESENT fast times and fast nights, no time for rewrites

For the record, Donghyuck was not looking at Karina.

And if you’d stop avoiding him like the plague, he would be able to explain that to you.

He honestly applauds your ability to ignore the elephant in the room, considering that his cubicle is right next to yours. You’ve continuously managed to give yourself more work or conveniently slip away to the bathroom during any moment of down time. His patience is honestly starting to grow thin, but you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t wear it down to the wire.

Donghyuck finally manages to hunt you down in the same hallway where you threw up on his shoes. It’s hilariously ironic, and he would normally make a joke about it, but he’s in a bit of a time crunch. You look like a spooked cat, preparing to dart away the moment there’s an opening.

“Surely, someone as smart as you is aware that you can’t just avoid me forever.” He tilts his head.

“Well, if you move, we can find out if I can or not,” you reply, refusing to look at him and trying to walk past him.

“How’s your hangover?” he asks cheerfully, stepping to the side and blocking your way.

“Awful.”

“Do you remember what happened last night?”

“No,” you say instantly. You’re such a terrible liar.

“You said you hated me,” he starts softly. He isn’t sure why he’s saying this. This isn’t what he wanted to talk about first. The order is getting jumbled in his head. “Do you?”

You suck in a wobbly breath. “No.”

It doesn’t hit him until after your answer how deathly afraid he was of you hating him. He has grown so desensitized to the word “hate,” yet it’s only when it comes to the person he cares about the most that the gravity of that word becomes so apparent.

“I like you, Y/N.”

This isn’t exactly the grand declaration of love that he was imagining; he was thinking more along the lines of The Notebook or any romcom from the early to mid-2000s, but it felt like the right time to just say it now.

Your reaction isn’t exactly what he had in mind either.

You’re gawking at him like he just grew another head. He isn’t sure why you’re so surprised; he hasn’t exactly been subtle about his crush on you.

“No, you don’t,” you say in an accusatory tone. Leave it up to you to even argue with him on his own feelings.

Now it’s his turn to gawk. “What?”

“You don’t like me,” you state firmly, but it sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself. “How could you like me?”

Donghyuck raises an eyebrow, and he starts listing off reasons with his fingers. “I start a fight with you every morning because I want to have an excuse to talk to you, I bring you coffee everyday, I drove you to my client’s office in the middle of a storm so you could take back said client, I nearly shat my pants when they said you were missing at the ski resort and also bought you hot chocolate and a huge bag of marshmallows for New Years, and you were the only one I gave a Christmas present to last year.”

“You bought the hot chocolate and marshmallows?” You blink in surprise.

“Is that all you got from what I just said?”

“But Karina―”

Oh, right. He wanted to say this first.

“I wasn’t looking at Karina,” Donghyuck finally confesses, “I was looking at you. It’s always been you.”

That’s right, it’s only ever been you.

The stupid green “Kiss me, I’m Irish” shirt. Your smeared lip gloss that he wanted to kiss right off. The sparkly stickers all over your cheeks that made you look absolutely adorable. The way you buried your face into his shirt. How you fit right into his arms. Even when you threw up all over his favorite pair of shoes, there was no place Donghyuck would rather be.

Do you think I’m pretty? you had asked him.

Yes, you’re pretty. You’re so pretty that he feels like his heart will stop every time he lays his eyes on you. You’re so pretty that he can’t even think about the seasons without thinking about you and how you’re so much more beautiful than autumn, winter, spring and summer and anything in between. There’s never been a moment when you weren’t stunningly, breathtakingly, and heart-stoppingly pretty in his eyes.

“But―But that doesn’t make any sense,” you sputter, “You can’t like me!”

“Why not?”

“Because you just can’t.”

“Do you like me?”

“Yes―no! Regardless, you can’t just suddenly decide you like me―” you begin to explain.

“I’ve always liked you,” he points out.

“We’ve spent four years hating each other, and now all of sudden, we like each other? It’s too abrupt―”

“Y/N.” Donghyuck reaches over and grasps your wrist, his warm fingers against your even warmer skin as his thumb traces circles against the back of your hand. “Will you go out with me?”

When he looks at you, you have the same expression on your face as when he first met you and caught you staring at his Twilight poster. Your eyes dart around nervously, your pulse pounding against his fingertips, and he knows he has his answer.

“Okay,” you breathe.

He sighs, coiling an arm around your waist and pulling your body flush against his. Leaning his forehead against yours, he whispers, “Now was that so fucking hard?”

He kisses you, and you taste like everything he’s ever dreamed of and more.

#neowritingsnet #cznnet #NCT-WRITERS #nct imagines #nct scenarios #haechan fluff #haechan angst #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct dream imagines #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 angst #nct 127 imagines #haechan #nct #choerrypuffs

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choerrypuffs · 3 years ago

Text

the starlet.

pairing: bookshop owner!jaemin x actress!reader

genre: fluff, angst

word count: 15.3k

synopsis: you aren’t cruel enough to subject him to a life like yours, but you’re too selfish to let him go.

author’s note: hi this is part of the luvpuffcore 𝔯𝔢𝔭𝔲𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 collab! i’m sorry that the release date was delayed multiple times but i hope you guys enjoy it <333 collabing with cat and moon is always so fun, and here’s to many more luvpuffcore collabs that we may or may not finish on time 🥂

warning(s): anxiety, implied drug abuse, generally unhealthy lifestyle habits, suggestive makeout scene, implied sex

playlist: drew barrymore by sza ― endlessly by alina baraz ― dancing with our hands tied by taylor swift ― i miss you, i’m sorry by gracie abrams

additional: very loosely based off the movie notting hill and also the kdrama hometown cha-cha-cha bc i am incapable of writing a fic that doesn’t have elements of a romcom and/or kdrama in it 🤧

📼 SIDE A: DEEP BLUE, BUT YOU PAINTED ME GOLDEN

You’ve always loathed the airport.

The sound of suitcases being rolled around on the tile floor, the muffled jingle of the PA system constantly being in use, babies crying, metal detectors beeping, frustrated voices that are either lost or had their flights canceled, and worst of all―

“Y/N! Look over here!”

Ducking your head, you keep your eyes trained on your feet as your security team pushes against the large crowd of people. Your name is being shouted, cameras are flashing in every direction you look, there are outstretched arms with cell phones being shoved in your face, hands grabbing at your clothes, and you feel like you’re slowly being torn limb from limb. You’re jostled so hard that your sunglasses are almost knocked off your face.

The sea of people follow you all the way outside, gathering around your car, so that it’s even harder for you to leave and they can take more pictures. A security guard puts his hand on the back of your head as he gently pushes it down so it doesn’t hit the roof of the car. The other guards form a human wall around you in order for you to climb inside safely without having upskirt photos taken.

You want to just wear sweatpants, but then you’ll end up on Cosmopolitan’s Top 10 Celebrities with the Worst Airport Fashion list.

Once you’re in the car, the security closes the door behind you before walking over and clearing out the crowd so that the driver can leave. Closing your eyes and leaning your head against the window, you relish in the only moment of rest you’ve gotten in about six months. You’ve just returned from Stockholm after filming a top secret role in an upcoming Marvel film, and you’re pretty sure you haven’t had a good night’s sleep since you were cast. Not that you ever really get a good night’s sleep, but especially so now.

As if your every move isn’t already scrutinized by the media, now you have to deal with the extra attention since the news has broken. Your mind can’t ever seem to stop, always wondering how the tabloids were going to twist your every little action to their liking―whether it be picking apart your clothes and/or appearance, discussing your dating rumors with a man you’ve never even met, asking you intrusive questions and waiting for an outburst so they can paint you as the villain, or just catching anything and everything you do on camera in order to find a flaw.

At this point, you’re pretty sure you exist through the media. You live more of your life in front of a camera than off, so you have no semblance of who you are in actual reality anymore.

Somin, your manager, lets out a sigh of relief once you’re all situated and driving away. She’s tapping away at her phone as usual, probably negotiating eight different movie deals for you at once. Somin has been your manager since the beginning of your career, and you owe a great deal of your success to her, but you wish she would just take a moment to breathe. Now that you’re a rising star, some would even say on your way to becoming an A-lister, she is working double time to make sure you don’t lose your momentum. However, shooting eight movies a year plus TV deals plus all the promotions, magazine covers, photoshoots, press tours, etc. that come with it seems a bit overkill. Of course, you don’t have the heart to say it since she’s stuck with you through thick and thin. You suppose there’s nothing wrong with the piles and piles of money you’ll end up with. It’s the only good thing about your job these days.

As if on cue, Somin speaks up, “Don’t forget about your flight tomorrow. We’re leaving at 5 AM, so make sure you’re ready.”

You did forget. Completely.

“What flight?”

Somin sighs, shaking her head. “You’re flying to England, remember? To film the Netflix series? With Jaehyun?”

Ah, that’s right.

You signed with Netflix a while ago to do a series called Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha, which follows a prickly, city girl dentist that moves to a small seaside town to start her own practice while also dealing with a budding romance between herself and the local handsome handyman.

You’re co-starring alongside Jeong Jaehyun, a fellow actor that you’ve worked with before when the two of you were newbies. You had supporting roles playing a couple in an indie film, and since then, you’ve both had your big break and have remained friendly with each other, keeping in contact. You wouldn’t particularly consider him a close friend, but he’s the only thing you have that resembles anything close to a friend in this industry.

You’re a bit reluctant to film a romance series with Jaehyun, since you’re certain that it will spark dating rumors. However, it does make you feel a little better that it’s with someone you’re comfortable with, so the two of you can just laugh about it together.

“Right,” you say, nearly forgetting to respond to Somin. “That flight. Where exactly in England are we going?”

Somin shrugs. “I can’t remember the name, it’s some tiny village. Quiet, great view, perfect for that romantic ‘idyllic small town by the sea’ that you only see in movies and shows vibe. Its population is barely in the thousands, but the good thing is that most of the people there are old fishermen so they probably won’t recognize you. ”

You’re actually looking forward to this trip more and more now. Maybe, for once, you won’t be trapped in a hotel room and will be able to actually enjoy the scenery of this supposedly idyllic seaside town.

“But don’t get too excited because the place will probably be swarming with paparazzi once they find out where you are,” she continues.

You sigh, completely deflating. Now you feel guilty towards the locals that will have to deal with the chaos.

Somin leans forward and places a hand on your shoulder. “I know you’re tired, Y/N. This is your last shoot for a couple months. Just get through the promos afterwards and then you’ll get a break.”

You perk up only slightly, happy that you’re finally getting some time off―though it’s not like you’ll be able to enjoy it that much. You’ll just be cooped up in your bare mansion, trapped with your thoughts. You could try to sleep the whole time, hibernate like a bear, but your insomnia drives a huge wedge into that plan. You could also visit your parents, but you don’t particularly want to let them see how badly your lifestyle and mental health have tanked.

And you definitely can’t travel or even simply go out and have a nice lunch, lest you create a media frenzy that’ll descend upon you like a pack of hungry wolves the moment you step outside.

“Okay,” you nod, plastering on a fake smile. You know Somin is worried about you. She would never give you such a long break, without even a photoshoot or two dispersed in there, if she didn’t think something was seriously wrong.

She seems satisfied enough with your half-assed performance and leans back, attention turning on her phone again. You decide to scroll through your phone as well, though you usually avoid it at all costs unless it’s for work. You open Instagram, which is Mistake Number One.

Your feed is instantly bombarded with various tabloid accounts posting pictures of you edited beside Lee Haechan (who you have never met), a new actor that’s been exploding in popularity recently.

You don’t even need to click on the picture to know exactly what the headline is, locking your phone and tossing it aside.

Letting out a sigh, you close your eyes and wait for the sleep that never comes.

When you land in England, there’s not nearly as much chaos as you expect there to be. Of course, paparazzi trail you no matter where you go, but it’s not a giant crowd like the other day. You’re able to leave the airport with relative ease, much to your security detail’s delight. You suppose the news of your Marvel role overshadowed everything else, so the shooting of your Netflix series was completely forgotten about.

Once you’re in the car, the driver informs you that it’s about a 3 hour drive to the marina, where you’ll then have to take a 45-minute ferry ride, as that is the only way to get in or out of the town.

“Jesus, where is this place? The North Sentinel Island?” Somin irritably mutters under her breath. She’s still grumpy from the early flight.

The driver explains that many people head over there to settle down and start families due to how peaceful and tight-knit the community is. After their children grow up and go off to begin their own careers, a lot of the elderly choose to spend their retirement there as well.

“All in all, it’s just a great place to live, visit, or even just pass by,” the driver says cheerfully. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll fall in love with it and not want to leave.”

Somin snorts but doesn’t say anything.

You, on the other hand, don’t particularly mind it. You’re actually slightly envious of the bond that the people of the town must have built with each other over the years. You’ve always wanted to grow up in a small community like that, where you’re treated like a family member by everyone and all the aunties always say that you’re too skinny and try to feed you.

No wonder why the production team chose this town to be the filming location for a series called Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha.

The trip is quite long though, and by the time you arrive, the sun is already starting to set. You go in and out of sleep on the ferry ride, the lulling of the waves making you drowsy, but it’s the kind of light sleep that makes you even more tired when you wake up.

When the ferry pulls into the dock, there’s another car waiting for you. There’s another short, 10-minute drive to the town, where the car is then promptly swarmed by a horde of people. You notice a huge welcome banner with your name plastered across it, and you also figure out that the people surrounding you aren’t paparazzi, rather, they’re locals. Through the window, you see men and women, all aged between mid-forties to sixties, trying to peer into the car. Some of them are holding tupperwares of homemade food. You hear distant music on the opposite side of the car, and you realize that the local high school marching band is here too.

“This is not what we discussed,” Somin is yelling, already on the phone with someone. Most like a production staff member. “You said that the locals would be under control. Wha―I don’t care if the mayor wants a picture with her! It could be God Himself, and I still wouldn’t care! Clear these people out now.”

She argues some more before angrily hanging up, letting out a loud sigh and turning to you to explain the situation. “Apparently, the locals are excited because none of them have ever seen a celebrity before. They wanted to throw you a welcome party, and the mayor wants a picture of him giving you the keys to the city or some shit. These people probably don’t even know who you are.”

Though she sounds a bit harsh, Somin is just weathered to starstruck people that are excited to see you. It happens everywhere you go, so her first order of business is always crowd control. She’s gotten used to icing out her emotions. And while you are exhausted from the trip, you feel a bit guilty for ignoring them since they did give you such a grand welcome.

“I don’t mind―” You start.

“No,” Somin interrupts, “we’re going to keep this as discreet as possible. It was a stroke of luck that the Marvel role distracted everyone. If the news breaks out about this, then it’s just another migraine for me to deal with. Give me your hat.”

“What?” You blink.

But she doesn’t wait for you, reaching over and snatching your black baseball cap off your head. She then tucks her hair into the cap, since her hair color is different than yours, before putting it on her head. Reaching over into her purse, she fishes out her black face mask and slips that on as well.

“What are you doing?” you ask, furrowing your brows.

“Pretending to be you,” Somin answers briskly, shrugging off her fluffy blue sherpa jacket and handing it to you. “Wear that and put the hood up.”

“We don’t look anything alike,” you point out, though you put on the sherpa and tug the hood up anyway.

“Hence the hat and mask,” she replies, “Don’t worry. I’m just gonna pretend to be like you long enough for you to get away and then once they realize I’m not you, I’ll just be like, ‘Oh, I’m just the manager. It’s all just a big misunderstanding, and Y/N is already at her hotel resting. Sorry! Maybe next time!’ but there is no next time.”

You make a mental note to take a picture with the mayor before you leave.

Somin makes sure the driver knows the address of your hotel before she and your security team exit the car. The moment the door is opened, you hear the crowd get rowdier and the band starts playing louder. You keep your head lowered, so that no one will notice you, but you don’t have to worry because the attention is solely focused on Somin. Once she’s out and has effectively gotten the crowd to follow her, the car drives away. As you sit alone, you look out the window and take in the view of the town.

If there was a place that perfectly encapsulates that picture-perfect, sleepy, quiet town that only seems real in movies, it would be this place. The buildings all look like they came straight out of a cottagecore Pinterest board, like a fairy tale animation brought to life. You’re reminded of Belle’s town in Beauty and the Beast, except it’s by the seaside. In fact, you feel quite out of place in a car, since you feel like it disrupts the fantasy. You’re pretty sure everything in this town is within walking distance anyways.

Not that you’ll be able to freely walk around.

The driver informs you that you’re about to arrive, and you see that he’s pulling up to a quaint bed and breakfast. It’s painted a beautiful robin blue, looking like a house that belongs to a fairy. Unfortunately, the loveliness of it all is instantly shattered when you notice a couple of people with cameras lurking around the entrance. You’re not sure if it’s the local news or if they’re just some extremely dedicated paparazzi, but you know you can’t let them see you.

You’re frantically glancing around for a place to take refuge in when you notice a place right across from the bed and breakfast. You can tell that it was previously a brilliant white building, but over time due to weather, it’s faded to more of a dull cream. You actually think the cream color suits it a lot better; it’s a subtle, warm presence that doesn’t immediately catch your eye but instantly draws you in once you’ve seen it. There’s a sign hanging, and you can tell by the rusted chain holding the sign up that it's worn down, but someone has faithfully painted the words back on again, reading OASIS BOOKS in pink loopy cursive.

With such a fitting name, you decide that it will be your place of refuge for now. You shoot a quick text to Somin about the change of plans and inform the driver of your detour, and he drops you off at the bookstore with little fuss. Keeping your head down and trying to cover more of your face with your hood, you scramble inside and close the door behind you in one swift swing, the bell attached to it jingling loudly.

The inside of the bookstore, again, feels like it came straight from a storybook. The soft lighting creates a warm glow throughout the room, like the hue from a candle flame. The temperature inside is quite cozy as well, what you imagine your insides feel like after a nice mug of hot chocolate, which is a lovely reprieve from the chilly weather outside. Even the smell of the store feels homey, a mixture of old books, coffee, and vanilla.

As you look around, there doesn’t seem to be anyone else here, much to your relief. It’s so quiet and empty that you start to wonder if the store is actually closed and the owner just forgot to lock the door. You suppose it wouldn’t make much sense for them to leave all the lights on if it was closed, though.

Just as you take one step forward, you hear footsteps from upstairs as they hurriedly descend before a guy emerges from a doorway on the opposite side of the room.

“Hey, sorry! It’s been super slow today, so I didn’t think anyone would come―”

He abruptly stops in his tracks when he sees you, his jaw slack as the rest of his sentence dies in his throat. Just like everything else about this place, he looks like he walked right out of an animation. He’s so good-looking that you begin to question if he’s the one shooting a movie.

He has dark, floppy brown hair that naturally falls into his eyes for that perfect windswept look that you’ve seen hairstylists spend hours perfecting on others. He’s wearing an oversized, slightly frumpy baby pink sweater paired with brown slacks and worn sneakers. There’s a cup of coffee in his hand, threatening to slip from his very loose fingers, as he gawks at you.

“Hi.” You give him a small wave, having had enough of being suffocated by the awkward silence.

“Hello,” he responds quietly, blinking blearily like he’s not fully awake. He goes to wave back with the hand that’s holding the coffee, nearly sloshing it everywhere, before fumbling around and just settling with giving you a strained smile. “How can I help you?”

If he knows who you are, he’s not saying it. So, you decide to just play along.

“I’m just…looking around,” you answer slowly, taking a tentative step forward.

He nods stiffly, robotically walking to the front counter and jerkily setting his cup down. He swings his arm out so fast that you hear a joint pop as he gestures towards the bookshelves. “Of course! Take a look around!”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing, ducking your head down as you start to browse. From your peripheral, you can see that he’s standing ramrod straight behind the front counter, nervously drumming his fingers against the wood. He fidgets with a dog-eared book that’s in front of him, picking it up like he’s going to read it before setting it back down.

You can’t fight the amused smile that makes its way across your face.

Running your fingers along the spines of the books, you finally stop when you see something that catches your interest. It’s an extremely worn down copy of a volume of Sailor Moon, which is one of the first anime you ever watched. The magical girl genre has always been a favorite of yours, since everything is so colorful and sparkly and happy and full of life while you’re…not. It’s just nice to turn your brain off and relish in the cheesiness of all the frilly outfits, adorable animal sidekicks, the power of friendships, etc.

“That’s a stray,” a voice pipes up.

You turn, and you see the guy pointing at the Sailor Moon manga you’re holding. “A stray?”

“Someone dropped it off at the donation bin, probably thinking it was a trash can. It’s a little tattered, but I just couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. I don’t know, I just felt a little bad for it. Felt like it had been abandoned, and I wanted to give it a warm place to stay,” he continues to explain, beaming cheerfully. “She’s a little rough around the edges, but she’s lovely to me.”

You want to snort at how sentimental he is, but there’s such sincerity in his eyes that your resolve instantly melts away. And just like that, you don’t find it very funny anymore. Rather, you actually think it’s kind of sweet.

“Oh, but I won’t charge you for it if you’d like it,” he says hurriedly. “Also, I don’t think that’s the first volume either. I’m not sure how many volumes there are, but that’s the only one we have―”

“I’ll buy it,” you interrupt, giving him a small smile.

His mouth hangs open like he wants to say something, but he just looks at you with wide eyes. In the end, all he can muster is a nod as you set the book on the counter and wait for him to tell you the total. You know he’s undercharging you when he does, but you don’t have the energy to fight him on it. You watch as he carefully wraps it in light blue tissue paper before putting it in a pink cardboard gift box.

“It’s all recyclable and a lot more sustainable than plastic bags,” he chirps as he hands it to you. “Plus, it’s cute. Like a gift from me to you, even though you paid for it.”

“I see,” you reply, pleasantly surprised at how thoughtful he is. Then again, you suppose it’s in character for a person who keeps torn and waterlogged manga (that’s not even the first volume of the series) in his shop because he feels bad for it. “Thanks.”

“Are you visiting?” he asks, his doe eyes blinking curiously at you. “I don’t usually see people I don’t know here.”

You pause, not expecting him to continue the conversation. You still can’t tell if he really doesn’t know who you are or if he’s just pretending. However, the longer you’re around him, the less likely the latter option becomes. From his gaze, his mannerisms, to the way he speaks, there’s not a dishonest bone in this man’s body; he reads like an open book.

“Yes,” you answer truthfully.

He laughs softly. “I figured. You’re part of that Hollywood production, right?”

You’re not sure what to say to that. He’s not wrong, though you’re not sure if he knows you’re the star of that production.

“Yes,” you answer truthfully (on a technicality).

He nods like he was expecting that answer. “Yeah, sorry for all the chaos. Everyone gets in a frenzy when someone gets a new neighbor, so you can imagine how excited they were when they found out a bunch of celebrities were coming to film a show, even if most of the locals don’t even know who the celebrities are.”

“Do you know who they are?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He looks at you bashfully. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t watch a lot of TV.”

That’s how you know he’s telling the truth. No one watches TV. Everyone watches Netflix or some other streaming service. Or YouTube. But definitely not old-school TV, unless they’re 60-years-old.

“It’s fine,” you reply breezily. Rather, you’d prefer it like this.

“I’m Na Jaemin, by the way. Sorry I didn’t introduce myself until now.” Jaemin holds out his hand politely.

You hesitate for a moment before reaching out and shaking it. His hand is warm and big, slightly clammy. “I’m Y/N.”

You watch him carefully for any change in demeanor or a spark of recognition in his eyes, but there’s nothing. He just gives you a dazed smile as your hand brushes against his when you retract it.

“Nice to―”

Your phone starts ringing, and even though it isn’t that loud, it blares through the silence like a chainsaw. The two of you jolt, and you quickly take your phone out of your pocket to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I’m outside,” Somin says, slightly out of breath. “Hurry up. It’s so cold.”

“Okay, I’m coming,” you reply quickly before hanging up. You turn back towards Jaemin, and you feel a bit like an asshole for just cutting the conversation short and leaving, but you really should go.

But Jaemin seems to understand, giving you a jovial wave. “It was very nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“It was nice to meet you too, Jaemin.”

And it really was, you find yourself realizing.

When you walk outside, Somin is standing there, shivering with her arms crossed across her body. She’s still wearing your hat, but she took off the mask. You give her the sherpa back, since she clearly needs it more than you.

“Where’s the car?” you ask as the two of you walk back to the bed and breakfast.

“I told him to drive around town to distract the reporters,” Somin answers through chattering teeth. “Who were you talking to in the bookstore? He was cute, like a golden retriever cute but still cute.”

“He’s an employee.” You roll your eyes, refusing to fall for her bait.

“He sure as hell was giving you puppy eyes,” she teases.

“Don’t even start,” you warn. “I talked to him for five minutes.”

“If you say so,” she shrugs, “just be careful. There could be paparazzi crawling around everywhere. Besides, we leave in like a month, so there’s no point in getting attached.”

“I’m not attached.”

“Famous last words.”

You give her a playful shove, shaking your head. She changes the subject, and the two of you promptly check into your rooms at the bed and breakfast. Somin’s room is right next to yours, and she bids you good night before heading inside.

Now that you’re alone in your room, your mind starts to grow restless from the complete silence. There are a million thoughts going through your head, but you can’t pinpoint a single one of them. Anxiety generates within you as your mind becomes overwhelmed by your own thoughts.

Hands trembling, you pull out your phone and start streaming Sailor Moon Crystal episodes on Netflix for white noise. You leave it on as you take a scalding shower, brush your teeth, do your skincare routine, and even when you crawl into bed.

You curl up under the covers, close your eyes as if the show is able to drown out your thoughts, and wait for the sleep that never comes.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Marvel’s new it-girl.”

You roll your eyes. “Good morning to you too, Jaehyun.”

Jeong Jaehyun smiles, showing off his perfectly straight pearly whites. “So, tell me. How good is that Marvel money?”

You’re both already in costume, with you dressed in all designer clothes with a white dentist coat over it paired with stilettos that pinch your feet―perfectly embodying an uptight city girl who’s in over her head in the countryside. Jaehyun is wearing baggy cargo shorts and a loose, wrinkled white t-shirt with flip-flops. His hair is perfectly styled to be messy, reminding you of Jaemin.

Even with minimal makeup and shabby clothes, it’s apparent how handsome Jaehyun is. Rather than the local handyman he’s playing, he looks more like a model who’s wearing “poor people chic.” Then again, this show isn’t exactly supposed to be realistic; it’s a light-hearted romance that makes people feel warm and fuzzy inside with its two unrealistically good-looking leads. That’s how romcoms work, after all.

“Wouldn’t you want to know,” you joke. “Sorry, I don’t associate with flops anymore.”

Though he hasn’t been casted in a Marvel movie (yet), Jaehyun is far from a flop. He’s a box office darling, and his films have raked in millions and millions of dollars. Of course, that doesn’t mean you won’t tease him.

“Ouch. That’s cold,” he feigns hurt, “Already forgetting your roots?”

“What? I can’t hear you over the sound of all the cash falling into my lap.”

The two of you mess with each other just a little longer before he finally drops the act and gives you a hug. You hug him back, glad to finally see a friend after a long time.

“How have you been?” he asks after he pulls back. He looks concerned for you, which doesn’t surprise you. You’ve been dominating headlines for the past couple of years, whether it be good or bad.

“Fine,” you reply automatically, not even bothering to make it sound convincing.

He gives you a pointed look.

You sigh. “What do you want me to say? I’ve been…working. Everything else that comes along with it is just part of the job.”

“But that doesn’t mean you’re fine, Y/N.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you insist, “People just want a good show, so that’s what I’ll do. I can handle my feelings on my own.”

“No,” Jaehyun says firmly, “you’re not handling them at all.”

You don’t want to admit he’s right, so you just stay quiet.

Now it’s his turn to sigh, as he reaches down and takes your hand. Running his thumb across your knuckles soothingly, he says, “I’m here for you, Y/N. Always. You know that, right?”

When you meet his gaze, he’s looking at you like you’re much more than a friend. He’s pretended to be in love with you before, as the two of you played a couple in your first movie together, but this is completely different.

It’s real.

Suddenly, the way he’s holding your hand feels different. His grip is gentle and loose enough for you to shake off, yet it’s so powerful at the same time, and you almost feel like you have no choice but to let him hold it.

You’re not sure how to react. Romance is the last thing on your mind right now. You have no plans to pursue a relationship until you’re well out of the limelight, and everyone has already forgotten who you are.

Jaehyun is a friend―someone that you can joke around with, someone that understands the pains of the industry, someone that you know you can trust.

And nothing more.

“But if you’re not ready, I’ll wait,” he adds softly.

It’s a layered statement, and you both know it.

“You’re an amazing friend, Jaehyun,” you finally say, slowly pulling your hand away. “But don’t wait for someone like me.”

There’s a pause as you watch him register your words, the rejection behind them. There’s sadness in his expression, but he doesn’t seem taken aback by it.

“Wow. You really friendzoned me at 7 in the morning,” Jaehyun laughs, his eyes still glimmering with good-natured humor.

“Who confesses at 7 in the morning?” you tease, relieved and grateful that he’s taking it in stride.

“Early bird gets the worm?”

“It’s been three seconds since I friendzoned you and now you’re calling me a worm?”

“What can I say? I move on quickly.”

The two of you continue to joke and catch up with each other like nothing ever happened until the director announces that shooting is about to begin. The rest of the morning goes by in a blur, as you move from location to location in the town to film various scenes.

By the time lunch break rolls around, your feet feel like you’ve been standing on a bed of nails for the past four hours (which isn’t inaccurate because of these damn heels). The whole crew gets a couple of hours for lunch, so you quickly change into more comfortable shoes, plus some baggy sweatpants and a hoodie, once you’re back in your dressing trailer. Somin suggests ordering delivery, but you tell her you want to check out the nearby coffee shop that you had noticed earlier.

“It’s literally right across the street from us,” you say before Somin can protest. “A three-minute walk, tops. I’ll wear a hat and cover my face.”

“Fine,” she relents, “be careful. And get me an oat milk latte.”

You give her a thumbs up before putting on a hat and face mask, slipping out of the trailer and crossing the street to the coffee shop undetected. The place isn’t too busy when you walk in, just a couple of people lounging around with their laptops. You tug your mask higher up on your face and pull the brim of your hat down as you walk up to the front.

When the barista turns around, you find yourself face-to-face with Na Jaemin.

He’s wearing a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows tucked into black work pants along with a black apron over it all. His hair is styled a bit more today, with his fringe gelled to frame his face rather than falling into his eyes.

At first, he blinks at you, probably confused as to why you’re dressed like you’re about to rob him at gunpoint. You don’t think he recognizes you until he grins, smiling so wide that his eyes crinkle in the corners.

“Hi, Y/N!”

You slightly wince at how peppy his tone is, casually doing a scan of the place to make sure no one heard him. Luckily, everyone is too engrossed in their electronic devices to pay attention.

“Hey, Jaemin,” you respond, pulling your mask down and giving him a tired half-smile. Your lips are more of a straight line than a curved one. “You work here too?”

“Oh, no. The owner, Jeno, is my best friend, and his cats had a vet appointment this morning, so I’m covering a shift for him,” he explains.

“That’s nice of you,” you nod.

“Yeah, he’s paying me double,” Jaemin deadpans, but his face twitches as he stifles a laugh.

You smile again, but this time, it’s a genuine one. You know he’s just playing around. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was doing it for free, but it’s amusing to watch him pretend to be mean―especially with his sunny demeanor.

Jaemin’s deadpan slowly melts away once he sees you smiling. He’s staring at you with that wide-eyed, deer-in-headlights, dazed expression that you seem to often catch him with.

“Um,” you start awkwardly, “is it okay if I order now?”

He blinks, and three beats pass by before your words register. Flailing his arms around, you watch as he fumbles with a few things on the iPad before he seemingly pulls up what he needs.

“Of course, yes! Sorry, sorry! Sorry about that, I think I’m a little out of it today. Anyways, what can I get you?” Jaemin asks hurriedly.

You rattle off yours and Somin’s orders, and he rings it up without any further hassle. You’re about to go wait for your drinks in the corner when you hear Jaemin call your name.

“Oh, and Y/N? Jeno is on his way back, so if you have some free time after this, I actually have something for you back at my store,” he says, looking a little nervous. “It’s not anything weird! Okay, well, saying it like that makes it sound definitely weird, but I promise it’s not. Of course, if you’re uncomfortable, I can bring it―”

“I’m free,” you finally say, deciding to put him out of his misery. You’re glad you put your face mask back up, so you can freely smile to yourself. Somin will probably kill you later, but you can’t help but be drawn to Jaemin. There’s something so endearing and honest about him, and you don’t come across people like him very often.

Jaemin’s eyes light up, and he lets out a relieved breath. “Great. Awesome. I’ll, uh, probably be done in, like, ten or so minutes.”

“Sounds good,” you agree.

He nods excitedly before turning around and making your drinks. Impressively enough, he’s quite skilled. He makes yours and Somin’s drinks at once, despite having completely different orders, expertly putting the correct ingredients in each cup and blending them at a swift pace. Once he’s done, he takes a sharpie and scribbles something on both cups.

He places the drinks in the pickup area, and you grab them before he can call out your name, since the shop was getting busier.

“I’ll wait for you outside,” you tell him quickly before darting outside to avoid the crowd of people.

When you’re outside, you squat against the wall and take a long sip of your sugary caramel macchiato. It’s only when you go back to drink it again that you notice the message written on your cup. In the same loopy cursive that was painted on the Oasis Books store sign, the black sharpie reads:

i love you say it back ☺

You smile, picking up Somin’s cup to see what was written on hers:

all you need is love ♡

Of course, he leaves little notes on all of the cups. Why wouldn’t he?

You want to make fun of them for being so corny, but―

Na Jaemin is a very beautiful man, you’ve recently discovered.

You decide to drop the drinks off at your trailer really fast, so you don’t have to carry them around later. Somin is nowhere to be found, probably poking around craft services for some snacks, much to your relief.

You return to the coffee shop afterwards, hanging around for about ten more minutes before Jaemin emerges from the store, winded like he just ran a marathon. He’s still in his barista uniform, sans apron.

“Hi,” he pants, “sorry. It got really busy all of a sudden, so I had to help Jeno out for a little longer.”

“It’s not a problem,” you reply.

“Do you like blueberries?” he suddenly asks.

You blink. “I…yes, uh, I do.”

“Here,” he says, handing you a small paper bag. “I got you a muffin.”

“Thank you,” you say, a little taken aback and slowly grabbing the bag. “You didn’t have to do that. How much do I owe you?”

He throws his head back and lets out a breezy laugh. “Nothing at all. What do you take me for, Y/N?”

“I…” you trail off. What do you take him for?

“I got it for you because you seemed really tired, and I figured it would be a nice snack,” he explains, grinning. “Besides, I stole it, so I didn’t pay anything either.”

You stare at him.

“Oh, come on. Don’t look at me like that,” he says sheepishly. “Kindness is always free. And besides, Jeno won’t even notice―”

Before you can stop yourself, you reach out and give him a hug. Your arms encircle his neck as you bring him down to you, leaning your cheek against his neck. He smells like coffee, soap, and old books. You’re surprised at how he still smells like books, despite spending the past couple of hours in a coffee shop. It’s a comforting scent to you though, and you unconsciously bury your face further into his shoulder.

Jaemin stiffens for only a second before his hands slowly come up to rest on your back, gently patting it. Though you slightly feel like a baby being burped, you also find it somewhat soothing. He just makes you feel calm, and your mind is still when you’re with him, despite the fact that you’ve only interacted twice. You wonder why Jaemin, who is still essentially a stranger to you, is able to invoke such a strong feeling of safety within you.

You continue to cling onto him for another moment before reality slaps you in the face, and you jerkily recoil back from him. You face burns with embarrassment, confused as to what in God’s name possessed you to suddenly hug him out of the blue. Jaemin looks just as flustered as you, his cheeks are two red blossoms as he looks at you. Surprisingly, while he is definitely surprised, he doesn’t appear to be disgusted or angry at you.

“I am so, so sorry,” you begin to apologize profusely, feeling like you’re about to pass out. “I have no idea what came over me. I should not have done that without your―”

“I-It’s okay!” Jaemin interrupts, reaching out and gently placing his hand on your arm. His touch manages to quell your blubbering, and you slow down enough to gather your thoughts. He waits for you to collect yourself and meet his eyes before he says softly, “Hugs are free too.”

You’d normally cringe at that, but instead, you stare into his impossibly deep brown eyes, getting lost in them. They differ so much from his happy-go-lucky personality. His eyes are calm, steady, and firm. There’s a genuine, inviting warmth to them, like a safe haven. And every time you look into them, you lose the will to mock him―and your nerves.

Yes, you think to yourself again, Na Jaemin is a very, very beautiful man.

And it’s a beauty that you hope will never be tarnished.

“Thanks,” you quietly say. You seem to be thanking him a lot today.

“You’re welcome,” he says, smiling. “Are you ready to go?”

You nod, and the two of you head back back to his bookstore. Once you’re inside, he turns the lights on, and you watch them slowly flicker to life. You noticed it the first time you walked in, but his store just radiates a sense of peacefulness. In fact, the store resembles Jaemin in a lot of ways.

Jaemin makes a beeline for the front counter, where there’s a small package sitting there.

“It just came in this morning,” he explains vaguely, rummaging through a drawer for a box cutter.

“What is it?” you ask, getting closer to take a better look.

He waggles his eyebrows before cutting the box open and pulling out two brand new volumes of Sailor Moon. With its glossy covers and crisp pages, it's a stark contrast compared to the one you bought.

“I looked through my catalog, and I figured out that the volume you have is the third one, so I ordered the first two for you,” Jaemin announces, eyes twinkling with excitement.

You weren’t sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t that.

He mistakes your stunned silence for discontent, faltering. “Of course, if you don’t want them that’s totally fine too! I just―”

“No, I love them,” you interrupt instantly, reaching out and placing your hand on the counter. Without even realizing it, you’re smiling. “I was just…surprised. At how wonderful you are.”

You didn’t plan on saying that last part out loud, but you suppose there’s no harm in it now that it’s already happened. Especially since you get to see his reaction.

Jaemin has gone all wide-eyed again, and he has a glazed-over expression like he’s going to faint at any moment. It’s only when the books slip from his hands and falls to the floor with a two loud thuds that he snaps out of his trance.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mutters as he scrambles to collect them before handing them to you, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. Here. Take them before I drop them again.”

“Thank you,” you say, taking the books and tucking them under your arm. “How much?”

Jaemin raises an eyebrow. “Nothing, Y/N. I thought we already went over this.”

“I’m not going to let you give me these books for free,” you state flatly.

“And I’m not going to let you give me your money. I feel bad for even charging you for the other one. It was so torn up, not to mention, it wasn’t even the first volume,” he persists, “Oh, but I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t order a new third volume. I would feel too sorry for the old third volume. It’s been in my store for so long, and now it finally has a loving home, so I don’t want it to be replaced so fast.”

At this point, you expect nothing less from Na Jaemin.

“I don’t mind,” you answer, “I prefer the old one anyways.”

“I’m glad,” he says, letting out a sigh of relief.

He pauses for a second before hurriedly adding on, “Well, um, I’m sure you’re busy, so you probably need to go.”

“I’m actually on lunch break, so I have time,” you reply.

He blinks in surprise, like he was expecting you to bolt out of here as quickly as possible. To be honest, you’re not sure why you aren’t. You just like it here―and him.

Not like that, of course.

“Oh. That’s great,” he says awkwardly, as he gauges whether or not he should continue the conversation and if you even want to talk to him. Maybe it’s his clear uncomfort around long silences or the fact that you haven’t left yet, but he decides to keep talking. “How are you liking it here so far? A regular of mine said she saw a bunch of cameramen filming all over the place.”

“I’m not really sure,” you say honestly, shrugging. “The town is very pretty, from what I’ve seen. I just haven’t seen much on my own.”

“Why not?” He scrunches his nose.

“Well, we’re not exactly getting paid to sightsee, unfortunately. We have a really tight schedule and budget, so we can’t waste a second,” you explain.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t even been to the beach,” Jaemin says incredulously. “I know the weather has been pretty cold, but the beach is a must-see!”

“No, but I’m sure we’ll have to film there soon,” you say, “So, I’ll see it eventually.”

After all, is it really a seaside romance if there’s no dramatic, slow-motion montage of you and Jaehyun running around in the water?

“No way. It’s not the same!” Jaemin insists. “You said you have free time, right? Let’s go then.”

You gawk at him.

This man wants to take you to the beach, in the middle of winter?

“You do know it’s freezing, right?” you ask slowly.

“Less people to deal with,” he counters.

You suppose he has a point. Especially for someone like you.

“This is a stupid idea,” you say aloud, but it’s mostly directed towards yourself.

Because you’re actually considering it.

In addition to the constant risk of being recognized, photographed, and/or swarmed, Somin was already going to kill you because you’ve been out for way too long, but she’ll have your head on a stick if she finds out you went to the beach with a cute local.

“Don’t tell me you Hollywood people are too chicken to go to the beach just because it’s a little chilly?” he teases.

“Fine. Let’s go,” you retort immediately, against your better judgment.

He grins mischievously, gesturing towards the door. “After you.”

Squaring your shoulders and haughtily pointing your nose up in the air, you march right on out of the store. You only get about three steps outside before you realize you have no idea where the beach is. Luckily, Jaemin is following close behind you and promptly takes the lead. At first, you’re expecting him to take you in a car or by bus or some sort of vehicle, but like everything in this town, the beach is within walking distance.

During the walk, Jaemin starts to give you a brief tour of the town, though you mostly pass by regular buildings like the fire station or the post office.

“Yeah, we don’t exactly have a lot of tourist attractions,” he laughs, “that’s why you have to see the beach.”

You didn’t particularly mind how mundane everything is, rather, you find yourself enjoying the simplicity of it all. Living a quiet life in a beautiful seaside town with a tight-knit community is all you’ve ever wanted.

Speaking of a tight-knit community, it doesn’t take you long to notice how friendly Jaemin is with all of the locals. He has to stop talking to you every couple of minutes to say hi to a passerby. Though a little inconvenient for you, since you have to duck your head and look away every time, it's still heartwarming to see―especially since the majority of them are elderly.

The two of you arrive at the beach after about fifteen minutes, and it’s completely empty. That doesn’t surprise either of you, considering the fact that not only is it super cold outside but it’s also extremely windy. The waves are rough, ferociously splashing up against the rocks and sand. Apparently, Poseidon must be having a bad day. Maybe his kids are causing trouble or something.

Jaemin, on the other hand, is unbothered. He breathes in the smell of the saltwater, closing his eyes and taking it all in as if he were posing for a pictorial, before bending down and taking off his shoes. You watch him, unsure if you’re impressed or horrified. Eventually, you just sigh and follow suit, slipping off your sneakers and socks as well. Even though you changed out of your filming clothes, your hair and makeup are still done, and you know they’re going to be ruined after this. However, you can’t bring yourself to care at the moment.

You walk alongside him on the sandbank, your hair is blowing all over the place. The wind is so strong that you have to slightly dig your toes into the cold and damp sand to stable yourself. When you glance at Jaemin, he’s strolling like it’s a perfectly sunny and windless day.

“Isn’t it great?” he yells, voice nearly inaudible over the sound of the roaring waves.

“Maybe if you enjoy hurricanes!” you shout back.

But there is something exhilarating about being bombarded by the elements like this. It makes you feel less like a character that only exists through the screen and more like a living, breathing human―alive and free, not a doll for others to play with. You don’t have to follow a million rules and keep up with your appearance; you can run along the beach, mess your hair up, and not care about the consequences.

“Wanna go in the water?” Jaemin asks, grinning.

Your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. “Are you crazy? That water is subzero―”

“Come on! Isn’t that what they do in Hollywood movies?” he jokes.

“Yeah, because they’re getting paid!” you answer. “And the weather is way better! I’m not getting pneumonia for free!”

But Jaemin isn’t even listening to you anymore, already waist-deep in the water. He lets out a half-pained, half-delighted yelp when the freezing temperature of the water hits him at full-force. Blinking saltwater out of his eyes and slicking his hair back with his hand, he gestures for you to go in as well. You go to shake your head, but then he starts flapping his arms like a chicken. You can’t hear him anymore because of how loud the water is, but you know for a fact that he’s making bawk bawk noises.

Like most people (or so you’d like to think), the irrational anger of being possibly labeled as a chicken always manages to rile you up, and you’re also wading in before you know it. Jaemin doesn’t have time to even speak as you swing your arm and splash him in the face with water. It hits him with a loud smack, and he looks like a drowned rat. His hair is stuck flat against his forehead, and his white shirt is completely see-through. Normally, you’d avert your eyes and pretend like you weren’t checking him out, but you’re too busy grinning like a maniac and reveling in your revenge to even notice.

“That’s unfair!” he complains, not bothering to move his hair so it gives the illusion of a really bad bowl haircut. “You caught me off guard!”

“Don’t be a sore loser,” you tease.

“Who said I lost?” He rolls his shoulder, gearing up his arm to splash you just as hard. You turn around to run, but neither of you get a chance to react before a massive wave knocks Jaemin on his ass.

You double over, laughing so hard that your stomach starts to cramp, and nearly fall backwards into the water yourself. He doesn’t say anything, just brushing his hair out of his eyes. You’re expecting him to splash you back, or at least complain about how hard the water hit him―but he doesn’t.

Instead, Jaemin is just sitting there, with his hands propping him up as he looks at you. You’ve grown accustomed to that dazed look, but this one isn’t a typical look. This one is more…more like the first time he saw you. That one felt different. He stared at you as if he couldn’t believe you were real, much less standing in front of him. As if time completely froze, like the two of you were stuck in a vacuum of space. As if you were the only thing that existed in his world. As if he were completely and utterly awestruck.

Just like he’s doing right now.

He looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time again, paying no attention to the rough waters or howling wind.

It’s only when the ocean forces him to pay attention, slamming him with another wave so hard that he nearly folds over like a lawn chair and goes face-first into the water, that he finally reacts.

“That one was really unfair,” he chuckles, speaking so quietly that you have to lean down to hear him.

“Get up before you accidentally drown,” you smile, giving him a hand.

Jaemin takes your hand and lets you pull him to his feet without any protest. His hand is cool to the touch, and it sends shivers along your spine, though there are various factors as to why that happened. You go to retract your hand, but yet another wave hits, threatening his balance again. Instead of letting him go, you grip his hand tighter and your other hand clutches his arm to keep him upright.

The wave pushes him closer towards you, bringing his chest directly against yours. Your wet clothes stick together as he cranes his neck down to look at you. Droplets from his hair drip onto your cheek, but you’re too focused on a small bead of water that’s threatening to fall from his bottom lip. Jaemin seems distracted too, as his eyes follow a droplet that’s slowly rolling down your clavicle. His breath slightly hitches, and you feel the sharp rise in his chest.

A small golden ray of sunlight suddenly peeks through the gray clouds, shining in your eyes and forcing you to turn your head. Once you tear your eyes from him, Jaemin immediately takes a step back and clears his throat.

“We should go,” he says, voice slightly hoarse. “I think it’s going to rain soon.”

“Yes,” you agree, “we should.”

The two of you make your way out of the water in silence, just as the sun starts to shine through the dissipating clouds.

On the walk back, Jaemin speaks to you like nothing happened, waving at locals and telling you more about the town. You respond like you normally would as well, nodding along and asking questions about things you find interesting. However, no amount of pretending can get rid of this newly-acquired tension between the two of you. The pressure of knowing that there’s been a definite shift in the way you see each other.

When you arrive back at the bookstore, Jaemin wraps up the Sailor Moon manga for you and offers you a towel and change of clothes. To your surprise, he actually has a loft right above the store, which is where he lives. You suppose that would explain why he had been coming from upstairs when you first met him. However, you decline anyways, since you’re pretty sure putting on his clothes would make things stranger than they already are. Besides, your trailer isn’t far, so you promptly wave bye to him and leave. As you’re walking away, a part of you wants to turn around and see if he’s looking at you―and what kind of expression he has on his face.

You don’t have much time to dwell on it because Somin is waiting for you once you get back to the trailer. She nearly bursts a blood vessel when she sees you standing in front of her, dripping puddles on the ground with your hair and makeup in complete shambles.

“I―” she starts, voice cracking. You can’t tell if she wants to cry or run you over with a car. Probably both. You watch her inhale deeply, doing some sort of meditation before she calmly says, “I will not ask because that will not be good for my mental health. Just…just sit still in this chair while I go get the hairstylist and makeup artist.”

By the time you’re completely fixed up, the hairstylist, the makeup artist, and Somin all look like they’ve aged ten years. You feel bad for giving them more work, but you don’t regret anything. Fortunately, the rest of filming goes well, and you wrap up the day without any more hitches. Somin sticks to her word even when you return to the bed and breakfast, refusing to ask about what happened, probably because she would go under cardiac arrest.

Once you’re alone in your room, having gotten ready to bed, you curl up under your covers and flip through your new volumes on Sailor Moon. As you’re reading, it occurs to you that Jaemin is kind of a magical girl himself. He suits the sparkly and cheerful tone of the genre to a tee, and you find yourself smiling at the thought of him in one of those frilly outfits. Perhaps that is why you gravitate towards him so much.

You glance over at the torn-up third volume before reaching for it, thumbing through the faded and distorted pages, before looking back at the shiny new volumes. The metaphor is all too apparent, and it’s both hilarious and sad.

Placing all the manga back on your nightstand, you turn your lamp off and go to bed. You don’t even notice that you aren’t playing any shows from your phone for white noise. Maybe it’s exhaustion from the beach or the wide range of emotions you experienced today, but you close your eyes, and for the first time in a very, very long time, your mind is clear.

And you sleep.

📼 SIDE B: I’D KISS YOU AS THE LIGHTS WENT OUT, SWAYING AS THE ROOM BURNED DOWN

The next couple of weeks pass by in a blur as filming starts to ramp up, and you grow much busier. Your lunch breaks are much shorter now, in an attempt to remedy the tight schedules, so you rarely ever get to see Jaemin anymore. You run into him occasionally when you’re returning from a long shoot, and he always has some sort of snack to give you. He asks you for more manga recommendations, but you don’t tell him because you know he’s going to buy them for you. While the two of you have grown pretty friendly with each other, that unspoken tension is always lingering. The only reason why it hasn’t grown suffocating is because you aren’t around him long enough for it to build.

And a part of you wishes you were

Every time you come home, you glance around in hopes of getting a glimpse of Jaemin. You get giddy like a schoolgirl when you hear him call your name. No matter how long you talk, it never feels long enough. You’ve grown sick of seeing his back as he walks away.

You just had to go and get yourself attached.

Getting attached always ends in disaster, and you knew it was only a matter of time.

You’re in your room, engrossed in a poetry book that Jaemin recommended, when you suddenly hear someone pounding on your door. Scrambling out of bed, you hurriedly answer it and come face-to-face with a furious Somin.

Before you can even speak, she shoves her phone in your face. “Is this why you came back to the trailer soaking wet a few weeks ago?”

You blink, taking a moment to register what you’re looking at. It’s a breaking news article, with its capitalized, bold-lettered title reading:

THE STARLET’S SEASIDE ROMANCE?

The article is plastered with photos of you and Jaemin at the beach, capturing candids of the two of you walking on the sand together, you splashing water at him, and even the moment when you helped him up. In the only bright side to the situation, whoever took the photos had the decency to blur out Jaemin’s face.

Against your better judgment, you skim the opening lines of the article, which say, We all know Y/N is off filming her new Netflix show, which is about a seaside romance, but who knew that she would actually be having one in real life? Only a little bit after her dating rumors with Jeong Jaehyun, she is now being tied to a mystery man…

“It’s that bookstore employee, right?” Somin demands.

You feel sick to your stomach. You don’t care about the dating rumors, since you’re embroiled in one every day, but you’re so worried about Jaemin. Not only is he going to be blindsided by your celebrity status, but he’s now slapped on the front page of every tabloid ever.

Oh God. Has he seen it yet?

A loud clap of thunder, followed by the sound of a downpour of rain, jolts you to your senses.

“I have to go,” you breathe.

“What?” Somin furrows her brows. “Y/N, answer my question first―”

“I have to go see him,” you repeat, pushing past her.

“Y/N, wait!” She grabs your wrist, and when you whirl around to face her, she hesitates.

“Please,” you beg, “I have to go.”

Somin doesn’t respond, her hand simply falling from your wrist and limply back to her side, as she watches you bolt out into the storm.

Even though Jaemin’s store is right across from the bed and breakfast, you’re still somehow drenched by the time you arrive. Luckily, the lights are still on, but there’s a closed sign hanging on the front door. You pay no mind to it, loudly banging on the door. You’re pretty sure you’re about to break the glass when you finally see Jaemin coming downstairs and walking towards you.

When he opens the door, you can tell by the conflicted expression on his face that he’s already seen the article. However, as of now, he looks more concerned than betrayed as he takes in the state you’re in. Your thin cotton pajama set clings to your body as you shiver in the rain, but you don’t even feel cold.

“Jaemin, I―”

“Hurry up and come in,” he interrupts, ushering you inside. You drip water all over the wood floor and up the stairs as you follow him into his loft.

His loft is basically just an extension of his store, walls lined with shelves and shelves of books, except equipped with a bathroom, kitchen, and bed. You stand there awkwardly as he digs through his clothing drawer and pulls out a soft-looking sweater with fleece sweatpants.

“Go change first,” he says, handing you the clothes and pointing to his bathroom.

“But―”

He gives you a look like he doesn’t feel like arguing, so you obediently go into the bathroom and change. Your pajamas make a gross, wet slap noise as you peel them off your body and toss them on the floor. You dry off with a towel before you slip on his clothes. They’re incredibly warm and big, with his sweater reaching your thighs and sweatpants pooling at your feet. His natural scent, mixed with the smell of books, engulfs you and instantly calms you down. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you try to build up enough courage to leave the bathroom and face him.

No matter how much you don’t want to, you do eventually step out, albeit meekly tip-toeing. Jaemin is sitting on the couch, drinking something from a mug. He smiles when notices you emerging before doing a double take once he sees you in his clothes.

“Do you like hot chocolate?” he asks, voice cracking.

You nod, and he holds up the mug that’s sitting on the coffee table. You see steam rising from it, so he must’ve just finished making it.

“Come sit and have some then. It’ll warm you up,” he urges, looking a little warm himself.

“I think I need vodka,” you mutter, but you walk over and take a seat beside him. Before he can say anything, you reach over and start to sip the hot chocolate. It scalds your tongue, but at least it buys you some time before you have to talk.

Jaemin patiently waits for you to finish, staring down at his own cup as he idly swirls the hot chocolate with a spoon. It’s so quiet that you can hear every clink of the spoon against the glass.

Finally, you decide to just bite the bullet. “So, you saw the article.”

He pauses, perhaps taken aback by your bluntness. “Yes. Jeno called me about it, and he explained everything.”

You chew on your bottom lip, guilt racking your entire body. You wish he would just get angry. Yell at you for lying, for betraying his trust, for making a fool out of him, for dragging him into this mess. It feels so much worse when he reacts like this.

“I’m sorry,” you say, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. “I should have told you. I just―you were the only one who didn’t know who I was, and I wanted you to treat me like a normal―”

“Y/N, stop,” Jaemin says softly. “I’m not upset at you.”

“You’re…not?”

“Of course not. You’re an A-list celebrity, so obviously you weren’t going to tell some random stranger who you were,” he dismisses. “I would’ve done the same thing if I were you.”

“Oh,” you breathe, feeling a little light-headed from how relieved you are. “Then, why do you seem upset?”

“It’s my fault,” he whispers harshly. “If I hadn’t pressured you into going to the beach, those pictures never would’ve been taken. God, I’m so dumb. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you―”

Now, it’s your turn to stop him. “Jaemin, if I do anything, I get photographed. I could sneeze a little too hard, and those photos would be up on some gossip site the next day. It’s not your fault. It would’ve happened one way or another.”

“Still, I should’ve been more careful,” he insists. There’s a crease between his brows and his lips are turned downwards, almost like a pout, and you feel a little guilty for thinking he looks quite cute when he’s frustrated. Especially since he’s so upset at something that isn’t his fault in the slightest.

“It doesn’t matter how careful you are,” you shake your head, “Paparazzi always find a way.”

“Wow, that sounds extremely annoying,” he says, amazed at how casual you are about it.

You let out a bitter laugh, not even answering.

“You must really love acting, huh?” he asks, leaning back. “I think I’d have to really love something to endure all those hardships that come with it.”

It takes you a long time to answer.

Has anyone ever asked you that? Have you ever asked yourself that?

“I,” you begin slowly, “I…did.”

The past tense doesn’t go unnoticed by Jaemin, and he waits for you to continue.

“I did, at first,” you explain, “It was fun. I could be anybody I wanted. It was freeing, and I felt powerful. Now that I think about it, those first few years were the best times of my life. I pulled countless all-nighters to practice lines, went to every audition they’d let me in, and got rejected from almost all of them. But I didn’t mind. I was determined to be an actor, and when I finally got my first gig, I cried so much that I couldn’t open my eyes for a week because they were so swollen―which got me nearly fired too.”

Jaemin smiles at that.

“I poured my blood, sweat, and tears into acting. I clawed my way to the top, and now that I’m finally here,” you pause, “I think I lost myself in the process. It’s not even about the acting anymore. My life has been consumed by everything else. I’m terrified of what insane headline I’ll wake up to next, how the media will make fun of me today. I can’t sleep because of it, and I hate myself for it. I hate that I let it get into my head, that I let it bother me―”

You abruptly stop when you realize you’re getting a bit too emotional. You seem to have taken Jaemin’s silence as encouragement to continue, even though he never verbally indicated it. Embarrassed, you avoid eye contact before saying, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to just dump all of that on you.”

“Don’t ever apologize,” Jaemin says firmly and immediately. “Y/N, you are not an entity that only exists through a screen. You’re a human that feels things, and no one, not even you, is allowed to shame you for it. Those tabloids might forget, but you shouldn’t ever forget. You’re a person before an actor.”

His words reverberate through you like the thunder outside.

How long have you been waiting for someone to tell you that? How long have you been waiting for someone to look at you, not through a lens but with their own eyes?

When you look at him, he’s looking back. His face is illuminated by the warm glow of the ceiling light, and his steady brown eyes are gazing into yours. He doesn’t need to say it, and you know. He sees you, not as Y/N the actor. Just Y/N.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“No need to thank me. Consider me your human trash can,” he announces proudly, “Dump all of the trash you’ve been carrying.”

That makes you laugh. “You always seem to know what to say.”

Na Jaemin always knows what to say to make you feel something.

“No,” he chuckles, “I just…I understand.”

“You do?” you ask, feeling the weight behind his words.

“Yeah,” he trails off slightly, “I do.”

You scoot closer to him, taking another sip of your hot chocolate. “I’ll be your trash can too.”

“Never in my life did I think that A-list celebrity Y/N would be sitting here in my loft, telling me she’ll be my trash can,” Jaemin teases before growing quiet again. You’ve never seen him look so vulnerable and small.

“Mine’s not as interesting as yours,” he warns.

“I doubt that,” you reassure him.

“I, uh,” he clears his throat, “I used to work on Wall Street.”

You blink in surprise. The only thing you know about Wall Street is the movie Wolf of Wall Street, starring Leonardo DiCaprio, which is about a corrupt stockbroker and his various crimes. Naturally, Jaemin’s gentle personality doesn’t exactly fit the image.

“Paid pretty well, as you would imagine,” he continues, “And I was good at my job too, if I do say so myself. I had everything that I could’ve dreamed of before I had even turned 30. I partied all the time, had a nice car, designer clothes, an expensive apartment, and an amazing group of friends. But it was soul-draining to sit at a desk every day and take people’s money using any means necessary in order to line my own pockets. I felt like a shell of a person. The guilt kept me up at night, so I took sleeping pills until they started doing more harm than good.”

You too.

“Eventually, I just needed to get out, so I sold all my things and hopped on the earliest flight out of New York. I wandered all over the globe for a while before I eventually stumbled here. This place was just so different from the city life I was accustomed to. There were no cars honking 24/7, sirens constantly going off, people yelling profanities at each other in the street, and most importantly, no soul-sucking corporate offices. The people here didn’t ask any questions and took me in without a second thought. They treated me like I was their son, and they saved me from my own thoughts,” he says, and you can see how much he truly loves this place and the people. “A lot of people said I was running away, but I didn’t care. This is my home now.”

“You’re not running away,” you affirm, “you’re brave, Jaemin. It takes a lot of courage to walk away from your whole life, everything you’ve ever known, in order to start anew.”

You can whine and moan about all of your problems as much as you want, but at the end of the day, you’re still choosing to be an actor. If you really wanted to, you could be like Jaemin and completely step away from the limelight. However, you don’t because acting is all you’ve ever known. You wouldn’t have anywhere to go, just like Jaemin didn’t, but he left anyway. And for that, he is braver than you’ll ever be.

“I’m not. It’s only because of everyone here,” he shakes his head. His eyes soften as he gazes tenderly at you. He looks at you so lovingly that you almost believe he loves you. “I hope you’ll be able to find someone like that too, Y/N.”

As if on cue, there’s another loud boom of thunder before all of the lights in his loft flicker off.

A power outage, you think, but it doesn’t linger on your mind for too long.

You’re not sure who leans in first, but drawn to each other like north and south magnets, the two of you close the gap between you and press your lips together. The kiss tastes like a mixture of rainwater and hot chocolate. Jaemin starts off slowly, languidly, like he’s trying to suck all of the air out of you. However, as the rain pours harder, he grows a bit more feverish, pulling you onto his lap. The livewire tension that had been building up between you two all this time has finally ignited, and he deepens the kiss. He bites down on your bottom lip before trailing kisses down your neck and down your clavicle. Your arms are wound tightly around his neck, and Jaemin’s hands go under your sweater to rest on your waist. Everywhere he touches feels like his fingerprints are being burned into your bare skin.

The only rational sliver of your mind left is screaming for you to stop. This is exactly what Somin was warning you about. Getting attached is only a recipe for hurt. You’ve already gone and spilled your life story to him, which is probably the worst thing you could’ve done. It’s one thing to have a physical attachment; it’s a whole other to have an emotional one.

And now you have both.

Not to mention the fact that pictures of you and Jaemin have already been leaked. You’re also leaving at the end of the month, so is there a way you can realistically maintain a relationship with Jaemin when the two of you live such drastically different lives?

Jaemin’s hands start to move up, along with your sweater, and you suddenly can’t think straight anymore. You cup his face with your hands, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, as he gazes up at you in a trance. You try your best to remember this―the feeling of his body against yours, the way he’s looking at you.

Fuck it, you think.

You don’t want to think about the consequences anymore.

You want to be selfish.

So, you close your eyes―

and let yourself take refuge in Na Jaemin’s arms.

When you wake up, you’re lying on Jaemin’s bare chest. His arm is wrapped around your shoulder, and his hand is cradling the back of your head. You lay there for another moment, listening to his breathing and feeling the rise and fall of his chest, before you realize you’re hot.

This man is like a personal furnace.

You’re not sure how you managed to cocoon yourself in the covers, completely hogging all of it from Jaemin (not that he needed them), but you’re promptly trying to free yourself so you don’t die of a heat stroke. Once you’re finally sitting up properly, you glance back over at Jaemin. Amazingly enough, he continues to sleep soundly even through your struggle. He seems so peaceful like this, laying on his back with his arms draped across his chest (probably because he thinks he’s still holding you). His hair is tousled, sticking up in random tufts, and you can’t help but notice how much more innocent he looks when he’s asleep.

He really is beautiful.

Unconsciously, you reach out and brush your fingers through his unruly bangs, which makes him stir slightly. You quickly retract your hand, not wanting to disturb him. Looking around, you pick up his sweater from off the floor before slipping it on. You aimlessly wander around his loft, running your hand against the shelves of books that line his walls.

Finally, you stop when you come across a shelf that isn’t full of books but picture frames. The photos basically serve as a timeline of his life here. Most of them are with the elderly locals; there’s one where he’s in fisherman gear and helping someone pull a net filled with fish, followed directly by another where he’s holding a fish that’s floundering and he’s in the middle of getting slapped by its tail. One where he has his arms wrapped around two aunties in front of what looks like a grand opening of his bookstore, and he’s putting peace signs behind their heads and making them look like ears. One where he’s cuddling with three cats while pushing someone (you’re assuming it’s Jeno) out of the frame.

There’s so many more, and of course, Jaemin looks exactly the same in all of them, but it’s the light in his eyes that’s inconsistent. In some of them, his face is a bit haggard, and he’s smiling, but it never reaches his eyes. In others, he seems like a completely different person because of how truly happy he is.

Ah, you think, what a harsh slap from reality.

As you look through his life in pictures, it becomes glaringly apparent that there is no place for you on this shelf.

He’s finally found happiness, and you and your fucked-up life weren’t going to be the one to shatter it.

You march towards the bathroom, where Jaemin has washed your pajamas and hung them to dry. They’re still a little damp, but you don’t care as you rip off his sweater and put on your own clothes. He washed them with his detergent, so you’re still enveloped in his scent. His touch lingers on your body as if his hands are still all over you, and you need to leave right now―

“Y/N?” There’s a knock on the bathroom door.

You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut as you steel your resolve for the inevitable confrontation. Why did he have to wake up now?

When you open the door, Jaemin is already up and dressed. He’s in a loose, wrinkled t-shirt and the sweatpants that you had been wearing last night. A section of his midriff is showing because he’s scratching his stomach as he groggily peers down at you. Even though he’s still half-asleep, his eyes light up when he sees you before quickly growing confused.

“I don’t think those are dry yet,” he points out, gesturing at your pajamas.

“I have to go,” you cut him off, brushing past him and making a beeline for the stairs.

“Wha―wait!” Jaemin calls after you, grabbing your wrist. “What’s going on? At least have breakfast first.”

You slap his hand away, recoiling from him. “Don’t touch me.”

Jaemin’s face completely crumples as he stares at you in stunned hurt. He takes a small step away from you, like he can’t bear to be close to you right now even though he wants nothing more.

“Can I at least ask why?” His voice trembles.

“You still don’t get it,” you hiss, “The more involved we get with each other, the crazier the media will get. You won’t ever be able to live like a normal person again. Everywhere you go, there’ll be photographers following―”

“I wouldn’t have kissed you last night if I didn’t know what I was signing up for,” he states.

“I won’t let you turn your life into a living hell, Jaemin,” you shake your head, but somehow, you’re the one begging him. “Not when you’ve finally found a life, a family here.”

“It’s not your decision to make,” he says roughly. A muscle in his jaw spasms. “Not when I’ve finally found you.”

You sigh. “You’re just confused because we slept―”

“Don’t,” he immediately interrupts. Even though his tone is angry, Jaemin looks at you like you just slapped him in the face. “You can make all the excuses you want, but don’t tell me how I feel about you.”

You can only stare at him, unable to bring yourself to say anything.

“I like you, Y/N, and I’m asking if you like me too. Forget about everything else, and tell me what you want,” Jaemin pleads.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say quietly. “It won’t change anything.”

“I can handle it,” he insists, reaching out to cradle your cheek. “I can handle anything that the media throws at me, as long as you still want me.”

Perhaps he could. If you really wanted to, the two of you could make it work. After all, plenty of famous people maintain relationships with non-celebrities. It would be hard, and his life would be upturned, but at least you would have each other. You would be happy, the happiest you’ve ever been in a long, long time, with him. Yes, perhaps you could have a spot on his shelf, but not without knocking off a few photos.

But Na Jaemin is a much braver person than you are, and you’re not willing to put him through that, no matter how bright the light is at the end of the tunnel.

“I can’t,” you whisper, voice breaking, stepping back yet again so he can’t touch you. You’re certain your resistance will instantly dissipate the moment he lays a finger on you.

The moment you reject him for a second time, you see that you’ve successfully driven the final dagger into his heart. Just as quickly as it swelled for you, it is destroyed.

He makes no move to stop you as you walk past him, though his traitorous eyes still follow you like a moth drawn to a flame. Despite the fact that you don’t turn around, you feel his gaze against your back even when you enter the bed and breakfast and close the door behind you.

Somin is waiting in your room and surprisingly doesn’t throw a fit once she sees you. She’s actually quite calm as she says, “Tell me what you want me to say about the photos, and I’ll say it.”

“Deny it,” you say instantly, barely even looking at her as you head straight into your bathroom.

She blinks, clearly not expecting your answer, before getting up and following you. “What?”

“Deny it.” You turn on your shower to the hottest temperature it’ll go before you start taking your pajamas off.

“But…you really like him, don’t you?” She’s searching your expression, trying to find some indication of what exactly changed in the last twelve hours.

“Does it matter?” you snap. “I’m going damage control. Isn’t that exactly what you want?”

You rarely ever raise your voice at Somin, and she can only gawk at you with her mouth wide open. But you don’t really care anymore, stepping into the shower and letting the hot water douse you. You hear Somin’s footsteps leave the bathroom and the door click shut, and now you’re finally alone.

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you wait for the water to scald Jaemin’s fingerprints off of your skin.

Somin does as you say, releasing a statement denying everything, and you don’t see Jaemin again after that.

A part of you still hopes to at least get a glimpse of him through the window of his bookstore when you’re coming home, but the lights are always off by the time you return. You have managed to completely erase him from your life. It’s exactly what was supposed to happen, yet why do you feel like complete shit?

The remainder of the month melds together, and you go through the rest of the filming on auto-pilot. Jaehyun does his best to cheer you up, but everything he says just goes in one ear and out of the other. You no longer have a grasp on the passage of time, and before you know it, the end of the month has arrived, filming has wrapped, and it’s time to leave.

On the crew’s last day, the town throws another huge party for everyone, much like they did when you first showed up. You finally are able to take a picture with the mayor, and he gives you the honorable keys to the city. Not wanting to be a killjoy the entire night, you force yourself to smile through all of it. You wear your smile as a mask, plastered on for so long that your facial muscles are spasming from exhaustion due to the amount of time you’ve kept it up.

When the party is over, you wave goodbye to all the locals and climb into your car, expecting to head to the ferry dock. However, the driver’s route is a bit too familiar, and it finally hits you that you’re being driven to Oasis Books. You’re stopped right in front of it, and Somin shoves your three volumes of Sailor Moon manga in your arms and then you out of the car.

“I’m tired of you moping around like some human blob of depression,” she snaps, “The least you could do is give yourself and him some closure by saying goodbye.”

Before you can even respond, she slams the car door shut and you hear it lock.

You stand there for a moment, unable to process what exactly just happened. Slowly, you turn around and take in the sight of the building that you didn’t know you missed so much. The lights are finally on, and that warm ambiance still has a magnetic hold on you. You don’t know whether your hands are trembling from the cold or your nerves as you reach out and pull the door open, hearing the jingling of the bells attached.

The store is empty, Jaemin nowhere in sight.

You let out the breath you’ve been holding―

only to inhale it again when you hear footsteps from upstairs, and a face that you’ve longed to see emerges from a doorway on the opposite side of the room.

“Sorry, it’s been slow today so I―”

Jaemin stops dead in his tracks when he sees you.

He looks a lot worse than the last time you saw him. There are dark circles underneath his eyes, and his cheeks are sunken in. His hair is flat and unkempt against his forehead, falling into his eyes. His clothes are wrinkled and bunched together, like he just rolled out of bed.

He looks like he did in some of his old photos.

His eyes look just as hurt as they did when you first left him. Rather, they seem even more pained by your reappearance.

“Hi,” you say meekly.

“Hello,” he answers, and you can hear he’s choking back emotion.

“I leave tonight,” you blurt out.

He swallows. “I know.”

“I, um, wanted to drop by and say bye,” you fumble with the manga in your arms, “and return these.”

To be honest, you had no intention of giving the manga back until this moment. They were your only memory of Jaemin, but now that you’re in front of him, it seems wrong to take pieces of him with you after you broke his heart so brutally.

“They deserve loving homes, and they’ll be taken care of more here than they ever would be if they were with me,” you continue, setting the books down on the front counter.

“Why are you doing this to me?” he demands.

You’ve never seen him more upset, not even back then. “I―”

“You said you wouldn’t let me turn my life into a living hell, so what are you doing right now?” He frustratingly cards a hand through his hair. “If you were going to leave, then you shouldn’t have come back right when I had decided I was going to forget you. What sense does it make to keep reopening my wounds like this? To keep reminding me that you exist as if every little thing I come across doesn’t already? Why do you have to be so cruel to the very end?”

A tear falls from his eye, and you feel it like a punch to the gut.

“I’m sorry,” is all you can say. You dig your nails into your palm to keep yourself from breaking down. You tell yourself to remember this feeling. Remember what you did to Na Jaemin, and carry it with you for the rest of your life.

“What do you want from me?” he asks. “Do you want me to beg? Beg you to stay? Is that why you’re here? To see just how much I’m wrapped around your finger?”

You shake your head, unable to speak in fear of letting out a sob. If he were to beg now, you would stay without a second thought. You would stay and ruin his life more than you already have.

“Take the books, and leave. Please. I can’t―I can’t be in here if those are here too.” Jaemin can’t even look at you anymore.

But because you’re selfish and cruel, you walk over to him, bring yourself to your tip-toes, and give him a kiss on the cheek. Jaemin can’t fight his instincts and his hand comes up to delve into your hair, burying his nose into your neck. He holds you against him for one last time before you step back.

You stare into his eyes full of longing and brush wipe a tear from his cheek.

“Bye, Jaemin.”

Turning, you take the books and tightly clutch them to your chest before walking out of Oasis Books.

You wish that you could’ve told him your feelings. That you like him too. You like him so much that you can’t even think straight. You like him so much that you don’t mind being the villain, the human shield. You like him so much that you wish for nothing but his happiness.

But you don’t. Because it’s better this way. You’ll be cruel to the very end, and Jaemin will hate you, forget you, and move on.

You close your eyes, and let Na Jaemin go.

“Of course, Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha is about this whirlwind seaside romance between an uptight dentist from the city and a local handyman that’s able to melt her frigid heart. Have you guys ever experienced that?”

Jaehyun keeps his expression neutral, but you know all eyes are on you. After all, everyone knows that the interviewer is purposefully trying to get a reaction out of you.

You smile serenely, leaning into the microphone in front of you.

“No, I haven’t.”

That night, you make hot chocolate and curl up in bed, playing episodes of Cardcaptor Sakura from your phone.

You close your eyes, hoping to dream of Na Jaemin.

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