tyudearyous

[tyudearyous]

so wrecked whiny sub/service top san is beautiful and your mind is so incredibly real

why THANK YOU!!!!

with sannie i like to think it comes from a place of genuine adoration. he's sooo full of love for you already, when you make him feel so good so fast... he can't help it! his brain gets a little fuzzy and he doesn't even know what he's saying, just wants you to know how much he loves you and loves how you make him feel and loves that he gets to make you feel the same way. borderline nonsense, drooling into your neck, all flushed down to his chest. and those pretty eyes UGHH don't even get me started

anyways. it takes nothing to get him that bad. like, the second you're actively touching him he's pretty sure he's gonna pass out. probably even before that. you could literally just get on your knees in front of him and he'd lose it. and when you get your hands (or mouth, or anything) on him auughhh it's like a chorus of angels. "feels so good -- fuck, baby, always do so well... wish i could -- mmph -- have you like this all the time, would do anything, doesn't matter, haah, just tell me what to do, i'll do it, please, pleasepleaseplease --"

(he gets just as bad when he touches you, too. shaky but sure hands, the sweetest praises and the dirtiest words sewn together perfectly to make you fall apart for him. <3)

[tyudearyous]

❝devilish little minx❞ — j.yh.

PAIRING. perv! jeong yunho x fem!reader.

GENDER AND WARNINGS. smut. the two of them are massive perverts. hard dom(?)! yunho. switch! reader. masturbation (fem). voyeurism. wet dream. light chocking. slapping (face, clit and breast - i didn't count them, sorry). dirty talk. name calling (slut, perv, good girl, pretty, handsome, brat, etc). mentions of deep throating. manhandling. sucking fingers (?). overstimulation. p in v. fingering. handjob + blowjob. i think that's all, if i forgot something lmk.

SYNOPSIS. yunho had you on his mind since the first time he met you. once you moved into his house out of the invite your best friend and his roommate, things took a turn to the worse. until one day he caught you, or did you catch him?

RATING. R (+18) - MDNI.

WORD COUNT. ~4,8k.

NOTES. english is not my first language. last fic of the year, let's gooooo! this is part of the pirateez collab of perverted ateez (i'm sorry for the delay!), here are the other ones if you'd like to read it: kim hongjoong | park seonghwa | jeong yunho | kang yeosang | choi san | song mingi | jung wooyoung | choi jongho . this was the first fic i wrote full since the last one i posted in july, i hope it is at least half as good as the others in this collab. bye ♡.

IMPORTANT. this is a work of fiction, it has zero intent on portraying how any of the people quoted here are in real life.

CREDS. dividers by cafekitsune ♡

You were a blessing and a curse.

At first, when Yeosang brought you to their group of friends, it was like the doors to heaven had been open. It wasn’t like he didn’t believe in angels, no, he did, but he never thought he’d see one in person, until you walked through the doors of the apartment that one fatidic day that Yeosang decided to call you and ask you to join. 

The curse started when he found out you had a boyfriend, but again, nothing that was bad couldn’t get worse right? A small curse in disguise of a blessing. You had broken up, and you didn’t want to set foot in the apartment you shared with your ex, but Yeosang was quick to offer their apartment for the time being. It wasn’t like Yunho was opposed to it, on the contrary, they had a guest room that could easily be your home for the time being. The actual curse came when he started to find your clothes hanging on the apartment, your lace underwear drying in your room when you were out for University, the small moans and whimpers you’d make from time to time as you tried to open something or were frustrated with whatever. 

But the real curse was when he took his headphones after a game with his friends and heard your muffled whines and moans he was so used to. There was no way you were doing what he thought you were, right? God he prayed you weren’t, because otherwise he wouldn’t be able to keep his thoughts away from the gutter. He took a deep breath as he tried to keep all the blood on his body to move south of his waist, but god it was hard as he kept hearing your moans and whines and now your freaking curses! 

He shouldn’t do this. He shouldn’t carefully put his headset down. He shouldn’t carefully get up from the gaming chair. He shouldn’t carefully walk out of his room and open his door with the utmost care not to make a single sound as he walks towards your room. To the room where the whimpers were coming, whimpers that would hunt his dreams and were already straining his sweats. As he walked closer to your room, the sounds became clearer. All sounds. 

Your door wasn’t open, but the breach that was between your door and the door frame was considerable enough to have him poke through. Enough to see your shaky legs, to see your hips jolting in the air as your dildo went in and out of you. The way your moans grew louder, were you… pleading? He could swear he heard you beg to let you cum, to beg for release as your other hand went down to play with your clit. The cries along with the sounds and the visual — even of half your body — were enough to make Yunho palm his crotch, holding back a moan but not the small whimper that left his lips at the friction.

“That’s it… yes,” you say after the whimper, you were still shaking, but your pace had increased, you were more vocal, were you not scared of him and Yeosang would listen? Of course not, Yeosang was out for the weekend and he was playing with his friends like he usually did… So did that mean you did that every single time on the same day and time? “Please, please, please, I’m so close, I’ve been good haven’t I?”

It was like you were talking to him, and god it took all his will power not to say something in return. It was like you knew he was there. It was like you were talking to him, but you couldn’t see him, could you? His hand made friction on his sweats as he held back a moan. At the sight of your shaky body, he knew you were close, close enough to probably not notice if he peaked through, right?

God he was a pervert.

How could he think that? How could he not think that?

The second his head peaked inside your room, his hand went down his pants. Shaky hands finding his hard leaking member, and this was all thanks to your whimpers, when he saw you, he could have come in sight if he didn’t have better control of himself. His hand quickly palmed himself through the sweat pants, he could feel the wet stain on his trousers, but you were a sight he wanted to drown into. 

Your legs spread open, the dildo coming in and out of you as you were shaking in bed, your free hand on your clit as you tried your best to find release. Yunho’s hand quickly found its way inside his pants, as he bit his bottom lip keeping quiet, trying to mimic the movements he was seeing. In-Out, In-Out, faster, slower, In-Out… It was like you were doing it on purpose, edging yourself while edging him. Your moans grew louder along with your movements getting faster. Your legs closed momentarily and it took all in Yunho not to go there and spread them open, pushing your dildo out of the way and burying his fat leaking cock in your spent pussy.

As you shook uncontrollably, and quickly let out a loud cuss mixed with a moan, he knew you came, and he didn’t. He tried to finish, and the sight of you pulling out the dildo from inside you, your legs spread and you all exposed to him pushed him over the edge.

He let out a muffled moan.

When he saw you halting your movements, he quickly went to the hall, covering his own mouth as his hands moved faster along his shaft, if he closed his eyes he could see you once more, all spent and slightly fucked out in your bed. As he finally came, the wet patch grew considerably, his face growing hot as he heard movements in your room, making him rush towards his bedroom hoping you wouldn’t catch him. 

As the door closed, he rested his back against it. His hand was sticky, his heart racing, his pants a considerable problem, but his mind…his mind was stuck in the image of you in your bed. If he was fucked before, he was even more now. The mere thought of what just happened made his cock twitch on his trousers. If he closed his eyes, he could see you laid bare on your bed, your pussy all wet and prepped for his cock to be buried deep in you, making you scream your lungs out his name, feeling your skin under his finger, having his finger buried in your pussy as he made out with your clit. He could feel your hands on his hair, pulling it away as you also moved because he was giving you too much pleasure. 

He came once more.

He was definitely fucked. 

He was avoiding you like the plague.

He knew it.

You knew it.

Yeosang knew it.

If you knew he had caught you, Yunho had no idea, but he did notice that you tried to talk to him, even if he tried his best to keep a distance between you two, or someone between you two. Trying his best to never be alone with you in any way possible. But you were a damn minx.

If he’d occasionally find your underwear in between the clothes, now it was outright in front of him. You didn’t even care to keep your door closed with your clothes drying in there. So technically you wouldn’t miss an underwear or two, right? Nor notice them suddenly appearing in your laundry day basket, definitely not. You wouldn’t even suspect since Yunho would clean them to the best of his abilities after he was done jerking off on them, or even while sniffing another one he got that still had your scent. 

And of course, that wasn’t enough, you had to keep with your damn moans every single damn week. Making him change his gaming time, making him be the quietest little mouse going to get a treat of this mischievous little cat. He wasn’t in the wrong was he? You kept your door half-open, you kept your underwear scattered around, you kept your moans muffled but also loud, you kept changing positions in your room — bringing Yunho to the edge of insanity as he pictures these different positions and how his hands would explore your body —, you kept making a show, you kept begging, you kept giving him exactly what he wanted, except what he wanted the most. 

You fucked out in his bed while he made sure you couldn’t walk for days, all marked from his hands and the hickeys he’d leave over your body, even if you weren’t his, you belonged to him, he’d mark you. He’d make sure everyone knew you were his, even if once, or twice, or as many times as he’d have you in his bed or on any possible surface. 

“What’s up with you? It’s the second time you do laundry this week, you okay?” Yunho jumped slightly at your voice, trying to hide the stained pants from the night before when he saw you once more stuffing yourself with a useless dildo while he could— “Yunho? You okay?”

“Ah, ye-yeah, sorry, just a little… everywhere,” he said nervously, throwing a shirt over his laundry so you wouldn’t see the stained pants from the night before. “Also, Yeosang said he has this uni trip, are you going with him?”

“Oh, no, it’s for his own course,” you looked at Yunho confused, since Yeosang had mentioned during breakfast it was with his classmates and whatnot. “Yun, you sure you okay? You’ve been weird for quite a while now…”

Was he being that obvious? Could you see it was because of you? 

“I’m fine just… a lot in my head, sorry…” He quickly averted eye contact with you, although your eyes kept observing him intently. “I should go back to my room I have—”

“What about your laundry?” You cut him off confused, pointing to the laundry basket in his arms.

“I’ll wash it later, there’s this shirt I wanna use later on for a party, if I wash it now I’ll probably use it and I’ll not wash only that shirt, Yeosang would kill me for wasting water like that…”

You couldn’t help but chuckle and nod. “I mean, true, but… You can always wash your clothes along with mine… I don’t mind it…”

Oh he knew how you didn’t mind, but he had to play a part. He couldn’t make it obvious he was spying on you almost every damn night, waiting for a tiny moan or a vibrating sound coming from your room, no, he definitely couldn’t. Yeosang would have his head and you’d probably call the cops on him for being a pervert.

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” as if heavens had heard him, one of his friends called him, allowing him to be away from you as he started to feel his hard on growing at each second he spent beside you. “Sorry, Mingi is calling me, I have to take it, you know how he is…”

“Take the Princess Minki phone call, the last thing I want is him saying I’m keeping his best friend from him and stealing him like I stole Yeosang or whatnot.”

Both laughed as Yunho gave you a small smile and nod, picking up the call from Mingi and heading back to his bedroom, closing the door and trying to focus on what Mingi was saying and not on how much he wished he could pin you back to a wall and fucked you.

You had him. 

You had him wrapped around your freaking unreachable delicious cunt. 

Your walls were pressing around his cock as he hammered into you, his hand around your neck, the other slapping your breast as he heard your whines and pleas, he finally had you wrapped around his fingers, after so long of you having him. You cunt was squeezing his cock so much that he knew he’d have to do his best to control himself, he couldn’t cum so easily, no… He needed to see your eyes on the back of your head, your back arched, your hardened nipples to the ceiling as your breasts moved each time his cock got buried inside your cunt. 

“Yunho, argh— please, please, please let me cum, please, Yun!”

He smirked, slowing down his movements, seeing you whine loudly and move your hips, only to have you stop as his free hand dug into your hips. As his cock slowly and tortuously entered your core, he lowered himself, lips almost touching… 

And he woke up. 

Sweat all over his body and precum leaking from his cock inside his pants. 

“Fucking hell…”

It wasn’t the first time and definitely wouldn’t be the last that he would wake up from a wet dream with you in it, when he finally took you and buried himself in you, but he always woke up. All the damn time. His trousers were quickly tossed in the laundry basket, at this point he should probably sleep naked, it would definitely save him from a headache that Yeosang was gonna bring when the water bill arrives. 

He had fallen into a routine. 

He’d avoid you to the best of his abilities throughout the day.

He’d take longer showers after breakfast and dinner because you were always there with your sweet smile, concerned eyes, sassy attitude, mischievous personality… God, he wished he had never allowed Yeosang to take you in. You were the biggest temptation, acting like that in front of everyone, while begging to be fucked with a dildo or your fingers deep in your cunt every damn week, and all for Yunho’s ears to hear.

You were driving him insane. 

As he finished his shower, he quickly put on another pair of pants, hoping no wet dream would come about for the rest of the night, that is… until he heard you. Not only heard you pleading, no… You were calling him.

He was definitely going insane. You wouldn’t call his name in the middle of the name, and definitely not in between muffled moans… Was he still dreaming? Was his mind so perverted to that point? He slowly and quietly left his room heading to yours — once again — half-opened door. The closer he got the clearer the words became. You were pleading. You were moaning. You had a damn vibrator stuck in your cunt once more.

But you were moaning his name.

As he stood by your door, your fingers were deep in your cunt, the wet sound along with your moans and his name coming from your mouth quickly made a tent show up in his trousers. If you were quiet you would hear his gulping along with the increase in his heart rate. You were calling for him, while stuffing your fingers in your sweet cunt, all spread open just waiting for him. It was an invite, it was clear, or was he reading too much into it? 

“Yun, Yun please, I need your cock, please,” his cock twitched in his pants as his eyes was focused on your fingers inside your pussy, already working to spread you open. It was the chuckle that woke him up, making him look at you, finding you already looking at him with a smirk and hooded eyes, not stopping your movements, your fingers spreading you open as your eyes trailed down the tent in his pants. “Took you long enough, thought I’d have to moan louder to make you come around this time… were you playing your games with headphones? But I guess calling your name did the trick,” your other hand went down to your clit, circle movements along with your fingers making you bite your lip bucking your hips a little, looking back at Yunho. “C’mon, don’t be shy, I love to hear you at my door, Yun…”

His eyes widened, not for the fact you knew he was spying on you everytime you masturbated, but because you sounded like you… liked it. His cock twitched once more in his pants, your legs spreading wider as you saw him standing there, chuckling at his slight shocked expression. Your fingers stopped circling your clit, while your fingers inside you spread your labia open as you observed him. He was drooling and you were loving every second, finally being able to see how much he wanted you, how much he’d destroy you if he had the chance, just like you wanted, just like you planned. 

“Y-you knew?”

“Of course I knew, or do you really think I’d be that reckless and lazy to leave my underwear everywhere, or… where you’d be able to see it?” Your smirked made something in Yunho switch. You truly had him around your fingers, you played him like a freaking violin, and he was curious to see what else your devilish mind could think as he started to walk closer to you. “Also, thanks for giving back all the underwear you took, I was scared I’d need to buy a few more, at least I’d buy a few more of the ones you liked.”

A smirk appeared on his lips. 

He was willing to play your little game, if it meant he’d finally get what he wanted: you.

“So… you knew I was always at your door, and… you kept acting as if you knew nothing? Did you get it off on that?”

“As much as you did… or are we not gonna talk about the amount of pairs of pants you went through the last couple of weeks?” Your smirk widened, his eyebrows shot up. Of course you would’ve noticed. “But I meant it, I don’t mind washing your clothes along with mine… We’ve been doing that for quite a while now, have we not?”

“And you’ve been enjoying this little game, have you not?”

“Can’t say I’m not… but it’s getting tired, and my wrist needs a little break, I wouldn’t mind a helping hand, if you are offering…”

You kept looking at him as he got closer to his bed, his precum already staining part of his pants, his eyes trailing your body as you spread your legs open again, moving closer to the edge of the bed on the side he was. A small scoff came out of Yunho’s mouth as he saw your hand trailing closer to his pants playing with the string, while looking at him with fake innocence. 

“Do you have any idea how much you tortured me these last few weeks?”

“Are you saying you didn’t enjoy it nor planned on how to punish me for it?” Your hips moved a little as your knee moved to touch his hand, it was always one of your favorite features of him, that and the little vein that would pop out of his neck when you teased him too much. “Or should I beg on my knees with your cock in my mouth while I milk you dry?”

His eyes darkened as a smirk appeared on his lips, lowering himself enough to have his right hand cup your face before tightening its grip on your jaw. “The only thing milking me dry is you cunt while I bread you, my pretty little slut.”

As your teeth sank on your bottom lip, Yunho’s left hand traced down your leg from your knee to your inner thigh, making your breath hitch, a smug smile took form on his lips as he tilted his head observing your reaction as his fingers got closer to your core, the tips tracing around it, but never touching. The grip on your jaw forcing you to look at him as the pads of his fingers traced every area from your inner thighs to your lower belly, to your labia, but never where you wanted them. Your hand moved to touch his cock through his trouser, making him groan, slapping your clit, making you moan but keep massaging his cock, making the stain of the precum spread a little. 

“How about you put your fingers inside me, while you fuck my mouth? Would you like that, handsome?”

“Oh, we are resolving to flattery now… I see… and you think choking on my cock while I spread your pussy will make up for all these past weeks I wanted nothing more than to bury myself in you?” His fingers finally touched your clit, torturously circling the bundle of nerve, pitching it whenever you moved your hips trying to get more friction. “Are you gonna behave like a brat or as a good slut?”

“Says the perv that was jerking off to watch me for the past few weeks,” Yunho’s hand left your jaw slapping your face, before taking the grip once more, but before you could say anything, two fingers entered your already sensitive core, making you gasp. “Fuck— finally, oh yes!”

“Oh you look so pretty like this, my pretty little slut… but are you gonna be my good girl and listen, or be a brat and get punished?” Before you could answer, two of his fingers entered your mouth stopping you from speaking, as your tongue quickly moved around it, making Yunho smirk as his fingers curled inside you. “Free my cock, play with it a little, get an idea of what it’s gonna be inside your mouth in a bit, yes pretty?”

You nodded, choking out a moan as Yunho’s fingers curled inside you once more. Your hands quickly moved to pull his pants down, freeing his massive cock, making your eyes widen but your mouth water even more wanting him inside your mouth. Your hand quickly spread the precum, your thumb gently moving it around as you watched his reaction, smiling as you made sure to suck his fingers while clenching your walls around his other fingers, whining as he added a third one, spreading you even wider.

“Gotta fit in your pretty little pussy, hm? Or you think you can take my cock without prepping? I think you can, since how much of a good slut you are…”

He took his fingers out of your mouth, his fingers back into holding your jaw. “I can, I can take it, I want your cock Yun, please, I—,” another harsh slap as you felt his fingers leave your cunt making you jolt. “I’ll be good, sorry, I’ll be your good girl and be patient.”

His smirk widened as his fingers traced the outline of your labia just the first phalanges entering your core, making you whine and move your hips a little, giving you another pinch on your clit, making you cry out a moan. 

“Be a good girl and stop moving so much, yes?” You nodded. “Since you don’t want to use your words, better use that mouth for something better, hm?” He pushed your hand away from his cock already smeared with the precum you carefully spread, his tip touching your lips as you quickly widened your mouth to fit him inside. “Fuck, even your mouth is perfect.”

Although all you wanted was to move your free hand down to your clit, you knew Yunho would probably punish you, not that you cared, but you wanted him, you wanted him inside. The more you teased and pushed his boundaries, the more he’d keep you away from cumming on his cock. Intead, your hand moved to your breasts, pinching your nipples as your head was too busy focusing on taking Yunho’s length, your hand helping you in the process, stopping a few times as you felt his fingers curling inside of you, or changing its movements rapidly. He was torturing you like you tortured him, and you were enjoying every second of it.

Saliva is already dripping from the corners of your mouth, your throat already hurting a little from the few times Yunho deep throated you. Your pussy was already read and super sensitive from the over stimulation of his fingers and the slaps he gave you when you misbehaved. You felt Yunho’s cock twitch more and more, you knew he was close, so you pushed him to the edge, you wanted his cock inside you. Your dildos weren’t enough, your fingers weren’t enough, his fingers weren’t enough, you needed his cock. You needed his cock buried inside you as you cried his name.

“Yunho please,” you begged once more as he took his cock away from your mouth, as his hand moved along his shaft. “I need your cock, I need your cock buried inside me, I want you to fuck me so much I can’t walk, I want you now, Yunho please, I’ll do whatever you want, just—”

He cut you off quickly manhandling you, making you stay on the edge of the bed as he spread your legs open, looking at your spent cunt all prepped and ready for him. His tip went over it, entering just a little to drive you crazy, but there wasn’t much you could do as he kept your legs apart and on the edge of the bed. Your hands going to your breasts, pinching your nipples as you watched Yunho’s cock disappear inside your cunt, little by little he drove you crazy. Didn’t matter if you pleaded, if you called his name, he was gonna take you in his way, and you were gonna let him and love it. 

“Now breath for me, pretty,” he said calmly taking the half of his cock that was inside out, making you cry a moan once more, a smug grin appeared on his lips, as he shoved his cock fully inside you, making you gasp and scream, “I thought you said you could take me, and I prepped you well enough for my cock, yeah?” 

He quickly pulled all his cock out, before you could even react if was fully inside again, and he repeated that a few more times before his hand that was previous on his shaft, move to your clit making circling movements as he kept burying himself deep into you and pulling all out. Your hand moved lower, holding his forearm, nails dug into his flesh and he knew he was pushing you too much and he himself was on the edge. His hand left your clit to meet your face, cupping it and caressing softly, his thumb going over your lower lip as his movements became gentle. 

“I won’t break, you can be sweet the next time, I want you to break me,” your words made his eyes darken, as you smirked a little. “I want to see the real Yunho behind the Golden Retriever boy you show around, so fuck me senseless Yunho, please, I need it.”

“Your wish is my command, pretty.”

He didn’t move away from you.

His hand never left your face.

His other hand kept holding one of your legs open.

But his cock was hitting you on all the possible spots, making you cry and moan each time he hit the spot, at each angle it changed making you feel him differently whenever he impaled you. 

“Look at me, I want you to look at me and say my name as I feel you squeezing me with that sweet little cunt of yours, yes?” You nodded, doing exactly as Yunho said. His movements became more erratic as you were holding back from closing your eyes. Your nails digging into the flesh of his arm and back. “Cum for me pretty, be a good girl and cum all over my cock.”

“Yunho, please don’t— oh fuck!” Your high quickly found you as he kept pouncing into you searching for his own release, that it came as soon as you clenched a few more times around him while saying his name like a silent prayer. As his head lowered to find the crook of your neck, your body relaxed feeling happy with the weight of Yunho’s body on top of yours, like a warm soothing blanket. “Are you still angry at me?”

The vibration of his chest along with the breathing of his chuckle against your neck gave you goosebumps, but you chuckle softly as well, seeing Yunho lift his head to look at you. “Oh, I definitely am, but I promise I’ll be nicer the next few times… I just had this annoying brat pushing me over the edge for weeks and making me dream of her sweet cunt wrapped around my cock.”

“Oh, she seems the worst!”

“She can be, but I’m sure I can put her in her place, in more ways than one.”

general masterlist here ♡

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DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARIZE OR REPURPOSE.

[tyudearyous]

heyyyy i’m alive

thinking really hard about how mean yunho is when he can tell you’re getting flustered. it doesn’t matter the reason. maybe you’re just really horny and find every little thing he does attractive. maybe you’re just having one of those days when you just can’t quite quell your desire to just climb all over him.

whatever the reason, he notices immediately. your thighs pressed together. your thoughts clearly not on the words coming out of his mouth. your eyes focusing heavily on his lips when he talks.

and how you don’t seem to notice when he stops talking. your mind to focused on the veins that run down his neck. the soft skin of his chest partially exposed by his shirt. the way his cheeks show off their natural flush.

and he’s not offended that you just completely ignored the words he had to say. in fact, he flattered that your head is so easily distracted by just his presence in front of you.

he thinks it’s so precious when you gasp as he grabs your chin and forces you to look in his eyes, “my eyes are up here, angel.” he drags his thumb over your bottom lip, smearing a bit of your lip gloss across your cheek. smiling and chuckling at you when you sucked his thumb into your mouth, “fuck, you’re so pathetic.” shaking his head as you swirled your tongue around the tip of his finger. “i wonder what kind of filthy thoughts up in that pretty head of yours. i know you’re too dumb to think of anything else, aren’t you baby?”

and you just nod mindlessly. only really thinking about how bad you want him to grab you by the hair and fuck your throat until he cums all over your face.

but you know he’s up to something when he pulls his thumb out of your mouth and cups your cheek.

“yuyu…” you whine, praying that he’d never stop touching you.

“hmm…maybe later,” he kissed your forehead and drops his hand from your cheek. and you practically collapse into his chest. gripping at his shirt and burying your face into his neck. “you needy little thing. not an ounce of shame in you, is there? i bet you’d fucking beg on your knees for me to fuck you, wouldn’t you?”

you nod. muttering a whiny “please” into his neck.

he grabs you by the hair, yanking you back and sparing a long stare into your eyes, “ well then…beg for me baby,” and he slides his phone out of his pocket as he pushes you to your knees, “and speak loud and clear so everyone can hear you.”

[tyudearyous]

1 LOSER MINGI FOR EVERY HOUSEHOLD YESSSSSS 🙇🏻‍♂️ thankies for readingg <3

trees with withered leaves - s.mg

pairing : older mingi x younger f! reader

genre : angst

warnings : infidelity, cheating, manipulative reader, and pathetic loser mingi. reader is so morally grey so take caution.

author's note : had this idea after reading tears on a withered flower and missed writing so much, so here it is 🤍

NOT PROOF READ! and is also a quick write so kinda messy ig :'D

masterlist

...

everyone has desires and some would go through lengths to get what they desire, and so do you. the winds are blowing and down the street, opened a small but comfy coffee shop. that was where you met mingi. someone older than you, your desire. to know someone, you had to make an impression so you did what others would, become a regular in the shop for mingi to notice you.

"when is your shift ending?" you asked while he was making your order. "pardon? why would you like to know?" he appeared very confused, but all you did was smile and gazed straight at him. "i'd like for us to know each other" he was confused, his eyes were wide and his mouth gaped open. "well, that was straightforward" he tried to laugh it off before continuing to finish your order. "but sadly, i have someone already" he declared before giving you your order. did he really think you'd give up just like that?

...

somehow, you did succeed bringing him to get a meal with you. you waited for his shift to finish and played dumb when you came across him on the street.

"oh? fancy seeing you here" you approached him. he was shocked, again. "oh, hi" he smiled awkwardly. he's definitely uncomfortable but it takes time right? you're a patient person. then his phone suddenly rang blaringly. he excused himself to take the phone call but when he did, some random men came up to him. judging by their outfits, they're debt collectors.

"i paid the loan for this month already, why are you here again?" mingi asked them. they didn't care though and started pestering mingi about the debt. you stayed behind, it wasn't your place to interfere now, perhaps later but not now. soon the debt collectors left and mingi's face became sour.

"i apologize for that" he gave you a very artificial smile which you replied with another smile. "would you like to destress?" you asked him. "again miss, i have some–" "relax, we still can be friends right? think of it as friends helping one another? so, what do you say?" and with that, you successfully created the first bait for the lost cat. the lost cat took your bait happily. with a little bit of booze and coercion, he became relaxed, way more relaxed.

"how old are you, miss?" he asked, words slurred already as he's drunk. "25, you?" you continued to pour out booze for him while taking sips yourself as well. "me? i'm an old man. sigh 31 and nothing yet. don't be like me okay, missy" he laughed. "it's y/n" you told him. "i know" mingi smiled at you with the dumbest grin you ever seen on someone and yet all that just made you fall even deeper (and ultimately made you want him even more, it's bad at this point).

"ahjussi, are you married?" you jokingly asked him. "ah so i'm an ahjussi now? but yeah i am" his smile that was bright dimmed now. "then why aren't you wearing your ring?" you took his right hand and played with his fingers.

"mmm, its a long story" mingi pulled back his hands before taking another shot. "i'm willing to listen though?" he hesitated for a moment but then he began telling on the story of two young lovers who thought their love was going to last forever so thus they tied the knot but everything started to crash, fall into pieces afterwards. debts, suspicions, rage, all towards one another, causing unfillable cracks in the marriage.

"then why don't you leave?" you ask him. "well, despite all... i still... wish things would go back and you know, maybe we'll fall in love again?" the pain in his eyes hurt you. he looked so helpless and he can't even properly smile because of how pained he was. that night, you walked him back to his apartment, greeted by an empty apartment where his so called wife isn't even present. mingi didn't even look for her, he just came to his room and crashed down to sleep.

...

it became a routine, for you to wait for his shift and walk mingi home. he slowly got used to you and started to become comfortable with you. but on this particular day, he didn't immediately go in. you noticed this too. his apartment wasn't quiet, it was noisy. it wasn't the good noisy too. it was the sound of people making love. mingi froze in front of his door. for a second, he tried to run away but you stopped him.

"why're you running away?" you stood next to him. he stood there in silence listening to his beloved connecting with someone else. tears started to decorate his conflicted face. "go in, get the closure you've always wanted." you guided his hands to open the door and the pandora box was open.

the foyer was decorated with shoes and clothes and the noise became louder and clearer. mingi hesitated at first but soon strutted towards his shared room before slamming the door open. his "wife" and her fling realized mingi's presence and stopped whatever they were doing. "m-mingi? why are you home so early?" she tried to distract mingi but it was all too late. "if you wanted a break i would've gave you, you know." he told her, betrayed and angry. "who is this? is it the cousin you said you lived with?" her fling asked her while tidying himself up. "uh... um... yeah, let's just go somewhere else, okay?" she tried to escape but mingi grabbed her wrists. "hey what are you!" "so that's how you're going to play?" mingi asked her. his tears finally drop and his face screamed of betrayal. "i worked day and night to pay off the debt you made me take, and this is how you're paying me off!?" he screamed. she struggled to wiggle herself out of his hold before slapping him. "this is your fault, song mingi. did you ever love me!? do you think i'd be content with a guy who barely gives me love? i need love mingi, and you gave me none and i found it in soohyun. it's better even to be with a younger guy" she said before leaving.

you stood in front of the apartment door when you saw the two left. you stared at the two of them, blocking their exit. "who are you? just get the f*ck out" she shoo-ed you away but you grabbed her by the hair. "thank you for your service, you bitch." then you gave her a well deserved slap that made you get another slap from her fling. "soohyun, let's just go" and the two left. birds of a feather will always stick together you suppose, so do trashes then.

you then closed the door to go into the bedroom where mingi is crouched down crying and screaming. he looked so pathetic, like he had lost a fragment of his soul. this is what you wanted, but it hurts. seeing him like this hurts. you then sat next to him before brushing his hair slightly. you took him into a hug where he cried endlessly throughout the night. the wet patch on your coat didn't matter as you got what you wanted and things went as planned. it's only a matter of time until you get what you wanted now.

...

he needed time to recover and you gave him that. he didn't want to come home for weeks and decided to stay in a nearby motel since it was cheaper than a hotel. you offered him your place already but he refused. you decided to just pay his stay at the motel, that was the best you could do for him at the moment.

"y/n, i told you to not to" said mingi. "friends have each other's backs, don't they?" you send a smile on his way, while focusing on the road. "i feel like a fleabag with you" he joked. "well, i am willing to take care of that fleabag, so rest up" you continued driving while mingi stayed silent.

"just how long are you going to keep this up?" he asked you. "what this?" you asked him back. "this whole entire thing, y/n. you're wasting your time on me i swear. you don't deserve to be with a useless man like me, please stop liking me." you immediately drove off to a convenience store where you parked your car in front of the store.

"well, i can choose to do what i want to right? so i'm doing what i want to do? is it wrong? say, mingi. am i bothering you with me doing what i want?" you stared at him while he struggled to create a proper response. "i chose to like you, i chose to pursue you, it's that simple. well good thing is, i am a patient person. so i can wait for you, mingi" you continued to stare at him while he can't even look back at you. "then will you let me do what i want?" only then did his gaze met yours. he was hesitating but you gave him the warmest smile you could pull up that moment. "sigh, youngsters are hard to control" complained mingi.

there you have it. the lost cat took the bait, happily, left its' horrid owner, and accepted you as their owner, finally.

[tyudearyous]

☾ 정윤호 ☽ ㅡ LOVE DIVE ?! ૮・ﻌ・𑁬

my blog is 16+. -16 dni.

★ who : jyh x gn ! reader. ☆ what : strangers to ??, slight angst, fluff. ★ when : june fourteenth, two-thousand and twenty-two. ☆ how much : two-thousand seven-hundred and fourteen. ★ warnings : many implications of past heartbreaks, food and drink consumption

please reblog if you enjoyed. happy reading ‹3

love is complicated. love is blind. love is easy to fall into, and hard to fall out of. love is the beauty of life.

the venture of love seemed to tug every beings heart onward, in search of new towering heights and extravagant lows where they too could possibly find such gratification.

but even then, the desperate want to love - or to be loved - does not guarantee anything for an individual. having love to offer does not mean you will find someone to give it to, and the aching pain you feel after being loved no longer holds no promise you will experience being loved once more.

love is inconsistent.

the sound of dry leaves scratching against the pavement below you filled your ears, the wind howling and causing a chilling night breeze as you remain on the park bench.

winter is approaching, and now more than ever you wished to be loved. heart beating quickly as the temperature steadily lowered, you bring your hands to your biceps, your winter coat growing more and more useless as time passes.

you rub your thumbs along your jacket sleeves in hope the friction could bring you some form of solace, but to no avail. the line between wanting to be held to feel this chilling cold no longer and to feel as though you were appreciated by someone seemed to become increasingly blurred the longer you remained on the wooden bench.

you felt as goosebumps raise along your exposed skin, the joints in your fingers growing stiff as you take a deep breath in, chest rising and you hope the vacancy around you can be discarded from your mind.

rising from your place, the breeze slows its momentum - and for the first time since you left your apartment - you felt as if luck was on your side. you keep your mask above your nose in an attempt to lessen your chances of getting sick as you begin your commute back to your lonesome apartment, the walk short from the local park.

you move your hands to your coat pockets, the fabric rubbing against your skin easing the cold atmosphere you - albeit willingly - found yourself in.

the street lamps and neon signs outside the local corner stores illuminated the streets and sidewalk, faint murmurs from surrounding folk filled your ears as you walked past.

the posters along the windows of the convenience store across the street seem all too enticing to stroll away from. looking down each side of the road in front of you, you make your way across the street to the convenience store.

the metal bar handle along the door was cold - as if you had expected it to be anything else - and lowering your sleeve to protect your hand, you pull it open.

the air in the store wasn’t much warmer than outside, but the difference seemed immense to your frigid body. the clerk greets you, his bright smile unfortunately going unreciprocated as you offer him a pained one.

his doesn’t falter, and in the back of your mind you boil it down to him taking his job rather seriously - such devotion to even a closing shift at a corner store is hard to find.

their refrigerated section is where you stop, a variety of sandwiches - both lunch and breakfast - available to you. fruit and different cold drinks lining the shelf before you inevitably pass up the opportunity; weather much too unforgiving to allow yourself such cold delicacies.

the warmest foods you could find were several cups of microwavable ramen and breakfast sandwiches that required heating, both of which you’d have to wait till you were back at your apartment to consume - you found yourself growing more and more inpatient as time passed in the store.

“y'know, i could heat something up for you in the back if you’d like,” you hear a voice say, ridding your mind of your mental debate as you look in the direction the voice came from - your eyes meeting with the clerk’s once again.

he seems to notice your hesitance to answer, filling the store with his voice once more: “i’m actually about to close up shop, i could heat it then you could eat in here to warm up a bit if you’d like.

"i won’t charge you extra to heat it up, if you’re worried about that,” he adds on, that same smile he had when you first walked in returning to his face.

nodding, you grab a cup of ramen and a sandwich, making your way towards the counter and he begins to ring up your items before you even could set them down.

you pay, your eyes glancing at his nametag as he counts your change; yunho. he grabs both items and juts his chin to behind you. “you can take a seat over there, i’ll bring them out once they’re warm,” and with that, he disappears into the back.

you walk where he had directed you to, taking a seat in the chair and leaning your clothed forearms against the tables surface after fishing your phone from your back pocket.

11:24 PM your phone screen read, a heavy sigh leaving your lips as you try to occupy yourself for the next few minutes. you come to realize you hadn’t thanked the clerk for his kindness yet - wishing you had done so at the counter - and guilt fills your being.

the soft music that played throughout the store cuts off, catching your attention as you look up, only for a moment to pass before a new station seemed to start playing.

alongside the much more upbeat music, you hear a microwave humming from the back room, as well as footsteps. “sorry for the music change,” yunho says, peering over the aisles to find you looking at him. “i usually plug my phone in when i clean before closing,” he finishes, walking towards the front door and turning the sign, as well as disabling the neon sign that hung in the window next to the very posters that drew you here.

“no worries,” you say, those being the first words you had spoken in a few hours - as well as the first you had spoken to him. “thank you for letting me eat here.”

“of course, wouldn’t wanna leave you cold and hungry this late at night,” he replies, making his way towards the back once more, soon returning with a broom and dustpan.

you couldn’t help but watch as he swept the floors, your eyes never losing sight of where he was from how his head rarely fell below the tops of the shelfs littered throughout the store.

he wipes down the countertops, the fridges where drinks are stored, the coffee and tea machines before he makes it to the last aisle, the same one that the table you sat at was closest to.

he swept quickly and efficiently, and just then you realized why they probably book him for the same shift that has to clean the store. his swiftness doesn’t deplete when he nears you, but you’re still shocked when he mutters a small “sorry” as he passes you by, another smile directed towards you.

he must have had to have many energy drinks in his system to be this peppy at almost midnight; or perhaps, his natural attitude was just that vitamin-like.

you watch as he tossed out the debris he had collected, making the same commute to the back just in time for the microwave to beep. despite the distance between you and the backroom doorway, you could smell the faint scent of soup and the sandwich you had bought - your suspicions of what the scent was only confirmed as you watch yunho emerge once again, your food items in hand.

“careful, they just came out,” he says, setting them on the tabletop along with utensils and napkins.

“thank you,” you say, lowering your mask before you rip the rest of the paper top from the ramen cup, separating the ramen with the utensils he provided you with.

“if you need anything else, just yell, okay? i’ll be able to hear you over the music, don’t worry” and off he went again, finishing up his closing shift duties as you ate in peace, finding his taste in music rather soothing in the friendly atmosphere that he had created effortlessly.

you watched out the window you sat next to, the people who accompanied you on the streets before seemed to have vanished in the short time you occupied the convenience store.

yunho’s faint humming as he tinkered around the store did not go unheard, shifting from wall-to-wall and corner-to-corner in search of anything more he could possibly clean - and to no avail.

“if you want me to leave so you can go home you can just tell me,” you offer, his head perking up over the shelves to look in your direction. “you’ve already done a lot to help me, it’s the least i could do, really.” you finish, preparing to grab your half-empty ramen cup and sandwich rapper before he speaks up.

“that’s not necessary,” he begins. “might grab something myself to eat, actually.” with that, he waltzes to the refrigerated section you had gone to prior, picking out a cold sandwich.

you watch as he walks to the counter next, paying for his meal before heading towards you. “may i?” he asks, his head tilting to the side in the direction of the chair opposite you - you nod.

he seemed relieved - this probably being the first time he was able to sit in the last few hours - as he begins unwrapping his sandwich. he eats in silence, not trying to force a conversation to happen that wasn’t natural, and a part of you greatly appreciated that - whether intentional on his end or not.

“thank you again for letting me stay behind,” you say, earning a light chuckle as he looks out the window that accompanied you before turning his gaze back to you.

“it’s really no hassle,” he explains. “besides, it was nice having some company while i closed up, even if we were both preoccupied.”

his smile grew wider, and before you had time to realize, you were finally offering him one in return. the ache that once filled your chest was now replaced with a pleasant warmth - but nevertheless, the longing remained, but perhaps for a different reason than prior.

“i’m yunho, by the way,” he says after a few beats of silence.

“i read your nametag earlier,” you laugh, watching as he looks down, seemingly as if he forgot he even wore a nametag and turns to the side - you note how his ears turn red under his tussled dark hair. “i’m y/n.”

“well, y/n,” be begins once again, rising from his place. “i think it’s about time we both head out, it’s pretty late.”

you nod, grabbing your trash and tossing it into a nearby bin as he does the same. “did you walk here?” he inquires, as he walks to the backroom once again, presumably to grab his belongings.

“yeah, but i don’t live too far from here-”

“then would it be alright if i walked you home?” he asks, peeking his head out from the doorway as he slides a jacket over his work attire and slings a backpack over his shoulder.

“i don’t want to make your commute home even longer,” you say, brows furrowing.

“i live close as well, i guarantee you won’t make it any longer - in fact,” he starts, smile spreading on his lips as he locks the backroom. “i think you’d make it more enjoyable.”

he walks past you to get the the counter once again, and you remain frozen in place for a moment while you fully process his words. while your mind told you to not overthink the strangers kindness - to follow your guardians advice as to not trust strangers in the first place - you found yourself wanting to walk home with him; he felt safe.

“that’ll be fine then,” you confirm, yunho nodding as he scribbles on a small card before shoving it into his pocket, paying it no mind as you put your mask over your nose once again.

“then, shall we?” he says, walking towards the door and allowing you to catch up to him, keeping the door open with his foot as to let you through before turning off the lights, locking the door shut behind you both.

“you want to lead the way?” he asks, a small “sure” leaving your lips as your eyes remain glued to the concrete below you, yunho smiling as he lifts his own mask to cover his face.

he remains by your side, never to close but never straying to far either - a comfortable distance. but as the night grew more cruel, you became more thankful for his presence, even if a small tinge of guilt coursed through your veins at the prospect of having him walk in this chilling cold with you.

“you’re heading those those apartments?” he asks, a single hand coming out of his pocket to point in the direction of your apartments building’s illuminated front patio - you nod.

“i live in those ones, too - fourth floor,” he comments, shivering hand returning to his pocket as he lets out a light laugh, a faint fog appearing before his face then vanishing from the air that had passed through his mask.

“i’m on the second,” you reply, noting how yunho nods in your peripheral vision as you cross the last street heading towards the complex.

the receptionist was no where to be found - not unusual at this hour - and you bothbook it to the elevator. the warm air circulated throughout the building, you and yunho taking a deep breath in hopes the warmth can infiltrate your bodies quicker.

he presses two buttons - the 2nd floor and the 4th - before leaning against one of the rails. the vibration of the elevator was enough to lull you, your exhausted body and racing mind hoping to rest itself once you were alone.

the elevator dings and the door slides open. “i take it you won’t need much more ‘walking-home’ from here,” yunho comments, his eye-smile almost as bright as his usual one as you turn back to face him.

“thank you, again, for everything,” you say, nodding your head as you exit the elevator.

you hear the the door begins to close behind you before a voice sounds down the hall.

“y/n! i forgot,” yunho says, placing his foot in front of the door to prevent it from shutting and sending him away as he digs in his pocket. “i wanted to give you this,” he says, pulling out a small card with even smaller columned pictures on it.

“it’s a punch card, if you buy things from the shop, you can earn punches to get a free item! in case you wanted to stop by again,” he concludes, a faint dust of red hiding under his mask, yet doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

you thank him, taking the card from his fidgeting hand and bidding your final goodbye to him. looking at the card, you notice a smear of black along the front, and upon turning it over, you find smudged writing - what appeared to be a phone number.

you turn back, but it was too late as you only caught a small glimpse of his smiling face - mask now removed - with red cheeks and ears through the crack of the sliding door before it fully closed.

you laugh lightly, skeptical of the current turn of events your life had seemed to take in only the course of a few hours - you were grateful nonetheless.

returning your gaze to the card, you come to the conclusion that you should frequent the store more often. you’d get to talk to a sweet and cute clerk and work your way towards free food at the same time?

it seemed as though the longing to love and to be loved tugged your heart into a small convenience store today - and unlike other attempts - this one reigned successful, and you found yourself excited and anticipating what this new venture would bring.

౿ᗣᗢ 🗯 kitty says : copyright © awyunhvr (2018 - 2022); all rights reserved. do not copy, modify, promote, or plagiarize awyunhvr’s content in any way here or on any other platform. don’t upset kitty !!

[tyudearyous]

till the end - p.sh

pairing : seonghwa x reader

genre : angst, hurt/no comfort

wc : 617

author's note : a very short angsty drabble because i was very much in the mood to write this hihi

🎵 toxic till the end - rosé

masterlist

—

forgive and forget, that’s all they say but unless you have the heart of a saint, you couldn’t. no, you couldn’t even bear to hearing his name. how he completely and utterly left you with scars you couldn’t even heal in your heart, how he completely tossed you away and crawled right back when he deemed it was necessary, all in the name of “us”.

“so i can’t meet my friends now?” you ask. “for fucks sake can’t you understand where i’m coming from!?” “no. i can’t” he sighed loudly. “you don’t even try to at least be civil with my friends, seonghwa. you can’t judge them that fast” you argued. “that’s exactly the point! i don’t know what you’ve told them about me but one thing’s for sure, i am not a good guy in their eyes” you genuinely can’t understand him. not even one bit. “so just because of that you want me out of contact with them?” you couldn’t even raise your voice, you were baffled. “have i ever said that? do you genuinely realize how farfetched you’re making my statement be? i only asked you to stay because-” seonghwa asks. “it’s my birthday and you don’t even try to make it good for me” you exit the room, holding back your tears. why were you still in this relationship to begin with?

that wasn’t the first argument. it was more or less episode four of season three hundred or something. you weren’t good for each other nor did any of you wanted to give up your relationship though. it hasn’t always been this way but perhaps the signs were blurry at first because of the butterflies inside you both.

“i told you not to go out” seonghwa nags as he applied ointment to the newly formed wound that you got. “you have no right to say anything about that” you reply, still annoyed by the whole ordeal. “i didn’t forget. i already had the gift, you were just too hasty” seonghwa revealed before he put down his med supplies to take a small burgundy box. you hesitantly took it to reveal it was a ring. “why?” you asked him, catching him off guard. “what do you mean why?” he asked back. “do you think this is good for us? in the long run?” you closed the box and put it in front of him again. “y/n i am not trying to argue with you” “i’m not trying to argue, hwa. i just… you know… it does take a toll on me” you took a slight pause to catch your breath before continuing. “just how long do you expect us to stay like this? we fight and make up and fight again it’s a vicious cycle at this point. you don’t trust me, not even one bit and that makes me on guard with you too. do you want to stay like this until the end? if i can be honest, i don’t. no, i want to but i can’t. i used to believe you were the one but, everything just made it seem impossible” you finally talked to him about your feelings honestly. it was about time anyway. seonghwa stayed silent for a while while you try to wipe the tears that was falling off your cheeks. “so, this is the end?” he asked. you only stared at him before he nods and takes back the ring. you only watched as his frame faded into his bedroom.

so that was the end, at least.

[tyudearyous]

mingi in glasses 🥟 ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

[tyudearyous]

yunho hands 🎹 .｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡

[tyudearyous]

mountebank chem pt. three (JYH x reader).

part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.

SUMMARY:

* 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤: 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐲. The first time you met Yunho, you knew he was going to be part of the biggest tragedy of your life: the loss of your freedom, of your free will. You didn't know why back then but what you did figure out is that you and Jeong Yunho were going to, eventually and very publicly, date each other at some point. Is that reason enough to hate his guts? Well, of course! Now, when the time comes to fulfill the prophecy, how the hell are you going to pull it off? And, most importantly, what do you need to do to not fall in love with him in the process?

PAIRING: rich!yunho x rich!reader.

GENRE: enemies to friends to lovers.

WORD COUNT: 16.5k (dear god).

WARNINGS: eventual SMUT ☽ (MINORS DNI) attempt !!! at comedy, this chapter is truly them being cute and barely fighting which is ???, healthy competition i think, they get a serious case of the silly goose at some point, mentions of drinking at some point, gyuri being an overprotective friend, meeting new people, emotional talk involving kids yall will see why, pet names (princess), descriptions of female and male anatomy, first kisses!! *the crowd cheers*, a little bit of dry humping... *the crowd boos* and unresolved feelings!!!! *the crowd AND y/n leave in angry tears*.

NOTES: hi everyone! here's part three of this mini series that is PART OF THE LOVE'S AN UNCHARTED PATH / SHOW & TELL UNIVERSE. so, so sorry it took so long but i had a bit of a writer's block these past months :(. there's mentions of the last installment plot so, if you're new around here, you can always find the rest of this series and the rest of the stories of this universe on my masterist! this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send to my askbox/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3

POSTED: december 5th 2024.

masterlist - part one - part two.

There's this image of you that flashes across Yunho’s mind. 

It happened right before he fell asleep last night, too, and he's having a hard time figuring out if he only dreamed it or if it actually happened. 

The skin on your back glistening, the cut of the dress after he pulled down the zipper just enough to not be disrespectful. 

He did it out of instinct, out of the sudden familiarity he felt between you both. He did it because, before he had the genius idea of helping you with your dress (to get it off in some way, what the fuck is wrong with him), you were really close to his face and he couldn't think straight for the remainder of the time he was in your presence. 

There was a time in his life where the mere thought of you brought discomfort to him. It kinda brings discomfort to him now, too, but it's a different kind of discomfort. It's dull, it's confusing and it's angering at the same time because, if he was sure of something before, it was the fact that he never really wanted to be near you. 

You were the bane of his existence when you two were kids, something that was forced on him the second your parents wanted and he despises the lack of control and freedom he's always had around you. 

And now there's a flash of you genuinely laughing at him for blushing after the old lady from last night gave him some not-so-innocent compliments in front of everyone. There's a flash of you defending him when you really didn't need to, even if you stated otherwise. 

There's a flash of you wiping the corners of your mouth after finishing the food he made you, a visage that completely besots him. 

He never really wanted to kiss you. 

Only once, at your graduation party, but that was drunk him and playing spin the bottle and seven minutes in heaven really did a number on his teenage hormones at the time. 

He remembers the bottle landing on the girl next to you and the guy next to you and the guy next to the guy next to you. Yunho kissed them all with the hope of kissing you at some point that night. Just because he was curious, because deep inside of him he knew your parents plans all along. 

He didn't get to do it, though, and so it didn't really matter; the wish died as soon as he woke up the next day with a huge hangover and a dry mouth. Yesterday, he thought the same would happen if he went to sleep and dreamed about anything but you. 

That, of course, didn't happen. 

Now he’s just left trying to figure out what the fuck is going on exactly as the memory of your lips and the sting of annoyance that follows the thought of him wanting you in any way other than fifty feet apart distracts him from whatever his friends are saying right now. 

“He lost his fucking mind,” Gyuri stands in front of him, hands on her hips and furrowed brows like a mother who’s scolding her troubled child. She collapses on the couch behind her a second later, next to her best friend who’s giggling at her and her reaction “He’s not even answering to me.” 

They called for an emergency meeting at San and Wooyoung’s place, as expected. He was supposed to see them on saturday anyway but now he gave the friend group a reason to hang out a day earlier. Seonghwa did too, but his story, apparently, is more interesting than the oldest sudden girlfriend. 

In a way, they both got out of nowhere partners. But the friend group is hanging out a day earlier than expected so he’s not really sure why he’s being reprimanded for something so out of his control. 

They don't know this is out of his control. Maybe that's why. 

Wooyoung takes a sit in front of him, on top of the wooden table separating the space between the tv and the couch and puts a hand on his shoulder, like a father who’s trying to be on his side of things without offending his wife “Care to explain yourself, Yunho?” 

He decides to play pretend so he doesn’t have to think about it more than he needs to “Explain what?” 

As Gyuri gasps, Woo shakes his head before dramatically hanging it low.  

“God help you, my dear friend.” 

Gyuri gets up again and Wooyoung gets up as well, stepping aside so he can give space to her to regard poor little him with the angriest look ever directed at an innocent man.

He thanks Mingi for opening the front door of the apartment right at that moment. 

Behind him, Mingi’s girlfriend, Yeosang, Hongjoong and Seonghwa follow suit. San is in the kitchen finishing the dishes and Jongho is at school, taking a quiz or something, he thinks. 

He didn’t really read the group chat like that. They just requested his presence and he spawned in the apartment half an hour later.

But he didn't take into account that he was seeing Mingi that day too. Mingi, his best friend for a few years now, the only person he should've actually told what was going to happen yesterday night. 

He fucked up. 

“Can you let the man explain himself, Gyuri?” Mingi asks, down on one knee and helping his girl take off her shoes. Yunho wants to roll his eyes but Mingi is, after all, head over heels for her. 

How is he going to explain to them that he’s not head over heels over his new, sudden girlfriend? That, in fact, he thought he despised her until yesterday. 

And that now he’s not able to shake her from his thoughts even if he desperately wants to. 

“What’s going on?” Seonghwa asks and Gyuri turns and points at him. 

“We’re talking to you after we talk to him.” She makes a show of her threat, her pointed finger moving to Yunho’s forehead and slightly pushing him back on his seat. 

Seonghwa rolls his eyes and plops down on the couch, next to San’s girlfriend “Oh, my God.” 

“I’m sorry,” she tells him with a tiny smile “She’s freaking out today.” 

Wooyoung turns the tv on. His laptop is connected to it through a long, orange cord and when Yunho turns to the screen, it shows a picture of him and you with plastic smiles that look too real. 

If only people knew. 

“This is what’s going on,” he says, pointing to the image and then leaning into his laptop to click a new tab “The Jeong and Kim empires merge into one after their youngest announce they’re in a relationship at yesterday’s twenty year celebratory gala,” reading directly from the article, Yunho manages to cringe at the wording of it before Wooyoung turns to him “Since when, bitch?” 

Yunho opens his mouth to reply but both Yeosang and Seonghwa make a surprised noise. 

“Oh?”

“Isn’t she…?” Yeosang looks at him “Is she?”

He nods and Yeosang claps, mumbling a I knew it under his breath. 

“So that’s what she meant when she told me I looked familiar, she knows you!”  Seonghwa smiles a little and then his expression turns into a frown, like he just realized something he shouldn't “When did you start dating her?”

“Well, actually—”

“And didn’t tell us?” Mingi’s girlfriend looks very offended but he can tell she’s half joking, especially when Mingi smirks a little and then joins her with a pout. 

His best friend looks at him a second too long, though and that lets him know he might be a little offended. 

Mingi opens his mouth to speak but a choir of voices stops him from doing so and Yunho breathes out his regret for even showing up and for not explaining everything to Mingi first. 

“What do they mean ‘merge their empires’. Are you getting married?” 

“When did you even meet her?”

“Through his family, I suppose.” 

“Are you getting married?” 

“So did you cheat on her like two months ago with that girl from the bar?” 

“No, no, he didn’t hook up with the girl, that was Hongjoong.” 

“Sure I did,” he says and gives Yunho a look, like he doesn’t remember who they’re talking about “Yuyu, can I be the main groomsman?” Hoonjong asks as San returns with a snack plate on his hand and he takes it from him when he offers it, putting some chips on his mouth immediately “Hwa, too. We're the oldest, so.” 

Mingi scoffs “And I’m literally his best friend, don’t even try it.” 

“That’s literally me, oh my God? Liar?” 

Yunho is starting to feel a little overwhelmed by the amount of noise he normally would contribute to. 

Right now? He wants everyone to shut up while he finds a way of explaining everything and not sound completely insane in the process. 

It’s quite the normal concept, he thinks. Arranged matrimonies are a thing in a lot of cultures and in his it’s more subtle than anything, not quite what it used to be, but they’re still there especially for families like his. 

He’s not getting married, he should also clarify that. But as Mingi takes hold of Wooyoung’s laptop and scrolls through the article and then turns to him asking for an explanation with his eyes instead of his words, all the coherent sentences he just put together in his mind die on his tongue. 

Mingi is not really one to pry, but his stare tells him that he’s a little bit concerned with everything. After all, he’s the only one who understands the full complicated history Yunho has with his family. 

“Guys,” he says, all mischievousness wiped out of his face “let him explain and don’t interrupt.” 

The noise quiets down and everyone looks at him, expectant and curious. Now that he’s able to untense his shoulders and take a calming breath, he also notices a few concerned stares that join Mingi in the sentiment. 

Alright. Okay. He can do this. 

Yunho sends his best friend a thankful smile before gulping down his nerves. 

“That’s Kim Y/N,” he points at the tv screen, although half of your face is cut off because Mingi scrolled down to read “I’ve known her since we were kids, her parents and my parents are really good friends and her dad helped my dad launch his company, so we were… They were celebrating that yesterday.” 

Everyone nods and then he catches Seonghwa’s eye “My brother and her brother are very good friends, too. You know Soohyun hyung, don’t you?” 

“Oh,” he seems taken by surprise by that “he’s a new client.” 

“I figured,” Yunho smiles, “He’s a good guy, just a little…” 

“Carefree?” Hwa offers. 

“Mhm. Anyways,” he shakes his head, trying to get back on track “Jeong Tech made a huge mistake a few months ago and so they decided to announce our relationship yesterday to kind of… Everyone loves Y/N,” he says quickly “She’s… We—” 

“Are you two together or not?” Wooyoung asks, clearly confused and when everyone shushes him he mutters his apologies. 

Yunho wants to answer him with the truth. He really does and it’s right there, ready to come out, but he thinks about you. About everything you told him yesterday, about how you actually seemed to care to please your parents.

He thinks about his own mother’s threats. 

And he knows it’s a little stupid wondering if someone in this room would tell, but he hesitates. 

It hurts him to hesitate but then someone speaks up. There, curled around San’s arm and peeling open an orange, his savior speaks up.

“Relationship of convenience,” she says softly and matter of factly, turning heads in her direction “What? I could’ve told you this two hours ago,” she points at Gyuri and Wooyoung “But you refused to explain! Come on, everybody,” giggling, she offers a freshly peeled slice to her boyfriend. “I work with books for a living, you work with books for a living!” She points at Woo again, “This trope is classic,” and then she looks back at him with a kind and honest smile. “You two do look good together, though. Are you friends, at least?” 

He hesitates. You both definitely, sort of, made amends last night. But it's a little weird and, suddenly, also hard to explain. 

Yunho thought the word friends would've just rolled out of his tongue naturally, as a little white lie to ease everyone's worries. Now, it hardly makes its way onto it so he just nods after a long pause that definitely raises suspicion on everyone's face. 

“We've known each other for a very long time, went to highschool together and everything,” that seems to eradicate some of the doubts, because San grins and turns to his girlfriend with a knowing smile that she returns. 

Gyuri is not as convinced “But are you friends?” 

“Yes,” he returns immediately after that, wanting the conversation to be over. He’s not lying, not really, not after what you both said yesterday “We are, we’re trying to be.” 

“So you hate the bitch. Got it.” Gyuri nods. 

Yunho takes offense to that, oddly enough. Because no, he doesn't hate you, not a little, not at all. 

He thinks. 

Besides, he confirmed yesterday that you're not much of a bitch and it hurts that Gyuri thinks you are one, but San’s girlfriend it's already handling that before he has the opportunity to defend you like you defended him. 

“Babe, don't call her that.” 

Gyuri raises her hands defensively “I'm just taking preventive action! What if she is a bitch?” 

“She's not.” Yunho says and they both turn their heads to him, Gyuri with a frown and her best friend with a knowing smile. 

What does she know that he doesn't? Beats him. 

Instead, he settles “She's just… Well, she's—” 

“Intense?” Gyuri offers. 

Wooyoung shakes his head and points to his ex “No, that's you.” 

For once, he's glad their bickering interrupts him because he doesn't really know how to describe you. What's his current opinion on you? He has no clue. It's weird, he hates it a bit, but the feeling is there and the words are on the verge of spilling out of his mouth.

San’s girlfriend gasps and then murmurs an excited: “I love enemies to lovers!”

“I don't think real people can fit into fictional tropes, babe,” Gyuri returns, taking a slice she's offering in her direction before eyeing Yunho “Or can they?” 

That he can answer “We're not enemies and we're definitely not lovers.” He says with a shrug. 

“You're something way worse then,” San’s girlfriend nods and then smiles in excitement “Can't wait!” 

“For what?” Yunho asks in a whisper but Mingi, thankfully, interrupts. 

“Why are they talking about marriage, then?” He asks, his concern is palpable and Yunho feels kind of bad. He feels really bad, actually. 

He could have told him this, at least. He could have talked about you, but the truth is that his mind avoided remembering you if not necessary; that’s how much you two seemed to hate each other.

Now? 

It’s kind of complicated not to think about you when you’re plaguing his mind, infecting it like a virus. 

Or painting it, like the canvases he saw in your room yesterday. 

Do you paint? Is that something you like to do in your free time? 

Why does he feel like he knows very little about you, all of the sudden? 

He groans and then shakes his head. 

“There’s no marriage, they’re getting ahead of themselves,” he clarifies. 

“Is there going to be a marriage?” 

There's movement on the screen now and he sees Mingi’s girlfriend scrolling unapologetically through the article. She's watching a video of the both of you posing together for a picture and there's something that pulls inside of him. His eyes attempt to water but he manages to keep his emotions down, locked up because there's a lot of feelings he won't put on his friends. 

He's sure they think of him as a dumb puppy who's actually very academically smart, just a little clumsy with his social interactions. He's been pretending he is, anyway. 

The only one who really sees through him is Mingi but even him, to some degree, has bought his immature act. And to some extent it became real for Yunho himself, too, so deep fears and sad emotions are off the table. 

So he pulls himself together and turns to his friend.

“I think she has an escape plan if our parents decide to marry us off to each other,” he admits, snorting out a laugh that’s a little bitter but more amused than anything, he shakes his head “So no, no engagement, no marriage.” 

“Why, what's wrong with you?” Gyuri asks, eyes squinted with prejudice and suspicion “Why wouldn't she want to marry you?” 

“Well, that's not… Gyuri,” he opens and closes his mouth a few times, not really knowing what to say to his friend's question, so he looks at Mingi with begging eyes “That's not really the point, right?” 

“Don't look at me, she's right,” Mingi shrugs, “Why wouldn't she want to marry you?” 

“Because we're not in love!” 

Wooyoung scoffs “And yet you're a perfectly fine and rich young man, so why wouldn't she want to marry you?” 

“So we officially hate her, right?” Gyuri says and claps her hands before standing up again for the millionth time and heading his way. Her hands fall on his shoulders and he has to crane his neck to see her from below “Okay, then! What's the plan? Do we get rid of her?” 

“No!” 

“I could, if that's what you want.”

His head snaps at Hongjoong at the suggestion, disbelief writing on his face “I love you guys but the Yunho protection squad needs to dissolve right now, everything’s fine!” 

“Is it?” Mingi asks and Yunho takes his time to look at his best friend before nodding. 

“It is. We're supposed to break up eventually anyway,” air leaves his lungs in a long sigh and then he gulps a little, not really sure how to say what he wants to say without offending anyone. And Gyuri's hands are still on him, so the pressure doubles at the potential threat of physical harm that his next statement can get him. “Listen, I won't make any of you sign nda’s or anything like that because I trust you but please, please don't tell anyone this.” 

He looks around the room and sees wide eyes before they turn understanding and when his friends nod in agreement, he feels a weight lift off his shoulders. 

Literally, Gyuri moves to sit next to Wooyoung who tries to put an arm around her and fails. 

“You're not that famous, Yunho,” Hongjoong kisses his teeth and the mood shifts into the lighthearted one he's used to “Unlike me. I'm a celebrity among my peers.” 

Wooyoung rolls his eyes “Yeah, because all the criminals turned music students turn guitarists of a nugu rock band worship you.” 

Hongjoong ignores him but his smile is tense and his eyes are squinted in fake joy when he speaks again “You are going to the gig tomorrow, right?” 

He laughs “Of course. I might be a little late but I'll get to see your set.” 

Hongjoong frowns “Why?” 

“I have a schedule now, so…” 

“Oh, my God,” San’s girlfriend squeaks, typing something in her phone and Yunho catches his friend fondly following with his eyes the sentences she's putting together “And what else do you have to do now?” 

“Babe, I hope you're not writing a story about this.” Gyuri warns but her friend ignores her and turns to Seonghwa. 

Who realizes right away what she's doing, gaping at her and her betrayal with feign hurt. Yunho gets it a second later and his lips curve upwards a little. 

“And what did you do to get a girlfriend so fast? It was the motorcycle, wasn't it?” 

Wooyoung gasps and Gyuri seems to remember suddenly that there were two important subjects to dissect on the table today, so she gets up again with her hands on her hips and stares at him like a distressed mother.

“What the hell were you thinking, Park Seonghwa? Girlfriend? You met her yesterday!” 

“Three days ago, but yes, maybe—” 

“Oh, three days ago! That's an eternity in dog years, right? Are you a dog, Seonghwa?” 

Seonghwa’s eyes practically meet the back of his head and Yunho has to stifle a laugh “Not a dog, Gyuri, just a guy.” 

She pauses and then makes a face. 

“That… Actually makes a lot of sense.” 

“We made the mistake of calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend way too soon. But, to be fair, his text messages woke us up,” Seonghwa's finger is pointing to Yunho and he pouts as a response “Kind of, so we were sleepy and—”

“Sure, let's hang out tonight so you can meet my girlfriend,” Hongjoong reads directly from his phone and shakes his head. Yunho can't actually tell if he's offended or not “Not even a warning first.”

“I literally told you about her and you told me to go for it.” 

“Did I?” 

“Yeosang was there.” 

At the mention of his name, Yeosang looks up from his phone and smiles shyly at the oldest two “Correct.”

There's a bit of silence and then Hwa clears his throat softly. 

“She's going to be my girlfriend though,” he says, almost in a whisper but everyone hears him “So I don't know what the big deal is.” 

Wooyoung slumps from the couch to the ground with his eyes closed in defeat “Oh, dear God.” 

“The big deal is that—” 

Gyuri's voice fades to the background and he catches Hwa telling her that she's not his mother or something before tuning the discussion out. 

When he turns to his left, Mingi is still eyeing him to make sure he's okay. Yunho nods and smiles and then offers his hand to him, which he takes. 

Mingi's girlfriend turned off the laptop and is watching the interaction with a tiny contempt curve to her lips and, when Yunho catches a glimpse at San’s girlfriend from behind his friends built form (she's completely hiding behind him from all the chaos Gyuri is bringing to the living room), she catches his eye and then blinks one of hers in complicity. 

Again, Yunho wonders what she knows that he doesn't. 

But with the attention off of him, your face returns to his head.

So he's not really able to concentrate on anything else for the remainder of the hang out. When he finally, finally has his mind occupied by something else (San dared him to beat him at Mario Kart and Jongho brought food and drinks as an apology for completing his academic duties instead of showing up to the meeting), a text pops up from an unknown number. 

+82-5-059-6733: Hey. Added your number  from that stupid group chat our brothers made because telling each other things through our assistants makes me physically ill, hope you don't mind.  +82-5-059-6733: Actually, I don't really care if you mind. If you block me, I'll find another phone to text you on. +82-5-059-6733: Anyway, I'll send you the address of where we're going fashionably late tonight. It's an early drive so you're free to skip this (Do skip it please).  +82-5-059-6733: Jeong Yunho, do not ignore me or I swear to God…

He hates that, after reading his home screen, he has a smile on his lips. You sound both formal and pushy through text, too and he didn't think it was possible to have so much personality that it filters through writing as well. He's finding out new things about you and, although he made it a point to ask you to get along yesterday, it still feels really weird to do so.

When he turns to the screen again, he's down a few spots and San’s character speeds besides his in its kart. 

“Is it her?” San asks, looking at him for a second, a knowing smile on his lips. 

“It is but I'm not smiling because it's her,” he defends himself but there's a tint to his cheeks that might give him away. San laughs “Shut up. Your girlfriend’s schemes are rubbing on you.” 

At the mention, he catches through the corner of his eye as his friend turns to the mentioned girl and Yunho smiles again before he hears him sigh, completely and utterly in love. 

“Thank God.” 

He recovers on the game while San is distracted, passing him and winning the race. The sound of it ending makes San snap his head back and watch as Yunho relaxes on the couch in egotistical victory. 

“Ugh.” 

The sun is shining through the clouds even though it was supposed to rain again. There's a singular gray one moving ominously among the other ones and threatening to mess up what you planned for the day. 

It suspiciously moves past you and into the city when Yunho's car pulls up the hill. By the time he gets down, the sun is shining in full force and you roll your eyes when he regards you and your closed arms with a wink. 

What does he gain out of this? You've been wondering since that night if coming here is better than staying at home for the weekend. 

He could stay at his dorm, though. Is that an option? The curiosity you feel towards him now has completely taken over. It feels disgusting. 

Either way, you hate that he actually showed up. That means someone, somewhere around you, is going to casually document the thing you kept to yourself for a long time. No because it's a secret but because there's no real need for anyone to know that you do this. 

Your presence on social media is scarce, you have one open account that you use every six months (if you remember to use it at all) and the one you stalk people of your circle on. You have a twitter account that's private and not under your real name, a youtube account that doesn't really count as social media in your eyes and nothing else. 

No one needs to know you do these sorts of things. Then, you wouldn't be doing it out of the kindness of your heart but to get sympathy points. Even though you'll always do it because you want to and not because you have to. 

There's a lot of things you have to do, like your relationship with Yunho, but never this. 

You know it's only like five out of one hundred people who wish you ill but those few people are enough to tarnish the affection the kids have for you, the trust you worked so hard to gain the few years you've been trying to make this orphanage somewhat quality-of-life acceptable. 

You stumbled upon it one of those drunk early mornings where you had to walk around to get the alcohol out of your system before even daring showing up home or near it. Not because your family didn't know what you were up to, but because of the possible photographers roaming around the house. 

A drunk underage daughter was worse than anything back then. Maybe it is now, too, but you remembered the mistake you made the first time you got drunk and the absolute reaping your mother gave you. 

So when you locked eyes with a middle aged woman in the middle of nowhere after walking around half an hour before in heels, your almost-sober self pretended to be lost just to talk to someone and feel safe. The sun was barely showing that day and you were cold and sad and angry for not controlling yourself at the party and it must've shown in your face because you saw the woman taking a deep breath before offering you to step inside. 

At that hour, the kids were asleep. There were traces of them everywhere, though and you remember the way your heart sank at the lifeness of the space even in the still hours of the morning. 

It looked lived in, enjoyable and cozy. You never had that. Toys were put back in their place the second you got distracted by the tv or a book or when your mother said that was enough playing around for the day. Your room was always neat and tidy, put together and devoid of any evidence that you were real. 

That has changed a little now, but back then seeing something you didn't have struck something within you. There was obviously no way you would complain about it out loud, though. 

You had everything solved, your struggle has always been insignificant when compared with everyone else outside of your circle. It's fine, it's always been fine and the tears brought to your eyes when the middle aged woman put a hand on your shoulder and consoled you when she saw the environment was affecting you meant nothing. 

You tried to convince yourself they meant nothing and tried to keep your heart where it belonged: inside of your tinsel bubble, frozen and harsh so that no one takes advantage of you.

And then she managed to melt the ice not even five minutes into explaining what it was that they did there. She said her position wasn't permanent, that the district kept changing directors and that the quality of life they were able to give to the kids was acceptable at best. Not good, not what they deserved. 

Maybe that was the first time you took advantage of your privilege for something good. Because next thing you knew, you were putting together a presentation and pressing your father to do something about the home. 

Your mother was scandalized but she agreed to do something with your ideas if your brother was put on the front of the newspapers, inaugurating the renovations made to the place. 

Saturdays have been destined to the orphanage since then. They know not to put anything else on your schedule for the day, they know not to film you or send photographers per your request. Because your brother was already seen making the good deed a few years ago, so there's not really a way to take advantage of this anymore. 

Besides, the district still manages it and no amount of volunteering can help the fact that its administration and the decisions that they make are as dumb as you believing for a second that Yunho was going to take your advice and stay home today.

Yunho being here changes things, you know it does. Why did they put this in his new schedule if not? You thought it was a punishment for him but now you're not so sure. 

There's lack of movement, lack of press, lack of your mother's touch to it so you wonder what's the angle here. And, as usual, Yunho seems to be in the dark about the things plaguing your mind. 

You point at his outfit in retaliation when he gets near you and your mother’s assistant, who became yours for the day. 

“Is this what you could put together with such a long notice?” 

“You said casual.” 

“And this is your casual?” 

At some point these past few days, and after seeing all the pictures of you two together at the gala, you came to terms with Yunho’s attractiveness. Objectively, he's a handsome guy. His dad was handsome at one point, his mom is absolutely breathtaking and his brother is handsome as well. They're just a family of naturally physically gifted people, alright? 

But it is kind of unfair that he can look this good in flared jeans and a white fitted shirt, for fucks sake. He looks like he just got out of a Calvin Klein shoot… If the shoot was somehow made in the seventies. The black belt and the black boots with a tiny platform he's wearing add to the whole look and your eye twitches a little. 

He looks really fucking cool, actually but there's no way in hell you would ever accept that. Handsome? Sure. Cool? Your mind is tricking you somehow. 

It's that warmth that invaded your body when he made you food a few nights ago making you think nonsense. You want to desperately get rid of it. 

He scoffs but a tiny smile tugs at his lips when he looks you up and down “Is this yours?” 

Looking down at your wide leg trousers, your kitty heels and your short sleeved cotton top, you fail to see where the problem is. 

“Duh.” 

He whistles, low and for a few seconds and for a moment you think he's doing it because of you and your heart beats erratically until you realize his eyes are fixed on the orphanage.

You smile a little. 

These past few years you've been able to get funding and provide funding to it, so the renovations just keep coming and coming. It doesn't look like the one you found refuge on that morning a few years ago at all and it definitely doesn't look like the one your brother had the chance to be photographed with either. 

Right now, it has a little bit of your touch: It looks like an elegant structure, but a building that's also suitable for children to be in. It has a playground vibe to it, the exterior and the design of the new entrance you approved a few months ago only solidifies it.

The kids love it. You didn't exactly run the design through them but it would've shown if they didn't. 

They're very expressive, but decisive too. Bossy, even. You look at Yunho and you want to smile fully because he simply doesn't know what he got himself into. 

That proves to be true as the hours go by. The kids raise their eyebrows when they meet him, say hi to him with a bow and then turn to you for explanations. When you say that this is a new friend that's going to be helping out that day, you don't miss the way Yunho lights up a bit besides you. 

And then that light is completely stolen by hour three, you see it as he chases kids around the yard. It hurts that they acclimated so fast to him but, again, when you got there the first time the place wasn't really one where they felt completely safe. 

This proves that you helped change that. Good. 

There's a few of them, the older ones, that sit on the ground and stare daggers at Yunho like he's going to hurt the younger kids at any moment. These kids were practically toddlers when you met them and they had a hard time being around you when you started to show up regularly. 

They barely spoke a word and, when they did, they yelled at you for not playing with the toys like you were supposed to, or because you looked too clean and too pretty to be messing with paint or something of the sort. 

It took months for you to build that trust and now the oldest is a tween with shaggy hair and a scowl on his face because he thinks of Yunho the same way he thought of you when he was just a kid.  

He barely notices when you crouch next to him, the hand you put on his shoulder making him jump slightly. 

“I understand the feeling of wanting to punch Yunho in the face,” you start, smiling and then tilting your head a little “but you're going to burn a hole on his back if you keep staring at him like that, Hyunjoon.”  

“Then why did you bring him here?” His frown deepens and you shrug “We were just fine with everything here and now there's a stranger playing tag with my little brother,” he shakes his head “I don't like it.” 

Sighing and then turning to Yunho, you see the exact moment his attempts to escape Haejoon, Hyunjoon’s little brother, are sabotaged by Hyunjoon’s best friend, Soyi. 

“I think you're a little jealous.” 

“What?” 

You want to laugh when his head snaps at you, chest heaving in preteen anger at the word jealous. 

“Yeah, not because he's playing with Haejoon but because Soyi is there too,” you shrug again, readjusting your crouching position because it hurts your legs but there's no way you're sitting on the ground “You like her, Yunho is handsome and you're jealous.” 

He turns away from you and you laugh when he makes a disgusted face that then turns into mild discomfort and ends up being a full pout.

“We're fighting.” 

“You and Soyi?” He nods and you sigh “What is it now?” 

“I dunno.” He murmurs with a shrug. 

“Are you sure?” 

“I don't know what I did! Okay?”

There's this uncharacteristically amount of patience you have when it comes to these kids that don't run out even if they yell at you and cause a few heads to turn your way. It never really bothers you except today, when you know there's possibly someone monitoring your movements. 

Yunho’s assistant, most likely. You know yours is compliant and doesn't really give a fuck about what goes on here, her focus on her tablet the whole time, probably arranging things for her actual boss (your mom). 

“Have you asked her?” He shakes his head “Then maybe start by asking her, later today if you want,” you rush to clarify when you see him tense up at the idea “Or tomorrow or the next day but don't let silly things get in the way of your friendship with her, hm?” 

His pout returns and his eyes start to water a little but before you have the opportunity to make him laugh the sadness away, someone jogs towards you both. 

“Everything alright?” 

Yunho’s sweating, he's out of breath and squinting his eyes because of the sunlight and it reminds you of when you used to cross paths during recess, back in highschool. 

“Wouldn't you like to know?” Hyunjoon sulks and scoffs at him and, once again, you suppress your laughter. 

“We're fine. Did you need something?” 

“No, no, Soyi just asked me to—” He stops when Hyunjoon's reaction gives away the root of his sulking and you see him glance at you once. You don't give Hyunjoon secrets away, though. “She asked me to tell you that she's going to start counting in two minutes and you are both obligated to play.” 

“Ah, yes, the mandatory hide and seek of the day.” You nod and watch as Hyunjoon's eyebrows raise in interest “Tell her it's okay, that she can start counting now.” 

Yunho raises his eyebrows as well, curiosity on his face “And you're hiding too?” 

“It's mandatory, Yunho. Do you know what mandatory means?” 

He clicks his tongue “I obviously do, Y/N, it was a simple question. Do you have to—” 

“Don't speak to her like that, ahjussi!” 

Once again, Yunho is interrupted by Hyunjoon and this time you can't help but laugh at the pure shock on his face. It warms your heart that a kid that was once so reluctant to have you around is defending you and you think your expression might give the feeling away because Yunho says nothing in return, just nods once and then presses his lips together, fighting a smile “I'll go tell her, then.” 

“No!” Hyunjoon gets up quickly and you do too, your legs and feet thanking you “I'll do it, she's my best friend.” 

It's the threatening (and very cute) look Hyunjoon sends in Yunho’s direction before sprinting towards Soyi and his brother that breaks the both of you into giggles. 

Only when your laughter dies down is that you turn to Yunho, arms crossed as you look him up and down to assess the real damage caused these first few hours.

No other reason. 

“Thought you said these kids were tough.” 

You shrug and he smiles “They are but you came here with me, so they're going easy on you.” 

“Yeah, I'm sure that's it.” Yunho nods and then turns over his shoulder. You do too, only to find Soyi with her hands over her eyes and counting already “Better don't get caught first, Kim.”  

Walking towards the spot you usually hide in when it's mandatory hide and seek time, you bump your arm with his in not-so-fake animosity. 

“You better not get caught, Jeong.” 

“Is that a dare?” He yells when you're almost out of reach. 

“I don't know,” you yell back “Is it?” 

You miss the way his eyes follow you until you're out of frame, until some kid whose name he doesn't remember grabs his hand and pushes him to hide because he stood in place long enough to almost get caught first. 

You do get caught in the first round but not before Yunho, so you count that as a win. The second round is trickier, Soyi banning some hiding spots like the natural leader she is, and so you get caught before Yunho. He does a little celebratory dance when he sees you in the yard before him. Ass. 

There's only one round left before they call everyone to clean up for lunch. 

Moving through the orphanage halls, you walk down the stairs that lead to the staff rooms before choosing one you know kids would not check if they don't caught you in plain sight: It's the one that has some panel windows on top of some lockers, to bring in some natural lighting because it was used as a classroom before.

Now, only boxes and dust live down there. But if you hide in the corner, there's no way you're getting caught before Yunho. 

You checked when you were upstairs. 

You giggle to yourself as you rest your back against the corner, taking your phone and unlocking it to find something to do while you await your very predictable victory in this pointless battle you and Yunho have going on. 

Only for it to be crushed when he enters the room and closes the door behind it. See, you obviously didn't lock it because that defeats the rules of the game. 

But maybe you should've. 

“Get out.” 

He seems startled when he hears your voice, clearly not expecting another soul to be there. “You blend so well into the wall, Y/N.” 

You don't bite the bait “Yunho, you're going to get both of us caught. Get. Out.” 

“How? I literally fit in here, too.” 

He gets into your space, a petty smile on his lips until your backside is completely flat against the wall.

You let out an indignant laugh and a breath at the same time because, from where you're shoved into the corner, he looks so dumb. 

And then the sunlight shifts a little and lands on his shoulder and you get reminded: You're going to get caught and it's going to be his fault. 

You want to yell at him to get out again but then hear laughter near the panel windows, so you whisper-shout instead “Find your own hiding spot, Yunho!” 

“I got kicked out of my last one!” He whispers-shouts back. 

“Well you can't have this one either!”

“We're going to be fine, Y/N,” he tries but at your scowl he laughs again “I'm perfectly hidden here and I'm hiding you.” 

“You're not perfectly hidden, idiot! You're like…” You move your hands, trying to replicate the broadness of his shoulders “You're huge.” 

“Yeah?” He seems pleased by your words and your eyes rolls on their own accord “I've been hitting the gym, so I'm glad it's showi—” 

“I don't care, get out!” 

You hear a scream and then laughter that follows it outside of the windows and your wide eyes peek around a little behind Yunho’s form to see what's going on. 

There, rolling on the grass and laughing hard, are Hyunjoon and Soyi. You see when she pushes him further into the ground and away from her, smiling like she usually does. She did seem a little sad today and you wondered why without intruding.

Learning about the fight made things click in your head and so now you're smiling wide because they potentially made up. 

The sound of someone gulping is what brings you back to reality and you crane your head up to catch Yunho staring at you with parted lips and soft eyes. Somewhere in the process of looking out of the panels, you ended up leaning into him and bracing yourself with your hand on his arm. 

You quickly keep your hands to yourself again, pushing your body into the corner one more time. 

“Sorry,” you say right away “I was just… They like each other and they were fighting today so I'm glad they, um…” You trail off. 

“Are not fighting anymore?” Yunho says for you and you're nodding frantically before you can help it “You seem better today.”

“Oh,” that catches you off guard and he notices, “It's never… It's never really as bad as what you saw a few days ago. You don't have to ask me about it.” 

“I didn't mean to… I was pointing it out to say that you seem different here.” 

“Different how?” 

“Relaxed,” he says right away with a shrug. “Less… Hostile.” 

You get what he's trying to imply. 

“I can't really be a stuck up bitch when I'm surrounded by children, Yunho.” 

“Never said you were one.”

Your eyes squint “But you were thinking it.” 

He doesn't back down at your accusation “I swear I wasn't. You could see it, too, if you stopped being so… defensive.” 

“I'm trying,” you kind of speak over him as he is finishing his sentence, your arms crossing in, well, defense “but your fugly jeans are provoking me.” 

This time around, he's the one that doesn't bite the bait. He smiles, leaning into your space with purpose this time; not because the corner you're both hiding in is small, not because he forgets who you both are. You can see it in his eyes that he means to do it. It's scary.

It's really not scary at all and it brings thoughts to your head that you need to put away immediately. 

You pretend it's bothering you, creasing your brows in order to bring to your expression the usual disgust you feel for him. 

“You like my outfit, I saw you checking me out earlier.” He murmurs like it's the most obvious thing ever. You, on the other hand, think you did a great job in concealing your staring for the day.

“I was judging you, not checking you out. You look like a hippie.”

He smiles but doesn't lean back at all “I have something to do tonight.” 

“So I heard,” and now you look over his outfit on purpose, as well “This fit is definitely a choice.” 

The usual spark that the arguments you two are used to have is there, but the actual nastiness and loathing of it all is mostly gone. Now, there's this weird pull that nudges you forward, your jaw set softly as you wait for his response. 

“It's a rock concert, I have to look the part.” 

You laugh and then nod “And so you dressed up as a greaser. Got it.” 

“So I look like John Travolta in Grease?” 

“More like Barry Pearl.” 

He scoffs “Who even is that?” 

“Exactly.” 

Your smile is nothing but pure bliss at the way you seem to get under his skin with that one. The anger crosses his expression, his eyes widen a little before roaming your face and you wait for his comeback. 

And wait. 

And wait. 

But it never comes. Instead, he leans in a fraction more than what your sanity can handle and keeps his voice low when he changes the subject.

“I had the opportunity to speak to Jiwoo earlier…” He starts and you nod, expectant and a little distracted by the smell of his cologne. “She told me everything you've been doing for this place. I had to ask her because you didn't tell me.” 

“You didn't ask.” 

“Would you have told me if I did?” 

It takes a second and a tiny smile, but you shake your head and he clicks his tongue. 

“See?” 

“I wasn't expecting you to show up in the first place,” you murmur back in your defense, sincerely, “and I'm not used to people seeing this part of my life.” 

Laughter and hurried steps outside remind you that you're in the middle of a game, in the middle of a dare with Yunho, too. But it doesn't seem to matter anymore. 

This is a weird way of having a genuine conversation, an odd place to have it in as well but there's nothing conventional about your relationship with Yunho. 

In a way, it's kind of fitting for you two. 

“Well, you got great reviews.” 

“Do I?” 

“Mhm, Jiwoo said she was about to be sent away when you stepped in,” he starts to recall, nodding to himself “Soyi also said she met you when she was little and that you were there when Hyunjoon and his brother got here for the first time,” this time, you nod and a tiny smile tugs at your lips at the memory “And I saw the way you were looking at the kids earlier, how you spoke to them… That's why I told you that you seem different here.” 

It's your turn to gulp and blink a few times, trying to measure your words. You know that you and him came to an agreement the other night, but it's still a little hard to be fully honest with someone you've tried to be so superficial and distant for a very long time. 

“I'm happy here,” you whisper back, taking in a breath. “I'm happy when I'm helping, it makes me feel…” You trail off, failing to find the right words. 

“Purposeful?” Yunho offers and your heart beats loudly at that, your stomach sinks at how accurate that is and he can see it in your expression, because he takes in a breath himself and closes his eyes for a millisecond “I understand.” 

You want to ask him how he understands it. Is it simply because it's something easy to grasp? Is it because he relates in some way? The breach in between you became a simple line the night of the gala and that line blurs the longer you stay amicable with him. 

It's dangerous because you can already picture him going away when this whole charade ends. 

You don't want to get used to the feeling of him making your heart beat this way. 

And hopefully you can forget all about it with the usual meal related anxiety you feel but even that is dull. It's not as bad here and Yunho knows so it's not going to be as bad with him either. Fucking great. 

If you someone would just interrupt yo— 

There's a knocking, persistent and that allows you to step away from him finally and glance at the panel windows one more time. 

Soyi and Hyunjoon are lying on their stomach, smiling knowingly like they understand what is going on in your head. Yunho steps out and they pretend to be surprised but you can tell they were expecting to see him here. 

“The game finished like five minutes ago.” Hyunjoon says and it's muffled by the glass but you can make it out just fine. 

Soyi nods and joins in, adding something as she stands up “Yeah, it's lunch time and if you don't hurry I'm stealing your food!”

At that, Yunho seems to react like he's a child himself “Don't even think about it!” He yells back, heading for the door and leaving you there with an erratic heartbeat and questions. 

Thirty seconds pass before you hear him again, his laugh this time and you close your eyes because the curve of your lips needs to go away before you step out there as well. 

Three more hours pass and at some point you don't see Yunho at all, letting him do his thing. 

Turns out, he's actually very good with kids. Considering he was a weird kid himself, you don't even find it weird that he's sitting on the grass with a worm in his hand and kids circling him like he's giving a masterclass. 

Kind of like they were circling you fifteen minutes ago, when you gave them a little painting advice. You started on a small canvas and your paint strokes look tired, probably because you feel that way, but you use it to pass the time even if their interest is now elsewhere. 

They have art classes here, you insisted on including them in their pensum as something mandatory, like science and maths. 

They enjoy it. A few of them want to pursue art in the future and that makes you really happy, even if you probably won't be around to see it or if they change their opinions along the way because, as dumb as it sounds, you were never encouraged by anyone to pursue what you liked. 

Maybe, sometimes that's enough. Planting the seed to wait and see if it grows into something fructiferous in the future can be what some of these kids need. 

Aside from resources and opportunities, of course. 

There's less activity in the room you're in and you're sure it's because the kids are tired. They're taking naps in their rooms, they're washing up for the night and you're dreading leaving this place. Your shirt it's dirty, there's paint on your arms and dirt under your nails and you don't want to catch the disgusted look your mother is going to give you when you get home. 

You fuck up the painting a little bit. Lost in thought, you barely notice when Yunho makes his way inside from the garden, a little girl secured around his neck like he's her father or something. You barely spare him a glance, but smile at her when he sits down besides you and she opens her arms and clings to you instead. 

Leaving the brush and canvas forgotten on the table, you make space for the seven year old in your lap “Hi, gorgeous.” you smile at her and her sleepy eyes “Did you have fun today, Jaemi?” And at her name, she punches you softly in the arm with her little fist. 

You're afraid she's too tired to commit to the bit. 

“Jaemi,” Yunho nods beside you and you look at him, “she didn't want to tell me her name.” 

“Then that's totally not her name,” you correct yourself and Jaemi smiles, sticking her tongue out to Yunho afterwards “Did you have fun?” You insist. 

“Yes, he was teaching us something about…” she pouts in concentration, trying to remember “Crickets?” she offers with her little lisp, turning to Yunho to confirm her words. 

“Cicadas.” 

“Yeah, that.” She turns to you, nodding “He said that they sing when it's about to rain and that made me happy but then he said that they also sing when they're about to die and that made me sad.” 

Looking at Yunho, you let him know with your expression that that's not something kids need to know. He just shrugs, smile growing when he sees how Jaemi hides on your neck, sleepy and comfortable. 

“And I told him what you told me about the worms,” she murmurs there and you pat her back, softly, but trying to tell her to stop talking. There's an embarrassed glow on your cheeks at what she says next “and he told me that he was the one who taught you that.” 

Eyes wide, you huff out a laugh and then clear your throat, but Jaemi speaks through her pout before you defend yourself “Is he your boyfriend?” 

“Oh,” her question is not weird but you've been avoiding answering it all day. Right now, there's not really a way you can evade it, so you just focus on your painting and nod “He is.” 

“He's smart,” she mumbles and when your eyes land on Yunho again, his cheek is pressed to his forearm that is pressed against the table. He's looking at you both with stars in his eyes and you want to kick him under the table “Like you. I want my future mom and dad to be like you.” 

Yunho pouts and you gulp, defensiveness abandoning your body and emotions swirling inside at the sweet, hopeful color of Jaemi’s voice. 

“People here are going to make sure of that, Jaemi,” you assure her in a whisper and by the time you rock her softly in your arms, you can tell she's asleep in them “I'll make sure you get the best mom and dad in the world, hm?” 

You don't know if you can keep your promise. If there's enough will for you to do it, if it's up to you to decide it. But you don't get to dwell on it for long. 

“Is she out?” Jiwoo asks and you nod, sliding back with your chair a little so that she can take Jaemi in her arms instead “I'll get her to the nap room. Sorry about that.” 

“It's okay.” You smile at her and she puts a comforting hand on your arm, shaking you a little on your seat before heading for the nap room. 

You don't dare to look at Yunho after that. Yeah, he saw your mother belittling you and, yeah, he made you food and wiped away your tears after having a panic attack… But that might've been the most vulnerable Yunho has ever seen you. Maybe. It felt like it, anyway. 

Returning to your painting, you forget what the orange blob in the corner of the canvas is supposed to be. From the corner of your eye, you catch Yunho staring at you still, unmoving from his position against the table. 

“How dare you steal my earth friends facts, Kim Y/N.” 

“You mean the facts about worms everyone learns in kindergarten, Yunho?” You scoff “Didn't know you trademarked them.” 

“You enjoy painting.” He says, a fact not a question, ignoring your jab at him and it's starting to get a little annoying how he changes topics so fast. 

“I'm not very good at it.” 

He gets up, scoots his chair closer to yours and you catch as his eyes move up and down your stupid painting “I don't agree.” 

“I didn't ask,” huffing, you squint your eyes at him and at your tone he rolls his eyes “Don't you have a concert to get to?” 

“Yeah, you should go with me.” 

That's hilarious. 

“I'm afraid I'm a little underdressed,” you tell him and you think he wants to laugh,  but presses his lips together and pretends to be offended at your words instead. You lean into the table, your eyes following his mouth as he stops pursing his lips, a tiny smile tugging on yours. “And I don't feel like pretending to be your girlfriend today anymore.” You whisper to only him. 

“You won't have to,” he whispers back, leaning in as well, “they know.” 

“What? You told them?” 

“They kind of figured it out.” 

“Hm, because you have no bitc—” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupts you, annoyed and you laugh, leaning back in your chair “Come with me. I saw your car outside,” he smiles and bats his eyelashes at you “I don't want my mother to know where I'm going, so you can drive me.” 

“Ah, that's why you want me to go.” 

“I also want to hang out with you,” his hand on your arm doesn't startle you but it does send sparks down your spine, his words causing your chest to go warm and your walls to go down “I thought we were doing that today and then I got kidnapped by eight year olds.” 

There's this image of Yunho that flashes through your head, the one of him running around the yard with people so dear to your heart that it makes the poor organ beat erratically for the second time today. 

Deflect. 

“And you managed to keep your ugly outfit clean. I'm impressed.” 

He lets out a tired breath. 

Deflect. Ignore. Don't let it fool you, Y/N, he's not staying this cordial forever. 

However, you think that as a thank you you can give in a little. Just a tiny bit. Just for tonight. 

“Do they have parking?” 

Yunho smiles wide. 

You would never admit you actually want to hang out with him, too, so instead you just say: 

“I'm driving you and then I'm staying for an hour,” he claps and gets up suddenly, grabbing your hand and pulling you out of your chair as well “And if I don't like it there, I'm leaving.” 

He looks like he wants to say something but, instead, he just shakes your twined hands with excitement before letting go at the realization of what he's doing. 

“You might want to go to the bathroom first.” 

“Why? Where is the concert?” 

He says nothing. 

“Jeong Yunho… Where are we going?” 

They do not have parking. Not near the musty bar you're currently trying to make your way into, anyway. 

Yunho shows something on his phone to the bouncer at the entrance and then turns to you “My girlfriend,” he says, grabbing your hand again and opening his eyes at you as a signal to go along with his lie “She's also invited, obviously.” 

So long for not pretending to be together, huh?

You nod and you kind wish you didn't because it leads you to a small space with a crowd that's bigger than what it can host. There's heavy drums and amazing vocals coming out of the speakers and you actually recognize the guitarist of the band that's playing. You don't know his name, but you definitely saw him in pictures with Yunho before. 

Grabbing Yunho’s arm when he lets go of your hand, it grants you the brief grace of his stare. 

“I'm sorry about that,” he says and then his eyes are on the stage again, smiling at the band. His height works wonders because you can tell he's actually able to see them fully and the next second you're being pulled across the crowd and up some stairs “They didn't expect me to come here with anyone tonight… And don't say it's because I have no game, Y/N, or I swear—”

“You made it!” 

When you let go of Yunho’s arm and stand shyly behind him as they let the both of you into the very humble vip area of this bar, it's like the pictures you've been staring at for months come to life. You don't know names (only Park Seonghwa’s, who's glued to the balcony’s rail, jamming along to the music) but you do know their faces. 

This girl that greeted Yunho with a hug just now it's in almost every picture, smiling just like that. And when she turns at you, that smile disappears and it's replaced with one that's not genuine at all. 

Great. 

“Oh, hi to you too,” she says and her eyes alternate between you and Yunho “I didn't know you were bringing your fake girlfriend tonight.” 

You don't know why, but the way she says it ticks you a little bit. 

“Yeah, me neither,” Yunho’s arm is around your shoulders now and you have to fight the urge to shove him away, like a second instinct “This is Y/N, Y/N this is Gyuri.” 

“It's nice to meet you,” returning her energy, you smile coldly at her too, “I've heard nothing about you.” 

Yunho's hip connects with yours in a silent warning. 

But instead of the usual hypocrisy you're met inside the crowd you move in, you're greeted with something genuine: At your response, Gyuri looks you up and down for what feels like a minute and a half and then that fake smile turns into a genuine one. 

“Okay, I get you,” she nods, laughing to herself when she turns to Yunho. You do too and the color has been drained from his face, at least a little bit “I'm glad you're here. I guess it is meet my girlfriend night,” her head cocks to the side, to where Seonghwa stands and you're a little relieved you don't have to ask what she's talking about when, besides him, you see the mechanic you didn't get to meet earlier this week. She turns to you again “Do you want a drink?” 

“Oh, I'm driving, um…” You look at Yunho “I don't know if you—” 

“No, let's not drink tonight, though if you want to we can call—” 

“No, that's not necessary, I don't feel like—” He interrupts with a nod. 

“Gotcha.” 

The nervousness is palpable and, although you didn't really feel anything the hour and a half it took you two to get to the bar (Yunho didn't really let you, bickering with you about your driving or the decor of the car or the tinted windows or whatever he could think of to annoy you), but now you you notice it. 

The way Yunho's fingers tap on your arm, his around your shoulders still. The way he doesn't really know what to say when you both turn to Gyuri after speaking over each other like that and the way you can't bring yourself to be hostile to him in front of his friends. 

It's a little pathetic. You think Gyuri thinks so too, and the long-haired guy next to her as well because they're staring at you stoically, unmoving. 

“So I'm taking that as a no but I need a drink now. If y'all excuse me…” 

“H-hi, Woo.” 

“I thought we got rid of this when San and Babe got together,” he sighs as Gyuri turns around and leaves for a table, offering you his hand with a wink. You can tell he's a little drunk but the way he shakes your hand brings out a genuine giggle out of you “I’m Wooyoung, Yunho’s best friend. I bet he already told you that, though.” 

No, you want to tell him, you and him haven't been able to talk like that yet. Even after knowing him for over ten years and spending holidays together, you don't know his best friend's name at all. 

And you start to nod just to skip explaining that but Yunho speaks and ruins your plans.

“Mingi is going to kill you if he hears you say that.” 

“Say what?” A tall man stands next to Yunho and only when he hugs his shoulders is that Yunho lets go of you “Are you talking shit about me, Woo?” 

Wooyoung genuinely sulks“I wouldn't dare, Mingi.” 

“You must be Y/N,” Mingi ignores him and you want to laugh at the expression he makes in return, but you busy yourself taking the hand that Mingi's offering “I've heard so much about you in the last forty eight hours.” 

“All terrible things, I'm hoping.” 

“Well—” 

“Okay, okay,” Yunho pushes him away and takes your arm again, giving his actual best friend a look “Let me introduce you to everyone else before Wooyoung makes a scene for the night.” 

Over your laugh, you hear a faint gasp and a I don't ever make scenes! shouted on Wooyoung’s side of the room. 

You were never shy but you fall a little quiet in the middle of these strangers because the one thing you realized right away is that there's no actual need to pretend here, in the dim light and with people who don't give a fuck if your posture isn't perfect or that you're not making small talk. 

It's a little freeing. 

That weight falls off your shoulders and you kind of get why Yunho is a little clueless about how things work in your world after talking to San and Mingi’s girlfriends for a little. 

It truly takes everything in you to keep everything you share about yourself in shallow waters. 

You tell them things they might've already known, things that can be found online about you. You tell them that you met Yunho when you were little, you tell them about your job when the girl that Park Seognhwa chose above going to the gala with you joins and then you direct the conversation to her instead of you. 

They tell you about Yunho’s college life, the parties and the embarrassing moments that you've missed all while he talks with his friends about something, all against the vip balcony railing while they watch the band perform. Gyuri is there too, arm to arm with Wooyoung and they tell you they used to be together. 

It shows, especially when you get up to join Yunho and watch the performance and she snuggles a bit closer to Wooyoung to make space for you. 

Even if there's plenty of space already. 

He looks at you when you bump into him, smiling and leaning into your space a bit to talk over the music “There you are. I thought I lost you to girl talk!” 

You roll your eyes.

“Your friend's are nice.” 

“Normal people usually are, Y/N.” 

Scoffing, you focus on the main vocal of the band. The only girl up on the stage, too and you convince yourself that's more interesting than the way Yunho seems to sparkle when he's with his people “Well, that explains why you're everything but nice.” 

He laughs “I am nice, just not to you.” 

“No, yeah, trust me, I know.” 

“You seem quiet around them,” he turns to look at the girls for a brief moment “And you're usually, obnoxiously loud. Everything alright?” 

You know he's asking about your panic attacks. Yes, you feel fine. You took your pills with your lunch and, considering the small space you're at gives you brief anxiety, mixed with the general nervousness of being with people you don't know, it could be worse. 

But, like you said, his friends are nice. 

You don't exactly fit in this group, but they make you believe you're a part of them at least for a little while and you know your friends, or the people you usually hang out with when you go out, wouldn't give a stranger the chance if presented with it. 

“I'm fine, I'm just… Intimidated.” 

“You just said they are nice, Y/N.” 

“And they're all very good looking, which is unfair and nerve wracking,” you add with a scoff and hear him giggle before you turn to him again. “You said you wanted to hang out with me but it's been forty minutes and you barely said anything,” you give him a look, “so you just wanted the ride, hm? Asshole.” 

“Needy,” he returns, pushing you with his arm, “I also wanted you to meet them. They're a huge part of who I am and I know it’s not this way for everybody, but I do believe you can gather who someone is if you meet the people they surround themselves with.” 

What does that say about me, is what you want to tell him and then his words from a second ago cross your mind. 

It's not this way for everybody. 

He knows and there's something so deeply fucked up about his understanding of you because is not supposed to be this way. You hate Yunho, he hates you and keeping each other at arm's length has always been the norm. 

It baffles you how quickly he can leave his preconceptions of you behind and open the door to his comfy bubble, invite you in and make you feel welcomed where you otherwise don't belong. 

He understands. It makes you smile and he smiles back, close to you both physically and emotionally, and so you're sure you don't need to add anything to this moment you two are having. 

Instead, you shake your head “I don't know why they hang out with you, then,” you turn to the stage one more time and there’s some tension between the band all of the sudden. You don't ask, Yunho is not paying attention to them right now anyway “I still think you wanted the free ride. Send me the gas money when you get home.” 

“When you take me home.” 

“No, you're walking back,” your fingers take a hold of his forearm, pinching it and gaining an exaggerated reaction to the mild pain it causes back from him “asshole.” 

“And get him again for me!” Wooyoung shouts to your left and you both turn to see almost everyone staring at you. 

It's almost enough to make your cheeks burn. Almost. 

When it's almost time for you to go home (the hour you said you were staying turned to two hours) and the band gets down the stage, Seonghwa sits beside you. 

“Did you paint over it?” Is the first thing you ask him and he frowns before understanding. 

“The tree in your brother's office? Nah. He said we should keep it.” 

Your brother has no taste. 

“It's a horrendous tree, Mr Park,” you insist, shaking your head when he makes a noise to disagree. “Please be sure to take it down at some point, behind his back if it's necessary.” 

“Miss Kim,” he starts and you realize whatever he's about to say, it's not about that goddamned tree, “when you asked me to go to a party with you, was it the gala you and Yunho went to?” 

He's direct and blunt and you are grateful that he addresses the topic straight ahead instead of walking around it like the girls did. 

You nod “Yes, I wanted to say I had someone to go with so they wouldn't force Yunho and I to…” 

“I understand.” 

“I'm glad you said no, though. She likes you a lot,” you point to his date, she's jamming along to a rock song you don't recognize in the slightest with Hongjoong, who just joined the group in the vip area with the rest of the band. The vocalist it's missing, however and you wonder where she went, “And you like her too, so that's good. I'm glad.” 

“And you don't like Yunho?” 

The chuckle that bubbles out of you comes out a little more nervous than what you intended “He's, um… An old friend.” 

“He told us you were trying to be friends,” he says and you blink, wondering what else Yunho told them, “but that's not what I'm asking.” 

“I know what you're asking, I know what some of you think it's going to happen,” your eyes land on Yunho, his arm around Hongjoong and they're both laughing at something Mingi said. There's that pull again, your chest feels heavy with something you've never felt before “but it is not going to happen.” 

Yunho catches your eye and smiles, says something to his friends and then starts making his way up to you two. 

Seonghwa, instead of getting offended at your very direct refusal of his intentions, just laughs at you “Famous last words, Miss Kim.” 

“Paint over the stupid tree and I might reconsider your point, Mr Park.” 

He opens his mouth to say something else but then Yunho interrupts, a hand on your shoulder. 

He's so touchy. You never actually took into account if he enjoys physical touch or not, but his hands are always on someone.  On you, when you're close to him. 

“We're leaving.” He says and he's talking to Seonghwa, not you. 

“We all are?” 

“Nope, just us. Princess has a curfew.” 

“Aw,” you place your hand on top of his, pretending to be moved, “yes you do!” 

Harshly but also half-joking (you think) he moves his hand away and turns around “I'll be waiting for you downstairs, you witch.” 

You watch him say his goodbyes and flash you his middle finger before, effectively, going down the stairs. Laughing as you stand up, you return your eyes to Seonghwa “Stop it.” 

“I'm just saying—” 

“Shut up.” 

Seonghwa laughs again and you say goodbye to everyone, Mingi giving you a look that reads as be careful with him and you want to clarify that nothing is ever going to happen. 

But some of them think otherwise. 

When you get downstairs, the crowd overwhelms you all over again and, just when you think Yunho might've actually left you, there's a hand that closes over yours. 

The hand spins you around and Yunho comes into view with his lips curled upwards into a teasing smirk “This way, princess.” 

Suspicious (about the fact that he's navigating the crowd towards anything but the exit, not about his flirtatious ways), you tug at him to make him stop “What are you up to?” 

He ignores your question, moving fast and through a deserted hallway where music doesn’t really get through and, after that, he opens a door that leads to the back of the musty bar. 

“Are you bringing me here so I can get robbed, Yunho?” 

He huffs out a laugh, kind of offended but not really “Obviously, Y/N. It wasn’t because someone was taking pictures of us all night at all.” 

His hand is on yours still as he drags you to the streets and to where you think your car is. You’re grateful he’s holding you, your heart dropping at his words. Not because people can’t know you came to this bar, or that you’re with Yunho, but because someone recognized you and you didn’t notice.

You always notice.  

But this time, you felt so comfortable inside a bubble that isn’t yours that you allowed someone to disrespect you like this. 

Worst, disrespect someone else who’s supposed to be with you like this. 

“Are you sure it was us and the person wasn’t taking pictures of Hongjoong? He’s kind of the buzz around here, Jeong.” You try to joke to calm the beating of your heart down, swallowing hard as you get to your car. 

Your hand shakes a little as you press the buttons to unlock the doors and, by the time you get into the car you’re sweating. You feel the moisture on the back of your neck like a warning, it tells you that you need to calm down before actually getting on the street but Yunho’s words don’t help at all. 

“That's what I thought but then I realized the phone was following you.” 

“Great,” you gulp again, starting the car and turning on the ac just to have something to distract you and your hands. "You didn't have to leave with me, though. You just needed to tell me and—” 

“We’re together, aren't we? At least to them, we are, so leaving together it's the least they expect us to do.” 

Expect. You hate that he's right, that he was able to think rationally and you hate that he regards the situation you're both in with a little more maturity than a few days ago. 

This turn in his personality is overwhelming to say the least. There's only so much concealing you can do before it shows that you're starting to care about him genuinely, beyond the pr and the arranged relationship.

“Thank you.” You mutter after a few seconds of silence where he checked his phone. 

He looks up from it a few seconds, smiles at you a little and then returns his attention to the screen. It takes a few seconds of the ac blasting in your face and the sound of the keyboard of his phone to return you to the ground, panic dissipating when he looks back up again. 

“Are you sure you don't want to sneak back? I don't mean to steal you from your friends, Yunho.” 

“You are my friend, princess.” Without really wanting to, your nose scrunches at the corniness of the statement and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t make that face. Look, I was searching online for the pictures or videos they might've taken at the bar and I found this.” 

He turns his phone and although your panic went away, the feeling is replaced by a little bit of anger: It's a picture of you both, Jaemi in your arms, her face covered by your hair and shoulder. Yunho is staring at you both sweetly, like you remembered he did and you are mid sentence. 

It's not the face you're making in the picture that upsets you, it's the fact that someone took that moment and posted it online for everyone to see. 

“You don't like it.” He says and you take a swing of air before replying. 

“I do like the picture, I don't like what it means,” and he's about to ask what you mean, you see it in his eyes but you stop him with a shake of your head. “I don't like that they took that moment away from me, from us.” 

You don't know why you say it like that but you do, there's this emotion laced on your voice that, a week ago, you would've fought to keep away from him. He was never supposed to see any of this. In fact, no one was supposed to see any side of you that wasn't perfectly crafted to their liking, to your mother's liking. 

Yunho getting to know you like this wasn't part of your plan. So you ignore the sting on your chest at his pained expression caused by what you say next. 

“From now on, let's not allow them to take moments away from us. Let's meet when we're scheduled to, during the week and not on weekends and—” 

“Let's go.” 

“Yeah, I'll take you home and then maybe we can tell our moth—” 

“No, no. Just… Let's go here,” he tips and taps at the screen of your car, placing an address inside the gps you're unfamiliar with, “and then we can go home.” 

Confused and in a surprising complaint mood, you start to back out of the parking spot. At the questions written all over your face, he simply places a hand on your knee and squeezes there. It does nothing to calm you down but it does distract you for a second. 

Which is bad. Cause you're driving and all, so you bat his hand away with yours and he laughs at the dead look you send his way. 

“Where are we going?” 

“I want to show you something.” 

“Jeong Yunho, are you sneaking me into your dorm room?” 

“Shhhh.” 

A finger on your lips is the only thing you get as a response before he pokes his head out, into the badly lit hallway of what you can only presume is his dorm room. 

His digit is replaced by your hand because you're trying very hard no to burst out laughing at his very specific change of placement. He sprints to the wall in front of you and moves his hand, urging you to follow his footsteps. 

You do, only much slower than what he intended, you guess, because as soon as you're on his reach he grabs your arm and collides his body with yours. His lips near your cheek when he looks down, his words a whisper. 

“The cameras are old and they don't catch fast movements that well, so we have to run.” 

It takes five good seconds to try and contain your laugh again before replying: “Okay… Mister Bond.” 

His face falls. “Y/N, I can get in serious trouble for bringing you here.” He deadpans and you nod, fast and unserious. 

“Yeah, no, I can totally see that.” 

“I hate you.” 

You smile all the way up to his room, his anxious behavior a little strange because, well, you see a girl casually exiting a room on the base floor as you go upstairs. She's flushed and giggling as she types on her phone, so you don't understand what big deal is. 

Especially when Yunho all but shoves you into a room you can only assume is his, your kitty heels almost making you trip with the shoe rack by the entrance. 

“You're the most dramatic person I have ever met, Jeong.” 

“Hall monitors are a thing here, Y/N and I don't want to get banned from the team!” 

“What team?” 

Now that you think about it, this does seem like one of the dorms reserved for sports teams in the school you graduated from. This one is smaller, definitely not as luxurious and allegedly has a faulty security system but that's besides the point: there's banners and posters on the walls all the way from the entrance to this room that kind of smells like soju and beer. 

“The dance team!” He says as you step further into the room. 

“I didn't know you dance.” 

There's enough space for two beds, two desks that are pressed together on one corner of the room, in front of one of the beds, giving the illusion of being one cohesive piece of furniture when it's not. In front of the other bed there's a corner mirror and a bedside table with old energy drink cans and one unopened, undrinked water bottle. 

“I didn't know you painted until recently.” 

“I don't,” you argue, throwing your purse on one of the beds before Yunho takes it and places it into the other one. You assume that's his. "You are allowed to have a dorm here for shaking your little ass on stage a few times, Jeong?” 

Your teasing makes him frown but you can only smile at the reaction, arms crossed as you take one more look around the room. 

“I do more than shaking my great ass on stage, princess. Besides, this makes me somewhat very independent from my parents,” he shrugs “And I'm close to the campus. It's a win, win situation for me.”

“Yeah, I'll give you that.” And it's true: you can't really argue against being away from your parents. He's lucky he's able to do it, least to some degree. “You still have to go to your house on weekends, no?” 

“Yeah,” he sighs and when you return your eyes to him, he's making his bed. He looks a little ashamed of the state he left the room in when he catches you staring. “But I think I can allow myself to stay here on weekends now, too, considering they forced me into our little… Arrangement.” 

“Yeah, because your mother is all but allowing you to do things this week. Really, Yunho, don't test the woman’s patience.” 

He frowns at you “What side are you on?” 

“The side where we get scolded the least until this whole thing is over, Yunho!” 

“Look, I understand that you care deeply for your parents approval and we've gone through this already this week but—” 

“But what?” 

You hope the look you send him makes him choose his words very carefully. You don't think it gets the message across when he takes a breath and shrugs. 

“But at some point you're going to have to let go of that, Y/N, you're clearly not happy.” 

“Stop caring so much about my happiness, Yunho.” 

“We're friends, that's what a friend is supposed to—” 

“Oh, stop that.” 

He looks taken aback by your interruption and your tone, but the whole leaving the bar because someone was taking pictures of you knocked some sense of reality into you and now you're upset. 

You don't want to scream, you don't want to fight with him because today has been so good. Good to you, good to him, good to people who are dear to you and to him, but it's so hard. 

It's hard when he understands some of it but not the full picture and it's hard when your walls are down, your feelings are on your sleeve and your words spill out of your mouth without a second thought. 

“We're not friends, Yunho. We've never been friends, we were not brought together to be just friends and you may think otherwise because you have the opportunity to live like this,” you point to his bed, “and go to bars and concerts and make noise within the crowds because you're tall and attractive, not because of your last name but I am never going to have that.” 

Feet moving to their own accord, you cross the space as you speak, until you have to look up at him and that pained expression you saw before heading towards his dorm is back, that pained expression he gave you back at the gala when he found you in that room, that pained expression he had when he fought with his mom in front of you. 

You hate it. Not because he might be in some sort of pain, but because it makes you feel bad that you are the one that's causing it. 

“I am never going to have this, Yunho. So yeah, I'm unhappy and bitter and sad and I've developed a whole panic disorder because of it but that's just what—” 

“God, you're impossible.” 

What? 

“W-what?” 

“‘That's just what it's meant to happen’. Is that what you were going to say? ‘That's just the way things are’,” he mocks and that hurts you but he doesn't back down even at the way you physically recoil at his words. 

He moves to the floor, knees hitting hard as he drops and looks for something under his bed. 

You don't need to be here. But before you announce that you're leaving, he does something that ignites your curiosity: he pulls out a box. 

A box with the name of the highschool you attended together in it. You have that box, or at least you think you do, somewhere in the storage of your house where no one can find it because, like almost everything in your life, there's no happy memories in it.

You're not sure if there's happy memories for Yunho, but the way he harshly opens it and rumages inside to find something specific tells you otherwise. 

“The other day, after seeing the canvases in your room, I tried to remember if you liked painting,” he starts and gets up, a mid-sized blue photo album on his hand with the name of the school and your classes slogan engraved in gold on the side, “I tried to remember things I'm supposed to know about you, because we grew up together, Y/N.” 

His reminder makes you gulp. 

“I've tried to distance myself from you as much as I can because I never thought that we would need to get along and— No, no, I never thought I would want to get along with you but now I do and so I went home and I stole this from my mother's office.” 

He opens the album and, at first, you only see pictures of him. Him at his graduation day, him at that one soccer event where he almost broke his nose, him at the school yard with guys from your class you barely remember and then he gets to a specific part of the album. Instead of a picture, there's a card with beautiful handwriting that reads your name instead. 

“See, I always hated that my mother seemed to adore you. She doesn't have any daughters, so I thought it was a way of living that through you and that your mother was a little weird for allowing it to happen, but I was wrong,” he hands you the album and you scowl a little at the pictures you see of yourself, pictures that you've never seen before tonight, “And so, when she asked me to take pictures of you at school events she couldn't attend or your parents couldn't attend, I did it because of that. But I realized recently that she never wanted this for herself.” 

There's a picture of you at a piano recital where you came in third because you sucked at it. There's a picture of you on stage, on school assembly day, accepting a medal for your academic excellency. There's a picture of you next to the school’s art gallery, where you were able to display the canvases you painted throughout your senior year, at your teacher’s insistent request. There's a picture of you in the art gallery, someone you don't recognize or don't really remember is talking to you, their hands pointing at an abstract piece you did. 

It's the only picture where you're genuinely smiling. 

You trace the picture caged with the protective film of the album with the pad of your finger, softly, over that smile and wait for it to disappear but it doesn't. 

You look at Yunho, eyes almost teary with confusion and sentiment. 

“She never wanted this for herself because, although she loves you, she doesn't care about any of this when you're already the perfect match for me in her eyes” he smiles a little, his finger joining yours on the page. “She doesn't care if you got third or first place here, she doesn't give a fuck about your academic achievements and she definitely doesn't give a shit if you're an artist or not,” his finger connects with yours, over your immortalized smile on the picture “but I do.” 

Your head starts to shake, your mind starts to reject his words right away. He cares? About you? No, no. It can be, he— 

He's nodding, stepping close and letting his eyes move away from you just a millisecond so he can stare at the picture “If it makes you this happy, I do. And I did, I don't… I don't remember exactly everything I thought about you as I took these pictures, Y/N, I was probably very annoyed,” he laughs a little and you do too, softly, barely, “but I probably cared back then too, I just… Well, what I'm trying to say is that you can be happy, you can have this and—” 

You don't know what does it. Is it his speech? This whole I was supposed to hate you but I don't think I ever did feeling that washes over you, like some sort of light in the midst of a very long period of darkness? Is it the lingering curve of his lips as he looks at your face in that picture and then back at you with stars in his eyes? Is it the way his finger brushes against yours shyly, like he intended to do it but he's not so sure how you would react to it? 

Is it the way he looked at you this afternoon, while Jaemi was speaking nonsense into your hair? Is it the fact that, at some point during the drive, you looked over and saw him smiling at his phone, at the picture that stole your moment with him this afternoon? 

What exactly prompts you to shut the photo album, let it fall to the floor and close the distance between your lips is beyond you but, if you're being honest with yourself, it doesn't really matter. 

Kissing Yunho feels like defiance, like rebellion against yourself and your principles and your values. It makes your heartbeat happily against your ribcage and that's, maybe, what makes you pull away from the close-lipped encounter. 

He just told you that you can be happy, but your mind can't just accept it so easily. 

Also, he didn't exactly kiss you back. 

His lips are parted when you look at him again, his pupils going all over your face like trying to get ahold of what the fuck just happened. 

This is so embarrassing. 

“I shouldn't have done that,” you start, in a whisper, tiptoes going down until you're back from the clouds on the ground. “I'm so, so sorry. I'll leav—” 

Briefly, you wonder what makes Yunho grab the side of your face and kiss you back, this time with a foreign emotion pouring into the kiss that you, somehow, feel equipped to return as your lips move in tandem with his. 

You wonder if what makes his free hand move to your waist and press you flush against him is, in any way, motivated by some sort of pity. 

His tongue brushing softly against yours for the first time makes your insecurity go away. It makes everything else go away, including that alarm inside of your head that tells you that you're making a mistake. 

It’s blasting red, dangerous and irrevocable red, but you think you confuse the color of it with the blush on Yunho’s cheek when you push a little onto him and he falls to the bed. You confuse the sound with the sigh that he lets out when he pulls you to him and your first instinct is to sit on his lap, leg on each side of him, hand fisting his shirt as you capture his lips again. 

His warmth engulfs you when his arms go around you, press you into him again and settle you further into his lap so you’re not awkwardly hovering over it anymore. There’s this need that takes over you, struggling to come up to the surface. You think he feels it too and, when your hips move out of pure want, he opens his legs a little more. 

Adrenaline rushing through you, making you confuse the sensation for pure euphoria, it takes two more thrusts into the material of his jeans for you to come to your senses. 

What the hell are you doing? 

Your heart races, for a different reason now. 

What the hell do you think you’re doing? 

Panic rising, you push Yunho’s shoulder with your hands, pulling you both away from the kiss completely. He has a pout on his lips, swollen from your kisses and flushed pink. They look very inviting, and although there’s a part of you that wants to give in, there’s the other side of you, the louder side, that’s telling you to think clearly. 

Giving into Yunho, is giving into your mother’s wishes fully. Giving into Yunho means she won. 

And Yunho thinks you are able to be happy one day, the words you cut off still ringing in your mind and they cover your fears with hope you never felt before, hope that you didn’t think you deserved to feel in the first place. His kisses had that taste, too. 

But you don’t think you can let your mother win.  

“Dinner.” You manage to say, untangling his hands off your waist, using them to help you up and off his lap.  

“W-what?�� 

“It’s almost nine, I have to go to dinner with my brother.” You fix your shirt, tuck your hair behind your ear and bend over him to grab your purse before clearing your throat, “I know the way out.” 

“Y/N, don’t—” 

“I’ll see you next thursday.” 

When you sprint out of the room and close the door behind you, you already want to go back in. 

But running is sensible, it’s what you’re supposed to do. 

It doesn’t matter that hot, angry tears are wetting your cheeks. 

It’s what’s best for everyone, including him.

If you read all the way down here: THANK YOU SO MUCH. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated!

© jensthwa, 2024.

[tyudearyous]

After that absolutely delicious ateez dom/switch/sub analysis, we need the separate Yunho dom analysis, please ♡ (no pressure)

no pressure as if i wasn’t kicking my feet excited to answer this the minute i saw your ask lol

okay once again, below the cut, lots of yunho dom analysis specifically around his kink list too though because there are reasons i added all of those and i figured it would also be fun to get into.

see this post here for the full ateez dom/switch/sub analysis and disclaimers that apply here too!

okay! so hopefully this all makes sense, but truly yunho is my ult and i’ve spent an insane amount of time headcanoning him for all the writing i’ve done, so please forgive how in depth this may get. i promise i’m not weird delulu i’m just a writer with a muse in this man.

general thoughts / evidence on yunho as a man with big dom potential:

natural leadership - yunho is a natural leader, and that’s been pointed out several times throughout the years in various pieces of content, though most recently in the fortune teller video. this is a role that i think he naturally gravitates towards, and leads me to believe that he is the type who will step up if there’s not a leader in the room, or will guide if someone needs guidance. i think he likes to feel appreciated and needed, but doesn’t necessarily need a bunch of fanfare or attention for doing so, which to me is such a quality in a good dominant. someone who wants to guide and lead his submissive, but doesn’t need everyone to know it.

his gaze - something you’ll notice if you watch yunho carefully is that when he needs the members to quiet down or when he’s trying to communicate something without words, all he needs to do is look in just the right way to get what he wants. most often you can see this with mingi and wooyoung when he levels them with a look and they either stop ‘misbehaving’ or fall apart into giggles. this is one of those things where i think you can see he’s kind of exuding masculine dominance without ever having to say anything or cause a fuss.

his propensity to tease - okay so he’s a joker, and a classic older brother, but that isn’t the thing that makes me think big dom potential. what does though is the ways he needles on a specific thing that riles someone up and just keeps applying pressure. mingi is a great example, if you watch the way he talks to him and calls him princess, particularly during his birthday live… that is the epitome of a dom. you can see other examples with other members, but you can also see it with atiny. in the live when he said he liked to hear atiny call him “yunho-yah” in a whining tone was pretty revealing. also since he’s become aware of the hotteok hand kink, he keeps playing up hand content. that is certainly something the company is doing to drive engagement, but to hear him tease about it on lives? the tone tells me knows he’s getting a flustered reaction and he enjoys it.

jealousy - this is a brief one, but he’s quietly jealous as fuck in a possessive way. just reference the live where he talks about his brother or the one good looking manager, you can see it underneath the teasing that he’s like okay no focus up. that’s someone who in a relationship would have to handle feelings of jealousy and could potentially channel that into a d/s relationship.

caretaking / gift giving / silent support - yunho naturally takes care of his members and staff, there’s a lot of stories about him getting up early to get coffee for people, being an ear during tough times, being thoughtful during holidays and birthdays, etc. and i just think in general that’s a quality that means he enjoys caring for his loved ones. in a d/s relationship, that’s such a key point of a good dom as they are trying to support and guide their submissive and ensure their needs are met.

pain tolerance - there’s a lot of clips where you can see yunho taking pain or discomfort and just eating it, and while i don’t think that implies he enjoys it, i do think that implies a certain level of control. that is a key quality in a good dom, especially in much harder scenes when they are supposed to be providing the guardrails, punishments, and safety nets.

emotional intelligence - i truly don’t think you can be a good dominant if you’re lacking in emotional intelligence and yunho has that in spades. i’m not saying that means he is a dom, but i am saying it ensures me he would do well at it or have the proper level of emotional intelligence for the role.

the kink list breakdown

rigging / shibari - he’s incredibly tactile and good with his hands, and after all those clips of him with the wire from imot and ropes from outlaw….. my thought is that yeah that’s promotion, but watch him move the ropes and cords. i think it comes naturally to him, but what’s more is that this is an ultimate form of control and dominance over a partner. i think he would excel at the slow preparation, the methodical nature of binding, the photography he could take of his sub tied up with different knots and colored ropes, and then the ability to control their pleasure or pain from there is something the rigging would allow.

edging / orgasm denial - another form of control. if he’s guiding his submissive through the experience of orgasm, then confirming their compliance by only letting them orgasm when he says is full control. i also think it plays into the idea of teasing, something that would leave his sub whining and begging.

pleasure / overstimulation - it’s the exact inverse of the above but the principles are the same. control, but also pushing his submissive’s limits.

praise - there is no way this man isn’t telling you how good you’re doing while you do it. yunho is ultimately a soft boy, a boyfriend boy, a husband boy, so no matter what hard kinks he has the potential to play with, i think praise and kindness is a huge hinge back to the relationship and the very real emotions underneath it all.

degradation - i personally think this would be done with a softer, teasing vibe. not meanly calling his submissive a slut, but more so from a corruption angle… something like …. “my fingers in your mouth get you this wet? listen to you whine, my good little slut” etc.

breeding and pregnancy - this one is a little self indulgent but that being said…….. my read on him as quite traditional hits this for me. yunho as a natural caregiver translates pretty heavily for me into yunho wanting to provide for his future partner, and he’s extremely close to his family and family oriented. if yunho wants children, i could see him loving the idea of intimacy that getting his partner pregnant would provide. and i think in general that could manifest in the idea appealing to him in general. i think also there’s possessiveness in this kink that could appeal to him - the idea that he claimed her body, that the changes visible in her body are something he did, etc.

impact play - his hands were made for spanking, next question… no but actually this one is something i want to call out. spanking hits control, punishment, aftercare but it also is something they some submissives need and helps ground them. pain in general can be like this, but as i think yunho would not be full blown into sadism, spanking would fulfill that need for them both.

restraints - again, another opportunity for control. we’ve touched on ropes, but i also think he would enjoy pinning a partner down, someone he can fantasize about being on the more submissive / innocent / corruptible side

free use - i mentioned in the original post this being an extension of the traditional idea. i just want to emphasize again, this is not in any way from a misogynistic angle whatsoever. what i’m talking about here is specifically an extension of his control, within this idea of possession and consumption. i could see yunho being the type of guy who would love to come home and just push his partner’s skirt up before dinner, or hop into the shower and just take his partner against the wall. i don’t think he would be into free use in the super extremes of this kink where his partner is like completely passive / truly available at EVERY moment, but some version of this i can see.

fingering - look at his hands, he’s going to make his partner squirt and he’s going to make his partner suck on his fingers and beg for it, next question.

oral - this man has an oral fixation. watch the way he touches his lips, the way he bites, the way his tongue is constantly present, how often he puts things IN his mouth? he’s absolutely going to be the type to just hold his partner down and eat her out for as long as she can take it.

omorashi - this one is a little off the wall but walk with me here. omo isn’t piss kink in the way that a lot of people might assume, it’s specifically about bladder control. this is one of those kinks that fall right in line with aspects of his dominance and personality so i’m saying if this hit for him, i’d believe it. the idea that he would control his partner’s ability to use the rest room to facilitate a scene, and then use that discomfort against them while he pleasures or edges them, verbally degrading and pushing his submissive to begging and pleading? yep. now some people with omo stop there and it’s all about the control, but if he took it a step further to actual bladder release i think you could imagine the way he’d comfort and praise his submissive through it. and once again, ultimate control.

corruption - listen…….. this catholic boy??? i will die on this hill. i think while yunho’s a good guy and wouldn’t actually care about things like body count or experience, especially with his person, i do think that he would lose his god damn marbles at the idea that his partner has only ever been with him or has only ever experienced certain acts with him. as a guiding presence, a caretaker, and a man with a jealous streak? this just makes sense. the idea that he’s the reason why you’re a begging crying mess for his cock? iconic. the idea that no one in the world knows what your body looks like but him? he’d quite literally cum and die.

breath play - hands. but also control, you get it.

somno - ultimate control but also it’s his submissive placing the ultimate level of trust in him and i think he would take it exceptionally seriously. it’s a responsibility more than anything to ensure that his partner is cared for and feels safe through that experience. also think this plays a bit into the corruption kink and when i mentioned in the previous post that he would enjoy being called daddy…… you put those dots together. (though to be perfectly clear i do NOT mean age play whatsoever)

cockwarming - i think this is something that’s actually quite comforting for some submissives so i see it as less of a kink and more of a sex act that he would engage in with his sub to be caring and tender and help ground them. similar to what spanking does, it helps ground some submissives and this is something he would want to provide. just picture his sub resting against his inner thigh, cock in mouth just resting on the tongue, yunho petting their hair and soothing them.

size kink / size training - i dont mean he wants a “small” or “thin” partner, i mean this from the corruption angle. he would enjoy slowly working his sub up to being able to take his cock comfortably in….. many….. different holes.

throat fucking - see above lmao

and good god could i talk about dom yunho and aftercare but that’s a whole other post lmk if anyone cares haha

[tyudearyous]

strangers by nature | iii

Pairing: heir!Song Mingi x heir!Reader AU: non-idol | arranged marriage | enemies to lovers Genre: angst, humor, fluff in future chapters Summary: After a life-altering car accident, Mingi is given one final shot at redemption—reborn as a fuzzy little puppy. To earn a second chance at life, he must complete three tasks or risk being doomed to the afterlife forever. Word Count: 4.9K Warnings: just a little angst but we're finally on a lighter, fluffier chapter

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As you pulled into the parking lot of an unfamiliar apartment complex, Mingi’s ears perked up, his dark, expressive eyes widening with what could only be described as alarm. He’d been unusually fussy this morning, darting away every time you reached out to put his collar on, his little legs scurrying under the grand piano. And when you crouched down to coax him with chicken, he bolted under the couch, telling you that you’d never catch him. 

“Maro, guess what! You’re going to have a sleepover with Hetmon!” you announced, patting him gently. The words slipped out with casual enthusiasm, thinking it’d be fun for him to spend a night with someone who’s growing so fond of him.

As a human, Mingi wouldn’t have cared. He would have come and gone as he pleased, slipping through life without a second thought. Back then, you were just a fleeting presence—someone whose affection he had easily shrugged off. He never thought twice about the way you looked at him or how you cared in your own quiet way.

But things were different now.

You had become the one constant in his new world. The way you fussed over him, made sure he was fed, safe, and warm—it was something he hadn’t realized he needed until it was gone. The thought of being without you, even for one night, filled him with a fear he didn’t fully understand. What if you didn’t come back? What if you left him behind for good?

He let out a soft whine, his eyes flicking to you as if trying to convey the thoughts swirling in his mind: Don’t leave me. Not like this. Mingi squirmed under your touch, his soft fur slipping through your fingers as he wiggled in his seat. His gaze darted to the complex in front of you, his ears twitching at every sound, the unfamiliarity of it all clearly overwhelming.

When you opened the car door, he hesitated, his small paws stiff against your hands as you gently lifted him from the seat. Holding him close, you pressed your cheek into his soft fur.

“It’s going to be alright,” you murmured, your voice steady despite the ache tightening in your chest. “I’m going to miss you.”

With every step up to Yeosang’s door, Mingi clung to you, his gaze darting between you and the unfamiliar entryway. When Yeosang opened the door, his gentle smile eased some of the tension. Kneeling down to greet Mingi, Yeosang reached out, offering a reassuring presence to the uneasy figure in your arms.

"Hey, Maro! We’re going to have so much fun! I know Hetmon can’t wait to play with you! We have tons of treats and toys, and we can stay up as late as we want!”

Mingi burrowed deeper into your hold, his nose pressing against the crook of your arm as though trying to shield himself from the unfamiliarity of the moment. You could feel his heart racing, a rhythm that matched your own.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” you said softly, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head. He didn’t pull away this time, but the tremble in his little body didn’t fade.

"I love you," you whispered gently, feeling the words catch in your throat. "I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?" 

Mingi blinked up at you, momentarily pulled from his anxious thoughts. You love me? The words settled over him, unexpected and profound. His tail gave a faint wag before drooping again.

There was something almost unbearable about the way you said it—so soft, so certain. As if he mattered. As if he was worth loving. He wanted to cling to his anger, to the bitterness he’d nurtured, to all the reasons he convinced himself to hate you. It was safer that way.

But in this moment, with your arms around him, his resolve began to falter under the quiet strength of your love. A lump formed in his throat as he let himself feel the ache of wanting to believe you. Slowly, he pressed himself into your chest, seeking refuge in your scent, in the fragile, fleeting comfort of your presence.

“Have fun, okay? I'll be back before you know it',” you promised, setting him down after one last hug. 

Mingi wanted to believe you—to believe that you’d come back, that this wasn’t just another moment where he’d be left behind. But the fear was louder, whispering cruelly that once you were gone, you might never return.

When the door finally clicked shut behind you, an ache settled in his chest. He wanted to hate you for leaving him, for making him feel so vulnerable, so helplessly tethered to you. Anger and resentment would have been easier to bear than the raw, twisting pain inside him.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about the way you held him—the way your arms had felt so steady, the way your lips had pressed gently to his head. And those words. I love you.

Did you mean them? Could they be real? Did he even deserve them? 

As he was left to contemplate on his own, Hetmon plopped down with a soft thud, his large frame settling next to Mingi’s much smaller one. The doberman nudged him gently with his snout, his warm brown eyes filled with quiet sympathy. 

“It’s okay to feel sad,” Hetmon said quietly. “It’s scary at first but then you get lots of snacks and snuggles! And I have lots of toys you can play with!”

But Mingi barely reacted, his tiny body stiff and unmoving, his gaze fixed on the door as though sheer willpower could bring you back. The sound of your footsteps fading down the hall felt like an unbearable loss, each step tugging at a string inside him he hadn’t even known was there.

“Maro,” Yeosang said gently. His voice was soothing, though it didn’t carry the same comfort yours did. “Why don’t we go into the living room? It’s more comfortable there.”

Mingi sprawled on the floor in his fluffy, sulking form, letting out a deep, reluctant sigh. His big puppy eyes darted toward Hetmon and then to Yeosang, filled with quiet resignation.

Yeosang didn’t push him, simply standing back and letting the puppy sulk in his own time. As a human, Mingi had always been used to getting his way. Pampered and spoiled, he’d rarely had to ask for what he wanted—everything had been handed to him, either out of obligation or fear of his temper. People didn’t treat him with kindness because they cared; they catered to him because it was easier than dealing with his tantrums.

But Yeosang and Hetmon were different–they were giving him something he didn’t quite know how to handle: genuine care and patience. They didn’t push, didn’t try to force him into compliance. It wasn’t about control or convenience—it was about seeing him, even when he was at his most vulnerable.

Yeosang exchanged a look with Hetmon, as if the two were silently agreeing on what to do next. 

“Alright, let’s make this space cozy,” Yeosang said, his tone gentle but upbeat. “Something just for you and Hetmon.

Curious but still sulking, Mingi tilted his head as the living room was a flurry of motion. Yeosang draped blankets over the back of the couch and anchored them with cushions, creating a cozy little den. Hetmon grabbed a toy, carrying it over and dropping it right next to Mingi with a proud wag of his tail.

“There we go,” Yeosang said, standing back to admire the setup. The blanket fort was simple but warm, with soft lighting spilling through the gaps. He knelt down, peeking inside. 

“What do you think, Maro? A place just for you and Hetmon.”

Mingi hesitated, his small paws inching forward as he sniffed cautiously at the fort. The structure, carefully built, carried faint traces of Yeosang and Hetmon’s familiar scents. Pausing at the entrance, his big, round eyes scanned the space nervously before retreating slightly, his posture low to the floor.

Yeosang settled beside the fort, keeping a respectful distance as he offered a reassuring smile. “You’ll be okay, Maro,” he said gently. “I promise we’ll take good care of you until Y/N comes back.”

⋆

You lay on the couch in the private suite, staring blankly at the ceiling as the low hum of the machines filled the silence. Your gaze drifted instinctively to Mingi, his frail form nestled amidst a series of wires and tubes. His chest rose and fell in steady intervals, yet the sight brought little comfort. He seemed so small, so fragile, swallowed by the sterile hospital bedding and the weight of his condition.

A shaky breath escaped you, uneven and strained in the stillness of the room. Part of you yearned to reach out, despite knowing he wouldn’t feel it. But the other part held you back, paralyzed by the thought that crossing that line would tear apart the fragile distance that had shielded you for so long.

Instead, you let yourself collapse further into the sofa, its cushions swallowing you whole. Your body sagged under the weight of exhaustion and grief, the kind that lingered in the pit of your stomach, making it hard to breathe.

“Hey,” you murmured softly, the word catching in your throat as though it could break the suffocating silence in the room. Your voice sounded foreign to your own ears, hoarse and uncertain, but the need to fill the stillness outweighed your discomfort.

“Do you dream of anything?” you asked quietly, your gaze flicking to his still form. “I mean, I hope it’s something good. Something better than this.”

Your fingers toyed with the edge of the blanket draped over you, the repetitive motion grounding you just enough to keep going. 

“You know, I read somewhere that people in comas can hear things. I don’t know if that’s true, but if it is, you’re probably thinking, Why won’t Y/N shut up?” You let out a shaky laugh, the sound bitter, more like a defense mechanism than actual amusement.

You shifted again, resting your head against the arm of the sofa, your gaze never leaving him. "Oh, uh, I got a dog," you said, the words coming out almost hesitant, like a confession.

"I found him outside of the hospital at 5 AM. It was after you were brought into the ICU. His name’s Maro. Cutest little thing ever. He’s really fluffy, kind of like a Pomeranian, except he has one floppy ear."

The corners of your mouth twitched into the faintest smile at the memory, but it disappeared just as quickly. Had he always seemed this small? Or was it the weight of his vulnerability now that forced you to see him differently? 

You clenched your fists, willing yourself not to cry. Was it pity, guilt, or something else entirely? You weren’t sure if you were mourning the man you never got to know—or the one you never had the chance to leave behind.

"What am I doing?" you sighed to yourself, the words escaping in a combination of frustration and sadness. 

You were talking to him. Hoping, somehow, that he could hear you. That even in the liminal space between life and the unknown, he might sense your presence. That he might know, even if you’d been so far apart in life, you weren’t going to leave him alone in this.

“I hate hospitals,” you admitted, your voice cracking slightly as you glanced at the stark white walls. 

“And now here I am again. Back in a place I never wanted to see again. And you’re the one lying there, hooked up to machines.” Your voice caught, and you swallowed hard, fighting the lump rising in your throat. 

“And I hate it just as much as I did back then. Maybe more.”

You hesitated, your gaze dropping to your hands as you fidgeted with your sleeves. “I talked to your mom,” you began softly, your voice heavy with unspoken frustration.

“I tried to convince your parents to take turns staying overnight,” you continued, your voice cracking slightly. 

“I thought maybe...maybe it’d be an opportunity to bring you closer together. That this—” you gestured faintly to the machines, “—would wake them up. But it’s like...nothing’s changed.” 

The room fell silent again, save for the steady, monotonous beeping of the machines, a sound that felt almost mocking in its rhythm. You looked at Mingi’s face, so peaceful it made your chest ache. It felt unfair—like the calm didn’t belong here, not with everything unsaid hanging in the air.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words catching in your throat. 

“They don’t deserve you, Mingi. I just...I just wanted them to see you. Really see you. Not the version of you they’ve made up in their heads.” You exhaled shakily, your gaze dropping again to your hands. 

“You’re more than that. You’re just Mingi,” you said quietly. “And that’s enough. You’re enough.”

Your words drifted into the stillness of the room, fading into the hum of the machines. You pulled the thin hospital blanket closer, wrapping it tightly around yourself like a fragile shield against the cold. Closing your eyes, you told yourself you wouldn’t sleep—but the weight of exhaustion crept in, relentless and unyielding, until it finally pulled you under.

And in the quiet of your dreams, it felt as if he were also reaching out for you too.

Mingi laid on his belly, eyes fixed on the front door, refusing to move. After dinner, despite Yeosang arranging a cozy pile of blankets by the couch and Hetmon checking in persistently, Mingi remained rooted in place. 

Hetmon was fast asleep in the blanket fort, while Yeosang lay stretched out on the floor next to it, his head propped up on one arm. The faint glow of the moonlight spilled through the curtains, bathing the room in silvery light.

"You must really love Y/N," Yeosang observed quietly, his voice barely louder than a whisper. He turned his gaze toward Mingi, who sat a short distance away.

Mingi had never waited for you before, not like this. He had never looked forward to your presence, never longed to see your smile or hear your voice. But his heart ached in a way that he couldn’t explain. He could barely remember the last time he’d truly listened when you spoke to him, let alone considered that you might see something in him worth loving.

What could you possibly love about him? The man he had been was callous, dismissive, too caught up in his own bitterness to care about the hurt he caused. But you didn’t deserve any of it. He had been too proud, too angry to see that then. 

But now, stripped of his humanity, stripped of his defenses, Mingi saw everything clearly. No walls to hide behind, no excuses to shield him from the truth. He couldn’t help but wonder whether it was too late to try and make things right.

Yeosang offered him a small smile, the kind that was patient and unwavering. 

“Y/N loves you so much. You’ve become her whole world, even if you don’t realize it.”

Mingi’s ears flicked at the words, a pang resonating deep in his chest.

“Honestly,” Yeosang continued, “I’ve never seen anyone dote on a dog the way she does you. She keeps saying you’re special, you know? That you’re not like other dogs. And the way she looks at you—it’s like you’ve hung the moon.” He chuckled softly, his expression tender.

“I don’t think she’s wrong, though. There’s something about you.”

Mingi’s ears twitched again, and his eyes slid closed as a wave of bittersweet warmth washed over him. Yeosang had no idea how close to the truth he was. He didn’t know that the little dog lying here was the same Mingi who had spent years pushing you away, too afraid to let you in.

The weight of those thoughts grew unbearable, and Mingi slowly got to his feet, his small frame shivering slightly. He padded softly toward the pillow fort, and didn’t hesitate as he nudged his way inside, his nose brushing against Hetmon’s side.

“Hey,” Mingi murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he crouched next to Hetmon. “You’re a good listener, right?”

Hetmon perked up immediately, tail wagging in eager agreement. “The best listener! Try me!” he chirped, his eyes bright and inviting.

“Remember when I told you…that I got turned into a dog because I did some…bad things? And you said you’d help?”

Hetmon tilted his head, his dark eyes softening as he let out a quiet, supportive huff. The playful glint usually present in his gaze gave way to something warmer, deeper—a promise that he was here.

Mingi swallowed hard, his ears lowering as his voice faltered. “Well I need your help…listening. I—I don’t even know where to start. I just…” His words trailed off, and he stared down at his paws as though they held the answers he was too afraid to find. 

“I…I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want Y/N to leave me here, I want her to come back. I think…because I’m always used to being left behind.”

His gaze dropped, as if the weight of his words were too heavy to carry for his little form. “When I was a kid, my parents weren’t around much. My dad worked all the time, and my mom…she didn’t know what to do with me. I wasn’t easy—loud, stubborn. I broke rules just to see if they’d notice. And when they did, it was only because I made them look bad. That was the only time I felt…seen.”

Hetmon nudged closer, his nose pressing gently against Mingi’s side in quiet support.

“I just wanted their attention,” Mingi whispered. “For them to be proud of me, to love me for something good. But it never felt like enough. I only existed to them when I was a problem. Whatever it took to remind them I was there. And eventually, it wasn’t an act anymore. I just…became that person.”

“I wanted everything on my terms. Most people just gave me what I wanted because it was easier than dealing with me.” He paused, the next words catching in his throat before spilling out. 

“Except for the engagement.”

He glanced away, unable to meet Hetmon’s gaze. “I accepted it because I thought it would make my parents proud,” he admitted quietly.

“I thought if I did this one big thing, if I played the role they wanted me to, I’d finally be enough for them. But it wasn’t what I wanted—it was never what I wanted.”

“I thought it would earn their approval, but all I did was hurt everyone—especially Y/N.”

Mingi curled in on himself, his nails digging into the cushion as his voice dropped to a whisper. “I made her life miserable because it was easier than letting her in. I couldn't be vulnerable with her.”

“She was the only one who ever stood up to me. And that scared me. Not because she made me feel small, but because…” His voice faltered. “Because she made me feel like I wasn’t in control. Like she could see the real me. Some spoiled kid desperate for someone to care.”

He stared down at his paws, uncertainty clouding his gaze. The enormity of his mistakes felt insurmountable. Would you even want to hear him out? Could he find the right words to make you understand how sorry he was?

He thought about the way you cared for him—not just the way you fed him or ensured he was comfortable, but the way you spoke to him softly, as if he were the most important thing in the world. The way your eyes lit up with genuine affection every time you saw him. You loved freely, without conditions or reservations, and he saw it in every small act, every moment you cared for him. It wasn’t just something he noticed once—it was unyielding.

And it made him realize just how deeply he’d failed you.

“I don’t know what it’ll take to turn back,” he murmured, “but I know I have to fix things. I owe her that much.”

For a moment, Hetmon didn’t move, as if processing the words. Then, with a cheerful wag of his tail, he shuffled closer, his dark eyes warm with encouragement.

“I’m glad you told me all that!” Hetmon chirped, his voice bright and unburdened. “It means we’re friends now, right? Real friends!”

Mingi blinked, taken aback by the simplicity of Hetmon’s declaration. He turned to look at him, his tail swishing lightly against the floor as Hetmon beamed up at him.

“Yeah…I guess we are,” he replied softly with a small smile.

“I don’t really know what ‘vulnerable’ means,” Hetmon admitted, his head tilting curiously, “but it sounds like sharing your favorite toy with someone, even if you don’t really want to! Because… you’re nice!”

A quiet chuckle escaped Mingi, and for the first time in a long while, the heavy knot in his chest loosened. “Yeah,” he said, his voice lighter, “it’s kind of like that.”

“Well, I’ll always share my toys with you,” Hetmon said, his tail wagging faintly. He paused, tilting his head thoughtfully before continuing, “Maybe you should share your toys with Y/N. You know, to show her how much you care.”

Mingi blinked, startled by the simplicity of the suggestion, but the earnestness in Hetmon’s voice made something inside him soften.

“We’re gonna go to the park tomorrow, so we need to save our energy to play chase… and maybe fetch too. Gotta make sure we’re ready. And then…” He trailed off for a moment, his breathing slowing as though on the verge of sleep, before murmuring, “And then we can think of ways to help make you human again.”

Mingi glanced up at the dog pressed against him. He’d never thought much about companionship before, but Hetmon’s unwavering optimism and warmth chipped away at the walls he’d built around himself.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I’d like that too.”

Unbeknownst to Mingi and Hetmon, Yeosang sat quietly outside the fort. The sight of them—Hetmon nestled snugly against Mingi, both looking so peaceful brought a smile to his lips and a sense of relief. Maro was finally settling in. With a soft click, he snapped a photo, capturing the unexpected tranquility of the moment before shooting you a quick text.

“How do you know when you’re done with a task?” Hetmon asked, as his long legs carried him easily down the path to the dog park. The sleek doberman slowed his pace so Mingi could keep up.

“I don’t know,” Mingi muttered, his fluffy tail wagging in uncertainty. “Maybe… when it feels right?”

“That’s not an answer! What does ‘feels right’ even mean? Like when your belly’s full after eating?”

“Well…no. There’s something about my transformation that I didn’t tell you about. There was a man…he referred to himself as The Judge. I think I have to find him.”

Hetmon tilted his head curiously, moving gracefully beside Mingi. “Like an adventure? Are we going on a really long walk?” His tail wagged once, and he nudged Mingi playfully. 

“What’s a judge, anyway?”

Mingi let out an exaggerated huff, his fluffy body bouncing slightly as Yeosang unleashed him. “A judge is, like…someone who decides stuff. Big stuff. Like who’s right, who’s wrong, and what happens next.”

“Oh, like my dad?”

“Not exactly.” Mingi frowned, struggling to explain. “A judge is about…being fair.” He paused, his small ears twitching as dogs of all shapes and sizes zoomed past. Mingi barely noticed them, lost in thought. 

“The Judge decides if you’ve been bad or good,” he said, his tone growing quieter. “And if you deserve a second chance.”

Hetmon slowed his pace, glancing down at Mingi as they weaved through a bustling cluster of dogs sniffing at a water fountain. “So, what does he do if you don’t?”

Mingi froze, his fluffy tail stiffening as the unsettling atmosphere settled around them. The playful barks and chatter of the park faded, replaced by an eerie silence that made his hackles stand. Hetmon’s sharp ears swiveled forward, his nose twitching as he scanned their surroundings.

“Do you feel that?” he asked, his voice lowering to a cautious rumble.

Before Mingi could respond, a new presence entered their field of vision. A black cat perched atop a nearby bench, its eyes glinting with an unsettling intensity. It was a small thing, lithe and elegant, yet its presence carried an almost tangible weight. Its tail swished lazily, but there was nothing casual about the way it stared at them.

“Surprised to see me, Maro?” the cat purred, its voice smooth and taunting as it stretched languidly. Without breaking eye contact, it hopped down from the bench with a graceful leap and began to saunter toward them, its paws making no sound against the ground.

“You’re looking...lighter. Did someone have a little emotional breakthrough last night?”

Mingi’s ears flattened against his head, and his nose scrunched in irritation. “Who are you?”

Hetmon’s tail wagged excitedly, oblivious to the tension. “Hey, it’s a cat! Are you here to play too?”

The black cat let out a soft laugh, the sound equal parts amusement and condescension. “Oh, I’m always here to play,” it said, its tone dripping with mock sincerity. Its piercing eyes slid back to Mingi, a playful glint in them. 

“But I don’t expect you to remember me in this form. You know, considering the state you were in last time we spoke.”

Mingi blinked, confusion spreading across his puppy face as he studied the cat more closely, trying to make sense of the situation. “The last time?” He squinted, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air, piecing the puzzle together.

“You’re the Judge.”

“In the flesh,” Wooyoung said, with an exaggerated bow. “Though, this is only one of the many forms I can take.”

“Why are you here?” Mingi growled, his nerves beginning to fray. There was something unnervingly calm about the cat’s presence.

“I was in the neighborhood,” Wooyoung replied casually, his voice light but carrying an underlying warmth. “And I couldn’t resist seeing how our dear Maro is holding up. Word is, someone’s been dabbling in a bit of self-reflection.” 

He circled Mingi, his movements more curious than menacing. Mingi, however, wasn’t taking any chances. He scowled, puffing up his hackles instinctively, his narrowed eyes following Wooyoung’s every move.

“Imagine my shock when I heard whispers about you sharing your feelings and letting others in.”

Mingi’s fluffy tail gave an involuntary twitch, and his ears flattened against his head. If dogs could blush, he would’ve been beet red. “And what about it?” he barked, his voice rising in embarrassed frustration.

“Aw, don’t be shy,” Wooyoung teased, his grin spreading wide and sharp, though his eyes sparkled with something closer to amusement than malice. “It’s adorable, really.”

Hetmon, ever the optimist, wagged his tail harder. “Sounds like you’re doing great! Even the kitty thinks so.”

“But I give credit where it’s due,” Wooyoung said, pausing mid-step to preen his face.

“You completed your first task, and it looks good on you. Dare I say, you might actually be growing as a person.” He let the compliment linger before flicking his gaze to Mingi’s fluffy form. “Or… dog. Whatever.”

“Uh… thanks, I guess?” Mingi muttered, his defensive posture softening slightly, though his tail still twitched with lingering unease.

“Don’t let it go to your head, fluffball,” he said, his grin returning, but now it was less sharp, almost fond. “You’ve still got a ways to go. But…” He tilted his head, his golden eyes glinting in the soft light. 

“I suppose I’ll be watching with mild interest.”

For all of Wooyoung’s teasing, there was an odd comfort in the knowledge that someone—however mischievous—was paying attention to his journey.

“Maro!”

Mingi’s ears perked up instantly, his heart leaping at the sound of your voice. His head whipped around, and there you were, jogging toward him, grinning ear to ear. He didn’t think—he just bolted toward you, his excitement erupting in a series of joyous barks that echoed through the park.

Before you could even brace yourself, he launched himself into your arms. You stumbled slightly under the force of his leap, but your laughter bubbled out, ruffling his furn in that perfect way that always made him melt.

“I missed you so much!” you said, your voice warm and full of affection. You leaned your cheek against his head, holding him like you never wanted to let go. 

“Looks like you had fun while I was gone.”

Fun? Sure, the dog park was fine. Hetmon was great. Even the bizarre encounter with Wooyoung had been…something. But none of it compared to this. None of it compared to you.

Mingi leaned his fluffy body into you, letting out a soft whine as his eyes closed. Your touch, your voice, your laugh—it was everything he didn’t know he needed until now. He’d missed you more than he could say, more than this form would allow him to show.

His mind wandered, as it often did, to a future where he wasn’t just a dog but himself again. Would you see him differently? Would you understand how much he cared, how much he’d changed? Would you give him a chance?

Maybe, just maybe, you’d look at him the way you did now—with a warmth that made him feel like the center of your world. The thought sent a spark of hope blooming in his chest, as bright and fragile as the first rays of sunlight after a storm.

Your arms tightened around him slightly, pulling him back to the present. And for now, that was enough. Mingi let out a soft, contented huff, nuzzling into you as if to say, I missed you, too.

“What’s gotten into you?” you teased.

Yeosang trotted over with Hetmon by his side. “He was a champ while you were gone,” he said, “but I think someone’s been counting the minutes until you came back.”

You laughed again, running your hand over Mingi’s head as he leaned into your touch. “Is that true, Maro? Were you waiting for me?”

Mingi barked softly in response, his tail wagging furiously now. In this moment, everything felt perfect. There was so much he wanted to say, words that his current form couldn’t fully express. But he would wait. He would wait for you, no matter how long it took. 

<< ii | iv >>

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[tyudearyous]

our leaves must fall before our flowers can bloom

genre: poly hockey team!ateez x coach fem!reader, enemies/strangers to lovers, athlete!au, slow burn, fluff, angst

length: 37.6k

c/w: sweaty and athletic ateez (warning well deserved), explicit profanity, themes of corruption and rocky family relationships, trauma, hurt/comfort, injuries, kissing, boys are in an established relationship, m x m interactions

synopsis: you become the new coach of the elite men's ice hockey team, the red devils. but with both yourself and the team carrying burdens of the past, you all find it difficult to see eye to eye. as you lead them to the championships in the korean ice hockey league, you discover that teamwork and trust is not as straightforward as it seems.

a/n: it has made me incredibly touched to see so many of my readers from the essence of youth come back to support this new oneshot. thank you from the bottom of my heart ♡ and as always, this fic would not have been possible without @sorryimananti-romantic and her undying support

if someone were to ask yunho–or anybody on the team–when he feels the most alive, his answer would be the same every single time: when he is on the ice, just like he is right now.

the air of the rink is already chilly, but with the added cold of emerging autumn, each rugged lungful he takes fills his chest with vigour. only his own heavy breathing can be heard as the rest of the players’ shouts become muffled into the background outside of his helmet. he tightens his grip on his stick, muscles locked and engaged with adrenaline. his vision narrows, an opening suddenly clearing itself through the tangle of sticks and jungle of skates–a golden opportunity for him to take.

“san!” he yells.

their usual goaltender glances upwards as he handles the puck rebounding off the boards. his jaw tightens and with a practised flick of his wrist, san chips the puck over an incoming stick’s attempt to block the pass. there’s a burst of explosive power as yunho speeds up along the opposite boards to receive the landing puck, hoping to break away from the opposing team’s offensive players before he passes it off.

the flash of a blue jersey appears in yunho’s vision with alarming momentum. they lower and widen their stance, shoulder positioned in front ready to knock him directly into the boards in an attempt to steal the puck, leaving yunho with no choice but to mirror their actions. he braces himself as the opponent rams into him with more force than a usual play, and in combination with their own towering height, yunho finds himself being pushed into the plexiglass panels as he loses possession of the puck.

involuntarily, he lets out a threatening growl of vexation. there is a teasing chuckle from the other player that still has him pinned against the wall despite the continuing game, which clearly tells him that the excessive body check was deliberate. yunho has half a mind to flip their positions, knowing he could easily overpower the other. but before he can adjust his stick out of the way to make good use of his hands, the opponent playfully knocks their helmets together.

“you’re hot when you get all competitive and riled up.”

all of the tension escapes yunho’s body, because he will never not find mingi’s attempts to flirt mid-game–with his mouthguard and resultant bumbling pronunciation–to be amusing. he endearingly rolls his eyes and sighs, “have you not heard of, ‘don’t poke the bear’?”

“you’re not a bear, though,” mingi squirms cheekily on the spot, still up in yunho’s personal space because he knows the older will never be truly annoyed by his antics. “you’re just a cute, harmless puppy.”

before mingi can blink, yunho grabs him by the shoulders and pins him against the wall. yunho smirks, “and they also say, ‘let sleeping dogs lie’.”

wooyoung tongues his cheek with mischief at the sight of the two, nice and cosy against the walls of the rink. he hands his stick off to seonghwa, who is starting to remove his helmet, and skates in their direction, ignoring the dull throb in his left ankle. wooyoung only bothers to slow himself down slightly, instead letting his trajectory be cushioned by something else.

mingi lets out a pathetic noise as the air is squeezed out of his chest from the impact of wooyoung and yunho’s added weight. the latter grunts out, a little breathless, “woo, please, you’re going to knock somebody out like this one day.”

it goes in one ear and out the other as wooyoung grins up at him to state, “seonghwa scored so we lost ‘cause you were too busy making out with mister mingles here.”

yunho pushes off the wall to free himself from the sandwich of bodies and pivots on his skates to jab wooyoung’s padded chest. “you and san were doing the exact same thing just five minutes ago.”

“we’re on the same team,” wooyoung shrugs, “whereas mingi is not, so you’re fraternising with the enemy. now come on losers, captain’s wrapping up practice.”

the three of them glide along the ice to rejoin the rest of the team, where they are stepping out of the rink to sit on the benches. they remove their helmets and start unlacing their skates as hongjoong gathers the attention of the team.

“great work from everybody today, especially you, jongho. your backhand wrist shots are improving–keep it up. now just a reminder to everyone that our regular games start next week so i want you all to make sure you are stretching and cooling down properly,” he emphasises. he pointedly looks at yeosang, who has already begun to wander his way off to the changerooms, at the same time that seonghwa scruffs him by the back of his jersey and gently tugs him back to the team.

jongho peels off his blue practice jersey as he scans the arena and absentmindedly asks, “is coach still not here? it’s already the end of practice.”

“he said he had something to sort out today, but would come round if everything went well,” seonghwa answers, also craning his neck to look for signs of their coach.

from where you and coach cho are watching from the designated scouting area in the arena, the team is unable to spot you two. you had come from the final negotiations of your contract with coach cho and had watched their team, the red devils, play the last period of their game. despite it only being a friendly match amongst the team’s players, you have already grasped a sense of their playing style–it is heavy on the offensive at the expense of defence, just like how you used to play. it is fast-paced, aggressive and…prone to injury.

“let’s go meet the team,” coach cho voices, making his way out of the viewing area as you follow beside him. all the players look up from their skates that they are still unlacing or from their stretches on the floor when you two near the arrangement of benches surrounding the rink. they greet coach cho enthusiastically and you can see why from the way the older man smiles at them like they are his own sons.

“y/n, this is the team, the red devils–my pride and joy. boys, this is y/n,” he introduces. “i had to miss practice to meet up with y/n and make sure she was happy to sign on as part of the red devils.”

said team gives you disinterested glances, a complete change from the receptivity with which they respond to coach cho. one of the red-jerseyed boys, who you recognise as wooyoung, utters sarcastically, “cute, but we don’t need a mascot or cheerleader.”

coach cho chuckles lightly, “she’s your new coach.”

“hold on, you were serious about–” “–are you coaching a different team–” “–you don’t want us anymore?”

some of the boys erupt into a barrage of questions, trying to make sense of the sudden announcement, whereas the others stay quiet, flickers of flashbacks stirring up from within the depths of their memories. their coach raises his hands to settle them as he apologises, “i didn’t want to say anything before i was one hundred percent sure that things would go ahead, and i wasn’t sure whether y/n would accept the offer.”

“is it because your wife is due soon?” san interrupts.

coach cho nods, “with twins, and i want to be present to help–as a husband and a father. but that just isn’t feasible as your coach, as much as i love you boys.”

training as professional athletes takes incredible perseverance, discipline and commitment. there are early mornings, late nights, weekends and public holidays. it takes sacrifices in the form of time and relationships, especially when they must travel away from home for up to weeks on end to compete in matches. and with the start of the regular season, the intensity is only going to ramp up. as hard as the athletes train, the coach works twice as hard to make it all possible.

the team needs somebody to be there for them to ensure they make it into the playoffs, and it just won’t be fair for anybody–the players and his own family–if coach cho were to keep his position. and the team gets it, they really do, but–

“she’s the new coach?” yunho frowns in confusion. “no offence, but we’re not a bunch of kids for her to practise being a soccer mum to.”

“she was the assistant coach for the grey eagles,” coach cho discloses.

“the grey eagles? the under-21 men’s championship team?” yeosang looks incredulous.

mingi sceptically comments, “the fact that we’ve never seen or heard of her before probably tells us enough.”

hongjoong’s lips purse sourly as he tries his hardest to analyse the situation with the professionalism of the team’s captain. but with the sudden change in coaches and the same critiquing doubts as mingi, hongjoong cannot help but feel his personal judgement webbing over his mind. over the team’s entire career as an elite ice hockey team thus far–five years, now well into their sixth–the red devils have only ever had two coaches. coach cho has been with them for the longest and whilst it took the team a while to eventually warm up to him, he has been with them for almost quadruple the amount of time it took to trust him.

the team’s alternate captain, seonghwa, speaks to you directly, “if you don’t mind me asking, why are you not playing as an athlete yourself? you’re clearly our age–nowhere near retiring.”

you knew from the very start that your age would make your credibility as a coach much lower, and your answer to seonghwa will not help your case either. “i stopped playing.”

“how come?”

the trigger of memories fills your nose with a sharp stinging smell. you blankly reveal, “i chose to stop playing.” you know exactly how it sounds like to somebody else, even more so to professional athletes. coach cho has also told you of the team’s hardheadedness and strong will when it comes to the passions of their career, so you are expecting the cold receptiveness that you are met with.

your response strikes the wrong chord within wooyoung. there was a point in his career not too long ago when the choice of continuing to play or not was at risk of becoming a forced decision. the way you answer so callously with those very words that had threatened to tear his world apart has his jaw grinding and eyes darkening, and he is not the only athlete in the arena who feels similarly.

“i would rather choose to die before i choose to stop playing. ice hockey is my entire life and without it, i am not living either,” hongjoong jabs and you cannot help but clench your fists because you know exactly what he means. still, you stay quiet as he continues, “sorry, but i can’t respect a ‘coach’ who chose to stop playing.”

at the captain’s words and subsequent move to leave for the changerooms, the rest of the team also gather their equipment and follow his steps. san’s feet falter in front of you, expression hesitant until he decides to voice, “our team needs a bit of time. it’s hard for us to warm up to…outsiders, and i know it might not mean much to say this but we have our reasons. don’t expect us to blindly trust you just because you’re a coach.”

the use of the word ‘outsider’ does not go unnoticed as you nod, “of course.”

san jogs off to rejoin the others and coach cho hums, “guess some things haven’t changed. they were just as prickly to me when i first became their coach.”

you raise an eyebrow, “prickly? to you?”

“yes, believe it or not,” he chuckles nostalgically. “we’ve come a long way because i’ve been their coach for years now. but it took me a while before i was able to break down their walls.”

you briefly mull over the information, then ask out of curiosity, “what would you have done if i didn’t sign the contract?”

“begged you to rethink your decision,” he jokes with a pleased chortle. “i would have to start looking for a different coach, i suppose. you were my only pick.”

“but why me, of all people? there are so many other experienced coaches that you can choose from.”

he looks at you, eyes glinting with intuition and confidence as he simply says, “you’re familiar with their playing style. they play just like you used to.” at your silent processing, coach cho probes, “why didn’t you tell them the real reason?”

you smile wistfully, “i didn't tell them because i’m not here to gain their pity.”

some of the boys’ voices grow louder as they emerge from the changerooms, changed into fresh clothes and their kit bags slung over their shoulders. you hear one of them ask, “captain, is she really going to be our new coach?”

they step out from the facility’s corridor and you accidentally make eye contact with hongjoong, yet neither of you look away. maintaining a steady gaze directly at you, he responds with a slight glower, “maybe, but she’s only the coach by title. i’m still the captain of the team, so let’s see who everyone listens to.”

as they exit the rink’s arena, you feel a fire of determination growing inside of you. you have won over your own demons and you have won the championships before–this is nothing in comparison. whether your next words are for coach cho or for yourself to hear, it does not matter.

“i may not play anymore but i was still once an athlete, and no athlete has ever, in their career, wanted pity. i’m here to earn the team’s respect and i will win over them, especially their captain.”

you watch the swing of the glass door as it shuts behind the players, catching a brief glimpse of the trees lining the arena’s perimeter. it is the first day of autumn when you meet the red devils for the first time and outside, the leaves are beginning to change their colours.

autumn, 2018: pre-season

hongjoong believes all coaches are to be respected. it does not matter what kind of team they coach, how many years of experience they have, or whether they have built up a reputation for themselves. to hongjoong, respect for coaches is not something earned nor negotiable–it is something well-deserved and expected, as is for anybody in a position that is higher in the chain of command.

he may be the captain of their unofficial team, but hongjoong knows that the way a team can place their blind trust in the coach is irreplaceable, regardless of how much the other players rely on him too.

hongjoong watches as his boys carry out the practice drill he has set up for them. yeosang handles the puck around the cones before passing it to wooyoung, primed offensively near the goal to make a quick shot, who groans when his shot rebounds off the post. as he retrieves the disc, yeosang takes over wooyoung’s position near the goal ready to receive yunho’s pass as he starts to work his way through the cones next.

they are limited in the type of drills they can practise because hongjoong was only able to rent half of the community rink for a measly two hours. the boys are not even in proper uniform, wearing only their shin guards under their sweatpants and gloves on their hands to prevent any injuries when the centre had stated very firmly they would not be allowed in with their bulky equipment.

and yet, none of this has dampened the boys’ spirits. san teasingly brags that it is his chance to show off his skills other than goaltending, and jongho thanks hongjoong quietly for renting the rink in the first place. their understanding nods and comforting hugs make hongjoong’s heart clench, even more so as the team eagerly and diligently practise the drills in mediocre conditions but with fiery determination to prove their worth as newly-signed athletes under the kq blue birds.

this is exactly why hongjoong is driven to find them a coach–any coach: to give his boys a solid pillar they can rely on, because he himself lacks the resources and strings to pull in order to fulfil their shared dreams. he needs to keep his boys as one team, instead of scattered into other teams as extra players like a gracious opportunity for the leftovers, since kq does not yet have a coach available for the eight of them.

“captain!”

the excitement in seonghwa’s voice startles hongjoong more than the speed at which the alternate captain skates towards him. seonghwa digs his skates into the ice at the last second, stopping himself just shy of knocking the other over as he exclaims, “he emailed back!”

“the coach you reached out to?” hongjoong clarifies, eyes growing wide.

having caught wind of his signed contract as a professional athlete, an acquaintance of seonghwa’s had reached out offering to pass on the contact of their acquaintance, who apparently knew somebody with coaching experience. it was rare for a coach to take on a rookie team unless there were incredible benefits, so he and hongjoong had drafted and sent an email with little to no expectations for a reply. but seonghwa’s furious nodding is telling otherwise, and his eyes sparkle as he shoves his phone in hongjoong’s face to show him the email.

dear mr park, thank you for your interest and for reaching out with your proposal. i have looked at your athlete profiles and it appears that you all have big dreams and extremely promising futures. it would be my utmost pleasure to help you all reach your true potential by coaching your team. if you would like to arrange a meeting in person to discuss expectations and conditions regarding training, competitions and future championships prior to finalising the contracts with your company, please let me know what times and dates best suit yourself and your team captain, mr kim. i look forward to working with you all. kind regards, coach yeon

“holy shit,” hongjoong steadies seonghwa’s giddy hand to read the email again. when he reaches the last line, he starts once more from the beginning to make sure his eyes are not lying to him. then he breathes out with finality, “holy shit. am i reading this right?”

“yeah, joong. you’re reading it right.”

hongjoong is not often one to be affectionate with the others, but yanking seonghwa into a bone-crushing hug as he repeats holy shit like a mantra is the only response he is able to muster. the older laughs wetly, throat constricting with overwhelming joy and he holds onto his captain until the other pulls back.

“you tell them, okay?” seonghwa does not wait for a response before he is raising his voice to gather the others, “boys! hongjoong has good news for us!”

like puppies responding to the call of food, their heads immediately perk up and they abandon the puck and the drill to speed towards their two captains. there is a clamour of questions as they enthusiastically predict what is going to be said.

“are they letting us use the rink for longer?”

wooyoung squeezes himself in between yunho and mingi to ask, “are we getting the whole rink?!”

“no way,” san gasps, “or did our practice jerseys arrive?”

hongjoong’s eyes soften at their guesses. his boys demand so little from him when he wants to give them everything they could never even think of asking for. he glances at seonghwa, who looks just about ready to burst from his own excitement, then reveals, “we’ve found a coach willing to take on our team.”

dead silence. yeosang blinks and wooyoung’s jaw drops. jongho, who had been lazily circling around the group, comically slows to a stop, joining the rest of the boys in frozen stupor. it is only broken when yunho dares to confirm, “does this mean we won’t be rostered as extras for other teams?”

everyone’s hopeful eyes look at hongjoong. he nods, “we’re staying together and playing as our own team.”

it is obvious the moment the information registers in their minds and the implications of what it means for the team’s future starts to sink in. they explode into a flurry of movement and hongjoong and seonghwa find themselves swept up into the middle of a clumsy group huddle as shouts are exchanged, uncaring of who is listening or talking.

“are we finally playing in championships with the big dogs?”

“we’re going to play interstate?”

“oh my god, what if we get into nationals?”

“nah, fuck that boys, let’s go international! we’re going to represent korea one day and become the best team in the world.”

the amount of voices overlapping one another are overwhelming, but it is overwhelming in the way that it makes hongjoong soar up into the clouds, wings stretched to their full span and carried by the hollers and cheers surrounding him in every direction. his cheeks hurt from smiling because these are the boys that he knows and loves.

they may only be a small team of eight, but they have dreams that are big enough to fill the entire universe.

“what’s the coaches name–” “–know if they’re a good coach–” “–teams have they coached before–”

seonghwa chuckles as the boys hound them with question after question and hongjoong appeases their curiosity dotingly, “we’ll find out when we meet him–coach yeon.”

but it does not matter what qualifications coach yeon has or does not have, and it does not matter what teams he has coached or has not coached before. what matters is that he is a coach and he is willing to be their coach, because it means that hongjoong and his boys are finally taking the next step towards their big dreams. 

and most importantly, they will be in this together…as the red devils.

autumn, present: regular season

“again.”

hongjoong grits his teeth, taking up his position as centre again in the marked circle for the practice drill. even during defensive faceoff plays, he and the team are accustomed to taking on an aggressive approach. when he wins possession of the puck, the wingers–usually yeosang and wooyoung, or jongho when substituted on–quickly breakaway and move forward with him into the offensive zone.

obviously, they have other strategic plays too to switch up the predictability of their tactics, such as moving the puck towards the board whilst yeosang covers him, or by passing the puck back to the mingi in defence. but overall, their team is capable of rapidly flipping from defensive to offensive play using the aggressive setup.

the practice drill you are currently running emphasises heavily on the defence–the reverse setup play. hongjoong is to pass backwards but in the direction of the boards whilst yeosang supports and wooyoung covers the area directly between the circle and san. mingi moves towards the boards to receive the puck, and their other defenceman, yunho, assists with covering the goal.

hongjoong does admit that this play is much safer and stabler, but it is also much slower and…cowardly. his team is called the red devils for a reason and their reputation as demons on ice is not something that he is going to throw away–not following years of blood, sweat and tears to stand back up after falling during their rookie year.

when he assumes his stance once again inside the faceoff circle opposite seonghwa, who is playing the centre position as the mock opponent, you drop the puck onto the centre dot. the moment it hits the ice, hongjoong clears it with his stick towards the right boards. it doesn’t go back far enough for mingi to receive though, so yeosang makes the split decision to burst sideways to retrieve the puck, all three forwards moving aggressively in synchronisation to advance offensively once he gains possession.

you stop them, shaking your head. “again.”

it has been a week since your first meeting with the team, and with the start of the regular season, training has focused on refining their strategies. the red devils are playing in the korean ice hockey league for the second time, an annual national championship with a singular men’s division.

teams from all over korea gather in seoul to compete in regular-season games at the gangneung ice arena against the other teams in rotation. depending on the number of participants, the red devils will need to play an average of three games a week for the next five to six months. then based on the outcome of the games, if your team scores within the top thirty two, they will be able to enter the playoffs.

last year, the red devils were only able to make it to the quarterfinals before they were knocked out. but considering it was their first time competing in a proper championship–as opposed to the rookie leagues and interstate competitions they competed in during the first four years of their career–making it into the top eight teams out of over a hundred or so teams was already impressive enough.

your team’s first regular-season game starts tomorrow, so it does not matter that this is the sixth time in a row that you have stopped them during this drill. you will make them restart until they perfect the play. with that in mind, you release the puck onto the centre dot of the circle once more, but this time seonghwa wins the faceoff, clearing it to the side where jongho is waiting as his left wing. seonghwa looks at you guiltily and anticipates the word that will come out of your mouth.

you bite your tongue, having sensed the rising tension amongst the team an hour ago, but now they are almost at their boiling point. closing your eyes briefly, you try reminding yourself to think about the situation from your players’ perspectives.

their career progression rides on this championship, and with their grit and determination, they will not settle for simply beating their own record in ranking. no, they vie for first place. only the top team secures a position in the international ice hockey league, the most coveted opportunity to represent korea in the championship between the world’s best teams.

and it is during this vital time–when the stress levels and stakes are as high as they can get–that the boys have suddenly had to change coaches. not only have they lost their most trusted support and guide, they have only had one week to adjust to their new one–you. in the grand scheme of things, one week is nowhere near enough time to develop any sort of meaningful relationship where they are able to listen to and rely on you.

taking a breath, you explain, “being so focused on offence leaves your team vulnerable if the opposing team also has aggressive forwards that you can’t break through. the faceoff play needs to be adjusted for those situations, otherwise it’ll be too difficult to control the puck and it will more than likely end up in chaos. it won’t be a game of professional skill anymore, but a circus of dirty play.”

your defence-focused coaching style has worked well for all the past teams you have taught, both men’s and women’s teams. you know that the boys play an offence-focused style; you are reminded too closely of your past self every time they rush head-on into every situation. and it is exactly because of that–because you know the dangers that come with their aggressive style–that you are making them adjust their play. their career comes first and if they suffer an injury, there may not be a career left.

so you will play the bad cop if you have to. they will come to understand you one day.

san bites down on his mouthguard as he listens from his position in the goal. he is able to see each and every play unfold, better than any other of his teammates, so he knows where you are coming from. whilst he has become used to the pressures that come with goaltending, no amount of training or competitions will ever fully eliminate the sudden spike in fear and anticipation the moment the opposing team’s forwards break past yunho and mingi.

san is the team’s last line of defence and the best outcome is that a game never comes down to just him, the opponent’s stick, and his goal. it is true that his team needs to work on their defensive plays, so when the others huff in defiance and reluctantly reset their positions, san simply lowers his centre of gravity in wait for your cue to restart the drill.

“again.”

outside the arena, the echo of sticks and scraping of skates sound faintly as the first leaf of autumn begins to fall to the ground. as time passes, the rest of the leaves will also succumb to a similar fate, only differing in how. some will fall in a slow and graceful descent, whilst others…

…a rapid and spiralling whirlwind downwards.

counting the heads and finding all eight of your players seated in the bus, you nod to the driver to close the door and start driving. most of the boys have chosen to sit on a two-seater by themselves, only yunho and mingi choosing to sit together. they share a set of wired earphones, eyebrows furrowed in concentration at one of their phones, likely monitoring one of their own matches or one of another team’s.

the rest of the boys sit alone, faces grim and tight as they stare out the window. they look exactly like you used to and it hits you with a wave of bittersweet nostalgia.

the ride to the competition venue–much less for the very first game of the season–is always the quietest, air strung tight with nerves as everyone prepares themselves psychologically for the inevitable pressures that the game will bring. being able to compose and centre one’s mindset is already half the battle won, and whilst nobody says it out loud, you all know that today’s results, despite it only being day one, will set the tone for the next four to five months as they fight to qualify for the playoffs.

as you make one final sweep from the back of the bus to the front whilst it pulls away from the curb, you accidentally make eye contact with yeosang. you give him a polite smile and he opens his mouth, closes it on second thought, then decides to ask anyway, “do you want to sit here?”

it is a lie to say that you are not surprised by the question, so you stumble over your response as you stammer, “oh, okay. thanks.”

yeosang reciprocates your noise of disorientation and when he fumbles to move his bag aside that had been occupying the space beside him, you belatedly realise he was only asking out of courtesy. but backtracking now and rejecting his offer would be a million times worse and you can only try to hide the flaming heat behind your cheeks as best as you can as you sit down in the seat.

he fiddles with the straps of his bag and you can feel his discomfort reeking off his hands. in an attempt to break the ice, you glance at him, “are you nervous for the game?”

he nods, “don’t think it gets any less nerve-wracking no matter how many games you play.”

“well this is a pretty big championship. you have every reason to feel nervous,” you hum.

yeosang levels you with a look. “are you trying to make me feel better or worse?”

you do not know him well enough to be able to discern whether he is joking with you or not. opting to clear your throat instead, you point out, “you have your teammates who you can trust.”

“yeah…teammates.”

and you have me, too, as your coach, you want to say.

the hopeful glimpse in the dark of your eyes is enough for yeosang to pick up on your thoughts. he swallows uncomfortably and looks away.

we don’t know that yet.

you bite the inside of your cheek, trying once more to extend the conversation after a pregnant pause. “did you guys have a coach before cho?” either you have a shitty sense of appropriate conversation starters or yeosang wants absolutely nothing to do with you (it is likely both, but one can be optimistic), because his shoulders tense almost immediately.

“we did…just one,” he starts off carefully. you think that that is going to be the end of it, but then he adds on, “we don’t really talk about him though.”

and there it is–the end of the conversation. it is his nice way of telling you that there is no more to be said, so you sit the rest of the ride in silence next to yeosang, pretending not to let the sheer awkwardness suffocate you.

when the bus arrives at the gangneung ice arena, you hurry to alight and only then do you feel like you are able to breathe again. you plaster on a smile and notify the boys, “your first game is in two hours against the panthers. you’ve been allocated locker room 3B.”

they make their way into the centre and you trail behind in wait as they find their designated space. warm-ups will be first so they will not be needing their full gear just yet, which means it should not take long for them to change.

inside the locker room, the red devils shrug off their bulky duffle bags and change into their game jerseys, lacing and relacing their skates to ensure the snuggest fits. hongjoong alerts, “boys, time to go out and start warming up,” receiving a chorus of acknowledgement as everyone grabs the rest of the gear that they need.

before jongho places his phone into his assigned locker, he habitually taps on the screen one last time to check for any notifications and finds a single text from his younger brother, jonghyuk. he knows he should not read it, much less right before his first game, but the smaller part inside him that yearns for his family’s recognition dares to hope for something. dragging the preview down to avoid opening it, jongho reads the text.

are you just going to keep pretending you haven’t read our messages?

jongho clenches his jaw and swipes the notification away as if that will also erase it from his mind. tossing his phone into the locker, he shuts it with a harsh swing, resting his forehead against the cool metal as he closes his eyes and breathes out shakily. this game–this championship–jongho has to win; he cannot afford to lose.

“captain.”

hongjoong turns around to see jongho striding up towards him, brows furrowed and voice troubled as he questions, “are we really not going to tell coach what our game plan is? shouldn’t we work together with her?”

“jongho,” the captain sighs, “we got lucky with coach cho, but we know better than anyone else that not all coaches are like him.”

from where he has been listening in on the conversation at the doors leading out of the locker room, seonghwa’s shoulders stiffen. there is a moment of silence; the rest of the team have already made their way to the ice rink.

“what if we lose?”

it is the way that his voice grows small and timid that hongjoong realises it is not his captain that jongho needs right now. hongjoong’s gaze softens as he searches the younger’s eyes, “did your family say something again?”

he receives no answer but it tells him more than enough. “you trust me?”

jongho’s almost imperceptible nod does not escape hongjoong’s observations, so he continues to reassure, “we’ll win. my boys are the best players, you included, and we already have experience playing in this competition.” he ducks down slightly to meet jongho’s gaze, “and even if we do lose? we lose because of our own skills–not because of anybody else.”

his words tug a small smile out of the corner of the youngest’s lips, and hongjoong returns it with a relieved smile. with a nudge, he sends jongho in the direction of the door, where seonghwa pretends to ruffle his hair affectionately knowing that it will be dodged. seonghwa chuckles lightly and watches him walk off, unbeknownst to his captain watching him.

“hey,” hongjoong calls out gently, “i know what you’re thinking, but that wasn’t what i meant.”

seonghwa looks back and winces, “i can’t help it.”

“and that’s why i will keep telling you no matter how many times you need to hear it. it is not your fault–never was, and never will be,” hongjoong cocks his head playfully as he raises an eyebrow.

“same goes to you then, captain,” seonghwa returns the banter, shoulders relaxing and head shaking, “not your fault either.”

“you’re right, so let’s get the fuck out there and smash our game, yeah?” hongjoong slings his arm around the other and leads them both out of the locker room to join the rest of the boys.

what he does not say, though, is that seonghwa is wrong. seonghwa may have been the one to reach out to coach yeon, but hongjoong was the one who made the executive decision to accept and trust coach yeon.

he is not going to make the same mistake twice this time, because it is not just about protecting his dreams, his career, or those of his teammates–it is about protecting the people he loves.

hongjoong will not let them fall…not again.

winter, 2018: regular season

jongho twirls his phone in his hand, intermittently turning the screen on and off. he sits in the corner of the locker room, away from the rest of the boys as they wait for coach yeon to return from checking in and filling out their required paperwork. only several competitions later will they realise that their locker room is small, cramped and dim, but to their fresh, bright-eyed excitement at competing in a professional league for the first time, they hardly have time to critique the assigned space.

the phone comes to a stop. making up his mind, jongho taps on the screen and navigates to the keypad. dialling his mother’s number, he brings the phone up to his ear and waits with bated breath as it is left to ring.

“what do you want,” comes her curt response when she finally picks up.

jongho’s words falter, “oh, nothing…i just wanted to tell you that we’re playing our first game today.”

“game? your little team doesn’t even have a coach,” his mother patronises.

shoulders curling in on themselves, jongho hesitantly voices, “i told you last month that we got a coach.”

“i forgot,” she brushes him off, “and it must not be a very important competition then, seeing as it isn’t worth remembering.”

“there’s prize money,” he reveals. maybe if he can bring some of it home for his parents, they will recognise his efforts.

she sceptically probes, “is it national? international?”

“no…regionals.”

“is it ranked at least?”

“it’s just an entry-level competition for rookie teams,” jongho trails off, discouraged and confidence in shambles.

his mother scoffs at his answers, none of which are the ones she wants to hear. “you have no excuse not to win this competition, then. this is child’s play. just look at jonghyuk. he’s two years younger than you, yet already has his eyes on the olympics. if you lose, i don’t want to hear about it–don’t bring shame to our family.”

“okay,” jongho mumbles, but his answer is only heard by the beeping dial of the ended call…and the rest of the boys it seems, if not apparent by the sombre hush that has settled over the room and the worried lips that he sees when he looks up.

yeosang’s mouth parts, the younger’s name on the tip of his tongue, but then coach yeon enters the locker room and calls for their attention. jongho gives them a reassuring smile before setting his phone beside him on the bench and directing his gaze to their coach, grateful for the distraction. it leaves yeosang and the others with no choice but to drop it for now.

coach yeon erases the old scribbles on the room’s whiteboard and replaces it with rough markings of the hockey rink. he drags the magnets into the different zones, each one representative of a player, as he goes over the final lineup and their respective positions based on the opposing team they have been pooled against.

“stay strong on the offensive and maintain a 2-1-2 formation where possible–yeosang, i want you up there with hongjoong and put pressure on the other team. if they gain puck possession, both of you fall back to where wooyoung is and maintain 3-2.”

the three forwards nod and coach yeon touches one of the magnets positioned on the player’s bench. “jongho, you’ll come on for your shift during the second period. whoever you replace will come back in later to sub the other wing. yeosang and wooyoung, you should both be playing again during the third period.”

“yes, coach,” jongho acknowledges.

coach yeon continues on to review their game plan and hongjoong steps up to assist with detailing their different strategic plays. to jongho though, their words sound like he is listening from underwater as his mind involuntary drifts off. it is a small saving grace that his parents do not care for his match, because it means that they will not see that he is not part of the starting lineup.

for seven of the people in the locker room, winning the competition is an aspiration, but for one of them it is an expectation. and for the remaining individual, the competition in itself is an opportunity, but for an entirely different reason.

winter, present: regular season

inevitably, you find out. when discrepancies start to occur between training, pre-game meetings and the actual games, it is only a matter of time before you start to notice them.

it starts off with the uncommon plays that are simply a response to the game situation–ones that are dire and not often brought up prior to them actually occurring. during their fourth regular game of the season, the red devils are behind by two goals. the last period is almost over when they miraculously gain the power advantage after two of the opposing players are sent to the penalty box in quick succession.

before you realise what is happening, hongjoong gives his team a signal and both yunho and mingi on defence and san in the goal all rush forward to attack with the wings. you can only watch with wide eyes as they risk an empty net in the hopes of scoring two much-needed goals to even the playing field.

wooyoung manages to score one with a quick shot, but with the release of the opponents from the penalty box, their advantage is put to an end and they ultimately finish the match with a loss. you do not dwell too much on their sudden change in tactics despite the lack of communication with you, because you understand that every single game requires a different approach. sometimes, there is no time to strategise, only time to act.

but one occurrence turns into two, and two turns into several. and when, during one of their matches the week prior, jongho and wooyoung swap positions on the left and right sides of the rink as soon as the youngest replaces yeosang’s shift, it becomes quite conclusive that they are deliberately withholding information from you.

the boys are not brainless. it is not a coincidence for you and the team to discuss one game plan in the locker room only for it to completely change the moment they step onto the hockey rink.

you silently watch as the boys prepare for a faceoff in their defensive zone. they are currently playing against the incheon bears and the timing of the penalty puts you all on edge; the score is currently tied four to four and only twelve seconds are left on the clock. you had requested a time-out right as the referee made the call in hopes of stopping the momentum of the opposing team and to tell the boys to play defensively for this faceoff.

“play it safe. stall for the last twelve seconds and drag the game into overtime,” you had ordered.

the incheon bears have made a shift change with their player number four coming on for the faceoff, their right wing who has low stamina but terrifyingly accurate shots. he is responsible for most of his team’s goals and several other scoring attempts that san had only just managed to block. you are also almost certain that they will be aggressively body checking your players to make this faceoff count for them. your forwards have to play safely–not just for the sake of the game’s score.

at your defensive suggestion, san had nodded in agreement with you, “forwards need to make passes with sure lanes–nothing that can risk getting intercepted. go for the reverse setup play if you guys can.”

“we don’t need to take this into overtime,” hongjoong had started to argue, “other than number four, the rest of their offence is weak. as long as we break past him, we have an opportunity to score.”

“captain–”

the whistle blows before mingi can give his two cents, the mere thirty seconds for the time-out far too short, and the boys hurry to enter the rink again. hongjoong leans in quickly to say something to them before they disperse into their positions and mingi glances at you, almost guiltily.

you do not have the confidence that your team will listen. san may have seen the advantages in favouring a defensive play, but he is not the one who will decide which direction the puck will go when the referee drops it onto the ice. hongjoong is.

the hand of the referee raises to signal the start of the faceoff and both team’s centre forwards lower their stance. then the puck hits the ice. hongjoong’s nimble reflexes help him to snap his wrist and twist the puck away from the incheon bear’s player, wooyoung already surging ahead with explosive strides towards the other end of the rink. but just as you fear, the opponent’s left wing thunders at hongjoong with horrifying speed, intention solely to bowl him over onto the ice–not to steal the puck.

“fuck, captain!” you yell, heart leaping up into your throat as it cuts off your breath.

hongjoong’s eyes snap upwards and darken, jaws aching from the force with which he grinds his teeth together despite his mouthguard. he suddenly pivots on the edges of his skates and shifts his weight to only just narrowly miss the body check, then flicks the puck away before another player can knock him down.

he does not need to look before passing to where he knows wooyoung will be, years of synergy allowing their plays to connect seamlessly. except incheon bear’s number four has predicted their exact play, having been watching from the benches and noting your forwards’ preference for aggressive attacks.

“shit,” yunho curses under his breath, ice shaving under his skates from the accelerating force of his strides towards the puck. he is not going to make it in time. “mingi!”

seonghwa jolts up to his feet from the player’s bench, chest mid-inhale with apprehension at the captain’s pass. the puck is intercepted within the blink of an eye and with a well-timed punch turn around yunho’s attempt to regain possession, the rival team’s number four makes a shot for the goal.

it is too fast for mingi’s stick to block–arm still stretching out with desperation–and although san drops down to his knees in hopes of barricading the goal with his leg pads, the trajectory of the puck arcs higher than he had predicted.

as the puck soars past san and hits the netting of the goal, the buzzer sounds in tandem with the eruption of cheers around the rink. all around, the incheon bears swarm towards their number four in joyous celebration. mingi leans over to rest his hands on his knees from both exhaustion and defeat, and the other boys stand in similar stances as the outcome of the game registers in their tired minds.

in an attempt to cheer them up despite his own disappointment, seonghwa half-heartedly smiles at his boys as they slowly start to trudge their way off the rink. “we played well, boys. it was unlucky that our pass got intercepted, but we can do better next time.”

“good thing it isn’t the playoffs yet,” yunho tries to joke, “so we’re still in the competition.”

nobody cracks a smile and wooyoung’s face is dark, hand grabbing the walls in support to favour his left foot whilst lifting his skates over the slight ledge of the bench door. noting his slight limp, san quietly murmurs in worry, “did you tape your ankle?”

wooyoung shakes his head. “i ran out. forgot to buy some yesterday.”

“make sure you ice it tonight then, okay?” san gently supports him by the elbow to the benches so they can loosen the laces of their skates and grab their things before heading to the locker room.

you look away to flip through the notebook in your hand instead, trying to calm the shaking of your hands. ice hockey is a contact sport and you cannot protect the players from every single collision, but that last body check that hongjoong had been unprepared for still has acid pooling into your mouth. you scratch the score ‘4-5’ onto a page filled with their scores from this season thus far. a quick calculation tells you that the red devils have just as many losses as they have wins, which in all honesty, is not looking good.

this…conflict needs to be cleared with the team–with hongjoong. you cannot let this concealment of tactics and blatant changing of strategies right in your face continue any longer, because at the rate they are going, they may not even make it into the playoffs. and as you make eye contact with san, who has been staring despondently at the puck that still lies in his goal, you know that you must clear the air for the team, too. the last thing you need is for their own teamwork to fall apart because their differing opinions on your coaching starts to drive a wedge between them.

san stills when you break your gaze and glance away to pivot on your heels in the direction of the changerooms. from the way your mouth thins and neck becomes rigid, he is quite certain you are not happy—and rightfully so, san must admit. he stalls time by slipping off his bulky gloves and freeing his hands up to remove his helmet and mouthguard too.

noting that the other boys have grabbed most of their belongings, san heads off first to meet you, knowing that they will follow him soon after. he walks down the corridor easily balancing on his skates and rounds the corner to their locker room. except the sight that greets him has his feet halting and taking a step back behind the doorway.

your hand is deep in one of their bags. san is unsure whose bag it is, but the brief glimpse of the black canvas bag he caught is enough to tell him that it is one of theirs. although he is not making any accusations, he also cannot think of a reason as to why you would be rummaging through their bags.

“why are you just standing there?”

jongho’s voice startles him and he mumbles, “nothing,” before stepping through the door with the rest of his team. you are sitting on a bench in front of an empty locker now and if he did not know better, san would think that he had imagined the last minute. he glances discreetly at the bag you had been poking through and recognises it as wooyoung’s.

gingerly seating himself in front of his own locker, san waits on edge as mingi also grasps the atmosphere and sits too. gradually, the boys read the room with tactful glances and linger on their feet or on the benches. all except for one.

“what was that?” you cut through the silence with a directed question at hongjoong.

the captain continues to toss his gloves into his unzipped bag at the bottom of his locker before proceeding to unlace his skates, not once turning to look at you.

“what was what?”

you know fully well that he is aware of what you are talking about but you decide to humour him as you elaborate, “that last faceoff. i clearly told you to play defensively, but you went against it to try for a goal. and let me guess, you told the others to ignore what i said.”

“and so what if i did?” hongjoong challenges. yeosang’s wide eyes dart from side to side and yunho watches on uneasily as his captain finally turns to glare at you. “in that moment–as a player on the rink–i saw the opportunity and took it. if there is a chance to attack, then my team takes it. we don’t run away like cowards.”

the successive jabs at your athletic retirement cause a lick of phantom heat to wrap around your shoulder. your jaw grinds as you hold yourself back from biting the bait. “then i’m curious as to what opportunity you saw every time you decided to withhold game tactics from me, or every time you changed the strategy the moment you and your team stepped foot onto the rink.”

“maybe we would respect and listen to your coaching if it actually suited the playing style of our team. heavy defence may have worked for the grey eagles, but i think you need to reevaluate your abilities as a coach because it seems like you are forgetting that we are not them. forcing us to play defensively like your past team is not going to work for shit, coach,” hongjoong mocks.

you scoff to the side, questioning your own ears. it borders on a laugh, because that is his reason? you have been adjusting their playing style not only based on the situation that arises each game, but in general for their own good. earning his respect be damned, you will not stand for this.

you return the same scornful tone, “well then, captain, considering you just lost the fucking match because you were too arrogant to defend for twelve fucking seconds, i think you should also reevaluate yourself. are you acting in the best interest of your team, or are you acting in the way that best strokes your own ego? and let me remind you–if you suffer an injury, your whole team suffers with you.

“if you do not have the decency to at least tell me what you have discussed with the boys so that i can adjust the plays accordingly, then i think the shit results of your games so far speak for themselves. teams have a coach for a reason whether you like it or not…or maybe i should say, whether you trust them or not,” you snap.

running your stressed fingers through your hair, you tear your eyes away from hongjoong’s defiant eyes. the two youngest avoid your gaze, whereas yunho and yeosang simply stare at you with their jaws slack at a loss for words. the fire within you almost quenches when your eyes skim over san, mingi and even seonghwa, who are fiddling with their jerseys with guilt.

the room suddenly feels too small and too stuffy. “change. the bus will be waiting outside,” you mumble, then you leave without a further word.

nobody in the room moves in the wake of the argument, not even hongjoong, who continues to bore holes in the doorway that you have just disappeared through. yunho’s eyes awkwardly dart back and forth between hongjoong and the other boys before they land on the bench you had been sitting on.

the notebook you are always holding is still there, left behind in your haste to leave. he stands up to grab it, turning on his heels to chase after you when the open pages catch his eye. “woah,” yunho breathes out, double-taking and bringing the notebook closer towards him to read the contents. “this is insane.”

you have marked down not only their score for every single game they have played this season, but you have also tracked the statistics of who has scored, assisted, or successfully defended a shot. yunho flips back through the pages as the other boys come to crowd around him. there are logs of their major games from the past five years, diagrams of their faceoff plays and formations, analyses of their strengths in games won and similarly, analyses of their weaknesses in games they have lost.

“oh, fuck,” mingi curses when yunho flips to the more recent pages and they see that you have compiled the same details and information, only more concisely, for every single opponent team the red devils have played against this season. there is no way of seeing this–hours upon hours of hard work–and still questioning your intentions as their coach. “i think we owe coach a huge fuckin’ apology.”

hongjoong immediately furrows his eyebrows with displeasure. “are you taking her side, mingi?”

“captain,” mingi deliberately calls. it is at times like this where being the only logical thinker in the team has its merits. it may be harsh, but mingi must draw the line between their professional and personal life. this dispute must stay strictly within the bounds of their career without blurring the lines over into their romantic involvement with one another, otherwise things could get messy real fast.

mingi stares at the captain as he reasons, “this isn’t about taking sides. from a solely rational point of view, i think it may have been better for us to play safe and defend like coach had suggested.”

from beside him, san nods in agreement. mingi continues, “and i’m not just talking about today–there were a lot of times when coach’s plays might have worked out better than bulldozing ahead with offence. yeah, we’ve won a few games but we’ve also lost just as many. how many of those could we have won if we had trusted coach?”

yunho backs him up whilst gesturing vaguely between the both of them and san, “it’s easier for the three of us to see from defence, but their forwards were already close to intercepting our faceoffs quite a few times that game.”

hongjoong’s immediate thought is to defend himself, because he is their captain and their centre forward; the one who leads them into opportunities to score and win. he knows that every single time he chooses an aggressive play, it is at the risk of weaker defence. the odds have never deterred him, though, because he has always been confident in his abilities–in his team’s abilities.

but if, even now with the palpable experience of losing because of his own decision, it still does not deter him from taking risks in a situation where offence may be his downfall, then is he confident…or overconfident?

it is quiet for a moment. hongjoong swallows the urge to justify against their opinions–against your opinions–instead looking around at his team. he meets jongho’s round eyes and he remembers one of the very reasons why he is so committed to leading the red devils to the gold trophy. why, if he is becoming a hurdle instead to their victory, then he needs to change. “what does everybody else think? seonghwa?”

“we’ve been wary of y/n all this time, but the more games we play and especially after…” the alternate captain vaguely gestures in the air, “...today, we should really work with her instead of relying on ourselves. we’ve seen her notebook, too, and i think that’s more than enough for us to see that the effort and resolve she places in our team is genuine. we need to acknowledge that and apologise.”

“not even coach cho went to these lengths, and most definitely not coach yeon,” yeosang shrugs as he offhandedly comments.

spurred on by everybody else, san carefully voices the thought that has been lingering on his mind, “i think it’s time to tell her the truth. we owe her that much.”

the truth. the wounds that not even coach cho knows of.

hongjoong’s distrust in you may have initially been true to his desire to protect his boys from something like that from happening again. but he is now realising that you may have seen right through him. perhaps at some point in time, it became unwillingness to trust you, blinded by his prideful title as the demon king of the ice rink but at the expense of his team under the guise of wanting to safeguard them.

exhaling shakily, voice thick with regret, hongjoong accepts, “i’ve let you all down, haven’t i?”

“no,” yunho gently rebukes. “letting us down would be refusing to listen to us. we trust you for a reason, hongjoong.”

not just as a captain, but as everything else too.

seonghwa wraps an arm comfortingly around him. with hongjoong’s demonic presence on the ice once he is in the zone, it is easy to forget that he actually has a shorter stature than all of them. “that’s right, we trust you,” seonghwa affirms. “the next step is for us to trust our coach as well. we’re a team, but it isn’t complete without our coach.”

“and this apology isn’t yours alone to bear,” yunho reminds. “like seonghwa said, we’re a team and we all have fault in our behaviour towards y/n. if i’m honest, i had a shitty attitude and gave her a hard time at the start too,” he admits, wincing at the memory.

yunho is not the only one who grimaces as they reflect on their own actions–whether they happened when you were first introduced to the team, during your first training together, or even up until today’s game. but wooyoung, who has been quiet throughout the entire ordeal, still has a niggling doubt: one that is most personal to him in comparison to the rest of the team.

wooyoung reveals his thoughts, “but what about her choice to stop playing? i still can’t think of a good reason that i can respect her for having retired.”

“then we ask her,” mingi proposes.

jongho nods, also curious to know whether there is more to your decision than you have let on. “today, though? we don’t really want to come off as accusatory or anything. it might be good to give her some space today.”

“what’s our schedule looking like tomorrow? training?”

everyone looks at seonghwa, the most likely person to know their schedule off by heart. he does, and he scratches his head as he recalls, “no, recovery day. low-intensity cardio in the morning and…a team meeting with coach in the afternoon.”

“tomorrow it is, then,” hongjoong concludes. there are hums of agreement and the decision appears to appease wooyoung enough for the boys to start dispersing, heading to their lockers to finally start changing out of their gear.

wooyoung tosses his helmet and gloves onto the bench in front of his locker before sitting with a sharp but discreet inhale. he carefully loosens the laces on his skates, easing the left one off his foot slowly. the relief is immediate and his fingertips gingerly touch the throbbing area around his ankle. it is not too swollen, but he will need to ice it when they get back to their apartment and he will definitely need to buy more tape.

he sheds off the rest of his gear and uniform, leaving them on the bench too to air out while he takes a quick shower. as he roughly towels his wet hair afterwards, he drags his kit bag further out to make it easier to toss everything in.

“huh?” wooyoung makes a noise of confusion when he unzips the bag, hand immediately reaching in to grab the item that has caught his eye. it is partially covered by his hoodie but he would be able to recognise the packaging anywhere.

“what’s wrong?” san asks, glancing over.

the younger brandishes the brand new roll of strapping tape he has found in his bag, the frown etched across his face slowly relaxing into amused exasperation as he reasons, “i must not have seen this in my bag all along.”

san is about to snort and make fun of his inattentiveness, but a sudden thought stuns the smile off his face. it was not that wooyoung had managed to miss the spare roll in his bag. it was–

“y/n,” he quietly exhales with realisation.

at wooyoung’s questioning what?, san looks at him with upturned eyebrows. “the tape–coach was the one who put it in your bag, right before we all walked in here.”

“this…she gave it to me?” wooyoung’s face drops, remorse evident in the thickness of his voice. “but why?”

san gently squeezes his shoulder with a smile, simply answering, “because she’s our coach.” he turns to zip up his own kit bag and leaves wooyoung to digest the revelation. the boy is quiet for the rest of the time, teeth gnawing at the inside of his cheek as he stares ahead and absentmindedly follows the rest of his team out of the locker room.

when they exit the ice arena, they do not expect to see you. and yet, there you stand beside their bus waiting stonily with your jacket zipped up and hands in your pockets. you mentally count them off without acknowledging them as they start to store their kit bags under the bus and board. yeosang gets on first, taking a seat near the front of the bus as usual. he watches from the window as you wait for the rest of the boys.

you follow jongho up the stairs, the last to load his kit bag, and tell the driver that you are all good to leave. yeosang sits a little straighter as he tucks his small backpack further under the seat in front of him with his feet, having left the seat beside him empty. but before he can open his mouth with an offer of a seat, you have already sat right behind the driver. yeosang leans back into the cushions of his seat, unfamiliar with the sense of disappointment he feels.

the ride back from the competition venue–much less after a lost game–is always quiet, players both physically and mentally exhausted from the strain. this time, though, it is strikingly silent, but you appreciate it–need it.

you stare out of the window as the trees flicker past like a repetitive motion film. most of their leaves have already fallen off, littering the ground in a blur of tragic glory. and with the beginning of winter, the trees will soon become completely bare, bringing about the period of time when there is nothing but bleak emptiness.

winter, 2019: regular season

‘2019 ice hockey rookie stars tournament: team standings’

hongjoong stares at the printed piece of paper with seonghwa at his side, where the results of all the team’s round-robin games have been taped up onto the walls of the stadium. hongjoong does not even bother reading from the top, eyes going straight down to the bottom of the page instead.

the red devils are dead last, having lost every single one of their matches. even the korean penguins, who had nil wins either, had managed to beat them earlier today, ranking them at the lowest of all teams. it is fucking humiliating and hongjoong hates that the sport that had brought him and his boys all together, that they had immeasurable love for, is now one that fills them with shame and indignity.

nobody else but the two captains of the team have decided to look at the rankings. they had all already known towards the end of the regular season that they would not stand a chance at making it into the playoffs. and yet, hongjoong and seonghwa need to see the results for themselves. it is almost masochistic, forcing themselves to look at the fruitless results of their hard work in their first competition that has so devastatingly crushed their morality.

seonghwa picks at his cuticles fretfully and wonders whether he made the wrong decision to give up his education in pursuit of becoming an athlete. he thinks of his parents, who had encouraged him with supportive smiles and offers of financial support the moment he brought up the idea–was it all in vain?

“are you two done looking?”

both of the boys turn at the question to find a captain with his team waiting to look at the standings.

“yeah, sorry,” hongjoong mumbles before stepping aside to yield his spot. the players swarm forwards and he is pushed further back away from the list like a physical representation of his distance from the playoffs.

somebody from the other team yells, “we made it! we’re in the playoffs!” and they simultaneously break out into cries and cheers as they celebrate together.

hongjoong watches on bitterly, wishing with every cell in his body that that was him and his boys. how is he going to walk back into the locker room as their captain when all of his boys have eyes that are rimmed red and cheeks that are blotchy from despair–when there are captains like that who have successfully led their team to at least a chance at winning the competition.

the feeling of a pinky slowly hooking around his own draws hongjoong out of his pain. “let’s go back,” seonghwa murmurs, tugging him away from the still-celebrating team. together, both of them start to walk back through the hallways to their locker room. 

“aren’t we down here?” seonghwa questions, standing at the t-intersection that hongjoong has absentmindedly walked straight past.

“oh, yeah. sorry,” hongjoong apologises and begins to backtrack. his ears suddenly perk up at the sound of a voice. “wait, doesn’t that sound like coach?”

before seonghwa can respond, hongjoong has turned around yet again towards the voice in search of their coach. seonghwa hurries to catch up and that is when he hears it too.

“have you transferred the money?”

“yes, i wired you the remaining amount the moment we won,” a deeper, unrecognisable voice reassures.

hongjoong’s footsteps falter, brows knitting together and head cocking to one side. he gestures for seonghwa to slow down, pressing a finger on his other hand to his lips. both of them creep forward silently.

the unfamiliar voice probes, “your team–you’re sure they don’t suspect anything?”

hongjoong and seonghwa do not need to see him to confirm their suspicions when they hear the unmistakable laughter of coach yeon. through the gravelly sound, he mocks, “they have no fucking clue even though they’ve lost every single one of their games. they’re dumber than fucking sheep. their captain tells me everything about their plays and strategies and they never question it when i change things around.”

seonghwa clutches the back of hongjoong’s jersey with a death grip, knowing that without it, his captain will punch coach yeon’s face into a bloody mess. but as much as their coach deserves it, it is not worth the disciplinary action that will inevitably follow, likely suspension, because–

“plus, even if they do somehow find out, what can they do about it? bullshit, that’s what. they have no evidence and they’re not going to risk blowing this up and ruining their own careers instead,” coach yeon boasts smugly. “losing like that as a rookie group in their first year out is completely normal. no one will believe them, and no coach is going to want their team after that because of their ‘shitty sportsmanship’ or out of fear of being accused in the same way if they lose again.”

at coach yeon’s words, seonghwa scrambles to put them into context with his dread-riddled mind. the echoing pounding in his ears tells him that he has just heard something that was never meant to be known. he does not even notice that the voices start to grow distant as the two men begin to walk off, but hongjoong does.

the trembling grip that is still on the back of his jersey grounds hongjoong enough not to throw everything away and sprint up to coach yeon with vile words and heated fists, but he also cannot do nothing. hongjoong peers around the corner before seonghwa can counteract his movement, desperate to identify who exactly coach yeon is talking to. except the revelation has him reeling, hands white from how hard his fingers dig into his palm–a stark contrast to the deep scarlet of flames that leap forth from his murderous eyes.

because the person who is walking beside coach yeon is the coach of the korean penguins. hongjoong and his boys have not been losing because of their skills they believed to be fucking shit–coach yeon has been fucking ensuring they lose.

for money.

winter, present: regular season

you stand on the balcony of your apartment. the sliding glass doors are shut behind you to keep the heat trapped inside, but for now you welcome the refreshing cold of the winter chill as you simply observe.

below on the streets, the miniature specks of people and cars mill around as if you are watching a game simulation. it is strangely humbling to think that each and every one of the people you see are living their own lives, completely distinct to yours with different yet very real problems of their own, but in the grand scheme of the cosmos, you are all insignificant.

you wonder what concern the people holding their coffee are plagued with right now; what problem the people crossing the street are facing. you wonder, if you were to tell them of your worries and they were to tell you of theirs, would you curse or thank the heavens?

the phone in your hand buzzes. you look to see if it is from coach cho and manage a small smile of relief when the notification is indeed from him.

apologies y/n, i was busy earlier. i can call now if you still need me?

you send an affirmative reply, then slide to answer the call that comes through. “hi coach, sorry to bother you.”

“no, you’re alright. is everything okay?”

you hesitate before revealing, “...i messed things up with the boys.”

“the team?” his voice goes gentle, fatherly nature extending to you too. “what happened?”

“hongjoong and i had an argument today after the game because he keeps changing the team’s plays without letting me know, or even after we’ve agreed on something else. it was only meant to be a talk, but then things escalated and we ended up fighting. i just–i don’t know what you saw in me, coach, because i don’t think i’m fit for the boys,” you ramble. “they’re not listening to me, they probably don’t even like me, and we’re going terribly with the season.”

you take a breath as you timidly admit, “i don’t think we’re going to make it into the playoffs and it’s going to be my fault.”

“hey,” coach cho grounds you, “making the playoffs would be great, yes, but the reality is that most teams don’t. and you’re still very young yourself–this is your, what…fifth year of coaching?”

throat too sticky to formulate a response, you simply hum.

“when i first started coaching, i was older than you and it was still a steep learning curve during my first ten years. i believed that coaches deserved the utmost respect and that my opinion was final. they’re my players, so of course i should be the one laying down the laws,” he chuckles. “but growing up was realising that whilst the respect is still there, it needs to be mutual. coaching a team is not a hierarchy of ‘i command, you listen’, but a show of leadership with the captain at the front of the team–not on top of them.”

his words strike a chord within you. coaching the boys was frustrating because they were not listening to you. but it should never have been a case of who listens to who–it should always have been a reciprocated relationship of everyone listening to one other.

as if he can physically feel the guilt that is starting to settle in the pit of your stomach, coach cho draws your attention to something else. “remember what i told you when we met the team for the first time? why i chose you specifically?”

“because of our similar playing styles?” you recall.

“exactly,” he confirms, “you know best the strategies and plays that work, and what their strengths and weaknesses are, because they were also your own. you need to be a coach to their playing style, not the other way around–they shouldn’t be a player to your coaching style.”

you cannot help but worry, “what if they get injured?”

“y/n, this is where your similarities can either be your biggest flaw or your greatest asset as a coach. no matter how safely they play, there will always be a risk of injury. that is just how the sport works and you know that the best. you can teach them to assess the risk and pull back if they really need to, but ultimately, there is no way of eliminating the risk completely.” coach cho pauses, then asks, “if you could meet your younger self, would you make yourself change your playing style?”

would you? as you imagine what you would tell your past self if you had the chance to, you find that you do not have an answer. perhaps for the sake of a prolonged career, you would. but then would it be your passion and skills that are playing the game, or your fears and worries?

if you cannot come to a decision even for yourself, then it is completely unfair for you to restrain the boys within the cages of what you view as safety for their own good. harnessing the defensive skills may have been functional for the grey eagles, but like hongjoong said, you are coaching the red devils now and it is not working for them. you must come to terms that you cannot protect the boys at every opportunity–consciously or unconsciously–you need to be a coach to them.

coach cho, aware that you have come to a conclusion, asks you one final question, “have you told the boys why you retired?”

“no, not yet,” you shake your head. you already have an idea of what he is going to say to you next.

“i think it’s time for you to tell them,” he advises. “remember, y/n, sometimes you need to be vulnerable with them first before you can make things right.”

after coach cho ends the call, you do not make a move to go back inside the apartment. you stay standing on your balcony, arms folded as you lean against the handrail listening to the faint rumble of traffic and hustle of busy activity. life goes on, and so will yours; you just have to make it count.

the trees on the streets may be stripped bare and lonely throughout winter, but eventually you learn to appreciate its nothingness. it is a necessity in order to start afresh.

mingi stares at the blinking cursor that sits in the open search bar. it has been empty for the last twenty minutes since he started up his laptop, wondering whether it would be an invasion of privacy for him to look you up on the internet.

he makes up his mind. he knows that he was the one to tell wooyoung only mere hours ago that they would ask you about your decision to retire tomorrow at the meeting, but mingi supposes it would not hurt to simply see what sort of athlete you were like before.

typing your full name into the search engine, mingi hits ‘enter’ and waits for the results to appear. he combs through the first several links quickly. they all have the same information; ice hockey databases and websites that detail your age, nationality, physical stats and position, but the sections that usually list your team and agency are now blank.

mingi is surprised to learn you were also a centre forward. he scrolls down to your game logs and match statistics that span from 2014 to 2019. you have won an impressive number of championships, most notably the under-18 and under-21 women’s ice hockey league. they are both international competitions and mingi is not sure how your reputation has flown under all of their radars.

frowning, he goes back to the search engine and clicks on the next page in an attempt to find more information. it is not until he clicks yet again to the next page that he finds a low-reputed news article from almost eight years ago where you are the main subject.

‘y/n l/n, youngest player of ‘black cats’, wins ice hockey championship at the age of sixteen’ the headline reads. there is not much to the article, but it outlines your admirable achievement at your young age as a rising prodigy in the ice hockey scene. mingi agrees, since he knows that you also go on to win another international competition a few years after that. just as he is about to close the tab, there is a recommended link that catches his eye.

he hovers his cursor over it. the hyperlinked headline does not explicitly say your name, but the phrasing really only alludes to one athlete considering it is a recommended link on your article. mingi does not know whether he wants to click on it, though, because he is afraid of confirming it is you.

and if it is…then the others will also need to see this too.

“hongjoong, guys, come look at this,” mingi calls out, balancing his laptop on his forearm as he walks out into the open living room. the others look up from where they are sitting or emerge from out of their rooms at his summon.

“what’s this?” hongjoong reaches out to receive the laptop and places it on the table. his eyes skim the screen, trying to make sense of what mingi is showing them.

mingi points to the hyperlink he had been mulling over. “i think we need to look at this.”

solemnity washes over the boys as their curious gazes dull and darken, realisation of what exactly they are reading dawning upon them. all at once, their hearts clench in solidarity. hongjoong clicks on the link. the only sound that permeates the silence is the rhythmic tick of the clock on the wall. nobody talks. nobody moves.

ice hockey star announces retirement following shoulder injury june 18, 2019 star player y/n l/n, centre forward of the ‘black cats’, has announced her retirement from professional ice hockey today. her decision follows lingering issues after suffering from a rotator cuff tear during the grand finals of this year’s under-21 women’s ice hockey league. l/n has been under the ice hockey spotlight ever since her win in the under-18’s league as the youngest player on her team. she is well-known for her offensive threat to the opponents, bold playing style and unparalleled skill breaking through the lines of defence.  during the grand finals in april, l/n was body checked from the side by ‘polar bears’’ kim hyejin. although full-body checking is illegal in women’s hockey, it is not uncommon during the heat of competitions. l/n suffered a severe right rotator cuff tear and is reported to have received open surgery last month. l/n did not provide further details about her recovery, however stated that she plans to focus on her physical rehabilitation in the meantime.

the glare of the screen stares back at the boys as they finally understand exactly why you had retired and why you had come back as a coach–you were unable to fully step away from the sport you so loved with your entire life.

“coach wasn’t telling us to play defensively at all the crucial times just for the sake of the game strategy…” seonghwa grasps.

“...but because she didn’t want the same thing to happen to us,” hongjoong finishes. one of your heated remarks during your argument with him suddenly resounds in his mind: and let me remind you–if you suffer an injury, your whole team suffers with you. you had been reliving your own demons every single time hongjoong and his boys were playing aggressively on the ice. “fuck,” he mutters.

mingi leans down a little. “wait, see if there are any other articles about this.”

fingers dancing across the keyboard, hongjoong opens up a new tab. another quick search of your name with the keywords ‘injury’ and ‘retirement’ yields no further articles. mingi is certain you would have had more media coverage considering you had suffered an injury at the rising peak of your prodigious career, so he finds it strange that there is close to no information about this.

“it almost looks as if somebody had the articles purged from the internet,” mingi observes.

jongho nods with furrowed brows, “maybe y/n? but why would she go to the length to remove them?”

“i mean, wooyoung didn’t exactly go around flaunting off his injury to the media. maybe she didn’t want the attention anymore,” yeosang guesses.

yunho nudges wooyoung playfully as he comments, “no offence to you, but none of us are exactly famous enough for the media to take interest in our injuries.”

“i think the real question is why coach didn’t tell us that her injury was the reason why she stopped playing,” seonghwa wonders, “it was never really a choice like she made it out to be.”

none of them know the answer. hongjoong slowly closes the laptop, exhaling deeply, “we’ve got a lot of things to clear up tomorrow…and a lot of apologising. i’m going to sleep early. you all should too.”

with that, he gets out of his seat and disappears into his bedroom. hongjoong’s mind is heavy and crowded and he knows he is going to be awake for a while.

nobody sleeps well that night. especially wooyoung.

spring, 2023: playoffs

“what do you mean i can’t compete in the playoffs?”

“you have a fractured ankle, wooyoung. the playoffs are honestly the least of your concerns and if you keep straining yourself like this, it won’t just be the playoffs that you can’t compete in–it’ll be the rest of your life,” coach cho admonishes.

“but this is our first proper championship, coach,” wooyoung begs, “you have to let me play.”

coach cho hates that he has to say no and if he could swap ankles with his player, he would do so in a heartbeat. “this isn’t a choice. you physically cannot play. what are you going to do out there on the ice? crawl?”

“fuck, coach, you don’t understand. it was so hard for us to get to this point. this means everything to me, fuck, please,” wooyoung pleads between heaving breaths.

“i’m sorry, wooyoung,” coach cho apologises, leaving no further room for argument as the other boys divert their gazes to the floor.

hongjoong gently squeezes wooyoung’s shoulder. “the doctor said that your cast can come off in about eight weeks and if it’s looking good, you can gradually join in on any light training when it’s off-season.”

wooyoung does not care because in eight week’s time the playoffs will already be over. he knows he is being unreasonable and that there is no chance he will be able to set foot in an ice rink within the next two months. but his heart and mind are operating separately and the only thing his heart can see is the opportunity of playing in the championships slipping right out of his grasp.

he is already angry at himself for getting injured in the first place but it is not enough to quell wooyoung’s raging inferno. so he does the only thing he can think of in the moment–he spits out his anger with a venomous, “i hate you all.”

it hurts the boys more to see wooyoung hurting and coach cho speaks up on their behalf, “i would rather you hate us now than for you to hate yourself in the future because you traded decades of your career for this one playoff.”

wooyoung jerks his head away defiantly, but they know he is only trying to hide his tears. unable to watch any longer, san moves in closer and pulls the younger into his arms.

“fuck off, san. i don’t need you.”

san swallows the hurt in his chest because he knows there is no truth behind wooyoung’s words. “i know you don’t,” he offers, “but i need you. so just let me stay.”

wooyoung’s body sags as all of the fight slips out of him in the form of shuddering sobs. san embraces him tightly, as if he has picked up all the pieces of the other and only a hug can make him whole again.

“i’m sorry,” wooyoung chokes out.

san shakes his head with reassuring hushes, “don’t be. you focus on recovering and we’ll take it from here.”

like that, wooyoung’s anger is quenched and the team goes on to compete in the playoffs without him. but in the absence of anger comes other emotions, jealousy and insecurity the ugliest of them all. wooyoung despises the bitter taste in his mouth as he sits on the player’s bench outside of the rink each game, only able to helplessly watch his team advance further in the playoffs without him.

and as much as wooyoung wants them to win, he also does not want them to win, because if they can win the championships without him playing as their left wing, then do they really need him at all? he never gets to find out the answer though. they lose in the quarter finals.

wooyoung does not tell anybody about the ill relief he feels…and he vows to take that secret with him to the grave.

winter, present: regular season

the moment you walk into kq’s meeting room, a rehearsed apology for the team on the tip of your tongue, you realise that something is off. not necessarily wrong, per se; just off.

all the boys are sitting around the table as usual, though the overhead projector that is routinely already set up with video footage of their recent games has been put on standby mode. but the thing that unconsciously makes your hackles rise is the expression they all nurse on their faces, strangely familiar yet foreign at the same time. it is familiar in the sense that people have looked at you this way in the past, but it is foreign in the sense that it has never come from the boys before.

“hi, coach,” hongjoong clears his throat awkwardly, opting to look at the wall behind you instead of your eyes as if even he knows this is the first time he has ever addressed you as such. “we had a…talk last night and thought we should probably clear up a few things before we discuss the actual games.”

although you share the same sentiment as they do, hongjoong’s words put you on guard. gingerly, you lower yourself into an empty seat across from him. “i also have a couple of things to say, but you guys start,” you cue.

hongjoong glances at seonghwa beside him, who in turn gives him a miniscule shrug. neither of them know how to bring it up with you as they are afraid of saying the wrong thing. thankfully, mingi steps in, not one to beat around the bush.

“why didn’t you tell us about your injury?” he asks directly.

with mingi’s question, you are suddenly able to place their expression. the boys look at you warily as if you are a wounded animal they are afraid will run away. you loathed the expression years ago when it was from your coach, your teammates and your family–the constant treading on eggshells around you with pitying eyes–and you still loathe it just as much as you do now.

your prickles emerge and your instinctive reaction is to deny it. you have kept your injury a secret up until now for a reason and the unexpected confrontation has all of your sirens blaring to keep it a secret. but then you remember coach cho’s advice–you remember the apology you had mulled over all night–and you force your prickles to retract.

you take a breath. coach cho would not have told them about your injury, so there is only one way the boys could have found out about it. “you read the articles, didn’t you?”

mingi at least has the decency to look sheepish as he admits, “one…but there weren’t any others.”

“i thought as much,” you mumble to yourself, smiling tightly. you choose not to think about how they came across the article. “i wanted them all removed and my agency managed to pull enough connections to sweep the articles under the rug, but i should have known that in this day and age it would be impossible to get rid of any media completely.”

the question remains as to why you have chosen to keep this hidden and also–

“why did you want them removed, though?” hongjoong furrows his brows.

you have faced countless demons in the last six years. the injury itself, the abrupt end to your golden days, and the forced reconciliation with the fact that you will never be able to play again. and yet, the demon that continues to haunt you to this day is the media spotlight that chases after you as if you are a circus animal.

you are unable to look at any of them in the eye as you finally bare yourself open to the boys. “the articles felt belittling and shameful–they still do. they made me feel less as an athlete then and they make me feel less as a coach now. i worked my heart and soul to get to where i was with the skills that i had, but you don’t understand just how crippling it is for all of that to be overshadowed by an injury. it was no longer a celebration of my achievements, simply because nobody cared anymore. it just became a fucking broken record of, ‘how does it feel to have fallen at the peak of your career?’

“then when i became a coach, it didn’t matter how well my team performed or how hard they worked to win the championships. the question became, ‘how does it feel to coach after being forced to retire because of your injury?’ no matter how hard i tried, i just could not escape the hellhole of my injury.”

guilt settles in the pit of mingi’s stomach as it also does for the others. they may not have written the article, but by consuming it and searching for more, they had unknowingly joined the faceless masses of those who had hurt you.

you dig your thumbs into the flesh of your thighs to stop your voice from shaking as you continue, “the media will not care for the achievements that myself or my players accomplish when there is something even better–a sob story. but i do not need that kind of pity. not from athletes, not from other coaches, and most definitely not from strangers silently pitying my life from behind their newspaper or screen when i did not ask for any of it. i made people forget and i kept this all hidden because my career, be it as a coach or a former athlete, does not deserve to be reduced to that kind of shit.”

the raw honesty behind your words strikes the boys silent. what they thought they had started to understand about you, they are now realising was barely the tip of the iceberg. seonghwa wonders for just how long you have left this wound bleeding and untreated. he calls out for you sadly, “coach, you should’ve told us.”

when you look up, you are surprised to find wetness brimming his eyes. you feel the hot rush of emotions build up behind your own eyes but from anger, because why is he upset? what reason does he have to cry when you are the one who has suffered all this time?

your voice is biting when you respond, “and have you look down on me like everybody else? i just said, i do not need your pity–”

“it’s not pity,” a voice interrupts firmly. of all people, you least expected it to come from wooyoung. his tone stays unyielding as he holds your gaze. “we’re athletes too, y/n.”

the way he includes you in the collective–as an athlete–has your glare softening immediately, replaced by the dangerous quivering of your bottom lip while he elaborates, albeit voice gentler now, “we are hurting for you–with you. it is not pity; it is standing by your side in hopes that we can help you up if you ever fall again.”

because it is okay to fall, and you will fall; wooyoung knows that the best.

you tilt your head upwards as you desperately blink back the tears that suddenly threaten to spill. the swell of emotions that had churned in your chest had not been anger but fatigue, you realise. wooyoung’s words give you sudden clarity that you are tired–of suffering alone and in silence. you want help.

“i’m tired of hurting,” you confess quietly.

“then let us share the hurt with you.”

the dam breaks and your tears fall freely down your cheeks. it starts off with a nod so miniscule that the boys think they have imagined it, but then slowly and surely, your head moves up and down with more conviction. “okay,” you whisper.

you had always thought that you had come to terms with your injury and the end of your career, but perhaps you are still mourning your loss…and perhaps that is okay. like looking into a time-warped mirror, wooyoung sees the fight slip out of your body with a sob as you apologise, “i’m sorry.”

san wants to cross the room and wrap his arms around you if it can take away even just a fraction of your hurt. but he knows that he cannot cross the boundaries of professionalism despite the intimate nature of the conversation right now, especially when you and the team are only just starting to patch things up. so instead, he opts to rub his thumb over the knuckles of wooyoung’s hand from under the table, which has slipped into his, hoping that one day he will be able to do the same for you.

“we understand,” hongjoong answers on their behalf, “you were doing what you needed to do in order to protect yourself.”

and if you do not realise that he says those words for himself and his team to hear too, then you will by the end of the conversation as you walk away with a newfound understanding of them.

“no, not just for that,” you shake your head, roughly swiping at your tears with the back of your hand. “it ended up negatively influencing the way i coached you guys, even if it was subconscious. i let my own trauma dictate how i wanted you to play: defensively all the time whether it was needed or not. hongjoong, you were right about me not coaching your team as your team.”

you try your damned hardest to keep your voice steady so that you can look at them properly to apologise, “i’m sorry i made it so hard to trust me as your coach.”

“okay, let me stop you right there,” yunho smiles gently, sliding a tissue box in your direction. “we were pricks too, so half the apology is ours.”

“don’t call her a prick,” seonghwa whispers. his horrified expression relaxes when you break out into a wet chuckle.

hongjoong is glad that you are able to find something to laugh about even with your cheeks still damp and blotchy, and he finds his mouth curling into a bittersweet smile. you have been honest and vulnerable with them and now it is their turn.

“we have something to tell you about our past coach,” he starts, drawing your gaze to him. “not coach cho–our very first coach. we’re not trying to justify that what we did as a result was okay, but…”

“but hopefully i can understand,” you finish when hongjoong hesitates. he nods and you mirror his action with a reassuring smile to encourage him to talk.

but irregardless of what they tell you, you already know that you want to understand them, because understanding is the first step to forgiving, and you want that too.

so with intermittent comments from the other boys, hongjoong reveals to you the hidden wounds they have been nursing. and as they tell you about coach yeon, how their trust in him had been misplaced, how he had betrayed it for money at the expense of their championship, and how they had then let that become mistrust in you and your reason for retiring, wooyoung finds himself quiet so that he can steal glances at you.

he can see it now. the untameable beast within you of passion for ice hockey that has been forcibly chained down to the ground with the weight of the earth. the devastating torment that must incessantly surge through you in the most debilitating waves, tenfold any anguish he felt when he was unable to compete in the playoffs. the blemished canvas of dark and ghastly emotions that you do not let see the light of day, yet continue to coexist in hidden silence.

it is there and then that wooyoung realises you and him may be more similar than he thought–that you may actually understand him better than any of his seven boys.

you stop the drill.

yeosang gracefully turns in an arc whilst keeping the puck close to his stick as hongjoong and seonghwa dig their skates into the ice to brake before their momentum takes out the younger.

“let’s have jongho try using the perimeter of the rink instead of passing to yeosang this time. start the faceoff again,” you instruct.

the chorus of responses that you receive are zealous, even slightly teasing as the boys lower their voices with a, “yes, coach!” and give you small salutes with their gloved hands. you cannot help but snort and shake your head, waving at them to retake their positions.

practice is short today, since your team has a game tomorrow. the first half an hour consisted of running through offensive formations for power plays and you are now focusing on defensive penalty kills. your two captains and wooyoung are playing as the mock opponents, preparing your remaining wings and defenseman for a situation where they are down a player.

hongjoong seems to mull over a thought as he looks at the formation of his boys. “you mentioned the team we’re playing against has a tendency to position their forwards higher up, didn’t you?” he asks and  when you nod, he suggests, “what do you think about trying the diamond formation instead? might help close some of their shooting lanes.”

with the captain’s input, you reposition yeosang further up to form the tip of the diamond, and yunho too to cover the right point whilst jongho covers the left. mingi moves in a little closer to the goal to cover the bottom of the diamond and you make sure to point out the importance of his position.

“if the opportunity arises, we can transition into a counterattack instead with 3-1. but we’ll need to make sure we still cover the goal in case they turn it back over again–mingi, this will probably be you. support whoever has the puck from behind, but make sure you don’t go too far forward.”

mingi answers with an affirmative and yeosang passes the puck to hongjoong for him to commence the penalty kill. at your whistle, the rink explodes into action. wooyoung and seonghwa immediately split down the perimeters to open up shooting lanes for their captain, who passes the puck off to wooyoung the moment he has cleared half the rink. with a brief adjustment of the puck’s angle, he attempts a cross-ice pass to where seonghwa is free on the other side.

with astonishing speed, jongho intercepts the puck and yells, “3-1!” he continues to barrel forward with the momentum of his explosive acceleration towards the goal as yeosang anticipates a pass and yunho joins the counterattack rush to his right. the three of your players charge forwards with adrenaline as mingi covers them from behind. jongho chips the puck over hongjoong’s stick, which is immediately taken up by yeosang. without a goaltender, he finishes it off with an easy shot into the net.

the tempo and execution of the rush surprises not just you, but the boys themselves too, who are tapping their sticks together with elated excitement at the success of the play. it may only be a simulated practice drill, but you still share in the same pride and contentment that hongjoong’s face glows at you with.

he cocks his head to the side with a paired smile and you return the same nonverbal acknowledgement. corners of your lips still lifted up, you gather the boys, “let’s have a drink break.”

as the boys make their way over to the benches, removing their gloves and helmets, you eye the water bottles and make sure you have enough–five in the cooler and three on the bench beside it. san bounds up to you after grabbing one from the cooler, bragging, “coach! did you see the way jongho intercepted that puck?”

from beside him, wooyoung reenacts the moment with wild flails of his limbs and airy whooshes from his mouth, jongho watching with bashful giggles. you indulge in their animated recount and listen intently. “he was amazingly fast,” you agree.

yeosang passes an opened bottle to wooyoung before untwisting the lid to his own, commenting, “the ankle weights on top of all the training must be working.”

the boys are not currently wearing any, but you had slowly implemented the use of vests, ankle or wrist weights during specific drills. now that they have taken them off and are playing without the burden of the additional mass, you are all starting to see the gains of their hard work.

you smirk with satisfaction, “of course. if my players are going to bulldoze across the ice, may as well make them fast enough to avoid all the opponents.”

“don’t encourage her,” wooyoung elbows yeosang scandalously. “she’s going to make us wear heavier weights next practice.”

“you don’t get to complain if you don’t even wear the weights,” you quip.

he knows his injury means that he cannot wear the weights in case it places stress on his ankle, so he curses at you with no real heat just for the sake of cursing, “fuck you.”

you wink, “love you too.”

wooyoung shuts his mouth and scrunches the bridge of his nose with faux displeasure, and jongho laughs at his inability to faze you. you glance down and open your notebook to mention, “on that note, though, how do we feel about going up a few hundred grams next week?”

“i’m fine with that,” yeosang says at the same time jongho confirms, “sounds good.” most of the other boys also nod that they are fine with increasing their weights, save for seonghwa who notifies you that he is still adjusting so he will keep his as it is for now.

you jot down ticks and crosses next to their names corresponding to their answers whilst suggesting, “yunho and mingi, you can both probably try half a kilogram since your body masses are higher.”

said boys peer over your shoulder to see what their new weights would be, then yunho makes a noise of intriguement. “coach, did you write these?”

you look to where his finger is pointing to–sticky notes upon sticky notes of unorganised observations and reminders to yourself. starting to feel self-conscious, you deny, “...no,” only for yunho to swipe the notebook from out of your grasp. “hey!”

he holds it up and open above him, voice gleeful as he reads one out, “‘jongho, wooyoung and yeosang prefer water at room temperature when training–take bottles out of cooler!’”

“aw, coach,” wooyoung coos, “did you deliberately leave three bottles in room temperature for us on the bench?”

feeling your ears heat up from being exposed, you swipe at the notebook. your skates give you added height, but so do yunho’s skates, so your attempts to jump for it are futile.

“‘boys want to eat abura soba after their win’,” he continues to read, pausing to let out a dramatic gasp, “are you going to treat us, coach?” his question is met with enthusiasm.

when another wild swipe sends a sharp sting down your shoulder from the movement, reminding you of the pain that had flared up a few days ago, you decide to change tactics. you grab the back and front of his jersey with your hands, completely ready to commit to scaling him like a literal tree. but then a different set of hands easily takes the notebook out of yunho’s and of course it would be mingi. you insult, “give it back, you tall buffoon!”

mingi is hardly fazed as you switch targets to him, your fingertips nowhere near reaching the notebook as he snickers and reads, “‘trial jongho as starting forward–wait.” he lowers his hands with sobriety and you are finally able to snatch the notebook back, shutting it before they can read any more of your sticky notes. it is not like there is anything they cannot know, but it is sort of embarrassing for them to see how much attention you pay to them.

“you want jongho on the starting lineup?” mingi confirms that he has not read it wrong, eyes as wide as all the other boys as they look at you.

jongho is almost certain that you must have meant somebody else, or something else, because there is no way that he would be given the opportunity to start for the team–not when they have yeosang and wooyoung as their wings, and the choice of hongjoong or seonghwa as their centres. he is used to being the player who momentarily relieves others of their shift on the ice, or as his parents so like to remind him, option b.

“why do you all look so surprised?” you frown. beckoning at jongho with your chin, you ask, “you’ve been practising hard to make your right hand just as good as your left hand, haven’t you? so let’s take advantage of your versatility and unpredictability on ice and throw the opponents off. what do you think?”

jongho’s mouth opens and shuts, struggling to formulate an answer through his wide beam other than, “i–of course, if you’d let me–if everyone else is happy.”

the pleased smile on hongjoong’s face is enough to make his cheeks sore and he wraps his arm around the youngest’s shoulders. he praises, “look at you, our wild card and our hidden ace,” as seonghwa declares, “i know he’ll do us so proud.”

both yeosang and wooyoung simultaneously offer their positions in the starting lineup and the rest of the boys watch on with fond expressions. they are grateful that you have recognised the talents and hard work of their youngest. although you are not aware, this opportunity holds significance not just in regards to his career.

you conclude, “we’ve been on a good streak with our games. let’s ride the momentum and show the other teams what jongho is capable of–what we’re all capable of.”

“yes, coach!” they shout, the loud echo of their voices reverberating and filling the rink with buzzing energy for the remainder of the training session.

spirits still high by the time you call it a wrap, you let them change as you grab your own belongings. there is a team meeting in the afternoon so you and the boys will be going back to kq to eat at the cafeteria and use the booked room. you pause when you see wooyoung loitering by your bag. he still has not changed out of his practice clothes.

“i’m not letting you on the bus if you’re planning on staying in those clothes,” you joke.

“i’m going to change!” he scowls indignantly, then avoids eye contact as he thrusts something out in your direction. he mumbles, “had some spares. didn’t want them. just dumping them with you so you can stash them or use them or whatever, i don’t care.”

you grab the small bag, brows creased with confusion, but wooyoung dashes away to change before you can ask what it is. you peer inside and to your pleasant surprise, there are two packs of pain relief patches. your shoulder protests at the lack of attention you have given it in the last few days. the pain is chronic and never really goes away, but it has been bothering you more than usual recently, so it is all in good timing that you now have some patches.

you make a mental note to stick one on when you get to the company and grab your bag after ensuring your notebook is stored inside. as you head towards the change rooms to wait for the boys, you spot a piece of paper on the floor. it looks like rubbish that you must have missed on your way in earlier so you pick it up to throw away. but when your fingertips touch the familiar sheen of the wax-like paper, you realise wooyoung must have dropped it.

it is confirmed when you unfold it to read the text and see that it is from yesterday evening, at the pharmacy that is just across the street from the company; in your hands you hold wooyoung’s receipt for two packs of pain relief patches.

spring marks the start of the playoffs. in synchronisation with the burst of life that blooms with the season, your boys, too, flourish in the league.

the unpredictability of your team’s strategies that entail a mix of both yours and hongjoong’s prowess helps to secure wins over the remainder of the regular season. despite the unsteady start to the season, it allows your team to scrape into the round of sixteen near the bottom of the standings.

the red devils are seeded against the team that is third in the rankings, and then against the sixth-standing team in the quarterfinals. in upsets that knock out two of the most anticipated teams in the league, your boys advance into the semifinals, their reputation as the demons of the ice rink that had laid low now rapidly spreading.

where none of the other competitors had paid you and your players any mind before, barely even noticing your presence, the opponents now glance and watch your team walk past with an air of confidence through the arena. their tense jaws and hard gazes size up your athletes–formidable rivals who have suddenly barrelled up the ranks from out of nowhere and now pose perhaps the biggest threat as a team that has somehow slipped under their radars.

you know; your team may be small in numbers. but with yunho and mingi flanking the sides of the boys, and even with hongjoong’s charismatic aura alone leading the front, which extends around him like a dark cloud of terror and envelops the rest of the group too, your team is a pack of predators at the tip of the apex.

other players part to make a path for your boys, whose heads are held high and eyes are set only on their captain and you, their coach, as you all walk to your assigned changeroom. the nerves have long dissipated because the ice rink is your territory and the other teams are your prey.

the moment you shut the door behind the last of them into the room though, the icy stare in wooyoung’s eyes melt and he exclaims, “holy shit, did you see the way everybody was looking at us? we must have looked so fucking hot, i wish i could ask for my own signature.”

from their glowing faces alone, you can tell that they are all basking in the feeling of finally being recognised and reckoned with. yunho bats his eyelids and pinches his voice higher into a falsetto, “oh wooyoung! you’re so handsome and cool, could i please have your signature?”

mingi imitates him and pounces on wooyoung, begging for a photo together as he clings onto his elbow. it sets off the rest of the boys to crowd around like mock fans with faux exhilaration. you snort at their antics, leaving wooyoung to sign imaginary sheets of paper with his imaginary pen in favour of ensuring all of their backup equipment and gear is correctly located outside or in the storage area.

you allow the boys adequate time to change into their full gear for their warm-up prior to the actual semifinal game before you walk back into the locker room. your ears perk up when you catch the end of san’s question, “that’s good for us, isn’t it?”

“what is?” you ask out of curiosity, flipping open the provided cooler and adding several sports drinks into the ice.

“i overheard someone on the white tigers team say that their head coach happened to fall sick, so they have their assistant coach today,” jongho mentions.

the surge of brazen smiles and reassured glints in their eyes at the reveal of information makes you falter to a degree. you lightly chastise, “don’t let that get to your heads and start being cocky–play as you usually do and do not underestimate them just because their head coach is off.”

you pull your notebook out of your bag, the familiar cover and weight of the book providing you with a sense of security as you remind the boys, “the white tigers have a very similar playing style as us. we may have worked hard on our defensive strategies, but with similar strengths and weaknesses overall, it won’t hurt for us to still be cautious.”

“yes, coach,” they chorus.

hongjoong nods, “let’s go warm up, then finalise our starting lineup for the game.”

your team’s allocated time on the rink passes by quickly and it is followed by the last adjustments to the discussed strategies and game plan, thorough checks of their gear, and the remaining boys who are still wearing their practice jerseys change out of the blue into their red game uniform. in full gear, there your boys stand, presence intimidating and demoniac. the boys do not live up to their team name; their team name lives up to them.

they stride through the hallway for their semifinal game against the white tigers. right at the end before it leads to the ice rink, yunho yells, “pep talk, captain!”

hongjoong groans, rolling his eyes, but places the blade of his stick onto the rubber flooring nonetheless. the rest of the boys huddle around, their sticks meeting in the centre of the circle and standing close together so that their helmets and shoulders knock against one another. you are also swept into the circle with yeosang and san by your sides.

“boys…and girl,” hongjoong snickers to himself before recollecting his very inspirational train of thought, “we’ve fought hard to make it this far–this is the first time we’ve made it into the semis, so let’s keep running until the very end, yeah?”

to the team’s increasingly loud cheers, hongjoong yells, “let’s fuck it up out there!”

their sticks hit the ground in unison and despite the muted sound of the cushioned flooring, their shouts of fighting resolve and unwavering determination drown out everything else. together, you emerge from the hallway and your starting players take their positions on the ice, ready to fuck it up.

only, it happens literally.

the moment the puck hits the ice and the white tigers’ centre forward, byun, wrestles it away with his blade, hongjoong immediately knows it is going to be one of those games. the ones where his competitive grit is fueling his mind ablaze but his body is leaden-footed as if he is wading through quicksand; where his body is just unable to keep up and move the way he wants it to. it is one of those days where his condition is just inexplicably off and there is nothing he can do about it except hope that his years of training and sheer aptitude for the sport will be enough.

“fuck,” you curse under your breath at hongjoong’s slip as jongho and yeosang rush to fall back and support those in defence. “he wasn’t like that during the warm-ups.”

byun is not only agile and swift, but is almost an identical reflection of hongjoong’s own bold and assertive offence. the centre forward powers through with evasive turns around yunho’s attempt to body check him, unafraid and confident. passing the blue line into your team’s defensive zone, byun flicks the puck at the goal.

the point shot is an unexceptional attempt to score, nothing that san’s reflexive goaltending cannot take care of. he extends his left foot and blocks the low shot with his leg pad, where the puck then slides in yunho’s direction. you did not doubt for a moment that san would not be able to save the shot, but it is still a close call that is far too early in the game to be a good sign.

your team’s greatest strength is their unspoken synergy and seamless unity, but it is also their greatest weakness. when one player stumbles, particularly when it is their captain–the very roots of the team–their bond runs so deeply that it throws their teamwork out of harmony and ultimately impacts the entire team.

with san’s save, yunho regains possession and handles the puck around the back of their net to shake off the pressure that the white tigers’ forwards are placing on him, as well as to buy his own team some time to reassemble in their formation.

you know that this is not going to work for long; you have to change the momentum of the game, and fast. “seonghwa, get ready,” you alert. “you’re going on for hongjoong.”

the alternate captain stands, alarmed at the unexpected line change so early into the game. he grips his stick with white knuckles and watches his team as he waits for your cue. yunho hits the puck against the boards where yeosang successfully receives the rebound.

“breakout!” yeosang yells and rushes forward with the chasing skates of the opponents nipping at his heels. jongho clears the centre line into the offensive zone at the same time hongjoong screens and blocks the view of the white tigers’ goaltender, setting up for an opportunity to score.

when the opponent’s left defence and wing advance on yeosang rapidly, he fakes a deceptive pass towards the boards before twisting the blade of his stick and flicking the puck between their skates instead in hongjoong’s direction. but like an eagle honing in on a small rodent, byun swoops in to snatch the puck, flipping the possession again.

the tides turn and all the athletes on the rink race towards your team’s net, a cutthroat competition between triumph and desperation to chase the puck. byun passes to the player on his left as they both dash closer, the left forward immediately returning the puck the moment he receives it to break past mingi’s defence.

you are able to see the white tigers’ right wing following closely behind ready for a drop pass, but in your team’s frenzied minds, they are unable to read the play. yunho approaches byun, who is expecting the defence and leaves the puck behind whilst skating on, knowing that it will be received by his trailing teammate. with the momentary confusion that is enough to disrupt both yunho and san’s gaze on the puck, the opponent’s right wing winds his stick back just enough to build power without sacrificing speed, then slaps the puck into the corner of the goal–

–and scores. within the first three minutes of the game.

“seonghwa,” you call out again with urgency as the whistle blows. you turn to look at him, “you’re up. you have to break the flow of the team. not just the white tigers, but ours too–the boys are panicking and you need to help anchor them.”

he nods, steadying his hand on the board in preparation to hop over it, and you yell out for the captain, “change!”

hongjoong sees the gesture of your hand pointing at the bench, and although his chest tightens with frustration at himself, he speeds towards the edge of the rink to change. once the captain is close enough, seonghwa pushes his skate off the benches to launch himself over the top of the boards onto the ice then propels himself forward to take the centre faceoff.

the captain sits down heavily on the bench, defeat already broiling off of his slumped body in smothering swells. you really cannot afford to take your eyes off the game; it waits for nobody and the whistle has already blown, the rink erupting into commotion. but whilst you need to watch the game unfold, you need hongjoong just as much, and his team needs him.

you turn him slightly to face you so that he can see your face of resolution. “you are the captain, so be the captain–for the team…and for yourself,” you invigorate, voice raised so that he can hear you over the noise of the stadium. 

you give his shoulder a hard squeeze, certain he will not be able to even feel it from under the pads of his uniform. regardless, he understands your intentions and nods grimly, the fog in his eyes clearing. wooyoung taps the back of his helmet in a show of encouragement and hongjoong returns the gesture with appreciation. 

a particularly loud thump draws the attention of all three of you back to the game. from the grimace on yeosang’s face and his hand steadying himself on the boards, it is obvious he has just been body checked into the wall. seonghwa pursues the puck with graceful yet powerful speed before he digs both skates perpendicular into the ice to suddenly change direction. pushing off, he accelerates back towards the white tigers’ defensive zone when mingi manages to disrupt the opponent’s stickhandling enough for yunho to sweep the puck and skate it up the perimeter of the rink away from their net.

wooyoung also goes on for yeosang but as the left wing, so jongho switches position to play as the right forward. he skates past the benches when an opportunity arises and he hands off his stick whilst grabbing his right-handed stick from you with practised ease.

with the line change of forwards and with seonghwa on as your centre, your team stabilises to an extent. the red devils are no longer being pushed back but they are also unable to push forward. the game is at a stalemate, although the tides remain in favour of the white tigers with both their positional and psychological advantage of the first goal.

you can see the pressure weighing down on your boys; passes that yunho and mingi would be capable of executing blindfolded are miscalculated; predictable manoeuvres still mislead wooyoung in the wrong direction; seonghwa and jongho fail to notice the opportunities for clear passing and shooting lanes; and the openings appear far too wide and innumerable for san to cover the goal from. the relentless offensive pressure that the white tigers places on your team, strikingly similar to how the boys played when you first started coaching them, does not give any breathing room either.

so that is how the first period comes to an end–losing zero to one with none of your players performing at their best condition. their steps are heavy and burdened as they walk back to the locker room for the intermission, helmets removed the moment they come off the ice to reveal hardened expressions. in the privacy of your assigned room, most of the boys adjust the pads in their gear and yunho peels off his shin guards to let them air out.

you pass around their iced bottles and as exhausted as they are, they make sure to voice their gratitude. san grabs wooyoung’s bottle for him, since the younger is bent over loosening the laces of his left skate. “here,” san murmurs, twisting open the cap and passing it to wooyoung once he straightens his back.

similarly, seonghwa hands over an opened bottle to yeosang before taking a swig of his own. “you’re okay?” he checks, the particularly rough body check that yeosang had copped earlier in the game still at the forefront of his mind.

yeosang gives the alternate captain a reassuring smile, “i’m okay.”

appeased by the answer, seonghwa turns to look at hongjoong, who is re-taping the blade of his stick. “what about you?” seonghwa softly asks, “you’re feeling okay?”

hongjoong glances up briefly at the back of your figure. you are busy shifting the red magnets around on the whiteboard and erasing the markings you had made prior to the start of the semifinals. when you turn around to gather their attention, you accidentally make eye contact with him and break out into a small smile.

“yeah,” hongjoong replies, “i’m feeling okay.”

“alright, listen up boys, that was just the first period. we’re not even halfway into this game and we’ve started to even up the playing field now that we’ve found our footing,” you encourage. “we just have to make sure we keep our heads cool and read their plays instead of simply reacting to their movements.”

you look at each of them as you direct, “their centre forward, byun, has been on for almost all of first period, so there’s probably going to be a shift change, if not a complete line change of forwards. they have the leniency to swap out their top players since they’re in the lead, which means if we want to break their momentum, we need to break it then.”

shifting yourself slightly out of the way, the boys are able to see the new arrangement of positions you have marked out on the whiteboard. “we’re starting the second period by sharpening our offence in the 2-2-1 formation,” you explain. you beckon your head at the captain, “hongjoong, you’re back on. you and wooyoung are to position yourselves up high between the neutral and offensive zones–try to screen their goaltender when our boys have possession. yunho, i want you to move up to our blue line with jongho and open up as many passing lanes as you two can. mingi will stay in defence and help cover the goal with san in case the white tigers makes a counterattack.

“use this opportunity to make as many scoring chances as you can. if there isn’t a clear shot but there’s a chance it can be continued on by another one of us, then go for it anyway–any sort of pressure we can put on their team is better than none.”

your forwards nod with understanding, so you continue to the most important point, “but the moment byun and the wings–kim and song, i think they are–come back on, we’re reversing the formation.” you reposition half of the magnets into a 1-2-2 formation. “only hongjoong will stay up high; wooyoung will fall back and join jongho in the neutral zone; put pressure on their forwards from there. yunho and mingi, you’ll play left and right defence as usual.”

san listens intently when you start moving the black magnets that represent the opposing players and call out to him directly. you warn, “san, be careful of their drop passes. kim and song have been skating forward but leaving the puck behind for byun to score multiple times throughout the first period. they have you primed to predict it now, so they’re probably going to change their tactic and pass directly in front of the goal instead.”

“yes, coach,” san acknowledges.

a glance at the screen on the wall of the locker room tells you that there are only a few minutes left of the intermission. “gear up and get ready to go back on,” you instruct the boys.

they make final adjustments to their pads and yunho tapes his shin guards back into place under his socks. you make sure they all have their helmets and sticks when they start to file out of the locker room once they are ready and you grab wooyoung’s gloves for him while he ties the laces of his skates again.

“thanks,” he reaches out for them as he stands up. except he stumbles slightly when he puts weight on his left ankle and your hand instinctively grabs his to steady him.

your eyes grow wide with concern. you know that wooyoung is the type to keep quiet about his pain, even if you ask, “does your ankle hurt?”

“no, my legs just fell asleep on me from sitting,” he reassures, conscious of your hand that still holds his. he smiles through his lie and hopes that you are unable to pick up on it. the buzzer sounds before you can, though, warning you both that there is only one minute remaining until the game resumes.

hurriedly you tell him, “let me know if you need to come off.”

somebody yells out your names, forcing you both to rush off to join the rest of the team in the hallway. wooyoung knows that he should admit to you right there and then that his ankle does hurt, but he will not–he cannot…because he owes it to his team.

they do not know and they will never know, but there is not a day that goes past where wooyoung does not feel guilty for having desired for their loss last year. he has to play and win this championship for his team because only then can he start to forgive himself. but until he wins, he deserves to suffer.

those in the lineup rapidly glide across the ice to take their positions, wooyoung included. a short buzzer sounds, the puck is dropped, and the second period starts. immediately you can see that your boys have the advantage. the white tigers had not expected you to take such an aggressive approach of offence considering that you are losing.

and sure enough, just as you had predicted, their coach has changed their entire line of forwards. the players are still undeniably skilled, but they visibly struggle to match the pace at which hongjoong and wooyoung are now leading your team to attack.

the rink is under the boys’ control; the neutral zone has become a stronghold with the resistance of both jongho and yunho’s combined strength and mingi’s reinforcement from behind. wooyoung weaves through the players with polished agility as he creates passing opportunities around the offensive zone, whilst hongjoong makes his own path with imposing might, his devilish wings spread. and even if the white tigers somehow manage to gain possession of the puck and break past your defence, san looks impossibly larger than the goal itself, leaving no openings for their forwards to score.

it is well into the second period when the perfect play sets itself up. with mingi blocking any possible rebounds off the boards, yunho’s attempt to body check the white tigers’ right wing forces the player to pass the puck across the ice. before their centre forward is able to receive it, jongho has already intercepted and is thundering ahead with his stick controlling the puck.

“high!” he shouts, ploughing through the neutral zone as wooyoung and hongjoong immediately respond to his call and skate up towards the goal.

jongho deliberately looks at his captain but flicks the puck with a forehand pass in the other direction, too fast for the defenders to react to. wooyoung easily receives the anticipated pass, thighs burning and his left ankle stinging as he rushes towards the goal from the left with powerful acceleration. the white tigers’ goaltender immediately lowers his stance and raises his arms in preparation to block his shot.

in the corner of his eye, wooyoung sees hongjoong matching his lightning pace on his right, the captain’s eyes narrowed with concentration and body weight tilted forward as he hurtles past the defenders. wooyoung pretends to wind up his stick for a slap shot into the net, only to twist the angle of his arms at the last second to send the puck skittering across the ice directly parallel to the goal. the goaltender drops down to his knees, having anticipated a scoring attempt, except the puck is now nearing hongjoong.

hongjoong sees it clearly–the trajectory that the puck is taking and the perfect point where it needs to meet his stick. without breaking its momentum, his arms contract to swing his stick and the blade collides with the puck with forceful precision, sending it hurtling through the air. the goaltender desperately scrabbles back onto his skates to defend the other side of the goal, but it is too late.

the puck flies past the posts and hits the netting.

the horn blares and echoing cheers erupt throughout the stadium as the lights flick on to shine across the net and your forward players. hongjoong yells with fierce triumph, stick raised into the air as wooyoung excitedly collides into him. the duo disappear amongst the bodies of your boys as they swarm around them feverish exuberance.

“that’s our fucking captain–” “–woo’s assist was insane!”

hongjoong cannot even tell who is who as he is jostled around in overjoyed laughter and beaming smiles, numerous hands reaching out to tap his and wooyoung’s helmets and shoulders. from outside the rink, you, seonghwa and yeosang have long stopped sitting on the benches, bodies too strung tight with hopeful tension to stay seated, so you are immediately swept up into a hug as the three of you celebrate the goal with identical exhilaration.

the game is still far from over but the morale has just skyrocketed through the roof as if the red devils have scored the winning goal. combined with the team’s fans electrifying the atmosphere of the stadium, it definitely feels like it, and you are starting to see hope that the ones advancing to the finals after today will be your boys.

“line change!” you faintly hear, so you still to watch all three of the white tigers’ forwards skate towards the boards. byun, kim and song jump onto the rink, back on offence in the wake of your goal.

hongjoong makes eye contact with you when you search for him amongst the team huddle and in unison, you both nod, pride and determination unspoken in your gazes–the real game is about to start now. the boys start to disperse and take up their positions around the marked circle for the centre faceoff, and hongjoong and byun meet head-to-head once again in the middle of the rink.

the white tigers’ centre forward smirks condescendingly, “cute goal.”

hongjoong’s face thunders over but he will not let himself resort to dirty sportsmanship. he bites his tongue and lowers his stance, focusing his attention on the game instead.

“ready,” the referee signals, then the puck is released.

byun manages to steal it and sends it backwards to his defensemen to open up more passing lanes, but as discussed, your boys mutually move into the 1-2-2 formation to fortify against their offensive plays. despite the pressure of the white tigers’ top forwards back in play, your team is riding on the momentum of your goal; although you had been treading to keep your heads above the water during the first period, there is now an air of confidence that permeates the ambience of the rink in favour of your boys. 

an angled pass from their defence rebounds off the boards and kim receives it high in the neutral zone. he attempts an immediate pass across the ice to song, except the safety net of your player’s defensive formation allows mingi to thrust out with his stick to intercept the pass. he signals, “breakout!” before deflecting it to wooyoung.

the turnover of possession immediately triggers a switch in defence to offence as wooyoung handles the puck back the other way. his wrists twist the stick with measured coordination, controlling the blade and puck as an extension of his own hands while approaching the offensive zone. wooyoung sees the white tigers’ defensemen racing towards him so he abruptly pivots towards the left to drag the black disc around their extended sticks.

suddenly, a sharp pain engulfs his ankle that has his legs crumbling as he staggers off balance. wooyoung manages to stay upright, using his stick to steady himself, but the momentary stumble is more than enough of an opening for byun to steal possession from behind him.

the rival centre forward swerves around jongho then stays close to the perimeter to avoid mingi’s resistant defence. behind mingi, san splays his legs out as he prepares to block the left side of the goal, but byun continues blazing on and wraps around the back of the net. san follows his movement and swiftly shifts over to the right instead while byun cradles the puck with his blade to lift it into the air the moment he approaches.

yunho cannot risk a penalty by raising his own stick to block its trajectory, so he shifts his body in hopes of deflecting the shot before it reaches san. but byun’s wrists snap and tuck the airborne puck at a sharp angle right past the red goalpost…and the horn blows to mark the scoring of a goal.

your jaw plummets at the same time that your heart does. not even your lungs work, your body frozen stock-still. once more, the white tigers are back in the lead only mere minutes after the score had been painstakingly tied by your team.

“fuck!” wooyoung curses and slams his gloved fist against the ice, having dropped to his knees in enraged denial.

seonghwa looks on with despondence from beside you as hongjoong drags wooyoung back up to his feet. the captain’s jaws are clenched in frustration but only because of the score itself–never because of his boys. when mingi and yunho try to comfort san with firm squeezes and uttered reassurances, he can only return a tight smile, all three of their breaths heavy and irregular from exertion and dismay.

for the boys to have climbed so arduously and persistently to even the scores, only to be knocked off and their momentum obliterated so mercilessly soon, it is even more demoralising than the white tigers’ first goal. after all, the higher the climb, the harder the fall.

through the deep ache in your heart, you mutedly say to yeosang, “go on for wooyoung, and tell jongho to change sticks and play as left wing.”

“yes, coach,” he replies, voice delicate. yeosang waits as you gesture for wooyoung to come off before he hops over the boards and skates in jongho’s direction.

“woo,” you murmur as your left wing makes his way back to the benches, but he avoids your gaze and keeps his head down. you bite your lips and decide not to push it for now. instead, you press an opened bottle into his gloved hand.

wooyoung is thankful that the bottle is half empty, because his hand unconsciously clenches around it with quivering shame and he would have spilled the water were it full. he makes no move to bring the bottle up to his lips; he doubts the water would go down his constricted throat anyway. the penetrative guilt of his tears hurts immeasurably more than the piercing throb of his ankle because he may have just cost his team the win…again.

even when the buzzer signals the end of the second period, wooyoung dares not to look up. the score is one to two and it is his fault. the intermission passes by in a haze of dissociation, his body robotically moving on autopilot into the locker room and back to the ice rink. wooyoung does not even know whether there are line changes to the positions or whether the game strategy has been altered.

but it does not matter because it does not concern him–as if any coach would put him on after his grave mistake. what wooyoung fails to notice though is the glances of worry in his direction, and they do not come solely from his boys.

the stakes run at their highest in the third and final period. tension suffocates the entire stadium, invisible hands that snake around your throats with a hangman’s loose and make you break out into cold sweats. all the players on the ice rink put everything that they have on the line because by the end of the next twenty minutes, only one team will be advancing to the finals.

from the moment the puck is dropped into play and the timer resumes, the rink is a torrential battlefield of contesting skates and grappling sticks. dramatic passes and unforeseen interceptions lead to rapid turnovers that force both teams to hastily switch back and forth between offence and defence.

but everyone learns of the juxtapositions of the world early on in life. there is no light without dark, there is no happiness without sadness, there is no spring without autumn…and there is no victory without defeat. for every scoring attempt that the red devils make, the white tigers make three, steadily and gradually pushing your boys back in the final stretch of the game. and while most of your forwards’ goals are blocked in the nick of time, most of theirs are not.

as a last resort in the face of the crisis, you calculate the risks then add seonghwa onto the field. “yunho, change!” you yell, pulling him off defence.

“behind you,” byun alerts song as seonghwa powers across the ice right into the cutthroat action, before cursing when the white tigers nearly lose possession of the puck.

your two captains unrelentingly pursue the black disc at the forefront of your team, their complementary synergy and unity a whirlwind of prowess to be reckoned with as they try not to let the burden of scoring weigh them down. despite the overwhelming pressure as the team’s last line of defence, even more so now that you have sacrificed stability to capitalise on having two centre forwards, san’s cat-like eyes do not cloud over, only intensely scanning the field and the opponent’s plays.

you glance at the clock. there are only two minutes left and even the combined efforts of your forwards is not working. you never thought that you would ever have to do this as a coach, but now you are afraid there is no choice. “yunho,” you urge.

his head turns to you and you see the ashen pallor of your own face reflected on his as the very probable outcome of the game dawns across your minds. you make your decision. “you’re going back on. for san.”

yunho’s eyes widen. “for san? i can’t play as goaltender–”

“no,” you shake your head, “we’re playing without a goaltender.”

sixty seconds.

save for wooyoung, all of your defenders, wings and centre forwards make a last-minute spurt to attack, not letting their bodies recover for even a split second as they strain their burning legs and gasping lungs.

thirty seconds.

they desperately break past the physical boundaries of their own stamina into their last reserves of pure grit and will, draining every last drop that their mental resilience has to offer.

ten seconds.

they do not give up. they try again and again to score. but against all of your prayers, all of your tears and sweat and against all of your hopes, the gap does not close. the final buzzer blares throughout the entire stadium, marking the red devil’s loss.

two to six.

your players stand motionless, ghosts of denial and despair amongst the crazed jumps and bounds of celebration as the white tigers flock across the rink towards one another. hongjoong tilts his head upwards to stop the rush of tears from falling down his face, both yunho and seonghwa mirrors of his pain as sweat and tears drip down in salty trails. san grasps the edge of the board in front of him, his head hung low and shoulders quaking from how hard he tries to stifle his sobs so that wooyoung does not hear him.

not one of your boys are able to accept the results of the match. not even you can bring yourself to utter a single word of consolation, be it for yourself or for them. and as you watch the wretched image of your heartbroken boys, choking back tears of your own that you are unaware still manage to escape the corners of your eyes, the only sounds in your ears their stricken cries, you are reminded that the path of an athlete and coach is nothing like its portrayal in movies and stories; where hard work triumphs and leads to sure success.

the harsh reality is that there is no dramatic comeback. there is no underdog victory. there is no miracle and there is no final to advance to. you and your boys lose by triple the amount of your own goals and just like that, the journey has come to an end at the semifinals.

it is an anticlimactic defeat, the gap so far that your team could not even see the light at the end of the tunnel. and somehow…that feels far worse than losing by just a marginal difference.

the locker room is mostly quiet, the silence punctuated only by the closing of zippers and rustling of canvas as the boys who have finished showering and changing pack the rest of their gear for the final time. there are no more intermittent sniffles, leaving behind a miserable hush of emptiness instead. even the dying flicker of the light in the far corner of the ceiling thrums with more energy than the boys combined.

you sit on one of the benches and absentmindedly thumb through your notebook. seonghwa sits to your right, his kit bag already long organised and tidied to preoccupy his mind. the warmth from the close proximity of your thighs and elbows is a gracious comfort to the both of you. it no longer makes your backs straighten with uptightness, conscious of the boundaries between coach and athlete–not after your hearts and bodies melded together in hugs of solace after the final buzzer of the semifinals and melted away those lines.

seonghwa places his hand soothingly on your knee and murmurs, “stop looking at that. we’ll think about it later all together.”

none of the words or diagrams had been registering in your head, but you nod and close your notebook anyway. he probably does not want to see it either. you rest your head back against the wall behind you with a small exhale, blankly watching your team instead until your eyes travel around the room. 

you count, then count again, before calling out, “captain, is wooyoung still showering?”

hongjoong cranes his neck around at the same time that everybody else does as well. “don’t think so,” he frowns, “i’m pretty sure he was one of the first ones out.”

wooyoung’s kit bag is still unpacked in his locker, so he is definitely not already waiting for the bus outside. before his absence can raise any alarms–the last thing the boys need on their plate right now–you stand and announce, “i’ll go find him. he probably just lost track of time.”

“do you need me to come with you?” yeosang rises to his feet.

you shake your head and reassure, “keep packing your bag.” then you turn to make your way out of the locker room when somebody calls out for you.

“coach, wait.”

it’s san, who skitters in front of you to press something into your hands. “give this to him when you see him?”

the item crinkles and a glance downwards reveals that it is an instant ice pack. you smile softly, stuffing it into the pocket of your jacket and hoping that nobody notices the ice pack that is already in there. “of course,” you gently touch his forearm. “i’ll be back.”

this time you make it out to the corridor but you do not get further than four steps before another voice stops you.

“coach!”

when you turn around, hongjoong emerges from the doorway. he slows down as he catches up to stand in front of you. “i…” his voice falters. “i’m sorry.”

i’m sorry i didn’t realise wooyoung was gone. i’m sorry i didn’t do my job as captain…and i’m sorry for losing. 

“no,” you shake your head. “don’t be.” because you tried your best…and you did not give up. beckoning in the direction of the locker room, you tell him, “take care of the boys, okay? i’ll be back with wooyoung.”

the rigidity in hongjoong’s shoulders dissipates. “thank you…y/n.”

you smile, “anytime, hongjoong.” you wait for him to walk back inside before you finally turn to find wooyoung.

the arena is massive but apart from the locker room–which you already know wooyoung is not in–there are limited places that offer privacy from the multitude of people who mill around, be it other athletes, staff or spectators. you know from personal experience, so you head to the one place that is usually guaranteed to be somewhat out of the public eye.

“oh, fuck me,” wooyoung startles when you sit yourself down heavily on the same step as him, his curse echoing around the both of you. “how the fuck did you know i would be here?”

you snort, bumping his shoulder with yours. “i hate to burst your bubble, but this isn’t exactly an original experience. i’m pretty sure every athlete has hidden here to cry at one point in their career.”

the slight spark of light that had ignited within wooyoung at your appearance suddenly flickers out, reminded of why exactly he is hiding in the emergency stairwell in the first place. shame tears his eyes away from you, unable to meet your gaze any longer.

“i want to be left alone,” he murmurs.

although you respect his request, that is the opposite of what he needs. left to his own thoughts and devices, you know that wooyoung will spiral dangerously in guilt and self-reproach, even if the red devil’s loss is not his fault–is not anybody’s fault.

the two of you sit in silence, wooyoung intermittently swiping at a lone tear that threatens to drip off his chin, and you mulling over the words that you hold close to your heart. eventually, you break the quietude with a soft chuckle.

“the first game i ever played i was actually on left defence. our team was losing by two goals and i suddenly had the puck. i still remember seeing an opening in the goal and feeling the surge of confidence that i did when i hit the puck…but you know what?”

wooyoung does not answer, does not look up from where he is picking at his cuticles, but you can feel his curiosity so you continue, “it was an own goal. i scored into my own team’s net and it wasn’t until i scored another goal before i finally realised which way i was meant to go. obviously, my team wasn’t very happy with me, but then i ended up winning the game for them anyway and that’s how i started playing as centre forward.

“there was also a time during internationals where i argued against the ref’s call and got myself put into the penalty box. it cost our team a goal–the tiebreaker, too. i learnt my lesson and never did that again. and then there was the first couple of years i started to coached. i thought i had enough experience as a player to be a perfect coach. it wasn’t until one of my teams told me to pull my head out of my ass that i realised i was anything but.”

that gets a small snicker from out of him. you deliberate, “i’d like to think that we make the best team now, though.”

he scowls disgruntledly, “we’re your only team.”

“and my favourite team, too,” you laugh softly, gauging his expression. “my point is, wooyoung, we all make mistakes. but the reason why we make them in the first place is because we love playing. we do what our heart wants to in the moment and we play for ourselves because otherwise, there would be nothing left of us without ice hockey. what matters is that we stand up again and learn from the experience.”

wooyoung feels the weight of your words settling heavily in his chest because they are only half true to him. his passion and love for the sport indeed burns eternally as a blazing inferno inside of him, but his persistence to play today was due to ulterior motives. to acknowledge that aloud is a different story, though.

your voice takes on a lighter tone, “although i guess in this case, you should be sitting down with that ankle of yours. you know you should not be gambling with your injuries.”

he finally looks at you; a former athlete who did not even have the luxury to gamble your injury. it suddenly scares him to imagine just an ounce of the conflicting anguish that must course through you at his continuous decisions to endanger his own career–the anguish that you have made sure to never show, lest it affect them.

“do you ever feel angry?” wooyoung abruptly asks, voice laced with hesitation.

it is your turn to look away. you know that the question is not directed at himself but your entire career. with a bittersweet chuckle, you allow yourself to admit, “every day. i still get angry and i still get upset. i wake up in the morning wondering why it had to be me and i go to bed at night wondering why i didn’t deserve a second chance.

“but i’m okay; it gets easier to be okay. coaching means that i still get to go on the ice, i still get to experience the adrenaline of games and i still get to play through you guys. and most of all…i still have a team. i don’t know if i will ever stop feeling angry, but it’s better than it used to be.”

at your admission, wooyoung is reminded of how you are possibly the only one who would be able to truly understand him. he musters his courage and confesses, “i wanted us to lose last year…and we did end up losing.”

it catches you off guard, the direction of the conversation not what you had expected, but you neutralise your expression and tone so as to not make him feel defensive. “how come?”

he swallows. “my ankle–i fractured it last year just before we made it into the playoffs, so i wasn’t able to compete. i had been so angry at first; angry at myself for getting injured, angry at my coach for not letting me play, angry at my team because they could play. then when it became clear that i wasn’t going to be able to compete regardless of how angry i was, i became jealous, insecure and…afraid. jongho and i share the same position, and i mean, look at him now–he’s able to play both left and right wing. if they had won the playoffs without me, then would the team really need me?

“they did end up losing, just like i had wanted them to, but that made me feel so much worse–made me realise just how terrible i am of a person. the guilt eats me alive every single day and i tell myself that i will make it up to them this time, that i will risk everything to win for them…” wooyoung scoffs pathetically at himself, “only for me to fuck things up because of my fucking ankle again.”

you get it. the slow gnawing of yourself from the endless feelings that you ‘should not have’ until you become no more than an empty husk. ever since your own injury, you have spent nights on end trying to reconcile with your emotions in your own confusing and formidable journey, but for the first time ever, you are grateful that you did–because you can keep wooyoung company on his. 

you carefully voice, “i think it was okay for you to have felt the way that you did. they’re your feelings and nobody can invalidate them nor your experience. what i came to realise was that all of those ‘ugly’ feelings do not make us ugly for having them–they simply make us human. it is only a problem when those feelings end up hurting other people, but i think the person you hurt the most…was yourself, wooyoung.”

at your words, he looks at you with wide eyes, a fresh swell of wetness gathering in them. wooyoung is kind and loving to everybody, yet has never once thought about deserving that kindness and love for himself. you smile gently, trying to hide the slight quiver in your own lips as your heart clenches with a desire to be loved in his stead.

“you know, woo, i’ve watched basically all of your past games including the quarterfinals from last year. but if i were to compare it to today’s game, it was as if two completely different teams were playing. your team was alive today–a truly united team where every member is the driving force behind each other’s passion for the game. i am pretty confident when i say that a huge part of it was because you were playing with them–because the team was finally whole again.

“yes, the trophy and the championship title is coveted but it is not what truly matters to them and neither to you. it wasn’t the actual win itself that you wanted today, but being able to win for them. and if your boys were to pick between winning without you and losing with you, i’m pretty sure you know better than i do what their immediate choice would be.”

should the other boys be here right now, they would instantly berate your ears off for even suggesting the first option. the thought flickers through wooyoung’s mind too and the corners of his lips tug upwards slightly.

still, he apprehensively confirms, “...no one is angry at me?”

“no,” you reply, voice soft, “not at all. but we are worried.”

you are reminded of the weight in the pocket of your jacket. pulling it out, you present the ice pack to wooyoung. “look, san told me to give this to you.”

his fingertips brush against your palm when he reaches out, hand hovering over the ice pack as if he does not dare to touch it. “san did?” he whispers.

when you nod, the final confirmation that he needs that nobody–you included–harbours ill feelings for him and his actions, he allows himself to take the ice pack. allows himself to love himself.

“you need to take care of your body,” you fondly chastise, lightening the atmosphere. “did coach cho not drill into you that as an athlete, your body is your most valuable asset? if you thought he was bad, he’s going to seem like an angel when i’m through with you. you won’t just be banned from playing, i’ll tie you to the bed to make sure you don’t walk on that ankle.”

wooyoung laughs through the few tears that are left, mood lifted enough to suggestively lift his eyebrows and quip, “kinky.” his laughter grows when you punch his arm in response.

no longer does he have to carry this burden alone because you are there for him now. but you know that you are not the only one who can be there for wooyoung. the dynamic between the boys runs past mere teammates and from what you have noticed, quite possibly even friends.

tentatively, you suggest, “maybe this is something you should tell the others about. that way you can truly let things go.”

his gaze wavers at the idea as he looks at you. yet, the miniscule smile and encouraging nod you give him fills him with tranquillity. perhaps it is time to let go, but the only way he can truly do that is if he is honest to the boys about his feelings–if he is honest to himself.

“okay,” he breathes out softly.

you grace him with another beat of silence before you stand up, extending your hand out to him. “let’s go.”

wooyoung takes your offered hand and lets you pull him up to his feet. he does not know if it is intentional, but the slight squeeze you give him right before your hand lets go of his fills him with warmth. the feeling stays with him even when he activates the ice pack as you two walk back to the locker room.

right at the doorway where the rest of the team is behind, you stop. you place your hand on wooyoung’s back, whose brows are starting to furrow in confusion. “i’ll be waiting out here. take your time,” you tell him.

“thank you, coach,” wooyoung returns your soft smile.

before you can think better of it, you reply, “i wasn’t talking to you as your coach…but as your friend.” then you nudge him towards the doorway with tender encouragement, waiting for him to walk through the threshold before you close the door behind him.

the first few months you had coached the red devils, mistrust had been in the shape of private conversations that deliberately excluded you. but now, trust is in the conversations that you know you do not need to be a part of. so you simply lean against the wall and wait.

and when they emerge from the locker room half an hour later, you know you have made the right decision upon seeing their eased expressions and relaxed shoulders. the air is still sombre, their defeat in the semifinals still fresh at the forefront of everybody’s minds, but what matters now is that they will face the loss together–the eight of them and you.

“here you go.”

hongjoong hands you your bag so that you do not have to go back in to grab it. you take it graciously from him, then with him by your side, you two lead the group through the arena–past the gazes and whispers that follow your group–and out to the team’s bus.

first to load his kit bag, yeosang takes his usual seat towards the front and waits. he has long developed the habit of placing his backpack under the seat in front of him instead of beside him. as the bus starts to pull away once all the bags are properly stored, you wordlessly take the seat next to him. your knees intermittently brush up against each other with the slight sway of the bus, but neither one of you make a move to shift your legs away.

you and yeosang watch the outside world whirl by the window, just like you always do. except the flowers that have bloomed among the trees–that had been bursts of positivity and vibrancy only just this morning–are now bittersweet reminders of the fall that you and the boys have just experienced.

a brief movement below your line of vision causes you to glance down. it is yeosang’s hand, palm upturned with a silent invitation of solace. you slide your fingers into his, an extension of the comfort you wish to give to them, and them to you.

what you and the boys do not realise, though, is that your flowers have simply bloomed elsewhere.

your jaw drops in sync with the last of the heavy suitcases that seonghwa rests on the floor outside their apartment complex. the amount of his luggage is easily equivalent to at least half the team’s.

“these are all yours?” you confirm.

seonghwa looks at you strangely, “of course. why?”

you look at him strangely. “are you planning on moving? why did you pack enough for a trip around the world?”

“well somebody didn’t want to tell us where we were going, so i had to make sure i was prepared for wherever our destination would be.”

“it’s called a surprise for a reason,” you shake your head, “and i did tell you to pack for cold weather, didn’t i?”

seonghwa fakes offence, scoffing, “can i remind you that it is still spring here, so my apologies for assuming that it might potentially mean we are travelling overseas.”

“you’re such a worrywart, you old fart,” wooyoung teases, circling around the older on his rideable suitcase.

seonghwa yelps when the wheels nearly run over his toes and he threatens, “next time you wet through your entire pack of underwear, don’t come crawling and begging for my spares.”

the suitcase halts indignantly to a stop with its rider. “that was one time,” wooyoung complains, “and it wasn’t even my fault!”

“it wasn’t even my fault,” seonghwa mocks. “i told you not to put your shampoo in a ziplock bag but no, you said that it would be fine.”

wooyoung sticks his index finger up. “correction, hongjoong said that it would be fine.”

“what the fuck, wooyoung,” hongjoong blanches at the sudden disclosure.

“and that’s exactly where you are at fault,” seonghwa cocks his eyebrow at wooyoung. “why would you listen to him?”

“what the fuck, seonghwa. i’m your captain,” hongjoong scowls.

“only during games.”

when you make eye contact with san, the two of you can only sigh with amused resignation. the rest of the boys shake their heads and proceed to load their luggage onto the bus, leaving the trio to feud it out in the background.

as mingi stacks his luggage beside yunho’s, he turns to ask, “are you sure we don’t need our kits?”

“you all brought your skates and sticks with you?” you question in return. when mingi and yunho nod, you reassure them, “then that’s all you need.”

jongho pipes up from beside you, “but what about training?”

“mental training,” you simply grin before hopping up the stairs to sit beside yeosang.

the boys gradually take their seats, even wooyoung and the two oldest despite their continued bickering. somebody yells out over the commotion, “coach! are you going to tell us where we’re going now?”

you peer backwards over the top of your seat to find everyone’s eager eyes on you. “nope,” you snicker, “you’ll find out when we get there. we are going on a holiday though, i’ll tell you that much.”

there is a surge of excitement at your confirmation and a similar fluttering eagerness flits through you, except yours is because you cannot wait to see their reactions. you really hope that the next two weeks will help to reset the team’s morale and give them a much-needed break.

“kq let us go on holiday?” yeosang asks with an impressed look as you settle back in your seat.

you give him a proud smirk. “i’m pretty convincing when i want to be. plus, we just had playoffs and we would all benefit from the rest. what better time to do that than at the start of the off-season?”

“there is no better time.”

“exactly.”

and so the bus starts the four-hour drive towards what the boys will soon come to realise is a team retreat. mingi connects his phone to the bluetooth, in charge of shuffling the music that blasts through the speakers, turning the atmosphere of the bus into a lively concert once it becomes obvious that it is going to be a long trip.

you have to yell over their deafening singing–which you have to admit actually sounds quite impressive–numerous times for them to sit their asses down, their enthusiasm uncontainable by the seat belts and law regulations. but they look their age, free and untroubled; just a group of boys up to their silly antics with one another, so you cannot bring yourself to truly regulate them.

the bus drives on, making a rest stop at one of the service areas along the highway so that you can stretch your legs in fresh air, use the restrooms and most importantly–

“food!”

their hollers resound before the doors of the bus even open. the second that the gap is large enough to fit one of them through, most of the boys go sprinting off like a stampede of toddlers in the direction of the food court.

wooyoung stays back and slips his arm through the crook of your elbow when you step off the bus too. he grins mischievously, “i’m sticking with you so you can pay for my food.”

“oh, stop it,” yunho tugs him away, pulling even harder when it only serves to make wooyoung’s grasp tighten around your arm. “i’ll pay for your food. leave her wallet alone.”

you laugh brightly as you are jostled around and you pull a card out of your back pocket, holding it up like a golden ticket. you waggle your brows playfully, “it’s on the company card.”

both wooyoung and yunho freeze. their eyes instantaneously start to glimmer, faces radiating when they slowly look at each other. then before you can react, they pounce on you, linking their arm through yours on either side of you and dragging you along to catch up with the rest of the team.

“buy whatever you want!” wooyoung brags and waves the card that he has seized off of you, “it’s on me!”

the service area itself is a field trip as the eight boys cause carnage throughout, except the destruction is in the number of times they swipe the company card. their hands quickly fill with rice cakes and fish skewers, corn dogs and grilled squid, more bags of walnut pastries and roasted potatoes tucked safely under their elbows. they demolish the snacks at the same rate it takes for the next ones to be prepared and the card is tossed around to keep up with their purchases.

they do not forget about the drinks either, getting iced americanos and barley tea to go along with their snacks, and banana milk and soda for the next leg of the trip. whatever catches their eyes–basically everything they lay their eyes upon–they buy. you do have to draw the line at daytime drinking though, narrowing your eyes at the cases of beer jongho and yunho try to pick up until they sheepishly put them back.

(you also end up having to purchase motion sickness tablets because seonghwa and mingi gorge themselves so full on snacks that they are queasy before they even make it back on the bus. kq’s president sends you a text too, asking just what exactly you and the boys have bought to rack up almost forty consecutive purchases at a service area. but the subsequent message asking if they are enjoying themselves tells you that his question is all in good fun.)

their energy mellows out during the last hour of the trip, both from tiring themselves out and from the gradual change in the scenery outside the windows. no longer can you see an endless mirage of highway road and open fields.

as the miles build up the further you travel, it leads deeper into a mountainous woodland with the trees growing denser and thicker around you. the narrower road winds around the base of hills and the bus driver carefully navigates the undisturbed peace of the forest. it starts to get colder and when the branches of the trees gradually dress themselves in dappled layers of snow, more of you shoulder on the thick coats and puffer jackets you had told them to bring.

the bus eventually arrives at a clearing amongst the pine trees, revealing a large but welcoming cottage pension. its wooden exterior and sloped roof gives it a distinctly cosy and rustic look, with large glass doors spanning the entire height of the walls that will let you admire the surrounding mountainous beauty from inside. off to the side of the cottage, there is a sizeable lake that has frozen over and immediately, you know that this was the perfect place to choose.

the boys press their faces against the window to get a better look as the bus pulls up beside the accommodation. “woah,” they breathe out, their exhales fogging up the glass.

they follow you off the bus in a trance, mouths open and unable to peel their eyes away lest they waste even a second to drink up the sight before them. here, in the heart of the taebaek mountains, it is still a winter wonderland despite the spring blossoms that cover the rest of seoul.

you turn to face them, walking backwards slowly and spreading your arms out with fond tenderness. “welcome to your home for the next two weeks, boys.”

even though it is simply an illusion created by taebaek’s geographical location and mountainous terrain, this time you find yourself appreciating the coldness and bareness of the winter-like ambience that cocoons you and your boys. it is as if time has stopped and there are no worries…only time to heal and start afresh.

living together, even if just for a holiday, is different.

you are used to only seeing the team in their training clothes, practice jerseys or bulked up in their padded gear and uniform. but here, the boys wear lounging sweatpants and worn hoodies, hair soft and poking into their eyes, bodies and expressions unguarded as they laze around. and where you are used to only seeing them at training, meetings and games, all rigorously scheduled and planned, there are no expectations to follow and no limits as to when you see them here.

the boys have their own organised chaoticness to their daily routines, having been living together for almost seven years now, and it seamlessly integrates into the space of the cottage too. but what truly surprises you and them is how you naturally blend into it.

when you rented the pension, you had ensured there were at least three bathrooms to accommodate all nine of you. however, you quickly discover that numbers mean nothing because the boys are incapable of staggering their morning and nightly bathroom routines one by one like you had assumed they would. you also realise that it is not that they are incapable, but that they like and want to do everything together.

space within a room holds no meaning to them and they are perfectly content to stand pressed up against each other’s sides, expertly dodging elbows and leaning over one another to reach for their toothbrushes or skincare. after that first night, you wake up in the morning and patter off in search for the least cramped bathroom to wriggle yourself into, up to three of you sharing the large sink and mirror that now looks comparatively tiny as you brush your teeth together.

more often than not, you find yourself sandwiched between yunho and mingi. it is moreso a matter of neither boy letting you escape from their clutches if you happen to peer into whichever bathroom they have crammed themselves into.

“we make the perfect ratio as the two tallest plus you as the shortest,” mingi likes to rationalise, “so it averages out perfectly with three boys in each of the other bathrooms.”

“but san’s shoulders are basically the equivalent of two grown men, so your point is invalid no matter how we divide ourselves up,” you like to argue back.

except they refuse to see reason. instead, yunho raises the volume of the speaker he has set on the sink’s counter that blasts out music to playfully drown you out. you relent every time and it turns into goofy dancing from the three of you as you pull silly expressions at one another in the mirror. when you rinse your mouth, mingi will start a gargling competition without fail, but none of you have lasted for more than three seconds before you begin to choke with laughter.

(when you are with people you like, everything is funny.)

seonghwa shakes his head whenever he passes the bathroom, insisting, “the only thing you guys are missing is a disco ball.” he is definitely not jealous of the fun you three are having. not at all.

the eldest has his own routine though, visible in the way he prepares everybody’s cups of coffee in the morning. they are all made differently according to individual preferences; no sugar, double shots, a dash of milk, brown sugar, matcha powder or decaf. and despite the fact that yeosang is usually up the earliest, seonghwa does not allow him to make his own coffee.

seonghwa claims it is because nobody knows how to properly use the drip brewer, but yeosang sits next to you and murmurs into your ear, “he just won’t admit that he likes to make them for us.” it must be the chill of the morning, but yeosang’s warm, whispery voice always sends goosebumps over your arms.

by the second morning, seonghwa finds himself naturally grabbing an extra cup and the hot surprise greets you with one and a half teaspoons of sugar in it, just how you like it. hongjoong emerges from the bathroom moments later to grab his cup and as he takes a careful sip, his eyes flit over the remaining cups on the table. seonghwa can practically hear the numbers ticking up in his head.

“y/n already took hers,” he verbalises, beckoning with his chin.

hongjoong turns around in the same direction to see you curled up on the sofa next to jongho and yeosang, your feet tucked comfortably underneath you as you lean forward out of curiosity to take a sip of jongho’s americano. when your expression scrunches up from the shock of bitterness, jongho giggles brightly and steadies your hand that is holding your own cup of sweetened coffee. his eyes melt at your reaction.

“oh, i know that expression,” hongjoong chortles. “he’s a goner.”

seonghwa sees the honey in hongjoong’s own eyes and he smiles knowingly, “i don’t think he’s the only one.”

hongjoong does not peel his gaze away from the three of you all cosied up on the couch. “you’re right, they’re both goners,” he hums absentmindedly, not at all registering who exactly it is who is being referred to.

(the true answer is that there are more than three of them.)

you discover that wooyoung is usually in charge of cooking, but in return, everybody else gets up to clear and wash the dishes the moment the last pair of chopsticks is placed down on the table. that is the only time they are allowed into the kitchen because they are apparently all walking hazards.

but when wooyoung realises you can actually handle a knife without giving him grey hairs from watching, the two of you easily divide the roles and tasks between yourselves. like a waltzing dance, you move together in the kitchen to prepare the meals. he passes you the spices in the overhead cabinets before you ask and you close the fridge when he takes out a pack of meat or vegetables.

cooking with wooyoung is never without bickering. he does not let you hear the end of the time you bump your head on the edge of the counter when you try to grab a saucepan from underneath, or the time you squeal after the oil starts to splatter from the onions. but if that is the reason why he starts to subtly move his hand to cushion the edges of the counters when you bend down to find something, or why he chooses to do the stirring and frying while you slice, then he pretends it is merely coincidence.

san never strays far away from the kitchen whenever you and wooyoung are cooking. you have noticed that they do not really ever stray apart–none of the boys do, though. wooyoung talks as you and san listen and the latter does not stop smiling as he watches wooyoung multitask. what you do not realise is the countless times you have forgotten to keep cooking because you are watching him too with the same expression that san wears.

(the rest of the boys realise and they also see the way san and wooyoung will pause to gaze at you.)

when you two have mostly finished cooking and it is simply a matter of waiting for the sauce to simmer or the soup to boil, you find that wooyoung will take his seat next to san on the barstools at the island, knees and thighs touching as he continues the conversation. you gravitate towards them the first time before catching yourself, cautious that you may be intruding, but then san gives you a dimpled smile and beckons for you to come and sit by his other side.

san likes to keep a gentle hand resting on wooyoung’s knee as he talks. when he does the same thing to you without even looking, your lungs stop working for a minute. the only thought that consumes your mind is the warm sensation of san’s thumb soothingly running back and forth across your skin. you do not want him to stop, so you stay still in hopes that he continues. you are pretty sure san does not even consciously realise he is doing it.

(san does, and he is glad you do not move away.)

in the hours after dinner and before you all head off to sleep, you pile the thick blankets into the open living room and squish yourselves on the least number of couches as possible. again, space holds no meaning when you are with the boys and you find the press of yeosang and hongjoong’s skin against your own more natural there than not.

sometimes you watch movies together, other times talking with low voices as the hours tick by, and other times where you are all doing your own things but in the presence of one another. regardless, the nine of you stay cuddled in front of the fireplace with the warm glow of the fire and the light dreamy flutter of snow outside the windows.

yeosang tenderly tucks the blankets up around mingi’s shoulders when he falls asleep before turning to you on his other side. “are you warm enough?” he softly asks. and even though you say you are, he still tucks the edges of your blanket under your chin, nestling you safely within the blanket, hongjoong’s side and his own body.

the boys are naturally affectionate with one another and seeing the close dynamic of their…friendship so intimately in the environment of the retreat reminds you once more of the possibility that their relationship may run deeper than they let on.

(but when that affection extends to you, you wonder what exactly that may mean for your own relationship with the boys.)

and so living together, even if just for a holiday, is different. it is different when they are the first sight to greet you when you wake up, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes and voice still husky from fatigue as they murmur good mornings to you, and your cheeks start to glow with rosiness.

it is different when the decisions you make together are not about a change in formation or a defensive power play, but what to make for dinner and what movie you want to watch afterwards, and it makes you begin to wonder what other mundane decisions you want to make with them. it is different when they wrap you in their embrace–eight consecutive hugs–to bid you goodnight, and it takes you longer to fall asleep because you toss restlessly in your bed as their smiles replay in your head.

being on the retreat together is strangely domestic and homelike. but it has been almost nine months since you have started coaching the boys and thus seeing them every day for countless hours on end. so really, this trip should not change anything.

and yet, it feels like everything is changing.

jongho pays no mind to the conversation that is happening around him. last he heard, half of you are wanting to go out to skate on the lake before the sun sets and the other half are wanting to finish the halli galli championship you had started the night prior.

he is happy to do either but his mind is distracted by something else. as the screen of his phone lights up, jongho’s eyes flicker down and he puts his hand over the glowing display before anybody can see the caller id. you glance at him when you catch the movement in the corner of your peripheral vision, only to look away when yunho calls out your name to see which of the two options you would prefer.

the screen goes black as the call goes unanswered. seconds later, it lights up briefly with a notification.

pick up.

then the caller id shows up again. jongho grabs his phone and mumbles to nobody in particular, “going to grab something from my room.”

closing the door to the room that he is sharing with hongjoong in the pension, jongho sits down heavily on the edge of his bed, phone clutched tightly in his hand. whilst he has no qualms ignoring their messages now, he still finds it difficult to do the same to their phone calls. he finds his resolve weakening as he watches his phone ring for the third time within minutes.

so jongho picks up. “mother,” he greets stiffly.

she scoffs scathingly, “you finally decided to pick up.”

“i’ve been busy with the playoffs.” a half lie.

“busy? busy losing, you mean,” his mother ridicules. jongho is taken aback by the fact that she is aware, since he did not tell his family. it makes sense when she berates, “do you know how embarrassing it was for me to find out from your aunt? she told me to congratulate you for making it into the semifinals–the semifinals, jongho.”

he feels a heat of shame at what she is insinuating. jongho defends, “that’s still the top four out of seventy six teams.”

“nobody cares,” she turns her nose up. “it does not matter if you came fourth, second or last–unless you win first place, the result is not worth anything. our entire family has a legacy of achievements and your younger brother even has an olympic gold medal now. but what have you done? this is a mere national competition and yet you are incapable of making it into the finals.”

“jong–” his name dies on the tip of your tongue and your hand stops before you can knock on the door when you hear jongho’s muffled voice.

the boys had finally decided to grab their skates so you had come to get jongho to join everybody outside. realising he is talking to somebody, you are about to turn away and give him some privacy, but the words you hear make you freeze. 

it is not the conversation itself that you overhear; it is the wounded tone of jongho’s voice that makes it impossible for you to walk away. your feet stay rooted to the spot, in fact, wanting to enter the room. you have not heard jongho in such great affliction before, not even when he was consoling the boys with tears in his own eyes after their crushing defeat in the playoffs. 

“when are you going to celebrate my achievements for what they are, instead of telling me to do better?” jongho appeals.

he has lived his entire life being told that he is not good enough–constantly compared to the accomplishments of his family, particularly those of his younger brother. what he does not understand is why he cannot just be recognised for the athlete that he is, void of any other person.

his mother is silent and for a brief moment, jongho thinks that she may finally see some sense in his words…only for her to unfeelingly state, “when they are worth celebrating.” with a simple, “do better,” she hangs up on him.

jongho’s hand falls limply into his lap, phone slipping out of his lax fingers with a dull thud to the ground. he wants to swear. he wants to cry. he wants to throw his phone against the wall until the screen shatters. but jongho simply leans forward, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, the crushing weight of dejection forcing his lungs to exhale shakily.

there is a faint, timid knock on the door. he knows who it is immediately–only one person would knock so softly. “come in,” he answers listlessly, because he could never bring himself to ignore you no matter his own feelings.

the door cracks open to reveal your tentative figure and you slip through the opening. from the way your lips are pulled down, eyes rounded with concern, jongho knows that you have connected enough dots to understand the context of the phone call.

you approach the bed and try to ignore how small the boy in front of you looks with his shoulders hunched inwards on themselves. jongho has always appeared as the most collected and composed, even more so than the captain, and it makes your chest tight to realise he has simply been hiding this whole time.

jongho is not a man of many words so you do the next best thing that feels right in the moment. you simply open your arms. when his hands slowly come up in silent acceptance, you step forward to engulf him in your embrace.

he presses his face into the soft warmth of your stomach. the darkness welcomes him with safety and comfort and he lets out a stuttering breath that racks his entire body. you wrap one arm around his shoulders and cradle the back of his head with your other, your fingers tenderly caressing his hair in soothing motions.

although silence is what he needs, you allow yourself to say one thing to him. you murmur, “i’m proud of you, jongho…so, so proud of you.”

and they are the words he has been wanting to hear his entire life. unable to keep it together any longer, jongho breaks down in your arms with tearful sobs and allows himself to grieve for the acknowledgement he has yearned his entire life and never received. however, it will only be for tonight because he has realised that it is futile to chase after recognition from a person who refuses to see his worth, even if that person is his own family.

there will always be other people who can see his actual worth; the same people who will still love him even if he does not have a gold trophy to call his. for him, those people are his seven boys and you.

so he stays in your arms with you wrapped around him, time lost to the two of you. he cries until he has no tears left and you tilt your head upwards to stop the flow of your own tears before they can drip down onto the crown of his head. and outside the bedroom, hongjoong quietly eases the door shut to give you both some privacy.

you do not know how much time has passed when you finally step out. jongho has fallen asleep after you tucked him under his covers, exhausted. heading towards your room to change out of your shirt, you are startled by the sight of hongjoong lingering near the door.

“you didn’t go out with the boys?

he shakes his head, then conscious of where you two are standing, he gestures inside your room and follows you in. “is jongho okay?” hongjoong asks.

“i think so…he’s sleeping now but probably just needs a bit more time,” you sigh, “i just wish i could do more for him.”

hongjoong reassures, “you are already doing so much more than you realise.”

for jongho. for wooyoung. for all of them. comfort has never been about the words or actions, but the person who is by their side, and for the boys, having you there is already enough.

“really?” you worry.

“yes, really.”

before he realises what he is doing, hongjoong reaches out to gingerly cup the side of your face to thumb away the worry in your brows. “y/n, you take care of us all the time…but who takes care of you?” he whispers.

“i’m your coach, of course i–”

“no,” he interrupts. “you aren’t just our coach and from what i have seen, you aren’t just our friend either. unless…” hongjoong hesitates, “unless i’ve been reading everything wrong, then in which case, tell me and i’ll move away.”

you do not reply. your eyes flicker back and forth between his, your heart racing and mind blank. it is true–they are not just your players and they are not just your friends either, but you are unsure about taking such a huge leap of faith and acting upon the feelings you have only just started to understand.

hongjoong takes your silence as encouragement to step even closer until he is right in front of you. he keeps his hand on your cheek, his other coming up to delicately cradle your waist. you are standing intimately enough for his warm breath to span across your cheeks as he tenderly pleads, “let us take care of you as more than what we are right now.

“if you do not want to put a label on it then that’s fine, we won’t. we’ll still be your team and you’ll still be our coach. but please, let us take care of you when you are hurt, when you’re upset or angry, and when you are happy, too. let us love you as one of ours.”

as one of theirs.

you swallow and confirm, “are you all together?”

“yes, we’re dating each other,” hongjoong nods.

“but then why…” your voice trials off. why me, too?

hongjoong taps the tip of your nose and jokes lightly, “is there a capped limit as to how many people we are allowed to love?”

it pulls a giggle out of you and he smiles fondly as he reiterates, “we don’t need to put a label on this and we can go entirely at your pace. just let us into your heart, please?”

for a moment you wonder what will happen to your professional relationship with the boys–what will happen if things do not work out or worse, if other people find out and report you all for it. but when you really think about it, you realise that the professionalism between you and the boys has long since blurred. 

you do not know if you can go back to seoul after this retreat and act like you do not want to continue living with them. most importantly, you do not want to know if you can. so you take the leap of faith and nod–you want to be theirs.

when you first met the red devils in autumn last year, you were resolved to win over them. never would you have expected that you would win them over in more ways than one…and be won over yourself.

“hi, girlfriend.”

seonghwa smacks the back of wooyoung’s head. “stop pressuring her,” he hisses as the younger cackles delightfully and strides away through the snow impressively fast considering he is wearing his skates.

“ignore him,” seonghwa turns to you, where you are sitting on the porch steps to the cottage. he squats down and takes the laces out of your hands to start doing up your own skates.

“i can do it myself,” you start.

“i know you can,” seonghwa hums, gazing up lovingly, “but i want to do it for you.”

you press your lips together in an attempt to hide the shy smile that blooms across your face and when that fails, you duck your head down instead. ever since your talk with hongjoong the other day, the boys have been significantly more obvious and proactive with their displays of affection for you. however, you are pretty sure they had their own conversation when you were asleep or in the shower, because not one of them pressures you into something you are not ready for, even if that includes making your relationship official.

“there you go. is it too tight? too loose?” seonghwa taps your skates and you tell him they are perfect. taking his offered hand with an appreciative smile, he pulls you up to your feet and you go to join the rest of the boys on the frozen lake.

you are sure it feels the same for every single one of your boys–nothing can compare to that moment when you first step onto the ice. it is where you become a completely different person; a fish back in water, in control and at home.

it had been a gamble renting the cottage pension as you were unable to know whether the lake would be frozen over enough to allow for skating. but it is as if the heavens know not to separate you and your boys from the love and passion that your entire lives revolve around, because you are blessed to see them scrambling out to play on the frozen lake almost every single day, just like they are right now.

san spots you and seonghwa and beckons for you two to join. “hongjoong’s the tagger,” he calls out.

the captain stands at the other end of the lake, back facing everybody as he drawls, “green light…”

before hongjoong even starts to enunciate the first word, yunho, wooyoung and jongho have already pushed off their skates to advance. it sets off an immediate chorus of indignant shouts and desperate acceleration amongst everybody else to catch up. you laugh and seonghwa drags you along with him urgently, unable to stand your apparent nonchalance and uncompetitiveness.

but oh, how wrong he is. very quickly, you join the majority of the boys in a game of who can be the most sneaky with dirty play. wooyoung and mingi tussle with one another right as hongjoong turns around with his yell of ‘red light!’, trying to topple the other over so they get caught. jongho yanks on the back of seonghwa’s jacket whilst yeosang giggles and joins in to yank on jongho’s, effectively preventing all three of them from advancing forward.

“let go of me, you brats!” seonghwa flails forward against the combined weight of the two boys but to no avail.

you use yunho’s height to your advantage and hide behind him, steadily creeping forward even when hongjoong has turned around to face you all. yunho quickly catches on and extends his hands backwards for you to latch onto. you are more than happy to let him do all the hard work skating you both towards the captain and you grin cheekily at the trio–still caught up in their self-induced tug-of-war–as you overtake them easily.

“y/n’s cheating!” san hollers, the only one who is actually playing by the rules.

“life’s not fair!” you holler back gleefully at the same time that hongjoong sniggers, “san, you moved your mouth! go back.”

san gives an indignant cry, “favouritism, i say!” but, bless his heart, moves back to the starting line regardless. 

when yunho is almost towering over hongjoong, he cues you to get ready to escape by letting go of your hands. you pivot around and without waiting for anything else, you start to run away.

“gree–”

yunho tags hongjoong’s right shoulder before pushing off to the left so that he escapes the other’s immediate line of vision. except it means that the first person that hongjoong sees when he turns around is you.

an involuntary squeal escapes you when you hear the terrifying crispness of skates on ice right behind you followed by the captain’s arms snaking around your waist. “caught you, babe” he beams. hongjoong lifts you up with shit-eating smugness at your reaction–both at his close proximity and the pet name–spins you around for good measure, then sets you back down to chase after the others.

wooyoung skates in a wide arc to dodge the captain’s frenzied rampage, only to suddenly appear right beside you with the most telling glint in his sparkling eyes that he is up to mischief. he grins.

“wooyoung, no,” you warn.

he grabs you by the waist. “wooyoung, yes.”

wooyoung pushes off his skates with you in front of him at breakneck speed across the ice, bellowing at the top of his voice, “make way for the cripples!”

you scream the entire way to the end of the lake, hands clutching onto his like a lifeline as a colourful string of words flies out of your mouth. you think you black out for a second because when you open your eyes again, you are in a heaving tangle of arms and legs on the cushiony surface of powdery snow.

“oh, shit,” hongjoong winces.

the boys speed towards you and wooyoung, and yunho peers down at you on the ground with panicked concern in his eyes. “are you two okay?” he asks but when he sees that you are laughing, unrestrained and radiating joy, yunho relaxes and joins in with relief.

they–mainly seonghwa–fuss over you both enough to reassure themselves that there is not so much as a scratch or bruise, before mingi suggests playing a casual hockey game of five versus four. there are to be no goaltenders and san fashions makeshift goalposts by poking sticks into the snow on either ends of the lake.

the team splits into their usual arrangement when they are required to be in two groups; hongjoong, yunho, san and wooyoung; seonghwa, yeosang, mingi and jongho. normally, you would offer to be the honorary referee…but the boys have never been rough with you and you have confidence that you will not get hurt. so for the first time in years, you play.

it is far from a proper league game and it will never be enough to quench your thirst as a former athlete, but for now, gripping your stick on the ice in tandem with the others, you are content–you are alive.

like red light, green light, the game starts off fair and proper for a grand total of two minutes. then it becomes a circus of foul plays and increasingly creative methods of cheating as all sense of order is tossed out the window. yunho and san stand in front of you, leaving just enough space for you to handle the puck, whilst hongjoong and wooyoung flank your sides and use their sticks to block any attempts to steal the puck. as a shielded group of five, you all move up towards the goalposts like a formidable army tank.

in retaliation, jongho physically manhandles hongjoong out of the way, hugging him from behind with a vice grip that he swears not to let go. seonghwa, mingi and yeosang imitate him with similar displays of strength, turning the entire match into a childish scuffle of chaos and hysterics.

there are no proper rules, no proper gear and no proper stadium–only the bare minimum, yourselves and uncontainable laughter. it feels like you are kids again, little souls harbouring colossal dreams, running around on the fields with long branches and a pine cone you had found when you could not afford to go to a real rink.

it is like you have gone back in time to when all you knew about ice hockey from watching it on your television screen was that you had to get the puck into the goal. you and the boys are fresh, blank slates without a care in the world for the countless strategies and tactical plays that you have learned over the length of your careers.

without the pressures and routines of strict training regimes, you all reignite the very roots of your ardour and fervour for ice hockey. no longer is it about the scores and making it into the playoffs. no longer is it about winning the championships to gain the acknowledgement of other people. no longer is it about the trauma of betrayal, injury and defeat you have experienced.

playing is simply the thrill of skating liberally with no burdens across the ice. it is the feeling of thriving when your blade connects with the puck and sends vibrations up your arms. it is the rush of adrenaline as everyone moves in tandem with the same singular thought in your hearts–that you love ice hockey with your entire lives. and that in itself is already more than enough, even without a gold trophy and championship title to prove it to yourselves.

for the last five years, the boys have had the leaves of their trees forcibly plucked and removed–by family, by coaches, and by injuries…but now?

it is time for their flowers to bloom.

spring, 2025: playoffs

standing off to the side, you watch your boys listening attentively to the reporter who is conducting an interview with them. you have continued to stay out of the media spotlight where possible, not yet entirely comfortable standing in front of the cameras again, but your boys have quickly grown accustomed to media coverage ever since their popularity gained traction thanks to their undefeated streak in the regular season.

the interviewer glances down at her prompt card before asking, “so tell me, what has been a major contribution to your success this season? your team has made a name for yourselves as the undefeated champions so far–quite a contrast to how you started off last season.”

seonghwa laughs cordially with her. “we were getting used to a lot of changes last year so our teamwork and mentality wasn’t the best,” he admits. “our agency gave us some time off to recalibrate, which really helped us to focus on building ourselves–as individuals and as a team. i think we learnt to place our unconditional trust in one another and our coach. we still play with a dominantly offensive approach, but we’ve been adopting different playing styles and experimenting with them, so this relies heavily on believing in each other.”

yunho nods, gesturing for the microphone to add, “as cliche as it may sound, a huge part of our growth was also learning how to accept loss. this wasn’t just in the context of being defeated in the semifinals but in the wider lens of our past mistakes, relationships, and even situations that we could not change.

“it has been a tough journey for a lot of us over the last year, but we were lucky enough to have each other’s support,” yunho’s nostalgic smile reflects your own as you realise just how far both you and all of your boys have come. “once we were able to let go, it meant that we could enjoy our career for what it truly is–playing the sport of our dreams together, every day.”

the reporter’s ears perk up in interest at the segway to probe and she jumps on the opportunity to ask, “i am sure many of your fans have been curious for a long time. is there a special somebody who has supported you–or any of you–throughout your journey?”

yunho passes the microphone to the hand that has extended out to reach for it. it’s san this time, who has a charmingly confident persona that he takes on whenever he answers questions during interviews. good thing too, because their fans are going to need something to distract them from understanding the confession he is about to make.

“there is. we all do, actually,” his deep voice rolls off his tongue like butter. the way he smoothly talks with a flirtatious smirk never fails to make you swoon. “funnily enough, we all met our girlfriend at about the same time.”

off to the side, wooyoung sends a wink in your direction and you have to muffle a snort with your hand and divert your glance away. the structural framework of the stadium ceiling suddenly looks very interesting. san stands there incredibly smug at his joke that he knows nobody but you and the boys will pick up on.

by the time you tune back into the conversation, the reporter has moved onto the next question. “last year, you lost to the white tigers in the semifinals. how do you feel about facing them again later today?”

due to a spike in popularity, the korean ice hockey league had to divide its teams into two separate groups for the regular season matches this year. both the red devils and the white tigers had been placed in different groups and by some twist of fate, had ranked at the top and then seeded accordingly on either ends of the tournament brackets. now, your team faces theirs in the very last game of the season.

the finals.

“we’re quite excited, actually,” jongho responds. “we have been wanting to play against the white tigers again some day and i don’t think it gets any more fitting than meeting them in the finals. they have some incredible players but like seonghwa mentioned before, we’ve been working hard to adjust our playing style to suit the situation. our coach has put in a lot of effort to hone in on our strengths and weaknesses, so no matter what today’s outcome is, we’re confident that it won’t be an easy win for either team.”

“i am sure the finals is going to be a thrilling match. now, speaking of coaches,” the interviewer starts and you can see hongjoong’s hand twitching subtly at his side, ready to step in and deflect the question need be should it pertain to you.

she continues, “how does it feel to play against your former coach?”

yeosang and mingi frown, unable to neutralise the confusion on their faces. hongjoong smiles calmly, ultimately taking over the microphone as he apologises, “sorry, could you please elaborate your question?”

it is the interviewer’s turn to fluster slightly but she nods quickly, “you must not be aware, then.”

your eyes dart back and forth as you try to recall whether there is a crucial piece of information you have somehow missed or forgotten to tell the boys. the tone of her voice foreshadows something that makes the pit of your stomach churn.

“last year, the white tigers had a stand-in coach, so you probably did not know.” she says her next words carefully and despite the bustling movement that fills the entire stadium, you can hear the exact moment all of your hearts drop.

“the coach of the white tigers is coach yeon, your team’s former coach in 2018…and he’s here today.”

you are the first to rush back into their locker room. frantically, you grab the official guide that had been given to you by the ice hockey league prior to the start of the regular season from out of your bag. you flip through it, team profiles upon team profiles blending into a hazy blur of faces as you find the one you are trying to look for.

“y/n,” somebody gently murmurs from behind you but you do not register their call. you continue to flick through the pages and when you find the profile for the white tigers, you scan the top of the page for a certain name with a shaky finger.

head coach: yeon ha joon

“oh my god,” you breathe out, hands lowering to your sides and gaze wavering. how the fuck had you managed to miss it this entire time?

you are not the only one affected by the revelation. the change room is pervaded by unease and restlessness, and wooyoung paces back and forth despite hongjoong’s attempts to get him to sit down. hongjoong himself cannot even remember how he answered the question about coach yeon, only that he had somehow excused themselves not long after to cut the interview short.

“how is he still a coach?” seonghwa furrows his brows.

wooyoung stops pacing and your eyes are drawn to him when he suddenly blanches, “what if coach yeon is doing the opposite now and paying other teams to let his own team win?”

“no way–” “–i wouldn’t put it past him–” “–surely not?” the boys’ voices overlap at the speculation.

it is a valid speculation based on what they have told you in the past about coach yeon. however, you stay quiet, suddenly aware of the fact that it is not something that would favour you should it be true. you gnaw the inside of your cheek because as much as you know that your boys would not suspect you, you still worry that doubt may cross their minds at one point, even if only briefly.

“unless the money he offered every single time was equivalent to the prize money, it’s highly unlikely the teams would have all accepted, right?” jongho points out.

yunho shrugs nonchalantly, “but even if they did, we all know that coach yeon would never be able to bribe our girl.”

the way everybody immediately agrees expels some of the anxiety within you, filling you with reassurance and security that starts to relax your chest instead. wooyoung chooses that moment to finally sit down on the bench beside you. he adds, “we’re too whipped for you, so even if you were bribed, we would probably ask whether the money was enough and if you wanted more.”

san chucks a water bottle at him. despite yourself, you laugh and admit, “that is…strangely comforting.”

“see,” wooyoung triumphantly boots the bottle back at the older. “she gets it.”

seonghwa intercepts the pitiful bottle before it becomes weaponised and sets it down next to him. “she wouldn’t accept the money in the first place.”

“exactly, so why does any of this matter?” mingi suddenly questions.

yeosang knits his brows together as he states the obvious, “it’s coach yeon.”

“and?” mingi mirrors his expression with genuine confusion.

it is quiet in the locker room. the coach of the white tigers is indeed coach yeon…and so what? what exactly about the revelation has pushed you all to the edge of the cliff?

mingi cocks his head. “what i’m trying to say is, does it make any difference whether he is their coach or not? think about it–regardless of how he got his team to the finals, he has no unfair advantage over us. there’s no way that he has bribed a fixed win in the finals, and he has no access to any insider knowledge that could jeopardise our tactics and plays.

“the only leverage that he ‘has’ is a psychological advantage–if we can even call it that. but we’re not the same boys who were too naive and powerless to do anything about it six years ago. if anything, we can easily turn this to work in our favour because i don’t know about you guys, but i’m ready to drag his ass through the mud. what we said earlier about not caring for today’s outcome? nah, fuck that. we’re going to fuck him up and show him that he messed with the wrong people.”

he takes everybody’s silence as misunderstanding of his last statement and he hurriedly clarifies there is no violent intent, “by winning. fairly.”

“damn,” jongho whistles. “you’re onto something for once.”

mingi clambers over seonghwa’s legs to grab the forgotten bottle and it goes flying across the room with violent intent. “dude, what the fuck,” mingi grouses.

the dull thud that resounds when jongho holds san’s leg pad up to block the projectile is enough to shift the mood in the room entirely. you finally relax into hongjoong’s side and he moulds you closer to him with the arm that he snakes around your waist as you both watch the locker room erupt into familiar pre-game mayhem.

yunho immediately scoops up the bottle and pitches it again. san stands to the side worrying over his poor leg pads as jongho uses them to bat the makeshift ball. his impressive accuracy makes you wonder whether they would have made it just as big as they are now had they formed a baseball team instead, but then yeosang narrowly dodges the bottle before it gives him a black eye, wooyoung cackles in the background, and you think better of it.

seonghwa joins you both on the bench and amongst all of the mischievous chaos and raucous laughter, you feel at peace, your hands clasped tenderly in the hands of your two captains–in unity, trust and love. you affectionately squeeze their hands with unspoken conviction.

you know your boys are going to play well; you just have a good feeling.

the energy in the room spikes exponentially as you huddle together one final time before you walk out of the locker room, through the hallways and to the arena–one final time before you step out to the ice rink as the red devils, playing in the final match.

you and your boys stand in a circle as close as it is physically possible with their bulky pads and game jerseys that they wear so proudly. it is indiscernible where one of you starts and where another ends from how intimately you all press together. your huddle is a woven nexus of arms and your hearts pound as one entity.

everyone learns of the juxtapositions of the world early on in life. there is no light without dark, there is no happiness without sadness, there is no spring without autumn…and there is no victory without defeat. not a single one of your boys has made it this far without falling at least once, and the conscious thought makes your heart swell and your throat constrict with overwhelming emotion.

somehow, you manage to choke out, “i am so, so proud of all of you.”

yunho and seonghwa’s own eyes start to heat up with wetness. from your side, san kisses your temple with feather-like tenderness, “and we’re so proud of you. y/n, you have grown just as much as we have.”

“thank you for being our coach,” hongjoong murmurs into your ear from your other side, the tip of his nose softly nuzzling you.

wooyoung reaches out to thumb the round of your cheek, “and thank you for loving us when we found it difficult to love ourselves.”

you had always viewed your injury and career with anger, bitterness and anguish…but you have finally come to terms with it. in the process of healing, you have learnt to love yourself, love eight other people, and to be loved. you have had your golden days as an athlete and you are now living your golden days as a coach–

–the very coach of the red devils, your team of boys who are living through their golden days as athletes, and you are going to lead them to victory in the finals.

swiping at a tear that slips down your cheeks, you grin. “boys, let’s win this match and then,” you pause as you meet their determined gazes, their smiles wide with uncontainable excitement, the tension in the room electrifying and palpable.

“let’s go international.”

you may have all fallen before–as athletes, as coaches, as a team–but you will always stand back up together, because at the end of the day your dream is theirs and their dream is yours. and like autumn, the leaves fall for a reason; they must fall before the spring flowers can bloom to their full beauty.

and bloom your flowers have.

[tyudearyous]

loser boyfriend san ♡ | 최산

pairing: domestic san! x reader (just san being an absolute sucker for his s/o <3), fluff (too much fluff)

a/n: realistic little moments of what san would be like because we all love san (if there are any spelling or punctuation errors, please ignore them)

୨୧ ‘ masterlist ‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

loser boyfriend san who comes into your room in the middle of the night dragging his shiba plushie, eyes barely opened, just because you had a nightmare of being chased by a running broccoli in the middle of the streets. but he doesn't judge you, and holds you close in his arms, listening to all of your incoherent blabbering, hiccupping and sobbing, tears soaking a wet patch on his sandokki pajamas. after which, he tugs you to bed, lying beside you. the morning after, you wake up to san sprawled on the floor, hugging his shiba plushie close to his chest.

loser boyfriend san who takes pride in bringing you and your mom to the nail salon. and he absolutely does not care about the stares he receives when he links arms with you and your mom, striding in like a proud kitten. he waits patiently by your side, head resting on his arms, examining each and every procedure. "jagiya, doesn't it hurt? they are snipping off your skin!" san exclaims. oh,, such dumb boy. "san, it's my cuticles, i don't feel a thing" and when you and your mom attempt to explain to him what a french tip is, he smiles and nods sheepishly, even though you knew very well that nothing went into that boy's head <3

loser boyfriend san who claims to take taekwondo and gym classes to "man up" yet every time you fall sick he can't help but bawl his eyes out. "jagiya, it's okay, it's not your fault. it's just a little cough, that's all" you whisper while running your fingers through his hair. san, who had his head buried in between your breasts looks up at you, dragon eyes softened into swollen doe eyes. but your words didn't seem to help. he blabbers, tears beginning to well up in his eyes yet again "what if you die? what if you never wake up again because your cough killed you? what if-" "SAN. I'M NOT GOING TO DIE, IT'S JUST A COUGH"

loser boyfriend san who never fails to beat the housewife agenda by packing you cute lunchboxes when you had lessons to attend. every time you opened up the hello kitty themed lunchbox container, your friends would be in awe about how he managed to make the cute octopus shaped sausages, a heart-shaped omelette and fruits cut into different animals. once, you had forgotten your lunchbox at home and not even two hours into class, san showed up at your school running to you while frantically pointing at the lunchbox. "i can't leave my baby starving" is all he said to you before hurrying off to his school in a bike because he doesn't have a drivers license (...)

loser boyfriend san who travelled 8 hours to your parent's house without you knowing, just to ask for their acceptance to be your husband. "There is no one who provokes or quarrel with me. I can save her by fighting off bad guys because I have taken exercise hard and i can give her a lot of love because i grew up in a loving home. If you allow me, i will make her happy and comfortable all the time." and of course your parents were over the moon.

and that was the last time you had the rights to call him your loser boyfriend, because now he's your loser husband, and you still love him very much <3

[tyudearyous]

Every Season After | j.yh 정윤호

pairing + genre,, childhood!bestfriend!yunho x reader, fluff, childhood best friends to lovers, slight angst if you squint, each timestamp represents a memory (written in a linear timeline)

a/n,, just had a sudden burst of urge to write this :) & i wanted to try something new hehe

“Because of you, i laugh a little harder, cry a little less, and smile a lot more.”

୨୧ ‘ masterlist ‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

DECEMBER 5 2005 ⋆₊˚

5:30PM, Winter. By mid-afternoon, the light, once bold and golden, softened into a pale silvery haze and the shadows began to stretch lazily across the snow-blanketed playground. The air grew sharper, filled with the familiar yet unsettling tang of frost that promised to linger long after the sun has disappeared. By the time you look up again from making snow ducks, yet another day has gone by with the apartment street-lamps flickering to life. Everybody has gone home now. It was just you and another boy. He was crouched near his army of snow ducks, wearing a thick navy parka dusted with flecks of snow. Even with his rosy cheeks and reddened fingertips, he was carefully adjusting the wing of a snow duck. You eyed his every move, but he must have felt it. “Still here?” He said, without looking up. You flinched, ears reddening, “I-I didn’t mean to stare!” He put down his duck maker and walked over, boots crunching loudly against the packed snow. Reaching out a hand, he said “I’m Yunho, I’m turning six this year, let’s become friends” After the brief and awkward exchange of names, there you were, kneeling beside him, scooping up fresh snow, transforming the playground into a battleground. And on that very night, the snow ducks stood as silent witnesses to the beginning of something new — a friendship forged in the harsh December winter.

APRIL 17 2008 ⋆₊˚

2:14PM, Spring. The Spring season had just begun. The rain came down in relentless sheets, pounding against the school roof, turning the courtyard into a mirror of rippling puddles. While everybody padded off under their multi-coloured umbrellas, you stood there squatting at the front gate, clutching your bag to your chest. Your umbrella. You'd forgotten it. Again. You were nine back then, so instead of running in the rain, your hands tightened against the grip on your bag, vision blurring - not just from the rain, but from the hot sting of tears welling up at the prospect of not being able to make it home. "Forgot something, didn't you?" the sudden voice made you jump, turning to see yunho standing there, his slightly taller frame partially blocking the rain. His dark hair was damp from the drizzle, and he wore his usual dimple smile. "I-I..." your voice wavered, you didn't know why the tears were threatening to spill over. He stepped closer, his free hand reaching out to tilt the umbrella over the both of you. "Hey, it's okay. You don't have to cry over something like this, I've got you." Both of you walked side by side, the small umbrella forcing you closer together. He held it high enough to shield you, though his shoulder was starting to get wet. "You're getting soaked, Yunho." He shrugged, "I'll live. What matters is getting you home dry."

OCTOBER 23 2012 ⋆₊˚

8:16PM, Autumn. You were both 13 now. By then, Yunho had grown a head taller than you and you no longer could tease him about his height. "Happy birthday, dummy." You grinned, holding out a small, slightly crumpled box wrapped in bright blue paper. Yunho blinked, staring at the box in your hands. "I saved up. I know how much you wanted it, so...yeah." Yunho took the box and tore into the wrapping, his clumsy fingers fumbling with the tape. Inside was a red baseball cap, one he'd been eyeing in the baseball store for weeks. For a moment, Yunho was speechless. "This is... really cool, holy shit you're the best!" You lit the candle, his face glowing in the flickering light, softening the sharp lines he was starting to grow into. "Now make a wish, birthday boy." He closed his eyes for a moment, then blew out the candle in one breath. "What'd you wish for, hm?" You teased, nudging his arm. "Can't tell you," he said, leaning back on his hands. "But... I think it already came true."

JUNE 26 2015 ⋆₊˚

4:26PM, Summer. You’ve just gotten the news of Yunho’s successful audition. There’s a burst of hurt in your chest, dazzling and gnawing. You know you should be happy for him for pursuing his dreams but your face burns and so do your eyes, knot thick in your throat. Before you know it, you are slipping off your shoes in front of his doorstep, fighting the internal battle to will back tears. yunho’s brows shoot up when he opens the door to your face crumpling. One look at his face was enough to send the water crashing down. Had it not been Yunho, you’d feel like an attention seeker, but you held him tight, so tight against your chest as if you were afraid of him slipping away from your grip. Without question, he swept you up into his arms, huge warm hand running up and down your back. How much has he grown? Was his hands always this big? Were you always this small? He kept you there for a long moment, before peeling himself off of you to look at your face. Your breath was still hitching unevenly, coming in shallow, jagged gasps that caught painfully in your throat. Each inhale was sharp and shaky, as though you were trying to draw air through a tangled knot in your chest. You stared at him red-eyed, snot running from your nose. He looked you straight in the eye, mumbling “I will never ever leave you. I’ll be back in no time. Pinky-promise?” and that made you feel a whole lot better.

DECEMBER 5 2018 ⋆₊˚

5:30PM, Winter. Three years had passed since then. It might have been the nostalgic faint scent of frost lingering in the air or even the all too familiar row of wooden benches that got you squatting at the edge of the playground, cold biting at your cheeks. But there it was. Your eyes landed on an abandoned yellow snow duck maker in the middle of the playground and it was enough to send memories rushing back into your head. Every detail was painful, really — the spot under the slide where Yunho used to make his snow ducks with you, the echo of laughter that once filled the air, and the way your heart had felt so much at ease. A lump formed in your throat, tightening again with each passing second. Your chest ached and your vision blurred just like it once did on an April afternoon back in 2008. Your lips quivered, tears threatening to break through again. You hated how weak you were.

“You’re always crying”

You looked up and your breath hitched. There he was. Yunho. His face was the same yet completely different — the soft plump boyish roundness now replaced by sharper angles. The way he carried himself changed too,, his lanky frame filled out, movements steady and confident, no longer the awkward shuffle of the boy you remembered. Yet, all it took was his smile to catch the faint glimpse of the boy you used to know — that damn dimple.

Your heart froze for a moment before it began to race uncontrollably. "Yunho..." You blinked, as if your mind was trying to reconcile the boy from your memories with the man standing before you. "You're really just gonna squat there and cry in front of me?" he teased, stepping closer. "Some things never change."

You hastily wiped off the stinging tears in your eyes, too embarrassed to face him, sniffling. "I wasn't crying" you muttered defensively, though your shaky voice and tear-stained cheeks said otherwise. He squatted beside you, tilting his head to meet your eyes. “Miss me?” he asked, his voice dropping to a low murmur. You nodded, too overwhelmed to speak, your chest tightening as the weight of his presence filled the air between you.

"Then kiss me." he whispered.

Your breath hitched again, the world narrowing until it was just the two of you, the snowy evening wrapping around you just like that same day you’ve met him for the first time. And before you could think, before you could second-guess, your heart answered for you.

[tyudearyous]

HAPPY 180 NOTES ON THIS DIVA TOO 😻😻

[11.59 PM]

pairing : established relationship, producer! s.mg x producer! reader

warnings : nothing really, it's a short read, just fluffy overall

🎵 11.59 - jey ft goopy

...

"how long are you going to stay here?" you asked mingi while helping him with his song. it has been a few weeks since the both of you started to work on a project he had been excited about, since it would be his personal debut work. it has been years since he started producing and he has countless songs under his belt but never was those his personal work. it was always for someone else so, when his label gave him this opportunity, he was immediately hooked.

"mmm, just a little bit" mingi mutters, eyes completely locked to the screen. you stopped to gaze at him properly. he was wearing just a simple grey tee and he just recently bleached his hair silver. even with all the simplicity he is, song mingi is just beautiful to you. you couldn't help but smile and you brought your chair closer to him.

"hmm?" he stopped working momentarily and glanced at you. "nothing, just work" you said while playing with his silver locks. mingi loves it whenever you play with his hair. it's soothing and nice to him. his head slowly leaned to your touch while still focusing on his work. "silver suits you, minmin" you complimented him. his ears slowly adorned a rose color, blushing. "you prefer this or pink?" mingi asked you. "ouch, that's hard to pick!" you pouted before slapping his arms jokingly. "any color suits you honestly but i like it when your hair is slightly long, i can play with it" you continued playing with his hair.

"you wanna end work now?" mingi immediately rotated his chair to face you. you nodded and began turning off your workstation. mingi soon does the same and tidied up the workspace.

"can i drive today?" you asked. it was usually mingi who would drive home, just because but tonight, you wanted to drive. "you sure?" mingi asked while he put on his black coat. "yep, 100 percent" you replied while giving him the puppy eyes. he took a while before giving you a yes and giving you his car keys.

after tidying up everything, the two of you walked from the studio to the parking lot. "i'm gonna be busy next week" you stated. "huh? why?" he asked. "i have to take care of the recordings of rina's group" a pout slowly formed on his face. this didn't go unnoticed by you. adorable, you thought before pinching his cheeks which made a smile formed back to his face. "i'll still make time for you, don't worry about it my princess" you teased him and patted his head.

when the two of you arrived at the parking lot, you entered his car and he sat in the passenger seat. you adjusted the seat to make yourself comfortable. well, mingi is very tall, like VERY TALL while you were just average... so of course you didn't need as much leg space as he does. he looked at you doing this and started laughing. "what?" you stared at him while adjusting the seat. he held up the backrest, helping you adjust the seat. "it's just funny seeing you do all that because you're short" teased mingi. "excuse me!? i'm not that short, you're just too tall" you responded in a fake offended way. once you were comfortable, you started the car.

the entire drive was silent but comfortable with your playlist serenading the entire ride. mingi always let you play your playlist during drives like this and honestly, you love it. the fact that he always lets you do things you liked.

"it has been 4 years huh?" you muttered. it has been almost 4 years since when mingi got down to his knees asking for you to be his girlfriend in front of a convenience store. "yeah, 4 years since i embarrassed myself completely" you immediately laughed, remembering how he confessed. "i didn't expect you'll do that, genuinely" he chuckled. "at least i got you now" mingi mutters which made you blush slightly. you were grateful it was dark. if it wasn't, you'd look like a blushing mess.

after a 10 minute drive, you both arrived at your destination a.k.a mingi's apartment. you parked his car immediately and together you went to his unit together. when you got to his apartment, you immediately took off your shoes. "ouch... i shouldn't have used this..." you glanced at the back of your feet where a blister formed because of the ill fitting shoes you wore. "why?" mingi looked at you worriedly. "just a blister, get me some meds and plaster, it'll be okay" you hurriedly went to the couch to rest your feet.

mingi immediately brought the meds and started to tend your blisters. "i told you to change those shoes since a while ago" mingi frowned. "well, it was a gift so i had to be appreciative of it. oh come on stop frowning, i'll stop using it okay?" you cupped mingi's face. "don't use it again" he finished treating your blister. "thank you, minmin" you placed a kiss to his cheeks. he was still frowning but now his cheeks are slightly rosy. "don't make me worried you fool" he kissed you softly. you giggled and he smiled at your antics.

these type of moments are moments you dearly loved and held to. a night filled with each other's embrace and love. hopefully, these moments will last forever both for you and mingi.

[tyudearyous]

HAPPY 180 NOTES TO THIS DIVAAA 😻😻

blurred lines - s.mg

pairings : song mingi x reader (f)

genre : fluff, angst, suggestive

themes : friends with benefits au where reader carries her heart on her sleeves while mingi's just mingi.

wc : 5.4k

author's note : had several discussions on mingi with my mutuals in twitter and it made me want to write this so badly LMAO. light suggestive themes like kissing. please enjoy 🤍🤍

🎵 do me right - gemini, drunken texts - jey, honey (medasin remix) - kucka, close to me - laica, mimi - youra, dirty - jey, omega - saay

masterlist

...

fervent knockings could be heard blasting through the thin wood of your front door. who the hell is knocking at your door at motherf- it's 2 in the morning. gosh, you thought. you tried waking up yourself to greet the unwanted guest in front of your door. you had suspicions, it wasn't an unusual thing anyway that you had this late night guests.

"come onnn, open the door!" more knockings could be heard with slurred whines from a male. you immediately knew who it was from the voice. "what is it, mingi?" you opened the door to the (very) drunk 6ft male in front of you. he smelled like alcohol and you're sure he's drank more than 10 shots, considering how he looks.

the man immediately slumped to you to hug and lean on to you. you brought him in and gosh, he was very heavy. well, mingi was twice your size and yet you had to carry him in because he's a drunken mess right now.

"you d-didn't answer hic my hic callss" mingi whined while pouting. "it's 2 AM mingi, two in the morning, what did you expect?" you sat him up on your couch and you scurried to get him a glass of water so he'll sober up just a bit.

"are you mad at me? hic" mingi asked. "what made you think i was angry?" you halted on your tracks, staring at him confusedly. "i didn't get close hic to any girls hic. i was at hic the party because it was hic san's birthday hic. sorry" he tried explaining himself. well, truthfully you hated it when he goes to those types of parties but who are you to dictate over his life. you were only his friend, only a friend.

you didn't answer him. you stayed quiet and gave him the glass of water he needed. he was eyeing you the whole time, waiting for your response. then you just sat next to him, still quiet. mingi didn't spoke any further, he only drank the water you gave him and simply stared at you, with the eyes of a puppy whose owner just scolded.

"i'm not mad, why should i?" you answered him when you noticed that he really wanted an answer from you. "i'm sorry" was all he muttered before leaning in for a kiss. you didn't kiss back and tried to pull back but mingi was strong. he was stronger than you. so, it was useless.

you sighed to yourself before giving in. it was always like this. always like that. mingi'd get busted drunk and then he'll go to your place and boom you'd do it and then he'd leave before you even woke up. it was always like that. almost like a cycle even. you genuinely don't know when did it start. when did your friendship turn into one with such benefits. when did your innocent friendship turn into this?

...

"i genuinely don't get how you both are friends" san states as he downs an entire cake on one singular bite. "ew! you eat like a kid sannie" wooyoung scolds san. "but honestly yeah, how did you two became friends" sujung asked you both. you and mingi simply stared at each other before raising each others' shoulders together. san, wooyoung and sujung only sighed at your responses. you could only awkwardly laugh before saying you didn't know.

it was random honestly. you saved mingi from getting scolded from the first day of school when you found him sneaking in through the back gates of your school. he was late and tried to sneak in, avoiding the guarding teacher. you were on your way to go back to the assembly hall when you saw him stare at you, eyes begging you to help him. well, the situation was his pants got stuck on the wire of the back gate. it was laughable but you helped him before sneaking him in the assembly hall. from there on, he was stuck to your hips.

"yo" mingi nudged your arms while slightly leaning to you. you moved away slightly. "what?" you asked him back. "no plans today?" he asked you while taking your right hands to play with it. this particular tendency of his just never fails to bring butterflies to your heart but well, he was your friend. just a friend who's particularly clingy, nothing more, nothing less so you shrugged off the feeling before shaking your head to answer his questions. "good, go home with me m'kay?" he leaned to your shoulders while asking the question. you shoved him away before clicking your tongue. he laughed it off and focused back to the lesson.

you glanced to look at him. he was smiling whilst trying to focus on the class. you genuinely don't know how you make me feel don't you?, you thought, well thought you thought but you vocalized your thoughts, making mingi turn his head to you and look at you confusedly. you realized what you just muttered. "nothing! go focus again" you pushed mingi's head to not look at you.

"y/n and mingi!" mr. kim shouted after seeing the two of you constantly interacting. "focus on the lesson!" he said, making the entire class laugh under their breath. the two of you muttered apologies before actually focusing on the lesson.

...

"mingi..." you stared at him dissapprovingly. "what?" he gave you the spare helmet he prepared specially for you. "do you... even have a license?" you asked him. "missy, don't worry you're in safe hands. we're not going on the main street anyways. hop on, come on" mingi ushered you to hop on the back seat of his brand new (?) harley.

"when did you even get this?" you asked him, still not wanting to hop on. "my dad bought it for me last year, but he only just allowed me now. oh come on, y/n. trust me, i'm good at this" he begged you with puppy eyes. after several attempts of begging in typical song mingi style, you agreed and hopped on the back seat of his bike.

"this is a high one huh?" you muttered when you were already on the bike. "get used to it, i'm gonna bring you around with this a lot" he muttered before putting on his helmet and starting the bike. "hold on to me, okay?" he pulled your hands to the sides of his waist. you held on to him while your heart was going on a whole marathon.

the whole ride you could feel your body heating up. not because it was hot or anything, it was because of the man you're currently hugging and leaning on to. a part of you wanted to lean on his back fully but a part of you don't really want to. however, as if this man was a devil's incarnate, he pulled your hands forward, making you fully lean on his back. "don't fall" was all he muttered before continuing to drive. was this the heavens testing you and your sanity? well, all you know is that you're going insane and also red. you're just thankful that he can't see you right now.

"we're here" mingi parked the bike beside a park. he took off his helmet and blazer. "why aren't you hopping off?" mingi chuckled, knowing damn well that you are struggling. it was your first time riding such high bike and you genuinely don't want to embarrass yourself by falling down a harley. "help me bitchass" you scoffed at him. he laughed for a good minute before actually helping you get off the bike. when you're on the ground, you immediately grabbed his shoulders to headlock him.

"ah! ah! sorry! hahaha sorry come on" mingi pleads guilty but you were way too annoyed, so you took a handful of his hair before pulling on it slightly to joke around with him. "aAaAAahhHhhh! please i don't want to be bald y/n!" he laughs while screaming. you let him go after that before laughing at his pouty face.

"okay sorry, stop pouting okay?" you stood on your tip toes to pinch his cheeks. his pouty face became a smiley one now and you both stared at each other for a while before going on a fit of laughter because of each other's face.

"okay, be real. why did you brought me here?" you asked mingi. he just shrugged his shoulders before walking to the park, which you followed suit. "i just wanted to destress you know?" he mutters before taking a seat on the stairs. from there, you can see the serene waters of a river nearby.

"why didn't you ask yunho? i'm sure he'd make time for you, after that whole moral loyalty thing" you chuckled, taking a seat next to him on the stairs. "nah, wanted you to be my first passenger" mingi replied. you tilted your head. first passenger? oh. so he planned this all for you.

"is that also your moral loyalty to me?" you nudged his arms, teasing him. he nodded with a smug grin that was asking to be praised. you scoffed and laughed so hard seeing this. "song mingi, you hopeless one" you slapped his arms jokingly.

"i'm serious though, i'd always give my firsts to you, besides yunho" you immediately stared at him. "dude" you replied, mingi only raised his eyebrows to you. "do you realize what you're implying dumbo" you scoffed at him before punching his arms lightly. "yea, i fully realize it." he scooted closer to you.

"did you plan this too?" he was getting closer to you. when he got really close to your face, your breath hitched and he smiled. HE SMILED, he had the audacity to. "no but i welcome surprises you know?" his eyes diverted from your eyes to your lips and back to your eyes while your eyes were fully on his. your body tensed and you couldn't even think clearly.

"i won't do it if you don't want to" mingi spoke but definitely getting closer to you. you pulled back slightly to look at mingi. "will this be your first kiss?" you ask him, he nodded. you diverted your gaze from his eyes to his lips. well, let's be honest. this is song mingi we're speaking of. he's very VERY attractive and yes, you do want to kiss him. without thinking too much, you allowed him to and there, in the park near the river around 5 blocks from your school, you shared your first kiss with song mingi.

...

however, it wasn't only your first kiss that was taken by song mingi. your first time was also his and vice versa. it was perhaps a month after you shared your first kiss? yeah, around those time. during that period, your relationship slightly got more and more physical. you'd sneak out at break session to make out with him at the old unused building of your school or he'll drive you to somewhere quiet and serene to just envelope you in a kiss (kisses).

so when mingi decided it'd be good to invite you to his place when his parents and brother went to vacation, it was all bound to happen. you gave him your first and you were also his first. it was awkward, truthfully. two youths not knowing what to do, just knowing small details here and there from explicit videos or books. you two even spent about half an hour just giggling because of how dumb the two of you looked, trying to figure out what to do. however, when he truly figured out what to do with you, it was bliss. pure bliss. he was gentle and he ultimately prioritized you. it was all wonderful for your first and you're more than glad that he was your first.

"hey" mingi uttered, laying down next to you after coming down from his own high. you just shuffled to your side to look at him. "that was good" he chuckled.

"thanks" you muttered, still looking at him. "my pleasure" then he brought you in for a hug and kissed your forehead before lulling you to rest. it was great, everything felt great, being in his embrace felt great. however, will all of this be an ephemeral moment? you thought to yourself. you quickly shrugged it off though after hearing his soft snores. he's tired now and you too, so you closed your eyes and went off to dream land in mingi's arms.

that was the start where all the lines in your relationship with mingi became blurred.

...

back to the present day, you actually succeeded in making his stop his moves on you. "you're drunk min" you pushed him away, resulting in him stopping. "hic come on" he tried getting closer again and you slapped his arms.

"go wash up, i'm not dealing with you tonight" you left the living room to go to your room and sleep. that was the first time you succeeded in getting away from mingi's drunken advances. not long after you went to your room, the crickling sounds of water can be heard through the bathroom. he's washing up probably, you thought. since he was sober enough to shower, you rested yourself up, not worried since he's sober enough. but if he was sober enough, why did he still insisted on doing it? countless what ifs and scenarios went through your head but you shrugged it all. after all you were just his friend, just a friend. actually scratch that, you've crossed the lines of just friends with him since a long time ago but none of you were brave enough to remove that line between you.

either way, you went to sleep. you don't want to get over into your head tonight, not when mingi is still present in your place.

not long after you tried to fall asleep, mingi entered your room and sat on the edge of your bed. "i know you're not asleep" he mutters before playing with your hair. you weren't facing him, your back was. you feigned ignorance to his pleas of your attention. it wasn't long until he decided to just lay down next to you.

"listen, sorry." he stated into the quiet room. "for what?" you replied to him. "face me" he said before pulling your body, making you face him now. he was looking at you. his eyes just felt somber? it wasn't one you're used to for sure.

"sorry for being a dick" he says while tracing your features with his left hand. you only stared at him, not giving him any answers. "i went to san's party today and got kinda drunk. sobered up though and thought of you immediately. that's why i went here. sorry for pushing myself onto you, should've not done that" he explains himself. you just nodded.

"can i be honest?" you asked him, in which he nodded to. "i'm tired of this all. you always come over when you're drunk. we'll do it until dawn then you'll leave immediately then the next day when we meet, we have to act as if nothing happened. then the cycle repeats, over and over again. genuinely, what are we mingi?" you asked him.

he stayed silent for a while. "i don't expect anything from you, so don't worry but just, you know? i feel tired. i tried, i tried mingi. i tried to do this all without strings attached but, i guess it's just your personality. you'd say things that made me hopeful. you'd do things that made me hope. hope that someday, the blurred line in our relationship would be clear. we're not just friends, min. you know that. friends don't do this. friends don't kiss. friends don't do each other. friends don't act like this" you explained your feelings to him. you were ready to accept rejection, you were ready to let everything go honestly. you didn't care, you were tired of being the one having to keep everything to herself. you were ready to let him go.

"i don't have much to explain honestly. it just feels comfortable with you. everything feels right with you, that's why i'm being like this with you. i'm sorry for hurting you. i'm sorry, y/n. if this all just hurts you, i'm willing to let you go. we can act like normal friends again. i'm sorry for having commitment issues. i'm sorry baby" he grazed your cheeks with his hands before muttering countless apologies to you.

"can i at least know why?" you ask him. "i'm not good enough for you. i'm genuinely not. you deserve someone better, y/n. if i had a heart i would've given it all to you but i wouldn't want you to have my ugly heart." mingi explained himself, slightly tearing up. "who said that" you laughed while pinching his cheeks.

"myself. i've never told you this honestly" you tilted your head, hands still on his cheeks. poking it repeatedly to lighten up the mood. "when that joohyuk guy tried to get close to you, i was the one who made him walk away" he revealed the truth. ever since you became friends with him, he developed a slight sense of protection. he wanted you to himself and he loathed it when anyone tried to get close to you.

"you have severe commitment issues, man" you laughed at him. "aight, i'm guilty of that" he raised his hands to the air jokingly. "this would be the last we'll be like this, hmm?" you asked, gazing at the ceiling. "yeah" was all mingi could mutter before he pulls you in for a cuddle. you didn't reject it. you were letting go of him, it was for your best. it hurts but you couldn't continue putting yourself in that situation. it would only hurt more if you stayed.

"i love you, please know that" mingi mutters before kissing your forehead. why? why did he have to be like this? but perhaps this was the universe's way of telling you that not everything can go in the way you want. it hurts so much, gosh, you felt like crying in his embrace but you held it in. you held everything in.

"i love you, it's bad for me song mingi" was all you could say to him. that day, the blurred lines between your relationship was removed and made clear once again. that you were just his friend, nothing more, nothing less.

...

it's a friday night after work when you decided to tag along with your coworkers to a nearby fancy bar that had just opened. work has been brutal lately. clients have been coming continuously and amidst all the chaos, you're grateful things are going well at your work. you're also thankful that the team you're taking charge of are also very cooperative and professional. making the brutal workload sort of easier for you to handle. it has also been 5 years since you graduated university. you haven't had the chance to meet any of your friends post graduation, mainly because a lot of them got work opportunities abroad. that's why you genuinely didn't expect to see song mingi in front of the bar you and your coworkers went to. he's changed a lot from the last time you saw him. his hair no longer black like the last time you saw him but was now brown. his figure also got bigger but one thing stayed the same. he was still the song mingi, your first love.

"hey, i'm gonna catch up for a bit, chat me where you guys are sitting later okay?" you separated yourself from your coworkers, walking up to strike a conversation with mingi. the man you've let go but still definitely missed.

"mingi?" his eyes that was focused on his phone shot up to you. he seemed surprised to see you, to the point he dropped the single cigar his left hand was holding. "y/n?" he asked, surprised.

"i thought you'd go to the states with yunho?" you walked closer, now standing in front of him. "n-no, wait, do i look okay?" he scurried to open the camera app to look at himself. he looked like a loser getting worried over nothing.

"you've grown a lot huh?" you tilted your head to tease him. "now what does that supposed to mean, little missy?" he teased you back. you two laughed together and catch up on what you've missed. turns out he did went to the states with yunho post graduation. however, he went back as his father decided it'd be good for him to take charge of the family business, thus why he's here again.

"did you change your number?" mingi asked you. "oh, yeah. my old phone broke so i had to change it" you explained yourself. he then offered his phone and you immediately typed in your new number for him.

"you with your friends?" he asked. you nodded before clarifying that they were your coworkers. "i see" he mumbled before opening his arms. you immediately went into his embrace. the two of you shared a hug in front of a bar. it was silly to explain but it was great.

"missed you so much" mingi pulled you closer to his embrace. you patted his back and returned the same sentiment. "okay, enough. your coworkers are probably looking for you" he pulled back and patted your head. you nodded before bidding goodbyes. you had many questions for him but you had no time.

"mingi" you called out to him. "yeah?" he replied. "a meal next time?" you asked him and he agreed. so you bid goodbyes and you entered the bar.

...

two weeks passed and today was the day you and mingi were going out to catch up with each other. he insisted on picking you up after work, so you allowed him to. when the clock hits 6 PM straight, you left for work to see the same white harley davidson you first rode on a random friday after school at 18.

"you still have this?" you laughed at mingi before taking the helmet he gave you. "why would i get rid of it?" he scoffed before starting the machine. "come on, hop on" you hopped on the bike. you didn't struggle this time though because the years of being friends with mingi definitely trained you to hop on and off tall bikes. you then put your hands to envelope mingi's waist, so you don't fall off the bike. butterflies were flying off your stomach at this point, but again. you didn't expect anything. there wasn't much to expect from since the beginning anyway.

the two of you then arrived in a cozy little restaurant that you used to go to with him a lot. "i haven't been here in a while" you commented as you got off the bike. "mhm, it's far from your place" he held your hands to make sure you weren't falling off the bike. these little gestures were why you fell for him in the first place.

you both went into the restaurant and sat at the corner seat where you used to seat a lot. when you ordered, the owner actually remembered you and mingi so it was a pleasant experience to have some sort of nostalgia. it has been 5 years and many have changed but at the same time, it just feels like nothing has changed.

you both ordered your own foods just like you'd always do. the dinner went on a comfortable silence. just like the old days, but you're no longer youths now. you've both grown into full fledged adults now.

"so, you're like a CEO now?" you asked mingi while still munching on the fried rice you ordered. "sort of? i mean my father is still the head, i'm just like managing things here and there" he explained his job. mingi actually came from golden spoon but he isn't the type to show it off at all. he preferred to be quiet about it since he valued honesty in friendships, not wanting to have friends just because of his money.

"how about you?" he asked, eyes fully on you now. "i'm just a team leader at a food company" you then explained your job and also ranted about your job perhaps but you digress. "that's good. i'm glad you're doing well" he stated, smiling. "i'm also glad you're doing well too" you replied to him.

"but, i don't remember you like smoking? didn't you hate it?" you asked him. "i only smoke sometimes, not all the time. just when i feel like it you know?" he explains. you remember when hongjoong made him try cigarettes for the first time and how mingi absolutely loathed it, coughing endlessly before pledging he'd never touch it again, but here we are ironically. "you don't cough now because of it?" you scoffed to tease him about it. "oh come on, i've grown" he laughed.

the entire meal went by like a flash. it was a great nostalgia. the food tasted the same as you remembered and when you finished, he paid for your meals. you tried asking him to split the bill but he refused to. well, he's always been that type so you just let him.

"you wanna go elsewhere?" he asked you. "where?" you asked him back. "my place, i just moved into a new place and well, i have a dog now. i wanted to introduce you to her" you tilted your head and laughed at his invitation. "mingi-ya, you're not slick you know?" you laughed so hard, you threw your entire body back. he only laughed slightly at your reaction. "come on, do you want to or not?" you held back your laughters before nodding. thus, the two of you were off to mingi's place.

...

when you arrived, turns out he now lived in a sky penthouse in the elite area. well, you weren't shocked. he was a golden spoon after all, but yeah it was still shocking to experience it. he lived in the 18th floor and when he opened the door, you were immediately greeted by a small pekingese dog.

"awww!!! what's its' namee?" you kneeled down to play with the dog in the foyer. "bbyongie" mingi utters while taking your coat and his to place it in the coat hanger. "aww, is it a he or she?" you asked again. "he" mingi walks off to sit at the couch. "come on, bbyong-ah come over" and with that the dog immediately went to mingi and played with him. you took the chance to take off your shoes and put your bags on the hanger.

"a penthouse huh?" you finally got the time to look at his new place. "you like it?" mingi asked you while playing with bbyongie. "mhm, if i had the money i'd get a place like this" you laughed while walking to look at the kitchen area. "this huge kitchen, do you even cook?" you teased him. "y/n. my mom owns a restaurant. of course i can cook you dimwit" he stood up to follow you on your little tour of his place.

"what's this room?" you pointed at the room next to the kitchen, not realizing he was standing behind you. when you realized that he was though, you moved away in shock. "that's not a room, that's the pantry" mingi explained while opening the pantry for you to see. "ohh okay" you moved on to look at the other rooms. he actually gave you a whole house tour. it was funny but like, this house was big and it was interesting to see how your friend has been living up.

"upstairs?" you asked. "just my room" he answered. you nodded and didn't go up the stairs, wanting to value his privacy. "don't wanna see?" he asked you. you tilted your head, confusedly. what was he trying to imply? is he oblivious or is he being sly?. "why would i see your bedroom dummy" you shrugged it off and went to play with bbyongie once again.

"i haven't dated anyone after we broke it off" he states simply. your hands that was playing with bbyongie stopped and you leaned back on the couch. "so? what is that supposed to mean for me, mingi?" you asked him. you weren't oblivious and you were certainly more than able to put two and two together but you kind of refused to. were you ready to have that type of relationship again with mingi? even if he commits to you now, were you ready? you genuinely don't know thus why you were acting nonchalant.

"don't pretend like you don't know what i mean" he was standing next to you now. "was this your plan?" you asked him. he nodded. "it was now or never you know?" he laughed slightly.

"you know, i don't know. even if you are willing to commit now mingi, i don't know." you bite your lips before looking down. he walked to your front and leaned on to you. "give me a second chance, would you? i'll prove it to you" his face was only a few centimetres away from you. if you moved your head forward slightly, your lips would've touched but you did the opposite. you pulled back slightly.

"convince me?" you pouted slightly before looking up at him. giving him a signal, that he can do what he wants. understanding this he carried you upstairs immediately, leaving bbyongie confused downstairs.

when you reached his bedroom, he immediately pushed you down his bed and locked lips with yours. "min- ah, wait" you tugged on his shirt. he was getting aggressive and it wasn't a pace you're used to, so you were out of breath. he pulled back, noticing you were struggling to breathe.

"did the 5 years of not getting laid made you rusty, huh?" he teased you. you slapped his arms immediately. he wasn't wrong but that was uncalled for. "sorry" he chuckled before enveloping you in another kiss. this time softer and gentler. your hands moved from his arms to grab on his hair. this earned a groan from him and ultimately deepened the whole interaction. you could feel your lips getting puffy by the time you were both out of breath.

"missed this so much" he moved to nuzzle on your shoulders now. pressing soft kisses to it before nipping on it, leaving red marks that you definitely need to cover with concealers tomorrow. "you don't have work tomorrow right?" you shook your head. "good" then he continued to do what he was doing, this time rougher.

"hey, just because i don't have work doesn't mean you can go ham on marking you dimwit" you pulled his hair to pull his face from your shoulders. "sorry, just this once please" he was begging with puppy eyes. you pinched his nose before sighing. you were weak to his puppy eyes, so you just let him be.

"minmin" you called out. he stopped to look at you. "before i let you do more, what are we?" you cupped his cheeks. unlike last time where he hesitated on his answers, he was smiling now. "lovers? if you want to" he answered your question with a big grin on his face. "learned your lesson now huh?" you joked while pinching his cheeks. "yes, i'm sorry so let me love you, okay?" he begged. you nodded before encircling your arms on his back to bring him to another kiss.

hesitancy out of the window, just pure love present in the room. if you thought everything was ephemeral, you were proven wrong. perhaps everything happened because you both weren't ready. but now that you are, the universe has decided to bring you together.

toujours et pour toujours.

(always and forever)

the end.

[tyudearyous]

you have been visited by the seven magic dragon balls your biggest wish will be granted but only if you reblog