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whypisces · 8 days ago

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Que dorrrrrrrr

masterlist

the softest silence

“anyways, don’t be a stranger” (scott street)

There's a photo in a silver frame on Seungcheol's desk.

It's not particularly striking, no grand event captured, no posed smiles. Just a snapshot from a summer long gone. Three people squeezed into the frame: you, with a sunflower tucked behind your ear, laughing so hard your eyes are nearly closed, the petals casting delicate shadows across your cheekbone. Jeonghan, cheeks puffed in mock offense, his arm flung over your shoulder, fingers barely grazing the fabric of your sleeve like he's afraid to hold too tight. And Seungcheol, in the middle, caught mid-laugh, head thrown back, eyes crinkled, like the sound had startled even him. A moment of pure, unguarded joy frozen in time.

It's a photo no one meant to take. A moment no one meant to keep. And yet, it sits there, dustless, untouched. As if time itself had decided it should stay. The silver frame catching the morning light that filters through the half-drawn blinds of his office, creating a small constellation of reflections against the wall.

You still remember that day. Not because of the picture, but because of the way the sun hit Jeonghan's hair when he turned to call your name, golden light threading through strands that seemed to absorb the warmth itself. Because of the way Seungcheol looked at the both of you when you weren't looking, eyes soft and wondering, like he couldn't quite believe the three of you had found each other in this vast, indifferent universe. Because you didn't know, then, that it would be the beginning of something beautiful.

And quietly, quietly tragic.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You met Jeonghan when you were fifteen, on a Tuesday that had started like any other. Gray skies threatening rain, the weight of textbooks in your arms, the familiar knot of anxiety that came with being the new face in the hallway. The classroom smelled of chalk dust and floor polish, and you'd chosen a seat by the window, hoping the cloudy light might make you less visible somehow.

He was the first person to talk to you in your new school, sliding into the empty desk beside yours with the casual confidence of someone who had never doubted his welcome anywhere. Sitting next to you in math class and offering half of his chocolate chip cookie like it was some kind of peace treaty, breaking it with careful fingers that somehow knew exactly where to snap it for equal parts.

"Fresh-baked this morning," he'd said, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "My mom's secret recipe. Well, not actually secret. She got it off the back of the chocolate chip bag, but we pretend it's a family heirloom."

The cookie was still warm, slightly gooey in the center. You'd taken it hesitantly, not quite understanding the easy way he'd decided to include you.

He never really gave you a choice. He just started existing in your life, like a bookmark slipped between pages. There one day and never gone after, marking something important without drawing attention to itself.

"I'm Yoon Jeonghan," he'd said with a grin that seemed to know something you didn't. "And you're my best friend now. Sorry, I don't make the rules."

You had laughed, not knowing how true it would become. Not understanding that some people come into your life with the quiet certainty of seasons changing. Inevitable, necessary, transformative.

Jeonghan was relentless in his affection. He called you at midnight just to tell you dumb jokes that he'd clearly rehearsed, his voice going slightly higher when he reached the punchline. He left sticky notes in your locker with bad puns and little doodles, stick figures with exaggerated features that somehow always looked like the teachers he was mocking. He dragged you into his chaos without warning. Impromptu trips to the convenience store during lunch, elaborate pranks on classmates that never crossed into cruelty, study sessions that devolved into philosophical debates about which cereal mascot would win in a fight.

But he also knew when to be still. He was there when your mom got sick, when the hospital visits became routine and the smell of antiseptic clung to your clothes even after washing. When you missed three weeks of school, he brought you handwritten notes. His messy scrawl somehow more comforting than the typed assignments other classmates had sent. When you needed someone to sit beside you in silence and just be there, he would arrive with a bag of your favorite snacks and a deck of cards, never pushing you to talk, never making you feel like your silence was a burden.

He never asked for anything in return. Never made you feel indebted for the way he held your world together when it threatened to come apart. It was just what friends did, he'd say, as if everyone had the capacity for the brand of loyalty he offered so effortlessly.

And then, two years later, he introduced you to Seungcheol.

It was at a house party Jeonghan had forced you to attend—his words, not yours. The living room was too warm, bodies pressed together in the limited space, music loud enough to feel in your chest but not quite loud enough to drown out the anxiety of social interaction. You were standing awkwardly by the snack table, calculating how much longer you needed to stay before you could politely leave, when he dragged someone over, his hand firm around the wrist of a boy you'd never seen before.

"This is Seungcheol," he said proudly, the way one might present a particularly impressive science project. "He's the only person I know who's more responsible than me. So naturally, I think he should take care of you when I'm not around."

The boy, Seungcheol, had looked momentarily embarrassed, a flush rising from his neck to his cheeks. But then he'd laughed softly, the sound barely audible over the thrum of the bass, and extended his hand. His fingers were slightly calloused, warm against your palm.

"It's nice to meet you," he said, his voice deeper than you'd expected, resonant in a way that made you want to hear more of it. "Jeonghan talks about you all the time. I was starting to think you might be imaginary."

You hadn't expected to fall for him. Not really. But there was something about the way he listened when you spoke, head slightly tilted, eyes never wandering from your face, as if every word you said deserved his complete attention. Something about the way he remembered the little things you said in passing. How you mentioned offhandedly that you loved tteokbokki from that one street vendor near the station, only to have him appear at your door weeks later with a container of it after you'd had a particularly rough day. Something about the way he stood slightly behind you in crowded spaces, quietly protective, never overbearing. A presence that said: I am here if you need me, but I trust you to navigate your own way.

He was the kind of safe that didn't feel suffocating. A quiet strength that reminded you of old trees, roots deep and branches steady even in the strongest winds.

But you were Jeonghan's best friend. And Seungcheol was Jeonghan's.

So you stayed quiet.

So did he.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The three of you became something of a unit. A trinity that others in your social circle recognized and accepted without question: where one went, the others followed, like planets locked in each other's gravitational pull.

Seungcheol drove the both of you home after late-night hangouts, always stopping for convenience store ramen. The fluorescent lights would cast strange shadows on your faces as you huddled around the small table outside, steam rising from your bowls, the night air cool against your skin. Jeonghan would sing badly in the passenger seat while you and Seungcheol harmonized just to annoy him, the three of you laughing until your ribs ached when he'd dramatically cover his ears and threaten to walk home.

Sometimes, Mingyu and Seokmin would tag along, stuffing themselves into the backseat, yelling over each other about snacks and playlists. Mingyu always insisting they needed more protein, Seokmin arguing just as passionately for sweeter options. The car would feel smaller then, warmer with the press of shoulders and knees, the windows fogging slightly with collective breath and laughter.

There were sleepovers where you all ended up on the floor of Jeonghan's apartment. A mess of blankets and pillows in the living room, the television casting blue light over your tired faces as you talked until sunrise. Seungcheol on one side of you, Jeonghan on the other, both too warm, too close, too familiar. Their breathing eventually evening out into sleep while you remained awake, hyperaware of every point of contact: Seungcheol's arm brushing yours, Jeonghan's head somehow ending up on your shoulder. And in those moments, you'd lie awake and wonder what it meant that your heart beat differently for each of them. A steady, warm rhythm for Seungcheol that felt like coming home; a quicksilver flutter for Jeonghan that felt like chasing something you couldn't quite name.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

One night, during your final year of high school, the three of you ended up on the roof of Jeonghan's apartment building. It was autumn, the air crisp but not yet biting, and you'd brought blankets to wrap around yourselves as you looked up at the few stars visible through the city's light pollution.

"We should make a pact," Jeonghan had said suddenly, his voice soft in the darkness. "That no matter where we end up after graduation, we'll always find our way back to each other."

Seungcheol had chuckled, the sound warm in the cool night. "You make it sound like we're going to war, not college."

"Same thing," Jeonghan had replied, bumping his shoulder against Seungcheol's. "People change. They find new friends, new priorities. I just don't want..."

He'd trailed off, and you'd turned to look at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice. His profile was sharp against the night sky, eyes reflecting the distant city lights.

"Want what?" you'd prompted gently.

He'd shrugged, a forced casualness that didn't quite mask the tension in his shoulders. "I don't want to lose this. Us."

Seungcheol had reached over then, his hand finding Jeonghan's in the dark, squeezing once. "You won't."

You'd watched their hands, the easy comfort they offered each other, and felt something twist in your chest—not jealousy, exactly, but a sense of being witness to something intimate and unspoken.

"Promise?" Jeonghan had asked, looking not at you but at Seungcheol, his voice barely audible over the distant sounds of traffic.

Seungcheol had nodded, his expression serious in the half-light. "Promise."

You'd reached over then, placing your hand over theirs, completing the circle. "We promise," you'd said, speaking for all three of you, not yet understanding the complexity of what you were vowing to preserve.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Years passed. High school faded into college. The texture of your friendship changed with distance and time. No longer the constant presence in each other's daily lives, but something that had to be maintained with intention, with effort. You drifted, came back together, drifted again like tides. But you always found your way back: birthdays, holidays, lazy Sundays that turned into movie marathons in whoever's apartment was cleanest that week.

And always, always, Jeonghan teasing.

"Still single?" he'd ask with a smirk, nudging Seungcheol as you all sat around a table at your favorite barbecue place, the smell of grilling meat and sizzling garlic filling the air between you.

"Still annoying?" Seungcheol would fire back, expertly flipping the meat without looking away from Jeonghan's challenging grin.

And you'd roll your eyes, but part of you ached, because they felt like puzzle pieces you'd never quite fit between. Their friendship had a shorthand, a history that predated you. Sometimes you'd catch them exchanging glances that seemed to contain entire conversations, and you'd wonder what it was like to know someone so completely, to be known that way in return.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

But one spring, it shifted.

Jeonghan got busy.

New job at a design agency that required late nights and early mornings, new apartment across the city that made spontaneous visits less practical, less time for the comfortable routine the three of you had established. His absence created a space, and slowly, almost imperceptibly, you and Seungcheol began to fill it with something new.

You and Seungcheol started spending more time together, just the two of you. It wasn't planned, not consciously. He helped you move into your new place, carrying boxes up three flights of stairs without complaint, assembling furniture with patient precision long after you'd given up on deciphering the instructions. You helped him pick out a birthday gift for Jeonghan, wandering through stores for hours until you found a vintage film camera that made Seungcheol's eyes light up with recognition

"He's been talking about this model for months," he'd said, his excitement infectious.

You had dinner. Once. A casual thing after settling into your new place, too tired to go home but too hungry to sleep. A small restaurant with mismatched chairs and dim lighting, where Seungcheol ordered for both of you because you were too exhausted to make decisions, and somehow he got exactly what you would have chosen for yourself.

Then again. This time planned, deliberate, a text from Seungcheol asking if you wanted to try that new place that had opened near your apartment, the one with the fusion menu everyone was talking about. You'd said yes without hesitation, ignoring the flutter in your stomach as you changed outfits three times before he arrived.

And then… again. Each time the conversation flowing more easily, the silences more comfortable, the moments of accidental touch lingering just a beat longer than necessary.

And one day, under the soft golden haze of dusk, Seungcheol kissed you.

It wasn't planned. You were walking back from a late afternoon movie, the streets bathed in that magical hour when the sun seems to paint everything in honeyed light. You had made a dumb joke about the film's predictable ending, and he laughed, really laughed, the way he used to back in high school. Uninhibited and genuine, and something cracked open between you. He stopped walking, turned to face you, his expression shifting into something serious and tender and terrified all at once.

He looked at you like he had been holding his breath for years.

"I shouldn't have waited this long," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion, one hand coming up to cup your face, thumb brushing softly across your cheekbone.

You never asked what that meant. Whether he was referring to weeks of dancing around each other or years of quiet longing. You just kissed him back, standing in the middle of the sidewalk as the world continued around you, strangers passing by, oblivious to the way your universe had just realigned itself.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The relationship was slow and quiet and gentle. There were no fireworks, no chaos. None of the dramatic declarations of love you'd seen in movies or read in books. Just small things: coffee in the morning made exactly how you liked it, hand squeezes in public that said "I'm here" without words, late-night walks with no destination, just the comfort of shared silence and understanding.

It felt inevitable, like something that had been waiting patiently in the wings of your life, ready to step forward when the time was right.

The rest of your friends found out quickly. You swore Soonyoung had been waiting for it, the way his eyes widened in exaggerated shock before his face split into a knowing grin when you and Seungcheol showed up to a group dinner holding hands.

"Took you long enough," he said, grinning as he pulled out a chair for you. "I've had a bet going with Seokmin since second year of university."

You'd blushed, but Seungcheol had just laughed, his arm secure around your waist, a quiet pride in the way he stood beside you, as if finally allowed to show something he'd hidden for too long.

Even Jeonghan smiled, teasing as ever when you told him. Though you noticed he'd been the last to know, an unusual oversight that neither you nor Seungcheol had acknowledged.

"Guess I was your cupid, huh?" he'd said, raising his glass in a mock toast, lounging across from you in the café where you'd arranged to meet, his hair longer now, tied back loosely at the nape of his neck. "I always knew you two were weirdly in sync."

But sometimes, you'd catch him watching. Just for a second, expression unreadable, a flicker of something in his eyes before he'd blink and it would vanish, replaced by his usual mischievous glint.

You chalked it up to nostalgia. To the natural melancholy of seeing childhood friendships evolve, reshape themselves around new dynamics. To the bittersweet recognition that things would never be quite the same again.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Two years into your relationship with Seungcheol, you found yourself alone with Jeonghan for the first time in months. He'd been traveling for work—Tokyo, Seoul, New York—his social media a blur of skylines and coffee shops in different cities. But he was home now, just for a week, and had invited you over to see his new photographs.

His apartment was exactly as you'd expected: organized chaos, walls covered in prints and postcards, surfaces cluttered with books and camera equipment. It smelled like him. Sandalwood and coffee and something slightly citrusy that you'd never been able to identify.

"So," he said, pouring you a glass of wine as you settled onto his couch, "when's the wedding?"

You nearly choked on your first sip. "What?"

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "Come on. You've been together for what, two years now? That's practically married in Seungcheol-time. He's never dated anyone longer than six months before you."

You set your glass down carefully, studying Jeonghan's face. "We haven't really talked about it," you said truthfully. "We're good where we are."

Jeonghan hummed noncommittally, taking a long sip of his own wine. "He'll ask, you know. He's been saving for a ring since last Christmas."

Your heart skipped. "How do you know that?"

He shrugged, a casual gesture that didn't quite match the intensity of his gaze. "He tells me things. Some things, anyway."

There was something in his tone, not bitter, but not entirely at peace either. A complexity you couldn't quite untangle.

"Are you okay with it?" you asked suddenly, surprising yourself with the question. "With us, I mean."

Jeonghan looked at you then, really looked at you, his eyes searching yours for something you couldn't name. For a moment, you thought you saw a flash of raw emotion. Pain or longing or something in between. Before his expression settled into a gentle smile.

"I want you both to be happy," he said simply. "And you make each other happy. So yes, I'm okay with it."

He raised his glass, tapping it lightly against yours. "To the people I love most in this world finding each other," he said, his voice steady but soft, like a confession.

You clinked your glass against his, a weight lifting from shoulders you hadn't realized were tense. "Thank you," you said, meaning it more than he could know.

"Just promise me one thing," he added, setting his glass down and leaning forward slightly.

"Anything."

"Don't make me wear one of those awful groomsmen suits. I look terrible in pastels."

You laughed, the tension broken, and the conversation moved on. But later, as you were leaving, Jeonghan hugged you tighter than usual, his face buried briefly in your shoulder.

"Take care of him," he whispered, so quietly you almost missed it. "He deserves someone who sees all of him."

Before you could ask what he meant, he'd pulled away, his familiar grin back in place as he waved you off.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The wedding was in early spring, under cherry blossoms that scattered pale petals like snow whenever the breeze stirred.

A day soaked in sunlight and soft winds. The sky bloomed like watercolor: pinks, golds, and a gentle blue that looked like it had been painted just for the two of you. The venue was simple. An outdoor garden with rows of white chairs and an arch twined with flowers and greenery. Nothing extravagant, nothing that called for attention. Just like your love: quiet, steady, true.

Jeonghan stood beside Seungcheol before the ceremony, both in tailored suits that made them look older, more serious than you were used to seeing them. Through the partially open door of the preparation room, you caught glimpses of them: Jeonghan adjusting Seungcheol's tie with practiced fingers, their heads bent close in conversation, a moment of intimacy that made you pause, not wanting to intrude.

"You're shaking," Jeonghan said, his tone light as he smoothed the fabric of Seungcheol's lapel, fingers lingering just a moment too long.

Seungcheol exhaled, a shaky breath that betrayed his nerves. "You think I'm doing the right thing?"

There was a beat of silence—just long enough for something unspoken to pass between them, a current you could feel even from where you stood, unseen.

Jeonghan paused. Smiled. A smile that didn't quite reach his eyes but tried valiantly nonetheless. "You're doing the only thing that's ever made sense to you." he said, voice steady despite the slight tension in his shoulders.

He meant it. God, he meant it. The sincerity in his voice was unmistakable, even as something in his expression flickered. A shadow passing too quickly to identify, gone before it could fully form.

You stepped away then, not wanting to witness more of a moment that wasn't meant for you. Your wedding coordinator found you minutes later, ushering you into position for your entrance, fussing with the train of your dress, the placement of flowers in your hair.

You walked down the aisle, and the world held its breath.

Seungcheol looked at you like you were the only thing he'd ever waited for, his eyes bright with unshed tears, his smile trembling slightly at the edges. Jeonghan stood to the side, hands in front of him, heart beating slow and loud in his chest, you couldn't hear it, of course, but somehow you knew, could see it in the careful way he held himself, as if afraid to disturb the air around him.

He watched your vows. Watched Seungcheol tear up when you called him your safest place, your harbor in every storm. Watched as you slipped rings onto each other's fingers, promises made tangible in precious metal.

He laughed with the crowd when the officiant made a gentle joke. Toasted with the rest of them at the reception, glass raised high, smile fixed firmly in place.

And when it was his turn to speak, he stepped forward, raised his glass, and said:

"To the people who taught me what real love looks like. Not just the loud kind, but the quiet kind. The kind that doesn't ask for anything back."

His voice was steady, but something in it made the room fall silent, everyone leaning in slightly, drawn by the raw emotion barely contained in his measured words.

He looked at Seungcheol then, eyes soft in a way that made your breath catch.

"And to the ones who stay… no matter how much it hurts."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Most of the guests smiled, moved by what they perceived as a poetic tribute to marriage's endurance through difficulties. You smiled too, touched by his eloquence, by the depth of feeling in his toast.

Seungcheol's smile faltered for just a second. A barely perceptible crack in his joyful composure, a flash of something like recognition crossing his features before he recovered, raising his glass in acknowledgment.

No one noticed.

Except Jeonghan.

Who had seen everything, always.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Years later. The seasons had softened. Summer easing into autumn, passions settling into comfortable routines.

Your house has grown quieter. The parties less frequent, the messes smaller. You and Seungcheol had fallen into the gentle rhythm of long-term love. The kind of relationship where you could read each other's moods in the set of shoulders, the pace of breathing. Love settled differently after a few years, less like fire, more like gravity. Comfortable, warm. Something that didn't need to be named every day to be known.

You still had Jeonghan over sometimes. Not as often as before. He traveled more now—Tokyo with its neon glow that he captured in stunning night photography, Berlin where he claimed the coffee was better than anywhere else, sometimes just vanished for weeks at a time to go "find himself" in cities that didn't ask questions. But he always came back. Always found his way to your door with gifts from distant places and stories that seemed half-true at best.

This time, he brought orange wine and a new camera, sleek and vintage, another addition to his growing collection. Said he missed your cooking, though you both knew he was the better chef among the three of you. It was his way of saying he missed you, missed this, the comfort of familiar faces and shared history.

The rest of the boys came too, a reunion that filled your home with noise and laughter after months of relative quiet. Minghao and Mingyu yelling over the charcoal in the backyard, arguing about the proper way to grill meat as if their lives depended on it. Soonyoung trying to teach your dog a dance move, the poor animal looking thoroughly confused as he demonstrated what he swore was the next viral TikTok trend. Seungkwan and Hansol screaming in protest as Chan suggested yet another bizarre drinking game he'd learned from his coworkers. It was chaos. It was comfort. It was everything you'd always wanted to keep; This family you'd built, piece by piece, person by person.

You were inside plating dessert, a cake that had taken you hours to perfect, layers of chocolate and cream that you hoped would impress even Mingyu, who had become something of a food snob since starting culinary school. The kitchen was warm from the oven, the open window letting in the sounds of laughter from the backyard.

Jeonghan came in, slipping past the others and settling onto the kitchen counter with a quiet sigh. He looked tired, you noticed, not the kind of tired that came from a long day, but the bone-deep exhaustion that accumulated over years. Still beautiful, still quick to smile, but there was a heaviness to him that hadn't been there in your younger days.

Seungcheol stood at the sink, rinsing glasses, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, forearms wet with soapy water. "You still collect film cameras?" he asked, glancing at the one slung around Jeonghan's neck, the strap worn and fraying slightly from constant use.

Jeonghan nodded, spinning it in his hands, fingers tracing the familiar contours. "They're the only way I remember things right," he said, a note of wistfulness in his voice.

Seungcheol chuckled, the sound low and warm in the quiet kitchen. "You? Forget? Mr. 'I still remember what everyone wore to the first day of high school'?"

Jeonghan smiled. Not quite sad. Not quite anything. An expression that existed in the spaces between defined emotions. "Sometimes the things you remember aren't the ones you want to."

That gave Seungcheol pause. His hands stilled in the soapy water, a glass held motionless as he turned to look at Jeonghan, something unspoken passing between them.

The conversation moved on. You returned from the dining room, handed Jeonghan a slice of cake. He teased you about the uneven icing, the slight tilt of the top layer. You smacked his arm playfully, defending your creation. Everything was normal.

But something about that moment, those words, stuck. A splinter too small to remove but large enough to feel with every movement.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It wasn't until much later that Seungcheol understood.

The evening was winding down. Mingyu and Seokmin had volunteered to drive the more inebriated members of the group home. Joshua and Jeonghan were deep in conversation on the back porch, their voices a soft murmur carried occasionally through the open window. You were showing Hansol and Seungkwan the renovations you'd made to the guest bedroom, their enthusiastic commentary echoing down the hallway.

Seungcheol was in the garage, rummaging through old boxes, trying to find the extra bulbs for the patio lights that had mysteriously stopped working halfway through the evening. The garage was cluttered. Not messy, but full of the accumulated possessions of a life built together: holiday decorations, camping equipment used once a year, tools that Seungcheol insisted were essential despite your never having seen him use them.

The evening sun had already started dipping low, casting gold through the open doorway. Dust floated in the beams as he pushed aside old photo frames and tangled extension cords, the air thick with the scent of cardboard and faintly musty fabric.

Then he saw it. An old, worn photo album, tucked under a pile of forgotten board games. The cover was faded blue fabric, corners frayed from years of handling. He recognized it instantly. Jeonghan had made it years ago, back when the three of you were still inseparable, your lives woven tightly into each other's days. A graduation gift, he'd called it, though it had arrived months after the ceremony.

Seungcheol sat on the step leading up to the house, flipping it open with careful fingers. The binding creaked slightly, pages stiff from disuse.

Page after page, his smile grew: beach trips with sunburnt cheeks and wind-tangled hair, ice cream dripping down wrists in the summer heat. Movie nights on the couch, all of you piled together under blankets, faces illuminated by the blue glow of the television. Jeonghan's questionable bleached phase that had lasted exactly three weeks before he'd admitted defeat and returned to his natural color. Birthdays, holidays, ordinary Tuesday afternoons that had somehow warranted documentation.

A history, not just of events, but of feeling. Of belonging.

And near the back, tucked into the spine, was a single polaroid. Slightly faded, edges curling. Not inserted into the album proper but hidden, as if meant to be found only by someone who knew where to look.

Just Jeonghan and Seungcheol. Sitting on a rooftop; the one from Jeonghan's old apartment, the city sprawled out below them, lights beginning to flicker on as dusk settled. The photo wasn't posed. Just a moment caught by someone passing by, you, probably, though Seungcheol couldn't remember the specific occasion. He was laughing at something off-camera, head tilted back, eyes nearly closed in genuine mirth.

Jeonghan wasn't looking at the camera.

He was looking at him.

Looking at Seungcheol with an expression so raw, so unguarded, that it felt almost intrusive to see it now, years later, preserved in chemical and paper.

And in that stillness, something lodged in Seungcheol's chest. A realization that had perhaps always been there, dormant, waiting to be acknowledged.

Because it wasn't how you looked at Seungcheol. It wasn't how Jeonghan looked at you. It was how Jeonghan looked at him.

The quiet admiration. The ache tucked carefully into the curve of his smile. That same expression Seungcheol wore the first time he realized he loved you.

Everything shifted.

Memories he hadn't questioned suddenly glowed in new light. The way Jeonghan lingered after game nights, finding reasons to stay just a little longer when everyone else had gone. The way he stood beside Seungcheol during your wedding with his hands too still and eyes too calm, a perfect best man except for the slight tremor in his voice during his toast. The trips abroad that always coincided with your anniversaries, the gifts that were always exactly what Seungcheol needed but had never mentioned wanting.

It had never been about you. It was never about you. It was always him.

"Found the bulbs!" your voice called from behind, pulling Seungcheol out of it. You stepped into the garage, brushing your hands on your shorts. "Finally. They were in the kitchen drawer with the batteries, which makes absolutely no sense, but there they are."

You saw the album in his lap. And then the photo, still held between his fingers. "Oh," you murmured, crouching beside him, your shoulder warm against his. "That's from the old rooftop place, right? The one near the station. Before they turned it into those expensive apartments."

He nodded slowly, fingers still touching the edge of the photo, as if afraid it might disappear if he let go.

You looked at him, then back at the picture. A quiet beat passed. Then you reached out, taking the photo from his hand.

"I'll ask Jeonghan if he remembers this," you said gently, perceiving but not acknowledging the shift in your husband's demeanor. "He's upstairs, I think. Said something about borrowing a book from the office."

You didn't wait for an answer. Just leaned over, pressed a soft kiss to his temple, and headed back inside, leaving him with the album and the weight of understanding.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Later that night, the house was quiet.

The others had long gone home, the remnants of a loud evening now settled into silence. Empty plates still scattered across the kitchen counter, half-empty bottles of wine waiting to be corked, the lingering scent of charcoal and laughter hanging in the air. The living room, hours earlier filled with boisterous voices and overlapping stories, now stood in hushed reverence to the night. You had gone to bed after handing Jeonghan the photo, your footsteps fading up the stairs, leaving behind a trail of soft goodnights.

Seungcheol found himself wandering through the quiet house, turning off forgotten lamps, straightening cushions, his mind racing with revelations he couldn't quite process. Each object he touched seemed weighted with new meaning; the mugs Jeonghan always used when he visited, the blanket he'd gifted them three Christmases ago, the collection of polaroids magnetized to the refrigerator. Years of friendship suddenly illuminated by a different light.

He paused when he spotted movement on the balcony through the glass door. A silhouette against the city lights.

Jeonghan was there.

He always lingered.

Cross-legged in the deck chair, beer in hand, gaze unfocused on the skyline. The soft hush of traffic below mingled with distant sirens and the occasional laughter from a neighboring balcony. A breeze smelling faintly of summer rain. The kind of night that hummed with what's left unsaid. His hair, longer now than it had been in their youth, swayed gently, catching moonlight in silver strands.

Seungcheol slid the door open, the sound causing Jeonghan to tilt his head slightly, acknowledging his presence without turning.

"You're still here," Seungcheol said, his voice barely rising above the ambient sounds of the night.

Jeonghan didn't look over. "Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd steal the view a little longer." He took a slow sip from his bottle, his fingers wrapped around it with familiar ease. "Besides, the city looks different from this side of town. Prettier somehow."

Seungcheol sat across from him, the wicker chair creaking under his weight. Silence stretched between them. Not uncomfortable, just full, like a book with too many pages to read in one sitting.

Then Jeonghan spoke, voice quieter than usual, almost lost in the night breeze. "She showed it to me. The photo."

Seungcheol's chest tightened, a familiar ache now seen through new understanding. He watched Jeonghan's profile, searching for signs he might have missed all these years. "I found it earlier," he said, because there was no point pretending. "Didn't remember it until I saw it again."

Jeonghan let out a breath that seemed to carry years. "Neither did I. Funny how time makes you forget the things you thought you'd carry forever." He traced the rim of the bottle absently, eyes still fixed on some distant point in the cityscape. "And then suddenly, there it is again. Like it never left."

Seungcheol hesitated, words forming and dissolving on his tongue before he finally spoke. "The way you looked at me in it…"

Jeonghan finally turned to him. And for the first time in years, he didn't hide behind teasing smiles or deflecting jokes. His eyes, usually bright with mischief, now held only quiet resignation. "I know."

The words hung there between them, suspended in the balcony air. No denial. No dodge. Just the truth, quiet and steady as a heartbeat.

Seungcheol looked down, his fingers curling against his knees, memories reshuffling themselves in his mind. Every late-night conversation. Every lingering glance. Every time Jeonghan had stepped back, stepped aside, stepped away.

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" he asked, the question barely audible above the distant traffic.

"Because you loved her," Jeonghan said simply, his smile small but genuine. "And she loves you. And I wasn't going to be the reason something good broke." He looked back out at the city, the lights reflecting in his eyes. "Some things are worth protecting, even from yourself."

Seungcheol swallowed thickly, his throat tight with words he couldn't form. "You should've told me."

"And what would that have changed?" Jeonghan asked, with the gentlest smile, no trace of bitterness in his voice. "Would you have chosen differently?"

He didn't ask it accusingly. He wasn't trying to wound.

Just… wondering.

Seungcheol didn't answer. The night air filled with possibilities never explored, paths never taken, words never spoken.

Because maybe he wouldn't have.

Maybe he still would've found his way to you.

Maybe Jeonghan still would've stayed by his side, all the same.

"I meant it" Jeonghan said suddenly, softer now, eyes tracing the skyline with practiced care. "When I introduced you two. I thought you'd be good together. And I was right." He paused, taking another sip of his beer, his throat working as he swallowed. "You balance each other. Always have."

He turned then, meeting Seungcheol's gaze with the kind of directness they hadn't shared in years. "You're happy, right? With her?"

Seungcheol nodded slowly, the truth coming easily despite the complexity of the moment. "I am."

Jeonghan smiled, and this time it reached his eyes; warm, genuine, and tinged with something that looked almost like relief. "Then that's all I ever wanted."

He stood then, stretching his arms like he wasn't carrying a lifetime between his ribs, like the conversation hadn't exposed something both of them had spent years carefully avoiding. "I'll crash on the couch. Early flight tomorrow," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Milan this time. Fashion week. Lots of pretentious people." He laughed softly, almost to himself.

Seungcheol didn't stop him.

Didn't ask him to stay.

But as Jeonghan reached the door, he spoke once more, his voice steady. "Hannie."

Jeonghan paused, hand on the door handle, but didn't turn around.

"Thank you," Seungcheol said simply. For what, he didn't specify. For stepping aside, for keeping the secret, for remaining their friend despite everything, for all the years of quiet sacrifice.

Jeonghan's shoulders tensed briefly before relaxing. Without turning, he nodded once and slipped back inside, leaving Seungcheol alone with the night and all its unspoken truths.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

That night, Seungcheol climbed into bed beside you. You stirred faintly, curling closer in the darkness, your hand brushing his chest in your sleep, fingers instinctively seeking the familiar warmth of him. The sheets rustled softly as he settled, your breathing a gentle rhythm against the quiet of the night.

He stared at the ceiling, watching shadows from passing cars slide across it like silent ghosts.

He thought of Jeonghan.

Alone on the couch.

A photo in his pocket.

A thousand miles behind his smile.

And he did nothing.

Said nothing.

Because you didn't know.

And Jeonghan… Jeonghan would never let you know.

He closed his eyes, listening to the soft cadence of your breathing, feeling the gentle weight of your arm across his middle. In the darkness, he allowed himself to imagine, just for a moment, a different path.

One where he had seen, had known, had understood the look in Jeonghan's eyes years ago.

But the thought dissolved as quickly as it formed. Because here, in this bed, in this life, with you. This was his choice. This was his love. And even knowing what he now knew, he wouldn't change it.

So he pressed a kiss to your forehead and let sleep find him, certain in the knowledge that tomorrow, Jeonghan would be gone again. Off to another city, another adventure, but that he would always return. Because that was the promise they had made without words: to stay, to remain, to preserve this fragile, beautiful thing they had built together, even if it meant carrying quiet heartaches no one else could see.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

So the next time they saw each other, everything appeared the same.

The inside jokes flowing easily between them. The playful teasing about Jeonghan's latest hair color and Seungcheol's growing collection of dad jokes. The way Seungcheol passed Jeonghan his drink without needing to ask, already knowing exactly how he liked it. Two ice cubes, a splash more than the usual pour. The comfortable silence as they sat side by side on the porch swing, watching the neighborhood children chase fireflies across the lawn.

To anyone watching; to you, to their friends, to the world.

Nothing had changed.

But in the moments between laughter, something in their eyes lingered. Just for a breath. A silent acknowledgment, a shared secret held carefully between them like something precious and fragile.

Not regret.

Just memory.

And perhaps, in those quiet moments, a different kind of love than either had expected. One built not on possession or fulfillment, but on the quiet dignity of knowing and being known, of choosing to remain despite everything left unsaid.

Because sometimes, love lives quietly. Between heartbeats, across the years, woven into all the words they never found the courage to say. And sometimes, the softest silence speaks the loudest truth of all.

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whypisces · 8 days ago

Photo

Selena Gomez & the Scene - When the Sun Goes Down (2011) photoshoot

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whypisces · 8 days ago

Text

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whypisces · 10 days ago

Note

Can you please do a reading for Joshua Hong of seventeen? Tysm

He's likely going to continue to have issues/news related to his love life within the next several years. It might be rumors or could have some truth to those rumors. He's also not always very careful with his social media, leading clues about his love life here and there.

He's also likely to get into some bad news related to something he has said or possibly his alleged attitude. Something may be blown out of proportion or it could be a specific incident that leads to people examining his every move with a fine comb.

Throughout Joshua's life he's likely going to have issues related to women/people who identify as women/people who have strong feminine energy. It might be through romance, work interactions, friendships, or even family. If his boss is female or identifies themselves as female or has stronger feminine energy, he will very likely not get along with them. Even in a more longer term relationship or marriage, there'll be tension between him, his partner/spouse, and his mother or other female figure/someone with strong feminine energy. For some reason he'll be forced to pick sides and he will more likely side with the family member (non partner/non spouse).

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whypisces · 12 days ago

Text

EMAILS I CAN'T SENT [2]

✉ pairing: director of hr! lee jihoon x planning and recruitment specialist! f! reader ✉ wc: 8.3K of 16.4K (read part 1 here!) ✉ genre: semi-epistolary (in the form of emails and microsoft teams chats), a character study of lee jihoon, angst, it gets sad before it gets happy, coworkers to ????, etc etc etc ✉ warnings: mentions of alcohol, vaguely suggestive ✉ a/n: this is part of the that's showbiz, baby! collaboration. sooooo part 2 is finally here! as always the biggest thanks go to @studioeisa and our little collaboration that could <3 // and of course all my love to @haologram for the beta and the comments on my google doc that never fail to make me smile <3

read part one before reading this!

Jihoon never stays late.

It’s a fact as fundamental as the way the sun rises in the east, the way his coffee always has four pumps of vanilla, no less. He clocks out at five. It's a ritual: leave at five, drive home with the sun dipping just behind the skyline, an instrumental playlist humming through the speakers of a car that still smells like the vanilla air freshener Seungcheol gave him two years ago as a joke and he never removed. Routine. Predictable. Safe. Even you have begrudgingly accepted it.

So he should’ve, in theory, been halfway home by now—tapping his steering wheel at a red light, thinking about dinner or emails or nothing at all.

Instead, he’s walking past the glass boardroom, half-mindedly checking the time on his watch when the light catches his attention.

Still on.

He slows.

Inside, you’re hunched over the table. The massive oak thing is barely visible beneath the sprawl of paper and chaos: highlighters with their caps missing, a half-eaten protein bar, a thermos that’s probably gone cold. Your laptop is open to a spreadsheet, and you’re glaring at it like it’s insulted your ancestors. Your elbow knocks a pen off the table. You don’t even notice.

He stands in the hallway. Watches, just for a second. Tells himself he’s just curious. Just verifying you’re not setting the place on fire. That’s all.

But then you sigh. Not a little one either—this one’s heavy, drawn from someplace near your spine. You drop your pen and rub both hands over your face. When you drag them back through your hair, it messes it up even further. You look exhausted. Over it. Still stubbornly trying.

You make a sound that’s not quite a groan, not quite a whimper.

Something stirs in Jihoon’s chest. Something inconvenient.

He glances down the hall toward the exit, then back at you.

Exhales, slow and steady through his nose. Steps in.

The door opens with a soft click. You don’t notice until he crosses the room and places his bag down at the far end of the table. The sound of the zipper dragging across the wood makes you flinch.

You look up.

Your eyes widen like you’ve seen a ghost.

“Jihoon?” you ask, almost breathless. Your voice is hoarse, tired from silence.

He doesn’t meet your gaze as he pulls a chair out and sits down.

“Quarter two doesn’t build itself,” he murmurs, reaching for the top sheet in the closest stack.

You blink, startled. “You don’t—what are you—”

“I’m not repeating myself,” he says, eyes scanning the sheet. “This graph doesn’t match the data from last week’s headcount.”

You don’t argue. Just sit back down, dazed. And then, after a beat, you smile.

It’s not your usual smile, the bright, dazzling one you aim at the rest of the team. This one’s small. Almost reverent. Like you’re afraid moving too quickly might make him vanish.

Jihoon keeps his eyes on the page. His ears are pink.

He doesn’t sit close—of course not. But close enough. Close enough that when you both reach for the same report, your fingers graze.

Once.

Then again. When he passes you a revised schedule.

A third time, when your pinky nudges his knuckle as you cross out a deadline together, hands pressed side-by-side against the table.

He doesn’t flinch.

Doesn’t move away.

He finds your notes chaotic, color-coded with no logic he can follow. There are hearts around section titles. A doodle of what looks like a stress-eating cat in the margin of the turnover slide.

He wants to be annoyed.

But instead, he feels something else. Something gentler.

By the time the spreadsheet is tamed, the table looks clearer. There’s still a lot to do—but it no longer feels impossible. Just hard. Manageable.

You stretch your arms over your head and groan when your back cracks. “Jesus,” you mumble. “I’m dying.”

“Then who’s finishing the Q2 plan?” Jihoon deadpans.

You laugh, dropping your arms and looking at him like he’s said the funniest thing in the world.

He rolls his eyes—but it’s softer than usual.

He stands. Straightens the cuffs of his shirt. Adjusts his tie, more out of habit than need. Reaches for his bag.

You follow, and when your hand brushes his again, it doesn’t feel accidental.

This time, your fingers curl around his.

A squeeze.

“Thanks, Jihoon,” you say, low and sincere. “Really.”

He swallows once.

His throat feels tight.

He nods.

Because if he opens his mouth, the smile trying to claw its way out might be too obvious to hide.

And he doesn’t think he could take that.

Not yet.

Not if you smiled back.

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Final Push!

Hi team,

That planning meeting was our last one! Our Spring Gala next week will be a night to remember thanks to all of your hard work. To celebrate, how about a round at Lucky Strike tonight at 6? First round’s on me.

Y/N L/N Planning and Recruitment Specialist The Carat Company Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****

He’s late.

Not by much. Seven minutes, maybe, but still. Jihoon doesn’t do late. It makes his skin itch. Makes him check his watch twice as he stands outside the bar, staring through the tall windows.

It’s warm inside. Loud. Alive.

He can see flashes of familiar faces through the crowd: Samuel’s bright hair bobbing with laughter, Jisoo sipping something dark, Jihyo leaning in to whisper something conspiratorial to Wonwoo, who only shakes his head and smirks.

And then there’s you, at the bar, already a drink in hand. The glass sweats against your skin. Your shoulders are loose. You’re laughing at something someone says, head tipped back slightly, like you’re made of nothing but light and joy and ease.

Jihoon adjusts the collar of his jacket.

Then pushes the door open.

The first thing that hits him is the music: something bass-heavy and a little obnoxious. The second is Samuel, who lets out a full-bodied whoop the moment he spots Jihoon hovering near the entrance.

“LEE JIHOON!” he hollers, loud enough to draw attention. “Look who decided to stop being a corporate vampire and grace us with his presence!”

Jihoon’s ears go pink.

The team cheers. Someone claps him on the back (too hard), someone else shoves a drink into his hand. Wonwoo gives him a knowing look over the rim of his glass.

Jihoon exhales.

And, slowly, carefully, lets himself exhale a little more.

It’s awkward at first. Always is. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. His small talk is rusty, and he only half-hears most of what Seungcheol’s complaining about as they hover near the pool table.

But then someone tells a joke—some absurd story about a printer catching fire during last year’s performance reviews—and Jihoon snorts. Actually snorts. And someone laughs, and someone else echoes it, and the next thing he knows, he’s being pulled into a conversation, a rhythm. Jisoo teases him about his four-pump vanilla coffee, and Jihoon fires back without thinking. They laugh.

He laughs.

And then, he sees you again.

You’re alone at the bar now, nursing your drink, the condensation trailing down your fingers. When you catch him looking, you lift your glass slightly in greeting. Your smile isn’t loud. It’s just for him.

He walks over.

“Another?” he asks, nodding at your glass.

You arch a brow. “Offering to buy me a drink, Managing Director Lee?”

“Don't make it weird.”

“I think you just did,” you grin.

He orders whatever you’re drinking. Doesn't ask what it is. Doesn’t really care. He passes it to you and leans against the bar like it’s something he does every Monday.

You’re still smiling. “Didn’t think you’d come.”

“I RSVP’d.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d actually show.”

He huffs out something that might be a laugh. “I can commit to things, you know.”

“Mm,” you tease. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“You’re literally seeing it.”

“I don’t know,” you say, leaning in just slightly, “you still look like you’re trying to figure out how to file an HR report about being in a bar with your coworkers.”

“I’m not that uptight.”

You hum thoughtfully. “I didn’t say uptight. I said terrified.”

Jihoon narrows his eyes, but you’re already giggling into your drink, shoulders shaking with mirth. It’s reckless, the way he wants to reach out and touch your arm. To feel that warmth up close.

The crowd surges behind you then—someone jostles past, laughing loudly—and you stumble. Not far, not hard, but enough that your hands splay against his chest for balance. He steadies you automatically, hands warm around your waist, breath catching in his throat.

You don’t pull away.

Neither does he.

You’re so close now. Close enough that he can see the way your eyes soften as they meet his, close enough to catch the citrusy sweetness of your drink on your breath.

“Hi,” he says, barely more than a whisper.

“Hello,” you reply, like it’s something sacred.

His fingers tighten ever so slightly at your waist. Just enough.

And then—of course—Samuel barrels between you, slamming a tray of shots down on the bar with a cheer loud enough to wake the dead.

“Round two, LET’S GO!”

You blink. Step back. Jihoon lets go slowly, reluctantly, like every movement takes effort.

But your gaze finds his again across the bar, and your smile—soft and knowing—lingers longer than it should.

Jihoon swallows his sigh with the bottom of a tequila shot. And wonders, not for the first time, what the hell he’s gotten himself into.

By the time the bar crowd begins to thin, the neon lights outside have dulled to a low hum and the laughter has softened to a low murmur. Jihoon catches sight of you by the door, head bowed over your phone, thumb hovering over the Uber app.

It’s reflex, the way he moves toward you. The way the words tumble out before he has the time to question them.

“I’ll drive you home.”

You blink up at him, surprise painted across your face. “Oh! That’s sweet, Jihoon, but you really don’t have to—”

“Really,” he says again, firmer now. “It’s no trouble. You’re on the way.”

That’s a lie.

You are, in fact, not on the way. Not even remotely. You live a full twenty-five minutes in the opposite direction of Jihoon’s quiet, clean apartment with its well-stocked fridge and pristinely alphabetized bookshelf. And it is Monday. And his baby blue shirt is starting to wrinkle. And it is 8:53 p.m. And Jihoon should be asleep in seven minutes if he wants to keep to his ritual.

But none of that matters.

Not when the scent of citrus still clings to your lips, not when your laugh keeps echoing in his head, and not when he can still feel the ghost of your hands pressed against his chest. Jihoon thinks he might actually be dying. Or worse—falling.

You walk side by side down the quiet sidewalk. Your shoes click softly against the pavement. The air is cool and smells faintly of rain.

“Samuel respects you a lot,” you say after a beat, like it’s a casual observation. Like it’s not about to change the tilt of Jihoon’s entire universe.

He startles. “Really?”

You laugh, and it’s bright and clear, and Jihoon wants to bottle the sound and keep it in his jacket pocket. “Yeah, Jihoon. That kid hangs on to every word out of your mouth like it’s gospel. Might even start calling you Jesus at this point."

Jihoon hums. It starts in his chest, low and uncertain. Something warm twists under his ribs, unspools, catches behind his tongue.

He can’t stop himself.

“And you?” he asks.

You glance over. “What about me?”

“Do you… respect me?”

It’s quiet for a second. Just your footsteps and his, the gentle sway of the city at night, and the sound of Jihoon’s heartbeat suddenly pounding too close to his ears.

Then you stop walking.

Jihoon’s already regretting everything. Already planning the rapid backpedal, the awkward mumble, the way he’ll bury himself in work and imaginary meetings tomorrow just to pretend this never happened.

But then you turn to face him, and you look at him like’s made of soft glass.

“Of course I respect you, Jihoon,” you say, gentle. “Why would you even ask that?”

He flounders, suddenly seventeen again, awkward and unsure, staring at his shoes.

“Because of the…you know.. The— thattimeyousaideveryonefearsmeandnoonerespectsme,” he blurts in a single breath, words tangled and messy.

Your face falls. Not with annoyance, but with something far worse—regret. Real, raw, painful regret. And your voice, when it comes, is so soft it nearly undoes him.

“Oh, Jihoon.” You step into his space, not quite touching but close enough to feel the heat coming off you in waves. “I’m so sorry for that. I was stupid. So stupid. I was trying to make a joke and it was a really bad one—”

“It was a really bad joke,” he mutters, stubborn.

“I know. I know,” you agree immediately. “God, I know. I’m so sorry. It was unfair. You work so hard. You take care of this whole company and I—”

You stop. Look at him.

The silence stretches. The moment breathes.

And then your hand lifts, hesitant but sure, and rests against the inside of his wrist. Warm. Anchoring. Alive.

He swears he can feel every beat of his pulse through that single touch.

“Jihoon,” you breathe, cotton-soft. “I’m sorry. I respect you. We all do. I hope you know that.”

His throat bobs. He tries to speak, but the words get caught. He stares at you. Starts at your eyes, your mouth, the crinkle near your nose when you wait for him to say something. So he does.

“I like you,” he mutters to the ground.

Your brow creases. “Sorry?”

“I—” He clears his throat. Forces himself to look up. And this time, he says it like he means it. “I like you.”

Your smile starts slow.

And then it blooms.

Radiant. Blinding.

And you don’t say anything, not at first. You just close the remaining distance between you until Jihoon can smell the faint fruit of your drink again, can feel your breath on his lips as you whisper, “I like you too.”

And this time, when your lips brush his, Jihoon forgets about his bedtime. Forgets about the wrinkles in his shirt and the spreadsheet that’s due tomorrow. Forgets about the rules and rituals.

Because this—your mouth on his, your hand still cradling his wrist like it’s something precious—is everything he didn’t know he needed.

And for once, Lee Jihoon doesn’t think at all.

Jihoon drops you home like a man possessed. He drives with one hand on the wheel and the other still tingling, memorizing the shape of your fingers against his.

Outside your apartment, the air is heavy with spring. You fumble with your keys, laughter bubbling in your chest, but Jihoon has you pressed against the door before you can even get the key halfway into the lock.

He kisses like he doesn’t know how to stop. Like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth with his own. You taste like citrus and warmth and everything he’s tried not to want for months. You gasp into the kiss—breathless, delighted—and it drives him a little mad.

“Jihoon,” you whisper, breath hitching, as you break away for air. “We have a 9 a.m.”

“Mmm,” he hums, nosing against your cheek, already chasing your lips again. “Push the meeting. I’m the managing director.”

You laugh, bright and airy, and it lands somewhere deep in his chest.

“It’s with Wonwoo, you dumbass,” you manage through a grin, shoving lightly at his shoulder.

Jihoon grins, wide and boyish and not at all ashamed.

You finally get the door open, slipping inside, and before he can lean in again, you press your palm against his chest.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say, eyes dancing.

And then the door clicks shut between you.

Jihoon’s left staring at your brass door number, dazed.

From inside, muffled: “SEE YOU TOMORROW!”

He walks to his car like he’s drunk on something better than alcohol. Floats through red lights and quiet intersections, the world hushed and glowing.

At home, he doesn’t bother with his usual routine. Doesn’t iron his shirt for the next morning, doesn’t prep his protein shake or check his calendar for the fifth time.

Instead, he crawls into bed, fully clothed, sheets still cool against his back.

And with the lights still off and the city humming faintly outside his window, Jihoon presses a finger to his lips.

He grins into the dark.

He’s completely, hopelessly screwed.

[💬 Microsoft Teams – Direct Message to JEON WONWOO | 9:03 AM]

From: Jeon Wonwoo Jihoon. Where are you. We had a 9 AM????

From: Jeon Wonwoo Jihoon??? You never miss meetings. All okay?

[💬 Microsoft Teams – Direct Message to Y/N L/N | 9:12 AM]

To: Lee Jihoon Hey! All okay? You’re usually 10 minutes early to meetings. Didn’t see you in the office either.

To: Lee Jihoon not to sound alarmist but are you okay???? pls check in!

[💬 Microsoft Teams – Direct Message to JEON WONWOO | 9:23 AM]

From: Jeon Wonwoo I swear to God if you died on me, I will resurrect you just to kill you again. And then I’ll fire you.

[💬 Microsoft Teams – Direct Message between JEON WONWOO AND Y/N L/N | 9:36 AM]

To: Jeon Wonwoo he’s not answering me either do you think he’s okay? should someone go to his place? does anyone know where he lives???

From: Jeon Wonwoo I do. But let’s wait. I’ll give him until 10. If you hear from him before then, ping me.

from: 010-****-**** hey it’s y/n got your number from the personnel records are you okay?

missed call: 010-****-**** missed call (2) : 010-****-**** missed call (3) : 010-****-****

from: 010-****-**** jihoon please pick up just say you’re okay even just a “y”

missed call (4) : 010-****-**** missed call (5) : 010-****-****

from: 010-****-**** okay i’m going insane over here i’m about to send a wellness check to your apartment, please text back please.

He wakes up at 10:23 a.m.

10:23.

The numbers on the screen feel like a punch. He stares at them for a full second, trying to make them make sense—trying to force the ten into a five , the two into a zero. But it doesn’t shift. Doesn’t change.

10:23.

He doesn’t remember turning off his alarm. Doesn’t remember setting it.

Because he didn’t.

Because he’d stayed out too late. Hadn’t done his skincare. Hadn’t reviewed his calendar. Hadn’t ironed a shirt and hung it up outside his closet like he always does. He hadn't even refilled his water bottle for the morning.

Instead, he’d gotten home from Lucky Strike drunk on something that had nothing to do with alcohol. Had stood in his apartment with his shoes still on, his mouth still tingling from the last time he kissed you, and had done the unthinkable.

He'd let himself be happy.

And now—now he was paying for it.

He stumbles into the shower and curses when the water hits him ice-cold. There’s no time to wait for it to warm. He’s in and out in under three minutes, towel half-wrapped around his waist as he claws through his closet like a man possessed. Nothing’s ironed. Nothing’s ready. He yanks on a pair of black slacks that have a crease in the wrong place and grabs a shirt—gray, wrinkled, but button-down enough.

By 10:41 he’s in the car, banana between his teeth, seatbelt snapping across his chest as he pulls out of his parking garage like a bat out of hell.

His hair is still damp when he buzzes into the building.

No latte.

No smile from the barista who usually has it waiting for him.

No quiet morning.

Just shame.

He’s Lee Jihoon. Youngest Managing Director in Carat Company history. A man of systems. Of discipline. Of excellence.

Other people break routine. Other people make mistakes. Not him. Not him.

Except, this morning—he did.

When he finally sits down at his desk, breath caught somewhere between his chest and his throat, he pulls up his Teams window and writes the shortest message he can manage.

[💬 Microsoft Teams – Direct Message to JEON WONWOO | 11:09 AM]

To: Jeon Wonwoo Overslept. Sorry. Will reschedule Q2 meeting.

From: Jeon Wonwoo All good. Y/N was worried.

He doesn’t respond.

There are dozens of emails waiting in his inbox, and his phone buzzes every few seconds. He answers none of them.

He doesn’t look up when the door to the office opens. Doesn’t flinch when he hears your voice, bright and relieved.

“Oh thank God—where were you? I texted you, like, six times. I was going to ask Wonwoo to do a wellness check, I swear to God—”

He lifts his eyes slowly.

And then he breaks.

“I didn’t set my alarm,” he snaps.

Your smile falters. “Okay?”

He stands, abrupt and sharp, chair scraping behind him. “I didn’t set my alarm. I didn’t go to bed at nine. I didn’t iron my clothes. I didn’t prep for my meeting. You know why? Because I was out. At a happy hour. Because I said yes to something I never say yes to.”

You blink. “Jihoon, I didn’t mean—”

“No,” he cuts in, voice tight. “This matters. Because I don’t miss meetings. I don’t show up late. I don’t—” he gestures vaguely, a wide, frustrated sweep of his hand, “—break routine. But ever since you got here, it’s been one thing after another. The snack cabinet. The happy hour. The frog. You—”

He stops, breathing hard.

You’re staring at him like he’s sprouted wings. Or horns.

He knows he sounds ridiculous.

But he can’t stop.

“I was fine before you came here,” he finishes, quietly. “I had a system.”

Your voice is gentle, when you finally speak. Measured, but not unkind. “So you’re mad because… I broke your system?”

He doesn’t answer. His hands are fists at his sides.

And then, more softly still, you say, “Or are you mad because you liked it?”

Silence.

Jihoon’s jaw clenches. He turns back toward his desk.

You don’t press him.

Not at first.

But as your hand brushes the door handle, your voice comes again—quiet, but clear. “Things that only run on systems and don’t change aren’t people, Jihoon. They’re robots.”

You look at him for a moment longer, long enough for him to feel it like a weight, and then walk out, gently shutting the door behind you.

Jihoon sits. Opens his inbox. Stares at the blinking cursor of an apology draft he’s not sure how to finish.

His hands, once fists, slowly uncurl.

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] BCC: [email protected] Subject: Office Assignment Opportunity

Hello Y/N,

Just wanted to flag that a private office just opened up down the hall. It’s got great light, a bit quieter than your current setup. You’re more than welcome to move in if you’d prefer a little more space (and solitude!). Totally up to you, of course, your call.

Let facilities know if you need help with the move.

Cheers, Jeon Wonwoo Chief Executive Officer The Carat Company Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****

Jihoon reads it once. Then again.

Solitude.

The word clangs in his chest.

He stares at the timestamp. Sent last night. He hadn't noticed. He hadn't checked.

By the time he walks in the next morning—7:32 a.m., latte in hand, routine clinging to him like armor—your desk is gone.

The tapestry. The frog. The coffee mug with the sarcastic HR slogan. The sticky notes in five colors, and your keyboard, and your notebooks, and the framed printout of the "Go Team!" slide he still pretends to hate.

All gone.

Only the blankness remains, stark and cold against the beige paint. The corner of the office he hasn’t looked at empty in months.

His own reflection looks back at him in the polished screen of your left-behind monitor.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move.

He just stands there, latte cooling in his hand.

Routine restored. Silence reclaimed.

So why does it feel like loss?

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: [REVIEW REQUESTED] Q2 Planning Deck — First Draft Attached

Hello Mr. Lee,

Attached is the first draft of the Q2 planning deck, inclusive of updated retention metrics and proposed staffing ratios. Let me know if there are any revisions you’d like to see ahead of the next leadership sync.

Best, Y/N L/NPlanning and Recruitment Specialist The Carat Company Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****

To: [email protected]: [email protected]: RE: [REVIEW REQUESTED] Q2 Planning Deck — First Draft Attached

Y/N,

Slide 9: Update the attrition benchmarks to reflect latest April data. Slide 12: Replace “engagement uplift” phrasing with “measurable increase in satisfaction.” Appendix: Missing comparative analysis on contractor conversion rates. Please include.

Cheers, Lee Jihoon Managing Director, Human Resources The Carat Company Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]: RE: [REVIEW REQUESTED] Q2 Planning Deck — First Draft Attached

Revisions completed as requested. Please find the updated deck attached. Slide notes adjusted accordingly.

Y/N L/NPlanning and Recruitment Specialist The Carat Company Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****

To: [email protected]: [email protected]: RE: [REVIEW REQUESTED] Q2 Planning Deck — First Draft Attached

Reviewed. Deck is ready for leadership review. Please coordinate with Ops to finalize scheduling.

Cheers, Lee Jihoon Managing Director, Human Resources The Carat Company Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****

📁 Drafts — [email protected]

[1]

To: [email protected]:

I don’t know how to apologize.

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[2]

To: [email protected] Subject:

I’m sorry.

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[3]

To: [email protected] Subject:

I thought I liked the quiet. I thought I liked the routine.

I think I hate it now.

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[4]

To: [email protected] Subject:

I miss you.

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[5]

To: [email protected] Subject:

I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss

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[6]

To: [email protected] Subject:

Come back.

Please.

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[💬 Microsoft Teams – Direct Message to JEON WONWOO | 3:34 PM ]

From: Jeon Wonwoo You fucked up.

To: Jeon Wonwoo I know.

From: Jeon Wonwoo Then why haven’t you fixed it?

To: Jeon Wonwoo I don’t know how.

From: Jeon Wonwoo You hurt her.

To: Jeon Wonwoo I know.

From: Jeon Wonwoo She moved offices. She won’t even look at you.

To: Jeon Wonwoo I know.

From: Jeon Wonwoo Then do something.Before it’s too late.

From: Jeon Wonwoo [Attachment: Spring_Gala_Invite_FINAL.pdf] Funny, you helped design this. It’s tonight, you know.

To: Jeon Wonwoo I know.

From: Jeon Wonwoo Show up. Or don’t. Your choice.

It’s 5:07 PM and the sun has dipped low over the city.

Jihoon doesn’t even remember getting in the car.

One minute, he’s staring blankly at the blinking cursor on his screen — the Q2 org restructure report open, untouched, since before lunch — and the next, he’s outside, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles have gone pale. The office garage is slowly emptying out around him. He watches taillights blink down the ramp, fade into the pink-streaked blur of early evening.

He should go home.

He should heat up one of the frozen meals stacked in careful rows in his freezer, open the bottle of Barolo he’s been saving for no reason in particular, watch half an episode of that slow-burn legal thriller everyone says is “so him,” then go to sleep by 9:00pm sharp. He should iron his shirts for the week. Clean out the dishwasher. Pack tomorrow’s lunch.

Instead, he just sits.

The city buzzes quietly around him. Muffled laughter from a group of interns spilling out of the stairwell. A car alarm in the distance. His own breath, tight and even, misting faintly against the driver’s side window.

He doesn’t notice he’s pulled out his phone until it’s already dialing.

“Jihoon-ah,” his mother answers on the third ring. Her voice is warm, as familiar as the scent of roasted barley tea on Sundays. “You’re calling early. Everything okay?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

There’s a rustle on the other end of the line — her slippers against tile, maybe, or the sliding of a newspaper across the dining table.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he says finally.

A pause.

“Work?” she asks gently.

“Not exactly.” He rubs at the back of his neck. His collar’s stiff, too tight, like it’s choking him.

He hears her pull the phone closer. Imagines her sitting at the kitchen table, mug in hand, cat curled by her feet. Waiting.

“I had it all down,” he says. “The routine. The schedule. Wake, gym, shower, coffee, calendar, meeting, lunch, meeting, email, leave. Quiet. Predictable.”

“You’ve always liked predictable,” she says, not unkindly.

He exhales. A shaky breath.

“She wasn’t supposed to matter,” he murmurs.

“Ah.”

“She sits too close. She talks too much. Her handwriting is a disaster, and she uses Comic Sans in team decks just to piss me off. She brought a one-eyed frog mug and a tapestry into our office like she was claiming territory—like we were dorm roommates. She runs ten minutes late to every meeting, sings under her breath while drafting spreadsheets, and says things like ‘snack room vibes’ in quarterly planning.”

“And?” his mother prompts.

“And I think I’m in love with her,” Jihoon breathes. “God help me, I really think I am.”

The parking garage feels still all of a sudden. Like the city is holding its breath for him.

He lets the silence stretch. Stares at the dark shape of the rearview mirror. His own eyes, barely visible. Haunted.

“I just—” he starts. Stops. Inhales. Exhales. “I just don’t know how to let her in. Not without undoing all the things I’ve spent years building.”

“Then maybe it’s time to build new things.”

He frowns. “That’s not how it works.”

“Why not?”

Silence again. A dog barks outside his window. The sky burns orange against the high-rises.

“Routine is safe, Jihoon,” she says. “I know that better than anyone. But if all you do is keep yourself safe, you’ll miss the parts of life that are messy and terrifying and completely worth it.”

“I want her to respect me.”

“She does. I bet she did before you even knew her name.”

He presses his lips together. His chest tightens.

“And I want her to—” He breaks off. Stares at the traffic light. “I think I want her to love me.”

His mother’s voice is soft. “Then let her see you. The way you really are. Not just the title. Not just the clockwork.”

Another breath. Then—

“There’s a gala tonight.”

“Then go,” she says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“I don’t even know what tie to wear.”

“Wear the one that makes you feel brave,” she says, smiling, he can hear it.

He lets out something that almost passes for a laugh. “I don’t think I have one of those.”

“Then wear the one you wore when they made you managing director. You didn’t think you were brave then either, remember?”

That stops him cold.

He closes his eyes.

He does remember.

“Be good to her,” she breathes. “I love you.”

He hangs up gently. Stares out the windshield for a long time.

Then, slowly, Jihoon turns the keys in the ignition.

The car hums to life beneath his hands.

[💬 Microsoft Teams – Direct Message to JEON WONWOO | 7:23 PM ]

From: Jeon Wonwoo You’re late. You’re never late.

To: Jeon Wonwoo I know.

From: Jeon Wonwoo Interesting.

The Spring Gala is… breathtaking.

Jihoon’s never used that word before. Not seriously. But as he steps into the ballroom, he feels something catch in his throat. A pause. An ache. A stillness so sudden he forgets to breathe.

It’s not just elegant. It’s magic.

The lights are low, warm like candlelight, flickering across the gold accents laced through every centerpiece. There’s a live string quartet tucked into the corner, the soft trill of a cello drifting beneath the gentle clinking of glasses. Tables are covered in deep forest-green linens, each one topped with floral arrangements of pale blush and burnt orange and creams, tiny brass frogs nestled among the petals. Jihoon selfishly hopes it’s a quiet nod, maybe, to the one-eyed ceramic that used to sit between your desks.

Soft up-lighting dances across the ceiling in sweeping arcs. At the entrance, a custom neon sign glows: “To Another Season Together – TCC Spring Gala 2025.” The letters are rimmed in flowers. The letters match the font you always use—the one Jihoon used to mock, now memorized.

He blinks once. Twice.

And then his eyes find you.

And everything stops.

You’re standing near the head table in conversation with a small group of executives, the soft fabric of your floor-length dress catching the light with every movement. It’s deep emerald, the color of growth, of beginnings, and it hugs you like a secret. Your hair is swept to one side, gold clips gleaming like constellations. Your earrings swing with every tilt of your head. You're laughing at something Jisoo says, and Jihoon feels like someone’s sucked all the air out of the room.

He can’t breathe.

You look beautiful. God, you look radiant. And yet, when you catch sight of him, all that warmth bleeds from your expression like ink in water.

You walk right past him.

Your heels click like punctuation across the floor. You're all satin grace and practiced poise as you move toward the next wave of guests, Samuel at your side with his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows and a lanyard tucked into his pocket.

Jihoon turns, throat tight.

He doesn’t think. Just reaches.

His fingers curl gently around your wrist, only for you to yank away like he’s scalded you.

The shame hits fast. Low. Gnawing.

“Director Lee,” you say, voice perfectly modulated, all polished chill. You adjust your bracelet, not looking at him. “How nice of you to come.”

“I—uh.” His tie feels like a noose around his neck. He fingers the knot at his throat like it might unravel something in his chest. “It looks great. The gala. You… you look great.”

You don’t soften. You don’t smile.

“Didn’t think you’d get to see it,” you say evenly, “what with your penchant for never deviating from your schedule.”

Jihoon falters.

“I guess I deserved that one—”

“You did.”

There’s a silence, sharp as cut glass. He wets his lips.

“Can we talk?” he asks.

And for a second, just a second, he thinks you might say yes. Your eyes skim over him, cool and appraising. You step into his space, fingers reaching up to fix the knot of his tie with surgical precision.

You smooth it down.

And say, “No.”

Then you pivot on your heel, chin high. Walk away like it doesn’t cost you anything. You tug Samuel with you by the wrist, and he stumbles, glancing back once with a wide-eyed, apologetic look that makes Jihoon feel like he’s been left standing in the wreckage of his own making.

He doesn’t follow.

Not yet.

The music swells around him.

And Jihoon—Managing Director, chronic early riser, routine-bound, tightly-wound, not-feeling-anything Jihoon—finally feels what it’s like to want something enough to chase it.

He retreats to the bar.

Not far. Just enough to lick his wounds in peace, to press the sweating rim of a half-empty whiskey tumbler to his lips and pretend he doesn’t feel like the smallest man in the world.

Behind him, the gala spins onward. Laughter crests like waves, warm and vibrant. There’s a group on the dance floor now—Jihyo, Samuel, some new interns he doesn’t know by name yet. The lights are soft, golden, perfect. You did this. You made this.

He doesn’t belong in it.

He shifts his weight onto the barstool, straightens the already-perfect crease in his slacks, and stares blankly at the melting ice in his glass.

“Brooding at a party you helped plan is so on brand for you, Jihoon.”

Jihoon doesn’t have to look to know it’s Wonwoo.

Wonwoo leans against the bar beside him, posture loose, glass of red wine in one hand. There’s a slight smirk on his lips, but his voice is quiet. Careful.

Jihoon doesn’t answer.

Wonwoo knocks his shoulder gently against Jihoon’s. “She did a hell of a job, huh?”

Jihoon nods.

“And she looks—”

“I know.”

Wonwoo’s mouth quirks. “I was going to say radiant.”

“I know.”

They lapse into silence for a beat. Music drifts faintly from the speakers overhead: something jazzy and slow now, the kind of thing Jihoon normally hates. He can’t find it in himself to hate anything tonight.

Wonwoo shifts beside him. Swirls his wine.

“You know,” he says finally, and his voice is low, like he doesn’t want to interrupt the fragile world around them, “if you want her, Jihoon…”

Jihoon doesn’t move.

“You should go get her.”

There’s no teasing in Wonwoo’s voice. No smugness. Just a weight behind the words. A simple, heavy truth.

Jihoon blinks slowly at his drink.

When he stands, it’s with a sharp breath and the feeling of something electric coursing under his skin. He doesn’t know where the courage comes from—maybe from the base of his spine, maybe from his chest where your voice still lingers—but his feet are moving before his brain catches up.

He finds you on the balcony, not by accident, but after twenty minutes of circling the ballroom like a man in a maze.

You’re leaning against the railing, spine curved, a half-empty glass of something fizzy cupped between both hands. The light from inside hits your silhouette just barely, outlining the slope of your shoulders, the glint of a bracelet, the softest shift of breath.

He almost doesn’t approach.

He almost retreats, back into the crowd, to pretend he never saw you, to keep carrying the shame like a stone in his pocket. But then you tip your head back, sighing quietly into the night air, and he sees your shoulders lift—just slightly—as though exhaling something that hurt.

That’s what makes him move.

Your voice floats to him before he says anything. "I needed a break. From the crowd."

Jihoon clears his throat. His dress shoes click against the stone.

You don’t look at him.

Of course you don’t.

You take a sip from your drink, and the silence stretches.

“I came out here to find you,” he says at last. His voice is quiet, but not timid.

You nod once, gaze still fixed on the skyline.

“Didn’t think you were one to deviate from routine,” you murmur, and the words aren’t barbed, not quite, but they make him flinch all the same.

Jihoon swallows. “I needed to.”

Silence again. He hates it. Loves it. It’s still better than your coldness from earlier. He turns his head slightly. You’re bathed in the soft golden spill of light from the ballroom; your dress glimmers with it. Your eyes don’t meet his.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

His voice is low. Unsteady.

You blink once, slow. “For what?”

He opens his mouth. Nothing comes. He shifts his weight from foot to foot. The words are there—have been there, pressed against the back of his teeth for weeks—but when he tries to pull them out, they come slow. Crooked.

“For everything,” he manages.

You huff. It’s not cruel, but it isn’t kind either. “That’s not enough, Jihoon.”

And you start to turn—like the whole conversation has passed through you, like you’ve already braced yourself for disappointment.

He panics.

His hand catches your arm.

Not hard. Just enough.

Just enough to say: Wait. Please.

You go still.

Your skin is warm beneath his fingers. Your pulse, steady.

You don’t pull away.

His grip isn’t tight. He’d let go in an instant if you asked. But you don’t ask.

“I like routine,” he blurts. The words tumble. Not eloquent. Not planned. Not rehearsed the way they should’ve been. “I like things neat. I like symmetry. I like when things make sense. My life—it’s boxes. Lines. Fonts. My closet’s color-coded. My days are timed down to the minute.”

You say nothing. Just stare at him.

He’s rambling now. He knows it. He can’t stop.

“And you,” he breathes, “you don’t fit.”

Your eyes narrow, but you still don’t move.

“You burst in late with coffee stains and wild ideas. You use three different fonts in one presentation. You leave your shoes under your desk. You’re loud. You’re chaotic. You—”

He stops.

Swallows hard.

“You made me forget what quiet felt like,” he says.

Finally, your expression shifts. Just a little. Barely perceptible.

“You’re light,” he says, softer now. “And warmth. And you talk too much, and you laugh too loudly, and you planned a whole gala that turned out so beautiful it doesn’t even look like the same building anymore.”

He risks a step closer. His hand drops from your arm. But you still haven’t moved.

“And I’ve missed you.”

The words are raw. Unshielded.

He’s never been good at vulnerability. At messy things.

But you? You’ve always been a little bit messy. Maybe that’s why he likes you so much.

Your lips part. And for the first time since he hurt you, there’s something soft in your eyes. Something tender and tired and maybe a little fragile. Like sunrise peeking through cloud cover.

“Say it again,” you whisper.

Jihoon’s voice breaks. “I missed you.”

You breathe in.

And he holds his breath.

The quiet hum of the city falls away.

Jihoon is still watching you like he’s not sure you’re real, like the soft forgiveness in your eyes might vanish if he so much as blinks. The lights from the ballroom catch in your hair, turning it gold at the edges, and when you take one small step closer, it knocks the breath from his lungs.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again.

He says it like it’s sacred. Like maybe if he says it enough, it’ll be enough.

“I’m sorry,” Jihoon says, voice low and reverent. “For being cold. For shutting you out. For—” his throat bobs, “—for missing you and not knowing what to do with that.”

Your fingers trace the line of his wrist. “You could’ve started with a text.”

He huffs, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “You would’ve given me shit for my ‘corporatisms’.”

“I would’ve,” you agree. And then softer: “But I still would’ve answered.”

That does it.

He doesn’t ask permission. He knows he doesn’t need to. You’re already leaning in. And when he kisses you this time, it’s not tentative or slow. It’s not hesitant like the first time outside Lucky Strike, full of wonder and citrus and possibility.

It’s familiar now. Lived-in. Certain.

His mouth meets yours like a memory, like coming home after a storm. You know this rhythm. You know the sigh he gives when your hand slips into his hair, know the sound he makes when your teeth catch gently at his bottom lip. He angles his head, deepens it, hands sliding to your waist, pulling you in like you’re gravity.

You kiss him back with heat, with ache, with a quiet relief that tastes a little like victory. He’s not the same man who flinched when you suggested team happy hour, not the man who left his 9 a.m. slot sacred and untouchable. He’s here, now—messy and open and all yours.

When you break apart, breathless, you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then another to his cheek. Then one to his jaw, just because you can.

He smiles—really smiles—and his thumb strokes a line across your cheekbone.

You giggle, and the sound makes something in him melt. He can’t help it. He leans in again, plants a kiss to your cheek, then another at your temple. Then your jaw.

You kiss him back with a string of little pecks across his face: cheeks, nose, forehead, lips again. Between each kiss, you tease, “Bet this isn’t on your calendar, Managing Director.” Kiss. “Should I pencil it in for next time?” Kiss. “Repeatable KPI?” Kiss.

“God,” he groans, half-laughing now, arms winding around your waist. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

He pulls back, just enough to look at you fully. His tie’s gone crooked. His hair’s a mess. His heart’s beating so fast it might dislodge a rib.

Then, slowly, nervously, he holds a hand out into the night air, palm open between you.

“Wanna get out of here?”

You tilt your head. Your smile is pure trouble. “Isn’t it past your bedtime, Managing Director?”

He chuckles, leans in, breath warm as it ghosts along your jaw. “Every rule,” he murmurs, voice low and full of promise, “has exceptions.”

And when you take his hand, he holds on like he’ll never let go.

It’s 11:30 when Jihoon finally blinks awake.

The light has already claimed the room—morning sun slipping through the linen curtains he swore were “too thin” when his mom picked them out a few years ago, golden beams painting lazy stripes across the sheets, his bare chest, the tangle of limbs that is you, warm and heavy against him.

By now, he should be up. Should be padding across the apartment on silent feet, folding back the covers with military precision and slotting each pillow into its rightful corner. Should already be in the shower, after his Saturday push day—three sets of incline bench, two supersets with dumbbell flys and cable rows, core finisher, twenty minutes. No more, no less.

He should be out of the shower by 12:10. Should be halfway through his grocery list at the farmer’s market by 12:30 PM, the one he keeps on his Notes app with color-coded categories for protein, greens, fruit, pantry. He should be doing laundry.

But instead, he sighs, nose buried in your hair, and shifts just enough to tighten his grip on your waist. Pulls you closer, until your legs hook instinctively around his and your hand sprawls across his heart. His heart that is—he notices absently—beating just a little slower than usual.

You make a sleepy little noise, eyelids fluttering as your voice breaks the quiet. “Mmm. Don’t you have a shirt to be ironing right now?”

He huffs, rolls his eyes, pinches your side.

You shriek and try to squirm away, but he’s quicker, mouth finding yours before you can get far, swallowing your protest like it’s air.

“Quiet, you,” he mutters against your lips. “Let’s just go back to sleep for a little.”

You hum in reluctant agreement, settling against his chest like you’ve always belonged there. Your breaths even out again, your fingers tracing lazy patterns along the seam of his ribcage.

It’s quiet.

But not the empty, sterile kind of quiet Jihoon’s used to. Not the kind that echoes in a perfectly made bed or a silent inbox. This quiet is warm. Breathing. Laced with the faint sound of your heartbeat against his. It fills the room like a song he forgot he loved.

His eyes slip shut again.

“...But when we wake up,” he mumbles, lips brushing your forehead, “you’re coming to work out with me.”

“Jihoon—” You groan, muffled by his chest.

“What?” he grins, smug. “Can’t burn the entire rulebook on day one.”

You slap his chest lightly, and he laughs. Real, full-bodied. The sound of a man who’s finally learned that some things, like routines, can bend.

Especially for you.

📁 Drafts — [email protected]

[1]

To: [email protected] Subject:

Thank you for moving back to our office. I missed you.

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[2]

To: [email protected] Subject:

that skirt was not HR-appropriate but god, i hope you wear it again tomorrow.

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[3]

To: [email protected] Subject: It is 8PM please.

come home. i made you the pasta you like and the garlic bread

please come home.

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[4]

To: [email protected] Subject:

I love you.

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218 notes · View notes

whypisces · 13 days ago

Note

hi! i’d like to request a reading on jennie & seventeen jeonghan. what kind of a relationship they have and what they think about each other. thank you so much! 🤍

— jennie and jeonghan's connection + thoughts

jennie and jeonghan’s connection looks like one that balances between closeness and distance, a mix of give and take. they have an energy that shows they can genuinely enjoy each other’s company. they come across more as friends than anything else. their connection feels friendly, supportive, and lighthearted, with moments where they genuinely understand and enjoy each other. there’s a sense of care and emotional exchange, but it leans more toward companionship and mutual support. in public, their friendship might look lighter and more polite, especially because they’re from different groups and have public images to maintain. they’d probably be friendly and supportive, but keep their deeper bond behind the scenes.

jennie likely sees jeonghan as someone gentle and emotionally aware, a person who notices details and moods that others might overlook. she probably appreciates how he can be thoughtful without being overbearing. for jeonghan, jennie likely feels like a spark of warmth in his life, someone who’s confident, expressive, and full of personality. he probably admires how she carries herself and the way she interacts with the world, seeing her as someone vibrant but also grounded. he might also feel a gentle curiosity toward her, such as wanting to know her thoughts, her moods, her small preferences, etc. at the same time, he may worry about creating imbalance.

18 notes · View notes

whypisces · 14 days ago

Text

Imperfect love [PT.1] || csc

TITLE: Imperfect Love

PAIRING: CEO!Seungcheol x Heiress!Reader

TAGS: Arranged Marriage, Business AU, Angst, Fluff

WARNINGS: Explicit Language, Smut (18+, MDNI), Mature/Suggestive Themes, Unplanned Pregnancy (LMAO), Angstier than usual (No one dies, at least?)

WC: 20.1k

SUMMARY: There wasn’t a single day in your marriage that Choi Seungcheol wasn’t sincere, even when you wanted him to do the exact opposite, even when it hurt. The most hurtful truth of it all? You’re his wife, but you’ll always be the other woman.

A/N: Set in the same universe as Ready to Love and I Bet You Think About Me.

Choi Seungcheol never lies.

It’s his greatest strength and his greatest flaw all at once.

The clicking of your heels is the only sound that fills the hallway, save for the sound of Seungcheol’s leather soles a few paces behind you. Anyone who passed by would see that you were in a hurry, almost as if you were running from something. From Seungcheol? Or from the freshly broken news of your marriage to the man walking behind you? It would be odd if you were running from either, considering the fact that you’ve harbored romantic feelings for the man for years. Getting married to your first crush, your first love was literally a scenario taken straight out of the movies.

It’s starting to feel like a horror film, really.

Despite the fact that Seungcheol offered to walk you to your car, you can’t help but sense some level of animosity—maybe you’re overthinking it—radiating from him, and that’s what has you on edge. While you were practically jumping for joy in your seat during the meeting between your families, Seungcheol had been completely resigned. It was almost as if he was just nodding along to whatever his father was saying. He was the only one in that room that didn’t seem excited.

The atmosphere gets worse when the two of you enter the elevator.

Seungcheol holds it open for you, only entering when he sees that you’re safely inside. You don’t know if you’re happy at the gentlemanly act or horrified at the idea of walking in like a lamb for slaughter.

“Will you be able to attend the meeting with the wedding coordinator next week?” Comes your question when the silence becomes unbearable. It’s a shy attempt at small talk that seems wholly unnecessary considering the fact that Seungcheol didn’t seem all too interested in whatever you had to say.

Ouch.

“I might not be able to attend the one on Monday,” Seungcheol informs you, polite and composed. “I’m still in Paris by then, but I can make it to the meeting on Thursday.”

“Oh? What are you doing in Paris?” You ask in an attempt to get the conversation going. This was, after all, the longest conversation you’ve ever had with Seungcheol, and you weren’t about to let go of that opportunity. “There’s a really nice chocolaterie there. If you have time, you should drop by.”

Seungcheol smiles politely at your suggestion, but his eyes are trained onto the decreasing numbers on the wall of the elevator. “I need to meet someone there, but I’ll try to drop by.”

“A friend?” You suggest thoughtlessly.

“No,” Seungcheol shakes his head and pauses for a few seconds, uncertainty marring the polite facade on his face. “A lover.”

You can’t help the way your mouth falls open. A lover?

Choi Seungcheol had answered you in such a forward manner that you didn’t even know what to feel. Were you sad at the idea that your first love was in love with someone else? Yes. Were you confused that he was being so normal about it? Also yes. Were you jealous? Yes, but did you really have the right at this point in time? The most you were allowed to feel was offended, but you were too shocked at his bluntness to even feel that.

Seungcheol, taking notice of your reaction, is quick to speak again. “Don’t worry, I’m only going there to sort things with her. I know how much the marriage means to our families.”

Your conscience suddenly gnaws at you. If you had known that Seungcheol was already taken, you wouldn’t have agreed so enthusiastically to your mother’s offer. “Seungcheol we can still go back and decline–”

The elevator dings and the doors open. Seungcheol motions for you to exit, holding a hand out to keep the elevator from shutting. You exit and watch as he follows.

“There’s no need,” Seungcheol smiles at you, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You and I both know that we don’t really have a choice.”

Seungcheol is right, but it does nothing to tame the guilt that’s ripping your insides into shreds.

When you reach your car, Seungcheol is quick to open the door for you, and had you not just had the most depressing conversation, you would’ve been giddy and over the moon at his thoughtful gesture.

“Drive safe,” Seungcheol smiles.

There’s only a single thought in your head as you drive home that afternoon:

What have you done?

–

Upon hearing the news that Seungcheol had a lover hidden from his family somewhere in Paris, the guilt had consumed you so greatly that you spent the entire night tossing and turning and wondering how you could keep the wedding from happening.

For your first attempt, you tried to suggest that maybe there were other men that would be a better match for you. That idea was quickly shut down by your mother who had mentioned your feelings for Seungcheo, and she had proceeded to state just how wonderful of a match the two of you would be. Clearly, that first attempt was a failure.

For your second attempt, you told your father that maybe you weren’t ready for marriage, told him that maybe it was too early. Your father, ever the quick-witted man, brings up memories from your childhood where you pretended to be a bride at the cost of your mother’s closet full of designer. To seal the deal, he mentions that he and your mother were never truly prepared, but somehow they made it work. You wanted to argue that your lonely childhood would beg to differ, but you keep your mouth shut in favor of peace.

For your last attempt, you say no. No, you wouldn’t be marrying Seungcheol. No, you wouldn’t be giving up your freedom. You had pulled every single theatrical stunt you could to convince your parents, but neither of them were moved. In fact, you think they looked a little frustrated.

There was only so much you could do without revealing the truth, so in the end, the wedding pushes through.

You tried, you really did.

Seungcheol stands at the end of the aisle, tux crisp, hair styled, and smile picture-perfect. It has the butterflies in your stomach violently flapping their wings as you move closer and closer. If you hadn’t known the truth—if Seungcheol didn’t have some odd moral code that forced him to tell you that truth—then you think you would have considered this the happiest day in your otherwise tragic life.

The last thing you wanted was to end up like your parents who were forced into a marriage despite their incompatibilities. While they could have sorted their issues with a little communication and compromise, the two were so stubborn that you ended up paying the price for their dysfunction. There wasn’t a single memory in your childhood that wasn’t filled with heated screams and cold shoulders. You sincerely hoped that Seungcheol and you wouldn’t end up like that, but it honestly seemed like the two of you were doomed from the start. You wouldn’t blame Seungcheol if he resented you for ripping him away from the love of his life.

But it’s difficult to let go of the hope that maybe the two of you could work out when Seungcheol smiles at you like that.

When Seungcheol takes your hand and guides you up the steps with the most dashing smile, you make a promise to yourself: You’re going to make this marriage work. You’re not going to repeat your parents’ mistakes. Seungcheol may not love you now, but you were going to try your best to make this marriage easy on him. It was going to be so easy that he’ll have no choice but to fall in love with you.

You weren’t going to give yourself any other choice.

–

You deserved better.

It’s the only thing running through Seungcheol’s head as he takes your hand, careful to keep his grip in check lest you break like glass underneath his touch. You’re beautiful, breathtakingly so, and from the few interactions Seungcheol has had with you, he has a feeling your personality is just as pleasant. It makes him feel like an asshole, an absolute bastard for being in love with someone else. You were the kind of person that had to be loved with a whole heart, and that wasn’t something Seungcheol could offer anytime soon.

Seungcheol’s heart was stowed away in a little café in Paris, in the clutches of a woman who now probably despised his entire existence.

He could lie to you, he thinks as he watches you shyly steal glances at him from underneath your veil. Seungcheol could tell you he had miraculously moved on overnight and that he had fallen in love with you, just to spare your feelings, but he refuses to. Seungcheol doesn’t lie to the people who are important to him, and as someone who was about to become the woman he would spend the rest of his life with, you were the last person Choi Seungcheol would ever lie to…

Even if telling you the truth would only hurt you.

“You may now kiss the bride,” comes the officiant’s voice, and Seungcheol has to resist letting out a chuckle at the way your eyes go wide and your shoulders jolt. It’s imperceptible to the crowd, but Seungcheol has a front row seat to the way you look so nervous.

It’s when Seungcheol lifts your veil that he’s struck by reality all at once, his breath stolen by the metaphorical weight that’s crashing onto him with no mercy. With the veil out of the way, Seungcheol can no longer pretend that he’s getting married to the love of his life. Your features are clear as day, and though beautiful, are nothing like the ones he’s fallen in love with.

It felt wrong to kiss you with the thought of another woman lingering in his mind, but Seungcheol refuses to embarrass you and your families during an event that had the nation’s eyes on it.

With as much tenderness as he can muster, Seungcheol cups your cheeks and presses his lips against yours in a soft kiss that holds no love, warmth, or affection.

...while I do not love her, I am doing this out of respect for the fact that she will be my wife.

Seungcheol's own words in the letter addressed to his ex haunts him, a grim reminder of what he’s lost and what he’s doing it all for.

The rest of the day passes by in a blur, and the next thing Seungcheol knows he’s lying on your marital bed, freshly showered and absolutely exhausted from the day. He shuts his eyes for a second, lost in the softness of the sheets underneath him. Faintly, he can hear the sound of the hairdryer, a steady white noise that lulls him to a half-asleep state that he only snaps out of when the door to the bathroom opens with a light whoosh and shuts again with a soft click.

Even from his spot on the bed, Seungcheol can already get a soft whiff of your scent. It’s sweet, he thinks, it matches you.

“Seungcheol,” comes your soft voice, and Seungcheol is quick to sit up and give you his full attention.

“Yes?” He asks, watching as you sit on the space beside him on the bed. He notes your distance, notes how it was almost as if there was a boundary on the sheets that Seungcheol was unable to see.

“I want this to work,” You look a little uncertain, but your voice does not waver. “I know we aren’t in the best of circumstances, but I want us to get along.”

Seungcheol lips pull into a frown. Was he not being courteous enough? What could have given you the idea that the two of you wouldn’t get along? Sure, Seungcheol just had to let go of the only woman he ever truly loved to get married to you, but it’s not like you were at fault for that. It would be childish to blame you.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Seungcheol replies as his fingers twitch at his sides, itching to reach out to smooth the crease between your brows. However, he holds himself back. Touching you like that felt too… Close. It felt a little like betrayal. “I’m sorry if it seemed like I dislike you, but I’m really not blaming you for any of this. Believe me.”

“I know,” You smile at him, and that somewhat eases Seungcheol. “You don’t seem like the type of person to lie, but I just want to make sure.”

Seungcheol feels like there’s something deeper to your words, but he doesn’t pry. The two of you weren’t close enough for that.

You’re biting on your lip, fingers fiddling with the hem of your pants, and Seungcheol’s almost about to ask you what’s wrong, but you speak before he gets the chance, “Can I make a request, then?”

“Go ahead,” Seungcheol nods, fully turning his body to mirror you, legs crossed underneath him.

“Well, I have three requests, actually,” You look a little embarrassed as you say it. “You can tell me if it’s too much.”

Once you finish listing your requests, Seungcheol immediately agrees. Your requests were nothing, Seungcheol thinks, and honestly speaking, he wonders what prompted you to even request those things when they seemed like a given.

What made you think that any of it would be too much?

He does not love you, but some part of him wished he did, if only to soothe whatever ache made you like this.

You really did deserve better.

—

Choi Seungcheol is a diligent man.

It’s something you conclude five months into the marriage when you realize that he has never failed to grant your requests.

“My first request is that we should eat dinner together. You can eat every other meal outside, but I would like to eat dinner together, as much as possible.”

As a young child, you had grown up eating alone while one of the maids watched over you from a distance. Every once in a while, your mom or dad would drop by to greet you, but neither of them lingered too long, and they never did it together lest it led to another argument. Some part of you believed that some of their fights could’ve been fixed through a conversation over a warm meal, but you never really voiced it out.

You think that’s why that became your first request.

You’re not a good cook, and it’s something many people around you can attest to. You can do enough to get by, but you had been so used to having other people cook for you that you’ve failed to cultivate any skill whatsoever in the kitchen.

Clearly, cooking dinner for Seungcheol was a terrible idea, but you had to try.

The tonkatsu is half burnt, and in an effort to soothe your nerves, you flip it around to show the more palatable portion. They say that the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but you think that your cooking may just very well be Seungcheol’s quickest way to the grave, or at the very least, an upset stomach.

Maybe you should just ask Chef Wen to cook for tonight again—

“I’m home,” comes Seungcheol’s faint voice from the entrance of your home, and immediately, you place the plates onto the dinner table and wipe the sweat on your hand onto the apron you were wearing.

You were left with no other choice but to commit.

“You’re home early,” You greet Seungcheol who somehow found his way to the kitchen.

“It smells nice,” Seungcheol comments, walking in sniffing the air. When his eyes land on the table, his eyes are quick to light up. “Is that tonkatsu?”

He was about to be severely disappointed, and you don’t think you can stomach it. “An attempt…”

Seungcheol smiles at you, “It looks like a successful attempt. Did you make it?”

“Yes,” You reply, a little shy under his gaze. Could anyone blame you? Seungcheol’s dimples were practically winking at you! “It’s a little burnt, though, so don’t expect too much.”

Seungcheol takes a seat, and you do the same, eyes locked onto each of his moves as he grabs a piece. Your heart is pounding like a drum as you watch Seungcheol chew.

He flinches for a second, and you feel like you could pass out right on the spot.

“It’s good,” Seungcheol’s smile is pained as he gives you a thumbs up.

“Since when did you lie?” You huff out with a pout, feeling a little dejected. Was the tonkatsu so bad that he felt the need to lie to spare your feelings? You think it’s such an odd way of prioritizing things if that’s the case. “It’s clearly burnt.”

“It is,” Seungcheol nods in agreement as he gets another piece of tonkatsu. He was going to give himself a stomach ache if he kept this up. “But I’m not lying when I say that it’s good…”

“My wife took the time to cook it,” Seungcheol places a piece of tonkatsu on your plate—one of the less burnt ones, you note. “That makes it good.”

Screw you and your flowery words, Choi Seungcheol.

“My second request is that we should never sleep in separate rooms. Not for a long time, at least. Once or twice every once in a while is okay, but doing that for weeks… Well, I prefer we don’t do that.”

At first, your mother and father slept in separate rooms whenever they would fight. It was one of the ways you could tell that a major conflict had happened. Eventually, sleeping in separate rooms became their normal routine, and with the freedom to ignore their problems until it built up, the start of that normal routine inadvertently became the catalyst for the crumbling of their marriage.

It’s why you requested it despite the fact that you were technically sleeping next to someone who was an acquaintance at best.

Seungcheol slept really well, but you’ve come to realize that he needed to cling on to something before he was actually able to sleep. It didn’t matter if it was a pillow or a person, as long as he could wrap it in his arm and throw a leg over it, it was more than enough.

There are nights where you childishly wish that it had been you in that pillow’s place, safely tucked under Seungcheol’s weight with his buff arms caged around you, but you know it would be too intimate to ask of Seungcheol. You weren’t that close yet. You don’t think you’ll ever get that close at the rate the two of you were going.

Or so you thought.

The first thing you notice when you slip into consciousness is the fact that your back is uncharacteristically warm. The second thing you notice is the arm around your waist and the legs tangled with yours.

A little horrified and already imagining the worst case scenario (a thief sneaking into your bed and cuddling (?) you) you slowly turn your head backwards to investigate only to be met with the sight of—

Choi Seungcheol?

Before you can even process it, Seungcheol’s eyes are already opening and staring straight into yours.

With the most absolutely unbothered, breathtaking smile, he speaks in a low, raspy voice, “Good morning.”

Holyshityouthinkyourpantiesarewet

“Good morning,” You whisper out in reply. Honestly, you’re still trying to process the fact that your fantasy of becoming a stand-in for Seungcheol’s pillow was granted, but if he was going to be completely nonchalant about it, then why shouldn’t you? “Did you sleep well?”

“Mhm,” Seungcheol hums before stretching with a groan, and the arm on you is lifted momentarily before it quickly returns back to your waist like it was magnetized. “Slept better than usual, really.”

“I assume you’re going to keep doing this then?” You’re trying to be nonchalant about it, you really are, but the implication of Seungcheol’s words have you wanting to kick your feet and scream into your pillow like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“I will,” Seungcheol replies coolly before he suddenly gives you an uncertain look. “Unless you’re uncomfortable—“

You’re quick to put Seungcheol’s retreating arms back to what you now deem their rightful place. With the most unbothered tone you can muster, you reply, “I don’t mind.”

Seungcheol never sleeps with an extra pillow after that.

“My last request is that we have to talk to each other if there’s a problem. No matter how big or small it is.”

That request, you have yet to see fulfilled because surprisingly, married life with Choi Seungcheol was generally problem-free.

Except for the biggest problem of all. The one problem that neither of you would be able to solve even with all the communication in the world. The fact that Choi Seungcheol, despite his affectionate actions, was still in love with the woman from Paris. You see traces of her, even when you don’t look for it, even when you want to be blind to it.

It’s Sunday morning when you’re brutally reminded of the fact that despite living in his house, sharing his bed, and receiving his vows, you were the homewrecker.

After failing in your attempt to cook for Seungcheol, you decided to take a different approach: baking. The idea had struck you after you spotted a baking cookbook in Seungcheol’s living room, a fancy looking thing that had all the recipes written in a pretty cursive that you’re sure does not belong to Seungcheol. Briefly, you wonder if it belonged to his mother. You’d have to be careful with it, just in case.

You’re in the middle of whisking eggs when Seungcheol walks into the kitchen.

“What are you making?” Seungcheol asks, sliding into one of the seats before he rests his elbows on the kitchen island.

“Meringue,” You answer, hand still whisking away despite the burn in your forearms. No one told you that making this was akin to an arm workout. “Wanna try whisking this?”

You were honestly a little tired of beating the eggs, and you really didn’t mind if Seungcheol offered you an escape from it. For a second, you think you should’ve used the mixer instead of arrogantly pushing your agenda of doing everything manually to make it more special.

“I might ruin it.” Despite the hesitance in Seungcheol’s words, he takes the bowl and the whisk from you. “I don’t really bake.”

“Oh? Then who uses this?” You hold up the handwritten baking cookbook you found in the living room.

The clinking of the whisk pauses as Seungcheol’s eyes land on the cookbook. You can see the way his eyes glaze, like he’s seeing right through you and the cookbook. For a second, he hesitates.

“It’s Sohee’s,” comes Seungcheol’s soft answer, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve touched upon something you shouldn’t have. “My ex.”

Ah.

So that’s her name.

You can’t help it, the way your face quickly drops at the reminder that before you, there was her, and that without you, it would’ve been her. Seungcheol continues to whisk away, but you wonder if the same thoughts are running through his head. Did he wish it was her standing in front of him instead?

You wouldn’t blame him, if he did.

Hearing her name out loud somehow solidified her existence. Prior to this, she had been an idea, a construct, a memory you could brush off, but now? She’s real now. The cookbook in your hand is proof of her existence and evidence of your crime.

“What’s she like?” You can’t help but ask. You were already hurting to the point of numbness, anyway. What difference would it make if you drove the knife a little deeper?

And Choi Seungcheol…

Choi Seungcheol never lies, and he never withholds the truth from those with the courage to ask.

(Was it courage on your end?)

“Strong, kind,” Seungcheol breathes it out in a way akin to reverence, his words laced with an affection foreign to you. “She’s very beautiful, but… It’s the last thing you’ll notice with her when she has so much to offer.”

And somehow that made it worse.

The universe is mocking you, and Seungcheol is its unknowing vessel.

You came from a family that gained their wealth from exploiting the vanity of people. Beauty was the only thing that mattered in your shallow, perfectly curated circle. After all, a personality cannot impress with a single glance, but an ugly face can destroy an impression for life. Your mother made sure that you took care of your looks, the one thing she actually praises you for.

Maybe that’s why it stung to hear that Sohee’s beauty was the least interesting thing about her.

“Is she doing well?” You ask. It’s a question bearing a high risk and a high reward, and the outcome all depends on Seungcheol’s answer. You hope you get the reward. If only to mend the rip in your heart and dampen the hit to your ego.

“I don’t know,” Seungcheol’s face turns grim as he answers. “I cut all ties with her before the wedding.”

You got the reward.

But why did it feel like you still lost?

—

You made Choi Seungcheol feel things.

He didn’t know what things, but he felt them.

It’s not love, if anyone was going to ask. He knew what love felt like. It was calm, slow, and comfortable. Not that he was an expert on love, but that’s what he felt with Sohee. So surely, that must be it?

Yes, it must be.

With you… It was the opposite. There was nothing calm, slow, and comfortable about the way Seungcheol felt around you. So if that was the case, did Seungcheol hate you? He knew what hatred felt like, and that’s definitely not what he felt for you.

Seungcheol doesn’t feel calm around you. In fact, it’s his first instinct to freeze whenever you walk into a room. He’s paralyzed by the multiple thoughts that run through his head at the sight of you. What should he do? What should he say? Did he brush his teeth? Did you just laugh at his joke? What did he say? Should he try to be funnier next time? When is the next time—

You get the point.

While it’s gotten better over the past few months, Seungcheol still has constant racing thoughts around you. Sure, he was married to you, but part of him was still hellbent on impressing you and making your life as easy as it can be with his intervention. After all, his father didn’t raise him—he could end the sentence there, honestly—to be someone who does things without doing it exceptionally.

So yes, Seungcheol definitely doesn’t feel calm around you.

As for slow? Nothing was ever slow with you, either.

With you, Seungcheol is constantly rushing. He signs and reviews the paperworks on his desk like the hands of the clock are blades at his throat. He had to make sure that the stack on his desk was cleaned by the end of the day so that he could keep fulfilling your request of eating dinner together.

Not only that, but he was also rushing around you! Over the past few months that Seungcheol has been with you, he has come to realize that you had a tendency of running into things, hitting your head, and tripping on air. You made Mingyu look coordinated, and Mingyu was the clumsiest person Seungcheol knew prior to you. His days at home are spent blocking the edges of countertops with his hand, closing cabinets before you can hit your head, and running over to you the moment you trip over your own feet.

And comfortable? Seungcheol was never truly comfortable around you. However, he thinks he’s entirely to blame for this one.

Seungcheol always feels a certain degree of unease in your presence, like he’s doing something he shouldn’t be. He sees the way your eyes linger on the cookbook that belongs to Sohee, sees the way your eyes fall at the mention of the woman, sees the way you cave in on yourself when anyone even mentions the word Paris.

Every second he’s around you, he’s worried that something related to Sohee will resurface, and he’ll have to see the way your face falls and your eyes go blank. The worst part of it all is that he can’t do anything about it. He can’t soothe your fears by telling you that he was no longer in love with her because if he did then he’d be lying to you.

And Seungcheol refuses to lie to you.

But he knows telling you the truth hurts you too, and he finds that he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place, and it’s so uncomfortable.

Seungcheol knows you deserve better, but he’s not sure if he can be that. If he showed up for you, he would be abandoning Sohee for good, and if he abandoned Sohee for good, then was everything he told her a lie? Just thinking about it makes his head hurt because how exactly do you choose between the love of your life and your wife when they’re two different people?

Seungcheol’s working solution is to rip himself in two, body and soul, one for you and one for Sohee.

“Are you free next week?” Seungcheol asks, gaze following your form as you clean up the bowl that once held the meringue. It had been a failure, and you had swiftly concluded that baking wasn’t your strong suit.

Seungcheol wonders if there’s more to it than that.

“I’ll have to check with my assistant,” You reply as you dry your hands with the towel. You turn to look at him a little suspiciously. “Why?”

Seungcheol doesn’t really know the answer either. The only thing he knows is that he hates watching the smile fall from your face, and he’ll do what he can to bring it back. “We haven’t had our honeymoon.”

“Is this your subtle way of asking me on a honeymoon trip?” Your tone is playful and your smile reflects it, but Seungcheol can tell it stops at your cheeks. Your eyes were still blank.

Seungcheol can feel the familiar unease sink in.

“Is it bad for a husband to want to spend a week alone with his wife?” Seungcheol returns your playful facade, and he hopes that some of his sincerity will bleed in through your ears and seep into your eyes.

“I guess not,” There’s a spark, but it’s faint, and it flickers, but Seungcheol prefers it over that glassy, faraway look in your gaze. “I’ll update you.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Seungcheol smiles.

Fuck, he hasn’t checked his schedule.

—

If Yoon Jeonghan had 1,000 won for every time a troubled husband spilled his feelings in the middle of lunch with him, he would now have 2,000. It isn’t much in this economy, but it’s odd that he has somehow had the misfortune of becoming Cupid twice. First, Mingyu, and now, Seungcheol.

He ought to start charging these idiots, really.

“So you’re telling me that you’re still in love with your ex, but you feel bad for your wife?” Jeonghan doesn’t know if he wants to be sympathetic or punch Seungcheol straight in the mouth. “The answer is clear, you know that right?”

“If it was, then I wouldn’t be asking you,” Seungcheol grumbles in a tone that Jeonghan knows is a telltale sign that the man is about to sulk.

“Forget Sohee,” Jeonghan knows it’s harsh, but Seungcheol is old enough to know right from wrong. “You’re a married man, Choi Seungcheol. You need to start acting like it.”

“Jeonghan-ah, I’m in love with her,” Seungcheol says with his full chest, and Jeonghan has to bite back the extremely colorful words that are threatening to spill from his mouth. “It’s not that easy–”

“Are you even trying?” Jeonghan can’t help the way he snarks, and honestly, part of him feels a little bad. It’s easy for him to take your side because he doesn’t know Sohee that well, only hearing about her from Mingyu–not even from Seungcheol–who was friends with her. You, on the other hand, were a friend, and he has enough self-awareness to acknowledge that maybe he was being a little biased by taking your side. “Your relationship with Sohee barely lasted a year. It can’t be that hard.”

“I’ve been in love with her since we were kids.” Seungcheol’s voice is leveled, but Jeonghan doesn’t miss the way the man’s jaw clenches. “I can’t let go of her like it’s nothing.”

“Well, sorry. I didn’t know that,” Jeonghan’s voice is sarcastic, but he’s saying nothing but the truth. He was Seungcheol’s closest friend, but somehow it’s only now that he’s hearing about Seungcheol’s history with the woman? “Do you even want to move on from her? It doesn’t sound like you do.”

“I don’t know,” Seungcheol slumps against the chair, defeated. “I really don’t know.”

“But you want to make your wife happy, right?” Jeonghan asks, and when Seungcheol nods, he continues. “Then forget Sohee.”

The way Seungcheol’s gaze sharpens at Jeonghan’s words does nothing to intimidate the latter. Jeonghan’s just saying it as it is, and if Seungcheol couldn’t live with that, then he shouldn’t go to Jeonghan for advice.

“Or at the very least, try.” Jeonghan only says it to partially soothe his friend. He’s an ass, sure, but he still cared for his friends.

“Focus on your wife, Seungcheol,” Jeonghan adds with a sigh. He can’t believe he even has to say that. “Take her on a date, get her flowers. I don’t know, man. Go ask Mingyu how to make women happy or something. He’s the one who’s good at that.”

“We’re going on a trip next week, actually,” Seungcheol replies. “And I’m getting people to clean out Sohee’s things from the house. It might help.”

“You’re only doing that now?” Jeonghan stares at Seungcheol incredulously, and Seungcheol just gives him a tired look. “Ok, sorry, I won’t, but you better make the most of that trip. She’s your wife. Start acting like she is.”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol’s voice is soft, but Jeonghan can see that little spark in his eye, the one that Jeonghan sees when Seungcheol’s stubbornness is confronted with a seemingly unconquerable challenge. “I’ll try–”

“You will,” Jeonghan corrects. “Since when did you do things halfway?”

Something in Seungcheol’s eye tells Jeonghan that Sohee would be buried in the past. However, whether it would be sooner or later, Jeonghan wasn’t sure.

–

Day 1, Solis Mane

This is the closest thing to paradise on earth, you think.

The sunlight that filters through the foliage is warm against your skin, the breeze from the ocean is cool against your face, and the sand sprawling for miles on end is soft underneath your feet.

Seungcheol knew how to pick a vacation spot, alright.

Quietly, you walk along the sparsely populated shore with nothing but the sound of the waves retreating and returning to accompany you. Seungcheol had told you to explore a little while he spoke with Solis Mane’s owner, a friend of his who had flown out to the island as soon as news of Seungcheol’s visit reached the man. Though it seems a little selfish to cut their reunion short, you hope they finish soon, if only to have Seungcheol all to yourself in this shoreline.

It was supposed to be your honeymoon trip after all.

Holy shit, were you guys going to fu—

“Sorry I took a while,” Seungcheol’s voice keeps your thoughts from veering into untouched territory. “Joshua can get talkative. He’s hoping to have breakfast…”

Seungcheol’s words are tuned out the moment you get a good look at him. Somehow, he looked even better underneath the sun, hair tousled by the wind and skin shiny from a light layer of sweat. The man was fully clothed, and you were already going feral. How the hell would you manage when you guys had to go swimming?!

Maybe you’re getting too ahead of yourself, but could you blame a girl when she just got a small view of that broad chest—

Seungcheol calls your name, and immediately, your eyes snap from his chest—it was looking at you, you swear—to his face. His brow is raised in question, and one corner of his mouth is lifted in a smirk that’s nothing short of smug.

Clearly, you’ve been caught.

“Sorry? What were you saying? I was lost in thought,” You’re surprised you’re still speaking straight despite the clawing urge to dig through the sand and bury yourself alive from embarrassment.

“I was saying that Joshua would like to have breakfast with us tomorrow,” Seungcheol’s tone is smug as he takes a step towards you, leaning down until his face is only a few centimeters away from yours. “But I think you were too busy enjoying the view, no?”

You had two options: Option A, flirt back and hope that Seungcheol reciprocates, and Option B, crash like an old computer that can’t seem to run the file named flirting.exe.

Stupidly, your instinct jumps to pick Option B.

“Huh?”

Wow.

Congratulations on your language proficiency score.

Seungcheol laughs, one hand reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Don’t worry, you’re free to look all you want.”

His words and gestures have you flustered, cheeks heating and heart racing. A little embarrassed and eager to take control of the conversation, you muster your most unimpressed look and speak, “There’s nothing to see, though?”

You see the way Seungcheol’s face flickers into confusion before it morphs into something that looks like he’s plotting. There’s a mischievous grin on his face and a fire in his eyes that has you wondering if you just dug your own grave and polished your own casket. Why did Seungcheol look like he was accepting a challenge? No challenge was made!

“We’ll see,” Seungcheol says before pulling at your hand lightly to get you walking. “Let’s go back to the villa for now. I’m a little tired.”

“Okay,” You reply, following him. The flight had been long, and if you were being honest, you were ready to tap out for the day. However, that wasn’t your primary concern, Seungcheol’s cryptic words and determined expression was.

Something tells you that you’re going to regret your words.

—

Day 2, Solis Mane

A soft call of your name pulls you out from the grasp of sleep, your eyes slowly fluttering open only to be met with the sight of Seungcheol’s handsome face.

What a great way to start the day, you think.

“Wake up, sleepyhead.” Seungcheol says, flashing you a small smile as you yawn and stretch on the bed. “We’re having breakfast with Joshua today.”

Suddenly, you’re fully awake and sitting straight up. You refused to make a horrible first impression. Embarrassing Seungcheol by being late to the breakfast meeting his friend invited the two of you to was the last thing you wanted to do.

“How long do I have before we meet him?” You ask, jumping out of bed without even sparing Seungcheol a glance as you pull out a dress from the closet. “Please tell me I have 30 minutes, at least.”

“You’ve got an hour, relax,” Seungcheol replies as he watches as you run back and forth in different spots in the bedroom to gather your things. “Joshua’s very laid back. He won’t mind if we’re a few minutes late.”

You frown as you turn to Seungcheol, “Still, I don’t want to give him a bad impression—“

It’s the first time you’re actually looking—like, really looking—at Seungcheol that morning, and you’re realizing that the universe has decided to finally enact its vengeance for your stupidity yesterday. Instead of his usual clothes that leave room for your brain’s creativity, Choi Seungcheol is now wearing a white sleeveless top and shorts, and while appropriate for the setting, it’s completely detrimental to your mental health.

“There’s nothing to see, though?”

Your own words haunt you now.

How the hell were you going to meet Joshua and carry a proper conversation when the only thing you can think of is what it would feel like to sink your teeth into Seungcheol’s biceps?

“I’m going to shower,” You announce quickly, praying that Seungcheol didn’t notice the way you were flustered.

“Is it a cold one?” You hear Seungcheol call out from behind you with a laugh, and you’re quick to glare at him before slamming the bathroom door.

Well, so much for hoping he didn’t notice.

—

Seungcheol finds this newfound dynamic between the two of you entertaining.

In the past few months of your marriage, you never really gave a sign that you found Seungcheol attractive. You were always so polite and composed in how you interacted with him. Of course, there were times that gave Seungcheol an inkling that you may find him a teeny tiny bit attractive, like when you’d get flustered by his words or his casual touch, but to him, that doesn’t really say much.

Yesterday, however, changes things, and now, Seungcheol realizes that you may actually find him more attractive than he thought you did. He sees the way your gaze lingers when you think he isn’t looking, sees the way you get flustered when he flirts here and there, and he definitely sees the way your eyes trail over his form instead of his face. It’s good news to him, and maybe bad news for you because Seungcheol was not going to go easy on you. There was just something about flustering such a pretty woman that got Seungcheol going, really. Plus, no harm in a little playful flirting with his wife, no? It’ll be a great bonding experience for you both.

The two of you were on a honeymoon after all. If anything, the two of you should be doing more than flirting, but Seungcheol is a gentleman; He isn’t going to pounce on you unless you give him a sign.

“Ok, I’m ready.”

At the sound of your voice, Seungcheol shuts his phone off and sits up from the bed. There’s a flirtatious remark on the tip of Seungcheol’s tongue, but it disappears the moment his eyes lock onto you. All of a sudden, Seungcheol’s mouth is dry and the words are stuck in his throat.

You’re in a flowy white dress with a slit that bares one leg. The straps are thin, and the neckline plunges tastefully. The material isn’t that thick, perfect for the weather, and Seungcheol thinks that if he stared hard enough, he can see the faint blue of what he assumes to be your swimsuit underneath it.

(The demon on his shoulder hopes it’s a two-piece.)

“Enjoying the view?” Your teasing tone and the smug look on your face snaps Seungcheol out of his trance. “Don’t worry, you’re free to look all you want.”

You had just thrown his words back at him. With a flip of your hair and a sway of your hips that Seungcheol made sure to engrave to memory, you leave the bedroom. He realizes that you aren’t going down without a fight.

Seungcheol is definitely going to enjoy this new dynamic.

By the time you and Seungcheol arrive at the resort’s main restaurant, Joshua is already there, sipping from a glass of mango juice as he flips through the pages of a book with a pensive look.

“Joshua’s already here,” Seungcheol presses a hand against the small of your back to guide you into his friend's direction.

“Are we late? I didn’t wear a watch.” The worry in your voice is palpable as you get closer and closer to Joshua who’s still engrossed in his book.

“No,” Seungcheol takes a look at the silver watch on his wrist and shakes his head. “Joshua just has a habit of being early.”

“Good to hear,” You sigh out in relief.

Almost as if he could sense Seungcheol’s arrival, Joshua peels his eyes away from the book and immediately stands up with his arms wide open when his eyes make contact with Seungcheol’s. “Long time no see!”

“We saw each other yesterday,” Seungcheol snorts as he pats his friend on the back. When he pulls away, his hand is quick to find your waist and pull you against his side. “Y/N, this is Joshua Hong. He’s the owner of this resort and my longtime friend, and Joshua, this is Y/N L/N, my wife.”

Seungcheol makes sure to note the way you seem to glow at the words ‘my wife’.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. L/N. I apologize for not making it to the wedding.” Joshua bows lightly as he gives your hand a firm shake. “You’re even more beautiful than they say you are. Seungcheol’s a very lucky man.”

Something flares in Seungcheol’s stomach at that, but he’s not really sure what it is. Annoyance? Jealousy? Possessiveness? He’s not sure which, but whatever it was, it had him wanting to pull your hand away from the man’s touch.

“You’re too kind, Mr. Hong, and no worries regarding the wedding, I completely understand.” You smile softly at Joshua, and Seungcheol has to resist the urge to start sulking then and there. Why were you smiling so sweetly at his friend? You should be reserving that kind of smile for him! “You have a very lovely place. I could live here forever, really.”

“Oh, please call me Joshua,” Joshua replies with a smile just as bright as yours. “You’re free to visit Solis Mane any time, and you can stay as long as you want. We’re friends now, after all. But do take a seat, they’ll be serving breakfast soon.”

It only takes a few minutes before breakfast arrives: a bountiful spread of local cuisines mixed in with some familiar dishes from home. You’re chattering away with Joshua, already acting like the best of friends while Seungcheol quietly chews through his food.

How annoying, he thinks. Seungcheol realizes that he isn’t quite used to sharing your attention with other people. It’s even more frustrating that you’re suddenly so casual with Joshua when it took you a few weeks to warm up to him.

Maybe he was jealous.

“So how’s married life treating the two of you?” Joshua asks, eyes flickering between you and Seungcheol. “I’m a bachelor, so I can only live vicariously through my married friends.”

“It’s great,” Seungcheol takes the opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, one hand falling onto your thigh to squeeze it affectionately like a husband who just couldn’t take his hands off his wife. Joshua didn’t need to know that this was the first time Seungcheol was touching you so boldly. “Don’t you think so?”

Seungcheol resists the urge to smirk when he sees you try to discreetly press your thighs together, squirming under the way Seungcheol’s thumb rubs up and down your thigh over the fabric of your dress.

“He can be a handful, but he treats me well,” comes your reply. Your tone is smooth, and only Seungcheol can pick up on the slight waver in it.

If Joshua wasn’t here, Seungcheol would’ve informed you that he was more than just a handful, and he’d prove it to you if you wanted to. However, Seungcheol still had a bit of shame, and out of respect for you, he instead replies, “Happy wife, happy life.”

Joshua laughs, “Wise words to live by.”

“He better live up to it,” You add jokingly.

“Of course,” Seungcheol’s hand parts from the softness of your thigh only to grab your hand and press a kiss on the back of it. “Your happiness is my priority.”

Seungcheol relishes in the way you fluster underneath his gaze.

Joshua, on the other hand, can only laugh, coo, and die a little inside at how sweet the two of you appear to be. The two of you looked like the prime example of a couple in love: playful, smitten, and absolutely handsy.

For the rest of breakfast, Seungcheol’s hand never leaves you, and you never push him away.

–

You think Choi Seungcheol is trying to kill you.

After breakfast with Joshua and a quick tour around the island, Seungcheol decided that he wanted to go for a quick swim in the beach. Tempted by the idea of cooling off in the island’s azure waters, you’re quick to agree. Nothing beats a refreshing swim after a few minutes of walking underneath the tropical sun.

If only you knew how big of a mistake that was.

You’re lying back on one of the sunloungers, feeling the farthest thing from cool and refreshed–despite the pina colada in your hand–as you watch your husband play in the water, shirtless and looking nothing short of sin. Every stroke of his arm against the waves has his muscles flexing underneath the blaze of the sun, but even that heat was nothing compared to the one in the pit of your stomach.

Screw him, really.

(In more ways than one, the little voice in your head adds).

Seungcheol seems to get tired of swimming quickly, because the next thing you know, he’s walking to where you’re perched, practically in slow-motion, looking like he came straight out of Baywatch as he ruffles the remnants of the sea from his hair.

The moment he reaches you, you know you’re doomed. You’re lucky you’re wearing sunglasses because your eyes can’t help the way they follow the droplets rolling down his pecs and the soft curves on his abdomen before it seeps into his trunks.

“Not gonna swim?” Seungcheol asks, sitting on the side of the lounge chair you’re resting on, causing some of the droplets to fall onto your dress.

“Yah, Choi Seungcheol you’re getting me wet,” the words of complaint leave your mouth faster than you can think it through. You only realize the double entendre in your words when your eyes catch sight of the shit-eating grin on Seungcheol’s face.

“Not here, baby,” Seungcheol has the audacity to fake a scandalized look. “There are people watching.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, oh my god.” You groan, moving a hand to cover your face before you point at where the droplets are falling. “You’re dripping all over my dress, look.”

Seungcheol only smirks, hand resting on your thigh as he leans in to whisper against your ear. “Aren’t you the one dripping all over your dress?”

Flustered beyond belief, you push at his shoulder coupled with a string of colorful words. Seungcheol only laughs at your weak attempts to push him off.

“Why do you torment me like this?” You sigh out dramatically, watching as Seungcheol turns the straw of your drink to his direction before he takes a sip.

Seungcheol gulps, and with a light tap on your nose, he replies, “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“Piss me off, and I’ll get even cuter,” You grumble, snatching your drink away. “Now I have to dry this dress off.”

“You can take it off and start drying it now,” Seungcheol shrugs casually before his face morphs into a suggestive expression. “That way the two of us have something to look at.”

“Dream on,” You reply.

“Trust me, I already do.” Seungcheol then leaves to go back into the water like he didn’t just drop a fucking bomb on you.

After that catastrophe on the beach, the rest of the day continues in a similar manner. Seungcheol takes every single opportunity to flex and fluster you. Need something passed to you? Here it is with a side of biceps. Something is out of reach? He’ll get it for you while giving you a peek of what’s underneath his shirt. Don’t know the direction to a place? It’s okay, he’ll walk ahead and give you a perfect view of his ass. The worst part of it is that he does it all with that infuriatingly handsome smile. The one where his dimples look so deep and his eyes practically disappear.

By the end of the day, you’re hot, bothered, and absolutely in need of an exorcism.

It’s after dinner that you find yourself free from Seungcheol’s torment. After a long day of playing in the sun and flexing all his muscles, he must’ve lost all his energy because his first instinct upon arriving at your villa is to crash onto the couch and snore as he prances off in dreamland.

You hope he gets a nightmare, if only to punish him for the torment he put you through all day.

Now left to your own devices, you decided to swim. Maybe the pool water would cool the fire raging in your stomach. Quietly–to avoid waking Seungcheol up–you peel off your dress and sink into the pool.

The water is cool against your skin, and you genuinely have to resist the urge to moan at how refreshing it was. You think you’ll have to try swimming in the beach tomorrow. You finally understand why Seungcheol couldn’t seem to part from the water when he wasn’t busy teasing you.

You swim around for a while, letting the cool water dance around your body as you paddle to keep yourself entertained. Once you start feeling tired, however, you’re quick to sit on the edge of the pool’s baja shelf, feet kicking through the water as you lounge around lazily.

You honestly hope this trip never ends.

–

The gentle sound of footsteps stirs Seungcheol awake from his nap on the couch, his eyes opening only to be met with the sight of you shimmying out of your dress to reveal a light blue two piece. It hugs you well, the tiny triangles clinging to your chest and barely covering the roundness of your behind. Seungcheol feels like a pervert for staring at you from the darkness of the villa, but he likes to think that he has a little leeway considering the show he was putting on for you all day.

It’s not like he was going to act on the filthy thoughts running through his head.

Unless you asked him to, of course. That’s a different story.

For a while he lies on the couch, watching you aimlessly swim around in the pool with a small smile on your face. You’re beautiful, Seungcheol knows that, but he thinks you’re even more beautiful in the moments where you’re smiling when you think nobody’s watching. It’s different from the practiced, polished look you wear daily, and Seungcheol wishes he could freeze time to make sure that your smile remains this way.

It had his heart beating uncharacteristically fast.

When he sees you sitting on the baja shelf’s edge, Seungcheol decides that it’s time to stop staring like a lowlife and actually join you.

Discreetly, he’s stripping off his shirt and tossing it onto the couch before silently walking in your direction. You’re oblivious to it all, feet kicking lightly underneath the water as Seungcheol dips into the pool behind you.

“Oh shit, it’s cold,” Seungcheol hisses, and your tranquility is disturbed.

You turn to look back at him, laughing as he struggles to walk towards you.

“I thought you were sleeping?” You ask, watching as Seungcheol slips into the water beside you.

“Couldn’t let you have fun all by yourself, now, could I?” Seungcheol replies. It’s even worse now that he’s up close and right beside you. From here, he has a front row seat to the way you glow from the pool lights, and it has his blood violently pumping through his veins.

He thanks the heavens that the pool is cold, or else this would’ve been an extremely awkward encounter.

“Thank you for planning this,” You whisper out softly as you stare into the waters. “I don’t think I’ve been this relaxed in years.”

Something warm blooms in Seungcheol’s chest at your sincerity, an odd mix of pride and affection. He playfully nudges your shoulder with his and speaks, “It’s only day two. Don’t thank me just yet.”

You turn your head to him, and Seungcheol swears his breath catches in his throat. Seuncheol is thankful that you’re quick to turn away again, gaze shy as you awkwardly cough.

Seungcheol can’t help the smile that makes its way onto his face.

“I can’t believe we’re only here for a week,” You mutter, hand sifting through the water with your eyes trained on the little waves it makes. “I’d stay here forever if I could.”

“Me too,” comes Seungcheol’s reply before he can even stop himself. There was something so peaceful about the island. It’s only been two days but Seungcheol realizes that he hasn’t felt this light in years. There’s something about the place–something about you–that has him feeling like he can finally be at ease. It scares him a little, if he’s being honest. He doesn’t think he can bring himself back to the city after a taste of this paradise here with you. “We can always come back, if you want to.”

“Promise?” You ask, playfully sticking your pinky out to him, but there’s a genuine sliver hope in your eyes that has Seungcheol wanting to wrap you in his arms and shield you from all the disappointments of this world.

“Yeah,” Seungcheol is careful to lock his own pinky around yours. “I promise.”

–

Day 3, Solis Mane

“What’s the plan for today?” You ask Seungcheol as you chew through the pancakes.

“We’re going island hopping for the day,” Seungcheol answers, cutting into his bacon. “Well, just one island, really. It’s ours for the day since Shua said we should enjoy ourselves there, so you can swim all you want. After that, we’ll go back and have dinner. We can have a few drinks if you want.”

“Wow, I’m almost jealous,” You sigh. It’s moments like this that you wish your family had chosen to dabble in the hospitality and tourism industry instead of capitalizing on everybody’s insecurities. “Maybe I’m in the wrong business.”

“Do you want me to build a resort in your honor?” Seungcheol jokes, but there’s a look in his eyes that tells you that if you said yes, he actually would build that resort.

“One day, maybe,” you joke. It would be nice, you think. A small piece of paradise that you and Seungcheol could return to every once in a while whenever the city gets too loud.

After breakfast, Seungcheol is quick to grab your bag with one hand and your hand in the other. He doesn’t let go of you. From the walk to the villa to the short boat trip, Seungcheol’s hand remains intertwined with yours even if your hands are already sweaty from the nerves and the island heat. Every once in a while—you think it’s when he’s bored and wants to fluster to you—he presses his lips on the back of your hand, and you’re sure that if the boat man had no restraint, he would’ve already pushed the two of you off the boat from how ridiculously sweet Seungcheol was being.

Before you knew it, you were already on the island, and if you thought Solis Mane’s main island was paradise, then you think you might have just entered a whole new other world in Joshua’s private island.

Save for the small villa tucked in the edge where greenery meets sand, the island is completely in its natural form. There were no footsteps on the white sand, no beachgoers floating in the turquoise waters, and no sound save for the crashing of ocean waves onto the nearby rocks.

You think you could live here forever.

Immediately, once you’ve placed your things in the villa, you’re quick to strip down to your swimsuit, grab your sunscreen, and lay out a beach towel on the soft sand, leaving Seungcheol behind who can only chuckle at your excitement. Not wanting any damage to your skin, you’re quick to sit on the towel and start lathering your face, arms, and legs with sunscreen. Once you finish with your limbs and the front of your body, you move on to the most challenging part: putting sunblock on your back.

“Need help?” Like a knight in shining swim shorts, Seungcheol swoops in and saves the day.

“Yes please,” You sigh in relief as you hand the bottle of sunscreen to Seungcheol. “I just need some on my back.”

“Ok,” Seungcheol says as he squirts the sunscreen onto his palm. “Lie back and turn over.”

You freeze. It’s after hearing Seungcheol’s words that you realise that maybe you didn’t think this through. However, not wanting to make the situation awkward, you’re quick to follow Seungcheol’s orders, back turned to him as you lay your forehead onto the back of your hands.

At the feeling of Seungcheol’s warm hand, you’re quick to jolt.

Seungcheol, noticing this, is quick to chuckle at your response, fingers massaging your upper back as he coats it with sunscreen. He’s skilled with his hands, you think. He could definitely be a masseur if he wanted to.

“Relax, I’m not going to try anything.” Seungcheol assures you, fingers now working their magic under the knot of where your swimsuit is tied. “Unless, you ask me to.”

“Shut up, oh my god.” You whine out in embarrassment, wanting to bury yourself into the sand. Despite Seungcheol’s teasing, you feel that you’re more at ease. It’s just sunscreen, and it’s just Seungcheol. There was nothing to worry about.

“I’m going a little lower, okay?” Seungcheol informs you, and when you nod, his hands move to spread sunscreen on the small of your back.

True to his word, Seungcheol does not try anything at all, and you’re not really sure what to feel. Are you glad that your back has a lower risk of burning under the sun? Yes. Is it cute that Seungcheol was such a gentleman despite the fact that you’re practically half-naked underneath his touch? Also yes. Were you disappointed that he didn’t try anything to turn the situation into something akin to the plot of a cheap porno? A little, but you refused to admit that out loud.

“Thank you,” You say as you take the sunscreen from Seungcheol’s hands.

“No need,” Seungcheol waves you off at first. However, it was almost as if something struck him, and his face quickly morphs into that expression he usually sports when he’s about to do something to mess with you. “Actually, could you put some on my back too?”

You don't know who you’ll bury in the sand first: yourself or Choi Seungcheol.

Unable to decline due to the fact that Seungcheol had helped you, you give him a smile that hopefully masks your nerves. “Sure.”

Seungcheol is quick to assume the position you were in previously on the towel.

You can’t help but feel like a creep as you spread sunscreen over Seungcheol’s broad back. You’re sure that, at one point, you wanted to shut your eyes in hopes of easing your conscience. While you’re aware that Seungcheol has a habit of going to the gym, it’s only now that you’re able to appreciate all the hours of the week that he puts into it. His back is firm underneath your touch, the muscles stretching and curving every once in a while when Seungcheol fails to hold still.

“You should try becoming a masseuse,” Seungcheol’s words are followed by a groan that has you feeling things. “You’ve got potential.”

You flush at his words, and you’re thankful that he can’t see you. Teasingly, you reply, “Sure, as long as you don’t mind me doing this to other men.”

Seungcheol is silent for a few seconds, and you almost think that maybe he didn’t hear you, but then, he replies, “Nevermind.”

You laugh at that, and Seungcheol turns his head back momentarily to pout at you. “Yah, why are you laughing?”

“You’re so childish,” You snort, finishing up Seungcheol’s back with one last swipe of your hand. “There, you’re good to go.”

Seungcheol sits up, still sulking. “Well, sorry for not wanting my wife to touch other men’s sweaty backs. You’re just gonna get your hands dirty.”

You roll your eyes, standing up to brush the sand from your legs. “Like your back’s any better?”

“Wow,” Seungcheol breathes out, feigning offense as he watches you walk to the water. “This is a high-yield, high-quality back, just so you know!”

You continue walking to the shore, calling out to Seungcheol. “What are you? Wagyu?!”

“A5!” Seungcheol answers back, a smile on his face as he watches you dip into the water. He only watches for a while before he’s joining you in the water.

The rest of the day passes by quickly despite having only the water and the villa to entertain yourselves. Conversations with Seungcheol just came so naturally, and you had been so caught up in talking Seungcheol’s ear off that you didn’t realize that it was time for you to go.

Once the two of you arrive back on the island, you’re quick to return to your villa to shower, change, and prepare for the dinner Seungcheol had planned. Feeling a little more bold, you’re quick to pick out a light blue backless dress that cinches at the waist before flowing out beautifully.

“Ready to go?” Seungcheol calls out from behind the door.

“Yes, one second,” You call out to him as you put on lipbalm, a cherry-flavored one that you’ve sworn by throughout the years. Once you finish applying it, you’re quick to grab your purse and open the door. “I’m ready

The first thing you notice is Seungcheol who’s wearing a loose button down that coincidentally matches the color of your dress, and white pants. The two of you looked like you walked straight out of a ‘Mamma Mia!’ filming set, but you honestly find the aesthetic a little cute.

The next thing you notice is the fact that Seungcheol’s staring at you wide-eyed, frozen. Realizing that your gaze is on him, he’s quick to clear his throat and speak, “You look beautiful.”

Suddenly shy, you’re quick to swat at his arm. “How do you say those things with a straight face, oh my god.”

Seungcheol, now more relaxed, is quick to intertwine his fingers with yours as he leads you out of the villa. “It’s easy when I’m saying nothing but the truth.”

When the two of you arrive at the gazebo Seungcheol reserved, the food is already prepared, and the only thing left to do is to eat. The rest of dinner flies by with Seungcheol’s flirtatious jokes and lighthearted conversation. You’re so lost in the atmosphere that you don’t realize just how many glasses of wine you’ve downed until you feel your inhibition starting to slip and your filter starting to fade.

You were going to regret this.

–

“Yaaaaah, Choi Seungcheol,” Your words are slurred as you point your finger at Seungcheol. “You need to stop smiling at me like that.”

Cute, Seungcheol thinks, and quickly, he finds that he’s unable to follow your drunken orders. In a futile attempt to hide the smile on his face, he takes a sip from his drink: an iced tea. One of you needed to be sober, after all.

Wanting to humor your drunken antics, Seungcheol asks, “Why?”

“If you keep smiling like… Like that…I’ll…” Seungcheol feels bad for the way he finds your drunken incoherence funny. You just looked so cute furrowing your brows as you tried to find your next words. “I’ll k-kiss you on the mouth! Yeah… I’ll do that. So stop.”

Seungcheol’s having the time of his fucking life. Some part of him is almost tempted to pull out his phone and start recording just to tease you tomorrow, but he knows you’ll kill him if he does, so he doesn’t. However, that doesn’t mean he wasn’t going to milk the absolute shit out of this situation.

“What if I want you to kiss me on the mouth, hm?” Seungcheol teases, wiggling his eyebrows at drunken you suggestively.

“I will! Don’t challenge me,” You slur as you wiggle your finger at him from side to side. “I’ll make it French too.”

Seungcheol wants to laugh his ass off so badly, but the fun might end if he does, so he bites his tongue. “Oh? That’s a little scandalous, no?”

You snort at his words, waving him off before you lean forward and rest your chin in your hands. There’s a coy smile on your face as you speak, “That’s the leeeeeast scandalous thing I want to do with you, really. I could– I could get sooo much worse.”

He’s probably opening Pandora’s box with what he’s about to say next, but Seungcheol does it anyway. With a sly smirk on his face, he leans in to mirror you and asks. “Really? What other things do you think about doing with me?”

There’s a pause. You’re leaning on your chin with a furrow in your brows, almost as if you were pondering the meaning of life itself as your poor drunken brain thinks of a response to Seungcheol’s prodding.

“A lot…” You sigh out dreamily, bringing the glass of your wine to your lips as you take another sip. A little parched, Seungcheol takes a sip from his own drink. “Most of them involve you bending me over, really.”

Seungcheol nearly spits out the drink back into his glass at your words, eyes widening as he looks at you. Unbothered by his reaction, you continue, “Honestlyyyyy, when you were rubbing sunscreen on my back… I was hoping you’d rub it… Somewhere else.”

This is what he gets for probing, Seungcheol thinks. He thinks of that moment of the beach, the one where he was rubbing circles into your back and resisting the urge to dip lower. Your drunken fantasies were honestly not that far from what Seungcheol wanted to do, really.

“Why are you so quiet?” You pout at Seungcheol, arms crossing across your chest as you remain completely unaware about the less than appropriate thoughts running through Seungcheol’s head. “You asked me, and I’m just answering.”

“Just shocked,” And a little turned on, Seungcheol adds silently in his head. While he definitely wanted to hear what other depraved fantasies you had about him, he didn’t really want to breach your privacy further. “I think you’ve had enough drinks. Should we go back–”

“Do you not want to fuck me?” You huff out, glaring at Seungcheol from across the table.

Seungcheol does! He really does, but he wasn’t about to make a move on you when you couldn’t properly consent. He’s scrambling in his brain for a reply, thinking of how to reject you without hurting your feelings.

However, you quickly grow impatient at his silence, and before Seungcheol could answer, you’re already walking towards him, perching yourself on his lap, and wrapping your arms around his neck. On instinct, Seungcheol holds you by the waist to keep you from falling.

(He hopes you don’t feel the way he’s half hard in his pants).

“Yahhhh, Choi Seungcheol,” You slur out. “Am I not attractive to you?”

“You are,” Seungcheol answered immediately. He doesn’t lie to you, after all. He needed to get you off his lap quickly before he got any harder, but he couldn’t seem to think straight with the intoxicating mix of your natural scent and your perfume flooding his nostrils.

“Then why haven’t you made a move on meeee?” You whine out, lower lip jutting out in a pout. “All you do is flirt, but you– you never go further.”

“Do you want me to?” Seungcheol asks, smirking when he sees your bravado fade into a shy expression at his words.

“Well… Yeah…” You mumble out, fingers playing with the tips of his hair. “Are you gonna fuck me here?”

Seungcheol internally groans at the idea. He could, he thinks. He could push his pants down, slip your panties to the side, and start bouncing you on his cock for the poor, innocent passersby to see, and he’d enjoy every second of it. He’d put on a fucking show if you wanted him to, but not right now. He wasn’t about to fuck you when you were drunk out of your mind and barely coherent. “No, you’re drunk.”

“I’m not,” You shake your head. “I swear.”

Seungcheol chuckles at your poor attempt, choosing to flick your forehead lightly. “If you ask me tomorrow morning, when you’re sober, I’ll do it. How does that sound?”

“But I am sobeeeer,” You complain, reaching out to rub at your forehead.

What a brat, Seungcheol thinks, just what he likes.

“Take it while I’m still offering,” Seungcheol shrugs, poking at your cheek. How soft, he thinks. He wonders if you’re just as soft everywhere else.

“Fine,” You huff out as you slap his hand away, standing up and pulling at Seungcheol’s arm. “Let’s go back so I can sleep and then I’ll ask you when I wake up.”

Seungcheol grins at that.

You were definitely going to regret this in the morning.

–

Day 4, Solis Mane

When you wake up, you’re alone in bed and your head is pounding. You were never going to drink like that ever again. Last night’s vibe had been so good that you couldn’t help but get strung along into drinking countless glasses of wine and losing all your inhibition–

Oh.

Oh god.

Last night’s memories come at you full speed like a truck with no brakes, and you have to resist the urge to scream into the mattress and rip the pillows apart at the sheer embarrassment that flooded your veins.

“I’ll make it French too.”

“I was hoping you’d rub it… Somewhere else.”

“Are you gonna fuck me here?”

You don’t know how you’re going to face Seungcheol after that catastrophe. In all honesty, you think you might just sneak out of the villa, ask Joshua where the highest cliff on this island is, and proceed to jump off said cliff to become one with the ocean.

Holy shit, you were going to die from embarrassment. What were you going to do? What do you even say after all that? Was Seungcheol mad at you? What if he felt harassed? Where is Seungcheol? Should you pretend like you forgot everything? Would he notice—

“Good morning,” Seungcheol walks into the room, holding a wooden bed tray with a plate full of eggs, fruits, and bread accompanied by a glass of orange juice. “I brought you breakfast.”

Ah, so you’re going down the ‘pretend to forget everything that happened last night’ route, it seems.

You could work with that.

“Thank you,” You hope your voice is stable as you watch Seungcheol set the tray in front of you. The bed dips underneath his weight as he settles down beside you. Unable to handle your own awkwardness, you’re quick to start eating.

“Did you sleep well?” Seungcheol asks, watching the way you stuff your mouth with eggs and bread.

You swallow the food in your mouth and push it back with some juice before speaking, “Yeah, I guess I was really tired last night.”

“Well, you did have a lot of wine, so that probably added to it,” Seungcheol adds, and you have to keep yourself from physically flinching at the memory. “Do you remember anything from last night?”

This is the part where you lie through your teeth and pray that Seungcheol doesn’t call you out on your bullshit.

“Not really,” You lie before stuffing your mouth with fruits, eyes looking at anything and everything that isn’t Seungcheol. “Why?”

Seungcheol’s neutral facade morphs into a grin, and it’s only now that you realize that he was leading you to a trap… And you walked straight into it.

“Really?” Seungcheol tips your chin back with a finger to make you meet his gaze. “Why are you so nervous then?”

“I’m not!”

Wow! You’re so convincing.

“Okay, whatever you say,” Seungcheol pulls his hand away and shrugs casually. Despite his agreement with your words, you’re aware that he knows you remember everything. You weren’t exactly fooling him with your shit acting, after all. However, if he was going to give you a way out, then you were going to gladly take it.

Once you finish eating, Seungcheol takes the tray out of the room and returns to lie down beside you, body turned towards you as he rests his head on his palm. He says nothing, just stares at you like you’re some fascinating exhibit.

In an attempt to clear the awkward silence, you turn to him and ask, “What’s the plan for today?”

“The morning’s just free time so we’re staying on the island until 11:30,” Seungcheol replies. “And then we’ll go to the town on the nearby island to stroll around before the dinner I reserved at seven.”

Wow, Choi Seungcheol would make the perfect lifestyle dom. Not that you’re complaining. In fact, if anyone were to ask you, it turned you on a little to have a man take the lead without being overbearing or patronizing.

“So what are we doing for the next–” You turn to look at the clock on the wall, “four hours?”

“Well, I was expecting someone to take me up on my offer last night,” Seungcheol’s hand twirls a loose strand of your hair absentmindedly–you’d argue that it’s calculated–as he speaks. “But she insists on playing dumb, so we can just lie down for the next four hours.”

“Must not be that good of an offer,” You’re digging your own grave. You know that.

Seungcheol’s eyes sharpen at your words, jaw clenching as he gives you a tight smile. “Want to find out?”

Feeling a little bold, you reach out to trace Seungcheol's chest with the tip of your fingers as you whisper into his ear, “Only if you’re going to stop being such a coward and start being honest about what you want.”

You feel the air shift, and the next thing you know, Seungcheol has pinned your wrists to the bed and is capturing your lips in a rough kiss.

When Seungcheol pulls away, he looks like a completely different person. Gone was the man who took your teasing lightly, and gone was the man who treated you like you would break at any time. The man on top of you looked like he was going to eat you alive.

“You’re such a fucking brat, you know that?” Seungcheol hisses out, and you don’t know if you’re scared or getting wetter. “If I had it my way, I would’ve bent you over on our first day here.”

“You should’ve,” You reply, staring up at him in challenge. “It’s a honeymoon trip, after all.”

“God, you’re so mouthy,” Seungcheol groans as he pulls away from you and nudges you towards the floor. “How about we use that mouth for something else?”

You follow, kneeling onto the floor between Seungcheol’s open legs, but unfortunately for him, you haven’t lost your mouthiness just yet. He’d have to fuck that one out of you. With a mischievous smile, you rest your hands on Seungcheol’s firm thighs. “Are you asking me? Because I thought we agreed on being honest about what you want.”

Seungcheol looks absolutely pissed as he tongues at his cheek, and you’re living for it.

The next thing you know, there’s a burn in your scalp and a pulse in your core as Seungcheol grips your hair to bare your throat to him. It’s tight enough to have you dripping in your panties but loose enough to keep you from hurting.

“You think you can handle me? Fine.” Seungcheol releases his hold on you, pushing his shorts and underwear down to free his cock. “Open up.”

Ok, maybe you were punching above your weight.

“Did you not hear me?” Seungcheols taunts as he runs his thumb over your bottom lip.

At his touch, you part your lips and stick your tongue out. Satisfied, Seungcheol groans, “Good girl.”

A moan leaves your throat at his words, eyes practically rolling back when Seungcheol uses one hand to tap the tip of his cock repeatedly on your tongue. “You’re gonna have to open your mouth wider if you want me to fit in that tiny mouth.”

Your mouth falls open wider, tongue sticking out to lick under the tip of Seungcheol’s cock.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Seungcheol groans, hands bracing himself on the bed as he watches you take his cock into your mouth.

Fueled by the deep noises Seungcheol releases, you take more of his cock into your mouth until you feel like you’re on the verge of gagging, your hand pumping away at the parts that your throat can’t reach.

The taste and weight of Seungcheol on your tongue has your mind blanking, and the grunts and moans falling from his parted lips only has you doubling your efforts. There’s nothing in your head but the sheer desire to get this man to come undone from your mouth and your touch. You wonder how much better it’s all going to feel when he’s finally fucking you with it—

Your little moment is cut short when Seungcheol pulls you off his cock.

“See? You can be good, after all,” Seungcheol praises as he gently pushes the hair away from your face and wipes the drool off your chin. “Now let me show you what I have to offer.”

It’s the only thing Seungcheol says before he’s manhandling you onto the bed and positioning you on all fours, hips raised high and shoulders pressed onto the sheets. Swiftly, Seungcheol pulls your shorts off followed by your panties, the heat of his breath against your core sending shivers down your spine.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Seungcheol breathes out, spreading you open with his thumbs to get a closer look at the slick dripping from you. If you weren’t so turned on, you probably would’ve shied away from Seungcheol’s burning gaze.

Without wasting a second, Seungcheol dives in. He’s relentless, licking and sucking your core like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you on his tongue. It’s warm, wet, and sloppy, and each obscene slurp of his tongue against your folds leaves you with nothing else to do but moan and whimper as you get closer and closer to your high.

“Cheol–” You sigh out his name shakily, one hand reaching behind you to tangle your fingers into Seungcheol’s hair as he dips his tongue into your entrance. He was fucking his tongue into you so deeply and so messily that you think he’s trying to replace your slick with his spit.

“Feeling good, hm?” Seungcheol’s voice muffled by your pussy has you jolting, the vibrations sending sparks up your spine. Without warning, he sticks two fingers inside your heat, scissoring you open with loud squelches as you moan into the sheets.

“Fuck, right there!” You cry out when Seungcheol rubs a particularly rough patch of nerves that has your eyes rolling. “Please, I wanna cum!”

“Relax, pretty girl. I’ll get you there,” Seungcheol accompanies the skillful strokes of his fingers with featherlight kisses against your thigh. “You’re going to be cumming over and over until you’re begging me to stop.”

The filth of his words coupled by the drag of his fingers has you seizing, body going taut in a deep arch against the bed as shrieks of pleasure leave your throat, “Seungcheol, cumming!”

“That’s it, cum for me,” Seungcheol rasps against your skin, fingers not once faltering as they fuck in and out of you. “Show me how filthy you can get, fuck–”

With a soundless scream, you hit your peak, vision going white and body tingling so violently with pleasure that you can feel it all the way to your toes. If it weren’t for Seungcheol’s steady grip on your hips, you’re sure you would’ve crashed onto the bed like a boneless, formless mess.

Slowly, Seungcheol eases his fingers out of you, giving your folds one final lick before he starts trailing kisses up your spine.

“Cheol, wait a sec,” You whine out, collapsing onto the bed as Seungcheol hovers over your form. “I think you just sucked my soul out.”

Seungcheol chuckles, brushing your hair away with one hand to press an affectionate kiss onto your shoulder. “We can stop here if it’s too much.”

“No!” You say a little too eagerly, your cheeks warming when you realize how desperate you sounded. “Just give a minute.”

“Don’t push yourself,” Seungcheol teases, hand rubbing up and down your sides as he presses kisses all over your back. If you weren’t still so fucking horny, you probably would’ve fallen asleep like that: half naked with your slick and Seungcheol’s spit all over your thighs.

Once you regain your senses, Seungcheol moves to lay you on your back. He slips a pillow under your hips, and while comfortable, feels like a threat to your pussy that has barely recovered from Seungcheol’s tongue.

“Is the pillow necessary?” You nervously ask, your head a hazy mix of concern and pleasure as Seungcheol rubs his dick through your folds.

“Don’t you want to feel me deeper?” Seungcheol teases, moving his cock to lay over your stomach to show you just how deep he was going to bury himself inside you.

“With a dick like that, I don’t think you need the pillow,” You mumble out incoherently, ridiculously turned on at the sight of Seungcheol’s thick, heavy cock resting on top of your mound.

Despite your mumbling, Seungcheol catches your words. As he presses the tip of his cock on your hole, he speaks, “Then just think of it as back support. You’ll need it.”

An inhuman sound leaves your throat the moment Seungcheol slips in, cock stretching your folds so wide around his cock that you already feel like you’re on the verge of cumming. It’s only halfway in, but his dick was already rubbing all the right spots.

Judging by Seungcheol’s reaction, he isn’t faring any better than you.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Seungcheol hisses, fingers digging into your hips as he pushes through your slick and heat. “So fucking wet too, shit!”

Seungcheol chokes out a groan when he buries himself to the hilt, thick brows furrowed and mouth gaping as he throws his head back at the feeling, The sight of him looking so lost in you has you whining, your walls clenching tighter around him involuntarily.

“Fuck me, Cheol,” You whine out desperately, your pride found dead in a ditch. Only the universe knows how many nights you’ve spent cumming to the thought of Seungcheol, how many men you’ve dated wondering what it would be like if it had been Seungcheol there instead. “Please…”

“So beautiful even when you’re begging me to fuck you, huh?” Seungcheol pulls his hands away from your hips to brace himself on either side of your head, cock stroking in and out of you deliciously as he watches your face contort in pleasure. “Don’t worry, you’re going to cum until you’re crying.”

Suddenly, Seungcheol’s thrusts pick up their pace, cock bullying itself in and out of your tight heat so well that it has you clawing at the sheets and screaming Seungcheol’s name with no regard for the rest of the world.

“Yeah, take it, take it,” Seungcheol rasps through gritted teeth, eyes locked on to the way your wet hole sucks his cock in every time he pulls out. “This cute pussy doesn’t want to let go of me, huh? Doesn’t want me to stop?”

“No, fuck!” You answer with a cry, nails digging into Seungcheol’s shoulders as he presses his forehead against yours. “Want you to fuck me over and over, Cheol. Please, it’s so good!”

“Shh, I know, baby, I know,” Seungcheol coos, his soft lips pressing wet kisses against your throat as he ravages your cunt with his thick cock. “You’re being so good for me, aren’t you? Taking this thick cock with that tight cunt, fuck. Do you think you deserve another round after this?”

“Yes!” You whine out, nails scratching down Seungcheol’s back as you feel yourself approaching your high. You haven’t even cum yet but fuck if you’re not going to take the opportunity for another round with this beast of a man. “I’ll be good, please–”

You choke on your words when Seungcheol gives you a brutal thrust, that has your toes curling and you breath hitching

“What a good girl,” Seungcheol grins darkly, thrusts picking up pace. “Don’t worry, you’re not leaving this bed until we have to go.”

Seungcheol catches your mouth in a sloppy kiss that has you reeling. His kiss is rough, but it’s methodic. Each lick, suck, and breath is done with the intent of making you come undone. Both his cock and his tongue are inside you, and the idea of being ravaged from both ends by this man has your eyes crossing and the knot in your stomach coming undone.

With a gasp against Seungcheol’s hot mouth and tears pricking at your lashes, you breathe, “Fuck, Cheol, I’m cumming!”

At your cry, Seungcheol is swearing, thrusts getting brutal as he lays his weight onto you and rasps filthy words in your ear, “Fuck that’s it, cum for me.”

Seungcheol doesn’t stop even when you come undone, thrusts unyielding as he clutches your body close to his. “I’m gonna cum, fuck–”

“Cum inside, Cheol,” You cry out weakly, arms wrapped around his neck as you let pants and moans against his ear. “Please.”

“Inside?” Seungcheol asks, but you can tell he’s only doing it to be considerate. “Are you sure, pretty girl?”

You’ve never been more sure of anything in your life.

“Cheol if you don’t cum inside, this will be the last time you fuck me.” Your threat is empty. You don’t think you’ll be able to cum happily if it isn’t Seungcheol making you cum. Choi Seungcheol has ruined all your future orgasms for you like a drug disrupting all your body’s pathways.

“Fuck, you’ve got a pretty face, but you’re such a fucking cumslut,” Seungcheol’s words are degrading as he pauses to throw your legs over his shoulders. “You really want it inside? Want me to fill every inch of that tiny pussy til it’s dripping out of you, is that it?”

“Yes!” You nod desperately. Nevermind the fact that you just came, you think you’re about to cum again. The new position burned your legs, but all it did was add to the mind-numbing sensation Seungcheol had you feeling.

“Fuck, you asked for this,” Seungcheol growls, hips driving into you over and over in a cacophony of slick and sex. “Cumming, fuck, I’m cumming–”

Seungcheol’s rasps cut into a deep moan that rumbles through his chest, the sound so hot and primal that it had you clamping down hard on his cock as you got your third orgasm of the day.

This man was going to fuck you dry, you think.

For a second, neither of you speak, your ragged breaths being the only sounds to fill the room. Seungcheol stares at you with half-lidded eyes, chest rising and falling as he presses a tender kiss against your knee.

“Think you can give me one more?”

—

By the time 11:00 comes around, no surface of the bedroom was left untainted by your slick and sweat. Seungcheol made sure to do well on his promise of fucking you until you couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t want to disappoint you after all.

The weight of you is grounding, your head on his shoulder, your hand on his chest, and your leg entangled with his. If he hadn’t planned out a short trip to the town, he probably would’ve just spent the rest of the day dozing away in your hold and filling you up before dozing off again. Why bother going to the city when the best part of the trip was in his arms?

“Aren’t we supposed to leave by 11:30?” You ask, looking up at Seungcheol.

“We can push it back if you need more time,” Seungcheol replies, hand carding through your hair absentmindedly.

“I’m good to go,” You sit up, and Seungcheol already misses the way you drape yourself all over him. “Let me shower first.”

Seungcheol perks up at that, lips curling into a suggestive smile as he asks, “Can I join?”

“No,” You say firmly as you get out of bed. “Bathe on your own.”

“Aw,” Seungcheol pouts, but the rejection is quickly soothed by the sight of your hips swaying as you walk into the bathroom. “Next time?”

Damn right, he did that.

“When we get back,” is the only thing you say before shutting the door.

Seungcheol couldn’t wait to get back.

Once the two of you are dressed and done cleaning away the remnants of debauchery on your skins, the two of you take the boat to the island housing the town a few kilometers away from Solis Mane. The moment the two of you arrive, you don’t waste any time before dragging Seungcheol to all the shops and establishments spread throughout the town.

There’s a bright wonder in your eyes that Seungcheol finds endearing, a youthful glow in the way you seem to be fascinated by even the most mundane of things. He watches as you enter shop after shop, looking at all their little trinkets and souvenirs. The pressure on his shoulders lifts immediately when he realizes that you’re actually enjoying the entire experience.

“Cheol, look. They have ice cream.” You point towards a tiny stall that had a man scooping colorful spheres onto waffle cones.

“Do you want some?” Seungcheol asks.

“Yeah, it’s kind of hot,” You reply, and Seungcheol doesn’t miss the way your eyes are locked onto the stall.

“Let’s get some, then,” Seungcheol says as he walks with you to the stall, fingers intertwined around yours.

Seungcheol buys two cones: one for you and one for him. The look in your eyes is so bright as you lick at the cream, and Seungcheol’s almost tempted to call up his secretary and ask how local business regulations worked so that he could buy the damned stall. He’d buy you all the ice cream in the world as long as you kept smiling like that.

Not wanting to forget this moment, Seungcheol takes out his phone and takes a quick picture of you.

Your ears don’t miss the sound of his shutter, and with a glare that lacks heat, you call Seungcheol out, “Yah, why did you take a picture? I look so messy right now.”

Not wanting to miss your cute, frustrated face, Seungcheol snaps another picture, grinning.

“Yah!” You complain.

“You’re still pretty. Don’t worry,” Seungcheol says, rubbing his thumb on the crease between your brows. “I just wanted a memory from this trip.”

Your eyes soften at Seungcheol’s words, “Let’s take tons of pictures then.”

“Okay,” Seungcheol nods in agreement.

The rest of the day is spent looking for cute streets and breathtaking views where you and Seungcheol could take pictures. By the time you were finished, Seungcheol’s camera roll was filled with pictures of your face, with him appearing in some of them. His favorite picture out of all of them was a picture taken by one of the shopkeepers who had found the two of you to be such a cute couple that she wanted to take a picture for the two of you. In the picture, Seungcheol is sitting on a bench with the view of the sea as a picturesque background. You’re standing behind him, arms wrapped around his neck as you press a kiss on his cheek.

Seungcheol thinks he’s never smiled that brightly in his entire life.

(Immediately, he sets it as his homescreen.)

With time left to kill, the two of you walk into a little cafe and rest there, scrolling through the pictures you took throughout the entire day.

“Oh my god, delete that,” You groan out as you bury your face in Seungcheol’s shoulder. “I look so ugly there!”

Seungcheol thinks the two of you are looking at different things. You’re making a weird expression, sure, but Seungcheol thinks you look so cute and comfortable that he can’t find it in himself to delete it. “It’s cute though.”

“It’s not,” You pout. “Fine, keep it, but don’t show it to anyone else.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. He refused to let anyone else have the privilege of seeing you this happy and carefree. That was for his eyes only.

“This one’s nice,” Seungcheol says as he swipes to a candid picture of you staring into the ocean, hair and dress lightly swept by the wind.

He’s definitely keeping that one.

–

The rest of your vacation passes by in a blur of sand, sex, and sea, and part of you almost wants to never leave that island. However, duty calls, and the moment your last day arrives, you and Seungcheol pack your things and board the plane back to Incheon with the promise of coming back.

The sight of Seoul’s towering buildings fills you with a sense of dread, and Solis Mane feels like a distant dream you can’t return to.

Would things go back to the way they were before the honeymoon? Would you have to go back to polite conversations and casual touches that never became anything more? Would you have to live every single day of your life in that house wondering what it would be like if you had never left the island?

Would you have to live in Sohee’s shadow again?

It was easy to forget her during the trip. There were no cookbooks, no mementos, and no memories of her on that island to torment you, to haunt Seungcheol. That island was yours. You weren’t walking to cover someone else’s footsteps, you were creating your own trail. Unlike the house, where every corner is haunted by the touch of a woman that came before you.

Some part of you stupidly hopes that seven days is enough to rip Seungcheol from Sohee’s hold, but you’re sure that’s not the case.

The moment Seungcheol enters that house, he’ll remember her, and those seven days will be forgotten like a figment of his imagination.

“Are you okay?” Seungcheol’s voice accompanied by his hand slipping into yours jolts you from your thoughts. “You’ve been quiet for a while.”

“Just missing the island,” You smile at him, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. It’s half of the truth, the half that matters less.

“We can always come back,” Seungcheol gives you a soft smile, and it has your treacherous heart hoping that maybe things will start looking better after this. “Joshua already designated that villa as ours.”

Ours. It’s one word, but it means the world to you.

“Next year, let’s come back.” You reply, hopeful.

“We can go back every year,” Seungcheol replies without a second thought. “All you have to do is ask.”

If you asked him to give you his entire heart…

Could he also do that without a second thought?

–

It’s been five days since you arrived back at Seoul, and it’s only now that you realize…

The house is different.

The colors are the same, the layout is the same, and honestly, if you hadn’t spent numerous days tormenting yourself with the objects in that house, you wouldn’t have realized that anything has changed… But it has.

The old paintings depicting the streets of Paris are gone, the cookbook in the living room is gone, the tiny little macaron trinket attached to keys Seungcheol hangs on the wall is gone–

Every single object that had you silently sobbing in the bathroom every night was gone.

Was it deliberate? Was that the reason why you haven’t heard Sohee’s name echo through the walls of this house at least once since arriving?

What the hell was going on?

You were tempted to ask Seungcheol, tempted to knock on the door of his study and ask him if he’s finally buried his past, but things were going so well. Contrary to your initial belief, nothing about the way Seungcheol treated you had changed despite coming back to this house. The only difference between then and now is that you and Seungcheol had to work during the day with the nights and early mornings being the only time you spent together. Time you made sure to savor.

You’re about to hit the sixth-month mark. Six months more and your marriage would have lasted as long as Seungcheol’s relationship with her. It’ll take time, you know that, but that was better than Seungcheol never moving on. You had started this marriage thinking that he would never even glance your way, but now you’re having conversations late into the night and having morning sex, so really, you’ll take what you can get.

Maybe things were getting better.

–

Kim Mingyu thinks he’s getting old.

He realizes this when Seungcheol picks up his phone to text away for the sixth time in 15 minutes, and Mingyu finds himself wanting to say ‘No phones on the dinner table!’ like a boomer. In his defense, it had been Seungcheol who had insisted on having this monthly meeting to discuss life and partnership updates, and Mingyu, despite wanting nothing more than to stay at home and dote on his wife and newborn son, had to go to this accursed meeting or he had to pay a hefty fine and face a sulking Seungcheol.

The only upside was the booze.

(God his wife is gonna kill him if he comes home wasted.)

“Hyung, who are you texting?” Mingyu is unable to resist anymore. “You’re giggling so much. It’s weird, and creepy, and concerning.”

There were more words lying around somewhere in Mingyu’s head, but Seungcheol might put him in a headlock if he continued.

“My wife,” Seungcheol says in a dreamy tone, and Mingyu has to resist the urge to cringe at how lovesick his friend sounded.

Mingyu isn’t sure about how he should tread regarding the topic. On one hand, he was feeling a little angry at the fact that Seungcheol was being so weirdly in love with another woman after dumping his ex–one of Mingyu’s closest friends–in the most asshole-y way possible. On the other hand, he could relate. He, too, was absolutely smitten with his wife, and he couldn’t blame Seungcheol for giggling like a schoolgirl while texting his wife.

Mingyu decides to be polite. He needed to respect the fact that Sohee was a part of the past, and he needed to accept that he was partially at fault for even reuniting the two only for the relationship to end in the worst way possible. In his defense, Seungcheol is a stubborn man, and Mingyu had honestly thought that the man would fight for Sohee against all odds.

That didn’t happen.

“How’s Y/N doing?” Mingyu asks politely, if only to keep the conversation going.

“She’s doing well,” Seungcheol is suddenly 100% into the conversation, and Mingyu doesn’t know if he’s going to be happy that Seungcheol is finally participating in the conversation or offended that Seungcheol is only talking because the topic is his wife. His friend was fucking gone. “But for some reason she’s more tired these days. I’ve told her to just work from home, but she insists on going to the office anyway.”

“I can’t blame her for being tired. I’d be tired if I was married to you,” Mingyu snorts, and Seungcheol sends a glare his way. “Not that I’d ever marry you.”

“I won’t fucking marry you either, dude,” Seungcheol gives him a look of disgust.

“Excuse you, I’m a great husband,” Mingyu argues back. Suddenly, his pride and husband skills were being questioned. He couldn’t have that. “My wife’s my witness, go call her.”

“Sure, I’ll call her,” Seungcheol smirks. “Then I’ll tell her how many bottles you’ve finished.”

“Hyung, I was kidding,” Mingyu loses all his fire at the mention of his wife. “Please don’t call her. She’s going to kill me.”

“Wow, you’re whipped,” Seungcheol laughs, downing the beer in his glass.

“Like you’re any better,” Mingyu rolls his eyes. “You were literally texting like a high schooler.”

Seungcheol only smiles, and despite the slight anger Mingyu harbors, he finds that he’s somewhat happy for his friend. It may not have worked out with Sohee, but at least it’s working out with you.

“You seem happier,” Mingyu says, a thoughtless comment to keep the conversation going.

“I am,” Seungcheol says with a smile. However, for some reason, it turns a little somber, almost as if Seungcheol was remembering something. “Just a little guilty for feeling that way.”

Ah.

So they were finally having this talk.

Mingyu knows both sides to the story when it all fell apart, but for everything after that, he’s only known Sohee’s side. Today was the day he learned Seungcheol’s side, it seems.

It’s a little fitting, Mingyu thinks, given the location. Two businessmen drunk off their asses on a Friday night discussing each other’s first love with either love or regret in their eyes wasn’t totally uncommon in this bar. In fact, Mingyu thinks the other table was in the same situation as him and Seungcheol.

Fuck, Mingyu needed another bottle if he was going to listen to all of this.

–

“Is it because of Sohee?” Mingyu asks.

Seungcheol braces himself for the longing, the desperation, but the only thing that fills him is guilt. An insurmountable, unfathomable amount of guilt that claws at his chest and stirs his stomach violently.

“Yeah,” Seungcheol nods. He can’t lie to Mingyu even if he wanted to. “You know what happened.”

“It already happened,” Mingyu shrugs casually, but Seungcheol can see the flicker of anger in the man's eyes. Sohee was like family to Mingyu after all, and Seungcheol was the bastard that broke her heart after Mingyu had entrusted her to him. “There’s no use in bringing up the past.”

“How is she?” Seungcheol asks. For some sick reason, some part of him still wanted to know, some part of him still cared, still… Loved.

And it was a horrible feeling because when he thinks about the idea of being in love with Sohee, he’s suddenly haunted by the sight of your face and the nights you spent sobbing when you thought he was asleep.

“Good,” Mingyu says, but it does nothing to ease the ache in Seungcheol’s chest. “Or at least as good as she can be, given the situation.”

“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol has said it many times, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to say it enough. “I’m really sorry, I hope you know that.”

“I know,” Mingyu smiles at him but his lips are tight and his eyes are solemn. “It doesn’t change the fact that you broke her.”

“I love her,” Seungcheol finds that saying the words feels like someone’s dragging a barbed wire out of his throat. “I didn’t want to hurt her.”

Mingyu’s eyes grow sharp at his words. “You love her? Hyung, you’ve been married for months. What do you mean?”

Seungcheol pauses at that, your face flashing in his eyes.

However, Mingyu doesn’t give Seungcheol enough time to think because he continues speaking, “You’re kidding, right? You’re not seriously still in love with Sohee when you have a wife waiting for you at home.”

Seungcheol stays silent, jaw clenching and hands wrapping tighter around the glass. It’s the first time in weeks that he’s being put face-to-face with his problems like this, the first time he’s being forced to ponder about Sohee and what she meant to him now that he finds himself growing closer to you.

“You’re unbelievable,” Mingyu laughs in disbelief. “Hyung, seriously—“

“I don’t know, okay?!” Seungcheol can’t help the way his voice raises, and part of him is thankful that the people around him are too wasted to care about his conversation with Mingyu. “I don’t fucking know anymore.”

“Well, you better know it soon” Mingyu spits out. “If you keep this up, you might end up ruining your marriage.”

“I won’t,” Seungcheol hisses, the thought making him uneasy. “I just need time.”

Mingyu stares at him, gaze hard and jaw clenched. Seungcheol wishes he could hear the hundreds of thoughts he knows is running through Mingyu’s head, wishes that the answer to his problem is somehow lost in that sea of thoughts.

Seungcheol doesn’t get that. Mingyu’s next words only add to his problems, “Hyung, did you ever even love Sohee?”

What?

“You’ve known her since we were kids, and even claimed to like her for that long,” Mingyu continues. “But not once did you look for her.”

Seungcheol is quick to defend himself, “I didn’t have the time—“

“Don’t give me that bullshit. We both know how stubborn you can be.” Mingyu’s dead serious about having this conversation, and Seungcheol can tell that he isn’t escaping this anytime soon. “If you wanted to fight for her, you would’ve done it. You hate being told what to do.”

Mingyu’s right, Seungcheol thinks, but he doesn’t understand why the man is suddenly questioning the depths of his affection for the woman whose heart he broke.

“You know it’s not that easy,” Seungcheol replies before taking another swig of his beer. Fuck, he didn’t want to be having this conversation right now or ever. “I love Sohee, but—“

“Then do you love Y/N?”

Seungcheol’s blood goes cold at what he hears; Mingyu’s words acting like an anchor dragging him under, into ice cold waters.

It has him thinking of Paris, of the little café tucked away in a quiet street that felt so nostalgic, of the woman that baked him treats from his childhood and loved him wholly.

It has him thinking of an island, of the little one-bedroom villa that feels like the promise of a better future, of the woman that makes his heart race and—-

Did you love him?

Did he love you?

“I don’t know,” Seungcheol breathes out.

“Then leave her,” Mingyu says with certainty despite the alcohol in his veins. “You said you love Sohee, but you don’t know if you love Y/N. The answer is right in front of you—“

“I’m not doing that,” Seungcheol looks at Mingyu like the man just went insane. The idea of leaving you fills him with a fear he’s never once felt in his life. It fills him with a dread that digs and claws into the crevices of his bones. “I’m not leaving her.”

“Then fix this,” Mingyu says firmly. “Unless you’re prepared to have her leave you.”

—

It’s 10:00 PM, and Seungcheol isn’t home yet.

You had expected it, considering the fact that he was out on a little boys’ night with Mingyu, but he had stopped answering your texts a few hours ago. You couldn’t help but get a little worried.

The sleep that threatens to take over you is a little difficult to fight, especially when you’ve been quick to tire these days. Only the lights and sounds coming from the variety show playing on the television was keeping you awake. Some part of you wonders if you should just stop being stubborn and follow Seungcheol’s suggestion of working from home until you regain your strength.

“I’m hoooome,” Seungcheol drawls out as he hands his things over to the staff before walking to where you’re seated.

At the sight of him staggering over to you, you’re quick to giggle.

Seungcheol’s a mess. His cheeks are flushed, his tie is askew, and his hair’s sticking out like he’s run his head through it multiple times. When he reaches you, he’s quick to kneel on the floor and lay his head on your lap.

He reeks of alcohol, and while it usually doesn’t bother you, something about the scent this time has you wanting to run to the closest toilet to empty your guts.

“I haven’t eaten dinner…” Seungcheol mumbles, and you’re alarmed. “Have you?”

“Cheol, why haven’t you eaten? It’s late,” You cup Seungcheol’s cheek to make him look up at you. He looked so cute, but the scent was seriously bothering you.

Seungcheol smiles at you, leaning into your hand as he speaks, “You requested that we— we eat dinner together. Remember?”

This idiot.

“Cheol, I already ate,” You say cautiously, already preparing for a sulky Seungcheol to make his appearance. “Chef Wen already went home so I can just cook for you if you want.”

As expected, Seungcheol pouts at you. “Traitor.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” You laugh a little. “What do you want to eat?”

“Are youuu on the menu?” Seungcheol wiggles his eyebrow suggestively, and you have to resist the urge to pull out your phone and start recording this.

Oh, how the tables have turned, Choi Seungcheol.

“Not for dinner, but maybe for breakfast tomorrow,” You reply. You need to end this conversation quickly before you puked all over Seungcheol. The urge was so strong that it was almost as if you had been the one drinking. “Now go take a shower, you smell like alcohol.”

“Fineeee,” Seungcheol huffs out before walking towards the stairs.

You stay a few paces behind him, far enough to not offend your nose with the scent of alcohol, but close enough to catch him in case he tripped or fell.

When Seungcheol finishes showering, you’re already curled up under the sheets waiting for him.

The bed dips behind you underneath his weight, the blanket shifting and rustling as he covers himself from the coldness of the room. Once Seungcheol settles under the blanket, his arms are quick to wrap around you.

“Don’t leave me,” Seungcheol mumbles out, the alcohol clearly still in his veins.

Your eyes are quick to flutter open at his words, softly, you hum, “Hm?”

“I love you,” Seungcheol whispers, nose burying itself into your hair.

Your heart is suddenly beating faster, anticipation filling your veins at his words. You know you shouldn’t trust the words of a drunken man, but was it so foolish for you to hope that it was true—

“Sohee.”

You world comes crashing down that night.

—

Seungcheol wonders if he did anything wrong.

It’s been a week since the night he came home drunk beyond comprehension, and you’ve switched back to that polite persona you had at the start of your marriage. It’s subtle, but every time Seungcheol reaches out to touch you or kiss you, you flinch for a second before something akin to defeat takes over you.

What could he have done to make you act that way?

“Here’s the flowers,” The old woman hands Seungcheol an arrangement of her freshest, prettiest flowers with a kind smile. “Your wife’s a very lucky woman.”

“I like to think I’m the lucky one, Ma’am,” Seungcheol smiles as he takes the bouquet and hands the old woman his payment (with a little extra to show his appreciation).

Briefly, he wonders if he should drop by your favorite chocolate shop, but he decides against it immediately. Seungcheol had woken up to the sight of you doubled over the toilet, vomiting so much that he was so close to rushing you to the hospital. Only your dismissal had held him back. He’ll buy you the chocolates another time, he thinks, when you’re feeling better. For now, the bouquet would have to do.

Seungcheol knows the bouquet won’t magically undo whatever offense he did, but he hopes it’ll—at the very least—put a smile on your face.

But whatever he did, he needed to find out soon.

—

This was the longest three minutes of your life.

You think the wood underneath you will start smoking soon with how long you’ve been pacing over the same wooden panels for the last minute.

You had woken up this morning feeling a violent stir in your stomach. It had been so bad that you immediately shot out of bed and rushed to the toilet to empty your guts. You remember Seungcheol rushing over to hold your hair and rub your back up and down as you vomited into the toilet until your eyes were teary and your throat was scratchy.

Seungcheol had forced you to stay at home, even going as far as threatening you with the idea of him staying at home to watch over you to make sure that you don’t sneak off into work.

Having Seungcheol around was the last thing you wanted, so you complied.

There’s one minute left on the clock, and you’re sitting down on the floor, back against the wall of your bedroom as you tuck your knees to your chest.

You loved Seungcheol, and you still do. Even when the only thing you’ve been feeling around him these past few days is an inexplicable pain that rips your heart into shreds. Every single time you’re reminded of that night, you feel yourself die, a slow, painful death that you can’t seem to see the end of.

It’s a pain you wouldn’t wish on anyone in this world, not even on the people who’ve wronged you.

A minute passes, and on shaky legs, you stand.

Your heart is pounding, blood rushing through your ears and pumping through your veins as you take slow steps towards the bathroom sink. With trembling hands, you pick up the cassette.

It’s futile to delay when all the signs point towards it, you think. The sensitivity, the nausea, the vomiting, the missed period, and the calendar showing the date six weeks from your honeymoon trip.

Two lines.

Positive.

The entirety of your body goes cold, and you’re quick to clutch onto the edges of the bathroom counter to stabilize yourself as your knees go weak.

At that moment, you don’t think of Seungcheol.

Memories from your childhood flash through your mind like a storm. The dinners spent alone, the heated arguments bleeding from the crack of your parents’ bedroom door, the slow deterioration of their marriage, and their insistence of staying in that dysfunctional relationship for your sake.

You would’ve been better off if they had divorced.

The decision comes to you quicker than you thought it would. Your child wasn’t going to suffer the way you did. That child wasn’t going to grow up watching their father pine after another woman while their mother cried herself to exhaustion in the bathroom every night. That child won’t have the complete family everyone else had, but that child would be loved.

You could spend the rest of your life being second best to the memories of a woman who was halfway across the globe, but your child didn’t deserve to be damned to a fate like yours just because their mother was stupidly in love with a man that would never love her back.

Quickly, you wipe your face dry and stuff the pregnancy test into the trash can, covering it with toilet paper from the dispenser. Once you’ve hidden all the evidence, you sit on the edge of the bed and text your lawyer to prepare all the necessary paperwork.

That night, when Seungcheol gets home, you only ask him one question. One last attempt to save your marriage that was on the verge of collapse.

“Seungcheol,” You whisper shakily, tears pricking at your lashes as your eyes lock onto the bouquet in Seungcheol’s hand.

“Is everything okay?” Seungcheol asks. The worry is evident in his eyes as he reaches out for you, but you step back, putting a hand out in front of you to stop him.

The worry in his eyes is quick to turn into hurt, but you’re sure it’s nothing compared to the one in your heart.

“Are you still in love with Sohee?” Her name leaves your mouth like a curse, your throat seizing like the words were physically killing you as you say them. “Tell me the truth, please.”

Choi Seungcheol never lies, but you still find yourself pleading with him to not do it anyway.

He looks at you like there’s a loaded gun in his hand, lips trembling and eyes flooded with fear. You can see the plea in his eyes, the desperation, but that’s not what you want.

What you want is the truth.

“I’m sorry,” It’s all Seungcheol says.

It’s all you need to hear.

A/N: I am so sorry. I’m just here to tell a story, really 🙂‍↕️ Feel free to scream at me in my askbox LMAO (NO BUT ACTUALLY I AM SO SORRY FOR THIS ONE 😭). Mingyu’s story was too happy so I’m just balancing it out with this one 😄 Part 2 will be hopefully be out by the end of the year because I still need to finish my thesis and get my degree 🥹

🔹taglist: @sumzysworld, @junniesoleilkth, @hluisstuff, @alohacrispyrn, @lolawlolawlol, @faizaa09, @ieushl, @markoplolo, @chykyu

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