wontechno

[wontechno]

ITS SUNGCHEOL DAYYYY AHHHHH

[wontechno]

i need more carat and engene friends😭😭😭 pleaseeeee

[wontechno]

AHAHA I SAW ENHYPEN

[wontechno]

the wrong kind of right

⊹ overview - pairing: seungcheol x f!reader genre: messy love · bittersweet · introspective drama · mild angst themes: quiet yearning, moral ambiguity, situationship, guilt and desire. cw: sexual content (MDNI), infidelity, emotional cheating, alcohol, suggestive situations, pet names, unprotected sex.

minors do not interact!

summary: you don’t belong to him and he doesn’t belong to you. tet through whispered conversations, soft touches, and the way he looks at you when it’s just the two of you, he’s the secret you keep tucked away.

from kai: i was listening to the weekend by sza and… well. this happened. kind of.

it was supposed to be dinner. nothing fancy. just a place you liked, a reservation made two weeks ago, and a text that arrived half an hour too late.

babe, the guys just dropped by unexpectedly. can we move dinner to sunday?

you read it once. then again. no sorry this time. just logistics. like you were another appointment.

your wine was already poured by then. the waitress had just lit the candle at your table when the message came through.

you sat there a little longer than you needed to, staring at the plate of pasta in front of you like it might blink first.

you didn’t cry. didn’t throw your phone across the table or curse his name under your breath. you just asked for the check, signed it without looking, and stepped out into the street like you weren’t sure where else to go.

the bar next door wasn’t unfamiliar. warm lighting, quiet music, a vaguely vintage smell of oak and orange peel. a safe place to disappear for a bit.

somewhere you used to come before things felt like routines.

you sit at the bar and order something stronger than wine. pretend to scroll through your phone while you decide if it’s sadder to go home early or stay and look like you’re waiting for someone.

you’re not even supposed to be talking to anyone. that was the deal you made with yourself the second you sat down at the bar. no rebound flirting, no trying to “salvage the night.” just one drink and then home.

except now there’s this guy two stools over, arguing with the bartender about the jazz playlist like he owns the place.

“you seriously changed it?” he says, mock offended. “after everything we’ve been through?”

the bartender laughs. “you only show up when you get dumped.”

“i was not dumped. it was mutual ghosting.”

“uh-huh. tell that to your sad playlist.”

you try not to stare. try not to smile. but it’s already tugging at the corner of your mouth when he catches your eye.

“don’t judge me,” he says, raising his glass like a toast. “i’m having a deeply personal moment with chet baker.”

you raise your own glass in response. “chet’s been through worse.”

his grin widens. “you know jazz?”

“i know heartbreak.”

“same thing, really.” he shifts one seat closer. doesn’t ask permission.

“he canceled on you?”

you turned toward the voice.

he didn’t smile. just sipped and looked at you like he already knew the answer.

you raised an eyebrow. “what makes you think that?”

“your glass is too full, and you keep looking at the door like you’re giving someone five more minutes.”

you looked down. your hand was resting near your phone.

“he postponed. technically.”

“ah. even worse.” he nodded. “delayed disappointment. classic.”

you tried not to let it affect you.

“you always this nosy with strangers?”

“only the ones who walk in like they’re trying not to be seen.”

“what does that mean?”

he shrugged. “you have the look.”

“what look?”

“like you needed a quiet place to be mad.”

you huffed. not quite a laugh, but not denial either. he leaned slightly closer, just enough for you to smell the whiskey on his breath.

“don’t worry,” he said. “i’m not here to flirt.”

“good.” you replied. “because that would be a waste of time.”

he chuckled. “noted.”

“what’s your name?” he asks.

you hesitate. you shouldn’t. you really shouldn’t. but you tell him.

he nods. repeats it under his breath, like he’s trying it on for size.

“pretty...” he says. “but not soft. just like you.”

you narrow your eyes. “you don’t know anything about me.”

“well, i know that you’re here. alone. wearing a ring.”

your fingers curl slightly on instinct, brushing over the thin gold band. not a wedding ring. just a simple promise.

you wait for the question. the judgement. something. it doesn’t come.

“i’m not married.” you say.

“didn’t say you were.”

“you implied it.”

“to be honest, i’m just curious...” he says, voice low. “he must be a very secure man to leave you alone in a place like this.”

you should be annoyed. but there’s something in his tone... not pushy, not smug. just... present. you let the silence stretch between you. then, like it’s nothing:

“seungcheol.”

he offers it like a passing thought, not something he expects you to keep. you nod once. don’t repeat it.

“you’re still not flirting?” you ask.

he smiles again, slower this time. “if i were, you'd be laughing by now.”

you roll your eyes. but your lips curve with it. he doesn’t try to close the distance. doesn’t ask where your boyfriend is. doesn’t mention the ring again.

instead, he traces the rim of his glass with one finger, thoughtful. then looks at you again.

“you look like you’re about to leave.”

“maybe.”

“shame.”

“why?”

“conversation was just getting interesting.”

you finish your drink in one swallow. stand up. he doesn’t stop you. just watches as you slip your coat back on.

you turn once before walking out and that’s when he moves. reaches for a napkin, scribbles something quickly, and offers it to you with two fingers.

“in case you feel like being seen, next time.”

you glance at the numbers. no name.

“that’s bold.” you say.

“i won’t hold my breath.” he replies, finishing his drink. “but thursdays can be unpredictable.”

you leave the bar lighter than when you walked in and you tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything. you don’t text him that week. or the one after.

but you think about it. more than once.

the days pass. your boyfriend keeps canceling. dinners, movies, weekends. things you used to look forward a little too much to. things that now feel like maybe they were never really for you.

at first, he has good reasons. work’s been hectic. he’s exhausted. something urgent came up. his brother’s in town. he needs a night with the guys. you say okay. every time. you want to be understanding. you really do.

but the excuses start piling.

and the effort? that doesn’t.

he forgets small things. the book you told him you were reading. your big meeting last week. your sister’s birthday dinner. he kisses you without looking up from his phone. asks “what’s wrong?” like he hasn’t already ignored your last three texts.

you try bringing it up. gently. once.

he sighs. tells you you’re being dramatic. says “you know how much i care about you” and somehow it sounds like “can we not do this right now?”

so you stop.

you stop asking when he’ll be free. stop reminding him of your plans. you stop expecting anything at all. you just shrink around it.

you still see him, sometimes. but even when you’re in the same room, you feel like background noise. a fixture in the apartment. a maybe. a later. a rain check with legs.

the silence between you gets heavier. and you keep thinking that maybe it’s just a phase. maybe everyone gets like this eventually.

but then thursday rolls around again. you’re already home this time. a takeout bag still warm on the counter. candles lit in your bedroom like you were trying to make it feel like something. like it meant something. you didn’t even tell him to come over. you just hoped he might.

your phone buzzes.

they want to grab a drink. it’s been months. you understand, right?

nothing more. no i’ll make it up to you. just assumption. expectation. like of course you’ll understand.

you don’t reply. you just sit there for a moment, still. like maybe if you stay still enough, you won’t feel the ache settling in your chest. like maybe it’s your fault for hoping. for waiting.

you blow out the candles. walk to the kitchen. and open the drawer where you keep old receipts, forgotten pens, and a napkin you were absolutely not supposed to keep.

your fingers find it too easily. your thumbs hover over your phone for a long time.

you type. delete. type again.

and then:

you guess you were right about thursdays

the response comes quicker than you expect.

seungcheol didn’t think i’d hear from you but i was hoping

you bite your lip. heart a little too loud.

you i wasn’t gonna text you

seungcheol and yet

a pause.

seungcheol where are you?

your breath catches. your fingers tighten around the phone.

you home. alone.

one minute. then two.

seungcheol do you want company?

you don’t answer right away. you reread the last message. and the one before that. and suddenly the silence of your apartment feels unbearable.

so you type slowly.

you maybe just a drink

seungcheol sure just a drink

you don’t believe him. and maybe that’s why you get up to change.

it’s the same bar. same lights, same low music. same seat at the corner that feels like it’s been holding its breath.

he’s already there when you walk in. same shirt. same chain. same look in his eyes when he sees you. amused, unreadable, like he saw this coming before you did.

you slide onto the stool beside him. he doesn’t say anything at first. just slides a glass in your direction, like it’s habit.

you glance at it, then at him.

“don’t assume i drink the same thing every time.” you say.

he shrugs. “didn’t seem like the night to experiment.”

you take the glass anyway. the first sip burns. he watches you like it doesn’t.

he lifts his drink. “to whatever brought you in.”

you clink, barely. no toast in return.

you talk, eventually. but it stays on the surface. music, cities, random half-stories that make you both smile. he doesn’t ask about your boyfriend. doesn’t say “so, what changed?”

he doesn’t need to.

his knee bumps yours once, then doesn’t move.

his eyes flick to your mouth more than once, and every time they do, your breath feels a little less steady. his thumb runs absently along the rim of his glass, and all you can think about is how it would feel against your skin.

you set your drink down and ask: “why are you so confident? so sure of things?”

his smile is lazy. “it’s not confidence if i’m right.”

you roll your eyes, but the heat in your chest doesn’t fade. you stare at him for a second too long. and maybe it’s the drink. or the week you had. or the way he looks at you like he already knows what you taste like.

but when you say it, your voice doesn’t shake.

“wanna come over?”

he doesn’t blink. doesn’t hesitate.

“just one more drink?” he says, like it’s a joke. like he’d already said yes the second you walked in.

your place is dim. a little messy. the kind of quiet that makes your heartbeat sound louder than it should.

you open a bottle of wine and pour into mismatched glasses, the only ones clean.

he follows without asking. just steps inside like he’s done it before, like he belongs there. doesn’t sit. just stands in the middle of your living room and watches you take a sip, fingers wrapped tight around the glass.

you try not to look nervous. fail completely.

“so…” you start. but don’t finish. because he’s already walking toward you. slow. certain. and suddenly there’s no space left to pretend this is casual.

he takes the glass from your hand and sets it down on the counter without looking. then, like he’s asking something simple:

“come here.”

you don’t think. you just move.

his hands are on your waist before you reach him. his mouth on yours before your next breath. the kiss is slow, not soft. there’s a difference. he doesn’t rush it, doesn’t fumble.

he kisses you like he’s been imagining it in pieces, and now he’s putting them together one by one. his hands slide down your hips, anchoring you. fingers splayed, certain. he pulls back just enough to look at you.

his voice is low, near your jaw:

“you want this or you’re just lonely?”

you meet his eyes.

“does it matter?”

he smiles. dark. “not to me.”

you nod. he doesn’t ask again.

he lifts you easily, like it’s instinct. and starts walking you backward, lips brushing your neck, knuckles grazing skin. your back hits the bed before you realize how far you’ve made it.

he undresses you slowly. not teasing, not showy. just… deliberate. like this part matters. like every layer is something he earned.

he doesn’t ask for permission with every touch. just watches your face, waits for the way your breath catches like that’s all the yes he needs.

when he looks at you bare, he exhales sharp. something between reverence and hunger.

“fuck...” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

his fingers trail lower. measuring. learning. and when his mouth follows, slow at first and then not, you gasp. too hard, too loud.

you reach for his hair. he doesn’t stop. just holds you down, steady, until your thighs are trembling and your breath comes in broken pieces.

when he finally kisses you, you taste yourself on his lips.

his fingers slide between your thighs again, slick and sensitive. you flinch. he hums against your mouth.

“not used to this, huh?”

you try to speak. fail. you can’t even lie. he slides in slow. one long thrust that knocks the air from your lungs.

your mouth falls open. no sound. just pressure. full and overwhelming.

he fucks you deep and steady, one hand gripping your waist, the other braced beside your head.

he doesn’t talk much, but when he does it’s a low string of things you weren’t ready to hear.

“look at me, pretty.”

“is this what you needed?”

you nod, gasping, fingers digging into his arms. he kisses you like he’s claiming you. fucks you like he’s trying to ruin you for anyone else.

and by the time you come again, you’re half-sure he’s already succeeded.

after, he stays. not awkward. not obligated. just… stays. like it never crossed his mind to leave.

you’re half-draped across his chest, legs tangled. neither of you says anything for a long time. his hand moves slow down your back, tracing nothing in particular.

you wonder if this is where the guilt is supposed to kick in. but all you feel is warm. and his breath, steady against your neck.

you close your eyes.

just for a second.

you wake before him. his arm is heavy across your waist. your sheets smell like wine, sweat, and something deeper. something not yours alone anymore.

you don’t move.

when he stirs, you let your breath even out. pretend. he says your name once, then again. softer the second time. you keep still.

you feel the mattress shift as he gets up, the quiet sounds of him dressing. zipper, keys, the door unlatching.

then silence.

you stare at the ceiling, trying to find the feeling you’re supposed to be having.

guilt. shame. regret.

nothing comes.

only the memory of his voice, rough and close: look at me, pretty. you close your eyes again. you don’t want to forget it.

after that, you don’t text him. not that day. not the next. you go back to your life. the one with morning coffee, dry kisses, and half-finished grocery lists.

your boyfriend doesn’t notice anything. he’s busy. distracted. work, gym, group chats, meetings. he falls asleep on the couch half the week.

when he kisses you, it’s soft. detached. like muscle memory. you match the energy. nod at the right times. laugh on cue. you smile when you’re supposed to. and it should feel wrong.

but it doesn’t.

and that’s what starts to eat at you. not the sex. not the lie. just the absence of guilt. the weightless way it all fits together.

you think about seungcheol more than you mean to.

the way he looked at you like you were real. like you were seen. you remember the weight of his body. the voice. the calm kind of control that made your pulse spike.

you don’t delete the messages but you stop replying. and he doesn’t push.

a few texts come in:

seungcheol i know you’re busy just checking in

seungcheol did thursday get boring without me?

then nothing.

you try to feel relieved. you don’t.

the knock on your door comes a week later. friday night. your boyfriend’s out, drinks with coworkers. you expect delivery but when you open the door, it’s him. black hoodie, wind in his hair, one hand in his pocket like he’s holding back everything he wants to say.

you freeze.

“what the fuck?”

“hi, pretty.”

your heart stutters.

“what are you doing here?”

he shrugs. “returning the favor. figured we owed each other a drink.”

you glance behind you, pulse climbing.

“you can’t just show up like this.”

he lifts a brow. “why not? i already know the way.”

“my boyfriend could’ve been here.”

his mouth twitches. “but he’s not.”

you want to slam the door. you don’t.

you step back and he walks in like the place still remembers him. he doesn’t hesitate. just turns to you, hands in his pockets.

“you ghosted me.”

you cross your arms. “i had to. it wasn’t... sustainable.”

he scoffs. “funny. felt pretty natural to me.”

you narrow your eyes. “you’re being an asshole.”

“am i?” he takes a step closer. “or am i the only one telling the truth?”

you hate how steady he is. how your body reacts before your brain decides.

“why are you really here?” you ask, quieter now.

he’s close. not touching you but close enough that your skin feels aware of it.

“i haven’t stopped thinking about you” he says. his hand brushes your arm. “your mouth. your voice. how you sound when you come apart. fuck…” his voice falters, almost like he hates hearing himself say it. “you’re in my head all the time, pretty.”

you should push him away. but instead, you tilt your chin and say,

“you don’t get to call me that.”

he smiles, slow. “you didn’t mind it before.”

you don’t deny it. you don’t say anything at all.

his thumb skims your bottom lip. “want me to leave?” he asks, soft now.

dangerous.

you don’t answer but he knows.

he kisses you like he’s angry at how long it’s been. like restraint was never really on the table. your back hits the wall and his hands are everywhere. under your shirt, gripping your thighs, pulling you closer like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind.

you gasp when he lifts you. legs wrap around his waist without hesitation.

“missed this...” he breathes against your skin. “missed you.”

you’re already breathless.

“you shouldn’t be here.” you whisper.

he laughs. low, amused, a sound that hums against your neck. “but you want me here.” a kiss under your jaw. “don’t you?”

you close your eyes. “fuck.”

he carries you to the couch. lays you down with urgency, like the moment might slip away if he’s not careful.

this time, he’s faster. pulls your shirt off like it doesn't matters how it comes off. you squirm under his gaze.

“don’t look at me like that.” you say.

“like what?”

“like you care.”

he leans in, kisses your sternum. then lower. then lower still.

“maybe i do.” he murmurs. his voice is rough now. “would that be so bad?”

you don’t answer. you can’t.

his hands slide under your waistband. he takes his time. when he kisses your thigh, you say his name once, barely a breath. and he exhales like it undid something in him.

then his mouth is on you. again. he eats you like he’s starving. not for release, for you. like the taste is proof you’re real. your hips jerk and he presses you down, firm.

“stay still.” he murmurs.

“let me.”

you come too fast, too hard. and before you can catch your breath, he’s on you again. mouth, hands, heat, everything.

his belt clinks. your thoughts scatter. he fucks you slow this time. but still deep. sure. like he wants you to remember every second of it tomorrow. you clutch at him. his back, his shoulder, anything.

you don’t say his name again. but you think it. over and over. like a secret. like a prayer.

when he speaks, it’s low. honest. unguarded.

“i can’t stop thinking about you.”

“he doesn’t get to have you like this.”

and then, right before you fall apart again, voice barely a whisper:

“say you’re mine. just for now. say it.”

and you do. because in that moment, you are.

after, you lay on the couch, tangled and silent. his hand is on your waist, thumb brushing lazy circles into your skin. you try not to think about what this means. you try not to look at the time. you try not to imagine your boyfriend walking in.

but none of that happens.

the world is quiet. and seungcheol is warm beside you.

“you okay?” he asks, finally.

you nod. “yeah.” then, after a beat:

“you can’t keep showing up like this.”

he doesn’t flinch. “then don’t make me miss you.”

you laugh. tired. frustrated. “it’s not that simple.”

“it is for me.” he says. “i want you. that’s it.”

you turn away, suddenly overwhelmed. he presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“i’ll go.” he murmurs. “just... tell me if you’re gonna shut me out again.”

you don’t promise anything. but when he gets up to leave, you don’t stop him. you just lie there. quiet. and when the door clicks shut behind him, you already miss him.

it becomes routine faster than you expect. thursdays, mostly. sometimes mondays. you don’t talk about it. you don’t have to. he texts. you show up. sometimes you stay for an hour. sometimes all night.

always at his place now. a quiet apartment on the edge of the city with clean sheets and soft lighting and music that never stops playing.

he never asks questions. never pushes. but he always opens the door like he’s been waiting. and you like that. you like how he looks at you like you’re not cheating.

he still calls you pretty. sometimes in bed. sometimes when you’re just sitting there, drinking his whiskey in one of his hoodies, legs tucked under you like you belong there. you hate how right it feels.

your boyfriend starts to notice. at first, it’s nothing. a passing comment:

“you seem happier lately.”

“you look really good this week.”

and then it builds.

“wanna do something friday? just us?”

“i miss this. you and me.”

you nod. you smile. you let him hold your hand across the dinner table. but your mind is still stuck on the way seungcheol holds your hips when you ride him. the way he says your name with his mouth full of need.

and it gets harder to juggle. you start making excuses.

"i'm working late."

"i told a friend i'd help her move."

"my mom's been calling a lot lately."

and your boyfriend buys it. until he doesn’t.

it happens on a tuesday. you’re in the shower, phone on the bathroom counter, music playing. he walks in, says something about ordering dinner. you shout back, "anything's fine!"

he says okay. you don’t notice the pause. don’t hear the phone buzz under the steam and music. when you walk out, towel wrapped around you, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, phone in hand.

yours.

your heart stops. you freeze in the doorway.

he looks up, eyes unreadable.

“who’s seungcheol?” he asks. it’s not loud. not angry. just quiet. and you feel the floor shift under you.

your mouth opens. closes.

“what?”

he shows you the screen. a single notification:

seungcheol you left your sweater, pretty.

just that. nothing else. but it’s enough.

you step forward, towel clutched tighter.

“he’s just...it’s not like that.”

“so what is it like?” his voice still calm. too calm.

“he’s just a coworker. he calls everyone that. it's... it's just his thing.”

he stares at you. like he’s trying to see through you. you smile, shaky.

“you know i’d never do anything.”

he nods. too fast.

“right.” he says. then stands. “i’ll order something.”

he walks out of the room. doesn’t say another word. and you stand there, dripping, heart racing, stomach twisted, wondering if this was it.

if it’s already falling apart. if you’ve gone too far to come back.

you wipe the steam from the mirror. look at your reflection.

you look good. a little flushed. a little wild. like someone in love.

and that’s the problem.

you shouldn’t have gone to his place that night. but you did.

the city was too loud. your boyfriend too quiet. and the ache in your chest too familiar.

you texted two words:

you you home?

and he replied in under a minute.

seungcheol always for you, pretty

you didn’t even say hi when you walked in. you grabbed him by the collar and kissed him like you were trying to shut yourself up. he let you. hands on your waist. mouth on your throat.

you pulled off his shirt. he pressed you to the wall. clothes hit the floor without ceremony. he fucks you hard this time.

not unkind but intense. like he’s trying to burn his name into your spine. your nails leave red trails on his shoulders. you moan too loud. you don’t care.

when it’s over, you lie there in the dark, chest still heaving. he reaches for his phone on the nightstand, checking something. you sit up.

“cheol...”

he looks over.

you swallow. “you need to stop texting me first.”

he blinks.

“…what?”

“i mean it. don’t reach out unless i text you first. it’s... risky.”

he sits up slowly. you feel the shift in the air.

“risky.” he repeats. “but what we’re doing isn’t?”

“it’s different.”

“it’s not.” he says. then quieter, “but sure. whatever makes you feel better.”

you can feel the weight in his words. you know he’s hurt. you see it in the way he doesn’t look at you as he grabs his shirt. you pretend not to notice. because acknowledging it would make it real.

you stay the night, anyway.

things start to press down on you after that. not like guilt. more like gravity.

being with two people is exhausting. two versions of yourself, two stories to tell, two worlds you’re keeping from colliding.

you’re good at it but you’re tired. and then it gets worse.

you’re out with your boyfriend, some rooftop bar he found online. warm lights, clinking glasses, music low enough for conversation.

he’s holding your hand again. touching your waist like he remembered how.

“i missed this” he says.

you smile. you nod. you lie. you turn your head to avoid the weight of it and that’s when you see him.

two tables away. black shirt. same chain. drink in hand. and a girl beside him.

she’s laughing. touching his arm like she’s done it before. and he’s letting her.

your stomach twists before you can stop it. your pulse stutters. your jaw tightens. jealousy blooms in your throat like something rotten. ugly and hot and sudden. and you have no right to feel it.

you watch them too long.

your boyfriend says something beside you but it’s muffled, far away. like you’re underwater.

you stand before you even think to. legs moving without permission. you walk over like it’s casual, like it’s nothing, like your entire body isn’t vibrating.

“hey” you say, too cheerful.

seungcheol looks up slowly. blinks.

“hi.” he says. voice unreadable.

you gesture vaguely over your shoulder. “my boyfriend’s here. just thought i’d say hi.”

there’s a pause. too long.

you glance at the girl. “and this is…?”

she smiles before he can speak. “i’m jihye, nice to meet you.” she says, light and easy.

seungcheol lifts his glass. “she’s my friend.” he says, dry.

you meet his eyes. there’s something bitter there. but neither of your dates seem to notice.

you turn just in time as your boyfriend joins you.

“babe, this is seungcheol.” you say, hoping your voice doesn’t shake. “the friend i told you about.”

friend. you could choke on it.

your boyfriend nods, polite. they shake hands. the girl stays quiet. just keeps watching you.

you smile too wide. “well. don’t let us interrupt. looks like a great date.”

seungcheol raises an eyebrow. but he says nothing.

you turn around. walk away before your mouth does something reckless.

you don’t look back.

you show up at his door an hour later. no text. no warning. he opens it, surprised. his shirt is off. he looks tired. annoyed.

“what are you doing here?”

“where is she?”

he raises an eyebrow. “she left. why?”

you push past him, walk into his apartment like you live there. he shuts the door behind you, slow.

“you okay?”

you turn, arms crossed.

“were you gonna sleep with her?”

he laughs. dry. “are you serious?”

“answer me.”

“why do you care?” his voice is sharper now. “you’re the one who keeps leaving. you’re the one who goes home to someone else.”

“that’s not the point.”

“then what is?” he steps closer. “you don’t get to be jealous, pretty. not when the only place we exist is this apartment.”

your mouth goes dry. “you were the one who said you didn’t care” you whisper.

he laughs again, but it doesn’t sound like humor. “yeah, well. i lied.”

the silence stretches. you feel it like a bruise. your throat tight. your heart worse.

“so what now?” you ask.

“you tell me...” he says. “you’re the one juggling hearts like glassware.”

you stare at him. and for the first time, you’re not sure which one you’re more afraid of losing.

after that night everything changed between you and seungcheol. the easy back-and-forth, the electric pull that used to crackle in the air whenever you touched. it all shifted.

his messages became sparse, his words clipped, and the warmth you used to find in his eyes was replaced by a quiet distance that made your chest ache.

it was like you were holding onto a ghost, reaching out through the silence but feeling nothing but cold air.

you tried to tell yourself he just needed space, that maybe he was sorting through his own mess. but the silence grew heavier every day. your phone would buzz and you’d hope it was him, but often it wasn’t.

and when you did hear from him, it was just a word, a sentence. never the late-night confessions or teasing you craved.

the gap between you widened, and with every unanswered text, the weight in your chest tightened.

the loneliness started to claw at you, and one night you couldn’t hold it back anymore. you sent the simplest message you could think of:

you can you come over?

seungcheol on my way

when he arrived, the air between you was thick, heavy with things neither of you said. his eyes searched yours, like he was trying to read all the words left unsaid.

you sat close but felt miles apart, the quiet stretching until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“seungcheol, how am i supposed to leave him...” you whispered, voice shaking, “when i don’t even know you? when what we have feels like just this... something physical, something temporary?”

his jaw tightened, and for a moment he said nothing. then, quietly, he said, “you never gave me a chance to be more.”

those words hit you harder than you expected, a sudden crack in your carefully guarded walls. you swallowed, the ache growing deeper.

“you think i wanted it to be like this?” you say, quiet but firm. “living my life like you’re not part of it? but it’s not that simple.”

he stood up, slowly, like your words had pushed him back. “then maybe you shouldn’t have started something you weren’t ready for.”

your breath caught. “i didn’t mean to...”

“but you did.” his voice wasn’t loud, but it cut clean. “we don’t need to have this conversation. not if you’re still choosing someone else.”

you flinched. “i’m not choosing him.”

“you know what? that’s true...” he said, bitter now. “it feels like you’re not choosing anything. not him. not me. just whatever hurts less in the moment.”

you stared at him, suddenly cold. “so what, you’re done?”

he exhaled, eyes fixed on the floor. “i’m not a detour. and i’m not going to keep waiting for you to decide if i’m worth it.”

you didn’t stop him when he walked to the door. you didn’t ask him to stay. you watched the door close.

and this time, the silence answered for you.

you don’t go back to seungcheol. not that night. not the one after.

you don’t text. you don’t call. you just sit with it. the weight of everything, the way your heart aches in places you didn’t even know existed.

you think about the way he looked at you that night. how quiet he went when you said the wrong thing. how badly he wanted to be more, and how little you let him.

it’s around 3 a.m. when it hits you. curled into the far end of the couch, silent, wrapped in a blanket that doesn’t feel like warmth anymore.

you’ve been shrinking. pulling yourself in at the seams, little by little. and maybe that’s what this was always about.

not him. just you.

you ask your boyfriend to come over. he says yes, too quickly. like he’s relieved. like maybe he’s been waiting for this to feel normal again.

he brings wine. you don’t drink it. you sit on opposite ends of the couch, the distance screaming louder than either of you.

you take a deep breath. start slow.

“we need to talk.”

his eyes flick to yours. guarded. calm. you expect confusion. anger. something. but all he does is nod. like he’s already bracing for the hit.

“i’m ending this.” you say. “we’re not working. we haven’t been. and i’ve been lying to you.”

his mouth twitches. not a smile. something smaller.

“you think i didn’t know?”

you blink.

“you think i don’t smell his cologne on your clothes?” his voice doesn’t raise. it sharpens. “you think i don’t see the marks on your body? the ones i didn’t leave?”

your breath catches. he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“you think i don’t notice when you shower twice before bed? or when you smile at your phone like it’s holding something sacred?”

you stare at him.

“you’re just confused,” he says, like that explains it all. “it’s okay. i’ve been there. i had a thing, once. a girl i couldn’t stop thinking about. but it passed.” he shrugs.

“it always passes. you realize it’s just a phase, a distraction. some affair to escape real life for a while.”

you clench your fists. “this isn’t about him.”

“no.” he says, with a strange, soft certainty. “it’s about us. it’s always been about us. this is us. and deep down, you know that.”

you shake your head. something dark stirs in your chest.

“no, it’s about you being a selfish, inattentive, emotionally lazy piece of shit who didn’t notice i was slipping away until it was convenient to care.” his face shifts, just slightly.

“you want to know the truth?” you whisper. “i didn’t feel guilty. not once. not even the first time.”

he goes still.

“and it wasn’t because i stopped loving you.” you continue, “it’s because somewhere along the way, you stopped deserving to be loved.”

his jaw tightens.

“this was never about him. not really. he was just the first person in a long time who saw me. who wanted me. who listened when i spoke. who looked at me like i was still alive.” you exhale. “so no... i’m not confused. i’m just done.”

silence.

you watch him absorb that. watch him break without breaking. he nods. once. stands up. doesn’t say a word. he walks to the door.

pauses.

“you’ll regret this.” he says, not looking back.

“maybe,” you reply. “but at least i’ll regret it for myself.”

and then he’s gone. you sit there for a long time. longer than you mean to.

you breathe in.

breathe out.

and for the first time in weeks, you feel light. not healed. not free. but closer.

but after that night, you don’t go after seungcheol. again. not because you don’t miss him. not because you don’t replay his voice in your head when everything goes quiet.

you never gave me a chance to be more.

he was right and that’s exactly why you don’t call. because if you went now, after everything, it would feel like he was what’s left.

and he doesn’t deserve to be what’s left. he deserves to be a choice. and you’re not ready to choose anything yet, not even yourself.

the days that follow move slow, like the world is giving you room to breathe.

you spend the first week in silence. not the heavy, guilty kind, just the kind that wraps around your apartment like a fog. you sleep better.

you leave your phone on do not disturb and stop checking it like it holds your pulse. for the first time in months, you feel still.

you go for long walks without a destination. buy fresh flowers. drink your coffee without company and realize how much better it tastes that way.

you say yes to your friends again. not because you’re running away from the quiet, but because you finally have room to enjoy it.

some nights are harder than others. some nights you lie awake and wonder what it would’ve felt like to fall asleep next to seungcheol without consequence. not hiding. not rushing. not lying.

but you don’t text. you don’t open old messages. you let the thought pass through you like wind. and you don’t chase it.

you stop waiting. for him, for anyone. you stop hoping for closure or answers or a version of this story that hurts less.

and somewhere in the middle of that, you start living. your laugh gets louder. your hair gets longer. your presence, bigger. not for someone else, just for you.

and still, sometimes... in a song, in the shape of someone’s shoulders on the street, in the space beside you at a dinner table, he appears.

just for a second. just long enough to make you wonder what could’ve been. and that’s okay.

it's another thursday. not a poetic one. not a repeat. just a thursday where the air feels nice and you don’t want to go home just yet.

you end up at the bar again. not because you need distraction, just because you like it. you like the dim light. the soft hum of conversation. the way no one asks anything of you here.

you order a drink. sit in your usual spot. cross your legs and let your shoulders relax. it’s quiet.

you’re not waiting for anything. and then you see him.

not right away, just out of the corner of your eye. a shift in movement. the sound of a voice that lands like something familiar in your chest.

you look. and there he is.

seungcheol.

same bar. same broad frame. same profile you used to trace with your eyes when you thought he couldn’t feel you watching.

a few seats away, facing slightly away from you, elbow on the bar, fingers drumming absently against a glass that looks mostly untouched.

he’s wearing a black shirt with the sleeves rolled, hair a little longer than before, eyes a little tired. the kind of tired that doesn’t come from lack of sleep but from carrying something too long.

you take him in quietly. he hasn’t seen you yet.

and you don’t look away.

you watch the way he shifts his weight, how his jaw tightens when the bartender asks if he wants another.

he just nods, runs a hand through his hair and exhales. like he’s trying to breathe something out of him.

and then, you move. slowly. like gravity is pulling you toward him.

you sit one stool over. not quite close. not quite far. just enough to be undeniable. he glances at you, casual, instinctive. then does a double take.

you meet his eyes with a soft smile. lift your drink slightly.

“she canceled on you?”

his expression barely changes, but you catch the flicker in his gaze. surprise. then something warmer.

“what makes you think that?” he says. his voice still has that rough edge you remember.

“your glass is too full, and you keep looking at the door like you’re giving someone five more minutes.” you say.

he lets out a quiet laugh, barely a breath. “you always open with that line?”

“only when it works.”

there’s a pause. his eyes flicker down, like he’s trying to process something and you know the moment he notices.

your left hand, resting against the base of your glass. bare. no ring. he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t need to. the acknowledgment sits there between you like a breath held and released.

“what’s your name?” you ask, mirroring that first conversation, letting the words stretch into something gentler now.

he tilts his head slightly, amused. “we’re doing this again?”

“i just like the idea of meeting you properly this time.”

he holds your gaze. “seungcheol.”

you repeat it. like it’s new.

“and you?” he teases, softly.

“still me.”

he hums, eyes crinkling a little at the corners. you set your drink down and shift toward him slightly. your knee almost touches his.

“can i ask you something?” you say.

he nods.

“where did you go to school?”

he looks caught off guard. blinks. “what?”

“like. where did you study? what do you do? what’s your thing, seungcheol?”

he watches you carefully, like he’s waiting for the punchline. but it doesn’t come.

“i studied music.” he says eventually. “switched to sound engineering halfway through. now i do studio work. production, some mixing. freelance stuff.”

you smile. “that sounds like the coolest job i’ve ever heard.”

he shrugs, eyes flicking down to his glass. “pays the bills.”

“do you like it?”

“i do,” he says after a second. “especially when no one’s breathing down my neck about deadlines.”

you nod. and then, before you lose your nerve, you say,

“i want to know you.”

his eyes lift again. sharp. steady.

“for real this time.” you add.

his mouth parts. just slightly. and then he laughs, a real one. full and breathy and stunned.

“what are you doing?” he asks, not defensive, just curious.

“i don’t know...” you say, grinning now. “trying again. starting over. meeting you without the mess.”

his shoulders relax a little. “that’s a new one,” he says. “meeting someone you’ve already—”

“don’t say it.”

he laughs again, quiet and warm.

the conversation moves easily from there. small things, light things.

you talk about terrible dates and strange pets, favorite takeout orders and the music that makes you cry when you least expect it. at one point, he asks if you still sleep with socks on. and you roll your eyes, say you’re reformed now.

he calls you a liar.

it feels easy. not rushed. not performative. just two people in a bar. trying. softly.

the night gets late, but you don’t check the time. the air smells like citrus and leather. the noise around you fades into a low blur. and then he leans slightly closer, elbow brushing yours.

“so...” he murmurs. “you’re not gonna ask me back to your place for a drink?”

you blink at him. not shocked. just careful.

“no.”

his expression stills. not hurt, not angry. just… unreadable. a quiet breath held in his chest.

you wait a second. then say,

“but i was gonna ask if you’re free tomorrow.”

he looks at you. eyes softening.

“i was thinking something stupid. like a picnic or whatever. somewhere public. full daylight. no bedroom in sight.”

he tilts his head. “trying to prove something?”

“trying to... unlearn something.” you say.

he smiles. and it’s a real smile now. slow and easy, like he’s letting it happen without thinking too hard.

“i’d like that.” he says.

“me too.”

the words sit gently between you and he doesn’t say anything for a moment. just looks at you like maybe for the first time, you’re really seeing him. not through the blur of want or the ache of something forbidden, but just… him.

here. now. choosing him, simply because you want to.

you finish your drinks slowly.

there’s no silence to fill. just a kind of quiet you both settle into, like it belongs to you.

he helps you with your jacket before you even think to reach for it. you laugh when his hand brushes your shoulder.

you walk out together. the air outside is cooler now, clean on your skin. the kind of night that hums low, full of things waiting to happen.

he doesn’t reach for your hand. you don’t reach for his.

because this time, there’s no need to rush toward the next thing. no need to blur the lines to feel close. this time, you’re both choosing to build something slowly.

openly. no shadows. no secrets. no scripts to follow.

just the quiet unfolding of something new. something soft, and good, and real.

and as you walk beside him, shoulders barely touching, you feel it settle in your chest:

you don’t know exactly where this is going.

but for the first time, that doesn’t scare you. because it doesn’t feel like an ending. it feels like the part right before everything begins.

just you, him and a sky wide open with possibility.

[wontechno]

DO NOT DISTURB (Unless It's You) -˚꩜｡- Sim Jae-yun (심재윤)

boyfriend gamer nerd jake texts ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ contains -˚꩜｡- a bit suggestive and contains WAY too much use of "baby"

i hope you guys like this (it was a pain to make (╥﹏╥) ) i tried my best with these, considering ive never had a boyfriend (◞‸ ◟)💧 also jake is 100% the type of person to call his gf baby over nd over

[wontechno]

friends to lovers! scoups: texts ♡

genre: scoups and reader are already lovers hehehehe | a lot of teasing between them | reader and scoups have the same age

note by marie: requests went crazyyy, so happy u guys enjoy my work🩷 for my lovely @choco-scoups ! feel free to interact anytime! ♡ as always, hope you guys like it!

[wontechno]

distance. (choi seungcheol x reader)

summary: When your roommate Seungcheol decides that he likes your coworker, he wants your help in pursuing her. Unbeknownst to him, you have been in love with him for years.

word count: 8.7k

warnings: roommates AU, friends to lovers, angst, unrequited love until it isn’t, mentions of drinking, smut, nsfw, unprotected sex, dirty talk.

Towards the end of your shift, it’s almost easy to block out the sound of the phone ringing or the printer humming. To be fair, it isn’t really a bother since these things sound like white noise to you after working in the same office for the last six years. Pair that with your exhaustion after a long week, and you are more than ready for the clock to hit 5 o’clock so you can get the hell out of there.

There’s a brushing of clothes above you and you tear your bleary eyes from the screen to look up, finding arms clad in a pretty pink sweater draped over the edge of your cubicle wall. Mina sighs down at you, leaning her cheek against her forearm and pouting slightly. You give her a sympathetic look.

“It’s almost time to clock out. Hang in there.”

Mina rounds the wall then, entering your space and leaning against the table. You turn your stare back to the screen, feeling irrational anger as you eye the spreadsheet open in front of you, looking way more complicated than it needs to be. You find yourself glaring at it.

“Any plans for the weekend?” Mina makes small talk. You decide that you would rather engage with her than do even a morsel of more work. You swivel in your chair to face her.

“Not really. This week has been so exhausting I think I will just stay in.” You wondered if Seungcheol would be up for a disgustingly long movie marathon. Maybe not. He can’t sit still for too long.

“I should start packing up.” You announce, pulling your bag out from under your desk so you can shovel your belongings into it. Mina eyes you as you move.

“Is your roommate coming to pick you up?” She gestures to the picture you had taped to your wall, Seungcheol with his arms wrapped around your shoulders from behind and cheek resting on the top of your head. It was graduation. He had dyed his hair blond for the occasion. You had called him ridiculous. You had also secretly thought he looked amazing with blond hair, and your heart had raced when you saw the color on him for the first time, nearly as pale as his skin, and had cursed the gods for creating someone who could look good in literally anything.

It was your favourite picture of the two of you.

You nod at Mina’s question. Seungcheol’s car is in the shop, and since his workplace is way farther than yours, you lent him your car for the week, provided he drops you off and picks you up from work. It was a good arrangement, and you contemplate continuing it even after his car is fixed. It would save a ton on gas money.

Mina hums, looking a bit giddy. “He’s quite the eye candy, isn’t he?”

You purse your lips, trying not to give anything away. Of course Seungcheol is eye candy. He’s the most handsome guy you know. But funnily enough, you like him best when he just rolls out of bed, hair all over the place, eyes swollen from sleep and mouth twisted into a pout. He’s endearing, and he is smart, and he is understanding to a fault.

You’re in love with him. She doesn’t have to know that.

When the clock strikes 5, you and Mina are the first ones out of the door. She tells you about her weekend plans as you descend the stairs, foregoing the elevator, something about karaoke with old college buddies and drinks at a local bar. You hum along, spotting the silver of your car and sharply turning its way. Seungcheol is waiting outside the car for some reason, despite how cold it is, biting his lip as he stares at something on his phone. The sound of footsteps makes him look up and he smiles, eyes flitting to Mina.

“Hi.” She waves at him despite the close proximity. He waves back and echoes the greeting.

“Hello to me too, I guess.” Your words are dry, and Seungcheol sticks his tongue out childishly. Mina giggles, and his attention is caught on her again. Something in your chest sinks a bit.

You don’t listen to them exchanging pleasantries. You are tired, exhausted in fact, and you don’t have it in you to watch Seungcheol flirt with your coworker. He’s a naturally friendly guy, and anyone with eyes can see how attractive Mina is, so you can’t really fault him for that. It’s only when you hear his question that your mind snaps back to the present.

“….. maybe I can take you out sometime?”

You stare at the side of his face. Then at Mina’s. Neither of them looks back, and you realise acutely that you have no place in this conversation. Before you can think about it, your mind is already responding.

“I’ll be in the car.” You mumble, walking past them and pulling open the passenger side door. You settle in and pointedly avoid looking at both of them from the window, pulling your phone out to give the illusion of being busy. Instead, your head is spinning.

This shouldn’t bother you. It shouldn’t. You have known Seungcheol since the first year of college. He has been on countless dates, with people who you know and people who are complete strangers. You may be hung up on him, but he isn’t yours. He can date who he wants.

But something about it being Mina.

You have known Mina since the first day you started at this company. She was still fairly new when you arrived, so you two had bonded over not knowing anyone else. Mina was bubbly, impossibly friendly, and you two had formed an alliance of sorts at work. But it was still strictly confined to work. You two had no overlapping interests, so the friendship never progressed. Both of you seemed fine with that. You were work-friends.

Somehow, this felt like a violation. Like she was encroaching in a part of your life she shouldn’t be involved in. With someone who you were deeply possessive of despite having no claim on him.

You scowl at your phone screen. Way to make it about yourself.

The car door opens and Seungcheol falls heavily into the driver seat, bringing with him the chill of the winter air. He tugs the door closed and rushes to turn on the car, adjusting the heating.

“Ah, I’m excited.” He grins over at you. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a hot coworker our age?”

You roll your eyes at his words. “For this very reason.”

He pouts as he turns the car into the road, focusing straight ahead, but you still feel his indignation.

“Come on! I don’t date everyone you know.”

“Right. You just sleep with them.”

He reaches towards you and grips your cheeks hard, pinching until you squeal and tear his hand away, glaring at him.

“She seems very nice.” He is referring to Mina.

You sigh. “She is. So stay away from her.”

He really isn’t some kind of heartless player, you both know this. So he doesn’t really react with offense to your words. Instead, he ploughs forward.

“Tell me about her. We have a date tomorrow.”

You stare blearily at the road. Are you really going to be Mina’s hype woman? In front of the man you love? Is the universe laughing at you?

“She likes cute things. She’s kind of a romantic. Go classic. Flowers, dinner, a nice walk.”

He nods as if taking mental notes. “Okay, good.”

You feel the sudden, desperate urge to start bawling. You tamp down on it. Seungcheol changes the subject, thankfully, and you try not to think about tomorrow.

When you get home, you pour over the contents of the refrigerator and wonder what you can make for dinner from the bits and scraps you can find. You make a mental note to get groceries, and Seungcheol starts cutting and prepping some vegetables while you look at the meat options.

Dinner is a casual affair. He regales you with stories of his day. His company is going through a bit of a rough patch in terms of profits, so there’s always drama to report. You move around each other seamlessly. The aroma from the food slowly starts filling the kitchen as you cook, and you laugh particularly hard at one of his jokes. He grips your waist to keep you from falling, and squeezes the tiniest bit before letting go. You smooth the hair out of his eyes. This is a normal Friday night.

Seungcheol’s side presses into yours as you eat despite the ample space on the couch. He has always been affectionate with you. It had started as a thing of comfort during stressful college times and had eventually just before the norm for you both. Some sitcom is playing, neither of you care for it, as he wonders if he should get a haircut. You wholeheartedly oppose it. He fishes for compliments, and you gladly give them to him. He laughs when you compare him to his dog back at his parent’s house.

Mina is the last thing on your mind.

……………………………

“You could’ve just said no.” Soonyoung’s mouth is full of popcorn so his words are muffled, though you hear him clearly. He doesn’t wait to finish them, adding another handful in. You don’t even flinch. You are pretty used to his eating habits at this point.

“It’s not my place to.” You retort, looking at the screen but not really watching. You reach into the bowl on his lap, surprised by how empty it already is.

“We’re ten minutes into the movie!” You glare at him. “You’ve nearly finished the bowl. Can you slow down?”

“You’re right, but you still could’ve said no.” From your other side, Jihoon chimes in. He’s scrolling on his phone instead of looking at the TV. Neither you nor Soonyoung minds. He usually shows up to movie nights because he wants to hang out. He couldn’t give a rat’s ass about whatever you two choose to play. It usually ends up devolving into conversation anyway, mostly your woes about Seungcheol.

“He cares about you too much.” Jihoon continues. “If you seriously didn’t want him to date someone you know, he wouldn’t hesitate in dropping them.”

You sigh, rubbing your eyes tiredly. “I know that. I know. But I really don’t think I can do that. It’s not fair to him.”

Jihoon hums, eyeing you from the corner of his eye. “None of this is fair to either of you, but you don’t listen to me anyway, so what’s the point?”

You pointedly ignore his jab. Jihoon is very much in favor of you telling Seungcheol how you feel. He has been advocating for it for years. Now, after so long trying to convince you, he has pretty much given up, sticking to little digs here and there. You’re too stubborn to listen.

“I think this is good.” Soonyoung chimes in, and you turn your head to look at him incredulously. He nods, as if affirming himself, before continuing.

“Mina is different for you. She’s not some casual acquaintance. Seungcheol dating her should light a fire under your ass to move on. Look, it’s been years. If it hasn’t happened yet, what makes you think it will happen now?”

“It won’t.” You respond, though you feel irritated. “I know it won’t happen.”

“So, what are you doing?” Soonyoung’s tone has softened, even if his words are harsh. “What’s the point of staying hung up on him?”

You know he is right. You know it. But as you contemplate his words, Seungcheol emerges from his room, and your eyes find him. He looks good, white button up shirt, dark brown slacks, and he is smoothing something into his thick head of brown hair, pushing it off his forehead.

“I think I should just go for roses, if we are going to keep it classic.” He sounds urgent, and your eyes remain trained on him as he fastens his watch and smooths a hand down the shirt to straighten it.

“You look great.” You manage to throw out, and he gives you a smile that has your eyes melting in their sockets. He reaches a hand out to ruffle through your hair affectionately, and Soonyoung’s words fly out the window like he never said them in the first place.

“Don’t wait up!” He teases, and you roll your eyes. He says goodbye to Jihoon and Soonyoung, flying out of the door as quickly as he came in. Soonyoung sighs.

“You’re screwed.”

………………………………….

You don’t remember when exactly your friends end up leaving. Predictably, the night had progressed to all of you just talking, the next movie playing automatically when no one paid attention to it. Before you know it, your eyelids are getting heavy and both of them are wrapping it up, ready to head home. You wave them goodbye and fill a glass of water for yourself, carrying it to your bedside table and flopping down on your bed. You fall asleep before you can even think about doomscrolling on your phone.

You don’t wake up until almost 10 the next day, grateful for the lack of annoying alarm. You stare at the light filtering through your curtains, willing yourself to get up. The apartment is quiet. You wonder when Seungcheol got home last night. You wonder how his date with Mina went.

You walk past his closed door, then the bathroom where the shower is running. It seems he woke up just now too. You put on a pot for coffee, enough for two cups, before opening the refrigerator door and contemplating if you want breakfast or if you can wait and just pick something up for lunch later. You hear bare feet padding into the kitchen, and turn around to give Seungcheol your suggestion. When you take in the sight in front of you, the words die in your throat.

Mina waves at you awkwardly, her hair still wet and flowing over the towel draped around her shoulders. She is wearing a very fancy purple dress, and you realise it’s probably what she wore to the date last night. Despite her bare face and your frantically beating heart, you can’t help but think of how beautiful she looks.

“Sorry.” She has the decency to look embarrassed. “Seungcheol said you don’t usually wake up before noon on the weekends.”

You jerk out of your shock, letting out a laugh you hope doesn’t sound too strained. There’s more sounds of doors opening and closing, and then Seungcheol is stepping into the kitchen, shirtless and clearly just woken up. He smiles at Mina in a way so sickly sweet that you have to physically turn away, staring at the refrigerator again. Bile rises up into your throat. You wonder where your running shoes are. In the foyer or your room? You couldn’t bear to walk past the kitchen again on your way out. The refrigerator door shuts a bit too forcefully than you intended.

“Oh, we don’t have enough coffee.” You hear Seungcheol say.

“Sorry.” You choke out, not knowing who to look at. The air in the kitchen is painfully awkward, or maybe it’s just you, and you put your mug on the counter. “I just poured it. I didn’t drink it yet. You can have it.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. “What about you?”

“I was just heading out.” You lie. It’s so obvious nobody believes you that Mina just ends up looking at her feet. “Jihoon just texted. I’m gonna head over to his.”

Seungcheol doesn’t comment on the fact that your phone is nowhere in sight. You leave the kitchen quickly, heading to the foyer. You are relieved to spot your shoes, shoving them on and realising your hands are shaking, before you slip out of the house.

……………………………………….

“What the hell?”

Soonyoung tugs at your arm until you stumble into the apartment, shutting the door quickly behind you to keep the chill out. His hand is warm on your bare arm, and you realise only then that you had been running on the streets in nothing more than a T-shirt and sweatpants. No wonder the old lady down the road looked at you weirdly. It is nearly December.

Soonyoung doesn’t speak as he leads you inside, rushing to grab the blanket draped over the couch and wrapping you in it. It’s warm, and one look at the plate on the coffee table tells you that he had just vacated the couch in the middle of breakfast to answer the door.

“Sorry.” You manage to throw out, though you don’t feel it. You don’t feel much of anything. You can’t get Seungcheol’s face out of your head, how he melted when he saw Mina. She had spent the night. After the first date. Seungcheol doesn’t do that. That’s not like him at all.

“You want pancakes? There’s batter left over.” Soonyoung doesn’t wait for an answer, trudging to the kitchen to begin working on them. Now that he has mentioned it, the house does smell like vanilla. You sit on the stool at the kitchen island, still swimming in the blanket, taking comfort in the soft fleece. Jihoon starts when he walks into the kitchen, clearly not expecting to see you. You feel a wave of remorse for crashing into what was likely a peaceful Sunday morning. It doesn’t last long. You sink back into the hollow feeling in your chest.

“He brought her home.” You supply without prompting. “She- they were in the kitchen. And he was looking at her. And I couldn’t stay there.”

You don’t know if you make sense, but by the way Jihoon’s eyes soften, you know you don’t have to.

They sit with you as you eat. Your motions are almost mechanical. Someone’s phone vibrates. Soonyoung stares down at it.

“He’s asking if you’re with us.” He comments, glancing at you. “No wonder he’s worried. You walked out into the street wearing a shirt.”

“He doesn’t get to be worried.” Your voice wavers. Incredibly, you feel anger surge up inside you. Unwarranted, irrational anger.

“He’s still your friend.” Jihoon nearly whispers.

“I don’t-” Your voice catches. “I don’t think I can be his friend. I don’t think I can take this.”

Soonyoung laughs, but it isn’t unkind. “You can’t stay away from him.”

Your face crumples because he is right. You had stuck with Seungcheol because no one in your life understood you like he did. You had known him for so long that it was hard to imagine a time when you didn’t. You two were inseparable. You had spent all of college attached at the hip, and had gotten an apartment together immediately after graduation. You had years of history.

You still remember your first job interview, how you had bombed it completely and came home near tears that you would never get a job and your degree would be wasted. Seungcheol had indulged your wild imagination, comforting you, even rubbing your feet and running you a bath. You remember when a bakery opened around the corner and both of you fell in love with the blueberry croissants, to the point that it was all you ate for a week straight. Then both of you got so sick of them that you didn’t touch another croissant for months.

You remember when Seungcheol got a promotion at work, and you had spent the evening making him a three course meal to celebrate, all his favourite dishes from home. He had raved all through the meal, nearly in tears when he bit into the meat you had smoked all on your own, claiming it melted in his mouth. You had complained about the skillet and how the meat stuck on it because it was so old. The next day you found a brand new one on the kitchen counter, with a note that said you had to cook more food on it for him as a thank you.

There was a set of red Russian nesting dolls on the shelf in the living room that you bought at a flea market. Seungcheol thought they were hideous but you loved them. He always had something to say about them when he saw them, and it was never anything nice.

“Those are the eyes of someone planning murder.” He had said once, staring at the largest one. You snorted.

“They have every right to, after the way you’ve been shit talking them.”

When the smallest one got lost, Seungcheol spent the entire afternoon looking for it with you. When he found it, you nearly yelled with joy, planting a messy kiss on his cheek and promising him a reward.

(There was never a reward. He never brought it up.)

You remember when Seungcheol brought a girl home to the apartment one night. He had been seeing her for months by that point, but it didn’t hurt any less when he introduced you to her. It didn’t hurt less when they went into his room, and you heard the shuffling of clothes, and the dampened squeaking of the bed. Their efforts to keep quiet.

The walls were thin in that apartment.

In fact, they were so thin that you were woken one night to the sound of Seungcheol constantly shuffling around outside, footsteps heavy on the floor of the living room. When you poked your head out to look at him, he was surprised.

“Trouble sleeping?”

He just nodded. You opened your bedroom door farther, gesturing for him to come in. That night, he had curled into your side, half his weight heavy on your torso, cold toes pressing into your shins. You let him, feeling how he slowly relaxed as you ran your fingers through his hair, his breath evening out. He was so warm. You slept better than you had in weeks. And by the looks of him the next morning, so did he.

You loved him more than you had ever loved anyone else. You also felt more pain from him than anyone else. None of it was his fault. This was a monster of your own making, and now you were living with the consequences of it.

You don’t go home that day until well past sunset, and when you get back, Seungcheol is cooking dinner. It’s something spicy, by the smell of it, and you park yourself next to the counter. He looks at you expectantly, though you can see the worry etched on his face.

“Sorry about this morning.” You give him an apologetic smile. “I wasn’t expecting to see Mina. I guess it’s just a little weird to see her here because I see her at the office all the time.”

Seungcheol’s mouth tightens into a thin line. “That’s my fault. I should’ve texted and warned you.”

There’s a small silence before he continues. “I guess…. you will get used to it slowly.”

Oh. You blink and nod, sending him a smile that feels more like a grimace. “Of course.”

Seungcheol has been the dealer of a lot of pain in your life. But you would rather have that than nothing at all.

……………………………………

Mina does start coming over more often, unsurprisingly. When it isn’t her in your apartment, it’s Seungcheol who leaves to spend the night at hers, and you try to adjust to cooking one portion instead of two. You slowly get accustomed to her presence in your life outside the office, but funnily enough, you two talk less now. She seems to be more engrossed in work, and when she isn’t doing that, she’s on her phone (You try not to think of Seungcheol texting her). It isn’t until a few weeks later that you realise what exactly caused the shift in her.

You are baking in the kitchen, which you rarely do, but you know Seungcheol loves your brownie recipe and you had nothing else going on, so you start making a batch. He whooped in celebration when he found you folding flour into the batter, draping himself over your back to look down into the bowl. You are trying to push his arm away from the bowl to stop him from licking the batter, and failing terribly, complaining about how heavy he is, when a throat clears behind you. Seungcheol rips himself away from you at the speed of light, and you are confused by his reaction until you see Mina’s gaze hardened, lips twisted, staring at you both. You nearly shrink back, bending over the bowl immediately to avoid looking at her, ignoring the sound of Seungcheol shuffling towards her and following her out of the kitchen.

You shouldn’t be surprised. It’s only understandable. You and Seungcheol are uncomfortably close to the outside eye. He thrives on attention and physical affection, and you love giving it. Seungcheol had only been serious with maybe one or two girls, so it hasn’t been an active problem. Clearly it is now.

You hadn’t noticed before, but thinking back, there is now an established distance between you two. You had chalked it up to Seungcheol just not being around as much, but you wonder if it was intentional on his behalf. Perhaps Mina had told him to. You feel a zip of irritation at the thought, but you tamp it down quickly. You have no claim on Seungcheol’s affections. That is all her. You are not entitled to his love even though it feels like you are.

As Christmas nears, you begin struggling with this new ‘distance’ a lot more than you thought you would. Seungcheol sits with the littlest of gaps between you two on the couch now, and you miss the warmth of his arm and leg pressed to yours, the cushion on his broad shoulder that you could rest your head on. He plays with your hair less, hugs you less, and never offers to rub your feet after a tiring day at work anymore. The pet names are all but gone, not even the teasing use of “cupcake”, which he knows you hate, and conversation gets so formal you wonder if you did something to secretly offend him.

You realise how ingrained Seungcheol is in every part of your life when his absence suddenly leaves your days empty. Winters in particular feel too lonely, when there is no noise from your desk fan to fill the space, when your windows have frosted over and you sit on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate. Not coffee, hot chocolate. Seungcheol loves it when you make the real stuff, not the powdered one that comes in little packets, but the one with whole milk and melted chocolate. You indulge yourself by adding marshmallows in your mug, and you wonder if you are just doing tiny things to fill space, in your mind and around you.

There is less of Seungcheol in the apartment too. His shoes aren’t in the foyer, and his jacket isn’t draped over the back of the couch for you to find and scold him over (‘the cupboard is right there!’). Your idea of commuting together pretty much evaporates, and you are back to separate cars. His perfume, a characteristic scent he has worn since college, doesn’t waft unbearably in the corridor outside his room as often as it used to. When it does, now occasionally, you pause in the space, breathing him in.

You miss him.

You remember that first morning you had seen them together in the kitchen, when you had looked back on your times with him and decided, you would rather have him as a friend than not have him at all.

Is he even your friend anymore? Or is he just your roommate?

On the last day of work before Christmas holidays, Mina shows up at your cubicle for the first time in a while. It catches you off guard, but you try not to let it show.

“Seungcheol and some of his friends at work are going out for drinks later. You should come.”

You bristle at the words, at her tone. Why does she sound like she’s doing you a favor by inviting you? Or are you just paranoid now, biased against her? You agree nonetheless, and are left wondering why Seungcheol wouldn’t just ask you instead of relaying the word through his girlfriend. The thought sends knives searing through your chest.

Distance.

He picks you two up after work, insisting he would drop you off at your car later. On the way there, you watch their heads from the backseat, and you contemplate, for the first time in years, if you should look for a place of your own and move out. It wouldn’t work, obviously. The rent in this area is too steep for one person. You wonder if Soonyoung and Jihoon can take you in, dismissing the option almost immediately. Their place isn’t built for three people. And you have burdened them enough with your problems already.

You are still in your head a bit when you arrive at the bar, and exaggerated cheers stun you from your musings when you approach the table. You smile at Jeonghan, Joshua and Mingyu. You had known them almost as long as Seungcheol did, but you obviously saw them way less. They worked with him, and were some of the most fun people to have drinks with. You decide you will let loose tonight, shunning the woeful thoughts in your head. You had spent too long suspended in this feeling of not being wanted.

It quickly devolves into chaos from there. Mingyu doesn’t let you breathe between the first three shots, claiming you need to ‘loosen up first’. By the time you get around to updating them about your life, you are already swaying, making Joshua laugh and throw an arm over your shoulder to still you. His entire face is flushed a comical shade of red, and you wonder how much he had drunk already in such a short time. You can feel eyes on you, and you choose to ignore them, feeling like your company is wanted for the first time in weeks.

“How’s the new place?” You ask over the music at Jeonghan, who is busy mixing two or three drinks into whatever atrocious concoction he wants to drink. Jeonghan and Joshua had shared an apartment for the longest time, and had just upgraded to a better place some weeks ago. Something with a balcony like Joshua always wanted.

“Oh, it’s great! Empty, though.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“It’s three bedrooms.”

You stare at him, and in your inebriated state, you don’t think of the consequences of your next words. “I could move in with you.”

Three sets of shocked, wide brown eyes look at you. You flush under the attention and thank the gods that Seungcheol has gone to the bar with Mina for more drinks.

“You’re moving out?” Mingyu scowls at you, and you feel almost offended by how accusatory his tone is. You shrug.

“I’m thinking about it.”

Joshua worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “Are you sure? I mean- does Seungcheol know?”

You fidget a bit, regretting saying anything at all. You weren’t being entirely serious, fuelled by alcohol and the slight anger you had been harbouring towards your best friend. Jeonghan doesn’t say anything as you sputter over your words trying to answer his friends, his eyes boring holes in the side of your head. His silence unnerves you. He is closest to Seungcheol out of all of them.

“Maybe you should.” He finally says, and his words are unexpected. “Change might shock both of you awake.”

“Maybe you should what?” Seungcheol’s voice cuts through your confusion at Jeonghan’s words.

You don’t answer him, grabbing a shot glass instead of saying anything, immediately downing it and reaching for the next one already. Jeonghan doesn’t stop looking at you.

“Move out.” Jeonghan answers him, and Seungcheol’s head immediately shoots to your direction. He looks stricken, like he can’t believe his ears.

“You’re moving out?” He asks you, and you shake your head vigorously.

“Then why is he saying you are?” His tone turns accusatory, and you frown at him.

“Even if I am, what’s the big deal?”

“What’s the big deal?!” Seungcheol looks positively angry at your words, standing up abruptly to leave the table. You all watch him make his way over to the bar, plopping down on a stool.

You have to give Mina props for not saying anything at all about Seungcheol’s massive overreaction, instead just giving you all a smile and excusing herself from the table. She doesn’t walk over to Seungcheol though. You watch her make her way to the door of the bar and disappear out of it. Jeonghan whistles.

“Well, that happened quicker than I thought it would.”

You tsk at him, reaching for another drink. You had expected Seungcheol to react badly, but not as bad as this, and not in front of his girlfriend. You feel a bit bad for Mina. But you feel almost worse for yourself. You will have to deal with him when you get home.

Or you could get shitfaced, and avoid confrontation altogether. You choose option 2.

Jeonghan ends up driving everyone home, since the rest of you decided no work tomorrow meant drinking until you can’t see straight. You whine at him to not leave you with Seungcheol, who has gotten even more pouty after drinking, cheeks flushed and eyes barely open. Jeonghan pointedly ignores your pleas and dumps both of you in front of your building.

“C’mon.” Seungcheol holds an arm out. “Hold on to me for support.”

You snort at him. “You aren’t exactly stable.”

“Hold on to me right now or I’m going to lose it, cupcake.”

You boo at him but do what he says, gripping his bicep, and slowly you two begin the impossible trek upstairs. He is humming a familiar tune when you finally push the apartment door open, raising his arms above his head in triumph.

“We’re so good at being drunk.” He grins at you, and you giggle back, unable to resist digging your fingertips into his dimples. His gaze is hazy but his eyes sparkle bright regardless. You can feel yourself forgetting being angry at him already, just happy to feel his so close, his hands on your arms and waist, his head falling on your shoulder, his body heat so near your own skin.

Taking your shoes off takes much longer than expected, Seungcheol is tugging on your boot at one point, and then both of you make a beeline to your room, still in suspiciously wet socks, collapsing on top of the covers.

You don’t know if you imagine it. If you’re just drunk and in your feelings, but Seungcheol mumbles something quietly. It’s barely above a whisper, but in the dead of the night it sounds as loud as a siren.

“Don’t move out.”

You turn to look blearily at him. His hair is spread like a halo around his head, falling over your pillows. He hadn’t cut it in a while, determined to grow it out. He reminded you of a prince. His eyes are trained on you through the strands of brown falling over them, and they look clearer than his drunk state might suggest. Despite the blush high on his cheeks, his skin looks like porcelain. You turn your gaze to the ceiling.

“I can’t be around you, Cheol. It hurts.”

He watches you, unblinking, until he moves a bit, shuffles closer to you so you can feel his breath in your cheek.

“And I can’t live without you. It hurts.”

You smile bitterly. “You’ve been fine with Mina.”

He scowls and shakes his head. “Mina isn’t you.”

You turn your head to him then, and his nose brushes against your own. At this proximity, you watch the streaks of brown in his eyes, dark and welcoming, like bottomless pools. You want to kiss him so badly it makes the pit of your stomach ache. Instead, you let your eyelids flutter shut, resigned to being so close, but never close enough.

When you wake up the next morning, you are swaddled in what feels like ten blankets, and it’s only when your haze clears that you realise it’s actually Seungcheol attached to your back like a koala bear, one leg pushed between your own and arms so tight around your middle that you are unsure if you feel nauseous because of the hangover or because of the pressure he is putting on your stomach. You dig your elbow back into his ribs, and he groans.

“I’m gonna be sick.” His voice is throaty, and despite your raging headache, your breath hitches.

“If you yarf on my bed I’m making you clean it up.”

He lets out another pained noise, pushing away from you and groggily standing up to walk straight out of the room. Minutes later, you hear him throwing up in the toilet. You sigh.

You can’t bring yourself to think of last night, how normal it felt to be around Seungcheol like that after weeks of not speaking more than a few words at a time. You have missed him terribly. And you think once more of how painful it was trying to move on from him while living in the same place, surrounded by everything you two built together.

Mina isn’t you.

You can’t bring yourself to think about what he meant. You are exhausted. You feel sick and your head is pounding. And your throat feels dry as sandpaper. You slowly get up to trudge to the kitchen, downing two whole glasses of water and feeling much better afterward. The shower is running at this point, and you check your messages while you wait.

When you hear the bathroom door open and close, followed by footsteps and another door, you realise Seungcheol has disappeared into his room. You take that opportunity to use the bathroom yourself, letting the water wash away last night, the feeling of his fingertips, still like ghosts on your skin. You wonder what it would’ve felt like if you really had pushed forward last night and kissed him.

You would never do that. But still. A girl can dream.

By the time you reemerge, the apartment is eerily quiet. Seungcheol’s bedroom door is wide open, and his shoes are gone from the foyer. Good. You needed space anyway. If he hadn’t left, you would’ve.

He doesn’t return until late that night. You meander through the apartment. Ordering lunch and wasting time on the internet. Jeonghan texts to ask how you’re doing, you reply shortly. You still aren’t particularly happy with him for telling Seungcheol that you were considering moving out. Hell, you are sure it wouldn’t have amounted to anything anyway. You would’ve chickened out and stayed there, not exactly a fan of change. All this should never have been mentioned in the first place.

When the door finally opens, it’s well after sundown. Seungcheol is breathing heavily and he pushes his shoes off, and you glimpse a thin sheen of sweat over his hairline.

“You were running? It’s freezing out.” You comment, watching him from the couch. He pushes his hair off his forehead and it stays there, likely because it’s wet too. The seriousness on his face makes you pause.

“I broke up with Mina.”

You gape at him. “You what?”

He makes a beeline for you, both hands gripping the back of the couch on either side of you with a thud, knee on the seat holding him up, before his lips are crashing into yours. You gasp at the sudden intrusion, mind and body scrambling to catch up with what is happening. Your hands automatically rest on his shoulders, gripping hard. You don’t know if you want to pull him closer or push him away. His teeth nip on your bottom lip, and the sensation zips through your body, making a decision for you.

You kiss back hard, using his sweatshirt to pull him closer until he is collapsing on top of you, both of you sliding down the couch. Your leg hooks around his waist, and you breathe in his sigh. It hits you, mid kiss, that you are finally kissing Seungcheol. After so long of imagining it, his lips are on yours, softer than anything. He tastes like that mint chewing gum he often carries around, and you can still smell his shampoo, now mixed with the heady scent of his sweat cooling on his skin.

He pushes you into the cushions, and his weight feels therapeutic, like a weighted blanket on your limbs after a long, tiring day. His hand grips your thigh hard, encouraging you to hitch it up further around his torso. His skin is slightly sticky from the sweat, and his hair is falling over your eyes. His tongue is dancing with your own, running over your teeth and the roof of your mouth, engulfing you so completely that you feel like you cannot breathe. You feel a rush of emotion.

“I’ve wanted this,” you manage to mumble into his lips, voice cracking, “for so long.”

He breaks away from you for just a second, enough to look down at you, but you already miss him. He brushes a hand over your cheek, and you realise you really are crying.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, voice clogged with such intense regret that you feel another wave of tears coming. “I’m so sorry. It should’ve been you. It was always you. It could never be anyone else.”

He means it, you can tell. And it makes you tug him down until you’re kissing him again, reveling in the feeling of how his lips meld so perfectly with yours. His cheeks sink under the pressure of your fingertips, his eyelashes brush delicately against your skin. He engulfs all of your senses until you don’t know where you end and where he begins.

When it isn’t enough, because it could never be enough for you, you are too greedy for every inch of him, you paw at his clothes. You want them off, want to feel his bare torso attach itself to your own. It’s a desire so acute you nearly scream. Seungcheol obliges, pulling his sweatshirt off in one fluid motion and throwing it away somewhere neither of you care to look at. He doesn’t reattach to your lips until your sweater is gone too, and then his arms are snaking under your back to pull you flush against him, kissing you briefly before his mouth is traveling down past your face to nip at the sensitive skin of your neck. His breath sends shivers down your spine, tensing up at the sensations. His tongue flicks out to swipe at the skin below your ear before he is biting down at it, softly at first to test the waters, before digging deep enough to elicit a satisfied sigh from you. You run your fingertips delicately up his spine, basking in the way he shivers under your touch, lips still sucking, now harsher, as if determined to mark you as his. You let him, encourage him even. You are his. You have been his for so long, and he is finally laying his claim.

His hands fiddle with the waistband of your pajamas, fingertips dipping in and out in little intervals. Your hips buck up, impatient, and he chuckles, biting down on your collarbone in warning.

“Be good.”

His voice is firm and deep, and you know he means business. It makes you want to rebel even more, and you buck up again. He grips your hips tight, holding you in place, lips leaving you with a last, delicious slurping sound before he is looking you in the eyes.

“Is that how it’s going to be, baby?” His hips come down, grinding into you, and you can feel that he is rock hard already. A thrill runs up your core at the feeling, and suddenly you want him to be completely naked. You want to see his cock, feel its weight in your palm, on your tongue, inside your pussy, stretching you until you can’t think straight. You can feel how wet you are already, clenching desperately around nothing at all. You feel hot all over, and the remaining clothes you have on feel like they are too much.

“Please, Cheolie.” You whine, trying to jerk up again. It doesn’t work, his hold is too strong. “Take my clothes off.”

He tsks then, smirking down at you. He’s enjoying this a little too much, watching you squirm under him. But it seems he wants you just as bad, because then he is sliding down your bottoms and panties at the same time, leaving you bare for his eyes to wander over. He hooks his hands under your knees, pushing them back until they are touching your chest and you are laid open for him. You have the decency to flush at the hungry look in his eyes, but you bask in the attention anyway. You like how his eyes roam over your naked body, how they zero in on your sopping cunt. You arch your back slightly and his gaze flickers up, lips twitching with amusement.

He lets you go long enough to discard his own pants, and you don’t have time to admire him in his nude glory before he is pulling you close again, bending over you to bury his face in your neck.

“I want to pamper you and spoil you,” he whispers. “And I will, promise. But I need to be inside you so bad right now.”

You buck up into him again, his cock sliding through your slit in a delicious drag that has your legs twitching. He pulls back to grind into you again, but the tip catches on your hole and pulls groans out of both of you, and you can’t take it anymore.

You scramble to reach for him, lining him up and encouraging him to push forward, spearing through you in a way that makes your jaw go slack and your toes curl.

He’s big. Thick and curved up slightly so that the head of his cock presses urgently into the spongy spot inside you. His hips press flush into your skin and he stays there for a second, voice broken and pitched in a way you had never heard before. He has a flush high on his cheekbones, and his eyes struggle to remain open. You watch a drop of sweat roll down the side of his face, watch the slight tremble of his biceps as they frame your face. You are in awe as you watch him fall apart in real time. All because of you.

When he pulls back just a bit just to thrust into you again, you clench hard, feeling the familiar tug in the pit of your stomach. He curses roughly, breath coming in staccato.

“Don’t-” His jaw ticks. “I’m gonna cum. I’m so serious. Don’t do that.”

You let out a breathless laugh, only responding by clenching again. He groans and pulls out again, and this time he wastes no time in setting a punishing pace. You immediately arch up, head falling back as your body locks at the feeling. He seems to know exactly what angle to take, what spot to hit, despite this being the first time you two are having sex, and you would wonder why if all rational thought wasn’t leaving your head at that very moment. You gasp and moan with very thrust, unable to hold back your sounds. Seungcheol is only encouraged more, propping himself up by his hands on either side of your head to thrust harder.

Your world spins and turns on its angle, and you feel heavy with sensation. Your hands try to hold on to something, scraping against the rough material of the couch, but there’s nothing. There’s only Seungcheol above you, thrusting hard and heavy into you until you feel full enough to burst. Your cunt weeps, leaking around him, and Seungcheol’s stare is hard locked on where his shaft sinks into you over and over, collecting a thin rim of white foam around it. He curses again and you cry out at a particularly hard thrust.

A thin layer of sweat is slowly forming over your body, despite how cold the air around you is. Your breath comes fast and staggered, and breathing is the least of your concern at this moment, frankly. You are laser focused on how he is tearing your poor pussy open over and over, and on the feeling of his strong thighs just under your legs, stiffened with the strain of his movements, his strength that you had wondered about for so long, now on full display. You wonder if he will break you. You hope he does.

His hair covers half his face, and your eyes zero in on the cushion of his lips, parted, tongue poking out just a bit, and you want to bite them. You want to mark him up, scratch at his back, dig your teeth into his bottom lip until he is locking up and pouring ropes of his cum deep into your cunt. You reach up to dig your nails into his biceps, trying to tug him down to your mouth. You catch the skin of his jaw and you nip at it, making his hips stutter a bit.

“Greedy girl.” His voice is rough with need, clogging his vocal cords, making him sound as wrecked as you feel. “My cock isn’t enough for you?”

“‘S so big,” you whine, batting your wet eyelashes up at him. Predictably, it drives him crazy, his motions get rougher. “You’re so big, Cheolie. I can barely take it.”

He chuckles. “I disagree, baby. You’re taking me like a champ.”

His hands wind into your hair, pushing it from your face so he can take in your sweaty forehead, your flushed cheeks. He tugs hard until you are arching up, and chills run through your scalp.

“Opened up for me so well. You were just made to take my cock, weren’t you? Just perfect for me. God, I could fuck you for hours.”

You sob when his hand reaches down, pressing on your clit hard before he starts rubbing. You jerk up against him, but he is unphased, continuing to dig his cock through your insides while his fingers insistently pull you closer to the edge. Your orgasm, simmering just below the surface, catches fire, and you can’t even warn him before you wail and gush all over his cock, limbs locking in place as his cock drags over your wildly contracting walls, prolonging the feeling. You can hear him curse again through the roaring in your ears, and then warmth floods your walls until you feel full with it. White hot lava rolls through you, and you try hard to breathe through it, eyelids fluttering open to watch as Seungcheol rides through his own high with you.

All is silent for a few seconds apart from the heavy breathing. Seungcheol lowers himself gently down on you, burying his face in your neck. He kisses the skin softly, and you tilt your head to let him plant more along the surface. You feel him slowly soften inside you. Something wet trickles out of your hole. You flush at the feeling.

“We’re going to have to shower again. In this cold.”

His chest rumbles with a laugh, and he looks up to grin cheekily at you. “I won’t let you get cold, sweets.”

You slap his shoulder playfully, making him laugh more. He pulls out of you, not bothering to offer a hand, sliding his arms under you to pick you up. You let him, burrowing your face into his neck, trying hard to fight off a growing smile.

[wontechno]

Bothersome beast, comforting friend

[wontechno]

It feels like this every time I write a fic

[wontechno]

Falling in love with your older brother’s best friend certainly wasn’t one of your summer resolutions.

Actually, meeting him wasn’t even part of your plans. But someday, you happened to have no other option than to appear unannounced at his little pottery shop in Seogwipo. A stray kitten in a pet carrier, asking for a place to stay, and you couldn’t help but do.

╰ a summer romance divided into two parts

PAIRING: older brother’s best friend!Jaeyun x fem!reader

WARNINGS (for this part): mentions of alcohol, even more art references, smut, virginity loss, unprotected sex multiple times, fingering and oral (f. receiving), handjob (m. receiving), reader overreacts once and Jaeyun yearns, but yes, they are in their lovers era, and i am not saying that there’s a scene where he paints the reader naked, but i am

PART TWO｜23.7K｜STORY MASTERLIST

By the time you woke up, the house was wrapped in a silence so thorough, it almost felt like a dream. The usual soft hustle of dishes echoing, drawers opening and shutting before finally the smell of bread browning and eggs hitting a hot skillet reached you was taken by such a stillness that you had expected Jake to have already gone to the shop, starting his day ahead of you. But as you padded barefoot to the kitchen, you found him there. Sat slumped at the dining table, his coffee mug long gone cold beside his limp hand as his head rested against the wooden surface, hair tousled from sleep, and lashes resting peacefully against his cheeks.

The year had just reached that point where the days had an impossible glow. The curtains moved in the breeze, allowing beams of light to come and go on Jake’s sleeping form, catching on his skin and picking strands of his hair, turning everything into gold.

You took the chair by his side, carefully resting your head as you reached for him, stroking a few golden strands of his hair, moving it away from his forehead, and drawing it to the back of his ear as you had done on the night previous without even thinking. But Jake opened his eyes then, a bit confused and fuzzy with sleep, but the sunlight caught them too, melting the darkness into gold, and you felt your breath catching in your throat.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I was going to make breakfast but I fell asleep.”

“I am the one sorry for making you stay up last night.”

“Yes, you are the one to blame,” he laughed, but he didn’t raise his head from the table — instead, he reached for you too, tracing your features with the delicacy you imagined artists devoted solely to their masterpieces. And for a moment, there was no time, just one breath after another, and Jake’s fingers on you.

Years from now, someone was going to ask you when you fell in love with Jake. You wouldn’t know how to reply. You never knew the exact moment when your heart decided that the next beat would be for Jake, you only knew that it had been built for you pretty much as the summer came to Seogwipo, the flower withering almost imperceptibly day by day, leaving only the greenish tone of the warm season until it was inevitable and you wondered how haven’t you noticed the small changes before. And then, you would remember this moment. Gleaming eyes on you, artsy fingers trailing through your hair. Because it was the moment you admitted that it already happened — you were in love with Jake.

You turned the thought in your mind, over and over again, expecting that every time you uttered that small secret, it would feel smaller, something you could hold in the palm of your hand and hide within your pockets without anyone noticing. But instead, the more you turned it over the more it seemed to take over you.

You were in love with Sim Jaeyun.

“How are you feeling?” he asked then. “Nauseous or something? I was searching for a hangover soup recipe, although I am not sure hangover is the exact term after being drugged.”

You halted for a moment, forcing yourself into that odd state of full awareness, methodically examining and testing every part of your body. But aside from the flush of warmth rushing through your body with the realization of your feelings towards Jake, everything seemed alright.

“I am a bit tired, but overall, I am fine,” you said.

“That makes two of us.”

Somewhere over the surface of the table, Jake’s phone started to ring, a soft tune you are almost sure the developers named it after a tree, the rustling sound of when the breeze hit it, and maybe that’s why none of you moved, not even when it went to the voicemail and started all over again.

“Maybe you should pick up,” you said, Jake hummed at you. He definitely should — no one would casually call him on a Sunday afternoon if not in an emergency, but despite the distress about it, he took a little longer to let you go, lingering on the warmth of your skin for a moment more before he reached for his phone.

You watched as his eyes widened a bit, a slight curse forming on his lips as he straightened himself on his chair, but before you could ask who it was, the front door was thrown open.

You knew it wasn’t a real thing, but you could swear your heart quailed, a tiny gap forming where a heartbeat should be at the view of your brother.

“If it isn’t the two people I have been looking for,” Jongseong said. A smile played on his lips, but you quickly realized it was those types of smiles people gave in the middle of annoyance and not because they actually thought the situation was funny.

You watched as Jongseong pressed something on his screen, immediately making Jake’s phone start ringing once again. “And oh, look, their phones do work.”

┈

It was a dream — it had to be. Perhaps you were still drugged in the bathroom of that dirty bar close to Jeju City because there was no way your brother was standing here. Jongseong belonged to your life in Seoul, your parents’ minimalist house, and the Michelin restaurants. He belonged to the fancy attorney’s gathering and champagne in crystal flutes. The mornings filled with pollution clouds, and the nights buzzed with the traffic on the avenues, but not to Jeju — not to your Seogwipo. It was silly and you knew it. Your brother had known this place before you — he had come here before you, some week after their graduation to help Jake move in, but you suddenly felt overprotective over the place, as if he was going to take it away from you — or take you away from it, actually.

There were no greetings, hugs, or smiles, as you would have expected upon seeing your brother after so many weeks. There was just him walking to the kitchen and standing as tall as he could in front of you and Jake.

The house was starting to get hot and drowsy by the approaching afternoon, the July sun streaming directly at the table and onto your back as you watched your brother sigh and then sigh some more.

You didn’t need to tell him about the landlord, the summer storm, Jeonchae, and the half deposit. Jongseong had discovered everything through the landlord himself when he went there early this morning.

“He was really unpleasant,” Jongseong said. “But have you ever thought about calling me? Fuck, Baby. I wouldn’t tell mom and dad if you didn’t want me to, but I could have helped you.”

“How did you even come here?” Your brother asked out of the silence. You weren’t really sure about what he intended to get with his question, but still, you replied, your voice coming smaller than you remembered it ever being as you told him you had taken the bus.

“Do you even know how to take a bus?” he asked then. It had been just words — unconcrete things that shouldn’t weigh anything but it did and the heaviness of it made something within your chest hurt. Honestly, you didn’t know how to take a bus. Your parents had made sure you never needed to use public transportation, always being free in the morning to take you to school, and after that, to doctor appointments, extra classes, and wherever you needed to go. You had asked at the terminal, a gentle lady who ended up questioning your age when she noticed how confused you were. But to admit would only worsen the situation, and so you didn’t

“That’s it, I am taking you back to Seoul.”

“Jay,” Jake called, his voice cutting through the small gasp you released. Jongseong stopped, all together with you, and you took the opportunity to turn to Jake, watching as he pushed himself from where he stood against the window, countering the table, and coming in the direction of your brother. A single hand rested on your brother’s shoulder and you weren’t sure if Jake was assuring him, or holding him. “Let’s talk for a second.”

“Baby, go to the shop for a bit for me, will you?” Jake asked. It wasn’t the question, but how Jake delivered it — the words directed at you while his eyes remained fixed on your brother. And so, you nodded, almost feeling the weight of the air as you rose from your chair, the wooden legs scraping against the floor before you walked the familiar path to the front door, stopping only to take the key at the entrance table before you stepped out.

“She calls my parents every day,” Jongseong said, his voice coming so perfectly through the wooden door that instead of going to the shop, you stood still, hearing them through. “Day and night.”

“I have heard a few times,” Jake said.

“And she hadn’t said anything about the landlord — she didn’t say anything about coming here.”

“Maybe she just didn’t feel the necessity.”

There was a pause, none of them saying anything and you knew your brother all too well to know he was using this to shoot Jake a pointed look.

“Oh please,” your brother murmured then. “She thought it was better to come here and bother you rather than calling me?”

Bother. The word felt like a slap on your face. Your heart pounded in surprise, a flush of warmth spreading through your cheeks and suddenly you didn’t want to hear the rest — but because you couldn’t move, you did. You heard your brother rambling about how you turned Jake’s life upside down, taking the settled routine he so laboriously built and making it into a mess. You had even brought a kitten! Jake didn’t like kittens, he was a dog person for God’s sake.

“Stop,” Jake said. There was no anger in his voice, no unfairness. He said it just like he had called for your brother earlier on, that voice that could never not be listened to, and once again your brother turned silent. “You are being unreasonably rude. Baby is not bothering me — actually, she has been helping ever since she arrived.”

“Oh, is she?”

“She helps me with the market, and the food,” Jake said, and you really hoped he meant you went to the market with him, and prepared the food, because never once had Jake allowed you to pay for anything — not even a few nights ago when you told him you were getting ice cream from the convenience store and he ran after you, catching you on the sidewalk. He took your wallet from your hands and replaced it with his credit card, a minion printed on it that immediately made you laugh because, of course, Jake would have those printed credit cards. “She helps me in the shop,” he continued, and that one felt more like a lie than the rest. You did stay in the shop with him, occasionally cleaning the shelves and placing new pieces in the vacant places of just-purchased ones, and packed for him, but help felt too deep for those stupid acts

“You are just mad because she didn’t call you as she is used to,” Jake concluded.

“Because she didn't call me?” Jongseong echoed, his voice rising with disbelief. He sounded like he was talking partly to himself, that particular tone of shocked realization people give when confronted with an uncomfortable truth — Jake being good at seeing not only the nuances of your being but your brother’s as well.

The silence that followed was longer, and when it ended it came with the sound of cabinets being opened and closed, their soft rustle making it too hard to get the words and by the moment you noticed someone was approaching the door it was too late to leave causing Jake to walk straight into you, stopping for a single second before he closed the door behind him. You would have thought he was going to pretend you weren’t there if he hadn’t smiled at you, and what a smile Jake had. Just at the sight of it, your heart tethered itself. Not completely, but enough to stop quivering so much.

“Jake, I-”

But he only shook his head then, silencing you by cradling your face. His warm palms pressed gently against your cheeks as his thumbs moved in delicate arcs, cleaning the tears you hadn’t even realized you had shed.

“He wants to talk to you. Wait a bit before coming in,” he whispered. “I am going to the market for a bit, alright?”

You nodded, leaning on his touch. You didn’t remember the decision of doing it, only that you did, inclining your face in his palms as if it was the most natural thing to do. And although you didn’t shed any more tears, Jake rubbed his thumbs on your cheeks once again, making something move inside of you, humming and stirring. But nothing compared to how you felt when he hugged you, pulling you into his chest as his mouth pressed at the top of your head. The feeling was so affable that it took you a long second to notice you had never hugged each other. You had placed your arms around him while riding the motorcycle a dozen times and as he carried you out of the bar last night, but never had you held each other just for the sake of holding each other. And it was too nice — too intimate. You could feel the way his skin was warm beneath his t-shirt as you twisted your fingers on it and God — you could stay there forever if it were ever allowed. But Jake was stepping away then, leaving you to watch as he crossed the garden, pulling his hands on the front pockets of his jeans as he tilted his head up to the sky, letting the sun bathe his skin, his hair, beams of light simply not being able to not reach for him. And once again you were reminded of how Jake belonged in this place.

The afternoon was utterly quiet. You could hear the breeze brushing through the bushes at the other side of the street and then another cabinet was opened and closed, and you sighed, taking the knob in your hand.

By the time you stepped inside the house once again, abandoning the shop key back on the entrance table, Jongseong was rubbing a hand over his face, his anger completely burned out by itself. He opened his arms to you in a silent yet clear invitation for a hug, and it was enough for you to rush through the house, curling your arms around your brother’s shoulders.

“I am sorry,” he whispered. “Jake said I was mad just because you hadn’t called me for help, and yes, he is right — throughout the whole way here, I kept wondering why you didn’t call me before doing anything.”

“I guess it was my fault. I was too harsh on you when you said you wanted to spend your summer alone, but what I genuinely meant was that you shouldn’t do anything alone, you always got me.”

Your heart ached at his words because you knew it — you knew you never had been truly alone. Not even when you stood in front of the apartment complex in Jeju City, the kitten in a pet carrier, and Jake’s address on your phone. You knew that if your immediate plan didn’t work, you could just call them — your mother, your father, Jongseong. They would find a way for you. You had never needed to be truly afraid. There would have been the aftermath, of course, the small complaints, but there would always have been another hand to catch you, or at least to hold you as the things scrambled eminently.

“I don’t think I want to study law,” you whispered, it was so sudden that you could hear the uneasiness in it, the truth being finally put into words. Your brother’s grip tightened on you, bringing you so close to him that you felt his tiny exhale.

“I know, Baby,” he said. “Mom and dad know too.”

For a moment, you didn’t understand what he meant — the realization taking too long and weighing your body through the seconds that followed.

“Why do you think they allowed you to come to Jeju alone so fast?” he asked in the midst of your silence, moving away from you only enough for you to see his face. “I know you have it in you that you have to live greatly to not be a deception for mom and dad, and it’s partially my fault, but Baby — we are so rich, and I am not talking about money, but love. Whatever you decide to do mom and dad will support you with the only thought of you being genuinely happy about it.”

And you knew that it was true. Because despite their disapproval of Jongseong’s passion for music, your parents had been the ones who eventually supported him completely, gifting him enough guitars to build up a collection — not to mention all the expensive pedals, amplifiers, and those small customized guitar picks with his initials engraved that your brother still kept in his wallet. They had even converted the guest room into a soundproof studio when the neighbors started complaining about the noise.

“Listen,” Jongseong said. “Maybe it won’t be so easy to live with this, but you already got the good grades, and the school awards I failed, you finished the extra classes I dropped, and you carried all the expectations they could have had for us during school time, so let me carry the expectations they could have for after it.”

“The world’s always going to need lawyers, but it’s always going to need whatever you choose to do too. Find your way,” he said. “It’s not that bad, look at Jake — you know about his family, right?”

You hummed at him.

“I have to say, I was quite worried when I left him here after our graduation, I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live without the support of our parents, but he seems alright.”

“He is,” you said. Not sure how much true it was, he ate only lamen by the time you arrived, and although you had never seen him drinking aside from that one night when your prepared beef and he said beer was the best companion to it, there were way too many beer bottles inside of the fridge, but somehow you believed that if he wasn’t, he was getting there.

“Do you want to stay here?” Jongseong asked then.

You moved closer to Jongseong once again, resting your cheek on his shoulders as you looked at the living room’s window. Outside, Seogwipo was as halted as it had always been, the sound of the bushes hanging tiny and fragile in the summer air, and you felt your chest aching.

How you wanted to stay.

┈

Jongseong didn’t ask for you to call your parents, but you knew — it was something that had to be done and so you resolved to do it after showering.

It wasn’t easy. Your heart thumped against your ribcage as you stared at your phone screen, thumb hovering over the video call button. Although you had pressed it countless times throughout the summer — from casual updates about your day to sharing glimpses of Jeju’s scenery — this particular call felt too huge. And so, you breathed in deeply, closing your eyes for a few steadying seconds before you finally called.

Your father picked up on the second ring, holding the phone at possibly the worst camera angle imaginable as he shouted, Baby Park!

Your mother appeared right after, pulling her glasses because four degrees of presbyopia made it hard for her to see from up close and it was enough to make you start crying again.

“Baby?” your mother asked. “What happened?”

You told them everything. Not only about Jeonchae, the landlord, and Jake. But everything. Starting from memories you weren’t sure how you had. You told them about phrases that landed wrong and weighed more than they should. You told them about how you always feared doing things and disappointing them, and again, it wasn’t easy. But it wasn’t as hard as you had thought it would be all those years because Jongseong was right — you both were so rich.

┈

By the time you stepped into the living room again, Jake was just arriving from the market, a plastic bag so small in his hands that you knew without knowing that he had been wandering around just so to give you and Jongseong time. But you couldn’t relish on his kindness for much longer because your brother started complaining as soon as he spotted Jake, hadn’t I told you to sharpen your knives when I left, Jake? And these pans were still your grandma’s? I-

Jake seemed to be only half listening as he handed Jay the plastic bag. His gaze completely focused on you and you were glad that you had changed, making yourself more presentable by trading your dress from the night previous into a pinkish set, the tone matching almost too perfectly with the color of the tip of his ears.

“Naturally annoyed,” you mouthed. And Jake laughed — only once as he tried to cough out the rest, but then, you were laughing too, and your brother demanded both of you to go somewhere else because you were annoying him.

You both were still laughing when you stepped into the garden, taking the side path and stopping in front of the shop. In the hurry of leaving none of you took the key to the shop where you had left it, and Jake showed you the flower pot where he hid the extra keys underneath it.

“The biggest one is for the house, and the smallest for the shop.” He didn’t look at you as he said it, his head still tilted to the small flower pot, allowing a few strands of his hair to fall over his forehead. A smile tucked at the corners of his lips, and he seemed so young like this — so pure. The words Jongseong had said twirled through your mind, and you didn’t know what had been on your face, perhaps the sadness of not knowing how to tell him he was doing alright and that you were proud of him, but when Jake looked at you a frown took up the space between his brows.

“What?” he asked.

“I called my parents while you were in the market,” you said. You didn’t notice how still Jake had become until he averted his gaze from yours, preferring to stare back at the flower pot.

“You are going to stay, right?”

“May I?”

“Of course, Baby,” Jake said, his words being uttered so softly that the breeze nearly destroyed them. “I like having you here.”

“But about Jeonchae-” you continued.

“Don’t take to heart what your brother said,” he asked. “I never had a cat, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like them — actually, I have been thinking about adopting Jeonchae — if you allow me.”

“There would be no better home for him.”

It was alright, honestly, until it wasn’t.

Jongseong cooked for the three of you, and cleaned the house as if it were a task. He asked if your room was alright and if you needed him to buy anything because he could get it delivered to you. And when you said you didn’t think that things worked like that in Seogwipo, your brother seemed about to retort, but in the silence that followed he understood what you meant. There were no traffic sounds filling up the gaps between your conversation, no machines or reform sounds, it was just the breeze of the sea stirring and shuddering the bushes on the other side of the street, and nothing else.

“But tell me if you need anything,” he said. “I can find a way.”

“I know,” you whispered.

After dinner, the three of you spread on the greenish grass of Jake’s garden, something you didn’t really know how you hadn’t thought of before. The moon was beautiful this time of the year and the grass was warm against your skin, the peak of summer giving you its all, and turning into a great memory for the next day, when another summer storm finally came in, making the downtown buildings steadily dripping as the three of you made your way to the restaurant Jongseong had chosen for his last night on the island.

Nangpoon Babsang or the oldest restaurant on the island as the sign advertised, and perhaps the reason why there was a line over the curb, forcing the three of you to wait outside until the night had completely settled, the sea breeze picking and almost giving you the awkward decision of choosing between your brother’s jacket or Jake’s, but as your brother only extended his at you, Jake was already draping his around you, pushing the collar up to your cheeks despite its already growing warmth because it smelled like him.

Jongseong looked between both of you, but if he meant to say something, he didn’t as his attention was taken by the arrival of the message saying you were the next to enter.

Although the outside of the restaurant seemed to have undergone a significant modernization to fit the evolution of Jeju City, the inside gave meaning to their advertising and remained faithful to traditional Korean aesthetics. There were no walls to subdivide the room, but it had been split into diverse small sections by a bunch of folding screens, their surfaces displaying a host of artworks, and giving each table some privacy underneath the low light of the hand-crafted paper lamps. Although antique, it felt fancy somehow. And you weren’t surprised that your brother had been the one to choose it.

“You know what?” Jongseong said as he took the chair in front of you. “I am glad you both met — my beautiful family is finally reunited.”

“What?” Jake asked. “Is Baby our love child now?”

“No. I meant that my sister is your sister.”

There was a lost moment, a second where you should have released the air from your lungs but you didn’t, and it passed with it stuck in. Jake, regardless, laughed — out loud as he reached for the cup of water he had just filled, swallowing the whole thing before he placed it back onto the table, but he didn’t deny — didn’t say he didn’t see you like this. Instead, there was a small hum and the topic died between both of them, leaving you as the only one still stuck on it, chest aching because you seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.

And it didn’t help that when the waitress approached your table, Jake went completely rigid, his shoulders tensing as his fingers tightened around the cup he was still holding until his knuckles had turned white. It didn’t help that when her eyes met his, she halted as well, lips parting slightly as she whispered his name — the sound coming so softly it felt as if she couldn’t quite believe it and was trying to convince herself.

She was somewhere between your and Jongseong’s age. And a piece of art. Her wavy hair had been held by a dozen pins — not the golden ones you kept in a jewelry box and which perfectly matched all your other accessories, but colorish ones, pink and blue pins holding her hair, and keeping them away from her freckled cheeks. Her necklace was made of beads just like a string she kept on the belt. She was the embodiment of the children who were born in Jeju and were proud of it, and if you stopped to think about it carefully, she was completely Jake’s style. Artsy and free.

“Jake,” she called again, stronger than before and it was your brother’s turn to halt, curiosity sparkling over him as his eyes rushed through her name tag. Eun-kyung. It brought you no memory, but it seemed to do to Jongseong because the corner of his mouth tucked up as he looked back at Jake.

“I didn’t know you were in Jeju,” she said. “I guess it’s just for the summer?”

“No, I have been living here,” Jake replied. She seemed surprised by the news, her eyebrows rising slightly as she clutched her notepad. And you had done the gesture too many times to know — she was trying to ground herself.

“Oh, I had no idea,” she said. 

The silence that followed hung in the air, thick and still. But even there, you weren’t able to wrap your mind around all your thoughts.

Jongseong cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention to him.

“So, what do you recommend?” your brother asked. “Aside from Jake that’s almost a local, we are all city people.”

“Jeju Black Pork is the most traditional Jeju dish,” she said after a moment. “Tourists tend to choose it to try the local cuisine.”

“Three Jeju Black Pork then,” your brother resolved.

“Anything to drink?” she asked.

“Beer,” Jake said quickly.

“Make that two,” Jongseong added with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And a tangerine juice for our little sis.”

Eunkyung nodded as she wrote the order on her notepad, her eyes flickering back to Jake once more before she resolved to walk away.

“So, Eunkyung?” Jongseong asked then. “As your first love, Eunkyung?”

And that was it. Something within you hurt with your brother’s question, a sharp twinge that you wondered if it was what people called heartbreak.

Jake was a nice guy, and you knew it — you had spent enough time watching as he smiled at strangers, presenting them with so much kindness that it made it impossible for anybody to be uncomfortable with him. You had listened to him talking enough to know he truly cared about people and wouldn’t have a second thought before helping anyone in need and that was the problem. He was a nice guy, careful, and kind, but you had misread. There was nothing special about you and if there was — it was because you were his best friend’s little sister. Not as someone he could be attracted to. Eunkyung was the type of girl he was attracted to — someone his own age, someone with that artsy spirit that belonged to this place as much as he.

The realization made you burn with embarrassment, a warm flush creeping up your neck as you felt too childish, too small. The voices around you grew louder, suddenly overwhelming your senses as you tried not to focus on Eunkyung coming with your drinks, her eyes completely focused on Jake.

“I need to use the restroom,” you announced, hurling from your seat so hastily, Jake’s jacket fell off your shoulders, but you didn’t stop yourself to take it back.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed in the small room, pacing against the tiled floor as you tried not to cry, but by the time you had stepped out of it, Jake was leaning against the wall, his jacket draped around his shoulders once again as his hands fidgeted with the pickup keys.

“I was considering whether I should rescue you from the restroom once again,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he referenced what happened two nights ago. But although you had acknowledged his attempt to lighten the mood, the ache in your chest made it impossible for you to smile back. “We decided to make it a to-go. Jay is paying for us.”

His lips parted upon your lack of reply, the space between them widening with what he meant to say next, but whatever it had been was forgotten as Eunkyung appeared at the end of the hallway, their eyes catching.

“Jake, do you have a minute?” she asked. “I’d like to talk to you before you go.”

None of you moved, not even her, and you took the opportunity to reach for the pickup’s key in his hands, murmuring something about waiting there. It seemed to take both of them out of the haze. Jake finally strayed his eyes from Eunkyung, and you were pretty sure that there was a reply, but you were already walking to the front door.

The weather had cooled down even more, another sparse rain treating to fall as you walked to where Jake had parked the pickup. The vehicle supposedly had a back seat, but the place was so small and cluttered — there was no particular discussion before you had been assigned for it on the drive here, making Jake push the driver seat forward, and rest his hand at the sharp edge of the roof, so you didn’t hurt yourself as you jumped to the back, but you might not have paid attention enough because it didn’t matter how you tried to push it forward now, it didn’t seem to come in.

A curse was already escaping from your lips by the time you heard Jake, his shoes whacking on the sidewalk as he reached for you. 

“Baby, wait,” he asked. “You are going to hurt yourself like this.”

You halted upon his concern, everything within you ceasing long enough to make you feel empty inside of yourself.

You always thought the most embarrassing thing that could happen upon falling in love with someone was to be fiercely rejected, the I don’t like you you had heard so many times through the school’s hallways, and still made you flinch every time, too sorry for the person rejected, but no — no. The most embarrassing thing was to be let down easily, that soft caress when the person loved you, but not as much as you loved them.

“Baby,” he tried again, rushing his fingers through his now disheveled hair. He seemed frustrated. But you had already given the final push and the driver’s seat finally surrendered, giving Jake just enough time to place his hand at the sharp edge of the roof, so you didn’t hit your head but this time you didn’t thank him.

Jake didn’t follow you inside. He remained there, leaning on the driver’s door as if he understood that you needed space and was willing to give it to you. But when your mother called asking if you wanted to take the flight tomorrow with Jongseong and you replied with a way too sincere I don’t know, he seemed simply unable to not turn to you, your eyes catching through the glass window. And you hated it — hated the way the air hurled out of his lungs as if you had just physically punched him. You hated the way the sound of it hung in the air between you, heavier than the humidity clinging to your skin and making your heart swell because you could do anything to make him feel better.

┈

It had already been two nights since Jake had slept in your room, but you could swear, everything was smelling like him.

You lay there, telling yourself to sleep, but instead, you found yourself standing up, tearing the sheets off the mattress, and tugging them into a small ball before you walked out to the living room. It was too late to put the washing machine to work, yet the simple idea of doing something made you feel better, and you continued, but as you stepped out, there he was.

Even before your eyes had adjusted to the dim light of the living room, you had felt him. A piece of warmth in the middle of the cold night.

Jake looked up at you, straying his gaze from the cup of water in his hands, his eyes so painfully soft beneath the yellow lamps, you felt your heart aching at the view and you wished you truly could hate him, turn all this mess inside of you into simple repulsion so you could leave without a second thought.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked then, but you only hummed at him, already starting towards the bathroom.

You took your time putting the sheets inside the machine, loading everything as if you could start it this late at night without disturbing the whole house with its screeching sounds because you expected that when you stepped out Jake would have already gone back to his bedroom. Yet, he didn’t, preferring to walk after you, leaning on the door jamb as his hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatpants.

“Baby,” he called. “Don’t leave — at least not until the end of summer — not like this.”

You scoffed, a sound that tried to mask the sting you felt, the sticky upset and dread that gnawed at your throat as you looked back at the idle machine.

It’s not like you wanted to pack your luggage and leave Seogwipo tomorrow, but you were suddenly feeling awkward with Jake. You suddenly didn’t know where to put yourself, much less how to fill the silence within the space of your conversations — and perhaps it was the worst part of everything. It had always been so easy to be with Jake.

“She cheated,” he said, as a matter of fact — as if he knew his ex was all the cause of your distress.

Jake removed his hands from his pockets then, choosing to fidgeting with the hem of his worn out t-shirt and you had spent enough time with him to know, he was about to tell you something, some long story and in any other moment you would have loved to take another piece of Sim Jaeyun and pop into place. But not now — not about this.

It was already terrible enough without the full story.

“We met in the summer of my senior year,”

“Jake,” you cut. 

“No, listen, Baby,” he said. “Please.”

And it might have been the way he said it. The tone that said without saying that he needed you to know it, but you stopped then, closing your eyes as you clutched onto the washing powder box because once Jongseong had said you were too see-through. You could never hide your feelings, they are always there — one look away for those who cared to search, when you disliked something it settled heavy in the corner of your lips, when something saddened you it took over your eyes, and honestly, everything was already humiliating enough. You didn’t need to cry in front of Jake.

“I was really young and stupid. I had to study in the mainland because of my parents so she promised me she would too,” he said. “And she did, but not in Seoul — it was a few provinces down, and for some time we made it work. I would drive there every weekend,” he continued, his voice growing softer. And you felt your heart ache at the image of a younger Jake making those long drives. But it just added to your earlier thoughts — Jake was a nice guy. You could picture him going to pick up a drunken Eunkyung, carrying her and holding her until she had fallen asleep.

“But I felt she was getting farther and farther away. She said she was tired of it all — she didn’t like the mainland, and I was too different there, and quoting her — always relying on my parents’ money and opinions.”

Your eyes snapped open, the indignation taking the best of you and you couldn’t help but turn to Jake, your eyes catching in the low light.

“I tried to explain it to her — all the things I told you on the roof, but I don’t know, she couldn’t understand?” His voice cracked slightly, and you had to resist the urge to reach out to him. “She came back to Jeju just a few weeks before my grandfather died. I told her about it and she just said she was sorry. Never mentioned going to the funeral and I should have noticed, but I never knew we had somehow already broken up.”

“So when I came to his funeral, I went to visit her, but she was with someone else, you know-”

Your breath caught, a wave of protective anger washing over you as you pictured Jake, grieving and alone, discovering such a thing. You blinked, not surprised when tears blurred your vision.

“Jake, that’s terrible,” you said, your voice coming higher than you intended, and showing all your disbelief. “She simply abandoned you when you needed her the most. How could anyone do that to you?”

“She is a-” you halted yourself, swallowing hard to control your rushed thoughts because Jake was only shrugging his shoulders at it.

“I don’t know what she wanted to tell me,” he said. “And I don’t care anymore — I was a bit shocked to see her. I have been here a whole year and it never happened, that was it, so don’t be mad with me because of this.”

“I am not mad because of this?” you snapped. It had sounded like a question, but it very much felt like the answer he needed because he smiled — faintly before he composed himself but not enough for you to not notice how his eyes were gleaming, and in the rush of the moment you started toward your — his grandparents’ old room, trying to step past him, but he caught your wrist, the sudden contact startling you so much that you would have fallen if Jake didn’t catch you, moving you until the low of your back met the kitchen counter.

And if the scent of his floral soap flinging from the bathroom wasn’t a great indication that he barely had left the shower, the water droplets still clinging to the edges of his hair were. Rivulets raced down his jaw and into his throat, making it even harder to look at him.

God — this whole day was a huge mistake.

“I have spent the whole night trying to see things from your point of view, Baby, but I am having a very difficult time here,” Jake admitted. “The other option would be because of what Jay said then. Because I didn’t reply. But what could I have said to him?” Jake continued, the words now coming so hurriedly and blurted, almost as if all he just wanted was to get it out of him. “I couldn’t tell him the truth. I couldn’t simply say no, Baby is never going to be a sister to me because I think I have fallen in love with her — Jay would have taken you out of that restaurant in the same second and caught the first flight back to Seoul, and every time I think of you leaving, I feel so uptight — hell, I feel so-”

His hand slipped from your wrist, folding his fingers through yours and bringing your hand to the back of his neck as he pulled you forward — or moved himself in. You weren’t sure what was happening anymore, everything inside of you was humming and making it difficult to think but his forehead was resting against yours and when he spoke again, it came as nothing but a hush of breath, the softest gust of air against your lips.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asked. But you couldn’t say anything. Not when your heart was cracking open under the weight of everything. You could feel his plea in every centimeter of his body, the despair in the soft breath unfurling against your mouth, and the tension in his muscles.

“Please tell me I didn’t get this all wrong and I am being creepy right now.”

The sound of a door being opened filled the space where your reply should have been and Jake moved back, his hands falling away and making your skin tingle, already missing his warmth.

“Do you always stay up until this late?” Jongseong asked.

“Yes,” Jake replied, so fastly, you would have believed it if you hadn’t seen him knock out at the couch right after dinner for a couple of nights, you having to gently tap his shoulders so he could recollect himself and walk to his bedroom.

“It’s terrible for your health, you know?” your brother asked then, but none of you replied — you weren’t even sure if you had breathed as Jongseong walked to the fridge, taking a bottle of water and going back to Jake’s room without any other word.

But as the door clicked shut again, you turned back to Jake pushing yourself on the tip of your toes, hands finding and curling on the front of his t-shirt for support. He was trembling — or perhaps you were. You didn’t give yourself another second to consider anything before you placed your lips on the shell of his ear whispering: “I am in love with you too.”

And before Jake could hold you again, you had already gone. You had slipped out of his reach and the kitchen, rushing to your room and closing the door as you leaned on it. Your heart beating against your ears — but not loudly enough to miss the way he laughed on the other side.

On the morning of the next day, Jake went to Beomseok to ask for the pickup once again and the three of you climbed it, taking the road to the airport.

The drive was surprisingly quiet. None of you spoke through the whole way up the island, the sound of the wind coming through the open windows and the radio being the only things filling the space. But then, an old song came in, something about a country road and going to the place the singer belonged, and Jake was the first one to murmur the lyrics, Jongseong following suit, their voices turned a pitch lower to match the singer’s tune and you couldn’t help but laugh.

In the rearview mirror, you caught Jake looking at you, your eyes locking for a quiet second before you felt the tip of his fingers against your knees. He had dropped his hand between the driver’s seat and the door — purposefully out of Jongseong’s sight — his palm up as his fingers stretched. You reached out for him, pinching the tip of his fingers, and he might have been satisfied with this small gesture because he withdrew, putting it back on the wheel.

“Jake, the exit!” Jongseong snapped.

“Oh shi-” Jake steered in a hurry, passing through the raised pavement markers and causing Jongseong to reach for the handle above the door, the same curse Jake failed to complete fleeing through your brother’s lips and stealing another laugh from you. But this time Jake didn’t look through the rearview, his heart was already seconds away from bursting.

┈

“We are here,” Jongseong said, eyeing the airport for a split second before he turned to Jake.

“Don’t you want us to go inside?” he asked.

“It’s alright,” your brother replied. “It’s not like I am taking a long flight — thank you for the ride, and everything. I am leaving a great responsibility but feel free to just call me, I can come pick her up if you grow tired.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jake said, extending his hand to your brother, that friendly handshake followed by a bump of shoulders guys loved to do, and then Jongseong turned to you. It was hard to hug, but you pushed yourself through the middle of the seats anyway, arms curling on your brother’s shoulders as he hugged you back.

“Take care of yourself, alright, Baby?” Jongseong whispered. “And call me if you need anything.”

You nodded, feeling that one lump in your throat that seemed too close to tears. “Thank you, Jay.”

He gave you one last squeeze before freeing himself, opening his door, and jumping out of the pickup. He hauled his carry-on from the trunk with no effort, a small smile on his lips before he turned around, and walked to the airport.

“Hey,” Jake whispered, his hand rubbing against yours. “Since we are in Jeju City, why don’t we do something over here?”

┈

You had already heard about the art museum of Jeju — walked to it during the week you stayed in the city. The immersive digital exhibition had been listed as one of the must-go spots on the island by diverse tourist sites, but the sight of a group of friends arriving made you step away — too awkward to go inside and wander through the rooms all by yourself.

But today — today you had Jake.

The first room was a forest, red flowers hanging on the trees as their petals twirled through an imagined wind.

“Do you have an artsy explanation for this?” you asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Once I went to an exhibition in Seoul with a classmate — lights and something was the name. I spent the whole exhibition just appreciating its beauty, and then in the last room there were points of light imitating the pattern of birds’ flocking, that was when a woman appeared. She was with her son, and then she started giving a whole explanation about how birds never stray away from each other, always sharing their difficulties to reach a common goal, and how that was what the artist wanted to show,”

“Ever since that day, I kept wondering if artists always intend to give deeper meanings to their creations than just beauty.”

Jake tilted his head back, red petals projecting on his face as he watched the exhibition going on. You knew they weren’t concrete, just a projector streaming images on him, but when they slid through his cheeks, you had that odd desire to reach for them. But he looked at you then, leaning in, his eyes flickering beneath the lights, mischief glinting as if he wanted to tell you the most beautiful thing he had ever known.

“I personally think it’s just pretty,” he said instead, and you laughed at this, head thrown back, the sound so carefree and soft. Your laughter seemed to be coming easier now and it was impossible for him not to smile back at you. “But if you want a more scholarly answer I would say: because art is an expression of personal perspective it is subjective. Their meaning and even what it makes others feel. Someone might come here and just think it’s pretty like me, but someone else might come here and feel like this field is speaking to them, a whisper from their childhood, a secret memory of their first love, or even a sign for a future decision. Art will never strike everyone in the same way.”

“Once a Spanish painter said you can look at a picture for a week and never think of it again. You can also look at a picture for a second and think of it all your life,” he continued. “Or something like that, the point is-”

“Some things leave no impression, meanwhile others become a life mark — there will always be the before and the after,” you said.

“Yes.”

The next room was a maze of paper lanterns. A couple of siblings ran in between on a game of tag, and when the boy rushed past you, you had to step closer to Jake, tucking on his jacket for support and being completely unaware of how he melted there. But if anything, he just slid his hand on yours, interlacing your fingers and guiding you through the rest of the exhibition.

There were more fields, and mountains projected on idealist sunset skies. There was an empty room in which flowers grew whenever you touched, and when you brought it to Jake’s attention, drawing a tiny line of flowers, he pulled you through the room, your finger still pressed on the wall and leaving a trail of flowers behind.

But it was the last room that genuinely made you stop — waterfalls of golden, electricity blazing and pulsing and cascading down around you like fallen stars.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered. “Life-changing beautiful.”

“It really is.”

You turned to him, but he had his gaze already fixed on you, his eyes gleaming, lips curling. He had no embarrassment in letting you know he had been looking at you for the whole while.

Jake used your connected hands to pull you to him, and suddenly he was so close and the air was stuffy. When he reached for a strand of your hair, he smelled like clay, that earthy scent that was already turning into your summer redolence and oranges.

“Am I too late to be your first kiss, Baby?” Jake asked.

The moment seemed to take forever. It seemed to take no time at all. Your simple you are unfolded slowly, blending with the echoes of the world very — very softly, and perhaps it was what prevented his heart from breaking there.

“But I don’t mind forgetting it,” you whispered. “Pretend it never happened.” It was just the echo of his words on your lips, but he was smiling then, his hand leaving yours only to cradle your cheeks, holding you as he leaned over — his mouth hovering over yours, parted lips brushing on a kiss that wasn’t a kiss. And you knew you had told him you could forget your first time, but when his hands slid further into you, fingers tangling into your hair and angling you up so he could pinch on your bottom lip, it was hard not to forget it. You knew without knowing that no one would ever kiss you the way Jake did. He seemed to want to relish it, feeling you through each passing second of your connected lips. He seemed not to want to let it go, memorizing you through each heartbeat as he just grazed his mouth against yours, catching his breath before he kissed you again and again and again.

Someone cleaned their throat, immediately making both of you part, lips swollen, and causing you to bury your face in his chest, but Jake only laughed — the sound echoing through your body as he reached for you again, an arm curling around your waist as the other sized for the top of your head, tangling his fingers on your hair as he held you to him and murmured an apology to whoever it had been.

“What do you say about us getting some milkshakes before going home?” Jake asked then, lips falling on the shell of your ear as if it was just another ordinary day — like you were still Jake and Baby from a few hours previous, and that the taste of his smile wasn’t still lingering on your lips. But that was the greatest thing about being with Jake: he made everything easy. And when he stepped away, holding his hand out for you, you took it without a second thought, allowing him to guide you out of the museum and back to the pickup.

┈

“Who was it?” Jake asked.

“What?” you asked, straying your gaze away from the milkshake in front of you.

Jake had stopped at a dine-in halfway back to Seogwipo, a small parlor just off the interstate that advertised the best milkshakes on the whole island! and made you both order not only two — one for each of you, but four, lining them in the middle of the table and sharing.

“Your first kiss,” Jake clarified. “Who was it?”

You weren’t sure if it was the sugar getting into your system, the euphoria of having kissed Jake, and having him sitting across from you, pinkish ear, and ankles resting against yours but you still took a moment too long to comprehend the question.

Was he really asking it or was he testing what you told him at the exhibition?

You pushed the strawberry milkshake back into the line, buying yourself some time.

“You?” you tried.

“No. I meant for real,” he said. “Who was it?”

“It wasn’t even that important,” you said. “It was a game of truth or dare. I didn’t even like him, but I guess he did as his friend seemed pretty invested in getting us to kiss. He was kinda cute — had this wavy hair and had swimming classes in the afternoons, so I didn’t mind.”

“Did he ask you out after?”

“Yes, asked me to go to one of his swimming competitions.”

“Was he your first boyfriend then?” Jake asked. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, playing with the milkshake he had first chosen with his straw and you could swear, there was a hint of something in his tone, a covetousness about this particular topic.

You reached for his milkshake, pulling it back into the line and giving him another one. It took his attention, but you didn’t look back at him.

“No. I refused him,” you said, immediately stealing a laugh from Jake.

“You kissed him and then refused when he asked you out?” he asked. “What a heartbreaker girl.”

“I was such a terrible person, right?” you said. “But in my defense, I was always too invested in my studies to really think about my romantic life. I barely could fit my lunch between school and extra classes, imagine a boyfriend? And there is also the fact that my mother always said that dating should come only when you are responsible enough, before it is stupidity — I didn’t want to be stupid to her.”

“Can you fit it now? Wouldn’t it be stupid, right?” Jake asked then. You looked up at him, immediately receiving a raise of eyebrow, shy yet flirtatious — that amusing combination he was, and when he took your hand in his, bringing your wrist to his lips, shivers scattered through your skin before he had even continued. “I promise I will be a good first boyfriend.”

“Yes,” you whispered. The word squeezed out of you, coming as nothing but a tight exhale, but Jake smiled at you then, that one twist of lips that took over his whole face. “If it’s you.”

┈

You wondered if it would be awkward then. If the silence would start to stretch on too long, and the spaces between words would be filled with awkwardness — none of you knowing how to deal with this new thing between both of you. But later that night, when you encountered Jake on the space within your bedrooms doors as you walked out of the shower, it was easy to curl your fingers on the front of his t-shirt as he cradled your face.

It was easy to part your mouth, heavy breaths and gasps blending as he captured your top lip with his, his tongue licking over your own, slipping past and tasting like the cream milkshake you shared lastly and the sugar from the cookies you had ordered to combine with. Everything so sweet, you couldn’t help but pull him closer, a little bit meaner as you demanded more, but if anything Jake smiled at you, squeezing his fingers into your skin, his thumb pushing over the corner of your mouth, and coaxing you to open wider, but then, he stopped, abruptly and all at once stepping back.

“I am going to take a shower,” he informed, his voice coming tighter and pressed before he pulled his hands on the front pockets of his jeans — adjusting himself.

You didn’t know what to do with yourself then. You hadn’t lied when you said you never had a boyfriend, and your lack of experience made it difficult for you to know what to do with the fact that you had just made Jake hard. And so, you simply stood there, body too warm, and the hallway seeming to shrink around you as your heart beat loudly against your ears.

“I am going to take the trash outside,” you blurted out. Jake nodded at you, already turning around and walking to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

You stared at it, taking another moment to steady your breathing before you managed to move toward the kitchen, reaching for the trash can and stepping outside, immediately being shrouded by Seogwipo’s summer.

The stars seemed impossibly bright tonight — as it hadn’t been in days. And couldn’t help but linger there as you dropped the bag into the bin, tilting your head back to take it in before the sound of footsteps made you turn, spotting Euntaek walking in your direction, his shoulders lower than he used to, and his fingers tapping the tray you swore to have sent back to Mrs. Choi not even two days ago.

“Hi, Baby,” he said.

“Hi,” you said back — softer than you would’ve if you hadn’t noticed his unusual posture.

“I was going to come earlier, but Grandma saw a city boy arriving, and I guessed it was your true brother so I imagined it would be better not to,” he said. “But this morning Beomseok commented that Jake needed the pickup to go to the airport-”

“News runs here.”

“It’s a small place,” he said. “Once I dyed my hair red, and my grandmother knew even before I had left the hair salon.”

You nodded at him.

“I am sorry about Arin,” he said then. “We all know she is getting out of hand, her parents are being a bit too much about the university’s stuff but none of us expected she would give it to you — at least not without a warning,”

“Haeyoung argued with her,” Euntaek continued. “Arin first said you seemed to stiff so she wanted to loosen you a bit, but then she said she just switched the cups — anyway, I am sorry.”

“If we could another day-”

“I am with Jake,” you cut.

Euntaek halted for a moment, his eyes widening slightly before he smirked at you. He didn’t seem disappointed or annoyed. If anything, he seemed to be bemused — more with himself than the whole situation.

“I see,” he said. “Well, that makes sense.”

Either the night had suddenly turned warmer, or your body, every part of you reacting to pulling those words out to the world — you were with Jake.

“Grandma baked an extra tray,” he said, extending the tray still in his hands. “So-”

“That’s really kind of you,” you replied. “Please thank your grandmother for me.”

“Sure. Goodnight,” he said, already turning and walking away. There was nothing vulnerable about Euntaek right then, and you doubted there would ever be. But you couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry as you watched him walking alone. All his dreams of Seoul, of music, of something bigger than this island and this small-town life that might never be enough for what he imagined for himself.

When he drove you to the bar near Jeju City, he had told you that his whole family was against his dreams. If he were to move to the mainland it should be to study administration, finance, something usual and concrete — something that would help them in the island once he got kicked out of the mainland because everything was too fierce for him there.

And once again, you couldn’t imagine how it felt to have everyone against you.

How was it for you, Jake? you wanted to ask. Would a single phrase made it better for you?

“Euntaek?” you called.

“Yeah?”

“Good luck — with the band thing. I hope you manage to go to Seoul someday. Get cast in a big company.”

“Would you go to one of my concerts, in Seoul?” he asked. You thought about telling him that Seoul was no longer your home. That you would never truly go back there — not before the beginning of the semester at your university or later. But perhaps it had been your awkwardness with strangers and the amount of explanation it required. Perhaps it simply had been the string of sympathy you were still feeling for him, but you nodded then, earning the most genuine smile you had seen Euntaek ever give.

“If Arin isn’t there,” you said.

“Oh, Arin is never leaving Jeju, believe in me.”

He waved at you, only once before turning to leave, and this time for real.

You stood for a moment, the tray warm in your hands as you gazed up at the stars one more time before heading back inside, placing Mrs. Choi’s tray on the kitchen counter.

When you turned around, Jake was walking out of the bathroom, hair still damp from the shower, and a loose t-shirt clinging slightly to his not-quite-dry skin. The soft glow of the kitchen light caught the droplets of water still clinging to the ends of his hair.

“Mrs. Choi passed by?” he asked.

“No, Euntaek did.”

“Ah.” The single syllable held more weight than it should, and you crossed the kitchen toward him, closing the distance between you in slow, deliberate steps. His gaze followed your movement, rounding slightly as you reached up to a damp strand of hair that fell across his forehead before you allowed your fingers to trail down to his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours.

Jake’s breath hitched slightly as your hand came to rest against the side of his neck, his pulse quickening beneath your touch because the whole house suddenly felt too small, too warm, the air between you too stuffy.

“Baby,” he warned. “I don’t want to scare you again.”

Your brows furrowed at his saying, your confusion settling heavy on your face, but then, it dawned on you — hurriedly and making you gasp, Jake thought he had scared you earlier on.

“You didn’t scare me,” you said. “I just — I meant it when I said I never had a boyfriend, so I never-”

“Don’t worry, alright?” he whispered. “We go on your time — always.”

The shop was busier today.

A group of foreigners came on the morning, wishing to learn how to do pottery, and ever since you have been standing there, watching Jake.

He made a little gesture at his chest, curtsying and gentleman-like as he bowed at a compliment, his dark hair tumbling forward into his eyes. And God — he was utterly staggering.

You must have stared for a moment too long because Jake’s gaze fell upon you, the gravity of his world suddenly centered on you, and the force of it made you turn around, skin warmer in a way you knew it wasn’t the afternoon heat setting in.

You had stuck a stray brush in your hair to keep it up, allowing the afternoon breeze to love the back of your neck, but as Jake approached you from behind, he took the brush from your hair — just so he could pull it up again, threading his fingers through your locks before he set the brush again and leaned in, curling his arms around you, breathing into the base of your neck.

“What do you think about closing the shop early?” he asked.

“I think you are not taking your shop very seriously,” you said. You didn’t even need to look at him to know he was pouting then, his bottom lip being poured out as he tightened his hold around you.

“C’mon, Baby” he whispered. “It has been a few days since we last took something from your list,” he remarked, but what he truly meant was that it had been a few days since you had only been making out on his couch, and when his hands slipped beneath your pajama’s shirts, splaying his hands on the bare skin of your waist, he suddenly stopped, laughing it off and kissing you sweetly before he said you should go to sleep. “Maybe we could go to a bar as I had promised?”

┈

Jake rode you up to the island at sunset, the traffic turning thicker and thicker as he approached Jeju City with its busy avenues, flashing lights, and more people than you’d seen ever since you had gone out with Euntaek.

And when Jake held the bar’s door, gesturing for you to go in first, you had braced yourself for a darkened room, the intoxicated air, a forced retreat to that night a week ago, and the hazed fear, but instead, you were greeted by neon lights and an electronic chime humming beneath that old summer hit everyone knew. Machines lined the walls, from the old Pac-Man to VR games cramming side by side to make room for the tables, and the wooden bar.

Somewhere a group of friends laughed and you couldn’t help but do the same. Surprise and relief burbling out of you. Jake smiled down at you, the machine lights making him glow peach and tangerine as he held his hand out for you.

Jake guided you to the bar where he traded two fifty-thousand won bills for some coins that he insisted were just enough for you both to have some fun, taking turns at the machines, being lit up by the flashing lights and the shimmer of it all. Your hands brushing, your bodies close together.

Outside Autumn was already approaching, pressing itself against the late July nights and making it a chilly thing but there — it was summer, warm, and heavy, making Jake remove his jacket, rolling the sleeves of his gray button-down shirt absent and carelessly just below his elbows, allowing his bracelets to catch the colorful light of the place as you bet over the games. A drink over Pac-Man, and baskets of fries over Pinball. And when you said you had no idea how to play a shooting game, he stood behind you, his hands above yours as he guided you through. Just as Jake always did whenever he taught you something, but this time, you allowed yourself to lean on his touch, pressing your back against his chest and feeling the solid warmth of his being.

“Will you give me a kiss if I get you to break the record?” he asked as if you haven’t been stealing pecks the whole night — as if you didn’t know the taste of his lips better than anything. But the request made your skin tingle, the night being too blazing, too sweet, and you caught yourself nodding at him.

When the game ended, requesting you to put your name as Jake got the highest score you turned to him, the same peach and tangerine light gilding him, and it suddenly felt too strange to be in the middle of all those people. You weren’t sure who pushed first, but both of you were rushing past the tables and back into the summer night. Streetlights glinted off the hoods of parked cars, and the stars hung prettily above, the layered beauty taking you anew. But you only got a glimpse of it before Jake used your connected hands to pull closer to him, leaning on and bottling into the darkness of his height. You tilted your head up. Just enough for your top lip to catch his bottom. And he made it soft and sweet, languid and still tasting like the whiskey of the bourbons he kept on asking whenever you lost and the strawberries you always rewarded him from the bottom of your cocktails.

“Should we go home?” he asked.

And it was what both of you intended to do, but half an hour until you got to Seogwipo. Jake had to stop at a tiny town that consisted only of an artificially bright gas station and a convenience store to fill his motorcycle. You wandered inside the convenience store as he took care of the motorcycle, almost feeling his gaze on you when you stopped at the cashier, paying for a package of cookies and two ice creams without his minion card. But when you stepped outside he didn’t say anything — Jake only shouldered off his jacket, spreading it on the sidewalk, and gesturing for you to sit down as he took the space by the side of it.

It was quite mesmerizing how your bodies already knew each other. When you sat by his side, Jake soundlessly shifted his arm, pressing his palm on the pavement so you could lean on him, your head resting on his shoulder, and when a breeze came a bit harsher, Jake’s proximity was the only heat in the night. It warmed you, starting from your arms brushing against his until it filled your whole body and you pressed yourself to him, eyes fluttering to the sky. Even as you sat close to the streetlight nothing seemed enough to obliterate the stars. They kept shining above you, creating streams of silver and purple against the darkness.

You couldn’t tell if it was very late or very early. The hours blended on a moment itself and you didn’t want to leave, not in a few weeks, not never. Not because of the fear of what was going to happen but because you loved this place. And the sincerity of your own thoughts struck you. Your mother once had told you about a night from her youth years: she was right there — surrounded by her friends in the place she loved, and she knew, even as the years passed, she would always remember and miss it and how lucky and doomed she had been for noticing it while she was still there. Now, you finally comprehend her sentiment. You were still here, but your chest ached at the idea of losing the thread of this night — of losing Jake. You felt yourself saddened by the simple idea of someday that summer becoming just a memory of your youth years.

“I wish I was a painter,” you blurted out. “So I could paint this sky — this place, hold it forever.”

In your periphery, Jake tilted his head, following your gaze to the sky. He barely gave himself a moment before he said: “I can teach you — how to paint. I can teach you.”

┈

And that was how you found yourself in Jake’s garden in the middle of the night, a stack supporting a tiny canvas, and Jake sparing tint cans over the greenish grass, studying each color with a deliberate passion and you got yourself wondering about how it had been for him — finally leave his family’s impositions to live the life he wanted.

“Jake?”

“Yes, Baby?”

“What was your favorite subject?” you asked. “In art school.”

“Painting,” he said, not even giving himself a moment to think about it. “I like painting landscapes and anything about nature. There are some weekends that I would drive out of Seoul only for it, but also there was this one semester that we had to do people’s portraits as our grade project — I have to admit I didn’t like it very much.”

“Portraits?”

“Yes, I painted your brother.”

“Was it that bad?” you asked.

“Maybe he wasn’t just the right muse,” he said, immediately stealing a laugh from you. The intensity of it made you throw your head back, closing your eyes as you allowed the sound to whistle through the night and when you straightened yourself back and looked at him, he was watching you, eyes all soft. “But I would like to try again — with you.”

“I would let you,” you said, feeling your cheeks warmer than before and in the rush of the moment, you kept talking. “But you know — I thought pottery would have been your favorite subject.”

“I thought so too, but it reminded me too much of my grandpa, it was hard to sit in the university’s studio and not sorrow not being here.”

“I am sorry,” you said, but Jake only shrugged, moving his attention back to the paint cans as if it was nothing. Yet, you could see the slight bow of his shoulders, the weight of the mourning always lurking in. He once had said that grief never truly ends, it just gives people breaks, and you couldn’t imagine how it was to live always one step away from breaking.

You couldn’t imagine letting Jake live like this.

Jake passed you a brush and a water cup, and when he rose to meet you, you were already stroking a great amount of water on his cheeks. His skin shimmered too prettily beneath the night sky but he only gasped at you, a momentary thing before his lips twirled on a smile, and it was worth it, even when he reached for another cup, falsely throwing it at you.

He ran when you did, feet a little clumsy on the greenish grass of his garden and neither of you really cared what you were doing. The peels of laughter made it worth it, the rush of the summer night on your face, and you had that feeling that was almost sadness once again — you didn’t want this night to ever end. But you were tripping upon an uneven part of his garden, being safe only because Jake finally reached you, his hands sparing onto your hips as he brought you to him. Both of you tumbled into the grass, Jake beneath you, legs tangled in a way you were already used to by the number of times you had made out on the couch.

Your hair fell on him, and he tucked it behind your ears — a foolish act, honestly, because it kept slipping and falling, tickling his cheeks. But he didn’t mind doing it again and again and again before he finally decided to simply hold it as he brought you closer to him.

It was a soft kiss, unhurried as both of you just wanted to be there, but then you pinched at his bottom lips and he shifted both of you, rolling so your back was the one pressed onto the grass, but you didn’t really complain — you only parted your knees so he could fit better within the cradle of your thighs. The solid length of him pressing against your core and you couldn’t help but moan, the sound escaping through your throat before you could even notice it.

Jake halted at the sound of you, pushing himself up on his forearms, but the distance created between your bodies was so minimal you could tell that he didn’t really want to, and so, you allowed yourself to reach for him, your fingers trailing slowly down to his cheek, feeling the slight roughness of evening stubble against your fingertips.

His breath caught in his throat as you traced the delicate contours of his lips, mapping every curve and dip with tenderness so deliberate he couldn’t help but melt, fluttering his eyes close for a second too long. But as he opened again, his gaze found you as mischievous as it was deep. And you weren’t really surprised when his lips parted against your touch, giving it a slight suck.

“Jake.”

“Tell me what it is, Baby.”

You were thankful for the lack of light outside because you could feel yourself blushing, a flush of warmth rushing from your cheeks to your shoulder, everything within you humming and warming and you really didn’t know how to tell you wanted him — in the most bare and vulnerable way one could want.

“Remember when you said we would go on my time?” you asked him earnestly, your voice a nervous whisper. “What if I say that I am ready? — I am ready if it’s with you.”

“Ok,” he whispered. “Ok.”

You almost expected him to laugh it off for tonight, let it go as all the other nights because when he stood up, bringing you with him, he only turned around, placing his hand behind his back, encouraging you to catch up and grab it. You held hands across the garden and into the house, letting go only as you sunk yourself into the entrance seat to remove your heels but Jake was already bending on a knee in front of you, fingers fumbling through the straps of your high heels and removing them, one at a time. And when he finished he didn’t let you go, curling his fingers on your ankles and bringing you to him.

Your knees parted for him, creating a slot that he took with no ado, allowing your thighs to straddle his ribs as he traced, upper and upper through the skin of your thigh, taking the hem of your dress and hiking it up until he found the curve of your hips and splayed his fingers through.

“Hold on me,” he whispered. “Will you, Baby?”

You didn’t even need to think before you finished molding yourself into his chest, arms curling around his neck as his finger sunk onto your skin, holding you so fiercely that you wondered if he was afraid you could simply fade away within the small moments he took to carry you to his bedroom and sit you at the edge of his bed.

It was far gentler than you ever imagined it would be, worshipful even.

Jake kissed your forehead, then your cheeks — lips pestering your face with soft kisses before he moved lower, discovering that one sensitive spot underneath your jaw. And when you shivered at the feel of him, he smiled, taking it as an incentive to move to the column of your neck, his lips parting, tongue slipping in a tiny tease that already got you aching for him.

“Anxious?” he asked.

“A bit.”

“We don’t need to do anything you are uncomfortable with, alright?” he said, moving back so you could catch his gaze, all sincere and earnest. “You ask me to stop, and I will.”

You nodded at him, and the smile on Jake’s face was like the whole of summer. Everything about him was warm, soft, and absolutely intoxicating as he reached up to you, brushing his hands through your ribcage, drawing your dress up to your shoulder, and allowing it to fall somewhere over his bedroom floor.

You would have felt embarrassed sitting there, chest bare, panties a simple cotton that matched your skin tone because your dress had been too thin, if Jake wasn’t sighing then, reaching for you like you were unreal — something an idealist painter had created in a dream. His fingers traced delicate patterns across your collarbone, down the curve of your breasts, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured.

Your heart leaped then, not quite sure if it had been because of his words or how he leaned on you, placing a trail of kisses along the inner curve of your breasts — the conjunction of your ribs, reaching for your lower abdomen. And you were so close to faltering when he kissed the front of your panties — so close, you almost found yourself whimpering when you felt the tip of his fingers fumbling through the edges of it.

“I will take these off, alright Baby?” he asked, and you nodded once again, hands tucking at his blankets as you moved a bit further into the edge of his bed, letting him slide your last clothing piece off and to the floor of his bedroom.

Your whole body ached to pull him closer, but as heavy as Jake’s gaze was, he was being so gentle with you, so unbelievably gentle. Everything was so willful and unhurried almost as if he meant to store every piece of you into his memory and sculpt out of clay at a later date — and maybe he was going to.

His hands were almost adoring when he hitched your panties down to your legs, deifying when his fingers dug at your ankles, lifting them to his lips.

“Jake,” you said, almost regretting it because you expected him to halt, suddenly too self-conscious, but you knew he had heard it too — the way you called him like you tended to whenever you wanted to ask him something — like you tended to say please. And so he only moved into the space between your legs, his stomach pressed to the mattress as he brought the back of your knees to his shoulders, his parted lips brushing through the inner of your thigh, slowly, unhurried, turning greedy only as he approached the place where you needed him the most, and when he finally licked a warm stripe over your folds, you whined at his actions, hands faltering at his blankets and allowing your back to fall into his mattress.

Jake lifted his head to you, but only to give himself space to open your labia with his fingers before he continued, curling his tongue inside of you, a circular flutter just at your entrance. His tongue sought and found your clitoris, sucking on it, all your sensation concentrated in that tiny throbbing little bud. Every nerve was alive there, every muscle poised for release and making you reach for his hair, your fingers tangling on it, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. He groaned beneath your touch, but if anything he licked you again in the same way.

“You feel so good, Baby,” Jake mumbled, words hot against your entrance. And you felt yourself throbbing as he touched you there, the tip of his fingers applying a tentative pressure before he stuck a finger into you.

You clenched around him and he swore, lifting his head to look back at you as he pushed another finger in.

The extra stretch made you gasp, your back arching off the bed, head thrown back into the blankets that smelled like him, that perfect combination of flowery soap and oranges, clay and glaze. And Sim Jaeyun was everywhere around — everywhere inside you. His fingers curled, finding that one spot that made something within you ache desperately.

It’s not like you had never fingered yourself — you had, coming far enough times all alone, but Jake’s fingers were much thicker and longer than yours, and the combination of them with his tongue was simply overwhelming. His mouth found your clit again and never left it, sucking and licking in rhythm with the thrusting of his fingers, making your body coil tighter and tighter around him, cunt quivering around the base of his fingers with his every move, and when you pressed your thighs around him, his free hand gripped you, holding you open for him.

You were sure you gasped, Jake’s name falling from your lips in a breathless moan as your eyes fluttered closed at the feel of your orgasm crashing through your body. But Jake didn’t let go — working you through it, and easing off only when you became too sensitive, squirming under his mouth, pumping your hips, and grasping at the sheets to give you some leverage.

He placed gentle kisses on your inner thighs, a worshipful touch that made your heart swell, everything being too much, and you were thankful when he hovered back at you, allowing you to push your face to his, your noses brushing as the reality slowly snuck back in. Seogwipo had always been silent — no matter the time, but tonight not even the breezes seemed to be current. There was nothing except for your breathing and the sound of your heart pounding against your ears.

“That’s my Baby,” he whispered.

“Jake,” you broke in, and there was it again — his name sounding almost like a plea.

“Tell me what’s it.”

“I want you,” you said, splaying your palm in front of his jeans as if you desired to prove a point. He was painfully hard underneath your touch, releasing a tight breath at this slight touch. 

“Think you can give me one more?” he asked then, placing his hand between your legs and stroking your inner lips before slipping two fingers inside, seeking any possible discomfort. “I am afraid I will hurt you.”

“Jake — please.”

You could feel that he didn’t care about coming, not really, not when you had given him the opportunity to make you fall apart on his fingers. He could deal with himself quite well later on in the shower just with the memory of it, but then you were slipping your hands through his shirt, curling your fingers on his shirt’s buttons, and how could he say no to you?

He could give you anything even if you never asked in a heartbeat — in the moment his body took to live from one moment to another.

Your hands met in the middle, opening all of his shirt’s buttons, and allowing Jake to hurl it out and onto his bedroom floor, a silent thud that matched the breathless gasp he released when you reached for him again, fingers splaying through him, following the skin of his just exposed abdomen until you had reached for his neck, curling it around the slope curve of it and bringing him back to you.

You imagined that Jake had far enough experience, a reasonable body count for a graduated university man, but it somehow felt like he was pretty much rediscovering himself with you. When you kissed his throat, lips parting against his skin and surely leaving a mark. He groaned as if it never had happened before or if it did, it never had the effect you are having on him, and the sound of it scattered shivers through your spine, making you feel bold enough to push at the waist of his jeans, fingers slipping past the band of his boxers and pushing it far enough for him to only kick it out. It barely had hit his bedroom floor before his lips were on you, tongue pressing against yours, and tasting like you still.

“Baby,” Jake whispered, and you clenched at his sides with the endearing name, thighs closing around him, squeezing him almost unconsciously as if you didn’t want him to move. But he did, sitting on his knees and taking himself in his hands, his fingers curling around his length almost beautifully before he guided the tip to graze your entrance and he pushed into you, bit by bit.

You moaned at the extra stretch, the heavy pressure of him filling you and your hand flew to his wrist for some support, fingers curling around him. Jake’s hand immediately shifted beneath your touch, adjusting himself so he could interlace your fingers, giving it the small and reassuring squeeze you knew so well.

“I need you to talk to me,” he said. “Am I hurting you?”

“No,” you whispered, softly shaking your head as your free hand reached for his neck, fingers curling onto his hair as you brought him down so you could brush your noses, your lips so closely together that when you spoke, he felt your words.

“It’s alright,” you told him. “You can move, it’s alright.”

It was slow at first, the same patience you had watched him having with his creations, slowly and tenderly shaping them up to his confident acknowledgment — and when he finally came completely out, he already knew exactly how to move back in, how to make you whine, and his name to escape from your lips a little bit more frantic.

You had expected sex to be something like this, bodies tightening and coming apart in a cadence that made your chest ache but it was more than that — more than anything you could imagine, actually. It was something like feeling your heart splitting at the stitching, and it was terrifying, raw, vulnerable — and yet incredible.

It felt so good to gush around him, your bodies molding as a single thing and you couldn’t help but wrap your legs tighter around his waist, changing the angle slightly, and making Jake groan, his lips finding that one sensitive spot on your neck that got you crying out, pressing yourself closer to him. 

“God, you feel so amazing,” he breathed against the shell of your ear, husky and needy, the vibration of his words only heightening the pleasure building within you. “Squeezing me so tight.”

You knew you were approaching the edge once again, you could feel your body trembling and you forced yourself to hold back — to not end it yet. But Jake seemed to sense your impending release, his movements becoming more focused, more deliberate. Each thrust of his hips pronounced with a wet clash, obscenely loud while slick dribbled out of your cunt, and you could feel it pooling into the blankets underneath you.

“Let go, Baby,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Jake talked as if he didn’t have his brows knitted and wasn’t patting himself, his breath being almost being torn from him at the feeling of how tight you were around him, molding and clenching down on his length until he went tense, holding the blankets in a death grip. The hands you adored so much to watch, tightened and making his veins pop underneath his skin, snaking up all the way to the forearms.

One of his hands moved between your bodies, wetting the tip of his fingers with your fluids before massaging your clitoris. It swelled instantly at his touch, and your orgasm crashed over you with a blind force — Jake following soon after. 

For a moment, time seemed to stand still, the two of you lost in the afterglow. And when he finally slipped out, moving to look at you, there were golden stripes painted across his cheeks, the sun rising somewhere over the horizon and casting the same soft light of when you realized you were in love with him, and suddenly it was too hard to let him go.

You didn’t notice a tear had escaped through your eyes until Jake smoothed a thumb over your cheeks, his eyebrows knitting together in worry, but you didn’t allow him to pronounce what was on his mind, catching his lips on yours, kissing him sweeter than it should’ve been considering you were still naked in his bed, your bodies so mixed up that you couldn’t quite tell where you ended and he began.

“I am fine,” you told him. “I am.”

You just weren’t sure what you were supposed to do with everything you were feeling for him.

You might have murmured something about staying like this because he laughed, slipping away from your hands just to kiss the space right above your heart.

“Let’s stay like this then,” he replied.

Jake rolled you both through the bed, bringing you to his chest so you could lay on it, his heart slowly coming in peace underneath you. And you stayed — stayed until the room had turned orange and pink with the sunrise, and the particulars of dust sparkling with the full sun. You stayed like this until Jake was hard again, and you swung a leg over his hips, kissing him to stave away any possible awkwardness as your fingers brushed and tangled, guinding him into you. The overwhelmingness of having him when you were so swollen still, made you raise yourself, straddling his hips, but you didn’t allow him to stop, and so his hands spread over your skin, pinning you in place as he worked up on you and made you come in the morning haze.

When you collapsed onto his chest again, you could feel him trembling with laughter.

“Your brother is going to fucking kill me,” he said.

You woke up to the feel of Jake’s lips on your shoulders.

It wasn’t new. Ever since the night at the bar, you both have been sharing the same room, what got you by surprise was the fact that the room was still indigo blue which for the standards of Jeju’s sunrise it was too early.

“Baby,” he whispered.

“What’s wrong, Jake?”

“I will go out a bit,” he told you. “It’s my grandfather’s birthday and I would like to visit his grave.”

You blinked at him, still a little bit too slow to process everything, but as he moved to slip away, you held him.

“May I go with you?” you asked.

Jake’s grandfather had been buried beneath an enormous Japanese cedar tree at the Hallasan mountain, high enough just for you to see the sea stretching to what felt like the edge of the world, merging with the horizon in a seamless blend of blues.

Wildflowers in delicate purples and yellows dotted the green grass surrounding the grave, moving gently in the morning mist still clinging to the lower slopes as you arrived.

You watched as Jake poured sake at the ground — sake, because the old man didn’t like anything aside from it and although you and Jake had agreed it tasted pretty much like soju if chosen rightly none of you mentioned it as he emptied the cup over the grass, before he sat down, picking at the wild flowers scattered through. You noticed a hesitancy in his movements, something uncertain in the way his fingers hovered over each stem as his eyes were not really focused on anything, and you wondered if he was struggling with what to say to his grandfather, or perhaps with showing this vulnerable side of himself.

“Do you want to say something?” you asked.

“I do,” he admitted. “I am just not sure what.”

“May I go first then?”

Jake nodded at you, and you allowed yourself to kneel by his side.

“Hello, Grandpa,” you said. “It might come suddenly as we never met before but I am living in your old house at the back of the pottery shop. It’s a lovely place, and somehow I can’t help but keep imagining how much love it has been built from. Jake must have been so loved there so thank you so much for taking care of him,”

“I know you might be worried, but please, don’t, Jake is doing well — really well, honestly. You would have been so proud to see what a person he has become — I am proud myself and I only came to know him not long ago.”

“So please, be at peace.”

A gentle breeze whispered through the cedar branches above, their needles shimmering in the golden sunlight as Jake turned his gaze toward you, his eyes softened, and reflecting that one golden glow you loved so much.

“It’s not fair,” Jake whispered. “You can’t make me fall in love with you every day like this.”

“Come here, Baby,” he said. His arms spread wide on an invitation you had no second thought before taking, setting yourself in the space in between before he hugged you by your waist, bringing you the centimeter closer you failed to.

“What am I going to do once you leave?” he whispered. 

You curled your arms around his shoulders, kissing the top of his head, but you didn’t really reply — you couldn’t. You didn’t know what you were going to do either. 

The storm hadn’t been forecasted or expected, a monsoon rolling through the last day of July and catching both of you unprepared from your trip to the convenience store for ice pops.

A gasp escaped through your lips, but you couldn’t confide if it was because of the sudden raindrops kissing your skin or the way Jake pulled you through the rest of the street, using your connected hands to rush you through the side path from the shop to the garden, and into the house.

You laughed as you tripped over the shoes at the entrance hall, but Jake was fast on catching you, leaning you against the wall in order to prevent you both from falling. One of his hands pressed over the curve of your lower back to push you further into him, the line of your bodies pressed together, as the other tangled through your hair, the tip of his fingers finding your nape.

“I want to paint you,” he murmured — blurted out, an admission you weren’t sure he intended to confess, but you caught yourself smiling at him. His voice was all fondness and appreciation. “Can I paint you, Baby?”

You already knew the answer, but you decided to draw the moment a little longer, tilting your head as if you were considering it. And Jake leaned on you, his lips brushing through the column of your neck, interleaving kisses and pleads, tiny please that went down to the neckline of your top, his knees already ready to bend as he planned to go further, but you reached for him, touching his neck, right where his hair grew above the collar of his shirt.

“Alright,” you said. “You can paint me.”

┈

“How do you want me?” you asked, immediately stealing a laugh from Jake.

His room was no brighter than the whole house, the rainy clouds making everything a bit grayish and dim. But he didn’t care about turning the lights on before he reached for a blank canvas prompt on his desk.

He turned back to you, taking that small sliver of skin between your skirt and top, grazing his fingers there. You shivered when he passed through the hem of it, rushing up to your ribcage, your whole body trembling as he brought you as close as he could.

“It’s a dangerous question, Baby,” he whispered, lips brushing through yours. “But anything you give me, I will take it.”

You weren’t sure what it was about Jake that caused you to find yourself doing everything you normally thought impossible, but you reached for the back zipper of your skirt, tugging it down until the piece got loose from your waist and fell, pooling onto your feet as you pulled your arms up.

Jake’s breath hitched and stammered, his surprise taking him for a full moment before finally he slipped his hands a bit further, drawing your top up and out of you too before unclasping your bra.

You sat on the hardwood floor of his room, his sheet barely wrapped around your waist, and leaving a lot of your skin to be bathed by the dim light as you watched Jake giving the first strokes — the same satisfying, and controlled strokes that somehow made the act of painting an art itself and you loved to watch so much.

Jake looked back at you, and you knew he had noticed how closely you were watching him, gaze following the familiar way his fingers curled around the brush, the way he knew the exact amount of pressure he was supposed to use only to make his stocks fluid on the canvas.

“I am starting to regret it,” he sighed.

“Why?”

“You are too pretty. It’s highly distracting.”

Your lips parted to retort, but whatever words you had chosen slipped and slid as he abandoned his brush, reaching for you instead. One of his hands pressed over the curve of your lower back as the other chased for your neck, the tip of his fingers tangling through your hair, and bringing your mouth to his.

His lips parted too, heavy breaths blending as he caught your bottom lips with his once, twice — just enough for you to feel comfortable enough to lick over him, slipping past his lips, and tasting the cherry ice pop he had chosen earlier in the convenience store and the rain still pounding against the windows and resonating with the rhythm of your heart.

Your hands snuck down to his sides, fingers scraping down to the waist of his jeans as you tried to end a distance that didn’t exist anymore. You were too close already, bodies so tangled you weren’t sure which one of you was shivering, but Jake seemed to understand your urgency as his fingers dug into your skin a little harder, pressing you to him, and when you grind against him, he groaned, the sound doing something to you that you couldn’t explain.

“Jake,” you murmured. “Wait.”

“I am sorry,” he said, hurling away from you. His back met the legs of his desk fast and in a heap. “Not today?”

“That’s not it,” you said. “I mean-”

“Yes?”

“I want you to teach me how to touch you.” Although you didn’t give yourself enough time to doubt the wisdom of saying it, you had to take a breath before you spoke, inhaling summer, rainstorms, and Jake — just Jake, and it made the words come a bit weakly, almost too silent for your own ears, and for a moment you doubted he had heard you. But then, Jake stopped, a sharp swallow going into his lungs. It seemed to take him a long time to make sense of your sentence, and when he finally did, it took every ounce of him to not simply rumble you through the floor, kneel before you and touch you — eat you, make up for all the gentleness he had with you on the first time.

But he only laughed. A bright burst that would have gotten you burning, if his hands weren’t already finding their way back to you, the tip of his fingers brushing a stray lock of your hair to the back of your ears as he moved closer again.

“How can I say no to you?” he asked. “Ask me anything and I will give it to you.”

“Anything?” you asked, making Jake hum, leaning in so his nose brushed against the column of your neck.

“Anything, Baby”

“I just want you.”

“I am yours.”

You pushed your fingers underneath his t-shirt, rippling it with goosebumps at your bare touch, but if anything Jake only reached for the collar of it, helping you hurl it out and to the great mess his room was.

You could feel that Jake was overwhelmed, desire and lust laying right next to each other in his heart, each sharpening the other, but he allowed you to take your pace nevertheless, leaning himself against the legs of his desk once again as he watched you — burning you with affection and fondness as he accompanied every move you did. From the way the tip of your fingers followed the lines of his abdomen to how you finally reached for his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping it, pushing it down to his thighs together with his boxers, and revealing that he was already erect and glistening at the tip.

It wasn’t the first time you were seeing Jake this bare, but it was the first time you could stare, and so, you did.

Jake’s lips parted in a soft gasp as you reached for him, the tip of your fingers tentatively brushing through his extension. From the already flushed tip to the prominent veins all over him and all the way back, receiving an almost imperceptible buck of his hips in response.

“Jake?”

“Alright,” he rasped, taking your hand on his, placing your palm right against his shaft before he folded you over, pressing slightly. The gesture being both familiar and unknown, the echo of how he guided you against the clay faintly there, but he pulsed against your touch, and something tightened on your stomach.

Anticipation filled the room, thick tension that made everything seem heavy, and you knew that whatever way this ended, whatever happened next, it was going to be worth it. 

“Start slowly,” he said, guiding you up and down, his hand remaining gently wrapped around yours, showing you the exact pressure that he liked.

With each upward stroke, he squeezed your fingers slightly tighter around the head before loosening on the downstroke. 

“Go a little faster,” he murmured.

The muscles in his abdomen tensed as you sped up, and his free hand rushed through his hair, tightening there as if he was struggling to keep himself focused. His breath was coming in shorter bursts now, and you watched his expressions, mesmerized by the way his face tensed by your bare touch, his lips parting slightly.

“Don’t stop,” he mumbled.

So you didn’t. Even when his grip on your hand loosened, letting you take total control, and you loved the way you made him groan, head thrown back, pulse jumping in his neck as his hips subtly started to move in rhythm with your strokes.

You knew you didn’t need to ask if you were doing it right, his whole body was telling you that you were, but you did still, leaning on him so when you asked your lips brushed, softly, sweet, and nothing like you were still touching him.

“I feel like you are trying to kill me, but yes, Baby,” he breathed. “Just like that.”

The desk creaked as he shifted, his body following you with an unmistakable need as his free hand cupped your cheek, thumb tracing the curve of your bottom lip before he leaned forward to kiss you.

“Just like that,” he repeated, wild, and unraveled in a way you had never heard him, but it only made you smile at him, pressing the softest peck to his mouth before you raised yourself on your knees.

“Jake,” you called. “Can I-”

Maybe it had been the way you were already hovering above him, but Jake was fast to catch you, a hand molded to your waist as the other slipped between your thighs, fingers hooking into the lace of your panties, and pulling it to the side so you could line him to your entrance, his tip pressed against where you need him the most.

His breath hitched when you came down on him, whispering your name, pronouncing it with the same deliberate slowness he always had and you couldn’t help but moan at the whole feel of him, palms spreading at the lower of his abdomen, head a bit thrown back and barely giving time before you started a slow, hard grind on his lap, lifting yourself up and down, dragging your cunt against his pelvis, his length buried deep enough inside you that the base of him caught your clit.

“There is no way,” he murmured. “It’s your first time doing in it.”

“Who else could I have done it with?”

“Some stupid swimmer back in Seoul.” You weren’t sure if it had been because of his saying or your surprise when he rolled both of you through the floor, but you were laughing — laughing so hard that Jake stopped, his hands still hooked on the back of your knees but not quite bringing you to him as he intended.

“You are my only one,” you said.

Only one — not only your first but also the last one to come. And he might have just thought too deeply into it, but he didn’t care. As you looked up at him, dressed in nothing but the remains of light, and the echoes of your laugh, he didn’t care that it might be just a temporary truth. He was your only one at that moment, and it was enough to make his breath hitch, heart plumbing inside of his chest.

Jake hitched your legs around his hips, holding himself carefully above you as he took your lips, kissing you so when he pushed into you once again, you could feel how much he wanted you in every sharp breath.

His moves were careless this time, gone on all your previous teasing, but he still managed to make you tighten around him, fingers curling on the hair of his nape as your mouth parted against his, his name coming so softly from your lips that he couldn’t help but bury his face into the crook of your neck, eyes squeezed shut, hoping and praying that he could always remember the way you felt coming around him.

Jake whispered your name, a small call that you tried to reply to, but failed, hiccupping and gasping out a laugh when you realized and you didn’t know you were crying until Jake moved back, his thumb pressing against your cheeks, the tip of it barely brushing through your skin as he dried your tears.

“If you cry every time we have sex I will start being concerned,” he said. “Am I hurting you?”

“No, that’s not it,” you said.

“So what’s it then?”

You felt your lips parting to reply, your body reacting faster than your own mind, but when the words once again didn’t come, you stopped, another hiccup coming through instead.

“Baby,” he called, his voice softer than before. “Remember your first night here? When we went to the roof and you trusted me with all your concerns? I said you could rely on me and I mean it still. Just because I am your boyfriend now, it doesn’t mean you can’t share your stuff anymore. I want you to trust me like you did back then. Can you?”

“I don’t want to leave,” you confessed. “Every time we are like this I catch myself a bit sad because — I just don’t want to leave for the United States or Seoul. I just don’t want to leave you.”

Jake breathed in, a sharp intake that made your cheeks burn, suddenly too embarrassed to even look at him, but as you turned to focus on the canvas leaning against his walls, he reached for you, fingers spraying through your chin and angling you back at him.

“I won’t ever tell you to stay,” he said. “Not because I don’t want you to, or because you can’t. I still feel uptight just with the idea of you leaving. But I don’t want to take this decision away from you. I don’t want you to look at me in a few months — in a few years, who knows, and say you should have gone,”

“To study abroad is a great opportunity. You have worked your whole life for it although it wasn’t your dream, I don’t even know which university you got in-”

“Harvard — it’s the best for law.”

“No way, my baby is a genius,” he said dramatically and immediately stealing a smile from you. “But that only proves my point, it’s a great opportunity to have it on your curriculum.”

“Besides, whenever you want to come back Seogwipo is going to be here,” he continued, his voice so soft beneath the rain. “I am telling you from experience.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you going to stay here?” you asked. “It’s just — Seogwipo doesn’t seem the same without you.”

“I will,” he replied. “I will stay here.”

You reached for him, a single finger tracing the soft lines of his lips before you allowed it to slip to his neck.

Jake closed his eyes, leaning in, just a bit further so that when he spoke you not only heard his words but felt them. “I will stay here — I will stay here waiting for you.”

And just like that July melted into August, summer coming closer and closer to an end, but neither of you ever spoke of it. Not in the mornings when Jake started to linger a bit longer before going to prepare breakfast for both of you, his fingers following the lines of your body as if he was well aware that he had you memorized but still — was afraid of someday forgetting. Not when you both stayed at the shop, Korean tourists becoming a less common occurrence and leaving only a few foreigners to remain. And on the nights when he hugged you from behind as you stood in front of the stove, he kissed your shoulders as if he wasn’t sorrowing that another day came to an end — as if the last week hadn’t come yet and the date printed on the reservation ticket you kept hidden on your luggage wasn’t coming closer and closer.

You could feel that there was a get it out of the system energy hovering around you. A desperate desire to somehow make it more bearable once the day of your departure came, but the fact was that none of you could get it out of your systems. It never mattered how long he hugged you while you both were in the shop, or how many times he made you come during the night, as the morning came it started all over again.

Jake stopped behind you at the kitchen counter, his hands slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, gathering the piece on his forearms as he sprayed his fingers on your waist to push you further into him. You could feel his breath, the soft hush of air as his lips parted to say something to you, but whatever had it been was stolen and forgotten as the front door was opened, your brother releasing a full curse. Jake stepped back, his hands slipping away from you, and allowing your shirt to fall back into its place, but not fast enough for it to not have been noticed.

“What the fuck is this?”

“Jay,” you called, but it was already too late. Jongseong was rushing through the house, grabbing Jake’s t-shirt, twisting the thin material between his fists. He didn’t seem to think about the consequences of his actions — he simply did it, using his grip to push Jake away from you.

They tripped over the house, falling on the small space in front of the maroon couch, your brother above. The sound of their bodies collapsing against the floor was almost imperceptible beneath the sound Jake released when the punch came.

You stopped in the midst of a complaint, but Jake couldn’t blame you. He always imagined what was a fight, the throw of punches all drove in the heat of feelings, but instead, there was just a moment of deadness, his blood rushing to the point where Jongseong had punched him and nothing — absolutely nothing. Even the breezes seemed to have stopped outside.

“Jay, that’s enough!” you screamed, finally reminding you body to lung forward, but in the midst of the chaos Jake raised a hand at you, silently telling you to stay still.

Your brother was quivering. Not from his shock, like you or Jake, but from some chained emotion, so Jake stayed still, even when the second punch came, his lip splitting open, a trickle of blood running down his chin. He stayed still as Jongseong curled his fights on his t-shirt once again, hurling him from the floor and back into it once, twice — enough times for his anger to start to burn out.

“Shit Jake, couldn’t you choose someone else to hook up with?” he asked. “There aren’t enough girls on this island so you had to go after my sister?”

“Jay, stop it.”

“Stay away from this, Baby,” your brother grunted at you. “Actually, even leave the house for a bit.”

“Definitely not.”

“Jay,” Jake called then, making Jongseong look back at him, and it suddenly felt like every other argument they ever had, and Jake knew they could counter it. “I am sorry.”

“She is my little sister,” Jongseong said, his tone coming not mad, but tired. “She is so young.”

“I didn’t mean to make it a secret,” he said. “I am serious about her, and that’s why I wanted to tell you in person.”

“It’s true that she is young and needs me way more than I need her, and maybe it is always going to be like this, but you know? I don’t care, I want her to rely on me because I like her — hell, I love her, Jay” Jake said, his genuine feelings slipping like a breath through his lips. He had pronounced love so — so unconcerned, he didn’t even need to think about it before. And maybe that was it that ceased the last flame of fury on your brother, making him hurl away from Jake, throwing himself on the couch instead.

Jake sat up too, a bit slower due to his growing bruises, but you remained still, Jake’s words humming inside of you.

“How long has it been going for?” Jongseong asked.

“Almost a month,” Jake replied.

“Shit, it was on the night of the restaurant, wasn’t it? You both were acting so weirdly.”

“Yeah, and it was thanks to you that I finally told Baby what I was feeling,” Jake said. “So thank you, bro.”

“Don’t make me punch you again,” he hissed. “Who the fuck is your bro?”

Yet despite the harsh choice of words, your brother’s tone had a bit of a joke on it, something only best friends acknowledged. Somehow they had gone from such a terrible place to a joyful one. And you felt an extraordinary rush of relief.

“But you better know where you are going, that girl has been spoiled ever since she was born,” Jongseong said. “She wasn’t even a year and dad was already putting a gold bracelet on her wrist.”

“Hey!”

“I know,” Jake said. “And I can handle a spoiled baby.”

“So it’s already come to this — do as you feel like then — I guess,” Jongseong said, standing up. “I am going to take a shower. Get me a towel and some clothes, I am too lazy to deal with my luggage.”

Neither of you moved until your brother had already closed himself on the bathroom, the water cascading stealing the sound of the breath you shuddered out of you as you rushed to Jake.

You took his chin with the tip of your fingers, tenderly angling him to the living room’s light. The wound was worse than it seemed from afar, bleeding as a darker bruise started to form, and immediately making you frown, eyebrows knitted, lips pressing into a thin line. You reached for it, the tip of your fingers wandering through his skin as if you could erase them with your bare touch.

“I am sorry,” you whispered.

“Why are you asking me sorry? It’s your brother’s doing,” he asked, tilting his head into your palms.

“Exactly, if it wasn’t because of me, Jay wouldn’t have punched you.”

“Jay was mad just because he simply wanted to be, you aren’t the one to blame, Baby,” Jake said, but you didn’t seem convinced, so he reached for you too, arms curling around your waist as he brought you closer to him. “Do you think your father will react better or worse than him?”

“Remember when I said I never had a boyfriend before?” you asked. “I guess we will have to find out together.”

He chuckled at your statement, it was a minuscule sound spreading through the night but it seemed to loosen something within both of you and he allowed himself to lean on you, his cheek resting against your hairline.

“Jake?”

“Hm?”

“I love you too.”

┈

Later on that night, Jongseong grasped at your door, his knuckles against the wooden piece before he opened a small sliver, just enough for him to catch sight of you.

“Is the small flurry ball here?” he asked.

“Jeonchae?” you asked, gesturing to the kitten guarding the crochet blanket at the foot of your bed. “Yes, since you are allergic to cats, we had to close him here.”

“So can you step out to the garden for a bit?” he asked. “I want to talk to you.”

The air had turned misty with the humidity, the grass still damp from the amount of days rain had been washing summer away, so you both only leaned against the wall, head throwing back as both of you watched as the clouds raced by.

“Do you want to go?” he asked then. “To the United States? Do you still want to go?”

“I never did.”

“True,” he sighed. “But there was a time that you accepted it. How are you now?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Jake indirectly told me to go. He said it is a great opportunity and I know it is, but my heart breaks whenever I think of leaving him and this place. I don’t want to leave, I don’t want to study law, but I haven’t called mom and dad saying this because I also know I — I can’t simply stay and build my whole future around Jake, not because I don’t think it will work in the long future, but because-”

“You need to be a person of your own?” Jongseong tried. You weren’t sure if it was the best way to put it, but because you couldn’t find other words you nodded at him.

“I should get a degree, right?”

“You put it in a weird way,” he laughed. “I don’t think it’s something as necessary as breathing if that’s what you are implying. Ever since I started working at dad’s office and taking a few cases I met a lot of people — good people who don’t have a degree and are happy with their lives, and it is what matters in the end isn’t it?”

“I think so.”

“As Jake said, it’s a great opportunity to study abroad.” Jongseong sighed then, reaching for your hand and giving a slight squeeze. “And I personally think that giving up before even trying won’t do it. Nothing is permanent, Baby. Life is so full of possibilities. You can go to the United States and study law, you can go and change your major, or you can simply go and come back in the middle of the semester. Restart in Seoul or even here, there are universities here too. Jeju is a small island, but it’s not the end of the world.”

“Did you search for Jeju’s universities?” you asked.

“Did you not?” your brother teased. “Well, it doesn’t matter. My point is what I told you back when I found out you were here — whatever you decide to do, you have our support, mine, mom’s, dad’s, and now Jake’s.”

“What still feels a bit weird to me,” Jongseong concluded. “I feel disturbed whenever I stop to think carefully about it, but at the same time, it kinda makes sense — you and him.You both are made of the same impossible stuff.”

You weren’t sleeping.

Previously Jongseong had called Jake to his room, forbidding him from spending the night in your room as you both were already used to. But it was your last night at Seogwipo and your body knew it was a loss to simply let the remaining hours slip into a slumber, so when you heard the faint sound of your brother’s snore, you stood up, padding barefoot to Jake’s room.

His door was ajar, as it often was, a bare sliver that only gave you the idea of Jake sitting at the end of his bed. You didn’t need to say anything, gesture anything. With a single glance at your brother, Jake stood up, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him and you were already on him, pushing yourself on the tip of your toes, arms curling around his shoulders as you brought him to you.

“I know Jay told you to stay there, but I don’t want to spend my last night away from you,” you whispered.

“I guess it makes things a bit more exciting, doesn’t it?” he asked, but you didn’t reply, giving him a slight push as you let him go, cheeks burning and body suddenly too warm.

It was more frantic than you remember it ever being. You moved at the same time, a push and pull of two bodies meeting in the middle. Fingers in hair, hands cupping necks, open-mouth kisses that got you dragging on each other cheeks for breath as you both made your way to your room. The moment the door was closed, Jake was already reaching for the collar of his t-shirt, hurling it over his head, and taking the single step you had given to reach the bed.

A final tug and both of you fell onto the mattress, Jake above you. He barely gave it a moment before his hands were moving over your body, finding the hem of your pajama top and curling on it to slip it off you.

“I need you to be quiet for me, Baby,” he whispered. “Can you?”

You nodded and his hands splayed over your sides, fingertips moving up through gaps in your ribs before he smoothed across your bare skin, grazing a thumb over your nipples, and leaving it all hard for his mouth to take, his tongue swirling and sucking — intended on his task. Jake closed his eyes as he drew the nipple and aureole all the way into his mouth, making it impossible for you to hold a moan.

You placed the back of your hand against your lips, but not before you had received a warning from him, his teeth pinching you as his fingers hanked deeper into your skin, and making your back arch.

“Baby,” Jake called, but his voice was so chaotic, almost as if he was actually hiding his own moan, and you doubted he really cared about you being loud because he was already slipping further into you, kissing the path down to your lower abdomen as he had already done so many times before. He curled his fingers on the waist of your pajama shorts, pulling the material down your leg and throwing it away. But as he took your panties off, he put them in the pocket of his sweatpants instead.

“Are you keeping this?” you asked. Jake hummed, already leaning back on you. “I want something too.”

“Anything you want.”

His fingers curled into the back of your knees, lifting your legs over his shoulders, and when he kissed the inner of your thigh, you had to halt yourself, recollecting your thoughts. “A t-shirt?”

“I will let you take all you want in the morning.”

“What about your leather jacket?”

Jake smiled, giving you another kiss. “Fine.”

“You?”

“Do you want to put me in your luggage?” he stopped, looking up at you. And although it had been him that brought this possibility you couldn’t find yourself agreeing — not even as a joke. Jake belonged to Seogwipo, to the greenish hills and the breeze that always smelled like the sea. He belonged to his grandfather’s pottery shop with its everlasting earthy scent. He lived it, and you could never ask him to let go of something so vital to him.

“No. I want you now — in me.”

“This one is easier,” he agreed.

You didn’t get a chance to reply before Jake was bringing his mouth down on you, a wet press over your folds, his tongue prodding gently until he found your clit between them, licking and sucking your sensitive bud, sending a shiver of pleasure through your spine, and you couldn’t help but reach for his hair, your fingers tangling on it, pulling it on its roots. But if anything he stayed there, his fingers stroking your inner lips before slipping two fingers inside — poking and prodding around, testing it.

“Jake,” you called, but you didn’t need to finish your thoughts. He already knew — moving away only to hover over you, one forearm on the pillow by your head as the other worked to push his sweatpants away.

“I needed to prepare you,” he justified.

“I am.”

Jake laughed at that, but he didn’t reply. If anything he took himself in his hand, giving a few hard plumps before he pushed into you.

It took every ounce of you to not moan too loud, fingers dug into his back, parted lips against the skin of his neck, and tongue wringing the sound into a sup, but it only proved useless as he was the one groaning then, the whole feeling of you being too much for him.

Jake gave you both a moment, his hand dropping to your waist, the curve of your hips, trailing down to the back of your knee, hooking his fingers underneath as he hitched your leg to his hips, slightly changing the angle.

And when he finally moved it was slow — not with the learning of the first time, your bodies trying to understand the new shape of each other, but it was slow with nothing but the simple unhurriedness, none of you wanting to be nowhere else but here — the night where you were still together and the parting was just a possibility.

Jake pulled all the way to his tip before he pressed all in again, and when you arched to him, he took the opportunity to slide a hand over the small of your back, holding you so close to him that you couldn’t tell where your heartbeat ended and his began. And you couldn’t help it anymore, couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to cry, not again — not this time. But when Jake leaned on you, pressing a love you into your lips, you did.

“Ah, baby,” he whispered, reaching for the stream of tears as he always did in the aftermath.

“I am sorry,” you hushed. “You didn’t-”

“I know,” Jake said. “I don’t want you to leave either.”

“I can come back, right?”

“Whenever you feel like it.”

“Next summer — no matter what happens, I will be here next summer.”

“Next summer,” he concluded.

On the morning of your departure, you stood on the curb as your brother and Jake briefly bickered about the presence of the taxi.

“I could have driven you both,” Jake said as he closed the trunk.

“I know,” Jongseong agreed because it had been your idea, actually — the taxi. You couldn’t bear the thought of making Jake drive all the way back to Seogwipo alone, dragging this longer than you knew both of you could handle.

You watched as they gave that friendly handshake followed by a bump of shoulders before Jake turned to you. The same washed jeans he had been using the whole summer, a white t-shirt, and the morning sun softly bathing over him. Only that now he got a vivid hickey on his neck, pretty much for your brother’s dismay, but although Jongseong seemed close to giving Jake another punch this morning, the bruise on the corner of his lips remained the only one.

You held your hand out at him, and he took it as if he was already waiting — wanting it, giving it a brief kiss before he brought it to the back of his neck and pulled you forward to him, the line of your bodies pressed together, your noses bumping.

“I guess that’s it then,” he whispered. And you sobbed at it because it sounded too much like the end, like a closure.

“Jake?”

“Yes, my baby?”

“Thank you for everything, I-” you started, but the words stammered and stumbled, too small for all the feelings inside of you. You had been trying the whole day not to cry, but the moment he curled his arms around you, he once again broke the thin thread keeping you from falling apart, and tears flowed through your eyes, straining your cheeks.

“Ah, Baby,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours, and all of sudden you could smell him, although he wasn’t smelling like clay, it made your heart ache, that sickening sadness that felt bigger than you.

How are you supposed to step away when it feels more like home than anything in this world?

Your tears seemed endless, and it took you a while to notice it hadn’t been only your tears rushing through your face, but his.

“I am already missing you,” you confessed.

“I am already missing you too.”

“Don’t you dare accept another hopeless girl with a stray kitten,” you said.

“This is something only you could do, my Baby,” he laughed. And God — you wished you could grab the sound, place it inside that one deformed vase Jake had given you this morning, and take it away with you. “Believe in me, but even if it happens, you are my only one — you and Jeonchae are my only ones.”

Although there was a hint of entertainment in his voice, your answer was solemn, “You too,” you said. “You are my only one.”

“Your first and only,” he said, and you smiled at him. You didn’t need to confirm, both of you knew. “Next summer, right?”

“Yes. Next summer.”

From Autumn to the end of the Spring of the next year, you lived in an apartment close to your university’s campus. It was an odd thing that surely wasn’t worth the price. Although the windows caught the streams of the sun from morning to afternoon, the place never seemed to get light enough and never felt exactly warm. The air inside was always soaked with the smell of the never-changing humid weather and the chocolate cookies your door neighbor baked for extra cash.

Your father said you could find a better place and move, he could afford it — he surely could afford it. But the thing was: you knew that it wouldn’t matter. One call to Jake and you knew — this odd apartment or luxurious one, no place would ever make you feel at home like his house did.

“Soon,” Jake whispered every time. “Soon you will be back home.”

And you did. Three hundred forty-nine days later — according to Jake’s count, but you did, and Seogwipo was the same as you remembered.

Exactly one hour and seven minutes away from Jeju City, the bus stopped just a few streets away from Jake’s address — the same pretty road running along the South Sea and that made it easy to stroll along the sidewalk, nothing but the sound of your luggage against the pavement, and the waves, softly crashing against the basalt rocks.

Mrs. Choi gasped as she caught sight of you, immediately standing up from the stool placed at her bakery’s door. She rushed at you, her arms curling as she pulled you in a hug. It was weird that you had gotten closer to her after your departure, almost every other day receiving her audio messages through Jake’s phone as she stopped at his house, leaving just baked bread together with some side dishes and telling you she was taking care of your boy. She also occasionally told you about Euntaek, finally getting his life straight and entering a university on the mainland — Busan, which was not his dream goal, but he was at least closer than when you came to know him.

“Jake said you were only coming by next week!” she exclaimed then.

“I decided to surprise him.”

“You are going to give him a heart attack, he was counting the days, and telling everyone you were coming back for the summer,” she said, affectionately hitting your shoulders. “But hurry up then, I don’t want to keep you both away. Do you need help with the luggage?”

“No, it’s alright,” you smiled. “Thank you.”

Just as the rest of the island, Jake’s shop remained unchanged. As you looked through the beveled glass you caught sight of the pottery pieces, the same earthy tones you had engraved on your mind, the same table and pottery wheels. There was only one difference: the canvas you had painted after switching your major, were displayed, leaning on the shelves with a tiny sign informing it wasn’t for sale although you had told him you wouldn’t mind.

“I do though,” he had said. “You painted them for me.”

A fluttering of crystal and bells clanked against the door as you pushed it, allowing the summer breeze to rush over the place, the earthy, and pond-mud smell, taking over your senses as Jake turned to you, a polite smile playing on his lips.

Falling in love with your brother’s best friend certainly wasn't one of your summer resolutions.

Actually, meeting him wasn’t even part of your plans. But someday, you happened to have no other option than to appear unannounced at his little shop in Seogwipo. A stray kitten in a pet carrier asking for a place to stay. And you couldn’t help but do, standing in this pocket of the universe — looking at this exact man without knowing he would become your life mark, forever branching out the before and the after.

“Baby,” he gasped, barely giving himself a moment before he rushed to you, his arms involving your waist in a familiarity that made you ache. Jake swirled you, just once — pulling you out of the ground as his nose buried at the side of your neck, as if he was trying to inhale every little detail he could before he put you back on your feet and drew himself away, just enough to encounter your gaze.

“Surprise,” you whispered.

Jake shook his head, his smile now taking his whole face. And you couldn’t help but reach for him, a single finger tracing the soft lines of his lips before you allowed it to slip to his neck. His skin was hot beneath your touch, summer and sunshine always stuck on him.

“Welcome home, my Baby,” Jake whispered, and the word rattled through your chest, filling you together with the scent of soap and oranges, clay and glaze. Everything about Jake — just Jake.

Yes, you surely were home.

hello, my loves! ₊˚ ⊹ thank you so much for reading until here and accompanying me through this cute little journey ♡ i hope you have enjoyed it as much as i did! don’t forget to tell me what were your thoughts upon the conclusion (if you feel like, of course!) i will love to read it!

(♡) special thanks to @jungmeowz & @miszes once again. these girls gave me the courage i didn’t have anymore :(

[wontechno]

Red Sign | Y.Jh

Pairing: Jeonghan x reader

Genre: Conglomerate au! Heirs au! Marriage Contract au!

Type: fluff, humour, slow-burn, smut (mdni!)

Word Count: 18k

Summary: Ignoring all the red signs, what started as a friendship blossomed into something Jeonghan never expected. He'll marry you? No way! Right?

It was Saturday night. Jeonghan had just wrapped up drinks with his friends and stumbled through the door close to 1 a.m. With the grace of a man on autopilot, he showered, slipped into his pajamas, and flopped onto his bed, already picturing a peaceful descent into sleep.

That peace lasted all of three minutes. As he casually checked his email—just to pretend he was a responsible adult—his phone lit up with a familiar name. Your name.

He blinked. Once. Twice. What now? he thought, already sobering up just from the possibilities. He swiped up with a sigh and answered the call.

"Hmm, what's up?"

“I'm sorry to call this late, Mr. Yoon, but Doctor Ji is very, very drunk right now—and none of us know where she lives.” The voice on the other end was one of the residents, clearly panicked, with the chaotic background noise of laughter, clinking glasses, and someone yelling about karaoke.

Jeonghan stared at his ceiling, jaw slack. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, then muttered to himself, “What kind of doctor gets drunk before the residents do?”

He could already feel a headache forming—not from the alcohol, but from the sheer absurdity of the situation. Nevertheless, he dragged himself upright and asked, “Where is she? Text me the address. I’ll pick her up.”

As soon as the call ended, he stood up from his bed with the dramatic flair of a man who’d just been betrayed by the universe. Again. He trudged into his closet like a soldier going to war.

“It hasn’t even been an hour since I got home,” he grumbled while throwing on a hoodie. “And now I have to babysit this disaster of a genius.” He paused, briefly considering calling for backup, he can’t be alone.

“Why don’t you go there alone?” Seungcheol grumbled, slouched in the passenger seat like a sack of regret, his eyes barely open, hair pointing in every direction.

Jeonghan didn’t even glance at him as he started the engine. “Because you’re the only one who can carry her without dislocating something. She went full spaghetti mode, apparently.”

Seungcheol let out a long, tortured groan, dragging his palm down his face like he was trying to erase himself. “I was asleep, Jeonghan. Deep, peaceful sleep. Like dead-to-the-world sleep. You dragged me.”

“You were snoring like a truck,” Jeonghan said flatly. “You needed the break.”

“I was asleep for forty minutes!”

“Exactly. Power nap. You’re welcome.”

Seungcheol shot him a side glare, but it was hard to be intimidating when he still had pillow creases on his cheek and was clutching a bottle of water like a lifeline. Jeonghan smirked as he turned the corner. “Come on. It’ll be fun. Like a surprise field trip, but worse.”

“God,” Seungcheol muttered, leaning his head against the window, eyes still half-closed. “This better be the last time your friend gets wasted on a Saturday night.”

“She’s your friend too,” Jeonghan shot back, eyes fixed on the road. Seungcheol nodded solemnly, resting his temple on the cool glass. “And every time this kind of thing happens, I regret that fact deeply.”

It had always been the three of you—Jeonghan, Seungcheol, and you—since junior high. The kind of trio fate stitched together because your parents were business acquaintances who ended up liking each other enough to start arranging awkward family dinners. None of you particularly cared what the grown-ups did, but somehow, you stuck together anyway.

Jeonghan’s family owned a sprawling property empire—buildings, department stores, hotels—you name it. He was groomed from birth to take the reins, and it showed. By college, he was already studying business with laser focus, juggling classes and internships at his grandfather’s company. The strange part? He actually enjoyed it.

Seungcheol, on the other hand, came from a construction family. He’d been on-site since his teens, wearing hard hats and acting like he knew what rebar was. Unlike Jeonghan, he wasn’t the eldest son, so the pressure wasn’t as intense. His older brother was the heir to the business empire. Seungcheol? He was more like the wildcard—half working man, half professional napper.

And then there was you. The doctor of the group. Your family ran hospitals, dabbled in healthcare business and insurance, and made sure everyone had a checkup whether they liked it or not. You were the brainiac—dedicated, overachieving, caffeine-fueled and sleepless. Safe to say, you were the smartest, most disciplined, and most respected member of the trio.

Until alcohol entered the chat.

“Let’s go to the unicorn world! I’m flying, I’m flying!” you had squealed, arms spread out like wings, as you practically pirouetted across the party. Jeonghan could’ve melted into the floor from sheer secondhand embarrassment. He bowed to every stunned resident in the room, murmuring apologies on your behalf like a PR intern during a scandal. You had originally told him about the gathering. Said you wouldn’t come. That you didn’t want to intrude on the younger residents’ night off. That you needed rest. Clearly, that plan had gone off the rails somewhere between the tequila shots and the glittery karaoke mic.

Seungcheol looked like a man betrayed by both fate and gravity as he crouched down and hoisted your limp, giggling self onto his back. “Why does she keep saying lollipops?” he grunted, adjusting your deadweight on his back like a dad carrying a sleep-paralysis demon.

Jeonghan tried not to laugh. “Maybe it’s a metaphor.”

“I want rainbow lollipops for my unicorn friends!” you declared joyfully, as if this were a medical order. Seungcheol’s face looked like he aged ten years. “She’s a whole doctor,” he mumbled. “With a license. Who let this happen?”

He maneuvered you into the backseat with the delicacy of someone defusing a bomb, while you hummed a melody only you understood. Jeonghan got behind the wheel with a sigh that carried the weight of several lifetimes. “We’re getting too old for this.”

“And too sober,” Seungcheol muttered, rubbing his temple.

Jeonghan glanced at you through the rearview mirror. You were smiling at the ceiling, whispering something about glitter. Somehow, this was still better than paperwork.

*

You woke up to a splitting headache and the unpleasant dryness in your mouth that only came from a long night of drinking. The ceiling above you wasn’t familiar—it was too neat, too modern, too... Jeonghan. You blinked slowly, trying to piece together how you had ended up here.

Turning your head, you noticed the soft navy sheets and the glass of water placed neatly on the bedside table. Beside it was a strip of painkillers and a small folded note. You reached for it with heavy limbs and unfolded it.

“You owe me. Water and meds provided. – YJ”

A sigh escaped your lips as you sat up, every movement making your head throb. The memories returned in fragments—bright lights, the sound of laughter, someone shouting something about unicorns—which you were that someone. Then Jeonghan’s voice, steady and annoyed, telling someone to get the door. Seungcheol’s back. Your shoes. You winced. Dragging yourself out of bed, you made your way slowly into the hallway, guided by the faint smell of toasted bread. The apartment was quiet, bathed in the soft gray light of the overcast morning. You passed by the minimalist decor—clean lines, neutral tones, everything in its place. Jeonghan’s taste had always been meticulous.

In the kitchen, Jeonghan stood by the counter, coffee mug in hand, scrolling through his phone. He looked up at the sound of your steps. “You’re up,” he said, voice calm, though his eyes lingered on you like he was assessing whether you could still walk straight. “There’s toast. Sit.”

You nodded silently and lowered yourself into the chair, still trying to sort out where the nausea ended and the shame began. He slid a plate toward you and turned back to pour more coffee. The kettle clicked in the background, the only sound filling the space between you. You picked at the toast, avoiding his eyes, though you could feel his presence—calm, composed, and, somehow, not entirely annoyed despite everything.

“Thanks,” you finally murmured.

Jeonghan took a sip of his coffee. “Don’t mention it. Just remind me to never trust you when you say you’re ‘just going to rest tonight.’”

You gave a quiet hum in response, unsure of what else to say. Your head still pounded, and your stomach twisted at the thought of facing the residents again. But for now, in the quiet of Jeonghan’s kitchen, you allowed yourself to breathe.

���Seungcheol’s going to kill you the next time you make him visit a site without sleep,” Jeonghan said casually, taking another sip of his coffee.

You groaned, just imagining the wrath that would follow. “Why’d you bring him anyway?”

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow at you. “Because you’re heavy.”

You shot him a flat look. “That’s insulting.”

He shrugged, completely unfazed. “It’s just the truth. I wasn’t about to throw out my back for your drunken acrobatics.”

You pressed your palm against your forehead, partly because of the headache, mostly to hide your embarrassment. “I can’t believe I drank so much…”

Jeonghan leaned against the counter, arms crossed now, looking far too composed for someone who had hauled your half-conscious self home just hours ago. “You know I had to bow to your residents, right?” he said, voice dry with lingering disbelief.

You blinked up at him, wincing. “Like… say sorry?”

“No. Bow,” he emphasized, straightening his back before dramatically mimicking a deep, ninety-degree angle. “Full. Respectful. Formal. Like I’d committed a crime on behalf of my drunk accomplice.”

You covered your face with both hands, letting out a muffled groan. “God, no…”

“Oh yes,” he nodded solemnly. “You stood on a chair at one point and yelled, ‘Let’s go to the unicorn world!’ before asking a confused intern if he believed in candy rain.”

You let your forehead fall to the table.

“I had no choice,” he went on. “I bowed so deeply, I think I pulled something in my spine. Your future underlings now think I’m your guardian, therapist, or some combination of the two.”

You peeked up at him through your fingers. “Are you done humiliating me yet?”

He smiled, a little too satisfied. “Just making sure you know the price of your glitter-filled delusions.”

You groaned again and reached for your coffee. “I’m never drinking again.”

“Good,” he said, already walking away. “I’ll print that on a shirt for the next time you forget.”

*

The last time Jeonghan and Seungcheol had seen you cry was years ago—on a bleak afternoon neither of them ever forgot. It was ten minutes before the next class. Seungcheol had been looking for you, clutching a half-finished math worksheet in one hand, fully intending to beg for your help. He spotted you slipping into the restroom and figured you’d be out in a minute or two. But time stretched. One minute became five. Five became ten. You still hadn’t come out. Jeonghan showed up just then, sweaty from football practice, jersey clinging to him, his forehead glistening. He slowed when he noticed Seungcheol standing awkwardly near the entrance to the girls’ restroom.

“Why are you here?” Jeonghan asked, eyeing Seungcheol suspiciously, brows drawn together. “You better not be turning into some creep.”

Seungcheol scoffed, waving the math sheet. “Y/n’s in there. I need her help before class, but she’s been inside too long.”

Jeonghan was about to make a smart remark when the door swung open.

And that’s when they saw it.

You stumbled out of the restroom, pushed by a group of girls who scattered the moment the hallway came into view. You hit the floor hard, your knees scraping the tile. Egg yolk ran down your hair, staining the collar of your uniform. The shell fragments clung to your shoulders. You didn’t even look up. Your fingers trembled as they gripped the edge of your skirt, your shoulders shaking as silent sobs began to rise.

For a second, the hallway froze.

Seungcheol’s face twisted in disbelief—then fury. His voice roared through the corridor, echoing off the walls like a thunderclap. “HEY!” The rage in his tone sent students scattering, teachers peeking from classrooms. You could almost feel the walls tremble from the force of it. Jeonghan, quicker on his feet, rushed toward you. Without saying a word, he crouched down and gently reached for your arm, helping you up with a firm but careful grip.

Teachers began rushing over, alerted by the commotion and Seungcheol’s outburst. A crowd formed, but the two boys stayed focused only on you. While the staff tried to piece together what had happened, Jeonghan and Seungcheol quietly helped you clean yourself up. Jeonghan gently patted the egg out of your hair with tissues someone had handed him, his jaw tight, eyes lowered in uncharacteristic silence. Seungcheol stood close, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his foot tapping in agitation as he watched the teachers murmur among themselves.

“Tell us,” Seungcheol said finally, his voice low but heavy with restrained anger. “What did they do to you… all this time?”

You hesitated, still trembling, your hands fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve.

“That’s okay,” Jeonghan added, softer this time. He crouched slightly, bringing himself to eye level with you. “You can tell us. We’re here.”

You looked between the two of them—their faces, so familiar, so fiercely protective—and something cracked inside your chest. The tears spilled faster now, your voice shaking as you whispered:

“They said I didn’t deserve to be friends with you two.”

The words hung in the air like something sharp and cold.

“They said… girls like me don’t belong around guys like you.”

Jeonghan’s hands froze. Seungcheol’s face twisted in disbelief and rage, his knuckles going white as he clenched his fists.

“So they did all this to you… because of us?” Jeonghan muttered, his tone laced with guilt and disbelief.

You nodded, tears still rolling down your cheeks, and Jeonghan swallowed hard, brushing a piece of hair from your face. “I’m so sorry.”

Seungcheol took a step back, pacing now, muttering curses under his breath before spinning to face the teachers. “You heard her, right? Are you going to do something or do we handle this ourselves?”

The teachers quickly moved to disperse the crowd and collect statements, while Jeonghan stayed beside you, gently guiding you toward the nurse’s office again.

From that day on, it wasn’t just protection they offered.

It was loyalty. And a silent promise: no one would ever hurt you again—not while they were around.

And they hadn’t seen you cry ever since.

It was a quiet testament to your strength. Through the sleepless nights of medical school, grueling exams, endless shifts, and the burden of responsibility that came with being a doctor—you carried it all with a calm, composed grace. Even when things got hard, you wore your tired smile like armor.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol, as tough as they liked to act, had both cried in front of you more than once—Jeonghan when he lost his dog, Seungcheol after his first failed business pitch. You were the one who listened, the one who stayed solid while they fell apart. But you never let them see you break.

Not until the day Jeonghan received the call: your mother had passed away.

He’d just stepped out of a late meeting when his phone buzzed with the news. For a moment, the world stood still. He didn’t even think—he just grabbed his keys and drove, breaking every speed limit until the hospital’s tall white building came into view.

Your family hospital.

He rushed in through the emergency entrance, eyes scanning frantically. That was when he saw Seungcheol—already there, crouched in front of a figure slumped on the bench outside the ICU.

You.

Still in your hospital coat, hands limp in your lap, eyes staring into nothing. The lights above cast a pale glow on your face, and even from a distance, Jeonghan could see how hollow your expression was. You looked like someone who had forgotten how to breathe.

Seungcheol gently held your wrist, whispering something, his brows drawn in pain.

Jeonghan approached slowly, like something sacred had cracked in the room and he didn’t want to shatter it further. His throat tightened at the sight. You, the strongest one among them, looked so small.

And for the first time since high school, he saw your tears again. Silent, slow, like they had been waiting years to fall.

*

The funeral had gone by quietly, solemn and dignified—just the way your mother would have wanted. You hadn’t spoken much, but Jeonghan and Seungcheol stayed by your side the entire time, like silent shadows that grounded you when everything else felt like air. Afterward, the three of you got into Jeonghan’s car and drove in silence toward your family home. The atmosphere was heavy, as if the car itself understood the weight of where you were headed. A meeting had been scheduled with your mother’s lawyer—an urgent, important matter concerning her will.

Your mother hadn’t just been the heart of your family; she was also the true pillar behind the hospital’s legacy. While your father held the position of director, it was your mother who built it from the ground up—brick by brick, department by department. Her name was the one that opened doors, earned respect, and kept the hospital’s vision alive.

And now, she is gone.

Two days later, Seungcheol stopped by Jeonghan’s office early in the morning, still in his work clothes after a visit to the construction site. His shoulders looked unusually stiff, his expression unreadable as he sank into the couch with a quiet sigh. He didn’t say anything at first, just sat there like a man lost in thought.

Jeonghan, watching from behind his desk, narrowed his eyes. “Say it,” he urged, standing and making his way to the seat across from Seungcheol.

Seungcheol finally looked up, brow furrowed like he was still trying to wrap his head around it. “Y/n called me this morning.”

Jeonghan tilted his head slightly, already sensing this wasn’t just a casual update.

“It was about her mother’s inheritance,” Seungcheol said slowly. “She’s not getting any money. No property. Nothing.”

Jeonghan’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “What? But she’s the only one following in her mother’s footsteps. She works in healthcare. She’s the most qualified out of everyone.”

Seungcheol nodded, eyes still distant. “Exactly. But the lawyer said she’ll inherit the hospital—not the money, not the land—only the hospital.”

Jeonghan leaned back, frowning. “That’s not bad, though.”

Seungcheol lifted a hand. “There’s a catch.”

Jeonghan stared at him, already bracing for it.

“She can only inherit the hospital if she gets married.”

Jeonghan blinked. “Excuse me?”

“And…” Seungcheol hesitated for a second longer. “She asked me to marry her.”

That snapped Jeonghan upright. “What?”

His voice was louder than he expected, heart thudding as the words echoed in the room. Seungcheol just stared back at him, not saying a word. He let out a long breath, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, palms rubbing together as if the friction might help him make sense of it all.

“I want to help her, of course I do,” he said quietly. “She’s my best friend. You know that. She’s like the sister I never had.”

Jeonghan stayed still, eyes narrowing slightly.

Seungcheol went on, voice heavy with sincerity. “If it was just about signing papers or pretending in front of the board, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But this isn’t just some temporary fix. It’s marriage. And I’m not ready for that—not emotionally, not mentally. I’d end up hurting her, and she doesn’t deserve that.”

His fingers curled into fists for a moment before he looked up again, meeting Jeonghan’s gaze.

“That’s why I suggested your name.”

Silence settled in the room like a weight. Jeonghan’s eyes flickered with something unreadable—shock, maybe, or something more complicated.

“You,” Seungcheol said slowly, “understand her better than anyone. You’ve seen her at her lowest, at her best. And I know—no matter how you act—you care about her deeply.”

Jeonghan didn’t respond right away. He stared at Seungcheol like he had just been pushed off a cliff and was still waiting to hit the ground.

Jeonghan blinked slowly, then scoffed—loudly. He leaned back against the couch, crossed one leg over the other, and stared at Seungcheol like he’d just confessed to selling his soul for bubblegum.

“You’re stupid,” he finally said, his tone half in disbelief, half in frustration. “That’s your solution? Throwing your other friend under the bus?”

Seungcheol frowned. “I’m not throwing you—”

“Yes, you are!” Jeonghan snapped, pointing at him. “You get hit with a hard question and suddenly, ‘Oh! Let’s sacrifice Jeonghan! He can take it!’ What am I? The neighborhood rescue dog?”

“You make it sound worse than it is,” Seungcheol muttered.

“It is worse than it is!” Jeonghan stood up and paced a few steps, dragging a hand through his hair. “Do you think this is a joke? Marriage? With Y/n? She’s not just anyone. This is her life. Her grief. Her mother’s legacy.”

Seungcheol looked down at his hands, quiet for a beat. “That’s exactly why I thought of you.”

Jeonghan turned to him, still fuming.

“You're the only one who won't hurt her. Even when you're pissed, you take care of her. You’re the only one who can handle her breakdowns, her sarcasm, her late-night hospital shifts. You’ve already been doing it for years. This wouldn’t even be a stretch.”

Jeonghan paused. The silence that followed wasn’t light—it hung in the air like the stillness before a storm. “You’re not wrong,” he finally said, his voice low. “But don’t ever decide for me again.”

Seungcheol met his eyes, apologetic.

“So,” Jeonghan said, almost like a challenge, “did she say anything else?”

“She asked if it was a dumb idea,” Seungcheol answered, faintly smiling. “I told her it was—but that if anyone could turn a dumb idea into something real, it’d be you.”

Jeonghan let out a quiet, mirthless laugh. “You’re so lucky I don’t punch you for sport.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

Jeonghan stood by the window of his office, arms folded, his eyes locked on the city skyline, though his thoughts were far from the view.

“I’m not going to marry her,” he said flatly, his voice devoid of hesitation.

Seungcheol blinked, stunned. “What?”

“I said I’m not going to marry Y/n.” Jeonghan turned around, walking back to his desk with deliberate steps. “I’ve never seen her that way. Not once. She’s my friend. She’s like… like a teammate I’ve been stuck in the same chaotic group project with since we were twelve.”

Seungcheol frowned. “Jeonghan—”

“I don’t see her as a woman,” Jeonghan said, firmer now. “Not in that sense. She’s Y/n. She’s the one who used to eat her lunch with gloves on because she didn’t want to smudge her notes. She’s the one who screamed at me for skipping class but once stole hospital scrubs just to sneak me in when I twisted my ankle.”

He let out a breath, quieter. “She’s family, Cheol. And I don’t marry family.”

Seungcheol leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But family is the reason she’s doing this. You know her—she won’t marry for love, not now. She just wants to protect the hospital.”

“And I get that,” Jeonghan nodded, gaze hard. “But she deserves someone who will at least try to see her differently. Someone who won’t just treat it like a task. If she marries me, she’ll never get that.”

There was a brief silence. A mature one. Heavy.

“…So what are you going to do?” Seungcheol asked.

Jeonghan exhaled. “I’ll talk to her. But I’m not going to lie and pretend I can be that person.”

*

Jeonghan woke with a pounding headache, the weight of last night's whiskey still pressing against his skull. The faint hum of the hotel’s air conditioner and the filtered morning light slipping through the curtains made him squint. He rubbed at his eyes and let out a low groan, slowly sitting up. His head throbbed harder when he took in the room—still the executive suite at his family’s hotel, where he’d had a meeting yesterday. The same place where he’d waited for you after your hospital shift, sipping on whiskey in the private lounge while the hours bled together in blurred conversation and laughter.

Bottles—empty, half-empty, forgotten—lined the table and nightstand like silent witnesses. Jackets were slung across a chair, shoes scattered in odd places. He recognized his own watch on the floor, next to a trail of clothes that didn’t belong solely to him. And then, instinctively, his eyes drifted to the side—his breath caught.

You were there. Curled up under the duvet, sleeping deeply, hair a mess, bare shoulders exposed. His eyes dropped lower and quickly darted away. The pounding in his head was now joined by a growing pit in his stomach. He glanced down at himself—also bare under the sheets.

Jeonghan froze, every nerve in his body suddenly alert despite the hangover. His brain scrambled, trying to piece together the end of last night. The drinks. The conversation. Your tired laugh. Your hands brushing his when you reached for the bottle. A kiss. God—there was a kiss. Then—

“Shit.”

He dragged a hand down his face and leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t remember the details, but he remembered enough.

This was supposed to be a conversation about the hospital. About you, asking him if there was any way to make things work.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

“Y/n,” he muttered quietly, as if saying your name would make you stir, so he could ask what the hell happened—or maybe apologize before either of you remembered it all too clearly.

But you didn’t move. You were still peacefully asleep, unaware of the chaos swirling in his mind. And Jeonghan could already feel the fallout coming like a wave.

You stirred with a faint groan, blinking at the ceiling. Your head felt heavy, your mouth dry, and for a moment, you couldn't quite remember where you were. The bedding was softer than your own, and the faint scent of Jeonghan’s cologne lingered in the room.

Then you turned your head.

Your gaze met his. Eyes wide. His were already on you—equally frozen.

You blinked again. Slowly sat up. Felt the cold air on your bare shoulders. Glanced down. Sheets. Your breath caught in your throat.

“Wait—” you started, pulling the blanket tighter around your body as panic registered in your eyes. “No. No, no, no—”

Jeonghan shifted upright too, the sheets crumpling over his lap as he sat against the headboard, just as stunned.

“I—I don’t—” You struggled to speak, grabbing your phone off the nightstand like it could explain what had happened, but it only showed missed messages and your alarm.

You looked back at him, mortified. “Did we…? We didn’t…?”

Jeonghan didn’t answer right away. His jaw clenched slightly, eyes flickering to the bottles on the nightstand, then to your flushed and confused face. “I think we did.”

You stared at him, heart hammering in your chest. “Oh my God.” Your voice cracked as the memory fragments came rushing in—your shift ending late, Jeonghan waiting for you with drinks, your frustration spilling out in emotional rambling, the comfort, the nearness… the way you let your guard down.

And then—nothing. Just heat, blurred kisses, and now this.

“I don’t remember,” you whispered.

“Me neither,” Jeonghan admitted, rubbing his temple with one hand, eyes falling shut in disbelief.

Silence stretched between you, loud and suffocating.

Then you exhaled shakily and muttered, “We’re screwed.”

Jeonghan didn’t disagree.

The tension in the room crackled as you both scrambled to collect your clothes, the sheets tangling and slipping with every sudden movement. Jeonghan cursed under his breath as he checked the time on his phone. “Shit. I’m late.”

You were already half-dressed, pulling your blouse over your head with trembling fingers. “I need to go home before anyone notices I’m not back.”

Jeonghan hopped awkwardly on one foot as he tried to tug his pants on, his shirt still unbuttoned, hair a mess. “This didn’t happen. Okay?”

You glanced at him, eyes wide. “It happened.”

“Yeah, but—” He buttoned his shirt wrong and huffed. “We don’t remember it.”

“Exactly,” you nodded, slipping your shoes on. “We don’t remember. So technically, it’s like it didn’t happen.”

“Just one night,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair and grabbing his keys.

“One mistake,” you replied without thinking, then paused. “I mean—just a slip. We were drunk.”

“Super drunk,” Jeonghan agreed quickly.

You met his eyes for a second too long. And then both of you looked away, awkwardly clearing your throats.

“Let’s never talk about it,” you said as you reached for the door.

“Never,” Jeonghan echoed, already stuffing papers into his bag like a man fleeing a crime scene.

You stepped out first, your heart still racing. Jeonghan followed a few seconds later, closing the hotel room door behind him with a click. Neither of you looked back.

*

“So how did the talk go?” Seungcheol’s voice rang casually through the phone as you stepped into your apartment, the door clicking shut behind you.

Your eyes caught your reflection in the mirror by the entryway—tired eyes, tousled hair, and—

Oh God.

Your hand instinctively flew to your collarbone, fingers brushing over the unmistakable marks scattered along your skin, trailing up to your neck. Hickeys. Bold, undeniable evidence of something you had no memory of.

“It went... well,” you replied, voice a little too high, a little too unsure.

“Yeah?” Seungcheol sounded genuinely hopeful. “So… did he agree?”

Your heart thudded. Did Jeonghan agree to marry me? You remembered he had said no—clear, direct. But after that? Your memory was a blur of golden lights, his glass of whiskey in your hand, his laugh, your boldness, the heat—

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to stay calm. “We were just talking, you know…” you said slowly, choosing each word like it was a landmine. “The conversation didn’t really get to a yes or no. We got distracted. Talked about other things.”

Technically not a lie. Just… not the whole truth.

“Still,” Seungcheol continued on the other end of the line, completely unaware of the storm in your chest, “I think Jeonghan would understand you. He’s always treated you well. I mean, out of the two of us, he’s the one who always had more patience with your chaos.”

You let out a nervous laugh, trying to keep your voice from shaking. “Yeah… he did.”

“Just be honest with him,” Seungcheol added, almost gently. “Jeonghan might act like a brat sometimes, but when it comes to you, he’s different. He cares. You know that.”

Your hand tightened around your blouse

And that’s when it happened.

A flash—so quick you almost thought you imagined it.

His hand on your cheek. His lips on yours. The taste of whiskey between you. The slow burn of a kiss that felt nothing like friendship.

You blinked, your fingers going still.

“Y/n? You still there?”

You swallowed hard. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”

But part of you wasn’t. Part of you was still stuck in that hotel room, with the soft memory of Jeonghan's mouth on yours, and the way your heart had almost stopped.

“…he’s always been there for you, Y/n. I just think if there’s anyone who could help you through this, it’s Jeonghan,” Seungcheol said, his voice calm through the receiver.

But his words became a blur as your mind started to slip—like a dam cracking open with every syllable he spoke. You could still feel it. The heat of Jeonghan’s breath against your neck. The way his hands gripped your waist—hesitant at first, then desperate. The sting of your back hitting the cool sheets as he hovered over you, his brows furrowed, pupils blown wide, whispering your name like it meant something new.

Like it was no longer just “Y/n,” his friend.

You bit your lip hard, hoping the physical pain would erase the memory. It didn’t.

“Y/n?” Seungcheol’s voice snapped you back. “You okay?”

“Yeah—yeah, sorry.” You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to focus. “I just… didn’t get much sleep.” Which wasn’t a lie. You hadn’t slept. Not really. Not after the warmth, the weight, and the realization of what you had done with Jeonghan.

And now, you weren’t sure what scared you more—

The fact that it happened or the fact that a part of you… didn’t regret it.

The next time you and Jeonghan crossed paths was on Seungcheol’s birthday.

Unlike the lavish celebrations expected of a conglomerate’s son, Seungcheol never cared for extravagance. Neither did you or Jeonghan. Since high school, birthdays had always been about the same three things: the three of you, some good food, late-night conversations that stretched until dawn, and a morning-after spent groggy on the couch with empty plates scattered around.

You had just finished a long night shift at the hospital, and thankfully, the rest of the day—and tomorrow—was free. You arrived first at Seungcheol’s place, arms full with takeout and a small cake box. The hallway was quiet, the lights dimmed. You punched in the passcode on the door panel—his birthday, reversed, a code that hadn’t changed in years—and stepped into the familiar apartment.

It smelled like wood and faint cologne, the kind Seungcheol always wore when he had meetings. You set the food on the kitchen counter, the soft thump of containers echoing in the stillness. No lights, no music, no sign of the birthday boy yet. You glanced at the time—he and Jeonghan were running late.

You sank into the couch, stretching out your legs and letting the silence settle around you.

It had been two weeks since that night with Jeonghan.

Two weeks since the hotel room, the drinks, the foggy heat of something you still couldn’t fully piece together.

Two weeks of zero contact.

And now, you were here. Waiting.

The digital clock ticked louder than usual, each second dragging a bit more tension with it. You tried not to overthink, tried to focus on anything else—your phone screen, the soft hum of the refrigerator—but your mind kept drifting back to the last time you saw Jeonghan… and the things you didn’t say.

The sound of the door unlocking pulled you from your thoughts. A soft beep, followed by the mechanical click of the passcode panel disengaging. You sat up instinctively, smoothing your hair as footsteps approached.

The door swung open, and there he was—Jeonghan. He paused in the doorway when he saw you, the chill of the hallway air still clinging to his coat. His brows rose slightly, surprise flickering across his face. His hair was pushed back messily, like he’d run his fingers through it a hundred times on the way here.

“…You’re early,” he said slowly, stepping in and shutting the door behind him. “Didn’t expect to see you here first.”

You stood, wiping your palms down your pants out of habit. “I had a night shift. Got off earlier than planned. Figured I’d bring food before you two showed up.”

Jeonghan shrugged off his coat and hung it by the door. “Seungcheol texted. Said he’s caught up in some family business and running late.”

You nodded, the air between you tightening slightly. The silence that followed wasn’t loud, but it was thick—weighted by everything unspoken, everything half-remembered.

Jeonghan walked into the living room, glanced at the table. “You brought japchae?” His voice tried for casual.

“Yeah. And chicken. And that weird yogurt drink Seungcheol likes for no reason.”

Jeonghan smiled faintly and let out a soft, amused breath, the tension momentarily diffused. “You still remember his obsession with that stuff?”

“I wish I didn’t. It haunts me.”

You both let out a low chuckle, but it didn’t last. Jeonghan’s eyes eventually met yours again—this time, slower, more hesitant. Neither of you mentioned the last time you’d seen each other. Not the hotel. Not the drinks. Not the hazy memories.

Not the fact that you hadn’t talked since.

But it lingered anyway.

Just beneath the surface.

Before either of you could say anything else, the familiar beep of the door's passcode rang through the apartment again, followed by the sound of Seungcheol’s voice calling out, “I brought the good stuff!”

You and Jeonghan turned toward the entrance as Seungcheol walked in with a plastic bag in one hand and a bottle of whiskey proudly held in the other. His coat was half off his shoulders, hair slightly tousled from rushing over.

He spotted you both and grinned. “Oh good, both of you made it. Now it feels like my birthday.”

You offered a small smile, grateful for the interruption. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”

“I had to. It’s tradition,” Seungcheol said, setting the bottle down on the table with an exaggerated flourish. “Besides, this one’s aged fifteen years. Older than most of our decisions lately.”

Jeonghan gave a dry chuckle and raised a brow. “Including yours?”

“Especially mine,” Seungcheol smirked before plopping down onto the couch and glancing between the two of you. “So. Are we gonna pretend everything’s normal or do I need to spike your drinks first?”

You sat down beside him while Jeonghan stayed standing, his hands resting in his pockets. The tension hadn’t disappeared. It just moved aside to make room for Seungcheol’s usual way of diffusing it—with humor and whiskey.

*

Seungcheol had long retreated to his room, knocked out cold from the whiskey he insisted on drinking more of than anyone else. The walls of his apartment were thick, thank god—but not thick enough to silence the storm brewing next door.

The atmosphere had shifted the moment his bedroom door closed. You and Jeonghan were left alone in the living room, both pretending to focus on an old movie playing on the screen, but neither of you actually watching. The silence wasn’t comfortable—it was charged, thick with memories neither of you had fully come to terms with.

Your breath hitched when Jeonghan shifted closer, his knee brushing yours on the couch. You turned your head slightly, only to find him already watching you—eyes unreadable, voice low.

“Do you remember anything from that night?” he asked.

You swallowed hard. “Pieces.”

“Same,” he muttered, before pausing. “But I remember how it felt.”

The two of you breathed heavily, the sound echoing in the quiet room. Once. Twice. Then, with a swift motion, he pulled you closer, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. His large hands tenderly cradled your cheeks, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine, before his lips descended onto yours with a fervent intensity.

"Shit... I've been thinking about your lips lately," he murmured, his voice a low, husky whisper that sent tingles through your body.

His other hand found its way to your waist, firm yet gentle, guiding you effortlessly to settle on his lap. The kiss remained unbroken, a seamless blend of passion and longing, as time seemed to stand still around you.

"Seungcheol is in his room," you murmured breathlessly, breaking the kiss that had left you both gasping for air.

"Forget him," Jeonghan replied with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "He's too drunk to notice anything." Without waiting for further protest, he drew you back into a fervent kiss, his lips capturing yours with an urgency that sent shivers down your spine.

In one swift motion, Jeonghan stood up, effortlessly lifting you into his arms. He carried you down the dimly lit hallway to Seungcheol's guest room, nudging the door open with ease. The soft creak of the hinges was barely audible over the sound of your quickened breaths. Gently, he laid you down onto the bed, the sheets cool against your skin. His hands began to explore the contours of your body with a deliberate tenderness, slowly unbuttoning and removing your blouse.

Your own hands found their way to the hem of his shirt, tugging it free from his pants with an urgency that mirrored his own. Your fingers fumbled slightly as they worked to unbutton his shirt, tracing the lines of his chest as you maintained the passionate kiss.

"Seungcheol is going to kill us," Jeonghan murmured, a hint of playful defiance in his voice, as his hands deftly moved to your pants, sliding them down to reveal your bare skin.

"Fucking in his guest room," he chuckled softly, "He's going to kill us."

Yet, the thrill of the moment was too intoxicating to resist.

You woke up just past noon, your head pounding like a bass drum. The sunlight bleeding through the edges of the curtain felt far too aggressive for your condition. Groaning, you sat up and realized you were no longer in your own clothes. Instead, you were dressed in one of Seungcheol’s oversized T-shirts—soft, worn-in cotton that practically swallowed your frame. Jeonghan must’ve grabbed it from your friend’s closet sometime during the night.q

You shuffled out of the guest bedroom, rubbing your temple, and found Jeonghan and Seungcheol slouched over the dining table. Both looked equally wrecked, hair messy and eyes puffy, nursing bowls of takeout soup in complete silence.

“Go eat this,” Jeonghan said as he pulled out the chair beside him without looking up. His voice was low and hoarse, like it hadn't fully woken up yet.

Seungcheol finally looked over—and froze. His eyes widened at the sight of his favorite T-shirt hanging loosely on you.

“Yah!” he exclaimed, pointing a dramatic finger. “Why are you wearing that one?! That’s my favorite!”

You squinted at him, then turned slowly to glare at Jeonghan, who was now struggling to hide the smirk tugging at his lips. That motherfucker definitely knew what he was doing when he dressed you in it.

You huffed, muttering, “I’m sorry… I was too drunk to realize.” Then, without missing a beat, you shot Jeonghan a sharp look. “Apparently, someone wasn’t.”

“I got you another one,” Jeonghan said innocently—like he’d planned this whole thing.

Seungcheol rolled his eyes. “You two are unbelievable.”

You sat down across from the two men, your eyes flickering between Jeonghan and Seungcheol as you tried to piece yourself together. The hot soup in front of you sent a wave of steam into your face, grounding you for a moment. But not enough to forget the way Jeonghan’s lips had moved against yours last night. Not enough to forget his fingers fumbling with your buttons, the urgency in his breath, the way he whispered your name like a secret meant only for the dark.

You stirred the soup absently, heart pounding all over again.

Seungcheol groaned, leaning back in his chair. “Seriously though, how much did we drink? My head’s splitting in half.”

“More than we should’ve,” Jeonghan muttered, voice calm—almost too calm. His fingers tapped against the ceramic bowl rhythmically, but he hadn’t taken a single bite. You knew that look—he was pretending everything was fine. Like last night didn’t happen.

You hadn’t even had the nerve to look him in the eye.

“Why do I feel like I missed something?” Seungcheol mumbled, squinting between the two of you.

You flinched slightly, and Jeonghan cleared his throat.

“You missed your chance to stop me from letting her steal your favorite shirt,” he said, with a casual smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.

You forced a laugh, weak and quick, and focused again on your soup.

But the silence between you and Jeonghan stretched thin, thick with the weight of unspoken words and the memory of skin against skin—while Seungcheol had been passed out in the next room, completely unaware that his two closest friends were crossing a line that neither of you had dared touch before.

And now here you were—sitting in your best friend’s kitchen, wearing his favorite shirt, next to the man who'd kissed you breathless hours before—and neither of you knew what to do next.

“So,” Seungcheol said, dragging the word out as he slumped deeper into his chair. He set his empty bowl aside and gave you a long, expectant look. “Have you thought more about the hospital situation?”

Your spoon hovered mid-air, steam curling around your face as you blinked. A quiet clink echoed when the utensil touched the edge of the bowl. Across the table, Jeonghan stiffened—just slightly, but you noticed.

“I’m… still thinking about it,” you murmured, eyes focused on the soup like it held all the answers.

Seungcheol frowned, tapping his fingers against the table. “You said that two weeks ago.”

You didn’t reply. Mostly because you didn’t know what to say without glancing at Jeonghan. And you couldn’t afford to glance at Jeonghan right now.

He barreled on. “Look. I know it’s insane. ‘Get married or lose the hospital’ sounds like something out of a bad K-drama. But your mom built that place. She poured her whole damn life into it. It’s not just a building—it’s your inheritance. Your future.”

You drew in a breath, let it out slowly. Seungcheol had always known how to strike right at the center of things. You hated him for it sometimes.

“And when you asked me…” He leaned in now, elbows on the table, voice gentler. “I really did consider it. I mean, you’re my best friend. You’ve been with me through every breakup, every hangover, every stupid decision I ever made. Of course I thought about saying yes.”

You lifted your eyes to meet his. There was sincerity there. Regret, even.

“But I knew I’d screw it up eventually,” he added, chuckling dryly. “We’d end up resenting each other. I’d probably forget your anniversary and show up late to your divorce hearing.”

Despite yourself, you laughed softly.

Seungcheol smiled. “I’m chaos. You need someone steady. Someone who knows how to make you breathe instead of panic. Someone who… already knows you inside out.”

The room suddenly felt smaller.

“That’s why I told you to ask him.”

There was no need to look. You felt the shift in Jeonghan’s posture before Seungcheol even gestured toward him.

You didn’t turn your head. You couldn’t. The air felt too thick now. Even blinking felt like a risk.

“But this guy,” Seungcheol said, waving his spoon at Jeonghan with mock betrayal, “just flat out refused. No hesitation. No drama. Just a cold-ass no.”

There was a sharp pause. Jeonghan set down his bowl with more force than necessary.

“I didn’t refuse,” he said, his voice quiet, clipped. “I said I didn’t think marriage was the solution.”

Seungcheol scoffed. “Same difference.”

Jeonghan’s jaw flexed. “It’s not.”

You finally looked at him then. His face was unreadable, but his fingers were curled too tightly around the edge of the table. Tension lived in every part of him.

Seungcheol leaned back, sighing like a man fed up with the world. “You two already bicker like you’ve been married five years. The chemistry’s right there. Even my mom thinks you’re dating.”

You flushed, dropping your gaze. Jeonghan didn’t say a word.

“She’s not someone I see that way.”

His words landed with the dull thud of a stone in water. No ripple. Just sinking.

Your stomach twisted. You could still feel the weight of his hands from the night before. The way his breath had hitched when your lips met. The way he’d held you like he was afraid you’d vanish. And now—this.

“Oh, okay,” Seungcheol said, eyes flicking between the two of you. “Cool.”

You forced a breath through your nose and tried not to react. You weren’t going to ask. You weren’t going to break.

“I’ll figure something else out,” you said quickly, your voice a little too tight, a little too rehearsed. “I always do.”

Seungcheol looked at you, brows drawing together in concern, but didn’t push further.

You felt Jeonghan’s eyes on you, though. Like a weight you couldn’t shrug off. You didn’t dare meet his gaze.

But under the table, your knees brushed. A fleeting contact—barely noticeable. And he didn’t move.

Neither did you.

And maybe that was the problem.

*

The clatter of silverware and the low murmur of polite conversation filled the dining room, where Jeonghan sat awkwardly between his mother and a cousin he barely recognized. His parents had insisted on a full family dinner—“We haven’t all been together in months, Jeonghan-ah!”—and now he was regretting not faking a fever.

He was halfway through picking at a slice of galbi when his father leaned in a little too casually and said, “Did you hear about Y/n’s father?”

Jeonghan blinked. He hadn’t heard her name all evening—had tried not to think about her, if he was honest.

“What about him?” he asked, trying to sound neutral, but his voice already had a tension to it.

“He’s getting remarried,” his father said, mouth full of japchae. “Some woman from Busan. Younger. Pretty well-off, I heard.”

Jeonghan stilled. His chopsticks hovered mid-air.

Jeonghan couldn’t sit still after dinner.

Three months.

Three damn months after your mother passed, and your father was already signing marriage papers with a woman who had no history with your family, no ties to the hospital, no respect for what your mother built. The news echoed in his mind like a warning bell—and the worst part? You hadn’t even told him. Or Seungcheol.

By the time Jeonghan slammed the car door shut and stalked into Seungcheol’s apartment, his jaw was already locked tight. His parents had dropped the bomb at the tail end of dinner like it was gossip over dessert.

“Did you hear? Her father’s remarrying already. Three months. Can you believe it?”

Three months since her mother’s funeral. Jeonghan remembered how you barely made it through the eulogy without shaking. How you’d curled up in the backseat of his car afterward, still in your funeral hanbok, silent except for the occasional sound of your breathing—too calm, too quiet, like you were holding your whole grief together by the thread of not saying anything out loud.

And now this.

“She doesn’t know,” Seungcheol said lazily from the couch without looking up from his phone, glancing over Jeonghan’s stormy entrance like it was just another Tuesday. “Or at least… she didn’t tell me either.”

Jeonghan stopped mid-pace, scoffing. “She knows.”

He ran a hand through his hair, the strands falling back into place messily. “She always knows. She just—doesn’t want to talk about it.”

The room quieted. Even Seungcheol lowered his phone now.

“Ya,” Jeonghan said, his voice low. “She just lost her mom. And now her dad’s acting like she was never part of that life. Like she’s replaceable.”

“I know,” Seungcheol murmured. “I didn’t think it would actually come to this, but….”

Jeonghan turned, alert.

Seungcheol hesitated, brows furrowed, voice heavy with guilt. “Y/n’s dad is planning to take back the hospital. Legally. If she’s not married by the time the board votes on succession, he’ll have the right to reclaim everything.”

Jeonghan froze.

“…What are you talking about?”

“There’s a clause. In her mom’s will. You remember how traditional her family is, right? Her mom added a provision that said Y/n could inherit the hospital—if she was married, as a show of stability.”

“That’s insane,” Jeonghan said, shaking his head. “That’s not—She’s been running that place half her life.”

“I know,” Seungcheol said again, quieter this time. “But with her mom gone, and no spouse to secure her position, her father—who technically still holds a dormant stake—can challenge the board’s vote. And they’ll side with whoever seems more ‘qualified’ to run a multi-billion-won legacy hospital.”

Jeonghan’s breath caught in his throat. “So if she’s not married… she loses everything?”

“Exactly.”

The word dropped like a lead weight.

The hospital. Your mother’s legacy. Your life.

All of it—hinging on one outdated clause and a man who was more concerned with reclaiming power than preserving what mattered to his daughter.

Jeonghan’s hands slowly curled into fists at his sides.

He didn’t say it out loud, but the truth was sour in his mouth: He could’ve helped. He’d been asked—hell, handpicked. And he said no.

But those nights… those kisses… the way you trembled in his arms, the way you didn’t pull away—

Maybe it wasn’t just your future that was unraveling.

Maybe it was his, too.

*

Jeonghan heard it first from Seungcheol, in a conversation that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“You helped her send a marriage proposal to the Hong family?” he asked, trying to sound neutral—but the words hitched somewhere between surprise and something less noble.

Seungcheol nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah. She’s being practical. The Hongs are powerful, respected, and Jisoo’s around our age. It’s a smart match.”

Jeonghan’s mind flicked back to university days. He remembered Hong Jisoo—gentle voice, crisp suits even back then, the kind of guy professors liked and girls swooned over. Polite, well-mannered, probably the kind of man who’d pull your chair out at dinner and remember your dog’s birthday.

He hated how reasonable it sounded.

Still, he needed to know.

“Is Jisoo even single?” Jeonghan asked, almost too quickly.

Jun, his ever-efficient secretary, looked up from his tablet. “Actually… no, sir. He’s dating someone.”

Jeonghan blinked. “How do you know that?”

Jun cleared his throat, a bit sheepishly. “I saw them at two or three events. He wasn’t exactly subtle.”

Not long after, right on cue, news came that your proposal had been rejected. Politely, but firmly.

Jeonghan didn’t know what stung more—that someone else had the chance to say no to you, or that you’d gone through the process without even telling him.

At your next lunch with him and Seungcheol, you stirred your iced tea with a distracted expression before saying, “I’m moving on to the Jeon family next. Remember Wonwoo?”

Jeonghan’s brows lifted. “Jeon Wonwoo?”

Seungcheol let out a soft whistle. “Now that’s a solid bet. The board practically drools over that guy. Youngest regional director in five years. Clean record, sharp thinker. He could probably get you the hospital single-handedly.”

Jeonghan forced himself to nod, even as something in his stomach tightened.

Wonwoo was perfect.

Too perfect.

A week later, the news broke: Wonwoo was already engaged—privately, quietly, to someone outside the industry. A secret fiancée. One no one had expected, and no one dared question.

Jeonghan said nothing when he heard. Just closed the tab on his screen and leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the ceiling.

How many more names would you have to cross off?

It was Seungcheol who brought it up over dinner one evening.

“There’s another option,” he said, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of steak. “The Kim family. They reached out.”

You blinked. “Kim? As in…?”

“Kim Jongin,” he confirmed, glancing up. “Their eldest son. The family’s powerful, old money, and still holds shares in three major medical networks. If you marry them, the board will bow down without a fight.”

Jeonghan’s fork paused mid-air.

“Kim Jongin?” he repeated slowly, like the name tasted wrong in his mouth. “As in that Kim Jongin? The one who once got kicked out of a charity gala for flirting with a diplomat’s wife?”

Seungcheol smirked. “That was years ago. He’s cleaned up, mostly. Spends more time in boardrooms than clubs now.”

You raised an eyebrow. “He still flirts with everyone. He sent me flowers once and signed the card as ‘Your Future Headache.’”

Seungcheol, chuckling, muttered under his breath, “At least he’s honest.”

Jeonghan didn’t laugh.

Instead, he leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “You can’t be serious. Jongin has more scandals than business articles to his name. You’d be a headline before the wedding cake even sets.”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but your voice was quieter. “I’m running out of names, Jeonghan. I don’t need a saint—I need a shield. The board only cares about a surname that scares them.”

Seungcheol nodded grimly. “And the Kim name does that.”

Jeonghan looked at you then—really looked. There was exhaustion behind your smile, a quiet kind of defeat.

How many times have you been rejected, redirected, shut out? How many times had you kept it together just to protect the hospital your mother left behind?

He couldn’t stop you from trying again.

But he hated that you even had to.

That night, Jeonghan poured himself a drink in his living room, alone.

“Kim Jongin,” he muttered bitterly. “Over my dead body.”

*

“Jeonghan just called me. Is that true?”

Seungcheol’s voice crackled through the phone speaker, a strange mix of urgency and disbelief. You barely registered his tone, your mind still half-occupied with the scribbled patient notes in front of you.

You shifted in your seat at the nurse station, eyes still on the clipboard. “What’s true? Did he win the lottery or something?” You let out a soft, tired chuckle. “I mean, honestly, would anyone be shocked if Jeonghan secretly played the odds? He’s... Jeonghan.”

On the other end, Seungcheol sighed. The kind of sigh that wasn’t amused or tired—it was preparing you for something.

“No, Y/n.” His voice lowered. “He told me to turn down the Kim family’s proposal.”

Your pen slipped, leaving a smudge on the paper.

You blinked.

“What?”

The pen rolled out of your fingers and onto the desk with a soft clatter. Your body leaned forward, suddenly too alert. “Why would he—?”

“He said…” Seungcheol hesitated, as though trying to choose the least explosive version of the truth. “Because he’s going to marry you.”

The words didn’t land so much as settle, like the moment before a storm hits—silent, still, choking on meaning.

Your gaze fixed on the wall across the room. White. Blank. Too bright under hospital lights. Somewhere down the hall, a monitor beeped steadily, unaware that your pulse had just doubled.

You didn’t answer. Couldn't. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. Your hands, resting on the desk, had gone cold.

And still, Seungcheol didn’t say another word.

He didn’t need to.

“He didn’t say anything to you, did he?” Seungcheol asked quietly.

You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through your hair. “No,” you mumbled, eyes narrowing as you stood from the nurse station chair. “Not a word.”

You could hear Seungcheol curse under his breath on the other end, but you were already pacing down the hallway toward your office, phone still pressed to your ear.

“Is he crazy or something?” you muttered, your voice low and laced with disbelief.

Seungcheol tried to lighten the mood. “Should I bring him to the hospital? Get his head checked?”

You scoffed, pushing open your office door with a bit more force than necessary. “No, you should’ve kicked him in the head instead.”

Dropping your white coat onto the couch, you finally sank into your chair, hand covering your eyes for a second before dropping it with a frustrated sigh.

“He said no, Seungcheol. No. So what the hell is this now?”

Silence hummed between you for a moment. Then, quietly, Seungcheol said, “Maybe he changed his mind.”

You leaned back in your chair, the ceiling suddenly very interesting. “If he did, he sure has a weird way of showing it.”

*

Jeonghan didn’t expect to find you there—not tonight, not like this.

He had barely stepped out of the elevator, keys jingling in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other, when his footsteps slowed. His gaze caught on your figure leaning against the wall by his apartment door. Arms crossed. Eyes unreadable. A stillness about you that unnerved him more than any outburst could.

He swallowed hard. The hallway light flickered above him as if mimicking the beat of his pulse.

“Y/n?” he said, cautious, testing the sound of your name like it might trigger something.

You didn’t answer immediately. You just looked at him like he was something unfamiliar—like you were trying to remember why you'd ever trusted him in the first place.

He approached slowly, key poised at the lock. “Did… Seungcheol tell you?”

Your voice cut through the quiet. “So it’s true?”

Jeonghan winced at the edge in your tone. He gave a small, reluctant nod.

You followed him inside without waiting for an invitation. The slam of the door behind you echoed through the room like thunder—loud, final, impossible to ignore.

You whirled on him. “After all the dramatic no’s, after everything—you just decided yes?”

He set the bag on the kitchen counter with trembling fingers. “I changed my mind.”

You scoffed. “Oh, now that’s convenient.”

He turned to face you, heart crawling up his throat. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Didn’t mean to? You told me you didn’t see me that way, Jeonghan. Your exact words. And now, what—suddenly you do? Right after I get another proposal?”

Jeonghan flinched. “I didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t know how to face you after…”

“After those nights?” Your voice cracked on the words, and it gutted him.

He stepped forward, cautious like you might bolt if he got too close. “I know I messed up. I should’ve said something the night it happened. I should’ve said something before you started sending out proposals like you were auctioning off your future.”

“Don’t,” you snapped. “Don’t pretend this is about you protecting me.”

“It’s not,” he said quietly. “It’s all about business. You’re trying to protect your mother’s legacy, right? A marriage of convenience should do exactly that—secure power, eliminate risk. Jongin is a risk.”

You stared at him like you could see straight through the wall he was building with every word. “So you offered yourself instead? What kind of convenient marriage involves someone who told me—explicitly—that he didn’t see me that way?”

The question sliced through the air.

He gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, knuckles whitening.

“I’m stable,” he said flatly. “I know the hospital. The board respects me. I have no scandals, no secret fiancée, no bad press. We wouldn't have to pretend much, and we’d get the media on our side. You’d be safe. The hospital would be safe. It’s a rational solution.”

But even as he said it, his voice faltered at the end.

You stepped closer now, slow, deliberate. “So this is about logic?”

“Yes,” he lied.

You waited.

He didn’t look up. Couldn’t.

Because the truth had nearly spilled out earlier—I can’t stand the thought of you marrying someone else.

But he buried it. Deep.

Because feelings were messy. And you deserved clarity, not confusion.

So he said nothing more. Just stood there in his perfectly structured silence, hoping you wouldn’t notice the way his heart was hammering under his shirt.

On the next day, Jeonghan sat quietly in the sleek, dim living room of the Yoon estate, the tick of the vintage clock on the wall growing louder with every second of silence.

The dining table remained untouched—no one had the appetite to eat after his announcement.

“I’m going to marry her,” he repeated, tone clipped, businesslike. “It’s not romantic. It’s a business marriage. The hospital stays under her control, and in turn, the Yoon family’s reputation gains an institutional ally.”

His father leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable. “You do realize what you're signing up for, don't you?”

Jeonghan kept his chin up. “I do.”

His mother placed her glass down a little too loudly. “That family—her father has scandals trailing him like a shadow. You’ve seen the tabloids, Jeonghan.”

“I’m not marrying her family,” Jeonghan said evenly. “I’m marrying her.”

His younger sister scoffed. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

The tension hit like a sharp wind. Jeonghan could feel the weight of their warnings pressing into his spine.

“She’s… someone I trust. She’s capable. She doesn’t deserve to lose the hospital over a power play. This is the cleanest solution.”

His father shook his head slowly. “You don’t protect people like this, son. Not with your last name. Not with a ring.”

But Jeonghan’s voice didn’t waver. “This isn’t about protection. It’s about business.”

No one believed that—not fully. Especially not him.

Still, they didn’t stop him.

They just let him go.

The very next week, he arrived at the law office early. He had barely slept, but he looked sharp. Tailored blazer, no tie, and his fingers twitching slightly as he waited.

You walked in —expression composed, but Jeonghan knew how to read past that. The subtle tightness in your jaw. The way your eyes darted quickly toward the folder in your hand rather than meeting his.

He stood as you sat. You didn't greet him, just nodded.

Professional.

Just like he’d asked for.

His lawyer spread the documents across the table. “The key terms have been adjusted: one and a half years of legal marriage, public announcement optional, privacy clauses intact. Divorce may be filed on mutual grounds with assets protected under current holdings.”

You read through the text quietly, flipping each page like you’d done this before. Jeonghan watched you instead.

This wasn’t what you’d wanted. Not really. You’d looked for alternatives. You’d begged for options. And when those doors kept closing, you chose the least damaging one. Him.

“I added a clause,” you said, sliding the paper forward. “I’ll retain decision-making rights over hospital board matters. I don’t want you getting dragged into internal politics.”

He blinked. “That’s not necessary.”

“It is,” you said quietly. “You’re already doing enough.”

That silenced him.

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair. This was supposed to be a simple deal, numbers and clauses and black ink—but the air felt heavier than contracts should allow.

You cleared your throat. “You don’t have to—if there’s even a 1% chance you’ll regret this—”

“I’ve already regretted worse,” he cut you off gently. “At least this time, I’m choosing.”

That struck harder than expected.

The lawyer pushed forward two pens. One for you. One for him. When your fingers brushed as you reached out, you didn’t pull away. Neither did he. And for the briefest moment, something unspoken passed between you. Not affection. Not relief. Something quieter. Lonelier. Like two people agreeing to build a house with no intention of living in it.

He watched you sign.

Then he signed, too.

Later that evening, Jeonghan stood by his window, overlooking the city as the skyline blinked softly into the night. A message from Seungcheol sat unread on his phone.

“Are you really going to go through with this?”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he whispered to himself, almost bitterly, “It’s just business.” But his reflection in the window—the tightness around his eyes, the tremble in his hand—betrayed him. He hadn’t lied to you. He wouldn’t hurt you. But what he didn’t say, what he couldn’t say, was this: That part of him didn’t want to protect the hospital.

He wanted to protect you. And now, he was bound to you by paper and law—and silence. Because feelings had no place in business.

Right?

*

The courthouse was stark—walls painted a dull beige, fluorescent lights humming overhead, the faint smell of disinfectant and stale coffee lingering in the air. The atmosphere was anything but celebratory. There were no flowers, no music, no friends or family smiling and whispering behind gloved hands.

You sat rigid in the cold metal chair, hands folded neatly in your lap. Your outfit was businesslike—dark gray trousers and a tailored blazer, practical shoes. Not a stitch of white, no trace of sentimentality. You were here to do one thing: make this marriage legal.

Jeonghan arrived minutes early, his usual composure in place but with an edge of fatigue in his eyes. His black suit hung perfectly on his lean frame, but the absence of a tie made him look less like a groom and more like a reluctant businessman caught in an inconvenient meeting. His jaw was clean-shaven but tight, lips pressed into a thin line.

The clerk barely glanced up as she recited the required lines, voice flat and rehearsed: “Do you, Jeonghan Yoon, take Y/n to be your lawful spouse…” She handed him the pen first, and he signed without hesitation. Then it was your turn. Your hand trembled slightly as you picked up the pen, the sterile atmosphere pressing down like a weight on your chest.

“Congratulations,” the clerk said, but it felt hollow, like an echo in a room already emptied of meaning.

You both nodded curtly, standing side by side as if you’d just closed a deal on a corporate merger rather than pledged to share a life.

Outside, the sky was heavy with thick gray clouds. A cold wind tugged at your coat as you stepped into the parking lot, clutching the envelope of signed documents like a lifeline. Jeonghan was beside you, expression unreadable.

Then, from the corner of the lot, a figure emerged.

Your father.

His suit was tailored but brighter than appropriate, the kind of showy fabric meant to command attention. His smile was thin, practiced—a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Those eyes scanned both of you like a chess master sizing up pawns.

“Congratulations,” he said smoothly, voice low but laced with something sharper. “I’m glad to see you’ve finally made the practical choice.”

Your shoulders stiffened imperceptibly, your breath catching for just a moment. Jeonghan’s gaze locked onto your father, cold and measuring.

“I see you’ve gone for political utility over sentiment,” your father continued, glancing at Jeonghan as if daring him to respond. “Smart move. The board will be swayed by this union, no doubt.”

“Don’t,” you said quietly, the word clipped but filled with warning.

Your father ignored you, stepping closer, his tone patronizing. “Now that the marriage is secured, the revised foundation charter is ready. You’ll find the documents waiting in your office.”

You paled, your fingers tightening around the envelope as your lips parted slightly—words trapped somewhere between anger and resignation.

Jeonghan stepped forward, voice steady but sharp. “Is this what this has been about all along? Using your daughter’s marriage as leverage for control?”

Your father’s smile remained unshaken. “Legacy isn’t sentimental, Mr. Yoon. It’s power. And power is survival.”

You didn’t move or meet either man’s eyes, instead staring down at the cracked concrete beneath your feet as if it might swallow you whole.

In that moment, Jeonghan’s posture shifted—his usual calm replaced by a simmering realization. This was no business arrangement for you. This was a battlefield, and you’d been fighting it alone.

He said nothing further, merely opening the car door with an automatic gesture of protection.

You slid inside silently, the door clicking shut behind you.

Jeonghan lingered a heartbeat longer, then followed, closing the door. The car’s interior was dim and silent, the weight of unspoken truths thick between you.

You held the envelope tightly, the crinkling paper sounding unnaturally loud.

Marriage, Jeonghan thought bitterly, should be a choice—not a chain.

He glanced at you, rigid and pale, and knew he had underestimated just how much this ‘business’ was costing you.

Jeonghan found himself in the sleek, glass-walled conference room of his family’s business headquarters a week later. The boardroom was large, with polished oak tables and leather chairs, the kind of place where decisions that shaped industries were made. Around the table sat key members of the hospital board—men and women whose loyalties were divided, some still unsure whether your father’s legal challenge could unsettle the current balance.

Jeonghan sat at the head of the table, his posture relaxed but authoritative. His sharp eyes scanned the faces before him, reading hesitation, doubt, and the flicker of ambition. With a quiet nod to his personal lawyer beside him, he opened the discussion.

“Thank you for coming on short notice,” he began, voice steady and deliberate. “I understand there has been some concern about the hospital’s future leadership and the potential legal complications following Mrs. Y/n’s recent loss.”

A few board members exchanged cautious glances.

“My wife’s inheritance is tied directly to the hospital’s legacy. It’s a responsibility she takes seriously—not just because of family, but because she believes in the institution’s mission.” He let the words hang for a moment, deliberately invoking a sense of duty and stability.

“But,” he continued, “there’s also the question of the will’s conditions—specifically, the marriage clause. Some have suggested it could be challenged, that your loyalties might shift.”

He reached forward and slid a thick legal dossier across the table, its cover embossed with the family seal. “Our legal team has reviewed every clause meticulously. The marriage between Mrs. Y/n and myself satisfies all stipulated conditions. Any attempt to invalidate this union on legal grounds would be both unfounded and harmful to the hospital’s reputation and stability.”

His tone sharpened slightly, no longer just informative but subtly warning. “We cannot afford the disruption that a public dispute would bring. Investor confidence, donor relations, patient trust—all of these depend on a unified leadership.”

The room was silent for a beat. Then, one elder board member spoke, voice low but firm. “Mr. Jeonghan, your family’s influence is undeniable. We want what’s best for the hospital, but we must ensure governance remains transparent and effective.”

Jeonghan nodded respectfully. “Agreed. Transparency and stability are non-negotiable. That is why my family is prepared to provide the necessary financial and strategic support to secure the hospital’s future.”

He could see the subtle nods around the table. The message was clear: resistance would be costly and futile.

*

Seungcheol stepped into Jeonghan’s apartment, letting the door close behind him with a quiet thud. His eyes scanned the space, half-hoping to catch a glimpse of you curled up on the couch or busy in the kitchen. But the place was quiet—too quiet for a newly married couple.

“She’s got a shift,” Jeonghan said simply, already walking toward the open kitchen. His sleeves were rolled up, and he looked like he hadn’t slept much.

Seungcheol nodded, settling into one of the stools by the counter. “Of course she does.” He watched Jeonghan pour himself a glass of water, the silence thick with unspoken questions. Then he asked, more lightly than he felt, “So… how’s married life?”

Jeonghan paused for a moment, leaning his weight against the counter as he stared at the glass in his hand.

“Strategic,” he said finally, his tone dry.

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow.

Jeonghan sighed. “It’s complicated. The hospital isn’t just some legacy—it’s a battlefield. Her father’s been trying to claw his way back into control using every legal loophole he can find. The marriage? It was the only option left to secure her position before the board meeting.”

Seungcheol let out a low whistle. “That bad, huh?”

Jeonghan nodded. “Worse than I thought. The clause her mom put in the will was meant to protect Y/n, but it became a weapon the moment her father figured out how to twist it. I had to act fast. If we hadn’t gotten married when we did, she would’ve lost everything.”

Seungcheol leaned back, arms crossed. “And now you’re both stuck in a business deal wearing rings.”

Jeonghan didn’t respond immediately. He ran a hand through his hair, the exhaustion showing in the lines under his eyes.

“She’s doing everything she can to keep it together. Between the hospital, her shifts, and pretending all of this is fine…”

Seungcheol shook his head, a small frown forming. “Poor wifey.”

Jeonghan smirked faintly at the nickname, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. She didn’t deserve any of this.”

“How about a honeymoon?”

Jeonghan scoffed at the mere mention of the word.

“Honeymoon?” he repeated, half-laughing, half-exhausted. “Yeah, we celebrated with a three-hour strategy meeting and a rushed signature on a marriage certificate. Very romantic.”

Seungcheol chuckled as he opened a can of soda from Jeonghan’s fridge, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

Jeonghan slumped into the chair across from him, stretching his legs out beneath the table. “You’re the one who brought it up.”

“I mean, come on,” Seungcheol said, leaning on the counter. “You sign a deal that big—hospital, marriage, family reputation—and you don’t even take my best friend somewhere nice? Italy? Maldives? Hell, even Jeju?”

“She’s working,” Jeonghan muttered, eyes fixed on the floor. “There’s no time for beaches. We’re still cleaning up the legal mess her father left behind.”

Seungcheol’s smile faded. He set down the can and looked at his friend seriously. “Speaking of legal mess—I assigned you an expensive shark of a lawyer. Jung Haejin. She’s the best in estate protection and corporate inheritance. If anyone can outmaneuver her father’s moves, it’s her.”

Jeonghan glanced up, surprised. “You really did that?”

“You’re my best friend,” Seungcheol said, shrugging like it was nothing. “Even if this whole thing started out cold, I know you’re not going to let her fall.”

A silence settled between them—soft, but loaded.

Jeonghan gave a faint nod, running a hand through his hair again. “Thanks, Cheol. I mean it.”

“That’s why,” Seungcheol insisted, leaning forward, eyes gleaming, “plan a honeymoon already! You know how Y/n loves beaches, right?”

Jeonghan raised a brow, caught off guard. “How do you even know that?”

“Please,” Seungcheol scoffed, grabbing a handful of nuts from the bowl on the table. “She used to beg me to take time off and go to Busan during uni breaks. Even dragged me to a travel fair once, just to collect brochures of islands she couldn’t afford to visit yet.”

Jeonghan blinked, his lips tugging into something unreadable. “She never told me that.”

“Of course she didn’t. She probably thinks you’d laugh or roll your eyes.” Seungcheol pointed at him. “But I’m telling you—she’s a beach girl through and through. You want her to breathe? To stop thinking about the hospital for a second? Take her somewhere with sand and waves.”

Jeonghan exhaled slowly, mind already racing with a dozen tabs he’d need to open later—locations, flights, resorts.

“Think of it as strategy,” Seungcheol added, slyly. “A well-rested co-CEO is more effective in a boardroom.”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smirk forming. “You’re really pushing this.”

“You’re really resisting it,” Seungcheol shot back. “Let her live, Jeonghan. This isn’t just your name or your family legacy on the line anymore. It’s hers too.”

Jeonghan grew quiet, the weight of those words sinking into him. This wasn’t just business—at least not anymore. Not when her hands shook in secret after meetings with lawyers. Not when her shoulders tensed at every call from her father’s associates. Not when she didn’t complain, but her eyes told another story.

Maybe it was time he gave her something she didn’t have to fight for. Even if just for a weekend.

“Alright,” he finally said, grabbing his phone. “Let’s find her a beach.”

*

Jeonghan hadn’t exactly imagined his first honeymoon would come with a third wheel—especially not in the shape of Choi Seungcheol, who was now sprinting barefoot toward the water like a golden retriever let off the leash.

It was supposed to be two days of peace, just the two of you, tucked away in one of his family’s private villas in Busan. A short escape Jeonghan had been desperately looking forward to—a breath of air after months suffocating beneath hospital politics, endless meetings, and legal negotiations. After tirelessly working with the lawyer Seungcheol had assigned, attending back-to-back board meetings, and overseeing the investigation regarding the hospital owner’s misconduct, the decision had finally been made: the board would postpone any changes in ownership for at least two more years. During that time, they would conduct a thorough audit of your father while he served as vice director—buying Jeonghan and you some time, but also keeping everyone under scrutiny.

Still, as he trailed behind you, watching your face light up at the sight of the ocean, your smile wide and childlike as the waves crashed onto the shore, his irritation softened. Almost.

“This is supposed to be a honeymoon, you know,” he muttered, arms crossed, a mixture of amusement and mild annoyance twisting his lips.

You didn’t even look back. “As if that ever stops you from fucking me when he’s around,” you tossed the line over your shoulder so casually it knocked the wind out of him.

Jeonghan stumbled mid-step, coughing on his own breath. “Yah—!”

Too late. You had already taken off, splashing into the shallows with Seungcheol while laughter filled the air.

He sighed, staring out at the two of you like a man who’d just realized he was going to have to fight his way through his own honeymoon. And despite himself, he grinned.

You were going to drive him insane.

And he couldn’t wait.

The three of you lounged in the cozy villa living room, sunk deep into plush cushions after wandering the village in search of a good local restaurant. The salty air still lingered on your skin, and laughter from dinner hadn’t quite faded. But Seungcheol, sitting cross-legged on the rug with a can of beer in hand, was giving you and Jeonghan a look—as if you'd both sprouted unicorn horns right in front of him.

It wasn’t unfounded. Anyone paying close attention would’ve noticed the shift. The way Jeonghan’s arm had draped a little too comfortably around your shoulders on the walk back. The way you leaned into his touch like it was second nature. The subtle glances. The softness in your voice when you said his name. Seungcheol had known the two of you for years—but something was definitely different.

He narrowed his eyes, took a sip of his beer, and asked bluntly, “Are you two secretly dating or something?”

You rolled your eyes and tossed a cushion at him. “We’re married, you idiot.”

Jeonghan chuckled, his fingers brushing yours as if to prove the point.

Seungcheol blinked. “No, I mean like... actually married. Emotionally. This is giving... romance vibes.”

Jeonghan only raised an eyebrow, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. You stayed quiet this time, eyes locked with your best friend's—because neither of you were ready to admit out loud that Seungcheol might be onto something.

Seungcheol groaned, dragging both hands down his face in exasperation. “God, I knew it! I freaking knew it.”

You blinked at him, amused. “Knew what?”

“That you two—” he gestured between you and Jeonghan like he was pointing out an obvious crime scene, “—have always had something. Even before all this marriage contract nonsense. The way you argued, the way you defended each other, the way you acted like you weren’t each other’s person when everyone could see you were.”

“I hoped I was wrong,” Seungcheol said dramatically. “Because if I’m right, that means I’ve been stuck in the middle of one long, slow-burn, emotionally constipated love story without getting any closure.”

Seungcheol had always known. Jeonghan never said it out loud, but it didn’t take a genius to see it—the way his eyes lingered on you a second too long, the way his tone softened when your name was mentioned in a conversation, the way he’d show up unasked, unnoticed, always around when you needed him most. He didn’t flaunt it. He didn’t make grand gestures. But he had this quiet, steady way of being there, of making it clear he wasn’t just looking out for a friend—he was holding space in his heart for something more.

But you? You had your head buried in textbooks, deadlines, and responsibilities, chasing excellence like it was the only thing that mattered. Love was a luxury, not a priority. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Until Seungcheol realized you were drifting onto the same ship Jeonghan had been sailing all along.

He called you that night, voice low and serious.

“I know you didn’t want to hurt him… or yourself,” Seungcheol said gently.

On the other end of the line, you hesitated. “I just…”

“I know, Y/n. Trust me. I always knew.”

Silence stretched between you like a string pulled too tight. Seungcheol could almost hear the thoughts racing in your head, the weight of things you’d buried deep finally making their way to the surface.

He sighed softly, his voice filled with something between sympathy and relief. “It finally hits you, right? That you like him. Not just as a friend.”

Still, you didn’t answer.

Then finally, in a voice so quiet it almost broke, you spoke.

“I… I don’t remember when it started, Cheol. But it just… happened.”

And Seungcheol smiled faintly, not because it was funny, but because after all this time, after all the dodged feelings and almost everything, you’d finally said what he always suspected.

“Yeah,” he said. “Love usually does.”

Jeonghan sighed beside you, slouched on the floor across from Seungcheol. He rubbed his face a little too roughly, the frustration clear in the way his fingers dragged down his cheeks.

“What do you want to hear, bro?” he muttered, voice low and exhausted—less from the conversation, more from everything that had been left unsaid for too long.

Seungcheol just shrugged, casual as ever, but his eyes were sharper than his tone. He gestured lazily between you and Jeonghan.

“You figured it out. You guys are adults anyway,” he said, pushing himself off the floor with a grunt. “Took you long enough.”

You glanced at Jeonghan, who stared at the floor with a small shake of his head, as if Seungcheol’s approval or commentary was the least of his concerns—but the pink tint rising to his ears said otherwise.

Seungcheol stretched his back and yawned dramatically. “Anyway, I’m heading to bed early. Got a long drive tomorrow and I really don’t want to get in the way of your honeymoon,” he said, the last word dripping with smug mischief.

He was halfway to his room before he turned back, poking his head around the doorframe with the most shit-eating grin you’d ever seen on his face.

“Oh—” he added, “just make sure to use a condom this time. You didn't last time at my place.”

Jeonghan froze. You stared. The silence in the room was deafening.

“Cheol!” you hissed, a pillow flying in his direction as he cackled and slammed the door shut behind him.

Jeonghan groaned, burying his face into the cushion beside him. “I’m going to kill him. Slowly.”

“Why is he so stupid?” you muttered under your breath, eyes narrowed in disbelief. “You both got vasectomies at my hospital. Together.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to wave away the sheer absurdity of the situation—not just the fact that Seungcheol blurted it out like it was nothing, but also that he knew you and Jeonghan had slept together and still had the audacity to tease you about it.

Jeonghan leaned his head back against the couch, sighing like the weight of his entire friendship with Seungcheol was too much to carry.

“That’s why I’m killing him,” he deadpanned, eyes closed as if he were mentally planning the most efficient method to end his best friend.

The laughter eventually faded, replaced by a quiet stillness between you and Jeonghan. The ocean outside whispered against the shore, and somewhere in the villa, Seungcheol had finally shut his door.

Jeonghan sat upright, arms resting on his knees, staring ahead without really seeing anything. You watched his profile, the way his jaw clenched slightly, the weight behind his silence.

Then he spoke, voice quieter than usual. “You know… I never really understood what line I wasn’t supposed to cross.”

You tilted your head, confused. “What do you mean?”

Jeonghan exhaled slowly. “With you. Us. I was your friend, right? That’s how it started. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t start feeling something more, years ago. I just… I didn’t know if it was worth risking the friendship.”

Your heart thudded once, uneven and loud.

“I kept telling myself it was better to just be near you—helping you study, listening to you rant about your professors, showing up to your part-time jobs with coffee.” He smiled faintly at the memory. “It was enough. Or I convinced myself it was.”

You remained still, letting him talk.

“But every time someone came close to you, like seriously close, I’d get... weird.” He gave a dry chuckle. “Petty. Distant. Sometimes too obvious. And I hated it. I hated that part of me. Because I thought friends weren’t supposed to act like that.”

You lowered your eyes, your own emotions swirling quietly.

“When Seungcheol told me you’re about to get involved with the Kim family, something in me just snapped. I couldn’t sit back and watch someone else take you—not for business, not for love, not for anything. So I did something stupid. I played the same game.”

“The marriage,” you said softly.

He nodded. “Yeah. I made it sound like business. And in some ways, maybe it still is. But I wasn’t honest—not with you, not with myself.”

There was another beat of silence before Jeonghan turned to look at you.

“I don’t expect you to feel the same way,” he said, voice steady despite the vulnerability in it. “And I’m not saying this to pressure you into anything. But I needed you to know that this isn’t just about protecting you or your family’s name. It’s you. It’s always been you.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Jeonghan offered you a small, tired smile.

“I know it’s a lot. We’re already in something messy and complicated. I just... I’d rather you hear the truth from me now than keep pretending I’m okay with being just your business partner.”

The waves outside kept rolling. The tension sat between you, thick and alive. But there was also something else now—something raw, maybe even freeing. Truth always had a way of stirring still waters.

A few seconds passed in silence after Jeonghan’s quiet confession. You could feel the sincerity lingering in the air, like smoke after a fire—thick, lingering, and oddly comforting. The vulnerability in his voice had peeled back a layer you never knew he kept hidden so carefully.

You took a deep breath, eyes still on him, and then—“That’s hot.”

Jeonghan blinked. “What?”

You grinned. “You being honest. It’s kinda hot.”

A slow, incredulous smile spread on his face as his brows lifted. “Wow. I bare my soul and you turn it into thirst content?”

You shrugged, the tension breaking into playful air. “I mean, what do you expect? You were emotionally constipated for years. Seeing you finally say what you feel? Sexy.”

Jeonghan groaned, leaning back against the couch like your words physically wounded him. “This is why I can never have serious moments with you.”

“And yet you married me,” you teased, scooting closer and nudging his knee with yours.

He glanced at you, something softer behind the usual amusement in his eyes. “Yeah. I did.”

You held his gaze a moment longer, before reaching for a throw pillow and gently thwacking him with it. “For a business deal, that is.”

He caught the pillow mid-air and raised a brow. “Sure. Business.”

You leaned in and whispered with mock-seriousness, “Very professional of you, Mr. Yoon.”

Jeonghan narrowed his eyes playfully. “Don’t tempt me to write that into the contract.”

You burst out laughing, and for the first time in a while, it didn’t feel complicated. It felt like the two of you again—just tangled in a bigger, messier story now. But at the center of it, still you and Jeonghan.

Jeonghan’s smile lingered as he nudged your arm, softer this time. “Thanks for not running away.”

You looked at him, warmth blooming behind your ribcage. “Thanks for finally saying it.”

And outside, the waves rolled on under the Busan moonlight. Inside, the silence between you no longer felt heavy—but full of something new, something promising.

*

You approached your mother, who had come all the way to attend your graduation ceremony, her eyes soft with pride. Behind you, Jeonghan and Seungcheol followed respectfully, both dressed sharply for the occasion. As they reached her, the two of them bowed politely.

“There’s Jeonghan and Seungcheol too,” your mother noted with a warm smile, acknowledging them with a slight nod. “Thank you both for supporting Y/n all this time.”

She then turned to you and handed you a bouquet of fresh white lilies and pale pink roses, wrapped in delicate paper. You took them with a small laugh, grateful but slightly embarrassed.

After a few minutes filled with cheerful conversation, light teasing, and a dozen photos with your friends—who had helped you prep tirelessly for this big day—you hugged them goodbye, waving as they left in different directions.

Your mother and you eventually got into the car waiting by the curb. She slid in beside you in the backseat while the driver started the engine. As the campus slowly disappeared behind the tinted windows, she looked over at you, pride still glimmering in her eyes.

“They’re wonderful friends, aren’t they?” she mused aloud. “They’ve been with you since junior high, right?”

You smiled at the thought. “Yeah. Unlike our parents, we weren’t friends for business.” There was a playful sarcasm in your voice, but the humor was clear.

Your mother chuckled, then gave you a sideways glance. “Never caught feelings for one of them?”

Her question made you pause. The teasing lilt in her voice was unmistakable, and she raised a knowing brow when you didn’t respond right away.

“Gotcha!” she said, triumphant.

You groaned. “Not that again! You say this every time you see them. They’re just my friends. There’s a reason we’re still friends after all these years.”

“Alright, alright,” she conceded, holding up her hands with a smirk. “So, I guess Seungcheol’s not your type…”

You wrinkled your nose dramatically. “Ugh, no way!”

She nodded slowly, her grin widening. “So it’s Jeonghan, then.”

“Mom!”

“I see you’re not denying it.”

“Moooom!”

She laughed out loud this time, satisfied with her small victory, while you buried your heated face in the bouquet, wishing you could disappear into the flowers.

*

Seungcheol sat quietly on the couch, the floral scent of rosella tea wafting up with the steam. He sipped it slowly, savoring both the warmth and the familiarity—it was always rosella at your house. Your mother insisted it was the healthiest tea, even if its tartness took getting used to.

“Thanks for taking care of Y/n, Seungcheol,” your mother said as she settled into the armchair across from him. Her voice was calm, laced with something deeper—something quieter than gratitude. “She’s such a handful sometimes.”

Seungcheol chuckled, setting his cup down gently on the saucer. “She’s like a sister to me,” he replied, smiling. “Loud, brilliant, too stubborn for her own good.”

Your mother’s laugh was soft, almost distant. “She gets that from me.”

There was a pause. Not heavy, but deliberate. She leaned back, fingers gently tracing the rim of her own teacup. Her eyes drifted to the window, watching the curtain sway in the light breeze before she spoke again.

“Seungcheol… I haven’t told her yet,” she said quietly. “And I don’t plan to until it’s time.”

He looked up slowly, his expression tightening just a little.

“I’ve been sick,” she said, her eyes finally meeting his. “The kind that doesn’t really go away.”

He didn’t know what to say. His throat caught on something—shock, sorrow, helplessness. The words hovered but didn’t land.

She offered him a small smile, like a mother comforting someone else's child. “Don’t look so heartbroken. I’ve had a good life, Cheol. And she’s strong. Smarter than I ever was.”

“But she needs you,” he whispered, unable to mask the weight in his voice.

“She’ll have you. And Jeonghan. And everything I didn’t know how to give her before.”

He swallowed hard, then nodded. “I’ll take care of her.”

Her smile deepened—not joyful, but full of trust. “I know you will.”

Your mother took a long sip of her tea, her fingers curling around the delicate porcelain as if bracing herself for the truth she was about to voice.

“I knew about my husband's affair,” she said, quietly but firmly. “For years. It was a doctor from the Busan branch. He thought I’d never find out.”

Seungcheol looked at her, surprised but respectful, his silence giving her the space to speak.

“I let it go. Not for him, but for Y/n. I stayed to protect what was mine—what should be hers. But now that I’m sick… I’m afraid the board might push the hospital into his hands once I’m gone.”

She set her cup down gently and folded her hands over her lap. “I want the hospital for Y/n. But she’s definitely not eligible to claim it on her own. Not now.”

Seungcheol leaned forward, slowly understanding where the conversation was going. “She needs an affiliate,” he said.

Your mother nodded solemnly. “She needs to be married. Someone with influence. With a name that can counterbalance her father’s power. And I don’t have anyone in mind other than you or Jeonghan.”

Seungcheol’s jaw twitched slightly, processing her words. “You might see how much I care for her,” he said carefully, “but I promise you—I’ve never seen her in that way. She’s family to me.”

“I know, son,” she said, giving him a soft, grateful look. “And that’s exactly why I trust you. But she’ll need more than love. She’ll need power.”

He stared into his half-empty cup, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Then… the Yoon family is the answer,” he said at last.

Your mother exhaled, as if she had been waiting for him to say it himself.

“Y/n likes Jeonghan,” she blurted, almost too casually.

Seungcheol’s brows lifted, but not with real surprise. He leaned back slightly and let out a quiet scoff, remembering the moment it all became clear. “She told you?” he asked.

Your mother gave a knowing smile.

He smirked faintly, but there was no humor in his eyes—only memory. It was during junior year. You dragged him to the beach after midnight. Said you were celebrating exam week being over. But you had a bottle of cheap soju in your hand, and all you did was cry about how happy Jeonghan seemed with his new girlfriend. Then you said it felt stupid, but every time you saw Jeonghan smiled at someone else, it burned.

He paused, looking down at the tea again.

“She loved him then. Maybe earlier. But she buried it.”

Your mother’s voice softened. “That’s what she does. She tucks things away so deep even she forgets they’re there.”

And in the quiet that followed, with the scent of rosella still lingering and the sun just beginning to sink behind the window, Seungcheol made another silent vow—one that felt heavier than the first.

Years later, Seungcheol smiled from his seat in the front row of the auditorium, dressed in a navy suit that hadn’t changed much from his usual styles—still a little snug at the shoulders. But his eyes? They were glassier now, a mixture of pride and nostalgia pooling in them as he watched you take the podium.

It was the ceremony announcing your appointment as the hospital’s new director. Your mother’s legacy, polished by your perseverance and finally, officially, placed in your hands. You stood tall in a crisp white blazer, your hair swept neatly to the side, your presence commanding. Yet there was a softness to your smile as you glanced at the crowd—at your people. At your family. Your voice rang with the clarity of someone who had long prepared for this day. There wasn’t a stammer, not even when you thanked those who believed in you “when I hadn’t even believed in myself yet.” You looked at Seungcheol, and he simply nodded once, as if to say I told you so.

Beside him, Jeonghan shifted slightly, cradling your firstborn daughter, Sera, against his chest. Her tiny head of dark curls peeked out beneath a miniature headband, her chubby arms reaching forward to grasp the first thing within reach—Seungcheol’s pinky finger. And once she had it, she refused to let go.

“She’s got your grip,” Seungcheol murmured to Jeonghan with a teasing grin, but didn’t try to pull away.

“She’s stubborn,” Jeonghan replied with a proud chuckle, rocking Sera gently in his arms. “Just like her mom.”

Sera gurgled at that, kicking slightly as if she agreed.

The room erupted into applause as you finished your speech, bowing graciously before stepping down. Your eyes scanned the audience once more—first finding Seungcheol, who gave you the softest, proudest smile, then falling on Jeonghan and the little girl in his arms.

You made your way to them slowly, shaking hands, accepting congratulations, until finally you reached them. Sera squealed when she saw you, arms flailing until Jeonghan helped her lean toward you.

“She didn’t let go of my finger the whole time,” Seungcheol said as he gently passed her into your embrace.

You kissed her round cheek and whispered, “She knows her people.”

Jeonghan smiled at you, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “So does her mom.”

"Do you have a plan after this, Uncle Seungcheol?" you asked, your voice high and teasing as you leaned slightly toward him, still bouncing Sera gently in your arms.

Seungcheol blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

You cleared your throat, scrunched your nose a little, then wiggled Sera’s tiny hand like a puppet and baby-talked, "Wanna babysit me~?"

Jeonghan nearly choked on his laughter beside him, covering his mouth as he leaned forward.

Seungcheol stared at the two of you—the smugness on your face and the completely unaware baby now drooling on your shoulder—and groaned dramatically. “Oh no. Not this again.”

“You said you were free,” you chimed sweetly.

“I said I was free for lunch, not free for life,” Seungcheol shot back, though he was already holding out his arms.

Sera squealed the moment he reached for her, latching onto his shirt like a koala. You smirked, triumphant.

Jeonghan patted Seungcheol’s back with mock sympathy. “Congrats on your promotion to part-time nanny.”

“I’m going to file for emotional compensation,” Seungcheol muttered, but he was already swaying gently with Sera in his arms, smiling despite himself.

And just like that, with the hospital behind you and your family by your side, the next chapter didn’t feel so daunting after all.

*

Later that afternoon, with the ceremony wrapped up and congratulations exchanged, you finally found a moment to breathe. Seungcheol had taken Sera to the garden with his girlfriend, Hana, who had instinctively stepped into a rhythm with Sera as if she'd known your daughter forever. You caught a glimpse of the three of them through the large glass windows—Seungcheol holding Sera up high while Hana clapped from the side. Your baby’s laughter echoed faintly through the hallway, and it melted your heart.

“Should we feel guilty?” you asked, sipping from a paper cup of iced coffee as you leaned against the railing of the hospital rooftop.

Jeonghan looked over at you, hair tousled a little by the wind, one hand in his pocket and the other holding your half-eaten sandwich. “For what? Letting Uncle Cheol discover his true purpose in life?”

You snorted, nudging his elbow. “I meant for sneaking off like this.”

He smiled, soft and knowing. “We don’t get many days like this, Y/n. You deserve a moment.”

You let the silence stretch, comfortable and easy. The city buzzed beneath you, the familiar hum of Busan wrapping around the rooftop like a lullaby. You felt his fingers brush against yours, subtle and warm, before he laced them gently together.

“I still remember when we couldn’t even hold hands without making it weird,” you murmured.

Jeonghan tilted his head, amusement tugging at his lips. “You mean when you pretended that sitting on my lap during beach bonfires was totally platonic?”

You laughed, cheeks warming. “That was for warmth! The wind was freezing!”

He pulled you a little closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Sure. Just like how marrying me was only for business.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, your smile lingering. “Well, if this is business, I guess I signed the best contract of my life.”

Down below, Seungcheol was now lying dramatically on the grass while Sera bounced on his chest, and Hana took a photo with an amused grin. You and Jeonghan watched them in fond silence.

“Do you think we’ll get to do this forever?” you asked softly.

Jeonghan looked at you with eyes that held all the answers. “With you? I hope we never stop.”

Jeonghan picked you up from your office the next day right on time, leaning against the side of his car with his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened, looking like he stepped out of a magazine but still very much your husband. The sun was dipping low, casting gold along the pavement as you walked toward him, your steps finally relaxing after a long day.

“Where’s Sera?” you asked as you slid into the passenger seat, slipping off your heels with a sigh of relief.

“With my mom. She’s already winning them over with her toddler charm,” he replied with a smile as he started the engine. “So tonight, we get a few hours of just us.”

You glanced at him, curious. “What’s the plan?”

Jeonghan shot you a boyish grin as he turned the wheel. “I planned a dinner. Three-star Michelin. Like your favorite.”

You blinked, eyebrows rising. “Wait, seriously? You got us a reservation there?”

He chuckled. “I pulled a few strings. Remind me to thank Seungkwan later for calling in a favor.”

Your heart swelled at the thoughtfulness, and you reached over to gently rest your hand on his arm. “You didn’t have to go all out. A street cart and you beside me would’ve been enough.”

“I know,” he said, glancing over at you with that soft, slow smile that still made your stomach flip. “But you’ve had a hell of a year. You deserve more than enough.”

Your throat tightened a little at that. Sometimes, Jeonghan’s words slipped past your defenses so easily.

“You’re really good at this, you know?” you murmured.

“At what?”

“At making me fall for you all over again.”

Jeonghan let out a quiet laugh as he reached for your hand and brought it to his lips. “Good. Because I plan to keep doing it for the rest of our lives.”

As the car glided through the streets lit by soft city lights, Jeonghan kept your hand in his, occasionally stealing glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking. You caught him once, lips tugging into a smug little smile.

“You’re staring,” you teased, turning slightly in your seat to face him.

He didn’t even flinch. “Of course I am. My wife’s glowing after bossing an entire hospital today.”

You laughed, leaning your head on the headrest. “You’re ridiculous.”

He squeezed your hand. “Ridiculously in love.”

You groaned at the cheesiness, but your cheeks warmed. “You sound like Seungcheol’s girlfriend when she drinks too much wine.”

“Then I’m in good company,” he said, bringing your knuckles to his lips for a soft kiss.

The restaurant was everything he promised—romantic, elegant, but still private enough that you felt like it was just the two of you in the world. He helped you with your chair, ordered your favorite dish before you even had to say it, and poured your wine with a flourish like he was auditioning for a drama.

“You’ve really upgraded your husband skills,” you commented, swirling your glass.

Jeonghan winked. “Sera’s been giving me performance reviews. Apparently, I’m doing well.”

You leaned closer over the table, whispering like it was a secret, “You know… if you keep this up, I might just fall harder.”

He mirrored your lean, eyes warm and playful. “That’s the plan. Every day, a little more.”

The rest of the night passed with soft laughs, clinking glasses, shared dessert bites, and the kind of conversation that felt like soul food—filled with dreams, memories, and plans you both had yet to chase.

Later, as you stood by the elevator in your apartment building, he quietly laced his fingers with yours again.

“Want to dance with me?” he asked suddenly.

“Right now?” you blinked.

“Yeah. No music. Just us.”

You laughed, but you let him pull you into his arms anyway. There, under dim hallway lights, Jeonghan swayed with you—no rhythm, no reason, just warmth and love. You let your head fall to his shoulder, giggling as he twirled you softly like you were in a ballroom instead of outside your apartment door.

“I think I’m the luckiest,” you mumbled.

He kissed your temple and whispered back, “No. I am.”

And in that quiet, almost ordinary moment, you knew—this was the kind of love that would last lifetimes.

*

Such nights were a rarity, a treasure tucked away in the chaos of everyday life, when exhaustion didn't weigh you both down, and the demands of parenting didn't siphon the last drops of your energy. Jeonghan was poised above you, the warmth of his skin a comforting contrast against the cool sheets. He drew back from a lingering kiss, his breaths mingling with yours in the dimly lit room. As he entered you with a slow, deliberate rhythm, a moan slipped past your lips, a symphony to his ears that matched the gentle hum of the ceiling fan above. His hips moved with a precision that spoke of intimate knowledge, hitting that perfect cadence that sent shivers spiraling through your body and left your eyes fluttering in bliss. God, how he adored that expression on your face.

“You like it, huh?” he murmured softly, his voice a low, tantalizing whisper as he thrust a little more forcefully, igniting a spark of raw pleasure that danced between you both. His primal instincts stirred, driven wild by the sound of you crying out his name and the intoxicating sensation of your body responding to his. It was a heady mix of addiction and ecstasy, a dangerous concoction that he craved.

“Jeonghan...” you gasped, a desperate plea as he found that elusive sweet spot within you, the one that sent shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your veins.

“Hm... What is it, baby? You want me there?” he teased, his voice laced with playful mischief, as he deliberately shifted his angle, leaving you yearning, aching for that precise touch once more.

“Please... Jeonghan...” you begged, your voice a breathless whisper, drenched in longing and desire.

He grinned, the kind of devilish, all-too-pretty smile that should have been illegal on such a cherubic face, and pushed your knees wider with his hands. “God, I love you,” he whispered, almost reverent, then buried himself in the rhythm, driving you both toward that singular, shattering point of bliss.

You lost all sense of time or consequence, the room collapsing around the epicenter of your bodies, the tangled sheets and half-open blinds dimly visible through haze. Your fingers clung to his shoulders, blunt nails leaving marks you’d find the next morning. He was unhurried but relentless, the slow, deep surges building in intensity until you could barely remember your own name, let alone worry about the prospect of Seungcheol’s inevitable wrath.

At the moment you broke, shuddering and stifling a cry against the pale slope of his neck, Jeonghan wrapped his arms around you so tightly you were sure you would shatter, right there, under the weight of him and the enormity of what you felt. The world righted itself only after, in the lull where your ragged breaths mingled, and you realized you were delicately cradled, as if he could keep you together with gentle hands alone. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, content to let limbs remain tangled, hearts thundering in asynchronous duet.

Jeonghan was the first to move. He propped himself on one elbow, brushing the hair from your damp forehead, his eyes still swimming in the afterglow. “Are you alive?” he asked, and the laugh that escaped you was small, shaky, but sincere.

“I think so,” you managed, voice thick. “I might need CPR.”

“Please. You always say that,” he teased, rolling onto his side and pressing kisses to your collarbone, the line of your jaw, the tip of your nose.

It was somewhere between a breathless laugh and a whispered “I love you” when the soft cry of your daughter filtered through the baby monitor on the nightstand.

You both froze.

Jeonghan groaned dramatically, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “Why is our daughter’s timing so impeccable?”

You giggled, brushing the sweat-matted hair from his forehead. “She’s your daughter. Born to be dramatic.”

He sighed, rolling off you gently and grabbing a shirt from the edge of the bed. “I’ll go. You rest.”

You watched him pull the shirt over his head, the faint moonlight casting a soft glow over the stretch of his back. He still moved like a sleepy prince—even when interrupted mid-magic.

“Tell her she owes us twenty more minutes when she’s a teenager.”

He chuckled, already halfway out the door. “I’ll invoice her.”

You lay back on the pillows, heart still thudding from both the intimacy and the sudden interruption. Through the monitor, you heard the door to Sera’s room creak open, followed by Jeonghan’s soft, sleepy voice.

“Hey, princess... what’s wrong, huh?”

Her tiny sobs grew quieter, replaced by hiccups and his quiet hums—probably the lullaby he made up that never made sense but always calmed her down.

You smiled to yourself, listening to their voices mingle. It wasn’t the ending you had planned for the night, but somehow, it felt even better. Because this was your life now—love, laughter, messy timing, and a little girl who stole both your hearts.

A few minutes later, the bedroom door creaked again. Jeonghan tiptoed in, climbing back under the covers.

“She just wanted a cuddle,” he whispered, slipping his arms around you. “Guess she’s like her mom.”

You chuckled against his chest. “Did you just call me clingy?”

“I said cuddle-loving.” He kissed the top of your head. “But yes.”

You swatted his chest lightly. “I was about to give you the best night of your life.”

He grinned, already pulling you closer. “We’ve got a lifetime of nights. But for now... I’ll take cuddling both my girls.”

And just like that, tangled together in the quiet, you drifted into sleep—interrupted, imperfect, but full of love.

The end.

[wontechno]

–ᝰ.ᐟ✮ You were never subtle about loving Mingyu. And he was never ready to love you back—Not until you stopped trying.

It wasn’t one grand gesture that changed everything. It was the way your silence hurt more than your love ever did. And maybe that’s how Mingyu finally realized… he lost something worth chasing.

pairing: mingyu x f!reader

genre: soft angst with a fluff payoff, mutual pining (but only one-sided at first), unrequited love… or so you thought, slow burn with fast feelings, idiot in love (feat. kim mingyu), emotional damage—lightly salted, redemption arc with a clumsy king, he got stung (literally and figuratively), he doesn’t get it until it’s almost gone, he starts chasing when you finally stop

word count: 4.7k

a/n: a little long gut-wrenching, heart-twisting, head-banging love story because sometimes love isnt easy... like getting concert tickets to see svt... who said thatttt

It started—stupidly enough—with Mario Kart. Mingyu had just knocked your car off Rainbow Road for the third time in a row, and you’d had enough.

You slammed your controller down, eyes narrowed. “Are you doing that on purpose?”

Mingyu blinked, all bright eyes and faux innocence. “What? Winning?”

“You pushed me off the edge.”

“You were in the way!”

“I was winning!”

“And I fixed that for you.”

You glared. “You’re actually insufferable, you know that?”

He grinned, all teeth. “You love it.”

You did. That was the problem.

You stood up abruptly, heading to the kitchen to cool off. Not from the game—from him. From the stupid way his laugh curled down your spine, from the way his hoodie sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, from the fact that being around him made your chest feel too tight and your skin too warm.

He followed you, obviously. Mingyu had the emotional awareness of a Labrador retriever—never noticed a line unless he’d already trampled across it.

“You’re really mad?” he asked behind you, voice still light, like it was a joke.

You yanked open the fridge, using the cold air as a shield. “I just don’t want to talk right now.”

Mingyu leaned against the counter. “Why are you taking this so seriously?”

“I said I don’t want to talk.”

“And yet,” he said, like he was the cleverest man alive, “here you are.”

You slammed the fridge door shut.

He flinched. “Okay, damn.”

You turned to him, chest rising and falling. “Why do you always have to push things?”

“Because that’s just how we are,” he shot back. “We fight, you get mad, and then tomorrow we’re fine.”

“Maybe I’m tired of that cycle, Mingyu.”

That quieted him. A second too long passed. “What’s your problem?” he asked then, tone different now—lower, almost defensive. “Seriously.”

You met his gaze, felt the burn of too much and not enough. And then you said it, tired, quiet, deadly honest: “You. Apparently.”

His face fell. You almost wished he’d laugh, roll his eyes, make a joke. But he didn’t. Mingyu stood there, the smile gone from his face, the line hanging between you like it was trembling.

“You don’t mean that,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

“I do,” you replied, and it was the worst kind of truth.

Because you meant it in all the wrong ways.

You meant he was your problem because he was in your heart all the time. Because he smiled at other people and it made you feel like you’d swallowed glass. Because he called you his best friend but kissed other girls at parties. Because you wanted more, and he never noticed.

You meant he was your problem because you couldn’t stop loving him, even if he never looked at you like you were more than someone to knock off Rainbow Road.

But you didn’t say any of that. You just stood there, the truth unspoken, and watched as he finally looked away.

“…I didn’t know you felt like that,” he murmured.

You shrugged, eyes stinging. “Now you do.”

He nodded once. “Right.” And then he left the kitchen. And you didn’t stop him.

The venue was too warm, the music too loud, and you’d been watching Mingyu from across the dance floor for twenty minutes now.

He looked good. Too good. White button-up sleeves rolled up, loose tie hanging down his chest, a dimple flashing every time someone made him laugh. He didn’t even like weddings, but there he was, making everyone else feel like they were in the middle of one of those slow-mo K-dramas where the male lead turns and locks eyes with you across a crowd.

And god help you—he did.

He saw you, smiled, and motioned for you to join him. You didn’t even hesitate. By the time you crossed the floor, he was already holding a hand out, the first few notes of a slower song bleeding through the speakers.

“Dance with me?”

You snorted. “Is that even a question?”

Your fingers slid into his like it was the most natural thing in the world. Because at this point—it was.

You'd danced with him before. Countless birthdays, one New Year’s Eve, even your prom. But this time felt different. Maybe because he was looking at you like he wasn’t sure if he should keep holding your hand. Maybe because you were done pretending it didn’t mean something to you.

So this time, you said it. While his hand rested on your waist and yours found its way to his shoulder—while the crowd around you blurred into noise and laughter and someone else’s romance—you looked him straight in the eye and said:

“You know I’m in love with you, right?”

He blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Why are you—” He laughed nervously, but his grip on your waist tightened just slightly. “Why are you saying that now?”

“Because it’s true. And because you never believe me when I say it.”

You weren’t smiling. You weren’t joking. And for once, you didn’t cushion it in a tease.

Mingyu stared at you, like he was seeing you for the first time. “You’re serious.”

“I always have been.”

The song played on. His friends were laughing somewhere nearby. Someone was shouting lyrics off-beat in the background. But all you could see was him, and the way he wasn’t letting go.

“You shouldn’t keep saying things like that,” he said, voice lower now.

“Why not?”

“Because…” He shook his head, eyes dropping to the floor, “you know I can’t—”

“I know,” you interrupted, gently. “But I’m not asking you to say it back.”

He looked up.

“I’m not saying it to get something out of you,” you continued. “I just want you to know. I don’t want to pretend like I’m not in love with you anymore.”

“You’re going to get hurt.”

You smiled, soft but fearless. “I already am. But it’s fine. I’ll live.”

You could feel the crack in the air between you, something fragile and dangerous. But you weren’t scared of it anymore. Because love, even unreturned, was still love. And you were never ashamed of that.

It was Seungcheol’s party. Loud music, too many people, and the kind of night where everyone was slightly too dressed up for a “casual hang.”

You found Mingyu in the kitchen, unsurprisingly, because wherever there was food, there he’d be. What was surprising was the girl pressed up against the counter next to him, laughing a little too hard at something he said.

You paused in the doorway.

She was twirling her hair. Her hand had brushed his arm once—twice. He didn’t move away. He wasn’t leaning in either. Just… being polite. Smiling.

But still.

Your throat felt dry. You grabbed a random cup on the table (orange soda. gross.) and sipped, eyes still locked on the scene. Then she said something. Something that made him smile a little wider. And she touched his chest. That’s when you moved.

You weren’t jealous. (No. Never that.) 

You were possessive. (And maybe, just maybe, you were tired of pretending that wasn’t the same thing.)

You waltzed straight up to them, like you had every right to do it.

“Oh,” you said brightly, slipping your arm around Mingyu’s waist. “I didn’t realize we were flirting with my boyfriend tonight.”

His entire body stiffened beside you.

The girl blinked. “Wait—you’re together?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed. “Crazy, right? He looks like someone who’d be emotionally available.”

Mingyu choked.

The girl gave a tight smile, clearly embarrassed. “Right. Sorry—I didn’t know.”

You smiled sweetly. “Now you do.”

She left. You turned to Mingyu and took another sip of that tragic orange soda like nothing had happened.

“…What was that?” he asked, voice low.

“Just protecting what’s mine,” you said with a shrug.

He stared. “We’re not even dating.”

You looked at him, unfazed. “Doesn’t make it any less true.”

“Why do you keep doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Saying stuff like that.”

You tilted your head. “Because I mean it.”

Mingyu didn’t say anything. Didn’t push you away, didn’t move out of your hold. Just stood there, blinking like you’d scrambled the words in his brain.

You leaned in slightly, smiling. “Relax, Mingyu. You’re cute when you’re flustered.” And then you walked away.

You didn’t see the way he kept watching you after that. Didn’t see how his fingers twitched like they wanted to reach for yours. Didn’t know that somewhere deep down, a thought finally crept into his chest:

What if she’s not joking? And worse— What if he doesn’t want her to be?

It was a night out with mutual friends—loud bar, shared appetizers, and the kind of seat shuffling that left you and Mingyu on opposite sides of the table.

You were talking to Soonyoung about something dumb and deeply important (which dipping sauce reigns supreme) when you caught a flicker of Mingyu’s name from the group beside you.

Your ears perked up. You weren’t trying to eavesdrop. It just happened. Swear.

“He’s cute,” someone said. “But kind of… clingy, don’t you think?”

Another voice snorted. “And a little dumb. Sweet, yeah, but like. Not much going on up there.”

You froze. Your fingers tightened around your glass. It wasn’t even about the fact that they were wrong—Mingyu was sweet. He was clingy, in a golden retriever way. But he was also smart in ways people never gave him credit for. Gentle in a world that prized coldness. Loyal when others were quick to walk away.

You stood up without thinking, sliding your chair back hard enough to make a scraping sound.

Every eye turned to you.

You leaned against their table, gaze direct. “Sorry, just wondering—how many conversations have you actually had with him? Or do you always assume the worst about people who are better than you?”

The table went dead quiet. One of them blinked. “It was just a joke.”

You smiled—tight, sharp. “Yeah. That’s what people say when they run out of ways to be decent.”

Another opened their mouth, but you cut them off. “You don’t have to like him. But if you’re going to talk about someone like that, maybe make sure his friends isn’t sitting six feet away.”

You didn’t wait for an answer. You just turned, walking back to your side of the table.

And Mingyu. Was. Staring. Like you’d just flipped his entire universe upside down.

“You heard that?” you asked, sliding back into your seat like nothing happened.

He was still blinking. “You… didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

“But you did.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t like when people talk about you like you’re not the best thing to ever happen to this group.”

His throat bobbed.

You sipped your drink. “Besides, I’ve said worse about you to your face.”

That got a laugh out of him—but it was a quiet one. Like he was trying to process something else. Something heavier. You didn’t push it. You just went back to your fries and let him sit there, reeling. But you saw the way he looked at you now. Like you’d done something irreversible. Like he didn’t know what to do with someone who’d fight for him without flinching.

Like maybe, just maybe— he didn’t deserve it. But part of him… wanted to.

The karaoke room was already humid with energy—half-sung duets, shrieked choruses, and Seungkwan demanding a redo of “Love Scenario” because someone ruined his harmony.

You were two and a half sojus deep. Mingyu was across the room, nursing a lemon soju and looking way too good in that stupid oversized hoodie. And you—dangerously unhinged with the mic in your hand.

“Okay,” you announced to the room. “This next one’s a special performance.”

Jihoon groaned. “If it’s another Taeyeon ballad I swear—”

“No,” you grinned. “This one’s a… confession, actually.”

The room collectively oohed. Mingyu raised his eyebrows from the couch.

You looked him dead in the eye, bold and loose-limbed and smiling. “Dedicated to the one and only Kim Mingyu—who is somehow still clueless after all these years.”

“What—”

But you were already cueing the song.

“Can’t Help Falling in Love.” The Elvis version. Vintage. Corny. Deadly honest.

The first note played. You swayed slightly on your feet.

🎵 Wise men say… only fools rush in… 🎵

Your voice wasn’t perfect. You missed a few beats. But you didn’t look away from him—not once.

🎵 But I… can’t help… falling in love with you… 🎵

It wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t ironic. And suddenly the room wasn’t laughing anymore.

You saw it—right then. Mingyu, sitting very still, his mouth slightly open, the flush on his cheeks rising with every note you sang.

🎵 Like a river flows… surely to the sea… 🎵

You smiled softly. God, you meant it.

🎵 Darling so it goes… some things are meant to be. 🎵

You finished the song without a single crack in your voice.

Silence followed. A few awkward coughs. A pity clap. Someone whistled. But your eyes stayed on him.

Mingyu didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared at you with that look—that deep, unreadable look—like he was rewinding every second of the past three years in his head.

You gave a mock bow and handed off the mic. Then you walked over to him, leaned down just enough for only him to hear, and whispered— “Now you can’t say I never told you.”

And you left him sitting there, heart racing, mind screaming, while the next person picked a loud song and tried to pretend nothing just shifted permanently. Because it did.

You were glowing. That’s the only way Mingyu could describe you.

Standing there in your little black top, drink in hand, eyes crinkled as you laughed at something Joshua Hong said—like he was the funniest person alive. Mingyu stood on the other side of the rooftop party, watching you laugh at someone else’s jokes and hating himself for caring.

He didn’t know when it had started.

Maybe it was the karaoke night. Maybe it was the time you told off those people for mocking him. Maybe it was the way you never once backed down from how much you loved him.

All he knew was: tonight, you weren’t looking at him. And it bothered the hell out of him.

Joshua leaned in a little closer. Said something else. You laughed again, eyes sparkling. Mingyu clenched his jaw. His friend asked something beside him, but he didn’t register it. And then Joshua reached out—touched your arm lightly.

Mingyu moved before he could think. He cut across the party, drink half-full, pulse racing with something he couldn’t name.

You looked up just as he stepped beside you. “Hey,” you said, smiling. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer you. He turned to Joshua instead. “Mind if I steal her?”

Joshua blinked, looking amused. “You two are—?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu said, voice flat. “She’s mine.”

The words felt foreign in his mouth. Heavy. But they were out now, and the second Joshua nodded politely and stepped away, Mingyu turned to you, the moment cracking open between you.

You raised an eyebrow. “She’s yours?”

He realized, too late, how that sounded. “I didn’t mean—well, I did—but not like that. I just…”

You stared at him, lips parted in that dangerous don’t test me way you had. “What’s your problem?”

The words were familiar. He blinked.

You stepped closer, arms crossing. “You never care when I say I love you. But suddenly you’re calling me yours the second someone else talks to me?”

Mingyu’s mouth opened. Then shut. “…I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he admitted, voice low.

Your expression softened just a little. “It’s not your job to chase me,” you said, quieter now. “But you don’t get to be jealous if you’re not even in the race.”

And then you left him there. Again. Heart pounding. Jaw tight. Mind reeling. Because for the first time, he finally wanted to be.

It’d been a week since the party. Since you walked away from him. Since the words “you don’t get to be jealous if you’re not even in the race” replayed in his mind like a broken record that only he could hear.

And you’d gone quiet. Not cold. Not angry. Just… quiet.

Still warm, still friendly, still kind. But you didn’t reach for him first anymore. Didn’t text him random memes at 2 a.m., didn’t drag him into late-night convenience store runs or demand he try whatever new snack you discovered.

You weren’t ignoring him. You were just… living. And he was suffering. He didn’t know what to do with it—this space you’d quietly drawn between you. It wasn’t a punishment. It was just a shift. And it scared the hell out of him.

Because if you weren’t chasing him anymore… what did that make him?

You were at the café near campus, flipping through a book when he walked in, half-expecting you to call out to him like always.

You didn’t. You didn’t even look up.

He grabbed a drink anyway. Sat down across from you like it was muscle memory. He didn’t even ask.

You glanced up with a small smile. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he replied, suddenly feeling like he was sitting across from a stranger he used to know by heart.

A beat of silence. “You’ve been busy?” he asked.

You blinked. “Not really. Just doing my thing.”

Your thing used to include him. Now it didn’t. You turned another page, unfazed.

Mingyu’s leg bounced under the table. “You… haven’t been texting.”

Your eyes flicked up again, curious. “I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

He opened his mouth. Shut it. “I mean, not supposed to. Just—used to.”

You nodded slowly. “Guess I’ve just been waiting to see if you’d ever text first.”

Silence again. And it killed him. Because he hadn’t. Not once. Not really. Not unless you prompted it. Not unless you pulled it out of him. And now? He didn’t know how.

“…Do you want me to?” he asked.

You gave a soft smile. “Only if you mean it.”

You went back to reading. Calm. In control.

Mingyu sat there, staring at the rim of his cup, feeling like the entire world had tilted on its axis. Because for the first time—he felt like he was chasing you. And he didn’t even know when the race started.

It was a small get-together. Nothing fancy. Someone’s apartment. Music low, drinks flowing, people sitting on the floor or perched on counters.

You were sitting on the armrest of a couch, chatting with Jun. Of all people, of course it had to be Jun. Tall, charming, occasionally too smooth for his own good.

You weren’t even flirting. Not really. Just laughing at something he said, sipping from your can, looking relaxed and unbothered. But from across the room, Mingyu was dying. He was standing with Soonyoung, half-hearing the conversation about some new ramen spot. His eyes, though—locked on you.

You looked happy. And it hit him like a truck. He used to make you laugh like that. Used to be the one you leaned toward when something was funny. Used to be the one in your orbit—no, the center of it.

And now? You were drifting. And he was the one left behind.

Jun nudged your shoulder. Said something with a wink. You didn’t wink back—but you smiled. Bright. Easy. And Mingyu’s stomach twisted so hard he had to look away.

“What’s wrong with you?” Soonyoung asked.

“Huh?”

“You look like someone just ran over your dog.”

Mingyu blinked, then tried to laugh it off. “Nah, I’m fine.”

But his fists were clenched. His jaw was tight. His drink had gone warm in his hand.

And his heart? Pounding. Because that feeling in his chest—that low, gnawing ache?

It wasn’t annoyance. It wasn’t confusion. It was fear.

Fear that someone else was going to see you the way he should’ve. That someone else was going to chase you the way he didn’t. That someone else was going to love you out loud— and you were finally going to let them.

And worst of all? That he would only realize how badly he wanted you… when it was already too late.

It was past midnight. He stared at your contact name for fifteen minutes. You hadn’t texted him all day. No meme. No inside joke. No check-in about dinner plans or asking if he remembered to eat.

It was quiet. And Mingyu hated it. He tried everything. Showered. Cleaned his kitchen. Scrolled through TikTok. Walked his dog… twice. But his brain kept going back to that laugh you gave Jun. To the soft smile you gave anyone lately that wasn’t him.

So he caved.

[12:17am]

you up?

He stared at the bubble. Waited. No reply.

[12:20am]

couldn’t sleep. thinking about you. idk why.

That was a lie. He knew why. He’d known since the karaoke night. Since the café. Since the second you stopped chasing him. He was unraveling and didn’t know how to ask you to catch him.

[12:26am]

sorry if that’s weird. ignore me if you want.

He tossed the phone on his bed. Pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. God, he missed you. And for once, it wasn’t because you were gone. It was because you were finally standing still— and he had never even tried to meet you halfway.

Mingyu knocked on your door just before noon. You opened it, sleepy and hair messy, hoodie slipping off your shoulder. You blinked. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he said, voice low. “I, um…”

You raised a brow. “You good?”

“I texted you last night.”

“I saw.”

He fidgeted. “You replied.”

“Yeah. I didn’t want you to think I was ignoring you.”

You stepped aside, letting him in like it was nothing. But everything in your apartment felt different now—colder, somehow, even with the sun spilling in through the window.

He sat on the couch. Watched you shuffle to the kitchen and pour cereal like it was a normal day. But it wasn’t. Not to him. “Did you mean it?” he asked suddenly.

You paused, spoon halfway to your mouth. “…Mean what?”

“That you weren’t chasing anymore.”

You set the bowl down on the counter. Turned to face him, expression unreadable.

“I never said that.”

“But you stopped.”

“I got tired,” you said quietly.

And there it was again. That same weight. The same ache in your voice that he’d been pretending he didn’t hear for weeks.

“I miss you,” he said, all in one breath. “Like—us. Talking. Hanging out. The way things were.”

You tilted your head. “What part of me do you miss, Mingyu? The one who loved you too loudly, or the one who let you get away with pretending you didn’t hear it?”

Silence. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Swallowed hard. You smiled, just a little. Bittersweet.

“I’m not punishing you,” you said gently. “But you can’t miss something you never let yourself have.”

You picked up your cereal again and walked back to the couch. Plopped beside him like nothing happened. But Mingyu? He felt like he’d just fallen through the floor. Because you were right. You always were.

And now that he wanted you… he wasn’t sure he still deserved you.

It started with the coffee. You found it sitting outside your door one morning. Still warm. Your usual order. No note. Just there.

You figured it was a one-time thing. Until it happened again. And again. The third time, you opened your door fast enough to catch him turning to leave.

“Mingyu.”

He froze. Turned, sheepish. “Hey. Uh. Morning.”

You blinked down at the cup in your hand. “Is this you apologizing or bribing me into friendship again?”

“Both?” he winced.

You narrowed your eyes. “And what are you trying to say with coffee?”

“That I remember how you take it?” he offered, voice small.

You stared.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, that sounded lame. I just—I wanted to do something. I know I don’t say things right sometimes, and I mess up a lot, and I never gave you what you deserved, and—”

“Mingyu.”

He shut up instantly.

You sighed, stepping back to let him in. “Come in before someone sees you trying to grovel in the hallway again.”

Then there was the playlist. You got the link in the middle of the night. No message. Just: “this made me think of you.”

You clicked it. The first track? “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” You almost laughed. Almost cried.

Especially when halfway through the playlist, he added a recording of himself—talking to the mic like he was on a voicemail.

“...I know you probably think this is dumb. But this is me trying. I don’t know how to do the big, movie-style thing. I just know I miss you. And I never stopped. I’m just… really late. I’m sorry I didn’t start chasing sooner. I thought I had time.”

Your chest ached.  Because it was clumsy. And painfully Mingyu.

Then there was the time he showed up with flowers—comically too large for the vase you didn’t even own—and got stung by a bee in the process of picking them because he insisted they were from “the nice tree you always point at during spring.”

You had to ice his hand and scold him for being reckless. He grinned the whole time. Even as it throbbed.

Because he got to be near you again. And he didn’t mind pain if it meant earning your trust back.

It wasn’t a smooth comeback. But you could see it in his eyes now. He wasn’t just sorry. He was scared. He was hopeful. He was learning what it meant to chase with your whole heart.

And slowly… you started to run toward him too.

It didn’t happen during a grand gesture. It wasn’t some sudden, cinematic confession under pouring rain or in the middle of a crowd.

It was quiet. It was slow. It was Mingyu.

You were cleaning up after a group dinner. The others had gone home already, the dishes were half-done, and music played faintly from your phone in the corner. He was drying plates beside you. Shoulder brushing yours. Humming off-key to some song neither of you had heard in months.

You laughed when he dropped a spoon for the third time.

He whined dramatically. “Why are spoons so slippery?”

“Why are you so useless in kitchens?”

He gasped. “Excuse me, I was being a very helpful dish elf.”

“More like a dish hazard.”

“You wound me.”

You grinned, flicked water at him. He retaliated with a soap bubble to your cheek.

And then— your laughter slowed. So did his.

You looked up. And he was already watching you. Eyes soft. Like he was memorizing the exact shade of your smile.

“Hey,” he said, voice low.

You blinked. “Yeah?”

He set the towel down. Hands suddenly unsure. “Can I—” he hesitated. “Can I say something stupid?”

You arched a brow. “Since when has that ever stopped you?”

He huffed a laugh. But his gaze didn’t leave yours. “I think I loved you back the whole time,” he said. “I just didn’t know what to do with it.”

You froze. His voice—so steady, so raw—barely broke over the words.

“I thought if I didn’t say it, it wouldn’t be real. Or I wouldn’t lose it. But I was losing you anyway. And I hated it. I hated seeing you with anyone else, hated that I never tried when you gave me everything. And I don’t want to be that guy anymore.”

Silence. He stepped closer. One hand reaching—slowly, giving you space.

“I want to be the one who chases now. And if it’s not too late, I want to catch up to you.”

You stared at him. Eyes burning. “Mingyu—”

“I mean it,” he said, soft. “I love you.”

And this time? He didn’t flinch saying it. He didn’t take it back. He just stood there, heart wide open. You stepped forward. Wrapped your arms around his waist. Buried your face in his chest as his arms folded around you like second nature.

“You’re late,” you whispered.

“I know,” he murmured into your hair. “But I’m here now.”

And just like that—after all the times you confessed first— after every whispered “I love you” thrown into the dark—he finally said it back. And this time?

You didn’t have to chase him anymore. He was already right beside you.

[wontechno]

I READ IT, it’s so cute

that's awkward

🌙 starring. Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader 

🔮 preview. Wonwoo wears glasses, but he’s not blind. He knows you’re a very gorgeous girl, and you’re sweet and smart to top it all off. He’s used to restricting himself, not allowing visions of you in compromising situations to pass through his mind’s eye, although this image is strictly medical, and he knows it shouldn’t stir something inside of him, but it does anyway, and a wave of shame passes over him as a result.

tw/cw. Protected sex, lots of talk about birth control/IUD’s in specific, awkward warning, fingering, praise, dirty talk, Wonwoo’s a touch pervy, dry humping, grinding, foreplay, multiple reader orgasms, orgasming together, breast/body worship, etc… 

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 6.7k 

🍭 aus. Best friends to lovers, nurse!Wonwoo, roommates au, crack/comedy, realism, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I’m not going to lie, this one is awkward comedy crack realism. I thought it would be funny to touch base on birth control, and some of the weird things that happen with IUDs. while birth control is often mentioned in passing in fic, I’ve never seen an in depth thing about it, or a fic with a plot centered around an IUD gone rogue lol. I love awkward nurse bestie Wonwoo, and I hope you do too!

Prologue:

“You look tense,” Wonwoo, your best friend, notes as you sit down with him in the library. “What was that phone call about?”

“It was my roommate Sumi,” you sigh. “She’s decided to move in with her boyfriend, and now I don’t know how I’m going to afford the apartment.”

The nursing major pushes his glasses back up his nose, studying you in the quizical way he’s been studying everyone since you were children. “So what are you thinking?”

“I don’t know. Give up the lease? Move out of my dream apartment on campus and go live with my parents, deal with the two-hour commute-” Even thinking about it is making your heart race with anxiety, and you let out a huff, putting your head down on the table.

“There are other options,” Wonwoo points out.

“Like what?”

“Find another roommate.”

“Sumi was enough of a mess to live with, and she’s been my friend since I met her at the welcome-to-university day last year. Where am I going to find a nice, quiet roommate, who doesn’t bring her boyfriend over to bang every night or want to throw parties or leave the kitchen a mess-”

Wonwoo chuckles, leaning back in his chair as he watches your meltdown.

“If it’s not weird, I could move in with you,” he offers once your rant ends.

You stare at him.

Wonwoo’s been your best friend since grade school, and although the two of you are super close, you’d never considered a coed living situation with him. You know he’s a clean freak with a hint of ocd, it’s part of the reason he’s doing so well with his nursing classes- but, could you really live with him?

You’ve always found Wonwoo to be attractive, well, the attraction had grown in high school when the thin sweetheart had grown out a bit, his shoulders broadening and his baby fat disappearing with frequent stints at the gym. 

“Would you really do that?” you ask. “Move in with me?”

Wonwoo shrugs. “My lease is up on my one-bedroom. Your place is actually on campus, so I wouldn’t have to commute thirty minutes to and from school. We’re comfortable with each other, and we’ve been friends long enough to sort out any roommate growing pains. I think it could work out.”

He’s always so reasonable, so logical, and staring at this man, you realize he’s found the perfect solution to your problem, just as he always does.

“You know what, Wonwoo?” You let out a breath and find yourself smiling. “Let’s be roommates.”

One:

Before you’d moved in with Wonwoo, you two had been extremely close, but after a year and a half of living together, the only way you could be closer is if he was literally inside of you and fucking your brains out every day.

It’s because of this closeness, as well as his major, that you go to him when you begin to have stomach aches that persist for two weeks.

The nurse-to-be is sitting in the living room, reading through a textbook with a notepad to jot on when you approach.

“Hey, I’ve got a question for you,” you say, taking a seat next to him.

“What’s up?” he asks, immediately putting his studies to the side to focus on you.

“I’ve been having these stomach aches,” you sigh.

“Has your diet or water intake changed recently?”

“No.”

“So you’re eating properly and not resorting to a one hundred percent ramen-based diet like you did last final season?”

You laugh, pushing his knee. “No, I’m being good, I promise!”

He studies you carefully. “What kind of stomach pain?”

“Sometimes it’s sharp, and sometimes it’s like a dull ache.”

“Show me the location?”

Releasing a sigh, you bring your hand to your lower abdomen. “It’s kind of around here.”

Wonwoo looks down at the spot you’re indicating, then back up to you. “When was your last period?”

“Like… two weeks ago?”

“So you’re not due for one, which means it’s not period pains.”

“I know period pains,” you assure him, “and this is different.”

“Would you say it’s in a similar location to your usual period pains?”

You know his line of questioning immediately, and you let out a scoff. “I’m not pregnant, Wonwoo. We both know this is a celibate apartment since we’re married to our studies, and besides, I have an IUD.”

Wonwoo nods, and you can see the wheels in his mind turning. “How long have you had the IUD?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, a couple of years? Why is that relevant?”

“Well, I don’t know much about birth control, but I do know that sometimes IUDs or other birth control implants can… shift.”

Shift.

The word sounds so ominous, and you can’t help the mortified expression that crosses your face. “My IUD hasn’t shifted,” you insist. “That can’t be what’s happening.”

Wonwoo shrugs. “If you say so.”

Your mouth feels dry, and the idea that the tiny foreign birth control object inside of you has shifted makes you feel nauseous, so you’re impatient to change the subject.

“I’m sure it’s just anxiety or something,” you tell him, letting out a deep breath.

“Keep an eye on it, and let me know if the stomach pain persists. If you need me to take you to the on-campus hospital, I’m sure they’d figure it out for you. Give an ultrasound if they think it’s IUD-related, or offer alternative possibilities.” 

“I appreciate that, but I’m sure it’s nothing,” you insist. For someone who’s best friends with a nurse, you don’t like hospitals very much, and getting the IUD inserted had been a traumatic enough experience to deter you from anything gynecological until the timeline on your implant has ended. You’ve got a couple of years until you’ll need to get the bugger taken out, and nothing is going to inspire you to go check on it, especially not a recurring stomach ache. 

Two:

Wonwoo’s walking to a seminar with his classmate Yeji when you pop into his mind. It’s been a couple of days since you told him about your stomach aches, and he wants a female perspective on it.

He’s heard horror stories about IUDs and other forms of birth control, but Wonwoo’s man enough to admit he doesn’t know enough about the subject.

“Hey, Yeji?” Wonwoo asks.

“What’s up?” she responds, not looking up from her phone, where she’s looking over notes to prep for the seminar.

“So my roommate mentioned she’s been having cramps for a while-”

“Is she eating and drinking water okay?”

“Yeah, she’s good.”

“How about alcohol?”

“Neither of us are big drinkers,” Wonwoo admits.

“Okay, what about her period?”

Wonwoo loves how Yeji is asking all the questions he’d asked, it’s a sign he was doing the right line of enquiry. Wonwoo respects his classmate, and to know they have the same thought process is encouraging.

“She’s not due for it yet, not for another week or two.”

“Is she on birth control?”

“An IUD.”

Yeji looks up from her phone, and there’s a knowing twinkle in her eye, making Wonwoo chuckle.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I think we’re thinking the same thing.”

“It’s probably an IUD-related issue,” Yeji confirms. “Was the pain in her lower abdomen?”

“Uh huh.”

“Kind of like an ache, but sometimes sharp feelings too?”

“Yeah.”

“She has to check for her strings,” Yeji deduces.

There’s an immediate rush of embarrassment and heat to Wonwoo’s ears, and his voice cracks when he repeats, “Check for her strings?” 

“You know, reach up in there and see if she can feel them. That’s a good way to see if the IUD is in place without needing an ultrasound or a trip to the hospital.”

Wonwoo swallows thickly. He’s a nurse, and physical things like this shouldn’t affect him so much, but there’s something about the notion of you checking for your own strings-

Wonwoo wears glasses, but he’s not blind. He knows you’re a very gorgeous girl, and you’re sweet and smart to top it all off. He’s used to restricting himself, not allowing visions of you in compromising situations to pass through his mind’s eye, although this image is strictly medical, and he knows it shouldn’t stir something inside of him, but it does anyway, and a wave of shame passes over him as a result.

“I’ll uh,” Wonwoo coughs, “I’ll pass on the message to her.”

“It’s good to check your strings frequently,” Yeji continues, completely oblivious to Wonwoo’s discomfort. “If she has any sexual partners-”

“She’s single,” Wonwoo interjects, unable to help himself.

“Well, IUDs can be knocked out of place even without something poking at them, so you never know,” Yeji shrugs. 

God, Wonwoo had known there would be challenges that came with living with a member of the opposite sex, but he’d never imagined having to discuss female anatomy, birth control, and the checking of IUD strings. 

Three:

You’re sweating.

One foot is up on the bathtub, the other firmly on the ground, and you’re bent at an odd angle trying to reach inside of yourself to find some stupid IUD strings.

Wonwoo had come home and shyly told you that there’s an at-home way to check for IUD shifting, and you’d been less than enthusiastic about it- but more enthused about the idea of checking yourself than going to a clinic and having someone else do it for you.

This whole thing is awkward, and try as you might, you simply can’t feel any strings inside of you.

With a sigh of annoyance, you pull your fingers away, removing your foot from the tub so you can wash your hands.

Your heart is racing, panic and anxiety setting in- if the strings aren’t there, that means the IUD is misplaced, which means a gyno visit, which might actually be the end of the world for you right now.

You’re not ready to accept that fate, and desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Wonwoo?” you call, finding your best friend in the living room.

He looks as nervous as you feel, which is a foreign emotion on the generally stoic man’s face.

“Did you find them?” he asks. 

You shake your head.

“Well, what if we go to an urgent care clinic? Or set up an appointment with your doctor?” he suggests.

“My doctor is a man, and the clinics might have a male doctor, and they’d probably want to check on the spot without sending a referral to the place that put the IUD in, and- Well,” you can feel tears burning in your eyes, “I really don’t have the mental capacity to have a man I don’t know looking up inside me right now-”

“I could call Yeji-”

“I don’t even know Yeji,” you groan. “This whole thing is so fucking awkward.”

“So.. what are you going to do?”

“I hate to ask this…” correction, you can’t believe you’re about to ask this, “but… could you maybe… would you, uh… do you maybe want to help me check for the strings?” 

Wonwoo simply stares at you.

“Please?�� 

He swallows thickly. “I’ll go get some surgical gloves.”

You’re doing this, and you’ve just got to suck it up. As awkward as the idea is of your childhood best friend fingering you to find some fucking IUD strings is, the notion of some random man at a hospital doing it is even worse.

While Wonwoo is getting gloves, you go to your room to change into a dress. That way, you’ll be covered, but there will still be easy access.

Once you’re dressed, you head to the bathroom, where you find Wonwoo waiting. There’s a bottle of lube on the sink, and it’s clear he’s slicked up his gloved fingers in preparation. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to a walk-in?” he asks, and you can tell from the pink of his ears that he’s as awkward about this as you are. 

“Wonwoo, you’re just going to close your eyes, put your fingers into something, and see if strings poke you,” you tell him, letting out a deep breath. “It will be simple.” You’re trying to convince yourself, but it’s not working.

Now it’s Wonwoo’s turn to sigh. He kneels down on the floor, then actually closes his eyes.

“Can you guide my hand?” he asks.

“Yeah.” You swallow a lump in your throat, reaching to grab his wrist. Slowly, you bring his fingers between your thighs. “It’s uh, right here.”

The first contact of Wonwoo’s gloved digits on your core has you jolting, and your skin immediately heats with embarrassment.

“After this one, remind me to never get another IUD,” you groan.

“There are other methods,” he muses, his fingers gently slipping into you with aid from the lube. 

“I don’t want pills or an implant, or a shot, or one of those diva cup ring things,” you insist.

“Condoms are pretty dependable.”

“Yeah, if a man actually wants to wear one. Most guys are such crybabies about a bit of rubber that they’d rather put their girlfriend through humiliation of IUD insertion, or the trauma of pills that fuck up your emotions and body-”

You’re so busy ranting that you almost don’t notice Wonwoo’s fingers pushing deeper, but then he begins searching around, and he accidentally makes contact with your G-spot, which immediately makes you choke on your words.

“Sorry,” Wonwoo says softly. “Uh, tell me more about bad birth control?”

“Yeah, uh…” God, you can feel yourself sweating, and you can’t bring yourself to look down at Wonwoo, so you close your eyes, tilting your head back to focus on your female rage rather than your hot best friend inspecting your pussy for IUD strings. “The fact that men get sedation or whatever for vasectomies but women still have to get this shit inserted with no local anasthesia or anything, it’s barbaric and misogynistic, not to mention anti-woman.”

“That definitely sounds like a double standard,” Wonwoo agrees.

“If men had to endure the pain we do for an IUD male equivalent procedure, they’d for sure get full sedation and pain meds,” you declare.

“You’re probably right about that.”

“Wonwoo?”

“Yeah?”

“Please tell me you can feel the fucking strings.”

“No luck, yet. Sorry.”

You groan. “You uh… feel pretty deep in there.”

“I’ve got long fingers.”

“Yeah, that’s why I wanted you to do this.”

“If I’m being honest, I think we should call it. I can’t find any strings.”

“Just…” You swallow the lump in your throat. “One more minute.”

“If you say so.”

A bead of sweat rolls down your neck, your heart racing in your chest. 

Please find the strings. Please for the love of God-

“Wait, I think something just poked me!” Wonwoo tells you, and your eyes flash open.

“Is it the strings!?”

He pushes his fingers just a touch deeper, and after a moment, Wonwoo nods. “I think it’s the strings!”

“Thank God!” you practically scream. 

In response, Wonwoo tears his hand away from you, and you immediately cover yourself with your dress again.

Your best friend opens his eyes and looks up at you. “We found the strings, but I still think you should get a referral for a minimally invasive ultrasound just to make sure it’s in place where it should be.”

“Wonwoo, we’re going to celebrate the small wins,” you tell him. “And we are also never going to speak of this ever again to anyone, do you understand?”

He nods solemnly. “I have zero memory of anything that just took place.”

“Good boy.” 

Four:

As someone who’s entering the medical field, Wonwoo knows he’s not supposed to feel weird about the human body.

After all, a body is just a body. 

But… there’s something about the fact that he was just up and close with your body, and he feels ashamed that the whole situation is affecting him the way it is.

There shouldn’t be anything sexy about stomach aches and possible misplaced IUDs, and yet… Wonwoo feels flushed every time he thinks about it.

You’ve been best friends since you were both children, but it’s a far reach to say that Wonwoo has ever seen you as a sister. The two of you had been inseparable for your younger years, and when you’d both hit puberty, the dynamic had shifted somewhat.

Sure, you’ve both had significant others, and been supportive of each other in everything- but… Wonwoo can’t pretend he’s not attracted to you.

It’s something he’s always been able to push to the side, after all, he’d never jeopardize your connection for the chance of getting his rocks off. He’s not that kind of man, which is why this whole IUD situation has put him in such an uncomfortable position.

It’s been two days since he checked your strings, and things have felt different. The two of you don’t know how to be around each other now, and that’s evident by the way you both stutter and give each other a wide berth in the kitchen at dinner time.

Wonwoo can feel his skin getting warm as he steps back to give you space to move to the fridge, and he swallows the lump in his throat, uncomfortably adjusting his glasses.

“I feel like maybe we both need a drink,” you say with a deep sigh.

The two of you are not big on alcohol, but there’s a mixed spirit drink bottle in the top cupboard for extreme situations, and this definitely feels like the right time for it.

Wonwoo helps you pour the liquid into two large glasses, and with an awkward smile, you clink your cup to his own before taking a sip.

“Let’s watch something,” you suggest next, and the two of you go to the living room.

You’re both interested in Netflix documentaries, and you find one that looks interesting. It’s something to get your mind off of things, but as Wonwoo continues to drink, his thoughts start to wander.

As a non-drinker, Wonwoo’s tolerance is substantially lower than he’d like it to be, and he can feel his skin heating. His mind feels fuzzy now, and his gaze keeps slipping over to you.

The two of you can’t live this way.

You just can’t.

Things can’t be this awkward forever, and if there was ever a time to tell you he’s into you as more than a friend, it would be now.

One episode of the documentary finishes, and as the screen cuts to credits, Wonwoo lets out an extremely deep breath.

“I need to tell you something,” he states.

“God.” You immediately hide your face, nearly knocking over your drink in the process. “What is it?”

“I don’t want things to be awkward between us because I had to help you find your IUD strings,” Wonwoo says first. 

“Well, there’s not much we can do about it, can we?”

“I like you.”

“Huh?” You look over at him with confusion.

“This might make it more awkward if you don’t feel the same way,” Wonwoo admits, his mouth getting dry. “But… I like you a lot, and… helping you with that whole thing… well, it doesn’t make me see you any differently. In fact, uh… maybe kind of the opposite.”

Wonwoo can’t believe the words coming out of his own mouth.

Did he just admit that being gloved and two fingers deep in your pussy made him even more into you?

Yes. Yes, he did. 

“I think maybe it’s time for bed,” you tell him, and his heart sinks in his chest.

“Okay. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, we can talk about it in the morning.” 

The two of you stand up after turning the TV off, and Wonwoo doesn’t even know if he should look at you.

Then, surprisingly, you step forward, cupping his face and pressing your lips to his cheek. “Get some sleep,” you tell him.

He stands there in shock as you head to your room, offering him an awkward smile as you close the door behind you.

Wonwoo continues to just exist blankly, unmoving in the living room for a solid five minutes before he’s able to shake himself out of things. 

He doesn’t know what the future might bring, but the future is best brought sober. 

Five: 

You’re sitting in the kitchen when Wonwoo comes out of his room. 

Neither of you have classes today, and you’re kind of happy about that, because Wonwoo looks disheveled in a way you’ve never seen him look before.

His glasses are askew, his hair is a curly mess, his eyes have bags under them like he’s hardly slept-

“You okay?” you ask immediately.

Wonwoo lets out a deep breath. “Sorry about last night. I said some things I shouldn’t have, and I probably hurt our friendship-”

“It’s fine,” you assure him.

“No, it’s not. I stepped over a boundary-”

“Wonwoo,” you say his name firmly, grabbing his attention. “You didn’t mess things up. You told me you like me, and I wanted to say it back, but you were drunk, and I thought it would be best to tell you when you were sober, or at least… hungover or something.”

Wonwoo blinks at you. His lips part, but he’s not able to speak for a few moments. “You like me too?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Like… as more than a friend?”

“I mean, you and I have been inseparable since we were kids. I’ve always had a crush on you, Wonwoo, but I pushed it aside for our friendship.”

“So did I.”

“Who knew all it would take was an IUD and a very awkward situation of trying to find us for us to admit this sort of thing?” You let out a small laugh, and Wonwoo joins in with you, which eases your anxieties.

“So…” He swallows thickly. “What now?”

“We could just watch movies and hang out today, you know, like a lazy Sunday date.”

“But we watch movies and hang out all the time, shouldn’t I… I don’t know, take you out for brunch or something?” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Well, I was thinking, while watching our show, we could cuddle, which isn’t something we’ve ever done.”

“I think I would like that,” Wonwoo admits.

“How about you go find us a new show, and I’ll make you some ramen. It looks like you need some food.”

Wonwoo nods, moving to the living room while you get water boiling for the noodles.

You’re trying to hide it, but you feel jittery. At the same time, the awkward atmosphere has shifted. Things feel a touch back to normal, but amplified in a way. No longer are you just making food for your roommate; you’re making food for a man who likes you the way you like him.

Suddenly, things feel domestic in a way they’ve never felt before, and that sensation brings you joy as you prepare the ramen and join Wonwoo in the living room.

The two of you agree on a show, and in the first fifteen minutes, Wonwoo slowly eats and sips on water.

Once he’s finished, he sets the bowl to the side. 

“So… do you want to move closer?” he asks.

Your heart is racing as you snuggle up to his side, and Wonwoo’s arm goes around you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You release a deep sigh, already very comfortable, and it’s in this position that you spend most of the day.

The whole documentary miniseries you’re watching comes to a conclusion, and you shift. You sit back up to stretch, and Wonwoo watches you.

When you let out a sigh and allow your arms to rest by your sides again, Wonwoo finally asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Your heart lurches into your throat, and you swallow it back down.

“Yeah.”

He leans forward, and you mirror the motion.

You stare at your best friend, admiring all the little things about his handsome face.

He cups your cheek, thumb stroking your skin.

The moment feels suspended in time. It feels fast, yet slow, all at once, and then, Wonwoo closes the distance.

His mouth meets yours, hesitantly at first, but when you lean forward, grabbing his shoulders, he relaxes a little.

Neither of you are dreaming this up; it’s real.

You’re kissing your best friend, and fuck, it feels so good.

You love how gentle Wonwoo is, how it’s not immediate intensity. He’s soft, and his motions are tentative, as if he’s trying to figure you out.

Meanwhile, a need is growing inside of you, so you’re the one to take things to the next step. You open your mouth, licking Wonwoo’s lip, and he mirrors you.

A soft moan escapes you, and you shift closer, wanting to be pressed to him, wanting to feel his heart as it races alongside your own.

Things are getting heated fast, and soon, you’re crawling on top of him, straddling his hips on your living room couch.

Wonwoo’s hands stay in a respectable place on your hips, but it’s simply not enough for you anymore.

You reach down, guiding his grip to your bum.

Wonwoo groans beneath you, breaking the kiss to look up at you. “Should we take a minute?”

“Why?”

Wonwoo blushes. “Well, uh…”

That’s when you feel something pressing against your core, and you realize your grinding has caused him to get hard. Your pussy flutters, and you swallow thickly. “Do you really want to stop?”

“Well, I mean… you’ve been having stomach pains. Your IUD might be in the wrong place-”

“You felt the strings, that means it’s there.”

“What if it’s not working?”

“I read online that as long as it’s in me still, it’s likely working.”

“Do you want to risk it?”

You swallow thickly. “I want you.”

“What if this messes things up?”

“It won’t,” you tell him.

“How can you be so sure?”

Wonwoo’s looking at you with such pure eyes, and your heart melts for him. “I just know.”

You can see the moment he gives in. 

You’re both putting your friendship on the line, but if there’s one man in the world who you know would never hurt you, it’s Wonwoo.

Slowly, you press your lips to his again.

The momentum is like it was the first time, a gentle, gradual build, and you’re doing your best not to start grinding on him again.

Your body wants one thing, but your mind knows you have to take this slow.

Wonwoo’s a thoughtful man. He’s a thinker. And thoughts don’t easily slip from his head. You don’t want to scare him away, so you meet his pace, allowing him to be the one who instigates progression.

His hand begins to grip your bum again, and you release a moan, kissing him deeper.

Your fingers thread through his hair, gently tugging to earn your own sounds of pleasure.

God, Wonwoo’s so sexy. Your entire body is humming with energy as you make out like teenagers on your living room couch.

You can feel yourself getting wetter by the second, and soon, Wonwoo seems to break too.

He pulls away from the kiss, letting out a groan. “Do you want to go to my room?”

“Okay.”

You’re breathing heavily as you stand up, and you let Wonwoo lead you to his room. Once you’re there, it’s as if the unknowing comes to the surface again. You and Wonwoo look at each other, two people in a room you’ve been in a hundred times, but this time, everything is different.

It’s like starting from ground zero again, both of you tentatively connecting, lips meeting. His hands are on your hips, and the two of you slowly move toward the bed. 

You grab the bottom of his shirt, and Wonwoo breaks the kiss to allow you to remove it.

God, his body is so perfect. It’s lean but muscled, and even with his heavy nursing workload, he always finds time to go to the gym.

You remove your hoodie next, revealing the lacy bralette beneath.

Wonwoo swallows thickly, his eyes flicking up to meet your own. His ears are turning pink, and you know he’s shy about checking you out, but unfortunately for him, he’s just going to have to get used to it.

You grab his hand, pulling him to the bed, where you sit down first, looking up at him. 

“Can I be honest with you?” you ask.

“Of course.”

“This might be a little awkward for both of us, first times always are,” you note, “but, I think we were always meant to be together, and after this, things will be a lot easier.”

Wonwoo is quiet for a moment, but then he nods. “I agree with that.” 

“Try to get out of your own head for a minute, okay?”

“Okay.”

You stroke his hand, and then you guide it to your breast, prompting him to squeeze you gently.

A soft groan escapes your lips. “Feels good.”

Wonwoo swallows thickly, bringing both hands to your breasts so he can massage you through your bralette.

He continues this for a minute before you get too horny, and you reach behind your back to remove the last piece of fabric blocking him from direct contact with your chest.

As the material slips off, Wonwoo takes a sharp breath.

“It’s okay,” you assure him, guiding his hands back. “I like this.”

His thumb brushes over your nipple, and you shiver, core pulsing with interest. 

“Here,” you offer, “come sit against the headboard.”

Wonwoo does as you tell him, no questions asked, and once he’s situated, you straddle him like you did on the couch.

Your lips meet, and the kiss is filled with passion. His hands are on your hips, but you grab them, guiding him to your breasts again.

It feels so good to be kissing your best friend while he massages your chest, and you begin to grind down against him, eliciting moans from both of you. 

You’re overwhelmed in the best possible way, and you break the kiss, which prompts Wonwoo to kiss your throat, then down to your collar bones- soon, he has your nipple in his mouth, and your whole body lights up with the sensation.

You thread your fingers through his hair, keeping his face pressed against your boobs, a silent plea for him to continue.

Your hips are still swiveling, and you can feel Wonwoo getting harder and harder with each passing second.

Soon, you can’t take it anymore, and you stop. “Let’s get naked.”

“Yeah.”

You get off Wonwoo, standing so you can remove the last of your clothes. He does the same, and then he reaches for his bedside table, removing a condom package and a bottle of lube.

“Condom?” you ask.

“We’re not a hundred percent sure about your IUD yet, and I don’t want to risk anything,” Wonwoo muses.

You decide that if you try to have sex without protection, he’s just going to be in his head, so you promise yourself to get a clean bill of health from your doctor (with perhaps the help of an ultrasound machine), and then you can enjoy the raw feeling of your best friend.

Wonwoo joins you on the bed again, but the condom is still on the side table. It’s clear he wants a bit more foreplay, so you wrap your legs around his hips and draw him close, lips crashing against his own.

The two of you continue to make out, your whole body on fire. One of his hands is still massaging your breast, but then it begins to descend. He rubs your clit, and you whimper, shifting below him for better access.

“Been thinking about fingering you,” he admits.

“Got a taste and you couldn’t forget it, huh?” you tease. “Me neither.”

“Yeah?” He slips two digits into your soaked core. 

“Your fingers are just so long, and they fit perfectly. You hit the perfect spot-” you whimper when he touches the exact location you were just talking about. “Fuck, someone’s a fast learner.”

“I noticed how you reacted last time. It wasn’t the time or place then, but I promised to utilize it later if I ever got the chance,” Wonwoo breathes, stroking your g-spot expertly.

Your eyes close, and you give in to the pleasure, whimpering and desperately clutching his shoulders. 

Wonwoo’s lips move to your throat, and he worships you, making your mind go blank and your legs numb. God, he’s good with his fingers, repeatedly hitting your G-spot while his palm rubs your clit-

“Don’t stop,” you whimper, feeling your release bubbling already. Foreplay and longing have contributed to a fast unraveling, and Wonwoo just knows what you like. Sure, this is a first time for you both, but he knows enough about you to infer things, and your vocal nature edges him on as he works you closer and closer to the edge.

You’re getting louder and louder, and soon, you’re belting out, “I’m gonna cum!”

Wonwoo finger fucks you even faster, and you explode like a firework. Sparks of jittery energy combust through you, taking over your entire body as Wonwoo pleasures you.

You gasp loudly, and Wonwoo helps you ride out the orgasm with unwavering dedication.

His kisses are a constant on your throat, and he works you through it until your core stops pulsing around his fingers.

Then, Wonwoo removes them.

You’re shocked to open your eyes and see your neat freak best friend lick his digits clean, and your core throbs at the sight.

His cock is completely erect, and it looks beautiful. It’s long, but still thick enough to be balanced, if you can describe a penis as balanced, that is.

Wonwoo reaches for the condom package, and you watch, breathless, as he slides the rubber on.

“You still want this?” he asks.

“More than anything,” you confirm, opening your arms to prompt him to come closer again.

“Do you want me to use lube?” he asks.

“I’m wet enough and we both know it.”

“I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he assures you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

God, you love this man.

You’ve loved him for years, and you can tell in this moment that you’re very much at risk of being in love with him within the week. 

You draw his lips to yours as he adjusts his cock to your core, rubbing the tip between your soaked pussy lips.

Wonwoo is slow about pushing into you, giving your body time to adjust.

You haven’t had sex in a while, so it’s definitely a jump from fingers to cock, and you groan into the kiss as he sheathes himself.

Once his hips are flush to your own, your mouths separate so you can both moan at the sensation. Wonwoo swallows thickly. “Should I move?”

“Yeah,” you nod, eagerly awaiting what’s to come. “Feels good already.”

Wonwoo takes a breath as he begins to thrust, it’s shallow and slow at first, but the pleasure is so great that you find yourself grabbing his shoulders.

Your head falls back against the pillows, eyes closing to enjoy everything Wonwoo is giving you.

As his pace accelerates, he draws your lips to his own again, and you kiss him desperately as he fucks you.

One particularly deep thrust has you squeaking, and Wonwoo pauses, breaking the kiss. “I can definitely feel your strings.”

“What?”

“The IUD, I felt them.”

“Like… on your cock?”

Wonwoo laughs. “Yeah.”

“Is that normal?”

Wonwoo shrugs. “I don’t know much about it. But if my fingers could reach them, I guess we shouldn’t be surprised my dick can.”

When you’d gotten an IUD, you hadn’t known any of this stuff. “Did it hurt?”

“Not really, it was just a feeling.” Wonwoo begins to thrust again, but you can tell he’s keeping it shallower.

If he were to go deeper, you get the sense he’s afraid he might mess up your wonky IUD even more, and while part of you wants him to let go and just decimate you, you respect that he’s being careful. 

His lips meet yours again, and the kiss distracts you from all things IUD. 

Each thrust is like heaven, and your core is so soaked that every movement is easy.

You’re whimpering more and more, and Wonwoo’s returning your sounds with noises of his own. 

Sex hadn’t felt this good all those months ago when you had it last, had it? 

No, you think the pleasure is because you’re having sex with Wonwoo, and your whole body warms at the notion.

“You feel so good,” Wonwoo groans, his lips moving to your throat. You love the sensation of his hot breath on your skin, and you thread your fingers through his hair to keep him close.

“Sounds…” you swallow thickly, “sounds like you’re close.”

“Yeah, maybe I need to slow down,” Wonwoo admits.

“It’s okay, neither of us has done this in a long time,” you remind him.

“I don’t want to be a three pump chump.”

You never thought you’d hear that phrase coming from Wonwoo of all people, and it makes you giggle. “You’re not a three pump chump,” you assure him. 

“You’re not going to be disappointed?” he asks.

“We can always do this again in twenty minutes or something,” you point out.

“I guess that’s true,” Wonwoo laughs. “I just want to make sure you’re… satisfied.”

“I’ve cum once already, which is more than I can say for the last guy I was dating, so… I think you’re off to a good start.”

Wonwoo lets out a sigh. He never liked your ex. 

“Okay,” he says finally. Then he kisses you again, beginning to move.

He’s found the perfect amount of depth. It’s deep, but not so deep that he’s hitting your strings or making you uncomfortable.

You give in to the feeling again, forgetting your little interlude as you’re taken over by pleasure once again.

Wonwoo’s fingers thread with yours, and he begins to moan again, getting close to the edge while pleasure builds within you, too.

“I think I can cum soon,” you tell him between kisses. 

Wonwoo doesn’t respond, but his free hand moves between your bodies, and he begins to rub your clit, causing jolts of pleasure to erupt through you again. 

You moan desperately, muscles tightening with each pass of his fingers, combined with his cock working your insides. 

“Don’t stop,” you whimper, gripping the feeling and refusing to let go as it builds-

Wonwoo lets out another groan, and the sound is so sexy it makes your insides twist into knots-

One more rub of his fingers on your clit has you exploding. Your core clamps down on him like a vice, a strangled gasp escaping you as the fireworks return, sparkling through you.

Wonwoo shivers, fucking you even harder, and a moment later, he lets out his own sound of pleasure. His thrusts falter, and although you can’t feel him filling your insides since he’s filling a condom, you can tell from the pulsing of his cock that he’s cumming too.

Your fingers thread through his hair, and you draw him close, both of you panting in the throes of passion. 

His movements stop, and you both just stay still for a few moments, trying to regain composure after two explosive orgasms.

Wonwoo swallows thickly, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips.

Then, he pulls out of you. There’s no mess of cum, no need to clean anything up, so once he’s gone to the bathroom to discard his condom, he returns and collapses into bed with you.

You immediately cuddle up next to his side, releasing a sigh of relief as his arms wrap around you.

For the first time, you can tell Wonwoo’s not thinking about anything, that he’s fully in the moment with you. He looks peaceful, and it makes your heart sing.

Who knew all it would take was an extremely awkward interaction over IUD strings to bring the two of you together like this?

He’s your person, he always has been, and he always will be.

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! IUDs can be a shit show but nurse Wonwoo is so hot.

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview. There’s no contraption to break or misplace inside of you, and being birth control free with the intention of pregnancy feels a little something like liberation from the shackles that once dictated your sexual relationship. 

cw/ tw. unprotected sex, baby making, multiple reader orgasms, fingering, eating out, body/nipple worship, blow job, hand job, baby making, dirty talk, praise, etc…   I petnames. (hers) honey. 

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.3k I teaser wc. 160

🌙 starring. Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader

bonus

You and Wonwoo have been together for four years now, married for one, and life is complete bliss.

Sure, things can be difficult; after all, he’s now a full nurse, and hospital hours can be hectic. But outside of general life ups and downs, your relationship is as solid as it ever has been.

About a month ago, you’d gotten your IUD taken out. It was horribly uncomfortable to get the device removed, but it was almost comical to see the tiny little ‘T’ contraption that had kick-started the most important romantic relationship of your life. You were glad to see the little bugger go, and it’s absence now signifies the start of a new chapter for you and Wonwoo.

In the year you have been married, the two of you have slaved over finances and life planning, and now that your birth control has been removed, your doctor has given you the go-ahead to start trying for a baby.

☀️ to read the full fic AND 2.3k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

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[wontechno]

–ᝰ.ᐟ✮ Mingyu has had a crush on you since the moment he saw you in the hallway — and now, in your final year of university, fate (read: a cursed group project) finally gives him a chance to talk to you.

The only problem? Every time you so much as breathe near him, he malfunctions.

pairing: mingyu x f!reader

genre: fluff, university au, hallway crush to lovers, flustered Mingyu agenda, “hi baby” (he’s dead), reader is a menace and Mingyu loves it

word count: 1.7k

a/n: you’ll catch me in school everyday if someone like mingyu is my hallway crush 🥰🥹 also,, do feel free to send asks/requests!

He’s already at the table when you arrive — laptop open, notes spread out like he’s actually done the readings. But the way he jolts when you pull out the chair next to him makes you wonder if he’s always this jumpy.

You offer a polite smile. “Hey, sorry I’m late. The coffee line was insane.”

“No worries!” he says — a little too loud. A little too fast. “I’ve been here. I mean. Yeah. All good. It’s totally fine.”

You blink. He clears his throat, face already pink.

“I’m Mingyu, by the way,” he adds. “Since, y’know, we’ve never…”

“Right. I know who you are,” you say, smiling a little. “We’ve passed each other a few times.”

He short circuits a little at that. You noticed him?

“Oh. Yeah. Haha. Same. I mean — I’ve seen you. Around. In places. Like. School.” He shuts his mouth. “Wow. That was a sentence.”

You laugh, and he looks like he’s just been personally blessed by the heavens.

“Do you always talk like that?”

“Only when I’m nervous,” he blurts, then panics. “I mean not nervous in general. Just—today. This. You. I mean, this project.”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “You good?”

“Yeah!” he says. “No! Wait — I mean, yes. I’m good.”

You stifle a laugh, glancing at your open notes. “You’re certainly interesting.”

He pauses.

Then stares at you.

“...Is that a compliment,” he asks, eyes wide, “or are you making fun of me?”

You glance sideways, lips twitching. “Yes.”

He blinks. And then grins, cheeks flushed but eyes shining.

Yeah, he’s doomed. And maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t mind.

The second group meeting happens at the library — mostly because you both actually need to get something done this time. Mingyu, for all his nerves, is surprisingly efficient when he’s focused. Keyword: when.

Which is… not right now.

Because right now, you’re leaning over his laptop, your shoulder brushing his, and he swears his brain is buffering.

You point at something on the screen. “That part needs rewording.”

“Yeah,” he says, voice cracking. “Re…word. Definitely. Rewordification.”

You blink.

He wants to disintegrate.

You glance at him sideways. “You good?”

He gives a weak thumbs-up. You smile, and he almost forgets how to breathe.

Then, casually — too casually — you lean a little closer, pretending to read his notes, and say, “Y’know, for someone who was short-circuiting last time, you’re kinda cute when you’re panicking.”

His fingers freeze mid-typing.

“…Sorry, what?” he asks, a little too high-pitched.

You hum, pretending to focus on your own notes now. “Nothing.”

Mingyu stares at you. At the way you’re clearly not looking at him. At the faintest smile tugging at your lips.

And then? He short-circuits again. Not outwardly — he tries to play it cool — but his thoughts are just a blur of:

“did she just call me cute?”

“she did”

“SHE DID”

“play it cool play it cool—WAIT am I smiling too much??”

“does she know I’m smiling?? stop smiling”

“I CAN’T STOP SMILING—”

He’s so deep in this spiral that he doesn’t even notice you sneaking a glance.

You catch the pink in his cheeks. The subtle, dazed little grin he’s trying to hide. You bite your lip.

Got him.

“Didn’t expect that, did you?” you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear.

He turns to you with wide eyes, like he’s been caught.

And then groans, hiding his face in his hands. “I’m so in trouble.”

You laugh softly, nudging his foot with yours under the table. “Only a little.”

He’s determined.

He’s ready.

Mingyu walks into the third project meeting like he’s got a script and a game plan and maybe even a playlist to boost his confidence beforehand. You’re already seated, sipping on iced coffee, flipping through your notes like it’s any other day.

But he knows. Today is the day he returns fire.

“Hey,” you greet with a smile.

He breathes in. Cool. Calm. Charismatic.

“Hey,” he replies — then leans casually against the table. “You look… like a problem.”

You blink.

A beat passes.

“…What?”

He panics. “Wait—no. That came out wrong—”

You raise an eyebrow. “I look like a problem?”

“Not in a bad way!!” he rushes, hands waving. “Like a… a pretty problem. You know. Like the kind of problem people want to have?”

You just stare.

He groans into his hands. “I had a whole line planned. I practiced it in the mirror. I even wrote it down in my Notes app. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.”

You’re already laughing. “Okay, I need to hear the original line now.”

He peeks at you between his fingers, red in the face. “…I was gonna say you look dangerously pretty.”

You pause. “Oh.”

“Like, dangerous in a flirty way!” he adds quickly. “Like—ugh. I don’t know. I’m not good at this.”

You tilt your head, trying to contain your grin. “Do you always rehearse your lines in advance?”

He groans. “Only when I have a crush on the person I’m talking to.”

You freeze. He freezes. You both freeze.

“…Was that—” you begin.

“—too soon?” he cuts in.

“No,” you say, recovering faster than him. “Just unexpected.”

You smile, leaning forward just a little — enough to bring back that flustered look in his eyes.

“Guess I’ll have to keep you on your toes then.”

Mingyu looks like he’s actively fighting for his life.

“God,” he mumbles, half-laughing, “you’re gonna destroy me.”

And honestly?

You’re kinda okay with that.

It’s supposed to be just another project work session — final tweaks, formatting the slides, finishing up citations. You’re sitting side by side at the library table, laptops open, drinks slowly turning watery with melted ice.

And everything is normal.

Until you reach over to grab his iPad to scroll through something — and your hand brushes against his. Just a fleeting touch. But he freezes. Like he’s been tased.

You glance at him. “You okay?”

He nods.

But he is very much not okay. His brain has quite literally shut down.

"Her hand touched mine."

"She touched me."

"I can never wash this hand again—wait, what the hell—"

"Why is my heart beating like an alarm clock—"

You blink. “Gyu?”

The nickname doesn’t help. In fact, it actively hurts his emotional stability.

And then, just to be more of a menace than usual, you sigh softly and say, “Y’know, you’re really handsome when you’re focused.”

You look at him for all of one second. And that’s it. He chokes on air. Like—full-on coughs, splutters, stares at you like you just cast a spell.

“You what?” he manages, eyes wide.

You smirk, perfectly innocent. “Did I stutter?”

“You… you called me handsome.”

“I did.”

“That’s not—you can’t just say that,” he sputters, trying to play it off but his entire existence is blushing.

“Why not?” you shrug, leaning on your hand. “It’s true.”

Mingyu opens his mouth. Closes it. Then opens it again—“Okay, nope. That’s it. I have to say this or I’m gonna explode.”

You raise a brow, intrigued. “Say what?”

He sits up straighter, eyes wild, cheeks pink, hands a little shaky.

“I like you,” he blurts. “I’ve had a crush on you since week one. No—before that. Since I saw you in the hallways last semester and you were wearing those blue headphones and you didn’t even look at me but I was like, woah, she’s cute and probably smarter than me—and then we got paired for this project and I thought I’d get over it but you’re so cool and confident and now you’re touching my hand and calling me handsome and—”

He stops, breathing hard.

You stare. Slowly, you close your laptop.

“Well,” you say, “that was a whole monologue.”

“I know,” he whispers. “Please forget all of it. I’m dying.”

But you’re already leaning closer. And you smile.

“...I like you too, you dork.”

He blinks. “Wait—you do?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Even after that?” he gestures at himself in panic.

“Especially after that.”

And maybe the worst part — or best part — is that you lace your fingers with his under the table like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And he’s just sitting there, dazed and pink, fully convinced he hallucinated the last five minutes.

"So..."

"So?"

"So."

Three of Mingyu’s closest friends stare at him like he’s a puzzle they’re seconds from solving. Which, to be fair, he is.

Because ever since that group project ended, he’s been suspiciously… glowy. Smiling at his phone, humming while waiting for coffee, and not even reacting when Seokmin stole his fries last week.

Suspicious.

And then one of them saw it.

You. Walking past the café table where the boys were sitting. You, tapping Mingyu lightly on the shoulder. You, whispering something in his ear that made his face do a full RGB light show. And you, walking away like nothing happened while Mingyu sat there looking like he had just witnessed God.

Hence, the current interrogation.

Seungkwan squints at him. “You’re dating her, aren’t you.”

Mingyu blinks. “Who?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Seokmin groans. “She was right in front of all our faces a few minutes ago!.”

“I—no—I mean—technically—” Mingyu tries.

“So that’s a yes.”

“I didn’t say yes—”

“You didn’t have to.”

Mingyu groans and hides behind his drink, cheeks already visibly betraying him. “It’s not that big of a deal,” he mumbles.

Joshua raises an eyebrow. “You’ve liked her since before we even had that stats module.”

“Yeah, and now she likes me back,” Mingyu says, pretending to be chill while his ears turn bright pink.

“Whipped,” Seungkwan sings.

“Head over heels,” Seokmin adds.

“Down astronomically,” Joshua finishes.

Mingyu glares at all of them. “You guys are the worst.”

Then:

“Hi, baby.”

Four heads snap around.

You’re standing there behind Mingyu, tote bag over your shoulder, smile easy and sweet like you didn’t just send Mingyu flying off the planet. Your hand goes to his shoulder like it belongs there, and you give it a light squeeze.

Mingyu, in real time: 😳💥🧠💥🫠💥🔴🔴🔴

He short-circuits so hard he forgets what words are. His mouth opens. No sound comes out. His friends are frozen, watching this happen like it’s the Super Bowl.

“Ready to go?” you ask, completely innocent.

He nods. Frantically. You smile, wave at the guys, and walk off ahead.

And Mingyu? Still hasn’t moved.

Seungkwan leans forward, grinning. “Baby?”

Mingyu slaps a hand over his own face. “I’m not gonna survive this, am I.”

Joshua claps his shoulder solemnly. “Nope.”

Seokmin hands him his abandoned fries. “You’re gonna need these.”

[wontechno]

── .✦ My Boyfriend Is Retweeting My Down Bad Era — Jeon Wonwoo SMAU Oneshot

«m.list»

ᯓ★ Synopsis : Dating Wonwoo was always Y/N’s dream—crushing on him for years. And letting him into their old Twitter account..filled with unhinged tweets about him was a nightmare.

Pairing : Idol!Jeon Wonwoo x Reader. Genres : SMAU, Established Relationship, Comedy Warnings : Downbad Reader.

Note : Made this for Wonwoo’s Birthday (07/17)!! Happy Birthday, Wonwoo!! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

© shuuuniee 2025 — Do not copy, translate, or plagiarize my work on other platforms, please and thank you.

[wontechno]

HES SO HOT

he looks amazing i cannot

[wontechno]

GEN Z LUV ᯓ♡ 📲 ˎˊ˗ [p.sunghoon]

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“when our children ask us how did we meet, i’m tellin’ them, ‘gen z luv,’ ‘fyp love,’ ‘ig love.’”

pairings ⟢ down bad tiktoker! sunghoon x fem! reader contains ⟢ profanity, crack/humour, fluff, frank ocean mentioned, one shot! ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ this is a behind of like a tattoo! sunghoon (my ongoing heeseung smau) <3

⟢ while scrolling on tiktok, you decide to comment under a random guy's viral thirst trap video – completely unaware that you just became the love of his life.

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author's note: i laughed so hard editing sunghoon’s tik tok, ANYWAYS LOL just a little drabble i hope u enjoyed reading it!! if you liked sunghoon’s character check out my smau like a tattoo here! 😸 also this song makes me crack tf up SO BADDDD😭😭

copyright © bambiens 2025.