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xylatox · 15 hours ago

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In Between the Lines | cbg chapter 3!! I'm so excited as the story continues :))

I think the moment in reader's room as she watches the drama is so sweet :(, I absolutely love her and want to protect her so bad. — Just as the heroine closed her eyes and the male lead leaned in to kiss her, the door slammed open with a loud, dramatic noise, followed by a voice shouting, "Well isn’t this just picture perfect!”— and the moment is ruined no :((( (not me being invested in her drama)

Gyu and reader will forever be adorable :( I love them so much and how much their relationship has blossomed.

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly as she reread the message. No Taehyun this time? She thought about it for a few moments. It would just be her and Beomgyu, which she was okay with they spent time together often now, just the two of them but never outside of the library. — this is so cute.

Again, I will always love reader and Jiwon's relationship. I'm glad her step mom was busy so she doesn't find out about Gyu and it's cute she managed to evade her dad too.

The moment on the ice was so cute, I just embraced every single word, I genuinely love them so much.

It's super cute that Gyu calls Taehyun to talk about the time they spent as well :(( I love how both of them slowly realize they jabe feelings for the other.

The moment with her dad is so sweet??? he's so supportive I love it.

Taehyun, who had been silently watching, exhaled through his nose and rolled his eyes. He saw right through Beomgyu’s act. He wasn’t just lending her the scarf—he wanted her to have something of his. A quiet, thoughtful gesture. But Taehyun knew Beomgyu well enough to recognize that he wasn’t going to admit it.— adorable :(((

The ending of this chapter was so cute :(( I'm so glad I finally got to read it.

✧*̥˚ In Between the Lines | Choi Beomgyu *̥˚✧ pt. 3

✧ beomgyu x selective mutism fem!reader

✧ part three, word count 11.6k ✧ summary: y/n, a university student with selective mutism, finding solace in solitude. when beomgyu, a curious music student, starts noticing her, their paths cross, and he learns to navigate her silence. ✧ warnings: social anxiety, sooo much fluff!! ✧ an: when i tell you i crashed out about 30 times trying to upload this.... tumblr kept giving me that error when you paste too much text. so every time i would paste from docs tumblr was like ):< and honestly this would've been out sooner but apparently i don't have patience. so ig i learned how to have patience this past week. i'm nervously posting this bc im worried i may have pasted something twice but i am so tired of rereading this- i will double check tomorrow i just want to post this so bad

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The house was quiet. Blissfully, wonderfully quiet. Y/N was home alone for the night—her dad and stepmom were out, likely at some event or gathering. It was Friday, and for once, she didn’t have to worry about the noise or tension that seemed to fill the space when they were around.

Y/N sat at her desk, curled comfortably in her chair, her legs pulled up beneath her. The small TV in the corner of her room, just to the right of her desk, cast a warm glow as her favorite drama played. It was a scene she had been waiting for—the moment the lead characters finally realized their feelings for each other. The soft instrumental built up, and Y/N held her breath, her pencil pausing mid-shade as the male lead reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind the heroine’s ear.

She exhaled, fully immersed in the drama.

The world outside her little room didn’t exist—not even the stress of the day could bother her. Just this moment, just the quiet hum of the television, the soft scratch of her pencil against paper, and the warmth in her chest as the characters on screen shared a long-awaited confession.

Her desk was a small but cozy space, the surface covered with neatly arranged art supplies and small trinkets that made her feel at home. Her latest piece sat in front of her—a carefully drawn night sky over a peaceful cityscape. Deep purples and blues blended under her careful hand, the colors rich and dreamy. She wasn’t doodling this time. This one mattered. It was the kind of drawing she’d take her time with, layering colors until it felt just right.

The scent of kimchi ramen filled the room, steam curling up from the bowl resting on a coaster beside her. Every so often, she paused to take a slow slurp, savoring the spice, the warmth spreading through her chest. Next to it, a bottled green tea sat unopened, condensation gathering against the plastic. A packaged strawberry cream bread rested nearby, waiting for when she was ready for something sweet.

On-screen, the tension between the leads melted into something softer. The heroine hesitated, her voice trembling as she admitted her feelings, and Y/N found herself gripping her pencil tighter.

"Do you think... I could ever be enough for you?" The female lead’s voice trembled as she spoke. She was beautiful, too beautiful to be the underdog, but just like any other typical drama she was cast as the loser.

Y/N’s breath hitched in her chest, her fingers momentarily pausing in their motion across the sketch of a cozy night sky. This was the moment she’d been waiting for. The male lead stepped closer, his gaze softening as he stared into her eyes, a quiet intensity between them.

"You’re more than enough," he whispered, his voice low and steady, his hand reaching out slowly toward hers.

Y/N leaned in, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel the heat of the confession radiating through the screen, her breath caught in her throat. The music swelled, a soft piano playing in the background, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away. Her pencil paused once more mid-air as her attention was fully captivated by the scene.

"Say it," Y/N whispered under her breath, leaning in slightly, almost as if she were the one waiting for the words.

The male lead’s lips parted, pausing for a moment to consider his words. "You’re everything to me," he finally said, his voice thick with emotion, pulling her in even closer to his body.

Y/N's heart soared, and without thinking, she stretched her legs out from underneath her, sitting up straighter, getting closer to the screen as though that might make the moment real. Her feet kicked out excitedly under the desk, her heart fluttering at the confession.

Just as the heroine closed her eyes and the male lead leaned in to kiss her, the door slammed open with a loud, dramatic noise, followed by a voice shouting, "Well isn’t this just picture perfect!”

The moment shattered instantly. Y/N’s feet kicked out again in frustration, a quiet groan escaping her lips as she slouched back in her chair. She stared at the screen, her heart sinking with the interrupted kiss. "Nooo," she whined softly, and pouted at the TV as the scene cut away.

With a huff, Y/N slouched in her chair even more, feeling the pull of the unfinished moment. As if on cue, her phone buzzed on the desk, snapping her out of her dramatic reverie.

It was a message from Beomgyu.

Y/N and Beomgyu spent yet another evening together at the library earlier, chatting and writing about random thoughts. They learned more about each other, really listening to the little details. They discussed what his favorite video games were, Y/N’s dream vacation, and even why Beomgyu had such a deep hatred for mint chocolate chip ice cream. Beomgyu: I just realized I have a test monday. Do you think I should start studying or accept my fate? Helppp

Y/N smiled softly, the weight of the interrupted drama moment lightening as she typed back.

Y/N: Depends. How bad is it? Y/N: Also?? A test on a monday?? gross.

She didn’t have to wait long for his reply.

Beomgyu: Bad enough that I should’ve started a week ago. But also? Not bad enough that I will. I'm cooked either way

Y/N giggled quietly, a soft chuckle that felt good to release.

Y/N: Sounds like fate it is~

She set her phone down with a satisfied smile, but just as she was about to settle back into the quiet of her room, another message appeared.

Beomgyu: Btw, you made it home safe, right?

Y/N blinked, a warm feeling crept up her spine.

And then another text appeared.

Beomgyu: I hope??

Her fingers hovered over the keys again, her heart swelling with a strange happiness she hadn’t expected. She took a breath, her smile softening before she typed back.

Y/N: Yeah, just relaxing.

A few seconds later, another message from Beomgyu popped up.

Beomgyu: Good. Sleep well, okay?

Y/N stared at the screen, her heart fluttering as she reread his words. There was something so simple, yet so sincere about them. A small smile tugged at her lips as she typed back.

Y/N: You too! (:

With a sigh, she set the phone aside, leaning back in her chair. The peace of the room settled around her again, and she let the soft voices from the TV wash over her. Her mind lingered on the warmth of Beomgyu's messages, even though the drama was still playing, she wasn’t paying as much attention to it anymore. The soft feeling of being thought of—that was the thing that lingered, making everything feel a little bit more right. Y/N carefully put the last few strokes on the night sky, adding a shimmer of stars to the deep blue and purple hues. The room felt completely silent now, the only sound the soft scratch of her pencil against the paper as she focused. The drama had finished, and she was all caught up for now, having turned off the TV afterward. It was just her and her drawing now, and the peace of the moment. The emotional tension of the show had faded, replaced by the quiet calm of her room and the soothing rhythm of her hand moving across the page. She glanced up at the clock. It was getting late, but for now, there was no rush. No one was home. No one to hurry her along or pressure her into anything. Y/N set the pencil down and stretched her arms, letting out a content sigh. The house was silent, except for the occasional creak and pop of the old house settling.

With another stretch, she stood up and grabbed her empty ramen bowl, its warmth still lingering against her fingertips. Her strawberry cream bread sat untouched on the desk, wrapped tightly in its package. The faint, sweet scent of it lingered in the air, just enough to tempt her, but she wasn’t quite in the mood for it anymore. She carried the bowl to the kitchen, the silence wrapping around her like a warm blanket. She paused for a moment in the kitchen, savoring the quiet that filled the space. No shouting. No nagging. No sharp words cutting through the air like they did so often.

The emptiness of the house, rather than feeling lonely, felt comforting. It was her time to be free, to breathe without fear of being judged or corrected for the smallest things. She didn’t have to shrink down, didn’t have to hide herself.

After rinsing her bowl and placing it in the drying rack, she walked back to her room, the stillness following her like an old friend. She returned upstairs with a fresh towel, wiping down her desk and tidying up her space. The simple ritual of cleaning brought her a sense of peace, and comfort, a comforting routine before she prepared for bed. Not to mention, she’d spilled some ramen broth earlier, leaving behind a small mess.

As she brushed her teeth, a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She could still feel the warmth of Beomgyu’s presence earlier that evening, and despite the time she spent alone now, his memory lingered in her thoughts.

She rinsed her face, glancing at her reflection in the mirror, and for a moment, she couldn’t help but let out a small sigh. Why am I thinking about him so much?

The thought made her pause. Her stomach did a little flip, and she felt that warmth again, the fluttering feeling that had started creeping in over the past few weeks. Beomgyu had a way of making her feel like she was more than just the quiet girl sitting at the back of the class.

She quickly finished her bedtime routine and changed into comfortable clothes. She pulled the blanket up to her chin, the soft fabric settling around her as she slid under the covers. Her thoughts were still on Beomgyu. I guess I’ve never really had a guy who’s treated me like this before, she thought to herself. It’s... nice.

But it was more than that. As much as she tried to brush it off, she knew there was a growing attraction. She found herself replaying little moments from earlier in the night: his smile, the way his eyes softened when they looked at her, how natural and comfortable it all felt.

It was also the fact that she thought about Beomgyu even on days she didn’t see him, he always crept back into her mind, thinking about him came easily. Not just because he was handsome and sweet… and goofy… beautiful even, but because he truly cared about her. He wanted to get to know her for her, he didn’t care that she didn’t speak.

It was obvious that Y/N had a crush on him. It was funny how easy it felt to admit it to herself now, after all the time she’d spent avoiding those types of feelings. She hated liking someone, it was complicated and she hated complicated feelings, especially when she couldn’t properly express it. It was just easier to not have feelings for someone, that way she couldn’t get hurt. She was afraid of feeling this way, she knew it could tear her apart on the inside. And yet, here she was.

It’s okay, she reminded herself. It’s just a crush. A small one.

Just as Y/N’s eyes fluttered close, she heard the soft vibration of her phone on the wooden side table next to her bed. She didn’t budge at first trying to have some self-control but it only lasted five seconds until her eyes snapped open. Y/N reached her hand out to grab her phone off the table, it was another text from Beomgyu. She couldn’t help it, a soft smile quickly appeared on her face. Beomgyu: Okayyy soo, I know you’re most likely sleeping by now but I was wondering if maybe you wanted to hang out tomorrow?

Her heart fluttered as she read over the text twice. Beomgyu: I mean if you’re not busy already? Since it snowed all week I figured maybe we could go ice skating, I’m sure it won’t be too busy considering the season just started?

Before Y/N could even think about what she was agreeing to she sent a quick reply.

Y/N: Sure (: sounds like fun!

Beomgyu: Sorry, did I wake you? ):

Y/N: No it’s okay!!

Beomgyu: Okay cool. Oh, unlike last weekend, I won’t force Taehyun to be involved. Just us (:

This was different, this would be outside her comfort zone, out in public with Beomgyu. On top of it, she didn’t know how to ice skate.

Y/N groaned loudly as she realized what she agreed to, an entire evening of making herself look like a fool in front of Beomgyu. How embarrassing, she thought, squeezing her eyes closed for a couple of seconds.

“Stupid,” Y/N told herself softly as she looked back at the text messages.

Y/N: Oh! Cool!

She sent the message before even thinking about it, she cringed overthinking it now, it was too short it felt like she was uninterested. Y/N quickly double-texted.

Y/N: I’m excited, it will be nice hanging out… not in the library like usual (:

Beomgyu: I know, we need to hang out outside of school haha

Beomgyu: How about I pick you up from your place? That way we can just go together

The first thought that ran through her mind was her family, she didn’t want Beomgyu to meet them, not yet at least. Especially, her stepmother, she wanted that woman to stay far away from Beomgyu. Y/N had a feeling that her stepmother would do everything she could to embarrass Y/N and make Beomgyu run off.

Y/N couldn’t let that happen, her stomach turned just at the thought, she didn’t want to lose him. The two had begun to grow close together. She figured she’d just watch out the window for Beomgyu like a hawk. Once he pulled up she would just make a run for it, giving him no time to get out of the car.

Y/N nodded to herself as she thought out her escape route.

Y/N: Yeah we can do that

She then sent another message, one that had her address in it.

Beomgyu: Perfect (: I’ll see you around 6:30?

Y/N: That works for me!!

Beomgyu: Okok please go to sleep, you’ll need the rest! Sweet dreams!

Y/N: Sweet dreams~

After Y/N sent that final message she went back to her other messages to Jiwon’s contact. With a few quick swipes, she began typing a message to her best friend.

Y/N: Jiwon. Please tell me you’re not busy tomorrow. I need to facetime you. I need help picking out an outfit ))):

With a deep sigh, Y/N locked her phone and placed it back on the table, she knew Jiwon was sleeping and wouldn’t reply until the morning.

Y/N wanted to sleep but now she was giddy and anxious about tomorrow. She had too many thoughts running through her mind. What was she going to wear? How should she do her hair? Should she wear makeup? This wasn’t a date, was it?

“Oh god…” Y/N rolled onto her side facing the wall, her hand gripping the edge of the blanket and pulling it over her shoulder, she kept a tight grip on it afterward.

Eventually, the thoughts swirling in her mind were enough to lull her to sleep, the nerves didn’t quite calm down though. As Y/N slept, she tossed and turned all night, even her anxiety crept into her dreams. They were filled with every possible thing going wrong the next day.

With a loud huff, Y/N turned to face her phone that sat leaning against a pile of books. She was trying outfits on for Jiwon, she wanted to look good for when she went to hangout with Beomgyu. “I…” Y/N glanced at her reflection in the phone. “Jiwon, I’m not wearing this.” She shook her head, thinking the choice of clothing items were insane. “What–” Jiwon dragged out in a whine. “Why not? It looks adorable on you,” Y/N wore thick tights, a flowy skirt that rested at her mid-thigh, a long-sleeve shirt, and leg warmers. She glanced at her outfit with uncertainty. “Okay, and I’m going ice skating? Which I have never done before… Shouldn’t I be wearing pants or something? I feel like I need more coverage on my legs.” “Beomgyu won’t let you fall,” Jiwon said quickly. “Come on, this is your first date with him-” Before Jiwon could continue talking Y/N stared at her with a hard glare. “Not a date.” “Sure, whatever,” Jiwon rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine, if you’re really such a scaredy cat about getting hurt then wear those cute pants you wore to my birthday party a few months ago…” She took a second to think about the top option. “That… one cute top you have.. And that super cute jacket you wore the other day.” Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at how many times Jiwon had said cute. Y/N walked out of frame to find those items, she dug around in her dresser with shaky hands. She was so nervous for tonight, she wanted to make a good impression on Beomgyu. Eventually, she ended up finding the clothing items Jiwon was talking about then swiftly changed into them, minus the jacket. “This?” Y/N walked back into the frame, she stood there awkwardly, her fingers playing with the bottom hem of the shirt. “Not as cute as the last outfit but this will do, you still look perfect.” Jiwon nodded in approval. Y/N let out a soft huff of air, finally feeling slightly better that she finally had an outfit to wear. The knots in her stomach continued to tighten as the clock ticked closer and closer to the time Beomgyu said he would be picking her up. “Honestly.” Jiwon started, Y/N’s eyes wandered back to the screen to watch her friend take a sip of water before she spoke again. “You look hot, the pants really show off your body, in a good way.” Y/N’s cheeks flushed immediately, not being able to handle the compliment. “Stop…” Y/N whispered, her arms crossing to cover her waist. “What? It’s giving body,” Jiwon told her, “Come on give me a little pose,” Jiwon loved hyping Y/N up, she loved seeing the light in her eyes and how flustered she got, it made her feel like she was doing a good job at being a best friend. Y/N awkwardly placed a hand on her hip and then stuck her left leg out at an angle. “Okay, so, uhm… awesome. Next time I see you we’re gonna practice posing for photos because what the hell are you doing.” Jiwon shook her head with a soft laugh. Y/N covered her mouth as she began to quietly giggle at Jiwon’s words. She knew she looked silly, she always felt weird posing, it felt so unnatural to her. “So, if he asks to take a photo of you tonight, don’t do that. That smile was so forced,” Jiwon continued to laugh at her friend, not in a mean way. Jiwon would never purposely say something to upset Y/N, she knew her boundaries and this was just light teasing for the two. “Okay okay,” Y/N smiled at the phone, her lips curved naturally this time as she was enjoying Jiwon’s teasing. “That! That was perfect Y/N, remember to smile like that,” Jiwon clapped her hands together as she watched Y/N. “Jiwon, I doubt any pictures are going to be taken anyway… wouldn’t that be weird?” Y/N asked Jiwon in an unsure tone. “Why would that be weird? You’re on a cute date– I mean adventure… Don’t you want to remember it? Post it to Instagram?” Jiwon was so happy for Y/N, this is all she wanted for her best friend.

Sometimes it felt like Y/N would never go on a date with someone, considering how shy and anxious she got around people. Y/N never really put herself out there. Jiwon had dreamed of the day where they would talk about boys and get ready for dates while on facetime. “I mean… I guess?” Y/N said unsure of her own response, was that normal? Did people take photos like that all the time? Y/N bit her lip as she thought about it more. New thoughts of insecurity sinking in. She didn’t want to look bad in the photos, she knew how awkward she could be, it was beginning to eat away at her. “Y/N,” Jiwon spoke, pulling Y/N out of her thoughts. “Yeah?” She glanced at her phone. “You zoned out… I was wondering when Beomgyu was going to be there to pick you up?” Jiwon scooted closer to the camera her face right in front of it now. Y/N glanced at the time, “Oh crap, like in a few minutes.” Her heartbeat spiked as she began looking around her room to make sure she had everything she wanted to bring. “Okay don’t forget your scarf, gloves, wallet.” Jiwon began listing off things to help Y/N calm down, she could see how nervous Y/N was just by her jerky movements and shaky hands. Just as Y/N was pulling her jacket on a message popped up across the screen. Beomgyu: I’m here (:

“Oh god…” She repeated a few times. “He’s here,” Y/N's voice was a bit more high pitch now, due to the butterflies swirling about in her stomach. “Jiwon, he’s here. I love you, bye,” Y/N ended the call not even meaning to say farewell like that, she couldn’t think straight. “Oh gosh,” She said softly, grabbing her small bag that contained her wallet and lip balm. She grabbed her phone shoving it in her jacket’s pocket before sprinting down the stairs, forgetting her scarf and gloves on her messy bed. Her room was a disaster at this point, with clothes strewn everywhere from the outfits she’d tried on, and her makeup was scattered across the desk. She promised herself she’d clean it up when she got home later that night. Her eyes immediately fell on her father’s figure who stood at the window in the living room peering out at the street. Y/N ran over to the front door, slipping her shoes on. Her stepmother was in the kitchen washing the dishes. This was perfect, this meant her stepmother would have no idea about Beomgyu being outside. Y/N gave her father a quick wave and a weary smile. “Who–” Before her father could even finish asking his question Y/N was out the door. Her cheeks burned as she saw Beomgyu was already halfway up the steps, she stopped mid step as she looked into his warm eyes. “Hey,” He chuckled softly, a small friendly smile sat on his lips. Y/N took a deep breath before showing him an awkward soft smile, she slowly brought her hand up as if to say hey back. “I figured you didn’t see my text so I was going to knock,” He explained before stepping backward off the steps, with ease. Y/N nodded her head before following behind him, they walked in step to his car, and Beomgyu opened the passenger for her. She nodded her head to him to say thank you before she slid into the warm seat. Beomgyu rounded his car to get into the driver's seat. “Are you cold?” He asked glancing over at Y/N as he typed in the directions to the outdoor ice rink. Y/N shook her head, she was somewhat sweating due to her father almost answering the door. Her eyes fell to her shaky hands, she made the mindful effort to grab onto her sleeves to try and relax herself. Beomgyu turned on some music before he shifted the car into drive. The music was soft, but not drowned out by the engine of the car. He could tell that Y/N was nervous, so he wanted to try and comfort her as best as he could. He waited a few minutes before speaking so she could collect herself. He glanced at Y/N who was looking out the window of the car door. He took in her appearance, she looked beautiful as always, but he noticed a very subtle difference, she was wearing very light makeup. He couldn’t hide his smile, he liked seeing her like this, it was different.

“Have you ever been ice skating before?” Beomgyu asked, his eyes shifting from the road to Y/N. Y/N shook her head and pressed her lips together, feeling awkward, maybe she should’ve told him last night that she didn’t know how to skate. She didn’t want him to feel upset that he had to babysit her the whole time. “What?” He let out a breathy laugh, “There’s no way.” He turned his attention back to the road. Y/N gripped the sleeve of her jacket even tighter, trying to press the nerves away. “Don’t worry, I’ve been skating since I was like… ten… maybe?” He wasn’t sure if he was a year or two off. Y/N raised her eyebrows slightly at his response, that was a long time. “I used to go skating with some of my old friends all the time, you’ll pick it up fast.” Beomgyu would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited about Y/N not knowing how to skate. It was a great excuse to stay close to her, hold her hand, and keep her from falling. This night was going perfectly for him so far. The rest of the ride was filled with Beomgyu telling Y/N stories, he figured he’d do what he’s best at and yap her ear off. He made sure to glance at her every so often to make sure he wasn’t boring her to death. To his surprise she was listening quite closely, her facial expressions were very responsive to what he was saying.

Once, Beomgyu shifted the car into park he glanced at Y/N with a huge smile. “Ready?” Y/N nodded shyly before grabbing her bag off the floor of the car. “Oh, don’t worry, you can leave your bag here. Tonight’s on me, plus I would feel better leaving your bag in here… I don’t trust those lockers sometimes.” Beomgyu said. Y/N was surprised by him, she quickly pulled her phone out and typed. Are you sure?? I don’t mind paying!

Beomgyu’s eyes fell onto her phone screen, the soft blue light hitting his face. “Please, don’t worry, I want to.” Y/N’s heart picked up once again. Her fingers hit the keyboard quickly. Thank you (: Beomgyu smiled softly at the message before he got out of the car, Y/N following his lead. She stayed in step with him but stayed slightly behind him as if he was like some safety shield for her anxiety. As they walked towards the counter Y/N realized she was going to have to let the worker know her shoe size. Y/N pulled her phone out once again and typed her shoe-sized down to show the worker, they were behind a few people so there was still a ton of time, but the nerves gnawed at her. She had to be prepared just in case. Beomgyu noticed her note prepared and smiled softly, he looked ahead and kept quiet. After a few moments, it was their turn. They both signed a waiver then Beomgyu spoke saying both sizes they needed, that way Y/N didn’t even need to show the woman at the counter her phone. Y/N glanced up at him feeling a bit surprised, it warmed her heart that he did that without even saying anything to her. She grabbed the pair of skates that the woman handed over to her, once Beomgyu received his they made their way over to a bench. Beomgyu was quick to switch over into skates, he opened the rental locker and threw his shoes in. He turned back towards Y/N who was still trying to tie her skates. “Here,” He spoke softly, he knelt down slightly and tied the skates for her, making sure they were tight enough.

Y/N’s eyes glanced around the area, looking at the people around them, wondering what they were thinking of her and Beomgyu. Did they think she looked stupid? Before she could let her negative thoughts spiral into something bigger, she shook her head and looked down at Beomgyu as he finished tying the skates. Beomgyu grabbed her shoes and threw them into the locker with his own, he made sure it was locked before shoving the key into his pocket. He took a deep breath trying to relax his own nerves, he slowly turned back to Y/N with a smile on his face. “Let’s go,” He held a hand out to her. Y/N glanced at his hand surprised by the gesture before her soft hand slipped into his, it fit perfectly. His warm hand wrapped around hers like it was a normal occurrence. She stood up on her feet with good balance. “Walking to the ice is the easy part,” He said, guiding them to the rink. The ice rink was large, surrounded by the crisp evening air and the soft hum of cheerful chatter. A canopy of warm, golden string lights weaves around tall, wooden poles encircling the rink, casting a gentle glow that reflects off the smooth ice. The lights flicker softly, their golden hues blending with the deep night sky, where wisps of snow drift lazily from above.

Around the rink, festive winter decorations enhance the cozy, magical atmosphere. Garlands of pine branches, dusted with fresh snow, wrap around the poles alongside twinkling fairy lights. Festive red ribbons and bows are tied neatly along the railings, adding pops of color against the icy backdrop. Wooden crates filled with pine cones and frosted berries sit at intervals, giving the scene a rustic charm.

Soft holiday music drifts from nearby speakers, mingling with the sound of skates gliding across the ice and the occasional laughter of skaters. Families, couples, and groups of friends move fluidly across the ice—some gracefully gliding, others stumbling and giggling as they hold onto each other for support. Beomgyu turned to face Y/N and took a backward step onto the ice, he did it with such ease, it was natural to him. He stood in place holding Y/N's hand still. He could tell she was feeling unsure about stepping onto the ice. “I promise I won’t let you fall,” He told her, his grip becoming a little more firm on her hand. Y/N nodded, she took a brave step onto the ice, it didn’t feel slippery yet. As soon as she placed her other foot onto the ice she lost her balance. Beomgyu couldn’t help but giggle as Y/N grabbed onto his forearm with her free hand. He kept his promise though and steadied her.

"Okay, okay, I got you," Beomgyu laughed more, steadying her by the waist as she clung onto his arm as if her life depended on it. "You're so tense—you gotta relax a little. If you keep locking your knees like that, you’re just gonna make it harder." Y/N gives him a panicked look, her feet felt like they were slipping slightly beneath her.

"Alright, the first thing you need to keep in mind is balance. Keep your weight centered, not too far forward or back. If you lean too much, you’ll—whoa—" Beomgyu quickly catches her as she wobbles, with a huge grin he pulls her closer to him. "Yeah, like that."

Y/N’s cheeks and neck flushed, she couldn’t breathe being pulled close to Beomgyu like this, his hands were all over her. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting but it wasn’t this, she would have never thought Beomgyu would have her pulled close like this.

Beomgyu brought his hands back up to Y/N’s small hands, and he held onto them gently. "Bend your knees just a little, don’t stiffen up. And when you move, think of it like... pushing off to the side, not straightforward. Like… watch." He smoothly glides backward, demonstrating effortlessly, he pulled her with him.

"See? Small pushes, one foot at a time. You try." Beomgyu encouraged with a sweet smile. Y/N glanced down at her feet and the ice before looking back up at Beomgyu, she shook her head no, she didn’t think she could do it. Her hands grip his tighter, and Beomgyu mindlessly brushed his thumbs across the back of her hands. "You can do it," he reassures, his voice softer now. "I'll go slow, I'll move with you. Just trust me."

With a deep breath and still holding onto him, Y/N hesitantly shifts her weight, attempting the smallest push. It's wobbly, but it works—kind of.

"There you go! See? Not so bad." Beomgyu’s grin is warm and encouraging. "You'll be skating circles around me in no time."

It earns a soft, quiet giggle from Y/N, one of his new favorite sounds. Eventually, after guiding Y/N around the rink a few times, she managed to push herself forward—slowly, but surely. Beomgyu still held onto one of her hands, keeping them moving with his own steady momentum. “Wanna take a break? Maybe get some hot chocolate,” Beomgyu offered, Y/N was quick to nod, ready to enjoy something warm, she was a bit cold now.

Beomgyu nodded and led them toward the exit of the rink, he helped Y/N over to a bench before he went to a small stall to order hot chocolate for the both of them. While Beomgyu was gone, Y/N let herself sink into the moment, replaying everything that had happened tonight. It felt like a dream, like something out of a story she’d never imagined herself in. The way he held her close, the warmth of his hand never straying far from hers… it was starting to feel like a date, even if he hadn’t said it outright. Her thoughts didn’t linger long, Beomgyu was back in no time with two warm paper cups filled with hot chocolate. “Here,” He murmured, as he sat down next to her on the bench. Y/N accepted the cup with a small smile, the heat seeping into her fingers as she curled them around it.

Beomgyu’s free hand reached out, dusting the snow from her hair with gentle, absentminded touches. He took a sip of his drink, wincing slightly as the warmth stung his tongue. “Are you warm enough?” His voice was soft, laced with quiet concern. Y/N hesitated before offering a small shrug and slight nod as she tilted her head. Letting him know that she was somewhat cold. She took a sip of her drink before cradling it in both of her hands, warming her palms once more.

Beomgyu shifted beside her, his thigh brushing against hers. Without a word, he set his cup down and reached for the dark blue scarf wrapped snugly around his own neck. Y/N watched him, eyes curious as he pulled it off, his fingers working effortlessly. Without saying a word, he gently draped it over her, wrapping it carefully around her neck with slow, precise movements. His touch was light, almost hesitant, as he adjusted the fabric to make sure it sat comfortably. “This should keep you somewhat warm,” His fingers lingered for just a moment, smoothing over the soft wool before finally pulling away. Beomgyu was gazing at her with soft eyes, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips. Y/N glanced up, realizing just how close their faces were—probably the closest they’d ever been. Her eyes flickered over his sharp features, taking in every detail, but it was his scent that overwhelmed her senses. It was soft yet vibrant, it wrapped around her like a cozy embrace. The rich, slightly tangy sweetness of pomegranate stood out first, fresh and bright, as if she had just broken open the fruit herself. Beneath it, delicate floral notes softened the edges, blending into something light and airy. With a light clear of his throat, Beomgyu decided to roll his shoulders back in an attempt to relax. He sat up more straight, and averted his gaze from hers, suddenly all too aware of how close they had been.

Before reaching for his hot chocolate again, his hand lifted to adjust the beanie on his head, tugging it down slightly. It was a small, nervous habit as he processed the lingering warmth of their proximity. The pair sat in comfortable silence as they finished their hot chocolate. Once again Y/N had Beomgyu tongue-tied, his mind scrambling for something to say, yet coming up empty. With a soft sigh, Beomgyu took one final sip of his drink before turning toward Y/N again. “Alright,” He had a playful glint in his eyes. “Think you can keep up with me now?”

Y/N quirked a brow at him, unimpressed by his tease. He stood up, holding out a hand for her. After a brief hesitation, Y/N placed her hand in his, letting him pull her to her feet. Before heading back to the rink Beomgyu threw their empty cups out. Once they were back at the entrance to the ice, Beomgyu let go of her hand and stepped down onto the ice, he adjusted himself so he was skating backward once more. It honestly impressed Y/N with how skillful he was on the ice. Beomgyu flashed her a teasing smile. “Maybe, we could race around the rink?” She gave him a nervous smile and a shake of the head, she wasn’t ready for that yet. She had only just gotten the hang of pushing off the ice, and only with Beomgyu right there beside her. “Come on, try getting on the ice by yourself this time,” He encouraged her.

Y/N's fingers gripped the edge of the barrier as she carefully placed one foot onto the ice. Taking a deep breath, she followed with the other foot, her hold on the barrier tightening as she wobbled slightly, trying to steady herself. “You’re gonna be pro in no time,” Beomgyu chuckled softly as he watched her struggle onto the ice. Y/N smiled softly, she was expecting him to grab a hold of her by now but Beomgyu had other plans. He slowly skated a few feet backward, he wanted her to try and skate to him without his help. “Skate to me,” He told her with a huge grin. “I know you can do it, just trust yourself.” Y/N glanced at the people skating by them, she felt a bit silly for not being able to skate, she felt like everyone’s eyes were on her.

“You got this,” Beomgyu pulled her out of her thoughts. She nodded a few times before she slowly let go of the barrier. Beomgyu was probably five feet away, he wasn’t far whatsoever.

I can do this, she told herself as she pushed her foot against the ice like he had shown her to do.

Beomgyu watched proudly as she began to slowly skate towards him, he decided to take it a step further and began to slowly skate backward so she would have to skate further without him. He was close enough to her if he needed to jump in and keep her from falling. Y/N gasped softly as she saw him move away from her, she was so surprised that she had almost spoken, she had almost told him to stop, that she needed him. The feeling in her throat surprised her, she didn’t know what to think of it, it’s been a while since she’d felt this way with someone she hadn’t spoken to before. Just the thought of her speaking to him had her cheeks burning, she was glad that it was cold out so she could play it off as if the cold was making her cheeks turn color. As Beomgyu skated, his skate slid across the ice a certain way making him slip and fall onto his bum. A small laugh bubbled up in Y/N's chest as she saw him sitting on the ice, she let it escape her mouth as she saw Beomgyu looking up at her with a pout on his face. However, her laugh quickly faded as she realized Beomgyu never taught her how to stop. She wasn’t going fast, so it wasn’t dangerous, but she was heading straight for Beomgyu.

Beomgyu seemed to notice this as well, he tried to quickly stand up but he wasn’t fast enough. Y/N bent her knees more and leaned forward more than she needed to as she finally reached Beomgyu making her balance completely thrown off. Beomgyu decided the best thing to do was to catch her fall so their skates wouldn’t get tangled up, he didn’t want anyone getting hurt from the blades. She ended up falling toward him, her hands instinctively landing on his chest to catch herself.

To keep her from completely toppling over, Beomgyu reached out to steady her, grabbing her upper arms. Her knees gently hit the ice between his legs, but it wasn’t hard enough to cause any real pain.

Y/N’s ears went red, she gave him an apologetic look, but Beomgyu brushed it off with a smile, laughing softly. His carefree laughter made her giggle too, the tension of the fall disappearing as they both shared the moment.

“You okay?” He finally asked her, he slowly began to help the both of them to their feet.

Y/N nodded then pointed to him and gave him a thumbs up, asking if he was okay as well. “Yeah, I’m okay, my butt is a little wet from sitting on the ice but I’m okay,” He laughed, and his hand went back down to grab a hold of Y/N’s hand, it was a natural action, with no hesitation behind it. “Okay, I guess… let’s just skate together, I don’t want you getting hurt,” His voice was soft again. Y/N nodded, agreeing with Beomgyu. As the night went on, the two continued skating and having fun. At some point, Beomgyu made sure to snap a selfie with her, grinning as he held up his phone. He told her it was to commemorate her first time on the ice, but in reality, he just wanted a picture with her. He figured this was a pretty smooth way to do it without making things awkward.

Once they were tired they returned the rental skates and made it back to Beomgyu’s car. “You learned a new skill today,” Beomgyu pointed out as he started his car. Y/N nodded her head, offering him a soft smile.

“Honestly, I must say you did really well for your first time,” He smiled back at her. She knew Beomgyu was just saying that to be nice but she appreciated the compliment anyway. Beomgyu turned on the music, keeping the volume low. Y/N noticed that Beomgyu always had to have some kind of noise around him. She didn’t mind though, she just found it interesting. Most of her peaceful moments were filled with silence meanwhile his were filled with the comfort of noise. He entered her address into the maps app before starting to drive toward her home. Like the ride to the ice rink, it was mainly filled with Beomgyu talking about whatever came to mind while Y/N listened to him, nodding here and there when he would glance at her. The ride felt shorter this time, she wished it wouldn’t end so soon. Being with Beomgyu was comforting, far better than facing what awaited her at home. The cold presence of her stepmother lingered in her mind, making her want to stay wrapped in the warmth of Beomgyu’s car just a little longer.

As Beomgyu pulled up in front of her house, Y/N felt a familiar heaviness settle in her chest. The warmth of the car, the quiet hum of the engine, and Beomgyu’s presence made it hard to step out into the cold night. She stared at the porch light glowing dimly, her fingers tightening slightly around the sleeve of her jacket.

Beomgyu turned to her. “You okay?”

She hesitated, then nodded. But deep down, she wished she didn’t have to go inside just yet. Y/N pulled her phone out, the dim light casting across her face, she began to type a message. Thank you for tonight, I had a lot of fun (: Oh! And thank you for paying! A small smile appeared on Beomgyu’s face as he read the message. “Seriously, no problem, you don’t have to thank me.” Y/N let a soft smile form as she looked up at him. “I also had a really nice time with you though,” He paused for a moment, feeling a slight knot in his stomach. With a deep inhale he continued. “Maybe we could do this more often? Hanging out together outside of school?” A light pink tint appeared across his face but it was too dark in the car for Y/N to even notice it.

Y/N nodded her head a few times.

“Cool, well… I’ll talk to you later then?” Beomgyu said with a soft tone, he was excited that she wanted to hang out more, he was trying to keep his cool. Y/N typed one last message to him, she turned her phone so he could read it. Good night (: get home safe!! It was a simple message but it was enough to warm his chest. Y/N grabbed her bag, before slipping out of his car. She turned and gave him a wave as she walked up to the front door of her home. Beomgyu made sure to sit there and make sure she made it inside before he pulled off. As soon as he was on the road, Beomgyu wasted no time connecting to a hands-free call with Taehyun. His excitement bubbled over, he had to talk about everything. “Hello?” Taehyun’s tired voice filled the car. “Taehyun, it was perfect.” Beomgyu had a huge grin on his face. Even in his drowsy state, Taehyun let out a chuckle. “Well… tell me about it.”

The drive back to Beomgyu’s dorm felt like it flew by as he couldn’t stop talking to Taehyun about the night. He went on and on about how fun ice skating was, how Y/N’s nervous laugh was the cutest thing he’d ever heard, and how they had hot chocolate.

At first, Taehyun was half-listening, his tiredness still lingering from a long day. But it didn’t take long for him to notice the shift in Beomgyu’s usual energy. His voice was still upbeat, but there was something extra in it—an almost nervous excitement that made it clear how much he’d enjoyed the night. He wasn’t just talking, he was gushing, like a kid telling a story he couldn’t wait to share.

“Man, you’re really into her, huh?” Taehyun said, sounding amused but not at all surprised. “I’ve never heard you talk this much about a girl before.”

Beomgyu paused, momentarily flustered. His hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as he thought about how to respond. “I… I don’t know, it just felt... easy, you know? I was nervous at first, but once we started skating... it just felt like we were both in the moment.”

Taehyun raised an eyebrow, smirking to himself. “You guys looked pretty cute in that picture. Your scarf looks good on her, yeah?” Of course, Beomgyu sent his best friend the photo they had taken together.

Beomgyu laughed, feeling heat creep up to his face. “I didn’t say that, but yeah, she looked... really cute." His grin spread wider, his mind replaying the way Y/N had looked up at him when he wrapped the scarf around her neck. It had felt like the whole world had paused for a second.

Taehyun, now fully awake, could hear the soft fondness in Beomgyu’s voice, and something told him this was more than just a casual crush. He could practically picture his friend’s goofy grin as he drove. “Look at you, man. You’re grinning like an idiot. I can hear it.”

Beomgyu couldn’t help it. “I... I guess I am,” he admitted, his smile softening as he thought about Y/N again. “I don’t know what it is, but it feels different with her. I want to see her again. I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Taehyun was quiet for a moment as if weighing his friend’s words. “Well, that’s a good thing, right? Just don’t overthink it, man. If she’s the one you’re thinking about, then you’re on the right path.”

Beomgyu’s grip loosened slightly on the steering wheel, his heart lighter. "Yeah... I think so." He sighed softly.

The next afternoon, Y/N sat at her desk, her fingers gliding over the smooth surface of her sketchbook as she absentmindedly shaded a drawing. Her phone, propped against a candle jar, displayed Jiwon’s face—bright-eyed and animated as she recounted the details of Y/N’s night with Beomgyu for what felt like the tenth time.

“Girl, I told you a picture would be taken. And thank God you didn’t do that forced smile thing,” Jiwon teased, her eyes flicking to the ice rink photo on her screen. A grin spread across her face. “Ugh, you guys look so cute together. I’m so happy.”

Y/N paused mid-shading, her grip tightening slightly around her pencil. “Jiwon… it wasn’t a date,” she muttered, though even as she said it, something in her chest fluttered.

Jiwon let out an exaggerated sigh, dramatically flopping back onto her pillows. “Yeah, yeah… you keep telling yourself that.”

“He never called it a date,” Y/N insisted, her pencil moving in slow, careful strokes as she focused on the sketch. It was easier to concentrate on the lines than to acknowledge the warmth creeping up her neck.

Jiwon hummed knowingly. “Maybe not. But let’s be real, would a guy who doesn’t like you give you his scarf and look at you like that?”

Y/N swallowed, her eyes flickering to the scarf still resting at the foot of her bed. She hadn’t meant to keep it there. She had meant to return it, maybe fold it neatly in her bag for when she saw Beomgyu next. But last night, when she got home, she had hesitated—her fingers brushing over the soft fabric, the faintest scent of his cologne still clinging to it. And now, it was just… there. A quiet reminder of him.

Her lips twitched into a small, unbidden smile. “It was really sweet of him,” she admitted softly, her voice carrying the weight of something unspoken.

Jiwon gasped dramatically. “Oh my god. You’re so whipped.”

Y/N’s head snapped up, her cheeks instantly burning. “I am not,” she denied, far too quickly.

Jiwon grinned like a cat who had just caught a mouse. “Mmm. Right. And that’s why you’re staring at his scarf like it’s some kind of sacred relic?”

Y/N immediately turned back to her sketchbook, willing herself to ignore the giddy feeling in her chest. “I was just… thinking about how nice he is,” she muttered, but even she wasn’t convinced by her own words.

Jiwon smirked. “And how cute he is?”

Y/N still refused to look up, but she could hear the smirk in Jiwon’s voice, and it made her want to sink into the floor.

“So,” Jiwon continued, twirling a strand of her hair lazily around her finger. “When are you seeing him again?”

Y/N shrugged, pretending to be unaffected. “Probably at school.”

Jiwon hummed in response.

A comfortable silence settled between them for a moment, Jiwon lounging on her bed while Y/N focused on her sketch, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration.

“So,” Jiwon said, breaking the quiet, “what are you sketching over there?”

Y/N hesitated for half a second—too long.

“Oh, it’s nothing really…” she said quickly, too quickly. She lowered her head, her fingers fidgeting against the edge of the paper. She didn’t dare meet Jiwon’s gaze.

Jiwon narrowed her eyes. “It’s not nothing. Show me.”

Y/N clutched her sketchbook tighter. “Just doodling some animals. Nothing special.” She avoided eye contact, but the way her fingers hovered protectively over the page gave her away.

Jiwon’s smirk widened. “Come on, please! I won’t judge.”

Y/N shook her head furiously, but Jiwon had the patience of a saint and the persistence of a menace.

“You know I won’t leave you alone until you show me.”

With a dramatic sigh, Y/N reluctantly lifted her sketchbook, her stomach twisting into knots. She barely peeked at Jiwon’s reaction, her whole body burning with embarrassment.

Jiwon’s breath hitched. “Oh my god… Y/N. You’re sketching him?”

Y/N immediately lowered the sketchbook, gripping it tightly against her lap as if that could somehow erase what just happened. “I didn’t mean to,” she mumbled, her voice small. “It just… happened.”

Jiwon was silent for a second before she burst into laughter, her voice teasing but warm. “Oh my god, you have such a big crush on him. You literally sketched him. He’s stuck in your head!”

Y/N’s gaze stayed glued to the page, her fingers tightening around the pencil. She knew Jiwon was just teasing, but the words struck a different kind of nerve.

Because it was true.

No matter how much she tried to push it down, to reason with herself, to tell herself this was just another fleeting crush—Beomgyu was there. In the quiet moments. In the way her heart stuttered whenever she thought about his stupid, lopsided grin. In the warmth of his scarf wrapped around her. In the gentle way he spoke to her, like he saw her.

And that scared her.

She had been here before. Letting someone in, getting too comfortable, only to end up hurt in the end. The realization settled in her chest like a weight, her grip tightening around the sketchbook.

Jiwon, observant, caught the subtle shift in her demeanor. Her laughter faded slightly, replaced with something softer. “Hey…” she said gently, her voice careful. “You okay?”

Y/N forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

Jiwon studied her for a moment before nodding. “Just don’t overthink yourself into a hole, okay? Beomgyu’s not like that.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her eyes flickering back to the sketch. She wanted to believe that.

She really did.

But the fear still lingered, unshakable. Would he prove her wrong? Or would this end like all the others? For now, she didn’t have an answer. Before the conversation could continue, a soft knock tapped against her bedroom door. Panic flared in Y/N’s chest like a struck match. Without thinking, she flipped her sketchbook to a blank page, the pencil nearly slipping from her fingers. Her grip tightened around her phone. “I gotta go,” she whispered hurriedly, ending the call before Jiwon could respond. She set the phone down carefully, as if pretending nothing had happened would erase any evidence of it.

The silence that followed made her pulse race. She didn’t speak, but after a moment, the door creaked open, and her father peeked his head inside. His expression was hesitant, searching. When he spotted her sitting at her desk, he stepped in, closing the door softly behind him.

“Hey,” he said gently.

Y/N glanced up at him, offering a small, cautious smile. She wasn’t sure why he was here, but she waited, hands resting stiffly on her lap, her fingers twitching slightly. The air between them was quiet, uncertain.

“I just wanted to check in on you,” he said after a beat, his voice careful, like he was afraid of overstepping. “You rushed out of the house yesterday.”

Her chest tightened slightly. She had. And she hadn’t looked back.

As her father’s gaze drifted toward her desk, something else caught his attention. A paper, slightly off to the side, where the bright red 100% stood out against the crisp white page. A test. Multiple-choice answers were sloppily circled.

His brows lifted. “Hey, 100?” He stepped closer, picking up the paper to look at it properly. “That’s awesome.”

A flicker of warmth spread through her. Y/N ducked her head slightly, a shy smile tugging at her lips. Moments like this—when it was just them, without the tension of her stepmother’s presence—were rare. She wished they weren’t. She wished she could talk to him more, let him into her world the way she used to when she was younger. But she didn’t know how anymore.

“Did you have a good time last night?” he asked, his voice casual, but his stance betrayed him. He shifted slightly, hands in his pockets, the way he always did when he felt awkward.

Y/N gave him a small nod, her eyes dropping back to the blank page of her sketchbook.

Her father hesitated, then added, “He seemed like a nice guy.”

Y/N stiffened. Her fingers clenched slightly against the edge of her desk, and a grimace flickered across her face before she could stop it. This—this—was the last thing she wanted to talk about with her dad. It was hard enough processing it with Jiwon teasing her about it.

“Okay… okay, I’ll leave it,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. There was the faintest trace of amusement in his voice, but he let it go. “Just wanted to make sure you had a nice night.”

She pressed her lips together into an awkward smile, glancing up at him briefly.

A beat of silence.

Then, in a quieter voice, he said, “I’m proud of you, you know.”

Y/N’s head lifted in surprise.

“For getting out there,” he continued, his tone sincere. “I know it’s not easy for you.” He gave her shoulder a gentle pat, something warm and steady in the gesture, before turning toward the door.

Y/N watched him go, her chest tightening—not in anxiety this time, but in something softer. Warmer.

She barely heard the door click shut before she exhaled, sinking back into her chair. The words settled inside her, wrapping around the parts of her that often felt unseen.

I’m proud of you.

Her gaze lingered on the empty doorway for a few more seconds, soaking in the quiet comfort of the moment.

Then, finally, she turned back to her desk. Without hesitation, she reached for her phone and pulled up the ice rink photo.

Jiwon was right. Beomgyu had been lingering in her thoughts long after the night had ended. She turned back to the sketch of Beomgyu.

Her fingers moved instinctively, pencil gliding across the page, sketching out the curve of his smile, the messy strands of his hair that fell into his eyes. But no matter how much detail she added—the softness of his features, the light in his gaze—she knew it wasn’t enough.

Her art could never quite capture how beautiful he actually was. But still, she kept drawing.

Because if she couldn’t say it out loud, at least she could pour it into something real. Something she could hold in her hands.Something just for herself.

A few hours had passed, Y/N was now at the café, working through her shift. Today, the schedule was overstaffed, which usually meant one thing for her—cleaning duty. It wasn’t that she minded tidying up; in fact, she liked keeping things in order. But days like this always made her feel a little out of place. While her coworkers huddled behind the counter, laughing and chatting freely, she scrubbed surfaces and organized supplies, an outsider in the very place she worked.

They weren’t mean to her. They acknowledged her presence and smiled in passing, but they never truly included her. Every time she finished a task, another would be handed to her without question, as if her silence made her the default choice for the grunt work. It wasn’t their fault, she supposed. It was easier this way—for everyone. Still, she couldn’t help but wish they’d talk to her the way they talked to each other.

At least there was Hajoon. He was different from the others, always making an effort to ensure she was comfortable. He didn’t just give her tasks—he showed her how to do things, explained the ins and outs of the café, and most importantly, treated her like she was part of the team. She was grateful for him.

With a quiet sigh, Y/N wiped down the large café windows, watching as her coworkers joked around at the register. The glass gleamed under her touch, reflecting the warm glow of the café lights. She was exhausted, her arms aching from the repetitive motion. She just wanted to go home, curl up in bed, and disappear into the comfort of her favorite drama.

The chime of the front door startled her from her thoughts. She turned, her heart stuttered at the sight. It was Beomgyu, Taehyun following behind him.

Her grip on the cloth tightened instinctively. The moment Beomgyu spotted her, he grinned, his entire face lighting up. He raised a hand in an enthusiastic wave before heading to the counter with Taehyun to order.

Y/N hesitated, debating whether she should go over and greet them, but instead, she remained rooted in place, forcing herself to focus on her task. She stole quick glances their way, watching as they laughed and chatted while waiting for their drinks. Beomgyu looked so effortlessly comfortable, so naturally vibrant, that it made her chest ache.

Once they had their drinks, the two of them didn’t head to an open table near the back like she expected. The two men sat at the one closest to where she was cleaning. Her stomach flipped.

“Hey,” Beomgyu greeted her with a smile, his voice warm and familiar.

Taehyun gave her a small nod in greeting, his expression soft.

Y/N swallowed and lifted a hand in a small wave. Then, remembering something, she held up a finger, silently asking them to wait a moment before slipping behind the counter. She dug through her bag, fingers brushing against the soft fabric, and pulled out Beomgyu’s scarf. She had neatly folded it before her shift, making sure it stayed clean. As she returned to their table, she hesitated for just a second before holding it out to him.

Beomgyu blinked, momentarily surprised. “Oh… wait, did you bring your own scarf today then?”

Y/N shook her head.

Beomgyu frowned, then, with a stubborn grin, pushed the scarf back toward her. “Then keep it again. I’m fine without it.”

Y/N tilted her head, questioning if he was sure.

Beomgyu nodded. “We were thirsty, so I figured we’d stop by and see you.”

Something warm spread in her chest, that new feeling that she began to welcome instead of shy away from it. She pulled out her phone, fingers tapping quickly across the screen.

How are you guys?

Beomgyu glanced at her screen and smiled. “We’re good. Had a lazy Sunday, honestly.”

From the counter, two of her coworkers watched with mild curiosity. They had never seen Y/N interact like this before. To them, she had always been quiet, isolated. But here she was, engaging—laughing silently, typing responses, exchanging glances filled with an ease they had never witnessed. One of the girls, Juha, tapped a finger against the counter, making a mental note. Maybe they had been wrong to assume she didn’t want to be included.

Back at the table, Beomgyu suddenly leaned forward. “Oh, hey… next weekend, there’s gonna be this party. Did you maybe want to come?” He bit his lip slightly, his gaze searching hers. “No pressure, I just thought you could meet some more of my friends.”

Y/N froze.

A party.

Her mind immediately conjured images of crowded rooms, loud music, and unfamiliar faces pressing in on her. The thought alone made her hands clam up. She’d never been to a college party before—what if it was too much? What if she got overwhelmed? What if people expected her to talk? Was it like what she saw in movies?

Before she could respond, Taehyun cut in. “Wait, that’s not next weekend.”

Beomgyu frowned. “What? Dude, yeah it is.”

“No. It’s not. Check the group chat.”

Beomgyu sighed, pulling out his phone to scroll through his messages. His lips pressed together when he saw Taehyun was right. Taehyun chuckled, a smug smile sat on his face.

“Well,” Beomgyu looked back up at her with an easy grin, “not this upcoming weekend, but the one after. So I guess you’ll have more time to think about it.”

Y/N exhaled slowly, relieved for the extra time but still uncertain. She wanted to go, she wanted to say yes. But she wasn’t sure if she could handle it, this was something way too out of her comfort zone.

“But uh, if you’re not working this upcoming weekend, maybe we could still hang out?” Beomgyu continued, shifting slightly. “Maybe a movie at my place?”

Y/N hesitated, then quickly checked her work schedule. She turned her phone to show him, her shift ended late on Saturday.

“8:30 too late for you to come over?” Beomgyu asked.

She shook her head.

“Perfect. It’s a date then.” The words left his mouth before he could stop them.

Both of them stiffened.

Y/N felt her entire face heat up. Her brain short-circuited. Date?

Beomgyu’s eyes widened as realization dawned, his expression morphing into pure panic. “I mean—uh—hangout? Not a date. Or—” He groaned, rubbing his temples. “Oh my god.”

Taehyun let out a quiet, suffering sigh. “Wow. That was painful.”

Beomgyu opened his mouth to dig himself into a deeper hole, but Y/N quickly typed out a response, her hands trembling slightly.

Sounds fun! I’d like to watch a movie (: Don’t sweat it!!

Beomgyu read her message and let out a breath. “Perfect. I’ll text you later about it.”

Before they could say more, her coworker called her name. Y/N shot Beomgyu and Taehyun a small wave before disappearing to the back. They needed her to handle a few things in the back of the store before her shift ended.

The moment she was gone, Taehyun turned to Beomgyu, deadpan. He couldn’t believe his best friend. “Dude. That was awful.”

Beomgyu groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “I know.”

“But,” Taehyun shifted in his seat, a slight smirk appeared, before he took a sip of his drink, “she still said yes.” Y/N stepped into the storage room, the air cooler and quieter than the café outside. She set down Beomgyu’s scarf on a nearby shelf and ran her hands over her warm cheeks, she exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

A date.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the first box of supplies, stacking cups into their designated spot. The word played on repeat in her mind, making her stomach twist in nervous knots. Beomgyu hadn’t even meant to say it, that much was clear from how flustered he got afterward—but still, the thought of it sent a rush of heat down her spine.

But suddenly her thoughts began to wander toward the party.

Her hands slowed as she tried to picture it. Conversations she wouldn’t be able to escape from. Would Beomgyu stay by her side the whole time? Would she even belong there?

She swallowed hard and focused back on sorting the lids and straws. It wasn’t like she had to say yes. She could just not go, save herself from embarrassment.

But the way Beomgyu had looked at her, the hopeful smile on his face, the one that made her chest tighten. She liked spending time with him. Even now, just knowing he had come here to see her made her feel lighter.

Her hands found the soft fabric of his scarf, still resting on the shelf beside her. She clenched it gently, then exhaled, trying to push away the doubts clouding her mind.

One thing at a time, she told herself. The hangout was first. Just a movie, something familiar and safe. She could handle that. As for the party… well, she had time to think about it.

✧ taglist: @brrytears @tubasmiracle @sseishiross @dalkom-han

#xylatox ficrecs #choi beomgyu #txt #angst #tomorrow x together #beomgyu fic #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu x y/n #fluff #txt beomgyu #txt ff #txt fanfiction #txt fic recs

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xylatox · 16 hours ago

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Waltz of Words | cbg ; chapter 1 You return like Autumn by the lovely Yun!! I'm so excited to read hehe.

"Your eyes," Lord Kim mused, swirling the wine in his glass as he leaned forward slightly. "Light brown yet sharp—like honey edged with steel. Quite a rare beauty." — im already enraptured by the opening lines, Yun's writing is always so beautiful.

You rejected them. With grace, your words wrapped in silk, but with finality all the same. And as Lord Kim awaited a reply, his expression expectant, you merely lowered your cup and offered him a smile that did not reach your eyes. — this phrasing???? it's so good!!

“Acquire?” you finished smoothly, tilting your head as if in contemplation. “Forgive me, my lord, but you speak as though I were some coveted artifact in a collector’s cabinet.”— I am so in love with reader's personality ugh, she's so witty.

I absolutely love the way you did reader's personality Yun, she's absolutely amazing. Omg her last name is Kang, please tell me Taehyun is her brother omg, that would be amazing (delusional). Also, Maya is absolutely adorable :((((

You leaned back in your chair, lacing your gloved fingers together over your lap. “Not love,” you corrected. “Understanding. She sees him, truly, and he sees her. They are bound not by romance only but also by the realization that neither of them is free.”— I'm so in love with all of this. I love the focus on the story so far, I'm so invested in the characters we've met do far, this world, I'm interested in finding out more about our dear reader and even how Beomgyu enters as a love interest! it's all so exciting!!

You barely caught a glimpse of him—just the dark hair that rested against his nape. By the time your mind caught up with your body, he was already disappearing into the street, swallowed by the slow-moving morning crowd up ahead. — speak of the Devil and he shall appear I guess (me being delusional that it is Gyu) also I know I said it before, but Maya is so cute :((((.

Smiling sweetly, you set your silverwares down, eyes gleaming. "I have always been under the impression that a man of true quality would value a sharp mind over an empty head, but perhaps such men are rare in your circles, Aunt." — I LOVE HER???????? omg she's so wow, absolutely amazing.

For the 3rd (or 4th) time I will say, Maya is absolutely adorable! Her relationship with reader is also so cute, like their companionship is to die for honestly. Girl friendships will always make me happy especially when I feel the genuineness behind it.

Beomgyu and reader's younger brother talking is so cute??? Like, that entire moment was so sweet.

Reader and Gyu's first meeting!!! heheeh I love it so much. Also confirmation that they did bump into each other days earlier, dare I say it's fate🤭

Beomgyu exhaled, relieved, only to stiffen again at your next words. "Though I must say, I didn’t take you for the kind of gentleman who would invade a lady’s secluded space. Quite indecorous." — forever obsessed with reader's personality. I do love their dynamic so far too!! I love the expression you used as you described Gyu's feelings akin to that of a moth and a flame, it really shows how enrapturing of a personality reader has.

The conversation with his mom is so sweet!! like I absolutely love it and the fact that Gyu wants go get flowers as an apology and also realizes he doesn't know reader's name is so sweet??

Also Gyu asking for her name in the rain??? that oddly romantic I'd say. Reader making Gyu earn knowing her name???? I am enjoying this so much.

Beomgyu’s gaze softened, his fingers loosening but not quite letting go. "My lady," he murmured, voice rich with something you couldn’t name. "Will you keep your promise?"— I am going so insane!!!! and the fact that she's whispers her name into his ear???? insaneeeee

Your name tasted like sunlight, like warm honey trickling down his throat curling into the very veins of his heart, seeking abode in the empty space. Like something distant yet achingly familiar, something he had reached for without knowing he had wanted it.— helllo?????? Yun this description is absolutely insane wtf, it's so good

Maya, on the verge of losing her mind, let out a strangled sound and scurried away in search of towels, her mutterings barely coherent. “This is—this is absolutely—oh, heavens above—” She is so darn cute omg😭 she's definitely my favorite character so far I can't even lie.

Yun I know you said it's slow burn (and I love the idea) but I'm so enjoying this rn, like everything has been so wonderful so far.

Lord Park Bokyung, I already don't like him, his name sounds like black sludge (if he's an actual person like an actor I deeply apologize)

“If a husband’s purpose is to keep me safe, then I would like to test his ability to do so.” You lifted the pistol from its display, and in one swift motion, you turned and aimed it directly at Lord Park.— reader is so fine??? I don't care what anyone says

Your brother was grinning, his mirth barely restrained. Beside him, Beomgyu stood frozen, his lips slightly parted, and his eyes—wide as they burned with something perilously close to awe. As if he were seeing you for the first time. As if, in this very moment, you had unraveled something within him he hadn’t even known was tightly wound.— im smiling like an idiot this is amazing.

You know what I also deeply appreciate, the fact that readers household (aside from the Aunt) all support her and her way of thinking, I'm glad that despite the times, they look out for her (her mother) and hold her to such a high regard (especially seen with the brother) I just think it's sweet considering when this story is set, it makes me so happy to see actually.

ALSO I DID NOT EXPECT THE FLOWERS TO COME AS BOOKS. Like (Yun forgive me, but I am known to be slow), earlier when Gyu mentioned the library with his mum I paid no mind to it, but at thr scene right now, it's just so sweet to get her books all based on flowers, that's absolutely amazing.

Finally seeing reader's relationship with her dad and it makes so happy I could cry, his support??? the way he wants her to get opportunities, that is such parental love.

Beomgyu tilted his head, an easy smile playing on his lips. “Then it makes the two of us, my lady. I fear I’ve already given the lords the impression that I’m uninterested in their conversations.” He patted the ground beside him, an invitation. “Stay, if you’d like.”— they are so cute!! I love the way they converse honestly

The words alone would have merely irked you. You had long grown accustomed to such insults, wrapped in the guise of concern. But tonight—tonight, standing here before Beomgyu, being reduced to nothing more than a woman in need of a husband—you felt something far worse.— Harvard Park, I dislike you so much

Beomgyu standing up for her is so attractive bye.

Your newest book had been published, and this time, the reaction was different. The response from the public was far more positive than before, largely due to the younger generation embracing your work with fervor. The lords and ladies from Lennox’s foreboding predictions scoffed at the shift in reception, but their disdain soon faded beneath the overwhelming tide of support in your favor. It was a success beyond what you had imagined.— im so happy for her:((((

“Oh dear,” your brother sighed dramatically. “Have I unraveled a secret?” The teasing lilt his voice carried was familiar, one that reminded Beomgyu far too much of you. — the brother is absolutely adorable omg, his personality similar to that of reader. Also brother name reveal!! Sungcheol is a cutie, a little baby :(

But somewhere in the distance, seated in the grand living room of his manor with a copy of your book in hand, a pair of pale blue eyes ensured that nothing would remain that way for long.— the way the end fills me with dread.

Chapter 1 was so lovely Yun, like, there are no amount of words that can express how much I loved this. I'm so excited for what is to come, this was an absolutely amazing start.

Waltz of Words || Choi Beomgyu

i. You return like Autumn .☘︎ ݁˖ ii. And I fall everytime

Your heart and mind seek him for reasons no words could describe—an irony not lost on you, a writer, a weaver of words. And yet, when it comes to him, even you fail to stitch together the language to explain his existence in your life.

⊹₊⟡⋆ 17.6k

Nobleman! Choi Beomgyu x Noblewoman! afab!reader

[NOTE that: Specific warnings will be listed before every chapters]

chapter warnings: inspired by victorian era, heavy slowburn, heavy plot based, strangers to friends to lovers, reader faces misogyny, mutual pining, use of original characters

Heads up, if you can't handle heavy slow burn, please click away from this story right now! There is much emphasis put on the worldbuilding, and the story progression follows the natural flow of a slowburn tag. With that being said, enjoy!

"Your eyes," Lord Kim mused, swirling the wine in his glass as he leaned forward slightly. "Light brown yet sharp—like honey edged with steel. Quite a rare beauty."

A polite, nearly derisive chuckle escaped you as you lifted your teacup to your lips, the porcelain brushing against your smile. You neither confirmed nor denied his words, merely letting the silence stretch between you, knowing full well how such men loathed being left without acknowledgment.

You were the eldest daughter of a noble family—sharp of mind, elegant in manner, poised in every regard. Yet beneath the carefully painted smiles and effortless charm, there was a deadly wit that cut deeper than any blade. An aspiring writer, a woman with ambitions deemed unseemly by the very society that entertained itself with whispers of your supposed impropriety. They smiled at you in ballrooms and parlors, exchanging pleasantries with feigned warmth, only to turn and condemn you the moment your back was turned. Well, not all, but still many.

Not that it ever stopped you. If anything, you found a thrill in it—the way masked conversations at masquerade balls and polished words at grand gatherings became your battlefield. Insults were merely invitations to play, and you had long since mastered the game. Funnily enough, for all your wit and defiance, the parade of suitors never ceased. Each day brought a new gentleman, another hopeful fool eager to claim your hand in marriage. But you knew better. You had always known better. Their interest was not in you but in what you could offer—your father’s wealth, your family’s status. And so, you did as any well-educated woman would.

"My lord, how very poetic of you."

His lips curled into what he likely assumed was a charming smile, confidence glinting in his pale grey eyes. “A rare beauty indeed, and one that any man would be fortunate to—”

“Acquire?” you finished smoothly, tilting your head as if in contemplation. “Forgive me, my lord, but you speak as though I were some coveted artifact in a collector’s cabinet.”

The words were spoken lightly as they spilled from your rosy lips, almost sweetly matching your saccharine smile, yet they sliced the air like a sharp knife. His mouth opened, then shut, like a gaping fish as his pathetically composed charm wavered. Then, the faintest pink dusted his cheeks—not of flattery, but of embarrassment.

“Hardly, my lady,” he recovered, his chuckle laced with forced ease. “Though I must confess, I do find you endlessly fascinating. Your mind, your wit—it is rare for a woman to possess such sharpness.”

“Ah,” you mused, tapping a finger lightly against the rim of your teacup. “And here I thought my value rested solely in my rare light brown eyes. How reassuring to know that my mind is tolerable as well.”

His chuckle faltered, but he pressed on, leaning forward as if to close the space between you over the table. “You wound me, Lady Kang. I only meant to admire you. I do believe we would make quite the pair, you and I.”

A beat of silence passed before you let out a soft hum of amusement. Setting your cup down with an elegant clink, you met his gaze with a sharp glint flashing in your honeyed orbs—something that made his confidence topple over.

“My lord, I have found that men often mistake admiration for possession, much like one might marvel at a wild bird before placing it in a gilded cage.” You lifted a brow. “And as lovely as that sentiment may sound, I fear I was not meant to be caged.”

His lips parted, a retort surely forming on his tongue, but you rose to your feet before he could voice it. You smoothed a hand over the silk of your gown, the deep emerald fabric catching the warm glow of the chandelier above.

“I do hope the tea was to your liking, my lord. I find it particularly suited for washing down words that turn bitter upon the tongue.”

His jaw tightened ever so slightly, but you did not stay to witness his floundering attempt at recovery. With a graceful dip of your head, you turned and left the drawing room, the train of your gown trailing behind you like the final stroke of an artist’s brush upon a masterpiece.

Beyond the doors, the evening air was crisp, the scent of distant rain clinging to the breeze. A wry smile ghosted your lips. Another suitor bested. Another conversation played like a well-written scene.

And tomorrow, without fail, another would take his place.

The following morning, aside from Maya’s ever-loyal presence, your only companions were the steady rhythm of carriages rattling over cobblestones, the occasional clip-clop of hooves punctuating the crisp morning air, and the thin mist curling at the edges of shopfronts. The scent of fresh bread and damp earth lingered in the breeze, a fleeting reminder of last night’s rain.

A cool gust of wind slipped past and you shivered slightly before wrapping your shawl more securely around your shoulders. The deep emerald folds of your gown skimmed the pavement as you passed by familiar faces. A nod here, a polite smile there—acknowledgments exchanged only with those who conveyed.

“Lady Kang, a pleasure as always,” called Mr. Lee, tipping his hat as he stood outside his tailor’s shop.

“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Lee,” you replied smoothly, meeting his gaze for just a moment before continuing forward.

Maya, ever at your side, leaned in conspiratorially. “They’re staring again,” she whispered, her voice low but laced with indignation. “Especially those two gentlemen by the bakery. And that woman by the flower stall—oh, I know she has something horrid to say.”

You merely exhaled through your nose, unbothered. “Let them.”

Maya scoffed, quick to defend. “If anyone so much as breathes the wrong way near you, my lady, I’ll tackle them into the mud.”

That earned a quiet chuckle from you. “I trust you would.”

“With all my heart!” she huffed, puffing up her chest. “They can glare all they want, but none of them dare approach. They know better.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then they’ll learn when they’re face-down on the street,” she declared, making you bite back a laugh.

With Maya's fiery loyalty echoing in your ears, you finally reached your destination—a modest yet distinguished establishment nestled between a bookseller’s shop and an apothecary. The dark wood sign above the door bore the name Westmere Publishing House, its golden lettering gleaming even beneath the overcast sky.

Inside, the air was warm, comforting in contrast with the outside ambiance, laced with the tender scent of aged paper and ink. A grandfather clock ticked softly from the far corner, its steady rhythm a backdrop to the gentle rustling of parchment and the quiet murmurs of literary discussions.

“Lady Kang,” a warm voice greeted.

You turned to find Mr. Alistair Lennox rising from behind his desk, a welcoming smile gracing his features. A man of keen intellect and unwavering integrity, he had been one of the few in his profession to treat your writing with the respect it deserved, rather than dismissing it as an amusing hobby for a noblewoman.

“Mr. Lennox,” you inclined your head. “I hope the morning finds you well.”

“Better now that you’re here,” he mused, gesturing towards the armchairs before his desk. “Come, sit. I had Mrs. Porter prepare some tea—I recall you have a preference for blackcurrant.”

A pleased hum left your lips as you settled into the chair, Maya standing dutifully near the door. Lennox poured the tea himself, steam curling into the air as he handed you a cup.

You accepted the delicate porcelain cup with a faint smile, letting the warmth seep into your fingers before taking a slow sip. The tart sweetness bloomed on your tongue. Lennox, however, did not drink.

“Now,” he began, settling into his own seat, “I must say, your latest manuscript… intriguing, as always.”

You took a careful sip before meeting his gaze. “You hesitate.”

Lennox chuckled. “Ah, you never miss a thing, do you? It’s not hesitation, my lady, merely consideration. Your writing is evocative—there is no denying its brilliance. But your themes…” He exhaled. “They challenge certain conventions. That is not a flaw, mind you, but the industry is slow to embrace change.”

You watched as he flipped through the pages, his gaze sharp despite the amusement in his tone. His fingers paused on a particular passage, and he tapped it lightly before reading aloud:

‘He is a man with coal-stained hands, hands that build and break and bleed. The city calls him nameless, faceless, another thread in its grand tapestry, easily unraveled. But to her, he is not nameless. Not faceless. He is a man. And she, born to silken sheets and idle afternoons, has learned that wealth is merely another kind of prison.’

A silence stretched between you, save for the soft clink of porcelain as you placed your teacup down. Lennox looked up, a smile peeking under his gray mustache.

“A noblewoman falling in love with a man of lower birth—a factory worker, no less.”

Lennox let out a low hum, tracing the rim of his teacup though he still did not drink. His brows furrowed slightly, deep in thought. “Your portrayal of class disparity is unforgiving to society, my lady.”

“It is honest.”

“That is precisely why it will be met with resistance,” he murmured, adjusting the sleeves of his coat. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, gauging your reaction. “The lords and ladies you write of—self-indulgent, callous to the suffering beneath them—many will see themselves in your words, and they will not take kindly to it.”

“They need not take kindly,” you replied smoothly, gloved fingers trailing the gold rim of your saucer. “Only take notice.”

Lennox sighed, rubbing a hand over his chin, but there was an unmistakable glint of both hopefulness and disquietness in his gaze. “You do enjoy stirring the pot, don’t you?”

You smiled then, slow and knowing. “If the pot boils over, it was never stable to begin with.”

“Dangerous words, my lady.” He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“I have never feared danger, Mr. Lennox.”

The grandfather clock chimed the passing hour, a draft ghosting through the room, carrying the faint scene of petrichor from an open window. Outside, the city bustled on, oblivious to the quiet revolution bound in the pages between you.

Lennox studied you a moment longer, then, with a resigned exhale, closed the manuscript. “Very well. I will see it through, but do not expect an easy road.”

You traced the rim of your teacup with a thoughtful finger. “You mean they are unwilling to accept the notion that a woman might write about more than love and pleasantries.”

His lips twitched. “Something like that.”

“I refuse to soften my words to soothe their sensibilities.”

“I suspected as much.” He leaned back, eyes appraising you with something akin to admiration. “Your work deserves to be read in its truest form. I will push for it, but you must be prepared—as I mentioned, there will be resistance.”

A lesser writer might have balked at the prospect. But you? You merely smiled. “Then let us give them something worth resisting.”

Lennox chuckled, shaking his head. “I have no doubt you will.”

And with that, the conversation shifted to logistics—edits, print schedules, the inevitable backlash that would follow. But opposition had never stopped you before. And it certainly would not stop you now.

Maya tugged at your sleeve, eyes bright with insistence. “My lady, just a moment—I must get bread for today’s breakfast from Roselyne’s.”

You exhaled a quiet breath, indulging her with a small nod. The bakery stood beside a flower stall, and the scent of baked goods curling with the fresh fragrance of the new blooms pulled you in. She hurried inside, promising to be swift, while you dallied by the door looking at the colourful arrangements of flowers.

A breeze stirred against your skin, light yet invigorating, brushing past like a whispered greeting from the changing seasons. The street in front of the bakery held a rare stillness, the city’s usual clamor softened into a gentle hum. Drawn by the cool touch of the air, you stepped further outside, closing your eyes for a moment, letting it fill your lungs—

—but it was knocked out of your lungs the very next moment when something barreled into you.

Your balance wavered, feet slipping slightly over the uneven stones beneath you. “Ah—” Your voice barely escaped, the world tilting just enough to send a spike of disorientation through you. But a strong hand caught your arm, steadying you before you could stumble further. A figure pulled back, just as swift as he had collided into you, long strands of black hair shifting against his skin as he turned away.

“Forgive me,” the stranger murmured, the words clipped yet polite, already stepping past you.

“My lady!” Maya’s voice cut through your thoughts as she rushed out of the bakery, hands firm on your arms, checking you over. “Are you alright? What happened? Did someone—?”

You blinked, the world snapping back into focus. Your hand absentmindedly clasped around to feel the ghosting warmth left on your arm by the stranger.

“Nothing,” you murmured at last, brushing your hands over your sleeves. “It was nothing.”

Maya’s brows knit together, her gaze flicking toward the street where the figure had vanished. “If someone dared push my lady—!”

You let out a quiet breath of laughter. “You would tackle them?”

She huffed. “And more.”

Shaking your head, you linked your arm through hers, steering her back toward the carriage. “Come, or we shall be late for breakfast.”

The morning sun filtered through the grand dining hall, casting a golden glow over the long table adorned with porcelain and silver. The scent of freshly baked bread and brewed tea mingled in the air, yet any notion of a pleasant breakfast waned the moment your eyes landed on her—your aunt.

Seated beside your mother with a posture too stiff and a gaze too critical, she regarded you with the same thinly veiled disapproval she had worn for years. It was a wonder she still attended these meals when her distaste for you—and everything you represented—was no secret.

Still, you held your composure, inclining your head in the barest acknowledgment before moving past her.

"Good morning, Mother," you said warmly, pressing a kiss to her cheek before taking your seat. "Is Father not joining us?"

"He had to leave early for the academy," she replied, offering you a gentle smile as she poured your tea. "He sends his regards."

A shame. Your father’s presence would have at least softened the atmosphere. The conversation shifted as your mother set down the teapot. "Ah, I meant to tell you—I have arranged for a tutor for your brother."

You lifted a brow. "A tutor?"

"Yes, dear," she said, stirring her tea absently. "I thought it best to bring in someone with experience, given your own work."

You straightened slightly, setting down your fork with a quiet clink. "Mother, you know I am more than capable of handling his studies."

"And I know how you bury yourself in your writing," she countered, eyes warm but firm. "I would rather not distract you from your ambitions."

Your lips parted in protest, but before you could speak, a sharp voice cut through the conversation.

"Ambitions," your aunt scoffed, dabbing at her mouth with a silk napkin. "A lady should concern herself with finding a husband, not burying her head in ink and parchment. No respectable man wants a woman who has already given her heart to books."

A heavy pause filled the space.

Maya, standing dutifully nearby, remained perfectly composed, save for the way her fingers curled tightly around the pitcher she was holding. Your mother, though ever poised, let out a sharp sigh of disapproval glancing at your aunt.

"How fortunate, then, that I have no need for a respectable man." You took a bite of your bread.

Your aunt’s eyebrows bristled.

Maya coughed—too sharp to be anything but a stifled laugh. Your mother, hiding her expression behind her teacup, exhaled lightly, the corners of her lips threatening to curve. You wanted to mention the scandalous part of her husband’s infidelity, but you decided to save that for some other time. Lucky for your aunt, you were feeling generous.

Your aunt, for her part, sputtered, her lips parting and closing as though searching for a retort that would not come. You merely tilted your head in mock sympathy, waiting—watching—as she fumed in silence.

"Well," she finally huffed, picking up her knife and fork. "We shall see how long such ideas last, my dear."

"Oh, I do believe they shall last quite a while," you mused, lifting your teacup. "After all, unlike certain opinions, my ideas have substance."

This time, Maya had to turn away completely, shoulders trembling. Your mother took an exceptionally long sip of tea, eyes closed. And just as your aunt’s expression soured further, your mother smoothly redirected the conversation.

"The tutor I mentioned," she said, setting her teacup down, "is the son of an old friend of mine. You perhaps do not remember him as you were very little. His name is Choi Beomgyu, and he is a year older than you. He will be arriving later this week."

Choi Beomgyu.

The name did sound familiar, but unfamiliar at the very same time—like certain smells from one’s childhood that trigger an overwhelming sense of nostalgia yet you couldn’t quite grasp the feeling of longing in your palms.

"He comes from an esteemed family, and he is quite studious and well-mannered. I think he will be a fine tutor for your brother."

You hummed noncommittally, turning back to your plate. An extra presence in the house was the least of your concerns at present—but still, the name lingered in your mind longer than expected. For now, however, you would deal with the matters at hand—like the way your aunt still stared daggers at you across the table.

You simply smiled at her, making sure it was sweet enough to irk another reaction out of her, then went back to your breakfast.

A week had passed since your mother first mentioned the tutor. You had not thought much of it then—people came and went from your home as easily as the changing seasons. Some as guests, others as suitors, all predictably forgettable.

A soft breeze ghosted through the sheer curtains, carrying the scent of damp earth and lingering autumn chill. You might have surrendered to the warmth of your sheets—had it not been for the relentless force that was Lee Maya.

“My lady,” came her singsong voice, already too awake for your liking. “It is time for your horse riding practice.”

A low groan was your only response as you turned over, pulling the covers over your head.

Maya was having none of it. “Come now,” she cajoled, tugging insistently at the blankets. “The horses await!”

“They can wait longer,” you muttered, voice muffled against your pillow.

Maya gasped in mock offense. “Abandoning your beloved steed? Scandalous! Why, if your aunt heard of this, she would say—”

“‘How terribly unladylike!’” you finished for her, cracking one eye open. “Oh, the horror.”

Maya snorted before giving one final, merciless tug, dragging you from your cocoon of warmth. "Up, up, before I fetch the cold water."

Despite your protests, the routine began—Maya moving with routined efficiency, dressing you in your riding attire: a crisp white blouse with a high neck, its full sleeves flowing with each movement. Then, the final act of defiance—pants.

Oh, if your aunt saw you now.

By the time you returned from the stables, your pulse still thrummed with the exhilaration of the ride, the cool morning air clung against your skin. The familiar sight of the manor greeted you—its grandeur as eternal and old as time. But something was amiss.

A carriage stood at the entrance. Not one of yours.

Maya, already ahead of you, had paused by the steps. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, hands clasped behind her back as if restraining herself from bursting with whatever news she held.

You pulled your gloves off slowly. “Maya.”

She bit her lip, nearly vibrating in place. You arched a brow.

“The tutor,” she finally whispered, eyes darting toward the door. “He is here.”

Right. The tutor for your brother. You had almost forgotten.

Maya all but dragged you inside, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “He is with your mother in the drawing room now. Oh, my lady, I must say—” she clutched her hands to her chest—“he is terribly handsome.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Is that so?”

Maya nodded fervently as she led you through the halls, each step bringing you closer to the drawing room. And then—just as you reached the threshold—you saw him.

The scene before you could rival a famous painter’s artwork. Your mother sat with an air of elegance, her tea untouched as she spoke. Across from her, dressed in a well-tailored suit, sat a young man. Your gaze swept over him instinctively, cataloging details with the sharp precision you had honed over years of navigating drawing rooms filled with strangers.

He was tall, his frame lean but unmistakably strong beneath the crisp folds of his clothing. His hair was a deep, inky black, falling in soft, slightly tousled layers that framed his face; a natural shine catching the light just enough to emphasize its silky texture. The length grazed just past his ears, with the front strands parted slightly off-center, allowing a few wisps to fall delicately over his forehead.

He smiled, leaning forward slightly, speaking to your mother in a voice too low for you to catch. Then, with impeccable grace, he reached for her hand, bowing his head as he pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

A gesture of respect. One you had seen countless times before.

And yet, for some reason, you could not look away.

Your mother laughed lightly at something he said, and you—standing just beyond the doorway—felt something foreign settle in your chest from the mere scene.

Maya, ever the menace, nudged your arm. “Told you.”

You exhaled slowly, schooling your expression into one of polite neutrality.

He was handsome, yes. A fresh face among the endless line of suitors who had graced your home.

But unlike them, he was not here for you.

“Get the bath running, Maya.” You turned on your heel, dismissing the lingering thoughts as easily as you dismissed the tutor’s presence. You had work to do.

The manuscript for your latest project was complete, sealed away, soon to be scrutinized by those who would either fear or admire your words. Your next book awaited—an entirely new world demanding to be shaped, a story yearning to be told.

You hoped for the tutor to settle into his place in this house just fine.

In the living room, seated across from your mother, Beomgyu carried himself with an air of grace, basking in the warmth of familiarity. A soft smile played on his lips, the kind that carried both warmth and restraint, as if every word he spoke was carefully measured, thoughtful in its delivery.

“It has been years since I last saw you,” your mother said, a trace of nostalgia in her tone as she studied him. “You were but a boy when you left. And now look at you—how time has changed things.”

Beomgyu inclined his head, his gaze respectful. “Change is inevitable, my lady,” he said, his voice a smooth, velvety timbre. “But some things remain—like fond memories and kindness received.”

She smiled at that, pleased. “Your studies abroad must have shaped you well. I hear you spent much of your time immersed in philosophy and literature.”

“I did,” he affirmed, “and I found great joy in it. The world is vast, my lady, and there is always more to learn. But knowledge, I believe, is wasted if not used to help others.”

Your mother gave an approving nod. “A noble pursuit.” She set down her teacup, the fine porcelain clinking softly. “You must make yourself at home here. Do not hesitate to look around the house for your comfort.”

“You are too kind,” Beomgyu said, his smile deepening just slightly into a boyish grin. “And I am grateful for the opportunity. My mother assured me that this household is one of warmth and dear friendship. I am honored to be here.”

Your mother’s expression softened. “It means a great deal that you accepted the offer of tutoring. My son will benefit from your guidance.”

He gave a slight nod, ever the picture of a gentleman. “I will do my best, my lady. Education is a privilege, and I hope to help where I can.”

Beneath his polished manner lay ambition—not the reckless, self-serving kind that so often plagued men of high standing, but an earnest desire to use his intellect to make a difference. Having spent years among scholars and thinkers, he had learned to wield knowledge as a tool, not just for personal gain but for the betterment of those who needed it. When the opportunity to tutor was presented, he had accepted without hesitation—not merely out of duty, but out of belief. And if his mother had assured him that this was a house of trust, then he would see it as such.

A butler soon led him to the study room, where he settled into an armchair by the grand oak desk. The shelves stretched high, filled with volumes of literature and philosophy, their spines worn from years of appreciation. It was a space of thought, of discussion, of quiet pursuit.

He traced a finger along the gilded title of a familiar book, exhaling softly. There was a sense of belonging here, an understanding that he had stepped into a home where minds were meant to be cultivated, where curiosity was not just indulged but encouraged. And in that moment, he knew—he had made the right decision in coming here.

Minutes later, the door creaked open, and in stepped a young boy—your younger brother. He was around seventeen, soft-spoken and gentle in demeanor. His movements were meek that of a fawn, almost hesitant, as he approached.

Beomgyu rose from his seat and offered a welcoming smile, his voice warm. “You must be the young master. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Your brother nodded, his expression polite but uncertain. “It’s… nice to meet you as well, sir.”

“There’s no need for formalities,” Beomgyu said lightly. “I am here to guide you, not to intimidate you.”

That seemed to ease him a little. Beomgyu gestured toward the chair across from him, waiting until your brother was seated before beginning the lesson. But before delving into studies, he took a different approach—one that made all the difference.

“Tell me,” Beomgyu said as he arranged the papers before him, “what do you enjoy learning about?”

The question caught your brother off guard. Tutors usually dictated subjects, never asked preferences. After a brief pause, he mumbled, “I… like history.”

“A fine subject,” Beomgyu remarked. “Stories of the past shape the present. Do you have a favorite historical figure?”

Your brother hesitated, then answered, “Alexander the Great.”

Beomgyu smiled. “A fascinating choice. A conqueror, a strategist, a man of vision. Do you admire him for his strength or for his mind?”

Your brother blinked, considering. “His mind,” he admitted softly. “He was brilliant.”

“A scholar before a warrior,” Beomgyu mused, nodding approvingly. “You have an eye for intellect. I think we’ll get along just fine.” He punctuated his sentence with a wink.

The conversation eased the boy’s initial nervousness, and soon, the lesson began in earnest. Beomgyu spoke to him not as a mere student but as an equal, offering him space to think, to speak, to form his own ideas. It was a different kind of teaching—one that encouraged rather than commanded.

And then, somewhere in the midst of their discussions, your brother mentioned you.

“She’s quite well-read too,” your brother said, shifting slightly in his seat. “More than anyone I know.”

Beomgyu glanced up with mild curiosity. “Ah, your sister?”

He nodded, but his voice lowered, almost hesitant. “Though she can be a bit intimidating.”

There was no malice in his words, only quiet truth. He admired you more than anyone, but he also knew of the battles you fought—how society viewed you, how you stood against it. He chose not to elaborate further, offering only the vague statement.

Beomgyu tilted his head slightly but did not press. Instead, he smiled—polite, ever-gentle. “I’m sure she’s lovely.”

Your brother said nothing to that. He only looked down at his papers, a faint, knowing smile on his lips. Beomgyu, perceptive as ever, took note of it but let the moment pass.

The lesson carried on, but the thought lingered in Beomgyu’s mind. A bit intimidating, is she? He found himself intrigued, though he did not let it show. Respect first, always.

But curiosity… curiosity had a way of unraveling things in its own time.

The amber glow of the sinking sun in the horizon filtered through the tall windows of your study. The room, your personal refuge, was a sanctuary of solitude and intellect. It was here that you had spent the entire afternoon, quill in hand, weaving words onto crisp parchment, lost in the rhythm of your work.

Maya had long since succumbed to exhaustion, no doubt asleep in her quarters after you had firmly insisted she take a break. The house, aside from the occasional distant murmur of conversation or the faint clinking of silverware being tidied away, was tranquil. The household staff—those who came and went for daily duties—had long since departed, leaving only the trusted butler and Maya within these walls.

A dull ache settled between your shoulders, coaxing a sigh from your lips as you leaned back in your chair, stretching your arms over your head. The weight of the day pressed against your spine, a reminder that even the mind, no matter how disciplined, needed respite. Deciding a brief reprieve was in order, you rose from your seat, smoothing out the fabric of your blouse before making your way downstairs for a glass of water and perhaps a moment of fresh evening air.

As you descended, the hushed quiet of the manor allowed every step to echo softly against the polished floors. Passing by the study, murmurs from within halted you in your steps. You paused, careful to remain unseen, as your gaze settled through the slightly ajar doors.

Beomgyu was moving around, his face vibrant as he animatedly, passionately explained something. His hands gestured fluidly, his voice carrying warmth, sometimes rose an octave, sometimes downed. Your brother, usually so reserved, was positively beaming—eyes alight with unrestrained enthusiasm, laughter slipping from his lips with unfiltered delight. It was rare to see him so at ease with a stranger.

The sight tilted your head slightly in curiosity. A quiet chuckle escaped you before you turned away, leaving them to their lesson as you resumed your path toward the kitchen. Your mother, as you soon discovered, was absent—likely out with her circle of friends, engaged in the evening gossip of the elite.

After fetching your water, you strolled toward the garden, embracing the crisp air and the lingering scent of damp earth from the previous night’s rain. The stillness soothed your mind, the solitude a welcome embrace as the breeze teased the loose strands of your hair. You took your time, savoring the rare peace before returning inside.

Meanwhile, in the study, your brother closed his books with a satisfied sigh. The lesson had concluded for the day, and as he gathered his things, he glanced at Beomgyu. “There’s a library upstairs,” he mentioned offhandedly, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. “Mother mentioned you are free to look around the house as you please.”

Beomgyu, intrigued, offered a grateful nod. “I would like that.”

His student then excused himself, eager to join his friends for the evening, leaving Beomgyu in the company of the elderly butler. The older man, ever watchful, regarded him with mild amusement before speaking. “Will you be needing anything, sir?”

Beomgyu shook his head politely. “No, thank you. I appreciate your concern.”

The butler gave a small nod of approval before departing, leaving Beomgyu alone in the quiet of the house. Curiosity now stirred within him—your brother’s mention of the library had piqued his interest. He was always drawn to books, to the knowledge they harbored, to the ideas that breathed between their pages.

He made his way upstairs, footsteps light against the polished wood, trailing the hallways with a sense of caution. He had yet to learn the layout of the house, and as he navigated through the dimly lit corridor, he turned into a room, expecting to find walls lined with bookshelves and a collection of literature awaiting him—which he did find, but unbeknownst to him, it wasn’t the library he was looking for.

Instead, he stepped into your study.

The room wasn’t large, but it held a distinct sense of grandeur. Crescent-shaped seating wrapped around tall windows, where pale evening light filtered through the glass. Books lined the wall shelves, the desk space, even the wide sills—some stacked neatly, others left open, marked by neat annotations. A writing desk sat against the far wall, occupied by a typewriter, parchments, and a modest vase of fresh baby’s breaths.

Beomgyu took a slow step forward, his gaze drawn to the books. Some of these titles were rare—ones he had only read about, never seen with his own eyes. His fingers brushed the spine of a well-worn volume, curiosity tugging him closer. Then his eyes fell upon the stack of loose papers on the desk, scripts of some kind. He walked over to the study desk, leaning in to take a better look.

"It’s improper to sneak around."

The cool voice startled him. Beomgyu turned sharply, finding you leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. Your sharp gaze, hooded slightly, held him in place. The warm light of the setting sun cast a glow against your features, making your amber-brown eyes gleam like smoldering embers. However, there was no warmth in your expression, and clearly no trace of amusement.

For a moment, Beomgyu faltered. Your brother was right. You were intimidating.

Yet, before he could gather his manners, something clicked in his memory. "It’s you," he blurted before he could stop himself.

Your brow arched. Misunderstanding his words, you stepped further inside, exhaling softly. “Ah, I forgot—my reputation isn’t to everyone’s appetite.”

Beomgyu’s confusion was evident, and he hurried to explain. “No, my lady, I meant—I saw you days ago. On the road. I nearly—” he paused, then continued with a sheepish chuckle, “—rode straight into you. I had just arrived in town that day.”

You hesitated, studying him carefully. Then, as his words sank in, a memory surfaced—black strands of hair catching the morning light, a fleeting grip around your arm, a murmured apology before vanishing into the street.

So it had been him.

The realization settled within you, an odd sense of recognition threading through your thoughts. How small the world could be sometimes. So he hadn’t meant it as a slight against your name. With the realization came along a quiet chiding of your own prejudice.

With a measured nod, you conceded, "I see. My apologies, then."

Beomgyu exhaled, relieved, only to stiffen again at your next words. "Though I must say, I didn’t take you for the kind of gentleman who would invade a lady’s secluded space. Quite indecorous."

His posture straightened, embarrassment rushing in like a wave. "I assure you, that wasn’t my intent. Your brother mentioned a library, and I assumed—"

You allowed a ghost of a smirk. “You are in a library,” you interrupted, amused despite yourself. “Just not the one you were looking for.” You motioned toward the bookshelves around you before adding, “This is my study.”

Realizing his mistake, Beomgyu stepped back instinctively. He dipped his head earnestly. "My deepest apologies, my lady. I overstepped."

You held his gaze for a moment before deciding to let it go. He was to be present in your house for the foreseeable future, after all—no sense in making an enemy of him over a single misstep.

Turning, you ambled toward your desk, fingers skimming over your papers, but you noted that he hadn’t left. Beomgyu’s gaze, now free of tension, wandered back toward the bookshelves.

"You have quite the collection," he mused. "More extensive than even the libraries I frequented overseas."

You didn’t glance up. "It’s not for display. I’ve read them all."

"I don’t doubt it."

Your fingers paused over a book near your desk. Without looking at him, you asked, "And do you read, Lord Choi? Or do you only admire titles?"

His lips twitched at the clear challenge in your tone. "I read. Quite a lot, actually."

"Oh?" You lifted the book, glancing at its spine before tossing it lightly onto the seat beside you. "Then tell me—what is the central philosophy of A Dissonance of Ideals?"

The question was a trap. The book was rare, barely printed beyond its first run due to its controversial stance on class and freedom. Most men you’d met boasted of their intellect, only to flounder under scrutiny.

But Beomgyu did not flounder.

"That true liberation is not granted—it is taken," he answered smoothly. "The novel challenges the notion that freedom is bestowed upon the deserving, arguing instead that the oppressed must seize it for themselves. The protagonist, despite being of noble blood, aligns himself with those deemed lesser, and in doing so, sees the fallacy of his own privilege."

A stunned silence graced you. He held your gaze without hesitation, the smile on his lips was calm, certain. Not a trace of bluffing. You felt a small, reluctant flicker of intrigue.

Leaning back against your desk, you let out a quiet hum. "Not a bad answer."

Beomgyu huffed a short laugh. "High praise."

"High praise is reserved for those who deserve it." You observed him a moment longer before turning your attention back to your desk. "But at least you’re not entirely hopeless."

He chuckled, but there was something thoughtful in his eyes as he looked at you. This was no ordinary noblewoman before him—no delicate lady who needed to be flattered or coddled. You were sharp, quick-witted, and unapologetic.

He felt like a moth drawn toward smoldering flames in your presence.

The door creaked, and Maya’s voice cut through the moment. “My lady, I—” She paused mid-step, blinking at Beomgyu as if only just realizing he was there. Her eyes darted between the two of you, before slowly widening like saucers. Fortunately, she kept her mouth shut.

You exhaled, shifting your attention to her. “Did you rest properly?”

“Yes, my lady.” Maya nodded, still watching you both curiously.

“Good.” You turned to Beomgyu, voice composed once more. “It’s getting dark, Lord Choi. You must need rest. Maya will escort you to your carriage.”

Beomgyu inclined his head. “It was a pleasure, my lady.”

You nodded. Then, as an afterthought, you said, “I hope my brother wasn’t difficult to teach.”

Beomgyu’s lips curved slightly. “Not at all.”

The warmth in his gaze, so inviting, almost made you smile. But you merely nodded once more as he followed Maya out.

Left alone in your study, your eyes drifted to the bookshelves once more. Your fingers trailed the spine of a book that he previously touched before you murmured, “How interesting.”

The storm raged through that night, rattling the windows and drumming against the roof in an unrelenting downpour. The roads had turned to treacherous mud, the trees bending and swaying under the force of the wind. Unsurprisingly, Beomgyu did not arrive for his tutoring session the next morning.

Yet, despite knowing the obvious, you found yourself standing by the tall windows of the library, gaze flickering toward the entrance of your house, searching for a carriage that was not one of yours. The thought struck you as ridiculous—you had no reason to anticipate his arrival, and yet, there you stood.

Shaking off the thought, you returned to your desk, burying yourself in your work as the storm outside continued its merciless reign. Hours passed, the flickering candlelight casting shadows over parchment, the scratching of your quill filled the room with a steady rhythm.

A knock at the door drew your attention. The elderly butler entered, carefully holding a sealed letter. "A message for you, my lady. From Mr. Lennox."

You set your quill down and took the letter, breaking the seal with a letter opener. As your eyes scanned the contents, a wave of relief washed over you. Your manuscript has been accepted. Soon, it will be published.

The battle was only half-won—now, you would wait for the world to cast its judgment upon your words.

The following morning, Beomgyu’s carriage rolled through the now-cleared roads toward your manor. Seated inside with him was his mother, her gaze lingering on the passing scenery before settling upon her son.

"How are you finding it here in town?" she asked, her voice gentle yet inquisitive.

Beomgyu shifted slightly, considering the question. "It is different from what I’ve grown used to. Everyone has been quite kind."

His mother hummed in agreement. "And the Kang household? How do you find them?"

Beomgyu's expression softened slightly. "They have been welcoming. I had no reason to expect otherwise, but even so, their kindness is something I have come to appreciate."

As his words settled, his mind drifted unbidden to you. To the unfortunate series of mishaps that had marked each of his encounters with you—the collision outside the bakery, the intrusion into your study. He let out a quiet sigh before speaking again.

"I was thinking of stopping by the library after today’s lesson. To buy some… flowers."

His mother turned to him, eyes narrowing slightly in amusement. She knew her son had always been rather interesting with his mindset and choice of words, but still it didn’t help with her brewing curiosity. "Flowers? From a library?"

Beomgyu hesitated. He had spoken too hastily, without thinking. He didn’t wish to explain his choice of words to his mother yet. It was an idea that occurred to him late at night before he fell asleep thinking of you.

His mother, ever perceptive, caught the misstep and pressed further. "For whom, exactly?"

He opened his mouth, ready to answer, only to falter. A realization struck him—he did not know your name. Not once had it been spoken to him. Your mother had referred to you only as her daughter, your brother as his older sister.

Catching his hesitation, his mother blinked in mild disbelief. "Beomgyu, surely you are jesting. You have been in their house and do not even know the young lady’s name?"

Beomgyu’s eyes widened at how easily she caught on. He was just a boy who could not hide anything from his mother. Heat crept up his neck. "It… never came up."

His mother shook her head, caught between exasperation and laughter. "You must ask her yourself. A gentleman must not assume but rather seek to know with due respect."

Beomgyu could only nod, more embarrassed than he cared to admit. But before she could move on, curiosity still sparked in her gaze. "But tell me, why exactly would you be searching for flowers in a library for her?"

His shoulders stiffened. There was no graceful escape from this conversation now. So, he told her everything.

By the time he finished recounting his series of missteps, his mother was shaking her head, exasperated. "Oh, Beomgyu," she murmured, half-laughing. "You must properly apologize to the lady."

The carriage began to slow as they reached her designated stop. Before stepping out, she turned back to him one last time, offering a knowing smile. "And do not forget again, son. It is discourteous."

Beomgyu only sighed, watching as she disappeared into the bustling street. As soon as the carriage door shut, he exhaled deeply, running a hand over his face before instructing the driver to continue on.

The library awaited him first. Then, your manor.

Rain pattered lightly against the windows as Beomgyu sat with your younger brother, his lesson drawing to a close. The sky outside was a murky gray, the air thick with the scent of petrichor. On the table beside him, a package rested. He had yet to see you today.

As he contemplated whether to entrust the gift to your brother or seek out Maya to deliver it, a flicker of movement outside in the distance caught his attention. Through the blurred glass, he glimpsed a lone figure wandering through the garden.

"She’s out again for the rain," your brother remarked, following his gaze.

Beomgyu blinked. "In this weather?"

"She likes the rain."

A roll of thunder grumbled in the distance, low and foreboding. Beomgyu exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the package beside him. He hesitated before asking, "Does she prefer company?"

Your brother tilted his head in thought, then shrugged. "You should probably find that out on your own."

Beomgyu did not need to be told twice.

The first drop of rain that touched your skin was cool, a soft whisper against the lingering warmth of the evening. The next came heavier, a rhythm quickening into something urgent and relentless. You walked forward, letting the grass dampen the hem of your gown, inhaling the earthy scent of rain. It was calming, this solitude beneath the darkened sky.

Then, just as the storm began to truly break, a voice called through the downpour.

You turned, blinking against the misty veil of rain, only to see Beomgyu walking toward you.

He was a mess.

Perplexity gripped you. Beomgyu stood several paces away, utterly drenched, his fine suit ruined by the merciless rain. The once-pristine white of his collar was soaked through, the deep navy fabric of his coat clinging to his frame, now a shade darker with moisture. His pristine shoes were now mud-ridden, his long black hair plastered against his forehead, dripping rivulets of water down his cheekbones. Through all of that, he was grinning at you.

A beautiful mess, you corrected yourself.

"Lord Choi," you called over the storm, incredulous. "What on earth are you doing?"

Beomgyu exhaled, lifting a hand to swipe at his rain-slicked lashes, an utterly useless effort. Then, his grin faded into a sheepish smile.

"My lady," he said, voice warm despite the chill in the air, "I never got your name."

The rain drummed around you, the world narrowing to the space between you and the foolish man standing in the downpour.

You stared at him for a moment, utterly, truly perplexed. "You came out into the rain for that?"

"Yes," he admitted easily.

Something about the simple honesty of it made you laugh, breathless and disbelieving. You didn’t even fight the trickle of warmth trailing down your chest. “You do keep surprising me, Lord Choi,” you muttered, your voice drowned by the rain, and as you studied him for a beat, an idea sparked to life.

"Very well," you mused, lips curving into a small smile. "If you desire my name, you must earn it."

His brows lifted, intrigue flickering in his dark eyes. "And how shall I do that?"

The rain dripped from your fingertips, tracing cool paths against your skin. "A riddle," you declared. "Answer correctly, and I shall tell you. But if you fail…" You turned slightly, glancing toward the garden’s stone archway in the distance. "You must catch me before I reach the arch."

Beomgyu let out a small, breathy chuckle, shaking his head. "You wish to make a game of it?"

"Why not?" you challenged. "Do you accept?"

His smile deepend, eyes crinkling into crescents as he gave a long nod, before meeting your gaze through the curtain of rain. "It would be discourteous of me to refuse."

You took a steadying breath, the rhythm of the rain matching the anticipation curling in your chest. Then, you recited:

"I have a heart that does not beat, a home but no doors. What am I?"

Beomgyu’s brows furrowed slightly, his mind working through the puzzle.

You waited only a breath before you turned sharply and ran. The sound of splashing footsteps followed a second later.

"You didn’t even give me time to think!" Beomgyu called, his voice half-laugh, half-exasperation.

"You should be quicker, then!" you tossed over your shoulder, skirts damp and heavy as you sprinted across the grass.

The archway was ahead, framed by ivy, its stone glistening with rain. Just a little further—

"A book!"

The answer rang through the storm, triumphant.

You faltered slightly, laughing, but did not stop. "Yet," you called back, breathless, "you must still catch me!"

"You are entirely unfair!"

"And you are far too slow, Lord Choi—"

His hand caught your wrist.

Momentum shifted. You were turned swiftly, rain-soaked and breathless, your back meeting the cool stone of the archway as Beomgyu’s presence loomed close, his breath shallow from exertion.

His fingers, though chilled from the rain, were gentle where they curled around your wrist. Drops of water clung to his face, trailing down the line of his jaw, his lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling from the chase.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound between you was the steady downpour of rain, the distant rumble of thunder, and the sound of your entangled breathing between the small space.

Beomgyu’s gaze softened, his fingers loosening but not quite letting go. "My lady," he murmured, voice rich with something you couldn’t name. "Will you keep your promise?"

Your own breath was uneven, though not entirely from the run. Your eyes fell onto his hand that was holding yours, then met his gaze, and in that moment, you felt a flicker of something warm passing between you.

"Very well, Lord Choi."

You stepped closer, the scent of rain and earth wrapping around you both. He was still catching his breath, his chest rising and falling, but he did not move away. Droplets clung to his lashes, sliding down the curve of his cheek, and for a moment, you hesitated—so close you could hear the quiet hitch in his breathing.

Then, voice hushed as if you’re passing a secret with the wind, you whispered your name into his ear.

The words were warm against his skin, softer than the rainfall that dripped from your lips. A secret given, and just as swiftly, you slipped past him, the space between you vanishing as you walked toward your home, leaving him standing under the arch.

Beomgyu remained where he was, his posture unmoving, as if still caught in the moment. His lips parted slightly, shaping the syllables of your name in a reverent murmur, testing the way it curled on his tongue.

A quiet exhale left him, his fingers twitching faintly as he recalled the package he had left inside. His original intent had been simple—an apology wrapped in parchment and intent. But now, he found himself unable to give it to you just yet.

No, not until he had written your name on it.

Maya was cleaning the windows when her eyes travelled outside, only for her breath to catch in sheer horror. The cloth in her hand nearly slipped from her grip as she stumbled back.

“My lady—!” she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest.

You stepped through the entrance, rain-soaked from head to toe, water dripping from your sleeves onto the polished floor. Your hair clung damply to your skin, but you merely smiled as Maya rushed forward, her expression switching from disbelief to outright panic.

“You went out in the rain again?” she cried, wringing her hands. “My lady, you’re going to fall ill one of these days! Have you no care for your health?”

As you were about to offer a reply, Maya’s eyes flickered past you, and she nearly reeled back. Her panic-stricken gaze landed on the man stepping in behind you—Choi Beomgyu, drenched in equal measure. His fine suit was utterly ruined, his dark hair plastered against his forehead, his shoes carrying a trail of rainwater and mud. And yet, despite his disheveled state, he remained funnily composed.

Maya gawked at him, then at you, then back at him, her brain clearly short-circuiting.

Beomgyu, ever polite, gave her a slight bow. “I apologize for the mess.”

Maya, on the verge of losing her mind, let out a strangled sound and scurried away in search of towels, her mutterings barely coherent. “This is—this is absolutely—oh, heavens above—”

Before you could so much as smother your amusement, a new presence entered the room—your mother. She came to a slow halt in the corridor, eyes sweeping over you both. Her expression was unreadable, utterly still, but the prolonged silence said enough.

Beomgyu stiffened ever so slightly beside you, then inclined his head, bowing deeply. “Lady Kang,” he greeted, his voice low and respectful. “I must apologize for my appearance and for the state of your home.”

Your mother said nothing at first, her gaze shifting between the two of you—her sharp eyes noting the way water still dripped onto the floor, the subtle heave of your shoulders from exertion, and the fact that, for the first time, you looked entirely unbothered in the presence of a man.

You, on the other hand, pointed in Beomgyu’s general direction without sparing him a glance. “His state is not my fault. He did this on his own.”

Your mother’s lips twitched slightly at that, but she withheld her comment.

Maya returned in a flurry of movement, shoving towels into both your hands before ushering you toward the fireplace. Your mother, after her curious silence, finally spoke. “Lord Choi, the storm has worsened. You should remain here until the rain subsides.”

“I appreciate your kindness, my lady,” Beomgyu said, voice warm yet firm, “but I shouldn’t impose any longer. I will return home at once.” He accepted the towel with a grateful nod and dried his hands before wrapping it around his shoulders.

Then, with a final bow—to her, to Maya, to you—Beomgyu turned toward the door. His departure was swift, but as he reached the threshold, he glanced back at you, lingering just a moment longer.

Then, with the faintest curl of his lips, he stepped into the waiting carriage and disappeared into the night.

Silence followed in his absence.

Your mother turned to you now, arching a single brow. It was a silent inquiry, one laden with quiet curiosity, but you merely deadpanned, “What?” before turning on your heel and making your way toward your room.

Your mother and Maya stood there, watching your retreating figure disappear up the stairs.

After a long pause, Maya whispered hesitantly, “Lady Kang, is she…?”

Your mother exhaled, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. “Who knows?”

Yet, deep down, she already did. It was still too early to assume, but for the first time in a long while, she felt a glimmer of hope.

Your mind, against your own wishes, wandered to Choi Beomgyu more often than you cared to admit.

You had met countless men—suitors of all ages, noblemen with polished shoes and sharper tongues, men who sought your hand not for who you were, but for what you could offer. To them, you were an acquisition, a means to an end, a prize to be won and caged. You had long since learned to navigate their intentions, to parry their flowery words with razor-sharp wit, to dance around their expectations with a smile that never quite reached your eyes.

But Beomgyu... that man intrigued you.

With every brief exchange, every moment shared, the feeling took root. He was proving to be unlike the rest—not because he lacked ambition or purpose, but because he carried himself with an ease unburdened by arrogance. He was learned but never boastful, kind without expectation. Unfiltered warmth and pure knowledge wrapped his entire being.

At least, for now.

And so, you decided to watch him. To study him as you had studied countless others, to see if he was different or if he, too, would prove predictable. But till now there was nothing to scrutinize.

He came to the manor, tutored your brother, exchanged pleasantries with your mother and the household staff. Whenever your paths crossed, he offered you that warm, polite smile, never lingering longer than propriety allowed.

Nothing less, nothing more.

Yet, the fact that you continued to notice was enough to unsettle you.

“My lady.” You were pulled from your thoughts by the voice of your instructor. “That’s enough for today.”

Exhaling, you dismounted from your horse, handing the reins to the stable boy as the exhaustion settled deep in your limbs. The ride had been long, and though you normally relished the freedom it brought, today, you felt weighed down.

You arrived home, your boots pressing damp imprints into the grand marble floors as Maya rushed to greet you at the entrance. The moment she saw you, her lips parted in a quiet scolding, but before she could speak, hesitation flickered across her face.

“My lady—”

“I need a bath,” you murmured, already loosening the buttons at the collar of your shirt as you strode past her, shoulders heavy with weariness. “Prepare it for me.”

Maya hesitated, her fingers twisting into her apron. “My lady, I must warn you—”

You were far too exhausted to fully comprehend her warning.

Stepping into the living room, you were greeted by an unfamiliar figure lounging comfortably in one of the embroidered chairs. His presence was enough to still your steps, irritation prickling along your spine even before he spoke.

Lord Park Bokyung.

An older man whose hair was tinged with grey, bulky body that barely fit into the chair. He studied you, dark eyes raking over your disheveled state—your untucked shirt, the dirt-streaked boots, the absence of any attempt at ladylike decorum. A grin spread across his lips, crude and condescending.

“Well, well,” he drawled, turning to your mother, who sat stiffly across him, lips pressed into a thin line. “It appears the rumors were right. Your daughter does enjoy hobbies quite unbefitting of a lady. She is in such desperate need of a husband.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “A man must tame her before she ruins herself entirely.”

Your mother winced at his words but quickly straightened, her gaze sharpening. “Lord Park,” she said coolly, “please weave your words with caution when speaking of the members of the Kang estate in their own house—specifically, my daughter.”

Bokyung had the audacity to laugh, shaking his head as if amused by a child’s naïveté. “Ah, my lady, you misunderstand me. I jest, of course.” His voice was thick with feigned innocence, though his smirk betrayed his amusement. “My words are spoken out of concern—after all, what is a woman without a guiding hand to keep her from folly? I won't expect her to understand, she's still young after all.”

Your mother cast an apologetic glance at you. She hadn’t expected him any more than you had, and you could tell she regretted his presence entirely.

But regret would not erase the insult.

Something inside you cooled. A sharp, piercing sort of stillness settled in your chest, smoothing away the irritation and replacing it with something far more dangerous.

You turned, walking toward the far end of the room where two pistols rested mounted upon the wall. Fingers trailing over the polished wood, you spoke, voice terrifyingly calm.

The reaction was instant.

The butler stiffened. Maya let out a strangled gasp, hands flying to her mouth. Even your mother, ever composed, shifted in alarm. The air in the room thickened, every eye locked onto you, onto the weapon steady in your grip.

Bokyung’s amusement vanished. His body went rigid, his smirk faltering as his gaze darted between your face and the barrel now trained upon him. You almost laughed out when his chaperons cowered in fear behind him. For the first time since your arrival, his composure cracked.

“You jest,” he said, but his voice lacked its prior confidence.

You hummed, tilting your head as if considering. “Do I?”

A silence stretched, suffocating in its weight. The man, his pride pricked, glanced at the assembled guests—your mother, Maya, the butler, his own chaperones. To refuse would be an admission of cowardice. To accept would be to entertain a lady’s absurd challenge.

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Very well.”

Under the veil of the blackened sky, the targets were being set in the garden. You stood quietly by the side, watching as Lord Park took his position.

From the balcony of the study, your brother leaned against the railing, amusement dancing in his eyes as he observed the unfolding spectacle. Beside him, Beomgyu stood, silent.

“The fifth one this week,” your brother mused, exhaling.

Beomgyu turned to him, brows raising slightly. “Fifth what?”

“Suitor.” Your brother glanced toward the garden, then smiled. “But this one must have said something particularly stupid.”

As the targets were prepared, Maya fidgeted beside the elderly butler, her hands clasped tightly together. Her unease was palpable, her eyes darting toward you before she whispered, “She should not have to prove herself to the likes of him.”

The butler, who had served your household for decades, merely sighed. “Do not worry, child,” he murmured, his voice low. “Have faith in her.”

Lord Park stepped forward, gripping the pistol with stiff fingers. He adjusted his stance, clearing his throat as if to reassert his shaken confidence. He raised the weapon, inhaled deeply, and fired.

The bullet whizzed through the air, entirely missing the target and flew somewhere beyond the distance. The silence that followed was deafening. His mouth opened and closed as he scrambled for an excuse, his face paling beneath the weight of failure. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he lowered the pistol, his fingers tightening around the grip as if it were the weapon’s fault and not his own.

A quiet hum left your lips. You stepped forward, rolling back your sleeves, feeling the reassuring weight of the pistol as you lifted it with the ease of someone who had done so countless times before.

You raised your arm, gaze steady. Unlike Lord Park, you did not hesitate. Your finger pressed the trigger in a sharp, decisive motion.

The bullet struck the center of your target. Without pause, you cocked the pistol again, exhaled, and fired once more. The second target—his—was knocked down in an instant.

The echo of your shots still resonated when silence fell, heavier than before.

Lord Park gaped, mouth opening and closing uselessly. A flush of humiliation crawled up his neck as he scrambled to find something, anything, to say. The gathered onlookers remained motionless, their gazes flickering between you and the man who had so thoroughly been put in his place.

You turned to him, expression unreadable, then offered him a small, polite smile.

“How unfortunate,” you murmured, handing the pistol back to the elderly butler with an air of finality. “You speak of a husband keeping me safe so that I may not engage in such ‘unladylike’ activities—yet you cannot even strike a target.” You dusted off your cuffs, already losing interest. “It seems I must continue looking for one more capable.”

With that, you turned and strode away, leaving behind the stunned onlookers and the seething man who had just been thoroughly humiliated, but as you moved, your gaze flickered toward the study balcony.

Your steps faltered.

The weight of his gaze curled around you like an invisible thread, weaving and pulling, suffocating every molecule of your being. Your breath stilled in your throat, your pulse faltering against your ribs. A warmth so foreign, so dizzying, crept up your neck, nipping at the edges of your composure.

Then, before the feeling could root itself any deeper, you tore your gaze away. Without another glance, you quickened your pace, lifting a hand to your lips as if that alone could smother the telltale flush dusting your skin.

But behind you, Beomgyu watched your retreating form with an intensity that bordered on reverence. His grip tightening ever so slightly against the railing; utterly captivated.

Rain pattered lightly against the windows as you sat in your study, fingers pressed against your temple. After the day’s ordeal, exhaustion curled at the edges of your being, but irritation prickled beneath it like an itch that refused to be soothed. You had tried to lose yourself in work—letters to write, manuscripts to review—but nothing had been accomplished. Your mind was restless, drifting between frustration and weariness, a battlefield of thoughts refusing to be silenced.

A gentle knock at the door pulled you from your stupor. You blinked, momentarily dazed, the warmth from your bath still lingering against your skin. Before you could respond, your mother stepped inside, her presence a quiet balm against the chaos in your head.

Her eyes immediately softened as she took in your tired posture. "You had quite the eventful morning," she murmured, closing the door behind her.

You exhaled through your nose, pressing your fingers against your temple. "If by eventful you mean another insufferable suitor, then yes, quite so."

She chuckled, approaching the desk. "Maya is still recovering, poor thing. She nearly fainted when you challenged Lord Park to a shooting match."

A small smile tugged at your lips. "Perhaps she should develop a stronger constitution. It will not be the last time."

Your mother sighed, her expression turning fond but tinged with quiet concern. "My dear, you are formidable—of that, I have no doubt. But even the strongest warriors grow weary."

You met her gaze then, something inside you wavering. She always saw through you. Always knew when your edges began to fray. A moment passed before you murmured, "I am tired."

She reached out, smoothing a stray lock of hair from your face. "Then rest, my love. You do not always have to fight."

The words settled into your chest, warm and gentle, yet their meaning was something you weren’t sure how to grasp. Your mother did not press further. She simply kissed the top of your head, lingering for a moment before stepping away. "Good night, my dear."

"Good night, Mother."

You remained seated long after she left, her words circling your thoughts. Just as sleep threatened to claim you, another knock sounded at the door. This one was softer, hesitant.

"My lady, it’s me. Beomgyu."

Huh? He still hasn't left for home? You blinked, the unexpected sound of his voice pulling you upright. You weren’t sure why, but your heart gave a small, unsteady lurch.

From the other side of the door, he continued, "I understand if you do not wish to speak. If you are busy or seeking solitude, I will not intrude."

You stood slowly, your bare feet silent against the wooden floor as you approached the door but did not open it. For some reason, you imagined him standing just as close on the other side, his presence inducing warmth in the space between you.

A pause. Then, in a softer tone, he said, "I brought you flowers. As an apology. For the times I have crossed the line."

An apology? You felt the first curl of disappointment bloom within you, a familiar sting that came when expectations fell short. Of course. Bringing gifts to soften you, to charm his way into favor—it was a move you had seen time and time again. Was he truly just like the rest?

Your grip on the door tightened. The temptation to simply walk away, to block him out as you had with so many others, nearly won over.

Then he spoke again. "I will leave them on the cabinet beside the door. I hope you like them."

Silence followed. You waited until the soft echo of his retreating footsteps faded. A minute, then another, until you were sure he had truly gone. Only then did you pull the door open, peering into the dimly lit corridor

Your gaze dropped to the cabinet. But instead of a bouquet, a thickly wrapped package sat in its place, secured with careful folds and a precise knot. Your brows knitted in confusion as you lifted it into your arms, its weight unexpected.

Frowning, you stepped back into your study and set the package onto your desk, fingers working to untie the string. “What on earth is this, Choi Beomgyu?” you murmured, a tinge of exasperation lacing your tone.

The wrapping fell away, and you froze.

Books.

Not flowers — books.

Four, no, five of them, each title graced with the name of a flower—The Language of Lilies, By the Rose Garden, Wild Violets in Bloom. Your fingers skimmed the spines, tracing the embossed letters, flipping through the pages as disbelief washed through you like steady waves. The realization struck like a slow dawn breaking over the horizon.

You flipped one open, the delicate rustle of pages filling the quiet room. And there, scrawled in elegant script on the inside cover—your name.

You opened another. And another. Each one the same, and each made your heart stutter.

A laugh—soft, disbelieving—escaped your lips, your fingers tracing over the pages as a delicate warmth unfurled in your chest.

"Oh, he is so charming…" you whispered to yourself, shaking your head.

Your earlier judgment of him wavered, crumbling ever so slightly, and that made you feel truly relieved.

Mornings at the manor was always a quiet affair, the kind of tranquility that settled into the bones like a well-worn melody. You reveled in it, taking in the stillness as you descended the grand staircase, your footsteps muffled against the plush carpet. You hadn’t planned on anything out of the ordinary, just a simple breakfast before retreating to your study, but as you entered the dining hall, your gaze landed on an unexpected presence at the head of the table.

Your father.

It had been a while since you last saw him at breakfast. Duty often pulled him away early. But today, he sat in his usual place, sipping his tea, eyes warm as they met yours.

“Good morning, my dear,” he greeted, setting his cup down with a quiet clink.

“Good morning, Father,” you responded, slipping into the seat across from him. “It’s been some time since we shared a morning meal.”

He chuckled. “Far too long, I’d say. But I’m here now.” A pause. “And I have something to discuss with you.”

You raised a brow, waiting.

“The Academy is hosting a gathering soon. An evening party,” he explained. “It might be in your best interest to attend. There are people—important individuals—who would take great interest in your work.”

The Academy. The very heart of knowledge, innovation, and education in the country. A place that held both opportunity and scrutiny in equal measure.

“Connections,” he continued, cutting into his meal with precision. “They can open doors for you. Doors that even your talent alone might take years to unlock.”

You tapped a finger idly against the table, considering. It wasn’t that you feared the whispers or the disdain of those who thought a woman had no place in intellectual circles. You had endured far worse. But the idea of making strategic alliances, of meeting those who truly saw you beyond the title of ‘Lady’—that was something worth contemplating.

Your father must have sensed your hesitation. “Of course,” he said, “there will be those who will sneer. But you can handle them, can’t you?”

You scoffed softly. “That goes without saying.”

He smiled, a rare softness in his gaze. “Then come. With me there, no one will dare lay a finger on you.”

The evening air was crisp as your carriage pulled up to the grand banquet hall of the Academy. You stepped out, fingers resting lightly on your father’s offered arm. The midnight blue of your gown shimmered under the golden glow of lanterns, understated yet undeniably commanding. You had no desire to stand at the center of attention, yet you knew the moment you stepped through those doors, eyes would turn.

And they did.

It was something you had long grown accustomed to—the weight of scrutiny, admiration, curiosity—all blended together in an awkward blend of cacophony. You held your chin high as you walked beside your father, nodding politely to those who acknowledged you. The hall was a grand expanse of polished floors, glittering chandeliers, and the hum of intellectual conversation. A world of scholars, professors, and thinkers—something about the ambiance made your nerves jitter.

Your father led you through the crowd, stopping before a man who bore an air of elegant authority and importance.

“Han Sohyun,” your father introduced, “one of the Academy’s finest minds.”

The older gentleman turned to you, eyes bright with interest. “Ah, at last. The young lady of the Kang family.”

You inclined your head in greeting. “A pleasure to meet you, Lord Han.”

“The pleasure is mine,” he said warmly. “I must say, I’m quite an admirer of your work.”

That gave you pause. You had expected the usual pleasantries, the carefully measured words that spoke of tolerance rather than genuine appreciation. But there was sincerity in his tone. Your father was right.

“You have read my works?”

“Of course,” he replied, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Your insights on historical literature are fascinating. I dare say your writing carries a depth many scholars fail to achieve.”

You blinked. Praise was not unfamiliar, but to hear it from someone of his stature, in a space dominated by men who often dismissed you, was something else entirely.

Through the course of conversation, you found yourself engaged in discussions more stimulating than you had anticipated. Han Sohyun introduced you to others, opening doors to connections you had never thought possible. But the moment that struck you most was when he mentioned his daughter.

“She looks up to you, you know,” he said softly once the conversation mellowed around you. “Your work, your defiance in the face of societal expectations—it inspires her.”

A slow warmth spread through your chest. You had never sought validation, but to know that your words had reached someone, had made an impact—it was an accomplishment in its own right.

The night wore on, and eventually, you excused yourself from your father’s side, seeking a moment’s reprieve in the garden. The air outside was cool, a welcome contrast to the warmth of the banquet hall. You breathed in deeply, exhaling the tension that had expectedly settled in your shoulders after engaging in conversations with people of high statuses.

The soft murmur of conversation from the banquet hall faded behind you, replaced by the rhythmic rustling of leaves in the evening breeze. The sky stretched endlessly above, an ocean of inky blue speckled with silver stars. It was these moments of solitude that you always seeked and loved.

Then, from the corner of your eye, you noticed a figure—nearly obscured beneath a canopy of pink bougainvillea. It was easy to miss him, sitting on the ground, lost in the shadows. But you caught the faint silhouette of tousled hair, the gentle rise and fall of his breath. You blinked in surprise.

You took a few steps closer before speaking, your voice breaking the quiet. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”

Beomgyu startled slightly, turning his head up to look at you. Under the soft glow of the garden lanterns, his expression shifted from surprise to soft acknowledgment—underlying with the impression that he too wasn't expecting you here. “Ah,” he exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, “just taking a break. Talks of politics and wealth suffocate me.”

Of course, he'd be invited. That man is no less than a scholar himself, so his presence in such a banquet is far more natural than yours.

You hesitated, glancing toward the direction of the party. “I should go,” you murmured, not quite meeting his gaze. “Being seen with me might taint your reputation, and I wouldn’t want that.”

After a moment’s deliberation, you lowered yourself to sit beside him, leaving a respectable distance between you. The pavement beneath was cool, but the warmth of his presence nearby was enough to keep the chill at bay.

“Thank you for the flowers,” you said, a teasing lilt in your voice as you turned to him. “Even I could never think of such an idea.”

Beomgyu chuckled softly, tilting his head ever so slightly. “As long as my lady likes them, I’m glad.”

“It was brilliant, truly. You…” You paused, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the lace trim of your gloves. “You broke my expectations.”

His eyes gleamed with curiosity, the corner of his lips curling into a coy smile. “Expectations?”

Realizing your blunder, you quickly averted your gaze, feigning interest in the pebbles near your feet. “Never mind,” you muttered.

A hum was his only response. Beomgyu then exhaled softly before speaking again, his voice thoughtful. “Truthfully, I had considered getting you actual flowers at first,” he admitted. “But then I thought… you might appreciate books more.” He hesitated, then added, almost sheepishly, “If you’d prefer flowers, I can get you some next time as well.”

Your eyes flickered to him with interest, and you let out a soft hum, squinting your eyes slightly. “Next time?” you echoed playfully, watching as his expression froze. “Does that mean you plan to cause more trouble, Lord Choi?”

His lips parted, his entire posture stiffening. “Ah—n-no, that’s not what I meant,” he stammered, his usual composure unraveling in an instant. “I just meant if—if another occasion arose, then perhaps—”

A laugh bubbled past your lips, light and genuine. “It was truly brilliant,” you said, cutting off his flustered attempt at salvaging his words.

Beomgyu blinked at you, still visibly flustered, but the tension melted from his shoulders when he saw the sincerity in your smile. A faint pink dusted his cheeks, but this time, he simply let out a breath and returned your smile, no longer trying to argue his case.

You looked skyward before continuing the conversation. “I heard you’ve been out of town for studies.”

He nodded, resting his arms over his bent knees. “Yes, I spent some time abroad—studying history, literature, philosophy. They teach you many things, but true understanding is something you must seek yourself.”

You hummed in thought. “And did you find it?”

He smiled, gaze fixed on the garden path ahead. “I found pieces of it. Enough to know that knowledge is not merely in books, but in the way people think, the way they live. That is why I enjoy conversations like this.”

You found yourself intrigued. “Like this?”

He turned slightly, his gaze meeting yours. “With people who see the world not as it is, but as it could be.”

Your heart stilled for a moment, caught off guard by his words. He spoke like a scholar, yet he listened like a poet—absorbing every nuance, every thought, as if committing them to memory. You had met many learned men, but few who dissected knowledge with the same precision you did. With him, a conversation felt like not a battle to be won but a world to be shaped.

Beomgyu suddenly let out a soft laugh. “Good heavens, where are my manners? I made a lady sit with me on the dirt.” Rising to his feet, he extended a hand toward you. “There’s a lake just ahead. Would you like to take a look?”

You studied him for a moment. The moonlight cast a glow on his features—soft yet sharp. Slowly, you placed your gloved hand in his, allowing him to pull you to your feet. His grip was steady, firm but careful.

As you walked toward the lake, the conversation flowed naturally. You spoke of your works, your manuscripts, your ambition. Beomgyu listened intently, never once interrupting, his eyes reflecting a hushed understanding. Only when you finished did he finally speak, his voice steady and thoughtful.

“You place strong emphasis on class disparity in your work,” he noted. “It’s a subject most fear to touch, let alone dissect so boldly.”

You turned to him, taken aback. “You’ve read my work?”

“I sought it out after hearing your name,” he admitted. “And now, hearing you speak of it—” he exhaled, shaking his head with an almost reverent mirth,“—I find your perspective fascinating. You don’t just write about injustice. You challenge its very foundation.”

A thrill ran through you, unexpected and electrifying. “That is precisely my intent,” you said, excitement creeping into your tone. “Change does not come from mere observation but from questioning the structures that uphold it.”

He nodded, a slow, approving motion. “And you do it masterfully.”

For the first time in a long while, you felt truly understood. His words held weight, his perspective aligning with yours so precisely it startled you. You found yourself leaning in, captivated, speaking with a kind of excitement you hadn't felt in a long time. So immersed were you in your exchange that you failed to notice the figure approaching—only realizing when a voice, far too chipper, cut through the moment.

“Ah! Lady Kang! I was hoping to run into you tonight.”

You and Beomgyu halted in your tracks. The man before you bowed, hat in hand, a smile stretched wide across his face.

“Harvard Park,” he introduced himself with a glint in his pale blue eyes. “I wished to have your company for the night.” He trailed off, his gaze shifting to Beomgyu before adding, “Though it seems you are already busy.”

He ignored Beomgyu entirely after that, setting his eyes back on you. "I had the pleasure of speaking with your father earlier," he began, his voice velvety smooth. "We discussed matters of great importance, and naturally, your name arose."

You arched a brow, fingers tightening against your sides. "Oh?"

"Indeed," Harvard continued, his tone warm, but there was no mistaking the condescension beneath it. "Your accomplishments are nothing short of admirable. A woman of your intellect and ambition is a rare gem in our society." He exhaled, tilting his head just so. "It is for that very reason that I could not help but consider—our families share an esteemed reputation. With such a union, the benefits would be undeniable."

Your stomach twisted. A union.

Harvard’s smile never wavered. "Of course, I hold the greatest respect for your work. In fact, I daresay you would find far fewer obstacles with the right… support. A name that commands respect, a presence that ensures you are received with the dignity you deserve."

The sharp sting of humiliation settled deep in your chest, curling its way through your ribs like an iron vice. You had been spoken down to before, belittled with pretty words wrapped in condescension, but never in front of someone like Beomgyu. Never in front of someone who had truly listened to you, who had met your thoughts with his own rather than dismissing them. And perhaps that was what made the shame unbearable. Anger was there too, simmering beneath your skin, but it was the humiliation that cut the deepest. Not because of Park’s words, but because Beomgyu had heard them.

The initial flicker of anger threatened to boil over, but before you could gather the words to retaliate, Beomgyu moved.

“An interesting proposition, Lord Park,” Beomgyu’s voice was even, polite—too polite. “A man must be truly confident in himself to assume his presence is necessary for a lady’s success.”

Harvard’s gaze flickered to him, his mask of charm twitching ever so slightly. "I only speak of what is advantageous for her. Surely, you would not argue that in this world, influence holds great power."

Beomgyu hummed, his lips tilting in a way that did not quite reach his eyes. "Ah, but the assumption remains—who, my lord, decided that Lady Kang requires an alliance to achieve what she already has on her own?"

Harvard stiffened. "That is not what I—"

"But it is what you implied," Beomgyu cut in smoothly, his tone carrying the faintest trace of amusement, as though he were merely indulging an amusing conversation rather than dismantling the man’s carefully chosen words. "And it is rather odd, don’t you think, my lord? That you speak of marriage as a means of assistance, as though Lady Kang were incapable of success on her own?" His voice turned almost pitying, his fingers loosely clasped behind his back. "I wonder, then, is it truly her best interests you have in mind? Or is it simply your pride seeking to lay claim to something beyond your reach?

Harvard blinked, caught off guard, but Beomgyu stepped forward, the polite smile never leaving his face, yet something in his presence had shifted. “It is rather unseemly to speak of marriage as if it were a business transaction, especially without first considering if the lady herself desires it.”

You were silent, eyes widening a fraction at Beomgyu’s sudden change in demeanor. His frame now stood before you, as if shielding you from the shrewd man's line of sight in every possible way.

“Tell me, my lord, does it soothe your ego to believe that a woman’s achievements are only half-formed without a man?”

“I merely thought—”

“That much is clear,” Beomgyu cut in, and though his voice remained even, there was an unmistakable edge beneath it. “But thinking is not the same as knowing, my lord. Perhaps it would serve you well to learn the difference.”

Harvard’s face darkened. “And who the hell are you to speak so boldly?” he spat, his gaze finally locking to Beomgyu, hostility simmering beneath the surface.

The moment his attention veered from you to Beomgyu, something sharp curled in your chest. No. If anyone would take his disdain, it would be you. Not Beomgyu.

You stepped forward with effortless grace, your eyes narrowing as they settled on Harvard. The sheer weight of your icy gaze made him flinch, his jaw tightening. Then, turning to Beomgyu, you allowed your eyes to soften as you slipped your hand through the crook of his arm, feeling the warmth of him even through layers of fabric.

“A like-minded ally,” you said, your voice soft but filled with finality, meeting Harvard’s gaze once more. “My like-minded ally.”

The words settled in the space between you, and though your intent was to shield Beomgyu, you felt the weight of them in your own chest.

Harvard’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze flickering between the two of you. He seemed to realize then that any further argument would only see him losing more of his dignity. With a clipped nod and a forced smile, he stepped back. “Well, it seems I have interrupted something. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Lady Kang.” He barely spared Beomgyu a glance before he sauntered away, vanishing into the dark.

The silence he left behind was heavy, save for the faint rustling of leaves in the night breeze. You exhaled slowly, only then realizing how tightly your fingers had curled around Beomgyu’s arm. You loosened your grip instinctively, but before you could step back, you heard the muffled sound of a breathy laugh.

Beomgyu had raised a hand to his face, covering his mouth as he stifled a whine. Your brows furrowed in alarm. “Are you alright?”

His shoulders trembled slightly before he let out a small, breathless chuckle. “I think my heart is still racing from the adrenaline.” He dropped his hand from his face, revealing an exhilarated grin, his eyes glinting with something unrestrained and bright. “That was—ah, how do I even put it? Worth it.”

His reaction caught you off guard, and before you knew it, laughter bubbled up from your own lips, the tension of the moment unraveling between you. But then, just as the laughter began to settle, he turned to you, his grin shifting into something more mischievous as he squinted playfully.

“Your like-minded ally, huh?” he echoed, tilting his head with mock curiosity.

Your breath hitched. Ah. You had said that, hadn’t you? The realization sent a sudden flurry of warmth crawling up your neck. You hastily withdrew your hand from his arm, stepping back as you cleared your throat. “I—” You hesitated, searching for an excuse, before settling on a weak, “I didn’t think through it enough.”

Beomgyu merely hummed, watching you with keen amusement. Then, with a grin that was entirely too pleased, he said, “I like the title.”

You gave a small nod, sighing as you faced the other way—but it was an attempt to hide the shuddering breath of your unsteady heart. "You can have it then," you said, your voice quieter, almost hesitant.

A shy smile graced Beomgyu’s lips, and neither of you said anything more. The silence that fell upon you two afterwards was anything but uncomfortable. And so, with nothing else to say, he fell into step beside you, walking you back toward the banquet hall.

The golden glow of chandeliers from the hall beckoned you forward, but the cool night air still clung to your skin, refusing to let you forget what had transpired in the garden.

From then on, things began to change between the two of you. Beomgyu became a constant presence—not just as your brother’s tutor, but as someone who you allowed to linger by the bookshelves of your study. He had a way of drawing you into lighthearted debates, weaving questions into conversation as naturally as breathing. When he finished tutoring early, you found yourselves lost in discussions about renowned authors and intricate philosophies, often taking slow strolls through the garden instead of your usual solitary walks, other times in your study—your place on your desk and his on one of the crescent seats around the windows.

Whether he was leaving for the night, walking beside you in the garden, or merely passing by, he would always leave you with something—a thought, a paradox, a moral dilemma—waiting to see how you would respond. And you indulged him, seeing it as an opportunity to understand the way the world in his mind worked.

It was this—his ability to challenge without belittling, to disagree yet still listen, to turn every conversation into an adventure—that made something in you begin to unravel. You weren’t used to it, having a companion like this. Someone who didn’t just hear you but actually cared about what you had to say.

Someone who felt like freedom.

With this newfound triumph came opportunities—an invitation extended through Han Sohyun to meet with renowned publishers, editors, and authors. It required travel to another town, forcing a temporary pause in your meetings with Beomgyu. A necessary parting, but one that left an aching emptiness in its wake.

The journey proved worthwhile. Discussions with influential figures broadened your perspectives, and you found yourself standing at the precipice of a career breakthrough. It was exhilarating.

During your trip, you wandered into an antique bookstore, allowing yourself a moment of quiet amidst the whirlwind of obligations. Han Sohyun accompanied you, his gaze wandering over the spines as you perused the selection.

Shelves lined with tomes both familiar and foreign surrounded you, the scent of aged paper settling like a comforting presence. Then, in an unassuming corner, your eyes fell upon a rare edition of a book you cherished. The very same edition that sat in your own collection at home.

You ran your fingers along its spine, feeling the weight of its history, and an old memory surfaced—your first encounter with Beomgyu in your study. The way he had paused before your bookshelves, fingers grazing the worn leather bindings, fond eyes marvelling at this very book with reverence. He had mentioned it then, an offhand comment, but you had taken note.

Sohyun noticed your interest, stepping closer to glance at the book. "Ah, an excellent choice," he mused, nodding in appreciation. "Are you getting it for yourself? Allow me to pay for it then, dear. Consider it a gift."

You let out a soft laugh. "That's kind of you, but I’ll get this one myself."

“My dear, may I ask why?"

Your fingers traced the edge of the cover, a quiet fondness slipping into your expression. "Because it’s for someone else."

Sohyun regarded you for a moment before nodding knowingly, a small smile tugging on his lips. "I see. Then I’ll let you have the honor."

Without another thought, you reached for the book. You already owned a copy, but this one—this one would be for him.

Beomgyu had not expected your absence to weigh on him as much as it did.

He still visited your home as per his responsibilities, tutoring your younger brother with the same patience and attentiveness as always. But the moments after—when the lessons ended and silence filled the spaces you once occupied—felt different. He had grown accustomed to lingering in your presence, to the ease of conversation that followed each lesson, whether in the study or the garden, debating over literature or philosophy. Without you there, the house felt quieter, and he found himself leaving earlier than usual.

Even the study, which had once become a shared space, now felt off-limits. Though you had given him permission to peruse your collection, he refrained from entering, unwilling to intrude in your absence. Instead, if he truly needed to sate his love for books, he opted for the grand library, often in the quiet company of your family’s elderly butler. Perhaps it was because he disliked being alone, or perhaps it was because the library did not hold the same presence of you that the study did.

At home, when he spoke of the things that stirred his mind or brought him joy, he found your name slipping into conversations more often than he realized. It was an unconscious habit, one he didn’t notice until his mother smiled knowingly at him, or until his older brother teased him for it. He didn’t try to stop himself. Because, for the first time, he had found someone who truly challenged him, someone who met his thoughts with sharp wit and undeniable intellect.

The men who pursued you spoke of your beauty, your grace, your lineage, but not of you. They admired the idea of you, the status you carried, the wealth you could bring, the refinement they could boast of having at their side. But Beomgyu—he did not look at you and see a prize to be won. He saw the sharp wit behind your words, the fire in your convictions, the quiet moments where your gaze softened, the laughter you tried to hide when something amused you more than you cared to show.

The difference was clear: they wanted what you could offer; he wanted you.

The lesson took place in the garden that afternoon, a change of setting Beomgyu often employed to keep the lessons lively rather than dull. He walked beside your brother, listening to his recitations, but his focus wavered. A jittery sort of anticipation thrummed beneath his skin, making him more restless than usual.

Your brother took notice. “You keep glancing toward the gate.”

Beomgyu blinked, caught off guard by the sudden remark. “Do I?”

His student hummed, hands clasped behind his back as he considered Beomgyu carefully. “Looking forward to my sister’s return?”

There was a teasing lilt to his voice that made Beomgyu falter. He cleared his throat, suddenly self-conscious. “Well, she’s been away for some time. It’s only natural—”

“Oh dear,” your brother sighed dramatically. “Have I unraveled a secret?” The teasing lilt his voice carried was familiar, one that reminded Beomgyu far too much of you.

Beomgyu narrowed his eyes but smiled despite himself. "You have a rather mischievous streak. I wonder where you get it from."

The younger one merely grinned. But beneath the playful prodding, there was something else—a careful sort of observance.

Truthfully, he had been studying Beomgyu for some time now—ever since he noticed the way you carried yourself differently around him. He had watched many men attempt to gain your favor, had seen the way you deflected and dismissed them with ease. Yet, with Beomgyu, you were comfortable. He did not know what had changed, or why, but he wanted to see for himself what kind of man had managed to chip away at his sister’s walls.

And though he was younger, though it was you who always shielded him from harm, he had always carried the strong sense of responsibility of ensuring your happiness. If Beomgyu had earned your trust, then he too would extend his own—but not without caution.

“You know,” your brother mused, “you’re good company to my sister. It seems she enjoys your presence. I only hope she is not disappointed in the future.”

For all his youth, there was weight to his words, carrying the warning of a brother who truly loved his sister. Beomgyu stilled, taken aback. A slow exhale left him before he offered a small smile, touched by the sentiment.

“The young master need not worry,” Beomgyu said, voice laced with quiet sincerity. “If I ever bring her disappointment… then you will have the freedom to teach me a lesson.”

He snorted. “Alright, that’s a bit too far. I couldn’t possibly do that to my tutor—my mother would have my head…”

He trailed off mid-sentence, eyes shifting past Beomgyu’s shoulder. His expression lit up, bright and unmistakably fond. Beomgyu followed his gaze.

There, in the distance, standing at the entrance to the garden, was you.

Your brother wasted no time, running forward to meet you. You welcomed him with open arms, letting him embrace you tightly before murmuring, “I missed you, too, Sungcheol.”

Your eyes lifted then, landing on Beomgyu. He stood a few paces away, offering you a small smile. And for the first time in weeks, the jittery restlessness in his chest settled.

You were back.

Once your brother finally released you, you informed him that you had brought back gifts from your trip, leaving them with Maya for him to retrieve later.

Sungcheol gasped dramatically. “Why did you not say so earlier?” He turned to Beomgyu, expectant. “Sir, might we take a break?”

Beomgyu nodded, chuckling. “I don’t suppose I have a choice.”

With a quick bow, Sungcheol scurried off, leaving the two of you alone amidst the garden’s blooming roses. Beomgyu took a deep breath, allowing himself to fully take you in after not seeing you for all these days.

“You’re back.” It was barely above a murmur, but there was something beneath it—something that wavered between relief and hesitation.

A breath, and then, you smiled. “I am.”

Standing before each other again, days after your departure, the air between you felt foreign in a pleasant way. The absence had carved its presence between you both, making this moment heavier than either of you had anticipated. It wasn't just time that had passed; it was the steady realization of how much you had grown used to each other.

You studied him, searching for signs of change in his expression. Beomgyu, on the other hand, felt his breath falter. You were here, standing in front of him, and though he had imagined your return countless times, he hadn't accounted for the way relief would crash into him like a wave.

Without preamble, you reached into your bag and pulled out the book—the rare edition you had found during your trip. "Here," you said, holding it out to him. "I saw this and thought of you."

Beomgyu stared at it, his mind momentarily blank. He recognized the title instantly, yet the weight of the gesture left him unsteady. His fingers hesitated before finally brushing against the cover, and for a moment, he was transported back to your study, to that first conversation, to the fleeting mention of this very book—a comment he had never expected you to remember. A moment supposed to be lost in time.

"You didn't have to..." he started, voice uncharacteristically quiet, but you shook your head, cutting off whatever words he had been scrambling to find.

“I wanted to,” you countered, your voice softer now, carrying a certainty that left little room for argument. “If anyone deserves this treasure, it’s you.”

Beomgyu had been raised on the belief that actions spoke louder than words. It was a principle he had carried with him, one he lived by. He never expected anything in return for what he gave—never sought acknowledgment, never yearned for reciprocity. And yet, here you were, proving him wrong. This single gesture, filled with such thoughtfulness, left him feeling unsteady.

The book in his hand wasn't just ink and paper carrying timeless history within, it was a proof that you had listened, that you had remembered, that you had thought of him even when he hadn’t been there. The epiphany pressed against the walls of his ribs, too much to hold, too much to release. Beomgyu felt as though he had forgotten how to breathe.

"Congratulations," Beomgyu finally spoke, his voice even despite the erratic beating of his pulse. He tried to ease the restless energy in his chest by focusing on you instead. "Your book’s release—it’s quite the achievement."

You offered him a small smile, gratitude evident in your expression. "Thank you."

A beat passed before he tilted his head, a teasing lilt creeping into his tone. "Do I get the privilege of having my copy signed? Seeing as I’m close allies with the author herself?"

You pretended to consider it, eyes gleaming with mischief. "I’ll think about it."

A soft scoff escaped him, an amused shake of his head following. The freedom that followed from your return into his life once more felt just right, felt like he had been welcomed back into a home he had been searching for his entire life.

The last embers of autumn clung to the trees, their gold and amber hues slowly surrendering to the creeping frost that laced the edges of the world. Yet the air did not feel cold—not when warmth had settled between the newfound company you had found in each other.

Everything felt right.

But somewhere in the distance, seated in the grand living room of his manor with a copy of your book in hand, a pair of pale blue eyes ensured that nothing would remain that way for long.

Taglist; @dawngyu @gyu-tori @saejinniestar @xylatox @hoefororeo @imlonelydontsendhelp @caratcakemoa @yeoningz @whatblop @beommieternity @xodidarks @bamgeutori @bamtoriui @izzyy-stuff @lostgirlysstuff @younbeanz @melmochii @choke-on-flowerz @frankghgr @immelissaaa @luvgyutae @brrytears @beomgyusluver @soobabby @cherr4es @dilfboysgirly

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xylatox · 2 days ago

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When Cameras Stop Rolling | psh by the lovely Rei!! I'm so excited to read it :))

Before I start I wanna say how genuinely excited I am

that reader is actually an aspiring director here, I feel like I haven't seen that explored so it's a new perspective!!

It’s just another day in the world of film production—one where your name barely carries weight, where you’re another invisible cog in the relentless machine that keeps everything running. No one notices you unless they need something.— my heart already breaks, poor baby:((

Rising star, adored by millions, praised for his talent, his charm, his ability to command a scene like he was born for it. He’s the kind of actor whose name alone can secure funding for a film. He’s also notoriously difficult.— hehe Sunghoon introduction (im so downbad for him). I'm smiling like an idiot reading this, I'm so excited!!

God, their first interaction makes me so excited to see how this relationship will progress. —He doesn’t matter. You’re here for your career, for your dreams. And Park Sunghoon? He’s just another actor. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. For now.— Rei your words, are always able to enrapture me, it's so good.

Sunghoon’s coldness also interests me, like, what more is there to it? What causes you to behave like this? Defense mechanism perchance? I'm so invested. —Sunghoon scoffs, adjusting the lapel himself with a flick of his wrist. “I don’t need your help with that.” Your fingers curl into a fist at your side, nails digging into your palm.— if this happened to me though, I'd feel so embarrassed ah😭

The tense atmosphere as they read through the lines??? oh my god. —You stand your ground. “I said no. We’re not moving the table just because you don’t like where it is. The set designer put it there for a reason, and I’m not going to mess up the entire continuity just to satisfy your need for control.” — we love it when women talk back to men, we cheer! AND THE WAY HE JUST LISTENS 😵‍💫 ugh I love it.

You let out a sharp breath. “Because your tantrum is delaying the schedule, and if you refuse to wear it, I have to be the one to fix the mess it creates. So, forgive me for caring, but some of us don’t have the luxury of making everyone cater to our every whim.” — God I'm so in love with reader wow she's amazing😭

He smirks—just barely, a flicker of amusement crossing his face before he masks it with indifference. “Alright then.” And with that, he starts.— he's so infuriating in the most attractive way. God, I absolutely love all the tension between them, it so attractive.

You glance up and find a cup of coffee placed beside your elbow. You blink. Look up. Sunghoon is standing over you, hands tucked into his pockets, expression unreadable.— he's so fucking cute I'm going to cry I love him. And the way the small gestures continue ugh, my poor heart.

You nod, turning your gaze to the dimly lit set in front of you. “Work keeps your mind busy. When you’re constantly moving, constantly focused on something, you don’t have time to think about the things you don’t want to face.”— I'm so loving this moment, they finally have a bonding moment about constantly being busy. I totally get it, being busy, despite the tiredness you often feel, helps with not thinking, especially when you want to avoid the loudness that thoughts bring. I love how Sunghoon opens up, and we see how he too struggled in the beginning and it makes sense why he behaves the way he does.

I love that the conversation sets the tone moving forward and the subtle change in the relationship is there with Sunghoon’s sweetness popping out a bit more.

The next thing you know, you’re being pulled upright—too fast, too close—until your body collides with solid warmth. You suck in a breath. Strong hands steady you, one gripping your wrist, the other settling lightly against your waist. You don’t have to look up to know who it is. — giggly and smiley!!! I love them so much.—His grip on your waist tightens—just a fraction. Just enough for you to feel it. For the first time, you think he might actually smile– I WILL GO INSANE AHH

The realization hits you like a freight train. Your stomach flips, your breath catches, and for one terrifying moment, you think you might actually let him. — I will pass out

THE KISS, IN THE RAIN????? I AM GOING TO DIE OH MY GOD.

Suddenly he completely pulls away, you open your eyes at the lack of contact. His hand reaches out, gently grabbing yours as your fingers entwine. “Where’s your bedroom?” he says, catching his breath. No other words pass between the two of you as you lead him down the hall.— no but it's so cute thst he intertwines their fingers what if I ??? I'm freaking out.

"Baby," he pleads, "look at me." You force yourself to open your eyes, and the moment they meet his, he smiles. "There you are."— I am not okay, mentally running laps.

"I'm sorry, baby, but I can't wait any longer." His hands find your waist, pulling you further up the bed until your head rests against the pillows. His voice drops, thick with need. "I need to feel you."— the things I wanna say, my face is so hot LOL😭

Sunghoon is still beside you. He’s lying on his side, face relaxed in sleep, dark lashes fanned across his cheekbones. His hair is tousled, strands falling messily over his forehead. His bare shoulder peeks out from beneath the sheets, and one of his arms is draped over your waist, keeping you close even in sleep.— I could cry, i love that he's still there the day after :(( —But before you can, he glances over his shoulder one last time. “I’ll see you on set.” And then he’s gone. The door clicks shut behind him, and you’re left staring at the empty space where he stood.— :(((((

Sunghoon watches you carefully, searching for something in your expression. He takes a breath and says, “I can’t promise everything will be perfect. But I want you. Will you be mine?”— I'm going to cry :(

I love how we see the slip ups, going from subtle to more obvious, I am loving this.

His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him, and suddenly, the weeks of restraint snap like a frayed wire. The first kiss is slow, deliberate, his mouth moving against yours with a patience that contradicts the tension crackling between you. But then you grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, and his control shatters.— I am going to insane rn.

ALMOST GETTING CAUGHT???? AHHH

No but them hiding and going out is actually so cute :( I love them aww. Also I love how supportive Sunghoon is about reader's dream :((((

And the angst creeps in....the way he pulls away, the way he's leaving to go overseas, the way reader was transferred to another crew, I'm heartbroken:(

I am so glad that despite the angst between them, reader finally got her moment and is having her first movie and Sunghoon isn't the star this time :( and it somehow gets worse??? he's with someone no :((

REI REIIIIII😭 I FORGOT YOU WRITE THE MOST GUT WRENCHING ANGST AND IT JUST ENDING NOO[ MY BABIES DIDNT GET A HAPPY END :(((

I was so invested in this I absolutely forgot how good Rei is at doing an angst, I was so caught up that the ending crept up on me like a stranger in the night. It was an amazing piece though Rei :( I always love your work. I never really comment on smut as it isn't my thing, but I have been trying my best to let people know my thoughts relating to it and I just wanna say that portion was absolutely insane, like the emotions were there, it wasn't overdone to a point where it's a bit much, it was just perfect. Again Rei, it was a wonderful piece even if you left me heartbroken in the end ♡

When Cameras Stop Rolling | P.SH

Pairing: actor!sunghoon x fem aspiringdirector!reader Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut Warnings/Themes: Mature content, explicit language and sexual content, kind of enemies to lovers to ??? , multiple smut scenes (2), soft dom!sunghoon, fingering!, oral! (f! and m! rec) , unprotected!sex, kind of public!sex, creampie! (reader is on birth control but wasn't mentioned), (might've missed some)

Summary: When the cameras stop rolling, the world still watches. You’ve spent years behind the scenes, dreaming of the day you’ll call the shots.

Then there’s Sunghoon—an untouchable star, distant yet impossibly captivating. To him, you’re just another face in the crowd—until tension sparks and walls crack.

When love and ambition collide, will either of you risk it all?

Word count: 21.1k

You weave through the chaos of the set, clipboard in hand, heart pounding as you check the schedule for the hundredth time today. The towering lights cast long shadows over the crew, the air thick with the scent of coffee, sweat, and expensive perfume from the high-profile actors preparing for their next scene.

“Y/N, can you grab another battery pack for the boom mic?” someone shouts.

“Where’s the set list?”

“We need a fresh slate over here—hey, Y/N, did you double-check the continuity?”

The calls blur together, but you answer each one with practiced ease. You’ve been here long enough to know how it works: the crew hustles behind the scenes, the actors shine under the lights, and the director calls the shots. And you? You exist somewhere in between—essential but unnoticed, striving for a position that still feels painfully out of reach.

Directing. That’s the dream.

Not running errands, not handling last-minute crises, not fetching coffee for people who don’t bother to learn your name. You want to be the one in the chair, guiding the vision, telling a story the way you see it. But for now, you bite your tongue and do the work, knowing that ambition means little in an industry where experience and connections dictate your worth. Still, it stings.

You pause near the monitor, watching as the director—your director—gives notes to the lead actor. He commands attention effortlessly, his vision shaping the world on screen. You watch, envy curling deep in your gut, because that’s where you want to be. “Someday,” you murmur under your breath, gripping your clipboard tighter.

A sharp voice jolts you from your thoughts. “Y/N! Stop standing around! We need the next prop setup now!”

With a sigh, you push your dreams aside and dive back into the fray. Because in this industry, dreaming is the easy part. Making it happen? That’s another battle entirely.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The day has been long, and you’re running on little more than sheer willpower and the half-empty cup of coffee you left somewhere on set hours ago. The schedule is tight, and tensions are high—as they always are on a production of this scale. You’re used to the pressure. Used to being the unseen force that keeps things moving. But today, something is different.

“Y/N!” Your head snaps up at the sound of your name. One of the assistant directors is striding toward you, her expression pinched with impatience. You barely have time to acknowledge her before she thrusts a neatly folded call sheet into your hands.

“You’re assigned to Park Sunghoon today.” You blink. “What?”

She exhales sharply, already looking past you to another crisis unfolding elsewhere on set. “Sunghoon’s personal assistant isn’t here, so you’re filling in. Keep him on schedule, make sure he has what he needs, and for God’s sake, don’t piss him off. Got it?”

Your stomach sinks. Park Sunghoon. The industry’s golden boy.

Rumors circulate about him—how he’s cold, distant, impossible to please. He rarely speaks to crew members unless necessary, and when he does, it’s often with clipped, impersonal words. Some say it’s arrogance. Others say it’s just the way he is.

Either way, being assigned to him is a daunting task. You swallow your apprehension, nodding before the assistant director disappears. There’s no time to dwell on your nerves. Straightening your shoulders, you make your way toward Sunghoon’s trailer.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The door is slightly ajar when you reach it. You hesitate for only a second before knocking firmly against the frame. No answer. Another knock. Still nothing.

Taking a steadying breath, you push the door open and step inside.

The air is noticeably cooler inside the trailer, the hum of the AC the only sound aside from your own footsteps. At first, you don’t see him. Then, your eyes land on the figure seated in the far corner, completely absorbed in his phone.

Park Sunghoon.

Up close, he’s even more striking than in magazines or on screen. His sharp features are almost too perfect, framed by jet-black hair that falls effortlessly into place. He’s dressed in his costume for the next scene—a tailored black suit, pristine and elegant. He looks every bit the star he is. But what stands out the most is the air of disinterest that radiates from him. You clear your throat lightly. “Mr. Park?”

Nothing. He doesn’t even look up. You shift on your feet, fingers tightening around the call sheet in your hand. “I’ve been assigned as your assistant for today. If there’s anything you need—”

“I don’t need anything,” he says flatly, still not sparing you a glance. His voice is smooth but devoid of warmth, and the dismissal in his tone is obvious.

You hesitate. “Right. Well, I still have to make sure you’re on schedule, so I’ll be around—”

“Do whatever you want,” he interrupts, swiping through something on his phone. “Just don’t get in my way.”

The words are a slap to the face. You’ve worked with difficult actors before, but something about his complete disregard stings more than you care to admit. He doesn’t even acknowledge your presence properly—just writes you off as another faceless crew member not worth his time.

Still, you’re professional. You force a neutral expression, ignoring the quiet prickle of irritation crawling up your spine. “There’s water and snacks here if you get hungry,” you say, motioning toward the neatly arranged table near the window. “And if you need any adjustments to your costume or makeup before the next scene, let me know.”

Sunghoon finally looks up, his dark eyes settling on you for the first time. For a brief second, you think he might say something—maybe even a simple acknowledgment. But instead, his gaze flickers over you, uninterested, before he leans back in his chair.

“Are you done?”

Your jaw tightens. “Yes.”

“Then you can go.” You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to nod before turning on your heel and walking out.

The second you’re outside, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

You should have expected this. The rumors weren’t exaggerated. Sunghoon doesn’t just act indifferent—he embodies it. And yet, despite the irritation simmering beneath your skin, you shake it off.

He doesn’t matter. You’re here for your career, for your dreams. And Park Sunghoon? He’s just another actor. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. For now.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The tension on set is suffocating.

It’s been a long morning of filming, the crew scrambling to keep everything on schedule. The lead actors are preparing for the next scene, cameras are being adjusted, and you—unfortunately—are still tethered to Park Sunghoon, ensuring everything runs smoothly on his end. Not that he’s made it easy.

Since your first encounter, he’s continued to treat you with the same cold indifference. He never acknowledges you unless absolutely necessary, and when he does, it’s with clipped words and dismissive glances. You try to ignore it, reminding yourself that this is just part of the job.

You’ve worked with plenty of high-maintenance actors before. But none of them have ever gotten under your skin quite like this.

“Y/N, make sure Sunghoon’s costume is properly set before we roll,” one of the assistant directors calls.

You nod and step forward, glancing at Sunghoon’s suit. It looks fine, but experience has taught you to double-check everything. You reach out to smooth the lapel of his jacket, making a small adjustment to the way it sits on his shoulder.

The moment your fingers brush the fabric, Sunghoon recoils. “Don’t touch it.” His voice is sharp, cutting through the noise around you.

You freeze, startled by the sudden hostility in his tone. “I was just fixing—”

“It’s fine,” he snaps, brushing your hand away as if your mere presence is an inconvenience. “Next time, ask before you do something unnecessary.” A hush falls over the surrounding crew. People turn to glance at the commotion, their eyes darting between you and Sunghoon.

Humiliation burns through you. It’s not just what he said—it’s the way he said it. Cold, dismissive, like you’re nothing more than an annoyance. Like you don’t belong here.

You swallow the lump in your throat, willing yourself to stay composed. “I was just doing my job,” you say, keeping your voice even. “Making sure you look perfect for the shot.”

Sunghoon scoffs, adjusting the lapel himself with a flick of his wrist. “I don’t need your help with that.” Your fingers curl into a fist at your side, nails digging into your palm.

This isn’t the first time you’ve been looked down on in this industry. You’re used to the hierarchy, to being treated like background noise. But something about Sunghoon’s attitude—his complete disregard for you—stings deeper than it should.

Because it’s not just indifference. It’s deliberate. He wants you to know you don’t matter to him.

The assistant director, sensing the tension, quickly intervenes. “Alright, let’s get into position! We’re rolling in five!”

The moment is over, but the sting of embarrassment lingers. You take a step back, forcing yourself to breathe, forcing yourself to ignore the quiet murmurs from the surrounding staff. Sunghoon, meanwhile, has already moved on—expression impassive, eyes fixed ahead as if you don’t exist.

You bite the inside of your cheek, swallowing the anger bubbling in your chest. Fine. If that’s how he wants to play it, you won’t let him get under your skin. You straighten your shoulders, stepping out of his space and returning to your duties.

You won’t let Park Sunghoon make you feel small.

Not today. Not ever.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The set is alive with movement—crew members adjusting lights, cameras rolling into position, and makeup artists doing last-minute touch-ups on the lead actors. You also stay busy, as you always do, keeping things organized and ensuring every detail aligns with the director’s vision.

And, of course, keeping your distance from Park Sunghoon.

It’s been a few days since he had humiliated you in front of the crew, but the irritation still simmers beneath your skin. You’ve barely interacted with him since, only speaking to him when absolutely necessary. If he wants to pretend you don’t exist, you’re more than happy to return the favour.

Still, your job requires you to be aware of everything happening on set—including him.

Sunghoon is standing near the monitors, listening intently as the director gives him notes for the next scene. His posture is straight, his face stoic and unreadable, every part of him exuding that effortless confidence he’s known for.

You hate to admit it, but you understand why the industry adores him.

He carries himself like a star—like someone who was born to be in front of a camera. Every movement is deliberate, every glance is calculated. He doesn’t just act; he becomes the character, slipping into the role with practiced ease when the cameras start rolling. It’s infuriating how effortless it seems.

You’re still standing at a distance, flipping through the schedule on your clipboard, when a voice calls your name. “Y/N, we need someone to run lines with Sunghoon before we roll. Can you do it just until his co-star gets here?”

You pause, gripping your clipboard tighter. Of all the tasks you could’ve been assigned, this is what they ask you to do? You glance around, hoping someone else is free to step in, but no one does.

Damn it. Forcing a neutral expression, you nod. “Got it.”

The second you approach, Sunghoon’s gaze flickers toward you. His eyes give away nothing—no recognition, no irritation, just the same blank indifference he always reserves for you.

“We need to run lines,” you say, keeping your tone strictly professional. Sunghoon barely reacts. “Fine.”

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes and open the script, scanning the lines. The scene is heavy—an emotional confrontation between his character and the female lead. It requires tension, anger, and heartbreak.

Not that you care. You just want to get this over with.

Clearing your throat, you begin reading. Obviously, you’re not the best at this, this wasn’t what you signed up for but you do your best. Your voice is steady, controlled, giving just enough emotion to make the lines flow naturally. You expect Sunghoon to do the same—to deliver his part with the same distant professionalism he treats everything with.

But then he looks at you. Really looks at you. For the first time, his gaze isn’t skimming past you or dismissing you outright. It’s focused—intense. He delivers his lines smoothly, his voice calm but layered with the controlled fury his character is meant to convey.

“You said you loved me… I gave you everything, I’d even give you the world if I could, but this? This is how you repay me?”

And for a moment, you almost forget that this is just a read-through.

“Let me explain, I can’t lose us but I also can’t lose this…”

You read from the script, voice quivering the slightest bit. Your pulse quickens, Not because of him, but because of the sheer force of his presence. It’s unsettling how easily he commands attention, how his eyes lock onto yours and make it feel like there’s no one else in the room.

But this isn’t real. It’s just acting. It’s literally his job. He’s trained for this. And yet, the way he holds your gaze makes it impossible to ignore the shift in the air around you.

The second the scene ends, the weight of his stare disappears. He looks away as if nothing happened, flipping the script shut with practiced indifference.

“That’s enough,” he mutters.

You blink. Once. Twice. You’re momentarily thrown off by how abruptly he drops the intensity.

He doesn’t respond. Just turns away, already focusing on something else, as if the last few minutes meant nothing at all. And they didn’t. You don’t dwell on it. You can’t. Because no matter how sharp his gaze feels when it lingers on you, or how easily he commands attention, you refuse to let it mean anything.

He’s an actor.

He was just acting.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The days bleed together, a relentless cycle of early mornings and late nights, and somehow, you always find yourself clashing with Park Sunghoon.

It’s not intentional—at least, not on your part.

He just always has something to complain about. The lighting is too harsh. The script revisions are unnecessary. The costume department didn’t get his measurements right. And when there’s nothing else to nitpick, he directs his irritation toward you.

You, who is only doing your job.

You, who has done nothing to warrant the thinly veiled condescension in his tone whenever he speaks to you.

And yet, every interaction feels like another reminder that to him, you’re just an inconvenience.

“Y/N.” You glance up from the monitor, catching sight of Sunghoon approaching with that same unreadable expression he always wears. His suit is immaculate—no surprise there—but there’s a slight furrow between his brows, a sure sign that he’s about to complain.

You brace yourself. “Yes?”

“This—” He gestures to the set behind you, where props and lighting have been carefully arranged for the next scene. “It’s wrong.”

You blink. “What do you mean, wrong?”

“The setup,” he says flatly, as if it should be obvious. “The table is in the wrong position.”

You glance over your shoulder. The table in question sits precisely where it was placed per the set designer’s notes. Nothing has changed since this morning. “It’s exactly where it’s supposed to be,” you tell him, crossing your arms.

Sunghoon exhales sharply, clearly unimpressed with your answer. “It wasn’t there yesterday.”

“That’s because they adjusted it to match the camera angles for today’s shoot,” you explain, keeping your voice even. “It’s intentional.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “It’s distracting.”

You stare at him. “It’s a table.”

The muscle in his jaw ticks. “It’s in the wrong place.”

You release a slow breath, forcing yourself to remain patient. “Look, Sunghoon, I get that you have your preferences, but moving the table now would mess with continuity. Everything is already set up for the next shot.”

His expression remains impassive, but you don’t miss the way his fingers twitch at his side, like he’s resisting the urge to argue further. For a moment, it seems like he’s going to let it go. “Move it anyway.”

Your patience snaps. “No.” It’s a simple word, firm and unwavering, but it seems to catch him off guard.

His eyes narrow slightly. “Excuse me?”

You stand your ground. “I said no. We’re not moving the table just because you don’t like where it is. The set designer put it there for a reason, and I’m not going to mess up the entire continuity just to satisfy your need for control.”

A tense silence stretches between you. The crew nearby pretends not to eavesdrop, but you can feel their eyes darting toward the confrontation, waiting to see how Sunghoon will react.

His expression darkens, and for a second, you wonder if you’ve gone too far. “Fine.”

You blink. Did he just… give up? Sunghoon exhales through his nose, tilting his head slightly as he studies you. His gaze is sharp, calculating, as if he’s seeing you for the first time. But just as quickly, the moment passes.

“Do whatever you want,” he mutters before turning on his heel and walking away.

You watch him go, chest rising and falling with quiet frustration.

The crew resumes their work, the tension in the air dissipating, but you’re still left with a lingering sense of unease. Because for the first time since you started working on this set, Park Sunghoon didn’t just dismiss you.

He listened. And somehow, that unsettles you more than anything.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

It happens again.

You don’t know if Sunghoon is actually making your life difficult on purpose, or if he’s just that naturally insufferable. Either way, he’s quickly becoming the single biggest source of frustration in your already overwhelming workload.

Today, it’s the costume. “I’m not wearing this,” Sunghoon says flatly, standing in the middle of the dressing room, arms crossed over his chest.

You glance at the mirror behind him, where the reflection of his current outfit stares back at you. The suit is tailored perfectly, sleek and elegant, designed specifically to fit the tone of the upcoming scene. It looks fine. More than fine. It looks good. But, of course, Park Sunghoon has a problem with it.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, inhaling slowly before responding. “Sunghoon, the costume department spent weeks finalizing the designs. It’s already been approved by the director.”

“I don’t care,” he says, tone as impassive as ever. “It’s uncomfortable. The fabric is stiff, and the collar is too tight.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “It’s a suit. It’s supposed to fit that way.”

“It’s restricting.”

“That’s the point.”

His eyes narrow slightly at your tone, but you don’t back down. You’re already exhausted from dealing with the hundred other problems popping up on set today. The last thing you need is Sunghoon refusing to cooperate over something as trivial as a suit.

“Look,” you continue, crossing your arms, “I get that you have preferences, but the wardrobe team put a lot of thought into this. You can’t just refuse to wear it because it’s slightly uncomfortable.”

Sunghoon tilts his head slightly, regarding you with that unreadable stare of his. “Why do you care so much?”

The room falls silent.

A quiet tension settles between you, thick and unyielding. You can feel the wardrobe assistants nervously shifting in the background, the air charged with the weight of unspoken words. Sunghoon, for once, says nothing. He just watches you, gaze unwavering.

You hold your breath, expecting him to lash out, to throw another dismissive remark your way. But instead, he sighs. A small, almost imperceptible exhale. Then, without another word, he turns back to the mirror and adjusts the cuff of his sleeve. The message is clear. He’s letting it go.

You blink, momentarily thrown off by the unexpected lack of resistance. Then, realizing this is your win, you straighten your posture and nod. “Good. I’ll let the team know we’re moving forward.”

Sunghoon doesn’t acknowledge your words. He just finishes fixing the suit himself, his expression unreadable.

You turn on your heel and walk out of the dressing room, your pulse still buzzing with the remnants of the confrontation. But for the first time, you don’t feel small under Sunghoon’s scrutiny. You don’t feel insignificant. You stood your ground. And, whether he’d admit it or not, he backed down.

It’s a small victory. But in this industry? Even the smallest wins count.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You should have seen this coming.

When the assistant director approached you this afternoon, clipboard in hand, and told you that Sunghoon needed someone to help him rehearse lines for an overnight shoot, “You’ve done it before last time, you’re doing nothing else later too,” you should have made an excuse. Should have told them you were too busy. Should have assigned the task to someone else.

But instead, here you are. Trapped. In a dimly lit corner of the set, sitting across from Park Sunghoon in a cramped backstage area that barely fits the two of you.

The main set is being rearranged for the next scene, and since filming can’t resume until everything is in place, the crew is scattered—some grabbing a late-night coffee, others reviewing notes, all leaving you with no escape from this situation.

Sunghoon flips through the script, eyes skimming over the lines. He hasn’t said much since you sat down, aside from a brief nod of acknowledgment. He’s as unreadable as ever, and you’re too exhausted to figure out whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

“You ready?” you ask, stretching your fingers as you grip your copy of the script.

Sunghoon barely glances at you. “You sure you can keep up?”

Your lips press into a thin line. It’s been like this for weeks. Constantly butting heads, trading sharp words that always carry the edge of something heavier. You exhale through your nose and roll your shoulders back. “Let’s just get this over with.”

He smirks—just barely, a flicker of amusement crossing his face before he masks it with indifference. “Alright then.” And with that, he starts.

The scene is intense—a heated argument between his character and the female lead, raw with tension and emotion. You read your lines smoothly, keeping your voice steady, but Sunghoon…

Sunghoon doesn’t just recite his lines. He delivers them. His voice shifts seamlessly into character, rich with frustration and unspoken anger, his presence filling the small space between you. Even though you’re just reading, the sheer weight of his performance is enough to make your pulse stutter.

His eyes lock onto yours, sharp and unwavering, and suddenly it feels like the world outside this moment doesn’t exist.

You know it’s just acting. You know that. And yet, there’s something unnerving about being on the receiving end of his intensity. You push through, refusing to let his presence throw you off. You meet his stare head-on, refusing to waver, delivering your lines with just as much weight.

The words from the script fly between you like sparks igniting dry air.

“That’s all you ever do. Walk away. Like none of this ever mattered to you.”“Don’t you dare turn this on me. I was the only one who ever fought for us.” Sunghoon scoffs, the sound low and bitter.

“Fought? Is that what you call it? Because from where I’m standing, all I see is someone who gave up the moment things got hard.” You tighten your grip on the script.

“No. I gave up when I realized I was the only one still trying. YOU chose to not have me, have US, as a priority.”

The words hang between you. Heavy. Unrelenting. It’s just a script. Just a scene. But the weight of it presses down like something real.

The next line in the script is a pause—a moment of silence where the characters stare at each other, the fight teetering between rage and something neither of them can name.

Neither of you move. The quiet hum of distant voices from the main set barely reaches you. The only sound between you is the faint rustling of paper as Sunghoon shifts his grip on the script, his gaze still trained on you.

Your heartbeat is annoyingly loud in your ears. You should say something. Make a joke. Brush it off. But before you can, a crew member’s voice suddenly cuts through the silence.

“Sunghoon! You’re needed for blocking in five minutes!”

The moment shatters.

Sunghoon blinks, the tension breaking just as quickly as it had formed. He exhales, rolling his shoulders back before finally looking away.

“Guess we’re done here,” he mutters, flipping his script shut.

You swallow, nodding as you quickly gather your things. “Yeah.”

Neither of you say anything else as you stand and step out of the confined space, rejoining the rest of the crew. But as you walk away, shaking off the strange weight lingering in your chest, you can’t shake the feeling that something between you and Sunghoon just shifted.

And you don’t know what that means.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The exhaustion is starting to creep in.

Overnight shoots have a way of draining every last bit of energy from you, stretching time into something unrecognizable. The set is bathed in artificial light to mimic the illusion of late evening, but outside, the sky is already bleeding into the soft hues of dawn.

You sit at the far end of the set, sipping what is probably your third—no, fourth—cup of coffee, going over the schedule for the day. Your body aches, your eyelids feel heavier than usual, and yet, you can’t rest. There’s still too much to do, too much to coordinate.

You barely register Sunghoon’s presence at first. He’s sitting nearby, reviewing notes with the director, his usually pristine appearance slightly undone—his tie is loose, the cuffs of his dress shirt unbuttoned, dark strands of hair falling into his eyes. It’s the most unpolished you’ve ever seen him. Not that you care.

You force your attention back to the clipboard in your hands, mentally preparing for the chaos of the coming hours. But then, something shifts.

A soft thud.

You glance up and find a cup of coffee placed beside your elbow. You blink. Look up. Sunghoon is standing over you, hands tucked into his pockets, expression unreadable.

For a moment, you just stare at the cup, as if trying to decipher its presence. “…What’s this?” you ask cautiously.

Sunghoon shrugs, gaze flickering away. “You’ve been up longer than most of the crew. Figured you needed it. Don’t want you messing things up again.”

You blink again, stunned into silence. Sunghoon? Offering you something? Voluntarily? The world must be ending. Slowly, you wrap your fingers around the warm cup, the heat seeping into your chilled skin. You hesitate before murmuring, “Thanks.”

Sunghoon says nothing. He simply nods once before walking away, leaving you with a cup of coffee and a strange, unfamiliar feeling curling in your chest.

You tell yourself it’s just exhaustion. That’s all it is.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The small gestures don’t stop there.

Over the next few days, there’s a shift. Subtle, but noticeable. Sunghoon still keeps his distance, still maintains that cool indifference that makes him impossible to read. But there are… moments.

Like when he passes by the props table and subtly fixes something out of place before you can do it yourself.

Or when he doesn’t argue—for once—when you tell him to adjust his costume before a scene.

Or when you find a neatly folded jacket draped over the back of your chair one evening, long after the sun has set, when the set has turned quiet and you’re the only one left working.

You never catch him in the act. But you know. And you don’t know what to make of it, because this isn’t Sunghoon. At least, not the Sunghoon you thought you knew. The one who went out of his way to ignore you, to dismiss you as nothing more than an inconvenience.

So why does it feel like—despite everything—he’s starting to notice you?

You shake the thought from your head. It doesn’t matter. This doesn’t mean anything. It can’t. Because Sunghoon is still Sunghoon.

And you? You’re still just another crew member. A nobody in his world for now. You have to focus on your goal.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The set is nearly empty, save for a few crew members wrapping up for the night. The usual hum of voices and movement has died down, replaced by the occasional rustling of equipment being packed away. You should have left hours ago, but your body moves on autopilot as you double-check the next day’s schedule, making sure nothing has slipped through the cracks.

The exhaustion clings to you like a second skin. You rub your temples, trying to will away the dull ache forming between your brows, when a voice cuts through the silence.

“You’re still here?” You flinch, turning sharply.

Sunghoon stands a few feet away, leaning casually against a production crate. His suit jacket is gone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his usual polished demeanor replaced by something looser, less composed. He looks just as tired as you feel.

You clear your throat. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He doesn’t answer immediately, just studies you for a beat before shrugging. “Didn’t feel like going home yet.”

You frown slightly. “Why not?”

Another pause. His gaze flickers away for a moment, as if debating whether or not to answer. When he finally does, his voice is quieter than usual. “Silence feels heavier when you’re alone.”

The words catch you off guard. You’ve never heard Sunghoon speak like this before—without sarcasm, without that usual edge of indifference. Just… honest. For a moment, you don’t know how to respond. Then, before you can stop yourself, you ask, “Is that why you work so much?”

His lips press into a thin line, but he doesn’t deny it.

You exhale softly, leaning back against the chair. “I get it.”

Sunghoon’s eyes flicker back to you, sharp with curiosity. “Do you?”

There’s a beat of silence. “That’s surprisingly insightful,” Sunghoon murmurs.

You huff a quiet laugh. “I’m full of surprises.”

Sunghoon leans against the crate, tilting his head slightly. His usual sharp gaze softens, something unreadable flickering across his face. “I used to be terrified,” he says suddenly, his voice lower than before.

You blink, caught off guard by the confession. “Of what?”

His fingers drum idly against the crate’s surface. “Failing.”

You don’t say anything, waiting for him to continue.

“When I first started out, no one took me seriously. People saw my face and assumed I was just another pretty boy who got lucky.” He exhales through his nose. “I had to work twice as hard just to prove I belonged here.”

You watch him carefully. You’ve never heard him talk about this before—not in interviews, not in passing conversations with the crew. Sunghoon rarely lets people see beyond the polished surface, beyond the image of perfection he’s carefully built. But right now, there’s no mask. No arrogance. Just raw honesty.

You shift in your seat. “What was the hardest part?”

He hesitates. “The rejection.” His fingers tighten slightly. “You think you’re good enough, and then someone tells you you’re not. Over and over again.”

You nod slowly. You understand that feeling all too well. “But you made it,” you say softly.

Sunghoon lets out a quiet laugh—one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. But the fear never really goes away.”

You tilt your head. “Even now?”

“Especially now.” His voice is calm, but there’s something heavy beneath it. “When you reach a certain point, people stop caring about how hard you worked to get there. All they see is what you are now. And if you slip, even for a second, they’re ready to move on to the next rising star.”

You don’t break his gaze. You should have guessed this—should have realized that someone as successful as Sunghoon would carry the weight of expectations heavier than most. Still, hearing it from him directly makes it feel different. Real.

“Do you ever regret it?” you ask quietly.

He doesn’t answer right away. “No.” A pause. “But sometimes, I wonder what it would feel like to just… stop. To not have to care about every little thing, to not have to be perfect all the time.” His voice is softer than before, almost distant. It’s the first time you’ve ever heard him sound tired.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “That sounds… lonely.”

Sunghoon exhales. “It is.”

The silence between you stretches, not uncomfortable but different. He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t try to fill the space with unnecessary words.

And for once, you don’t feel the need to either. It’s strange—this quiet, fragile understanding between you. But maybe, just for tonight, you don’t have to question it.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You don’t know exactly when it happened, or how, but the shift between you and Sunghoon is undeniable. It’s not sudden or dramatic. There’s no grand moment of realization, no obvious turning point. It’s something quieter. Subtle.

You notice it in the way he doesn’t immediately shut you down when you speak to him anymore.

In the way his sharp remarks have softened, turning into dry humor instead of outright dismissal.

In the way he looks at you sometimes—not with disdain, not with indifference, but with something… else.

You don’t question it. You don’t acknowledge it because whatever this is, it’s fragile. And you don’t dare disturb it.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

It starts with the little things.

Like today. You’re going over the schedule for the next scene when a shadow falls over your clipboard. You look up, surprised to find Sunghoon standing beside you.

“Here.” You blink as he hands you something. A protein bar.

You stare at it for a moment, then back at him. “What’s this for?”

Sunghoon shrugs, looking anywhere but at you. “You forgot to eat lunch.”

You frown. “How do you—?”

“I just noticed,” he says quickly, cutting you off.

You raise an eyebrow but take the protein bar anyway. “Thanks, I guess.”

He nods, already stepping away. But before he leaves, you hear him mumble, just loud enough for you to catch— “Don’t make a habit of skipping meals.”

You don’t even get the chance to respond before he disappears down the hall. You stare after him, heart thudding a little too loudly in your chest. This… isn’t normal. At least, not for him. Park Sunghoon doesn’t notice people. He doesn’t care about the little things. And yet, here he is, paying attention to you in ways that don’t make sense.

You shake your head, stuffing the protein bar into your bag.

It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t mean anything.

Right?

ㅤㅤ─────────────────────────

A few days later, it happens again.

This time, it’s late at night, and you’re reviewing notes in one of the empty break rooms. Most of the crew has already gone home, but you’re still here, buried in work as usual.

You barely hear the door open. “You’re still here?” You glance up, unsurprised to see Sunghoon standing in the doorway. This is becoming a pattern.

You sigh. “You really need to stop sneaking up on me like that.”

He smirks faintly. “Maybe you just need to be more aware of your surroundings.”

You roll your eyes but don’t bother arguing. Instead, you go back to your notes. “What are you still doing here?”

“Could ask you the same thing.”

“I work here.”

Sunghoon hums, stepping further into the room. He leans against the table beside you, arms crossed. “You work too much.”

You huff. “That’s rich coming from you.”

He doesn’t deny it. Just tilts his head slightly, studying you with that unreadable gaze of his. Then, after a pause, he says, “You’re good at what you do.”

You freeze. Of all the things you expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them.

Slowly, you look up. “What?”

Sunghoon’s expression is unreadable, but there’s no sarcasm in his voice when he repeats, “You’re good at your job.”

You swallow, caught off guard. Compliments aren’t something you hear often—especially not from him. For a moment, you don’t know how to respond.

Finally, you manage, “Thanks.”

Sunghoon nods once before pushing off the table. “Don’t stay too late.” And just like that, he’s gone again.

You stare after him, heart pounding with something you really don’t want to name because whatever this is—whatever is happening between you and Sunghoon—it’s starting to feel dangerously close to something real.

And you don’t know if you’re ready for that.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You don’t know what’s worse—the tension before you and Sunghoon started tolerating each other, or the tension now.

Before, you could dismiss him as insufferable, a man too caught up in his own world to care about anyone else. But now?

Now, he lingers.

Now, he notices.

Now, he watches you in a way that makes your skin feel too warm, makes the air between you feel heavier than it should.

And the worst part? You catch yourself doing the same.

It’s nothing—just a series of small moments, insignificant on their own but unbearable when strung together.

Like the way his gaze always seems to find you first when he enters a room.

Like the way your fingers brush against his more often than they should when handing him a prop or adjusting his mic.

Like the way silence between you is no longer uncomfortable, but something else entirely—something thick and unspoken.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. It has to be nothing because anything else would be a mistake.

ㅤㅤ─────────────────────────

You’re walking across the set, flipping through the pages of your clipboard as you weave between crew members adjusting lights and moving props. The scene is nearly ready, and you just need to confirm a few last-minute adjustments before filming starts.

You’re so focused on your notes that you don’t see the stray cable lying across your path. Your foot catches. The world tilts.

Your heart jumps into your throat as you stumble forward, clipboard slipping from your fingers. But before you can hit the ground, a firm hand grips your wrist.

His hold is firm but careful, his fingers pressing against the fabric of your shirt, grounding you before you can fully process what just happened. For a moment, neither of you move. The air around you feels heavier, thick with something neither of you acknowledge.

“You should watch where you’re going,” Sunghoon murmurs, his voice lower than usual.

You finally look up.

Big mistake. Because he’s closer than you thought he was.

The dim lighting casts sharp shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his dark eyes flicker with something unreadable. His breath is warm against your skin, and for a second, the world around you blurs—reduced to nothing but the space between you.

Your pulse pounds. “I—I was busy,” you stammer, trying to find some semblance of normalcy.

Sunghoon tilts his head slightly, gaze never leaving yours. “Too busy to notice where you’re walking?”

You swallow hard, willing your heart to calm down. “Maybe.”

His grip on your waist tightens—just a fraction. Just enough for you to feel it. For the first time, you think he might actually smile–

“Sunghoon! We need you on set!”

His expression hardens in an instant, as if someone flipped a switch. His hands fall away, the warmth of his touch disappearing too fast. You take a quick step back, still trying to catch your breath. Sunghoon clears his throat, straightening his posture. “Try not to trip again.”

You scowl, trying to ignore the heat rushing to your face. “Try not to catch me next time.”

He smirks—just barely, just enough to make your stomach twist in a way you refuse to acknowledge. And then he’s gone. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, pressing a hand to your chest to steady yourself.

This—whatever this is—is getting out of control and you don’t know how much longer you can ignore it.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The air is thick with tension.

Not the bad kind, not the simmering annoyance that used to define your interactions with Sunghoon. This is different.

This is the kind of tension that makes your pulse race, that makes your skin tingle whenever he’s too close, that makes every glance feel too much.

The night shoot has stretched longer than expected, with last-minute script adjustments and lighting corrections delaying the schedule. Most of the crew is exhausted, but the director is pushing to get one last take before they call it a wrap.

Sunghoon has been in and out of wardrobe for hours, and by now, even he looks tired. His usual pristine appearance is slightly undone—his tie loosened, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, a few strands of dark hair falling into his eyes.

You try not to look. You really did, but you fail.

“Y/N, can you check the lighting cues with Sunghoon before we roll?” You nod, gripping your clipboard a little too tightly. “Got it.”

You make your way toward Sunghoon, who’s reviewing the script under one of the set lights. When he notices you approaching, he sighs. “What now?” he mutters.

You cross your arms. “Relax. I’m just making sure you’re ready for the next take.”

He exhales through his nose, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know. Just tired.”

You hesitate, taken aback by his honesty. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of you say anything. The usual biting remarks, the sarcastic exchanges—none of it comes. Instead, there’s just silence, filled with something heavier.

Sunghoon looks at you then. Really looks at you.

And that’s when everything shifts. It happens too fast.

One second, you’re stepping forward to adjust the collar of his shirt, fingers brushing against the fabric. The next, you lose your footing, maybe your own exhaustion catching up to you.

Either way, you stumble and Sunghoon catches you. Again.

His hands grip your arms, steadying you before you can fall. Your fingers clutch onto his shirt instinctively, holding onto him as the world tilts for just a moment.

And then you realize. He’s close. Too close.

Your breaths mingle in the small space between you, the faint scent of his cologne wrapping around you. His hands are firm, his touch warm, and when you finally gather the courage to look up, his eyes are already on you.

Something flickers in them, something unreadable yet impossibly heavy. His gaze drops briefly—to your lips, just for a split second—before snapping back up.

The realization hits you like a freight train. Your stomach flips, your breath catches, and for one terrifying moment, you think you might actually let him.

Your grip on his shirt tightens, his fingers flex against your arms, and the world around you fades—reduced to nothing but this moment, this space, him.

Maybe, just maybe, you’re fine with the thought of kissi-

A loud crash from across the set breaks the spell. Someone curses, something clatters to the floor, and just like that, the moment is gone.

You and Sunghoon jerk away from each other as if burned, the air between you suddenly too cold, too empty. Your heart is pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it.

Sunghoon exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes—something dangerously close to frustration… or maybe regret.

You don’t stick around to find out. “I—uh—should check on that,” you blurt, stepping back too quickly. “The crash. Someone probably—”

Sunghoon nods stiffly, jaw tight. “Yeah. You should.”

And then you walk away. Fast. Too fast. Because whatever that was?

It can’t happen again. It won’t happen again.

You tell yourself it was nothing.

That the near-kiss, the tension, the way Sunghoon’s hands felt on your skin—none of it mattered. It was just exhaustion. A moment of stupid miscalculation. But deep down, you know that’s a lie.

Because now, every glance between you lingers too long. Every accidental touch burns a little hotter. And every moment spent alone feels like standing on the edge of something dangerous, something you don’t want to name.

You don’t know how much longer you can pretend it isn’t happening.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

It’s raining.

The shoot ran late—again. By the time you step outside, the studio parking lot is nearly empty, the streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement. The rain isn’t heavy, just a steady drizzle that coats everything in a thin sheen of water. You tug your jacket closer around yourself, shivering slightly as you rummage through your bag for your keys. Fuck where is it?

“You forgot this.”

You spin around.

Sunghoon stands a few feet away, holding out your clipboard. His hair is slightly damp from the rain, his white dress shirt clinging to his frame. He looks different like this—less put together, less like the untouchable star everyone sees on screen. More real.

You blink, caught off guard. “Oh. Right. Thanks.” He doesn’t move. Doesn’t walk away.

Instead, he just watches you.

Like he’s waiting for something.

Like he’s fighting something.

And you know—you know—that this is the moment.

The one where you either walk away and pretend none of this ever happened.

Or you give in.

You swallow hard, pulse hammering in your ears. “Sunghoon…” His name comes out softer than you intended and that’s all it takes. The tension between you snaps.

One second, you’re standing in the rain, barely breathing. The next, Sunghoon is closing the distance between you in two quick strides, his hands coming up to cup your face as his lips crash into yours.

Your breath catches as heat floods through you, his mouth moving against yours with a kind of urgency you’ve never felt before. His grip is firm but careful, as if he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he holds too tight.

And maybe he should be. Because this—whatever this is—feels impossible. But right now, at this moment, you don’t care. You kiss him back.

Your hands grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, pouring every ounce of frustration, of confusion, of longing into the kiss. The rain keeps falling, soaking into your clothes, tangling in your hair, but neither of you notice. The only thing that exists is this.

Sunghoon tilts his head, deepening the kiss, his fingers threading through your hair. He tastes like coffee and rain, like something dangerous and addictive all at once.

And you know—you know—that this is a mistake. But you don’t stop.

Not when his hands slide down to your waist, pulling you against him.

Not when your fingers slip into his damp hair, tugging lightly, making him groan softly against your lips.

Not when he presses you back against the side of your car, his body solid and warm against yours despite the cold night air.

You don’t stop, because for the first time in weeks, you don’t want to.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You don’t remember how you get home. All you know is that one minute, you’re in the rain, drowning in him, and the next, you’re in your apartment.

His jacket is on the floor. So is yours.

His lips molding against yours, passionate and hungry. Your back meets the door, hands travelling to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss deepens as your tongues fight against each other.

You stop in front of your bedroom door, his free hand opens it and turns some of the lights on. This time when your eyes meet, it's different. His eyes are dark and wreaking with lust as he closes in. His slender fingers reach forward as he cups your chin. He tilts your head up, eyes searching mine.

He must have found exactly what he was looking for because he finally leans back in. Somehow, this kiss is even more passionate than before. You barely notice the movement as he slowly guides you toward the bed.

The moment your knees hit the frame, he pulls away. His hand on your chin trails down to your chest, pushing gently. You fall onto the bed, a surprised gasp leaving your lips as your back meets the soft material of your comforter.

He moves forward, his gaze never leaving yours. One of his knees props up against the bed next to your thigh. You look down briefly before focusing your attention on his fingers, watching as they slowly work at the buttons of his white button-up shirt, releasing them one by one until he reaches the final one.

He shrugs off his shirt, allowing it to fall effortlessly, showing his toned chest and firm stomach. Your breath catches as he totally removes the sleeves before flinging the fabric on the floor.

If you had any doubts about what was going on, they were quickly dispelled when you noticed the tent in his pants. Is this actually happening? To be honest, everything seemed to fall into place too wonderfully, almost like a dream.

Sunghoon moves forward, taking his place above you. You’re so close that instinct kicks in, and you shift slightly, ensuring you're comfortably situated on the bed beneath him.

His hand moves down, tracing along your sides with slow, deliberate sensuality. Each brush of his fingers sends a warm shiver down your spine.

"Your hair, your eyes, your lips," he murmurs, his touch following the path of his words. "Fuck, you're so beautiful," he rasps, his voice thick with something you can't quite name. "What are you doing to me?"

Your heart skips a beat when he grasps the bottom of your shirt. "There's just something about you..."

"May I?" he asks, though all you can manage is a small nod.

A wave of last-minute nerves crashes over you as he slowly drags the fabric up, taking his time revealing your upper body. Once he’s done, he moves on to your jeans, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you before tossing them aside.

You squeeze your eyes shut, heat rising to your face in a flush of embarrassment. "You're beautiful," Sunghoon says, his words so genuine it almost hurts.Your hands fly up to cover your face, the warmth of your own skin only confirming how flustered you feel. But thinking back to his words, his actions—there’s no reason to be embarrassed at all.

You feel him shift before his hands grasp your forearms, gently pulling your hands away from your face. You let him, but you still can’t bring yourself to open your eyes.

"Look at me," he says softly. You can't.

"Baby," he pleads, "look at me." You force yourself to open your eyes, and the moment they meet his, he smiles. "There you are."

His head dips down, his lips capturing yours in a sweet, fleeting kiss. When he pulls away, he trails kisses down your neck, each one wet and slow, traveling lower—across the crook of your neck, down to your chest, your stomach, and then—your thighs.

His lips press gently against the top of your thigh, a lingering, tender kiss. His fingers graze your skin as he does so, the simple touch sending a shiver through your body.

The closer his kisses get, the deeper you feel them, your stomach twisting with anticipation. Soon, he reaches the inner part of your thigh, and the second his skin meets yours, a fire ignites inside you. The insecurities from before melt away, replaced by a single, overwhelming thought.

The kisses quickly turn into pure torment. "Sunghoon," you whine, "stop teasing." He hums in response, his fingers hooking onto your underwear. He pulls it down slowly, giving you every chance to stop him—but you never do.

A groan escapes him as he finally sees the part of you he's been waiting for. He slides the fabric down your legs, discarding it to the floor before moving back up—closer, hungrier.

Each of his hands grips your thighs, gently pushing them apart. You hide your face again, this time out of sheer shyness. Any lingering insecurities are so far gone they don’t even cross your mind anymore—not when you feel his right hand leave your thigh and trail toward your core.

The moment his fingers graze over your clit, a breathless mewl escapes your lips, the sound completely involuntary. He chuckles. "You're so wet already, and I haven't even touched you properly."

You groan, both flustered and frustrated by his teasing. "’hoon."

He laughs again, his left hand squeezing your thigh. "What?"

"Touch me, please," you plead, your voice quiet, needy.

"Anything for you."

His fingers move into your folds, spreading them apart, before pressing his thumb against your clit. He begins with slow, rhythmic circles, each one sending waves of pleasure through your body.

It feels good—too good—but you crave "more." He obliges without hesitation, understanding exactly what you desire as his lips meet your heat. A hushed cry escapes your lips, and your fist flies up to your mouth, biting down in an attempt to muffle any crude sounds.

His hand moves aside, then back to your thigh while his tongue takes control. He grabs the back of your thighs, forcing you up slightly as he devours you, working his mouth against you with such fervor that your head spins.

It doesn't take long before the familiar feeling coils inside you. The sensation grows stronger with each flick of his tongue and measured movement of his lips, with pleasure increasing by the second.

A long moan leaves you as his hold tightens and his tongue presses down with precisely the proper pressure. He smiles against you, a soft chuckle spilling from his lips, and the vibrations send another rush of pleasure through your body.

Your hand flies from your mouth, clutching the blankets. "Fuck," you gasp, your hand clenched.

His right hand moves away from your thigh and back to your core, but this time he isn't simply focusing on your clit.

Your breath is caught as his fingertip softly pushes past your entrance, slipping inside with ease, your arousal covering his digit. Sunghoon groans at the vulgar sight, and the sound sends jolts down to your heat in more ways than one. Then he inserts another finger, carefully pushing it in and out as his lips suck down harder on your clit.

It's just too much.

A shattered cry escapes your mouth as your peak draws near. You pry your eyes open, looking down at him—and instantly wish you hadn't. Seeing him positioned between your legs is nearly unbearable.

His gaze catches yours from beneath, deep and brimming with desire, and you sense his grin on your skin. His fingers turn, curling perfectly as the pressure on your clit intensifies. The way he moves creates waves of pleasure surging within you, his tongue synchronizing flawlessly with his hands.

The feeling is so strong that your body surrenders, collapsing onto the bed as your head touches the plush duvet. Your abdomen constricts, your muscles gripping his fingers.

"I'm almost there," you whine, voice trembling and gasping.

He remains unwavering, maintaining his pace as the strain in your stomach intensifies to the limit. "Oh God—fuck," you exclaim, your hand moving to bring him nearer.

Your fingers weave through his dark hair, pulling gently, and the low groan that slips from his mouth resonates profoundly within you. That sound—combined with the movements of his tongue—pushes you to the brink.

A sharp breath escapes you as your spine bends, ecstasy flooding your body in overwhelming surges. Blinding sparks fill your sight as your climax overwhelms you. Your grip on his hair strengthens, and your thighs instinctively squeeze around his head.

"It feels so good," you murmur, voice dazed and dripping with lust. "Shit, Sunghoon, you're so good.”

He hums with contentment, his tongue skillfully navigating you through your peak, extending every surge of pleasure until it gradually starts to fade. You fall onto the bed, your hold on his head loosening, your legs parting a bit.

His fingers withdraw from you—but his mouth remains. His tongue caresses your delicate folds once more, savoring every single drop of your climax.

A whimper slips from you. "Sensitive, ah—" Your thighs shake, the overexcitement delivering intense yet pleasurable jolts throughout you. It's intense—agonizing and exhilarating simultaneously.

Satisfied, he finally pulls away. "You taste so good," he murmurs, voice thick with desire. "So sweet."

Your dazed eyes meet his, and you watch as he licks his lips, his lower face glistening with your arousal. Just seeing this sight alone sends another chill up your spine.

He climbs up your body, trapping you beneath him. The moment his lips crash into yours, you groan, tasting yourself on his tongue. When he pulls away, you instinctively chase after his lips, only for him to chuckle and gently push you back down.

He presses a wet kiss to your cheek before moving down to your neck, lips trailing lower in search of your sweet spot. When he finds it, your body jerks, a sharp inhale giving you away. He smirks against your skin, sucking down before biting softly, marking you his.

He continues his path down, leaving a trail of bruises along your neck and collarbone. Your hands find their way to his bare shoulders, nails digging into his skin as his lips descend further.

Kneeling between your legs, his hands slide around your back. You arch instinctively, allowing him access to the clasp of your bra. His fingers fumble with the material, trying to unhook it.

A quiet curse leaves his lips when he fails. He tries again—another curse. You giggle, tapping his back. He lifts his head, meeting your amused gaze with pleading eyes.

Chuckling, you sit up slightly, giving him room as he leans back on his knees. Your hands move behind you, unclasping your bra on the second try. He watches, mesmerized, as you shrug it off, discarding the fabric to the floor.

He’s about to push you back down, but you stop him, pressing a hand to his chest. Reaching forward, you hook your fingers into the loops of his slacks. "Take it off," you say, voice firm with want.

You’re already completely bare beneath him, while he’s only shirtless. That’s not fair, is it?

Sensing your impatience, his fingers work swifty to unbuckle his belt, throwing it aside before undoing the button of his slacks. When he pulls down the zipper, you let go, allowing him to rid himself of the material on his own.

Your mouth practically waters as Sunghoon reveals his black boxer briefs, the outline of his arousal leaving nothing to the imagination. He kicks them off, letting the fabric join the scattered mess of clothing on the bedroom floor.

Your fingers instinctively reach forward, tracing the rigid shape still clothed beneath the thin material. A low groan escapes him at your touch, his brows furrowing as pleasure flickers across his face. The way he reacts makes your stomach tighten—you want to return the favor.

You grab hold of the waistband, ready to pull them down, but before you can, he pushes you back against the mattress, towering over you once more.

"Wait," you whine, looking up at him. "I wanna make you feel good."

His words send a shiver down your spine, equal parts frustration and anticipation curling low in your stomach.

Your gaze stays locked onto his briefs—he still needs to take them off. But he's moving too slowly, teasing you on purpose. Huffing, you reach forward and yank them down in one swift motion.

His cock finally springs free, the motion making it smack against the firm plane of his stomach. You can’t help but stare. It’s odd to admit, but—God, it’s pretty. Of course, it is. Just look at his damn face.

He chuckles, the deep sound laced with amusement. "Is my baby getting impatient?"

"You're such a tease," you mumble, cheeks burning as you refuse to look away from his lower half.

"But you like it, don't you?"

You don’t deny it, though words fail you. As much as you love his teasing, the ache inside you is unbearable now, your body begging for his. The want in your stomach is almost outmatched by the throbbing between your legs.

A groan of frustration slips past your lips as you throw your head back against the pillows. "Sunghoon," you scold, voice strained with impatience.

"Hm?" He hums innocently. "What is it?" The playfulness in his tone only makes it worse.

You swallow hard, your entire body burning with need. "I need you."

"Yeah?" His hands settle on your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh.

"Yeah." A sharp gasp leaves you as he grinds against you, his cock sliding along your folds, spreading the wetness. The friction makes your breath hitch, but it’s not enough. You reach for him, arms winding around his back, pulling him closer.

"Stop teasing," you beg, voice trembling. "I can't take it anymore."

His gaze darkens as he takes in your desperate expression. "Shit. I can’t either."

One of his hands leaves your thigh, wrapping around his length as he strokes himself briefly. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he aligns himself at your entrance.

A sharp moan tears from your throat as he pushes inside, inch by inch. The wetness between your legs makes it easy, the stretch deep but not painful. He bottoms out, and for a second, neither of you moves, the moment overwhelming.

Not only is he perfect, but he fits inside you like he was meant to be there. Like your body was made to take him.

"You feel so good," he groans, his head dipping to press against your neck. "So fucking good."

His breath is warm against your skin as he starts to move, his hips rolling in a slow, steady rhythm. You get lost in the sensation—the heat of his body against yours, the way he fills you so perfectly, the rough yet tender press of his lips at the curve of your throat.

His pace quickens, his strokes deeper, more insistent. Each thrust ignites something inside you, and you whimper, fingers threading through his hair.

"I don’t think I'm gonna last long," he confesses, voice hushed against your ear.

"That's okay," you whisper back, your lips brushing against his temple. "Just feel good for me."

A strangled groan rumbles from his chest. His teeth graze your neck before biting down gently. One of his hands snakes between your bodies, fingertips finding your clit. The moment he starts to rub slow, firm circles, you let out a gasp.

Your hand tightens in his hair, nails scratching against his scalp. Your other arm clings to his back, fingers digging into his skin.

"More," you plead, voice breaking.

"Like this?" He applies more pressure, his movements precise, skilled.

Your only response is a hurried nod, your body arching into his touch. "Yes—just like that."

He lets out a desperate moan, hips snapping harder. His rhythm falters slightly, but the intensity only makes it better. Each thrust hits something deep inside you, winding the coil in your stomach impossibly tight.

You’re close. So close. "Sunghoon—"

He answers before you can even finish, slamming into you just right. The air is knocked from your lungs, a cry of pleasure escaping before you can stop it.

The knot inside you snaps. Your entire body trembles as pleasure crashes over you in waves, your walls tightening around him. Your hands fall from his body, too weak to hold on any longer.

A broken moan tumbles from his lips. "Fuck—baby, I'm gonna—"

His hips stutter, his cock twitching deep inside you. A strangled groan escapes him as he spills his seed inside you, his face still buried in your shoulder. Even through his climax, he keeps moving, his thrusts growing sloppy as he works you both through the high.

Eventually, his movements slow. The pleasure lingers, buzzing through your veins even after he pulls out. His fingers slip away from your clit, leaving your body aching but satisfied.

Silence settles between you, the only sound filling the room being your ragged breathing.

Sunghoon is the first to move, letting out a low groan as he sits up.

You let out a slow breath, running your hands over your face, then through your now-messy hair. The post-orgasmic haze still lingers, making you feel weightless. When you turn your head, you find Sunghoon already watching you.

He offers you a lazy smile. "How do you feel?" His fingers trace gently along the side of your face.

"Amazing," you murmur. "I feel amazing."

"Good." He leans down, his face hovering inches from yours.

You reach up, fingers curling into his hair, and pull him in for a slow, lingering kiss, before exhaustion takes over both of you.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The first thing you notice when you wake up is warmth.

The second is that you’re not alone.

Your eyes blink open slowly, adjusting to the dim morning light filtering through your curtains. Your body is sore in ways that make your face heat up, the memories of last night flashing through your mind in fragmented pieces—his hands on your skin, his breath against your neck, the way he whispered your name like it was something precious.

You swallow hard, pulse stuttering.

For a moment, you just stare. Because this? This is different.

You’ve seen Sunghoon in a hundred different ways—on set, in magazines, under the harsh glow of studio lights. But never like this. Never so unguarded.

Your heart clenches, confusion and something dangerously close to longing twisting inside you.

Whatever this is—feels real. Too real and that’s what scares you the most.

You shift slightly, trying to untangle yourself from him, but the small movement stirs him.

Sunghoon hums low in his throat, his grip tightening around you for just a second before his breathing changes, his body stretching out as he starts to wake up.

His eyes open, still heavy with sleep, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he looks at you without his usual guarded expression.

His gaze flickers over your face, his fingers tracing absent patterns against your hip beneath the sheets. “Morning,” he murmurs, voice rough and quiet.

Your throat goes dry. You should say something. Something easy. Light. Anything that will make this feel normal. But before you can, reality slams into you like a freight train.

This is Sunghoon.

Sunghoon, who is always in control.

Sunghoon, who has spent weeks pretending you didn’t exist only to kiss you like he was drowning last night.

Sunghoon, who—despite everything—still belongs to a world that isn’t yours.

The thought is sobering And judging by the way his gaze sharpens slightly, the way his fingers still against your skin, he sees the shift in your expression. He sighs. “You’re overthinking.”

You force a small, stiff laugh. “I just—”

“I know,” he cuts in, voice unreadable now.

Your lips press together.

There’s a moment of silence, and then Sunghoon is sitting up, the warmth of his body leaving yours as he runs a hand through his hair. The loss of contact makes something inside you ache but you don’t stop him.

He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees for a second before exhaling sharply. Then, he reaches for his clothes. And just like that, the spell is broken.

You watch as he dresses, his movements slower than usual, as if he’s waiting for you to say something, but you don’t, because you don’t know what to say.

By the time he buttons his shirt, the tension between you is suffocating. Sunghoon finally turns, his gaze meeting yours again. “I have to go.”

You nod. “Right. Early shoot.”

He hesitates. “Yeah.” He doesn’t move right away. Doesn’t leave. Just lingers by the bed, like there’s something else he wants to say.

“You regret it?” The question is quiet, but it cuts through the air like a blade.

Your stomach twists. “I—”

Sunghoon’s expression is unreadable. “It’s fine if you do.”

You don’t know what you feel. But regret? No.

You shake your head, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t.”

Something flickers in his eyes. Sunghoon exhales through his nose, nodding once before stepping toward the door.

You watch as he reaches for the handle, your fingers clenching against the sheets. You should stop him. You should say something.

But before you can, he glances over his shoulder one last time. “I’ll see you on set.” And then he’s gone. The door clicks shut behind him, and you’re left staring at the empty space where he stood.

And for the first time, you wonder if walking away was easier when he was just a stranger.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The next few days are torture.

You and Sunghoon don’t talk about that night. You don’t talk at all.

It’s not like before, when he was cold and dismissive, or when every glance between you carried an undercurrent of tension.

This is different. This is silence filled with something too heavy to ignore.

And Sunghoon? Sunghoon looks at you like he’s waiting.

For you to acknowledge it.

For you to say something.

For you to do something.

But you don’t.

Until one night, he makes the decision for you.

You’re the last one on set, flipping through notes in one of the break rooms, pretending you’re focused when your mind has been elsewhere all day.

You hear him before you see him. The quiet shuffle of footsteps. The faint sigh of someone bracing themselves before speaking.

“We need to talk.”

You tense. Slowly, you look up.

Sunghoon is standing in the doorway, hands tucked into his pockets, expression unreadable.

You swallow. “About what?”

He exhales sharply, stepping forward. “You know what.”

You force yourself to hold his gaze. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

A humorless chuckle. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

Your jaw tightens. “Sunghoon—”

“Why are you pretending it didn’t happen?” he cuts in, voice edged with frustration.

You flinch. “Because it shouldn’t have.”

His expression flickers—just for a second. But you see it.

The hurt. The hesitation. Then, just as quickly, it’s gone.

“So that’s it?” His voice is quieter now, calmer. “You’re just going to pretend nothing happened?”

You exhale, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know what you want from me, Sunghoon.”

He’s quiet for a beat.

“I want you.”

Your breath catches.

He steps closer, gaze steady. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

He swallows hard, voice softer now. “I just care about you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut.

Sunghoon watches you carefully, searching for something in your expression. He takes a breath and says, “I can’t promise everything will be perfect. But I want you. Will you be mine?”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out.

And you realize…

Maybe you don’t have to be ready.

Maybe you just have to try.

So you inhale deeply, steadying yourself. You nod and Sunghoon smiles.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

Keeping a secret relationship on set is harder than you thought.

It’s not just about avoiding suspicion—it’s about suppressing the way your eyes linger on each other longer than they should. About keeping your hands to yourself when all you want to do is reach for him. About pretending that nothing between you has changed, when in reality, everything has.

And Sunghoon isn’t making it any easier.

It’s in the way he watches you when he thinks no one is looking.

The way his fingers brush against yours when he hands you something, even though there’s no reason for them to.

The way his expression softens, just barely, whenever your eyes meet.

It’s subtle, but it’s there. And every time it happens, your heart stutters in your chest.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The first time you slip up, it’s barely noticeable.

You’re standing by the monitors, going over the director’s notes, when Sunghoon walks past you. It’s nothing out of the ordinary—he’s just moving to his next position for the scene, but as he passes, his fingers graze lightly against your waist.

It’s so brief, so quick, that if anyone were watching, they’d assume it was an accident, but you know better, and judging by the way he smirks as he walks away, he knows you know better.

You clench your jaw, forcing yourself to stay composed. This man is going to be the death of you.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The second time, it’s more obvious.

You’re on set, waiting for the next scene to start, when you feel the weight of his gaze. You try to ignore it and you fail. Against your better judgment, you glance up—and sure enough, Sunghoon is watching you from across the room. His eyes are unreadable, dark and steady, as if he’s daring you to react.

You scowl, mouthing, What?

Instead of answering, he tilts his head slightly, gaze flickering down—just for a second—before meeting your eyes again.

It takes you a moment to process what he just did, and when you do, your face burns, because he wasn’t just looking at you. He was looking at your lips.

You inhale sharply, whipping your head away before anyone can catch the way your expression betrays you. Sunghoon chuckles under his breath, clearly entertained.

You hate him. You really hate him. But the worst part? You don’t. Not even a little.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The third time, it’s a problem.

Sunghoon is filming an emotional scene, one that requires complete focus. The cameras are rolling, the entire crew is watching, and you should be paying attention to the details—the lighting, the sound cues, the blocking, but instead, all you can focus on is him.

Because for the first time, his eyes aren’t just on his co-star. They’re on you. It’s subtle, barely noticeable to anyone else. But you see it.

Every time the camera resets, every time there’s a break between takes, his gaze flickers to you. Just for a second. Just long enough to make your stomach twist.

Then, during takes, a green monster appears. The female lead—a well-known actress, beautiful and elegant—laughs at something Sunghoon says. She leans in slightly, playfully nudging his arm, and he chuckles in return.

It’s nothing. It’s acting. It’s professional. But it still makes something bitter curl in your chest. You hate that feeling. You have no right to feel it, and yet Sunghoon glances at you then, as if he knows. As if he can see the shift in your expression, despite how hard you try to mask it.

You force yourself to look away, because this is dangerous. Because if you let yourself get caught up in this—if you let yourself forge that this is a secret—you’re going to get hurt.

And Sunghoon? You can’t be the reason his career gets ruined.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

Keeping your relationship a secret is turning into a losing battle.

It was easier at first. The stolen moments, the quick touches, the looks that only the two of you understood—it was thrilling in a way, like playing a game where no one else knew the rules. But the longer it goes on, the more reckless Sunghoon gets. And the more reckless you get.

The moment happens during a break in filming. You’re standing near the refreshment table, absentmindedly stirring sugar into your coffee, when you feel him before you even see him.

He doesn’t say anything at first—just steps up beside you, close enough that his arm brushes against yours. Your body tenses instinctively, your grip tightening around your cup.

“Careful,” Sunghoon murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear. “You’re gonna spill.”

You exhale sharply. “Maybe don’t sneak up on me, then.”

He smirks, leaning in slightly. “Didn’t realize I was sneaking.”

You roll your eyes. “What do you want?”

He hums, pretending to consider it. “I could use some sugar in my coffee.”

You move to hand him the packet in your hand, but instead of taking it, he wraps his fingers around yours, holding them in place. Your breath catches. This is dangerous. Anyone could see. Anyone could notice.

You try to pull away, but his grip only tightens for a second before he finally releases you, his fingers grazing yours as he takes the sugar packet. The smirk never leaves his face. You glare at him. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

Sunghoon chuckles, tearing the packet open. “Maybe.”

You shake your head, muttering under your breath before turning to leave. But before you can take a step, his voice stops you. “You look good today.”

You freeze. Your heart lurches against your ribs. You turn slowly, meeting his gaze. “What?”

Sunghoon shrugs, casually stirring his coffee. “Just saying.”

There’s nothing just about it. Your stomach twists, heat creeping up your neck. “You’re impossible.”

He grins. “And yet, here you are.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. Instead, you walk away before you do something really reckless. Something like kissing him in the middle of set.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The director is giving notes to the cast, and you’re standing at a distance, pretending to be focused on your clipboard when, in reality, your thoughts are nowhere near work.

You don’t mean to look at Sunghoon, but you do, and he’s already looking at you. Your pulse stutters. You don’t know how long he’s been staring, but he doesn’t look away when your eyes meet. Instead, he smirks. It’s barely there—a small twitch of his lips, a flicker of amusement—but you feel it.

Heat prickles up your spine, your fingers gripping the edge of your clipboard so tightly your knuckles turn white. You mouth, Stop it.

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly, pretending not to understand. He knows what he’s doing. And worse? He’s enjoying it.

You scowl, turning your attention back to your notes. But the damage is already done. Your face is warm, your thoughts scrambled, and you know Sunghoon isn’t going to let you live this down.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You’ve spent weeks walking a tightrope, balancing between professionalism and the undeniable pull toward Sunghoon. Every stolen glance, every lingering touch, every moment spent too close when no one is looking—it’s all been a careful game of control. But control is a fleeting thing.

And tonight, you lose it.

It happens after another long shoot, exhaustion weighing heavily on you.

The set has cleared out for the night, most of the crew heading home, but you linger, finishing up last-minute adjustments for tomorrow’s call sheet. You don’t hear him approach—you never do.

“You’re still here.”

You sigh, glancing up from your notes. “So are you.”

Sunghoon shrugs, stepping closer. “Didn’t feel like leaving yet.”

You exhale, rubbing a hand over your face. “You should. We have another early morning.”

Instead of listening, he moves behind you, leaning down slightly until his voice is right beside your ear. “So should you.”

Your breath catches. You should step away. You should remind him that this is dangerous. That someone has already seen too much, that you’re walking on thin ice. But instead, you stand there, your fingers gripping the edge of the table as warmth spreads down your spine.

Sunghoon notices. Of course he does. “Come with me.”

You blink, turning to face him. “What?” He’s already reaching for your wrist, tugging you gently toward the far side of the set. You hesitate for only a second before following, your heartbeat hammering in your ears.

Sunghoon leads you down a quiet hallway, past dressing rooms and storage spaces, until he finds an unlocked door. Without another word, he pulls you inside. It’s a small space—an old wardrobe storage room, lined with racks of costumes and forgotten props. The air is still, thick with dust and the faint scent of fabric softener.

And then, before you can even ask, Sunghoon shuts the door and locks it. Then he turns to you.

Your back presses against the cool surface, his hands resting on either side of you, caging you in. The only sound is the distant hum of the studio lights, the uneven rhythm of your breaths mingling in the quiet. “This is a bad idea,” you whisper.

Sunghoon exhales sharply, his gaze flickering down to your lips. “Probably.”

You swallow hard. “Then why—”

“Because I can’t do this anymore.” His voice is lower now, rougher. “I can’t pretend like I don’t want you.”

Your pulse skyrockets. You should stop this. You should. But when Sunghoon leans in, so close that his lips brush against your jaw, you don’t.

A quiet groan escapes him as he deepens the kiss, one hand sliding up to cradle your jaw, tilting your head to get more.

More of you.

More of this.

More of everything he’s been denying himself.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just enough to make him curse under his breath. The sound sends heat pooling in your stomach, and suddenly, you don’t care where you are. You don’t care about the risk. All you care about is him.

Sunghoon presses you further against the door, his lips trailing down your neck, his hands tracing fire along your skin. You gasp, tilting your head back, and he takes the opportunity to press another open-mouthed kiss just below your ear.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs against your skin.

You don’t. Instead, you pull him back to you, crashing your lips against his once more.

Sunghoon groans, gripping your hips tighter, and you know you’ve lost. Completely, but if this is losing, you don’t think you ever want to win.

The kiss is scorching, heat pooling between you as Sunghoon tightens his grip on your ass and lifts you effortlessly against the wall. A gasp escapes you, your lips parting, and he takes full advantage—his tongue slipping past your own, greedy and demanding. A needy whine slips from your throat as your legs wrap around his waist, his arousal unmistakable as he presses against you.

“Sunghoon, fuck,” you breathe, your head falling back to hit the wall with a soft thud. He seizes the opportunity, dragging his mouth down the column of your throat, his teeth grazing sensitive skin.

“Shhh,” he murmurs, licking a slow stripe up your neck before nipping at your earlobe. “Someone could walk in. Do you really want them to hear you?”

You glare at him, the expression meant to be a warning—but all it takes is a slow roll of his hips, and any fight in you melts away.

“What—what are you doing?” he asks, blinking in surprise as you suddenly push at his shoulders, dropping down onto your knees before him.

“What do you think?” You flash him a knowing look, amusement laced with something darker, more deliberate, as your fingers make quick work of his belt. Tugging his pants down his thighs, you smirk. “Didn’t get to do this last time, remember?”

Sunghoon’s head falls back with a groan the moment you pull him free from his boxers, wasting no time in taking him into your mouth.

“Fuck, why didn’t I let you do this sooner?” he groans, fingers threading into your hair as you begin to bob your head. You hum around him, the vibration making his knees nearly buckle.

His hips jerk shallowly, testing, and when you grip his thighs and let your mouth open wider, he gets the message. Glancing up at him with watery eyes, you meet him halfway, hollowing your cheeks. A curse falls from his lips as he tightens his hold on your hair, taking control. His thrusts grow deeper, his pelvis pressing into your face with every movement, and you use his thighs to steady yourself as he groans above you.

“Baby, fuck—you feel so good,” he pants, muscles tensing as heat coils low in his stomach.

Your jaw goes slack as you accept more of his cock, relaxing into the feeling. He picks up the pace, basking in view of his glossy cock dragging against your lips. You’re a vision. So beautiful to him. The disgusting wet noises your throat makes when he pulls away are deafening. He loves the way you gag when he pushes back in.

“Mhm, it’s yours, baby. Take it.” He licks his lips and nods, looking at you with hooded lustful eyes. You hollow your cheeks, drawing a strangled moan from him. “Shit, I’m not gonna last.”

Determined, you push forward, taking him to the base, your nose pressing against the soft hair at his pelvis. He lets out a broken curse, his grip tightening as he thrusts once, twice—before he’s unraveling with a sharp groan. “Fuck—”

“Excuse me?” A voice. From outside the storage room.

Sunghoon’s eyes snap open, panic flashing across his face.

“Yes?” you call out, pulling away as if you hadn’t just had him down your throat moments ago. There’s a translucent strand of spit connecting his penis to your mouth. You swallow, wiping your chin with the back of your hand. A fit of coughs want to erupt through your chest, but you’re able to stop it. You can’t really focus at the moment.

“Uh… is everything all right?”

“Yep! All good,” you reply, voice bright but just a little hoarse as you quickly pull his pants back up. “I just dropped something while looking for some equipment.”

“Oh. Do you need help?”

“Nope, I got it. Thanks, though!” A pause. Then retreating footsteps.

Sunghoon sags against the wall, exhaling hard. “Holy shit.”

You giggle, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Holy shit indeed. Now, let me go out first. Meet me at my apartment later?” You grin before slipping out the door, leaving him to catch his breath.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

It’s been days since that night in the storage room—days of stolen moments and whispered conversations, of Sunghoon pulling you into empty hallways when no one’s looking, of his lips ghosting against your skin right before he’s called back on set.

It’s reckless. It’s dangerous. But it’s addictive.

And now, sitting beside him at a long restaurant table filled with the entire production team, you’re starting to realize just how stupid this is. Because Sunghoon is doing it again.

That thing where he pretends to be focused on his conversation, nodding along to whatever the director is saying, while his foot slowly nudges against yours under the table.

You shoot him a warning glance. Stop it. He doesn’t. If anything, he makes it worse. His foot slides up the side of your calf, subtle but deliberate, sending an involuntary shiver up your spine. You nearly drop your chopsticks, barely managing to recover before anyone notices. Sunghoon smirks behind the rim of his glass, taking a slow sip of his drink like he isn’t actively trying to ruin your life.

You inhale sharply, gripping your napkin with unnecessary force. Two can play this game. Carefully—casually—you shift your foot, pressing against his ankle before dragging it up just enough to make him twitch this time. His smirk falters, just barely, but it’s enough Your turn to smirk.

Sunghoon narrows his eyes slightly, and you know—you know—he’s not letting this slide. And then, without warning, his hand finds yours under the table.

Your breath catches. You weren’t expecting that. The teasing was one thing. The flirting, the pushing, the secret little games you played when no one was watching.

But this? This is different, this was… sweet. His fingers lace through yours, warm and solid, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your knuckles. It’s not playful. It’s not reckless. It’s soft. And that’s what terrifies you.

You could have ignored the teasing. You could have laughed off the flirting. But this quiet gesture—the way he holds your hand like it’s normal, like it’s natural—makes your stomach twist in ways you don’t want to acknowledge.

You swallow hard, your fingers tightening slightly around his before you can stop yourself.

Sunghoon’s gaze flickers toward you, barely for a second, but the look in his eyes makes your heart stutter. He knows. He feels it too.

But before either of you can say—or do—anything, someone calls your name. You jolt, quickly pulling your hand back, hoping your face isn’t betraying anything. One of the assistant directors grins, nudging your shoulder. “You’ve been quiet. What, Sunghoon making you nervous?” Your stomach drops.

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, effortlessly sliding back into his usual composed demeanor. “Why would she be nervous around me?”

You force a laugh, shaking your head. “Please. If anything, he’s the one who should be nervous.” The table erupts in laughter, and just like that, the moment is gone. But under the table, Sunghoon’s fingers brush against yours one last time before pulling away.

And even as the dinner continues, even as conversations shift and drinks are poured, you can still feel the imprint of his touch against your skin.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The rumors are starting.

You hear them in passing—casual whispers from crew members, quiet speculations during coffee breaks, the occasional knowing glance when you and Sunghoon are in the same room. No one knows, not for sure. But people are noticing, and that’s dangerous.

So when Sunghoon pulls you aside after filming one night, his expression unreadable, you already know what he’s about to say. “We need to be more careful,” he mutters, arms crossed as he leans against the wall of an empty dressing room.

You sigh, mirroring his posture. “No kidding.”

He exhales sharply, tilting his head back slightly. “Someone almost caught us last night.”

Your stomach twists. “Who?”

“One of the lighting techs,” he says. “They walked in right after you left my trailer.”

You curse under your breath. “This is getting impossible.”

Sunghoon pushes a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “We need to lay low for a while.”

You frown. You hate this—hiding, pretending, the constant paranoia that one wrong move could ruin everything. But you also know he’s right.

You nod slowly. “Okay.”

For a second, it seems like the conversation is over.

“…You free tonight?” Sunghoon asks, glancing at you.

You blink. “Didn’t we just agree to be careful?”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “We will be.”

You narrow your eyes. “I don’t like that look.”

His smirk widens. “Trust me.”

You groan. “That’s exactly what someone untrustworthy would say.”

But despite yourself, you agree.

And that’s how you end up standing outside his car later that night, staring at the ridiculous disguise he’s holding out to you.

A frumpy cardigan. A floral scarf. And—dear god—gray wig.

You cross your arms, unimpressed. “No.”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. “You got a better idea?”

You do, actually. It’s called staying inside like normal people instead of dressing like retirees on a Sunday stroll.

But Sunghoon is already shrugging into his own disguise—a baggy windbreaker, oversized glasses, and a gray newsboy cap that makes him look like he belongs in a retirement home. He looks ridiculous. You bite your lip, trying so hard not to laugh.

He catches it. “Say one word, and I’m leaving you here.”

You hold up your hands in surrender. “Not a word.”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re walking side by side through the city, looking like an elderly couple that escaped their nursing home. You shake your head, tucking the scarf tighter around your neck. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”

Sunghoon adjusts his fake glasses. “Genius, isn’t it?”

“I think ‘genius’ is a stretch.”

He smirks. “No one’s looking at us, are they?”

You glance around. To your absolute disbelief, no one is paying attention. Not a single person gives you a second glance. And somehow, that makes you laugh.

Sunghoon looks at you, amused. “What?”

“This is so stupid,” you giggle, shaking your head.

He grins. “Yeah. But it’s working.”

You sigh, looping your arm through his dramatically. “Fine, Grandpa. Where are we going?”

Sunghoon chuckles, squeezing your hand. “Wherever you want, Grandma.”

And for the first time in weeks, the weight of secrecy feels a little lighter. Because right now, in this ridiculous moment, it’s just you and him.

And nothing else matters.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

It’s late when you both make it back to your apartment.

After spending the night disguised as an elderly couple—walking through quiet streets, sneaking into a small late-night café, laughing at how absurd you both looked—there’s a strange kind of warmth settling in your chest.

For the first time in a long time, you weren’t looking over your shoulder.

For the first time, you and Sunghoon were just two normal people.

Now, you sit on your couch, legs tucked beneath you, watching as Sunghoon flips idly through an old book on your coffee table. “You really read all of these?” he asks, eyes scanning the spines of stacked screenwriting books on the shelf.

You nod, sipping from your mug. “Some of them multiple times.”

Sunghoon hums in approval, setting the book down before leaning back against the couch. “You’re serious about this directing thing, huh?”

You shoot him a deadpan look. “I work on a movie set, Sunghoon.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, but a lot of people say they want to be directors. Not everyone actually means it.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around your mug. You’ve heard that before. From coworkers, from mentors, from people who’ve been in the industry long enough to know how brutal it is. Everyone wants to be a director, but only a few ever make it. And you refuse to be part of the majority that doesn’t. “I do mean it,” you say quietly. “I don’t just want to be some assistant forever.”

Sunghoon watches you carefully. “You won’t be.”

You glance at him. “You say that like it’s a guarantee.”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “Because it is.”

Your throat tightens. You don’t know when Sunghoon started believing in you so much, but hearing it from him now—when you’re still fighting to believe in yourself—hits differently. A small silence stretches between you before you muster the courage to ask, “What about you?”

Sunghoon blinks. “What about me?”

You shrug. “You’ve been acting for years. You ever think about what’s next?”

He exhales slowly, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “I try not to.”

You frown. “Why not?”

His lips press together, as if weighing his words. “Because thinking about the future means thinking about the end. And I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”

You stare at him. For all his success, for all the ways he’s established himself in the industry, Sunghoon still carries fear. The same fear you have—the fear of not making it. The fear of being forgotten. You set your mug down, shifting closer. “Well,” you say softly, “if I ever do make it as a director…”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. “If?”

You roll your eyes. “When I make it, then.”

He smirks, satisfied. “Go on.”

You inhale deeply. “I’ll cast you in my first movie. You can be the lead.”

Sunghoon scoffs, but there’s amusement in his expression. “Oh? That’s bold of you.”

You tilt your head. “What, you think I wouldn’t?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “No. I think you would.”

You smile, nudging him lightly. “And then when it wins an award, I’ll make sure to thank you in my speech.”

Sunghoon hums. “What would you say?”

You pretend to think. “Something like, ‘I’d like to thank Park Sunghoon, my first-ever lead actor, for not throwing a tantrum on set and actually listening to my direction.’”

Sunghoon laughs, a full, real laugh that makes something warm bloom in your chest.

“You’re hilarious,” he mutters.

“I try.”

He watches you for a moment, his laughter fading into something quieter, softer. His fingers brush against yours on the couch, his touch deliberate. “Promise me something,” he says.

Your breath catches. “What?”

“When you make it big—” His voice is low, steady. “Don’t forget about me.”

You blink. “Sunghoon…”

“I mean it.” His gaze is unreadable, but there’s something vulnerable beneath it. “You’re going to do great things. I know it.”

Your chest tightens. “I won’t forget you.” A small pause.

Then, just barely above a whisper, “You better not.”

Your fingers entwine with his, the silence between you heavy with things unsaid. And for the first time, you wonder. If this could last beyond stolen moments and whispered secrets.

If this—you and him—could ever belong to the future you’re both afraid to think about.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

For a while, everything is perfect.

Or at least, it feels that way.

Sunghoon’s hands find yours more easily now, even if they have to let go before anyone notices. His glances linger longer, his smiles come easier, and the time spent together—hidden away in the late hours of the night or in the quiet spaces between scenes—feels real.

The secrecy is still there, but it’s different now. It’s not something you tiptoe around in fear. It’s something you choose—a fragile world that exists only between the two of you, protected from the outside.

And for a while, that’s enough.

Until it isn’t.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

It starts with small things.

Sunghoon doesn’t touch you as much anymore—not even when no one’s looking.

He still meets you in quiet corners of the set, still kisses you breathless when you’re alone, but there’s a distance now. A flicker of something restrained in his gaze, something held back.

At first, you think you’re imagining it. But then the silences grow longer. The laughter comes less often. Then you realize Sunghoon is pulling away.

The first time you bring it up, he brushes it off.

“I’m just tired,” he says, rubbing his temples.

You hesitate. “Are you sure that’s all it is?”

His jaw tightens. “Yeah. Long shoots. Too much press. It’s nothing.”

But it doesn’t feel like nothing. The more time passes, the more you feel him slipping away.

It gets worse when he starts missing your usual late-night meetings.

You wait for him after shoots, sitting alone in the dimly lit studio hallways, only for your phone to vibrate with a short, clipped text.

Can’t make it tonight. Sorry.

The first time, you let it slide.

The second time, you tell yourself he’s just busy.

The third time, you feel something inside you crack.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

One night, after another grueling day on set, you decide you can’t take it anymore.

You find Sunghoon sitting in his dressing room, scrolling through his phone. He doesn’t look up when you enter. You close the door behind you, arms crossing over your chest. “What’s happening?”

Sunghoon finally glances at you, his expression unreadable. “What do you mean?”

You inhale sharply, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like this—” you gesture between you “—is fine when we both know it’s not.”

He exhales, setting his phone down. “Y/N—”

“You’re pulling away,” you cut in, voice quieter now, but no less firm. “And I don’t know why.”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leans back, rubbing a hand over his face. When he finally speaks, his voice is tired. “I have a lot on my plate,” he mutters. “There’s a ton of press lined up, and the agency is already breathing down my neck about scheduling conflicts. They want me to be careful, especially with—” He stops himself, but you already know what he was going to say.

Especially with you.

Your chest tightens. “So what? I’m just another inconvenience?”

Sunghoon’s gaze snaps to yours, sharp and unyielding. “That’s not what I meant.”

“But it’s what it feels like.” Your voice wavers despite your best efforts. “You’re choosing to distance yourself, Sunghoon. And I don’t understand why.”

He exhales heavily, standing up and pacing across the room. “Because I have to, okay? Do you know what would happen if this got out? Do you know what the agency would do?”

You swallow hard. “So you’re just going to push me away?”

His hands clench at his sides. “I don’t have a choice.”

You laugh—bitter and hollow. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

Sunghoon flinches, but he doesn’t argue, and that hurts more than anything.

You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. “What’s happening to us?”

He doesn’t answer. The silence tells you everything.

You nod slowly, stepping back toward the door. “I get it.”

Sunghoon’s brows furrow. “Y/N—”

“No,” you interrupt, voice raw. “I get it. You don’t have to say anything else.”

You leave before he can stop you, and for the first time in weeks, you feel alone.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You barely see Sunghoon after that night.

You don’t wait for him after shoots anymore. You don’t check your phone for his messages. You don’t seek him out in the quiet moments between takes. And, most of all, you don’t ask him for explanations he’s never going to give.

It’s easier this way. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. But deep down, you know that’s a lie. Because every time you step on set, every time you hear his voice in the distance, every time you feel his presence before you even see him—your chest tightens.

Sunghoon might be pulling away, but that doesn’t mean you’ve stopped wanting him to stay.

The breaking point comes when you least expect it.

Sunghoon has been acting off all day—more distant than usual, his shoulders stiff, his jaw clenched. The crew is extra careful around him, treading lightly, trying not to provoke whatever storm is brewing beneath the surface.

You do the same, but when the director announces a sudden scheduling change, everything snaps.

“We need to push the final filming dates up,” the director says, glancing at Sunghoon. “Your overseas project confirmed your start date, so we have to wrap this production sooner than expected.”

Your stomach drops. Overseas project? You turn toward Sunghoon, heart pounding.

He doesn’t look at you. “Understood,” he says stiffly.

The meeting ends, people disperse, and you stand frozen in place, trying to process what just happened. You don’t realize you’re walking toward him until you’re already standing in front of him. “Overseas?” your voice comes out unsteady. “When were you going to tell me?”

Sunghoon’s eyes flicker, but his expression remains guarded. “I was going to.”

“When?” You exhale sharply, frustration bubbling up. “After you left?”

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Y/N—”

“No.” Your hands curl into fists. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to pull away for weeks and then act like this is nothing.”

Sunghoon clenches his jaw. “I never said it was nothing.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Really? Because that’s exactly what it feels like.”

The tension in the air is suffocating. Crew members glance at you both nervously from a distance, sensing the hostility radiating off of you, but you don’t care. You’re too angry. Too tired.

“You’re leaving,” you say, your voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “And you weren’t even going to tell me.”

His lips part, but no words come out. And that—more than anything—breaks you.

“Right,” you whisper, nodding to yourself. “Got it.”

You turn to leave.

“If you love me, why are you making me choose?” His voice is quiet. Frustrated. Pained.

You freeze. Slowly, you turn back to face him.

Sunghoon’s eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them, a storm brewing beneath the surface.

Then in a hushed voice, “If you love me,” you whisper, “why won’t you choose me?”

His expression falters.

Silence. Heavy. Unforgiving.

Sunghoon looks at you, his gaze full of everything he wants to say but won’t, and that’s all you need to know.

You inhale sharply, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “I hope your career was worth it. Take care ‘hoon, I mean it.” Then you walk away.

And this time, Sunghoon doesn’t stop you.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The set feels off today.

Sunghoon notices it the moment he steps onto the lot.

Everything looks the same—the cameras rolling into position, the crew bustling around, the murmurs of last-minute adjustments to the schedule.

But something is missing. No—someone is missing.

His eyes instinctively scan the space, searching for you. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it at first. It’s second nature by now—finding you in a crowd, watching you from across the set, waiting for the moment your eyes meet his.

Except today, that moment doesn’t come.

A strange weight settles in his chest. Maybe you’re just running late. Maybe you’re off handling something behind the scenes. Maybe—

“Sunghoon, we need you on set!”

He blinks, snapping out of it. Right. Focus. But as the morning drags on, the unease only grows.

By lunch, when he still hasn’t seen you, it becomes unbearable. He stops one of the assistant directors on their way back from a meeting. “Where’s Y/N?”

The assistant director hesitates. “You don’t know?”

Sunghoon’s stomach twists. “Know what?”

“She transferred to another crew.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He stares at them, unable to process it. “What?”

“She requested a transfer last night.” The assistant director shifts uncomfortably. “The director approved it this morning. She’s working on another set now.”

Sunghoon’s breath catches. You left. Not just him. Not just the late-night moments and stolen glances. You left everything. And you didn’t tell him. Didn’t give him a warning. Didn’t give him a chance.

For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t know what to do. All he knows is that the set feels emptier now. Colder. And no matter how many times he looks, you’re not coming back.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

Time moves forward, with or without you.

At first, it feels like you’re running on autopilot. The transfer to another crew is exactly what you needed—a fresh start, a clean slate, a distraction. The work is just as exhausting, the deadlines just as relentless, but at least here, no one looks at you like they know.

No one whispers behind your back.

No one searches for your eyes across the set.

No one makes your heart ache just by existing.

And that’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To forget? To move on?

You tell yourself that enough times, and eventually, you almost start to believe it.

Months turn into years. Your career flourishes.

At first, you’re just another assistant, working your way up, taking whatever projects come your way. But then, little by little, your name starts to mean something.

Your hard work doesn’t go unnoticed. Producers take note of your efficiency. Directors praise your instincts. Soon, you’re getting bigger responsibilities—helping with shot lists, offering creative input, refining scenes.

Until, one day, you get the call.

The one that changes everything.

The one that makes your dream of becoming a director something more than just a dream.

Your first movie. Your name on the credits, not as an assistant, not as someone behind the scenes, but as the director.

You should be overjoyed. And you are. Really.

But success has a funny way of feeling lonely sometimes.

Because no matter how many awards you win, no matter how many people praise your vision, there’s still a part of you that wonders—

Would Sunghoon have been proud of you?

Would he have smiled the way he did that night on your couch, when you told him your dreams?

Would he have been your lead?

You never let yourself dwell on the answers, because the past is the past, and Sunghoon is nothing more than a ghost in it.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

Sunghoon gets everything he ever wanted.

The overseas project is a massive hit. Critics rave about his performance, calling it his most compelling work yet. He wins awards, lands more prestigious roles, works with some of the biggest names in the industry.

His career skyrockets. Every magazine cover, every interview, every red carpet event cements his status as one of the top actors of his generation. And yet, the higher he climbs, the emptier it feels.

The first few months after you left were the hardest. He would step on set and instinctively look for you, only to remember—you’re gone. He would scroll through his phone late at night, resisting the urge to type out a message he knew he’d never send. He told himself he had no right to miss you. That he made his choice. That this was the price of success.

But sometimes, when the nights were too quiet and the loneliness too loud, he wondered, had he really chosen his career? Or had he just been too afraid to choose you?

But life moves on and Sunghoon learns to live with it.

He throws himself into work, into press tours, into pretending that nothing haunts him. It works. For a while.

Until one day, he sees you on a screen instead of beside him. Your name flashes across an industry article—"Breakout Director Y/N Takes the Film World by Storm." There’s a photo of you attached to it. You’re smiling, standing on a stage, accepting an award.You look different. More polished, more confident. Like the version of yourself you always wanted to be.

And for the first time in years, Sunghoon feels like he lost, because you made it. Without him.

And he doesn’t know if he should be proud of you, or devastated that he’s no longer a part of your story.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

Success is supposed to be fulfilling.

That’s what you tell yourself when you sit in an empty editing room late at night, staring at the final cut of your latest film. The screen glows in the dimly lit space, casting shadows across your desk, but you don’t move.

You should be proud. This is your film. Your vision. Your name stamped onto something that will live beyond you. But right now, all you can feel is exhaustion pressing down on your shoulders.

And something else. Something lonelier.

Your phone buzzes on the desk, breaking the silence. You blink, glancing at the screen. A message from an old friend from your assistant days.

Did you see the headlines?

Your fingers hesitate before typing. What headlines? It doesn’t take long for the reply to come through.

Sunghoon just won another Best Actor award. His speech was everywhere.

You inhale sharply. Of course he did. Of course he’s still winning, still thriving. He’s Park Sunghoon. This is what he was always meant to do.

Still, your hands move on their own, searching his name. And there it is. A photo of him on stage, trophy in hand, looking every bit the polished, untouchable star he’s become.

You tell yourself not to click on the video. You tell yourself not to care, but your finger taps play before your mind can catch up.

Sunghoon stands before a packed audience, cameras flashing, his expression calm and composed as always.

“…There are too many people to thank,” he says, his voice steady. “But more than anything, I want to thank the people who believed in me before the rest of the world did.”

He pauses, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “And to those I let go of along the way,” he exhales quietly, “I hope you’re doing well.”

Your breath catches. Because he knows. He knows you’d be watching. He knows you’d hear those words and wonder, was he talking about you?

A lump forms in your throat. You close the video before it can play any longer, tossing your phone onto the desk as you press the heels of your palms into your eyes.

This is ridiculous. It’s been years. You shouldn’t still feel like this. But as you sit there, alone in a room filled with nothing but the echoes of your own thoughts, you realize something terrifying. No matter how much time has passed, no matter how much you’ve accomplished.

Sunghoon is still a part of you, and you don’t know if that will ever change.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

Years later, you’re working on the biggest project yet.

The set is already bustling when you arrive.

Your latest film—the one you spent years working toward—is finally in production, and you’re at the helm. The director’s chair belongs to you now, the vision in your hands, the weight of the project resting on your shoulders.

It should feel like a victory, but the moment you step onto set, something shifts.

A whisper moves through the crew, quiet but undeniable. You turn to your assistant, frowning slightly. “What’s going on?”

She hesitates. “Uh… the lead just arrived.”

Your stomach drops. You already know who it is. But what you don’t expect is for him to walk in with her.

Sunghoon enters the set with his co-star—an actress whose name has been plastered across magazines, her face just as recognizable as his. She’s beautiful, effortlessly poised, the kind of woman who fits perfectly into the world he’s built for himself.

And she’s holding his hand.

Your grip tightens on the clipboard in your hands as you watch her lean in close, whispering something against his ear. Sunghoon chuckles, his lips curling into an easy smile—one that looks far too public, too polished. Too different from the way he used to smile at you.

Your chest tightens. Because this? This is nothing like what the two of you had.

Sunghoon was never the type to be affectionate in front of others. With you, everything was secret—stolen glances, hidden touches, late-night meetings where the only witnesses were the shadows.

But with her? He isn’t hiding. He isn’t holding back. It’s as if whatever existed between you never even mattered. You force yourself to breathe, schooling your expression into something unreadable.

Sunghoon’s eyes sweep over the room, taking everything in, before they land on you. And for the first time in years, your gazes lock. The noise around you fades. The years that have passed, the distance that’s settled, the choices that have been made—they all press into the space between you, heavy and suffocating. Sunghoon’s smile falters for just a second. But it’s enough. Because in that second, you see it—the flicker of recognition, of hesitation. The realization that you’re here, that this is real, that after all this time, after all the choices that led you both here— You’re standing in front of him again. And then, just as quickly, the moment is gone.

Sunghoon’s expression smooths over, unreadable once more. His grip on her hand tightens ever so slightly, a silent reminder of the life he’s built without you. He takes a step forward, nodding in greeting.

“Director,” he says, his voice even.

You swallow down the lump in your throat. “Mr. Park,” you reply, just as composed. The formalities sting. Especially when the last time you spoke, you were begging him to choose you.

Sunghoon watches you for a moment longer, as if searching for something in your face, and for the first time in years, you don’t let him find it.

You glance at your assistant, clearing your throat. “Let’s get started.” Then you turn away.Because no matter how much your heart still aches, no matter how much it kills you to see him like this.

You refuse to be a part of his past anymore. Because you’re living your future.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You do what you do best. You focus.

You drown yourself in your work, in camera angles and shot compositions, in the steady rhythm of directing. You give feedback, adjust blocking, consult with the cinematographer—anything to keep yourself from thinking about the fact that he’s here. That he’s with her. That you’re finally in the same place again, but this time, he’s standing next to someone else.

Sunghoon is professional. You expected nothing less. He follows directions with sharp precision, delivering each scene flawlessly, slipping into character with the kind of ease that made him famous. He listens when you speak, nods when you give him notes, keeps his distance when the cameras aren’t rolling. And for the first few days, it works.

Until one night, after an exhausting day on set, you step outside for some air and find him already there, waiting. The cool night air is a relief against your skin, but the sight of him standing by the railing, hands tucked into his pockets, sends a sharp wave of something unwelcome through your chest.

You should turn around. You shouldn’t let this happen. But then he turns, his gaze meeting yours, and just like before—just like always—you can’t look away. He exhales slowly. “I was wondering when we’d actually talk.”

Your fingers tighten around your jacket sleeves. “We talk every day.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “What do you want me to say, Sunghoon? That it’s weird seeing you again? That it’s strange directing you? That it’s exhausting pretending like the past doesn’t exist?”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react. But something in his expression shifts. A crack in the carefully composed exterior. “That night,” he says quietly. “The night you left.”

Your breath catches.

“I let you walk away,” he continues, voice heavier now. “And I thought—no, I told myself—that was the right choice.”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stay still. To stay indifferent.

“But I watched your career take off. I saw your name in the headlines. I saw you win—without me.” His voice is softer now, more raw. “And for years, I convinced myself that was enough.” Silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating. “It wasn’t.”

Your heart clenches. This isn’t happening. You can’t let this happen. “You don’t get to do this,” you say, your voice colder than you intend. “You don’t get to come back after all this time and say this.”

Sunghoon takes a slow step forward. “Why not?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Because you made your choice, Sunghoon. You chose your career. And I chose to stop waiting for you to choose me.”

He exhales sharply. “Y/N—”

“You have her now,” you cut in, your tone sharp, pointed. “So why are you standing here, saying these things?”

Sunghoon falls silent. For a moment, you almost think he won’t answer. “She’s not you.”

Your breath stutters. “Don’t,” you whisper, shaking your head. “Don’t say that.”

“I thought it would be easier,” he continues, ignoring the warning in your voice. “That if I had someone who fit into my world, who didn’t make me question everything, it would be enough.”

You inhale shakily, willing yourself to stay calm. To stay unaffected.

“But it wasn’t,” Sunghoon murmurs, looking at you like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. “Because no matter where I went, no matter who I was with—” His voice drops lower, heavier. “It was always you.”

The words slice through you like a knife. But you don’t let them break you. You can’t. Because the past is the past. And you’re not that girl anymore. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before meeting his gaze. “Then I feel sorry for you.” Sunghoon stills. You exhale slowly, your voice quiet but firm. “Because I moved on.”

It’s a lie. A lie so fragile that if he pushed just a little harder, if he looked at you just a second longer, it would shatter.

But Sunghoon doesn’t push, because maybe, just maybe, he already knows he’s too late.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

The next few days pass in a blur.

You and Sunghoon fall back into professionalism, neither of you acknowledging what was said that night. The crew doesn’t notice the way your exchanges are clipped, the way you avoid being alone together, the way Sunghoon’s co-star pulls him into picture-perfect embraces while you pretend not to see.

It’s exhausting. But you refuse to let it break you. You’ve spent years building yourself up again. You won’t let him tear you down now. So when you see him lingering after a late-night shoot, standing alone by the trailers, you tell yourself to keep walking. You don’t owe him anything.

“Y/N.” You stop. Sunghoon exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Just—stay for a second.”

Against your better judgment, you do. But when you turn to face him, your expression is unreadable. “What do you want, Sunghoon?”

He hesitates. “The truth.”

You let out a short, bitter laugh. “The truth?”

He nods. “Did you really move on?”

Your stomach twists. Because you should say yes. You should lie. But you don’t. Instead, you take a deep breath and meet his gaze, steady and firm. “I had to forgive you,” you say quietly. “Not for you. For me.”

Sunghoon doesn’t speak. He just watches you, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

You exhale slowly. “I had to forgive you because holding onto the anger and resentment wasn’t healthy for me. But remember that it made me who I am now.”

He swallows hard. “Y/N—”

You shake your head. “You have a long-term girlfriend now, too.” Your voice doesn’t waver. “You made your choice years ago. You have to live with it, just like I did.”

His fingers twitch at his sides. “I know.”

You pause, letting the words settle between you. Then, with a small, tired smile, you add, “Don’t treat her like you did with me.”

Sunghoon’s breath catches.

“And hey,” you say, your tone softer now, “you’re already a step ahead of where we were. Be proud to be able to share her with the world.”

He doesn’t respond. He just looks at you, something fragile and almost broken in his gaze. But you don’t let yourself fall into it. Not anymore.

“We both moved on, maybe not from each other yet, but we’ve moved on with our lives already,” you continue, offering him one last bittersweet smile. “And I hope you find peace with it.”

Sunghoon doesn’t argue. He finally understands. You’re not his anymore, and you might never be again.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

On the last day of filming, as the crew wraps up and the cast exchanges goodbyes, you step outside for a breath of air.

You should be celebrating. This film—the one you fought for, the one you poured your soul into—is finally complete. And yet, all you can think about is the fact that this means you’ll never see him again. That after today, Sunghoon will just be another name in the credits. Another person in your past. You exhale slowly, pressing a hand against your forehead. This is good, you remind yourself. This is how it’s supposed to be.

“Y/N.” You stiffen. You knew he’d come. You don’t know how, but you knew. Sunghoon stands behind you, hands tucked into his pockets, his expression unreadable. “So… this is it.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He exhales, glancing up at the sky. “It’s funny. I used to think we’d meet again and everything would just… fall back into place.”

Your heart aches, but you don’t let it show. “That’s not how life works,” you murmur.

Sunghoon looks at you then, and for the first time, there’s no longing. No regret. Just quiet acceptance. “I know,” he says. Silence stretches between you. “I’m proud of you. Take care, Y/N.”

You swallow down the lump in your throat, offering him a small, soft smile. “You too, Sunghoon.”

And with that, you turn and walk away. For the last time.

ㅤ─────────────────────────

You watch as your hard work gets shown on the big screen, proud of where you’ve come.

The final shot of the film is of him.

The camera lingers as he delivers his last lines, “I’m happy for you,” his gaze drifting past the lens, it’s not obvious, but you notice it. And for a fleeting moment, as you and thousands of people watch the end of your film, you wonder if he’s looking at you.

But then the scene ends, the cameras stop rolling, and the moment fades.

Just like everything else.

Taglist: @yunverie @dawngyu @hueningstar @hhoneyhan @immelissaaa @lovingbeomgyudayone @xylatox @i-like-to-read-at-4am @imlonelydontsendhelp @ode2soob @pagelets @laylasbunbunny @vrusha01 @enhaflixer @highway-143 @keloiu @m1kkso @cutehoons02 If you want to be tagged in all of my fics, go here to be added to my permanent taglist.

Rei's Notes ✎: It's here woooo, no one dies this time dw. I hope the smut improved from last time T^T Was heavily inspired by the k-drama Melo Movie, but the fic is more of a rough inspiration. Once again, I've broken my longest word count record, this time we went past 20k. Had to use a different divider instead of the usual image cuz of how long this was. As always I'd love to hear your thoughts and how this made you feel so leave a reblog or reply!! <33

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xylatox · 3 days ago

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on s3 of breaking bad..need to hold my thoughts till the end ugh

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xylatox · 3 days ago

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LUV THE THEME <3

HEHEH THANK YOU RAYA ♡♡♡ mwah

#my love raya #moots

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xylatox · 4 days ago

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Loved the new theme + profile pic (ggum yeonjun is my second fav version of him) 🥰

hehe ty lets ♡♡ letting the world know I'm forever downbad for Yeonjun

also which version is your favorite of him??

#my love lets #moots

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xylatox · 4 days ago

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where bluebells meet | yjw !! I've been so excited to read this and I'm finally getting to it today :)) so many fluffy jungwon fics appearing in my feed.

I already love the beginning, the tension the back and forth between them?? — But the student council president just really had to have a rebuttal at all of your words. He would never back down without a fight, would he? The seemingly childish antics between the two of you weren’t bound by the confines of the classroom either and extended into anywhere that you found yourselves meeting. — I absolutely love this.

I also love Liz and Rei's friendship with reader, it's pretty adorable.

Even the blue cardigan he was wearing and the orange bow on your hair seemed to emphasize how you were sitting opposite each other, so close yet unbearably distant. Though you were sure that if Rei was here, she would look on the bright side and say that the two colors are complementary. You internally shiver. — Rei and I are the same because I thought the same thing lol.

I think it's cute how opposite yet similar reader and jungwon are.

Jungwon internally swears he isn’t a creep. He only knows because he witnessed you several times tying your hair up when you need to focus on something, he would also see you raking a hand over your hair in frustration when it’s just cascading down your shoulders, which oddly makes you look attractive. Objectively, he claims internally once more. — this is so cute :((

I love that as the days go by we see that they are more comfortable with each other:((

“Bluebells...they often represent humility and modesty, among with a lot more things.” His gaze travels from the flowers to your eyes then he smiles softly. “And they all remind me of you.”— obsessed, as someone who's a nerd when it comes to flower language I love this and the fact that Bluebell becomes her nickname?? sobbing.

The history of the one sided rivalry was so cute oh my gosh.

And a cat chased a fox down the halls that afternoon, leaving their duck friend behind, entertained by the whole exchange. — this is adorable.

And as you stood side-by-side with your former rival, student council president, and good friend Yang Jungwon, maybe even your lover now—you know that there wouldn’t be any other answer to him than yes. — god, this was so sweet, this was so absolutely adorable and fluffy, I think I died. I absolutely loved every minute of this.

where bluebells meet.

pairing : rivaltofriend!jungwon x fem!reader

featuring; sunoo, riki, rei, and liz as their friends + mention of winter (pls don’t take it seriously 🙏🏻)

genre : high school au, academic rivals to friends to lovers, FLUFF, very minor angst, slow burn?? probably a ‘he fell first and harder’ in there as well.

synopsis : for years, you’ve been on a constant stream of debates with student council president yang jungwon. and although you didn’t exactly hate him, you weren’t fond of him either—especially of your teachers’ decision to team you up for two projects—in your graduating year, of all times. so as you started working, why were your arguments now reduced to an air of awkwardness and...a blossoming friendship?

or in which...you and jungwon turned from good rivals into oblivious friends.

word count : 31.2k (um...😭???)

✩♬ ₊ more under the cut ˚☾⋆⁺✧

notes (?) : very ordinary love story. reader blushes a lot, usually ties her hair into a ponytail, is implied to be the same age as or younger than jungwon, and has one sided dislike for him. story follows asian education system. probably failed attempt at humor and inaccurate depiction of pet adoption. song recs in some parts.

warnings : a kiss (not on the lips), i think some parental and self-esteem issues, a few curses, mention of skipping meals, casual skinship between reader and jungwon (please let me know if i missed anything else!)

disclaimer : this is a work of fiction. the characters are distinct personas from all the idols featured in the story. any resemblance to real-life names, people, places, events, and other fics is purely coincidental.

a/n : i wanted to post this on jungwon’s birthday but it was still unedited, so here we are. yang leader is 21 now! 🥺 have you listened to his song cover? it’s so beautiful. may the world always be kind to him. 10 days late but—happy birthday, yang jungwon. ⋆⭒˚⋆ if you’re looking for an ar2l with a lot of tension, this is not it. this is my first (and maybe last) time writing a oneshot and i do admit it’s a self indulgent fic because i just wanted to see if i can do it, and jungwon is my bias. i’m still learning how to write and i’m expanding my vocab since english is not my first language so, i hope i did well. just reading this already means a lot to me, but likes, reblogs, and comments will be much appreciated—please give me feedback or at least tell me how you felt while reading! lastly, thank you for giving my story a chance.

p.s. this took me a long time to edit and review + tumblr is so uncooperative 😭 so please excuse the errors, if there’s any.

“Love shouldn’t make you throw away your life. Romeo and Juliet were impulsive teenagers who made terrible decisions.”

“Well, it might not have been love but what they had was pure. They sacrificed a lot for each other, and that’s beautiful, even if it was tragic—”

“—which led to a disaster. It’s a reminder how love can be dangerous and lead to destruction. I’d like to believe it’s a cautionary tale rather than a romantic one.”

Drawing in a breath, you force yourself for the nth time to calm down as you became deeply invested in an exchange about the timeless story.

“But the tragedy is what makes the love even more powerful. That’s how it works in fiction. Furthermore, it shows how precious yet fragile love is, and why we should fight for it.”

“Or maybe Shakespeare was just trying to entertain us with a melodramatic tale of young love gone wrong?”

His comment earns a few laughs from the class and the almost imperceptible smirk on his face makes you want to just scream your lungs out right then and there.

“Alright, fine. Two things can be true at the same time. It may have been a melodramatic tale but it also offers insights into the human nature, explores love, family, and the consequences of hatred—”

The loud ringing of the bell suddenly cuts through the thick atmosphere that built up in the room, and you quickly halt your words. A mixture of relieved sighs, teasing remarks, and amused laughter was heard throughout the place, everyone shuffling out of their seats to head to the cafeteria for lunch.

Giving one last challenging look to the boy a few seats away from you, as if to say “We’re not done yet”, you turn around and approach your friends who were all snickering among themselves already at the slight glare you sent him.

“Y/N, that was intense. Are you being paid to defend Shakespeare or something?”

You roll your eyes at Rei’s comment and link arms with her and Liz, pulling them together with you to walk out of the classroom.

“Whatever. He was intentionally defying me. I didn’t want to leave him satisfied.”

The bustling sounds of students filling the hallways as they set off from all directions served as the background noise while your mind flowed with thoughts about the heated exchange during class.

It was nothing new. Not a week would go by without any argument between you and your so-called rival, Yang Jungwon, as you both competed and argued at school for almost anything in existence. Today was no different when the story of the star crossed lovers were discussed in Literature, and you willingly offered your perspective since Miss Kim asked for the class’ opinion on their forsaken love.

But the student council president just really had to have a rebuttal at all of your words. He would never back down without a fight, would he? The seemingly childish antics between the two of you weren’t bound by the confines of the classroom either and extended into anywhere that you found yourselves meeting.

A silent challenge on who could hold eye contact the longest, vying for the teachers’ favor, and even passive-agressively fighting for a certain gazebo during your free periods—it was a natural occurrence in your daily life now.

Arriving at the cafeteria, a plethora of aromas from the counter fill your senses, momentarily distracting you from your inner monologue. You were certain that having some nice food would take away all the stress in your day so far and the thought alone gave you a sense of peace at the time being.

But that peace didn’t last for long as you made your way to the cramped line of students who were all eager to get their share of food and felt a sturdy chest accidentally bump into your back, making you almost stumble on your own feet.

You quickly whip your head around to look at who caused a near embarrassing moment, only to be met by the face of the person you’ve been thinking of since you left the room.

He flashes an Oscar-worthy apologetic face at you while his friends, Sunoo and Riki, slap him from behind, suppressing their laughter. “I’m sorry—”

“Can’t stupid Romeo see that someone’s in front of him?”

His eyebrows lift in astonishment at your reply and he slightly leans down to meet your level. “Oh, is sweet Juliet getting grumpy at me now?”

He leans away and straightens, flashing such a soft smile you’d almost believe he was being sincere, and maybe he was. “Okay, I’m actually sorry. The line’s full, I didn’t mean to bump into you.”

You were about to retort when Liz taps your shoulder and whispers. “Y/N, the line’s really too cramped. Leave him be. Let’s get moving, I’m hungry.”

With another threatening glare, you decide that the boy isn’t worth your time and you turn around to move forward in the line.

It was already your graduating year and you could only hope that the stress of your upcoming workload would be lessened by fewer unfortunate encounters with Yang Jungwon. You were sick and tired of it all already. It was due time to grow up.

Little did you know, the heavens must have heard your prayer and with their own interpretation, decided it was time to grant your wish. Twice.

The next day, you were back at the cafeteria during lunchtime, but now with a face looking more grim than ever as you grappled with the issue you were currently facing.

“Mr. Yoon’s decision is understandable,” Liz says, while Rei listens as she simultaneously eats and reviews notes for her Biology quiz. “He’s just new here so I couldn’t even blame him for being shocked when we said that you two have an on-going war for years already.”

You only response by angrily chewing on the pork cutlet in your mouth as she states your years-long of rivalry with Yang Jungwon, now leading to a more intense battle, or rather, an inner one.

“But Miss Kang...” Liz pauses and looks at you. “...Y/N, have you at least tried talking to her about it?”

At the mention of your teacher who made the awful decision of intentionally teaming you up with your rival, you groan loudly and clutch your head.

“She said she just wanted to see if we can set aside our differences and work together. Why did it have to happen this year when they have never put us in the same group for the past years, not even once?” You lifted your head and made vague hand motions. “And can you believe it, she even added that we might be secretly attracted to each other?! Ugh!”

Liz cackles loudly, shaking her head in amusement. “You know, I honestly agree with her. I mean, come on, is it really believable that you two wouldn’t have at least a tiny bit of attraction towards one another?”

You visibly cringe at her words, earning a laugh from them both. “Horrifying.”

“Well, what’s there to not be attracted about?” Rei chimes in, her eyes holding a mischievous glint as she looks at you. “You like Yang Jungwon, don’t you? You’ve got a secret crush on him and you just disguised it as “rivalry” this whole time. Or maybe even...the two of you are dating behind closed doors.”

Your face goes red in an instant, and Rei chuckles at the way you try to defend yourself. “W-what? No way. I do not like him like that—at all!”

“You seem awfully defensive for someone who says they don’t like him,” Liz teases and you give her a mock glare.

Rei leans forward as if she’s about to say something serious. “Okay, how about this Y/N. I don’t mean to offend you but perhaps,” she squints her eyes, “are you...jealous of Yang Jungwon?”

Your face contorts in perplexity at her question, but Liz could only laugh at how dumbfounded you looked.

“Jealous?” You incredulously reply. “W-why...why would I be jealous of him?”

Rei shrugs. “Exactly. Why would you, of all people, be jealous of him?” She looks down at her hands as she counts things off.

“You’re pretty, kind, smart, charming, talented, a good leader and student—just like him. I’d go as far as to say you’re like two peas in a pod.”

You give her a skeptical look. “Thanks, but...I believe we’re very different. And I am definitely not jealous of that guy. Nor do I hate him. I just really don’t like being around him.”

“Really?” They both ask and you nod. Rei hums thoughtfully as she ponders her next words, but Liz cuts in.

“Jealousy and attraction out of the way. Fine, then maybe...” She takes a suspenseful pause as she looks at you, her expression serious. “...you could give him a chance? I don’t know, maybe you could be friends?”

Rei fervently nods at her suggestion. “She’s right. You and I are friends, I’m friends with Riki, and Riki is Jungwon’s friend. So I think you and Jungwon would be good friends too, if you just try.”

“That’s a fallacy.”

Liz bursts out laughing at how you referenced your Political Science and Government class a few hours ago and Rei shrugs once more. “Well, maybe it is, but that doesn’t change the possibility that you could still be friends.”

“I mean it, Y/N.” You could feel the sincerity in her tone and Liz quiets down, the two of you now intently listening to her.

“I get that you two always debate like there’s no end to it, but you both respect each other’s intelligence and abilities, and that’s a good start. Try to engage in a conversation and maybe you’ll find out you have more in common with each other than you think.”

Liz stared with her mouth agape at Rei’s sudden counselling, but she only continues to give you advice as she goes back to scanning her notes.

“You’re different in some areas, and you could probably learn from each other, see things from a different perspective—even if you don’t always agree on everything. Yang Jungwon isn’t that bad. And I’m pretty sure you’ll both come around eventually.”

Liz gives a playful hit to Rei’s shoulder, earning a loud cry from her. “Hey, where’d you suddenly get all that stuff, huh? And what even makes you so sure they’d be friends eventually?”

Rei waves in dismissal as she continues to flip through her notes and nonchalantly replies. “I just have a feeling that they would get along at some point. Inevitably.”

Their banter fades into the background as you get lost in your own thoughts, finding yourself actually thinking about Rei’s words. Find something in common with Yang Jungwon? Okay, maybe it’s not entirely impossible.

But...friends? The thought feels strange. You’ve only always seen him as a rival, an opponent to beat, someone you wanted to prove that you were better than.

Could it really be a chance to be civil if you just put down your pride in the meantime? If there was another way to look at things even though it hurt your ego, then perhaps you could actually learn from each other and as Rei said, even become friends.

You weren’t sure if you’d actually be able to work together or just end up arguing like usual, but if you try hard enough, then maybe, just maybe...there’s a chance for something different to happen. And whatever it was, you could only hope that it would benefit the project that you shared.

Heavy, thick, and uncomfortable silence.

That was how you would describe your first proper meeting with Yang Jungwon for your godforsaken project.

Jungwon arrived first to your agreed-upon meeting spot, much to your dismay, but it wasn’t like you were late either. You were both simply too compliant and did not want to provoke each other by not adhering to the scheduled time of arrival.

You hadn’t expected an almost non-existent conversation throughout the first few minutes. Jungwon only reiterated what you had already discussed on chat (that barely lasted a minute) about the project and you both settled on studying the subject matter in the meantime, an almost suffocating atmosphere surrounding the two of you.

You wondered why it suddenly seemed like all the heat of a possible argument vanished, replaced by an unsettling and almost palpable tension. Maybe it was the proximity of working together in a quiet space, or it could’ve been the fact that none of you wanted to have a situation escalate from nothing and mess with your work.

Either way, your stolen glances from each other and the pin-drop silence spoke volumes of how painfully awkward it was all. The both of you were very sure that if your friends were here to witness the sight, their first words would be asking the reason behind such unnatural quietness.

You tried to focus on outlining a draft for the project, you swore you really did, but God it was very hard to do so when every detail you noticed for every minute pointed to all the differences that you could think of between you and the student council president.

Jungwon’s gaze would constantly switch from his laptop to a pile of papers on the table, the practiced ease in his calculated movements almost making it seem like he had a well-powered engine inside of him, meanwhile you were unsure of just what you had to do, evident in the way your hands kept on fidgeting with the cap of your pen.

Every time that his phone lit up with a notification, you would see the lockscreen wallpaper of him and his friends and it would instantly remind you how outgoing and approachable he was.

Jungwon was good at socializing, and while you stepped out of your comfort zone when needed, you were often reserved. Jungwon knew when to be serious, but most of the time, he was playful and enthusiastic. On the other hand, you took things too seriously more often than not.

You were a quiet observer, and it overwhelmed you sometimes how Jungwon was a constant whirlwind of energy, something you couldn’t keep up with. You were emotional yet preferred routine, and Jungwon was logical but could be spontaneous. He had the ability to just go with the flow, always fearless and carefree. It was a quality that you both admired and resented, reminding you of your insecurities.

Fine, maybe Rei was right. Maybe you were jealous of Yang Jungwon after all.

What you didn’t know was that he was having his own internal debate presently, his composed demeanor perfectly concealing his loud thoughts. Behind the personality you envied, Jungwon often wondered if his own fire would burn him.

He thought of it as a stark contrast to your calm and composure, something he found intriguing, intimidating, and oddly attractive—all at the same time, and it made him feel uncertain of how to approach you.

It didn’t help that his perceived laid-back and nonchalant persona of yours only seemed to break away whenever it came to him. He wasn’t exactly sure whether he should be satisfied or disconcerted by it, especially when he had never meant to get you so worked up.

Jungwon has always seen you as an enigma that he couldn’t help but be drawn to. Although right now, that curiosity was mixed in with simmering frustration as he took in the situation before him. The uncomfortable silence only seemed to amplify every movement and sound from the two of you, and it was gnawing at him.

He waited a little more just to see if you would finally speak up and do something, but he could sense that you were even more tense than he was. He gave it a minute. Two. Three.

Until he couldn’t take it anymore. He closed his notebook with a gentle but distinct thump, the quiet snap intentional to draw your eyes up to him in an instant.

“Okay, can we just...” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and when he opened them, they bore into you with a desperate intensity as he forced a calm demeanor. “...please talk for a moment?”

You gulped. “Y-yeah, sure.” You felt your hands go cold and your heart pounding, a mix of nerves and anticipation coursing at once. “What...where do we start?”

Jungwon sighs, sensing that you were still feeling tense with the whole ordeal. “Y/N, are you scared of me? Or mad at me?” He softly asks.

Your eyes go round and you quickly shake your head, straightening up in your seat. “No! No, of course not. Not at all.”

A wave of relief washes over him at your immediate response, but he still felt the need to reassure you and to get started with the project as well. “Okay, good. I’m glad we got that out of the way. It’s just...”

He bites his lower lip for a moment, pondering how to phrase his words. “I know we’re not exactly the best people to be paired, but we’re a team now. And we have to make this work. Let’s set aside our differences for a while. I’m sure that would be fine with you?”

You go still in surprise at his seriousness, but Jungwon takes it as hesitance on your part so he speaks up again. “You can nitpick me all you want after all of this but just for now—just for the whole timeframe of these projects...let’s have a truce.”

“Yes, of course,” You nod immediately and give him a half-smile. “We’re going to work. Nothing personal here.”

He sees the hint of bashfulness in your expression, but he’s just glad that you didn’t ignore or refuse him, unlike what he was expecting. He nods and kindly returns your smile before he turns his laptop to you.

“Let’s start with dividing our tasks.”

Within a few hours, you both managed to work in silence, but the awkwardness had gradually slipped now and was replaced with a sense of cooperation, understanding that this was a serious matter that needed your wits and not your arguments.

You weren’t exactly expecting to have a full-on debate with Yang Jungwon when you had both decided to work in the library, but it felt like a pleasant surprise to be in the same vicinity as him in hours and not get into an intellectual sparring.

Time quickly passed by and soon enough, you two decided to wrap things up for the day. As you checked the time on your phone, Jungwon couldn’t help but notice the ragdoll cat on your lockscreen, recognizing what it was in an instant even though it was upside down in his direction.

“You like cats?”

Although surprised at his attempt to start a conversation, you realized that he caught the picture and you turned the screen to face him. “Yeah. It’s my cat. Her name’s Chloe.”

His eyes lit up and you didn’t know why but at that moment, Jungwon’s eyes seemed cat-like to you. The thought made you still, your gaze lingering on him a little longer than you had meant to.

You had always seen how unfairly beautiful it was from afar, and now you felt star-struck observing them closely; almond-shaped that perfectly curved near the ends and somehow made his eyes look bigger, every speck in its irises reflecting the golden hue of the afternoon sun like a mirror ball.

You wished you had eyes as pretty as his.

“Oh, cool. She looks adorable. I like cats as well, though I’m allergic to them.” His soft laugh brings you out of your thoughts and he scans through his phone to show you something. “But here, I have a dog. His name is Maeum.”

Unexpectedly, you fall into a light conversation with Yang Jungwon about your pets, the discussion going further even as you walked through the halls until you parted ways to go home.

The unlikely chat gave you an odd sense of comfort, only realizing how relaxed you were as you walked towards the bus stop, a far cry from how you felt when you first sat across Jungwon at the library.

You could hardly believe it, and your mind was still absorbing the event as you arrived at your home. A decent talk with Yang Jungwon without having the urge to bicker with him. All because you both had pets.

It felt silly to think about. But for the nth time that day, you realized that maybe Rei was right after all. You might have more in common than you think and it was a good start of forming a professional relationship with Yang Jungwon.

The thought didn’t seem so bad now, you were open to it. A chance for something new.

enhypen - not for sale, tfw 𓇗 troye sivan, gordi - wait

On your fourth day of working together, things were unfortunately not working out for you, making you a little grumpier than usual. Jungwon notices, but he doesn’t say anything until he hears you grumbling under your breath.

It just so happened that you injured your finger due to a clumsy mistake yesterday, and it hurt so bad that you couldn’t even tie your precious hair. It kept on falling over your face as you typed onto your laptop, but when you tried to put it up into a ponytail, the cut on your finger would hurt like hell.

Jungwon couldn’t bear to just mirror your winces any longer. So he rises from his seat and rounds the table to get to your side.

“Let me help you.”

Before you could even process his words, he already grabbed the scrunchie from your wrist and your brush, while his other hand begins to gently gather your hair as he stood behind you.

“What are you—”

“Just keep on working.”

Your fingers awkwardly hover above the keyboard at first, unsure how to take the sudden help. But as he starts brushing your hair with his fingers as gently as he could, you slowly relax and go back to your work, your mind half-occupied with him.

Unknown to you, the boy was just as nervous, maybe even more. He couldn’t believe how flustered he was getting at the feeling of your soft strands under his fingertips, despite being the one who offered to help in the first place, especially since it wasn’t just about your wincing—he knows that you can’t focus if your hair is in an unkempt state.

After a few minutes, he gives your head a few pats to ensure that it was neatly styled, before going back to his seat. You mutter “thank you” and you think he’s finally done, but he doesn’t respond with a single word. Instead, he takes out a tin case from his backpack and gently grabs your hand across the table, much to your surprise.

“Why—” Your words were cut off once more when a Cinnamoroll-printed band-aid is then wrapped around your finger, his touch feather-light as he gauges your reaction for any discomfort, expecting a wince the most.

But you could only stare at him in pure astonishment, your mind reeling from his actions for the past minutes.

“Where did you cut yourself? You should be more careful,” he casually says as he puts the tin case back to his bag. “And put a band-aid on it next time. You could get an infection.”

At a loss for words, you only give him an awkward nod and go back to your work even though your mind was still stuck on what he did. Despite your bashfulness, you didn’t want to seem ungrateful for his act either so you just muttered “thank you” once more.

Jungwon acknowledges it with a nod and his gaze lingers on you for a few moments before he decides to get to his own tasks as well, more focused now that he sees you at ease while working.

You both work in peace for the following hours, conversations only filled with questions and comments about the project, with the occasional off-topic subjects that sneaked in.

By the end of the day, Jungwon realizes that with the softening of your long-standing rivalry, a mutual respect had always existed between the two of you, his observation echoing in the way you had both eased into the truce.

As a matter of fact, Jungwon had even began to hope that it wasn’t just a truce. That maybe if this dance of a burgeoning understanding with the two of you would grow, perhaps, you could be something more than each other’s worthy rivals.

It has now been 9 days since you started working together and although you still had a few banters and intellectual debates here and there, things were pretty much going well between the two of you, especially when it came to the projects.

You had also made an effort to learn a little about Jungwon. His favorite color is blue and orange, he was raised by his grandma, he likes curry and strawberries with chocolate, he did taekwondo for 7 years, he had a cactus named Injang who has now crossed the rainbow bridge (rest in peace), and he weirdly loves ‘slay’ as a slang. He has learnt the word and never looked back since then.

Jungwon learned some basic things about you as well and as much as you disliked it, you did have some common ground after all. You had even started to bond over things like your overbearing teachers and stressful exams, a surprising amount of shared interests and hobbies popping up as you got to know each other throughout the days.

At some point during the past week, you even had the chance to witness him in his leader mode at the student council office. He was seriously running the place like an actual president, as a resolute yet empathetic leader.

While the council members wondered why you were patiently waiting for Jungwon to finish his job, knowing the history between you two, you were busy admiring how focused he was with his work and the way he interacted with his members. It gave you a new-found layer of respect for him.

And with every passing day, the atmosphere between you two were becoming lighter at the goal of only making it through the projects without turning into ardent debaters, even when you still had occasional disagreements.

It was 3 in the afternoon as you found yourselves in the same spot at the library, silently working on your laptops and papers. Despite the intense focus that Jungwon had on his own tasks, he couldn’t help but notice the way your eyes were getting droopy and how you would lean your head onto your palm.

He thinks that naturally, you must be tired, but he was too cautious to say anything until you brought out a tablet from your bag along with your tumbler and a small packet of crackers.

“What are you drinking that for?”

“Headache,” you simply reply. His forehead creases and he points to the crackers in your hands.

“And you’re only eating that?”

“Why not?”

“That’s not enough.”

“But I have to nap after. I can’t have anything heavy.”

“You need something better.”

“Jungwon, I always do this.”

He heaves a deep sigh at your defiance and quickly stands up. “Wait here. Don’t do anything yet.”

He was already out of the library before you could even reply, and you decided to wait just as he asked, even though you were already itching to just gulp down the medicine.

You didn’t know if Jungwon had a superhuman speed of some sort as 5 minutes later, he was already back at your table, holding a small box of precut oranges and a tuna mayo sandwich.

He wordlessly drops them in front of you before he goes back to his seat, running a hand through his hair from the race he had just brought upon himself. You glance at the foods at the table, feeling a very strange warmth spread through your chest at what he did.

How does he even know that this was the sandwich you liked and always ordered at the cafeteria? Was it just a coincidence? Or perhaps, he must’ve noticed it when you went together last time?

“Um...thank you.” He nods and warmly smiles in spite of your awkwardness, and you quietly begin to unwrap the sandwich so you can already take the medication.

Jungwon takes a few moments to observe your figure, his eyes noticing the weariness in your own, which wasn’t that visible if not looked upon closely.

He forces himself to tear his gaze away and begins typing again, but he couldn’t stop himself from commenting, masking his concern with a nonchalant tone.

“You know, Y/N, I can’t believe how you’ve always had the energy to argue with me when you’re this careless of yourself.”

“...what?”

“You always prioritize your studies and other people before yourself. Sometimes you would even skip meals. Rei and Liz would be at the cafeteria without you and you’re up in our room or God knows where, doing something to push yourself even more.”

You can’t hold back from asking this time. “How did you—”

“It’s not cute, really,” Jungwon deflects. “What if you collapse one day? Your grades wouldn’t save you, Y/N. Some people out there would be worried about you.”

Like me, he thinks.

“Okay...?” You chew slowly, unsure just how to respond with his gentle scolding. “I...I do take care of myself.”

“Really?” He scoffs. “When? How?”

“Like...right now.”

“Yeah, right. You would’ve taken those nasty crackers if I wasn’t here.” He rolls his eyes and you couldn’t help but smile a little, seeing through his apparently exasperated act.

Once you were done, you laid your arms on the table and rested the side of your head on it, and Jungwon’s gaze lands from his laptop to you, silently checking for any sign of distress.

“I’ll just take a nap, Jungwon. I promise. I’ll help you when I—”

“No,” He shakes his head even when your eyes had already closed. “Take your time. To be honest, you should be at the nurse’s office instead.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Which is why you shouldn’t force yourself to only nap,” He interjects again. “Just take your time. I’ll watch over you.”

The last thing you remember before falling asleep is a mix of awe and gratitude at Jungwon’s caring nature, a sense of security embracing you.

He stayed true to his word and looked at you from time to time, brushing the hair that fell across your face to not block your breathing and even draping his cardigan over you to keep you warm and comfortable as you slept.

A swirl of strange emotions bubbled up within Jungwon whenever he took in the sight of your peaceful sleeping form, and he couldn’t understand why. He would’ve done the same thing for Riki and Sunoo if they were in your position. Or anyone, actually.

But something about your frustrating stubbornness that perpetually bothered him every time makes him feel a near sense of protectiveness towards you, and he was sure it was crazy to even think of.

You had already clarified that you weren’t scared of or mad at him, so he couldn’t even fathom why you seemed to dislike him before you were put together for the projects. Had he unknowingly wronged you in the past? Was it something he did that irked you? Were you perhaps, uncomfortable or overwhelmed with how bubbly he is? He was clueless.

But what he knows is that he wouldn’t give up on your stubborn side, and he’d be willing to show you that he could be a good friend just as he was a good rival to you.

However, as much as Jungwon thinks you’re the most stubborn person he’s ever met, you could basically say the same about him.

It was now your sixteenth day of working together with the student council president and you swear you would probably kick the boy if he doesn’t have a fever right now.

“Y/N, for the last time, I’m fine.”

“Fine?” You raise an eyebrow. “Does “fine” mean sweating like crazy with a flushed face and reading the same page again and again for the past 15 minutes? Is that the definition of fine to you?”

“Well, I can power through this. Trust me.” He smiles at you but you don’t buy his words for even a bit. Not when he looks like he’s about to pass out at any moment.

“Oh, please.” He only chuckles at your eye roll, but you’re seriously not having it anymore. “Jungwon, I’ve had enough. You’re going to the clinic. Now.”

“I told you, I’m—whoa!” You quickly pull him up to his feet after cleaning up your things, your firm grip on his hand making it clear that there was no longer room for argument.

You go off about how stubborn he is at studying despite being sick, but it doesn’t mean it’s good for him to do so. However, your words fall on deaf ears as Jungwon could only focus on the way your hand feels in his and the evident concern in your voice, wrapping his heart with an unfamiliar warmth in a way he never expected.

Anyone could tell by the scowl on your face that you were just being stern as usual, but Jungwon oddly thinks to himself that you rather look like an adorable, grumpy kitten.

A faint smile plays on his lips at the thought, and he pushes down a sudden urge to just ruffle your hair and pinch your cheek—something he didn’t want to acknowledge at why he even thought of in the first place.

A few days later, Jungwon finds himself in the same predicament as he stands under the drizzling rain and hears your voice calling out to him in the distance.

“Yang Jungwon, what are you doing?!”

He barely had time to think of an answer before you marched towards him with an umbrella in your hand, frustration and worry written all over your face.

Jungwon wonders why your expression and nagging at how he’s being careless—considering he had just recovered from a fever—was making his heart beat like crazy, when he was supposed to find it annoying, or at least that’s what he’d like to think.

“It’s fine,” He smiles at you as if the back and shoulders of his blazer isn’t already damp from a few minutes of standing under the drizzle. “You worry too much, Y/N.”

“Or you’re just a bit careless sometimes, really,” You roll your eyes at him but he only returns it with a laugh, completely enamored by your kind nature, even if you expressed it by nagging at him.

He found himself oddly comforted with the respectful banter that had grown between the two of you for the past weeks, feeling like your rivalry had began to chip away with every laugh and joke that you shared.

By the 20th day (yes, you were keeping track of how many days it has been), the both of you were now comfortable enough to tease each other, a banter that for the first time in your lives, held no underlying tension. It took you some time to realize that your rivalry was non-existent now, as if something unspoken had shined through your dynamics.

Today was no different as the two of you settled on the same table you’ve been occupying for the past few weeks, the nook almost serving as a hang-out spot now, or your romantic rendezvous, as Rei and Liz would like to call it.

You had just ended your PE class and you already went ahead to the library, using your spare period to work on the project, much to the surprise and teasing of your and Jungwon’s friends. They couldn’t buy your excuse as a pair of wanting to use any free time to do something productive.

You were just about to open your laptop when you noticed how the top button of Jungwon’s shirt was undone and his necktie loose, showing a glimpse of his collarbone. His forehead was still glistening with a sheen of sweat, an evidence of how fervently he played dodgeball earlier. He must’ve missed it when he changed uniforms.

“Jungwon,” You call out, your gaze lingering a little longer than you had intended to on his slightly exposed skin. “Your...shirt.”

You awkwardly gesture to him and realize how you had been staring, quickly looking away to scan the interface of your laptop. He follows your gaze to his uniform and he immediately understands but as he goes to touch to button, he slowly looks back at you, a sly smile forming on his face.

“Y/N.”

You only hum in response and glance at him, but you weren’t able to tear your gaze away this time as you saw the mischievous glint in his eyes.

“How did you see it anyway? Were you staring right there, hmm?”

You gape in bewilderment, eyes going wide at his accusation. “Wha—I wasn’t! I-I just happened to see it!”

“Oh really?” He shows off his signature eyebrow raise with a smirk, and the sight makes him somehow both annoying and attractive to you.

“I— Yang Jungwon, I am not a pervert!” He chuckles at your sulky frown, the low and warm sound of it only making you hate how he’s having so much fun right now.

He hums and looks away, feigning a serious consideration at your words. “Hmm, I do think that’s a little pervy, Y/N.”

You crumple a piece of paper and throw it at him, but he swiftly dodges it as he laughs. “Just kidding, just kidding. I was just teasing you.”

He goes to button his shirt and tighten his necktie while you bring out a DSLR camera and turn your laptop on, planning to transfer some files. Jungwon, ever the curious cat that he is, comes over to sit right beside you and peeks into your camera.

“What are you doing?”

“Just stuff.” Jungwon huffs at your short reply but he continues to watch as you expertly manage the device. “Are those your shots?”

“Mm, they’re mine. Just a hobby though.” He hums at your answer while his eyes remain on the screen, making amused sounds at almost every photo he sees. “So you like photography?”

You shrug, reluctant to give a certain answer. “I just like to shoot pretty things.”

“I’m pretty too. You can shoot me.”

“Oh, like shoot you with an arrow?”

He bursts out laughing at your sarcasm, and you gently hit his arm, reminding him that you were in the library. Once his laughter dies down, his gaze shifts from you and the camera as he speaks with a casual tone.

“They’re really beautiful. You have a talent for this.”

A genuine smile lit up your face at his compliment, though you couldn’t hold back a slightly smug reply. “Thanks. Are you impressed?”

He smiles. “Do you want me to be?”

Amusement and disbelief mixes together as you blink at him, completely taken aback by his response. Was this flirting? Was he flirting? Or were you just too flustered by nothing? He smirks at your reaction and you roll your eyes, pretending to be unfazed.

“I don’t really care.” But a part of you thinks that maybe you actually cared. You wanted him to be impressed. And he seems to have read your thoughts.

“I am impressed. That’s amazing, honestly.” You felt a bit shy, quietly replying words of gratitude. But Jungwon doesn’t stop there and decides to continue showering you with praises so casually as you begin to move files from the camera to the laptop.

“I’ve always thought you were talented, but the more we talked these days, I saw how you were a lot more admirable than I initially thought.” He rests his cheek on his fist and stares at you. “You’re very intelligent and hardworking. Creative too. Not that I’m only realizing it now. I just wanted to say it.”

“What has gotten into you?” You incredulously ask him, but the smile on your face betrays how you truly feel and he sees it too.

“Nothing.” He shrugs. “Is it so bad to speak of the truth now? You are admirable. Even when you’re very stubborn sometimes. And you’re always so composed too. I like how you think things through carefully.”

“Well um...thank you.” Jungwon smiles at the mellifluous laugh that bubbles up from you, your hands now working on autopilot as you absorb his words.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re just as admirable. You work really hard as a student and as the council president. That’s a tough job. You make everything look so easy, but it must be really hard.”

The curve of his lips turn into a subtle one, your words touching his heart more than he’d like to admit. He falls upon the realization that in spite of your old rivalry, you both shared a respect of and valued each other’s intelligence and abilities.

“Thank you. I appreciate that,” He replies softly. “Can I ask you something though?”

“Sure.”

He takes a short pause as if contemplating what he wants to say before he finally speaks up.

“I was just wondering why...why you always seem to push yourself so hard. Not that it’s completely bad, but it’s just, I feel like you’re straining yourself sometimes. You’re not...being pressured by anyone, are you?”

You get the implication of his words in an instant and you shake your head. “No, no. My parents aren’t like that. They’re very supportive, actually.”

He slowly nods, and he gets the sense that you wouldn’t want to directly say that it’s you who pressures yourself. Even without your confirmation, he could feel it. “So what is it then?”

He’s confused at the casual shrug you give him, not buying how you’re playing it off as something insignificant. “It’s nothing. And it’s kind of stupid even.”

He straightens up in his seat and slightly moves closer, his gentle voice coaxing you. “I’m certain it’s not “stupid”. If you’re comfortable, you can tell me. I’ll listen.”

You take a few moments to consider his words, keeping your eyes trained on the screen as you hoped you wouldn’t break down into tears.

“I want to make my parents proud.”

Jungwon felt like his heart dropped at the subdued sadness in your voice and he stays silent, waiting for you to continue.

“They’re usually away for work. At first it was just my dad, then my mom followed. I...I just don’t want to make their sacrifices go to waste. The least I could do is study hard and prove myself worthy of why they’re working for our family. So I have to be good enough. I want to be at my best.”

You take a shuddery deep breath, still keeping in the urge to break down. “For myself too, I guess. I know I can be better. I can’t be complacent. I know there’s more to me and I will push myself to reach that.”

He listens intently as you speak and when you were done, he tentatively touches your arm and speaks softly. “You are good enough, Y/N. I’m sure your parents know that. And I know they wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself. Nobody would want you to.”

As you tear your gaze away from the monitor, your eyes meet Jungwon’s, a sense of empathy and understanding surrounding the air as you gazed at each other. You didn’t know why, but it made your heart swell, seeing and feeling his concern for you.

His hand moved to go on top of yours, patting it reassuringly. “You know, my...my parents are often away from home too. So I understand.”

The strained smile that flickered across his face tells you that he didn’t just understand, he must have struggled with it too, one way or another.

“They’re um...highly regarded in their own fields, I would say. So, often very busy. And though I won’t exactly pursue their careers, I want to follow their footsteps and be just as outstanding. I want to make them proud too. But beyond that...”

He nibbled on his bottom lip, eyes drifting away for a moment before looking back at you. It was easy to tell that Jungwon was opening up to you right now, unexpectedly finding comfort in your presence as his vulnerability showed through with every word that tore down his defenses, feelings that he thought were buried for so long now coming to the surface.

“I just want to prove myself...to me. To prove myself worthy with every accomplishment that I make. It’s why one of the things I admired about you is how you seem so put together.” He wryly laughs, and you could feel your heart shatter. “I wish I was always like that. I only seem like it from the outside. But everything feels like a huge mess inside of me. Like a fire that I can’t tame.”

Your heart breaks even more at his confession, shock and sympathy both crashing over you like a tidal wave. Not only had Jungwon implied that he wished he had something that you had, but he also confessed to feeling like he wasn’t good enough. That somehow, even with all the good things he had going on, he still felt like an utter chaos within.

You wanted to tell him that your “put together” demeanor was just an unconscious facade as well, but you couldn’t seem to find the right words to say at the moment. It was only then that you had realized, you were both seeing yourselves in an almost distorted way, a pretense looming over your characters like a shadow.

You wanted to return his encouragement with the only words that ran through your mind, your hand gently taking his in what you hoped would offer even a bit of comfort, and gave the most reassuring smile you could muster.

“You’re doing great, Yang Jungwon. You’re loved.”

Your few words, despite its simplicity, brings a soft smile to his face, and he quickly laughs away the tears that lined in his eyes, squeezing your hand in silent gratitude.

“I guess I am.” He intertwines your fingers as his smile turns into a grin, attempting to lighten the atmosphere. “I think we’re both doing great, Y/N. We’re loved.”

A comfortable silence filled the air, your eyes locked in a moment of understanding and comfort in each other’s presence before Jungwon speaks up again.

“So, you think we should arrange a double date for our parents sometime?” You couldn’t help but snort at his randomness but he only continues, feigning a serious look. “That’d be fun. And of course, we’d join too. It’s like a family night out or something.”

You shake your head, and Jungwon is barely unable to resist a giggle. “Great thinking, genius.”

“Why, thank you.” He gives you a pretend bow and he chuckles at his own antics.

You share a few more minutes of almost unending jokes and laughter, before deciding that a quick trip to the cafeteria was now more appealing than doing the project in your spare time.

The two of you knew for sure now that something had definitely shifted in your relationship, seeing each other from a new perspective that you had ignored for how many years.

Jungwon felt a sense of relief at the realization, knowing that the danced he had hoped to last for a little longer was now blooming into something real—a genuine connection between the two of you that he had always longed for.

𓇗 enhypen - orange flower 𓇗

It was almost two months now from the day you settled on a truce with Jungwon for the sake of your grades. You had stopped tracking your days with him after the 30th, realizing that there was no point to count anymore on how long it would take for the two of you to fight again. You initially betted it would only take a week.

Your first project was drawing to a close and as much as you’re quite embarassed to outwardly admit it, you have grown fond of working with him, or just spending time with him in general. It came to a point that your friend groups have now become closer too, with the six of you usually seen at the cafeteria or just messing around together during your free hours.

You didn’t know how you managed to actually be civil and hold more decent (maybe even fun) conversations with Yang Jungwon in just two months than you did in the past years.

On one relaxing afternoon, you decided to take a break by going to the garden with your camera. You went around and captured every pretty thing that you found, from the blue skies to the whole landscape and the mesmerizing flowers in sight.

As you went around, continously clicking the shutter button, one particular flower catches your eye through the lens and you crouch down to get a closer look.

They were of a bluish purple color and bell-shaped, bowing down on the stem as if shying away from the sun. You reached out to graze its petals, its soft feel against your fingertips and the enticing hue making you think of only one thing.

...beautiful.

“They’re called Bluebells.”

You whip your head to the side and see the student council president standing idly with his hands shoved in his pockets, his gaze shifting from the blooms to you.

“You like it?” He walks closer until he was just about two steps away from your crouching form and the both of you turn to look at the flowers again.

“Yeah,” You mutter. “They’re pretty.”

Jungwon hums in response, a small smile playing along his lips. “They remind me of you.”

You quickly turn to him, and he only chuckles at the sound of surprise that you made.

“Bluebells...they often represent humility and modesty, among with a lot more things.” His gaze travels from the flowers to your eyes then he smiles softly. “And they all remind me of you.”

Okay, pause. What was Yang Jungwon spewing out of his mouth right now? And why was it suddenly making your heart race?

Flustered by his comment, you turn your head away and try to play it cool, although Jungwon completely sees through you. How could he not when your face was glowing with a soft, delicate pink?

“Oh, really?” You ask in a nonchalant tone. “Where did you even learn that?”

“My grandma likes gardening. She taught me everything about plants since I was a kid. Eventually, I learnt the meanings of some flowers too. You know, floriography?”

You nod in response and he continues. “Yeah, that. I’m not really an expert, I would say. But I definitely have some knowledge on it.”

“Oh...” You unknowingly whisper. “That’s cool.”

Jungwon smirks at your comment, finding an opportunity to possibly fluster you again. “Are you impressed?”

You scoff as he uses your own words from last time, and you lift an eyebrow at him. “Do you want me to be?”

He gives you a lopsided smile and shrugs. “To be honest, I kind of want you to.”

And there it was. Jungwon laughs softly at the second wave of coral blush that paints across your face, and you pretend to be unbothered by standing up and rolling your eyes. “Whatever.”

You walk away and approach the fountain nearby, but Jungwon promptly catches up and you’re not sure whether you’re annoyed or endeared by his loud and genuine laugh.

“Hey, Bluebell! Wait for me!”

You sit by the rim of the fountain, the lush sound of the flowing water and the mindless scanning through your camera’s gallery doing nothing to distract you from what Jungwon had said.

What did he even mean by that? And if it meant what you thought it did, then why were you so affected? You weren’t stupid enough to draw a plausible conclusion, but the thought itself was stupid—that maybe you were feeling just a little something for Yang Jungwon.

Maybe it’s just because of how cute he was and that oh so adorable dimple of his. Right. That’s it.

Jungwon sits beside you by the fountain, though he maintains a respectful distance, just in case you were still feeling flustered. “I really did mean that, Bluebell.”

The shift in his voice and his repeated use of the flower’s name to address you sends your mind in a frenzy, unable to focus on the several photos you were distractedly scanning.

“...that you remind me of all that there is to the flower. They’re all good things, I promise you. Like faithfulness, hope, and dreams. And...I was honestly hoping you’d be impressed. That wasn’t a joke.”

His earnest admission makes you finally look up, and you abruptly push aside your nerves to reassure him. “Don’t worry, I-I was impressed. If that’s what you wanted to hear. I...that, that’s cool. The floriography and everything.”

Jungwon fondly smiles at your response, adoring how bashful yet honest you were. “And the bluebell too,” You add. “I um...thanks. I suppose...I should learn about it sometime.”

“You should,” Jungwon gently ruffles your hair and you try to act nonchalant again. “It’s fun. I can even tell you the meaning of every flower you’d capture. How’s that?”

You give him a nod and Jungwon smiles, giving you a mini lecture at once about floriography, and he even mentions to you that his grandmother likes white lilies, which symbolized purity and rebirth.

As he continues to talk about the language of flowers, you barely notice how time passes by, only becoming aware again when the warm glow of the sun fell on Jungwon’s face, making him look unbelievably ethereal.

The way his eyes sparkled as he spoke enthusiastically, his face brightening up with glee and laughter—Jungwon was the epitome of a pretty and charming boy, your rivalry didn’t blind you from it. But has he always looked this beautiful? The sight of the golden rays highlighting his features seemed to echo your thoughts of seeing him in a new light after all these years.

It reminded you of how much you didn’t know about Jungwon yet. But in spite of it, you knew that even if the prettiest flower were in sight, you already had a beautiful one to catch in frame—right beside you.

It was very telling of his name. Garden. Jungwon was like a gardenscape, every piece of his life a flower that held a story in it, something that you found more interesting than any of the flowers he had told you of.

And a whisper in your heart bloomed, yearning for a chance to explore that garden.

enhypen - just a little bit 𓇗 lauv - steal the show

One day, during a row of vacant hours in your schedule, you found yourselves sitting at your usual spot in the library, agreeing to review and revise a few things in your project.

But you left your laptop at home, not expecting the free time that you had been blessed with today. So you decide to give your flash drive to Jungwon instead for him to have access to your side of the work.

However, he quickly takes notice of the exhaustion on your features, sensing that you hadn’t been able to take a good rest. He casually tells you to go take a nap while he takes care of the presentation, and you couldn’t help but argue for a little while, feeling a bit guilty that you’d just sleep on him while he does the work.

Jungwon wasn’t one to quickly back down though. He feels a little frustrated at how the two of you have been going back and forth on the matter when you could just simply comply to his suggestion and take your much needed rest.

But his genuine concern for you overpowered his vexation, fully intent on giving you what you needed rather than have you work without focus and just strain yourself further. And so you finally caved in, but not without asking one last time to be really positive that it was fine with him.

“Jungwon, are you sure?”

He sighs for the nth time and slowly nods to reaffirm his approval, certain that he was on the verge of just manifesting a pillow out of thin air if he could, just so you would already sleep.

“Yes, yes, yes. I’m not going to repeat myself, Y/N. Go take a rest. I’ll handle this.”

“Fine.” You defeatedly sigh and rest your arms and head on the table. “Just don’t mess around with my movies and stuff in there. You might end up deleting something.”

“Oh,” Jungwon slightly leans forward to the screen and playfully squints his eyes at some of the folders, “like enha lore edits, enha performances, animated films—”

You immediately lift your head up and shoot him a half-hearted glare, but he only snickers at your reaction and shakes his head amusedly.

“Jungwon, I swear, if you touch those folders and something goes missing—”

“I won’t, I won’t.” He brings his hand up to do a scout’s honor gesture, a wide grin plastered on his face. “I promise. Just the project.”

You feign a scoff of disbelief before bringing your head down again and muttering. “You better. Or else...”

Jungwon waits for you to continue your words, but after a minute or so, he sees your eyes shut, your breathing slow and steady. Seeing the peaceful expression on your face brings a faint smile to his face before he goes back to his laptop and start to work.

He glances at you from time to time to check how you’re doing, relieved that you’re still taking your rest. He knows you’d probably get mad at him for not waking you up by the time you had set, but in his defense, he simply found it hard to wake you up when you looked like you really needed that sleep.

A bit more than an hour passes by when Jungwon decides to take a break from working and stretches his arms, his gaze falling to you for a moment before he skims over the file to view his progress.

Once he’s done, he plays around with the cursor and scrolls through the folders out of boredom. Suddenly, one of the folders open without him intending to and panic sets in him right away as he straightens up and looks for the exit button.

He promised to not view any of your other files and even when you’re asleep, he did not want to break that. However, just as he was about to press on it, one of the thumbnails catch his attention and makes him still for a moment.

His eyes dart across the screen, seeing “y/n’s camcorder” as the folder’s name and a few dozen other videos whose thumbnail alone was enough to tell that these were some video logs of some sort. But the one that made him freeze earlier was something he would have never expected to see in your flash drive. Him.

He leaned forward to observe the stilled frame closely, and there was no mistake in it. It looked like him years ago. What was he doing in your videos? Did you just happen to catch him in your camera?

Jungwon takes another glance at your sleeping form, torn between his curiosity and the promise he had made to you. But eventually, the former won and he felt a pang of guilt as he clicked on the video to play.

He immediately lowers the volume, just enough for him to hear and moves the laptop away from you as much as possible, straining his eyes and ears as he watched.

“Hello, this is Y/N and um...today, we’re at the school festival. I’m with my friends...”

He immediately realizes that this video was from a few years ago, seeing how young and awkward you looked, and the familiar school shirt you were wearing. It didn’t take long for him to recognize what year it was and you mentioning the date only confirmed it. This was taken in 8th grade.

“Is that your vlog?”

“Y/N, you should start a channel.”

“I want to try the cotton candies!”

“Wait, my shoelaces are—”

Your friends’ voices were mixing together, along with the noises of other students in the background and the music from the band nearby. Even the camera started getting shaky as your laughter filled the air, your joy evident through the screen.

Jungwon couldn’t help but smile at the sight, and he figures that maybe you just really happened to capture him for a moment, that’s why he was on the thumbnail. He goes over to the exit button but just like earlier, something immediately makes him stop from finally doing it.

The camera turns around to no particular direction, the surroundings caught in a constant blur before it finally settles on something. The busy chatters of all the students including your friends were still heard in the background, but your voice wasn’t there anymore and the camera was now stable, as if you had stilled upon the sight that seeped to your lens. It was then that Jungwon’s heart skipped a beat and realized why he saw himself in the frame earlier.

You were recording him.

And it wasn’t just a mere second, or even a few. You had filmed him from a distance as he managed a stall with some classmates, a wide smile etched on his face while he moved around and interacted with the other students. He even laughs for a moment and despite the low volume he set on the laptop, Jungwon swears he heard a soft laugh from you too.

Suddenly, he turned his head to a certain direction and you must’ve panicked that he would see you, because the camera whipped around to literally anywhere but his stall, laughing as you pretended to be engaged in your friends’ discussion.

His mind raced with several thoughts in an instant as the video went on. 8th grade. The year your rivalry bubbled up. School festival. But this happened before that.

Why were you recording him for almost a minute? He wasn’t even doing anything that you could possibly use against him. He was just there doing his work, and you were filming him like you had caught something special that you wanted to preserve. Impossible.

Jungwon snaps from his thoughts as he hears you stir, and he quickly drags the cursor to the exit button several times until his laptop’s main interface was now on display. He feels like he had just committed a crime.

As you repeatedly blink awake and focus your eyes on your wristwatch, Jungwon wonders if you had heard the sounds from the video or it just really happened that you’ve had enough rest now.

He notices your lingering stare at the time and he gets the feeling that you’re both disappointed and relieved that he didn’t wake you up in 30 minutes, but he knows you’d certainly be mad at him once he tells you what he did, because he couldn’t bring himself to lie.

He waits a little longer to see if you’re already fully awake and as you start to gather some of your things to begin working again, he takes a deep breath to brace himself.

“Y/N...”

You pause for a moment and look up at him, sensing a tinge of anxiety in his voice. Setting your things aside for now, you cross your arms on the table and response with a hum, urging him to continue.

The longer he looked into your eyes, the more that his curiosity and guilt grew and he didn’t even know if he would be prepared for your wrath.

“Y/N, I...please, just let me explain first, alright? I swear, I really didn’t mean to. And you can shout and beat me up later but not here in the library.”

Confusion spreads across your face at his words, the hint of desperation in his voice not escaping your keen observation. Did he actually go into your folders and accidentally delete one of the files?

You reluctantly give him a nod, silently giving him the signal to continue again. Jungwon rubs his sweaty palms at the end of his blazer and he takes another deep breath before he looks you in the eye, his words coming out rushed and yet still clear.

“Y/N, I’m really sorry that I found your camcorder folder. I promise, I did not mean to snoop around, but it just suddenly opened then I saw my face in one of the frames so I clicked on the video and I watched the first few minutes and I was really there.”

Your lips part in surprise, and you honestly didn’t know how to react other than take a glance at his laptop before looking back at him as he kept on confessing.

“I was just curious but I didn’t watch all of it! Just, just the part where I was, and I know it wasn’t an excuse to break what I promised to you. But please believe me, I’m really, really, really sorry, Y/N.”

His breathing was slightly ragged as he finished talking, and despite the guilt gnawing at him, he did not break the eye contact, wanting you to know how sincere he was with the apology. But the lack of response from you made him a little nervous, and he couldn’t help but speak once more.

“Y/N, I’m really sorry, I—” You ignore the most apologetic look you’ve ever seen on his face and grab his laptop without a word, quickly searching for the file he had opened.

Of course, you knew what it was. You knew what video he was talking about, you knew all too well why you had done it, but you wanted to see it for yourself just one more time before you speak up.

He feels as if he’s been holding his breath for so long as he waits for your response, and he nearly apologizes again but then he hears your voice, though your words wasn’t what he was expecting at all.

“I think I need to explain myself.”

A big “what?” echoed in his mind as you put the laptop back to his side and gave him a serious look, like you were preparing for a speech. Why should you be explaining yourself when he’s the one who made a mistake?

“First off, apology accepted.” He breathes a sigh of relief but his face remains somber, the guilt still lingering on him. “I didn’t know you would take ‘curiosity kills the cat’ seriously just because you’re a cat, but you’re lucky I didn’t kill you.”

He lets out a small laugh at your dry humor and he feels his nerves gradually slip away, finding himself amused that you were still able to joke even in a situation like this.

“And next...” You purse your lips for a moment to gather the words in your mind, his eyes slightly widening as he waited with curiosity. “Okay, promise me first you’re not going to think I’m a creep.”

He blinks a few times, unsure if he had heard you right before he bursts in a quiet laugh. He raises his hand up to do a gesture of promise and shakes his head, biting down on his lower lip to suppress another laugh.

You take a deep breath and speak at a normal pace, not wanting to stumble over your words and appear exactly like the person you just made him promise to not think of you.

“That day...I’m not sure if you remember, but it was in 8th grade.” He gives you a nod and your mind flashes back to the day when it happened.

You were turning your camcorder everywhere to find a good spot to film in spite of your friends’ chaos behind you and unintentionally, the camera lands on a certain stall in the distance, a boy captured perfectly in frame as you stared through the screen.

He looked quite familiar. You’ve seen him somewhere, you’re sure of it. Must be the bulletin board or something. You unwittingly stay recording him while your friends bicker about which stall to go to first, and then it finally clicked on you.

Yang Jungwon. Star student. Class monitor and known for his kindness. This was him? Heavens, he looked really...adorable.

Or even the most beautiful person you’d ever seen in your whole life.

Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration. You were just an 8th grader. You haven’t even finished the first quarter of your life yet. But damn, he really did look like the cutest boy you’ve ever come across, albeit from a distance.

Smart, kind, and cute? And oh. He has that lovely dimple adorning his face, deepening everytime he smiles. Maybe you even have a tiny crush on this Yang Jungwon right now. Sure, you didn’t know him that well, at least not yet. But he just looked...so lovely.

Then, that sliver of attraction vanished just as quick as it had appeared when you heard that damned comment from him weeks later along with the look he sent you across the room—and it completely disappeared into ashes when you became classmates by the next year.

“I don’t know if you remember too, but this was before,” You make an animated gesture to emphasize, “this whole thing happened between us.”

He nods. “I remember.”

His confirmation starts to make your heart race and you could only hope that your explanation would make sense to him. “Okay. So, I’m sure you must be wondering why I...did that.”

“The truth is that, I really didn’t mean to record you that day. I was just looking for something to film and my camera happened to land on your stall—and you were there. I was trying to remember who you are, Yang Jungwon, and I also thought you were really pretty.”

Jungwon’s boba-like eyes grow wide at your confession, and he tries to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat at it. You intentionally left out the crush part and looked away as you continued.

“I-I know, that probably doesn’t make sense because you didn’t like me, but it’s not like I was exactly blind to—”

“Wait,” Jungwon quickly interrupts, his eyes narrowing at your words, “I...I disliked you? Me?” He asks incredulously, and now you were both looking confusedly at each other.

“Yeah...?” Despite your puzzlement, you were certain of your reason. You couldn’t forget it, even after all these years. “Why are you...um, you said something about me, don’t you remember?”

“I did?” He tilts his head, feeling even more bewildered. “What...what did I say?”

You couldn’t help but start to question yourself now. He was supposed to know, wasn’t he?

“Someone mentioned the...the debate event for that year, and you were joining. Then you...found out I was joining too.” You hated how unsure you sounded now.

“And you said something like, ‘Oh Y/N? Yeah, she’s cool, I guess. Intense opponent.’ Then your friends laughed and you joined them. It sounded very condescending, if you would ask me.”

Jungwon could only stare in bafflement at the desperation slipping in your tone, and a faint blush appears on his cheeks as he slowly pieces things together, but you were too focused on your explanation to even notice his current state.

How was he supposed to tell you that his friends laughed at him and he couldn’t help but laugh too—albeit nervously because...

“And the next day, you were glaring at me from across the room. It was at the meeting for the debate teams.” You heave a deep sigh thinking that he might not have remembered it anymore but then he finally finds his voice.

“G-glaring? Y/N, I...I would never...” He trails off and you take the opportunity to speak up again.

“Never what? You were staring so intensely at me, I was so convinced that I might have done some—” You abruptly pause and blink, an almost horrifying thought dawning on you with your own choice of words.

Staring. Staring. Intensely, but not glaring.

What if...you had just misinterpreted it all?

Jungwon senses your moment of realization and he takes a deep breath, speaking as gently as possible as he explained and his gaze on you unwavering.

“Yes, I stared at you that day but...” He pushes down his nerves to focus on clarifying things to you, knowing that this might just be the conversation you both needed after years of rivalry.

“...not in a bad way. Nor did I mock you when I found out you were joining. I meant it,” His lips tug into a small smile, “I really did think you were cool. And by intense, I meant...passionate. Though, I understand how it might’ve come off differently to you, but the truth is, I was simply too nervous.”

Not just that. I used to have a tiny crush on you.

But Jungwon leaves out that part of his story and warmly smiles at you as he decides to elaborate, hoping you would understand his side. And to your surprise, he’s even looking at you so kindly, his expression almost tender.

“I honestly did not understand why you were so cold to me. All I wanted was to be friends with you and talk to you about academics,” Which is partly true, he thinks.

“But,” He awkwardly laughs and another wave of blush warms his face up to his ears, a bit more evident this time, “I do admit that at some point, it got a little frustrating to me, especially because I’ve always been competitive. And since you never paid attention to me unless it was about school, I...I decided to match your energy.”

Jungwon flashes you a sheepish smile after explaining himself, and now it was your turn to have your jaw dropped, staring at him incredulously. A mix of emotions courses through you all at once—surprise, relief, guilt, embarassment, frustration, and even happiness.

“Good heavens...” You bury your face in your hands with an exasperated sigh and he now feels more awkward than ever until you spoke again, your voice muffled. “Jungwon, I’m so sorry.”

In all honesty, Jungwon doesn’t know how to react. So he gently takes hold of your wrists to pull your hands down, your bashful eyes meeting his tender ones. He quickly notices the flush across your face and he couldn’t help but quietly laugh.

Out of confusion and embarrassment, your features contort into a slight frown and he bites down his lip to stop himself from laughing even more. He shakes his head lightly and moves his hands from your wrist to your palms, gently holding them from across the table.

“Hey, it’s alright,” He says warmly. “It was a mistake. I understand.”

You were actually expecting him to get mad at you or even make fun of your misinterpretation, but the way he’s looking at you right now makes you feel like you might just want to cry on the spot.

“No,” You shake your head apologetically. “I was wrong. And I’m really sorry for that. For...for everything. I’m so stupid. It was so stupid of me to think like that.”

But Jungwon only smiles, his gaze at you softening. “Don’t beat yourself up. I enjoyed our arguments too, you know?”

A flicker of puzzlement flashes through your face and his smile widens. “You were really tough to deal with sometimes—most of the time, really—but you were the only one I liked competing with. Like a worthy opponent, if I may say.”

You stare at him in silence for a few moments, completely perplexed by what you just heard before you let out a groan and shook his hands. “Jungwon, could you please be mad at me?”

“What?” He confusedly asks with a laugh. “I can’t be mad at you when I was entertained sometimes. It’s fun arguing with you because you’re just as smart as me. Maybe even more, I believe.”

His words render you speechless, and a corner of his mouth lifts in a teasing smirk. “Were you the one who was always mad at me then?”

“No, I—” You close your eyes with a grunt and Jungwon lets out a hearty laugh, amused by your frustration. “Okay, fine. I liked arguing with you too. Sometimes. But that doesn’t make me any less wrong, so I was expecting you to be mad at me.”

Jungwon sighs in defeat, though a subtle smile still plays on his lips at your admission. “Alright. I guess that’s reasonable. I’m taking this chance to formally apologize to you then. I’m sorry.”

He slightly leans forward, keeping eye contact with you. “Truly sorry. I’m pretty sure I frustrated you several times especially when I argued just for the sake of opposing you. And to all of the ridiculous things I’ve done to play my role in our dynamic. So I hope that we can start anew, and maybe even become friends.”

The sincerity in his words and in the way he touches your hand lifts off a heavy weight on your shoulders and you sigh deeply with relief, and so does Jungwon. He closes his laptop, deciding that your work for the day was done as there were now more pressing matters to attend to than the project.

“What do you say?” He gently squeezes your hand, expectedly waiting for your answer, the hopeful look in his eyes telling you that he was 100% wanting to hear a ‘yes.’

However, you playfully squint your eyes at him and slightly lean in too, a tinge of playfulness lacing your voice. “Do you still think Romeo and Juliet were impulsive teenagers?”

He blinks a few times at your unexpected response and bursts into quiet laughter, his eyes turning into crescents. “Okay, honestly? I think my perspective had already changed a little over a few weeks ago. They were simply too deep in love.”

“For real?” Your eyes widen and Jungwon nods, his face still beaming, but your voice quiets down. “Well, actually, I gave some thought about your argument before and maybe Shakespeare indeed just wanted to entertain us with a melodramatic—”

“Okay, we’re not going to argue again,” He immediately cuts you off, keeping in his amusement as he tried to sound serious. “Romeo and Juliet is romantic, end of story. Now, what do you say about being friends?”

You thoughtfully hum, feigning a serious consideration at his words, although the growing smile on your face already betrayed you, and the gleam in your eyes tells Jungwon that your response would be something unexpected once more.

“An ice cream date when we slay the presentation?”

“Sure.” He smiles cheekily. “Ice cream it is.”

“Okay. Friends.”

𓇗 niki - take a chance with me 𓇗

With the strenuous weeks came dozens of works in your other classes as well, and you had to postpone your little meetings for a while to focus on these tasks. Sometimes you would talk to Jungwon on the phone, but oddly enough, it didn’t really suffice compared to time spent in-person, with the new bond that has formed between the two of you.

Jungwon proposed to set a time during weekends to work on the remaining project and maybe even study at each other’s houses, with an underlying innocent intention to spend more time with you. Unbeknownst to him, you were just as happy to have both of it—studying and spending time with the boy you’ve now grown fond of.

Except for one problem: you had a cat in your home. And ironically, the feline-eyed boy was allergic to cats.

Jungwon assured you that his allergy wasn’t that bad, and he could last a few hours at your residence. You didn’t want to cave in at first, your concern overriding the want to spend time with him outside of school, even if it was still for your studies.

But being the good communicator that he is, Jungwon managed to convince you that it will be perfectly fine, and that you wouldn’t have to worry about “being the culprit when he dies”, as you had initially argued.

You agreed on one condition—that he bring an EpiPen with him just in case of an emergency, and he easily agreed, but not without giving his own condition: that your parents were completely on board with just the two of you at your home.

He practically swore to not having even the slightest bit of thought of doing anything harmful to or with you, but he wanted to be sure that your parents were aware and looked out for your safety.

The condition was unexpected, you thought, but deep inside, you appreciated how he seemed to be genuinely concerned about the matter. So you reassured him that it was fine, and even gave your parents some basic information about Jungwon, if anything does happen, which you knew there wouldn’t be.

And so you woke up early that Saturday morning, something that you rarely did, just to clean your house and prepare some foods, as well as things to keep Chloe occupied while you worked at the living room.

Jungwon arrived a little earlier than you were expecting, and he clarifies right away that he just didn’t want to be late, although the truth is that he was too eager to see you.

Sensing a visitor in the house, Chloe gets out of your room and makes her way downstairs, cautiously approaching as she assesses the boy standing close to you. Jungwon coos right away upon seeing her, but he wasn’t exactly a stranger to cats, and so he crouches down and extends his hand to her, letting her sniff him before he does anything.

Chloe swats her paw at his shoes and takes a few moments to take his presence in before she turns to you with an approving “meow”, then she nuzzles Jungwon’s hand as if asking to be petted. He takes the cue and in an instant, they were now nuzzling each other’s faces. You could even hear Jungwon giggling softly.

You smile in relief at seeing the two liking each other, almost forgetting about Jungwon’s allergy with how comfortable they looked. But as you stared longer and kept a close look at your spot, your smile wavered upon falling on a little observation.

Why does...why does Chloe almost resemble Yang Jungwon?!

For a moment, you stood there frozen, quite rattled by the thought that suddenly took over your mind. Y/N, are you insane? Why would you think that?

Bewildered by your own words, you clear your throat and pretend to be busy with arranging the foods and materials on the table. “Okay, that’s enough. Let’s get to work.”

“Aww,” Jungwon whines disappointedly and pleads at you with his eyes, “but we’re still playing. Look, she loves me.”

As much as you loved seeing the two have fun, you needed to get started and you might not be sure just how long Jungwon and Chloe would end up playing, and there’s still the lingering worry about his mild allergy. You shake your head in response and turn your laptop on without sparing another glance at them as you listed off your excuses.

He eventually sighs in defeat and gives one last pet to the cat. “Alright, baby. We should listen to your mom. Go on.”

You nearly choke on your spit at hearing Jungwon baby talk with Chloe, throwing a look of feigned disgust at his direction that Jungwon only laughs at before calling out and instructing your child to get back to your room, although it took some bribing of treats before she finally obeyed you.

Jungwon then settles beside you on the sofa and you two share a light-hearted conversation before actually getting to work, surrounded by a peaceful atmosphere. Every now and then, Chloe would come down to play with you and Jungwon, and your worried sighs would only be met with a laugh from the boy.

You would always send him a lackluster glare for how he’s seemingly making fun of your reactions, but Jungwon simply finds amusement and even a hint of affection at how concerned you were about him.

After a few hours of working, you both decide to take a well-deserved break, stretching your limbs and talking about something else other than school, with Chloe sitting between the two of you as you had already given up on sending her away, much to Jungwon’s contentment.

Suddenly, you hear the gates open and the faint sound of familiar voices in the distance, your conversation coming to a pause as you both looked at the door. Not long after, it pushed open with faces that you weren’t expecting to see today, or at least not this early.

“Mom! Dad!” You immediately stand up and approach them, Jungwon quickly doing the same, though he stands just beside the sofa as he watches you hug your parents.

“You’re home,” You confusedly say, but the pleased expression on your face was enough to tell your parents that you were just as happy as them.

“Your Dad and I managed to convince our bosses to leave early today. It’s a weekend, for goodness’ sake!” They head for the dining area carrying some bags as your mother went on, her lively voice booming throughout the household.

“Have you eaten already? We bought a lot of foods! I got your favorites, we have a blueberry cheesecake and orange chicken here—oh is that your friend? Jungwon?” She pauses in her tracks and you follow her gaze, seeing Jungwon giving her a bow with his lips stretching into a slight curve.

She kindly returns his smile and gestures him to follow the three of you into the dining area where your father was already arranging the foods on the table. “Come here, sweetheart!”

Chloe quickly follows behind Jungwon as he shyly walks to go beside you and greets your parents politely. While your mother continues with her little rant, you tell Jungwon to just serve himself some food while you went to the kitchen to get some ice cubes for the drinks.

You feel a little sorry for leaving him behind as you hear your parents immediately bombard him with questions even though they were just trying to make him feel comfortable, but you did promise him that you wouldn’t take long.

Little did you know, Jungwon had decided to take up the opportunity and sneak his own agenda into the casual conversation.

“You know, Ma’am, you have a really amazing daughter. She’s one of the best students in our school, both with her kindness and intelligence.”

You went still for a moment as you hear the words leave Jungwon’s mouth, his voice a little unclear due to the distance and the clinking of tableware, but you could still make out most of the conversation.

“Oh, I know how amazing she is,” Your mother replies with a soft laugh. “And I’m glad other people sees that too. She’s well-loved at your school, isn’t she?”

Jungwon hums in response. “Very much so. Everyone likes her. I do too. I-I mean like as a student, of course. We work really well together in our academics.”

You couldn’t resist from laughing a little at Jungwon’s hurried explanation of himself, your memories flashing back to your old arguments as he mentions how good you work together when it comes to your studies.

“Is that so? Wait, did we disturb your work? I almost forgot that you’re here because of a project. How is it going?”

“Oh, not at all, Ma’am. We were actually just taking a break when you arrived. The food’s good, by the way.”

“Just eat up then,” Your father chimes in. “You kids need to get energized for your studies. They make all the kids work so hard these days! Too many homeworks and projects, no time for resting or playing!”

You hear your mother laugh wholeheartedly at your father’s rant and she speaks again, her voice shifting to a softer one. You almost couldn’t hear it at first but as you strained your ears, the words that left her mouth next made you completely still.

“They really do make you work so vigorously, don’t they? That’s why we’re so proud of Y/N. Always striving to be the best. She’s already great. Sometimes, I worry that she pushes herself too much and ends up hurting.”

You immediately feel tears brim in your eyes, a slight ache growing in your heart as you tried to ignore how you felt and focused on getting the ice cubes out instead, though it didn’t help at all when your father spoke next.

“I agree, my love. She’s too hard on herself, I’ve noticed. I hope she sees how we all see her. Not just in her studies, I mean. But as a good person, a good friend, and a good kid. Everyone sees it. I don’t believe anyone would hate our daughter. It’s why you like her, eh, Yang Jungwon?”

Your father’s teasing comment puts you out of a threatening breakdown, and you silently laugh the tears away before finally walking out of the kitchen, hearing Jungwon’s quick and defensive replies.

The following hour was filled with a light-hearted conversation as you enjoyed the food, although occasional teasing comments were sent your way whenever your parents would imply that something was going on between you and Jungwon.

But soon enough, Jungwon surprisingly excuses himself, thanking your parents for the food and their time and that he would be taking his leave now. You immediately look over to Jungwon and tried to conceal the confusion and slight panic you were feeling at his unexpectedness.

Even your parents were surprised at first and felt reluctant of letting him leave, worrying if something urgent came up or they had unintentionally made him uncomfortable. But Jungwon quickly reassured them that everything was fine and that you had already finished a part of your project anyway.

“I suppose we’ve kept you long enough, sweetheart.” Your mother starts to pack some of the food for Jungwon while you just stood there, unsure how to approach him without sounding disappointed, even though you also felt happy at the chance of spending the rest of the day with your family.

Jungwon seems to notice your nervousness right away and softly chuckles as he stands up from his seat, facing you and speaks in a volume that only the two of you could hear.

“Don’t worry, Bluebell. Nothing’s wrong. I just thought it’d be nice if you could spend some time with them instead of studying with me.”

He glanced at your mother who was securely closing a lunch box before turning back to you. “We can do the project some other time. We have nothing to rush for, we’re smart. It’ll be a piece of cake.”

You share a laugh at his remark, and it helps relieve the confusion you were feeling earlier, thinking that you might’ve done something wrong to make him uncomfortable.

“Yeah, whatever.” You shake your head with an amused sigh, miserably failing to not smile at him. “But thanks for being considerate. I really appreciate it.”

He returns your smile with a kind one, and you miss the way your parents look at the both of you and exchanging knowing glances. “No need to thank me. It’s what you need.”

Your mother clears her throat and you both break away from the eye contact, awkwardly looking everywhere. Jungwon politely receives the lunchbox and bids his farewell to your parents, and you quickly declare to send him off, much to their surprise. But they smile anyway and motion you to go along and wishes him a safe trip home.

As you made it out of the door, you noticed how the both of you walked slowly towards the gate as if you wanted the moment to last a little longer, even though you would eventually have to part ways.

When you finally stopped by the gate, you stood there silently for a moment, unsure exactly what to say or waiting for the other to speak up first. So you think it might be alright to tell him what had happened to you earlier.

“Jungwon.” Hearing the softness in your voice, he immediately meets your gaze. “I...I heard what you told my parents earlier. A-and what they said too.”

His eyes widen by a fraction and he opens his mouth as if to say something, but no words come out. He suddenly feels like he’s put on the spot and he wonders if you took offense to it.

“I um...” You laugh nervously and scratch your nape. “I almost cried earlier, actually.”

Now his heart began to race and he steps forward, trying to not let panic seep into his tone as he finally finds his voice.

“I-I’m sorry, I just thought it would be helpful to—”

“No,” you cut him off. “Don’t apologize.”

A brief silence envelopes the two of you before you decide to speak again, wanting to reassure him and be honest of what you truly felt.

“It’s fine. I was...I’m actually happy.”

You almost tear up as you remember how you felt while overhearing their conversation, but happiness and relief overpowered the feelings you’ve been suppressing to acknowledge for so long.

“Honestly, I...I’ve always wanted to hear that from them. I guess, I just never had the courage to ask myself.” You begin to fidget with the hem of your shirt, unsure how to phrase your words.

“It’s just, you know...very awkward, I think. And they might’ve been weirded out if I ask them that. I mean I know they wouldn’t be, it’s just...”

You trail off, heaving a deep sigh and running your hands down your face. Jungwon gives a reassuring pat to your shoulder as he also scrambles for a way to explain himself.

“No, no, it’s fine. I understand. I completely understand how you feel. I just...I thought it would be nice. Because...even if you hadn’t heard it, I simply wanted to let your parents know how lovely of a daughter they have.”

You slowly bring your hands down and listen intently to him, a wave of tranquility washing over you at his sincerity.

“Well, I’m sure they already knew. But other people know as well. See how good you are at everything you do. Someone who’s very admirable. That’s what...I was hoping to relay to them.”

He takes a deep breath and looks away for a moment, stalling himself for a confession, the softness in his voice completely giving away the vulnerability he was allowing you to witness.

“The truth is, I kind of felt a connection between us when we found out that we basically have the same parents, even though the situation isn’t exactly ideal. And when I told you that maybe we could help each other’s families someday...”

He turns back to look at you with a subtle shift in his expression, “...I meant that. So when an opportunity presented itself, I grabbed it. We’re not who we used to be anymore, and I do care about you. This wasn’t anything big, if I may say, but I hope it helped, even by a little.”

Of course, you were past the whole rivalry thing with him now. And yet, something about his earnestness brings you a kind of comfort. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“I’m sure they understood. Thank you.” A genuine smile bloomed on your lips at the feeling, but your first instinct was to quickly shift the almost solemn atmosphere. “It was so heartfelt that I would’ve cried a bucket if I didn’t stop myself.”

Jungwon’s eyes turn into wide saucers at your words, and he couldn’t help but let out a hearty laugh at how you played off your tears like it was nothing.

“Hey, that wasn’t my intention.” He shakes his head in amusement and lightly pokes your shoulder. “But I’m just glad that you’re happy.”

“Oh really,” You reply with a playful mocking voice, “I thought you might’ve wanted to see me ugly crying with a tear-streaked face?”

He puts a hand to his chest with an exaggerated sound of pain. “Oh, Y/N. Do you really think I’m that bad? I would’ve been there with a pile of tissues and an actual bucket for you, I promise.”

Laughter once erupts from the two of you, the tension fading away by the second and replaced with a light atmosphere. Once you finally calm down, you stare at each other for a few moments with a warm smile lingering on your faces, a sense of understanding and connection filling the air.

You clear your throat and start to open the gate, though the wide curve on your lips remained almost permanent at this point. “Yeah, um...thank you for today, Jungwon. Take care.”

He gives you a nod as he walks out of your house, but not without facing you one last time, the radiant warmth on his face carving in your brain.

“Thank you too, Y/N. Have fun. See you on Monday.”

You both wave at each other before he finally turns around and you close the gates. And as you walked back inside your house, looking forward to spending the rest of the day with your parents, anticipation rushed through your system as you were reminded of going to his house soon.

You could barely wait until next Saturday.

𓇗 chase atlantic - talk slow 𓇗

As it turns out, Jungwon was telling the truth. When it was your turn to visit his house next week, there was no one else in the household other than his grandma. Jungwon’s parents were both at work and his sister was at university, making it only the three of them—including Maeum.

You were lucky enough to arrive at his house just before a heavy rain poured from the dark skies, and you knew for sure that it would take some time before you could go home later.

But the atmosphere in the Yang residence was enough to warm you up in the meantime, despite his parents and sister not being there. With the picture frames, trinkets, scattered things, and simple decorations everywhere, the place had a cozy and welcoming ambiance to it and looked a bit more lively than your household.

Not to mention that Jungwon’s grandmother also treated you like her own despite only having met you for the first time. You felt at ease with her warm welcome, along with Maeum’s enthusiastic response at your arrival.

Albeit a little too enthusiastic, you thought. Chloe was as laid-back as Maeum is energetic. You couldn’t help but think that it seemed almost like a reflection of their owner’s personalities.

Jungwon on the other hand felt a little nervous at first as you arrived, wanting everything to be perfect before the two of you could settle down to work. He definitely did not spend at least an hour of cleaning and organizing his room even though there was barely anything to fix anyway.

At least one of his worries was taken away when 15 minutes had already passed and Maeum did not pee on the floor or do anything horrendous. It felt a bit ridiculous to think of but he knew just how chaotic his dog could get.

Though that relief didn’t last for long when his grandma kept on doting on you, and even mentioned how you were a lot prettier in person.

You were just about to ask what she meant when Jungwon suddenly grabbed the plate of kimbap and fruit slices that she prepared (Jungwon believes he helped too, although half of it was him asking her questions about love) before excusing the both of you from his grandma and practically dragged you upstairs to his room.

Once you made it inside, with Maeum following the both of you, Jungwon put down the plate on the coffee table and rounded the bed to get his laptop by his study desk.

“You can sit anywhere. I’ll just get my stuff.” You give him a nod and roam your eyes around his room, taking in every detail that reflected a part of him.

You could hear the rain getting heavier outside, every drop of the downpour blurring his windows. Jungwon reached for the AC remote, adjusting it to a warm temperature before turning to you. “Are you cold?”

You gave him a shrug as you sat down at the edge of his bed on the floor, picking up a slice of apple. “Just a little. But I’m fine.”

He hesitates for a moment but he eventually opens his dresser and pulls out one of his hoodies, your hand pausing mid-air as he hands the neatly folded clothing to you.

“Y-you can wear this,” He meekly says, looking at anywhere but you as he adds, “only if you want to. It might...help.”

You pop the fruit into your mouth before taking the hoodie. “Yeah, thank you.”

He mutters “you’re welcome” before settling down beside you, trying to ignore the way his heart was hammering in his chest at how adorable you looked in his hoodie. He maintains a respectful distance between the two of you, thankful that you didn’t notice the rosy color from his ears down to his neck as you kept busy with your own things by the table.

He tries to act casually and picks up a fruit as well, hoping that a conversation would steer him away from his weird feelings. “So uh, where were we last time?”

The next few hours were filled with a productive yet comfortable atmosphere, the silence occasionally disrupted when someone has a question or asks for a comment, or when Maeum would join the two of you. From time to time, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at Jungwon and take in his simple appearance.

It wasn’t like he doesn’t already have the clean, approachable, and friendly look at school—just that he appears even more casual right now. His bangs were falling over his eyes that he blows away whenever it pokes them, his lovely dimple appearing every now and then, cheeks puffing up as he stuffed his mouth with food or simply puckering his lips, brows furrowing in concentration as he worked on his laptop, and the light from its monitor casting a glow on his face.

A subtle smile would touch your lips everytime at the sight. This wasn’t the genius and student council president Yang Jungwon right now. He was simply Jungwon. A boy who’s too good for this world and happens to be your friend.

What you didn’t know was that Jungwon was having an internal conflict by your side, unaware of the turmoil of emotions he was feeling as you worked in peace. He almost envied how undistracted you looked.

Despite staying focused on his own work, he was hyper-aware of your presence and every glance from you. Anytime that a part of your bodies would accidentally brush against each other, he feels like a jolt of electricity runs through him.

He didn’t understand why he was feeling this way. He was comfortable with you. In fact, he liked it very much that you were here, in his space. And yet, it made his heart flutter. He felt like he was working on autopilot, his mind half occupied with grappling the mixture of emotions you were making him feel.

He was snapped out of his thoughts as you gently tapped his arm, inquiring about a subtopic that you needed to understand in order to get through with one of your tasks.

Once you finally grasped the discussion, you turned back to your things and Jungwon went back to his, thinking that he’d be able to work with a more focused mind this time, not until he hears a comment from you.

“You’re really good at explaining things, you know. I’m glad it’s you that I’m working with.”

He laughs quietly, gaze falling down to his lap as he tries not to get too caught up with how your words affected him. “Thank you. You’re just a fast learner too, honestly.”

“Uh-huh,” You reply without looking, playfulness laced in your tone. “I guess that makes us good partners, doesn’t it?”

You both share a laugh and he shakes his head in amusement, seeing your eyes crinkle at the corners as you meet gazes. “I suppose we are.”

A bit more time passes before you two finally decide to end your work for the day, your bottoms already getting a little sore from sitting so long and your eyes strained from staring at your laptop’s monitors.

However, the rain didn’t look like it was going to stop anytime soon and Jungwon was wary to send you home alone in such gloomy weather, so he offered you to stay for dinner and watch a movie after, quickly informing your parents that you’d be home a little late.

And as you moved around the house for the following hours, Jungwon found himself sinking into an almost domestic feeling at the casual intimacy you both expressed, warmth spreading through his chest at the realization. He couldn’t help but think if he was the only one feeling a sense of curiosity and admiration between the two of you.

With the past weeks of studying together and the first visits you had at each other’s residence, he felt like something had now shifted again in your budding relationship. Maybe it wasn’t actually just the project that had brought the two of you together, but a woven tapestry of understanding and connection that he considered special.

He knew that it had only been a short time since the two of you managed to get close, and yet he felt like every moment spent with you was heading to a certain path, and he wanted to see where this goes, where it could be the start of something deeper and real.

enhypen - your eyes only 𓇗 royalty

“Y/N, he gave you food and his hoodie, then you gave him back some food, and you two are basically attached to the hip now—how could we not think that?”

Right. Days after you went to Jungwon’s house, you washed his hoodie before giving it back to him, but he insisted for you to keep it, with the excuse that you looked adorable nice in his the item of clothing.

The next day, he gave you a food container filled with kimbap, claiming that it’s because you said you liked his grandmother’s, so he tried to make them for you.

You didn’t want to give back an empty container, so you decided to make him some food as well, sharing half of the prepared portions to your friends that they were currently munching on.

“Now that we’re at it, everybody actually thinks the same. I’ve heard other students say that you two must be dating. Even Miss Kang asked me the other day.”

You laugh at Rei’s words and casually shrug. “Can’t we just be good friends? We’ve gotten really close to each other, nothing more than that.”

“Sure, you’ve gotten a lot closer now.” Liz animatedly motions, her eyes widening as she emphasizes her words. “But it’s not just close, it’s like a different type of close!”

“How is it different?” You ask as you take another bite of your food and almost accusingly point the fork to the both of them. “This better not be because he’s a boy and I’m a girl, because I’m friends with Sunoo and Riki too—”

“Of course it’s not that, Y/N,” Rei quickly interrupts you. “We’re mature enough to know that. But you could be honest with us, you know? We tease you all the time but if you do like Yang Jungwon, what’s the problem in admitting that? It would actually make us happy for you.”

“—and tease you even more,” Liz adds, and Rei lightly scolds her for it because they were supposed to make you fess up.

You laugh as they start to bicker with each other, but your thoughts slowly drift off into a daydream, recalling all that has transpired for the past few months that led to the predicament you now found yourself in.

When you submitted the papers for your second project, you and Jungwon weren’t able to celebrate alone because it happened to coincide with your birthday, and you planned to go out with your whole friend group followed by a family hang out at night.

So when you all went to an arcade that day, Jungwon pulled you aside to give you a matching bracelet that he bought just for the two of you—a “seal” of your new-found friendship, as he declared.

And your friendship had only continued to blossom since then, with even the littlest things feeling special to your heart. Handwritten notes inside and outside of class were shared, with Jungwon often drawing cat doodles on the bottom.

You began to hold hands and link arms as if it was second nature, playing with each other’s hair, leaning on his or your shoulder for no reason at all, sharing an earphone whenever you studied together as you listened to one another’s playlists (and even forming your own shared one).

Jungwon would often remember little things about you, as you did with him, met with knowing and teasing glances from your friends whenever they witnessed it happening.

He would bring some food for the two of you when you’re studying together, and at one point he had started to buy food for everyone as well so as to end Riki’s playful sulking about Jungwon’s special treatment for you.

Sometimes you would catch yourself smiling at Jungwon simply because you find him too endearing even when he’s doing nothing, mentally slapping yourself when you realize how idiotic you might’ve seemed and quickly looking around if anyone saw your moment of weakness.

Jungwon was a gentleman, sure, it was a given. He would open doors for you, save you a seat, help you carry stuff, listen attentively to everything you say, offer to help despite not asking him to or you insist that you can do it by your own, and he even follows the sidewalk rule despite you always joking that you’d both be hurt when a vehicle does crash to the side.

He was just kind in general, and he was the same to everyone, you knew it. You’ve heard of it. You saw it. And yet, it never failed to make your heart flutter or send butterflies to your stomach, much to your perplexity. Why in the world were you feeling it?

You weren’t that dense to not know what could possibly be happening. A simmering attraction seemed to bloom beneath the surface of every interaction between the two of you, although a part of you had convinced yourself that maybe Jungwon wasn’t even feeling anything.

Your friends however, held a different opinion. They agreed among themselves that you two were just being oblivious. It was evident with the way you stole glances at each other from time to time, thinking that the other wouldn’t notice.

While you internally melted in embarrassment whenever you caught yourself smiling at him, Jungwon wasn’t doing any better. More often than not, he would feel the weight of your gaze, making his heart skip a beat every single time, pretending that he didn’t notice your lingering stare.

He would especially feel it when he wears glasses, where you’re almost unable to tear your gaze away from him if it weren’t for the fact that you feel embarrassed at the thought of being caught. You were almost convinced that Jungwon wears it on purpose just so you would look at him more often than usual, and oh it was so true.

It was during another breezy afternoon when it all came crashing down on you. There wasn’t anything special happening, just you and Jungwon sitting at a gazebo (that you used to fight over), talking about a jigsaw puzzle of a cat that he has finally completed in weeks, then he goes on about the history of jigsaw puzzles that he has learnt days ago.

The sight briefly reminded you of the day that he likened you to bluebells, and you came to remember something. You had eventually discovered since then what the flowers meant, aside from what Jungwon had mentioned as humility and modesty. Constancy. Faithfulness. Hope. Gratitude. Wishes. Dreams. Everlasting love.

It made you wonder how Jungwon could relate such things to you when on the other hand, you thought that it was him who suited those things instead. Jungwon was everything that a bluebell represented, at least to you.

But Jungwon wasn’t one to lie, so could that have meant that its essence reflected the two of you? Like...like two peas in a pod. God. For the umpteenth time, Rei was right. She always was.

You were brought back to reality when Rei and Liz’s bickering gets a little louder, their passionate argument piercing through your cloud of reverie.

“—you? Why would she follow your advice?”

“Hey, I’m always right! I literally convinced her to make friends with—”

“That wasn’t you, it was her effort. And what if we’re wrong? What if we’re really pushing her? Maybe she doesn’t like Jungwon that way?”

“Nah, I know it. I memorized the pattern of boys that she likes. Jungwon is definitely her type, there’s no doubt.”

“No doubt? You’ve said that to me when I asked you about number 21 in Philosophy—and it was Socrates, not Plato!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at their usual banter, shoulders shaking with mirth and eyes almost closing in amusement. However, your laughter dies down when Liz suddenly turns to your direction with a surprised look on her face, slightly narrowing her eyes at you as if she realized something.

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you know that you just...kind of laughed like Yang Jungwon right now?”

Rei’s eyes widen and she immediately nods in agreement at Liz’s observation, while you were left staring at them confusedly.

“...what?”

“What I said!” Liz gestures to you with wide eyes. “You sounded and looked like Yang Jungwon when you laughed! You know? That thing when he—”

“You’re tripping.” You vehemently shake your head but Liz doesn’t give up and explains further. “I’m not! I’m telling you, do you know when he laughs then his eyes close so hard and, and his laughter sounds so hearty and, ugh—”

She claps her hand frustratedly and points to you. “I’m sure you get what I mean! But really, it’s like Jungwon was here for a second! Wow, you’ve both really gotten closer, haven’t you?”

You slowly nod in response, still feeling confused by what she had previously pointed out.

“Well, back to what I was saying,” Rei redirects, “you can tell us Y/N. Are you really sure that you don’t like Yang Jungwon? Not even...a tiny, tiny crush?”

You snort and quickly shake your head. “Of course I am.”

As you idly leaned back in your seat and took a sip of your drink, a strange feeling gnawed at a part of your mind, the thought of possibly lying not only to your friends but also to yourself making your stomach churn slightly.

Rei quirks an eyebrow, completely not believing you. “Really?”

Your brows knit together. “Yeah, really. I’m...we’re just good friends. And I mean really, really good friends. I know it was stupid of me to have misinterpreted him years ago and now I can see how we click so well together, so that’s why we are what we are.”

You take a brief pause to ponder your next words, relieved that they both seemed to start taking you seriously now. “I know we both seem like more than friends, but really—we’re just very comfortable with each other.”

Just then, your voice starts to trail off as if you were muttering to yourself, and their convinced looks disappear just as quick as it had appeared. “We’re friends...friends. So there’s no way that what you’re saying is true. Me, liking him? That’s...no.”

Rei and Liz quickly exchange glances and you momentarily get lost in your thoughts again, almost obliviously speaking and your voice coming out quieter than you had intended to.

“Besides... do you remember Minjeong sunbaenim? She’s really pretty and kind. And smart too. They used to work together at the book club before she graduated.” You begin to fiddle with the straw, your eyes following the movement of your finger.

“I...I heard rumors back then that he liked her. So that...that means Jungwon likes girls older than him.”

Liz seemed to have processed your words a bit slowly as she spoke, unaware of how Rei already had her jaw dropped upon realizing your implication.

“Well, that was only what it was though, a rumor. It’s not an evidence to Jungwon’s preferences. And they said nothing actually happened between— wait.”

Shock dawns on her face and Rei mirrored it even further with a sound of disbelief, their reactions making you puzzled—much to their frustration. The next thing you know, Liz was shaking you ardently, now laughing her heart out.

“Y/N, you do like him! You like him!”

“What?” You laugh along confusedly, while Rei shushes Liz as she looks around the cafeteria, thankful that nobody seemed to bother enough to pay attention.

“You have feelings for him, don’t you?” Liz gushed.

“Not at all.”

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” Rei chimes in. “You do have an older vibe sometimes.”

“Excuse me?”

“No, I mean the kind of vibe that would make Jungwon sing noona neomu yeppeo—”

You facepalm. “Oh, cut it out.”

“And hey, whether he did like her or not, it’s you who’s with Jungwon now.” Liz chirps with a radiant smile, “I’m sure he likes you too!”

“Yeah, whatever. I didn’t say anything.”

After defending yourself by saying that you hadn’t confirmed or denied their assumptions, you instantly shifted the topic to the preparation for your upcoming finals, with them occasionally sneaking in teasing comments about you and Jungwon.

And though you tried your best to ignore everything, it felt like a whisper at the back of your mind that constantly nagged at you. Crushing on Yang Jungwon? Definitely not.

Sure, he’s a good friend and everything you’d probably like in a guy but...okay well...

...could it really be?

Sometime later that week, nearly the same thing happened when the boys were walking to their lockers, with Jungwon and Sunoo discussing something from class while Riki’s attention just flitted between them.

“I disagree. You can’t just see the world in black and white. Two things can be true at the same time. Because if you think about it, the case should’ve been...”

Sunoo was about to interject when a quizzical look fell upon his face, Riki noticing right away and asking what had happened.

“I feel like I had heard that line somewhere before...” He mutters as his eyes narrow at Jungwon, but the words go past his hearing as he only continues to explain and prove his point, not noticing his friends’ looks. Then finally, Sunoo remembers.

“Why did you sound like Y/N just right now?”

“Ohh,” Riki gapes and turns to Sunoo. “The ‘black and white’ thing? And the ‘two things can be true at the same time’, am I right?”

Jungwon’s little speech comes to a halt, and for a moment, all he could think about was your calm yet passionate voice when it comes to intellectual or philosophical discussions. He doesn’t even know why.

Sunoo’s face becomes a blend of disgust and being dumbfounded at his reaction, which makes Riki burst out laughing, and it’s only when Jungwon is jarred back to reality.

“Well, I— it’s just something she uses a lot,” He calmly says. “I must’ve picked up on it.”

“Uh-huh, and come to think of it,” Riki chimes in, “you now talk more softly with Y/N since you became closer with her. It’s almost like you’re trying to match her.”

“But I’ve been doing that since forever,” Jungwon’s brows furrows, “and I’ve always been soft spoken...?”

“Yeah but like, it’s gotten even more gentle now.”

“Really?”

“Because you’ve got a crush on her.”

“Wha—” Jungwon’s ears began to flush with a vibrant, fiery red. “I-I don’t have a crush on Y/N! Is it so bad now that I’ve picked up on her vocabulary? We all do that to each other as well and we’re friends, and me and Y/N are good friends—”

Sunoo stares blankly with pursed lips, his eyes holding an undercurrent of supressed amusement at Jungwon’s fumbling while Riki snickers beside him.

“I swear, I don’t like her like that. Absolutely not.”

“Jungwon, we’ve seen this movie before,” Sunoo flatly says. “It’s called ‘lying to myself that I don’t have a crush on my friend’, that’s what it is.”

Jungwon turned his head away with his nose held high, unwilling to accept even a single word from his friend. “I am not lying. I am a hundred percent honest. Cross my heart.”

“And your apple-red cheeks are definitely being honest right now too. It’s pretty cute,” Sunoo replies, his voice dripping with mockery.

“C-cute? I’m not—” Jungwon touches his face and immediately feels the heat that has crept up on it. The next moment, his hand goes to give a playful swat to Sunoo that he swiftly dodges.

And a cat chased a fox down the halls that afternoon, leaving their duck friend behind, entertained by the whole exchange.

Though beneath all the teasing from your friends, you two couldn’t help but actually ponder the possibility inside. You’ve half-succesfully convinced yourself that you’ve just really found a special kind of friendship with him. Jungwon thinks that he had just become too attached to you with how often you worked together, but it couldn’t have meant anything.

The whole thing seemed almost comical to your friends. How in denial you both were of your own feelings and oblivious to each other. You and Jungwon were both caught up in your own heads, missing the signs of brewing romance between the two of you. Denying, deflecting, rationalizing—it was a pattern that they watched with a mixture of amusement and concern.

They could only hope that with time, you two would eventually figure it out by yourselves and see the light, facing the inevitable truth of your admiration.

stephen sanchez, em beihold - until i found you 𓇗 jungkook - still with you

With the whirlwind of activities in your graduating year, it became a bit difficult to keep track of all the things that were happening around you. One of them being the school dance, which you weren’t even able to remember if it wasn’t for Jungwon asking if you were going to attend.

You opted for a simple but elegant looking dress of blue color—one of Jungwon’s favorite, something that you had already grown to love. You and Liz had a sleepover at Rei’s house the night before the dance, and the three of you were still at her place as you prepared for the event.

The venue was just as stunning as you had imagined, and so were Riki and Sunoo who you had arranged to meet at a certain spot outside the auditorium, albeit it took about ten minutes of the five of you running in circles while looking for each other.

They immediately informed you that Jungwon was still occupied with his president tasks at the moment, and that it would take him some time before he gets to hang out with the rest of you. Although disappointed, you completely understood the responsibilities that he was tied to and decided to just enjoy in the meantime.

But it didn’t really take long for you and Jungwon to see each other (though from a distance). With his insanely good looks and commanding aura that screamed authority, especially as he explored almost every area of the venue to check up on things, it wasn’t that hard to find him.

He wore a navy blue suit, with a waistcoat underneath that hugged his figure. His hair was swept back and parted to one side, with strands falling loosely over one side of his forehead and exposing a significant portion of it compared to his usual styling. You couldn’t help but halt in your tracks to admire him, and that’s when Jungwon also turned his head to your direction.

He felt as if everything else had faded into a blur when he saw you in the dress, waving enthusiastically at him with a beaming smile. A tender smile touched his lips while he waved back at you, his heart swelling with warmth when you returned the gesture by raising up your fist, encouraging him from afar as you mouthed “Fighting!”

Jungwon would catch up with your group whenever he had the time and made sure to take as many photos with all of you as much as he could. You didn’t even know how Jungwon managed to balance his time, but you supposed it was just really the way he was built. Though, you couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him.

But you knew that Jungwon wouldn’t like you being hung up on his struggles, especially when it was expected of his position already. And so you ate, danced, walked around, and laughed your hearts out with each other for hours, making sure to also check up on Jungwon and give him a refreshment from time to time.

After some dancing, you all decided to go back to your table to take a rest. Riki and Sunoo were bickering about the food that one of them spilled by the buffet table, while Liz and Rei fills up their storage with a hundred pictures since the night begun.

You weren’t sure what exactly you were expecting to happen tonight, so as you sat down quietly and drank water to refresh yourself, you mindlessly roamed your eyes around the venue before looking down at your lap.

You thought back to how your friends indulged in their humor whenever a slow or mellow music would play on the speakers, meant for romantic dancing. You couldn’t help but laugh everytime they cracked a joke whether it was about the couples or dramatically complaining about their single lives, and it brought a smile to your face again.

Suddenly, you hear the others intensely whispering to themselves as if something gossip-worthy has happened, but you were too occupied by your own thoughts to even pay any attention to what they were saying.

That was until you heard a familiar voice speak up, a sweet and gentle melody in your ears that shined through among the noises that surrounded you everywhere.

“Y/N.”

You look up to see Jungwon standing just a few steps away from you with an expectant smile on his face, one arm placed behind him while the other was extended towards you, reaching his hand out.

You immediately get a sense of what might be happening, though you quickly brush it off. It’s just impossible. However, your internal efforts are deemed futile with the words that come out of his mouth.

“May I have this dance?”

The other four beside you all make exhilarated sounds, keeping their reactions to a minimum as they waited for your response. It was so sudden that you found yourself speechless because among all the things you have expected to happen tonight, none of it was this.

And yet here you were, feeling like your heart was about to jump out of your chest as you smiled at Jungwon, taking his hand and getting up to your feet.

You were just about to ask him why he had decided to dance with you, when he slowly leaned down with his eyes closed, gingerly bringing the back of your hand to press lightly against his lips. Soft, delicate, and warm lips.

You hear Rei and Liz’s muffled squeals, playfully hitting each other. Riki just let out the loudest gasp you’ve ever heard from him, and Sunoo probably had his jaw dropped.

You couldn’t even blame them. Because above all the sounds that surrounded you at that moment, you could practically hear the pounding of your heart in your ears now, and it was all because this boy just kissed your hand like you were the most precious thing he had ever laid his eyes on.

But seriously, where did Yang Jungwon got the courage to pull such a gesture?!

You couldn’t think straight anymore. And if you weren’t stunned yet, you were definitely by the next moment—when Jungwon looks up to meet your eyes, a hint of fondness in his gaze while his lips were still softly pressed against your skin.

Why was your heart fluttering? And why was there a weird sensation in your stomach? Is that what they call ‘butterflies’?

Before you could even fully register the thoughts running through your mind, Jungwon finally straightens with a warm smile and held your hand firmly, leading the both of you to the dance floor.

You didn’t even know how you managed to walk properly when your mind was still in a daze at the scene before you, and you were thankful that he was holding on to you the whole time, the very reason why you were able to make it there without tripping.

At this point, you slowly come to accept that maybe Jungwon’s just going to be the one who leads everything tonight with how shocked you still are. But as you two found a spot to settle in and get into position—fingers laced together, your free hand on his shoulder while his other hand is on your waist—Jungwon begins to waver.

He couldn’t look you in the eye, and you could feel the slight tremble of his hand in yours. And it wasn’t like you were doing any better. The unfading flush on your cheeks, and hands that were even shakier than his was enough to tell what you were feeling.

But his sudden shift in demeanor and the stiffly way you were moving from side to side brings you at a loss of words, and you think—you’re both too awkward to dance.

The realization pushes out laughter to bubble up from you, and he finally looks up to meet your eyes, a nervous chuckle of his own ringing in your ears. Hearing each other laugh with glee just makes the two of you get a bit louder, shoulders shaking with mirth and eyes fluttering shut in pure joy.

Anyone who was watching (a certain group of friends were) would’ve thought it was a fluffy, romantic moment, when the truth is that you were just two nervous idiots teenagers who went for a dance.

After a minute or so, your laughter dies down, though your faces were still graced with wide smiles, cheeks slightly hurting from it all. Jungwon sighs softly and attempts to rock your bodies back and forth in a gentle manner to actually begin to dance.

“Ah, we’re a bit awkward tonight, don’t you think?”

“Says the guy who just kissed my hand?”

You both break out into laughter again as you tease him for his gesture earlier, shaking your head in disbelief. “Did you get a surge of bravery or something?”

Jungwon playfully shrugs, a gleam dancing in his eyes as he speaks. “I don’t know. I just felt like doing it. A pretty lady deserves to be wooed like that.”

He pauses for a few moments as he searches for your eyes, a hint of something unreadable flickering in his own for a moment. “And you look really beautiful tonight. You always are.”

You instinctively conceal your emotions at the way his words and his gaze makes you feel, but Jungwon could faintly see the rosy color on your face betraying you, even under the luminescent mixed hues of the party lights.

“Thank you, really. You look dashing too, as always.” His lips curve into a lopsided grin, unable to deny to himself how your compliment made his heart flutter and feeling a bit of satisfaction for seeing his effect on you.

“This is...” He looks over to where your hands are intertwined and slightly loosens his grip on your waist. “This is fine, right? Tell me if it’s uncomfortable.”

You laugh lightly and shake your head. “Yes, it’s fine, Jungwon. Thank you. And I really appreciate the concern but it’s a dance. Of course this is how it’s supposed to be.”

“Right,” He laughs as well and nods, his nerves gradually slipping as you both get comfortable with the position, naturally adjusting with the steps and moving closer together. “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Silence envelopes the two of you for a while, only the music shifting to a slower, more romantic tempo and the chatter of other pairs dancing could be heard. And your fits of silent giggles in between that lightened the mood.

You’ve both acknowledged each other’s beauty outwardly before, so casually at that with the words carved into your minds now. And yet at this moment, something else seemingly sparks a new-found admiration from you two.

Under the blue and purple hues of the party lights bathing the dance floor, your faces seemed to take on an almost iridescent sheen, the lights casting an ethereal glow and softening your features.

It felt as if you were lost in the moment as your bodies moved in harmony and held each other’s gaze, the awkwardness now gone and replaced with a sense of fondness and connection that embraced the two of you.

You think to yourself that Jungwon has never been prettier in your eyes than in this moment. The lights just enhanced his beauty by tenfold, and you couldn’t help but seriously think that he was like Aphrodite’s son that came to life.

Meanwhile, he thinks to himself that he must be crazy for feeling so infatuated right now as he took in your beauty and how nice it felt to hold you so intimately. It’s just Y/N. The pretty, smart, and kind girl you’re now friends with after years of productive rivalry.

But his internal monologue seems to hit him right in the face as he comes to accept a realization that he had been avoiding for some time now. Jungwon tried to think of any other reason for the past few months at why he was feeling this way towards you.

Surely, he’s just delighted that the two of you finally settled in peace after so long, right? And he enjoys spending time with you...so much, that when you’re not there, he thinks of you. Misses you, even.

God, that sounded so weird. He felt like a silly lovestruck boy about the whole thing—and indeed he was. But the more he thought about these strange, although not unpleasant emotions, it felt like he was falling deeper into this maze that he had created himself.

Falling. That was it. Was he falling for you?

If it meant enjoying every moment you spent together, wanting to be affectionate and caring to you, missing your presence everytime, finding you the most beautiful person in the room even if you were surrounded with a myriad of artworks, and wanting to learn about, from, and with you—was this falling?

He liked you. More than he’d want to admit. And even if it didn’t make sense to him for now.

Maybe this was the right time to tell you how he feels. He didn’t even need an answer from you, despite the slight fear that lingered at the back of his mind that you’d start treating him differently after this.

“Y/N,” He softly calls out your name, his voice almost mixing in with the slow music.

You response with a hum and he gently guided your intertwined hand up to his shoulder, your hands now resting comfortably on both of his shoulders. His hands followed suit, palms now settling on your waist and drawing you just a little closer to him.

The gesture sends another wave of blush on your face and Jungwon couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight, a flicker of amusement and affection in his eyes.

He clears his throat and holds you firmly, his gaze unwavering. “I just wanted to tell you, I’m really glad we’re friends now. I hope it doesn’t sound cheesy.”

You both laugh a little and he continues, “but I truly enjoy spending time with you. I’ve found you more likeable and admirable than I expected, and I don’t think I will ever get tired of you.”

He pauses for a few beats as he searches your eyes, as if to let the sincerity of his words sink in for a moment before he speaks again.

“If only I knew, I wish I took the initiative to explain myself back then. I couldn’t believe it took us this long to be close, but I’m glad it happened anyway.”

A smile graces your lips at his admission and he mirrors the warm expression on your face. “I can’t believe it either. But I suppose it’s better late than never, isn’t it?”

Another round of laughter bubbles up from the two of you and he nods, then you speak up again. “I feel the same. I’m really happy that we’re friends. I feel like we understand each other so well, in a way that no one else does.”

His face was illuminated with a radiant smile, reflecting the warmth blooming in his heart. But your words struck him harder than he was expecting, and for a moment, he feels a little selfish of wanting to ask you for a chance to be more than just friends.

His gaze darts across your features and he inhales deeply, bracing himself for the deeper part of his confession, pushing all his nervousness aside if it meant being honest with you about his feelings.

“Y/N, actually I—” Just as you leaned closer to hear his gentle voice, a shout erupts in the distance, breaking the intimate moment between the two of you.

“President!” You quickly recognize one of the council members and even some students turned their head around, curious as to what had gotten him panting and sprinting towards the boy in front of you.

Jungwon kept his hold on you as he faced the guy, trying to keep his frustration at bay. “What is it?”

The student’s gaze flits between the two of you and he flashes an apologetic smile as he speaks. “Look, I’m really sorry to interrupt,” he turns to Jungwon, his face shifting into a troubled and almost desperate look, “but we have a problem at the E7 area. We tried to organize the...”

Jungwon tried his best to pay attention to his words but they only seemed to fade from his hearing, his thoughts filled with worries of whether he’d still be able to spend some personal time with you tonight. He reluctantly pulls his hands away from your waist, quickly erasing the sulky pout that formed on his lips.

He knew he had duties to attend to as the student council president, and he couldn’t just ignore his responsibility even though he badly wanted to just run away with you.

Once the student was done talking, he sighs deeply and turns to you, a mixture of apology and yearning swimming in his eyes. Even without words, you could already sense how he feels and what he would probably tell you, “Y/N, I’m really sorry...”

“Y/N, I’m really sorry.” You internally laughed at the words that came out of his mouth and gave him a kind smile instead. “I...I promise I’ll make it up to you. As soon as I can.”

You quickly nodded, trying to reassure him that it was no big deal even though you were just as disappointed. But before he could finally turn around, you spoke without thinking much of it.

“I can go with you, if you want.”

His brows arch up in surprise, and he couldn’t even hide the hopefulness he felt as he eagerly replied. “Really?”

“Yeah,” You nodded once more. “I’ll help you.” You gently slipped your hand into his, unaware of how his heart practically leaped with happiness as you gestured the council member to lead the way.

“Come on, let’s go.”

“Thanks, Y/N.”

The rest of the night was spent with you tagging along with Jungwon to help with his president duties, the council members recognizing you either as his friend or rival, while others unashamedly gossiped among themselves (or even directly asked you) that you were rumored to be dating.

It’s not like you minded whatever they thought, you were simply there to help. So you politely clarified every time, yet your heart skipped a beat at the thought of dating the president.

Jungwon on the other hand felt like he was about to combust whenever he was mistaken as your boyfriend, whether it was an implicit or explicit remark. God, how he wished it was true.

And although he was always quick to deny (much to his dismay) and reminded others to not get sidetracked, they all noticed the pinkish glow across his ears and face, betraying his attempt at nonchalance.

From time to time, you two were pulled by your friends on the dance floor for a few minutes (where Jungwon wishes it was just the two of you dancing instead), with Riki even getting into dance battles with other students and Sunoo making sure that everything was caught on camera.

Despite the interruption that had frustrated him through the roof, Jungwon was more than happy to have you by his side the entire night, always ready with a helping hand, engaging in light-hearted conversations, or simply reassure him that everything’s fine and he’s doing a good job.

Perhaps, what mattered was that you two were able to spend time with each other, even if it wasn’t exactly what he had envisioned for the night.

He’d go as far as to say that it might have been more enjoyable than just slow dancing with you, to walk around the venue and ensure that things were smooth sailing.

It was what led him to realize that maybe he should just let this go on for a little longer and see where it goes, before he finally confesses to you.

He was certain that he had a lot of time for it. After all, he was Yang Jungwon, a council and academic leader. Time management was something he had already grown accustomed to in order to be where he is now.

If it’s really meant to happen, then there would be no need to rush. As long as the two of you were comfortable in each other’s presence, growing and learning together—everything was alright. Time wouldn’t be a problem.

yeonjun - boyfriend 𓇗 wang jun qi - i like you so much you’ll know it

Jungwon thinks the universe must have decided to play a joke on him. He planned to wait for at least a few days after the dance to give you a proper confession, with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and just the two of you somewhere private and romantic.

But days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, and you both found yourself occupied with school works and preparations for graduating, leaving you with little to no time at all to share a personal moment again since the school dance. Or at least not in the way that he was expecting.

School breaks were mostly spent on studying and preparing for college applications, and on the few occasions that you found yourselves in the same place, whether your friends were there or not, things just didn’t work out.

Jungwon would often find himself second guessing his plans and eventually gives it up, afraid of jeopardizing the friendship that blossomed between the two of you.

During the rare moments when he finally builds up the courage to just spill his heart out, something absurd conveniently interrupts and breaks down his hopes to tell you how he feels.

Like that one time Riki scared you all to death when he choked on his bungeoppang, or maybe when Liz freaked out because some firecrackers went off nearby.

He often thinks back to the school dance, blaming it as the start of this curse against him. He could only accept the unfortunate circumstances that pops up everytime against his will, though he couldn’t help but think it must be fate’s way to protect him from a possible rejection.

He had even started writing a diary which were just mostly filled with thoughts about you. He knew he wouldn’t be hearing the end of it if he confides about the struggles of his romantic life to Riki and Sunoo.

One thing that he held on to was that he was certain there wasn’t anyone that you liked. That, at least assured him. But he felt a little guilty at being relieved of it.

He knows you deserve to be loved and taken care of, but he wanted to be the person to do that. And yet, how would that wish come to life when everything seems to stop him from getting his message across to you?

Maybe it just wasn’t meant to happen, he often thinks.

In reality, it wasn’t like the both of you had actually parted ways. If anything, the connection between the two of you only grew. It was with the seemingly mundane and casual tasks of your school life that your bond had deepened, unknowingly realizing that you were becoming more fond and comfortable with one another.

You would often study together, eat lunch anywhere, help each other with schoolwork, and even running errands. Classes and hallway encounters were filled with smiles, shared glances, ordinary questions, or a few playful jabs at one another.

On bus rides, you would often give up the window seat (which you both liked), much to Jungwon’s surprise and confusion. But truthfully, you didn’t mind if it was him. Sometimes, you would fall asleep on his shoulder, then he would drape his hoodie or jacket over your thighs to keep you warm.

Other times, it would be him that falls asleep on you in the library when he’s gotten too tired of studying and reviewing his council tasks, feeling the weight of his head on your shoulder as you kept busy with your own work.

You also had occasional bike (dates) rides by the river where your conversation would range from your dreams in the future to alien theories. Then you would sit together on a blanket laid on the grass while eating convenience store food, and even then, Jungwon couldn’t bring himself to finally do it.

Spending time with you and getting to know each other better mattered more to him than to break the moment just to confess his deepest feelings to you.

And whenever you didn’t have much time to meet inside or outside of school, you would check on one another over chat or phone calls, which had become a normal part of your routine. You were now a part of each other’s everyday lives.

It nagged at Jungwon whether you felt the same way that he did. He didn’t want to lose the friendship he had formed with you. It was special. But he wasn’t sure either if he could contain his feelings any longer.

Unbeknownst to him, you were having an internal crisis yourself. As you sat by your study desk one afternoon, you found yourself slumping against the table, the exhaustion from studies and your thoughts about the cat-eyed boy mixing together.

And speaking of cat...

“Meow.”

Chloe suddenly climbs onto your desk, walking all over the scattered papers before she settles on one spot. You place your arms on the table and rested your chin on it, the company of the feline creature offering a momentary distraction and relief from the whirlwind of emotions in you.

Just then, she whips her head around as you start to pet her, and there it was—the eyes that always reminded you of someone. You grunt and slam your forehead on the table. Why is he everywhere even when you’re trying not to think of him?

As you lift your head up again, the sight of Chloe brings you back to the day you met her. You visited a cat café with a friend, having no expectations at all, considering you weren’t really a cat person, and the thought of adopting one hasn’t even crossed your mind once.

However, as you were approached by the seal-point colored creature at one corner of the café, something stirred in you. Chloe was really cute. Maybe even the most adorable cat you’ve ever met in your whole life.

It’s like you were struck with such undeniable beauty, like that day you first saw Jungwon at the school festival. A ridiculous thought, but it was the closest you could compare the experience to.

You found yourself enjoying the day as you played with Chloe who seemed to be having fun in your company too. The staff had informed you that she was from a shelter and has only been at the café for a few weeks, but they haven’t seen her be so attached to someone like she was with you, especially within such a short amount of time.

As your visit drew to a close, you couldn’t help but feel a slight heaviness to your heart at the thought of having to leave the cat behind. You knew it was well taken care of at the café, but a nagging feeling just gnawed at you like...you wanted to bring it home with you.

...home?

You almost couldn’t believe your own thoughts at first, but it truly didn’t feel right to not see Chloe again, or specifically to not have her with you.

Damn. Is this what they call the cat distribution system or whatever that running joke is?

Chloe seemed to have sensed your internal conflict, and as if to weigh on your mental debate even more, she clings to you for the remaining hour of your time.

That’s it. This cat just chose me. You made your decision right then and there. You were going to come back to this café and bring her home soon.

Soon was, well, a few weeks or so, with the meticulous process that the adopting took and doing your own part as well by preparing a space in the house for Chloe and everything that she was going to need.

It wasn’t actually that long, but it felt like forever to you. Though by the time she finally stepped foot into your home, it was all worth it. You were determined to treat this creature as your kin, and shower her with all the love and affection you could ever give.

Still, beyond all of the joys (and frustrations) of having a new member in the family, a small part of you questioned yourself: you didn’t even like cats, or any pet for that matter.

So why have you decided to take her in? She’s very cute and fluffy, and she needed to be taken care of. That’s it. You kept on convincing yourself that it was the only reason. Everybody gives in to their cuteness aggression once in a while, right?

But deep down, you knew that somehow, this cat reminded you of...the very person you claimed you used to dislike—Jungwon.

Of course, you liked Chloe just as she was. Not because she reminds you of the boy. But you could barely accept the thought that dawned on you ever since Jungwon first visited your house.

Her loveliness wasn’t just the prelude for you to take her home and treat her as your child. It was also because no matter how you looked at her, well especially into her eyes, it’s like you were seeing him.

A deep sigh escapes your lips as you slowly sink into a moment of clarity. Sure, you didn’t know what love was yet, at least not romantically. But at that moment, it’s as if things fell into place.

You realized how happy you were with him, how everything feels easy and natural when he’s around, how you found yourself craving his presence all the time, admiring everything that there is to him, flaws and all, and wanting to take care of him—more than just a friend.

Jungwon was everywhere whether you liked it or not, even at times where you didn’t realize it. In your thoughts, your dreams, your diary entries, in every romantic song you’d listen to, and literally everywhere that you’d see the color blue and orange.

He was in the stars that lit up the night sky, the moon that illuminated the clouds in the vast darkness, and in the eyes of every cat that you’d see.

Maybe, no—there was no doubt to it anymore, you liked Yang Jungwon.

Your eyes land on the small calendar on your table and an idea pops into your mind. The school festival. With a new-found determination, you begin to clear up your things on the table to make some space for craft materials.

If you were going to confess to Jungwon, it had to be something proper but classic. A letter. You had lost count of just how many sheets of paper you had already used up by perfecting your handwriting and revising your message so many times, and even during dinner your mind was occupied with all of the things you wanted to tell him.

You poured your heart out into the letter, from every word written inside to the way it was folded and how it looked outside, everything had to be real good. After all, this wasn’t just any simple letter that you usually gave your friends.

It was a letter of confession to your former rival—a friend that you had grown to love more than you realized, and you had to let him know just how much you cared about him. Even when there’s a chance that he didn’t feel the same.

Or so you thought.

jimin - serendipity (full length) 𓇗 &team - firework 𓇗 zhang yi hao - forever star

Time, it seemed, had flown by and then it was February. Jungwon’s birth month. He had always looked forward to it, every day a step closer to graduation and to celebrate another year of his life.

But now, he couldn’t help but feel a lingering sense of dread as the school year inched to a close, yet his feelings remained untold. He wasn’t even sure if you felt the same but regardless, he wanted to be honest with you about how he feels.

Truthfully, Jungwon didn’t even care anymore if it turns out you were going to different universities. He had already imagined all sorts of scenarios.

Travelling to your school, making time in between hectic schedules, late nights filled with talking over the phone, sending you flowers every now and then, making prep meals to keep at your dorm—he had it all visualized already. Sometimes he felt a little delusional at the thought, and his diary was a witness to all his near-Shakespearean complaints.

Then came the opportunity for confessing. The long-awaited school festival. Jungwon knows he might be stuck with his duties again, but it was also a good time to open his heart to you. A vibrant environment, a vast selection of foods and places to go to, countless things to experience, and a fireworks display at night? It couldn’t have been any better.

On the night before the festival, he was thankful that the preparations had drained him so much that he practically plopped onto his bed, or else he wouldn’t have gotten any sleep with how giddy he was feeling for the next day.

Before he fell into a deep slumber that evening, his eyes were set on the window where the frigid breeze of the snowfall seeped in through his windows that made him pull up the covers even more, a stark contrast to how he suffered under the heat of the sun earlier that day and soaked his handkerchief with sweat.

A subtle smile played on his lips as he finally closed his eyes, having only one thing in his mind—unlike the volatile weather that February, his feelings were now certain, and he was determined to tell you everything.

The following day, you could barely contain your anticipation for the festival, evident with how your group chat was already buzzing with endless messages in the morning. Excited must’ve been an understatement, especially when you arrived by the school gates and met the others.

The whole place was bustling with activities and lively chatter from the crowd, the colors, sounds, and aromas from everywhere all mixing in your senses and overwhelming you in a good way.

You prepared a bit more than usual and brought a point-and-shoot camera with you, determined to make the most out of your last school festival as a high schooler.

As it always happened with school events, Jungwon would briefly meet the five of you for a quick chat before he got pulled back to his president duties, with him now openly protesting at the tasks.

Although for most of the day, you were actually a complete team. Travelling from booths to stalls, various displays and games, and watching outstanding performances from fellow students.

Jungwon’s schedule wasn’t as hectic as usual, but every now and then, he would still have to excuse himself or begrudgingly be pulled aside to look over some events and ensure that everything was running smoothly. He would roll his eyes almost everytime, complaining as to why the council and other departments always needed him.

He just wanted to happily spend the whole day with his friends especially with you, uninterrupted. To hell with duties, he thought. He had never been frustrated of his position until he became friends with you.

But a small part of him had to admit that he liked it when you saw how diligent he was as the president. Your constant praise would make him feel a bit too proud inside, and he’d always try to hide the shy smile on his face. It somehow made up for his frustrations.

The longest he had been away was for an hour, near sunset, when he was asked to check on stage preparations for the performances later. Reluctantly, you had to move forward and leave him be, although Jungwon wished he could just stop everything and be with you.

You were all having too much fun that you had almost forgotten what you prepared for that day. It was only during nightfall when the first faint stars glimmered in the darkness and the air becoming cool and crisp that you had remembered it.

All the relaxation that you felt from idly walking around during sunset was now replaced with a rush of adrenaline again, the pressure of a time crunch falling with your anticipation and nerves.

You told your friends that you were just going to look for a certain someone and to call each other when needed, setting a specific spot for all of you to meet later.

They were all quick to agree as they already had plans in mind, and well, maybe because they knew who exactly you were going to find. It was a fast and unspoken conversation just with their shared glances that this might finally be a chance for the two of you.

So as they went off to the vast oval field, with Sunoo and Riki even bickering what area they should go to next, you headed off to nowhere, with literally no specific destination in mind as you just walked around the frustratingly massive school grounds, your heart skipping a beat every time you’d think that it was finally him that you saw.

But what was this mission of yours anyway? It was simple and so well-thought-out. You had the letter for Jungwon that you made about a week ago, tucked safely inside your jacket. You didn’t know until when you could keep on waiting to have an alone time with him, but you also had to do it when the day was coming to an end already, so you needed to find him now.

And what was the plan? Again, simple. Give the letter to Jungwon then run away, since you didn’t want to see how he would react. Yes, a really good plan. Because that’s what brave people do when they confess.

You couldn’t help but feel nervous at the whole thing. Your thoughts were racing a mile per minute and it didn’t seem like the surge of adrenaline in your system would go down anytime soon. You didn’t even know where you were going anymore. You just needed to find him, see him.

At the same time that you roamed through the crowd, Jungwon was also looking for you. He had a serious plan of his own, and he wasn’t going to have it fail this time. At around 4:30 in the afternoon, Jungwon went out of the school to pick up a bouquet of tulips and baby’s breath that he ordered a few days ago, frantically trying not to bump into any of his friends when he came back, especially you, lest the blooms in his hands would certainly be questioned.

So he left the flowers by his desk at the student council office, carefully hidden from anyone’s sight and any possible danger, that he will only retrieve when he finally has you somewhere private and undisturbed.

As he wove through the busy crowd, he went on a rundown of his plan. He would give you the bouquet, declare his heartfelt confession, and...well, wait for how you would react.

He could practically feel his senses on alert for any hint of you, his system now running on a mix of agitation and excitement, powered by the magic of a strawberry Yakult earlier that he hoped would calm his nerves.

Meanwhile just meters away, you stopped in your tracks to take a breather, your mind filled with worries and doubts for what could possibly happen next. The air felt charged with so much liveliness from the bustling crowd, the aroma of sweet cotton candies nearby doing very little to put you out of your current dilemma.

You stood there, looking like a lost child as your gaze travelled around for a few seconds before momentarily lowering your head, eyes cast down with a small frown. Maybe you should just give up on it. Maybe this was all a stupid idea. Confessing to your friend, really? To Yang Jungwon?

It was at that moment that Jungwon finally sees you amidst the sea of people, your motionless figure standing out from the tide of students flowing towards their destinations. He immediately feels a pang of worry and wonders why you’re alone, yet he couldn’t help but think if you were also looking for him.

You take a few deep breaths, deciding that consequences could come later, and all that matters now is to do this when you’re still running on a surge of adrenaline. You clench your hands, raising them to your shoulder level as you inwardly cheer yourself up, mouthing encouraging words.

The sight brings a faint smile to Jungwon’s face, just like it always has since you were in 8th grade. From the hallways, cafeteria, lockers, debate meetings—anywhere that he could see you at school, even when simply passing by your room.

He would look at you whenever he has the chance, with you being blissfully unaware of his lingering stares and almost lovesick smiles. He didn’t know back then why he was inexplicably drawn to you, even when you ardently debated with him.

But now he understands.

And as if the universe conspired at that moment, you looked around again with a determined gaze, until your eyes fell onto a set of bright boba eyes, staring right back at you.

The eye contact brings a soft smile to your faces, like it always did whenever you two would exchange a glance. Seeing him wearing his student council shirt making him a conspicuous presence in the crowd brings you back to the moment you first saw him at that booth in 8th grade, only that you two had now grown up in different ways, and had come to understand each other.

Without a moment’s hesitation, you walked towards one another, each step making your hearts pound even more in anticipation, the world seemingly fading into an animated backdrop as you met halfway.

Jungwon couldn’t stop the growing smile on his face as you both finally came to a halt, gacing each other, his radiant expression mirroring yours and the growing warmth in your hearts.

“Hi,” Jungwon breathes out, trying to relax his racing heartbeat. “Why are you alone? Where are the others?”

“I was looking for you.”

“Oh...” He smiles softly. “I was looking for you too.”

You laugh together, instantly falling into a light conversation and letting each other know what you did and had missed out on when you were apart.

Jungwon was just waiting for your little chat to end before he would ask you to go with him, whereas you were looking for the right opportunity to give him the letter and run.

So as soon as a brief pause took over your conversation, Jungwon mustered up the courage to finally ask you, feeling as if his heart was about to leap out of his chest.

“Y/N, can we—”

“Jungwon, there you are!”

What the...? You both turned to look at where the voice came from, and Jungwon internally groaned upon seeing a student who wore the same shirt as him.

He had desperately wished that it was nothing related to his duties, but that sliver of hope was shattered as soon as the council member spoke.

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere! The kids from the music department was asking if you could—”

No. Jungwon couldn’t help but internally panic. Just when he finally got the chance, and now you’re slipping from his hands again?

No way.

He quickly made up his mind and grabbed your hand before you could even register what was happening.

“Sorry, I’ll meet you later!”

In the blink of an eye, you were now running away from the poor council member who was taken by surprise at the president’s actions, and you couldn’t help but shout a quick sorry too.

“Yang Jungwon, where are we going?!”

He laughs loudly. “I don’t know!”

One moment you were casually talking to him, and the next you let him drag you and run off to nowhere. Now you were both laughing your hearts out, the sound mixing with the sudden booms and whistles that echoed across the sky.

You two looked up to see fireworks erupting overhead, painting the velvet evening sky with streaks of vibrant colors, serving as an enticing feast for your eyes.

Each burst of the chromatic sparks was like a blooming flower, its petals going down into a rainfall of shooting stars. The night sky ephemerally turned into a garden filled with luminescent floras.

With your hands still clasped together as you raced through the crowd, Jungwon looked back at you with a bright smile on his face and his eyes sparkling with delight, spilling endless words of amazement.

You mirrored the joy on his face as you smiled back, the colorful flames not only lighting up your path but also the utter happiness in your expressions.

The whole scene felt cinematic, its beauty making the night feel magical, a sense that anything was possible, but it also gave you a touch of melancholy.

You didn’t know what the future held for you and the boy who held your hand right now, but at this moment, you could only wish that this was how it was always going to be with him—to bask in the feeling of freedom, hope, and happiness.

Jungwon thinks so too. As your hands remained intertwined in the seemingly endless chase, he felt that this was where he is free, where he belongs. With you. And he knows he won’t ever be able to let you go now, more than friends or not.

Eventually, the running had to come to an end as you felt like your legs were about to give up on you. The two of you stopped at a secluded area in the school grounds, the number of students now barely existent in the quiet clearing.

You immediately approached a tree nearby and rested your back on its trunk, with Jungwon following closely behind, his laughter making your heart soar. The explosions in the sky had gradually vanished, the smell of gunpowder now lingering in the air.

As you leaned against the tree with your ponytail a bit loose from all the running, laughing breathlessly with a radiant smile, and a gentle breeze rustling a few petals to fall around you—Jungwon thinks you couldn’t have been any prettier.

As a matter of fact, the prettiest girl he has ever seen.

And there it was again, the familiar flutter in his heart whenever he’s with you. The somersaults that his stomach was having whenever he’d hear your laugh or see that wide smile on your face.

And he realizes, now is the time.

He takes a deep breath to steady himself before approaching you, his voice turning soft and a little nervous as he calls your name.

“Y/N.”

You turn to meet his gaze, your laughter fading as you recognized that certain tone in his voice. The one he always uses when he has something important or serious to tell you.

You push yourself off the tree and walk towards him, trying to appear casual despite being just as nervous as him as you anticipated whatever he was going to say.

He looks down for a moment before his eyes return to you, gulping nervously when he tried to compose himself, yet the tenderness in his voice had betrayed him.

“Can I...can I hold your hand?”

“Sure,” you quickly agreed and he slowly reached his hand out to take yours, inwardly cursing himself as he noticed that it was slightly shaking.

It didn’t escape your senses too and so you gently squeezed his hand, silently reassuring him that it will be alright. You could see the nervousness in his eyes, but he pushes through it.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to say for a while now...but I didn't want to ruin things and I was scared of what you’d think...but now, I don’t think I could keep it in any longer.”

Yang Jungwon barely kept a secret from you, aside from these brewing feelings. So hearing these words from him right now, your anxiousness and anticipation reach an all-time high.

You tried to think of all possible things, though there was one that stood out, and you couldn’t help but feel a little stupid for being hopeful. It was hard not to when the boy was looking at you so delicately and his hand seemingly held onto yours for dear life.

Jungwon panics inside as soon as he realizes that his little rehearsals in front of the mirror went to waste, every single word that he practically carved into his mind now gone out of the window. In this moment, blown by the gentle breeze of the night, perhaps.

But your touch grounds him to reality, and he knows that nothing would change whether he would profess practiced words or not—he had fallen for you, hard, and the way to declare that now was simply to listen to what his heart says.

“Y/N, I really admire you. You know that, right? But there’s more than just that.”

He takes a deep breath. This is it, Jungwon. No more hiding.

“I’m captivated by your kindness and strength. I really look up to your intelligence and courage. I-I think highly of you, you know? You’re very understanding and I really appreciate you. You matter a lot to me.”

“And you’re really beautiful, inside and out.” His voice quiets down for a moment, and he helplessly smiles. “I just...adore you.”

“You deserve more than just this, whatever this is that I’m doing, I...I actually bought you some flowers but I left them at the office and I can’t go back now because the travel from here to there would give me the misfortune of running into the council again—”

You silently break out into laughter at his exasperation, evident from how the words came out of his mouth without a pause. Jungwon takes a break to laugh with you, a shy smile accompanying the rosy pink that delicately painted his cheeks.

But after a few moments, his laughter fades into another deep inhale, his expression shifting to something more earnest, and maybe even a little anxious.

“Y/N...I’m really, scared, of losing our friendship, but I can’t keep this hidden anymore.”

A short pause hangs in the air that makes you tighten your hold on his hand ever so slightly, and Jungwon takes a moment to admire you before letting his heart speak once more.

“The truth is, I’m not sure if this is love, but it feels special, and I think there’s potential for something real between us. If you would have me, I’d take care of you, and I want—I’ll strive to be worthy of and earn your affection.”

You reflect the mellow expression on his face and it echoes the fondness swirling in your heart, your mind now rid of any thoughts, save for the words of the cat-eyed boy holding your hand.

“You don’t have to feel anything for me, I just couldn’t keep it in any longer and I had to tell you.”

He gulps thickly, and the hopefulness in his voice makes you want to just pull him into a gentle embrace, to assure him that his feelings weren’t unrequited.

“But if you would, if you would...give me, us, the chance, maybe...” He searches for your eyes, as if looking for comfort in them. “...maybe we could be more than just friends.”

Jungwon feels like he’d just ran out of air after finally laying bare his heart, but as you only stared at him with a stunned expression, it’s almost like he had to hold his breath and desperately wait for what you would do next.

His gaze darts across your features, analyzing every little shift in your expression and overthinking the words that left his mouth.

Was he too direct? Was it not heartfelt enough? Could he have said something wrong? Do you feel awkward at him now? Would you push him away? This was it. He was going to lose you, this friendship, and—

“Jungwon.”

His eyes draw up to meet your gaze, and you feel a pang of worry at how vulnerable he looks right now, so you kindly smile at him.

“Thank you.”

He blinks one, two, three times, and it’s like you knocked the air out of him again. “Wh-what?”

You warmly smile at him, patting the back of his hand. “Thank you for telling me how you felt.”

It was true. Despite your initial surprise, you had the feeling that it must’ve taken a lot of courage for him to say those things, and that he was just as nervous as you.

However, your words don’t fully reassure Jungwon, even as he breathes a sigh of relief. You could see the uncertainty in his eyes as his gaze travels across your face, and he stays silent, waiting for you to say more.

Just then, he sees that familiar glint in your eyes and the subtle smile on your lips—a telltale sign that you were definitely not going to respond in a way that he would expect, or at least be prepared for. And Jungwon doesn’t know whether he should be relieved or anxious by it.

“Is this your way of telling me that you want us to be ‘boyfriend and girlfriend’?”

He closes his eyes with a silent laugh, almost in disbelief at how playful your tone was, considering the soulful confession he had just made. He feels as though his heart was bursting with happiness right now at the implication of your words. So when his eyes stare right into yours again, he takes a few seconds before he speaks with a fond smile.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t care about any names, Y/N. All I want is a chance from you.” He takes a step closer, and you weren’t sure if you were just imagining it, but his gaze seemed to have softened.

“Any names, any chances, I’d take it. I wouldn’t mind taking it slow and wait for you. But all of it, only...”

Only what...?

To your surprise, he slightly leans down and lifts your hand up to meet his face. Then it happened before you could even think about what he was going to do. His lips found its way to the back of your hand, his touch just as gentle and reverent as when he had done it before.

But this time, Jungwon doesn’t open his eyes to meet yours, not even to woo or sweep you off your feet. Instead, his lips linger on your skin for a moment longer than necessary, as if he’s taking all his time to let you know how sincere he was about his feelings.

And when he finally straightens up again, you could feel your heart skip a beat at the look in his eyes that you’ve never seen before, his voice the softest you’ve ever heard from him.

“...only if you say yes.”

So, it seemed like Prince Charles from the third Cinderella film was right. At this moment, there was nothing else but the stars shining brighter and the person you adored.

Yang Jungwon.

You smiled at him before you looked away and reached for the letter inside your jacket. Jungwon is confused at first, and he feels as if he was now caught in a whirlwind of falling petals as you handed him the envelope.

“I...I was about to give you that tonight, and let you know how I feel.”

His eyes moved from the letter in his hands and to your eyes, and he thinks to himself that he would’ve completely melted by now if it weren’t for your hand holding his.

Then just as he thinks of your touch, you bring the top of his hand to meet your lips in a quick yet soft kiss without tearing your gaze away from him. His breath catches in his throat, but it doesn’t feel suffocating. He feels as if he’s being embraced gently by your warmth.

“But I’m here now, and that’s what matters,” You add with a smile, and Jungwon feels like his knees would’ve buckled if he didn’t try to remain composed.

“You don’t have to earn my affection. You already have my heart with you—I like you a lot, Yang Jungwon.”

The thumping of his heart echoes even louder in his ears, and his face lights up with a gentle smile, one that makes you feel that it’s a smile you’d want to protect for the rest of your life.

You only stare at each other for a moment, holding a meaningful gaze that spoke volumes of how you saw each other now. With a sense of understanding and appreciation that enveloped your hearts, that this was where you felt safe and belonged to.

The joy and contentment in your faces were illuminated once the second wave of fireworks burst in the sky, the spectrum of colors and patterns reflecting in your irises, as if further igniting the spark between you two and turning them into a waterfall of dazzling flames.

You both turned to look up at the same time, admiring the beautiful array of brilliant rubies, cupid pink arrows, blazing embers of a hearth, golden rays, electric blue, and aquamarine waves—each luminary streak falling down in drops of star dust, mirroring the sparkle of warmth in your hearts.

Jungwon lightly tugged your hand to pull you closer beside him, your gazes still fixed on the magic of the dancing lights above as your shoulders brushed against one another. He intertwines your fingers and traced his thumb at the back of your hand, the small gesture conveying his affection for you.

A moment of quiet intimacy falls upon the two of you, but the warmth and comfort you found in each other’s presence was enough proof of how your brewing emotions had now turned on a new page, with the pirouette of fireworks and star-lit sky bearing witness to the whole scene.

💌 : you’ve made it here? thank you so much for reading! get yourself some blueberry cheesecake 🥰

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xylatox · 4 days ago

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muddled hearts | xmh by the lovely altair! I'm so glad I finally get to read this, I'm such a loser for minghao fics.

Therefore, he didn't know your name or when you even got there. There hadn't been any murmur of a new girl, much less a pretty one – which was odd for the establishment. Full of meddling college students and a married couple who ran the place, there was bound to be some gossip. Something about your looks, your demeanor, anything – but no. Nothing had flown down the grapevine. — I already love this 🤭 Hao thinks reader is pretty hehe.

They looked at Minghao, who quietly loaded the shakers into the machine – wondering how he got you to speak to him.— loving that Hao is the exception and very convinced the other coworkers were just lowkey kinda mean ngl.

He soon learned that you did like to talk, you just had no one that you deemed worthy of your time. So when you arrived early on some shifts, you'd sit at the bar and ask Minghao things about himself. He'd gladly answer, mixing up non-alcoholic versions of his favorite cocktails for you as he talked in a soft voice. You both noticed the wandering eyes of your coworkers, but neither of you mentioned it to the other. — this is so cute I love them so much ah and it's only the beginning.

His fingers covered the edge of the bar so you wouldn't hit yourself, and you thanked him with a pat to his ribcage before slipping back out onto the restaurant floor with your pen flipping through your fingers like always. — physical interactions like this I always love like, it's something so simple but caring and it just warms my heart yknow.

Turns out that a bit out of the way for you, meant two blocks from Minghao’s apartment. — fate hehe, cute.

I love them getting to know each other, like all the interactions thus far have been so sweet.—All you knew is that he was Xu Minghao, and if he was meant to break your heart – so be it.— not this being the way the first memory ends omg.

"Two things, gorgeous. Either your alternator is fucked and not charging your battery, or your starter engine has crapped out." He shrugged, and you couldn't bring yourself to react further than a groan. Your hands ran through your hair, and Minghao cooed lightly. — the pet name is driving me insane?? Neither of you worked tomorrow, so Minghao simply wrapped his arm around your shoulders (an act that neither of you would ever speak on, but made the both of you incredibly giddy) — the casual touches?? what if I go insane

You also didn't allow anyone else but Minghao into your life so closely. Only he knew where you lived, what troubled you, how your mother made you feel about yourself. Only he knew about your bad habits – your affinity for gossip, your extensive situationship issues with your ex-boyfriend, Jaehyun, and how you thought your apartment was entirely too expensive for a college student that was buying her dinner with coins. — omg Jaehyun mention?? (NCT??? I cannot help myself and think about him)

He didn't take you home. Instead, he drove around the city, his hand slotted in yours. It was nothing more than an attempt at a comforting gesture on his behalf, but you couldn't help the way your stomach fluttered slightly. You stared out the window as he spoke softly, telling you stories about his life and listening intently to yours. Eventually, the two of you wound up at a park you frequented as a child, one with a wishing well. — going to sob, they're adorable. Also a moment to appreciate this beautiful writing like??

Hao inviting reader to his grad??? I'm soft. Jun and Hao!!! hehe I'm so happy they interact here. It's pretty sad how reader's parents didn't stay to take grad pics :((

So you figured your odd little crush was sorely misplaced – and added that you hadn't spoken to Jaehyun since the first time you slept over at Minghao's apartment was cause for the strange feeling of neediness in your stomach. Minghao was worth more than a rebound, and he was far more than you would ever deserve.— sobbing, tears. this is oddly sweet.

I love how it's mentioned reader becomes friends with Gyu, Tzuyu and Wonwoo after realizing they weren't a threat, like thats so cute.

"You're not me, pretty. And you're my friend, I'd go as far as even saying you're one of my best friends. I love you and I care about what stresses you out, and I'd give my left arm to make life easier for you." — this is so darn sweet what the hell.

Hao's flirting is absolutely killing me. THE KISS???? AHHHH he's so respectful when he realizes reader isn't ready wtf, I'll throw up.

Hao is so innlove with her :(( like — He pressed a kiss to your hairline, smoothing your hair down before slipping out of the kitchen. — on my knees.

Another moment to appreciate reader's relationship with Tzuyu, I love girl friendships. I love the more vulnerable moments reader an Hao share, especially after both are rejected from their grad programs:(

I love that we get this history of Cheol and Hannie's relationship too EEE!!

"Tell you what, pretty. I'll work my shift, and we can celebrate after. Just you and me." His hand squeezed your side gently, his eyes expectant of something – but you know you could say nothing and he'd still understand. He once told you that he thinks humans misunderstand almost everything… — they are so cute :(((((

"Because we're not together. We're friends, and we're roommates. We don't have that expectation of having to spend time together, because sometimes just brushing past one another when we're at work is enough. Sometimes waking up in the middle of the night to pee but having to wait because he's in the restroom is enough. Sometimes walking to the laundromat together is enough." You shrugged, before sighing. — she says this but says they aren't together in the same breath, they're practically married.

"I'm sorry for snapping. It wasn't my intention but I can tell I've hurt your feelings, and I never want to hurt your feelings." His voice was soft, and you felt your throat tighten slightly. You weren't too sure why you were even crying, maybe it was reminiscent of being scolded for trying to do the right thing. — no cuz I'd cry too, they're both too sweet for their own good.

"You're amazing, Y/N. Stop trying to put yourself down, or act like you're not someone who deserves everything. You're soft and sweet and one of the kindest people I've ever come across. You offered to work someone's shift on your day off, not because you want the money, no; because you want them to spend time together and help their relationship continue to flourish. You think anyone just does that?" He scoffed, and you cleared your throat, shrugging. — I'll sob, I love Hao sm.

You kissed his hairline, wishing him a happy birthday over a bottle of soju that he took two sips of. Two sips too much, as his lips ghosted over yours as you spoke to each other about nothing – too close, but he saw the way you held yourself back. He saw the way you wanted to kiss him, the way your hands clenched at your sides as you forced yourself to move away. — I will pass out.

"You are a tumultuous flame and if I get burned, so be it. If I let the heat of your fire singe me to death, it wouldn't be a death in pain. I'd let it happen, over and over." — they both are so effortlessly romantic and so good with words??

I love how the end starts like the beginning, they made me smile like an idiot . God, I loved this so much. Altair, it's always a pleasure to read your work!! This was absolutely wonderful.

muddled hearts 🍹 x.mh [m]

↳ part of the 'lonely hearts cafe' collab!

synopsis: things take a turn for the better when you finally find a roommate to escape your incredibly overpriced apartment, but you don't expect to ruin the only relationship that matters to you in the process. genre: forced proximity au. coworkers/friends/roommates idiots to lovers. angst, fluff, suggestive themes. pairing: bartender!xu minghao x fem!waitress!reader | side pairings: restaurant owners!jeongcheol ; bartender!seungkwan x waiter!hansol ; chef!mingyu x hostess!tzuyu (twice) word count: 24k rating: 18+. minors do not interact. warnings: swearing, alcohol (obviously??) mentions of food/eating. reader has a strained relationship with her parents. jeongcheol/verkwan/tzugyu are all plot devices. unspoken pining, kissing. what to listen to: am pm - jay b, wheein ; you and me - lifehouse ; runnin' - the pharcyde ; no one noticed - the marías ; have u found what ur looking for? - ashton irwin ; on the line - blood orange author's note: the loml and the haologram namesake has officially debuted on this blog! while i am not entirely satisfied with this piece, that's okay and i still love the idea i put forth and the way i expressed what i could on the time crunch i gave myself. i will likely work on a spinoff for this, or just something to delve more into their backstory and developing them. special thank you to my lovely beta readers @diamonddaze01 @lovetaroandtaemin @tomodachiii <3 please enjoy!

A YEAR AGO…

"I need a Guinness." That was the first thing you ever said to Xu Minghao. You'd been hired by Seungcheol, one of the restaurant owners, three weeks prior but hadn't worked a shift with Minghao yet.

You didn't bother to introduce yourself, either. Your eyes were pointed until he quirked a brow, scoffing out a laugh and pouring the drink for you. He'd said nothing as you took it, skirting around several clients and even a busboy and delivered it with a smile on your face to the awaiting patron…

…Who slipped a tip into your apron with a greasy smile, and you kept yours on your lips until you were out of the patron's line of sight. Then, tucked into the serving staff's corner, he saw the way your shoulders sagged, a look of disgust on your face as you shivered. He clicked his tongue to himself, but filed the vision away to the back of his mind.

He spent the rest of the night silently giving you the drinks you asked for, or speaking to his regulars as he made your cocktails. You always waited patiently, your fingers spinning your pen expertly as you watched over the patrons of the restaurant. He watched the way you sped past everyone, wormed your way through gathered crowds, and even ducked under trays being carried by your fellow servers.

You got your job done, and you got it done fast – your patrons visibly happy with your service and your apron slightly overflowing with tips when you slid behind the bar and tucked them into your lockbox without a word to him.

It wasn't until you bid your last patron a good night that he saw your shoulders relax, your fingers yanking the elastic out of your hair and shaking it out. The relief on your forehead was noticeable as you walked back to the bar, opening the fridge behind him and grabbing a can of the orange juice he used for some of the cocktails on the menu.

"D'you mind? I know they're counted." He shook his head as he skirted past you with his tray full of cups, the glasses clinking against each other while he made his way to the back. Your fellow servers were gathered around the heat of the kitchen, leaning against the wall or stretching their overworked limbs. He kept to himself, hearing them whisper about the new girl.

"She's so pretty." "Yeah, but she doesn't talk. I tried to talk to her back here a couple times, and she just keeps it short." "She's here to work."

"So am I, but at least I'm not rude." He set his dishes into the washer, cursing to himself when he realized he forgot his shakers at the bar. He was about to start the cycle when he heard the soft clanking of metal against metal, seeing your closed can of orange juice tucked into your shirt pocket as you held out his tray of shakers.

"Thought you might need these, wouldn't want you to make unnecessary trips."

He thanked you with a smile, taking the black tray as you cracked open your can, shrugging as you turned on your heel and walked away. The servers looked appalled as you grabbed the sanitizer spray before walking out of the kitchen, a rag already hanging from your belt loop. They looked at Minghao, who quietly loaded the shakers into the machine – wondering how he got you to speak to him.

The answer was plain and simple – he was a crucial part of the services you provided as a waitress. You clearly didn't need help with your tables: he watched how easily you maneuvered through picky eaters and entitled elderly women, all in one night. He saw how you smiled and greeted people warmly and enthusiastically, something the other servers weren't very good at but hey — a buck is a buck.

He wormed back out of the kitchen amongst the whispers, rolling his eyes as he stretched his arms over his head. You were wearing headphones, nodding your head along to something as you wiped down every table and chair.

He slid back behind the bar and started his own closing duties, but he took a moment to take you in fully – the soft slope of your nose, the way your brows furrowed as you ran your rag over particularly sticky spots. The purse of your lips as you mouthed along to whatever it was that you were listening to.

"Do you need any help?"

You were in front of the bar now, holding one of your earbuds in your hand as you raised a brow at him. He shook his head before extending his hand out to you.

"I don't believe we've met. I'm Minghao."

You were wary as you shook his hand, but your grip was nice and firm as you did so.

"Y/N. Sorry if I was kind of emotionless during the shift, it helps me focus better if I'm not talking to people while I work." He shook his head again, as if to say no worries, before reaching under the bar and pulling your lockbox for you. You thanked him softly as you took it in your hands, walking away towards Seungcheol and Jeonghan's office to do your tip-out for the night. He finished his duties quickly, even managing to rearrange the cups and shakers for the morning bartender as the servers came to him one by one and gave him his share of their tips.

Until you came back out with a soft smile on your lips, your hair now loosely tied up and your apron slung over your shoulder as you held a wad of cash out to him, far thicker than any of the other servers. He'd been counting the leftover mixers, crossing out your orange juice as a markout as you slipped the money into his hand.

"For your help. Thanks."

"It's my job, no need to thank me." "Doesn't hurt. Have a good night, Minghao." "You too, Y/N." He smiled back as you finished what was left in your can of juice, tossing it as you made your way out of the building. He followed shortly after, walking out a few of the other servers to their cars in the parking lot for good measure. He never really spoke to them either, despite having worked with them for a little over a year – but he was a gentleman if nothing else.

The next few shifts he worked with you were like that, too. You'd smile at him a bit and ask for things with a nicer tone of voice. He still delivered and watched you from afar, slightly amazed at your abilities to satisfy all your patrons – couples, families, even that one elderly woman who always sent her steak back because it was never done well enough…she hadn't sent it back the night you served her.

You always walked out first, handing Minghao thick stacks of cash and stealing cans of orange juice. It got to the point where he would set yours aside from the counted lot, marking it out in the system before they shut down for the night. The other servers watched your interactions – short and sweet, but still far more than you'd ever attempted to interact with them.

He noticed that you never answered any questions about yourself, opting to spin the question back on him. He let it slide, but he knew you understood that eventually, you'd have to open up, too. When you did decide to do so was completely up to the universe.

It wasn't until the compliments started that the two of you really started talking – it started as something subtle and quiet. Minghao commented on your earrings or choice of lipgloss, and you said you liked his hair and the way he styled his jewelry. You would both laugh over light coworker gossip or comments about how easily Jeonghan got under Seungcheol's skin.

You started greeting him when you'd swing by the bar for any alcoholic beverage, and he'd pause his flirting with his regulars to give you his undivided attention. This is how you learned that he had a way with body language – his eyes were always grazing over someone's face, his shoulders set back in confidence, brushing his fingers lightly over whoever was grabbing their drink.

This included you, but neither of you said anything about it. You'd let his fingers swipe over yours occasionally, choosing to smile and thank him as you went about your shift. The regulars noticed the way his attention was no longer fully on them, and some complained, but some spoke directly to Minghao about it – saying how cute it was for him to be crushing on the new girl.

He wasn't, but he didn't care to clear it up if it meant it got you more tips.

One night, things were as normal – it was a busy Friday evening, and you slid behind the bar to stuff your cash into your lockbox for the third time before closing. His fingers covered the edge of the bar so you wouldn't hit yourself, and you thanked him with a pat to his ribcage before slipping back out onto the restaurant floor with your pen flipping through your fingers like always. He watched you zip around, smiling widely as you took orders, casually flirting with patrons around your age, taking group photos with cell phones and cameras.

You stole your can of orange juice, helped Minghao with his dishes and did your closing duties. You got tipped out by Jeonghan and gave Minghao his share, bidding him a good night before waltzing out of the restaurant. You skipped to your car, expecting a smooth drive home and ending your good night on your comfy couch with a Pilsner and a bag of chips…

When your car simply wouldn't start. No big deal, you'd told yourself. You tried turning your headlights on, but nothing happened. This could mean one of two things: your battery had crapped out and just needed a jump, or tonight was just the night you'd be walking the twenty blocks home. You clicked your tongue before sighing and resting your forehead on the fuzzy steering wheel cover.

Minghao had watched this entire ordeal from the door of the restaurant, finishing a conversation with Seungcheol before stepping out and calling out your name. Your ears perked up, your eyes tired as you looked up and saw him walking over. He smiled as you pouted, opening your car door and explaining the situation.

"Not a problem, I can give you a lift." "I couldn't ask you to do that, Minghao." "You're not. I'm offering."

It went back and forth like that for about ten minutes before Minghao reached out and plucked your keys out of the ignition. You huffed as he jingled them, throwing your apron over your shoulder and manually locking all your doors before slipping out.

“I live a bit out of the way.” “I do, too. Don’t worry about it.”

Turns out that a bit out of the way for you, meant two blocks from Minghao’s apartment.

It also turns out that the two of you had much more in common than just working at Seungcheol and Jeonghan’s restaurant.

You both loved art, fashion…the idea of flirting and making people think something was going to happen. You were both studying but at two different universities, and worked at the restaurant to save money for graduate school. He finds out that you're almost too big of a Bloody Mary fan, and nothing stops you from yucking a Piña Colada enjoyer's yum. He doesn't drink, and the revelation makes you snort, until you realize he's serious and roll your eyes subtly.

And all of this is something you find out as you sit in his car outside of your apartment complex, the heat cranked up and his radio playing AM PM by Jay B and Wheein on the lowest volume. He speaks softly, just like he does at the restaurant – and you notice his eyes almost glued to your face as you reciprocate. A few shy laughs are shared until he says something about Mingyu and his habit of stealing cheese curds off the customer trays, making you snort and hit your head on his window. He apologizes profusely but the sentiment is waned by his own rickety giggle, making you flush embarrassedly and shove him lightly.

The night ends when he offers to walk you up to your apartment, but you decline, holding your purse tightly. He still gets out of his car, perches on the hood and watches you duck into the heavy greenery that ornaments the entryway, hearing your work shoes click against the cold cement steps. He waits at least ten minutes before leaning back on his car, taking a deep breath in the chilly November air and pushing off. He slides back into the driver's seat, not noticing the way you look down at him from your second floor apartment. You peeked at him through the wooden blinds of your bedroom, the soft thundering in your chest something you couldn't figure out.

All you knew is that he was Xu Minghao, and if he was meant to break your heart – so be it.

EIGHT MONTHS AGO…

"Need a ride?"

You scoffed to yourself, hearing Minghao's voice across the parking lot. Your shoulders were slumped, your head resting defeatedly against the steering wheel of your 2002 Nissan that once more, refused to start. Why? You have no idea.

"No. It'll start. It has to start." You muttered back, seeing him approach the side of your vehicle. He dons a sympathetic smile as he leans in the window, his fingers grazing the fuzzy leopard print wheel cover. You ignored the manicure you'd been admiring your entire shift, the blotted maroon a perfect tone against his skin – and cranked your ignition.

Chchchch.

"Try again." Chchchch.

He glanced up at you before unlocking your door from the inside and yanking it open. He reached under your dash, popping your hood gingerly and snaking out from under the steering wheel. You only eyed him tiredly as he slid in front of your car, setting your hood up on the prop rod and tinkering around. You couldn't help but let your eyes close slightly, the soreness in your muscles taking over just as he popped back into your window. You jolted out of the light slumber, the crease between your brows deepening in the stark spring moonlight.

"C'mon, I'll give you a lift home. We'll get Cheol to pay for a tow." He wiggled his brows, making you let out a noise of amusement. You sighed, nodding silently as he once more took your keys out of the ignition. You grabbed your items, swinging your apron over your shoulder and locking your doors manually before slinking out and letting Minghao shut your door.

You shook your head in disbelief, absently resting your forehead against his bicep with a sigh.

"I'm so tired."

Apparently, tired meant that you were almost about to fall asleep standing up. Neither of you worked tomorrow, so Minghao simply wrapped his arm around your shoulders (an act that neither of you would ever speak on, but made the both of you incredibly giddy) and led you to his car. He opened the door and helped you climb in, even going as far as buckling your seatbelt for you despite your whining protests that you could do it yourself.

"I know you can. Just let me help you, yeah?"

You gave in without a second thought, your eyes fluttering shut as he slid into the driver's side and started his car. You had turned your head towards him and muttered some words quietly.

Something that sounded like thank you, followed by a slightly more intelligible string of words.

"If I fall asleep, I give you full permission to leave me on my doorstep like a package."

He only snorted, knowing he would not ever do that to you. Rolling his eyes, he fiddled with the radio, hearing You and Me by Lifehouse playing on his favorite station. He kept it on as he pulled out of the parking lot, seeing Seungcheol staring in his direction with wide eyes as he walked Jeonghan to their shared car. Minghao only shrugged, waving quickly before turning out into the street and driving down the road.

It was peaceful, watching you sleep. The way your lashes kissed the fat of your cheeks, the way your lips were pouty and he resisted the urge to wipe your chin of a bit of drool that had begun to spill out. He bit down on his lip to hold in his laughter as you stirred, your thumb instinctively coming to your face to wipe at it. You peeled your eyes open, the whites slightly bloodshot and your face contorting in the soreness you felt. "Long day, huh?" He whistled as he flicked on his turn signal, and you only managed to hum in response. You blinked at him, his eyes catching yours as you stared into him. He raised his brows in confusion, and you shrugged your shoulders as much as your fatigue allowed.

"Why are you so nice to me, Hao?"

He only smiled, clicking his tongue as he took the turn down the creepy backroad neither of you liked and often discussed when you had some down time at work. "I thought we were friends, Y/N?"

He saw the way you leaned your head back on his headrest, nose scrunched as you began to settle deep in thought. Were you friends? He thinks so. He thinks setting aside your daily orange juice can means that he's your friend. He thinks giving you lifts home, means that you trust him. That's a crucial part of friendship, isn't it? Trust?

Maybe the subtle flirting he'd been dishing out wasn't so friendly, but he certainly desired to be your friend. He liked your eager conversation, a drastic change in comparison to how stoic you had been upon first meeting him – and how uninterested you were in everyone else you worked with. Aside from Mingyu in the kitchen and Tzuyu the hostess, you had absolutely no interest in talking to anyone but Minghao.

"I guess you're right. We should hang out one day, instead of just you giving me pitiful looks when my car craps out on me."

Your tone had been light, but he knew you weren't joking. No matter how often this happened, you insisted what Minghao was dishing out was pity. It wasn't – it was a break. A chance to worry about things later, or tomorrow, because he also understood what it was like to be stressed. He also understood what it was like to have a car let him down time after time, but he had had no one to take that mercy upon him. He'd walked home in pouring rain, risked getting sick, slipped one too many times.

A favor, was what he was offering, if anything.

You just didn't know how to accept help. It was one of your flaws that made itself known without a single word from you.

"I'm free tomorrow. I don't work; I took the day off." "I'm free, too. I'll text you when I wake up. Maybe we can get brunch?"

You would not end up texting Minghao, because you were knocked out – too knocked out to be woken up – by the time that the two of you reached your apartment. He knew your keys were in your purse, but after three attempts at waking you up, he gave up. He drove the two blocks to his complex, snagging the perfect spot in front of his entrance.

He hadn't been too sure of what to do, so he left you in his car with the engine running to duck into his apartment – returning within a few minutes with a pair of blankets for you and him. He opened your door and leaned your seat back slowly, before throwing the blanket over you and moving your belongings to his backseat. He climbed back into the driver's side, scrolling on his phone for a bit before peering over at you. Still sound asleep, as the clock struck midnight.

He hummed, closing his eyes for a moment.

A moment turned into three hours, when he heard your phone start ringing in the cupholder. It jolted him awake, his eyes narrowed as he read the blurry name out – Jaehyun.

He declined the call. Once. Twice. Six times, he declined Jaehyun's call. He turned your phone off after that, but you had stirred enough from the sheer sound of him fumbling around. Your eyes were bloodshot as you blinked before realizing you were still in his car.

"Shit, I'm sorry. Have we been here long?" He only smiled, gesturing at the blanket on your body. Your eyes widened as much as they could in their sleep-swollen state, before he flashed his phone screen at you.

3:13am.

"Hao! Why didn't you wake me up!?"

"I certainly tried. I drove around your complex twice before deciding it was futile. We're outside my apartment, if you want to crash here. I'm in no position to drive now."

You had scoffed tiredly (read: with embarrassment), before the urge to stretch took over – the blanket slipping down your legs as you twisted your torso and popped your back. Minghao only giggled tiredly, letting you pout at him.

"I don't have a toothbrush here."

"I have spares for guests. And I have a guest room, so it's not like you'd be taking over my couch or anything. There is always going to be a special space for you, you're my friend."

And you wanted to be his friend so badly.

"Fine. But I'm buying breakfast." "Sure, whatever makes you feel better."

You did not end up buying breakfast. In fact, after you allowed Minghao to help you get situated in his guest room, you didn't even wake up until well in the afternoon. The soft sheets, the absolute dream of a mattress…

The gentle scent of his detergent on the clothes he made you wear to bed while he stayed up an extra two hours – washing and ironing your work uniform. He even took your socks.

Granted, he also did not wake up until late that day. The two of you jerked the doors of the respective rooms open within five minutes of each other, Minghao sluggishly standing in his kitchen with his forehead against the cool steel of his fridge. He held a carton of eggs in his hand, your mouth occupied by the toothbrush he'd given you the night before.

"Eggs?" "I don't even want to cook, I just want to order in." "My treat. Consider it a thank you for letting me crash here." He had looked up then, a quirk in his brow as his lips twitched into a small smirk.

"Don't thank me for being a good friend. That's what you're supposed to do, Y/N."

He didn't allow you to pay for delivery. He didn't even allow you to bicker with him when he shoved you into the bathroom, insisting you shower while waiting for the food to arrive. He was a bit like a parent in that sense – forcing you to take his help and hospitality – and even offering to blow-dry your hair when you exited the bathroom in yet another set of his loungewear, the sweatpants low on your hips as you sat down in front of him and allowed him to do as he pleased.

Something about the domesticity of Minghao brought you comfort. He was gentle and kind, and entirely way too nice for your own good. You had this idea that you had to earn niceties, and Minghao was actively challenging that perspective with the way he wormed himself into your heart. Unlike the parasite, though, you were sure that loving him in whatever matter presented itself would not kill you.

He attempted to drive you home around midnight, the two of you far too excited to let the night end – when your phone began ringing again, this time as he pulled into a gas station. He sighed, "Take care of that. I'll be back."

Your ex-boyfriend told you he was at your apartment and asked why you weren't answering the door. You admitted that you weren't home and insisted that he went home – that you weren't interested in seeing him. He took it pretty hard, trying to convince you that he wanted nothing more than to see you, but Minghao arrived just as you snapped on him and told him that this odd situation was not working in anyone's favor.

Jaehyun insisted that he still loved you – but you said you wouldn't be seeing him again and hung up. You blocked his number before the bombardment of texts could flood in, resting your head against the seat and sighing. You gave Minghao a worried look, earning a soft laugh from him as he reached over and ran his fingers through your hair.

"Everything is going to be okay in due time. We'd be nothing in life if we didn't struggle a bit." He didn't take you home. Instead, he drove around the city, his hand slotted in yours. It was nothing more than an attempt at a comforting gesture on his behalf, but you couldn't help the way your stomach fluttered slightly. You stared out the window as he spoke softly, telling you stories about his life and listening intently to yours. Eventually, the two of you wound up at a park you frequented as a child, one with a wishing well.

The two of you got down and headed straight for that well, Minghao holding a few coins he was willing to part ways with in his hand. He gave you half of them, telling you to make your wishes as he thought of his. He watched you intently, your eyes closed and thick lashes fluttering against your cheeks, lips pouty as you murmured to yourself. He was barely able to hear you, leaning a bit closer.

"I wish to be happy."

He closed his eyes after hearing that.

He knew in his heart that he couldn't be solely responsible for your happiness, but he could certainly aid in it. He was your friend, and he was determined to see that wish come true, even if it meant sacrificing his own time and energy to see it happen for you. Be it what may, he was hell-bent about it, within seconds of hearing you say it.

So much so, that when he dropped his 500 won coin, he too wished for you to be happy.

It was the least he could do at that moment.

He actually drove you home after that, and you invited him in. He stayed for all of two hours, just talking to you and keeping you company as you settled things around your apartment. Once more, the topic of rent being way too much came up – and he asked if you wanted a roommate. You had snorted, insisting that you could handle rent on your own.

Minghao went home that night with another plan in mind.

SIX MONTHS AGO…

"Graduation is coming up. I know we've only just started getting close, but I got you a ticket to mine in case you'd like to be there." The casual comment had made you choke on your strawberry lemonade. He offered a napkin, smiling mischievously at you as you scoffed, wiping your lips carefully. He'd invited you out to lunch on yet another day off, but this time, the two of you were nicely dressed up. So much so, that your waitress thought you were a couple on a date. Neither of you made the move to correct her.

"Minghao, you can't just say that so casually." You muttered, but there was a twitch in your lip that gave you away. He caught it almost instantly, reaching into his bag and pulling out your ticket – watching you reach into your purse and pull his ticket out. Both graduations were on the same day, yours in the morning and his in the afternoon – just barely two hours apart. Enough that you'd be able to have a luncheon with your family and still make it to his right on time. "You'll be celebrating with your family afterward, right?" "We're having a small party. A few of my friends will be there, and I'd like you to attend if it's possible. I know you probably have your own things to do."

You didn't, just the lunch. Something about your accomplishments was never enough for your family to celebrate, and they were of the breed that believed graduation was simply a part of life – nothing worth celebrating. Minghao didn't need to know that, though.

"Sure. I'll be there."

And it didn't take long for the day to spin around. You were dressed in your favorite white dress, covered slightly by your forest green graduation gown. Minghao met your family – your mother giving him a quick smile before tugging your father into the stadium. You offered an apology and said that one of your lifelong friends, Junhui, would be arriving soon, and Minghao could sit with him. You stuck around until he did, introducing the two and scurrying away to get set up with your classmates.

Funnily enough, Minghao and Junhui hit it off really well – so much so that when your name was called and you crossed the stage, they cheered so loudly that your parents looked away in embarrassment. You beamed up at your friends, waving excitedly and hopping down to your seat. The ceremony was over quickly, and your parents were nowhere to be found for photos.

It bummed you out, and your friends both noticed. You called their phones relentlessly, to no avail – making Minghao and Junhui take you to lunch on their own. You still enjoyed it, but they could tell that you were not happy. Neither of them made a statement, but Minghao managed to find a last minute ticket for Junhui to attend his graduation with you and invited him to the party as well.

You and Junhui sat in the stands an hour later, holding a huge bouquet you'd ordered a few days in advance – and sat with his parents, who eagerly admitted their glee in Minghao finding friends so easily. You enjoyed the pride his parents had in their son, feeling the same love that Minghao so eagerly poured over you with no remorse. You could tell how loved he had been growing up, how every single part of him was a part of them and then some.

How Minghao was truly someone made of love, by love, for love.

You cheered loudly with his family as he crossed the stage, finding his eyes as he looked up. The maroon of his gown did wonders for his skin, and you hated the way your cheeks warmed as he winked at you. Junhui elbowed you lightly, a knowing look in his eyes that made you scoff and shove him softly.

"We've been friends since we were kids, Y/N. You don't fool me."

However, it didn't stop you from trying. To you, Minghao was just your friend – you had no intent to ever take things further than that. Much like he slowly picked up on your flaws and bad habits, you did his – his subtle flirting with regulars, the way he had no shame in giving free drinks away if he thought someone was cute. It made you overthink everything about his way of acting with you – how easy it was to distinguish that he would never have a romantic feeling towards you if this was how he acted towards patrons.

You spent the rest of the day enjoying delicious food prepared by his parents and spending hours dancing with Junhui and Minghao in turns. You blushed severely when Minghao's parents asked if you were interested in Minghao, quickly refusing the idea and insisting you were his friend and nothing more. You later saw Minghao blush all the same, his mother looking over his shoulder at you and making him do the same – before you saw his plush lips form around the negative response of No, she's just my friend.

You ignored the sinking feeling and focused on the party – with Mingyu swinging by for an hour before going back out to hang with his girlfriend, Tzuyu, and his best friend, Wonwoo (and they were all coworkers of yours that you allowed yourself to grow closer to after realizing they were no threat.) You took dozens of photos with everyone, had plenty to eat and reluctantly bid goodnight to a tired Junhui that drove back to his girlfriend's apartment after checking that Minghao would take you home.

The two of you stayed for a little longer, watching all the guests leave. You walked around his parents' home and helped them clean up silently, hearing his mother praise you quietly to her son. Your refusal to acknowledge it made everything easier, grabbing an apron from the kitchen and tasking yourself with washing dishes alongside Minghao's father. He made soft conversation, and you understood where Minghao got his doting personality. It made you think way too hard about the man you called your friend to everyone's face, including his.

At the end of the night, you cried when Minghao presented you with a graduation gift in the privacy of his car – a pair of earrings and a lease. A lease to a two-bedroom, one-and-a-half bathroom apartment he found all on his own, after more complaints about your rent being too high came about. He admitted that he'd initially started looking for places solely for you, but later came to the idea that maybe you would like some company. He fully admitted that he would have no problem if you denied his request to be your roommate, but seeing as the two of you had also planned on going to graduate school…he thought that maybe splitting costs would be easier.

"You can say no. I know it's a bit presumptuous of me to jump the gun like this. I've already signed it, but the leasing office told me it was okay if I wound up taking the place alone. I just thought I'd run it by you."

You had only blinked up at him through teary eyes, your lips pouty as you whined.

"Why are you always so nice to me, Xu Minghao? I would've never thought to do this."

Anyone else would've seen this as an admittance of romantic feelings.

Anyone else.

"Minghao, I can't accept this." "Yes, you can. You don't have to be strong all the time. I'm here. I care. Just let me help you, okay?"

You don't know how, but just the soft lilt of his voice made you fold. You signed your name in blue ink that very same night and rode with him back to your apartment. You invited him in, the two of you tired from forced socialization and flopping on your couch. Neither of you said much as you scrolled through Hulu, your television lighting up your living room along with the few candles on your coffee table. "You never tried your earrings on." He muttered next to you, his eyes closed as you settled on Coyote Ugly. Your lips formed an O-shape, and you nodded as you dug them out of your purse. You popped the velvety box open, the diamond studs twinkling back at you. "Allow me." He leaned forward, plucking the box from your fingers and gingerly removing them from the backing. He watched silently as you took your signature gold hoops out, turning to face him with a tired smile on your lips. "Ready?" "Be gentle, I'm sensitive."

He scooted slightly closer, nimble fingers softly tilting your jaw toward him. You ignored the way the hair on the back of your neck stood on end as he tucked a stray curl behind your ear, thumbing at your earlobe gently before slipping the earring through.

You heard him mumble to himself but didn't get a chance to ask questions as he carefully slid the backing on and quickly put on the other one for you. He nodded in approval, both hands brushing your face as he pushed your hair back. "You look pretty in diamonds."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as his hands left your face. You dug a compact mirror out of your purse, using the low light of the room to see. Long lashes fluttered in the reflection as you shifted the mirror around, your manicured fingers lightly tracing the shell of your ear as you took in the subtle sparkle of the gemstones.

"You didn't have to, you know. I didn't get you anything."

You slumped on the couch, resting the side of your head on one of the thick cushions while looking up at him. He propped his arm up on the back of the couch, shrugging his shoulders as he leaned his head on the palm of his hand. "Having you is enough. Did I tell you that I like your dress? I don't think I told you."

Your eyes only widened before you felt your cheeks heat and cleared your throat. You glanced down at your dress, the scattered sequins across the white dress glinting in the low light. An odd feeling settled in your stomach as you ran your hands down the fabric before looking back up at him to see his eyes boring into you.

Like he could see what you were thinking.

"You're beautiful, but I don't have to tell you that. You already know." He said pointedly, and you scoffed. You look away, turning your head to face the ceiling. You follow the slow spin of the fan, before you glance back at him through the corner of your eye. He's still looking at you, but with a soft smile and a raise of his brows as if he's waiting for you to tell him what's on your mind.

"You don't, you're right. Sorry." You muttered, crossing your legs at the knee. You could feel the soreness in your calves from being on your feet all day, the straps from your shoes so tight that they'd imprinted on your skin. Minghao shifted next to you, and you could feel the heat of his gaze raking across your face.

"Y/N?"

You turned to face him, "Hm?"

He smiled, shaking his head. "Nothing."

You scowled, sitting up quickly and tucking your legs under you. "I hate when people do that, Hao. Tell me what you were going to say."

He only chuckled, shrugging his shoulders as he leaned back on your couch, tucking his hands under his head. "I wasn't going to say anything, sweetheart. Just…yeah."

"Xu Minghao." "Ooh, full name. Don't hurt me, I might like it." You gaped, smacking his arm lightly. He grabbed your wrist loosely, making you fail at biting back your laughter when his other hand tickled your ribs. "M-Minghao! I don't need to know that!"

"Don't you, though? I know that you like your hair pulled, you told me like three days ago when we were tipsy during movie night. Call it an even exchange of information." He nodded, and you only attempted to swat his hands away from digging into your ribcage as a scream of laughter escaped your throat. He grinned, pinning you against the cushion as you squirmed under him.

"N-Not fair! You're s-stronger than m–AH!" You choked on your own laughter, thrashing as he stopped, squeezing your sides gently with a mischievous smile painted on his face. The glint in his eyes made your stomach swirl slightly as he looked down at you, and it took a few moments for you to realize just how close his face was to yours. You didn't dare look at his lips, forcing your eyes to be glued to his as you swallowed quietly. He shifted back to sit down, allowing you to sit up slightly and clear your throat – when your eyes flickered to his lips.

Soft and slightly glossy from his strawberry lip balm. Lush. So pink and pretty and perfect.

"Y/N?"

"Uh huh?"

Your eyes darted back up to his, noting the soft blush on his cheeks in the low light of the television. He looked away, squeezing his eyes shut – when your body took over your mind, your hand softly tilting his jaw back to look at you. Your thumb ran across his lower lip, pulling it down slightly to watch it spring back, your eyes meeting his once more as you pressed the pad of your thumb onto his lips.

Something about his gaze made you feel insane.

And feeling him kiss your thumb while looking into your eyes made you break.

You leaned forward, holding his jaw gently as you pressed your lips against his chastely. He melted in slightly, his hand ghosting over your hip for balance when realization sank into your skin and you pulled away.

"Shit. I'm…Minghao, I'm so–" He didn't let you finish, rolling his eyes as he pulled you towards him by your wrist, kissing you with purpose. You only let out a noise of surprise as he practically manhandled you onto his lap, his hands moving to cradle your cheeks. Your eyes fluttered shut as he kissed you, his lips soft against yours and making you feel like your very being was about to combust into flames. You couldn't help but tighten your legs around his, feeling him smile against your lips with a soft laugh.

Your hands fisted his shirt as he pulled away from your lips, his hand moving to the nape of your neck and tilting your head back while the other splayed across your thigh. His lips trailed down your jaw, a soft mewl escaping your throat as he nipped at your earlobe.

"Sound so pretty for me, sweetheart."

The light scrape of his teeth against your neck doesn't allow for many words to slip from your lips, only a choked whimper as you carded your fingers through his hair, pulling slightly as he littered gentle nips across the expanse of your neck and chest. His hand in your hand moved to your back, resting just above the zipper of your dress when he looked up at you through his lashes.

"Can I–" "Yes." His fingers carefully pulled the zipper down, the tight flutter sleeves of your dress loosening around your shoulders and falling slightly. Your hand tugged at the knot of his tie as he reconnected your lips, his hands sliding around your waist as you pulled it off and tossed it to the side. Your fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt as his tongue slips into your mouth, his hands moving down slightly and palming your thighs before moving back from your face.

“We should stop, shouldn’t we?” He mumbled against your lips, making you shake your head as your hands fisted his shirt, your thumbs tracing the pearly buttons. Your fingers pulled at the rest of the buttons, tugging the hem of the shirt out from under his slacks as he grabbed your wrists gently.

“Want you to touch me, Hao. Please?” Your voice had a hint of something a little desperate, that same hint shown as a glint in Minghao's eyes as he breathed heavily against your lips. You kissed him chastely, feeling him groan beneath you and let go of your wrists to run his hands up your thighs, his fingertips barely breaching the hem of your dress.

“Wanna feel you. Wanna taste you…fill you up…can I, pretty girl? Will you let me?”

You weren’t sure how you found your voice, but you squeaked out an excited yes anyway. The rest is a blur – him pulling your dress over your head and tossing it to the side, running his hands up and down your body as he meshed your lips with his with a hunger that you couldn't describe. His fingers were cool against your back as he undid the clasp of your bra, his teeth nipping at your lower lip as you whined against him.

"Are you sure you want to do this? We can stop right now." He mumbled, holding your bra together as he looked up at you. Uncertainty flashed in your eyes, and he gave you a soft smile. "Y/N, it's okay. Are you okay?"

He clasps your bra back, his hands moving to tug his shirt off his shoulders and drape it over you. You're silent as you shove your arms through it, and Minghao quietly buttons it for you, before tucking your hair behind your ear gently. "Hey. Talk to me, I'm here." He murmured, and you just tongued your cheek, running a hand through your hair.

"I'm sorry. I thought I'd be ready–"

"Don't. Do not apologize for not being ready, or changing your mind, or anything like that. Not now, not ever, and especially not to me. Okay?"

Your face burned in embarrassment, but it quickly slipped away as Minghao enveloped you in a warm embrace, your own arms wrapping around his neck as he held you close. "You deserve to be more than some rebound, Hao. I'm sorry." "Don't be sorry when there is nothing to be sorry for. We can forget all about this, you know? Just a little kiss. I'm sure lots of friends have kissed and moved on." You weren’t sure you could move on, not when Minghao held you until early morning, his breathing soft against your neck. Not when the two of you inevitably moved into your bedroom and slid under your bed sheets together, Minghao's arms wrapped around your shoulders and suffocating you with his soft cologne that you can't get enough of.

You spent hours awake while he ran his fingers through your hair, just thinking about the way his lips felt against yours. You found yourself glancing up at him often, his face illuminated by the soft moonlight peeking through your blinds – only to see him staring at the ceiling, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your shoulder and you can feel the way his mind just empties as he glances down at you with the softest smile known to man.

"Sleepy?"

Your nod was false, but you didn't care – not when he sighed softly and pulled you into his chest with a mumbled good night.

"Goodnight, Hao."

As for moving on, Minghao wasn't sure he could, either. Not when he woke up in your bed the next morning, surrounded by your scent and your limbs and your skin stuck to his in a way that made him ache confusedly. Not when he was wearing a pair of flannel pajamas he never got back after that first time you stayed over at his apartment. Not when you were already awake, your eyes glued to the soft scar on his eyebrow before you noticed he was awake.

"Hey." "Hey, sweetheart."

Not when he watched you cook something light for lunch for the both of you, in his shirt that you have not returned since that night at his place. Not when you smiled at him with a glint of embarrassment in your eyes, but just barely hidden by comfort, trust, love.

Not when he felt his heart start racing in his chest as he said he'd see you later before he left, swinging his keys in his hand as you leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

"See you, Hao."

Yeah. Minghao doesn't think he can move on.

FOUR MONTHS AGO…

You and Minghao moved in as the summer grew hotter, the July air sticky as you bickered over whose couch was going to be shoved into the living room. Minghao lost the game of rock-paper-scissors, and his lip curled into a frown as Mingyu came with Tzuyu to haul his couch back to their apartment.

"And you haven't fucked on this, right?" Mingyu asked as he and Minghao took the cushions and tied them together, you and Tzuyu snorting over the jar of lemonade you were preparing.

You and Tzuyu had become quick friends after you graduated. She helped Mingyu and Wonwoo plan the grand idea of throwing both you and Minghao a small celebration at Seungcheol and Jeonghan's house, inviting the entire staff and other straggling friends. The couple hadn't been too happy about how trashed everyone got and how you accidentally broke one of their lamps, but they congratulated you and Minghao on your graduations and gifted you both an expensive bottle of wine. Wine that you both shared when you got the keys to your shared apartment, tucked away in a cooler full of ice while you both tackled the deep cleaning of the new space. He took the front, and you took the bedrooms and bathrooms. You both emerged sweaty and sticky, grimacing at each other as you settled into Minghao's car on the way to buy paint for the bedrooms and wallpaper.

Neither of you have spoken about that night on your couch. Not that you had to – nothing more came of it. The two of you continued to work together in harmony, you hung out regularly, you flirted with customers – and you ignored the churn of subtle jealousy in your stomach when a customer got any sort of extra attention from him.

You ignored the skip in your heartbeat when his fingers grazed yours in handing you a drink, you ignored the way your stomach flipped during the many times he offered to tie your hair up when it got in the way. You especially ignored the whispers of your coworkers, ones that had only heightened since the party at your Seungcheol and Jeonghan's house – where Minghao was constantly checking in on you, bringing you drinks and adjusting your dress or hair.

So much so that when the party was over and it was just Seungcheol, Jeonghan, you and Minghao – Jeonghan asked. He asked if the two of you were a thing, and Minghao promptly peered over his highball at you. You just shrugged, the words stuck in your throat as Seungcheol shared a glance with Jeonghan.

They then did the diabolical, classic meddling-manager thing: they scheduled ALL of your shifts together.

It then seemed like the entire universe was forcing the proximity – because your car finally kicked the bucket. It would not turn on, not even after you begged Chan at the mechanic shop to give it a good knock on the hood. Because of this, you were now rendered carless – not that it mattered, because your new roommate had a car. Your new roommate, that was also your friend, coworker, and suspected partner by the married couple that owned the restaurant the two of you worked at. Minghao drove the two of you to work every day, his car once parked in front of your old apartment now sitting pretty in front of your shared one. It was domestic, how he slid in front of your apartment and still got out and knocked on your door to let you know he'd arrived – instead of just the regular I'm here text or, your least favorite, the honk. He opened your door, he let you choose the music, he rolled the windows down because you loved the free feeling of the breeze in your hair before you were ultimately forced to go into work-mode in order to withstand the berating of customers and the soreness in your feet.

Upon moving into the apartment, the two of you furnished it by splitting your belongings. Your walnut bookcases, his mahogany dining table. His Persian rugs, his television, his plants, his plates and cups. Your wall decorations, your handmade vases, your choice of wallpaper in the bathroom, your silverware.

His pots. Your pans. His blankets on the couch. Your couch.

"No, Mingyu. I have not had sex on this couch." Minghao scoffed, before peering over his shoulder at you and Tzuyu with a look on his face that reads: Can you believe this guy? You only shrug, biting back a smile as you slip ice cubes into the pitcher, facing Tzuyu. She's already looking at you, and she waits until you tilt your head in curiosity before she whispers.

"How long have you two been a thing?"

You almost choked on your spit. Her eyes were wide as she patted your back, giving a thumbs up to the worried men looking over their shoulders, pausing their unscrewing of the legs off the couch.

"What? Minghao and I are not a thing, Tzu." "Could've fooled me. I've known Minghao for years, and he's never even introduced us to a girlfriend of his. He's so private that way." She murmured, adding a few sprigs of mint into the glass pitcher.

You glanced over at Minghao, who was listening to Mingyu talk about how Wonwoo got into a scuffle with Seungcheol over the missed truck order at work – when he shivered, his gaze flicking up to you. He gave you a quizzical look, before turning back to Mingyu and acting as if he was paying attention.

"I don't think Hao and I will ever be anything more than good friends. And, well, roommates now. This is genuinely one of the more refreshing friendships I've ever been in. There's zero expectations to be perfect or act like I care about the smalltalk that usually precedes friendships." You shrugged, taking a wooden spoon and stirring the lemonade. You weren't lying, per say. You definitely did not think things would advance between you and Minghao – he was far too…well he was…you know. Ugh!

Minghao was literally fucking perfect. That was the issue. He was perfect, from the careful styling of his hair to the way you'd walk into his bedroom to see him slathering lotion on his arms after a warm shower. And he wasn't just perfect physically, he would not have that mercy upon you – he was perfect on the INSIDE, too.

You'd only been living together for a few weeks at this point – but he'd kept the space clean, far cleaner than you had gotten yourself used to. Your bedroom was already a mess, clothes strewn everywhere, and you'd tripped over an unpacked box several times before kicking it to the side. But Minghao's? Pristine. Everything in its designated spot, his vanity clear of debris and a special spot for his skincare items. He kept a pitcher of water on his nightstand at most, the cup always half filled. His bed was always made neatly, his clothes tucked into his dresser and closet with the utmost care. At most, he'd have his closet door open or have a random jacket thrown over his desk chair – but he was your stark opposite.

"I don't know about that one, Y/N. I think this could be something good, but what do I know?" Tzuyu shrugged, grabbing the tray of glasses and tilting her head for you to grab the pitcher. You wanted to ask her what she meant, what she knew, but you didn't get a chance as Mingyu and Minghao carried the corpse of his stripped couch outside. You held the doorway open more, giving Minghao a quick nod as he wormed past you.

You tried not to look at the flexing of his shoulders beneath the black tank top he donned, squeezing your eyes shut and looking away when you heard Tzuyu snort. You peeled an eye open to see her smirking at you, shaking her head as she set the glasses down on your coffee table. You scowled, setting the pitcher down on the doily and laying on the floor next to the table, grabbing the remote for the television.

The coffee table was the only thing you and Minghao couldn't agree on, and decided to buy it at a thrift store. The one hint of togetherness thus far – as if the mixed aesthetics and belongings weren't enough. It made you laugh a bit, because you knew if and when you moved out, what would be taken with you.

It's like the coffee table is the dog that a couple gets before they split up. Who gets it?

"Y/N, can I see you in the kitchen?" Minghao's voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you gave Tzuyu a pained look as you slipped the remote in her hand. Minghao had slipped into the kitchen already as you stood, quickly trekking the living room and sliding in on your socks. He grabbed his keys off the counter, having left them there earlier when he arrived with groceries, before Tzuyu and Mingyu came over for his couch.

"I'm going to help Mingyu get the couch set up at his place, we should be back before dinner. Do you want to order something in and we can pick it up on the way back? My treat." Minghao spoke with his back turned to you as he rummaged through the fruit bowl, before you heard the unmistakable crunch of an apple being bitten into. He looked over his shoulder, and you saw him holding said apple between his teeth, a jump of his brows prompting you to speak.

"You'll be a while though, won't you?"

"I'd never make you wait, Y/N. So? Think about what you want, and text me." He shrugged, ruffling your hair as you swatted his hand away, grabbing his wrist.

"Aren't they staying for dinner? Shouldn't this be a group decision?"

He only used your leverage on his wrist to pull you closer, leaning against the counter and wrapping his arm around your waist. Your eyes widened at the sudden proximity, and you felt your cheeks heat as he peered down at you through his lashes. He smiled at you, eyes searching your face before he clicked his tongue.

"Just tell me what you want, honey. I'll get it done."

He pressed a kiss to your hairline, smoothing your hair down before slipping out of the kitchen. You heard his gentle goodbye to Tzuyu, who hummed in response before the click of the door made his departure evident. Peeking out of the kitchen, you saw Tzuyu smirking to herself, shaking her head as she took a sip of her lemonade.

"C'mon, Y/N. You know you wanna tell me."

Her voice was sing-song, and you groaned inwardly as you walked out of the kitchen and flopped over the back of the couch. You flipped onto the cushions, landing on your back with a grunt from your lips as you draped your arm over your eyes.

"Tzu, nothing is happening between him and I. He is genuinely just my friend. Roommate. Coworker."

She didn't buy it. You could tell by the quirk in her brows and the pointed look in her eyes. She tapped the coffee table with the edge of her glass, swirling the ice before speaking.

"And soon he'll be your boyfriend, fiancé, husband. I have a hunch about these things, Y/N. I know love when I see it."

You only rolled your eyes, snatching the remote back off the coffee table. "Yeah, sure. What do you want to watch? And what do you want for dinner? Hao said they'd bring something back." Tzuyu didn’t push it as the two of you ended up settling on a random episode of Gilmore Girls. You mumbled at each other as you began to pass your phone between the two of you, looking at local restaurants when you heard a ding – a ding specifically applied to Minghao's contact.

"Nothing happening, huh?" Tzuyu wiggled your phone between her fingers, a notification from Minghao up top.

Msg From: Xu Minghao [5:43PM] sweetheart, did you figure out what you want for dinner? [5:43PM] we're almost done over here

You scowled, snatching your phone back as she giggled. "Sweetheart? I don't call my friends that." She teased, and you sighed. "Tzu, can we please drop it?" Your voice is unrecognizable to yourself, ridden with an oddly placed insecurity and Tzuyu's eyes widen slightly before she clears her throat. She nods, tapping the edge of her glass against the table again and looking down at your phone.

Msg From: Xu Minghao [5:45PM] quickly, please. [5:45PM] y/n i can see you reading these!

"I'll drop it for now, but please think about my words. I know it may be hard to believe, but I do think there is more to this than meets the eye. And…I support you, on whatever route you end up taking, in whatever way you end or begin this relationship." You couldn't lie to yourself, her words stuck with you for the rest of the evening. They rang in your head when the pair of men arrived with stacked plates of takeout, and they rang in your head as Minghao served your plate and forbade you from getting up for anything. They rang in your head as you and Mingyu washed the dishes, noting how Mingyu only referred to you by your name in your hushed conversation about you inviting them to stay for a movie.

Not like Minghao, who had even greeted you with a pet name.

They rang in your head as Tzuyu and Mingyu cuddled in the corner seat of your couch during the movie, your chest slightly pained as you noticed the cushion-sized distance between your thigh and Minghao's. They rang in your head every time you noticed Mingyu's lips on his girlfriend's hairline, on her cheek, on her lips…

They rang in your head as you thought back to the night of your graduation, how Minghao's lips kissed you just as gently, but in a way that made you think about it every waking moment of every day. In a way that made you glance at him from across the restaurant when Jeonghan was trying to get your attention to finish your tip-out; in a way that made you remain silent during the rides to and from work by his side.

In a way that made you touch yourself at night, thinking about him, about his hands on your body. So warm, so confident, so caring.

So loving.

"Good night, you two. Drive safe." You stood with your hands in your pockets, your shorts allowing the cool evening breeze to graze your legs. Tzuyu gave you a warm hug as Mingyu opened the door of his old pickup, her lips barely touching the shell of your ear as she whispered.

"Think about it." They drove off within the next five minutes, with you and Minghao standing next to each other in front of your apartment door, waving them off. You glanced up at him, a faint heat coating your cheeks as his hand ghosted over the small of your back, hearing the jingle of his keys being hooked onto your belt loop. You jolted at the weight, swatting him away as he snickered.

"Want to take a walk? The weather feels great."

You hated the way you agreed so quickly, tugging slightly at the neck of your t-shirt, too tight around your throat as your arms brushed. He stood on the side closest to the street, his hands tucked into the pockets of his sweatpants as he hummed.

"I got a letter back from the graduate program I applied to. I was waitlisted, so I think I'm going to withdraw and reapply next year. Gives me a chance to save some money, take out less loans." He grimaced, looking up at the darkened sky. You frowned, crossing your arms across your chest.

"I didn't get into mine, if it makes you feel better. I think I'm going to be taking a gap year, so much for being a therapist and letting my parents down yet again. Did I tell you that they told me I wouldn't even be a real doctor? Unbelievable." You sneered, and he shook his head.

"No, that doesn't make me feel better. You deserved to get in. I read your application essay, remember? You're brilliant. I could never imagine being on a board of admissions and not allowing someone with such a passion into my program." He scoffed, and you only snorted.

"Passion, huh? Shit load of good it does me." You shook your head, kicking a bit of gravel as you made it to the corner of your block. You sucked your teeth as Minghao's arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you into his side slightly. "You'll have to admit that you're a good person with goals and dreams like everyone else at some point, you know? You've got a big heart, and you want to help the world. It takes a passionate person, a dedicated person, to work in therapy. Do you know how hard it is to sit and listen to people's problems all day and not bring them home with you?" "Bartenders are the therapists of the food and beverage industry, aren't they?" You teased, snickering as he lightly smacked his fingers against your shoulder. "Sorry, sorry." "But you're right, in a way. I do commend you, though, an incredible amount. And your parents…they don't realize what kind of person their daughter is. You're bright. You're kind. You're beautiful in ways I can't even begin to describe, and that doesn't even begin to cover your looks. So let's just…not think about their opinions. You're independent and strong, and I'm always rooting for you." His voice was soothing as he traced circles into your skin, the moonlight illuminating your path as you walked in lockstep with him. You sighed, "So what happens now? We just work our butts off at the restaurant and save our pennies?" "What better to do? We can even set up a little fund to take the odd weekend trip, if you'd like. Roommates do that, right?" He sounded quizzical, and you glanced up to see him already looking at you. Those eyes…

"Well, friends do that, don't they? We're friends before we're roommates." You tried, and he let out a scuff of a laugh, nodding. "Yeah, sweetheart. Friends."

You didn't understand why it pained you to hear him confirm what you already knew, but the stupid pet name sprinkled in definitely made the pang in your chest deeper than you'd expected. His hand was on your shoulder, ringed fingers now dangling over the edge and your eyes glued to the ground. You kicked gravel and dirt as the two of you walked, your tennis shoes scuffed from weeks of moving and roughhousing with furniture.

You were almost in front of your apartment when Minghao made a noise of eureka, his fingers squeezing your shoulder lightly as he spoke.

"Oh, I forgot to mention this earlier, but Jeonghan is asking me to take a few doubles these coming weeks because Seungkwan is going on vacation. They know that we carpool, so I should be able to swing by and bring you to work anyway, but I figured I'd let you know I'll be out of the house for most of the morning."

You groaned, running your hand through your hair as you nodded.

"Yeah, Cheol talked to me about taking a bunch of morning shifts because Hansol is also going on vacation. I'm not bothered but…" You gave Minghao a wiggle of your brows, making him snort.

"You think they're going together? Romantic getaway…" He swayed you gently, and you snickered to yourself.

"Kiss, kiss, fall in love…sharing appetizers…" You chided as the two of you reached your door. Minghao unhooked his keys from your belt loop, unlocking the door as he shook his head.

"They do that eye-flirting thing, you know? Lots of shared looks, soft whispers and stuff. It's cute, they're a cute pair." He nodded, pushing the door open and allowing you in before he stepped in behind you. You hummed in response, beelining for the empty bags of movie snacks on the coffee table, crumpling them in your hands as you moved around. Minghao joined you, folding the blankets that had been thrown over Mingyu and Tzuyu's laps as well as your shoulders.

Neither of you spoke as you cleaned up the living room, the ending credits of the movie still playing as you stretched your arms over your head, holding the trash in your fists as you walked to the kitchen. You could hear Minghao continue to rustle around, the television turning off and the soft creak of the floorboards grabbing your attention as he skirted into the kitchen. "I'm going to be up early tomorrow, so I'm going to shower first. Is that okay with you?" He moved you away from the trash can, letting you lean on the counter as he took the lid off and grabbed the drawstrings of the bag. You nodded before realizing he couldn't see you and cleared your throat.

"Yeah, sure. That's fine; I have to fix up my bed and stuff in my bedroom. Take your time." You shrugged, watching the muscles in his arms flex as he pulled the trash bag out, tying the plastic drawstrings into a knot before fishing another one out of the box on top of the fridge.

"Are you settling in well? I haven't checked in about it. I know it's quite the drastic change to go from living alone to someone in your space all the time." He sounded sympathetic, but you only shrugged again.

"It's like freshman year of college again. Except this time, I actually like my roommate because you're not kicking me out at odd hours of the night to bang your boyfriend." You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. He nodded, biting back a smile when you elbowed him lightly, making him snort.

"I'd never do that. No need to worry about it, pretty." He placed the lid back on the trash can, lifting up the bag and skirting around you. "I'll be back in a second."

Said second turned into ten minutes. Ten full minutes where you rubbed your face in an attempt to bring back a touch of reality, something that would take the attention your mind loved to devote to pet names and affections from your roommate, your friend, your coworker, away.

They say your living space is a reflection of your state of mind. As you wormed your way through stacks of unpacked boxes, clothes strewn on the floor, old textbooks gathering dust in the corners of your room – you kind of agreed.. You grimaced, opting to kick everything out of the way and grabbing a box cutter off your desk and slicing through one of the boxes stacked by your closet. You reached to your desk, flicking the lamp on to see the contents of the heavily packed box.

It opened to photo albums and framed pictures, and you closed your eyes as your hands touched the familiar red leather of your family album. Photos gathered in the tens of you and your parents – at your favorite park in your hometown, at dozens of restaurants where you celebrated birthdays, your parents' anniversary…

A celebration of a perfect report card, time and time again before the 180 spin came, and your parents realized you were leaving your hometown for something bigger. A huge, fancy school in the middle of a metropolitan city, studying Psychology when your mother had pushed for Law or Accounting. Acting like you'd betrayed her trust – and as Mother says, Father does. He too, pushed you aside and acted like you'd scorned him.

Neither of your parents were lawyers or accountants. They were both high school mathematics teachers, your father in statistics and your mother in economics. Neither of them had a passion for law or accounting – and they both knew of your interest in the medical field, in psychology and the brain.

You found it odd that the success that follows the title of 'Doctor' was not enough for them. That, paired with the rejection letter from your Masters' program, you felt like there wasn't any lower you could get. "Penny for your thoughts?" Minghao's voice was soft, but it still made you jolt and drop the album. You held a hand to your chest, before shaking your head.

"Nah. I'm good. Sorry, uh, about the mess." You gestured to the room, and he only shook his head, his fingers brushing his hair out of his eyes as he looked around a bit. He leaned on your doorway, the hallway light only making your eyes trial his gentle frame.

"Your space, sweetheart. You do what you want with it. I'm going to shower now. Anything you need before I start turning in?"

You shook your head, tapping the leatherbound photo album before smiling pitifully.

"I'm good. Good night, Hao." You expected him to slink away, focusing your thoughts back on the album. You flipped through it, thumbing at photos of you in frilly dresses and Halloween costumes your mother would stitch by hand.

"You can talk to me. You know that, right?" Minghao's voice was right next to your ear, his breath tickling the back of your neck. His hand was wrapped around the edge of your desk to keep himself steady, and your face was a bit too close to his as you turned to face him. He was illuminated slightly by the yellow light of your desk lamp, his eyes scanning your features.

"I know. I just…I know." You pursed your lips, casting your eyes back to the album in your hands. "I'll let you know if I ever need to…I don't know. Let off steam, I guess." Your laugh was soft and pathetic, and he hummed, before you felt his hand tuck a stray curl behind your ear. You glanced up at him, only to see him looking at you fondly. "Let off steam, huh?" "Shut up." "As you wish. Good night." He grinned, pushing off your desk and making his way out of your bedroom.

You spent the next few hours listening to Minghao tinker around in the bathroom before the sounds move to his bedroom, your focus on unpacking the albums onto the bookcase tucked into the corner of your room. You picked clothing up off the floor, tossing the articles into the hamper and you forced yourself to organize your every thought when you heard it. You heard the soft sigh through the wall, and the groan from his throat as his back hit the mattress.

You screwed your eyes shut and grabbed your headphones from the nightstand, plugging them into your phone as quickly as you could before you could hear anything else. You took a deep breath, out through your mouth as the beginning notes of Runnin' by The Pharcyde filled your ears.

So much for good night.

TWO MONTHS AGO…

"I'm so fucking tired, I could keel over right now." Your forehead rested on the back of your hand, which held the ratty broom you used to beat Seungcheol out of a chair only moments earlier. Said man was now sulking behind the bar with Minghao, being comforted by the bartender with a fruity cocktail.

"Don't sulk, she's just doing her job." Minghao patted him on the back as the older man frowned, wrapping his pouty lips around the swirly straw stuck in the mango daiquiri. You glanced over your shoulder at Jeonghan, who was only shaking his head as he clicked away on the calculator with your tips surrounding him in neat piles.

"Honey, unless you want to sweep for Y/N–" Jeonghan started, flipping a pen through his fingers as Seungcheol shook his head, taking his drink off the bar and making his way across the restaurant. "Nope! I'll be in the office."

You snickered to yourself as you saw Jeonghan watch him walk away, eyes low and full of nothing but love. He rolled his eyes, drawing his attention back to the money on the table as Tzuyu slid into a barstool with her cheek in her hand. Minghao leaned over, waving his fingers in her face.

"Why so glum, Tzu?"

He stopped wiping the counter down to listen to her as you skirted your way over to Jeonghan, pulling the chair beside him out and slumping down into it. Jeonghan doesn't look up from the calculator, his fingers gingerly thumbing through the dollar bills when you make a noise of curiosity.

"Yes, Y/N? How can I help you?"

"How long have you and Mr. Choi been together?" You asked gently, watching Jeonghan bite back a smirk. He shakes his head, tilting it to the side before meeting your eyes.

"You don't have to call him Mr. Choi, Y/N. You can just call him Cheol."

"Fine. How long have you been with Cheol, Mr. Yoon?" You smiled cheekily, earning a scoff as Jeonghan flicked your forehead softly. "Jeonghan, answer the question!"

"We dated for three years before we got engaged. Then we were engaged for two years before we got married, and we got married two years ago. Seven years together and counting, unless you also involve how long he made me court him." Jeonghan's blush doesn't go unnoticed as he runs a hand through his hair, and you cooed.

"How did you guys meet?" Jeonghan snorts, tonguing his cheek before sighing and thumbing through another stack of bills.

"Any particular reason as to why you've got so many queries tonight, Y/N? You've been working here for almost a year and you've never cared before." His brow is quirked as you hear the heavy office door open across the restaurant, a flushed Seungcheol ducking into the kitchen with his empty cup. Jeonghan sends him a wink, making the older man shake his head in disbelief.

"I just think you guys are cute. You don't see many couples around here, the dating pool has gotten so icky." You scoffed, twirling the broom handle in your hand as Jeonghan hums in agreement.

"I've known Seungcheol since we were kids. We drifted after middle school because I wound up moving across the city, and we lost contact. We met up again here, in this restaurant, right before we were set to graduate college. Funny, really." Jeonghan smiled inwardly, watching as you leaned in slightly.

"You guys worked here together?"

"Yup. He was a bartender, I was a waiter." Jeonghan gave you a pointed look, before his eyes flickered to Minghao. The man was talking to frowning Tzuyu, his brows furrowed as he whispered what you assume to be his opinion on her dilemmas. "Cheol was actually really shy, believe it or not. He's not the big Rottweiler type, despite his physique. More like…a feisty barn cat." "So…you chased him? For how long?" You watched as Mingyu and Seungcheol walked out of the kitchen with their arms crossed, seemingly discussing something serious. Seungcheol's jaw was tight, and Mingyu's shoulders were full of stress as he draped his apron over one of them. Seungcheol glanced over at Jeonghan, a sympathetic look in his eye as he tilted his head in the direction of the office.

"For all three years that we worked here. And I continue to do it, he likes it." Jeonghan nodded, gathering your tips for you and snapping them together in a blue rubber band. He held them out to you, gathering his belongings in his other hand as you took it. "Of course, not every couple that gets together here, stays together. These walls have seen many of my fights with Cheol, and vice versa. There's no limit. Exhibit A." Jeonghan gestured to Tzuyu, who was angrily typing on her phone while Mingyu held back tears as he muttered back and forth with Seungcheol. Sighing, Jeonghan ruffled your hair before skirting away and meeting Seungcheol and Mingyu in the office. You stood, leaning your weight on the broom before feeling eyes on you.

Minghao was staring right at you, before his eyes flickered to Tzuyu. You grimaced, stuffing your tips in your back pocket before sliding up to the bar.

"So…what's got you so upset?"

"Mingyu." As it turns out, maybe the restaurant owner knew far more than he let on. Mingyu and Tzuyu had gotten into an argument while she helped him with dishes – about work. The two of them were stressed, knowing that they usually made rent with their hefty amount of hours at the restaurant – however, it left little time in the week for each other. Mingyu being the best cook of the three that worked at the restaurant made things even harder, seeing as he was constantly being called in if Seungcheol or Jeonghan weren't able to fill in.

It left Tzuyu feeling pushed aside, but Mingyu could argue the same. The last three hostesses that had been hired had to be let go due to their attendance inconsistencies, leaving Tzuyu to rush to work at the last minute. It created a small rift in their relationship, and Tzuyu finally gave the ultimatum: work or her. Mingyu hadn't replied.

No choice is a choice, a silent one.

And usually, the wrong one.

"I'm sorry." You murmured, smoothing her long hair with your hand as she slumped against the bar.

"Why? If anything, I feel like we should be able to work through this. We should be able to find time for each other even with our busy schedules. You and Minghao can do it, why can't we?" She groaned, resting her forehead against the cold bar. You sighed, running your fingers through her hair when the office door opened again – Mingyu was sitting at the desk and frustratedly wiping his face as Jeonghan called for Tzuyu softly.

"Go. We'll wait here." Minghao assured her, crossing his arms on the bar as you nodded in agreement. She took a deep breath, trekking the restaurant quickly and ducking into the office as Jeonghan shut the door.

"What does she mean, you and I can do it?" You questioned, reaching into your back pocket and separating the bundle of bills that would go into Minghao's wallet. He shrugged and smiled softly, wiggling his fingers as you held the wad of cash out to him.

"It means we work well together. Don't you think we make a good pair?" Minghao raised his eyebrows at you, making you roll your eyes as you continued to sweep aimlessly around the bar.

"I guess so. Hey, your birthday is coming up soon, right?" You crouched to get the swept trash onto the handheld dustpan, watching as Minghao shrugged again and turned to the cooler. He opened it, taking out your can of orange juice before speaking again.

"Hardly. It's barely September, my birthday isn't for another two months." He shook his head, and you scoffed as you made your way to the trash can. You dump the contents of the dustpan before glancing up at him with a suspicious look in your eye.

"Don't tell me you're one of those people that works on their birthdays, are you?" The way he tongues his cheek is enough of an answer for you, making you shake your head as you replace the broom and dustpan behind the bar. You skirt around him to the sink, washing your hands as you click your tongue. "That's not happening this year. We have to celebrate." "Like hell it's not. I make the most tips on my birthday, Y/N." He grabbed his jacket from the hook behind him, shrugging it over his shoulders as you dried your hands. "Plus, Jeonghan knows I won't take no for an answer when it comes to working on my birthday. I'll be here from five to closing."

You rolled your eyes again, before feeling his arm snake around your waist. It'd been almost a year of this – soft, casual touching, hushed praises, kisses to the forehead…

It was all so intimate. Nothing he did felt like friendship anymore, but you weren't complaining.

"Why do you care so much, anyway? You want to celebrate with me?" "Obviously, jackass. You're my best friend." You swatted him away, only to be pulled closer into his chest. You groaned, your hands splayed across his chest as he smiled down at you.

"What an upgrade, should I be honored?" You scoffed, pushing him a bit but he didn't budge. For a second, you think he glances at your lips.

And sometimes it is better to observe, and listen – than speak.

"Get away from me before I twist your nipple off." You spoke through gritted teeth, only making him get slightly closer to your face. His lips nearly brushed your nose, and you narrowed your eyes as you pushed his jacket out of the way. He jerked away, crossing his arms over his chest and feigning a shocked look as you grinned.

"I cannot believe you'd hurt me! Wow, some best friend you are!"

"Are you always this dramatic?" You teased, sticking your tongue out at him as you skirted back out from behind the bar. He turned his nose up at you, waving you off with his hand. Your eyes darted to the maroon gel manicure you'd given him earlier that day, and you bite back your grin before taking your can of orange juice off the bar.

"Let's go, yeah? I'm tired." You pouted, shaking the can gently before tilting your head towards the front door. He huffed, tightening his jacket around his body as he sauntered out from behind the bar – nearly tripping when the sound of the office door being slammed against the brick of the walls startled you.

Tzuyu stormed out, her red coat held in her hand as she ducked her head down. Presumably to hide a face full of tears, covered by the swing of her caramel hair.

You looked back at Minghao, his eyes worried as he watched her slip out the front door. Mingyu appeared as the door nearly shut, with Jeonghan and Seungcheol holding guilt in their eyes. "I'm sorry, Mingyu. If we had known–" "You couldn't have. It's fine. I'll figure it out." Mingyu looked defeated, and you elbowed Minghao lightly as he sidled up next to you. "Drive Tzuyu home." You muttered, tucking your orange juice in your shirt pocket as Minghao swung his keys.

"Divide and conquer, huh? I'll see you at home, pretty." Minghao ruffled your hair, before quickly pressing a light kiss to your hairline. "Be safe, okay?"

He was gone before you could say anything.

You sighed to yourself, seeing the three men in the office watching Minghao slink out without you. Jeonghan looked around Mingyu's frame, his brow raised as you winked, cracking open your orange juice and walking towards them.

"Gentlemen. It appears my chauffeur has taken his leave without letting me know." You shrugged, and Mingyu sighed as you held your hand out. The friendship between the two of you had grown exponentially during the last few months, and you found yourself gossiping with him in the kitchen if Minghao was busy or Tzuyu wasn't at her podium.

He handed his keys over without a word, Seungcheol's eyes full of guilt as he patted the younger man's shoulder. "We'll see you next week, Gyu." You didn't bother with goodbyes, the married couple giving you curt nods as they followed behind you. Minghao's car was no longer in the parking lot, and you beelined for Mingyu's without a second thought. Seungcheol locked the front door of the restaurant, and you felt Jeonghan's eyes on your back as you climbed into the lifted pickup truck.

Mingyu was silent as you fiddled with his radio, cranking the ignition before sucking in a breath. "You wanna–"

"How do you and Minghao do it?"

You blinked, absently turning out of the parking lot and pulling off into the main road. "How do we…do what?"

Mingyu was frustrated, tossing his baseball cap onto the dash with a huff. He slumped in the passenger seat, crossing his arms over his chest before peering up at you through teary eyes.

"Work together and go home together without bringing any of the work problems with you. It's like we're constantly being pushed and pulled. If I'm not being called in, she is. I'm not saying it's a bad business decision by Jeonghan or Seungcheol, but she gets tired, too. I know she's great at her job, but she won't be here forever. Her potential is far greater than just greeting people who don't even deserve to be graced with her presence."

You hummed, fiddling with the turn signal.

"I wish I could help, Mingyu! However, Minghao and I–"

"Oh, come on. You're going to tell me you're just friends? That you haven't, even for a moment in time, though what it would be like to be together? You're saying that neither of you have ever gotten just entirely too close and almost kissed?" You felt your face grow hot as Mingyu sat up in his seat, leaning slightly over the center console as you slowed to a halt at a red light. You made the mistake of glancing over, seeing an expectant gaze on your friend's face. He watched intently as you rubbed your face in frustration, running your hands through your hair as you scoffed.

"Okay, fine. Minghao and I…there is truly nothing there, I can promise you that." You began, clearing your throat as you stared out the windshield to the fiery red light. Mingyu tilted his head, sort of like a puppy, as you squeezed your eyes shut momentarily. "Sometimes, I think we could be more. I don't like him, and he doesn't like me…but he certainly goes above and beyond for our friendship. I can say that for all of his friendships, though, because Minghao is just that kind of guy, you know? Kind, observant, sweet." "It confuses you." "This is supposed to be a therapy session for you, not me." Mingyu snorted, shaking his head. "Okay, fine. How do you and Minghao not fight?" "Because we're not together. We're friends, and we're roommates. We don't have that expectation of having to spend time together, because sometimes just brushing past one another when we're at work is enough. Sometimes waking up in the middle of the night to pee but having to wait because he's in the restroom is enough. Sometimes walking to the laundromat together is enough." You shrugged, before sighing.

"When Hansol and Seungkwan were on vacation and we were pulling all those double shifts, he showed me that I could depend on him. He'd make breakfast before he left for work, and then come to pick me up for my shift. We did that for two weeks, and by the end of it, we were both exhausted. He never made me feel like I owed him anything, much less my time." You turned to face him, "You and Tzuyu have been together for three years. If you keep having the same fight, over the same thing. If the issue is that you don't spend enough time together, I think you should tackle that. Take a vacation, the restaurant won't burn down without you. Save your relationship." Mingyu sighed, running a hand through his hair before slumping once more. "I miss spending time with her. You know the last time we actually spent time together as a couple was when we went to pick up Minghao's couch? I don't think we've been able to even have a date night since."

You gaped, reaching over to smack his arm lightly. "Mingyu!" "I know, I know. God, and we were supposed to have a date night tomorrow, too, but Wonwoo is sick and Jihoon already asked for the night off." He rubbed his face in frustration, and the words slipped from your lips as you pulled into your apartment complex. "Call out. Minghao and I have the day off tomorrow, we can fill in." You blurted, and Mingyu scoffed. "Y/N, I couldn't ask you to do that." "You're not, I'm offering." You didn't let him continue to speak, instead turning his engine off and sliding out of his truck. Minghao and Tzuyu were sitting on your front steps, his jacket draped over her shoulders as she wiped her eyes. You felt the heat of Mingyu's body behind you, and Tzuyu didn't look up as you cleared your throat. Minghao glanced at you, his eyes heavy with expectation as you twitched your head in the direction of the apartment. "I lost my key."

You snorted, digging yours out of your pocket and shoving them into his hand. "Come in, we'll have a nightcap. Then you guys can go home and have a good night together, yeah?" Minghao seemed to understand as he opened the door and let the couple in. Tzuyu sat on the far end of your couch, and Mingyu didn't even bother sitting down – he beelined straight for your kitchen. You grabbed Minghao's arm lightly, pulling at his sleeve carefully and tilting your head towards his room. He nods, following behind you as you skirt into the pristine bedroom.

"I may have…fucked up." You start, making Minghao shake his head with a gentle smile. "Nah. I'm sure you said the same things I did. Spend time together, stop working so much, you and I are not together." He rolled his eyes as he tugged his jacket off, draping it over the back of his desk chair. His eyes scan your face, before his smile drops and his brows furrowed in concern. "What's wrong, honey?"

"I did…say all of that…" You grimaced, rubbing your neck sheepishly. "But I also…may have volunteered you and I to take their shifts tomorrow." "Y/N." He groaned, and you winced slightly, your hands coming to hold his. He allowed it, his eyes boring into yours as you tried to apologize.

"I know it was our only day off this week, Hao. I'm sorry, but I–" "You could've asked me first." He didn't sound mad, but disappointed. You felt like you were going to get scolded by your father. You shrank back a bit, and you could feel guilt spreading in your body as he sighed. You grimaced at the sting of tears filling your eyes, but bit them back.

"Are we doing rock-paper-scissors to see who takes what? Did you even call Jeonghan?" He moved his hands from yours, running one through his hair before crossing his arms. You shook your head in silence, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment before nodding. He held his hand out, yet another despondent sigh slipping from his lips. "Loser takes Mingyu's shift. Best out of three." "Minghao, I can just find someone else to do it. I'm sorry."

"Best. Out. Of. Three." You tongued your cheek, losing quickly to the tall man in front of you. Scissors, scissors, paper to his rock, rock, scissors.

"You're driving tomorrow." He muttered, rubbing his face with his hands before you nodded, looking anywhere but him and moving to slip out of his bedroom. He shook his head, standing in front of the door. "I'm not upset." "Okay." "Y/N." "What?"

His hands reach for your shoulders, and you kept your eyes casted elsewhere. His fingers are warm as they tilt your chin to look up at him, forcing you to try and blink back the tears when he rubs the pad of his thumb on your cheek. "I'm sorry for snapping. It wasn't my intention but I can tell I've hurt your feelings, and I never want to hurt your feelings." His voice was soft, and you felt your throat tighten slightly. You weren't too sure why you were even crying, maybe it was reminiscent of being scolded for trying to do the right thing.

"I'm sorry, honey." He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead before pulling you into his chest. He smells like pink pepper and the essence of pomegranates, mixed with a hint of the maple butter rum one of the regulars likes to knock back. It's oddly comforting. "Forgive me." "It's fine. I should've asked." "Yes, you should have. However, that's not the point here."

Minghao pulled back slightly, pointing his finger in your face. You huffed, but he raised his brows at you – as if to say, listen. Be quiet.

"You need to call Jeonghan and let him know. If we're going to work tomorrow, I need to spend time with you tonight." You must've looked taken aback, because he only smiled. He pinched your cheek lightly, before humming and opening his door. "Go on, call him. We'll be in the living room." Either you'd been too out of it to fully process, or Jeonghan had truly had you on the phone explaining all your qualifications to run a kitchen as a head chef. You didn't have many, just the few nights you flipped burgers at a diner back in high school – but it seemed enough to settle Jeonghan. He let you know there was going to be a trainee chef with you named Joshua, as well as the kitchen manager named Seokmin.

Jeonghan also let you know that Tzuyu's shift started earlier than Mingyu's, so someone would have to go get you. He volunteered Seungcheol, and you could hear the man begin to protest in the background but he hung up before anything could be truly said.

You ducked out of Minghao's room to see him folding blankets in the living room, soft music playing on the television as he glanced up. He smiled, and you noticed the two cups on the coffee table. One tainted with lipstick from Tzuyu, and what seemed to be one filled with water? Soju? Rum? Something.

"Tzuyu is driving. She had some of your juice, I hope that's alright." He nodded, and you waved it off. You turned to the television, No One Noticed by The Marías playing softly as he hummed along. "Did Jeonghan say it was okay? I was trained to be a host and a waiter before I was a bartender, but you just jumped into waitressing, right?" "I had a part-time gig in high school at a diner. I have some, but not a lot." You shrugged, and he made an o-shape with his lips as he smoothed the folded blanket over the back of the couch. You nodded, before checking your watch. "It's only fifteen to eleven, do you wanna sit with me? Decompress a bit before we go to bed?" "Your version of decompressing is watching Bob's Burgers and sipping a beer." "We can sip something else, if that's the case." He rolled his eyes, biting back a smile as he nodded. "I have to change."

You both ended up returning to your respective rooms, and you hastily wiped your makeup off. Pajama shorts, your favorite baggy t-shirt that boasted of Bigfoot's existence…not the first thing you would wear to hang out but it's Minghao. You stared at yourself in the vanity mirror on your dresser, but heard your roommate knock on your door before your mind could wander too far about where all he could kiss you, in said stupid Bigfoot shirt.

"Are you taking a shower first tonight? Or are we going to fight for it again?" Minghao asked gently, and you shrugged.

"Go for it. I go in later than you do tomorrow, Tzuyu's shift starts at four." You wiggled your brows, and he scoffed, turning on his heel and beelining for the living room. You snickered to yourself, scampering after him as he flopped onto the couch. He draped an arm over his eyes, letting out a groan as you leaned over the back of it. "Want a beer, Mr. I don't drink?" He lifted his arm slightly, his eyes peering out at you from beneath it. "You drink like a fish, you know that?" "Is that a no?" "...Fine, I'll have a beer. Just one!" You cheered sarcastically, scurrying into the kitchen and grabbing two from the fridge. You peered at the bottle of Soju, mocking you from the shelf.

"Did you get lost in the fridge?" You heard Minghao call from the living room, making you scoff as you grabbed the bottle of Soju and tucked it under your arm. The piercing cold of the glass bottle made you shiver as you walked back into the living room. He was now skipping through movie recommendations on Netflix, his eyes darting back and forth across the screen.

"I said we could sip something else, I never said we'd be changing our entertainment of the night." You scoffed, sliding the drinks onto the coffee table as he smirked lazily.

"You're right, honey." He flipped the remote in his hand, holding it out to you as you shook your head. You cracked open the beers, handing him one before perching on the edge of the couch in front of him. His stomach is warm against your lower back, and you try to ignore the way the blue light of the television makes his arms glow.

Your eyes trailed up to his face, watching the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips before bringing the beer bottle to them. He continued to flip through suggestions, before you snapped out of your daze to hear him reading the summary to Ali Wong's Always Be My Maybe.

"...Feel the old sparks of attraction but struggle to adapt to each other's worlds. Interesting." He set his beer back on the coffee table. You snorted, "This is two hours long, Hao."

"You have somewhere to be?" He scoffed, pressing Play. You shook your head, feeling his hand tug at the back of your shirt, signaling for you to lean back. You did, resting your elbow on the back of the couch before reaching for the bottle of soju. "Can I have a sip?" You nodded silently, watching the two children on the television grow up to the sound of Young Americans by David Bowie. You held the uncapped bottle over to him, feeling his hand take it as Marcus' father let the now-teenagers know that tragedy had struck the Kim family. You felt your heart sink as the scene changed to something more somber, hearing Minghao hum to himself and mumble slightly. "This is sad as hell, it just started." You couldn't help but snort, taking the bottle back from him and taking a sip. You glanced over to see his ears slightly perked at the sound of D'Angelo's How Does It Feel, before his eyes met yours. "I'll bet you ten bucks they're going to kiss." "It's not a bet when you already know what the outcome is going to be." You scoffed, making him laugh softly. "See? They're already struggling to get in the backseat, I would've been out ten bucks if I took you up on that." "Call it gas money." He lightly pinched your side, making you jerk away from him. You swatted his hand away, sliding the bottle onto the coffee table with a scowl.

"First of all, I tried to give you gas money a few weeks ago and you cussed me out."

"I did not cuss you out! I merely asked what in the most significant fuck you thought you were doing."

"Oh, what a colorful way–" "Shut up before I tickle you." You huffed, feeling his fingertips dig into your side. He smiled up at you, gently squeezing the softness of your skin before patting it. "The point is, I'd never ask you for gas money. Let's be realistic." You nodded, struggling not to roll your eyes as he fully stopped paying attention to the movie, his head rested on his palm as Sasha cried in the walk-in fridge. "What happened with Mingyu? Tzuyu was a mess." "It's just odd to me that everyone thinks we're a thing? Mingyu asked me how you and I didn't bring home our work problems–"

"And you told him that we don't have that expectation of having to spend time together because we're not together. We're just friends." Minghao interrupted, his eyes serious as he spoke. You cleared your throat, nodding. "I don't agree with that." "Oh? You don't?" You felt your brows high on your forehead as you looked down at him, feeling his hand pat your back before he used it to run his fingers through his hair. "And why not?" "Because I like spending time with you. Why do you think I was upset earlier when you told me you volunteered us for the shifts?" "You said you weren't upset." "Sometimes people lie." "Oh, so you're a liar?" You leaned slightly closer, and he smirks.

"While normally I'd apologize, I think I was right to do that. I was upset because now I don't get to spend the day with you tomorrow, and I lied because I didn't want you to cry. I don't like seeing you sad, it makes me sad." He shrugged, and you tongued your cheek.

"Romantic, aren't you?" You rolled your eyes, "My feelings are your feelings and your feelings are mine. All that jazz." "You don't have to brush off my affections as something romantic, you know. I can care about you openly and not have feelings for you in that way." "So you're saying you don't have romantic feelings for me?" "Never said that. I said I can." He lilted, reaching for his beer. You felt your cheeks grow hot as he sipped it, his eyes wide as he looked back over at you. "Woah, you would've thought I said I eat babies for a living. Are you okay?" "W-What did you and Tzuyu talk about?" You stuttered, making his brow quirk in confusion as he set his beer back down.

"She asked me if you and I ever fight about work. I said no, because the beginning of our…friendship has always been this way. Too close for other people's comfort, very…advanced, in a way. We don't have spats over things that don't really matter, because work…it doesn't affect our dynamic." "Why did you hesitate before 'friendship?'"

"What?" "Before you said friendship. You paused. Why?" Minghao's eyes narrowed slightly, before he shrugged. "I paused when I said it with Tzuyu, as well. I guess…I don't know. I think back to what happened in your apartment, I take into consideration the way we speak to each other and kind of dance around the flame that could be something. I'm not saying it ever has to become a fire, the flame. But, it's definitely there." You felt your stomach flip slightly as you cleared your throat, reaching for your beer. You brought it to your lips, but didn't manage to take a sip before you sighed, putting it back down and tilting to face him. "We never talk about that night. Did you tell Tzuyu about it?" "No. That's not her business." He answered quickly, his eyes glancing at the television. Sasha and Marcus were now laying in bed together, staring at the ceiling. "I didn't think you'd be very fond of me telling her, either. I figured that if you didn't mention it while I helped Mingyu take the couch, it wasn't something you'd want shared." You shifted slightly, tucking your foot under your leg as you looked at him. “Do you think that is something we should share?”

“It’s not about my reputation though, is it? I don’t care what people think of me.” He shrugged, running his fingers through his hair once more. “But I care about what people say when it comes to you. I don’t like hearing others speak ill of you.”

“Would people knowing we almost slept together cause them to speak about me in a negative light?” You questioned, your hands fumbling for the bottle of soju. You offered it to him, and he took a small sip as he hummed.

“Maybe. Considering the fact that we are now roommates, and you constantly deny that there is anything between us.”

“As if you don't do the same.” “I don’t.”

“What?” Your eyes went wide as he held the bottle back out to you. You took it, bringing it to your lips as he shrugged.

“The customers like you, they think you’re sweet. The customers like me, and a few of them have asked if we’re a thing. I usually deflect…but I don’t think it’d be the worst thing in the world.”

“What? Us?” “Is there an us?”

You glanced at the television, the actors staring fondly at each other. They inch in for a kiss...two…

“Y/N.” “Sorry.”

Minghao was looking at you intently, his eyes searching your face as he moved your hair off your shoulder. “We don’t have to keep talking about this. It’s getting late.”

“Did you like it? The…uh, in my apartment?” You blurted, but Minghao showed no sign of surprise. In fact, he seemed to welcome the question, his eyes soft as he nodded.

"The kiss? Of course I did. I'm just not…used to it, I guess. I'm not a casual kind of guy. I was nervous, actually." He nodded, his thumb toying with the ring on his forefinger. You nodded carefully, fiddling with the spout of the soju bottle as you cleared your throat. "Nervous?" "Obviously. At that point, we were just starting to solidify our friendship. You had just gotten done with Jaehyun only a few months prior, and you literally signed the lease for this place that day. I was scared if we kept going, things would change. I enjoy your company, I enjoy your friendship…" He trailed off, clearing his throat as he seemingly shook off a feeling of something. "I didn't want things to go further if nothing was going to come from it, but more importantly, if it made you uncomfortable." "I wasn't uncomfortable. I just wasn't ready. I didn't want you to be a rebound. You deserved more." "You don't think I know what I deserve?" "I would hope that you do, and that you know it's not me. At least, not at that point in time." You muttered, hearing him scoff as he took the bottle of soju from your hand. "Hey!" "Is for horses. Are you hearing yourself right now?" He straightened up, carefully sitting up and adjusting himself to sit next to you. He folded his legs, and you did the same to face him fully. Your knees brushed his sweatpants, and you leaned back on your hands, toying with the seam of your couch cushion. "Are you?" "Minghao–"

"It's not that serious." "Stop that! It is that serious, Y/N! You're so gentle and loving, and you are such a warm person to have around. The room practically lights up when you walk in, haven't you seen how excited the regulars at work get when they find out you're serving them? Haven't you seen how easily you make Seungcheol and Jeonghan laugh? Don't you understand how appreciated you are, even just within our friends and our coworkers? Are you that blind?"

He leaned forward, his hands settled on either side of your thighs as he spoke. "You have got to start recognizing that you're more than what you see. Other people don't matter, for the love of God, I promise they don't. You are so, so beautiful. I don't know how else to make you understand that."

"You don't need to make me understand anything. You're my friend." "What if I want more?" He murmured, and you felt your cheeks grow hot as you cleared your throat, your eyes darting around his face. His own were full of sincerity, dark with determination to understand you.

You couldn't help the way you leaned closer, your heart thundering in your ears as he tilted his head. "Do you?" He inched closer, so close you could feel his breath on your lips. "Are you drunk?"

"No." "Tipsy?" "No." He hummed, "We work tomorrow." "Minghao." "That's my name, pretty."

You scoffed, jutting your lip in a pout as he smiled. His hand was gentle as he brushed the hair away from your face, tucking a stray curl behind your ear. His thumb stopped at the lobe, tugging lightly at the diamond earrings he got you for graduation. "Nice earrings." "You would know, you got them for me." You mumbled, making him stifle a laugh as he nodded.

"I know. You always look so pretty when you wear them." He murmured back, and you scrunched your nose. "So you don't think I look pretty all the time?"

He smiled, his thumb lightly stroking your jaw as he moved away from you. "You said you'd shower first, I'll clean up here."

For whatever reason, you listened. You nodded in silence, your hand fumbling for the remote and turning the television off as he slid off the couch. He took the half-empty beer cans in his hands, offering holding the now-empty bottle of soju under his arm.

"Goodnight, Y/N. Rest well."

PRESENT – 3:15AM…

Minghao can't sleep.

His room is a mess, the door locked behind him as he shuffles through the piles of clothes on the floor. They say your room is a reflection of your state of mind, and it's true – he can't think, he can't sleep, hell…

He can't breathe without thinking of you.

The two of you worked that shift for Mingyu and Tzuyu two months ago, and it was the worst shift of his life. He spent the entire time thinking about you, about the conversation you'd had the night before. Hoping you'd give him that longing glance you'd nailed perfectly in the time he'd known you, hoping he'd get to kiss you breathless and hoping you'd yearn for him the way he did you.

Instead, he shook it off. He stood at the host stand, greeting customers softly and seating them. He did his closing duties without even seeing a glimpse of you, until you walked out of the kitchen with a grin on your lips as you bid the trainee chef, Joshua, a goodnight.

He remembers the way your smile became something softer as he opened the passenger side door, how you let him buckle your seatbelt in for you and thanked him gently. He remembers how you offered to let him shower first as he peeled out of the parking lot, and how he scoffed and said you should go first.

He remembers how you asked, again, what you would do for his birthday. He replied the same thing he had before – just you, and him. After his shift.

A shift he did not end up working, because you put in for him to have the day off and argued with Jeonghan until you were blue in the face. Minghao didn't know until the schedule was stapled onto the bulletin board the following week, his eyes almost instantly finding you across the kitchen. You had been eagerly talking to Seungcheol, making him laugh as you overanimated whatever story you'd told him.

He didn't say anything as the days went on, only quietly waited in his bedroom until you came in the morning of his birthday with breakfast on a TV tray. The two of you spent the entire day together and you initiated all contact – your arms wrapped around his waist from behind as he made lunch, resting your cheek on his bare back. You squeezed his sides, you cuddled him into the couch cushions as you watched Josee, the Tiger and the Fish. You made him dinner, you presented him with a few gifts and a new tea set he'd been eyeing for ages.

He wishes you would've kissed him.

His birthday had passed, you were nearing the end of November. This time last year, you'd asked him for a Guinness, with the most solemn look on your face.

This time last year, he drove you home for the first time and understood you'd be in his life, hopefully forever. He hadn't worked today, but dropped you off and picked you up – and you had a rough day. You talked about it – one of your regulars had a bad day and took it out on you, sending her food back three times and your tips had been nothing like what you usually made. You'd been snippy, and he prepped your shower for you, tossing a lavender steamer into it. You thanked him, and holed yourself away in your bedroom ten minutes to midnight.

He laid awake, thinking about you.

You'd long gone to bed, your soft breathing the only sound when he slid past your slightly opened door. You looked serene – your cheek squished against your pillow, soft lips gently puckered as you snuggled deeper into your sage green blanket. Your hair splayed all around, the moonlight seeping in through the drawn blinds and casting lines across your face.

He misses you, and you're no more than a ten-foot walk away. He wants to talk about his feelings, he wants to hold you close and he wants to stop losing his mind over how badly he wants you.

How badly he needs you.

He sighed as he looked around his room, the mess only digging into his very bones. He should've just spoken to you about his feelings all those weeks ago. He should've said yes, he did want more. He thinks about you romantically. He thinks about that night on your couch more times than he could count, tugging at his hair in frustration as he tries to bury the memories deep in the past.

He can't. He can't think about anything but you in that pretty white dress at his graduation party, talking to his parents with such ease. The relaxed state of your shoulders as you spoke to everyone with a gentle smile on your lips, the warmth in your laughter never leaving as you danced with him and Junhui.

The way your eyes filled with something else as his parents asked you if there was something more between you and him, and his chest feeling tight when you insisted it wasn't the case. The way he could see the subtle disappointment in your face when he did the same…

He wants to understand you. He wants you to understand him, to observe him, to see him.

See him as more than just a friend, and he knows you do.

Whether it was a crush, or limerence…he doesn't care. He wants one chance at living life with you – coming home from work to sleep in the same bed and hold you close all night. To come home from a grueling shift and stand under the burning hot shower with you, feeling his muscles lose their tension with the heat and your gentle touch. To come home and make you a nice cocktail and a filling dinner. To come home and study with you, eventually. To come home and see you asleep on the couch, and getting to carry you to bed.

To come home, to you. Over and over again.

"Fuck." He groans, slumping against his headboard and jolting at the cold of the wood against his shoulders. A sigh left his lips as he slid down slightly, tugging the duvet higher over his hips as he reached for his phone. He unlocked it, opening his gallery with a pout on his lips.

You, in your white dress at his graduation party. His mother took this photo – your hand had been on his chest, his high on your waist as you both smiled into the camera. Your lips had been reglossed, so pretty and glittery…

And your smile had been so bright, like the events earlier that day hadn't transpired. Like you hadn't pursed your lips together when calling your parents and getting sent straight to voicemail. Like you hadn't blinked back tears three times during lunch with him and Junhui, like he hadn't seen Junhui angrily calling your parents while you ducked into the ladies room after Minghao offered to foot the bill.

You had been truly at ease during that photo, much different than you had felt that entire day.

And he wants every single day to be like that for you – easy. Easy, with your independence but still letting him gently aid when he could see you needed it. Needed him. He wants to take you home and introduce you as his life partner, he wants to see you succeed in your dreams and have you by his side as he did the same.

He wants you to be happy.

"Minghao? Are you awake?" Your voice was heard before the soft raps of your fist against the door. He jumped, knocking his head on the wooden bedframe. His hand covers his mouth as he rubs the crown of his head, a hiss falling from his lips as he hears you mumble from the other side of the door. He locks his phone, tossing it onto the dresser as he slid out from under his duvet. He grabs a pair of sweatpants off the floor, grimacing to himself as he tugs them on before opening his door.

You look half awake, your hands clutching at the hem of your shirt. Your face is imprinted with the wrinkles from your pillowcase, often the way it looked when he would wake you up before work. The drawstring of your shorts was undone, but it had been tied when you went to bed. Maybe it got uncomfortable.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" You asked softly, and he shook his head. "Can't sleep. You okay? It's a mess in here, I'm sorry." He says sheepishly, rubbing his neck as you closed your eyes, shaking your head as you slipped past him. You settled on the edge of his bed, your eyelids heavy with sleep as you hummed. "You didn't make me feel bad about my mess. Something about it being my space, I remember. You said something about that when I said mine was messy. Don't worry about it." You sigh, peeling your eyes open to peer up at him. "I can't sleep." Minghao looked at the clock on his wall. 3:29AM.

"Would you like something warm? Or would you–" "Can you hold me?" You whispered it, almost too low for him to hear you.

Over the course of your friendship, skinskip had been nothing new to either of you. He often pressed chaste kisses to your hairline, his thumbs stroking your cheeks, his arms wrapped around your shoulders when you'd slump against him after the end of a shift in the parking lot.

You were looking at him patiently, and he cleared his throat, nodding as he motioned for you to move back. You did so, scooting under his duvet with a frown on your face. He closed his door, perching on the side of his bed as you rested your head on one of his pillows.

He glances over his shoulder, seeing you peering up at him quietly before you speak. "Hit your head when I knocked, didn't you? I heard the bump." "Yeah. Your fault if I get amnesia, you know." He snorts, lying down next to you. His heart is racing a mile a minute as you held the duvet up for him to slide under, but he did so anyway. He turned on his side, propping himself up on his elbow as you turned to face him.

"Don't forget me." You murmur, your lip jutted out in a pout as he feels his cheeks grow warm. As if he could ever.

"Hold me, Hao. I'm cold." "Should've worn pants, pretty." He teases, making you scoff. You are so close to him, he can feel your breath on his chest as he scoots slightly closer. His fingers rake through your hair, your cheek warm to the touch as he pinches it. You scowl, shooing his hand away as you press your face into his neck. Your lips are feathering over his skin, and he squeezes his eyes shut as he feels your arm settle around his waist.

You tilted your head back, his eyes peeling open to look down at you.

"Something wrong, honey?" He spoke under his breath, and you blink up at him. Your eyes flitted around his face, and he felt a bit of worry settle in his stomach. He cradles your jaw in his hand gently, "Talk to me." "If I wanted there to be an 'us'...would you be okay with that?"

Minghao feels the world stop.

Your eyes are glued to his face with the softest glint of apprehension, your body still under the duvet as his thumb traced circles into your cheek. "You're tired. We can talk in the morning." He assures you, for whatever reason hoping that you'd let it go. Hoping that you were just speaking through your teeth, not truly enticing him to a conversation about his feelings.

Feelings that could ruin everything, even when he's sure you feel the same. You have to, right? Eyes don't lie.

Your eyes stayed on his face, unmoving as he peered down into them. Your lip is stuck in a pout, your own hand moving to push his hair out of his face. He fought the urge to sink into your touch, your voice giving him something to focus on.

"Not tired, Hao." You murmur, and he feels a bubble of laughter get caught in his throat as you hold back a yawn. He pressed his lips to your hairline, hearing you hum inwardly. Your brow furrows as you seemingly glare up at him, looking nothing short of an angry kitten.

"You confuse me, you know that?"

"Mmh, do I? I'm sorry, honey." He smiles, watching you tuck your arms into your chest and snuggling into his. He wraps his arm around your shoulders, letting your head rest on his bicep as you frown.

"You kiss me like it means nothing, and I want it to mean something." Your mumble was clear, and he glanced down at you to see you already staring up at him. "You call me pet names, and you get me earrings. You tell me I'm beautiful in ways you can't describe. You cared enough to find this place we call home. You say you want to make my life easier, you said you'd give your left arm for it." Your fingers pat the arm under your head, and he felt his lip twitch as he bit back a nervous smile. "I did say that." "So answer my question. Make things easier for me, Minghao." He sighs, twirling a piece of your hair in his fingers. "Ask me again." "If I wanted there to be an 'us'...would you be okay with that?" Your voice is far softer, and he breathes in steadily as he nods. "I would be more than okay with that. I think you know that already, though, don't you?" He spoke gently, feeling you nod gently against his arm. "Everything I do for you means something to me. The earrings, the kisses, finding this place we call home. I appreciate that, the fact that it's we and not just me, not just you. When you think about it, there has always been an us." "I want to stop lying in my bed and thinking about how empty it is. I haven't been able to sleep through the night since we shared mine the night of our graduations." You utter, your breathing shaky as you look up at him. Your eyes are glazed with unshed tears as he coos, thumbing at your cheek. "I think about you every single night, Minghao. I think about you when I think about my parents, and how they don't speak to me unless I reach out first. I think about you when I get ready for work, I think about you while I'm waiting for you to give me those god awful Budweiser Select 55s that Mrs. Choi loves."

He felt a tear slide onto his skin, hearing you sniffle slightly before you kept talking.

"I think about you when I have a bad day. I think about you when I'm off work and you're not, and how I wish you were with me. I think about you when I feel alone, because you're the only person aside from Junhui that has ever made me feel seen and understood. I think about you when the essence of Jaehyun crosses my mind, because I know that you'd never make me overthink my place in your life, but now you've got me wondering where we stand. I think about you, Minghao, every single second of my day. It's all so vague, in my mind. Knowing that you're only a few feet away, but you feel so far. Like someone I could never deserve, but I know that you are also just a man. There's no way I couldn't."

He hums, his thumb wiping softly under your eye as you let them flutter shut.

"I think you're magnificent." He breathes, closing his eyes as he presses his forehead to yours. "I think you are the most thought-provoking person I've ever met. I know that…I know that you've only slowly allowed me into your life, quietly revealing parts of yourself and showing me that you trust me. From allowing me to meet Junhui, to letting me give you rides home, to living with me. You let me take care of you even though you are more stubborn than any mule in the countryside." He pulls back slightly, seeing your eyes closed and letting tears trickle out as you listen in silence. He feels his heart in his throat, "You've got the softest lips I've ever had the pleasure of kissing. You…the way you exist, knowing that there are certain odds against you and yet, you do it anyway. Your passion precedes any negativity anyone could ever cast upon you and I've never admired someone more to know that you are just a living, breathing, embodiment of passion and truth and hope."

Your eyes open slightly, bloodshot as his nose brushes yours lightly, his lips ghosting over yours as he speaks.

"You are a tumultuous flame and if I get burned, so be it. If I let the heat of your fire singe me to death, it wouldn't be a death in pain. I'd let it happen, over and over."

You nod, your sniffles are the only sound in the room for a moment.

"I will always be okay with there being an us. Even if you muddle my heart into the bottom of a glass and drink it."

You snort at this, an airy laugh escaping your lips as you reach to wipe your eyes. "Quite the image." "Ah, nah. Just a fool, a court jester for the lady." He rolls his eyes, making you scoff as you brush your lips to his.

"I thought you were going to kiss me that night. When I told you I picked up Mingyu and Tzuyu's shifts." You whisper, and he hums in response, feeling his heart thundering in his ears as your lips touch his briefly. "Would you have? Kissed me, I mean?" "If I had moved any closer to you, I probably would have. You have no idea how often I think about it." He confesses, before feeling you nod, your leg draping over his hip as you pull him closer. His hand instinctively finds home high on your thigh, before sliding up to rest on the small of your back. "Did you want to kiss me the night of my birthday?" "God, so badly." You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your forehead to his as you let out a sigh. "I felt like Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice after he helped Elizabeth into that carriage." "Quite the image." He mocks you, feeling his cheeks warm as your eyes meet his. "Would you let me kiss you now?" You don't respond, opting to press your lips to his gently. Your fingers gingerly cradled his cheek as he kissed you back, his eyes fluttering shut. His hand on your back clutches the fabric of your shirt, his chest warm at the shyness of your lips moving against his. He pulls back slightly, his eyes trailing across your face. "Are you sure you want to do this?" "More than I've ever been of anything in my entire life." You nodded against his arm, and he silently pushed you onto your back, his fingers barely breaching the hem of your shirt. Your skin is hot against his fingertips as he settles between your legs, his thumb rubbing circles into your hip as you blink up at him. "Are you?" "I don't want this to be the first time I say it, so can we sidebar this? Off the record?" He murmurs, and you raise a brow as you open your mouth to speak but he interrupts you "I love you, Y/N."

Your lips twitch slightly, your hands floating to cover your cheeks. You separate your fingers slightly, peeking up at him with a mumbled whisper.

"You promise?" "Oh, darling." He pulls your hands off your face, your eyes slightly glazed as he interlaces your fingers together and pins them to either side of your head. His lips pepper kisses across your face, paying special attention to the scrunch in your nose before he stops over your lips. Your eyes blink owlishly up at him as he speaks. "I promise."

Your smile spreads against his lips as he kisses you gently, before you kiss him back. You let him lead, one of his hands moving to hold your jaw as yours slides to his hip, squeezing gently.

"Sidebar?" "Yes?" "I love you, too."

TWO WEEKS LATER…

"Babe, I need a Guinness." You slid around the bar with a grin on your face, Minghao's cheek ruddy as he tongued his cheek. Kwon Soonyoung – a regular, one that often downed six or seven whiskey sours before calling his situationship for a late night hookup – eyed you as you crouched to slip a wad of bills into your lockbox. He watched the way Minghao's hand instinctively covered the edge of the bar as he poured with one hand, the way your hand lingered on Minghao's hip as Jeonghan made his way over with his clipboard in his hand.

"Minghao." "Mr. Yoon." You smirked, squeezing Minghao's hip gently before leaning over the bar as Jeonghan rolled his eyes. Minghao clicked his tongue, sliding the Guinness over to you before shooing you away. You stuck your tongue out at him, before zipping away.

"Do you think you could cover Seungkwan's prep shift tomorrow? I'll pay you for time and a half, and it's only three hours before closing." Jeonghan's eyes were pleading, and Minghao opened his mouth to speak before he caught you talking to a customer with a soft smile on your face.

He thinks about how you laid in his bedroom two weeks ago, snuggling with him and letting your lips take over your mind as you kissed him over and over. He thinks about how you admitted to reapplying to another graduate program across town, one that would severely impact your hours at work. He remembers saying he hopes you get in, to not worry about work. He remembers how he said he's got it, he can take care of everything, of you.

He remembers how you straddled him then, his hands sliding on your hips as you kissed him eagerly.

He remembers how you paced back and forth like a caged animal when you found out acceptance letters would be mailed soon. He remembers how you laid on the couch with your head hanging over the edge of the cushions, groaning in anticipation as he made lunch.

He remembers how you bolted for the mailbox after lunch, returning with a stack of mail but holding your letter between your teeth. He remembers how you anxiously ripped the envelope open, your hand fumbling for his when he pulled you into his chest and held the letter away. He remembers telling you to take a deep breath, kissing your forehead gently and sitting you down on the couch. He remembers how you threw your arms around him as you read your acceptance out loud.

"Minghao. Are you listening?" "Huh? Sorry." He winces, clearing his throat before shaking his head. "I can't, actually. I'm…" He trails off as you tap the tip of your pen to your notepad, before he makes out your lips telling the customers you'd be back for their food orders. Your eyes met his as you scampered back over, your hip nudging Jeonghan's as you slid in next to him.

"Minghao, I need you to focus." Jeonghan waved his hand in Minghao's face, "Can you work it or not? It's fine if you can't." "Work what?" You ask with a wiggle of your brows, reaching over the bar and stealing a maraschino cherry from the open jar. Minghao frowns, waving your hand away as you pull the fruit off the stem, winking his way.

"I'm asking him if he can work the prep shift tomorrow, but he's not answering." Jeonghan rolled his eyes, flipping the blue pen between his fingers as you hum, nodding your head. "He can't." You shrug, and Minghao opens his mouth but you beat him to it. "We have a date tomorrow night. Good luck finding a cover, though."

You tilt your head as you shrug again, this time, unapologetically. Facing Minghao again, you smile softly. "I need a cosmopolitan. Susie is back and she's getting divorced!" Minghao can't hear anything but you, and Jeonghan simply shakes his head and slips away. Soonyoung watches as you slide away again, hearing you tell Minghao you'll be back after getting the fountain drinks for Susie's table.

"I thought you didn't have a crush on the new girl, Xu." Soonyoung wiggles his brows, making Minghao scoff as he grabs a shaker off the drying rack. He flips it, scooping ice into it as he sighs.

"I don't have a crush on her. I'm in love with her."

He can't focus on anything but the way you zip around the restaurant, his eyes trained on the smiles you give out, the way you hand out crayons and kids menus. He watches the way you gleefully serve people, how you gladly grab phones and cameras for photos.

How you peer at him over your shoulder when you walk by.

How you smile shyly when his fingers brush yours when he hands you a drink.

How you sneakily kiss his shoulder when the restaurant is closed, your hands wrapped around his waist as he holds your can of orange juice in his hand. How you ignore Jeonghan's incessant teasing, how Tzuyu recites long-winded rants of how she told you so.

"Friend, roommate, coworker?" Minghao repeats as you tuck his portion of your tips into his back pocket, and Tzuyu grins as Minghao slides her to-go strawberry lemonade across the bar. "Boyfriend, fiancé, husband." She says cheekily, and Minghao looks over his shoulder to see you biting back a smile as you brush trash onto the dustpan. "I told her so. I told her you guys would be something more." "So did I." Jeonghan calls from across the restaurant, slotted behind the cashier's station as he thumbs through the register. Mingyu pokes his head out of the kitchen as he fumbles with the lights, a mumble of so did I from his lips as he finally turns them off.

"So much for muddling your heart at the bottom of a glass, huh?" You murmur, as the two of you leave the restaurant hand-in-hand. The two of you ignore the hooting and hollering of your coworkers as Minghao opens your door, leaning over your frame to buckle in your seatbelt. He glances at your lips, before pressing a chaste kiss to them with a smile. "All I know is that if you're meant to break my heart – so be it." "I love you." "I love you, too."

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xylatox · 5 days ago

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Enha fic recs!!!!

E N H Y P E N F I C R E C S

JANUARY 25nd, 2025 RECOMMENDATIONS ⤷ GO BACK TO THE MAIN ENHYPEN MASTER LIST WITH EVEN MORE RECOMMENDATIONS ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

a. angst f. fluff sug. suggestive s. smut h. horror c. crack ★. please dear publishers I want this on my bookshelf

₊˚⊹꒷ ALL OF THE MEMBERS / UNITS

★ !! SAFE & SOUND by @thatfeelinwhenyou Navigating one year post-apocalypse, when the dead began to walk and the living proved to be no better, you decide that trust is a luxury you can no longer afford. But after a run-in with a group of seven peculiar survivors, you learn that there are bigger problems than just the undead roaming the streets. You also start to wonder if there’s more to survival than simply staying alive. ᝰ dystopian, post-apocalyptic survival, horror/thriller, slow burn, ANGST , FUCK THIS IS SO GOOD. EVERY TIME A UPDATE COMES OUT I LITERALLY STOP EVERYTHING I AM DOING.ᐟ₊ ⊹

BLOODSTRUCK by @jjunieworld (deactivated) sugg. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗏𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗂𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝖻𝗂𝗍𝖾. ᝰ vampire au / vampire!enha / established relationship / suggestive / blood / biting / dry humping / kissing / skinship .ᐟ₊ ⊹

WHEN YOU ACCIDENTLY TEXT THEM "WANNA BANG" by @jayparked c. ᝰ best friend enhypen x gender neutral reader / text au .ᐟ₊ ⊹

WITH EASE by @hhmnya f. ᝰ in which hyung line helps you with your kid .ᐟ₊ ⊹

₊˚⊹꒷ LEE HEESEUNG ꒷⊹˚₊

ᝰ.ᐟ DO YOU THINK I AM FRAGILE by @just-nc-tea f, a, sugg. A car accident has turned your life upside down, leaving you with a knee and ankle that ache like they belong to someone three times your age. Navigating college with these setbacks is hard enough, but when your overprotective dad insists you take an internship with the men’s hockey team, you’re thrust back into the world you’ve spent years avoiding. The rink represents everything you’ve lost—and then there’s Heeseung, the captain whom you somehow cannot stop thinking about. ᝰ Hockey team captain! Heeseung x the coaches daughter / Ice hockey au / College sports aus / angst / hurt / comfort / slow burn / fluff, a lot of falling asleep in the same bed / some good old family drama .ᐟ₊ ⊹

SULKING WHEN HE HAS TO LEAVE FOR WORK by @jaysng f. pregnancy aches and morning sulks become part of your routine, but heeseung’s soothing touch and playful efforts to put you back to sleep remind you just how loved you are—even when work calls him away. ᝰ nonidol!heeseung!husband x fem!preg!reader .ᐟ₊ ⊹

I'LL BE HERE WHEN YOU'RE BACK by @honeyedfate f, sugg. ever since his room was revealed to the world on mbc world, heeseung has not known peace—whether it be from engenes or his very own girlfriend ᝰ idol!lee heeseung x gf!reader .ᐟ₊ ⊹

CROSS THE LINE by @heegyukeluv s, f. “How do you know if someone is flirting with you?” It was Heeseung’s question to you, and you were left with no option other than to show how you do it. ᝰ childhood best friends to lovers / fluff / kinda miscomunication? / smut .ᐟ₊ ⊹

SOMETHING OLD, SOMETHING NEW by @stllmnstr a. MC and Heeseung meet again at Jays wedding years after their break up and they have some unresolved feelings because they still love each other ᝰ angst / Exes to ?? .ᐟ₊ ⊹

₊˚⊹꒷ PARK JAY ꒷⊹˚₊

FAST FORWARD by @asahicore f. After yet another romantic disappointment in the form of one Jake Sim, you go to the well you’ve always believed to grant wishes and ask for your one and true love to appear. That night, you go to sleep in your bed but wake up in a strange house. When you head downstairs, you find a man washing the dishes and telling you your favorite meal is waiting on the table for you. You’ve spent hours glaring at the back of that head, you could recognize it anywhere—it belongs to none other than Park Jongseong, your high school sworn enemy... and future husband, or so it seems. ᝰ high school au / the type of e2l where they never really hated each other to begin with .ᐟ₊ ⊹

MUSIC TO MY EARS by @jayparked s. "Ride me." Jay huffs. It's a command, not a request. He moves back to the head of the bed, adjusting the pillows before leaning back against them. Lifting the covers away from his body, he removes his boxers slowly. looking into your eyes as he does so. ᝰ music producer jay / established relationship / thunder and lightning storms / cigarette smoking / early morning sex .ᐟ₊ ⊹

★ !! THE ART & SCIENCE OF PARENTING 101 by @jakesimfromstatefarm f, c. the art & science of parenting 101 (PSY1009)— in this interactive course, students will explore the psychological, social, and biological foundations of parenthood. through a mix of theory and hands-on practice, you'll master the art of raising a simulated baby—aka the 'robot child'. late-night feedings, tantrum taming, and crisis control are all part of the deal. what you didn't expect to be part of the deal? getting paired with jay park—the last person you'd trust to raise, well, anything. you’re pretty sure he couldn’t even take care of a pet rock. now, you’re stuck co-parenting this robot baby together for 40% of your final grade. ᝰ fluff / comedy / e2l!au / college!au /(fake)parenting!au / he fell first, she fell harder type beat/ Such a banger .ᐟ₊ ⊹

★!! SUN KEEPS RISING (LIKE IT TENDS TO DO) by @zreamy f, s, a. being the mum friend is rewarding, if not a little tricky—you would know. it wouldn't hurt to let someone look after you for once, would it? ᝰ summer au / strangers to lovers, / friends-in-law to lovers really / smut / fluff / angst / GUYS THEY WAY ZO PORTRAYS JAY? UGH. PERFECTION .ᐟ₊ ⊹

AS THE EARTH BURNS TO THE GROUND, LAY HERE WITH ME by @fleuryuns a. it takes an asteroid hurdling toward earth for you and jay to be pulled apart, and then brought back together—but it's worth it ᝰ wealthy (ex)bf!jay x scientist!femreader / end of the world au / exes to lovers / arguments / some platonic!jake thrown in there / ambiguous ending / elements from the movie don't look up / inaccurate portrayal of astrophysics and high school debate clubs .ᐟ₊ ⊹

₊˚⊹꒷ SIM JAKE ꒷⊹˚₊

OOPS, JUNO by @moonheecore f, s. Getting accidentally pregnant was the last thing you ever imagined. You were still in school, with so many plans for the future ahead of you. Yet, you felt certain that keeping the baby was the decision you wanted to make. What would your aloof mother think? and, perhaps most importantly, you wonder if Jake would feel the same way? ᝰ college AU / established relationship / baby daddy Jake / toxic mother trope / abortion mentioned / frat parties / body changes during pregnancy mentioned .ᐟ₊ ⊹

KISSES SHARED WITH JAKE by @elikajinnie f, sugg. jake watching you do your makeup and cant ressist kissing you

★!! THE TATTOO ON MY RING FINGER by @thatfeelinwhenyou His neglect wasn’t an accident—it was a choice, one you kept excusing as “busy” while swallowing your hurt and waiting for him to care enough to show up. The harsh truth? He simply didn't care enough to make the effort. Remember this, ladies: if he truly wanted to, he would. "Busy" is just another word for “asshole.” And “asshole” is another word for the man you’re married to. ᝰ marriage of convenience / slow burn romance / enemies to lovers (kinda) / second chance romance / angst .ᐟ₊ ⊹

THE LOVE RIDE by @whjluv SMAU. after your mutual breakup, your ex disappears from the public eye for almost a year, only to comeback with a deeply emotional album entirely about you, sending fans into a frenzy. they analyze every lyric and link it to your past relationship, causing your breakup to become once again the talk of the internet. upset and surprised that the so private Jake preferred to deal with his emotions publicly instead of talking it out with you, you drop a single in response, highlighting the parts of your breakup he left out. ᝰ smau with some writing / singer au / exes to lovers / second chance / miscommunication trope / angst / fluff / humor .ᐟ₊ ⊹

NO DOUBT by @jakesimfromstatefarm f, a. struggling to balance a world tour, endless responsibilities, and...well, the sting of getting dumped by his girlfriend, jake finds peace & comfort confiding in you—one of his closest friends. what begins as lighthearted late-night phone calls while he's away on tour deepens into something more, quickly pulling you both into uncharted emotional territory. as your connection with jake intensifies, so does your inner turmoil—torn between the comfort of your easy relationship with him and the terrifying possibility of falling for someone you're not even sure you can have in the first place. but jake? jake has absolutely no doubt of what he wants—and spoiler alert? it's you. ᝰ idol/jake x f!reader, [ft. childhoodbestfriend!jungwon / bestfriends!enha / friends to lovers!au / angstttt / fluff / crack .ᐟ₊ ⊹

ᝰ.ᐟ THE TRUTH UNTOLD & PT. 2 by @just-nc-tea f, a, sugg. Jake’s world takes a nosedive when he gets a wedding invitation from his high school ex—the same ex who cheated on him—with your ex. Desperate to avoid showing up alone Jake ropes you into a fake relationship, just for the evening. Originally. But if you’re going to sell the lie, you have to make it convincing. That means dates, inside jokes, learning the little details about each other that real couples would know. By the time the wedding arrives, neither of you are sure where the act ends and the truth begins. ᝰ Hockeyplayer! Jake / college sports / angst / hurt / comfort / slow burn/ fluff / suggestive / fake dating / he fell first and he fell harder.ᐟ₊

₊˚⊹꒷ PARK SUNGHOON ꒷⊹˚₊

★!! CAPTAIN'S LOG by @peachenle sugg. "If you’re trying to be subtle about checking me out, it’s really not working.” You were too drunk to care, and met his eyes, “Yeah, yeah you caught me. Life’s more fun without subtlety. ᝰ hockey college!au / fratboy!au / sexual themes .ᐟ₊ ⊹ Guys I am so in love with this story! Defintely check it out!!

★!! DOWN THE HATCH by @peachenle f, sugg. a collection of moments with sunghoon, shared over meals, snacks, and drinks. a riff off of timestamps. not in chronological order. a continuation/epilogue of captain’s log. ᝰ college!au / fratboy!au / fluff / established relationship / some suggestive content .ᐟ₊ ⊹

THE LIGHTHOUSE by @jjunieworld (deactivated) f, a, h, s. the land has always been something you desperately wished you could walk on. be like the humans and walk among them. one dark and stormy night, you are granted your wish—but, it comes with a deadly price. and you only have one month to decide if you’re willing to pay it. ᝰ strangers to lovers / kinda love at first sight /mermaid!reader / lighthouse keeper!sunghoon /fantasy / slow burn / slice of life / forced proximity / classic story of a mermaid washing up on shore with a twist / slight smidge of horror elements .ᐟ₊ ⊹

WE'LL ALWAYS HAVE THIS SUMMER by @asahicore f, s, a. Your mom ruins your summer plans by sending you to the equestrian center your grandmother owns in the south of France, wanting you to spend some time away from the city and take a break from your med studies. Although you’d been determined to spend the worst time ever there, you soon find out that maybe the cold but cute horse nerd next door who doesn’t want to talk to you might actually turn this summer into the best one of your life. ᝰ summer au / strangers to mutual dislike to friends to lovers ig / city girl x country boy type beat .ᐟ₊ ⊹

★!! SPF 23 by @zreamy f, s. for as long as you can remember, your summers have been much the same, largely spent in your hometown, relaxing by the local pool. when you get back home this summer, things seem like they'll go the same way, until you get to the pool that is — when did the lifeguard get so hot? ᝰ smut, fluff, people that kinda know each other to lovers, summer au, lifeguard au, sunghoon is buff and shy and ugh guys its SO good .ᐟ₊ ⊹

★!! THE DOLLMAKER by @jjunbug a,f,h. you were sunghoon’s muse, his flawless, perfect wife that he dresses in frilly dresses and makes sure you always looked like the idealized woman. that much was evident from all the dolls he made of you that sat proudly throughout your home. but, when sunghoon isn’t there, the dolls move and show you things that would otherwise be hidden in the shadows. one day, they show you something so frightening, something completely sinister that you force yourself to believe that it isn’t real. your beloved husband wouldn’t do something like that, would he? you weren’t so sure about your answer anymore. ᝰ established relationship / angsty & mature themes / smut / some fluff / husband & dollmaker!sunghoon / gothic vibes /supernatural elements / THIS WAS SO SCARY BUT SO GOOD OH MY GOD .ᐟ₊ ⊹

WHY by @hoonieyun a. breaking up with your boyfriend means losing a lover but what happens when your boyfriend was also your best friend, meaning you lost both and now have to face him for a popular youtube show ᝰ angst / heartbreak / exes reunited / exes to ..? .ᐟ₊ ⊹

₊˚⊹꒷ NISHIMURA RIKI ꒷⊹˚₊

RUINED MAKE OUT SESSIONS by @rose-petles sugg.

TEXTING BF!NI-KI by @jaeyunluvbot SMAU, c.

YOU'RE NO GOOD FOR ME, BUT BABY I WANT YOU by @purinfelix f. after growing tired of his constant teasing you made up your mind not to give Niki anymore of your attention, but you should've known that he wouldn't let you go that easily - and is willing to go to desperate measures to get you just to look at him ᝰ delinquent Niki x class president reader .ᐟ₊ ⊹

₊˚⊹꒷ AMAZING AUTHORS ꒷⊹˚₊

@zreamy @jjunbug @thatfeelinwhenyou @jakesimfromstatefarm

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xylatox · 5 days ago

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the truth untold pt.2!!!!!!!!!!😭 I've been waiting, I'm sosososo excited.

The entire gimbap scene has me giggling and screaming lmfao, I absolutely love it — “Oh, I’ll really sell it,” you continued, smirking. “You know I am good actress, baby.” You blinked up at him. — like one pet name is all it takes for Jake to give up, he's so downbad.

You stirred a little. When he looked down again, he found himself softening at the way your fingers had curled into the fabric of his hoodie. — she's so cute ahhhh😭 —He should also try to sleep, but all he could think about was how easy this felt. How natural the two of you fell into this rhythm of going on ‘platonic’ dates to get to know each other, how your friends thought you were a couple, how this didn’t feel fake for him. It somehow never did. And he was pretty sure you felt the same. — God, I love them so much :( Also the uncle already loving reader, tears in my eyes. —Jake barely resisted the urge to press a kiss to the top of your head.— im going to throw up Jake is so cute.

Loving the moment Jake has with his brother, it gives us more insight on their relationship, it's a shame that it's kind of strained because of the dad. Jake thinking about reader so much while at home, I'm gonna sob, this is so sweet:((

The only people who knew the truth about your so-called relationship with Jake were your parents. When you had first told your mom that Jake asked you to be his fake-date, she had simply laughed and told you to go with it. Why not? she had said.— we love the mom, she's so great lmao. I love how we went more in depth into reader's prior relationship with Marcus and even seeing some of her friends :((

“There you are,” he murmured, pressing a light kiss to your temple before turning his attention to the three women in front of you. “Hey, ladies. Sorry to interrupt,” he said smoothly, flashing them that signature grin, “but I had to steal my girlfriend back for a second.”— 😭 I died, Jake, the man you are. I LOVE how he defends reader too like:(((

The first interaction with the dad creeps me out lol, like Scar 2.0??? girl I'm so scared for what is about to happen. I do think Jake's mon is sweet though, she's a cutie, love that she talked back to the dad too.

And for some reason, the way he said it sent a different kind of warmth through you. One that had nothing to do with the summer air and scared you more than anything.— I am NOT prepared for the angst, absolutely frightened.

The moment they share after :(( the almost kiss, I'm screaming, crying and waiting for the angst to appear. The part where we get reader's thoughts and her fears and the way she knows how she feels for Jake :((

I will scream, Marcus' dad is pissing me off so much let the girl live what the hell and Jake standing up for her again :((( Uncle Jungjae is also a sweetheart :(

The dance scene rn omg (also the kitty plushie is so cute fr omg😭). —You both pulled back slightly, just enough to look at each other. Jake’s breathing was uneven, his pupils blown wide, his lips slightly parted as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. — what if I die, he's so in love with her.

Why does Sophia even approach her to speak to her alone????? like I'm so annoyed 😠😠....ah🧍the marriage being damage control makes me feel bad for Sophia a bit, but she still chested yknow.. thst is crazy though. Even with Marcus I'm so disgusted???? like how can you talk about reader like that??? it's so disrespectful, I too would be so mad like Jake cuz what the hell is that. Tobi we love you for preventing a fight, truly. — As they walk away, Marcus calls after them, his voice dripping with mockery. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Jake. She’s not the type you'd want to stick around to. Trust me, I know.”— oh I hate men, oh men are so infuriating.

The tension between them when they went to reader's house???? I'm dying, like Marcus is an ass we already established but the sex life convo made the tension so damn thick oh my god.

“No, you’re being dramatic,” you countered. “Dragging me to an ice rink when I can barely walk on solid ground."— me cuz my clumsy ass trips on air. The skating moment is so cute, even when reader ends up on the floor, the entire thing is endearing, even the scene with Jake and the kids is so cute.

Absolutely heartbroken that reader plans to immediately cut contact and I'm dreading seeing that happen. The fact that Jake asked about fried chicken and msged reader again at night oh my god I'm going to throw up, I feel so baddddd. Reader feeling guilty ans apologizing for not being there at the start of the game :( Patty you're gonna make me tear up

THE KISS???? AHHHHHH😭😭😭😭😭 the apology, I'm going to sob too.

I love the lecturer omg, the fact that he doesn't chastise her and knows she always does well???? in tears. The angst fully hitting noooooo😞😞😞

I'm going to cry, the moment between reader and Jay, between Jake and Joshua, like I'm not okay, I'm genuinely going 10 million stages of grief.

Drunk Jake and reader :(( I'm not okay, I love them so much.

Jake exhaled shakily, his lips pressing against the top of your head. "You should’ve let me fight for you," he murmured again, voice wrecked. — I AM NOT OKAY😞😭😔

The war is over (I wasn't going to make it, absolutely almost died), Jake's mom is such a cutiepie frfr.

God the end. It's over, my heart is I shambles, I loved every minute of it. Like, words cant describe how much I loved this. This was so amazing. Patty I'm so happy I finally got to read part 2😭

the truth untold pt. 2 ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

READ PART ONE HERE --⟢ PART 1

⭑.ᐟ Fake Dating - Sim Jaeyun Falling for Jake was never part of the plan. The wedding was supposed to be the end, but somewhere between your getting-to-know-each-other-to-seem-convincing-dates and the fake dating in front of your friends, this all stopped feeling like an act. But loving him means stepping into a world where you don’t belong, risking heartbreak at the hands of another rich boy . So you make the only choice you can. Even if it feels so wrong.

ᝰ genre. Hockeyplayer! Jake, college sports , a LOT of angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn, fluff, suggestive, fake dating, miscommunication.ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ warnings. Swearing, partying, consumption of weed, alcohol and nicotine, suggestive language & actions( I tried writing smut and I was unsuccessful) , shitty exes, strained family relations, mention of death, desciption of murder (Y/N is a anthropology student and works with dead bodies, but it's nothing detailed) , they are also kinda dumb and should just speak to each other PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I FORGOT ANYTHING .ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ word count. 35.k .ᐟ₊ ⊹

series masterlist ⭑.ᐟ ⤷ GET ADDED MY TAGLIST HERE ⁀➴༯ OR COMMENT 🏒 ᝰ an. part two is in here and the story is done!! Thank you for all the feedbak on pt. 1! This is my baby and I hope you all love it just as much and give it just as much love! In theory I think you could even read this as a stand alone if you’re not up to read pt.1?! ₊ ⊹

A few days later, you and Jake stood in Incheon Airport, weaving through the crowds toward your gate while sharing a roll of gimbap you bought from GS25 after security. Well, technically, he bought it. You were just stealing it.

Jake had known you would be hungry. You had spent the entire day in class, rushed straight to the subway to meet him at his dorm and barely had time to breathe before heading to the airport. He asked if you wanted anything before the flight, but you waved him off, saying you weren’t hungry. He didn’t believe you for a second. So he bought two rolls. Just in case. Now, as you strolled beside him, you had successfully stolen one piece, then another, then almost half of his first roll. He narrowed his eyes at you, holding the last piece protectively between his fingers.

“You said you weren’t hungry,” he accused, pulling the gimbap just out of your reach. “I’m not,” you replied, very much reaching for it. Jake scoffed. “Then what the hell have you been doing for the last five minutes?” You grinned, still making a grab for the food. “Making sure you don’t eat too much before the flight.” “Oh, how generous,” he said dryly, shoving the last piece into his mouth before you could steal it. He smirked when you let out an annoyed huff, chewing with satisfaction. “You’re lucky I bought two.” Your eyes lit up instantly, and you stretched your hand out expectantly.

Jake gave you a blank stare. “What?” “The other roll,” you said, wiggling your fingers. He snorted. “Oh, this one?” He pulled it from his bag, shaking it slightly in your direction before tucking it right back inside. “I thought you weren’t hungry?” “Jake,” you said, tone dropping into something serious. “Give me the gimbap.” “Or what?” he teased, holding the plastic container closer to his chest.

“Or I’ll make sure to tell Jay we did actually light the kitchen on fire.” Jake let out an actual laugh. “That’s the threat you’re going with? You think he’ll believe that?” “Oh, I’ll really sell it,” you continued, smirking. “You know I am good actress, baby.” You blinked up at him. Jake felt heat creep up his neck and immediately shoved the second roll into your hands. “Take it.” You grinned in victory, opening the package and popping a piece into your mouth. “See? I knew you’d come around.” Jake shook his head but didn’t argue. You were impossible. And yet, somehow, he didn’t mind.

Jake had expected to dread stepping onto the plane more than he actually did. The night before, he had talked to his dad. An exhausting conversation where he’d reassured him, yet again, that he was coming home for the wedding. That yes, you were still coming too. His dad had barely reacted, just humming in acknowledgment before launching into a lecture about who Jake needed to speak with at the reception. It has been three months since he blurted your name to his dad, three months since he roped you into this fake relationship just because he didn’t want to face his father alone. He still wasn’t sure if it was the worst decision he had ever made or the smartest. At least there were some things to look forward to. He was going to see his uncle and aunt again, catch up with a few old friends, and most importantly, spend the week with his dog and you, if you let him. He glanced down at you, nestled against his shoulder, your face relaxed in sleep.

For someone who spent their days surrounded by death, handling bones and studying the remnants of people who would never breathe again, you looked peaceful. Jake hated that your job required you to witness the absolute worst parts of life. Hated the fact that just days ago, he had held you while you cried over a boy who would never grow up. Hated that you wanted to carry all of it alone. Hated that you disliked telling him, or anyone, what's worrying you. No matter how often he told you that he would worry more if you don’t. He sighed, letting his head rest back against the seat, his fingers absently tracing the edge of the blanket draped over both of you.

After this week, it would all be over. The fake dating, the stolen moments, the way you fit so easily into his life. Three months of inside jokes, of late-night texts, of you showing up at his games. Three months of watching Bones together, of him getting too invested in a show he only started because he wanted to understand why you loved it so much. He hated that thought as well. Maybe you would be okay with just being friends again after this whole thing ended. He could live with that. He had to live with that. Losing you entirely wasn’t an option he wanted to consider. The idea of going back to the way things were before, before the jokes, before the late-night talks, before he knew what it felt like to have you pressed into his side felt impossible.

He could do friends. He was hoping you could too. But first, you had to survive this week. Jake knew his father wouldn’t make it easy. He already felt sorry for whatever was about to happen, for the things his dad would say. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t even be going. He would have skipped this wedding, avoided the whole damn thing. You stirred a little. When he looked down again, he found himself softening at the way your fingers had curled into the fabric of his hoodie. Jake carefully adjusted the blanket draped over you both. The cabin was cool, and the last thing he wanted was for you to wake up shivering. Finally satisfied, he shifted slightly in his seat, resting his head gently against yours.

For a moment, he just stayed there, listening to the quiet hum of the plane, feeling the steady rise and fall of your breathing. He should also try to sleep, but all he could think about was how easy this felt. How natural the two of you fell into this rhythm of going on ‘platonic’ dates to get to know each other, how your friends thought you were a couple, how this didn’t feel fake for him. It somehow never did. And he was pretty sure you felt the same. When the flight attendant stopped by your seats, her voice was soft, polite, trying not to disturb the peaceful quiet of the first-class cabin. God bless his uncle for upgrading the two of you, claiming that he just wanted to spoil his favourite nephew and his girlfriend. Jake and you ran into your uncle a few other times on campus where you impressed his uncle so much he actually told Jake to be careful to not lose you, since he really liked you. Which didn’t make him feel particularly better about his own situation but pride swelled up in his chest when he heard his uncle say that. "Would you like anything to drink?" Jake glanced down at you, still tucked against his side, warm and soft and barely awake. He nudged you lightly. "Hey, do you want anything?"

You made a small noise in response, barely lifting your head, eyes still heavy with sleep. "No," you mumbled, voice quiet and pouty, before burrowing yourself further into his chest. Jake froze for a second, his breath catching in his throat. His arms tightened around you instinctively. God, you were so cute when you were sleepy. He had only seen you like this maybe three times before but he wished he had seen it more. You were always so sharp, so quick-witted, always moving, always thinking. But here, now, with your face pressed against his chest, your breathing slow and even, you looked peaceful and relaxed His heart ached in a way he didn’t know how to describe.

He swallowed, blinking at the flight attendant, who was watching with a little smile, before clearing his throat. "Uh, just water, please." She nodded and walked off. You stirred slightly, shifting closer to him, your fingers absentmindedly curling into the fabric of his hoodie. Jake barely resisted the urge to press a kiss to the top of your head.

Jake stifled a yawn as you stepped off the plane and into the arrivals hall at Brisbane Airport. The fluorescent lights were way too bright for six in the morning, and he was running on maybe two hours of sleep. You, on the other hand, looked like you had been hit by sleep deprivation. You were barely functioning, groggy as hell, moving through the terminal like a half-conscious zombie, even though you slept through almost all ten hours of your flight. He didn’t know you were like this after waking up, it was honestly a bit fun and adorable at the same time. He had already taken charge of grabbing both your suitcases, slinging his duffle over his shoulder while maneuvering both of your roller bags through the crowd “C’mon, sleeping beauty,” he muttered, reaching for your hand. His fingers slipped between yours, warm and steady as he tugged you along. You made a noise in response, somewhere between a hum and a whine, but didn’t pull away.

Jake really should’ve just gotten a taxi. That was the first thought that crossed his mind when he spotted his brother standing near the exit, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, smiling at him. He didn’t expect Joshua to pick him up, he really didn’t want him to pick him up. His dad said he would arrange for someone to pick him up and Jake assumed it would be a chauffeur or something. Not Josh. Before he could dwell on that, you nudged him lightly, pointing toward a man standing a few feet away. “That’s my dad,” you murmured, voice still heavy with sleep. Jake barely had time to process the information before you turned to him, stepping a little closer, tilting your chin to press a kiss to his cheek. Your lips were soft and warm. And then, just as quickly, you pulled back. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips before you grabbed your suitcase and strode toward your father.

Jake stood there, his brain catching up about five seconds too late. Then, with a quiet sigh, he finally turned toward his brother. “Jake.” “Joshua.” “It’s good to see you,” Joshua said, smiling genuinely at him as he gestured toward the exit. “Figured I’d pick you up since we’re both staying at home for the next few days.” Jake just nodded, not quite able to match the same level of effort his brother was putting in. Joshua was trying. Jake knew that, he also knew that the resentment he felt for his big brother came from the wrong place. Joshua did nothing wrong for Jake to dislike him. It was their father who made it so obvious whom he deemed as the favourite child.

But that was the thing. Joshua had always been the golden son, their dad’s favorite, the one who could do no wrong. It was easy for him to try, easy for him to act like things weren’t as bad as they actually were. Meanwhile, Jake had spent years resenting the way things had played out. The way Joshua had always been held to a different standard, a better one. He nodded at his brother, forcing a tired smile. “Thank you.” Joshua cleared his throat as they walked toward his fathers car. “So… was that Y/N?” Jake sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah." Joshua hummed, nodding. “She is pretty. Dad mentioned she was coming with you.”

“She’s staying with her family,” Jake muttered, shifting his duffel bag onto his shoulder. “Right.” Joshua paused for a second before glancing over. “How long have you been together?” Jake hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Almost half a year now.” he answered, keeping his voice even. Joshua hummed again, like he was turning the answer over in his head, trying to figure something out. It made Jake’s skin itch. “So since before Christmas?”

Jake shot him a look. “Why do you sound so surprised?” Joshua shrugged, unlocking the car. “I don’t know, man. You never really brought anyone home after Sophia. But I am glad you found someone else that makes you happy. From what I’ve heard from Uncle Jungjaes stories she is a nice girl.” Jake didn’t have a response to that, mostly because it was true. You were a nice girl. He exhaled through his nose, throwing his bag into the trunk before sliding into the passenger seat. “She is a nice girl. She makes me happy.” Joshua didn’t say anything right away. The car rumbled to life, the early morning silence settling between them like a weighted blanket. It wasn’t tense, not really but it wasn’t comfortable either. And then, just as they pulled onto the road, Joshua spoke again, softer this time. “She seems good for you.” Jake hummed and stared out the window, watching the city blur past, his own thoughts a mess of contradictions.

Jake spent most of the day sleeping, the exhaustion from the flight finally catching up to him. When he woke up around midday, his stomach was grumbling. He dragged himself downstairs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he walked into the dining area. The massive oak table was set for one, his usual seat already prepared. A small Post-it was stuck just above the plate, his mom’s familiar handwriting scribbled across the paper. I made galbitang for you, just reheat it. – Love, Mom. Just the thought of his mom’s cooking had his stomach twisting in hunger. He let out a small sigh, grabbing the bowl and moving to the kitchen.

As he was reheating the soup, the sound of nails clicking against the hardwood made him glance down. Layla trotted into the room, ears perked, tail wagging wildly. Jake barely had time to react before she shoved her head against his leg, whining softly. “Hey, Layla.” He bent down, scratching behind her ears. She licked at his hand, practically vibrating with excitement. The moment he stepped into the house this morning, she had nearly tackled him, her whole body wiggling with joy. She hadn’t left his side since, curling up against him on his bed, pressing herself into his chest as if afraid he’d disappear. “You’re so clingy,” he muttered, but his voice was soft and full of adoration.

Layla huffed in response, flopping onto the floor next to his feet as he stirred his soup. He ate in silence, save for the occasional sound of Layla shifting beside him. The house was empty, just like it always was. His parents were out, probably busy with the company. That was fine with him. It was like it has always been. But the silence left too much room to think. His mind drifted as he ate, thoughts circling the same place they always seemed to end up these days.

You.

Jake groaned, dropping his spoon with a clatter. He was going crazy. He ran a hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair and decided he had to go for a run.

The moment Jake stepped outside with Layla, he exhaled, finally feeling like he could breathe again. He took the long route to the park, his grip occasionally tightening around Layla’s leash when she got too excited. She was just as happy to be outside as he was.

He found his usual bench, the one tucked beneath the big jacaranda tree, and sat down with a sigh. Layla plopped down beside him, resting her head on his knee, tail still wagging lazily. Jake scratched behind her ears absentmindedly. He should be dreading the rest of the day, thinking about dinner, about his father, about this whole damn week.

But instead, he thought about you.

Again.

About how much easier the flight had been because you were there. About how you had curled into him, barely even awake when you kissed him goodbye at the airport. About how much he wished you were sitting next to him right now.

He scoffed at himself, shaking his head. “I’m losing it, Layla.”

Layla huffed in response, like she agreed. Jake leaned back against the bench, staring up at the sky. It was funny. He spent so long dreading coming home, and now that he was here, the only thing he could think about was how soon he could see you again.

You were standing next to your father in front of the massive outdoor wedding location Sophia and Marcus had chosen for their obnoxiously expensive and over the top wedding, greeting and smiling at whoever greeted your parents while you waited for Jake to arrive. He texted you almost half an hour ago that his family was on their way, but there was still no sign of him. “You know. Even if you keep staring at the parking lot it won’t make him arrive faster.”, your father nudged your shoulder, when he caught you frowning. You huffed. “I know dad.” The only people who knew the truth about your so-called relationship with Jake were your parents. When you had first told your mom that Jake asked you to be his fake-date, she had simply laughed and told you to go with it. Why not? she had said.

Your parents weren’t particularly fond of Jake’s parents, and they had been genuinely surprised when you told them you were actually attending the wedding. Your father had asked more than once if you were joking. But when they realized Jake would be in a similar position and would be dealing with his father the whole time, they took it upon themselves to look out for him, offering him some level of refuge from whatever unpleasantness awaited. The thought of meeting his parents made your stomach twist uncomfortably. You and Jake had the whole hopelessly in love and annoyingly sweet couple act down, but still, based on what Jake had told you about his father, this whole thing was bound to be even more unpleasant than you it already was, considering this was your ex best friend and ex boyfriend's wedding. You cringed at the thought. In the ten minutes your parents and you had been waiting you had seen so many of Marcus’s friends you felt like kicking someone. You never truly liked any of them. They were spoiled, entitled, privileged assholes that believed they were untouchable thanks to daddys money. But you had gone along with it back then, hadn’t you? The endless parties, the expensive clubs, the after-hours gatherings in someone’s penthouse. You had been so desperate to fit in, to be the kind of girlfriend Marcus wanted. Even when you hated the music, even when you hated the people. Even when you hated yourself for pretending to enjoy it.

You started smoking back then. Not because you really wanted to, but because everyone else did. Because Marcus would pull you onto his lap at some rich kid’s house party, press a cigarette between your fingers, and smirk when you took a drag. And somehow that stuck. You had spent nearly two years with Marcus, yet you never truly belonged in his world. His friends tolerated you because you were his girlfriend but treated you like shit. The more you thought about it, the less sense your relationship with Marcus made. You couldn't even remember why you had fallen in love with him in the first place. A call of your name snapped you out of your thoughts and you noticed Jake's Uncle approaching you. He was walking hand in hand with a very elegant woman, grinning and waving at you.

You tilted your head in confusion for a second before offering him the same enthusiastic smile. You hadn't expected him to be here, but now that you thought about it, it made sense. He and Jake’s father were business partners after all. "Y/N!" he greeted warmly, pulling you into a hug the moment he reached you. "It’s so nice to see you. You look gorgeous." You flushed at the compliment, momentarily caught off guard. "Thank you, sir. It’s nice to see you as well." Jungjae chuckled, stepping back but keeping a hand on your shoulder as he turned to your parents. "I am Sim Jungjae. Jakes uncle.", he said smoothly, shaking your father’s hand. “This is my wife Angelica. I had the chance to meet your gorgeous daughter on campus a few times."

Your parents exchanged polite smiles, your father nodding. "It’s nice to meet you Jungjae. I am Woojin and this is Nayeon." Jungjae’s grin widened as he shook your father’s hand, his charm effortlessly filling the space. "Woojin, Nayeon, it’s a pleasure. Your daughter is an absolute delight. Jake is lucky to have her." You forced a smile, suppressing the urge to squirm under his words. If only he knew. Angelica, his wife, gave you a kind smile. "It’s nice to finally meet you as well, Y/N. My husband wouldn’t stop talking about how lovely you were after he met you."

Your mother beamed, clearly pleased, while you felt your stomach twist. You had definitely not told your parents about your occasional run-ins with Jake’s uncle, mostly because you hadn’t expected it to be relevant. Before you could say anything, your name was called again. “Y/N? No way, is that really you?” You turned, momentarily startled, only to find Julia, beaming at you. She was flanked by Lillian and Clara, all three of them looking just as polished and effortlessly elegant as you remembered. You, Sophia and the three girls were kind of close back in highschool until Sophia did the unthinkable and your group fell apart. Clara and Julia being on your side and Lillian claiming you had to forgive Sophia. You hesitated for only a moment before turning to your mother. “I’ll be right back.”

She gave you a knowing look but nodded. You walked over, but before you could say anything else, Julia pulled you into a quick hug, her perfume still the same as you remembered. When she pulled back, she gave you a once-over, eyes twinkling. “You look amazing.” “You do too,” you said, glancing at Lillian and Melanie, who both nodded in agreement. “I didn’t think we’d see you here.”, Lililan mused, tilting her head. You forced a polite smile. “Well, why wouldn’t I be?” Lillian let out a small, disbelieving laugh. “I mean, considering everything…” She trailed off.

Clara gave her a pointed look and rolled her eyes, but smiled at you. “I am glad you are here. We haven’t seen each other in years! How is Korea? I love watching you instagram stories, everything looks so amazing!” Your chest warmed at that. Things had been complicated after the whole mess with Marcus and Sophia, but you hadn’t exactly fallen out with all of your old friends—life had just pulled you in different directions. Julia nodded eagerly. “Same! We should’ve kept in touch better, but you kind of disappeared on us.” You smiled, a little sheepish. “Yeah… moving cities and everything kind of made it hard. But Korea is amazing. I love it. How is Europe? You went to Portugal, right?”

Clara nodded enthusiastically. “Omg I love it. The men there? Girl ugh. Also the food? Really. You should come visit me, I have a great apartment with an ocean view and a lot of space!” Ah yes. You forgot. It wasn’t just Sophia that was ridiculously rich, but her friends as well. You were able to go to their expensive private schools, since your parents boss, Sophia's father, was sponsoring one of their best employees' kids to attend the school every year. Before you could respond, an arm slid around your waist, a familiar warmth pressing against your back. Jake. His fingers brushed along your side, and when he leaned in, his voice was low. “There you are,” he murmured, pressing a light kiss to your temple before turning his attention to the three women in front of you. “Hey, ladies. Sorry to interrupt,” he said smoothly, flashing them that signature grin, “but I had to steal my girlfriend back for a second.” The three women blinked in unison. Clara was the first to react. “Wait… Jake Sim?” She looked between the two of you, eyes widening. “Holy shit, you two are together?”

Julia let out a delighted gasp. “Oh my God! Y/N, why didn’t you tell us?!” Jake chuckled, and you could feel the smug amusement radiating off of him. “Why does that sound so hard to believe?” She blinked rapidly, as if trying to process this new information. “It’s just... unexpected. I mean, you two never really ran in the same circles, right?” You shrugged, leaning slightly into Jake just to sell it further. “Things change.” A beat of silence passed before Lillian scoffed under her breath, just loud enough for you to hear. “Guess some things never do. Always finding a way to cling to people above your league.”

Oh how you just loved that girl. Before you could say something you would regret, Jake’s grip on you tightened slightly, his thumb pressing against your side in reassurance. He turned his head just enough to give Lillian a slow, unimpressed once-over. “Funny,” he mused, voice pleasant but dripping with something sharper underneath. “Last I checked, I’m the one clinging to her.” The comment landed exactly the way he intended: Melanie's lips parted slightly, clearly caught off guard, while Julia and Lillian exchanged quick glances and suppressed their amused smiles. Before Lillian could recover, Jake tugged you gently in the opposite direction. “Come on, baby, let’s go find our parents.” Clara shook her head with a laugh. “How did this even happen?” You chuckled, exchanging a look with Jake before answering. “It’s kind of a long story.” Julia nudged your arm playfully. “Well, I will demand details later.”

Jake’s fingers brushed against your waist. “You’ll have to get in line for that,” he teased. “My parents are waiting on us.” Clara sighed dramatically. “Ugh, fine, fine. But we are catching up later.” You smiled, nodding. “Of course.” Julia gave you a knowing look. “And you better spill everything.” With that, Jake gently guided you away, his fingers lacing through yours. You let him lead you away, his hand never leaving your waist, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude. You glanced at him, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Nice save.” He smirked. “I aim to please.”

Jakes family was standing a few meters away from your parents. A truly uncomfortable feeling was spreading in your stomach, when you accidentally made eye contact with his father. His facial expression was neutral, almost bored before he realized who you were. His eyes narrowed a bit, but he started smiling. In a way you could only describe in a mean disney villain way. Thinking about it, Mufasa and Scar would fit pretty well. Jungjae was standing next to him beaming at you and opened his mouth but was interrupted by Scar 2.0. “Jake. I see you found Y/N.” Jake tensed up next to you. “Yeah. I did.” Mr. Sim’s smile didn’t waver as he took a slow step forward, his sharp gaze flickering between you and Jake. "Well," he said, voice smooth but edged with something unreadable, "you certainly took your time." Jake’s grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly. "Didn’t realize I was on a schedule," he replied evenly.

He then cleared his throat. “Mom. Dad. Josh. This is Y/N. My girlfriend.” You didn’t know if you were supposed to bow or shake his fathers hands. Jake addressed him in Korean and so you opted to bow as low as your dress let you and continued in Korean as well. “Hello Mr. Sim, Mrs. Sim, Josh. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” And with that you held out your hand to shake it. His father took your outstretched and gripped it so tightly you clenched your teeth to not stop smiling. "Y/N," his father said, his voice clipped, as if testing the air, "What a surprise to actually see you here.” His tone was so clipped that it felt like an accusation rather than a greeting. Jake's hand gripped your waist a bit tighter. You did your best to mask your discomfort, smiling politely in return. "Oh, well...I sure wanted to congratulate the happy couple.”

Instead of replying directly, Mr. Sim simply nodded, his eyes still scanning you. You couldn’t help but feel like a specimen under the microscope. “Right,” he finally said, his lips curling ever so slightly as if amused by his own thoughts. He didn’t release your hand immediately, and when he did, it was almost as if he was dismissing you altogether. The look in his eyes sent a wave of unease through you, but you didn’t have the time to dwell on it before his attention shifted to Jake. “She’s polite,” he said at last, his tone neutral. “At least there’s that.” Jake didn’t seem phased by his dad’s cold reception, but you could tell by the tightness in his jaw that it bothered him more than he was letting on. His father had a way of controlling the room without even trying, and Jake had been on the receiving end of that for as long as he could think.

Jake’s mother interrupted your tail of thoughts and before you could react, she took your hands gently in hers, her touch light but firm. "It’s nice to finally meet you," she said with a warm and welcoming voice. "Jake’s told us a lot about you." "Oh, has he?" you asked, raising a brow and glancing up at Jake, who only smiled slightly. “I did interrogate him a little bit, after he told his father about you.” Jake made an embarrassed sound next to you. “Mom, please!” She just laughed at his demise. “I’ll look forward to get to know you Y/N.”

You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Mom, leave the poor girl alone.”, Jake’s brother laughed and slightly nudged his mother. “Y/N. I am Josuha and this is my wife Mina. It’s nice to meet you.”, he held up his hand and you grasped it, shaking it slightly. “Nice to meet you Joshua.”, you smiled at him and moved on to Mina, “Mina.”

Mina was a gorgeous woman. She and Joshua made a stunning couple, confidence radiating off them. It was a bit intimidating to be honest. Mr. Sim hummed, clearly unimpressed by the whole situation. His gaze flickered over you again before he exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly. "I suppose we’ll see if she can handle being part of this family," he said, his gaze lingering on you for a moment too long. You felt your stomach drop, heat creeping up your neck, not the warmth from Jake’s lingering touch, but the mortifying burn of being picked apart in front of his entire family. You shouldn't care about what his family thought of you, this was faker and you would probably never see them again, but still. This whole situation was stressing you out more than you thought it would. Jake stiffened beside you, his body language shifting from tense to outright rigid. His grip on your waist tightened, like he was physically restraining himself from snapping back. Before he could, however, his mom turned sharply toward her husband, eyes flashing with irritation. "Seungho," she said, her voice firm but calm. "Enough."

Mr. Sim’s jaw twitched, but he said nothing more, his expression unreadable as he looked away. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep a neutral expression even as the mortification clawed at your chest. Hana, seeming to sense your discomfort, turned back to you with a softer smile, squeezing your hands reassuringly. "Don’t mind him, dear," she said smoothly. "He has a habit of speaking before thinking." Jake let out a humorless chuckle. "That’s one way to put it." Joshua cleared his throat, clearly eager to change the subject. "So, should we go inside?” The whole group slowly moved towards the entrance and you waved to your mother signaling her that you were going in. She shot you a questioning look, but you just smiled and nodded your head, signaling her that you were okay. Jakes mother was walking next to you and smiled warmly at you. "Well," she said, "I, for one, think you’re lovely. And I am really looking to spend some time with you." You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. "Thank you, Mrs. Sim," you said, your voice quieter than before. She turned to Jake, arching a delicate brow. "She’s much prettier than the last one, sweetheart." Jake coughed, his ears going red. "Mom—"

Joshua and Jungjae chuckled, and even Mina had to press her lips together to stifle a laugh. You, on the other hand, were fighting very hard to keep a straight face.

“I think she’s lovely,” Jake's uncle said firmly, offering you another warm smile before turning to Jake. “You chose well.” Jake exhaled slowly, his body relaxing beside you. He glanced down at you, his gaze softer than before. “I know.” And for some reason, the way he said it sent a different kind of warmth through you. One that had nothing to do with the summer air and scared you more than anything.

Inside the procession area Jake saw a few of his old hockey team mates so did the undoable and excused the two of you from his family.

“Dude what the fuck.”, you hissed at Jake when you were out of earshot from his dad, still spotting a sweet smile. “How can someone as rude as your father have such a nice brother and create such a nice kid. I swear that man cannot be your creator.”

Jake chuckled next to you and planted his warm hand against the naked skin of your back, guiding you toward where his friends were waiting. “I swear I don't know either. But I am glad you think I am not such an ass as him.”

You huffed and shook your head, pulling Jake into a rather abrupt halt. “Jake.”, you said, your voice as stable as it could be with him being so close that you could smell his perfume, “You are nothing like your dad. You’re warm and nice and kind. You actually care for people and their feelings. You don’t see relationships as transactions.” Jake's eyes searched your face while you continued. “You’re intelligent and funny. You wanted to adopt a penguin because you thought it would have a cold ass, Jake. I don’t think an asshat like your dad would ever think about anyone else but himself. You’re so passionate about things you love and you love passionately. Even if that passion is ramyun and if I have to ever eat Shin Ramyun again I will vomit.”

You exhaled slowly, reaching forward to flatten over his collar. “I’m just saying that you’re nothing like him. You’re not cold and calculating. You actually give a shit about people. They matter to you. And that’s more than I can say about your dad.”

Jake stood still for a moment, his thumb brushing over the bare skin of your back, his expression softening. His gaze dropped to your lips, and for a split second, you thought he might kiss you.

A small part of you wanted him to kiss you again.

You gave your heart this week.

One week to be soft and vulnerable around Jake.

One week to, like he said, feel all those feelings people feel when they are in love.

But instead of kissing you, he exhaled slowly, his eyes flickering back up to meet yours, and a small smile tugged at his lips.

He cleared his throat softly, breaking the moment and pulling his hand from your back. "I..." he began, his voice quieter than usual, softer, almost uncertain. "Thank you, Y/N. You don’t know how much that means to me.I really don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m glad I have you here. I’m glad you’re here with me."

A warmth settled in your chest at his words.

You gave him a teasing nudge, "Well, someone has to save you from your dad."

Jake laughed, but the humor didn’t quite mask the edge of gratitude in his voice. “Just don’t leave me alone with my dad for too long, okay?"

You laughed, nodding. "I’ll make sure of that."

His fingers brushed up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes, and you felt it everywhere.

You knew it was for show. You knew that. You talked about how you had to step up your acting game while you were here, so you knew he was going to touch you more than usual.

But that knowledge didn’t stop the panic from curling in your chest.

Because this was exactly how it had started with Marcus.

The stolen glances, the gentle touches, the way he made you feel like you were the most important person in the world, the way he was the most important person in your world. It had been so easy to fall back then, to believe that it was real, that you were special. That he loved you.

And then it all came crashing down.

You had let yourself believe in a fantasy, and it had left you miserable.

You didn’t want to do that again. Ever.

You exhaled shakily, pushing those thoughts away. Jake isn’t Marcus. He never was. He never will be.

But as Jake looked at you again, something unbearably soft in his expression, you couldn’t help but feel scared.

Of what you were feeling.

Of what you were faking.

Of what would come in the end.

You continued your way over to Jake’s friends, who looked up in unison as you approached. “Jake!” one of the boys stood up and pulled Jake into a bear hug. “Dude, what the fuck? It’s so good to see you! Damn, bro, you got buff as hell.” Jake really did look amazing in his suit. You have seen him in suits plenty of times after and before games but this one was different. The dark blue three-piece suit tailored perfectly to his broad shoulders, the crisp white shirt emphasizing the sharp cut of his jaw, the way the color complimented your dress so effortlessly. He was effortlessly handsome, devastatingly put together, and somehow still had that easy, boyish charm that made you weak in the knees against your will.

Jake laughed, a deep, genuine sound that made you smile, and playfully boxed his friend’s shoulder. “Shut up, Tobi,” he said, though his grin betrayed how much he enjoyed the reunion. He turned to you, his arm sliding around your waist as he pulled you gently against his side. “This is Y/N, my girlfriend. Y/N, this is Tobi, my old captain. Tobi, Y/N.” Tobi’s eyes widened as he looked you up and down, then let out a low whistle. “Damn, Jake,” he said, his tone equal parts impressed and teasing. “You really pulled this gorgeous woman?” Before you could respond, Tobi took your hand in a dramatic gesture, bowing deeply and pressing an exaggerated kiss to the back of it. You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling up as Jake groaned beside you. “Y/N,” Tobi said, straightening up but still holding your hand, “did you know that in 10th grade, Jake–” “Tobi, don’t–” Jake tried to cut him off, lunging forward to clamp a hand over his friend’s mouth, but Tobi dodged, laughing as he continued.

“–Jake tried to do a backflip off the bleachers during gym class and completely ate it in front of the entire school? Like, full-on faceplant. It was legendary.” You burst into laughter, clutching Jake’s arm for support as Tobi mimed the fall, complete with sound effects. Jake groaned again, his ears turning pink, but he was smiling. “I hate you,” he muttered, though there was no real malice in it. The group erupted into laughter again, and Jake pulled you closer, his chest shaking with silent laughter. “Alright, alright,” he said, steering you toward the entrance of the row where Tobi and two other guys were sitting. The buzz-cut friend sitting next to Tobi, whose name you learned was Ryan, suddenly snapped his fingers. “Wait, Y/N… you went to our school, right? You were in the year below us?” You nodded, and Ryan’s eyes widened. “No way. You’re Marcus’s Y/N? Like, the Y/N?”

It went silent for a moment, and you could feel Jake tense beside you. “Yeah,” you said, your tone light but firm. “That’s me.” “Damn. Didn’t they cheat on both of you?”, he asked and leaned back in his seat. Tobi’s jaw dropped. “Wait, what? You were together with that ass? And they invited both of you? That’s so fucked up.” “You tell me.”, you rolled your eyes. “I mean I am here to congratulate them on their downfall. I give them 3 years tops.” Ryan shook his head, grinning. “Man, I know Marcus is nasty, but nasty enough to invite both exes?” Before you could answer, the sound of a microphone clicking on echoed through the venue, and the officiant’s voice rang out. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you could all take your seats, the ceremony is about to begin.” The group quieted down, though Tobi was still shaking his head in disbelief. As the ceremony started, you leaned into Jake, your voice low so only he could hear. “You okay?” He glanced at you, his expression softening. “Yeah,” he said, his hand finding yours. “I’m good. What about you. You squeezed his hand, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’m also good.”

The reception was in full swing, but you were bored out of your mind. Your parents were deep in conversation with some of your fathers colleagues. Technically the topics they were talking about were indeed interesting, after all you were also in the medical field but you really weren’t in the mood to participate in any kind of conversation. When the official part of the wedding finally ended and the crowd slowly moved onto the dancefloor or towards the bar your eyes immediately found Jake’s table. He was on the groom's side of the hall while you were on the bride's side, since your parents were more or less still close acquaintances and colleagues to Sophie's parents.

Jake was talking to his uncle who was sitting next to him, looking as bored as you felt. As if he felt you staring, his head shot up and your eyes met. He perked up slightly and he gave you a smile. His uncle waved his hand, gesturing to you to come over.

That was all the encouragement you needed. You excused yourself from your parents with a quick, “I’ll be right back,” and made your way over to Jake’s table.

But as you reached the table, your stomach dropped. Sitting directly across from Jake was Marcus’s dad, and next to him was Jake’s dad. Both men turned to look at you as you approached, their expressions unreadable but distinctly unwelcoming.

“Y/N,” Jake’s dad said, his voice cool and measured. “What a surprise. I didn’t realize you’d be joining us.”

You forced a polite smile, sliding into the empty seat next to Jake, where his brother was sitting before. “I thought I’d keep Jake company,” you said, your tone light but firm.

Jake shot you a grateful look and grabbed your hand.

Marcus’s dad leaned forward, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you. “So, Y/N,” he began, his tone dripping with faux curiosity, “we haven’t seen each other in a while. How are your studies going? Still pursuing that… what was it again? Forensic anthropology?”

You nodded, keeping your expression neutral. “Yes, that’s right. I’m in my second year now.”

“Hmm,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Interesting choice. Not exactly the most… lucrative field, is it? I always thought you had so much potential. Shame to see it wasted on something so… niche.”

You clenched your fist under the table but kept your voice steady. Marcus' father was never really a fan of you. Apparently you had a really appalling charm to rich old men. “It’s not about the money for me. I find the work meaningful.”

Jake’s dad chimed in, his tone equally condescending. “Meaningful, yes, but surely you’ve considered the practicalities. It’s a gruesome line of work, isn’t it? Handling… remains and such.”

You could feel Jake tense beside you, but you didn’t look at him. Instead, you met Jake’s dad’s gaze head-on. “It’s not for everyone,” you said evenly. “But I believe in giving a voice to those who can’t speak for themselves. It’s important work.”

Marcus’s dad smirked, clearly unimpressed. “Noble, I suppose. But tell me, do you really see yourself doing that long-term? It’s not exactly a career that lends itself to stability.”

Before you could respond, he added, almost as an afterthought, “Though I suppose it’s a good thing you’re not with Marcus anymore. He needs someone who can match his ambition. Someone who understands the value of a real career.”

The words hit like a slap, and you felt your cheeks burn. Jake’s hand tightened around yours under the table. You forced a tight smile and said, “Well, I’m glad Marcus found someone who meets your standards.”

The table fell silent for a moment, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Marcus’s dad raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your response, while Jake’s dad gave you a look that could only be described as disapproving.

“Well,” Marcus’s dad said after a moment, “I suppose time will tell if this little… experiment of yours pays off.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Jake beat you to it. “Y/N’s one of the smartest people I know,” he said, his voice firm. “She’s going to be amazing at whatever she chooses to do. And for the record, Marcus is the one who missed out.”

The table fell silent again. Marcus’s dad looked momentarily taken aback, but he quickly recovered, his smirk returning. “We’ll see,” he said, his tone dismissive.

Jake’s dad cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. “Well,” he said, “I’m sure Y/N will… figure things out in due time.”

You forced another smile, though it took every ounce of self-control not to roll your eyes. “Thank you,” you said, your tone clipped. “I’m sure I will.”

Jake’s grip on your hand tightened even further, his thumb running soothing circles against your palm. His jaw was clenched, and you could practically feel the effort it took for him to keep from snapping back.

Marcus’s father hummed in amusement, sipping his wine before tilting his head towards Jake. “And you, Jake? Still chasing that little hockey dream of yours?” His voice was laced with mockery.

Jake’s smile was polite, but you could see the flicker of irritation in his eyes. “It’s going well, actually.”

Marcus’s father let out an unimpressed hum, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Hockey,” he mused, as if it were some fleeting hobby rather than something Jake had poured his heart and soul into. “It’s a shame, really. You have all the resources at your disposal, and you choose this?”

Jake’s father exhaled through his nose, setting his glass down with a faint clink. “I agree,” he said, eyes sharp as they settled on his son. “You can’t keep pretending this is a long-term career. At some point, you need to accept reality. The company isn’t going to wait forever, Jake.”

Jake barely reacted. At least, outwardly. But you felt it in the way his fingers twitched against your palm, the slight clench of his jaw, the way his shoulders tensed.

Jake’s voice was quiet but firm. “I never said I was going to take over.”

His father’s expression didn’t change, but something in the air around him did. It was an almost imperceptible shift, a flicker of disapproval so cold it made your skin prickle. How, in which universe was Jake closely related to this man?

Marcus’s father let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Honestly, Minjae, I don’t know how you put up with this. He has everything right in front of him, yet he’s throwing it away for what? A sport that won’t last past his thirties?”

You had never wanted to punch an old man before, but there was a first time for everything. Actually that was a lie you wanted to punch this man 2 years ago when you were with Marcus as well.

Jake exhaled slowly, his grip on you loosening slightly. His father barely looked at him, already sipping his whiskey again, as if the conversation had bored him.

Jungjae, who had been quietly observing the conversation, finally cleared his throat. His voice was calm.

“Gentlemen,” he said with a practiced smile. “Let’s not turn this into a lecture.”

Jake’s father raised an eyebrow, but Jungjae continued before he could interrupt.

“I understand the concerns,” he said, his gaze sweeping across both men. “Jake’s future is important, of course. But I also think it’s worth acknowledging that success isn’t a singular path.” His eyes flickered to you briefly, then back to Jake. “And, more importantly, we should trust that Jake is capable of making the right decisions for himself.”

It was a diplomatic way of telling them to back off, and you wanted to hug him for it. You made a mental note to thank him later.

Marcus’s father let out a soft scoff but didn’t argue, while Jake’s father merely exhaled sharply through his nose.

Jungjae turned to you and Jake, his expression softening. “Why don’t we step away for a bit?” he suggested. “I think we could all use a breather. And maybe a drink.”

Jake hesitated for a second before nodding. “Yeah,” he muttered. “That’d be great.”

Without another word, you stood, relieved to escape the suffocating presence of the two men behind you. As you walked away, Jake exhaled slowly beside you, his hand slipping down to intertwine with yours properly, fingers lacing together.

He leaned in slightly, his voice just for you. “I think I need, like, five shots. Even without Katy.”

You let out a breathy laugh, squeezing his hand. “I’ll match you.”

The bar was quieter than the rest of the reception hall, tucked away near the edge of the venue where the music wasn’t as overpowering. The soft hum of conversations and the faint clinking of glasses filled the space as you slid onto one of the stools, Jake settling beside you while his uncle flagged down the bartender. Jungjae let out a long sigh, shaking his head as he leaned against the counter. “I apologize for my brother,” he said, tone gentle but laced with frustration. “He can be… difficult.” Jake scoffed under his breath. “That’s one way to put it.” His uncle shot him a knowing look but didn’t press further. Instead, he turned toward the bartender and ordered a round of shots. “Three, please. Something strong.” You exhaled, your body finally relaxing now that you were away from the oppressive presence of Jake’s father and Marcus’s dad. “You don’t have to apologize for him,” you murmured, your fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns against the smooth bar top. “But thank you.”

Jungjae offered you a small, appreciative smile. “I do, though,” he said. “He forgets that respect is earned, not demanded.” Jake let out a breath of laughter, shaking his head. “Try telling him that.” The bartender set down three shot glasses in front of you, each filled with clear liquid. Jungjae lifted his with a small grin. “To keeping our sanity intact.” You and Jake clinked your glasses against his before downing the shot in one go. The burn was immediate, spreading warmth through your chest, and you let out a small hiss, shaking your head. “Damn,” you muttered, blinking rapidly.

Jake chuckled beside you, setting his glass down. Jungjae downed his shot smoothly, barely flinching as he set the glass down with a quiet clink. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I swear,” he muttered in Korean, rubbing his temples, “your father drives me crazy sometimes, Jaeyun.” You let out a breathy laugh, warmth still lingering from the alcohol. “Then why do you still put up with him?" Jungjae huffed a laugh. “Someone has to make sure he doesn’t scare away every decent person around him.” He gave Jake a pointed look. “And someone has to look out for this one.” Jake rolled his eyes but smiled, shaking his head. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh, but I do,” Jungjae replied smoothly, placing a firm hand on Jake’s shoulder before shifting his gaze to you. “Especially now that you’re in the picture.” Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist in an unfamiliar way. Before you could respond, the DJ’s voice rang through the speakers. “All couples, please join us on the dance floor for a special slow dance.” You stiffened slightly, instinctively glancing toward Jake. He was already looking at you, his brows slightly raised in question.

Jungjae, however, grinned and clapped his hands. “Perfect timing.” Jake turned to his uncle. “What?” Jungjae jerked his chin toward the dance floor. “You two should go.” Jake scoffed. “We’re not leaving you to drink alone.” His uncle waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, please. I’m a grown man. I can handle myself.” Then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, he leaned in slightly and added, “Besides, who am I to hinder you from dancing with your beautiful girlfriend.” Your breath caught. Jake blinked at his uncle before sighing, shaking his head with a small smile. You bit your lip, eyes flickering to Jake’s. He sighed but smiled, holding out his hand. “Shall we?”

The opening notes of Lover filled the reception hall. Around you, couples swayed in each other’s arms, lost in their own little worlds, and for a brief second, you hesitated.

But then Jake’s hands found your waist, gentle and sure, pulling you in just enough that your bodies aligned. His warmth seeped into you instantly, and before you could even process it, your arms had wound around his shoulders, fingertips brushing against the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

A quiet sigh left him as he swayed you in time with the music, his grip steady, reassuring.

You swallowed hard and let yourself sink into the moment, tilting your head slightly to glance up at him. The golden lighting of the reception cast soft shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw, the slope of his nose. His lips were parted just slightly, his breathing even, and then-

Then he rested his forehead against yours.

It was such a simple action. The world around you blurred, and all you could focus on was the warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours, the way his breath fanned against your cheek.

Your stomach flipped.

You sucked in a breath, blinking away the sudden rush of warmth blooming in your chest.

God, if this was fake, then why did it feel so incredibly real?

Trying to distract yourself from the way your pulse was betraying you, you let out a soft chuckle and murmured, “Kotone wants this to be her first dance song at her wedding. ”

Jake’s brows lifted slightly, his eyes blinking open as he leaned back just enough to look at you. “Really?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

You nodded and hummed.

His lips curled into a smile, something undeniably fond flickering across his face.

The warmth in his gaze did something dangerous to your heart.

A second passed. Then another.

You could feel his heartbeat where your chests were touching. Or maybe that was just yours going haywire on its own.

You were hoping he closed the small distance between you. Hoping that he would press his lips against yours.

But he didn’t.

Instead he cleared his throat slightly and pulled away. His face was still close enough to yours, that you could feel the heat radiating from it. “You look gorgeous today, Y/N. Marcus is surely biting his ass right now.”

Jake’s fingers traced slow, featherlight circles against the bare skin of your lower back, the heat of his touch burning through you. Every movement was deliberate, teasing, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. Which he probably did. Stupid idiot.

You tilted your head, lips curling into something playful.

“Oh, I know he is,” you teased, letting your fingers trail lazily over the back of Jake’s neck, knowing that he really liked it when you played with his hair. “Not that he’d ever admit it. But I saw the way he looked at me during dinner. He was so mad it was almost funny.”

His fingers pressed just a little firmer against your skin as he pulled you even closer, the warmth of his palm spreading across your back. “Yeah? What about Sophia?”

You smirked, ignoring how his touch was burning on your skin. “She looked like she swallowed a lemon.”

Jake laughed at that. “I almost fell bad,” he mused, then paused before grinning. “Actually, no, I don’t.”

You laughed softly. “Neither do I.”

His gaze softened as he looked at you. “I wasn’t lying, you know.”

You blinked up at him. “About what?”

His hand slid a fraction higher, his thumb grazing over your spine, sending a shiver down it. “You look absolutely stunning tonight, Y/N.”

Your breath caught in your throat for a second before you regained control. “You’re not so bad yourself, Sim.” Your voice was teasing, but there was something sincere beneath it.

Jake scoffed, his grin widening. “Not so bad? I’m wearing a damn three-piece suit.”

You hummed in agreement, letting your fingers drag lightly over his shoulder. “And looking very expensive while doing so.”

Jake smirked. “Would you believe me if I said I picked it out myself?”

You raised a brow. “No.”

He let out another laugh, shaking his head. “Fair enough.” Then, his voice lowered just slightly, gaze locked onto yours. “I wanted to match you.”

Your heart did something stupid in your chest, skipping a beat before speeding up. You swallowed. “You did?”

Jake nodded, his fingers tightening slightly on your waist. “Of course. Can’t have my girlfriend looking better than me, can I?”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile didn’t waver. “Oh, so that’s what this is? A competition?”

Jake leaned in just a little again, his breath warm against your lips. “If it is, you’re winning,” he murmured.

Your stomach flipped, your fingers curling slightly against his shoulder.

Your eyes flickered from his eyes to his lips and back to his eyes.

You needed to say something.

“Well,” you managed, clearing your throat, “we definitely made an impression tonight.”

Jake chuckled, his grip not loosening. “My mom is obsessed with you. She and uncle Jungjae were raving about how great they think you are.”

You laughed at that, shaking your head. “She hasn’t even had one proper conversation with me.”

“Oh but uncle Jungjae had plenty.” Jake groaned. “I think he’s already planning our wedding.”

You let out a loud laugh, burying your face briefly against his shoulder. “Oh my god. Really?”

Jake sighed dramatically. “I swear he looked at me like I’d personally blessed the family bloodline or something.”

You grinned, tilting your head. “Well, I mean we would make pretty kids. You know, maybe Mr. Fluffington the third needs a sibling? I was thinking about the Kitty plushie we saw in butter last week?” (pls its so cute look at the link)

Jake laughed and shook his head slightly. “You think we are ready for a second one? Isn’t Mr. Fluffington the Third enough for you? We haven't even told our parents yet.”

You just shrugged and kept on smiling. “If you are up to it. I want a girl though.”

Jake’s eyes flickered to something behind you.

His smirk didn’t falter, but something in his eyes shifted. His fingers, still warm against the bare skin of your back, tightened ever so slightly.

“My dad’s watching.”, he murmured.

Your breath caught in your throat. Without thinking, your hand smoothed over the fabric of his suit. “Oh?”

Jake hummed, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Yeah. Probably trying to decide if you’re worthy of the Sim family name.”

You scoffed, tilting your head. “Oh, please. He can go fuck himself and the Sim family name. You’re taking on mine.”

Jake let out a soft chuckle. “Your last name is Sim as well.”

You pretended to consider. “Right. Let’s ask Heeseung to marry both of us first so we can be Lees.”

He shook his head and laughed. “You are an idiot.”

“Lies. That's a totally valid and good idea.”, you patted his chest.

His fingers absentmindedly played with the fabric of your dress. “I think this is a person that requires us to step our game up.”

“What do you mean?”, you tilted your head slightly.

Before you could even process it, his lips were on yours.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t hesitant either. It was deliberate, slow, like he had all the time in the world to make sure you felt every second of it. He tasted like tequila.

His hand trailed down your spine, fingers grazing over every inch of exposed skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Your breath hitched, your hands tightening around the lapels of his suit jacket.

You should stop.

For your own sake. You should stop.

And yet, you weren’t pulling away.

But then, the song ended.

And reality came crashing back.

You both pulled back slightly, just enough to look at each other. Jake’s breathing was uneven, his pupils blown wide, his lips slightly parted as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

You weren’t doing much better. Your heart was pounding against your ribs, your skin burning where he had touched you.

What now?

Before either of you could figure it out, a voice cut through the haze.

“Y/N!”

You turned just in time to see Sophia weaving through the crowd, her expression unreadable but her gaze locked onto you with determination.

“Can I talk to you?” she asked, barely sparing Jake a glance. “Alone.”

You blinked at her and then at Jake, still breathless, still reeling from whatever the hell just happened. Jake's shoulder tenses under your hands and you could feel his disapproval.

His hand remained on your waist. “Do you want to go with her?” You hesitated and looked at him, at his lips and back to his eyes, that were full of worry and something you couldn’t fully decipher. You nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be right back. Don’t worry.” With one last glance at him, at the way his jaw was clenched, at the way he still looked like he wasn’t sure if he should let you go, you turned to Sophia.

You followed Sophia out of the ballroom. Your heart was still beating way too fast.

The air outside was cooler, the music fading into a dull hum as you both stepped into a quieter hallway.

Sophia wrung her hands together, her expression torn between guilt and nerves. You had no idea what she wanted to say and why it had to be outside, but you figured you might as well get it over with.

You cleared your throat. “So… congratulations, I guess?”

Sophia let out a short, breathy laugh, but it sounded more like a sigh. “Thanks,” she murmured before shaking her head. “God, this is so weird.”

You didn’t disagree. It was weird. A few years ago you thought you would be the one marrying Marcus and Sophia would have been your maid of honor. But now she was standing there in a white dress, finger adorned with a ring that was supposed to signal her undying love for someone you once loved.

Before you could think of anything to say, she blurted, “I’m so sorry.”

You blinked, taken aback. “Uh–”

“I didn’t want to invite you,” she rushed on, eyes wide, hands gesturing wildly. “I swear I didn’t. Our families said it was only proper because of how close our parents are, and we invited all the other kids of their colleagues and it just–it wasn’t up to me, Y/N.”

You nodded slowly, not sure what to do with that information.

Sophia exhaled shakily. “I know I don’t deserve to say this, but I really am sorry. For everything. For hurting you, for ruining our friendship. I hated what I did to you, and I hate myself for it.” Her voice cracked slightly. “You were my best friend.”

A lump formed in your throat. This situation was eerily similar to the one two years ago, when she tried to apologize for sleeping with your boyfriend. When she tried to tell you she didn’t mean to and she was drunk and out of her mind.

You swallowed. “Yeah, well… you made your choice.”

“I did,” she whispered, looking down. “And it was the worst one I ever made.”

For a moment, you just stared at her. You had spent so much time resenting her, being angry, feeling betrayed. She deserved your anger and resentment but you were over it. You had come to terms with their decision and you were not too hung up on it anymore. You closed that chapter.

“I’m glad you’re with Jake,” she said after a beat, lifting her gaze again. “He’s a good guy. You look really happy together. Happier than you did when you were with us.”

You hesitated. Your instinct was to scoff, to remind her that she had no right to comment on your relationship. But for a split second, you felt bad for her.

“He makes me really happy.”, you say softly.

You were still staring at her. Really looked at her for the first time in two years.

Her fingers were twisted together and she was blinking rapidly. You realized she was blinking away tears.

Sophia had always been a confident person. Sharp, bold, never second-guessing herself. But right now? Here at her wedding, where she should feel incredible, like the main character of the evening she looked small. She looked…sad?

“I really do hope you’re happy,” she murmured, glancing away. “I mean it. I hope you and Jake make it. Because, well…” She let out a soft, humorless laugh. “It’s not as easy as it looks, is it?”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

She hesitated, chewing on her lip. Then, with a quick glance over her shoulder, she leaned in just slightly.

“You know how our families are,” she said quietly. “How things work. There was no way Marcus and I were going to get away with what we did without…consequences.”

A strange feeling stirred in your chest. “Consequences?”

Sophia gave you a tight smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “A scandal like that? The golden boy caught cheating on his long-term girlfriend? Me being the other woman?” She shook her head. “Our parents were furious. It was bad for business. A nightmare for their image.”

Your blood ran cold.

“So, what?” you asked, voice quieter now. “This marriage… it’s not–”

“It makes things easier.” Sophia’s lips parted like she was about to say more, but then she pressed them together in a firm line. She exhaled sharply. “It’s just… easier this way.”

And suddenly, things made sense.

The rushed engagement. The extravagant wedding.

You knew Marcus. You knew how egoistic and self centered he was. How he always had everything to go his way.

And you knew Sophia. You knew she never wanted to marry. If she did, she always wanted to marry in Italy, at some weird lake that you couldn’t remember the name of, with only her family and friends present. After she traveled the world. After she has lived her life. After she has experienced all the things you would daydream about together.

You also knew their parents. Parents that would’ve done anything to protect their image. To smooth over the scandal of their heirs being caught cheating, partying, taking drugs.

They weren’t marrying because they loved each other.

It was damage control.

That realization made your heart drop. Where just minutes before you felt butterflies and your heart was beating in overtime just thinking about Jake in his stupidly good looking suit right now the thought of him holding you, kissing you made you want to scream and punch someone.

Sophia and Marcus weren’t together because of love. They were together because it was the easiest way to clean up the mess they had made. Because their parents had decided it was the best way to protect their reputations.

It was how their world worked. How Jake's world worked.

You liked to forget that Jake came from a family that is not just given scholarships because they work hard, he comes from a family that gives those scholarships.

You weren’t stupid.

You knew Jake was different from Marcus.

But his father? His family?

Would they ever accept you?

Would they look at you the way Marcus’ parents had, like you weren’t good enough? Would they do everything in their power to make sure Jake ended up with someone more… fitting? His mother and his brother seemed nice enough, but how much say did they get in their lives?

The thought made your chest tighten.

You were already scared.

Scared of how easy it was to fall for Jake. How it was just like when you started dating Marcus. How you fell in love with Marcus.

He betrayed you. It was Marcus' decision to fuck your friend.

But Jake? How much is he actually allowed to decide?

No matter how much you wanted him, no matter how much he wanted you, there were forces so much bigger than the two of you.

And you weren’t sure you could survive being broken by another rich boy.

Jake watched you go. He turned around to join his uncle at the bar again but before he even got off the dancefloor, a voice stopped him in his tracks. “Well, well,” Marcus drawled, stepping into his path. “Look who decided to show up. I was quite surprised when we received your RSVP back. And you came with little Y/Nie.” Jake clenched his jaw, already exhausted by the conversation that hadn’t even started. “What do you want, Marcus?” Just like that the butterflies and the nice tingles from your touch disappeared and he asked himself if the happy couple planned this. Destroying your and Jake's nice moment.

Marcus laughed, low and mocking. “Still got that temper, huh? Guess some things never change.” He took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes flicking toward you before settling back on Jake. “Speaking of things that never change. Y/N looks good, doesn't she? Almost made me forget how… boring she used to be. Almost. Guess it makes sense, though.” Jake exhaled sharply. “What do you mean?” Marcus only laughed, low and mocking. “She always had a thing for lost puppies. Guess she hadn’t outgrown that yet.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Tell me, does she still make that little noise when you kiss her neck? You know the one, like she is trying to hold back but can’t? Does she still refuse to take dick down her throat? She never liked to be face fucked. She wasn’t really into anything really. She was just, well, boring."

Jake's vision blurs with a sharp flash of white-hot rage for a second, fists clenching at his sides. His whole body goes rigid, his muscles tightening as a rush of anger courses through him. ‘Smoking, drinking, sex when I didn’t even want to‘, that is what you told him. Did Marcus do that? Make you go down on him even if you didn't want to? He takes a step forward without even realizing it, his fists rising ever so slightly, the urge to slam them into Marcus' face overwhelming. If this were a hockey rink, he'd have already thrown his gloves down, ready to go. Marcus grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “What?” he taunted. “Gonna hit me? At my own wedding? Do it, Sim." Jake’s jaw tightens, his breath coming in shallow, measured bursts. The heat of the moment almost drowns out everything else, but he manages to force his anger down. He takes a slow, deliberate breath through his nose, trying to regain control.

“You don’t know shit, Marcus,” Jake mutters, his voice low and dangerous, the kind of tone that signals a warning. “You don’t know a damn thing about her.” Marcus scoffs, looking at Jake with mock innocence. “Oh, I know plenty, Sim. I basically shaped her into the person she is now. Tell me, does she still smoke?” Jake's face did something out of his control and Marcus smiled triumphantly. “Seems like she does. Looks like I could get the little weirdo to do stuff she despised. Made her addicted. I bet she thinks of me every time she lights a cig.” Jake’s jaw tightens, his knuckles white as he fights the urge to slam Marcus into the nearest wall.

But before he can move, an arm slings around his shoulders. “Jake, bro!” Tobi’s voice is light, casual, but his grip on Jake’s shoulder is firm. “Come on, man, you owe me a drink.” Jake keeps his gaze locked on Marcus for a beat longer, watching the way his jaw tics. Then, he exhales sharply, forcing himself to turn away. “Right,” he mutters, letting Tobi steer him toward the bar. As they walk away, Marcus calls after them, his voice dripping with mockery. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Jake. She’s not the type you'd want to stick around to. Trust me, I know.” Jake doesn’t look back, but his shoulders tense under Tobi’s arm. “Ignore him,” Tobi mutters, guiding Jake to the bar. “He’s just trying to get under your skin.” Jake nods, but the tension in his body doesn’t ease. He grabs the drink the bartender slides toward him and takes a long sip, his mind racing.

At one point you made your way back to Jake, sliding your hand into his and resting your head on his shoulder, while he was chatting with a few of his former teammates. He knew that as soon as you got clingy you were either drunk or tired and judging by how you were talking without slurring your words he conducted you were just really tired.

“Hey Y/N.”, he softly petted your hair.

“Mhm?”, you hummed, tilting your head to look at him. Your lipstick was slightly smudged and your cheeks had a reddish hue thanks to the warmth in the building and the few shots he knew you had. You were beautiful.

“Do you wanna go home?”

You lifted yourself from his chest. “You think we stayed long enough by now? I kinda wanna be rude but also not, you know. Your dad would be up your arse if we left too early.”

“You’re tired Y/N. I don’t care about my dad.”, he shrugged and pulled you back against his chest.

“Where should we go? I mean it would be weird if we left to go separate ways right now, right?”, you said, settling back into the position you were in before.

“Can we sleep over at your place? I kinda don’t want to spend a lot of time at home.”, Jake took your hands and started to play around with the rings on them.

“Sure. Do you wanna stop at your place first? To get toiletries and stuff?”, you asked, slightly wiggling your fingers.

“Sure. Are your parents going to stay here longer?”, Jake craned his neck and searched for your parents. They were still sitting on their original table laughing at something.

“Probably. My parents are social butterflies. Wouldn’t surprise me if they came home at like 6 am. Where are yours?”

“Dunno. But probably still here.”, he shrugged, not really caring.

“Okay then let’s go. I want to sleep.”, you said and stood up. The two of you bid farewell to his and your friends and called a cab to drive you to his house.

Jake was laying on your bed, mindlessly watching Tik Tok while you were showering first. Jake had heard the sound of the water running, the occasional hum of your voice. By the time he stepped into the shower you were probably already half asleep, your eyes were already heavy when you two were in the cab to your parents house.

Jake let the hot water pour over him, leaning his forehead against the cool tile. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the steam fill his lungs. The heat felt good, but it didn't help to get the tension out of his body. His thoughts drifted back to Marcus’ words. The things he had said about you. How did he dare to ask Jake that? How did he dare to talk like this about you?

He clenched his fists for a second, exhaling sharply as the water ran over his face.

When he finally turned off the water, he towel-dried his hair and stepped out of the shower, still lost in thought. The bathroom mirror fogged up, and he wiped it clear with his hand, catching his reflection for a moment before he walked into the bedroom, where you were waiting, curled up on the bed in one of his oversized shirts, you stole from his suitcase.

You looked so peaceful, your hair a little messy, your face soft, without make up and relaxed. The dim light from the bedside lamp cast a warm glow over the room. He slid under the covers, his body brushing against yours as he settled in beside you. You shifted, resting your head on his chest.

Jake swallowed hard.

He should leave it alone.

He really really should.

Your sex life was none of his business. You weren't a real couple. Jake didn't have to well more or less compete with your ex. He was a close friend of yours that just happened to be your fake boyfriend.

That you were cuddling with right now.

After slow dancing at a wedding.

And kissing at said wedding.

Okay. Maybe he could ask.

Jake shifted slightly, his arm resting loosely around your waist. He stared up at the ceiling for a second, debating how to even ask that. He knew he was going to regret it the second the words left his mouth.

“Can I ask you something?”

You hummed sleepily against his chest. “You just did.”

Jake huffed out a quiet laugh. He hesitated for a second longer, then finally asked, “What was it like with Marcus?”

You stilled.

Your body tensed for just a fraction of a second before you shifted against him. His fingers twitched against your back.

You lifted your head slightly to look at him, blinking blearily like you weren’t sure you’d heard him right. “What?”

Jake cleared his throat. “I mean, like… you and him. Sexually.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Huh. Why are you asking that all of a sudden?”

He wasn’t even sure he knew.

Jake exhaled sharply, staring up at the ceiling again. “I don’t know. It’s just. Marcus said some shit earlier, and I guess I started wondering.” He glanced back down at you. “I know it’s none of my business, but I just–” He sighed, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

You didn’t say anything right away. You just watched him, your expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause, you let out a quiet sigh and rested your chin on his chest.

“It was awful,” you admitted.

Jake blinked. “What?”

“Sex with Marcus,” you clarified. “It was awful.”

Jake frowned.

“I mean, I thought it was normal at first,” you continued, voice softer now. “I thought maybe I just wasn’t really into it. Or maybe that was just how it was supposed to be. But looking back…” You shook your head, lips pressing into a thin line. “I faked it. A lot. Most of the time, actually.”

Jake just stared at you, trying to process that. “Wait. You mean you never came with him?”

You huffed out a quiet laugh. “Maybe once or twice? I don’t really know. I kind of refused to sleep with him for the first like six months. And well after that? Let’s just say Marcus isn’t really familiar with female autonomy and well, quite egoistic. So he came and I just didn't?”

Jake fell from all the clouds at once.

“What the fuck?” he blurted out before he could stop himself. He pulled back slightly, staring at you.

Jake’s brain short-circuited.

Fuck.

What the fuck.

He has kissed you like four, five times by now and knew that you were very sensitive. He knew how easy it was to get you to shiver slightly, how you enjoyed it when someone trailed his fingers down your neck. And he didn't even made out with you. Okay, borderline. But how in the hell did that stupid asshole not get you to cum?

He sat up a little, resting on his elbow as he looked down at you. “You’re telling me that in years of dating, he didn’t —”

“Nope.”

Jake ran a hand down his face, trying to wrap his head around that. “And you just faked it?”

You rolled onto your back, staring up at the ceiling like you were remembering something far away. “Yeah. I just wanted it to be over most of the time. It was easier that way.”

Jake felt something hot and annoyed settle in his chest. He should just have killed Marcus at the wedding. Not just hit him. How did he dare to treat you this bad in your relationship and then talk shit to your boyfriend, well fake boyfriend but not from Marcus point of view, after he made you feel like you wanted sex to be over?

“I mean, it’s not like I had anything to compare it to,” you added, voice lighter. You were trying to brush it off. “I just assumed that’s how it was supposed to be.”

Jake scoffed. “That’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

You turned your head toward him, amusement flickering in your eyes now. “Oh I know that now. But back at 16 I thought it was kinda weird, especially since I had a boyfriend to touch myself.”

Your smirk deepened. Oh you were enjoying this.

“I mean,” you continued, “at first I thought maybe something was wrong with me, y’know? Like, maybe I was doing something wrong? Sophia always told me how good you made her feel and how good her orgasms were. But I never really understood what she meant.”

Jake stilled. He forgot that you and Sophia were close friends before she cheated, so of course you probably knew about his and Sophia’s sex life.

“But then I started thinking…” You tilted your head, voice going mock-thoughtful. “Maybe it wasn’t me that was the problem.” Your eyes found his and you batted your eyes. “Maybe Marcus was just that bad.”

Jake exhaled harshly. “He was that bad.”

Your grin turned downright wicked. “Mhm. He was. I figured that out as well. But now i got it all covered, don’t worry Jakey. I can do his job way better and I do find my own clit, compared to him.”

Jake swallowed harshly. “I- I am glad you do.”

He wanted to slam his head against the nearest wall. Or maybe your head, just to knock some sense into you.

His grip on your waist twitched, but he didn’t let go. Maybe because if he did, he had no idea where your hands would wander next, and he really didn’t trust himself to handle that like a sane person.

You let out a soft hum, watching his throat work as he swallowed. “You seem awfully invested in my lack of orgasms, Sim.”

Jake wanted to argue. He really, really did. He clenched his jaw. “I’m not.”

Your brows lifted, teasing. “No?”

“No.”

You hummed, unconvinced, shifting onto your side again, way too close. “I don’t know… you seemed pretty worked up about it just a second ago.”

“I was worked up about Marcus being a shit boyfriend,” he corrected, voice tight.

“Oh, so my orgasms or lack thereof does concern you.”

Jake swore under his breath, running a hand down his face. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I am,” you agreed easily. “And very flexible, too.”

Jake nearly choked. “Jesus Christ, Y/N.”

You giggled, absolutely delighted by his suffering. “What?”

He shook his head, staring up at the ceiling like it could save him. “Nothing.”

You poked at his side. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not.”

“Oh, you so are,” you teased. “Are you flustered by my sexlife, Jakey?”

You hummed, clearly not convinced. Then, before he could stop you, you reached out and tapped a finger against the center of his chest. “You’re acting weird, Sim.”

“I’m not acting weird.” He was definitely acting weird. Fuck his brain was acting weird.

You grinned, dragging your fingertip slowly down the fabric of his shirt. “Ohhh, I think you are.”

Jake caught your wrist, stopping you before you could do something stupid, something worse. You blinked up at him, wide-eyed, as if you were the innocent one in this situation. His grip tightened just slightly. “Are you done?”

“Dunno.” You leaned in. “Are you?”

Jake exhaled sharply through his nose. “You’re insufferable.”

You smirked, completely unbothered. “And yet, you still keep playing along.”

“Go to sleep,” he ground out, glaring down at you.

You grinned smugly. “Why? Am I making you uncomfortable, Jakey?”

Jake hated you. He hated you so much. (He did not, in fact, hate you.)

You weren’t sure why you agreed to this. Or more how Jake got you to agree to this. Two days after the wedding Jake stood in front of your parents doorstep and told your dad he was here to steal you away for the day. You were still in your Pyjama, your hair a mess and barely awake, when your dad and Jake came into the kitchen laughing about something. “Jake?”, you asked, swallowing the bite of toast you just stuffed into your mouth. “What are you doing here?” “It’s Tuesday. We are going ice skating today.”, he said while plopping down next to you. “Huh. What do you mean?”, you asked.

“I am taking you to my old rink today. They have public skating hours every Tuesday so I thought it was fun to bring you along.”, he shrugged and stole one of the bananas on your plate. “Oh I don’t know how to ice skate?”, you said and took another bite from your toast. “Good thing I know how to skate.”, he grinned at you. An hour later you were inside a freezing cold ice rink, staring at a pair of rental skates. Jake was sitting next to you, lacing up his own skates with practiced ease. He found some of his old skates at his parents house and got them sharpened, while you got fitted for your skates. Stupid hockey player.

You exhaled and shot him a look. “You realize I could die, right?” Jake smirked, not even looking up as he tied his laces. “You’re being dramatic.” “No, you’re being dramatic,” you countered. “Dragging me to an ice rink when I can barely walk on solid ground." Jake grinned. “Ice is solid as well Y/N.”

You groaned and went back to fumbling with your skates. They felt stiff, awkward, and way too tight, and you were half convinced that this was all part of some elaborate scheme to make you fall on your ass. And maybe break some bones in the progress. After a few moments of struggle, you let out a defeated sigh. “Okay. I can’t do this.” Jake snorted. “C’mon, princess.” He moved, crouching down in front of you before you could protest. “Let me help.” You stiffened, watching as he easily took over, fingers brushing against your ankle as he tightened the laces. “There,” he said, sitting back with a satisfied grin. “Now, are you ready to go humiliate yourself in front of a bunch of kids?” You glared. “I hate you.” Jake just winked. “Not you don’t.” Standing on the rubber mats was fine. Walking to the rink entrance was less fine. Stepping onto the ice?

Absolutely not. Jake tugged on your hand, but you dug your heels in, refusing to budge. “I can’t.” “You can,” he said, voice infuriatingly patient. “Just take it slow.” “Jake.” You looked at him with wide, pleading eyes. “I will fall.” “I won’t let you fall.” You hesitated. Jake sighed, stepping onto the ice first and turning to face you. “Here,” he said, holding out both hands. “Just hold onto me.” You squinted at him. “If let my hands go, I swear—” “I’m not letting your hands go. I won‘t let you go.” With a deep breath, you cautiously put one foot forward. The second your skate touched the ice, you panicked, immediately grabbing onto Jake’s arms.

Jake laughed, barely budging from the impact. “Okay, okay,” he soothed, steadying you easily. “I got you. See? You’re fine.” Your heart was racing. “I hate this. I hate you. Fuck yourself Jaeyun Sim.” Jake grinned. “You’re doing amazing.” You groaned, fingers tightening in his hoodie. “I swear to god, if you let me go, I will personally make sure you never skate again.” Jake grinned wider. “Noted.”

You were going to kill him. If you ever got off this ice alive. You clung to Jake like your life depended on it as he slowly guided you forward. Your movements were stiff, jerky, and entirely uncoordinated, but at least you weren’t on your ass yet. “Relax,” Jake murmured, tightening his grip on your hands. “You’re way too tense.” “That’s because I’m trying not to die.” Jake laughed, the sound bouncing off the high ceilings of the rink. “You’re not gonna die.”

“You can’t guarantee that,” you shot back. “I literally can.” He smirked. “Besides, you’re already better than the last time you tried.” You frowned. “I’ve never tried.” “Exactly.” You groaned, but somehow, your feet started moving. Jake kept you steady, skating backward with ease, like this was second nature to him. It probably was. You loved seeing him on the ice. He looked so happy there, albeit during games he didn’t look all too happy, but a bit constipated at times. He was a competitive idiot. But you really didn’t love seeing yourself on the ice.

He must’ve noticed you staring, because his smirk softened. “I used to skate here all the time when I was a kid,” he said. “Like, all the time. My mom would drop me off and I’d stay for hours. Just doing laps, messing around with the puck until my actual training started. Tobi and I always fought who spend more time on the ice.” You blinked. Yup, competitive idiot.

“Sounds nice,” you murmured. Jake shrugged. “Yeah. It was.”

Before you could say anything else, a blur of movement zipped past, and you barely had time to register a kid skating perfectly before you let out a scandalized noise “Oh, come on.” Jake lost it, throwing his head back in laughter. “What?” You gestured wildly. “That kid is showing off.” Jake grinned. “He is not. Y/N he literally just skates at a normal speed. You’re just slow.” “Well, this shit is hard. The floor is slippery and I am standing on two blades. How am I supposed to be faster than this?” Jake laughed. “Well by doing the same thing that kid is doing.”, he shook his head, still chuckling. “Alright, c’mon, let’s do a full lap. You’re not doing too bad.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “I will hold this over your head forever if I fall.” “I won’t let you fall.”

You eyed him suspiciously but nodded, gripping his hands tighter as he led you forward. And, miraculously, you weren’t completely terrible. You still needed Jake’s help, but eventually, you started loosening your grip, even skating without his help. By the time you made it back to where you started, your legs were shaking, but you were upright. A miracle. Jake gave you a crooked grin. “Told you.” And just as he uttered that, a kid barreled into you, and suddenly, you were on your ass, the cold ice seeping through your jeans as you glared up at Jake.

His expression morphed from shock to amusement in a matter of seconds. “Oh my God.” “Don’t,” you warned, pointing a finger at him. Jake pressed his lips together like he was trying to hold back his laughter, but his shaking shoulders betrayed him. He crouched down in front of you, eyes way too bright. “Are you okay?” “No,” you huffed. Jake grinned. “You actually did great, right up until you got taken out by a four-year-old.” Your eyes narrowed. “I hate you.” “No, you don’t.”

Yes Jake. That was the problem. You forced a scoff, shoving away the warmth creeping into your chest. “Just help me up, Sim.” Jake smirked but obliged, easily pulling you to your feet like you weighed nothing. His hands stayed at your waist steadying you and making sure you had your balance before letting go. Jake arched a brow. “But really are you good?” You straightened, forcing an easy smirk. “Yeah. Just debating if I should throw you onto the ice.” He chuckled. “I’d like to see you try.” “Oh, you will.” Jake laughed, shaking his head as he started leading you forward again.

Jake was good with kids.

You weren’t sure why that surprised you, but it did.

At some point, after he had successfully gotten you to skate on your own for at least five seconds without clutching onto him for dear life, a group of kids had asked him to race them. And, of course, Jake being Jake, he hadn’t been able to resist.

So now you stood at the edge of the rink, watching as he lined up with a few kids, all of them grinning and buzzing with excitement.

“Alright,” Jake called out, pointing at the far end of the rink. “First one to the boards wins!”

The kids nodded eagerly and got into position.

You bit your lip as you watched him, your chest tightening. The way he fixed a kid’s helmet before skating backward into position, the way he still looked like the same boy who had probably spent hours at this rink, just because he loved it, everything about this made your heart clench.

He was so stupidly cute when he was excited.

And God, that made everything so much worse.

Because this, this, was what you were going to miss.

Him.

Jake.

His dumb competitive streak. His stupid grins. The way he looked at you sometimes. All the little acts of kindness.

A whistle blew, breaking you out of your thoughts. The kids shot forward, skating with all the energy in the world.

Jake let them win.

He didn’t make it too obvious. He still skated fast enough to keep them on their toes, but you could tell. He slowed down just enough to make sure one of them reached the boards first, throwing his hands up in mock defeat as they cheered.

You were going to miss him.

More than you were ready for.

Jake’s house is quiet when you step inside.

“I wanna show you something,” Jake says, tugging you toward the hallway.

You let yourself be pulled along, through the house and into his childhood bedroom. Hockey trophies line the shelves, medals hanging from hooks and different lego builds were scattered around the shelves.

Jake gestures toward them with a small, almost sheepish grin. “Told you I used to be good.”

You roll your eyes but step closer, trailing your fingers along the glossy wood of a championship trophy. “Used to be?” you echo, raising a brow. “Please. You still are.”

Jake chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. My dad doesn’t think so.”

Something in his voice makes you pause. But before you can press further, he flops onto his bed, stretching his arms above his head. “Ugh, I need a nap. Skating was a workout.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “I’ve seen you sprint for sixty straight minutes. That wasn’t even close to a workout for you.”

Jake just grins, patting the empty space beside him. “C’mon. I know you’re tired too.”

You hesitate, but not because you aren’t tired.

Because you are. Because you know that lying down next to him, in this room, in this house that holds pieces of his childhood, pieces he’s willingly showing you, will only make everything worse.

You do it anyway.

You slip off your jacket and crawl into the space beside him. The bed dips as Jake shifts, his body instinctively curling around yours. His arms loop around your waist, his chest warm against your back, and the moment he exhales, fully relaxing into you, you feel your stomach twist again. Because this isn’t real, even if it felt real. It should’t be. In two days, this will be over. And you’ve already decided you have to let him go.

To protect your heart of what was going to come in the end.

Your throat tightens as you stare at the ceiling. Keeping him in your life after this would only be self-inflicted torture. Pretending to love him had been easy. At one point it probably wasn’t pretend. So pretending you didn’t would be impossible. And that was why you had to let him go. You have to go no contact. For your own sake.

And as he presses his face into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin, you already feel sorry for it. Already grieving a friendship you haven’t even lost yet. You feel the weight of Jake’s arm around you, his steady breaths against the nape of your neck a lullaby you shouldn’t let yourself sink into.

But you do.

For just a moment.

You blink up at the ceiling, the familiar scent of his cologne clinging to the sheets, wrapping around you. Your fingers twitch against the fabric of his hoodie. You should have given it back. You should. But it smells like him. It feels like him. And soon, you won’t have any of him left. You press your lips together, ignoring the sting in your throat.

Jake doesn’t know yet. That, when you get off that plane, you’re cutting ties. You’ll ignore his texts. His calls. You’ll block his number if you have to. He doesn’t know that you’ll do the same to Jay. To Heeseung. To all of them.

Jay will know. Jay will see right through you. He’ll hear it in your voice, feel it in the way your texts grow shorter and shorter, until they eventually stop coming at all. He’ll know. And he won’t let you go without a fight.

But this is what’s best. For you, so you don’t destroy yourself in the process of loving Jake like you did with Marcus. For Jake, so he doesn’t have to be put in the awkward position of letting you down gently. So that he doesn’t have to be scrutinized by his father. So that he doesn’t have to break your heart.

Jake shifts behind you, his arm tightening, his nose brushing against your shoulder. Your chest ached as you swallowed down the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to focus on the warmth of Jake’s arm around you, on his hand resting against your stomach. ──────────────────────────Jake woke up slowly, blinking into darkness. His room was quiet, save for the steady rhythm of your breathing and the occasional soft sigh escaping your lips. He felt the warmth of your body pressed against his, your head tucked beneath his chin, your legs tangled with his beneath the blankets.

His arms were wrapped around you, holding you close.

A quick glance at his alarm clock told him it was nearly 11 p.m. He probably should wake you up, take you home. Jake exhaled softly, gaze flicking down to you, taking in the way your lashes fanned over your cheeks, the way your lips parted slightly with each slow, steady breath. You looked so soft like this, so unguarded. And fuck, he loved seeing you like this.

Because as much as he adored your quick wit and your stubborn streak, there was something about these rare, quiet moments that made his chest feel too full.

He’d always liked making you laugh, riling you up just to see you roll your eyes at him. But seeing you like this? Safe, peaceful, trusting him enough to just be, it did something to him.

Jake swallowed hard, his fingers twitching against your back, resisting the urge to smooth his hand over your hair.

He liked this.

He liked you.

He might even love you.

He has known that for weeks now.

He wasn’t sure when exactly things had shifted, when pretending had started feeling so much like something real, but he knew he wasn’t ready for it to end. Even after this week was over, even when you both got back home, he wanted this. Wanted you in his life just like this.

Because how could he go back to before?

He’d been thinking about it a lot, how things would go back to ‘normal’ once you got home. But the more time he spent with you, the more he realized that he didn’t want normal. He didn’t want to go back to before.

He didn’t want to go back. He didn’t want this to change.

Carefully, he shifted, reluctantly pulling his arm from beneath you. “Hey,” he murmured, voice low and soft as he nudged your shoulder. “Y/N, wake up.”

You stirred slightly, your brows scrunching in mild annoyance before your eyes fluttered open. A sleepy frown pulled at your lips. “What?”

“It’s late,” he said gently. “Do you want me to take you home?”

You blinked, still half-asleep, before shifting against him, rubbing at your eyes. “Do you have a spare toothbrush?”

Jake’s brows lifted slightly. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” you mumbled, already nestling back into him. “Then I’ll just stay.”

And just like that, you were asleep again, your breath evening out, completely unbothered.

Jake let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. His chest felt warm, something almost giddy curling in his stomach at how easily you had decided to stay.

Because that meant something, right? You wanted to stay.

Jake had never been a fan of long flights. Too much time to think. And right now, thinking was the last thing he wanted to do. Especially when you were sitting right next to him, head bent over your notebook, highlighter in hand as you studied whatever notes you had stuffed into your carry-on. Jake didn’t even pretend to be interested in anything else. He just…watched you.

The way your brows furrowed in concentration, the way you chewed on your bottom lip when you were focused, the way you absently twirled your pen between your fingers before underlining something on the page. God, you were so fucking cute. He had the urge to reach out and tuck that one loose strand of hair behind your ear. You must have felt his gaze because you suddenly nudged him with your elbow, not even looking up from your notes. “Stop staring.” Jake smirked. “Not staring.”

You huffed, eyes flicking toward him, unimpressed. “Go to sleep or something.” Jake stretched his legs out, completely unbothered. “Not tired.” You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue further, going back to your notes. And Jake went back to watching you. He didn’t know how much time passed, maybe an hour, maybe two, when you spoke to him again.

“What are we going to tell our friends?” Jake blinked, pulled from his thoughts. He turned his head slightly, noting the way you were still looking down at your notes, your fingers lightly tapping against the page. “About what?” You still didn’t look at him. Just kept tapping your pen. "About our breakup. The wedding is over, right? No need for us to be fake dating anymore."

His stomach dropped. The song playing in his ears–one of your favorites–turned into nothing but static. For a second, he thought maybe he misheard you. Maybe he had dozed off, lost in the lull of the plane, and imagined it. But then you finally looked at him. Waiting. Expecting an answer. Jake forced his face to stay neutral. "What?"

You exhaled, glancing down at your notes like this was just some minor inconvenience to get through. “I mean, we should probably have a story, right? You didn’t want to tell them we were faking all of this. So like, maybe we had a mutual breakup? Or—” His head spun. Because what the fuck? Jake should have known this was coming. He wasn’t stupid. He knew the plan had always been to end things after the wedding.

But hearing you say it fucking sucked.

For a brief second, he considered arguing. Because if this was how you saw it, the whole situation still being you and him fake dating, then he didn't have much say in this. If you weren't feeling the same way he did for you, which you obviously didn't, then there was nothing to argue about. He didn't have to fight for a fake relationship, even if it broke his heart.

Jake felt his fingers tighten around your phone. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “Sure.”

And he hated how hollow that one word felt in his chest.

You hesitated. Just a fraction of a second. Then you nodded slightly.

Jake swallowed, staring out at the dark sky stretching endlessly outside the window.

Then, carefully, he asked, “We’ll still see each other, though, right?”

Another pause. Longer this time.

Then you nodded again. “Yeah. Of course.”

Jake exhaled slowly. “Good.”

Silence settled between you again.

Then you spoke, softer this time. “Should we say it was mutual?”

Jake turned to look at you, something unreadable flashing across your face.

You met his gaze, biting your lip. “Like… should we say we had a reason?”

Jake had to bite back a humorless laugh. There was no reason for this to happen. At all. Not even two days ago, you had woken up in his arms. Stayed for breakfast. Laughed at the way he threw himself into the pool. Stayed until your mom called you to come home.

You looked happy.

He just shrugged, like his heart wasn’t actively splintering inside his chest. “I guess mutual sounds good.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

And just like that, it was decided.

Jake turned back toward the window, shoving his headphones deeper into his ears, but he wasn’t listening to the music anymore. Why? He just didn't understand why.

You had to be a really good actor. That was the only explanation. Maybe he had been an idiot from the very start. But he knew. He knew the second he kissed you in that bar. The way you had responded to him, the way your fingers had twisted into the fabric of his shirt, the way your breath had hitched just before he pulled away. That hadn't been fake. And neither had the way you looked at him at the wedding, standing so close, your eyes flickering down to his lips. He had felt it, that moment stretching between you, the way your body leaned into his just a fraction before he kissed you.

Jake kept his eyes locked on the window, the reflection of you flickering in the glass. You had gone back to your notes, highlighter in hand, looking like this conversation had already left your mind. He wanted to laugh. Because that was it. All of it. Over, just like that. He should've seen it coming. He'd let himself believe, for just a second, that this wouldn't end. That maybe, when you got home, you'd still be his somehow.

It has been six days since Jake and you arrived at home. Six days since you last saw each other. Six days since you asked him to fake break up. Six days spent trying to dodge Jake at all costs. Which was harder than you anticipated.

You stared at the screen of your Ipad, you were at least ten pages behind your professor in the script. At the beginning of the class you still were paying attention, knowing that this professor likes to ask random students questions during the class to check if you were paying attention but at some point our mind wandered away from nerve damage and to the damage you have done.

Your phone is heavy in your hand, when you pick it up to check the time. Your heart stops for a second when you read over Jake's most recent message from last night.

Jakeyboy 11:08 am: Hey Y/N! Do you wanna go for fried chicken today? We should celebrate that we survived last week! Jakeyboy 09:29 pm: So…no fried chicken then?

No. No fried chicken. And definitely not in that small restaurant you had your first date-not-date in almost 4 months ago now. That felt like a lifetime now.

You read it immediately. Almost replied. Almost said, Yeah, okay, let’s go. But instead, you locked your phone, flipped it over, and tried to ignore the hollow feeling in your chest.

It’s been only six days but you miss him. God, you miss him. You didn’t realize how much time you and Jake spent together and spent texting until you stopped. Or at least tried to.

Your name being called cut through your thoughts. Your head snapped up. Your professor was staring at you expectantly.

“I am sorry, Professor Kim. I didn’t catch that, could you repeat that question?”

Your professor sighed but repeated his question. You answered the question and he moved on.

You let out a breath when he went back to the slides and closed your eyes. This can’t continue like this. You had to get a grip. That thing between you and Jake was fake and you shouldn’t be as weird about this as you were.

Your phone vibrated again.

Jakeyboy Are you coming on Friday?

Jake had the Providence Regional this weekend. If they won, they’ll be headed to the Frozen Four. This was important to him. If you don’t go, he wouldn’t spend the whole game wondering why you weren’t sitting in the stands cheering on him, wondering what he did wrong. You refused to be the reason he’s distracted.

Before you can overthink it, your hand moves toward your phone.

You unlock it. Open your chat with Jake.

You type quickly.

Y/N I am sorry I was swarmed with work yesterday :( Prof Hwang wanted me to hand in my essay until yesterday instead of Friday so i had to focus and i banned my phone to the kitchen I’ll be at your game tomorrow! I promise!!!

And then, before you could second-guess yourself, you locked your phone, flipped it over again, and tried to pretend you didn’t feel relief washing over you. ──────────────────────────Jake leaned against the wall outside the locker room, one foot tapping against the floor, hands gripping his phone way too tight. The screen was blank. No notifications. No texts from you.

He checked the time. Five minutes until he had to start getting ready.

You weren’t coming.

He knew it, but he still kept glancing up every time someone walked by, heart jumping for half a second before sinking again. Maybe you got held up. Maybe you forgot. Maybe–

Beomguy came running in, just barely making it around the curve to almost crash into Jake.

"Dude. What are you still doing out here?"

Jake shoved his phone into his pocket. "Nothing."

Beomgyu gave him a once-over. "Right. So you’re just lurking outside the locker room like a lost puppy for no reason?"

Jake rolled his eyes, pushing off the wall. "Shut up."

Beomgyu’s eyes narrowed. "Where is Y/N?”

Jake didn’t answer.

Beomgyu whistled low. "Damn. She’s always here." He shifted, lowering his voice. "Did you guys fight or something?"

"No," Jake muttered, jaw tightening. "She’s just busy."

Beomgyu studied him for a second, like he didn’t quite believe it, but he let it go. "We gotta get changed before Coach loses his shit."

Jake nodded, but even as he followed Beomgyu inside, he couldn’t shake the disappointment curling in his chest. The question lingered, gnawing at the edge of Jake’s thoughts even as he stood and grabbed his helmet.

Had you fought?

No.

But it sure as hell felt like he was losing you anyway.

You’d promised to come.

You knew how important that game was.

And that, more than anything, fucking hurt.

Jake tried to shake off the gnawing disappointment clawing at his chest. The game was happening around him, sticks clashing, skates cutting across the ice, the sharp echo of the puck ricocheting off the boards, but his mind wasn’t in it.

You weren’t there.

Not outside the locker room before warm-ups. Not by the tunnel where you always wished him luck. Not even a last-minute text. Just silence.

He told himself it was fine. You had school, you were busy—but damn, it stung. More than he wanted to admit.

Then he spotted you sitting down next to Sunghoon.

Jake barely processed the wave of relief that crashed over him. His chest felt lighter, and before he could stop himself, a stupid, lopsided grin tugged at his lips.

The second the puck dropped again, he forced himself to focus, taking long strides, chasing it down along the boards. He caught a pass cleanly, shifted his weight to turn–

And then he got crushed.

Pain exploded through his side as he slammed into the boards, hard enough to make his teeth clack together. His helmet rattled. Someone shouted. He barely heard it over the ringing in his ears.

Jake hit the ice but pushed himself up immediately, shaking it off. His ribs screamed in protest, but whatever. Pain was part of the game. He took a deep breath, forced his focus back, and skated after the play.

As he lined up for the next face-off, he couldn’t help but steal another glance at you.

And for some reason, the ache in his chest hurt worse than the hit.

Jake exhaled, flexed his grip on his stick, and forced himself to look forward. He’d deal with everything else, you, after the game. ──────────────────────────The cool night air wrapped around Jake as he stepped out of the rink, scanning the small crowd until his eyes landed on you. You stood near Sunghoon and one of the guys’ girlfriends, leaning against the railing. Your shoulders were slumped, and there were faint bags under your eyes, like you hadn’t been sleeping much, and your hair, normally styled with some effort, was lazily pulled back, like you just hadn’t cared today. When you spotted him, you smiled. “Congrats,” you murmured, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around him.

Jake barely hesitated before hugging you back, pulling you in closer. He inhaled the familiar scent of you and suddenly, the ache in his ribs wasn’t the thing making it hard to breathe. You held onto him a second longer than usual, and when you spoke again, it was barely above a whisper. “Are you okay?” Jake exhaled against your hair, feeling his chest tighten. He knew you weren’t just asking about the hit.

“Yeah,” he muttered, even if it wasn’t entirely true. You pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes searching his like you didn’t believe him. He tilted his head slightly, studying your face as well and he whispered back, “Are you?” For a second, he thought you wouldn’t answer. Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Then, finally, you nodded. Jake didn’t believe that either. But he let you lie. Just like you let him. ────────────────────────── You were standing next to Jay and Yeonjun at the bar, sipping on your second sex on the beach when the DJ played his third Katy Perry song of the evening. Usually the hockey team celebrated with fried chicken or at the small bar near the rink but today they decided to go to the club. A decision you weren’t too enthusiastic about but went along nonetheless. It was nice to see the others.

It was however not nice to see Jake dancing with another girl. She was way too close for it to be friendly dancing. You swallowed and took another sip, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in your stomach.

Beomgyu wrapped his arms around your and Yeonjuns shoulder shouting “Katy shots everyone! Yeonjun hyung is paying!”

Everyone meant you, him, Jay and Yeonjun since you were pretty sure none of the other players heard what he just said.

Yeonjun just rolled his eyes, but motioned to the bartender ordering four shots. He was already slurring his words and you knew he should probably stop soon. But you didn’t really care. Maybe another shot would help you forget what you just saw.

You drowned your already half empty sex on the beach and took the shot, laughing at Beomgyu who was trying to get you to dance with him.

He turned the two of you and you were happy to not see Jake anymore.

But that also meant Beomgyu did.

“Damn Y/N. You let Jake get flirted with by other girls? I know you are chill, but this chill?”, his hands grasped your shoulders and he turned you back towards the bar, to Jay and Yeonjuns gazes were following where Beomgyu was now pointing.

“Oh yeah. Why not?”, you asked, ignoring the hot disgusting feeling in your veins when you watched her grasp Jake's biceps.

“Because he is your boyfriend?”, Beomgyu asked bewildered.

Fuck.

“Didn’t he tell you?” You tilted your head, feigning mild surprise. “We broke up.”

The second the words left your mouth, the entire table went silent. Oh, it seems like there were more of his team at the bar than you thought.

“You… what?” Sunghoon blinked at you, beer bottle paused halfway to his lips. Where did he come from? You swore he wasn’t at the bar two seconds ago. Or maybe you were just really drunk already. Probably.

“We broke up,” you repeated, keeping your voice light. You even forced a small, casual shrug, ignoring the tight knot forming in your stomach. “Just realized we were better off as friends.”

More silence. Or well as silent as a full club could be with the music and conversations bouncing from the walls.

“Since when?” Jay demanded, looking between you and Jake like he was waiting for one of you to jump up and yell ‘gotcha!’

You felt the heat of Jake’s stare from across the room. You knew he was watching you. But you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, not when that girl was practically draping herself over him.

She was giggling at something he said, pressing a manicured hand to his bicep.

Your jaw clenched.

“A couple days after the wedding,” you answered smoothly, taking a slow sip of your drink. “We just didn’t make a big deal out of it.”

“Bullshit.” Heeseung scoffed, narrowing his eyes. “There’s no way you two just broke up and didn’t say anything. He would have told us.”

You rolled your eyes, waving a dismissive hand. “What do you want me to say? It just didn’t work out. We’re still friends.”

Lies.

You wanted it to work out.

You wanted him. Wanted him to love you. To not be talking to a random girl in a club.

But you were scared.

Jay crossed his arms, studying you carefully. “You’re telling me you guys just… mutually decided to go back to being friends?”

“Yep.”

An arm suddenly draped over your shoulders.

“Wait, wait, wait,” one of Nicolas slurred, his grin sloppy from too many drinks. “So that means you’re single now?”

Your stomach twisted.

“I mean, technically, yeah,” you said, and smiled at him.

The guy let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Damn.” He glanced toward Jake, then back at you, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. “Guess that means EJ has a chance now, if you let him.”

You forced a laugh.

“Yeah,” you said, ignoring the sudden, unbearable heat crawling up your neck. “Guess so.”

──────────────────────────

The walk back to your apartment felt both too long and not long enough. The world was spinning slightly.

Jake walked beside you, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his head tilted slightly downward. He insisted on walking you home. After he finally got rid of that girl and came back to the bar to drink a Katy shot he realized how drunk you were getting and forbade you to drink your Katy shot. That was fine with you. The alcohol didn’t help you forget. It made everything worse. So stopping was definitely the more clever thing to do.

Now you were here. Alone.

You should have said something. Cracked a joke. Made fun of him for how he had let some girl hang all over him at the party.

But you didn’t.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” he murmured, breaking the silence.

You exhaled, your breath curling in the cold night air. That wasn’t what you expected him to say. Your heart clenched.

“I’m sorry I was late,” you whispered into the dark. “I should have been there to wish you good luck before you went on the ice.”

Jake slowed down slightly, tilting his head toward you. “It’s okay.”

It wasn’t.

You had spent almost an hour trying to talk yourself into going at all. Sitting on the edge of your bed, staring at your phone, watching the minutes disappear. You had almost bailed. But you had gone anyway. You had forced yourself to get dressed, to push through the nausea curling in your stomach.

“You don’t have to say that,” you mumbled, eyes trained on the sidewalk.

Jake huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “I mean it. It was just a game.”

Just a game.

You bit your lip, arms wrapping around yourself. You should have been there. From the start.

“I still should have been there. I promised after all.” you said, your voice quieter now.

Jake glanced at you again, his expression shifting into something softer.

“Hey,” he said after a beat, nudging you lightly with his elbow. “You still showed up.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t know how to.

He slowed down slightly, looking at you with an earnest expression. “Are you okay?”

You swallowed, fighting to keep your mind clear. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you said quickly, but the lie felt bitter as it left your mouth. It tasted awful. Felt even worse.

Jake didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t push it. Instead, his face softened in that way he did when he was being gentle with you, like he could tell something was off but didn’t know how to ask. He always did that when he realized you had a hard day in the lab. He knew he had to wait for you to open up. Which you did. Always.

But today you continued to walk to your apartment in silence.

When you reached your building, you turned to hug him goodbye. When you wrapped your arms around his torso he stiffened. It was small, almost imperceptible, but you felt it in the way his muscles tensed beneath your arms, the way his breath caught just slightly.

You pulled back, blinking up at him. “Jake?”

He forced a smile. “It’s nothing.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You flinched.”

“It’s fine,” he muttered.

Your chest ached. A deep, gnawing, ugly ache. Because of course he was hurt. YOu saw him get hurt.

You crossed your arms, ignoring the slight sway in your vision. “Let me check.”

Jake exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “I don’t think–”

“Please Jake.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you hated how raw your voice sounded.

Jake hesitated. He watched you carefully, like he was trying to read something on your face. But then, finally, he sighed, giving in with a tired nod.

You led him inside, neither of you speaking. The silence was thick, pressing down on you, and you wondered if he could feel it too.

Your bathroom was dimly lit, a single overhead bulb casting long shadows against the tiled walls. The space was small. When Jake leaned back against the sink, you had no choice but to step between his legs, your knees brushing against the rough fabric of his jeans.

“Take it off,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

He swallowed. Then, slowly, he pulled his tshirt over his head, the fabric ruffling his already-messy hair.

Your breath caught.

Jake was warm. His skin golden under the dim light, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. The bruises were already starting to bloom across his ribs, dark and violent against his skin.

You reached out, your fingertips grazing the swollen area. Jake hissed, his body jerking back, before relaxing under your touch. “Jesus, your hands are cold.”

“Sorry,” you murmured, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let your fingers trace lightly over the bruises, moving carefully, feeling the way his stomach tensed beneath your touch. The dim light illuminated the way his chest rose and fell, making him look almost vulnerable in that moment. You gently probed his side, checking for any fractures. You didn’t realize you were swaying slightly until his hands found your hips, steadying you. The warmth of his palms burned through the fabric of your top, making your head spin more. Your heart pounded, your pulse a steady, traitorous rhythm in your throat. As your hands ran over the bruise, you felt his body stiffen and his eyes tighten, but you continued, feeling for anything that seemed off. You pulled your hand back slightly, a slight frown pulling at your lips as you looked at him. He was fine, no broken ribs, just bruising.

He was watching you. You could feel it. The weight of his gaze pressing into you, heavy and unreadable. Like he was waiting for something. For you to say something. To do something.

You couldn’t.

And then, his fingers moved-just slightly, just enough to brush under the hem of your top, to touch the bare skin of your waist. His touch was light, but it sent a sharp shiver up your spine.

Something inside you snapped.

Before you could stop yourself, you surged forward, pressing your lips against his.

Jake froze. Just for a second. But then he was kissing you back.

And fuck, it was good.

Too good. Too much.

His hand slid from your waist, up, fingertips ghosting over your ribs, over your side, up to the base of your neck. And when his fingers pressed against your skin, when his thumb dragged over the column of your throat, you shuddered. A small, broken sound escaped you.

Jake made a noise low in his throat, something between a groan and a sigh, and it made your stomach twist painfully.

You didn’t even notice you were crying until Jake pulled back, his brows furrowing.

His hands gently cupped your face, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, “Why are you crying?”

You shook your head. You didn’t want to answer. You didn’t want to talk.

So you kissed him again.

This time, he was gentler. Softer.

And it only made you cry harder.

Because it felt like grief.

Because you were mourning something you never really had. Something you couldn’t have.

The moment your lips left his, Jake didn’t pull you back. Instead, his hands found your face again, holding it with just enough space between you that he could see your face.

Tears clung to your lashes, slipping down your cheeks silently.

“Hey,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head. You couldn’t answer.

Jake’s thumb stroked over your wet cheek “Y/N.” His voice was firmer now, but still careful.

Instead of answering you hiccuped, shook your head and pressed your face against his bare chest.

And then, barely above a whisper, barely audible over the sound of his heartbeat against your ear, you choked out, "I’m so sorry."

Jake stiffened, but it only lasted a second. Then, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in without a second thought. No hesitation. No questions. Just warmth.

His hands ran soothingly up and down your back, gentle, steady. “Hey,” he said again, quieter this time. “Why are you –”

"I’m sorry," you interrupted, voice barely working through the lump in your throat. "I’m so sorry."

Jake’s fingers curled slightly into the fabric of your hoodie, his grip tightening. “Why are you saying that?”

But you just shook your head again, screwing your eyes shut, pressing your forehead harder against his collarbone.

Because you shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be in his arms.

You should have gone no contact. You had gone no contact.

And now you had ruined it.

“I am sorry Jake.”

Jake exhaled slowly, resting his chin lightly against the top of your head. His chest rose and fell against you, his heartbeat strong, steady, the only sound in the dimly lit bathroom.

“You don’t have to –” he started, then stopped himself, like he wasn’t sure what to say. He tried again. “Whatever’s going on, you don’t have to go through it alone.”

That made your chest ache.

You sucked in a shaky breath, but it didn’t help. It just made the tears come harder, your fingers gripping onto him.

Jake didn’t move. Didn’t push for answers. Didn’t ask you to stop crying.

He just held you, warm and quiet and safe.

And you hated yourself for wanting to stay.

──────────────────────────Jake stared at the black screen of his phone. He tapped it. Nothing. No messages, no missed calls. Just the same empty notifications that had been there five minutes ago.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair before letting the screen fade back to black.

The day after the game, after the party, after you kissed him and broke down he thought you were just tired and wanted to be left alone. Maybe something had happened in the lab. He didn’t know. You apologized over and over again and didn’t stop hiccuping until you felt asleep. You never told him what you were apologizing for and he didn’t know what you could be apologizing for. What he did know was that it broke his heart.

By the second day, he was uneasy.

By the fourth, when his messages were still left on read, when every TikTok he sent remained unopened, when you hadn’t even sent him a half-assed meme in return, something inside him twisted tightly.

You never cried. He had never seen you cry, not once. And now, not only had he seen it, but you were pushing him away.

And worst of all, he had no idea why

It didn’t make sense. Nothing had happened, right? At least, nothing bad.

He scrolled through your chat again.

Jake Hey, how’s your day? Jake Y/N? Jake Are you okay?

No reply.

The worst part? It wasn’t just him.

He hoped you might be studying with your friends in the empty classroom you preferred to use, but your friends told him you didn’t answer their texts. Chaewon was looking as worried as Jake felt, when he told them that you weren’t answering his either.

Sunghoon had told him you skipped out on lunch with him.

If this was just about the kiss, why were you avoiding everyone?

It made him feel sick.

And now, Jay was standing in front of him in the rink’s locker room, arms crossed, staring at him like he was a fucking criminal.

“What did you do?”

Jake looked up, brows furrowing. “What?”

Jay huffed, shifting his weight like he was trying to stay patient. “Y/N. She’s avoiding all of us. So, what did you do?”

Jake exhaled sharply, leaning against the bench behind him. “I don’t know.” His voice was hoarse, tired. Defeated. “She just… stopped answering me. I don’t get it.”

Jay narrowed his eyes, like he was trying to decide whether Jake was lying or just stupid. “You don’t get it? You two were practically glued together at the hip a week ago. Now she won’t even look at you? I know you broke up, but she said you were still friends? That you ended it mutually?”

Jake dragged a hand down his face. “Yeah I thought so, too.”

Jay’s expression softened, just slightly. “Did something happen at the wedding? Or after?”

Jake hesitated. He thought about telling Jay the truth. About the kiss. About the way you had melted against him one second, only to shut him out completely the next.

“I–” Jake’s throat tightened. “I really don’t know.”

Jay studied him for a moment before shaking his head. “Well, whatever it is, you need to fix it.”

Jake let out a humorless laugh, hollow and bitter. “Yeah? How am I supposed to do that when she won’t even talk to me?”

Jay sighed. “Figure it out.”

Jake swallowed hard, staring at the unread messages on his screen.

He just wished he knew what he did wrong.

────────────────────────── Your hands were shaking.

You made a mistake.

You don’t make mistakes.

Mistakes mean carelessness. A lack of control.

Yet here you were, standing over a decomposed body in the forensic taphonomy lab, staring at the mistake you just made.

Your pulse roared in your ears as you tried to correct your mistake, but it was too late. A single misstep in this field could mean an entire case being thrown out in the real world. You couldn’t make mistakes. The stakes were too high for mistakes. You knew better. And yet, today, you made a mistake.

Your professor’s voice cut through the haze. “Y/N.”

You flinched.

Professor Kim, looked at you with something close to concern. He rarely stepped in during labs unless absolutely necessary, but now, he gently pulled off his gloves and nodded toward the door.

“Step outside with me.”

Shame crept up your spine as you followed him into the dimly lit hallway, away from the smell of decay and chemicals. The second the door shut behind you, he sighed.

“What’s going on? You’ve been off the whole week.”

You stared at the floor, hands balled into fists. You didn’t want to have this conversation. Not with him, not with anyone.

But Professor Kim knew you too well. He had seen you excel, seen you obsess over every little detail until it was perfect. And now he saw you fail.

“I don’t make mistakes,” you murmured, voice tight.

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. “No, you don’t. Which is why I’m asking what’s wrong.”

You swallowed hard. The lump in your throat was unbearable.

You wanted to tell him everything. That you kissed Jake. That you regret it. That you regret giving him hope. That you can’t stop thinking about the way his hands felt on your skin, the way his voice broke when he asked what was going on.

That you can’t even focus on yourself anymore.

But you can’t say any of that.

You should lie. Say you’re fine. Say you’re just stressed, that it won’t happen again.

But your throat feels tight, and before you can stop yourself, the truth slips out.

“I don’t know.”

Professor Kim nods, like he expected that answer. “Take the rest of the day off.”

Your head snaps up. “What?”

“You’re not helping anyone in this state. Not yourself, not your peers, and certainly not whoever’s lying on that table.” His voice is firm, but there’s something gentle underneath it. “I won’t mark you for today. But, Y/N… get your head together.”

His words cut deeper than they should. You nod stiffly, barely managing a choked-out “Thank you” before walking away.

Because the truth is, you don’t know how to fix this.

How to fix yourself. ──────────────────────────You didn’t go to class the next day. Or the day after. It didn’t even feel like a decision. You just couldn’t. The exhaustion seeped into your bones, weighing you down like an anchor, making everything feel distant and dull. You woke up, stared at your ceiling, and the idea of getting dressed, walking outside, pretending you were fine—it was unbearable. So you didn’t. You called your doctor, told him you were feeling like shit—physically, mentally, you didn’t even clarify, and he didn’t ask. He just signed off on an excuse for the rest of the week. No questions. No judgment. You should have felt relieved. You felt nothing. The days blurred. You ignored texts, ignored missed calls, ignored the quiet ache in your chest every time you saw Jake’s name light up your screen. You thought about answering, about saying sorry, I just need time, but even that felt like too much effort.

You didn’t know how long you had been sitting there. The sky had been soft and golden when you first stepped outside, the sun dipping lazily toward the horizon. You watched it set, watched the world shift from warm orange to dusky purple, then fade into black. Now, only the distant glow of the city lights kept you company.

It wasn’t particularly cold, but it wasn’t warm either. The kind of in-between temperature that should have been comfortable but somehow wasn’t.

Your fingers fumbled with the cigarette between them.

You didn’t usually hesitate. But now, you just stared at it. The lighter sat beside you, untouched. It was stupid—after everything, this was what made you pause? You had been craving the nicotine all day, the mindless comfort of smoke filling your lungs, but for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to light it.

Maybe because you knew Jake would hate it. Maybe because, for the first time in weeks, you didn’t want to disappoint him any more than you already had. Or maybe, deep down, you knew it wouldn’t actually make you feel any better. You squeezed your eyes shut, tilting your head back against the wall, exhaling shakily.

You just needed one second to breathe.

Just one.

You exhaled slowly, staring at the cigarette pinched between your fingers.

Then, before you could think about it any longer, you flicked the lighter. The flame danced in the dark, small and fleeting. You brought it to the end of the cigarette, inhaling deeply as the ember caught, glowing softly in the night.

The first drag burned.

It was sharp in your throat, settling heavy in your lungs. You held it in for a second, like it would make a difference, like it would calm the storm in your chest.

It didn’t.

You let the smoke slip past your lips, watching it curl into the air, disappearing into nothing. The taste lingered—bitter, stale, wrong. You waited for it to do something, to ease the tension in your body, to make you feel anything other than this crushing weight of regret.

Your phone sat beside you, screen dark. You hadn’t checked it in hours. You didn’t need to. You already knew.

Jake played the Frozen Four today.

And you weren’t there.

You never went to away games—traveling was too much, and he understood that. But you always texted him. Always. Even when you were too busy, too tired, too overwhelmed with school, you always managed to send him something. A dumb joke. A simple You got this. A reminder that he wasn’t alone. Because he deserved support. Because his family wouldn’t give it to him. And you swore you would. Even if you weren’t currently in the midst of fake dating. You were—you are—friends. And friends support each other.

But you didn’t.

You let the entire day slip through your fingers, drowning in your own mess, spiraling so deep into yourself that you forgot about him. A sharp inhale stung your throat as you brought the cigarette to your lips again.

You took another drag.

The weight in your chest didn’t lift. The guilt didn’t ease. You exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl into the air before vanishing into the night.

Jake’s voice echoed in your head, uninvited.

"You know that shit’s bad for you, right?"

He never scolded, never judged. He just looked at you with that quiet concern, the kind that made you feel seen in a way that was almost unbearable. "Seriously, Y/N."

Your stomach twisted painfully. You should have wished him good luck. The least you could have done was let him know you were thinking of him. That you still cared, even if you were trying so damn hard to stop.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you pressed the cigarette into the brick ledge, snuffing it out before you even finished.

It didn’t fix anything.

And now, you regretted another thing. ────────────────────────── Winning should feel better than this.

The crowd was roaring. His teammates were celebrating, their cheers echoing off the locker room walls, but Jake just sat there, hunched forward on the bench, elbows on his knees, staring at his phone. The screen stayes dark. No messages. No missed calls. At least not from you. Instead, his dad called.

"Congratulations, son. I heard you won."

Jake didn’t answer right away. Just gripped his phone so tight he thought it might crack.

Because he knew his dad hadn’t watched the game. He never watched.

"I’ve been thinking," his dad continued, voice calm, detached, businesslike–just like always. "I’ll be transferring to the satellite office in Seoul. I want to be closer to my family. Closer to you."

Jake’s blood turned to ice. His dad didn’t do things like that. He didn’t just decide to be around. He didn’t care about being close to Jake.

"We should have dinner tomorrow. Just the two of us. Catch up."

Jake felt sick. His dad never just did things for him. There was always a catch. A reason. A way it benefited him more than Jake. This was exactly why it all started, wasn’t it? The fake dating. The whole fucking mess.

Because of him.

Because Jake had wanted, for once, to have some kind of control. To be able to tell his dad: Look, see? I have something good. I don’t need you to approve of me, because I’m happy without it. And you had gone along with it. Had agreed just to piss off Marcus. And now? Now you weren’t even speaking to him.

Maybe he could call you. Maybe he could try to explain how much this sucked, how it was making his skin crawl, how the last thing he wanted was to sit down and have dinner with the one man who had never once supported him. But he knew you wouldn’t pick up. You barely even answered his texts. When you did, it was short, vague, nothing like the way you used to talk to him before. Before you kissed him in you dimly lit bathroom. Before you cried against his chest. Before everything changed.

Jake ran a hand through his hair, his jaw clenching so hard it hurt. You had promised to be there. Not just for this game–for him. You had promised to be supportive, because his family wasn’t. But you hadn’t even wished him good luck. And fuck, it hurt.

Jake swallowed back the instinct to refuse his dads invitation. Because he couldn’t refuse. Not without making it worse. So he said yes. And now he was sitting here, in the locker room, watching his teammates lose their minds in celebration while he felt like absolute shit.

He played like absolute shit.

The first period had been a disaster. He was still skating around like a ghost, head stuck somewhere else. Then he spotted an opening, a clean pass heading his way, and suddenly he was laying on the ice, unable to breath. The hit came from his blind spot, full force, slamming him into the boards.

Pain exploded through his ribs. His vision blurred at the edges, and he collapsed onto the ice. He managed to push himself up, wincing hard, gripping his stick like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His entire side throbbed in time with his heartbeat. His ribs, still sore from last week, felt like they had been lit on fire. He skated off during intermission, barely making it to the locker room before leaning against the wall, eyes squeezed shut.

"CC, I can’t," he admitted, voice tight, breath shallow. "It hurts too much to breathe." The Coach barely questioned it. Just eyed him, saw the ice pack he pressed to his ribs, and nodded. Jake was benched. And the worst part? He was relieved.

He couldn’t keep playing like this. Not when he was this distracted, this fucking miserable.

He overheard Chaewon and Yujin talk yesterday. You weren't coming to class. Or to study meetings. Or anywhere. Jake had only half-heard it at the time. But now, the words echo in his head, over and over. You weren't just avoiding him. You were avoiding everyone.

And he had no idea why.

His fingers tighten around his phone. His stomach twists. He misses you. So much it’s physically painful now. ────────────────────────── Jake sat stiffly in his chair, barely touching the wine glass in front of him. He should’ve expected this. The pristine, dimly lit private dining room. The carefully curated silence. His father sitting across from him, impeccable as always, as if he hadn’t just summoned Jake here to systematically dismantle him. He should’ve expected it, but it still made his stomach churn.

“You’re quiet.” His father’s voice was as sharp as ever, but there was an air of disinterest to it, like he wasn’t particularly concerned about the answer. Jake forced a shrug, fingers tracing the stem of his glass. “Just tired.” His father hummed as if that was an acceptable excuse, but they both knew it wasn’t. They made small talk, if you could even call it that. His father updated him on the company’s numbers, on his brother’s continued excellence, on things that were supposed to matter to him but never had. Jake responded when necessary, nodding at all the right times, murmuring an occasional “hmm” or “sounds great” even though none of it registered. He felt disconnected. Like he was watching himself from the outside, just waiting for the inevitable shift in conversation.

“Y/N,” his father said, casually cutting into his steak. “Marcus’ father had plenty to say about her. And after seeing her at the wedding myself, I can’t say I disagree.” Jake’s jaw locked, but he said nothing. “She’s… bleak,” his father continued. “Certainly not the kind of woman I expected you to be involved with.” He set his knife down with a soft clink. “You could do better. You already have done better.”

Jake stared blankly at the table. There was something almost funny about it, really. His father didn’t even say it cruelly. Just plainly. Like it was a fact. Like he wasn’t talking about the person his son is in love with, at least in a fake way for his father.

“She’s not a good fit for you,” his father continued, taking a sip of wine. “Especially not considering your future.”

Jake exhaled slowly, exhaustion creeping in at the edges of his mind. He was so tired of this conversation. So tired of being told what he was supposed to be, what he was supposed to want.

“And I am not talking about hockey. Hockey isn’t a future, Jaeyun.” His father finally met his gaze. “It’s a distraction. A temporary indulgence. You always knew that.”

Jake swallowed, his throat dry.

“I let you have this because your mother insisted. But you’re not a child anymore. It’s time to stop pretending this is something you can build a life around.”

His father spoke like it was obvious, like Jake should be grateful for being allowed to chase a dream that was never meant to be permanent. Jake felt… hollow. He should be angry. He should feel something. But all he could think about was how small he felt sitting here.

“You will take over the Seoul branch,” his father continued smoothly. “That’s non-negotiable. You’re a Sim. It’s your responsibility.” Jake forced himself to breathe. “And if I don’t?” His voice came out quieter than he intended. His father’s expression didn’t even flicker. “Then I will cut you off.” There it was. So simple. So matter-of-fact. Jake just… nodded. Not because he agreed. Not because he was backing down. But because he suddenly felt too drained to keep going in circles. His father sighed, picking up his knife again, as if this entire conversation had been a minor inconvenience. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but you’ll understand in time. You have too much potential to waste on something so fleeting.”

Jake didn’t respond.

Because what was the point? His father had already decided who he was, what his life should be. There was no convincing him otherwise. Jake pushed his chair back, standing on legs that felt unsteady beneath him.

His father barely glanced up. “Where are you going?” Jake’s voice was quiet, almost empty. “Home.” He turned and walked out.

The restaurant doors shut behind him, but the world outside didn’t feel any lighter. The streets buzzed with life, but it all blurred together. He felt like he was moving through static, like nothing was real. He exhaled shakily, pressing his fingers to his temples. His hands felt cold.

And all he could think about was how much he wanted to see you. Because somehow, you were the only thing that had ever made all of this feel bearable. And whatever Jakes dad wanted, it was never Jake’s happiness. It was control. Molding Jake into the perfect heir, and in his father’s eyes, you didn’t fit into that equation. His mind felt foggy, his body running on autopilot as he walked without thinking. Step after step, streetlight after streetlight, but it didn’t make him feel any less numb.

He knew Jay and Heeseung would be at the dorm when he got back. Knew they were probably waiting, wanting to ask how dinner had gone, if his dad had finally backed off, if the conversation had been tolerable for once. It wasn’t. It never was. But he didn’t have the energy to talk about it.

So when he finally reached their building, when he stepped through the door and saw them sitting on the couch, their heads turning toward him immediately—he ignored them.

“Jake–” Jay started, already pushing off the couch, but Jake didn’t stop.

Didn’t look at them. Didn’t acknowledge Heeseung’s furrowed brows, the concern etched into his face. Didn’t say a word. He just kept walking. Straight past them, down the hall, into his room. The door shut behind him with a quiet click.

And finally, finally, he let himself breathe.

He didn’t turn the light on. Just stood there in the dark, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket before he slowly peeled it off. His movements were sluggish, detached, like his body wasn’t fully connected to his mind. His dad’s words echoed in his head, looping endlessly.

Hockey isn’t a future, Jaeyun. You’re not a child anymore. You have no choice.

Jake swallowed against the lump in his throat and let himself collapse onto the bed. He barely managed to toe off his shoes before pressing his face into the pillow, shutting his eyes like it would make everything disappear. But it didn’t. He felt like a fucking failure. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he worked, it was never enough. His brother would always be the golden child. Jake would always be the disappointment–the one wasting his time, the one throwing his potential away.

He had spent his whole life trying not to care about that.

But he did. God, he did.

He knew his father’s words had shaped him more than he wanted to admit. The way he second-guessed himself. The way he always pushed himself harder, trying to prove something, even when there was no one left to convince.

His father had made him feel like he wasn’t enough so often. Every single time he tried to be the son his father wanted. Every single time he failed.

That’s why he dated Sophia. He wasn’t sure he had ever actually even liked her. Not really. Not in the way he liked you.

With you, it was different.

He never had to force himself to be excited to see you, it just happened. You could be talking about the most gruesome, disgusting cases, and he would still be hooked, watching the way your eyes lit up when you explained something you loved. You never made him feel like he had something to prove. Like he was something to parade around in school or in front of your friends, a trophy boyfriend per say, like Sophia did. She definitely didn't date him because she liked him either, judging by how ugly all of it ended. You supported him without hesitation, without making him feel like he had to earn it first. You believed in him, even when his own family didn’t. You made him feel like he was enough.

And god, the butterflies. The stupid, stupid butterflies. He hadn’t felt that way in years. Giddy, like a little schoolboy.

But apparently, none of it mattered.

Because you didn’t feel the same. ────────────────────────── A few days after Jake played the Frozen Four, you forced yourself to pull it together and go back to class. Your professors had assigned you essays on the topics you’d missed, and for once, you were actually grateful for the workload. It gave you something to focus on. You texted Jake two days after the game, apologizing for not wishing him luck and congratulating him on the win. But he didn’t answer. You told yourself you understood. If he was mad, if he didn’t feel like talking to you, that was fair. You had pulled away first. But you decided that the two of you had to talk. This couldn’t go on like this. You had to tell him how you felt. And you had to explain why you needed to step back. You didn’t hear Jay come in. You barely noticed him at first, too focused on the essay you were working on. He sighed and slid into the chair across from you, setting his arms on the desk, catching your attention. You swallowed, shutting your laptop. “Hey, Jay.” “Hey, Y/N.” His voice was quiet, careful. You glanced at him. He was watching you, brows furrowed in concern. "You scared me." Your throat tightened. "Jay—" "I mean it," he cut in, shaking his head. “You disappeared. You stopped going to class, you didn’t go to the game, you barely answer texts. And I wanted to give you space but it's been two weeks and I am worried." Guilt curled in your stomach. You looked away. You had been avoiding him. Not because you wanted to – but because you didn't know how to explain what had been running through your head these past few weeks. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I need you to talk to me, because I don’t think you’re okay.”, Jay exhaled. "You don’t just get to disappear," he said, his voice quieter now. "You don’t just get to lock yourself away and expect people not to care. I care. Jake definitely cares." He let out a slow breath, watching you carefully. "I just – I need to know what’s going on in that head of yours."

You hesitated and focused on your laptop again. You wanted to tell him. Jay had grown to be one of your closest friends, until you started pulling away from everyone. "Did Jake do something?" That made you look up. "No, Jay." The words came out harsh and immediate, your voice cracking under the weight of them. "That’s the problem." And just like that the dam broke: “Jake and I were faking it all. We were never together. Or like kinda? I have no idea. He asked me because his dad is such a stupid arrogant asshole who makes him feel like shit even though Jake is such an amazing person. And I just went along and then you thought we were like you know dating without saying anything and we just thought oh why not. If you would believe us his dad definitely would do too. But-” You swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the desk. "Then- then this stupid fake dating thing didn’t stay fake for me and I actually fell for that stupid idiot. And now I am living through a cliche rom com crisis."

Jay stilled. For a second, he just stared at you. Then he let out a slow, almost pained breath, dragging a hand down his face. "Jesus Christ. Are you actually telling me that you and Jake spent months pretending to be together, being disgustingly obsessed with each other, making literal heart eyes across the room, and you thought–what? That you were faking it?", he let out a breath, shaking his head. You nodded. You were surprised he wasn’t more surprised at the whole dating thing. “Why did you end it then, Y/N? If you knew you liked him. That it wasn’t fake for you.”, he asked. “Because I don’t belong in his world Jay. I saw that at the wedding. I don’t belong in his world of rich people who marry their kids off because it looks better for their company's reputation.”, you swallowed and looked away. Jay just shook his head. "So you pulled away because you were scared." It wasn’t a question. You nodded again. Jay let out a quiet, frustrated sigh, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Fuck,” he whispered. “Y/N. You really thought walking away was the best thing to do?"

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening. "I thought if I ended it first, it would be easier." His lips pressed together. Then, softer he asked, "And? Was it?" You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

He shook his head. "You know, I don’t think you even realize what you did to yourself. You isolated yourself. You disappeared from everything. And I get it, okay? I do. When you care about someone that much, it’s scary. But shutting down? Pretending it doesn’t hurt? That’s not protecting yourself. That’s just making sure you have no one to catch you when you finally break." His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You clenched your jaw, blinking hard. "I didn’t want him to feel bad," you said, your voice small. "I didn’t want him to have to let me down gently when his dad finally thought I wasn’t enough. I didn’t want him to deal with me."

Jay let out a soft, exasperated laugh, shaking his head. "And who told you that he would? In which world would Jake allow his dad to destroy his friendships, his relationship for fucks sake." You looked away. He was right. Jay was silent for a moment. "You don’t have to do this alone, Y/N. You shouldn’t do this alone." He shook his head, a small, wry smile tugging at his lips.

"You pulled away from me, too," he said, quieter now. "You don’t get to do this alone, okay? You don’t have to." Your heart broke hearing him say that. "I miss him," you whispered. Jay sighed, shaking his head. "Yeah. And he misses you." You let out a slow breath, staring at the desk. “Y/N, you love him. And he loves you.”

You flinched. “Jay—” “He does. It's probably too early for him to say it himself, but it's so obvious.” His voice was firm, like he needed you to believe it. “He’s miserable, Y/N. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this. His dad took him out to dinner.” Jay exhaled sharply. “And you weren’t there. You weren’t anywhere.” Guilt curled in your chest like a vice. Jay sighed. “I’m not saying this to make you feel worse. You didn’t ruin this, Y/N. But you will if you don’t fix it.” You let out a slow breath, staring at the desk. Jay nudged you one last time. "So. What are you gonna do about it?" You stared at your hands, feeling your pulse in your throat. “I don’t even know where to start,” you said, voice small, defeated. Jay’s face softened. “You start with him.” His voice was steady, the kind of gentle guidance you hadn’t realized you needed. "But you start now. You don’t have to have the perfect words. You don’t have to have some big, dramatic confession. You just have to talk to him.” You met his eyes, feeling that old ache return, but this time, you knew you could do something about it. “I’m scared,” you admitted quietly. “I know.” Jay nodded, his eyes softening with empathy. “But you won’t know until you try.”

You exhaled shakily, staring down at your desk.

Jay was right. ──────────────────────────

The glow of Jake’s phone was the only source of light in the dark room. He was laying on his back, staring blankly at the screen, watching as the minutes ticked by.

4:12 PM.

He hadn’t moved in hours. Hadn’t gone to class. Hadn’t gone to practice. Tomorrow was the NCAA National Championship, and he should be panicking about the fact that he was getting benched. But he wasn’t. Because even if Coach wasn’t benching him for missing practice, he physically couldn’t play. Not with his ribs still fucked from the last two games. He had known something was wrong when every breath felt like a knife to his side, but he hadn’t cared enough to get it checked out until Jay practically dragged him to the team doctor. Fractured ribs. A solid six weeks of recovery. No hockey. He should care. But he didn’t. Not about the game. Not about the championship. Not about anything.

The only thing rattling around in his brain was you. And his dad. And the overwhelming, crushing feeling of failure. His phone buzzed suddenly, cutting through the silence. Jake squinted at the screen.

Joshua [Incoming Call] For a second, he debated letting it ring. But then he picked up. Josh never called, so it had to be something important.

“…Hey.”

“Hey, Jake,” Joshua’s voice came through, steady but softer than he remembered. “You got a minute?”

Jake let out a short, humorless laugh. “I got a lot of minutes.”

Joshua sighed. “Yeah, I figured.” There was a pause before he said, “Dad told me what happened at dinner.”

Jake let out a bitter laugh. “Of course, he did. What did he say? That I was throwing my future away? That I was making a fool of myself?”

“What did he tell you?”

Jake exhaled, pressing a hand against his aching ribs. “Not much to say. He laid out his usual bullshit about how hockey isn’t a future, how I have no choice but to take over the Seoul branch. Then threw in some shit about my relationship being a bad look for the family—because apparently, Marcus’s dad had some opinions.”

There was a beat of silence before Joshua asked, “What did you say?”

Jake closed his eyes. “Told him I wasn’t gonna be his chess piece.”

Joshua huffed out something that almost sounded like a laugh. “Bet he loved that.”

“Oh yeah. Real father-son bonding moment.”

Another pause. Then Joshua’s voice came through, quieter.

“Jake… I’m sorry.”

Jake frowned. “For what?”

“For all of it.” Joshua hesitated. “For how Dad treated you. For how I just—let it happen. I didn’t know how bad it was, but that’s not an excuse. I should’ve done something. I should’ve been there for you.”

Jake swallowed. He wasn’t used to hearing this from his brother. Joshua had always been untouchable—the one their dad never criticized, the one who seemed to just belong in that world.

But now, for the first time, he sounded… human.

“It’s not your fault,” Jake muttered.

Joshua sighed. “Maybe not. But I still should’ve told you sooner that you don’t have to listen to him.”

Jake didn’t say anything.

Joshua was silent for a long moment before saying, “Jake, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to let him control your life.”

“I don’t exactly have a choice,” Jake muttered. “He made it clear. No Seoul branch, no financial support.”

“You do have a choice,” Joshua countered. “Go no contact. Cut him off before he can do it to you. I know you’re worried about money,” Joshua continued, “but listen. Whatever you need, I’ve got you. You don’t have to keep trying to please him just to survive.”

Jake swallowed hard.

“Why?” Jake asked. “Why are you even calling?”

Joshua sighed. “Because I should have done it sooner. Because I hate how Dad treats you, how he’s always compared us, like you were some failure when all you’ve done is chase what makes you happy. I never wanted to be the golden child, Jake. I just- I loved playing music, and I was good at business, but I didn’t want it to be at your expense.”

Jake let out a shaky breath. “You don’t know how fucking hard it’s been,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Trying so goddamn hard just to be enough for him. And no matter what I do, it’s never enough.”

“I know,” Joshua said. “And I’m sorry.”

Jake swallowed past the lump in his throat. He was too tired to be angry, too drained to hold onto the resentment he had clung to for so long. He exhaled. “I think I’m done, Josh. I think I’m done trying.”

“Good,” Joshua said. “Because you don’t need to prove anything to him.”

Jake closed his eyes, the weight on his chest shifting—not gone, but lighter. “Thanks, Josh.”

“For what?”

“For calling.”

There was a pause, then Joshua chuckled softly. “Anytime, little brother.”

Jake ran a hand through his hair. “Guess I’m officially the family disappointment, huh?”

Joshua let out a breath of amusement. “Nah. You’re the one who actually had the guts to walk away.”

Jake didn’t know what to say to that.

Then Joshua added, “For what it’s worth? I’m proud of you.”

Jake blinked.

He didn’t think he’d ever heard those words from a family member before.

It shouldn’t have made his throat feel tight.

But it did.

He forced out a chuckle, trying to cover up the sudden swell of emotion. “Damn, hyung. That almost sounded sincere.”

Joshua laughed. “Don’t get used to it.”

Jake let out a deep breath, leaning back against the pillow as he tried to keep his mind from wandering. He didn’t want to think about the game. He didn’t want to think about anything. But Joshua kept going, his voice cutting through the fog in Jake’s head.

“So, what about tomorrow?” Joshua asked, casually. “The championship, right? Are you nervous?”

Jake blinked, surprised. “Wait, you know about the game?”

Joshua snorted. “Sure. I might not watch all the games, but I try to keep up. I mean, how could I not know about the biggest one of the season? It's your biggest game yet. Maybe you'll get the opportunity to get into a professional team if a agent is watching?”

Jake rubbed his temples, trying to focus on his brother's words. His chest felt tight just thinking about it.

“Yeah, well…” Jake hesitated, his voice faltering. “I’m not playing.”

Joshua went quiet. Then, after a long moment of silence, he said, “What? Why not?”

Jake took a shallow breath, avoiding the words for as long as he could. “I, uh… I have a rib fracture.”

The words hung in the air between them, and Jake felt a knot tighten in his stomach, because as soon as they left his mouth, the memory of the last time someone checked on him, the way you had kissed him after your conversation two weeks ago, flashed in his mind.

“What? Jake, a rib fracture? What the hell? Why didn’t you say anything sooner? You can’t just—”

"It's okay. I had worse.", Jake shrugged, cutting him off. He swallowed hard, still trying to suppress the memory of your touch.

“Jake,” Joshua said urgently, his voice low with concern. “You need to get that checked out. That’s serious. Why aren’t you-”

Jake interrupted him again. "I'm fine. Y/N checked on me and said it's probably fine but then during the game on Saturday I was distracted and someone pushed me into the board. Jay made me see a doctor and everything is fine. I just have to be careful for the next few weeks. Don't worry. But uhm maybe don't tell mom. I don't want her to freak out."

Joshua let out a huff. "Jake, you are insane. I hope Y/N is taking good care of you, if Mina knew I had a broken rib she wouldn't let me out of bed."

Jake let out a dry chuckle, but it lacked any real humor. He ran a hand through his hair, hesitating for a moment before finally saying, “Yeah, well… Y/N’s not taking care of me.” His voice was quieter now, more strained. “I haven’t seen her in almost two weeks.”

Joshua was silent for a second. Then, incredulously, “Wait. What do you mean you haven’t seen her?”

Jake exhaled sharply, staring up at the ceiling. “I mean exactly that. She’s avoiding me.” The words felt heavy as they left his mouth, pressing down on his chest in a way that had nothing to do with his ribs.

Joshua scoffed, completely baffled. “Why the hell would she avoid you? I thought she is your girlfriend.”

Jake let out another humorless laugh. "Yeah she kinda never was.”

“Jake… what do you mean?”

Jake shut his eyes, pressing his fingers against his temple as if that would somehow make everything disappear. “We were never real.”

“What?”

Jake exhaled, pressing his knuckles against his eyes. “It was fake. The whole thing.”

Joshua still didn’t say anything, so Jake kept going before he lost the nerve. “I asked her to be my fake girlfriend for the wedding. That’s how it started.” The words felt heavy in his mouth, like he was confessing to a crime. “We… we went on these, like, ‘not-dates’ to get to know each other. But then our friends assumed we were actually together, and we just went with it. I don’t even know when it started feeling… different.”

Joshua let out a breath. “Different?”

Jake groaned, flopping onto his back. “I don’t know, man. At first, it was just fun. But then we kissed. And I thought—God, I don’t even know what I thought. Then we kissed again at that stupid party, and we kissed at the wedding and she kissed me again after telling everyone we broke up and then—” He stopped himself, voice catching.

Joshua’s voice was quiet but firm. “And then what?”

Jake swallowed past the lump in his throat. “And then she broke down during the kiss. And apologized. Over and over. And I still don't know what she was feeling so sorry for. Probably for ghosting me. She probably knew she was going to do this.”

Joshua didn’t respond immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer. “Shit.”

“Yeah.” Jake let out a bitter laugh. “And now she won’t answer my texts. Or anyone’s. She’s not going to class. It’s like she just… disappeared. And I don’t know what to do.”

Joshua was quiet for a moment before saying, “And you miss her.”

Jake let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Yeah. A fuck ton.”

Joshua hummed in understanding. “So, let me get this straight. You asked her to be your fake girlfriend, but now you actually want to be with her?”

Jake let out a slow breath. “Yeah.”

“And she kissed you and then cried, and now she’s avoiding you?”

Jake winced. “Basically.”

Joshua exhaled. “Jake.”

Jake closed his eyes, shaking his head. “She made it pretty clear how she felt.” His voice was quiet now, defeated. “I was stupid for thinking it could be something real.”

Joshua made a frustrated noise. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Jake. Are you serious?”

Jake frowned. “What?”

“She likes you.”

Jake let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Clearly not.”

Joshua groaned. “Jake, I was at that wedding. I saw you two together. I saw the way you looked at her. I saw the way she looked at you. That was not fake."

Jake’s stomach twisted. “You’re imagining things.”

“I’m not.” Joshua’s voice was firm. “She looked at you like you hung the damn moon, Jake.”

Jake pressed his palms into his eyes, trying to fight the wave of emotion building in his chest. “Then why is she gone?”

Joshua sighed. “That’s what you need to figure out.”

Jake let out a shaky breath. “I don’t even know if she wants to see me.”

Joshua’s voice softened. “Then find out. Kissing you and then crying about knowing she will ghost you doesn't sound like someone that doesn't feel something for you, you know. Maybe it started as fake. But it seems like it isn't anymore. For neither of you.”

Jake huffed. “Yeah, well, if she does have feelings, she’s doing a great job of pretending otherwise.”

Joshua sighed. “Jake, this girl spent weeks pretending to date you. You really think she’s incapable of pretending something else?”

Jake clenched his jaw, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “I don’t know what to do, Josh.”

Joshua was silent for a moment, like he was carefully choosing his next words. “You talk to her.”

Jake huffed. “She’s avoiding me.”

“Then make her listen.”

Jake let out a humorless laugh. “That easy, huh?”

“I didn’t say it’d be easy,” Joshua shot back. “But what’s the alternative? Just giving up? Accepting that the best thing that’s ever happened to you just walked away?”

Jake sucked in a sharp breath. He hated how easily his brother could see through him.

“I know you,” Joshua continued. “You don’t just let things go when they matter. And don’t even try to tell me she didn’t matter.”

Jake didn’t say anything.

Joshua sighed again, but this time, it was softer. “Just… think about it, alright?”

Jake ran a hand down his face, feeling utterly drained. “Yeah. I’ll think about it.”

He had been thinking about nothing but you for the past two weeks. ──────────────────────────They lost. They fucking lost. Jake was sitting next to Sunghoon and Chaeryoung behind the players bench in the stadium not believing his eyes. The opposing team managed to get the puck into their net two times within 10 seconds in the second period. The goals were brilliant and there was a reason why Seok Matthew got drafted by the eagles, but fuck. This couldn’t be happening. The buzzer ran to signal the end of the third period and Jake basically jumped down to his team, ignoring the sharp pain in his ribs. This couldn’t be happening. Jay ripped his helmet off and looked up towards the ceiling, Heeseung skated to the bench and slowly undid his gloves and helmet, looking absolutely devastated. Beomgy looked like he was about to cry and Soobin and Yeonjun immediately hugged him and presumably told him it was not his fault. Jake just stood there. They lost. Their coach gathered them in the locker room, his voice softer than usual, a hand resting firmly on Soobin’s shoulder as he addressed the team. “You boys played a hell of a season. Hold your heads high. You gave it everything.”

Jake had wanted to send him and Yeonjun off with a win, a championship, a night of celebration that would go down in history. Instead, all they had was silence. The bus ride home was heavy. No music, no usual post-game excitement. Just quiet. After a while, their coach stood up and grabbed the mic at the front of the bus. “Guys,” he started, glancing back at them. “You played fantastic. This whole season was incredible. I rarely have a team with this much connection, this much passion. It was an honor coaching you. So many of you have a bright future in hockey. And this? This isn’t the end. It’s just fuel for next year.” He gave them a small smile. “Next season, the cup will be ours.” A few murmurs of agreement rippled through the team, some nods, some tired smiles. Later that night, they all found themselves crammed into their regular bar. The air was filled with the low hum of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter that felt a little forced at first, but eventually, the drinks started kicking in and they took over the music cranking it up high. “Alright, alright,” Beomgyu announced, standing on one of the bar stools and clinking his beer bottle against his ring. “We may have lost, but we’re still the hottest hockey team in the league, and that counts for something, right?” A weak cheer went up, and Beomgyu scowled. “No, no, no. That was pathetic. Let’s try again – we are still the hottest hockey team in the league, and that counts for something, right?” This time, the response was louder, mixed with laughter and a few playful boos. Jake, slouched against the booth with a whiskey in hand, cheered along, with less enthusiasm as some of the others. He wasn’t feeling particularly celebratory. But the others had enough to drink already to feel enthusiastic again. Beomgyu climbed down from his chair and steered right at Jake. “Okay Jake. Stop pouting. We lost, so what. Smile dude. I just called you hot.”

That actually made Jake chuckle a bit. “I am not feeling very hot right now to be honest.” “Oh wait wait! I know what will make you feel hot within a few seconds again!”, Beomguy turned around and made his way to the DJ and then to the bar. He returned a few minutes later holding up shot glasses filled with red liquids. “Prairie fires!” And then, as if on cue, the opening beats of Hot N Cold blasted through the speakers. “Oh, fuck off,” Jake groaned, while Beomgyu cackled and slammed a shot glass down in front of him. “Katy Perry rules, baby,” Beomgyu smirked. “Take the shot.”

Jake sighed but tipped the tequila back without complaint. The rule was dumb as hell, but it was his rule, and he had to respect it. The alcohol and the hot sauce bruned in his throat when he swallowed the shot. Then the next song started. Last Friday Night. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” “Rules are rules,” Beomgyu grinned, already handing him another one. Jake exhaled heavily before knocking back another shot.

Then, California Gurls. Jake groaned but took another. Then Teenage Dream. Then Dark Horse. And before he could even process how many shots he had downed in the span of 45 minutes, he was already way past the point of being buzzed.

“I hate all of you,” Jake slurred, swaying slightly as he grabbed onto Nicolas’s shoulder for support, which turned out to be a horrible idea, since he was swaying just as much as Jake. “Correction: you love us,” Beomgyu grinned, drowned another shot alone and turned around. “Soobin hyung! I come to give you my love!” Across the bar, Soobin barely had time to react before Beomgyu launched himself at him. “No!” Soobin’s voice rang out in pure, genuine panic, which send Nicolas and Jake into a laughing fit so hard, that Jake was scared he was going to pee his pants.

Jake was still catching his breath when another Katy Perry song blasted through the speakers, and suddenly, an arm slung around his shoulders. “Jake! It’s Katy! Where are our shots?” “Kotone!” he laughed, spinning around and wrapping her in a bear hug. Without thinking, he lifted her off the ground, making her shriek. “My favorite shots partner!” “Fuck, let me down,” she gasped between laughs. “Imma vomit if you spin me!”

Jake just squeezed her tighter. “You’d still be my favorite!” She smacked his shoulder, still laughing as he finally set her down. “Jay should get us shots,” she declared, nodding seriously. “I want those weird apple shots we had last time. Where’s Y/N? She also has to have one!” His heart stumbled. “She’s… at home,” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. Kotone frowned. “Aw, no. Why? She needs some Katy shots.” She spotted Jay and almost threw herself into his arms. “Baby. Can you buy us apple shots? Its Katy.”

Jay looked at her with such a love sick facial expression Jake felt like kicking him in the nuts. Jay absolutely deserved to be happy and Kotone made him so happy, he was such a simp for that girl it made Jake sick. He just wanted to kick him for being happy in front of him. And then someone skipped Teenage Dream and he heard the first notes of Finesse by Bruno mars. His heart stopped. In fact everything felt like it stopped. He had to blink aggressively to stop his tears from falling. His breath hitched, his pulse quickened, and the bar faded around him. This song. This fucking song. His eyes darted around, and suddenly, it was like watching a slow-motion montage of all his friends pulling their boyfriends, their girlfriends, their person in for a kiss. Jay and Kotone. Yeonjun and Chaeryoung. Even Beomgyu, drunk out of his mind, was spinning some girl in a circle before kissing her forehead sloppily. It was tradition.

And the last time he heard that song he took part in it. Pulling you close. Kissing you. And you kissed back. It was soft and dizzying, the taste of cigarettes and tequila on your tongue, your hands tangling in his hair. Fuck. He could still feel it.

Still taste you. And he wanted to kiss you again so badly it made his head spin worse than the alcohol ever could. Before he could think, he turned on his heel and started toward the door. He needed to go. He didn’t know where exactly—your place? His? Somewhere else? But he had to go.

It didn’t matter that you hadn’t answered his texts. Didn’t matter that you had been avoiding everyone. Didn’t matter that he had no idea if you even wanted to see him. He needed to find you.

And so, without another word, he turned and stumbled toward the door. ────────────────────────── You were on the cusp of sleep when the sound of your doorbell ringing woke you up again. You groaned and glanced at your alarm clock. 2:14 am. Who would ring your doorbell at two am in the morning. Who would need anything from you at two in the morning? Your doorbell rang again, this time longer. And again. And again. You signed and peeled your blanket off your body. Shuffling toward the front door, you pressed the button to the intercom. “Hello?” “Y/N?” Jake. What was Jake doing here at 2 am. You furrowed your brow in confusion. “Jake? What are you doing here?” “Y/N please please let me in.” His voice was slurring, and you could tell he was drunk. Without thinking, you grabbed your keys and slipped on a pair of flip-flops before rushing down the stairs to the entrance door of the building. When you opened it you froze for a second. Jake was slumped against the wall next to the door, looking absolutely wrecked. His eyes were glassy and his cheeks and neck flushed. He smelled like alcohol. When he saw you, his head shot up, and before you could even process what was happening, he staggered forward, wrapping his arms around you. His body trembled slightly as he pressed his face into your shoulder. He was crying. You felt his hot tears soaking through the thin material of your Pyjama shirt. “Why did you leave me, Y/N?” he whispered, his voice breaking. “What did I do?” You had to close your eyes for a second swallowing hard. “Jake…” You gently pushed him away just enough to look into his face. He looked beautiful, even while he was drunk and crying he looked devastatingly beautiful.

You couldn't stop yourself from wiping his cheeks with your thumb. “Jake you’re drunk.” His glassy eyes locked onto yours, a deep frown tugging at his lips. “No,” he mumbled, shaking his head sluggishly. “Not Jake.” His bottom lip trembled. “I’m not Jake. I’m Jakey. Or Jakeyboy.” His brows knitted together, voice turning small, wounded. “Why are you calling me Jake?” And just like that, your heart shattered. It felt like the air had been punched out of your lungs.

Your throat tightened painfully. You blinked hard, forcing back the sting in your eyes. "Why, Y/N? Why aren’t you speaking to me? Why aren't you speaking to anyone?” His voice cracked as he buried his face into your hands, seeking comfort, yet his words only made everything worse. “I miss you.” You couldn’t believe this was happening. It felt like a bad dream. You were the reason why he looked like this, why he was feeling miserable, as Jay put it, and it broke your heart. “Let’s go inside, Jake,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady. “Let’s get you some water.” Jake nodded against your hands, his eyes fluttering shut as if the simple gesture had exhausted him.

You carefully took his hands and helped him stumble inside, leading him to your small apartment. It was more of a one-room studio than anything, but you guided him to sit on the bed and knelt before him. His eyes never left you but he calmed down slightly, not crying anymore. When you got him to remove his jacket and shirt, you handed him one of his shirts he left at your place after training once. You washed it and it had been lying in your closet ever since. He looked like a kicked puppy, his face full of hurt. You stood in front of him, standing between his legs, gently cupping his face in your hands again. His skin was warm and flushed from alcohol. “Jake, I’m so sorry. I should’ve talked to you. I should’ve—” Your voice broke, tears welling in your eyes. “I’m so sorry.” Before you could say anything more, he suddenly pulled you toward him, burying his face in your stomach. His arms wrapped tightly around you, fingers clutching at the fabric of your shirt like he was afraid you’d slip away again. You felt the warmth of his breath against your skin, the way his shoulders shook, and the wetness of his tears seeping through the thin cotton. “Why did you disappear, Y/N?” His voice was so small. Your hands trembled as they found their way into his hair, your fingers threading through the strands. “I don’t know, Jake,” you whispered, your own voice breaking. “I don’t know—but I am so, so sorry.” A sob caught in your throat, and the dam broke. You tried to hide your face in your hands.

Jake pulled back slightly, his hands reaching up to wrap around your wrists, gently tugging them away from your tear-streaked face. You just shook your head and another sob made its way from your throat. “Jake, I’m sorry. I was scared. I–I didn’t know what to do,” you choked out. His grip on your wrists tightened and he carefully pulled you onto his lap. “You just disappeared, Y/N,” he whispered against your temple and you could smell the faint taste of tequila. Why did it always have to be tequila?

“You were gone. You promised.” He exhaled shakily, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. Then another. And another. “I was so worried,” he murmured against your skin. Another kiss. “I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice barely more than a breath. “What happened? Please, I need you to talk to me.” You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head. Not now. You had promised Jay and yourself that you’d talk to Jake, that you’d tell him everything. But not while he was like this. Not when he was clearly drunk. “Tomorrow, Jake,” you whispered, sniffling as you leaned further into him. “I’ll tell you everything tomorrow, when you’re sober. I promise. And this time, I’ll keep it.”

His hands lingered on your wrists for a beat longer before finally loosening, though he still didn’t let go. You pulled away just enough to grab a box of tissues from your bedside table, dabbing at your cheeks before handing him one. He took it, wiping his face, but his fingers never left your skin, still curled loosely around your wrist, as if he was terrified you’d vanish the second he let go. You swallowed the lump in your throat and mustered a small smile, tugging on his hand. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Jake let out a quiet sigh but nodded, letting you guide him toward the bathroom. As soon as you flicked on the light, the déjà vu hit you like a tidal wave. Him, slumped against your sink. A spare toothbrush hanging lazily from his mouth. The way his gaze lingered on you in the mirror, unfocused but so unbearably soft. He washed his face, dried it off, and the second his hands were free, they found your wrist again. You led Jake back to your bed, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of the streetlamp outside. You could see how exhausted he was, he was moving slowly and sluggishly. You pulled back the blanket and nudged him toward the mattress. He didn’t argue, just sank onto it with a quiet sigh, rolling onto his side. You hesitated for a moment before lying down beside him, careful, unsure. But Jake didn’t hesitate. The second you were within reach, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you against his chest, his nose pressing into the crook of your neck.

He exhaled softly, his breath warm against your skin, and you felt the way his body slowly relaxed against yours. His grip on you remained firm, but the tension in his shoulders faded, his breathing evening out as he fell asleep. Your eyes flickered to the ceiling, unable to fall asleep. You shifted slightly, your hand brushing against something soft, and when you turned your head, your fingers curled around a familiar plushie. Mr. Fluffinton the Third. Your chest ached. You should’ve talked to Jake. You should’ve stayed. Instead, you ran. And now, lying here in the quiet, feeling his steady breathing against your neck, all you could think about was how much you had missed him. How much you still missed him. And how afraid you were that you had ruined everything. ────────────────────────── The city was still quiet when you stepped onto the rooftop. A cold breeze kissed your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as you crossed your arms over your chest. Just standing up here made you itch to light up a cigarette. Letting the nicotine calm your nerves when your mind was too loud to sleep. You haven’t bought a new packet since you threw your last one into the trash two weeks ago. The day you missed his game. You took a deep breath, staring out at the streets that were still dark. You hadn’t slept – not really. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Jake. The way he had looked at you when you let him in. The way he had held you, his grip tight like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers again. The way he had whispered, Why did you leave me? Why are you calling me Jake? You swallowed hard, rubbing your arms before turning back toward the stairwell. You weren’t sure how long you had been up there, but the sky was starting to lighten, the first hints of dawn creeping over the horizon. You sighed, shaking off the lingering chill as you made your way back down to your apartment. The sound of you opening your apartment door woke Jake up, his face soft with sleep, hair a mess against your pillow. His brows furrowed as he blinked, his eyes searching the room until they landed on you. “Where’d you go?” His voice was thick with sleep, raspy and quiet. Your heart clenched. You crossed the room without thinking, dropping to your knees in front of him. Your hands found his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, and he leaned into your touch instinctively, his eyes fluttering shut for a second. “Just the roof,” you murmured. “I couldn’t sleep.” Jake blinked up at you, and for a moment, he just studied you. Your fingers moved from his cheeks to his hair, gently carding through the strands, trying to lull him into sleep again. Then your hand brushed against something soft, and you glanced down to see Mr. Fluffington the Third, clutched loosely in Jake’s grip.

Your throat tightened, and you stroked his cheek with your thumb, voice barely above a whisper. “Go back to sleep, Jake.” His lashes fluttered, but he didn’t take his eyes off you. “You’ll be here when I wake up?” You swallowed against the lump in your throat. “I’ll be here.” Jake didn’t say anything else. He just nodded sleepily, his grip on Mr. Fluffington tightening slightly as he let his eyes slip shut again.

You stayed there, kneeling beside the bed, watching as his breathing evened out. His lashes cast soft shadows against his cheeks, lips parted just slightly, his face still carrying that gentle confusion, like even in sleep, he wasn’t sure if you’d really be there when he woke up again. You exhaled shakily, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead before you finally stood. Slipping back into bed beside him felt strange. It felt like too much and not enough all at once. But the moment your body settled against the mattress, Jake’s arms moved instinctively, wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer. You turned onto your side, facing him, and let yourself study him in the dim light. How had you ever thought you could just leave? Your fingers hovered near his face, tracing over the air between you before you finally gave in, brushing your knuckles against his cheek. He sighed softly in his sleep, leaning into your touch even unconsciously. You bit your lip, eyes stinging.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow you would talk. Tomorrow you would tell him everything. ────────────────────────── You stirred awake to the feeling of soft fingers running through your hair. The warmth of Jake’s body beneath you, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the gentle touch against your scalp. The slight scratch almost made you fall asleep again but Jake's voice interrupted your almost slumber. “You’re awake.” His voice was quiet, still thick with sleep. You hummed in response, not ready to move, not ready to look him in the eye. His fingers didn’t stop moving in your hair. “You didn’t sleep much, did you?” You swallowed hard. “Not really.” Jake let out a small sigh, his thumb brushing lightly against the nape of your neck. "Y/N..."

You tensed. You knew what was coming. You had promised him answers. "Tell me what happened," he murmured. "Tell me why you left." Your fingers curled into his shirt, your heart pounding. "Jake..." "I'm right here," he whispered. "Just talk to me." You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to speak before fear could make you run again. "I—" Your voice broke. "I'm scared Jake."

His breath caught, but he didn’t say anything, just kept running his fingers through your hair, waiting. You took a deep breath, but it felt like your lungs couldn’t expand properly. Like the weight of everything you had been holding in was pressing down on your chest, threatening to suffocate you. Jake waited. Patient, steady, warm. His fingers still moved through your hair. "I know I don’t belong in your world, Jake." The words tumbled out before you could stop them, before you could talk yourself into silence again. Your voice was hoarse, raw with the truth you had tried to bury. "I’ve always known." Jake’s body stiffened beneath you. “Y/N…” "Sophia told me," you went on, your fingers gripping his shirt a little tighter, needing something to hold onto. "At the wedding. She told me that her marriage with Marcus was just a business deal. That none of it was real." You felt Jake inhale sharply.

"And it just—God, it hit me all at once," you whispered. "Everything your father said to me that night. The way he looked at me like I was nothing. Like I wasn’t good enough." Jake swore under his breath, his hand stilling against the nape of your neck. "He would never approve of me, Jake," you said, voice breaking. "And I couldn’t—I couldn’t put myself through that again. I can't be the girl who gets tossed aside when something better comes along. I’ve already been that girl." Jake exhaled sharply. "You think I would do that to you?" "I don’t know." The confession felt like ripping open an old wound. "I just—I am scared. Scared of getting my heart broken again by another rich boy who’s out of my league." His hold on you tightened. "I thought—" you swallowed hard, squeezing your eyes shut. "I thought if I ended it first, it would hurt less. For me. For you." Jake was silent for a long moment. And then, so quietly you almost didn’t hear him—“You really think it hurt less?” Your throat tightened. Because looking at him now, feeling the way his body trembled underneath yours, the way his breath came unsteadily, the way he had shown up at your door last night looking absolutely wrecked.

No. It hadn’t hurt less at all. Jake let out a shaky breath, his hand still resting against the nape of your neck, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against your skin. He wasn’t saying anything, but you could feel the tension in his body, in the way his chest rose and fell unevenly beneath you. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet.

"I can’t believe you think I would’ve done that to you." You squeezed your eyes shut, guilt clawing at your ribs. "Jake–" "No," he said, shaking his head slightly. "I need you to hear this." His fingers slid into your hair again, not to comfort, but to tilt your face up, forcing you to look at him. The hurt in his gaze made your stomach twist painfully. You felt your eyes water. "I would never do that to you, Y/N," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "I would never let my dad, or anyone else, decide who I should be with. You think I give a damn about his approval?"

Your breath hitched. "You really thought I would’ve just–what? Tossed you aside when it got hard? When he didn’t approve?" His jaw clenched, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. "You think so little of me?" Your stomach churned. "It’s not that," you murmured. "I was trying to protect myself. And you." Jake let out a soft, bitter laugh. "Yeah? Well, you didn’t. You just hurt us both." He was right. You did. "Jake…" "Do you know how fucking miserable I’ve been, Y/N?" His voice cracked slightly, and it broke something in you. "I kept telling myself there had to be a reason. That there was something I did wrong, something I could’ve fixed if you had just talked to me." You shook your head, throat burning. "There wasn’t."

His eyes softened, but there was still something so profoundly wounded in his expression. "Then why didn’t you let me fight for you? Why did you let me love you." Your throat tightened as his words settled deep in your chest, heavy and suffocating. You had thought you were doing the right thing. That cutting things off before they got too real would save you both the pain of an inevitable ending. But looking at him now, at the hurt in his eyes, at the way his fingers trembled ever so slightly where they held you, you realized you had only rewritten the ending in the worst way possible. Your vision blurred. “Jake, I—” Your voice cracked, and you sucked in a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "I was scared." His jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything, just waited. "I thought—" You swallowed, your hands tightening into fists against his chest. "I thought if I let myself have this, have you, it would hurt even more when I lost it." Jake’s breath hitched. "You never even gave me the chance to prove you wouldn’t lose me." A tear slipped down your cheek, and his eyes immediately flickered to it, his thumb moving instinctively to wipe it away. His touch was so soft, so heartbreakingly gentle that it only made your chest ache more. "Your dad hates me, Jake," you whispered. "And he’s right. I don’t belong in your world. I was never supposed to."

Jake inhaled sharply, and for the first time, anger flickered through his pain. "Fuck that." His voice was still quiet, but there was an unmistakable edge to it now. "You think I give a shit what my dad thinks? You think I would’ve let him ruin this for us?" A sob escaped you before you could stop it, and then his arms were wrapping around you completely, pulling you into his chest like he was afraid you’d slip away again. Your hands fisted into the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him just as tightly. "I’m so sorry," you whispered, the words barely making it past the lump in your throat. "I’m so, so sorry." Jake exhaled shakily, his lips pressing against the top of your head. "You should’ve let me fight for you," he murmured again, voice wrecked. "I know," you choked out, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. Jake pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands cradling your face like you were something fragile. "I can't lose you again," he whispered. "You won’t," you promised, voice trembling. And then, he kissed you.

His lips were soft against yours but he kissed you with a sense of urgency you weren’t used to from him. One of his hands buried itself in your hair and the other one slid down to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. You melted into him, your hands moving up to tangle in his hair, tugging lightly, just to reassure yourself that he was real, that this was real. Jake groaned softly against your mouth. The hand in your hair found its way to your neck. It slid down your spine, slow and deliberate, the tips of his fingers barely ghosting over your skin. You gasped into the kiss, and he took full advantage of it, tilting his head and deepening it, his tongue tentatively brushing against yours. You slightly pulled on his hair and he gasped into your mouth, pulling away slightly to breath before connecting your lips again. You caught his bottom lip between your teeth and bit down gently.

He whined. He fucking whined, a soft, needy sound. His grip on you tightened. His breath hitched, his body pressing even closer to yours. Jake pulled back just enough to press his forehead to yours, his lips parted, his breaths coming just as uneven as yours. "Are you still scared?" he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheek. You swallowed hard, your fingers tracing absentmindedly over his collarbone. "Terrified." A small, breathless laugh escaped him. "Me too."

You giggled and put your head onto his chest again, interviewing your fingers and relishing in the warmth of Jake's body. Neither of you spoke for a long time. You were just there. In each others arms, breathing slowly. Then, after a while, Jake sighed. His chest rose and fell beneath you, and you felt his fingers tighten slightly against your back. “I, uh… I cut contact with my dad.” You blinked, shifting slightly so you could look up at him. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling, his jaw tight, like he wasn’t sure how to say the words out loud.

“Jake…” “He invited me for dinner.” he said, voice quieter now. “I just…couldn’t do it. I walked out.” He exhaled sharply. “I think I always knew it would end up like this. I just didn’t want to admit it.” You reached up, brushing your fingers lightly over his collarbone. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be.” He swallowed. “It’s better this way.”

You didn’t say anything, just traced slow circles against his skin, letting him know you were here, that you were listening. He let out a small, almost self-deprecating laugh. “Josh called me.”, he paused. “ To apologize. It’s weird, you know? I spent so long thinking he was just another part of the problem. That he only cared about himself. But he actually… He actually cares.” Your chest tightened. “Of course he does, Jake.” Jake nodded, exhaling. “Yeah. I think I finally get that.” His fingers brushed over your shoulder, absentminded, like he was still trying to process it all himself. “I don’t know if we’ll ever be close. But at least we’re not fighting anymore.”

You smiled softly, reaching up to cup his face. He leaned into your touch instinctively, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief second. “I’m glad,” you whispered. Jake looked at you then, really looked at you. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Me too.” Jake didn’t say anything for a while. He just held you, his fingers running gently through your hair, his breathing steady against the top of your head. You let your eyes flutter shut, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. You felt your body growing heavier. “You should sleep,” Jake said softly, like he could feel how close you were to slipping under. You tried to fight it, but your eyelids were so heavy, your body sinking deeper into the warmth of his body. “You’ll still be here?” you mumbled, barely awake now. Jake’s arms tightened around you. “I’m not going anywhere.” That was the last thing you heard before sleep finally pulled you under. ──────────────────────────Jakes mom called him while he was still laying in your bed, eating nachos while watching Bones with you. Well he was watching Bones and you were dozing on his chest. He reached for his phone lying on the bedside table next to him, but before he could pick up his phone his mom already ended the call. She had texted him half an hour earlier.

Mom Hello Jake I am going to be in Seoul from tomorrow until Sunday 🤗 Would you and Y/N like to eat dinner with me? In the small DakGalbi restaurant near your grandmas house?

Jake felt you raising your herald peeking onto his phone screen. “Say yes.”, you said, your voice a bit rough from disuse. “Mhm?”, he raised an eyebrow and watched you sit up in the bed gathering your hair in a messy ponytail. His eyes got stuck on the soft skin on your neck. His hands haven't left that spot alone since he woke up this morning. Something about it was just so alluring to him. “Tell your mom we will be there. Tomorrow evening. She was nice compared and seemed to genuinely like me. Even when we only played pretend.”, you shrugged.

Jakes had to really make himself to look away from your neck. The tshirt you were wearing didn't make it better. The oversized and stretched material exposing your collarbones. His fingers twitched with the urge to trace along the delicate curve. God, you were so unfair. "You want me to say yes?" You hummed and climbed over his body out of the bed. Now that he was officially your not fake boyfriend anymore he was allowed to stare at you without feeling weird or like a creep. You made your way to the bathroom and his eyes didn’t leave your body for a second. Jake sighed and texted his mom back.

Instead of coming back to your bed you stayed in of the area you called kitchen and pulled a carton of eggs from your fridge and frozen berries from your fridge. You tossed the berries at Jake, who was almost hit square in the face. “For your ribs.”, you nodded, while you gathered everything you needed for whatever you were planning to cook right now. Jake caught the frozen berries at the last second, hissing at the cold against his fingers. "You're really out here trying to kill me when I am already injured, huh?" You smirked as you cracked an egg into a bowl. "If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t miss." Jake let out a dramatic sigh, tossing the berries onto the counter before sliding off the bed. "My own girlfriend is a menace."

"Oh? So now I’m your girlfriend?" He froze mid-step, narrowing his eyes at you. "What else would you be?" You only hummed in response, the corner of your lips quirking up as you turned back to the stove. He walked right up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your neck. You let out an exasperated sigh, though you didn’t push him away. "Jake."

"Mmm." His grip tightened slightly, and his lips brushed against your skin. "You’re like a lost puppy." Jake smiled against your neck. "And you love it." You scoffed. "I tolerate it." "Liar."

You were about to fire back some witty retort, but then Jake’s lips parted, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss just below your jaw. Your breath caught. His hands slid lower, fingers skimming the hem of your shirt, thumbs pressing softly against your stomach. He kissed you again—slightly higher this time. "Jake," you warned, but it came out weaker than intended. "Hmm?" His voice was innocent, but his actions were anything but.

He kissed along the line of your neck, trailing down until he reached your shoulder. You could feel the smirk on his lips when you inhaled sharply, your hands gripping the counter for support. You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze with a smirk. "You are a weak man, Jaeyun Sim.” Jake scoffed, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Weak? Me?"

"Mm-hmm," you hummed, lazily dragging a finger down his bare arm that was wrapped around your front. "You’re all over me, Sim. Can’t even let me cook without trying to get me distracted." He narrowed his eyes playfully, grasping your shoulder to turn you around, caging you in between his body and the inner edge of your counter. He leaned forward slightly and he slotted his thigh between your legs just to watch the way your breath caught. "You’re talking an awful lot of shit for someone who’s letting me touch them right now," he murmured, his thumb brushing along your jawline.

You tilted your head, eyes dark with amusement. "Who said I was letting you?" Jake groaned. "I hate you." You grinned. "No, you don’t." "No, I don’t," he sighed, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you even closer and you rolled your eyes before pressing your lips against his burying your hands in his hair. He let out a satisfied hum blindly but before the kiss could go further he pulled back a bit. You opened your eyes and pouted at him. “Hey! Now I let you and you pull away?” He giggled at that and pressed his forehead against yours. “I don’t want to kill the mood but I am getting really fucking horny at whatever you do and I really want to be sure that you are okay with whatever we are about to do. I don’t want to give you the impression you have to do anything with me.” He watched you swallow and your eyes searched his. “What gives you the impression I think you make me do anything Jakeyboy.” Now it was his turn to swallow. He watched how your hand traveled from his scalp over his upper body until you reached the loose pair of shorts he was hearing. You grabbed him by the strings dangling there and pulled him closer. He was pretty sure you could feel his growing problem very prominently against your thigh.

“I don’t know what Marcus told you.”, your eyes traveled from his lips to his eyes. “But I am not 16 and inexperienced anymore. I know how to stand up for myself. And Jake. I promise I’ll tell you whenever I feel uncomfortable or want you to stop.” Jake groaned and closed the small gap in between your bodies. He pressed himself against your warm body and almost lost his mind when you whined into his mouth. You carefully traced his lower lip with your tongue and he parted his lips slightly, inviting you in. You rolled your hips into his. It was a miniscule movement but his hands tightened on your waist, fingers digging in just when he gasped. You took full advantage of it. You swallowed the sound, your tongue sliding against his, hot and demanding, making his entire body shudder. But then Jake’s hand slid down your spine, slow and deliberate, the tips of his fingers barely ghosting over your skin. Just to feel and hear your reaction again, to make you shudder. Marcus can go fuck himself. He will never get the chance to experience this. And that thought filled Jake with so much satisfaction he traced your spine back up again, stopping at your neck. You arched into his touch, and he could feel the hitch in your breath against his lips, the soft shiver that followed. He loved how you melted under the simplest touch.

He couldn't help but smile, pulling away from your lips to attack your neck with small kisses. His lips curled against your neck as he spoke. “God, I love how sensitive you are.” You tilted your neck to the side to give him more access and bit your neck. As his fingers dragged lower, tracing along the curve of your back, savoring the way you reacted to every little movement you let out a breath that sounded suspiciously close to a moan.

You swallowed hard, and your hands slid into his hair, fingers tightening. He could feel your pulse racing beneath his lips as he pressed a soft kiss just below your ear. Your skin was burning under his touch, and he couldn’t resist the temptation to drag his nails lightly down your spine, after he sneaked his hands under your shirt. The quiet moan you let out nearly drove him wild, and he groaned at the sound, pressing his forehead against yours. “You have no idea what that does to me,” he confessed, his voice strained, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Your hands slid down to his shoulders and pushed him away from your body slightly. “Jake fuck”, your pupils were blown wide, when you looked at him. “We should eat something first. And shower. I am hungry and I feel like I stink and you should eat so you can heal properly. Also we need condoms. I don't have any here.”, you said breathlessly against his lips. Jake hummed. “I think I have some in my wallet.” “You carry around emergency condoms?”, you asked, raising one eyebrow. He shrugged casually. “I sure do. You never know when you stumble into your fake girlfriend’s arms, fully drunk, only to turn her into your very hot and,” he pressed his lips against yours, “attractive and,” another kiss, “clever and,” yet another kiss, “emotionally stupid girlfriend who thinks running away is an option when her gorgeous boyfriend is a hockey player who can run way faster than she can.” You rolled your eyes, slapping the back of his head with enough force to make him laugh. “Go fuck yourself, Sim. I am a fast runner. Have you seen me run anywhere? No." Jake grinned, clearly unbothered by your slap. “Baby, I’ve seen you on the ice. You were taken out by a four-year-old,” he teased, his voice full of laughter. You just slapped his head again. Jake chuckled, catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to it before you could land another playful hit. His fingers wrapped around it gently, his thumb tracing over your pulse point. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop,” he said, still grinning. You narrowed your eyes at him but didn’t pull away. “You really think I’m emotionally stupid?” you muttered, arching an eyebrow at him. Jake’s smirk softened. He leaned in, brushing his lips against your forehead before meeting your gaze. “I think you’re scared,” he said simply. “And I think you run when things start feeling too real.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the fabric of his shirt. He wasn’t wrong, and you hated that he knew you well enough to say it out loud. But instead of pressing further, Jake just kissed the tip of your nose and pulled back. “Come on,” he said. “You said you were hungry, and if I remember correctly, I have to eat so I can heal ‘properly.’” He shot you a wink. “Your words, not mine.” You rolled your eyes but continued on cooking while he sat down on a chair in the kitchen area. “You’re staring,” you muttered, not looking up. “I like looking at you,” he admitted easily, no hesitation, no teasing. Your hands faltered for half a second before you shoved a fork in his direction. “Shut up and cool your ribs, Sim.”

He laughed but took the fork, nudging your hip with his before getting the now not so frozen berries from your bed.

Thank you so much for reading! Lots of Love, Patty

all feedback and reblogs is welcome ⭑.ᐟ ⤷ if you liked this you might also like the rest of this series ⭑.ᐟ

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xylatox · 5 days ago

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finally left around 10 plus discord servers and cleared the 1000+ notifs from the past 2 years💀 I feel refreshed

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xylatox · 6 days ago

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if this posts while it's queued I'll just start crying

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xylatox · 6 days ago

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🤡 my Feb fic recs posted on accident but this time I didn't tag anyone yet, thank GOD, that would've been a disaster

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xylatox · 6 days ago

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harvest of purity — a sunghoon fic I absolutely waited too long to read, but I'm so looking forward to it. Ngl, the religious themes content advisory and the southern gothic vibes were my inclinations to read this piece.

Already enraptured by the opening paragraph.

The day you were born, your father knew there was something greatly wrong with you. He claimed that on the day you ripped your mother open, screaming and crying, that God spoke to him for the first time. He called it divine intervention. Believing the birth of your soul was a red-herring of all that was set to come but God would show him the light, the truth: that you were nothing short of evil and needed saving. — God, I know I'm already going to love this entire piece, I love religious themes like this being present. I love how it already seems that reader's birth is tied with everything bad happening at home when sometimes life just gets shitty all at once, and I know, from the first interaction with the dad, reader is already seen as inherently evil. And I love that reader is technically a preachers!daughter too, making me even more obsessed.

The while sacrificial lamb scene???? obsessed. I always love when characters deem animal sacrifices still viable, especially in modern context where it technically is no longer needed but ugh, obsessed.

At the end of the line is a man more beautiful than the ones you’ve seen in the movies. You feel stuck in time, left with parted lips, staring at the man before you. And far too intently for your character. He stands tall, sharp, pale, and elegant. What is a boy like this doing here? He averts his eyes from you, clearly uncomfortable by what’s before him. He looks uneasy, shifting his weight foot to foot with his hands behind his back. His pretty eyes glance around from you to your mother to the other men and the ground. He simply doesn’t know what to do with himself. You find it dangerously darling of him. — the first glimpses of Sunghoon!!

I'm obsessed with how the relationship between reader and Sunghoon almost feels like one akin to a wolf and lamb?? like —Although you’re wearing the lamb, having Sunghoon’s hand in yours made you feel like a wolf. — obsessed what the hell.

Either way he can feel his faith slipping; he is cupping holy water in hands during an earthquake. — I absolutely love this

I also love the incorporation of how some churches operate where they grow you up thinking any kind of interaction with someone of the opposite sex was sinful. — How the way his name leaves your lips makes him want to crumble like a burning church. And how he silently likes the fact he can’t control the way his body is reacting to your hands on him. — im obsessed with all the church comparisons.

There are other times where you confuse him. You suggest a water break knowing he’d gone hours without hydration under the summer heat. You insist on having him take a break under a roof away from the sun when his skin gets too sweaty or red. Which is followed by a reminder that sunscreen is important if he wishes to keep his milky complexion. It’s critical statements that you provide him, but he can’t help to think it’s a weird way of showing you care. — aside from her odd personality (as a result of heavy trauma, religious and otherwise) reader is oddly adorable 😭

“Pardon? What do you mean by that?” Sunghoon, bemused, watches the man smoke and laugh between weak coughs. “She has a dad?” His last question is overroad by the man who speaks over him. — LMFAO😭😭😭😭😭😭 not Sunghoon assuming she's fatherless (valid), this is hilarious to me.

It's so cute Sunghoon got her flowers😭 but poor baby is so innocent ahh, like assuming you're her boyfriend???

The rain pours harder outside with whips of harsh winds smacking the window. It’s almost like God’s wrath is screaming to be seen, to shout that He is watching. — this has to be some universal thing that kids who grew up Christian did. Like I always assumed heavy rainfall was God being angry or crying.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a week now,” he admits with a small laugh. “Not exactly there but that’s fine. I wish you would let me help you feel good too.” he whispers, looking back to the windowsill where the gifted flowers stood in their vase with the raging storm as their backdrop. — this is, oddly so fucking sweet even if he's currently inside her lmfao

The entire moment with them in the town, Sunghoon thinking it's a date, so cute. I love how much of reader's personality shines through because of him.

“I’ve got good muscles, remember? Good for farm work,” he’s patient and calm with you while his eyes watch the man from outside the glass cafe windows. “Come on, baby.”— the pet name,I'm gonna throw up

I love how we see the extent of the religious trauma and abuse reader faced and how it really affected almost every aspect of her life and through Sunghoon, we see bits and pieces of a girl who was once there before life tarnished her.

Confused and wide eyed, you watch him lean into your face. You gasp when his lips meet yours before returning the notion. With eyes closed, you melt into his kiss. It’s sweet as all the things you’ve experienced today because of him. — THEY. ARE. SO. CUTE😭

HELKO??????? SUNGHOON SHOOTS THE DAD???, OMG I THOUGGT READER WAS GONNA DIE FRFR???

This was absolutely amazing omg. It truly did not disappoint. Like I am obsessed.

harvest of purity — sunghoon [ 박성훈 ]

pairing ⦂ sunghoon ⨯ fem. reader

synopsis ⦂ au in which an innocent, shy, and faithful sunghoon takes a summer job as a farmhand. he’s never indulged on his desires until the farmer’s daughter shows him a taste of sin. although riddled with guilt, he cannot deny or escape the new rousing feelings that impurify him. especially when she's set on ruining him every chance she gets.

genre ⦂ smut, slow burn romance, strangers to lovers word count ⦂ 29k tags ⦂ fluff and angst, repressed desires, innocence loss, guilt and shame, exploring relationships, falling in love, southern gothic vibes, summer au, clingy down bad sunghoon, ‘mean’ morally gray reader, both are weirdo loser freaks content advisory ⦂ mdni ! dark-ish content ⚠︎ sexually explicit content in four scenes: handjob, oral (m. rec.), dry humping, thigh fucking, unprotected sex, virginity loss, corruption!kink, degradation!kink, praise!kink, switch!hoon, he whines whimpers and cries; religious themes, concepts, corruption, and criticism; manipulation, animal death, blood, intense scenes, abusive parenting, gun mention and use

note ⦂ poured my heart out. i hope you love it as much as i do. dedicated to my other evil, off-putting, and/or weird girls┊reblogs and feedback encouraged ⇀ playlist ⸝⸝ masterlist 🌾

　You’re not sure what life in your small town was like before you were born. You can imagine it’s not too different from what it is now though. The thing about old country towns is they never seem to change. Open fields and miles of farmland. Two gas stations, one grocery store, a few family owned vegetable stands or in-home produce product shops. Only one notable neighborhood where the majority of the townspeople lived if not hidden somewhere else in the countryside. And too many churches to keep track of if the abandoned ones were included in the count.

You like to think your parents were happy before you too. Hopeful and optimistic when offered to take over your uncle’s farm. Excited for the next step in their relationship after their marriage. They were the ideal family dream coming to life: high school lovers, engaged after graduation, married, a career handed to them through family with a large property of land and lovely farmhouse. All that was left was to grow that family. To have children to not only help tend the fields and animals but run around barefoot, all smiles, and wide eyed.

You were positive that it was something they wanted.

But life couldn’t have been that easy for them; it would’ve been too gratuitous of a blessing.

That year on the farm there was nothing but death. It only furthered your father’s harsh thinking of you. The crops and produce either died or rotted before it had the chance to grow or ripe. The animals were dropping dead from unknown illnesses. Every female livestock that gave birth passed in doing so. Barely any profits were made that year. Taxes were rising and so were the prices of nearly everything. It was a huge toll for your family, especially when raising their first child. Before you were even conscious of the situation everything was already deemed your fault.

Through the harrowing struggle, your father’s optimism turned to resentment. He claimed that bringing you to the farm was not like bringing a daughter home, but a corrosive parasite. He believed that you were the reason for the life being sucked away from their perfect farm life. So, he turned to the only thing that he could trust to save the family from your curse: God. Begging and pleading through prayers every morning and night to the sky for a better season.

He studied religion here and there before taking over his brother-in-law's farm but with the farm failing for the first time, he took a change of career paths. He was already well known among the locals, close with the church goers in the community. And somewhere along the way, he managed to start preaching himself. Nearly every christian in your town moved churches to follow where he went. Like sheep to a shepherd.

If only they knew what you did, what he was truly like behind the closed doors of your home. How his devotion was turning to violence. Day by day, becoming uglier.

While your father busied himself with his new found family, often away from home on the farm, the crops and animals began to thrive again. Slowly but surely, growing and regaining health. He would say it’s God’s doing, a small taste of His salvation.

Your early years were mostly troubled by the relationship of your parents. Too young to fully understand their disputes, drawing at the kitchen table with their yelling sounding the house. It was always about you, that much you knew. Because you watch and you listen. Quick to learn that they tried for another child but never had any success. They wanted someone else to be their baby. Something that felt more like a blessing than you. Your father constantly spitting in your mother’s face that you were the rot to the fruit of her womb. And then he would always end up leaving by slamming the door and your mother would always join you at the table with tears and a bottle of wine. You always just watched, listening in silence. Perhaps just born resilient.

Growing up was different for you compared to most of the kids in your town. You never had the opportunity to make many friends being homeschooled. The only time that was spent around others your age was kindergarten. Kindergarten was short lived because of your behavior; the teachers at school were concerned about you. How you were mean, rough, and sinister with your actions towards others. Picking on the kids you were simply interested in because of how different from you they were. Drawing pictures of gutted cattle or dead, half developed baby chicks still in their shell and giving them as gifts to the teachers. Sharing to classmates the cruelty of farm life and why it was pretty with a smile.

Your father loved to find out about this, you could see it in his eyes. The way they were wicked and screamed I told you so to your mother. You didn’t understand why it was bad or caused trouble. You were only having fun for the first time. The way the kids ran away crying or the teachers wore faces of shocked horror, it made your insides light up in joy. A new feeling—a sense of excitement. You didn’t know it was sick. And of course, it was taken from you. You were removed from school and your mother became your teacher. Your classmates became stuffed animals and the real ones in the barns. It was hard for you to find that joy you briefly felt with others.

Sometimes you had a glimpse of it again when your father would punish you. But even that you grew sick of. The mess, the stench of it all. Sticky and red, worse in the heat of summer. He drilled the sick moto for his actions into your head, “I know no punishment, only mercy.”

Father took you both to church more often after that. He had a false image to uphold afterall, one of a happy, God loving family. In his ego he had to prove that his preaching and prayers could fix you, save you. But that was only admitted at home, loud and scary to your mother. Your poor mother, weak and defensive of you, eventually waved her white flag. You wished she kept fighting for you and that she wouldn’t begin to see you the way your father did.

Childhood and adolescence was a string of questions about yourself. Never quite finding out what made you so bad to be seen as devilish when all you thought of yourself was curious. Perhaps just unlucky to be correlated with negative happenings on and off the farm, always gone without a chance of understanding. Despite it all, you knew well enough the way your parents talked and looked at you was without unconditional love.

On your 17th birthday, the family dynamic made the biggest shift to be experienced.

At this age, you had such a strong sense of independence and with the lack of parental guidance and monitoring, you would leave town when you could. Ride your bike down the long road to the bus stop at the center of town and take the bus into the city over. Your mother was generous with allowance and you saved your money well, only spending it on books or trips to the movie theater. A form of escape that allowed you to learn more about the world and all the things your parents tried to keep hidden from you. A way to learn how to be human.

So when your father was tearing your room apart in search of the same gift he re-gifts you every year, he found some things that made his stomach churn. Every year for your birthday he rewrapped the same, first ever, bible he’d given you. Funny enough that he gave you anything at all considering he never even referred to it as your day, only his day of revelation. And to his disgust, on his sacred day, he found books and journals of explicitly detailed copulation and debauchery.

He almost fainted. Stumbling over his own feet, hands shaking as he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the words on the pages. That was the only time you smiled on that day. Just for a second. And then a glimpse of hell broke loose.

In a rage, he destroyed everything. Your mother stood next to you in tears, telling him to stop and stop. Her hands covered her face but she saw everything through her fingers. You only watched in silence, hands balled in fists by your side. A silent hatred and anger coursed in you. He called you names that no man of God should, especially to his own daughter.

“You’re a disgraceful deviant of Satan! I should’ve known. My own day of revelation is a curse!” You watched him rip pages apart, his voice booming through the house. “Years spent praying for you and this is how you turn out?! Succumbing to nothing but a dreaming whore?!”

A part of you liked his mean words. It was so rare for him to use such colorful language.

You knew what would come next. He was going to have you ‘cleansed’. Something he always did when he discovered something new and sacrilegious of you.

But it didn’t come. Because there was no dying, old sheep on the farm at the time. He did make a promise to not forget though. A promise to have you washed in sacrificial, blessed blood on a day you least expected.

Your father left after that, leaving you and your mother behind. He moved to the city to continue his preaching at a larger church. He became known as the closest reverend to God for miles and miles. Lost in his ways, he only made visits when he needed to sort things out for the business of the farm.

You were content with his departure, yet couldn’t quite understand why your mother missed him. As far as you’ve seen, he was never kind towards either of you.

　But now, it’s several years later. And although you’re free of your father’s heavy presence and homilies, he still makes his trips to the farm. You can feel the air change whenever he does, as if you’ve gained a sixth sense for his coming. Naturally intuitive to things having spent your childhood walking on eggshells in your own home.

And today, the air feels particularly chill for summer. The breeze sweeps in through your open window. The forecast called for nothing but sunshine all week, yet there’s an angry, dark cloud hanging over your farm. A foreboding feeling shivers through you, and you know he’s going to fulfill his promise today. You sigh and slide out of bed. “Let’s get this over with.”

You spend the morning doing your usual routine. Brushing teeth, washing your face, then dressing in farm work attire. Your breakfast consists of tea and your mothers homemade strawberry scone. Next is tending to the animals. Your mother usually takes care of the crops and gardening. It’s a quiet and early morning, as most are. The both of you keep to yourselves, just doing what needs to be done day by day.

The sound of a car is heard coming down to the long dirt road and you know who it is by the sound. It’s a fancier vehicle than the one he left this property with years ago. A meaner part of you likes to think his greedy hands got into that mega church’s donations but you’re too self aware of the successful farm your family owns.

Your father parks in front of the house and your mother is quick to rush over to him, presumably with many questions: How have you been? Are you hungry? Thirsty? What brings you here so early in the month?

You roll your eyes at her desperation to cling onto the relationship that clearly ended when you were a child.

You place a hand on your hip, leaning your weight to the side that isn’t carrying the heavy bucket of chicken feed. Walking away from the coops and back towards the shed by the house, you make eye contact with your father despite only taking a glance.

He watches you with narrow eyes from the lowered window of the car he’s still sitting in, very much not listening to a word your mother is saying.

He calls your name before you can open the shed. Spinning on the heels of your boots, you turn around with raised brows of questioning.

He mouths the words sacrificial tree as he exits the car. Your mother sees this. She wears pained disappointment as she scurries away. Presumably to the barn where the sheeps and lambs are kept. She might as well be a sheep too, you think.

The bucket slips from your fingers and drops to the patchy dirt grass by your feet with a thud, spilling over in a mess that will be cleaned later.

You don’t bother giving him a nod of understanding. You just turn around and begin your walk to the tree line where the man made path is. Knowing it would take some time for his preparations, you walk to the lake that’s hidden behind the farmland.

It’s a brief walk through your familiar woods. Once at the short wooden dock, you sit down at the end, taking in the gloomy summer scenery. A light fog hugs over the water. You bring your knees to your chest, in your sitting position, and hug yourself the same way.

This is your favorite place out of all the land your family owns. It’s serene, mostly. Always quiet. You’re the only one who comes here. And it’s nice to swim with when the weather warrants it. There’s a feeling here that’s hard to feel anywhere else you find yourself. Sometimes you imagine what it would be like with someone else, but you doubt it would be as nice. Trouble has a way of following you, it seems. You frown at the thought.

It’s silent like this for a few minutes, just you trying to find a sense of calmness before the impending chastisement. Then you hear some rustling of leaves, heavy footsteps following. You don’t turn around yet, you only wait for the call of your name. Your time of tranquility is too brief. You sigh before giving yourself a squeezing hug.

“It’s time,” the reverend calls out loudly, “quickly now, we have new farmhands arriving soon.” The sound of his feet walking away is when you stand. You wave a goodbye to the foggy lake before parting ways. Your feet move unconsciously, taking to where your body knows to go.

Leaves crinkle underneath your boots and twigs snap. The trees’ branches sway in the gentle morning breezes that pass.

In the mix of the small forest, man made crosses of sticks or plywood are spaciously scattered. Like a graveyard to all your bad doings. Most small but one large. Old rotted wood that stands crooked and begging to fall over right next to the largest, strongest tree. Your eyes, that are trained to ground, move upwards the cross and then to the tree. Your father stands there with a large knife in hand. Your mother waits cautiously not too far away. Her demeanor is frightful as if this is the first time. Coward.

An old sheep hangs by its hind legs from a sturdy tree branch. Unmoving and defenseless. Big beady, dumb eyes look in all directions but you. You think it must feel the same guilt as yourself, sorry that its life purpose is to embarrass you, make you hate what you are.

“God told me to make a sacrifice to prove my faith. He guides my hand in washing your soul clean of sin. So here I am with our blessed, dying lamb.” He’s said this every time. His voice is always miserably rehearsed and preacher-esque.

You thought long ago that this was their, the lambs, only use on the farm. It’s a shame. All that devotion has made him so ugly and violent.

You make small steps closer to the lamb. It’s whining in bleat baas and mehs. Does it know what’s happening? Is it scared? You like the lambs, sheeps. Pure white, soft, and docile. They never fight back. They just take it. I doubt they need restraints. You could hold them above me just the same and they’d never resist.

“Move faster, for the love of God. Yeah, stand right there underneath like you know how to.” He instructs you, annoyed. His patience running thin as the distant sounds of a truck makes way down the dirt road to the farm property.

“Okay…” You don’t fight him, with arms crossed behind your back and a hand squeezing around your own wrist, you move closer. Maybe you’re a lamb too.

Maybe all your father really was is the executioner.

He raises the knife as he begins to speak, it slides over its cotton, white throat but does not cut, “Revelation 7:13-17 Then he told me, ‘These are those who come from the great tribulation, and they’ve washed their robes, scrubbed them clean in the blood of the Lamb. That’s why they’re standing before God’s Throne. They serve him day and night in his Temple. The One on the Throne will pitch his tent there for them: no more hunger, no more thirst, no more scorching heat. The Lamb on the Throne will shepherd them, will lead them to spring waters of Life. And God will wipe every last tear from their eyes.’” He slits its throat in a quick, harsh movement. The blood spills just as fast, squirting spurts of red before it comes pouring down onto you. “Face up,” you obey even though it brings you rage, “it ought to cleanse those unholy thoughts I know that are still in there.”

Head raised to the sky with eyes and mouth squeezed shut, you let it consume you. Warm, thick and wet washes down from your head onto your clothes then down to your feet. The smell of animal, metallic iron covers you. It’s sticking to your hair, eyebrows and lashes. You can already feel your clothes clinging to your skin in the dirtiest ways.

You stand there, drenching in the its blood. Your father speaks again, firm and slow, “Say it with me now, ‘I know no punishment, only mercy.’” All you feel is the animal’s rain of life flooding you.

You open your mouth to speak but are quick to spit and cough out the blood that manages to get into your mouth. Smack.

“I don’t have time for this,” his voice sounds like an echo, your head is ringing from the harsh swing of his hand. The skin of your cheek stings. He hits like a bitch, you think. “Say it with me now, dammit!” You can feel him wipe his bloodied hand on the side of your shirt.

You step back from under the red shower. “I know no punishment, only mercy.” Your words align with his in the perfect paced harmony you’re trained to do so. Enunciated, slow and strong, through gritted teeth.

There’s a beat of silence before the sound of your parents footsteps walking away.

Standing there in red, yet to open your eyes, you breathe out a shaky sigh of defeat. It sounds more like a growl. With the mostly clean hands you kept safely behind you, you bring them up to wipe the blood from your face. You don’t dare to look at the dead animal in front of you. Being covered in it is enough alone to make you feel sick.

You think of going back to the lake, jumping in and letting the blood wash off you there, but knowing you’d either walk back with further drenched clothes or naked didn’t seem like options you wanted to deal with either. So you just head back to the house. It’s a slower walk than need be, but you just felt like avoiding the eyes of the newcomers, hoping they’d be off in the fields or in a barn by the time you walk through. You feel numb.

You’re wrong though, by the time you’re passing the barns and coops, the group of new farmhands are already lined up outside the horses’ stable. Your mother is talking to them, although not all are paying attention. Only a few pairs of wide eyes follow you. Catching the sight of you must really shock them but you can’t blame them. Something about this makes you excited. You stop in your tracks and look around to see if your father’s car is gone. It is. The realization feels like a wave of relief and it suddenly feels brighter outside already.

You take a glance down to your disheveled appearance. Shirt, pants, and boots painted like the barns. You look back to the group, brushing the soiled hair back from your face. Some pieces stay stuck, in the early stages of drying against your skin.

It’s safe to have a little fun.

You begin a slow walk over to the group. You take a headcount and there’s five of them. Two younger men, closer to your age. The other three look a bit older, not by much but definitely older. Your mother is yet to turn around from whatever rundown she’s giving them. Too dense to even recognize that now none of them were paying any attention to her.

You creep up beside her and open with, “Hello,” your voice is louder than even you’ve heard it be in a long time. It’s nice to be heard, noticed. You usually avoided the farmhands, but this summer was going to be different. You decided this on the walk over.

Being cooped up on the farm for so long made you different, it’s obvious to anybody. Not properly socialized in your developmental years caused you to be an anomaly to the ones who did come across you. Enigmatic from far away and up close. Now isn’t the greatest example though, the situation is too clear as to why.

Your mother turns to you, gasping and jumping back slightly in the shock of your gross state and sudden introduction. “My goodness, girl, whatta ya doin’ here like this?” Her voice is hushed, clearly unsettled with the situation.

They all just stare at you, open mouthed and bewildered. You take the time to get a good look at each of them up close. Your eyes follow their faces individually down the line. And then they stop.

You don’t even realize the small smile that takes your lips. You step closer to him and he steps back, now looking at you with wide eyes of small fear. You extend your hand to him, it’s coated in drying blood. He gulps and the sight, his adam’s apple bobbing in such a biteable neck stirs something in you. This will be far more fun than you intended.

You say your name softly for introduction and step a little closer, “Nice to meet you," you feign cuteness as much as you can, looking up at him through your blood clumped lashes. It’s clear to everyone there is something off; there’s little to no real emotion behind your voice and face.

Your mother eyes you suspiciously as you corner the handsome man, but she says nothing. Sometimes she fears you too.

He looks from your eyes to your hand, having an internal battle with himself on what to do, “Ah, I am Sunghoon... Nice to meet you too.” His politeness must be stronger than his frighteness, because he takes his hand in yours and shakes it gently. His hand is large in yours, nearly covering it entirely. You squeeze it hard, your eyes never leaving his, trapping him in the scene.

He wants to look away, to hide somewhere. The way his skin crawls tells him he’s a prey already in the mouth of a predator. And you know he’s nervous under your intense gaze because your hand feels like a lamb is still bleeding above you. His palms are sweating, and it’s nowhere near hot enough for that yet. Your smile grows to a smirk.

Although you’re wearing the lamb, having Sunghoon’s hand in yours made you feel like a wolf.

　Sunghoon’s first day of his summer job starts off duller than he imagined. The sun isn’t out this morning and it only intensifies his anxiousness, as if the grey skies reflect his inner emotions. He’s already new to the area, away from home and staying in an apartment not far from his college in the city. A private, christian school that he studied hard to get into with his friend. He wishes his best friend and roommate, Jake, was joining him in this job, but Jake already had plans to teach at a summer soccer camp for kids through their school.

He found this opportunity through the college church they attend together. A reverend from another church in the city came to visit one Sunday, handing out flyers to the young men in hopes of finding farm help. The pay is good and the bus fairs to the small town over where the farm’s located is covered. He’s never done work like it before, nevertheless was he going to let a simple offer pass him up.

Things are going smoothly to start, being told how to care for, clean, and feed the animals to crop preservation. Everyone would have their own specific roles on the farm. Sunghoon was assigned the easier of the tasks, either feeding animals or watering and fertilizing the vegetables and fruits crops. He learns there are already regular farm workers that would come throughout the week to collect produce, material, and use the machinery for the more laborious work. And if she wasn't around when needed then they could ask any of the regular employees for assistance or find her at the house.

As the farm owner is about to give details on the horses’ maintenance, a girl saunters in. And the anxious feelings become of Sunghoon all over again. His eyes are wide, taking in her appearance. The smell of the farm dissipates and putrid copper takes over. The worst part is how calm she appears, and the fact that she’s unbothered with all that she wears.

He thinks his brain short circuits, everything seeming muffled and unreal. He doesn’t even realize he introduced himself or touched her. It all was too quick and unfamiliar for him to grasp.

He watches as she walks away, back to the house that sits slightly over the hills and valleys of the property. His expression is blank, blinking slowly at the strange girl then down to his hand that’s stained red too.

“Don’t pay her no mind,” the woman speaks up, she sounds as if she’s warning them. “Just get yer work done and when everyone’s finished y’all can head back home. I won’t ask too much of ya in yer first month here, alright? That might be a different story later.” She tries to end the statements in humor with her forced laugh.

Sunghoon nods but his eyes don’t leave his dirty hand. The other men nod along too and give their ‘yes, ma’ams’ in return.

The woman continues walking them around the farm, listing rules and guidelines they must follow, along with advice and tips for the work they’ll be doing.

The day flows as easy as it can for Sunghoon. He doesn’t talk much with the other farmhands. He also doesn’t know them well enough to be comfortable in their conversations, so he just exists in awkward silence, sometimes reacting. While they can joke around and find fun in the work, his mind keeps wandering off to the girl from earlier, to you. How your empty eyes held onto his and small hand even tighter. He thinks the palm of his hand still burns from the interaction.

Around the afternoon time, Sunghoon and the guys are sitting around a picnic table near the house. The sun is beating down on them all now while they chug down water and eat their lunch. The owner was kind enough to provide their refreshments and meals. They were all thankful.

She adds that there’s a small lodge up the dirt road. It’s a little old but homey and has space with two spare bedrooms if they need to wash up or rest at any time. It was originally built for the farm workers that worked late and needed a place to stay if need be.

Once done, the boys stand up and talk about what they have left to do. The next bus back to the city isn’t running for another two hours so they speak of taking some leisure time and exploring the farm property. Meanwhile Sunghoon is still sitting, watching them huddled in conversation. He wipes some sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand as they begin walking towards the fields.

Sunghoon, taking what the farm owner had mentioned previously, decides that he’d like to stay inside to get away from the beating sun for a while. So he gathers his trash to throw away in the bin by the road near the house’s mailbox and begins his walk to the lodge.

Once inside he takes in the rustic, outdated furniture. It’s a little dusty and the floorboards creak beneath his feet but he finds it somewhat comforting. The living space has two couches by an old stone fireplace, a center table with board games and cards, a kitchenette, and a large dining table with enough space to seat six people.

The decor is very farmers-life-esque. From a cow print rug in the small kitchen area to the antlers mounted on the wall near the dining table. There’s scenic southern paintings hung up along with antique crosses and prints of bible verses, all adoring the faded and peeling floral wallpaper. Above the fireplace hangs a painting depicting Jesus healing a blind man.

He walks down the only short hall in the lodge to find the two spare bedrooms the woman had mentioned along with a bathroom. He takes this time to wash his hands thoroughly and splash some cold water on his face. With his hands resting on the sink, he stares at himself in the mirror. The cold drops of water slip down his face, jaw, and back into the sink.

In his mind he’s questioning whether or not he’s sure of this job. It’s all too different from what he knows and he can’t help but feel out of place here. With a sigh, he drops his head and watches the water slip down the sink.

He jumps slightly at the sudden sound of the front door opening and closing, not expecting the others to join him here quite yet. No noise follows the action for a moment, not even footsteps. Then there’s the sound of a click, like the door is being locked. He straightens his posture and peaks out the bathroom door, listening for their voices or any sound other than silence. It offers nothing to him so he begins to feel tense.

“Hello?” Sunghoon calls out skittishly, but there’s no response. His heart rate picks up a little and he starts to think the boys are trying to pull some sort of childish prank on him. He leaves the room and makes slow steps down the hallway to the main area of the lodging house.

As he rounds the corner he doesn’t find any of the boys there though, he just sees you. His heart jumps at the realization. Sitting on the couch, in overall shorts and nothing else. Bare legs crossed and hands against the couch by your sides as you watch him peer around the corner with apprehension. You’re just sitting there, leaning forward and waiting for him to come find you.

Cowardly, Sunghoon makes a half turn. He presses his back against the wall of the hallway as if he could hide away or disappear into it. He even closes his eyes, thinking of a quick prayer to save him from this circumstance.

“Are you pretending to be shy or are you really this cute?” Your voice is teasing, and he can hear the wicked smile in it without seeing.

Feeling caught, he just sighs and slowly makes his way to the living area. He tries not to look at you, thinking you are too revealing. So he looks everywhere else and then to large windows that give view to the farm; none of the guys are in sight. Most likely somewhere goofing off. All he can see is the fields and farm buildings standing large in the distance.

He doesn’t move and speaks softly, “I should probably go find the others-”

You speak before he can finish his attempt of an excuse, “Come sit with me.” You pat the space on the couch next to yourself. Your voice sounds welcoming but he knows there’s an undertone of mischief.

He makes a quick glance to you and sucks in a breath at the view of your body that’s exposed from your overalls. The glimpse of the curve of your breast disappearing under the denim already makes him feel like he’s seen too much of you. And he has. He’s never seen such bare skin on a girl and he’s never been alone in a room with one either.

“Come sit with me, now.” You’re more stern this time, demanding in a gentle way. Your hand makes small movements, soothing over the material of the couch like you’re warming the space for him.

He visibly swallows as he makes his hesitant steps over to you. His heart is racing and with every beat there is a question of his strength. He sits down on the same sofa but not directly next to you like you want. You smirk nonetheless and turn to face him, sitting with your legs criss-cross now.

With your elbows to your knees you hold your head in your hands, watching the side of his face. You’re again realizing how sculpted his features are. Dark thick hair on his head, eyebrows and lashes too. An array of moles sprinkle his pale face. A sharp nose that sits above pink, full lips. You wonder if he knows of his own beauty. It’s fascinating to see such a person like him in front of you.

He’s sitting with perfect posture, not relaxing into the couch. Alert like a deer that’s waiting for too sudden of movement to pounce away. His eyes just watch the table, reading through the names of the board games that lay there as a way of distracting himself. He’s awkward.

“Uhm… d-does your family own this farm?” he tries for small talk to break the silence. His bottom lip finds itself between his teeth as he makes one quick look over to you. Luckily your overalls sit high up or he’d have a full view of your chest. He can’t help but think of the fact and it makes him shift uncomfortably.

“Do I make you nervous?” you question, seriously so. Brows pulled tight in a furrow with a straight face. You lean in even closer to him, watching for every change on his face.

“Yes,” his response is honestly quick and ends with a tight lip, like he’s holding his breath. He is yet to comprehend what is happening, still in a whirlwind of thoughts of what could—will—happen.

“Why?” Your head tilts slightly to the side, it makes him think of his roommate briefly. And man does he wish he were here to ease the tension.

He doesn’t want to admit that he’s never been in such close proximity with a girl alone before, so he just clears his throat and remains quiet after doing so.

Curiously, you bring a hand up with a pointed finger and brush the tip of it over the mole on the side of his nose. He jolts back at the sudden touch, his cheeks flushing a warm pink. His eyes now watch you with gentle confusion. He touches the same spot you did with a trembling hand.

“You have a constellation on your face. So many moles… Do you have a girlfriend?”

His face burns a little more, both from the observation and the question. He shakes his head, sitting himself further into the couch and further away from you. He can’t quite understand the situation. Are you messing with him? You seem too serious for such. Maybe you’re just weird like he initially thought. Either way he can feel his faith slipping; he is cupping holy water in hands during an earthquake.

“Did I do somethin’ wrong? Am I not pretty?” You pout to be playful with him, acting as if his actions are offending you. He takes it literally though.

“No!” his hands rest on his knees and he holds them hard, trying to find stability despite sitting down. “Y-you are… pretty,” his words grow quieter, like he’s sharing a secret. “I just don’t know you or why you want to talk to me.”

“Hm.” You lean your head back against the couch. With your eyes still on his face, you speak just as quietly, “I’m still trying to figure that out too.” After some beats of muted air you speak up again, but with more presence, “You came to work here. Why?”

“A man was handing out flyer ads at the church. I wanted a summer job.”

Is he always this direct and boring? And church, of fucking course. You roll your eyes, pushing yourself off the back cushion and even closer to the man. Your knees touch the side of his body and his thigh. He looks like he’s trying to control his breathing, to feign lack of disturbance, but his face says everything you need to know.

You place a hand on his thigh and his whole body stiffens at the action. Your smirk to yourself. It’s only resting there on the top of his jeans. “You act like a girl has never touched you before.” You give him a soft squeeze and he sucks in a sharp breath. “Well? Has a girl ever touched you?”

He shakes his head quickly, “No,” he breaks, feeling overwhelmed and wrong, “and I don’t think you should be. It’s against the churches values-”

“At your age you still follow the rules?” Your hand slides lower and back up his thigh, it’s a slow and teasing motion. There’s enjoyment in how scared he’s becoming.

Sunghoon knows that this is only going to lead him down a path he swore to God not to take. And if his parents were to know that in his first year away from home in the summer since college was locked in a lodge with a promiscuous girl he’d have it handed to him. The thought of their wrath makes him shiver all the more.

“I just don’t want to sin.” His eyes close and he bites down onto his lip again. He no longer cares if a stranger sees him as a loser or prude. His virtue is being tested in real time, and he’s feared facing this battle many times in the night because even in his dreams he loses.

“I’m only touching you. How is it a sin?” The tone of your voice changes, it’s soft like the hand that moves closer to in between his thighs. Your fingertips press into his clothed skin here and there, curiously feeling him up. You just try to get a reaction out of him. There’s a warm feeling in your stomach that you don’t recognize; it’s faintly familiar.

“Your hand isn’t supposed to be… there.” He makes a strained sound, something like a low whine, as your hand ghosts over his cock.

You look down to your movements for the first time and realize he’s sporting a half chub. You snicker quietly, cupping him in your palm. “Then why are you getting hard, Sunghoon? Do you like the way I’m touching you? I bet you’ve thought about doing this before too.”

He makes another noise, a whimper. He can’t bring himself to open his eyes and accept what’s happening. He also can’t find it in himself to stop you, or get up and leave. This wasn’t just a struggle with evil’s temptation but his own biological nature. Something yet to be explored, something that’s been scratching at his ribcage for years to be fed.

There’s too much he can’t admit in this moment. Starting with how he enjoys the sound of your voice, the slight accent and dialect difference he picks up. How the way his name leaves your lips makes him want to crumble like a burning church. And how he silently likes the fact he can’t control the way his body is reacting to your hands on him.

It’s all wrong, wrong, wrong. And he is weak.

“Answer me, Sunghoon.” Your hand presses down on him, feeling the growing hardness under your palm. You give him a small squeeze, massaging over the bulge. To your surprise he feels big. Your eyebrows quirk at this and then you look back to his face. A single tear runs down his face and you find satisfaction in it. “Lying is a sin too,” you remind him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his hands fist the couch cushions at his sides. He grips the material so tight that his knuckles turn pink through the pale of his skin. His chest rises and falls through slow and deep breaths.

“You shouldn’t feel sorry for something that makes you feel good.” You palm over him a few more times, drawing out little moans and whimpers from him. He’s struggling to sit still. You can even feel him try not to push his hips back up into you; if only he would admit that he wants it. He’s practically pulsing beneath you, like there’s never been such a rush of blood to his cock in his life. You sigh dramatically and pull your hand away from him, sitting back to give him space. “That’s too bad. A good dog will always be loyal, huh?”

His eyes shoot open when he feels your hand is gone. He looks at you desperately with wet eyes, a small pout to his lips. You make him feel sick for wanting to ask why you stopped, or if he did something bad for you to take away his short-lived pleasure.

You smirk at his expression, so pitifully beautiful with want. “Have you ever touched yourself?” you ask, placing your hand over his that hasn’t let go of the couch. It takes you back when he flips his hand around to hold onto yours, clingy and wretched. His thumb brushes over your knuckles. Repulsed, you react quickly and take your hand away from him at his impulsive intimacy. It makes him frown with a meek whimper.

He shakes his head slowly, looking down to his lap. “I can’t.” He knows he’s not allowed to. His father was adamant through his puberty that he mustn’t succumb to his body’s natural taste for sin. He was told that sometimes the devil had a funny way of sneaking into a man’s mind. That Satan would haunt boys in their sleep to wake them up with guilt of uncontrollable lust to be like him.

“But you like when I do it, right?” You rest your head on his shoulder and look up at him. His eyes look from your face to the thin opening of your overalls where your chest can be seen from the angle. He bites down hard and nods slowly. You coo, moving your hand back to his still hard, clothed cock. “I can make it go away if you want. You want that?”

He’s battling all the repressed things he’s been too afraid to explore; fearful of the swing of his parents belt he felt once long ago after being caught in a misunderstanding. In spite of it, he nods again. “It hurts.. Please, help me.” His voice is so quiet. Even he doesn’t want to hear his own pathetic begging.

Your fingers find the zipper of his jeans then you tug it down slowly as you stare at him. “You have to pull them down for me, okay? I can’t help you with just this.”

Sunghoon freezes for a second knowing he has control over being the one to take out his own cock. Yet apprehension leaves in a breath. Then he’s pulling the clothing down to his knees with frantic haste. You didn’t expect him to take everything off so fast but there’s a sense of pride in how eager you’ve made him become in such a short time.

You weren’t sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t this. His cock is as beautiful as him. Pale and raging pink, crying at the tip much like his eyes. He’s also big, bigger than you knew dicks could be. You thought they’d be ugly, gross and worm-like. But his is clean and pretty. It’s your first time seeing one in person; you wouldn’t let him know that.

You take him bare in your hands, feeling him like a foreign object. More curious of his body than in his pleasure in the moment. His body tenses then relaxes against the couch. A shaky, breathy moan leaves his lips. His eyes flutter at the contact of skin.

You squeeze him, making his moan weakly again. It’s heavy in your hand. Truly just a stick of warm flesh. A part of you wants to squeeze him as hard as you can just to see if it can break, but you withhold on hurting him for now. Not wanting to scare him too much in hopes of exploring him further through the summer.

Your hand wraps around the length as much as it can, pads of fingertips brushing over every vein and curve as you slowly move your hand up and down. When your thumb circles around his tip and flicks the leaking hole, his body lurches forward with a loud cry of a moan from him. You wonder if he’ll cum in the next few seconds of simply touching him.

“I think you’re a slut for a little pleasure, Sunghoon.” You use your palm to gather his precum, circling over the tip to smear the thick cream around. Then you drag it back down himself, wetting his cock in his own prerelease. It slides easier now, your hand. You move faster, jerking him off in lazy, inexperienced motions. Not that he would know anyways. “You gave into lust so easily, didn’t you? Must’ve wanted this for so long. Your body’s nasty, eager for it.”

In his ears, you make the nasty words sound delicious. And he wants to devour more and more, like the starved man he is. His hips snap up into your hard, sudden and rough. You wrap your free arm over his shoulders, a hand sneaking up into his hair to tug aggressively on the thick dark locks. You’re pulling his head back, forcing him to look at you. “Don’t be a whore. I’m helping you. I didn’t say fuck my hand.”

“Ahsh- I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” he whines, tears burning his eyes, “it, it f-feels good. I feel so good.” His head falls to lean against yours, face burying into your hair. His head makes little shakes as he begins to cry, telling himself no, no.

“Shut up...” You don’t like how close he is to you. You only like doing so to tease him, but when he does it, it makes you feel a fiery anger in your chest and belly. Uncomfortable. Smothering.

Your hand works in sloppy motions. Pumping his pulsing cock to reach his orgasm. At the tip your wrist makes flicks with your thumb, working him up further and further.

He stutters out incoherent apologies into your hair throughout his sobs of wanton, whimpering moans. Everything about his body is sensitive to the new sensations. He can’t help but move his hips up into your hand, humping the small fist that’s fucking down onto him.

Confused by the warm, tight feeling flexing of his abdomen he whines against you, “I can’t- I can’t take it. My body feels weird now. Mmph, ‘m sorry. I don’t know what’s h-happening.” His body feels volcanic, ready to burst.

You continue your movements, jerking his reflexing length until he’s cumming into your hand. It’s a heavy load of thick, creamy mess. His voice is too close to your ear as he moans a drawn out needy sound. Your face remains plain while you pump him until he’s milked dry. His body flinches and curls into yours through the aftershocks, clearly overstimulated and over-sensitive. His arms snake around your waist to pull you against him.

You stare down at your hand that was earlier covered in the blood of a lamb and now the cum of a virgin. It looks like fucking snot, you realize with repulse. Without thinking you bring your hand up and lick the strange release. Your face scowls at the unknown taste so you just wipe the rest on your overalls. “You are disgusting,” you mutter.

Sunghoon remains silent aside from his sniffles, eyes peeking through his bangs to watch what you’re doing. He still hasn’t stopped clinging to your side, as if you could save him from his first lustful sin.

You push yourself up and off the couch, his body slightly falls to the side where he was leaning on you but he catches himself. He watches you with sad, scared eyes. You stare blankly in return then look out the window to see the group of men walking around the picnic table they ate at earlier.

“Farmhands will be leaving soon. Clean yourself up in the bathroom.” You don’t spare him another look, you just walk to the front door, unlock it, and leave. You ignore the way he looked like a sad abandoned puppy. Something about it angered you in the same way he was being clingy.

You walk back to your house with a slight skip to your steps. As you step through your front door, you’re about to head upstairs to your room but stop in your tracks because your mother speaks.

“Hate him all ya want,” your mothers words slur, she speaks slowly and tired-like, “but he was a good man. He used to love me… And then you came along.” You turn to the living room on your left where your mother lays on the couch, wine glass in hand and eyes heavy lidded. “I know what yer capable of. I’ve seen the things ya do on this farm, in this home.. When ya think no one is watching.. He just might be right about you.” You glare at her now. “There is something evil in ya, child. Leave that boy outta yer wickedness.”

Her wine glass falls to the floor from her fingers and she groans, turning to her side. You stare at her for a moment before walking up to your room.

Meanwhile Sunghoon spends his next 20 minutes in a spiral of guilt and shame. He cleans himself up in the restroom like you told him to. Then waits, watching outside the window for when the boys are gathered around the truck they drove in from the bus stop to leave in. It was hard for him to get the tears to end. He fell right into sin’s lustful trap and it made him feel so- No, it only made him feel hurt. Stupid. Bad.

On his bus ride back into the city he prays. Sitting in back, alone with his indignity, and head bowed low so no one could see his red rimmed, glossy eyes. Time goes by so fast that he nearly misses his stop to get off.

He ignores his roommate when he’s home. Jake, excited and curious of Sunghoon’s first day, is left cold. Sunghoon showers for longer than usual. He scrubs so harshly at his skin he turns red; unable to feel clean no matter how much he washes. He doesn’t eat dinner because he feels he doesn’t deserve to. He gets into bed earlier than most days too. He tries to sleep but the day haunts him, keeping him awake.

He’s up all night in tears, face in his pillow with the blanket thrown over his head, trying to hide from He who watches. The begs of forgiveness seem endless.

“Dear God,” he whimpers, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” He doesn’t sleep much that night because he can’t find it in himself to stop humping into his mattress in hopes to chase and achieve the feeling you gave him earlier. His hips rock his aching hard cock into the bed, anguished yet titillated. “Please, forgive me. Forgive me. I’m so sorry.” He continues to cry, drowning in his pillow, knowing he will do it again.

　The next day on the farm is an early morning for everyone. Sunghoon sits quietly in the truck with the other summer volunteer farmharms. They talk amongst each other about the day’s schedule of duties and tasks. He struggles to keep his eyes open, head leaning against the window despite its bumps from the uneven dirt road. He thought about calling it quits on the whole job after yesterday, but couldn’t bring himself to. It’s for selfish reasons too. The ones that deepen his guilt.

The arrival to the farm is quicker than anticipated. Sunghoon forces himself to be more alert and awake, starting to pick up on the conversations between the others as he exits the parked truck.

“Do you think it’s still hanging there?” One says. “The lamb of slaughter?” Another dumbly asks with a snort. “Well yeah, dipshit. You guys think that girl did it? She was weird as hell.” A third voice chimes in, “Being covered in blood and then leaving a dead animal hanging from a tree is creepy as fuck. The lady was right, stay the hell away from her.” He laughs. The others walk away in continuous chatter, leaving Sunghoon by the truck.

Sunghoon is confused by this conversation and deeply disturbed. He doesn’t follow or press them with questions though. But it will give him much to think about for the day. He’s so exhausted from the lack of sleep, he wonders if he even heard them all correctly at all. Yeah, your whole introduction was strange but killing an animal and acting like nothing happened and then toying with him on the same day? Was all that really something a girl like you would do? He can’t say for sure because he doesn’t know you.

He goes about his morning tasks lazily. His mind is too busy with the thoughts of you. He thinks of when or if he’ll see you today. You haven’t shown around the farm all day. It’s only an hour before noon, he tries to rationalize with himself. He still ponders throughout his work. What time will you come? Will you mysteriously show up like yesterday? Will you touch him again? Will you let him feel good? Is he forgivable or going to burn in hell for wanting more?

He shakes his head to rid it of the thoughts. Perhaps he’s too hopeful. After lunch time he goes back to the farmers lodge to take a nap. At least that’s the realistic excuse he used. He struggles to even fall asleep because he’s so anxious about listening for any sound of you possibly coming back here.

His eyes, sullen and tired, just can’t stay open after half an hour of waiting. So eventually he does fall asleep. You never show up. When he wakes up from his long needed nap he somehow feels worse knowing you didn’t visit than he did committing his first sin.

The following day of work is a repeat. He doesn’t see you at all yet you occupy all of his thoughts. He thinks badly of himself for many reasons.

　On the fourth day, you finally decide it’s time to check up on the poor boy. You watched Sunghoon mope around the farm for two days and it was cute at first but you’re getting bored again. You did like how his eyes were always searching around, hopeful that every sound he heard from behind or around corners was you. Knowing you had such an effect on him made you wonder how much more you could do to him.

From the window of your room, you watch when they all arrive. Your mother greets them like she does in the mornings and gives them all tasks that need to be completed for the day. It’s Thursday which means she’ll be out for a few hours to go into town and sort out business for products: cow and goat milk processing for cheeses and soaps. At least you assume considering you overheard her phone call about such the day prior.

You spend the morning around the house, reading and snacking on fruits, waiting for your mother to leave so you can proceed with your plan. There was some effort into your appearance today. You wear a spaghetti strapped white babydoll dress, lined at the bottom with sewn embroideries. It’s simple and flows nicely above your knees when you walk. You hate it because it alludes to soft purity but at least it feels good to dress light in the summer heat. And it might make you all the more approachable to feeble Sunghoon.

After about an hour, your mother finally leaves. You give it about 10 minutes before you’re shoving on your boots and leaving the house. Some of the blood from earlier in the week still stains the brown leather; you did clean them off but clearly not to the best extent. You’re okay with that though, it seems prettier this way to you.

Looking and walking around the property, you see the scattered farmhands busy with different things. The sun isn’t kind today, it’s piercing in brightness and temperature. The sweat begins to seep from your pores in a matter of minutes, making you feel sticky. You run a hand through your tangled hair, fingers getting caught in unbrushed knots that you yank through anyways. You don’t see Sunghoon anywhere that’s directly under the sun. You continue to search around the farm, gaining a few cautious looks from the other workers. As you walk past their gazes you wear a wry smile with a tilt to your head. They look away quickly after being caught staring.

Some wandering in and out of the different barns and coops are done. He wasn’t in any of them though. You greet the animals you pass by and give pats to some of the cows. “Have you guys seen him nearby? I’m not a fan of hide and seek.” You mumble to one of the goats, scratching lightly beneath its chin while it chews away at grains and hay. It maas in return. You pull your hand back out from the stable then leave to continue the manhunt.

It’s when you’re walking by the horses’ stables that you see they’ve already been cared for, telling you that someone was here already. You glance to the smaller shed nearby, having a suspicious inkling that it's where Sunghoon is. You walk to the shed and see yourself inside. And he is. He has his back turned to you, standing at a work bench table and cleaning something off.

You walk up behind him, the sound of your footsteps being dulled by the scattered hay on the wooden floors; he doesn’t notice that you entered the space, clearly lost in his own thoughts. You tap his shoulder which makes him spin around in surprise, dropping the brushes he was cleaning.

Sunghoon’s eyes are wide at the sight of you standing so close to him. You can tell he’s lost sleep by the dark circles around his eyes and how his complexion is impossibly paler. His mouth is stuttering to find words, opening and closing.

You step closer to him and he steps back, his backside now pressing against the table. It wobbles on the uneven wooden stilts that hold it up. Reflexively, his hands reach back to hold onto the table, but he’s using it for his own stability. You simply stand there in between his legs, staring up at his face and taking in all the details that differ from the last time you saw him. He swallows, quietly watching your face in return.

“I haven’t seen you around.” Sunghoon speaks first, his voice a soft surrender. You feel his breath on your face.

“I know. I saw you though. You missed me.” You state bluntly, taking note of the little fangs he has for teeth. He probably bites good, you think, licking the back of your own teeth.

“If you saw me then why didn’t you…” he trails off into a quiet again, closing his eyes for a moment with a sigh. “I wouldn’t call it that.” His eyes open again as he feels your hands on his chest, sliding up his white tank and underneath the sleeves of his denim jacket to his shoulders. He bites down, suddenly stiff.

Ignoring his response you continue, “How can you wear this when it’s so warm out?” Your hands slide over his shoulders and down his toned arms, the jacket slips down to reveal the toned limbs. Your eyebrows raise at the sight yet your face remains relatively blank. “You’ve got muscle. Good for farm work.” Small hands continue to run over the smooth milk-like skin, learning every curve of his lean built physique. It’s not sexual, just exploratory.

Sunghoon sucks in a breath, watching you inspect him. He begins to feel flustered, relishing in the contact of skin on his. You notice his tense body and ask him if it’s okay, to which replies a raspy stutter, “Y-yeah.” Your hands slide down his arms and back up to his shoulders. Then down his chest and body to stop at the waistline of his jeans. He has a nice body; he must be athletic. You don’t care to ask in what ways. Your fingers dip into his jeans just slightly to pull him in closer to you, he gasps, his growing cock pressing against your stomach.

“Sunghoon,” You ridicule him, tsking under your breath at the pressure you feel of his arousal. “Already?” You look up at him but he can’t meet your eyes, feeling embarrassed. You play with the waistline, your fingertips running back and forth between the denim and his skin. “Is this sinning?” It’s a soft question yet mocking. He only shakes his head, nervously gnawing at his bottom lip. “Do you want to?” He whimpers, slowly nodding his head. You take your hands off him, crossing your arms. “You have to tell me. Look at me and tell me.”

He looks back at you dispirited. He knows that you know what he wants. And here you are making him admit it outloud, both to you and God. “Please.” He begs quietly, hoping it only reaches your ears and not the sky’s. “I want you.”

There’s that feeling again. The lit match that falls from your throat to the gasoline of your stomach that erupts in flames. Fire to your abdomen and loins; it’s an angry feeling, sparked by his honest admit of want, and for you specifically. You watch him with narrowed eyes while mumbling, “you revolt me.”

He doesn’t reply to your venomous insult. It stings to hear the degrading words in both his heart and pants; he thinks himself disgraceful too.

You drop to your knees, hands finding place back on his jeans to undo his zipper. He stares down at you in bated breath, hands still gripping tight on the table behind him. His are pulled down slowly, purposely so. You watch him writher, body and face. “Did you do it again?” you question, looking up at him from below. He would never avow to how the sight of you on your knees alone makes him ache all the more.

He wants to tear his eyes away from you but he can’t. The image of you in your white dress on the ground before him needs to be burned into his memory. He stutters a mumble of words but you don’t catch anything, if he even said a coherent response at all. You ask again, pinching his thigh. He tries to hum over the strained noise in the back of his throat, “Yes.. I mean no! B-but I didn’t touch myself.”

You try not to giggle, biting the inside of your cheek. Knowing he wanted to feel that way again but couldn’t on his own gave you a funny sense of power over him. One of your hands traces the outline of his hard cock through his boxer briefs. “You make a mess?” He shivers at the feeling of your breath on his suffocating length. He breathes out a ‘no’ while you lick a strip over the material. “Why not? I showed you how.”

He moans softly, trying not to let his hips chase after the feeling that he’s been after for days. “You know I can’t,” he exhales. You roll your eyes, mouthing and licking at him languidly. Your hands are still half tugging at the material that keeps him hidden. A faint pool of precum quickly stains his boxers.

“Sunghoon,” you look up at him with your chin resting on the bulge. He swallows hard, acknowledging you with a hum. “You will never be free from it. The sin I let you taste will forever linger on the tip of your tongue, begging and licking to taste more in crave. No holy blessed water can possibly cleanse you even if you drown in it.”

His bottom lip pouts out with a little droning whine. He should defend himself, say that his faith is stronger than he is and that his soul is saveable by mercy. But a part of him also feels that doesn’t want to be. His eyes begin to well with tears.

“Not even a god could make you pure again,” you give him a small smile and pat his naked thigh before pulling down his underwear. His cock now free slaps his stomach to which he breathes out heavily. You grab him with both hands, giving him one last look before taking the leaking head into your mouth. Hands working on him steadily.

“T-that’s dirty!” he leans forward with a low sounding moan, his hands on your head and in your hair. Your eyes go wide at this. “Why would you put that in your mouth?!” he gasps, the warm wetness around his tip making him dizzy. “This is so vulgar, oh God, forgive me.” he cries, not pulling your mouth off of him but holding you there.

You circle your tongue around the tip and over his leaking slit, licking the beads of precum that leak out. It makes your grimace before you lean back, a wet pop as your mouth leaves. “Enough of your penitence, and take your hands off me.” It sounds like a warning to which he complies without question, only a hushed apology. He’s the one who wants to be touched anyways, not you.

You take him into your mouth again, your lips wrap around him in a painful stretch to accommodate his size. He sits heavy on your tongue that lays flat underneath, doing what you can with it. Your hands at the base work around him, jerking and squeezing him like you did before. You weren’t really sure what you were doing, mainly just mocking the actions you read about in books. It seems to be working for Sunghoon regardless because he can barely hold himself together. Whining and whimpering through fat tears, whole body shuddering from the overwhelming wet heat of your mouth.

His jaw goes slack, mouth hung open only to elicit a breathless moan. His head rolls back on his neck and his eyes flutter to a close. The feeling of your mouth wrapping around him is hot heaven. His body trembles with the new, sweeping sensation. Stomach already tight with contracting muscles. He thinks he could pass out.

Watching his face, him, discover and feel pleasurable sin is slightly euphoric to you. You’ve seen it in movies and read of it in books, but it was something you never quite fully explored yourself. There’s been a few instances that you did touch yourself; it always felt empty or like something was always missing. There’s little to no excitement when doing it alone in shameful hiding. Witnessing, causing such debauchery is different somehow. Safer in ways you didn’t dwell in thought on. You do wish he would stop crying about it, you find it pathetic of him in a provoked way.

Involuntarily, he thrusts himself down your throat with a guttural groan. You gag and cough around him, tears sting your eyes that make you squeeze them shut—refusing to let a single one dare to escape. Now it felt like a challenge. One to which you wouldn’t back down in fear of looking weak.

Your hands hold his thighs roughly, bruisingly so if you had the strength. You move his body in a small back and forth motion, encouraging him to continue his movements. You’re looking up at him with glazed over eyes and a slight nod. He chokes a sob at the sight, you on your knees not to pray but to devour him.

“Ah, I- I’m sorry. Your mouth is so wet, so warm.” He starts off with shallow thrusts, dragging his cock along your wet muscle. His hips stutter while his world seems to be crashing down. “This is so dirty. You look so dirty. And—ngh—it’s.. it’s so good. It’s so good,” he babbles, pushing himself as far down into your mouth as he can. His tip kisses the back of your throat making you gag around him. Your nails digging into the flesh of his strong legs. He can’t stop moaning and whimpering, becoming a slave to pleasure.

He watches your face. Hollowed cheeks sucking and swallowing around him, the tightness of your throat around him hugging and contracting through chokes that reverberate your body to his cock. The spit that leaks from your lips and all over him is obscene, such a sinful mess. He so badly wants to grab your head and force himself down further, but his nails dig into the wood of the table instead.

“Hm, I can’t—” he moans your name, thrusting rougher now. His whole body crumbling in on itself, chasing the feeling of release.

Then there’s the sound of footsteps and a few voices that follow. Sunghoon sucks in a deep breath, taking a fist to his mouth to bite down onto. He looks at you in fear because of the proximity of the other farmhands right outside. This only makes you smirk around him, a glint of evil in your eyes. He shakes his head hurriedly, stopping his movements—as if that would make you both disappear.

You push yourself off his cock, licking over your cracked and saliva covered lips. You bring a finger to your lips and shush him. “Be quiet or they’ll find out what a nasty whore you are. Unless you want that.” Your voice is quiet and raspy from the abuse of him fucking himself down your throat. You stare into his eyes intently before taking him back in. He glances from you to the door of the shed, his body shaking.

You slurp and suck him up, purposely loud and sloppy. A hand jerking off the base that doesn’t quite fit in your mouth. He cries quietly with his mouth open, meek and desperate sounds escape that he can’t withhold. “Please…” He’s whimpering, begging for something that he doesn’t know the context of.

“Do you think the extra feed is in this one?” A voice questions, the door being opened just a crack.

Sunghoon quickly tries to bend down for his jeans but you slap his hand away, pushing him back into the table. You grip his thighs and force yourself to take all of him down. You gag around him, eyes never leaving his panicky and fucked out face. His face silently begs for you that enough is enough but you don’t stop, because a part of you knows he doesn’t want you to either.

“It doesn’t hurt to check, does it?” The other replies with a light chuckle. “Could take a break for some shade too while we’re at it.” The door opens slowly with an agonizing creak, sunlight barely pouring.

Each passing second feels like an eternity to him. The door is still only cracked, not enough for them to see inside but it’s cutting it close. His cock twitches at the thought of being caught with his dick down the throat of the farmer’s daughter. A blazing adrenaline rushes through him.

Sunghoon can’t bear it any longer. His hands find purchase on the back of your head, pushing himself completely into your mouth. His hips stutter with a whimper on his lips as the hot cum pours down your throat. “Ah, sh- ngh!” You smack at his legs for him to release the hold, choking for air to breathe. You instinctively swallow around him, consuming his load of sin.

“You dumbass! The horses are already fed, let’s just go for a water break.” The door slams back on itself to a close. Their footsteps can be heard walking away.

Sunghoon breathes heavily, letting go of you. His body instantly relaxing back with his elbows on the table to support him. Meanwhile you fall onto your ass, a hand around your throat while you gasp for air through rough coughs. “What the fuck did I say about putting your hands on me?” You rasp before coughing again. The taste of him sits on the back of your tongue no matter how much you swallow.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “we shouldn’t get caught.” He pulls his pants and boxers back up then extends a hand to you, an offering to help you stand back up.

You scoff, ignoring his hand and stand up on your own. You brush the dirt and stray strands of hay from your knees. “Whatever. We both got what we wanted.” You start to turn for the door to leave the shed with the thought of brushing your teeth in mind.

Sunghoon, confused as to what you could’ve gotten out of helping him, just reaches for your hand. He grabs you and pulls you back to look at him. His eyes are sad, maybe even a little afraid by your haste to leave. “Y-you’re just going to leave me again?” He sounds broken by the fact.

“What?” You can’t help but breathe a laugh, “Did you expect me to do more?” You ask with raised brows.

“No! No, not like that.. But..” He swallows his pride, “I- I don’t know. Just don’t leave yet. Please.”

You blink at him, scanning his features like a robot in calculation. The pleading of his expression and his words aggravate you. A fiery burning to your insides and the skin that he touches, that he reached for. You look down to his tight grip on your hand before yanking it away. You don’t say anything more, and neither does he. He wipes his eyes from whatever salty wetness is still there.

A moment of silence solidifies your decision. You beckon him to follow you out and he does.

For the rest of his work day you remain. You try not to think about why. But subconsciously you know it’s because for the first time someone willingly wants to be by your side. At first you imagine it’s because of what you’ve done for him—gave him what any man desires: pleasure. A man falling into temptation is far too easy.

Though he doesn’t ask for more and he doesn’t bring it up. Almost like it never happened.

It seems like he really just wants to be around you. There’s little said between each other. It’s just idle farm work with company. And it’s more peaceful than you expected it to be. He didn’t touch you, question you, or do much at all to bother you in general.

Sometimes he stares at you, but you do the same to him. He even gives a sheepish smile when he catches you; it doesn’t get returned. That doesn’t bother him though. He thinks you look beautiful on the farm in your dress with dirt covered hands and hair messy from the wind. He hopes to tell you that one day but for now he stays shy, still weary and afraid.

The sun shines relentlessly unless a cloud mercifully passes by. The breeze is rare yet kind. The animals make their sounds to sing a collective song. The trees and crops sway like waving hands of hellos and goodbyes, depending on where you’re headed to or from. It’s not so bad.

　Two weeks go by. Time flies by for both you and Sunghoon. He comes to work during the week, and he spends his weekends missing you. He doesn’t know what you two are to each other, and he’s too scared to ask. There’s definitely been changes to the dynamic, however. Subtly so. You still don’t smile, or let him touch you. You roll your eyes and insult him if he’s too emotional. But you’re there.

Certainly not everyday, but most, you spend his work days with him. It’s easier to be around one another. There can be small talk, usually about the farm or the weather. Still much to be learned about on a personal level, but he’s fine with the pace of the relationship (outside of the unholy acts that are committed). Sometimes you even end up helping him. Or at least he thinks of it that way. In reality you don’t like how he does things and take over to do it yourself.

You still tease him in your cruel ways. Always ending with him in a mess because he’s easily worked up by your handsy curiosity. He caves into you every time because he can’t fight the divinity that you show him.

Sure, it could be seen as you selfishly saying these things because it’s what you want for yourself, but in the back of his mind he’s very aware of how you watch and cater to him. It makes his heart jump every time and butterflies swarm his stomach. He can’t help it. The little things, the small acts of kindness—that you might not even intend—make him delusionally overthink.

On the third weekend since starting his summer job, Jake can’t help all the questions he’s been building up and dying to ask. Jake doesn’t understand what Sunghoon has been going through, especially when his moods change so drastically. At first, Sunghoon was self isolating and pouty, clearly in his own head and sulking. But then he would come home from work beaming with an afterglow to his aura. And then on the weekends he was back to his reclusive, depressed state.

Sick of being left out of Sunghoon’s inner turmoil, Jake finally pesters his friend.

“When are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Jake stands in the doorway of Sunghoon’s room, staring at his friend who’s laying face down in his bed.

“I don’t know…” Sunghoon’s words are muffled in his pillow.

Jake walks in with a sigh and sits at the end of the bed. He playfully slaps Sunghoon’s leg. “Dude, just tell me. You’re obviously going through something. You know I can keep a secret. I won’t judge.”

Sunghoon rolls over on his back, his hands clasped together over his stomach as he stares up to the ceiling. He confides in Jake, telling his story from the beginning of when he first met you. He stutters over his words when he admits to the sinful acts he partook in with you. He tells Jake of his guilty conscience and how he enjoyed indulging in the feelings. Then he tells Jake about how he simply likes your company even without the sexual circumstances involved. How he’s mystified by your complex personality and only wishes to know you more. However, he does leave out the viciousness of your nature, since a part of him doesn’t quite believe in it.

“It seems like you’re starting to develop a crush.” Jake laughs lightly, “And if it’s about religion, don’t overthink it too much. Nobody dies completely pure.” He reassures him. “You should show her more of you. That you like her too.”

Sunghoon groans and covers his face at the terrifying suggestion. If only you were that easy to approach in such a vulnerable way. “I guess… I’ll consider it.”

The next day is Sunday. Jake and Sunghoon attend church as normal. Sunghoon participates less in his prayers and songs than usual. His mind is too preoccupied with all he has going on in life. He feels guilt and frustration.

Sunghoon, lost in his own world, fails to realize that his best friend—Jake—battles something similar internally.

You’re never as alone as you think you are if you take a better look around. Everyone is riddled with their own self disgust, guilt, or shame. How else would the churches be so full?

　Entering the fourth week of summer should feel easier than it does for Sunghoon. The work seems to be picking up regarding responsibilities. The weather is only becoming less forgivable. The peak is yet to hit, but that only means the seasonal storms are right around the corner. More care is needed in the fields and barns in terms of protection in case of unpredictable weather.

Aside from the work, Sunghoon is anxious because of you. He hasn’t seen you yet today and he feels nervous about it. Perhaps he has grown too clingy, finding close comfort in knowing you’re there with him on the farm. There’s a sense of safety when you’re in the line of sight; you make things easier for him and he enjoys the presence.

While he’s watering plants and checking the sprinklings through the fields, an older man approaches him. It’s a familiar face that he’s seen around a few times over the past month. The man waves with a smile and Sunghoon does the same.

“It’s amazing what you’ve done, boy.” The man begins, Sunghoon questions where he’s going with the start because he’s just an extra hand of help and doesn’t feel he’s accomplished or improved the farm in drastic ways. “I’ve worked here, hm, well I’ll be damned! Nearly 15 years! And I’ve never once seen that farm girl talk to anyone. Much less spend time.” the man chuckles.

“Oh!” Sunghoon blushes and hopes it’s only mistaken as feverish from the summer. He smiles small and stares down to the bundle of plants he brought with him to the farm today. He feels special knowing this much of you. “She’s something…”

“Sometimes I’d see her talk to herself and the animals.” The man pulls out a cigarette and lighter to smoke. “She’d walk around aimlessly like a ghost. Used to scare the hell outta me.” As he laughs, smoke escapes his lungs. He wheezes a little before continuing, “But now she follows and watches you like she’s worshipin’. If only she did the same with her daddy. Although with a face like yours, I can’t blame the girl.”

“Pardon? What do you mean by that?” Sunghoon, bemused, watches the man smoke and laugh between weak coughs. “She has a dad?” His last question is overroad by the man who speaks over him.

“You keep up your work, kid. I outta get back to mines too.” And then he’s walking away with a low chuckle, shaking his head to himself.

Sunghoon’s aware of your mother. He always thought it was just the two of you running things. He’s never once seen a man, your father, leave the house or so much so be around it. This gives him more to think about, especially on the fact that he still doesn't know much about you at all. You’re still an enigma to him, but he wants everything.

By the afternoon when all the guys are finishing up their break, you finally come out of the house. With the sound of the front door opening, Sunghoon is quick to straighten his posture and find your eyes. You’re already looking at him, watching him and his surroundings with no expression. His cheeks burn and he can’t help the smile forming on his lips.

Two and a half days without seeing you feels like so much longer.

He stands up from the picnic table, grabbing his newspaper wrapped bundle of greenery and shyly hiding it behind his back. He walks over to you, tripping over his feet as he approaches the porch steps to the house. You stand there in front of the door but at the top of the few stairs, arms crossed and amused.

He’s diffident, arms behind him and modestly attempting to hide how nervous he feels on the inside. His stomach is doing flips, his heart racing. On top of already sweating. He feels like he could throw up his lunch right in front of your feet. He swallows thickly before slowly bringing his hands out in front of himself.

“I,” he clears his throat, “ehem, I got these for you.” With outstretched arms, the bundle of flowers shake in his trembling hands. He suddenly feels he’s too nervous to even meet your eyes, so he watches the chipped paint wood of the front porch steps.

You just stand there, watching him with wide eyes and your heart in your throat. Your mouth is lost for words, glancing around at the few farmhands who haven’t left yet and are staring at Sunghoon’s exchange in a similar bewilderment. Some are trying to keep themselves from bursting out into laughter.

“Are you some kind of stupid?” You whisper harshly for only him to hear, snatching the flowers out of his hands. “Why the hell would you do this?” Your words like your tone are mean, but in your chest there’s a raging pounding. It’s a seething raw emotion that doesn’t know how to be dealt with. You’ve only just stepped out of the house and your body feels like it’s inside a furnace.

Sunghoon’s head shoots back up to look at you, his face and heart drop. “I-I’ve never had a girlfriend before so I wasn’t sure what to do.. This is what boyfriends do, right?” He takes a hand to scratch at the back of his head. Inner turmoil takes over and he thinks he’s fucked up. He bites at his lip, doing his best not to instantly cry in regret.

You notice this and sigh, irritated. You look from the neatly wrapped white roses and tulips and back to Sunghoon. “So you are stupid,” you mumble before taking your own bottom lip between your teeth. A part of you wants to sneer, but you spin on your heels to hide the warmth that floods your face in substitution. “I’m throwing them away,” you announce, opening the door and walking back inside your house.

Sunghoon, broken, just drops his head and turns back. A few of the farmhands are snickering from not too far away, chattering among each other and eyeing Sunghoon. He wishes God would smite him on the spot from the humiliation.

Wanting to avoid everything for a little while, he thinks of heading to the lodge to lay down in hiding. But before he can walk away, the front door of your house swings open once more. He glances back at you, meeting your eyes like he always seems to do.

“Done for the day already?” You call over to him, now leaning over the banister of the porch with crossed arms.

Sunghoon, unable to refute you, offers a weak smile and shakes his head. “No.”

He walks back over to you and you meet him halfway. You don’t say anything else. You don’t bring up the fact that he had bought you flowers or confused the odd relationship you share for dating. It’s cute in all its blind innocence, but that just goes to show you that you have more work to do with him.

You don’t think of messing with him today. He’s distinctly grown too clingy with how much time you’ve spent with him. Yet you can’t ignore him either. The two of you carry out the rest of the day’s farm work in silence. The inner fury you feel with him doesn’t seem to go away, despite how he hasn’t said much or even brushed skin with you.

You don’t know how you’re remaining pacific by his side. The rampaging of your heart strings tug like a screaming instrument just from being next to him. How he can keep walking tall, stare at you when he thinks you aren’t looking, or even smile at you is beyond what you know is capable of humans. Men like him only existed in books and movies. You wonder if he’s perhaps playing a game like you.

By the time he’s in the truck to go back to town to catch a bus into the city, you’re sitting at the lake dock. Criss crossed legs, a bouncing knee, and fingernails being ripped at by your teeth. You stare blankly at the water, hoping for that sense of serenity to encapsulate you. It never seems to come. It just feels cold.

So you decide on punishing him for making you feel this way.

You don’t leave your house for the next three days. You don’t make yourself known, heard or seen. However, you’re peeking out every window of your house to get any chance of a view of him. You hate yourself for being so curious of him in the first place. What was supposed to be good fun has only left you feeling angry. Taking his innocence was never going to heal you, or even make him like yourself. In fact, it’s making you sicker.

And on the night of the fourth Thursday, you’re laying in bed staring at your ceiling. A stuffed animal is hugged tightly to your chest. You can’t sleep and you can’t stop thinking about someone for the first time in your life. No amount of tossing and turning, counting sheep, or button presses to your distorted singing, stuffed bear made it easier.

Somehow, you ended up punishing yourself. You always had a knack for that, historically, but this time felt different. It actually kind of hurt. Being alone came naturally to you, but tonight it hits you just how lonely you’ve always been.

　Friday, the farmhands are huddled on the front porch of your house. All the animals are safely away in their designated homes thanks to their help. It started to storm in a heavy downpour only minutes ago. What started out as a dark gray gloom and windy rain quickly turned into an early flooded property, illuminated by strikes of flashing lightning and roaring thunder.

You stand dry under the protection of the porch roof by the front door. Watching and listening to your mother suggest the shaking cold, soaked men take shelter in the lodge until the sky lets up so they can head home.

Sunghoon hasn’t spared a look to you all day, but you know that he feels his eyes on you. It’s in the way he shifts awkwardly amongst the men that ignore him. How his eyes are trained low and unfocused yet always trying to move in your direction. His wet hair falls over his face, concealing his emotions you wish to dissect. He comes off as stoic but you know he wears his heart on his sleeve; how his body language speaks volumes.

Your mother pushes past you to get back inside, saying she’ll check the basement for a spare heater that the boys could use at the lodge. There’s something in you that makes you move without thinking. Suddenly a hand is tugging at the bottom of Sunghoon’s damp jacket for his attention. The material is too thin for this weather and the thought of him becoming sick crosses your mind.

“It’s warmer here,” your words, for once, came out soft. Too much so, being lost in the cracking sound of thunder. He looks at you through his bangs. The wave of alleviation from whatever he was dealing with is palpable. His eyes and body almost look relaxed. You tug him towards you once more, insinuating that he follows you.

He does. Like whatever subconscious emotion made you approach him also made him follow you in. As he steps in, he notices the indistinguishable vibes of the farmer’s lodge. It’s updated and cleaner, but similar in aesthetics. A shotgun sits leaning up against the wall by the front door. His brows furrow and eyes narrow. “Those aren’t safe to have lying around…” he mumbles.

You tug him towards the staircase to walk up, “It’s protection. Only my mother and I are here,” is mumbled back as you lead him up the wooden, creaking stairs. Your feet move light and quick, like a mouse in a home not theirs. If your mother saw you, there would be unnecessary consequences. And the possibility of your father’s involvement would only worsen such.

Sunghoon cautiously steps into your bedroom, his body tenses at the sound of you shutting and locking the door. He feels on edge, wrapping his arms around his shivering body and soaked clothes. You move around him to sit on your bed, telling him to remove his sopping attire. He does so with shaking hands, leaving him in nothing but his underwear. He shyly looks around the room while using his hands to cover his manhoon.

His eyes scan over you, sitting quietly on your bed with a look of contemplation that stares past him. A wooden cross hangs on the wall above your bed, the dark wood matches the decadent bed frame. The nightstand nearby has a pile of books and journals with a low light lamp and unlit candle.

The large window has sheer white curtains drawn open and a vase on the windowsill. A glass vase filled with the flowers he gave you earlier in the week. His heart aches at the sight of the still healthy white roses and tulips, and a smile graces his lips. You liar! You kept them! Is what runs through his thoughts.

Without Sunghoon realizing, you got up to grab a towel and drape over the back of his shoulders. He’s taken aback by your ghost-like actions, but offers you a small smile of appreciation. “Thanks…”

You nod for response and glance from him to the vase of flowers he was lost in thought over. You didn’t have it in to explain yourself, mostly because you didn’t understand why you had done so either.

He dries himself off and finds a place to sit at the end of your bed. You’re on the other end with your back pressed to the headboard, watching him, counting every mole you can find on his pale canvas. The stuffed animal you sleep with is being mindlessly fumbled around in your hands.

Sunghoon turns to face you directly, he reaches a hand out, eyes shifting from your face and the winged bear. You shoot him a mean look at first, only holding it closer to yourself before your face softens to slowly extend it out to him.

He takes it with careful hands and looks down to inspect the old toy. Its cream colored fur is dirtied and matted with age. The holographic satin wings on the back have loose stitching and its halo is crooked. Across the chest of the bear reads ‘Jesus Loves Me’ but it’s obvious the sewn name Jesus has been ripped away at. One paw has a red heart embroidered saying ‘press me’. His thumb brushes over the button heart before pressing down. The bear sings in a distorted happy voice the lullaby of Jesus loves me.

“His name is Saint Michael,” you say quietly and he almost doesn’t catch it. Sunghoon can only breathe a laugh because he finds the dichotomy cute. You almost laugh too, but bite your tongue and look back to your empty hands. You don’t know it but he can see you try to fight your little smile. To him, this moment means more than anything; he’s starting to see you’re more tender than you realize. It brings him a sense of surety in knowing that he can break you like you to do him.

Silly as it may seem for a troubled girl, the bear was the only comfort you had throughout childhood. There was no kindness from your father, no solace from your mother, no guide in knowing life or love. But there was Saint Michael, the stuffed angel bear; he may not have defended you in battle but he hugged you back, and that was enough to cherish him like a deity.

Sunghoon crawls across the bed and sits himself next to you, too close for your liking, but you don’t push him away. He hands the stuffie back to you and you place it on the nightstand to face away from you. You lower yourself in the bed, shuffling under the covers of the blanket and he does the same. His skin naked bare yearns for more warmth, yours specifically.

You feel him turn on his side next to you, pressing up against you despite there being enough space on the bed. His movements are awkward and nervous like he is. You feel a certain pressure against your thigh that isn’t his bones or limbs. You spare him a glance, he doesn’t know if it’s a warning or dare.

“...Have I ruined you?” You wonder aloud, looking back to the ceiling.

“No,” he answers quickly, shaking his head against your shoulder. The way he’s missed you in his desire to touch you, hands tingling with want to snake around your waist and pull you in tight. “I think I just want you all the time now. I can’t help it, m’sorry.” He sounds ashamed in his soft mumbles.

“I’ll only keep stripping all that purity from you. Once it’s mine it’ll remain mine, you know that right?” You look back at him before brushing some of his drying hair from his eyes. He tries to lean up into the touch but your hand is taken back. “And I will pretend it’s healing all that’s missing from me. Do you really want to be mine, Sunghoon?” Your words are so gentle yet laced with threat.

“Yes,” he exhales, “I want to be yours. Let me be yours please.” It’s hushed, a secret prayer with hope. His hips push further into the skin of your leg, where the hip meets the thigh. He wouldn’t mind going to Hell if it meant more time with you.

“You beg like a needy barn animal in heat.” You use a hand to cup his face, he sighs into the hold as he eyes flutter to a close. You push your leg in between his, terribly close to his exposed and vibrating body. “So hump me like one.”

“W-what?” he stutters out before licking over his lips, his thighs squeezing around the plush of yours now trapped in his. His eyes already wet with desperate want, staring back at yours.

“Do it. Like it’s mating season and you want to claim me before anyone else.”

A cracked voice whine falls from his lips and he begins to roll his growing bulge against you. You watch as he sucks in breaths between quiet breathy moans. His pink, plump lips pursing and falling open. His eyes try to stay on your face, how close you are to him, but they fall shut sometimes in his basking of rapture. It’s a slutty sight of a faith-sickened boy.

He loves the little to no proximity that there is. His hands find place on your waist, and he’s aware of how that makes you feel, but he can’t stop it. He wants more and more of you. His hands slide up under your shirt, the feeling on your bare skin in his hands makes his body shudder. Untouched, warm flesh for his large hands to explore and learn every curve of.

Even you stiffen at his exploration, holding in your breath as if you’ve forgotten how to breathe. Your shirt lifts up more with his hands and the exposure is daunting like you’re revealing your insides.

The pit of your stomach lights up and you're frozen under his clutch. The pads of his fingers hold you so tight as if he’s scared you’ll disappear. His cock is raging and you can feel every pulse of blood that his heart beat floods to. He’s humping into you desperately, chasing the euphoria that he could never find on his own. Such a delicate, shy boy now driven by lust and longing.

“You’re pathetic and disgusting. You’re practically fucking me through our clothes,” you murmur while you try to push his hands down off you, but his grip won’t let up. Instead his nails dig further into you, a barely sounding broken noise escapes you from the pain. This makes his body collapse further into you, his head dropping between your shoulder and neck. His movements are sloppy and rushed.

“N-no, I’m still good. You make me feel good, I am so good,” he whines, tears beginning to fall from his eyes to your shoulder. You try to imagine his holy water is washing you clean but it only singes.

“Tell me that only I make you feel good, that you’re only good for me.”

“Only you—can only be you to make me good,” he cries against your warmth, rocking himself into you roughly. His leaking cock begins to twitch against you and his hips won’t quit their stuttered jerks.

You hum lightly and run a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. He looks up at you with those desperate, wet, dark eyes and you can’t help but acknowledge how pretty he is like this. His puffy cheeks are flushed pink as the tip of his nose. “Only for me,” you mumble.

“Yes, thank you, I am yours. Yes.” His breaths are jagged and heavy. There’s a coiling in his abdomen that feels borderline explosive. You were right, he craves this feeling. It’s surreal to him how he’s gone so long without it. His arms wrap around you completely now, holding you down while his body rolls on top of yours, situated between your legs. His heart hammers against your chest; he wants to mold into you, to become a singular rot.

You squeak a gasp, being caged down by him. Your heart beats with the same veracity. One of your arms wraps around his waist to hold his back while the other holds the back of his head that hasn’t left the safety of your neck. He continuously sobs through meek moans. His hair tickles your skin like sparks while his lips brush over your jaw and neck making the tingle feel like crackling flames.

Under his weight you feel yourself slipping in both confidence and dominance, your body wanting to sink down in submission from the unknown comfort of his control. Your heart aches and you feel something you’ve never felt before. You think you’re scared of it, yet your body pulls him closer. Hand in his hair, tugging with fearful aggression. Nails piercing the skin of his shoulder blade. You’re pliant under his heavy thrusts and sounds of sin.

The rain pours harder outside with whips of harsh winds smacking the window. It’s almost like God’s wrath is screaming to be seen, to shout that He is watching.

Sunghoon’s hard cock is relentless against your core. The rough grind of him is stimulating in ways you’ve never felt before, your body sensitive and starving for more. You squeeze your eyes shut and moan within your closed mouth, hating yourself for feeling this way because it was never supposed to be about you. You are betraying yourself more than your fathers.

The sounds you try to withhold make Sunghoon weaker. He feels uncontrollable, only becoming needier and hungrier with his movements, “I can’t stop. I can’t stop.” He whines, begging for you to vocalize how you feel it too.

You feel like you’re breaking underneath him, and it feels shameful. Like every harsh word your father ever spat at you was true now that you’re a part of the experience and not just the cause. Everything is too much. It takes every ounce of strength you have to turn both of your bodies over. Now sitting up on top of his lap, you can finally breathe again, sighing in relief. He whimpers at the distance between you both but also from the view of you.

He moans your name softly as he grips your hips, pushing himself up into your clothed pussy like he’s fucking you. Your hands push down on his shoulders. You stare into his eyes with a plain expression and contrasting sharp eyes, grinding your hips back down on top of him. It’s hard to ignore the way it makes you feel, watching him fall apart beneath you as his pulsing cock fucks against you, but you manage.

“Cum for me,” you demand quietly, “make a mess and imagine it’s inside me.”

“Holy fu—ngh,” his entire body spasms and shudders with a low groan falling from his open lips. His movements slow down only to become lazier and uncoordinated. You can feel the warm wetness he spills soak through your thin pajama shorts and underwear.

“You’re right. You are good for me,” you coo softly, cupping his face and using your thumbs to wipe away the tears. Your hips circle and swivel slowly on him until his quivering cock finishes cumming.

Sunghoon has a sparkle to his wet eyes. The way the gentle praise left your lips makes him melt, and he can’t stop the flickering glance between your eyes and lips. He breathes heavily through his post clarity. Still he basks in your touch with a hopeful look in his eyes. His tongue slides over his lips before he’s leaning up towards your face, hands affixed to your waist to pull you closer to him.

This makes a wave of panic wash over you, knowing what he wants to do. You shake your head no and pull yourself away, slipping off of his lap only to turn away from him.

“None of that. It’s not what-”

And then there’s a press of lips to your cheek. Your face burns as if a hot coal was what kissed your face. Your eyes go wide, turning to see the boy sitting up next to you. He only wears a shy smile as he sees your reaction.

“That’s dumb and I don’t need to,” you reply, still watching him stare forward. Your chest feels painful; it’s an ache like shattered glass trying to piece together in the wrong ways. Stabbing but trying.

“I think you deserve to,” he argues. “But I understand if it’s not what you want. I was really touchy and I shouldn’t have been because you don’t seem like it. I was too caught up in the moment.” His mind goes to the mess he’s still sitting in and he feels self-conscious all over again. “Is it embarrassing how much I need you?”

You blink at him, swallowing the words that were never going to come out because you didn’t even know what they should or would be. So you settle with a simple, “No.”

You think it would kill you to admit how much you actually always wished to be wanted, needed, or loved. A bigger part of you didn’t think you were worthy of it, let alone capable. The world had such a way of saying otherwise. Until it brought Sunghoon to you; the boy who showed you feelings and experiences you never thought possible.

As if he could read your mind, he asks, “Why did you choose me out of everyone?” He falls back onto the bed, laying down and pulling the blanket over himself.

“I think you reminded me of a lamb.”

“Pardon?” His brows furrow.

You lay back down next to him, facing him like he is to you. “Pretty, white, and docile. You were so nervous when I first saw you—sometimes you still are.” You even laugh a little. “When you shook my hand I knew I could do anything to you because you’d let me.”

“You think I’m pretty?” He smiles wide, scooting closer to you.

You scoff with an eye roll, leaning further away from him. “Oh shut up, you’ve seen a mirror.”

And then it’s his turn to laugh a little. He looks at you like you’re the reason the sun rises and falls. It kind of hurts you to see him like this because it reminds you of your initial rotten intentions and how they’re dissipating the more you’re with him.

Time passes faster than the two of you realize. There’s light banter and easy conversations. You learn more about Sunghoon. Where he goes to school, what he studies, and who his friends are. He tells you of the sports he used to do and what he does in free time with his best friend. The more you learn about him, the more you understand his naivety and how despite what you’ve done, he won’t change. There’s something lovely about it.

You don’t have much to share about your life the way he does, at least not in the same light. But you show him your favorite books, drawings you made over the years, and share the stories of movies you found interesting. He savors the moment of you simply confiding, enjoying the more he can know about you.

The storm passes later in the evening. So caught up in borrowing time, the rain has slowed down to a simple pitter patter. The clouds dispersed and the setting sun only came through to say goodbye to the day.

The sound of the truck that the farmhands use to take back to town is heard roaring to life, signalling you and Sunghoon that it’s safe and time to head out.

Sunghoon jumps out of bed but by the time he’s shoving himself into his still damp jeans and looking out the window, the truck is already speeding down the dirt, now mud riddled road.

“They just left without me,” he breathes out. “I’m used to them leaving me out, but t-this is.. How am I going to get home?” He looks back to you with sad eyes, not the light they had earlier. He’s not shocked by their actions, but he is disappointed. A hand runs through his hair in his stress.

“Should I kill them?” Your question is brazen, body and voice eerily still in your seriousness.

“W-what?!” he whispers in shock, freezing for a moment.

“I’m joking.” You sit up and watch Sunghoon resume getting dressed. “I think you should head back to the lodge for the night. There’s a washer and dryer for your clothes. And spare food for dinner too.”

Sunghoon nods slightly, “your jokes are weird, but okay.” He looks like he’s thinking of something, taking his bottom lip between his teeth in thought before speaking again. “Can you stay with me for the night at least?” he asks shyly.

“No,” comes out quicker than you intended. “...But I guess I can walk with you there.”

He nods again but now with his signature small dimpled smile. You almost forgot about being angry at the other farmhands for taking it away.

You have to make sure the coast is clear before leaving the house. You tiptoe down the halls and stairs, weary of where your mother is inside the house. To your luck, she’s in her usual state. She’s passed out on the couch with two empty bottles of wine on the floor. The television volume is low, playing a rerun of the reverend’s sermon; the devil himself of your childhood, preaching about how he lost his child to the otherside.

With a finger to your lips, you silently signal for Sunghoon to be quiet and to follow you out.

Once safely out of the front door, you take his hand in yours and start running for the lodge. The tall boy is behind you, so you don’t get to see the bright smile on his lips or in his eyes as you run through the light run towards the lodge.

Now standing in the front doorway of the farmer’s lodge, wet from the sky all over again and still hand in hand, Sunghoon bravely speaks up.

“I don’t like it when you disappear on me,” he breathes out shakily, honestly. “Nobody else sees me like you do,” he squeezes your hand tighter in his, feeling you begin to pull away. “Come with me into the city tomorrow. We can- I’m not sure yet, but I’m sure I want more time with you.”

His eye contact is unwavering, begging. Both of his strong hands hold onto yours. You glance from your hand then back to his pleading expression. He will always remain so sweet, no matter what you do to him.

“I felt less lonely before I met you,” you confess, eyes unblinking as you stare up at him for a long pause. “I’ll meet you here in the morning.”

In only seconds, he’s pulling you into a hug. His arms wrap around you so tightly as he holds you to his chest. You go stiff in his arms, forgetting how to breathe for a moment. What feels suffocating at first turns into a warmth you’ve become all too familiar with, and it was never anger. The indignation you always wear is just a hand me down from your parents; it doesn’t fit you right even though it’s comfortable.

With a shaky exhale, you wrap your arms around him too. The hug surrounds you like a blanket of unknown comfort. Your ear pressed to his chest listens to the sound of his racing heart. You can feel the pound throughout his entire body too. Every emotion held within is trying and fighting to be seen. It’s still so cold from the rain but he feels contrast, only warm. His lips press a kiss to the top of your head, making your body burn even more and your hold all the tighter.

　True to your word, you meet Sunghoon at the farmer’s lodge the next morning. He seems happier than usual. Very giddy to be spending a weekend day with you without work in the way. No distractions or excuses to leave. Just the two of you and a new day with zero obligations.

Because you had a spare bike, you both are able to peddle towards town to the bus stop together. Having made these frequent trips alone, you’re familiar with the owner of the gas station at the stop. He’s a deaf older man, and it surprises Sunghoon that you know how to sign and ask him to hold onto the bikes until you’re back. You tell Sunghoon that you learned some basics from reading a book you bought a long time ago.

Stunned, Sunghoon realizes that you went out of your way to do so for one man who watches your bike while you endure solo trips. You, the odd girl who was mean and sinful, used your money and learned a language for one man who did a simple favor. He’s learning more to admire you for by the day, and it’s crazy to him how you don’t see your own charm.

Sunghoon pays your bus fares even though you insisted on being capable of doing so yourself. Sat in the middle of the bus that’s only barely half filled, he asks if there’s anything you’d like to do for the day while in the city. Nobody has ever asked you such an effortless thing, and you like it more than you imagined. Just uncomplicated curiosity of your wishes.

“The book store. The small yellow one on main street. Maybe see a movie if anything is worth seeing.” You shrug, spewing out the usual things you do. Looking around the taken bus seats, you notice some familiar faces.

“That sounds nice,” he smiles, “our first real date! I think there’s a cafe near that book store too. Do you like coffee?”

Your cheeks burn as you stare at him in bewilderment, “you think we’re going on a date?!”

“Of course we are,” he laughs like it’s obvious and wraps an arm around your shoulder, looking out of the window. All that the town can offer him other than you passes by. “I’m a fan of americanos. You seem like you’d take your coffee black.”

“I don’t even like coffee,” you mumble, turning your attention out of the window as well. “Tea is nice though.” You add in, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Hm. I can see that too,” he hums as he pulls you closer into his side.

So much can change in such little time. You’ve experienced this many times in one life. How one day can open a new door to a path otherwise not taken. Showing Sunghoon more of you has made him bloom into a larger ray of light. He seems more comfortable, and now you’ve become the awkward one.

The ride to the city doesn’t normally take this long, or at least you don’t think it does. Every second with him by your side makes the experience feel brand new. The theme of time being unreal is common with him, you’ve discovered. It’s when you’re in the bookstore and see a holiday sale that you realize it’s not even June anymore.

While Sunghoon looks for books for his upcoming college semester, you find yourself in genre sections you never really cared for before. The dark and racy ones were fun to bring home, sure. But innocent, cliche romance was always something cringey to you. Now if you change your perspective to that of research then it’s less daunting, right? Perhaps you’d make sense of all the things you’re discovering about yourself and him. Yeah, that’s convincing enough.

He teases you at the checkout counter when he sees what you picked out. Your face flushes in embarrassment and you can’t even bite back at him or defend your choices. So you smack him with the book on the way out while he laughs and makes jokes that aren’t very funny.

The two of you do manage to catch a movie. You honestly didn’t care to see one, but having to sit silently in a theater for at least an hour and half seemed like enough time for him to, hopefully, forget and drop the whole book situation. It’s a summer slasher film. A group of teens go camping and the plot is very ‘who done it’ style. Overall, it’s a fun choice. You have your turn to laugh and joke when Sunghoon gets jumpy or scared.

After the movie, you both end up at the cafe Sunghoon mentioned while on the bus. There was something painfully intimate about everything today. But especially sitting down to eat with him. Not even your mother could meet you at the table anymore.

“You seem softer today,” Sunghoon states, setting his half-drunk coffee down. “Almost nervous. Is it because we’re out together for our first date? Or just the people in general?”

You raise a brow at his brazen curiosity and observation. “Maybe you’re rubbing off on me,” you play with your fork to move around the barely touched food in front of you. “Or maybe it’s a bit of both.”

“If you come to the city enough to know sign language for the man who watches your bike, do you like it better than the countryside?”

“Don’t know. I’m used to the quiet life, but leaving it behind and pretending it’s not there is nice too.”

“What keeps you there?”

“The scenery. The air. The lake. Being friends with the animals.” You look up from the plate to Sunghoon who is watching you like a lecture: attentive and learning. “I’m not very good with people, so I think it suits me alright.”

“You’re good with me though,” he argues softly.

“No, not really. I wish I was more like everyone else,” you inhale deeply as your eyes wander around the bustling cafe. There’s a choir of laughter, conversations, and social dynamics you would have to study to master. “If I were a good person, everything would be easier.”

“...but I like you as you are,” he mumbles loud enough for you to hear, watching you shift in your seat. He doesn’t think you’re not a good person, and it hurts that you see yourself as such.

As Sunghoon speaks, there’s a chime that follows as the front door of the cafe is swung open. A disheveled man stumbles inside, heavy feet stomping the tile floor to attempt to stabilize his disorientation. The man burps obnoxiously loud, and many eyes find him with the grand entrance.

He scratches at his lengthy, unkept beard as he looks around. When his sunken eyes find you sitting at the table nearby his eyes grow wide and his mouth falls open. His hand shakes with a pointed finger in your direction, “y-you! The girl from the reverend’s sermon!” He’s loud, capturing the attention of everyone now. His sloppy movements make way towards you and Sunghoon; you feel everything within you freeze, and your heart knocks at your chest fast and hard with anxiety.

He slams his hands on the table, causing your plates and drinks to rattle. He reeks badly of alcohol and his crazed eyes never leave yours. You swallow thickly, fight or flight mode still trying to understand the situation before you. Meanwhile Sunghoon, worried and confused, slowly begins to stand up and grab your bags.

But you, you’re frozen staring at the messy man who talks of your greatest hate. Your hands tremble on the table.

“I thought the reverend made you up for stories, but my God! You’re the real living thing just like the pictures; his only sin,” he laughs boisterously in your face and you try not to gag. “I saw him a little whiles earlier, ya know,” his voice goes quieter, it’s taunting even. You wish to remain calm but your eyes tremble and a frown takes your face. “I should go find him and tell him you’re here. He really-”

Sunghoon takes your hand, practically dragging you away from the table. You almost fall from your seat, like a baby deer just learning to walk, there’s little strength to your legs.

“It’s not too late! You can be on the right side of things!” his voice ricochets off the walls of the now quiet cafe. “If I can be saved by his preaching, so can you! Look at me!” His mad laughter follows you and Sunghoon outside.

Sunghoon watches you stand on uneasy feet, zoned out staring at the sidewalk. It didn’t take much to put the pieces together that the drunken man was talking about your father. Your father being a reverend who’s not in the picture gave him much to wonder about, but now isn’t the time. He just wanted to get you somewhere away from this memory.

He crouches down in front of you. You slowly blink back to reality, now looking down at his back. You don’t want to speak so you poke his shoulder in questioning.

“Hop on. Let’s go somewhere else.”

“What if I’m heavy?” you look at the bags he’s already holding, feeling that you too are a burdened weight he doesn’t need to hold.

“I’ve got good muscles, remember? Good for farm work,” he’s patient and calm with you while his eyes watch the man from outside the glass cafe windows. “Come on, baby.”

Without thinking, you end up on his back. He carries you on his back, strong arms holding your legs while yours are loosely around his neck. Your insides are a flared up hurricane but at least that allows your body to forget the empty ache you left at the cafe. With your chin hooked over his shoulder, you watch the many people and downtown stores that pass by.

Sunghoon doesn’t exactly know where he’s walking, but thinks it’s best to end the day here and return you to the bus stop. He’s never seen that look on your face before—the one you had when the man was loud in your face. He didn’t like it, and he’s sure you hated it. You looked intimidated, or afraid.

“Would you kill him for me?” you watch the side of his face, “the reverend, I mean.”

He stops in his tracks and turns his head to look back at you, “w-what? I can’t kill someone… and you should joke like that.” he panics, looking around to see if someone was listening to the wild conversation and request.

“Yeah, I know. I’m fucking with you,” you look away to hide your smirk, “and only half joking.”

“Did you believe him before?” He starts walking again, but this time at a slower pace knowing the bus stop isn’t too far now.

“Who? My dad or Our Father?” There’s a use of air quotes at the end of your question.

“Both?” his head tilts.

“Neither,” you confirm. There’s a pause for thought and Sunghoon waits for you to further explain. “My relationship with both is too similar. They’ve both known me my whole life, right? Seen all of my wrong doings and in return shown wrath through unnecessary punishments called forgiveness. In what good world is tolerance violent?”

“What do you mean? What did he do?”

“Sometimes, after my mother set the table for dinner, he would knock my plate to the floor. Tell me to eat off the ground like the animal I was or starve.” Sunghoon frowns at this, coming to a slow stop when he sees the bus shelter bench. “Sometimes I had days and nights locked in the barns, but he switched it up to the basement when I was too close with the animals.” You laugh a little, but he senses the pain behind it. “I watched him kill the animals, too, only to smother me in their blood. Beatings were rare, but I think only because he despised the thought of even touching me.”

Sunghoon slowly sets you down to the ground and breathes out your name safely, taking your hands into his. He looks at you with sorrow, like he was the one who endured it with you.

“God’s orders, am I right? My father, the church goers, speak of God like they’ve seen his face and heard his voice, but they haven’t. I would’ve by now too.”

If He was really in everything, all around, why did He always turn a blind eye? Why does He pretend to not know you? It only made it harder to believe in—something that would bring you here, torture you then watch you suffer for not living how it pleases. God wants to be believed in, but so do you. Only you would never beg for compassion.

Sunghoon squeezes your hands in his, “I don’t think you should stay there. You never deserved that… even if you’re volatile and strange… because you’re also kind and caring. It’s why I like you. It’s their fault for not seeing that,” he reassures. “I haven’t been through what you have, and I can’t understand. I-I mean I can try to, ya know… it’s not like I’d leave if I didn’t.” His words begin to stumble nervously, not confident in its sympathy reaching you where needed.

You laugh nervously, trying to tug your hands away from his grip that doesn’t let up. “Okay sure whatever, this is really embarrassing now…” You swallow hard and find difficulty in meeting his eyes.

That’s all that matters, what he said to you, but you didn’t have it in you to say it. He already knows it though, smiling small and holding your hands still. Without words or excessive displays he can still see it in your eyes, the subtle comfort of acceptance.

He could never blame you for your nature. He sees your anger as you just trying to be strong all while being sad. Whether you are his lover or executioner, he would accept you as you are every time with open arms, receiving hands. Even more readily, now.

　Even more time has passed since knowing Sunghoon. Summer has never flown by so fast. The calendar doesn’t exist to you anymore. It’s only the days you see him and the days that you don’t. The season will be wrapping up in the next few weeks, but only for him. He has to return to his regular scheduled routine of pursuing education while you will stay here, on the farm. It’s rare for you to feel this emotion: fear. You are scared of losing him. And the concept is something you do your best to avoid thinking about because it makes your skin itch with anxiety. It crawls over you like something that needs to be cut out.

And then an idea hits you. Something far more deep-seated than everything else you’ve done with Sunghoon that would solidify that this summer is real and yours. Something that will always stay; a reminder that good things are possible despite how the world has made you.

It’s a damn near perfect day. The sun is so bright, and only peers down onto you both through the gaps of the trees. It’s just warm enough. Just quiet enough aside from the sound of Sunghoon’s gentle breathing and natural composition of the nature that surrounds. Rustling of leaves, chirps of birds, and scurrying of whatever life that wishes to not be seen.

You both sit criss cross at the wooden dock by the lake, simply enjoying the scenery and all it has to offer. His large knee is affixed to yours. If this was early June, you would have moved away. But now it’s a week into August and you wouldn’t have it anywhere else. Just like you always imagined, and secretly wanted, the view is nicer with someone else.

He didn’t bother asking why you never brought him here before, or why it is that you chose to now. He’s just happy that you decided to at all.

You slip a hand into your boot and pull out a pocket knife. You flick it open and do a brief inspection of the cleaned blade. The sun glints off the metal as you turn it.

“Sunghoon, do you trust me?”

His eyes flicker from your blank face to the blade. He nods slowly with a swallow, “of course.” There’s a subtle apprehension to him. You hand him the small blade and leave your palm facing up, open to him.

“Cut a diagonal line down my hand,” you point and draw a line down the middle of your palm.

“Huh, seriously?” he takes the blade confused and concerned with what you’re asking of him. “Why? I can’t hurt you.”

“Do it. Don’t think of it as hurting me, but still do it deep enough to leave a scar.”

He struggles to understand the situation, but you’re so serious and clearly waiting for him to do as you asked. He exhales deeply, taking your hand in his while the other holds the knife just above the bared skin. Hesitant and slow, the tip of the knife pressed down into your flesh. You wince a little, which makes him pause. You nod, encouraging him to continue and he does despite hating the act. He slices the palm of your hand open just as you wanted. You hate blood, but it’s not so bad when caused by him.

“Shit, it stings,” you swallow through the pain. The feel of open flesh burning and stinging. “Your turn,” you exhale while taking the knife back with your free, unharmed hand.

“My turn,” he agrees as if all logic has left him and readily displays his palm to you. Deep down, he feels guilty for hurting you, so to make it even he wants to feel the same.

Just as hesitant and careful, you create a matching wound in his hand. A deep enough, bleeding, lesion in his left hand to match your right one. He cringes at the sight and the pain before looking back to your face. Your expression is so soft yet attentive, almost awestruck.

“Even when you hurt me you’re gentle,” he remarks, watching you in amazement with a meek smile.

“I am not gentle. I have sullied you,” you remind him, your eyes attempt to glare but they’re too bright in his.

“In the softest way, why?” His voice is delicate and still like the lake that sits before you. You blink slowly at him because there are no words to be found. He continues, “I never thought of you as a bad person,” he pauses as you drop the red stained knife, unsure if he should continue at first but does regardless. “And, uhm, I’ve thought a lot about this summer. What I've learned from you. Purity is constructive—like something made to bring shame.” You don’t move, watching him. “I don’t have to be clean to be good…and your hands never made me dirty. Because they never were either.”

Like an excavator to your tall, strong built walls Sunghoon has knocked your shield down. The facade of your character is breaking down, crumbling into the broken pieces that made it. A single tear escapes your eye and runs down your cheek. It’s rare for you to cry and you’re disgusted with the reality as to why it’s now that you break. Simply falling apart from kind words.

You try to use everything in you to ignore the heat in your body, to show the anger you think you’re feeling inside. So your eyes remain sharp and strong, boring into his, as they still water. You swallow the dry lump in your throat and without a word, you take his hand into yours to join in a mix of blood.

At first, you had one goal; one similar to murder. The sparkle he had in his eyes, you wanted to eat—to make them empty—and see the world ugly and godless like you. Yet somehow, somewhere along the way, his eyes shone even brighter. You only wanted to take and take of the innocent boy, but in this moment you realize, maybe I just wanted to give him some of me.

You wipe the wet drop away from your face with haste, pretending as if it was never there. Whatever blood oath you’re making with Sunghoon allows you to feel something indescribable. You don’t know if it’s deserved, but you smile anyways. Because the indescribable feeling feels like it’s an unknown, unspoken promise.

He’s seen you smile before with insidious malice, but this time, for the first time, you are really smiling. It’s a raw expression of surfacing emotions, and he returns the emotion like the sun. He thought of you beautiful before but with your brightness finally peering through your clouds, he believes you to be heaven sent. A part of him always wanted to see you cry—usually it was him with tears in his eyes; which is funny, because he wasn’t much of a cryer himself. You just had that way of breaking him down. He knows now he does for you too. And he can tell that you’re probably the type of person who needs to cry the most.

His hand squeezes yours tighter, a grip so loving, as you bind in one. Neither of your eyes or smiles leave each other until the bleeding stops.

　A week later, Sunghoon asks you on a date. The summer fair is in town. It’s something like a festival where all the locals from towns around the city come to visit and join in on festivities from carnival games, rides, food, and uncommon entertainments. You think of being mean, denying him the acceptance of the date, but you have always wanted to go. So you said yes without your words: took his scarred hand in yours and nodded.

The evening sky is a watercolor of warm tones as the sun begins to lay down for the night. The bright lights of the fair illuminate the large open field turned carnival. There’s a sea of people here tonight, and although it makes you nervous inside, having Sunghoon by your side makes the ordeal easier to handle.

The line for the ticket booth is lengthy but it passes by. You approach the booth, standing a little behind Sunghoon who takes out his wallet to buy your entrance wristband passes and tickets. You look around at the many people: families, friends, and couples, all immersed in their own experience as the music and sounds blend in the background of conversations.

“Oh wow! You’re really handsome,” the girl at the ticket booth gawks at Sunghoon. She straightens her posture and fixes her hair from her face, “one ticke-?”

Catching this, you step forward and snatch Sunghoon’s wallet from his hands, “he already knows that. Do your job or I’ll feed you to pigs.” You slap the cash amount for what you need down onto the table top with a straight face and mean eyes.

Her eyes go wide and she hushes an apology, quickly giving you both wristbands and tickets for the evening. She even threw in extra tickets as you stared her down.

Sunghoon watches you with a flushed face, even the tips of his ears burn red at your jealous threat. You both walk off into the fair, a sheepish smile on his face as he leads you through the crowd with an arm wrapped around your back and hand to your waist.

“Was that one of your jokes too?” he grins down at you.

“Nope,” you glance at him with a small smile. You weren’t sure what came over you in the moment, but it was something internally deep, and territorial. An innate reaction to someone trying to appeal to something that belongs to you. It felt ugly and you didn’t like it.

The idea that he could possibly be taken from you was a phenomenon you’ve thought of for a while now. Knowing he has an existing life outside you, outside of this summer, that he would return you made you sick. You’re far from perfect, or the right thing for him, and he could find a safer option if he ever pleased. Pushing the thoughts away is harder than you imagine, so you cling to his side even more.

You and Sunghoon use up your spare tickets for carnival games. You toss rings around bottles, shoot water guns into the mouth of a clown frame, and throw darts at balloons. The both of you aren’t very skilled at any of the games, but it's fun enough to enjoy the time without winning a prize to show for it.

Eventually, Sunghoon does find frustration within the ‘rigged’ set up of the games. He even pulls out his wallet for cash when the tickets are gone. You’re surprised at how competitive he is; his determined nature is something that stirs your insides around. You don’t know if you’ve ever smiled so much in your life.

After 3 rounds of throwing a ball to knock over a moving target, he does manage to win. Going 3 for 3 and not missing a single shot. The excitement you feel when he succeeds takes over and you’re proud, doing little jumps in place and clapping your hands together.

“You did it! You won!” you exclaim, hugging onto his side.

He can only smile down at your joyfulness. A fire burns in his heart and he hugs you back, kissing your forehead. “All for you. Which prize do you want?”

“It’s yours, you should pick it,” you blush, elbowing his side with a shy smile while your eyes keep looking up to the stuffed white lamb with a lace ribbon around its neck and a cushion gold bell adoring the throat.

Of course, that’s the prize he ends up choosing. It might not be Saint Michael the stuffed bear, but it’s something far happier, cleaner, and softer.

The stuffed animal never leaves your hold throughout the rest of the evening. It rides the many rides you and Sunghoon do. And sits at the picnic table with you both as you share fair snacks. Popcorn and cotton candy was never so sweet for either of you. Like contentment melting on your tongues.

Cliche as ever, Sunghoon wants to end the night there with a round on the ferris wheel. The line moves quickly and when it’s your turn to step into the carriage, he takes your hand and sits you down the seat next to him.

It moves slowly and rocks back and forth with shaky movements that have you gripping the side handles. With an arm around your shoulder, he holds you close to him. The array of flickering colorful lights and people below you feels almost magical.

Taking your eyes from the heightened difference between you and the ground, you look back to the boy beside you who is already looking at you. The reflection of rainbow luminescence glistens in his eyes. It’s even prettier than the view from the top of the little world you’re in. You give him a shy smile, finding it impossible to look away.

He says your name in a whisper, taking your chin between your fingers. “Thank you for choosing to let me in.”

It’s also as clumsy and messy as a kiss can be for two people who’ve never done so before. However, human nature and desire take over and ease the rest for you both. Lips move over another in a gentle waltz, careful and slow.

And as if the situation couldn’t get anymore cliche, fireworks light up the sky. At first you thought it was just your imagination and all the books you’ve read flooding your consciousness, but the booming sounds and cheers of the crowd are too loud to not be real.

You pull away from him first, and he’s already wearing a shit eating grin so wide that you can’t help but roll your eyes, fighting the urge to smile back at him. Your face burns in both embarrassment and adrenaline from the kiss.

After that, you don’t leave the city like you should. The bus takes you both back downtown but neither you or Sunghoon feel it’s time for goodbye. So, for the first time, he takes you back to his apartment. You’ve never been to anybody else's home before, and it’s nerve wracking to say the least. The complex is large and somewhat modern, housing many of the second and third year private college students.

When you step inside, it’s quite plain but at least clean. You’re immediately greeted by a boy shorter than Sunghoon. He has a big mouth smile and shining dark eyes. His hair is shaggy but it suits him. He’s practically bouncing on his toes. You shift yourself behind Sunghoon and hold onto his shirt, hiding slightly from the excited puppy-like roommate.

“How did it go? Oh, and nice to finally meet you,” he rambles out quickly, “I’m Jake. The best friend and roommate. I’ve heard a lot about you.” He shoots Sunghoon a wink before grinning back at you. He extends a hand for you to shake but you don’t reach out. Something about his eyes doesn’t sit right with you.

“She’s shy,” Sunghoon laughs a little as he guides you past Jake and towards his room. “It was fun though. I recommend going before it’s gone.”

“Ah, you got yourself a nice little angel, huh?” Jake leans over the kitchen island, watching you both. His smile falters. “I’ll have one of my own some day.” For some reason, you think of him as a secret pervert.

Sunghoon laughs his comment off and tells Jake goodnight before showing you to his room. His room is neat and as simple as a college boy’s room can be. A bed, desk, dresser, closet, and bathroom. One poster of a musician you’ve never listened to and a window with unopened blinds.

You sit yourself at the end of his bed and he sits down next to you. There’s some awkward silence as you look around, unsure of what you’re supposed to do. He feels similarly to your internal dilemma.

“I-I’ve never had-”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off. Of course he’s never had a girl over. And of course you’ve never been over to a boys house.

“Are you tired?” he asks, and you lie by nodding your head. So you both get ready for bed. He gives you a shirt to borrow for bed that change into in his bathroom while he changes into sweats and a t-shirt in his room.

In minutes you’re both laying in his bed under the covers and staring up at his ceiling in the dark room. Not a word is said as you both lay there wide awake and untouching. But you know he’s wanting to by the way his body is shifting and turning, inching closer with every minute movement.

And before you know it, although expected, his body is nestled closely to yours. His arms wrap around you, pulling you into an embrace. For the most part, he usually does keep his space. Knowing how you are when it comes to physical touch that feels too sudden or invading. But with barriers breaking down more over time, he thinks you’re learning to handle the comfort better.

“I thought you were tired?” he mumbles, head on your shoulder. His hands trace up and down your arms that are wrapped around yourself like a guard.

“I lied,” you whisper. Your eyes can’t look at him yet, so they remain aimless to the ceiling. Some moonlight slips through his cracked window blinds, giving you enough view of the spinning ceiling fan.

“I had fun today. Mostly because you did. I like seeing you happy,” he smiles after kissing your shoulder that’s exposed in the neckline of his shirt too big for you. “And… I liked when you kissed me back,” his voice is quiet and shy-like.

“Do you want to do it again?” Your eyes shift to him and you can barely see the warm flush to his cheeks. He’s cute.

Taken aback at first, he just blinks at you with a parted mouth. Then he nods his head slowly, licking over his lips.

You turn over onto your side to face him and his hands don’t leave your waist. Unsure of what to do with your own, you wrap them around his neck. Good thing they sit behind him and it’s dark in the room because it would kill you for him to notice the slight tremor in your fingers.

With a scarily racing heart and stiff, trembling body you surge forward to kiss him. His lips are quick to capture yours. Soft and pillow-like, they mold into yours in waves. What starts off as clumsy and unskilled turns into hunger. Something desperate and needy. His grip feels bruising to your hips but in a nice way. In a way you want it to hurt more.

His nails digging further into your flesh to keep you impossibly close make your lips gasp, or maybe it’s the lack of air, or just both. And instinctively his tongue is licking its way past your lips and into your mouth. He kisses you like he’s starved for it. His wet tongue drags over yours, and your teeth, then as far as it can inside of you. He whimpers, pressing his already hard cock to you as he licks and kisses you open.

Your stomach has never burned this way before, and you feel the hot sensation all over then down to your core that aches like it’s hungry too. You feel disgusted by yourself but can’t fight the hum you make as you devour him right back. You’re getting wetter every second he’s in your mouth.

This time, he pulls away first. Panting for air and staring at you with glazed over dark eyes. He licks over his wet lips again, savoring the taste of you on himself. He bites down onto it and a part of you wishes it was you he sunk his teeth in.

“Can I do what I did last time?” he breathes out, his hips involuntarily jerking up against you at the thought alone.

While trying to act like you’re not catching your breath too, you say quietly, “do whatever you want.”

He kisses you again but with more desperation. You try to do the same but you can feel your heart and your head preparing for battle. The way he’s feeling you up and grinding himself on you is in no way unwanted, and that’s part of the reason you’re struggling to maintain presence.

It’s so much happening so quickly, but you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t imagine this happening eventually. Sex was inevitable. The way his body yearns to be one with yours makes you feel special almost. He’s already engraved into you but in his mind he has to be inside of you and it hurts so badly how you think the same.

But is the last thing that keeps him pure really yours to take? You’ve stripped so much away from him for all the wrong reasons before and now it feels strange. You are no good and that’s all he is.

The only thing keeping you here, in the moment, is him. His exploratory and gentle yet rough hands, his body grinding into you, his lips that can’t leave yours or your skin for even a second, and the weak wanting sounds that leave them.

“I need more, please. I want- I need to feel good with you. Please,” he’s whining into your ear. Then pressing kisses along your jaw and neck that are all so tender, slow, and deliberate. Large hands caress you like you’re breakable, as if not already just a body of fragmented pieces made whole and called a person.

Your still shaking hand reaches down between your two bodies and slips past his sweats. He had the nerve to go commando and you wish you could tease him, but you can’t. You’re lucky you’re even here right now and breathing his air. Your hand wraps around his aching length and gives him a few tugs to which he’s quick to moan. He kicks off his sweatpants while you bring him closer to you. The plush of your thighs trap him; he whimpers against the soft heat of your flesh.

Your hips grind up into him once, showing him what he should do too. He’s slow to start, rocking himself between your thighs. Slutty and hopeless sounds leave him in a string of his want. His leaking hard cock is so close to your core. Only the thin layer of your underwear keeps him from feeling your clear need for him too.

Wrapped in each other's arms, you bury your head to his shoulder. You can feel the pulse of his aching desire rubbing and grinding against you. It makes you shiver in sensitivity and cower further into his neck. You don’t bite down onto your lip, but his neck. There’s a sting to your eyes because you hate it—the wet warmth that pools out of you. Your sin sticks to your underwear and your skin like the red raining life of all the animals you made leave the earth; your haunting subconscious correlates with your growing pleasure.

You know you’re not religious yet every time Sunghoon touches you there’s a divinity to it and it makes your hands want to join in prayer to thank the universe for sending someone like him to you. Because his hands roam your body as if they have in every world; as if there is not one timeline where you have not been made for him. Like you were carved from his rib every time.

Your body smolders in that angry way it always did whenever Sunghoon got too close to you. Whenever his words were too kind, his touch too gentle, or god forbid when he just smiled at you. That fire is just the divine nature of your relationship, lighting up everywhere he touches and leaving flames in the wake. You thought it was your body rejecting his purity, but you were only denying the likeness. He made you feel good. And in the most ironic way possible. You just didn’t think you deserved it.

Yet an anguished moan leaves you, rumbling against his skin as you bite down harder. Regardless of it all, he is yours right now.

The feeling of your sinking teeth in him, the sounds you’re now making, and the damp heat between your legs he can’t stop chasing all makes his head spin. He bites down onto you just the same and it only makes you moan louder.

“Please,” he’s whining again through the bite. His voice a needy tremble while his hips stutter and thrust between your legs that only squeeze tighter together. The way the fat of your legs hug his raging cock through his desperate grinds makes him chase more and more for that feeling he just can’t seem to reach. The crying tip kisses and pushes up then past your leaking folds every time. It drives you both insane.

If your body is the fiery lake of creation's deepest pit, then he is the cleanest ocean of earth’s highest point. If anyone could extinguish you, and possibly make you feel whole, it was Sunghoon.

This is the most horrifying reality you’ve come face to face with. Not just intimacy, but a stronger driving emotion. You have to open yourself, rip open your chest and bare your beating heart in all its naked vulnerability. Let it scream out I like being with you. You have allowed this person into your world that nobody else has dared to step foot in. To see you in such ugly ways yet still extend their arms for you. It’s a terrifying level of closeness that you’ve never once experienced and you don’t know what to do with. You’re beyond perplexed by what he’s done to you, in both terror and awe.

You pull back from Sunghoon and he pauses everything for a moment to look at you, noticing your wet eyes. Before he can ask what’s wrong you reach down and slip off your underwear. You shift your body and maneuver him as best you can until he’s on top of you. Rattled with concealed embarrassment you remove his shirt and toss it somewhere to the floor, and he does the same.

You take a deep breath and reach back down to his cock, lining it up with your pussy. You blink and swallow away all the things trying to stop you from allowing yourself him. Pliant beneath him, you grab his shoulders and pull him down to you for a quick kiss. Foreheads now pressed together with lips ghosting over the others, you tell him, “I hate you.”

Sunghoon only smiles down at you before kissing you once more. With his arms caged around you, he slowly pushes himself forward. The fat tip of his cock fails to go through you, only sliding up and past the wet folds. He whines feeling the warm slick coat the head; his entire body shudders. He nearly cums from that alone.

He looks at you confused, and nod once while trying to shift your hips around for a better angle. It’s not like you to be so quiet during things like this. It only tells him that for once, you’re nervous about new things the way he was.

So he tries again, this time a little rougher. He thrusts his hips forward, the tip pushing past the tight walls but still barely in. You whimper at the intrusion and the feeling of you being stretched open. Your hands squeeze hold onto his biceps for purchase.

The tight sensation of your pussy squeezing his tip feels otherworldly to him. He can’t help but need to sink deeper into you. His cock pushes in further at an agonizing pace until he’s as deep as he can possibly go. His arms shake while he tries to maintain his strength and keep himself from collapsing onto you completely. The wet walls that surround him flutter and try to pull him further inside, making him feel lightheaded. His moans are so needy it’s almost like he’s crying from the feeling.

“Oh, f-fuck!” you whimper. Having Sunghoon completely inside of you feels so full. You’re stuffed with him and it hurts so good. “You gotta move, Hoon. Feels like you’re splitting me open.”

“You're so tight, mm.” His hips stutter from your words alone and he whimpers again. He pulls himself out halfway while your gummy walls kiss around him in an attempt to suck him back to be filled again. He begins to rock himself in and out of you. It’s inexperienced and awkward, but he gets the hang of it quickly. Doing what feels best for him and what seems to be the best for you too.

“I hate you. I fucking hate you,” you whisper harshly, looking up at him with tear filled eyes. It all burns while feeling like heaven. Never have you been so full, held so gently, or seen than this summer. You bite back the breaking moans and whimpers. You claw at his skin. You even begin to cry when your hips can’t stop chasing his thrusts.

“I love you too,” he whispers back. A kiss is pressed to your forehead as his cock pistons you. Sunghoon is smart enough to know you’re a liar. Your mean words that used to hurt him, he now understands. You’re not really a bad person. And you don’t hate him. You were just really damaged and if he’s damned for trying to heal that then he’s fine with that too.

“I mean it,” your body shudders, feeling his tip pound so far and deep in places inside you that you didn’t know reachable. His fat cock drags out and forces through your tight hole, making you cream all over him more and more. The sounds that leave your body, the sounds your bodies are making, it’s so obscene. Fighting off the disgust and focusing on how he makes you feel is war. It’s so hard for you to win.

“No you don’t,” he shifts himself to sit on his knees, taking your legs and wrapping them around his waist. He leans forward and kisses both of your cheeks before fucking himself into you again, only harder and faster than before.

“Ngh,” you moan again through broken sobs, blinking away the tears as you stare up at him. “I’m t-trying to.”

“I know, baby.” he mumbles before capturing your wobbling lips into a searing kiss. “It’s okay, haah, don’t cry. You’re good. You’re so good for me,” he says against your wet lips. You can only sniffle and try to turn your head away from him in your embarrassment. “No, no.” he takes your chin with his thumb and finger, forcing you to look back at him. His thrusts never letting up during his care. “Look at me. You’re so good to me.” He reminds you over and over. “We’re so good together. I’m yours. you’re mine.”

“Say it again,” you sniffle through little sounds of sin. Your hand finds a place on his cheek, and your thumb rubs over his lips that wear a smile.

“You’re so good, good for me. We are so good together. I am yours. And you are mine,” he says softly. His eyes are so filled with love, and if you could see your reflection in his then you would know yours are too. “Say you’re good, baby, it’s okay.”

“I’m good,” you sob through your whimpers, “I’m yours.”

To Sunghoon, the idea of sex was always sacred. Something that’s only done and shared between lovers bound by marriage of the church. But now, he thinks differently. He knows that there is no shame in him loving you now or years later. And he was more than happy to make love to you all night until you believed it too.

　Perhaps there was a thing such as divine intervention and if God’s timing was alway right, he knew how to be evil with it too. Because the next day, when Sunghoon takes you home, he’s met with your maker.

Your mother, aware of the frequent trips you’ve been making and how close you’ve grown to the summer farmhand boy, is quick to make a call to your father the night you don’t return home. It wasn’t necessarily because she cared for your well being. You’re more than capable of handling yourself. But it was an excuse to try and get him to come back. Only it doesn’t go how she wanted.

When you see the reverend’s car parked in front of your house, your heart drops. Sunghoon picks up on your tension, He sees how you go blank at the sight and slowly turn back into the empty girl he met months ago. He tries to hold your hand but your fingers can’t move, can’t return the embrace.

When the reverend walks out of the house with his infamous weapon of sacrificial forgiveness, you know what to do. Your body moves on its own, leaving Sunghoon to reach out for you that walks towards the woods. He goes to follow you and the desolate man that stalks behind, but your mother stops him. She’s hysterical as she drags him towards your house saying, “it’s going to be okay.” But she’s crying.

Once out of their sight, the reverend takes you by the hair. He yanks your head around, pulling you towards that cursed tree. He’s uncharacteristically rough and your scalp screams for a release but you don’t show it. You don’t even look at the man. Not even when he’s tossing your body to the ground.

“So you’re whoring around with my employees now, huh? Was ruining this farm not enough for you?” His words mean nothing to you. You dust off the dirt and go to stand again, but he kicks you back down. You tsk under your breath as he speaks again, “I’ve seen all the things you’ve done. Seen you leave my barns with red hands and smile. Cut heads off chickens like an anatomy project. Is he next? That church boy?”

Now you look up to glare at him. Seeing the reverend was aggravating enough, but to say something about Sunghoon was infuriating to you. “I am not a killer. You are! And those animals were already dead.” You spit at his black leather church shoes.

“Oh, you disgusting little devient,” he laughs lowly, untying the rope from the tree. “Your cruelty shouldn’t bring you joy. Sick and twisted, I should’ve dealt with you sooner regardless of what your drunk bitch mother protested. I can save the boy when you’re gone.”

“What?” you shuffle backwards from him, angry and confused as he stalks closer to you until you’re backed against the tree. “All those things I did was because of you. Your righteousness made me rotten!” Your hands shake, gripping at the dirt ground for anything to make the fear stop. You glance up to the empty tree branch then the rope in his hands. Where is the lamb? You think briefly before it hits you. “You’re crazy,” you whisper, “I will not be your martyr… not now what I’m finally-”

“Condemn me to Hell for all I care,” he crouches down in front of you, “This is the last time I’ll be a killer.” He throws the rope to your lap and tells you to tether yourself.

“Why do you hate me?” The words scratch at your throat. When you were younger, you did want the reverend to hate you. It was when he noticed you most, and it’s all you really knew. But now you’re older, and his disdain never made sense.

You can’t bring yourself to move even if you wanted to. Was this His plan? To allow you one good thing in life before ending it? Was ruining Sunghoon your final sin?

The rope shakes with your fingers as you stare down at it. The twine of the rope burns over the palm of your hand where Sunghoon carved his promise. Your throat feels dry, tight and suffocating; choking on everything you’ve ever done. And your eyes still puffy from the night before well with tears all over again.

“I just do,” he thinks of slicing your neck open right there. So fuck tying you down, you were always secretly another lamb anyways. He raises his knife and the metal sits cold under your chin as he lifts your head up to look back at him.

“Okay…” you swallow.

Your eyes squeeze shut and so does your mouth, as you raise your head to the sky with an exposed throat. Why isn’t this easy? Unlike the animals, you do know what’s coming. And it’s scary. Scary not because of death, but because you aren’t ready. You haven’t told Sunghoon goodbye or that you love him back. And the thought of him finding something in this world to hate, is such an ugly feeling to die with.

And then there’s a loud noise. A booming bang, followed by unsteady feet falling back and the ground rumbling with a thud.

You open your eyes and your father is on his back clutching his abdomen. He coughs and gasps before raising his hand. It’s dripping in deep red. And you can’t help but smile with tears in your eyes as you exhale a jagged breath.

You turn your head and Sunghoon stands there with the shotgun in hand, open mouthed and wide eyed.

“Sunghoon!” you scramble to your feet and run over to him, taking the gun from his hands as he’s frozen in shock.

“H-he was going to- he was about to hurt you. I had to-!” he stutters, his eyes already crying and hands shaking, still feeling the weight and recoil of the gun.

“It’s okay,” you coo softly. “Just- go back to the house and I’ll be right there, okay?” You rush out. Still in shock and dazed, he blindly trusts you and does as you say.

When he’s no longer close by, you walk over to the reverend with a blank face. You stare down at him as he tries to crawl away, dirty and bleeding. The smile you make doesn’t reach your eyes.

You point the gun back down at him, and place your foot over the shot wound Sunghoon created. The man gasps and tries to swat at your leg but you only press the gun further into his face, making him surrender.

“Divine intervention, huh? Say it with me now. I know no punishment, only mercy.” Your voice is quiet, calm, and mocking of his tone. With the barrel to his forehead, you watch him writhe in pain and cough up a little blood.

“Go to Hell,” he spits his words like venom.

“If you say it, I’ll let you live. But if you show your face to me or Sunghoon again, I’ll shoot you right between the eyes.” Your foot presses down harder. You can feel that angry little girl inside of you jumping with joy.. Knowing his God demands to be bled for, and making him know the sacrificial suffering, well it feels good to say the least. “Say it. With me. Now.” Each word pronounced with the growing applied pressure to his shot wound. And then he begs for forgiveness. He’s never seen you smile the way you did when he was below you with those words. Empty eyes were never so alive for him either. He cries and chants ‘I know no punishment, only mercy’ over and over. It was like the most beautiful hymn.

　There wasn’t much to be said about that day. Sunghoon and you just pretend you shared a nightmare. Neither of you talked about it. It was just another thing that tied you together.

Sitting there in the peak of summer’s heat. A day before Sunghoon returns to college classes. Birds chirp. The leaves of the tall trees thistle in the light breezes that pass by. Sunghoon sits criss crossed and while you have your feet hanging off the edge of the dock, kicking in the water.

“I’m sorry,” you break the silence. Shocked, he looks over to you. He never would have expected you to apologize for anything. “I was selfish when I approached you. I wanted to take all that goodness out of you and keep it for myself. I thought I wanted to hurt you, but after sharing all this time with you, I realized I was wrong. It’s weird to say it out loud,” you laugh small, awkward, “but I really am sorry. I love you more than even I know.” You stare down to your feet in the water that has gone still. A tear falls from your eye, and down to your cheek.

“I know. I love you too,” he wraps an arm around your waist. “But now the same sins bind us.” You hiccup silently and turn to look up at him. “Harvest all of my purity, farmer’s daughter.”

For the first time, you really laugh. It’s bright and loud like the big smile he’s seeing for the first time on his favorite face. It’s morning sunlight that whispers through trees to kiss the forest floor. Birds that sing songs of hope to awake life into a new day. Nostalgic, expansive days of childhood where the concept of time doesn’t exist. To him, you look like the epitome of summer; he doesn’t want this season to end.

You were never the lamb. Or the wolf. Not an animal at all. Nothing like the ones you grew up with. You were just a girl, scared and alone. But not anymore. Because it’s your last day on this farm, and tomorrow is the first with only Sunghoon.

“Your humor is poetry.” you continue to laugh until tears prick your eyes all over again. You love it.

“It wasn’t supposed to be funny.” he looks away shyly, blushing. It only makes your giggle more, but you stop to press a kiss to his cheek. He blushes harder.

“I’ll keep doing it, harvesting all of your purity, for as long as you’re good.” you say with a smile.

“Do you promise? I am always good, especially with you, so it could be a long while.” He bumps your shoulder playfully with a laugh.

You take his scarred hand in yours and you laugh like he did, pure and true, “I do.”

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xylatox · 6 days ago

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Finally getting to read part 2 of this is what slow dancing feels like, I'm so excited ;-;

You slightly nod in denial, “I don't understand. Taehyun, this is your dream. How can you not be mad?” “You are also my dream, Yn”. Your eyes instantly fill with tears— no one has ever made you feel like you matter the way Taehyun does. And he does it the same way he breathes— effortlessly and as if his life depended on it. — this is so cute wtf :(

I'm so glad they let them perform together as well like :((( their chemistry really is amazing. Hyunjin being the bad guy will always break my heart.

You had kissed boys before, but none of them, not even Hyunjin, had kissed you like Taehyun does— like you are fragile, like you could break. So delicate, so slow, as if Taehyun didn’t want it to end— not now nor ever. — :( I love them so much, his nervousness is also so cute wtf :(((( like — He takes a few steps backward, looking at you like he doesn’t actually want to leave, but something in him— maybe the intensity of what just happened, or maybe the way you make him feel like a teenager all over again— makes him turn and hurry down the corridor. You stay there, alone, still dizzy, still feeling his lips on yours. The aftertaste of his kiss, that blend of something sweet, light, sentimental, and yet purely carnal, lingers. — this is so sweet

Getting the background as to why the friendship between Ni-Ki, Kai and reader broke up hurts my heart so much:( It's so cute we get to see Kai's shop too (and the Gyu cameo), and seeing his perspective hurts too because you know how much the friendship meant. The performance on stage :(( the improv in the first act?? Also it's so sweet when reader met Tyun's mom aww :(( AND KAI CAME :((((((

I'm so glad the trio friendship is mended

There’s no rush in your steps— this is what slow dancing feels like. — this end :(( I can't believe it's over, this was so cute ahhh

this is what slow dancing feels like- K.T: part II

Synopsis: Kang Taehyun had always dreamed of becoming a ballet dancer, but his conservative father never allowed him. On his 20th birthday, his mother gifts him with a flight ticket to Paris so he can pursue his dream of joining the Académie Internationale de Danse. Getting into the academy is already a challenge. Surviving in it is even harder. In an attempt to be cast in his favorite ballet production, Taehyun decides to bet all his chips on a rigid, and experienced ballerina— you. On a journey of self growth, not only as a dancer but also as a person, can Taehyun count on you? Or will his big chance slip through his fingers?

Disclaimer: nsfw, contains smut; toxic relationship (feat. Hwang Hyunjin); insecurities/ trauma.

Word count: 10.6k

Note: 2nd part of Taehyun's bday special fic (kinda late, no? 😅) You can read part 1 here.

Taehyun runs through the field like a bullet. Fast and on a fixed course. He can feel the sweat emerging from his warm body. He can feel his lungs burning, almost as if were begging for oxygen. From a distance, he could hear the loud cheers of the crowd. If he sharpened his hearing, he could even hear his father’s voice: ‘C’mon, Tyun! Get that ball into their net! Go!’ . That’s how he felt every soccer match when he was younger. That’s how he feels as he hurries down the hall toward you. He doesn’t know how he’s going to take you out of that bathroom, but he's going to make it, even if it means sacrificing everything.

“Yn! Yn!”, he shouts your name as he approaches the bathrooms. You’re sitting on the cold floor of the female restroom when you hear someone calling out your name, “Is that…Taehyun?!”. You stand suddenly and knock on the door incessantly, “Taehyun! Over here”. He speeds in the direction of your voice, stopping at the door, breathless. “Yn…” Taehyun! Oh My God! Thank God you’re here. Hyunjin, he…” “Yeah, I know, Soojin explained to me”, he rests his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “Don’t worry I’ll take you out. You’re not going to miss your audition”. He looks at the door knob with the pin stuck in its locker, “Good job, Soojin”, then he grabs the door knob and shakes it, “It won’t work. It’s locked” “I know it’s locked. I’m just testing” “Testing what?” “Its roughness” “And…” “This door is going down”. He keeps silent for a few seconds, thinking on what to do.

Out of nowhere, an idea strikes him, “Yn, step back. I don’t want you to get hurt” “What are you going to do?” “Just do what I said” “Okay”. "You step away from the door, your legs trembling— there are still traces of the fear of not being rescued lingering in you. “Are you at a safe distance?” “Yes” “Okay, he mutters before stepping back and closing his eyes, His heart almost jumping out of his chest., “Ok, Taehyun, you can do it. You can do it. For Yn”, he takes a deep breath in and with a single strike, he hits the doorknob with a powerful kick, shifting all his body weight forward. The handle trembles, but remains firm, “Fuck” “Did it work?” “Not yet. But it will. Stay back”. Again, he steps back and kicks the doorknob— now with even more strength. He does it again and again till he hears the sound of metal colliding with the floor. He turns around and sees the door opening slowly, revealing your static,frightened, figure. Taehyun sighs in relief and rushes toward you to grab your hand, “Let’s go, you have a presentation to make” “But…” “You can thank me later, there’s no time to waste now”, you nod in agreement and let him drag your body back to the auditorium.

Soojin is nervously biting her nails as she watches the hall, waiting for you and Taehyun to show up. Her eyes sparkle when she sees your small frame being pulled by her best friend. He has a frown on his forehead, his jaw is clenched, and you are completely clueless why. “Did they already call Yn?” “Not yet” “Good”. Taehyun turns to you, but he’s surprised by a tight hug. He holds you in his arms, trying to hide the pain— the emotional and the physical one, his foot hurts. “Thank you. I don’t know what I was going to do without your help” “It’s okay”. You pull away and look at him as if you were reminded of something really important, “What about your audition!? I’m so sorry I wasn't here to support you”.

Soojin bites her lips as Taehyun starts to speak– his voice is in pain, as if telling you hurt more than actually missing the opportunity, “I… didn't audition” “What?! Why?!” “It was my turn when I went to rescue you” “What?! Why did you come after me?!” “I was worried about you” “Taehyun…” “It’s okay, I think it wasn’t meant to be” “No!”, you take a step back, the guilt consuming every part of your body, from your hair to your toes, “This isn’t how things were supposed to be” “It's okay, really” “No, it's not! Damn!”. You lean your back on the wall and lower your head, “That's why I stay away from people. I just fuck up with their lives. I fucked up everything I had— my parents' marriage, my friendship with Ni-ki, Kai’s life, and now yours! Watch out Soojin, I think you're the next one”.

Taehyun and Soojin switch a glance, then she walks away. He steps forward to cup your face, he feels guilty for making you feel guilty, “Yn… this is not true. I’m hundred percent sure you didn’t ruin those things” “Yes, I did. I’m so sorry” “Yn, look at me”. You slowly raise your gaze, “I chose to save you cause you, your happiness and well being are more important to me than a role in a ballet performance. It’s now and it’ll always be. Okay?”. You slightly nod in denial, “I don't understand. Taehyun, this is your dream. How can you not be mad?” “You are also my dream, Yn”. Your eyes instantly fill with tears— no one has ever made you feel like you matter the way Taehyun does. And he does it the same way he breathes— effortlessly and as if his life depended on it. You touch his hands, caressing it with your thumbs, your voice is barely a whisper, “I’ll make you dance as Albrecht, I promise you”. He gazes at you like the parents of a child who still believe in Santa Claus— kindly and with compassion, but without a shred of real hope, “I don't think that's possible anymore”.

At that moment, the assistant director appears in the hallway. “Next is Yn Yln”. You look at her and then back into Taehyun’s eyes again. “Go! It’s your time to shine.” You nod before kissing the palm of his hand and whispering once more, “I promise.” Then, you leave his arms and walk towards the stage alongside the staff member. Taehyun moves with difficulty toward the stage entrance in the backstage area. His body feels heavy, as if a rain of stones had fallen over his head. He watches you, knowing that the moment you start dancing, all his pain will heal—you have that power to restore whatever is shattered inside him.

Soojin slowly approaches Taehyun from behind and squeezes his shoulders, “Are you okay, Tyun?” “I’ll be. As soon as I see her smiling after getting the part” “Are you sure?” “Yes, Jinnie. She is worth it”. She smirks and pokes his arm,“You’re in real, real trouble, aren’t you?” “Yes. I think I am”. On stage, you feel nervous. Not because of the performance, but because you’re trying to think of a way to save Taehyun from the mess you unintentionally put him in. You clear your throat and begin to speak, “Hi, I’m Yn Yln, and I’m here to audition for Giselle” “Okay, anytime you’re ready”. Hesitantly, you step forward and ask the director directly, “Can I... can I ask you something before we start?” “What is it?” “My friend, Taehyun”, you glance at him and gesture for him to join you. He shakes his head no and whispers, “Yn… don’t”, but you’re not giving up easily. You walk over to him and grab his wrist, ignoring his protest and the sound of his sneakers dragging across the wooden stage floor.

Even so, you manage to bring him before the teachers, “Kang Taehyun,” you say, pointing to him with both hands, “He was supposed to audition a little earlier”. They look at the list of applicants, searching for his name, “Ah, yes. But he didn’t” “Yes, because he went to rescue me from the bathroom” “From… the bathroom?” “Yes, from the bathroom. Someone locked me in” “I’m sorry, Ms. Yln, but... he missed his chance”. His throat feels like it’s about to close— hearing that makes the pain even worse. He shakes your arm, pleading like he might disappear from the shame, “C’mon, Yn, just let it go” “But… this man is so talented. He’s determined, focused, he learns incredibly fast. He gave everything to prepare for this day, so can you please, please let him audition too?”, voce tenta pela ultima vez, “I’m sorry, but we have a schedule. We must follow it”. You pause, eyes fixed on the seats in the auditorium, as if they could magically give you the answer to all your problems.

Suddenly, an idea strikes you— a sacrifice for a sacrifice, “Let him audition in my place, then”. His eyes widen, as if you’ve just said the most absurd thing in the world, “No! Yn”, his voice is filled with desperation, but yours is calm, steady— like your final wish in life has just been granted, “Tae, it’s okay. It’s your dream, you can take my place” “I won’t let you. You’re perfect for Giselle” “And you for Albrecht”. He steps closer, the both you’re talking as if the others weren’t even there— just like back in that square in the heart of Paris, it’s just the two of you, “Yn, I don’t want to be Albrecht if you’re not going to be his Giselle”. You smile. He’s so sweet— it feels like he became even sweeter now that he’s allowed himself to connect with his feelings. The way he looks into your eyes, full of tenderness and sincerity, makes the audition lose some of its importance— is it really worth being in this production if the other isn’t there?

A coughing sound from the director snaps you both out of your bubble, “Since you seem to care so much about each other and you’re auditioning for Giselle and Albrecht… and there’s clearly some chemistry here”, you both blush and let out a small laugh, “why don’t you just perform a Pas de Deux? Isso resolve o problema de ambos”. You look at Taehyun, completely ecstatic. He stands there frozen, unable to believe that hope really is the last thing to die, “Yes! That’s just perfect. Right?”, you turn to Taehyun, and he looks at you, “Right” “All right then. When you’re ready”. You take a deep breath and intertwine your fingers with Taehyun for a moment, giving him a gentle squeeze, as if saying without words: We’re in this together. He gives you a subtle nod in acknowledgement.

The music begins, soft and delicate. The first piano notes echo through the empty theater, and everything around you fades away. He takes a step forward and extends his hand to you. Your eyes meet— there’s no nervousness now, just the two of you. You take his hand, his touch is firm and gentle as he guides you to the center of the stage. You begin. Your body flows with the melody, every movement is light, almost ethereal, as if you were flying. He follows with precision and just the necessary strength, but without stealing your glow. He is there to lift you, to support you—to be your foundation, both literally and in every possible sense. When he holds your waist and lifts you, you feel everything stop for a second. There’s no more hesitation, no more insecurity, you trust each other completely— you connect deeply. From above, you see him looking at you, there’s admiration in his eyes, which make you smile. When you come down, he wraps you softly in his arms, somehow reassuring you that he would never let you fall again.

You move apart and then come back together as if your bodies are speaking in a silent dialogue— there’s passion and also care. He spins you gently, and when you fall back into his arms, there is something more than just technique and choreography— there’s love. Even though neither of you has said that word out loud, you both know it’s there. The end is close, you look at each other once more, hearts racing, he holds your hand and lifts it to his lips, as if the scene were real, as if he truly were Albrecht declaring his love to Giselle. You respond with a trembling smile because you feel it too— you know he’s not just acting. The last piano note fades, you remain together, breathless, still holding hands. Silence. Then, a light applause, enough to pull you both back into reality, “Thank you”, the director says, “We’ll be in touch”.

You and Taehyun look at each other for a moment, before he pulls you offstage, and then into a tight hug. “You were incredible”, he whispers against the curve of your neck, “So were you”, you say back, your voice muffled by his solid chest. Before any of you can say anything else, Soojin comes running and jumps on top of seus corpos fundidos em um, “My two favorite dancers! You were so amazing I almost cried!”. You all laugh together as she hugs you and Taehyun tightly,“You’ll get it, I am hundred percent sure you will. They’d be crazy not to choose you guys”. Taehyun glances at you, and for a second you see that hopeful twinkle in his eyes, the one you love so much. You smile back, feeling the same. Regardless of the result, you had won something far greater on that stage, something no one could ever take away— you had won each other.

Days passed by and the results were finally out. On a sheet of copy paper pinned to the notice board in front of the main auditorium, your future with Taehyun is written. Or at least your future in dance. You are suffocating, surrounded by people eager to find their names on that list, while you search for Taehyun’s and your names. When he arrives, walking calmly down the hallway, watching the crowd dispersing. Some faces glowing with happiness, others melting in frustration— his stomach twists just to think he could be one of those people. Then, he spots you and immediately his anxiety fades. Until he sees Hyunjin approaching you with a look of disdain on his face.

Taehyun quickens his pace toward you, “Well, well, Yn. Looks like you’ve won for now. But keep your eyes open, sooner or later, you’ll stumble and that little boy won’t be there to catch you”, his voice drips venom, as if he had thought of them with the intention of hurting you. Taehyun clenches his fists tightly and steps forward, anger burning in his chest. He looks into Hyunjin’s eyes, ready to punch his nose, but you quickly place yourself between them, “Calm down, Tae. He’s just jealous because you got the role he wanted”. Taehyun’s body instantly relaxed, his eyes move from Hyunjin’s to yours, filled up with the tears he couldn’t hold back, “You… you’re serious?” “Yes, you made it, Tae. You’re Albrecht” “And you?” “Giselle. Your Giselle”. Without thinking twice, he grabs you and spins you around, making you laugh, “Are you serious, Yn? Really?” “Yes”, he laughs through his tears, a whirlwind of emotions he never felt before.

Hyunjin rolls his eyes before walking away. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he has to settle for the role of Hilarion— the man rejected by Giselle— he is being rejected by you in real life too. Again. Meanwhile, Taehyun finally puts you down and tries to compose himself. He wipes the tears away, his face now is too close to yours. You watch him, captivated by the pure joy radiating from him. He looks at you, it is the first time he has seen you this absorbed while looking at him. He knows he wants you, and he knows you want him too— it’s written in your eyes, on your forehead, on your lips. Lips. He can’t stand being so far from your lips anymore. So, impulsively, he takes your face in his hands, delicately, as if you were a flower, and leans in, bringing his lips toward yours so slowly it is almost torturous. He is so close, so close you can feel his warm breath brushing against your skin.

Suddenly, an internal alarm sounds inside you. Panic. Why panic if you want him so much? You pull back slightly, breathing heavily, “Taehyun… what are you doing?”. He pushes back just enough to look into your eyes, “Don’t you feel it too?”. You gulp, “We’re… friends”. He gives you one of his gentle smiles, “Friends don’t look at friends the way you look at me. The way we look at each other”. You look away, trying to deny the obvious, “Hey, look at me. What’s wrong?”. You swallow hard but choose to be honest, “I don’t want to lose you”, your voice carries fear, you are terrified of losing him, “You’re not going to lose me” “You’re only saying that because you want to kiss me” “No. I mean it. I promise you, I’m not going anywhere without you” “What if you need to go back to Korea?” “I’ll take you with me. I’ll bake and you’ll entertain the customers with your dancing skills. I don’t know…”, you chuckle, but he is serious— more serious than he had ever been, “I promise, you won’t be alone anymore”. He wet his lips before continuing, “Do you trust me?”.

You stay quiet. Fear always made you hesitate, made you hold yourself back from fully surrendering to others. But with Taehyun, you don’t want to run away anymore. You’re tired of running from the people who love you. What is a life without real connections? Without lasting, meaningful relationships? So, you look into his eyes again and nod firmly, “Yes. I trust you”. He smiles softly before leaning in once more, this time, his lips finally touch yours, with all the gentleness he has. You had kissed boys before, but none of them, not even Hyunjin, had kissed you like Taehyun does— like you are fragile, like you could break. So delicate, so slow, as if Taehyun didn’t want it to end— not now nor ever.

Taehyun kisses you with an intensity as if the world is about to end and this is the last thing he can do. It’s gentle at first, almost shy, but slowly, something shifts. You feel when he relaxes, when his breath begins to blend with yours. His fingers slide from your cheek to your nape as he pulls you a little closer. You reciprocate, your hands sliding up his shoulders, holding him with the same care he held you with when you danced together. There’s no rush, no urgency, once again— there’s only the two of you. And somehow, this kiss consumes you like never before. It’s not just desire, it’s something deeper as if every second his lips touch yours, he’s saying things he’s never managed to put into words, such as: I care. I’m here. I choose you. I love you.

You feel his heart beating against yours— a strong rhythm, with small explosions bursting in your chests, like fireworks lighting up the sky. For an instant, everything feels right, like this is exactly where you’re meant to be— in his arms. But then, he slowly pulls away, breaking the moment. He still holds your face, his eyes are shining, betraying his anxiety. But there’s something more than just nervousness, it’s something you recognize— because you feel it too. He runs his tongue over his lips, as if savoring the kiss. He smiles softly but looks away, then he laughs a little awkwardly before running his hands through his hair, “I… I need… I need to call my mom”. You blink, surprised, “Now?”, he shrugs, his eyes flickering nervously down the hallway, like he’s searching for an escape route, “Yes, now. She… she wanted to know about the results”. He laughs again, too nervous to hide it, “Right…”, you nod, trying not to laugh as well.

He steps back, scratching the back of his neck, his face flushed, “We’ll… talk later, okay?” “Okay”. He takes a few steps backward, looking at you like he doesn’t actually want to leave, but something in him— maybe the intensity of what just happened, or maybe the way you make him feel like a teenager all over again— makes him turn and hurry down the corridor. You stay there, alone, still dizzy, still feeling his lips on yours. The aftertaste of his kiss, that blend of something sweet, light, sentimental, and yet purely carnal, lingers.

You smile, ‘cause, deep down you know nothing will ever be the same again.

Now that the auditions are over, the dancers are purely focused on rehearsals for the production. It’s already been three weeks, and everything feels like a storm of information. The instructors are strict, but they compliment you and Taehyun— the chemistry between you two is undeniable. And, of course, you don’t need to fake your feelings, you just need to feel them. However, they think Taehyun’s facial expressions still need some work. That’s why you’re both sitting on the studio floor facing each other after hours, doing facial exercises. You raise your eyebrows, furrow your brow, move the corners of your mouth in different directions, and smile in different intensities. And Taehyun, he copies you… or at least he tries. You weren’t supposed to, but you end up laughing at the faces he makes.

“You’re supposed to be helping, not laughing at me” “Sorry”, you say, grabbing your stomach, which hurts from laughing so much, “But you look so funny”. He watches you laughing, you’re so happy that he can’t help but smile too, “Okay, I forgive you. Now, come here”. He grabs your hips and pulls you closer— Taehyun smells fresh. You breathe in the scent of soap and as if some supernatural force pulls you in, you bring your lips to his inviting neck, placing slow, open mouthed kisses on his soft skin.

His grip on your hips tightens, he closes his eyes shut, and he can’t suppress a soft whine. You smirk against his neck, “You like that?”, he nods, his voice barely audible, “I do”. To tease him even more, you let your hands trail down his chest until you reach the hem of his shirt. Then, you slide your hands back up, but this time under his shirt, feeling his toned abs and his warm skin. He’s so hot, it’s almost unfair. With his eyes still closed, his entire body shivers under your touch, “You’re feeling pretty bold today, huh?” “You’re irresistible. What can I do?”, he smirks. “Do you think so?” “Yes”. He wets his lips, leaning forward to press his lips against yours in a hot, intense kiss, filled with lust and desire— a sharp contrast to the pure, calm, and innocent kisses you usually share.

His hands begin to slide gently down your waist making you sigh in response to the overwhelming flood of oxytocin his touch causes in you. He lays you with your back flat on the floor, his fingers continuing their gentle descent, stopping at the hem of your wrap skirt before lifting and slipping his head underneath it. He leaves a trail of sloppy kisses along your inner thigh, moving toward your core. You gasp, "Taehyun, Taehyun! Wait!", you call out desperately, reaching for his hair to pull him from between your legs. He looks up, “You okay?” “What are you doing?” “What do you think I’m doing?”. You're not innocent— you know exactly what he’s about to do. What worries you is the risk of getting caught, "But… here? What if someone sees us?". He chuckles, you look so cute blushing from embarrassment, "Yn, we’ve been practicing in this room for 2 months. No one’s using this studio until tomorrow, and you know that" "But…".

He replaces his lips with his fingers, trailing them slowly up your thigh, "If you want me to stop, I will. Just say the word”. You bite your lip, feeling his fingers slide in your leotard, moving in slowly while he watches you without blinking. He brushes his fingertips against your clit teasingly, sending a spark of electricity up to your chest, and you can’t help but moan. "So… what’s it gonna be?", he speeds up slightly, "Do you want me to keep going?", then, he slows down almost to a stop, "Or… do you want me to stop?". His voice is husky, making the moment even more seductive, "Please, no! Don’t stop." He smirks— hearing you beg for him makes blood rush to his length,"As you wish," he says, redirecting his focus on your clit. You respond by gripping his hair— this time not to pull him away, but to release the tension building inside of you.

Soon, he retreats his hand, pulling your leotard aside to replace his fingers with his tongue— the swap from something firm and dry to something warm and soft shocks your senses. His heavy, hot breath against your sensitive skin makes you let out a small whine as your body relaxes, even though your heart races as if it’s about to burst. As he increases the speed of the circular motions with his tongue, a familiar sensation builds in your core, climbing through your gut, knotting tightly in your stomach— you’re reaching your edge. "Ah… Taehyun," you moan breathily, "I’m close". He smiles against you, sucking on your clit slowly, more teasingly this time making your hips thrust against his face involuntarily.

The butterflies in your stomach explode into a wave of electricity coursing through your whole body, your back arches as he grips your hips tightly, keeping you pressed against him while he drinks in every last drop of you. Your moan echoes through the empty studio. He smiles and then kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his lips, "Fuck!" you curse, "You… you’re really good at that". You pant heavily. He pulls away slightly, saying in a deep tone, “We’re not done yet”. You lean on your elbows, trying to understand what he meant, until your eyes fall to his hardened length, “Oh… right!”, you say, getting on your knees, expecting Taehyun to stand. But he doesn’t, he stays there, looking at you with a playful smile on his lips, "What? You’re not getting up?". He stands still, amused, "That’s not what I want you to do". You tilt your head, confused, "Then… what do you want me to do?".

He stands up, extending his hand to you. You take it. Your legs tremble, but with his support, you manage to stand. He guides you to the stretching bars, positioning you in front of the mirror. His hands grip your waist and he lowers his head to kiss your neck. You watch in the reflection as his hands travel to your stomach, then up to your breasts, giving them a light squeeze— he feels you through the thin fabric of your leotard, which makes his member hurt even more. You want to close your eyes and surrender to the pleasure, but you can’t stop watching the way he touches you, it’s almost… addictive. His hands trace up your back, shoulder blades, and neck before reaching your hair. He undoes your low bun, letting your hair fall freely.

The scent of your shampoo fills his senses. He inhales deeply, not letting a single molecule of your scent escape. "Yn… I need you," he murmurs, his voice deep and dripping with desire— so different from his usual tone. Your attention shifts to his boner pressing against the left side of your ass.

"Go ahead," you whisper, needing him just as much. He plants a kiss on your shoulder, "Has any guy ever made you come twice?", you chuckle sarcastically, "Not even once, much less twice”. He smirks, "Then I’m fixing that". This Taehyun is different— almost a devilish version of the angel he usually is. He pulls down his training shorts and boxers just enough for his length to spring free against his stomach. You watch him through the mirror, swallowing hard. He smirks, "Relax. I’ll be gentle." "I don’t know if I believe that”, you say. He meets your eyes in the reflection, curious. "Why’s that?" "You don’t seem like the gentle type in bed." He laughs, "For you, I can be".

With his ego inflated, he slides your leotard off your shoulders, down past your breasts, stopping above your navel. He cups your breasts, drawing a whine from you, then pushes your leotard aside and slowly slides his length into you. He groans, and you moan in unison. With one hand on your lower belly and the other cupping your breast, he begins moving you up and down his member. The way your bodies fit perfectly together— and how easily he finds your sweet spot— makes you believe you were made for each other.

You maintain eye contact through the mirror, and suddenly, nothing else matters— not the sound of skin slapping, not his hot breath against your neck, not your half naked reflections, or even the risk of being caught. What matters is the new kind of intimacy and connection you’re building, here in the same studio where you danced a type of dance completely different from what you’re dancing now. You grip the barre tightly, trying to ease the tension from the overstimulation. He pulls you closer, adjusting the angle of his thrusts. A tingling sensation erupts in your gut once more. Your walls clenches around Taehyun and it feels like your spine is being electrified as you reach your second climax. Your body in a frenzy relaxes all at once. You lean forward, exhausted, while he still tries to reach his own orgasm. He follows right after, releasing everything inside you. He lets out a low, warm and lengthy grunt against your nape. His body settle down and he has to hold onto the bar to keep himself from collapsing onto the floor or on top of you.

You both take a moment, breathing heavily, completely absorbed in a loop of dopamine and serotonin, simply enjoying each other's presence. Until he lifts his head and places a long kiss on your cheek, "You're perfect. You know that, right?". You smile shyly, loving the feeling of his face pressed against yours, "You're the one who's perfect". He chuckles, "I know I am", then pulls away and gets himself off of you. You roll your eyes and adjust your leotard, covering your chest as you watch Taehyun searching for something in his bag, "What are you doing?", he looks at you and lifts a towel, then walks toward you again, trapping you against the stretching bar. You look into his eyes, the savage version you had just seen in the mirror, is now gone.

He bends down and takes your lips in a soft, delicate kiss, almost as if showing gratitude for your existence, and then moves his hand to your lower body, cleaning up the mess he made. When he pulls away from the kiss, he smiles, "All done" "Who would ever imagine, Kang Taehyun is a guy who cares about aftercare" "Are you being sarcastic?". You giggle, of course you are. He pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly, "I wish I could stay here with you, but I need to go get my new pointe shoes for the show" "Want me to go with you?" "Nah, you'll get bored" "With you around?! Impossible". You smile but loosen your grip on his torso. "I'll be fine alone, I need some time to myself” "If that's what you want, it’s fine". You peck his lips again and then escape his embrace to grab your bag.

You leave the room, smiling, feeling deep within your core that something changed— your relationship has now reached a new level, and you don’t want to walk away, you are not afraid of saying. But then, all the calm within you turns into a raging storm when you see a tall, slender figure slowly approaching. The sound of wide steps grows louder, getting closer, and the blur becomes a complete, visible image revealing Riki— Nishimura Riki. Your mind freezes, but your feet do the exact opposite. You grip the strap of your bag tightly and avoid at all costs making eye contact with the man passing by your side. Ni-ki on the other hand looks at you, almost pleading for you to meet his gaze. You don’t notice it, but Taehyun does. Taehyun watches everything. He feels the air growing heavy, the tension nearly suffocating the entire hallway. He sees your avoidance and Ni-ki’s silent plea. That’s strange, Ni-ki is always so kind and adored by everyone at the academy.

The younger man breaks Taehyun’s thoughts, “Hey, man! You got the part, congrats!”, he says with a sincere smile on his face, “Thanks, Ni-ki!” “You can count on me on opening night. I’ll be in the front row, cheering for you”. Taehyun tilts his head, confused, “But you said you didn’t like Giselle”. Ni-ki’s mask cracks and falls on the floor. He clears his throat, looks down at his feet, searching for an excuse, “Well… I… I said that?” “Yeah. When I asked if you were going to audition” “Ah. Yeah, I did”, Taehyun looks at Riki with his eyebrows raised, waiting for an answer, “Well… I like Giselle, it’s just that…” “Just that…?”, Taehyun presses him for an answer, “Yn likes it more”, the words leave his mouth in a rush, like yanking off a band-aid. Taehyun furrows his eyebrows and mumbles, “Yn likes it more? But what…?”, then suddenly, your voice echoes through his head:

‘I fucked up everything I had—my parents marriage, my friendship with Ni-ki, Kai’s life and now yours!’

His mouth forms an ‘o’, realization hitting him— you and Ni-ki used to be friends. But… what happened? “You… okay?”, Riki asks, concerned, as Taehyun stands still, staring into nothing, like a statue, for at least a minute. The older one blinks, then looks at Riki with a sparkle in his eyes, “Hey, Ni-ki, wanna grab a coffee?” “Can I have milk tea?” “Of course, anything you want” “Then yeah, I wanna go” “Great!”.

At the coffee shop, Taehyun brings up what you said on audition day. Ni-ki’s cheerful spirit fades away as he listens to his words, “Can you tell me what happened?”. The Japanese man takes a sip of his milk tea, breathing deeply before answering Taehyun’s question, “Kai, Yn and I, we were just like one. We’ve been friends since Kai and I started at the academy as beginners, 7 years ago. We were so close, the 3 best dancers in the studio. They used to call us the ‘3 pirouettes’”. Taehyun blinks slowly, what type of nickname is that? “The… ‘3 pirouettes’?“ “Yes, like ‘The 3 Musketeers’ “Ah”. Riki continues, “But four years ago, when she was already an intermediate level II, and Kai and I were still intermediate I, like you are now, we… tried something bold” “Bold?” “Yeah” “Like what?” “It was her idea, a challenge. She was learning a ‘Saut de Basque’. And Kai and I wanted to try it too” “Isn’t it too risky?” “Yes, Taehyun, too risky. But we thought we were good enough, that we could do it. We let our ego get the best of us” “But you couldn’t, right?”. Ni-ki nods, his apprehension is so palpable that Taehyun feels a knot tightening in his own throat.

“Kai went first. He made a plié, gained momentum and jumped. He spun in the air with his other foot on his opposite knee— it was beautiful, we thought he was actually flying. But…he pauses, swallowing the tears, “... but unlike a bird, Kai couldn’t land. When he came down on one leg, he…”, Ni-ki’s voice trembles, but he keeps going even with his voice wavering, “He… he lost balance and fell to the side, crashing his head against the floor” “No...”, he nods, “Yes”. The dry sound of the collision, your desperate voice shouting Kai’s name echoing through the studio and the sound of the ambulance siren, still haunted Riki’s mind every time he dared to think about it. “After that, she pulled us away”, he sniffs, no longer able to hold back the tears, “She said she didn’t care about our friendship or about beginners like us”. He closes his eyes and let the scene flow vividly through his mind:

‘ “Why are you doing this, Yn?” Kai asks, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. “Doing what?”, your voice is flat, drained of emotions and dripping with disdain, “Pulling us away” “I just don’t care about beginners like you guys. I have more important things to do than waste my energy on you” “What?! And our friendship?!”. You are not looking at Kai’s face, but you know he’s crying, cause he speaks as if his voice would shatter at any moment. Even so, you go on, “There is no friendship. I was just pretending cause I wanted attention”, you lie, “And this?! Huh?! And this, Yn? Doesn’t this mean anything to you?!”. He holds up the charm bracelet, the only charm is a small broken headpiece that completes yours, Ni-ki’s and his own charms. You want to stop, but your brain doesn’t let you— consumed by fear, “No. It means nothing to me”.

You grab your bracelet and throw it on the hospital floor at Ni-ki’s feet before starting to walk toward the door. But Riki pulls away from the wall he was leaning on and rushes to grab your wrist, tears filling his eyes, “Yn, if you walk out that door without fixing this, you can forget about me” “And also me”, Kai adds. You turn your head toward them and chuckle sarcastically, “Whatever”. It felt like their hearts were stabbed. Ni-ki’s grip loosened on your wrist, and you walked away without looking back. Ni-ki kneels down, picks up your bracelet, and presses it to his chest, letting everything out. Kai stands up carefully and pats his back feeling his own tears falling down his cheeks.

As you walk down the hall, your face becomes soaked with salty tears. You didn't want things to be like that but it is your curse, ruining their lives— ruining everyone's lives. You can't ruin those who you love.

But… if you did this for love, then why did it hurt so much?’

“Since then, the most interaction I've had with her has been an awkward exchange of glances in the hallways when she can’t look away in time” “What about Kai? Is he okay?” “Yes, after the accident, he revisited his life choices and decided to go after a childhood dream: opening a flower shop” “That’s lovely” “Yeah, it suits him well”. An idea pops into Taehyun's head. It’s such a good idea that a lightbulb could almost appear above his head, “Do you still talk to each other?” “Yes, sometimes” “Ni-ki, could you help me with something?”. He takes a sip of the milk tea and raises an eyebrow, suspicious, “What?” “I need to talk to Kai” “For what?” “Yn didn’t pull away because she didn’t care about you. She pulled away because she feels guilty. She thinks she ruined your lives”“That sounds like her” “Yeah. Please, help me fix your friendship. She needs it, she needs love and I know the two of you can give it to her” “I don’t know, bro. It’s been so long, maybe we can’t fix things anymore. I tried to do it already but she kept her distance all the time” “Ni-k, I saw the pain in your eyes while you were talking. Please, listen to me, I know that if you guys give Yn another chance, she will make things right this time” “How can I help with that?” “Take me to Kai, and help me convince him to come to the performance” “I don’t think it’ll be easy. He was really hurt” “But I have to try before giving up. Please”, reluctantly, Ni-ki sighs heavily, “Alright, I’ll help you”.

Kai’s flower shop looks like it’s come out of a fairytale. It occupies the ground floor of a classic French building, its soft cream exterior radiating elegance. The windows are expansive, with straight edges at the base and rounded arches at the top, giving them an elegant, yet welcoming look. Beneath the windows, there are two light wooden benches that offer a rustic touch to the pedestrians passing by. Victorian-style metal lanterns hang delicately between the windows and the door, bathing the sidewalk in a warm glow. A delicate arch of soft pink flowers gracefully frames the entrance. Taehyun’s eyes light up at the sight, “Wow! It’s beautiful”, Riki smiles, Taehyun is right, Kai has done an amazing job with the flower shop— it’s like his baby, his most precious treasure. “Shall we go in?” Taehyun nods, his eyes still fixed on the shop’s exterior.

Ni-ki went in first, the small bell above the door announces their arrival. Taehyun stepped up the small step only to discover that the interior is even more charming than the exterior.

The flower shop is a sanctuary of color and fragrance, as if it had come straight out of the pages of a fairytale book. Bouquets of every kind imaginable, such as roses, daisies, lilies, are neatly arranged in compartments of different sizes, each one thoughtfully arranged to highlight the flowers beauty. The air is fresh, filled with the pleasant floral scent. Behind the counter, a glass door leads to a greenhouse, the glass is slightly blurred from the warmth inside.

A man as tall as Ni-ki, with light skin, silky, shiny brown locks, and an overall gentle and sweet appearance, is wrapping a floral arrangement next to another man— also tall, but shorter than Kai, with long blonde hair and bright brown eyes. Kai is the first to notice them. “Riki!”, he greets his friend with a bright smile, “What’s up, Kai? Beomgyu?” “Hey, Ni-ki,” the older one greets him in a soft, timid voice. Kai leans over the counter, “What brings you here today?” “This is Taehyun, he’s a dancer too. He wanted to meet you”. Kai’s smile faltered slightly, confused. He turns to Taehyun, extending his hand, “Nice to meet you, Taehyun. How can I help you?”, Taehyun shakes his hand, “Can we talk?” “Of course! Beomgyu, can you take care of the shop for me?” “Okay” “Feel at home, Riki” “Got it”.

The two of them move together toward the greenhouse, which was, in fact, a butterfly garden, “Wow, butterflies! Where did the idea of having butterflies in a flower shop come from?” “They help with pollination. They’re also a symbol of rebirth, that’s what this flower shop is to me”, the owner of the place says, gesturing with his hands as he speaks, “That’s beautiful”, Kai nods, agreeing, “So… what do you want to talk about?” “We’re producing Giselle at the academy. I heard you like it a lot”. He nods again, but this time with a sad smile, “Yes… It was my dream to perform Giselle with my two best friends”, he lower his head, “Well… back when we were still friends” “Yn never wanted to hurt you”. Kai lifts his head, totally taken by surprise, “W- what?” “Yn never wanted to distance herself from you guys”. Kai’s jaw tightens, the gentle expression on his face is overtaken by anger, repulse, melancholy— a bitter cocktail of emotions that Taehyun had just served him.

“What do you know about that? You don’t know Yn, she only cares about herself and her precious ballet”, his voice is rough, he’s sounding rude and he doesn’t seem to care about it, “Well… I’m kind of her boyfriend”, Kai’s lips part slightly, another shock, “Boyfriend?”. Tahyun scratches his nape, blushing slightly, “We never made it official, but… our feelings speak by themselves” “Wow” “She distanced herself out of guilt, not selfishness. She blames herself for your accident and she’s afraid, terrified, of hurting the people she loves. And let me tell you, she loves you guys. So much”. He crosses his arms, “Did she say that to you?” “No, but I saw the pain in her eyes when she told me she had ruined your life”. Kai’s arms relaxed a little, as if Taehyun’s words had touched him deep down. Still, he looks away, not entirely convinced, “Even so… I don’t trust her. She destroyed the most valuable thing I had” “Ballet?” “Our friendship”. Taehyun looks at him with pitiful eyes, “Look, Kai…”, but he cut him off, “Please, leave. This conversation is giving me a headache. And I hate headaches”.

The shorter man nods, even though Kai isn’t looking at him. But before leaving, he holds out a ticket for Giselle, “If you ever feel like giving Yn one last chance… come to the opening night. Please”. Kai doesn’t move, so Taehyun slips the ticket into the front pocket of his apron and steps away. As he hears the footsteps fade, Kai breaks down, hot tears rolling down his soft skin. Taehyun had reopened old wounds that had never fully healed.

The opening night has finally arrived. Everyone is dressed in costume, stretching in the backstage area getting ready to perform on stage soon. Taehyun is a bundle of nerves again. Nothing has ever made him this anxious before. Not his father’s disapproval, nor his loss. Not moving all by himself to Paris, nor his first ballet classes. Not practicing with you, auditioning by your side, or even kissing you— nothing is compared to this.

You notice his nervousness, he can’t stay still for a second— he keeps working on his posture, nibbling on the corner of his nails, pacing back and forth. You smile softly and walk over to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, pulling him out of his turmoil of thoughts. He turns to you and smiles, you look beautiful, dressed as a village girl, more radiant and delicate than ever, “Wow… You’re the most beautiful villager I’ve ever seen”. You giggle, “Not that you’ve seen many” “I doubt any could outshine you”. You poke his chest and blush, “Thanks. Are you nervous?” “More than I’ve ever been in my entire life” “Let me help you with that”.

You take his hands and place them on your chest, right above your heart. He watches every move of yours, eyes fixed, taking in the gentle rise and fall of your breathing. He notices how your heart skips a beat just slightly at his touch, “Feel that?”, you’re talking about your heartbeat, “I feel it”. You nod and move one of his hands to his own chest, “And now? Feel this?” “Yes” “Close your eyes and tell me what you feel”. He obeys, focusing on his senses, especially the touch. His palms feel the rhythm of your heartbeat and his own and for a moment, it’s as if they are in sync. He opens his eyes suddenly, like he’s just witnessed something magical, “Wow” “When you feel nervous, close your eyes and feel your heart beating. Mine will always be beating right alongside yours”. He smiles, the weight of the anxiety loosening— because you are there with him. He holds your waist and pulls you into a hug, murmuring against your hair, “Thank you… I don’t know what I would do without you”. You sink into his chest, savoring the warmth of the moment, “I don’t know what I would do without you either, Tyun”.

Suddenly, the director’s voice cuts the moment, “Alright, everyone! Two minutes! I need you all here!”. Taehyun takes your hand, and you both join the rest of the dancers gathered around the teacher, “Tonight, we present the premiere of our beautiful production of Giselle, adapted from Adolphe Adam’s version, but with our own touch. I know every single one of you has worked incredibly hard to get here. That’s why I’ll only say this: Give it your best tonight, and enjoy yourselves, but always with grace. Let’s go, group hug!”. Everyone closes the big circle around the director for a few seconds until he finally calls it, “Okay, let’s do this! It’s showtime!”. You glance at Taehyun and plant a soft kiss on his cheek, “Let’s do this…” “…together”, he finishes your sentence before letting go of your hand. You watch him walking toward the stage—Taehyun is about to open the show.

The stage is set like a small village nestled in the heart of a forest. Taehyun walks across it, trying to ignore the tight knot in his stomach and the taste of metal on his tongue from chewing the inside of his cheek. His eyes carefully scan the audience, he spots Soojin, Ni-ki, his mother, along with his uncles and cousins, all seated in the front row— he holds himself back from smiling and waving at them. Taking a deep breath, quietly, he tells himself that everything will be alright. And then:

The lights come up, the first act begins.

Albrecht is a young village man who carries a secret— he is actually a nobleman. The modest clothes are merely a disguise, allowing him to stay close to Giselle, a beautiful village girl who has caught his eye. However, she has not only caught Albrecht’s attention. Hilarion, a huntsman, is also captivated by Giselle’s beauty and magnetic aura.

In the opening moments of the first act, Albrecht’s disguise and his first interaction with Giselle are portrayed. You dance across the stage, curious about the new man in the village, while Taehyun follows you, trying to win your affection. As the performance progresses, Giselle slowly falls under Albrecht’s charm. You spin elegantly in front of Taehyun, he holds your waist and lifts you as you lightly flutter your legs, giving the audience the illusion that you are floating. The lift is light, perfect, and the landing is flawless— you are so proud of him.

Then, Hilarion appears. He tries to warn Giselle that something is wrong with Albrecht and that he is a better choice, but she pushes him away, always returning to her beloved’s arms, until the huntsman finally leaves. Soon after, a celebration begins to honor the love between the protagonists: dancers fill the stage, and a big collective performance takes place. Until… men and women dressed in noble clothes enter the scene, followed by Hilarion. Giselle steps forward, trying to understand what is happening— Hilarion is there to ruin everything by revealing the truth. One of the women extends her hand, showing Giselle a ring on her finger, Albrecht has more than just one secret— he is engaged to Bathilde.

You look at Taehyun, then back at the ring like everything you knew had been torn apart. He steps forward with his arms stretched, trying to explain, but there is nothing to explain—he is a liar, a traitor. The man you love belongs to someone else. And it hurts. It hurts so much to be struck like this. Giselle cannot bear the pain and feels madness consuming her. You dance frantically— you laugh, you cry, you want to hit Albrecht, you want to kiss him. Your hair comes undone from its once perfect bun, until you collapse to the ground. Cause of death: a broken heart.

Hyunjin points at Taehyun, accusingly. They approach each other, their eyes locked— there is no need to fake the anger they feel toward one another, it’s all real. Albrecht picks up the sword from the ground, lifts his leg high and challenges Hilarion. They spin across the stage, performing a swordfight, until Taehyun corners him. At this moment, Albrecht is supposed to drive the sword under his opponent’s arm and kill Hilarion. Or at least, that is what should have happened. But Hyunjin plays dirty, freeing himself with a pirouette before pointing his sword at Taehyun’s neck, making him fall. Hyunjin smirks, “Game over, Albrecht”. You fight the urge to get up and rip his head off.

The instructors exchange worried glances as the performance starts to spiral out of control. Taehyun rests his head on the stage floor and closes his eyes, remembering what you told him earlier:

“If you get nervous, just take a deep breath and imagine our hearts beating in sync”.

Thump-thump

“Do it for her, Taehyun”.

Suddenly, he feels a rush of energy. He opens his eyes, grabs his sword, locks it with Hyunjin’s, and pushes him back to stand up. The older one stumbles backward, his brows furrowed, “Ah! You’re so fucking annoying”, he mutters under his breath. Taehyun points his sword at Hyunjin and quietly says, “Let’s put an end to this once and for all”. Hyunjin attempts the first strike, but Taehyun deflects it with a graceful spin. Hyunjin strikes again, jumping high, clashing his legs together, but Taehyun does a grand jete, twirling across the stage like a leaf carried by the wind. The other man chases him.

“It’s okay, Taehyun, you can do this”.

He takes a deep breath and performs the jump that ended Kai’s ballet career, landing gracefully behind Hyunjin and driving the sword under his arm. Hyunjin has no choice but to fall to his knees dramatically and accept defeat. Albrecht has killed Hilarion, but more importantly— Taehyun has defeated Hyunjin. Taehyun allows himself a few seconds to savor his victory before dropping the sword and rushing to Giselle. He kneels in a fluid motion and takes you into his arms, ending the first act with a melancholic atmosphere.

The curtains close, and the audience erupts into applause. Certainly, the fight scene was far more thrilling than anyone had expected. Once you are safe from the audience’s view, you open your eyes and hug Taehyun tightly, “Are you crazy?! Improvising in ballet?!”, your voice carries both disbelief and amusement, “That was amazing” “I felt your heart. That’s why I could do it”. You open your mouth to say something, but the teachers' voices interrupt, “Hyunjin, Taehyun. We don't know when you planned that, but it was thrilling. We’ll adopt it for future performances, but… with a little more class. The saut de basque at the end was perfect, good job, Taehyun”. You look at each other and laugh, Hyunjin tried to ruin Taehyun's performance, but all he did was make him shine even brighter.

The second act opens with the Wilis dance. The Wilis are a group of spirits of young brides who died of heartbreak after being betrayed by their lovers. In death, they haunt the forest and seek revenge by drawing men into a deadly dance, forcing them to dance until they collapse from exhaustion and die.

The stage is covered by a pale, bluish light, creating a dreamlike and ghostly atmosphere.

Tombstones scatter the scene, and fog drifts across the ground as the Wilis appear, dressed in flowing white dresses with their hair cascading down their backs. Their movements are light, ethereal, and incredibly precise, like they’re floating above the wooden floor. The dance's signature move are delicate bourrées— tiny, fast steps that give the illusion of floating, often moving in unison, symbolizing their shared sorrow and fury. Their presence is both mesmerizing and threatening.

Giselle is now among them, her spirit is bound to the Wilis after her tragic death forever. She dances alongside them, though her movements carry a lasting gentleness. Her bourrées are as light as theirs, but her gaze reveals traces of human emotions— love and sorrow, all for Albrecht.

Taehyun enters the scene, carrying a bouquet of flowers. He moves carefully, his face marked by grief and guilt, as he approaches Giselle’s grave. He kneels in front of it, placing the flowers gently on the ground. His presence disturbs the peace of the Wilis, who begin to gather around him, preparing to trap him in their deadly ritual. But Giselle steps forward, her spirit still protects the man she loved, even in death. Albrecht extends his hand toward Giselle, she steps closer. Their eyes meet, full of love. He touches her as if she were made of glass, afraid she might disappear again— but she doesn’t, she stays.

They begin to dance, the sorrow that surrounds them blends with the passion still burning between them both. In each step, it feels like their hearts beat as one, guiding their bodies in perfect harmony. When Albrecht lifts her, the movement is flawless once again. She rises into the air with such lightness, as if she carries no weight at all. He holds her above his head with strength and grace, and for a moment, Giselle seems to float in the sky, free from the pain. Taehyun puts you down gently, you fit into his arms like you always belonged there. Your hands intertwine, your eyes lock once more, you are no longer just a man and a woman dancing— you are two souls embracing their connection.

You finish the final sequence, bodies close, breathing in sync. There is no separation between you anymore. Only connection, only love. As the music fades away, Albrecht and Giselle remain close, his chest rising and falling against hers. Their fingers tighten softly, as if saying, without words: I’m still here, I’ll always be here.

The curtains close. The other dancers join you, Taehyun and the Wilis on stage. You hold his hand, smiles printed on your faces and as the curtains open once more, you all bow together, thanking the audience.

As soon as you step off the stage, you pull Taehyun close, pressing a desperate, genuine kiss on his lips. Your feelings run deep, raw, you have nothing to hide from him, and neither does he from you. When you finally part, you whisper against his lips low enough that no one else can hear, “I love you, Kang Taehyun”, he looks into your eyes, which overflow with the same emotions,“I love you, Yn Yln”, he breathes back. You smile, leaning in for another kiss when a familiar voice interrupts you,“Get a room, you two”, It’s Soojin, of course.

You turn to see her standing beside an older woman with warm, bright eyes— Taehyun’s mother, you assume, “Soojin! Mom!” Taehyun steps away from you to hug both women, wrapping an arm around each, “Oh, my ray of sunshine! You were so wonderful up there! So graceful, so talented”, his mother says, “She’s right, Tyun”, Soojin adds, nodding in agreement. He smiles shyly and steps back, “Thank you… but… I wouldn’t have made it without her”, He takes your hand, pulling you close, “Mom, this is Yn, the girl I told you about” “You told your mom about me?”, you ask, surprised, “Like he couldn’t stop, baby”, his mother answers with a warm chuckle. She opens her arms and pulls you into a tight hug, a mother’s embrace, filled with tenderness, something you hadn’t felt in years. Even though you’re meeting her for the first time, it feels like you’ve known each other forever, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Kang” “The pleasure is all mine, Yn”. She releases you but leans in to whisper, just for you to hear—like a secret shared between mother and daughter. “Welcome to the family”, you smile, eyes filling with emotional tears before you a sincere, “Thank you”.

Before you can say more, a gentle voice calls your name, pulling you out of that small bubble of comfort the Kangs created around you.

“Yn”

The voice is calm, soft, and familiar. You turn slowly, heart racing and hands trembling, to confirm what you already suspected: “Huening Kai”, you whisper. Kai stands a few feet away, holding a vibrant bouquet of flowers. His smile is shy, and beside him stands Ni-ki.

You glance at Taehyun who’s trying to mask the expression of someone who’s been caught planning something as he mouths you the words, “Go”. You hesitate for a moment, but then you remember how good it feels to be loved— to love. Slowly, you approach your friends, “H-hey. What are you doing here?” “I came to see my dear friend make her debut as Giselle… just like she always dreamed of”, Kai says gently. Your chin trembles, and tears fill your eyes as you throw yourself into his broad, comforting chest, the sobs come uncontrollably, “Kai… I’m so sorry. I… I never meant to hurt you. I just wanted to protect you. You and Riki”. You cling to him tightly, your voice breaks with every word, “I know, Yn,” he whispers, holding you just as tightly, “It’s okay”.

You pull back, wiping your tears, “Hey… these are for you”, he says, extending the bouquet.

You accept it carefully, admiring the flowers,“They’re beautiful. Thank you so much”. Ni-ki clears his throat and holds out his hand, “This is for you too”, it’s the bracelet— the one you had thrown at him that day in the hospital room. “Riki… you kept it?” “Yeah”, he and Kai lift their wrists, showing you the matching bracelets. Tears fill your eyes again, and you pull both of them into a tight, triple hug, “I love you both. So much. Please… let’s never be apart again”, “Deal,” Ni-ki says with a trembling voice, “Deal”, Kai agrees too.

Taehyun stands to the side, his arm around his mother, watching the scene, feeling proud— proud of you, of the person you’ve become over these past 3 months. Now, you know how to accept love, without fear, without hesitation. And he? He learned how to feel love, how to cry, how to fall and rise again without shame, without fear of being vulnerable.

As always, Soojin breaks the moment, throwing herself on the 3 of you, “Yay! Happy ending! I love it. How about celebrating with a caramel macchiato, huh?”. You all laugh, agreeing, “I’m in,” you say. She turns to Taehyun, “And you?” “Always” “Let’s go, then. You three have a lot to catch up on”. Soojin hooks her arms around Ni-ki and Kai, asking to see the scar on his forehead as they walk away. Taehyun looks at his mom, then at you, “Mom, go ahead with them, okay?” “Alright, sweetheart,” she replies, following the group.

Once they’re out of sight, Taehyun steps closer to you. You open your mouth to thank him, but he gently squeezes your hand, as if to say you don’t have to, “This is nothing compared to what you’ve given me”, he says softly, “What did I give you?” “You”. You smile brightly, tears pooling in your eyes once more, “Taehyun…”. You love him so much, he’s everything you’ve ever wanted, and more. He smiles, wiping the tears from your cheeks, and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, “Don’t cry” “These are happy tears. It feels like… everything’s finally falling into place. All because of you” “I love you, Yn” “I love you more, Taehyun”. You spend a few more moments gazing into each other’s eyes, your irises overflowing with emotion, until he gently brings you back to reality, “Shall we go?” “From now on… wherever you go, I’ll follow”.

He smiles, intertwining his fingers with yours. You walk side by side, talking about the performance, how incredible everyone was, and how Hyunjin ended up looking like an idiot, falling into his own tricks.

There’s no rush in your steps— this is what slow dancing feels like.

Tags: @xylatox , @hyunruhi

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