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geminiipdf · 12 days ago

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cel this is so good i literally was losing my ever loving shit when soonyoung seungkwan and reader kept trying and failing to investigate but everything after the reveal made up for it sooo much this is so cute and funny and awesome

The Admirer Was Right in Front of You — Kim Mingyu

Mingyu’s been in love with you forever but you’ve never seen him that way, or so he thinks. So he writes you anonymous letters, sends gifts, leaves clues—seven days of hope that you’ll catch on without him spelling it out for you. But every time you get close, you guess everyone but him.

Genre: Non-idol au, college au, romance (?), comedy, modern au (no specific setting, but contemporary vibe), slice of life and light-hearted mystery

Pairing: Mingyu × fem!reader

Content: Secret admirer, friends-to-lovers, slow burn (?), miscommunication, amnesia (in terms of realization—reader doesn’t realize Mingyu’s feelings), investigative humor, gift-giving (anonymous), letters (anonymous), silly investigation, mingyu’s subtle hints, light drama (misunderstandings and comedy), emotionally constipated Mingyu, orange juice, lavender, hidden camera, fake love ringtone trauma, laughter and fun with friends (Jeonghan, Soonyoung, Woozi, Seungkwan, Vernon and Dino), dramatic!seungkwan, over-invested! soonyoung, smug!jeonghan, unspoken yearning, heart-thumping hugs, romantic confession.

Warnings: None for explicit content, just mild comedic frustration and tension related to the investigation. potential light anxiety (reader overanalyzes and stresses about figuring out the admirer), occasional bout of existential romantic confusion.

Word count: 20,620 words

A/N: HIT TEXT BLOCK LIMIT SO EXCUSE ME. this was my rushed valentine’s day fic; written in a fog of sleep deprivation and caffeine, desperately trying to meet the deadline [14th Feb] before tumblr decided to glitch its entire draft-saving system into oblivion. to this day, it still won’t let me fix it [dear tumblr devs: once i get my degree, i’m coming for your job. and then i’m resigning on the spot after fixing my own problem ☺️] if wanted to post this,, life, exhaustion, and tumblr’s war crimes said no because to post it, i would've had to sit down and format it from scratch for HOURS because drafts wouldn't worl. it took me until few weeks into the issue [Feb] to realize i could cheat the system with scheduled posts [which is still a cursed gamble when you're handling 3k+ words]. i reread this recently and cringed so hard i nearly vaporized. this is so metallic and roboticthis… it truly contains all the side effects of first-draft. but at the time, i gave this thing my everything. sleep was sacrificed. blood, sweat, and tears [real] were involved. i was running on loneliness too. this may be posting now, but like I said earlier, it was written a long time ago. the fics that will come after this are recent. so, they’re better and you’ll see the difference. i’m not the same writer anymore, and that’s something i’m low-key proud of bc i see improvements lolllll. massive, massive thanks to K @cheers-to-you-th Calli @hhaechansmoless and Tiya @gyubakeries for resurrecting this from the grave; you three deserve hazard pay for beta-reading this without losing braincells. also to Kae @studioeisa, who was quite literally the only person i spoke to while writing this. thank you for letting me talk about this fic’s summary

inspired by the golden age of secret admirer tropes and that one friend who’s always been right in front of you, but you were too blind to believe it could be him. much love to GoSe for fueling Seungkwan and Soonyoung’s idiocy. also, Jeonghan’s smirk deserves a credits roll

to the readers: you deserve better than this first draft. but thank you for reading it anyway ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ

You’re not expecting a package when you step outside your apartment door.

You're not expecting an online order—maybe the overpriced serum you panic-bought at 2 a.m. last week because TikTok convinced you your skincare routine was trash, but instead, there’s a neatly wrapped gift box on your doormat, and right on top of it, an envelope with your name on it.

Your first mistake is thinking this is a normal day. Your second mistake is opening the letter in front of your friends.

It was a normal afternoon at the café in your usual spot, where the group had gathered to do absolutely nothing productive as per tradition. You had just settled into your seat, wedging yourself between Mingyu and Soonyoung, when Seungkwan gasped.

"Oh my God, is that a love letter?"

Seungkwan’s voice was loud enough to startle the students at the next table. The café, previously humming with the background noise of clinking cups and conversations, now suddenly goes dead silent, at least, in your world, because now everyone is looking at you.

"It could be anything," you say, though the neatly written name on the envelope suggests otherwise.

"No, no, no," Soonyoung cuts in, already reaching for the letter. "We have to open this together. For the sake of the investigation."

"What investigation?"

"The one where we figure out who is in love with you, obviously."

Before you can argue, Jeonghan, sitting across from you, gestures toward the envelope. "Just open it. If you drop dead from embarrassment, at least we’ll have entertainment."

That’s all the permission Seungkwan needs before he grabs it, clearing his throat before reading aloud. "Dear Y/N," he read aloud in an exaggerated, sappy voice. " It feels a little cliché to start with Dear, but here we are. I don’t know if this is the best way to do this, but I guess I’m doing it anyway. The first time I met you, I thought the world had shifted just a little. You probably don’t remember, but I do. And I think… I always will. I see you. I see the way you get that little crease between your brows when you’re focused. The way you fight back a smile when you think something’s funny but pretend it isn’t. The way you give your things to people without thinking twice – your food, your jacket, your time. I see you, and I hope just this once you see me too.

P.S. You’re really bad at locking your phone screen. I already know your new favorite flower.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

"WHAT?!"

"NO WAY."

"Wait, wait, WAIT—who sent this?!"

Mingyu chokes on his drink. "Huh?"

You yanked the letter back, heart hammering.

Jeonghan, lounging across from you, smirked. "Looks like you’ve got a secret admirer."

Seungkwan is already on his feet, "You have a secret admirer?! I—this is—what—WHO?!" And adds, "How come I don’t get secret admirers?!"

"Maybe because you announce every five minutes that you’re single and desperate." Jihoon deadpans.

"That is NOT—okay, but that’s beside the point!" Seungkwan huffed before rounding on you. "Who do you think it is?"

That was the question, wasn’t it? Your fingers traced the ink absently, brow furrowing. You wonder: Who, among them, is listening just a little too carefully? You steal a glance at your friends, Jeonghan is still smirking. Vernon and Chan are whispering to each other. Jihoon looks entirely uninterested, already focusing on his phone. Mingyu stays relaxed with that big smile in place. Soonyoung, who already struggles to sit still on a normal day, is practically vibrating in his seat.

"It has to be someone we know," you mutter, narrowing your eyes. "Someone who knows me really well."

Soonyoung gasped. "Wait. What if it’s Jihoon?"

Jihoon doesn’t even look up. "Do I look like the type to write love letters?"

Fair point.

Seungkwan ignores him. "No, no, no, think about it. The handwriting, it’s too neat, too precise. And look at this phrasing—'I see you'? That’s some poetic, brooding nonsense right there."

"That’s definitely not Jihoon," Vernon mutters, taking a spoonful of rice into his mouth.

"Okay, but who else could it be?" Chan muses.

"It has to be someone we know," you murmur, rereading the letter. The words are too personal. This isn’t some random admirer. This is someone who knows your habits, your quirks and stays with you a lot of the time.

"Maybe… Jeonghan?" Chan suggests.

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. "Me? That’s cute, but if I were her admirer, she'd know. I’m not subtle."

Okay. Not him either. Your mind whirls, piecing together possibilities. "So then who?" you ask, exasperated.

Soonyoung slams a fist on the table. "We investigate."

Seungkwan nods, solemn. "Operation: Who’s In Love With Y/N begins now."

Mingyu exhales, but no one notices. No one sees the way his shoulders drop, the barely-there shift in his posture, releasing something he was holding onto too tightly. No one catches the way Jeonghan glances at him from the side, a smirk playing on his lips like this is the most entertainment he’s had all week, and you obviously don't notice him either. Because you—sweet, oblivious, you have already ruled him out. Because of course Mingyu couldn’t be the one. The thought is too absurd, too ridiculous. How could he ever be into you? You don't even have the confidence to suspect him aloud. Mingyu, who walks into every room like he owns it, who grins too easily and makes everyone feel like they belong. Mingyu, who could have anyone if he wanted. And you’re just… you. It makes no sense. It has to be someone else, someone who wouldn't make your heart stutter in your chest just by standing too close. But if you really looked at him, you’d see it. His ears are pink, fingers drum against his knee, the way he looks at you when you’re not looking at him; but you don’t.

You’re too busy strategizing.

One thing that’s as clear as day now is that, you're suspecting your own friend group. While he wanted to stay anonymous with the letters, he had deliberately altered his handwriting hoping to throw you off but ironically in doing so, he somehow ended up mimicking Jihoon’s handwriting accidentally. And now, Jihoon is your prime suspect.

You, Soonyoung, Seungkwan, Jeonghan, and Mingyu are lounging in the library, passing time when Seungkwan starts scribbling something on a piece of paper, lips pressed together in deep concentration as he taps the pen twice against the table before declaring, “Soonyoung is out.”

“Hey!”

“And Seungkwan,” you add.

“Excuse me?”

“Be honest,” you deadpan, tilting your head slightly. “You can’t keep a secret for five minutes, let alone one day.”

Seungkwan opens his mouth to argue, but then stops, visibly deflating. Soonyoung, still grumbling about the injustice of it all, leans over to peer at the list Seungkwan has been working on. After a lot of back-and-forth (and Seungkwan rejecting some of Soonyoung’s wilder theories, like what if it’s a ghost?), the three of you narrow down the list of suspects. Jihoon, Vernon, and Chan remain, with Jihoon being the prime suspect because, as Seungkwan pointed out, his handwriting is suspiciously similar to the letter.

Across the table, Jeonghan and Mingyu stay silent throughout the discussion. Jeonghan watches, bemused, while Mingyu leans back in his chair, arms crossed loosely over his chest. Neither of them bother to chime in, letting the three of you spin as you, Soonyoung and Seungkwan plot to set a trap when the time is right.

Now, Chan and Vernon, for some reason, being one of the suspects… Mingyu absolutely cannot wrap his head around it. Why those two? What about anything in that letter screamed them? Why is it so easy for you to entertain the idea that either of them could be your secret admirer, but not him when he’s right here breathing the same air as you? When the admirer is right in front of you? He can literally just straight up confess, but no, he has to wait. He has to hold himself back. After all, it hasn't even been a day since you received his first letter. He can be patient. He’s more calculated than people give him credit for. Sure, he might not seem like the type to plan things out, but when it comes to you, he’s meticulous. His friends know it, even you know it, but you’re too caught up in the role of being his friend to acknowledge that he’s more than just a guy who trips over thin air, that his intelligence is just as attractive as everything else about him.

Mingyu’s original plan was simple—he wanted you to figure it out. He thought that by leaving letters and gifts, you’d naturally start paying closer attention to the people around you. He assumed it would be obvious, that you’d pick up on the little details: how he knows things about you that only someone truly paying attention would, how each gift is something he’s seen you admire before. He expected you to connect the dots, to turn around, to look at him, and to realize. But instead, you’re sitting there, hunched over a notebook with Seungkwan and Soonyoung, listing off suspects like this is some kind of whodunnit mystery game.

Two

February 8th.

Walking up to your locker with Vernon, you sip the orange juice that Mingyu handed you just a few minutes ago. As you reach your locker, you pass the juice to Vernon and dig into your jacket pocket, searching for your keys. Your fingers brush against something unexpected, a small, rectangular object. You pull it out and take a closer look. It’s a bookmark, delicately pressed with a lavender flower—your favorite. Attached to it is a tiny note:

“It reminded me of you.”

Your eyebrows lift in surprise. Turning to Vernon, you hold up the bookmark, but before you can say anything, you catch him sipping from your juice.

“Yah! That’s mine!” you exclaim, narrowing your eyes.

Vernon simply shrugs. “Right…” he says, unfazed, taking another sip.

Rolling your eyes, you shove the bookmark in his direction. “Are you sure you didn’t slip this into my pocket when I wasn’t looking?”

Vernon scoffs, shaking his head. “I swear, Y/N, it's not me. I mean, I like you, but not enough to be your secret admirer.”

You huff but decide to let it go. Shaking your head, you turn back to your locker and start gathering your things, your books, a notebook, and a pen before shutting the door with a soft click.

Slipping your bag over your shoulder, you glance at Vernon, who still is sipping your juice. Letting out a sigh, you wave him off. “See you later, thief.”

“Enjoy finding your secret admirer.”

Rolling your eyes, you turn on your heel and make your way toward the park near the college library. The crisp breeze brushes against your face as you walk, the bookmark still tucked safely in your grasp. As you reach the park, you spot Seungkwan and Soonyoung sitting on the swings, chatting animatedly. A smile tugs at your lips as you pick up your pace, ready to execute your usual routine, which is pushing Seungkwan off his swing and claiming it for yourself.

Just as you lunge forward to shove him away, Seungkwan, having caught sight of you from the corner of his eye, expertly stands up and moves aside at the last second. Caught off guard, your hands swipe through thin air instead of meeting his shoulder and the momentum sends you tumbling forward. Instead of landing smoothly on the swing, your foot catches on the ground, and you face-plant onto the seat before slipping off and landing in the most ungraceful heap.

Soonyoung bursts into laughter, clutching his stomach as he doubles over, his giggles echoing through the park. The scene now resembles a group of drunk boys fumbling around with a soccer ball, except the only thing truly injured is your pride.

Groaning, you lift your head just enough to mutter, “The earth is full of selfish people.”

Seungkwan scoffs, arms crossed. “As if.”

Soonyoung is still wheezing. Like, fully doubled over, hands on his knees as Seungkwan rolls his eyes before sighing. Eventually after much suffering, he and Soonyoung each grab an arm and help you back to your feet. Dusting yourself off, you all make your way toward the bench in front of the swings, settling down.

Seungkwan disappears for a bit with a, “I’ll go get us something to drink,” and comes back with three drinks and, bless him, some ice wrapped in a napkin for your mishap from earlier. “Here,” he says, plopping down next to you, “for your bruised dignity.”

You roll your eyes but accept the ice anyway, pressing it against your arm where you had landed a little too hard. It’s a little embarrassing how much it helps. “Anyway,” you say, setting down your drink and pulling something out of your pocket. “I got another gift from the admirer today. Vernon was with me when I found it in my jacket’s pocket.” You hold up the bookmark along with the note.

Seungkwan squints at it. “You sure it’s not Vernon?”

“He denies it,” you say, taking a sip of your drink. “But he’s still sus.”

At that, the two of them launch into a theorizing session, their ideas getting more ridiculous by the second. You’re pretty sure they're just saying words now. Seungkwan adds fuel to the fire, and before you know it, they’ve spun a whole conspiracy web involving secret codes. It’s a little concerning how quickly they came up with all this. “You guys are so stupid.”

“But seriously,” Seungkwan says, “how many gifts or letters have you gotten so far?”

“Yesterday, I got a letter which you both saw, and a small plant so in total, one letter and two gifts including today's bookmark.”

Last night, when you got back to your dorm, there was a box sitting neatly in front of your door. No note on the outside, no sign of who left it. You glanced up and down the hallway but nope, no secret admirer lurked in the shadows, just the usual dorm silence. So you brought the box inside, set it on your desk, and opened it. Inside was a small, neatly potted plant with a tiny note tucked beside it. The note read:

“Take care of it well.”

That’s it. No name, no signature, just that.

Soonyoung immediately decides it’s finally the time for drastic measures. “It’s time to set a trap.”

Seungkwan, already tired, sighs. “No, it's not.”

“Yes, it is,” Soonyoung insists. “We need cameras, motion sensors, maybe even a decoy package—”

Seungkwan holds up a hand. “Okay, first of all, you’re not rich enough to have motion sensors.”

“Fine, but we can record the next delivery,” Soonyoung counters. “We set up a camera, catch them in the act.”

Seungkwan hums, considering. “Actually… that could work.”

And so the plan is set. The three of you head to Soonyoung’s place, which is always a good idea. Not just because he always somehow manages to convince his sister to lend him something after only minimal begging (or a taekwondo match), but because his mom recently visited, which means homemade food. And if there’s one universal truth, it’s that Soonyoung’s mom’s cooking has the power to make you forget all your problems. So while Soonyoung is off on his mission to beg or fight, you and Seungkwan shamelessly take advantage of the situation by helping yourselves to an absolutely unnecessary amount of food. Every bite is warm and ridiculously comforting, enough to make you forget you’re literally in the middle of an undercover investigation.

By the time Soonyoung returns, looking victorious with the tiny camera in hand, you’re full, satisfied and only mildly guilty about eating half his mom’s cooking. He doesn’t seem to notice, though, too focused on phase two of Operation: Who’s In Love With Y/N. Soon, you all make your way back to your dorm, and upon arrival, you scout for the perfect spot to set up the device, ultimately deciding on a corner of the corridor wall just out of plain sight but with a clear view of your door. Now comes the tricky part: actually installing the camera.

With no ladder, no proper tools, and absolutely no sense of self-preservation, you’re left to your own devices, meaning an unsteady, completely improvised method of reaching the higher spot. This is how you end up watching one of the most questionable stunts in history unfold.

Seungkwan, grumbling under his breath about always being dragged into Soonyoung’s ridiculous ideas, crouches on a chair to add some height. “I swear, I don’t get paid enough for this.”

“You don’t get paid at all,” you remind him helpfully.

“Exactly! That’s the problem!”

Then, after a brief, heated argument over whether this was a terrible idea (which Seungkwan insists it was), Soonyoung climbs onto Seungkwan’s back, steadying himself by pressing a hand against the wall.

Soonyoung stretches up, muttering instructions that Seungkwan has absolutely zero patience for. “Hold still,” Soonyoung hisses, wobbling slightly as he raises the camera in one hand and secures it in place.

“I am holding still!” Seungkwan retorts, voice strained from supporting Soonyoung’s weight.

“Then why do I feel like I’m on a boat in the middle of a storm?”

"Maybe because you're as heavy as a sack of rice!"

You, being entirely unhelpful, are doubled over in silent laughter, barely holding back tears.

Despite the constant bickering, Soonyoung manages to attach the camera securely without knocking anything over or causing a disaster which is an impressive feat in itself, given the circumstances. Once he's satisfied with the placement, he carefully climbs down, having only one near-death slip, but he catches himself just in time.

With the camera now rolling, the three of you retreat into your dorm, hoping that today might bring another letter. You settle in, playing a few rounds of UNO to pass the time while keeping an ear out for any sounds outside. However, as the hours tick by, no new delivery arrives. Eventually, as the clock edges past 8 PM, Soonyoung and Seungkwan decide to call it a day.

“Well,” Soonyoung sighs, stretching his arms above his head, “I guess we check the footage tomorrow.”

“Or,” Seungkwan grumbles, rubbing his sore shoulders, “this was all just an excuse for Soonyoung to climb on my back.”

You laugh, walking them to the door. “Thanks for helping out, though. See you guys tomorrow.”

With a final wave, they head off leaving you alone in the dorm. But as you glance at the door one last time before heading to your bedroom, a thought scratches at the back of your mind relentlessly: What if the admirer knows they’re being watched?

You shake your head, trying to push the thought away. Now’s not the time to get paranoid. You have other things to focus on, like your studies. After spending most of your day fooling around, it’s about time you catch up. With a sigh, you open your books and begin to study. Your eyes scan the page, absorbing formulas and theorems—polynomials, integrals, trigonometric identities, limits. It’s pure maths which always seems to make sense when you’re in the right mindset. You scribble through some practice problems, your pen moving quickly across the paper as you tackle linear algebra and calculus, but your focus doesn’t last long. After an hour of studying, the temptation to check your phone becomes unbearable. Just a quick break, you think. So you open Instagram and start mindlessly scrolling through reels, watching endless edits of SEVENTEEN. As the adrenaline from watching them starts to course through your veins, you stand up, feeling a little too hot and giddy from the rush. You need to walk it off so you head to the kitchen and grab a glass of water trying to cool down and calm your racing thoughts. But as you’re pouring the water, your eyes naturally drift toward the front door. And that’s when you see it.

A letter. Slipped under the crack of the door.

Your heart skips a beat, and afraid to move. It’s from the secret admirer. The thought sends a shockwave through you. The thought that the hidden camera set up by you, Seungkwan, and Soonyoung might have actually caught the admirer in the act fills your mind, making your pulse quicken. Your hands are slightly trembling as you set the cold glass down, then without thinking twice, you rush over, bending down to pick it up. The envelope is unmarked, your fingers linger on it for a moment as a weird mix of excitement and nerves bubble in your chest. Slowly, you rip the top open and pull the letter out, unfolding it carefully.

“I saw you laughing today, and it made me stop for a second. You’ve been on my mind for a while now and if I’m being honest, I don’t think a single day passes without me thinking of you at least once. It’s strange, isn’t it? How someone can become a part of your thoughts without even trying. Anyway, I hope you liked the bookmark, thought you might like the lavender on that. It's nothing too fancy, but I hope it makes you smile. And before you ask – no, I won’t tell you who I am yet. You’ll figure it out when the time is right. Or maybe I’ll have to be the one to tell you. See you later.”

You place the letter on your desk and take a deep breath. Part of you just feels this strange comfort from the letter, but another part of you is still buzzing with excitement, wondering who the camera caught.

You decide against checking the camera right now, knowing full well that if you watch the footage without Seungkwan and Soonyoung, they’ll throw a fit and sulk for days. And dealing with their pouts and sighs isn’t worth it. They’d probably demand some sort of grand apology, maybe treating them to a big buffet or approving one of Soonyoung’s ridiculous ideas as compensation. Yeah, no thanks. With that in mind, you push aside your curiosity and decide to wait until tomorrow to watch it together.

Three

February 9th.

“Hey, have you been sleeping well? You always pretend you’re fine, but I know you haven’t been getting enough rest. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you rubbing your eyes or you zoning out when you’re supposed to be paying attention. I know you have a lot on your mind. Maybe even too much. If I could take some of that weight off your shoulders, I would. But for now, all I can do is remind you to please, take care of yourself.

Also, I know you’re probably looking everywhere for answers, but sometimes you’re too focused on finding them that you miss the simple ones. Take a breath. Relax. Not everything is a mystery – sometimes, the answer is right in front of you, waiting for you to notice.

Anyway, I saw you trip earlier. That was funny.”

You stand, dumbfounded, gripping both last night’s and today’s letters while Seungkwan struggles to restrain himself from launching a punch at Soonyoung. The excitement of finally discovering your secret admirer had kept you patient, waiting for the two boys so you could watch the footage together. Now, the three of you stand in a loose circle in your dorm room, Seungkwan holding the mini camera in one hand, his grip tight enough to crack plastic.

Soonyoung, your beloved and apparently utterly incompetent partner in crime, forgot to check the camera battery. Which meant that after a measly thirty minutes of recording, the camera died. Which meant it captured absolutely nothing. Which meant your admirer had narrowly avoided being caught, not because of their own cunning but because Soonyoung was an idiot.

A heavy collective sigh fills the room, a habit the three of you have apparently perfected at this point. There’s no point in dwelling on it now. Shoulders slumping in defeat, you all grab your bags and head toward the stairs, making your way to campus.

Seungkwan, however, is not letting it go. He insists that this is a catastrophe, that you’ve all officially lost your credibility as investigators, that Soonyoung should be banned from handling equipment ever again. “This is ridiculous. This is a disaster. This is an embarrassment.” He’s been nagging nonstop, words tumbling out at breakneck speed as he waves his hands. “How did we mess up something this simple? How does anyone forget to check the battery? We are so unserious—”

You groan, throwing a hand in front of his face, forcing him to stop mid-rant. “Seungkwan, shut the fuck up and watch where you’re walking before you trip over your own ego.” Although he’s not wrong, he was just as invested in this as you and Soonyoung were, so he really has no right to act this self-righteous.

He gasps, but to his credit, he actually shuts up, though you can feel the pout radiating off of him.

Soonyoung meanwhile, has already moved on. By the time you reach campus, he’s concocting another plan, mumbling under his breath about an official interrogation session. “Café,” he decides. “We’ll question the suspects in the café.”

It’s not the worst idea. After all, you, Seungkwan, and Soonyoung did come up with a list of potential admirers. And since Jihoon, Vernon, and Chan were still blissfully unaware of their suspect status on the list, it wouldn’t hurt to gather more intel.

Soonyoung claps his hands together, grinning. “Alright! We meet up at the café later with the others, and then—”

“Then we go to class before you actually flunk out of college,” you interrupt, already dragging Seungkwan toward the lecture hall.

“Pfft. Rude.” Soonyoung huffs but waves you off. “I’ll see you later!”

As you and Seungkwan slip into your usual seats, you let your eyes drift over the letters once more, fingers tracing the words. If Soonyoung hadn’t messed up, would you have already known the answer? Probably, but still…

Instead of paying attention to whatever your lecturer is droning on about—something about algorithms, efficiency, and real-world applications—you and Seungkwan huddle together whispering over your list of suspects one last time. Jihoon, Vernon, and Chan. The same three names.

“We need a proper plan,” Seungkwan mutters, tapping his pen against his notebook.

You nod in agreement. “We can’t just corner them randomly without knowing what to ask.”

So, while the rest of the class focuses on things that actually matter like, say, the lecture that’s apparently worth half of your grade, you and Seungkwan draft an interrogation script. Questions, strategies, ways to subtly (or not-so-subtly) catch the culprit slipping. Once it's done, Seungkwan sends the script to Soonyoung and without hesitation, drops a message in the group chat:

Seungkwan: Everyone. Café. After class. No exceptions.

Just as he hits send, "Seungkwan," your lecturer calls, voice heavy with disapproval.

You barely suppress a wince as Seungkwan slowly looks up, caught red-handed with his phone still in his grip. The lecturer pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, unimpressed. "Would you like to share what’s so important that you’d rather text in the middle of my very crucial, very grade-determining lecture?" (He says that every lecture. At this point, you’re convinced it’s just a scare tactic.)

Seungkwan, without missing a beat, gives the lecturer the most withering, unimpressed side-eye you’ve ever seen, one that he definitely doesn’t notice, too busy shifting his focus onto another poor student. With a sigh, Seungkwan stands up, gathers his things, and exits the room like a man facing exile.

After the lecture ends, you gather your things and step out of the hall, immediately spotting Seungkwan and Soonyoung waiting for you near the stairway landing. Seungkwan leans against the railing, arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently and Soonyoung, on the other hand, is half-sitting on the lower step, scrolling through his phone, probably looking at some absurd meme he’s about to show you the moment you get close. The second you approach, Seungkwan spots you and gestures for your water bottle, giving you an expectant look. Without a word, you hand it over and he takes a long gulp like he’s been trekking through the desert. Meanwhile, you grab Soonyoung’s wrist to pull him up from his seat, and just like that, the three of you set off toward the café.

On the way, you pass by Chan’s lecture hall. He’s just stepping out when Soonyoung with no warning or whatsoever, hooks an arm around his neck and steers him in your direction. “Where are we going?” Dino asks, confused but not resisting.

“To the café,” Seungkwan answers. “We have an important interrogation.”

Chan raises an eyebrow. “Do I even have a choice?”

“Nope,” you and Soonyoung say at the same time.

“As expected…” Chan says sadly (fake).

When the four of you reach the café, you slide into your seat right between Seungkwan and Soonyoung, with Chan sitting beside Soonyoung. The moment you’re settled, the others start trickling in, each arriving on their own. That means they actually checked the group chat. If they hadn’t, well, you three would’ve just stormed into their respective halls and dragged them here by the ear. You weren’t about to wait around forever. Once everyone had gathered, Seungkwan takes charge.

“We’re here to interrogate Jihoon, Vernon, and Chan,” he announces, placing the list in the center of the table. “No questions about why they’re on the list. No complaints. We have our reasons.”

Mingyu watches all of this unfold, barely holding back a sigh. They’re never going to figure it out at this rate. He was never worried about Seungkwan and Soonyoung actually catching him. Those two could be geniuses in their own fields but when it came to deduction, they were absolute fools. It’s amusing how confident Seungkwan and Soonyoung are in their so-called investigation. He wants to scoff, wants to roll his eyes, but he keeps himself in check. You, on the other hand… you’re smart, but Mingyu is starting to think that your partnership with Seungkwan and Soonyoung might be lowering your IQ. Still, he lets it play out, keeping quiet as the interrogations begin.

Suspect Interrogations

✔ Jihoon goes first. He looks downright offended that his name is even on the list, crossing his arms over his chest as he scowls at you and Seungkwan. "Why would I do something so cheesy?" he demands. "I've told you already, it's not me!"

Seungkwan doesn’t miss a beat. He leans forward squinting at Jihoon, "That’s exactly what a guilty person would say!"

Jihoon visibly clenches his jaw, looking like he’s one second away from launching his drink at Seungkwan’s head. You almost want to stop him but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to see it happen.

✔ Vernon is next. He stares at you, eyes blinking slowly, looking about as confused as a man who’s been woken up mid-dream. "I don’t even write notes for myself, why would I write one for you?" he asks. "And I think I've told you many times, it's not me!"

You and Soonyoung exchange looks, still very suspicious of him for some reason.

✔ Chan goes last. He doesn’t even pretend to take this seriously, instead, he just laughs, "If I liked you, I’d just tell you," he says.

It’s a fair point. A good point. But then… he keeps talking. He starts adding unnecessary details, rambling about hypotheticals—the ‘what-ifs’ and ‘maybes’ that no innocent person would feel the need to explain. He’s digging a deeper hole with every word, and you can practically see Seungkwan’s brain short-circuiting beside you.

Then, all at once, Seungkwan slams a hand on the table and leans forward, "That sounds like something the real admirer would say to throw us off."

Chan looks so betrayed.

Jeonghan crosses his arms as he observes the mess of notes and theories sprawled out before him. "You're not going to get them to confess, you know," he says. "They want to stay anonymous. No amount of begging or interrogation is going to change that."

You narrow your eyes at him. "Then what do you suggest, Sherlock?"

Jeonghan smirks. "Simple. If you can’t catch them in the act, make them come to you."

He lays out his ideas: each one realistic, logical, and frustratingly effective. He insists that if the admirer is really in your friend group, they'll never slip up under pressure. They've already been careful and their goal isn't to get caught. It's to wait until they're ready.

But for the first time, Jeonghan is wrong.

Mingyu doesn’t want to stay anonymous because he isn’t ready. He’s been ready for as long as he can remember. He’s been in love with you since forever. The only thing stopping him from confessing outright is that he wants you to see it first. To realize, without anyone spelling it out for you that your admirer has been right in front of you this entire time. That it’s him.

Jeonghan keeps talking, giving you, Seungkwan, and Soonyoung ideas on how to lure out the admirer. You nod along, jotting down notes with Seungkwan, completely oblivious to the way Mingyu shifts in his seat, playing idly with the rings on his fingers, memorizing all of your plans. Jeonghan’s part is done, and now he just leans back, chatting lazily with Mingyu, who barely hears a word. Mingyu knows you’re not getting anywhere with this approach, not as long as you keep treating this like some detective novel. So, he decides to leave some hints of his own. Letting you catch him staring. Letting his fingers brush against yours just a second too long.

A waiter approaches the table, setting down a glass of orange juice in front of you, along with a small hand warmer wrapped in soft fabric. A tiny note is attached, folded neatly under the band.

You blink, frowning. "I didn’t order this."

The waiter only smiles. "It was ordered anonymously. For you."

Before you can even process what that means, Seungkwan moves at the speed of 3×10⁸ m/s, snatching the orange juice off the table. "We are not letting her drink something from an unknown sender," he announces before he downs it in one go.

"You mean my secret admirer," you correct, deadpan, reaching for the note instead.

"So you say," he mutters.

Mingyu leans back in his seat, watching your reaction carefully as you unfold the tiny slip of paper. The words are simple yet enough to make your stomach flip:

“Keep your hands warm. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Seungkwan doesn’t even notice your momentary daze because he’s too busy sulking over his lack of a second drink. "That was good," he mutters, smacking his lips. "Would be nice if someone ordered one for me, though.”

Mingyu, cool, calm, and completely unbothered, raises a hand and calls the waiter over again. "Seven more orange juices, please," he says and then throws a pointed look at Seungkwan. "For everyone except him."

Seungkwan gasps. "What! Why not me?"

Mingyu smirks, propping his chin on his hand. "You already stole hers. No take-backs."

Seungkwan glares at him, indignant. “Oh, so now we’re playing favorites? Unbelievable.”

Mingyu only pokes his tongue out teasingly before leaning back in his chair, satisfied with the laughter echoing around the table. Soonyoung bursts into laughter first, quickly followed by the others. Mingyu just smiles to himself, but soon enough, you clear your throat, drawing everyone's attention. "So," you start, your voice slightly exasperated, "I was this close to catching the admirer in the act." You proceed to recount the series of events from yesterday and today, explaining how Soonyoung and Seungkwan had set up a hidden camera in your dorm’s corridor, only for the idiotic Soonyoung to forget to check the battery, causing it to die before it could record anything.

Mingyu who had been listening intently, releases a relieved breath, knowing how close he came to being discovered. The thought of you catching him in the act sends a shiver down his spine. He silently makes a mental note to be more careful with these anonymous deliveries. After all, he wants you to discover the admirer is him, but on your own time. Mingyu doesn’t want it to be forced.

Before he leaves, Mingyu stands up, making his way toward you. He gives you a hug and in that moment, it feels different unlike other times. His arms wrap around you with purpose, his chest pressing lightly against yours. The warmth of his body and the familiar scent of him, fresh and lightly musky with a hint of wood, lingers in your senses. You can feel the gentle pressure of his arms around you, and to not exaggerate, it feels like time had slowed down. Your heart stumbles over itself, a foolish, reckless thing, drunk on the way he feels against you. It’s ridiculous how a simple hug can make your head spin, how the warmth of his arms feels like something you shouldn’t crave, but do anyway. You press your lips together, willing yourself to breathe normally, to not let it show just how much this moment is unraveling you from the inside out. But it’s stupid. So, so stupid. Because this isn’t how you’re supposed to feel when your heart should be occupied with the mystery of your secret admirer—the person leaving you letters, the person who sees you in a way no one else does. You shouldn’t be aching for more, shouldn’t be selfishly lingering in Mingyu’s embrace, wishing he’d never let go. You shouldn’t want him to hold you like this again, and again, and again. But you do. And it feels wrong, because Mingyu isn’t the one writing you those letters…

He pulls back slightly, still holding you for a moment longer than usual as if trying to convey something without words. You notice how his touch lingers; the light yet deliberate way he lets you feel his presence though you don't fully catch onto his intentions. Meanwhile, Jeonghan raises an eyebrow at the hug. The others don’t really notice, as it’s not uncommon for the eight of you to hug, but something about this seems different even if they don't quite pinpoint it.

Mingyu pulls away, his smile still staying as he bids everyone goodbye, claiming he has another class in the afternoon that he can’t afford to miss.

However, as soon as he steps out of the café, he changes direction, heading not toward the classroom, but to a candle-making workshop he’d booked an appointment for a few days ago. Inside the workshop, Mingyu walks around with the instructor who guides him through the candle-making process. The space smells like warm wax and a cocktail of fragrances. The place is dancing with creativity but Mingyu already has a vision in mind.

His first idea is a rotating heart-shaped candle made of light pink wax, its design featuring ribbed layers that spiral upward giving it a unique 3D sort of effect. The second candle will be more playful, a rubik's cube made of hearts. It's a square candle and each side is covered in a grid of tiny hearts, all in varying shades of pink. The design is neat and the colors blend really well which makes the candle appear soft but striking at the same time.

Mingyu carefully selects the wax, something soft yet durable, perfect for the designs he has in mind and the colors, choosing soft shades of pink, each one different but complementing the others. He picks out the scents: a lavender with hints of vanilla. The instructor walks him through the remaining details, ensuring everything is perfect for the candles he’s about to create. Mingyu’s thoughts briefly drift back to you, wondering how you’ll react once you see the candles. But he has no time to waste anymore, so Mingyu rolls up his sleeves as the instructor prepares the workspace, laying out all the necessary materials. He’s focused, the idea of creating something special for you igniting a sense of excitement and purpose within him. The sound of the instructor’s instructions makes Mingyu feel like he’s entering a different world, one where he can focus solely on his vision.

Step 1: Preparing the Wax

The instructor starts by showing Mingyu how to melt the wax to the perfect consistency. Mingyu, fully engaged, watches carefully as the wax turns from solid to a glassy liquid. He chooses a light pink wax, the base for both candles, and pours it into a large mixing container, ready to be heated. The wax glows softly under the warm light and Mingyu smiles at how it resembles the color he envisions for the heart-shaped candle.

Step 2: Crafting the Heart Candle

Mingyu takes a special mold, shaped like a heart, and begins carefully pouring the melted wax into the mold. He does this slowly, ensuring there are no air bubbles and that the wax is evenly spread. As it fills the mold, he adds layers, letting each one cool slightly before pouring the next to create the ribbed, spiraled effect he wanted. With each layer, the heart shape begins to come to life, the design slowly becoming more intricate, giving it that soft, rotating effect he’d envisioned.

Once the mold is filled, Mingyu lets it cool. He then checks the temperature of the wax again, then chooses a faint vanilla scent to add, mixing it in thoroughly. He waits patiently, allowing the wax to solidify into the form of a delicate rotating heart.

Step 3: Crafting the Rubik's Cube Candle

Next, Mingyu turns his attention to the Rubik’s cube candle. He chooses a square mold, knowing it’ll be a bit trickier to get all the sides even but he’s determined. He melts a darker shade of pink wax, then carefully pours it into the mold, covering each side evenly. As the wax cools slightly, Mingyu presses tiny heart-shaped stamps into each side, ensuring each one is uniform but with slight variations in the shade of pink. Some hearts are light, some darker, creating a neat grid-like pattern.

Before he finishes, he adds the scent, a hint of lavender to the candle for a calming, refreshing scent that contrasts but compliments the soft vanilla in the heart-shaped candle. He doesn’t know why, but something about it feels just right.

Step 4: Setting Them to Cool

Mingyu carefully places both candles on the cooling racks, watching as they begin to set. He’s exhausted but satisfied, a small smile playing on his lips as he imagines you receiving them. He doesn’t need to say it but these candles are more than just gifts, they are symbols. Symbols of his feelings, wrapped up in a soft pink glow waiting for you to figure out that the admirer was always right in front of you.

As the wax cools and the candles solidify, Mingyu’s heart races just a little faster. He’s ready, he’s more than ready. He just needs you to realize it too.

Four

February 10th.

You carefully lift the velvet black box, a silk material cradling the delicate necklace inside. Your fingers brush against the golden chain as the lavender gemstone catches the light. The oval shape of the gemstone adds a timeless quality to it, and the way the facets reflect the light gives it an ethereal, almost magical quality. The chain is fine and delicate, emphasizing the dainty, feminine look of the necklace, which, in all its understated elegance, somehow feels like it was meant only for you. You can feel your heart race, knowing that someone took the time to pick out something that you also had your eyes on.

Then your eyes fall on the note attached to the box, and you carefully read the words:

“I remember you mentioning this the other day. Couldn’t resist.”

Your heart skips a beat as the memory floods back. You remember the moment so clearly now. It was maybe an offhand comment but you had mentioned how much you adored that lavender gemstone necklace you saw during window-shopping. You had daydreamed about having it in your hands, imagining how beautiful it would be to wear and how it would make you feel. You'd been chatting with the others, and as you recall, the only ones who were around that day were Jeonghan, Jihoon, Mingyu, Seungkwan, and Chan. Your mind races as you quickly start to piece things together. It was one of them, wasn’t it? Vernon is out now but one of them had been paying attention and had remembered that fleeting wish.

You set the necklace aside for a moment, turning your attention to the next gift. As you open the small package, your eyes widen in surprise. It's a keychain—a cute, round Doraemon keychain, the little blue robot cat you used to love watching as a kid. You can actually hear the theme song in your mind as you hold it in your hand.

You step into your room, carefully setting both gifts on your desk. It’s officially the fourth day since you found out about your secret admirer. Each day without fail you've received a gift along with a letter. But today, there’s been no letter yet. Which means it could arrive any moment. And that means this is your another chance. If you time things right, if you plan well enough, you might just catch them in the act. Your mind immediately goes to Seungkwan and Soonyoung. You need to meet up with them as soon as possible to strategize. Jeonghan’s advice had logic behind it, if there’s any hope of luring out the admirer, you’ll have to be smart about this.

With a deep breath, you check your phone to see the time and—Holy shit. You're late. Like, really late.

Your eyes widen as you scramble to grab your things. Soonyoung and Seungkwan are definitely going to scold you for making them wait. You don’t even have time to dwell on the gifts anymore, your priority is getting out of here now.

You rush to your closet, throwing on a gray oversized hoodie. It’s comfortable, and most importantly, easy to move in. You quickly pair it with high-waisted black wide-leg pants that you found hanging right in front of you. Slipping into your sneakers, you grab your black quilted tote bag, sliding it over your shoulder in one swift motion. Before heading out, you catch one last glimpse of yourself in the mirror, quickly applying a soft burgundy lipstick just enough to add some color to your face. Your Sony headphones settle around your neck as you practically bolt for the door.

You can already imagine Seungkwan’s sigh and Soonyoung’s exaggerated disappointment. You are so not ready for this.

You burst into the library slightly out of breath, scanning the room until your eyes land on them sitting at one of the corner tables. Soonyoung is slouched over, lazily flipping through a book while Seungkwan looks far too unimpressed, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently.

The second you reach them, Seungkwan wastes no time. "You’re so late," he huffs, grabbing your wrist before you can even attempt an apology.

“Wait, I—” you start, but it’s useless.

Before you can even process what's happening, Seungkwan bolts out of the library with you in tow, dragging you behind him. You barely manage to throw Soonyoung an apologetic look but he just waves lazily, muttering something about meeting up later.

Seungkwan doesn’t stop until you’re both speed-walking through the hallway toward your class. “You seriously need to start checking the time,” he scolds though his grip on your wrist loosens once he sees you struggling to keep up.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you say between breaths, deciding to distract him before he starts a full-on lecture. “Anyway—oh my god, you won’t believe how noisy my neighbors have been lately.”

That catches his attention. “How noisy?”

“Loud loud,” you emphasize, lowering your voice as you both slip into the classroom and find your seats. “Like, I swear they’re either throwing a party every other night or filming some very questionable action scenes.”

Seungkwan gasps, already invested. “That’s insane. You have to spill everything later. But wait…” he pauses, turning to you, “...did you get anything from your secret admirer today?”

You nod, pulling your tote bag closer. “Yeah, actually. A keychain and a necklace.”

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Necklace? Okay, that’s new.”

“Yeah, yeah, but focus,” you whisper, nudging him as the professor enters. “We’ll talk about it later when Soonyoung’s here too.”

Seungkwan sighs but leans back in his seat, finally quieting down as class begins. You let out a relieved breath, glad you managed to avoid more nagging.

The plan was supposed to be foolproof. Simple, yet effective. You, Seungkwan, and Soonyoung had spent nearly an hour or two in the library piecing together the perfect strategy. Since the admirer delivered gifts and letters at completely random times, catching them in the act had been next to impossible. But then, Seungkwan had a moment of genius enlightenment or at least, that’s what he called it.

“You pretend to leave,” he had explained. “Turn off the lights, make some noise like you're walking away… but in reality, you're just hiding somewhere nearby, waiting to see who sneaks in.”

“I think it’s perfect!” Soonyoung grinned, clapping his hands together.

You weren’t as sure. On one hand, you wanted to catch him. On the other, you secretly hoped he’d be smart enough to avoid the trap. You didn’t want a dumb admirer, but you also desperately wanted to know who it was.

And so it was set, you pretended to leave your dorm, deliberately shutting the door a little louder than necessary. The lights were turned off, and your footsteps echoed down the hallway only for you to quickly slip into a hiding spot right around the corner, out of direct sight but close enough to see anyone who entered.

Seungkwan and Soonyoung were stationed at different vantage points: Soonyoung crouched behind a vending machine down the hall, and Seungkwan, well… he was supposed to be hiding behind the stairwell.

Except he was the one who completely blew the mission.

You were barely five minutes into waiting when your phone suddenly blasted at full volume—

I'M SO SICK OF THIS FAKE LOVE~ FAKE LOVE~ FAKE LOVE~

Your heart stopped. Seungkwan was calling you.

You fumbled with your phone, fingers scrambling to hit decline as fast as humanly possible, but the damage was already done. From the dim light of the hallway, you saw a figure, tall, broad-shouldered frozen in place. There was a brief pause, and then… an unmistakable snort. Your admirer had just laughed at you.

Your mortification reached new heights as you caught a glimpse of movement just as Mingyu took a step back, blending into the shadows with alarming ease. But before he disappeared entirely, he let something slip from his fingers. A single envelope fluttered down to the floor. Then, just like that, he was gone. Mission failed.

The timing had been perfect. You had expected to wait for at least an hour, maybe two, or even five before the admirer would finally make a move. But no, he had shown up almost immediately after you hid. It should have been a victory. You had been so, so close, and yet…it still ended up failing. Your disappointment is immeasurable.

The one time you had a chance to catch him and Seungkwan of all people had to blow it. You don’t even want to look in his direction right now. Instead, you stare down at the envelope on the floor, left behind in his quick escape. You take a shaky breath before stepping forward, crouching down to pick it up. Your fingers brush against the smooth paper. It’s slightly warm, maybe from being held just moments ago. He was right in front of you and you missed him.

Mingyu sighs, his arm draped around your shoulders, patting you just below your shoulder blade. You lean into him, still fuming while Seungkwan sits stiffly across from you, avoiding eye contact. Soonyoung is usually the loudest one in the group but remains eerily quiet, the guilt probably eating him alive too.

You groan, burying your face against Mingyu’s chest. “I was so close! Like, insanely close. But no, of course, the universe had to humiliate me instead. The admirer didn’t just escape—he snorted at me. Snorted! He found it funny that I got caught!” You lift your head, eyes blazing with frustration. “You guys don’t understand. We had one job. One job! And we failed.”

Mingyu’s lips twitch, a mix of amusement and fondness. He’s enjoying this even as he strokes your arm absentmindedly, pretending to be the supportive friend. Jeonghan, on the other hand, actually smirks. “To be fair, I did tell you to be discreet.”

You shoot him a glare. “Don’t. Even. Start.”

Mingyu watches you closely and expectantly. Maybe you’ll finally piece it together now, maybe you’ll notice the way he’s been around you, the way the gifts are so him, the way his words always hold an extra layer of meaning. But no. Instead, you start throwing out the most ridiculous theories. “What if he’s not from our group? What if it’s some random stranger who’s been stalking me this entire time?”

Mingyu sighs deeply.

“What if it’s a professor?”

Mingyu groans.

“What if it’s—”

“Stop.”

You blink as he turns you toward him, his hands suddenly cupping your face. His palms are warm against your cheeks, thumbs brushing over your skin. Your eyes widen at the sudden closeness, at the way his gaze locks onto yours. For just a second he wonders if you’ll finally see it. If you’ll notice the way his eyes soften when he looks at you. If you’ll catch onto the warmth in his voice when he speaks. If you’ll recognize the way his hands feel so familiar, because he’s been by your side all along. But instead, you just stare at him puzzled.

Mingyu exhales sharply, pressing his forehead against yours for a moment before pulling back. “Don’t overthink it,” he says. “The admirer will still admire you even after knowing you were spying on him without his consent. He has no reason not to.”

You blink at him. “That’s… oddly reassuring?”

Jeonghan watches the entire thing unfold, his smirk deepening. Of course, he picked it up. Mingyu releases you by shaking his head. He’s this close to just spelling it out for you, but no, you have to figure it out yourself. His fingers twitch slightly as he slips two candies into the pocket of your hoodie. You’re sharp and he knows that better than anyone. Always observing, always analyzing but right now, you seem lost in thought, your brows furrowed just slightly, lips pressed together as if deep in contemplation and he wonders who are you thinking about? Who are you suspecting? Because he's right here. He's always been right here but do you see him?

He leans back slightly, now one arm slung over the back of your chair, watching the way your fingers idly trace patterns on the wooden table. He wonders if you realize how much of yourself you give away. The way your shoulders relax ever so slightly when you’re comfortable. The way your fingers tense when you’re overthinking. The way your lips part just the tiniest bit when a thought clicks into place. And right now… you’re thinking hard.

Meanwhile, his mind flashes back to earlier.

When your ringtone screamed Fake Love, he didn't panic but his body reacted on instinct, stepping back into the shadows, keeping his composure. And honestly, he had expected you to pull a stunt like this. Ever since he heard you setting up the hidden camera last time, he knew you’d try something even bolder next. That’s why he had prepared for it, why he was ten times more careful now especially since you’d taken Jeonghan’s advice. But the real problem was that you were so cute.

The way you hunched down, scrambling to decline the call, eyes darting around like a guilty child caught sneaking snacks before dinner. From the corner of his eye, he had watched you, heart clenching in the most endearing way. He wanted to stay longer just to see you try harder, to watch the determination in your eyes. But he had slipped the letter onto the floor and disappeared before you could catch him.

At night, when you can’t get the gifts out of your head, the theories keep spinning, running faster than your thoughts. You pull out your phone, without even thinking about it. You tap his contact in your phone reflexively. He is the only person you can call for this, the only one who doesn’t mind when you ramble, who lets you spill every ridiculous and half-formed thought without ever making you feel like you’re too much. He’s the only one you trust to catch your words when they come tumbling out. But does he ever do the same? Does he ever pick up his phone in the middle of the night, scroll past contacts, and land on your name? When things get too loud in his head, when he feels too much, does he think about calling you the way you think about calling him?

The sound of the dial tone fills the silence in your room, your pulse quickening as you wait for him to pick up. It rings once, twice—until finally, he answers.

"Hello?" His voice is deep and groggy like you’ve just pulled him out of deep sleep.

"Hey," you say, your words spilling out all at once. "I think it’s Jihoon. His handwriting, I swear, it's obvious. And about that keychain, it could be Chan too, maybe he remembered that necklace…."

There's a moment of silence on the other end, and you’re too wrapped up in your thoughts to hear the shift in his voice. It’s a bit of a sigh like he’s holding back something. "Hmm," Mingyu murmurs, dragging the word out. "You think it’s Jihoon or Chan? I mean, I guess it could be them." But you don’t hear the tension in his tone.

You launch into another theory, oblivious to his discomfort. "Or it could be Jeonghan? I know he's blunt all the time but I only talked about the necklace with him, Chan, you, Jihoon and Seungkwan…so it has to be one of them, right?"

He chuckles softly though the sound feels strained, and you can almost picture him running a hand through his hair. "I don’t know. Maybe you should just… let it be for a little while. Think about it in the morning, yeah?"

"I’m not letting it go, Mingyu. I need to figure this out. It’s driving me crazy!"

You hear his deep exhale on the other end. He’s not chuckling anymore. "Okay, okay," he says, voice slightly more clipped. "But get some sleep, alright?"

You roll your eyes, but you’re not listening. You’re too focused on unraveling it. "I’ll sleep when I have answers. Thanks anyway, Mingyu."

By the time you glance at the clock, it’s already 2 a.m., and you’re still awake, thinking about everything.

“You seemed deep in thought today. I wonder what you were thinking about. Or rather… who. You’re sharp, you know. Always paying attention, always observing. I wonder if you realize how much of yourself you give away when you’re lost in your own head. You’re looking for answers right now, aren’t you? That’s okay. Just don’t get so caught up in looking that you forget to see what’s right in front of you.

I hope you liked today’s gift. I thought it suited you.”

Five

February 11th.

Another day, another failure. You, Soonyoung, and Seungkwan are officially verified stupid.

The three of you sit slumped against the dorm room wall staring at the ceiling in sheer defeat. The plan was foolproof but you didn't account for one crucial factor. You live in a building with other students. You guys decided to install a motion alarm. Too many false alarms. A passing student, a delivery guy, a gust of wind. Each time the alarm went off, you three sprang into action only to find a confused neighbor or an empty hallway. By the third false alarm, Seungkwan was done.

"I'm quitting." He declared, standing up immediately. "I can't do this anymore. I might commit a crime."

"But you want to find out, right?" Soonyoung asked.

"I do. But not like this..." Seungkwan rubbed his temples, looking at you for support.

You didn't understand him. At all. "We were so close this time, though!" you argued, but even you were starting to doubt that.

Soonyoung groaned, flopping onto the floor. "I thought this would be the one…"

"Well, it wasn't. And I need a break before I actually start throwing hands." Seungkwan warns.

You sighed, sinking deeper into the floor. The admirer was winning. Again. And you were running out of ideas.

Somewhere out there, Mingyu was definitely laughing.

A knock echoed through the room. Your heart jumped. Reaching for the door, you find another letter. Your stomach twisted. The admirer had already delivered it. He knew, he must have waited until you were distracted, until you were busy sulking over another failed plan before sneaking in and leaving this behind. You clenched your jaw. He was taunting you.

Seungkwan sighed, flopping onto the couch. "We lost again."

But you weren’t ready to admit defeat. You slowly opened the letter, your fingers brushing over the familiar handwriting.

“It’s interesting watching you try to figure this out. I wonder if you’ll ever catch on or if I’ll have to spell it out for you one day. You looked frustrated earlier. I know you hate it when things don’t make sense, but sometimes, not knowing is part of the fun. Not everything has to be a puzzle to solve, maybe I'm right in front of you. Still, I’m curious—how’s the investigation going? I guess I already know.”

The note says:

"Your favourite, hope you aren't mad anymore. Oh and to remind you, don’t finish this in one go. I know how much you love it but eating it all in one day might just lead to a cold! I won't be able to bear to see you sniffle with a red nose, especially when you're already so adorable. Take care of yourself, okay? I’m sure you don’t want to be caught with a runny nose.”

There you stand holding the tub of half baked Ben & Jerry’s ice-cream. The combination of chocolate and vanilla ice cream with cookie dough and brownie chunks, your absolute favorite. You take a deep breath, a little smile tugging at your lips, but the mystery of the admirer still weighs heavy on your chest.

You stride over to the kitchen, grabbing a spoon from the drawer and making your way to the couch. You plop down, the tub in your lap and start digging in. The cold ice cream melts quickly on your tongue, soothing some of your earlier frustration. You scoop up another generous bite and let the flavors settle as you think.

Then, you grab your phone, typing away in the group chat. You snap a quick selfie, spoon still in your mouth, with the ice cream tub beside you. With a smirk, you send it out to the group chat:

Y/N: "Whoever got me this, thanks! But I'm still angry. If you don’t reveal yourself soon… you might just regret it."

Six

February 12th.

"You’ve been looking everywhere, hahah. Searching, questioning, analyzing... but sometimes, the answer is closer than you think. It’s easy to overlook the obvious when you’re searching too hard. But I don’t mind, I like watching you figure things out even if you’re terribly off track. Don’t forget to rest, okay? Also, I know you skip meals when you’re too busy, don’t do that. Take care of yourself, because someone out there cares enough to remind you every day."

"It's been six days!" he groans. "And still no clue who this admirer is?"

Seungkwan sighs, peering over his shoulder. "At this point, I’m starting to consider Soonyoung's idea that we’re dealing with a ghost."

Mingyu and Chan lean in, trying to catch a glimpse of the note. Mingyu’s heart beats faster not just from curiosity but from something else entirely.

Then, something clicks in your mind. Without a word, you dive into your bag shuffling through its contents in a frenzy. The others watch with curiosity as you pull out all six letters, carefully laying them side by side across the table.

Mingyu watches as your eyes scan each letter, analyzing every word, every phrase. His pulse quickens. Are you finally piecing it together? Are you about to turn to him, grab his collar and pull him in and kiss? Will you tell him you’ve known all along, that you’ve felt the same way, that he’s been in your heart just as you’ve been in his? He inches closer slowly, hoping to make it easier for you to reach for him when you want to pull him in. And then you gasp loudly.

Soonyoung jumps forward. “What? What is it?”

Your eyes widen, mouth agape in disbelief. “I—I think I know who it is.”

The room goes silent. Mingyu barely breathes.

You turn to the group, your expression resolute. “It’s Jeonghan.”

Mingyu’s heart stops. A crushing weight settles in his chest as his two-minute fantasy shatters in an instant. The imagined confession, the kiss, the overwhelming relief of finally being known is now gone.

"Jeonghan?" Seungkwan echoes, stunned.

You nod, “Think about it! The letters keep hinting that the answer is closer than I think, that I’m overlooking something obvious. And I completely dismissed Jeonghan before because I figured he’d be too lazy to go through all this effort.”

Soonyoung frowns. “That still seems like a stretch.”

“No, listen! Jeonghan was the one who told us the admirer isn’t ready to reveal himself yet, which means he knows who it is, because it's him! He was also there when I talked about the necklace. The admirer sent me one a few days later. That’s not a coincidence!” The group exchanges glances, mulling over your logic. “And,” you continue, “the letters keep saying I’m terribly off track. Who else could it be but the one person I never seriously considered?”

Mingyu stays quiet, watching as you piece together a puzzle with the wrong pieces. He clenches his jaw as you match all the clues to Jeonghan, not realizing that in your eagerness to connect the dots, you missed the most obvious thing of all. It's HIM that you never considered. Not even once.

He was the one listening when you spoke about the necklace. He was the one who spent hours writing each letter. He was the one who paid attention to every detail. He was the one who knew you so well he could predict your reactions before you even had them. He was the one who had been right in front of you all along. He was the one watching you search, waiting for the moment your eyes would finally land on him, but instead, you’ve drawn the wrong conclusion. Was he that unimportant? That invisible to you?

His heart sinks lower and lower as you present your case, completely unaware of the storm raging inside him. What will you do when you realize the truth? When you finally see what’s been in front of you this entire time? Will it be too late?

Seungkwan and Soonyoung looked at each other before nodding in agreement. “You know what? That actually makes sense,” Seungkwan says, arms crossed. “It has to be Jeonghan.”

Soonyoung says, “Honestly, the more I think about it, the more obvious it seems. He’s been here the whole time, just messing with us like always.”

Chan, who had been nervously eyeing the letters earlier, exhales in relief. “Well, at least that means it’s not me.” He mutters, sinking into his seat, visibly relaxed now that he’s off the suspect list.

Everyone’s looking at you, and in their eyes, you see the same thing. Certainty. You’ve convinced them. The mystery is nearly solved.

“You’re 100% sure?” Mingyu finally speaks, his voice light.

“No. 99. I just need to be 1% more sure.”

But for a moment you feel a strange hesitation, a small voice in the back of your mind reminding you that you haven’t even considered how you feel about Jeonghan being your admirer. You were too caught up in the thrill of the mystery, in chasing after the truth that you forgot it involved real emotions. That someone out there has been writing to you with real feelings, with intention. Do you even want to know? What if the truth doesn’t match the version of the story you’ve built in your head? What if it’s not who you expect, not who you secretly hoped for? What if it’s not Jeonghan? Or what if it is? And what does it say about you that the thought makes your stomach twist? That, deep down, some foolish part of you already knows whose name you wish to see at the end of those letters? Not Jeonghan. Not Jihoon. Not Vernon. Not Chan. Not anyone you’ve guessed so far. What if the one person you want it to be is the same person you’ve already ruled out? The one who’s always felt just a little out of reach. The one you’ve spent years convincing yourself is too much, too good, too impossible, because the thought of him being your secret admirer is too absurd. Too ridiculous. Right? But you shake the thought away and turn to Mingyu, your most trusted ally in this.

“You’re close with Jeonghan,” you say, eyes locking onto his. “Out of everyone, he’ll lower his guard around you the most. Can you help me fish him out?”

Mingyu stiffens for a fraction of a second, but no one notices. His heart sinks at how easily you place your trust in him, at how confidently you believe in something so wrong. But he doesn’t know how to say no to you. He never has. So he forces a small smile, nodding even as his chest tightens. “Yeah… sure. I’ll help.”

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to fish out of Jeonghan when the admirer you’re searching for is him.

He forces himself to keep a neutral expression as Seungkwan and Soonyoung excitedly discuss possible ways to corner Jeonghan into confessing. Chan listens with mild amusement, occasionally throwing in a comment but Mingyu barely hears any of it. His thoughts are drowning in the bitter irony of the situation.

This was supposed to be his moment. A dull ache settles in his chest, an uncomfortable tightness that won’t go away. Had he been so careful, so subtle, that you never even considered him? He swallows down the lump in his throat, gripping the edge of the table as he grounds himself.

“Mingyu?”

He blinks, snapping out of his thoughts only to find you looking at him expectantly. “You okay?” you ask, brows slightly furrowed.

He should say something. Laugh, tease, pretend everything is fine, but all he can manage is a weak nod. “Yeah,” he lies. “Just… thinking.”

Seungkwan snorts. “Thinking too hard. Come on, we need you on this. You know Jeonghan best.”

Mingyu forces a smile. Yeah, he knows Jeonghan well but more than that, he knows you and right now, he knows that you’re chasing the wrong person. And worst of all, he has to help you do it.

The air carries a faint warmth of the afternoon sun, but it does nothing to ease the cold ache settling in Mingyu’s chest. He nudges Chan and looks at you, “It’s getting late. We should head home.”

You nod, stretching slightly before gathering your things. “Yeah, let’s go.”

As you, Mingyu, and Soonyoung step out onto the streets, the golden light catches in your hair, turning it into something almost ethereal. Mingyu sees it but his heart feels heavy, weighed down by the thoughts swirling in his mind. The moment you confidently said Jeonghan’s name, the moment you smiled as if you had solved the puzzle, it had been like a dull knife sinking into his chest. A slow, dragging pain that refused to go away. It hurts. Really, really hurts. But he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t let it show. Instead, he walks beside you, nodding and responding when necessary, pretending everything is fine.

By the time he drops you off at your dorm, his emotions are stretched thin, barely holding together. You wrap an arm around him, pressing yourself into his side in a casual hug. His breath hitches, but he forces himself to stay still. The warmth of your body against his should be comforting but it only reminds him of how far away you actually are.

“Don’t forget to talk to Jeonghan, okay?” you remind him, looking up at him with those bright, expectant eyes. “Let me know what he says.”

“I will.”

You disappear behind your door, and just like that, you’re gone.

Mingyu bids Soonyoung bye and stands there for a moment before turning on his heel and walking away. But he doesn’t go home.

Instead, he finds himself by the river, the city hums softly in the distance but here, it’s quieter, just the occasional ripple of water, the faint rustling of leaves. The soju bottle in his hand is already half-empty but the bitterness of it barely registers on his tongue.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to tell you when you inevitably ask about Jeonghan. He doesn’t know how to fake a conversation that never happened. He doesn’t know how to face you, knowing that you had every clue and still, still didn’t see him. He had waited; waited patiently, watched you go through your theories, your excitement, your endless blabbering about clues. He never snapped, never broke character, because he truly believed you would figure it out. That at the end of this little fun, you would finally turn to him and say his name with certainty. But you never did, and that’s what hurts the most. Not that Jeonghan, who was completely uninvolved, was about to be wrongfully accused. But that when you looked for the one who adored you, the one who knew you inside and out, the one who had spent every day thinking of ways to make you smile—you didn’t recognize him.

Still, if nothing else, at least he gave you something exciting. At least, for a few days, he gave you a mystery to solve, a thrill to chase. Even if in the end, he was the one left behind.

The almost-emptied bottle is plucked from Mingyu’s loose grip. He blinks, sluggish from both the alcohol and the weight pressing down on his heart and looks up to find Jeonghan standing over him. The older man wears his usual smile, one that could mean a hundred different things but his eyes tell another story, one that sees right through Mingyu’s poor attempt at pretending he’s fine.

Mingyu doesn’t say anything. He just turns his gaze back to the river, watching the water ripple under the dim glow of streetlights. Jeonghan exhales softly, before sitting down beside him. He doesn’t speak, or pry. He simply stays, settling Mingyu in a way that only a longtime friend can.

For a while, the only sound between them was the distant buzz of the city, and the lapping of the river against the banks.

Then, Mingyu finally breaks the silence. “She thinks it’s you,” his voice hoarse, the weight of the evening settling deeper into his bones. “She really, really thinks it’s you.” He lets out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “When the answer was right in front of her the whole time.”

Jeonghan remains quiet, just listening.

“I’m not mad,” Mingyu continues, “I shouldn’t be mad. I’m just… a little hurt.” He pauses, gripping his knees. “No, actually… I am hurt.” His throat tightens. “I don’t even know why it hurts this much, but…”

He trails off, exhaling sharply before looking down at his hands.

“I thought she’d get there eventually. I really thought she would.” His voice drops to hissed tone “I waited. I watched her figure out her little theories, set up her stupid traps, get all excited over the mystery… and I was patient. I thought, ‘Any day now, she’ll turn around, she’ll realize, she’ll see me.’” Mingyu swallows, “But she never did.”

He doesn’t know why it’s so easy to say these things to Jeonghan, maybe because Jeonghan is good at keeping secrets, at holding things close without judgment. Maybe because Jeonghan doesn’t rush to give meaningless comfort but just stays.

Mingyu drags a hand down his face, exhaling bitterly. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do tomorrow. She wants me to ask you about the admirer—to ‘fish’ something out of you.” He lets out a dry laugh. “What the hell am I supposed to fish out of you, Jeonghan?”

Jeonghan finally speaks, his voice calm but softer, something that understands. “Well, I could always confess to being her secret admirer. She's not bad.”

Despite himself, Mingyu snorts, shaking his head. “Not funny.”

Jeonghan leans back on his palms, looking up at the night sky. “You’re hurting because you care. Because you love her and you wanted her to see you without you having to say it outright.” He tilts his head toward Mingyu. “But love doesn’t always work like that, you know?” Mingyu doesn’t answer. Jeonghan sighs. "If it's hurting this much, then maybe you should ask yourself why you're still holding on."

Mingyu stays silent for a long moment before finally admitting, “I wanted to make it exciting. I wanted it to be something she’d remember.” He clenches his fists. “But it all just went wrong.”

“She’ll figure it out eventually,” Jeonghan says a little too knowingly.

Mingyu huffs, unconvinced. “What if she doesn’t?”

Jeonghan shrugs. “Then maybe it’s time you stop waiting for her to find you and let her see you instead.”

Mingyu doesn’t respond. He just looks out at the river again, letting Jeonghan’s words sink in.

He simply lets the silence stretch out and finally after what feels like hours, Jeonghan stands up, brushing off his pants, “If you need to talk, you know where to find me.” His voice is soft, the teasing edge absent for the moment.

Mingyu nods, not trusting himself to speak. He watches Jeonghan walk away, the older man’s figure swallowed by the night, before his gaze drifts back to the river. He takes a deep breath trying to clear his mind but nothing seems to work. His heart still aches for you, for the way you’ll probably look at him tomorrow, expecting him to just play along, asking questions he has no answers to.

Seven

February 13th

“I wonder if you’ll figure it out or if I’ll have to spell it out for you. You looked happy yesterday. I hope it stays that way. I hope whoever I am to you, whoever I will be, gets to see that happiness every day. Maybe this whole thing was ridiculous. Maybe I should’ve just told you from the start. But I guess I wanted to see. To know if you’d ever look my way without me having to say it first.

See you soon.”

The elevator doors slide open and you step in, jabbing the button for the sixth floor with more force than necessary. The doors close, but your mind is still racing, still stuck on the morning’s events.

Jeonghan had shown up at your dorm today, standing at your door with his usual lazy smile, but soft eyes. “I heard you think it’s me,” he had said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

You had opened your mouth to defend yourself, to explain the logic, to lay out all the pieces that led you to him, the way all the clues lined up in your head but before you could get a word out, he had sighed, shaking his head saying it's not him and just like that, everything crumbled. Because he wasn’t lying. You could hear it in his voice, see it in the way he looked at you, not with amusement, not with mischief, but with something almost like pity.

“You’re hurting him, you know,” he had added, too softly, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

You had stiffened at that. “What?”

Jeonghan had just sighed again, then pulled you into a quick hug, arms warm around you, like he knew you needed the comfort. Then he had sat you down, looked you in the eye and said, “You’re misdirected, miserably so.”

You had thought you were getting closer, thought you were connecting the dots but you were connecting the wrong ones. Seven days. Seven days of chasing a ghost and you were nowhere.

It felt like you had been running in circles, grasping at shadows, only to be led astray at every turn. It wasn’t that you were upset Jeonghan wasn’t the secret admirer. No, that wasn’t what frustrated you. It was the fact that despite everything, you still couldn’t figure it out. You had failed. And then failed again.

After hearing Jeonghan out, you should have let it go, let your mind rest but something wouldn’t let you. Mingyu. You needed to hear what he had to say too. Jeonghan had been honest with you, and you believed him, but you still wanted to hear it from Mingyu’s mouth. What had he talked about with Jeonghan yesterday? Did he come to the same conclusion? Did he know Jeonghan wasn’t the admirer?

You weren’t sure why it mattered. Maybe it was because you trusted them both, maybe it was because you were still desperately searching for a lead, even if it meant going over the same conversation twice.

So now, here you are, frustrated and restless, storming into Mingyu’s apartment without so much as a knock, letting the door swing shut behind you. Mingyu, who had been standing by the kitchen counter, blinks in surprise as you march past him and collapse onto his couch.

“I can’t figure it out,” you groan, covering your face with your hands. “Seven days, and I’ve gotten nothing.”

Mingyu doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you as he grabs a glass, pouring you some orange juice before walking over and setting it in front of you. You peek at him through your fingers. He's too quiet. Still, you sit up, grabbing the glass but barely paying attention to it. “Jeonghan came over this morning,” you start, swirling the juice in your hands. “He told me it’s not him.”

Mingyu hums, lowering himself onto the couch beside you but not too close like before; after what happened yesterday.

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “I mean, it makes sense now. My whole theory was just coincidence. But if it’s not him, then who?” You run a hand through your hair. “It’s like I’m playing Mafia game but worse—no real clues, no real strategy, just me failing over and over again.”

Mingyu swallows, looking away. Failing? No. Just blind. You don’t notice the way his fingers tighten around his knees, his shoulders curling in just slightly. You don’t notice him. “You trust Jeonghan, right?” he asks finally, his voice careful, controlled.

You nod. “Yeah, of course.”

“Then why are you here?” His voice is steady but there’s something just barely restrained underneath. “What do you need from me?”

You hesitate, tilting your head. “I just… I wanted to hear what you talked about with Jeonghan yesterday.” You let out a breath. “I trust you both, but I wanted to see if you came to the same conclusion.”

Mingyu’s heart sinks after knowing you’re here for that. He nods slowly, fingers curling into fists against his legs. “Right.”

You don’t notice his jaw tightening, his expression flickering for half a second before smoothing over. You don’t see how the very person you’ve been searching for is sitting right beside you, falling apart. And Mingyu just listens because what else can he do?

The deeper hurt comes from the fact that he still loves you, and he's been waiting for you to realize it, but instead, you’ve been focused on other possibilities. He’s trying his best to stay supportive and patient, but it’s hard for him to keep his distance while you’re upset and trying to figure things out. There's a sense of loneliness in how he’s been handling everything on his own, even though he’s surrounded by people who care about him. He feels like he's been the quiet one in the background hoping you’d see him, but you haven’t. Now, hearing you rant about your failed attempts and frustrations, he feels both comforted and hurt—comforted that you trust him enough to vent to him, but hurt that, despite his feelings, you’re still unsure of him as the person who’s been giving you all those gifts and letters. He’s torn between wanting to confess his feelings, but knowing how much it would hurt to be rejected or overlooked again. He wants to be the one you turn to, the one you lean on when things get hard so in this moment, he's just there for you, listening, because that's what friends do, even when their heart is breaking.

Your voice is sharp with frustration as you pace around Mingyu’s apartment, fists clenched at your sides.“I just don’t get it,” you say, shaking your head. “Who would go through all this effort?”

Mingyu, watching you from where he sits on the couch, his heart aching, simply mutters, “I would.”

But it slips past you. You’re too caught up in your thoughts, too wrapped up in your own confusion to hear the weight behind his words. He watches as you continue to storm around, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying anything more.

Then something shifts. Maybe it’s the way he remains so still while you’re falling apart or maybe it’s the way his presence has always felt steady. But whatever it is, it pushes something inside you to snap.

"Why aren’t you saying anything?" You turn on him suddenly, as you throw another jab that Mingyu doesn’t deserve. He sits there, the heart inside him breaking. "You always have something to say, Mingyu. Always. But now, when I actually need someone to help me figure this out, you’re just sitting there looking at me like I’m missing something obvious!"

Mingyu exhales sharply, his jaw tightening. He’s been patient. So patient. But this is agony, watching you fight for an answer when he’s been in front of you the whole time. Watching you tear yourself apart over this, over something that was meant to be a confession of love. "Maybe because you are missing something obvious," he finally says, voice measured, but there’s an edge to it now.

Your brows furrow as you take a step toward him, your heart pounding for a reason you don’t understand. "Then tell me, Mingyu! What am I missing?"

His gaze hardens, but beneath the frustration, it's more vulnerable than ever. "You really want me to spell it out for you?"

"Yes!"

And suddenly, it hits you like a freight train crashing into your chest. Mingyu.

It’s always been him. You love him. Not in the way you love your friends. Not in the way you once thought love was supposed to feel. But in the way that makes your chest ache, in the way that makes your heart race even when you’re angry. You don’t care who the secret admirer is. You don’t need to figure it out anymore. Because it doesn’t matter. It never did. Because you love Mingyu. And you always have. It’s not that you never considered him, it’s that you forced yourself not to. Mingyu was too kind, too good, too perfect. He was the type of person every girl wanted, and you were just lucky enough to call him one of your closest friends. It was easier to pretend, easier to ignore your feelings than to face the possibility of rejection. Because the truth was, if you had acknowledged your feelings, it would have hurt too much to know he didn’t feel the same way. But now, as you really look at him, you realize just how foolish you’ve been. You love him.

Even now, as you lash out at him unfairly, he stays patient. Even though your words are cutting, he doesn’t push you away. He listens, endures, and understands, and that’s what hurts the most. "Wait…" Your voice comes out quieter now, your anger dissipating into something raw. "Do you… do you know something?"

Mingyu stares at you, disbelieving. His patience, his restraint, it all crumbles in an instant. "…Seriously?"

He grabs a piece of paper from the table, scrawls something quickly, and thrusts it into your hands. You look down.

“It’s me, dummy.”

The world stills.

Your breath catches as you read the words over and over again, the realization crashes into you like a wave, sweeping away every doubt, every misdirection, every foolish assumption you’ve made in the past week. It was always Mingyu. Your fingers tighten around the paper as your heart pounds against your ribs. You lift your gaze, meeting his, and suddenly everything makes sense; the lingering stares, the way he was always there, how he looked at you like you hung the stars in his sky. The sadness in his eyes earlier wasn’t just frustration; it was heartbreak. And you had been the one breaking him all along.

Mingyu watches you, his eyes holding everything. The years of waiting, the longing, the pain of standing so close yet feeling miles away. His confession wasn’t grand, wasn’t how he planned. It was raw, impulsive, torn from him in a moment of breaking. And now, he waits. For you to understand, for you to say something, for anything.

Your lips part but no words come because how do you speak when your heart is in your throat, when the very foundation of what you thought you knew has shifted beneath your feet? It was always Mingyu. The notes. The gifts. The presence. And you had spent all this time searching for someone who had never been lost.

“Mingyu…” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but he hears it. He always hears you.

His hands clench at his sides, bracing himself for whatever comes next. You can see it in the tension coiling just below his cheekbone, his breathing is just a little unsteady. He’s terrified, because now that you know, you could break him all over again.

But you don't want to break him this time. You've already broken him enough.

You simply step closer, so close he can feel the warmth radiating from you. His body stiffens when you reach for a piece of paper behind him, taking it from the table. Without a word, you flip it over, your fingers moving as you scribble something down. The tension of the past week melting into something softer, and new.

Then, before he can process it, you step in even closer reaching toward him, slipping the folded paper into the pocket of his hoodie. Your fingers brush against the fabric, barely grazing him but it’s enough to send a shiver down his spine. Mingyu blinks, startled, his hand instinctively reaching into his pocket as you take a step back. His fingers find the note, unfolding it with a mix of hesitation and urgency. His eyes scan the words, and his breath hitches.

"Tomorrow, dinner at 7? My treat, Secret Admirer."

For the first time in what feels like forever, a slow stunned smile tugs at the corners of his lips. He looks up at you, hope flickering in his eyes, searching for confirmation. And when you finally meet his gaze, your own lips curling into the softest, most knowing smile Mingyu knows.

A disbelieving laugh escapes him as he runs a hand through his hair, his shoulders sagging with relief. The tension that had been weighing on him for weeks, even years, unravels all at once, “you’re serious?”

You tilt your head, your smile growing just a little. “Would I offer to pay if I wasn’t?”

Mingyu lets out a full, genuine laugh this time, shaking his head as he folds the note carefully, tucking it back into his pocket. “Tomorrow at seven,” he repeats, savoring the words.

But as soon as the weight of everything settles in, what just happened and what it means, you suddenly feel the overwhelming urge to run. Your heart is racing, your palms are clammy, and you don’t trust yourself to speak without making a fool of yourself. So, without thinking, you turn on your heel, ready to flee. But you don’t get far.

Mingyu’s hand wraps around your wrist in an instant, stopping you mid-step and before you can process it, you’re spun around, your momentum pulling you straight into him. You gasp as your body collides with his chest, the warmth of him, the solidness of him, momentarily knocking the breath out of you. His other hand finds its way to your waist instinctively, and your brain short-circuits.

His fingers glide up, brushing against your cheek, his touch so gentle it sends a shiver down your spine. You force yourself to look up at him, only to be met with the most breathtaking sight; Mingyu gazing down at you with that smile. Not just any smile, a smile that steals your breath, that makes the whole world blur at the edges. His slightly tousled hair falls over his forehead, the soft strands brushing against his brows making him look effortlessly perfect in a way that shouldn’t be fair. Your heart slams against your ribs.

Mingyu tilts his head slightly as he murmurs, “Now you can run away.” His lips curl into that signature mixture of a smile and smirk, teasing yet affectionate, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. “Oh, and don’t forget—you have a class to attend.”

Your eyes widen slightly as the reminder crashes into you but Mingyu simply chuckles, finally letting go of your waist but not before leaning in just slightly, just enough to fluster you even more. The absence of his touch is almost immediate, leaving behind a warmth that lingers.

Mingyu now steps back, grinning as he watches your flustered expression unfold and as you stumble over your words, scrambling for any semblance of composure, he just stands there looking entirely too pleased with himself. He's already looking forward to tomorrow.

The sight in front of you is nothing short of chaos.

Seungkwan's grip on his iced Americano slips as he processes the revelation, and without thinking, you reach out, catching the cup just before it crashes to the floor. A few drops spill onto your hand, the cold seeping into your skin, but you're too preoccupied to see it.

Seungkwan looks utterly defeated. Soonyoung, however, isn't faring any better. His mouth hangs open, his entire body frozen and his brain is still buffering.

"You mean to tell me—" Seungkwan starts, his voice high-pitched, "Mingyu?! Clumsy-ass, can’t-lie-to-save-his-life, trips-over-air Mingyu?!"

You nod.

They had too dismissed the possibility at first, thinking there was no way he could pull off something so sly. Not when his entire history was filled with clumsy mistakes and awkward cover-ups. The Mingyu they knew was many things, but a master of deception? Not a chance. And yet, here you three were, blindsided.

They had spent the entire morning preparing themselves to comfort you, fully expecting you to be in shambles after your 99% certainty that Jeonghan was your secret admirer turned out to be 100% wrong. When Jeonghan had told you in the morning that he wasn't the one, they thought you'd either be breaking down in devastation or burning something down in frustration (which, technically, you were). But they definitely hadn’t expected you to walk in with the revelation of your secret admirer.

Eight

February 14th

The moment you step out of your apartment, Mingyu’s breath catches in his throat.

He was supposed to have dinner with you at night for your first Valentine’s Day date, but he insisted on spending the day together before dinner. And now, here you are, standing in front of him with your hair down, looking confident and stylish in your new boots and skirt.

The delicate lavender gemstone around your neck catches the morning sunlight, its golden chain resting just above your collarbone on top of your sweater. You’re wearing the necklace—the one he gave you. And now, seeing it on you, knowing you chose to wear it today of all days, something warm and undeniable unfurls in his chest.

He clears his throat, trying to focus as he hands you a bouquet of lavender flowers nestled between soft pink roses. “For you,” he murmurs, watching closely for your reaction.

Your lips part as your fingers gently trace the petals. “Lavender…” you whisper, your gaze lifting to meet his.

Mingyu grins, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. And roses, because…well, it’s Valentine’s Day.”

Something tugs at your heart but before you can dwell on it, he’s taking your hand, leading you toward the day he’s planned just for you. Mingyu decides to take you everywhere.

The smell of warm pastries fills the air as you both settle into a booth. Mingyu insists you try his favorite pancakes. They’re stacked high, topped with whipped cream, and drizzled with syrup. You raise an eyebrow, skeptically eyeing the enormous portion.

“Okay, you have to try these,” he insists, pushing a plate of pancakes toward you.

“Are you sure these are as good as you say?”

“Trust me, they’re life-changing,” Mingyu says practically bouncing in his seat, eager for you to try them.

You take a bite, and the fluffiness, the sweetness, the perfect amount of syrup, all of it hits your taste buds in a rush. You pause, eyes wide in surprise. “Okay, okay, I admit it. They’re that good.”

“See? I told you!” Mingyu grins. “Now, pass me the last bite.” You hold your fork up, about to take the last piece of pancake for yourself, when Mingyu leans across the table, “I’m not letting you have it that easily.”

“Oh, it’s on,” you smirk, holding the bite just out of reach. You raise an eyebrow, giving him a challenging look. “You want this last bite? You’re gonna have to work for it.”

He laughs, his voice full of amusement. “You’re really gonna make me fight for it?”

“Absolutely,” you say, digging in your heels and preparing for the battle.

And so begins the great pancake fight. You both fall into an exaggerated tug-of-war with the last piece of pancake. Mingyu’s laughter rings out, the sound infectious. Finally, you make a show of pretending to ‘fight’ for the last bite, your fork and his clashing in the air, until you grab it and pop it in your mouth. He glares at you mockingly, then laughs again, shrugging good-naturedly.

“I’ll get you next time,” he promises, and you roll your eyes.

After wiping syrup off your chin with a napkin, Mingyu stands up with a contented sigh, stretching his arms above his head. He looks down at you with a grin. "Alright, time to burn off all that sugar," he says, picking up the check and tossing a few bills onto the table. "Next stop—arcade!"

"An arcade? Really?"

"Oh, you have no idea what you’re in for."

You grab your bag, following him out of the café and into the crisp air. As you both walk down the street, Mingyu leads the way basically bouncing as you head toward the neon-lit arcade a few blocks away. The sound of clinking coins and cheerful music grows louder the closer you get, and you can feel the excitement building.

When you reach the entrance, Mingyu holds the door open for you with a flourish. "After you," he says with a grin.

You step inside, greeted by the flashing lights and the vibrant sounds of the arcade. It’s a bit overwhelming at first but then you hear Mingyu’s voice over the noise, full of enthusiasm.

“Let’s see if you can keep up!” Mingyu’s eyes light up the moment he sees a game he’s good at. You follow him, amused, and find yourself standing in front of a claw machine. The giant stuffed animals inside stare down at you, their big eyes unblinking. “I’m warning you now,” Mingyu says, his tone smug. “I’ve got a 100% success rate with these things.”

You roll your eyes. "Is that so? Well, I’m about to prove you wrong."

He grins and hands you some coins. “Sure, but don’t get too upset when I win.”

You laugh, stepping up to the claw machine and starting your attempt. The claw moves clumsily, completely missing the prize.

“See? Told you,” Mingyu teases, already stepping up to take his turn. His fingers hover over the controls, his focus making his brow furrow in concentration. "Watch and learn," he says, as he carefully maneuvers the claw. You can see the way he’s calculating every move, adjusting his grip with precision. With one smooth motion, the claw sinks perfectly into the plush bear's fur, and with a satisfying click, it hoists the stuffed animal up.

You’re left speechless for a moment as Mingyu snatches it from the prize chute, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. He holds it out to you, the oversized bear almost comically larger than his own chest.

“Here,” he says, clearly too pleased with himself. “Told you I’d win.”

You take the bear, grinning in defeat. “Fine, you win this round. But I’m getting you back.”

“I’m not worried. Let’s see how you do in the next game.”

The competition continues, the two of you moving from machine to machine. Every game brings another round of teasing, laughter, and playful banter. Mingyu gets so competitive that his voice rises in exaggerated frustration when he loses and you can't help but giggle at how seriously he takes everything. At one point you're both doubled over in laughter, unable to breathe as Mingyu pretends to ‘fall’ into a virtual race car, his arms flailing as he crashes into the walls of the game.

By the end of it, you’re both out of breath and giggling uncontrollably, each sporting a ridiculous grin. You look at the stuffed animal still tucked under your arm and then back at Mingyu. “Guess it’s mine after all,” you say with a sigh, not bothering to hide the smile on your face.

Mingyu just laughs, his arm slipping around your shoulders. “Of course it is. You should know better by now.”

The sun is now setting as you both arrive at the park, the golden hour light casting everything in a warm, soft glow. Mingyu's carrying a wicker basket in one hand, the other brushing through his hair as he looks for the perfect spot and you just follow, taking in the peaceful scenery.

He drops the basket beside a large, checkered blanket he’s already laid out, smoothing it down with care. There’s something so domestic about the whole setup, so surprisingly perfect. He places a few cushions on the blanket, pulling everything into place as if he’s done this a thousand times before.

As you sit down beside him, he smiles, a little shy. “Okay, here’s the moment of truth.” He opens the basket, revealing containers filled with food like homemade sandwiches, fresh fruit, a small salad, and a few pastries wrapped up neatly. It all looks perfectly arranged, the kind of meal you’d expect from someone who knows what they’re doing.

"You made all this?"

Mingyu nods proudly though there's a trace of nervousness in his expression. “Yep. Every single thing. I might not be a professional, but I can follow a recipe.”

You chuckle, “Well, we’ll see if it’s as good as they look.”

Without hesitation, you grab one of the sandwiches taking a big bite. The flavors hit you immediately—fresh, savory, and not so surprisingly, delicious. Your eyes widen as you chew, momentarily lost in the taste.

Mingyu watches you with a grin, anticipating your reaction. He bites his lip nervously, fingers drumming against the basket as he waits for your verdict.

The bread is perfectly toasted, the filling is perfectly seasoned, and it’s just... good. No surprise there. You’ve had his cooking many, many times by now and every time he manages to make even the simplest things taste like a five-star meal.

You glance up at him as you chew. “Not bad,” you say with a teasing smile though it’s a compliment disguised as a joke. “I’m actually kind of impressed. This is, what, your fiftieth time making me lunch?”

He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Well, I’ve got to keep you on your toes, right?” He looks at you with a mix of pride and that shy smile that’s too endearing. “I mean, it’s not that surprising, is it? I’ve been cooking for years.”

A small smile tugging at your lips. "True. You've always been the one to get way too competitive in the kitchen. But really, it's good. It's… annoyingly good, as usual."

He beams pleased by your reaction, “I’m glad you think so,” he says, his voice low and warm. He watches you take another bite before reaching for a small container of fruit. You can see the glint in his eyes like he’s genuinely happy to share something he’s put effort into with you.

Time melts away, the day slipping through your fingers like golden sunlight filtering through the trees. And then, as the sky deepens into hues of pink and orange, Mingyu, reaches into his bag, pulling out a box. He hands it to you, eyes soft but filled. “One more gift,” he says, his voice lower now, savoring this moment just as much as you are.

You carefully lift the lid of the box, your curiosity piqued. Inside are two candles, one shaped like a rotating heart, the other a Rubik’s cube, but with tiny hearts as the pieces. You look at them then up at him, your heart suddenly skipping a beat.

“I made these,” his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the box. “The heart one… it reminded me of you. And the cube, well…” He lets out a soft chuckle, rubbing his thumb nervously over the box’s edge. “It felt like something I could make, something fun.”

You’re silent for a moment, taking in everything. There’s something about the care he’s put into every detail, the choices he made, the way he looked at you all day, it all makes your heart ache in the best way possible. “You made these?” you ask, your fingers brushing over the smooth surface of the candles, studying the intricate designs. There’s so much attention to detail, so much of him in every inch of them.

Mingyu nods, the corners of his lips curling upward as he watches your reaction. “Yeah. Picked the scents, the colors… everything.” You notice how his fingers twitch at his side, a nervous habit he doesn’t even realize he’s doing. “Do you like them?”

You don’t answer with words instead, you step closer, the soft rustling of the grass beneath barely registering as you close the distance between the two of you. Without a second thought, you wrap your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek softly against his chest.

There’s a brief stillness. You feel his breath catch, his heartbeat thumping in the space between you. His arms hesitate for a fraction of a second but, he pulls you closer. His hands find your back, his embrace steady, warm, like it was meant for this moment. He exhales slowly, the tension that had built throughout the day is finally melting away. “Thank you,” you say.

“You’re welcome,” he whispers into your hair, his voice barely a murmur, but full of all the unsaid things between you. His arms tighten around you, and you let yourself sink deeper into his embrace, savoring the quiet, the stillness, and the feeling of being exactly where you’re meant to be.

As the evening unfolds, the last stop of your day is quickly approaching: dinner. But before you can indulge in a fancy meal, Mingyu takes a slight detour.

He glances at you as you both drive toward your dorm. "Let’s stop by your place first. You need to drop off those stuffed animals," he says with a grin, glancing over at the pile of plush toys filling the backseat.

You chuckle, nodding. "Good idea. I’m not sure how much more my arms can handle."

When you arrive, you grab the stuffed animals one by one, making your way into the dorm. Mingyu follows, standing by the door as you carefully place each one in its spot. There’s a chuckle in the air as you look at the growing collection. "You know," you say with a smile, "I’m going to need a bigger bed at this point."

"I'll help you make room," Mingyu says easily, his voice light as he stands in the doorway, watching you.

Once the stuffed animals are safely tucked away, you both head back to the car, driving to the destination. Arriving at the restaurant, Mingyu opens the door for you, his presence is as attentive as ever. The place is just as elegant as you remembered when you booked it, soft candlelight, a cozy ambiance, and the murmur of other patrons creating the perfect atmosphere for an unforgettable night.

Dinner is everything you could’ve hoped for. The food is exquisite, the conversation flowing naturally between the two of you as if this was just another evening together. There’s no need for pretension, no need to try too hard. Everything feels easy, comfortable, and perfect.

When the check arrives, you reach for your wallet instinctively but Mingyu is already one step ahead. "Nope," he says firmly, his smile still warm and gentle as he pushes your hand away. "I insist. I’m treating you tonight."

You give him a mock pout, raising an eyebrow. "But I was supposed to pay! Remember our deal?"

"I know," he says, his voice a little playful, a little serious. "But you’ve already made this day so special. Let me do this, okay?" His smile grows as he sees the look in your eyes that says, You’re not getting out of this one.

Sighing dramatically but with a fond smile, you relent. "Fine. But next time, it’s on me."

He nods, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips as he settles the bill. As the two of you leave the restaurant, the night feels like it’s already wrapped in a perfect little bow.

By the time you arrive to his place, it feels as if the day has come full circle, every moment leading to this one, this next step, whatever it may be.

Mingyu pulls into the parking spot and without a word, he opens the door for you, his hand brushing yours as you both step out. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you that makes your heart flutter.

As the door closes behind you both, Mingyu sets his suit jacket down, now left only in his black button-down shirt. You, on the other hand, sink into the couch, not sure what to do or say next. It’s 9 p.m., and you’ve got an hour left before you have to return to your dorm. The day has been filled with so much laughter and moments that have made your heart race and now here you are, in his cozy apartment, not quite ready for it to end.

As you sit there lost in your thoughts, you don’t expect what happens next. Mingyu extends his hand toward you, his fingers beckoning in the soft glow of the room inviting you into his space, into his arms. You don’t hesitate for a second, your hand finding his without a second thought, letting him pull you up to your feet. And then he naturally begins to guide you into a slow dance. The music in the background is soft, almost a whisper, but it doesn’t matter as it’s the rhythm of your hearts that sets the pace now.

You take a step forward, your chest brushing gently against his. Mingyu stays perfectly still, like he’s holding his breath, as if afraid to break the spell. There’s a delicate tension between you, a space between your lips that’s filled only with the moment.

Your fingers glide along the collar of his shirt, drawn to him by some unseen force and you lean in just slightly, “You never really told me why you chose lavender.”

Mingyu’s eyes flicker to yours, his gaze soft, intense and filled with a sincerity that makes your heart race a little faster. His hands find their place on your waist but he hesitates for a fraction of a second before pulling you even closer, the heat from his palms burning through the fabric of your sweater, leaving a trace of his warmth on your skin.

His breath is warm against your ear as he speaks, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Because,” he says, his lips grazing your ear, “it reminds me of you… and it's your favourite”

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart stuttering in your chest. You didn’t expect him to say something like this, leaving you speechless for a moment. You can feel the room closing in around you, the mood lights casting soft shadows that only make the space between you two feel even more intimate. The world outside feels distant now, irrelevant. All that matters is the way Mingyu holds you, the way he makes everything feel right.

Then in a surprising and tender move, Mingyu slowly sinks to one knee, his gaze never leaving yours. His hands still linger on your waist, steadying himself as he looks up at you with a soft, genuine smile. “I’ve had the best day with you, and I can’t imagine my days without you anymore,” he says, his voice filled, his heart in his eyes. “So... I need to ask you, officially… will you be my girlfriend?”

The room feels even smaller now, the moment so heavy with emotion that it’s almost suffocating in the best way possible. Your breath catches in your throat, your pulse quickening as his words settle in your mind. Your heart swells with joy as you look down at him, knowing that you’ve both come this far, knowing that this is more than just a question.

“Yes.” The word escapes your lips and as soon as it’s out, Mingyu’s smile stretches wide, that same smile that makes everything around you fade into the background. His eyes sparkle with joy, and you swear it’s like he’s glowing. You can feel a warmth fill your chest, overwhelming.

He stands up, his grin still never faltering and leans in, resting his forehead against yours. There’s no need for words now; the silence between you is thick with meaning, with a thousand unspoken things that only the two of you understand.

But as the joy of the moment settles in, a sudden realization makes your heart tighten and it feels heavy in your chest. A thought flashes through your mind that makes your throat close up and your chest ache.

You think about how you never really noticed Mingyu. How you were blind to him, how you failed to see him for what he was to you. How, all along, he was there, patient and constant, while you kept pushing him away, thinking he was just a friend. He was the secret admirer you never even considered and he had carried all that weight on his own. He never lashed out. He never got angry. Instead, he waited. He never gave up on you, never turned away, even when you hurt him again and again with your obliviousness. A rush of guilt floods through you. The thought of how much you put him through, how you always doubted yourself thinking he was too good for you, never giving him the chance to show you how much he cared, it makes your heart ache in a way you can’t explain.

“Mingyu,” you murmur, pulling back just slightly so you can look into his eyes, searching for the words to say, what’s been buried inside you for so long. “I need to tell you something.”

He tilts his head, his smile softening as he waits, already knowing something heavy is coming.

“I always liked you,” you admit, the words trembling on your lips, finally finding their way into the open air. “But I never came to terms with it, because I was scared. I was scared that if I let myself believe it, it would only end in disappointment. You’re… you’re so out of my league, Mingyu. You’re the kind of person every woman dreams of. And me? I’m just lucky to be one of your closest friends. I didn’t want to push my luck, to ask for more.” You take a breath, “I never thought you’d choose me. I never thought I could be more than just your friend. But then you were always so kind, so patient with me even when I didn’t see it. You carried all of that on your own and I’m sorry for that. I should’ve seen it. I should’ve known what was right in front of me. And if you never confessed, I might’ve never been able to say this to you… but I like you, Mingyu. I like you more than I’ve ever liked anyone.”

The moment you finish, everything feels still. His eyes widen, his lips part slightly but he doesn’t speak and neither do you. It’s like time has frozen and all you can do is stand there, your heart racing, waiting for him to process what you’ve said. The silence is deafening and yet it’s comforting, because it feels like this is the most real thing you’ve ever said.

Mingyu stands still for a moment, his hand still resting lightly on your waist and then slowly, his expression changes. “I don’t want you to ever doubt yourself,” he finally says. “You’re everything I could ever want, and more. I didn’t care about being the man of every woman’s dreams, because all I ever wanted was you.” He lifts his hand to cup your face, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek. “I waited because I knew it would be worth it,” he adds, his eyes never leaving yours. “And now, I’m just… so glad I did.”

Tears prick at your eyes as the full weight of his words hits you, and before you can stop them, a tear slips down your cheek. Mingyu wipes it away kindly, his smile full of so much love that it nearly breaks you.

“You never hurt me, you know,” he says lovingly, “because I knew we’d get here eventually. And now, all I want is for you to know that I’m here. Always here for you no matter what happens.”

Mingyu doesn't like you, but loves you, more than you ever thought possible. He'd never needed anyone else because all along, you were enough. No one else could compare to you in his eyes. The thought of being with anyone else never crossed his mind, because it was always you.

You tiptoe and press a soft kiss on his lips, an apology for the past misunderstandings, a rush of emotions fills your chest. You pull away but before you can even fully pull back, his hands are already on your waist, drawing you back to him. His lips find yours again, this time with a hunger that makes your stomach flip, a desperation that feels almost uncontainable. His kiss is deep, slow, and deliberate and the weight of it is enough to knock the breath out of you. "Mingyu..." you murmur against his lips, your body melting into his warmth. His grip tightens ever so slightly, his body stiffening in worry. He pulls away, chest heaving with shallow breaths. His voice is laced with uncertainty though it trembles with desire.

"Tell me to stop," he says, low and unsteady, "And I will."

For a moment you just look at him, searching his eyes for any sign of doubt. But there's nothing. His love for you is written in every inch of him, in the way his fingers gently graze your cheek, in the way his breath catches when you shift closer.

You lean in again, closing the space between you. The moment your lips meet, he kisses you slow, deep and it makes your heart race. His hand moves from your cheek to your back, pulling you flush against him and you can feel every beat of his heart against yours. There's nothing hurried about it, just slow, careful movements that send sparks flying in your veins making you feel like you're floating. Everything is perfectly, wonderfully right.

He knows that this time, you see him. This time you see the admirer is right in front of you.

“To the one who has always been right in front of me,

I used to write these letters with the hope that one day, you’d realize it was me. That somehow, my words would reach you before I had to say them out loud. But today, I don’t need to hide behind words anymore.

You know me now—not just as the admirer, but as Mingyu. And I know you, not as someone I can only love from afar, but as someone who chose me back. Still, I wanted to write this—one last letter, not as a confession, but as a promise. A promise that I’ll keep looking at you the way I always have. That I’ll love you not just in grand gestures, but in the small moments too, the ones where love isn’t loud, but it’s there, steady and certain.

So here. This time, I’m not slipping it into a locker or leaving it on a table. I’m giving it to you with my own hands, looking right at you, so you know—this has always been real.

Yours, always.

— Mingyu”

Lee Y/N @y/nisnot_sleeping · 1h

Been mine for a while now…

♡ 4 🔁 - 🗨️ 4

Boo @americano_.boo · 57m

Replying to @y/nisnot_sleeping

Did you just ditch us for THIS ?¡?%&!?

♡ 2 🔁 - 🗨️ 1

yoon ★ @yjh1004 · 49m

Replying to @y/nisnot_sleeping

Finally!!!!

♡ 3 🔁 - 🗨️ -

Chan @dinonaras.ltd · 45m

Replying to @y/nisnot_sleeping

🫢🫢🫢

♡ 2 🔁 - 🗨️ -

Chan @dinonaras.ltd · 44m

Replying to @americano_.boo

where is @horang_m_a_n ?? crying in the corner because the investigation flopped?

♡ - 🔁 - 🗨️ -

⌦ 💌 © mylovesstuffs | est. 2025. thank you for reading—your reblog means everything. until we meet again, stay cozy and keep dreaming! ◜ᴗ◝

#actually laughed so hard #user: mylovesstuffs #for: mingyu

1K notes · View notes

geminiipdf · 12 days ago

Text

i read this thirty minutes ago and i’m still . sitting here and letting it sink into me wow this is beautiful. i

TO GROW LOVE (AND EAT IT TO THE CORE)

pairing: mingyu x gn!reader wc: 8.1k summary: your whole life, you've only wanted one thing. then you meet mingyu. suddenly you want too much, and you wish the summer never ended. notes: farmer!au, established relationship, angst/hurt/a little comfort

this is a birthday fic for my one and only cat @wuahae ! yes this is about half a year late but what can i say. all good things come with time. thank you for being so kind, funny, and thoughtful (and patient)! not a day goes by where i’m not thankful for our friendship :)

and a million thanks to hana @wqnwoos and jackie @97-liners for helping me with edits. literally you guys are insane writers and i will never stop looking up to you.

i. strawberries (the summer we were young)

When a strawberry is ripe, the seeds push out from the heart of the fruit, as if it's bursting from the inside out.

This is one of the few and only things you've learned by living in Seogwipo, where strawberry season comes like a supernova. The May sun, full and heavy, peels into summer, and the roadside farms open their doors, trying to catch stray vacationers from Jeju City on the other side of the island.

That being said, there are approximately two things to do here. One of them is farm. The other is pretend like you have a life, which is your childhood friend Yizhuo's favorite thing to do when she's back from university on summer break.

Today, this involved convincing her ritzy, too-good Seoul friends that they're missing out on this side of Jeju. (Missing out on what? You're not sure. Perhaps the chipped paint of the mural walls, or the endless flat-topped stretches of seagrass. Yizhuo isn't fooling anyone, but you've always liked stretching your legs out in the bed of her pick-up, even on the long drive to nowhere.)

Unsurprisingly, her friends quickly came to the same conclusion. Just one look at your local strawberry patch, with none of the glamour of the bloated tourist traps in the city, and they decided they'd rather spend the afternoon at the beach.

It was then, between the fragaria blooms, when you met Mingyu. He asked for your name, and the rest was history. Yizhuo and co. scattered like the grasping hands of an overripe dandelion and you learned that he was, one, the newly-graduated son of a pair of local farmers, and two, very, very attractive. Almost too much so, especially for a place like this.

Now he holds up a berry, a bright red murder between his fingers, and tells you to try it.

"You must be delusional if you think i'm taking food from a stranger," you laugh, perched on the fence bordering the field. It sprawls before you, melon stripes on the sunbaked ground.

"No, my name is Mingyu," he replies. "No idea who delusional is." His smile, all bright lip and snaggletooth, tears into the scarlet belly of a newly picked strawberry.

"We all know what happened to Persephone."

"Well, if the underworld was a strawberry patch, I wouldn't mind being stuck there for all of eternity."

"What're you picking all these for, anyway?" you ask, watching Mingyu struggle with his too-big straw hat between the vines. His woven basket bleeds over with little berries.

"Jam. I make it on the very first day of every summer."

"Why?"

"You ask a lot of questions for someone who trespassed on my farm. You're cute, but I won't let you off easy."

He laughs at how you balk, clearly red-handed. You're not sure how to tell him you don't think you were supposed to be here either. You don't do things like sit in the back of trucks, trespass, or talk to pretty farmer boys who take a fancy to you, but it's the summer before you graduate and you're not even sure how long you'll have to continue making bad decisions.

"Are you gonna take my first-born now?" you joke instead. The daylight runs down the rim of Mingyu's hat, trickles down his brow, and you wish you could pour the image of him into a jar and keep it forever.

"No, but I will invite you in for some fresh jam on toast. I baked a loaf this morning." and when you say nothing, he continues. "The strawberries are only good once a year. It's the best you'll ever have. Promise."

It's a whine and a half, and somehow you convince yourself this will be the last bad decision you'll make. You've been here long enough to know that good things don't come twice in Seogwipo, and he is unlikely to be an exception.

Yizhuo blows up your phone, you tie the gingham apron around Mingyu's tiny waist, and the basket turns to blood in the saucepan.

Mingyu is right. Love comes to you in that kitchen, high and red like the sun, and the jam never tastes as good as it does that summer.

ii. watermelon (hollowed out, like a magic trick)

"A good watermelon sounds like a heartbeat."

You watch Mingyu heave the fruit, small and striped, out of his grocery bag. It joins the array of egg sandwiches and banana milks you picked up from the store together earlier. (There should have been chocolate Pepero too, but you split the box on the walk).

You're on a picnic, sprawled out on the outcropping overlooking the water. The path up is basically right behind your house, but you had never cared to visit. It had always been the local makeout spot, a schlocky teen crawl for those with nothing better to do, and yet, with Mingyu stretched out beside you, it seems newer. More exciting.

You're still just friends, or at least that's what you told Yizhuo. But ever since you sat on Mingyu's kitchen counter and ate from his jam-covered spatula, you don't think you've gone a week without seeing him. It's been almost two months, which seems so long and yet not long enough—he makes it easy to be greedy.

"See?" He thumps the watermelon with the heel of his palm. "Try it."

You already went through this entire charade at the grocery store, right in front of all the local aunties, but you indulge him. There's little point to triple checking if it's still ripe, but you think he just likes hitting it.

"It sounds good," you say. "But how are we even gonna eat it? We don't have a knife."

"Watch this." Mingyu procures a coin from his pocket. "You didn't learn this in elementary school? I feel like everyone was doing it."

"Here?" you ask, incredulous.

"Yeah, here. I grew up here too, you know."

He holds the edge of the coin to the skin and slams his palm into it once more, so that it lodges itself into the rind, and begins dragging it around the fruit. You start to wonder if he bought the watermelon just to show you a party trick—not that you mind, though. The strain of his biceps peeks through his rolled up white tee, and you remember why he was able to stop you with just one look back when you first met.

"No way." The watermelon is so ripe, it bleeds around the incision. "I feel like I know everyone here. And I definitely would have remembered you."

"I was probably, like, two grades above you," he replies. "And my parents shipped me off to live with my cousins after elementary school. They said I should get out of Seogwipo and experience the real world."

"Good call. There's nothing here." You watch Mingyu spin the melon over to cut through the other side. The coin catches the sunlight, and it looks like gold. "I wish I left for university. The one here is so small."

"Really?" He pauses to show you his handiwork. The two melon halves roll over on their backs, their cut edge cruel and jagged. "Cool, huh?"

"Impressive," you say. "Honestly. I really didn't think that would work."

"I didn't either when I first saw someone do it. But I’ll try anything once," he replies, ripping open the packaging of the plastic spoon from the bag. "I can't believe you don't like it here."

"You do?"

"Yeah. A lot." He shoves the spoon in his mouth, and you watch the watermelon juice pool around his lips. "I missed home. The trees and the tall grass and the ocean. All the fruits. Everything. I learned to ride a bike, right down there by the water."

"Hm." He passes you the spoon. You don't want to hog it, so you carve out a piece bigger than you need. "Are you gonna work at the farm?"

"Maybe. Haven't decided yet," he says. "I think I want to be here, though. Maybe do something with food, but I want to be home."

"That's funny, because I think I’ve always wanted to live a different life. Or at least one somewhere else."

"You want to go to law school, right?"

"Yeah." Mingyu is right. The watermelon is all sugar, and you would almost feel guilty for eating it if it wasn't technically good for you. "I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer. It's something about the people watching, I think."

"That’s really cool," Mingyu says, mouth full but no less sincere. It's then that you notice your shoulders are almost touching, and your heart crawls back up to your mouth. "You know what you want. I admire that."

He makes it sound like a compliment, but you're sure it's a curse.

You think of your parents. There's a permanent wrinkle ironed into their foreheads, the paper crease of expectations and high standards. It's not that they didn't care, but their kind of care was a humbled sort, made heavy by a hard life. It didn't help that your big sister Seohyun went straight from Yonsei to work a big tech job in San Francisco and never once looked back.

But you can't blame any of them—wanting has always been a hereditary failing. Sometimes Yizhuo will catch you frowning at nothing, and then you remember that life isn't a performance and every day ends at the same time no matter how hard you work. But you don't know how to tell her that the only thing you can do sometimes is want, because otherwise you wouldn't really have much at all.

It seems like the exact opposite of how Mingyu lives—everything about him seems to pass like the seasons. Maybe that's why you can't seem to get enough of each other.

"Thank you. Really." You dig the spoon into your half of the melon. There isn't much left. "You're way too nice to me."

"It’s not hard to be," he laughs. "Maybe you're just too hard on yourself."

You're losing track of the distance between the two of you. You can almost feel the heat playing off his skin.

"Maybe."

It's then, under the veil of summer, where you meet Mingyu's gaze and, finally, things seem close to simple.

All you know are his eyes, heavy with sun, and then the slow, slow move of his lips against yours. He tastes like August, long and sweet, and for once you know what it's like to not only want, but to have, and to have again.

The ocean sings on the horizon, and the watermelon bellies weep.

iii. adzuki beans (or, the blood of a headless taiyaki)

Mingyu eats taiyaki headfirst because he says it hurts less.

"That makes no sense," you tell him, your pinkies linked. You never really liked holding hands, but yours fits so perfectly in Mingyu's and there's some girlish, childlike shine to it when you watch his finger search for yours after just a moment separated.

"What do you mean."

He breaks your gaze to eye a red bean taiyaki, like an unwilling predator sizing up their prey. It's the lamest, most embarrassing iteration of National Geographic you've ever seen, and yet you cannot find any fiber within yourself not deeply in love with the lion.

Fall is a forgiving place for your relationship to settle. You're now a senior at university and he's started his gap year. Gap implies he's in the middle of something, but in true Mingyu fashion, he leaves it up to fate, or chance, or something not nearly as kind (whim).

"Taiyaki isn't alive. And why would you want to pretend it is? Eating gummy bears would become an extinction event."

"It kind of is." He holds out the tail end of the taiyaki, the pastry almost explicitly flayed open, in front of you to eat. "Why does the Haribo bear have a face? Why do the gummy bears live in a gummy forest?"

"Great, so now I can’t even enjoy gummy bears without feeling like a serial killer?"

You dig your pointer into his shoulders, broad from all the time he spends on the farm. To think that his hands, big and weathered, were made to pick berries (and now wrap around your pinky finger) is bruising, if not ridiculously funny.

"It's a crime of passion. Gummy passion. Prosecute that."

He kisses your cheek and your heart almost squeezes into two.

The terrible thing about being with Mingyu is how seemingly endless his affection is. Now he's feeding you in public and buying the two of you matching socks (cat and dog, to be exact), although you'll admit it's a little charming, even if the neighbors do gossip.

He's sweet, too sweet, and his kisses stick to the back of your throat.

But you can't be fooled. There's an unsaid violence to the way Mingyu loves. (The meticulous spiral of the peel he carves when you ask for him to cut you an apple. The grind, decisive and cruel, of a knife against a cutting board. A pair of canines against your neck, your jaw.)

Even now, he bites the head off another unwitting taiyaki before stuffing it back in the bag.

"We're still splitsing, right?" he says, with perhaps 1% of his mouth available for speaking and the other 99% murder machine.

Splits, he always says before you share food. You never had the heart to tell him that it's in the same family as mines or sharesies or takebacks—silly childhood relics, ones that no one uses anymore because they don't mean anything.

This time, you don't hear him because you're thinking about the law school fair you went to before Mingyu picked you up. The future is so close, it scares you. A year from now, what ground would you be standing on? Would it smell like this—the peat, the thread-spool fields, the balm of the ocean? Would you still have Mingyu's finger wrapped round yours?

"Have you decided if you're staying at the farm?" you ask.

"Not really." He uses the back of his hand to wipe off his chin. "If my sister decides to take over, I’m actually kinda thinking of going to pastry school instead of getting a masters."

Mingyu had been toying with the idea for some time after you had talked about it on the outlook. It started off as a joke (September; a galette), then a what if (October; green tea mochi), and now it sits at a kinda.

"Kinda?"

The word gathers speed in the pachinko machine of your mind. You never liked being a kinda person. For Mingyu, it seems like a luxury of a word, but for you, it's really just another thing to hide behind. Kinda talented, kinda ambitious, kinda just there. You're always one foot in, one foot out of something better.

"Yeah, kinda. Why?"

"I dunno. What if we both end up leaving?"

"Maybe. You still want to, right?"

You would be lying if you said you didn't—it's what you always wanted. Seogwipo has been a sun-rot, too-small crutch for you, but you would also be lying if you said you weren't terrified that you'd eventually come back, limping like some doomed Icarus, unable to truly make it in the real world.

Then you think of the pockmarked farmland beside your home, lacy with the fall harvest. Even now, you can trace the endless blue of the coastline all the way there, cut through all the maybes and just let the sound of the ocean fold you into sleep like you were a child again. You wonder if Seohyun, all the way on the other side of the world, ever misses it.

"I’m not sure," you say, because, as much as you don't like it, it's the only answer you have.

"It's ok. You'll figure it out. You always do." He squeezes your cheeks together between his thumb and index, laughing at how they pillow out underneath his fingers. "Screw pastry school. I could come with you. Who else would keep you fed?"

Mingyu's complete and unfounded belief in you makes you feel something close to betrayal. How could he say any of that? With what proof? Only someone like Mingyu would be able to hold the wrinkled fruit of your unremarkable life between his palms and see something better than that. Maybe it's because he grew up on a farm. Either that, or he already cares for you too much, too painfully.

Secrets are easy to keep when they look like yours. At least here, in the pit of your stomach, you can keep count, take attendance of them, all your tittering, small anxieties. Some days it feels like your ribs are pressing out, but it's better than cutting everything loose to spill out over what little you do have control over.

You can handle a little pressure. You have to.

What concerns you is the hand Mingyu's got across your chest. With one look, he just might gut you. A twist of the heart-knife, and all those carefully wound insides carved out in an instant—maybe he'd pity you, but worse than that, he'd likely be disappointed.

For you, expectation has always stood taller than shame, and the idea that he sees something past you makes you want to run away.

"I could be a house husband," he says as easily as ever. "You'll be off saving the world, arguing with whoever, and I'll be there to run you a bath afterwards."

"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves," you reply, binding up the strange, hollow feeling in your stomach with a laugh.

There's a scared little girl hiding inside you, and whether Mingyu sees her or not hurts the same. A spade is a spade. You can only pretend so long.

You look at the taiyaki floating in their wax paper bag, blinded and wrought open by the same grin that now peels you down, and you're not hungry anymore.

iv. winter pears (rotten, outside your parents' house)

Mingyu's family loves Christmas.

You think it's because of the pear trees they have in the front yard. They stand bravely before the house, all emerald ash and wisdom in the December freeze. Run your palms over the knobs and it's like you can see into a sleepy visage of simpler days past. (Below its heart, carved: 1982, the year the farm was bought. Along the tangle of the roots: gyu waz here, in an unsure, childish scrawl.)

Winter comes to the countryside crawling on its hands and knees. On days it doesn't snow, there's a mist, boggy and clingy. You've come to realize the cold is more of a threat than a promise, and so the pear trees still bear fruit; the silvery branches hang heavy, faithful.

The first day of December, Mingyu's parents had tasked the two of you with decorating the farmhouse, a duty you took very seriously. You wrapped Mingyu up in string lights and watched him blink in and out like your own personal firefly.

It wasn't until you watched the rafters, the barn doors, the joyous vault of the ceiling all glow, like a spectacular firework, that you finally started to understand why Mingyu was so into the holidays.

It was in the yellow blush of the string lights that you had your first pear from the tree, which Mingyu insisted was a holiday tradition. We make poached pears, he said, mid-bite. You simmer the pear in syrup until it gets so soft, you can cut into it with a fork. Just like butter.

That same night, he kissed you, mouth hot and trembling and tasting of honey, and pressed you against the bark so hard, you could feel the grit of its veins against your skin.

You think December became your favorite month, and pears your favorite fruit.

So much so, that for the entire month, you try to put away your worries about law school applications to celebrate with Mingyu and his family.

You learn his mom makes the best hot chocolate (a cinnamon stick and a dogged devotion to the whisk), and that Mingyu has no clue on God's green earth how to ice skate. (He careens right into your chest the first time. You spend the next hour with him attached to you like a backpack—he manages to find the most impractical ways to do anything, which you somehow admire the most). On Sundays, Yizhuo ditches her Seoul friends and instead accompanies you to the mall two towns over, where she watches you compare different ties and watches and collagen creams as you decide on gifts for his family. (Lilac is so last year, she'd say, stirring the straw of a watered-down milk tea.)

It's not until the weekend before Christmas when you realize just how serious things have gotten. Your feet understand the meander of the dirt path to the farmhouse, your bones the scent of the yellow-skinned apple, the faded wildflowers. Your palms crave the plush of the rug they have in front of the fireplace. Hell, you can't even eat soondubu without thinking of the kind Mingyu's dad makes, with extra anchovies and green onion.

You don't think about what this means. There are ten days left in December and love poured from a full cup never seems to run out.

"Please let me carry some of those," Mingyu wheedles. "Oh my god. I'm like the worst boyfriend in the world."

"No, you are not." you make your way up to his doorstep, taking care to one-two step over the stray roots of one of the pear trees. It's second nature to you by now. "The moment I hand you a box, you are gonna start trying to figure out what it is."

He harumphs and plucks the big one off the top anyway, the one he knows you can't reach. "I didn't even know you were getting us gifts. You didn't have to."

"It's the least I could do. Who shows up to a holiday dinner emptyhanded?" You stop at the front door. "And stop shaking it," you laugh, using the tip of your boot to nudge his shin.

"Okay. Okay," he says, saccharine, adoring, before grabbing the doorknob. "Ready? Are you nervous? You shouldn't be nervous, right? It's not fancy or anything, if you were worried about that."

And that's the thing that wedges itself between your ribs. Mingyu and his whole family are like this. They love and worry and love again; it presses deep into you, fills you, and overflows.

So here you are, standing in your nicest dress and balancing a stack of gifts you hope will amount to something, never enough but something, to repay the people who you feel have loved you more than you deserve. It's all you really have. You do your best, and yet you know when that door opens, it'll all be washed away in a high-tide flurry of hugs and laughter and the familiar press of Bobpul's wet nose against your leg. They're just those kinds of people—they would be just as happy if you didn't bring anything at all, and somehow that makes you feel even more guilty.

"No, no," you wave him off. "I’m fine. Excited."

When Mingyu opens the door, everything goes just as you expected. His sister takes your coat, your gifts are whisked away to the tree (Aji has already figured out which one is his), and his parents descend upon you in a choking swell of warmth and charity.

We baked some fresh bread for your parents (—Thank you so much, but you really shouldn't have.). You look so beautiful in that color (—No, no, you flatter me too much.). Mingyu better be taking good care of you (—He is. He really, really is.).

The kitchen is gauzy with cinnamon, anise. They must be making their famous poached pears, which Mingyu remarks on, just like clockwork.

Dinner passes the same way. It bubbles over with affection, and you feel swallowed by an impossible yearning. This—a full table and a hand to hold underneath it—did you deserve this? And could you keep it?

For an instant, you picture yourself, years later, at this same seat. Mingyu would be fussing over the rice cakes, his apron still gingham because it reminds him of the day you two met. His parents, grayer but no less happy, bickering over the shade of tinsel on the tree. And the dogs, coiled at your feet like they are now. The vision laps at your bones like you're a raft in a storm.

You're pulled back into the moment when Mingyu squeezes your hand, grounding and insistent. "Mom asked how school was going. I told her I think you're basically the smartest person I know, and I’m pretty sure you're getting into whatever law school you want."

Mingyu's parents laugh, and they cut through their pears.

"Oh, sorry," you say. "Um."

Clink. Knife meets flesh, meets porcelain. Your cheeks are hot. You wanted to talk about anything other than yourself tonight. Clink.

"The top programs are a reach, but it'd be nice." clink. "I just want to get in somewhere."

"They’re all so far away," Mingyu's mom remarks. "So grown up. Any school will be lucky to have you. You'll get into all of them."

Clink.

"Or maybe you can stay here." You watch the prongs of Mingyu's father's fork disappear into the pear. "Keep us old folk company."

"No, no, I think Mingyu should take notes and get off his lazy ass," his sister says, teasing. "Going back to the city will be good for him."

"So you can, what, burn down the kitchen again?" Mingyu grumbles, and the whole table seems to boil over with laughter.

"We’re kidding," his mom tells you. "No matter where you go, I’m sure you'll do great. We can even throw you a party at the end of the year. For graduating."

Clink. Clink.

There's a horrible uneasiness writhing around in your stomach. It's pear and syrup and clove and a blackness, an anxious, selfish one that sucks up all the generosity of the evening and turns it into shame.

Mingyu's mom is talking about throwing you a graduation party, something you didn't even think to do for yourself, and here you are, thinking about the shaking moment you open your rejection letters and the lonely path you'll draw on your way back home.

It's ok. They missed out, Mingyu would say, pouring you a consolation drink, and then it would be over. You'd go home and sit on your bed and the trifold piece of paper would go round and round your head like it was in a washing machine.

Your heart, an inventory of tasks and goals and tally marks. Things you've taken and things you've owed. It's a soft, boneless excuse. Be grateful. Give them that, at least.

Clink.

Dessert ends before you can tell his family not to get their hopes up. Mingyu's mom sends you off with your loaf of bread and a kiss on the cheek, and the moment is gone.

"Gyu," you call out on the steps in front of the house.

There are words at the seam of your lips. You want to tell him you're sorry for worrying so much. For making the whole dinner about you and then very possibly having nothing to show for it when it matters. For the heaviness in your chest. Your cowardice. But none of it comes out.

Instead you watch Mingyu pull at the leaves of a pear tree, watching the frost-filigree they get at the end of the season. He looks over his shoulder and smiles at you, as if he's on the hazy cover of a magazine. His eyes bend so wonderfully at the corners when he looks at you, and it breaks your heart.

"You had fun, right?" he asks. "My parents like you a lot, you know. I think they really do."

But that's the problem, you want to say. You all do, and I have no idea why.

Some of the pears are beginning to rot now. You watch one drop off the vine, and it caves to the pavement like it was made of nothing at all.

v. wild barley (grows like weeds)

In March, you play house.

Your parents leave on a two week trip to see relatives, and Mingyu takes it upon himself to make sure you survive.

It's a kind, blinding charade.

(7 am, breakfast. You usually don't even eat breakfast, but you wake up to doenjang and a smile, one that presses itself to yours until you're wearing it on the long walk to school.)

(4 pm, the stretch between lunch and dinner. You're muddling through another useless club meeting when Mingyu sends you a picture of him in your mom's apron, making kimchi. Kiss the chef, he texts you. You promise to, over and over and over.)

It's good until it isn't.

That isn't to say that it's Mingyu's fault. In fact, it's never really Mingyu's fault, and that's the worst thing about your relationship. Sometimes you wish he was worse just so there was someone else to blame.

(1 am, a fridge-cold glass of water and a hand on the column of your spine. Can't sleep? He asks. Just had a weird dream, you say.

It's a lie. You're a liar.

You miss your parents and the first wave of acceptance letters comes out in two days. You're not like him. Sleep has never been a cure for the exhaustion you're feeling, and you have no way of telling him that however warm the bed is won't fix that.)

It's on a Thursday afternoon when you open your mailbox and see the tiny, thin envelope that you've been expecting for the past week. You don't need to open it to know what it says, and yet you do it anyway.

The sun is white, a ghost in the spring sky. The ocean bleeds into the overcast, the curly barley stands tall around your feet, and you let the worst letter you've gotten in your life fall upon your shoulders, word by terrible word.

Then you close it, pinching the seam shut, and draw up your brave face. Nothing left to do but be brave. You're convinced you've used up all the sadness in your relationship—spend in pennies and the well still runs dry. Mingyu will cup your cheek and call you darling, pouring into your emptying basin, holey and broken.

You see him now through the kitchen window, Venus in his clamshell of a kitchen. Galbijjim day, he had said this morning. Now, he waves at you, glittery with recognition.

Your throat feels like crumpled paper.

Mingyu smiles at you, hazy through the glass. Your cheeks hurt and your mouth is paper mache, but you smile back anyway.

///

The letters come one after another.

You know what the envelopes hold and yet you keep opening them. The little folder you keep stashed in your bottom drawer gets fatter every passing day because you can't help but revisit your misery, almost as if you need to remind yourself it exists.

Mingyu is none the wiser. Today he decides he'll put off pastry school for one more year. "It doesn't feel like the right time," he says, rolling a log of burdock kimbap up. "You know what I mean?"

No, you don't. You never really do.

You do know, however, that it would feel really fucking bad that, come the end of the year, to have nothing. All your friends would be going somewhere—even Yizhuo opened her acceptance to an MFA program in Shanghai yesterday—and you would be here, still, feet firmly planted in the muddy Jeju dirt like they always had been.

"Hey, don't look so disappointed." he jokes. "Don't tell me you're already trying to get rid of me."

You're not, you really aren't. But part of you wonders if it's just a race to the bottom. If you got rid of him before he decided he wanted to get rid of you, maybe it would hurt a lot less. One less letter for the folder.

"Never. But imagine if you picked up a French accent at pastry school. Then I’d consider it. Maybe."

You watch his knife rock back and forth on the cutting board as he cuts the kimbap.

"Some for you. And more for me," he says, in what you can only describe as someone attempting to speak French when they've never heard it before. "Unless you want more, mon cherie."

He brings the plates to the table, his grin nothing short of dizzying.

"I’m irresistible, huh? Still wanna leave me now?"

"You're gonna have to try a little harder than that, I think."

The words roll off your tongue, easily, traitorously.

You watch the kimbap disappear off of Mingyu's plate.

Going, going, gone.

///

Seogwipo is always dark at night, only kept alive by the glow of the moonlit sea.

You can't sleep. Again. And so you sit out on the steps in front of your house, letting the twilight wrap around you like a blanket.

You got your last letter back earlier today. You held your breath and tore it open like you would a birthday card with money in it.

Waitlisted.

It was surely better than a rejection, but some naive, child-eyed part of you thought that if you had just closed your eyes and hoped hard enough, things would work out the way you had planned. Tragically, it wasn't enough this time. You wanted and wanted and you thought maybe that would mean you'd come close to deserving it.

Your parents called today. After managing to sideline the issue of basically the rest of your entire life, they had finally cut through your sad little charade. No good news yet, huh?

No, but—

It was always like that with you. No, but it's not as bad as you think. No, but give me a chance. No, but I’m trying. I've been trying.

You wish things didn't come out of you so complicated. That you could be like Seohyun, who could go through school with her eyes closed and still graduate at the top of her class. Instead, you parade around your little failures, trying to convince people it all could mean something only if they squinted. See? It isn't so bad.

You think you're past the point of crying about it. Your stomach hurts, you're cold, and most of all, you just want to go back to bed. Plus, although Mingyu sleeps like a log, you think he's developed a sixth sense for whenever you get up too early.

Time to be brave, you've been telling yourself, although you don't know who you're pretending for anymore.

So you nudge the front door open—it's so old, it wails if you come at it with any more force—and, to your surprise, see the light above the kitchen sink turned on.

It's not very bright, but it's enough to make out Mingyu's broad silhouette, back turned to you as he makes a cup of tea. He's humming one of his made-up songs.

"Mingyu?"

"There you are," he says, turning around. "Just came out to check on you. And make you some tea."

The kettle whizzes. Your gut twists.

You still haven't said anything to Mingyu. To manage your own disappointment was one thing—you don't think you could handle another person's. And yet when he stands there, Pororo mug between his huge hands, you feel as if you are holding a knife, big and guilty and bloody.

"I-I'm fine, Gyu. Honest." you watch his expression flicker, unreadable in the persimmon lamplight. "Sorry you had to come out. It's chilly out here."

"You know, you can tell me what's going on. I won't judge."

No, no, no. This is the last conversation you wanted to have, with the last person you wanted to have it with.

You feel feverish. You think your hands are shaking.

"Mingyu, I swear—"

"Whatever it is, we can fix it. I know we can."

That almost makes you want to laugh if you didn't want to cry so bad. Of fucking course he would say that. Mingyu, who treats life like it's the watermelon trick he showed you on the outlook, wants to put a bandaid on this whole thing, as if that could come close to fixing it.

He'd tell you to curl up on the couch with a bad movie while he orders takeout. Kiss you on the top of the head. It's ok, baby. Just another bad day for the person who has the worst luck in the world. Another lump of problems for him to try and make better. If he isn't sick of you now, he sure would be soon enough.

"It’s okay," you say, steeling your voice. "It really isn't a big deal. Let's just go back to sleep."

You try to walk away, but the hardness in Mingyu's eyes roots you down to the tile.

"Stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Pushing me away," he swallows. "Like you always do. I know something's going on."

"I’m not, i just—"

"You just what? You can't help it?"

"No, I—"

"Because you like to know that you can? That you can say whatever and then watch me come back?" A fragmented, heavy silence thrums between you. He's looking at you like he's daring you to say something, anything. His gaze is black. "What am I good for if you can't tell me anything?"

There's that familiar, stinging pressure behind your eyes. You think you're crying, but you're not sure. Maybe you've been crying this whole time.

"Fine," you bite. Your blood feels like hot metal. "You really wanna know? I didn't get into law school. There. Happy now?"

Mingyu looks stung.

"W-why didn't you tell me?"

Because I thought you would stop loving me. I thought you would have finally had enough.

"Because it's not all about you, Mingyu."

The words, selfish and damning, burn your tongue. Mingyu is right. This is what you always do. You fuck up and then make everyone else hurt for it.

"I'm sorry," Mingyu says. His voice doesn't sound like his. Instead, the words seem to hang in the air, trembling and holding their breath, waiting for an apology you can't give yet. "I shouldn't have—"

"It's ok." You swallow hard, and it hurts. "Let's just go back to bed."

It's getting colder and colder. You think there's a little hole in your sock, right above the cat's whiskers.

Mingyu doesn't reach for you as he passes to get to the hallway. Maybe he doesn't know how to anymore.

The Pororo cup is left abandoned on the counter. You walk over and read the label on the tea bag—barley, because you have class tomorrow morning.

You pick it up, let the ceramic buzz between your hands with whatever warmth it has left, and hold it to your lips.

It's cold now, but all you can think to do is drink it. Erase all the evidence that tonight ever happened, and maybe it'll be nothing more than a bad dream in the morning.

There's honey at the bottom of the cup. It sears the back of your throat, but you drink until there's nothing left.

vi. the peach blossoms (without fail, bloom every August. I miss you.)

You broke up the next day.

Even now, you remember what happened. You had woken up early that morning to make your own breakfast because you couldn't allow Mingyu to give you any more of himself. Your hands could only hold, shatter, so much.

"Mingyu, I think we should...." You looked at the zigzags of jam on your toast, angry and uneven. "I think we should stop seeing each other. For now," you had added, as if that made anything better at all.

Somehow that seemed more merciful at the time. Really, you think it just showed your cowardice. If you were going to break his heart, you might as well have gone all the way the first time.

Maybe it was a good thing that Mingyu saw right through you. He always did.

"So that's it, huh? You're just gonna give up on us?"

"No, I just...need some time."

"How long?" he asked. "Be honest with me. Because you know I’ll wait."

"I don't know." You couldn't meet his gaze. His eyes reached and reached over that kitchen table and you denied him even that.

"Don't you always know?" he asked, pitifully, desperately. "Don't you want this to work?"

And you did. In fact, you don't think you had ever wanted anything more, and it was that that scared you. You had already lost law school—you couldn't let the only other thing in your life let you go. So you pulled the trigger first.

"We should just end things. I'm sorry. I can't give you what you need."

He packed his bag within the hour, and you think everything, from then on, froze inside you. You didn't move from your seat until your parents came home from the airport later that day and asked why there were two plates of toast still on the table.

You think you knew, someplace, inevitably, this would happen. You, who only knew hunger, had reached deep inside Mingyu and rooted out a love you didn't think you were worthy of having. And yet you still ate from the vine, bite after guilty bite, until you couldn't take any more. The only time he asked you for anything at all, you couldn't give it to him—such was the irony of your relationship.

Maybe you were doomed the moment the first strawberry hit your tongue, just like you had said, all that time ago.

About a month later, you got another letter in the mail. Chungnam National University Law School, it read. This one was fat, in one of those brown envelopes lined with bubble wrap. Somehow, miraculously, that position on the waitlist had turned into an acceptance. You held the package to your chest and cried, loud and with abandon, as if taking a deep breath after almost drowning.

Ironically, the first person you wanted to tell was Mingyu. But the good news you needed to save your relationship came too little, too late. Perhaps that meant it had no legs to stand on in the first place, but that didn't stop you from missing it. Instead, you told Yizhuo, and she drove you to Jeju City and treated you to dinner. "You should just call him," she had said. "Hey, don't look at me like that. He'd probably pick up on the first ring."

The city is swathed in August's crimson summer—peach season. The narrow streets are lined with peach trees, the fruits glowing like fat drops of sunlight. All you do these days is plan for your eventual move to Daejeon and the start of a life that seems newer and shinier than your own. But surrounded by the cicada song, the velvet treeline, the rain-soaked asphalt, somehow you think you're going to miss Seogwipo more than you think.

(Fickle, fickle heart. You always needed things to be taken away to really be able to appreciate them. Somehow, all that wanting had boiled down to something more satisfying, more filling.)

You wonder how Mingyu is. Now that you think about it, he seems just as much a part of Seogwipo as the farm he lives on. It was only last summer when you had first met him in the field, set on fire by the strawberry harvest. You think about him now, peddling around that ridiculous wicker basket to make jam. Maybe talking to another pretty girl, someone as naive, cruel as you had been.

Not long ago, you considered calling him to apologize, but that'd just be another thing to be selfish about. A little time and some warm weather, and I’m calling to finally wash my hands of you. That's what it would sound like, no matter what you said. Still, it didn't stop you from thinking of him, every flower, every season.

"You know, I always wanted to grow peach trees. But I think we've always been a pear kind of family."

Mingyu. If a voice could cut through air, it'd be his.

You whip around, half-believing you're hearing things. Certainly that would be easier, but you're learning that there are some things you can't run from.

And like a picture, Mingyu stands tall, golden, framed by the peach blossoms. Not a thing about him has changed. Not even the way he looks at you.

"Mingyu," you breathe. Unfortunately, none of the times you replayed your last conversation with him help you come up with something to say, because in none of them did you anticipate him coming back. "W-what are you doing here?"

"I live here, silly."

"No way," you reply, scrambling. "Crazy, because I live here too."

You both laugh nervously, a silly, bubbly thing, but you feel like you're going to throw up. It's only now that you realize you're kind of on the walk to his place. Seogwipo has never had places to hide.

"I...um." You try and disentangle the guilt from the nostalgia from the scent of the peaches and the warmth on his face. They all look the same. You missed him. "I got into law school. In Daejeon."

"I heard," he says. "Not surprised at all. I always knew you would."

"Thank you. I mean it." The cicadas buzz around you, as if they know they have an important silence to fill. "You're staying in town, right?"

"Actually, I decided to apply to culinary school. It finally felt right, you know? I'm leaving at the end of the summer, but it's just in Jeju City. I couldn't leave the island."

"Thank goodness. I don't know if you could tell, but I kind of always hoped you would. I don't think I’ve ever eaten better food." Your voice wobbles, but it gets there. "You'll do amazing."

Then time stretches and forces you to recognize, reckon with, the moment you're in. You wonder if he feels the same way you do—bruised, overripe. If there's still a space in his heart for you.

Deep breath. Life only gives you so many chances.

"Mingyu, I’m sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't make us work. You deserved better." Saying it feels like peeling the skin of your heart back. There's still a palpable distance between the two of you—you think that had always been there—but it feels more comfortable in a way it never did before.

"Don’t apologize," he says, easily, as he always does. Everything seems to flow off him like water, and you think that's the part of him you loved the most because it was the one thing you couldn't touch. "We loved each other. I think that much was true."

A jasmine breeze curls through the trees, sending the blossoms fluttering around you like ink in water. The very first time you met Mingyu, you thought the image of him, haloed with the sunset, was the one you wanted to keep forever. And yet, somehow, you don't think you'll ever forget the way he looks right now.

"Will you ever come back to Seogwipo?" you ask.

"I was gonna ask you the same thing—you were always the one who wanted to get out of here." He grins, ear to ear. "Of course I'm coming back. There's nowhere I'd rather be."

"Yeah. I think I know what you mean."

The sea, the clay dirt, Mingyu. Even yourself, clumsy and care-worn. You think, somewhere along the line, you forgot how to love. But you're learning—one step at a time.

"Friends," you say. "Let's be friends. If you'll let me."

"Thought you would never ask. Gladly. Always." The space between you seizes, like it's holding in a breath. Maybe one day, you'll think of closing it once more, but you like where you stand now. You can admire him better from a distance, without your fingerprints all over him. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, something he does before he gets ready to leave. But before he does—"I'll see you soon, okay? You better come back. Promise me."

For the first time, you see the honesty in his eyes and you really, truly believe him.

"Promise."

The Seogwipo sun is high and red in the sky when you wave Mingyu goodbye. It feels like you're coming to an end of a long summer, but you're not afraid. You watch the wind dance through the peach blossoms, their branches never searching, never wanting, and you finally feel as if you've arrived home.

#author youuuu are so good with your words #user: husbandhoshi #for: mingyu

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geminiipdf · 13 days ago

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i'm always a sucker for a good friends to lovers and this is definitely one of them. absolutely adore the growing together in love, and constantly believing the other is capable of so much. also bonus points for skater boy chan he is so very dear to my heart !!!

paging dr. heartthrob | lee chan

SYNOPSIS. You can’t afford to be burnt out, especially during a crucial era of your life: being in medical school. Enter your best friend—a boy with a tough-looking exterior, a skateboard that’s seen better days, and a heart softer than his beat-up converse—Lee Chan, with his backpack full of snacks, and an uncanny ability to show up exactly when you need him most. He may not be a doctor, nor exactly your therapist, but he certainly is a heartthrob, and your heart can’t help but always page him. PAIRING. skater boy!lee chan x med student!fem!reader (ft. lowkey stoner!vernon, med student!jeonghan, med student!joshua, soonyoung) GENRE. fluff, childhood best friends to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, suggestive, slow burn, college au WARNINGS. heavy swearing, food + drinking mentions/consumption, so much fucking mutual pining!!!, reader experiencing burnout + self-doubt issues, chan has a mullet, piercings, and tattoos yes, (3) shirtless chan scenes, chan is a self-critical perfectionist, mention of scars, descriptions of minor injuries, hospital mentions + visits, mental health topics, drug use (weed & vaping), reader has a panic attack and passes out, kissing, terms of endearment, vernon makes a sex joke at the end lmao WORD COUNT. 24.2k

notes: hi hi everyone! this fic is part of the @camandemstudios "the lonely heart's cafe" collab! it also takes part in the same universe as my favourite horangdan @etherealyoungk upcoming fic with hoshi HAHA. ty to skye and also @bananabubble + @imujings listen to me ramble abt this too. pls don't forget to show love all the other authors in this collab <3 HAPPY BIRTHDAY LEE CHAN!!! 🫶

You slam your textbook shut. You don’t think you can reread the same page about neurotransmitters and synaptic transmissions any longer without losing your mind for the third time that night.

Your head feels like it’s two seconds away from combusting, and the pressure coming from upcoming exams, assignments that are constantly due the very next day, along with endless clinicals is suffocating. You’ve been staring at this textbook for what feels like hours or even days, but nothing’s sticking. It’s as if your brain has reached its limit for the day, and you’re left grasping for focus that you can’t find.

“Screw it,” You mutter under your breath, closing the textbook and tossing it to the edge of the bed where it threatens to fall off if you don’t catch it in time, but you ignore it, too tired to even care, and it falls onto the floor below with a soft thud.

Running a hand through your hair, you can feel a headache beginning to creep in, a dull throb behind your eyes. Your body feels heavy, as though it’s been holding in all your exhaustion for the past five months. Accepting your fate, you flimsily fall back onto the bed, granting the greenlight for the comfort of the sheets to swallow you whole.

Then a tap hits your window.

You ignore it at first by grabbing your pillow and burying your face in it, too bummed out to scold the freshmen who think that it’s cute to throw pebbles at people’s windows for the hundredth time this semester.

Another tap follows, then another, becoming more insistent after each one. At this point, they may as well blow a missile through your damn window. But then you hear it𑁋the sharp hiss of a psst, before a muffled, yet unmistakable voice holler out your name. A groan escapes your lips as you drag your body off the bed and shuffle towards the window, pulling the curtain aside and sliding the sash up. You’re immediately greeted by a whiff of cold air hitting your face.

The irritation leaves your body within a second once you spot the figure that’s waving up at you from the ground below. There’s a jump to your heart when you catch a glimpse of the scheming grin that runs across their face.

“Chan? What the hell?” You whisper-yell down towards him, glancing around you as if your voice was loud enough to wake up your next-door neighbours. “It’s midnight!”

You wouldn’t be surprised if you somehow mistakened your best friend as a burglar from how the dark hoodie he’s wearing engulfs him. But you watch as he pulls his hood down and adjusts the scratched-up skateboard tucked underneath his armpit, flashing you that boyish grin that never fails to disarm your guarded-up walls. His breath curls in the cold night air, and you catch the glint of his lip piercing when he tilts his head back to look at you.

“Come on, Y/N, I got reinforcements!” He reveals a black plastic bag from somewhere behind his back, waving it up to you like he’s just discovered some kind of treasure.

You squint, trying to make out what’s in the bag, but it’s too dark to see anything clearly from your window. “What is that?”

“Snacks,” he calls back, his grin widening. “And caffeine. Actually, wait𑁋” He reaches a hand inside the bag, shuffling throughout its contents. “No caffeine, because you need to get your insomniac ass to sleep.”

You roll your eyes at that. “You’re actually a goddamn idiot.”

“So I’ve been told many times. Now, are you going to let me in before that stupid security guard comes and tackles me to the ground again?’

Briefly, you can’t help but smile at the memory of that one specific time a few months back where Chan had been caught sneaking around the apartment complex. The poor elderly security guard nearly had a heart attack when he found Chan struggling to climb the side of the building with a skateboard in hand because you jokingly refused to let him inside your messy apartment. You had to spend an hour talking your way out of that one, and even then, you weren’t sure if all your talking and dumb excuses were enough to convince the security guard that Chan wasn’t a robber trying to get to you through your window.

“Ugh, fine. Give me a second,” You relent, pulling away from the window and hurrying to unlock the door. After a minute, you could already hear the recognisable, obnoxious stomps from the stairs that were echoing throughout the quiet hallway of your apartment.

When you see Chan emerge all breathless like he’s run a marathon in that oversized hoodie, skateboard still tucked under his arm, you can’t help but shake your head, crossing your arms together as he gallops down the hallway and to your door.

Then he looks at you, and for some reason, it almost seems like he looks… different. You don’t know why, because in your eyes, he still looks the same. His dark hair had grown longer𑁋pretty much a mullet at this point𑁋and he had recently changed his lip ring to a sleek silver hoop that catches the faint light in your apartment hallway. The hoodie he wore was thrifted from this store in a sketchy part of town that closed up two years ago, its print faded and frayed at the cuffs of the sleeves. His beat-up Converse shoes are practically at the verge of dying. You think he’s definitely worn it more than a million times, but that wasn’t anything new. There wasn’t anything on the surface that was new.

Yet as he stands there, rosy cheeks flushed from the cold, his grin as radiant as always, there’s something about him that makes your heart stutter for just a moment.

“Okay… You’re doing that staring thing again.” Chan snaps his fingers in front of your face, bringing you back from your head. “You gonna let me in or not?”

You snap out of it, quickly stepping aside to let him in. “You’re so annoying, you know that?”

“And yet, you still tolerate me.” He shoots you a wink before brushing past you, and you observe as he leans his skateboard against the wall of your place. Then he flops onto the wobbly chair in front of your desk like its second instinct, like this place is his second home, and in a way, it is, because you’ll always be the first to let him in.

Chan lifts the black plastic bag as if he’s showing it off to you and sets it down on your cluttered desk, which has been overtaken by textbooks, flashcards, and an impressive collection of empty coffee mugs. You feel yourself fall into a pit of embarrassment at the mess, but this is Chan you’re talking about𑁋he’s seen you at your worst, or… the worst he’s seen so far.

“You know, I’ve heard these snacks are scientifically proven to cure stress,” he claims while handing you a plastic bowl of cup ramen.

You snort at that as you grab the cup of ramen from his grasp and place yourself down on the floor right by him. “Oh, really? Did you read that in The Medical Journal of Lee Chan’s Dumbass Theories?”

“Damn right I did.” He flashes you that lopsided grin, popping open a bottle of water and taking a sip before passing it to you. “Drink. You look like you haven’t had anything but coffee for days. Can’t imagine how much shit is in your head right now.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose at the thought. “I know. I’ve got a headache trying to memorise whatever the hell is in these textbooks.”

“And what’s the medical term for a headache again?”

You peer at him with narrowed eyes when you take another sip of water. “Cephalalgia.”

“See, you’ve still got it in you,” he quips wholeheartedly while leaning back in the chair, a leg propped up on his knee, a pleased smirk to his face when he captures the faintest sight of a smile to your features.

You only let out a scoff as you stand up to fill water into your cup of ramen, placing it in the microwave right after. Even then, you swear you can still feel the way his eyes are wandering over you as you move around the small kitchen, the tonnage of his gaze making your skin tingle. You try to shake off the odd sensation, focusing on getting your ramen prepared. You can hear Chan shifting in the chair behind you, the sounds of rustling hitting your ears as he rummages through the snacks.

Silence overtakes the both of you for a few minutes. It’s comfortable. It always is when it’s with him.

It’s a bit scary, too. Even though it shouldn’t be.

“I went to the skatepark earlier,” Chan suddenly pops in.

When the microwave dings, you carefully take out the cup of ramen. “Practicing your 900?”

“What can I say? I’ll be the next Tony Hawk,” he teases amusedly. “I’m just kidding. Could never be on that man’s level.”

“You’re going to hurt yourself one day doing all those… tricks and shit,” You say as you settle on your bed, pushing away pieces of paper of horrendous math calculations, making them fall down to the ground.

Chan shrugs, looking nonchalant as he leans back in his chair, casually stretching his arms behind his head. He was always pushing himself, always looking for the next adrenaline rush, no matter how reckless it seemed. It's a bit worrying sometimes. “Eh, I’ll survive. A little pain is part of the game.”

“Still. Just… be careful, alright?” The softness and genuine concern to your tone isn’t hard to miss as Chan looks over at you, the teasing spark in his eyes dimming for a second.

Chan plops a chip into his mouth, the crunch bouncing off the walls of the room.

“I will, don’t worry.” Then he leans in like some sort of villain in a superhero movie. “So… I’d like to propose an idea.”

You already know what he’s about to propose. “Chan, no𑁋”

“You, me, these snacks I robbed from the store, and a few episodes of Gilmore Girls.”

You pause mid-bite, your spoonful of ramen hovering just inches from your mouth as you stare at him in disbelief. A part of you wonders if the lack of caffeine in the bag had somehow changed his brain chemistry, but then again, this is the Lee Chan you’ve always known since you were fourteen𑁋spontaneous, reckless, and somehow endearing despite it all.

“You’re such a weirdo,” You murmur under your breath, but the smile on your face betrays you as it always does.

“Come on! You know you want to, Y/N,” he says smugly, and as he catches the slight unsureness to your features, he lets out a sigh. “Relax with me, please?”

For a moment, your mind weighs about the mountain of work that’s bound to be dumped on you, the looming exams, the clinical hours you’ve been drowning in… and then you think about the weight lifting off your shoulders every time Chan’s around. Even just for a little while, the world seems to slow down when he’s here.

He’s a goddamn terrible influence on you in the oddly best way possible. Oh, the irony.

“Okay, fine. Just… one or two episodes, alright?” You give in.

The way Chan’s eyes light up from your words sends a flip to your stomach, and he’s quick to leap off the chair to sink himself down right next to you on the bed. His warmth is quick to surround and engulf you, making himself comfortable in a way that feels so familiar it almost makes your heart race. His shoulder brushes against yours, and you shift slightly to make more room for him, attempting to ignore how suddenly hyper aware you are of his closeness to you.

He rolls his sleeves as if he’s prepared to commit his entire being to this mini-marathon of episodes, and you catch a peek of the tattoos that roam up and down his arms. You’ve seen them countless times before, but tonight, they seem to catch your attention more curiously than ever, and your gaze lingers for just a second too long before you snap your attention back to the screen of the laptop being placed between the two of you.

The bed creaks slightly as he adjusts himself, pulling the blankets up over both of your legs and getting comfortable as if he owns the place, before pressing the play button.

Even as the episode rolls in front of you, your mind… wanders to the boy right next to you. To Chan. To your best friend.

He isn’t looking at you when you’re looking at him, too focused on the scene playing before you. And just the single thought of him is enough to fill every part of your mind, every crevice in your heart. It’s overwhelming.

But it’s not just tonight. It’s not just this moment.

It’s every time he’s around.

The warmth of his body against yours feels too comforting to ignore. The way his carefree smile that you’ve seen thousands of times over the years always makes you forget the time, the way his eyes seem to see through you sometimes that you feel almost bare, the way out of the eight billion people walking this planet right now, he’s the only one who knows you better than anything else.

Your heart stutters in your chest.

Is this it? Is this what people talk about when they say it just clicks?

You want to laugh at how oblivious you’ve been, but the thought that keeps echoing through your mind is no, this isn’t new𑁋it’s been there for a while.

But as you steal another glance at him, the realisation hits you like a fucking bulldozer, like a speeding train, like a bullet penetrating through your body, like a punch to the gut you’re sure will leave a bruise. You nearly choke on your ramen.

You’re falling for him. You’re falling for your best friend.

No, scratch that. You’ve already fallen. Hard. For God knows how long. Fuck.

And the worst part? He doesn’t even know. You’re utterly screwed.

You were at the cusp of middle school and high school when you met Lee Chan. Even though you’re only a year ahead of him, the eighth graders at your school seemed to have a superiority complex bigger than their egos could contain. Back then, he was just another scrawny seventh grader running around with wild passions, and you were just trying to survive through these awful years of awkwardness, or just middle school in general.

It was during one of those ridiculous dares that you met. Some eighth grader had dared him to steal a soda can from the teacher’s lounge fridge, and he’d been caught red-handed𑁋by you, unsurprisingly, as you were sent to pick up some paperwork for your office aide duties. And instead of being embarrassed or causing a ruckus in the middle of the hallway, he had grinned at you like he threw the most disastrous prank in history.

“You won’t snitch, right?” he had asked, while holding the can of soda behind his back.

“Well, I’m an office aide after all,” You had responded sarcastically, crossing your arms together. “I could totally report you to the principal.”

But your words hardly phased him. Didn’t phase him at all. In fact, he’d just looked at you like one of those geeky kids confident in winning their Pokémon Go battles.

“Let me give you a reason not to then,” he had said, revealing the soda can from behind his back and offering it to you. You had stared at him in disbelief, and after a short while, you’d finally taken it. He had just shot you a smile and shuffled past you, as if nothing had happened, but not before adding, “Come to the playground after school. I’ll show you something cool.”

By something cool, he showed you something called a kickflip. You had no idea what a kickflip was at the time, but Chan was way too eager to show you as he grabbed hold of a skateboard that was once used by his father. You had watched him try and fail repeatedly, but never once had he looked embarrassed or frustrated. It was that lighthearted attitude of his that drew you in, something you admired even then. And so, you stayed after school, watching him persist until he finally nailed the trick, his smile wide and victorious. Maybe the world felt lighter in those moments too𑁋that maybe going to high school wouldn’t be an absolute shitshow.

That as young and dumb that you were, maybe life had good things for you.

Because it was with him.

You didn’t call it a crush though, because all the eighth graders who were stuck in their heads all mentioned how crushing on seventh graders was disgusting and gross, that going after the hot high schoolers was cooler. Thus, you ignored the small flutter in your chest whenever he made you laugh after nearly face-planting while practicing, turned a blind eye to the way your heart skipped when he gave that ungodly smile after nailing another trick.

You told yourself it was nothing. You were just friends. Best friends, even.

“I think I have a crush on my best friend,” You downright admit in the middle of the cafeteria, unconsciously stabbing your salad in front of you with a plastic fork.

Jeonghan peers at you while slurping up his banana milk. “Eat your ugly salad.”

You glare at him but take a begrudging bite of your salad anyway, chewing slowly as if it might somehow alleviate the embarrassment swirling in your chest. It’s been almost a week since you’ve come to terms with your feelings for your best friend. Jeonghan sets his banana milk down and leans forward, propping his chin on the palm of his hand with the kind of smug expression that tells you he’s about to make this conversation even worse.

“Well, you could𑁋”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” Jeonghan raises his hands in the air like he’s surrendering, letting out a scoff. “How inconsiderate of you.”

“Just𑁋Don’t you get it, Jeonghan?” You ask after stuffing a piece of cold lettuce in your mouth. “This is medical school. The pressure’s insane, and everything is a goddamn mess. I can’t just throw everything away over a stupid crush. And it’s not like Chan would feel the same way. We’ve been friends for so long… and it’s just stupid to think about anything more. I’m stupid for even falling for him in the first place.”

Jeonghan watches you carefully while mulling over your words, then his lips curl into a slight smirk, yet a hint of softness to his eyes.

“You know,” he starts, leaning back in his chair, swirling the banana milk in his cup. “It’s not stupid to have feelings. It’s natural. What’s stupid is throwing those feelings under the rug and leaving them to the dust mites.”

“But I just…” Your voice trails away as you struggle to find the right words. “I already have a lot on my plate right now, and it almost feels wrong to think of him that way. As someone more than a friend. I feel like a pervert or something𑁋I don’t know.”

“A pervert?” Jeonghan questions with a raised brow. “Aw, do you dream of giving him a little smooch on the lips?”

You choke on the next bite of your salad, coughing and trying to hide your face in your hands as Jeonghan just snickers, completely pleased at your reaction.

“You’re actually the devil’s worst nightmare personified,” You mutter under your breath, but there’s no anger behind it.

“Ah, well, that’s a new one,” Jeonghan remarks amusedly. “Better than the devil’s knight in shining armour, I suppose.”

You sigh, dropping your fork and slouching in your seat. You don’t think you have the energy to think about all of this right now. There’s a certain heaviness that settles in your chest as you reluctantly chew your way through the rest of your salad. You have other things to worry about right now, such as the mountain of schoolwork on your desk, your pathology exam on Friday, and having to impress your grumpy fifty-year-old attending tomorrow.

“Come on, let’s get through pharmacology.” You start to pack up your belongings, sealing off the remains of your unfinished salad and stuffing the container inside your backpack. Jeonghan watches you knowingly with a sigh as he gathers his own things.

“You’re avoiding the conversation,” he points out, standing up and tossing his empty drink into the trash bin.

“I know,” You admit, standing up to join him. “I just don’t have the mental space for it right now. I have so much to do, and thinking about Chan and... whatever this is... it’s not helping.”

Jeonghan doesn’t say anything after that, and you appreciate the quiet while shoving your laptop and notebook inside your backpack before flinging it over your shoulder. He doesn’t want to apply more pressure on the wound than needed.

One day, he thinks, you’ll have to face it, and that it’ll come to bite you in the ass sooner or later.

You could really use a shower right now.

After an entire day of clinicals and back-to-back lectures, all you want to do is melt in your bed and let the world fade away. But instead, you find yourself trudging towards the skatepark, because you promised to meet up with Chan for God knows why. By all means you’re definitely late, and you aren’t even sure if Chan would be at the skatepark as he’d have to wait almost an hour for you to show up, yet the thought of disappointing him somehow hurts more than the aching fatigue in your legs.

You spot him instantly. He’s mid-trick when you approach, his skateboard spinning in the air before he lands effortlessly with a triumphant grin. You see him fan himself, wiping his sweat off with his shirt he retrieves from the ground, catching sight of his exposed form and the tattoos that run up and down his skin. His back is turned towards you as well, and you catch a glimpse of another tattoo that he has: a series of Japanese letters that trail down his spine, spelling out his zodiac sign, Aquarius.

After a mere pause, he turns his head and spots you, his face lighting up like it always does, and you feel that familiar flip in your stomach again.

“You’re late,” he calls out, kicking the skateboard up into his hands and jogging over to meet you.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Blame my neuro attending. That man has the stamina of a marathon runner and the patience of a saint. Could rival Derek Shepherd, to be honest. I think I aged ten years today.” You set your bag down on the floor next to a nearby bench. “You didn’t wait long, did you?”

“Nah, not that long. You actually came after Vernon left𑁋idiot left his vape here,” Chan says while fishing the vape out of his pocket and taking a shameless hit from it, a cloud of vapour floating into the air when he exhales, before offering it to you with a teasing grin. “Want a hit?”

You scrunch your nose, shaking your head with a laugh. “Offering me, a med student, that shit is crazy. My lungs are precious thank you, unlike you and Vernon.”

“Tell that to those bozos.” He points to the noisy teenagers at the other side of the park, before sitting right next to you on the bench. “Can’t even roll over there without getting smacked in the face with weed.”

Your smile falters just slightly as you watch him lean back, his face tilting towards the darkening sky. The dim light of the streetlamps catches on the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the relaxed purse of his lips, and highlights the sleek dragon tattoo that snakes up his arm. He looks... peaceful. Content. Like the world isn’t asking too much from him tonight, like there’s no ginormous weight of expectations pressing on his shoulders, unlike you.

“I messed up today during clinicals,” You randomly confess, making Chan turn toward you. “There was this patient today… a girl. Seventeen years old, has a tumour that’s basically about to split her brain in half. I kept arguing with my attending about treatments, and I was so sure I was right𑁋that we could do something more about it𑁋but in the end, I just... made it worse. I felt like such an idiot, because… because there wasn’t anything we could do. She only has one chance with surgery, and she took it, despite her low chances of surviving.”

Chan listens to you, his eyes gentle and thoughtful, understanding but not pitying. It’s the same way he used to listen when you were venting back in high school, always patient, never rushing you to fix yourself or your emotions.

“You’re not an idiot,” he tells you, but his tone is nothing like a scold. “You care. That’s the difference. Not everyone would have fought that hard for her, even if you didn’t win. You’ve got a heart the size of the ocean, dude, you know?”

You smile faintly, chest tightening a little to his words. “The mother-fucking ocean?”

Chan grins at your lightheartedness, nudging you with his elbow. “Yeah, the mother-fucking ocean. You’re stubborn as hell, but you’ve got that heart. And that’s what makes you good at what you do. It’s what makes you you.”

You look down almost in guilt from his words, unconsciously playing with your fingers in your lap. You don’t know why, but it hits harder than usual tonight, and for a second, the rush of everything you’ve been holding back hits you𑁋the exhaustion, the worry, the feeling that you’ve been carrying more than your fair share of burdens these days. They almost threaten to burst out of you, but right now, they don’t. Not yet at least.

“You’re gonna be a good doctor,” Chan continues. “I don’t even have to be a doctor to know that. You just… you get it. You’re going to go out there and do great things. Maybe even better things than me.”

You almost want to laugh at that, almost want to tell Chan just how much shit he’s done that is far greater than what you could ever dream of. You’re not sure if he realises it himself𑁋how great he is, how much you admire him, love him𑁋but you think you could spend more than a lifetime telling him just that if you could.

Maybe you’ve been avoiding these feelings for too long, but the truth is, they’ve been there for as long as you can remember. You can’t pinpoint the exact moment these feelings shifted from friendship, to admiration, to something more𑁋maybe it was when he helped you get through the first few years of high school, or when he held your hand during a school dance, not in some romantic gesture but because you were scared of your anxiety acting up𑁋but it’s always been there. He’s always been there.

“I… Thank you, Chan,” You say softly. Then you tilt your head back, looking at the same sky he is, the heaviness in your chest easing just a little. “You’re kind of annoying, you know that? But you’re also... you’re really great yourself. Like, better-than-I-deserve great.”

Chan just chuckles at that. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, turning his head slightly to look at you. “That’s probably the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, and I’ve heard a lot of dumb shit from you.”

“Wow, okay. Forget all that I said then,” You retort back playfully, shaking your head and crossing your arms together. “You’re the worst person alive, actually.”

When you’re busy gazing up at the sky above, Chan turns to you. His eyes flit over you, basking how your eyelashes slowly bat together from tiredness, how your lips are slightly curled up in relaxation, how your features glow from the singular street lamp illuminating the skatepark. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and glances away, his thoughts racing faster than he can keep up with.

“You meant it though, right?” he asks.

“What?” You question, turning towards him.

“About me being great or whatever.” You can tell he’s trying to brush off the hesitation, but you sense the uncertainty in his voice. “You meant it?”

Out of all times, you wonder why he’s questioning it right now, at almost midnight in the middle of the skatepark. You’ve told him countless times how great he is, always hyping him up for skate competitions and giving him comfort on the times he’s down himself. Why… is he suddenly asking if you meant it?

“Well, I… Of course, I meant it,” You respond, catching his eye. “Why wouldn’t I?”

For a short period, there’s just silence, comfortable, a pinch of awkward𑁋a word you can pretty much never associate with your interactions together𑁋yet heavy. The way Chan’s features soften on his face from your words seem more important than the stars blinking up in the sky right now.

Then all it takes is a tiny giggle from him, and you can’t help but groan.

“Oh no,” You grumble pesteringly, shooting him an exasperated glance, but your tone is light, teasing. “I fueled your ego now, didn’t I?”

“Yep. I can walk around like I’m the best thing since sliced bread,” Chan jokes, puffing out his chest with pride. “My greatness has been confirmed by a certified medical professional.”

“Whatever, big head,” You sneer back playfully.

Chan stretches out a bit more on the bench, his legs extending and his arms behind his head. You can tell he’s getting more comfortable too, probably ready to call it a night, just like you, and you can’t help but let yourself soften a little.

Without thinking, you shift your body and lean your head down to gently rest it in Chan’s lap. His body stiffens for a few seconds as if he wasn’t expecting it, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he lets you settle, and after a beat, his hand comes to gently rest in your hair, and something tugs at your heartstrings from the feeling. Your eyes slowly flutter to a close.

“You okay?”

Those words almost make you want to cry.

“Yeah,” You reply quietly. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

When you open your eyes back up, Chan is looking down at you, studying you, his thumb tenderly tapping the top of your head as he waits for an answer.

“Alright.” You let out a deep inhale, blinking back up at him. “I’m not.”

Then his hand stops moving, and you nearly regret even telling him that.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks cautiously.

The corners of your lips tug up slightly, another sigh leaving you. All you can do is shake your head.

“Not really.”

Chan just pulls away, not entirely, but enough to give you a little space. His hand stays near, though, and he’s still watching you, his expression soft.

“Okay.”

For now, the two of you let your gazes drift back up to the sky, and you think𑁋maybe falling for your best friend isn’t the worst thing in the world.

The number 87 is scratched at the top of the page of your medical jurisprudence exam.

“Thanks for letting me cheat off you, by the way,” Jeonghan chimes in jokingly over your shoulder, nudging you in the arm before walking past you and out the door.

You roll your eyes at his comment but remain standing right where you are at your seat, and you don’t know why you can’t get yourself to move. Your fellow classmates𑁋all dressed in their finest set of scrubs𑁋brush past you and out of the classroom, but you could only clench your first around the paper in your hand.

An 87 isn’t bad; if anything, it’s great. Hell, it’s probably better than some of the other people in your class. You should be happy about it. But for some reason, you can’t shake the feeling that there’s something off. It’s the fact that you’re standing here, staring at a number that’s supposed to represent your hard work, your achievements, yet it feels empty, hollow, even.

You don’t feel proud of yourself.

All you can think about are the countless nights you’ve spent studying for something that doesn’t even feel fulfilling anymore. Your mind wanders over the sleepless nights, the skipped meals, the times you could hardly breathe because rotations had you stuck in the hospital𑁋what was it all for? A number? A stupid grade on a piece of paper?

You take a deep breath, trying to push the thought away.

“You’re doing fine,” You remind yourself, quietly, under your breath. But somehow, it doesn’t sound as convincing as you need it to. “You did good. You’re fine.”

Yet, there’s a voice that echoes off the walls of your head: you can do better.

You meet Jeonghan and your other mutual friend Joshua in the hallway after managing to finally leave the large lecture hall. The two of them are chatting enthusiastically amongst each other, comparing their exams and the questions they received credit for along with the ones they got wrong.

You force a smile to slip across your face when you approach, though it merely feels like a mask you’re getting tired of wearing.

“If I manage to survive this program, then I better be gifted with twenty years worth of coffee,” Jeonghan says while stuffing the exam paper inside his backpack. On the other hand, Joshua seems to be way more organised than you and Jeonghan combined, slipping his paper into a colour–coordinated folder before holding it under his arm.

“What did you want to go into again? Pediatrics? Can’t imagine you with children for the life of me,” Joshua comments playfully.

“Alright, mister, you’re the one who wanted to go into plastics,” Jeonghan retorts with a smirk, nudging Joshua in the ribs. “I can totally see you standing in front of a mirror practicing how to say, ‘Oh, ma’am, you’ll look amazing after this rhinoplasty.’”

Joshua rolls his eyes but laughs. “At least I’ll make my patients happy. I’m not sure kids would survive under your care without learning sarcasm as their first language.”

“Sarcasm builds character, my friend,” Jeonghan states matter-of-factly, wiggling a finger up in the air as if to emphasise the point. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach those little demons how to get through life in the correct way.”

You give in a chuckle at their banter, clumsily folding your exam paper in half and stuffing it deep inside your bag, hoping you’d probably forget all about it by the end of the day. Though the tension inside you doesn’t seem to want to disappear quite easily. You should feel happy to be surrounded by friends who’ve stuck with you through this hellish journey, but instead, you’re just... floating.

It’s like you’re suspended between reality and expectation, unsure of where you really fit into either world. You try to push it down, but the feeling keeps creeping back, making your chest feel tight.

“Now I think this calls for a celebratory shot of champagne, or Iced Americano, whatever you want to call it,” Jeonghan announces to you and Joshua as all of you are walking outside.

The time has nearly reached evening by this point, the warm hues of the sky painting the sunset that’s illuminating the campus. It’s a sight that would normally give you a sense of peace, an opportunity to relax, but it doesn’t give you that feeling right now. Far from it. You should be happy, you remind yourself again and again. You’ve been working towards this for your entire life, yet here you are, dragging yourself through the motions like a robot programmed to survive but never to live.

And maybe that’s what hurts the most𑁋the thought that you’ve lost yourself somewhere along the way. You can’t remember the last time you felt truly at ease, or when you last let yourself just... breathe.

Your steps don’t fall in rhythm with Jeonghan and Joshua as you trail behind them. All of your energy feels like it’s been drained out of your body, and that you’d much rather be in the comfort of your apartment to study and distract yourself.

“You guys can go ahead,” You say to Jeonghan and Joshua with a soft, yet tired smile. “I think I’m just going to head home and get some rest. Catch up later?”

Joshua frowns, noticing the tension in your voice. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” You reply nimbly with a half-shrug, even though the word feels like a lie when it leaves your lips. “Just… tired. You know how it is. You two deserve to celebrate, though. Go and enjoy yourselves.”

Before you could give Jeonghan or Joshua any chance to respond, you give them a half-hearted wave before hiking off in another direction. You blink away the heat that was threatening to form in your eyes, keeping your gaze focused on the ugly, cracked pavement ahead as you hurriedly make your way back to your apartment. Every step feels heavier than the last, and you swear you feel yourself sinking with each one you take. You tell yourself it’s fine𑁋that you’ll feel better once you’re home, but you can’t tell if you’re just trying to convince yourself that.

By the time you arrive at your apartment building, perhaps more time has gone by than you expected. The sun has nearly set at this time, making way for the moon to take over with its nightly duties, casting its pale glow over the world around you. But it doesn’t seem to paint its glow on you.

When you start trudging your way towards the entrance to your building, a voice freezes you in your path.

“Y/N! Wait up!”

Your heart sinks in your chest at the voice, almost urging you to step inside your place before that particular gnaw of guilt could grab you, but you freeze nonetheless. You reluctantly turn around to none other than Chan jogging up to you, his skateboard nearly falling from his grip as he lands right in front of you. He’s breathing a bit heavier than usual, as if he’d been running to catch up.

“You haven’t texted me all day,” he tells you breathlessly.

You lift a brow at that, a corner of your lip lifting up at his clinginess. “And you ran all the way here to tell me that?”

“Well, duh, I have to make sure you’re alive.” He wipes off some sweat from his forehead. You could tell he just rolled here all the way from the skatepark.

As you let your eyes scan over him, you can’t help but notice how effortlessly cool he looks with his messy fair falling in front of eyes, and the way he still seems to be trying to catch his breath from the exertion of running up to you. There’s a softness in his expression that makes your chest tighten, and it’s enough to make you lose focus on everything else. The exhaustion, the doubt, the ache in your chest𑁋all of it vanishes when you look at him.

Truthfully, you missed him too. You always do.

“You’re such a dork,” You prod, trying to suppress the soft warmth that spreads through your chest. You know he’s only teasing, but his concern still cuts deeper than you expect. “See? I'm alive and breathing.”

Chan eyes you suspiciously, before grabbing ahold of his skateboard from under his arm. “Alright, if you say so…”

Before he could place the skateboard on the ground, you stop him.

“Wait, Chan.”

Chan shoots his attention back to you, and perhaps that’s enough to make your legs feel like jelly and your throat to go dry. You hesitate, biting back the emotions threatening to spill out of your mouth, but something about the softness in Chan’s gaze makes it feel like this is the right time to let it out. Even if it’s just a little bit.

Without thinking, you take a step forward, then another, and another, before leaning in to gently let your head fall on his shoulder. Chan freezes, his body tensing at the sudden contact. For a second, you wonder if you’ve done something wrong, but then he exhales, his warmth radiating against your temple. You don’t notice the way his hand hovers uncertainly over your back, contemplating, before he ultimately brings it back to his side.

“I got my results for an exam today,” You admit quietly.

Chan thinks he knows where this is going, breathing out a defeated, “Oh. Did it… I mean, did you𑁋”

“I passed,” You mutter with a slight chuckle. “With flying colours.”

Chan doesn’t respond immediately, the only sound being the gentle rustling of the evening breeze. You can feel his shoulder shift slightly under your head, not out of discomfort, but then you feel his arm gently slide over your shoulders, pulling you a little closer to him. Maybe you’re close enough to the point he can feel your heartbeat.

“Then why do you sound so down?” he asks. “If you passed, you should… you should be celebrating, right? That’s a big deal.”

“I am celebrating.” You huff out a breath. “Now that you’re here, I-I could celebrate.”

Chan tenses at that, like your words rendered him speechless. “Because… because I’m here?”

You nod lightly against his shoulder. “It’s… easier to breathe when you’re here, I guess.” And then you smile faintly, even Chan can feel it. “Don’t let that get to your head, though.”

But it does. It does go to Chan’s head in more ways than one as he feels that familiar heat crawl up his neck from how those words fall naturally off your lips, like it was such a normal thing to say. And no, it doesn’t fuel the prideful ego he claims he has, doesn’t make him smug or self-assured; no, it goes straight directly to his heart, as your words always do. He’s glad the dim evening light hides the full extent of his reaction, but he knows his heart isn’t probably nearly as subtle.

And when you lift your head off his shoulder and pull away slightly, he can’t help but stare at you. You don’t say anything either, the words sitting in the air between you. But then you smile𑁋tiredly, genuinely, not forced or hiding anything𑁋and the first thought that comes to his head is that… you’re beautiful.

“You reek of sweat,” You suddenly point out teasingly, scrunching your nose. “How many hours did you stay at the damn park?”

“Oh, you know, only a good seven hours,” Chan replies sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Plus I did go to the gym with Soonyoung too…”

“And let me guess, no knee pads or helmet?” You ask with a raised eyebrow.

Chan opens his mouth in defense. “Well, I𑁋”

“Alright, I’ve heard enough,” You cut him off playfully, rolling your eyes dramatically.

Then Chan lightly nudges you with the skateboard. “At least you’ll be there to patch me up, yeah?”

“Nope, sorry, I’m leaving you at the mercy of the cranky ER nurses,” You tell him, wiggling a dismissive finger toward his face.

Chan just steps back up to you, a twinkle of mischief that you capture in his eyes, before he grabs hold of the skateboard under his arm and shoves it in your hold, a low oof escaping out of your mouth. Then you watch with a scoff as he brushes past you and into your apartment building, and you jog to catch up with him.

“What the hell are you doing, Chan?” You call out after him, trying to juggle the weight of the skateboard in your hands. Chan glances over his shoulder with that signature grin of his𑁋half playful, half smug𑁋and it’s enough to make you want to smack him with the board. “And take this thing back, I’m not carrying it! Lee Chan!”

Chan looks back at you with his tongue sticking out, before disappearing around the corner. “Sorry, I’m going to use your shower!”

And for the first time the entire day, the laugh that leaves you is real. A real, genuine laugh that comes from deep in your chest, bubbling up before you can stop it.

“Hey, Lee Dino! You’re up!”

Chan picks his head up from where he sat on the bench, scrunching the empty water bottle and aimlessly tossing it in the trash bin beside him. He stands up, tugging his shirt off that was nearly drenched in sweat and throwing it aside near his belongings. The cool air of the afternoon hits his skin, caressing over the tattoos that paint his skin.

His muscles flex as he stretches his arms above his head, relieving whatever tension was flowing through his body. The key factor to skateboarding is balance, but it’s also about rhythm𑁋finding the flow between body and board, and Chan knows it all too well.

He inhales deeply, eyes scanning the open park in front of him, full of potential for the next challenge.

“Let’s see what you got today, Lee Dino,” Chan mutters to himself, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Dino. A self-proclaimed nickname that was at first given to him by his father when he was just a kid and fascinated by the strength and coolness of dinosaurs in those silly comic books. His dad had joked that he wanted his son to dominate the world like the dinosaurs once did, and that nickname stuck ever since. It felt fitting to Chan, even now.

He strides confidently toward the half-pipe, his worn-out skateboard tucked under his arm. Placing the skateboard on the ground, he pushes it back and forth a few times with his foot, the wheels scraping the pavement below. He eyes the ramp ahead, its steep curve teasing him, almost daring him to take it head-on.

Chan doesn’t hesitate.

In one singular, fluid motion, he plants one foot on the board and pushes forward, flying off with a burst of energy that propels him toward the ramp. The world around him blurs for a split second as his focus narrows entirely on the slope ahead. His heart races, not out of fear but exhilaration. The crowd that had gathered around the park watches, a mix of awe and excitement in their eyes.

He hits the curve of the ramp, leaning into it just the right amount, and in one smooth motion, he launches himself into the air. The adrenaline kicks in, but it’s all muscle memory that fills him𑁋he knows exactly how to control his body.

Time seems to pause and the world around goes on mute as he floats above the ground. The board twists under his feet with the familiar flick of his ankle. His body moves effortlessly, adjusting for the perfect landing, and searching for the right second to take in a deep breath.

He lands back on the pavement with the grace of a dancer, his knees absorbing the shock of the landing, and the cheers of his friends and his fellow skaters power up to full volume right to his ears when the world comes back to him. But as he rolls around the bowl, his focused eyes are already scanning for the next trick he’s about to perform.

One trick after another, he continues, smoothly flowing from one move to the next. A quick Ollie here, a grind on the edge there, his body dancing on the board with a sense of freedom following right after him. He can feel the eyes of the crowd who have curiously gathered around the park to watch, but right now, it’s just him and the board.

One last run, he tells himself. Chan rolls again, more faster this time, building up speed as the seconds of anticipation pass. As he nears the highest point of the ramp, he shifts his weight and takes in one last deep breath. He’s going for a bigger one this time. A heelflip, followed by a 360-degree spin mid-air.

The muscle memory kicks in again as he pushes off for one final time. He feels the rush, the levity to his bones that make him fly, the thrill as the world spins around him. But as he spins, something doesn’t quite feel right, and he could sense it right away. A rush of cold wind catches him off-balance, and for a split second, he hesitates mid-air, yet he’s just a millisecond too late.

It’s a tiny moment𑁋one probably wouldn’t be able to notice it from how fast he was going𑁋but it’s enough to throw him off. His body is barely in the perfect alignment it needs to be. Panic flashes through his eyes.

And his heart sinks as he realises he’s not going to stick the landing.

Chan manages to land the board, but it’s far from the smooth he was expecting, slamming harshly that his body doesn’t fully absorb the shock. His right foot misses the edge of the deck just slightly, and the board wobbles beneath him. He tries to adjust quickly, but the momentum carries him a bit too far, and before he knows it, he’s stumbling off the side and onto the rocky ground, the skateboard shooting out from under him and skidding into one of the nearby flatrails.

“Shit,” he mutters to himself.

Collective gasps ripple through the air as he finds himself laying flat on the ground, his breathing heavy. Chan rolls onto his side, groaning in frustration.

“Man, you good?” Vernon’s voice pops in, the boy picking up Chan’s skateboard and jogging towards him. “That looked like a bad fall.”

Chan pushes himself up from the ground, shaking his head and laughing lightly, wiping his palms against the asphalt and feeling the sting of scraped skin. The fall had been harsh, his body aching slightly from the impact, but the sting is nothing compared to the frustration burning in his chest. He’s taken worse falls before, but this one felt different. This time, he knew he should’ve nailed it.

Maybe he was a bit too cocky. A bit too confident than he needed to be.

“Yeah, I’m good, dude.” He grabs hold of Vernon’s outstretched hand and stands back up on his feet with a grimace. “Guess I miscalculated that a bit, huh?”

“You sure about that?” Vernon asks skeptically, handing Chan back his skateboard. “You look like you’ve taken a hit.”

Chan just chuckles, downplaying himself playfully. “Nah, I’m fine. Maybe just a little bit of a bruised ego.”

But even with that, his mind races, still replaying the trick, analysing the split-second mistakes he made. Why had he hesitated? Was he not focused enough? Was it the wind? Or maybe, was it that nagging feeling of doubt that had crept in when he least expected it?

“You’ve been pushing yourself harder lately,” Vernon says, eyeing him knowingly. “You’re going to burn out if you keep going like this.”

But Chan only shakes his head dismissively.

“It’s just a slip-up.” Then he pats Vernon on the shoulder. “It’s all good, man.”

But deep down, he’s unsettled. He’s used to pushing through challenges, always looking ahead and striving for the next trick. But now, he feels like something’s holding him back, and it’s not just the fall.

He can’t help but think about you. A while ago when you’d reassured him, telling him he was great and making his heart do flips more than it should. Maybe he hadn’t fully processed it then, but now, with the fall still fresh like a wound, the words hold more poundage than ever. The words he told himself about his worth, the words you told him about his greatness… they don’t seem to line up with the failure he feels now. Maybe you were just saying it to make him feel better.

Or maybe he really isn’t as great as everyone thinks.

Because if you𑁋the one person who knew him best𑁋saw something in him, then maybe it was real. Maybe his greatness wasn’t just an illusion he crafted to keep himself from falling apart.

Later that evening, Chan finds himself taking a mindless hit of his vape. The skatepark has cleared away at this point, leaving only him and Vernon sitting on the edge of the half-pipe, the cool night air settling over the empty ramps and rails. The rush of adrenaline from earlier is now long gone, replaced by a quiet hum of exhaustion and contemplation.

Chan exhales slowly, watching the vapour dissipate into the dead of night, the faint flavour of Sour Fucking Fab coating his tongue. The nicotine buzzes in his veins, a distraction𑁋temporary, but enough.

His fingers absentmindedly tap against his skateboard, the frustration from earlier still simmering beneath his skin. Vernon leans back on his elbows, glancing at him with that same knowing look he always has when Chan is overthinking.

“You wanna talk about it now?” Vernon finally asks after exhaling a cloud of vapour of his own, leaning back on his palms.

Chan lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Not really.”

Vernon doesn’t push. He never does, seemingly having the unbotheredness that could rival a rock. The boy just nods, stretching his legs out in front of him, letting the silence do the talking instead. They sit there for a while, watching the overhead lamps flicker across the park, and the occasional car passing by.

Chan lets his legs dangle over the edge of the ramp, his skateboard resting beside him, scuffed and worn from years of practice. He takes another slow drag of his vape and drops his back down on the cool pavement below, sealing his eyes shut.

“You good?” Vernon asks again, his voice cutting through the silence.

Chan blinks, shaking himself out of it. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About your fall?”

Chan hums noncommittally. “Among other things.”

Vernon leans back against the rail, watching him closely. “You’ve been weird lately.”

Chan only lets out a breathy chuckle, yet doesn’t respond right away. It’s funny how one fall is enough to mess with his head. He just blankly stares up ahead at the night sky. He doesn’t have an answer. At least, not one he’s ready to say out loud. But Chan knows Vernon, and Vernon knows him, and he’s not going to let this go that easily.

“Do you think I’m actually good at this?” he asks suddenly, voice quieter than before.

Vernon turns his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “At skating?”

“Yeah.” Chan swallows the lump in his throat. “Or at anything, really.”

Vernon frowns puzzledly, sitting up properly. “Dude, what are you talking about? You’re literally one of the best skaters here."

“Yeah, but what if I’m just… I don’t know, pretending?” The words come out before Chan can stop them. “What if I’m just tricking myself into thinking I’m great when I’m really just average?”

Vernon studies him for a long while before letting out a slow breath. “Man, if that were true, you wouldn’t be out here busting your ass every day till the crack of dawn. You wouldn’t get back up after a fall. You wouldn’t care this much.”

Chan doesn’t respond right away, only pushing himself back off the ground. Then his mind drifts again, back to you𑁋your head resting in his lap, the way you looked up at him with something unreadable in your gaze. The impact of your words still lingers. You’re really great yourself. Like, better-than-I-deserve great.

“Have you ever thought that… maybe people see you as something more than you really are?”

Vernon lifts up a brow. “You’re speaking hieroglyphics.”

Chan scoffs annoyedly, running a hand through his messy hair. “Like, they think you’re this… great person, right? Someone who’s got it all figured out or whatever. But then, you screw up. And suddenly, you don’t know if you’re actually that person, or if they just convinced themselves you were.”

Vernon eyes him conspicuously. “Dude. That’s just imposter syndrome.”

A dry laugh leaves Chan. “Well, shit.”

“Okay, so you mess up one fall and suddenly you’re questioning your entire existence?”

Chan snorts, but there’s no real amusement behind it. “Maybe.”

Vernon stares at him a little longer, a little harder, then sighs.

“It isn’t just about the fall, is it?”

Chan hesitates, his fingers tightening around his vape. He wants to say yes𑁋that it’s just about the fall, just about that one pivotal mistake𑁋but he knows it’s not. He knows Vernon is right.

Because if it were just about the fall, he wouldn’t feel this restless. He wouldn’t be sitting here, staring at the cracks in the pavement like they held the answers to all the questions buzzing in his head.

And the thought of you wouldn’t keep creeping into his mind, either.

He smiles faintly at the thought of you, and he swears he could almost feel the warmth of your body when you laid your head on his shoulder the other day.

Maybe falling𑁋on the board, for you, for everything𑁋wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Maybe he just had to figure out how to land.

“You ever think that maybe no one’s expecting you to be perfect except yourself?” Vernon questions suddenly.

Chan turns to look at him in surprise.

“Think about it.” Then the boy breathes out a cloud of vapour, hitting Chan square in the face, accusingly pointing at him with the mouth of his vape. “And wipe that disgusting lovesick shit off your face.”

Chan chokes from his words.

“Chan?”

“...hm?”

You lightly flick the tip of your pencil on his head, causing him to stir in front of you. The two of you were in the library of your campus, and Chan for some reason voluntarily wanted to come with you, despite it being one of your boring study sessions. He’s sitting in the chair right across from you, hoodie over his face and face buried in his arms on the table, clearly dozing off.

“You’re sleeping,” You say, raising a brow. “Why did you even come if you were just gonna pass out on me?”

Chan slowly lifts his head, eyes heavy with drowsiness. His hair is a mess, sticking up in odd angles, and his face is creased from where he had pressed it against his arms. He blinks sluggishly at you, eyes still heavy with sleep, but there’s something else there𑁋something softer, something warm.

“Mmm… moral support?” Then he shoots a glance towards your opened textbook and computer screen. “I barely understand any of the shit you’re studying anyway.”

You roll your eyes, fighting the smile threatening to spread across your face. “You could’ve just stayed home and slept, you know.”

“That’s boring,” he groans, rubbing his eyes before propping his chin on his palm. He studies your bare face𑁋tired eyes, a bit of breakout to your cheek, the way you chew on your bottom lip when you’re frustrated. “Talk to me.”

“About what?”

“Anything. I don’t know𑁋your shitty commute to school or if that one shitty nurse bothered you today. Just talk to me.”

You sigh, stretching your arms above your head before setting your pencil on top of your textbook. You could feel Chan’s eyes waiting for you as you try to rack your brain for anything to talk about. Anything that didn’t revolve around you practically moping through your coursework the entire day.

And then your face lights up.

“A baby held onto my finger last night,” You say, eyes softening from the memory. “Her name is Nabi, and she was sooo tiny, Chan, you have no idea. She wasn’t even my patient, so I had to sneak inside the nursery to see her, but…” You lean back in the chair, glancing down at your calloused fingertips from all the times you’ve practiced sutures. “I don’t know. She wrapped her tiny hand around my finger, then all I felt… was peace. It was relaxing. I haven’t felt peace like that in a long time.”

Now that’s an image that comes to Chan's head.

For a moment, like a spell, he’s lost in it. His mind wanders, as it always does when he lets himself think about you too much. He can imagine you there, looking down at Nabi with that quiet wonder in your eyes, watching you care for this tiny life. He pictures you cradling a baby of your own with the same peaceful look on your face as you guide them gently through the world.

And the thought hits him like a tidal wave: You’d be an incredible mother.

It’s not something he’s imagined before, not something he’s consciously thought of. But now that you’ve said it, now that you single-handedly planted the concept in his head, he can’t push it away. He’s seen it when you did volunteer work for young children back in high school, seen it when you showed him pictures of you cradling the newborn baby of your cousin with the fondest look on your face. He can see it so clearly.

“You’d be a great mom,” he blurts out suddenly, and he hardly processes the words until after they’ve left his mouth.

You blink at him, dazed. “What?”

Chan clears his throat awkwardly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I-I just think you’d be really good at it. You’ve always been great with kids, so…”

You blink at him again, unsure of what to say, and he can’t quite tell what you’re thinking in your head. But in reality, his words seem to hit you more than you expected. Perhaps you’ve been too caught up in your studies that it’s hard to imagine that kind of future for you right now. Yet, if somehow, life gave you that kind of situation, then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Maybe this would all be worth it in the end.

And so, you smile. It’s a small, just barely noticeable quirk of your lips, but it’s soft, and for some reason, it makes Chan’s heart skip.

“Yeah,” You murmur quietly. “Maybe.”

“Nabi was lucky to have you there, though,” Chan adds in. “Maybe she also felt peace too.”

You peer at him with an amused look. “Are you getting a soft spot for babies now?” Then you scoff sarcastically. “I guess the tough-looking skater boy can get soft, after all.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” he jokes, trying to brush off the warmth spreading across his chest. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

You could only roll your eyes. “Sure, I’ll keep your secret, buttercup.”

Chan just chuckles. He doesn’t mind being the soft version of himself with you. He doesn’t have to wear the hard exterior that everyone expects from him: the reckless skater with tough edges who never cracks under pressure. It’s easy, he thinks, to be soft around you. It’s easy for you to make him soft in the first place, with just a single glance, a smile, just you.

The room grows quiet now, other students filing their way out of the library for the night, leaving only the two of you. You glance down at your work, but your thoughts drift, still lingering on the conversation, and on Chan. You notice how his gaze has relaxed, lips curled like he’s trying to hide a smile. You don’t mind it𑁋this side of him. The one that feels less like a skating rebel and more like a person you’re learning to understand more every day.

He watches you as you get back to your work, highlighting parts of your textbook with that quiet concentration that he admires. It’s occasions like these when he finds himself noticing even the smallest details about you.

Yet his mind keeps repeating about the peace you mentioned, and there’s a sudden urge in him to bring it back to you.

“Come on.” He rises from the seat, stretching his arms over his head before grabbing his skateboard from where it rests against the table. “Let’s get out of here for a bit.”

You blink at him, confused. “What?”

“You need a break,” he states simply. “And I need to clear my head too. Let’s go do something𑁋anything but this.” He gestures at your pile of notes and textbooks like they personally offended him.

You stare at him like he’s proposed the most ridiculous thing in the world, hesitation making you stiffen. You glance between your opened textbook and unfinished papers. You still have a lot to study, and it looms over you like a cloud. But then you meet Chan’s eyes, and your heart gets lodged in your throat.

It’s tempting. More tempting than you want to admit. You bite your lip, considering.

“Chan.” You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re on thin ice right now.”

“Oh, come on,” he coaxes, tiling his head amusedly as if he knows he’s getting under your skin. “Just for a little bit, please?”

You groan, throwing your head back dramatically. “You’re a bad influence.”

“I’m a wondrous influence, thank you,” he corrects smugly, already swinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Now come on. Pack all that gross knowledge up.”

“Just so you’re aware, one day all this shit could help me find some revolutionary cure in the future,” You point out while stuffing all your belongings in your backpack. “Catch me on the front page of the New York Times.”

Chan smiles at that. Honestly, with already knowing how smart and studious you are, he wouldn’t even be surprised if that someday were to happen. He’s never once doubted your abilities, never once doubted that you’ll potentially save the world in some way, shape, or form, never once doubted that you’ll accomplish great things.

“Alright, whatever, as long as you don’t forget about me,” Chan says as you pack the last of your belongings.

You hit him gently on the shoulder. “I’d never do that to you.”

Chan’s heart does the familiar jump once again.

The two of you make your way out of the library, the cool night air hitting your skin as soon as you step outside. Campus is quieter at this hour, streetlights casting long shadows over the pavement. Chan hops onto his skateboard with ease, gliding a few feet ahead before spinning back around to face you, rolling backwards.

“Okay, so… what’s the plan?” You ask him.

He pretends to think, tapping his chin dramatically. “We could get ice cream.”

“It’s freezing, idiot.”

“Or we could break into the football field and stare at the sky like we’re in some coming-of-age movie.”

You scoff airily. “We’re not breaking into anything, Chan.”

“Ugh, you’re boringgggg,” he exaggerates teasingly, but there’s no real disappointment in his voice. He kicks off again, rolling beside you as you walk. Then, as if something clicks in his head, his expression shifts and his face brightens up. “I know what we’re doing.”

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Chan merely grins, and you know you have to give in. “You’ll love it, trust me.”

That’s exactly what someone who is about to get you in trouble would say.

Chan’s place has always been so… Chan. He shares it with another roommate𑁋a chill guy named Vernon who you’ve interacted a few times when you would visit the skatepark. The apartment is dimly lit, a shelf at the corner of the slightly unkempt living room containing a collection of vinyls and old CDs.

Posters of old rock bands and underground artists fill the walls. There’s another skateboard propped up by the door right next to a disorganised row of shoes and a stand propping up an electric guitar. The living room table is littered with books about sports you aren’t familiar with, loose papers, and a bong sitting casually beside an ashtray that contained some old rolled-up joints.

It’s been a while since you’ve visited his place personally as you’re used to him visiting you instead. It looks a bit different this time, some new furniture and decorations added that you haven’t seen before, but it still oozes the familiar comfort rightfully belonging to Chan.

“Bro, can you turn it down a little?” You hear Chan knocking a few times on Vernon’s door.

A voice is muffled on the other side, then the door swings open, and Vernon’s head pops out from the room. The two of them exchange a few words before Vernon turns his head to shoot you an acknowledgement.

“Yo, Y/N,” he greets you casually.

“Hey, Vernon,” You respond back with a quick smile.

Vernon faces back to Chan, glancing between the two of you, before poking him in the chest and muttering quietly, “Don’t fuck this up with her, man.”

Chan just swats Vernon’s hand away with a scowl, feeling the heat spread up to his ears. “Shut up.”

Vernon just shoots a knowing smirk before heading back into his room. You hear the music from inside lower slightly, yet still audible through the walls. Chan turns back to you, and you catch him fiddling lightly with one of his ears, but you don’t question it.

“Want something to drink?” he asks, slipping past you to head into the small kitchen area.

You give a nod. “Sure.”

You watch as he rummages through the refrigerator, half-expecting for him to pull out two bottles of beer or even just plain water. But instead, he fishes out two small juice boxes, sending you back to old memories of your middle school lunches and lazy summer days at the skatepark, and you bite back a chuckle.

He throws one to you, and you catch it mid-air.

“Seriously?” You question while stabbing the straw through the carton.

Chan only shrugs. “They’re Vernon’s. He bought them in bulk last time he got shit-faced high. Said they were ‘the peak of human invention’ or whatever.”

You roll your eyes, but when you take a sip, Chan watches in amusement as you dive in for more.

“Told you. Peak of human invention,” he muses while taking a sip of his own. “Our middle school has to take notes.”

“For sure,” You agree wistfully, sitting yourself down at the arm of the couch. “Alright, so what’s this grand plan of yours?”

A mischievous glint flickers in Chan’s eyes, and he disappears for a few minutes inside his room. When he comes back out, he has a few blankets hung over his shoulder.

“Rooftop,” he chimes eagerly with a grin.

You lift up a brow, eyeing him with skepticism. “I… Are we even allowed up there?”

Chan merely shakes his head, already walking toward the window where the fire escape is. “Nope.”

You groan but follow him anyway because, despite everything, you trust him. He’s always been the reckless one, the one who always takes risks, the one who hardly thinks before acting, but somehow, whenever you’re with him, you never feel unsafe.

The climb up the fire escape is easy, and soon, the two of you are on the rooftop, looking out over the other unappealing suburban apartment buildings beneath your feet. There’s a slight inkling of fear that you’ll get caught up here, but at this point, would it be the worst thing in the world? The answer is quite easy.

The night air is cool, a minor breeze driving through the air, blending with the soft music Chan plays from his phone. He spreads out the blankets, plopping down with an exaggerated sigh before patting the space next to him.

You settle down beside him, tucking your knees up to your chest. The streetlights ahead cast golden halos to the ground below, and for a few moments, neither of you decide to speak. But it isn’t uncomfortable per se𑁋far from it, honestly. It’s just a simple silence where words aren’t necessary to fill it.

“Junior year, Christmas break,” Chan says after a long pause, glancing toward you with a fixed look. “Senior year for you.”

You take a contemplative sip of your juice box. “The time you gaslighted me into running away with you for a night? Right before that embarrassing Christmas party at my house?”

“I was a pretty bad kid back then, wasn’t I?” Chan chuckles softly at the thought.

“Yeah, dude, what the hell happened to you? You used to be this scrawny little kid who spread rumours about snakes being at the playground so that other classes wouldn’t come.” You lean back on the blanket with him, exhaling a deep sigh. “Now you’re all… responsible and weirdly philosophical.”

Chan eyes you with a raised brow. “You haven’t changed.”

“I haven’t?”

“Nope. You’re still the same stubborn smartass girl who’d rather kill themselves in textbooks than touch grass once in a while.”

“Okay. Rude, first of all.” Then you lift your gaze up towards stars, and something in your chest aches. “But I guess some things never change, yeah?”

Chan stares up towards the sky as well, watching the same stars as you. “Yeah, I guess not.”

The two of you sit in another pit of comfortable silence for a while. You feel his shoulder brush against yours as he adjusts himself on the blanket, and for a brief second, your breath catches. It’s such a small thing𑁋his warmth seeping into your skin, his presence right beside you𑁋but it makes your stomach flutter in a way you don’t want to acknowledge.

You turn your head slightly to catch a glance of him. The sleeves of his hoodie have ridden up, revealing the large tattoo on his arm. You could tell how intricately designed the ink is on his skin, lines and shapes weaving together in patterns you can’t quite decipher but are distinctly, undeniably Chan.

“You ever think about it?”

“Huh?” You utter out.

“The future.”

You blink at him with surprise. Chan isn’t usually the type to dwell on these things. He lives in the moment, takes on whatever the hell life throws at him. If anything, you were usually the one to think about the future. You were always known for having a plan for everything, knowing exactly the kind of path you’ll take. But now, it seems more unclear than ever.

“I… don’t know,” You admit unsurely. “I think about what I want to do, who I want to be. But when I think about it now, with everything going on, I…” You find your voice trailing away, guilt slithering up your spine. “It’s hard to imagine it now.”

The only response you hear from Chan is a low hum, before he clears his throat.

“I think you’d be happy.”

Your breath catches. “What?”

He turns his head to look at you, his eyes soft even under the night sky. “I think that no matter where you end up, no matter what you do… you’ll be happy. You deserve to be.”

Something warm unfurls in your chest, like a flower coming in full bloom. You don’t know what to say to that, and even if you did, you wouldn’t be able to let it out. Your throat suddenly feels dry, your hands clammy, and you force yourself to look away in a flash to blink back some heat in your eyes.

Chan notices the pensive look to your face, but doesn’t push for anything more. He sits himself up on the blanket, taking a quick hit of his vape before exhaling a thin cloud of vapour into the night air. You fix your eyes on him, the dim light casting shadows over his face as he exhales.

His gaze drifts out to the neighbourhood of buildings ahead, but he seems to be lost in thought, withdrawn, like he’s fighting with himself about something he doesn’t know how to voice. The silence stretches again, but this time it’s heavier, different𑁋more intimate than you’re used to.

Then, you clear your throat. “We should probably head back soon.”

Chan doesn’t move from his spot on the blanket. “Yeah. Probably.”

But neither of you make an effort to actually get up. He wordlessly offers you his vape without looking, and you hesitate momentarily before shamelessly taking it from him, inhaling a little too deeply, but not caring enough to stop𑁋just to feel something other than this. The taste is odd at first, unfamiliar, but it quickly becomes something soothing in the cool night air as you breathe it out. You pass it back to him, your fingers brushing over the warm skin of his hand.

“Y/N?”

Your heart stutters when he calls your name. “Yeah?”

Hesitation lingers in the air. Chan sucks in a deep breath.

“You’re my favourite person, you know?”

Your breath gets caught in your throat at that, but you quickly mask it by giving him a playful shove in the arm, probably ruining the sentimental moment.

“I know, idiot,” You retort playfully, hoping it would be enough to hide the way your heart is racing. “You’ve told me that many times already.”

Chan just shakes his head, his expression unreadable. “I mean it.”

Your fingers nervously knead at the fabric of the blanket pooling around you. You can’t get yourself to look at him. You can’t.

Because you know. You know exactly what he’s saying.

And you don’t know what to do about it.

So instead, you swallow hard, keeping your gaze ahead. “You’re mine too, Chan.”

Chan doesn’t respond right away, and you don’t catch the faint smile that was beginning to bloom across his face. There’s a sigh that leaves his lips, almost one of relief, and he leans back on the palm of his hands, his eyes glued to your side profile.

“Yeah,” he mutters softly. “I know.”

Neither of you say anything more.

“Okay, listen, here’s the catch. She’s like… really great. Like… she spoils me and all that. It’s so overwhelming,” Soonyoung huffs out after dropping his deadlift and standing up. “I don’t know how to be a good boyfriend for her! I’ve never dated anyone before! How the hell do I ask her to go to the movies with me?”

Chan is listening. Well, not entirely𑁋Soonyoung’s words seems to be going in one ear and flowing out the other. He’s been listening to the older boy’s rant about this sudden new addition to his dry love life, the best part being that it’s his older sister’s best friend. Chan nods along anyway, keeping his gaze fixed on the gym floor as he absently rolls his water bottle between his palms.

Soonyoung only continues to ramble, pacing a little in front of him with his hands to his hips. “Like, what if I mess it up? What if she realises I have no idea what I’m doing and decides I’m not worth it? Or what if I’m too much?”

Chan hums, taking a long drawl of his water. “If she’s with you, she probably already thinks you’re too much, bro.”

The older boy shoots him a measly glare, popping down on the bench right next to him. “Wow, thanks, genius. You’re sooo encouraging. You’ve never been in love before, anyway.”

When Soonyoung snatches his water bottle, a few beats of silence fills the air. Chan continues to stare down at the gym floor like it contains all the answers in the world, all the answers he’ll never have, and Soonyoung gives him a few curious looks. And then, it clicks in his head.

“Wait a damn minute.” Soonyoung fixes his posture right away as his eyes widen, sitting up straighter. “Chan𑁋”

“Man, you really are blind are you?” Chan retorts with an amused click of his tongue. “No wonder you suck at being a boyfriend.”

“Shut up!” Soonyoung shoves him in the arm, before grabbing him by the shoulders like he’s just made the greatest discovery in history. “No way, is it Y/N? It’s Y/N, right?”

Chan’s reaction is immediate, the sound of your name already sending those familiar flutters to the pit of his stomach. This only makes Soonyoung beam up even more, and Chan already knows that the older boy will take this right into his damn grave.

He tries to pry Soonyoung off him, but he only relents.

Soonyoung is practically vibrating with excitement. “Dude, wow, didn’t you used to tell me you were going to marry her or something?’

“Why the hell do you still remember that?” Chan groans and rubs a defeated, embarrassed hand over his face. “I was, like, fifteen. A dumb, didn’t know their right-from-left kid. She was way out of my league at the time.”

“But not anymore.”

Chan rolls his eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“Come on, look at you! You’re hot, like a total eye-catcher and mouth-drooler material. Of course she’d be into you,” Soonyoung persists, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Literally anybody would swoon over you.”

Chan rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s different now, though. Med school is swallowing her whole, and she barely has time to breathe anymore. Besides, it’s just… complicated, you know?”

“You’re each other’s person,” Soonyoung affirms with confidence. “Don’t forget that.”

Chan’s heart thrums loudly at that. Now, the only thing he could think about was his conversation with you the other night. He can still feel the soft brush of your shoulder against his, the comfort of your presence beside him. You’re my favourite person, he had said; You’re mine too, you had said. It echoes in his mind like a tenacious virus infecting his thoughts. It’s true, he knows it is. You’re his person.

The big question is, though, how the hell does he gain the courage to finally face it?

Chan had never been the one to overthink things. He’s always been the careless kind. But with you, he finds himself replaying every single little memory with you, and it makes him almost want to combust.

Running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, Chan grimaces, tapping his foot out of unease.

“Love really is a piece of shit,” he mutters.

Soonyoung leans back on the bench with a reflective sigh. “Yeah, it really is.”

Chan side-eyes the older boy for a second, nudging him lightly in the shoulder. “Let me give you a piece of advice then.”

Soonyoung turns to face him with a puzzled look.

Chan just smirks, shoving Soonyoung in the forehead with his index finger.

“Stop being a pussy and your girlfriend𑁋do I need to spell it out for you? Your girlfriend𑁋to the damn movies already, you loser.”

No, this is not happening.

A tear squeezes past your eye and lands somewhere by your feet as you stare at the bold, unforgiving letters of the word FAIL written at the very top of an exam you took the other day. You will yourself to blink as if it would miraculously make the words change, for some mistake to have been made. But nothing changes. The numbers don’t rearrange themselves, the percentage doesn’t miraculously rise above the passing threshold. It stays there𑁋permanent, irreversible, mocking like a goddamn clown.

No, no, no, no.

Your throat tightens.

This is the fourth exam you failed in a row. You had studied until your eyes dried up and burned, pushed yourself past the brink of exhaustion, drained every last drop of energy you had left into preparing for this exam, hoping to make up for the list of others you scored below average on. You sacrificed sleep, skipped meals, ignored texts from friends. And for what? For fucking what?

For this shit?

Your vision swims.

Your pulse hammers loudly right to your ears, loud enough you’re sure it could drown out any kind of sound. Your knuckles tighten its grip around the paper until they turn white, nails digging into the palm of your hand.

Your breath hitches, and suddenly, it feels like the walls around you are closing, eager to shut you in. The room suddenly shrinks into a confined space that’s hard to properly breathe, the air too thick, your own skin too suffocating to be in. Your heart pounds painfully against your ribs, and a cold sweat trickles down the back of your neck.

You had been barely holding it together as it was, restrained by the threats of burnout. Long nights, endless studying, the constant weariness sitting heavily on your bones. And now? Now you have proof that none of it was enough. That none of it was worth it. That you weren’t enough.

A ding from your phone startles you out of your thoughts for a split second. You barely manage to catch the notification that jumps at you.

[10:37pm | dumbass 🛹] y/n?? are you okay? i don’t know what’s happening, but your friend jeonghan ran into me saying about how you ran away crying??

A choked sob escapes you before you’re able to stop it. You can feel the anxiety creeping its way from down your feet and up through your bones. You hardly realise how much you’re trembling from your hardened grip on your phone.

[10:39pm | dumbass 🛹] y/n answer me please i know you’re not okay

A cold panic grips your chest achingly𑁋you’re sure there’s a bruise there forming in some disgusting mental form.

What does this mean for you?

Your future?

Your dream?

[10:43pm | dumbass 🛹] y/n please i’m worried about you. i care for you so so much

There’s a tug at your heartstring at his text, but then you feel another tug, one that’s more stronger, more desperate. It’s almost as if the final nail to the coffin had been hammered. You crumple the piece of paper in your hand aggressively before flailing it somewhere across your apartment. There’s a darkness that seems to loom right over you, goosebumps dancing up and down your skin as you sit yourself down at the edge of your bed.

One last ding from your phone.

[10:47pm | dumbass 🛹] i’m coming over, okay? stay there for me, y/n i’ll be there in 5 mins

You stare at the screen of your phone, the words blurry through the tears that won’t stop raging down your face. You can barely process Chan’s messages. You know he’s worried. You know he’s trying to be there for you, but the weight of failure seems to crush your body like a boulder, and you aren’t even sure if you have the willpower to face him.

You can’t let him see you like this. You can’t allow him to see this weak, vulnerable, and ugly part of you. You can’t.

Time seems to tick by slowly as you pace around your room, but at every angle, all you can see is your scattered textbooks, the countless notes you’ve taken that never seemed to stick into your brain like it was meant to. All you see is the so-called effort that kicked you right back to this point. Your mind races with a million thoughts, each one a reminder of how much you’ve failed, how much you’ve fallen short of the finish line. The clock ticks mercilessly, and before you even realise it, Chan is at your door.

You freeze.

The knocks are insistent. Suddenly, the thought of Chan allows you to exhale a deep breath; the first, real one.

“Y/N? Open the door, please,” Chan urges, voice muffled through the door.

You could only stand there, staring at the door as if it could open by itself. Your heart is pounding even faster, your mind screaming at you to do something. You can just yell back that you’re fine𑁋that there’s nothing to worry about, but the truth is that you don’t fucking know what’s wrong with you.

“Y/N, please… I’m not going anywhere. Just… let me in.”

The pure softness to his voice seeps through the door and hits you square in the chest, and something inside your cracks. You know you should let him in, but your failure feels so raw, so final, that it’s hard to imagine someone, especially someone like Chan, still wanting to be around you.

And yet, he’s here, attempting to reach you.

Taking a deep breath, you wipe away your tears, and against every thought in your mind telling you to retreat, you reach out and open the door.

On the other side, Chan stands with an arm leaning against the doorframe, his dark hair tousled and messy from the wind, his breathing rapid and fast like he’s just run from the other side of the world just to get to you. The thought only deepens the cut even farther.

“Y/N…” His voice falters immediately at the sight of your face: puffy, reddened eyes, your body shaking like the world is crumbling right at your feet.

His heart lurches at the sight, jaw tightening slightly as his instincts to protect you, to lash out at whatever did this to you, flare up. He doesn't even hesitate. Without another word, Chan steps forward, his arms wrapping around you in an instant, pulling you against his chest. You don’t do anything but fall right into his grasp, and it’s almost as if you fit perfectly in his hold. Like the space was always meant for you.

You allow yourself to believe it for just a moment.

“Shit, you’re cold and shaking,” Chan mutters under his breath, tightening his hold around you a little bit more, but you already know the chill comes from somewhere else𑁋somewhere deeper that you know he can’t fix just like that.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you exhale a breath that doesn’t feel like it’s cutting you from the inside out, your fingers digging desperately into the fabric of his hoodie. You feel the heat radiating off him, the comfort of being in his arms, but a sinking feeling grows heavier in your chest. You don’t deserve this. Not his warmth, not his care, not his worry. You can’t let him in, not like this.

But for a moment, just for a moment, you do.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his breath hitting the temple of your head. “I’ve got you.”

You swallow a breath at that.

You shouldn’t let him do this. You shouldn’t let yourself melt into him like this, shouldn’t let yourself believe that this is where you belong. Because it isn’t.

Because you know better.

Because you know this warmth is only temporary.

Because you know the second you let yourself rely on him, really rely on him, it’ll all come crashing down.

Slowly, the grip you have on his hoodie loosens, and you start to push yourself off him.

At first, Chan doesn’t notice. His hold on you remains firm, as if he thinks you’re just shifting, adjusting. But then your hands push against his chest𑁋just barely at first; it’s a hesitant, silent plea for distance.

He stiffens.

His hold loosens, just slightly, but his arms don’t drop completely.

“Y/N?” The way he calls out your name comes out in a mere echo, like his presence is far away, even when it isn’t. Even when he’s just right there in front of you.

You don’t answer. You just push a little harder. I can’t let myself love you like this.

And that’s when he lets go. The cold is swift to settle back over your skin, the safety of his warmth disappearing in an instant. Chan looks like he wants to reach for you again, a twitch to his arms that doesn’t go unnoticed, but he doesn’t. He waits.

And that’s somehow worse.

You take a step back, putting more distance where there shouldn’t be any. “You should go.”

Chan flinches like you’ve slapped him, his eyes widening at your words, clearly taken aback, his expression completely faltering. He stays completely still in his spot.

“What?” He croaks out, his voice cracking weakly. “You can’t just𑁋”

“You don’t have to do this,” You say, forcing the words out even as they feel like shards of glass in your throat. “You don’t have to take care of me.”

“Why won’t you just𑁋” He stops himself, exhaling sharply before lowering his voice. “Why won’t you just let me be here for you?”

“Because it’s not fucking fair, Chan.”

“Bullshit,” he hisses out, but his voice is not angry, just desperate, hurt. “I don’t give a damn about fairness, Y/N. What’s not fair? That I care for you? That I want to be here when you need me? That I…”

“I’m not your responsibility!”

“...I’ve loved you for so fucking long it’s physically killing me inside?”

The truth spills from his lips like a flood he can no longer hold back. Silence swallows the room entirely, your feet sinking into the floor like quicksand. Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, the world around you comes to a halt. The tension stirring in the air has enough power to crush you all at once.

You shut your eyes, willing yourself to feel nothing, willing yourself to pretend like his words didn’t just stab you straight through the heart.

But they do.

Because you love him. God, you love him so much.

But you can’t give in.

Because if you do, you’ll shatter. And if you shatter, he’ll be the one trying to pick up the pieces.

“You need to leave,” You deadpan, forcing the words out even if they cut through your throat like a knife.

But Chan only stands his ground, and takes a few steps towards you until he’s close enough that you could feel his familiar warmth again. Your hands twitch at your sides as he stands right before you, and for a singular second, you steal a glance down at his lips.

“Don’t do that,” he urges, leaning in a little more, the edge of your bed from behind pressing into the back of your knees. “Don’t act like this doesn’t mean anything to you.”

Maybe he’s close enough to catch the subtle shakiness to your breath, to see the way your eyelashes imperceptibility flutter, to see the way your lips part ever so slightly. And maybe, just maybe, he’s close enough to make you forget𑁋for a fleeting, dizzying moment𑁋why you’ve spent so long trying to push him away.

If you gave the world one more second, his mouth would be on yours. One more second, and you’d finally know what it feels like to kiss the boy you’ve loved for as long as you can remember.

Yet like a punch to the gut, reality slams into you.

You swallow hard. “It doesn’t.”

The lie tastes like poison on your tongue.

Chan lets out a broken laugh, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe you. “You’re a shitty liar, you know that?” His voice comes out hoarse and rough. “You can tell me whatever the hell you want, but I know you, Y/N. I know… I know that you feel something, too.”

You bite down on your lip so hard you swear you could taste blood. You don’t respond. You can’t.

“So just say it,” he presses on desperately, his hands clenched into fists at his side. “Say it, and I’ll go. Say it, and I’ll stay. Look at me in the eyes and tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t love me. God dammit, just give me something, Y/N, please.”

The way his voice becomes soft and pleading breaks something in you. Right now, you’re staring at the boy who has always been there for you, who has always known you better than you know yourself. The boy who is giving you a chance. A singular chance to pull him back. A singular chance to confess that you’ve loved him since before you knew what the hell the word love even meant.

And that same boy is staring at you like you’re his whole world, like you’re the only thing keeping everything from falling apart. You want to tell him the truth. You want to throw yourself into his arms and let him hold you together into eternity when you feel like you’re crumbling apart. But you can’t.

Because one day, he’ll wake up and realise that loving you is exhausting. That being around you is suffocating. That he deserves someone who isn’t this broken, utter mess of a failure.

So you do the only thing you can. You force yourself to break him before he can break you.

“Go home, Chan.”

“No,” he resists firmly, yet a pinch of shakiness to his voice. “Not until you say it… Not until you tell me that you love me too.”

“I don’t love you, Chan.”

Lie.

Silence.

You see the exact second the words hit. The exact moment his heart breaks.

You catch the way his body visibly deflates, the way the colour drains out of his face. Every fibre of his form tenses, and Chan swears to himself that he can’t breathe, as if your words completely knocked the wind out of him, tearing his heart out of his chest and right down to the ground. He’s still staring at you, searching your rigid face𑁋for hope, for any hint of regret, for something at this fucking point𑁋but he doesn’t find anything. His lips part slightly as if he was about to say something, but nothing comes out.

And then slowly, finally, he gives a nod.

“Right,” Chan says quietly, and his words are barren, empty. “Okay.”

He takes a slow step back, then another. And you almost call out to him, almost take it all back, almost tell him the truth𑁋that you love him more than anything, that you’ve loved him since you were kids, that pushing him away is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.

But you just clench your fists at your side. Chan stands at your doorway.

Then he turns back to look at you, his hand right on your doorknob, and you can’t read his face, yet you feel the way his eyes are piercing right through you. He pauses. He’s waiting.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” is the last thing he tells you before crossing onto the other side.

The second the door clicks shut behind him, your legs give out beneath you. Your entire body trembles as you press a cold hand to your mouth, a loud sob spilling out of you before you could stop the dam from breaking.

Because you love him.

And you just let him go.

The burning sensation of alcohol runs down Chan’s throat, the bitter taste of beer stinging his tongue.

He finds himself out of breath, standing at the very edge of the half-pipe with his skateboard gripped tightly in his hands. He’s been here for what feels like hours, but the night air is still too cold to shake off the sting in his chest. Skating is the only way he could cope with all the pain, the confusion, the longing, with everything that’s been lingering on his mind every night.

“Dude, are you just going to skate until you die?” Vernon’s voice punches through his thoughts, the boy sitting splat on the pavement, an unlit joint at the tip of his mouth.

Chan doesn’t even acknowledge the question at first, his eyes boring holes through the concrete beneath his feet. Then, with a leap of faith, he places a foot on the skateboard and pushes himself down the ramp. The evening breeze catches in his hair as he concentrates on getting to the other side of the half-pipe, the wheels screeching loudly against the pavement as he flies through the air.

Just for a few seconds, he wills himself to not think about you, but when he lands on the other side of the ramp with a hard thud, the feelings all come rushing back. He slows down, rolling in a few mindless circles before strolling back up to where Vernon is. He flicks his skateboard on his foot, letting it rest against his knee as he takes another deep breath.

“Chan𑁋”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Vernon pesters, concern edging his voice. “You can’t just keep skating away from this, man.”

“I’ve been in love with her for years, don’t you get it?” Chan jabs his skateboard into the ground, frustrating coating his words. “She’s everything to me and she just… she just let me go. I left because that’s what she wanted. It fucking sucks.”

Vernon lights the joint between his lips and leans back on his palms, exhaling a trail of smoke into the air that disappears into the dead of night. He watches as Chan swallows another swig of beer and clumsily plops himself down on the ground right next to him, letting his skateboard roll away a few inches before pulling it back with his foot. The only sounds that interrupt the heavy silence are the nearby chirps of crickets and the clicks from Vernon absentmindedly fiddling with the lighter between his fingers.

I don’t love you, Chan, are the words that have been replaying like a broken record in Chan’s mind ever since that night. And now here he is, at the fucking skatepark in the dead of night, trying to outskate a heartbreak that clings to him like a second skin.

Chan’s eyes drift up towards the darkened sky, a contemplative sigh leaving him.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to stop, you know?”

Vernon lifts a brow. “Stop what?”

“Loving her,” Chan finishes, tapping his fingers against the can of beer. “It’s crazy how it’s always been easy to love her. Maybe even easier than breathing sometimes.”

Vernon’s eyes flicker from the glowing tip of his joint to Chan’s solemn face. “Sounds like you’re in deep.”

This earns a bitter laugh from Chan. “You’re not helping, dude.”

“Don’t stop loving her then,” Vernon mutters like it was the most simple thing in the world. “But don’t let it eat you alive either.”

Chan scoffs, shaking his head. “Easier said than done.”

A beat of silence passes.

“Listen, when I first started skating, I used to wipe out all the time. Like, bad. I’d eat shit and bust my ass so hard I thought I’d never get back up again.” Vernon pauses, taking another long-winded drag. “But I did, because that’s just how it works, man. You fall, you get hurt, you get back up.”

Briefly, Chan casts a glance down to his hands, taking note of the fading scars on his knuckles from all the times he’s taken falls throughout his life, all the times he’s hit the pavement and gotten back up again.

And he thinks about you.

And he thinks about you, wondering: how many times have you fallen without anyone there to catch you?

He thinks about the way your hands trembled that night, the way you practically crumbled in his hold, the way your eyes looked so exhausted, so defeated. He thinks about the way your voice cracked when you told him to go, how you looked at him like he was both the thing you wanted most and the thing you couldn’t bear to hold onto.

Chan swirls the can of beer in his hands, taking one last swig before slamming the can on the pavement with a loud clink, the lingering metallic taste mixing in with his bittersweet thoughts.

He should have stayed. Should have fought harder. Should have told you that even if you pushed him away, even if you tried to convince yourself that you didn’t need him, he wasn’t going anywhere, because no matter which direction he goes, the path always leads back to you.

Because that’s what love is, isn’t it? It’s staying even when someone tells you to leave. It’s holding on even when they don’t have the strength to do it themselves.

He thinks about you again. About how you looked at him with that same damn expression you had the night your parents got into this big fight back during your freshman year of high school, the night you broke up with your first boyfriend during junior year who was an absolute dickhead to you, the night you first told him you didn’t believe in happy endings.

“Shit,” Chan breathes out frustratingly. “What the hell do I do now?”

Vernon shrugs, flicking the ash off his joint onto the ground until it dissolves into nothing. “Figure out if you’re willing to fall again.”

Chan lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah? And what if I hit the pavement even harder this time?”

“Then you’ll get back up,” Vernon says casually, with his cool, calm, and collected demeanour that’s almost irritating, even if the younger boy knows that he’s right. “Just like you always do.”

A plastic-wrapped sandwich is placed on the bedside table beside you, but you don't make a move to even acknowledge it. You know you should eat, you know you should do a lot of things, but your limbs feel like lead, and the thought of food makes you want to gag.

“Y/N? You need to eat.”

The worried tone of Jeonghan’s voice rings out from behind you, yet you could only find yourself sprawled atop one of the beds in the on-call room, your back turned towards the door and your eyes staring hazily into the dull, sterile hideous walls of the hospital.

There’s a defeated sigh that you hear come from Jeonghan, the noise of the hospital fading away when the door closes shut. Another presence enters into the room𑁋Joshua𑁋and you could only shut your tired eyes close as you mentally prepare yourself for them to attempt to dig you out of your hole once again.

But you’re beyond caring at this point. You can’t remember the last time you had a full night of sleep or felt anything other than the overwhelming deadweight of exhaustion and isolation pressing down on you. The only thing that seems to matter now is just getting through the damn day, making it to the next hour, then the next, until the cycle starts all over again.

The faint shuffle of footsteps signals Joshua’s approach, and despite how worn out you are, you can’t help but tense up slightly. You don’t want to explain yourself anymore. You don’t have the energy to.

“Y/N, at least drink some water,” Joshua assures, and you hear the snap of a water bottle opening and being placed on the bedside table right next to you.

You don’t reply at first, your gaze still fixed on the blank wall. You’re so tired, but somehow, sleep feels impossible. You feel your chest tighten, the heaviness of everything pressing down on you. The hospital. The clinical hours. The endless patient charts. The constant rush to keep up, to not fall behind. But beneath it all, another thing has been gnawing at you𑁋the night you pushed away the only person who could keep you from completely drowning.

Chan.

Thinking of his name alone is enough to send a wave of guilt crashing over the dam in your mind, and you bury your body even further within the sheets of the bed, willing yourself not to think about the way his face fell that night, the way his hands clenched into fists like he was holding himself back from reaching out to you.

You hurt him. You told him to leave. You told him you didn’t want him. You saw it in his eyes. And perhaps that’s what makes it worse𑁋knowing that you did it on purpose.

For a few minutes, Jeonghan and Joshua don’t say anything else. They’re not leaving; of course, they aren’t. The two of them have been hovering around you like ghosts for the past two weeks just watching, waiting for you to crack open enough to let them in. But some wounds don’t heal with a sandwich and a bottle of water. Some wounds don’t heal at all.

Then finally, a voice cuts through the thick silence.

“This isn’t healthy, Y/N. You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Jeonghan rebukes, sitting himself at the edge of the bed.

Your jaw tightens, flipping your body on the bed to finally face them. “Doing what?”

“This,” Jeonghan points out. “Locking yourself away, pretending like you’re fine when you’re not.”

“I don’t need a lecture,” You mumble flatly.

Joshua exhales sharply, crossing his arms as he leans against the bedside table. “We’re not here to lecture you. We’re here because we care. And you can’t keep wasting yourself away like this. It’s not healthy.”

Something inside you flinches, but you swallow it down, forcing yourself to remain still. You’ve gotten good at that lately. They’re right, of course. You know that they’re right.

A bitter laugh leaves you. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Joshua’s face softens, and he crouches down so that he’s level with you. “Being here and actually living are two different things.”

His words make you pull the sheets tighter around yourself, as if that will somehow shield you from their concern, from the way they’re looking at you like you’re slipping right through their fingers. You catch a glimpse of the unopened sandwich and water bottle standing on the bedside table, the sight making your stomach twist, and for a brief second, you consider reaching for it𑁋just to ease the worry etched into their faces.

But before you could make any decision, the overhead intercom jolts you to life.

“Code blue, third floor east wing. Code blue, third floor east wing.”

The words send a chill down your spine, and your body reacts before your mind can catch up. In an instant, you’re throwing the sheets off, shoving past Joshua and Jeonghan as you bolt out the door.

A patient is crashing. There’s no room for hesitation. No room for exhaustion.

Your feet pound relentlessly against the linoleum floor as you barrel down the hall, your body moving on autopilot as you dash down the hallway. The rush of adrenaline keeps pushing you forward. A part of you senses that Joshua and Jeonghan are right behind you, but you barely register their presence as you weave past other nurses and patients, making a beeline toward the east wing.

And then𑁋just as you round the corner, just as nurses and doctors rush in from all different directions, the sound of their voices mixing with the frantic beeping of monitors𑁋the world tilts.

Your vision blurs, black spots dancing in the corner of your eyes, parts of your body growing numb.

And then… nothing.

The last thing you hear before the world fades to black is the sound of Jeonghan frantically calling out your name. Your knees buckle, and suddenly, the cold, unforgiving hospital floor is rushing up to meet you.

“Is this like, what, our second time meeting ever?”

Chan shoots his gaze over to Jeonghan, who was still dressed in his scrubs and walking towards him with his arms crossed together. Chan leans his back against the wall behind him, his skateboard tucked securely under his arm. He steals a quick glance at the closed door right in front of him, and his chest aches knowing that you’re right behind it.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he tightens his grip on his skateboard when Jeonghan stands right next to him. He barely knows the guy, but there’s something in Jeonghan’s gaze that makes it feel like he’s already sized Chan up.

His jaw tightens at the urge to barge into your room. But what would that accomplish? What would he even say? Would you even want to see him?

“Third,” he mutters, keeping his eyes trained on the door. “If we count the time we had a staring contest last week in the parking lot.”

Jeonghan scoffs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I still haven’t ruled it out.”

Chan exhales sharply through his nose, the faintest hint of a laugh escaping before his expression hardens again. He wants to be angry at Jeonghan, at Joshua, at anyone who’s been standing between him and you these past few weeks. But the hard truth is that he’s not angry at them. He’s angry at himself, specifically. Because while they were there𑁋staying, fighting for you𑁋he wasn’t.

“Did she ever tell you?” he asks Jeonghan.

Jeonghan lets out a contemplative hum. “Tell me what?”

“If she ever wants to see me again.”

Jeonghan stares at the younger boy for a moment. He leans against the wall as well, letting his uncrossed arms fall back to his side, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his scrubs.

“Do you really need her to say it?” Jeonghan asks, the question hanging in the air. “I think you already know the answer.”

And fuck, that stings.

Chan swallows at that. He feels restless, like his body is demanding him to move, to do something, anything𑁋kickflip down the hallway, punch a hole through a wall, slap reality into himself, burst into your room to shake you awake and demand to know why the hell you keep doing this to yourself. But he knows none of those things will change anything.

Minutes later, the door to your room opens, and out comes a disheveled-looking Joshua.

“She’s knocked out,” he says while stepping up to Chan and Jeonghan. “Got a minor concussion from the collapse, but the doctor says she should be okay once she rests for a little while.”

Guilt gnaws at Chan even more. Taking a leap of faith, he takes a step up.

“Can I go in?” he hesitantly asks.

Joshua’s eyes flicker towards Jeonghan, the two of them exchanging a knowing look between one another.

“Make it quick,” Jeonghan tells him. “We’ll cover you.”

Chan doesn’t need any more encouragement than that. He brushes past Jeonghan and Joshua, pushing open the door to your room with a bit too much force, the quiet click of the latch echoing throughout the quietness. His grip tightens around his skateboard, his heart hammering against his ribs as he lays his eyes on you for the first time in weeks.

And God, you look wrecked.

He’s greeted with the steady beep of the heart monitor. The hospital blanket is draped up to your chest, your body curled within like you’re trying to disappear. Even in sleep, you don’t look anywhere close to peaceful. Your brows are furrowed, lips parted like you’re caught in some action-packed dream you can’t escape from.

Chan rests his skateboard down against the wall, silently pulling up a chair beside your bed and sinking into it. He doesn’t reach for your hand, at least not yet, even though he wants to. He doesn’t dare.

Because what right does he have?

His fingers twitch where they rest against his knee, resisting the urge to grab onto your hand. You look so much different from the last time he saw you. Your face looks drained of colour, the hollows beneath your eyes painted dark from exhaustion. Your chest rises and falls steadily, and an IV stands intimidatingly at the side supplying fluids into your body.

For weeks, he’s been running through every possible scenario in his head𑁋what he would say, how he would say it, what he would do if you push him away again. But now that he’s here, staring at the way your fingers weakly clutch at the sheets, all those words fall apart in his throat.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he leans a bit forward, forearms braced against his thigh.

“You really know how to scare the shit out of people, huh?”

A humourless chuckle leaves him, but it’s quick to fade away when he catches sight of your fragile form again.

Silence. You don’t stir or react. But Chan keeps talking anyway, because gosh, he doesn’t know what else to do.

“I wanted to be mad at you,” he admits quietly, gaze flitting down to the floor for a moment before he forces himself to look back up. “I wanted to be so fucking mad because you told me to leave, and I…” His voice falters, shaking slightly as his breath hitches. “I actually listened. I’m so fucking stupid.”

Still no response from you.

“You don’t even know, do you?” he mutters. “How much everyone’s been losing their minds over you. Jeonghan has been glaring at me like he wants to kill me, which, to be fair, he might actually want.” A scoff leaves his mouth, shaking his head. “Your other friend Joshua won’t even look at me half the time. Vernon is probably done with my shit. Soonyoung is having his own existential crisis. And me? I’ve… I’ve just been trying to figure out if you meant it that night. When you told me to leave.”

His hands clench themselves into fists against his lap, the same way they had that very night. Memories hit him like a wave as he remembers the harsh adamancy to your voice, the way you stood there like you had already made peace with hurting him.

But then his eyes drift over to your hand and his breath catches in his throat. Without thinking, he reaches over to brush his hand over yours. His heart skips at the subtle warmth of connection, even through your cold skin. The pulse in his neck quickens at the touch. You still don’t move.

Slowly, he closes his fingers around yours, not expecting much. It’s tentative, almost apologetic, and it hits him at how much he’s wanted to do this𑁋to hold your hand and feel the comfort that came solely from you.

“You’re not invincible,” Chan whispers under his breath. “No one is. It’s not a weakness to let someone love you. To let me love you.”

A small, helpless laugh escapes him at the sudden confession, but it’s not like he could go about his days without telling you at least. He shifts in the chair, but his hand refuses to leave yours; if only, they tighten just a little bit more, his thumb gently caressing over your knuckle.

“Fuck,” he murmurs as his gaze rakes over you once more, the corners of his lips quivering upwards. “I could love you for the rest of my life.”

The room returns to its deathly quietness. Nothing to let him know that you’re hearing him. Nothing that would assure him that he isn’t just speaking into the void. Nothing but the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor and the faint hum of the hospital outside your room. Chan simply stays like that, his fingers resting lightly against yours, waiting. Hoping. Promising to stay here for as long as he can.

And then𑁋so slight he almost misses it𑁋your fingers twitch against his.

You find yourself running.

It’s three in the morning, you’re dressed in your sleep clothes and stumbling out of your apartment with a pair of slippers. You were given very specific instructions by Jeonghan, Joshua, and your clinical instructors to rest for a few days after your collapse, but after being spammed with messages from Vernon that Chan had injured himself from an accident while skateboarding, your feet seemed to make the decision before your mind could process it.

So now, here you are, pushing open the door to your building and bolting out into the quiet, empty streets like a woman possessed out of her damn mind. Your frantic breaths fog into the air, the cold nipping at your skin as you dash off in a desperate sprint all the way to Chan’s apartment.

Vernon’s texts had been frustratingly vague𑁋just a series of frantic messages about Chan taking a bad fall at the skatepark, about blood and bruises and the possibility of a broken wrist. The words had been enough to send your already fragile heart spiraling, and now, the only thing driving you forward is the need to see him. Why would Chan do something so reckless?

But deep down, you already know the answer, don’t you? Chan has always been reckless, not because he doesn’t care, but because he does. Too much.

You hardly remember the last time you ran this fast, and your lungs burn as you push forward out of pure desperation, slipper-clad feet slapping against the pavement. Every breath you take feels suffocating, an aching pressure squeezing into your ribs, but you can’t stop. Not until you see him. Not until you know he’s okay.

By the time you reach Chan’s apartment complex, you don’t even hesitate to burst through the doors. For a minute, you contemplate taking the elevator, but that would mean wasting the few extra seconds you could use to head straight to his place.

One flight of stairs. Two flights of stairs. Three flights of stairs. You nearly trip on the last step as you shove open the door to his floor and make a straight beeline toward his place. When you land at the doorstep, you lift a fist and pound a few times on the door.

The seconds pass torturously long before the door swings open, and you’re greeted with Vernon.

“Where is he?” You ask him demandingly, letting out breathless pants.

Vernon appears almost shocked at your presence before he steps aside to let you in. “He’s in his room. I got a first-aid kit on the kitchen count𑁋”

You don’t waste anymore time than that, pushing past Vernon and into the apartment. Stomping all the way to Chan’s door, you raise another fist up and pound against the wood, loud and insistently.

“Chan!”

Silence.

You knock again, harder this time. “Chan, open the door!”

Still nothing.

Frustration and worry boil over all your thoughts, and without thinking, you hectically twist the doorknob. Locked still. Of course.

“Lee Chan, if you don’t open this goddamn door right now, I swear to𑁋”

The lock clicks.

Your breath catches when the door slowly opens, revealing Chan standing under the dim lighting of his room, and your gaze sweeps over him closely. His right wrist is wrapped in some sort of sloppy, rushed, makeshift plaster, a bruise painted at the corner of his jaw, and there’s a nasty scrape running down his forearm. His skateboard sits abandoned against the frame of his bed, and from the looks of it, one of the wheels is barely hanging on.

He looks tired. More than that𑁋he looks completely shocked to see you. Something tightens in your chest.

Chan opens his mouth. “What are you𑁋”

“Are you insane?” The words spill out before you can stop them, your voice shaking. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Chan’s eyes widen at your words, startled. “I-It’s just a sprain, it’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” You goad, motioning over his figure. “Vernon made it seem like you broke half your bones!”

Chan shoots a glare over your shoulder to where Vernon was looming idly in the background. The boy only shrugs with his arms hanging in the air innocently.

“I panicked, alright? Sue me,” Vernon admits shamelessly, before disappearing around the corner and back into his room.

You release a heavy sigh, running a frustrated hand through your hair. You head back into the kitchen area to retrieve the first-aid kit before storming past Chan and into his bedroom.

Before Chan could say anything, you point to his bed. “Sit down.”

Chan doesn’t budge.

Your expression darkens. “Chan.”

When he catches sight of the desperate look on your face, he knows that resisting even more would be basically useless. He finally relents, placing himself at the edge of the bed as you quietly begin to rummage through the first-aid kit for antiseptic wipes and bandages.

The silence that follows is thick and heavy, tense in a way neither of you have the courage break and instead just let settle awkwardly. You bend down in front of him, carefully unwrapping his poorly done plaster. The scrape on his forearm is worse than you thought𑁋angry and red, still oozing slightly at the edges.

“You’re an idiot,” You mumble while carefully dabbing the antiseptic wipe against his warm skin, causing him to jerk slightly, a hiss leaving his lips. “Stay still.”

Chan silently watches as you clean his scrape, gazing over the worried lines etched on your features as you lean in closer, his muscles twitching from your gentle touch. For some time, neither of you speak, and you cautiously grab his hand. It’s only when you start wrapping the fresh plaster around his wrist that he finally breaks the silence. You definitely need to take him to the hospital after this to get a proper splint.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he states quietly. “You literally got a concussion, like, three days ago.”

You purse your lips together into a thin line as you glance over the bandage to make sure it’s secure and firm. “I know.”

When you step back from him slightly, your eyes land on the bruise to the corner of his jaw, and one of your eyebrows shoots up suspiciously. The bruise doesn’t appear that fresh. Chan can tell that you caught onto him.

“Where else are you hurt?” You ask with a pointed look.

At first, Chan hesitates, yet he could only shrink like a snail seeking into its shell under the serious expression painted on your face. His eyes drop down to the floor in guilt, and you watch as he shifts cautiously, reaching with one hand to clutch the ends of his wrinkled shirt before pulling up over his head.

Your heart stutters at the sight, and you can’t help but drink in his bare, topless form. You capture the entirety of the dragon tattoo that’s snaking up his arm and curling over his shoulder, the head of the dragon resting at the base of his neck, beneath the line of his trapezius muscle. The dark and bold lines making up the scales and claws are almost glistening under the faint lighting, contrasting heavily with his pale skin. You’ve never had the chance to appreciate the beauty of the art painted over his skin, at least not this up close. His toned chest and visible lines of his abs causes your throat to dry up and sends heat creeping up your neck.

But your admiration is quick to diminish when his muscles flex under the strain of the movement, and you spot another glimpse of a scrape to his collarbone, as well as a small cut on the superficial skin of his shoulder that’s hidden quite well from his tattoo. Without thinking, you let a finger delicately caress around the area of the one on his shoulder, and Chan visibly tenses up from that.

All you can do is simply stare, your heart clutching inside your chest.

“Chan…” You call his name so softly.

Chan bites the inside of his cheek. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

You lightly shove him in the shoulder. “That’s a load of bullshit.”

A wry chuckle leaves him, and it seems to lift a bit of tension in the room. “Yeah, maybe.”

Only giving a shake of your head, you reach out hesitantly, letting your fingers caress over his skin before you can stop yourself. Chan flinches from your touch, but he doesn’t pull away; instead, he traces your every movement as you carefully inspect the minor wounds painted over his body. Anytime your fingertips ghost over his skin, shivers run up and down his spine, but he forces himself to remain still. Just for you.

You’re being impossibly gentle as you grab another antiseptic wipe to clean the scrape to his collarbone, his Adam’s apple bobbing from your tenderness. He has to suck in a breath when you lean in even closer, swearing he could feel your warmth radiating onto him𑁋it’s comforting and terrifying all at once.

There’s something different in the way you look at him, as if you’re trying to commit to memory every new mark on his body, as if you’re desperately searching for more wounds he might be hiding from you. And maybe he is.

“You ran all the way here, didn’t you?” he asks, cutting through the silence.

Your fingers still for a second before you wearily sigh, firmly pressing down a band-aid over the scrape on his collarbone. “Yeah.”

His lips part slightly, like he wants to say something, but then he just laughs softly, shaking his head. “You’re an idiot too, you know that?”

You roll your eyes, snatching another band-aid and routinely moving onto the cut on his shoulder. “Takes one to know one.”

This time, you stand up from the floor and sit down right next to him on the bed, undoing the wrapping from the band-aid and carefully applying it over the cut to his shoulder. You can’t get yourself to look at him as you press a tiny bit of pressure over his skin to ensure the band-aid sticks, but you feel his own gaze lingering on you, burning a hole right through your heart. It’s almost like a touch itself from him.

As you pull away from him, you lift your eyes to meet his, and for a singular millisecond, his focus drops down to your mouth before looking back up to your face again. Then, all he gives you is a faint, almost teasing smile. You nearly give in from just that.

“High school, freshman year. Sophomore year for you,” he suddenly says. “Last week of school. Friday.”

You lift a puzzled brow. “What?”

An almost dreamy look crosses his features. “That’s when I first knew I started having a stupid crush on you.”

Your stomach lurches from his words. Time seems to come to a halt as a wave of memories wash over you from that particular day.

“Remember? It was my very first skateboarding competition, and I was an absolute nervous wreck after fucking up my boardslide. You were there, cheering me on even though you had no idea what you were watching.” He laughs faintly to the memory, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly with his uninjured hand. “But then you smiled at me, and somehow, everything felt okay.”

You do remember. You remember that day very well. You remember being late to his competition because you had to attend the last student council of the year meeting back at school, yet you caught him just in the middle of his performance𑁋a performance that didn’t go entirely well. He had fallen, just like now, and you recall the way his face was flushed with embarrassment when he struggled to stand back up. But then he shot a quick glance your way, and you couldn’t help but loudly cheer him on, despite the pensive looks on other people in the crowd, and his face lit up immediately just from that alone.

Then the thought harshly slams into you. Lee Chan has been in love with you for more than ten years.

Chan shifts awkwardly in his position, his injured hand resting in his lap as he continues to hold a steady gaze on you.

“Kinda embarrassing, right?” he mutters with an uneasy chuckle, shaking his head. “Holding onto something like that for so long. Even when I tried to tell myself that it was all stupid hormonal shit, I could never get you out of my head.”

You still don’t respond, only the pounding of your heart answering for you that you’re sure as hell Chan could hear. For the past many years, you knew that you’ve been holding onto something for him too. But ever since you’ve indebted yourself to the consequences of medical school, with the burnout, the pressure, the exhaustion𑁋it made you feel like you had no right to hold onto love.

So you pushed those feelings away; the same way you had pushed him away.

But now, here he is. Still here. Looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

And it breaks you.

You turn away, staring down at the floor, curling your fingers against the sheets of his bed. “I’m a mess, Chan.”

“I don’t care.” His response is immediate, firm.

Your breath stutters. “I pushed you away.”

“I know.”

“I hurt you.”

“I know that, too.”

“So why…” Your voice trails off curtly as you regain your thoughts. “So why are you still here?”

“Because I’m stubborn,” he says with a shameless smirk, a glint of fondness in his eyes, before his face softens once again. “Because you’re my best friend, my favourite person; because I’ve loved you since we were kids; because I’ve always known your heart was the one I wanted to carry, even if it’s heavy. Your pain is mine to hold, too. It doesn’t scare me.”

Your mouth falls open, but the words get stuck in your throat, like they’re too fragile to speak, too big to fit. You don’t even realise how close Chan is to you until you feel his warm breath fan against your cheek, his presence so close you could almost taste it.

His face hovers near yours, and your pulse quickens in response. His gaze flickers down to your lips, just mere inches from yours, the softness of his features tugging at your heartstrings. The world seems to slow down, and your mind races𑁋why is it so hard to just breathe?

And yet, you don’t pull away.

Then, just as he leans in a tiny bit more, his lips barely a breath away from yours, he pauses, and it’s almost as if your beauty punches him in the gut for the very first time again. He sees everything𑁋the weariness that plagues your face, the glassiness to your eyes, the way you sneak a glance down to his mouth as well. He forces himself to swallow a lump in his throat.

You still don’t pull away.

“God,” he mutters softly under his breath, voice full of pure, unadulterated awe. “You’re beautiful.”

Your stomach twists violently at his words, completely knocking the wind out of your lungs.

“Chan?”

He blinks up at you, waiting.

“Have you ever been scared of… crossing that line?”

Chan blinks at your question, and for a minute or two, he doesn’t answer. Instead, he searches over your face, the corners of his mouth tugging upward.

“Terrified out of my goddamn mind, actually,” he corrects with amusement. “But now… I do know that when I cross that line, I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t want to go back.”

Amongst the heaviness in the air, those words almost single-handedly dissolve the barrier between you. Before you can second-guess yourself, before doubt can sink its claws into you again, you shoot one last sure glance down at his lips and lean in to finally close the distance between the two of you.

Chan lets out a groan at the sudden contact, your mouth bumping against his lip ring, but he throws that discomfort out the window.

It’s barely anything at first. Your breath catches against his warm and slightly chapped lips, but it’s enough. Enough for him to take it as permission, enough for him to finally cross that line with you. His lips meet yours softly and tentatively, like he’s afraid you might pull away. But when you don’t𑁋when you press just a little closer, letting your fingers curl against his bare shoulder𑁋he deepens the kiss, exhaling shakily into your mouth, his uninjured hand coming to pull you closer by your waist.

He tastes like something sweet and a little dangerous, like honey laced with fire.

Chan kisses you like he’s been waiting for this opportunity his entire life, and to be fair, he did wait that long. His eyes flutter to a close as he lets nothing but feeling take over, as if he’s memorised the shape of your lips in his head a million times over but only now gets to experience how soft and perfect they really are. How much he wants to kiss you even more.

Your fingertips drag lightly, carefully, over his bare skin, tracing the markings of the large dragon tattoo down his arm. He shivers and his muscles tense under your touch, a quiet, barely audible groan slipping from him, making his grip on your waist tighten. His thumb brushes over the fabric of your shirt, pressing just hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth. He has to fight his restraint to fully consume you, like he wants to brand this moment down into his very bones.

“Fuck,” he curses, voice muffled against your mouth. “I knew it.”

Your body burns at his touch. A second hardly passes as you could breathe out, “Knew what?”

“That if I ever kissed you, I wouldn’t want to stop,” he rasps hoarsely, his breath shallow as his lips brush against yours again like he’s not quite ready to pull away, merely determined to make up for all the lost time and finally taste what he’s been holding back. “I’m so weak for you, baby.”

Chan has waited ten years for this. He isn’t going to waste a single second.

A shudder runs through you from the pet name and the way his voice sounds so low and full of longing. His hands slowly yet delicately drift under the hem of your shirt, and he inhales the little noises you can’t quite hold back. You feel his calloused fingertips from all his years of skateboarding meet the skin of your waist𑁋not pushing, just touching, worshipping. Your hand drifts to caress the contours of his back, drawing over the smooth, defined lines of his muscles beneath the ink of where his Aquarius tattoo is imprinted on his spine.

“I’m addicted to you,” he says in between kisses, his weight pressing down on you as your back falls against the bed. “I should’ve kissed you years ago.”

His lips move against yours sweetly, intoxicatingly. There’s a quiet moan that leaves your mouth, barely audible yet enough for Chan to feel it, and it sends a rush of desire coursing through him. But he doesn’t rush it. He knows how long he’s waited for this moment, how long he’s dreamt of it. And now that it’s finally happening, he’s cherishing every second like it’s his last day on earth, willing himself to memorise every subtle shift of your facial expression, every breathless sound you make, every brief contact of your skin on his.

You.

That’s all his mind is screaming at him.

You, you, you.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers against your lips, but his grip on your waist tightens like he’s begging you won’t.

You don’t.

Your fingers dig desperately into his shoulders, feeling the rising tension in his muscles, and you’re suddenly aware of the effect you have over him, the effect you’ve always had over him. He’s practically losing himself in you. His injured hand twitches at his side, somewhat frustrated at the thought that he can’t hold you in the way he wants to. But his other hand drifts a tiny bit more under your shirt.

You sigh into his mouth, and Chan swears he’s never heard a sound more intoxicating than that.

“You’re not real,” he mumbles, and you feel him smile against you. “You can’t be real.”

The chuckle you let out at that quickly dissipates when you feel his mouth trail to the corner of your jaw. Then his breath meets the pulse point by your ears, and he plants a soft, affectionate kiss at that spot. You melt into the bed just by that.

“For years,” he continues breathlessly, lips slowly ghosting over the shell of your ear. “I’ve been patient. So fucking patient. I swear to God, baby, I’ll give you everything.”

His words make you dizzy, like you’re floating𑁋weightless, like your body has been set ablaze from the inside and out.

When he pulls away after some time, his breathing uneven and heavy, his half-lidded gaze meets yours.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, worriedly, studying over your nervous expression.

You swallow hard against the dryness in your throat, still feeling the tingle at your lips from the kiss or kisses. You sit up in his bed slightly.

“Yeah, I’m…” You lower your eyes in a pit of shyness. “I’m okay. Are you?”

A sheepish grin blooms on his face. “Oh, I’m good. I’m grand. Half-busted clearly still, but…”

You lightly flick him on the head. “You’re supposed to be resting, dummy.”

“And you’re supposed to be resting too, idiot,” he retorts playfully, but then his face falls into nothing but affection. “And kissing me.”

The two of you let out a series of giggles at that. Your hands rests unsurely on bare skin of his chest and shoulder𑁋hardly realising how they got there in the first place. You’re both tangled in this delicate new dynamic, and yet, in a way, it feels so natural. Everything has changed, and now you find yourself standing right at the edge of something beautiful and uncertain, but still worth falling for.

Then, before you could kiss him again, a cough interrupts the two of you. You both look towards the doorway, and there’s Vernon standing there with his arms crossed.

“Alright, not to kill the mood, but before y’all start breaking the bed or whatever, at least close the door first,” he says with an impish smirk.

Chan grumbles annoyingly, burying his head in the crook of your neck. “Seriously, dude?”

“Hey, I just wanted to check if you two needed anything,” Vernon shrugs innocently. “Didn’t mean to walk on y’all eating each other’s faces. But for the record, fucking finally.”

“Whatever, bye, Vernon!” Chan staggers off the bed to shut the door in the boy’s face, groaning something under his breath before plopping down right beside you.

The laugh you’ve been suppressing tumbles out of you all at once, a sense of relief and giddiness taking over. Chan looks over at you with a sheepish grin, chuckling along with you, his fingers gently brushing against the lines of your palm as you both try to calm your laughter.

“Chan?”

“Yeah?” His face lights up when you call his name. Cute.

“I love you.”

The utter vulnerability in the crack of your voice makes his heart lurch. Chan stares at you, as if he’s afraid that you might vanish if he blinks. But when he does blink, you’re still here in front of him. And when you blink, he’s simply smiling at you. It’s the same smile he wore when you were kids, the kind that could outshine all the stars in the sky, the one that made you feel like you could take on the world. Only now, it feels different. It feels like home.

He’s been knocking on this door for years, and you’ve finally let him in.

“I love you too,” he mumbles quietly, leaning back to tenderly press his forehead against yours. “Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that.”

That line between friendship and love? Yeah. Erased.

There’s no going back, it seems. But for the first time in a long time, you’re beginning to look forward.

taglist (open) ʚɞ @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @eternalgyu

@lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @ryuwonieebae @wonwooz1

@planetkiimchi @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag @wootify @carlesscat-thinklogic23

@phenomenalgirl9 @mirxzii @bookyeom @parkjennykim @melodicrabbit

@bewoyewo @honglynights @bananabubble @treehouse-mouse @starshuas

@totomoshi @armycarat2612 @etherealyoungk @gigification @ahuiahoe

@svtficsarchive @lllucere @reiofsuns2001 @imujings

fic taglist ʚɞ @viciousdarlings @christinewithluv @heeknow @tenderly-stepped-on-eggshells @blockbusterhee

#went through a rollercoaster of emotions reading this #almost cried op this is fantastic #user: wheeboo #for: chan

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geminiipdf · 13 days ago

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🥴

#what da hell #mr lee seokmin why are you so gorgeous

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geminiipdf · 14 days ago

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crying @ soonyoung already beefing with seungkwan HAHAH and the ending… woozi my guy you just might be cooked tbh

cheol’s frustrated tone through i can’t LMFAO this was too good jay

maestro's muse 💿 spring board meeting.

PREVIEW. Discord DMs between people can tell you a lot about them, that’s for sure.

FEATURING. lee jihoon x gn!reader, various non-idol!hybe groups & gn!reader GENRE(S). college au, hackathon au, slowburn, coming of age, angst, fluff LENGTH | WC. <10min | 0.7k TAGS | EXPLICITS. none!

JAY’S MUSINGS. hello hello hi i'm here again :) just havin’ some silly time trying out discord text format.... hm....... anyways do enjoy! sorry updates have been slow and little :,) planning for next update to be meaty!

www.hybehax.tech/spring-board-meeting

🍒 scoups1 4:02 Our GBM is in a little. I need you two to keep note of things in case I forget anything. [👍] universefactory

🐯 tigerking!!! 4:03 YOU GOT IT BOSS

🍚 universefactory 4:05 Just to check, all teams have already had their initial meetings, right?

🍒 scoups1 4:06 They should have

🍒 scoups1 4:06 I am praying that they have

🐯 tigerking!!! 4:07 I was there at Jeonghan-hyeong’s meeting!!! He’s already got Shua-hyeong on duty for collecting a list of previous year sponsors :O and Wonu is working on assigning tasks for Tech Team

🐯 tigerking!!! 4:07 Shouldnt you guys be attending these meetings too, though? Why am I the only one? (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞

🍚 universefactory 4:08 Gym [😭] tigerking!!! [😐] scoups1

🍒 scoups1 4:10 Work, unfortunately

🍒 scoups1 4:11 Soonyoung’s right tho. Now that everyone’s got their schedules properly laid out, we should try to start attending meetings.

🍒 scoups1 4:13 Jihoon, I want you to attend and oversee Design and Tech specifically. @/tigerking!!! You’ll be in charge of Marketing and Sponsors since they usually deal with external contacts

🍚 universefactory 4:15 Alright

🐯 tigerking!!! 4:15 Boo Seungkwan better watch out >:D

🍒 scoups1 4:16 Please don’t scare away our Marketing Lead we need him [🫡] tigerking!!! [‼️] universefactory

—

YOU HAVE ONE (1) NEW CALENDAR NOTIFICATION.

HybeHax GBM Meeting Reminder Today at 5:00 PM

—

🍚 universefactory 19:29 Hey. Wanted to check in after our GBM to make sure you didn’t have any questions, or anything.

🍙 luvfurikake 19:30 hi! no worries, thanks for checking in jihoon! meeting notes from this meeting should be on notion (theoretically, but i believe u did ur job properly :P) so i’ll check back if i find anything confusing [👍] universefactory

🍚 universefactory 19:37 Glad to hear that.

🍚 universefactory 19:41 How’s Design Team so far?

🍙 luvfurikake 19:43 they’re taking on every challenge they get with amazing energy :D minghao’s been hard at work with mock-ups for the sponsorship packet, and i’ve asked yeonjun to start thinking of ideas for our t-shirts

🍙 luvfurikake 19:45 i’m doing my best to try and give everyone equal amounts of work ;; i don’t want to put too much on anyone!

🍚 universefactory 19:47 Didn’t I tell you one of the tasks you could assign them is to design this year’s logo?

🍙 luvfurikake 19:47 well. yes…

🍚 universefactory 19:47 Then why did you design our logo, and not them?

🍙 luvfurikake 19:48 ,,,

🍙 luvfurikake 19:51 well ,, i just felt like they were all busy with the start of the sem !! and i had the free time anyways, it’s no biggie — promise!

universefactory is typing… universefactory is typing… universefactory is typing…

🍚 universefactory 19:58 Okay, but next time, ask your team before taking on a task yourself. You’re lead for a reason; you have to be able to have time to make sure all the other tasks are going well, too. It’ll be hard to do that if you keep entangling yourself with said workloads.

🍙 luvfurikake 19:59 ah... you’re right. i’m sorry jihoon — i’ll do better in the future ^^;

🍚 universefactory 20:02 It’s alright. You’ve done so much for HYBEHAX already (e.g. before you protest: IG posts, logo design), so just make sure to not overwork yourself so early into the season.

🍚 universefactory 20:02 Okay?

🍙 luvfurikake 20:03 yesyes ^^ thank you for your kind words jihoon <3! you're rly sweet :) [👍] universefactory

universefactory is typing… universefactory is typing… universefactory is typing…

🍚 universefactory 20:10 No problem [🤍] luvfurikake

—

CHROME DID NOT CLOSE PROPERLY. RESTORE WINDOW TO PREVIOUS TABS? > YES NO

how to| how to know you like someone how to know if someone is just being nice to you how to tell if you’re being delusional how to tell if someone likes you

ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO EXIT CHROME? > YES NO

#every time you post hybehax i get so excited #u r doing wonderfully #user:ppyopulii #for: jihoon

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geminiipdf · 19 days ago

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a junhui smau posted on my birthday... this post was calling my name and i'm glad it did this is so cute and very very junhui

xinganhao 🌟 shared a moment with you: "junhui x reader"

junhui works on healing a heart he did not break. inspired by jun's 值得 (Worth It) cover.

#i love smaus they are so fun & cool !!!#for: junhui #user: xinganhao

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geminiipdf · 21 days ago

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every time ro posts another fic i have to marvel at how beautifully the premise is set up and executed... loving the subtle implications that they definitely have history and the rivals thing they have going on, 10/10, no notes

a prescription for romance (l.jh)

☆ established romance: neurosurgeon! lee jihoon x cardiothoracic surgeon! reader ☆ w.c: 8k ☆ genre: non-idol au, established relationship (or is it) slice of life, fluff, comedy masterlist (also the characters from resident playbook make an appearance here because i was having major brainrot)

☆ a/n: TWO fics in two days? who is this, shakespeare? anyway, the first installment of this fic is here, after way too many breakdowns and copious amounts of tears involved, because of course i had to cry ☆ huge thank you to cel @mylovesstuffs for betaing this as (without her i dont think there would be any new fic from user shinysobi), thank you to the people i hosted this collab with, yuki ( @eclipsaria ), tiya ( @gyubakeries ) and rae ( @nerdycheol ), without them, there would be no fic at all <3 ☆ credits to @seungnm for the banner, and again, as part of yuki's 100 followers event, check out the rest of the fics here! also thank you to everyone who helped brainstorm this, alta( @haologram ), and emita ( @hannieoftheyear ) <3 and well, tell me how you like it!

It all begins, as usual, in March.

“The interns are arriving today,” Jaeil announces, stepping into the fourth-year resident’s lounge, “who wants to bet on how they’re going to turn out?”

“Not me,” Sabi replies from her corner of the room, focused on taking notes for the surgery she’s supposed to be assisting in the next day, “they’re always frazzled on the first day, so make sure they’re not going around jumping in on surgeries they’re not qualified for, Chief Resident.”

“As if you stuck to that rule,” he makes a face, “hey, it’s good that I got to be the chief resident, right? I’ve been preparing for this for so long, but it still feels like a dream that they chose me.”

“They didn’t choose you,” Sabi finally looks at him, from the book she’s been poring over, “out of the four of us, you’re the best fit for managing the new residents. If they came to me they’d run away crying.”

“You’re not wrong in that,” he mutters, “anyway, we got two new ones this year!”

“Two?” Sabi’s interest is piqued. The previous two years had been devoid of any new residents joining OB-GYN, and they had been overworked and understaffed, “we never had new residents since Tak Gi-on joined OB-GYN two years ago.”

“And now we have two more!” Jaeil grins, “what surgery do you have tomorrow?”

“C-section and cardiopulmonary bypass,” she mutters, leaning back, “this is the first time I’m going to be assisting in a surgery like this. The mother has been taking blood thinners for the clot, but this might put her into postpartum haemorrhage if not managed properly. Professor Kim wants me to do well on this one, so I can become more familiar with leading such surgeries later on.”

“Ugh,” he shakes his head, “Cruella is still going strong, huh? She’s doing most of the work of the head of her department, no one expects her to work on so many cases at once. She’s also doing VIP surgeries that no one else wants to do.”

“Where are Namkyung and Yiyoung?” Sabi grumbles, “and don’t tell the first-years that her nickname is Cruella,” She narrows her eyes, and Jaeil is, inexplicably, filled with a strong sense of fear. “What nickname did you give me?”

This one is easy, “We all called you AI for the whole first year,” he grins, “you didn’t lighten up until the final month of second year.”

“When I ignored my huge fibroids, overworked myself, and collapsed in the middle of the ward?” she groans, “really, you bring it up all the time, and I was only exhausted, there was nothing wrong with me.”

“Still, that made you a lot easier to deal with.” He bumps her shoulder slightly, “there’s still half an hour before the residents come.”

She narrows her eyes again, “no.” Sabi checks her watch and says, “Namkyung and Yiyoung are in surgery, right?”

“Yes, they went in half an hour ago. Please,” he bats his eyelashes at her, and Sabi giggles, hand clasped over her mouth. “One time, please?”

“You’re annoying,” she mutters, but gives him a small peck on the lips all the same. Jaeil smiles to himself, because of course he’s going to, because who the hell can resist anything when Sabi is like this?

“One more,” he wheedles, “please.”

She narrows her eyes at him, and he braces himself for the inevitable scolding that’s going to follow. She’s always been a stickler for rules.

—

“Welcome to the OBGYN department. I am your senior, Kim Sabi, and he’s the Chief resident, Um Jaeil,” Sabi says, a smile on her face. The two of them look fairly terrified.

“This is nothing to be scared of,” Jaeil assures, looking at the list of people who joined their department, “oh, you both were top students in your departments, Kyu-young, and Jae-min, right?”

They both nod, and he has to suppress a smile. Cute. Sabi just nods, looking at their profiles, “since today is your first day, you’re not going to get a lot of tasks. Instead, all you have to do is join the professors on their rounds, make notes, and do whatever they tell you to do. It’s important that they don’t notice you at all.”

“What happens if they notice you?” Kyu-young asks, “they don’t seem all that bad, right?”

“Listen up,” Jaeil sighs, with all the seriousness of a university professor delivering a lecture, “there are a few kinds of people in this hospital, and the worst of them come to surgery. Our OB-GYN department also has some weird ones, which means that they’ll notice you either to yell at you, or to assign you more tasks than is humanly possible.”

They both nod, and the girl, Kyu-young, pipes up, “how are the professors? I’m sorry, I didn’t do my internship from here, so I don’t really know.”

“They’re all normal,” Sabi counters before he can reply, “Professor Jo can be a lot, but it’s fine. He usually does not care about the first-year residents enough to yell at them too much.”

“Professor Jae-hui is a total sweetheart, though,” Jaeil hurries to inform them, “she’s usually the one who takes care of all the newbies in the department, making sure they’re settling in well. Even when on rounds, she’s making sure they’re rested well and all that.”

“She can be tough, but she’s fair,” Sabi concedes, nodding, “if you’re on rounds with her, it’ll be fine.”

“I heard the newbies are here.” The door opens to let the sole remaining fellow of the department, Eunmi, enter. “Already yapping about the professors, are you?”

“No!” He protests, but she is already lounging in one of the chairs, “I’m the only fellow in the department, Dr Ki Eunmi. Whatever these people have told you, it’s all false.”

“All false?” Jaeil gasps, “of course not! We told them only the truth!” He wants to grumble, but Ki Eunmi has become a lot more relaxed since she became a fellow, even though she’s retained the whole angel aura, as he’d once said. Still kind to a fault, just a bit more spirited.

“And you’ve been telling them about all the nicknames for the professors, have you?”

Both Jaeil and Sabi freeze in place. Gossiping about a professor, especially one of the youngest in the hospital, was not something they strictly should be doing, but let’s face the facts, the object of their interest was one of those people who struck fear into the hearts of everyone, including fellow professors.

“Nicknames?” the two newbies echo. “What nicknames?”

Eunmi sighs, “no, you sillies. This hospital has given nicknames to every attending professor, especially the ones who directly deal with the residents.”

“We haven’t told them about Cruella, though,” Jaeil pipes up, and both Sabi and Eunmi look at him as though they want to beat the shit out of him. He claps a hand over his mouth. Too late.

“Cruella?” one of the residents says, “is that their real name?”

“No, it’s a nickname,” Eunmi sighs, “because in the first week of being in this hospital, she managed to make Professor Jo Joon-mo cry. This may or may not be true, but I’m betting all my money on it being the real deal.”

“Don’t scare the residents, Um Jaeil,” Sabi gripes. “Professor Kim Sowon is really tough, but she’s fair. She also makes sure that the residents get to learn as much as they can, while they’re working here for four years. She’s one of the only experts we have here on Cardio-obstetrics.”

“Work them to death, you mean,” Jaeil begins to say something else, but one look from his girlfriend, and he’s silent. Better keep my mouth shut over making Sabi angry. I don’t like it when she gets pissed off with me.

“She’s tough all right,” Eunmi nods her head, “if you’re on rounds with her, you’re going to learn a fair amount. She does so many surgeries in a day it’s almost a wonder how she’s still on her feet after a week.”

“The name was supposed to be Ghost, but another fellow coined the term Cruella, just because he didn't like the way she grilled him after he screwed up in surgery one time,” Sabi smiles, “she’s so good, it’s wonderful watching her work.”

“She does pediatric cardiac surgery, cardio-obstetrics,” Jaeil lists them off on his hand, “she’s pretty much a regular at the OBGYN department. She’s scary, but she’s great.”

His phone rings, and he stands up, “just make sure no professors take note of you today.”

“I’m going to go on pre-rounds before scrubbing in,” Sabi stands up, “let’s go do some charts.”

—

“What do you mean you’ve not put in an order for the medication yet?” Professor Jo barks, and Sabi, walking over to the nurse’s station, cringes, because of course he’s yelling at Kyu-young, who doesn’t know how to read a chart properly, if at all.

“The first day, and they’re going at it already,” the head nurse mutters, “imagine the poor residents. They’re all going to resign within a year.”

“Someone needs to shut him up, and it’s not going to be me,” another nurse mutters, “he can be really scary when he wants to be.”

“Professor,” a voice pipes up from the corner of the station, “scolding the first-years on their first day is a bit much, don’t you think?”

Both Sabi and Kyu-young look up, and Sabi can feel Kyu-young’s jaw drop, because standing casually, leaned against the side of a wall, is Professor Kim Sowon—wearing her trademark black scrubs, an anomaly from the hospital-issued blue ones, “I was coming here to consult with Dr Kim Sabi about the cardiopulmonary bypass scheduled for tomorrow, but it seems as though you’re busy scolding the first-year resident on their first day.”

“Excuse me?” Professor Jo, still not used to her presence, barks, “why are you interfering in the matters of the OBGYN department when you’re from Cardiac Surgery?”

“Because it would be a shame if both the residents who I’ve asked to scrub in for my surgery tomorrow, are incapacitated,” Professor Kim says evenly. Even Prof. Jo looks shaken by that. Yeah, they normally don’t allow first-years into a co-op surgery, especially if it’s a high-profile one.

“You want the first-year to scrub in for the co-op surgery?” Prof. Jo sounds incredulous, as if he can’t really believe his ears, “isn’t that a bit too tall an ask for a first-year?”

“They’re only going to observe,” Prof. Kim shrugs, pointing to Sabi, “let’s go, Dr Kim, and bring the first-year with you too.”

Sabi nods, and Kyu-young scampers off behind her as well, grateful to be escaping from the scolding she was receiving, “Professor, we weren't supposed to have a first-year observe on this surgery.”

“It’s fine,” she shrugs, “the case got enough attention from the press for all of us to be on edge, so I was thinking of adding a first-year to help during the surgery. It’s nothing, really.”

Beside her, Kyu-young stiffens, likely understanding the gravitas of the situation, and asks Sabi, “what are they saying?”

Professor Kim sighs as they make their way to Professor Seo’s office, clearly amused by the cluelessness of the resident, “Dr Kim Sabi, go on.”

“Kim Se-kyung, age 30, developed serious complications while pregnant with her first child,” Sabi says, looking at the chart, “she developed pulmonary embolism during her thirty-eighth week of pregnancy. In normal cases, this would require emergency major surgery, but since it’s close to the delivery due date, we’ve decided to operate on her after observing her, as she can’t be on blood thinners anymore.”

“And what happens when there are too many blood thinners in a patient’s bloodstream and they undergo major surgery?” Professor Kim asks, knocking on the door.

“Uh,” Kyu-young looks confused, “they need more blood during the surgery?”

The door opens, and Professor Seo steps out, a frown on her face. “No, they run the risk of PPH, especially in a C-section,” She turns to Prof. Kim, “really? Harassing the first-years with questions? They haven’t even been here for more than an hour.”

“It’s fun, though,” the other professor smiles, “shall we start the meeting?”

Sabi as usual, takes copious notes during the meeting in case any of the professors ask her for some, and Kyu-young barely holds on while the two professors go on and on about possible complications during surgery and post-op care, even have a small argument about whether they should work on the blood clot before or after they’ve extracted the baby.

“The mother’s health comes first, oh my god,” Professor Kim argues, “Professor Seo, I understand why you’d want to save the baby first, but the mother’s health is more important to me than the baby.”

“The mother wants us to save her baby first,” Professor Seo argues, “and in the OB GYN department, what the mother wants, the mother gets.”

“Ugh, fine,” Professor Kim holds her head in her hands, “fine. We’ll put catheters in her thigh before you start the C-section, and divert blood flow to the oxygenator. You’ll have to work hard, though.”

“Forty minutes.”

“Thirty, that’s all I can give you.”

“Fine, thirty,” Professor Seo concedes, “wait, you didn’t get any new residents this year?”

“Zero.” Professor Kim sighs, “why they don’t want to come to the Cardiology department, I wonder. You can study and make a lot of money.”

“It’s the study part they hate.”

“Fair enough,” Professor Kim shrugs, “lunch?”

“I need to scrub in for an OR in an hour,” Professor Seo waves, “see you tomorrow, Professor Kim.”

The three of them leave the office, and briefly, Sabi recalls what she’s supposed to do that day, and how much she’s already done. She’s finished half the charting she was supposed to do, and the surgery she was scheduled for, wasn’t until three in the afternoon. Both Yiyoung and Namkyung were supposed to be out of surgery in an hour, so she could just wait until then to have her lunch.

“Lunch, Dr Sabi?” Professor Kim’s voice shakes her out of her thought process, “they’re serving western-style food in the cafeteria right now.”

“Lunch?” Sabi looks at her, confused. “Are you offering to buy us lunch right now?”

“I get paid more,” she shrugs, “might as well put it to some use.”

—

The cafeteria is half-empty by the time they get there, but even before they can make their way to order, Jaeil comes running, a big smile on his face, “Kim Sabi! Do you want to have lunch together—oh.”

“Come on, Dr Um Jaeil,” Professor Kim laughs, “you can join the three of us for lunch.”

She goes off to order for everyone, and Jaeil turns to her and Kyu-young, “she’s buying us lunch?”

“She is,” Sabi nods, “she said she gets paid more than all of us, so she should make the best of it.”

“She really does,” Jaeil sighs, “imagine being one of the few specialists in cardio-obstetrics in Korea. The consultations alone would bring you a ton of money.”

“Really?” Kyu-young, intrigued by this piece of information, pipes up, “she makes that much?”

“Both of them do.” Jaeil sighs, “ugh, the legendary cross-departmental rivalry.”

“Are you making up stuff for fun again?” Sabi frowns, “there’s nothing like that, is there?”

“Don’t you know?” Jaeil, who spends half his free time getting information out of others and being the social butterfly that he is, scoffs, “looks like there is something that Dr Kim Sabi does not know.”

Sabi scowls, but before she can scold him, another voice calls out from the other side of the cafeteria, “Dr Kim Sowon!”

“Who’s that?” Kyu-young cranes her head to look, “doesn’t seem like someone from our department.”

“Professor Lee Jihoon, Neurosurgery.” Jaeil grins, “told you. Legendary cross-departmental rivalry.”

She cranes her neck, too—for all she wants to be known for, she isn’t immune to the allure of high intelligence and competency, but Lee Jihoon of Neurosurgery seems like someone who would fit into an idol group instead of a hospital. He’s all perfect features and long limbs; she’s maybe been slightly enamored with the paper he wrote about fetal brain development, but he’s known to be a grump in his department.

“That’s Sauron.” Jaeil whispers in her ear, making her roll her eyes. Typical. If it were two years ago, she would have jumped. Now she just rolls her eyes.

“Sauron?” Kyu-young asks, moving ahead in the line. “That’s a weird nickname.”

“They love Lord of the Rings over there, actually.”

Sabi, who’s still looking at Lee Jihoon, who is dressed in similar black scrubs as Professor Kim, narrows her eyes. This is interesting. Professor Kim, grumbling, makes her way to the large empty table where Professor Lee is sitting, and they all follow suit, “Looks like your department abandoned you again. Jihoon.”

“Terrorising the residents on their first day?” Professor Lee grins, “don’t let her boss you around, you know.”

“They do what I ask because I’m nice,” Prof. Kim smiles, “not because I'm terrorising them.”

Sabi wants to be anywhere but in the cafeteria. She really does not want to get in the middle of a professor’s argument, but both Jaeil and Kyu-young look amused as hell.

“When’s your next surgery?” Lee Jihoon checks his watch, “or are you still intent on ruining your own health to fix your patients?”

Professor Kim scoffs, “look who’s talking. As if you didn’t end up in the ER twice over our residency period.”

“It was once, and you knew exactly why I ended up there,” he grumbles, “you were the one who put me there.”

Professor Kim sighs, and Sabi finds herself sitting upright, “what do you mean?”

“What do I mean?” Professor Lee leans forward, “your Professor Kim here, she once got into an accident in the ER, and landed the both of us in the hospital actually.”

“That was a mistake.” Professor Kim scowls.

“It wasn’t, and you know it.”

They both end up bickering again, and Jaeil leans to whisper in her ears, “do you think they’re going to notice if we just left?”

Sabi shakes her head. They’re already too preoccupied to even notice our presence at the very table, let alone our absence. They’re probably going to be just fine.

The three of them get up from the table, and they’re just about to leave the cafeteria altogether, when Professor Kim’s yell makes them stand at attention, “what the hell do you mean? I need the OR on that day!”

Sabi and Kyu-young, both spring to attention, scurrying back to the table, Jaeil following in their footsteps. Professor Kim has her head in her hands, “look, it’s an important surgery. Both the OBGYN department and the Cardiology department had notified Anesthesiology a week ago, so don’t take this from right underneath our noses, okay?”

“An emergency patient came in this morning,” Professor Lee shrugs, “look, I don’t want to be the one demanding an OR from another department, but the surgery cannot wait. The patient requires emergency surgery, and we’ve already delayed it as is.”

“Then delay it another day!” Prof. Kim sighs, “Jihoon, you can’t be doing this to me.”

“It’s not a matter of what I want, it’s a matter of what the hospital thinks is best,” Prof. Lee makes a gesture, “there’ll be other ORs tomorrow, so just adjust the time for that one, yeah?”

“I have a conference tomorrow, you dimwit,” Prof Kim seethes. “You’re going to pay for this, I swear to god.”

Sabi looks at Jaeil, who’s staring at her, looks confused as hell. She doesn’t blame him. Even she doesn’t know what the hell to make of this dynamic.

—

“This is Choi Gaeul, the third-year Cardiology resident,” Namkyung, who’s apparently got connections in every floor of the hospital, introduces, “this is Kim Sabi, she’s the one who’s going to be assisting Professor Seo on the surgery tomorrow.”

Sabi gives a tired wave, looking at the equally haggard resident in front of her. Yiyoung, who’s looking suspiciously refreshed, sits up properly, “Oh Yiyoung, fourth-year, Obstetrics. Sabi’s in Gynaecology, but she’s better at this than I am. Plus I have three labour deliveries assigned for tomorrow, so Sabi got this one.”

Choi Gaeul sighs, sitting down heavily on one of the chairs, “Professor Kim’s going to chew me out if I don’t get an OR by tomorrow morning.”

“The original slot was for eleven in the morning, right?” Jaeil, who’s apparently got no work, pipes up, “I heard Professor Kim arguing with Professor Lee of Neurosurgery this afternoon. Did they have to push the surgery?”

“Both of them are emergency cases,” Dr Choi says, “Professor Lee’s patient came in this morning, with a tumor pressing down on the optic nerve. They were aware of the tumor, but didn’t think it would progress this fast, this soon. The surgery has to be done by tomorrow at the latest.”

“And Professor Kim has a conference to attend tomorrow at three in the afternoon,” Dr Choi sighs, “I really don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to schedule the OR without getting yelled at by Anesthesiology. They already hate me after all the time I’ve asked them to arrange ORs at zero notice.”

All four of them nod, because who the hell has not been chewed out by the grumpy Anesthesiology fellows after asking them to arrange for an OR? Yiyoung and Namkyung, from Obstetrics, have been on the receiving end the most—Gynaecology did not have too many surprise surgeries.

“Anyway, I don’t know how I’m supposed to pull this one off,” Choi Gaeul sighs, “all the fellows I know are not answering my phone, because they already hate me, or something like that. And I doubt even Professor Seo could get us an OR at eleven in the morning.”

She smacks her head on the table. “Hey, do you guys think if I change my name, they’d be able to find me? I could change my name and move to a different country. They won’t be able to find me then, right?”

“Professor Kim could,” Sabi mutters, “she’s got contacts in every continent.”

“She does,” Dr Choi groans, “why the hell did I opt for Cardiology? This whole rivalry between Prof. Lee and Prof Kim, this is going to kill me.”

“Rivalry?” Namkyung pipes up, clearly interested, “wait, I never heard of this rivalry before.”

“Professor Lee joined this January, of course you would not know,” Jaeil replies, “They were both classmates in university.”

“That’s when it started?” Yiyoung pipes up, “that’s a long time to be holding a grudge.”

“They’re both so annoying, god, it feels like I’m talking to toddlers, not Assistant Professors,” Dr Choi sighs, “they’re so intelligent, but they just don’t know how the hell to behave.”

Namkyung has a glint in her eye, and Sabi knows what that glint is. It’s the same look she got when she arranged a ‘group dinner’ for all the residents in their second year, and ‘accidentally’ gave Jaeil and her the wrong address, so they spent a whole evening in an upscale steak restaurant, wondering whether or not this was a setup. Spoiler alert: it was. Namkyung had even roped in the fellows on her bullshit, the little snake. She would never forget the teasing smiles of Dr Gu and Dr Ki the next morning, commenting on whether they had a fun ‘group dinner’. “Don’t even think about it,” she warns, “whatever you’re thinking, it’s not going to end up well.”

Right at that moment, the door opens, and another resident walks in, looking equally haggard. “Dr Baek Jung-Hwa, Neurosurgery, third-year.” Dr Choi introduces, and the man just drops into a chair without any proper greeting.

“He works under Prof. Lee.” Dr Choi offers, “he’s one of the only third-years who’s taken him on.”

“Do something about him and Prof Kim of Cardiology, I beg you,” Dr Baek groans. “Today it was the OR, last week, they argued for so long about what kind of approach to take on an AAD, even the patient asked them to shut up in the end.”

“AAD?” Yiyoung asks.

“Acute Aortic Dissection.” Dr Choi replies, “they were arguing in the middle of the ward, you guys. The patients were worried they were going to die. The nurses thought they were going to start an all-out fight in the middle of the day.”

“As if there’s an appropriate time to be fighting.”

“You get it. They’ve been here for a year, at the most, and the whole hospital knows about their arguments. It’s not even restricted to surgeries—they fight over what to get for lunch, too.”

“Lunch?” Jaeil asks, “who would fight about lunch?”

“Not everyone is like you,” Yiyoung snipes. “You only order what Sabi wants.”

“That’s a given! She’s my girlfriend!”

“Everyone, shut up,” Namkyung waves, “what I’m getting is that we have two professors, who cannot seem to stop arguing, and three departments, who are fed up with their antics.”

“Four, if you count Pediatrics.” Yiyoung offers, “they had another argument outside the NICU about post-op care of a co-op surgery.”

“Yes, so,” Namkyung claps her hands, “we need a solution.”

“Make them transfer?” Dr Choi offers, “if one of them were in another hospital, they’d not be arguing for an hour daily.”

“Where’s the fun in that, though?” Namkyung grins. “Hey, let’s set them up.”

“Huh?” even Yiyoung is confused, “they clearly hate each other, why on earth would you set them up?”

“Because it’s fun.” Namkyung shrugs, “and besides, if they manage to get together, they’d be a lot more forgiving of their residents, and the whole hospital, actually.”

“Or, they’d start adding their relationship arguments into the mix,” Jaeil shakes his head, “this is a bad idea.”

“Then you give me another one!” Namkyung makes a face, “you’re an idiot when it comes to dating.”

“Yes, you can’t be a judge, Um Jaeil,” Yiyoung agrees, “you’ve only dated Kim Sabi here.”

“Statistically, they have more experience,” Dr Baek nods. “Are you sure this is going to work?”

“About thirty percent,” Namkyung sighs, “but hey, this is better than nothing, right?”

—

Ploy one: mechanical intervention. (day seven)

“This is not going to work,” Sabi mutters, watching furtively over her shoulder, “are you sure about this?”

“Positive,” Dr Choi mutters, also on the lookout, “she doesn’t come out of her office for about three hours after a surgery. She’s reviewing notes right now. And Dr Baek told me Professor Lee was about to head out at one as well. Hey, is your friend done yet?”

The last sentence is addressed to Jaeil, who’s holding a torch over his head, throwing a light directly into the hood of Professor Kim’s car, and his friend, who has been working on it furiously for the past ten minutes. Sabi takes another look over her shoulder, confirming that there is no one spying on their little ring, and Jaei’s friend emerges from his work, slightly worse for wear.

“Why did you need a favour like this?” the man asks, “never thought I’d have Um Jay of Hi-Boyz asking me to destroy someone’s fan belt on a Wednesday morning. Wherever it was, they must have pissed you off royally.”

“It’s for a professor, actually,” Sabi blurts out, unable to keep a secret for very long, “this is a professor’s car.”

“Well then, good luck to the professor. Getting their fan belt destroyed in the middle of the night,” the man whistles, picking up his bag, “well then, I gotta be off. See you around, man.”

And he leaves, not before giving Jaeil an awkward side-hug and waving goodbye to her and Gaeul, but Sabi isn’t exactly convinced with the whole thing. She still cannot see the appeal of forcing people in strange situations together and forcing them into a semblance of a relationship, but this is not her idea, and it’s been vetted by three separate departments, so she’s going along with it, for the time being.

“She’s here,” Dr Gaeul says, half-panicked, “I’m going to hide, see you!”

With that, she’s off, leaving behind Um Jaeil and her in the parking lot. Sabi is not feeling awkward, she really is not. She just doesn’t want people to see and think they were slacking off, when they clearly were not. Jaeil, on the other hand, has no qualms sidling up to her, grinning widely.

“Do you think this is going to work?” he whispers, holding her hand, “I mean, they’re all going through a lot.”

“I don’t understand why we’re doing all this for another department,” Sabi shakes her head, “it’s not as if either of them have a direct impact on our lives or our patient care.”

“Remember last year, when they arrived here, and had to work on that one complicated case of a pregnant woman with a heart condition that was affecting blood flow to her child’s brain?”

Sabi nods. She was not supposed to be assisting on the case, but they had enough overlap between the departments; making it a four-way collaboration between Pediatrics, Ob-GYN, Cardiothoracic surgery, and Neuro. The two of them—Professors Kim and Lee, had fought bitterly even then, resulting in Professor Seo telling them to either get it together, or to leave the meeting room and come back another time. They had fallen silent after that, but Sabi still remembers the look on everyone’s faces when the two of them were arguing; waiting for something horrible to happen. Calm before the storm, or whatever they call it. Professor Seo had muttered underneath her breath about ‘stupid idiots’ and Sabi, who had volunteered to scrub in in place of Namkyung (busy with her three deliveries that week) had watched the two distinguished professors, each armed with a considerable number of degrees and papers under their belt, fight on their way to the cafeteria.

“They didn’t fight at all in the operation theatre,” she mutters, allowing herself to squeeze Jaeil’s hand the way that he likes, “I saw them operating in tandem. She worked on the mother’s heart while he examined the baby seconds after birth, making sure the restricted placental blood flow did not impact any neurological activities. They didn’t speak either, but the way they worked, I'm sure they’ve worked together before.”

“Impossible,” Jaeil shrugs, “those two and working together? I think you’re mistaken, Sabi.”

But before she can even retort, they’re face to face with Professor Kim, who smiles widely on seeing them, “getting off work?”

“Ah, no, not yet,” Jaeil laughs, “we just had a bit of free time.”

Professor Kim looks at their joined hands, and nods, “I understand. These days it’s all about dating publicly, right? We couldn’t even look at the person we were seeing.”

Sabi wants to ask who it was that you were looking at, but Jaeil beats her to the punch, staring innocently at the professor, “did you date in medical school, professor?”

Professor Kim suddenly grows a little bashful, shrugging, “no one important,” and then reaches into her pocket to extract her card, “get yourself a coffee with this, yeah?”

Jaeil accepts it, and the two of them stare at her as she walks over to her parked car, none the wiser about her destroyed fan belt. One, two, three. Sabi wants to kill herself, but if she does that, she’s not going to become the youngest Gynecology professor at the hospital. She watches, horrified, as Professor Kim attempts to get her car to start, and fails three separate times. She then comes out of the car, sighs, before turning to look at her and Jaeil. Beside her, Jaeil is the picture of innocence, looking wide-eyed at her, “is there anything wrong, professor?”

“Yeah, my car is refusing to start,” she grins, “I’ll just get a taxi.”

“No!” Jaeil yelps, loud enough for even Sabi to raise an eyebrow, “I mean, it’s already one in the morning, Professor, getting a taxi will be next to impossible right now.”

“Yeah, and they usually have a surcharge,” Sabi nods, finding herself going along with Jaei’s stupid plan, “you could ask for a lift from someone?”

“A lift?” Professor Kim muses, “but I don’t think there are people in here who can give me a lift—”

She pauses, and Sabi follows her line of sight to see Professor Lee, dressed in casual clothes, walking out of the lift. He walks over to where the three of them were standing, taking a look at Professor Kim’s car, “totaled it, have you?”

“I don’t think you really understand what that means,” Professor Kim snipes, “and no, I did not total my car, it does not start anymore. Just makes a sort of sputtering noise when I hit the ignition.”

“Serves you right for getting a diesel car,” Professor Lee shrugs, “how long have you been driving this monstrosity? People graduate medical school in the time that you’ve held on to this stupid car.”

“Who the hell are you calling stupid, you jerk?”

They were possibly going to argue for longer, but Jaeil jumps in right at this moment, smiling, “Professor Lee, I was just telling Professor Kim here how it would be difficult to get a taxi in the middle of the night.”

“In the middle of the night!” Professor Lee shrieks. “Hey, you were thinking of going out in the middle of the night like that? What if you got hurt?”

“Why the hell would I get hurt?”

“The world is a scary place!”

“It’s scary because of men!”

That makes him pause, and he shrugs, something like a ‘fair’, but then starts arguing again, when Sabi interrupts, “could you give her a ride, please? If you are going in the same way.”

She feels horrible for doing this, but out of the corner of her eye, she can see Dr Choi whooping for joy, and Sabi thinks that this is okay.

“A ride?” Professor Lee stares at Prof Kim, “don’t drool on my seats.”

“Your faux-leather seats,” She snipes, “why the hell do you even care? It was one time!”

“One time too many,” he replies, “why the hell should I even let you into my car?”

“Because the world is a scary place,” she smiles, taking out the key fob from his hand and walking away. Sabi swears she can hear Professor Lee mutters, “damn woman,” under his breath before running behind her to catch up.

“They’ve got history,” Sabi says, offhandedly, as Dr Choi runs up to them, “did you know they had history?”

“They do not have history,” Jaeil snorts, “even if they did, it clearly never ended well.”

“They say married couples were enemies in a past life,” Dr Choi shrugs, “anyway, this means we might get them to at least warm up to each other instead of fighting all the time.”

“Might be a good change around these parts,” Jaeil smiles, tucking his arm underneath Sabi’s before walking back into the hospital. They’ve got history, Sabi can’t help but think, no one fights that pointlessly with anyone, that much. It’s either that, or they hate each other so much that even looking at the other person is unbearable.

—

Ploy two: team dinners are an excellent way to foster interdepartmental relationships. (day 20)

Dr Choi Gaeul was actually looking forward to becoming a doctor her whole life, thank you very much. Her parents were poor, which meant that she only had one way of getting out of the mess of her life; studying. She studied like a crazy woman all throughout her life, finally landing into medical school, the first one from her seaside town. It also meant that she had the burden of striking it big, and as her parents told her over and over again, failing was not an option when it came to her. Everyone else could go to hell, but she had to survive.

And she had. She’d finished medical school, landed in one of the most competitive disciplines, Cardiothoracic surgery. She’d even gotten into a Seoul hospital, cementing her success in the minds of her whole town. And the best part? She got to work directly under one of the few female Cardiothoracic professors of the entire country, Professor Kim Sowon. Her life was going swimmingly.

Until of course, the first day of Professor Kim, when she realised one little thing—surviving college and university was far less complicated than surviving the workplace.

“This is pretty much guaranteed to make me spend hours sitting around on my ass,” Prof. Kim seethes, looking at the consult for the co-op surgery. “What the fuck is Lee Jihoon up to? Does he think that being the neurosurgery professor means he can order us around? We have our lives too, damn it.”

It was over important things, at first. Arguing over long-running surgeries that would force Professor Kim and her residents to wait around for ungodly periods of time while the Neuro team finished up their part of the work, or co-op surgeries where their presence was not required beyond staying on standby, and the Neurosurgery department asking the professors to stay in the operating room until they finished working on the patient, for any kind of emergency. That was fine. She could understand that.

But what do you mean there was an argument about what dinner menu they should stop serving in the cafeteria? Was that even something professors got interested in?

“I’m telling you, tonkatsu has no place in a hospital cafeteria. It’s unhealthy, raises the risk of heart disease, and frankly speaking, they don’t do it that well here.”

“And I think they should stop serving oyakodon. Why the hell should we spend upward of an hour waiting around for a Japanese dish where I burn the roof of my mouth?” Professor Lee snipes back, “just because you like it, you can’t terrorise the lunch ladies into keeping this here.”

Dr Gaeul was shocked. Why the hell were they here in the first place?

Which brought them all to—today. Where Professor Kim was arguing with Professor Lee about Neurosurgery getting less residents than usual. They’re seated in the cafeteria, where the neurosurgery department is coexisting peacefully with the cardiothoracic surgery department, chewing on their bland meal, too exhausted to say a word.

“I don’t think your stellar personality did the hospital any favours, Jihoon,” she says, idly turning the page of a research paper (how the hell did she even get that in here?) “scaring off all your residents with the speech about how Neuro is more important than one’s family has got to have ruffled some feathers.”

“I don’t think I should be taking advice from the woman who regularly quizzed interns in the elevator,” Professor Lee snaps, “are you laughing at the extra workload? Are you?”

“I’m just saying that all this could have been avoided if you were a little bit kinder to the interns. You’re not supposed to scare them off at the beginning of their stint. You’re supposed to make sure they want to enter your department at the end of the period.”

“You used to grill them at every point!” Professor Lee snaps, “you even got a nickname because of it. How the hell did your department still get more applicants for residency?”

“Maybe I wasn’t an unmitigated asshole, like you,” Professor Kim sighs, “god help the residents who are shackled to you for four years.”

“Hey, don’t you say shit about my residents!”

Dr Choi wants a hole in the earth to open up and swallow her. Why am I saddled with two of the brightest doctors, and why do they behave like children? It’s incredible, how two of the most-decorated surgeons in the country, and one with multiple certifications from the USA, could behave like kids when dealing with each other. Then again, it’s probably the high stress of the job, she reasons, they don’t get any time to be themselves, so they make do wherever they can.

Her phone rings, and her sigh of relief is audible, “Professor,” she leans in to whisper to Professor Kim, who’s suddenly debating the benefits of daily consumption of red ginseng with Professor Lee, “we’re getting a call from Emergency.”

Professor Kim nods, standing up, “we’ll talk about this later, Lee Jihoon,” and sets off, Dr Choi right in tow. She wasn’t lying, of course, the call is from the Emergency Room, and they need to be there at the earliest, but she’s also not going to lie and say that she was not relieved she didn’t have to stay any longer than she had to, in the cafeteria.

“What’s the situation?” Professor Kim asks, walking into the Emergency ward, “you would not call my resident and me if this was not something important, right?”

The fellow who actually put the call through to her cringes, and Gaeul sighs. She’s angry because they used to call us for random things before, and it wasted a lot of time. Well, the intent is good, but she could have said it a bit differently, right?”

“Three-car pileup, ten minutes out,” Dr Bae, the ER attending, comes forward, “hold on, I’ve paged Neuro for this as well.”

“Stroke?” Professor Kim asks, “how bad is it?”

“Preliminary CT shows the presence of two blood clots, one in the brain, one in the aorta. The heart one is dangerously close to blocking heart function, so I doubt we have a lot of time before we can do emergency surgery.”

“Heart rate?”

“Sixty-five and falling,” Dr Bae holds out the chart, “it’s not looking very good.”

“I’m here,” Professor Lee walks in, followed by Dr Baek, “dual clots? Result of the accident?”

“Yes, we’re assuming that, but she’s already pretty bad,” Dr Bae holds out a clipboard to him, “I think we should prepare for emergency surgery.”

“Let’s scrub in right now,” Professor Lee nods, turning to Dr Baek, “I’ll be late for the departmental conference.”

“Ask Anesthesiology for an Operating Theatre,” Professor Kim tells her, “tell them it’s an emergency case, and both Neuro and Cardio are co-operating on it.”

Dr Choi nods, before hurrying off to make the call. As expected, Anesthesiology makes a fuss initially, given the influx of emergency patients, but once they hear the words “both Neuro and Cardio requested it,” they’re hurriedly assigning her the first available operating theatre they have.

“Operating theatre is prepped, so we just need the rest of the labs to come back before we can begin preparing for the surgery,” Professor Kim says, nudging Professor Lee with her shoulder, “hey, scrub in with me.”

“Right now?” Professor Lee sighs, “you know what? Let’s do it. We need to scrub in for surgery in about ten minutes anyway, best get it done.”

And they’re off, which leaves behind her, Dr Baek and the Emergency surgery fellow, who seems nervous and not at all happy to be here. Dr Choi sighs, before taking off at top speed towards Pathology.

—

That was the first time she had seen the two professors collaborate on a surgery, instead of working one after the other. They were a revelation, if she was being honest. None of the bitter arguments that seemed to be the norm every time they met, or the vitriol that they seemed to reserve specifically for each other. They worked in total silence, only asking for surgical tools, and Dr Choi could swear she even saw Professor Kim sigh in relief once it was over, but it could have been a trick of her mind too. Professor Lee, on the other hand, seemed equally steady, navigating around the blood clot with a practised ease that made the resident visibly nervous. The both of them seemed to be in their comfort zone, with the practised ease that only comes from hours put in the job. She can only watch in wonder, as Professor Kim finishes up the open heart surgery in a couple of hours, a thrombectomy that would take three hours for even the most senior of surgical fellows.

The whole process is over in four hours, and after the patient is carted off to the ICU, Professor Kim reaches over to pat Professor Lee’s shoulders, “you did good, Jihoon.”

Professor Lee sighs, agreeing with her for once instead of arguing, “good work on the thrombectomy. I thought the patient was going to die there for a moment.”

“Not on me, they are not,” Professor Kim grins, “I don’t know about you, but I would rather no patient dies on me.”

“Why are you insistent on pissing me off?” Professor Lee had sniped, and that was that; the tender moment had gone, replaced by the same annoying arguments that made Dr Choi rethink her choice of specialty at least once a week. She could have gone to general surgery at the main branch. They had such good professors there too. She could have gone intotaken nuclear medicine too; there was always more research to be done in the new and upcoming areas of medicine. They even had better funding. In short, she could have gone anywhere, instead of coming here to Jongno.

Which brought them all to this morning, when Dr Choi was sitting in the lounge, eyes vacant as she regrouped after a night shift. She was cursed, because two patients had coded in the middle of her shift, and three of them had complained to her about post-op complications,and she knew for a fact that no one had problems the previous night, when Dr Bae had been in charge. Everything horrible happens to me, she moaned, I’m the only one being mentored directly by Professor Kim, and on top of that, she’s the one with the most random beef with Professor Lee of Neurosurgery. There’s nothing going correctly in my life, and for once I want to go back to my home without being scared shitless of what fresh new hell the future has for me. Is it too late to write a letter of resignation and move to a different city to practise medicine on my own? If I managed my finances well, I could move to a mountain town and practise in peace. I’d much rather deal with old men than two bickering professors who did not know when to stop.

This reminds her of a sentence she had seen in a movie a long time ago: Everything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Which explained the string of post-op complications that she had to deal with this morning, not to mention the timing. The convenient timing of all of them to be suffering from bleeding, when she only had about ten minutes left to the end of her shift. There was no doubt about it, the universe hated her. The universe had a grudge on her. If she had been more religious, she would have named a specific god, but the universe was good enough for the job.

“Dr Choi,” the intern rushes in, and she braces herself for a disaster, “Professor Kim asked you to scrub in for emergency surgery.”

Choi Gaeul groans at no one in particular. The universe was kicking her ass in the most spectacular way lately. And she’s going to go outside and run into Professor Kim, who’s probably arguing with Professor Lee all over again. Maybe this time it’s about the vending machine drinks.

Someone has to force those two to get together as soon as possible.

—

#this is perfect for jihoon like actually #for: jihoon #user: shinysobi

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geminiipdf · 21 days ago

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i have a feeling there is a rollercoaster yet to come and i am buzzing with anticipation... also can i have lee seokmin pls and thanks he's such a sweetie

tell me, will we survive? pt. 2

𔘓 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: He’s trying. You’re listening. But sometimes being love just isn't enough. 𔘓 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: architect!Mingyu x artist!reader, mentions of Wonwoo and Seokmin 𔘓 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst, smut, (a lil fluff this time) established relationship, college sweethearts, 18+ 𔘓 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: a bit of heavy angst again, cursing, kissing, dirty talk, pet names (lots of baby), (f. receiving), hair pulling, unprotected rough sex, riding, Mingyu lifts you in the air and does his thing lol, creampie, multiple orgasms, 𔘓 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 6.2K 𔘓 𝐀𝐍: I want to thank every single one of you for all the love you gave me for pt. 1. It means so much to me that this little angsty series of mine is getting so much love 🖤 I want to give a huge thank you to @hannieween for letting me ramble a a bit about these two & @hannieoftheyear thank you for reading over this for me, hyping me up and catching all of my grammatical errors lol.

playlist: I could be forever- Hojean, Losing You- Christian Kuria, Can’t Get You- Jaehyun, Overlap- Offshore, Dopamine- Jackson Wang, Touch Me- Victoria Monet, Sienna- The Marias

part 1

The weekends used to be where you and Mingyu would thrive. You would visit museums, beaches, local events, or go far away—anything you could find, as long as you got to be with each other. You used to let the sun hit your skin, hold hands, and talk about anything and everything to your heart’s content. Your days were vibrant, full of bright colors that brought life to you and him.

Now your weekends come and go in shades of beige.

Grocery runs, laundry, and trips to miscellaneous stores. Mingyu spent Saturday scrubbing the baseboards “to stay busy,” while you sat on the couch pretending to scroll, your chest caving in with every checklist he completed without ever asking how you were doing. You tried to offer to help. He told you to rest. You wanted to scream.

Sunday was worse. He swiffered the floors and deep cleaned the house while humming some romantic songs under his breath; it almost made you cry. He is so good at maintenance, keeping up the house, and making sure you have the material things. But what about you and your needs? It’s like you have to cry like a child to get any attention. The feeling of being unheard in your own home was suffocating.

It’s Monday again, and everything feels like it’s back to the same routine and rituals, as if Friday never happened. As if you didn't break down in front of him, and he didn't promise to do better while he was on his knees. Sometimes, you just have to laugh at the irony of it all.

“Are you okay?” Mingyu looks at you through the mirror, rubbing product in his hair. He was already dressed, sans his suit jacket.

“I’m fine, Gyu, just tired,” you said softly, rinsing the cream from your face. You felt far from okay, but there was no point in saying anything now.

“Okay,” Mingyu mutters, checking his watch anxiously. “Shit. I have to go; my 9 AM meeting can't wait.” He glances toward the kitchen, the smell of breakfast lingering in the air. “It’s on the table, baby.”

He kisses your head out of habit rather than tenderness, leaving the bathroom before you can respond. You hear shuffling in the closet before he emerges with his suit jacket and walks past you without saying goodbye—not even an "I love you" or a glance in your direction. It feels like just another transactional interaction.

You stared at your closet, taking in the space he had neatly created, one that left no mark of anyone having been there. You blink, the absurdity of it sinking in. A chuckle escapes your lips, soft and incredulous, as disbelief washes over you like a light mist, leaving you both amused and bewildered.

“I can’t fucking believe this.”

You quickly dry your face and search for your phone, locating it on the nightstand, its screen flickering with a barrage of notifications. Clearing out of them without looking, you go to the contact of Seokmin, your best friend from college, and the only person who knows you as well as Mingyu and would have the right words to say.

“Hey, are you in town? You want to go for lunch?”

You don’t wait for him to respond before you fire off the following message:

“I need you to talk me out of something I may not be able to take back.”

Three dots immediately popped on the screen, pending his response. Then your phone chimes.

“Pick the place and time. I’ll be there.”

The sound of gloves hitting the punching bag leaves a deafening sound in the barely empty gym. Mingyu does not hold back, letting out his worries and frustrations as he repeatedly hits the bag, sweat clinging to his skin. It’s his lunch break, but he isn’t hungry; his stomach is too tied up in knots.

All he can see is your face from this morning. You barely looked at him, your eyes were dull, and he knows it was his fault. He was the idiot who fell asleep instead of spending time with you, and instead of manning up and apologizing, he made himself busy with household chores and errands, not willing to hear the truth.

In addition to today’s meeting, which he was almost late for, he discovered that he might be leading another project. He’s thrilled to be leading another project, but that means more time away from you. The lines between work and home blur even further, and he is exasperated.

He mops his brow with a damp towel, then collapses onto the worn bench, his elbows resting heavily on his knees, head bowed as if weighed down by the effort. The air smells like a mixture of sweat and detergent. His skin is sticky, his heart pounding from the set he barely finished.

“Are you good?”

Mingyu glances up, blinking at Wonwoo, who has just finished his workout, handing him a bottle of water. Mingyu thanks him and takes the water, drinking it in one go. Breathless, he cocks his head back, staring aimlessly at the ceiling. His thoughts and feelings are at the forefront— his career, you, and what he wants his future to be. Why is it so hard to juggle the two?

“I thought you had meetings today,” Mingyu deflects.

“I finished them already and decided to get a workout in before I leave for the day,” Wonwoo says, wiping his face with a towel.

“Oh, yeah, it’s Krystal’s birthday, right?”

Wonwoo hums in agreement, taking a seat next to him. “We have a babysitter tonight, and I am going to take her out for a nice dinner.”

Krystal is Wonwoo’s better half, someone he has known since they were kids. When Mingyu met Wonwoo at the firm, he had just gotten married, and they were new to the city. They became fast friends, and Mingyu found he could lean on him through tough times. Mingyu and you have gone on double dates with them several times and attended the baby shower of their little girl, Lily. When Wonwoo talks about his family, his eyes light up with a joy that could fill the darkest places. He speaks of them with a tenderness and care that can only be seen from a man who truly values and loves his family.

“Quit deflecting, Mingyu. What’s going on?”

Mingyu throws Wonwoo a look, followed by a snort. “You know what it is. I keep messing up at home.”

“What did you do?”

“It’s more of what I didn’t do,” Mingyu sighs. “I came home, apologized in more ways than one, and she asked me for some time with her when we got out of the shower.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, waiting for the rest. “Okay, so what happened after that?”

Mingyu takes a deep breath, reliving his mistake in his head. “I fell asleep.”

Wonwoo stares for a moment, then bursts into laughter, his eyes wide with shock. “Tell me you did not go to sleep on YN.”

“I did,” he hangs his head in shame. “And I kind of just avoided her all weekend with household chores and errands instead of talking to her about it.”

Wonwoo continues to snicker, shaking his head as he rakes his fingers through his hair. “Do you even want to keep your girlfriend?”

Mingyu lets out a breathless, bitter laugh. “Come on, man. I already feel bad enough. She’s been trying so hard. Planning little date nights for us, cooking more, practically anything. I’ve been trying to phone it in, but I don't know how to manage both things at once.”

“You mean work and home?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu sighs. “I really want this promotion. I’ve busted my ass for it, and I can practically feel it within my grasp. But every time I feel like I can breathe again, I forget to text her back, or I am home late, and she is already asleep. I can’t win for shit.”

Wonwoo silently pulls out a protein bar from his bag, unwrapping it and taking a bite. The silence stretches as if he is trying to pull the thoughts from his head.

“Look, I don’t think you are a bad person or even a bad boyfriend. You’re just distracted,” Wonwoo says. “I know you are working hard to upscale your lives and give her the world and then some. But don’t forget about her in the process. She is your partner in all of this, and it doesn’t make sense to do all this if you lose her.”

Mingyu stays quiet as he absorbs everything Wonwoo is saying. Once again, Wonwoo is correct. What is the point of working so hard if he has nothing to show for it, and you are no longer here? You are far too precious to him. When he thinks of you, it feels as if his soul smiles, as though he were made for you.

He thinks about your “I’m tired” from this morning. It was more than tired from a lack of sleep, and he knows that. He needs to show up for you and prove to you that he cares, that you still matter to him.

“I’m going to leave early today,” Mingyu says suddenly. “I’m going to make her dinner and spend time with her. She deserves that.”

“Is the big boss going to like that?” Wonwoo asks with a smirk.

“She’ll deal,” Mingyu resolves. “I have more important things to take care of tonight.”

You sit at the booth tucked in the corner of a small Vietnamese restaurant, the kind of hidden gem that only the locals and broke college students go to when they want a meal that's good from the goodness of someone’s soul. You’ve been coming here for years, and it’s your favorite place. The walls are painted a sun-warmed coral, mismatched lanterns hang like low-hung stars from the ceiling, and tropical plants line the windowsills with a sort of unbothered grace. A quiet playlist of soft pop in Vietnamese hums beneath the clinking of soup spoons and the sizzle of something cooking in the back.

You ordered your usual pho with a side of banh mi, the smell of lime, mint, and broth filling your nose. It smelled delicious, but your appetite was waning. Your stomach is in triple knots, and there is not enough delightful broth in the world that could fix the pain you feel inside.

“You’re not eating,” Seokmin remarks, looking at your barely touched food. “You must be feeling really bad.”

Seokmin is good for that. Always noticing things about you when you weren’t looking and keeping you on the right track. In this friendship, you are the high-strung, emotional, mood painter, and he is the carefree, attentive music producer who can talk you off a ledge. Sometimes you wonder how you managed to be best friends.

You met him in your sophomore year in a photography class you took on a whim. He’d picked the seat next to you, made a dumb joke about shutter speed, and somehow—by the end of that week—you were shooting each other’s portraits in the park and arguing about composition over cheap street tacos. He was there before Mingyu and always saw you for who you truly were, even when you didn’t see it yourself at times. In return, you always kicked his ass in high gear if he felt insecure about his music and doubted himself.

Seokmin is one of the most sought-after music producers in the world, but he always made time for you, his best friend.

You wipe your face and lean back, embarrassed. “God, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says gently, sliding a napkin toward you. “I wore the ugly shirt on purpose. Easy to cry on.”

You laugh, watery and fragile. “You’re an idiot.”

“And yet, here we are,” he shrugs. “Want to tell me what’s going on, or do you want to cry into my rice paper rolls first?”

You stare at the bowl of pho, the steaming broth rising. “It’s Mingyu.”

You let out a breath, pressing the heels of your palms to your eyes. “I don't know what else to do. I’ve been trying so hard, Seok. I have been planning dates, cooking more, and staying up late for him. Hell, I even wore one of his favorite shirts with nothing underneath, and he barely reacted. What am I? Chopped liver?”

You take a deep sip of your iced tea, drinking until it’s nearly finished. “It’s like he’s here with me in body, but his mind is elsewhere. I feel like I’m drowning in the ocean; he sees me waving for help from the water and hears me, but doesn’t seem to care. Am I really that bad of a person? Is this who we are now?”

You finally meet his gaze, your voice sharp around the edges. “What if we don’t survive?”

You crumble in the dim corner of the restaurant, hot tears spilling down your cheeks, pooling on the tablecloth like unwanted guests. How did you get here? Why is it so hard to talk to each other? Why is it that every time he is near, it feels like knives stabbing your abdomen? You aren’t supposed to feel that about your partner of almost a decade, the person you started building the rest of your life with.

You feel Seokmin’s warmth before his arms wrap around you, letting you cry into his shirt. He rubs your back softly, sitting there like a silent beacon of strength while you break down.

“I’m sorry, Seok,” you sniffle, grabbing a napkin from the table. “I’m just so frustrated. I know he has been chasing this promotion, and he really wants it. I want him to have it, I really do. But what happens when he gets it? Are the nights going to be longer? Will he be even more distracted? I feel horrible complaining about this, but what else can I fucking do?”

Seokmin is quiet for a moment, letting your words sink in while you take another sip of your tea.

“I’m not going to tell you what to do. You know I’d support you no matter what. But,” he lifts a brow, “you and Mingyu built something real. You chose each other. That doesn’t just disappear. It frays, sure. But it doesn’t vanish overnight.”

“I know, but I feel like I am doing all the pulling and the heavy lifting,” you frown.

“Well, then, quit pulling and start talking,” Seokmin shrugs, leaning back into his seat.

“Talking?” You blink. “Seokmin, all I do is talk.”

“No, I mean really talk. Tell him how you feel. You hold back a lot, and maybe if you had said something in the beginning, things wouldn’t have been this bad.”

Seokmin takes a deep breath, watching as your lip trembles under the weight of your emotions. “Look, I know he loves you and you love him. Tell him how you feel invisible, shut out, or whatever color words you want to throw at him. But if things don’t improve, then you know what you have to do… even if it tears your heart out.”

You look at him for a long moment, mulling over his words. You know he is right, but are you ready to walk if you have to?

“Okay,” you nod, your appetite slowly coming back to you. “I will try to talk to him. Be more honest with him.” You nudge his shoulder with yours, cracking a soft smile. “Thank you, Seok.”

“You're welcome, crybaby.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Whatever.”

The remainder of your lunch went as well as could be expected, as you caught up with Seokmin about life and the new band he has been producing. There is a fire in his eyes when he talks about music; his passion is evident in every word he speaks. You experience a similar feeling when it comes to art and your paintings. Art consumes you and fills your soul, flowing through you as you sit in front of your canvas and create.

“I think I am going to go to the studio and work on something different,” you say out loud in thought. ‘I’ve been working on my project and I’m almost done, but this situation has me wanting to put something on canvas.”

You take your wallet out of your purse, expecting to pay, but Seokmin moves your hand away, giving you a look. “You know you never have to pay when you’re with me.”

“Oh, Seokmin, stop it,” you pout. “Let me pay for once.”

“Nope,” he shakes his head. “Plus, I paid before you got here.”

You throw him an annoyed look before breaking into a smile, reluctantly putting your card away. “I’m going to pay one of these days.”

You slide out of the booth, waiting for Seokmin to leave his tip before leaving the restaurant with him. It’s after one, and the warm breeze sways your hair softly as the sun shifts to the west. Your heart isn’t as heavy, but it’s no light burden. You need to release stress, grab a paintbrush, and let your creativity flow.

“Thank you, Seok, for listening to me,” you say wholeheartedly, hugging him. “You are always there for me. Are you still coming to my art show?”

“Of course, I’ll be there,” he says, returning your affection. “What are best friends for?”

He gives you the warmest hug that soothes your spirit, promising to text you when he gets home. You get in your car and head to your studio, your body on autopilot as you drive the familiar streets that lead you to the pink flamingo colored building that you have called your workplace for many years now. It’s funky and has character, and it's the one place you always feel at peace.

You step inside your quiet space, and the receptionist greets you as you walk in. Making your way into the backroom, you walk into your “chaos room,” as you call it, and survey what’s in front of you. It smells like linseed oil and old pencil shavings. Dust motes float through the golden light slanting in through the skylight. The far wall is covered in half-finished canvases—color bleeding into color, anger layered over beauty, confusion still wet in the strokes.

You pull on your apron, hair up, brush in hand. Your fingers twitch the moment they touch the canvas, aching to say something your mouth can’t. You don’t sketch first, you just begin, letting your spirit guide you as you mix your colors and drag your brush across the canvas. From the outside looking in, you appear erratic, your hands bold and unforgiving as you convey the feelings that have been plaguing you inside—heavy arcs turn to spirals, shadows bloom under your touch.

By the time your hand slows, your chest has loosened. You step back, the golden hour light shining perfectly on your art. The canvas is moody and abstract, full of motion and tension, as if something is straining to hold itself together.

You stare at it for a long moment before scribbling a title in the corner with your brush.

My Soul Is Tired

And for the first time in days, you feel like you can breathe.

“Where are we going, Mingyu?”

“You’ll see, baby.”

It was your anniversary two years ago, before everything was busy and the word “tension” didn’t exist in your relationship. Mingyu said he wanted to take you somewhere special—a place he had discovered while on a work trip—and it immediately made him think of you. He asked you to wear the dress he liked with a bathing suit underneath, and you did it happily. You were brimming with curiosity and excitement through the road trip, your eyes sparkling with wonder as the landscape changed around you. Each bend in the road revealed new sights—a breathtaking skyline, lush green valleys, and vibrant bursts of wildflowers on the roadside. You sketched as Mingyu hummed his favorite R&B tracks, occasionally rubbing your thigh to show affection.

Two hours later, Mingyu parked in a small lot that overlooked a breathtaking beach you had never seen before, in a town that you had only heard about in passing but never got a chance to visit. Ever the gentleman, Mingyu came around and opened your door, interwining his fingers into yours as he led you along the path to the beach. The waters were the bluest of blue, sparkling in the sunlight that made them look whimsical, like a fairytale. You were expecting to go to the beach and get in the water when he led you along the coast, leading you into a cavern that was in the barely visible cut.

“What are we doing here?” You asked as you surveyed your surroundings.

“Trust me, baby, you are going to want to see this.”

He guided you deeper into the shadows, where the fading light from outside began to vanish completely. For several moments, the only illumination came from the soft glow of Mingyu's phone, casting flickering shadows on the rough walls as he navigated the winding, darkened path. The air grew cooler and thicker, and an eerie stillness enveloped you, heightening every sound echoing in the distance.

“Mingyu—”

You stopped in your tracks when you saw that he led you to paradise. There was a hidden cove with crystal-clear cerulean waters; the sunlight from a gap in the towering cliffs allowed beams of golden sunlight to cascade down on its beauty. Rich emerald seaweed and schools of fish adorned the waters, creating the visuals that you’ve always imagined when you read novels as a kid.

“I found this when I was away a couple of weeks ago for work,” Mingyu said. “I was walking along the beach trying to get a picture of this place for one of our upcoming projects, and I discovered it. Do you remember when you told me in our dorms that you wanted to see a hidden cove because of Peter Pan?”

You cast a fleeting, tearful glance at him and nodded, your heart softening at that memory. It was so long ago, you didn’t think he would remember something you said in passing while you were in his arms, half asleep.

“I wanted to make one of your dreams come true,” Mingyu confessed, pulling you towards him. “I love you.”

“Mingyu,” you say with a shaky breath, barely holding your emotions together. “This is the sweetest thing you have ever done for me.”

You kissed him with a zeal that was heartfelt, needed, and so many unsaid words you couldn’t manage to say. His hands cradled your face, thumbs brushing softly against your cheeks as the kiss deepened, setting your soul alight. You didn’t have to tell him you loved him too; he knew it, felt it, and that was always enough. If there was a love that could be described as a forever-burning fire that never flickered but raged on, this would be it. He would be it. You two would be it. In that moment, you knew there would never be anyone who would love you like the way he could. And you hoped it would never change.

The house is quiet when Mingyu walks in shortly after six. It wasn’t the kind of quiet that was peaceful or comforting. It is the heavy kind, one that suffocates, and it disturbs his spirit. He slips off his shoes, sets down the groceries on the counter, and connects his phone to the speaker, turning on a R&B playlist he likes to listen to when he is cooking and wants to be in a good mood. He hums softly as he starts preparing his vegetables and getting lost in the music and the aromas around him. See, Mingyu always believed that when you cook, you cook from the heart and with love.

And he is deeply in love with you.

He is going to fix this, or at least try. He bought your favorite red wine and purchased all the right ingredients to make your favorite meal—spaghetti and meatballs. He hadn’t planned this like some grand gesture. It wasn’t flowers or a speech. It was simple. Intentional. Homegrown.

Knowing that you weren’t happy, seeing the fire leave your eyes made him feel like shit. Mingyu promised always to make you smile and never be the reason for you to cry. You are perfect to him, precious, the one person who sees him for who he is and doesn’t have to fake anything. You always put his needs before yours and did it with a smile. You made this apartment a real home, and it would be nothing without you in it. He loves your mind, your chaos, your gentleness, and the way you love. He is going to earn your trust back and bring life back into your eyes again, if it's the last thing he does.

He turns on the stove and fills the kitchen with warmth: garlic sizzling in olive oil, basil blooming under the heat, meatballs browning slowly in the pan. The sauce simmers, filling the air with a sense of nostalgia. He boils water, humming under his breath, nerves tingling in his fingers. As the pasta softens, he sets the table with candles, napkins folded into uneven triangles. A playlist low in the background—your old painting music. He even put his phone in the drawer.

He was all in tonight.

Just as Mingyu turns off the stove, keys jingle at the door, the lock turning clockwise before it opens, and you step in with a surprised look on your face.

“I didn’t know you were here,” you say as you take off your shoes and slip on your slippers. “Are you cooking?”

“Y-yeah, I left work early today,” Mingyu replies nervously, fiddling with the kitchen towel. “I wanted to make you dinner.”

You walk into the kitchen, surveying the scene he has set. Your gaze softens, and a small smile forms on your lips at the sight of the spaghetti and meatballs. The look of satisfaction on your face makes him proud.

“This is nice, Gyu, and it smells great,” you compliment him. “Thank you for this.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he says sincerely. “I should have been doing this. You deserve the world.”

He pulls out the chair near the window, your favorite place to sit. “Sit with me?”

You obliged, sitting down as he poured you a glass of wine. Mingyu shuffles in the kitchen while he makes your plate, the excitement mixed with nerves getting the best of him. He wants tonight to go so well, damn near perfect, that it makes you smile for the rest of your life.

Setting down your dinner, you thank him as he takes a seat across from you, taking you all in. You take a few bites of your spaghetti, moments of silence passing by as the scraping of forks on ceramic plates and the pouring of wine into glasses fill the air. Mingyu can’t shake the heaviness in the pit of his stomach, wanting to know what’s in that beautiful brain of yours and how he can fix this patch you guys are in. You are magic, his 7th wonder, the light of his life.

“How’s your art show coming on?” He implores.

“Oh, um,” you clear your throat. “It’s going alright.”

“Oh?” He leans in slightly, his interest piqued. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

You raise an eyebrow, a hint of surprise on your face as you lean back into your seat. “Really? You want to know about it?”

Your inquisitiveness twists the knots in his stomach further. Is this far you have drifted as a couple, where his genuine interest in your projects feels unexpected? Your passions?

“Of course, I want to know, baby,” Mingyu says, gently taking your hand. “I’m always going to be interested in what you love. You know that.”

“Do I?” You sigh, shaking your head slowly. “When’s the last time you asked about my art or anything remotely related to my interests?”

The ice in your tone makes him flinch, and there is nothing he could say to rebut that. You are right. He hasn’t had a real conversation with you in a while, nor asked about your projects. It was always about work, his projects, and his ambitions for that promotion; and in the midst of that, he indirectly left you behind.

“You’re right,” Mingyu admits, his eyes reflecting regret. “I haven’t been present, and I get why you may not trust me. But I do want to know about your art show and how it’s going.”

You pause for a moment, as if you are deciding whether he is worthy to know that part of you anymore. You bite your lip, folding your arms across and studying him carefully.

“It’s going okay,” you straighten up in your chair. “Everything is going according to plan. I worked on a piece today and finished it all in one go. It was kind of a last-minute addition.”

“That’s great, baby!” Mingyu exclaims, clapping his hands. “What’s it called?”

You shifted nervously, drinking the last remnants of your wine before you finally spoke. “My Soul Is Tired.”

The mood sours like milk that’s been out too long. The connotation was so blunt that he would be stupid to question it out loud. Tired. You’re weary of him. The guilt gnaws at him like a parasite; he fucked up so bad that you don’t even feel joy when you see him.

You wipe your mouth on the napkin, returning your gaze to him. “I appreciate what you are trying to do, Gyu. Really. It means a lot to me that you made my favorite meal, and you are attentive. But this has been going on for almost a year. I am starved for your attention, affection aside from the transactional kiss on the forehead when you leave or the brief look you give me when I ask you a question. I want passion, romance, the tingling I used to feel just by being in your orbit. I feel all alone. I hate this. All of this.”

You get up and leave the kitchen, making it halfway to your shared room when Mingyu panics, grabbing your hand and pulling you close to him. His heart is racing, the thought of a future without you in it bringing him to his knees.

“I love you,” Mingyu pleads, holding you at your hips. “I don’t want to lose this. Us. This life we have together. I admit I haven’t been the best partner to you, and I’m so fucking sorry that I make you feel alone. We’ve been together almost ten years—a whole decade. I want to marry you one day and have kids with you. Or pets. Whatever you want. Remember that New Year's Eve when we snuck to the roof on campus and watched the fireworks? I promised you that I would give you the world, and I want to keep that promise and put a smile on your face. I fucking love you.”

“Mingyu,” you sigh deeply. “I love you, too. But it’s going to take a lot more than ‘I’m sorry’ to fix this. You’re always sorry. I’m not going to keep putting up with this.”

Mingyu holds you tighter, resting his head on your stomach. He’s afraid to let you out of his grasp; you're precious to him.

“Tell me what you want,” Mingyu looks at you with puppy dog eyes. “Tell me what to do to make it right.”

His hands start to slide up your dress, his fingers itching to feel the softness of your skin. You look down at him, your breath hitching as you watch him tug at the hems of your underwear and slowly pull them down your legs. Mingyu has this incessant need to make you feel good, to take away the pain that he’s caused. He’s enamored with you, obsessed, and it’s consuming his every thought.

“Gyu,” you murmur, biting your lip. “What are you doing?”

“Making you feel good,” he whispers, licking his lips.

Taking your hand, he walks you to the couch, motioning for you to lie down as he lifts your dress. His mouth salivates at the sight of your core, pretty and perfect for him.

“You’ve been carrying everything,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you.”

He licks so softly at first, his tongue playing with your delicate flower as he savors your taste. He moans as your body arches on the cushions slightly, your fingers finding his hair and whispering his name so sweet and broken, it almost undoes him.

He’s desperate, groaning into you softly as his tongue laps your juices and drips down his chin. You are the best thing he’s ever tasted, and he can never get enough of the way you squirm at his touch, your thighs trembling as he delves his tongue into you deeper. You lower the straps of your dress and reveal your breasts, pinching your nipples the way that he likes. You’re driving him insane.

“Gyu,” you rasp desperately. “I need you.”

“You want me, baby?” He cooes, his tongue flattening against your clit. “Is this what you want?”

“I-I need you,” you breathe heavily. “I’m gonna.. I’m gonna…”

You come with a breathless cry, hand fisted in his hair, and he holds you through every wave. He continues to lick you while your legs shake, coming down from your high beautifully and serenely like the angel you are. Once he is sure you are good, he slowly rises to his feet and gazes at you, on cloud nine. You look dazed, but your eyes are clearer—brighter—and it makes something in his chest crack open.

You reach for him wordlessly, pulling him into a hungry kiss that is mind-numbing and cathartic. You tug at his pants, pulling them down and his boxers down in one go, revealing his hardened cock already glistening with precum.

“Are you sure?” He asks softly, lifting you off the couch.

“Yes,” you whisper. “I want you.”

MIngyu lowers himself onto the couch, guiding you carefully to his lap as you hike your dress up higher, sinking onto him slowly. He cocks his head back as your heat swallows him inch by inch, his hands on your hips like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Fuck,” he curses. “You feel perfect.”

You move gently, your hands on his chest as you set a rhythm, your eyes peering into his soul in a way that sets him ablaze. You feel euphoric, almost forbidden, and when he feels you tighten around him, it makes him want to go harder, deeper. He picks up the pace, thrusting into you harder and pulling you into a deep kiss, the gushiness of your cunt being heard with each thrust. You moan against his mouth, matching his energy and fucking him back, tightening your hand around his throat.

“Is this how you want it, baby?” He groans. “You want me to fuck you hard and deep until I feel you up with my cum.”

You nod fervently, clearly at a loss for words. But MIngyu will not accept that; he wants you to use your words.

“Say it,” he grunts, slapping your ass. “Tell me you want me to fuck you hard and deep.”

“Mingyu. YES! Damn it, please just—”

He snaps, lifting you abruptly and driving into you while he holds your legs, fixated on feeling you clench on his cock. He loves the way your face contorts into pleasure, each stroke he gives you pulling you deeper and deeper into the abyss, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. He doesn’t let up, instead walking forward until your back is against the wall. Your hair is messy, you’re both sweaty, skin to skin, and to him, this is perfect.

“You’re close, baby.” his breath is shaky. “I can feel it. I know you.”

You nod, biting your lip, and he kisses you with everything in him, relishing in your taste and everything you give him until you fall apart in his arms. He holds you through it, not stopping or letting go as his thrusts are becoming rigid, his impending release rippling through him like a storm. He comes with your name on his lips, holding you flush against him, breathing hard against your neck.

Mingyu feels everything at once—his love for you, his desperation to keep you, and your sadness at the relationship reaching this point. He kisses your temple, your nose, and lastly your lips, pulling out of you slowly and making sure you can stand on your own two feet.

“I’m going to be better,” he whispers, kissing you again. “I promise.”

You don’t say anything right away. You just pull him into a hug and hold him close. He feels the way your body relaxes and your heart slows against him, and he lets out a deep breath, full of relief.

Maybe, just maybe, you might start to trust him again.

AN2: What did we think about part 2? I am so invested in these two and all of the events that are going to follow after :)

Part 3 will be coming soon! I have a project that is coming up that is due at the end of August so this series will not be updated as quickly this time :( but I will be working on it in between <3

taglist: @ameliamirabela @dmstoyangyang @codeinebelle @asasilentreader @dibidibidismynameisleeknow @shadowkoo @gyupremacy @superpietom @junplusone @cheolifyme @lovetaroandtaemin @babycaratdeul @junniesoleilkth @childish-fear @chykyu @gaslysainz @gyuwoosbabie @tacitanecdote @gyuguys @hoe4wonwoo @gyutheonlyone4me@ghostvx

#what an apology mr kim mingyu #wonwoo giving the reality check was so real though #for: mingyu #user: aeristudios

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