mercif4l

[mercif4l]

this is insane by the way LMFAOOOOOO

[mercif4l]

SNAP OUT OF IT

── cheol’d be damned if he ever stole someone’s girl, especially a member’s. but how else is he meant to save you from that asshole?

ෆ ͜ ̩͙ f!reader x seungcheol. indent format. hurt/comfort. angst. reader’s bf is left unnamed.

what a pretty fuckin’ predicament you were.

seungcheol loves his group. bottom of his heart, he really does. they’ve been through years of practice rooms and stage lights and growing pains together. he’ll be the first to cover for them in interviews when they can’t find the right words, the first at their defence when netizens take things too far.

when it comes to the team, their public image, he’ll sure as hell keep them in line. but he won’t control what they all do behind closed doors, away from the cameras. that’s the limits of his responsibility. but lately, those limits have been staring him in the face with kind eyes and the softest goddamn voice he’s ever heard.

you. his member’s girlfriend. cheol doesn’t know where the fuck he found you and how the fuck he pulled you— better yet, how he’s managed to keep you this long. you’re sweet. polite. you greet them all by name, remember the little things they mention. the room lights up when you enter. you make everyone feel seen, known, like they matter. and you’re gorgeous— fuck, painfully so. cheol’s caught himself watching you more than once, eyes lingering too long, heart thudding with something that sure as hell shouldn’t be there.

you must’ve descended from the heavens and he was the first human you saw, and now you don’t know any better. because, pardon the french, your boyfriend’s a fuckhead when it comes to women. doesn’t know how to treat a girl right even if there was a gun to his head. everyone else tiptoes around it, keeps it cordial for the sake of the team— but cheol hears the whispers, the offhand comments.

minghao grumbling after last week’s party about your boyfriend raising his voice at you. jeonghan biting his tongue when your boyfriend made some offhand comment about your outfit. once, cheol was pulled aside by a conflicted joshua: “she looked like she was about to cry the whole night. should i say something to him?”

cheol doesn’t. because what’s he gonna say? “hey, treat your girl right or i will.” cheol’s not that guy. he’s not the homewrecker. even if the ‘home’ is made of straws and sticks. you can only tell so much to someone who won’t listen. and it’s not cheol’s place to manage his members’ private affairs, right? so he minds his business. stays in his lane. except, lately, he keeps veering off-road.

because whenever cheol sees you— bright-eyed and glowing before your boyfriend’s gotten the chance to dim your light— he thinks about what he’d do differently. cheol’d sweep you off your feet. he’d never raise his voice, always hold your hand in public. learn every little thing about you just to hear you talk. he’d make you feel safe— happy, goddamn it. it feels like complicity just witnessing a dime piece like you get mistreated. but cheol has to remind himself that you’re not his girl, and he’s not that type of guy.

you’re too sweet to ever be anything but faithful either. too loyal to ever stray, as much as your boyfriend doesn’t deserve it. that’s the worst part. even with the way he talks down to you sometimes, even with the doubt in your eyes, you’d never look at cheol like you were thinking of leaving. you love your man. cheol loves the idea of what could’ve been. and it tears him up inside when he sees you.

it’s a late weekend night. the boys are having a small gathering: bring your own drinks and a plus one. cheol figured you’d be there, but what he hadn’t expected was for your eyes to find him the instant you arrived— boyfriend’s arm still slung over your shoulder as you waved at cheol with the cutest smile ever. his stomach fluttered over the interaction, but he tries to not let it linger. you’ve always been nice to everyone.

until you’re seated next to him at dinner. the group and their partners are all scattered around the place, but you chose to take the spot right next to cheol, shyly asking if it was okay with him. your boyfriend was halfway across the room, scrolling on his phone between bites of the food and barely sparing you a glance. cheol’s trying, really trying, not to think anything of it. your shoulder’ll brush his every so often, soft giggles spilling from your lips like you forgot who you came with. it’s just a seat. just conversation.

but every time you lean in to whisper something, every time your hand comes to his arm as you laugh, there’s something deep and desperate coiling in cheol’s chest. your boyfriend probably forgot you’re here— meanwhile you’re telling cheol about your favourite movie you recently rewatched, this ramen spot that gave you food poisoning, the dumbest tiktok that made you laugh earlier. and you smile. god, you smile— wide and bright and so effortlessly real— and it fucking guts him.

cheol’s never seen you look like that with your boyfriend. he might not have even tried to pull that kind of light out of you. but here you are, radiant like the sun, and all cheol can think is how much he wants to reach across the space between you and tell you how he’d never let you feel anything but this. that you deserve the world and more, and cheol’s just a man but he’d sure as hell try. he wants you. it’s not right thing— but when your boyfriend’s done everything except that, cheol can have this one. he fucking wants you and he can’t do anything about it.

amidst the post-dinner chatter, your boyfriend approaches the table with a low voice, pulling you off into another room. the room’s shift in energy is palpable. conversations trail off. laughter thins out. heads turn as the door closes behind you— and there’s a sick twist in cheol’s stomach. he doesn’t know what was said, but he’s got a pretty good guess. jealousy’s a hell of a sickness, and your boyfriend’s terminal. cheol’s been trying to play it cool all night, but maybe he smiled too much, made you laugh too loud. maybe your boyfriend finally looked over and saw what everyone else had been choosing not to.

the group starts filtering out not long after. the mood’s gone— sliced by the tension hanging in the air. no one really says it out loud, but they all know why. cheol says goodbye to others from the table, choosing to stay behind. he chews the inside of his cheek as his eyes flick to that closed door every few seconds. he wants to check on you, but it’s not his place. not yet.

once the door opens, your boyfriend comes out. alone. avoiding anyone’s eyes, he rubs a hand down his face, muttering “we broke up.” like it’s nothing. like it’s just a line on the to-do list he’s finally gotten around to. cheol’s out of his seat before he can stop himself.

“you’re a fucking idiot,” cheol spits, louder than he means to. the whole room flinches, with your ex narrowing his eyes like he’s waiting for more. like he’s not the least bit startled that someone’s finally calling him out. cheol clicks his teeth in frustration, already turning away. your ex storms out without another word. you’re still there, in the other room.

cheol hesitates only a second before walking in. you’re sitting on the edge of a low bench, hands in your lap, eyes glassy. you don’t look up when he enters, and it wrecks him— how small and quiet you look. he crouches down in front of you, voice gentle like he might rouse you. “hey.” your lip trembles. you try to shake your head, act like you’re fine, but the tears come anyway. cheol doesn’t think— just opens his arms, and you fall into them like you’ve been waiting to.

you’ve broken up with him before. a dozen times. probably more. and somehow, he always crawls back to you— apologies and promises on a silver platter. but not this time. not if cheol can help it. he runs a hand soothingly down your back, chin resting lightly on your shoulder. “let me take you home,” he tells you softly. “you don’t have to stay here.” and when you raise your head with a nod, you’ve got a look in your eye— that same glint of relief from when you first arrived and saw cheol.

the drive’s quiet, but the comfortable kind. just full of things that neither of you need to say out loud. when cheol pulls up in front of your place, you don’t move to get out right away. just sit there, fingers fiddling with your sleeve before you glance at him: eyes still red-rimmed, voice soft. “do you wanna come in?”

he knows he probably shouldn’t. there’s lines that once crossed, can't be uncrossed. but you’re looking at him like you need him. not just anyone, but cheol. and it’s not about anything physical— he can see it clearly. you just don’t want to be alone. and god knows he doesn’t want to leave you alone either.

your home’s dim and quiet. you offer him tea like it’s any other night and he’s your guest— not the aftermath of a breakup, where he should be the one asking to get you anything. cheol follows as you sit on the couch, close but leaving a few inches of polite space. until you lean into him, head bumping his shoulder. and he lets you. of course he would. he even wraps an arm around you, holding you close.

cheol’s thumb rubs soothing circles onto your shoulder. when you sigh and nuzzle closer, the words slip from him: “you deserve so much better,” he confesses, voice low. “you know that, right?” you nod, but barely. cheol’s warm hand holds you, tilting his head down at you. “i would’ve treated you right,” he adds, quieter this time. “still would.”

you both let his words sit. at some point, your hand finds his, fingers shyly lacing together. cheol doesn’t move, doesn’t rush it. just breathes you in, chest aching like he’s waited too long for this. and when you raise your head to face him, eyes soft and searching, he knows what’s coming.

your lips find his— just careful, like a question. and cheol answers without blinking: leaning in, his mouth warm and soft against yours. he kisses you slow, unhurried. the kind that says i’ve thought about this more times than i should. cheol’s hand cradles your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheek in adoration. and even when your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, when your breath catches just slightly, he pulls away. just gently. he lingers close, forehead against yours, lips parted like he’s catching his breath— not from want, but from restraint. because he’s not going to ruin this by rushing.

“don’t wanna take advantage of you,” he murmurs, breath fanning your lips. “not like this. i need you to be sure. whatever you decide... i’ll be here. ‘m not going anywhere.” you smile at him all sleepy and soft, the kind of smile he’d go to war for. “i already am,” you whisper. “sure, i mean. you’ve kind of... ruined him for me.” cheol exhales a quiet laugh. something unspoken settles between you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he’s not aching with guilt.

you stay like that for a while; cheol just holding you close, lazily rubbing your side. and when he eventually moves to stand, thinking he’s overstayed his welcome, you tug on his sleeve. “stay?” just one word, looking up at him like he’s all you’d ever need. and he doesn’t hesitate.“of course.” you fall asleep on the couch together— limbs tangled beneath a shared blanket. and it’s not messy or rushed or confusing. you feel safe with him, warm. like something real is finally beginning.

a/n: ngh,... (i would so do a pt2 w smut if anyone wants it btw)

taglist (join here): @lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @ferrarifinnick @namsgyu @riddlerloveb0t @pinkpunkdynamite

[mercif4l]

when you start to ignore them — seventeen as your crush

hyung line / maknae line

minghao’s not dumb—he felt it when things shifted. the way you suddenly stopped giving him those small gifts, the attention, the lingering gazes when he caught your eye. he didn’t know why, but he knew something had changed. he never mentioned it, though. minghao’s never been one to chase attention, but yours? yeah, he got used to it. maybe too used to it. the weird part is, he started to crush on you too. he’d look forward to your little gifts, the way you’d brighten up around him. he thought he’d play it cool, but now? now he feels like he’s the one waiting.

one afternoon, after another day of you barely acknowledging him, he corners you. his voice is calm, but there’s something sharp beneath the surface. “did something happen between us?” you blink at him, caught off guard by the sudden confrontation. “no… why?”

he tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “you stopped talking to me. stopped giving me attention.” his lips curl into a smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “i thought you liked me.” the words hang in the air, and for a second, you swear you see a flicker of irritation in his eyes. “or was that just for fun?”

mingyu’s used to girls crushing on him. he’s tall, handsome, and charming without even trying, so it never surprises him when people start showing him attention. he thought you were just like everyone else at first—another person fawning over him. but then, you stopped. and fuck, that’s when he realized it was different.

he never thought much of it before, but when your gifts stopped showing up, when you stopped hanging around him, it hit him hard. he didn’t expect to miss it, didn’t expect to miss you. but here he is, sitting in the practice room, scrolling through his phone, wondering why you’re suddenly ignoring him. “hey,” he catches you outside the dorms one evening, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “you’ve been… quiet.”

you raise an eyebrow. “quiet?”

he nods, swallowing. “yeah. you used to, y’know, be around more.” he glances away, almost embarrassed. “i kinda miss it.” there’s a pause, and when you don’t respond right away, mingyu’s chest tightens. “did i do something wrong? or… were you just over it?” his voice is softer than usual, less cocky, and it makes you realize how much he actually liked having you around. maybe more than he let on.

seokmin doesn’t take it well. when you stop giving him attention, he feels it immediately. it’s like a cloud settles over him, and he doesn’t know how to shake it.

he tries to laugh it off at first. “oh, what did I do now y/n-nie?” he jokes, flashing you one of his signature grins. but when you don’t laugh, when you just shrug and walk away, his smile falters. it eats at him for daysssss!! he hates it. hates how much he’s thinking about you, about the way you’ve been avoiding him. he misses your presence, your gifts, your attention.

finally, he can’t take it anymore. one night, after practice, he pulls you aside, his expression serious for once. “why are you ignoring me?”

“i’m not—”

“you are,” he cuts you off, his voice a little sharper than usual. “you used to care, you used to… i don’t know, you used to make me feel special. now it’s like i don’t even exist to you.” his voice cracks.

“what the hell ive done?! or are you just tired of me?”

seungkwan’s first instinct is to make you jealous. when he realizes you’ve stopped giving him attention, stopped following him around, his pride takes a hit. so, he starts flirting with others more openly, trying to get a reaction out of you.

but it doesn’t work. you don’t even seem to care, and that only makes him more frustrated. after a week of his failed attempts, he finally gives up and decides to confront you. “what’s going on?” he asks one day, crossing his arms over his chest, clearly annoyed. “you’ve been ignoring me, and it’s pissing me off.”

you raise an eyebrow, not really in the mood for his theatrics. “pissing you off?” he huffs, rolling his eyes. “yeah. you used to be all over me, and now… nothing. did you find someone else or something?”

there’s a pause, and for the first time, seungkwan’s usual confidence wavers. “i don’t like it,” he admits quietly, his voice softer now. “i miss you.” it’s a rare moment of openness from him, and you can tell he means it.

“can we… can we go back to how things were?”

vernon doesn’t say anything for a while. he notices when you stop hanging around him, but he’s not the type to make a big deal out of it. he figures you’re just busy, or maybe you’ve lost interest, and he tells himself it’s fine. but deep down he knows its not.

after a few days of silence, vernon starts to feel restless. he misses the small things—the way you’d smile at him, the way you’d always bring him snacks, when you click your fingers on his face when he zooms out or laugh at his dumb jokes. without you around, everything feels off. he catches you one day after class, his hands shoved in his pockets as he looks at you. “sup’, you good?”

“yeah, why?”

he shrugs, glancing away. “just… you’ve been kinda distant.” he pauses, trying to find the right words. “i don’t like it. actually, i like having you around...” his voice is quiet, almost shy, and it takes you a second to realize he’s being serious. “i mean, i get it if you’re over it or whatever, but…” he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. “i really miss you. that’s all.”

chan’s reaction is instantaneous. the moment you stop giving him attention, he starts giving it right back. it’s like he can’t stand the idea of losing your presence, so he tries to fill the gap himself.

suddenly, he’s the one following you around, offering you snacks, little gifts, even bubblegum. “here, thought you might like this,” he says with a grin, holding out a pack of your favorite candy.

“uh, thanks…”

he smiles, but there’s a hint of nervousness in his eyes. “you’ve been kinda quiet lately. figured i’d return the favor, y’know?” he keeps it up for days, going out of his way to get your attention, to make you smile. and when you finally ask him why he’s doing it, he just shrugs, his usual confidence slipping a bit.

“i missed you,” he admits softly, his eyes dropping to the floor. “you used to do all this for me, and i didn’t realize how much i liked it until you stopped.” there’s a beat of silence before he looks up at you again, his voice quieter now. “i guess… i just wanted to remind you that i care too.”

[mercif4l]

SNAP OUT OF IT

── cheol’d be damned if he ever stole someone’s girl, especially a member’s. but how else is he meant to save you from that asshole?

ෆ ͜ ̩͙ f!reader x seungcheol. indent format. hurt/comfort. angst. reader’s bf is left unnamed.

what a pretty fuckin’ predicament you were.

seungcheol loves his group. bottom of his heart, he really does. they’ve been through years of practice rooms and stage lights and growing pains together. he’ll be the first to cover for them in interviews when they can’t find the right words, the first at their defence when netizens take things too far.

when it comes to the team, their public image, he’ll sure as hell keep them in line. but he won’t control what they all do behind closed doors, away from the cameras. that’s the limits of his responsibility. but lately, those limits have been staring him in the face with kind eyes and the softest goddamn voice he’s ever heard.

you. his member’s girlfriend. cheol doesn’t know where the fuck he found you and how the fuck he pulled you— better yet, how he’s managed to keep you this long. you’re sweet. polite. you greet them all by name, remember the little things they mention. the room lights up when you enter. you make everyone feel seen, known, like they matter. and you’re gorgeous— fuck, painfully so. cheol’s caught himself watching you more than once, eyes lingering too long, heart thudding with something that sure as hell shouldn’t be there.

you must’ve descended from the heavens and he was the first human you saw, and now you don’t know any better. because, pardon the french, your boyfriend’s a fuckhead when it comes to women. doesn’t know how to treat a girl right even if there was a gun to his head. everyone else tiptoes around it, keeps it cordial for the sake of the team— but cheol hears the whispers, the offhand comments.

minghao grumbling after last week’s party about your boyfriend raising his voice at you. jeonghan biting his tongue when your boyfriend made some offhand comment about your outfit. once, cheol was pulled aside by a conflicted joshua: “she looked like she was about to cry the whole night. should i say something to him?”

cheol doesn’t. because what’s he gonna say? “hey, treat your girl right or i will.” cheol’s not that guy. he’s not the homewrecker. even if the ‘home’ is made of straws and sticks. you can only tell so much to someone who won’t listen. and it’s not cheol’s place to manage his members’ private affairs, right? so he minds his business. stays in his lane. except, lately, he keeps veering off-road.

because whenever cheol sees you— bright-eyed and glowing before your boyfriend’s gotten the chance to dim your light— he thinks about what he’d do differently. cheol’d sweep you off your feet. he’d never raise his voice, always hold your hand in public. learn every little thing about you just to hear you talk. he’d make you feel safe— happy, goddamn it. it feels like complicity just witnessing a dime piece like you get mistreated. but cheol has to remind himself that you’re not his girl, and he’s not that type of guy.

you’re too sweet to ever be anything but faithful either. too loyal to ever stray, as much as your boyfriend doesn’t deserve it. that’s the worst part. even with the way he talks down to you sometimes, even with the doubt in your eyes, you’d never look at cheol like you were thinking of leaving. you love your man. cheol loves the idea of what could’ve been. and it tears him up inside when he sees you.

it’s a late weekend night. the boys are having a small gathering: bring your own drinks and a plus one. cheol figured you’d be there, but what he hadn’t expected was for your eyes to find him the instant you arrived— boyfriend’s arm still slung over your shoulder as you waved at cheol with the cutest smile ever. his stomach fluttered over the interaction, but he tries to not let it linger. you’ve always been nice to everyone.

until you’re seated next to him at dinner. the group and their partners are all scattered around the place, but you chose to take the spot right next to cheol, shyly asking if it was okay with him. your boyfriend was halfway across the room, scrolling on his phone between bites of the food and barely sparing you a glance. cheol’s trying, really trying, not to think anything of it. your shoulder’ll brush his every so often, soft giggles spilling from your lips like you forgot who you came with. it’s just a seat. just conversation.

but every time you lean in to whisper something, every time your hand comes to his arm as you laugh, there’s something deep and desperate coiling in cheol’s chest. your boyfriend probably forgot you’re here— meanwhile you’re telling cheol about your favourite movie you recently rewatched, this ramen spot that gave you food poisoning, the dumbest tiktok that made you laugh earlier. and you smile. god, you smile— wide and bright and so effortlessly real— and it fucking guts him.

cheol’s never seen you look like that with your boyfriend. he might not have even tried to pull that kind of light out of you. but here you are, radiant like the sun, and all cheol can think is how much he wants to reach across the space between you and tell you how he’d never let you feel anything but this. that you deserve the world and more, and cheol’s just a man but he’d sure as hell try. he wants you. it’s not right thing— but when your boyfriend’s done everything except that, cheol can have this one. he fucking wants you and he can’t do anything about it.

amidst the post-dinner chatter, your boyfriend approaches the table with a low voice, pulling you off into another room. the room’s shift in energy is palpable. conversations trail off. laughter thins out. heads turn as the door closes behind you— and there’s a sick twist in cheol’s stomach. he doesn’t know what was said, but he’s got a pretty good guess. jealousy’s a hell of a sickness, and your boyfriend’s terminal. cheol’s been trying to play it cool all night, but maybe he smiled too much, made you laugh too loud. maybe your boyfriend finally looked over and saw what everyone else had been choosing not to.

the group starts filtering out not long after. the mood’s gone— sliced by the tension hanging in the air. no one really says it out loud, but they all know why. cheol says goodbye to others from the table, choosing to stay behind. he chews the inside of his cheek as his eyes flick to that closed door every few seconds. he wants to check on you, but it’s not his place. not yet.

once the door opens, your boyfriend comes out. alone. avoiding anyone’s eyes, he rubs a hand down his face, muttering “we broke up.” like it’s nothing. like it’s just a line on the to-do list he’s finally gotten around to. cheol’s out of his seat before he can stop himself.

“you’re a fucking idiot,” cheol spits, louder than he means to. the whole room flinches, with your ex narrowing his eyes like he’s waiting for more. like he’s not the least bit startled that someone’s finally calling him out. cheol clicks his teeth in frustration, already turning away. your ex storms out without another word. you’re still there, in the other room.

cheol hesitates only a second before walking in. you’re sitting on the edge of a low bench, hands in your lap, eyes glassy. you don’t look up when he enters, and it wrecks him— how small and quiet you look. he crouches down in front of you, voice gentle like he might rouse you. “hey.” your lip trembles. you try to shake your head, act like you’re fine, but the tears come anyway. cheol doesn’t think— just opens his arms, and you fall into them like you’ve been waiting to.

you’ve broken up with him before. a dozen times. probably more. and somehow, he always crawls back to you— apologies and promises on a silver platter. but not this time. not if cheol can help it. he runs a hand soothingly down your back, chin resting lightly on your shoulder. “let me take you home,” he tells you softly. “you don’t have to stay here.” and when you raise your head with a nod, you’ve got a look in your eye— that same glint of relief from when you first arrived and saw cheol.

the drive’s quiet, but the comfortable kind. just full of things that neither of you need to say out loud. when cheol pulls up in front of your place, you don’t move to get out right away. just sit there, fingers fiddling with your sleeve before you glance at him: eyes still red-rimmed, voice soft. “do you wanna come in?”

he knows he probably shouldn’t. there’s lines that once crossed, can't be uncrossed. but you’re looking at him like you need him. not just anyone, but cheol. and it’s not about anything physical— he can see it clearly. you just don’t want to be alone. and god knows he doesn’t want to leave you alone either.

your home’s dim and quiet. you offer him tea like it’s any other night and he’s your guest— not the aftermath of a breakup, where he should be the one asking to get you anything. cheol follows as you sit on the couch, close but leaving a few inches of polite space. until you lean into him, head bumping his shoulder. and he lets you. of course he would. he even wraps an arm around you, holding you close.

cheol’s thumb rubs soothing circles onto your shoulder. when you sigh and nuzzle closer, the words slip from him: “you deserve so much better,” he confesses, voice low. “you know that, right?” you nod, but barely. cheol’s warm hand holds you, tilting his head down at you. “i would’ve treated you right,” he adds, quieter this time. “still would.”

you both let his words sit. at some point, your hand finds his, fingers shyly lacing together. cheol doesn’t move, doesn’t rush it. just breathes you in, chest aching like he’s waited too long for this. and when you raise your head to face him, eyes soft and searching, he knows what’s coming.

your lips find his— just careful, like a question. and cheol answers without blinking: leaning in, his mouth warm and soft against yours. he kisses you slow, unhurried. the kind that says i’ve thought about this more times than i should. cheol’s hand cradles your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheek in adoration. and even when your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, when your breath catches just slightly, he pulls away. just gently. he lingers close, forehead against yours, lips parted like he’s catching his breath— not from want, but from restraint. because he’s not going to ruin this by rushing.

“don’t wanna take advantage of you,” he murmurs, breath fanning your lips. “not like this. i need you to be sure. whatever you decide... i’ll be here. ‘m not going anywhere.” you smile at him all sleepy and soft, the kind of smile he’d go to war for. “i already am,” you whisper. “sure, i mean. you’ve kind of... ruined him for me.” cheol exhales a quiet laugh. something unspoken settles between you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he’s not aching with guilt.

you stay like that for a while; cheol just holding you close, lazily rubbing your side. and when he eventually moves to stand, thinking he’s overstayed his welcome, you tug on his sleeve. “stay?” just one word, looking up at him like he’s all you’d ever need. and he doesn’t hesitate.“of course.” you fall asleep on the couch together— limbs tangled beneath a shared blanket. and it’s not messy or rushed or confusing. you feel safe with him, warm. like something real is finally beginning.

a/n: ngh,... (i would so do a pt2 w smut if anyone wants it btw)

taglist (join here): @lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @ferrarifinnick @namsgyu @riddlerloveb0t @pinkpunkdynamite

[mercif4l]

oh man i wish y’all had been on korean twitter in 2013/14. and by that i mean im glad you weren’t and count your blessings

[mercif4l]

LOVE&LETTER REPACKAGE ୨ৎ celebrating 10 years with SVT!

i said it once, i'll say it again: caratblr is populated by some of the most talented individuals you will find. incredibly lucky to be in the presence of these greats, whose writing change and challenge the ways we think and the stories we tell. here are some of my all-timers. ‹𝟹

footnotes: some of these work may contain explicit content. please heed the warnings when checking them out. all headers are from u/seventeenzone.

from the vantage point of death by @heartepub

when the lord of the dead meets the goddess of spring, all his plans are derailed.

there is simply no sugarcoating it: viv is a generational writer on this side of the fandom and beyond. this fic is a bullet point in the long list of reasons why. the tale of hades and persephone is time-worn and sometimes tired; viv makes a version of it that is entirely her own in ftvpod. in a way, this reads like a hozier song—haunting gospel, tender folklore, and understated sensuality. spring has come, and it's because viv has brought it in with ftvpod.

to love and to pound by @pochaccoups

There’s something different about Seungcheol since he got you pregnant.

char's work is never short of genius, but this particular piece strikes a balance between intimacy and smut that you are unlikely to find elsewhere. the time spent exploring the physicality of the couple—while also touching on sentiments that just feel so inherently seungcheol—really reminds you why she deserves to hold a username referencing pochaccoups. it bears repeating: char is one of, if not the, best writers you will ever find if you're wanting to read about choi seungcheol.

jeonghan drabble by @seungcheorry

it started with a "love, can i borrow a towel? i forgot mine" the first time he slept at your place; you gave it to him, a silly smile on your lips when he stepped out of the bathroom with your towel around his neck.

there is romance in the mundane, and cherry reminds us of that every so often. her writing has proven to be love letters to the slow days and the stolen moments; this jeonghan drabble is among her best work. there's sentimentality in this piece that manages to weave jeonghan so seamlessly into the seemingly 'boring' humdrum of daily life—proving, once again, that love can be found somewhere between takeout and shampoo.

‘til god breaks this spell by @joshujin

joshua's devotion to you rivals his devotion to his god.

faith is tricky. faith ebbs like the tide; faith finds itself in the oddest of places. some might say faith exists in good writing such as that of trixie's. 'til god breaks this spell is a heart-wrenching exploration of the religions we grow up with, the convictions we grow out of, and the loves we grow around. this is the kind of story that heals something long since forgotten—so, thank you, trixie, for the absolution.

soul like me by @lovetaroandtaemin

You and Joshua have been friends for most of your life, and you thought that you always would be. Turns out, your feelings for each other are stronger than you thought, but love isn't always enough to keep a relationship strong.

to write humane characters in fiction is a feat that ally never seems to struggle with. soul like me bares intrinsic flaws that i'm sure we would all rather forget. it raises a mirror to the people we become when we are hurting and when we intend to hurt. it begs the question: is love the end all be all? the answer lies somewhere in the fic; as for real life, though, ally continues to chart love in all its forms through her writing.

worth it by @chugging-antiseptic-dye

“But I've left no room in my heart to turn back. So if we're wrong, let's be wrong together.”

give a an inch, and she'll take a mile. worth it is reminiscent of the impactful writing one might find from classics like fanfiction.net. to anticipate the ending does not soften the blow. there are no gut punches in this story. just the quiet beginning and end of it all, and the sting that stays in the heartbeats that follow. helpless, thy name is mine, because a is bound to continue with these deep cuts in her future work.

elevatory by @wqnwoos

You were once deeply and irrevocably in love with Kwon Soonyoung, and it’s incredibly hard to avoid that fact when he works literally two offices down from you. It’s even harder to avoid when you’re stuck in a broken elevator with him for hours, and he seems determined to dissect everything that went wrong three years ago.

hana treats soonyoung with a level of respect so rarely seen in fics where he is at the center. the inventiveness of this story is noteworthy, but i firmly believe it's the emotionality that really makes elevatory shine. anybody who has loved, lost, and gained is bound to find something here—whether it is closure, grace, or nostalgia. i, for one, found one of the brightest writers you might ever find on caratblr.

wings against the wind by @diamonddaze01

The tide pulls in. The stars burn on. Neither of you move.

every time i think tara has reached the pinnacle of her writing, she puts out another piece that shows otherwise. what makes wings against the wind a fic worth coming back to time and time again is the setting of it all. their summers could easily be mine, or yours; all of us were sixteen, and eighteen, and twenty-eight once. there is comfort in writing that reminds you that you are not alone in the grand scheme of things. tara is that extended hand, charting the friendship and romance that we lose to the sea.

on call by @kkaetnipjeon

you'd never sleep in an on-call room, but that doesn't mean you won't find other uses for it.

i feel like a broken record who has ranted and raved about mj's writing way too often, but with works like on call, how could i not? this is a stellar intersection of humor, intimacy, and romance, in a setting that is just so utterly apt for jeon wonwoo. i knew this way back when, but this fic has convinced me i'd read 50k words from mj. or her grocery lists, even, if she is ever so inclined. before i'm properly derailed by fangirling: reading on call is the best thing you could do for yourself today.

maestro's muse by @ppyopulii

It’s HYBEHAX’s 10th year anniversary, and as the hackathon’s newest Design Team Lead, you are determined to make this year its best year yet.

jay's maestro's muse is an ongoing series that i can imagine jihoon being proud of. reinventing the form is a challenge few truly succeed at; jay does it, and will undoubtedly continue to do it. the world-building in this is simply lovely, and i'm among the dozens of people who await updates with bated breath.

chunhyangjeon redux by @shinysobi

If I had time, I would learn to love him in a softer way, perhaps, where my hands are bloodied and bruised from trying to hold on too hard.

as someone who has never been particularly well-versed in historical plots, i was pleasantly surprised to thoroughly enjoy chunhyangjeon redux. it might be easy to say that i come from a place of bias—i know how much work ro put into this piece, from ideation to eventual execution. that would be a disservice to the plain and simple fact that this fic is a brilliant period piece with a strong voice and immense soul.

neurosurgeon wonwoo x reader x neurologist jihoon by @thepixelelf

"He's frozen," you tell Jihoon, eyes set on the operating table and the man at the head of it.

there is no fic i think of as often as this. there's one line here—the ending one, specifically—that has quite literally impacted me so much that i continue to revisit this piece half a year (!) after i first found out. this is not an isolated incident; ursa seems to have a penchant for writing fics that truly stick with you. there's a tenderness to her characterizations that you simply can't replicate, which makes much of her masterlist timeless.

wasteland, baby! by @gotta-winwin

they say love can cure infection.

serena, harbinger of heartbreak, was kind enough to preempt me that this fic would rip my heart out of my chest. that did not make things any easier. wasteland, baby! reads like sand in an hourglass. there's a sense of dread that follows you throughout, but it goes hand in hand with hope. it's that heady cocktail of emotion that should convince you serena is worth reading until the end of the world.

golden promises by @diamonddaze01

And so it began. Minghao, who believed in fate, and you, who didn’t.

golden promises is more than just a crash and burn in slow motion. it's the final notes of your favorite song; it's the quiet beginning and end of it all. if you were to look up 'ache' in the dictionary, this fic would be an apt redirection exemplifying the word. while fate is bastardized in this story, it finds a home somewhere else. perhaps in the reminder that tara is fated to write, because golden promises is a fic that demands to be read.

glimpse of us by @gyubakeries

it's all wrong. when mingyu wakes up, a white ceiling presses down on him, the scent of oranges suffocates him, and skin that is brushing against his isn't warm.

you would expect tragedy to shape the form of a fic entitled glimpse of us, but tiya pulls the rug underneath your feet. this fic has a glaring amount of hope despite its heavy angst tag, and i do believe only a write like tiya could strike that balance without it feeling heavy-handed. narrative switches add to the emotional tug-of-war in this piece; redemption is earned, not simply granted. if this is your first glimpse into tiya's work, i urge you to look at the whole picture—it's a gallery worth visiting.

the subtle art of stirring the pot by @miniseokminnies

The kitchen at Quartz and Serenity in New York City runs like a well oiled machine. Then comes Lee Seokmin, the new sous chef, breezing in with a carefree attitude that disrupts your routine. All you've known for the last few years is studying, sleeping, and this kitchen. You try your best to work with the new addition to the chaos but what happens when the pot gets stirred?

if we're talking about the art of something, then let this be the art of writing lee seokmin. bennie nails the buildup and dynamic necessary to execute the tropes in this fic, and it can only come from a place of somebody who knows how to write seokmin. the tension crackles like a livewire in this body of work; much of bennie's writing, i believe, comes to life—whether in a kitchen, a record store, or during a game of chess.

something in the orange by @heartepub

remembrance is also reconstruction. reconstruction presupposes loss. a meditation on memory, narrative, and grief. and, of course, love.

it would be a lie to claim something in the orange as anything less than my favorite piece of k-pop fanfiction, bar none. this is the kind of story that you think of years down the line, even after you've left a fandom. i don't doubt i will. in sito, viv weaves a pulitzer-worthy story that simply cannot be boxed into the genre of 'apocalypse au'. this is grief. this is memory. this is what it means to be human, captured in 5k words featuring boo seungkwan. i will scream it from the rooftops, i will reconstruct to hell and back—sito is an absolute headliner.

it gets easier by @mercif4l

fingers off the unblock button or you're gonna regret it, girl.

rowan has a writing voice that is so utterly distinct, i could scroll through the vernon x reader tag for hours and find nothing like this. there is catharsis in hurt/no comfort, especially when done well. it gets easier gives you room to wallow, but it also reminds you of necessary evils that await on the other side of self-flagellation.

hello, darling by @sailorsoons

Vernon has been one of your best friends for years. Shy, quiet and calm, he’s always been a steady rock for you. He has no idea you’re in love with him, but that’s neither here nor there. After a strange series of events on Halloween night, Vernon seems a little… different, and the new version of him both terrifies and thrills you.

nobody is writing about svt like hali is. her body of work is an outstanding masterlist of alternate universes, spanning genres that touch on the human condition in ways that will leave you breathless. hello, darling is a prime example. the supernatural and thriller aspects of the fic unfold like a jordan peele plot—deliciously tense, intentionally vague, and loaded with suspense.

here, there, and everywhere by @chanranghaeys

This journal belongs to: me. If found, please contact this number. (And please do not read it—unless you want to read the ramblings of a person who fails to deny their feelings for a certain someone.)

here, there, and everywhere is an unashamed love letter to lee chan, from somebody who undoubtedly cares for him. like the song goes, hani knows that love is to share—and there is just so much of it in this fic. in between expressions of devotion and charting of affection through the years, here, there, and everywhere brings us to the very core of what it means to have a bias. overall, a beautiful ode to the man underneath the myth/legend.

not so loud by @daechwitatamic

You've been in love with Lee Chan for almost two years, despite his rejection seven months ago. When you're impossibly coupled up on a friendcation, you're determined not to make it everyone else's problem. Of course, you weren't expecting to have to room with him, and you certainly weren't expecting only one bed…

not so loud is a masterclass in friends to lovers. jo gives all her characters a level of autonomy that makes this fic a living, breathing thing. i remember sending this to four different people the first time i finished it, with a semi-crazed message of you have to read this. that still stands. this piece is gorgeous, not only in how it progresses the relationship, but also in how it resolves it conflicts and brings each scene to life.

MORE & MORE & MORE!

joshujin's we can be all we need (soonyoung)

100vern's while he's gone (soonyoung & vernon)

mylovesstuffs' a song for the ones who leave (vernon)

svtiddiess' the fae in my heart (minghao)

shinwonderful's freedom of choice

vampsol's a cut to remember (vernon)

vampsol's not a bad thing (vernon)

ppyopulii's hoshi + work song by hozier

etherealyoungk's ramen & fate (seungkwan)

shuacore's warm glow (joshua)

miniseokminnies' the boy who lives on the moon (jun)

[mercif4l]

voice

➳ boo seungkwan x f!reader

➳ summary: your boyfriend calls while you're fantasizing about his fingers and voice

➳ wc is approx 2.3k

➳ tags: established relationship, phone sex, guided masturbation, mutual masturbation. dirty talk, soft seungkwan, soft!dom seungkwan. seungkwan says take your vitamins!! my adoration for his soft voice and hands.

➳ warnings: reader has female anatomy, two uses of good girl. other petnames: kitten, angel, princess, baby. tears from desperation, frustration.

➳ inspired by @playmetheclassics and the svt carat call

Five minutes left until your scheduled call with Seungkwan, and you were absolutely screwed.

Your hand was pressed against your cunt, fingers molding to its shape. You weren't doing anything other than grinding gently into your hand, soft little rocks that had your mouth parting and eyes fluttering. Your fingers snagged against the fabric of your sweatpants, the fabric seemingly doing nothing to obscure the outline of your pussy, nothing to keep you bared from the gentle pleasure of your fingers.

The picture on your phone, discarded on the bed beside you, began to dim. You hurriedly tapped it back awake and, once again, were met with the selfie your boyfriend had sent.

It was perfectly innocent. Seungkwan, smiling widely into the camera, cheeks rising like bread and eyes sparkling. His free hand raised, throwing a peace sign into the camera, his long, slender fingers spread in a perfect, unintentional imitation of how he would hold open your cunt when he was ready to feast on your pussy.

His fingers -- you gasped a little, your middle finger pressing down into your hole and just grazing it. Seungkwan's fingers were the most beautiful you had ever seen and were, more often than not, the object of your desire. Watching him peel open ramen packets, tie the laces of his shoes, how nimble his fingers moved and weaved, mind inevitably turning perverted with thoughts of how reverently, deliciously, his fingers moved in your cunt.

You whined, pitching forward and burrowing your face into the sheets. His fingers were so much longer than your own, could reach deep within and bring you to tears in just a matter of minutes.

Meanwhile you felt like crying out of frustration from your own fingers seemingly not being enough.

vrrrrrrrrrrrrt. vrrrrrrrrrrrrt.

The second vibration had you springing up in your bed, thighs inadvertently squeezing your hand further into your cunt. You yanked your hand out, scrambling for the phone.

"Kwannie!" You gasped out, squirming on your bed to get in a comfortable position. You snapped your legs shut in a false pretense of modesty, though all this did was trap the warmth of your cunt, pressing down on it and applying pressure to your clit. But then when you opened your legs for relief the air of the room rushed in, cooling your cunt and causing it to clench.

"Angel!" Seungkwan called back. You could hear the smile in his voice, could imagine how his cheeks were raising, eyes twinkling, how his entire being would be glowing. "I miss you so much, sweetheart."

You sighed, eyes fluttering shut. "I missed you, darling. Miss you."

"Did you get the picture of the cat I sent you?" There was a rustling noise on his end, the sound of sheets and blankets wrinkling. "It was right outside the hotel, I swear! I nearly picked it up and brought it inside. It was so cute and sweet, Angel!"

Seungkwan carried on talking about the cat, describing its tabby orange coat, the amber of its eyes. His voice was soft and sweet, reminding you of gentle smiles and hearts filled with love and adoration, his voice sounding like what kitten paws feel like, like clouds and kitten paws and sweetness personified.

He paused, catching his breath in a soft little pant. The hitch in his breath was minuscule, seemingly irrelevant; immediately your gut was reacting, twisting, your mind automatically filling in the blanks.

Seungkwan, panting; the press of his hands on your thighs as he lifted them, fingers digging into your flesh. His breath, warm against your face as he whined at the feel of your cunt clenching around him desperately. Seungkwan's cock slowly driving into you, dragging against your walls, your cunt rapidly clenching and relaxing in an attempt to accommodate the intrusion.

Fuck.

You put the phone on speaker, resting it on the bed next to you. Then you were tugging your sweats down and over your ass. You stuffed your hand underneath your underwear, the cold of your fingers piercing through the warmth of your cunt and dragging a soft little whimper from your lips.

Seungkwan paused. "Angel? Are you okay?"

"Y -- yeah!" You cleared your throat. "Just uh. Got a little frog stuck in my throat."

"Sweetheart," he began, and you could detect the nagging tone in his voice. It did nothing to stop your fingers from slipping to line with your cunt, your middle pressing down and rubbing tauntingly against your hole. "If you need to grab some cold medicine, go on ahead. I know there's some beneath the bathroom sink. There should be the cherry flavored cough candies you like, I remember grabbing some before we left."

Seungkwan carried on, talking about all the different cold medicines beneath your sink, concerned about your nonexistent ailment. Meanwhile your thumb, not yet warmed from your cunt and still cold from the air of the bedroom, brushed against your clit. The difference in temperature had you jolting, and immediately you were rocking up into your hand.

You dipped two of your fingers into your hole. Not enough to do anything other than massage it, but still you were rocking your hips up into your hand, thumb brushing against your clit. It was a gentle sort of pressure, one that crept up on you and had you exhaling in soft little puffs of air.

"Fuck --" Seungkwan broke off from his tangent about vitamins. You could picture his frown in your mind. "I've got a hangnail."

A hangnail.

On his finger.

Immediately your mind was spinning fantasies. Seungkwan's fingers, his fingers pressed against your cunt instead of yours. His long thumb rocking against your clit in time with his fingers inside of your cunt. His soft, sweet melodic voice coaxing you into an orgasm.

"Seungkwan!" You gasped, the thought of his fingers in your cunt causing your hips to rock up further, your own fingers dipping in further. "Fuck --"

The line went silent on his end. Realization seeped through you, how his name had left your lips wantonly.

"Wait -- Seungkwan --"

"Oh," he breathed against the phone, voice curling in delight. "Is that what my kitten has been doing?"

Your hand quickened against your cunt. No longer were you gently trying to bring an orgasm, trying to bring it like the ocean lapping at the beach on a bright day. Now your fingers were rapidly plunging into your pussy, thumb harsh against your clit, more like the ocean waves crashing against a cliff side during a storm.

"Are you fucking yourself, angel?" Seungkwan's voice was farther away from the phone as he, presumably, worked his pants down enough to stick his hand inside. "Has my dirty little angel been using her fingers this whole time? Being a perverted little kitten?"

"Kwannie," you gasped, eyes squeezing shut. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry Kwannie. Just want -- saw your fingers in the picture --"

Seungkwan chuckled. His voice was deepening quick, gaining that rasp that he acquired when desire settled deep within his gut. "What? Are you telling me an innocent picture like that had you so desperate for me?"

"Your fingers, Kwannie," you breathed, biting down on your lip. You were working your hand furiously in your cunt, but no matter how you tried to bring out your orgasm, something was missing. Something was missing, and you knew it was a man who was halfway across the world.

"Just my fingers are enough to get you to stick your hand in your cunt like this." Seungkwan laughed again, but it wasn't like his loud, cute boyish giggle that constantly had you laughing alongside him. It was dark and stern, the sort of laugh that went straight to your cunt and had wetness gushing from it.

"Yes." You tossed your head back against the pillows. "Your fingers, your voice. Kwannie, your fucking voice."

He swore softly on the other end. "Fuck, kitten. You like me that much, do you? My fingers, my voice? Like me talking to you?"

"Yes."

"Can't believe I was sitting here talking about cough medicine while you had your fingers knuckle deep in your pussy," he sighed. A little groan escaped his lips and had you imagining his hand in his pants, wrapped around his dick, thumb pressing into the slit. "Tell me, sweetheart. Talk to me about it."

"I hate it," you sobbed, hips driving up and into your hand relentlessly. "I want you, Seungkwan. Want you here, want your fingers, want your mouth and cock, want your dick and fingers in my cunt, want it so badly."

Seungkwan whined in response, his stoic demeanor slipping. No matter how hard he would always try, as soon as you started rambling and crying he was on his knees, ready to give you the world. "Are your fingers too short, kitten? Can't reach into your cunt like mine can?"

"Want you," you cried. The pressure in your cunt combined with pure, unbridled emotion had tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. You wanted Seungkwan. You wanted him at your side as the two of you ate cereal in the mornings, wanted to hear him nagging you to take your vitamins, his fingers dividing them up. You wanted his dick in your cunt, wanted to feel his wicked fingers press into you.

You missed Seungkwan, you missed him so fucking much.

"Fuck, fuck," he hissed into the phone. You could picture it, his eyes pressed shut, eyelashes fluttering against the rise of his cheeks. His mouth in a pout, his lips glistening from the juices of your cunt, your saliva. "Wish it's my fingers in your pussy, angel? Wish it's my fingers sinking into you, wish it's my fingers knuckle-deep?"

You couldn't help but nod into the phone. You couldn't do anything other than whine, your thumb bearing down on your clit meanly. You wanted Seungkwan; wanted to orgasm; wanted his body next to yours, wanted his thighs wrapped around your head as you take his cock in your mouth.

"Gotta picture it's my fingers," he ordered, voice soft but no less stern. "It's my long fingers in your cunt, angel. It's my thumb on your clit, it's my fingers that you're clenching around. It feels so good, kitten. Love how you feel around my fingers always. Love how you sound for me, love how pretty you look."

"Kwan," you sobbed.

"Can hear your cunt, kitten," he groaned. "Can fucking hear your cunt around my fingers. I bet you're soaked. You're soaked for me, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Good girl. Always so good for me, baby. You gotta keep being good, angel."

"Mm good," you whimpered. "Always good. Good for you, Seungkwannie."

He cursed into the phone again. "Fuck. Your hand feels so good on my dick, angel."

You could practically feel his dick in your hand. Could see it, how it would curve upwards, precum leaking profusely from the tip because you and Seungkwan were absolutely messy together, his cock always wet for you, your cunt always drenched for him.

"Feels so good," he echoed, voice tearing off in a soft moan. "Gonna cum for you, angel. Can you cum for me? Need you to cum, kitten. Need to hear you cry, need to -- fuck, fuck. Gotta cum for me, kitten."

"Kwan --" You shoved a third finger into your cunt, the stretch immediately burning. But you carried on, desperate, the stretch delicious and burning and driving you insane. You felt full, moreso than before, but -- "Need your cock, Kwannie. Please, please, please --"

"Don't cry, kitten," he cooed. "I'll give you my cock. Just cum for me first, okay? Gotta get your cunt all soaked and pretty first, okay?"

You nodded into the phone again. You were working hard, desperate for a release. But: "Nothing -- Kwannie, I can't, I can't --"

"It's okay, angel," he soothed, his voice gentle and sweet. "Calm down, baby. Listen to me, all right?

"Take your fingers out, okay -- don't cry, it's okay, kitten. Gotta trust me, trust your Seungkwannie, okay? Take your fingers out, wipe 'em off. Can you do that?

"Want you to grab your pillow. The second one, the one beneath the first. Want you to mount it, kitten. Mount it like it's my dick. Put the side against your cunt. I want you to ride it, angel. Drag your cunt on it, rock on it. That's it, that's a good girl. Love hearing your whimpers, baby.

"Okay. Grab my pillow, sweetheart. Press your pretty face into it, want you to breathe it in. Bet it still smells like me, don't it? Take deep breaths in. Want your tears to soak it, baby.

"You're doing so good, princess. Can you -- want you to focus on pressing your cute little clit against the pillow, okay? Feels good? You look so beautiful, kitten, look so perfect. You sound perfect, and you feel so perfect around my fingers.

"You gotta cum now for me, okay? Can you cum for me like a good girl?"

Both pillows soaked, one from your cunt and orgasm and the other from your tears, you flopped onto the mattress. You panted, closing your eyes as you tried to catch your breath while your hand patted around for the bed, trying to find your phone.

"Kwannie --" You gasped, bringing the phone to your face. "Seungkwan, fuck -- did you --"

Seungkwan laughed, though not unkindly. "Of course I did, angel. You sounded so beautiful. I wish -- I wish I was there with you, though."

You shut your eyes, feeling a lump form in your throat. "Yeah. Yeah. I wish you were here, too, baby."

"I'll be back -- fuck --" You jumped at his startled shout, pulling your phone away from your face in bewilderment. You could hear him shouting from the other side of the phone. "No -- get out! Fuck, I told you not to come in --"

"It's my room too --"

"Hoshi, I told you to give me an hour! I swear to God --" Seungkwan's voice suddenly was loud in the phone, desperation heavy with every word. "Baby, I gotta go. I'll call you back -- just give me -- CLOSE THE FUCKING DOOR KWON SOONYOUNG!"

[mercif4l]

hanging by a moment 🍻 j.ww [m]

synopsis: it's been a few years since you've been home for your birthday, and wonwoo can't wait to see you...right? genre: estranged childhood friends to lovers au. fluff, angst, suggestive themes. pairing: photographer!jeon wonwoo x fem!baker!reader | side pairing: kim mingyu x chou tzuyu word count: 15.8k rating: 18+. minors please do not interact. warnings: swearing, alcohol. food mentions. mentions of jealousy, breakups. wonwoo is a little bitter. pet names (sweetheart, honey, etc.) kissing. what to listen to: here is gone - the goo goo dolls ; over you - daughtry ; broken - lifehouse ; hanging by a moment - lifehouse ; long way home - 5 seconds of summer ; say yes - seventeen author's note: happiest birthday to my baby @wqnwoos ♡ i hope your birthday was full of wonderful memories and you had lots of good food, please continue staying healthy and i love you. [star dividers by @/cafekitsune here on tumblr!]

– LAST YEAR: GOYANGI SWEETS, HARLEM, NEW YORK.

"Since when do you celebrate Valentine's Day, Y/N?" Jeon Wonwoo's voice was staticky on the other end, and you rolled your eyes as you kept swiping icing on the red velvet cupcakes you'd been agonizing over for six days. Trying and dumping mixes, failed taste tests, a few burnt practice rounds all led up to this: you, up at two in the morning on FaceTime with Wonwoo, who was just now starting to finish up his work day.

You hadn't meant to move so far away, truly – or at least, not for this long. Your best friends were all back home, and the drastic time difference did work for some of them – but you rarely managed to catch Wonwoo. He would usually spend his time holed away in his bedroom or out with Kim Mingyu. However, since Mingyu moved in with his fiancée, Chou Tzuyu, three years ago – Wonwoo had the apartment to himself and you were his only company.

"Since when don't you, Jeon? No hot date for Desperation Day?"

"You watch too many movies, there's no such thing. Anyway, shouldn't you be sleeping? You open in, like, two hours." He was right, you did open in two hours.

There was just something comforting about hearing Wonwoo's voice so late in the night. It makes you feel warm, less alone.

And it's not like Wonwoo knew about your recent fight with your boyfriend.

It wasn't anything serious – just you telling him to get a fucking job, and him insisting that his job was rubbing your feet after a long day at work. It annoyed you so bad that you asked him to leave the apartment for the weekend. It's not that Wonwoo doesn't like Euijoo, but he certainly isn't his number one fan. You argue that you can't dislike someone you don't even know, but Wonwoo has made it clear that Euijoo is simply never going to be a part of his life if you're not present to make it happen. It's always been that way with Wonwoo, though. He quietly disapproved of most of the men you dated, even when you were back home – but he never made you feel bad about his perspective. He simply shared when you asked, and he didn't sugar coat it.

Before Euijoo, there was his clubmate, Hansol Chwe. Before Hansol, there was his teammate, Choi Seungcheol. Before Seungcheol, there was Mingyu. 

And every single one got a side-eyed glance, even his best friend.

Slowly, you stopped talking to Wonwoo about guys, because he always seemed to be right about you deserving more. To be frank, you weren’t too keen on not doing what you wanted to do, much less who. 

You and Wonwoo never breached that friendship line, and while you found solace in his irrevocable appreciation for you as a friend, you found it odd that around the time you began preparing for your relocation across the world, he floated away.

So much so that he hadn't even gone to the airport to say goodbye, or give you a hug. You hadn't seen Wonwoo in the weeks leading up to it after you told him you'd be leaving, and he always had an excuse as to why he couldn't call or hang out. You tried time and time again, only for him to eventually say he just didn't have time.

He did. You knew he did, because you saw him all over Mingyu and Tzuyu's Instagram stories. You saw him playing chess with Yoon Jeonghan. You saw him at the art museum with Xu Minghao.

You saw him soft launch a girl on his Instagram story the moment you boarded your plane. His story had been posted twenty minutes before, while you were getting your heart ripped out. You’d gone to New York with eyes full of tears, and not just because you were leaving behind everything you knew. 

Wonwoo was home, and you wouldn’t have him with you.

Nevertheless, Wonwoo was never…directly the reason behind your breakups – at least, to your understanding. You never toed the line of flirting with him and vice versa, you never made your friendship out to be something it wasn't.

You and Mingyu broke up because of school but stayed extremely close. You met his then-girlfriend,Tzuyu, six months into freshman year, and you were the first person Mingyu ever told that he wanted to marry her. You even helped Mingyu build a Pinterest wedding board when he would visit you and Wonwoo.

The others? Seungcheol made the mature decision and broke up with you because of jealousy issues on his part. Hansol broke up with you with an apology and nothing more, and you tried your best to take it in stride. However, taking things in stride is not your forte – which is how you ended up with Euijoo.

Hansol broke up with you at the airport the day you left for New York, the guilt taking over his features as your eyes widened and filled with tears. You had muttered that you understood, that it was fine – but the fourteen-hour flight from Seoul to New York was full of tears and sniffling. You're sure the woman next to you had been wondering if you were okay, but you're also almost positive that the fourteen-hour loop of 5SOS' Close As Strangers through your headphones spoke for itself.

You had met Euijoo at a bar a week after you landed in New York. Your apartment had long been ready and furnished, waiting for your arrival. You sullied it that same night by bringing him home, the aura of the apartment darkening the longer he stayed. And stayed, he did. It's like he had nowhere else to go, and you were far too nice about it, too. 

Hence, how he became your 'boyfriend' and how he 'moved in with you.' 

Bullshit; he went home to his mother's one-bedroom condo and picked up a dusty Playstation and a pillow he liked – that was his 'moving in.'

As for why Wonwoo doesn't like him, it's obvious – Euijoo is a loser. He has no goals, no sense of urgency, no whimsical nature – nothing like you. At least, that was what Wonwoo told you the first time you called him from New York…which was over six months since you left Seoul.

You wanted to believe there was a twinge of jealousy in Wonwoo’s voice when you told him about Euijoo. His brows furrowed, he sucked his teeth more times than you could count, and he refused to meet him when you offered to have him say hello.

You couldn't lie to yourself, you knew your relationship with Wonwoo was dwindling. Your calls were growing sparse, he didn’t tell you anything about his personal life, and you still hadn’t gone back home. To him, to your friends, to your parents. The two of you had grown up together, just slightly out of each other's circles. There were two or three people who were your 'friends of friends' that connected you, before Mingyu was the first official bridge between the two of you in the seventh grade. You went on to date Mingyu for three years during high school, before you wound up going to a different university than he did – but attended with Wonwoo, instead. You hated to admit it, but you knew that you clung to Wonwoo like gum did a shoe. You hid behind his broadening frame at fraternity parties, you would ask him over to your dorm (and later, your apartment) for game nights. You eventually started baking for him – cookies, cupcakes, the like. And then you met Seungcheol, on your way to Wonwoo's apartment. You slammed into him, painting his white t-shirt and shorts in pink icing – and you remembered stuttering over your words as you watched his brows furrow while he wiped icing off his stomach. He ended up clicking his tongue, nodding his head and shrugging.

"I guess you can call it avant garde, right?"

The two of you exchanged numbers, and you wound up being late to Wonwoo's place – but at that time, it didn't matter. Not when you scored a date with an older boy that had pouty lips and the thickest thighs you'd ever had the pleasure of seeing. Wonwoo had noticed you were giggly that night, but chose to brush it off when he walked behind you and saw you typing away to an unsaved number.

You and Seungcheol ended up dating for about a year, but the jealousy issues began before your relationship even started. He knew Wonwoo, and they were on the same soccer team – but something about the way Wonwoo spoke about you seemed to tick him off. No matter how often your lips were on his, your hands on his body, your body in his bed – Seungcheol's eyes always narrowed at the sight of Wonwoo floating around you for whatever reason, even if you initiated contact. 

You cheered at all his games, but Wonwoo was also there even if you wore one of Seungcheol's jerseys. You invited him to your bake sales, yet Wonwoo was always the one taste testing your recipes. You invited Seungcheol to your birthday dinner, and Wonwoo was naturally there.

Wonwoo recounting memories of you as a kid at dinner was what made Seungcheol make the decision to break up with you the following week. He paced around his apartment while you sat on his couch, rattling off all the ways that Wonwoo spoke about you that meant so much more than just a platonic love.

And you didn't comfort Seungcheol, or refute his thoughts. 

In fact, you denied them. You said there was no way Wonwoo saw you as anything more than his friend, you insisted that Wonwoo seeing you in the worst moments of your life was enough to make him feel icky about dating you.

It wasn't until Seungcheol crouched in front of you, holding your hands in his that you understood that he wasn't kidding. He told you that part of growing old together and being in love is seeing each other in those situations and still choosing to care and stay. He told you that Wonwoo holding your hair back as you threw up, Wonwoo knowing all your siblings' names and their favorite things, Wonwoo seeing you riddled with the flu and gross stomach bugs…

Wonwoo cared about you far more than he let on.

You left Seungcheol's apartment that night with a heavy heart and holding the stained white shirt from the first day you met him in your hand. It was still soaked in his cologne, and you remember crying yourself to sleep for two weeks straight.

Wonwoo had been there, and when you told him everything Seungcheol had said – he'd apologized.

He didn't deny anything. He didn't refute any of Seungcheol's feelings.

He apologized, for both making Seungcheol feel that way as well as being the straw that broke the camel's back. You hadn't known what to say, so you just offered to let him stay over and bake cookies with you.

He did, and the two of you gorged yourselves on white chocolate chip cookies while watching White Chicks. You cried again while he was there, and he wiped your tears and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. He held you close as you pouted into his shirt, the soft scent of patchouli from his cologne settling into your skin as a blanket of comfort.

You also remember peering up at him through teary eyes, and his lips instinctively pressing to your hairline. His mumbled words never left your mind, either.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay.”

You didn't date again for a bit after that, and Wonwoo made it a point to introduce you as his friend any time the two of you hung out. It made you feel odd, the way he forced the agenda that you were his friend and nothing more when you had no issue just going with the flow. You understood he didn't want a repeat of your relationship with Seungcheol, but it felt like he was forcing something more than just the label of your friendship.

People often asked if something had happened between the two of you — of which you always denied casually. If they asked Wonwoo, he would scoff, as if he were offended anyone would ever think you were more than just his friend. As if it was gross, or repulsive, to see you as a woman and not just the girl he grew up with. You met Hansol the next school year, a cheeky cinematography freshman that frequented your bake sales. Wonwoo met him there as well, and was the reason you and Hansol met formally. Apparently, Wonwoo and Hansol were both in the AV Club, where Wonwoo also met his first girlfriend: Lee Jaehee.

Lee Jaehee...  

She had also been quite the frequenter of your bake sales. She enjoyed your slutty brownies and the strawberry blondies you made, and the two of you had been so close to becoming friends when Wonwoo asked her out. He'd even asked you to bake something for her and you did it happily, free of charge. However, Wonwoo asking her out meant her finding out that you and him went back over two decades, and the same look that settled in Seungcheol's brows, settled in hers. It was painful, to see how she would tense at your presence at Wonwoo's soccer games, ones you'd always attended. It hurt your feelings to see her give you a quick smile before passing by your booths at the bake sales, not bothering to stop by for a nibble or a chat.

It pained you to know that Wonwoo missed your birthday dinner that year to spend the weekend with her, instead. You wound up going over to Seungcheol's apartment that night, and he comforted you as best as he could – by offering a drink and inviting his friends Jeonghan and Joshua over to entertain you. Despite it all, Seungcheol never really held any resentment towards you – but he did have zero problem telling you how blind you were.

You ignored it, too.

You didn’t like the odd feeling you got in your chest thinking about Wonwoo in any way that wasn’t platonic. You weren't stupid – Wonwoo was incredibly profound with a hint of goofy humor. He was smart, and tall…and handsome…God, he was so handsome, it made you want to bite your fist.

So the idea of his hands on you? His lips on yours, his bed being more than just a drunken sanctuary…

It was too much for you to handle. 

You started dating Hansol during the first semester of your senior year of college. He'd just become a sophomore, and everyone around him had been incredibly surprised that the senior sweetheart at the bake sales stopped making her incredibly soft peanut butter cookies. The reason? Hansol, and his allergy to peanuts.

No one said shit after that, only cooing at your boyfriend's blushy cheeks from your attention.

Your relationship with Hansol also came as a surprise to Wonwoo, and he found out in the strangest way – by walking into your apartment using his spare key and seeing the two of you getting frisky in the kitchen and covered in flour. You hadn't heard him come in, and didn't seem to sense his presence in the threshold of your kitchen. You don't know it, but Wonwoo has the image of you burned in his mind. The slope of your neck as Hansol kissed down it, the way your shirt was pushed up to reveal flour-covered handprints on your bare chest, the way your thighs were flexing around your boyfriend's waist… The sound of your whimper into Hansol's mouth.

He then made his presence known by coughing exaggeratedly, and you and Hansol almost slipped. Wonwoo rolled his eyes as Hansol yanked your shirt back into place, clearing his throat and greeting Wonwoo.

"How long have you been there?"

"Long enough to know that there is no way eating flour out of each other's mouths is sexy." Wonwoo had come over to tell you that he and Jaehee broke up, and he did tell you – but on his way out of your apartment. You could barely hear him as the door closed, but you were also trying to finish what you and your boyfriend started in the kitchen — so you filed it to the back of your mind as you invited Hansol to join you in the shower.

It wasn't until after graduation that you decided to open a pastry shop. However, you were unsure that your at-home learning was enough to satisfy a gaggle of clientele – and decided to start applying to pastry schools. You’d already obtained a business degree, which made the idea only cement further in your head. Hansol had been incredibly supportive, even going as far as sending you applications and fee waivers while he was in class and you were driving around Seoul with Wonwoo looking for work for the time being.

Then you got a letter back from a pastry school in New York City, and Hansol was ecstatic. He paid for your flight and even took a week off school to go visit it with you. He wound up setting up meetings with realtors so you could get an apartment, and the two of you even went as far as looking at empty lease spaces where you could open a business.

You accepted the offer, and the school covered your flight back to Seoul and then back to New York City. Your parents covered your first year of rent at an apartment in SoHo, after you sent back videos of you spinning in the SeaGlass Carousel and having dinner at Shuka.

However, something changed when you went back to Seoul to pack your things. You also realized you had done all of this without even mentioning it to Wonwoo, who seemed slightly distant when you finally met him for dinner at his place after packing up your apartment. Mingyu and Tzuyu had also been there. Hansol also seemed distant for a few days, not bothering to answer your messages or calls. You showed up at his apartment, only for Seungkwan to answer the door with a knowing look and tell you he wasn't home. You remember scowling, and pushing past Seungkwan to see Hansol asleep in his bedroom, tucked away with a Star Wars blanket you'd bought him for his birthday. 

You picked a fight, and Hansol wasn’t having it — said he wasn’t in the right headspace to have this conversation, and asked to rain check it for a better time. You argued there was no better time than the present, and his swollen face (whether from tears or sleep, you were unsure) was enough to make you back off for the time being. He quietly asked you to join him in his bed, and you reluctantly kicked your shoes off and did just that.

He promised he still cared, and promised he still loved you, but it felt different, the way he held you. Like a last hurrah, like a ‘goodbye’ and not a ‘see you later.’ Like things were going to end and there was nothing you could do to change his mind.

You couldn't say you were surprised that Hansol broke up with you a month later, but you were certainly hurt. Wonwoo was also nowhere to be reached at this point, your calls going straight to voicemail and your texts going unread. You assumed he'd finally landed a gig, but it was still unlike him to not respond to you, of all people.

At least, you thought that was what had happened, until you saw his Instagram story.

You stopped wondering where he'd been after that.

It had been four years since then. You hadn't gone back to Seoul once, not even for Christmas or when your parents begged you back. You called for birthdays, you sent gifts out two months in advance. You sent photos of your shop, of your apartment, of you and Euijoo.

Your parents didn't really care about the ones Euijoo was in.

You finally opened your pastry shop in the middle of Harlem – two years after arriving in New York, tweaking your recipes to cater to the local clientele. Your shop was always full of customers and you loved what you did – but most of all, the people loved you. They loved seeing how easily you won people over, how you celebrated your accomplishments by putting even more effort into your business, how your employees cared about you and your shop.

You truly became an essential part of some people's lives – Ms. Julianna who came in every morning for a chocolate éclair; Mr. Cortéz came in every Saturday morning for a box of mixed empanadas and one butterscotch cupcake for his granddaughter, Elisa; Mrs. Stegenga sliding in every Tuesday for a strawberry tart and a cup of unsweetened whipped cream for her dog, Harley. 

Euijoo came in everyday as well, but not for a pastry – but to bug you. You'd kicked him out a few times, shoving a warm cinnamon twist into his mouth or an iced matcha with cheese foam into his hand – but he always floated back.

Which was odd, since he didn't have a car and it took thirty minutes to get from your apartment in SoHo to your shop in Harlem. Where he was getting the money for the taxi, or to load his Metrocard was beyond you – the son of a bitch didn't lift a finger.

Now, you're here. You're still at your shop, while Euijoo is likely sprawled out on your king-sized bed, with his outside clothes still on. You're grimacing to yourself as you smooth icing out on one of the cupcakes, your brow furrowed as you hear Wonwoo sigh.

"I miss you." And just as fast as it was said, he moved on.

"Since you're not going to sleep, how was your birthday? I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to call, I've been slammed with projects. Tzuyu booked me for engagement photos, isn't that crazy?" Much like your friends missed out on your life, you missed out on theirs. Mingyu and Tzuyu opened a restaurant in the middle of Seoul, and you missed it. Mingyu and Tzuyu had their first daughter, and you missed it. Mingyu and Tzuyu got engaged, and you missed it. You wouldn't be surprised if you missed their wedding, too.

Wonwoo? He opened a photography studio. He did weddings, all sorts of parties, maternity shoots. He did boudoir shoots for a bit, before handing them over to his business partner, Saerom. She had been introduced to Wonwoo through a few contacts at your old university, and he took her on as an apprentice. She now accompanies him to many shoots and gigs, usually taking the reins if Wonwoo loses his patience or gets too overwhelmed.

You'd seen his photos displayed at a few galleries after you left for New York. Your mother went and took pictures of his exhibits, his shy smile hidden behind flutes of champagne. You congratulated him via text, only to receive a thumbs up in response and nothing more.

"Yeah, that's crazy. Listen, Woo, I'm gonna try and focus on this. I'll call you later, yeah?" You sighed, frustration evident in your voice. You watched as Wonwoo struggled not to roll his eyes as he tongued his cheek, before nodding.

"Sure thing. Get some rest."

He hung up before you could respond, and you looked at the FaceTime log. Eight missed calls from Wonwoo over the last few days, three missed calls from Tzuyu and two from Mingyu.

Your friends missed you, across the world. You were missing every precious moment of theirs.

And instead, you were here. Frosting cupcakes at almost three in the morning, while your do-nothing boyfriend enjoyed the warmth of your apartment. Frosting cupcakes, while your parents begged you to come home for a few days at the very least.

The money here was good. It always had been, and you'd built such a good connection with your clientele and you couldn't imagine abandoning it all because you were homesick.

But you missed home. You missed your mother's hearty soups, you missed your father serving you dinner instead of you serving Euijoo after a long day of doing that for strangers. You missed Tzuyu's light laughter, Mingyu's warm embraces…

Wonwoo. God, you missed Wonwoo.

You remember sending him a photo of your storefront as the sign was finalized, the baby blue calling to the eyes amongst the red brick.

Msg To: Jeon Wonwoo ♡ [11/09] look at it! goyangi sweets is officially in business! (read: 1:09PM)

Msg From: Jeon Wonwoo ♡ [11/09] goyangi?

Msg To: Jeon Wonwoo ♡ [11/09] what the fuck are you doing awake? it's 3am in seoul [11/09] yeah, goyangi. i miss you (read: 1:10PM)

He hadn't answered after that.

Sighing, you clicked your tongue and leaned against your stainless steel counter. You grabbed a cupcake off the cooling rack, prying the warm dessert in half and smearing a bit of frosting on the inside, shoving it into your mouth. You closed your eyes as you chewed, letting your shoulders sag at the sweet treat that made all the stress worth it.

It was worth it, right? The money and the love from the locals, the feeling of physical success…it was enough. It was worth the lonely nights you yearned for 

You wiped your hands, moving to the front of the shop and dragging the metal divider down to block the view of outsiders. You weren't opening the shop today, no. You're going to go home, and kick Euijoo out of your bed and sleep.

That's all you need. Some sleep.

– SOPHOMORE YEAR: SEOUL HAWKS VS YONSEI EAGLES, SEMIFINALS.

"We have No. 08, Choi Seungcheol approaching the goal area for the freekick. Choi is the team captain for the SNU Hawks, and the only PreMed student on the team. He has also scored fifty-six percent of all game-winning goals this season, and we're hoping this kick gets them into the Championship bracket."

You were on the edge of your seat, your frame being swallowed by one of Seungcheol's jerseys. You were alone in the stands for the first time – Mingyu and Tzuyu were stuck at the concessions stand. Unfortunately, you were also the only person on this side of the field wearing an SNU jersey, and trying not to tweak out as you listened to Jeon Jungkook and Park Jimin talk about your boyfriend over the PA.

"Oh, oh, looks like Choi is not taking the freekick after all?" Jimin's voice was clear, and the crowd collectively sighed as Seungcheol analyzed the players and shook his head.

You were barely able to sit down as you watched him jog over to his referee, making motions with his hands and arms when you saw Wonwoo crossing the field in a sprint. He slid next to Seungcheol, who pulled him closer into the circle and kept talking. Wonwoo's brows were furrowed as he nodded, breathing heavily before wiping his forehead with the bottom of his shirt. "It seems Choi has nominated No.17, Jeon Wonwoo, to take the freekick instead. Jeon is the second in command, dedicating two years of his college career to this team. He's scored sixteen percent of the game-winning goals this season, opting to stay in the shadows." You didn't like that.

"Alright, alright…it seems we're lining up…Eagles are looking fine this year, aren't they?" "Jeon, that's inappropriate." "What, man? You're going to look at Kim Yugyeom and say I'm wrong?" "Jungkook, they can hear you."

"Hey, shit. Here's your soda." Tzuyu slides in next to you, and you don't unglue your eyes from the field as you reach and fumble for your drink. The straw poked your hand as Mingyu slid past you, making you scowl as you swatted his leg for him to sit down.

"Wonwoo's taking the kick? I thought it was going to be Cheol." Mingyu muttered, taking a bite from his hot dog. You nodded, watching as Wonwoo shook his head while still talking to Seungcheol. His hands were moving rapidly, likely explaining why Wonwoo didn't want to make the kick. Your boyfriend only gave Wonwoo a stern look, and you could make out the words falling from his lips.

"I believe in you. Kick the fucking ball."

You watched as the Eagles made their wall, their goalie shaking his legs out. Kwon Soonyoung, you remembered – you'd met him at a frat party at Yonsei a few weeks back. Seungcheol had gone with you, making friends with the enemy (more like scoping out his competition. Sneaky bitch.) "C'mon, Woo." You mumbled to yourself, grabbing Tzuyu's hand for support as she shoved a nacho into her mouth. You were too amped up to eat, this kick was the one that would settle the score – and it was all on Wonwoo.

You knew Seungcheol wouldn't put anyone he didn't trust on this sort of line. Yeah, he had an issue with how close you and Wonwoo were, but his team was important to him – he'd built this one on his own, handpicked, the best of the best. You trusted Seungcheol knew what he was doing, and that he wouldn't set up Wonwoo for failure…

…And he didn't, as you watched Wonwoo's kick bounce off the goalpost and straight into the net – just barely missing Soonyoung's fingertips.

"THE HAWKS ARE GOING TO THE CHAMPIONSHIPS!"

You cheered happily, the only one besides Mingyu and Tzuyu – and earned the nastiest of glares from Yonsei students as you ran down the steps of the bleachers. Seungcheol was jumping with his arms around Wonwoo and another player, Wen Junhui, when you pushed past them to get to your friend.

"Wonwoo! That was fucking amazing!"

He just shook his head, aiming the water bottle into his mouth as he gestured towards Seungcheol.

"That's all Cheol's idea. Mastermind behind it all." You whipped around to see your grinning boyfriend being shaken by Mingyu, trying to pry himself from your friend's embrace as you felt the cold splash of the water cooler being poured on Wonwoo. It went down your back as well, making you squeal as you jumped out of the way. Seungcheol reached his arm out to you, and you grabbed his hand as his teammates picked a soaked Wonwoo up and onto their shoulders.

"We'll meet you at the parking lot!" Mingyu yelled as he and Tzuyu trailed after them, and Seungcheol only gave a thumbs up. It was customary that the entire team went to dinner together, usually still in their stinky and sweaty jerseys but Seungcheol had long refused to let the team be represented that way. Everyone went home to get themselves together, then he footed the bill.

"Cheol, that was great! You're going to the championships!" Your smile was hurting your cheeks as he nodded, pulling you into his chest. He was sweaty and overwhelmingly warm, but you didn't care as he plucked the fabric of your wet shirt off your back in greeting.

"You know…you could've greeted me first." "Oh, not this again! Seungcheol, Wonwoo is just my friend." "I know he is, Y/N." Seungcheol said pointedly, but you felt scrutinized under his arched brow. You felt your lip jut out into a pout, and he sighed, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"C'mon, you can come over to mine and change." He swept your hair back over your shoulders, his fingers brushing your neck. You frowned, your hands floating to his wrists as he shook his head.

"Tell me you love me, Cheol." "I love you, honey. Come on."

It wasn't a lie. Seungcheol did love you, but it'd slightly become less of a romantic love as the months pressed on. He couldn't get over the odd feeling in his stomach when he saw Wonwoo's soft gestures towards you, the way Wonwoo served your drinks at the parties you went to, the way Wonwoo behind a camera made you smile easily – far easier than necessary for someone that was just your friend.

He hated how you didn't see it, the way Wonwoo was in love with you. He could see it, and he knew it was the truth: Wonwoo would visibly tense at the sound of your name. Seungcheol remembers when Junhui asked him his plans last week, and how Wonwoo grimaced when Seungcheol said he was taking you on a date night.

He didn't like feeling this way. He didn't like feeling like his jealousy was festering in the pit of his stomach while you saw it as nothing more than just friendly banter. Granted – Wonwoo never flirted with you, never touched you inappropriately, he never crossed the line.

But the soft compliments he gave you? The gentle swipe of your hair off your face and the adjustment of your necklaces?

The way he calmly called your name, or sweetheart from across the room…

And you listened.

It wasn't your fault. Seungcheol knew it wasn't, and he felt like a fool to keep feeling so much resentment towards Wonwoo – especially when Wonwoo also made it strictly known that everything he felt was platonic.

It just didn't feel that way.

"I love you, Cheol." "I know, honey. Now…let's get dinner?"

– FIVE YEARS AGO: INCHEON AIRPORT TO LAGUARDIA, NEW YORK.

"I'm sorry."

You were standing in the middle of Incheon Airport, your duffle bag tucked over your shoulder when Hansol dropped the bomb.

"Sorry?" You whispered, your voice shaky as the reality of his words sank in.

It'd been a few days since you packed your last box and dropped it off at your parents' house. Hansol had gone with you, warmly greeting your parents and sitting in your living room, your mother showing him baby photos. You remember feeling your heart race at how Hansol traced your face in the pictures, before glancing up at you.

The wild beating in your chest hadn't been positive, and there was a glint of knowing in Hansol's eyes. The relationship was over, it was just a matter of who pulled the plug, and when. It had been a month or so since you settled everything in New York, and a month since either of you spoke about it. You had gone to his apartment and looked to pick a fight – but the fight never happened. He pulled you into him, and you had snuggled in his bed. You kissed, you watched movies…

But it was a goodbye and you denied it. In your heart, in your mind, you wanted to deny it. It was a good thing, wasn't it? To be in New York and know that Hansol had connections there? His sister lived there. If he wanted…if he wanted, he could come with you. Transfer to a university in New York, and it would be worth it. To study in a place he once called home, to breathe in the inspiration of the city that has been the background of hundreds of films, the breeding ground of insane creativity? And if not…what about you? Were you enough to want to move in with? Did he see a future with you where things were more than just college sweethearts who stayed over at each other's apartments more than four times a week? Did he understand who you were, to the depths – the need to love, because you were overflowing with it?

Did he see a future where you were more than just attached at the hip with Wonwoo?

The truth was, he did. He saw it all with you – the apartment, the marriage, hell, even a kid or two. He saw all of it, a ring and a career alongside you and to see all your hopes and aspirations grow into something tangible. He saw it.

You didn't.

"I know it's shitty of m-me to do this, especially n-now." He held back his tears, but his voice shook with bitten back sobs anyway. "But I can't. I c-can't do long distance."

Somehow, he knew you knew that wasn't the real reason. He knew, from the way the back of your eyes filled with hurt and betrayal, the grip on your duffle making the strap burrow into your hand. The way you bounced on your toes, once, twice – before nodding. A singular tear rolled down your face.

"It's okay. I understand." Your voice had been surprisingly steady as he hesitated, before reaching his arms out. You stepped into them, and somehow felt the weight off your shoulders as he hugged you tightly. "I'll miss you, Sol." "I miss you already, babe. Please call me when you land, okay? I'll be up, I swear."

You had called him when you landed. He'd arranged to have a car pick you up and take you to your new apartment. He finally cried on the phone, and you sobbed with him as you made your bed and settled in.

After six hours of reminiscing and crying on the phone, you hung up for what you thought would be the last time. He wished you good luck, and to call him whenever you wanted. And God, you wanted to.

But just like Wonwoo, you left it alone. Six months, not a single word.

– PRESENT: LAGUARDIA AIRPORT TO JEON WONWOO, HOME.

You looked into the empty space you used to call your second home. Gone were the calming periwinkle walls, the gold-detailed pastry cases. Gone were your cherry wood bar stools, the wicker recliners in the corner, the play areas for children. 

Your shop was gone, and you held the keys in your hand one last time.

"End of an era, huh? Where are you going to go now?" Mr. Cortéz was next to you, holding his granddaughter on his hip as you sighed.

"I'm not sure. I'm going to miss Harlem, but I know that…this isn't home." You said sheepishly, running a hand through your hair. He nodded, patting your shoulder with a sympathetic smile.

"We're going to miss you here, mija. You will always have a place in Harlem with us." To say you wanted to cry was an understatement, but you just blinked the tears back as you allowed him and his granddaughter to envelope you into an embrace. "I left my cupcake recipe with your wife, so you can always make them for Elisa. I'm going to miss you."

"Be safe, okay? Don't give up on your dreams." He patted your back softly, and you held back a sniffle as your leasing agent gave you a soft smile. Goodbyes were never something you were good at, but you couldn't say anything more as you handed your keys back to the leasing agent and turned to your packed car. You grimaced at the sight of Euijoo's neck pillow still in your passenger seat, and you reached in through the window to grab it and shoved it in the trash.

You sighed, glancing up at your empty shop once more before slipping into the driver's seat, gripping the glittery wheel cover. You blinked once, twice, before shoving your key in the ignition and pulling out of your parking spot. 

You truly had no idea if this was the right decision. In your mind, you weren't sure.

But your heart?

You broke up with Euijoo a few months ago, and kicked him out of your apartment. You slowly started selling everything in the apartment, only packing your essentials and finding a wholesale thrift to take all your furniture from the pastry shop. You closed the shop officially a week ago, and did a mass bake sale to finish all your products. 

You went back and forth to Seoul without telling anyone, finding a cozy apartment in Gangnam and meeting with a leasing agent there to open a shop. Your parents long stopped asking you to come home, but you couldn't help and feel giddy as you walked around the city – gorging yourself on hot street food and buying furniture for your new apartment without interference.

Now? You just had to board your plane. You'd sold your car to Euijoo's brother, Hyunjin, and he was waiting at the airport to take it once you left. You had zero plans of telling anyone anything, and you'd be landing in Seoul the day before your birthday. You could catch up on any sleep, and then visit Mingyu and Tzuyu's restaurant. Maybe get dinner there, maybe catch up with the couple…

Maybe surprise Wonwoo.

Yeah, that sounds like the plan.

"Nice change of scenery, finally took a vacation?" Wonwoo's voice is once more staticky through FaceTime, and you've got him propped up in your new bathroom. You hadn't said anything about leaving New York yet, but you shrugged as you carefully lined your lips.

"Mhm, could say that. Finally get to do shit without Euijoo weighing me down. What are your plans tonight? Going to Gyu's?" You ask nonchalantly, but you can feel your hands trembling as you put down your lipliner. If Wonwoo notices, he doesn't say anything.

"Actually, I'm going to swing by the restaurant in a bit. We always call you for your birthday, you know, so it's funny you called me first." He nods lightly, but you know Wonwoo too well to think he's not even slightly suspicious. "Wanted to beat you to it, I guess. I feel alone here a bit, the resort is super nice but I'm so…ugh, I don't know. I might go out for a beer, see what kind of trouble I can get myself into." You wiggle your brows in the camera, and Wonwoo snorts. He swings his keys in front of him, shaking his head as he speaks.

"Not too much trouble, I hope. Have you talked to your parents yet? I know your mom misses you, you've been even more MIA since you and Euijoo broke up. I commend it, don't get me wrong, but still. Where the hell have you been?" "Healing." You shrug, smushing your cheek with the palm of your hand. Wonwoo doesn't look like he believes you, but you only give him a soft smile. He tries to bite his back, tonguing his cheek as he huffs. 

"You look happier. I like that." "I feel happier, Woo." It's not a lie. You feel so much lighter being back in Seoul, knowing that your family and friends are no more than a train ride away.

You pretend to check your watch, sucking your teeth.

"Shit, I'm going to miss my dinner reservation. Will you still call me when you get to the restaurant? I miss you guys." You pout, tucking your hair behind your ears as Wonwoo nods.

"Yeah, no worries. Be safe, and don't get too tipsy. I can't hold your hair when you throw up from all the way over here, you know." He scolds, making you giggle.

"Got it. I'll see you, yeah?" You nod, and he does the same.

"See you, sweetheart." The call goes dead as your heart registers the pet name, but you immediately rustle out of the bathroom to catch a taxi. You're wearing a black crew neck over a nice pair of jeans, paired with your favorite dirty Chucks in forest green. You grab your winter coat off the hook by the door, tugging it on and shoving your phone in your pocket. Checking the coat pockets for your wallet and keys, you find both in the left pocket and practically slam out of your apartment.

Not having been to Mingyu and Tzuyu's restaurant definitely proved navigating there to be difficult. You got out a block away from the actual spot, tugging a face mask over your face and pulling the hood of your coat over your hair. You take a deep breath, taking a step forward when you see a tall man step out of a taxi, a black coat covering broad shoulders. Thick frames sit on his nose, the lower half of his face covered by a black mask. You squint your eyes to see closer as he hands the driver a wad of cash, and the crinkle of his nose proves it's exactly who you're looking for.

Jeon Wonwoo.

You stay rooted in your spot as he walks coolly into the restaurant, holding the door open for a woman and her daughter to slip out. The daughter's eyes widen as he moves past them, her cheeks flushing as her mother rushes her off the sidewalk. What a funny thing, to see someone else experience the same things you do.

Over the year that you decided to leave New York, you spoke to Hansol and Seungcheol a lot – even after promising 'this is the last call,' you called them again and again. As it turns out, he too felt that Wonwoo was a bigger part of your life than he could ever be, but it didn't hit him until he found out Wonwoo had missed every single AV Club meeting in the two weeks following him finding out that the two of you were dating. Wonwoo didn't speak to Hansol directly for over a month, until Hansol confronted him and got the answers he was looking for.

Wonwoo had long been in love with you, and had gone over to your apartment initially to, yes, tell you he'd broken up with Jaehee; but he also went over there to confess to you. He'd brought over a bouquet of pink camellias, but left them on the porch in case he caught you at a bad time – and Hansol later found out he threw them away on his way out of your apartment complex.

At first, Hansol had nothing to say on the matter. You were his girlfriend — but he couldn’t lie to himself, the guilt of knowing Wonwoo had been in love with you for so long was starting to eat away at him. With a reluctant heart, he ended things; only for Wonwoo’s dumbass to not make a move and let you slip away to New York.

You'd also heard from Seungcheol and Hansol that he hadn't kept a girlfriend around for too long since – nothing to write home about. He didn't introduce any of them to anyone, just soft launched here and there on social media but mostly kept the "situationships" to himself. 

The only hope you had in your belly was that your plan would go, well, according to plan. You'd ordered a bouquet of flowers, pink camellias, to be delivered to Wonwoo at the restaurant after you arrived. After that…okay you didn't plan anything after that, but spontaneity is cool, right?

You wipe your palms on your coat, taking a deep breath as you walk towards the door. Yanking it open, you hear the doorbell alert the people inside – only to see a few people scattered around. Mingyu is wiping a glass down behind the bar and Tzuyu is sitting on a barstool next to Wonwoo, her left hand sitting atop her belly.

With a huge rock on her ring finger. "Welcome to Hana's! Have a seat anywhere, we'll be right with you!" Her voice is just as warm as ever, and you find yourself forcing your feet to move, ducking your head as you head towards the back of the restaurant. You see Mingyu lean over to grab a bottle off the wall, and you slide into one of the booths where you're out of sight but they're not.

You can hear them start to talk about you, Mingyu pouring Wonwoo a beer and sliding it across the bar.

"Has Y/N spoken to either of you?" Tzuyu asks, and Wonwoo clicks his tongue.

"Yeah, she called me earlier. It was a little odd, considering we always call her. But it's her birthday, I'm not going to badger her for answers. Plus, she's on vacation for once. Can't complain." He shrugs, and Mingyu laughs softly.

"Vacation? Where? Did she say?" "I didn't ask." Wonwoo replies, and Tzuyu snorts. "You'd be a horrible spy, Jeon. Here, I'm going to call her. She's gotten better at answering."  You watch Tzuyu grab her phone off the table, and quickly lower your ringer as far as it will go. She faces the phone towards all of them, and Wonwoo looks unamused as you feel your phone start vibrating in your hand. 

You deny the call, quickly texting her that you're driving to dinner and will call her when you get to the restaurant. A lie, and you can see her frown sadly next to Wonwoo. She puts her phone down, sliding off the bar stool – likely on her way to you.

"Gonna take this order, I'll be right back." She grabs the notepad off the bar, but the ringing of the doorbell grabs her attention. A delivery man with a huge bouquet of flowers slips in, holding the baby blue gift card in his hand.

"For Jeon Wonwoo? Is there a Jeon Wonwoo here?" Wonwoo's eyes go wide, before he clears his throat. "Uh, yeah. That's me, thank you. Does it say who they're from?" The delivery man hands him the card, bidding everyone a good night.

"Well?" Mingyu leans over as Wonwoo puts the flowers down on the bar and flips the card open. His eyes dart back and forth as he reads it, before handing it to Mingyu, who reads it out loud while Wonwoo thumbs the petals.

To Wonwoo,

Thank you for always being someone I can count on, even when I'm halfway across the world. Thank you for looking out for me, and for loving me more than you let on.

Always yours, Y/N.

P.S. Don't forget to call me back!

"Huh." Mingyu clicks his tongue, and Tzuyu grabs the card and scans it. She sighs, holding it to her chest.

"Camellias…" Wonwoo pouts, before his eyes narrow. "They're her favorite. It's like she's trying to tell me something." "Okay, mind reader. What could she possibly have to say that isn't already in the card?" Tzuyu waves it around, and you take it as your chance to slide out of the booth, hands in your pockets. You walk towards them quietly as Mingyu and Tzuyu begin to theorize, and neither of them look your way as you slide into the barstool diagonal to Wonwoo's.

"She probably wants to know what a girl's gotta do to get some service around here." You mumble, and Tzuyu flushes, about to apologize when you carefully slip your mask off.

"But I guess you can treat me, since it is my birthday." You shrug, Mingyu's eyes widening before he covers his face and sinks to the ground behind the bar. Tzuyu scoffs out a laugh, her eyes filling with tears as she pulls your hood off your head, her hands smoothing your hair down gently.

"You're home." She whispers, her belly getting in the way as she pulls you into her. You feel your eyes burn with tears as she buries her face in your hair, your hand moving to pat her back. "I am, I missed you guys." You murmur, and Mingyu hops over the bar to also crush you in his embrace. You can barely see out of your teary eyes, but you can see Wonwoo's cheeks flushed almost as pink as the flowers, the shock in his demeanor evident but he just clears his throat and looks away.

"How long are you here for? A week? A month? Please say a month, you have to meet our kids." Mingyu begs into your hair, and you can barely conjure words as Wonwoo stays silent. "Shit, I'll even buy you a new ticket back to New York if you stay for two months." You don't respond, waiting for the couple to pull away. You wiggle lightly, making them both move back as you wipe your eyes. "I'm here for good. I have a new place in Gangnam, and I'm opening a shop a few blocks from here. I'm…I'm sorry I didn't tell any of you guys." You gesture towards Wonwoo as well, who only tongues his cheek before running the tips of his fingers around the rim of his beer. He nods, "Yeah. Welcome home, sweetheart." "You're not even going to hug me? Some friend you are." You try to joke, and Wonwoo scoffs,before reluctantly sliding off his stool. Tzuyu says something about getting you dinner, skirting out of the way. It seems Mingyu also gets the hint, moving away with the promise of a nice beer.

You're overwhelmed by the same patchouli scent on Wonwoo’s clothes, sweetened with notes of peach as he wraps his arms around your waist. Your own wrap around his shoulders, and you can feel your heart thundering in your chest as he breathes you in softly. He nestles his head next to yours, and his breath is warm against your ear as he speaks.

"I've missed you so much, Y/N." He mumbles, and you feel his arms tighten slightly, as if you're going to slip away. "We need to have a serious conversation, though, because I am mad at you."

You scoff slightly, trying to hide your tears as you bury your face in his neck. He rubs your back gently, before pulling away and wiping your eyes carefully. "Later." You only nod, watching Tzuyu carefully walk over with a bowl of hot tofu stew, and Mingyu slides a pint glass across the bar for you.

You spend the next three hours consoling an emotional Tzuyu, and telling Mingyu all about the delicious dishes you tried in New York. He jests that the restaurant would love a pastry chef if you're willing to share your recipes, and you only snort and turn him down softly. You tell them all about Euijoo, only earning scoffs and huffs from the couple as Wonwoo nurses his beer silently. 

You tell them about your shop in Harlem, and how it was actually a call with Wonwoo last year that made you realize that you were unhappy – which made his cheeks flush, but he remained quiet, only nodding along. Tzuyu squeezes his shoulder, and he just nibbles on his lip as you keep talking about all the regulars you had. You tell them about your SoHo apartment and how you often visited the Seaglass Carousel if you were feeling stressed. You promised to take them there someday, if they ever wanted to see what your life was like when you were gone.

They fill you in about their own lives – planning their wedding, having their second daughter in a few weeks. They talk about their oldest, Eunha, and how she's growing up to be just like Mingyu. You hold back tears as they eagerly talk about their budding family and their beautiful relationship, often sharing looks full of adoration and admiration for one another as they spoke. You listen carefully, and Tzuyu even asks if, since you're back, you'd like to be a bridesmaid.

You agree, when Mingyu finally brings out a thick slice of his infamous chocolate cake – one that actually got you into baking but you'd never admit it. At least, not to him.

"Happy Birthday, Y/N! We're so glad you're home, seriously. It's been so dull without you." Tzuyu cheers, allowing Mingyu to light the pink candle in the middle of the slice. You smile softly, tucking your hair behind your ears as they sing to you softly – Wonwoo mouthing along from his stool.

"Make a wish." Mingyu holds it up to you, and you can't help but realize that he's a father now. Tzuyu is a mother, and they have their whole lives figured out. They're so gentle, loving, passionate…and you're still trying to figure yourself out.

Ah, but comparison is the thief of joy.

You close your eyes, sighing before conjuring your wish in your mind. 

You don't notice when Wonwoo takes a quick photo, the flash hidden by Tzuyu's shoulder.

You blow out the candle quietly, opening your eyes to see the couple clapping softly. Tapping the plate, you clear your throat.

"Can I get this in a box? I have some things I need to sort out before the night ends."

Mingyu and Tzuyu share a look, before she glances over her shoulder. You nod as she looks back at you, and she smiles.

"Well, we'll see you more often, right? You have to meet Eunha, and the baby." 

"Absolutely." And you mean it. You mean it as Mingyu boxes up your slice of cake, sealing it into a brown paper bag for you. You inch closer and closer to Wonwoo as the goodbyes become extensive, before splaying your hand across his back. He glances over his shoulder, a jump in his brows as if to say, ready to go?

You bid Mingyu and Tzuyu a good night, and you promise them you'll even try to come by in the morning for Mingyu's mother's oxtail soup. Mingyu says he can't promise there will be any up by the time you come by, but you make Tzuyu promise to save you a bowl. She does.

"When did you sell the shop?" Wonwoo asks as the two of you step out into the street, the cold air making his breath visible as he speaks. "And why didn't you tell me?" You look at the flowers in his arms, how he holds them like a baby.

"I was worried you'd be upset that I gave up." You murmur as the two of you begin to walk seemingly with no direction, earning a sigh from Wonwoo.

“I’m upset that you didn’t even think to tell me anything. I’m supposed to be your friend. One of your best friends, if I’m not mistaken. You move across the world and suddenly that doesn’t matter anymore?”

“Wonwoo, it’s not like that. I just…I should know what I want out of life. I should know where my heart calls home, but it’s only been a person. I’m not sure if the place matters.” You sigh, running a hand through your hair as Wonwoo flags down a taxi.

“Your place or mine?” He mutters, opening the door for you to slide in.

“Yours.” You mumble back, giving the driver a quick smile as Wonwoo shuts the door. He rattles off his address — and it’s the same building as yours.

“…I live there, too.” You whisper, and he clicks his tongue.

“Good to know.” He shrugs, before reaching over and tugging your seat belt on. He clicks in place, choosing to stay silent as the taxi weaves through the busy roads. You want to say something, and you attempt to several times — but he just shakes his head, pressing a finger to his lips as if to say wait.

And wait, you did.

You let him pay the taxi driver and help you out of the taxi. You let him lead you into the lobby, the security guard giving the both of you a curt nod as you duck into the elevator.

Wonwoo only lives a few doors down from you.

“Interesting.” You murmur to yourself. It’s like I’ll always find my way back to you.

He unlocked his door, holding it open for you to slip through. You did, silently toeing your shoes off in his foyer before stepping into his living room. Shrugging your coat off, you watch him flick the lights on.

Everything is so him. From stacked consoles on the side of his television, to a bookcase full of acoustic guitar records and a few thick books. A few of his cameras are strewn on his kitchen table, popped open and film exposed. His record player sits in front of his window, the blinds and curtains pushed open and the window slightly ajar to circulate the air. There is a mug on his coffee table, half full of what you assume to be green tea.

It smells like patchouli, peaches, and home.

His hand takes the bag from you, and he walks past you to place the flowers and the cake on his kitchen counter. He closes his eyes as he tugs his coat off, and you avert your eyes from his form-fitting shirt — opting to turn around and hang your coat on the rack by the door.

“Are you actually here for good? Or was that just something you said to appease Mingyu and Tzuyu?” He mutters, thumbing at the petals of the flowers once more. You sigh, crossing your arms as you sidle up next to him. Your hip bumps his as you lean on the counter, and his eyes avoid yours as you look up at him.

His shoulders are tense.

“I’m here for good, Wonwoo. I missed it here, I missed Mingyu and Tzuyu and I missed my parents.”

“What about me? Did you miss me?” 

His voice is so soft you almost can’t hear it, and you purposely bump your hip to his to garner his attention.

“Of course I missed you.” You whisper, a smile twitching at your lips as he nibbles on his lip.

“Then why didn’t you visit? Why did it take you six months to call me when you first moved? Why…Why did you date Euijoo?”

You feel your chest ache at his questions, the furrow in his brows making you push off the counter, straightening. Sighing, you rest your head on his bicep, the muscle tensing beneath your cheek.

“Sometimes we do things to fill a void, you know? Sometimes we hide from the things we know could be good for us, and look for something we think could be enough, so we won’t ruin or sully what we have already.” You shrug, and he looks down at you again.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means I wish I would’ve realized how you felt about me before I left. I mean, I would’ve still gone but I would’ve visited more. I would’ve come back often, tried to make it work. I’m sorry.”

You peer up at him through your lashes, and he just shakes his head.

“My feelings here don’t matter, I’m talking about you.”

“You are a huge part of me, of my life.” You remind him, your hand ghosting over the small of his back as he huffs.

“So you abandoned your life in New York, your dream, for me?” Wonwoo sounds almost offended, and you scoff.

“I abandoned my life in New York because I missed home. I missed my parents, my friends. I miss talking to my friends when we’re all staying up late, not just when I am and I have to go to bed when the gab gets good. I…I missed walking around in the middle of the night with you, and getting heartburn from eating spicy noodles at two in the morning. Can’t I miss home, Wonwoo?”

He clicks his tongue, tapping his fingers on the counter. “I guess you can. But you said home for you is not a place, but a person.” 

“I did say that.”

He doesn’t say anything, picking at his nails silently before sighing.

“Did Hansol tell you about the flowers?” He murmurs, and you nod.

“You could’ve talked to me, especially between boyfriends. You had lots of chances, Seungcheol literally aired you out.” You say pointedly, and he rolls his eyes.

“You didn’t believe him, and I wasn’t going to ruin our friendship because I was feeling something you weren't.”

“And how do you know that I wasn’t?” You raise a brow, and he scoffs. He shoves his hands in his pockets, moving out of the kitchen to go sit on his couch. He leans his head against the wall, closing his eyes as you make your way over and perch on the edge of his mahogany coffee table.

“I’m sorry I missed your birthday dinner that one year. I thought if I missed one, it’d be easier to start getting used to not seeing you. I was fully committed to getting over you, to moving on, even if I wasn’t happy with…fuck, I forgot her name.”

“Jaehee.”

“With Jaehee.” He ran his hand over his face, and you sigh.

“That was ages ago, Wonwoo. We move on.” You pat his knee, and he lifts his head to face you. His cheeks are slightly flushed as he takes a breath.

“I don’t want to move on, that’s the problem. You think I haven’t tried? Do you know how many relationships I’ve been in since you’ve left?”

“Mmh, I don’t. Do tell.” You nod, inching slightly closer, resting your elbows on your knees and clasping your hands together. He doesn’t look amused, running an exasperated hand through his hair and closing his eyes.

“I look for you everywhere, and I’ve never even had you. I can’t help but compare every single woman I’ve ever been with to you, Y/N. It’s driving me fucking insane, being in love with you.”

He’s hiding his face in his hands, and you feel your chest grow hot as you hum in response. You shift slightly, your knees bumping his and making him sigh.

“I mean, for years it's been like we're in this odd mesh of limerence and denial. You do something that makes me think, oh, maybe she's into me? You'd seek me out for comfort, for help, for whatever, and I was there. I am there, like an idiot, hoping you'll just get it. Then you date people who are in proximity to me – my best friend, my team captain, the secretary of my AV club. Then you leave. You left, Y/N." 

"I know." You can't recognize the thickness in the back of your throat, the way you swallow around it as he fiddles with one of his rings. "You didn't even come say goodbye, Wonwoo. Hansol ripped my heart out and handed it to me, because of you, and you weren't even there." "I didn't want to see you cry." He mumbles, and you only shake your head.

"You've seen me cry, you've seen me laugh. You've been the reason behind the tears and the laughter. You've seen me in all these weird spots in my life, you watched me date all these men. You were most of the reason as to why these men broke up with me. Yet, you never once thought that I was looking for you?" "Why would I ever give myself that much importance?" He scoffs, and you shrug. "Maybe because I give you that much importance, Wonwoo."

He sighs shakily, leaning back on the couch cushions and swallowing hard. "Did you know I got a few collections displayed in a museum after you left? Your parents went, did they send you photos?"

"Some. I liked the one of Tzuyu and Mingyu in the flower fields." He got up, skirting around your knees and walking up to the bookcase next to his TV. He scours the leather bound books, before a soft aha! falls from his lips, pulling out a green one. He flips it, and you realize it's a photo album.

He hands it to you, sitting back down on the couch. You open it tentatively, your fingers trembling as the photos come into view. They have that digital camera feel to them, a bit grainy and dated. The first photo was old, you could tell just from the image: it was you and Mingyu, sitting around a bonfire at a waterfall you would hang out at during the warmer months, one that went into a lake lined with boulders. You were dating here, and your nose had melted marshmallow swiped across it while Mingyu grinned in the corner of the photo.

"This is an old photo, Wonwoo." "They're all old, you haven't been around." He retorts, before flipping the page.

Another photo of you smiling as you laid out on the flat boulder by the edge of the lake, another of you on the handlebars of Mingyu's bike – you remember that one, it was Mingyu's seventeenth birthday. Another of you with Tzuyu solving a puzzle during one of Mingyu's visits, you and Hansol sharing a cup of lemonade during a snack run after one of Wonwoo's soccer games, you and Seungcheol swinging on a hammock in the park – where you often bumped into Wonwoo taking photos of birds, flowers, life.

There was photo after photo of you, in every moment of your life. There was a photo of the pink camellias he'd gotten for you, there was a photo of his student apartment packed up but one of your cardigans, bright red, stark against the cardboard boxes. This album, full of memories of you through his eyes – without a singular glimpse of Wonwoo, until the last photo.

It wasn't like the other photos – this was high definition, and you remember this photo being taken. You were wearing a pink t-shirt that had belonged to Wonwoo, and a necklace that Wonwoo had given to you for one of your birthdays. You were sitting on his couch, surrounded by Mingyu and Tzuyu. You had a bag of honey mustard pretzels that Wonwoo bought you in your lap, your smile shy and your fingers holding a napkin.

It was the day you finally told them you'd be leaving, just moments before.

And you remember how quietly he'd put his camera away after that, and your friends had settled uneasily around you. Wonwoo sat on his coffee table, eyes worried but masked with a soft smile – just like you were, now.

The album was empty after that, with only two or three pages left to complete it.

"This was an exhibit I arranged for the museum, but I never submitted it. I called it Hanging By A Moment, because that's what…" He takes a deep breath. "That's what this feels like. I feel like I'm just waiting for the moment to end, and I'm not sure in which direction I would prefer it to happen. Sometimes I would stay awake and wonder why I didn't go visit you, but I knew exactly why." You set the photo album on your lap, giving him a gentle look.

"You didn't want to see something that would break your heart." "I didn't want to see you happy with someone else, somewhere else." His voice is thick, and you move to speak but he shakes his head. 

"I didn't want to go somewhere and see you living so well without me, when I'm in shambles without you. I couldn't sleep most nights the first year that you were gone. I found myself still walking towards your apartment with Hansol. Hell, I've even hung out with Seungcheol, routinely, just to feel the influence of you. The essence of what you are, imprinted in the people you've graced with your presence." He's looking down at his hands, a singular tear rolling down his cheek. You feel like you can't breathe around the lump in your throat, as he glances up.

"I don't think I can handle this anymore. I need you to say nothing is ever going to happen between us, that the moment is over. I need you to end this, because if you don't, I never will."

You can't speak, but it doesn't matter – because he keeps going.

"I'd be perfectly content having you within arm's reach for the rest of my life, as long as you're happy. You could be across the world, hell, across the fucking universe and I'd never stop missing you, or yearning for you, or loving you. Befriending you all those years ago has got to be one of the biggest mistakes I have ever made, because I can't imagine a life without you. But loving you, being in love with you? Y/N, that has got to be the biggest grace I've ever been given by whatever God is out there. Nothing has ever been easier than loving you has been, but it is the most painful thing I've ever experienced. So, please. End this, I'm begging you." Your throat hurts from holding back your tears, a soft sob escaping your lips as you turn away. You let the tears run down your cheeks, using your hand to muffle your cries as he just lets his tears drip onto his jeans. You can see, through blurry eyes, the way he wants to reach for you, the way his hands clenched into fists before he shoves them under his thighs. 

It's silent for a moment, aside from shaky breathing and a few sniffles from Wonwoo. You wipe your eyes carefully, trembling hands gripping the edges of the album as you slide it onto the coffee table next to you. He grabs it, using it as an excuse to stand up and move around – Wonwoo always needed to do that after talking. Like he felt the need to exert all his feelings physically.

You also stand, his rug soft under your socked feet as he slides the album back in place. He doesn't turn back around, his hand lingering on the spine of the album as you round the coffee table. You're right behind him, seeing the buried tension in his back and shoulders as he feels your presence. You clear your throat as best as you can.

"I don't want the moment to end." He doesn't move, and you find yourself stepping in front of him, between the bookcase and his chest. He doesn't look at you, but allows your hands to find home on his chest. You smooth his shirt cautiously, before patting him gently.

He glances down.

"You're my home, Wonwoo." You say softly, feeling his breath hitch in his throat. Your hand moves to his jaw, your thumb gently tracing circles into his cheek. He has a bit of stubble, despite the cool scent of his aftershave. You can't help but let the sacred words slip from your lips as his eyes bore into yours.

"I love you." He looks away, a shaky sob from his lips making your heart ache as you rest your head on his chest. He instinctively wraps his arms around you, so used to your physical affection in years past that it's just muscle memory at this point – despite his own reserved affections. You're surrounded by his scent, his warmth, him.

"I know it won't be easy. I've been gone for five years, and I've missed so much of your life. I know my apologies count for near nothing at this point, but you can't sincerely believe that I haven't yearned for you every step of my journey away." You're slightly muffled, feeling the metal of his necklace under his shirt as he holds you closer, tighter. He doesn't reply, so you keep going.

"I love you, Wonwoo. I'm sorry I didn't allow myself to feel it before, and I'm sorry that I've made you wait so long. I'll wait, as long as you need me to. As long as you want me to wait, even if I die waiting–" "I'd wait an eternity for you." He murmurs into your hair, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

"You shouldn't say that, Wonwoo." "But I did, and I will. I'd die waiting for you, if that's what it takes."

You sigh, pressing your forehead to his chest. "Are you still mad at me?" For the first time in years, you hear him laugh softly. Your arms tighten around his waist reflexively, a pout on your lips as you peer up at him. "I missed your laugh." He huffs, cheeks tinging pink as he avoids your gaze, carding his fingers through your hair. "I'm still mad at you. I bet you paid a shit load of money for a cab from the airport, didn't you? You could've just told me to come pick you up. I would've done it." "I wanted to surprise you." "Well…what about your apartment? I didn't even get to recommend this place, you probably went through some real estate guy–" "You're just grappling at things to be mad about, aren't you?" "No. I am mad." He grumbles, his lip jutted out in a pout as you smile up at him.

"You sure? Can't I change your mind, my good sir?" You wiggle your brows, and he scoffs, but you see the twitch of a smile on the corner of his lips. He tongues his cheek as your hands move to his face, making him look down at you. "I'm sorry, Wonwoo." He rolls his eyes, your hands squishing his cheeks together. "Prove it." You quirk a brow, "Prove…what?" "That you love me. Prove it." He shrugs, moving your hands off his face and letting them go at your sides. You scoff, gesturing to the air.

"I'm here, aren't I? Isn't that enough?" You cross your arms, a defiant look crossing your features as he sighs. His fingers are warm as they tuck a stray curl behind your ear, your skin prickling as he thumbs at your earlobe.  "Of course it's enough." He mumbles, "You'll always be enough. More, even. More than enough for me."

You think he mumbles I love you.

Your face grows hot as he scans it, eyes heavy with purpose and love. For the first time, you allow yourself to realize how nervous Wonwoo makes you – your heart racing in your chest as you lean closer to him. He doesn't back away, his hand now gently holding your jaw. His thumb rests on the corner of your lip, the weight so comforting. "Kiss me." You do just that, your lips crashing into his as he steadies your body. Your hands fist his shirt as he kisses you slowly, walking you back into the bookshelf. Your back hits it gently, his hands cupping your face softly as he pulls away. He rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed as your fingers circled his wrists. "I missed you so much, sweetheart." "I missed you too, Wonwoo."

He struggles to bite back his smile, your lips pressing a chaste kiss to his before peppering them all over his face. "You can't stay mad at me forever, you know." You speak through kisses, his nose scrunching as you press your lips to it.

"I can certainly try. You know I can hold a mean grudge." "Mingyu ate your leftovers once, Wonwoo. He literally cooked for you everyday of college, you need to let it go." "You're taking his side? Some friend you are." He scoffs, his hands pushing your hair off your shoulders. You wrap your arms around his waist, your chin in the center of his chest as you pout up at him.

"I flew all this way, I confessed my love…and I'm your friend?" He tongues his cheek, swallowing his laughter as he shakes his head. "Well, no. A friend wouldn't leave me for five years and then suddenly show back up–" "Wonwoo." " –And expect me to just forgive her. You could at least try and get in my good graces." You huff, "So you hate me." "No, no. I'm very much in love with you, actually. However, though love is merciful…I am not as much. You said you'd wait." "Wonwoo–" "Ah, ah. You said you'd wait. So you will." He shrugs, running his hand through your hair. He twirls a piece around his finger, "I know that you know how I feel about you, from other people's minds and mouths. I think it's best if I get to show you, truthfully and openly. Don't you?" You say nothing just yet, choosing to stare up at him with a hint of worry in your eyes. He glances down, the hand in your hair coming to gently hold your jaw. "What if you realize you don't want me?" "Oh, sweetheart. I'd be a fool not to want you. Let the sky fall the day I make that stupid decision."

You sigh, moving to rest your cheek on his chest. He hums, running his fingertips across your scalp. 

"It's not everyday you find a muse in someone the moment you meet them. Don't worry about me ever not wanting you, me ever not needing you." You don't reply, feeling your nose burn as your eyes fill with tears. He pats the back of your head, before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Come, I need to take your picture. You need to fill the last few pages of that album."

And, you comply. You let him wipe your tears, pressing kisses to your eyelids as he sits you at his kitchen counter. He pulls out a gold candle from his kitchen drawer, sticking it in the cake slice from the restaurant and lighting it carefully. He pushes your hair back, and pulls the pendant of your necklace out to rest in the middle of your chest.

"Smile, sweetheart." He murmurs behind the camera, and you do. You smile, glossed lips swollen from the kisses, eyes full of stars as you stare at Wonwoo behind the flash. "Make a wish, quickly." You lean forward, closing your eyes when you see another flash behind your lids. Smiling to yourself, you blow the candle out, quickly taking it out of the cake slice. He offers a fork, and you lean on your elbows as he takes out a few bottles of soju.

"What'd you wish for?" He asks, unscrewing one of the lids off the bottles. You smirk around a bite of cake, shaking your head as he turns away to rummage for shot glasses.

"I'm not telling you, it won't come true." He scoffs, pulling out a set of shot glasses you'd given him during college. They have Snoopy and Woodstock doodled on the sides – he was always Woodstock, you were Snoopy.

"Oh, come on. Tell me, I'll make it come true." "What are you, a magician? Tell me what else I missed while I was gone." He rolls his eyes, running his tongue over his lower lip as he slides the Snoopy glass over, filled to the brim with fresh soju. You take it carefully, and he raises a brow.

"Tell me your wish, Y/N." You huff, before reaching over to cheers your glass with his. You both knock back the liquor, and you scrunch your nose as you slide it back over to him. He fills it again, and you shift in your chair.

"If I tell you, you'll have to do it." "Stop being so ominous, I hate it when you do that."

He slides the glass back over, only half full as he sidles up next to you. Your hand instinctively wraps around his bicep, and you rest your cheek on his shoulder.

"Promise me you'll make it come true, Wonwoo." "I promise. It's your birthday, sweetheart. I'd bring down the stars if you asked."

– SIX WEEKS LATER: GOYANGI'S HOME, SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA.

Wonwoo had done exactly as you asked on your birthday – he kept his word, and tried his best to make your birthday wishes come true. Granted, you underestimated him: he would get both done within the six weeks it took to get your shop open.

After the two of you finished off the thick slice of chocolate cake, Wonwoo asked you to spend the night. You did, and a part of you held back tears as he held you in his arms – mumbling in his sleep. Mumbling about how he loved you, how long he'd waited…

How scared he was you'd slip away, like sand in an hourglass timer.

You'd spent the last month and a half glued at the hip. He took you to visit your parents early in the mornings, who bawled uncontrollably and demanded you'd stay all day. Wonwoo hadn't minded, and he stayed with you for dinner several times – and took many odd photos. He never showed you any of them, but he couldn't let you out of his sight, either.

He accompanied you to all your furniture shopping for the shop, he helped choose the paint, he even went as far as taking your website photos. Which, of course, included photos of you – in the kitchen, in your uniform, making a mess of flour and powdered sugar.

Powdered sugar that he kissed off your lips.

Because neither of you could go more than an hour without seeing each other, you practically moved into his apartment. You were spending almost every night there despite your own bed calling your name like a child does its mother. Wonwoo hadn't been kidding about making you wait, either. He let you kiss him, he told you he loved you, yes – but the dates were casual outings. Dinner, picnics, movies. You had a few game nights, and even went over to Hana's for drinks. You'd decided you were each other's plus ones for Mingyu and Tzuyu's wedding, and submitted such information on your RSVP placards.

You spent time together in copious amounts, something you couldn't ever find a fill of. You made him pastry after pastry, coffee cup after coffee cup, back massage after back massage to ease the tension in his shoulders. He gave you a silver necklace, a small letter W hanging from the center. 

You wore it with pride. He didn't ask you to be his girlfriend, and he didn't let you ask any questions about it, either.

Instead, he made your birthday wishes come true – he asked the Museum of Arts if they still needed an exhibit for the season. When they said yes, he submitted his Hanging by a Moment gallery – with a few new additions. You'd loved it, and had proudly gone to the museum at least twice a week to see it.

Now?

You're both standing in your unopened shop, showing your parents everything. The walls are a muted terracotta with a few tangerine accents, to match the feel of the digital photos of your life through Wonwoo's eyes. You asked him to make copies of the photos for you as well, framing them in thick, gold frames.

All but one, that sat in the middle of them all on the wall. "And this is the final installment." He spoke to your parents softly, before gesturing to a photo split in the middle. One half was you, dressed in all black with the silver necklace he'd given you three weeks ago, and holding Wonwoo's digital camera up to your face. Your smile was peeking out from behind your hand, directed right at him.

And the other half was him. The only photo of him in the entire exhibit – of him holding his digital camera vertically against his face, slightly messy hair and a beige t-shirt that was two sizes too big for him but you loved anyway. You'd taken this photo at a street food stand, and he remembers how softly you kissed his cheek right after.

You stood next to him with a soft smile on your face as your father perused the photos, his eyes watery as he looked at the ones of you in college. Your smile, so young and carefree. Your eyes, full of the same shimmer and light you have now – but now, it's brighter. You seem lighter.

Happier.

You seem like you're home.

"What do you think?" You ask gently, wrapping your hand around Wonwoo's arm. He instinctively covers your hand with his, and your father nods.

"I think you're in love." He shrugs, and Wonwoo's cheeks flush almost instantly. You chuckle, squeezing your hand around Wonwoo's arm before patting his chest.

"I've got some new pastries in the oven, shall we? I'm trying a new recipe." You wiggle your brows at your parents, who both smile as you extend your hands to them. They take them gingerly, letting you guide them into the kitchen. You look over your shoulder, sending Wonwoo a quick wink as you slip inside with them.

And, Wonwoo knows.

He knows you love him, as he stands in this shop – named for him, by you. Walls covered in you, by him. He knows you love him as you smile warmly at him, your eyes sparkling in a way he'd only ever seen with him – never with Seungcheol, or Hansol, or Mingyu.

Just him.

So, what does it matter? The moment, why does it matter? Why not hang onto it, as long as he can? Why not take in every ounce of your light so long as you allow it, and reflect it right back to you? Why not be a mirror of your love, a beacon of the same hope you hold, a star in the sky that also tells you there is something to wish upon?

Why waste it, when he can savor it – the way you look at him, the way you kiss him, touch him, the way you make him feel? How he's gone absolutely mad just looking at you in the mornings, slowly waking up by his side, burying your face into his bare chest? Why waste the moment when he can capture it – your smiles, your tears, the way you cover your face shyly when he compliments you.

Why not live in the moment – the feeling of your lips against his, the way you claw his shirt off, the way you whimper beneath him while fully clothed and untouched? Why not live in the moment, where he gets to hear you laugh like no one's listening, watch you dance like there is no tomorrow? Why not, when you ask him to take the long way home and roll the windows down, singing along to his playlist and feeling the air whip your hair around until your face is frosty from the wind.

Why not live in this moment – when you're so irrevocably in love with him, and he doesn't have to ever question it because you don't even need to tell him? Where you've related him to a cat that always finds its way back home, where you're supposedly the home and you are – but you are also the cat that finds her way home all on her own?

Why not? "Wonwoo? Are you listening?" "Huh? Sorry." He rubs his neck sheepishly, before noticing he's sitting at the bar of your shop, a dulce de leche éclair sitting on a plate in front of him. Your parents are in the corner, holding their own pastries and analyzing the photos once more. You're leaning your back on the bar next to him, your elbows holding you up as you reach over and gently carding your fingers through his hair.

"I said, I love you." "Now, why does it sound like you're scheming? Tell me what you really said." "It is, promise." You chuckle, your hand coming to pinch his cheek softly. He frowns, only making you coo up at him as you brush your lips to his. He glances up quickly, seeing your parents still enthralled by the photo of you and Mingyu at the waterfalls all those years ago. He looks back down, seeing you absently scanning his face as your thumb continues to rub circles into his face.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, before your father turns around and clears his throat. You look over your shoulder lazily, and your father has the pastry plates in his hand. "Your mother and I are going to start heading out now, honey. We've got a long drive back, and I'm sure you want to clean up a bit around here before your big opening tomorrow." "You're right, Dad. Thank you for coming, I'm glad you two could be the first to see it." Your voice is so warm, he can feel all the stress from his days just melting right off him as you walk your parents to the front. He follows suit, lingering behind as you and your parents say your goodbyes. He interjects his own, enveloping both of your parents in a hug before pulling away. You both wave as they get into their car, your mother waving back as they pull into the street and all the way down the road, before their car turns out of sight.

You turn around, your arms crossed as you look up.

"Goyangi's Home. What a name, isn't it?" You sigh, before glancing over at Wonwoo. He shakes his head, rolling his eyes as he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you into his chest. Your giggle is like music to his ears as your hands rest on his chest, your lip tucked beneath your teeth as you look up at him.

"Well, you're home, aren't you?" "Aren't you, Wonwoo?"

"I am. I love you, you know."

He feels his chest ache in the best way possible, his heart beating twice as fast as you wrinkle your nose at him.

"I know. I love you, honey." So it's fine. It's fine, as Wonwoo lets you kiss his lips once, twice, three times before you slip back into the shop. It's fine, as Wonwoo walks in behind you, his fingers locking the front door so no one mistakes the shop as open. It's fine, as you hand him a broom and make him sweep the shop while you roll out the dough in the back, your hands coated in flour when he comes to steal a kiss.

Or two, or three – until you're pushed against the industrial fridge, his hands wrapped around your thighs as yours tangle in his hair. He doesn't care about the flour. He doesn't care that you'll both be here late to roll out the stupid dough, he doesn't care as long as you're with him.

He doesn't care about the time differences anymore. The kilometers of distance, the aches of missing you. He doesn't care, and he'd do it ten times over just to be worthy of you. 

He doesn't care about how pathetic he might sound as he kisses down your neck, begging you to be his girlfriend, begging you to never, ever leave him again.

He doesn't care about all the painful moments he used to hang onto, because you are the best moment to ever capture.

He cares when you promise that you'll never leave him again, your lips soft against the shell of his ear. He cares when you say yes, you'll be his girlfriend. You'll be anything he wants, for as long as he wants it. So yeah, he'll live in this moment. He'll keep it, hold it, cherish it forever as more whispers float off your lips to one another. I love you.

haologram © 2025 || no translations, reposting or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.

[mercif4l]

inflation got to wooahae 💔 (thankfully horanghae is safe) (translation. woozimedia)

[mercif4l]

Friends & Family

Summary: Hansol gives you a deal that you didn’t even need to bargain for.

▸ Pairing: Vernon x afab!reader

▸ Rating / Genre / AU: 18+ / humor, smut, pwp / best friend’s brother, friends to lovers If you are a minor AND/OR if your account has no age in the bio, you will be blocked upon interacting (liking/reblogging) with this post.

▸ Warnings: masturbation (f), oral (f receiving), mentions of creampie 

▸ Word Count: 3.1k

▸ A/N: Happy valentine’s day weekend! Surprise @yoonguurt, I’m your secret cupid! 💖💖💖 Really hope you enjoy this lil romp! Thank you @ddeonghwa-s for hosting this lovely event. Don’t forget to peep everyone else’s entries for this as well, masterlist here! Eternal thank you to @onlymingyus for helping me figure this out in secret (I was convinced I’d accidentally spill the beans if I discussed this publicly lol) and to @shuadotcom for always supporting me and proofreading at all hours!

It’s Sunday night and you’ve almost finished working through your weekly routine. Your counters are clean, laundry is folded, and tasks for the days ahead are laid out. All that’s left is to unwind so you can drift off to sleep. 

Both of your pillows are stacked behind you, propping you upright in bed for the perfect angle to unravel. “Fuck,” you groan to no one breathlessly, eyes trained on your laptop. You’re so so close, one hand spreading your lower lips apart as the other times the push of your dildo with the cock on screen. 

The actors in this week’s selected porno aren’t what’s important: the content is. Your mind conjures up different faces over the talents’, further molding the fantasy to who you want most at the moment. On nights like tonight, ones where no one in particular is on your mind, you default to your oldest, silliest crush: your best friend’s younger brother, Hansol. 

Back on the screen, the cameraman has the lens nearly inside the actress’ pussy along with not-Handol’s dick. It’s even easier to imagine the two of you like this, reduced to exaggerated moans, the slapping of skin, and the squelch of arousal as you stand on the precipice of release. You squeeze the base of your dildo harder when not-Hansol’s thrusts lose their rhythm, thrusting into yourself eagerly alongside him. 

There’s a flash behind your eyelids when you tilt your head back as your climax hits you, perfectly in time with your entertainment. It’s not the hardest you’ve ever cum, but it gets the job done just like it does every week without fail. 

By the time the casts’ voices return to a normal octave, the strongest part of your high has worn off. Sitting up with silicone still nestled inside you as you return to earth, you reach blindly for the water bottle on your nightstand. The embrace of sleep is calling your name and you try uncapping the bottle with one hand while the other lands on your laptop’s trackpad, ready to close the browser. You’re honestly just looking for your cursor among the flashy popups on the side of the video player, but you can’t help the way you clench around the toy and shiver as you get an eyeful of creampie that you missed in your own bliss.

You also can’t help the comical juggling that you attempt when you feel your water bottle slipping from your fingers. Or the loud swear as cold water meets your front and the keyboard of your laptop. Despite your best efforts to flip it upside down to drain as much liquid as possible from the keys, the screen flickers. 

By the time you’ve dried off and changed your sheets, things don’t look much better. So much for the Sunday night routine. All it’s done is give you yet another problem to worry about tomorrow.

Y/N: holy shit they’re trying to rob me

Livvy: ?? hello?

Y/N: computer place quoted me 1k BASE to fix my shit.. said they have to replace a bunch of stuff

Livvy: um why dont you just call vern?

Y/N: your brother?

Y/N: why would i call him?

Livvy: yes?

Livvy: omg because he has a repair shop, please keep up

Y/N: omg you’re so right! 

Y/N: oo think he’ll give me a friends and family discount?

Livvy: he better or i’ll kick his ass

Y/N: i’ll tell him you said hi

Y/N: wait i don’t have his number lol can you send it?

Your family’s home is next to the Chwe’s, so it’s only natural that you and Olivia have been fixtures in each other’s lives since childhood. You went from neighbors to friends to sisters and although Hansol, only 2 years younger, was always there, he maintained a guarded distance. At first it’d annoyed you, catching him looking away when you tried to include him in conversation or excusing himself from gatherings as soon as possible. This went on for a few years until irritation gave way to disappointment. You liked when Hansol came around, actually. Sure, you’d tease him here and there, but it was always lighthearted and familiar. The kind of gentle ribbing reserved for people you’re most comfortable around. Despite trying to convey that the boy was welcome around you, however, he always seemed uncomfortable. It wasn’t until junior year of high school that Olivia finally spelled out what was happening: Hansol had a crush on you that bordered on infatuation. And you were the only one that hadn’t figured it out.

The revelation was surprising, but not unwelcome. Hansol had always been funny and kind, meshing well with most people he came across. Some might have seen a flaw in how quiet he could be, though you spotted an attentiveness that, if you thought on it too long, you wanted. 

And think too long, you did. You thought about dating Hansol for so long that you graduated, then he graduated, then you both went to university and danced the same dance once more. Always thinking, yet no action. With life getting busier and priorities changing after securing your degree, your late-realized puppy love dissolved into a fond memory that you dug up on the occasional Sunday night. You’d see Hansol a few times a year when your families got together for holidays or celebrations, but old habits lived on. A hello, a quip or two, then the rest of the evening was spent focusing on your own agendas.

It’s been a few months since you’ve heard Hansol’s voice and even longer since you’ve seen him in person, but you recognize him all the same when he picks up. “Butterfingers, how can we help?”

“Isn’t this your cell phone?”

Hansol pauses and you could swear he pulled the phone away from his ear for a moment. “Hello?” he asks, almost disbelieving. 

Years of childhood playdates and awkward teenage glances flood your memory and you instinctively tease him. “‘Hello?’ You and Liv are the same, I swear.”

“Aah, Y/N,” Hansol recovers, “That’s true, but we are related so.” There’s another beat and it’s so easy to imagine those brown eyes looking into yours, waiting for you to speak again. When you don’t, he offers, “Did you need something or…?”

You’re grateful that you opted to make the call from your car during your lunch break, far from eyes that could watch you shake thoughts of Hansol from the forefront of your mind. “Yeah, actually. My computer’s fucked up. Do you think I could bring it by the shop?”

“O-oh yeah, for sure, definitely! Yes!” He stops to clear his throat before continuing, almost like he’s grounding himself. “We close at 7 if you wanna drop by today.”

“Awesome, thanks Hansol. I’ll stop by after work.”

Butterfingers Repair is nestled between a smoke shop and a family-run tax office, just a handful of storefronts still open in a nondescript strip mall on the other side of town. No wonder you’ve never been here. 

A local alt rock station plays on the wall mounted speakers, but there are no other signs of life when you come through the door. There’s no one behind the counter and with the staff door behind it closed, you have no idea who to expect to greet you. A few moments pass and you start getting second thoughts. Maybe you’re at the wrong location after all? Just as you take out your phone to double-check the address Hansol sent, the staff door swings open. “Hey! Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

Hansol has always been easy on the eyes. Watching him grow from clumsy kid to gawky teen to unpolished (but handsome) college student never changed that, but you’ll admit it’s been a while since you’ve really looked at him. Present day Hansol is taller than you, broad-shouldered, and hot, having fully grown into his features.

Fixing your laptop is suddenly your second priority. If you play your cards right – if you play Hansol right – you could accomplish a lot today. “Sounds like you guys need a receptionist.”

“Yeah, haha,” he laughs, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “It’ll be first on my list when I can afford the payroll.”

“Ooh, moving up to management, are we? That’s cool!”

“Well yeah, I mean–like it’s my shop. So, like, I’m the only employee right now.”

“You own this, though. I like that. You should be proud.”

“Thanks,” Hansol hums, shifting to pointedly stare at your laptop bag and avoid your gaze. “What’s going on? How can I help?”

You keep your tone casual, giving him some grace for the painful redirect.” Right, so I kinda sorta spilled water on my laptop. It was just – c’mon don’t look at me like that, you haven’t even seen it yet. It was just a few days ago and I flipped it to try and let it dry but…” Placing it on the counter and tapping the power button confirms no improvements since you last checked. The keyboard lights up and the fan whirs, but there’s nothing on the screen. 

Hansol’s shaking his head before he even speaks. “Even after it fully dries, you’re gonna need a new display.”

“Can you do it?”

“Yeah, for sure. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

He grimaces through his words, clearly pained by the idea of telling you anything you might not be ready to hear. “It’s probably gonna be expensive. You sure you want a quote?”

“Mm, less of a want, more of a need.”

“Gotcha…” Hansol needs a moment to decide on whatever options are running through his mind. You afford it to him and are pleased when he hops the counter to go lock the front door. “Come on back, Y/N,” he says without looking at you, breezing past to unlock the staff door and usher you in.

Hansol seems almost relieved to be focused on your machine as the two of you sit in his humble workshop. You’ve helped yourself to the folding chair next to his, asking “well where else can I wait, Vern?” when your knees touch under the table and he nearly jumps out of his skin. 

You’d planned to chat him up to help pass the time, but watching Hansol work proves to be rightfully interesting. He’s surprisingly nimble with his hands, carefully removing endless screws and drying any damp parts he finds as he goes. “So,” he finally explains, breaking you out of a trance, “the water damage actually isn’t that bad. The new screen’s gonna hurt, though. This is a nice pc, you’ve got.”

At last, he’s given you the opening you’ve been waiting for. “How much will it hurt, exactly?”

“After parts and labor, like $700.”

“That’s not bad.” And it’s really not, compared to your last quote. But you want more. “Got a friends and family discount for me, by chance?”

“Oh, uh, friends and–um–?” Hansol fumbles, flustered yet again at having to potentially tell you no. “I don’t normally–”

You’ve known Hansol long enough to gauge when it’s best to strike and his forehead’s got OPPORTUNITY written on it. You maneuver into his lap sideways, anchoring an arm around his neck and finding his eyes through his fringe, smiling wickedly as he visibly short circuits. He doesn’t know where to put his hands, with one hooking under your knee and the other jumping like he’s been burned when his fingers skitter across your leg that’s barely covered by your skirt in this position. “Can’t you make an exception for me, Vernon?” 

Hansol is desperately trying not to drop you while also surviving this dream? interaction. The nickname you reserve for when you really want something seems to electrocute him and the fingers hooked under your knees press into your skin. “I can waive the cleaning fee, n-no worries,” he soldiers on, his hand still trying and failing to find a way to support your hip without outright holding it. “I-It’s the display replacement that’s, uh–” you shift in his lap, “accidentally” grinding against his crotch, “–screens are kinda pricey, y-you know what I mean?”

It’s difficult to hide just how fun this pursuit is and even harder to ignore the dampness in your panties. Knowing that you’re this close to fulfilling a fantasy already has all of your blood going south. “I think I can offer you something pricey. Do you know what I mean?” 

“You’re worth way more than a screen, Y/N.” Hansol is delightfully flushed, but his tone is earnest. “You’re priceless.”

“That’s really cute. You’re really cute, you know that?”

Hansol tries to laugh away his nerves, but the sound he makes is more distressed than anything. “Thanks. I really – like really – like you. I’m into you, I mean.”

A laugh bubbles out of your chest before you can stop yourself. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Wanna show me?”

“Show you? I-I mean, yeah! Of course, I’d love to– I mean, I want to. Shit.”

“Take a breath for me.”

“Y-You’re right, sorry.” Hansol grasps you harder and breathes in through his nose, closing his eyes. He opens them again on the exhale and bores right into yours. His expression is determined mixed with something you’ve never seen in him before. It’s too new for you to place it yet, but whatever it is, it’s the sexiest you’ve seen him yet. “Yeah, I can show you. I really want to.”

Using the hand that’s wrapped around Hansol’s shoulder, you tug at his hair to expose his neck. The smell of his cologne hits you with full force and your eyes roll while you kiss his bare skin. Hansol wastes no time even as he shivers under your touch, gently guiding your leg to the side so he can reach your clothed core. The angle is a bit weird like this, halfway between his lap and the floor, but the inelegance is forgotten when he moves your panties to the side and teases your opening with two fingers.

For the first time all evening, you’re the one who seems surprised. Hansol’s cold fingers feel incredible as they gather wetness from your folds. You gasp at the sensation and outright moan when he experimentally licks your essence from them before thoroughly sucking the digits dry. “That’s so fucking good, wow,” he marvels more to himself than to you. 

Hansol’s fingers return to your entrance and he pushes them in slowly when he finds no resistance. “Shit,” he gasps, awestruck by the pressure of your walls.

“Shit,” you gasp alongside him, enjoying how his fingers curl into you. Your earlier vibrato is nowhere to be found, replaced with a need for Hansol that you’ve been repressing for what feels like a lifetime.

You continue on like this, with Hansol swearing at the ceiling even as he causes you to melt against him. He’s happy to enjoy the way you wriggle against him as he brings you closer to your end. Your orgasm builds quickly and just as you’re about to succumb to his ministrations, his fingers are gone. A frustrated whine leaves you before you can stop yourself. “No, please!”

Hansol doesn’t explain at first, just removes you from his lap so you can take his place while he kneels between your legs under the table.”This is better,” he declares.

This is even sexier than you could have imagined, but having your orgasm ripped away still leaves you pouty. “Is it? I was about to cum.”

“Oh. My bad.” Hansol supplies no other commentary and leans in to apologize to your pussy instead. You want to be annoyed at him, but your reprimand morphs into a breathless moan when his tongue replaces the spot his digits once occupied. 

Ever-diligent, Hansol makes up for lost time immediately. He eats you out like this might be his only chance to, like he wants to imprint this exact moment into your memory. The man only pulls away when he absolutely has to for air, taking huge breaths before diving back in to test the limits of his lung capacity. It’s not until you cum twice and he tries to return to your swollen lips for a third time that you realize he’s content to keep you here indefinitely if it means drinking up more of the nectar that’s creaming around your entrance. 

“Hansol!” You have to yank him away before your brain 404s from overstimulation. 

He scoots closer to rest his head in your lap, dopey grin on his face. “Hansol, no Vern? That means I did really good.” 

Rolling your eyes, you card your fingers through his hair to gaze upon him unobstructed. Hansol is striking in this position between your legs, mouth and chin wet with arousal. “Yeah, really good.. I need a break though, sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? That was awesome!” For all of his stuttering and nervousness, Hansol is shockingly casual now. It’s as if getting to taste you was the hint he needed that you liked him as much as he liked you. “Want me to replace your screen, still?”

Right, the laptop repair. It feels silly to talk about this with the smell of your sex in the air, but you follow his lead. “Yes, please. Don’t worry about the discount, I was just kidding.”

“I wasn’t.” Hansol finally crawls from under the table and stretches. He’s not shy about adjusting the bulge in his pants though he makes no mention of it. “About liking you, I mean. I can waive the rest of this, it’s no big deal.” Your intention was never to genuinely trade sex for repairs - especially when you’re the only one to be serviced so far. The thought must be written all over your face because he continues, “I was going to knock down the price for you before all this anyway, seriously. We’ll just count this as a courtesy repair. Sound good?”

“Are you sure?” you ask, eyes darting to his dickprint and then back up to his face. 

It’s Hansol’s turn to laugh at how uncertain you seem, enjoying the irony of how your roles seem to have reversed. “I’m sure.”

Thirty minutes and a thorough cloth bath later, Hansol slides your open laptop in front of you. “Go ahead and sign in. Let’s make sure everything works.”

Even though you watched the repair in real time, it feels like magic when you type in your password and your lock screen falls away. That fascination immediately becomes mortification when the last window you had open reminds you of how you got here. 

There’s no missing the cock in the video thumbnail or the header above it that reads Giving my sister’s best friend a creampie. 

“Oh!” Hansol exclaims simply as his eyebrows shoot up. 

“Don’t!” you yell, slamming the laptop shut. “It’s not what it looks like!”

“I kinda like what it looked like, though… Can we?”

“I–well. Maybe. Sure. Yeah.”

“Only if you want to.”

“I want to.”

“Ok cool.”

“Cool.”

[mercif4l]

Fake it Til You Make it

pairing: boo seungkwan x f!reader | wc: 18K genre: coworkers au, fake dating au, fluff, humor, suggestive, angst warnings: language, alcohol consumption, suggestive scenes a/n: for cam&em’s lonely hearts cafe collab (everyone go read every fic or i will Find You) // this is a continuation of morning rush enormous thank you to @ylangelegy and @haologram for beta-ing this <3333

summary: You could honestly throttle Seokmin right now. Of all the half-baked, caffeine-fueled ideas he’s ever had, convincing the entire office that you and Seungkwan—your sworn nemesis and parking spot thief—are madly in love might just take the cake.

Seokmin has a plan. A really, really, really good plan. He’s sure of it.

Mostly.

He leans against the breakroom counter, nursing the world’s saddest cup of instant coffee, and considers the potential fallout. Sure, you and Seungkwan will probably strangle him (or, in your case, make an entire PowerPoint on “Why Lee Seokmin Deserves to Be Laid Off”), but the rewards outweigh the risks. Seokmin glances toward the hallway, where the faint sound of Aera and Ayoung’s laughter echoes, their voices just a pitch too smug. No, this plan is flawless. Foolproof. Nobel Prize-worthy, even.

All he has to do now is sell it to the two people who loathe each other the most in the office.

He hadn’t meant to open his mouth, but God, Aera and Ayoung had to have been demons crafted by the devil himself, the kind that thrived on overpriced lattes and the scent of shattered self-esteem. Seokmin had just been passing through the hallway, minding his own business—okay, eavesdropping a little—when he caught wind of their conversation.

“Honestly, I don’t know why she even bothers coming to these galas,” Aera had said, inspecting her manicure like it held the secrets of the universe. “It’s not like anyone actually notices her. She’s basically furniture.”

“Right? What’s the point if you don’t have someone on your arm?” Ayoung had added, with a theatrical sigh. “But then again, who would even want to go with her? She’s so…. ugh.”

The “ugh” had been the final straw. Seokmin hadn’t thought twice—he’d stormed over, ready to unleash a tirade about how you were the hardest-working person in the office, how you’d single-handedly carried your team through last quarter’s hellish project, and how you absolutely deserved more respect.

Instead, what came out of his mouth was: “Y/N has a date. Obviously.”

The two women blinked at him in unison, their perfectly sculpted eyebrows raising in surprise. “Oh?” Aera recovers quickly, tilting her head. “And who’s the lucky date? You?”

Seokmin laughed, loud and unconvincing. “Me? No, no, I’m going with Soonyoung, like I always do.”

Ayoung narrowed her eyes. “Then who?”

And this is where Seokmin’s brain had short-circuited. He glanced around the room, as if the walls might offer some divine intervention. Nothing. Just the faint hum of the vending machine. His mind raced, searching for a name that would shut them up, and then—

“Seungkwan,” he blurted out.

Both women stared at him, stunned. “Seungkwan?” Aera repeated, incredulous.

“Yep! Seungkwan,” Seokmin had said, doubling down because he knew there was no turning back. “They’ve been together for ages. Super lowkey about it, though. You know how Seungkwan is.”

The silence was deafening.

“Seungkwan,” Ayoung echoed, her expression twisting into disbelief. “Boo Seungkwan. As in, ‘my parking spot is sacred ground’ Seungkwan?”

Seokmin’s grin tightened. “The very same.”

For a moment, the two women exchanged a look, processing this unexpected development. Then, to Seokmin’s immense relief, Aera shrugged. “Huh. I guess that makes sense. They’re both kind of…intense.”

“I mean, they fight like an old married couple,” Ayoung had added, smirking.

“Exactly!” Seokmin said, clinging to the lifeline they’ve unknowingly thrown him. “Soulmates, right?”

The rumor spread faster than an office email about free donuts, and by lunchtime, it seemed like everyone had an opinion about your supposed relationship with Boo Seungkwan. The first domino fell when Mingyu slid into the seat across from Seungkwan in the cafeteria, tray in hand and a knowing smirk plastered across his face. He casually tossed his napkin onto his lap, but there was a glint in his eyes that made Seungkwan pause mid-bite.

“So,” Mingyu began, spearing a piece of chicken with far too much casual flair, “you and Y/N, huh? Cute.”

Seungkwan, who had been halfway through chewing a mouthful of rice, immediately choked so violently he nearly toppled the entire tray. The force of his cough was so dramatic that Joshua, seated a few spots away, paused mid-bite and gave Seungkwan a couple of hard thumps on the back, muttering a half-hearted “Jesus, dude” under his breath. The rest of the table fell silent, watching the spectacle unfold with varying degrees of concern and mild amusement.

“Excuse me?” Seungkwan sputtered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes wide with a mixture of horror and confusion.

“You know…” Mingyu leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially, the way someone would when revealing state secrets. “You. Y/N. The whole undercover thing.” He paused for effect, looking around as if making sure no one else was eavesdropping. “Honestly, I didn’t see it coming, but it makes sense. You two do bicker like an old couple. It’s kinda cute, actually.”

Seungkwan froze mid-chew, his chopsticks hovering in midair, as his brain scrambled to process Mingyu’s words. Undercover thing? Old couple? Y/N?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Seungkwan said flatly, his voice a mix of exasperation and genuine confusion, although a tiny bead of sweat had already begun to form at his temple. He glanced around, noticing the way a few of his coworkers at the nearby tables were suddenly pretending to be deeply invested in their food, but the side glances they were stealing were hard to miss.

Mingyu squinted, his expression becoming exaggeratedly serious. “Don’t play dumb, Seungkwan. Aera and Ayoung said you and Y/N have been secretly dating for ages. Ages. Like, seriously. You two are practically the office power couple.”

Seungkwan stared at Mingyu, not entirely sure whether he should laugh or start hyperventilating. His eyes flickered to Joshua, who was now giving him a sympathetic glance, and then back to Mingyu, whose grin had only grown wider with every passing second. The conversation around them had slowly started to fade into the background, leaving only the sound of Seungkwan’s rapidly beating heart in his ears.

For a brief moment, the only sound was the clatter of utensils against trays, and the faint sound of someone sneezing a few tables over, as though the entire room was collectively holding its breath. Then, with the force of a dam breaking, Seungkwan exclaimed, “WHAT?!”

The sound was so loud and high-pitched that the people around them flinched. Mingyu’s smirk only deepened.

“Yeah, you heard me,” he said, as if the news was the most normal thing in the world. “You and Y/N—together. Lowkey, sure, but people are noticing. Honestly, I'm impressed. You've got good chemistry. You bicker, you glare at each other like it's a sport, and boom—no one can resist you two.”

Seungkwan’s eyes widened even further, if that was possible. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out for a solid five seconds. “You... Mingyu, this is—this is insane. We’re not—”

“I mean, you guys do fight like an old married couple,” Mingyu added, completely unbothered. “Classic relationship stuff.”

Seungkwan let out a high-pitched groan, dropping his chopsticks onto his tray as he slumped back in his seat. Joshua patted him on the back with a sympathetic look. “Honestly, man, at this point, I think everyone’s already betting on how long you two last.”

Seungkwan turned a death glare on Mingyu. “Mingyu, I am not dating Y/N, okay? Not. I don’t even—”

“Sure you’re not,” Mingyu said with a wink, leaning back and taking a leisurely sip of his drink. “But hey, if you need help smoothing it over, let me know. I could use a good laugh.”

Meanwhile, you were in the middle of a relatively peaceful afternoon, lost in your work, when Soonyoung burst into your workspace like a caffeinated golden retriever on a sugar rush.

“Congrats!” he announced, voice loud enough to startle the intern two desks down, who nearly spilled her coffee in the process.

You blinked at him, genuinely perplexed. “For what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him, unsure whether this was a prank you weren’t in on yet.

“For the relationship of the century, duh!” Soonyoung said, plopping into the chair next to you like he owned the place. He threw his feet up onto the corner of your desk, barely missing the pile of reports you’d been working on. He propped his chin on his hands, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You and Seungkwan—genius. Absolutely genius. I mean, I was wondering when you two would finally make it official, but keeping it lowkey? Perfect. Who came up with it? Was it you? It had to be you.”

Your face contorted into a mix of confusion and horror, the words barely registering. “What are you talking about? What relationship?”

Soonyoung leaned in closer, like he was about to share some highly classified info, lowering his voice to a dramatic whisper. “The PR stunt, obviously! Aera and Ayoung are eating it up. Honestly, you and Seungkwan should start charging them rent for all the space you’re taking up in their heads. They're obsessed. It’s amazing.” He gave a pleased little clap. “Love to see it.”

“PR stunt?” you echoed, voice climbing in pitch. “Seungkwan?”

“Don’t be shy!” Soonyoung winked, his eyes practically glittering with pride. “You’re playing it so cool. I gotta hand it to you, you two are perfect at the whole ‘undercover couple’ thing. No one saw it coming. Now, with all those entertainment rumors about you two, people are talking. It’s the kind of buzz I can only dream of.”

You slammed your laptop shut with a dramatic bang. The sound made Soonyoung jump. "I’m going to kill him."

Soonyoung, unfazed, simply leaned back in his chair with a grin. “You should. But first, enjoy the chaos, because it’s already spreading. I mean, even the office Slack is buzzing about your ‘relationship.’ I think it’s time for you to play the long game.”

Before you could respond, Soonyoung was already pulling out his phone and swiping through a group chat on his screen. You could feel your headache forming as he muttered something about “setting the record straight” and “beating Mingyu’s office poll on couple dynamics."

Seokmin was mid-sip of his third coffee of the day when the breakroom door slammed open with enough force to make him spill.

“What the—” Seokmin started, dabbing at the mess with a crumpled napkin, but he didn’t get to finish because you and Seungkwan stormed in, practically radiating wrath. It was like watching a SWAT team execute a mission—except the target was him and his questionable life choices.

“You!” Your voice cracked through the air like a whip as you jabbed an accusatory finger in his direction.

“YOU!” Seungkwan echoed, his tone sharp enough to cut glass. His finger joined yours in solidarity, a united front of pure fury.

Seokmin froze, cornered between the sink and the vending machine, his coffee mug clutched like a makeshift shield. “Me?” he squeaked, his eyes darting between your expressions, both etched with a mix of betrayal and irritation.

“Yes, you!” Seungkwan snapped, stepping closer with the air of a man who had reached the end of his rope. “Do you want to explain why Mingyu just asked me if me and Y/N are naming our future pets after luxury brands?!”

The words hung in the air for a beat, heavy with absurdity.

“Luxury brands?” you echoed, your tone disbelieving.

“That’s not the point!” Seungkwan said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. He rounded back on Seokmin, who looked like a deer caught in a pair of particularly unforgiving headlights. “Explain. Now.”

Seokmin hesitated, his mind spinning like a faulty gear. He could feel a bead of sweat forming at his temple. “Okay,” he began carefully, stalling for time. “First of all, you’re welcome.”

The sheer audacity of the statement hit like a slap.

“You’re welcome?” you and Seungkwan chorused, voices dripping with incredulity.

“Yes!” Seokmin said, puffing up his chest slightly as though he were presenting a brilliant thesis. “You don’t understand how horrible Aera and Ayoung were being. They were saying awful things about you, Y/N! I had to defend your honor.”

“And your solution,” you said, your tone calm but with an edge sharp enough to slice through steel, “was to fake-date me with Seungkwan?”

“Yeah, Seokmin,” Seungkwan added, his hands flailing in emphasis. “I mean, if you wanted to fake-date Y/N, at least pick someone plausible. Like, I don’t know, Mingyu.”

“Hey!” you snapped, your glare whipping to Seungkwan.

“What?” Seungkwan asked, blinking in genuine confusion. “It was just an example.”

“Enough!” Seokmin groaned dramatically, throwing his hands in the air as though burdened by your collective lack of vision. “Look, it worked, didn’t it? Aera and Ayoung bought it! They even said you two bicker like an old married couple!”

“That’s not a compliment!” Seungkwan exclaimed, his voice rising an octave.

“And,” you interjected, stepping forward, your expression unnervingly calm but your tone laced with menace, “now the entire office thinks we’re in a relationship. So, how exactly does this ‘plan’ of yours end?”

Seokmin’s grin faltered slightly, his bravado cracking just enough to reveal a hint of unease. “Uh… with you two faking it for a bit longer? You know, until Aera and Ayoung find someone else to gossip about?”

Seungkwan let out a groan, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration. “You are unbelievable.”

“And you’re fired from planning anything ever again,” you added, your voice dripping with finality.

Seokmin opened his mouth to respond, his face twisting into a defensive expression, but the door creaked open before he could speak.

All three of you turned to see Soonyoung poking his head inside, his phone clutched in one hand. “Hey, not to interrupt, but I just posted a poll in the office group chat: ‘Who’s the power couple—Seungkwan and Y/N or Soonyoung and his plants?’ You’re winning by 72 percent, by the way.”

The room fell into stunned silence.

“You’re all insane,” Seungkwan muttered at last, snatching his coffee off the counter and storming out in a whirlwind of righteous indignation.

“Seokmin,” you said through gritted teeth, each syllable dripping with warning. “Fix this.”

Seokmin raised his mug in a mock toast, his grin resurfacing. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.”

“Oh, no,” you groaned, turning on your heel. “We’re doomed.”

Seokmin’s apartment is as much of a disaster as you’d expect for a man who owns a single fork and three mismatched plates. The couch is one ill-timed flop away from breaking, and the "decor" consists of a faded movie poster, a dying plant, and a string of half-working fairy lights. Yet, somehow, it’s become the Friday night spot.

You, Seokmin, and occasionally Soonyoung gather here weekly like clockwork, cobbling together meals from his barren fridge, drinking yourselves silly, and venting about work. It’s an unspoken tradition, one that began with a pity invite after a particularly hellish week and quickly solidified when you discovered that, despite his lack of utensils, Seokmin could cook better than half the office put together.

Tonight, however, you’ve barely cracked open a bottle of soju when Seokmin starts talking about your “relationship” with Seungkwan.

“I’m just saying,” he slurs, stirring a pot of ramen with a spatula (his one and only cooking tool), “if you and Seungkwan fake-dated, Aera and Ayoung would shut up. It’s genius!”

You groan, sprawled on the lumpy couch with a glass in hand. “Seokmin, I’d rather die.”

“Would you, though?” he says, squinting at you like he’s cracked the code to life. “Because imagine showing up to the gala with Seungkwan on your arm. They’d hate it. And you’d look hot.”

You swish the remaining soju in your glass, frowning. “I don’t need Seungkwan to look hot.”

“Exactly! Which makes it better. He’d be like your hot accessory. Like a really angry Gucci bag.”

You snort at the thought of Seungkwan as a designer handbag and open your mouth to argue when Seokmin’s expression turns suspiciously earnest. “Look, I’m your work husband. I’d never steer you wrong. Just trust me.”

Your brain, already fuzzed from alcohol and exhaustion, betrays you. “Fine,” you mutter, waving your hand. “Whatever. I’ll fake-date Seungkwan.”

“REALLY?!” Seokmin drops the spatula with a clatter and claps his hands. “Great! Let me tell Soonyoung it’s safe to come in!”

“What?” you snap, sitting up so fast the room tilts. “What do you mean, safe to come in?”

“Yeah,” Seokmin says casually, wiping his hands on his pants. “He’s been waiting outside with Seungkwan for the 45 minutes it took for me to convince you.”

“LEE SEOKMIN, I WILL FUCKING THROTTLE YOU!”

You launch your slipper at him, but he ducks. The projectile sails past him and hits a new target—a very startled Seungkwan, who has just walked through the door.

The slipper connects with his thigh with a muted thwack.

Shocked silence fills the room.

Seungkwan glares at the three of you like you’ve all personally wronged him. “Nope. Nope, nope, nope. I’m going home. All of you motherfuckers are insane.”

“Wait!” Soonyoung and Seokmin leap forward, grabbing Seungkwan by the arms and dragging him back inside. He protests the whole way, muttering about how he “knew this was a terrible idea” and “should’ve stayed home.”

Thus begins the chaos.

Seokmin slaps the paper onto the coffee table like he’s presenting a groundbreaking thesis. In messy, barely legible letters, he’s scrawled FAKE DATING CONTRACT across the top.

“We’re doing this right,” he announces, brandishing the sharpie like a microphone. “Discussion topic number one: PDA.”

“None,” you say, raising your soju bottle in a mock toast.

“No PDA?” Soonyoung protests from where he’s sprawled across the armrest of the couch. “How is that going to convince anyone you’re dating? You can’t just stare at each other awkwardly across the room!”

“I don’t stare at people awkwardly,” you snap.

“Yes, you do,” Seungkwan deadpans. “That’s, like, your whole thing.”

“Excuse me?” you shoot back, glaring.

“Alright, alright!” Seokmin waves the sharpie between you like a referee breaking up a fight. “Compromise: hand-holding is allowed.” He starts writing it down, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth.

“And cheek kisses,” Soonyoung adds brightly.

“No way!” Seungkwan bursts out, looking betrayed.

“It’s just a cheek!” Soonyoung protests. “You don’t even have to look at her.”

“Wow,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “Thanks for the enthusiasm, darling.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Seungkwan snaps, arms crossing. “Did you want me to lie and say I’m thrilled to be fake-dating the office menace?”

You grab a couch cushion and smack him over the head with it. “I wouldn’t have to be a menace if you weren’t so insufferable!”

“Guys!” Seokmin groans, pointing the sharpie at both of you like it’s a weapon. “Focus. Cheek kisses are in.” He scribbles it down while Seungkwan mutters something about treason.

“And you,” you add, pointing at Seungkwan, “are bringing me coffee every morning for six weeks from that café across town.”

“Like hell I am!” Seungkwan glares. “You know how far that is?”

“Yes, which is why you’re doing it,” you snap. “Call it emotional compensation.”

“You’re not getting coffee and the parking spot!” Seungkwan shouts, sitting up straight.

“The parking spot was mine first!”

“Your car doesn’t even fit in it properly!”

“Then I’ll make it fit!”

Seokmin scribbles something on the paper and holds it up with an exasperated flourish. “Okay, joint custody of the parking spot. You’ll alternate weeks.”

“That’s stupid,” you mutter.

“So are you!” Seungkwan fires back, and you lunge for another cushion.

“Guys!” Soonyoung yells, snatching the cushion out of your hands. “Rule number three: no throwing things at each other while in public.”

“I’m not signing that,” you say immediately.

“Neither am I,” Seungkwan agrees.

“Fine,” Seokmin grumbles, crossing it out. “Next rule: no kissing on the lips.”

“That should’ve been rule number one,” Seungkwan mutters, and you chuck a slipper at him for good measure.

“Rule number five: you have to act nice to each other in front of Aera and Ayoung,” Seokmin adds, barely pausing as Seungkwan yelps.

“Oh, great,” you say sarcastically. “So now I have to fake-date him and fake-like him?”

“Yeah, real tough,” Seungkwan scoffs. “Try fake-liking you for five minutes.”

“Okay, rule six: no insults while in public,” Seokmin says, scribbling furiously.

“Define ‘insult,’” you say.

“You just called me a moron five minutes ago!” Seungkwan protests.

“That’s not an insult,” you argue. “It’s an observation.”

“Oh my God,” Seokmin groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You’ll both bring snacks to the gala,” Soonyoung interjects, leaning over Seokmin’s shoulder. “That way, when you start arguing in public, at least you can shove food into each other’s mouths.”

“That is not going on the list,” Seungkwan says, shooting him a glare.

“It’s already on there,” Seokmin chirps.

The arguing goes on and on, fueled by soju and petty grievances, until the paper is crammed with hastily written rules, half of which contradict each other. Seokmin holds up the finished product triumphantly.

FAKE DATING CONTRACT(written and notarized by Lee Seokmin, Esq. of Bad Ideas LLC)

No PDA.

Exception: hand-holding is allowed.

Exception to the exception: no clammy hands.

Cheek kisses are mandatory for believability.

Mandatory?! – Seungkwan

Yes. – Soonyoung

No lip kissing, EVER.

We’re not that committed to this.

Joint custody of the parking spot.

Weeks will alternate.

If one party is late to the spot, they forfeit their turn.

Coffee Clause:

Seungkwan will deliver coffee every morning for six weeks.

It must come from the café across town.

Why do I have to do this? – Seungkwan

Because you’re annoying. – Y/N

No throwing objects at each other in public.

Or private! – Seungkwan

Not negotiable. – Y/N

Insult ban in public spaces.

“Moron” is not an insult, it’s an observation.

This feels targeted. – Seungkwan

Be nice to each other in front of Aera and Ayoung.

Smile. A lot. Pretend you’re not arguing.

How am I supposed to do that?! – Y/N

Snacks must be brought to the gala.

If bickering begins, snacks will be used to shut each other up.

This rule is offensive. – Seungkwan

Duration of fake dating: until Aera and Ayoung lose interest or find another victim.

No extensions allowed.

All parties must try to look reasonably attractive during public appearances.

Define ‘reasonably.’– Seungkwan

Just don’t embarrass me. – Y/N

Any disputes regarding this contract will be arbitrated by Soonyoung and Seokmin.

Oh, we’re gonna regret this. 

Practice sessions required before the first public appearance.

“Practice” may include hand-holding, smiling, and general fake-couple behavior.

Can we practice not doing this? – Seungkwan

Signed, Y/N & Boo Seungkwan Witnessed by: Lee Seokmin & Kwon Soonyoung

“Done!” he declares. “Time to sign.”

You glance at the chaotic list and groan. “I hate this.”

“Sign it anyway,” Seokmin says, shoving the sharpie into your hand.

You scrawl your name at the bottom with all the enthusiasm of someone signing away their soul. Seungkwan follows suit, muttering curses under his breath.

“Great!” Seokmin beams, snatching the paper and sharpie. “Now, time to practice!”

“Seokmin, it’s 3 AM!” you whine. “Let me go home!”

“NO!” Soonyoung and Seokmin yell in unison.

Practice begins in earnest with Seokmin standing in front of you and Seungkwan like a drill sergeant, clipboard in hand. Soonyoung is sprawled across the couch with a blanket, looking far too comfortable for someone instigating chaos.

“Alright,” Seokmin says, tapping his pen against the clipboard. “First order of business: compliments.”

“Compliments?” you echo, your tone flat. “We’re fake-dating, not auditioning for a rom-com.”

“Yes, compliments,” Seokmin says, with the exaggerated patience of a kindergarten teacher. “If you can’t fake a little affection, no one’s going to buy this. Start with something small. Seungkwan, you go first.”

“Fine,” Seungkwan sighs, turning to you. “Your… outfit is fine.”

“Wow,” you deadpan. “Don’t hold back.”

“Fine! You looked pretty that one day you wore a dress to work,” he says, crossing his arms defensively.

Your stomach flips unexpectedly, and you hate that it does. That wasn’t what you’d expected him to say. The memory surfaces unbidden: you, rushing into the office late for a meeting, fumbling with your presentation slides. You barely noticed Seungkwan staring, too preoccupied with apologizing to the executives that were staring at your whirlwind entrance.

Now, you remember the day too well, and you shove the memories down immediately. “That’s it? One day out of, like, a thousand?” you say, masking your unease with a smirk.

“Take it or leave it,” he snaps.

“Your turn,” Seokmin says, gesturing at you.

You glance at Seungkwan, already regretting what you’re about to say. “You… make people laugh.”

“That’s the best you can do?” Seungkwan scoffs, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes.

“Okay, fine,” you grumble. “You’re good at your job. People like you. You’re… charming, I guess.”

The room goes silent for a beat, and you feel heat creeping up your neck.

“Well,” Seungkwan says after a pause, his voice quieter. “Thanks.”

“Okay, compliments, check,” Seokmin interjects, scribbling something illegible onto the contract for no discernible reason. “Next, hand-holding!”

“Seriously?” you groan.

“Yes!” Soonyoung shouts from his sprawl on the couch. “You’re going to have to do it in public! Get over it!”

Reluctantly, you hold out your hand. Seungkwan looks at it like you’ve just offered him a live grenade.

“Stop stalling,” Seokmin says, smirking.

Seungkwan grabs your hand, and the moment your palms meet, you recoil. “Why is your hand so clammy?” you demand, grimacing.

“Because I’m stressed, you monster!” Seungkwan shoots back. “Stop squeezing so hard!”

“I’m not squeezing—your hand’s just weird!”

“My hand is weird?” Seungkwan huffs. “Yours is dryer than the Sahara!”

“You’re both weird!” Soonyoung yells, throwing a couch pillow at your heads. “Try again, and this time, don’t look like you’re holding hands with a corpse!”

The both of you roll your eyes but try again. This time, it’s… slightly better. Seungkwan’s hand is still clammy, but at least he’s not actively complaining. 

By the time Soonyoung pipes up again, the sun is starting to rise, casting pale light through the blinds.

“Alright, final test,” he says, stifling a yawn. “You’ve gotta kiss her cheek.”

“What?!” you and Seungkwan exclaim in unison.

“You’re going to have to do it in public anyway!” Soonyoung argues, gesturing grandly from the couch. “This is practice!”

“I am not kissing—”

“Just do it,” Seokmin says, cutting Seungkwan off with a weary wave of his hand. “The sooner you do, the sooner we can all sleep.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, Seungkwan leans over. His hand finds your shoulder for balance, and then—soft and fleeting—his lips brush your cheek.

It’s over in a heartbeat, but your stomach flips like you’re falling from the top of a roller coaster. You can still feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the faint pressure of his lips, and it sends a shockwave of emotions crashing through you—confusion, nervousness, and something suspiciously like longing.

Seokmin looks at you knowingly, and your heart stutters in your chest.

“I have to go,” you mutter, grabbing your jacket in a rush. You can’t stay here—not with Seokmin’s knowing smirk, not with Seungkwan’s kiss replaying on a loop in your head. “See you Monday.”

Before anyone can stop you, you’re out the door, the crisp morning air biting at your cheeks as you flee Seokmin’s apartment like it’s on fire.

The parking lot is unusually quiet as you pull in, a sharp contrast to the whirlwind weekend you’re still trying to process. You hadn’t slept much since fleeing Seokmin’s apartment, your thoughts tangled in half-drunken banter, hastily scribbled contracts, and—worst of all—the lingering warmth of Seungkwan’s lips on your cheek.

A glint of sunlight off a familiar car catches your eye, parked a few rows back. Seungkwan’s here early. Of course he is. You can already feel your mood souring, bracing yourself for whatever fresh nonsense he’s decided to stir up this week.

Sliding into The Spot, you glance around, expecting the usual hustle and bustle of the office, but your focus sharpens the moment you spot them—Aera and Ayoung, lingering suspiciously close to your desk. You feel the groan build in your throat. It’s too early for this.

“Look who’s finally here,” Aera says the moment she spots you, her voice carrying easily over the din.

You keep walking, shoulders stiffening as Ayoung chimes in. “Big weekend, huh? Let me guess, late-night dinner dates with you know who?”

“Or maybe a romantic getaway?” Aera adds, giggling. “He seems like the type to splurge, doesn’t he?”

You don’t take the bait, just set your bag down at your desk, pointedly ignoring them.

But they don’t stop. Ayoung leans against the edge of your cubicle, her grin sharp. “Seriously, though. How does it feel? Dating the Boo Seungkwan.”

You glance up at her, exasperation seeping into your voice. “What is your problem?”

“No problem,” she says innocently, her expression anything but. “We’re just... curious. I mean, it’s not every day someone like him ends up with... well, you.”

There it is. The thinly veiled insult. Your fingers tighten around your bag strap, heat rising to your cheeks. Before you can snap back, Aera gasps, her attention snagging on your desk.

“Oh my god. Is that a coffee?” Her tone is mockingly saccharine as she picks up the cup, waving it in front of you. “And a note. ‘As requested - xo Seungkwan.’ How adorable.”

Ayoung practically cackles. “He even knows your order. Wow, this is... honestly shocking.” She isn’t wrong - it’s your exact order, right down to the weirdly specific oat milk ratio you insist on.

“Shocking?” you repeat, glaring.

Aera shrugs, clearly reveling in your discomfort. “I mean, come on. You’re you. He’s... him. It’s a little hard to picture, don’t you think?”

You open your mouth to retort, but a new voice cuts in before you can.

“Do you two ever get tired of this?”

You don’t even need to look to know who it is. You turn just in time to see Seungkwan stride over, exuding confidence like he’s been rehearsing this moment. He doesn’t even look at Aera and Ayoung; his focus is entirely on you as he slides an arm around your waist.

The casual weight of it is jarring, grounding—and completely unnecessary. Your heart stutters in response, though you’d die before admitting it.

“Is there a problem here?” Seungkwan asks, his tone all business, though you catch the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes.

Aera’s confidence wavers for the first time, her mouth opening and closing as she scrambles for a response. Ayoung, to her credit, looks equally flustered.

“No problem,” Aera says finally, her voice quieter now.

“Good,” Seungkwan replies smoothly. He glances down at you, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Enjoy your coffee, babe.”

With that, the two of them retreat, mumbling half-hearted excuses as they shuffle back to their desks.

As soon as they’re gone, Seungkwan drops his arm like it burned him, and the absence of his touch is... startling. Disorienting. You hate how much you notice it.

“What the hell was that?” you hiss, rounding on him.

He doesn’t even look fazed. If anything, he looks amused. “You’re welcome.”

“Welcome? For what? Making things worse?”

He nods toward your desk. “They’re gone, aren’t they?”

You narrow your eyes at him, your frustration mounting. “Why did you even—what is this?” You gesture vaguely to the coffee, the note, the whole absurd situation.

“A contract is a contract,” he says simply, already turning to walk away.

“Wait.” You grab the coffee, pointing it at him like a weapon. “How did you even know my order?”

He pauses, glancing over his shoulder with that infuriating smirk that makes you want to throw the cup at him.

“I have my ways.”

“Seungkwan!” you call after him, but he’s already walking off, the faint echo of his laughter trailing behind him.

You slump into your chair, glaring at the coffee like it’s somehow responsible for all of this. Your phone buzzes, and you pull it out, immediately opening the group chat with Seokmin and Soonyoung.

Y/N: which one of you mfs told seungkwan my coffee order [NOT] tiger: 👀 [NOT] tiger: not it seok: pinky swear not me seok: hm seok: didn’t think he’d actually get you coffee Y/N: how the hell does he know? [NOT] tiger: maybe he just [NOT] tiger: knows[NOT] tiger: soulmate fr Y/N: blocking you. seok: wait seok: did he get it right? Y/N: YES Y/N: that’s the problem!!! seok: hmm [NOT] tiger: HMMMMM

You toss your phone onto your desk, groaning into your hands. Mondays were supposed to be bad, but this? This was a new level of torment. And somewhere in the back of your mind, you can’t stop replaying the warmth of Seungkwan’s hand on your waist—and the way, just for a moment, it didn’t feel so bad.

Tuesday morning. You arrive at your desk to the familiar sight of a coffee waiting for you, the cup steaming invitingly as though it’s supposed to make you feel better about the day ahead. As you drop your bag onto the desk and take in the sight of it, your stomach tightens—because this time, Seungkwan’s waiting for you. Standing there like a kid in a candy store, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth as if he knows exactly how to mess with your head.

But today is not the day.

Not after this morning.

You don’t know if it's the car breaking down in the middle of a torrential downpour, or if it’s the fact that your landlord decided today was the day to demand rent five days early and threaten eviction over the tiniest of issues—either way, you’re running on fumes and patience.

When Seungkwan opens his mouth to speak, you don’t even look up. You take a long, slow breath and mutter, “Not today.”

You don’t hear him move at first, and for a moment, you almost think he’s going to leave it. That maybe, just maybe, he’s finally catching on that not every moment is for him. But then, his voice—sharp, defensive—cuts through the air.

“What’s your problem today? I get it, you’re having a bad morning. But I’m trying to be nice here.”

You can’t help it; the words spill out before you can stop them. “I don’t need your pity coffee, Seungkwan. I don’t need your help.”

His eyes flash, the usual teasing glint replaced with something more serious. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

You don’t answer, just fold your arms over your chest, staring hard at the computer screen, trying to block him out. “Just…go away, Seungkwan.”

His eyes widen, and something flickers behind them—hurt, maybe? But before he can say anything else, you hear the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat. You look up, realizing you’ve attracted a small crowd.

Aera and Ayoung are standing a few desks away, watching you two with wide, curious eyes. They’ve been lurking long enough to catch the exchange, and you can practically feel their glee radiating off them.

“Everything okay, [Y/N]?” Aera asks, barely hiding her amusement.

Your stomach sinks. You know exactly what they’re thinking: public fight, public gossip. You know you’re not supposed to care, but you do. You absolutely do.

Seungkwan must’ve seen it, too, because in a flash, he’s grabbed your hand—your hand, like it’s the most natural thing in the world—and yanks you toward the breakroom. You stumble slightly in the direction he pulls you, not expecting the sudden contact. Your heart races, and for a split second, you wonder if this was what it felt like before. That warm feeling flooding your chest, the butterflies in your stomach.

But then the door to the breakroom slams shut, cutting off the noise of the office, and Seungkwan lets go of your hand.

He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the counter, eyes narrowed. “Spill. What’s going on?”

You can’t hold it in anymore. The tension cracks, and before you know it, the tears are spilling out.

“I’m just so tired of everything,” you choke out, the words tangled in the rush of emotions. “My car is broken down, my landlord’s being a total jerk, and everything’s just—ugh. It’s just too much.”

You blink, feeling embarrassed, but Seungkwan doesn’t make fun of you. Instead, his gaze softens for a moment, just enough that you almost don’t believe it. Almost.

“Good,” he says suddenly, and your heart stutters. “You broke the contract.”

You lift your head, confusion wrinkling your brow. “What?”

“The contract.” He says it as though it’s obvious. “You snapped at me in front of Aera and Ayoung. That’s my parking spot for the rest of the week.”

You stare at him, blinking in disbelief. And then, before you can stop it, a laugh escapes from your lips—soft, genuine, and so not what you expected.

“Seriously?” you ask, trying to wipe away the tears that suddenly make you feel so small.

His face softens, just for a moment, before that look fades as quickly as it came. But for a brief second, you could’ve sworn he looked... endearing?

“Don’t laugh,” he mutters, crossing his arms again, leaning back against the counter. “I have principles.”

You can’t help but smile at that, and for the first time today, you feel lighter. You can’t quite place the warm sensation in your chest, but it’s there, flickering like the embers of something you don’t want to acknowledge.

“Hey,” he says with a half-grin, “a contract’s a contract.”

And then, without another word, he turns and walks out, leaving you standing there in the breakroom, a little lighter than before.

When you return to your desk, you’re not sure what you expected. Maybe you thought Aera and Ayoung would leave you alone, but no. Of course not. They’re standing by your cubicle, eyes glued to you, ready to pounce.

“Oh, look who’s back,” Aera says, feigning sweetness. “Everything okay? You two seemed like you were having quite a heated conversation.”

Ayoung raises an eyebrow, almost mockingly. “Yeah, what was that? We didn’t expect Seungkwan to be so... protective.”

You stiffen, but before you can say anything, Seungkwan strolls in casually, all too aware of their prying eyes. He throws a casual arm around your shoulder and leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks in a teasing tone.

“A lover’s spat,” he says smoothly, looking at Aera and Ayoung with a shit-eating grin. “Nothing to see here.”

You freeze for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden closeness of his body. You don’t move, don’t push him off, and you hate how right it feels, even if it’s just for show.

They seem to buy it, nodding and turning away, though you know the gossip mill will be churning with this new twist.

The rest of the day passes by in a blur, and when the lunch hour arrives, Seungkwan casually approaches your table, offering in his usual nonchalant manner, “I’ll drive you home today.”

The casualness of it almost makes you choke on your lunch. Seokmin, who had just taken a sip of his drink, immediately spits it out in Soonyoung’s face. You can’t help but laugh, but when Seungkwan shoots you a look, you quickly compose yourself.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, voice calm but firm. “Seokmin already agreed to jump my car and drive me home.”

Seungkwan shrugs, but there’s a knowing look in his eyes. “Whatever you say, babe.”

Later that evening, as you’re in the car with Seokmin, he turns to you, his gaze intense. “What’s going on with you and Seungkwan?” he asks, his voice uncharacteristically serious.

You deflect, shrugging it off with a nonchalant tone. “Nothing. We’re just...” You trail off, unsure of how to explain it.

Seokmin doesn’t let up, his gaze never leaving you the entire drive home.

When you get home, you’re still thinking about Seungkwan—about his hand in yours, the warmth that flickered in his eyes when you laughed.

Later that night, you get a text from Seungkwan. You roll your eyes as you unlock your phone.

Later that night, you get a text from Seungkwan. You roll your eyes as you unlock your phone.

Seungkwan (WORK): what color dress are you wearing to the gala?

Y/N: why

Seungkwan (WORK): because it’s in two days idiot Y/N: ok and Seungkwan (WORK): what kind of boyfriend doesn’t match ties to his girlfriend’s dress

You pause for a moment, then text back,

Y/N: midnight blue

There’s a long pause before he replies.

Seungkwan (WORK): we’re gonna aera and ayoung the fuck up Seungkwan (WORK): you’re welcome.

You snort, rolling your eyes, but something in the back of your mind feels a little lighter. You look at the screen again, trying to push away the warmth that’s creeping into your cheeks.

You try to shake off the weird fluttering in your chest, but it’s hard when you can’t stop thinking about the way he smiled at you in the breakroom.

Then, after reading the text one last time, you throw your phone aside and scream into your pillow for a solid 30 seconds.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?” The pillow muffles the sounds of your frustration, embarrassment, and maybe something else all rolling together.

It’s Wednesday, and you’re feeling... strange. So, as a silent apology of sorts, you leave Seungkwan's parking spot open for him, not even pretending it’s not a deliberate move. And to make it worse (or better, depending on how you look at it), you stop by his favorite restaurant—thanks to a very begrudging Mingyu who’d been the one to tell you at 6 AM—and leave a packaged meal on his desk with a simple note: "i’m sorry."

By the time Seungkwan walks in, there’s a triumphant grin on his face and a coffee in hand. You don’t even have to look up to know what’s coming—he’s practically floating from the excitement of seeing his spot waiting for him.

As you stand to meet him, your fingers brush ever so gently when he hands you your order. It’s the smallest of touches, but for some reason, your pulse quickens.

"Thank you for the food," he says, his voice sounding strange—almost sincere, which isn’t like him at all. "But how did you know my favorite restaurant?"

You can’t help the smirk that stretches across your face.

"I have my ways," you reply, leaning in just a little, your voice cool and teasing as you echo his words back from Monday. The playfulness between the two of you feels oddly familiar, and for a moment, there’s something in his eyes—just a flicker—that catches you off guard. But you shove it down before it can fully register.

Seungkwan arches an eyebrow, lips curling into that mischievous smile of his, but before he can say anything, you already know what comes next: more teasing, more playful bickering. It’s almost comfortable, like this entire fake-dating charade is starting to blur the line between what’s real and what’s not.

But the strangest thing of all is the way your heart is beating a little faster than it should.

You don’t know why you’re bothered. You can’t even really pinpoint the reason why, but when you walk past Seungkwan’s desk and see him sitting there, earbuds in, his face subtly twitching in response to a few of your colleagues’ whispers, something inside you snaps. It’s not your usual reaction to the gossip at work—it’s the way he seems oblivious to the hurt he's trying to hide, like he’s expecting it. Your mind races as you overhear them, the words sticking to you like bitter honey:

“Seungkwan’s just a joke with the dating thing. You can tell he’s not even on the same level as her,” Kevin’s voice rings out, “I mean, she’s crushing it, and look at him. He’s just... there.”

“He’s lucky she even pays attention to him,” Juyeon adds with a snide laugh.

And that’s when your heart clenches, the sound of their voices mixing with the hurt look in Seungkwan’s eyes as he watches the screen, his posture slumping in a way that you’ve seen too many times to ignore.

You tell yourself you don’t care.

But you do.

And before you can stop yourself, you march toward his desk. Your palms are sweaty, but your resolve is steady, and when you reach his side, you throw your arms around him from behind, your body leaning into his warmth, your chin resting on his shoulder as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. You’re telling yourself it’s all just an act. Just a game. Fake dating, after all, is supposed to be easy.

But the feeling of his body stiffening under your arms, his breath catching, makes your stomach flip in a way you didn’t expect. You force yourself to smile, to say the words like they don’t matter.

"Hey love," you murmur, pressing a brief kiss to his cheek that feels far too real for what it is, "wanna get lunch?"

For a moment, Seungkwan just stares at you, dumbfounded. His eyes search yours as if trying to figure out whether this is part of the act or something more. You don’t give him a chance to answer. Instead, you interlace your fingers with his, pulling him to his feet and out of the seat, dragging him to the cafeteria without another word.

The air between you feels thick, but somehow, it doesn’t matter. You keep your grip on his hand as if it’s the only thing tethering you to reality. When you reach the lunch line, Seungkwan mumbles under his breath, his voice low but filled with something you can’t quite place.

“Thank you,” he says, and the words feel heavy, like they mean something far more profound than you expected.

You glance at him, trying to keep your face neutral. "Why do you put up with all this?" you ask, hoping to keep the conversation casual. But the question feels more vulnerable than you’d like.

He shrugs nonchalantly, though his gaze drops to the ground as he talks. "Come on, I get worse from you. I can handle a little shit talk from people who don’t know what they’re talking about.”

But something in his voice, something sharp and tired, makes your heart sink. The idea that you’ve made him feel like he’s “just there” rattles you. That you’ve unknowingly added to his burdens—because in this moment, it feels like you are the reason he’s doubting himself.

“Seungkwan, I didn’t mean—” you begin, but he cuts you off with a small, almost bitter smile.

"It’s fine," he murmurs, but there’s a flicker of something unsaid in his expression.

The rest of lunch is quieter than usual, and you both keep stealing glances at each other, unsure of what to say or how to fix the awkward tension that now lingers between you. When the two of you return to your desks, you half-expect him to brush it off and act like nothing happened, but instead, Seungkwan shows up at your desk after lunch, and for a moment, you think maybe he’s just here to grab something he left behind. But when he looks at you, his gaze softens.

"I’m sorry,” he says, looking almost... shy? “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about the way I said that. I know you don’t... mean to be like that."

You swallow hard, feeling your heart twist, guilt and frustration building in your chest. “No, I... I shouldn’t have said anything either. I’m sorry, Seungkwan."

His eyes flicker, like he’s trying to read you, but then he cracks a smile. "Maybe we both just suck at this fake-dating thing."

It’s a lame attempt at humor, but it works. The tension lifts slightly, though the understanding between you two is still fragile. You force a chuckle, then give him a genuine, if a little uneasy, smile.

And just like that, the awkwardness starts to dissipate.

For now, anyway.

Thursday starts off strangely, though you try not to dwell on it. When you pull into the parking lot, The Spot is open for the first time in weeks. It takes you a second to process the empty space, the absence of Seungkwan's familiar car parked a few rows back.

The sight feels...off.

Your first thought is that maybe he’s running late, but a quick glance at the clock tells you that’s impossible. Seungkwan is never late. Your second thought—that maybe he’s working from home—is more logical, but it doesn’t explain the odd pang of disappointment settling in your chest.

It’s fine. Better, even. You’re busy enough today that you don’t need to see his smug smile or deal with the inevitable teasing that comes with it. Besides, tonight is the gala. He’ll show up there, looking sharp and polished, and you’ll do what you’ve been doing for weeks: play the part.

So why does the thought of not seeing him today feel heavier than it should?

You brush it off as you head into the building, but the feeling lingers. Your desk is bare when you get there—no coffee, no scrawled Post-it, no familiar, cocky energy waiting for you to roll your eyes at. You should feel relief.

Instead, it throws your whole morning off.

By the time you find yourself in the breakroom around noon, your nerves feel frayed. Deadlines loom over your head, your inbox is exploding, and now Soonyoung and Seokmin are leaning against the counter, watching you like hawks with identical grins.

“Excited for tonight?” Seokmin asks, his voice far too cheerful as he tears into a granola bar.

You glance at him, eyebrows raised. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Soonyoung interrupts before Seokmin can respond, “that you’ve been pretending not to care, but you’re actually super nervous about walking into that gala with Seungkwan.”

“I’m not nervous,” you snap, reaching for the coffee pot.

“Sure,” Seokmin says, his tone dripping with skepticism. “You’re totally calm. That’s why you’ve been fidgeting with your bracelet for the past five minutes.”

Your hand freezes, and you glance down to see your fingers toying absently with the charm on your bracelet. With a muttered curse, you reach for a mug instead, but the damage is already done.

Soonyoung smirks. “Uh-huh. Definitely not nervous.”

“I’m not,” you insist, pouring your coffee with more force than necessary.

“Then what’s with the bracelet?” Seokmin presses, grinning like he knows he’s got you cornered.

You glare at him over your shoulder. “Maybe I just like the bracelet, Seokmin. Ever think of that?”

“Or maybe,” Soonyoung drawls, dragging the words out obnoxiously, “you’re thinking about what it’s gonna be like to walk into that ballroom tonight on Seungkwan’s arm.”

Your hand twitches, spilling coffee onto the counter.

“Oh my god,” you groan, grabbing a napkin and swiping at the mess.

Soonyoung clutches his chest dramatically. “You didn’t deny it.”

“There’s nothing to deny!”

Seokmin snickers. “You’re deflecting.”

“I’m ignoring you,” you correct, tossing the soaked napkin into the trash.

“You can’t ignore the truth!” Soonyoung declares, his grin practically splitting his face. “Which is that you’re gonna show up tonight in a dress that perfectly matches Seungkwan’s tie and pretend it’s all part of the act while secretly—”

“Soonyoung,” you interrupt sharply, narrowing your eyes.

“—you’re freaking out inside about how good he’s gonna look and how everyone’s gonna think you’re in love.”

“Why are you like this?” you demand, though the question is more rhetorical than anything.

“Because it’s fun,” Seokmin answers, popping the last bite of his granola bar into his mouth. “And because you’re so easy to tease when it comes to Seungkwan.”

You open your mouth to retort, but the words die on your tongue because the worst part—the absolute worst part—is that they’re not entirely wrong.

There is a part of you that’s been overthinking the gala all morning. Not because you’re nervous about the event itself, but because you’re nervous about him. About standing next to him in front of your colleagues. About the way he might look at you or the way his hand might rest on your back.

And more than that, you’re nervous about the way you’ll feel when it happens.

It’s a ridiculous thought. Seungkwan is your coworker. Your fake boyfriend. This whole thing is a game, a ploy to one-up Aera and Ayoung and win a stupid bet.

So why does the idea of walking into that ballroom with him make your heart race?

Why does it feel like it’s so much more than a game?

The rest of the day drags, your thoughts drifting back to the gala at every lull in the chaos of work. The deadlines on your desk pile higher, emails flood in, and the occasional, overly cheerful colleague stops by to remind you how "exciting" tonight is going to be.

But despite the busy afternoon, a strange mix of nervous energy and anticipation hums beneath it all. It’s not just about the event—the polished speeches, the endless string of handshakes, the clinking of champagne glasses. No, it’s about Seungkwan. About the act you’re supposed to put on together.

The hours pass in a blur of half-checked boxes and unfinished tasks. By the time you leave the office, you’re still not sure if you’ve made peace with the fact that you’re about to spend the evening glued to his side, pretending to be something you’re not.

You have just enough time to run home, change into your dress, and try to will away the nerves that have been simmering since this morning. Standing in front of your mirror, you adjust the midnight-blue fabric, smoothing it over your hips and fiddling with the clasp on your bracelet.

It’s just a gala, you tell yourself, reaching for your earrings. Just a few hours of small talk and pretending. You’ve done harder things.

But even as you head out the door, slipping into the backseat of the rideshare that will take you to the venue, you can’t quite shake the nagging thought in the back of your mind:

What if tonight doesn’t feel like pretending at all?

You spot Seungkwan waiting near the entrance to the ballroom, standing under the warm glow of the overhead sconces. He’s turned slightly away, scrolling idly on his phone, but it doesn’t take long for him to notice you. The moment his eyes land on you, they widen, the barest flicker of surprise crossing his face before he schools it into something more composed—almost indifferent.

Despite the tension simmering between you lately, you can’t help but take him in. The tailored fit of his suit accentuates his broad shoulders and sharp lines, and the midnight-blue tie—perfectly matched to your dress. The soft lighting catches on the neatly styled strands of his hair, and there’s a certain glow about him tonight that makes your heart stumble, just a little.

Focus, you scold yourself. It’s just Seungkwan. The guy who stole your parking spot. The guy who bickers with you more often than not. This is just one night, and then it’s over. Your hands smooth over the silk of your dress as you approach, brushing at imaginary lint to keep them from trembling.

Seungkwan, however, makes no attempt to disguise his once-over. His eyes drag down your figure with slow, deliberate appraisal before returning to meet your gaze. The faintest hint of a smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth, but you notice the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“What?” you ask, crossing your arms and raising a brow.

“Nothing,” he replies too quickly, glancing away. But his ears are tinged red, and when you prod again, leaning in just slightly to make him squirm, he mutters under his breath, “You clean up nice.”

For a second, you’re too stunned to respond. The casual compliment feels out of character, as if it slipped out before he could stop himself.

“And here I thought you’d be grumpy all night,” you say, masking your unease with an easy tease.

“Don’t get used to it,” he shoots back, though there’s no real bite to his tone. With a quiet sigh, he offers you his arm, holding it out stiffly as though unsure of himself.

Your breath catches for just a moment before you loop your arm through his, hoping he doesn’t notice the slight tremble in your fingers. The fabric of his suit is smooth and cool against your skin, and he adjusts his grip just slightly, settling his hand more securely over yours.

“Let’s get this over with,” you mumble, though you can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze.

“Right,” he agrees softly, leading you toward the grand doors. The quiet confidence in his step only makes your own nerves worse, and you wonder—just for a fleeting moment—if he feels it too.

The hotel’s ballroom is a picture of opulence, every detail polished to perfection. Warm golden light spills from the glittering chandeliers above, catching on the beveled edges of crystal glasses and the smooth, glossy surface of the checkered marble floor. White-draped tables line the room, adorned with centerpieces of fresh flowers and flickering candles. A string quartet plays softly in the corner, their music weaving through the gentle hum of conversation.

You barely have a chance to take it all in before the heat of Seungkwan’s arm against yours pulls your focus back. He stands tall beside you, his midnight-blue tie gleaming under the lights. You try not to fidget, but every time your gaze flickers to him, the quiet confidence in his expression sets your nerves on edge.

It’s just one night, you remind yourself, willing your feet to move forward. One night, and then it’s over.

The crowd shifts as you both step into the room, and you catch Aera and Ayoung’s gazes almost immediately. They’re standing near the champagne table, flutes in hand, their heads inclined toward each other in hushed conversation. The moment they spot you, their eyes widen, gliding from you to Seungkwan, then back again. Aera’s expression twists into something sharp and incredulous, while Ayoung’s lips curve into a smug smirk.

“Looks like we’re already the talk of the town,” Seungkwan murmurs, leaning slightly toward you. His breath brushes your ear, sending a shiver down your spine that you chalk up to irritation.

“Good,” you manage to say, lifting your chin. “Let’s give them something to really talk about.”

You’re not sure where the confidence comes from, but it carries you forward, your heels clicking against the marble as you walk with Seungkwan through the crowd. You can feel Aera’s glare burning into your back, but you keep your head high, your grip on Seungkwan’s arm tightening just slightly.

From across the room, you hear it before you see them—peals of laughter that could only belong to Seokmin and Soonyoung. You glance in their direction and find them stationed at one of the tables, grinning like giddy schoolchildren as they nudge each other and whisper conspiratorially. Seokmin pretends to hide his face behind his hand, but his eyes gleam with amusement, while Soonyoung practically bounces in his chair, barely able to contain his excitement.

“Subtle,” you mutter under your breath, though you can’t help the way your lips twitch upward.

Seungkwan notices too, his eyes narrowing slightly. “They’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Can you blame them?” you ask, finally letting a wry smile slip through. “We’re a spectacle.”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head, but when you glance up at him, there’s a softness in his gaze that wasn’t there before. You quickly look away, pretending to adjust the bracelet on your wrist.

As you move further into the ballroom, you catch snippets of conversations trailing off, eyes lingering just a second too long on you and Seungkwan. The tension in the room feels palpable, but Seungkwan doesn’t falter. He keeps his pace steady, his arm firm and reassuring beneath your touch.

And for a brief moment, as you glide through the glittering sea of people, you almost forget that this is all an act.

The ballroom is a haze of chandeliers, polished floors, and conversations that hum like a soft undercurrent beneath the music. You move through it all hyperaware of Seungkwan at your side, the faintest brush of his presence grounding and unsteadying you all at once.

He’s good at this, you realize. At shaking hands, sharing effortless smiles, and exchanging pleasantries that seem to charm everyone in his orbit. You try to focus on your own small talk, but it’s nearly impossible not to notice the way his hand occasionally drifts to the small of your back, guiding you subtly through the crowd. It’s light—barely there—but every time his palm presses gently against you, warmth blooms, spreading like ripples in a still pond.

You try not to overthink it. It’s probably all for show, you tell yourself. Just part of the act.

Except…why does he keep glancing at you? After every joke he tosses into the conversation, his eyes flit to yours, watching for your reaction. When you laugh, his smile softens, almost imperceptibly, and when you don’t, his brow furrows for the briefest moment before he’s cracking another.

“Can we help you?” you mutter when Seokmin and Soonyoung sidle up to you for the third time that evening, their grins almost too wide.

“Nope,” Soonyoung says, popping the ‘p’ with dramatic flair.

“We’re just here for the show,” Seokmin adds, barely holding back his snicker.

“Go away,” you hiss, stepping closer to Seungkwan as if that will somehow shield you from their relentless teasing.

Instead of leaving, they both wiggle their eyebrows at you, making exaggerated faces every time you shift a little closer to him—whether intentionally or not. At one point, Seokmin mimes taking a picture with his imaginary camera, pretending to swoon like a tabloid photographer.

“Do you need something?” Seungkwan asks dryly, not even sparing them a glance as he sips his champagne.

“Just enjoying the chemistry,” Soonyoung says, grinning.

“I hate both of you,” you say, shoving past them and pulling Seungkwan with you, his laughter trailing behind you as you march toward the buffet table.

As the night wears on, the hyperawareness doesn’t fade. If anything, it grows sharper. You catch yourself leaning into him, just slightly, when he speaks to you. His scent—something warm and clean—lingers in the air, familiar yet distracting. And though you do your best to stay detached, your stomach flips every time he turns to you, his expression softer than you expect.

It’s just one night, you remind yourself. One night, and then it’s over.

But when Seungkwan tilts his head to meet your gaze, a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes, you wonder if he feels it too.

The conversation with the vice president of finance hits like a brick wall. You had hoped for the night to pass without any more uncomfortable moments, but here it is. The older man comes over with a knowing grin, his eyes flicking between you and Seungkwan. His voice is smooth, polished—like he’s done this kind of thing a hundred times before. “Wishing you both all the best,” he says with a wink, his smile stretching into something almost too warm.

Then, as if to solidify the moment, he adds, “I found my wife at work too. It’s always the best kind of relationship, don’t you think?”

Before you can even react, Seungkwan steps in, his hand tightening imperceptibly around your waist, his grip firm, possessive. He plays along with ease, a smile tugging at his lips. “We do make a lovely couple,” he says, the words slipping out with the same smooth confidence he uses to charm everyone around him.

And just like that, your knees almost give out. You swallow the lump in your throat, trying to cling to any sense of composure, but it’s hard. His voice sounds like it’s meant for someone else. You glance up at him, searching for some sign that he’s only pretending, but his eyes are warm, and it makes your stomach churn. This is too much.

The moment lingers, stretching long and painfully until the vice president finally moves on, leaving you standing there with Seungkwan’s hand still resting on your waist. You feel the heat of his touch, the weight of the promise in his words. And yet, something inside you begins to twist, and you can't quite shake the feeling that this isn’t all a game anymore.

When the quartet begins to play a slow, lilting melody, you feel a wave of dread wash over you. Couples start gravitating toward the dance floor, moving in soft, synchronized sways. You think you’re safe until you notice Soonyoung and Seokmin’s scheming grins out of the corner of your eye.

“Oh, no,” you mutter under your breath, but it’s too late.

“You two,” Soonyoung grins, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Get out there. Show us how it’s done.”

You freeze, the world tilting on its axis for a moment. You don’t want to dance. You don’t know how to dance. And you certainly don’t want to do it with Seungkwan, not like this. But when you glance over at him, you see the faintest edge of a smile on his lips—like he’s enjoying this far too much.

With a few unsubtle nudges and a downright shove from Soonyoung, you find yourself standing under the ballroom lights, facing Seungkwan. He doesn’t even blink, just steps forward and guides your hands to his shoulders as though this is all perfectly normal. His hands settle on your hips, light but steady, and the contact sends a shiver through you.

“You look like you’re going to bolt,” he murmurs, leaning in just enough that only you can hear. “Relax. Aera and Ayoung are still watching.”

You force a smile, more for their benefit than his, and try to focus on the music. But it’s no use. Every part of this feels overwhelming—the way his hands feel solid against you, the way he moves with a calm confidence you didn’t know he had, the way his gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest moment before snapping back up.

The worst part? You’re not sure what’s fake and what isn’t.

You take a shallow breath, your heart racing as the music swells around you, and everything about the night begins to feel too real. Too intense. The way Seungkwan holds you so effortlessly, the way his chest presses against yours, his gaze lingering on you like it means something.

This isn’t just pretend anymore. This isn’t just a game. You feel like you’re drowning in the pretense, in the slow slide of his body against yours, the fake smiles, the promises of weddings that don’t belong to either of you. You don’t know why it feels like this—like a knot is tightening in your chest with every beat of the music, every moment that stretches longer than you can bear.

You can’t breathe.

It’s too much. The weight of it, the weight of him. His hands on your body, on your waist, intertwined with yours. The tension that thrums between you both is too real, and suddenly, you can’t stand it anymore.

You pull back abruptly, the movement so sudden it startles him.

“I need to go,” you blurt, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

Without waiting for a response, you pull away from him, feeling his grip loosen as you shove past Seokmin and Soonyoung, who both watch you with surprised eyes. You don’t care. You don’t care that they’re probably confused, or that Seungkwan is still standing there on the dancefloor, looking as though he’s been left behind.

You don’t care about anything but getting away, away from him, away from this night that feels too heavy to carry. You push through the crowd, your pulse thundering in your ears, desperate to escape the world Seungkwan has created tonight—one where every smile feels like a lie, and every touch leaves you questioning everything.

Why did it feel like something more? Why does he feel like something more?

The hallway is cold, and the echoes of the ballroom seem a world away as you stand there, breathing in shallow gasps. You don’t know what you expected when you fled—maybe a bit of space to clear your head, a few moments of peace to sort through the mess in your chest. But then Seungkwan appears, footsteps rapid and sharp against the marble floor, and you brace yourself for whatever this is.

He stops in front of you, his eyes softening, a look of concern on his face. “You broke the contract,” he says, his voice low but playful. “You’re supposed to act like a couple in front of Aera and Ayoung.”

You should’ve expected it. Of course it’s just a game to him. Of course he doesn’t feel anything real. You press your lips together, the taste of bile rising in your throat. The way his words spill out with that same teasing tone, like it’s no big deal—that’s when it really hits you. None of this matters to him.

Your heart tightens, and you open your mouth to say something, anything, but it feels like the words are stuck in your throat, a knot you can’t untie. The silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating, until you finally spit out, “Fuck you, Seungkwan.”

His expression falters, eyes flashing with something like hurt or maybe frustration, but it doesn’t matter. You just want him to shut up, to stop saying the things that twist in your chest.

“What the hell?” His voice is sharp, defensive. “What’s your problem now? I’m just trying to make sure you’re not freaking out in front of them!”

“No,” you snap, your words slipping out before you can stop them. “I’m freaking out because you keep acting like it’s nothing—like it’s all just a damn game.” You’re pacing now, turning away from him, too afraid to face him. “And it’s not just a game, Seungkwan. But you don’t care. Of course you don’t care.”

Seungkwan’s voice is louder now, rising to match your anger. “Don’t you dare say that—”

“Why shouldn’t I?” you spit, your frustration spilling over. “You’ve been treating me like this whole thing is some kind of joke. Do you think I don’t see it? You think I don’t feel it?”

“You think I’m playing games?!” he practically shouts, his voice breaking through your thoughts. “What do you want me to say, huh? What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know!” The words burst out in a rush, too loud and too raw. “I don’t know what I want! But I sure as hell don’t want this. Don’t want you acting like I’m nothing but some stupid... some stupid game to win! And—”

Your throat tightens. It’s too much. The pain, the frustration, the confusion. The way your heart keeps aching, wanting something that shouldn’t be there. You can’t breathe right, and suddenly, your eyes sting with tears that you didn’t want to shed.

Before you can stop it, you spin to leave, your chest heaving, your hands trembling. You can’t be here anymore. You can’t do this.

But then, just as you take a step, his hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly.

“Don’t go,” Seungkwan murmurs, his voice softer now, and it’s the quietness of it that makes everything inside you snap.

In an instant, you turn back toward him, your body moving without thinking, driven by something primal, something that burns too hot to ignore. You don't care anymore, not about the rules or the reasons you were running or how much you've lied to yourself. Your lips crash into his, desperate and hungry, a sudden, violent collision of need and want. It’s rough, urgent, a complete collapse of all the control you’ve tried so desperately to hold onto.

His lips are warm, soft at first, but there’s no hesitation after that. It deepens in an instant, and you can feel him pushing you back, pressing you against the cold, hard wall. His body presses into yours, all sharp lines and heat, every inch of him a reminder that you’ve wanted this more than you’re willing to admit. You clutch his tie, your fingers knotting into the fabric, pulling him closer, deeper, like it’s not enough. His hands slide up the wall, bracing himself above your head, as if he needs that support to hold himself together too. But you’re too tangled in this moment, too consumed by the feel of him, the way his lips move against yours, the way his breath catches with every shift of his mouth.

His hands find their way to your body, his fingers grazing your hips, and you shudder, the friction between you both igniting something wild inside you. You kiss him back fiercely, and it feels like everything in the world has narrowed down to this singular moment. You don’t know if this is real or if it’s just your mind tricking you into believing it’s more than it is. But you feel it—how right it feels to be tangled up with him, how everything else outside of this space fades away.

His body presses harder, his chest against yours, his warmth seeping into you, filling the cracks where your control once was. You’re dizzy with the intensity of it, a rush of emotions crashing through you, and the silence between kisses becomes unbearable. Your breath is ragged, your heart pounding in your chest as if it’s trying to escape, to be closer to him. And every time you feel him pull away, even just a little, you’re pulling him back, chasing that connection that’s too elusive to hold.

It feels like the world is spinning too fast, and you’re holding onto him, to this fleeting moment, hoping that maybe it won’t slip away. But it does—it always does.

You press harder into him, your hands trembling as they slide up his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingers. It’s almost too much, like you’re consuming each other, but you can’t stop. You don’t want to stop.

But then the air feels heavier, and the ache in your chest intensifies. This is wrong, it has to be. His mouth against yours, his body holding you so tightly—it’s all too much, and yet you’re still starved for more. You feel like you’re drowning, and yet you don’t know how to pull away, how to breathe again without the taste of him on your lips.

You break the kiss suddenly, gasping for air, your chest rising and falling with desperation, as if the only thing you need in that moment is to breathe and be closer to him. But you know better. You remember. You have to remember.

And just like that, the realization comes crashing down, shattering everything inside you. It’s all just a game for him. It always was. You turn away, stumbling back, your body trembling as you try to steady yourself, your hands shaking uncontrollably.

“No.” You gasp, heart hammering painfully in your chest. You can’t stay here. You can’t let him see how much he’s breaking you right now.

Before he can say anything, before he can try to reach for you, you turn on your heel and run. You don’t look back, even when your chest aches and your throat burns, because you know that if you do, you’ll see something you can’t unsee.

And you’re too afraid that the feeling you’ve just experienced—that feeling of being whole, of being wanted—is the very thing that’ll make you lose yourself completely.

That night, as the doorbell rings, you know exactly who it is before you even get up. You don’t even have the strength to ask them to leave—Seokmin and Soonyoung just know. They always do.

Seokmin's already cracking open a pint of Ben & Jerry's before you've even had the chance to process their arrival, his voice light but knowing, as if they’ve been waiting for the moment to show up at your door. And it’s not long before they’re seated on the couch beside you, Soonyoung's knowing look cutting right through you as he silently opens the second pint, passing it to you without a word.

You don’t have the heart to ask about Seungkwan. You’re terrified of hearing it, terrified of what they’ll say. You don’t want to know if he’s going to shrug it off, or worse, if he’s forgotten about you already.

Instead, you spend the next few hours in silence, the three of you settled into the couch, alternating between the steady flow of ice cream and shitty romcoms on TV. The sound of laughter and melodramatic dialogue fills the space, but you barely hear it. Every now and then, a sob shakes through you, and you absently grab Soonyoung’s suit jacket, wiping your face on it like some pathetic kid trying to hide from the world.

It’s not a game anymore, you think. But your mind keeps circling back, again and again, and your heart clenches painfully.

You find yourself sniffling during a commercial break, and before you know it, your voice cracks as you whisper into Seokmin’s shoulder, your words barely audible through the tears. “It’s not a game anymore,” you whimper, your chest tight with emotion, a hollow ache you can't seem to fill. “Not to me.”

Seokmin pats your head gently, his hand warm and comforting on your hair, and you can feel him press his cheek against your head in an unspoken gesture of reassurance. Soonyoung doesn’t say anything but looks at you sadly from his spot on your lap, his eyes soft with understanding, but he knows better than to push.

But then Seokmin speaks, his voice quiet, so gentle you almost miss it. “Was it ever?” he asks, the question hanging in the air, a quiet truth you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You don’t answer. Because you know the answer. You’ve known it all along, even when you were pretending not to. The truth is louder than the silence between the three of you, but you’re not ready to face it.

And so, instead of answering, you bury your face further into Seokmin’s shoulder, fighting the tears that never seem to stop. The answer is clear, but you can’t find the words to say it.

Friday feels like the weight of the week is catching up with you, every inch of your body refusing to move as you sit at your desk, staring blankly at the screen. You’ve worked from home plenty of times before, but today? Today, it feels different. The silence is too loud, too consuming, and you can't escape it, not even in the safety of your own apartment. Your phone buzzes incessantly in the corner of your desk, each ping making your chest tighten just a little more. You know it’s him. Seungkwan. You know because his name flashes on your screen, and every time, you hesitate before swiping it away, like a coward.

You don’t want to hear it, not today. Not when everything feels so broken.

But when the photo comes in—a simple picture of your coffee order, just sitting there on your desk with nothing but a blank post-it note next to it—you can feel the tears already threatening to break free. The coffee’s steaming, just the way you like it, but the note’s blank, empty. There’s nothing there. Just silence.

It’s too much.

You let out a strangled sob, your hand shaking as you clutch your phone. Your throat tightens as you struggle to breathe, the weight of everything crashing down on you all at once. You curl up at your desk, tears falling in heavy waves as you finally allow yourself to break. The floodgates that you’ve kept tightly shut the past few days burst wide open, and you can’t stop it. Can’t stop the sobs that wrack through you, shaking you to your core.

You’re not ready to face this. Not ready to admit what’s happening inside of you. You just want it to stop. To go back to before everything got complicated. Before you let yourself feel anything for him.

You don't even bother to wipe your tears away, don’t bother trying to pull yourself together. You don’t even go to Seokmin’s tonight for your weekly ritual. The usual distraction, the routine that’s always been your safe space, feels miles away now.

Instead, you pull the blanket tighter around you, the emptiness of the apartment matching the emptiness you feel inside. You bury yourself in it.

And you let the tears come.

The smell of Seokmin’s cooking wafts into the living room as he sets up the kitchen, making his usual chaotic symphony of clattering pans and sizzling ingredients. He’s persistent, like always, so you know there’s no way you’re getting out of this. He’s here to cook, and more importantly, to drag you back from the spiral you’ve fallen into.

You don’t say anything when he hands you the bowl of food. You just sit down at the kitchen table, quietly shoveling the food into your mouth. It tastes good, as always, but it doesn’t reach you. Not the way it should.

The silence stretches between you two as you chew, the clinking of your utensils the only sound in the room. Seokmin isn’t going to let it slide, though. He’s far too persistent to let you wallow in quiet.

“So,” he starts, his voice quiet but pointed, “what happened?”

You don’t answer immediately, and it’s not because you don’t want to—no, it’s because you’re not sure where to start. Do you tell him the truth? That you let your feelings get tangled up in a game, that Seungkwan tricked you into thinking it meant something more than it was?

But when you look up, you meet Seokmin’s eyes, and for some reason, you just... let it spill.

“I kissed him,” you say, voice small. The words feel like a confession you weren’t ready to make.

Seokmin’s brows furrow slightly, but he doesn’t push. He just asks, “But that’s a good thing, right?”

You snort, bitter and frustrated. “Seokmin, it was all just a game to him.”

The words hang there, sharp in the quiet kitchen air. Seokmin pauses, setting his fork down before speaking again. “Did he tell you that?”

You shake your head. “No, but he doesn’t need to. He kept bringing up the contract.” 

Seokmin’s eyes narrow in frustration, but there’s a softness in them too. “Y/N…”

“Don’t,” you mutter, the emotion welling up again in your chest. “I’m done. I’m tired of this, Seokmin. It was never real for him, and it’s too real for me now. I can’t keep pretending.”

You can’t even look him in the eye now, your gaze turning to the table as your hands clutch the bowl. Seokmin stays quiet, letting you speak, but you can feel the weight of his disappointment. It doesn’t make you feel better, but at least you’re not holding it all in.

“What are you going to do on Monday? You have to present together.” Seokmin says, his voice light but his eyes serious.

The question hits you like a punch to the gut. You’ve been avoiding thinking about that. Of course, Monday will come, and you’ll have to face Seungkwan again.

“I’ll ignore him,” you reply, voice almost robotic.

Seokmin raises an eyebrow. “Let me repeat: you have to PRESENT. TOGETHER.” He emphasizes the word ‘together,’ and you can feel the weight of it pressing down on you. “Emphasis on TOGETHER.”

You just stare at your food, not knowing what to say. Your heart is heavy, your thoughts racing.

“Seokmin, I’m tired of this,” you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips. “I’m done. Aera and Ayoung can go fuck themselves, but I’m not playing this game anymore.”

Seokmin doesn’t say anything for a while. You hear him sigh, and when you look up, his face is softer. “If you say so.”

You want to argue, to tell him that it’s easier said than done, but instead, you just slump back into your chair, letting the silence fill the space again. He doesn’t push you further, just lets you stew in your emotions, knowing that you’ll need time. You’re not ready to face Monday, not ready to stand side by side with Seungkwan, pretending like none of this ever happened. But there’s no escaping it. And you’ll have to deal with it soon enough.

Monday morning is a punch to the gut.

You arrive at work, feeling the weight of the weekend's fallout heavy in your chest. The first thing you notice when you pull into the parking lot is that there’s no coffee waiting for you on your desk. The usual sign of Seungkwan’s presence, of him thinking of you in the mornings, is missing. It's a stupid thing to feel the absence of, but it cuts deeper than you'd like to admit.

You walk into the office, feeling all the eyes on you. It’s not even 9 AM, and you already know today is going to drag. You get to your desk, and before you can even sit down, Aera and Ayoung are already on you, their faces lit up with exaggerated curiosity.

"Hey, Y/N," Aera says, eyes flicking to the empty space where the coffee should have been. "Where’s your coffee today? You and Seungkwan usually have that whole ‘he brings your coffee’ thing down to a science. What’s up? You two not sharing that routine anymore?"

Ayoung giggles, and you feel the irritation bubbling up before you can stop it. You’ve had enough of this.

You slam your bag down on your desk, not bothering to hide the exhaustion in your voice. "We broke up. Now get out of my face so I can work."

The words hit the air like a slap, and for a moment, the office is completely silent. Aera’s mouth falls open slightly, her eyes wide in surprise, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Ayoung just blinks, taken aback, but she says nothing more, her usual snark suddenly gone.

You don’t give them a chance to respond. You turn away from them, sitting at your desk, hands shaking slightly as you pull up your emails. You can hear their retreating footsteps, but you don’t bother looking up. You don’t care. It’s easier to just ignore them and dive into your work, focusing on the tasks in front of you.

But it doesn’t stop there. As much as you try to bury yourself in your screen, the emptiness of Seungkwan’s absence—his lack of coffee, the parking spot that you still take for granted—gnaws at you. You tell yourself that it’s for the best, that the game is over. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

The presentation room feels suffocating.

You stand at the front, flipping through slides, forcing your gaze to stay focused on the KPIs and metrics on the screen. The numbers are safe, the charts impersonal. You can talk about this with your eyes closed, but it feels like everything else in the room is conspiring against you.

Seungkwan, of course, keeps trying to catch your eye. Every time you glance in his direction—brief, fleeting—you see the way his expression tightens, the worry flickering in his eyes. You’re not sure if it's pity or concern, and frankly, you don’t care. You’ve worked hard to bury whatever feelings were there, and you’re not about to let him dig them up in front of a room full of people.

You force yourself to talk about the numbers. KPIs, data points, project metrics. Anything to avoid looking at him. You can feel Soonyoung and Seokmin watching you a little too intently, their eyes sharp with something unspoken. It makes your words stutter, your confidence falter just a little, but you push through, unwilling to show any weakness.

But then an executive asks if you're okay, and the words catch you off guard. You can’t help it—you glance over at Seungkwan. Just for a second. Long enough for him to notice, long enough for him to give you that look. The one you’ve been avoiding.

"I'm fine, thanks," you manage to say, voice steady despite the way your heart is hammering in your chest. You look back at the screen, not daring to meet anyone’s gaze. You try to ignore the weight of his concern, the way it lingers like a weight in the air.

The meeting eventually wraps up, and as everyone files out, Seungkwan steps towards you, his arm reaching out. You feel the familiar tug of his presence, the warmth of his hand inches away from your sleeve.

But you don’t want to feel it. You don’t want to deal with it.

You shrug him off, murmuring something about deadlines and reports that need to be finished. The words come out harsh and clipped, almost too much so, but you don’t care. You can feel the tension hanging between you like a storm cloud, but you don’t want to be near him right now. Not with everything still so raw.

You don’t wait for a response, just turn and walk toward your desk, not daring to look back.

You thought it would be easy to avoid Seungkwan. After all, it's just a matter of keeping your distance, staying busy, and letting the work pile up in a way that leaves no room for him to worm his way back into your head. You’ve been doing it for hours, and so far, it’s working.

Three hours, at least.

Seokmin and Soonyoung have been your perfect distractions, filling your day with so much nonsense that you barely have time to breathe, let alone think about Seungkwan and the mess you’ve somehow ended up in.

It started in the break room, just after the meeting. You’d been trying to sneak in a coffee, hoping it might calm the jittery feeling that’s been buzzing through you since you saw Seungkwan's hand reach for yours. But, of course, Soonyoung and Seokmin cornered you before you could even take a sip.

"Y/N, I need your opinion on something," Soonyoung had started, with that grin of his, the one that always spells trouble.

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious. "What now?"

Seokmin leaned in like they were about to discuss state secrets, whispering in a conspiratorial tone, "Soonyoung here is convinced he’s a professional ice cream taster. He wants to know if he should add ‘Certified Expert’ to his resume."

You rolled your eyes, but Soonyoung was undeterred, holding up a pint of Ben & Jerry’s with a flourish. "Can’t you see the wisdom in my plan? Who wouldn’t hire a man who knows his way around a pint of Cookie Dough?"

You snorted, shaking your head. "You’re ridiculous. But go ahead, waste your time on that. I’m trying to focus."

But no, they weren’t letting you go that easily. Seokmin started cracking jokes, distracting you with all the random things he’d overheard in the office. "Did you know that Ayoung is secretly obsessed with ‘90s boy bands? I walked in on her humming ‘I Want It That Way’ this morning, and I’m still recovering."

And Soonyoung, ever the instigator, added with a wink, "I also caught her in the hallway talking about getting a matching tattoo with Aera. Of a tiny cupcake. What do you think? The whole office would get a kick out of that."

By then, you were laughing despite yourself, pushing down the tight feeling in your chest. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to laugh, it was just that... well, everything felt too complicated. Too much.

So, you let them pull you into their nonsense. They carried on for the next hour—Soonyoung performing some ridiculous impression of an old-timey detective, Seokmin explaining his absurd theory that paperclips are an ancient alien technology (you’re still not sure if he was serious)—until you forgot, for just a moment, about everything else. Even Seungkwan.

But of course, they weren’t done. When they saw that momentary crack in your armor, they pounced, practically dragging you into a brainstorming session for next week's office party theme. Soonyoung insisted on a 'Beach Party' theme even though there was no beach within a hundred miles of your office. Seokmin argued for a retro ‘80s prom, and then proceeded to pull out old high school yearbook photos of him in a neon green tuxedo for ‘inspiration.’ You were supposed to be working, but you couldn’t help but laugh at Seokmin trying to explain why the color combo was "unbeatable."

They kept going, laughing, cracking jokes, pulling your attention from the tight knot that had been steadily winding around your chest since you left the meeting. But you knew—knew—this distraction wasn’t going to last forever.

Eventually, reality would catch up, but for now, you let them drag you along with them. The idea of facing Seungkwan, of facing what had happened, felt like too much. So you pushed it down, buried it in the ridiculousness of the day.

For now, you thought, it was working. But you had a feeling the peace wouldn’t last long.

It’s late, and you’re about to congratulate yourself on avoiding Seungkwan for the entire day as you open your car door. But of course, the universe has other plans for you. The sudden slam of the car door makes you jump, your hand still on the handle as you whip around to find Seungkwan standing there, his face set in that tight expression you know too well. The tension between you snaps, palpable in the cool evening air. His voice cuts through the silence, demanding, sharp.

"So this is how it's going to be?" he asks, the words heavy with frustration.

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. You were so sure you had made your escape. You had done everything you could today to keep him out of your head, to avoid this moment. Yet here he is, standing in front of you like an inevitable storm, his presence taking up the entire space between you.

You try to steady yourself, the tightness in your throat making it hard to speak. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," you manage, forcing the words out despite how small they sound against the tension hanging between you.

Seungkwan’s eyes narrow as if he’s reading you—really reading you, seeing right through the facade you’ve worked so hard to put on. "Don’t lie to me, Y/N. You’ve been avoiding me all day. It’s not just because of the work, is it? You’ve been avoiding me since... since the gala. Since everything."

You bite your lip, refusing to let the weight of his words sink in, but his voice keeps coming, a steady beat in your chest. “You think I’m just supposed to pretend everything’s fine after what happened?”

The words hit you like a slap, leaving a bitter taste on your tongue. You try to ignore the ache that stirs inside you at the mention of what happened—the kiss, the way it felt so real, so right, and yet so wrong. So much of a game. And now he’s standing here, throwing it all in your face.

"I don’t know what you expect from me, Seungkwan," you snap, unable to keep the edge from your voice. "But it’s over. I told you—I’m done."

Seungkwan’s jaw tightens, and he steps closer, his proximity making you instinctively want to step back. But you don’t. You won’t.

"Done?" he repeats, voice laced with disbelief. "Just like that? You think you can just walk away? You’re really going to pretend this—whatever this is—didn’t mean anything?"

You open your mouth to argue, but no words come out. It’s as if your body’s betraying you, locking you in this moment where nothing makes sense, where the anger you thought would fuel you evaporates the moment Seungkwan looks at you with that frustrated, helpless look in his eyes.

You hate that you care. You hate that, even now, a part of you wants to reach out and undo everything. To erase the distance, the silence, the walls you’ve built between the two of you. But you can’t.

“You always thought of it as a game, Seungkwan,” you snap, your voice a little too sharp for comfort, but it’s all you have to hold onto. The argument. The distance. The lie you’ve been clinging to.

He’s shaking his head before you even finish the sentence, a rawness in his expression you’ve never seen before. “It was never a game for me!” His words crash through the silence, leaving an echo that hangs in the air. It’s too much. Too loud.

And then, just like that, you’re back in that hallway, your heart pounding. The night air feels suffocating, and there’s a closeness between you two that should feel wrong, but it doesn’t. It feels right in the way his chest is rising and falling too quickly, in the way you can barely breathe without him being this close. Your breaths are shaky, uncertain.

“What was it then?” Your voice cracks as you ask, small and vulnerable, that gnawing fear in your chest almost swallowing you whole. You don’t want to know the answer, but you know you need to hear it.

His gaze drops, his voice softens, and it’s enough to make your stomach turn with something too familiar. “What do you think?” he whispers, just above a breath, his words more like a confession than a question.

The truth is right there, suspended between you two, but it feels like a lie at the same time. You try to push it down, try to control it, but the knot in your throat grows tighter. You’re not sure what’s worse—the silence, or the fact that you’re on the verge of hoping for something you shouldn’t.

His hand moves to your face, brushing your cheek, and you can feel the heat of his touch seeping into your skin like a live wire. “I kept the parking spot argument going because I knew it was the only excuse I had to talk to you,” he continues, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place. “You’re so smart. So beautiful. I knew you would never give me the time of day unless I made you.”

It hits you in waves, like the ground beneath you is shifting. You open your mouth to respond, to tell him that this is too much, too late, that he can’t just explain this all away—but he cuts you off, the urgency in his voice making you freeze.

“No, please. Let me finish.”

You swallow hard, the words stuck in your throat, but you stay silent, waiting for him to continue.

He steps closer, the air between you two crackling with every movement. His eyes are dark, intense, and you’re not sure if it’s fear or something else flickering behind them. “I couldn’t just let you go. I couldn’t. So I did what I had to do. I kept pushing you, testing you, because I couldn’t let you slip away.”

The honesty in his voice is like a punch to the gut. Every word seems to break down everything you thought you knew about this whole thing. You can’t speak. You’re drowning in it, caught between the words and the way he’s looking at you.

You want to run. You should run. But instead, you stay there, with his hands on you, his breath too close to yours, and the silence that threatens to drown you both.

The question slips out before you can stop it, your voice small and fragile in the heavy silence that’s settled between you two. It feels like everything is crashing down, the weight of it all pressing against your chest, but the curiosity burns through. You need to know.

"Why did you say yes? To the contract?" Your voice barely rises above a whisper, and you can’t help the way your breath catches in your throat, that desperate need to understand.

Seungkwan freezes, his hand still hovering just inches from your face, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. It’s like you’ve asked the question that’s been hanging in the air, unspoken, for far too long. And for a moment, it feels like the world is holding its breath, waiting for him to answer.

He looks away, his eyes darting to the ground as if the answer isn’t something he can say out loud. His lips part, but no words come out. He takes a breath, almost like he’s bracing himself for what he’s about to admit. And then, slowly, the words slip out, ragged and raw.

“Because I didn’t know how else to get close to you.” His voice trembles slightly, but the honesty in it cuts through you, sharp and real. “I didn’t know how else to make you notice me.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “I was tired of standing in the background, watching you with everyone else, wanting to be more than just... the guy who argues with you about parking spots or steals your coffee.”

There’s a bitter chuckle, half empty, half ashamed, and it almost breaks you. He doesn’t look at you now, but his words hang in the air between you like a weight that neither of you can lift.

“I thought if I had a reason, an excuse, maybe... maybe I could make you see me. See us." He finally glances back up, his gaze soft, too soft for the harshness of his confession. “And I was wrong, okay? I was wrong to use you like that.”

The silence after his words is deafening. Every piece of you wants to scream, to shout at him for what he’s done, for the way he played with your heart like it was a game. But you can’t. Not with the raw vulnerability in his eyes, the way he stands there, exposed and unsure.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice cracks, and it’s all you can manage.

His chest rises and falls with a deep, shaky breath. “Because I didn’t think you’d ever want to hear it.”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, a breathless, almost irritated whisper. "You're an idiot." But it's not frustration you feel anymore, it’s something deeper, something that’s been simmering just beneath the surface for far too long.

And then you can’t help it. The space between you closes, and before you even realize what you're doing, your hands are on him, pulling his face down to yours. The kiss is fierce and unrestrained, lips crashing together with a hunger that feels almost desperate, like you’ve been starved for this moment, for him, for everything that’s been left unsaid.

Seungkwan’s hands find their way to your waist, tugging you closer, his body solid and warm against yours. He responds without hesitation, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that matches your own, a mix of frustration and need, and something else—something raw and real.

The world outside of this moment disappears, the streetlights and cars, the sounds of the city—it all fades away, leaving just the two of you, caught in the storm of it all. It feels right, in a way that makes your chest tighten, in a way that makes everything else feel insignificant. The kiss deepens, and for a moment, everything that’s been left unspoken between you two finally starts to come to the surface.

When you finally pull away, breathless and dazed, his forehead rests against yours, your heart pounding in the space between you. It feels like the whole world has just shifted, everything falling into place in a way that makes sense, finally.

"How did you know my coffee order?" You ask, voice still shaky from the kiss, but your curiosity getting the better of you. You're still trying to wrap your head around all of it.

Seungkwan pauses for a moment, then a sheepish smile tugs at his lips. "I watched you," he admits quietly, his eyes softening. "I memorized little things about you, filed them away. Thought maybe one day I could use them... if I ever got the chance."

You can't help the small giggle that escapes you at his confession, the weight of it all sinking in. It's the sweetest thing you've ever heard. Before you can stop yourself, you're pulling him back into a kiss, hands sliding up to cup his face, as if this moment could last forever.

When you pull away again, your lips still tingling from his touch, you look up at him with a playful grin.

"So what do you say, fake-girlfriend?" he asks, his voice low, teasing. "Wanna be my real girlfriend?"

You laugh, the sound light and carefree, pressing your head against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. For the first time in what feels like forever, everything feels right. You breathe him in, the warmth of his embrace anchoring you.

"Only if you still bring me coffee," you murmur, grinning into his shirt.

"Done," he whispers, pressing his lips to yours again, and this time it feels like a promise—one you both intend to keep.

EPILOGUE

Seungkwan’s car is parked downstairs, and your phone buzzes incessantly as you can practically hear his impatience through the screen. You’re running late, of course, but when you finally slip into the passenger seat, he’s grumbling, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. The moment you slide in, though, his tone softens, and he’s already handing you a cup of coffee—the perfect temperature, the way you like it, the warm press of his lips against your cheek.

"You’re lucky I didn’t leave without you," he mutters, but there’s no real anger in his voice. You smile as you take a sip. This coffee isn’t from the shop across town anymore. No, Seungkwan bought an espresso machine, much to your surprise, and he’s been making them himself. "What kind of boyfriend doesn’t make coffee for his girlfriend?" he had argued one night as you laid in his lap, and you had to admit, it was an endearing (and slightly ridiculous) argument. Still, this coffee tastes better than anything you could buy, and maybe you’re biased, but you think it might actually be true.

He pulls into The Spot with an exaggerated sigh. “It’s so much nicer not having to argue with you every day for the spot,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips.

You roll your eyes and slam the car door shut with a dramatic flair. “I can pick fights about other things,” you shoot back unhelpfully, crossing your arms. “For example, your tie is hideous.”

Seungkwan gasps in mock outrage, his hand flying to his chest like he’s been personally attacked. "You did not just say that!" he yells, and then he's chasing you through the parking garage, the sound of his footsteps getting closer. You let out a shriek as you try to run in heels, but it’s no use—he catches up to you easily, hands dancing across your waist as you beg for mercy.

"Take it back!" he demands, voice filled with mock seriousness.

"No!" You laugh, still struggling against his hold, though it's a losing battle.

"Then no coffee for a week," he warns, his tone playful but authoritative.

"Boo Seungkwan!" you protest, but his grin only widens as he pulls you into the elevator, trapping you between his chest and the wall.

The elevator door dings open, and just as you step out, he pulls you back toward him, placing a kiss on your lips—slow and warm, lingering like he’s in no rush to let you go.

"Have a good day," he murmurs, his lips brushing your cheek.

"EW!" Seokmin’s voice shouts from behind you, and you can’t help but laugh at the sound of him. Seungkwan flips him off without missing a beat, the playful edge in his voice unmistakable. "This whole thing is your fault," he calls out to Seokmin’s retreating figure, who’s already halfway down the hall, grinning ear to ear.

"I know!" Seokmin yells back gleefully, his voice carrying through the hallway. "I had a really really good plan!"

tagging: @ottersmind @blvenote @kyeomsworld @cookiearmy @armycarat2612 @rjea @xylatox @flwrshwa

@christinewithluv @headlockimnida @letwiiparkjay @cherr-y-eji @codeinbelle @baguette-atiny @whoa-jo @noiceoofed

[mercif4l]

not for sale 💳 mingyu x reader. (3)

celebrity!mingyu and small business owner!reader. check out 🛒 not for sale's masterlist.

You can’t bring yourself to end the call. 

Your phone is overheating. You’re below the acceptable battery threshold of twenty percent. And the dark-haired boy on the other end of the screen looks more asleep than awake. 

You should end this call, but you can’t. 

Mingyu doesn’t seem keen on ending it either. His eyes are drooping and his head has begun to loll every so often. He’d spent the first couple minutes of the call talking about his day— the seemingly endless rotation of engagements that came with being a celebrity. 

Sometimes, it still strikes you as odd that this is the life you now lead. Being on FaceTime with somebody that hundreds, maybe thousands of people fawned over. 

But you were friends… right? And friends called each other. Friends texted. 

This is friendly, a small voice in the back of your head tries to convince you. So very, very friendly. 

The conversation has since mellowed out. Mingyu makes good on his word; he falls quiet, observing your work like it’s some form of entertainment for him. At one point, you even forget he’s watching. 

It’s why you’re a bit jolted when he absentmindedly mumbles, “You have nice hands.” 

You pause in the middle of bubble wrapping an order. One cursory glance at your screen, and you see that Mingyu is absolutely fighting for his life to stay awake. The sight almost makes you smile. 

“You should head to bed soon,” you say instead of addressing his compliment. “We’ve been on call for— what? Two hours, I think.” 

Mingyu says something too low for you to catch. You give a noncommittal hum of ‘hmm?’, prompting him to repeat what he’d said. 

And maybe he’s just tired enough to decide fuck it. Maybe it’s past midnight and that makes everything fair game. 

Because Mingyu breathes out a quiet “not enough,” and you swear something screeches to a halt in your brain. Two hours. Not enough. 

You swallow. He’s out of it, you think to yourself, your fingers quivering a bit as you cut, tape, seal. He’s sleep-deprived and talking out of his ass. 

That’s what gives you the audacity to ask what’s been on your mind for days now. 

“Mingyu,” you ask, “why do you want to be an ambassador for Bittersweet?” 

A beat. One that stretches long enough for you to wonder if Mingyu had finally succumbed to his exhaustion. 

But then, his voice— quiet, but not any less sincere— rings over the line. “Because I like your jewelry.” 

Plain and simple. You’re not sure why you expected more. 

He goes on, his tone a little softer, slower. “I like what you’ve done with the business. I like… how hard you work. Your passion. All that.”

Mingyu pauses to yawn. You glance over to see him smiling into his phone, his half-lidded gaze trained on your hands moving over your workbench. It makes his next words a one-two punch on your poor heart. 

“Your brand may be called ‘Bittersweet’,” he says, “but you’re as sweet as they come.” 

EXCERPTS FROM "MINGYU opens up on being named Rising Star of the Year"

Q: Earlier this year, the Internet fell in love with you for being an ���advocate for small businesses.’ You’ve seemed to take it a step further, though. 

MINGYU: [laughs] Is that what they’ve been saying? I had no idea. But, yes— the pieces I have on right now are from a small business. It’s called Bittersweet Jewelry, and it’s something I found one day while scrolling through SNS. 

Q: You didn’t know the seller prior to purchasing? 

MINGYU: No, not at all. They didn’t even know it was me. I used an alias for a while. 

Q: I see. A lot of people believe your support has been reflective of your personality. Being caring, considerate. 

MINGYU: That’s very nice. I appreciate that. Although, if I’m being honest, I’m just a guy who likes good jewelry. I admire consistency, quality. [holds up his rings] These have it in spades. 

Q: That’s why you keep coming back to brands like Bittersweet. 

MINGYU: Sure. We could say that.  

[...]

THE TOP FIVE SONGS MINGYU HAS BEEN PLAYING ON REPEAT LATELY

Love Me Like That by Sam Kim

Linger by The Cranberries

Tadhana by Up Dharma Down

If You Do by GOT7

LMLY by Jackson Wang

[...]

Q: What do you look for in a partner? 

MINGYU: Now, Minghao… [laughs] 

Q: Sorry. The readers want to know. 

MINGYU: I’m never going to escape this question, am I? Give me a minute to think about it. 

Q: Sure. 

MINGYU: [after a moment] I’d like somebody dedicated and passionate. Someone sweet. And… 

Q: And? 

MINGYU: Someone with nice hands, I guess. [smiles] 

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[mercif4l]

/𝗶𝘁 𝗴𝗲𝘁𝘀 𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗲𝗿.

pairing: reader x choi 'buzzcut' vernon genre: angst, hurt no comfort wc: 1.2k summary: fingers off the unblock button or you're gonna regret it, girl content warning: angst bro. lovers to strangers, mentions of eating difficulties, rotting post-breakup, self-flagellating, i might wanna write an alt. ending to this bc what on earth is it so sad for.

it gets easier: they’re right about that, which pisses you off, frankly, but that’s just your pride talking. 

first, you go no contact and it destroys you, and the rot makes your blood spill a darker, angry red, like cardinals on the cusp of their death. 

then the rage is followed swiftly by embarrassment. at the circumstances, the context, your response, his response (or lack thereof), at being a human being with emotions beyond your control. it turns your teeth brittle and sore, and you can’t muster the courage to smile anymore, but at least you’re eating again. 

the songs that dominate your breakup playlist fall into obscurity in the belly of your liked songs. savored, chewed up, swallowed, sizzling away in the same acid that digested ‘fireflies’ by owl city some 15 years ago. 

now, they only startle you after their second chorus plays through the shitty sound system of some target eight months later. 

then there’s that big, bulbous, obnoxious conclusion: acceptance. 

maybe it’s the exposure therapy? 

you see his face everywhere, not seeking it out, but not avoiding it either. you’re … you deserve to see that he has moved on. it’s good for you to see him and try to accept the feelings that linger (beyond bitterness and resentment). 

because where that tunnel ends, you know he has made you happy. he persists in making you happy, still. the better memories are too plentiful to count or ignore, and his stupid grin always makes you grin right back, no matter the distance—even if it is watching some moment of fanatic hysteria explode on twitter. 

so it does get easier. yes, even as you’re inundated with pictures of him performing to sold out arenas, or modeling brands whose names you know he's too scared to try and pronounce, or shuffling through an airport with a too-small baseball cap haphazardly hiding a new haircut. wait. a new haircut?

it's like something possesses you. one minute you're doomscrolling, the next you're neck deep in carat twitter's discourse over some fantaken photos.

while thousands of fans scream back and forth over something that will inevitably be confirmed in the next 24 hours, you realize-or remember-you're only privy to this news as a statistic. you're just another view in an algorithm. and that no one thinks (or cares) to ask you about hansol anymore, knowing you no longer have a place by his side. 

oof. yeah, that still stings a bit. accepting you have no right to know, or otherwise being limited to investigative fangirling.

but you haven’t given yourself any room for mistake making so far, so why would you sully that clean streak? for the sake of haircut curiosity? what a stupid thing to suggest. idiotic, really. self-sabotaging idiocy. 

to: +82 *** *** **** hey! new haircut looks cool. so sick the company finally let up. hope you’re doing good 👍 

now, without the warm embrace of imessage’s delete option, you’ve kinda/sort of-fucked yourself. 

“it gets easier my ass. yeah, yeah, gets easier to behave like a freak.” you berate yourself, sliding the phone across your table and vastly underestimating the distance it’d take to fall off. as you dive to catch it (and fail), that deafening ringtone only gives you reason to let it drop, to shatter the thing beyond recognizing its screen. but with this stupid heavy duty phone case hansol had bought a year back? no dice. 

from: +82 *** *** **** haha thanks man ended up begging for forgiveness rather than waiting for permission :P from: +82 *** *** **** craaaazy how hard i tried to cover it up just to be clocked the second i stepped off the plane lol

you snicker at that. how ‘hard’ he tried?

to: +82 *** *** ****  boy you wore a cap nothing was gonna cover that loooow taper fadeee 🎶  from: +82 *** *** **** brooo i was supposed to wear my hoodie but i got overstimulated  from: +82 *** *** ****  and i hope ur doing good too by the way  from: +82 *** *** ****  kinda geeked to hear from you haha

you have to put your phone down. this is dangerous, dangerous territory; like, walking through burning sand, sunburned and windlashed, toward a mirage. you have got to put your phone down. 

to: +82 *** *** **** honestly just wanted to wish u well for the new year and lyk the buzzcut is super cool B)

these stupid keyboard emojis are a little secret you both keep. something silly you only use with each other that is so inconsequential, you can’t help but let your cheeks burn an angry red at their return. 

why does it have to be so easy? 

you are going to put the phone down, now.

to: +82 *** *** **** i’m sorry for blocking you—even though we said no contact it felt pretty immature. from: +82 *** *** **** glad u like the hair. was kinda bummed u weren’t the first to see it haha could only imagine the look on your face calling u after the cut or sending u a selfie :’) from: +82 *** *** **** nah i deserved it

he didn’t deserve it. sure, his whole being him shtick was what made the separation so excruciating in the first place, but you’d made the decision mutually. albeit a bit prematurely. in the way all confused adults do when they preempt disaster and jump ship at the first sign of smoke. 

from: +82 *** *** **** that sounds crazy dramatic i just mean from: +82 *** *** **** it made sense? like it didn’t take long for me to get why you’d done it from: +82 *** *** **** i just figured pretty early on u knew what u were doing. you always did/do lol 

your finger hovers over the call button. never before has it felt so offensive, so risqué to do such a thing, but you know that by ignoring the arbitrary rules of a breakup you’re tempting fate. 

it doesn’t matter that before, you could do it as freely as you wished. that before, he would always pick up and never once avoided answering. before, you could send jibberish voicemails to litter his inbox, quadruple double triple text, or simply tell him to ‘ring’, and he’d oblige; because before you were in love. now, you’re an unnamed contact.

now, you stomp on the ashes like they’ll relight after a year being burned out. 

from: +82 *** *** ****  happy new year by the way!!!! from: +82 *** *** **** and belated happy holidays :) i pried and kwan let slip you got a billy joel record from him from: +82 *** *** **** i didn’t know you’d kept our player. why does that make me so happy?

you need to put the phone down. you have got to put the phone. you are going to put the phone down, now. 

your stiff finger taps that blue icon before you can even think to stop it. it’s unfair, really, how this has to happen, but it was inevitable. because no amount of money in the world could buy you enough dignity to do this properly.

because when it comes to hansol, you’re nothing more than a fool. 

caller id [+84 *** *** ****] > you will not receive phone calls, messages or facetime calls from people on the block list. confirm? caller blocked. 

delete message history? 

a/n: vaguely inspired by @xinganhao rockstar!reader and vernon breakup chapter.... like what if we all suffered more... because im a SICK MASOCHIST! and kae is my unknowing muse. also sorry for going afk and happy new year</3

[mercif4l]

the eyebrow slit…

[mercif4l]

NEW YEAR'S DAY ☆ C.HS

Kissing at midnight on New Year's Eve is said to bring good luck and bounty to the upcoming year. It looks like you and Vernon both have to overcome your apprehension of being open with your feelings in order to have the best luck word count: 3.1K warnings: mostly fluff, making out, mentions of alcohol (it's new years guys), dry humping

Vernon was upset with you. How could he not be? You'd been helping him with his New Year's Eve party all day. No matter what he did, there was no way he could get you to take a break. He had to admit though, your dedication was admirable. What did you say? Something along the lines of, "As your best female friend – best friend really – it's my job to assist with matters like these."

Well, as angry as Vernon was that you hadn't taken any time for yourself aside from changing outfits in his spare room, he was thankful for the work you had done. His house looked absolutely amazing. The Christmas tree was in perfect order, balloons and streamers strategically placed, hors d'oeuvres meticulously positioned in the most aesthetically pleasing way possible—all of which you masterfully orchestrated with that brain of yours.

Still, with all the effort you both had put into the event, Vernon wanted to ensure you were having a good time. You deserved it. 

He looked over to your spot in his kitchen. You were standing near the punch bowl with your head tilted back in laughter at something one of your mutual friends said. He smiled and nursed the champagne in his hand. You looked so beautiful in that black dress and your diamond studs. So lovely and warm and inviting. He wishes he could kick everyone out of his house this very second so that he could be with you all by himself.

Vernon began to feel his ears burn. You always said that when a person's ears burn, that means someone's talking about them. As his friends pull him into another conversation, he steals another glance over at you. He tries to make out the words. Maybe his name will be on your lips. 

Yeah, Vernon was upset with you. But he was more upset with himself for being too beside himself to make his feelings known.

The vantage point from the kitchen island provided the perfect view of you and Vernon's handiwork. You and he had managed to transform the interior of his cozy brownstone into a Home Magazine photographer's daydream in just a few hours. It was only right that you stood back and admired it. The mini bar was full, finger food dishes over half eaten, and your friends milling about the house, all buzzing with excitement. You smiled, thoroughly satisfied. 

With all your scanning of the area, your eyes were bound to land on Vernon at some point. A special kind of heat rippled through you, from the soles of your feet to the top of your head. He looked amazing. The sleeves of his crisp white button-up were rolled to his elbows, and his hair was pushed back and messy – like he'd been running his hands through it all night. And he was talking so animatedly with his friends that you could feel your heart growing 3 sizes too big, just like the Grinch's had. Vernon was beautiful, inside and out. There was never a day where you didn't remind him that he was "pale as the moon with a personality bright as the sun."

His typical response? That you were corny and way too into figurative language. You just hummed in agreement. Vernon was right, of course, he's your best friend. He's supposed to be right about you. Vernon was forgetting one thing, though. Yes, you were corny and yes, you adored figurative language; how can one not? It's very poetic. But the one fact he was missing was that you were head over heels in love with him. And that was the most important piece of information.

As you broke your surveillance of Vernon to glance at your watch, you felt a body slide next to yours on the counter. Looking to your left, you're met with the shit-eating grin of Sophia, Vernon's little sister.

"Like what you see?"

You blanch. "Oh please, give me a break," you say, turning around to face the cabinets. Sophia does the same. The heat is back, this time concentrated in your face. You pressed the back of your hands to your face in concern. The younger woman hums and fetches you a glass of water. "Before you shoot me down for even talking about it," Sophia says slowly. You glare. "I just say give it a try. You never know; he, like, will definitely like you back." You down your water and lay your head on Sophia's shoulder. "You really think so," you ask sheepishly. "I'm positive. And hey, if he says anything bad, I'll beat his ass and kick him out of this house. Then you and I can live here together. How's that sound?" 

You laugh at her proposal. While you and Vernon had always been partners in crime, you wholeheartedly admit to being a double agent for Sophia. She'd always be like a little sister to you, no matter how not little she was anymore.

"Deal," you said confidently. Sophia giggled and hugged you quickly before trotting off to God knows where. 

A small sigh escaped your lips as you watched her walk away. "You should get off your feet," a voice murmured behind you. You turn around to see Vernon's face propped up on the counter, his eyebrows raised accusingly. 

You made your way around the island to stand next to him. "What? And not be able to strut around your gorgeous house in these killer boots? No way." You clicked your heels to emphasize your point, which made Vernon chuckle.

"You've been strutting around my gorgeous house all day, woman. Sit down." He looked at you with his big brown eyes full of so much care and admiration that you almost puked all over his Converse. You sighed and nodded your head. "Fine, I'll listen to the man of the house for once."

"But for the record, don't go getting too sappy on me, Hansol. Too many people will see through your cool guy persona." You jokingly narrowed your eyes and jabbed a finger at his chest before waltzing away with a plastic flute of champagne in your hand. Vernon watched the way the material of your dress hit the back of your thighs as you sashayed away.

Who cares about being cool if it's not with you?

Vernon was still watching you as you sat on the couch, fingers mindlessly tapping against the plastic in your hands. You were listening to your friend drone on about her loser ex. He could tell by the frequency of your head nods and the unruffled expression on your face that you had heard all of it before. 

Someone snapped at him. "Um, earth to Vernon? Hello?" Vernon turned to see Mingyu's deadpan expression. Vernon swallowed. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

Wonwoo playfully rolled his eyes. "If you hadn't been staring at a certain someone, you would know," he said teasingly. Vernon frowned at the man. "I wasn't staring. I was just…checking in." Vernon watched as his two friends looked at one another skeptically. "Right, right," Mingyu remarked, sipping his drink. Vernon listened to the rest of his friends' commentary on his situation before the loud voice of a newscaster caught his attention. Someone had turned on the TV. 

"Oi! The countdown's starting soon," Seungkwan called out from his perch on the back of the couch. Vernon made a mental note to kill the man if he messed up the leather. 

"You know what, man? You should totally kiss her to ring in the new year," Mingyu insisted, nudging Vernon's ribs. "This is your chance." The mere suggestion made Vernon's heart jump to his throat. Sure, he’d thought about pulling you in for a kiss tonight, but someone actually saying the words aloud? That was too real. His feet felt like they had been bolted to the floor, his tongue a rock in his mouth. Sensing his apparent uneasiness, Mingyu and Wonwoo smiled at each other maliciously and decided to do what any great friend would – toss him into the deep end. Wonwoo grabbed one arm, Mingyu the other, and together, the two men marched Vernon over to you. 

The noise in the space was increasing by the second. It made Vernon's heart beat faster. "You've got this, champ," Mingyu said, laughing over the clamor of party blowers and enthusiastic shouting. "Yeah, go get 'em, tiger," Wonwoo said with a glint of mischief in his bespectacled eyes. They left him with pats on his back that almost sent him flying. 

"Oh, hi guys," you said, puzzled. The two men sweetly waved back at you as they retreated. Your friend had easily clocked whatever bullshit Mingyu and Wonwoo were pulling and decided to take her leave. You stood to look your best friend in the eye. The two of you were close, fronts just an inch from touching. Vernon cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Hey," he breathed out after a moment. You smiled at him with those pearly whites of yours. Vernon could have fainted.

"Hey yourself, you look like you've seen a ghost," you said. With furrowed eyebrows, you pressed the back of your hand to Vernon's forehead. "Are you sure you're not sick, hon?"

Vernon leaned into your touch and sighed. "No, it's — it's nothing like that. Just a bit tired 's all." You nodded as you pulled your hand back. Vernon almost groaned at the lack of touch. God, this was going to drive him insane.

He was going to tell you. He had to. Because if he let you laugh and celebrate, or God forbid, kiss someone else, he would have to vault himself down his staircase and ruin everyone's night. Slowly, Vernon's lips began to form the words he had been dying to say forever. Your eyes widened in anticipation, like you could feel the weight of the words on the Unfortunately, the moment was interrupted by a sudden cacophony in his home. 

"10!"

You took a step back and cleared your throat. "Looks like everyone's gonna start swapping spit in a few seconds, huh," you whispered. It hadn't been hard to understand what he was thinking. You basically live in each other's minds; it's what happens when people are in love.

One of Vernon's hands had found the back of his neck, an easy tell of his nervousness. "Yeah, seems that way."

"9!"

You bite your lip. "So, you come here often?" Vernon laughs at your terrible pickup line. The knot in his stomach was gradually unraveling.

"8!"

"Oh, come here, you idiot." Vernon opened his arms to embrace you. Continuing with your teasing, you looked at him in faux surprise. "Who? Me?"

"7!"

Vernon rolled his eyes as you stepped into his space once more. Your hands snaked around his waist, and you leaned your forehead against his shoulder, taking in his cologne. He smelled like bergamot and cedarwood. "You really like that cologne I bought for your birthday, don't you?"

"6!"

Vernon smiled. "Yeah. It's my favorite."

"5!"

You pulled your head away from Vernon's chest to get a look at him. Stunning, as always. You hoped your eyes conveyed all the words you couldn't say. They say the heart speaks through the eyes. And Vernon was hearing you loud and clear. 

"4! 3! 2!"

Vernon placed his hands on your face, the touch achingly gentle. Your hands move to lay flat on his abdomen. You fiddled with the buttons of his shirt. Vernon's warm breath fanned over your face. It smelled like champagne. "Ready?" He whispered the word as if he was afraid you might break if he were too intense. You nodded. 

"...1! Happy New Year!"

And just like that, your lips were on his. Fireworks could be heard in the distance, and you couldn't help but think that's what the inside of your chest sounded like, too. Your hand gripped Vernon's shirt, surely wrinkling the fabric. Not that it mattered, though, because Vernon's lips were so soft as they chased after yours. You sighed into his mouth, allowing his tongue to explore yours. 

A sharp whistle rang through the room, followed shortly by the sound of applause. You and Vernon (just barely) pulled away from each other to see what the commotion was all about. The realization came quickly because everyone was cheering for the two of you. You buried your face in Vernon's chest and laughed as he wrapped his arm protectively around you and cussed out the ringleader, who had been quickly identified as Mingyu. 

Vernon pulled away to look down at you. His cheeks were flushed a bright red. "You alright," he asked softly. You beamed at him and kissed the tip of his nose. "So much more than alright."

For the rest of the night, you and Vernon were attached at the hip. Lighting sparklers, helping tipsy friends into their coats, cleaning up. Always side by side. And it didn't look any different than usual from the outside, but to both of you and everyone in the room, there was a clear distinction. 

Vernon ushered the last of your friends out of the door with a contented sigh. The chaos was finally over. He turned to look at you on his couch, your body seemingly melting into the cushions. You had kicked off your so-called killer boots and were staring at the ceiling. Vernon made his way over to the couch and plopped down next to you.

"You think it was a success," you asked, picking at your nails.

Vernon turned to face you. "The party?" 

"Obviously," you snorted. 

"Yeah, I think it went great. But I don't know if I'm the right person to ask."

"And why is that?"

"Well, it might not have been great," Vernon smiled. "It could've been shit, and I wouldn't have even noticed because I got exactly what I wanted." You hummed at his answer. Turning your head, you gazed at him seductively. "Oh really? What did you want so bad, Hansol?"

There you go again, saying his name like that. Vernon chewed on his bottom lip and thought carefully about his next move. Slowly, he walked his fingers across one exposed leg, then the other. You shivered. Vernon tapped on your leg opposite of him. Receiving the message, you threw it over his and slid onto his lap. 

"You, of course."

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, suddenly shy. 

Vernon tenderly lifted your chin to get a look at your face. There was something so pretty about you in the light of his Christmas tree and vintage table lamp. It made you look like you did in his mind–like you were glowing. Vernon mindlessly ran his hands up and down your sides as the two of you sat in the quiet afterglow of the evening.

You leaned forward to press your forehead against Vernon's. Your fingers made their way to his jawline. It was transfixing how the muscles tensed and relaxed at your touch. A lopsided smile was splayed across the young man's face. You canted your face towards him but stopped, suddenly hesitant. For what reason, you weren't sure. It was almost like you were kindergartners again, and you could be walked in and scolded at any minute. Subconsciously, you were looking for a reason to stop, to not be in love with your best friend. You couldn't find one.

So, you kissed him. It was languid like you had all the time in the world. And there was. There was no countdown to rush you, no crowd of onlookers to be wholly invested in your actions. 

You wrapped your arms around Vernon's neck as he deepened the kiss. He could feel a bead of spit dripping down his chin. He couldn't care less. Vernon's hands grasped the back of your thighs, and his fingers traced patterns in your skin. It made you squirm. The heat was gradually returning to your body. You needed to move, or else you'd probably explode. And you didn't want to leave another mess for Vernon to clean up.

Slowly, you began to rock back and forth in his lap. Vernon moaned into your mouth at the movement. It was kind of sweet when you thought about it. The both of you are too tired and lazy to get each other off efficiently, but neither cares enough to stop. It felt too good, anyway. 

After a few minutes of making out with your friend-turned-lover, you reluctantly detached your lips from his. Making your way to his neck, you peppered kisses behind his ear. You listened to him sigh. 

"Vernon, baby," you said breathlessly. Your hips stuttered to a stop. "I've really gotta go." With shaky legs, you stumbled off his lap, and you could've sworn you heard Vernon whine. Turning to put your shoes on, you felt a tug on the hem of your dress. 

"We're pretty good at this being in love thing, aren't we?" His voice came out a little quieter, a little more shaky than he'd meant for it to. You looked at him with his swollen lips and blown-out pupils. Who gave him the right to look like that? Or to ask that question?

Vernon stood. He wrapped his arms around your waist and placed his chin on your shoulder, his chest pressed to your back. "I'd like to think we always were," you responded with a smile. Vernon chuckled.

"Stay," he whispered. "Please." Vernon spun you around to face him. You don't think you'd ever seen your best friend look so desperate. Shaking your head, you smiled.

"Fine."

And with that confirmation, Vernon grabbed your hand and guided you upstairs.

Scanning his room before climbing into bed, Vernon smiled to himself. All of your things looked so right sitting next to his. Your clothes kicked in the same corner as his. Phones charging next to each other on the same dresser. Hell, even your toothbrush on his bathroom counter fit in. But the biggest thing was you. You lying under his duvet in his oversized t-shirt and sweats. 

"What are you so smiley about over there, loverboy," you asked, amused. Vernon slipped into bed next to you. "Couldn't help but think all of this felt natural," he said thoughtfully. You looked him over. His eyes were closed, and his arms were crossed behind his head. "For someone so scared to tell me he loved me, you're being super casual about this," you said, poking him in his ribs. You laughed as he yelped. "Well, I think you not tearing my heart out and rejecting me has a huge part to play in it, ma'am." You hummed in response. "Fair enough." 

There was a beat of comfortable silence. 

"You know, our friends practically say we're married already."

"I know. Can't really blame them, can we?" You laughed.

"No, we can't," you breathed. "Oh, if only they'd seen us arguing over what records to play tonight." You turned and grabbed his bicep. "Hoshi would never let us hear the end of it." Now, it was Vernon's turn to laugh.

There was another beat of silence.

"Sol?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you for starting my year off right." Vernon felt his chest tighten at your words. He pressed a kiss to the apple of your cheek. 

"It was a pleasure. Happy New Year, baby."

the art of dry humping is not lost on me!! this is one of those ideas that I woke up in a cold sweat from. like I just had to get it out of my brain. anyways, hope y'all enjoy

[mercif4l]

📅 seungcheol x fanbase!reader. (2)

the one where seungcheol gets all most of his svt news from your no-nonsense fanbase. previous chapter. headcanons under the cut. ➤ see also: svt burner accounts series

SVT 🗣🔥🔥 🟢 13 members active.

S.COUPS 🍒 Dinner on me tonight 8PM. Don't be late

uji ς(>‿<.) ?? Not complaining, but to what do we owe the pleasure

🐸 eisa 🐸 Can we get meat pleaseee

Jeonghan! cheollie is happy today hohoho~ his little crush wants one chance with him~ ♡

KMG 🥔 oh??? 😏 is this the fansite

S.COUPS 🍒 Fanbase Not fansite There's a difference ><

Jeonghan! of course there is hehe~

S.COUPS 🍒 Do you guys want dinner or not?

soonyoung .ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ ON MY WAY

sound_of_coups • 17m ♫ Ben&Ben - Lifetime

sound_of_coups i'd spend a lifetime waiting 🌨️ Liked by pledis_boos, vernonline, and 1,932,049 others View all 2,109 comments

jeonghaniyoo_n :-) sound_of_coups :--) ashtruther Stay warm, Cheollie!!!~ benandbenmusic 😲 Thank you for listening to us! scoups4lyf those cheeks 🤏 raaah yourusername ❤️

This Could Be It (English Translation) Genius English Translations • Track 3 on S.COUPS - CHERRY ON TOP

Please tread lightly Step inside the garden of my mind Please speak kindly Tragedy and I are intertwined But I can paint the sky with colors Of my misery (hmm) If you come closer, you can read it In my history (hmm)

Please go slowly Gentle is the water in my veins But I would be careful not to Bother creatures lurking just the same ‘Cause once I feel the tide as it rises My boat capsizes

And every minute passing Could bе time that I am spending Talking to you on the phonе It’s been too long since I have been alone And I am hoping That this could grow into something But who am I to know how you define a home? Oh I don’t know you yet But this could be it

Please be warned, oh I’m a bit straightforward when I sing And I have the tendency to Get obsessed with every little thing ‘Cause once I have a grain of thought That I’ve planted It blooms in my head

And every minute passing Could be time that I am spending Talking to you on the phone It’s been too long since I have been alone And I am hoping That this could grow into something But who am I to know how you define a home? Oh I don’t know you yet But this could be it

‘Cause once I feel the tide I drown, I fight the current Pulling me down I overflow and I try to hide it

Now am I too much for you Way too damn much for you? No such thing as too much So you better take it or leave it But this could be it This could be it Oh this could be it

Who produced "This Could Be It" by S.COUPS? ⓘ Genius Metadata

"This Could Be It" by S.COUPS was produced by WOOZI (우지) & VERNON (버논).

Who wrote "This Could Be It" by S.COUPS? ⓘ Genius Metadata

"This Could Be It" by S.COUPS was written by S.COUPS.

S.COUPS "CHERRY ON TOP" Lyrics & Meaning | Genius Verified

👤 a lot of fans were surprised with track three, or 'this could be it'. can we talk about that for a bit?

🍒 i'm sure not a lot of people were anticipating an almost indie, pop-folk number on my first EP, but i live to defy expectations. [laughs] there's not much to say about the song except that it's about that very specific instance where you kind of... fall in love with a stranger? that's in the line 'but who am i to know how you define a home', for example.

👤 you're the sole writer of the track. was it a personal experience?

🍒 you're trying to get me in trouble! [giggle] okay, seriously. don't we all have moments like that? where we daydream over something or someone that we want. honestly, my favorite part of the track is the outro. [sings] am i too much for you, way too damn much for you? no such thing as too much, so you better take it or leave it. but this could be it. [speaks normally] you're never 'too much' for the right person. there's just... you. it's a song about wanting to know, wanting more with someone, who you know can be 'it' for you. the word is on the tip of my tongue—

👤 'yearning'?

🍒 that's it. it's about yearning for someone and what the two of you could be, given the chance.

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao | note: this could be it is from the lovely opm singer, reese lansangan. :)

[mercif4l]

xinganhao 🌟 shared a moment with you: "joshua x reader"

it's the first day of december, and joshua still loves you.