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[nanacee]

When You Call Them Clingy| Hyungline Pt2

Hyungline x Gn! Reader

(sorry this took like forever lmao ive been going through it in life unfortunately💀💀💀 )

Bangchan

The hum of the studio was still present, but now it felt different- less like a comforting embrace and more like static electricity prickling your skin.

The once-warm atmosphere had turned cold, muted, and the silence stretched like a chasm between you and Chan.

He didn’t ask if you needed anything anymore. He didn’t look at you at all.

The first hour after your slip-up had been the worst. You’d sat there, staring at the screen of your phone, scrolling aimlessly to avoid looking at him. But your thoughts betrayed you, circling back to the look on his face when you’d called him clingy- the hurt in his eyes, the faint slump of his shoulders, the way his movements slowed, as though your words had drained the energy out of him.

This is almost unbearable... You thought to yourself. I've never been uncomfortable around Chris before, rather the complete opposite...I don't like this.

You had apologized in your head a dozen times already, running over how you could bring it up without making things worse. But every time you glanced his way, you found yourself frozen, the words dying in your throat.

I was harsh...I'm feel horrible...

Chan wasn’t usually one to sulk, but this was different. He didn’t seem angry-he didn’t snap or lash out.

Although you wished he would have. It may have been better than this thick tension.

But instead of yelling or cursing, he buried himself in his work, shutting you out completely. His usual hums and absentminded muttering as he worked were nowhere to be found. The tapping of keys and the occasional adjustment of a dial were the only sounds that filled the room.

It felt unbearable.

After almost two hours of sitting in silence, the tension was too much. You shifted in your chair, swallowing the lump in your throat as you finally spoke up.

“Chan,” you said softly, your voice hesitant.

He didn’t respond immediately. His fingers paused over the keyboard, but he didn’t turn to look at you.

“Yeah?” he said, his tone neutral- too neutral.

You winced. “I didn’t mean to sound so harsh earlier. I-” You rushed out.

“It’s fine,” he cut you off, his voice tight, clipped.

But it wasn’t fine. You could hear it in the way his words came out too quickly, the way he immediately went back to typing as though he hadn’t just brushed you off.

Serves me right...

You tried again. “It’s not fine. I shouldn’t have said that.”

He let out a breath, finally turning his chair to face you. His expression was guarded, a carefully constructed mask of calm, but his eyes gave him away.

“Look,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I get it. I was being overbearing. I just…I thought I was helping. I'll ease up from now on."

The words hit you like a punch to the chest. He wasn’t trying to defend himself- he was agreeing with you, accepting blame where there wasn’t any to take.

And you didn't want him to agree.

“You- you were helping,” you said quickly. “I was just… overwhelmed, and I didn’t think before I spoke. I-I don't want you to ease up...I love you the way you are.”

Chan nodded slowly, but the way his jaw tightened told you he wasn’t convinced.

“Sometimes I overdo it,” he said, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I don’t know how to…not worry about the people I care about. Or love.”

Your heart sank. He wasn’t just talking about you. He was talking about himself, about how he carried the weight of everyone’s needs on his shoulders, even when it wasn’t his responsibility.

“And I made you feel like you couldn’t breathe,” he added, almost to himself.

“No,” you said quickly, leaning forward. “That’s not what I meant. You’re always so thoughtful, Chan. I just…” You trailed off, struggling to put your feelings into words. "I...uh...damn it..."

He tilted his head, waiting for you to continue, but there was a distance in his gaze now- an invisible barrier you hadn’t seen before.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re doing something wrong,” you said finally, your voice trembling. “Because you’re not. I was just having a bad day, and I-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he interrupted again, standing abruptly. “It’s getting late. I should wrap this up anyway.”

You blinked, startled by the sudden shift in his tone.

It wasn’t angry, but it was dismissive.

Final.

“Chan-”

“Seriously, it’s fine,” he said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You should get some rest. I’ll finish up here.”

The dismissal stung more than you expected. You stood up, hesitating for a moment, unsure if you should push further or give him space. But the way he had already turned back to his desk made the decision for you.

“Okay,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible.

You grabbed your bag and made your way to the door, glancing back one last time. Chan was hunched over his keyboard, his back to you, the soft glow of the monitor casting shadows across his face.

“Goodnight,” you murmured.

He didn’t respond.

As you headed out he called out.

"Y/N."

You turned towards him, hopeful.

"You don't have to come tomorrow. Ji...sung-ah and...Innie-ah are supposed to be here to work on something with me."

You sighed and bit the inside part of your lip. He was terrible at lying.

Then a small rush of unrighteous anger hit you.

"Thats okay, I had plans anyways." You shot back, leaving. You almost missed the surprised look as he lifted his head from his bag.

The walk home was a blur. The guilt in your chest felt heavier with every step, suffocating you until you could hardly breathe.

But now that guilt stemmed from also saying something to purposefully provoke him.

Why would I even say that? I have no reason to be mad- but he...he has all the reason to be.

You thought about texting him, but what could you say? Nothing you typed out felt like enough. Apologizing once wasn’t going to fix this.

And you were too prideful to admit your pettiness.

It's embarrassing...

When you finally got home, you dropped your bag by the door and sank onto the couch, burying your face in your hands. You replayed all the moments over and over in your head, wishing you could go back and choose different words, wishing you could make him understand how much he meant to you.

But then your anger driven words hit you. You just loved digging yourself deeper graves. So, you pulled out your phone and shot a text.

Deciding that if you were at a standstill with each other, you at least wouldn't lie to him.

——————————————————————————

Minho

The next morning, you woke up feeling a mix of guilt and lingering irritation. Sleep hadn’t come easy, your mind replaying the events from the previous night like a broken record. You had lashed out, hurt him, and now there was this gnawing uncertainty about where things stood.

You debated texting Minho to apologize, but the thought of his cold tone from last night stopped you. The memory of his quick, hollow kiss on your temple was like a dull ache in your chest- a reminder of how much damage had been done.

You sighed as you reached for your phone, jumping when you see a text from Minho.

Minho: Dori didn't even wait for me to finish preparing his breakfast before eating Soonie's. Such a menace.

You stared at the text for a long moment, unsure of what to make of it. It wasn’t unusual for him to send updates about his cats, but this felt like an attempt to return to normalcy without directly addressing what had happened.

Should I respond? Should I apologize? You wanted to, but the thought of putting your emotions into words felt daunting.

Instead, you liked the message, telling yourself you’d figure it out later. But as the day dragged on, and you found yourself unable to focus on anything. By the evening, your phone buzzed, breaking you from your thoughts.

Minho: Did you eat?

The question was simple, almost routine, but it held a strange weight. And you were unsure how to respond.

Was this his way of reaching out, or was he just trying to check a box out of habit?

You hesitated before typing back: You: Yeah. Did you?

His reply came almost immediately: Minho: Mhm. Chan-hyung made japchae. Ate while working. Minho: Also, three cups of pudding.

You couldn't help but let out a little giggle. You could picture him in his studio, his face reflected in a the mirrors, as he sat crisscross on the dance floor, scribbling choreo ideas, spoon in one hand and a cup of pudding beside him. The image tugged at your heartstrings in the way only a lover could do.

You: Busy day? Minho: Always.

You sighed and rested your head on the back of your couch.

Short. Not necessarily clipped, but there were no teasing or playful jabs. No emojis. Just facts. It felt so unlike him, and it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

You could feel the awkwardness as if he was sitting in the room with you.

You: I’m sorry about last night. You typed out a response, then deleted it, then typed it again. Finally, you settled on: You: I miss you.

The three dots signaling his response appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared. You held your breath, waiting.

Minho: Yeah...

You: I'm sorry.

Minho: It's fine.

It wasn’t fine. You knew that. The lack of warmth in his reply was enough to confirm it.

You: It doesn’t feel fine. Minho: Maybe it’s not...

There it was. The crack in the veneer. Your chest tightened as you stared at his words. You wanted to fix it, to make it right, but you didn’t know how.

You: Can we talk? Minho: Not right now. I’m tired.

The conversation ended there. You stared at the screen long after his reply, the words “I’m tired” echoing in your mind. It wasn’t just physical exhaustion he was talking about. He was emotionally drained, and you were the reason.

You: Okay, goodnight. I love you. Minho: Night. I love you too.

Over the next two weeks, things didn't get much better.

You hadn't seen him in person, and only had a few video calls where anytime you tried to bring up an apology, Minho deflected the conversation.

It felt like more of an awkward and intimate friendship interacting rather than a couple. And you needed to change that. You couldn't handle it. You missed your boyfriend.

Minho had always been steady, a constant in your life. You hadn’t realized how much of a lifeline he was until you cut it with a single careless word.

Clingy.

The way his expression had shifted when you said it- it haunted you. Minho, who rarely let his emotions crack the surface, had been hurt. You’d seen it, felt it in the way he pulled back from you. And you wanted to pull him back towards you.

That’s what brought you to his house a few nights later, your chest tight with desperation and dread. You didn’t have a plan, just a need to be near him, to try and fix what you’d broken.

The porch light cast a faint glow as you arrived, the sight of it familiar yet unsettling. You hesitated at the keypad, your fingers trembling as you entered the code. For a moment, you feared he might have changed it, but the lock clicked open with a soft, mechanical hum.

The sound felt louder than it should have in the quiet night, and your heart ached with the thought that you still knew this house so well.

You stepped inside, the warmth of the entryway doing little to ease the chill in your bones.

“Minho?” Dori was the only cat by the door, immediately rushing to you to rub up against your legs. "Min?"

Your voice was soft, tentative, as you slipped off your shoes and into slippers, but it went unanswered.

The faint murmur of voices reached you from the living room. You moved toward the sound, your footsteps hesitant.

And then you saw them.

She was sitting on the couch, her laughter carrying easily in the stillness of the house.

Minho was beside her, close enough that the space between them seemed insignificant. His expression, one that had been so cold and was open-relaxed in a way you hadn’t seen in minute.

Your stomach twisted painfully, the scene before you crashing down like a tidal wave.

You must have made a sound, because Minho’s head turned sharply in your direction. His eyes widened, surprise etched across his face.

“Y/N?”

The girl followed his gaze, her expression a mix of confusion and mild curiosity.

You froze, your pulse hammering in your ears.

“I-” The words caught in your throat, your mind scrambling to come up with an explanation for why you were here, standing uninvited in his doorway.

“Y/N-ah, wait-” He said, scrambling up from the couch, tripping over Dori who had decided to join the party.

But you were already backing away.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you said quickly, your voice cracking as you stumbled toward the door. You knocked into the cats water bowl, soaking your feet. The lump in your throat threatened to choke you, but you forced the words out. “I’ll just- go.”

Minho reached for you, his movements sharp and deliberate. “Don’t-”

You didn’t wait for him to finish, pulling away. The door slammed shut behind you, the cold air biting at your skin as you stepped into the night.

You didn’t realize you were still wearing the house shoes Minho had bought for you months ago until you were halfway down the street, your steps uneven on the pavement. The absurdity of it made your throat tighten, but the tears came before the laughter could.

Your vision blurred as you walked aimlessly, the weight in your chest pressing down until it felt hard to breathe. You could still see her face, hear her laugh. It was seared into your mind.

There is no way he could have moved on in just two weeks...right?

Could he have...no. Never.

But had he?

You didn’t know either way. And you couldn’t bring yourself to stay long enough to find out.

Back at the house, Minho stood frozen by the door. Doongie let out a soft mew, as if speaking.

"I know..." Minho said to the cat.

His jaw clenched as he stared at the space where you’d been, staring at where your shoes were left, your sudden departure leaving a suffocating silence along with them.

“Minho?” the girl called hesitantly, her voice breaking through the tension.

He turned to her, his expression unreadable.

“You should go.” he said finally, his tone flat.

Her brows furrowed in confusion, but she didn’t argue. She gathered her things quickly, giving Doongie a quick scratch, the sound of her footsteps fading as the door closed behind her.

Minho sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair as he leaned against the wall. His gaze fell to the floor, and for the first time, he noticed the trail of damp footprints leading to the door- proof of your hurried escape.

You hadn’t even waited to hear him out.

He wanted to chase after you, to get an explanation for why you’d come in the first place.

But he didn’t move. Instead, he stood there in the silence, the weight of your absence pressing down on him; and he was stuck wondering how something you caused had now become a snowballed issue he needed to resolve.

——————————————————————————

Changbin

You sat there frozen, the echo of his quiet, defeated tone playing on a loop in your mind. It wasn’t like him to leave like that- without a fight, without reassurance, without trying to smooth things over. He had always been one to want to ease conflict in the calmest manner.

Your eyes drifted to the coffee table where his phone sat, screen dark and mocking in the dim light. He must’ve forgotten it in his rush to leave, and the realization sent a pang of guilt straight to your chest. You couldn’t even call him to try and make things right.

With trembling hands, you picked up his phone, turning it over in your palm. It was a small, insignificant thing, but it felt like the only connection you still had to him.

The weight of Hyunjin’s text was heavier now, replaying in your mind like a cruel taunt.

He had planned to propose tonight.

And you had ruined it.

You pressed the phone to your chest, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. You couldn’t stop picturing the way his face had fallen, the light in his eyes dimming with every word you’d said. The warmth he carried with him, the energy that filled every room he walked into, was gone. And it made you feel terrible.

Your hands tightened around his phone as you leaned back on the couch, your thoughts spiraling. Changbin wasn’t just a boyfriend- he was your safe space, your biggest cheerleader, the person who always knew how to make you laugh when you wanted to cry.

And tonight, you had been the one to make him feel small.

You let out a shaky breath, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over. There was no way you could let things stay like this.

So, you got to work.

--

Changbin’s car coasted slowly down the street, the low hum of the engine the only sound in the otherwise quiet night. His mind buzzed, replaying every moment of the evening- your harsh words, the hurt in his chest, and the sudden shift in the air between you two. He could still feel the weight of your gaze, and your frustration.

He had tried so hard.

Maybe it is my fault...

He wanted to make the night perfect, make it something to remember. A sweet cute, relaxed proposal. Soft and warm and everything that represented the love he had for you.

But now he was left uncertain, second-guessing everything. The familiar streets blurred as his thoughts swirled, mixing with the disappointment and confusion still lodged in his heart. His grip tightened around the steering wheel.

As he pulled into his driveway, he killed the engine but didn’t immediately move. He sat there for a while, the headlights casting long shadows across the pavement. It was cold, but he didn’t feel it. Instead, his chest was heavy, a knot of frustration and sorrow gnawing at him.

I need to apologize. Maybe then-

Reaching for his phone, he noticed a slight tremor in his hands.

Is that the best thing to do though...what if Y/N-ie is still mad...

He spent the next couple minutes thinking about texting you- even though he hadn’t done anything inherintantly wrong.

But the thought of sending an apology and admitting to a fault he didn’t deserve seemed like the easiest way to get things back to normal.

He swiped the phone screen on, but his stomach dropped when he saw his empty hand. He reached to pat his pockets.

He didn’t have his phone with him.

He trailed his eyes at the empty seat next to him, hoping maybe it was there, as the realization hit him harder than it should’ve.

His phone was still on the couch at your place. He must’ve left it there in the rush to get away.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, the frustration and anxiety rising again.

He shifted the car back into gear, pulling out of his driveway and heading back to your apartment. As he drove, he let out a deep sigh, trying to shake off the weight pressing on him.

He didn’t know what to expect when he saw you again. He didn’t even know what he wanted from the rest of this night.

Back at your place, you were busy, but not in the way you had planned. You paced the living room, biting your lip as you nervously looked over the decorations you had hastily thrown together. You had wanted everything to be perfect for him, the way he’d promised it would be tonight, but now… you were the one fixing things.

You were the one putting the final touches on a proposal- his proposal.

Your heart flipped over and over in your chest, as you adjusted things anxiously.

You had to scrounge through a ton of different leftover decorations from previous events and holidays; and it looked like the spirit of every celebratory occasion had thrown up over your living room.

You had tried so hard to get it right, to show him how sorry you were that your nerves and selfishness had ruined everything.

When you heard the distant rumble of his car approaching, your heart skipped a beat. You quickly fixed your hair and wiped your hands on your pants, as if trying to make up for everything all at once.

You hadn’t planned this, hadn’t thought through how you were going to apologize. You just knew you couldn’t let him walk away- couldn’t let him leave the night without fixing at least a small part of it.

The doorbell rang, and you froze, your pulse quickening in your throat.

You opened it, and there he was. Changbin. Standing there with an unreadable expression, his eyes flicking over your face before he looked down at the phone in his hand.

You didn't know if you imagined his red rimmed eyes.

“I-” he started, but the words faltered. He opened his mouth again, as if trying to say something, but nothing came out. "I left my phone."

You handed it to him, and he stood there awkwardly turning it in his hands.

"Bin, come in," you whispered, stepping aside to let him in.

He hesitated for a long moment, his feet still on the other side of the threshold, as if he were debating whether to leave or stay. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the uncertainty in his movements.

But then, with a deep sigh, he stepped inside.

You led him to the living room. His eyes stayed on the floor. He didn’t sit down, didn’t speak, just stood there.

"Y/N, I'm sor-"

"You don’t need to apologize," you said, voice barely audible as you walked toward him. You didn’t know how else to start. "I’m the one who messed up tonight. It wasn't you. It was all me."

Changbin shook his head, though it seemed like he was trying to process what he was feeling. He opened his mouth again, his voice hoarse. "No, it wasn't you. I…I didn’t mean for-"

"Changbin, don't fool yourself." You said with a sarcastic chuckle. "You know it was all my fault-"

"Y/N I was the one who was-"

"-I ruined your proposal. Of course it's my fault." You finished.

Your words stopped him. He closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of everything hanging in the air between you.

"So you knew..." he murmured, his voice cracking just slightly.

"Hyunjin texted. I saw it on your screen."

Changbin sighed and then looked around, seeing the decorations.

"What..."

"Since I ruined your proposal I thought I could fix it. As an apology."

The air between you thickened suddenly.

"I-I know it's not the best or the prettiest, but I thought—"

His voice faltered as he looked up at you, eyes filled with something unreadable. Shock, confusion… and then something softer, something heavier.

"What…what did you do?"

You froze. Your heart pounded.

He was staring at everything—the decorations, the candles, the careful details meant for him to present to you.

"I thought… I'd throw something together," you repeated, your voice small. "To fix your proposal."

"Fix it?"

And in that moment, you realized just how wrong that had sounded.

"N-No! I meant fix the night. Not your proposal—nothing was wrong, I just—I ruined the moment, and—"

You were scrambling, desperate to explain.

"Binnie, I—"

"I understand, Y/N."

His quiet chuckle sent a chill through you. It wasn't warm, wasn't teasing. It was sad.

"You made another opportunity," he said, his voice steady but distant. "You set up a proposal."

"Yes! An opportunity, not-" But then you saw it. The rapid blinking, the slight shift in his expression. The way he swallowed hard, as if forcing down words he wouldn't let himself say.

And suddenly, it clicked.

He wasn't upset about your wording. He wasn't even upset that you'd tried to make things right. He was upset because you'd taken this from him. Because he had wanted to be the one to do this for you.

When you had called him clingy earlier, you had let your stressors guide you to insult what you loved most about him.

How he wanted to do everything for you.

His love language towards you always tended to be acts of service.

And while a proposal wasn't necessarily though, it made sense that he wanted to do this for you. One of the biggest acts of your two lives.

He wanted to gift it to you, and you took it away.

For a long, suffocating moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, without another word, he stepped back. His hands curled into fists, then relaxed. He exhaled, gaze flickering between you and the scene you'd set. And then he turned.

You barely processed it as he walked past you, his presence fading with each step toward the door.

"Binnie, wait-"

But he didn't stop. The door opened, and before you could find the right words, the ones that wouldn't make everything worse—

It clicked shut.

——————————————————————————

Hyunjin

The moment Hyunjin you shut the door, you felt a wave of regret crash over you. You stewed in your regret for a while before you succumbed to it.

You couldn't stand it.

You rushed out the door, hoping to catch up; even if it had already a bit since his departure. But you knew him, and he probably hadn't made it far, taking his long legs for granted and dragging out his journey.

You wanted to stop him, to explain, to make him see what you couldn't say- but your pride had already built a wall too high. The words you had snapped at him stung, but there was a fear settling deep within you, too. Fear of rejection, fear of the misunderstanding spiraling out of control.

Fear of losing him from a quick yet grave mistake.

The street was quiet, and your footsteps echoed in the empty space. You turned the corner, but in your rush, you hadn't paid attention to where you were going.

It seemed you had taken one wrong turn after another, and suddenly the comforting glow of the familiar streetlights was replaced with unfamiliar darkness.

Panic rose in your chest. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you fumbled to pull it out, only for it to die before you could see.

You cursed under your breath. Of course, it died. Why wouldn't it? Your mind was foggy, and you could barely focus on anything, let alone figure out where you were. The tightness in your chest felt suffocating, but you pushed through it.

You wandered a little until you found a cute little convenience store, stepping inside, letting the warmth encapsulate you. You decided to grab a snack while you charged your phone, the clerk so graciously allowing you to charge it behind the desk.

You figured while you ate you could figure out what to say to Hyunjin, to mend whatever crack you had caused.

--

Meanwhile, Hyunjin still felt the sting of your words settled deep in his chest. His jaw clenched as he shoved his hands into his pockets, walking briskly down the street.

It wasn’t fair. He had done nothing wrong, yet you had pushed him away like he was too much. Like his affection- his need to be close to you- was suffocating.

Me? Too much- HAH. As if.

You were just being bratty because you were in a bad mood...right?

I'm not actually too much am I?

And maybe it was dramatic, maybe it was childish, but he wanted you to chase after him. To call out his name, to grab his sleeve, to do something to prove you cared as much as he did.

But the street behind him remained quiet.

His throat tightened. His steps slowed.

You weren’t coming.

Hyunjin scoffed, shaking his head. Fine. If you weren’t going to run after him, then you could suffer.

He would make you grovel, make you look at him with those wide, guilty eyes and apologize.

Beg a little. Then - only then - he’d pull you into his arms, stroke your hair, kiss your forehead, and tell you it was okay.

Because at the end of the day, that’s all he wanted.

To make things okay again.

With a sigh, he turned back around, heading toward your apartment, already playing out how he’d drag this out just enough to make you squirm before giving in.

But when he got to your door, his smirk faltered.

The lights were off, but the door was cracked.

His brows knitted together as he stepped into a completely empty home.

You were supposed to be here. You were supposed to be sitting inside, stewing in guilt, waiting for him to come back so you could apologize properly.

His fingers twitched as he opened your bedroom door. He went to the bathroom and knocked.

No answer.

He knocked, a little harder this time.

Still nothing.

A flicker of unease crept up his spine. He pulled out his phone and called. It rang twice before going straight to voicemail.

Hyunjin swallowed. His throat was dry.

His mind raced through every possibility. Maybe you just went out for air. Maybe you ran to the convenience store. Maybe-

But his gut told him otherwise.

His gut told him something was wrong.

His fingers curled around his phone, knuckles white as he sucked in a sharp breath. His frustration, his plan to make you beg, his need to be dramatic- all of it evaporated, replaced by one single, overwhelming thought.

He needed to find you.

Now.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha @iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric @panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee @shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin @whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun @ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael @skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads @jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld @kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9 @minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg @leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon @night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz @rockstarkkami @emilyywhyy

taglist specific:

@darling-imobsessed @changbinismymuscledaddy @artist2181 @minniesverse @monbrigh @20staaa @aeri-skzver @noannah @skysole @chanssmiles @depressedarlling @

[nanacee]

Chan x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Suicide, Death, Grief, Slight Age Gap, Life after loss, Cursing, Angst, Blood, Brother's Friend, Manic Behavior, Depression, Panic Attacks

If you or someone you know is suffering from suicidal ideation or thoughts of harming themselves, please reach out for help. You never know when someone's last day will be; no one ever does. But if you can help - even just a tiny bit, sometimes a word, text, or even a call can be a catalyst for positive change.

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pt3 Part Four

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You’d spent nearly two months now as a trainee, a time marked by endless hours of vocal lessons, dance practice, and media training. Days blurred into nights; and the rhythm of your life was dictated by the pulse of the company’s expectations.

While it wasn't as harsh for you, considering you had three former idols and a well-known manager acting as your safeguards, it still was relentless. You barely had time to even think. Which in a sense was a relief, but in another sense, it made your life seamless; but not in a good way, in a way that was unhuman- but still more human than how you had been living the previous months.

Christmas had passed in a whirlwind of obligations- no time to linger in the nostalgia of it, no time to feel anything at all, really. You had called your parents, who were doing better. You called them almost daily; they had settled down a few miles away from where your house had been previously, but your mom already had talks of coming closer to you. Even though you encouraged her to stay a bit longer.

You were constantly moving, constantly working. Maybe that was the point. Maybe if you stayed busy enough, there would be no room for the grief to catch up to you. And with your parents being in the same area as you; grief would be given those magical little mushrooms and almost immediately reach you.

Not that you consciously realized that since you didn’t like to think about it too much; but it was hard not to notice how often you threw yourself into the work, into every last detail of your routine. As if you were using everything as a distraction; and gaslit yourself into believing it wasn't. So, you worked and worked. As if you let yourself stop, even for a second, you would realize that you were burying things instead of working on them.

Your days were packed with duties. Currently, you were prepping for your first real appearance on a variety show, the kind Hajun had always talked about- the kind he’d been on countless times with his group. It should have felt like an exciting milestone, but instead, it was another thing to check off the list; and it was a source of anxiety. You weren't sure if you were ready for this. So soon after you had begun this journey.

But it wasn't like you had much of a choice.

Someone random person had leaked a photo of you and Haru grabbing lunch after practice last week, which sparked someone else to release images of you, Haru and Jiho at a park. And now the public was convinced you were dating Haru and did everything in their power to find your identity. Which wasn't inherently hard for true fans.

You could hear the whispers in the hallways whenever you passed by other trainees or staff, the gossip trailing behind you. How foreigners had no place in the industry if they could get into scandals so easily; how your brother must have been disappointed. How it was "disgusting" how you had gotten with your brother's best friend once he passed away. Haru corrected them, but you didn't bother correcting them. It's not like they believed what people told them when they were so deluded themselves. Besides, it was easier that way, to let people believe what they wanted. It kept the real truth at bay- the truth you were avoiding, the truth that came with Hajun's name attached to it.

The bustling energy of the building felt like a comfort today, the perfect kind of chaos to drown out the noise in your own head. This particular studio was enormous, multiple sets filling the space, the air buzzing with activity. Haru was by your side as always, quietly protective as the two of you made your way to the set where your interview would take place.

His presence reminded you of that feeling when the sun breaks through a cloudy sky- not all at once, but in small, soft rays that slowly warm your skin. It wasn’t the overwhelming comfort that came from loud reassurances, but rather the steady heartbeat of someone who knew what it meant to stay by your side without asking for anything in return.

He was now your spring, still warm and alive, even as the flowers of the past had wilted.

Although, neither of you had dived into your feelings about Hajun's suicide, it was visibly upsetting to both of you. You wished you had the courage to ask Haru how he was.

Did his hurt hurt the same as yours?

But avoidance was how you coped. And it seemed that's how Haru coped as well.

Which is why you found yourself here to begin with.

You reached the set and found yourself seated in front of a large, blinding array of lights, the cameras rolling as soon as you were in position.

The interviewer was lively and animated, going through the usual questions- your training experience, your upcoming plans, the challenges you faced. You answered with a practiced calm, each word carefully chosen, each answer rehearsed.

You made sure that your previously bright personality was showing. It had much since dimmed, but you had to act for the camera. You had always been quite similar to your brother when it came to kindness and empathy, but while Hajun was like a little butterfly, flitting around and impacting hundreds of people's lives, your love came out in much quieter ways to those you decided to be around.

Which wasn't many, considering you were somewhat of a loner in school, and didn't have much time outside of work and other activities to make those friends.

But regardless, you faked as if you had a million friends. As if you were him.

And you weren't you.

All was going well until the interviewer shifted into murkier waters, tilting their head with a curious smile before leaning in slightly.

"So, you’re Hajun’s little sister. We've established this- but everyone’s been saying you don’t really look like him. Are you sure you’re related?" The interviewer chuckled, and so you gave out a nervous laugh before your breath nearly stopped all together in an instant.

The question hit you like a punch to the gut. Someone else saying his name triggered a response that you didn't know what to feel about. When you really thought about, how many time had you spoken his name out loud? You heard the boys metnion it frequently, but did you ever here a stranger?

Yourself?

"Well, I’m adopted, so we don’t share any physical resemblance," your reply was hesitant albeit your voice steady and mind reeling.

The interviewer laughed awkwardly, clearly oblivious to the weight of their words. "Oh! Right, of course. Well, it must be tough, stepping into the same industry where he was such a star. Do you feel any pressure to live up to his legacy?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, the familiar ache creeping up from the back of your mind. You hadn’t let yourself think about Hajun in weeks, not in any real, tangible way. And now here it was, being brought up so casually, like it was just another topic to toss around. You swallowed hard, the corners of your mouth tightening as you searched for the right words.

You could see Haru shifting in the wings, his gaze flickering toward the interviewer, and you could feel his unease. "Of course there’s some pressure," you said finally, your voice softer. "But I'm doing it for him so I have to overlook that..."

The interviewer nodded, seemingly satisfied with your answer, but the tension in the air remained thick. You focused on getting through the rest of the interview, your responses becoming more automatic and your now seemingly eternal sullen demeanor poking through as you went along.

When it finally ended, you felt like you could breathe again. You stood up, stretching your stiff limbs as you walked towards Haru, the later moving closer, giving you a reassuring nod. "You handled that well."

"Did I? I'm pretty sure I just went on auto pilot..." you replied with a soft laugh, more out of exhaustion than humor. You rubbed the back of your neck, feeling the weight of the day start to settle on your shoulders.

As the two of you exited the set, you couldn’t help but glance around the building. The energy had shifted since you arrived, and now it felt like the whole place was 10x more alive with activity. Haru was talking quietly to one of the staff members as you continued down the hallway, your mind still swirling from the interview.

You'll have to get used to this. People will ask all the time.

You passed by another set, not paying much attention at first, but something of a sixth sense tugged at your awareness. A familiar figure stood near the entrance, casually chatting with a few people around him. It took a second for it to click, but when it did, your heart skipped a beat.

It was Chris. You almost didn’t recognize him at first- his hair was slightly different, and an effortless confident aura was surrounding him, although something about him screamed at deep seeded insecurity and doubt.

He was short. Much shorter than you had expected. And he was wearing an outfit that was appealing to the toned muscles in his arms. He was smiling widely and laughing; his noticeably large nose scrunching up in a way you couldn't find yourself describing in any other way other than adorable. You had never seen him in person, but it was definitely him, and suddenly, everything around you felt like it had slowed down.

He hadn’t seen you yet, still focused on his conversation, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away. You hadn’t spoken in weeks, and you’d convinced yourself it was because you were busy with your training and he was busy with his comeback.

Not the fact that deep down you felt like a burden, and that you'd strangely rather burden Hajun's group members rather than someone who continued with a different type of liveliness and life than you and the rest of the people in your had. You had told yourself it didn’t matter, that you were both just wrapped up in your own lives and that it wouldn't hurt not texting him.

You had even taken that as a means of stowing those letters away. Not even looking at them; trying to forget about their existence in the whole.

But seeing him now, right in front of you, made you realize how much you had missed the interactions with him.

And sparked a want to open up another one of those letters.

But it also made you slightly angry.

How could he be smiling so effortlessly? Why couldn't he feel the pain I feel when I try to smile that effortlessly?

"Hey, are you okay?" Haru’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you blinked, pulling your gaze away from Chris.

"Yeah," you said, forcing a smile. "I’m fine."

But as you took a deep breath and prepared to walk away, something told you that this encounter wasn’t over yet.

Do I ... want it to be over?

Haru noticed the subtle shift in your demeanor almost immediately and hesitance in continuing to where you were going. He wasn’t the type to miss anything, when it came to you - and especially now that Juju was gone. His eyes narrowed slightly, following your gaze to the man you were staring at. "What is it...did you see someone you know?" His voice was soft, but there was a hint of confusion, maybe even concern. You didn't blame him it wasn't like you should really know anyone. Maybe just in passing; but even then, it should be people in your company.

You blinked again, shaking yourself from your trance. "Oh, um, yeah, kinda...Chris," you muttered, barely loud enough for him to hear. Your heart was still racing from the unexpected sight of him, the weight of everything unsaid between you suddenly pressing down on your chest.

"Chris... whose Chris- wait like… Bang Chan? That Chris?" Haru’s confusion deepened as he looked from you to where Bangchan was standing and back again.

He’d heard the name before, of course. Everyone knew Stray Kids, and Haru had worked in the industry long enough to cross paths with them a few times. But you’d never mentioned that you knew him- let alone well enough for this kind of reaction.

You nodded, your voice a little shaky. "Yeah… we haven’t spoken in a while." Your words were hesitant, unsure of how much to reveal to Haru. Even though he was your protector, your confidant, this was a part of your life that felt different. Personal in a way that even he couldn’t touch.

"You've met him in person?"

"No, no...Hajun..." You took a breath and told Haru what you had yet to tell him. "Hajun left a box of letters...I found a polaroid with Chris's number..." You expected Haru to freak out; ask more questions.

You could tell he wanted to ask more- there was no way he didn't. He would want closer for his best friend's suicide. But instead he nodded, not showing much reaction at all an glanced back at Chris, who still in conversation with his groupmates, completely unaware of your presence.

"Do you want to talk to him?" he asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

Did you? Part of you wanted to run in the opposite direction, to avoid the awkwardness of a meeting you weren’t sure you were ready for. But another part of you- one you didn’t want to admit to- longed to interact with him again, to close the distance that had grown between you in the weeks of silence; and start a new kind of friendship, where you could rely on him; on he made you promise to have once you had arrived. A promise you had somewhat long since broken.

"I don’t know," you finally admitted. "I wasn’t expecting to see him..." Seeing Chris had stirred up emotions you’d buried, much like the way you’d tried to push down thoughts of Hajun. But now, both were threatening to surface at once.

And those emotions… they were indescribable. Emotions that were strange and strong and seemed to take root somewhere deep within, stirring something that felt unfamiliar, yet undeniable. It was as if a part of you recognized something before your mind could catch up, like a memory you couldn’t place or a name on the tip of your tongue. It made your breath hitch, your pulse quicken- not from fear, but from something else entirely. Something you didn’t know how to understand, not yet, and maybe not ever. You weren’t sure if you wanted to.

Haru gave you a thoughtful look, as if trying to read your mind. "You don’t have to do anything," he said gently. “We can leave if you want.”

You chewed your bottom lip, torn. "Maybe… let’s just wait a bit," you replied, unsure of how to explain what you were working through. It was like your feet were glued to the floor, unable to move, as if something in the universe was telling you that you couldn’t walk away from this moment. Not yet.

Haru crossed his arms, looking like he wanted to say something more, but then he just nodded. "Alright." He stayed by your side, a quiet pillar of support, even though you could feel his confusion. Haru wasn’t used to seeing you like this- so indecisive, so unsure. He’d always been the steady one. But now, you could sense his curiosity, his unease, his need to understand what was going on.

You glanced back at Chris, taking in the sight of him. He was laughing at something one of his members said, the sound of it hitting you once more in a way you hadn’t anticipated. The laugh brought a warmth to your chest, like a reminder of something familiar, something you couldn’t quite forget.

As if sensing your stare, Chris glanced around, his eyes scanning the area before they landed on you. Time seemed to slow as his gaze locked with yours. His smile faltered, recognition dawned on his face, and for a moment, it felt like the entire room disappeared, leaving just the two of you standing in the middle of it.

His eyes widened slightly; surprise written all over his features. He opened his mouth to say something, but whatever words he had seemed to vanish as quickly as they came.

You could feel Haru watching you, still confused but more attuned to your feelings than you wanted to admit. "Do you want me to go?" he whispered, sensing the change in the air. His question was gentle, but you could hear the underlying tone of protectiveness. He was ready to stay or leave, depending on what you needed.

You shook your head, eyes still fixed on Chris. "No, stay," you murmured, not fully trusting yourself to handle this alone. You didn't know why. Within minutes of talking to Chris on the phone you had already handed your trust over to him.

Maybe you just wanted that grounding presence with you. Needed it.

The air between you and Chris seemed to thicken as the reality of your first in-person encounter sank in. You could feel the silent anchor beside, but the weight of the moment pulled your attention fully to the man across the room. And without even noticing it you stepped towards him.

Chris's eyes were locked on yours, his expression shifting from surprise to something softer, almost like recognition mingled with disbelief. It was as if he was trying to connect the dots in his mind, piecing together the familiarity from your text exchanges with the image of you standing in front of him for the first time.

His group members that were standing with him- Han, Felix, and Seungmin- seemed to notice the change in Chris's demeanor, glancing in your direction with curious looks. Han leaned closer to Chris, whispering something that made Chris shake his head slightly, as if telling him to wait. Felix, who had been mid-conversation, raised an eyebrow but didn’t press, though his eyes flickered toward you with interest.

You shifted uncomfortably under the collective gaze, feeling the pressure of the moment weighing down on your shoulders. Haru’s voice cut through the tension, low and steady. "It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything right now, Hime." The Japanese flowed quickly ff his tongue and you hmmed in response. His words were meant to reassure, but the knot in your stomach tightened.

Chris took a tentative step forward, his gaze still locked on yours, as if he was trying to figure out what to say. His members exchanged glances, sensing the unspoken tension between you two but keeping their distance, clearly curious about what was unfolding. Seungmin was the first to break away, giving a small nod to Han and Felix before stepping aside, giving Chris space. Han followed Seungmin next, but Felix stayed by his Hyung's side.

"Y/N?" Chris’s voice was quiet, almost hesitant, but still happy, as if he wasn’t entirely sure it was really you standing there. His accent, thicker in person, wrapped around your name in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. It was a sound you’d only ever heard through phone calls, and now it felt different- more real, more personal.

He had seen pictures of you for the first time floating around after you arrived; they were never that good of quality, but he gauged what you looked like from- but seeing you in person was different. The first thought coming to mind being-

She's beautiful.

You took a breath.

Haru, sensing your hesitation, subtly stepped back to give you space. He glanced at Chris, then at Felix, his protective instincts clearly on alert for some strange reason but trusting you to navigate this moment.

Chris, for his part, seemed just as unsure. His eyes flickered with recognition and something else- maybe relief?- as if he’d been wondering when or if this day would ever come; or as if he had been anxious without your texts. As if those texts were a fulfillment to his late friend

"I didn’t… I didn’t know you were going to be here," he said, a small, almost awkward smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He glanced at Haru and the others who were now coming to stand nearby; Jiho and Sunwoo returning from their own meeting with some segemtn hosts; Sunwoo in the middle of masticating an entire donut in one go. Then back at you.

"Are you, um… here for the variety show?" He rubbed at the back of his neck.

You nodded, finally finding your voice. "Yeah… just- just filming something. What about you?" The question was simple, but the weight of everything unspoken between you hung heavy in the air.

Chris let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "Same. We’re doing a bit for a show too. I didn’t expect… well, I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought it would be a bit longer before you were appearing on shows..."

The rest of his members had shown up to members to linger nearby, and you could feel their eyes on you, though they kept a respectful distance. Han, who had been standing closest to Chris earlier came back and gave him a gentle nudge, a playful smirk on his face. “You know her, Hyung?” His tone was light, but there was curiosity in his eyes. "Hello, Noona."

"I'm actually younger than all of you..." You said sheepishly, Han's face turning a delicate pink. And Jeongin's eyes widening.

"AH Hyung-ah!!! Is this the girl you were talking to on the phone that one night?!" The rest of the members turn to Jeongin then turn to Chris, mischevious smiles creeping up on some of their faces.

"Before any of you say anything it's not like that but yes we’ve been in touch.” He locked eyes with you. "She's Hajun's little sister. The maknae of Eclips3..."

The members looked at you and fell silent, their smiles falling slightly as well.

Felix, standing shot you rueful smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. Chris has talked about you to me quite a lot."

You felt your face heat up at the mention, causing a smile to erupt from Felix while glancing at Chris, who looked equally flustered. He cleared his throat, avoiding your gaze for a moment. "Yeah, well… you know… it’s-" He stumbled over his words, clearly not expecting to be called out in front of you.

"It's okay. It'd make sense that you'd bring up Hajun's sister in the midst of Hajun's death." Haru stepped forward closer to you once more, his body heat instantly connecting with yours.

Chris’s expression shifted, softening at the mention of Hajun. He nodded slowly, his eyes meeting yours again. "I know. I…I’m sorry, Y/N. I don't think I ever got the chance to say that. At least not truly." His voice was quieter now, more serious, and the sincerity in his words hit you in a way that made your chest tighten.

For a moment, the noise of the bustling set faded into the background, and it was just you, Chris, and the shared understanding of loss hanging between you.

An understanding that you were sure of hit less hard than it did for you- but an understanding that hit all of you.

"It's fine. We all lost him." You hated the presence of annoyance in your voice. But you just wanted to forget. At this point you didn't want to mention him.

Why was that...?

You could feel the tension in the air change, though it wasn’t something easily identifiable. And with the shift in change Haru’s hand came to rest lightly on the small of your back, his stance just a little too close, as if to remind you that he could guide you out of this building, you guys could leave at any time you wanted just to say the word.

Felix’s curiosity sparked once more though, his gaze flicking between you, Haru, and Chris with a thoughtful expression. He shifted his weight, leaning slightly closer to Chris. "Did you know Hajun well? You mentioned him before but I never heard much." His question was casual, but with underlying note of intrigue; but you could feel the other members wince at how flippantly he spoke of the dead. But deep down you didn't blame him the mystery of how Chris fit into your world, would have been a point of questioning for you as well.

Chris’s face had mixture of nostalgia and sadness flicker across it, then he smiled.

Smiled.

"Yeah… Hajun and I were best friends during our trainee days. We went through a lot together before he switched companies." He looked up in the sky, a smile still on his face as he thought of the memories. "We kept in touch even after that- he debuted but found time to visit - even visited in Australia once or twice- but then came my turn and we were both too busy... I didn't get to see him much in the last few years, just at a few celebrations, but he was so popular I couldn't even say hello without getting stampeded. I loved him like a brother. And did all thew way up until his death. And I will forever. Life just… got in the way..."

There was a familiarity in the way Chris spoke about Hajun, something deeper than just passing acquaintances. The sudden reminder of how intertwined their lives had been before their paths diverged pulled at the grief you had tried so hard to bury. The loss was not just yours; it stretched far beyond the confines of your family, touching people like Chris who had shared formative years with your brother.

Haru, ever perceptive, shifted slightly beside you. His expression remained neutral - but not after a small crack in his mask- as if the pain and past Chris was sharing could relate to him; and how he felt. The way his arm seemed to hover protectively near you didn’t go unnoticed by Chris though. The subtle tension between them grew palpable, and you could see Chris’s eyes flicker between the two of you, a shadow of uncertainty crossing his features.

Haru stared him down as well, and you didn't notice it- not that you would have understood why even if you did.

Felix, ever the one to break the silence, raised an eyebrow and threw a playful look at Han, though his question was pointed. "So, Haru, you’ve been looking out for Y/N a lot, huh?" His tone was teasing, but there was a knowing glint in his eye. The rumors of you and Haru dating hadn’t gone unnoticed, especially among the gossip-loving industry insiders.

Haru’s response was immediate, his voice firm but not defensive. "She’s family to us. Hajun’s little sister." His gaze was steady, but the emphasis on the word ‘family’ was hard to miss, even though his body language suggested something more. His fingers brushed lightly against your arm, a touch meant to comfort but that also deepened the protective stance he had taken since you stepped into the building.

You could feel Chris’s eyes on Haru, now noticing the subtle calculation in his gaze as he tried to piece together what was going on. The rumors of you and Haru were now a constant murmur in the background ever since you’d appeared alongside the remaining members of Eclips3. Though you hadn’t paid them much attention, you could sense that they affected how others perceived your relationships- particularly with Haru.

Chris knew in the back of his mind that rumors usually had no substance, but for some reason this one- the thought of you being with Haru tugged at him in an odd manner.

Weird.

Chris cleared his throat, clearly processing the situation in front of him. "I’ve heard a lot about you, Haru. Hajun used to talk about the bond you guys had as a group before you guys even debuted. I’m glad Y/N has someone like you around. And you guys as well." He motioned to his seonbaes, Jiho and Sunwoo giving polite nods. His words were polite, but with a subtle edge to them, as if he was probing for more information, trying to figure out what exactly your relationship with Haru was.

Haru met Chris’s gaze evenly, not backing down, but the tension between the two of them was now more than palpable to you. Almost like you could breathe it. It was a strange, unspoken battle- one not of words but of intentions. You could feel it in the way Haru stood just a little taller, his hand lingering at the small of your back, and in the way Chris’s eyes flickered between the two of you, trying to read the room.

Feeling the shift in the atmosphere, Han chimed in, his lighthearted tone trying to diffuse the situation. "Well, it’s clear Y/N has plenty of people looking out for her. That’s a good thing, right?" He shot Chris a quick grin, then turned his attention to you. "It must be overwhelming, though, right? Jumping into the industry like this with everything going on. So, we can be supports for you as well! 7 new ones!"

You managed a small smile, grateful for Han’s attempt to change the subject, and his almost immediate support, but the weight of the conversation lingered. "Yeah, it’s been… a lot. But I have Haru, Jiho, and Sunwoo to help me through it." You glanced at Chris, the tension between him and Haru still lingering in the air. “And…I have people like you." You turned to Han's and Felix's expectant eyes. "And you guys."

"What about me?" Hyunjin and Jeongin whined at the exact same time. You felt a chuckle escape and acknowledged them as well.

Chris smiled faintly at that, the tension easing slightly but not disappearing entirely. "Yeah. I’ll always be here." His words felt heavier than they should have, laced with meaning that hung between you, unspoken, undeniable, and at the time unknown.

The tension between Haru and Chris remained though, subtle but present, a protective energy from both sides. Chris, though seemingly trying to respect the situation, couldn’t hide the curiosity in his eyes as he glanced between you and Haru once more, wondering how deep that connection went.

Haru’s protectiveness felt comforting, familiar, but now you could sense that it might be giving others- Chris especially -a different impression.

"Well, no matter what, it's really great to have you here," Felix said, offering you a kind smile. "It must be tough, but you're doing amazing." His words were genuine, and you could feel the sincerity behind them. Despite the awkward tension, Felix’s warmth was a welcome contrast, something that reminded you that not everyone was scrutinizing your every move.

Sunwoo, who had been quiet throughout the exchange, finally spoke up, his voice breaking through the tension with a bit more gravity than usual. "It's hard for all of us. Everything’s changed since Hajun… well, since he left us." His words were gentle, but they carried the weight of everything left unsaid.

Chris’s expression softened, his own grief surfacing for just a moment. "Yeah," he murmured. "When I heard… it felt unreal." He glanced at you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to gauge how you were holding up. "I've seen it happen time and time again but it never hur-"

"It’s okay. I get it. We can drop it," you said, your voice quieter now. "Everything’s been… complicated for everyone but it doesn't mean we have to continue to bring it up."

Haru, sensing your unease, shifted his stance slightly, his hand dropping from your back but still hovering close, as if ready to step in at any moment. He was your anchor in this moment, grounding you amidst the swirling emotions and the still-lingering tension between him and Chris.

But then Chris spoke up again, this time more cautiously, changin the subject. “I didn’t know you were doing so well in training,” he said, his eyes lingering on you and a smile in his voice. "I heard rumors that you might be a monster rookie. The Kids and I have to watch out before you take all of our awards." There was something in his tone, something softer and happier, that made you feel like he was seeing you- not as Hajun’s little sister, but as your own person, standing in front of him.

It felt...nice?

"I...really?" you asked, your voice slightly shaky as you looked at him with an exited anticipation.

A look passed between Chris and Haru, but it was fleeting, Chris looking away first.

"Of course...I'm sure you'll have...a lot of fans." He said smiling and rubbing his neck in habit.

Felix grinned and nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure you'll have a lot of fan boys since you're pretty too!" it was said so innocently, no awkwardness but Jiho huffed.

"Nope. Not letting our Y/N get involved with anyone." Jiho said ruffling your hair, pushing Haru out of the way.

"Hey I don't have a dating ban I can if I want-"

"Nope, not allowing it!" Both Sunwoo and Haru said. That spark Chris' interest and he opened his mouth to say something.

But before the conversation could continue, there was a sudden call from across the room- a staff member gesturing for you to move to the next set. Haru stepped closer to you as the others began to disperse, his hand gently resting on your arm, a subtle signal that he was still watching over you.

Just as you turned to follow Haru toward your assigned set, you caught a glimpse of Chris, his eyes lingering on you for just a second longer than necessary. There was something in his gaze- something unfinished; unsaid.

But before you could process it, the moment was gone, and you were being pulled forward into the next part of your day, Haru guiding you toward the unfamiliar world you were slowly becoming a part of. The strange familiarity of it all- the familiarity you only grew through Hajun's lense- the training, the filming, the media attention- was almost unsettling. Even though this was Hajun’s world, it was becoming yours now, too.

It wasn’t until later, when the lights dimmed and the cameras were finally off, that you realized how much had changed in such a short amount of time. You had stepped into the spotlight, just like Hajun had once done, but it was a path you hadn’t expected to take. And yet, here you were.

The same path he had taken, yet you hoped to change the ending.

As you exited the set, the faint sound of familiar voices reached your ears. You turned, and there, across the room, was Chris. He hadn’t left yet, still chatting with a member from another guy group, but his eyes found yours the moment you glanced his way.

It was as if time slowed for a moment, the world shrinking down to just the two of you across the busy set. He gave you a smile- one that seemed to say more than words could. One that you couldn’t help but feel peace looking at. Even if it was a momentary peace. You found yourself smiling back, a flicker of warmth igniting in your chest.

But as that warmth blossomed, so did a sudden, painful realization: the last person who had ever made you feel that same kind of warmth, that deep comfort, had been Hajun. And now, he was gone.

Only, this warmth was…different.

Hajun’s warmth had always been like a fire- steady, burning bright even in the darkest of times. His presence was electric, like the hum of energy in the air that always made you feel alive. It was the kind of warmth that wrapped around you like a safety net, grounding you when the world felt like it was spinning too fast. Hajun had been a constant, his love for you as sure as the sun rising each day. There had never been a question in your mind about it.

But this—this flicker of warmth that came from Chris- it felt softer, gentler. Less like the steady heat of a fire and more like the slow, creeping warmth of sunlight on a winter morning. It wasn’t the same.

It couldn’t be the same.

But it wasn’t unwelcome, either. It was a different kind of comfort, one that you didn’t fully understand yet. There was something about it that felt more intimate, more tender- something that stirred an unfamiliar feeling deep within you.

Still, the ache of loss lingered, a bittersweet reminder that no one, not even Chris, could replace Hajun. The warmth Chris offered was something else entirely. Not better or worse, just different.

Something you hadn’t felt before.

You swallowed hard, the weight of your grief settling into your chest like a stone. Hajun’s absence was still too raw, too present. No matter how much you denied it. The thought of him not being here, not standing beside you like he always had, was almost unbearable. You missed the steady, unbreakable bond you’d had with him, the way he could make everything feel okay, no matter how bad things got.

But for just a moment, looking at Chris, you felt a strange flicker of hope. It was subtle, so subtle you almost missed it, but it was there. A quiet promise in the warmth of his smile, a sense that maybe- just maybe- there was something more to be found in the space Hajun had left behind.

He had left behind those letters. You should open them right? You were led to Chris...maybe those letters could lead to something else as well?

Maybe there was a reason Hajun wanted you to find comfort in Chris. But you didn't want to think about it.

You glanced away at the sight of Chris's smile falling slightly, the weight of it all pressing down on you, and yet, that quiet warmth remained.

You wanted to put it out. That small flicker of warmth- you wanted to ignore it, snuff it out before it could grow into something larger. It scared you, the thought of accepting it. Because if you let it in, if you allowed yourself to feel that comfort, what would happen when it eventually disappeared?

The fear that it could fade, just like Hajun’s had, was a vicious thought. You’d lost warmth before- the kind that once seemed eternal- and the thought of losing it again, of finding solace in someone only for it to vanish, felt like a death wish.

There was a part of you that wanted to turn away from it, to reject that small ember entirely before it had a chance to take root. Because if Chris’s warmth died down too...? If you allowed yourself to feel something, only to lose it all over again? You weren’t sure you could survive that kind of emptiness twice.

So, as much as it tempted you, you hesitated. You weren’t ready to accept something that could one day be taken away. Not again. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹

⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹

If you or someone you know is suffering from suicidal ideation or thoughts of harming themselves, please reach out for help. You never know when someone's last day will be; no one ever does. But if you can help - even just a tiny bit, sometimes a word, text, or even a call can be a catalyst for positive change.

988 - USA Suicide Prevention Hotline | 24 Hours 111 - Helpline UK | 24 hours 1393 - Suicide Hotline Korea | 24 hours

⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha

@iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric

@panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee

@shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin

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@leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @stressymessyana @kayleefriedchicken

⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹

[nanacee]

I once dated a writer and

Writers are forgetful,

but they remember everything. They forget appointments and anniversaries, but remember what you wore, how you smelled, on your first date… They remember every story you’ve ever told them - like ever, but forget what you’ve just said. They don’t remember to water the plants or take out the trash, but they don’t forget how to make you laugh. Writers are forgetful because they’re busy remembering the important things.

Oh, my heart is melting.

[nanacee]

Writing Prompt #2790

"Have hope."

"I did. This is all that's left."

[nanacee]

Trying out this rendering style!

[nanacee]

Writing Prompt #2806

"You promised me you'd protect him!" Her voice was no longer her own, instead belonging to some shrieking creature. "I let him go with you because you said you were safe. You'd sooner die yourself than let him be killed!"

"I...I did everything I could."

"You're still here. So I know that's not true."

[nanacee]

Chan| Misunderstanding

In which you are hurt by something Chan said.

You were on your way to Chan’s studio, with a cutely wrapped pack lunch and note. You knew your boyfriend had the tendency to overwork and skip meals; so you wanted to make sure that he was eating at least one fulfilling meal a day.

Just as you were about to knock on the door you heard the guys laughing. You smiled and realized Chan must be working with all of them at the moment. It was so cute to you how he took all of them in as his kids.

You raised your hand to knock again as you heard Jeongin speak up.

“Channie Hyung, when is Noona coming today?”

You heard a shuffling of feet and a sound come closer to the door. The squeaking of styrofoam made you flinch a little as you could assume someone was getting water from the bubbler.

“I don’t know.” You tensed as you realized it was Chan by the bubbler. “She probably will at the worst time.” He said, chuckling and clapping his hands once. His voice was oddly light for something so hurtful. “But we’re gonna at least get Seungmin’s part down before she comes, because she’ll probably stick around for a while.” You can hear him walking away from the door.

“Do you not like your girlfriend coming around hyung?” You hear Jeongin say jokingly, a little nervous laugh in his voice. 

Before you can even hear a response you quickly make your way to the exit.

As you were walking you walked past Sana.

“Y/N!” She quickly embraces you and looks at you with a warm smile. “How is my favorite person doing?” Sana had actually been the one to introduce you to Chan, after you had met her and hit it off in a chance meeting.

You looked up and gave Sana a small smile, and her face immediately fell.

“What did that Pabo do? Do I have to beat him up? ‘Accidentally’ leak his latest comeback in a way that is bad?” She said seriously, squishing your cheeks, and stroking your hair like a comforting big sister.

You sniffed and shook your head. “It’s nothing…can you not tell him I was here Eonni?” You say quietly. She nods as Tzuyu walks up and smiles at you.

“Hi, Y/N!” You smile at her and wave as you make your way back to your car.

As you drive you grip the steering wheel tightly and bite your lip. 

You blink back a few tears and you make your way to your apartment.

You place the food you made for Chan in the back of your fridge, hiding the cute little ribboned package with a few jars of various things, not wishing to look at it, but not having the heart to throw away the food you spent so long preparing.

You felt too sad to even clean up the dishes you had used to make, figuring you’d go sleep off your sadness for a bit and clean up when you were in a better headspace.

(x)

You felt the bed shift beside you and familiar toned arms wrap around you. Chan’s scent engulfed you, something oceany mixed with linens  and the slight hint of sweat from his practice. This scent was something you loved, something you found yourself thinking of when you thought of home.

“I used your emergency key. You didn’t answer any of my texts, so I came over to check on you.”

You look at the clock.

11:04 p.m.

You had been asleep for a while.

“Are you sick baby?” He hummed quietly, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck and shoulder.

“Sick?” You said hoarsely.

Chan’s eyes opened in concern as he sat up and turned on the bedside lamp.

“You sound sick baby, is everything okay?” He said getting up and rustling through the drawers by your bedside, looking for the thermometer he had placed there.

“I’m…I’m not sick.” You say quietly, trying to clear your throat. You had been crying a lot and ended up irritating your throat so much from your choked sobs it had become hoarse.

“Your voice sounds…nasally and hoarse.” He mumbles, still searching. “And you didn’t come to the studio, so it figures you must be sick.” He sighs and places his hands on his hips. “I think I left an extra thermometer for you down stairs I’ll be right back baby-” You look down as he places a chaste kiss on your forehead and makes his way down stairs, his feet making a staccato rhythm on the staircase.

(x)

Once Chan had found where he placed the thermometer and cold and flu tablets he opened your fridge to find something sweet for you to use as a chaser for the cold medicine you hated the taste of oh so much.

“I think I brought her a slice of cake the other day…” He mumbled looking through the fridge. He moved some things out of the way - perhaps he was overlooking something?

After moving a pickle jar he saw something with a cute little red ribbon.

He grabbed it and unwrapped it. 

“Y/N likes those little pastry shops, they always have cute packaging…” He trailed off looking a little confused as he saw a little envelope sealed shut with a pineapple sticker. 

It was placed on top of a few containers.

“Did someone make her a care package?” Chan wondered as he opened up the containers, but quickly realized that wasn’t it at all.

You had always loved making Mexican food for Chan, since it was something you were good at and he loved. He just didn’t get to eat it much because any of the places he could find that sold it always made things too spicy for him. You made it perfectly suited to his tastes.

A small breath left his lips as he  held the envelope in his hands and carefully peeled the sticker off in a way to keep everything intact.

He smiled as he read your little note to him, and chuckled at the part where you told him to tell Han to not steal your carne asada this time and if he wanted it that he would make you some when you were able to get to the store.

He gave a contented sigh as he carefully started to prepare things to be warmed up.

He contemplated the time he should take to warm things up.

“It must be left over from a day or two since she was sick today…” He mumbled messing with the settings, until he turned towards the sink to wash his hands and noticed the pile of dishes sitting there.

A pile that was very obviously used recently. He looked over in the trash can and saw the packaging of all the ingredients you used.

He started to click things together and then thought back to the odd interaction that had happened earlier.

~~~~

“Hyung, I’m hungry ~” Han whined as Chan and him made their way towards another room.

“We can get something to eat after we finish-”

“Can’t I just eat some of what Noona brought you?” He asked, perking up a bit. “She always makes the best food.”

Chan hmmed in agreement. “She hasn’t brought anything today.”

“But its almost dinner time. She always brings-”

Han bows politely to Sana as she walks past. She stops and turns back to them.

“Ya- Chan.” He had turned around and saw his friend growing. “Stop being such a pabo and apologize quickly.” She said turning away and walking off.

Han looked at him and at Sana’s retreating figure.

“What did you do hyung?” He whispered quietly.

Cham furrowed his brows, because he was also at a loss.

~~~~

He stood in front of your bedroom door, with the plate of food in his hand, but the medicine was left on the counter.

Because you weren’t sick. 

You were sad.

“Baby?” He said quietly as he walked into your room. You were sitting up in your bed scrolling through the shows on your TV, trying to find something to watch.

You looked up as Chan set the plate of food down and you swallowed as you realized he had found it.

You didn’t say anything as he sat down on your bed with you and pulled you into his lap, putting his head in your shoulder and just holding you.

You couldn’t help but feel your lip tremble as you started to cry quietly.

“Baby, shhh, its okay.” He said stroking your hair. “You heard what I said in the studio?”

You nodded and Chan looked at you and gently help your face.

“You didn’t hear all of it though.” He sighs quietly, flattening your unruly hair. “That much is clear.” 

You sniffed and wiped at your nose with the sleeve of your sweater and continued to stroke your hair.

“If I remember correctly, the conversation went something along the lines of you coming at the worst time and staying a while right?” He looked up at the ceiling and hmms in thought. “And then I remember Jeongin asking me if I didn’t like it when my girlfriend came to the studio. And I said no.”

You looked up at him, your lips trembling more now.

“I said No- I actually love it when she comes to the studios. She always comes at the worst times. When I’m feeling unmotivated, or hitting a wall with lyrics or the arrangement. But she comes, and she charges me up with motivation and inspiration when she stays a while. She fills up my battery life.” 

You looked at him, and could tell he wasn't just saying things to make you feel better. There was truth in everything he just said.

“Baby I could never get tired of you. You take care of me so well,” he mumbles, kissing your shoulder. “Besides, if I did Sana would never let me live it down. And to be honest, she becomes really scary when it comes to you." He says shuddering and nuzzling his head into you. 

You giggle and nuzzle back into him.

“Now eat,” He says, grabbing the remote from you and putting on a random drama. It wasn’t like he would be paying much attention to it anyways, he just wanted to look at his girlfriend who he hadn't seen all day.

[nanacee]

FELIX :: CHARMER @ LOLLAPALOOZA 2024

[nanacee]

🧸🤍

[nanacee]

𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐲 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬

☆ Genre: Domestic, very suggestive, fluff

☆ Warnings: Hickeys and overly sweet fluff?

☆ Characters: Chan, Y/N

☆ Word Count: 2.1k

“It's not that bad!”

“Not that bad? Christopher Bahng, it's literally the size of a golf ball.” 

“ … I like golf.” 

Exasperated with her husband, Y/N turned away from their bedroom mirror and faced the man with her hands on her bare hips. She leaned to the side pointedly as she stared at the blushing man on the bed. The epitome of feigned innocence rolled off of his person in the form of wide, puppy eyes, and his contagious smile lingered on his lips in a way that made Y/N's knees buckle. 

She bit her lip, unable to stop her own smile from spreading across her equally flushed face. 

“It's only been an hour,” Y/N whined, her fingers fluttering by the nape of her neck. “It's gonna look dreadful in the morning.” 

“Dreadful?” Chan's mouth dropped open dramatically as he placed his arms behind his head. “I don't know … I think it looks sexy, no?”

The man smiled further, his eyes travelling from the burst of colour to his wife's heated eyes. “You look beautiful, baby girl.” 

Y/N covered her steaming face with her hands and turned away again towards the mirror. She peered at herself through the gaps of her fingers; even with her arms acting like shields in front of her body, she was still able to see the large crimson splotch on her skin. It almost looked like a shedding rose; its outer petals kissed the base of her throat and the dip of her collarbone. Smaller petals dotted the line of her shoulders and the sides of her chest in explosions of pink, red, and purple.

It was late in the evening; not yet midnight, but late enough. Chan and Y/N had spent the day practically glued to each other's side as they indulged in what felt like a twenty-four hour, non-stop date. Y/N was unsure if there had been a moment where they hadn't been touching in some way … Chan's arms had been strong around her torso as they made breakfast together, their shoulders pressed up against each other as they ate together, their legs locking as they watched TV together … and then their bodies entwining as they landed atop their bed together in a heated flurry of movement.

Y/N slowly flitted her gaze from the markings that circled her neck like an elaborate necklace. She blinked softly as she focused on what reflected behind her. Chan was leaning back on his hands, his head cocked to the side and his eyes hooded as he watched his wife with an affectionate smile.

He looked ethereal in the dim bedroom lighting. His fair skin had taken on the deep tones of luxurious amber under the warping shadows, each curve of his muscular build like a stretch of golden silk against the bedsheets. Smudges of Y/N's lipstick lingered against the angles of his jaw and the defined map of his abdomen in scarlet kisses, and as Chan smirked at her in the mirror, his eyes glimmered with the warmth and richness of dark chocolate. They sparkled playfully, Chan's gaze slow and provocative as it trailed down Y/N's body, the man chewing on his swollen bottom lip. 

The way he looked sprawled over the messy sheets, combined with the way he was looking at her made Y/N swallow thickly, her breath hitching. 

“What?” Chan hummed under his breath. 

Y/N looked down, her cheeks ablaze. “You're … just … “

“Just what … ?”

Y/N didn't trust what would happen if she was to say what was at the forefront of her mind. She rolled her eyes to the ceiling instead. “Infuriating.” 

She was still looking down at her clasped hands as a wave of shyness washed over her; she didn't notice when Chan slipped off of their bed, his tread light when he came to stand behind her. Her eyes widened abruptly when his fingertips danced along her sides, his palms smoothing over her skin and his strong arms following until they were looped around her in an engulfing hug. 

He was completely pressed up against her as he enveloped her into him. Y/N could feel every inch of his skin melting into hers, heat kindling between them both like a fine line of prickling electricity. 

“Infuriating?” Chan's voice was husky as his lips brushed against Y/N's bruised neck. He grinned in a teasing manner as he lightly grazed his teeth against the large mark. 

Y/N's chest rose and fell rapidly as she watched what he was doing in the mirror. She lightly slapped his forearm. “Don't do that! You're gonna make it worse.” 

Chan laughed silently. His pectoral muscles were hard against Y/N's shoulder blades with the movement, and he kissed her neck, his fingers trailing up her body until they landed at the darkening hickey he had left behind earlier. 

“You can always cover it up,” Chan hummed, circling the mark with his fingernail. “Though I don't understand why you'd want to. It looks beautiful.” 

Y/N leaned back into him, legs weak. “To you, maybe. To the random people we bump into on the street? I don't think so.” 

Chuckling, Chan moved so he was standing in front of her. He replaced his arms around her waist as he lowered his head, his lips soft and warm as they met the curves of Y/N's chest. “What about here?” 

Voice wavering, Y/N looked down at him. “What do you mean, what about here?” 

“You know what I mean,” Chan said, his voice reverberating through his wife's skin. “Think you need a few more marks, hmm? You know … so the other ones don’t feel … lonely.”  

Y/N looked away. She felt as though her heart would leap out of her chest at any moment if he kept this up.  

“Do what you want,” she murmured, causing Chan to grin. She placed a finger in line with the soft hollows of her collarbones. “Just not above here.” 

Chan stood up again. His hands swept up Y/N's neck before he cupped her face. Y/N looked up at him with dilated eyes, and she was grateful for the security of his touch holding her up when he leaned down to connect his lips with hers. 

“Deal,” Chan whispered, hands travelling down to the small of her back again. “Ready for round two?” 

His question suddenly made Y/N burst into a fit of hushed giggles against her husband's mouth. “That was the cringiest thing you could have possibly said right now. Who asks that?” 

Chan grinned, his fingers digging into her hips. “Obviously someone who cares about your well-being.” 

“Really? You care about my well-being after giving me all of these?” Y/N gestured wildly to her top half. “You nearly ate me alive.” 

“Oh yeah? But from the sounds you were making, I think you enjoyed it.” 

The couple erupted into slightly giddy laughter, their burning noses bumping against one another's in the process. Chan's hands were hot as they smoothed over Y/N's back, pulling her closer to him, and overcome with a sudden rush of affection, Y/N locked her arms around the man's neck. She giggled against his lips when Chan's grip travelled to her thighs; she was swiftly lifted up into the security of his strong arms, and  the sheets were warm on her skin when Chan set her down.

Y/N smiled up at Chan with figurative hearts exploding in amongst the centre of her pupils. 

Chan lowered his head a little, as if he was going in for a kiss. But he stopped for a moment. The softest of smiles spread across his face as his gaze absorbed every one of Y/N's details. His heart leapt against the walls of his chest as he did so, and he was almost in a trance of overflowing devotion as he very delicately traced the backs of his fingers down the side of his wife's face.

“What … ?” YN breathed, her chest rising and falling against his. 

Chan's smile grew further. “Just … thinking about how much I love you.” 

Y/N's eyes widened. They had been together for almost a decade, and even though she had heard those three words leaving his mouth more and more as their time spent together increased, Y/N couldn't help but feel stunned all the same. Something about the way Chan was looking at her, and the glow to his skin and the raw honesty of his tone was making her head spin. Chan wasn't one to say things unless he completely meant it … Y/N knew that more than anyone. 

Her cheeks stung from the intensity of her blush, and she covered her face again with her hands, her legs kicking around the sheets. 

“Hey, no … “ Chan laughed under his breath, his fingers travelling to circle around Y/N's wrists. “We've talked about this, baby. No covering your face when I'm looking at you.” 

“But you're making me blush,” Y/N whined through her fingers. “I already look like … a lobster.” 

Chan chuckled, gently removing his wife's hands. He lay them down by the side of her head and very slowly entwined his fingers with hers. 

“The prettiest … ” Chan mumbled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Most beautiful … “ he kissed her nose, “Sexiest lobster I've ever seen.” 

His smile landed on her lips, and Y/N immediately squeezed his fingers. With her hands under Chan's grip, she couldn't do anything but let the man kiss her with his slow, maddening pace … her lips were buzzing as Chan cushioned them with his own, the softness of his tongue tracing the outline of her mouth and leaving behind the intoxicating cloud of his taste.

“Christopher … “ Y/N whispered against his lips. “I … “ 

He didn't let her finish. His kiss deepened and the woman's back arched up until the curve of her body was completely pressed into his. 

“What were you gonna say?” Chan teased her when he pulled away, his thumbs caressing her palms. 

Y/N swallowed, trying to regain her breath. She suddenly burst into a fit of quiet laughter a moment later, and she looked up into her husband's eyes as he laid his forehead against hers.

“I love you,” she giggled, her words hot on his mouth. “I love you so fucking much.” 

Her words made Chan's entire face light up. His lips were suddenly on hers again, his thighs squeezing around her hips in an embrace of their own. 

*☆*☆* 

Chan couldn't stop laughing. His arms folded across his broad chest as he leaned against the doorframe, Chan watched in growing amusement as Y/N applied her third layer of colour corrector over the plum sized bruise stretching across her neck for the fourth time. 

“Are you having fun?” Y/N attempted a dry tone despite the smile that betrayed her. “Is this really funny to you?” 

“Yeah,” Chan chuckled, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Yeah, it is.” 

Y/N attempted to cover her blanket of green with a full coverage concealer. She dabbed around the perimeters carefully, blending the edges softly into her skin so as not to disturb the product over the area she was trying to conceal. 

Alas, regardless of her layers of heavy duty coverage, the richness of the burgundy splotch still managed to peek through. Y/N sighed and dropped her powder down onto her vanity with a pointed look at her husband. 

“You did this on purpose, didn't you?” Y/N wrinkled her nose at him as he continued to smirk. “You just want an excuse to stay indoors.”

“I didn't!” Chan protested with pink cheeks. “I didn't mean to do it that high up. Just … got carried away.” 

Snorting at her husband's words, Y/N craned her neck to the side, observing the situation. It was still obvious even when she squinted, and having no intention to wear a high neck garment in the forty degree Australian heat, Y/N gave up. She pushed away from her vanity table and instead made her way to Chan who immediately caught her in his arms, pulling her into him by the waist. 

“Looks like you win,” Y/N smiled up at him as she looped her arms around his neck, lovingly tugging at the soft curls kissing the nape of his neck. “Again. Movie date it is. Because there's no way I'm going out with this visible monster.” 

The passion in her words made Chan burst into laughter. He dipped his head and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. “You can pick all the movies. And I'll make you your favourite pasta.” 

Y/N's eyes lit up at that. She squished his cheeks in her hands. “Promise?” 

“I promise,” Chan grinned. He hugged her a little closer, his heartbeat mingling with hers. “As long as I get to be with you, I'm happy with anything.” 

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[nanacee]

CHAHN CHRISTOPHER BAHNG

IM GOING FERAL

sCREAMING

[nanacee]

When they call you clingy, so you distance yourself | Hyung Line

Warnings: Cursing

Pt2, Pt3 Maknaeline

(X)

BANGCHAN |

You walked into Chan’s studio, quietly shutting the door behind you, as to not startle him.

“Hey Chris, can we talk for a second?”

You watched as your boyfriend of a year and a half continued to type away, not acknowledging your question.

“Chris? Did you hear me?”

“Yes I heard you. I just didn't answer."

"Well, it would be nice for a little acknowledgment, I asked if we could talk." You state politely. You understood that Chan was stressed, but you believed it was basic courtesy to at least acknowledge someone - let alone your significant other - when they asked you a question.

"Well, I'm kind of busy at the moment."

"I understand it will only take two minutes ba-"

“Dammit Y/N! I'm busy right now can't you see?" He snaps. Turning towards you and showing you the screen of his laptop.

You open your mouth to speak and tell him just why you needed to talk to him at this very second but he interrupted you.

"When we first started dating, I get that you told me you were clingy. I also get that I told you I liked clingy. But my god, Y/N you're not just clingy you're fucking obsessive. And always at the wrong times! You want space when I actually have time. Yet you decide to stroll in here trying to start a damn conversation when you can clearly see I'm trying to play damage control from a fucking dumbass trainee thinking it was funny to mess with my tracks. I'm already stressed as fuck about that, yet I have you breathing down my neck like some obsessive stalker. Like for five minutes just leave me alone!"

You stiffened at Chan’s tone. It was very rare that Chan would ever raise his voice. He managed his frustrations very well and was aware of how sensitive you were so he was always careful about confrontation.

He turned around and had his back hunched over his laptop as he typed and clicked away furiously, unaware of the tears that were quickly springing to your eyes. You were frozen in place, your heart beating uncontrollably.

It took a minute before you were even able to take a breath.

You stood there long enough for Felix to come bursting through the door to come update Chan about something unimportant to the task at hand. The same task that he had snapped at you for interrupting.

And you think that what hurt most. The way the frown on his face was lessened when talking to the younger male and his cute chuckle even popped out once or twice.

You finally were able to pull yourself out of the studio, leaving behind the coat you had absentmindedly placed down out of habit when you had come in and opted to take your purse.

The air was brisk and had that dry smell it always gained before it snowed.

Your apartment was close to the studio, a 25-minute walk at most so you always opted to take a stroll when visiting Chan, but you were on a tight schedule so within a minute you were in a taxi heading home.

And just as quickly you were back in a taxi heading to the airport.

You knew it was petty of you to mute Chris's notifications. But the fact that he snapped at you was just the tip of the iceberg. You knew that once he calmed down, he would immediately be filled with guilt. And you would rather not have your phone being blown up by multiple people at once.

Are you headed to the airport?

You responded to your brother's message with a thumbs up and turned on your DND before the screen darkened with a click.

You glanced at your watch and sighed.

You'd be on a plane heading home in less than an hour and weren't even able to kiss Chris goodbye.

(xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx)

MINHO |

"You're clingy as hell." Minho mumbled under his breath, thinking you wouldn't hear. But oh did you hear.

"Lee Minho what did you just say?"

He let out a sharp breath and looked up from his phone. "I called you clingy." He stated boldly, his voice even yet loud enough to be heard by Hyunjin and Han who quickly scurried away to the other half of the suite.

"And what about me is so clingy?"

Minho chuckled sarcastically. "Oh I don't Y/N, do you want me to recap the entire day for you?"

You had joined the kids on their trip to Paris. While they had been here numerous times, this was your first time traveling here and due to the anxiety of being in a new place, you attached yourself to Minho's hip since it was your first day here.

You didn't intend to be overbearing, nor did you intend to be up his ass for the entire week and a half long trip, but you wanted to get used to the surroundings and you felt most comfortable doing that with your boyfriend. Yesterday being your first day you spent the entirety of it with Minho. You had noticed quickly how his excitement had turned into unease and straight up irritation after a while. It was a weird phase of emotions considering how happy he had been but you had amounted it to you accidentally taking a wrong turn and missing a fireworks show Minho had been talking about all day. You had come into his room early this morning to apologize, but instead were meant by an overly irritable boyfriend.

"It's because I've never been here before! Did you expect me to not to ask you to show me around?"

"Y/N there is a difference between a tour guide and a fucking babysitter. You pulled me along to everywhere you wanted to go. I had plans yesterday! Certain things that I was hoping to do. I made an entire schedule and everything, but just because you wouldn't agree to be toured around the city by Chan you ruined all of that. Then you spent the entire day just pulling me along. If you wanted someone to give you an overly extensive run down of everything and keep you company, why don't you ask someone closer to your personality like Jisung or Jeongin? I'm sure they'd love talking of the ears of all the local with you. Shit, you'd probably become some street show you three."

You sucked in your cheeks and took a breath.

"That was uncalled for, you have no need to bring anyone else into this discussion."

Minho chuckled sarcastically.

"Discussion? What is there to discuss? The amount of time I want you to leave me alone? Hell, why not the entire fucking trip?" He spat out.

"You're an ass Minho."

"Yeah well at least I'm not a pain in someone else's."

You felt your bottom lip start to tremble and your chin shake.

Don't cry. You'll just be a crybaby.

"And here come the water works." He groans as if he read your mind, getting up from his bed and heading towards the room where the rest of the guys were probably trying to keep occupied as to not hear your arguing.

"So what? You're just gonna walk away?" You call out.

"YOU'RE PROVING MY FUCKING POINT!" He shouted, finally at his breaking point. "It was a mistake asking you to come on this trip." He said turning around one final time and opening the door to the other side of the suite. "I never should have asked."

"Well you know what, maybe this trip isn't the only thing you should have never asked about. And I'm starting to realize that maybe it's not the only thing I never should have said yes to." You spit out turning on your heel and slamming the door.

You furiously wiped at the tears that were sticking to your face and threw your hood up over your head as you headed to your room to contemplate what would become of you two now.

(xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx)

CHANGBIN |

It was irritating to you the way Changbin was interacting with the female barista. And the irritation must have shown on your face because when he handed you your iced latte, he raised an eyebrow.

"Is everything okay jagiya?"

You sighed as you guys stepped out the shop and started making your way back towards the studio. Changbin had been really busy the last couple of weeks with preparing for a special release and collabing with a few other groups, so you hadn't been able to be around your boyfriend as often as you'd like. So you had agreed on meeting during his lunch every other day, even if the times varied.

"You just seemed really flirty with that barista." You mumbled. "It was obvious she was into you too. I mean who wouldn't you're the Seo Changbin." You giggled elbowing him playfully. You pulled out your phone to make sure there was enough time for you to walk Changbin back or if you would have to take an Uber. You nodded at the time and swiped away a few notifications from Minho.

You expected Changbin to laugh or reassure you like he usually did when you brought up his flirty habits. Instead he snorted into his cup as he took a sip of the dark liquid.

"Jealous much?"

You laughed a little. "Why would I be jealous? She isn't the one who has been dating you for three years." You said hip bumping him, but he stepped away from you rather brashly.

"Well it seems like you are because you have to bring up me and my so called flirting ever single time I talk to anyone of the female species."

"Bin it was just a joke-"

"Well I'm not joking when I say you're acting clingy as fuck." His tone was way off and he seemed to realize the shit he was setting himself up to be put in because he stopped mid stride and turned around to you with an agitated sigh.

"Do you...I don't know want to run that by me again?" You ask, firming your stance.

"God, Y/N, don't make this a big thing. Its just been a day-"

"No, no. You don't get to use that excuse Changbin. We're supposed to talk through these things. You don't just get to say something like that and then act like you didn't."

You guys stood at an impasse for a moment until he spoke up rolling his eyes.

"Fine. I think you're being clingy." He said simple. "Jealousy falls under clinginess and I think you're being jealous so therefore you are being clingy."

"Changbin it was a fucking joke! You've never reacted this way before so I don't know why you're acting this way now!"

Changbin just rolled his eyes and continued in the direction of the studio.

"Seo Changbin, where are you going?"

"To work Y/N. You know, maybe if you actually picked up a more stable job then you wouldn't have as much time to be up my ass and exaggerating about things that aren't things you should be butt hurt about."

You stiffened at Changbin's low blow and took a breath.

"We need to fix this before it gets out of hand." You grit out.

"Well maybe I don't want to fix this." He looked at his watch. "I'm late now so why don't you just drink your latte and go home to cool off."

The condescending voice Changbin was using sent you over the edge. You were angry to the point of tears.

You chucked your nearly full iced latte at him. It hit his chest with a thud, and the coffee made a rather pretty pattern on his pristine white shirt.

"Maybe that'll help you cool yourself off. Fuck you Changbin." You pushed past him and waved down the closest taxi.

Your phone was buzzing in your pocket and you pulled it out.

"Hey, are you and Changbin on your way back? I need to go over some choreography and we're filming tiktoks right when he gets back."

You did the best you could to keep your voice level when responding to Minho.

"He's on his way back now. But you need to get him a new shirt because being the dumbass he is he likes to make a mess of perfectly good things."

(xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx)

HYUNJIN|

You were never very happy having to attend events with Hyunjin. It wasn't that you didn't like spending time with him, or in turn spending time with the guys events.

It was just you felt insecure being the plus one of someone like Hyunjin.

It was no secret to anyone how those who knew and perceived Hwang Hyunjin's existence thought of him.

He had a beauty that rivaled any masterpiece that had ever been painted. The elegance of a tiger lily with the face of an angel.

You knew of many people who would jump at the opportunity to be with Hyunjin. For the past 11 months you had been with him you had your fair share of run ins with crazy fans or pop stars of the like.

Once your relationship had gone public a month ago you found yourself being compared to the female idols in the industry even more than you has expected.

It seemed to be the general consensus that not many people viewed you as "beautiful enough" to be with someone like Hyunjin.

You didn't take it to heart because you decided to have the outlook of nobody being beautiful enough for Hyunjin - let alone the people writing those hateful comments considering they were most likely delusional pre-teens who made the most out of pocket edits and were in desperate need of some grass groping.

But after a month it was starting to get to you slightly. Especially as you had come across one of those edits, since you had been tagged in it after someone found your personal account.

The amount of hate messages were starting to get to change your perception on things. Because the more you were hearing it the more you were seeing and believeing it.

"Jinnie do you think that my shoulders look weird in this dress?" You walked into your living room where Hyunjin was sitting. He looked up and a bright smile showed on his face.

"I think you look beautiful jagiya!" He said standing up. He looked other worldly in his tuxedo.

"And my hair?"

"Perfect." He said placing a kiss on your forehead. "We have to leave now if we want to make it on time. Or else I would look at you all night."

By the time you had been at the event for thirty minutes you already wanted to go home. You felt like the ugliest person there, and you couldn't help but feel the eyes of many people on you.

Ever couple of minutes you found yourself looking for Hyunjin's reassurance.

"Does my stomach look bloated?"

"Is my makeup fine?"

"Can you see the pimple on my chin?"

"Are my nails okay?"

"Do I look ugly?"

"Should I make my hair look like hers next time?

Hyunjin was reassuring you, but after the third or fourth questioning of the night his answers became generic.

When he was talking to an idol and his significant other you couldn't help but start comparing yourself to her. She was so pretty.

"Hyunjin should I run home and change?" You asked quietly in English. You were doing your best to learn Korean so it would be easier to communicate with Hyunjin's parents when the time came that your families were to get closer. You wanted it to be a surprise when the time came, because you knew how much Hyunjin wanted you to get along with his family, when when the time came to meet them - he wanted to get along with your family.

"You're girlfriend is pretty clingy isn't she?" The other idol asked in his native language, assuming you didn't speak korean because of your fluency in english.

"Yeah she is extremely clingy." Hyunjin replied. "Might be the clingiest girl I've ever met."

You looked at the other idols girlfriend and she made a face, and then laughed.

"You can tell she is a foreigner by the way she acts. No one is ever as clingy as foreign partners." She joked and all three of them were laughing.

Well there is the hundredth insecurity to list.

You looked at them and tried to control your facial expressions.

"We were just telling him that you are so adorable." The girl told you.

You chuckled uncomfortably and looked over at Hyunjin. He smiled and blinked cutely at you.

You smiled back as Hyunjin turned towards the couple again to continue his conversation.

And all you could do was smile back as you pretended to not understand the words Hyunjin didn’t even realize hurt you.

[nanacee]

Lost in Translation

Copyright Ⓒ 2023 by Moonjxsung

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner. Doing so will result in a legal takedown per the Digital Millennium Copyright Act and is subject to legal action.

Pairing: Lee Minho x fem reader

W/c: 26.5k

Warnings: accidental nudity, hospital visit, mention of masturbation, use of pet names, breast/nipple play, clitoral stimulation, unprotected sex, bulge kink, sexual asphyxiation, breeding kink, creampie, oral sex (male receiving), brief mention of pregnancy

Synopsis: The older brother of the boy you babysit is an enigma, in every sense of the word- and you’re determined to figure him out.

[this work was based off a request by @antoniorhinothethird - thank you for requesting!]

18+. Mdni!

•

The idea of babysitting isn’t some brilliant proposal you conjured up in a day- but it’s not exactly a choice, either. The idea isn’t even yours, in fact, the advertisements you published on the colorful inquiry site at your mother’s behest. But “college courses are virtual these days” and “you’ll be a mother at some point in your life,” according to her. So two months into the semester, you’ll now spend the majority of your time in a new place you’ll call home, just 30 minutes out at the Lee Household.

The Lee household is considerably larger than you’d originally anticipated it to be, spanning a sizable amount of grassland and standing nobly tall at 2 stories high. The exterior of the flashy home is surrounded by paved gravel driveways, lining the neat rows of bushels and vines that surround the off-white architectural build. Giant glass windows reflect sunlight in nearly every room of the house, with the exception of the dimly-lit library on the second floor, which flaunts colossal cherry wooden bookshelves that line the walls and cover most of the smaller windows.

“Joon is usually very mellow in the daytime,” Mrs. Lee tells you as she walks you through a tour of the garden. “You’ll only have to worry about his feeding schedules, which I’ve already written and posted on the refrigerator.”

She pivots in front of you, stopping for a moment and gesturing to the stone fountain by the rose bushes. “Do you like it? It was a gift from my husband. When he’s not running the furniture business, he works in restoration a lot. This was his first project.”

“Wow,” you say, your lips parted at the sight of the koi fish and the cascading waterfall from its lips. “It’s very beautiful.”

Mrs. Lee smiles at you in response, turning on her heel and continuing to the iron gates in the front.

“Do you have any other questions?” She asks, clasping her hands together and shooting you a saccharine smile. She’s intimating, not because of her personality, which you quickly clock as rather warm and inviting. But rather, because she’s so elegant, her navy silk dress perfectly complementing the chunky pearl earrings she wears, making her look like a character from an old film. You’re not sure you’ve ever crossed paths with such an interesting woman before.

“I think that covers everything,” you say finally, giving her a small bow. “I’ll be sure to provide updates throughout the day.”

“Oh, no need,” she says quickly. “Unless it’s an emergency, l know you’ll have your hands full doing your work while watching Joon. Feel free to just give us a little summary when we’re home for the evening.”

She shoots you a little wink when she finishes speaking, clasping her hands together again and smiling down at you.

“We’ll see you tomorrow for your first day!” She exclaims warmly, opening gate doors as you make your exit out of the garden. When you begin down the paved road, Mrs. Lee suddenly gasps, calling out to you again in a frantic manner.

“Oh! Y/n, wait please!” She calls, pulling the skirt of her dress up to her ankles to jog over to where you’re standing.

“My other son will be home from school in the afternoon tomorrow. Don’t be alarmed if you hear him moving about the house. He’ll just keep to himself.”

You ponder the words for a moment, a little frustrated when you realize there will be two kids in the household instead of one, like she’d previously mentioned. But you just nod and smile at her, seeing yourself out of the driveway once again and beginning the journey back home to prepare for your first day here tomorrow.

*

This castle-at-end-of-the-road is eerily quiet when no one’s home, a once lively sight of rose bushes and marble statues appearing like something out of a horror movie when you’re by yourself. At every corner you turn, your brain runs rampant with paranoia, placing shadowy figures and silhouettes of people where there are none- except for when you’re in the presence of Joon.

At just a year old, Joon is considered one of the cutest ages, only being able to babble incoherent noises and flail his little hands around when he wants something. His closet is full of matching neutral tones, per his mother’s styling, and his sparse black hair is combed neatly to one side.

Mrs. Lee is right about him- he doesn’t cry. Nor does he ever make a fuss, really. He simply sits quietly, in the comfort of his crib, or his high chair, and he curiously peers at the world around him. You’re certain he’s taken a liking to you already, judging at how he smiles when you spoon-feed him mashed carrots and mimic airplane noises. And he only cries briefly once in the day, stopping almost immediately when you put him down for his nap.

This may be an easier gig than you thought.

While Joon naps, you take the opportunity to get some work done in the library, settling comfortably on the velvet armchair in the corner and running through a few of your online class assignments for the week.

Although you’ll be babysitting here for the next few weeks, you’re also completing your final year at university this year, your last semester being completely remote. Which gives you time to take on the babysitting task as a side hustle, and hopefully save enough money to travel a bit after university like you’ve always dreamt of.

At half past noon, Joon is still peacefully asleep in his crib where you’ve left him, the ambient sound of waves echoing softly from his baby monitor as little snores emit from his curled lips. He looks like an angel when he sleeps, and you can’t help but feel your heart swell to twice its size at the sight of him.

The gentle breeze of the October wind travels through the open windows of the library, sending chills up your spine when you sit down to work again. You get up from where you’re sitting on the armchair to latch the windows shut, making sure to lock them, before turning around to take your seat again- quickly startled by the figure standing in the doorway.

“Jesus,” you yelp, one hand clutching your chest in fear as you nearly drop your laptop.

The figure- or man, rather, says nothing, scanning the room like he’s searching for something, before turning on his heel and exiting the room once again.

He’s tall, with a slim yet muscular build, honey tanned skin complementing his chocolate brown tresses. He’s also dressed rather casually in a pair of light-wash jeans and a black top, a black leather jacket thrown over his broad shoulders and left unzipped.

“Sorry, did you need something?” You call out, perplexed by his demeanor. You can’t remember if the Lees warned you of potential visitors, but you’re suddenly panicked for Joon, remembering you left his door open.

“Nope,” the man calls out over his shoulder, not turning around to face you. And then you see it- a black backpack, slung over one shoulder and seemingly filled to the brim with textbooks.

Their other son.

This must be the son Mrs. Lee warned you would be making appearances in the afternoon. But you had assumed him to be much younger, especially considering he’s definitely old enough to be watching over his own brother.

Before you can gather your thoughts to introduce yourself, he’s gone again, disappearing down the hall the same way he so mysteriously appeared. And you wonder, briefly, how he can be so much colder than his own mother.

*

The first day of your new job is a success. When Mrs. Lee returns home for the evening, she pays you in cash, true to her traditional style, and sends you home with a tin of shortbread cookies as another ‘thank you’, though she’s already voiced it a million times. But the second day is rougher than the first, reminding you of why babysitting isn’t always an easy task despite what it may seem.

Joon is particularly antsy today, flailing his arms around when you try to spoon feed him and whining relentlessly when you pick him up. He needs several diaper changes in just your first few hours of working, and when you finally do get him clean, he’s a crying, screaming mess.

Fortunately, he still goes down for his nap at noon, which means you have a narrow window of time to complete your work for the day and get freshened up. The windows in the library are propped wide open again, a cold breeze coming through as you settle in your new favorite spot and open your laptop.

There are a myriad of assignments to complete today, and you’re briefly panicked that you won’t be able to complete the necessary few pieces if Joon suddenly wakes again. But still, you try, skimming through textbooks and typing away as much as you can to make steady progress. And at the hour mark, Joon begins to cry. Rather he wails, loudly, from the other room, startling you when you’re already in deep concentration working through a practice quiz.

You make your way down the hallway and to the right, where Joon’s room is, approaching the crib and catching a glimpse of his anguished state. His face is a robust shade of red as he wails loudly, bubbles of saliva forming at his nostrils and his eyes squeezed shut. You guide him out of the crib and into the safety of your arms, shushing him gently and rocking him back and forth the way Mrs. Lee taught you. And Joon calms instantly, hiccuping through tears as he locks his gaze on yours and fists at strands of your hair.

“That’s okay,” you coo at him, grazing your finger along his chin and cleaning some of the drool that dribbles from the corners of his lips. “I’m here. Look at you! You’re okay,” you continue, giggling at him when his quivering lips pull into a small smile. He softens in your arms, smiling and babbling with hushed sounds, clutching tightly on strands of your hair as you balance him in your arms.

“You want to come do some work?” You ask, nodding your head as if to coax an answer out of him. “That’s a good baby, huh? Let’s go do some work.”

And you travel back to the library with Joon in your arms, giving him gentle pats on his back as you hoist him tighter into your embrace and balance your laptop with one arm.

When you’re starting on your last task of the evening, you’re interrupted again today by Mrs. Lee’s eldest son, who pokes his head in the doorway and observes as you coo down at Joon’s sleeping figure while working on your computer with one hand.

“Do you want me to take him?” You hear from the doorway, and you crane your neck to look where he’s standing, his hands shoved in his pockets and his backpack slung lazily over one arm.

“I’m okay,” you respond, typing out a word with one hand. He furrows his eyebrows at your failed attempt, approaching you and reaching out his arms to take Joon from your embrace.

“You can’t work like this,” he says, as he peacefully transfers Joon to his own arms. “He won’t wake up if I put him back, I promise.”

“Thanks,” you reply, taking note of his features now that he’s at a closer proximity to you for the first time. He has large round eyes, and long eyelashes that make even you jealous. His nose bridge is sharp and straight, and when he chuckles softly at Joon, you notice his skewed front teeth, ones that make his smile seem sweeter- softer.

As he begins out the doorway, you try to think of what to say to him, not wanting to have another awkward run-in with him like your last one. But nothing comes to mind that won’t be just as awkward as the encounter itself, and you settle on painful silence once again.

As you unlock your laptop, continuing on to your last assignment, you hear the faint noise of Mrs. Lee’s elder son putting Joon back to sleep.

Except he sounds different than he has during your two previous encounters. He’s laughing, babbling, even cooing at Joon as he puts him back to sleep. And though you really shouldn’t intrude, you make your way to the doorway again, where you peer down the hall to listen in on the endearing noises he makes.

“Are you sleepy?” He asks, his voice two octaves higher than usual. “Let’s sleep now, okay? No, you can’t have my shirt. That’s mine, remember? Let’s have good dreams now. I love you!”

You hear Joon giggling from the end of the corridor and you smile to yourself, wholly moved by the tender little moment he shares with his baby brother. He might not be his full-time caregiver, but he certainly knows what he’s doing. As you stay pondering his behavior for a moment, you don’t even notice when he exits the room again, turning to watch you standing around the doorway. Your ear is still leaned into the corridor, clearly having listened in on the private moment.

“Sorry,” you say quickly, straightening your posture, a wave of embarrassment quickly washing over you. “I was making sure Joon got to bed okay.”

He just nods once, looking you over briefly before meeting your gaze again.

“Minho,” he then practically mutters, averting your gaze as he waits for you to speak.

It’s his name, you realize, barely even having registered what he said to you. He’s telling you his name.

“Y/n,” you respond quickly, giving him a small bow and smiling nervously.

And Minho says nothing, pivoting on his heel to exit the corridor and disappear all over again.

*

For two weeks, your job runs smoothly, no glaring problems or hangups. Joon remains fond of you, obedient at mealtimes and when he’s put to bed. And the system of completing your college coursework goes smoothly, being able to get through several assignments a day while Joon takes his afternoon nap. If anything, you might be more productive than you were before this job, despite balancing it between university.

It’s an overcast Tuesday afternoon, and you’ve spent most of your day working in Joon’s nursery on the rocking chair next to his crib. He’s been a little fussy today, but you find that he calms down a little at the repetitive clicking noises of your laptop keyboard. Once you’ve confirmed he’s asleep, little snores emitting from his lips, you gather your belongings and sneak away to the library again. Only this time, it’s not vacant.

Minho sits in your usual spot today, his legs propped up on the footrest in front of him and a book in his lap. He doesn’t even notice you in the doorway, strands of hair hanging loosely in front of his face as he scans the page of his book. He also looks significantly more casual than other days you’ve seen him around, wearing a plain black t-shirt and gray sweats, a pair of round wireframe glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.

He feels your gaze on him, shuffling about suddenly and closing his book.

“Sorry,” Minho says. “I was just… reading.”

He realizes how awkward he sounds, verbally conveying his actions to you like this, but he’s too caught off guard to form a more coherent string of words.

“It’s okay,” you say politely, setting your bag down on the floor and occupying the chair across from him.

“What book?” You ask, cocking your head at the small red novel he clutches in his lap.

“Hm? Oh, uh… it’s Love and Limerence. By Dorothy Tennov.”

You nod in response, studying the cherub painted on the cover, wielding a bow and arrow.

“Big romance fan?”

“No,” Minho says, chuckling at your words. “It’s a required read for my class.”

“How neat,” you reply. “What class requires romance novels these days?”

“My philosophy course,” Minho says, running the pads of his fingers over the raised text on the cover. “The psychology of emotion.”

“PHIL 105,” you say, knowing very well the course he speaks of.

“Yeah- you’ve taken it?”

“No, but I had a friend who did in freshman year. I’m in my last semester now- my remaining classes are virtual, though.”

“It’s my last semester, too,” Minho says with a little smile, fiddling with the lobe of his ear as he talks.

“Well best of luck to you in the final stretch,” you reply, shooting him a small smile back. “I hope it all goes smoothly.”

Minho gives a half nod, and then furrows his eyebrows together, like he’s just remembered something.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” he says suddenly, sitting up and gathering his belongings.

“Oh, I really don’t mind-”

“Catch you later,” He interrupts with a nervous tone, almost jogging out of the library and back down the corridor.

And just like the first day you met him, you maintain the same idea of him- he’s such an enigma. Appearing in and out of the household, not one to voice his thoughts or his opinions, no eagerness to know the stranger sitting in his house watching over his baby brother. But somehow, like the rest of the household, you can’t help but have a lingering curiosity for Minho, too.

*

“My husband and I might be late getting back today,” Mrs. Lee says one morning as you feed Joon his breakfast. His tongue dodges the plastic spoon, dribbling mashed food out from the corners of his lips and laughing when you go to dab his face clean with a napkin.

“That’s alright,” you reply, loading up the spoon with more food. “I can wait until you’ve arrived.”

“You will?” Mrs. Lee asks, a kind of sparkle in her eyes as she speaks. “That would mean the world to us. It’s just that my husband has an auction to attend today. And sometimes these events run longer than they’re meant to.”

“No problem at all,” you say, smiling at her as you turn your attention back to Joon. “Joon and I will just hang out a little longer today. Isn’t that right?”

He babbles something in response, a string of saliva trailing from his lips, and Mrs. Lee laughs at the sight.

“He’s really taken a liking to you!”

As she fixes Joon’s hair, Minho enters the kitchen, dressed for the day with his backpack already slung over his shoulder.

“Minho,” his mother says in a scolding tone. “No gum for breakfast. Have a fruit.”

“Can’t,” he replies curtly. “My philosophy exam is today.”

“What does that have to do with depriving yourself of food?”

“It’s bad luck to eat before an exam,” Minho retorts, coming around the granite island to kiss her on the cheek. “Besides,” Minho continues. “I’m ditching my second class, so I’ll be home a little earlier.”

When he turns around, his gaze meets yours, and he instantly stiffens.

His gaze turns cold again, his hands shoving in his jacket pockets as he says nothing to you. He just bows, once, and then turns to exit like he’s suddenly in some rush.

“Bye,” he calls out, and you’re not even sure who he’s addressing it to at this point.

“I should get going, too,” Mrs. Lee says to you. “I’ll call you when we leave the event tonight. And please, feel free to make yourself comfortable after Joon gets put to bed. There’s cash on the table if you want to order something for dinner, and extra blankets are in the upstairs closet if you get sleepy.”

“Thank you,” you say to Mrs. Lee as she gathers her car keys and handbag. And the house is quiet again when you’re all alone, with the exception of Joon’s heavy breathing as he stares at you curiously.

“It’s like a mansion here,” you say to your best friend as you balance Joon in your arms and crane your neck on your shoulder to hold the phone against your ear. “Mrs. Lee is so nice. I thought she’d be stuck up or something, but she’s like a second mother.”

“You hit the jackpot,” your friend voices on the other end of the line. “Any idea how long they need you around?”

“Not sure,” you reply, wiping the granite counter with a rag as you finish up the dishes. “Probably until their son is done with the semester.”

“Son?” She says excitedly. “Is he cute?”

“Please,” you echo, rolling your eyes. “His looks mean nothing considering he doesn’t say a word.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly that. He just doesn’t talk. We go to the same university and it’s like pulling teeth trying to figure out something as simple as what his major is. I think he despises having me around.”

“I mean, to be fair, I wouldn’t love someone in my space 24/7. It’s probably a territorial thing.”

“He’s not a cat,” you respond, laughing lightly. “He’s a grown man. I just get the feeling he doesn’t like me.”

“Well I highly doubt that,” she says, and you can hear her shuffling about on her end of the line.

“Hey, I have to go,” she chimes in. “But I’ll talk to you later. Good luck with baby Joon and the cat man.”

“Thanks,” you reply, chuckling to yourself.

As you hang up the phone, you turn around to gather the last of the dishes, stopping in your tracks when you’re met with Minho himself.

He’s standing in the kitchen, popping a bubble of gum with his teeth, his gaze locked coldly on yours as he observes the place.

That’s right- he did say he would be home a bit earlier after his exam today. Was he standing there for the entirety of your conversation? You can’t recall how long the phone call lasted, or even the specifics of what you said. But you do know it certainly wasn’t good.

“Hi,” you say nervously, scanning his expression for a hint of what he’s thinking. But he provides you none, kicking off his boots and making his way up the stairs again.

The guilt is still eating away at you two hours later- Minho hasn’t descended the staircase once since the incident, and you can hardly focus on your school work at the thought of what he’s thinking of you.

Here you are, complaining about him seeming “cold” or “off”- the whole time you’re the one talking about him behind his back and stirring up drama. If he hated you before, he definitely despises you now. And if he's as close with his mother as he seemed this morning, you could be out of a job by tomorrow.

In reluctant steps, you ascend the wooden staircase, clutching a small mug of coffee and a stack of buttered toast. You remember Minho saying he’d have breakfast after his exam, a task he wasn’t able to complete due to your impolite conversation earlier. And while you’re not even sure he’s going to give you the time of day anymore, it’s worth a shot to try.

At the top of the staircase, you realize you’re unsure of which room even belongs to Minho. There are rows of doors down the corridor, which you peer into, looking for any sign of him.

A closet, another closet, the laundry room… it feels like a futile task at this point- not to mention, the sinking feeling that you’re intruding, poking into every room in the house like this.

But at the end of the hallway, just across the staircase from Joon’s room, lies one more closed door you haven’t tried yet, and you’re sure this one has to be his.

With a deep breath, you balance the mug of coffee on the plate you’re carrying, bringing your free hand up to knock, just once.

No answer.

You pause for a moment, debating whether to just leave and drop the idea of an apology altogether. But you don’t, instead forcing yourself to knock once more this time, a little harder than the first.

And after muffled sounds of shuffling about, the door finally opens again, Minho standing with a confused expression on his face. He has a pair of earphones in, one side pulled out to hear you, his glasses sat on his face and a number of textbooks on the bed behind him.

“Is Joon okay?” He asks, looking down the hall in panic as you meet his gaze.

“What? Oh! Yes, he’s fine. He’s sleeping.”

“Oh. What are you…”

“I… made you some breakfast. I know you didn’t have any before your exam this morning. And no, gum isn’t a breakfast food.” You chuckle lightly as you hold the items out to him, and Minho looks down at them, blinking a few times before speaking.

“Oh. Uh, thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s no problem. Should I leave them with you?”

“Oh, you can put them on the desk over there,” Minho replies, and it’s then that you notice his hands are full with papers. He steps aside to let you in, gesturing to the desk with a piece of paper, and you oblige, clearing the space of a few scattered items and setting down his breakfast.

When you turn around to look at the place, your lips part in awe at the sight of the grandiosity of it. Minho’s room has bigger windows than any of the others you’ve seen, concave around a crescent-shaped seating area that boasts tall ceilings and large glass windows. There are books lining the floors, the desk space and even the window sills, many of them left bookmarked or lying open where they sit.

His giant wooden bed frame is almost hidden behind a hanging curtain, and his desk is nearly inhabitable at the amount of university paraphernalia that lives on its surface.

“Wow,” you say, craning your neck to look around the room. “It’s really nice in here.”

“Thanks,” Minho says awkwardly, toying with a loose hem on his pants.

“You really like reading,” you comment, taking note of the books he has lying around. When you say this, Minho seems to stiffen a bit, shutting some of the books and lining them on their spines along his shelves.

“Yeah,” he mutters, dropping a few books and kicking them away from him.

You nod at him, pursing your lips, well aware that you’re in the midst of yet another awkward interaction with him, but wanting to fulfill the reason you came up here all the same.

“Listen,” you begin. “I wanted to apologize. I don’t know how much you heard of that, but I assume it was enough to be hurt by it. And you’re justified in being hurt. It was totally uncalled for of me to say those things- and sure, you might be a quiet person. But that doesn’t make it okay for me to go around airing it out like it’s my business. In fact I shouldn’t even be on my phone on the job. I’m here to watch your brother, and I get paid for that service, and it’s completely unprofessional-”

“It’s cool,” Minho says, an unchanging expression on his face.

“Oh, um… I mean, if you want to fire me I totally understand.”

Minho chuckles softly, and then shakes his head. “I’m not going to fire you. I am quiet. It’s cool. Really.”

“I mean, I totally get that-”

“Unless you want to be fired?” He inquires with a half-smile, and you chuckle softly in response.

“I really don’t. I love watching your brother.”

“Good,” he replies. “Then we’re all good.”

And although you want to say something else to him, you don’t, feeling as though you should be satisfied with the state of the conversation. You apologized, he forgave you, and you haven’t lost your job. And he’s still quiet, but that’s just who he is.

When Joon wakes from his afternoon nap, it’s nearly 3pm. He’s a crying mess when he’s up again, flailing his arms around to beg for a bottle, which you promptly prepare for him after a diaper change.

With Joon in your arms, you get some chores around the house finished, including vacuuming the rugs, dusting off the furniture and tidying Joon’s toys that are usually scattered about his nursery.

Doing chores wasn’t an agreement between you and Mrs. Lee- in fact, she usually urges you to focus on your schoolwork and take breaks when you’re not caring for Joon. But you want to, feeling compelled to take care of the space as much as you care for Joon. Although tensions are still somewhat present between you and Minho, the Lee household feels comfortable to you by this point, almost like a second home now.

After chores, the library calls out to you again, evening beginning to fall over the neighborhood and painting the sky with vibrant hues of an autumnal sunset.

The windows are still rolled open from earlier, and your velvet couch looks particularly inviting at this hour, beams of sunset setting it aglow and luring you to choose a book from the cherry wood shelves around you.

So you do, selecting a children’s book about animals, comfortably sprawling out on the chair with Joon in your arms. He eyes the book curiously, spreading his short, chubby fingers over the cover and tapping repeatedly, as if asking you to read to him.

And you do, setting the book on your knee to angle the pages toward him, as you begin to vocalize the choppy sentences to him.

“A is for apple, hanging from a tree,” you say, caressing his stubby fingers as he pouts in focus. “B is for buzzing bumblebee.”

Joon’s lips curl into a smile, making his best attempt to clap as you point out the colorful images to him.

“C is for crab, walking in the sand… D is for dolphin, swimming toward the land!”

Joon laughs hysterically now, clapping his little hands and rocking back and forth in your lap. You laugh, too, at his darling reaction, and give him a little kiss on the head as he fiddles with the cover of the book.

It’s moments like this that reaffirm the notion for you that this job was the right idea, after all. You’re inexplicably happy alongside him like this, seeing the world through his eyes and rediscovering things you would otherwise take for granted, like silly picture books or doing chores with him in your arms. You feel so protective of him, eager to make his mom proud and provide a safe, nurturing environment for him as his babysitter- not because you’re paid to do it, but because he now holds a special place in your heart.

The sound of someone clearing their throat startles you from the doorway, and you look up to find Minho standing there, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.

“Did you… want something to eat? I was going to order takeout, unless you wanted something else.”

“Sure,” you reply, propping Joon up a little closer to your chest. “Anything’s fine with me.”

“I’ll get Chinese, then,” Minho says nodding. He averts your gaze a little, but you can tell he’s just a little awkward when he’s face-to-face with you like this. And perhaps your best friend is right- perhaps it’s not unusual of him to feel territorial over his household. After all, you are here almost every hour of the day, making yourself comfortable in almost every room, tending to the chores here and eating food from their kitchen. You suppose you would be irritated at the thought of it, too.

As Minho leaves to place an order, you take Joon back to the nursery, where you gently put him to sleep for the evening and program his baby monitor to play calm ocean noises again. It’s like clockwork- he’s out like a light, and the minute he leaves your arms, you’re exhausted, too. The stress of watching over him while balancing your school work might finally be getting to you now- you’re undoubtedly tired, your limbs aching from sauntering about this big house all day with Joon in your arms. And although you’re on a good track, you can hardly remember which assignment pertains to each of your classes these days.

When Minho returns almost an hour later, he holds a thin plastic bag in hand, his other one clutching a fistful of cutlery and two plates. He gives you a small nod when he enters the library, and you put away your laptop to join him on the floor in front of the coffee table.

For a moment, he says nothing as he prepares a plate for you, sliding a cup of wonton soup toward you and dividing portions of chow mein and tofu with wooden chopsticks.

You watch as he breaks a spring roll in half, holding both sides up and comparing to make sure they’re even.

“You’re very precise,” you say with a soft laugh, and a breathy chuckle emits from his lips, too.

“I’m trying to make sure it’s even.”

“However you cut it is fine,” you respond, pleasantly surprised at how polite he is.

When he’s finished dividing your portions, he slides a plate to you, setting a plastic fork down on the napkin beside you and ushering to the food.

“Enjoy,” he says, shooting you a small smile.

And the two of you eat in silence, the room quiet, aside from the sounds of slurping soup present between you two. Although it’s quiet, it feels comfortable, having him keep you company like this. It’s a change of pace from your usual days babysitting in the Lee household.

“How is your school work?” Minho interrupts your thoughts, and you’re momentarily taken aback by him initiating the conversation first.

“It’s good,” you respond, poking at the vegetables on your plate with a chopstick. “It’s on my own time, so I mostly just have to make sure I’m staying on track. But I’m finding it easy to get through despite watching Joon in the daytime.”

Minho nods in response, keeping his gaze set on the bowl of soup in front of him.

“How did your exam go?” you ask, and Minho cocks his head a little. “I got full marks,” he responds after a moment of silence.

“That’s great! I guess you were right about skipping breakfast having something to do with your academic success, then.”

And Minho laughs for the first time- not a chuckle or a giggle, but a laugh, holding one hand up to his mouth as he does. His laugh is gentle and melodic, filling the room around him with its sound, and you can’t help but laugh, too.

“I suppose,” he responds. “I also go nowhere without those philosophy books, so I have them memorized like the back of my hand.”

“Philosophy major?” you voice back, and Minho nods.

“So Love and Limerence is like second nature to you at this point.”

Minho gets a little awkward at this, his smile fading a little as he pokes around his chow mein. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “You could say that.”

And fearing you’ve somehow offended him, you change the subject again.

“Well I’m a business major,” you chime in. “So we don��t get interesting reads at all. And I’m not lugging around a six-pound textbook about returns on investments in my backpack.”

He laughs again, and you feel satisfied at the motion. Making him laugh feels like an exciting feat, like you’ve succeeded at something after trying so hard to. And considering how hard you’ve been trying to break down his walls these days, maybe it is an exciting feat, getting to know the stranger you’ve been sharing a home with for one month now.

“Business is a great field,” Minho says, slurping down the remainder of his soup. “Your parents must be really proud of the direction you’re headed.”

You shrug in response. “They’re indifferent. I don’t have a great relationship with them. They mostly just want me out of their hair once I graduate.”

“You have any post-college plans?” Minho inquires.

“I finished an internship before this whole babysitting gig, actually. I want to travel a bit after graduation, and then I’ll really settle down for the whole 9-5 working life.”

“Where are you hoping to travel to?”

There’s a glint in Minho’s eyes as he presses you for answers, like he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say. It makes you feel all warm inside- not many people usually care what you’re up to these days, your family trying their hardest to send you away to work another job and your most of your friends having drifted apart when you began university. Even the friends you do have are more distant these days, considering their classes are still in person, and you don’t have a need to be back on campus anymore. It’s a bit of a lonely life you lead, so being here beside Minho feels different, but pleasant.

“I’m not sure,” you say with a smile. “I’m not really sure where I belong yet.”

“Hey, I don’t know where I belong, either,” Minho echoes. “So that makes two of us.”

When the two of you are finished with dinner, Minho takes your plates downstairs, despite you offering, and you’re briefly left alone in the library. It’s much later than usual now, nearing 9:00, when you’re usually home by 7. The house also has a different vibe to it this hour, many of the rooms feeling much dimmer despite the same lamps being on, and the corridors feeling much quieter and more haunting. You feel a wave of sleepiness wash over you, and though you don’t want to be asleep when Mrs. Lee arrives, you can’t help but shut your eyes for a few minutes. You can still make out the shape of the bookshelves behind your heavy eyelashes, trying your best not to close your eyes completely, but your mind has already wandered off to slumber, and inevitably, your body follows shortly after.

You’re somewhere between sleep and consciousness when you feel Minho enter the room once again, looming over you like he wants to ask you something. But he says nothing- instead, he unfolds a knit blanket above you, sprawling it out over your legs and pulling it up to your torso. And you hadn’t realized how cold you were before he did, because you’re almost instantly with a wave of warmth and comfort over your listless body.

It feels almost uncharacteristic or Minho to carry out an action this polite- but as he takes his seat across from you, watching as you doze off peacefully, you think he may finally be coming around to you.

*

“I’m ditching my second class again today,” Minho announces the next morning at breakfast. He doesn’t eat much, you notice, as he bites into a single apple and hoists his backpack further up his shoulders.

“I’ll be home a bit earlier,” he then continues, eyeing you a little, and you give him a little nod.

“Then help with lunch,” Mrs. Lee says, gathering her own briefcase for work. “Y/n shouldn’t do it all by herself when you’re here.”

“Oh, it’s no worry at all,” you quickly chime in, not wanting to be the reason Minho refutes his mother’s words. “It’s what I’m here to do, after all.”

“No worries,” Minho says back to you. “I’ll be home around noon and we can prepare something together.”

For some reason, your heart flutters a little at the implication of doing something alongside Minho- something so planned and seemingly intimate. You normally just take the days as they come, so having a commitment hanging over your head like this is a little nerve-racking. And in all your worrying, you don’t respond to Minho, realizing only as he’s exiting the house with his apple in hand.

“I might be late again today,” Mrs. Lee turns to you, snapping you out of your trance. “But Minho can stay for the remainder of the time. I’ll still pay you the full amount like I did yesterday-”

“I’m happy to stay again,” you reply to her. “Like I said, it’s what I’m here to do.”

She smiles in return, clasping her hands and gesturing to the food on the table.

“I can’t get Minho to eat for the life of me, but help yourself to whatever you’d like. And thank you again, for staying.”

You’re reading to Joon in the living room when Minho arrives home from school. He kicks off his shoes dramatically, tossing his bag on the floor and breathing out a heavy sigh while you thumb through the pages of a new picture book.

“Hi,” Minho says first, his expression remaining stoic and unchanging.

“Hey,” you reply, hoisting Joon a little further up in your arms. “How was school?”

“Terrible,” he responds, making his way around the granite island to collect another apple.

“Why’s that?”

“Professor Kim,” he says curtly, polishing the apple on his button down shirt before taking a generous bite. “A three hour lecture on a Friday really wasn’t a smart choice. ”

You chuckle a little to yourself, adjusting your position on the floor and trying to balance Joon in your embrace. Minho takes notice of your struggle, abandoning his apple on the counter to come take Joon from your arms.

“Thanks,” you say, dusting off your legs as you stand again. “I’m going to get started on something for Joon to eat if you want to wait around. Unless you’re sticking to this exclusively-apple diet.”

Minho chuckles to himself and shakes his head. “I’ll help. We don’t have much prepared right now and I really need to go grocery shopping.” He secures Joon in his high chair, cocking his head toward the fridge.

“Could you just grab his orange juice? It should be the blue bottle on the right.”

And you comply with his request, promptly locating the blue sippy cup and handing it to Minho.

“Thank you,” he says, setting it down on the white tray in front of Joon and twisting it open. “This should be enough to hold him off until we can whip something up with the few ingredients we have. I want to do something with those sweet potatoes, they’re reaching the end of their time.”

Joon is a little fussy as he reaches for his sippy cup, flailing his arms around and sliding the cup across the tray to the edge. The cap seems to loosen as he does, tilting dangerously to one side.

“I got it,” you say to Minho, as you approach Joon. You retrieve the cup from the edge of the tray, twisting off the cap again to secure it properly. And as you do, Joon lets out a particularly loud yelp, knocking his hand toward you and letting the bottle fall off the tray entirely.

As you realize what’s happening, you bring two hands up to push it away from you, but you’re too late- the entirety of the bottle’s contents are spilt onto your shirt, completely soaking you and dripping onto the floor with loud, wet noises.

Minho doesn’t see what happened, but he turns around at the sound of your loud gasp, his eyes widening at the sight of you. Even your hair’s gotten wet, stringy pieces falling into your face, damp with the tangy scent of orange juice and dripping down your shirt. His mind races with guilty thoughts, feeling as though he should have stayed watching Joon, being the one to have been caught in the crossfire of his tantrum instead. Joon’s always fussy before meals- he knows this very well. As his mind races with the urgency to grab a towel, a rag- something, his eyes graze to your t-shirt, and he practically freezes.

Your thin white t-shirt is soaked like the rest of you, painting a clear outline of your black bra as the cold contents drip down your chest and torso. The see-through fabric sticks to your body like a cellophane wrapping, outlining every inch of you, every curve and every raised goosebump as you shudder at the sensation. Minho’s eyes remain locked on your dampened breasts for an embarrassing amount of time, taking careful note of the way your hardened nipples practically protrude through the thin white fabric, almost appearing increasingly noticeable with every passing second. The delicate curves of your stomach are accentuated with your skin-tight shirt, even your navel now visible.

A shake of your hands finally snaps him out of his trance, and you wrap your arms around yourself in a futile effort to cover yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you utter to him, at a loss for words at the notion of being so exposed to him. And Minho is quick to shake his head, now scrambling for a towel.

“Don’t apologize,” he says, pulling a towel off the oven handle and sliding it to you. “Here, use this and I’ll go get a larger towel from upstairs and a change of clothes.”

You want to deny the offer, feeling shameful for having already intruded this much on the Lee household and still needing more from them. But as you look down at your t-shirt, you know you don’t have a choice, the fabric now feeling cold and uncomfortable as it sticks to your flesh.

“Thanks,” you say to him, giving a small nod and not moving your hands from your chest.

And Minho retreats upstairs quickly, trying his best to avert his gaze as you remain in the kitchen.

As Joon babbles incoherently next to you, you can’t help but feel stupid, a sense of shame and embarrassment replacing the excitement you had to be preparing lunch alongside Minho for the afternoon. You’re in disbelief he’s practically seen you half naked like this, and you feel inadequate at not being able to stop Joon from committing the incident in the first place. As you run your hands up and down the raised goosebumps on your arms, you do your best to hold back tears, hoping Minho won’t think less of you for being caught in such a humiliating accident.

Minho is gone for a little while, and you blot at the wet patches on your shirt as you wait, Joon now laughing at your messy state. You can’t help but laugh a little, too, admittedly amused at what a disaster the afternoon has been- and you haven’t even begun the cooking part of it yet.

When he returns, he tosses you a large white bath towel and a gray t-shirt, still keeping his gaze on the floor instead of on yours.

“Here,” he says simply, his veiny arm scratching the back of his head. “I can also get a sweater if you’re cold.”

As you observe the t-shirt, you realize it’s one of his, not one of Mrs. Lee’s. For some reason, you’d assumed Minho would opt for a woman’s clothes as your change, but the t-shirt has clearly been pulled from his closet, and you blush a little at the idea of wearing his clothes.

“This is fine,” you reply, wrapping the bath towel around your body and excusing yourself to the bathroom.

You peel the sticky clothes off your body, crumpling them into a pile and changing into Minho’s t-shirt. It’s a bit large on you, but it’s much more comfortable, hanging loosely off your body and covering every bit of you that was previously exposed. His shirt smells like him, too, a pleasant scent of laundry detergent and his musky cologne.

When you exit the bathroom, you gesture to the change of clothes, your wet crumpled clothes balled in your hand. “I kinda look like you now,” you say, and Minho chuckles.

“You can keep it,” he responds, giving you another once-over and nodding shyly. “It looks better on you, anyway.”

He holds his hand out to you for the wet clothes, which he kindly takes from you to put in the wash. As he does, you go to the fridge to retrieve more orange juice for Joon- except there is none. You desperately search for milk, orange juice- any form of a snack that will keep him busy until his mealtime. But the kitchen is void of anything he can consume, and you begin to panic a little, knowing Joon hasn’t eaten in a good while now.

“That was the last of his orange juice,” you say to Minho when he returns. “And there’s not much else for him to snack on.”

Minho searches the kitchen too, digging through cabinets and moving around jars in the fridge to check for expiration dates. But he quickly realizes you’re right- the fridge is even more sparse than he’d assumed it to be.

“I guess we’ll have to make a trip to the store, then. How do you feel about strapping him into a car seat?”

“I’ve never done it,” you reply nervously.

“I can show you,” Minho says, grabbing his keys off the kitchen counter and spinning them around his index finger. “We can do it together.”

*

The nearest grocery store is just 20 minutes out from the Lee household. Minho drives a fancy black SUV, and he guides you through how to strap Joon into his car seat, which you carry out with no issues. He drives with one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting casually on the center console as you chat with him about your university courses. For the first time, you notice how Minho seems much more comfortable around you now, cracking jokes occasionally and smiling at your stories about your afternoons alone with Joon. When Joon chimes in from the back seat with his excited babbling, you and Minho babble equally in response, sharing laughter at the ridiculous exchanges among the three of you.

You opt to carry Joon inside the grocery store while Minho walks alongside you, checking off a list he routinely uses to stock up on all of Joon’s favorite foods. And the atmosphere around you is homely, instilling the same sense of comfort in you as your afternoons alone with Joon. One that reminds you why you’re doing this job in the first place- you feel respected here, like your efforts don’t go unnoticed, and like you belong. It fills the lonely void inside of you with the sounds of Joon’s laughter, Minho’s tales of his classes and the trivial tasks of grocery store runs and learning to maneuver a baby car seat.

“I think that’s it,” Minho says as he checks the list one last time. “Milk, juice, bread…” he reads the items one by one again, and then nods affirmatively when he’s ensured they’re in the basket.

“That’s it,” he repeats, shooting you a small smile. “Let’s go pay.”

An older cashier gestures you to her lane at the registers, beginning to scan your items as Minho places them down on the conveyor belt. And then she gives a little wave to Joon, who curiously stares back at her.

“What a beautiful baby,” she says, pausing from scanning with a jar of mashed carrots in her hand.

Joon smiles in response, a trickle of drool escaping his lips.

“And what a beautiful family,” she continues, looking back and forth between you and Minho. “It’s not easy being young parents, but I can tell the two of you are doing a fine job at it.”

“Oh,” you say, chuckling lightly. “We’re not-”

“Thank you,” Minho interrupts, placing an arm around your waist and pulling you a little closer to him.

“We don’t get told that very often.”

You almost freeze at the contact, butterflies erupting in your stomach as he keeps his hand on the small of your back. This woman thinks the two of you are a couple- and worse, Minho is playing along with it. You can’t figure out why he’d entertain such a blatant lie, but you don’t interrupt him either, curious to see where he’s taking this little bit.

“People can be so unfair,” the cashier replies, shaking her head. “As long as the child is cared for, your status shouldn’t matter.”

“Exactly,” Minho replies, throwing his hand in the air like she’s making a point that pertains to him. “You know, when we got married, everyone told us it would never work. And now look at us- our child just turned 1 and we’re already making plans for a second honeymoon.”

“That’s amazing!” The woman says, clasping her hand over her heart like she’s touched by the bogus story.

“It is, isn’t it honey?” Minho says, turning to you.

Thoughts swirl your mind about this performance he’s putting on, but you’re undoubtedly entertained by the whole thing, stifling laughter as you nod in response.

“It is amazing,” you say finally. “We eloped and had a shotgun wedding- booked it to Italy right after and now we’re thinking of taking the little one to Paris for a real ceremony.”

The older woman removes her glasses now, wiping her eyes and shaking her head in disbelief. You can’t help but feel bad for her, seeing how easily she’s falling for your blatant lies, but Minho shows no remorse, grinning ear to ear and keeping his hand on the small of your back.

“Well I’ll tell you what,” the woman says, putting her glasses back on and shifting her eyes around the store.

“Since you guys just made my day, I’m going to provide you with our senior discount. It’s not everyday I see a young couple so beautiful raising such a darling little child.”

“Oh, you really don’t-” you start to say, and Minho interrupts you before you can finish.

“That would mean the world to us,” he says in an exaggerated voice, giving the cashier a little bow. “It would help us out a ton.”

You want to protest, to slap Minho in his pretty little face and ask what the hell he thinks he’s doing lying for a discount like this, but you’re afraid the cashier will see right through your whole stunt and reprimand both of you. So you just nod and let Minho take the lead again.

“Thank you,” you echo back to her,” holding Joon’s stubby little fingers as the woman types a lengthy code into the computer.

And Minho smiles at you, shooting you a little wink as he gathers boxes of cereal and jars of food in his arms.

“What was that?” You practically yell as you exit the store, balancing Joon in one arm and a bag of groceries in another. “You totally lied to her.”

“I didn’t lie,” Minho says. “I told her a different reality.”

“That is literally what a lie is,” you echo back to him, securing Joon in his car seat and lining grocery bags on the floor. Minho slides into the driver's seat again, putting his keys in the ignition but not yet starting the car as he waits for you to get in, too.

“I mean, that was like a 10% discount,” you continue, huffing frustratedly as you wait for him to speak. “How is that worth telling someone a whole list of lies?”

“You know, there’s this really cool theory called the anthropic principle,” Minho begins, looking straight ahead through the windshield. “Suggests the existence of a multitude of universes.”

“What?”

“So,” he continues. “Philosophically speaking, maybe in one of those we're married, and we have a child, and our honeymoon was in Italy.”

You stay quiet for a moment, pondering his words, completely unsure of if he’s flirting with you or teasing you right now.

“And maybe,” he chimes in again. “In one of them, we robbed the store and killed the cashier. And in another, we don’t even know each other.”

“What are you getting at?” You say, narrowing your eyes in confusion.

“It’s not lying,” Minho says with a smile as he finally starts up the car. “We just told her about a different reality.”

“So it’s lying,” you say with a smile, unable to hold back the giggle that escapes your lips.

“A little,” he finally says. “But it was fun, right?”

And you start to say no, but you can’t get the words out, aware you’ll be lying twice today if you do.

Minho takes your silence as confirmation, a grin plastered on his face as he rests one arm behind your headrest to pull out of the parking lot. And you can’t help but smile, too, the spontaneous thrill of lying to the cashier admittedly being some of the most fun you’ve had all week. And the conclusion stands- Minho’s a little odd. But he’s great company.

*

Mrs. Lee is late again tonight, the second hand on the clock ticking in slow intervals as it nears 10pm. You yawn for the umpteenth time tonight, exhausted from having done so much today, wanting nothing more than to sleep in the comfort of your own bed at home and mentally recharge for another day of this tomorrow. But you’ve promised to wait for her, always eager to wait it out until the last second, because Mrs. Lee always expresses her sincerest gratitude when you wait for her.

“Sorry, she’s really late today,” Minho says as he lowers the volume on the television. You completed a few more chores around the house after dinner while Minho powered through his schoolwork, putting Joon to bed before settling on the sofa and watching old cartoon reruns. Now you’ve been in and out of sleep for the better part of an hour, Minho remaining close by watching infomercials again, peering at your tired figure and feeling guilty that you’ve been here so long.

“It’s okay,” you reply quietly, letting out another yawn. You cross your arms over yourself, still dressed comfortably in Minho’s t-shirt, and do your best to keep your gaze on the television.

Tonight Minho is stuck on an infomercial for artificial plants, the dull narration lulling you to sleep even further as he checks the time on his watch and glances nervously at the front door.

Minho cranes his neck at your figure again, not missing the way gray bags hang heavy below your eyes, your lashes half-lidded as you feign sleep and force your gaze onto the infomercial.

“Don’t you have an early exam tomorrow?” You say to Minho, another yawn escaping your lips as you speak. “Don’t wait up on my account. You should get some sleep.”

Minho shuts off the television, standing up from where he’s sitting and dusting off his pants.

“I’ll take you home,” he announces, fishing around on the table for his car keys.

“It’s okay,” you reply, not wanting to inconvenience him anymore than you already have today. “I can walk to the bus stop.”

“You’re not walking,” Minho retorts, scoffing as you sit up and rub your tired eyes with the back of your hand. “It’s pitch black outside.”

“It’s fine,” you say, gathering your book bag and rushing to put your shoes on. It’s a race between the two of you now, Minho scrambling to locate his car keys while you get ready to leave for the evening.

“It’s really not a problem- where are my keys?” Minho mutters to himself, patting the pockets on his jacket and rearranging stacks of papers on the coffee table.

“I’m fine, really.”

“No, I’ll drive you,” Minho says, still tossing aside the mess he’s made to locate his keys.

“I’ll walk,” you reiterate again, and Minho finally exhales frustratedly.

“Then I’ll walk with you,” he finally announces, ditching the car keys altogether and stopping to look at you. He looks tired, too, evident bags under his eyes and his hair tousled from running his hands through it frustratedly.

“Minho, I really don’t want to burden you-”

“It’s not a burden.”

As he speaks, you hear Joon’s baby monitor alerting you that he’s awake for the evening, wailing loudly when he realizes that he’s alone. It’s perfect timing, too, Minho already having planned to wake him up so he can walk you back.

“Wait here,” Minho says to you as he begins toward the stairs. “I’ll get his harness.”

The dim street lights illuminate the dark paved roads, a crisp chill in the air as you walk alongside Minho with your hands in your pockets.

Joon sits comfortably in his harness against Minho’s chest, curiously taking in the atmosphere around him as you walk in silence to your bus stop. It’s not a long walk, only 20 minutes from Minho’s, but you feel admittedly much safer with Minho by your side, his and Joon’s presence feeling homely even at this hour. For nearly the entirety of the walk, the two of you say nothing, too tired to engage in conversation, but still comfortable in the presence of each other, and not needing to say anything. Joon babbles saliva every now and then, Minho bringing a finger up to wipe his chin, and the only other sounds are that of crickets and the gentle sway of the trees.

“This is me,” you say to Minho when you reach the familiar blue bench of your stop.

You sit on one side of the bench, slinging your book bag over beside you and crossing your legs. And to your surprise, Minho occupies the other side, one hand resting gently on the back of Joon’s head while the other pats his back gently.

“You don’t have to wait,” you tell Minho quickly, and he just shakes his head silently in response.

The silence between you remains, Joon toying with the collar of Minho’s shirt as you wait for the bus. There’s so much you want to ask Minho, so much you still want to find out from him. You’re well aware that you haven’t quite figured him out yet, but you’re undoubtedly sure that he is a nice guy, after all. From lending you his t-shirt, waiting up for you on late nights, even walking you to your bus stop and waiting for the bus with you. You think briefly back to his little joke at the grocery store, smiling to yourself when you remember he’d chosen to pretend you were a married couple for no other reason than to make you laugh after having had such a rough day. And his innate fascination with looking at everything through a philosophical lens, the passion for his favorite subject so robustly present wherever he goes.

“What’s that theory again?” You ask Minho as your thoughts verbalize amidst the silence.

“Hm?”

“The one about the universe.”

“The anthropic principle?” He questions, and you hum in response.

“Yeah, that one. Do you think there are like, a million versions of us right now, just…sitting here?”

“Sure,” Minho replies. “But the conditions would have to be just right.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the theory states that conditions have to be just right for us to coexist in the universe we’re in right now. It’s sort of like a coincidence that this one evolved so that we could thrive in it. So there might be other versions of us, just not as definitive. We might be rocks, or bugs. Or maybe there’s a more advanced version, where we’re still on our honeymoon in Italy.”

“Or the one where we killed that cashier,” you chime in.

“Exactly,” Minho replies, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You ponder his words for a moment.

“Do they all follow the same timeline?” You ask him.

“What do you mean?”

“Do they all last forever? What if we got divorced? Would we part ways in every universe?”

Minho stays quiet for a moment, thinking back to the philosophical theories tucked in the back of his mind.

“I don’t know,” he finally replies. “I’d like to think some versions have a happy ending, but maybe some of them don’t.”

As silence falls over you again, your bus finally turns the corner, making its way down the street toward your stop.

“That’s me,” you say, getting up and gathering your belongings again.

Minho stands up, too, saying nothing as the bus finally halts in front of you, the brakes screeching to a stop with the loud exhaust of the doors as they open.

“Thanks,” you say to Minho before getting on. “For walking me.”

“It’s no problem,” he replies, shooting you a tired smile.

Minho watches as you board the bus, taking your seat toward the back. He scans the aisles momentarily, making sure you’re sat somewhere safe, away from anyone he might deem sketchy at this hour. And when he feels confident you’ll make it home okay, he brings Joon’s hand up in front of him, giving you a little wave as he watches you smile back through the tinted windows, sending him off with a wave back.

*

From then on, things shift between the two of you. Minho is a constant, always offering to walk you home on late nights to engage in discussions about your university work or his favorite theories. When he’s home early from his classes, the two of you enjoy cooking for Joon together, making trips to the grocery store where the cashiers are now fully convinced you’re a married couple. On late nights, the two of you often engage in lighthearted philosophical debates while you wait for Mrs. Lee to get home for the evening. When he’s walking you home for the night, doing homework alongside you or just passing by, Minho indulges you in all his favorite philosophical questions, and you entertain them, using the opportunity to get a better glimpse into his mind and how he thinks.

It’s exactly this that tears down Minho’s walls, you find- he, in all his philosophically-educated glory, sharing his perspective while you poke holes in his arguments and reach a conclusion together. Sometimes you’ll reach a stalemate, the argument fizzling out with no clear answer. And sometimes he can change your mind almost instantly, the arguments leaving his lips like second nature, always quick to persuade you in the opposite direction and provide clear reasoning. He’s very skilled at his work, and you quickly realize why he’s so passionate about philosophy in the first place.

It’s not something Minho’s used to yet- having a companion like this, one who actually cares about anything he has to say. Someone to come home to, somebody to bask in the simplicities of life with and affirm that he’s not completely incapable of making real human connections. And admittedly, maybe he loves playing house with you, coming home to your home-cooked meals and caring for the baby together.

Maybe this version of the universe deems you a babysitter, and he, just an outcast. But sometimes Minho swears he can see different versions where you’re so much more than that to each other.

In late November, you take your first week off, leaving on a small family trip to a city just a few hours out to go see extended family.

You tell Minho of your little excursion the week prior, and he pretends to be disheartened, but you know deep down he must be relieved to have some space to himself again. Of course you’re not able to watch Joon, and Mrs. Lee has a friend watch him in your absence, but you’re surprised at how much you miss the Lee household when you’re not there. The trip to the city is filled with repetitive questions from family about your major, your internship, your potential salary in an entry-level position and general university questions. And yet all you catch yourself thinking about is Joon, and Mrs. Lee and especially Minho.

You wonder what he’s doing in the comfort of his grand room all by himself, surrounded by books and tall windows. Minho once told you that he can go a whole day without talking when he’s not having philosophical debates with you over coffee. You wonder if he’s talked today, or if he attended his classes or how his exam on Tuesday went. Thoughts of him plague your mind every waking second- whether Minho would like a certain food, if Minho would agree with this statement, even what the people around you would think if you dragged him along and played house with him like you do back home. In this version of the universe, maybe he’s reading a book or watching a movie, but in another, he could be right here, telling his string of lies to your extended family.

On the last day of your family vacation, you find yourself in an old bookstore, and all you can think about is Minho. He’d love it here, you think, grazing your fingertips along the old cracked spines and yellowing pages. And as you scan through the philosophy section, several of the books already piquing your interest, you spot it.

The small familiar crimson book, just barely larger than your hand, delicate to the touch and painted with the same Cupid depiction as the one you know so well. A first edition copy of Dorothy Tennov’s Love and Limerence. You can’t help but smile to yourself, scanning the book’s contents briefly before closing it again and bringing it up to the counter. It’s not like you’re trying to worsen this little developing crush you have on Minho, but he seems to be everywhere you go- and candidly, you just want to have him figured out.

*

When you return to the Lee household from your vacation, the atmosphere is calm, sunbeams shining through the large glass windows and illuminating the house with a romantic glow. Joon eats his breakfast well, downing his orange juice and causing you little trouble throughout the day. And Minho arrives just after 3, his backpack slung over his shoulder and a book in hand.

Your heart beats erratically to see him again, trying your best to avert his gaze as he enters through the front door and kicks off his shoes. When he makes his way through the kitchen, you attempt to look busy, wiping down the counters with a kitchen rag and balancing Joon in your arms.

“Hi,” Minho says, a little shyly as you keep your eyesight on the granite counter below you.

“Hey,” you respond, pretending like you hadn’t noticed him enter the room, when in reality, you’ve been well aware of his arrival since he parked his car out front.

“How was your trip?” Minho asks, setting down his backpack and loosening the collar of his sweater.

He’s dressed for the chilly weather outside, a simple black knit sweater paired with blue jeans.

“It was good,” you reply, folding the rag with one hand and setting it aside. “I kinda missed it here.”

Minho smiles at you nervously, toying with the hem of his sweater as he hears you speak.

“It was pretty quiet without you here. I think Joon missed you.”

“Did he?” You question excitedly, poking at Joon with your finger and cooing at him. “Is that right? You missed me?” And Joon giggles excitedly, smiling between the two of you.

When the room falls quiet again, Minho clears his throat like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, instead keeping his gaze fixed on yours. The room is teeming with awkward tension between the two of you, two hearts clouded in desire to act on this conflicting emotion of fleeting lust and a mutual understanding of each other, but neither one of you say anything, letting it die with your silence and circle your minds aimlessly again.

“I got you something,” you say suddenly, and Minho’s heart quickens a little.

“Me?” He questions, pointing to himself as if you need clarity of who he speaks of.

“Yes, you. It’s in my bag upstairs.”

And you begin your ascent to the staircase, motioning for Minho to follow you as you bring Joon with you.

“Close your eyes,” you tell Minho when you‘ve entered the library again.

“Should I be scared?” He asks, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

“Close them!” You exclaim, and he finally puts his hands out in front of him, shutting his eyes, a big grin plastered on his face. You place the book in Minho’s palms gently, making sure to position it so that the cover is facing him properly.

“Now open.”

When Minho opens his eyes again, he doesn’t even need to read the words before knowing what it is. He’s immediately familiar with the first edition of Dorothy Tennov’s Love and Limerence he holds in his hands, uniquely characterized by the contrasting art style to his, and the much older, yellowing pages.

“My book,” Minho says, biting his lip as he holds back a bigger smile, one that will most definitely point to the incriminating fact that he’s smitten.

“Your book,” you echo, leaning on the wall across from him. “It’s a first edition. The bookkeeper said they’re pretty rare to come by.”

“You didn’t have to-”

“Don’t worry about it,” you reply, fixing Joon’s hair and averting Minho’s gaze. You’re afraid if you make eye contact with him, this whole nonchalant front will crumble down in front of you, because you’re embarrassingly smitten with him, too.

“Thank you,” Minho says, thumbing the raised gold-foiled cover outline of Cupid. “I’ll go put it with the rest of them.”

And he disappears down the corridor, his book tucked in the endeared clutch of his hands.

While Minho adds his book to the rest of his collection, you put Joon down for his nap, gently placing him on the soft blanket in his crib and adjusting the baby monitor. He blinks up at you a few times, his lips pulling into a shaky smile as his lashes finally flutter shut and a wave of sleepiness washes over him. You exit the room quietly, closing the door just halfway like you always do, and then make your way down the corridor to Minho’s room. The door is left ajar, but you hear him shuffling about, and you enter after giving a gentle knock.

Minho seems startled at this, jumping up from where he’s standing, in front of his bookshelf with Love and Limerence held open in the palms of his hands. He shuts it quickly, shoving it on the top with another stack of books, and then almost shields his bookshelf as he turns to face you.

“I didn't hear you come in,” he says, nervously shifting his eyes to more stacks of books on his window sill and nightstand.

“I put Joon down for his nap,” you reply, cocking an eyebrow as he stands there awkwardly. “Is… everything okay?”

“Yes,” he says quickly, blinking nervously when he sees you peer over his torso at the bookshelf.

“Where’d you put it?”

“Can’t remember,” Minho says, a breathy chuckle emitting from his lips as he tries his best to avoid talking about it. But you catch on- and you’re certainly not going to let him evade the subject.

“What are you hiding?” You finally ask, eyeing him with a small smile. Minho’s face drops a little, sighing once as he steps aside and grants you full visibility of his bookshelf. There’s nothing out of the ordinary- books of all colors and sizes lined neatly on the shelves, some of them left open or bookmarked. A good amount of them appear to be philosophy books, which doesn’t come as a surprise to you.

“It’s just your books,” you say flatly, and Minho scratches the back of his head before he speaks again.

“Love and Limerence isn’t a required read for university.” He says in a low voice.

“Oh,” you reply, unsure of why it should really matter to you.

“None of them are,” he continues. “It’s just my personal… collection. Of romance novels.”

And then you finally understand.

Minho- the stoic, otherwise quiet being, in all his philosophical studiousness and awkwardness, is a sucker for romance. Once the cogs begin turning in your head, they don’t stop, everything about him now making a little more sense to you. Why he stays locked up in his little tower all day reading book after book, why he’s so hopeful when he speaks of the human condition and of love, why he loves taking care of people so much. He’s just a big softie underneath it all.

“There’s nothing weird about that,” you chime in. “In fact, it’s really cool.”

“Yeah right,” he retorts.

“I’m dead serious. I’ve never met someone with so many copies of Thorns and Roses before.”

Minho shakes his head, moving to sit on his bed with his palms tucked under his legs. His gaze remains locked on the floor, an expression of shame still visible on his face. And when you see him exhale deeply, like he’s been nervously holding his breath all this time, you feel bad for him. If there’s anything you’ve learned about him since meeting him, it’s that he’s really a bit of a dork. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him look so vulnerable before.

“Which one’s your favorite?” You ask, skimming your finger along the neat row of spines.

He shrugs. “Pride and Prejudice, maybe. But these days it’s Love and Limerence.”

Minho’s voice is trembling, just above a whisper as he reads off his list of favorite novels to you. And you chuckle softly in reply, pulling the little red book out of its respective home on the shelf and tossing it to him.

“Read me your favorite passage.”

He furrows his brows a little, like he thinks you might be making fun of him. But when you take a seat next to him on the bed, wide-eyed and gesturing to the book in his hands, he realizes you’re genuinely asking him to.

“Go on,” you say, gesturing to the book once more.

Minho opens the book to the middle, flipping through yellowing pages with small font. Most of the pages are littered generously with blue sticky notes, Minho’s messy handwriting annotating all his favorite passages. When he finds the page he’s searching for, he eyes you cautiously, as if waiting for permission to begin reading. And with a deep breath, he begins, his voice shaking a little as he finds his footing.

“Now by these presents let me assure you that you are not only in my heart, but my veins, this morning. I turn from you half abashed--yet you haunt me, and some look, word or touch thrills through my whole frame--yes, at the very moment when I am labouring to think of something, if not somebody else.”

At the last words, his gaze meets yours again, eyelashes trembling as he waits for your reaction. He waits for you to laugh, or to dismiss the words, or leave altogether. But you just stare back at him, your heart beating erratically at the poetry he utters, completely in awe with him.

He feels otherworldly at this distance, this intricate fascination with love and human connection. The way his brown tresses fall loosely in front of his big eyes as he speaks, his plump lips pulling into a nervous smile to reveal the row of skewed teeth you find a home in every time. He’s like the passage reads- thrilling your whole frame, consuming you whole and filling your mind with thoughts of him, and his poetry and his kind demeanor. You find yourself a little closer to him, your eyes darting to his lips and then back to his curious eyes, fantasies of him running rampant in your mind.

And Minho keeps his gaze locked on yours, too, leaning in a little closer to you, the book closing on its own as his hand slips away from holding it open and onto the bed beside you. The implications are there, the atmosphere around you heavy with desire and uncertainty, and just as you wield the courage to bring your lips a little closer to his, you’re promptly interrupted.

“Minho-ah!” A voice calls from downstairs. You quickly clock it as Mrs. Lee’s, who must be home early from work.

“I’m home early!” She calls again, confirming your theory, her footsteps getting louder as she makes her way up the stairs.

You sit up promptly, smoothing down your shirt and standing to bow when Mrs. Lee pokes her head in the doorway. Minho stands up too, making the whole situation look unbearably obvious, and you pray she can’t tell what’s going on between the two of you.

“Y/n,” she says with a warm smile. “I’m sorry I forgot to tell you I would be home a little earlier today. Joon has a doctor’s appointment.”

“No worries at all!” You voice back, bowing again as she smiles. “I was actually going to leave early today. I have a bit of a headache.”

“Oh, do you want a cup of tea?” She asks, heavy concern present in her voice.

“No thanks, I think I just need some sleep.”

You turn to Minho, who’s standing with his hands in his pockets, looking a little disappointed as you give him a small bow.

“Take care,” you say to him, pivoting to head back to the library and gather your things.

Minho hears his mom see you out of the front door, chatting briefly with you about your trip and sending you off with a little wave.

He shuts his bedroom door and locks it, sprawling out on the duvet of his bed and running his hands over the book still beside him.

He’s not sure what happened- whether you were about to kiss him, or whether it was just wishful thinking. But every way he interprets the encounter, Minho swears he can feel your yearning for him, too. Is he crazy to think you might feel the same? Maybe he, too, finds it laboring to think of something- if not, someone else, besides you.

*

Joon is a particularly picky eater in afternoons, making a big fuss of foods he usually devours in the mornings and evenings. He skillfully dodges every spoon, every bite and feigns his interest in even his favorite snacks and desserts. And while you’re usually patient with him, today you’re frustrated, having mentally scolded yourself several times since yesterday’s events.

A part of you wants to ditch all of this, reminding yourself that you’re here to work a job, not lust after the son of the person who hired you. But the other part of you can’t help but imagine how things would be different if you just let yourself fall gracefully into him- he’s so much more than a fleeting thought to you. You want to understand him, having challenged yourself to figuring him out from the moment you came across him. But maybe you want him to understand you, too. You want him to understand that you feel at home whenever he’s around, his philosophical discussions and this game of house you play making you feel like you belong here. You want him to understand that although you know he feels like an outcast, none of his odd quirks matter to you when he’s reading his favorite love stories across from you in the library, catching glimpses of you when he thinks you’re not looking. And that maybe this universe conditioned itself just right so that you took up this job and crossed paths- and that has to mean something bigger.

There’s nothing different about the afternoon following yesterday’s, except for you spending a considerable amount of time on your hair and makeup, the anticipation bubbling inside you at the idea of seeing Minho again. You have no definitive plan, no script of how it’s going to go when he arrives from school. But you also know there’s something in your throat that wants so desperately to get out, and you won’t let it. As Joon toys with the cereal in his bowl, he looks up at you with big, curious eyes, and you wonder what he’s thinking, if anything. He doesn't know anything beyond the simple tasks of eating and sleeping, living with the comfortable knowledge that he’s being cared for. And although it seems much easier, you can’t help but sympathize. What a gift it is to feel- what a gift it is to carry emotions so deeply they eat away at you like this.

You’re infatuated with Minho- that fact stands true. And whether or not it benefits you to do anything about it, you’re determined to do something with all of this feeling, lest it slips through your fingers like he almost did.

You don’t hear Minho come home when he does, busy in the garden tending to Mrs. Lee’s plants when the usual alert of his car pulling into the driveway passes you by. So when he wanders the corridors searching everywhere for you, you don’t take notice.

Minho’s desperate, hoping to ask you to stay just a little bit longer tonight, having also had the epiphany that he’s completely fallen for you, too. And what he hopes to do with it, he’s unsure- but he does know that every romance novel on his shelf would refute the idea of letting this feeling dissipate. Kiss her, tell her, do something. Anything.

He strides down the halls with purpose and vigor, a nervous smile pulling at his face at the thought of seeing you again. It’s all he’s thought about today, having had just two hours of sleep as he sorted out what to say to you. And while he’s not well-versed in the practice of confessing his love, he feels his whole life has been devoted to the very purpose of being here and finding you. The debates you share, midnight walks to the bus stop, the book- he’d be a fool not to reciprocate what you yearn for. And when he doesn’t find you, Minho feels the familiar pit of worry form in his stomach. He’s not accounted for a change of plans, or even what might happen if you reject his admission. He wants to believe so badly that the answer is yes, risking everything just to say something.

20 minutes after he’s been home, Minho receives a phone call, answering in a rush while he checks the upstairs rooms for you.

“Hello?”

“It’s Sujin from class,” the phone at the other end says plainly. “I’m here for our project.”

And Minho freezes, remembering very well that he has a project due very soon, and his partner is here tonight to work on it with him. He sighs heavily into the line at the change in plans, knowing he’ll have to bottle his emotions another day and act on them tomorrow when he can get you alone.

“Oh, right,” Minho responds, making his way to the stairs and jogging down them. “The door should be unlocked.”

He stuffs his phone in his back pocket, making his way to the door to meet Sujin, and as he passes the sliding door to the backyard, he finally sees you. Knelt on the ground in a white sundress, your hands tainted with soil as you tend to the tomato plants and hum to yourself. Minho smiles at the sight of you, the urge to tell you right now stronger than ever. But before he can call out to you, Sujin’s already made her way inside, peering curiously around the place and clutching her purse in hand.

“Wow,” she says, chuckling lightly. “You didn’t tell me you were rich.”

Minho scratches the back of his head awkwardly as she grazes a marble sculpture with her fingers. His eyes remain on you through the glass door, transfixed by the way you tuck your hair behind your ears and pat your dress as you stand up again. Sujin takes note of Minho’s evident distraction, briefly glancing out the window and back to him.

“Where are we working?” She asks, pursing her lips together.

“We can work upstairs,” Minho explains, as you finally make your way inside.

At first you’re confused at the sight, Minho looming over a girl much prettier than you, her long hair styled neatly over one shoulder and a matching formal two-piece hugging her curves beautifully. And then as you see her begin up the stairs in the direction of Minho’s room, you finally understand.

Of course there’s another woman.

Of course there was a catch to all of this, because why else would things condition themselves so perfectly that you’d win him over?

And suddenly everything feels pointless- confessing to him, feeling any ounce of emotion regarding all of this, even working this job. He has a girlfriend, and she’s much prettier than you are. And he's trailing behind her after giving you a shy nod, likely embarrassed at the fact that you’ll be here tending to his household while he fucks her in his upstairs bedroom.

You can’t help but think that perhaps something got lost in translation, because Minho evidently never liked you, and unless this version of the universe magically conditions to work in your favor just once, it’s going to remain that way.

*

When the tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes, they don’t stop. You can’t feed Joon without hiccuping through a hot rush of tears that fall from your cheeks onto his tray below him. Joon seems to sense something is wrong, pausing the task of dodging his food to observe the way your face contorts as you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. And when you do stop to look at him, all you can see is Minho, his eyes and lips resembling exactly that of his elder brother’s.

The chores feel like a futile task now, and you let them sit there for the remainder of the evening you’re working for. In fact, the only thing you do complete is the task of getting Joon to bed when the sun begins to set, marching carefully upstairs to not interrupt Minho’s time with his girlfriend. And the word makes you sick, to think that he’s been stringing you along all while having a girlfriend- a fact he so conveniently left out.

Joon goes down without a fuss, and when he’s finally asleep, you escape the confines of the second story to lock yourself in the downstairs living room and complete your school work. How much of that is spent crying instead, you can’t quite remember.

It’s just after 9 when Sujin leaves for the evening, but you’re not awake to take notice when she does. You wake to the familiar sound of infomercials playing quietly on the television in front of you, Minho sitting on the floor in front of the sofa you occupy. His head hangs as he holds a book in his lap, probably some cheesy romance he projects onto him and his girlfriend, and his thin wireframe glasses rest on the bridge of his nose.

The dull narration on the television advertises jewelry tonight, and you let out a sigh as you feel your swollen eyes adjust to the bright screen in front of you. At this, Minho turns around, giving you a sheepish smile as you try to shut your eyes again. But it’s too late- he’s already seen you awake for the evening.

“Hi,” Minho says for the first time today, bookmarking his page and lowering the volume on the television. “She’s late again today, but I saved you some takeout.”

“I’m not hungry,” you reply quickly, sitting up and reaching for your bag. “In fact, I need to go home.”

“Oh, sure,” Minho replies, a little hurt at your rushed tone. “I can walk you-”

“No need,” you say to him, pulling on your sneakers and doing everything in your power to avert his gaze. He furrows his brows a little, knowing you never reject his offers to walk you home.

“Is everything-”

“Fine. I just need to get home,” you reiterate, finally sitting down and smoothing down your wrinkled dress.

Every part of him is annoying you right now, your mind teeming with the reminder that you’ve been wasting your time trying to know him better while he’s been entertaining a whole girlfriend these past few months.

“Y/n, wait,” Minho calls, still intent on telling you tonight, while the feelings remain stronger than ever. But you’ve already crossed the room to the front door, where you avert his gaze so he won’t see you begin to cry again.

“Bye,” you call to him, not even looking back before you’re turning the knob and seeing yourself out. “Tell Mrs. Lee it was an emergency.”

And he wants to ask if it was, but he can’t, staring at your rushed figure jogging down the street as you distance yourself from him before he can string you along any further.

*

Thus begins the game of avoidance.

It starts through keeping your conversations with Minho as short as possible, not engaging him when he tells you about theories he’s studied this week or what his days on campus were like. When he asks about your day, you give him one-word responses, muttering a simple “fine” before turning your attention to Joon again.

When Minho asks to go to the grocery store, you pretend you have a headache- for three days straight. So he makes the trips solo, balancing bags on one arm and telling you about how the cashiers have begun to ask where his pretend wife’s been. You give him no reaction, nodding as you feed Joon his dinner and glance at the clock for the umpteeth time, desperate to get away from him.

And the mystery woman remains, marching into the Lee household in afternoons like she owns the place, already having memorized the path to Minho’s room as she makes her way up the stairs and doesn’t acknowledge you. She’s beautiful everyday that she’s here, short skirts and long ponytails you can’t seem to look away from. And she’s even more hypnotic when she’s in the presence of Minho, the two of them as a couple certainly a sight for sore eyes. If they were a married couple, you’d reckon they'd be much more distinguished than you and Minho would.

“Do you want a coffee?” Minho peers into the library one night to ask you. You keep your gaze locked on the computer in front of you, trying your best to keep your guard up as he waits for a response.

“No, thank you,” you say coldly, continuing to work on your essay.

When he realizes you’re not going to say anything else, Minho enters the room reluctantly, his hands shoved in his pockets as he leans against the doorframe and gives you a once-over. You say nothing, still, holding back your emotions so as not to cause a scene. And Minho can tell something’s wrong in the way that you shift your eyes to him briefly and shake your head as if scolding yourself for doing so.

“Did I do something?” Minho finally asks, his voice a little shaky.

“No,” you say quickly, skimming the same sentence on your laptop screen over and over again.

“Are you… sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

He fiddles with a loose thread in the pocket of his pants, keeping his gaze on the floor and thinking about your differing behavior toward him the past week.

“We just haven’t talked much. And you never really leave here anymore. I wanted to make sure I didn’t overstep any boundaries-”

“Overstep?” You interrupt, scanning your eyes over the screen of your computer. “There’s nothing to overstep. I get paid to watch your brother, not hang out with you.”

You feel guilty the minute the words leave your mouth, but you feel even worse knowing he’s just been stringing you along with a girlfriend this whole time. The atmosphere feels akin to when you first met him, awkward and cold, and with tensions high like this, you don’t feel at home in the Lee household anymore.

“Sorry,” Minho says, nodding. “You’re right. I guess I’m overstepping by asking.”

You only look up at him when he leaves, his shoulders sagging as he leaves you alone once again- only this time, you have a feeling he’s going to stop making an attempt to rekindle things anymore.

And you’re right- Minho stops trying entirely. There are no more offers to walk you home, no philosophical debates over coffee or grocery store trips where you act as a married couple. You’re still covered in knit blankets when you fall asleep accidentally on the couch, but Minho doesn’t stick around watching his infomercials to wait up for you anymore. And he still saves you his takeout when he orders, but he leaves it neatly packaged for you in the fridge instead of bringing it up to you like he used to.

You’ve gone from a mutual infatuation for each other to complete strangers once again. The house feels lonely and cold like it once did, your only real human interaction occurring in the few minutes you have with Mrs. Lee at the start and end of the day.

Minho doesn’t talk to you at all, locking himself away in his room like he did when you first started caring for Joon. And when you see him in passing at late hours of the night, he looks indifferent, sagging his shoulders as he averts your gaze with a book in hand and disappears down the corridors again. At some point, you begin to see his girlfriend less- in fact, his stoic composure makes you wonder if something’s happened between them. But as time goes on, you start to realize this is less about his girlfriend- and more about you.

What a gift it is to feel- but also what a curse. To let something consume you so entirely you can barely breathe without it. It’s laboring to think of anything else, of anyone else besides Minho and what he means to you. And as you replay your last interaction in your head for the nth time this evening, you think back to the day you started here. You knew the fundamentals of caring for a baby, having trained just enough to land a job doing it. All you wanted was to be liked by Mrs. Lee, and by baby Joon- and by extension, Minho. This household quickly became someplace you felt like you actually belonged in. But your purpose here has completely diverted from its original path, having prioritized Minho’s complexities and his feelings toward you above what you were hired here to do. You’ve experienced a roller coaster of emotions trying to understand him, and just when you thought you’d cracked him, you realized his heart belongs to someone else. So with the comfortable knowledge in mind that perhaps the universe isn’t, in fact, conditioned for you to mean anything more to him than just a babysitter, you understand it’s time to stop forcing any other version of it.

*

There’s nothing particularly out of the ordinary two weeks into your avoidance of Minho.

You still haven’t talked, he still keeps his distance and you get paid to perform the job you’re here to do. But one afternoon before Minho’s even home from school, Joon refuses to eat. It starts with a tantrum he throws at breakfast time, which you consider typical as he knocks his cereal onto the floor and waves his hands around restlessly. You can only spoon feed him a couple spoons of yogurt before he’s put down for his afternoon nap. And when you wake him for his post-nap meal, he’s just as fussy. He seems to be bothered by something, crying loudly as you offer him different snacks and try your best to calm him down. But nothing seems to work, and when he begins refusing his bottles late into the afternoon, you start to panic.

Mrs. Lee isn’t home for a few hours, you’re unsure of when Minho gets home and you don’t have any way of getting to a hospital right now. The guilt and the fear eat away at you as Joon cries loudly, his face turning a bright shade of red as snot dribbles from his nose onto his shirt. He must be hungry, and clearly uncomfortable by something, only you’re entirely unsure what. His pacifier doesn’t calm him, nor does his favorite stuffed animal or his favorite television program. When his crying reaches the 10-minute mark, you feel hopeless, well prepared to drag him onto the bus to the nearest hospital yourself, fully convinced you’re going to lose your job. And as you begin to cry, too, the front door opens, Minho walking in with his backpack clutched casually in one hand and his car keys in the other. His girlfriend is with him this time, her head hanging as she uses her phone, completely oblivious to the atmosphere around her.

“Minho,” you call helplessly from the kitchen, and his head snaps instantly to look at you. Your eyes are nearly bloodshot from crying, your sleeves drenched in tears from wiping your eyes and your voice shaky as you speak. It’s the first time you’ve said his name in weeks, you realize, feeling your heart race as you call for him.

“What happened?” Minho asks when he turns the corner, throwing off his backpack and approaching a very fussy Joon.

“He won’t eat,” you reply through hiccups, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your sweater again. “I’ve tried everything. He won’t stop crying.”

Minho takes Joon in his arms, rocking him gently back and forth, to no avail; Joon starts crying even harder now, dribbling snot onto Minho’s sweatshirt and hitting his chest repeatedly.

“I’ll have to take him to the clinic,” Minho says in a rushed tone, fishing his car keys out of his pocket and making his way toward the door.

His girlfriend finally turns the corner into the kitchen, putting down her cellphone and huffing frustratedly.

“What’s going on?”

“Sorry,” Minho replies, shoving past her with Joon in his arms. “I have to go. We can work on our project another time.”

Your heart drops at the words- project. Project, as in a project for his university. With a classmate.

You want to cry more now, for being so stupidly angry with him over nothing, but you still have to help Minho take Joon to the clinic. Sujin doesn’t protest, quick to exit without so much as a goodbye as Minho scrambles to fetch Joon’s car seat.

“I’ll get him in the car seat,” you say, pulling your sneakers on as he balances Joon in his arms.

“You’re coming?”

“Of course I’m coming,” you scoff, already taking Joon from his arms and ushering him outside. “Go start the car.”

*

“Lee?” A nurse calls, holding a clipboard close to her chest as she scans the waiting room.

You and Minho both stand up, Minho balancing Joon in his arms as the nurse gestures you to the door.

“Please, follow me.”

Both of you walk side-by-side down the corridor as she double-checks papers on her clipboard, making a sharp right and leading you into a private room.

Minho sets Joon down on the examination table, holding his arms to steady him, and you stand beside him as you wait for the doctor.

“She’s just reviewing the results,” the nurse says, referring to the x-rays Joon took earlier. “She’ll be in shortly to discuss them.”

Minho nods silently as the nurse leaves the room, leaving the two of you alone once again. You say nothing, unsure of how to break the awkward silence as Minho wipes a string of drool from Joon’s mouth and avoids eye contact with you.

You feel awkward, embarrassed and so, so stupid, for having treated Minho like absolute scum because you assumed the worst of him. It breaks you to see him avert your gaze like this, treating you the same way he did when you first crossed paths. He has his guard completely up again, and you’re not sure he’s ever going to let it down around you. As you lose yourself in doubtful thoughts, the door opens, Joon’s doctor sauntering inside and wiping her hands with the strong scent of hand sanitizer.

“Hi there,” she says cheerfully, giving you both a warm smile. “Are we here for baby Joon today?”

“Yes,” you both say in unison, and she laughs a little.

“You two are very synced. They say it happens in the first year of marriage.”

“We’re not married,” Minho chimes in quickly, and you turn to look at him, feeling a pit in your stomach all over again.

“No?” She questions. “My apologies. Is mom here today?”

“I’m just his babysitter,” you say quietly. “This is his brother.”

“I see,” the doctor says, eyeing you both. “Well you may notice I’m fairly calm, and that’s because there’s no terrible news I have to share. Baby Joon is just suffering from a little mucus buildup. He’s probably feeling the impaction, and the discomfort has caused a loss of appetite.”

You feel a weight off your shoulders instantly, relieved that this isn’t a more serious matter. He’s going to be fine, you think to yourself. He’s going to be his normal self as soon as this is over.

“… Just be sure to use a syringe to drain the mucus a couple times per day, and make sure he gets plenty of sleep.”

As the doctor writes Joon a prescription for his saline syringe, you catch Minho’s gaze briefly, shooting him a relieved look. He gives you a small nod in response, as if to say he’s glad you came along. And he is, he just can’t say it out loud.

*

“I think he’s finally sleeping,” Minho says, patting Joon’s back gently as he stands up from his chair. The two of you have been sat in the library for nearly two hours since getting back home, in complete silence as you read your books and wait for Joon to fall asleep. You take breaks every now and then to drain Joon’s mucus, alternating roles between holding his face still and using the syringe on him. And when he’s finally comfortable again, he dozes back off to sleep, little snores escaping his lips.

Minho leaves the room to put Joon to bed, and while he’s gone, you take the opportunity to pack your stuff and prepare to leave for the night. You feel guilty, not having said much to Minho this evening, especially with the newfound knowledge that this mystery woman was just a partner for his project. But you’re not sure what to say, well aware that he’s probably already decided you hate him, and there’s not much else you can do to fix things.

“He’s down,” Minho says as he re-enters the library.

“That’s good,” you reply with a solemn smile, packing your laptop in your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

“I should get going.”

“Do you… need me to walk you?” Minho asks a little shyly, and although the offer is tempting, you shake your head no.

“I’ll be fine. It’s really not as unsafe as you’d think.”

Minho just nods, understanding that you still don’t want to be close to him. And he gives you a little bow, before he exits the room and makes his way up the stairs to his own.

As you begin to leave, an object left on the chair across from you catches your eye.

It’s Minho’s book- the first edition copy of Love and Limerence you gifted him. You take the small book in your hands, scanning its contents briefly and examining the pages. He’s already annotated several of them, despite having read the book numerous times now, and you can’t help but smile at his scribbled notes circling all his favorite quotes and underlining them twice. You know it’s valuable to him, despite coming from somebody he probably despises right now, but you decide to take it up to him anyway, not wanting him to lose it.

When you’re outside his door, you give a small knock as it’s left ajar, and Minho hums in response.

You enter quietly, holding the book out to him and shooting him a small smile.

“You left this downstairs,” you say, and Minho reaches for it quickly, embarrassed you might’ve seen some of his annotations.

“Thanks,” he replies, setting it back on his bookshelf of romance novels.

He takes a seat on the edge of his bed, patting the spot next to him, and you join him at a comfortable distance as he keeps his gaze on the hardwood floor.

For a moment, no one says anything. And then he sighs deeply, before finally speaking.

“I’m sorry. If I made you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” you’re quick to reply.

“I clearly did,” Minho retorts. “And I know I’m quiet, and I kind of shut myself off from the rest of the world. But I never meant for it to affect you.”

“It didn’t affect me,” you reiterate.

He scoffs lightly in response.

“Why won’t you just say it? You haven’t talked to me in weeks. You don’t even look at me. I clearly did something to push you away.”

You don’t reply immediately, pondering what to say. And ultimately, you let your emotions speak for themselves.

“I was jealous.”

“Of what?”

“Of the girl. The one who’s been here almost every night.”

“Sujin?”

“Look, I don’t know, okay? I don’t know who she is or what she is to you-”

“My project partner,” Minho interrupts. “One who hates my guts.”

“Project partner,” you continue. “It doesn’t matter who she is- I like you, Minho,” you finally emphasize, turning to meet his gaze. His lips are parted in shock, his eyebrows furrowed as he hears you speak.

“I’m fucking infatuated with you, and it drives me crazy. I can’t go on vacation without seeing you in the books at the stores, I can’t sleep at night without your stupid theories replaying in my head. And I jump to the worst possible conclusions when you’re even near another girl. I’m going crazy trying to be liked by you- trying to look at everything through the lens of your romance theories or your book quotes, or whatever. But it’s so scary to like someone this much.”

Minho says nothing for a minute, collecting his thoughts as you let go of the breath you’ve been holding. He’s not used to people liking him- let alone being this intrigued by him. And especially when it’s in the form of reciprocation, from the one person he’s infatuated with, too.

“Why is it scary?” Minho questions, facing you now, his eyes darting briefly over your lips and then back up to your worried gaze.

“Because I’m here for a job. I’m not supposed to be feeling all this. You’re not supposed to be part of this.”

“How do you know that?” Minho retorts, leaning in a little closer to you now.

“I just…”

“You’re allowed to feel, y/n. You’re allowed to want this.”

And before you can protest his words, his lips are on yours, kissing you passionately like he’s pacifying the arguments before they can come to fruition. Your heart beats erratically in your chest, your mind racing with a million thoughts about what you’re doing, and what this whole thing even implies, but you shut them out with the rest of your concerns, pressing your thighs together as he brings two hands to your face and cups your chin gently. His lips work against yours so beautifully, so effortlessly, like the two of you have done this several times before. And maybe you have, in all his alternate universe theories- on your honeymoon, on the run from the police- right here in the comfort of his grand bedroom, his hands snaking up to pull off your cardigan as you tug desperately at the fabric of his t-shirt. Minho says nothing between passionate kisses, afraid if he talks you might realize what’s happening and leave. But you won’t leave, especially not when you’ve been dreaming of this, too.

When your cardigan is off, Minho moves a little closer to you on the bed, letting one hand guide itself onto your waist and trace the gentle curve of your body there. He’s delicate with his movements, careful not to startle you with his touches, but he’s also admittedly thought about this for weeks. The thought of you confessing was never something that crossed his mind- he was so sure he’d driven you away after that night. Never in his wildest fantasies had Minho considered the possibility that you were this smitten with him, too. But he did have thoughts of your lips on his, thoughts of your hands intertwined with his and ungodly visions of you under him, right here in his bed. Visions of his mouth on your breasts after you’d accidentally exposed yourself to him in the kitchen and he was forced to give attention to the massive erection that grew in his pants. And after you’d gifted him his favorite book, attentive to the details he’d indulged you in which he never otherwise shared with people, visions of making love to you ran rampant in his mind, filling you up over and over again with remnants of him as a form of saying I’m infatuated with you, too.

Minho’s kisses become needier as your words replay in his head, darting his tongue out to dance against yours with the sounds of exchanging saliva present between your plump, eager lips. He pushes you back gently so that you’re now lying on his pillow, the angle so intimate, the view of his room from here like something you’re not supposed to see. The ceilings appear even larger when you’re flat against his bed, the curtains that drape over his bedpost seemingly miles high.

Minho’s kisses trail down to your neck now, eagerly peppering your flesh in wet kisses as your hands reach up to tangle in his hair, holding him closer to you and letting him graze his lips wherever he desires. You can’t help but feel guilty having him all over you like this when you remember how you’ve treated him these past couple months- criticizing his tendencies to be quiet, intruding on his space and pushing him away because of a girl you’d assumed to be his girlfriend. But you also know most of it has been because you want him to mean more to you- perhaps you’ve just been trying to change things so that in this version of the universe, he’s not just an enigma to you. You want all of this- his lips on yours, his body pressed into you and to give yourself completely to him.

“Just so we’re clear,” Minho says suddenly, pulling away from you to hold eye contact with you. “I’m crazy about you, too. I really like you.”

And you can’t help but smile back in response, pulling him in again to press his lips on yours. He smiles into the kiss, too, satisfied you’re both on the same page. And although your now eager movements imply something more is about to happen, you don’t have to verbalize anything, his fingers snaking up your shirt serving as answer enough.

“Is this okay?” Minho asks, grazing your flesh with his big hands as he toys with the hem of your shirt.

You nod in response, sitting up a little and completing the task of pulling it off over your head and discarding it beside you. You waste no time on your bra, either, reaching around to unclasp it and rid yourself of the fabric without him having to ask. His eyes widen again at the sight, having remembered every curve of your body since that incident in the kitchen. But now in front of him again, he feels his cock swell in his pants, desperate to act on the urge. In nimble movements, his hand cups the mound of your breast, kneading it gently and sighing at the sensation of your soft skin against his. His mouth finds yours again, indulging you in a slow, passionate kiss, and then he trails down until he meets his hand at the mound of your breast, pressing a chaste kiss to your flesh before finally latching his lips around your nipple.

He starts with gentle kisses while your nipple rests between his lips, a string of saliva dribbling down to coat your hardened bud. And then he takes it between his lips with more force, beginning a gentle sucking motion as he gives your other nipple attention with his free hand, circling the tip with his thumb in tender movements.

You sigh beneath him, the sensation sending a shiver up your core, your nipples hardening even more in his touch, now eager for him to give your soaking core some attention. But he takes his time stimulating you, moving to your other breast to take your nipple in his mouth and leave a trail of saliva. Your body shivers when the cool air grazes your wet nipples as he pulls away, and he meets your lips again to kiss you passionately.

While he kisses you, your hands now toy with the hem of his shirt too, signifying for him to take it off. And Minho reciprocates with a little nod, finally pulling his shirt over his head and revealing his bare chest to you. It’s a marvelous sight to see more of his honey-tanned skin, his toned muscles and his broad pectorals practically begging for you to touch them. And just above his stomach, a horizontal pale pink scar, one that he eyes momentarily and then gives you a shy shrug.

You run your fingers along the scar briefly, tracing it in its entirety and bringing your hand up to caress his face.

“I didn’t think I could be any more attracted to you,” you say to him sheepishly, tracing the scar again. “You look like the poetry you’re so obsessed with.”

Minho feels an involuntary smile pulling at his face as he leans in to kiss you again, this time intent on giving himself fully to you the way you deserve.

Your kisses both grow hungrier, needier, as your bodies tangle into each other, and Minho loops a finger into the hem of your panties, tugging them down so that he has access to your sopping cunt. As your hands tangle further into his soft brown hair, his finger traces down the length of your stomach, dipping into every curve and over every inch of flesh he only got a brief sight of. And when he finds your mound, you arch up into him, parting your legs slightly to give him access. Minho doesn’t waste another second, attaching the pads of his fingers to your clit and working you in circular motions as he kisses you. Little gasps escape your mouth as he does, breathing heavily into his kisses and grinding your core closer to him as he quickens his pace, smearing your arousal around your aching clit and circling two fingers around to massage you gently. His cock is now fully erect against his abdomen, prodding into your upper thigh as he trails his kisses down your neck again, but he’s patient, forgiving with his movements, eager to pleasure you first.

As his kisses graze your neck, you tug his boxers over his cock, pulling them down so you’re equal parts undressed. Minho winces a little at the sensation, a bead of precum already dripping down the head of his cock, and you feel yourself clench around nothing at just the sight of him hard for you.

When he takes note of your anticipation, he glances down at his own erection, locking his gaze with yours again as if to confirm again that this is okay. You nod in response, reaching your hands around to loop them behind his neck and pull him a little closer. And then your gaze falls to his cock again, waiting for him to make the next move.

The two of you say nothing as Minho’s hand finds the base of his cock, pumping himself gently before leaning in to kiss you. He lets himself hover closer over you, until his cock is kissing your entrance in the same gentle, wet movements as your lips. You lift your leg up slightly to grant him access, and then in gentle movements as your eyes remain shut, you feel him push his tip inside of you, stretching you out around his girth and causing you to gasp. He’s bigger than you anticipated, even the dripping arousal of your cunt having trouble taking him wholly. But he brings his fingers down to your clit again, massaging you slowly to ease the pain. And it works, your body relaxing around him as he pulls back a little and thrusts in again, this time pushing further until he’s completely bottomed out inside of you. You let out a fervent moan at the sensation, his cock pulsating inside of you as he holds it there, feeling every inch of you clench around him and take him so well now. And then with a gentle kiss to your lips, he begins to move, his hips pulling back slowly to thrust back inside of you.

You feel so full of him, having him exactly as you’d always imagined him- circling your thoughts, hovering over you and finally inside of you, his cock brushing against your cervix so delicately with every thrust. Your labored breaths become one as you pant into each other’s mouths with overwhelming pleasure. Minho steadies himself with one hand on the mattress beside you, quickening his pace a little as he feels his cock twitch inside of you in response to a particularly pornographic moan of yours.

“Fuck,” he breathes, shutting his eyes as he continues to slip in and out of your soaking cunt. “You’re so full of me, aren’t you?”

He brings his lips to your neck again, nibbling the flesh between his teeth and letting it bruise as you moan beneath him.

“I’ve thought about you everyday,” you respond, angling his lips to yours again as he fucks you. “I’ve thought about this so many times.”

“Yeah?” Minho says with a satisfied smile, working circles back onto your clit.

“Yes,” you breathe back, toying with his hair as your arms wrap around his neck. “I wanted you to fuck me like the characters in your romance novels.”

Minho feels his cock twitch again, wincing and slowing his pace so as not to finish just yet.

“I can’t help it,” you whimper underneath him. “I think about you all the time. I think about you fucking me all the time.”

Minho intertwines his hand with yours, pressing it down on your abdomen and letting yourself feel when his bulge fills you up at every thrust, the motion visible beneath your palms.

“Feel that, baby?” He asks between kisses to your drooly lips. “Feel how good I fuck you? Is this what you imagined?”

You gasp at the sensation once you feel it, the bulge of his cock protruding against your palm with every pump inside of you. You nod breathlessly, almost unable to reply to his words now.

“I imagined it, too,” he says, picking up his pace now. “You don’t know how badly I wanted to bend you over the couch and fuck you right there the moment I met you.”

He groans a little as you clench around him and moan in response.

“Minho,” you say breathlessly, not missing the way his cock twitches inside of you once again. “Will you finish inside of me?”

He pauses for a moment, scanning your expression for a sign of whether or not you’re being serious.

“Please,” you beg, as if reading his thoughts. “I’m on birth control. Just want to feel your seed inside of me.”

He shuts his eyes briefly as you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in a little closer.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” Minho asks, locking his gaze on yours again. “I want to, but I want you to be sure about it.”

“I’m sure,” you say quickly, the last syllable hitching in the back of your throat as he hits a particularly sensitive spot. “Please, just wanna feel you fill me up.”

He thrusts harder into you now, the room teeming with the squelching noises of your pussy taking him so effortlessly.

“You like it when we play house like this, huh?” He says, wrapping a hand gently around your throat. “You like imagining me as your husband, don’t you? Fucking you like we’re married?”

And it doesn’t take you more than a second to think before you’re nodding desperately at his words. You do love it, this sense of belonging when you’re in the Lee household. But you also get aroused at this second life you lead alongside him, caring for the baby like it’s one of yours and being fucked by Minho when no one else is around to hear your lewd moans.

“Yes,” you reply, your response muffled by his grasp on your throat. “You make such a good dad.”

“We’d make such good parents,” he emphasizes, kissing you breathlessly. “What do you say I fuck a baby into you and we find out for real?”

You feel yourself contract around his girth at the words, not having considered it seriously, but turned on at the idea of carrying a child just for him.

“Is that what you want?” Minho asks, nearing his orgasm as he thrusts even faster into you now, panting into your mouth above you.

“Yes,” you reply with a whimper. “Want you to fill me up so bad.”

“Yeah?” He cuts you off, pressing your abdomen harder with his hand. “I’m gonna cum, baby. Want you to feel it.”

Your senses hone in on the feeling of your palm over his bulge, pulsating rhythmically as he nears his orgasm.

“I’m cumming, fuck, I’m gonna finish,” Minho says, shutting his eyes in pleasure as he moves at his fastest pace now, his grip around your throat holding you steady as you lose yourself underneath him. He’s never finished inside someone before, but he has no intention of pulling out now, the conversation of impregnating you sending him over the edge as he reaches the cusp of his release.

You contract around his breathlessly now, eager to take his load, never having taken someone’s either, but desperate for Minho to be your first.

And with a few more harsh thrusts, Minho’s cock twitches once inside of you, finally letting out a generous load of his cum inside of you, the gush of his release filling you up so fully, the warm sensation of his milky white release thrusting deep inside of your pussy as he fucks the rest into you.

He feels his head spin, his eyes shutting instinctively at the sensation as he lets go fully inside of you, no urgency to pull out or stave off his release like he usually has to. And it takes a while before he’s begun to soften again, the knowledge of giving you his cum almost rousing him again and lengthening the period of his release inside of you. Minho already knows he’s going to be addicted to finishing inside of you from here on out- and he doesn’t want it any other way.

The warm feeling is all it takes for you to finish in mere seconds, contracting around him as he fucks you through his orgasm, your release mixing with his and dribbling down the side of your thighs as he begins to slow down. Minho doesn’t pull out immediately, instead caressing your face to gauge your reaction as he softens inside of you.

“Was it okay?” Minho queries, tucking sweaty strands of hair behind your ears and loosening his grasp on your throat.

“It was more than okay,” you say breathlessly, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as he smiles down at you. “I feel so full of you.”

Minho kisses you sweetly, rubbing his thumb along your hand soothingly as he pulls out of you, a string of his cum connecting to you still and dribbling onto the sheets as he rolls over to lay on his side.

For a moment, the two of you say nothing, your chests rising and falling as you catch your breath and ponder the day’s events. It’s not what you expected was going to happen when you saw yourself up to his room again, but it is what you’d hoped would happen eventually. And the atmosphere feels much lighter around you now, completely void of the lingering sexual and emotional tension that’s plagued you for so long.

“Minho?” you say quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Philosophically speaking, how many versions of us do you think are lying next to each other like this, right now?”

Minho thinks over your words for a moment, and then he chuckles lightly.

“Well if the universe was conditioned right, I’d hope for an infinite amount. But considering how long it took us to get here in this version, I’d say just one.”

And he sits up, leaning in for another kiss as two fingers tuck his arousal further into you, holding his release inside of your still-sensitive body.

*

“Have some bacon, honey,” Mrs. Lee says to you as she scrambles to get her things together for the day. “I made a lot, so help yourself.”

“Thanks,” you reply, strapping Joon into his high chair and smoothing down your skirt.

Ever since that evening, you and Minho have been inseparable. The two of you wait until Mrs. Lee is gone for the morning, desperately grabbing at each other and giggling between kisses until Minho has to leave for his classes. And when he returns, it’s much of the same, the two of you helping put Joon down for his afternoon nap before escaping up to his bedroom and making love until Joon wakes again.

Minho is completely and utterly obsessed with you, the same way you are with him, but you both know this game of house you play can’t go on forever. Mostly because you feel the guilt eating away at you day by day, every waking minute you’re tending to your duties as a babysitter or conversing with Mrs. Lee. It’s hard to be in the same room as Minho when she’s around, the urge to just confess even more present when she attempts to facilitate conversation between the two of you and you’re forced to act like he’s still a mystery.

But you have him more figured out than you ever have before, memorizing the freckles on his body like the back of your hand, reciting his favorite quotes like prayers and replaying the melodic giggles that escape his lips. You don’t want to be apart from him, but the point still stands- it’s scary to like someone this much. He consumes you more than he ever has before, filling every waking second of your life with remnants of him. You love when he reads romantic philosophical theories to you, or when he cooks you and Joon dinner after a long day. But you feel guilty when you’re alone with Joon again, hoping he can’t somehow tell that you’re only thinking of his brother when you’re preparing his bottles or feeding him. You hope Mrs. Lee doesn’t notice when your hair is a little too tousled to have just been from a nap, or the time you had to cross your legs to keep Minho’s release inside of you when the two of you had finished just in time for her to make it home. It’s selfish, and it’s unfair. And with no sign of this fling stopping anytime soon, you don’t see any other option to be fit.

“I’m leaving,” Mrs. Lee finally says, grabbing her car keys off the kitchen table and pulling her heels on. “Make sure to get Joon his medicine!”

The two of you watch as she shuts the front door behind her, and then you wait until her car starts, holding your breath as she pulls out of the driveway and begins down the street in what feels like an agonizing amount of time.

The minute she’s gone, Minho turns to you again, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you lean back against the counter.

“Morning,” he says with a shy smile. He wastes no time leaning in for a romantic kiss, which you reciprocate, wrapping your arms around his neck and smiling into him.

When he pulls away, the two of you say nothing, holding each other in a comfortable embrace as he rubs little circles into the small of your back.

“I guess it’s just mom and dad home right now,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss to your neck. “I’ll ditch class right now if you want me to fill you up again.”

And his offer is tempting as he presses his erection into you, working more kisses down the nape of your neck and trailing his hands up your skirt.

“No,” you finally say, pushing him away and collecting your thoughts. “You need to get to class. I have a lot of stuff to do. I’m working, in case you forgot.”

“Okay, okay,” Minho says, holding his hands up in surrender. “I digress.”

He pulls back to caress your face with a visible smirk as your eyes graze his thighs, so beautifully sculpted under the fabric of his jeans. You’re not sure you’ve ever been so sinfully tempted by somebody before, like Eve to the apple, like a moth to a flame- he’s intoxicating, but you know you shouldn’t be indulging this while you’re here to fulfill your role as a babysitter.

“You should go,” you say to him, swallowing nervously as his hands trace the outline of your lips.

“Yeah,” Minho replies, a hint of disappointment present in his voice.

And without another word, he gathers his car keys off the table, sending you off with a little wave as he disappears for the day.

You may have Minho mostly figured out now- his fascination with romance and philosophy, his soft interior under the stoic exterior he presents everyone else with, his astounding levels of emotional intelligence and unwavering kindness for the people he loves. But now that things have become a little more complicated between the two of you, you fear all of this will come to an end as fortuitously as it all began.

The reality is, this isn’t one of Minho’s romance novels- you’re both real people, with emotions and convictions and reservations. And though you want this fleeting thing to last forever, you’re well aware that things don’t work that way, especially when you’re just a babysitter at the end of it all. Sure, Minho sees you as much more than that- but you were hired to be here in the Lee household, paid to fulfill your role here, and once this comes to an end, your relationship with Minho likely will, too.

… and thus, the decision to quit your job isn’t one you take lightly. It succeeds hours of thinking, weighing your options and planning out exactly what you’re going to tell Mrs. Lee when she asks why you’re leaving so suddenly. You want to do another internship, you decide on telling her, hoping she doesn’t poke enough holes to get the truth out of you- “I think far too much about your eldest son and it’s eating me alive.”

*

All day long, you try your best to shut Minho out of your thoughts, focusing on your online courses and caring for Joon like you used to. But it feels futile, this task of pretending things are the way they used to be. They’re not- you’re sneaking behind Mrs. Lee’s back and hooking up with her eldest son. When all’s said and done, you’ll be right back in your own home, with your parents desperate to send you elsewhere once again, and your own life to tend to. This double life you romanticize isn’t real, nor is it attainable anymore.

Your phone call with Mrs. Lee to announce your decision doesn’t set anything in stone yet, her words urging you to speak with her later this week when she has some free time. But you know once you do speak with her, you’ll only have a few evenings left with Minho until this is all over. And you don’t have the heart to tell him just yet, but if things go anything the way they did when you first brought it up to him, you know he’s going to be heartbroken.

When Minho arrives home that evening, he can already sense something is wrong. You’re sat in the garden, where you typically don’t go, your legs crossed neatly over one of the sunlounger chairs as you let your thoughts consume you. Mrs. Lee’s koi fish fountain stands nobly in front of you, a robust stream of water trickling from its lips and into the concrete bowl below. You’re mesmerized by it as you always are, the steady sound of water coupled with the birds chirping in the sunny greenery around you as peaceful as ever.

“Hey,” Minho says, sliding open the screen door and stepping outside to meet you.

“Hi,” you reply, holding a hand up over you to shield your eyes from the sun. You’d forgotten how divine he looked today, his white button up now folded up at the sleeves and exposing his veiny forearms to you.

“How was your day?” Minho asks, pressing a small kiss to your temple as he occupies the spot beside you and stares at the fountain.

“Okay,” you respond, though you’re lying through your teeth. “Joon went down about an hour ago.”

Minho nods, and then he furrows his brows together as he speaks again.

“Why are you out here?”

You shrug in response, keeping short with your words as he pushes you for answers. And you want to tell him it’s because you made the most painful decision to call Mrs. Lee and forfeit all of this, but you know it’ll only hurt more, so you divert from the truth.

“It was stuffy inside,” you voice back, shooting him a small smile.

Minho seems to relax beside you, his shoulders sagging a little as he takes notice of your calm demeanor. He doesn’t have reason to believe anything’s wrong, judging by the way you converse so casually.

“You want me to cook you something?” Minho asks, placing his palm up next to you, and you let your hand intertwine with his.

“Will you read to me?” You ask, eager to indulge in your favorite activity alongside him.

“I can read to you,” Minho echoes back, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of your hand. “Which book?”

You’re both in the cozy atmosphere of the library later that evening, Minho sat on his favorite velvet armchair as you occupy a spot in his lap with his arms wrapped around you. The book is positioned in front of him so you can both see, his fingers holding open the thin pages as the poetry leaves his lips, pausing in between lines to press kisses to the crook of your neck when he’s reminded of you in his favorite characters.

And you hold back tears in the moment, wanting so badly to tell Minho that you’ll be letting go of all of this, running back to the monotony of your old life, one where Minho doesn’t exist and you don’t have to balance the complicated feelings of liking someone to this degree. But you bite back your words, careful not to ruin the intimate moment you share while he loves you in an ignorant state of bliss.

“The pleasures of love are always in proportion to the fear,” Minho begins a new chapter, grazing your neck with his lips.

He trails a bit lower to graze your shoulder now, pressing a small trail of kisses as he pauses his reading. You giggle softly in response, feeling his fingers find the strap of your tank top to pull it down your shoulder so he can pepper kisses there, too.

“Minho,” you say softly, writhing in his embrace as he tickles every inch of your skin with his kisses, now shutting the book and setting it on the arm of the chair.

“Can’t help it,” Minho responds, shutting his eyes as he snakes his hands up the back of your tank top. “You look so beautiful right now.”

As you adjust in his lap, you can feel he’s now rock-hard in his jeans below you, his thighs flexing underneath you as he wraps two hands around your waist and runs them up and down your sides. You take the hint, turning around in his lap to face him, and let your arms wrap around his neck to steady yourself.

“What are you thinking about?” Minho asks, bringing his lips to yours as he feels his hardened cock graze against the fabric of his jeans, eager to pleasure you.

You want to express your fears, your doubts, to tell him the truth about what you spoke about on the phone with Mrs. Lee earlier today. But you can’t, not when he looks so tantalizing in front of you like this, his bulge perfectly outlined in his tight jeans and his veiny arms flexing below the fabric of his collared button-up. You’ve been roused for him since he left in the morning, his offer swirling your mind coupled with his appearance, like something out of a wet dream.

“You,” you voice back, whimpering pathetically into another kiss and rocking your hips gently over him so that he’s practically whimpering for you, too.

Neither of you have to say much, knowing already where the evening is headed, as you unzip his pants and palm his erection through the fabric of his boxers. Minho watches as you slide off his lap, dropping to your knees in front of him and tugging the fabric of his jeans. He complies with your urges, pulling them down to his knees and freeing his erection from his boxers, exhaling deeply as the cool breeze of the room grazes his leaking tip.

Without a second to waste, you take him in your mouth, letting your saliva coat his shaft as you kiss his tip tenderly and then guide him down your throat, the base of his cock just barely meeting your lips as you struggle to take him fully. Minho groans at the contact, bucking his hips off the chair to guide himself further into you, feeling his cock twitch when you gag a little at the contact. You stay like that for a good while, bobbing your head in rhythmic motions up and down his hardened length, your saliva allowing you to graze his shaft with ease.

Minho’s thighs contract desperately below him, trying his best to stave off the orgasm he’s been longing for since the moment he saw you this morning. His hands find your hair, pulling your locks into a makeshift ponytail and gasping as you take him a bit deeper now, pulling back again to pepper the tip of his wettened cock in drooly kisses.

“Fuck,” Minho breathes out, clutching the arm of the chair so desperately. “Baby, stop, I don’t want to finish yet,”

And you release him with a gentle pop, knowing exactly what it is he wants so badly. You never deny it, sitting back up again to position yourself over his cock you intertwine his hands with yours. He uses one hand to tug your panties to the side, and then in one swift motion, you guide his cock inside of you, sliding down the slick of his length and bottoming out with ease. You take him so well now, always able to adjust to his girth instantly as your cunt is always dripping in anticipation when he’s near.

Minho’s hand moves to push your tank top up, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking harshly as you begin to bounce on him with gentle movements. The room fills with sounds of panting, sucking and desperate moans as his cock fills you fully with every thrust, brushing against your cervix as he moves to your other nipple and kneads your breast desperately.

“What was that quote again?” You ask in labored breaths as he comes back up to kiss your lips.

“The pleasures of love,” he begins, breathlessly working his lips against yours as you clench around his length. “Are always in proportion to the fear.”

Minho feels his cock twitch inside of you, always nearing his finish much faster when you make him recite all his favorite quotes and book excerpts to you.

Except this one speaks much louder to you, directly aligning with your present-day emotions, circling your mind relentlessly as he fills you. Maybe this is what his book speaks of- the pleasures of love, being filled so fully and lovingly by Minho, two pieces of one whole like you’re both made for this, to make love into the late hours of the night while he recites poetry to you.

And all of this in proportion to the fear- this constant fear that he’s just a fleeting entity, that you’re both naive to play house like this and pretend it’s anything more. The fear present while you’re sneaking behind Mrs. Lee’s back, letting him fuck you like he’s married to you and indulge you in all of his deepest secrets, as though you’re the only one allowed to know him this intimately.

The love and fear and indeed in proportion to one another- you love him as much as you’re afraid of loving him.

“I love you,” you say suddenly, bringing him in for another kiss before he can respond. But the way his kisses work against yours, hungry and passionate, there’s not a hint of reluctance in his response when he pulls away to speak again.

“I love you,” Minho breathes back, working his kisses against yours as his cock pulsates inside of you, desperate for release. “And I hope every version of the universe is conditioned for us to be right here.”

You smile into him, slowing your movements as you feel him contract inside of you, and then his thighs flex as he finally finishes inside of you, shooting hot white ropes of his cum into your still-clenching cunt, his release already beginning to dribble back down his length as he feels you slow down over him.

You bring a hand between the two of you, gathering his cum on the pads of your fingers to circle your clit in gentle movements, stimulating yourself to your release, too, as you contract desperately around him and breathe labored kisses back into his mouth. Your juices mix with his as you catch your breath, keeping him inside of you as your chest rises and falls with gentle movements. But the two of you say nothing, pressing your lips together to indulge in more passionate kisses for the few minutes you have left before Mrs. Lee makes it home for the evening.

*

The garden is particularly beautiful the next afternoon, teeming with the sounds of birds chirping and trees swaying in the gentle autumn breeze. Mrs. Lee let you know she’d be home a little earlier to have a chat about your decision to leave, and when Joon is put down for his afternoon nap, you receive the call that she’s in the garden waiting for you. You enter hesitantly, worried Minho might catch you and question what you’re doing out here. But he’s not home from school yet, you remind yourself, glancing around the tall grass and neat rows of potted plants for Mrs. Lee.

“Y/n!” A voice calls from one of the patio chairs. “Come, sit!”

Mrs. Lee sits with her back facing you, a large white sun hat atop her neatly styled hair and complementing her matching white jumpsuit. Her gaze remains locked on the koi fountain you’re always transfixed by, too.

“Hi Mrs. Lee,” you say, giving her a small bow as you take the seat next to her. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

She nods with a smile. “So good to see you when we have a little more time. I’m sorry I’m always such a mess in the mornings.”

You shake your head quickly, brushing off her words. “Not at all! It’s always nice to greet the family before I start my day.”

She just smiles in response, turning to nod at you, and then she turns back to the fountain.

“I was a little surprised when you called the other day. I hope things are going okay.”

“They are,” you interrupt quickly. “They absolutely are. Joon is so pleasant, and the job is great. I really love it here.”

“I hope everything at home is okay,” she moves on to say, and you quickly reassure her.

“Yes, everything is fine! Everyone is doing great.”

“I understand,” Mrs. Lee says, eyeing the ground before turning to face you now. “You’ve done so much for us, I’d be lying if I said I’m not going to miss having you around here in the mornings.”

You shoot her a sympathetic look, feeling a pit form in your stomach, too. You feel the same, probably tenfold, at the idea of leaving behind the household you’ve called home for so many days.

“I’m going to miss it here, too.”

“And I know Joon is going to be heartbroken,” Mrs. Lee says with a chuckle.

You chuckle too, giving her an understanding nod.

She pauses briefly, furrowing her brows together, before continuing her speech.

“You’re such a bright young woman, and I know you’re destined to do amazing things. If there’s a way I can help in this transition, please don’t hesitate to let me know, okay?”

You nod at her words, and watch as she smooths down her top before standing up. She seems to wait for a moment, as if hoping for you to say something, and when you don’t, she begins to make her way back inside.

“Well, I’ll let you go for the evening. Thank you again, for everything. And you have my phone number if-”

“Mrs. Lee?” You call out suddenly, catching her before she can get much further. She turns around at the worry present in your voice, her face shifting into that of concern.

Without having to voice anything else, Mrs. Lee sits down again, waiting for you to continue. But you can’t, your heart beating wildly in your chest at the thought of even bringing up the topic of Minho. I’m in love with your son, you want to say to her. I’m so in love with Minho and I hope you understand I don’t have a choice but to leave this all behind me.

“You know,” Mrs. Lee interrupts your thoughts, breaking the silence that fills the air. “This koi fountain was my first gift from Mr. Lee.”

You nod at her, remembering when she introduced it to you on your first day here.

“We weren’t married yet. It was his first restoration project, and my dad hated him. So he had a lot of trouble getting it over to me.”

You chuckle lightly, amused at her story which seems to calm you down a little.

“Luckily his parents adored me,” she continues. “And they offered to house it in their backyard until we married. For the 15 years we dated, my koi fish lived in their garden. And when we did marry, they rented a big truck to help haul it over. It was such a project! But it’s my favorite part of the garden.”

You shoot her a saccharine smile, well endeared at the way she speaks of Mr. Lee. You can tell she’s in love with him, even this many years later.

“Sometimes I wondered why they would do something so nice for me. But as I grew closer to them, I learned not to question what was meant for me. They loved me, as did Mr. Lee. And I wasn’t going to run from any of that, no matter what I felt I deserved.”

Your head snaps in her direction at her last words, realizing how they apply to you. But she doesn’t know about Minho- at least not to your knowledge, or Minho’s. She gives you a sheepish smile as you furrow your brows, and then she takes your hand in hers, giving it a little squeeze.

“I hope you won't run from what you deserve, either.”

You nod a little bit at her words, finally understanding the weight of them, and then you look back at her with a confused expression.

“Mrs. Lee, are you talking about…”

“Minho?” She finally says, with a warm smile. She takes your other hand in hers, too, tilting her face to yours so that she’s making proper eye contact as she speaks.

“I had wondered why he was so happy these days. Minho’s always been a bit of an outcast. But I haven’t seen this spark in him since he started his obsession with all those romance novels and philosophy studies of his.”

You chuckle lightly, a weight off your shoulders as she finally speaks of what circles your mind so heavily.

“But how did you…”

“I knew it when I saw it,” she says. “I knew it, because he had the same look in his eyes as when I met his father.”

You feel your heart swell in your chest, your shoulders relaxing as she continues to speak.

“He speaks of you like poetry,” she tells you. “And for that alone, I’m thankful for you. Now what you choose to do is your decision- but I hope you know you will always have a home here with us. Not just as a babysitter, but as family.”

When Mrs. Lee finishes her speech, she gives your hands a little squeeze, smiling at you and back at the koi fish fountain. It feels much more sentimental to you even now, the beautiful waterfall that cascades serving as a reminder of its permanent restoration rooted in the infatuation Mr. Lee had for Mrs. Lee. And watching it stand so beautifully like it did all those years ago, you’re reminded that love can be a lasting thing, no matter the circumstances. The universe can condition itself to make things last, affirming the philosophical notions Minho’s always told you. And that perhaps you do deserve this, a sense of belonging here in the Lee household, right here alongside Mrs. Lee and Minho, and even baby Joon.

As you watch the fountain together, the sound of the sliding door makes itself known behind you, and you turn around to find Minho entering the garden, baby Joon sitting comfortably in his arms as he makes his way over.

“Hi,” Minho says, coming around to give Mrs. Lee a kiss on her cheek. “What’s going on here?”

He looks visibly worried, his eyes darting back and forth between you and Mrs. Lee, as if to silently ask you what she’s told you.

But Mrs. Lee just smiles at him, as she gets up from where she’s sitting and smooths down her jumpsuit.

“We were just having a girl chat. I’ll leave you two alone.”

And she disappears behind the screen door again, shooting you a little wink as she does, her anecdote circling your mind, still.

“What happened?” Minho asks, settling down next to you and balancing baby Joon on his knee. Joon fists at the fabric of his shirt, babbling incoherently as you smile down at him.

“Nothing,” you say, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips. You refrain from saying anything about leaving, not wanting to interrupt the tender moment you share with Minho and Joon in the sunlight of the garden.

“You have a really cool mom,” you settle on saying, smiling at Minho as he chuckles softly in response.

*

The afternoon sun beams through the glass windows of the library as you lie comfortably in Minho’s lap, his book positioned in front of you as he presses a small kiss to the back of your hand before turning the page.

Outside, the birds chirp songs of early spring, the steady stream of Mrs. Lee’s koi fountain audible as you peer down at the garden.

Mr. and Mrs. Lee sit in the tall grass, fiddling with a box of tools as Mr. Lee repairs a new project for Mrs. Lee. This one’s a much larger fountain, one he’d told you would take several months, perhaps even years. But Mrs. Lee sits beside him, relishing in stories of his restoration process and laughing with him as he works. You can’t help but smile at the sight, her stories about him playing in your mind whenever you catch a glimpse of them together.

“Do you think they could be us in another universe?” You ask Minho, turning to face him as he peers out the window, too.

“I hope so,” he says with a smile.

You settle closer to him in his lap, pressing a small kiss to his hand as he continues reading.

“And think not that you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.”

At his words, you hear baby Joon cry out, having woken from his afternoon nap.

“I’ll get him,” Minho says, shutting the book and setting it aside to go tend to the baby.

And as you peer back out the window, the sound of Mr. and Mrs. Lee’s laughter filling your ears, baby Joon’s voice calling to you, Minho’s philosophy book perched on the chair beside you and the sun beams shining their light through the windows, you know that this is belonging, this is love.

[nanacee]

chk chk boom 2nd win!

[nanacee]

HYUNJIN | ELLE KOREA | MAY 2024 ♡

[nanacee]

I’m actually bawling my eyes out rn. 😞

[nanacee]

Channie’s little confused face ☹️💗

God he’s so cute .. I hope he never figures anything out 🥺💗