redlightsallnight

[redlightsallnight]

This was so cute omg and so fucking funny I died

Going Down Polythageorean: H.Hj & H.J Hwang Hyunjin x fem!reader x Han Jisung (College AU)

WC: 15.07K

CWs: Pre-Established relationship between reader & Jisung, Sexual Identity Crisis, Polyamory & Non-Traditional Relationships, Mild Public Embarrassment & Secondhand Embarrassment

When you step into the Alpha Phi frat house, your senses are immediately assaulted by the comforting, savoury scent of garlic, gochujang, and simmering chicken. You adjust your tote bag over your shoulder and shut the front door behind you with your foot. 

Your white Converse squeak slightly on the hardwood floors, your long green maxi skirt brushing lightly around your ankles with every step you take. Your cropped tank top clings lightly to your skin in the heat, and the green ribbon tying your hair back is already starting to slide, probably from how many times you've yanked it up during the walk over.

The house is loud, and you hear the familiar dull slam of a cupboard door in the kitchen. You can smell the rice frying too, which means Jisung's doing a full meal and not just making instant ramen for the third time this week. 

You shoulder open the kitchen door and grin at the sight of your boyfriend standing at the stove, brows furrowed in concentration as he stirs the stew simmering in a heavy pot. His hair is fluffed to hell, and there's a tiny smear of red sauce on his cheek.

"Holy shit," you say, dropping your tote bag onto the counter with a dramatic thud. "Are you trying to seduce me with Dakbokkeumtang?"

Jisung turns toward you with a giant, goofy grin that makes your chest feel like it's expanding ten sizes. 

"Jagiya!" he beams, immediately abandoning the spoon and taking your face in his hands, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, and finally your lips. "Are you carrying boulders in that fucking bag?"

"No! I'm learning about the epidemiology of cholera in Victorian London! I'm trying to find a historical epidemic for my timeline project due in, like, four months! Right now I'm leaning toward cholera as a focus but honestly there are just so many fucked-up plagues in history I'm kinda overwhelmed."

Jisung leans back against the counter. "Oh yeah? Tell me all about it."

You beam, instantly taking the invitation and hoisting yourself up onto the edge of the counter. "Okay, okay, so cholera was this bacterial infection that spreads through contaminated water, right? And in the 19th century, London had like absolutely dogshit sanitation. We're talking raw sewage in the fucking Thames. People were just dumping actual shit into the river and then drinking it like 'yum, totally safe!' And then everyone acted surprised when people started dying by the thousands."

Jisung snorts and turns back to stir the stew, but he's still listening to every word. "Jesus Christ, that's fucking disgusting. Was it like a fast thing? Like you drink some nasty shit and then boom, dead?"

"Pretty much, yeah. I mean, some people died in like twelve hours. Diarrhoea, vomiting, muscle cramps, the works. Just water pouring out of every hole."

"Every hole, huh? Kinky."

You laugh, swatting your hand in his direction even though you're out of reach. "Ew, you sick fuck. No, like, people were dying in droves, and doctors had no clue what was causing it. Miasma theory was the big thing then, like they thought diseases came from 'bad air.' Which, I mean, the air probably did stink, but that wasn't the point."

"So how did they figure it out?" he asks, grabbing the rice pan now and tossing the kimchi and vegetables with practised flicks of the wrist. His movements are smooth now, confident. You remember when he could barely boil water without crying, and Minho had to stand next to him, barking insults like a deranged Gordon Ramsay.

"Well," you continue, legs swinging slightly, "there was this guy, Dr. John Snow, who made this gorgeous, data-driven map, and he proved that almost all the cholera deaths were clustered around a water pump on Broad Street. He took the handle off, and the outbreak stopped."

Jisung whistles low. "Damn. That's kind of badass."

"It is! And it's like, he revolutionised epidemiology, right? Like, that was one of the first real applications of data analysis to disease tracking. It laid the groundwork for everything we do now. Contact tracing, case mapping, infection control, it all kinda started with him and his sexy-ass water pump map."

Jisung turns off the burners and starts plating up, still watching you out of the corner of his eye with the most tender look. "I love when you talk nerdy to me."

You snort. "I'm not even sorry. That man makes me wanna make out with a bar graph."

Jisung walks over with two plates, one for you and one for him, and sets them down on the counter next to you. You jump off and immediately plop yourself into his lap as he drops into one of the kitchen chairs. He wraps one arm around your waist like it's second nature and grabs his chopsticks with the other.

"I made it less spicy, by the way," he says, kissing the side of your head. "Didn't want your face melting off."

You melt a little yourself at that. "You're the best."

"I know," he grins.

You both start eating, and you groan as the flavours hit your tongue. The kimchi fried rice is crispy in the best way, with caramelised bits that crunch at the edges and that deep, fermented tang from the kimchi. Jisung might have been a fucking disaster in the kitchen ten months ago, but now he's a competent, emotional wreck with surprisingly good knife skills.

"So," you say, halfway through your plate, "how was your day?"

Jisung sighs, a long, tired noise from deep in his chest.

"Ji?"

"Hyunjin started another fucking argument today at practice."

You blink. "Again? What happened this time?"

He shrugs, clearly frustrated. "I don't even know. I was just running drills, doing my thing, and he started snapping at me for 'not keeping up.' Like, what the fuck?."

You press a soft kiss to his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt warm against your lips. "I just wish I knew why he hated me," Jisung mutters.

"He'll tell you eventually," you murmur, running a hand through his hair. "Feelings eventually bubble out. Usually with screaming and crying. Sometimes fire."

He huffs a little laugh and tilts his head to kiss your cheek. "Let's talk about something else."

"Okay! Let me tell you why the young Once-ler from The Lorax is the peak animated man I would absolutely fuck."

Jisung immediately starts laughing, his eyes lighting up as he puts his chopsticks down. "Oh my God, what?"

"No, hear me out! Specifically, the suit version. Not the lanky beanpole one. The one with the guitar, singing 'How Bad Can I Be.' That man could treat me like shit and I'd thank him. He could say I was the reason the entire forest burned down, and I'd be like, 'Yes, sir, may I have another?'"

Jisung is wheezing, eyes crinkling at the corners. "What the fuck, jagiya."

"I'm serious! He's like chaotic neutral with capitalist villain swag. He knows he's doing something awful and still does it with style and a musical number. It's sexy! I can't explain it. It's like he's a dick but in a way where I think I could change him."

"He's animated!"

"So? My standards are fluid."

He laughs again and pulls you closer. "You're so fucking weird. I love it."

You smirk and nudge his nose with yours. "You're lucky you do. Otherwise, this would be a whole lot of red flags."

"Nah," he says, brushing your hair back behind your ear. "This is my favourite part of the day. I swear, you look fucking stunning when you talk about dumb niche stuff with stars in your eyes. You light up."

"Shut up, you sap."

"Never,"

Hyunjin lies face-down on his bed, the sheets twisted beneath him like the tangled thoughts in his head. His hair fans across his pillow, and his whole body feels like it's stuck between a cringe and a scream. The kind of scream you'd let out into a pillow at three a.m. when your brain won't shut the fuck up and keeps circling back to the exact thing you're trying to pretend doesn't exist. That exact thing? The fact that he, Hwang Hyunjin, art history major with a dance minor, owner of three very nice leather jackets, is in a fucking mess of feelings. Feelings about Han Jisung and Han Jisung's girlfriend.

He groans into the mattress, fists clenching around his blanket. The walls of the Alpha Phi frat house are stupidly thin. And right now, through the paper-thin wall separating his room from Jisung's, he can hear everything.

"You'd let a white man fuck you?!" 

"If it's Ben Willbond, yes! No hesitation. Kitchen counter. Shower. Bed. Floor. Anywhere, everywhere, any position!" 

Jisung howls, that wheezy, gasping kind of laughter that makes Hyunjin's stomach twist. It's affectionate, stupid and domestic in that sickening way where two people are so into each other that it makes you want to throw yourself into traffic just to get a break from how fucking soft they are.

"God fucking dammit."

He can't even be mad at Jisung, and that's the worst part. He wants to be mad. It would make things simpler. But Jisung hasn't done anything wrong. He's sweet and funny and kind, and he listens to you like every word out of your mouth is the gospel truth. He makes you food and rubs your shoulders when you're studying and picks up your favourite juice without being asked. He's soft and boyish and endearing. And hot. Annoyingly hot. With that stupid tousled hair and those dumb dimples that show up when he smiles, especially when you're around.

And you. You're you. Kind. Funny. Ridiculously smart. Like, terrifyingly smart. With your tote bag always filled with disease textbooks and your ADHD-fueled rants that Hyunjin secretly listens to through the wall every time you're here. You're too good. You have no business being so fucking sweet to everyone, including Hyunjin himself, even when he's being a passive-aggressive bitch to your boyfriend. Which he is. All the time. And you still smile at him like he hung the stars and offer him snacks, and ask how his day was. It's torture.

It doesn't help that he knows exactly what goes down when the lights are off. He's heard it all. Heard you whimpering his name, Jisung's low groans, the muttered filthy shit that should have his ears burning but instead just fucks him up.

He hates it. Hates that he's like this. That he feels like he's unravelling every time Jisung smiles. That he stares a little too long each time you tuck your hair behind your ear when you laugh. That he's an asshole to Jisung for no fucking reason except that he wants to kiss him. And also kiss you. And he doesn't know which want is worse.

The door creaks open, and he doesn't even move. 

"Hyunjin," 

"Go away."

Chan ignores him completely, walks in and grabs Hyunjin's desk chair. The scrape of it across the hardwood is unnecessarily loud. Chan plops down in it backwards, arms folded across the backrest, chin resting on top like some sitcom dad about to give The Talk.

"Can I help you?"

"Look at my face," Chan says dryly. "You made me pull out my disappointed Appa Chan face."

"Me?! I'm just lying here! I didn't do shit today! Jeongin's the one who blew up the microwave. Go be disappointed in him!"

Chan exhales through his nose. "He's next on my shit list. But first, why are you being a shitstain? You're being an asshole to Jisung."

"That's so fucking cruel," Hyunjin whines, rolling onto his side and burying half his face in his pillow.

"You want a permanent spot on Disappointed Appa Chan's shit list?" 

Hyunjin pouts. "No."

"Then talk to me. What the fuck is going on? Are you trying to steal Y/N from him? Because I swear to God, if that's your plan, I will beat you with my slipper."

"No!" Hyunjin yelps, sitting up so fast his hair whips into his eyes. "Oh my God, no! That's not what this is!"

Chan softens slightly, one brow arching. "Jin, did you like her first? It's okay if you did. That happens sometimes."

"No!"

"Then why are you being a little cunt?"

"Chan! You hate using that word!"

"Look what you made me do!"

Hyunjin groans again, dragging both hands down his face. "Fuck. Okay. Fuck. Fine. You want to know? You really wanna know?"

"Desperately."

"It's both of them," Hyunjin blurts, the words spilling out like he's been holding them back for years. "It's both of them, okay? I wanna kiss Jisung and I wanna kiss Y/N and I don't know what the fuck that means! I've never liked a guy before. Like, yeah, I've fucked guys and I've been fucked by guys but that's just been sex. You know? Labels? I don't do that. I've never needed to. I've always just gone with what felt good, and now I'm just feeling things, Chan. Things. With fucking capital letters. Like, Jisung smiles and my stomach does weird shit. Like it's trying to turn itself inside out. And Y/N laughs, and it's like someone shoved an entire bouquet down my throat. I can't breathe. I can't think. And it's not even like I want to pick one! I want both of them. But that's not allowed, right? That's selfish. That's not how this shit works!"

He's panting by the end of it, chest heaving, hands in his lap clenched so tight they're turning white.

Chan stares at him, eyes a little wide. "Okay. First off. Wow. That was like verbal diarrhoea with a thesis."

"Shut the fuck up."

"No, seriously, I felt like I was being hit with a truck of feelings." Chan leans forward, mouth twitching with a smile he's trying to suppress. "Also, you can tick the box that says 'not straight,' you know. Taking it up the ass or giving it to a dude excludes you from the 'straight' club."

Hyunjin flips him off. "Thanks, Captain Obvious."

Chan shrugs. "Just helping. So you like Jisung and Y/N?"

Hyunjin groans again, flopping back on the bed. "Yes. Fuck. Yes."

"I knew it! Now. How are you gonna woo both of them?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, obviously you need a plan."

"A plan for what?"

"Polyamory, dumbass."

Hyunjin blinks. "A plan to what?"

"Polyamory."

"...Is that a spell from Harry Potter?"

Chan drags a hand down his face. "Oh my fucking God."

"No, like seriously, what the fuck is that?"

Chan stands dramatically, pacing like a professor. "Okay. Imagine you love two different kinds of bingsu."

"What?"

"Stay with me. One is the classic patbingsu. Red bean. Milk. Shaved ice. The other is mango. Bright. Tropical. Completely different vibe."

"This is already fucking stupid."

"Shut up. Now, monogamy would be you choosing one bingsu forever. Polyamory is you saying, 'Fuck it, I want both bingsu. At the same time.' And everyone's cool with it. Everyone knows. Everyone agrees. And they all eat bingsu together and it's happy and consensual and no one's crying."

"Are you suggesting I eat Jisung and Y/N like bingsu?"

"You made it weird."

"You started it!"

"No. I was giving you a metaphor."

"You're a menace."

"And you're in love with your best friend and his sexy-ass girlfriend who talks about cholera and fucking animated men."

Hyunjin covers his face with his hands. "I'm gonna die."

Chan grins. "Not before figuring this shit out, you're not."

"You didn't help at all."

"I tried. The bingsu metaphor was solid."

"It was not."

Chan pats his shoulder. "Alright, drama queen. I gotta go yell at Jeongin before he microwaves another fork. But figure your shit out, okay?"

"Can't wait to not understand polyamory for the next year."

Chan opens the door. "Google exists, you know."

"Not for me. I refuse."

Chan disappears with a muttered, "Fucking idiot," and leaves Hyunjin sprawled on the bed, staring up at the ceiling like it holds the answers to his horny, confused, bingsu-fuelled crisis.

The late afternoon sun beats down on the Miroh College football field, and you're sitting on the bench near the sidelines with your textbook cracked open in your lap. You're dressed for comfort but accidentally hot, if the lingering glances from passing undergrads are anything to go by. 

Your blue maxi skirt flutters around your ankles when you shift, your white long-sleeve tie-front crop top tied snug over your chest. Your Converse are scuffed at the toes, and your hair's been hastily piled into a messy bun, with a pen jabbed through it, and your sunglasses shield your eyes from the relentless sun as you read about the spread of bubonic plague in medieval Europe.

"Yersinia pestis," you mutter under your breath, highlighting a section. "You sneaky little bacterial bastard."

You're halfway through a paragraph about the mortality rates in Florence when the loudest, most violent thud cuts through the field. Your head jerks up, sunglasses sliding down your nose, and you see two bodies tangled in the grass near the goalpost.

"Oh shit," you say, slamming your book shut.

It's Jisung and Hyunjin. Of course, it's Jisung and Hyunjin.

Chan is already pinching the bridge of his nose like he's developing stress-induced wrinkles in real time. He looks like he aged twenty years in the five seconds since the collision happened. 

Jisung sits up first, brushing grass off his arms. He looks perfectly fine, maybe a little dazed but otherwise unbothered. Meanwhile, Hyunjin's still flat on his back, scowling at the sky like it personally offended him. His brows are drawn tight, shoulders tense, and his jaw is clenched so hard you can practically hear his molars grinding.

"Are you both okay?" 

Jisung turns toward you immediately, eyes softening. "I'm okay, jagiya."

He smiles, and your heart does that stupid fluttery thing it always does when he looks at you like that. You touch his arm gently, scanning him for bruises or scrapes. He's fine.

Then you look at Hyunjin. He blinks a few times, still half-lying on the grass, and you watch it happen, his hackles slowly lower. The tension in his shoulders uncoils a little, his expression flickers, and for one heartbeat, he just stares at you like he forgot how to be mad. Then Jisung's voice cuts through the silence again.

"You alright, Hyunjin?"

Hyunjin jolts like he was shocked. "Yeah. Fine," He gets up fast, brushes off his shorts, and walks away toward the benches without another word.

Chan immediately follows him, looking like someone just handed him a toddler with a grenade. The rest of the team hangs back, awkward and silent for a second.

"See what I mean?" Jisung says, voice dry and tired. "I breathe near him and he looks like he's gonna throw hands."

"Maybe it's a second puberty," you suggest cheerfully.

"You might be onto something. His mood swings have mood swings."

You guide him back toward the bench where you were sitting, brushing off some leftover grass from his shirt as you walk. "I was reading about the real villains of the 14th century, by the way."

He snorts. "You mean nobles? The Catholic Church?"

"No, no, no," you say, dropping down onto the bench, flipping your textbook open. "Rats, Jisung. Rats were the true supervillains of 14th-century Europe."

He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Oh?"

"Yes!" you say, adjusting your sunglasses. "Rats carried the plague fleas, Xenopsylla cheopis, to be precise and those little fuckers spread Yersinia pestis everywhere. The Black Death wiped out up to sixty percent of Europe's population. Sixty. Fucking. Percent."

"Jesus," Changbin mutters nearby, suddenly invested. He plops down on the grass at your feet, eyes wide.

"It gets better," you continue, glowing under the attention like a sunflower in daylight. "The fleas would bite the rats, pick up the bacteria, then jump to humans and bam, mass death. It hit the trade routes and spread like wildfire. Bodies in the streets. Total apocalyptic vibes. You know how now we wear masks and argue about vaccines? Back then, they were bleeding people and praying to saints. Super effective, obviously."

Minho wanders over and plops down next to Changbin. "Wait, wasn't that the time they thought cats were evil and started killing them too?"

"Yes!" you say, jabbing your finger in his direction. "Which was extra stupid because cats eat rats. So by killing the cats, they made the rat population worse. They literally helped the plague spread faster. Congrats, medieval Europe. You played yourself."

Felix drifts over last, flopping down on the bench beside you with a bright grin. "You're saying rats are to blame for wiping out half of Europe?"

"Not just rats," you clarify, tilting the book so they can all see it. "Fleas. But rats were the Uber drivers of death. And medieval cities? Disgusting. No plumbing. No sanitation. People threw shit out the window. Rats thrived in that. Perfect storm."

Seungmin appears like a judgmental ghost, arms crossed. "So people died because they were nasty and stupid?"

You smile sweetly. "Basically."

Jisung twirls a lock of your hair between two fingers. "You're so fucking smart," he says.

"I contain multitudes," you say, striking a ridiculous pose. "Beauty. Brains. Useless historical knowledge. You're welcome."

Felix claps slowly. "This is why I listen to everything you say, I take this shit and use it as pickup lines."

"Felix!" Seungmin groans.

"No, no, listen, last week I told someone at that bar near campus about the dancing plague of 1518, and they were so into it. I said, 'wanna dance till we die?' and boom. Got their number."

You snort. "Jesus Christ, I'm accidentally enabling slutty behaviour."

Felix grins like the devil himself. "And I'm thriving. You're a blessing, babe."

Jisung glares at him playfully. "Back off. She's mine."

Across the field, Hyunjin shifts awkwardly on his feet, arms folded tight across his chest as he stands next to Chan. He keeps glancing sideways at the group across the pitch, where you, Jisung, and the rest of the Alpha Phi guys are. 

"What the fuck are they even talking about now?" Hyunjin mutters, squinting.

Chan doesn't even glance up. "You," he says, "should worry more about what we're talking about."

But it's too late. Hyunjin's attention is sucked across the field again, and your voice carries like it was born to be projected across battlefields and lecture halls.

"Okay, fine! But I would definitely survive the plague! I'd be the one investigating it, you know? Trying to track the spread, isolate the bacteria, and invent contact tracing way before its time. I'd be the weird genius who figured shit out."

Changbin immediately snorts so hard it sounds painful. "You'd be patient zero, the superspreader. You'd be like, 'Oh wow, is this flea bite infected?' and then boom, entire village gone."

"I second that," Felix says, throwing a hand up like he's in court. "She'd get infected and keep studying it."

"I'd give you like, five days," Seungmin adds helpfully.

Jeongin hums. "She'd get burned at the stake. They'd think she was a witch."

You gasp, eyes wide. "What the fuck?!"

Minho nods solemnly. "You'd be accused of causing the plague. You'd get drowned or burned or hung, depending on the region."

"Unbelievable! You're all supposed to love me!"

"We do!" Jisung chimes in brightly. "That's why we're being honest. I'd cry at your burning."

Felix pats your head. "We'd avenge you, babe."

"I'm not dead!"

"You would be," Seungmin says, deadpan. "In any medieval European setting, you'd be gone in the first week."

"I'm taking this disrespect personally."

"You should," Jeongin says cheerfully, and they all fucking laugh like they haven't just collectively sentenced you to death via witch trial.

Hyunjin's mouth quirks involuntarily at the sound of your voice, all dramatic indignation and wild hand gestures. You've somehow roped half the football team into a historical survival debate, and he kind of wants to scream at the sky because you're so fucking you. And the way Jisung looks at you, still glowing from your plague lecture and now practically vibrating from laughter, makes Hyunjin's stomach do another weird flip-flop like he's on a diet of nothing but emotions and chaos.

"Okay," Chan says suddenly, breaking Hyunjin's spiralling thoughts. "So. Remember what I said about polyamory?"

Hyunjin groans. "Vaguely. There was bingsu involved."

Chan sighs. "Right. So, let's pick that thread up again, because clearly, you're still operating like you're five and pulling someone's hair on the playground to show you like them."

"I'm not-"

"You are," Chan cuts him off with the tiredness of someone who has dealt with far too many crises to have patience left for bullshit. "Every time Jisung breathes near you, you act like he just pissed in your cereal. I'm half expecting you to start crying about cooties."

Hyunjin blinks, deadpan. "Cooties are very serious."

"Hyun," 

"I know! I know, okay? I'm having a romantic crisis and a sexual identity crisis. At the same fucking time. It's a lot."

From behind them, Minho's voice chimes in like a well-timed sitcom entrance. "I smell queer panic."

Hyunjin wheels around, pointing immediately. "It's Chan! He's having the crisis!"

Chan just nods gravely, expression dry. "Yes. Me. I am so very confused. Do I like dick? Do I like pussy? Do I like everything? I am but a lost and terrified man in a sea of desire."

Minho snorts. "Chan. You came out as pansexual like a year ago. I baked you a fucking cake. Blue, pink, and yellow frosting. The pan flag. Remember?"

"It was delicious," Chan says wistfully.

Minho claps a hand on Hyunjin's shoulder. "So it's you who's the confused baby queer. Got it."

Hyunjin hunches down instantly and hides behind Chan's shoulder, which is ridiculous because he's taller. It looks like a giraffe trying to hide behind a potted plant. Chan doesn't even flinch, just adjusts his stance so Hyunjin can use him as a human shield.

"Aw, poor baby. Do you have big feelings for a man?"

Hyunjin nods behind Chan's head, expression pouty and tragic.

"Oh no," Minho gasps. "Poor thing. Is it confusing?"

Another sad little nod.

"And do you also like said man's girlfriend?"

Yet another nod, lower lip now actively pushed out like a kicked puppy.

Minho holds his arms open. "Come here. Come to me, I will be your guiding queer."

Hyunjin snuggles into Minho's shoulder with an embarrassed groan, and Minho pets his head. "There, there. You're not broken. You're just a bisexual mess with feelings. It happens to the best of us."

"I'm not bisexual," Hyunjin mumbles.

Chan squints. "Then what are you?"

"I don't fucking know," Hyunjin huffs.

Minho raises an eyebrow. "So are you a top with men?"

Hyunjin shrugs. "Both."

Minho hums thoughtfully, rocking him slightly. "And with women?"

"Top."

"We can work with that. I'm seeing a dynamic. Yes. You, Jisung, and Y/N will live in throuple bliss before the year is out."

Hyunjin groans into his shoulder. "Can you explain this polythagorus thing to me again?"

Minho blinks. "You mean polyamory?"

Chan whistles low. "Jesus fucking Christ."

Minho pats his back. "Okay. So, Polyamory means you can love more than one person. At the same time. And it's okay, as long as everyone involved knows about it and agrees to it. No secrets. No cheating. It's about communication and consent. Think of it like, okay, picture a cake."

Chan lifts a finger. "A cake metaphor?"

"Shut up, I like it," Minho snaps. "Picture a cake. You're hungry. One slice? That's monogamy. You love that slice, it's a great slice. But maybe you want another slice, a different flavour. Doesn't mean you don't like the first one. You want chocolate and vanilla."

Chan chimes in. "As long as both slices are okay with being eaten together-"

"Chan," 

"You started it!"

"Anyway," Minho continues, ignoring Chan, "you just have to make sure all the slices are happy. If one slice doesn't want to be shared, then the cake collapses. And no one gets dessert."

Hyunjin stares between them. "That made sense. In a fucked-up way."

Chan nods seriously. "We're here for you."

Minho brushes Hyunjin's bangs back gently. "I'm your eomma now. Chan is your appa."

"I accept this," Hyunjin says solemnly. "Guide me."

And they do. They sit there in a weird triangle of chaos, drawing emotional maps in the dirt and giving metaphorical cake lectures until Hyunjin starts to feel a little less like his heart is on fire and a little more like maybe he can figure this shit out.

The Alpha Phi house is fucking vibrating. Bass thuds so hard through the floorboards that it feels like the whole house is breathing in time with the music. The lights are low, multicoloured LEDs crisscrossing through the air. The theme for tonight is pirates, which means the house is a chaos of leather and ruffles, cheap plastic swords and dramatic eyeliner, sweaty bodies pressed together and grinding.

Hyunjin's drunk. His vest hangs open, exposing the mesh shirt clinging to his chest, black and burgundy fabric fluttering slightly every time he moves. His crisp white cargo pants catch the colored lights like they're a spotlight, and the heavy lace-up boots he's wearing stomp perfectly in time with the beat. The red headband tied around his forehead has slipped slightly, a few strands of blonde hair sticking to his temples with sweat. He's dancing between a girl in a corset and a guy in an open shirt and eye patch, both of them pressed in close, hips rocking with his in perfect rhythm. 

It's hot. It's good. He's in his element. The world is spinning in the best possible way, music loud enough to drown out his thoughts, people grinding up on him, alcohol warming every inch of his body. He closes his eyes and lets himself go with the beat, breath shallow, sweat beading at the back of his neck.

But then he hears you. Your laugh. That bright, unfiltered giggle that's impossible to miss, even in a room like this.

You step out of the kitchen with Jisung, both of you flushed and tipsy, drinks still in hand, and Hyunjin's brain short-circuits. You're both glowing under the string lights, skin radiant and eyes sparkling. 

Your pirate costume is nothing short of criminal. The off-the-shoulder blouse leaves your collarbones and shoulders bare, the flared sleeves dramatic as hell, and the black brocade corset hugging your waist like it was made to be touched. The burgundy mini skirt ruffles at your thighs, dangerously short, showing just enough to send Hyunjin into a full spiral. The sash draped around your hips shimmers every time you move, the same hue as your headscarf, and the knee-high boots you're wearing look like they were fucking designed to stomp on hearts.

And Jisung is a fever dream in red. His coat swirls behind him like a fucking cape, the white ruffled shirt underneath open at the chest just enough to be illegal. His black pants hug his waist perfectly, tucked into combat boots that gleam under the lights. The fake belt of weapons does nothing to distract from the real weapon: him.

Hyunjin freezes mid-step, half in a body roll with the guy behind him, and just stares.

Jisung twirls you, grinning from ear to ear as you spin, your skirt fanning out dramatically before you land against his chest, giggling, faces inches apart. Then Jisung cups your jaw and kisses you full on the mouth, hot and messy and eager. You melt into him like you're made of fucking sunshine and rum.

Hyunjin feels like someone just kicked him in the chest.

And then you pull Jisung onto the dance floor as It Wasn't Me blasts through the speakers. Hyunjin watches as the two of you fall into rhythm instantly. Jisung's hands grip your waist, and you toss your head back, laughing again as you grind against him. 

Your leg wraps around his waist without hesitation, boot hooked behind his back, and he catches you easily, holding you up by the thigh like it's muscle memory.

It's obscene.

You're dancing front to front, bodies locked together, sweat-slick and perfectly in sync. Jisung guides your movements like it's choreographed, his hands roaming your waist, your thigh, one trailing up to the small of your back. The two of you are looking at each other like the rest of the room doesn't exist.

But everyone else sees. Everyone is watching. The dance floor shifts to create a circle around you both. You're like a succubus and an incubus dancing together, too hot, too coordinated, too much for anyone else to compete with. People cheer, whistle, someone yells "Get a room!" and someone else immediately yells "No, don't!"

Hyunjin can't breathe. He wants to join you. Wants to be pressed between you and Jisung, wants to feel your nails in his skin and Jisung's breath on his neck. Wants to be dizzy with your perfume and Jisung's cologne. He wants everything, all of it, every fucking impossible, burning piece of it.

But he just stands there, frozen, watching. Then a hand touches his shoulder, and Chan leans in, voice raised over the music. "Come on, Jinnie. Let's get you a drink, hmm?"

Hyunjin just nods. He doesn't trust himself to speak. Chan pulls him gently but firmly through the crowd, towards the makeshift bar where Minho is working his black-gloved magic with a bottle of rum.

Minho's pirate outfit is dramatic even by his standards. A white ruffled shirt, sleek black vest, vertical striped pants that make his legs look miles long, and lace-up boots. His layered necklaces clink when he moves, and the wide-brimmed hat he's wearing somehow doesn't fall off even as he dramatically shakes a cocktail mixer.

He spots Hyunjin immediately, eyes lighting up in mock sympathy. "Oh my child. Look at you. All confused and sad and drunk."

Hyunjin just nods sadly, face flushed from both the alcohol and the emotional whiplash of seeing his dream throuple making out in the middle of the party.

Minho opens his arms wide. "Come to eomma Minho, my sweet, sad, single child who wants a boyfriend and a girlfriend."

Hyunjin doesn't even hesitate. He mopes over and slumps into Minho's side like a sad sack of limbs and heartbreak, and Minho wraps one arm around his shoulders, gently stroking his hair.

Chan raises an eyebrow and gestures with his chin toward the dance floor. Minho follows his gaze, peering over Hyunjin's head, and then he sees you and Jisung, still dancing like sex demons, and his mouth parts in silent understanding.

"Ah," he says softly. "I see."

"I wanna dance with them."

"I know, baby."

"I wanna sandwich Y/N between me and Jisung."

Minho hums. "Mmm-hmm."

"Or I wanna be the sandwich meat."

Minho coos, petting his hair again. "Of course you do, sweetheart."

Hyunjin has to hunch down to nuzzle properly into Minho's shoulder, face burning.

Chan sips the drink Minho hands him, shaking his head with a smirk. "We're gonna need to get this boy laid and cuddled before he combusts."

"We'll make it happen."

Two hours later, the Alpha Phi house has devolved into a swirling, drunken fever dream. The living room is packed. Someone's swinging a plastic sword, someone else is doing shots off a windowsill, and someone just fell down the stairs and screamed "YO-HO-HO!" on the way down.

You're tucked into Jisung's lap on the couch, flushed and giggling, comfortably squished between him and the armrest while chaos unfolds around you. He's slightly damp with sweat, curls sticking to his forehead. 

"I want to fuck you on this couch," Jisung murmurs into your ear. "Right now. Just rip that little skirt off and bend you over the armrest while everyone watches."

You choke on your drink, giggling, slapping a hand to his chest. "Jesus, Ji-"

"I bet you'd like it," he continues, tone filthy and unbothered. "Bet you'd whimper all soft and pretty, make that fucking face you make when you're desperate. Let me ruin you in front of everyone."

You squeal, curling into him to hide your face as your ears burn, and Jisung just laughs, teeth scraping your earlobe as he whispers, "You're so easy to fluster, I love it."

Changbin climbs onto the coffee table in front of you like he's summoning a crowd, red pirate jacket flaring behind him like a cape. He slams his beer can against his thigh and yells, "TRUTH OR DARE, YOU SCURVY LANDLUBBERS!"

The room erupts into cheers. Empty cans rain onto the floor. Someone falls off the loveseat in excitement. 

"Only if it ends in an orgy!"

"That's every Friday, shut up, Lix!" Changbin cackles, waving him off. "Circle up, sluts!"

You and Jisung end up still tangled together on the couch, your legs slung across his lap, his arms caging you in. Someone throws down cushions, and people start gathering, giggling and drunk, with drinks in hand. The bottle starts spinning, some off-brand soju bottle that probably cost a grand total of 3,000 won but is about to wreck lives.

The dares are chaotic. Jeongin has to propose to a stranger. Someone's dared to do a lap dance for Seungmin, which he tolerates for exactly three seconds before shoving the guy off with an eye roll. Felix is dared to switch outfits with a girl, which he does in record time. There's a lot of yelling, a lot of laughing, and entirely too much glitter.

Then it lands on you and Jisung.

Changbin grins, evil. "Couples dare! You two, mime sex."

The room goes fucking feral. Screams. Laughter. Chants of "DO IT! DO IT!"

Jisung raises his eyebrows at you, biting back a grin. "What do you think, Jagiya? Wanna give them a show?"

You snort, already slipping out of his lap. "If we're doing this, we're committing."

"Oh we're fucking committing," he grins, grabbing your hand and pulling you up with him.

You plant your feet, bend forward slightly, hands on your thighs, and Jisung whoops behind you, immediately sliding in close, one hand on your waist, the other miming an obscene thrust as he grinds behind you in time with the beat.

The crowd loses it. Whistles. Screaming. Someone throws a cushion at the wall. Jeongin covers his face, half-horrified, half-laughing. Chan yells, "PLEASE USE PROTECTION!" and someone else yells, "TOO LATE!"

Jisung leans down and murmurs loud enough for you to hear, "This is exactly how I want to bend you over tonight."

You shriek with laughter, breaking the pose, spinning around to smack his chest. He catches your wrist and kisses your palm like the dramatic bastard he is.

You collapse back onto the couch, breathless, and Jisung immediately pulls you into his lap again, grinning so wide it hurts.

Then the bottle spins and lands on Minho.

"Truth or dare?" Changbin asks.

"Dare," Minho says, completely unfazed.

"Kiss the person you last jerked off thinking about."

Minho doesn't even blink. He turns, calmly grabs Chan by the collar of his pirate shirt, and yanks him forward. Chan doesn't resist. Their mouths crash together, all teeth and heat, Chan's hand sliding into Minho's hair. It's aggressive, filthy, passionate. Minho makes a low noise in his throat, and Chan presses him back against the wall with a grunt.

Jeongin screams. Seungmin screams. Changbin throws his hands in the air and yells, "CALLED IT!"

"Fucking finally!" 

"Was it really me?" Chan breathes into Minho's mouth when they finally part.

Minho smirks. "You had your hands on my hips during warm-up. I'm only human."

The game continues. Things get wilder. More kissing. More stripping. Someone's dared to streak around the backyard. Someone else tries to juggle beer cans and fails spectacularly. People are drunk enough to be unhinged, but not so drunk they don't know what's happening.

Then it lands on Hyunjin. He's cross-legged on the floor, cheeks flushed, red headband crooked. He's been quiet since the game started, nursing the same drink and looking too closely at you and Jisung every time you laugh.

"Truth," he says, voice slightly slurred.

A girl across the circle leans forward, eyes gleaming. "Tell us something you'd never say sober."

"Well," Hyunjin starts, pushing his hair back, "let me fucking tell you something."

Chan's eyes widen. "Uh, Jinnie-"

"No, Christopher! Now is my moment of truth, so to speak!"

Minho sits up straighter, mouth parting. "Hyun, honey, maybe-"

"No! This is truth, right? I have to be honest!"

You glance at Jisung. He's tense now, brows pinched.

Chan drags a hand down his face. "Fuck."

Minho covers his eyes, then peeks through his fingers. "God, it's happening."

Hyunjin stands, wobbling slightly, and points straight at you and Jisung.

"You two!" he announces. "Oh yes! With your perfect little relationship! Happy! So happy! And here's me! Standing on the outside looking in!"

People glance at each other. Jeongin's mouth is open. Changbin's eyes are huge. Seungmin is already cracking up.

"Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend somewhere along- wait. That's a song." Hyunjin blinks. "Uh, basically, I like you both. Like super like you both. And I want to bang you both. Big fucking time. And I've jerked off to you two too many times. Like, a disgusting amount. Like borderline shameful."

You and Jisung freeze.

"What the fuck," Jisung breathes.

Hyunjin hiccups. "Everyone wants Hyunjin! But not the people he wants to want him! No siree! I'm stuck watching you two be happy, wanting to be happy with you!"

He throws his hands out like a Shakespearean actor on a crumbling stage. "There's a fire starting in my heart, reaching a fever pitch- Fuck, another song, sorry! I need to stop that!"

He wobbles forward. "What I meant to say is-"

Minho is up in a flash, grabbing one arm. "Okay! That's enough truth for one night"

Chan's already on the other side. "Let's take a walk, yeah?"

"Noooooo, I wasn't done! I had a metaphor about sandwiches and me being the meat!"

They vanish down the hall with Hyunjin still whining.

You and Jisung stare at each other, stunned silent.

Changbin opens and closes his mouth. Jeongin looks like he just got slapped. 

Seungmin wheezes, laughing uncontrollably. "He fucking quoted Adele. And The Fray. In the same monologue."

Felix pulls away from the two people he was making out with on the stairs. "What the fuck did I just miss?!"

Hyunjin wakes up to the distinct feeling of breath tickling the side of his neck. The air is warm, and there's a heavy weight across his torso, and something scratchy and suspiciously Minho-scented pressed to his back. His mouth tastes like someone funnelled battery acid and a hint of lime down his throat. The ceiling above him is unfamiliar, and when he blinks through the pounding behind his eyes, he registers immediately that this is not his room.

He's in Chan's.

He's very much not alone, either. One arm is curled around his waist, definitely Minho's, judging by the sleek black nail polish and the quiet grumbles of sleep still leaving his mouth. Another arm is draped over his chest like a fucking weighted blanket, heavy and protective, and attached to Chan, who is very much awake and staring directly down at him with that wide-eyed, silently screaming dad expression.

Hyunjin makes a noise that can only be described as a startled kitten with a hangover and shifts to look up at them both, hair a mess of blonde tangles and dried glitter. His voice comes out scratchy. "Why am I not in my room?"

Minho cracks one eye open, sighs, and closes it again. Chan's expression doesn't shift.

"Oh boy," Chan mutters under his breath.

Hyunjin tenses. "What. What happened. Why the fuck are you making that face, Christopher."

 "Well," he says slowly, "how much do you remember?"

Hyunjin groans, rubbing his face. "I remember dancing. And rum. And-" He pauses. His face twitches. "Oh God. Did I- did I try to twerk on Felix or was that a dream?"

"That part was real," Minho says flatly, not opening his eyes. "And it was mutual."

Chan hesitates and Hyunjin's stomach drops. "Chan."

"You may have... said some things," Chan starts carefully. "During Truth or Dare."

"What things?" Hyunjin asks, already trying to sit up. Minho groans in protest and rolls away.

Chan winces. "You kind of confessed. To, uh, some feelings."

Hyunjin blinks. "I what."

"You stood up in front of everyone," Minho chimes in helpfully from where his face is now buried in a pillow. "Quoted Adele. And The Fray. Told Jisung and Y/N that you wanted to fuck them. Said you've jerked off to them too many times."

Hyunjin stares at them, pale.

"Like, full monologue," Chan adds. "Standing ovation level. Theatrical. Lots of hand gestures."

"No."

Chan just gives him a soft, pained smile.

Minho's face is still in the pillow. "Yup."

"No!" Hyunjin bolts upright and grabs the nearest object, Chan's resistance bands, which are looped over a chair next to the bed. "I'm ending it! I'm done! Goodbye, cruel fucking world-"

Chan yelps and lunges forward, grabbing the bands before Hyunjin can loop them dramatically around his neck.

"Jesus, calm the fuck down, Romeo!"

"Let me die!"

"You're not dying in my fucking room!" 

Minho sits up finally, eyes still sleepy. "If you're gonna die, can you do it in the basement? We already have horror-movie energy down there."

Hyunjin throws the bands at Chan's head, scrambles off the bed, and dives for the floor.

"Oh my God, don't-"

But it's too late. Hyunjin slides dramatically under the bed, curling up in the dark, clutching a throw pillow to his chest. His voice comes out muffled from under the frame.

"I'm never coming out. I live here now. This is my home."

Minho throws another pillow down at him. Then a blanket. Then another. Then a third. "There. Nest, achieved."

Hyunjin grabs them all and makes a pathetic little burrow. "Perfect. Leave me to rot."

"It's actually very clean under here," he adds after a moment. "Like, disturbingly clean. Not a single spec of dust. Chan, you serial killer."

"It's called cleaning, you dramatic bastard," Chan says, dropping to his knees to peer under the bed. "Welcome to adulthood."

Hyunjin sighs deeply, curling into his fortress of shame. "Okay. Now I wallow. Forever."

"You can't wallow forever."

"I can. And I will."

Chan groans, flopping onto the floor dramatically beside him. Minho joins him a second later, lying on his stomach and peering under the bed like it's an animal enclosure at the zoo.

Chan props his chin on his hand. "So what's your long-term plan?"

"Live under here," Hyunjin says. "Eat crumbs. Survive off despair and humidity."

Minho tosses a sock at his face. "You're such a fucking mess."

"A hot mess," Hyunjin replies. "A hot mess of regret and sexual frustration."

"Do you want to know what happened after we dragged you away?" Minho asks.

"No," Hyunjin says. "But yes."

"Y/N and Jisung sat there stunned like they'd just been hit by a bus made of horny confessions," Minho says. "Jeongin looked like he saw a ghost. Felix was mid-threesome and had to ask what he missed. Seungmin laughed so hard he choked on a beer."

Hyunjin groans, pressing his face to the floor.

"You are now known as the horny bard of Alpha Phi," Minho adds, grinning.

"I'm dying," Hyunjin whimpers. "This is my coffin."

Chan sighs again. "Look. It could've been worse."

"How?!"

"You could've pissed yourself."

"...Fair."

Chan nudges his foot. "You know we love you, right?"

"Not as much as I love Jisung and Y/N."

Minho smirks. "Well, they know now."

"I was gonna ease into it! Not confess mid-orgy-truth-or-dare!"

Chan grins. "You've never eased into anything in your life."

Minho shrugs. "Could be worse. You could've confessed sober."

"At least now I can blame the rum."

Chan lies back on the floor. "You know we'll help you figure this shit out."

"Even if I live under this bed forever?"

"Even then."

Hyunjin burrows deeper under the blankets. "Fine. But I'm not coming out until everyone forgets I quoted Adele."

The kitchen smells like hangover salvation. Jisung stands at the stove with a ladle in hand, hair still a mess of curls from sleep, eyes glassy from the fallout of last night's disaster. His boxers ride low on his hips as he stirs the haejangguk like he's willing it to erase the emotional carnage and the pounding in his skull.

You're perched on the counter nearby, legs swinging slightly, one of his oversized black t-shirts hanging off your frame and a pair of lace boyshorts barely visible beneath the hem. There's a textbook open in your lap, it's about the dancing plague of 1518. Normally, you'd be narrating it aloud, voice animated as you dissected historical absurdity, but you're silent.

Both of you are.

There's no teasing. No giggling. No whispered filth from Jisung. He's not pulling your legs apart with his foot under the table or leaning over to bite your shoulder like an affectionate menace. And you're not talking either, not about plague bacteria or weird 16th-century shit or the fact that you are both very clearly avoiding the thing you're both thinking about.

Neither of you has said a single fucking word about what Hyunjin yelled last night, about how he poured his heart and libido all over the floor and left you both sitting in stunned silence. You didn't talk when you stumbled back into Jisung's room, didn't talk when you stripped, didn't talk when you fell asleep curled around each other with tension heavy enough to drown in.

Neither of you notices the blur of movement at the edge of the hallway. A flash of blonde hair. A whisper of indecision.

Hyunjin, wrapped in one of Chan's hoodies and two layers of guilt, peeks into the kitchen. He sees you sitting there, beautiful and quiet and unreadable. Jisung at the stove, solemn, stirring without rhythm. It's like a still from a film, a tragic indie one, probably with subtitles and a heartbreaking soundtrack.

He freezes.

You're not laughing. The two of you are not even talking.

His stomach drops to his knees, and his hands curl around the sleeves of the hoodie like he's trying to become smaller. Without a sound, he steps back and scuttles up the stairs like a startled raccoon.

He bursts into Chan's room, still breathless, eyes wide, and flings himself back onto the floor where he'd made his dramatic little blanket cave under the bed earlier.

Chan looks up from where he's sitting cross-legged on the rug, phone in one hand. Minho is lounging on Chan's bed, flipping through a fashion magazine that he only pretends to hate.

Hyunjin throws himself onto the floor like a martyr. "I broke them!"

Chan blinks. "Broke what?"

"Them!" Hyunjin flails his arms like a conductor leading a symphony of doom. "Y/N and Jisung! They're not talking! I went to get coffee, I swear, but I saw them in the kitchen, and they were just existing. In silence. You know how fucked that is?!"

Minho sits up, startled. "Wait, what?!"

Hyunjin scrambles upright. "They're being quiet! Both of them!"

Chan's brow furrows. "Okay, but like, did you get coffee though?"

Hyunjin throws his arms up. "No! I forgot the coffee because they were being weird! Bigger problems!"

Minho stares. "They're not talking to each other?!"

Hyunjin nods furiously. "Not a word! Just cooking and staring at a fucking textbook. In silence!"

Both Chan and Minho freeze like someone told them Santa Claus isn't real. Chan stands slowly, hand to his chest. "None of us has coffee. And they're quiet?"

"Yes! Y/N and Jisung are SILENT!"

Chan looks like he's aged five years in five seconds. "Oh no."

Minho covers his mouth with one hand. "It's worse than we thought."

Chan immediately grabs his slipper off the floor and starts smacking Hyunjin with it.

"THIS," slap "IS WHAT," slap "HAPPENS," slap "WHEN YOU GET DRUNK," slap "AND CONFESS MID-PARTY LIKE A MUSICAL THEATER STUDENT ON A BENDER!"

Hyunjin doesn't resist. He just bows his head, taking each slap with solemn dignity.

Minho watches, arms crossed. "Are you done?"

"No. Just one more hit."

Smack.

Hyunjin blinks up at them, defeated. "This is your fault."

Chan and Minho exchange a glance.

Hyunjin sits up. "You two. With your polythagorous bullshit. I was fine just being a pining, repressed disaster. But noooo, you had to talk about cake slices and now look!"

Minho blinks. "He's got a point."

Chan nods slowly. "We did awaken the beast."

Hyunjin stands, suddenly empowered. "I demand retribution!"

Chan sighs and hands him the slipper.

Minho nods once and stands up beside Chan. "Go on. Do what must be done."

They both bend over. Hyunjin doesn't hesitate. He swats them both across the ass, one after the other, dramatic and righteous.

"BAD PARENTS!" Whack.

"YOU DID THIS!" Whack.

"I WAS FINE JUST MASTURBATING IN SECRET!" Whack.

Minho straightens up and nods, rubbing his ass. "We deserved that."

Chan groans, standing. "Honestly, yeah."

The living room is soaked in late afternoon light, soft and warm through the open windows, catching the dust motes drifting lazily through the air. The television is playing Horrible Histories, your favourite show to throw on during low-brain-cell days, and you and Jisung are planted firmly on the couch like a pair of content mushrooms. 

You're curled up on one end, feet in his lap, your white midi dress with delicate blue flowers spilling around you. Jisung looks equally at peace, sprawled out in soft, worn lounge clothes, a grey oversized hoodie and matching sweatpants.

On screen, the William Wallace parody begins, the absurdly catchy Scottish Rebel song, complete with fake beards and bad accents. You perk up immediately, your entire body alert like a meerkat who heard the snack bag rustle.

"Look at Ben Willbond," you say, pointing as the camera zooms in on him in a kilt and messy wig. "As William Wallace! Look at that cheekbone structure. Revolutionary."

"You and Ben Willbond, I swear..."

"Tell me he doesn't look like he'd dirty talk in iambic pentameter."

Jisung snorts. "You know what? I would fuck him too. Or be fucked by him. Especially Mike Peabody"

You sit bolt upright. "VINDICATION!"

He grins, pulling you closer into his side as you collapse against him in victory. "Can't believe you've been trying to convert me into a Willbond slut for this long and all it took was a newsreader character and a Scottish rebellion."

"Some of us are visionaries," 

Jisung kisses your forehead, fingers still moving through your hair. "Some of us are thirsty for niche British actors."

You giggle, nuzzling into his chest. "Don't pretend you're not"

"I invoke my right to silence,"

You both lapse into easy silence again, comfort so thick you could drape it over yourselves like a blanket. You haven't talked about Hyunjin. Neither of you has brought it up. But something about the way you lean into each other now, like maybe you're both waiting for the same storm to pass, speaks volumes.

The door creaks open behind you, and neither of you pays much attention. Alpha Phi is a revolving door of shirtless men and discarded laundry. But then a voice pipes up, half-distracted, from behind the couch.

"So, Chan, I was researching polyamory and-"

Hyunjin stops dead. He's still looking at his phone, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, brows furrowed like he's deep in a Wikipedia hole. But then his eyes finally lift, and he freezes in place as he registers that Chan is not in the room.

You are. And so is Jisung. Both of you are staring at him like deer in headlights. Matching, slack-jawed expressions of pure, disbelieving what the fuck.

Hyunjin's entire soul leaves his body. He stands there, frozen for maybe a second, then clears his throat and says with the dry finality of a man accepting execution, 

"So. I'm off to kill myself. Nice knowing you two. Sorry about the party thing."

He spins on his heel to leave, but Jisung sits up fast. "Hyunjin, wait!"

Hyunjin pauses, then slowly drops to a crouch behind the loveseat and disappears. A second later, his eyes peek over the top of it. Just his eyes.

"I'm ready," 

You and Jisung stare at him, unsure whether to laugh or start crying.

Jisung rubs a hand down his face. "Do you like both of us?"

Hyunjin doesn't move. Just nods slowly, forehead barely visible above the couch now.

Jisung exhales. "Why didn't you just tell us?"

Hyunjin groans. "Because I didn't think I'd ever like-like a guy outside of sex, let alone liking a guy and his girlfriend at the same time! I've been having a sexual identity crisis, and a romantic crisis, and then Chan and Minho gave me a dumb polyamory talk with a cake metaphor, and I got even more confused, and then I confessed during Truth or Dare, and now you're both in a relationship, and I'm a walking disaster! It's been a lot!"

Jisung blinks. "Is that why you've been such a little shit?"

Hyunjin nods again.

You snort before you can stop it. A loud, abrupt laugh that you try to smother with a pillow but fail to contain. Your whole body shakes as you press the pillow to your face, and Jisung starts laughing too, trying to hold it in but fucking losing it the second he sees you crying with giggles.

"It's not funny!" 

You pull the pillow away from your face just long enough to wheeze out, "I'm sorry! You were doing the equivalent of pulling Jisung's pigtails this whole time!"

Hyunjin lets out a long, pained sound and ducks fully behind the couch again. "I hate it here. This is bullying!"

You and Jisung are gasping with laughter now, doubled over, eyes watering. Jisung wipes a tear from his cheek and says, "Okay, okay, sorry. For real."

Hyunjin pops his head up again, cheeks flushed. "Now that it's all out in the open, are you two open to polythagorousness?"

You both freeze.

"To what?" you ask slowly.

Hyunjin sighs and makes a triangle with his hands. "You know. Like polythagory"

Jisung leans back, rubbing his temples. "Oh my god. You mean polyamory."

Hyunjin nods quickly. "That one."

Jisung glances at you. You nod at him. Then Jisung turns back to Hyunjin. "We've talked about it before. We've established we'd be open to it."

Hyunjin's eyes bulge. "Why wouldn't you tell me that?!"

Jisung throws his hands up. "Why would we tell you we had that conversation?!"

"DO YOU KNOW THE COMPLICATIONS I HAVE BEEN HAVING?! THE PERSONAL JOURNEY I HAVE BEEN ON?!" Hyunjin slaps a hand to his forehead. "I am taking you two on a date. A real date. That I will plan. And pay for. And you two will fall madly in love with me and we will be polythageorean!"

"Polyamorous," Jisung corrects gently.

"WHATEVER!" Hyunjin yells and storms dramatically out of the room.

You and Jisung stare after him, silent for a long beat, and then Jisung turns to you.

"Well," he says, voice hoarse from laughing, "we're gonna die, huh?"

You lean into him, grinning. "If we're going down, at least we're going down polythageorean."

The morning sun slices through the blinds in stripes, golden beams dancing lazily across the messy floor of Jisung's room. You and Jisung are both fresh from the shower. Jisung's standing in the middle of the room, towel wrapped low around his hips, aggressively scrubbing at his hair with another towel like it personally offended him. 

You're perched on the edge of his desk chair in nothing but a towel, your legs crossed as you lean toward the standing desk mirror he bought for you. Your makeup bag is splayed open across the surface. You're carefully sweeping a soft pastel green eyeshadow across your lids with a flat brush, tongue poking out in concentration. Underneath your eyes, a shimmer of silver catches the light with every blink, sparkling like tiny constellations on your skin.

Jisung drops his towel and heads to the dresser. He digs around for a second before pulling on a pair of snug black boxer briefs. You glance up just in time to catch the stretch of his back, the curve of his shoulders, and the way his abs flex when he exhales.

"Can you not be hot while I'm trying to focus?" you ask, not bothering to hide the grin curling your lips.

Jisung turns, already slipping on a fitted black long-sleeve top that clings to every inch of his torso like it was fucking painted on. "Me? Hot? Never."

You raise an eyebrow. "You look like the lead vocalist in a post-apocalyptic K-pop group."

"Thank you," he says seriously, then grabs his tailored black cargo pants and slides them on, adjusting the waistband before cinching it with a bold gold Versace belt. He throws on a chunky gold chain with a thick cross pendant, and then turns to check himself out in the mirror. "Should I do the earrings?"

"You always should do the earrings."

Jisung laughs, reaching into the little dish on his dresser for the pair of small hoops. "God, I'm fucking nervous."

You scoff. "You? You're nervous?"

"Uh, yeah? Jagiya, Hyunjin is taking us on a date. That he planned. This man has taste. He's got Pinterest boards. He coordinates his outfits to the mood of the day."

"You coordinated your belt to your chain,"

"Yeah, but that was for you. If it were for Hyunjin, there'd be a fog machine involved."

You laugh, setting your brush down and reaching for your moisturiser. "Fair point."

You swipe a generous amount over your skin, massaging it in as you let the eye makeup set, then stand, and move to the closet. You pull on a white strapless bra and a pair of lacy white boyshorts before stepping into your outfit. 

The off-the-shoulder crop top hugs you snugly, the puffed sleeves bouncing slightly as you tug it into place. The fabric is soft, delicate, edged with small ruffles that flutter when you move. You pull on the pastel green floral midi skirt next, adjusting the high waist and smoothing it down, letting the slit rest comfortably on your thigh. Finally, you bend to lace up your white high-top Converse, hopping slightly to get the tongue aligned just right.

You slide your star earrings in and clip on your silver necklace, then move back to the mirror to start taking the curlers out of your hair one by one, letting the soft curls bounce down, framing your face perfectly. Then you pull the top half back, securing it loosely with a white ribbon, two strands left loose in the front to frame your face. You glance at Jisung through the mirror.

"You're staring," 

"You're a fucking fairy," he says, completely deadpan. "I feel like you should float around asking villagers riddles and luring men into a dance circle."

You turn to him, hands on your hips. "And you look like you seduce tourists in European nightclubs and steal their wallets. Together, we are unstoppable."

There's a knock at the door. "Hyunjin's waiting outside," Minho calls through it. "Stop being weird and get down there."

You grab your small white shoulder bag and sling it over your shoulder, holding it open as Jisung drops his phone and wallet into it. You toss in your phone and your little coin purse, zip it closed, and then both of you reach for your sunglasses, Jisung's are round and slightly tinted, yours oversized and square with silver rims.

You take a moment at the door, both of you checking each other one last time.

"You good?" Jisung asks.

"As I'll ever be," you say, breath catching just slightly.

You head downstairs, sneakers thumping against the steps, and step out into the bright afternoon sun.

And then you see him.

Hyunjin's leaning against the side of his convertible like it's a goddamn magazine shoot. He's dressed in a deep plum-toned corduroy set, jacket oversized, sleeves pushed up slightly to reveal his wrists adorned with silver bracelets, pants wide-legged and pooling just perfectly over chunky black sneakers. A black Versace tank top is visible beneath the jacket, clinging to his torso like a second skin. His belt has a massive silver buckle that gleams in the sun, and he's wearing oversized black sunglasses that hide most of his face. His hair is half pulled back, the rest cascading in soft waves around his face.

Jisung stumbles slightly and mutters under his breath, "Lord, have mercy."

You nod slowly, eyes wide, and both of you slide your sunglasses down your noses for a better look. Hyunjin catches it and smirks.

"Subtle," he says, his voice amused as he straightens and strides over to the passenger door, opening it with a dramatic flourish.

He doesn't say anything else, just gestures with a bow and a cocky tilt of his head.

You and Jisung glance at each other. You both shrug. And then you climb in, Jisung right behind you.

Hyunjin closes the door, rounds the car, and slides into the driver's seat like he owns the world.

As the engine roars to life, Jisung leans over to you and whispers, "If we don't fuck him by the end of this date, it's only because we're dead or he's very chivalrous."

You nod solemnly. "Agreed."

Hyunjin pulls the car to a smooth stop at the curb of a sleek building tucked between a row of quirky cafés and speciality bookstores, the kind of unassuming exterior that practically dares you to underestimate it. He kills the engine and leans an elbow casually over the steering wheel, turning to face you and Jisung in the backseat.

"Okay," he says, voice tinged with mischievous glee. "Keep your eyes down until I say so. I'm serious. No peeking."

You and Jisung exchange a look and obey without question, ducking your heads like kids being told to wait before opening a birthday present.

"You better not be taking us into a butcher shop," Jisung mutters, lips twitching.

You snort. "If you are, I swear to god, I will cry."

"I promise it's not a butcher," Hyunjin says, grin audible in his voice. "Trust me. You're gonna love it."

He slides out of the car and circles around to open the back door again with a little bow. You keep your head down as you step out, letting him take your hand to help you out of the low seat. Jisung follows, doing a dramatic little stumble like he's disoriented, mumbling "where the fuck am I?" under his breath. Hyunjin's chuckle vibrates through the air.

He guides you both to the front of the building with a firm but gentle hand on your lower backs, navigating the entrance like he's been here before. The moment the door opens, a blast of cool air hits your face.

You hear Hyunjin speak to someone at the ticket counter. "Three, please."

There's a pause, the beep of a scanner, and the gentle crinkle of printed paper. Hyunjin takes the tickets and turns toward you both. 

"Okay," he says, excitement bubbling under the surface, "you can look now."

You and Jisung lift your heads. The massive banner overhead reads: The History of Medicine: From Leeches to Lasers – A Special Pop-Up Exhibit.

Your jaw drops. Jisung lets out a sharp laugh of disbelief, eyes wide as he stares at the life-sized, grotesque medieval surgery diorama posed right at the entrance.

"Welcome," Hyunjin says, grinning like the little shit he is, "to your wet dream."

You're beaming before you can stop it. "You planned this?"

"Hell yeah, I did," Hyunjin says proudly. "Minho helped me find it and proofread the directions. Chan double-checked the route for traffic and told me to bring mints in case we kiss later."

Jisung's already ten steps ahead, pointing at a display case of antique amputation saws. "Oh my god, is that a 17th-century bone saw?!"

You grab Hyunjin's hand on instinct, dragging him forward. "This is fucking amazing, I can't believe you found this. I didn't even know there was a pop-up museum like this."

"I did research," Hyunjin says smugly as he lets you tug him forward. "Which, by the way, included scrolling through Reddit forums at 3 a.m. about obscure travelling medical exhibits. You're welcome."

Jisung turns around and walks backwards so he can talk to both of you while staring at the plague doctor mannequin in the corner. "Did you know they used to think bad smells caused disease? Like they believed if it smelled bad, it was bad. That's why plague doctors wore those masks, they stuffed them with herbs to filter the air."

"Miasma theory," you add, beaming. "They thought bad air spread sickness. It wasn't until the mid-1800s that germ theory started getting traction. Like, people were bathing in rivers of shit and wondering why they were dying."

Hyunjin makes a face. "Okay, that's fucking disgusting."

You giggle and lean into his side. "We haven't even gotten to the part where they drilled holes in people's skulls to release demons."

Jisung points dramatically to the map displayed near the entrance, colour-coded and massive. "Wait. Hold on. This covers everything. This is like prehistoric to modern era. Look, there's a section on Mesopotamia, Egypt, Greece, Rome, medieval Europe, colonial medicine, Victorian shit, early vaccinations, oh my god. This is hours of stuff."

Hyunjin glances over, eyes landing on the map, and his face falters slightly. The museum stretches in a winding, labyrinthine path with over twenty separate rooms, each covering a different era or theme. It ends in modern-day robotics and virtual surgical tools.

He looks back at you and Jisung, who are both practically vibrating with excitement, and sighs silently. "Okay," he mutters. "Strap in, I guess."

You don't notice his internal breakdown. You're already pulling him toward the first exhibit: a collection of Neolithic skulls showing evidence of trepanation. You start rattling off facts almost immediately.

"So this hole here? That's trepanation. It's the oldest surgical procedure we know of. They drilled into people's skulls to relieve pressure or drive out evil spirits."

Jisung leans in. "What the fuck. That looks like it was done with a rock."

"Because it was done with a rock. Sometimes, flint blades. And what's even more fucked is that some people survived it with no anaesthesia, just adrenaline and eventual unconsciousness."

Hyunjin's eye twitches. "That's fucking cursed."

You keep going, dragging him from one exhibit to the next. You explain ancient Egyptian embalming methods while standing in front of a mummified hand. You talk about humoral theory and how ancient doctors believed your health depended on the balance of blood, phlegm, black bile, and yellow bile. You describe how the Black Death was blamed on planetary alignments and Jews, how urine charts were used for diagnosis, and how people drank mercury because they thought it would purify them.

Jisung adds in facts, too, sometimes absurd, sometimes niche. He explains how battlefield medics in World War I used iodine to sterilise wounds and how American doctors did lobotomies by hammering ice picks through the eye socket. You and he go back and forth, building off each other, voices rising with excitement, eyes bright.

Hyunjin trails behind, looking mildly traumatised but weirdly endeared. He keeps asking questions, even when he clearly regrets the answers.

"Wait, leeches? Like actual leeches?"

"Yes!" you say, turning around with a big grin. "They were used to balance the humours. Bloodletting was huge. They'd literally attach a leech to your skin to suck out the 'excess' blood."

Hyunjin shudders. "I'm gonna throw up."

"Do you know leech saliva has anticoagulants?" Jisung adds helpfully. "So it keeps the blood flowing. Relieves pressure and improves circulation."

Hyunjin gags. "I take back everything. This date was a mistake. I want to go home."

But he doesn't leave. He sticks close, even when he cringes, even when he physically recoils from a wax figure of a man having a limb amputated with no anaesthetic while screaming. You grab his hand every so often without thinking, fingers tangling with his, and Jisung occasionally bumps his hip, playful and warm.

Hyunjin sits on a bench between two displays and mutters, "How the fuck are you two so into this? It's all blood and pus and disease."

You flop down beside him, crossing your legs neatly, and grin. "Because it's fascinating! It's the root of everything we know now. Modern medicine exists because people did horrible, stupid, often batshit insane shit. Like giving syphilis patients mercury or treating tuberculosis with sunshine and good vibes."

Jisung drops into the seat on Hyunjin's other side. "It's like watching humanity fail forward in slow motion."

Hyunjin groans. "You guys are nerds."

You lean your head on his shoulder. "And you're stuck with us."

He pauses, then lets his head rest lightly on top of yours.

"I did this to myself," he mumbles.

"Yes, you did," Jisung agrees, stretching his legs out. "And you paid for it."

Hyunjin closes his eyes and exhales through his nose.

"You're lucky I like you both," he mutters. "Because this is the grossest date I've ever been on."

You smile, reaching over to squeeze his hand.

"Just wait," you say sweetly. "It gets way worse."

Three hours later, the three of you stumble out of the pop-up museum. You and Jisung are still talking animatedly about the final exhibit, robotic surgical assistance and experimental gene therapy, while Hyunjin trails behind, looking like he aged three years somewhere between the syphilis display and the iron lung.

"That was intense," Hyunjin mutters, stretching his arms over his head as he tries to shake off the existential dread of medieval surgical practices and the evolution of birthing instruments.

"You survived," you tease, bumping his arm with your shoulder.

"Barely," he mutters. "I need something beautiful and rich and not covered in leeches."

"Wow," Jisung says, slinging an arm casually around your waist as you all walk down the street. "Good thing you're taking us to a fancy restaurant next, huh?"

Hyunjin straightens like he forgot he still had another part of the date to host. He suddenly looks more alert, posture adjusting, like he's about to go on stage. "Right. Yes. This way. I've got it all sorted."

He leads you through a quieter part of the city, the pace slowing as you near a minimalist building with sleek black windows and gold lettering across the door: Mingle. A host greets him just inside the entrance, and Hyunjin calmly gives the name for the reservation.

"Hwang. Table for three."

The host gives a polite bow and smiles. "Of course, right this way."

You and Jisung follow him through the softly lit restaurant, the air rich with the scent of grilled seafood and earthy sauces. It's cosy but upscale, the kind of place where even the water has a complex flavour profile. The lighting is low and warm, casting everyone in a flattering golden hue, and the walls are adorned with soft, neutral textures that make the entire place feel like a secret oasis in the middle of the city.

You slip into your seat across from Hyunjin, Jisung beside you. He gives your hand a little squeeze under the table.

"Holy shit," Jisung whispers, eyes scanning the interior. "This is fancy."

Hyunjin beams, obviously proud but trying not to look too smug about it. "Chan and Minho had to call in favours for this one."

Jisung raises an eyebrow. "Wait, Chan and Minho?"

Hyunjin winces slightly. "I might have cried a little."

You snort. "You cried?"

"I was emotionally compromised, okay?" Hyunjin huffs, adjusting his sunglasses, now resting on top of his head. "I just wanted the perfect date. I had a whole meltdown on the living room floor. Minho had to bribe me with yoghurt to stop sobbing."

The waiter arrives with menus, bowing slightly and placing the elegant black booklets in front of each of you. You open yours slowly, letting your fingers run over the textured paper.

"This has been really great," Jisung says quietly, his voice soft with genuine warmth.

Hyunjin looks up fast. "Really?"

You and Jisung both nod. "Yes," you say. "Absolutely."

Hyunjin exhales hard, slumping in relief. "Thank fuck. I was genuinely ready to sob into the risotto if you told me this sucked and I wasn't throuple material. I was rehearsing a tragic speech and everything."

"You're doing great," you say sweetly, reaching across the table to squeeze his wrist.

Jisung flips through the menu with a grin. "You're like a hot mess with anxiety and accessories. It's our type."

The three of you decide to go with a full spread, choosing a selection of starters, mains, and desserts so you can share everything. The waiter returns with his notepad ready.

"For starters," you say, "we'll have the chestnut rice cake, the Korean beef jamon, and the fried red mullet with gamtae roll."

Hyunjin glances at you, grinning. "Also, the hanwoo beef tartare with smoked eel. I'm being brave."

You all settle back into the plush seats, the murmur of the restaurant around you a quiet hum of conversation and clinking glasses.

"So," Hyunjin says, swirling his water like it's wine. "Tell me more about Horrible Histories."

You gasp dramatically. "Okay, so Horrible Histories is this British historical sketch comedy show, and it's for kids technically, but it's so good. It's got songs, sketches, and recurring characters. And most of it's historically accurate!"

"It teaches kids that people in history were also just messy little shits," Jisung adds.

"There's this one character," you continue, "Mike Peabody, who's a news anchor from the past, and he reports like he's on a modern news show, but about ancient Rome or medieval London. And he's so over it all the time. Ben Willbond plays him. He's a fucking legend."

"Do not," Jisung warns seriously, "watch after season five. They changed the cast, and it went downhill so fast."

You blow a raspberry. "They replaced the original team with theatre kids. The energy was off."

Hyunjin tilts his head. "That's... weirdly passionate."

You unlock your phone, scrolling to your saved album, and spin it around to show him a photo of Ben Willbond as Alexander the Great, tunic, cape, wig, the works.

Hyunjin stares. "Damn."

"Right?!" you exclaim, delighted.

Jisung reaches for his phone. "Okay, wait, you have to see the Dick Turpin song. This is, like, peak horny horse thief energy."

He pulls up the clip and places his phone between the three of you. Hyunjin leans in, eyes narrowing.

"Oh my god," Hyunjin whispers halfway through. "They gave him eyeliner and a leather trench coat. Why is this working?"

"You're being seduced by a BBC production," you say.

"Join the club," Jisung adds.

Then you're all leaning over your screens, showing Hyunjin clips of Mike Peabody reporting from the Bastille, the Four Georges singing a boy band ballad, and Bob Hale delivering an exhausting yet iconic summary of the War of the Roses. Hyunjin is laughing so hard he has to wipe his eyes with the cloth napkin.

"This is fucking chaos," he says between laughs.

"That's the point!" you say, beaming. "It makes history fun. Also, Bob Hale is me during exams. Just panicked, over-caffeinated, and rambling facts until someone stops me."

"I can't believe I've never seen this," Hyunjin says, still chuckling as he sets his phone down. "You guys are gonna ruin my YouTube algorithm."

Jisung leans into him slightly, shoulder pressing against his. "You'll thank us later when you're humming Stupid Deaths to yourself at 3 a.m."

The first round of dishes arrives, artfully plated and aromatic. The fried red mullet is golden and crisp, the gamtae roll earthy and savoury. The beef jamon practically melts on the tongue. You take turns tasting everything, sharing bites and swapping plates like you've done this a thousand times.

You watch Jisung roll his eyes back theatrically as he chews the smoked eel. "Jesus fucking Christ, that's insane."

Hyunjin hums through a mouthful of tartare. "I feel like I should be feeding this to someone on a fur rug."

"I am wearing floral," you say, offering him a bite of rice cake. "Does that count?"

He accepts it with a grin, chewing thoughtfully before offering you a bite of his eel in return.

The night goes on, full of soft laughter and easy conversation, the kind of warmth that settles deep in your chest and makes you forget how nervous you were this morning. The main dishes are even better, silky fish mandu, perfectly cooked abalone, sweet and rich Jeju fish, puffed rice that crackles delightfully between your teeth, and a sticky rice risotto that nearly makes Hyunjin cry with joy. The king crab is tender and buttery, and all three of you go silent for a minute as you savour it.

Dessert is absurd. The bibimbap is reinvented with sweet flavours, and the rice ice cream and pudding are so good that Jisung licks the bowl when he thinks no one's watching, only to look up and catch both you and Hyunjin staring with smug grins.

"I have no shame. Zero shame."

"We know,"

The sky has long slipped into that velvety indigo that wraps the world in hush, the stars flickering faint behind a city glow too stubborn to fade entirely. The drive back to the Alpha Phi house is quiet in a way that feels full. The hum of the engine and the low city sounds do enough talking for now.

Hyunjin parks just a little crooked in the frat house's gravel-strewn driveway, the tires crunching to a halt under the porch light glow. He sits back in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel, the other bracing on the gearstick, and looks at you both.

"So... okay," he says, trying to sound casual but failing because his voice does that thing where it climbs an octave when he's trying to hide that he's a little flustered. "To do this properly, we have to pretend I don't live here. Temporarily. Right now. I'm dropping you two off like a respectable date. I'll wait five minutes, then I'll go inside. Cool?"

You and Jisung nod in tandem, amused but not arguing.

"Cool," Hyunjin repeats, nodding to himself. "Method acting. I love that for me."

You all climb out of the car, and it's suddenly very quiet in the driveway. And then Jisung steps forward and grabs the lapels of Hyunjin's jacket, tugging him in so quickly it makes Hyunjin stumble slightly.

"Wha- oh my fuck-"

And then Jisung kisses Hyunjin with full force, mouth warm and hungry, one hand still twisted in the corduroy lapel like he's making sure Hyunjin doesn't try to back away even though he absolutely isn't. Hyunjin makes a sound between a gasp and a strangled moan, and his hands come up, frozen for half a second before they curl into the fabric at Jisung's sides. Jisung is all sure movements, tilting his head, coaxing Hyunjin's mouth open, tongue teasing against Hyunjin's lower lip until the other man chokes on a whimper and gives in completely.

When Jisung finally pulls back, Hyunjin's lips are parted, glossy, and he's just standing there with his brain visibly buffering.

You step in. Soft where Jisung was firm, gentle where he was urgent. You reach up, fingers brushing the curve of Hyunjin's jaw, and kiss him, letting him lead this time. You don't push, just press your mouth to his and wait, and he does. He tilts into you, his hands finally moving with intention. One settles at your waist, the other slides up your back, pulling you in as his mouth opens against yours. He kisses like he's trying to memorise it, slow and deep and aching, tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that makes your knees weak. His teeth catch your bottom lip, and he groans into your mouth like it surprises him.

When he finally breaks away, he leans in, lips still ghosting against yours as he breathes you in.

"Shit," he whispers.

Jisung slides his arm around your waist and pulls you against him, planting a kiss on your temple. Hyunjin just stares, lips swollen, eyes wide, like he can't quite believe what just happened.

You and Jisung head inside together, your steps light and giddy. 

Hyunjin doesn't move for a solid thirty seconds. Then he exhales, dazed, and brings his fingers to his lips. He leans back against his car like it's the only thing keeping him upright, head tilted to the sky, a grin slowly stretching across his face as he whispers, "What the actual fuck."

Five minutes later, Hyunjin quietly slips through the front door of the house. The lights in the kitchen are low, the overhead bulb above the stove casting a soft glow across the countertops. Chan and Minho are waiting, of course.

Minho is in a deep blue silk robe, wine glass in hand, bare legs crossed at the ankle as he leans against the counter like a smug sitcom wife. Chan is perched on the island, a bowl of strawberries in front of him and his phone in one hand.

Hyunjin walks in like a man floating above his body.

"Well?" Minho says without preamble.

Hyunjin sighs dreamily. "Fucking incredible."

Minho raises his glass. "As expected."

Hyunjin doesn't sit at the table or take a chair. He drops straight to the floor with a boneless sigh and rests his head in Minho's lap like a content cat. Minho chuckles softly and strokes his hair with the hand not holding wine.

"You smell like Chan's cologne," Hyunjin mumbles, eyes closed.

Minho clears his throat, suddenly very interested in his wine. Chan smirks over his bowl.

"No," Hyunjin gasps, eyes flying open as he props himself up on one elbow to stare up at Minho in horror. "No."

Chan's grin widens. "Yes."

"No."

Minho smiles sweetly. "Oh yes."

"You two are fucking?!"

Minho nods.

Chan shrugs. "It's new-ish."

"EW!" Hyunjin claps both hands over his ears. "It's like finding out my real eomma and appa have sex!"

Chan doesn't miss a beat. "Hyunjin, how do you think you exist? Your actual parents had sex, probably more than once, and bam, here you are."

Hyunjin lets out another strangled scream, rolling dramatically across the kitchen floor like he's trying to escape the imagery. 

"So," Minho says casually, "did you ask Jisung and Y/N to be your boyfriend and girlfriend? In polyamorous bliss? You know, the entire point of tonight?"

Hyunjin freezes. "I knew I forgot something!"

Minho groans, loud and pained. "Aish!"

Chan pinches the bridge of his nose and mutters, "We raised a clown."

"I got distracted by the kissing!" Hyunjin defends. "There was tongue! I panicked!"

Minho smacks the back of his head lightly. "You idiot! You planned a five-star date, emotionally wrecked yourself, spent months having an identity crisis, and then forgot the fucking question?!"

"I'll ask them tomorrow," Hyunjin says quickly. "I swear. I'll be chill. Romantic. Like an emotionally competent adult."

Minho looks down at him, exasperated but fond. "You are lucky we love you."

Hyunjin leans against his knee again, dramatically sighing. "And I love you two, even though now I am going to have nightmares"

"You're welcome," Chan says, and shoves a strawberry into his mouth.

The morning spills into the kitchen like warm syrup, soft light stretching across the counter and casting golden stripes over the mismatched cereal boxes, abandoned textbooks, and Jisung's half-written grocery list scrawled on the whiteboard in chaotic handwriting. 

You're curled up by the sink in your favourite fluffy light blue slippers, a white silk slip nightie barely visible beneath your long matching robe. The sleeves droop around your wrists as you stir the honeycomb mixture in the tiny saucepan, the air around you already heavy with the scent of caramelised sugar.  You smile to yourself, spooning the gooey sweetness into two large mugs, your own with Sophie from Howl's Moving Castle, and the one with Howl for Jisung.

Jisung is swaying side to side at the stove, hair an utter mess, wearing nothing but an ancient baggy t-shirt that once belonged to you. The words IDK HOW MUCH LONGER I CAN SLAY FOR are stamped across the chest, right under a deranged image of a capybara on a jetski, wearing sunglasses. His boxers are crooked, his legs bare, and he's humming the instrumental theme to Spirited Away like it's a love song.

"Smells like sugar and a crime scene." 

You blow gently across the steaming surface of your coffee. "It's my special Dalgona coffee, how dare you?"

"I love your special coffee," he replies, still dreamy. "It's better than sex. Almost."

You slide his mug over and lean against the counter. "That shirt's clinging to you like it regrets being born."

Jisung looks down at himself. "It's iconic. And you love this stupid thing."

You smile around your mug. "I do. But the capybara has more stability than you do right now."

"That's why he's my role model."

He turns back to the stove, stirring the Hobakjuk carefully, checking the texture every few seconds. The pumpkin porridge simmers peacefully, thick and velvety, the orange-gold surface flecked with tiny dots of cinnamon, nutmeg, and just enough maple syrup to make it a dessert instead of breakfast.

"Made it sweet like you like," 

You step forward and press a kiss to his cheek. "You're my favourite domestic menace."

Before he can answer, the door swings open.

Hyunjin enters like he's on a stage, arms full of fresh flowers, dramatic coat sweeping the floor like he's just walked in from a musical number. He's holding three full bouquets, one bursting with wildflowers, one structured with tulips and orchids, and one somehow featuring baby's breath arranged into a fucking heart.

You and Jisung both freeze, eyes wide as he drops the bouquets onto the counter like he's throwing down the gauntlet.

"I... have written no speech," Hyunjin begins, chest heaving as if he's already run a marathon. "But I have feelings. Deep, intense, multi-dimensional, polyangular feelings-"

Jisung chokes on his coffee, and you have to raise your mug to hide your smile, eyes watering with the effort not to laugh.

Hyunjin points to the ceiling like he's summoning divine inspiration. "For too long, I have pined. I have suffered. I have hidden in closets, under beds, in plain sight. But no more. Today, I stand before you, emotionally naked, though physically clothed in this stunning outfit, and I say: I desire throuplehood. I wish for trinity. For polynautical partnership."

You almost drop your cup as Hyunjin continues, unbothered. 

"I have tried to learn the correct terminology. I have Googled. I have interrogated Minho and Chan. I still do not know the word. I refuse to know the word."

"Don't ever learn it," Jisung whispers into his cup.

"I have found the word in my heart," Hyunjin says proudly. "And it is polyangular. For we are angles, and love is geometry. And what is a triangle but the strongest, most stable shape? And so I ask, will the two of you, my radiant Sophie and my chaotic jetski capybara Howl, be my partners in polyangular bliss?"

You and Jisung nod in unison, lips pressed together in the only thing keeping full-bodied laughter from exploding out of you.

"Yes," you manage, barely.

"Definitely," Jisung says, voice warbling.

Hyunjin beams so hard he glows. He skips forward, kissing Jisung first, quick and adoring, then you, soft and warm. You both press your lips to his, still shaking with barely contained giggles.

He leans back, brows pinching. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," you both say at the same time.

Jisung, eyes gleaming, tips his head. "Would you like to join us for a polynautical breakfast?"

You snort so violently that coffee nearly shoots from your nose.

"That sounds amazing," Hyunjin says, completely sincere.

Jisung reaches over and pinches his cheek. "Our pretty little pabo."

Hyunjin preens like it's the highest praise he's ever received, resting his chin on Jisung's shoulder as Jisung stirs the porridge again. 

"You're warm," 

"You're heavy," Jisung replies, not even pushing him off.

You sip your coffee and lean your hip against the counter. You watch the two of them, Hyunjin now latched onto Jisung's back like a barnacle, Jisung cooking like he's been hosting breakfast buffets his entire life.

Then they both tug you closer. Jisung hooks an arm around your waist, and Hyunjin slides a hand down to your fingers, lacing them together.

Peering through the back garden window, Chan and Minho are crouched behind the large potted fern like nosy neighbours. Minho's thermos of stolen wine is halfway gone. Chan has his chin on Minho's shoulder, arm draped around his waist as they watch in silence, Minho recording on his phone with the kind of smug pride only a parent or a very involved roommate can possess.

"They're so fucking cute," Minho murmurs.

"Told you it'd work," Chan replies.

"You also said letting Hyunjin improvise would be 'character building.'"

"Yeah," Chan says, sipping wine. "And look at the character he built."

Minho smirks. "Polynautical."

"Polyangular."

"God help them."

Chan kisses the side of Minho's head. "They'll be fine."

Inside, the three of you sit on the floor with mismatched bowls in your laps, the Hobakjuk warm and sweet and a little too thick in texture, but no one complains. Hyunjin's stretched out across both your legs, one of Jisung's arms slung lazily over your shoulder, your head resting on his shoulder.

There's no music playing. No background noise. Just spoons clinking gently against ceramic and the occasional burst of quiet laughter.

None of you see the flash of Minho's phone capturing the moment through the window.

And that's okay. Because in here, with porridge and coffee and love and terrible terminology, you have everything.

Everything. And it's enough.

Han Jisung Taglist: @puppymsworld

Hwang Hyunjin Taglist: @jchotch726

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx @velvetmoonlght @annafee_bou @mlink64 @intoanothermind @furfoxsake22 @daaaph-lol @tirena1 @yu-winchester @cristy-101 @strayk1ds143 @skzlover24 @bussdownflockiana @wickedbutlovely @bbokarismeow @Matchacha65

Proofread by the fabulous @hwangjoanna <3

[redlightsallnight]

GUYS THIS SERIES WAS SAUR GOOD I’M TWEAKING

I LITERALLY HAVE NOTHING ELSE TO SAY BESIDES READ ITTTT

TASTE MASTERLIST.

Lee Know x reader. (s,f,a)

Synopsis: When Minho is hired as the head chef of Farfalle, a prestigious Italian restaurant, expectations are high for him to elevate its reputation and bring it to new heights. However, no one anticipates the drastic changes he implements in the kitchen—including his strict rule that that there'll be no women and no romance in his kitchen.

*Based on a k-drama, Pasta.

CHAPTERS:

I: Piquant.

II: Sweetbitter.

III: Aftertaste.

IV: Decadent.

V: Tender.

VI: Zesty.

VII: Delectable.

FINAL: Taste.

+ Also available on AO3

[redlightsallnight]

chat this is so cute

plus i’ve always been a whore for skz x hp hehe

but this was beautifully written and so so adorable

The Muggle World

Please don't read my work or interact if you're under 14!! My works consist of some intimate touches and makeout sessions, and I don't want someone younger reading those!

A/N: Honestly, I’m not entirely proud of this one. I can’t shake the feeling that it doesn’t focus on Y/N and Minho as much as it should. Still, this idea has been bouncing around in my head for a while now, and I couldn’t resist writing something with this concept. Also, I apologize if some words will be very much repeated or some sentences won't make sense, in this and other imagines, English is not my first language! And even if I'd like to think I'm good at it, I can still make mistakes.

Genre: Hogwarts AU + Love At First Sight

Pair: Hogwarts Ravenclaw Student Lee Know x High School Student Female Reader

Words: 8792

~~~

Minho and Jisung strolled through the bustling streets of Seoul on an early Saturday evening, surrounded by the vibrant city life.

The streets were crowded with people, and the air buzzed with the sounds of cars honking, engines revving, and the occasional bird chirping. The gentle hum of the wind added to the atmosphere, weaving through the mix of voices and city noise, making the whole scene feel alive with energy.

Spring had arrived, unusually warm for the season, and Hogwarts buzzed with life as students wandered the castle grounds and beyond. Jisung, however, had other plans. He chose to venture into the Muggle world, eager to visit an old friend.

Meanwhile, Minho had settled into the comfort of his Ravenclaw common room, content to spend the day minding his own business. But, as always, that relentless Hufflepuff, Jisung, had other ideas. Before Minho could utter a single word of protest, he found himself reluctantly dragged along, his quiet afternoon plans swiftly unraveling.

He let out a frustrated huff, glancing down at his outfit. A plain white t-shirt with short sleeves clung to his torso, paired with ripped blue jeans and black sneakers–simple, unremarkable, and far from what he was accustomed to.

As a pure-blood wizard, he was used to robes, finely tailored clothing, and, of course, the polished Ravenclaw uniform. This plain, mundane attire felt foreign.

But Jisung, ever the practical half-Muggle, had insisted it was better for blending into the Muggle world. With a resigned sigh, he had reluctantly agreed to trust Jisung's judgment, though he still felt entirely out of place.

"Why are these clothes so simple and boring?" Minho muttered under his breath, frowning as he tugged at the hem of his t-shirt.

Jisung, walking right beside him, caught the complaint and rolled his eyes, a teasing smile curling on his lips. He was well aware of how out of his element Minho felt, and it only fueled his desire to poke fun at the Ravenclaw.

"Oh, shut up, Lee," Jisung chuckled, giving him a playful nudge on the shoulder. "Be glad I even took you out. Otherwise, you'd still be holed up in your common room, bored out of your mind."

Minho shot Jisung a cold, sharp glance, his annoyance unmistakable in the way his eyes narrowed. The Hufflepuff's teasing and smug tone were clearly testing his patience, but he held his tongue.

Instead of snapping back, he let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders subtly slumping as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, choosing silence over confrontation.

After walking for a while, Jisung abruptly came to a stop, startling Minho, who nearly bumped into him.

"Here we are!" Jisung exclaimed with a grin, his excitement bubbling over. The prospect of visiting a place he hadn't been to in ages and catching up with an old friend clearly thrilled him.

Minho glanced up at the building they stood before, his expression neutral, bordering on uninterested.

It was a quaint little café, marked by a large wooden sign hanging above the door. The sign, etched with the words "Nanny's Haven" in messy, hand-scraped letters, was decorated with simple coffee cup drawings. The windowsills were brimmed with vibrant flowers, their colors adding charm to the scene.

In front of the café, a small outdoor seating area was enclosed by a white wooden fence, its posts wrapped in blooming rose bushes. The tables, topped with umbrellas for shade, were set to seat six people each. Minho's sharp brown eyes took in the lively scene–groups of people chatting happily, sipping drinks, and enjoying their food under the warm afternoon sun.

He was accustomed to being around crowds at Hogwarts–whether at bustling events, or seated in the Great Hall for breakfast, lunch and dinner. But this was entirely different. He wasn't used to seeing so many Muggles in one place.

Their clothing mirrored the simplicity of what he and Jisung were wearing, blending in without drawing attention, though some outfits carried unique accents or pops of color. It was a far cry from the flowing robes and distinct house uniforms he grew up with. The sight was unfamiliar, almost strange, and yet oddly intriguing in its ordinariness.

Without warning, Jisung gave Minho a firm push forward, jolting him out of his thoughts. Minho stumbled slightly, his neutral expression quickly twisting into a glare as he shot Jisung another cold, sharp glance.

Jisung, unfazed by the look, only smirked in response. Letting out a quiet sigh of irritation, Minho straightened himself and, albeit unwillingly, began making his way toward the café entrance.

The two stepped inside, the bell above the door chiming softly, signaling their arrival.

Jisung wasted no time scanning the café, his eyes darting around the cozy interior in search of his friend. His gaze quickly landed on a girl balancing a tray of drinks and sweets, gracefully serving one of the tables. That girl was no other than you.

The Hufflepuff's eyes lit up instantly, a wide smile spreading across his face. He wanted nothing more than to stride over and pull you into a hug, but he knew better. You were clearly busy, and he respected the fact that you were working.

Still, a sense of calm washed over him as he watched you, confident that you'd notice him soon–just as you always did whenever he visited.

Meanwhile, Minho let his gaze wander, quietly examining the café's interior. It was even cozier than the outside, with an inviting warmth that felt almost homely.

Plants hung gracefully on the walls, interspersed with paintings and framed pictures, adding character to the space. The wooden tables, paired with white leather seats, were neatly arranged, each adorned with a small flower in a vase and a stack of tissues.

The inside was bustling with life, even more so than the outdoor seating. Nearly every table was occupied by people enjoying their meals and beverages or patiently waiting for their orders. It didn't take long for Minho to realize this café was clearly a popular spot.

In one corner, his attention was drawn to a large bookshelf brimming with an assortment of books. Beside it, a colorful mat lay spread out on the floor, scattered with toys. A handful of kids and toddlers were happily playing there, their laughter adding to the lively atmosphere. It was a small but thoughtful touch that added to the charm of the place.

Minho's eyes shifted as he noticed Jisung heading toward one of the empty tables, the Hufflepuff waving a hand to gesture to him to follow. With a small exhale, Minho complied, trailing after him.

As he walked, he couldn't help but admit, if only to himself, that he found the place somewhat appealing.

There was a warmth in the air, a comforting buzz of laughter and conversation mixed with the clinking of dishes. The thoughtful details–the flowers, the books, the playful energy from the children in the corner–all came together to create a surprisingly inviting atmosphere. He might not say it out loud, but he was starting to like it here.

~~~

You were busy working at your mother's café, Nanny's Haven, a place that had always felt like a second home to you.

It was a Saturday, and most people your age would probably prefer to relax at home, but not you. You've been working here since the first year of high school, and it has always been a place you loved.

The cozy, homey interior your mother had designed never failed to make you feel at peace. Not to mention, the sweets and drinks were always a hit–delicious, comforting, and made with care.

When you were younger, you'd beg your father to take you to the café after he picked you up from school, and he always did. It became a cherished routine.

So when you got older and your mom offered you the chance to help out, you didn't hesitate. It was the perfect opportunity–not just to be a part of something you loved, but also to earn your own money.

You worked mostly on weekends, when your schedule was freer, but sometimes you'd lend a hand during weekdays–provided you didn't have any homework, quizzes, or exams coming up. Your role mostly involved taking orders and delivering them to tables, ensuring everything ran smoothly out front.

Meanwhile, your mother handled the kitchen, preparing drinks with precision, while the sweets and breads were always made in advance. They were neatly arranged on the counter on either side of the cash register, ready to be handed out whenever a customer ordered.

It was a seamless routine, and you had become an expert in juggling orders while keeping the café running efficiently.

You were focused on delivering an order to a table, carefully balancing the drinks and desserts, that you didn't even hear the bell above the door jingle. It was the familiar sound that announced the arrival of a new customer, but in the midst of your task, you were completely unaware of it.

The café was busy today, and you were caught up in making sure everything was just right for the table you were serving.

After placing the last drink and dessert on the table, you shared one final warm smile with the customers before making your way back behind the counter, carefully putting your tray away.

You let out a soft sigh, running a hand through your messy hair, feeling the weight of the day settling in on you.

It had been like this nonstop since the café opened, with customers coming and going, and though it was exhausting, you couldn't help but love it.

The steady rhythm of the work, the satisfaction of keeping everything running smoothly–it was something that never lost its charm for you.

As you tidied up behind the counter, you suddenly noticed a hand waving at you from a table across the room.

Squinting slightly to get a better look, you instantly recognized the familiar face–Jisung.

A wide grin spread across your lips at the sight of him. It wasn't every day that he stopped by, and it always brought you a wave of happiness when he did.

Jisung had been an old friend of yours, practically inseparable during your childhood. The two of you went to the same kindergarten and shared the same class for years in elementary school.

You could still vividly recall the times his parents, often busy with work, allowed him to tag along with you and your father to the café. Those visits were filled with laughter as you sampled the newest baked goods together, ran around the café chasing each other, played on the children's mat, or flipped through fairy tales from the bookshelf.

But things had changed when Jisung went to Hogwarts. You lost regular contact, though he still made the effort to visit the café whenever he could–just like today.

As your gaze flicked to the table, you noticed something unusual: Jisung wasn't alone this time.

Sitting across from him was another guy, someone you couldn't help but admit was quite handsome. It was unusual–Jisung always came alone–but you didn't mind the change. In fact, you were curious about who this new companion might be.

The guy sitting opposite Jisung was clearly different from your bubbly friend. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his gaze was fixed on the table with an indifferent, almost cold expression.

There was something about his demeanor that intrigued you. He carried himself with a quiet confidence, yet his reserved nature made him seem distant.

You couldn't help but wonder if he was one of those people who appeared tough on the outside but were actually a softie underneath. The thought lingered in your mind as you studied him briefly from where you were standing.

Finally, you grabbed the menu from the counter, along with your pad and pen, and made your way over to their table.

Over the years, you've grown accustomed to the different types of customers who came into the café. Some preferred to walk up to the counter and browse the menu for themselves, while others liked having the menu brought directly to them. You didn't mind either way–it was all part of the job.

As you approached the table, you couldn't help but glance at Jisung, knowing full well that he didn't need the menu. He had it practically memorized from his countless visits. However, the stranger sitting across from him was another story. You could tell he'd need a menu to figure out what to order, and you were ready to help.

Out of the corner of his eye, Minho noticed Jisung excitedly waving at someone across the café, but he didn't pay it much attention. He'd much rather be back in the quiet comfort of his common room, curled up with his beloved cats.

The Hufflepuff's behavior was starting to get on his nerves, though. It wasn't that he disliked Jisung–far from it. It was just that today, Jisung seemed unusually energetic, more so than usual, and Minho found himself wishing for the calm, predictable routine he was used to.

Minho's attention was suddenly pulled away from Jisung as a figure started walking up to their table. His gaze instinctively followed you, curiosity creeping into his mind. Were you the person Jisung had been so eager to see?

You were holding a pad and pen, with a menu tucked under your arm. You wore simple, casual clothes, blending in with the rest of the crowd. The only distinguishing feature was the soft, light brown apron you wore, emblazoned with the café's name.

It was an unassuming look, but for some reason, something in Minho stirred as he watched you approach the table. He couldn't quite place it, but there was an undeniable pull in the way you moved, a quiet presence that caught his attention more than he anticipated. But his focus shifted once again to the table before him.

Soon enough, you arrived at Jisung's table, and the moment you did, the boy nearly jumped out of his seat, excitement radiating off him. It was a sight that always made you smile.

Jisung had always been like this–whenever he hadn't seen you for a while, he acted like a child on Christmas morning, eager and giddy. His energy was infectious, and it never failed to make you feel warmly welcomed. You couldn't help but laugh softly at his enthusiasm–it was endearing, to say the least.

"Y/N, finally! I thought you would never come!" Jisung exclaimed, a big grin spreading across his face.

You rolled your eyes playfully at his dramatic words–it hadn't been that long. "Hello to you too, Sungie," you teased, your tone light.

Then, your expression softened as you looked at him, the warmth of familiarity washing over you. It had been too long since the last time you've seen each other. "How long has it been? Two months? Three?" you asked, genuinely curious as you tried to recall the last time your paths had crossed.

"Three and a half. Not that I've been counting," Jisung chuckled. He let out a huff, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table as he looked at you, letting out an exaggerated exhale. "You know what it's like. Hogwarts is very demanding and adventurous," he added with a playful shrug, as if to explain his absence.

His words carried a mix of fondness and frustration, as if he was both proud and slightly overwhelmed by the constant whirlwind that was his life at Hogwarts.

You nodded in understanding, knowing all too well from the countless stories Jisung had shared with you what his life was like in the magical world of Hogwarts.

You didn't blame him for not visiting more often; you completely understood. After all, he had his own set of privileges, and you had yours.

"I can imagine," you said, smiling gently. "It's probably definitely harder than my normal high school." You chuckled lightly, knowing your own life, though challenging at times, couldn't quite compare to the whirlwind of adventure and responsibility Jisung faced every day.

Jisung's expression softened as he tried to steer the conversation toward you. "What about you? How have you been?" he asked, a hint of eagerness in his voice. He knew you had work, but he couldn't help it–he hadn't seen you in so long and was desperate to catch up on everything.

Your smile widened, the familiar rhythm of your life feeling comforting to talk about. "Well, you know, the same as always," you replied, shrugging lightly. "School, work, home." You paused for a moment, then added with a brighter tone, "But I'm a step closer to graduation, so that's a good thing!" Your smile turned into a more reliefd one, the thought of finishing this chapter of your life bringing a sense of excitement and anticipation.

Jisung nodded, a warm smile on his face as he listened to you. He knew that you were finishing high school much faster than he was finishing his time at Hogwarts, and he couldn't help but feel happy and proud for you. He remembered all the plans you had shared with him for after graduation, and he couldn't wait to see you fulfill them.

"Ah, right!" Jisung suddenly exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with realization. He turned his attention toward the Ravenclaw sitting across from him, almost as if he had forgotten he was there.

"Y/N, this is Minho," he said, gesturing toward the boy. "Minho, this is Y/N. Minho is also a student at Hogwarts, though he's in Ravenclaw." He gave a quick, friendly smile to Minho, eager to introduce the two of you to one another.

Minho sat quietly, listening to the conversation, his focus not once wavering from the table before him. He furrowed his brows as he heard Hogwarts being mentioned so casually. The way Jisung spoke about it as if it were nothing, sharing details of his life there with you, made him pause.

Weren't Muggles unaware of the magical world? How was it that you knew about it? And why was Jisung speaking so openly with you about it? His thoughts were interrupted when he heard his name being called, with the Hufflepuff introducing him to you.

Minho looked up at you, his gaze swiftly moving on your form. His expression remained mostly indifferent, but there was a subtle shift–a slight nervousness in the way he held himself.

"Ah, uh, hello," he said quietly, bowing his head briefly in greeting. He wasn't sure how to act. This was the first time he'd spoken to a Muggle, and it felt strangely unfamiliar.

Jisung, noticing Minho's awkwardness, couldn't help but silently snicker. He had known Minho for so long that he could read him like an open book, easily spotting his discomfort.

You, on the other hand, offered Minho a warm, welcoming smile as you spoke. "Hello, welcome to Nanny's Haven. I hope you will enjoy your first visit here. I'm Y/N, though you probably know that by now."

Minho felt a strange flutter in his chest as he met your gaze, and for a moment, his insides churned. He didn't know why he was feeling this way–it was definitely something unfamiliar to him.

But your smile, so genuine and kind, seemed to have an effect on him, much like a spell he couldn't explain. It was disorienting but oddly comforting, and Minho found himself momentarily lost in the warmth of it.

After your greeting, you couldn't help but take a moment to study Minho's features more closely. Up close, he was even more striking than you had first thought.

His black hair was neatly styled, though a few strands fell over his eyes, giving him a slightly effortless charm. You noticed that it was slightly longer at the back, adding a subtle edge to his look.

His brown eyes, at first glance, were filled with nothing but nonchalance, cold and unreadable. Yet, as you continued to look, you caught the briefest flicker of something softer in them–a fleeting glimmer of curiosity mixed with confusion that disappeared almost as quickly as it came.

You couldn't help but wonder if Minho's reserved exterior was a reflection of his personality, his Hogwarts house, or perhaps a mix of both.

Jisung had told you plenty about how the Sorting Hat assigned students to their houses based on their core traits, emphasizing that it was often a deep and telling process. But you also remembered him mentioning that sometimes a person's true nature–what lay beneath the surface–was very different from the image they presented to the world.

The thought lingered in your mind as you observed Minho's composed demeanor, his sharp eyes, and the way he seemed to hold himself with quiet confidence. You found yourself curious about what kind of person he truly was beneath the indifferent exterior.

Finally snapping out of your thoughts–and the unintentional staring that you hoped the Ravenclaw hadn't noticed–you turned your attention back to Jisung. "What will you order today? The usual?" you asked with a slight smirk, already confident you knew the answer.

Jisung chuckled, nodding his head in affirmation. "You know it," he replied, his tone light and playful.

Your gaze dropped to your pad as you gripped the pen firmly and began scribbling down the order. "One cheesecake with blueberry syrup plus a latte macchiato with double whipped cream and strawberries," you recited aloud as you wrote, the familiar combination rolling off your tongue with ease.

You then took the menu that you had tucked under your arm and handed it toward Minho. As you did, you couldn't help but notice the way his gaze was fixed on you, his eyes holding an intensity that made your cheeks flush softly.

Clearing your throat, you smiled slightly, trying to compose yourself. "Here, you'll need it," you said, your voice steady despite the sudden heat in your face.

Minho accepted the menu from your hand with a small nod of thanks, his expression remaining neutral. He held it firmly, his brown eyes scanning the options listed on the pages.

The array of unfamiliar names and combinations immediately reminded him of how little he knew about Muggle food and beverages. This was his first time in such a place, and everything seemed foreign. He figured he would simply choose whatever caught his attention the most, trusting his instincts rather than overthinking.

As Minho flipped through the menu, his attention was suddenly drawn to one of the drink pictures. His eyes focused on the intricate details of what appeared to be an edible brown cat perched delicately atop a swirl of whipped cream. It was small, almost cartoonish, and something about it intrigued him. A faint thought crossed his mind: how did Muggles manage to create something so precise and whimsical? Regardless, he knew immediately that he would order it.

As for something to eat, he glanced over the options but found himself unsure. The descriptions were unfamiliar, and he didn't want to take a chance on something that might not suit his taste. Instead, he decided he'd ask for your opinion. It wasn't like him to rely on others, but for some reason, he felt that your suggestion might lead him to something worthwhile.

You stood there patiently, giving Minho the time he needed to decide. You weren't about to rush him, especially since it was clear he was unfamiliar with the menu and likely the entire concept of a café like this. You kept your gaze soft and welcoming, ready to answer any questions or offer suggestions if needed.

Meanwhile, Jisung, ever the observant one, discreetly shifted his gaze between you and Minho. A mischievous smile tugged at his lips as he took in the subtle yet undeniable chemistry that seemed to linger between the two of you. It wasn't much, but to Jisung, it was obvious. At that moment, he silently patted himself on the back, declaring this outing a success for having brought Minho here today.

Minho finally looked up from the menu, his gaze meeting yours for the briefest moment before flickering back to the page where the drink that caught his attention was pictured. His expression remained composed, but you could tell he was about to speak.

"I'll take the..." Minho paused, his brow furrowing slightly as he squinted at the menu, carefully reading the name of the drink that had caught his eye.

He didn't want to make a mistake and embarrass himself, especially not in front of you. After a moment of hesitation, he finally spoke, his tone uncertain. "Mocha... frappuccino?" The word rolled off his tongue awkwardly, the statement sounding more like a question than a confident order.

His eyes flickered up to meet yours briefly, as if searching for confirmation that he'd said it correctly.

You nodded your head reassuringly, a gentle smile tugging at your lips. "You got it," you said, your voice carrying a hint of pride.

There was something unexpectedly endearing about the way he hesitated over the name of the drink, his usual indifferent demeanor giving way to a glimpse of uncertainty. It was a small moment, but it made him seem innocent, almost adorable, in a way that contrasted sharply with the cold exterior he seemed to carry.

"Do you want something to eat, or just the drink?" you asked gently, gesturing to the side of the menu with the assortment of sweets using your pen. Your tone was light, giving him the space to decide without any pressure.

Minho hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering briefly toward the menu again before meeting yours. His voice came out quiet, almost unsure, as he handed the menu back to you. "What... do you recommend?"

The simplicity of his question caught you slightly off guard, but it also made your heart soften. There was something so unexpectedly humble about him asking for your suggestion, given his aloof demeanor. You accepted the menu with a small nod.

"There are many amazing sweets–or breads, if that's more your taste–that we make here, and they're quite popular," you began, your tone gentle as you tucked the menu securely under your arm. For a moment, you seemed to drift into your own thoughts, gently tapping your pen against the pad in your hand.

"But personally," you continued, a wodę grin spreading across your face, "I really like the macaroons!" There was a genuine enthusiasm in your voice as you mentioned your favorite treat, your eyes lighting up slightly at the thought of the delicate, colorful confections. It was clear that you weren't just making a suggestion; you truly enjoyed them yourself.

Minho felt his heart do an unexpected somersault as he observed you. The way your voice lit with cheerful enthusiasm and the way your eyes sparkled when you mentioned macarons–it reminded him of the same joy he felt whenever he talked about his beloved cats. The thought stirred something unfamiliar yet warm inside him, and he couldn't deny that the way you spoke made you look utterly adorable in his eyes.

A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his lips before he spoke, his tone soft but firm. "Then, I'll take the macarons."

There was a quiet confidence in his words, almost as if he had made the decision not just to try them but to trust your judgment entirely.

That smile–barely there, fleeting like a shadow–didn't escape your notice. It was subtle, but it had a surprising effect, making your chest flutter with butterflies. And his soft tone, so unlike his seemingly nonchalant exterior, only added to the warmth that now colored your expression.

You didn't say anything, but the gentle smile on your lips spoke volumes. With your pen poised, you quickly jotted down the last item, finishing the action with a quick, confident nod.

"Got it. Your order will be ready soon!" you announced warmly, your voice carrying a slight lilt of excitement. With one last smile–and a quick, almost instinctive glance back at Minho–you turned and headed toward the kitchen, the soft click of your shoes blending into the ambient chatter of the café.

As you walked away, Minho's gaze instinctively followed, lingering on your retreating figure until you vanished behind the door to the kitchen.

He blinked once, then twice, as if snapping himself out of whatever spell he'd just been under. With a sigh, he turned his attention back to the table–only to find Jisung staring at him with a knowing smirk plastered across his face and a mischievous glint sparkling in his eyes.

Minho raised a questioning eyebrow, his expression as neutral as ever, though his curiosity was piqued. "What?" he asked, his tone laced with confusion, unable to comprehend why the Hufflepuff was looking at him like that.

Jisung simply shrugged, a casual air about him that didn't match the mischievous grin still tugging at his lips. "Nothing," he said, dragging out the word just enough to make it sound suspicious.

Then, with a dramatic pause for effect, he leaned in closer, his elbows slipping onto the table as he propped himself up. His smirk deepened, and his voice dropped to a teasing whisper. "You like her already," he accused, wiggling his eyebrows playfully, as if the idea was the most entertaining thing in the world.

Minho scoffed, his jaw clenching as he tried to brush off Jisung's words. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, his tone calm, though the slight shift in his gaze betrayed his unease.

He wanted to deny it, to insist that Jisung was just imagining things. After all, he had just met you. How could he possibly feel anything more than fleeting curiosity? But deep down, the stirrings in his chest told a different story–a story that made him question if Jisung's teasing held a grain of truth.

Jisung snorted loudly, clearly unimpressed by Minho's attempt to feign indifference. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, a triumphant smirk still plastered on his face. "Oh, come on, don't even try to deny it," he said, shaking his head.

Minho raised an eyebrow, his expression cool, but he could feel the warmth creeping up to his ears.

"It's obvious," Jisung continued, his voice filled with amusement. "The way you looked at her? Like you were studying every detail of her face. And don't even get me started on that tiny little smile. You rarely ever smile, but you did for her. That says a lot."

Minho opened his mouth to retort but quickly shut it, deciding that saying anything would only make Jisung's argument stronger. Instead, he let out a low huff, averting his eyes as he muttered, "You're imagining things."

Jisung couldn't resist the urge to push further, to tease Minho just a little more. It was simply too endearing seeing the usually composed Ravenclaw so flustered. But, for now, he decided to hold back, much to Minho's relief.

Then, a thought crossed his mind. "I saw the way you became confused when me and Y/N talked about Hogwarts," Jisung began, his voice casual, but it instantly caught Minho's attention. He lifted his gaze, his curiosity sparking. "You're probably wondering how she knows about all of it, right?"

Minho's interest surged even more, the question that had been nagging him now voiced aloud. He nodded, eager for an answer.

Jisung let out a soft exhale, his mind drifting back to the past. "Well, it's a long story, but also pretty simple," he began, his gaze shifting to the window. Minho followed his line of sight, captivated by the view–the trees outside were blooming, their new growth a symbol of fresh beginnings.

Jisung's smile softened as he continued, "Y/N and I were childhood friends. Before Hogwarts, I went to a regular kindergarten, and that's where we met." He leaned back in his seat, lost in the memory. "We clicked instantly, and from that moment on, we were inseparable. Her dad would often take me with her to this café–her mom owns it. My parents, always busy with their Muggle jobs, didn't mind."

His eyes drifted to the table, elbows resting on it. "Since she was my best friend, I never kept anything from her. Her family believes in the supernatural, so when I told her my mom was a full-blooded wizard, she didn't doubt me. Then came the Hogwarts invitation, and, to our surprise, she got one too."

Minho's eyes widened slightly, processing Jisung's revelation. You were invited to study at Hogwarts? The question surfaced in his mind, quickly followed by another. Then why aren't you there now? His confusion deepened, and his eyebrows furrowed.

"If she got an invitation, then why isn't she at Hogwarts?" he asked, his gaze fixed on Jisung, seeking clarity.

Jisung leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "The reason is simple. She didn't want to leave everything behind–her normal life. She's deeply connected to her parents and this café, and the thought of leaving it all didn't sit right with her. Plus, she admitted she'd be too lazy to study all those magical things," he added with a soft chuckle, his tone light.

Minho couldn't help but let a gentle smile grace his lips at Jisung's explanation. "I get it," he said, his voice filled with understanding. "I guess not everyone is cut out for a life like that. But it must have been hard for her, turning down an opportunity like Hogwarts."

He leaned back, pondering for a moment before adding, "Still, I bet she must have her own kind of magic in this café, keeping things running effortlessly."

Jisung's expression shifted back to one of teasing as he caught the gentle smile on Minho's lips, a smile he hadn't bothered to hide this time. And those words–oh, Minho was definitely whipped. Jisung couldn't help but grin at the sight.

Minho, however, noticed the mischievous glint in his friend's eyes coming back and quickly straightened up, his cheeks flushing slightly. He cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to regain his composure. "I-uh, what?"

"And you dare to say that you don't like her? What nonsense," Jisung said with a teasing smirk. But as soon as he saw you approaching their table, tray in hand with desserts and two drinks, he quickly shut his mouth.

Minho, catching sight of you too, shot Jisung a sharp warning glare, silently reminding him to keep quiet.

You walked slowly toward their table, carefully balancing the tray with desserts and drinks in your hands. You always made sure to be extra cautious, especially after a few mishaps when you first started working at Nanny's Haven. Those days of clumsy spills were long gone, and you didn't want to repeat them.

While Minho and Jisung chatted, you had been in the kitchen helping your mother prepare the drinks. She had taken care of Jisung's order, while you focused on Minho's Mocha Frappuccino.

You stuck to the usual recipe but decided to add your own little twist. Instead of just one cookie shaped like a cat on the whipped cream, you added three, it was a detail that seemed to catch Minho's eye. You couldn't quite explain why you chose three, but it just felt right. Before finishing, you drizzled a bit of caramel syrup over the whipped cream and topped it with a few simple black grapes, creating the perfect touch to complement his drink.

After the drinks were finished, you carefully placed them on a black tray and carried it over to the counter where all the sweets were displayed. Setting the tray down next to the cashier, you turned to the glass case where the desserts were kept. You quickly picked out Jisung's cheesecake onto a plate, drizzling a generous amount of blueberry syrup over it, knowing it was his favorite.

For Minho, however, you hesitated. The macarons were next, and you faced a small dilemma: the regular round ones or the heart-shaped ones you'd made yourself. Your hand hovered for a moment, but eventually, you chose the heart-shaped macarons. Picking out an assortment of colors, each with a different flavor, you placed them carefully onto a small dish. Satisfied with your choices, you put the plates onto the tray, ready to serve.

As you approached the boys' table, you couldn't help but notice the tension lingering in the air. It wasn't the comfortable kind, either–it felt awkward and heavy. Your gaze instinctively went to Jisung first. He was staring out the window with a smirk playing on his lips, seemingly amused by something.

Then your eyes shifted to Minho. His posture was closed off, arms crossed tightly over his chest, and his gaze fixed on the table in front of him. His scowl was hard to miss, but what caught your attention even more was the faint redness dusting his cheeks. What was that about? you wondered.

Still, you decided not to press further. Whatever it was, it wasn't your place to pry. Shaking off your curiosity, you focused on your work.

You carefully set the tray down on the table, making sure not to disturb the tension-filled atmosphere. With a small, polite smile, you began placing their orders.

First was Jisung's cheesecake, topped with a generous drizzle of blueberry syrup that gleamed under the light. Beside it, you placed his latte macchiato, knowing your mother had made it just the way he liked–strong yet perfectly balanced with creamy foam and strawberries.

Next came Minho's mocha frappuccino. The drink was topped with whipped cream, caramel drizzle, black grapes, and the special touch of three cat-shaped cookies, just the way you had made it earlier. Beside it, you delicately set the plate of heart-shaped macarons, their vibrant colors adding a cheerful touch to the table.

"Please enjoy your meals," you said softly as you picked up the–now empty–tray from their table. Your tone was warm but professional, a subtle blend of friendliness and focus.

"I'd love to stay and chat some more," you continued, your gaze flickering briefly between them, "but unfortunately, I have work to do. New clients have already come in, and today's quite a busy day." You nodded toward the bustling café, where a few new faces were settling in.

With a quick but graceful turn, you headed back toward the counter, ready to tend to the next tasks awaiting you.

As you walked away, Jisung wasted no time diving into his dessert and drink, clearly enjoying the treat. Meanwhile, Minho's gaze lingered on you once again, his eyes following your every step as you headed toward the counter. He couldn't help himself; it was as if he was drawn to you, an invisible pull he couldn't resist.

He blinked once, then twice, snapping himself out of his thoughts before turning back to his order.

His eyes immediately landed on the drink, and his breath hitched. It looked even better than the picture in the menu. The three cat-shaped cookies nestled on the whipped cream struck a chord–he couldn't ignore the fact that their number matched the number of his cats in real life. It was a detail that felt oddly personal, even though he knew you couldn't possibly know about that. The caramel syrup and black grapes added a sweet, elegant touch, and the heart-shaped macarons were undeniably charming.

Curious, he lifted the mocha frappuccino, taking a slow sip from the straw. The sweetness flooded his taste buds, and he couldn't stop the quiet hum of approval that escaped his lips. It was delicious, unlike anything he'd ever had at Hogwarts, and somehow it felt perfect.

His gaze drifted back to you, now standing at the counter, taking a customer's order with that radiant smile on your face. Minho felt his heart flutter unexpectedly, a tender, unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest. Maybe, just maybe Jisung was right. Maybe he really did like you.

~~~

After that visit to Nanny's Haven, Minho found it nearly impossible to focus on his studies. He tried, again and again, to shake off the new and strange feelings swirling inside him–feelings he hadn't experienced before. But no matter how hard he tried, they persisted, as did Jisung's teasing words about him liking you. The thought gnawed at him, stubbornly refusing to leave his mind.

He kept replaying the memory of that day, unable to stop himself from thinking about you. Your smile, your voice, the way you carried yourself–it was as though every detail about you had etched itself into his thoughts. And Jisung's constant bickering didn't help. If anything, it made him more aware of how often you crept into his mind.

Minho felt conflicted. How could this even happen? He, a full-blooded wizard, falling for a Muggle? It wouldn't be so complicated if you were at Hogwarts, if you were someone he saw every day, someone he truly knew. But you weren't. You lived a different life, outside the magical world, and he didn't know you well enough. And yet, the feelings remained, confusing and unshakable.

It was the first time Minho had ever felt like this–so conflicted, so unsure of himself.

As a Ravenclaw, he prided himself on being composed, logical, and in control. But now? All of that had been thrown out the window, and it was all because of a certain Muggle girl.

The thought of you left him flustered, his usually sharp mind muddled with emotions he didn't know how to handle. It was uncharted territory for him, and no amount of reasoning or self-discipline seemed to help. You had managed to undo the carefully built walls of the composed Ravenclaw, leaving him vulnerable in a way he'd never experienced before.

That's why Minho found himself standing in front of Nanny's Haven once again, but this time, he was alone–no teasing Hufflepuff by his side. It had been a whole week since he'd last seen you, since everything had started to shift in his mind and heart. The uncertainty, the confusion, the feelings he couldn't shake. He needed to settle it, to understand what was going on.

He had come to a decision, one that surprised even him. The best way to deal with it was to face you, to show you in his own quiet, unspoken way the depth of the feelings he had for you. He might not have the words yet, but he was ready to act, to be there for you in the way he hadn't been before.

It was a quiet Saturday at Nanny's Haven, and you were busy, though not with the usual rush of clients. Today was calm, so you were focused on training your newest worker, Eunchae, a first-year high schooler who was still getting the hang of things. It was only her third day, so there were still plenty of things she needed to learn, and you had just finished explaining how the cashier system worked.

As you wrapped up your instructions, the bell above the door jingled, signaling the arrival of a new customer.

You looked up, your attention drawn to the figure standing in the doorway. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw him–Minho. He was standing there, looking around for a moment before his eyes found yours.

The moment his eyes met yours, your heart soared, a warmth spreading through your chest. There was something comforting about his presence, something that made the air between you feel a little lighter.

As you stood there, a quiet curiosity began to stir within you. You couldn't help but notice that he was alone today, without the company of Jisung. The question lingered in your mind: Why was he here by himself? You quickly pushed the thought aside, but it kept poking at you, adding an unexpected layer of intrigue to the moment.

You exchanged a brief conversation with Eunchae, making sure she would be fine handling things on her own while you took a moment to talk with Minho. She nodded eagerly, assuring you she'd call if anything came up.

With no new clients to attend to, you found yourself with a bit of free time, and you couldn't ignore the urge to speak with Minho.

You made your way over to the table where he had seated himself, your footsteps quick but steady. The closer you got, the more you could feel the anticipation building inside you, wondering what this conversation might bring.

As you approached, Minho glanced up, meeting your gaze again. A soft smile graced his lips, and for a moment, you felt your heart skip. He seemed calm, though there was a subtle tension in his posture, like he was working through something in his mind.

"Hey," you greeted warmly as you reached his table, your voice gentle but curious. "It's good to see you again. You're alone today?"

Minho nodded, his gaze flickering to the table for a brief second before returning to you. "Yeah, I thought I'd stop by on my own this time. Jisung can be... a lot," he said with a faint chuckle, his tone light but sincere.

You smiled at that, pulling out a chair to sit across from him. "Well, welcome back. What brings you here today? Just craving more of our desserts, or something else?" you teased, trying to ease the tension you sensed lingering in the air.

Minho hesitated for a moment, his fingers tracing the edge of the table. "Actually," he started, his voice quieter now, "I wanted to see you."

Your eyes widened slightly at his words, and a rush of butterflies filled your chest. He came here to see you? It wasn't something you had expected, but it wasn't something you'd ever complain about either. The thought alone was oddly satisfying.

As you studied him, you noticed the way his gaze shifted downward, following the movements of his fingers as they traced the edge of the table. His usual composure was nowhere to be found; instead, he seemed tense–no, nervous.

"You came to tell me something, didn't you?" you asked gently, a mild smile tugging at your lips.

Resting your elbows on the table, you leaned in slightly, closing the distance between you just enough to show you were listening.

You could read him like an open book, the way his body language practically screamed uncertainty. Yet, in that moment, your own feelings mixed with curiosity and hope. You had a feeling, a gut instinct about what he might want to say. And while you weren't entirely sure, you hoped you were right. But you weren't going to make it easy for him. You wanted to hear it straight from him, in his own words.

Minho felt the heat rush to his ears at your question, his nerves flaring up even more. It was exactly why he was here–he wanted to tell you everything. The way you occupied his thoughts, how his feelings had grown into something he couldn't ignore. If he didn't get it out soon, he felt like he might lose his mind.

He nodded softly, his gaze lifting to meet yours, the sincerity in his brown eyes almost palpable.

"Yes," he admitted, his voice quiet but steady. "But honestly, I have no idea how to even begin this."

He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back into his seat as if trying to steady himself. He looked almost as though he wanted to sink into the chair and disappear, the vulnerability of the moment pressing heavily on him. But even through his awkwardness, there was a determination in his expression–a clear sign that he wasn't going to back down.

Minho took a deep breath, his eyes briefly closing as he tried to gather his thoughts. He bit his lip, clearly searching for the right words to say, the weight of the moment pressing down on him.

When he opened his eyes again, they locked with yours, an intensity in them that made your breath hitch. Slowly, he leaned forward, resting his hands on the table, his fingers fidgeting nervously as if to channel his unease.

"I know we don't know each other that well," he began, his voice was calm but firm. "You're Jisung's friend, and honestly... we've only really talked once, and even then, it wasn't much of a conversation."

His gaze wavered for just a second before returning to yours, his sincerity clear despite his obvious nerves.

Minho took another deep breath, his fingers still fiddling with one another as he pressed on. "But even with that, there's just... something about you. I can't explain it. Ever since that day, I can't stop thinking about you. It's like you've somehow found your way into my head, and no matter what I do, I can't get you out."

He leaned back slightly, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze briefly flickered to the side, almost as if he were afraid of your reaction. But then he looked back at you, his eyes soft but filled with an unmistakable vulnerability.

"I know it's probably crazy," he said with a small, self-deprecating laugh. "I mean, we barely know each other, but... I want to change that. I want to get to know you better."

He paused, his voice lowering, almost as if the next words were meant for you alone. "I guess what I'm trying to say is... I like you. And I don't know where this will go, but I just couldn't keep it to myself anymore."

Your cheeks burned hotter with every word Minho spoke, each syllable sinking into your heart and setting it alight.

You had suspected this was what he wanted to say, but hearing it aloud was something else entirely. His vulnerability, the openness in his eyes, tugged at your chest. It was a stark contrast to the composed boy you'd met that first day.

A gentle smile curved your lips as you held his gaze. He thought it was crazy–his feelings, his confession–but if that was true, then you must have been even crazier, because it didn't feel strange or out of place to you at all.

Every word he spoke mirrored the emotions you'd been holding inside. From the moment you first saw him, there had been something magnetic about him, something that pulled you in effortlessly.

Without a second thought, you reached out and took his hand where it rested on the table, your fingers lacing together with his. The warmth of the touch sent a shiver of electricity coursing through both of you, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away.

"I like you too, Minho," you said softly, your voice steady but filled with emotion. Your eyes locked with his, the sincerity in your gaze mirroring his own. "I feel exactly the same way about you."

Minho's breath hitched, his eyes widening slightly before a delicate, almost disbelieving smile broke across his face. His fingers tightened gently around yours, and in that quiet, shared moment, everything felt right.

"I'd be more than happy to get to know you more and see where this could go," you added, your voice light but sincere. "But I have a feeling... this could turn into something big."

Minho's expression softened even more, his lips curving into a wider smile. Without breaking eye contact, he brought your joined hands to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand. The tender gesture sent a rush of warmth through you, your heart pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.

"Then," he said softly, his gaze steady and full of quiet hope, "are you up for a date tomorrow?"

Your lips parted in surprise before you nodded, a bright smile spreading across your face. "Of course," you replied, the excitement in your voice unmistakable.

You remembered you had work tomorrow, but the thought didn't dampen your mood. You were sure your mom would understand if you explained. She'd been teasing you about finding someone for what felt like forever. If you told her you needed the day for a date, she'd probably clear your schedule with a wink and a knowing smile.

As you sat there with Minho, a sense of anticipation and joy bubbled within you. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.

[redlightsallnight]

uhm guys

this is literally a masterpiece

as a semi practicing witch (as much as possible while living in a dorm with a christian girl lol) this was so flipping good i started tweaking

I PUT A SPELL ON YOU TOO.

Hyunjin x reader. (s,a)

Related chapter: I Put A Spell On You.

Synopsis: Having a common enemy, you and Hyunjin work together to secure your futures. With your witchcraft, the plan sets in motion, the boundaries between right and wrong blur, and secrets begin to unravel, leaving you and Hyunjin bound by more than just circumstance. (22,4k words)

Author's note: It's Friday the 13th, join the circle and enjoy this piece of magic ♡

I PUT A SPELL ON YOU PLAYLIST 🎧

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Neither the story, the characters nor the spells are real (but if it works, do tell me though!)

The first light of dawn filters through the blinds, painting faint golden streaks across the walls. The air is thick with the scent of burning sage, the smoke curling lazily upward before dissipating into the stillness of the room. 

You stand barefoot before the altar, its surface a collection of well-worn spellbooks, crystals, and a single flickering candle. The morning ritual is second nature to you now—a daily reminder of the power simmering beneath your skin, waiting to be unleashed. 

With steady hands, you trace the sigil carved into the small bowl before you. The words come easily, slipping past your lips like a promise: 

“With fire in my veins and steel in my spine. Today the world bends, and all power is mine.” 

The candle flame responds, leaping higher for a moment before settling back into its steady glow. The familiar hum of energy vibrates through your body, faint but undeniable. It’s not enough yet—your magic is still rebuilding, still growing—but it’s there. A spark, waiting to ignite. 

You inhale deeply, the air filling your lungs with a mix of hope and resolve. Every day brings you closer to reclaiming the strength you once had, closer to the moment when the world will finally recognize your worth. 

Reaching for the almanac resting at the edge of your altar, you flip to the marked date. The book feels heavy in your hands, the weight of countless predictions and warnings etched into its pages. Your eyes skim the delicate handwriting, pausing on the entry for today: 

"The winds shift in the favor of the wary, but beware those who wield false crowns. Their power is fleeting, but their reach is long." 

A chill runs through you, the words sinking in like a stone in still water. False crowns. Your mind flickers to the new CEO, the unsettling man who now occupies the highest seat in the company. You’ve felt his shadow looming since the day he arrived, his presence like a storm cloud waiting to break. 

You close the almanac with a soft thud, the foreboding message settling heavily in your chest. The city stirs outside your window, but in this quiet moment, it feels as though time stands still. 

You glance at your reflection in the nearby mirror, studying the determination etched into your features. You’ve come so far, yet there’s still so much to do. 

Today is just another step forward, another piece of the puzzle. Whatever challenges lie ahead, you’ll face them head-on. The world doesn’t know it yet, but its days of underestimating you are numbered. 

“Today the world bends, and all power is mine.” 

-

The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, and there he is—Hyunjin. Perfectly dressed as always, his hair immaculate, his expression cool and distant. He steps in without a glance in your direction, his presence commanding the small space like a storm that doesn’t need to rage to be felt. You step back to give him room, not that he notices. He presses the button for his floor, and the doors close, sealing you in together. 

The silence is suffocating, a weight pressing down on your chest. You’ve grown used to this—his deliberate ignorance, the way he carries himself as though you don’t exist. It’s not new, but it doesn’t hurt any less. 

The memory of his smile, the warmth of his laughter, and the fleeting moments when he looked at you like you were the only person in the world flash through your mind. It’s almost cruel, how vivid those memories are, knowing they mean nothing to him now. To Hyunjin, it’s as if none of it ever happened—as if the love spell never existed, as if you never existed. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, willing yourself not to let it show. After all, no one knows the truth but you. The weight of it is yours alone to carry. Every stolen glance, every pang of longing, every ounce of guilt—it’s all yours. You shift your gaze to the floor, pretending to study the polished tiles. You can’t let yourself get lost in the what-ifs again. 

When the elevator chimes for his floor, he steps out without so much as a glance in your direction. No words. Not even a polite nod.  You let out a soft sigh once the doors close again, leaning back against the wall. Despite everything—despite his indifference, his coldness, the way he behaves as if you’re a stranger—you can’t bring yourself to feel anything but pride when you think about him. 

Hyunjin’s name has been buzzing in the office lately. The whispers of his upcoming promotion are impossible to miss, and the thought of him moving up fills you with quiet satisfaction. He deserves it. Every bit of it. He’s one of the hardest-working people you’ve ever met, and no amount of his harshness toward you can erase that.

For all that’s happened—or hasn’t happened, in his mind—you wish him nothing but the best. It’s a bittersweet truth, but one you’ve come to accept. The elevator finally stops at your floor, and you straighten your shoulders, ready to face the day.

-

The elevator doors slide open, and Hyunjin steps out, his polished shoes clicking softly against the marble floor. As he moves through the hallway, his mind lingers on the ride he just shared with you. 

He hadn’t meant to notice, but he did. That look again—sad and distant, like you were carrying the weight of something invisible. Like you were carrying him. 

It’s not the first time he’s caught it, either. The way your eyes linger on him, quiet and heavy with something he can’t name. It unsettles him, that expression. Almost as if he’s hurt you somehow. 

He frowns, shaking the thought away as he reaches his office. You’re just a coworker, someone he passes in the halls. Whatever story you’ve written for yourself, whatever sadness you carry—it has nothing to do with him. It *can’t.* Hyunjin sets his bag down on his desk and exhales slowly, trying to refocus. There’s too much on his plate today to be distracted by fleeting glances and unanswered questions. He sits, pulling his laptop open, and begins sorting through the mountain of emails waiting for him. 

Barely an hour has passed when his desk phone rings. 

“Hyunjin, can you come to my office for a moment?” Mr. Campbell’s voice is clipped, leaving no room for interpretation. 

“Of course, sir,” Hyunjin replies, already standing. He smooths his jacket, preparing himself for what he assumes is good news. After all, the whispers of his impending promotion have been growing louder by the day. 

The walk to Mr. Campbell’s office feels longer than usual, but Hyunjin steadies his nerves. This is it, he thinks. Finally, recognition for all his hard work. 

But when he steps into the office, Mr. Campbell’s expression isn’t celebratory. If anything, it’s tight with discomfort. 

“Have a seat,” Mr. Campbell says, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. Hyunjin hesitates but complies. 

“I’ll get straight to the point,” Mr. Campbell begins, folding his hands together. “You’ve been an exceptional employee, Hyunjin. Your performance has been nothing short of stellar, and I’ve personally been advocating for your promotion.” 

Hyunjin’s heart begins to race, anticipation bubbling in his chest. 

“However,” Mr. Campbell continues, his tone taking a sharp turn, “with the new CEO stepping into the role, there have been… adjustments. Your promotion has been postponed.” 

The words hit like a punch to the gut. “Postponed?” Hyunjin echoes, his voice tight with disbelief. 

“Yes. The position you were being considered for has been filled by someone else, chosen directly by the CEO, Mr. Hargrave himself.” 

Hyunjin blinks, struggling to process the words. The work, the late nights, the endless hours of proving himself—it was all for nothing? 

“With all due respect, sir,” Hyunjin says, his voice rising slightly, “this is unfair. I’ve worked hard for that promotion. I’ve earned it.” 

“I don’t disagree,” Mr. Campbell says, his tone apologetic but firm. “But this decision is out of my hands. The CEO has made his choice.” 

Hyunjin clenches his fists, anger simmering beneath the surface. “So, that’s it? Years of dedication mean nothing?” 

“I understand your frustration,” Mr. Campbell replies. “But I need you to remain professional about this. There will be other opportunities.” 

Hyunjin stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything more without letting his anger slip entirely. 

“Thank you for your time,” he says curtly, turning on his heel and leaving the office. 

As he stalks back to his desk, the weight of the conversation settles heavily on his shoulders. The unfairness of it burns in his chest. How could this happen? How could they just take everything he’s worked for and hand it to someone else? 

His jaw tightens as he sits back down, trying to focus, but the injustice keeps replaying in his mind. He’s not just upset—he’s furious. 

And for the first time in a long time, Hyunjin feels something dangerous brewing beneath the surface. 

-

The boardroom feels unusually tense this morning. The usual low buzz of pre-meeting chatter is muted, replaced by an air of nervous anticipation. It’s your first meeting with Flint Hargrave, the new CEO, and even without the rumors, you’d know he’s not a man to be trifled with. 

You take a seat at the long, polished table, your folder of documents in front of you. Flint hasn’t arrived yet, but you’ve already heard the whispers—he’s harsh, demanding, and utterly unyielding. A few employees exchange worried glances as they shuffle their papers, the tension palpable. 

When the doors open, all conversation ceases. Flint strides into the room, his presence immediately commanding attention. He’s tall and sharply dressed, his suit immaculate. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes—cold, piercing, and calculating—scan the room like he’s sizing up prey. 

You don’t falter under his gaze. If he’s looking for weakness, he won’t find it here. 

As the meeting begins, you wait for your turn, forcing yourself to focus. When it finally comes, you stand, walking to the head of the room where the projector is already set up. Taking a deep breath, you begin your presentation. 

Your voice is steady as you explain your proposal, detailing the steps, objectives, and the benefits it would bring to both the company and its employees. You make eye contact with the board members and occasionally glance at Flint, gauging his reaction. 

Unlike some higher-ups, Flint doesn’t interrupt or appear distracted. He leans slightly forward, his hands folded on the table, giving you his full attention. His gaze is steady and sharp, making you feel like you’re under a microscope. 

By the time you finish, you feel a flicker of hope. Maybe Flint isn’t the tyrant everyone claims he is. 

The room is silent for a moment before Flint speaks for the first time. 

“Thank you,” he begins, his tone professional but firm. “Your presentation was clear, and the proposal has merit.” 

You feel a small sense of relief. 

“However,” Flint continues, his gaze locking onto yours, “I have a few adjustments I’d like to make before I approve this.” 

He leans back slightly, his tone calm but carrying an edge of authority as he outlines his demands. The adjustments he proposes are subtle but significant, reshaping the very purpose of your proposal. They would disserve the employees, prioritizing cost-cutting and efficiency over fairness and well-being. 

You clench your hands beneath the table, keeping your expression neutral. As he speaks, you realize this isn’t just a misunderstanding—Flint knows exactly what he’s doing. 

When he finishes, you respond as diplomatically as possible. “Thank you for your input, Mr. Hargrave. However, I believe these adjustments might undermine the goals of the proposal, particularly in terms of employee satisfaction and long-term productivity.” 

Flint doesn’t flinch and daringly holds your gaze. “I appreciate your perspective, but my priority is ensuring that the company operates at maximum efficiency. Your proposal is promising, but it needs to align with those objectives.” 

“But,” you persist, your tone steady, “if we implement those changes, it could lead to dissatisfaction among the employees, which in turn could impact overall morale and performance. This proposal was designed to balance both efficiency and employee well-being.” 

Flint leans forward, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “This isn’t a negotiation. If you want my approval, you’ll make the adjustments.” 

The room falls silent. Every pair of eyes is on you, waiting to see how you’ll respond. You swallow your frustration, your mind racing. Flint isn’t just demanding changes—he’s testing you, pushing to see how far you’ll bend. 

“Understood,” you say finally, your voice even. You won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you rattle. 

Flint nods, his expression unreadable. “Good. I expect the revised proposal on my desk by the end of the week.” 

As the meeting adjourns, you gather your materials, your stomach sinking. Flint has made it clear that he’s not a man who compromises—and now you’re left to figure out how to deal with him. 

-

The meeting room empties slowly, the air still charged with the weight of Flint’s words. You gather your things methodically, trying to shake the tension from your shoulders.

As you step out, the sight of Hyunjin catches your attention. He’s on your floor. For a moment, your heart stirs with hope, and you almost smile.

Has he finally been promoted? The thought alone is enough to bring a flicker of happiness amidst the dread of Flint’s demands. 

But that moment of hope is short-lived. 

Hyunjin’s stride is brisk, his jaw tight, his whole body radiating anger. He brushes past you without so much as a glance, his eyes locked on one target: Flint. 

You pause, watching as he storms toward the man who’s still lingering near the doorway of the meeting room, flanked by his assistant. 

“You!” Hyunjin’s voice echoes across the floor, sharp and furious. Heads turn as his words cut through the low hum of office chatter. “How dare you sabotage my promotion!” 

Flint doesn’t flinch, his expression as calm as ever. If anything, his interest seems mildly piqued, as though Hyunjin’s outburst is merely an inconvenience he anticipated. 

Hyunjin doesn’t stop, one index finger pointed at Flint’s chest. “I’ve worked my ass off for this position! I’ve earned it!” His voice rises with every word. “You think you can just walk in here and decide I’m not good enough? You don’t even know me!” 

The assistant takes a nervous step back, but Flint doesn’t move. His hands rest loosely at his sides, his gaze locked on Hyunjin with unsettling composure. 

“Mr. Hwang,” Flint finally says, his voice smooth and unbothered. “I understand you’re upset—” 

“Upset?” Hyunjin snaps, cutting him off. “Upset doesn’t even begin to cover it. You’re not fit to be CEO if this is how you run things! Favoring people who haven’t put in half the work I have? What kind of leadership is that?” 

You stand frozen, your files clutched tightly in your hands. You’ve seen Hyunjin upset before, but this is different. His rage is fiery, unrestrained, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s about to lunge at Flint. 

But Flint remains unshaken. His calm is unnerving, as if he’s watching a predictable scene unfold rather than being the target of Hyunjin’s anger. 

Security steps in before things escalate further. Two guards approach swiftly, placing themselves between Hyunjin and Flint. 

“That’s enough, Mr. Hwang,” one of them says firmly, motioning for Hyunjin to step back. 

Hyunjin clenches his fists, his jaw tight. For a moment, it looks like he might resist, but after a tense pause, he takes a step back, his breathing heavy and labored. 

“This isn’t over,” Hyunjin mutters, his glare piercing. 

The guards escort him away, leaving a stunned silence in their wake. You glance back at Flint, hoping to gauge his reaction, but his expression remains unreadable. 

As the hallway clears, Flint turns to his assistant, his voice low but deliberate. “Have Hwang’s file on my desk. Immediately.” 

The assistant nods and rushes off without a word. 

Your stomach sinks. You’ve already seen how Flint operates—calculated and unyielding. And now, with Hyunjin’s outburst, it’s clear he’s caught Flint’s attention in the worst way. 

A chill runs down your spine as you walk back to your desk, your thoughts racing. Flint doesn’t let things go. He doesn’t forgive. And after what you’ve just witnessed, you can’t shake the feeling that he’s already planning something sinister for Hyunjin. 

You sit down, your hands trembling slightly as you replay the scene in your mind. Hyunjin’s fiery passion versus Flint’s icy composure—it’s a clash that could destroy everything. 

And for the first time, you wonder if Hyunjin’s rage will be his downfall. 

-

The night is heavy with silence, broken only by the soft rustling of pages as you flip through your book of spells. The faint light from a single candle flickers, casting long shadows across your workspace. The book lies open before you, its yellowed pages filled with faded script and intricate diagrams. 

Your eyes scan the instructions, pausing on a ritual for protection. It’s a spell you’ve never attempted before, but tonight, it feels necessary. Flint’s chilling composure and whispered orders earlier still linger in your mind, and the memory of Hyunjin’s fiery rage has etched itself into your heart. 

You gather the ingredients, laying them out meticulously: A sprig of rosemary for clarity and purification. A small piece of obsidian for shielding against negativity. A dried bay leaf for protection. A strand of your own hair, tying your energy to the spell. 

You pull out a small black pouch and place it beside the items. The air feels charged as you light a bundle of sage, letting the smoke cleanse the space. You place the rosemary and obsidian into the pouch first, followed by the bay leaf. With each addition, you focus on Hyunjin—his face, his energy, his fiery determination. Finally, you add the strand of your hair, knotting the ends to hold your intent firmly in place. 

With the pouch in your hands, you draw a protective circle around yourself with chalk, marking the edges with small crystals. Sitting cross-legged at its center, you hold the pouch close to your heart, the candlelight reflecting in your eyes. 

Taking a deep breath, you chant: “By leaf and stone, by flame and thread. Shield him well from paths of dread. Let no harm pierce, let no ill stay. Protect him now, by night and day.”

You repeat the words three times, your voice steady, each syllable carrying your intent into the universe. As you chant, you feel a warmth build in your chest, spreading through your hands and into the pouch. The air grows still, as if the world is holding its breath. 

When the final word leaves your lips, the candle flickers wildly before extinguishing itself, leaving you in darkness. A shiver runs down your spine, but you know the ritual is complete. 

Carefully, you tie the pouch shut with a red thread, knotting it three times for strength. You hold it in your hands, the weight of it light yet significant. 

“This will protect you,” you whisper, imagining Hyunjin’s face. “This will keep you safe.” 

For a moment, you allow yourself to hope. Even if Hyunjin never knows what you’ve done for him, even if he never remembers what you once shared, at least you can still protect him. 

-

The office is unusually quiet during lunch breaks, and you know this is your best chance. Taking a deep breath, you reach into your bag and pull out the small talisman you crafted for Hyunjin. 

The pouch feels warm in your hand, almost pulsing with the protective magic you infused into it. You look around to make sure no one is watching and quickly make your way to Hyunjin’s desk. His briefcase is propped open, papers and files neatly organized inside. With steady hands, you slip the talisman into one of the inner compartments, tucking it safely beneath a folder. 

A sense of relief washes over you as you straighten up. It’s done. Hyunjin might not know it, but he has a layer of protection now. Even if you’re unsure of how strong your magic is, you’ve done everything you can to help him. 

You return to your desk, a small flicker of hope settling in your chest. Despite everything, you’ve done something good for him. 

Later that day, as the clock approaches the hour for your meeting with Flint, an uneasy feeling creeps into your stomach. The hallway to his office feels colder than usual, the air heavy with an unspoken tension. Clutching your notebook to your chest, you silently chant your usual spell under your breath as you walk: 

“With fire in my veins and steel in my spine. Today the world bends, and all power is mine.”

The words give you a fragile sense of courage, but it falters when you reach the heavy oak door. Taking a deep breath, you knock. 

“Come in,” Flint’s voice calls, low and authoritative. 

You step inside, shutting the door softly behind you. Flint is seated at his desk, an imposing figure with a sharp suit and an even sharper gaze. The room smells faintly of leather and coffee, and the blinds are half-drawn, casting slanted shadows across the desk. 

As you stand there, your eyes flicker briefly to the stack of files on his desk. Among them, unmistakably, is Hyunjin’s file. Your stomach tightens, but you quickly shift your focus back to Flint as he speaks. 

“Well?” Flint says, his tone cool but demanding. “Have you made the adjustments I requested?” 

You hesitate, choosing your words carefully. “I’ve reviewed your demands, sir, and I wanted to suggest a few alternative approaches that could meet the company’s goals without—”  Flint raises a hand, silencing you. His gaze is sharp, almost predatory. “Let me stop you right there. I wasn’t asking for alternatives. I was asking if you’ve done what I told you to do.” 

Swallowing hard, you summon your courage. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t believe those adjustments align with the purpose of my proposal. They would negatively impact employee morale, and—” 

Flint leans back in his chair, a slow, cruel smirk spreading across his face. “You’re quite bold, aren’t you? I admire your spirit, though I’m starting to wonder if it’s misplaced.” 

The air in the room grows heavier as he continues, his voice cutting like a blade. “You know, for someone in your position, you’d think you’d know better than to argue with your superior. Maybe this is why women like you struggle to make it past middle management.” 

His words hit you like a slap, but you keep your expression steady. “I don’t see why that has something to do with my ability to do my job, Mr. Hargrave?” you ask, your voice firm but controlled. 

Flint’s smirk doesn’t waver. Instead, he leans forward, his elbows resting on the desk, his fingers steepled. “Oh, I’m sure you think that. But let me remind you, this isn’t about fairness or ideals. This is about doing what you’re told.” 

You feel your pulse quicken, your grip on your notebook tightening as he continues. 

“If you want to keep rebelling against me,” he says, his tone almost taunting, “go right ahead. But I’d be very careful if I were you. You might not like what happens next.” 

For a moment, you’re frozen, staring at him as the weight of his words settles over you. Flint is dangerous—more dangerous than you realized. His calm demeanor only makes him more threatening, and you’re reminded once again that this is not a man to cross. 

Summoning what little composure you have left, you nod. “Understood, sir,” you say, your voice quieter now. 

Flint leans back in his chair, satisfied, and waves a hand dismissively. “Good. Now, get back to work.” 

You turn on your heel and leave the office, your heart pounding as you step into the hallway. The door clicks shut behind you, and only then do you allow yourself to take a shaky breath. 

Walking back to your desk, you can’t shake the image of Hyunjin’s file sitting on Flint’s desk. Whatever Flint is planning, it won’t just affect you—it’ll affect him too. And no matter how dangerous Flint is, you know you have to do something. 

-

A few days have passed, and you begin to feel a slight sense of relief. The talisman is working, or at least you hope it is. Despite seeing Hyunjin's file on Flint’s desk that day, nothing significant has happened. Hyunjin still walks through the halls, just as indifferent as ever. And you... well, you’re still the same.

Watching him from afar, your heart quietly aching for the bond you both shared, but knowing it’s gone, just like the magic you once cast on him.

As usual, you take the elevator down to the parking basement, stealing glances at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye. The elevator is crowded, and it’s hard to even think of doing anything but keeping your distance.

The silence between you two is deafening, as if the space around you had a barrier, both emotional and physical. You want to say something, anything, but the words are lost before they can even form.

The elevator dings, signaling your stop. The doors open, and you step out, your eyes lowering to the ground as you make your way toward your car. You tell yourself to let go of the past, but the weight of it lingers, thick in the air.

You unlock the door to your car, your hand trembling slightly as you grip the handle.

"Wait."

You spin around at the sound of Hyunjin’s voice, your heart pounding in your chest. Before you can react, he grabs your elbow and flips you around, his grip firm but not painful. The world seems to slow as you look up into his eyes—eyes that are no longer filled with warmth but something else. Something searching.

“What is this?” Hyunjin demands, holding up the small talisman you slipped into his briefcase, his expression tense, almost accusing. His eyes narrow as he waits for your answer.

Your heart drops into your stomach. You hadn't expected this. He found it. The talisman.

"It's... it’s uh..." you say, trying to steady your voice, but it comes out quieter than you intended. "A talisman."

His grip tightens around your wrist, his expression hardening. “A talisman?” His tone is sharp with disbelief. "What did you do to me? Did you curse me?"

The accusation stings, but you quickly shake your head. "No, no curse. It’s meant to protect you."

He doesn't let go of your wrist. "Protect me?" His eyes search yours, but there's a flicker of something else—suspicion. "Why would you protect me?"

The question hangs in the air, and you feel the truth swelling in your chest, but you can’t speak it. The reason you want to protect him... because you care. You care too much. But you can’t admit that to him. Not now. Not when everything between you has been reduced to this awkward distance.

You swallow hard and blur the truth. "I saw your file on Flint’s desk. I know he plans on doing something to you. I don’t want you to get hurt," you say quickly.

"And I hate Flint too. I do. I know this one spell so I think we could work together to take him down. I just need your—”

You can feel his grip falter slightly, but then his gaze flickers to something else entirely. Something that causes the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end.

"Wait... are you saying you actually practice witchcraft?" he asks, his voice shaking with a mix of incredulity and fear.

The world spins. You don’t even know how to respond. You could lie, but his eyes are burning into yours, and for some reason, lying doesn’t feel like an option. Not now.

"Yes," you say softly, unable to stop yourself.

He stares at you in silence for a long moment, and you feel as if the air has been sucked out of the world around you. You can see the wheels turning in his mind, the shock, the disbelief, the fear all rising to the surface. It’s too much. Too much for him to process.

And then, before you can say anything else, you hear it—the words you never wanted to hear.

“Stay away from me.”

The coldness in his voice cuts through you like a blade. It’s like an icy wall has been erected between you, one you can’t get past. The small spark of hope you’d held onto—the hope that Hyunjin might remember, might somehow feel something for you again—dies in that instant.

You take a step back, unable to move for a moment, before you finally blink and lower your gaze. His words echo in your mind, a cruel reminder of how much you’ve lost.

“Hyunjin, I—”

He interrupts, his tone harsh now. “I don’t want anything to do with you. Don’t ever come near me again. Don’t use your... your magic on me.”

His words sting, like acid on an open wound. And all you can do is nod, silent tears stinging at the corners of your eyes.

He turns and walks away, leaving you standing there. The good you tried to do has backfired completely. The last shred of hope you had is shattered.

And now, it’s clear: Hyunjin will never see you the way you want him to.

-

Hyunjin’s jaw tightens when he spots you heading toward the elevator at the same time as him. His gaze sharpens, and he throws you a glare as if to remind you of the boundary he firmly set. You stop in your tracks, hesitating as if his silent warning alone is enough to keep you at bay.

The elevator doors slide open, and Hyunjin steps inside without sparing you another glance. But just before the doors close, he catches that look on your face again—the same sad, almost resigned expression that’s been haunting him lately. It lingers in his mind for a moment before he forces it away with a shake of his head.

Arriving at the office floor, Hyunjin immediately senses something is off. Several of his colleagues are gathered around his desk, rifling through his drawers and gathering his belongings. Anger bubbles to the surface as he storms over.

“What the hell are you doing with my stuff?” Hyunjin demands, his voice cutting through the commotion.

One of his coworkers flinches, looking away uncomfortably, while another mutters, “Sorry, Hyunjin, we were told—”

“Told by who?” he snaps, but before he can press further, someone places a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Hyunjin,” comes the calm yet weary voice of Mr. Campbell, his superior. “I need you to come with me to my office.”

Hyunjin hesitates, his eyes darting to the boxed-up items on his desk. “What’s going on?”

Mr. Campbell only sighs and gestures for him to follow. Reluctantly, Hyunjin obeys, but unease twists in his stomach as he steps into the office.

Once seated, Mr. Campbell doesn’t waste time. “Hyunjin, the company has received an anonymous tip that you’ve been sharing confidential intel with a competitor.”

The words hit Hyunjin like a punch to the gut. His brow furrows in disbelief. “What? That’s ridiculous! I would never—”

“I know, and frankly, I don’t believe it either,” Mr. Campbell interjects. “But these are serious allegations, and the audit team is already investigating. Until they conclude their review, you’re suspended.”

Hyunjin shoots to his feet, his frustration boiling over. “This is Flint, isn’t it? He’s trying to get rid of me!”

Mr. Campbell raises a hand to calm him. “Hyunjin, I understand your anger, but making accusations without evidence will only make things worse for you. If you want to keep your job, I suggest you go home and let the audit team do their work.”

Hyunjin clenches his fists, his mind racing. Every fiber of his being screams at him to march straight into Flint’s office and confront him, but Mr. Campbell’s warning rings in his ears. After a tense moment, he exhales sharply and storms out of the office.

This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

-

Instead of heading home as Mr. Campbell suggested, Hyunjin finds himself at a bar, nursing a glass of whiskey in the middle of the day. The amber liquid burns his throat, but it’s a welcome distraction from the storm brewing in his mind. He feels angry, frustrated, and—though he hates to admit it—utterly defeated. Flint had outmaneuvered him, and now he was sidelined, his career hanging by a thread.

He shoves a hand into his coat pocket, his fingers brushing against something unfamiliar. Frowning, he pulls it out and stares at the small pouch you had slipped into his briefcase. The talisman.

For a moment, he debates tossing it right then and there, but something stops him. He knows he should’ve burned it the second he discovered it, should’ve gotten rid of it if he truly believed it might bring him bad luck. Yet, as he observes it now, he feels a flicker of curiosity rather than fear.

Your words echo in his mind. “I hate Flint too. We could work together to take him down.”

Hyunjin takes another sip of his drink, the idea slowly settling in. Teaming up with you doesn’t seem entirely ridiculous anymore. After all, the enemy of his enemy should be his ally. But before he makes any decisions, he wants to confirm something first.

By the time he steps out of the bar, the sun has already begun its descent. With his phone in hand, he searches for the address of a shop he’d found online earlier—a place that specializes in witchcraft. It’s not long before he arrives at an unassuming storefront with a sign that reads “Moonlit Mystics.”

The moment Hyunjin pushes open the door, he’s hit by the pungent scent of sage. The interior is dimly lit, cluttered with shelves full of crystals, candles, herbs, and other esoteric items. It’s exactly what he expected, almost to the point of being a cliché.

“Welcome,” a woman’s voice greets him from behind the counter.

Hyunjin turns to see a middle-aged woman with a serene expression, her dark hair streaked with silver. She’s dressed in flowing fabrics, her bracelets jangling as she leans forward.

“Can I help you?” she asks, her voice warm yet curious as she studies him.

Hyunjin hesitates for a second before stepping closer and placing the talisman on the counter. “I found this in my bag and I need your help to know what is this.”

The woman picks it up delicately, her eyes narrowing as she examines it. She unties the pouch and carefully empties the contents—a sprig of rosemary, a small piece of obsidian, and other small tokens—onto the counter.

“This,” she says, her tone thoughtful, “is a protection talisman.”

Hyunjin stiffens. “Protection?”

She nods, pointing at each item as she explains. “The rosemary wards off negative energy, the obsidian absorbs harmful intentions, and the other elements… they’re all chosen to shield the bearer from harm. Whoever made this put a lot of care into it.”

Hyunjin stares at the talisman, a strange mixture of relief and unease washing over him. Your explanation was true. There was no curse, no sinister intent—just protection.

“That’s all?” he asks, needing the reassurance one more time.

The woman smiles and slides the opened talisman back to him. “That’s all. You’ve got nothing to fear from this.”

Hyunjin thanks her quietly and leaves the shop, slipping the talisman back into his pocket. As he steps into the cool evening air, a thought settles in his mind.

Maybe you weren’t as dangerous as he’d first assumed.

-

Your fingers skim over the faded pages of the spellbook, the faint scent of aged parchment and herbs filling the air around you. The ritual you’ve been studying for days is intricate, layered with steps that demand precision and, more dauntingly, someone else’s involvement.

You’ve read and reread every line, trying to find a way to execute it alone. Hyunjin is no longer an option, and though the thought leaves a bitter pang in your chest, you know you can’t afford distractions. Flint has to be dealt with, and you can’t let emotions—especially feelings for someone who now despises you—get in the way.

A sharp knock at the door snaps you out of your thoughts. You jolt upright, your heartbeat quickening. You aren’t expecting anyone, and for a moment, paranoia creeps in. Has Flint somehow discovered your plans? Bracing yourself, you approach the door and crack it open, only to freeze in place.

Hyunjin. It’s impossible not to think of the last time he showed up unannounced. Back then, his smile was warm, lighting up the space between you like a ray of sunshine. Now, that warmth is gone, replaced with a neutral expression that borders on cold. Still, it’s him. And despite everything, seeing him standing there stirs a flicker of hope deep inside you.

“Can I come in?” he asks, his tone low and guarded.

Wordlessly, you step aside, letting him in. Hyunjin walks past you, his gaze sweeping over your small apartment. His eyes linger on the shelves lined with books, jars of herbs, and candles. You can almost see the gears turning in his head as he takes it all in, piecing together your world.

Finally, he turns to face you. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

You cross your arms, unsure of where this is going. “What about it?”

“That we could work together to take Flint down.”

Your eyes widen. Of all the things you expected, this wasn’t it. “You’re serious?”

He nods. “We have a common enemy, don’t we? And after everything that’s happened…” He trails off, his jaw tightening. “Let’s just say I’m willing to reconsider.”

You study him carefully, trying to gauge his sincerity. “Why the change of heart?”

Hyunjin shrugs, his tone nonchalant. “Because I hate him. And I think you do too.”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “That’s putting it lightly.”

He takes a step closer, his piercing gaze locking onto yours. “So? What’s the plan?”

For a moment, you hesitate. Bringing Hyunjin into your world again—after everything that’s happened—feels risky. But he’s here, willing, and you need his help.

Wordlessly, you walk over to the table where your spellbook lies open and gesture for him to follow. As he approaches, you turn the book toward him, pointing at the page outlining the ritual.

“This,” you say, your voice steady, “is the ultimate plan.”

Hyunjin leans in, his eyes scanning the intricate diagrams and detailed instructions. The more he reads, the more his brows furrow. When he finally straightens up, his expression is a mix of disbelief and intrigue.

“You’re serious about this?” he asks, tilting his head slightly.

“Yes,” you reply.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, breaking the tension in the room. “You’re… something else, you know that?”

You can’t tell if it’s an insult or a compliment, but you choose to ignore it. Instead, you get straight to the point.

“I need you to follow Flint,” you say. “Learn his routine, his habits, where he goes when he’s not at the office. It’ll help me figure out the best time and place to execute this.”

Hyunjin crosses his arms, still smirking. “So I’m your spy now?”

“If you want Flint gone as much as I do, then yes.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Fine. I’ll do it. But don’t expect me to believe in all this…” He gestures vaguely at the book. “Magic stuff.”

You meet his gaze, your voice firm. “You don’t have to believe in it. You just have to trust that I know what I’m doing.”

Hyunjin stares at you for a moment longer before nodding. “Alright. Let’s see where this takes us.”

For the first time in days, you feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, the two of you can pull this off.

-

Hyunjin knocks on your door, his mind a whirlwind of frustration. He’s spent the entire day tailing Flint, only to come up empty. Tight security, bodyguards, private drivers—Flint might as well be untouchable. He’s ready to let you know just how impossible your plan is when the door swings open, and there you are.

You don’t look surprised to see him, but your calm demeanor only adds to his irritation. “Come in,” you say simply, stepping aside.

Hyunjin steps into your apartment, glancing around out of habit. The room feels different tonight—dim, shadows stretching across the walls, and that faint smell of something herbal lingering in the air. It makes his skin prickle. His eyes land on the open spellbook on your table, pages marked with symbols he doesn’t understand, and for a second, he wonders just what kind of person he’s teamed up with.

“Did you find anything?” you ask, sitting down at the table.

Hyunjin exhales sharply, dropping into the chair opposite you. “Flint’s a ghost wrapped in money and muscle. He lives in a penthouse with security tighter than a vault. He’s got his assistant slash his bodyguard with him at all times, a driver who doesn’t leave his side, and the only place he goes after work is some exclusive club. And guess what? That place is crawling with security too.”

You nod slowly, processing his words without a hint of panic. It annoys him. “So, no easy access,” you say, almost to yourself.

“None,” Hyunjin says bitterly. “This whole thing is a waste of time.”

But you don’t look deterred. Instead, you lean back in your chair, tapping a finger against the table. “There is one way,” you say, voice steady.

Hyunjin narrows his eyes. “And what’s that?”

“I’ll seduce him.”

He blinks, sure he must have misheard you. “What?”

You meet his stare, unwavering. “If I make him interested in me, I can get close to him. Close enough to do what needs to be done.”

Hyunjin stares at you, caught between disbelief and a strange, simmering unease. “Are you serious? You think Flint would go for someone like you?”

Your lips twitch into a smirk. “You’d be surprised what I can do.”

Something about the confidence in your voice sends a shiver down his spine. He tries to shake it off, folding his arms across his chest. “This is insane. And dangerous.”

“Everything about this is dangerous,” you shoot back, leaning forward now. “But do you have a better idea?”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer. He knows you’re right—there’s no other way. Still, the thought of Flint and you in the same room, let alone this… plan, twists something uncomfortable in his gut.

“What do you need from me?” he asks reluctantly.

“I need you to get something for me,” you say, your tone shifting.

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Flint’s hair.”

For a moment, he thinks you’re joking. When your expression doesn’t change, he feels his stomach drop. “His hair? Why the hell do you need that?”

“For a spell,” you say simply, as if that’s supposed to make sense.

Hyunjin stares at you, his jaw tightening. “You’ve got to be kidding me. What kind of spell?”

“It’s better if you don’t know.”

The casual way you dismiss his question only makes his unease grow. He leans forward, trying to read your expression, but you’re impossible to decipher. “You’re asking me to steal a piece of his hair, and you’re not even going to tell me why?”

“Exactly,” you say, meeting his gaze head-on.

Hyunjin leans back, running a hand through his own hair. This is reckless. This is dangerous. And yet…

“Fine,” he says finally. “I’ll figure out a way to get it. But this better not blow up in our faces.”

“It won’t,” you say quickly.

Hyunjin doesn’t believe you, not fully. But he’s already in too deep to back out now. Standing, he shoves his hands into his coat pockets and heads for the door. Before he leaves, he glances back at you, still sitting at that table with your strange book and your even stranger confidence.

“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” he mutters before stepping out into the night.

As the door shuts behind him, a chill creeps up his spine. This alliance feels like walking a tightrope over a pit of flames, but what choice does he have?

-

After Hyunjin leaves, the apartment feels eerily quiet. You close the door and stand there for a moment, staring at the space he just occupied. There’s a heaviness in your chest, but you push it aside. There’s no time to dwell on emotions when there’s so much to be done.

You grab your spellbook from the table and flip through its worn pages, searching for the ritual you need. The words blur slightly under the dim light, but you recognize the spell when you see it—the ritual to enhance allure, to make yourself irresistible, particularly to a specific target.

Flint may be powerful, but magic is older and stronger than any man.

Taking the book with you, you head to the bathroom. You start by filling the tub, the sound of running water echoing around the small space. As the water rises, you gather the ingredients: dried rose petals for attraction, cinnamon for warmth and desire, honey to sweeten your aura, and a single white candle for purity of intention.

You kneel by the tub, the steam rising to kiss your face. One by one, you add the ingredients to the water, watching as the petals swirl and the honey dissolves. The cinnamon spreads like whispers of fire across the surface, and you swirl it all together with your hand, moving clockwise.

Closing your eyes, you begin to chant:

"By water’s flow and fire’s light. Let allure be my gift this night. Rose and honey, sweet and true. Let my charm be seen by you. By earth and air, my power takes flight. Grant me allure, shining bright."

The words feel heavy on your tongue, their weight sinking into the water as you chant. The air in the bathroom shifts, thickening with an unseen energy.

You remove your clothes and step into the tub, the warm, fragrant water enveloping you. A shiver runs through your body—not from the temperature, but from the unmistakable pulse of magic that seems to seep into your skin, wrapping itself around you like a second layer.

As you sink deeper into the water, you chant the spell again, your voice softer this time, almost a whisper:

"By water’s flow and fire’s light. Let allure be my gift this night."

The energy hums beneath your skin, subtle but undeniable. You lean back, letting the water cover your body, and close your eyes. For a moment, you feel powerful, invincible.

When you finally step out of the tub, droplets of enchanted water slide down your skin, leaving behind a faint warmth that lingers. You wrap yourself in a towel, catching a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. There’s something different in your eyes—something sharper, more confident.

-

The almanac is clear: wear blue today. Blue is the color of trust, calmness, and, most importantly, attraction. It’s a shade that commands attention subtly, not overtly.

You pull out a fitted blouse and a pencil skirt, pairing them with heels that click confidently against the floor as you move. Standing in front of the mirror, you adjust your hair and take a deep breath. This isn’t just about Flint seeing you; it’s about him wanting to see you again.

Arriving at work, you keep your plan simple. Flint always leaves his office at some point during the day—whether it’s for a meeting or simply to make his rounds. That’s when you’ll strike.

You grab a stack of files, deliberately choosing ones that look bulky and hard to manage. The weight of them grounds you, keeping your hands from trembling as you wait near the corridor. Minutes feel like hours, but finally, Flint’s door opens, and he steps out, his usual bodyguard trailing behind him.

You start walking, eyes cast downward, pretending to be absorbed in your papers. Just as he’s about to pass you, you execute your move.

“Oh!” you gasp as you stumble slightly, letting the files slip from your grasp. Papers scatter across the floor in a dramatic mess, a symphony of fluttering pages.

You immediately bend down to pick them up, keeping your movements deliberate. You arch your back slightly, your skirt hugging your curves as you gather the scattered papers.

“I'm so sorry, sir,” you say softly, glancing up at Flint through your lashes. Your tone is humble, apologetic, but not groveling.

For a moment, he does nothing but stare. His expression is unreadable, his sharp eyes watching your every move. Just as you’re starting to feel the tension in the air thicken, he moves. He bends down—not fully, just enough to pick up a stray document near his polished shoe.

“Here,” he says, handing it to you.

“Thank you,” you reply, your fingers brushing his briefly as you take the paper. Your heart beats a little faster, but you keep your composure.

You stand, clutching the files to your chest, and smile shyly. “I’m so sorry again. I wasn’t paying attention.”

For a moment, your eyes meet his, and you take your chance. Quietly, subtly, you chant the spell in your mind:

"With this gaze, let me linger in your thought. A presence remembered, a web unwrought. See me, recall me, let me stay. In your mind, come what may."

There’s no way to know if it works—not yet. Flint straightens his tie and gives you a curt nod before walking away, his assistant close behind. You sigh softly, relieved the interaction is over, and start to collect the rest of your scattered papers.

But then, just as you’re stacking the last of the documents, you feel it. A faint prickle at the back of your neck. You glance up and catch Flint looking over his shoulder at you before disappearing down the corridor.

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. It’s not confirmation, but it’s a start.

-

Hyunjin leans back in the driver’s seat, fingers drumming impatiently on the steering wheel. The leather creaks beneath him as he shifts, trying to find a more comfortable position in his cramped car. He’s been parked across from Flint’s office building for hours, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

Suspension has its perks, he tells himself, though the bitterness lingers in the back of his mind. No endless meetings, no rushed deadlines. Just this: a stakeout that feels like a low-budget spy movie. His career might be teetering on the edge of collapse, but at least he has time to figure out what Flint’s up to.

Finally, just as dusk begins to settle over the city, Flint emerges from the building. Hyunjin straightens in his seat, his heart giving a small jolt of anticipation. Flint strides confidently to his car, his ever-present assistant trailing close behind. Hyunjin starts his engine, keeping a safe distance as he tails them through the city streets.

After a short drive, they pull into the parking lot of a high-end restaurant. Hyunjin follows, finding a discreet spot to park before slipping inside. He tugs his cap lower over his face and scans the dining area, his eyes locking on Flint almost immediately.

To his surprise, Flint isn’t dining alone. Seated across from him is a woman Hyunjin recognizes instantly—Brownwyn, the secretary to the head of the legal team. Flint’s body language is relaxed, his attention fully on her. Brownwyn leans in slightly, a coy smile playing on her lips as she twirls the stem of her wine glass between her fingers.

Hyunjin’s brow furrows. This doesn’t look like a business dinner.

Sliding into a corner booth with a clear view of their table, Hyunjin orders a coffee he doesn’t intend to drink and settles in for the long haul. The restaurant buzzes with quiet conversation and the occasional clink of cutlery, but Hyunjin’s focus never wavers.

He watches as they share a meal, the interaction between them confirming his suspicions. Flint laughs at something Brownwyn says, leaning closer as the evening progresses. There’s an intimacy in their exchange that has nothing to do with work.

When they finally leave, Hyunjin follows them outside, keeping his distance as they climb into Flint’s car. He trails them through the city once more, his pulse quickening when they pull into the parking lot of a nearby hotel.

Hyunjin parks and enters the lobby just in time to see Flint and Brownwyn at the reception desk. He watches from the shadows as they’re handed a keycard and head toward the elevators, Flint’s hand resting casually on the small of Brownwyn’s back.

That’s all he needs to see. Hyunjin lets out a low breath and turns back toward the exit. He doesn’t need to guess what’s going to happen next, and honestly, he doesn’t want to. What matters is that he now has something tangible to work with—a secret Flint wouldn’t want getting out.

Slipping into his car, Hyunjin pulls out his phone and jots down a few notes. His night hasn’t been wasted after all.

-

Hyunjin stands outside your door, the cool evening air brushing against his skin. He lifts his hand to knock, hesitates, then does it anyway. It’s late, but this couldn’t wait.

When you open the door, he’s taken aback. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but something about you is… different. There’s a subtle glow to your skin, a softness to your features that wasn’t there before. He shakes the thought away as you invite him in, your voice as composed as ever.

Once inside, Hyunjin gets straight to the point. "I followed Flint today," he says, his tone clipped.

He recounts everything—the restaurant, the intimate dinner with Brownwyn, the trip to the hotel. “I think we should spread it around the office,” he concludes. “If people know about his fling with Brownwyn, it could ruin his reputation.”

But you shake your head, crossing your arms. “That’s not enough to bring him down, Hyunjin.”

Frustration bubbles in his chest. “Not enough?” he snaps. “I’m suspended. Do you understand what that means? I might not even have a job to go back to!”

You meet his glare with a steady gaze. “Once Flint is taken down, it’ll be easier for you to get your job back,” you say firmly. Your confidence in your plan only makes him angrier, but he knows you’re right. Flint is the key.

You shift the topic. “Did you get the hair?”

Hyunjin sighs and pulls a crumpled tissue from his pocket, holding it up like it’s a prize. “Yeah. I snuck into the coat room at the restaurant and found a strand on his coat.” He places the tissue on the table, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment despite himself.

Your lips curl into a small smile. “Good. That’s one step closer.”

He watches as you carefully pick up the tissue, your fingers grazing the edge of it with reverence, as if it holds the answer to everything. Then a thought strikes him.

“What about your plan to seduce him?” he asks. “You really think that’s going to work?”

You glance up at him, and for a moment, there’s something in your eyes—something sharp and knowing. “I’ve already started,” you say simply.

Hyunjin scoffs, leaning back against the wall. “I don’t know if you’re the type he’d go for,” he mutters, though the words sound more skeptical than cruel.

“I’ve done it before,” you reply confidently, your voice carrying a weight that makes him uneasy.

Hyunjin narrows his eyes at you, trying to read between the lines. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

Your gaze flicks to him, lingering for a second too long. There’s something in your expression—a glint of mischief, but also a flicker of sadness. It’s unsettling, like you’re holding onto something he can’t see.

“It means,” you say slowly, “I know how to get what I want.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and undeniable. For a moment, Hyunjin feels like you’re not talking about Flint at all.

-

The night feels heavy, the air thick with unspoken urgency as you prepare for the ritual. Hyunjin’s growing anxiety about his suspended career gnaws at you, a constant reminder that you’re running out of time. If Flint doesn’t fall into your trap soon, the plan will crumble, and with it, any chance of saving Hyunjin's job—and perhaps even yourself.

You glance at the small tissue placed carefully beside the almanac. Inside it lies Flint’s hair, the most critical component of the spell. Hyunjin came through, and now, there’s no time to waste.

With steady hands, you gather the rest of the ingredients: rose petals for passion, honey for sweetness, and a drop of your own blood for power and intent. Each item is laid out before you in a precise circle, their arrangement forming the spell’s foundation.

You light the candles one by one, murmuring the incantation under your breath as each flame flickers to life. The room grows warmer, the air thick with the scent of herbs and wax.

Sitting cross-legged before the altar, you pick up the strands of Flint’s hair, weaving them carefully into the rose petals. Closing your eyes, you focus on the image of him—his sharp gaze, his commanding presence. You imagine him looking at you, drawn to you with an uncontrollable desire.

You begin the chant, your voice steady and low at first, then rising in intensity. Each word carries your intent, your need, your determination. The energy in the room shifts, buzzing like static electricity.

"By fire’s light and heart’s desire. Let him be drawn, his soul inspired. Through thought and dream, he seeks for me. Bound by will, so let it be."

As you chant, you feel the power building within you, a heady sensation that sends chills down your spine. Your hands move instinctively, blending the ingredients with precision, each motion an extension of your will.

When the final words of the spell leave your lips, you take a deep breath and release it slowly, feeling the magic settle over you like an invisible veil. You open your eyes and look at the small bundle of ingredients now bound together with red thread. It hums with energy, glowing faintly under the candlelight.

You place the bundle into a small pouch, clutching it tightly in your hands. The ritual is complete, but the true challenge lies ahead—facing Flint and testing the spell’s power.

-

The next morning, you wake up earlier than usual, carefully selecting your outfit and ensuring every detail of your appearance is flawless. If the spell worked, today will be the day Flint notices you, truly notices you.

As you step into the office, a surge of determination courses through you. When you knock on Flint’s office door, your pulse quickens. His voice calls for you to enter, and you step inside, flashing your most charming smile. He barely glances up from his paperwork, his usual cold demeanor intact.

“Sir,” you begin, stepping closer to his desk. “I heard you have a meeting with a client this afternoon. I’d like to take care of the presentation for you.”

His pen pauses mid-stroke, and he looks up at you. For a moment, there’s nothing in his expression—just the same sharp, calculating stare you’ve come to expect. But you press on, your voice warm and persuasive.

“I know it’s last-minute, but I’ve reviewed the files. I’m confident I can handle it, and it’ll give you more time to focus on… other matters.” You let your words linger, tilting your head slightly as if you’re offering more than just a simple favor.

He studies you in silence, his gaze lingering a moment longer than usual. Finally, he exhales through his nose and leans back in his chair.

“Fine,” he relents. “But don’t mess it up. The meeting’s at two. Be ready.”

You nod, trying not to let the victorious smile show too much. “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”

By the time two o’clock rolls around, you’re impeccably prepared. Standing in the elevator beside Flint, you notice his usual air of authority, but there’s something else—something quieter, like curiosity.

As the elevator hums to life, you turn to him with a polite smile. “May I?” you ask, gesturing to his tie, which is slightly askew.

He glances at you, then nods. “Go ahead.”

You step closer, your fingers lightly brushing against the fabric as you adjust the knot. His eyes remain fixed on you, his expression unreadable but intent. You can feel his assistant’s glare burning into you from behind, but you ignore it, focusing on Flint.

“There,” you say softly, straightening the tie and stepping back. “Perfect.”

His gaze lingers on you a moment longer, and you meet it with a confident smile before turning away as the elevator doors open.

In the meeting room, you deliver the presentation with practiced ease, your voice steady and your points concise. You notice, however, that Flint’s eyes remain locked on you the entire time. It’s not the typical critical gaze he gives his employees—it’s something heavier, something that makes your skin prickle with awareness.

You meet his eyes briefly during the presentation, letting a small smile play on your lips before returning to your slides. Each time you glance his way, he’s watching, his expression unreadable but intense.

When the meeting concludes, you gather your papers, feeling a rush of pride and anticipation. As everyone files out, you linger slightly, hoping Flint will say something—anything—to confirm the spell is working.

But he doesn’t. He simply nods at you before walking away, his assistant trailing after him.

You stand there for a moment, the air of victory you’d felt earlier evaporating. Did it work? you wonder, doubt creeping into your mind.

Maybe the spell wasn’t strong enough. Maybe Flint’s will is stronger than you anticipated. Or maybe… just maybe… it’s working more subtly than you realized.

-

Hyunjin paces in front of your door, his frustration bubbling under the surface. He hasn’t felt this restless in a long time—his career hanging by a thread, his life spiraling out of control, and no certainty in sight. He clenches his fists, trying to push back the overwhelming sense of failure creeping in.

Every sound in the hallway makes him turn his head, and when the elevator dings, he freezes. You step out, a look of surprise flashing across your face when you see him.

“Hyunjin?” you ask, your voice soft yet cautious.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, the floodgates open. “I’m losing my mind here. Do you know how hard it is for me to just sit and wait? To follow your plan when I don’t even know if it’s working?” His voice rises slightly, his frustration bleeding through. “My career is on the line, my life is on the line, and all I’m doing is running around in circles for this!”

You stand there, calm and collected, letting him vent without interrupting. When he finally pauses to take a breath, you step closer, your tone steady but firm.

“It is working, Hyunjin. You just have to trust me.”

He scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “Trust you? I don’t even know if—”

“Have you eaten?” you cut him off, your eyes narrowing slightly as you take in his pale complexion.

“What?” he asks, caught off guard.

“You look like you haven’t eaten all day. Come in, I’ll make you something,” you say, unlocking your door and holding it open for him.

Hyunjin hesitates, but the gnawing hunger in his stomach betrays him. He follows you inside, sinking into a chair at your kitchen table while you move around with ease, preparing a simple meal.

The smell of food fills the small space, and despite himself, Hyunjin feels his tension begin to ease. When you set the plate in front of him, he doesn’t even bother to argue, picking up his fork and digging in.

As he eats, a strange sensation washes over him. He glances around the room, the soft lighting, the faint scent of whatever incense you burned earlier, and the way you’re moving about the kitchen—it all feels familiar.

Too familiar.

He pauses mid-bite, the fork hovering in the air as a wave of déjà vu hits him like a freight train. He’s been here before. He’s sat at this table before, eating a meal you prepared, sharing this moment.

But that’s impossible.

“Have we…” he begins, but the words catch in his throat. He shakes his head, trying to push the strange feeling aside.

Before he can finish his thought, your phone buzzes on the counter. You glance at the screen, and your demeanor shifts instantly. You grab the phone, answering it with a tone that’s light and professional.

“Hello?” you say, your back to him as you pace slightly.

Hyunjin can’t help but strain to hear the conversation, catching snippets of your words. “Yes… tomorrow night… drinks? Of course… I’ll be there.”

When you hang up, you turn back to him with a spark of triumph in your eyes. “That was Flint.”

Hyunjin sits up straighter, his curiosity piqued.

“He just invited me for drinks tomorrow night,” you casually say as you pick up your fork to continue eating.

In that moment, Hyunjin instantly regrets that he didn't trust you in the first place.

-

The almanac doesn’t leave room for second-guessing, so you stick to its advice, dressing in the suggested color—a deep, alluring shade that accentuates your figure. You take extra care with your appearance tonight, ensuring every detail is perfect. Flint has to notice you; he has to want you.

The pub Flint mentioned in his call is nothing extravagant, but its cozy, vintage atmosphere is charming in its own way. You arrive purposefully late, just enough to seem like you’re not desperate for his attention.

As you step inside, the warm lighting and low hum of conversation wrap around you. You spot Flint almost immediately, seated in a booth near the back. His ever-present assistant slash bodyguard is by his side, like a shadow that never strays too far.

But tonight, Flint looks different—dressed casually, the stiffness of his usual office attire replaced with a relaxed charm. He seems more his age, and it strikes you that he’s only three years older than you.

When he sees you, a smile spreads across his face, and as you approach, his eyes trail over you. The attention is unmistakable, almost palpable.

“You look stunning,” he says, his voice smoother than you’ve ever heard it.

“Thank you,” you reply with a small smile, tilting your head just enough to let your earrings catch the light.

He leads you to the booth, and to your relief, he gestures for his assistant to leave. As the assistant fades into the background, you feel a slight wave of freedom—it’s just you and Flint now.

“Thanks for coming,” he says, motioning for you to sit.

“Of course,” you reply, sliding into the seat across from him.

He leans back slightly, studying you with an intensity that feels almost disarming. “I wanted to thank you for the presentation yesterday. You did a great job.”

You smile, dipping your head modestly. “I’m glad you think so.”

“I have to admit,” he continues, a playful edge in his tone, “I didn’t think you had it in you. You’ve surprised me.”

You raise an eyebrow, playing along. “Oh? And how exactly did you see me before?”

His smile turns flirtatious, his eyes gleaming. “I thought you were uptight, always buried in your work. I didn’t know there was this… fun side to you.”

You feign a pout. “That’s disappointing. I’m sad you never paid enough attention to me to notice before.”

He chuckles, the sound low and rich. The conversation flows easily, growing more intimate with each passing minute. His charm is undeniable, but you keep reminding yourself this isn’t about you; it’s about the plan.

And then, he leans in.

His face is close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath, his gaze locked onto yours. Your heart races, not with excitement but with the weight of the moment. You promised yourself you’d do anything to make this work, anything to bring Flint to his knees.

But as his lips move closer, something in you snaps.

At the very last second, you dodge, turning your head slightly so his kiss lands awkwardly near your cheek. The air shifts instantly.

When you look back at him, the expression on his face tells you everything. The interest, the desire—it vanishes like a flame snuffed out.

Flint pulls back, his demeanor cool and detached. “I just remembered,” he says, his tone suddenly businesslike, “I have something I need to take care of.”

You nod, even though you know the truth. His excuse is nothing more than a polite dismissal.

As he stands and adjusts his jacket, you force a smile, pretending you don’t see the disappointment in his eyes—or feel the failure burning in your chest.

When he leaves the pub, you remain seated, staring down at the untouched drink in front of you. Your plan has failed, and the weight of that realization sits heavy in the pit of your stomach.

-

Hyunjin hesitates as he steps off the elevator and walks toward your door. He isn’t sure if you’re back yet, but the uncertainty doesn’t stop him. He’s been restless since earlier tonight, an uneasy feeling gnawing at him.

When the door opens, his breath catches for a moment. You’re standing there in a bathrobe, your hair damp and clinging to your neck. Your expression is unreadable, but it’s enough to tell him that things didn’t go as planned.

You don’t say a word, just push the door open wider, allowing him to step inside. Hyunjin walks in slowly, his eyes flickering to you as you close the door behind him.

The silence feels heavy, but he doesn’t press you. He moves to the dining table and takes a seat, his gaze following you as you head to the kitchen. The way you saunter to the counter, grab a glass, and fill it with water is oddly mesmerizing. There’s something different about you tonight—no sharp quips, no smug assurance.

Finally, he breaks the quiet. “How did it go?”

You pause mid-sip, the rim of the glass pressed against your lips. Lowering it slowly, you let out a bitter laugh and lean against the counter. “It went fine... until it didn’t.”

Hyunjin frowns. “What do you mean?”

You recount everything—the pub, the conversation, how everything seemed to be going perfectly until you dodged Flint’s kiss. Your voice remains steady, but Hyunjin can hear the frustration laced in your words, the self-reproach hiding beneath them.

He exhales, leaning back in his chair. “It’s okay. You don’t have to do all that. Really.”

But you shake your head, your eyes narrowing. “No, it’s not okay. I wasn’t enough. I should have done my part right. If I had just—”

“You don’t have to push yourself this far,” Hyunjin interrupts gently, his voice soft but firm. “You’ve already done so much.”

You glare at him, the fire in your gaze a stark contrast to the exhaustion etched into your features. “You don’t get it,” you snap, but your tone lacks venom. It’s frustration—at yourself more than anything.

Hyunjin stares at you, trying to find the right words. But as he watches you stand there, gripping the edge of the counter as if trying to hold yourself together, something shifts in him.

This whole time, he’s been so focused on his own frustrations, his own doubts about the plan, that he never stopped to consider how much you’ve been sacrificing, how much you’ve been giving to make this work.

For the first time, Hyunjin sees the weight you’re carrying—and how deeply determined you are to see this plan through.

“I see it now,” he says softly, almost to himself.

You glance at him, your expression wary. “See what?”

He shakes his head, offering you a faint smile instead of answering. For a moment, the two of you just look at each other, the silence heavy with unspoken words. Then you sigh, push off the counter, and make your way to the table.

“I’m not giving up,” you say, sitting across from him. There’s a quiet determination in your voice, one that Hyunjin can’t help but admire.

“I know,” he replies, his voice steady. “And I’ll make sure we see this through.”

-

The plan you created with Hyunjin echoes in your mind as you park your car in the office lot, waiting for most people to leave. You glance at Flint’s car still parked a few spaces away, and your heart races. This is your moment to get his interest back.

Taking a deep breath, you pop the front hood of your car and adopt a distressed expression. You lean over the engine, pretending to inspect it, though you have no idea what you’re looking for. Pulling out your phone, you stage a fake call for help, your voice carrying just enough to be heard if someone were near.

Time stretches painfully slow until you finally spot Flint walking out of the building with his ever-present assistant trailing behind. Your pulse quickens, but you keep your expression pitiful, glancing down at the engine in feigned confusion.

Flint walks straight toward his car without sparing you a glance, his assistant opening the car door for him. Your chest tightens as doubt creeps in—this might not work.

Swallowing your hesitation, you take the next step. You approach his assistant with timid steps, clutching your hands together nervously.

“Excuse me,” you say, your voice soft but loud enough to stop him. “Can you help me check what's wrong with my car? Please?”

The assistant glances at Flint, who gives him a slight nod. Without hesitation, the assistant walks over to your car and leans over to inspect the engine.

“Looks like your car’s out of commission,” he declares after a quick glance. “You’ll need a mechanic.”

You let your shoulders sag in an exaggerated display of disappointment, biting your lip as you feign helplessness. Flint watches from the comfort of his car, his expression unreadable. It isn’t until his assistant walks back and murmurs something to him that he rolls down the window slightly.

“It’s late,” Flint says, his tone casual but laced with authority. “I’ll have my driver drop you off. Get in.”

You flash him a grateful smile, walking to the car and slipping into the seat next to him. The door shuts with a solid thud, and you feel his presence keenly, even in the spacious interior.

“Thank you,” you murmur, adjusting your posture to seem both grateful and charming.

As the car begins to move, you glance at him shyly. “I really appreciate this. And, by the way, I had fun the other night. It’s a shame it ended so soon.”

Flint turns to you, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if gauging your sincerity. “Is that so?”

You nod, letting a coy smile grace your lips. “I guess I was just nervous. You caught me off guard.”

The ride feels both endless and fleeting. By the time the car pulls up in front of your apartment building, you steel yourself for the final step. The driver opens your door, but you make no move to leave just yet.

Turning to Flint, you lean in closer, your heart pounding in your chest. His eyes widen slightly, his body going rigid as you press your lips to his in a soft but deliberate kiss.

When you pull away, his expression is a mix of surprise and intrigue. You smile at him, your voice sultry. “I should’ve done that sooner.”

Before stepping out, you cast him one last glance, your lips curling into a playful smile. “See you tomorrow at the office, Mr. Hargrave.”

With that, you step out of the car, feeling his gaze linger on you as you walk toward your building.

The plan is officially back on track when you catch the sight of Flint’s sleek car parked right out front of your apartment building the next morning. Your pulse quickens with a mixture of satisfaction and anticipation.

As the car door opens, Flint steps out, looking as polished and composed as always. His lips curve into a smile, and for a moment, you revel in the small victory. The spell is working.

“Good morning,” he greets warmly, gesturing toward the open car door. “Shall we?”

Feigning surprise, you raise an eyebrow and offer him a playful smile. “What’s this? You went out of your way to pick me up?”

He chuckles softly, brushing it off. “Your car broke down, didn’t it? I thought it’d be a shame if you were late to work because of that.”

You tilt your head slightly, studying him with a curious gaze. He looks so nonchalant, but you know better. Beneath his composed exterior, the spell is undoubtedly weaving its magic.

“Well,” you say, stepping closer to him, “thank you for the thoughtful gesture.”

Your smile deepens as you slip into the car, catching the faint glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes before he closes the door behind you.

As the car glides through the streets toward the office, you can’t help but feel a surge of confidence. The plan is back in motion, and Flint is right where you want him—under your spell.

-

Hyunjin leans against the wall of the dimly lit hallway, arms crossed tightly as he watches Flint’s car pull up outside your building.

It’s become a routine he hates—Flint stepping out, opening the car door for you like some picture-perfect gentleman, and the two of you exchanging pleasantries that seem far too intimate.

Tonight is no different. Hyunjin’s jaw tightens as Flint helps you out of the car, his hand lingering on your arm longer than it should. You and him exchange a few words, Flint’s deep voice carrying softly in the still evening air.

Then, as if to push Hyunjin further into frustration, Flint tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, leaning in to press a kiss on your lips before stepping back.

Hyunjin’s fists clench at his sides. If he didn’t know this was all part of a carefully crafted plan, he might have believed the two of you were genuinely in love. But the knot in his chest isn’t just frustration—it’s jealousy. Why?

The question eats at him as he waits for Flint’s car to drive away. When it finally disappears down the street, Hyunjin pushes himself off the wall and heads up to your apartment. He knocks sharply, his impatience barely contained.

You open the door almost immediately, as though you were expecting him. Your expression is calm, maybe even a little amused.

“Are you okay?” Hyunjin asks, his eyes scanning your face for any sign that something is wrong. “Did Flint… do anything to you?”

Your lips curl into a small, knowing smile. “I’m fine,” you say coyly, stepping aside to let him in. “You don’t need to worry so much.”

Hyunjin follows you into the living room, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “We should speed this up,” he says, his voice sharp with urgency. “Let’s execute the plan quickly so you don’t have to keep being around him.”

You turn to face him, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t enjoy his company, either,” you say with a shrug. “But the best time for the ritual is Friday. Until then, I have to keep the act going.”

Hyunjin stares at the floor, jaw tight. “I just don’t like seeing you with him,” he admits, the words spilling out before he can stop them. “He’s… he’s dangerous. I’m afraid he’s going to do something to you.”

You step closer, your expression softening. “Hyunjin, I can handle Flint,” you say gently, your voice steady.

But your reassurance doesn’t ease the tightness in his chest. Hyunjin looks up to meet your gaze, his thoughts a chaotic swirl. Is it really Flint’s cruelty that bothers him, or is it something else entirely?

-

In the office, you step into Flint’s room, proposal folder in hand. He looks up from his desk as you enter, offering a faint smile as you approach. You present your proposal with a professional demeanor, walking him through every point with precision. Once you’re done, you pause, your hands resting lightly on the edge of his desk.

“Mr. Hargrave,” you say, your tone shifting slightly, “may I be unprofessional for just a moment?”

Flint raises an eyebrow but leans back in his chair, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Go ahead,” he says with a small smile.

You smile back, your gaze steady. “You once promised me dinner,” you begin, tilting your head slightly. “I was wondering… when you plan on making good on that promise.”

Flint chuckles, his amusement deepening. “If you’d like,” he says smoothly, “we can have that dinner tonight.”

Feigning a thoughtful expression, you shake your head. “I appreciate the offer, but I have a better idea,” you say, leaning in just slightly. “How about I cook you dinner? At my place.”

Flint’s eyebrows lift, curiosity sparking in his expression. “Your place?” he repeats, clearly intrigued.

You nod, adding with a sly smile, “A dinner at my place is far more intimate. Besides…” You glance over your shoulder, as if expecting to see his ever-present assistant lurking nearby. “I hate seeing your assistant hovering around all the time.”

Flint lets out a low laugh, nodding his agreement. “Fair enough,” he says. “Dinner at your place it is.”

Satisfied, you excuse yourself, turning to leave. But before you can take more than a step, Flint stands and closes the distance between you.

“Since we’re still being ‘unprofessional,’” he says, his voice low, before his hands find your waist and he pulls you closer. His lips meet yours in a firm, calculated kiss, one that you have no choice but to return.

As you kiss him, your eyes flick to the mirror on the wall. Your reflection stares back at you, your lips curved in a small, knowing smile. Mischief glints in your eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the game you’re playing and the plan that’s slowly coming together.

-

Hyunjin knocks on your door, shifting uncomfortably as he waits. When you open it, his breath hitches slightly. You’re dressed in a stunning silk dress, its fabric clinging perfectly to your frame, and your hair is styled in a neat bun that leaves your neck and shoulders elegantly bare.

For a moment, he forgets why he’s here, caught off guard by how effortlessly beautiful you look.

“Come in,” you say with a faint smile, stepping aside to let him in.

He follows you inside, watching as you glide toward the kitchen, your heels clicking softly on the floor. The table is already set, and Hyunjin can see the attention to detail you’ve put into everything.

“Did you get it?” you ask, your tone calm but firm as you begin arranging utensils.

Hyunjin quickly retrieves a small bottle from his pocket—the sleeping pills you asked for—and hands it to you. You take it without hesitation and tuck it away in one of the kitchen drawers.

“Anything else you need?” Hyunjin offers, his voice tinged with concern.

You glance at him over your shoulder and shake your head. “I’ve got it under control. You should go now, before Flint gets here.”

Hyunjin hesitates, standing awkwardly by the counter. “Are you sure? I can stay a little longer—”

You cut him off with a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Just be ready for my call when it’s time.”

He nods, but his feet remain rooted to the floor. He can’t shake the unease bubbling in his chest. Part of him worries about what Flint might try tonight, and another part—one he doesn’t want to acknowledge—resents the entire situation.

Finally, he sighs and heads for the door, turning back one last time. “Be careful,” he murmurs, his voice quieter than he intended.

You meet his gaze, your expression steady. “I will.”

Reluctantly, Hyunjin leaves, the knot in his stomach tightening with every step away from your apartment.

-

After dinner, Flint takes a leisurely stroll around your small apartment, his curious eyes wandering over the space. You remain in the kitchen, slicing fruit and arranging cheese to go with the wine. Thankfully, you had the foresight to stow away your witchcraft tools earlier, hiding them in the closet where they’re safely out of sight.

“It's a small apartment so there's not much to see,” you tell him with a small smile.

“I like it. It's cozy.” Flint responds from across the room.

As you glance over your shoulder, making sure Flint’s attention is elsewhere, you slip two sleeping pills into his glass of wine. Your heart races slightly as the pills dissolve into the deep red liquid, but you maintain your composure. With everything ready, you carry the tray to the living room and place it on the table.

Flint returns to the sofa, smiling as he settles beside you. “You’ve really gone all out,” he says, raising his glass in a toast.

You raise your glass as well, playfully saying. “Anything to impress you.”

You clink glasses with him, forcing a smile, and take a small sip of your own wine while keeping a careful eye on him. As he drinks, you ensure his glass never stays full for long, subtly encouraging him to refill it.

After a while, Flint pulls you closer, draping an arm around you as he begins kissing your neck. You suppress the instinct to recoil and instead lean into his embrace, pretending to enjoy the intimacy. You kiss him back, but your mind is elsewhere, silently urging the sleeping pills to take effect.

When his hands begin to wander, you gently push away, offering an apologetic smile. “I need to use the bathroom,” you say softly, slipping out of his grasp.

He nods, clearly disappointed so you place a quick peck on his lips as consolation. Closing the bathroom door behind you, you take a deep breath, counting the seconds as you hope the pills are working.

After a few minutes, you return to find Flint still sitting on the sofa, though his eyelids are heavy, and his movements sluggish. He looks up at you with a faint smile, oblivious to what’s happening.

“You look tired,” you say, sitting beside him and offering your arms. “Here, rest for a bit.”

Flint leans into you, his head resting against your chest as his breathing grows slow and steady. A moment later, he’s fully asleep.

Once you’re certain he’s out cold, you carefully ease him off you and grab your phone. Dialing Hyunjin’s number, you speak in a hushed tone. “It’s time.”

-

Hyunjin doesn’t bother knocking; you’re already there, opening the door as if you’ve been waiting for him. The moment he steps inside, his eyes land on Flint, sprawled out on the sofa and deeply asleep thanks to the potent sleeping pills Hyunjin sourced from his pharmacist friend. He notices you tidying up the remnants of your staged evening, clearing the glasses and dishes from the coffee table.

“What do you need me to do?” Hyunjin asks without preamble, his voice low.

You motion toward the furniture. “Help me move everything.”

Together, the two of you shift the furniture to the edges of the room. Once the space is cleared, you roll up the carpet, revealing a carefully drawn rune beneath it, etched onto the floor in a pattern that Hyunjin can only describe as intricate and otherworldly.

“Lift him,” you say, gesturing to Flint.

Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate, though he grits his teeth as he hauls Flint’s limp body off the couch and carries him to the center of the rune. Once Flint is positioned as instructed, you disappear into the bedroom to retrieve more items.

Hyunjin’s gaze lingers on the rune as he waits, a sense of unease creeping into his chest. When you return, you’re carrying an array of tools and objects he can’t even begin to identify. Candles, vials, a small chalice, and—most unsettling—a dagger.

“Set the candles around the circle and light them,” you instruct, kneeling on the floor as you arrange your witchcraft materials.

Hyunjin obeys, carefully placing the candles at specific points around the rune and lighting them one by one. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows across the room, the atmosphere growing heavier with each passing second. He finishes and steps back, watching as you lay your tools in front of you and take a deep, steadying breath.

“Anything else?” he asks, though the tension in his voice is clear.

You glance up at him briefly. “Step back. I need to start.”

Hyunjin retreats to the edge of the room, leaning against the wall as he watches you. He’s never been one to believe in witchcraft or rituals, but something about the way you move, the focus in your eyes, makes him hesitate.

You begin chanting, your voice low and rhythmic, as you add ingredients one by one to the chalice. Hyunjin watches as you pour liquids, crush herbs, and sprinkle powders, each action deliberate and precise. Then, you take the dagger, holding it with a calm determination that makes his stomach churn.

Without hesitation, you press the blade against your palm, cutting deep enough for blood to bead and then flow freely. You ball your hand into a fist, letting the blood drip steadily into the chalice. Hyunjin stiffens, torn between stepping in and letting you continue.

As the blood mingles with the other ingredients, you set the chalice on the floor and light a small flame beneath it. The mixture begins to burn, smoke curling upward as you chant louder, your voice rising with each repetition.

Hyunjin’s unease deepens as the room seems to shift around him. The air grows thick, pressing against his skin, and the flickering candlelight feels almost alive. He tries to convince himself it’s just his imagination, but he can’t shake the feeling that something is happening.

Hyunjin watches in tense silence as you place the chalice at the heart of the rune, the contents still smoldering. You close your eyes, steadying your breathing as you stretch your arms outward, the dagger still held tightly in one hand. Then, in a language that sounds ancient and otherworldly, you begin the incantation:

"To the peace of death, I call you forth. Let your life fuel my flame. Through natural fate, this path unfolds. From blood and soul, my magic returns to me."

Your voice resonates, starting low but growing with intensity. Each word seems to ripple through the room, vibrating in Hyunjin’s chest like an unearthly hum. The candles, though extinguished, seem to glow faintly, the runes on the floor pulsing with a strange energy.

You move to the chalice, gripping it tightly, and continue the spell, your voice now echoing as if the words are being spoken in tandem by someone—or something—else:

"From the shadows of this world, I draw the light. Flint Hargrave, I take your life. Nature shall not see this as betrayal. For your soul becomes my tool."

Hyunjin can’t look away as you pour the remaining contents of the chalice over the center of the rune, the liquid sizzling against the air as if it were molten. A deep rumble vibrates beneath his feet, subtle at first but growing stronger.

Then, gripping the dagger tightly, you press it against your palm once more, fresh blood dripping onto the circle as you chant the final, most powerful lines:

"My blood, your blood. I give life to reclaim my magic. Let my soul be eternal. And let your death appear as nature’s will."

The air explodes with energy as the rune flares to life, a bright, unnatural light illuminating the room. Flint’s body jerks as if an invisible force is gripping him. His chest rises once in a shallow breath before his entire body relaxes, utterly still.

Hyunjin shivers as the room goes deathly quiet again, save for the soft crackle of dying embers from the chalice. The energy in the air feels different now—charged and alive, yet cold and foreboding.

You rise slowly, wiping the blood from your hand onto a cloth as you look over your shoulder at Hyunjin. For a moment, he sees something in your eyes—a glint of power, or perhaps something darker.

“It’s done,” you announce.

Hyunjin stares at you, uncertain of what he just witnessed but knowing, without a doubt, that something far more significant than a simple ritual has taken place.

-

You and Hyunjin are moving the furniture back into place, the room slowly returning to normal. Hyunjin keeps glancing at your hand, his brows furrowed as his eyes linger on the blood-soaked cloth wrapped around it.

“Just a small cut,” you assure him, catching his concern. “I’ll handle it later.”

Hyunjin doesn’t look convinced but says nothing as you direct him to help move Flint to your bed. He pauses, clearly uncomfortable. “Why not just leave him on the sofa? He’s out cold. He won’t even notice.”

“It’s better if it looks like we slept together,” you reply, your tone even and practical. “It makes the story more believable.”

Hyunjin mutters something under his breath but follows your instructions, carefully lifting Flint’s limp form and carrying him to your bed. As he starts undoing Flint’s tie and unbuttoning his shirt, he glances up—and freezes.

Across the room, you're changing out of your dress, slipping into a silk nightgown that clings to your form. The dim light casts shadows that highlight every curve, and for a moment, Hyunjin finds himself staring at the bare expanse of your back. His throat tightens as unease washes over him.

He quickly looks away, focusing on pulling the blankets over Flint’s body.

“You okay over there?” you ask, your tone light but teasing as you tie the straps of your gown.

Hyunjin clears his throat, his voice coming out a bit strained. “Yeah, just... making sure everything looks convincing.”

Once Flint is settled, Hyunjin hesitates by the doorway, his fingers twitching at his sides. “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do?”

“Nothing left but to wait,” you say, brushing a hand over your hair as you settle into the chair by your vanity.

Hyunjin nods slowly, his jaw tightening. His eyes flicker to the cloth on your hand again, and his uneasiness spills into his words. “Just uh... take care of that cut, okay?”

“I will,” you reply softly, offering him a faint smile.

Reluctantly, Hyunjin turns to leave, his footsteps heavy as he makes his way out of your apartment. As the door closes behind him, a strange silence settles over the room, leaving you alone with Flint—and the heavy weight of what you’ve just done.

-

The sleeping pills must be far stronger than you anticipated because Flint sleeps through the entire morning. His phone vibrates on the nightstand for what feels like the hundredth time, the name "Assistant" flashing on the screen. You sigh, brushing your hair out of your face as you glance at the time.

Climbing onto the bed, you carefully settle yourself next to him, your movements deliberate and gentle. Leaning over, you softly shake his shoulder. "Flint," you say, your voice light and melodic. "Time to wake up."

He stirs, letting out a small groan before squinting up at you. His eyes struggle to focus, confusion flickering across his face.

You smile warmly, tilting your head. "Good morning, sleepyhead," you sweetly greet, brushing imaginary lint off his shoulder. "Your phone’s been ringing non-stop. I think your assistant’s starting to worry you’ve dropped off the face of the earth. If you don’t pick up, they’ll probably assume you’re dead."

That earns a groggy chuckle from him as he sits up, rubbing his face. He grabs his phone and answers it briefly, mumbling reassurances before hanging up.

When his gaze finally returns to you, his brows knit together slightly. “What... happened?” he asks, his voice rough with sleep.

You let out a light laugh, reaching out to straighten the rumpled sheets around him. “Oh, come on!” you tease, feigning a hint of hurt. “I can’t believe you don’t remember. We had such a good time last night.”

He blinks, his confusion shifting to realization as he looks down, noticing for the first time that he’s naked under the blanket. His eyes widen slightly, and a slow smirk creeps onto his lips.

You giggle, playfully running a hand through your hair. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you take your time piecing it together,” you say, slipping off the bed with a practiced grace.

“For now, how about breakfast?”

As you walk toward the kitchen, a quiet, satisfied smile graces your lips. Inside, you’re celebrating your triumph. Everything is moving perfectly according to plan.

-

Three days have passed, and Hyunjin finds himself pacing his apartment, his mind restless. The uncertainty gnaws at him, a constant hum of tension in the back of his thoughts. He’s not sure how long the spell takes to work—or if it’s even working at all.

His mind circles back to you, as it often does these days. He worries about you being stuck in this fabricated relationship with Flint if things don’t go as planned. Worse, he can’t shake the thought that you might have to keep playing along indefinitely, enduring Flint’s company far longer than you should.

Hyunjin sighs, running a hand through his hair. It’s not just his own career hanging by a thread—it’s yours too. The weight of it all feels suffocating.

The sudden ringing of his phone snaps him out of his thoughts. Glancing at the screen, he sees the office number flashing and hesitates for a moment before answering.

“Yes?” he says, trying to keep his voice steady.

“We need you to come in tomorrow for further examination,” the voice on the other end informs him. “Please be on time.”

Hyunjin’s grip tightens around his phone. “I’ll be there,” he says, keeping his response curt before hanging up.

He stares at the phone in his hand, unsure of how to feel. Does this mean things are moving forward, or is it just another step in prolonging his uncertainty? He can’t tell if this is a good sign or a bad one. What he does know is that his future remains unclear—and yours feels equally bleak.

On the way to your apartment, as he waits for the traffic light to turn, Hyunjin catches sight of Flint’s car pulling up in front of your building. He sees you step out, Flint following to open the door for you. Flint leans down, pressing a kiss to your lips before returning to his car.

From where Hyunjin stands, he can’t see your expression. He can’t tell how much effort it’s taking you to keep up the charade. Hyunjin clenches his fists and forces himself to calm down as he crosses the street.

When you open the door for him, you’re as composed as ever. You step aside, letting him in like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

But as he looks at you, something feels off. There’s no spark of confidence in your eyes, none of the determination you’d had when you first presented this plan.

“Do you think it’s working?” he asks cautiously.

You hesitate. Your gaze flickers to the floor, then back to him, and he feels the weight of your silence before you even speak.

“There’s a chance it’s not working,” you admit quietly. “I’ve… lost my magic.”

Hyunjin blinks, the words taking a moment to sink in. “What do you mean you’ve lost it?”

You press your lips together, avoiding his gaze. “I did something. Something that cost me my power.”

Hyunjin’s brows knit together, his unease mounting. “And you’re only telling me this now?” His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it.

You look at him, guilt etched into your features. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I—” You pause, then force the words out. “I cast a spell on you, Hyunjin.”

The room feels colder all of a sudden, and Hyunjin steps back, staring at you. “What?”

“I used my magic on you,” you say, voice trembling. “And I gave up my powers in exchange for being able to revoke it.”

Hyunjin stands there, frozen, trying to process what you’ve just told him. His mind flashes through your time together, questioning every moment, every interaction. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. The betrayal, the shock, the confusion—it’s all too much.

Finally, he looks at you again, his expression unreadable. “You… cast a spell on me?” His voice is quiet, strained.

You nod, guilt heavy in your eyes. "I didn’t know it would lead to this."

Hyunjin turns away, running a hand through his hair. He doesn’t leave, but he doesn’t speak either, his mind spinning as he tries to come to terms with what you’ve just confessed.

-

When Hyunjin shows up at your door, his expression says everything before he even speaks. He steps inside, and you prepare yourself. After the initial pleasantries, he asks the question you knew was coming.

“You… cast a spell on me?”

The moment hangs heavy between you, and you realize there’s no way out of this. You have to tell him everything. So you do. You confess to casting a love spell on him, to manipulating his feelings. You explain how you sacrificed your magic to undo the damage, thinking it was the only way to make things right.

As you speak, you watch the light in his eyes dim, the distance between you growing with each word. You can feel him slipping away from you all over again, and it makes your heart ache in a way you hadn’t thought possible.

When you finish, silence fills the space between you. Hyunjin doesn’t say a word, his expression unreadable. You don’t know if he’s upset, angry, or simply in shock.

You force yourself to look at him, your voice trembling as you speak. “I’ll understand if you want nothing to do with me. I promise I’ll stay away from you.”

He doesn’t respond, his silence louder than any words he could have said. Finally, he turns toward the door, and you realize this might be the end. The final goodbye.

“Wait,” you say, your voice cracking.

Hyunjin pauses, his hand on the doorknob, but he doesn’t turn to face you. You rush to your bedroom, grabbing something from a small box tucked away in the corner. When you return, you hold out a talisman.

“I know you’re being called to the office tomorrow,” you say, your voice soft. “Please, take this.”

He takes it from you without a word, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment before he steps out of your apartment.

As the door clicks shut, you stare at the empty space where he stood, the sound of your whispered “Goodbye” barely audible even to yourself.

-

Hyunjin’s head feels like a chaotic storm, each thought crashing into the next, leaving him unable to focus. The talisman you gave him is tucked into his pocket, but he hasn’t thought much about it since leaving your apartment. Right now, none of it seems to matter. Not the examination, not his job, not even the mess he’s left behind with you.

As he sits in the cold, sterile interrogation room, he stares blankly at the table, his mind drifting. He’s been waiting here for nearly an hour now, and the oppressive silence only amplifies the noise in his head.

Maybe I should just resign, he thinks bitterly. Spare them the trouble. What’s the point of dragging this out?

He starts tapping his fingers on the table impatiently, muttering under his breath. “What’s taking so long? Are they trying to torture me or what?”

The door finally creaks open, and a staff member steps in. Hyunjin straightens up, expecting the examination to finally begin.

“Sorry for the delay,” the man says, his tone formal. “I'm afraid we need to reschedule the examination.”

Hyunjin’s eyebrows shoot up. “Reschedule? What? Why?”

The man hesitates, looking uncomfortable. “News just broke out... CEO Flint has passed away.”

Hyunjin’s fingers abruptly stops tapping the table and he freezes on his seat. “What?”

“It’s all over the office,” the man continues. “Apparently, it was a sudden heart attack.”

Hyunjin’s mind blanks for a moment. Flint is dead. The words echo in his head, feeling surreal.

“A sudden heart attack,” he repeats slowly, almost as if testing how it sounds.

“Yes. I’m sure more information will come out soon, but for now, the office is in chaos.”

The man leaves the room, but Hyunjin barely notices. His hands rest on the table, fingers tightening into fists as the weight of the situation sinks in.

The spell worked.

His heart feels heavy, a mixture of relief, shock, and guilt flooding his system. Hyunjin isn’t sure what to feel. Flint is gone, and the dark cloud looming over his and your lives has lifted, but at what cost?

-

It’s been a week since the news about Flint’s sudden death, and Hyunjin’s been reinstated with a clean slate, or at least that’s how it seems. No conclusive evidence, no real suspicion, and here he is, back in his seat, his career still intact.

He should be relieved, he knows that. He should be celebrating that the spell worked, that Flint is gone, and he’s free from the twisted situation that had him tangled up in it all. But instead, there’s this hollow feeling gnawing at him, and it's impossible to ignore.

With a sigh, Hyunjin pulls the talisman from his pocket. The small object feels heavier in his hand now, its meaning no longer as simple as a mere piece of luck. This was supposed to be his victory—his triumph. The key to his freedom. And yet, all he feels is sadness.

His fingers trace over the edges of the charm, memories of the nights spent with you flooding back. The time he spent with you felt like an illusion now, a dream that’s shattered. He’s angry, of course, at the deceit. You cast a spell on him, used magic to manipulate him without his knowledge. He didn’t even have a chance to choose. Betrayed, he feels the sting of that truth, raw and cutting.

But underneath that anger is something else, something he can’t shake. A deep sense of loss. He can’t understand it. Why does he feel this way?

"I got what I wanted," he murmurs to himself, his voice tinged with bitterness. "So why does it feel like I’ve lost everything?"

The bustling noise of the office around him fades into the background as his thoughts consume him. He wants to hate you for what you did. He wants to walk away and leave everything behind. But he can’t.

Because no matter how hard he tries, a part of him still cares for you. And that part of him can’t stop wondering if he made a mistake when he walked out of your apartment that night.

-

You take a deep breath as you gather the remnants of Flint's presence in your apartment—the items he touched, the things tainted by his energy. One by one, you place them in a bag, careful not to let your emotions creep back in. It’s not just about removing his physical traces; it’s about banishing the negativity that still lingers, suffocating your space.

With the bag clutched tightly, you step outside to a safe spot and set it ablaze. The flames crackle and hiss, consuming every last fragment. You whisper under your breath, a spell to release the darkness.

"By light of stars and flame of sun. Cleanse this space; let harm be none. All shadows fade, all ill be gone. This is my will; let peace be won. So mote it be."

The fire dies down, leaving behind nothing but ash. You exhale deeply, feeling a small weight lift from your chest.

Back in your apartment, the air still feels heavy, clinging to your skin like a second layer. You draw yourself a bath, infusing the water with a few drops of essential oils—lavender for peace, eucalyptus for clarity. As the warm water embraces you, you feel a subtle shift in your energy.

Once submerged, you whisper another spell, letting your voice carry into the water:

"From root to crown, from heart to soul. Let purity and light take hold. All dark removed, all wounds made whole. By power divine, restore control. So mote it be."

The words resonate through you, calming your mind. You close your eyes and let the spell do its work, envisioning the negativity dissolving into the water. You imagine it swirling away, leaving you lighter, clearer.

When the bath is done, you step out feeling renewed, wrapping yourself in a soft towel. The final step is to cleanse the air around you. You light a white candle and carry it through each room, whispering the same purification spell for the space. As the soft glow illuminates the corners, you feel the lingering shadows retreat.

Finally, you sit in the center of your living room, lighting a bundle of sage. The smoke curls into the air, spiraling upwards, carrying away the last traces of darkness. You speak firmly:

"This space is mine; it is sacred and free. No harm may enter; no ill may be. Only light and love dwell here with me. So mote it be."

The silence that follows feels comforting, like an embrace. You smile faintly, knowing you’ve taken the first step to reclaim your life and your peace. But before you can fully settle, there’s a knock at the door.

Hyunjin.

You debate ignoring it, letting the past stay behind that door, but the longing within you wins. Wrapping yourself in your robe, you pad to the door and open it.

There he is, standing on your doorstep, a faint, hesitant smile playing on his lips. It’s not the expression you expected—no anger, no bitterness, just something softer, something unsure.

“Can I come in?” he asks, his voice quiet but steady.

You nod, stepping aside to let him in. You don’t trust yourself to speak, afraid of what might spill out if you try.

The air feels heavy as you stand in the doorway, watching Hyunjin step inside. His presence stirs up emotions you’ve been trying to suppress for days. His smile is soft, but there’s a nervous energy about him, as though he’s unsure of what he’s doing here.

“I didn’t see you at work,” he starts, his voice light, as if trying to mask the tension. “Thought I’d check in. You know, make sure you weren’t... taking days off as a grieving girlfriend for Flint.”

His attempt at humor makes your chest tighten, but you can’t bring yourself to respond. You cross your arms, standing stiffly as he slowly moves around your space, his eyes scanning the room like he’s committing every detail to memory.

When he finally stops, his gaze locks onto yours. His expression shifts, the teasing gone, replaced by something deeper. “Why did you revoke the love spell?”

The question hits you like a wave. You hesitate, the words caught in your throat. Part of you wants to avoid it, to bury the truth even deeper, but you know he deserves to hear it.

You inhale sharply, steadying yourself. “Because I love you,” you admit, your voice trembling. “Too much to keep you like that.”

The confession spills out, leaving you vulnerable in a way you haven’t been before. Tears threaten to blur your vision, but you fight to hold them back, not wanting to fall apart in front of him.

Hyunjin steps closer, his eyes searching yours. “You remember everything, don’t you? From when I was under the spell?”

You nod, your voice barely above a whisper. “Everything.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” he presses, his voice tinged with both frustration and hurt.

“I tried,” you choke out, tears now freely falling. “I tried so many times but you... you hate me too much.”

Your voice cracks, and you look away, unable to bear the weight of his gaze. Every word feels like a dagger to your heart, reopening wounds you thought had begun to heal.

Suddenly, Hyunjin closes the distance between you. His hands gently cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears. The tenderness in his touch makes you crumble, and you can’t stop the sobs from escaping.

“You should’ve told me,” he whispers, his voice soft now, almost pained.

Before you can respond, his lips are on yours. The kiss is gentle yet urgent, a mix of longing and regret. You melt into him, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as if he might vanish if you let go.

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, the ache in your chest subsides, replaced by the warmth of his embrace.

-

Tracing every curve of your body feels like a trip back to his favorite place. Hyunjin may not remember it but he knows, he's been here before and it brings out that sense of belonging. He uses his hands, his lips to retrace the steps and as he puts his body on top of you, his body fits yours like two pieces of puzzle.

“How can I forget such beautiful body?” He mutters with a gentle kiss on your navel.

He continues the kisses upward until his lips reunite with yours again and each kiss he plants is harder and longer than the previous one. One hand glides down your front and not stopping until his fingers meet your wet sex.

Intrigued by the delicate flesh, Hyunjin looks down as he pushes his slender fingers inside you, he watches as you take them and his eyes widen at how you clench around them. He gulps air before saying, “You know how to get me impatient.”

Slowly, he pulls his two fingers and not wasting time to shove them into his mouth, his luscious lips wrapped around his fingers as he sucks, hard.

“How can I forgot this sweet, sweet taste.” His voice is so low it's almost like a whisper.

His patience runs thin. He parts your legs wider and positions himself in between. While stroking his cock in his hand, Hyunjin’s intense eyes fixated on yours and the way he can see the want in your eyes... he's stroking his cock faster than before.

Hyunjin can’t waste another second just looking at your gushing cunt and let it tantalizing him the longer he looks at it. He holds the side of your thighs after placing his cock in your wetness, he begins rocking his hips back and forth, rubbing his length in between your slit and at the same time, smearing your essence all over it.

“Fucking goodness!” He breathlessly says with his deep, heavy voice, tinted with hurries.

Hyunjin glides his hands down to your hips and holds you still as he pushes his cock, his eyes fixated on watching his length disappearing into you little by little. He unconsciously holds his breathe watching you take it, the size, the girth, and the veins coiling around it.

The moment he's fully sheathed inside you, Hyunjin drops his head into the crook of your neck. With his mouth resting so close to your ear, you can hear his raw, low groans. After a moment of composing himself, Hyunjin hovers above you, a hand cupping your jaw.

“Tell me, mmh?” He hastily kisses your lips in between sentences. “Tell me how can I forgot this tightness, this... fucking good pussy?”

Hyunjin props his hands on each side of you as he begins moving his hips, slowly and deliberately, his eyes fluttering shut as if he can't comprehend the sensation of each his movement caused.

“Oh, fucking...” He can't even finish his sentence but pulls out of you immediately. He knows that if he's inside you for a second longer, he'll lost it.

He frowns at the detachment and makes up for it by kissing you, placing his lips on every inch of skin available to him that breathing becomes unnecessary to him. Hungry for more skin to kiss, he flips you over, one hand holding you down by the nape of the neck as his plush lips peppering your back with soft yet searing kisses.

“How are you so soft all over?” His voice filled with disbelief but he doesn’t necessarily needs an answer from you as he plants his mouth on the base of your spine.

He makes use of his other hand to fondle your ass cheeks and from there, it's making its way back to your cunt, fingers teasing around your entrance, making it wet as he's ready to penetrate again.

On his second attempt, Hyunjin has better self control, he takes a deep breathe once he's fully buried inside you and then slowly, he lays on top of you, his chest meeting your back, skin to skin.

Lying face down with your head on the pillow, he puts all of your hair to the side and then presses a gentle kiss on the column of your throat. With utmost carefulness, Hyunjin begins thrusting from behind you and the skin slapping sounds filling the room.

Putting his hand around your neck, he tilts your head to the back until your eyes meet his. “You feel so fucking good, do you know that?” A smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he says it.

You only nod as you innocently gaze into his eyes and lowly moaning to his thrusts, arousing him more than he expected. You drop your head to the side, leaning against his forearm as he intently watches your facial expressions ever changing as the pleasure mounting inside you.

“You're close, mmh, beautiful?” He's picking up the pace but he asks you so sweetly.

Your wide-eyed gaze lingers on him as you lick your lips and nod.

Hyunjin can’t help himself but kisses your open mouth as he feels you tightening around his cock and plants a lingering peck on your lips. “I'm not going to stop until you come around my cock.”

He takes your hand and laces it together as he closes the gap between your bodies, his hips not slowing down even for a moment, determined to give you your release.

“Hyunjin...” you softly whine.

It's hard to ignore how you tighten around him, how you're sucking him deeper into yours as you hit your climax. He holds on to his last shred of self control to not lose it there. He wants to make this lasts for as long as possible.

As you're dealing with the waves of pleasure lapping over you, Hyunjin places kisses on your neck and shoulders, eventually your lips as satisfed moans spilling out of your parted lips. He holds you close and as he maneuvers himself to lay back on the mattress.

Giving you a moment of rest, Hyunjin uses the time to cuddle you, wrapped his muscular arms around you and stays like that as you're relishing your orgasm.

You turn your head to the back to face him, demanding a kiss from him and he gives it without a doubt, pressing a kiss on your lips.

The sheet is a crumpled mess as you bodies slithering together, limbs all over each other, touching, squeezing, pressing... it doesn’t take long to get you hot all over again.

Hyunjin reluctantly lets go one of his hands busy fondling your breasts and lowering it to your core, rubbing your clit that engorges the more he stimulates it. If only his mouth was resting close to it, he'd suck on it. He uses his fingers instead, pinching it in between, earning a soft gasp from you.

“Hyunjin,” you softly call his name. “Put it back in.”

In response, Hyunjin hastily kisses your lips. “With pleasure.”

In the midst of him thrusting you from behind, you lift your leg and put it over his thigh, providing him more depth and allowing him to continue circling your clit to give you extra  stimulation.

His lips keep lathering yours and he likes how your moans spilling into his mouth, hot and sultry, and at times, he doesn’t stop himself from playfully sucks on your tongue.

“Keep clenching around me like that and I'm going to... oh, cum a lot inside you,” he finishes his sentence with a haste kiss on your lips. “Is what where you want it, mmh? Inside?”

You curve your arm around his neck and bring his head close for a kiss. “Inside. Yes.”

“Thank fuck!” He playfully curses against your lips. “Cause I don't think I'd be able to pull out right in time.”

With that being said, Hyunjin moves at such ease, trying to delay his high as long as possible and savoring every second of it, his arms tightening around you as he thrusts into you slowly yet with such intensity that makes your body squirms in reaction.

His head is buried deep in your neck as he incessantly moving to chase his high and when he finally comes undone, he holds you tightly.

With his head still clouded with overwhelming pleasure, you bring his hand that is resting between your legs to your mouth and he watches as you take each one of his fingers into your mouth, sucking it with your eyes closed. Once you're done with all the five fingers, you bring his hand down to your breast to fondle it together with him.

You turn your head to the side to capture his lips in yours and Hyunjin likes every bit of this moment. The intimacy, the tenderness of it all, you.

He slightly pulls away from the kiss to say. “I don't want to forget this.”

Lying beside you in the quiet stillness of your bedroom, Hyunjin feels a rare sense of peace. He pulls you closer, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. His gaze softens as it meets yours, and he notices how the faint glow of moonlight highlights the lingering sadness in your expression.

Without thinking, his hand reaches for yours, his thumb brushing over the tender scar on your palm. It’s a reminder of the ritual you performed, the night everything began to shift.

His voice is soft as he asks, “Does it still hurt?”

You shake your head, your lips curving into the smallest of smiles. But Hyunjin’s heart aches all the same. Slowly, he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the scarred skin. The simple act feels more intimate than anything he’s done before, as though he’s sealing his own unspoken promise.

There’s something stirring in him—an ache, a yearning, a strange sense of déjà vu. It’s like his heart remembers moments his mind refuses to recall, fragments of the love spell that linger despite everything. As he holds you, Hyunjin begins to wonder if the spell merely amplified something that was already there.

His voice breaks the silence as he sees the tenderness in the way you gaze at him. “What are you thinking?”

You hesitate for a moment, your eyes searching his face, before answering quietly. “Do you still hate me?”

Hyunjin laughs softly, shaking his head and then presses a kiss on your lips.

“No,” he says, his voice warm and reassuring. “Not even close.”

-

Your mornings have become a ritual of their own. The day always begins earlier now, with Hyunjin beside you. The first rays of sunlight filter through the curtains, illuminating his peaceful expression as he lies next to you. It’s a moment you savor before the world demands the façade of professionalism you’ve both agreed to maintain.

Hyunjin stirs, pulling you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Just five more minutes,” he mumbles, his voice husky with sleep.

You smile, threading your fingers through his hair. “Only five,” you tease, knowing full well it’ll stretch longer.

Soon, what started as lazy cuddles turns into a heating moment of your bodies pressed so close together and a little later, he has you around him.

You're straddling him on the bed with both feet planted against the mattress as a leverage, allowing you to bounce on his cock. His hands resting on each side of your waist, angling your body and at the same time, guiding your movements.

Hyunjin’s mouth is full of your flesh, his tongue circling around your nipple before sucking it as hard as he could. His eyes are wide and dark with lust, looking up at you with his mouth gaping open.

“Keep going, baby.” He sweetly mutters with a haste kiss on your neck and jaw. “Fuck me good. Drain me.”

Instead of adding speed, you choose to keep the steady pace but you switch to roll your hips while intentionally clenching around him. You like watching him overwhelmed by pleasure, his mouth gaping open with raw groans spilling out of it.

When he finally cum around you, you hold his gaze and watch as pleasure filled his eyes. Hyunjin tightens his hold around you and draws you close as he releases his seed inside you. His lips begin to plant kisses on your skin, shoulder, chest, neck and then he traces down your jaw with his plush lips before capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

“It's been more than five minutes, ” you playfully say and he looks so beautiful as you cradle his face in your hands that you can't help but kiss his red, full lips.

He shakes his head and wrapping his arms tightly around you. “Stay. Don't pull away yet.”

His hand glides up to the nape of your neck, allowing him to angle your head as he pleases as he leans in for a long, lingering kiss that takes your breath away. He smiles when he breaks the kiss and keeps his forehead pressed against yours as he jokingly says, “You didn’t put me under a spell again, right?”

You loop your arms around his neck and play with the tendrils of hair on the back of his head. “Even if I did, it's a spell to make you less clingy around me.”

Hyunjin lets out a low chuckle but it's enough to make his eyes form two crescent moons. “Are you sure it's not the other way around?”

“A hundred percent sure.” You place a long peck on his lips as he reciprocates with a longer one.

“We should do it.” Hyunjin says out of the blue.

You blink at him, confused. “Do what?”

“I saw it on your spellbook,” Hyunjin says, his gaze steady and unwavering. “The one that binds our souls together.”

Your reaction is immediate—your eyes widen in shock, and you shake your head. “No,” you say firmly. “You don’t have to do something like that. You don't have to prove anything.”

“It’s not about proving anything,” Hyunjin says, sitting up slightly so he can look at you more directly.

“It’s about not forgetting. I don’t want to lose this—or you—again. If there’s even a chance it could happen…” He trails off, his voice softening. “I want to remember. All of it.”

You sit up as well, staring at him with a mixture of disbelief and concern. “Hyunjin, this isn’t something to take lightly. Our souls would be connected forever. You don’t want to do this.”

But Hyunjin has already made up his mind. He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. “I know what I want,” he says gently. “And it’s you. So if this is the way to keep you, then let’s do it.”

His resolve is unwavering, and though doubt flickers in your eyes, Hyunjin knows you’ll agree. You love him, and you’ve already sacrificed so much to be with him. Now, it’s his turn to choose you.

-

Reluctantly, you flip through your spellbook, finding the ritual you hadn’t dared to consider before. The process is simple, yet the weight of its meaning is anything but. You scan the instructions one last time and gather what you need: a spool of red thread and the candles from your altar.

The room is dimly lit, the soft glow of flickering candlelight dancing against the walls. You’ve drawn the rune onto the floor with meticulous care, the ancient symbol connecting you both to the magic you’re about to invoke. Sitting across from each other inside the rune, you watch Hyunjin’s face, searching for any sign of hesitation.

“Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?” you ask, your voice quiet but firm.

“I’m sure,” he says, his gaze steady and unwavering.

“This is permanent,” you remind him one last time as you hold the spellbook in your hands. “Once our souls are bound, there’s no undoing it.”

Hyunjin meets your gaze, his expression calm but resolute. “I know,” he says.

You nod, swallowing the knot of nerves in your throat, and reach for his hands. They’re warm and steady as they clasp yours, his touch grounding you as you prepare for what’s to come.

With slow, deliberate movements, you begin to wrap the red thread around your joined hands, your fingers trembling ever so slightly as you secure the bond. The thread feels heavier than it should, its weight symbolic of the promise you’re making to each other.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes, letting the words of the spell flow from your lips like a soft melody:

“Thread of fate, bond of soul. Tie us together, make us whole. Heart to heart, spirit to spirit. Forever bound, no end or limit.”

The candles around you flicker, their flames growing taller as the magic begins to take hold. The air feels charged, alive with energy, and you open your eyes to see Hyunjin watching you intently.

“Repeat after me,” you say softly, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you.

Hyunjin nods, his voice strong and clear as he echoes your words, completing the incantation:

“Thread of fate, bond of soul. Tie us together, make us whole. Heart to heart, spirit to spirit. Forever bound, no end or limit.”

As the final words of the spell fall from his lips, you both feel it—the shift, the connection, the unexplainable pull that tells you the ritual has worked.

You look up at Hyunjin, your hands still bound by the red thread. His gaze is soft, almost reverent, and without thinking, the two of you lean toward each other. Your lips meet in a kiss that feels different from any you’ve shared before. It’s not just a kiss—it’s a vow, a seal, a promise etched into the very fabric of your beings.

When you finally pull back, the red thread glows faintly for a moment before fading into nothing, leaving only the warmth of Hyunjin’s touch and the knowledge that your souls are now—and forever—bound.

For better or for worse, you are his, and he is yours.

-

When the day finally begins, it’s with a shared rhythm. A warm shower where water cascades over tangled limbs, soft laughter echoing off the tiles. Breakfast at the table, the mundane act of eating transformed into something tender in the quiet intimacy you share.

Hyunjin always leaves first, heading home to change before work. You watch him go, knowing you’ll see him soon. True to habit, the two of you arrive at the office at almost the same time.

In the elevator, it’s a delicate dance. The veneer of professionalism must remain intact, yet the shared glances and sly smiles betray the connection between you. There’s a thrill in the secrecy, a spark that makes each stolen moment feel more precious.

As the elevator chimes at Hyunjin’s floor, he steps out, turning to flash you a smile just before the doors close. It’s small, almost imperceptible to anyone else, but to you, it’s everything.

When the elevator resumes its ascent, you find yourself smiling too. But it’s not just the thought of Hyunjin that occupies your mind. As you glance at your hands, you feel it—the power surging beneath your skin, stronger than ever.

The binding ritual didn’t just intertwine your soul with Hyunjin’s. It did something more. It restored what you thought you had lost, your magic power returning with a force you hadn’t expected. The price? Flint’s soul.

You tell yourself it wasn’t intentional, that his death appearing so natural was merely an unforeseen consequence. Yet deep down, you know the truth.

The sacrifice wasn’t accidental. It was necessary.

Now, you’re more powerful than ever. Hyunjin doesn’t know, and perhaps he doesn’t need to. What matters is that your soul is bound to his, and with your magic restored, you can ensure it stays that way.

You clench your hands into fists, feeling the hum of energy within. For the first time in a long time, you’re not afraid. Not of Flint, not of losing Hyunjin, not of anything.

This is your world now. And you’ll do whatever it takes to protect it.

“With fire in my veins and steel in my spine. Today the world bends, and all power is mine.”

-

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[redlightsallnight]

It’s all good babe! I was okay after I just read it at a really bad time as far as my mental health went!! Thank you for being so considerate to your readers that’s so sweet 🥺💜

.・゜-: ✧ :- FICTIONAL REALITY .・゜-: ✧ :-

pairing • bang chan x fem reader

synopsis • fiction or reality? y/n preferred the former, escaping into another world, escaping her problems. so what happens when reality takes that away from her; wiping her own story-in-progress off both her laptop and beloved usb? and what happens when she opens the door in the middle of a crisis to none other then the love interest of her novel... and he's holding her usb?

warnings • every chapter will have individual warnings, but overall ones are: swearing, past emotionally abusive relationship, anxiety, major minor character death <- this will likely be updated throughout the story!

taglist • CLOSED

MASTERLIST

EXTRA! • FLOORPLANS

CHAPTER ONE • REALITY CHECK

CHAPTER TWO • NEW LIFE

CHAPTER THREE • LATE NIGHT

CHAPTER FOUR • OLD CONNECTIONS

CHAPTER FIVE • AFTER THE STORM

CHAPTER SIX • CHAN'S TRUTH

CHAPTER SEVEN • GHOST TOWN

CHAPTER EIGHT • NEW DEVELOPMENTS

CHAPTER NINE • TROUBLING CONDITIONS

CHAPTER TEN • INTO THE DARK

CHAPTER ELEVEN • THE CALM

CHAPTER TWELVE • LEAVE TOWN

CHAPTER THIRTEEN • BACK INSIDE

CHAPTER FOURTEEN • LITTLE FOX, I'VE MISSED YOU

CHAPTER FIFTEEN • WATER LILIES

CHAPTER SIXTEEN • DONE

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN • FIND ME

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN • HERE COMES THE BRIDE

CHAPTER NINETEEN • BEGIN AGAIN

CHAPTER TWENTY • EPILOGUE

[redlightsallnight]

uhm so i dunno if i should recommend this because i just spemt the past hour having a panic attack because i lowk thought i wasn’t real but anyways

it was really well written but it may fuck with your head so just be aware of that

.・゜-: ✧ :- FICTIONAL REALITY .・゜-: ✧ :-

pairing • bang chan x fem reader

synopsis • fiction or reality? y/n preferred the former, escaping into another world, escaping her problems. so what happens when reality takes that away from her; wiping her own story-in-progress off both her laptop and beloved usb? and what happens when she opens the door in the middle of a crisis to none other then the love interest of her novel... and he's holding her usb?

warnings • every chapter will have individual warnings, but overall ones are: swearing, past emotionally abusive relationship, anxiety, major minor character death <- this will likely be updated throughout the story!

taglist • CLOSED

MASTERLIST

EXTRA! • FLOORPLANS

CHAPTER ONE • REALITY CHECK

CHAPTER TWO • NEW LIFE

CHAPTER THREE • LATE NIGHT

CHAPTER FOUR • OLD CONNECTIONS

CHAPTER FIVE • AFTER THE STORM

CHAPTER SIX • CHAN'S TRUTH

CHAPTER SEVEN • GHOST TOWN

CHAPTER EIGHT • NEW DEVELOPMENTS

CHAPTER NINE • TROUBLING CONDITIONS

CHAPTER TEN • INTO THE DARK

CHAPTER ELEVEN • THE CALM

CHAPTER TWELVE • LEAVE TOWN

CHAPTER THIRTEEN • BACK INSIDE

CHAPTER FOURTEEN • LITTLE FOX, I'VE MISSED YOU

CHAPTER FIFTEEN • WATER LILIES

CHAPTER SIXTEEN • DONE

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN • FIND ME

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN • HERE COMES THE BRIDE

CHAPTER NINETEEN • BEGIN AGAIN

CHAPTER TWENTY • EPILOGUE

[redlightsallnight]

Tears are streaming down my face

wherever you are ☆ hwang hyunjin.

hyunjin x fem!reader. childhood best friends to lovers. slowburn, pining. fluff, angst. suggestive. a hyunjin birthday special.

wc: 12.9k words.

warnings: reader often referred to as "girl," suggestive. mentions of sex.

note: this fic is my baby. it might be one of my favourite things i've ever written so far, please treat it well <3 feedbacks are very much appreciated.

playlist.

Hyunjin promised you that he'll be wherever you are. What do you do when your best friend of years — the only person you've ever loved disappears without saying goodbye? Especially when you've spent your entire life with Hyunjin, you didn't know of life without him.

one.

“Happy Birthday, Hyunjin.”

It was Hyunjin’s 10th birthday. 

Despite already singing him a happy birthday song, you muttered the wish once again in the comfort of his tree house. He sat adjacent to you, feet dangling over the platform, the large leaves hovering over the tree house’s roof providing shelter from the blinding sunlight. 

He hummed in gratitude, eyes busy watching Kkami running around below the tree house. Afternoons with Hyunjin were often spent like this — hanging out in the tree house as Kkami played around on the grass, its barks mirroring its happiness. For years, you’ve spent enjoying the fact that your afternoons were spent like this — were spent with Hyunjin, in childish innocence. 

After letting the silence take over for a while, Hyunjin turned his head towards you, a little surprised once he saw that you were already looking at him. He tried his best to not let his surprise show. 

“Why did you want to come up here? I thought you were enjoying the party inside.” 

Indeed, you were enjoying the birthday party, a little too much for Hyunjin’s liking. The boys from Hyunjin’s school came to the party, and you seemed to get along with them quickly, despite being the only girl at the party. Hyunjin hates to admit it but he was a little envious. He told himself that he’s jealous because he’s your number one best friend, so you should pay more attention to him. It was true, but only partially — he was jealous because they were all boys. Not that he would ever admit that to himself.

To Hyunjin’s question, you responded by extending your arms to him, revealing a white box in your palm. He took it, quickly recognizing it as a jewellery box. He’s received one of them after purchasing a Mother’s Day gift. Quietly, he examined the engravings on the box, and the pristine look of it. Honestly, he was impressed by how clean you have kept it. You had always been one to dirty your white clothes. 

“What’s this?” he asked, answering his own enquiry by opening the box with you sitting close, peering over his hands.

Hyunjin’s heart skipped a beat.

In the box laid two necklaces, black strings with Lego pieces as pendants. They were matching necklaces. The Lego piece of each necklace formed a heart when joined together. His brown eyes widened, in disbelief of the gift. He’s never received something like this — something matching. It made his heart flutter — no, it beat faster than it does while playing soccer. Hyunjin turned to look into your eyes, and it was as though he had found a new revelation in yours. The more Hyunjin looked at you, the more the realization seeped in, until it overtook his senses.

You’re a girl. 

You weren’t just the kid from next door, you weren’t like his other friends — you’re a girl. You like Disney princesses, you have a pretty face, you like Sanrio characters, you have soft hair, you like painting nails, you have pink lips from your strawberry lip balm, you like matching necklaces — you’re a girl. 

A very pretty girl.

It felt like a revelation after having been friends with you for over five years. As though the necklaces in the box held some sort of power to snap one from a trance. Hyunjin realized that you were different from his other friends. For one, you have softer hands. Moreover, you’re someone he can develop a crush on — or whatever girls call it. 

His finger traced the pendants, feeling the bumps of the Lego pieces. He smiled, one that reached his ears. You felt yourself releasing the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 

“I love it soooo much. Thank you.”

Unlike other boys (the stinky ones from your school), Hyunjin didn’t cringe at the gift. The way he gently examined the necklaces mirrored the appreciation he felt towards it. If he was any other boy, he would’ve probably laughed at the gift, then poked fun at you. 

Then again, Hyunjin had never been like the other boys you knew.

He was different in the way he spoke softly to you (softer than he would to his guy friends), and how he would let you change the TV channel from Snoopy to Totally Spies. He had always been different, that being the reason why you were so fond of him. 

“You like it? Really?” you queried, staring at him. You watched his expressions carefully, trying to sense for any lies.

“Really! Which one do you want?” he answered, absolutely no hesitations. He wasn’t lying.

Hyunjin panned the box towards you, prompting you to pick which necklace. One was in black, the other in white. As always, he gave in to you, letting you be the one to choose. 

“White!”

The sun was setting when you both swayed your legs, wearing the matching necklaces. Hyunjin was genuinely happy, one of his hands wouldn’t stop fiddling with the pendant. The party was still lively inside, but he much preferred sitting with you — his one and only best friend. 

“Yn,” your best friend’s voice broke you from your trance. “What do you want for your birthday?” 

“Hm,” you pondered, tapping your pointer on your chin in a cartoonish manner.

He was looking at you, an expectant expression on his face. You pulled up your legs to cross them as you thought. 

“I think…” your voice trailed, “I want to be the best ballerina in the world and move to Paris!” 

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, “at least make it something I could give you!”

You pouted, “but that’s what I want!” 

The boy sighed, laying back on the rough surface of the tree house. He looked up, observing the little glow-in-the-dark stars plastered onto the tree house ceiling. He recalled putting them up with you. You were impossible to deal with. Hyunjin desperately wanted to know your wish — something he could give you for your birthday. Your gift to him made him really happy, and he wished to return the favour. 

“Then, I’ll be the best artist in the world and move to Paris with you.” 

It was such an innocent, child-like answer — straight from a 10-year-old’s desire. Untainted by the boulevard of broken dreams. As if anything in the world was possible, and that the universe was kind all the time. 

“Really?” you chirped, looking at him with disbelief in your eyes. You giggled in glee and plopped yourself down beside him. “Really really? You really really really mean it, Hyunnie?” 

At that point, Hyunjin could only giggle and nod. “Of course! I’ll be wherever you are.”

The manner in which you hugged him expressed your excitement. You were practically suffocating him, wrapping your legs around his waist and squeezing tightly. 

“You’re my best friend in the world!” 

Hyunjin felt like he could die. 

His heart continued beating rapidly, worsened by you nuzzling your face into his neck. Hyunjin knew, it was just you being your usual self. However, the revelation he experienced minutes earlier made the tips of his ears turn red. 

“Hyunjin! Come down here! Your friends are about to leave!”

At that very moment, Hyunjin silently thanked his mother for saving him.

two.    

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

A question which had you staring into space — the walls of Hyunjin’s bedroom for a while. The blue walls were plastered with posters of numerous musicians and self-made artworks.

It wasn’t that you didn’t know the answer. You knew. Ballet had been a part of your life since small, it was your everything. It wasn’t that you were unsure if you wanted to do ballet, you were unsure if you should be doing ballet. 

Uneasiness settled into your stomach, but you tried to keep them in. You were in no mood to be going through an identity crisis.

“Ballerina,” you stated, matter-of-factly. Your eyebrows furrowed when Hyunjin chuckled.

“What?”

“Your answer hasn’t changed,” Hyunjin laughed, but not in a humorous way. Rather, it was in an expectant way, as if he knew that’s what you would answer. 

You straightened your posture and tilted your head. Hyunjin laughed even more, making a comment that you looked like Kkami.

“Have you asked me the same thing before?”

He nodded, “sort of? Kind of. On my tenth birthday, I asked you what you wanted.” Hyunjin cleared his throat and took a deep breath, mimicking the voice of younger you. “I want to be the best ballerina in the world and move to Paris!”

“Oh, shut up!” you rumbled, hitting him with his bolster repeatedly. “That’s not how I sounded like!”

“It so was!” 

Truthfully, you couldn’t quite recall the memory. You didn’t doubt Hyunjin though, it did sound like something you would’ve said. 

You queried again.

“What did you answer then?” 

Hyunjin turned silent. He didn’t like where this was going, not fond of recalling the cheesy answer he gave you. As he looked away from your gaze, you pressed him further. Even threatened to dog-nap Kkami.

“Fine. I said… I said I’ll be the best artist in the world and move to Paris too…” his voice trailed, getting smaller, “said I’ll be wherever you are…”

Your eyebrows raised, scooting closer to him in mock confusion. “Sorry? Didn’t hear you.” 

A pillow hit your head, and you burst out into peals of laughter. It was hilarious, the cheesy answer little Hyunjin gave, but what amused you even more was his face turning red. 

Touches of laughter echoed in the room, and Hyunjin found himself praying the moment would last forever. The conversation quickly escalated into a pillow fight, ending up in Hyunjin leaning against his headboard, exhausted, and you laying on his lap. 

You looked up at him, eyes fleeting to the stubble growing. Mindlessly, you grazed his cheek, feeling his sideburns prickling against your thumb. 

He was growing, you realized it then. You were growing too. Neither of you were little kids anymore.

A fact you didn't want to accept.

It’s the softness of your fingers that froze Hyunjin in his tracks. He held his breath, as if you would stop if he moved. He didn’t want you to, wanted to let your fingers linger, to etch the sensation into his memories. 

In a soft tone, you spoke, “Did you really mean it?”

“Hm?”

“Would you be wherever I am?”

Hyunjin’s breath hitched, a lump growing in his throat. If he spoke, he feared his feelings would become too real. For as long as he could, he wanted to bury his feelings deep down. Life was already risky as it is, he didn’t want to take any more.

It’s platonic. It’s platonic. It’s platonic.

They repeated in his brain like a mantra. Maybe if he chanted it, it’ll manifest to life.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin swallowed, “of course I will. You’re my best friend.” 

Like magic, your worries about the future disappeared into thin air. Would it be foolish to trust Hyunjin so much, that you believed life would be fine as long as he was with you? 

Dear universe, be good to me.

You smiled, one that Hyunjin swore could light up the entire sky. The stars must envy you, for the way you could brighten up darkness effortlessly. 

“I’ll be wherever you are too.”

Yeah, Hyunjin would love it if time froze.

three.  

Don’t be a coward. 

Four words Hyunjin told his reflection as he got ready. He was dressed in a basic tee and a pair of jeans, hair slicked back like the one time you told him it looked good. He spritzed his cologne behind his ears, on his neck, and on his wrist before repeating the four words again. This time, he whispered it, letting it soak into his brain, in hopes his heart would have courage. 

It’s been too long. The feelings he harboured for you piled overtime, the crush he once thought was temporary transforming into fondness. It was becoming too much for Hyunjin’s heart to bear, he needed to let it out. If he didn’t, he felt like his heart could burst. And if it did, it would be confetti-shaped memories of you. 

Chatters echoed outside your ballet academy, Hyunjin watched through the lowered window for your face among the sea of people. He had a plan in mind — he’d open the door for you, put the seatbelt on for you, and tell you about his feelings. In front of your academy wasn’t the most ideal place for a confession, he knew, but God — he couldn’t bear sitting in silence with you as a storm raged in his head. He couldn’t do it. He wanted to say it as soon as he could. 

Hyunjin’s eyes were still busy looking for you when suddenly, your face came in his peripheral vision, along with another face. The other person was lean, jet black hair with bangs and puppy-like eyes. The boy opened the door for you before Hyunjin could. 

Okay, step number one failed. 

“Hey, Hyunnie!” your voice chirped, getting into the car. Your hand moved to buckle your seatbelt before Hyunjin could. He was too busy analysing the stranger in front of the door.

“Hey,” Hyunjin replied nonchalantly, looking at the boy from head to toe. “And this is…?”

“Seungmin. And you?” the boy said, tilting his head. To Hyunjin, he was being challenged. Seungmin’s tone was more daring than he liked, so he felt an urge to one-up the guy.

“Hyunjin. Been friends with Yn since were in diapers.” he replied, the extra detail a pathetic attempt at one-upping Seungmin. 

Seungmin furrowed his eyebrows, nodding as he shut your door, “Uh. Cool? Bye, Yn. And the friend since diapers.” 

Oh, Hyunjin really didn’t like him. 

“Wait, Seungminnie!” you called out just as Seungmin was walking away. He looked back at the car, raising an eyebrow. You turned to Hyunjin with puppy eyes. “Can you give Seungminnie a ride? He takes the bus and I think the next one’s in an hour.”

Hyunjin clenched his jaw, eyes fluttering from your pleading eyes to Seungmin’s figure outside the car. If it was all up to him, he would probably run the guy over. But God knew how much he cherished you, how he would rather cut his tongue than tell you “no,” so he agreed.

“Mm. Sure,” he replied, swallowing back a scoff. 

Your eyes brightened, “Seungminnie! Come, we’ll give you a ride!” you yelled, tempting Hyunjin to mock the nickname you’d given him.

It was going to be a car ride straight out of hell. 

Hyunjin’s knuckles were white against the steering as he pulled up to Seungmin’s residence complex. The building standing in front of him definitely belonged in a gated community, ritzy and luxurious. Somehow, that pissed Hyunjin off even more. He glanced at the unwanted guest sitting in the back seat through the rear-view mirror.

“Want me to drive you to the lobby, or what?”

Seungmin looked back into the mirror, peering at the reflection through his bangs. “Nah. They don’t let random cars in. Here’s just fine,” he mumbled, unbuckling the seatbelt. “Thanks, dude. Appreciate it.” 

The car door closed behind Seungmin, leaving the two of you in the car. Hyunjin sighed, feeling the nerves creeping up him again. Now that it was only the two of you, it was time for Hyunjin to confess his feelings.

Before he could, you spoke, “Seungmin’s my friend in the academy. He’s really smart,” your eyes didn’t leave the crossroad before you, watching as Seungmin walked. 

Hyunjin had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He tapped on your thigh, trying to gain your attention. It worked as you looked at him, batting your eyelashes. “Hm?”

He licked his lower lip, mustering all the courage in him. It was now, or never. “Look, I have something to tell you.” 

“Yeah?”

You shuffled in your seat, tilting your body slightly towards his way. Now that you had your full attention on him, Hyunjin felt even more nervous. He scratched the skin around his thumb, tongue-tied as his brain tried to form coherent words. He’s never done this before, always made fun of his friends for struggling to express their feelings but now that he was in the same place, he wished he could take back all the insults. The brown eyes looking deeply (and anxiously) into yours were profusely blinking, as though he was at the brink of tears. You grew worried.

“Hyunjin, what’s up?”

He scratched at the back of his neck. Why did his tongue feel so numb? Why did his brain feel empty yet so full at the same time? His heartbeats were so fast, he couldn’t quite catch up. Hyunjin was on a rollercoaster — you were waiting at the end of the ride.

Finally, he managed to muster words. “Look, I’ve pondered over —”

Two knocks on the window at the back. They’re followed by the door opening, an exasperated Seungmin popping his head into the car. Immediately, you both looked back, utterly bewildered. 

“Sorry. I left my bag. Thank God you’re still here,” Seungmin said, grabbing his messenger bag and slipping it onto his shoulder. “Thanks and sorry!”

The door closed, thus silence blanketed the atmosphere once again. This time, with unresolved tension. You looked back at Hyunjin, tilting your head in curiosity.

“You were saying?” 

Dazed, the raven looked at you. His face was a mixture of exasperation and confusion. His head? There was a storm raging, along with curse words aimed at Seungmin. 

“Um…” He licked his lower lip, racking his brain to find back the words he wanted to say. They were all lost. He was already at the end of the rollercoaster, the bumps along the way forgotten, and the thrill subsided. All that’s left was the remnants of anxiety. He couldn’t do it anymore, not when he’s forgotten the things he wanted to say, and the moment disturbed by your dear friend Seungmin.

So, he put the gear on to drive. He shook his head and made up a white lie.

“I think I want to try a new ice cream place today.”

four.  

The taste of cookies and cream could not beat the bitterness on Hyunjin’s tongue. 

It may be because the bitterness has seeped into his head. 

“I’m going to your room,” you announced, swinging the front door of his house open. “Hi, Mrs Hwang!” you cheered, running up the stairs after. 

“I’m going to talk to my mom a little bit,” Hyunjin said, hanging both your coats on the coat hanger. 

Nothing could’ve prepared Hyunjin for what was to happen next. 

Both his parents were crowding the kitchen countertop when he walked in, skimming through a piece of paper. They were beaming, eyes crinkled as they smiled. A reminder that Hyunjin resembled both his parents. He blinked in confusion as to why his parents looked so happy. He didn’t think he'd seen them this happy before.

“What’s going on?” he questioned, peering over their figures to look at the paper. 

On the paper were words he’d only seen in his dreams. Never in a million years he would’ve thought it’d manifest to life. His heart skipped a beat as he read the words over, and over. 

“You made it, sweetheart,” his mother’s soft voice spoke, confirming his suspicion. “You got accepted. Beaux-Arts de Paris.”

“Eomma,” he mumbled, as if he was pleading. Pleading for this dream to stop. Somebody’s got to wake him up from this nightmare of a day. “There’s no way.” 

Hyunjin picked up the letter, inspecting it closer. As though if he looked any closer, the words on the pristine white paper would change. Reject him. Or maybe, the logo of the prestigious school would magically transform into a logo of a school in Seoul. Anything, anything, that would keep him here. In Seoul. With you. 

“You did it, sweetheart. Your dreams are coming true,” his mother keenly said, pulling him into a side hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

His dream? It was his dream, and, yours. No, scratch that — it wasn’t truly his dream. It was yours. His dream had always been to be wherever you are. 

He didn’t think he would be accepted. When you told him you were rejected from the Paris Ballet School, he told you that he was rejected, too. He didn’t tell you that he was waitlisted, under the impression that he was never getting out of the waitlist. What was he to tell you now? 

Hyunjin hid his sadness, wanting to make his parents proud, “Yeah. I did it. I’m so happy, eomma, appa.” 

A series of praises left his parents, and he allowed for them to engulf him in a hug. 

“Don’t tell Yn, ‘kay?” he muttered, before excusing himself to go upstairs. The acceptance letter was neatly folded, tucked into his pocket.  

When he swung his bedroom door open, you were standing in front of his full-length mirror. Clad in only his t-shirt, you inspected yourself. 

“Hey, Hwang Hyunjin,” you muttered, turning your body. “Your clothes are bigger than me now. You used to be so small.”

You looked at him, mock dismay in your face. “I was so much taller than you before. You were a dwarf.” 

How was he meant to tell you about Paris?

“I was never a dwarf. You were just too busy looking down on me.”

Giggles left both of you. Silently, he observed the way you were examining yourself. You had the mannerisms of a ballerina, each gesture as gracious as your dance. Hyunjin adored the curves of your body, but God knew he loved that of your smile even more. 

Later, you were both laying on his bed, you in a starfish position. Hyunjin was at the edge of his bed, trying his best to not fall. 

“Ballet was so hard today,” you sighed. You turned your body sideways, burying your face into Hyunjin’s chest. He could smell you in this closeness.

“Are you wearing my deodorant?” he queried, bowing to clasp his nose onto your shoulder. It felt like a kiss to him. “This is literally the smell of my deodorant.” 

You shrugged. “Yeah? What about it? You should’ve gotten used to me taking your things by now, Hwang Hyunjin. I’ve been doing this our whole lives.” 

Touché. The boy sighed, letting you fill in the silence with your babbles. Wordlessly, he listened to your words, letting it be the white noise to his thoughts. 

His head was clearly not there. Unbeknownst to him, you knew of this. He’d been off all day. You’ve picked up on each signal, knowing him like the back of your hand. As much as you wanted to know what was wrong, you knew not to pry. You resorted to comfort instead. 

Your fingertips met at the back of his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. He was never one for physical touch but sometimes, it helped. You leaned your head into his neck. 

Gingerly, you whispered the words you thought he would need. 

“You’re always here, around me. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

The exact words he did not need to hear that day.

How was he meant to tell you of his feelings now? 

Especially when he was leaving — oceans away. 

five.  

Hyunjin had always loved soccer.

Whether it be being in the bleachers, or playing in the field. He loved doing both. There was something about the thrill of watching people play, and the adrenaline as he chased around the field. 

Sitting in the bleachers, Hyunjin watched as his soccer team played. The sounds of his teammates laughing made the blazing sun a little more bearable. He lowered his cap to prevent the sunlight from getting in his eyes, chuckling when he saw Beomgyu falling face-first onto the grass.

He loved his soccer team. Every time he observed them play, Hyunjin’s heart always got overwhelmed with pride and joy. At that moment, he felt melancholy taking space too — the thought of not being able to play with them anymore hurting him more than he thought it would. 

Hyunjin allowed for the melancholy to take space, allowed himself to feel — so much so that he didn’t feel Minho’s presence. Not until the older cleared his throat. 

Minho sat beside him, “Why the long face, Hwang Hyunjin?” 

“Huh?” startled, he looked up, face softening when he saw Minho. “Oh. Nothing. You’re not playing?”

“Nah,” Minho replied curtly. He silently analyzed the younger’s facial expressions before speaking up again. “For someone who’s going to Paris in two weeks, you sure don’t look too happy.”

Of course, Minho out of all people would notice the change in his mannerisms. Always the analyzing one, quick to notice changes in demeanour. There was no point in lying, not with Minho — so he let out the sigh he didn’t realize he was holding. 

“It’s bittersweet, you know?” he mumbled, fiddling with his fingers.

“It’s Yn, isn’t it?” 

“Huh?”

“You don’t want to part ways with her. It’s what’s holding you back.” 

Right on. It was as though Minho was a mind-reader. A heavy weight pulled on Hyunjin’s heartstrings, made his heart even heavier than a few minutes prior.

“Yeah,” he didn’t lie, again. He looked at Minho, and the older could clearly see the uneasiness written all over his face. “If you were me… would you tell her about your feelings?”

“The fact that you like her?”

“Yeah.”

Minho fell silent. He pondered over the question, looking at the sight before him. The sun was setting, orange hues painting the sky. Hyunjin wondered if Paris sunsets would look the same.

“I think…” Minho turned towards the younger. He shook his head. “I wouldn’t tell her.” 

“Why?”

“Won’t benefit you, I don’t think.” Hyunjin raised an eyebrow. “Listen. If you were to tell her, and she accepted, do you think you could get into a relationship with her?”

“I mean —”

Minho cut him, “Realistically, do you think the relationship would succeed? I mean, the time zone between Seoul and Paris is pretty big. The distance, too. I don’t think it would work out. And that’ll be bad, you know? You’ll both be left wondering what could have been.”

The truth hurt. The distance, the time — none of them were on Hyunjin’s side. 

“And, if, God forbid, if she were to reject you… do you really want your last memory with her to be the hurt you’ll feel?”

Hyunjin shook his head. The other sighed, and patted him on the back. 

“There are things better left unsaid. You should take her out. Spend your last time with her nicely.”

Despite Hyunjin’s stubbornness, he took Minho’s advice. It took him a lot of contemplating (and crying), but he followed it anyway. Whether he liked it or not, Minho’s advice had a lot of truth in it. 

Bitter truths, but true regardless.

six.

“Where are we going?” you whined, trailing behind your dear friend. The sun was setting in two hours, orange hues were beginning to paint the sky. “Hyunnie, if you don’t tell me where we’re —”

“Please, stay patient. Will you?”

Hyunjin looked behind. He was wearing a blue knitted vest. In one hand, he held a picnic basket. The other, is your handbag. You never have to carry your own with him.

“But we’re literally in the middle of nowhere!” 

“Please just trust me,” he pleaded. One hand was stretched towards you, a silent offer to hold his. “Come. If you’re too tired, I’ll give you a piggyback ride.”

Ever the opportunist, you took up on the offer. Alas, Hyunjin was left walking the remaining distance, you happily singing road trip songs while clinging onto his back. To butter him up, you told him that he must’ve been a blessing sent to you by God. Although he groaned at the remark, you couldn’t see the small smile on his face.

After a few minutes, you understood why Hyunjin was adamant about going out that day. Before you, green plains stretched as far as your eyes could see. Scattered across viridian shades were wildflowers. Some yellow, some pink. 

Hyunjin had brought you to a flower field.

The picnic basket, and the Polaroid camera finally made sense. 

Without any more words, you jumped off his back and ran into the field. The yellow sundress you wore matched that of the wildflowers. In Hyunjin’s eyes, you blended right in. 

You were as pretty as the flowers. 

“Careful, Yn! Don’t fall!” He called out, his voice echoing in the space. He watched you from afar. There was an urge to run among the flowers too, but he was much more content with watching you. 

From a distance, in silence, he observed your every move. He couldn’t help the giggles that left his lips. The smile that lingered on his lips. He wanted this memory to last, to be ingrained in his brain forever. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to witness your happiness. 

“Hyunnie, you need to come here! It’s so nice!”

Chuckling, he carefully placed the picnic basket on the ground. Hyunjin was done with setting up the picnic spot. He ran towards you, lifted you off the ground and twirled you around. You broke out into giggles and held onto his arms. 

Among the flowers, two silhouettes danced with each other. Swaying to the same melody as the peonies. Despite being a ballerina, you kept stumbling onto Hyunjin’s feet, giggling each time he elicited an “ow.” 

Like a scene from a movie.

Like he wasn’t going away soon.

Before the sun could set, Hyunjin convinced you to sit on the picnic blanket. He wished to dance with you longer, but alas, time awaits for no mortal. 

“How do you want me to pose?” you asked. You were facing him, legs tucked sideways.

Hyunjin scooted closer to you, and wiped breadcrumbs off your lips. He commented on you eating messily. “You can pose however you want.”

You nodded, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Okay. Make sure you get my good angles, yeah?”

“You look good from any angle.” 

Crimson crept up your face. You hadn’t expected that remark. You hoped he wouldn’t see you blush, you would just tell him it’s the sun then. 

“Okay…”

Two clicks, then a flash went off. Your eyes widened, caught off-guard.

“You didn’t even count to three!” 

Your whines were responded to with a giggle. The camera whirled, apprising you of a Polaroid developing. Hyunjin took it, fanning the Polaroid with a grin. He was excited to see it.

“I wasn’t ready!”

“Candid photos are better,” he sighed. “Don’t you know? Everything’s prettier when it’s genuine.”

“So you’re calling me pretty?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Have I ever said you’re ugly?”

Right. He has never. 

You prayed to God the heat on your face was from the sun and not from blushing.

Once the Polaroid fully developed, Hyunjin made sure he was the first to see it. To your dismay, he held it close to his face, shielding it from you. His cheeks dimpled, illustrating his happiness. You looked so pretty, the sunlight on your face giving you an angelic glow. If he looked closer, he was sure he’d see a halo. 

Hyunjin wanted to keep this forever. 

If he couldn’t freeze the time, he figured he’d trap the memories in photographs.

“Let me see!” you whined. “It’s a picture of me! I have the right to see it.”

Scampering towards him, you waved your hands, trying to get the photograph off his hand. To no avail, Hyunjin had quick reflexes much thanks to his soccer experience. 

“No! You can’t — it’s for my eyes only!”

“Ridiculous! That’s my face, Hyunnie!”

“It’s my camera film. So it’s mine!”

Neither one of you would let up, legs entangling against each other as you fought over the photograph. He was determined to not let you even see the picture. One of your palms pressed against the picnic blanket, the other reaching up towards his hand. Hyunjin used his free hand to push you gently but alas, he underestimated his own strength. In one swift move, you lost your balance, toppling over him. 

“Ow,” he fell back and winced in pain. He looked up, and all the back pain was suddenly replaced by shyness. There you were, on his lap — face just as flushed as his. 

Hyunjin didn’t know what to do now. 

Pathetically, he just stared into your eyes, finding himself getting caught in them. He could feel your hitched breaths against his chest, he was very aware of your trembling fingers on his arms. There was a strong urge to kiss you as his eyes fell onto your lips. He wondered how they’d feel on his lips. He imagined it in his head — missing the way your eyes stared at his lips too. 

If you were a flower, Hyunjin would be a bee. He desired you, eyes tracing the shape of your lips. Over, and over. If he kissed you, would your lips taste like honey? 

He ought to find out. Hesitantly, he inched his head closer to yours. The warmth of your breath against his skin marked the closeness between you.

Numerous scenarios flashed in Hyunjin’s mind. Of him kissing you senseless, then whispering a love confession in your ear. Of your cold fingers pressing into his skin as he tells you each perk of yours that he loved endlessly. The more he imagined, the closer he was. You shut your eyes, waiting for his lips to finally press onto yours. 

Paris. The one-way plane ticket to Paris.

Against his heart’s desire, his fingers cupped your chin instead. Subtly, he pulled back, eyes trailing back up to your eyes. He ignored the look of confusion in your eyes.

Reaching down, he pocketed the photograph. His heart clenched as he spoke, but he did anyway. 

“I win.”

The two words pulled you from your trance — they tore off your heart like paper. You blinked, watching the playful smirk that graced Hyunjin’s porcelain face. 

“Oh.”

The whole journey home, bitterness sat on Hyunjin’s tongue like the aftertaste of tangerine pulp. Did you want the kiss too, or had his libido fabricated things? 

Nevertheless, he couldn’t kiss you. Not when he had suitcases packed for Beaux-Art de Paris. Not when it’s all his parents could talk about. 

Minho’s words played in Hyunjin’s mind like a broken record. They served as a reminder of what could not be. For the sake of his heart, he told himself that it had all been a figment of his imagination.

Tension cloaked the front door of your house. Neither of you made a noise, save for the jingling keys in your carabiner. You observed Hyunjin, who was busy looking at his shoes. Once again, his mind wasn’t in his head. It had been that way for a few weeks. 

“See you soon?” you mumbled. 

Hyunjin looked up, nodding at your words. He pulled you into a hug, one that almost crushed your bones. Shakingly, he nuzzled his head into your neck, burying his face into the skin like you would dissolve if he didn't. It must’ve hurt his back but you made no comment, instead you wrapped your arms around his neck, in hopes it'll give him solace. By the front door you held him, so tight that it was as though the two of you were one, the curves of his fingers burning through your skin.

You didn’t know that it was a goodbye. It had to stay that way. 

Once more, his heart clenched in his chest. Two hands cupped your cheeks, as gentle as he could be, like you would break. He engraved this version of you into his memory — kind eyes boring into his with a soft smile plastered across the face he'd grown to adore. He vowed to always remember this face. 

Deeply, he inhaled his breath. Preparing the next words — lies to say to you, no matter how tight his chest felt.

“Yeah, see you soon.”

The last words Hwang Hyunjin muttered to you. 

seven.  

One day before your birthday. 

It had been two days since Hyunjin brought you to the meadow. You hadn’t seen him much, just glimpses of him as he played around with Kkami in his backyard. You figured that he was busy.

“Hello, I’m home!” you said in a sing-song voice as you stepped into the Hwang household. Kkami who’d usually greet you wasn’t in his usual spot, so you trudged straight to the kitchen, where Hyunjin’s mother was sitting. “Hi, Mrs Hwang.” 

She looked up, lips twitching into a smile, a cookie-cutter of Hyunjin’s. Under the kitchen light, you don’t miss the dried tears by her eyes. You pursed your lips, wondering if she was watching a sad drama. Hyunjin inherited his trait of easily crying from his mother, after all. 

“Hi, sweet girl,” she looked at your outfit from head to toe. “Why are you all dressed up?”

“Oh,” you muttered, giving her a little twirl. “My birthday outfit! Is it pretty?”

“Of course.”

You smiled at her, fiddling with the hem of your blouse. Keenly, you looked around the kitchen for any traces of Hyunjin. You realized that the house seemed much quieter than usual, emptier than normal. 

“Where’s Hyunjin?” you asked. The reason why you’d come over was to show your best friend your birthday outfit. Now that you were there, he was nowhere to be seen. “Is he home?”

Sympathy materialized in the mother’s old eyes. She tilted her head at you, lips pursing as she thought of the correct words to say. 

“My girl, did he not tell you?”

Confusion would be an understatement. Hyunjin told you everything, everything — from pointless thoughts to his deepest, darkest secrets. You were his secret keeper, his companion — there was nothing he wouldn’t tell you.

Was there? 

It had to be something unimportant, right? Perhaps he was off to an art workshop and forgot to tell you. But looking at his mother, it felt like something big. You grew anxious under her sympathetic gaze. 

“Tell me what?” you questioned, letting out a nervous chuckle.

“We just came back from Incheon Airport. He’s on a plane to Paris,” the lady replied. She stood up, inching closer towards your trembling figure. “Did he not tell you, Yn? I thought he did.”

“Paris?” you asked, blinking. “Like. For a vacation?”

“No, sweetheart. Beaux-Arts de Paris. He got into the school.”

The words felt like bullets on skin, penetrating and chagrining you deeply. It felt unreal — a hoax.

You scoffed, “What? He wouldn’t go without telling me.” Your eyes searched for humour in his mother’s eyes. “Is this like, a birthday prank?”

Her eyes saddened even more. “No, sweetheart. He really went.”

Another betrayal came in the form of tears cascading down your eyes without warning. The emotions hit you faster than your brain could process things. Speechless, you took steps back from his mother, before running up the staircase to his room. 

He had to be there. Sitting in his swivel chair and laughing at your face. He’ll tell you it was a prank and wipe away your tears. 

Hyunjin was your best friend of a lifetime. He wouldn’t do this to you. He had to be there.

When the door to his room swung open, a sob was knocked out of your mouth. 

All traces of life in the bedroom were gone, save for the soft purrs of Kkami sleeping on the bed. The bed was stripped of its bedsheets, and the towels hanging behind the door were gone. The laundry bag was empty. 

All traces of Hyunjin were gone. 

The realization hit harder than his mother’s words. If the words hurt like bullets on skin, the sight of Hyunjin’s lifeless room felt like a knife twisted in your gut. It felt like sanguine dripping from wounds, and Hyunjin’s holding the knife. It felt like a betrayal. 

“Hyunjin,” his name slipped from your lips like a plea. “Hyunjin.” 

More choked sobs escaped your windpipes as you searched around the room. First, it was his wardrobe. The oak material was practically empty, all that remained were a couple of sleep tees and the shirts you’ve left over the years. You rummaged through the hangers, finding that he had brought one of your sweatshirts along. 

The confirmation of his departure was the emptiness of his study table. Each nook and cranny of his table used to feel like Hyunjin, from the stacks of sketchbooks to eraser dust. Everything was Hyunjin — but at that moment, there was nothing. There was only a void — that of his desk and your heart. 

Your best friend was truly gone. 

“Hyunjin,” the name wrestled its way past your lips again. This time, it was out of longing. “Hyunjin.” 

The manner in which you walked to his bed echoed your feelings. Quivering, like a toddler’s first time walking. Your body fell onto the bed, earning a soft whine from Kkami. Gently, you held Kkami in your arms, letting a stream of tears cascade down your cheeks. For the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to cry, to feel, to mourn. 

If someone were to tell you that Hyunjin out of all people would make you cry that much, you would’ve laughed. Never in a million years, you’d say. The only times he had made you cry were from laughter. 

“Kkami,” you cried. The chihuahua nuzzled its head into your arms, as though it could feel your sorrow. Perhaps it could. “I miss Hyunjin.”

The dog whined. It looked up to you, placing its paw onto your arm. You cried even more. 

“I wanted to tell him about how I feel today,” through sobs, you managed to speak. “How could he make me feel so many things in one day and disappear the other? He didn't even say goodbye.”

It felt like the chihuahua was mourning with you — the way it nudged its head onto your arm, letting out soft whimpers. As though it was telling you that things will be okay. 

You weren’t sure that it would. You spent your whole life with Hyunjin by your side, you had never known life without him. Now that he was ripped from your grasp, you didn’t know how to go on. No — he voluntarily released himself from your grasp, without warning. It was worse. 

Physical traces of Hyunjin in his room were gone. There was only his scent — the smell of his shampoo, and his cologne. It lingered in the room, mocking you.

In your melancholic state of mind, you could only weep.

eight. 

“Coffee, or tea?”

A female voice broke Hyunjin from his trance. He looked up at the stewardess standing by his seat, the sweatshirt doused in your scent crumpling in his tight grip. 

“I want to get off this plane,” sat on his tongue and dissolved. He took a deep breath. 

“Um,” he looked at the cart, “Plain water, please?”

Coffee would only force Hyunjin to stay awake, forcing him to listen to his own brain’s torments for 14 hours straight. Tea reminded him too much of you, of the times when you were little and would make him play tea party with you. He’ll think about the times you’d cheekily kiss his cheek, an attempt to woo him into playing with you. It worked each time. 

The stewardess nodded, handing him a water bottle branded with the aeroplane’s logo. He muttered a thank you, yet the stewardess still didn’t walk away. She looked nice, her eyes analyzing Hyunjin told him that he must’ve looked like the epitome of a wreck.  

“First time flying?” she questioned. It wasn’t his first time, having gone on many vacations before yet he nodded. “I see. It’ll be fine, just sit back and relax.”

The woman, whose name tag said Chaewon flashed Hyunjin a hospitality smile — one he didn’t think he deserved — then walked away. Hyunjin pursed his lips, wishing that she hadn’t walked away. He didn’t want to be left alone with his thoughts, he didn’t want to be awake, he didn’t want to be in this plane — there were a lot of things he didn’t want to do, but had to do. 

Hyunjin wanted to turn back.

Silently, he looked out the window, watching as the landscapes of Seoul grew smaller, slowly becoming covered with clouds. He desperately wished to get out, praying to God that the plane would miraculously turn back and the tableau of Seoul would become bigger. Had he told the stewardess named Chaewon he wanted to get off, would they have let him? Had he told his parents he didn’t want to go to Paris, would they have understood?

If he tells you he’s sorry, would you forgive him? 

Regrets and memories clouded his mind, tears making their way down his cheeks. Each thought strangled his heart, and he could feel it physically aching. In a melancholic state of mind he sat, clinging onto your sweatshirt like it was his lifeline, allowing slumber to slowly take over. 

The break from his own thoughts did not last long enough.

Seven hours later, Hyunjin woke up to dried tears on his cheeks. He straightened his posture and glanced at the window, feeling a wave of emotions at the change of landscapes. Hyunjin wasn’t sure in which city they were flying over, but he could say with certainty that it did not look like Seoul. It did not feel like home, it did not feel like you. 

Unable to fall back to sleep, he couldn’t help the thoughts that poisoned his mind. Looking over the landscapes, he came to a realization much too painful for his heart to bear. 

You and him — you were the Sun, and he was the Moon. Two people of different circumstances, who’ll never meet, ripped away from the merciless hands of time. For your timezones were different — horizons even more. 

As a wave of new tears descended, Hyunjin wondered if he would ever forget about you.

The answer came to him one afternoon three years later, as he laid on the couch in his Parisian apartment. 

No, he’d never forget about you. At least not in three years. Maybe not even in five. 

Sunlight seeped in through the balcony, providing Hyunjin the warmth he wasn’t able to receive from a person. His roommate was a French guy who was always out and about, leaving Hyunjin to soak in his own company for hours on end. Sometimes, for days. Hyunjin loved and hated it at the same time. 

His limbs stretched across the burgundy couch, a yawn eliciting past his lips. Brown eyes stared at the canvas in front of him, black and white hues scattered on white, forming a half-finished painting of you. 

Years later, and you remained at the back of his mind — his muse.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

nine.  

There are five stages of grief. 

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, then acceptance. Denial was the hardest for you, having spent your entire birthday staring at the front door of your house, praying Hyunjin would walk in. When your friends sang you a Happy Birthday, it sounded like a morose ballad playing from a broken record. Without Hyunjin, gloom sat at the centre of even the happiest things. 

Then came a sixth stage — one that seemed to exist for you.

Motivation.

After coming to acceptance that your best friend had gone, without any farewell, you spent many hours a day in the ballet studio. Pirouette, arabesque, plié — you managed to polish each move with the amount of time you spent cooped up in the studio. You weren’t born with ballet feet, but the times spent in pointe shoes had somehow moulded you into having them. 

Perhaps, it was distraction, disguised as motivation.

Nevertheless, the tireless hours of practice granted you a position in the Paris Ballet School.

Paris felt bittersweet when you first landed. It was the city of your dreams, but the reminiscence of the person it took from you made you loathe it. 

Withal, life had to go on. To cope with the Parisian lifestyle, you managed to get a job at a cafe near your academy — Desir Cafe. You worked night shifts as a kitchen crew but if traffic was overwhelming in the afternoons, your shitty excuse of a boss would make you come in anyway.

Unfortunately for you, it was one of those days. Clinks and sizzles reverberated in the kitchen, the peg board overwhelmed with sticky notes of orders. You were everywhere in the kitchen, from piping icing on cupcakes to sprinkling chocolate rice on pastries. 

“Yn,” the main baker yelled, “Tell Double C’s we can’t stock up on macarons! We’re out of almond flour!” 

The Double C’s — Charlotte, and Colette. They were a duo who worked as waitresses, always gossiping. Birds of the same feather, attached by the hip. 

Exasperated, you headed to the front, swinging the kitchen door open to see the duo gossiping. Charlotte was leaning in towards Colette, whispering into her ear, earning giggles from the other. You sighed, wondering what the topic was that afternoon. Curious as to who they were gossiping about, you looked towards the direction they were looking. 

Seated alone at the corner of the cafe was a guy, blonde hair gleaming golden from the sunlight seeping through the big window. His utmost focus was on the sketchbook in front of him, frail fingers dancing across paper, entrancing any eyes which fell upon him. You couldn’t help but stare, your face gradually contorting into disbelief.

He resembled too much like Hyunjin — your Hyunjin. 

Your gaze lingered on the man, analyzing each crease of his face, matching it with the one you had in mind. He looked just like Hyunjin, from the shape of his nose to the mole under his eye. The only difference was the hair. Hyunjin’s hair was raven black, but the person in the cafe had golden blonde hair. You felt your throat tighten. If the man sitting at the corner was him, then time had done good on him. He was beautiful, face sculptured beautifully by time’s gentle hands.

“Ooh, look who’s ogling!” a high-pitched voice interrupted you. You looked up to see the Double C’s looking at you, wiggling their eyebrows mischievously. Charlotte smirked, “Think the guy’s cute?”

“Huh? What guy?” you lied, feeling your cheeks heat up. 

Colette rolled her eyes. “The dude over there! Don’t lie, you think he’s cute.” The brunette wiggled her eyebrows even more, subtly pointing at the man. 

You didn’t say anything else, but your eyes travelled back to the familiar silhouette. The sense of familiarity tugged on fragile heartstrings the more you looked at him. Colette could sense your curiosity, so she parted her lips to speak.

“That’s Hyunjin. He’s a student in Beaux-Arts de Paris,” she muttered, unbeknownst to her the mixed emotions that dawned upon you. “He comes here almost every afternoon. Maybe that’s why you’ve never seen him before. He’s cute, isn’t he?”

Excitedly, Charlotte nodded her head. “A total heart-throb, honestly.”

“I mean…” your voice trailed, “He’s quite alright.”

How were you supposed to react to finally seeing the one who got away? Were you supposed to feel excited, or upset? It was like the moon had suddenly dropped down onto your lap. 

You were confused.

Charlotte continued speaking, not realizing the mixture of emotions in your face. “Sometimes, the students have exhibitions about ten minutes from here. His artworks always make it to the exhibitions. I’ve seen them, and they’re really beautiful.”

You turned towards her, “Exhibitions?”

She nodded, still naive as to your shift in behaviour. “I think the school has an exhibition every three months or so.”

Unfaltering, your eyes bored holes in Hyunjin’s back. He was in his own little world, evidently absorbed in whatever piece he was working on. Just like that, the memories you spent years suppressing came rushing back. 

It was unfair, the impact he had on you. There he was, lounging in a corner while your heart grappled in your chest. He looked older, better — and you were still the little girl in the tree house. Swaying your feet as they dangled, as though you had all the time in the world.

Charlotte and Colette exchanged looks as you stared at him. To them, you were simply developing a crush on a stranger. They wouldn’t understand the conflict brewing in you, they wouldn’t be able to comprehend the ache that stirred in the depths of your heart.

“What? You’re interested in him?” Charlotte spoke, breaking you off your trance. You looked at her, blinking. “Don’t even try. I’ve tried. I think he’s gay.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“He’s not gay — oh my god, Lottie!” it was Colette’s turn to speak. Playfully, she smacked the other’s arm. “I asked that guy he’s always with, the songwriter — Felix. Cute guy, that one. Felix told me that he’s got a secret lover or something.”

“Secret lover?”

“Yeah. Apparently, he likes to draw this one girl. His sketchbook’s filled with her,” Colette murmured, glancing at Hyunjin. “Felix asked her who she was, and he said it’s a girl of his dreams.”

Your heart dropped. You weren’t sure to which news you should react first, either Charlotte hitting up on your Hyunjin, or that he has a secret lover. Either way, it made you pathetically jealous. Your heartstrings thrummed in anger as you imagined a beautiful French girl spread out on his bed, and Charlotte hitting up on your Hyunjin.

How could he go on with his life when you spent years mourning him?

Crimson tainted your lip as you bit on it hard, the taste of metal at the tip of your tongue. 

Perhaps, you never made it past the anger stage of your grief.

ten.

You truly tried to be happy for Hyunjin.

For days, weeks — you spent convincing yourself that you had to be happy for him. Sure, he hurt you three years ago. Sure, you spent years in agony, regretting not telling him how you felt earlier, wondering what could’ve been. Sure, you hoped that you’d see him in Paris and he’d tell you that he’s in love with you and kiss you senseless — but those were just desperate prayers, weren’t they? Those were simply hopeful scenarios. You hadn’t expected them to come true, had you?

Hyunjin was your best friend of years. He deserved happiness, even when you didn’t feel happy. You had to let things go. You had to be happy for him.

Clearly, you failed at convincing yourself.

In front of a building you stood, the sound of people walking past becoming white noise. You stared at the banner standing in front of you, the words Autumn Exhibition displayed, with the logo of Beaux-Arts de Paris at the top. You swallowed the lump forming in your throat.

A week ago, Charlotte told you that the university would be holding another exhibition, and Hyunjin’s artworks most likely made it into the exhibition. You knew then, that you had to go. If you didn’t get to see him, then you at least wanted to see his pieces. To not be a part of his life was devastating, you wished to at least witness glimpses of it. 

9:45 p.m. was displayed on your screen, people were beginning to leave the exhibition. There weren’t many people around, which was what you were hoping for. Visiting the exhibition in daylight meant potentially bumping into Hyunjin, and you weren’t sure if you were ready for that.

One day you ought to meet him, but not today. Not when the fragments of your heart have yet to be mended.

After taking a deep breath, you willed yourself to step into the exhibition. A gust of wind hit your face, and you shivered, clutching your coat tight. The art display seemed to be painting-themed, the way frames of canvases were scattered around the building. Baroque paintings were displayed all over, each piece as beautiful as skies at dusk.

The tapping of your heels against the ceramic tiles sounded as you walked, the romantic lighting of the room providing you with a sense of comfort. Wildly, your eyes observed each piece, letting your heart be swayed by the beauty. 

They were all beautiful — but they didn’t feel like Hyunjin. 

Until your eyes trailed to a certain piece.

It was the centrepiece, the piece — little bulbs of lights were installed above the frame, making the piece feel alive. The moment your gaze fell on the artwork, you couldn’t help but feel drawn in, taking hurried steps towards it. You stared, unable to take your eyes off the hues on the canvas.

There weren’t many hues, just black and white. It depicted two figures on swings. You couldn’t see the figures clearly but you could tell they looked happy. You could see through the strokes of paint that they were happy — though the artist not so. There was a certain sadness in the painting, one that screamed nostalgia. 

The longer you looked at the piece, the more you realized. 

It was a fragment of your memory. 

Your breath hitched. In came a memory of you and Hyunjin — running around the park before playing on swings. It was a particularly memorable day, you could recall falling off the swing and Hyunjin kneeling in front of you, kissing the bruises on your knees with the tenderness of a feather. It was the first time you felt so protected, and so loved. 

A rush of emotions overcame you, you wondered if that was how Hyunjin felt when he painted it. Had he thought of you, and wept by his easel? Had he stained his cheeks with charcoal as he wiped stray tears off his face? 

You wondered, so much so that you failed to realize a silhouette entering the display. 

Hyunjin didn’t enjoy art exhibitions in daylight. They felt pompous. The people who visited the exhibitions would usually walk around casually, and took photos. They didn’t harbour any sort of deep appreciation towards art, they didn’t sit and admire.

Therefore, Hyunjin loved revisiting exhibitions in the comfort of twilight. When the expositions were empty, he enjoyed revisiting them, taking his sweet time to admire each piece. 

When he spotted a figure standing before his piece — his most vulnerable piece, he felt his heart drop. He watched from afar as this person observed the artwork, body as still as a mannequin. He had never witnessed someone admire a piece this intensely, especially with it being one of his pieces. He felt flattered, his heart swelling in pride and joy. 

Silently, Hyunjin approached the figure. Usually, he was shy, not the type to approach people first but somehow, he felt the strong urge to this time. Fate was pulling him by his heartstrings.

“That’s my painting,” Hyunjin spoke, ensuring his voice was as soft as possible. 

The sudden voice startled you. You whipped your head towards the source of the noise, eyes widened in shock. They widened even more at the sight before you. 

Hyunjin’s breath hitched. His heartbeats escalated, taking in the figure standing in front of him. His fingers dug into the skin of his thumb, lips quivering. Brown doe eyes mirrored yours.

“Wh — what?” he spoke again, breathless. “Yn?”

A few steps were taken, inching closer towards you. His eyes scanned your face, lips quivering even more when he realized that it was you — you were real, and you were standing in front of him. You looked the same as you did three years ago, except more beautiful. How’d you get more beautiful? The passage of time had seemingly been good to you, the way it had carved your face into one Hyunjin could imagine himself filling his canvases with.

“Hyunjin,” you willed yourself to speak. You ignored the way your eyes watered. “It’s you.”

“It’s you, too. You’re here.”

Another few, brave steps were taken. You, on the other hand, didn’t move an inch. 

“I hate you,” the words spilt past sanguine mouth before you could stop them, its venom contrasting the hushed tone of your voice. They crushed Hyunjin’s heart, though he knew he deserved them. “But I missed you.”

“I’m sorry,” was all that he could say. Hyunjin meant it. He really was sorry. He was sorry as he sent you back from the meadow, too cowardly to bid you goodbye. He was sorry when he packed his bags, stealing one of your sweatshirts for solace. He was sorry when he was on the plane, wishing he could turn back time. He was sorry when he painted numerous portraits of you. He was sorry as he stood before you, watching tears flow down your cheeks because it was the least he could do — a form of punishment for what he had done to you.

You shook your head, palms rushing towards your face to wipe away tears. 

“It’s not enough, I know,” he mumbled, moving closer towards you to wipe your tears, like it was instinct, feeling his heart clench when you took steps back. “But I truly am sorry.”

“You didn’t even say goodbye,” you sobbed, vision blurry. “You didn’t even contact me.”

“I know, Yn, I know — I’m sorry. I wanted to call you, but I couldn’t,” he rambled, cupping your cheeks and rubbing on the skin. You allowed him to. “I swear, I wanted to write to you, but I was too embarrassed, and by the time I had enough courage it was already too late.”

Sobs wrestled their way past your lips, barely able to form coherent words. You kept shaking your head, blurting out the words you’ve kept for years.

“You just left me, Hyunjin — you left me. A day before my birthday,” your whimpers got louder, “I wanted to tell you I’m in love with you, on my birthday. Hell, three years later and I’m still in love with you.”

Hyunjin’s face paled. He had expected curses, and cries — but he hadn’t expected that. Anything, but that. His limbs moved before his brain could process things, lifting your chin to meet eyes. Your eyes were tinted with tears, but you were still beautiful. You’re always beautiful.

“What?” he squeezed your cheeks, “Yn, what?”

“You heard me. I’m not saying it again. It's fucking pathetic.”

“Fuck,” he exhaled. Hyunjin knew he was supposed to feel remorse, but God — his heart bloomed at the words you had whispered to him. You’re in love with him. You’re in love with him, the same way he was in love with you. “Fuck, Yn. You can't just say shit like that.”

Feather-like touches grazed your lips. There was a certain look in Hyunjin's eyes, one that you couldn't quite figure out — they were a look of longing. How could you know it was longing when you had never bear witness to them? You could feel his breath against your face, warm like his fingertips.

“You have no fucking idea how long I've been in love with you. You have no idea how much I missed you. Fuck, I think about you every fucking day,” he whispered, “You have no idea how much I regret getting on that plane.”

At that moment, all you could feel was Hyunjin. His deep, brown eyes staring into yours and his thumb pressing onto your lip.

“Kiss me,” you whispered back, “Kiss me, Hwang Hyunjin.”

And kiss you, he did. His lips crashed against yours with fervour, moving his lips to the same beat as his racing heart. You kissed back in the same manner, letting out the emotions you had bottled up. 

I love you, I love you — each movement of his lips was a love confession, etching his adoration onto the curves of your lips. You caressed his cheeks akin to holding stars in your palms — careful, precious.

Finally, you pulled apart to catch your breaths, bodies heaving against each other. 

“Please, give me a second chance.”

It’s odd the way human minds work, because at that very moment, you were reminded of Colette's words. Ones that mentioned a rumoured secret lover.

“But,” you felt silly for saying it, “Your secret lover?”

“My secret lover?” the boy's eyebrows furrowed. He then chuckled upon realization. The rumour must've spread to you. “Ah, that secret lover. It's you, idiot.” 

He smiled. You didn’t think anyone could look as beautiful as he did.

“It's always been you.”

eleven.  

“Careful — come on, get under here.”

Giggles echoed in the alleyways as two shadows lingered in the darkness of midnight. It was raining, the pavements darkening with wetness and the wind howling a sweet melody. At that particular hour, under the moonlight, Paris looked like the city of love. 

You rushed out of the exposition hall, getting under Hyunjin’s leather jacket. He’d promised you the date of your lifetime that night, and he wasn’t one to break his promises. 

Hyunjin’s back was damp from the rain, but it didn’t matter as long as not a droplet landed on your body. It only took a few minutes (and a lot of giggles in between) to reach Hyunjin’s so-called secret spot. 

Streetlights shone on a bench, and clusters of flowers surrounded a little pond. The spot overlooked the city, you could see the city lights from all the way up here. You gasped in awe, it’s no wonder Hyunjin insisted on coming here.

“So beautiful,” you whispered. Hyunjin smiled softly, moving closer towards you on the bench and wrapped an arm around your waist.

While fondly looking at your visage, he muttered. “Yeah, it’s pretty.”

“How’d you find this place?”

“I found it while I was walking one night,” he explained, resting his head on yours. You could smell his shampoo in this closeness. “I was sad. This garden reminded me of the one we used to go to when we were kids.”

Your heart swelled at the confession. 

“It does resemble that one a lot.”

The skies were still drizzling rain, but you were both a little sheltered much thanks to the oak tree above you. Only droplets dripped, falling onto your head but it was a nice sensation. Besides, you couldn’t feel the cold when you’re nuzzled in Hyunjin’s arm, blanketed in his familiar warmth. You allowed silence to third-wheel you, eyes busied with observing the sight. Silence was always comfortable with Hyunjin. The time spent apart hadn’t changed that. 

He wouldn’t leave you alone, his skin constantly touching yours. It burned against you. You didn’t mind it. Instead, you basked in his love, listening to the sounds of his heartbeats as your head rested on his chest. He intertwined your fingers together, his thumb rubbing against yours. He wouldn’t let go of you, not even when he bent down to pluck a flower, slipping the daffodil onto your ear. 

“I missed you,” he murmured. You weren’t sure how much he’d repeated that phrase but you liked it. “I truly did.”

For the thousandth time that night, you responded. “I missed you too.”

The conversation changed into one about your lives, catching up on each other’s shenanigans. It was comfortable, being with Hyunjin. Topics changed seamlessly. You didn’t have to put much effort into talking to him, you just had to be there.

Softly, his hands moved towards your feet, taking off one of your shoes. He held onto your ankle, tracing his pointer across your sole. You giggled, the feather-like touches tickled. 

“You still have the feet of a ballerina.”

“Of course, silly,” you scoffed, “I am one after all.”

“I’m so glad that your dreams came true,” he whispered, putting your leg down. He cupped your cheek, showcasing a fond smile that stretched to his ears. “I’m really happy that you’re here.”

“Of course,” you repeated. “You told me you’d be wherever I am. It’s only fair I returned the favour.”

The words knocked out Hyunjin’s breath, and it filled his soul with so much adoration, he felt like he could burst. A pleading expression was written all over his porcelain visage, the way in which he squeezed your hand expressing his feelings even more.

“Please,” he pleaded. “I need to be yours.”

You kissed him, for the second time that night.

“I’m already yours, Hyunnie.”

twelve.  

Things with Hyunjin had been going exceptionally well. 

After the fated night, you carried on with so much happiness that you practically beamed everywhere you went. One time when you clocked into work, the Double C’s made kissy noises at you, and Charlotte had whispered, “You must’ve had crazy good sex last night.”

You couldn’t deny it, of course.

Date nights with Hyunjin happened thrice a week, with coffee runs in between classes. The Paris Ballet School and Beaux-Arts de Paris weren’t that far from each other, allowing you to sneak lunches together almost daily. Though you had to admit that even if the universities were far, Hyunjin definitely wouldn’t mind spending extra time just to see you. Sometimes, he’d watch you dance, and sometimes, you’d watch him paint. 

It was like you were both making up for the lack of each other the past three years.

After just two weeks of your relationship, you were acquainted with the comfort of Hyunjin’s home. His roommate was barely home, so you felt comfortable with coming over often. Most weekends, you’d spend the night over. 

Morning birds chirped a jolly ballad, waking you from your slumber. You stretched, feeling the heat of Hyunjin’s skin against yours. You couldn’t help the smile that grazed your face when you looked at him, fast asleep under the duvets beside you. Sleepily, you pressed a kiss onto his bare shoulder, then traced the memories of last night, tattooed on his skin in the form of bruises. It pulled a whine from him, moving under the duvet to press himself impossibly closer towards you.

“Flower,” he mumbled, morning voice husky, “I'm cold.”

“Then come cuddle.”

He did as told, wrapping strong arms around you. You felt his fingers ghost against your naked spine, sending heat straight to your core. You couldn't help the whimper that left you, earning a playful grin from your boyfriend. 

“It's too early to get in the mood, no? Baby?”

Flushed, you smacked his arm. “Shut up.”

Hyunjin giggled, leaning towards you to press kisses onto your face. Mornings with him were often spent like this — limbs entangled, as if you were one. 

“Need to shower, baby,” he sighed, “Have an exhibition today.”

To your dismay, he slowly pulled away from you, missing the warmth of his body. 

“You coming to the exposition?”

“Of course,” you hummed. “Go shower. Can I borrow your laptop while you're in the shower?”

“Yeah, baby. The password's your birthday.”

He got up from the bed, and you flushed as you looked at his bare body. Unluckily for you, your boyfriend quickly noticed your flushed face, taking it as an opportunity to throw a pillow at you and call you a pervert. You rolled your eyes, watching him enter the bathroom before getting up, wrapping the duvet around your naked body. 

You walked towards his study to retrieve his laptop, smiling at the artworks displayed on his peg board. One was of you — a painting of the Polaroid he took of you back in the meadow. The Polaroid itself sat at the back of his phone case. He had never taken it out since the first time he put it in back then.

Whilst humming to a melody, you kicked in the digits of your birthday. The laptop unlocked, showcasing the unclosed tabs. 

Your eyes widened at the words written on the screen.

Congratulations, you've been chosen for a student exchange programme to Rome.

Your heart skipped a beat. Repeatedly, your eyes skimmed the words on the screen. You didn't mean to pry but you scrolled through the email, feeling your heart sink upon seeing the date it was sent.

Over a week ago. 

Yet Hyunjin hadn't told you anything. 

After all these years, he was still keeping secrets from you. You couldn't handle it, and so for the sake of your heart you exited the tab, and shut down the laptop. Careful as to not make much noise, you got dressed. 

“Hyunjin,” you knocked on the bathroom door. “Need to be at the academy now. Bye.”

You needed to be away from him — you needed to clear your head.

thirteen.

You hadn't seen Hyunjin for a week.

The texts from him you didn't avoid, responding each time he sent a message. However, you'd been dodging his requests of meeting, under the guise of practice when in truth, you hadn’t gone for classes in a week. You spent your days moping in your apartment. 

Perhaps it was a little childish of you to do, but you couldn't bear the thought of going through what you did before. You'd tasted a life without Hyunjin, and you were certain you didn't want to live through it again. This was your way of mentally preparing for that life again. 

Your limbs lazily stretched across the cotton duvet as a vinyl played in the background. A melodramatic song played, matching the current tune of your heart. You weren't entirely sure what time it was, but the sound of the apartment bell ringing hinted that it was afternoon. It must be the takeout your roommate ordered.

“Reine,” a familiar voice reverberated in your apartment. “Where's Yn?”

“In her bedroom,” your roommate, Reine replied in her thick French accent. “She's been in there moping all week.”

Damn you, Reine. 

Quickly, you buried yourself in your duvet, anticipating the footsteps which approached your room. Soon, your door swung open, and you could smell the white gardenia in his cologne.

“My flower,” his voice tempted you to look, “What’s going on, sweet girl?”

It didn’t help that each syllable that slipped past his lips felt like honey.

You felt his hands pull down your duvet before you came face to face with your boyfriend. He stood before you, hair slicked back and the white blouse he wore accentuated his shoulders. In his hands was a bouquet of flowers, patches of peonies and daffodils peeking from the wrapper. 

You didn’t utter any words, simply looking at him with watery doe eyes. He didn’t miss the glint of tears, immediately setting the bouquet on your nightstand to get onto the bed. Tenderly, he pulled you onto his lap.

“You look so sad,” he mumbled, “Can my sweet girl please tell me why she’s so sad?”

Damn, him. How were you supposed to stand a chance when he was so ridiculously handsome and sweet?

Trembling, you parted your lips to speak. 

“You’re hiding things from me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What things, baby?”

Your eyes shot daggers at him, bottom lip forming into a pout. Hyunjin had to stop himself from leaning in and biting it.

“You got offered to an exchange student programme,” you finally bit the bullet. “You’re planning on keeping it a secret and just leaving me again, aren’t you?”

Ah.

Hyunjin’s eyes softened. He sighed, caressing your cheek in his hand. He shook his head as his free hand rested on your thigh, massaging the supple skin.

“No, I’m rejecting it,” he answered. “I didn’t tell you because I thought there was no point in telling you if I didn’t even want to go.”

“What?” you responded, voice a little higher than you intended it to be. Your eyes scanned his for any lies. “Hyunjin — it’s a good opportunity.”

“What, you don’t want me here anymore?” he joked, raising an eyebrow at you. “Baby, Paris is already enough for me. I don’t really want to move again.”

You nodded at his words. A huge part of you felt relieved — and you felt awful for feeling that way. 

Love, sometimes, is about being selfish after all.

“Were you sad because you thought I was going?” your boyfriend queried, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

You shrugged. “A little. I was more mad that you didn’t tell me.”

“Oh,” he nodded, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret, I just didn’t mention it because it felt insignificant.”

“I want you to tell me things,” you mumbled, wrapping your arms around his neck. It left goosebumps in its wake. “I want to know these things.”

“Okay," he mumbled. Something about his compliance made you feel fonder of him. "I'll start telling you these things."

A sigh of relief left your lips. You had known Hyunjin for years, but being with him was different. A good kind of difference. It would take you a while to adjust to these changes — but it was the kind of changes you'd want to adjust to.

Hyunjin's fingers trailed to your hips, ghosting over your skin until they reached your thighs. He traced the stretch marks there, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You couldn't help the whine that left your mouth, and the heat that arose, tainting the tips of your ears in crimson. Hyunjin enjoyed this — flustering you with his ministrations. He allowed you to nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, whimpering as he felt your lips litter kisses on his most sensitive spots.

"I love you," he confessed, like honey dripping from lips. "Promise I'll be wherever you are."

disclaimer — © 2024 hyunverse on tumblr. all rights reserved. authors works are protected under the copyright law. do not plagiarize or translate my works. tumblr is my only platform.

taglist: @zoe8stay , @starlostseungmin , @starlostlaiba , @hwajin , @sleepyleeji , @skizzel-reblogs, @jdopes-recorder , @sherryblossom , @cb97whoree , @alyszaen , @aaliyahxsx , @jeonginsyoungestsibling , @hyunluvxo , @bokk-minnie , @ghostyycat7 , @fortunatelyhertragedy @yongbokkari @ameliesaysshoo @seoli-16 @jisungsdaydreamer @soobnny @seolboba @in2heartz @jehhskz @astraystayyh @mnwrld

[redlightsallnight]

beautiful omg

Look For Me: H.HJ Hwang Hyunjin x fem!reader (College AU)

WC: 14.5K

CW: Reader pushing herself, Minho and Jisung are bad friends at one point, Hyunjin talking like a poet (bc I firmly believe this man is a ROMANTIC) General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

The dance studio pulses with energy, the bassline thumping through the sound system like a heartbeat. Fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow over the polished wooden floor, reflecting the faint sheen of sweat on your skin. You like the sharpness of it. The way it keeps you focused, stripping away distractions until it's just you and the music.

Your outfit is as much a statement as it is practical. Black yoga shorts hug your hips, a matching bandeau crop top leaves your midriff bare, and fishnets climb your legs, emphasizing their length with every step in your sleek black heels. The silver rings on your fingers catch the light as you adjust your cap, the coiled snake on your middle finger glinting like it has a life of its own.

From the corner of the room, Minho groans dramatically, sprawled on a precarious tower of mats like some lazy prince. His cherry-red hair looks like he's been running his hands through it, the undercut sharp and catching the light whenever he shifts.

"You know, Kappa Tau's throwing a fucking banger tonight. Gorgeous sorority girls everywhere, probably in those stupid glittery tops and mini skirts that ride up just enough. And here I am, sitting on my ass, watching you prance around."

You pause mid-stretch, your hands resting on your hips as you arch an unimpressed brow at him. "Prance?" you echo, your voice sweet but sharp as a whip. "This is art, Minho. A performance. And no one asked you to stay."

"Christ," Jisung mutters, slouched beside him with his oversized iced americano. His dark hair flops into his eyes as he nudges Minho's ribs with a sharp elbow. "She's got the showcase coming up, you dick. Ever heard of being supportive?"

Minho rolls his eyes, throwing his arms out wide in a mock display of virtue. "Supportive? That's me. Mr. Fucking Supportive. Someone print it on a badge."

You tilt your head at him, lips curving into a smile that's all teasing softness, your tone sugary sweet. "You're here, aren't you? That's more support than I expected."

Minho groans and flops back dramatically. "Fuck off. Both of you."

The opening chords of Dirty Diana ripple through the speakers, low and seductive, and you stride to the centre of the floor like you own the room. Your steps are deliberate, the click of your heels sharp against the floor. You pause there for a beat, letting the music seep into your bones, before rolling your shoulders and starting to move.

Every motion is precise, fluid, calculated. When you twist your hips, the fishnets catch the light, and when you step, it's with the kind of confidence that could break hearts.

"Holy shit," Jisung breathes, sitting up straighter. "Okay, yeah. You're killing it."

You spin on your heel, perfectly on beat, and as you glide by, Jisung stretches out his arm, holding your iced latte like it's some kind of peace offering. "Sip?" he asks, grinning like a kid.

Without breaking stride, you lean forward, the straw meeting your lips. The sip is quick, your eyes catching his as you pull away, and then you spin off again, your hair brushing your shoulders. Jisung whoops so loudly it echoes.

"Jesus fuck," Minho mutters, propping himself up on his elbows. "Can't believe I'm fucking sober for this shit."

"You're welcome to leave," you throw over your shoulder, arching a brow as you twist your torso in a smooth, deliberate stretch. Your silver hoops catch the light when you lean to the side, and Minho's gaze follows the motion before he snaps out of it.

"Nah, someone's gotta make sure you don't break your neck in those ridiculous shoes. Purely a safety measure."

You smirk, dropping into a deep stretch to touch your toes. The pull feels divine, your muscles warm and pliant. "You're a goddamn saint, Minho."

"You're goddamn right I am," he deadpans, making Jisung choke on his coffee.

As you rise, Jisung gestures at you with his cup. "Hey, seriously though. What's with the switch-up? You're usually all bubblegum pop and shit. Now it's, like..." He waves vaguely at the speakers. "Stripper territory."

"Range, Ji," you reply, smoothing your top. "I need range."

"Range, huh?" He snorts, slouching back against the mats. "What's next? A fucking waltz in stripper heels?"

"Maybe. Gotta keep you guessing."

The routine picks up again, this time with more intensity. You drop to the floor at the build, your knees sliding smoothly against the wood. When the beat hits, you spread your legs, arching your back as your head tips back, the movement fluid and hypnotic. Your hand trails slowly down your body before you twist and rise, heels clicking as you transition into the next move.

Jisung lets out a low whistle, muttering, "Holy fucking shit."

"Fucking hell," Minho echoes, blinking like he's trying to recalibrate.

You ignore them, the music consuming you completely. When the song fades and you're left panting, hair sticking to your damp skin, Jisung and Minho break into loud, raucous applause.

"You should seriously consider stripping," Minho says, pushing himself upright and grabbing his water bottle. His grin is sharp and teasing. "You'd make so much goddamn money."

You shrug casually, wiping the sweat from your brow. "Maybe I will."

Minho nearly spits his water. "Fuck, I was kidding."

You flash him a smile. "Relax. So was I."

Jisung grins, swirling the ice in his cup. "Hey, you should add a crawl in there somewhere."

You glance at him, one brow lifting. "A crawl?"

"Yeah," he says, miming the motion poorly. "Sex appeal and all that."

"He's not wrong," Minho adds, deadpan. "Sex sells, sweetheart."

You hum thoughtfully, leaning down to snag your latte. The movement is slow, deliberate, and when you rise, you flick a teasing glance at both of them. "Noted."

The music kicks in again, and you lose yourself once more. Minho and Jisung stay sprawled on the sidelines, alternating between hyping you up and throwing in unsolicited commentary. You can't help the laugh that escapes you mid-routine when Minho yells, "Fucking nailed it!" as you drop into a split.

When the song finally ends, you're breathless and flushed, the room echoing with the sound of your panting and their whistles.

"Shit, you're gonna destroy at the showcase," Minho says, softer this time, his grin lopsided but genuine.

Jisung raises his coffee in a mock toast. "To our star. Just don't forget us little people when you're famous."

You smile, sweet and sincere, as you gather your things. "Never," you promise. "You're stuck with me."

The three of you linger in the studio, the air warm with laughter and bass, none of you in any rush to leave. This is your time, your sanctuary. And with them beside you, it's perfect.

The Alpha Phi frat house is chaos, as always. The faint hum of a game console buzzes from the corner of the living room, punctuated by the sound of Felix yelling, "What the fuck, Changbin?!" as Changbin's character delivers a devastating blow.

Felix is half-sitting, half-sprawled on the floor, his legs stretched out like a kid while Changbin perches on the edge of the couch, laser-focused, the controller a deadly weapon in his hands.

Across the room, Chan lounges on the couch, one foot propped up on the coffee table, earbuds jammed in as he scrolls through his phone. His lips move faintly like he's mumbling lyrics under his breath, probably tweaking music tracks for the millionth time.

Seungmin leans against the arm of an old recliner that's seen far too many frat house disasters, flipping through a thick textbook with his trademark scowl. He looks vaguely disgusted, though it's unclear whether it's because of the content or the sheer existence of the people around him.

And then there's Hyunjin. He's planted right in the middle of the floor like a dramatic artist in his natural habitat, cross-legged with a massive sketchbook balanced on his lap. A pencil twirls between his long fingers, tapping rhythmically against the blank page. His dark hair falls into his face in perfectly messy strands, like it always does, because the bastard can't look not good even when he's pissed off.

"Fuck," Hyunjin mutters, dragging a hand through his hair. The strands fall back in place like it's their life's mission. His head tilts back dramatically, eyes on the ceiling like it holds the answers to all his problems.

"Creative block?" Chan doesn't even look up, one earbud still in as he scrolls.

Hyunjin shoots him a murderous glare. "What gave it away, Sherlock?"

"The way you're sitting there like a kicked puppy," Seungmin supplies dryly, not bothering to look up from his book.

Hyunjin groans and collapses backward, sprawling out on the carpet like he's been struck down by some divine force. "I'm fucked. I have this fucking project about passion and I've got nothing. I'm literally a failure."

"Finally, some self-awareness," Minho says, breezing into the room with Jisung on his heels. He's holding a mug that probably contains three parts coffee and one part his own bullshit, and Jisung, as always, has a bag of chips open and already half-empty.

Hyunjin flips him off from his spot on the floor. "I'm being serious, you dick."

"Yeah, and I'm seriously saying this is the funniest thing I've seen all week," Minho replies, taking a sip of his coffee and smirking over the rim. "The tortured artist act is so fucking predictable."

Hyunjin props himself up on one elbow, glaring. "I need something raw. Something fucking real. Everything I've done so far looks like it was churned out by some art bot."

"Sounds like a you problem," Jisung quips, flopping onto the couch beside Chan and immediately tossing a chip into his mouth. "But hey, Minho and I might have a solution."

Minho raises an eyebrow at him. "Do we?"

"Yeah." Jisung grins, leaning forward like he's about to drop the hottest gossip of the year. "Y/N."

Hyunjin frowns, his pencil freezing mid-tap. "Who the fuck is Y/N?"

"Our friend," Minho says, rolling his eyes like Hyunjin's an idiot for not knowing. "She's a dancer. She's working on this routine for the college showcase, and it's, like, fucking insane."

"Dancer?" Changbin finally swivels his chair around, abandoning the game as Felix yells, "Don't pause mid-fight, you asshole!"

"Hot as fuck," Jisung clarifies, ignoring Felix. "She's doing Dirty Diana."

Felix whistles low. "And you're introducing her to Hyunjin? Bold move."

"Why the fuck is that a bold move?" Hyunjin demands, sitting up straighter. He looks vaguely offended.

"Because you're Hwang Whore Hyunjin," Felix says, deadpan. "Like, it's your brand."

"Fuck you!" Hyunjin throws a pillow at him, which Felix dodges easily. "I'm not a fucking whore."

"Sure," Seungmin mutters, finally looking up from his book. "And the earth is flat."

Minho crosses his arms and leans against the back of the couch. "Look, if introducing him to Y/N gets him to stop stealing my half-eaten apples to sketch them, I'm willing to make the sacrifice."

"You're such a dick," Hyunjin mutters.

"And you are a fucking menace," Jisung retorts, tossing a chip at him. "Remember when you made me hold an Oreo ice cream sandwich for, like, fifteen minutes while you got the perfect angle?"

"The vision was worth it," Hyunjin insists, his tone defensive.

"No, it fucking wasn't," Jisung says, glaring. "That shit melted in my hand, and you didn't even use the sketch!"

Minho sighs dramatically. "Anyway, Y/N's our peace offering. Take her. Get inspired. Just don't ruin her."

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, mock-offended. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like," Minho says. "No flirting. No fucking around."

"Why the hell would I flirt with her?" Hyunjin shoots back, sounding genuinely indignant.

Minho just snorts. "Because you flirt with everyone, Hyunjin. You can't help yourself. It's pathological."

"True," Seungmin mutters, flipping a page. "It's exhausting."

Hyunjin throws up his hands. "You guys are such dicks. I'm literally trying to work here."

"And you're gonna work when you see Y/N dance tomorrow," Jisung says smugly, his grin widening. "Minho's right, it's fucking hot. Her costume is, like, Rocky Horror Picture Show meets Moulin Rouge."

"Christ," Felix mutters, leaning back against the couch. "You guys are walking her into the lion's den."

"Shut up," Hyunjin snaps, though there's a flicker of interest in his eyes as he taps his pencil against the edge of the sketchbook. "I'll go. I'll see her. But I'm not promising anything."

"Just keep your dick out of it," Minho says bluntly, taking another sip of his coffee.

"Scout's honour," Hyunjin replies, raising one hand.

"You weren't a fucking scout," Chan says, finally looking up from his phone.

Hyunjin smirks. "Details."

Jisung shakes his head, muttering, "We're all gonna regret this."

"Probably," Minho agrees, but his grin says he's ready for the disaster. "But hey, at least I'll get to eat my apple in peace."

The dance studio is quiet, save for the hum of the air conditioner and the faint squeak of your stilettos on the polished wooden floor as you stretch. You bend forward, fingers brushing your toes, the pull in your muscles warm and satisfying after your light warm-up. The fluorescent lights above gleam off the mirrors that line the walls, casting your reflection back at you: a bold, commanding figure. 

The halter-style leather corset clings to you like a second skin, laces tight across your torso. The black gloves on your hands shimmer under the light, tiny embellishments catching flashes like sparks.

Your hotpants are short enough to make you raise a brow the first time you tried them on, and the garters attached to them stretch taut over your fishnet-clad thighs, disappearing into the tops of your heeled boots. It's a look designed to demand attention, but you're not thinking about that right now. You're focused, calm, working your muscles loose.

The sound of the door creaking open cuts through the silence, followed by Minho's voice. "You better not be dead in here, Y/N."

"And if she is," Jisung adds, his tone entirely unserious, "I'm not cleaning it up. That's Minho's job."

A small smile tugs at your lips as you glance at them in the mirror. "Still alive, thanks for the concern." You stay in your stretch, head upside down, watching their reflections as they step into the room.

Jisung's carrying a bag of chips and he's already grinning like he knows he's about to start shit. "Oh, by the way, we brought a friend. Y/N, meet Hyunjin."

You tilt your head, curious, and peer between your legs. Your hair falls forward, creating a curtain around your face, but you can still see him.

The new guy standing just inside the doorway is tall, lean, with sharp, elegant features that could probably make someone's knees weak if he so much as glanced their way. His long black hair falls past his shoulders in glossy waves, and his eyes, dark, intense, and slightly wide with surprise, are locked on you.

"Hello," you greet, cheerful but with a hint of amusement at the fact that he's still staring.

Hyunjin blinks, startled, and looks away so fast you almost laugh. "Uh, hi," he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You're looking at her through her fucking legs," Jisung points out gleefully, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth. "What a gentleman."

Straightening up, you roll your shoulders, the soft leather of your corset creaking slightly with the motion. "Don't mind them," you say to Hyunjin, your voice calm and soothing, though there's laughter in your eyes. "They're always like this."

"Good to know," Hyunjin replies, his lips twitching into a small, hesitant smile. He shifts his weight, his sketchbook tucked under one arm, as if unsure where he's supposed to stand.

"Wait a fucking second," Jisung says, holding up a hand dramatically like he's just noticed something life-altering. His eyes dart over your outfit, widening. "That's what you're wearing for the showcase?"

"Is that a problem?" you ask, brushing your gloved hands over the front of your corset, smoothing invisible creases. "I'm not wearing the feather headpiece or the boa yet, but yeah. What do you think?"

"What do I think?" Minho practically chokes, gesturing wildly at your ensemble like it's a personal affront. "I think you need a goddamn blanket. Holy fuck, Y/N. Jesus fucking Christ."

"And a full-body censor," Jisung adds, nodding gravely as his gaze drops to your legs. "This is why you got that bikini wax last week, isn't it?"

You nod, entirely unbothered, as you twist slightly, stretching your spine. "Mhm. Had to. The outfit doesn't leave much to the imagination."

"Doesn't leave anything to the imagination," Minho sputters, throwing up his hands. "You can't wear that!"

"Why not?" you ask, tilting your head. There's a faint teasing lilt to your voice, but you're genuinely curious.

"Because- because-" Minho stammers, gesturing at you with such exasperation he looks like he might combust. "It's fucking indecent!"

"You look too hot," Jisung blurts out, his voice half a groan. "Do you have any fucking clue how many people are going to be watching you? Guys are gonna lose their minds."

"That's kind of the point," you reply. "It's a performance. I'm supposed to grab their attention."

"Well, you're grabbing something, all right," Jisung mutters, rubbing at his temples as if he's suddenly developed a headache. "Holy shit, this is a fucking hazard."

Hyunjin clears his throat, and for the first time since entering, his voice cuts through the noise. "It's bold." He steps further into the room, his eyes scanning you with an intensity that's equal parts artist and something else entirely. "It fits the song. Definitely makes a statement."

You blink, slightly surprised by the evenness in his voice. "You think so?"

Hyunjin nods, his expression serious as he looks you over like you're a painting he's trying to dissect. "Yeah. It's provocative, but not trashy. It's striking. It suits you."

Your cheeks flush slightly at the unexpected compliment, but you smile anyway, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Thanks. That's exactly what I was going for."

"Don't fucking start," Minho groans, pointing a finger at Hyunjin. "Do not flirt with her. We're barely ten minutes into this."

"Relax," Hyunjin says, a smirk curling his lips. "I'm just making an observation."

"You'd better keep it that way," Jisung warns, his tone sharp. "This is sacred fucking ground, man. Don't ruin it."

Hyunjin raises his hands in mock surrender, but his smirk only deepens. "Scout's honor."

"You were never a fucking scout," Minho snaps, and Hyunjin shrugs, unapologetic.

You laugh softly, the tension breaking under the sound. "It's fine, guys. He can stay. I'd actually like to hear what an artist thinks of my routine."

"Oh, you'll hear it," Jisung mutters darkly. "He never shuts the fuck up."

"I'll behave," Hyunjin promises, though the glint in his eyes says otherwise. "Swear on my sketchbook."

"God help us," Minho mutters, dragging a hand down his face. "Fine. But if he gets weird, Y/N, we're kicking him out."

You smile at their antics, amused, and gesture toward the mirrors. "All right, sit down and let me know what you think."

As they settle into a corner, the buzz of conversation fades into a soft hum. You move to the centre of the room, the feel of the polished floor under your heels grounding you. The air feels different now, electric, like a storm brewing. You inhale deeply, rolling your shoulders as the music starts, and then you lose yourself in the rhythm.

The Alpha Phi living room is its usual chaotic self, a swirling mess of noise and energy. Jeongin is sprawled on the couch like a cat, scrolling through his phone while his sketchbook sits abandoned on the coffee table.

Felix lies on the floor, headphones dangling from one ear as he messes with his laptop. The faint smell of someone's cologne clings to the air, mixing with the scent of coffee, chips, and something burnt. Probably whatever disaster Changbin left in the kitchen earlier.

At the far end of the couch, Hyunjin sits perched like some brooding artist prince. His long legs are folded under him, and his sketchbook rests on his lap. He's uncharacteristically focused, head bent over the page, the faint sound of his pencil scratching across paper punctuating the room's chaos. His brows are furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line of concentration, and the muscles in his forearm flex subtly as he shades and reworks the lines.

Jeongin looks up from his phone, his curiosity piqued by Hyunjin's intense focus. He leans forward, craning his neck to peer over Hyunjin's shoulder. A second later, his eyes widen, and a slow, shit-eating grin spreads across his face.

"Hyunjin," Jeongin starts, his voice cutting through the room like a knife. "Why the fuck are you drawing a girl spreading her legs?"

The chaos screeches to a halt. Felix pulls out his remaining earbud, glancing over, and Changbin, who's been lounging in the recliner like he owns the place, sits up straight. Seungmin sighs audibly, muttering something about how living with idiots is ruining his brain cells.

Hyunjin doesn't even look up, his pencil moving smoothly across the page. "It's Y/N," he says, his tone casual, as if he's commenting on the weather. He tilts his head, adding a delicate line of shading. "It's part of her routine."

Jeongin's jaw drops. "What the fuck?!" He leans closer, unabashed now. "Ohhh, the Y/N. The dancer Minho and Jisung brought you to see. Holy shit, this is actually, wait, this is fucking good."

Now Felix is sitting up, his laptop abandoned. He scrambles over to see the sketch for himself and he whistles low when he catches a glimpse of the drawing. "Hyunjin, what the fuck. This is insane. You really nailed the, uh, energy."

"Energy," Jeongin echoes, snorting. "Yeah, that's one word for it."

Changbin finally drags himself off the recliner and ambles over, looming behind Hyunjin as he surveys the sketch. His eyes sweep over the drawing: your figure mid-move, legs extended, head tipped back in a pose that screams strength and sensuality. Hyunjin's lines are sharp but fluid, capturing the raw energy of your performance with a precision that feels alive.

"Damn," Changbin says, his voice low and impressed. "She's fucking hot."

"Excuse me?" Minho's voice cuts through the air like a whip as he strides into the room, a mug of coffee in hand. His cherry-red hair is a little messy, falling into his eyes as he fixes Changbin with a glare sharp enough to kill. "Not Y/N. Absolutely not. She's too good for you fucking degenerates."

Hyunjin glances up briefly, smirking. "Nice doesn't mean off-limits."

"It does when it comes to her," Minho snaps, slamming his mug down on the coffee table with enough force to make Felix flinch. "She's sweet and I'm not about to let you or any of these assholes ruin that."

Changbin raises his hands in mock surrender, though there's a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Relax, man. I'm not planning to do shit. I'm just saying-"

"Well, don't fucking say," Minho interrupts, pointing an accusing finger. "The last thing she needs is you cretins ogling her like she's a fucking dessert."

Felix smirks from his spot on the floor, leaning back on his hands. "To be fair, she's hot."

"Felix," Minho snaps, rounding on him. "You too? What the fuck is wrong with you people?"

"I'm just making an observation," Felix replies, holding up his hands. "Not my fault she's objectively attractive."

Seungmin sighs heavily, his voice dripping with disdain as he flips a page in his textbook. "This house is full of fucking animals."

Hyunjin finally sets his pencil down and turns to face the room, his expression calm but tinged with amusement. "You're all overreacting. I'm drawing her because she inspires me. That's it."

"Bull-fucking-shit," Jeongin mutters under his breath, only to yelp a second later when Minho smacks him upside the head.

"I'm serious," Hyunjin continues, ignoring the chaos. His voice takes on a more thoughtful tone. "Her routine- it's captivating. She has this way of moving. It's raw. It's like she's channelling something real, something... intense."

Minho narrows his eyes, leaning forward. "Hyunjin, I swear to fucking God, if you-"

"If I what?" Hyunjin interrupts, standing with a lazy stretch that makes Jeongin roll his eyes. "If I admire her talent? If I get inspired by her passion? What's the fucking crime here?"

"If you fuck it up," Minho says, his tone deadly serious. "She's not just some muse for your tortured artist bullshit. She's our friend. Don't fucking forget that."

Hyunjin's smirk falters slightly, and he holds his hands up in surrender. "I get it. I'm not an idiot."

"Debatable," Seungmin mutters under his breath, earning a sharp glare from Hyunjin.

"I'll behave," Hyunjin promises, his voice softer now. "She's different. I know that."

Minho studies him for a long moment, his eyes narrowing. "Good. Keep it that way."

The tension eases slightly, the energy in the room shifting back into its usual chaos. Jeongin flops back onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, Felix resumes fiddling with his laptop, and Changbin mutters something about everyone being way too sensitive as he retreats to his recliner.

Hyunjin picks up his sketchbook again, glancing down at the unfinished drawing of you. The lines of your pose are bold, commanding, and yet there's a softness to the way he's shaded your face. A flicker of something almost reverent.

"Different," he murmurs to himself, tapping his pencil against the page.

Yeah, you were different. And maybe that was the fucking problem.

The night air bites at Hyunjin's cheeks as he strides across campus, his sketchbook clutched tightly under his arm. Most of the students are heading in the opposite direction, their laughter and drunken shouts spilling out into the streets as they make their way to the Kappa Tau party.

Music thunders from open windows, bass vibrating through the air, but Hyunjin barely registers it. He knows Minho and Jisung are probably already there, doing something ridiculous, probably egging on a keg stand or starting an argument over God knows what, but he has other plans tonight.

The glow of the dance studio comes into view, spilling a warm golden light onto the pavement. Hyunjin pulls the door open, stepping into the familiar scent of polished wood, faint sweat, and the quiet hum of the air conditioning. It's like walking into another world, separate from the chaos of campus life, calm yet charged with potential.

You're already there, your black sneakers shuffling softly against the floor as you stretch. You're wearing black shorts and a cropped tank top, your hair loosely clipped up with stray strands falling around your face. The outfit is practical, sure, but there's something about it, about you, that catches Hyunjin off guard. You look effortless. Grounded. Like you belong here in a way no one else ever could.

The door shuts with a soft thud, and you glance up, catching his reflection in the mirror. A smile spreads across your lips, warm and genuine. "Hi, Hyunjin."

"Hey," he replies, his voice softer than he means it to be. He raises his sketchbook slightly, as if in explanation. "I was wondering if I could sit and sketch? Watching you dance makes it easier to get the details right."

You straighten, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face as your smile widens. "Of course. Make yourself at home."

He settles onto a bench by the mirrors, tossing his bag to the side and flipping open his sketchbook. His pencil hovers over the page, poised and ready, but his gaze drifts to you as you turn back to the barre. You lift your leg in a slow, fluid motion, pressing it effortlessly toward your head.

The stretch elongates your body, your muscles moving with practised ease. There's something hypnotic about it, the way your motions are deliberate yet entirely natural.

"How long have you been dancing?" Hyunjin asks, his voice cutting through the quiet. His pencil starts to move, tracing the shape of your form.

You glance at him, thoughtful as you lower your leg and switch sides. "Since I was five. My mom put me in ballet classes, and I hated it at first. Like, really fucking hated it. But then, I don't know. Something just clicked. It stopped being this thing I had to do and became something I needed to do."

His pencil pauses for a moment, and he nods. "It shows. You're incredible."

You laugh softly, a light, airy sound that fills the room. "Thanks. That means a lot."

As you finish at the barre, you move to the centre of the room, rolling your shoulders and shaking out your limbs. Hyunjin watches as you start to move through your routine, your steps deliberate and sharp. Every spin, every lunge, every roll of your hips is purposeful, like you're pouring your entire soul into the choreography.

There's something raw about it, something almost vulnerable, and it grips him in a way he can't describe.

"You don't hold back," Hyunjin says, his voice laced with admiration as he sketches furiously. His pencil races across the page, trying to keep up with you.

"Why would I?" you reply, pausing mid-spin to glance at him. "If I'm not giving it everything, then what's the point?"

He hums in agreement, his lips curving into a small smile as his gaze flickers between you and his sketchbook. "Most people are scared to be that exposed. It's rare."

You turn back to your routine, a faint smile playing on your lips. "Dancing doesn't feel like exposing myself. It feels like telling a story. Like I'm showing people something they can't see otherwise."

Hyunjin's pencil halts mid-stroke. His gaze lifts to you, something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes. "That's fucking beautiful."

The sincerity in his voice makes your cheeks warm, but you push past it, spinning into a series of pirouettes that ends with you dropping into a low lunge. The sound of your breathing fills the room, mingling with the soft scratch of his pencil against paper.

When you pause to grab your water bottle, he speaks again. "Do you ever get nervous? Performing, I mean."

"Every fucking time," you admit, wiping a bead of sweat from your temple. "But it's a good kind of nervous. It reminds me that I care. That it matters."

He nods slowly, his pencil moving again. "Yeah. I get that. It's the same with art sometimes. The nerves keep you grounded. Like, if you're not a little terrified, are you even fucking alive?"

You laugh, soft and genuine. "Exactly."

The next hour passes in a rhythm that feels oddly intimate. You dance, stretching, refining sections of your routine, and he sketches in near silence, the occasional question or comment slipping from his lips. The concentration on his face mirrors your own: brows furrowed, eyes sharp, hands moving as if guided by instinct.

Every now and then, you steal a glance at him, marvelling at the way his long fingers grip the pencil, the way his wrist moves so fluidly as he captures moments of your movement on paper.

Finally, you pause, your chest heaving as you catch your breath. Grabbing your towel, you walk over to him and lean down, tilting your head to get a look at his sketchbook. "Can I see?"

For a second, he hesitates, then flips the book around. Your eyes widen as you take in the drawing. A snapshot of you mid-spin, arms extended, hair fanned out like a halo. The lines are bold but fluid, each stroke capturing the energy and emotion of your movements. It's raw, dynamic, alive.

"Holy shit," you breathe, your voice hushed. "This is... amazing. You're so talented."

His cheeks flush pink, and he ducks his head slightly, a shy smile tugging at his lips. "Thanks. But honestly, it's easy to draw when the subject's this inspiring."

The words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you're not sure how to respond. Your chest feels warm, like the air between you has shifted. You tap the edge of his sketchbook lightly, smiling. "Well, I'm glad I could help."

"You've done more than that," he murmurs, his voice soft, almost too low to hear. His gaze meets yours, and there's something in his eyes. Something unspoken but heavy. It lingers there, filling the silence.

You clear your throat, breaking the moment with a small laugh. "All right. One more run-through, and then I'm calling it a night."

Hyunjin nods, settling back against the wall, pencil poised. "Take your time. I'm not in a fucking hurry."

As the music starts up again, you throw yourself into the choreography one last time, your body moving like it's connected to the beat. Hyunjin sketches furiously, his hand working almost faster than his mind can process. There's a feeling in his chest, a kind of ache he can't quite name. But as he watches you dance, he knows one thing for certain: you've become more than just a muse.

Over the next month, the dance studio transforms into a quiet sanctuary for the two of you. It becomes a rhythm. Unspoken, natural. Hyunjin shows up whenever he knows Minho and Jisung are too distracted by their latest frat house chaos to hover, sketchbook tucked securely under his arm. There's always the faint scent of graphite clinging to him, mingling with his cologne, something crisp and warm that lingers even after he's gone.

At first, his visits are clinical, purely about capturing your movement on paper. But slowly, without either of you acknowledging it, they shift into something else. The conversations get longer. The silences more comfortable. And tonight feels different somehow.

The studio is quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the occasional creak of the barre as you stretch. Hyunjin sits cross-legged on the floor, his sketchbook balanced on his knees, but his pencil lies idle for once. He's watching you instead, his dark eyes tracing the shape of your body as you lean into a deep stretch.

There's something captivating about how natural you look, your hair swept up in a messy bun, loose strands curling against your neck, dressed simply in a black tank top and leggings. There's no stage, no spotlight. Just you, raw and unpolished.

"You're quiet tonight," you say softly, twisting your torso to stretch your sides. Your voice cuts through the stillness, gentle but curious. "What's on your mind?"

He shrugs, running a hand through his hair in that effortless way of his that makes it fall perfectly back into place. "Nothing," he replies after a beat. "Just thinking."

"Dangerous," you tease, settling onto the floor across from him. Your legs stretch out in front of you as you lean back on your hands, your expression soft but playful. "Thinking about what?"

His fingers tap against the edge of his sketchbook, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. "About how you make this shit look so easy. Dancing, I mean. Like you don't even have to try."

You laugh softly, tilting your head as you consider him. "It's not always easy. I fuck up all the time. You've just been lucky enough to catch me on my good days."

He huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Bullshit. Even when you're just warming up, it's like watching something... magic. Like it's in your blood or something."

"That's sweet, but you're giving me way too much credit."

"I'm not," he says, his tone firm and certain. He leans back on his hands, the curve of his lips softening into something more thoughtful. "I've been stuck on this project for weeks. Trying to figure out what the fuck passion even looks like, and I still can't get it right. But you? You are passion. You don't even have to try."

You blink at him, caught off guard by the weight of his words. Ducking your head, you fiddle with the hem of your tank top, your voice quieter now. "I don't know what to say to that."

He smirks, his eyes lighting with mischief. "Say I'm right."

You roll your eyes, laughing softly. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"Yeah, but you like it," he shoots back, the corners of his mouth tugging into a grin.

For a moment, the room falls silent again, but it's not uncomfortable. It feels easy, like you're both content to exist in this shared quiet. Hyunjin's fingers brush against his pencil, but he doesn't pick it up. Instead, he breaks the silence, his voice lower this time. "So why'd you pick this song for the showcase? Dirty Diana doesn't seem like your usual vibe."

You settle onto your elbows, tilting your head as you think. "Honestly? It was a challenge. I usually go for light, fun stuff—songs that make people smile. But this? This is darker. More intense. It scared me a little."

"Doesn't look like it," he says, his gaze steady on yours. "You own it. Like the song was written for you."

"Thanks," you reply. "But it took a lot of fucking work to get there. The first few times I practised, I felt like a complete idiot. Like I was trying too hard, you know?"

Hyunjin leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watches you intently. "And now?"

You glance away for a second, your voice quieter when you answer. "Now it feels freeing. Like I'm stepping into someone else for a little while. Someone who's bolder. Less afraid to take up space."

His lips curve into a small, genuine smile. "That's what art's supposed to do, right? Push you. Make you see yourself differently."

"Exactly," you say, meeting his gaze. "It's the same for you, isn't it? With your sketches?"

He chuckles, looking down at the blank page in front of him. "Yeah. Except half the time I want to rip the fucking paper to shreds because it's never good enough."

"Don't," you say firmly, your voice soft but insistent. "Your work is incredible, Hyunjin. Don't sell yourself short."

His ears tint pink, and he ducks his head, his smile almost shy. "Thanks. That means a lot coming from you."

The conversation shifts from there, drifting into easier territory. You talk about ridiculous childhood stories like the time you tripped during your first recital and wanted to quit on the spot.

Hyunjin counters with a tale about Minho accidentally locking himself out of the frat house wearing nothing but a towel, and you laugh so hard you have to wipe tears from your eyes.

"God, your friends are fucking insane," you say between giggles.

"You have no idea," he replies, grinning. "Living with them is like a daily test of patience and survival."

The hours slip by without either of you noticing, the weight of the day melting away in the warmth of your laughter. By the time you glance at the clock, it's nearly midnight.

"Shit," you mutter, standing and stretching your arms overhead. "I didn't realize it was so late."

Hyunjin follows suit, stretching lazily as the hem of his sweater rides up slightly, revealing a sliver of toned skin. You quickly avert your gaze. "Time flies when you're with me," he says, smirking.

"Or when you're swapping embarrassing childhood stories," you counter, shooting him a playful glare.

He chuckles, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. "Fair enough. I'll let you get back to it, then."

You walk him to the door, pausing as he turns to face you. "Thanks for coming by," you say softly, your smile warm. "It's nice having company."

"Anytime," he replies, his voice just as soft. His gaze lingers on you for a moment, unreadable but heavy. Then the smirk returns. "See you soon, Y/N."

"See you soon, Hyunjin," you echo, your voice barely above a whisper.

As the door closes behind him, you exhale, your lips curving into a small smile. The air feels lighter, warmer, though the space is now empty. And for the first time in a long while, you're glad it isn't just your sanctuary anymore.

The studio is unusually quiet tonight. The air feels heavier than usual, weighted by your own fatigue. Each movement takes more effort than it should, your muscles dragging like they're stuck in molasses. You stretch at the barre, your arms trembling slightly as you press into the motion.

A soft cough escapes your lips, muffled into the crook of your elbow. You try to ignore the rasp in your throat, the way your breath comes just a little too shallow, but it's no use. Your body isn't cooperating, and you know it.

Hyunjin watches from his usual spot by the mirror, his sketchbook open on his lap. His pencil hasn't moved for minutes now, his focus entirely on you. He notices every detail, the way your shoulders slump, the hesitation in your usually fluid spins. When you pause to lean against the barre, catching your breath, he finally speaks up, his voice sharp enough to cut through the stillness.

"Y/N," he says, his tone edged with concern. "Are you sick?"

You glance at him, brushing a loose strand of hair from your damp forehead. "I'm fine," you say, your voice hoarse and thin. "Just a little cold."

"Bullshit," he snaps, setting his sketchbook down with a soft thud. His eyes narrow as he pushes himself off the floor. "You're coughing, your voice sounds like sandpaper, and you look like you're about to keel the fuck over. Don't lie to me."

"I'm fine," you insist, but it's weak, even to your own ears.

"Like hell you are." He strides across the room, his long legs closing the distance quickly. "Take a break. Seriously. You look like you're about to pass the fuck out."

You sigh, leaning heavily against the barre, the fight draining out of you. "I just need a minute."

"No," he says firmly, grabbing his sketchbook and sitting on the floor. He pats the spot next to him with exaggerated patience. "You're sitting down. Now. Don't make me drag your ass over here."

Your lips twitch with the faintest hint of a smile, but you're too tired to argue. Slowly, you sink down beside him, stretching your legs out in front of you. "Fine. What are we doing?"

He flips through the pages of his sketchbook, his movements deliberate. "Just look at this," he says, though there's a hint of nervousness in his tone that you don't miss.

You glance down as he opens the book to a familiar page, a sketch of you mid-spin, arms outstretched, hair flying. You've seen this one before, the strength and fluidity of your movement captured perfectly in pencil strokes. But as he turns the page, your breath catches.

It's you. Not the dancer you see in the mirror, not the performer on stage, but you in quiet, unguarded moments. You sipping coffee, your hands curled around the mug like it's a lifeline. You laughing, your head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut. You stretching absentmindedly, a faint smile tugging at your lips. The sketches are meticulous, yet they radiate something softer, something achingly familiar.

"You've been drawing me?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. The rawness of it is both from your cold and the sudden emotion bubbling up in your chest.

Hyunjin rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks faintly pink. "Yeah. I mean... you're inspiring. It's not just the way you move—it's everything. The way you laugh like you don't give a fuck who's listening. The way you zone out when you're thinking too hard. Even the way you drink coffee, like it's the best goddamn thing you've ever tasted. It's... fuck, I don't even know how to explain it. You're just... effortlessly beautiful."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, but in the best way. You blink down at the sketches, the intricate lines and subtle shading, the way he's managed to capture so much of you. "Hyunjin," you whisper, your throat tightening. "These are- they're incredible. You're incredible."

He shrugs, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips. "It's easy when the subject is..." He trails off, his gaze flickering to yours. "Well. You."

You feel your cheeks heat, the compliment settling somewhere deep in your chest. "Thank you. For seeing me like this."

His expression softens, the usual cockiness giving way to something more vulnerable. "It's just the truth."

You cough again, the sound rough and raw, and Hyunjin's brow furrows immediately. He shifts closer, his knee brushing yours as he sits up straighter. "That's it," he declares. "We're done here. Come on." He stands and holds a hand out to you.

You blink at him, confused. "What?"

"We're getting you soup," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "No fucking debate. Let's go."

You start to protest, shaking your head weakly. "I'm fine, Hyunjin. I don't need—"

"Y/N." His voice is firm but not unkind. He fixes you with a look that's both exasperated and weirdly endearing. "You're not fine. You're a stubborn little shit, but you're also sick. We're getting soup. End of story."

You sigh, defeated, and take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. "You're bossy, you know that?"

"And you're a pain in the ass," he shoots back, grinning. "Let's call it even."

The night air is sharp against your skin as you step outside, and you pull your jacket tighter around yourself. Hyunjin walks beside you, his hand brushing yours occasionally as the two of you head toward a quiet corner of campus. The restaurant he leads you to is small and cozy, tucked between two buildings like a secret. Warm light spills from the windows, and the scent of broth and spices hits you the moment you walk in.

Hyunjin orders for both of you, a hearty soup and a pot of hot tea to share, and when the food arrives, he pushes your bowl toward you with a pointed look. "Eat."

You pick up your spoon, the warmth of the soup spreading through you as you take a sip. It's comforting in a way you hadn't realized you needed.

"Better?" he asks, his voice softer now, almost tentative.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Much better. Thank you."

He leans back in his chair, his expression smug but satisfied. "Good. You're not allowed to starve yourself when you're sick. It's fucking illegal."

"Oh, really?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. "Whose laws are these?"

"Mine," he replies without hesitation, grinning. "And trust me, I'm an unforgiving dictator."

You laugh, the sound raspier than usual but still genuine. "Well, thank you, Supreme Leader Hyunjin."

"You're welcome, loyal subject," he quips, his grin widening.

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm as you eat, the conversation flowing between bites of soup and sips of tea. He tells you about Minho's latest antics, something about an ill-fated attempt to flirt with a girl who turned out to be his TA, and you share a story about your first recital, when you tripped during the opening number and wanted to quit on the spot.

By the time you glance at the clock, it's nearly midnight, and the world outside has gone quiet. Hyunjin insists on walking you home, his hands stuffed into his pockets as the two of you make your way back across campus.

"Thanks for taking care of me," you say softly as you reach your door. "You didn't have to."

"Yeah, I did," he replies, his gaze meeting yours. "You're too fucking nice for your own good. Someone has to look out for you."

You feel your heart squeeze at his words, but you smile anyway. "Well, you're pretty good at it."

"Damn right I am," he says, smirking. "Now go to bed. No late-night choreography, I mean it."

"Yes, sir," you tease, rolling your eyes.

He grins, stepping back. "Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Hyunjin."

As he walks away, his hands stuffed in his coat pockets, you feel a warmth settle over you that has nothing to do with the soup. For the first time in days, you feel genuinely cared for.

The Alpha Phi living room reeks of weed, stale beer, and half-eaten pizza. A haze of smoke curls lazily around the room, mixing with the loud, slurred laughter of the frat boys sprawled across the furniture.

Minho is slouched on the couch, a joint dangling from his fingers, his other hand resting on the thigh of a Kappa Tau girl perched on his lap. Her glossy lips are stretched into a giggle that grates on Hyunjin's nerves the second he walks in. Jisung, meanwhile, is leaning back in the recliner, another girl practically draped over him, both of them laughing at something incoherent and stupid.

The coffee table is a war zone of empty beer cans, crushed Solo cups, and grease-stained pizza boxes. It's the kind of chaos Hyunjin usually ignores, hell, sometimes he even thrives in it. But tonight? Tonight, it makes his blood fucking boil.

"Y/N's sick," Hyunjin snaps, his voice slicing through the noise like a blade. It's sharp, furious, and instantly cuts through the haze of laughter. "She's fucking sick, coughing her lungs out, barely able to stand, and meanwhile, you two are here, lying to her, ignoring her, fucking around like it's nothing. What the actual fuck is this?"

Minho blinks at him, slow and stupid, his eyes bloodshot as he squints through the smoke. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Hyunjin takes a step closer, his jaw clenched. "Y/N. Your friend. The one you two abandoned for this bullshit." He gestures wildly to the scene in front of him, his frustration spilling out unchecked. "She was in the studio earlier, pushing herself so hard she could barely breathe. I had to drag her out to get soup because she hasn't been eating properly, and she couldn't even fucking call either of you because, guess what? You lied to her about having exams. So tell me, Minho, what the fuck is this?"

Jisung sits up straighter, looking vaguely defensive as he rubs at the back of his neck. "She's fine. Y/N's tough."

"Tough?" Hyunjin's voice rises, and the anger in it makes Jisung flinch. "You think that makes it okay? She's fucking tough because she has to be, not because she wants to. She was practically falling over, Jisung. You should've seen her, coughing, wheezing, still trying to practice because she thought you two were too fucking busy to care."

One of the Kappa Tau girls, a brunette with obnoxiously long extensions, chimes in with a scoff. "They're busy with us. Their little friend can handle herself."

Hyunjin's head snaps toward her, his dark eyes narrowing dangerously. His voice drops, cold and venomous. "Get the fuck out. Now."

The girl blinks, clearly caught off guard. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Hyunjin says, his tone lethal. "Get. The fuck. Out. Before I rip those shitty extensions out myself."

Her bravado falters under his glare. "You're such a fucking buzzkill," she huffs, grabbing her bag and stomping toward the door. The other girl, less bold and clearly spooked, scrambles up and mumbles a quick goodbye before following her out.

Minho looks up, his jaw tightening. "Hyunjin, what the actual fuck is your problem?"

"My problem?" Hyunjin snaps, his voice cutting like a whip. "My problem is that Y/N is too fucking nice to realize that the two of you are absolute shit friends. My problem is that she thinks it's her fault you've been ignoring her. She was literally defending you earlier, Minho. She said, 'They probably have their reasons. They didn't want me to feel left out.' Left out? She's making excuses for you, and meanwhile, you're here playing frat house fuckboy."

Jisung's mouth opens, but Hyunjin raises a hand, cutting him off. "No. Shut the fuck up. You let her think she didn't matter enough to bother with. And for what? This?" He gestures angrily at the wreckage of the living room. "This isn't fucking worth it."

Minho looks away, his jaw tight, guilt flickering across his face. Jisung runs a hand through his hair, visibly uncomfortable, his leg bouncing nervously as he struggles to find words.

"You don't deserve her," Hyunjin says finally, his voice quieter but no less sharp. "She's too fucking good for either of you."

The weight of his words hangs in the air, and neither of them tries to argue. Before they can muster a response, Hyunjin's phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, his expression softening slightly when he sees your name. Without hesitation, he answers, putting the phone on speaker.

"Y/N?" he says, his tone gentler than it's been all night.

"Hi, Hyunjin," your voice comes through, weak and raspy. It's like a punch to the chest. "I'm sorry to bother you. I just- Could you maybe pick me up some cough medicine? My muscles ache so bad, and I feel awful, but I didn't want to bother Minho or Jisung. I know they're busy."

Hyunjin's eyes snap to Minho and Jisung, both of whom look like they've been slapped. Minho's grip tightens on the joint before he crushes it out in the ashtray, his jaw clenching.

"Of course, Y/N," Hyunjin says, his voice soft but firm. "Don't worry about it. I'll be there soon."

"Thank you," you whisper, relief heavy in your tone. "I really appreciate it."

"Anything for you," he replies sincerely. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

He hangs up, and the room is deadly quiet for a moment before Hyunjin turns his glare back to the two of them. "Did you hear her? She didn't want to 'bother' you. You've made her think she's a fucking burden. You assholes are lucky she hasn't cut you off completely."

Minho is already on his feet. "I'll get it. I'll go right now."

Jisung jumps up, grabbing his keys. "We'll fix it. We'll get the medicine and apologize."

"You fucking better," Hyunjin mutters, stepping back as they scramble for their shoes. "And you're going to make it right."

"Yeah," Jisung says quickly, his voice tight. "We will."

They rush out, the door slamming behind them, and Hyunjin exhales heavily, running a hand through his hair. The anger lingers, simmering under his skin, but there's a flicker of satisfaction too. For once, it feels like they might actually get their shit together.

And for you? Hyunjin would burn the whole damn house down if it meant you never felt alone again.

Minho and Jisung practically sprint through the dorm hallways, juggling plastic bags filled to bursting with everything they could grab at the store. The rustle of bags and their muffled swearing echoes down the corridor as they fumble with the sheer volume of their haul: cough medicine, lemon tea, honey, tissues, painkillers, ginger, lemons, pre-cooked chicken, and even random snacks Jisung insisted on, including a family-sized pack of cookies.

"Fucking hell, why did I let you grab this much shit?" Minho hisses, nearly tripping over his own feet as a bag digs into his wrist.

"Emergency morale boosters are a necessity," Jisung shoots back, juggling a box of instant ramen precariously on top of his already-full arms. "I'm telling you, Y/N's gonna love the cookies."

"Soup first. Cookies second. I swear to God, if you make her eat cookies before real food—"

"I know, I know! Don't yell at me!" Jisung grumbles, though his pace quickens as they round the last corner.

When they reach your door, Minho raises a hand to knock, but the door swings open before he can. You're leaning heavily against the frame, wrapped in an old blanket and wearing one of Minho's oversized T-shirts. The fabric hangs off your shoulders, the faded logo almost completely worn away. Your hair is messy, tendrils sticking to your forehead, and your face is drawn, your tired eyes framed by deep circles. You sniffle softly, offering them a weak smile.

"Hey," you croak, your voice a low rasp.

Minho's brows knit together immediately. "Jesus fucking Christ," he mutters, stepping closer to place a hand on your forehead. His touch is cool, and the frown on his face deepens. "You look like absolute shit."

"Wow," you rasp with a dry laugh, stepping aside to let them in. "Nice to see you too."

"Holy shit, Y/N," Jisung says, shuffling inside and carefully dropping the bags on your tiny kitchen counter. His wide eyes dart around the room, taking in the barely-touched water bottles and the tissues piled on your nightstand. "Why didn't you fucking call us earlier? You look like death warmed over."

"I didn't want to bother you," you reply, closing the door and leaning against it for support. "You've been busy."

"Busy being dicks," Minho mutters under his breath as he starts unloading the bags onto your counter. He pulls out a pot and grabs the chicken, turning back to look at you, his expression softening. "Go. Get your ass in bed. I'm making you chicken soup. And don't even fucking think about arguing. You love my soup."

You hesitate for a moment, but the way Minho glares at you, sharp but with an underlying warmth, makes you cave. "Okay, okay," you mumble, shuffling toward your bed. Your legs wobble slightly as you move, and Jisung is at your side in a heartbeat.

"Fuck, Y/N, sit down before you collapse," he says, his voice filled with more concern than he usually shows. He helps you onto the bed and grabs a blanket from the foot of it, draping it over your shoulders and tucking it around you like a burrito. "There. Cozy?"

"Super cozy," you rasp, amused despite yourself. "Thanks, Ji."

"You're welcome," he says, pulling up a chair next to the bed and rummaging through one of the bags. "Okay, let's see, honey, for your throat. Lemon. Oh, shit, I grabbed ginger too. And, uh, tissues. And this weird-ass herbal tea the cashier said would cure your soul or something."

"You're high," you tease softly, watching him with a faint smile.

"Maybe a little," he admits, giggling as he pulls out a pack of cookies and waves it like a trophy. "But that doesn't mean I can't take care of you. Look, cookies. For morale. Revolutionary."

"Soup first, Jisung," Minho barks from the kitchenette, where he's already chopping vegetables with sharp, practised movements. "No fucking cookies before soup."

"Fine, dad," Jisung mutters, leaning over to smooth a stray strand of hair from your forehead. "Y/N, I swear to God, I'm gonna take care of you until you're back to dancing around and making us feel untalented."

You laugh softly, but it turns into a rattling cough that makes both of them wince. Jisung's face twists in concern as he grabs the tissue box and holds it out to you. "Okay, coughing is now illegal. I'm banning it."

"Seconded," Minho calls, tossing chopped ginger into the pot. "And you're not allowed to die. It's against the rules. You're too nice for that shit."

You manage a hoarse laugh, curling deeper into the blanket. "I wasn't planning on it, but thanks for the pep talk."

Jisung's voice drops, uncharacteristically serious. "We're sorry, Y/N. For being, you know, absolute dickheads. You deserve better."

You shake your head weakly, your voice soft. "You're not dickheads. You're here now. That's all that matters."

Minho glances at you over his shoulder, his jaw tight. "We're here now because we fucked up, and we know it. I lied to you about that fucking exam, and Jisung didn't call you back because we were too busy being assholes. That's not okay."

"You're my assholes," you murmur, the corners of your lips tugging into a small smile.

Minho snorts, turning back to the stove. "Damn right we are. And as your assholes, we're fixing it. Starting with this soup."

Jisung leans closer, his chin resting on the edge of your bed. "We missed you, Y/N. And we're gonna do better, I swear."

You hum softly, your eyes already fluttering shut as the exhaustion pulls at you. "I missed you too. So much."

Jisung reaches over to hold your hand lightly, his fingers brushing against yours. "You're way too fucking good to us."

"Damn straight," Minho mutters, his voice softer now. "But we're not leaving you like this again. I mean it."

Jisung picks up the cookies again, holding one up with a grin. "Okay, one morale cookie before soup. Just one. I promise. Don't let Minho see"

You crack an eye open, looking amused as you reach out. "Fine. Just one."

The backstage area is a chaotic whirlwind of activity, a blur of sequins, feathers, and rushing bodies. Dancers flit past in various states of dress, their laughter and shouted instructions blending with the occasional hiss of a steamer and the clatter of heels against the floor. The air is heavy with the sharp scent of hairspray, powder, and sweat, the electric tension so thick it's almost suffocating.

You sit at your station, staring into the mirror under the harsh glare of the lights. Your makeup bag is open in front of you, brushes and palettes scattered in disarray, but your hands won't stop trembling. The eyeliner in your fingers drags a jagged line across your lid, and you curse softly, dropping it onto the table in frustration.

The outfit you've been practicing in for weeks looks stunning under the backstage lights. The halter-style leather corset clings to your frame perfectly, its lace-up front shimmering every time you shift. The matching gloves glint with small embellishments and your garters are taut, connecting your hotpants to the thigh-high fishnets that make your legs look impossibly long in your stilettos. A red feather headpiece tilts delicately on your hair, framing your face, while the boa draped over your shoulders adds a dramatic, sultry flair.

But even with all the effort, the polished look feels like a lie. Your stomach churns, twisting with nerves that seem to multiply with every second, every muffled call for the next dancer. You've never felt more exposed, like every flaw is about to be illuminated the moment you step onto the stage.

"I'm gonna fucking vomit," you mutter, slumping forward to press your forehead against your hand. The eyeliner pen rolls off the table, but you barely notice, too consumed by the rising tide of panic.

"Knock, knock," a voice cuts through the noise, low and familiar, and your head snaps up to meet Hyunjin's gaze in the mirror.

He leans casually against the doorframe, his dark jeans and loose black button-up looking effortlessly perfect, as always. His hair is tucked behind his ears, framing his sharp features, and though his sketchbook is absent, the quiet intensity in his eyes makes you feel like you're being sketched anyway. Every detail of you taken in and captured.

"How's my favourite performer?" he asks, stepping inside. His tone is light, teasing, but there's a softness in his expression as he takes in your trembling hands.

You try to smile, but it falters. "I feel like shit," you admit quietly. "I think I might actually puke."

Hyunjin strides closer, crouching beside your chair so that he's at eye level with you. "You're not going to puke," he says firmly, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "You're going to go out there and absolutely kill it. End of story."

You huff a weak laugh, shaking your head. "You have way too much faith in me."

"That's because I've seen you," he replies, his voice soft but resolute. "I've watched you pour every ounce of yourself into this. Every step, every spin, every goddamn detail. Trust me, you're going to blow their fucking minds."

Your throat tightens, your fingers twisting in your lap. "I can't even get my eyeliner right,"

Hyunjin's lips twitch into a smirk. "Let me," he says, standing and grabbing the eyeliner from the floor. He straightens and tilts his head. "Trust me?"

"You? Do my eyeliner?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. "What, are you secretly a makeup artist now?"

"Relax," he says, his tone playful but sure. "I've done this before. Stay still."

You hesitate for a moment, then nod, your heart fluttering as he steps closer. He places one hand under your chin, tilting your face up toward him, and the warmth of his skin steadies your trembling slightly. His other hand holds the eyeliner steady, and you try not to think about how close he is, his focus entirely on you.

"Don't move," he murmurs, his voice low. You barely breathe as his hand guides the pen smoothly across your lid, the strokes precise and confident.

After a few moments, he leans back, setting the pen down. "Done. Look."

You glance in the mirror, and your jaw drops. "Holy shit," you breathe. "That's... that's perfect."

"Told you," he says smugly, his grin widening. "Now stop clenching your hands. You're gonna ruin your gloves."

You glance down, realizing your fingers are white-knuckled against each other, and laugh softly, releasing them. "Sorry. It's just a lot."

Hyunjin straightens, leaning against the table as he looks at you. "Forget about them," he says suddenly, his tone firm.

"What?"

"The audience. The judges. Fuck all of them." He waves a hand dismissively, his lips quirking into a smirk. "Or better yet, imagine them naked. Isn't that what people say?"

You laugh, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. "Why are you being so nice to me?" you ask, your voice soft. "You've done so much already. More than you had to."

His smile falters for a moment, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes. He steps closer, his voice quieter but steady. "Because you've done something to me, Y/N. No one's ever inspired me the way you do. Every line I draw, every thought I have... it's you. And honestly, it scares the shit out of me."

Your breath catches, your heart hammering as he continues.

"But the idea of not telling you, of not trying, scares me even more," he says, his gaze unwavering. "I'd rather crash and burn than watch you dance out of my reach."

For a moment, the world outside fades, the noise of the backstage chaos, the calls for dancers, the rustling of costumes. It's just you and Hyunjin, his words hanging between you like something fragile and beautiful.

"I-" you start, but he holds up a hand, his smile softening.

"Later," he says gently. "We can talk about it later. Tonight, just find me in the crowd. Forget everyone else. Look for me."

You nod slowly, your voice trembling as you say, "Okay."

He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face and adjusting the red feather in your headpiece. "You've got this. I'll be right there."

With one last smile, he steps back and heads for the door, glancing over his shoulder before disappearing into the hallway. As the door clicks shut, you take a deep breath, his words still echoing in your mind.

You turn back to the mirror. Your eyeliner is flawless, your outfit gleaming under the lights. The nerves are still there, but they're muted now. Tempered by the warmth in Hyunjin's voice and the steady certainty in his gaze.

You pick up your boa, draping it over your shoulders as you stand. One thought anchors you, steadying the whirlwind of nerves in your chest. Find Hyunjin in the crowd. Forget everyone else.

The stage is bathed in darkness, the auditorium buzzing with electric anticipation. You stand just offstage, one hand gripping the edge of the curtain, your breathing shallow as you wait for your cue.

The opening bassline of Dirty Diana thrums faintly in the background, the vibrations running through your heels and up your legs. The heat of the stage lights waiting to ignite feels oppressive even from here. Sweat beads on your back, but it's impossible to tell if it's from the heat or the nerves.

You can do this, you tell yourself, though your pulse pounds erratically. Your stomach twists, and your fingers curl tighter around the curtain. When the lights dim further, a sharp red glow spills onto the stage like blood across black velvet, cutting through the air like a siren.

This is it.

The music surges, and the red lights sharpen into beams that slice through the darkness, spotlighting the stage. You step out, your stilettos clicking softly against the polished floor, and the air in the room shifts. The world feels like it's both expanding and closing in, the crowd's hum muted by the rush of blood in your ears. Your movements are steady but deliberate, every step taking you further into the blazing heat of the spotlight.

Then you see them.

Front and centre, Hyunjin sits with Jisung and Minho, but the entire Alpha Phi crew has shown up. Chan leans slightly forward, his expression curious but impressed. Changbin is perched with his arms crossed, nodding along to the beat as if sizing you up. Felix has a camera slung over his shoulder and is already snapping away, adjusting his angles. Jeongin and Seungmin sit side by side, both watching intently, though Seungmin looks like he's trying not to smile.

And Hyunjin? His eyes are locked on you.

The moment your gaze meets his, it's like the rest of the room blurs. He's sitting forward in his seat, elbows on his knees, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that feels like a physical touch. There's something grounding about the way he looks at you, steady and unwavering, and for a moment, your nerves falter. Then his lips quirk into the faintest of smiles, and something shifts inside you. Confidence blooms, hot and electric, chasing away the fear.

The music kicks in, the beat hitting hard, and you move.

Your body responds before your mind can catch up, years of practice taking over. You flow seamlessly with the rhythm, every movement deliberate and sharp. The click of your heels punctuates the music, your steps precise and purposeful as the choreography unfolds. The leather corset clings to you like armour, your boa trailing behind you like the tail of a firework. The lights pulse red and black, shadows shifting dramatically with each movement.

When you drop to the floor for the first time, your legs spreading perfectly in sync with the beat, the crowd explodes. Gasps and cheers echo through the auditorium as you arch your back, tossing your head back, the red feathers of your headpiece catching the light like flames. You snap your head up, hair whipping around you, and from the corner of your vision, you catch Felix grinning as he snaps another shot.

"Holy fucking shit!" Minho's voice booms over the noise, his hands clapping wildly as he half-stands, pointing at you like he's claiming you as his protégé. "That's my fucking girl!"

"Damn right!" Jisung yells, standing to add to the cheers, his voice rising above the roar. He's grinning so wide it looks like his face might split, his energy contagious as the rest of Alpha Phi joins in. Changbin whistles sharply, a low, appreciative sound, while Jeongin nudges Chan and mutters something that makes the older boy laugh and nod.

But your focus narrows to Hyunjin. He hasn't moved, hasn't taken his eyes off you once. He's leaning forward slightly, his hands clasped loosely, but there's nothing loose about the way he looks at you. His expression is unreadable, captivated, maybe a little awestruck, but it's the kind of intensity that keeps your feet steady and your movements sharp. It feels like he's grounding you, tethering you to something solid as you pour every ounce of yourself into the routine.

The beat builds again, and you drop into a split, leaning back so your head nearly brushes the floor. The lights pulse red and white, casting jagged shadows across your body as you snap back up into a smooth twist. Your legs cross, your arms sweeping out as you rise to your feet, spinning sharply into the next sequence. The cheers swell, a wave of sound that pushes against the stage like a physical force.

"Fucking insane!" Jisung yells, his hands cupped around his mouth. "Y/N, you're a goddamn goddess!"

"This is fucking gold," Felix mutters, adjusting his lens for a better angle. "Minho, shut up and let me focus."

Minho doesn't shut up. "She's killing it!" he shouts, his voice cracking slightly as he claps harder. "Look at her go!"

You can't hear the individual words over the roar of the crowd, but you feel the energy coursing through the room like lightning. It fuels you, pushing you through the crescendo of the song. Your body moves on instinct now, every step, every spin, every drop a perfect reflection of the beat. The corset bites slightly at your ribs, the heels make your calves ache, but you barely notice.

And always, your eyes find Hyunjin.

He's smiling now, a faint curve of his lips that's softer than anything else in the room. But it's his eyes that hit you hardest. They're lit with something raw, something bright and deep that makes your heart pound harder than the bass. Pride, admiration, something else you can't quite name, it's all there, written plainly across his face. It's for you, and it's yours.

The routine crescendos into the final beat. You drop into your finishing pose, legs wide, boa draped across your shoulders, your arms outstretched, head thrown back. The lights flash once, twice, then fade, leaving you framed in a spotlight as the last note lingers in the air.

For a moment, the auditorium is silent.

Then the crowd erupts.

The applause is deafening, whistles and cheers bouncing off the walls. The Alpha Phi crew is on their feet, clapping and hollering louder than anyone else in the room.

Minho is shouting your name like a man possessed, Jisung is laughing so hard he can barely yell, and Changbin throws up a hand in a triumphant cheer. Chan and Jeongin are whistling loudly as they clap. Felix's camera is still clicking, capturing every moment, while Seungmin claps steadily, a faint grin tugging at his lips.

Hyunjin stands too, his applause slower but no less intense. His eyes never leave you, his expression unreadable except for the warmth radiating from his gaze. You're sure you're imagining it, but it feels like he's the only one clapping, the sound of his hands cutting through the chaos to wrap around you.

You take a deep, shaky breath and bow, your chest heaving, your face flushed. The world feels impossibly loud, but there's a quiet warmth growing in your chest. Something steady and grounding that you know belongs to him.

As you step offstage, your legs trembling slightly, someone presses a water bottle into your hand, and you take a grateful sip. The crowd noise follows you, the energy still thrumming in your veins.

The backstage hum has settled into a quieter buzz, the adrenaline fading to a warm, satisfied ache in your muscles. The air still carries faint traces of hairspray and sweat, mingling with the cool bite of the water bottle pressed to your lips. You lean against the edge of the makeup table, your legs shaky but your chest still thrumming with the electricity of the performance.

Then the door opens, and Hyunjin steps in.

He looks breathtaking, like he's been pulled straight out of a dream. His black button-up is slightly wrinkled from where he's probably been fidgeting with it, his dark jeans hugging his long legs in a way that feels unfair. His hair is tucked behind his ears, framing his sharp jawline, but it's the way his eyes find you that steals the air from your lungs. In his hands is a bouquet of vibrant red roses nestled alongside soft pink carnations and white lilies, the colours a stark, beautiful contrast against his all-black outfit.

You freeze, your words catching in your throat as the world narrows to just him.

"You were incredible," he says, his voice soft but firm, like he's stating a fact. He steps closer, the bouquet shifting in his hands as he holds it out to you. "I've never seen anything like that."

The sincerity in his voice is a balm to the lingering nerves that twist in your stomach, and you manage a small, shaky smile. Your hands tremble slightly as you take the bouquet, the weight of it grounding you. "Thank you," you whisper. "For being there. For... everything."

Hyunjin shakes his head, a faint, almost bashful smile tugging at his lips. "It's not enough," he murmurs, his eyes scanning your face like he's trying to memorize every detail. "I wish you could've seen what I saw out there. You..." He exhales, almost in awe. "You were ethereal."

The way he says it, like he believes it with every fiber of his being, makes your heart stutter. The bouquet trembles slightly in your hands, and you set it down carefully on the table beside you before turning back to him. You don't think; you just act, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him toward you.

Your lips crash against his, and for a split second, everything goes still. Hyunjin freezes, his breath catching, but then his hands find your waist, and it's like a dam breaking. He pulls you closer, kissing you back with an urgency that's almost overwhelming. It's messy and raw, a collision of emotions too big to put into words. His fingers dig into your hips, firm and grounding, as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

Your back hits the edge of the makeup table as he lifts you effortlessly, setting you down on the cold surface. The contrast of the chill against your skin and the heat of his hands sliding up your sides makes you gasp, and Hyunjin takes the opportunity to nip at your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue.

"Hyunjin," you breathe, breaking away just enough to rest your forehead against his. Your fingers twist in the fabric of his shirt, and you can feel his breath, warm and unsteady, mingling with yours. "What are we doing?"

"Exactly what I've wanted to do for weeks," he admits, his voice low and rough, each word vibrating against your skin. His hands trace small, deliberate circles on your waist, like he's trying to anchor himself to you. "I want you. I want to be the one you look for in the crowd. For as long as I have hands to draw and a heart to give."

The raw honesty in his words makes something inside you unravel, leaving you exposed in the best way. Your chest feels too full, your heart beating so fast it feels like it might break free. "You should've been a poet," you manage, your voice a soft, teasing whisper, even as a smile tugs at your lips.

Hyunjin chuckles, the sound deep and rich, sending a shiver down your spine. "You inspire me to be a lot of things," he murmurs before kissing you again, this time slower, more deliberate. His hands cradle your face, his thumbs brushing tenderly over your cheeks as his lips move against yours like he's memorizing every curve, every line, every moment.

When he finally pulls back, his breath comes in shallow, ragged pulls, but his gaze is steady. His forehead rests against yours again, his voice barely above a whisper. "I have something to show you tonight. At the frat."

You nod, your fingers tracing absent patterns on the nape of his neck. "Okay," you whisper back. "Whatever it is, I want to see it."

Before either of you can say more, the door bursts open, and chaos spills in.

"Y/N!" Jisung's voice rings out like a fucking bullhorn, followed by a cacophony of shouts, laughter, and the loud rustling of paper. You and Hyunjin spring apart, though his hands linger on your waist for a fraction of a second longer before he steps back.

The entire Alpha Phi crew barrels into the room, each of them holding bouquets that range from extravagant to downright ridiculous. Jisung's is mostly weeds and wildflowers, while Minho's looks like he swept his arm across a flower shop shelf and grabbed whatever fell. Chan's is elegant but understated, a careful mix of white roses and greenery.

"Look at you!" Chan grins, stepping forward to hand you his bouquet. "Fucking murdered it out there. Absolutely killed."

Changbin whistles, his eyes darting between you and Hyunjin. "Uh, should we come back later, or...?"

"Shut the fuck up, Bin," Minho huffs, shoving a massive bouquet of sunflowers and daisies into your arms. "These are for you. And you better fucking like them because I didn't spend half an hour talking with the florist for nothing."

You laugh softly, overwhelmed but deeply touched. "Thank you," you say, your voice still raw but warm as your gaze sweeps over them. "Really. This means so much."

Felix grins, leaning over Changbin's shoulder. "Told you she was hot as fuck," he mutters, earning a sharp elbow from Minho.

"I will end you," Minho snaps, though his glare lacks any real heat.

Jisung throws an arm around your shoulders, his grin wide and boyish. "You fucking crushed it, Y/N. Like, holy shit. That split? I almost died."

Jeongin leans against the wall, smirking. "Well, we weren't gonna miss it. Minho and Jisung wouldn't shut the fuck up about how amazing you were. Turns out, they were right."

Amid the chaos, your eyes find Hyunjin's again. He stands slightly apart from the group, his hands tucked into his pockets, but the private smile he gives you is enough to make your cheeks flush. It's quieter than the bouquets, the noise, the shouts, but it's the most meaningful thing in the room.

The Alpha Phi frat house feels unusually subdued as you and Hyunjin step through the front door. The muffled echoes of laughter and music drift up from the living room, but the usual chaotic energy is missing, leaving the air strangely calm. Hyunjin's hand brushes yours lightly as he leads you toward the stairs, a touch so casual yet electric it sets your nerves on edge.

He glances back at you, his dark eyes flicking over your face. "You're quiet," he says softly, his voice barely carrying over the creak of the stairs.

"I'm... processing," you reply, your tone just as quiet. "This whole night has been... a lot."

Hyunjin's lips quirk into a small smile, but there's something unreadable in his expression. "Good 'a lot' or bad 'a lot'?"

"Definitely good," you admit, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Just... new."

His laughter is a low, warm hum. "I think you'll like this next part, then."

When you reach his room, he pauses at the door, his hand lingering on the knob. He looks at you for a beat, as if debating something, before pushing it open and stepping aside to let you in.

The room is cozy, in that effortlessly personal way that feels so much like Hyunjin. His bed is neatly made, a dark throw blanket draped at the foot. The desk is cluttered with sketchbooks, pencils, and a scattering of erasers that looks less like a mess and more like a workspace frozen in the middle of inspiration. An easel stands in the corner, a sheet draped over it, and the faint scent of paint lingers in the air, mingling with the warm spice of his cologne.

You step inside, your gaze sweeping the space. "I think this is the cleanest frat room I've ever seen."

Hyunjin snorts, closing the door behind him. "High standards for myself. Low standards for the rest of these idiots."

You laugh softly, perching on the edge of his bed as he moves to the easel. "Okay," you say, gesturing to it. "You've been hyping this up all night. What is it?"

He hesitates for a moment, his fingers brushing the edge of the sheet as he glances at you. There's a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, quickly masked by his usual confidence. "It's something I've been working on. For you."

"For me?" you echo, your brows knitting together. "Hyunjin, what-"

He pulls the sheet away in one smooth motion, cutting off your question. The painting underneath steals the air from your lungs.

It's you. Caught mid-motion, your body curved in an elegant stretch, one arm arched high above your head as if you're reaching for something just out of frame. Your hair cascades around your shoulders, and your lips are curved into a soft, genuine smile, the kind you rarely catch in your reflection.

The colours are warm and rich, a mix of soft golds and deep reds, your figure glowing against an impressionistic blur of background. The strokes are deliberate yet fluid, the details so intricate it feels alive, like it could move at any moment.

You stare at it, your hands gripping the edge of the bed. "Hyunjin," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "It's... it's stunning. I don't even know what to say."

He steps closer, his hands shoved into his pockets as he watches your reaction. "It's how I see you," he says simply. "Effortless. Alive."

Your chest tightens at his words, and you glance back at the painting, overwhelmed. "I don't... I don't think I've ever looked at myself like this."

He shakes his head, his voice quieter now. "That's the problem, isn't it? You don't see what everyone else does. You don't see what I see."

You look up at him, your heart hammering in your chest. "And what do you see?"

He tilts his head, a small, wistful smile tugging at his lips. "I see someone who makes the world brighter just by existing. Someone who laughs like it's a gift. Someone who makes me want to be better. Fuck, I see someone who makes me."

You blink, your throat tightening as his words sink in. The painting blurs in your peripheral vision, eclipsed by the intensity of his gaze. "You really mean that?"

"I don't say shit I don't mean," he murmurs, stepping closer. His hands come to rest on either side of you, gripping the bed as he leans down slightly. "You've been in my head since the moment we met. You're in everything I do. Every sketch. Every brushstroke. You're everywhere."

Your breath catches, and before you can overthink it, your hands find the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. Your lips meet his, and it's like the world tilts on its axis. His kiss is hungry and insistent, his hands sliding to your waist and pulling you flush against him. His teeth graze your bottom lip, and you gasp softly, your fingers tangling in his hair as he deepens the kiss.

Hyunjin groans low in his throat, his hands tightening on your hips as he lifts you onto the bed. You gasp again, your back arching slightly as the cool fabric of his comforter contrasts with the heat of his touch. His lips move to your jaw, then your neck, and the sensation sends shivers down your spine.

"Fuck," he breathes against your skin, his voice rough. "You don't know what you do to me."

You pull his face back to yours, your eyes locking onto his. "Show me," you whisper, your voice trembling but steady.

His gaze darkens, but there's a flicker of tenderness in his expression as he kisses you again, slower this time. His hands cradle your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if you're something fragile and precious. The air between you is charged, every touch, every kiss laced with unspoken promises.

When you finally pull back, your foreheads rest together, your breaths mingling. "I don't think I'll ever be able to look at myself the same way again," you admit softly, your fingers tracing the edge of his jaw.

"Good," he murmurs, his lips curving into a faint smile. "Because I'm not letting you forget how incredible you are."

The painting stands quietly in the corner, the soft glow of the room's light casting a warm shadow over it. It's a testament to everything you've been and everything you're becoming. A reflection of how he sees you. And as you sit there, tangled together in the quiet of his room, the world outside feels a million miles away.

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx

[redlightsallnight]

I’m not crying you’re crying (I’m crying)

Thanksgiving With You

Relationship: Lee Minho x reader

Tags: Pure fluff

Summary: Your plans to go home to America for Thanksgiving are uprooted the night before you're supposed to leave. Unable to stand seeing you upset, Minho decides to take matters into his own hands and make sure you get to celebrate no matter what.

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

The TV was on in the shared apartment, all of the boys were laying all over the couches in various comfy positions. Legs tangled up in knots, blankets draped over different laps. 

Living in the same building as one another definitely had its perks, that’s for sure. Even if everyone starts their days in their own apartments, by dinner time, everyone congregates to one. 

Today, you and Minho’s apartment was the lucky winner.

When you answered a roommate ad two years ago, you didn’t know it would come with seven other men on top of that. But, you wouldn’t change anything that’s happened since then.

Felix’s head rests on Hyunjin’s lap while he plays on his phone with Changbin watching over his shoulder. Seungmin takes up two seats while Jeongin sits on the ground next to his legs. Minho is lounging in the corner seat of the couch, Chan on his left, Jisung on his right. 

For the first time, they’re all silent. Each of their conversations were cut short when a news broadcast cut through the movie they were “watching”.

A female news anchor sat behind a desk looking directly into the camera. 

“We interrupt your program with a breaking news report from The National Weather Service. Please be advised that there is extreme adverse weather expected to affect Seoul beginning tomorrow. All airports, roads, and businesses will remain closed starting tomorrow, November 22nd, until further notice.”

Normally, none of the boys would care about a storm. This meant time off from work, time to relax and stay inside while everyone gets some much needed rest but…

“Minho!” your voice calls out into the living room. Your roommate perks up off the couch, tearing his eyes away from the news broadcast. “Can I borrow your neck pillow? I’m going to need it for the flight. Sixteen hours on the plane is going to be killer without it.”

His jaw clenches and he looks around at the other boys on the couch who all have equally flustered expressions. They each stare at one another like deer in headlights. 

“Ah,” he hums and looks around the room. 

Oh, you were so excited to go home for Thanksgiving, how was he going to tell you that the airport is closed due to the incoming storm? Why does he have to be the one to break the news to you? 

The news anchor continues talking about the snowstorm, predicting record levels of snowfall and high speed winds. 

All month, all you could talk about was how much you missed Thanksgiving: the turkey, the parade, the pie, everything. 

He didn’t really understand it.

“Minho?” You ask again when he doesn’t answer. Your figure appears in the doorway into the living room. 

As soon as you stand in front of all of them, their heads snap towards you.

Your eyes widen, obviously startled. “Guys?” You ask, laughing nervously. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

Felix moves a bit, his mouth opening to say something before the news anchor cuts him off again. 

“Again, we repeat the broadcast:  Please be advised that there is extreme adverse weather expected to affect Seoul beginning tomorrow. All airports, roads, and businesses will remain closed starting tomorrow, November 22nd, until further notice.”

Your mouth drops open and you step further into the room to look at the TV. 

“What?” You say to yourself, your heart dropping to your stomach. Everyone else’s does as well from your devastated tone.

Chan reaches forward with the remote, turning the volume up for you to hear. 

“No, no…” you whisper.

Minho watches you, feeling his own heart break for you. 

“M-Maybe I can book a flight for tonight. The storm starts tomorrow, maybe I can get out at the last minute.” You practically run back to your room, frantically looking for your phone. 

All of the boys stay silent. 

Apple pie this, mashed potatoes that, homemade pineapple … something. Minho couldn’t remember what you had said. You would always talk too fast when you were excited. 

It only got harder for him to understand when you would go into English. 

On top of all of this, you haven’t been back to America since you moved here two years ago. It was going to be your first time home.

You were just so busy when you started your new job that there was never any time to take off. 

And now that you finally could? It’s falling through your fingers. 

“Such a shame…” Hyunjin is the first one to break the silence. His voice carries the same sadness that they all hold on their shoulders. 

Minho keeps looking down the hall where your room is, hoping to try and hear anything— any news of an earlier flight, a phone call, anything. 

Only a few moments pass before Minho gets too antsy to sit still. He stands up from the couch and makes his way down the hallway. 

Your door is cracked open a bit. 

When he gets closer, he hears you on the phone. “N-No, you don’t understand, I was going home for the holidays— Yes… Yes I understand that everyone else is too, b-but I haven’t been home in two years.”

You sound so heartbroken, it’s physically killing him. 

“There are no open seats? ….. the 5:30 flight? That’s in… that’s in ten minutes I live forty minutes away from the airport!”

Minho leans against the wall behind him, your open door to his left. 

“There’s nothing else? … No, I understand. Thank you very much for your time... You as well.”

There’s a long moment of silence and a thump against your mattress. 

Ten more seconds pass before he hears hiccups and sniffles coming from inside your room. That’s when Minho caves in, coming up to your door frame. 

He can never withstand hearing you cry, on the rare occasions that you do.

You look so small curled up on the edge of your bed, your head in your hands. Your suitcase is open on top of your bed with various clothes and toiletries all over the place. 

Your shoulders shake as you sob quietly into your hands. 

A frown pulls at his face. Minho reaches up and knocks gently on the doorframe. 

Your head shoots up in surprise, hands furiously wiping away the tears under your eyes. 

“Oh, hey Minho!” You try to smile, but the tears won’t stop, but you continue wiping them away. “Sorry, um… I don’t think I need your neck pillow after all.”

A sob wracks your chest. 

“Sorry,” you apologize again and wipe the tears some more. 

His frown depends and he walks over to the bed, taking a seat directly next to you. 

“You don’t need to apologize, Y/N.” 

You sniffle and look down at your lap, the sleeves of your sweater coming over your hands. “It’s dumb to be this upset, I know. I was just really looking forward to Thanksgiving, you know?”

His entire side is pressed against yours. His warmth seeps into you in a comforting manner. 

Minho listens to you carefully. He’s never been the best at comforting a crying person, he knows that, but he’s learned that all you ever crave when you’re upset is someone to listen. 

“We have this tradition in my family, god, it’s been so long since I’ve been able to do it,” you sniffle and wipe your eyes. “We wake up around nine, and my sister and I make cinnamon rolls and watch the Macy’s parade from New York while we eat them. Then, while we get ready we watch the National dog show and ugh…” 

He leans back on one of his hands placed behind you on your bed. The cogs in his brain are already turning. 

Cinnamon rolls… Parade…

“God, I really missed my mom’s Pecan Pie.”

“Pecan Pie.” Minho mouths to himself. You don’t see it. 

You sniffle. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispers to you, his hand coming up to rub your back gently. 

“It’s alright, there’s always Christmas. The airline said they can move my ticket without me losing money. I guess it’s better to go then.” You hum and wipe the tears off your face again. 

Not knowing what else to say, Minho stays quiet, his hand continuing to rub up and down your spine. 

He knows next to nothing about Thanksgiving; it’s an American holiday. All he knows are the little things he’s seen in movies: turkey, hats with buckles on them, eating until you explode. 

What parade did you say? Macy’s Parade? Okay…

Minho loses track of how long you both sit there, you trying to pull yourself together while he rubs your back. 

His eyes dart around the floor unfocused as he makes a mental checklist in his head. He’s definitely going to need to employ the help of the seven other men in his living room if he hopes to pull this off. 

“Thank you, Minho.” Your voice pulls his attention. He looks over at your face, hand pausing between your shoulder blades. 

Your eyes are red rimmed and cheeks are rosy from all your crying. A sad smile sits on your face that doesn’t meet your eyes. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” he responds, getting a bit flustered under your gaze. 

You move your head to rest on his shoulder, like second nature, his arm wraps around your shoulders and keeps you close. 

Butterflies swirl in his stomach at the contact. Yes, you’re his roommate, but it was in the last six months or so that his heart started seeing you as so much more. 

It all started with you cooking his favorite dinner when you knew he had just had one of the worst days of his life. 

He had texted you around noon complaining about the rough day he was having, you consoled him shortly, and that was that. 

The day had dragged on, getting worse and worse; he opened the door to your shared apartment around midnight to find you moving around the kitchen. 

When he peered over your shoulder and saw his favorite meal, his heart melted. 

“To cure your bad day,” you smiled at him. 

He fell so hard for you, there was no coming back.  

Minho turns his head to rest his chin on the crown of your hair. 

“Well, I have off work; maybe I can take the day to catch up on a project without being bothered to join meetings.” You trail off. 

“Or you could take the day to relax.” He chuckles. 

You pause. “Nah.”

He laughs again and hugs you close. 

“I better unpack everything.” You peel yourself out of his arms. Minho’s body already feels so much colder without you pressed against him. 

“I’ll leave you to it.” Minho stands up from your bed and makes towards the door. 

“Minho,” you grab his attention. He turns back to look at you. 

You’re smiling at him again, but the sparkle is missing from your eyes. 

“Thank you, really.” 

“Of course, Y/N.”

Minho pulls your door closed behind him and makes his way down the hall. He has a mission and a checklist. 

And he needed to get to the grocery store tonight if he wanted to pull it off.

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

Three quick knocks rap against your door at 9:00 AM sharp on November 23rd. 

With a disgruntled groan, you shift around in bed and pull the blankets up over your shoulder more. 

After a few seconds, the door cracks open slowly, the hinges creaking loudly in the silent morning air. 

A huff-like laugh forced through the invader’s nose. 

Slippers pad against the carpet of your room and the mattress dips down on the side of your bed. 

Gentle, warm fingers push your hair off your forehead. Your eyes squint a bit and you snuggle further into your blanket. 

“Minhooo…” you whine without opening your eyes. “I have the day off, remember? I don’t need to wake up.”

“Ah,” he hums, fingers still carding through your hair. “But the parade is on.”

Your brain is still booting up. All your movements pause, your eyes snap open and you look at the man sitting on the side of your bed. 

He’s in his cooking apron; the blue one you got him for his birthday last year. 

“What?”

That smirk of his spreads over his face, his eyes squint the more he smiles down at you. “The parade is on, Y/N, don’t you want to watch it?”

With wide eyes, you stare at your roommate. “The.. parade? The Macy’s Day Parade?”

He hums with a beautiful, genuine smile. “I didn’t think you wanted to miss it.”

You sit up and kick the blankets off, leaping out of bed and down the hallway. Minho’s laughter follows you. 

Sure enough, playing on your TV, is the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, from New York City. 

“Wha…” you trail off. If it’s 9 AM here… it’s only 7 PM the night before Thanksgiving in New York, how is he…?

Your eyes scan the TV to see the small graphic that displays “2022” in the corner. 

He’s playing a recorded broadcast of last year's parade. A laugh of disbelief bubbles out of your chest and you whirl around to look at your roommate standing in the hallway. 

“Minho!” You squeal. 

“We still have to bake cinnamon rolls, come on.” He waves you to follow him to the kitchen. Your jaw drops and you can only stare at him. 

Minho looks over his shoulder and sees you’re not following him. “Are you coming? I’m not baking them by myself!”

Another snort of disbelief forces its way out. Your one hand reaches over and pinches your arm. 

“No, I’m awake,” you whisper to yourself. 

The sound of the parade announcers talking in their thick New York accent makes you feel right at home. There was a specific sound quality of audio that comes from these events and it brings you right back to the East Coast. 

Minho walks into the kitchen and you follow after him with an extra spring in your step. 

———————————————

“And here comes Snoopy and his good friend Woodstock!”  The TV announcer says happily. 

You take another bite of your cinnamon roll, chewing happily and watching the TV. Doongie  curled up next to you, tail swishing around. 

Minho can’t decide what he wants to watch more: you or the TV. You’re positively beaming, and he hasn’t even told you the best part yet. 

He scratches Soonie’s head absentmindedly.

There’s a couple knocks on the door.

“Come in!” Minho calls out. 

The door creaks open. “Minho, your timer went off. I think you need to baste the turkey.”

Your head whips around to see Felix poking his head into the apartment. He makes eye contact with you and his smile brightens instantly. 

“Hi, Y/N! Happy Thanksgiving!” Felix chirps from the door. 

“Thank you?” 

Minho stands up off the couch, “Thanks, Felix, I’ll be right over.”

“Gotcha, see you soon, Y/N!” Felix closes the door behind him. 

You look up at Minho. “Turkey? You’re making a turkey?”

He stands in front of you and smiles. “I am, you can’t have Thanksgiving dinner without turkey, right?”

“You– Are we..?”

“We are. But not until after the parade, and the dog show, of course. I told everyone to come around 2:00, that works, right?”

You stare up at him, cinnamon roll still in your hand. 

“Y… Yeah, that works.” You truly cannot believe your ears. Are you sure you’re not still sleeping? Do you need to pinch yourself again?

“Good, I’ll be right back.”

Minho moves past you towards the door, scratching your head a few times as he passes by. You make no move to fix your hair after he leaves. 

Slowly, you take another bite of the roll, eyes spacing out watching the parade. 

Inside your chest, you can feel your heart stutter and swell, heat rising to your cheeks and turning your ears red. He’s really doing so much for you, isn’t he?

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

“Y/N! Come on out, Chan and Jisung are here and Jeongin needs help with the mashed potatoes!” Minho calls down the hall. 

Like a kid on Christmas, you peel down the hall, adjusting the earring you’re wearing. 

You’re in a black turtleneck tucked into a cute light brown pencil skirt with black tights and fuzzy socks. The most typical Thanksgiving outfit. 

Your favorite jewelry adorning your body. 

The four boys turn around and greet you happily. Each of them in their own fuzzy sweaters and comfy pants. 

“Happy Thanksgiving!” They all say to you in unison. 

“Ah, happy Thanksgiving!” You cheer back and wrap Jisung and Chan into a tight hug since they were the closest. “Thank you so much for this!”

Both of them wrap an arm around you with giddy smiles. “It was all Minho’s idea,” says Chan. “If you wanna thank anyone, thank him.”

“Or you could help, instead.” Minho teases from behind the kitchen counter, sliding over a can of cranberry sauce.

“Oh my god!” You squeal and come around to grab it. “Where did you find this? I didn’t think any stores in Korea sold this!”

Minho hums happily and stirs a pot on the stove. “There’s an American store a few blocks away. It’s where I got most of the groceries for today.”

A timer beeps at the same time the door swings open. 

“Hot bird coming through!” Felix calls into the room. “I have a turkey too!”

Everyone gives Felix a pity laugh as briskly walks towards the kitchen and places the cooked turkey onto the counter. The smell that wafts through the house is heavenly. 

Jisung hands you a glass of sangria with a wink. You clink glasses and take a small sip. 

Changbin walks through the door after Felix, holding a stack of about three pies in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. 

“Happy Thanksgiving!” he calls inside as he kicks his shoes off.

Everyone responds with the same greeting. 

 “Minho, where do you want desserts?” 

“Just put them on the side by the main table for now!”

There’s more hustle and bustle next to you while Jisung attempts to use the can opener for the cranberry sauce. 

“Y/N, could you help me? I don’t think I’ve ever made mashed potatoes before…” Jeongin trails off in front of a pot of boiled potatoes. 

You beam at him and skip over to his side. “I absolutely can, it’s a lot easier than you think!”

Chan walks over to the living area with the couches. 

“What do you usually have on the TV at home?” he calls in to you.

You’re dumping all of the potatoes into a mixing bowl while you answer him. “Typically, my dad commandeers the TV and has football playing all day, but I really don’t want to watch old football reruns.”

Jeongin watches over your shoulder as you shake the bowl to settle the potatoes. “Could you grab the butter and milk from the fridge?” You ask him and he nods and walks off.

Seungmin comes in with Hyunjin, both of them holding trays of food.

You greet the two of them happily.

While Jeongin is gathering the ingredients from the fridge, you take a moment to look around at all of the boys in your apartment. 

They must have looked up ‘What to wear to Thanksgiving’; each of them is in a sweater and dress pants. Some of them have turtlenecks underneath the sweater, some don’t, but they all look like the same font as one another. 

“What can I do to help?” Seungmin asks, him and Hyunjin further crowding the kitchen.

“Go set the table with Hyunjin.” Minho points to the long dining room table, shooing them out of the already small space. Plates, napkins, forks, knives, glasses– everything you can think of, is placed on the corner of the table in stacks and piles.

“I’ll help too!” Felix chirps and makes his way over with the two men.

“Y/N!” Changbin calls your attention. Both him and Chan have beer bottles in their hands, bodies facing the TV. The two of them look like dads with the way they’re standing. “What about a Christmas movie? Is that allowed on Thanksgiving?”

Jeongin plops the milk and butter on the counter next to you. 

You call back into the living room. “Yeah, that’s fine! But make it a good one– a classic! Oh! What about Christmas Vacation? That’s my favorite!”

“I’ll find it, don’t worry!” Chan responds. 

Another timer beeps, Minho opens the oven and pulls out a tray full of fresh rolls. Jisung finally wrestles the can of cranberry sauce open. 

Your heart grows three sizes. 

“Ten more minutes on the Pineapple Bake.” Minho says to himself but you hear it.

Your head snaps around so fast it might tumble off your shoulders. “Pineapple Bake? You made Pineapple Bake?”

A flush crawls up Minho’s neck to his ears when he turns and meets your sparkly eyes. 

“You had mentioned it…” he trails off and finds something else on the counter to fidget with.

“How did you get the recipe?”

“Ah, well,” he rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I have your mother’s number from when you first moved in and all.”

“You texted my mom?”

“Is that alright?”

The hustle and bustle of the seven other bodies around your apartment fades into the background. Even with Jeongin standing directly next to you, he seems to disappear. 

“You texted my mom and asked for her Pineapple Bake recipe?” You choke out again, your eyebrows raising, lips parting in an emotionally shocked expression.

Minho visibly gets a bit more nervous at your repeated question. His jaw clenches and he plays with the tie of the apron. “Did I overstep?”

Without any warning, you cross the few steps of the kitchen towards him and throw your arms around your roommate, burying your face into his shoulder. Small tears of joy well in the corners of your eyes, throat constricting with so many emotions.

After a moment of hesitation, Minho wraps his arms around you and rests his cheek on top of your hair. 

“Thank you, Minho,” you whisper to him, squeezing him even tighter. 

Minho’s shoulders visibly react from your hug, relaxing from the tension of the past few moments. 

He smells like the holidays, the softness of his sweater is so comforting against your cheek. You just want to bury your nose in it and drown in the scent.

“This means so much to me.” Your words are so sincere, he could cry from hearing them. His arms tighten around you, eyes closing to relish in your hold.

He basks in it. Despite a third timer screaming in his ear, he continues to hold you like if he let go, you would disappear forever.

Having you in his arms like this has always been the equivalent of drinking warm tea before bed. It sends a wave of comfort and safety through his entire being.

The timer continues to beep.

“You can thank me after you eat.” 

You giggle, any sadness he’s ever felt disappears for a split second.

Hyunjin calls into this kitchen. “Can you please turn that thing off before I go insane?”

Minho sighs, the air blowing into your hair. He keeps you close for a few more heartbeats before letting go.

“It’s time for dinner anyway.”

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

Everyone was quiet, the TV still playing Christmas movies in the background. The streaming service that Chan had put on had autoplayed movie after movie while you ate dinner and then dessert.

The last surprise Minho had for you was that he also had asked your mother for her Pecan Pie recipe two nights ago. 

Everything about today left you floored and speechless. Your heart has never felt this full in your life. 

All eight of them sat around the table looking uncomfortably full. The table that was once filled with every side dish known to Thanksgiving enjoyers, every dessert you could dream of, was now littered with empty dishes. 

“We should just be thankful for being together. I think that’s what they mean by Thanksgiving, Charlie Brown.” Marcie’s animated voice rings through the apartment.

Again, your throat tightens up with so many happy emotions, you clench your jaw to keep them down.

From directly next to you, Minho must’ve noticed your expression, his hand reaching under the table and resting on your knee, squeezing it once to comfort you.

You look over at him.

His heart catches in his chest.

There’s that sparkle in your eyes. The one that disappeared two nights ago, he got it back. His entire face softens as he stares at you as if you hung the moon and vice versa.

“I need a nap,” Felix groans from his chair.

You hum and look over at him. He’s slumped in his seat, head back, eyes closed. 

“That’s the best part of Thanksgiving, sleeping with a full stomach.” You tell him.

“Full is an understatement.” Jeongin adds.

“I think I found a new favorite holiday…” Changbin trails off.

“Ditto,” adds Chan.

“Yeah? Well maybe we can have a Friendsgiving next year and do it all over again.” You tell the table.

Minho groans. “I’ll need more help next time, then!”

Everyone grunts in agreement.

You reach under the table and take a hold of Minho’s hand still on your leg. Your fingers wind together and you beam at him again with that dazzling smile. 

“I would do anything to do this again.”

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

“I still can’t believe they took that many leftovers,” Minho mutters, dipping the sponge in the sink.

“I can’t believe we had that many leftovers.” You dry a dish with the towel and place it on the other clean ones. 

The exhaustion from eating is still heavy in your bones; but both you and Minho decided it was better to get all the washing out of the way so that you could just relax for the rest of the night.

It felt like you’ve been washing dishes for hours. 

Soft twinkling of Christmas music plays through the speakers of the TV from the movie. 

“Minho?” You ask suddenly, your voice is a bit weak and unconfident.

He looks over at you with his undivided attention, one eyebrow raised.

“There’s one more Thanksgiving tradition I didn’t tell you about.”

His eyebrows furrow more and he puts the dish down in the sink full of sudsy water. “What is it?”

Smiling, you put the towel down.

“Will you dance to Christmas music with me? To ring in the Holiday Season.”

Minho’s taken aback for a moment, he laughs– almost in disbelief. “Really?”

You bite your lip nervously, nodding once.

With a playful smile, he grabs the towel and dries his hands. “You want to dance? We can dance, Y/N.”

Squealing, you happily skip to the living room. “Alexa, play Christmas music!” You call out and she immediately begins to play music at the perfect volume.

Frank Sinatra’s ‘I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm’ plays through the speaker. The happy saxophones and trumpets blare and your spirits lift even more than you thought they could.

You bounce on your heels to the beat a few times, swaying with the rhythm in a silly way. 

When you turn around, you see Minho stepping towards you to the beat. One of the happiest looks ever on his face. His hair still slightly styled from this morning, just a bit more relaxed as the day went on.

His sweater is so cozy with a black turtleneck underneath, heather gray dress pants on the bottom. Lee Minho looks like the Holidays wrapped up in a warm, cable knit package, and he’s currently dancing towards you.

Once he is up on you, he takes your one hand and places the other on your waist. Both of you look like absolute goof balls, swaying and bobbing to the rhythm of Frank Sinatra in your living room. 

The scent of Thanksgiving dinner still hangs in the air; the warmth from the ovens and stove hasn’t faded one bit.

Minho leads you all around the living room in a beautifully clumsy dance. The smiles on your faces never drop, even for a moment. They only grow with each giggle passed from one to another.

His eyes stay locked with yours the entire time. Nothing could interrupt your moment,

You mouth the lyrics to him; it’s English, so he’s not really able to keep up as much. But the emotion is there. And just the idea that you’re singing to him makes his heart soar. 

“What do I care how much it may storm,” you sing, “I’ve got my love to keep me warm.”

Minho spins you around, you squeal with happiness with your arm above your head. He brings you back in and grabs your waist with both hands, lifting you into the air and twirling more as the music swells. You place both of your hands on his shoulders for balance.

He gently places you back on the ground, the song ending and fading into the next one. 

Michael Buble’s ‘I’ll Be Home For Christmas’ follows it up. The rhythm of the song slows down the energy in the room dramatically.

Neither you nor Minho let go of one another. Instead of backing away, the two of you step even closer. Your arms wind around his neck, his hands interlock on your lower back.

Your eyes look all around his perfect face, meanwhile his stay locked on your eyes. He’s so enchanted by you, it feels like you placed him under some sort of spell.

If he could, Minho would do this entire day over and over again until he died, just to see this beautiful look in your eye each time, to hear your glee filled laughter after each surprise. 

Instead of moving around the room, the two of you simply sway side to side in time with the beat of the song. Minho spins the two of you very slowly in place.

A beautiful, festive, Christmas bubble begins forming around the two of you. 

“I cannot even begin to tell you how much today meant to me, Minho.” You break the silence between the two of you.

He chuckles. “I’m glad I was able to do it for you, Y/N. I don’t think I’ve ever run to the store that fast in my life.”

Mirroring him, you laugh softly. “I can only imagine what you looked like trying to get everything together.”

He moves his head side to side. “I had a lot of help.”

You shake your head. “This was quite possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“You deserve it.”

Another laugh from you. He just watches you. He watches each emotion cross your face with such admiration, with such a fond, sweet gaze, it could rot your teeth. 

Piano keys tinkle in the music. Michael Buble’s smooth voice wrapping around your private bubble.

“I am endlessly thankful for you, Lee Minho.” 

His gaze softens even more. 

You’re his soft spot. You– beautiful, wonderful, joyous you– are Lee Minho’s weak point. 

Slowly, the swaying to the song begins to slow down as you both get lost within one another. Everything about the scene was like a movie, down to the storm swelling outside your window.

Minho’s eyes flicker down to your lips for a split second.

You grin. His heart thuds in his chest.

“I don’t suppose you got any mistletoe?” you ask cheekily.

His eyes widen for a second, but he quickly catches on to your joke. “That wasn’t on any of the Thanksgiving websites I found.”

“Oh well.”

Without another word, and with the goofiest of grins on both of your faces, you pull Minho in for a kiss. 

His entire world stops when his lips meet yours, everything pauses and the only thing that exists is you. Nothing else matters except for the girl in his arms.

The world could end right now and he would be the happiest man on Earth.

Both of his arms tighten around you, one hand comes up to cup your cheek, cradling it softly. 

Your arms around his neck bring him even closer to you.

His kiss is everything, it’s sugar cookies rising in the oven, it’s a sunrise on the beach, it’s waking up to the smell of cinnamon rolls on Thanksgiving– everything.

It’s everything you’ve always needed. He is everything you’ve always needed.

Eventually, the two of you pull away from one another, but not without a last few stolen pecks on the other’s lips. 

The kisses end up short, you both keep smiling and pulling away, too happy to continue. 

Minho keeps his eyes closed, his thumb brushes over your cheekbone. “I think I have a new favorite holiday.” Another peck to your lips. 

You giggle and kiss him again and again, “Me too, Lee Minho.”

[redlightsallnight]

screamed. cried. threw up like kkami.

haikyuu x skz is my whole world and i loved this sm omg

𝐚𝐜𝐞・h.h.

— volleyball superstar and your personal hell hwang hyunjin proposes a trade-off you can't refuse: his matchmaking services for a passing anthropology grade. the plan is foolproof in theory; in practice, it is something else entirely.

words・15.2k

pairing・volleyball player!hyunjin x tutor!reader (gn)

genres・college!au, sports!au, fake enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn. two polar opposites sharing one soul. a seungjin fic if u squint. loosely inspired by the manga/anime haikyuu!!

warnings・mentions of anxiety, fear of failure, heartbreak, loneliness, and self-image. course language and callous banter (as always) ft. suggestive flirting and one kms joke. some of the referenced players and coaches are real; this fic is not.

playlist・collision by stray kids・value by ado・waiting for us by stray kids・eternity by bang chan・dreaming by smallpools・fly high!! by burnout syndromes

a/n・writing this felt like returning to my roots tbh. i love volleyball and i love sports aus and i love, love hwang hyunjin. thank u to my sahar for bringing this fic to life with me, as always; i can no longer write for him without also writing for you. i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i adored writing it. happy late birthday, our jinnie, our hyunjin, our forever ace; you are so unbelievably loved ♡

“Not a word out of you,” you say, tossing your backpack onto the floor of the lecture hall with a heavy-handed flick. “I’m serious.”

Hyunjin glances up at you with a frown. “When did people stop saying good morning?”

Your lack of an immediate comeback tells him the situation is dire. He observes you for a moment, his mouth falling open, hanging still, then curving into a slow, serpentine smile.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Please, angel.”

“No! Leave me alone.”

Hyunjin slumps back into his seat, thinking hard. The solution occurs to him with a poke of his tongue into his cheek. “Coffee on me for a week.”

At this, your hands stop rummaging in your bag. You cock your head, your interest piqued. Got you. 

When you finally humor him and turn around, you’re flinching like you’re in pain, eyes closed and breath held and all. He giggles and leans in for a closer look. Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes if he wasn’t so flummoxed by the state of your forehead.

“What the hell did you do?”

“Tried to cut my own bangs,” you sigh. “It didn’t go very well and now I look like Rock Lee.”

Hyunjin lets out a forceful laugh. “You’ve seen Naruto?”

You open your eyes. Only then does Hyunjin remember how little distance he left between your faces, when he’s staring straight into them and all the strange, starry speckles they hold.

The air between you curdles like sour milk.

Things are awkward between you often, he’s realized recently. What’s more, he didn’t think he was capable of being awkward with anyone anymore until he met you. It was your ill-fated seat that he chose to sit next to on the first day of ANTH 111, your ill-fated lap onto which he chose to spill his Americano, and the rest was history (or, in this case, anthropology). His tongue ends up in sailor’s knots with every smart-aleck comment and pitiful laugh you’ve given him since. Maybe there’s more to it, maybe there isn’t—Hyunjin doesn’t think about it much. He doesn’t like thinking in general.

You pull away from each other in unison. You clear your throat, glancing elsewhere. 

“Of course I’ve seen Naruto,” you quip, and everything is normal again. “Why do you seem surprised?”

“Because you’re so scholarly.”

“I am not scholarly.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You go to a park to play chess with old people on weekends.”

“I need to get my steps in somehow.”

“You didn’t know what Urban Dictionary was until I told you to look up—”

“God, I learned so much about you that day."

“Your favorite social media platform is Quizlet,” he bursts, exasperated. “Quizlet.”

“It is not.” An introspective pause. “Or is it?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Hyunjin throws his feet up on the chair below him, jabs in your direction with a bandaged finger. “There is no way you enjoy watching 2D men beat each other up in your free time. I don’t buy it.”

“Honestly, I thought you’d have more to say about my current appearance than my hobbies.”

He does, though. Matter of fact, he’s been curating a list since this conversation started: Vector from Despicable Me, Dora the Explorer’s hot older sibling, Spock. You face-planted into a lawnmower. You mistook a paper shredder for a hat. It goes on.

But then his head turns. Your eyes meet again. He’s reminded that it’s hard to sustain an inner monologue and look at you at the same time, Vector resemblance and all.

He reaches up, nudges a lock of your hair over a centimeter or so, and gives the patch of forehead a gentle flick.

“Watermelon,” he mumbles with a sickening smile.

You divert your attention to your lecture notes with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You’re getting soft.”

He spends the entire lecture daydreaming about tropical coastlines.

“I only get coffee from that one place on the east side of campus, by the way,” you say as you’re strolling out the building together, “and I get it a very specific way. Can you handle it?”

“Your faith gets me out of bed in the morning,” Hyunjin deadpans. “I’ll handle it, love. Text me your order.”

All of a sudden, you position your hands close to your stomach, the lapels of your jacket casting them in shadow. Your fingers begin to move in a sequence that he’d recognize anywhere.

“Body flicker jutsu,” you whisper, and then you’re scurrying off without another word—but you do glance back at him to gauge his response. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the main quad’s busy thrum.

Hyunjin gapes at your retreating figure for so long that phosphenes start prancing around his field of view. Then he heads to the gym. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Hyunjin stops lacing up his shoes to see Coach Bang standing on the court’s sideline with a grim air about him. He glances at his captain, confused.

“Don’t look at me,” Minho says mid-stretch. “Godspeed.”

“Thanks, cap.” Useless.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. It’s all fluorescent lights and spotless white walls, the only decorative fixture a picture of his siblings, parents, and dog in front of the Sydney Opera House, framed and facing him atop his desk. Hyunjin once snuck the thing into the bathroom, an innocent plot to satiate his curiosity, and promptly discovered the man’s propensity for violence. He’s packing beneath those dry-cleaned polos, by the way.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “You can read, right?”

“Yes, coach,” he sighs. Everyone’s expectations for him are subterranean.

From: Park Jinyoung «asiansoul_jyp@snu.edu» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «cb97@snu.edu» Subject: Not good See email from Hwang’s antopology professor below . He submitted the complete script of the Trolls movie instead of his mid term paper and now he’s failing the class . Not good . Sort out ASAP JP Sent from my iPad

Bang snatches up his mouse and scrolls, his ears turning scarlet. “Wrong email.”

“Yep.”

From: Kim Kyeyoung «kyeyoungkim@snu.edu» To: Park Jinyoung «asiansoul_jyp@snu.edu» Subject: Regarding Hwang Hyunjin To Director of Athletics Park, I am writing to inform you that, as of yesterday, Mr. Hwang Hyunjin has a D- (64.9%) in ANTH 111: Cultural Anthropology, due to his submission of the complete script of a kids’ movie instead of his midterm paper. It is disappointing to see Mr. Hwang trivialize and ridicule my class to such a degree. Please see to it that he reorganizes his priorities lest his Student-Athlete Participation Agreement do so for him. Regards, Kim Kyeyoung Professor of Anthropology

“That’s bullshit!”

“We’re in agreement there.” Bang folds his arms over his chest, throws his foot over his knee. “Do you know what your Student-Athlete Participation Agreement says?”

“Does anyone?” Hyunjin scoffs. Bang whips out a form and brings it to eye level, the thing covered from top to bottom in microscopic Times New Roman. “No way you just had that.”

“I had it delivered ten minutes ago,” Bang confesses, then clears his throat and begins to recite. “All student-athletes must complete the academic term with a C or higher in all courses, should they wish to continue their participation in athletics thereafter.”

Hyunjin stiffens. “What the fuck? I’ve never heard—”

“If any Department of Athletics personnel,” Bang continues, raising his voice, “have reason to believe that a student-athlete will not be able to satisfy this requirement, they are encouraged to utilize resources such as academic advising or peer tutoring in guiding said student-athlete back onto the correct path.”

He shoves the piece of paper across his desk. “Read that name aloud for me.”

Hyunjin stares at the signature at the bottom of the page, scrawled so carelessly that most of it deviates away from its designated line. There is a rare hollowness in his chest that he recognizes as anxiety. With it comes a glimpse of a life without volleyball, the question of what little of him would remain.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” he says under his breath.

The office goes silent. Bang tucks the form back into his drawer. It closes with a gentle click.

Then comes the yelling.

“The Trolls movie? Trolls?! Are you fucking with me, Hwang?”

“It was a cultural reset! The pinnacle of modern media! How’s that for anthropology?”

“BAD!” Bang explodes, gesturing to the email emphatically. “VERY, VERY BAD!”

Hyunjin slumps over, dejected.

“You’ve never had trouble with school before.” He leans over his desk imposingly. “What the hell happened this semester? What changed?”

Nothing is the first answer that comes to mind, but Hyunjin’s pulse spikes like a lie detector. Upon the inside of his eyes replays a scene of a certain someone with watermelon bangs doing teleportation jutsu at him from a few yards away, wearing a smile made of some kind of space dust that astronomists haven’t discovered yet.

He grits his teeth, annoyed. This is what happens when he thinks.

“Beats me,” he fibs. “Typical junior year stress, maybe.”

“Does any of it have to do with Piazza?” 

Hyunjin shudders.

It just might, actually.

Modesty has no place in the career he’s had: high school national champion turned ace hitter in both the South Korean U21 roster and regular rotation for Seoul National University, the best collegiate volleyball team in the country. His name has lived at the top of ranking lists and the center of gold medals since he turned old enough to qualify for them; the press believes him the instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution. It’s a mouthful, he knows.

It was never a question that he would go professional; the question was who he should talk to and where he would go.

At the start of the school year, Bang, acting in place of the agent he was advised to find and never bothered to, gave him a list of people to reach out to. On the very top was none other than Roberto Piazza, the chairman and head coach of Allianz Milano, one of the most eminent club teams in the world—and current home to Hyunjin’s personal idol, outside hitter Ishikawa Yuki.

Hyunjin thought his poor coach had finally succumbed to his old age. The thought of stepping onto the same court as Ishikawa felt sacrilegious, let alone donning the red, white, and navy blue of Allianz Milano with him. But Bang slapped him on the back of the neck and reminded him that going professional was equal parts preparation and opportunity; he was never going to know the answers to questions he didn’t ask. Hyunjin was coerced to fire off an introductory email despite his reservations.

Piazza replied within the week.

For the last five months, Hyunjin has been fighting with tooth and nail to manage his expectations. He scrolls past the team’s social media posts like they burn his eyes. He replies to Piazza’s emails right before working out with Changbin under the assumption that whatever the shredded libero does to him will eviscerate his brain. If his world is made of dreams, this is the one at its very core, imbued with destructive potential the second it became attainable.

But that’s the last five months. The last five weeks have been you kicking him in the shin because he’s laughing (or trying to make you laugh) and the professor is staring; you listening to him rant and rave about volleyball when he knows you couldn’t care less about the sport; you relaying the contents of your class readings like hot gossip, your eyes wild and hands flying around because you can’t contain your excitement. You, you, you.

He cards a hand through his air, regaining focus. “You know how I feel about Piazza.”

“Expect the worst, hope for the best.” Bang’s chair skids backwards as he stands up. “I think it’s a good approach.”

Suddenly, he is directly in front of Hyunjin, low enough to meet his eyes. His hands rest upon his shoulders firmly.

“But hope is hungry, and it will consume you if you let it,” he says. “Do not let it, Hyunjin. I’m not asking.”

Even while being squeezed to a pulp and regarded with the cold intensity of a statue, Hyunjin can’t help but feel anchored, somehow, to the floor of this miserable office. Protected.

Bang lets go of him. “I’m not asking you to find a tutor by the end of the week, either.”

Hyunjin groans. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.”

A set of bandaged fingers appear in your periphery to place a paper cup onto your laptop. Accompanying the smell of fresh coffee is that of smoky rose, as decidedly douchey as ever.

“I thought you said your order was complicated.”

You look up from your phone to see Hyunjin plop into the adjacent seat. His long, caramel-colored hair is damp and unstyled in the aftermath of a morning shower, droplets of water pearling on the lapels of a navy blue windbreaker, layered over a white long sleeve. You recognize the outfit by now as game gear.

“Was it not?” You ask.

“It was an Americano, love. I walked up to the cashier and placed an order for an Americano.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you could handle that much.” He flips you off as you squint at the cup. “Someone wrote their number on the lid, by the way.”

“What? Really?”

“No.”

He shoves you hard enough for your upper body to drape over the opposite armrest; you’re still cackling by the time you’ve straightened up again.

“Why did you get this, anyway?” Hyunjin grumbles. “I thought you had a sweet tooth.”

“I do, but you don’t.”

Only then does the fool understand that you had no intention of charging him in coffee just for a haircut reveal. He takes back the coffee hesitantly.

“Thanks,” he says at last. “Nice of you.”

“I know, right? Hated it,” you respond, and he almost chokes on his first sip.

You almost choke on nothing when Kim Seungmin materializes in the aisle adjacent. He holds out a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “Yo.”

Hyunjin dabs it up mid-sip. “I fully forgot you were in this class.”

“Well, I’m due for my weekly appearance.” Seungmin slips into the seat directly below you, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hi,” you say, somehow managing to stumble over the single syllable the word has. You thank your lucky stars that you fixed your hair yesterday.

You like Kim Seungmin. Not just in the cutesy, crushy way, but in the “I would relinquish all of my rights for you” way where you spend every waking moment cursing out whatever stroke of misfortune placed Hyunjin in the seat next to you instead of him. He’s funny, gorgeous, and talented—a vocal performance major with a student-athlete contract—and you think your infatuation is more than justified. Hyunjin thinks it’s hilarious.

You side-eye your blonde adversary, prepared to see one of three things: a suppressed laugh, a dramatic eye-roll, or a mature kissy face that usually results in the first option. You’re met with something far more worrisome.

He’s thinking.

That can’t be good.

Suddenly, his phone screen lights up with a text that temporarily wipes the conspiratorial gleam from his eye. Hyunjin scans it over and groans. “Can this guy do his fucking job?”

“He wouldn’t have to if you didn’t quit,” Seungmin answers. “I’ll never forget you, Manager Hwang.”

“Shut up.” You peer at Hyunjin, silently requesting an explanation. “Our captain is forcing us to help him look for a new team manager. We need one for playoffs because of some stupid U-League rule—Seung, why do you look morose?”

“I’m mourning.” Seungmin does look morose indeed. “Hyunjin committed larceny last year and our coach punished him by making him our team manager for the rest of the season. It was so funny.”

Hyunjin slides down his seat. “It was the worst experience of my life.”

Neither man seems inclined to elaborate on the mention of larceny. You choose to digress. “Can I ask why?”

“He had to be responsible,” Seungmin whispers. “For other people.”

The top of Hyunjin’s head stops right next to your armrest. You reach over and pat his hair in faux sympathy. “Poor thing.”

“Hardass refused to do it again this year, so now we’re recruiting.” Seungmin props an elbow upon the back of his chair, looks at you contemplatively. “I don’t suppose you have four hours to spare every day.”

Hyunjin scoffs from below you. Loudly. “This one? Team manager?”

“I can see it.”

“I can see killing myself, maybe.”

The next time you reach for him is to hit his forehead. A crisp smack resounds around the barren lecture hall. Hyunjin cusses into his seat cushion.

“Seems like a great candidate to me,” Seungmin muses, and the warm smile he gives you mirrors onto your face before you can think better of it. God, it’s pretty. You wonder how it would feel pressed against your own.

Hyunjin is now completely out of sight and halfway onto the floor. “I miss when you didn’t come to class, Seungmin.”

Eighty minutes later, you’ve just emerged from the classroom when Seungmin calls out to you. You come to such a sudden halt that Hyunjin almost trips over you, but you barely notice him stumble, utterly enraptured by the hand Seungmin brings to the strands of hair by your ear, the fingers that dust your cheek as they pluck a small piece of lint from out of the tresses.

“Sorry.” He flicks it away with a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t unsee it.”

You manage to thank him just before your whole body ceases to function. Hyunjin sidesteps the two of you, yawning.

Seungmin excuses himself not too long after you reach the main quad. You also turn to leave, sparing Hyunjin a curt farewell in the process. He hooks his pointer finger around the handle at the top of your backpack and lugs you backwards with infuriating ease.

“I didn’t like that at all,” you say.

“I don’t care. I have something to tell you.”

“You have a kid, don’t you?”

“Wha—huh? Who do you think I am?”

“The one-night-stand’s poster child. The champion of the contraception industry.”

“Yeah, contraception industry. It’s right there in the name.”

You can’t argue with that. “What do you have to tell me?”

A shadow of hesitation flits across Hyunjin’s face. Your smile falters. Is it possible that you’re about to have a serious conversation with him for the first time? Maybe you should’ve saved the secret son bit for another time.

“I’m failing anthro.”

So much for a serious conversation. 

“Come again?”

He repeats the mystifying statement.

“You’re joking.” The look on his face says otherwise, though, and your eyebrows disappear into your hair. “You’re failing anthro?”

“I just said that, yes.”

“You’re failing anthropology?”

“Mhm.”

“Just so we’re clear—you’re failing Introduction to Cultural Anthropology?”

“Yes. I’m glad you’re having fun.”

This is the best day of your life. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Yeah, well, our professor has no media literacy,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Hyunjin clears his throat. “Anyways, I was thinking—”

“Wow! Congratulations. That’s a big—oomf—”

Hyunjin puts his entire hand over your face. Your mangled noises of protest go unacknowledged.

“I was thinking,” he continues, pushing your head around like a stick shift, “you and I can work out some kind of deal.”

You shove his wrist off you with a revolted groan. “I think I just ate some athletic tape.”

“Happens. You wanna hear the deal or not?”

“Does it involve ingesting more sports equipment?”

“Do you want it to?”

“Just tell me the deal, boy.”

“Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “If you help me pass this class, I’ll set you up with Seungmin.”

Your head performs a triple-axel on your neck. You are unable to respond for what feels like multiple hours. Finally: “I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”

“On which part?”

“All of them. Everything.”

Hyunjin sighs, then scans the courtyard. His gaze settles on the student union a little ways off. “Are you hungry?”

You pick up a sandwich and a smoothie in a state of nervous stupor. One would think it’s the prime minister you’re about to have lunch with and not an imbecilic left-side hitter eating from three different entrees at the same time.

He’s chosen a table a few yards away from a planter of flowering cherry blossom trees. You feel jealous eyes on the side of your face as you take a seat across from Hyunjin, but they don’t know that his telephone pole legs still bump against yours even with them drawn as close to your body as anatomically possible. Or that he’s drawing up a literal Ponzi scheme on your sandwich wrapper. You wager you’ve had better company.

“You like anthropology. I like listening to you talk about anthropology.” He traces over the wrapper’s left corner. “And I kinda want you to boss me around. That weird?”

“Yes, definitely,” you mumble around a mouthful of bread. “Go on.”

“Conclusion one: you should be my tutor.” He taps in place as if applying a finishing touch, then swaps to the opposite side. “You also like my teammate, but he’s neck-deep in volleyball and music this semester, which makes him hard to get a hold of—for most people.”

“Let me guess. Not for you.”

“Ten points to Ravenclaw.” His British accent is nightmarish. “Seung and I live in the same building. We get dinner when we go back from practice together. Conclusion two: you should come with us.”

“To dinner or to practice?”

“To both. Which brings us to my third and final conclusion—”

He slams a fist onto the center of the wrapper.

“—you should manage our team.”

“I knew it!” You slam the table as well, your smoothie wobbling upon impact. “You’re trying to swindle me! You can’t pay for my labor with more labor. What do you take me for?”

“It’s not labor, dumbass! Ask our last manager! He didn’t do shit!”

“Yeah? Who was your last manager?”

“Me!”

Oh, right. “But you hated it!”

“I hate everything that isn’t playing volleyball. Try again.”

You fold your arms over your chest. “You said you’d kill yourself if I managed you.”

Hyunjin starts balling up your sandwich wrapper. “It’s true. I thought about you and my coach getting along and promptly got a rash. But it makes so much sense: you do whatever you want during practice, tutor me afterwards, and then you and Seung can eyefuck over ramen or something. My coach hops off my dick, you hop on Seung’s—”

“STOP!” A girl drops her receipt not too far away, startled by your outburst. “Stop right there. I get it. Stop.”

“It’s a good plan.” He slings the paper ball towards the nearest trash can. It drops into the hole without so much as a brush against the rim. “You know it is.”

You’re loath to admit that you do. “When did you even come up with all this?”

He flicks a thumb in the direction of your anthropology class. No fucking wonder he’s failing.

“What is this, mock trial?”

The owner of this voice is the third man you’ve seen today donning that navy windbreaker, white long-sleeve combo. He has a face that reminds you of your neighbor’s cat from back home, sleek and sharp and only slightly sinister. There’s a dash of humor in his expression as he approaches your table like he’s enjoying the company of a court jester.

“Slamming tables like fuckin’ tariff lawyers,” the cat-man hums, lifting a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “I could see it from all the way inside.”

“Captain!” Hyunjin crows, dabbing him up without missing a beat. They really do that like breathing. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”

“Really? I thought you’d be avoiding me like the rest of our homunculus team.”

“I would never.”

“You did. Yesterday. When you saw me and started running in the opposite direction.” He pauses for emphasis. “As fast as possible.”

“Well, that was yesterday. Today is a new day.” Hyunjin tosses you a proud glance. “And today, I bring you a new team manager.”

You stiffen. “I haven’t—”

“Is that so!” When the stranger smiles at you, you feel the same satisfaction you did every time the cat let you scratch her on the chin. “Music to my ears. What’s your name, cutie?”

You catch Hyunjin’s eye across the table; he nods enthusiastically as if saying go on, then. You briefly picture yourself strangling him with his own athletic tape. You then picture yourself hopping on Seungmin’s—

Rigidly, you throw a hand out to the cat-man, your face aflame.

“Y/N,” you grumble. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

He shakes on it heartily. “Likewise. I’m Minho. Welcome to the team.”

“Yes, welcome to the team,” Hyunjin parrots, looking positively jolly. You gnash your teeth together so hard your jaw throbs.

He’s lucky that his proposal holds so much water. He’s lucky that you don’t plan to strangle him until after you try that eyefucking thing.

You do kick him under the table, though.

The team has five weeks to prepare for the Korean University League, the biggest college-level volleyball tournament in the country. You have five days to learn how the hell athletic tape works. You can’t tell which is the bigger endeavor.

“I’m going to cause him irreversible skeletal damage,” you tell Changbin.

The team’s libero is twice as kind as he is talented, a full-time sweetheart working part-time at the university’s sports medicine clinic. Only your first week on the job and you’ve already decided he’s the only person on Earth you would permit to usher you through the gym at 6:45 A.M., a roll of athletic tape pressed to your back like a pistol.

“You will not,” Changbin answers. “One, because this won’t involve his skeleton, and two, because I wouldn’t ask you to help if it did.”

“You’ve misunderstood me,” you return as the two of you stop in front of an examination room. “I want to cause him irreversible skeletal damage.”

“Oh.” He opens the door with a frown. “Oh dear.”

Inside, Hyunjin is sitting cross-legged on top of a taping table, fitted in a loose gray tee and athletic shorts. He watches in pessimistic silence as you enter the room and beeline straight towards the shelf on the right. You slip a thick binder into your hands and bury your nose inside it without so much as a greeting.

“I am going to get maimed,” Hyunjin tells Changbin.

“Have some faith, both of you,” Changbin replies sternly. You find the pages you’re looking for and begin poring over them like you’re cramming for an exam. “You’ll be fine, Jinnie. Y/N studied.”

“Studied?” He repeats. “For this?”

“I’m pretty sure Quizlets were made.”

“Three, to be exact," you interject, sticking out your hand. “Now tape me.”

Hyunjin mouths the words tape me in baffled silence. The latter obliges your request with a smile. “See? What could go wrong?”

The answer to that, actually, is a lot. Especially after Changbin gets called away to help stretch out a teammate named Felix who allegedly “sprained his ass,” leaving Hyunjin to you and your binder.

You detect no smoky rose in the air around him today, just the subtle smells of cedar and cypress—laundry detergent or shampoo, maybe. Figures he doesn’t wear that insufferable cologne to practice.

“Go easy on me, yeah?”

While Hyunjin’s tone is teasing, yours is downright somber.

“I can’t promise anything.”

With that, you turn your palms face-up in a silent request for his hand.

A few strands of hair fall into your face as you lean in for a better look. It’s the first time you’ve seen his fingers untaped; they’re pretty, long and slender and surprisingly manicured, but also battered in their delicacy, the veins running over the back of his hand and forearm prominent, his bottom knuckles discolored from the healing bruises they bear. His hard work is palpable upon the smooth skin as evidently as if tattooed.

Hyunjin says your name in close proximity. You respond with an absent hum.

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

“No. Maybe a little.” You let his hand fall free and go to rummage for supplies. “Fine, yes. Very.”

“But you made Quizlets. You’re prepared for anything.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You realize only after spotting the gentle smile on his face that he’s making fun of you. “I hate you.”

“Actually,” he hums, “I think you care about me, love. That’s why you’re nervous.”

“Nonsense—I care about disappointing Changbin. That’s it.”

“And me. And hopping on Seungmin’s dick. All these things don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

You try to tackle him. Hyunjin catches your hands a few inches away from his face, fingers closing around your wrists with obnoxious agility.

“Have you lost your mind?” You whisper-shout, your face on fire. “Don’t bring that up here. I’ll maim you for real.”

The laugh that explodes out of him throws his entire body backwards, turns his eyes to crescent moons and his mouth into a little rectangle. You hate that you don’t hate when that happens.

“My bad, my bad. It slipped out. I won’t—”

One incremental shift of Hyunjin’s body later, you find that you’re precariously, alarmingly close to one another.

So much so that you notice the mole beneath his left eye for the first time, that you're nearly cross-eyed looking at it. That the tip of your nose actually brushes against his before you pull away with a quiet intake of breath. 

Things are awkward between you often, you’ve realized recently. You’re both professional yappers, always quick to digress, quick to find a new topic to bicker about before the awkwardness marinates. But hours later you’ll look back on the interaction and still remember how the air shifted: like a layer of dust had been blown away and something untouched and unknown was discovered just underneath.

Since you’ve met him, Hyunjin has spent more time on your nerves than on your mind. You’re not exactly losing sleep over such a circumstantial acquaintance; you know that his presence in your life will end the way it began, naturally and anticlimactically and inside the ANTH 111 lecture hall. Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed when your heart and stomach launch into an elaborate gymnastics routine in the wake of something he says or does, just as they’re doing now.

Hyunjin glances into your right eye a moment, then your left. The mole just below his left eye disappears when he smiles, the expression soft, saccharine, and sincere. How anyone casually looks the way he does is beyond your abilities of comprehension.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Your face continues to burn, now perhaps for different reasons. “What for?”

He lets go of your wrist, sweeps the lock of hair that keeps getting in your eyes behind the cuff of your ear.

“Caring about me.”

Then he flicks your forehead. You recoil with a quiet ow.

“Now stop stalling and tape me, dumbass.”

“Okay,” you mutter, rubbing the injury tenderly. “No need to get violent.”

It turns out the arduous taping procedure described in the instruction manual is for serious hand injuries. Hyunjin splints his fingers together for support, not rehabilitation, so it takes all of five minutes for him to talk you through his process. You finish taping both of his hands with nineteen minutes to spare. So maybe the Quizlets were overkill.

As you’re walking him down to practice, you take his hand and lift it to eye level, scanning your craftsmanship dubiously. “It’s not too tight, is it?”

“It’s perfect.” He swivels the hand around and grabs onto your entire face, the sensation by now eerily familiar. “Want another taste?”

You shove him down the stairs that remain. Unfortunately, there are only two. “You are truly grotesque.”

The gym has come to life since you arrived earlier this morning, now illuminated by shining ceiling lights in addition to the sun spilling through high, narrow windows. Most of the team has yet to step onto the court, still stretching or jogging along the sidelines: Minho and Coach Bang are talking strategy on the bench, the coach taking notes on a handheld whiteboard every now and then; Changbin is leaning over a recumbent Felix below the scoreboard, presumably trying to fix his ass.

The only one already with a ball in hand is Seungmin, setting to himself by the net. Once, twice, thrice straight up in the air, and then he glances in your direction and sends the fourth towards the left side of the court in a buoyant arc.

You only glean bits and pieces of the next few seconds. Hyunjin is at your side one moment, making a break for the net the next. His arms draw backwards in perfect synchrony. Feet hit the floor with laserlike intent. His entire body unravels like a fraying chrysalis as he rises to meet the ball, pounds it over the net and into the ground at an angle so clean that the sound of its landing resounds within your ribcage. It rebounds over the railing of the second floor and barely misses the doorway of the examination room you just emerged from.

Hyunjin drops lightly back onto his feet, following the ball’s tumultuous trajectory with proud eyes. A leftover breeze tosses a strand of hair over the bridge of your nose, and time starts moving again.

“Oi, this isn’t your backyard! Go pick that up!” Their coach booms, though his words lack their usual bitterness after what he just witnessed his ace hitter do.

Hyunjin swivels towards Seungmin first. “Crazy bitch. What the fuck was that?”

“Lower and faster. Further from the net too,” Seungmin returns. “How’d it feel?”

The grin on Hyunjin’s face reminds you of a wildfire, untamed and all-consuming and frightening in its fervor. “Like we just won everything.”

He tousles your hair as he jogs past you and back up the stairs to fetch the volleyball. Seungmin waves at you with one hand and palms another ball into his other. His face is warm and bare, his slim build flattered by his volleyball gear. You’ve witnessed few people so nice to look at and even fewer things as elegant as his setting form. But you are still thinking about Hyunjin—and you can’t move.

It is debilitating, watching somebody do the very thing they were destined for.

A little less than a week later, Hyunjin is approaching hour three of spewing hot garbage into a Word document when he decides to give up and call you. 

“Hello?” He immediately starts laughing. “Where the fuck are you?”

You poke the top of your head into the shot of your ceiling, gesturing to your headband. “My face is preoccupied at the moment.”

“Oh, you have to show me. Please.”

You flip your phone up for no more than half a second. A camera shutter goes off, followed by a shriek so loud that it peaks your mic.

“Motherfucker!”

He basically sprints to his camera roll. His prize: you with your face slathered in cleanser, hair pinned back by a Miffy headband, looking like the abominable snowman if he liked cute merchandise.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “I’ll treasure this forever.”

“You’ll be punished, Hwang.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You brandish your middle finger at him in response. He props his phone up against his computer screen with a chuckle. 

“Aaanyways, I have a thesis statement to run by you.”

The first thing you did as Hyunjin’s tutor was help draft an email to Professor Kim, begging her to let him resubmit the two essays he royally botched. She replied with a lengthy quotation from her syllabus, specifically the section that talked about (and prohibited) resubmissions, but ended up making an exception for Hyunjin on account of the “truly piteous timbre” of his email. You fell out of your chair laughing when he read you her response.

“You should’ve opened with that.”

“I tried, hello? Someone distracted me!”

“Read. It. Before I change my mind.”

You spend a few minutes at most on the thesis itself, advising him to avoid passive voice, answer the prompt, establish a refutable argument, the works. Then he asks you a question about the research topic itself, allusions to the afterlife in Ancient Egyptian artwork, and the tutoring session takes a turn into what feels like a podcast episode.

You talk about the God of Death, Anubis, and his connections to the underworld; the elaborate, lavish funerary rituals intended to ensure the souls of the dead traveled safely; the vibrant murals that flanked their final resting spots as pictorial requests for divine protection. And you talk about them all with such confidence, such eloquence, that it’s as if you’re leading him through a history museum rather than talking to your phone as you do your skincare. He could listen to you for hours. He does, actually.

Around 1 A.M., Hyunjin stops typing mid-sentence when you come into frame for the first time, collapsing into your bed with a sigh of relief. Your eyes are soft and sleepy as they blink at your screen, strands of damp hair clinging to your cheeks. He feels his heart physically shift inside his ribcage when your mouth stretches into a yawn. It is the same sensation as the time you shot him a smile over your shoulder and he couldn’t move for ten minutes.

With that, his attention span has run its course.

“Baby,” he interrupts gently. “Let’s stop here, okay? You seem tired.”

You open your mouth as if to protest, only to yawn again.

“I suppose I am. Will you keep working tonight?”

“I think so. I hit my stride.”

“Text me if you have questions, then. I’ll respond when I wake up.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Your lips curve into the smallest of smiles. It copies onto Hyunjin’s face incurably quickly. 

“I had my doubts about this tutoring thing, you know.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, you told me this class was the closest thing to daily naptime you’d experienced since preschool.”

“It really is.”

“You also told me you would rather slam your tongue in a car door than read more than three sentences in one sitting.”

“I really would.”

“And you once referred to academia as ‘Virgin Village.’”

“Didn’t you come up with that?”

“No, hello? I live in that village.”

He grins. “I know. I just wanted to hear you admit it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, don’t threaten me with a good—”

“What I’m trying to say is that I didn’t think you would take this seriously, but I’m happy to be proven wrong.”

Hyunjin leans back. “Well, turns out I might give a fuck about anthropology after all.”

“Really?”

“No.”

You pretend to punch him through the screen. It’s so cute that he forgets to think before he opens his mouth next.

“But I do give a fuck about you.”

There’s nothing crazy about the statement. You’re friends, sort of. You manage his team. It would be strange if he didn’t. But the seconds that follow are terrible, a silent prophecy of something disastrous, like a cloud of rubble before an avalanche, the standstill during a star’s final breath. And Hyunjin’s heartbeat is hounding against his ears like a performance of traditional taiko.

He says good night in a haste. The call ends. He stares at the wall of his bedroom in a muddled haze for who knows how long.

Then he opens his texts.

Hyunjin: We have team bonding tomorrow btw Hyunjin: Don’t forget Y/N: i forgot. Y/N: pick me up at 6:45? Hyunjin: 🫡

He picks you up at 7:53.

You approach his car with your fists balled and your eyebrows knitted together like a mean old curmudgeon and he’s walking too close to your lawn.

“His fault,” Hyunjin says before you start yelling.

Minho simpers at you through his open window. “Hey, you! So glad you could join us!”

You fix the man with a judgmental glare as you slide into the backseat. “Aren’t you the captain? Why are you this late?”

“Whoa, okay. I would’ve scheduled this for earlier if I knew right now was honesty hour.”

“You did schedule it for earlier,” you say. “You scheduled it for way earlier.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me, Minho.”

“I can too. Tell ‘em, Hwang.”

“I want nothing to do with this.”

When you step through the doors of the arcade, you’re met with a surge of sensory input that you haven’t experienced in years. The air hangs thick with the smells of greasy concessions; everywhere you look are flashing screens and neon signs, stuffed animals and fading posters; clamoring against your ears are the sounds of games being won or lost, of balls being pocketed or launched, and of a horde of fully grown men spectating a match of Dance Dance Revolution so passionately (and loudly) that they’ve scared everyone away from that side of the room. You recognize the current competitors as Changbin and Jeongin.

“I’ll go pay,” Hyunjin says. “How much time do we want?”

“Infinity,” Minho answers. Hyunjin doesn’t move. “Two hours.”

He flashes him a thumbs-up. “And you?”

“I’m okay, I think.”

“No you’re not,” the two men answer in perfect unison.

You glance between them warily. “I don’t mind watching, seriously. I don’t even know how most of these games work—”

“There’s Tetris,” Hyunjin cuts in.

You purchase an hour.

One would imagine the point of the evening is to break the SNU men’s volleyball team, not to bond them. You’ve never seen so many strained blood vessels in your life. Nor have you heard of half the insults they spew at each other as the night goes on. Felix has to pay a fee for lodging an air hockey puck in the side of the MarioKart machine. Changbin loses at skee-ball and has to down an XL slushie like it’s a shot. It’s a scary amount of boyishness expressed in scary ways.

But they’re happy. You’ve picked up on it when they’re on the court, noticed the raw elation they emanate just from playing together. Yet, their closeness has never been more evident to you than tonight. The men are either laughing or making someone else laugh, arms draped over each other at all times, equally happy to celebrate victories as they’re eager to punish losses. It dawns on you at some point that you’re glad to be here with them, grateful to be a part of something so special—especially because there’s Tetris.

“Have you ever considered going pro?” Hyunjin asks over your shoulder.

You waited until most of the team was distracted to slink off to your beloved machine. Hyunjin tagged along, undoubtedly with the intention of making fun of you, only to be rendered speechless by your mastery. He’s been watching in a state of stupor, forearms propped against the back of your chair.

You don’t respond for a while, too focused on a precarious patch to even blink, let alone partake in conversation.

“I already did,” you finally answer.

“Sorry, what? You played professional Tetris?”

“In middle school. Then I got bored and switched to backgammon.” You pause. “Then I got bored again and switched to chess.”

“How do you look like this with these hobbies?”

Your run ends a few minutes later with a somber sound effect. You turn around in your seat with an anguished groan. “I think I’m washed.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You just set a new record by three hundred thousand points.”

“It’s a small pond,” you say, and an idea occurs to you. “Do you wanna try?”

“I get the feeling I don’t have a choice.”

“Then you’re smarter than you look.”

“Well, you look—”

His eyes move between your shoes and your face, and then his voice is an inaudible mutter as he sinks into your seat. You think you hear something along the lines of unfair.

“What was that?”

“Ugly. I said you look ugly.” He cracks his knuckles. “Now let’s break some fuckin' blocks.” 

When Hyunjin learns that the pieces can be rotated (so six or seven attempts later), a man walks into the arcade. 

He has hair the color of dark chocolate, the face of a fairy prince—and he’s with someone. The two of them appear arm in arm, laughing at something he said. He looks at this person the way astronomers do to the sky.

Something shatters inside you like old porcelain.

Your hands loosen around the back of Hyunjin’s chair. You can’t watch. You can’t think. You can only feel a void of disappointment rip open, stretch over you like an elongating shadow.

“Seung!” That’s Jisung, you think. “You made it!”

“Yo, sorry we’re late.” That’s Seungmin. That is undoubtedly Seungmin. “Dinner took longer than I thought.”

“Min, are you sure I’m allowed to be here?” You don’t know who this voice belongs to and you’re not sure you want to. “I feel like I’m intruding—”

“Hwang,” you say suddenly. “I have to go.”

He turns around, confused. An unattended block falls into a terrible spot on the screen behind him. ”Already?”

“I forgot I had an important call to make.” You turn away, training your eyes on the patterned carpet. “Sorry. I’ll see you around.”

You have touched Hyunjin’s hands many times. He’s asked you to tape his fingers every day since the first; he likes the way you cut off his circulation, says it helps him hit harder. But you never hold his hand so much as you examine it, the act stiff and unfeeling, cordoned within the professional pretense of athletic treatment. 

Now, Hyunjin catches your hand like a gardener repotting their favorite flower: delicately, careful of leaving its roots intact and petals untouched, but firmly, securely, so the flower continues to stand tall even when it’s been extracted from the soil, not even a speck of dirt slipping through the cracks between their fingers. That is the image you conjure when he slips his between yours, his metal rings cold where his fingertips are warm.

He says your name. There is a pinch of pain in the word, and you know that he knows.

“Do you want to be alone?”

You have never been asked such a thing—you have never asked to be asked such a thing—but, for some reason, the question brings tears to your eyes. 

“Yes, please,” you whisper, and you pull your hand away.

When you stalk past him, you hear Jisung notice you, call out to you, a note of worry in his question. You also count three pairs of eyes on your back: one concerned, the next confused, and the last you are wholly incapable of meeting. 

Unknown to you is the fourth pair fixed upon the top of the Tetris machine, where you’ve left your phone.

You emerge into the parking lot. The frigid air stills your mind for a fraction of a second, the last moment of mental quietude you will allow yourself that night.

Hyunjin’s right; the team manager doesn’t have to do much.

Coach Bang allows you to come to whichever practices and games you feel like, during which you might at most lug around a ballbag or fill someone’s waterbottle before holing up somewhere to do your own thing. But you like the people you work for too much to do so little for them, so you attend everything  your schedule allows. 

Last week, you could be found helping Minho put up the volleyball nets before practice, your laughter echoing throughout the spacious gym as he complained to you about his biochemistry professor’s distinct “cabbage scent.” Or running to grab materials for Changbin as he treated his teammates’ injuries like you were assisting an orthodontist giving someone a root canal. The dinner invitations you extended to Seungmin were always turned down, but his teammates were more than happy to assist you and Hyunjin in your quest to establish the best kimbap joint in the area once and for all. You even had a heart-to-heart with Coach Bang during one of the team’s water breaks, in which you managed to get half a smile out of the guy; Hyunjin was convinced that was his way of asking you to elope. You spent more time in the gymnasium those ten days than you had your entire college career.

Then came the arcade.

Five days have come and gone. You haven’t attended practice since, but you still see Hyunjin every morning at anthropology. The two of you sit in uncharacteristic silence for most of the lectures. You’ve taken the best notes of your life. He doesn’t mention the previous weekend; he doesn’t mention much of anything. 

In person, that is.

That Friday afternoon, you’re reading on the terrace of the library when you receive a text. It’s from Hyunjin, a two-minute voice note. You hesitate for a moment, stick a pencil into the gutter of your textbook to save your place, and slip your earbuds in. You listen to it.

Then you listen to it again.

And again as you wrap up your study session and go home. Again as you cook yourself dinner and load the dishwasher. Again as you shrug on a jacket and pocket your keys, setting off on the familiar trek to the gym.

As for what you plan to do there on a Friday night, long after the team has finished practice, you haven’t the slightest clue. You continue to move regardless, fueled by the feeling that there is where you need to be.

Coach Bang is leaving the building just as you’re approaching it. He halts in his footsteps and raises his eyebrows when he notices you. The man has always been difficult to read, but his face is exceptionally opaque now. Maybe it’s the shadowy landscape; more likely it’s the uneasiness that began to mount within you once you noticed the lights in the gym were still on.

“It’s been a while,” he greets.

“Coach,” you return, lowering your head. “I want to apologize for—”

“Save it,” he says, not unkindly. “There’s nothing to apologize for, alright? The team is lucky to have you.”

You manage a grateful smile. “I’ll be back starting next week.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He starts to walk away, stops himself, and glances into the illuminated building. “I would give him some space, by the way.”

Your uneasiness morphs into anxiety as you watch his broad back retreat into the shadows. You remain outside the gym for a few minutes more, accompanied by the distant melodies of cricket chorales and the muffled squeaking of shoes against laminated hardwood, the harsh sounds of flesh meeting leather.

Briskly, you walk home, rummage around, and return to the gym ten minutes later with your textbook tucked beneath your arm. This time, you unlock and enter the building without a moment of hesitation. 

Hyunjin is positioned multiple yards behind the service line, rotating a volleyball in his hands. A high toss, two resounding steps, and a collision like the crack of a whip. The previous ball has barely landed in the furthest corner of the court when he’s picking up the next, retreating to the same spot to do it all again. His tank top is the color of charcoal over his sweaty skin, his hair auburn where it’s plastered to his neck. He’s alone.

You only catch sight of Hyunjin’s face when you descend the stairs. His expression is crystalline, hardened with concentration and fortified by courage, but fragile all at once, rendered delicate by fatigue and fear, spilling from his every seam and splintering off his person like a broken vase. You recognize it as clearly as if you were looking at a picture of yourself from the worst years of your life.

“I was told to give you space,” you call out, and Hyunjin drops the volleyball he’s holding.

His lips fall apart. Nothing comes out of them. The only sounds to follow are your footsteps as you make your way towards the bleachers, a vertical wall of plastic now that they’ve been retracted for the night. You fold your legs into a criss-cross as you take a seat at their base.

“Is this enough space?”

More silence. You gesture to the volleyball nervously.

“Don’t make me go further, please. I’m not ready to die.”

Finally, this earns you a smile. It’s not much, but it loosens the nervous coils in your heart, permits your lungs to contract once more, and it remains on his face as he swipes the ball back into his hands. You open your textbook.

The rest of the night elapses in turning pages and soaring volleyballs. You don’t care for minutes or hours; you give him all the time in the world, as he did you.

The only time you glance at the clock on the wall is around midnight, when Hyunjin hobbles to the middle of the court and collapses. You’re worried at first. Then he rolls onto his back and releases a guttural groan into his hands, and your held breath comes out a laugh. You set down your book and stand up.

There’s a lake of perspiration forming around him. You pay it no mind and flop onto the floor, your eyes instantly narrowing beneath the fluorescent lights. 

“How do you see under these things?”

“I don’t,” he returns. “I complained about it to Coach once.”

“And?”

“He made them brighter.” Sounds about right.

Hyunjin spends the next few minutes catching his breath, his chest rising and falling in your peripheral vision. You sift through your mind for phrases of consolation or gestures of support and come up empty. You wish you had Hyunjin’s way with words.

But you think about the way his smile reached his eyes as he thanked you for caring about him, the tenderness with which he caught your hand at the arcade, the I give a fuck about you he blurted before ending the study call. You think about the voice note. It’s not that Hyunjin has a way with words; it’s that he’s brave enough to break the silences that you can’t, like he perceives your anxiety for the aftermath, shouldering the responsibility so you won’t have to.

This cannot be his burden alone.

You inhale. “What’s on your mind?”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer right away. You give up on squinting and close your eyes. The lights are still bright enough to dance around the murky darkness.

“I don’t think I know how to put it into words.”

You nearly laugh; you know how that feels. “Don’t think, just talk. I’m here.”

The same advice you gave yourself seems to work on him as well.

“Do you remember Ishikawa Yuki?”

His role model.

“He’s currently playing for a club team in Italy called Allianz Milano.” He blows out a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to their coach, Roberto Piazza, for the last six months.”

The gears in your head creak in their effort to process the implications of these words. “Holy shit, Hwang.”

“He emailed again, this morning. Said he was coming to the tournament later this month, he’s excited to see me play in person, whatever. And it hit me, finally, that this is all real. Like, this is actually happening to me. I spent all of today freaking out and asked Coach to let me stay back after practice. Usually, it wears out my brain if I tire my body, but it only half-worked today. I couldn’t wrap my head around anything. I still can’t.

“I am who I am because of that man, and now…I have a shot at playing with him. I keep asking myself why I’m not—not happier. I should be bouncing off the fucking walls, no? If I told my past self that this would be happening to him one day, he—he would—”

You open your eyes, confused by the sudden silence.

Hyunjin is sitting up next to you, staring intensely into the bleachers. You first notice the tip of his tongue prodding into his cheek, then his shuddering breath. He lifts a hand to his face, pressing against his eyes.

You stop thinking after that.

You sit up with him. When you settle your fingers around his wrist, he allows you to pull his hand back to his side. But he turns away as if trying to hide from you; he squeezes his eyes shut as if that would obstruct your view of his pain.

You reach to cradle his face, bringing him back to you. The cuff of your sleeves wipe at the saltwater on his cheeks, push the hair off his forehead with gentle sweeps. The two of you are close, close enough that your lips would meet the space between his eyes if you so much as lost your balance. His gaze traverses to your face, but you resolve not to meet it. You know you will traipse into uncharted territory the moment you do.

“Don’t fight it.” You trace over the hill of his cheek. “Healing becomes easier if you let yourself hurt. Trust me, Hyunjin.”

His first name should feel foreign on your tongue, yet you suspect the syllables have accompanied you all your life.

“You don’t have to continue if you can’t.”

“S’okay.” Hyunjin lifts your hand away from his face, presses a kiss to the base of your palm. “I want to.”

You feel yourself stumble ungracefully into the uncharted territory from before; does he do the same?

“I used to play volleyball on this expanse of cracked blacktop, behind my primary school. It was pretty brutal on my feet—I blew through so many different pairs of sneakers my mom almost made me quit.” He smiles at the memory. “But every time I came close to quitting, I’d go home and rewatch the same USA vs. Poland match from the 2008 Summer Olympics I asked my dad to record, and I’d promise myself it would be me on some other kid’s screen someday.

“That kid would tell everyone who’d listen about how cool I am. That I’m a secret superhero. That I’m living proof humans can fly if they really, really try—just like I talked about the volleyball players I grew up watching on my TV.

“The other day, Coach told me that hope would consume me. I thought it was just some senile drivel at the time, but..I think I get what he means now. I would do anything and everything to make that kid proud—even if it meant losing myself.” He lowers his head, auburn strands falling into his eyes. “That’s what’s on my mind.”

Amidst the ensuing pause, a storm approaches. It does not come in the form of rain or snow, sleet or hail, no; it is a gathering of words unsaid and emotions unacknowledged, all emerging from the deepest chambers of your heart in synchrony. The same entities you used to scapegoat for all the times things were awkward between you and Hyunjin when you were the culprit all along. You and your blind cowardice.

The storm tears open the seam of your lips. You do not resist; it’s long overdue.

“Every time Changbin sees you, he turns into a smitten schoolgirl,” you say. “He is physically unable to contain how endearing he finds you. He told me so himself.”

Hyunjin looks at you with widened eyes. You think you can see your own reflection in them, and you are the spitting image of a lighter dropped into gasoline, unstoppable in your vehemence.

“Jeongin comes to you for advice before anyone else,” you continue, “even for things related to school—which I still find hard to believe, I’m not gonna lie. But you have his best interests in mind, and it shows in everything you do for him. Of course your opinion matters more than anything in the world.

“I know you think he can’t stand you, but you are the reason Coach Bang loves this job, why he loves this sport. It’s written all over his face every time he calls you something mean, every time he makes you run another lap, every time he looks at you. You’re like a son to him. Everyone sees it but you.”

“Then there’s me.” You pause to catch your breath. “When I think about what my life used to be, I remember a lot of things. I remember loneliness. Insecurity. I remember my books and my backgammon boards and the way I taught myself to disappear inside them so the world would never find me. I remember avoiding mirrors like a vampire because I didn’t like seeing my own reflection. I remember feeling like I had to put on someone else’s personality every time I left the house because nobody would want to know me for me. All I ever wanted was a place where I could be myself, love myself, without consequence. I have yet to find that place.

“But I found a person. Someone who wouldn’t know time and place if they kicked his dick into his body. Someone who thinks instant ramen is high in nutritional value because it comes with dried vegetables. Someone who sweats the same amount of rain the Sahara Desert receives yearly—your body is not normal, by the way.”

Hyunjin giggles; it is soft and short, a small, tearful huff into the quiet air that makes you feel like you’re flying.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you say. “Your sense of humor sucks and your taste in coffee is so boring and you are the one with no media literacy, not Professor Kim. But I love spending time with you. I love who I am when I’m around you. And none of that has to do with volleyball.”

The next time you blink, you discover that he’s not the only one with tears in his eyes. How long has that been going on?

“There’s so much about you to be proud of, Hyunjin.” You give him a watery smile. “That kid will be spoiled for choice.”

When Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, you fall into each other like going to bed after a long day. Your face burrows into the crook of his neck in your embarrassment; he is laughing and crying at the same time when he mumbles something into your shoulder: “I knew you cared about me.”

You are so happy for the comedic relief you could sob. It helps that you already are.

“How the fuck are you still sweaty?” You choke out, and you think you like his cologne after all.

Six days later, Hyunjin opens the door of his apartment.

A fun-sized flurry of black and white barrages into the hallway outside and almost runs headfirst into the figure waiting there. You fall to your knees like you’ve just been gravely wounded, emitting an ear-piercing wail to match. All it takes is a few good head scratches for Kkami to stop yipping bloody murder and start whining for attention instead. 

Upon minute five of watching you and his dog cuddle in the hallway directly outside his home, Hyunjin sighs.

“Can you come inside, please? My RA will think I’m doing some freaky shit again.”

You side-eye him as you walk into his apartment, Kkami perched happily in your arms. “What, exactly, does freaky shit entail?”

He smirks as the door falls shut. “You want me to tell you or show you?”

You turn to Kkami, disgusted. “Your owner’s a bit of a pervert, my dear.”

Kkami licks you on the chin. Hyunjin’s eyes narrow to slits.

“Traitor.”

Naturally, Hyunjin’s parents chose the eve of his final anthropology exam—and the week before the tournament that will determine the trajectory of his career—to ask him to look after Kkami for a few days. He nearly canceled their plane tickets himself, but his impromptu roommate is currently ransacking your face with kisses on his couch, and he thinks your laugh complements his studio better than any decoration. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” He calls from the kitchen area.

You meander over, Kkami (still) perched happily in your arms. “What do you have?” 

“Alcohol.” He opens his fridge far enough so you can peer over his shoulder. “Americanos.”

He stops speaking.

“Is that all?”

“Yes. Wait—and apple juice.”

“You are about to be a professional athlete.”

“What the Italians don’t know won’t hurt them. You want apple juice, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

“Maybe. Can you open it for me? My hands are full.”

Hyunjin does so with far less reluctance than he feigns. You thank him jubilantly, popping the straw into your mouth.

“Let’s get this over with.”

At 10:32 P.M., all is calm. You are sitting on the floor, your back against the side of his mattress. Hyunjin is where the universe intended: curled up in bed, both him and his laptop lying on their sides. You have studied eight out of ten units in only two and a half hours, and the night is still young. Kkami is but a fluffy, sleepy Oreo by your waist.

At 10:33 P.M., the Oreo begins to retch.

You startle a foot into the air. Hyunjin is out of bed and on his feet in the blink of an eye, the very image of a dog dad on duty. He grabs three different things off the kitchen counter with one hand and scoops up the long-haired chihuahua with the other, and then he’s kicking open the door.

Seungmin appears out of thin air carrying two heaping bags of groceries. Hyunjin nearly knocks him and a month’s worth of fresh produce down four flights of stairs.

“Hyun—Kkami?” Seungmin swivels. “Yo, what the fuck is—”

Hyunjin is already out the door.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin squats off to the side, pouring fresh water into a portable dog bowl. A little ways away, Kkami is throwing up ebulliently; a set of footsteps approaches.

“What is this thing?” Seungmin squats down next to Hyunjin, picking up the piece of patterned fabric lying on the grass. 

“Kkami gets sad after throwing up,” he sighs. “His blanket makes him feel better.”

Seungmin watches the chihuahua for a few moments, a soft flinch crimping his features. “He ate too fast again?”

Hyunjin rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. Nobody’s gonna take his food from him.”

Seungmin laughs. “I didn’t even know he was on campus.”

“I picked him up last night. My parents are traveling for work—they say hi, by the way.”

“I say hi back. I miss your mom’s cooking.”

“Me too,” Hyunjin says, smiling. “She would love to cook for you again—she’s always saying you’re too skinny.”

“She really is.”

A beat passes; it is then that Hyunjin has an epiphany.

Seungmin was the one who put a volleyball in his hands for the first time. Back then, Hyunjin was the lesser troublemaker between the two of them—a concept that neither of them can wrap their heads around to this day. Seungmin suggested they use the clotheslines in Hyunjin’s backyard as a makeshift net, despite Hyunjin’s dissuading; half of Hyunjin’s father’s wardrobe caught on fire, Seungmin had a black eye for a week, and nobody knows what happened to that volleyball. The two of them have been attached at the hip ever since.

It is a crazy thing, having your best friend as a teammate; a singular flick of the wrist or a point of his shoe and Seungmin will know exactly Hyunjin wants the ball down to the net’s fraying fibers; Hyunjin will be exactly where Seungmin needs him down to the flecks of paint on the volleyball court. Hyunjin has always been Seungmin’s hitter—Seungmin, always Hyunjin’s setter. Nothing will ever change between them so long as that remains the case.

At least, that’s what Hyunjin used to think.

Learning that Seungmin was in a relationship was as much a wake-up call for Hyunjin as it was for you. At first, he was just fucking pissed; how could Seungmin be so stupid as to turn down someone like you, especially when Hyunjin had shot his mouth off about his wingman services? More importantly, how long had his best friend of eighteen years been in love, and why was he the last to know? 

Only now, as they wait for his nine-year-old chihuahua to finish barfing, does Hyunjin realize that he can’t remember the last time he and Seungmin talked. Not “talked” as in a brief exchange inside the locker room or the lecture hall, about a new approach he wants to try or what Seungmin got on number four or if he wants a ride to practice—“talked” as in talked, about Hyunjin, about Seungmin, about the eighteen years they shared, about all the years yet to come.

Hyunjin sees his setter every day; he stopped looking for his friend a long time ago. 

“Yeonwoo, right?”

He senses surprise in Seungmin without having to look at him. But he also senses a smile, a subtle show that Seungmin recognizes what he’s trying to do—and forgives him.

“Yeonwoo,” Seungmin affirms. “We’re in the same songwriting intensive this semester.”

“Also a singer?”

He shakes his head. “Piano player. Performed at the Carnegie Hall in the United States at, like, seven years old. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so talented.”

“Wow, that’s—hi, old man. You done?”

Kkami walks over with his head hung low and tail between his legs, and Hyunjin hurries to drape the pup in his favorite blanket, pulling the bowl of water in front of him in tandem. Seungmin runs a hand over the top of Kkami’s head as he hydrates.

“You’ve suffered,” he tells him solemnly, and Hyunjin snorts.

“As I was saying—that’s crazy to hear, coming from the most talented person I know. You guys looked so good together.”

“Thanks. It’s weird. I’m happy.”

“You deserve it. You really do, Kim.” They exchange smiles, and Hyunjin gives Seungmin a playful nudge. “When are you introducing us?”

“The arcade wasn’t enough?”

“Don’t insult me.”

“Whenever you want, then.”

“Dinner with my mom, dinner with Yeonwoo,” Hyunjin recounts. “I’m holding you to it.”

“Bet.”

They shake on it. If Hyunjin wasn’t already reassured by Seungmin’s smile, he knows by his clasp around his hand that they’ll be okay.

“What about you?” Seungmin asks. “Are you together yet?”

Hyunjin knew this was coming. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Seungmin strings his hands together, letting them dangle in the space between his knees. “Someone you have questions for that you’re too scared to ask. Someone who’s lived in your mind since the day you met. There’s someone like that, isn’t there?”

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek. 

Ever since that night on the gym floor, Hyunjin’s been having these dreams. By the time his alarm goes off in the morning, every detail of the dream has eluded him, leaving behind only a ghost of emotion, akin to the breeze that grazes your face moments after walking past another person.

But then he’ll get out of bed, and walk to that café on the east side of campus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, he’ll order a vanilla latte with extra sweetener, then turn around to see you standing five feet away, holding an Americano and trying not to laugh. And he’ll just know, with everything in him, that you are where his head goes when he’s not keeping watch.

He still addresses you by the pet names you hate. He still finds any excuse to be close to you; he still pesters you like a child with a crush. But now, he calls you his baby like one wishes on a star; his eyes drift to your lips every time you’re within two feet of each other; he makes fun of your likes and dislikes only because he’s happy to know about them at all. Ever since that night on the gym floor.

It’s impossible for nothing and everything to change at once. Two people teetering on the precipice of something cannot withstand a gust of wind so powerful. He’s already hanging off the ledge, losing his grip; where are you?

Next to him, Seungmin lets out a soft laugh. “There is.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say.

“It might’ve been me, at some point,” he hums, returning his hand to scratch the back of Kkami’s ears. “But it has always been you, Hyun.”

Four floors above them and inside Hyunjin’s place, you are pacing between his fridge and his bed, nervously awaiting his and Kkami’s return.

Something catches your eye, wide and flat and hung on the wall by his bathroom door. You approach it curiously, your lips pulling into a fond smile the moment you realize all that’s in front of you.

Many of the photographs are of Hyunjin: him in his preteens, dead asleep in bed while dressed head to toe in volleyball gear, braces visible because his mouth is open; an action shot taken at what must’ve been a U21 match, the South Korean flag stitched into the shoulder of his jersey; him with half a birthday cake in front of him and the rest smeared all over his face. There are headlines, too: Underdog team earns district’s first high school volleyball state title; Hwang Hyunjin proves himself worthy of “ace spiker” label at South Korea V. Croatia U19 match; Coach Bang “Christopher” Chan leads Seoul National University to second consecutive KUL championship. There’s one—Who is Hwang Hyunjin? Meet the twenty-year-old instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution—beside which he’s written the singular word “mouthful.” You laugh; you agree.

But pinned to the corkboard is also a photograph of Minho, surrounded by stray cats in the alleyway outside a K-BBQ restaurant; his parents cradling Kkami in an apple costume; his high school volleyball team silhouetted against a pretty sunset. Him and Seungmin as kids, covered in grime and scrapes but beaming nonetheless; him and Seungmin at age nineteen, stadium lights on their backs, unadulterated elation on their faces as they charge towards each other, beaming still. Changbin piggybacking Felix through the hallways of the gym, neither of them wearing a shirt; Jisung offering Coach Bang a beer while the latter looks direly unamused (you make a mental note to ask about that one later); what looks like a Rock Lee cosplayer grimacing in the middle of your anthropology classroom.

You rush forward as if decreed by gravitational force. Not too far away is another picture of you, in which you boast a Miffy headband and a face full of foaming cleanser. Then another, your eyes narrowed like that of a sniper taking aim as you’re playing Tetris; you with so many volleyballs piled into your arms that you can’t see your own face; your cheeks squished by a bandaged hand after you lost a bet about pandas (they can swim); you clutching your stomach on the library floor, brought to hysterical tears by Professor Kim’s email. You, you, you.

You bring your pointer finger to this last image, tracing it over the curve of your own cheek. You see a dimple on your face you didn’t know you had. You realize it only comes out for him.

It has always been him.

The front door opens. A man with telephone poles for legs and a long-haired chihuahua in his arms appears behind it. You sense in him that something has changed since you last saw each other. The two of you lock eyes. 

It’s not awkward this time.

Multiple yards behind the service line, Hyunjin is rotating a volleyball in his hands. It feels solid and sentient, an extension of himself held in cotton-clad fingers. He knows how this story will end.

He moves his eyes to his best friend’s back. Four fingers flash back at him twice, signaling a high lob set to the left, the very play they’ve practiced tirelessly for the last five weeks. The breath Hyunjin blows out of his cheeks seems to crystallize in the air, almost solid in all its exhilaration. 

He bends low and throws high. His arms drop behind his body like a spread of feathered wings; his feet fall into place below him like a meteor shower, two consecutive strikes against the earth that fissure its mantle. The lights overhead are bright. His palm pulls taut when it slams into leather. He knows how this story will end.

The volleyball tears towards the ground. It trembles as if scared by all that it holds: the guarantee of a flawless denouement, the catalyst of a radiant future. Hyunjin’s heart is beating hard enough to crack his ribs when he lands back on the ground, when the volleyball lands in the furthest corner of the court. He’s not scared at all.

He balls his fingers into fists.

“JUST LIKE LAST YEAR, BACK TO BACK ON AN ACE—”

An arm seizes Hyunjin’s neck; another drags him onto the floor. His head thuds onto the hardwood with a sound he hears over the whole world detonating. His vision fills with the faces of the people he cares for most, some covered in tears and others rivaling the ceiling with their blinding smiles. He can’t feel most of his body; his sweat drips into his mouth. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

“—DEFENDING THEIR TITLE FOR THE THIRD CONSECUTIVE YEAR—”

His eyes find Seungmin’s among the fray. Their hands clap together with such force that Hyunjin cusses at the impact. Seungmin’s gaze burns into his with a ferocity that Hyunjin plans to take to his grave. His setter. His best friend.

He says something inaudible, but Hyunjin reads the words off his lips, and his eyes fill with tears: we win everything.

“—YOUR NATIONAL CHAMPIONS: SEOUL NATIONAL UNIVERSITY!”

Hyunjin’s post-game interview is a lawless affair. He is allowed at most half an answer before a new teammate is barreling over with an animalistic screech or a new friend is screaming congratulations from out of frame.

The reporter is visibly agitated by her final question, unpursing her lips to ask: “Is there anyone you’d like to thank?”

Hyunjin exhales. “You want the short answer or the long—”

Changbin seizes him by the head. Hyunjin bursts into a peal of high-pitched laughter as the libero litters kisses all over his face, nearly crumpling to the floor in his attempt to escape.

“Love you,” he yells before hurrying off. 

“Love you too, Bin.”

Hyunjin turns a sheepish smile to the reporter.

“The short answer,” she deadpans.

He starts counting off his fingers. He thanks his family—his first and last teammates, his eternal anchors. His other family, his actual teammates, the best boys he’s ever known. His coach, who will let him call him Chris someday. His best friend and setter, Kim Seungmin, who set a clothesline on fire once and changed his life forever.

In the distance, a figure emerges from the locker rooms. There’s a navy blue SNU banner draped over your shoulders, two overflowing duffel bags in your hands. Jisung and Jeongin run over to take them from you, and the smile you give them is wide and flushed, a remnant of the elation you shared from afar. The three of you start walking out of the gym.

Hyunjin thanks you.

You didn’t ask for the position, he tells the reporter, but some idiot roped you into it, and they’re all so grateful that you decided to stick around. You know the team better than they know themselves—it’s hard to believe you’ve been with them for five weeks instead of five years.

What are you like? What aren’t you like, is the better question. You’re caring, smart, strong; you see so much goodness in the people around you, all while unaware that it is your warmth that brings it out of them. Flowers only bloom in the sun’s doting radius, and so did he.

You have the sort of soul that incurs the scorn of the stars. They are the only ones to deserve you, they'd argue; you’re wasting your potential among humans when you belong to the sky, and they’d be right.

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek, suddenly annoyed.

“Why the fuck am I still talking to you?” 

“Pardon?” The reporter returns, but Hyunjin is already vaulting over the bleachers, making a mad dash for the exit. She gives her cameraman an affronted glare. He shrugs.

He explodes onto the concrete, looking around in a frantic haze. He finds the blue banner heading toward the team bus and flanked by his teammates with ease.

He calls out to you.

You glance backwards. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the area’s busy thrum. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram again, but he’s used to this feeling by now. Jeongin and Jisung make themselves scarce.

You’re beautiful. God, you’re fucking beautiful. That was the first thought to enter his mind when he spilled an iced Americano on your lap all those months ago and you looked at him like he hailed from another planet. And it is the first thought to enter his mind now, when he runs up to you and cradles your face in his hands, his touch infinitely, impossibly gentle, and you look at him like he’s everything that has ever existed, everything that ever will. 

Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes—if he didn’t have something far better to do.

“Tell me now if you don’t want me to do this,” he whispers.

A stupid smile crosses the face of the smartest person he knows. “My lips are sealed.”

Hyunjin kisses you. He kisses you until the banner around your shoulders is wrinkled under his touch, until your hands are tangled in his hair and aching his scalp, until the breaths you take are breaths you share, passed between your mouths like a puff of smoke before they’re colliding again.

He kisses you until he’s crying, again, until he’s no longer tasting your lips but your grin, and he kisses you only harder when those scornful stars start to dance before him, for you are his, not theirs, and he’s really won everything, now.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Six months later, Hyunjin sees Coach Bang standing a few yards away with a grim air about him. He stops in his footsteps and glances at his captain, confused.

“I know nothing,” Seungmin says, walking away. “Good luck!”

“Thanks, cap.” Hyunjin swears he’s had this exact exchange before.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace still reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. But there are two picture frames on his desk now: one of his family in front of the Sydney Opera House, the other of a band of boys clad in navy blue, draped over one another in exhausted bliss. The latter lends the room a much-needed sense of vitality. Too bad it still houses a rusty cyborg.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “Read.”

From: Nicola Daldello «ndaldello@pvm.com» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «cb97@snu.edu» Subject: Re: Allianz Milano V. Pallavolo Perugia practice game Christopher, Allow me to apologize for my delayed response as I shared your request with Chairman Piazza. It is my great pleasure to inform you that we would love for Mr. Hwang Hyunjin to participate in our practice game versus Pallavolo Perugia. The match is scheduled for Monday, October 7th, 5-7 P.M. CET in the Giurati Sports Centre in Milan. Mr. Hwang will be playing for Allianz Milano as an outside hitter alongside Mr. Matey Kaziyski, Mr. Osniel Mergarejo, and Mr. Ishikawa Yuki. Please let me know of your availability to call regarding Mr. Hwang’s travel logistics. His transportation and lodging costs will be paid for by the club. I’m looking forward to speaking with you and welcoming Mr. Hwang to Italy once and for all. Yours, Nicola Daldello Assistant Coach, Allianz Milano

“I told you, some opportunities just present themselves,” Bang says, turning his monitor back around. “As for next steps, I need a holistic calendar view of your entire month of October, including social ev—Hwang, is that foam coming out of your mo—NOT ON MY CARPET! HWANG!”

In a park about a ten minute walk away, a small crowd of elderly people are scattered across a few stone tables, hunched over the fading chess boards painted into the granite surfaces. Mrs. Choi whisks away Mrs. Baek’s king with a triumphant yelp.

“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! That opening is unbeatable!” She swivels towards you, shaking a fist threateningly. “You! Get over here. Your reign is over.”

You are sitting cross-legged in the shade of a broad magnolia tree, clearing out your storage. You tried to take a picture of a particularly rotund pigeon to send to Hyunjin earlier and couldn’t even do that. It was then you decided you couldn't live like this anymore.

“As excited as I am to beat you again, Mrs. Choi, I need ten more minutes,” you call back. 

She presents you with an unpleasant hand gesture. You turn your attention back to your phone, grinning. Two new notifications sit at the top of your lock screen.

Hyunjin: Omw now. Sorry had to talk to Chris Hyunjin: Same park? Y/N: yes Hyunjin: Who’s our opponent today Y/N: mrs. choi Hyunjin: Not that bitch again Y/N: ?

He’ll be here in eight minutes.

You return to the task at hand. You’ve already cleared out your apps, your documents, and videos; all that’s left is the audio files. You conduct a quick mental review. Surely you’ll live without your downloaded music and accidental voice memos.

Instead of hitting the “delete” button, you extract a pair of tangled earphones from your jacket pocket.

You go back to your texts with Hyunjin, open the shared attachments tab, and scroll for a long time before you find the voice note he sent you seven months ago.

He finds you a sobbing mess.

“Hey, hey, whoa.” He’s on his knees in an instant, gathering your hands into his, a world of concern in the brown of his eyes. Your earbuds fall out and clatter onto the cement below. “Baby, what’s happening? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you say in a flustered haste. “Yes, I’m okay. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s happening.”

“Did that hag do this to you?” He asks this question so seriously. “I’ll beat up a senior citizen, I don’t give a fuck—”

“No!” You let out an ugly laugh through your tears. “No, no. Leave Mrs. Choi alone.”

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

Eventually, your vision clears enough for you to look at the man kneeling in front of you. His roots grow out longer every day, his hair by now nearly equal parts gold and black. A spot of sunlight infiltrates the magnolia leaves and lands on his left eye, turning it the hue of melted bronze.

Your fingers drift to the sides of his beautiful face as you lean in close; he smells like a combination of smoky rose and tropical coastlines.

“I’ll tell you later,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hairline. 

He is dissatisfied with this, hooking a pointer finger beneath your chin, guiding your face back to his. He laves the saltwater from your lips, your tongue, and then you’re smiling again, barely able to remember why you cried in the first place.

You rest your foreheads together. “Have I told you that you look like a bumblebee these days?”

He smiles. “Does that make you my flower, then?”

“Because you’re irresistably drawn to me?”

“No, because I wanna put my pollen in—”

You shove him away. “You are grotesque.”

He returns in a flash. “You love me.”

You kiss him again. And again. And one more time for good measure, during which you mumble I do against his lips, and then you remember something.

“Why did Coach hold you back, by the way?” You pull away, tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Are you in trouble again?”

“No, no. The opposite, actually.”

Your brow furrows. “The opposite? What—”

“In this lifetime, please,” Mrs. Choi hollers from the chess tables. You roll your eyes. Hyunjin smiles helplessly.

“Duty calls, my love.”

“Tell me your thing later too?”

“Of course.”

You dust yourself off and stand up, making your way to the battleground. But not before you whisper to Hyunjin, “now watch me beat up a senior citizen.”

He laughs with his whole body, his eyes the shape of crescent moons, his mouth a little rectangle.

“Hypocrite.”

Hyunjin: [1 Audio Message]

This is my seventh take and I’m not recording an eighth. What you get is what you get. I don’t care anymore.

I understand if you don’t wanna talk about what happened at the arcade. I wouldn’t, either. I just wanted to say that you don’t have to do this tutoring thing anymore. I won’t be able to fulfill my end of our deal, so…yeah, it wouldn’t be fair to you. You’ve already done so much for us. For me.

As for team manager, you’ll have to talk to Minho and Coach Bang if you wanna quit. Doesn’t sound like a fun conversation, I know—but if that’s what you decide, I’ll have your back. They don’t scare me. Well, they do. But only sometimes.

You’ve been…distant, this week. I’ve known peace and quiet for the first time since we met, and I fucking hate it. I realized I couldn’t care less if you’re my tutor or my team manager or whatever—I just don’t want you to be a stranger. Maybe that’s selfish of me to say, but I’m tired of pretending the idea of losing you doesn’t terrify me. It does. It really fucking does.

I’m gonna end this here, because I almost just stopped recording on accident and I’ll genuinely commit homicide if I have to do all this again. Sorry that this got so long, and…I’m sorry about everything. You deserve better.

Come back to me whenever you’re ready, okay? I’ll be waiting.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・@automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten・@newhope8・@weedforthoughtz・@hyunverse

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

[redlightsallnight]

words cannot explain how much i love this

the enemies to lovers project | lee minho

𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙩𝙮𝙥𝙚: 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵; 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘶, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧

𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙘𝙧𝙞𝙥𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣: 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘫𝘪𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨'𝘴 𝘱𝘴𝘺𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦 – 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘺, 𝘭𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘰, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵. 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: ~18𝘬+

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨

𝘢/𝘯: 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺!!! 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦! 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘩𝘩 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 >.< 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘪 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵! 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥!

prologue.

“You know I despise you, right?”

“Oh, despise. Such a big word, baby,” Minho drawled with an obnoxious smirk, the one that simultaneously made you want to rip his hair out and kiss those perfectly delectable lips of his, “If it’s any consolation, I abhor your presence as well.”

“Wonderful,” you crossed your legs, a smile creeping onto your face as you leaned backward in your chair, “So why exactly are you here?”

Minho laughed, “The same reason I presume that you’re here for. A hundred dollars to put up with you is a tempting offer.”

Keep reading

[redlightsallnight]

guys every fic i red seems to get better than the last like omg

this was so so flipping good oh my days

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST, lee felix

⎯⎯ pairs ‣‣‣ lee felix x fem!reader ⎯⎯ rating ‣‣‣ 16+ ⎯⎯ genre ‣‣‣ strangers to lovers ‣ [][][][][][][] to lovers ‣ angst ‣ fluff ‣ tragedy ‣ hurt/comfort ‣ prince!lee felix ‣ beast!lee felix ‣ belle!reader ‣ peasant!reader ⎯⎯ warnings ‣‣‣ death ‣ blood ‣ slight gore ‣ violence ‣ curses ‣ magic and witches ‣ tragedy ‣ memory curses ‣ arguments ‣ romeo and juliet hate [suck it] ‣ sword fighting ‣ poorly written fight scenes ‣ whipped lee felix ‣ food mentions ‣ stereotypical sexism ‣ historical inaccuracy ‣ sick parents ‣ missing parents ‣ kidnapping mentions [none actually happens] ‣ wolf attacks ‣ if any more please let me know!! ⎯⎯ word count ‣‣‣ 18.8k words ⎯⎯ notes ‣‣‣ sleepy author rewrites sad ending with shitty happy ending uwu <3

Though a slight walk from your family cottage, you always enjoyed walking the trail from your home to the village. Mainly due to how it presented you with the only time of peace before the rest of the town awoke - your family had always been the first people awake in the town, though once the village heard you walking they all seemed to awake simultaneously. So, you took your time walking across the little bridge you and your father had built together when you were a child and admired the village as it was still sleeping under the rising sun.

Bushes of roses line the ends of the bridge, you were sure that you had planted it though the memory was hazy, and you plucked one from the leaves. Its petals were a furious red against your palm as you admired the flower - perhaps you would press it once you returned home from your trip to the village. Placing the flower into your satchel, you approached the village gates and prepared for the town to wake.

Nothing new ever happened in your sleepy little town, and while your family may have been happy with that, you longed for something new.

Nothing new ever happened in your sleepy little town, and while your family may have been happy with that, you longed for something new.

Nothing new ever happened in your sleepy little town, and while your family may have been happy with that, you longed for something new.

The townspeople stared at you as you walked through the village, smiling politely at passing people and weaving through small crowds building in front of some stores. You knew what they thought of you, about your family, though you always ignored those judgemental stares - you would far prefer to be on your own than in a crowd anyway. They all judged you for knowing how to read, though no one including yourself knew how, and electing to help your father with his inventions over learning the traditional jobs of a woman.

In your eyes, they were not worth any tears of your isolation. The ones who mattered, the select few friends you had made since first moving to the village, were the people who you would focus on instead. Though there was a slight sting from the constant murmurs you would overhear while doing your daily walk through the town of your ‘wasted potential’ - how you were fated to live as a beggar on the street until your death.

Finally, the library was only a short stretch of cobblestone path away and you smiled brightly at the familiar old hanging sign. You had first come across the library when you moved to the village, you and your sister had gone running through the village while your mother stopped at the bakery when you both went inside to hide from her. You hadn’t known how to read then but you still found yourself in love with the library instantaneously.

The smell of books met your nose as you walked inside the library, your eyes moving around the small room of books for the brunette you were supposed to have found inside. Only, you had not found Kim Seungmin in your search, so you instead went off to the usual aisle you borrowed from and ran your fingers over the book spines. Seungmin was sure to arrive soon, he knew that you had to take care of your mother since your father was still away on his trip.

The collections of novels and plays before you made your heart weigh heavy in pain. You never knew why this specific section of books, Shakespeare specifically, caused you such pain - all you knew was that your heart was crying in its anguish. More than your heart would silently cry during your other activities.

“My dear,” the library owner Mr Kang called to you, his warm tone present as it always was. He had never cared that you were a woman who could read, all he cared about what that you took care of the books borrowed. Not many people stopped by the library either, so you found that Mr Kang rather enjoyed having any customers he got. “I’m afraid that Seungmin is out travelling with his father today, but he has asked me to give you this in his absence.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as Mr Kang handed you a slightly worn-in, leather-bound book with a small note resting atop it. You were hesitant to take it, though you eventually did as you whispered a thank you to him, letting your eyes wander over the title and the note. It seemed you never could escape William Shakespeare.

The Taming of The Shrew by William Shakespeare

My father found this on his last travel and gave it to me for the store, though I think you would be far more entertained by the story and its inscription

⎯ Seungmin

You looked up from the book and watched Mr Kang, chewing at the inside of your cheek as your curiosities grew. “How much would this cost me?”

“Free of charge, dear,” he waved you off with a warm grin, “he brought in here himself - I’d say he knew you would be in here today.” You couldn’t help the slight smile which built from how well your friend knew you. “Please tell your mother I wish her well?”

“Of course, Mr Kang, have a lovely day,” you waved goodbye to the library owner and left the comfortable building with your nose already stuck on the first page of the novel. There was an inscription beautifully written on the inside of the title page, with your name written on the very top - much like all the others you had at home

Take this tale of love as my humble apology for introducing you to Romeo & Juliet

Like all the other inscriptions with your name written at the top and matching handwriting fit for a king, you were sure that the words would reflect the truth. You had never been a fan of the lovers of Verona, you much preferred the re-written ending someone (though it matched the very handwriting of all the inscriptions) had done for you in your copy kept safe in your home. 

You opened the play to its beginning and began reading, the Bard’s words already capturing your heart and playing it like a violin as you walked through the village and its familiar cobblestone paths. Though, due to your focus on the pages in front of your eyes, you failed to notice a small child running in front of you and causing you to freeze and accidentally drop your book in the haste.

The world felt as though it had fallen into a frozen warp. You had made numerous attempts to grab the book, all of which failed, and you had prepared yourself for the book of romance to fall into the puddle of mud. Thankfully, a strong hand grabbed your flying open book right before it landed in the mud.

You looked up from the book and into the brown eyes (no wonder so many women in the village had fallen for him) of your knight in shining armour. A smile fell onto your face and you saw his mirror it. “Bang Chan, you really are my hero,” you teased while taking the book from his open hand, placing it safely into your satchel instead of attempting to read it again. “How may I ever repay you, kind sir?”

Chan’s smile turned into one of a tease, you could have sworn that a trio of women in colour-coordinated dresses were swooning to your side, and he bumped your hip with his own. “Just a token of my lady’s favour,” he joked back to her, deciding to use your shoulders as his armrest. 

“How about dinner with the rest of my family tomorrow night?”

Becoming the wife of Bang Chan was never something you had pictured for yourself, and yet it seemed many of the people in the little village figured it would be the wisest decision of all. It had all merely started as a joke from Chan, he had been desperate to stop the lingering gazes of the women in town and you were his apparent solution, but one of the town drunks had overheard and spread it around like a hot rumour.

There was nothing wrong with Chan, he was a lovely and talented man who could easily provide for both you and your family, but anytime the idea came across your mind your heart fell heavy in your chest. Like it knew that you were for another while your rationale was still left in the dark. You had grown used to the passing looks of women whenever you were with Chan, those idiotic rumours of your future engagement only fueling their spite, if only they knew that you were merely friends.

Though you were not sure whether Chan still knew that you were only friends. Over the past week, he had been everywhere you looked - and while you wouldn’t have minded originally, there was a new gleam in his eyes whenever he looked at you. You would have assumed it was all your mind deciding to play tricks on you, had it not been for Chan, once again mentioning a union between you both over dinner with your mother and sister, her husband out travelling for the village.

Your family had thought it would be a great idea, though you knew if your father was there and not still out travelling he would be first to deny Chan’s marital advances. You were not as sure as either side, while your heart may not be in it, the marriage between you both would end many of the issues the town seemed to have against you. And you would be marrying that of a friend as opposed to a stranger, a friend who knew you well and you knew would never hurt you.

All Chan wanted was to protect you, even if that lead him into some idiotic situations.

Though, you were also happy living as the town’s pariah - no one to disturb your readings or your longing for adventure. A marriage of convenience, on both sides, is a marriage nonetheless, and you were neither ready nor wanting it. Your mother nor your sister completely understood your desires for more, they did support you through most of it, but your father always did. Your father always wanted what was best for you, whether to learn sewing or join him in building inventions, as long as you were happy.

All you wanted was to talk with your father, he had meant to arrive home yesterday but yet was still gone with your favourite horse Kkami. You had told your mother that he was simply caught up at the fair and forgotten the day he was supposed to arrive, though you believed absolutely none of it. He was not one to forget such things, especially when promised to your mother, but you couldn’t let her worry about such things.

She needed to focus on her health and getting better as opposed to where your father was. That was what you needed to worry about for her.

You fed the chickens around your family cottage, the rising sun lighting your way as the village began their harmonised hellos. All you could think of was becoming Mrs Bang Chan… where you would be expected by everyone in the town to become that of a trad wife. While you knew that Chan would not expect such things in private but you couldn’t allow him or anyone to think you be a thing you were not. You would rather be the town pariah than fake who you were.

Bang Chan’s wife.

Mrs Bang.

It made you sick to your stomach, you would never be your own person (not that you were much of one already) if you went through with Chan’s proposal. You angrily threw down more chicken feed for the clucking animals at your feet, even if he did make the serious proposal as a means of convenience for you both it still churned your stomach. 

You were not a damsel in distress who always required saving, and while you loved that Chan wanted to protect you from the judgement of the village, you would rather face it with a grin than give in to them. It would be a sad day when you gave in and bent your will to that of people who decided your worth based on marital status.

A hazy image build in your mind and you stumbled slightly, scaring off any linger chickens who wanted to ward more feed from you. Your head was screaming in its agony as the image tried to clear and clear for you to recognise, but you couldn’t recognise anything beyond a bright smile. 

A smile you could not recognise belonging to anyone you had met in your life. 

The pain began to fade into a dull throb as the sight of Kkami running full speed toward you, whinnying the whole way, and the blurry image disappeared from your mind. You quickly spread the rest of the chicken feed and ran to meet your frightened horse, who practically buckled into the sight of a familiar human.

You shushed the scared horse and ran a hand through his mane, something which had comforted him since you first got Kkami. You couldn’t completely remember where you had found him, no one in your family could, but you were sure it had been five years since he appeared in your home stables. Kkami whinnied again and stomped his hooves on the ground in front of you. 

“What’s wrong,” you clicked your tongue and reached for the apple you kept in your apron pocket, feeding it to the hungry horse. He still was wearing his saddle and had the harness for your father’s trolley attached, only said trolley and your father were nowhere around. “Where’s father?”

Kkami ate the horse like the spoiled horse he was, you were far too lenient on Kkami and his treats, and nuzzled into your soft hand on his snout. How far had he run without your father or his carriage? Most importantly - was your father okay?

You left the horse to eat his apple and rushed inside the family cottage, your mother still blissfully sleeping in her bed. You couldn’t wake her up and make her worry about you or your father, at least not verbally. So, you wrote her a quick note (you and your father had been giving her lessons on reading in secret) and prepared your belongings.

A few more apples were placed into your satchel, as well as some water and other foods for both you and Kkami to have just in case. You packed some medicines from the Han Apothecary in the village and other treatments the owner’s son Jisung had recommended for your constant headaches.

And with that, you rushed out of the cottage and to Kkami, kicking your feet over his saddle. You had to find your father, for better or for worse. 

You dismounted from Kkami and stared down the iron gates covered in ivy leaves - familiarity choking you with memories that you couldn’t recall. No, there were no memories of ever seeing an abandoned castle in the forest outskirts of your little village, but you could have sworn that you had traced those very ivy-covered gates with your fingers before. That you had stood on the wilted leaves and built up snow beneath your boots in a previous life.

And just as you were sure that you had been stood in this exact spot before, the gates opened with a scream, as though it sensed you stood before it tracing its iron bars. You could feel Kkami nip at your dress, pulling you away from the gates - you shooed him away and took a step inside the uncared-for castle grounds.

More snow danced through the air and fell onto the already-covered ground and a chill ran down your back. After a quick curse for not bringing a coat on your journey, though it was the middle of summer and this rather shocking weather was just as unplanned for as the expedition itself. Your footsteps grew covered by the snow dusting, and you looked over your shoulder to see if Kkami was following you or whining about you walking further into the grounds.

It was the latter. 

His big eyes were wide and Kkami scoffed through his snout, you could have sworn that the horse was trying to call you that of an imbecile for walking inside the grounds. You turned away from him and back at the large castle, admiring its ancient architecture and slightly cringing at the broken windows and mostly degraded towers.

Wait, you could have sworn you’d seen something move through one of the broken windows of the castle. You stopped dead in your place as the shadow stopped in the window left of where you last saw it move, the shadow staring right at you. A shiver grew up your spine and you diverted your gaze (from what, you were unsure though you hoped it was either your father or a trick of the mind) and ran up the snow-covered stairs and across the stone bridge to the entrance of the abandoned castle.

The large door was just in front of you, a rusted door knocker tempting you to grab it. You were prepared to also, your fingers playing with the wind as you reached for the knocker, but the door opened with a cringe-worthy creak before you got the chance. It was a cold draft that met you, and you thought for a quick second that it was colder inside the castle than in the summer snowstorm.

You walked past paintings and candles until a large ballroom stood directly in front of you. A sick feeling wedged its way into your gut, and you looked back to the front door, contemplating whether you should listen to Kkami and leave to never return - perhaps your father was fine and you were just paranoid? But, when the front door slammed closed and a distant sound of Kkami crying out for help confirmed that you were not just being paranoid.

The ballroom was giant, you concluded. White (you had to assume they were at one point) tiles painted the ceiling and two sets of grand staircases were set ahead of you. There was a stage to your right, a grand one with a dusty piano that your fingers itched to play on - how long had it been since someone had played it? - and a velvet red piano seat. Chairs were circled on the other side of the room, with a break in the middle for a large door, and they were arranged in disarray.

“Hello?” You called out with a slight echo from the mostly-empty room. You hoped that there would be a response from your father - anything else would make you run back through the Black Forest with or without Kkami. “Father?”

Scurrying. It was faint, but the entire castle was quiet enough for the sounds to pound in your ears. Footsteps followed. Loud, thundering footsteps made you freeze in the centre of the ballroom as fear iced over your veins. You were about to die. After another check of the room, everything was still in the original chaos that you had found it in, but that sick feeling in your stomach only blossomed when you noticed another shadow running through the hall atop the staircases.

Another door opened, one to the right past the grand stage that was half-hidden by velvet-coloured curtains. You took a careful step toward the door, the floor creaking below your boots, and then another, and another. Until you were at the door and saw the set of spiral stone steps, leading all the way up into a tower.

Yes, you were going to die.

And yet you found yourself walking up the spiral stone staircase, the moonlight shining through every passing window being your only source of light. The stone walls were cracked with age, and you wished to run your finger along the wounds, but you pulled your hand away from the wall when a pained groan sounded from higher in the tower. 

You ran up the remaining stairs, hands holding the skirt of your loose dress so that you could speed up your climbing, and at the top of the castle tower you saw a cage. The door to it was wide open, indents in the slightly hay-covered floor (you didn’t know how hay had managed to get up in the tower) showed it had been opened recently. 

There was a candelabra lit in a slight hole in the wall, the candles nearly at their ends but still providing a slight light that you could take advantage of. You grabbed the candelabra by its base and walked inside the cage, kicking a broken stone brick to hold it open just in case, and saw your father hunched over on the cage’s bed.

“Father!” You nearly dropped the candelabra in your shock, and from your father’s face, it seemed he had doubted anyone would find him inside the castle tower. You rushed over to him and placed the candelabra on the small table within the cage, pulling your father in for a hug while he clutched the gauze around his stomach. “What happened?”

He grunted as you removed the soiled gauze from his stomach, revealing a large claw mark running down his stomach. “I was attacked,” you dug through your satchel for any aids that you could use for the claw marks. Your father was lucky that it was not infected he was lucky that he had the items needed to take care of the wound, “Kkami ran away before I could escape. I thought I had died - but then I awoke in this room.”

“What attacked you, father?” You cleaned off some of the fresh blood falling from his wound. Your mind was wandering off into its usual paranoia - just what had pulled your father up into the cell of an abandoned castle tower?

“A pack of wolves.”

You gulped, luckily you had not encountered such beasts on your journey to find him, but the moon settling in the sky did nothing to comfort your nerves. There was no way you or your father could stay in the castle overnight, especially with the lack of proper treatment you could offer your father - but the moon in the sky meant wolves.

Your father was in no shape to travel, especially with the threat of wolves attacking him once again.

A darkness seemed to grow over the room, a shadow of a large figure you assumed to be behind you, and your father’s eyes widened as he watched it grow. Quickly, you turned from your father and stood tall, trying to paint on a brave face despite the fear building in your throat, to eye the figure. Only it was hidden in the darkness outside of the cell and in the corner of the tower room.

“How did you get in here?” His voice was deep. Booming. You were desperate to run from the being, if not for his voice then for the giant silhouette still covering the room in its shadow. But you couldn’t do that, you were raised to stand up for what you believed in, even if you were about to die for it.

And the opportunity to be annoying, you knew men often preferred that women did not have an opinion, to someone who was going to kill you was far too desirable to pass up. “You kidnapped my father and you dare ask me such a question?”

“I would never,” he growled, “I saved him.”

“I have to say we have far different ideas on what saving a man looks like.” You reached for the candelabra, two of the candles had died while you were trying to treat your father’s wounds, and held it in front of you to see better. The man was still covered in the safety of the shadows. “Now let me and my father go.”

Your father reached out for you, muttering for you to stop, but you continued to stand your ground. How could a man who claimed to be such a mighty person, enough to have rescued your father, proceed to hide in the shadows like a coward? You would never do such a thing, even when if you were standing on your own you would never back down.

“You cannot leave.”

“And why is that?”

“It is not safe for you to leave,” his voice was quiet, drenched in sorrow and self-pity. Your heart clenched while your brain seethed, your body siding with your head instead of your emotions - you could not feel sadness for a man who kidnapped your father. “He can leave, though it is dangerous, you, however, can’t.”

Your teeth clenched together tightly, your hands balling together into fists. “You would be correct that my father can leave, only I will be accompanying him even if I do not have the blessing of the man who kidnapped him.”

“I did not kidnap him! I saved him as soon as I noticed the pack of wolves attacking him on the castle grounds.” 

“Then, I thank you, oh kind sir,” you smiled and hoped that the dim candlelight was able to highlight its mockery to the man in the shadows, “now to make sure he does not die of his wounds I need to make sure he gets back home to our village. Neither of us can miss the upcoming Red Moon Festival, of course.”

The man called out two names, Minho and Changbin, before two men came rushing into the tower room. The two kept their heads bowed as they passed you, bickering between each other under their breath, and they picked up your father with ease.

“I told you that only he could leave,” the two men took your father away while you cried out for him. When you went to follow them and get your father back, a furry hand grabbed your arm and held you back softly. “It’s not safe for you to leave this place.”

A furry hand - or should you refer to it as a paw - was holding onto your arm to keep you from moving. You would have considered it to be impossible had it not been right before your very eyes, and even then you were struggling to believe the sight. It was a soft hold on your arm, you were sure that if you tried it would be rather simple to break free, but you couldn’t make yourself move.

A paw was keeping you in place!

The echoing steps of the two men, Changbin and Minho, carrying away your father grew silent as they left the tower - leaving you alone with your father’s kidnapper holding your arm in his paw. Hesitantly, you looked over your shoulder to try and see the being in a better light, only he kept himself still shrouded in the shadows. The only thing you could see from the moonlight shining in was the furry arm connected to its furry paw.

“I am sorry,” that deep voice said once again and you felt your bottom lip quiver. Usually, you were perfectly able to share your opinions, no matter who it was you were talking with, but usually, those people were… people. “If you were able to leave then I would let you.”

You scoffed in an, albeit poor, attempt to act nonchalant around your situation. “And yet my father is free to go?”

The creature released his paw from your arm, slowly as though he was scared you would run, which you probably would have if you were not scared of just what the creature was. If you weren’t in the position of being under a spotlight where your crowd was safe in darkness.

Then, the being walked into the moonlight casting through the half-decayed window and you found a giant beast before you. Two large furry paws connected to a giant furry frame that was stuffed into clearly overworn, and far too small, clothing. An animalistic face detailed with hypnotically deep brown eyes that looked into your own, drowning in their sorrow.

“Your father is not the one that she wants,” the deep voice belonged to the beast in front of you. While there were the questions of how the beast in front of you was talking, in your language no less, you were far too focused on the sharp rows of teeth that appeared between his lips. “You are.”

You had been taken away to bedroom chambers, the Beast had asked another servant named Jeongin to do so, that stung in its haunting familiarity. You had ignored the feeling at first, instead running off to the large window and watching as the two servants shoved your father out of the castle gates and to Kkami. The two hadn’t even waited to make sure your father had safely gotten onto the horse rather they ran back inside the castle as though it hurt them to be outside.

Now you were laying atop the soft quilts detailed in your favourite colour and forced to realise just how familiar the chambers felt. Ghosts of a forgotten past haunt your mind as you watched scoured the large area for anything to bring those memories forward. Whether it be the cracks in the ceiling, the faded drawings of a child on the wall or the aging etch of letters in a heart against the bookshelf.

Perhaps it was not your forgotten memories that were creating that haunting feeling in your heart, rather it was the aura of a room filled with a bittersweet love. 

It was a cold room and yet it was kept unnaturally clean, not a single piece of dust that you could coat the pad of your finger on. The chambers were worn in and yet vacant - like that of a dead person’s home. You felt as though you were invading the space, feeling as though you shouldn’t dare move around and ruin the haunting aura. The aura created by a person so obviously adored that no longer resided there.

And though you were certain you had never stepped foot in the chambers, not even the castle, through your entire life - and yet you felt as though you belonged there. A feeling you couldn’t recall any other time since you had moved to that little village as a child.

There was a banging upon the chamber doors, making you sit up from the soft quilts and reminding you of your situation entirely. While you hadn’t necessarily been stolen away, you were told you could not leave, for your safety as the Beast kept telling you. How could you focus on the feeling that bed chambers gave you as opposed to finding a means of escape?

You heard your name be called by the man knocking on the large doors, “You need to eat supper!”

“Not hungry!” Electing to ignore just how the man, you were sure that it was Jeongin from your quick conversation with him earlier, knew your name - you decided to bide your time by preparing a blockade for the door. Manners be damned, no one in the castle who helped abide the Beast in your forceful stay deserved to be acknowledged with respect, all you needed to focus on was your escape.

You settled on using the large wardrobe holding numerous stunning ballgowns as your blockade for the chamber doors. “You have not eaten since you left the village.” Once again, you decided it would be easier to not ask how Jeongin knew such things, he worked for a literal Beast of all things, though you did halt in your attempts to move the wardrobe.

“And yet,” you huffed, “I am still not hungry. Now leave me alone, go busy yourself with the Beast.”

You heard him sigh as you pushed the wardrobe in front of the chamber doors, “I will come back within the hour to ask you again.” His steps echoed down the tiled castle hallway and once you heard the resounding slam of the large hallway doors that Jeongin had led you through earlier, you pushed the wardrobe directly in front of the chamber doors. Sufficiently being able to prevent anyone from entering and ruining your plans of escape.

Quickly you ran over to the abundance of soft quilts laid over the large bed and worked to connect them. A makeshift rope for you to climb out the window with and safely escape the castle before any of them realise you’re even gone. Though it did pain you to rip some of the quilts up for extra length, you had only just experienced how soft they were and now they’re gone, you continued to do so as you tied each piece together.

Your fake rope was long, and with a strong tug, you assumed it to be as sturdy as you could get, so you tied it onto one of the large bedposts and walked over to the window. You opened the stained glass and found yourself staring into the night and its neverending forest slowly being covered in blankets of snow. Pieces of the mudbrick castle walls below the windowsill were also being treated with the crystal white snow, showing the slight erosion of overuse as well as your hopeful staircase for climbing down on.

So, you tightened the black cape (which you had found in the wardrobe) around your shoulders and kicked your leg over the windowsill and into the freezing cold of the summer snow. Your foot met a concaved part of the mudbrick, as though it was meant to sit nestled in there for your climb, and you tied the quilt around your waist firmly as you kicked your other leg over. 

The falling snow circled your hooded head as you climbed down the palace walls, your body leading your way down as though it had done the task for years. Your hands somehow knew where to grab while your feet always fell into the erosion of the bricks like it was what they were meant to do. With the freezing weather combined with the darkness of the night sky, you were glad that your body seemed to possess its own mind and led you closer to the dead grass and ivy-covered ground.

You climbed past a slightly shattered stain-glass window and saw Jeongin, the two men who ‘escorted’ your father out Changbin and Minho as well as another with paint-covered clothes and long black hair. They all stood in a circle together, yet stared at the open chamber doors in shock. Your heart stopped as you wondered just where the Beast was, had it been him who caused them to watch the doors so dramatically?

Through the pieces of missing stained glass, you could hear the four talking amongst themselves both despite the wind and snow’s attempts to drown out their noise. “Do you think he’s going to her?” You highly doubted that another woman would be in the castle, especially considering just how all the men reacted to seeing you - you hoped that your wardrobe barrier would still work against the Beast.

“Of course, he is,” the one you were sure was Minho rolled his eyes and shoved the one with paint-covered clothing, “still as much of a fool for her as always.”

You desperately wanted to continue listening in to their private conversation, to peek your head in to get a clearer view of the four men and their talks on you - but you could not waste any more time in your escape than what was necessary. Especially if it was the Beast who had gone up to see you in your chambers.

So, you continued your hauntingly familiar climb down the castle walls despite your heart’s yearning to continue learning about their opinions of you. Just why they believed the Beast to have locked you away in the chambers. The quilt was growing tighter as it began to lose its length, thankfully you were only one last floor away from the castle grounds you had ignorantly walked across all those hours prior.

The iron gates with their ivy-coated bars were so close, all you needed to do was finish climbing the remaining mudbricks and run across the grounds before the Beast found his way to your room and realised that you were gone. Just four more layers of brick left.

Three.

Two.

One.

Your feet softly hit the ground and you eagerly untied the quilt from your waist - both from your lack of time left to escape and knowing just how close you were to those ivy-covered gates you had entered through. You picked up the skirt of your dress and began running toward that very gate the second your waist was freed from the makeshift rope, the hood of your cape flying in the wind behind you and allowing the falling snow to create a ring on your hair.

You had reached the snow-covered stairs, with your footprints in the snow illustrating to anyone who noticed you missing just where you were headed when you heard the deep growl. Then a call of your name in the deep voice only proved that you were too late. He had found out you escaped your chambers and were running for freedom.

Though you did stop on the short staircase, you did not give the Beast any sense of fear by turning around and revealing that you were terrified at hearing him calling your name. So instead you continued to run for the iron gates despite knowing that he was running after you, the stomps of his feet (paws?) on the dead grass still resounding in the silent forests despite the layers of snow.

“You can’t!” He shouted after you while you kept on running, the large gate was so close and still slightly open from when Minho and Changbin practically dropped your father there earlier.  

The Beast was a much faster runner than you, you could hear his steps growing closer as well as every little animalistic growl pounding larger in your ears - but you were almost at the gate. Almost free from the hidden palace in the forest that no one in your quaint little village knew of, despite all the travelling the people would do. You were just so close and not even the Beast with his speedful running could stop you. He did seem terrified of even mentioning the castle gates during your only conversation, more argument, earlier in the night.

You reached out to grab the ivy-coated gate and your fingers wrapped around one of the iron bars, pulling it just a bit more open so you could run away free.

“No!”

The last thing you remembered was what sounded like a bang as a force pushed you back onto the snow-covered palace grounds - before the Beast pulled you to his chest and began running back to the castle you had tried so hard to escape from. All in vain. All of the trouble you had gone to so you could escape… nothing, all it did was bring you right back into the castle.

You had passed out from the force once you heard the Beast call out for the four men you had watched talking prior, begging for their help while his deep voice cracked.

Just like the game of chess you watched being played beside the wall of the palace library, every move you had to make in the castle was small but calculated. It had been a week since you first entered the palace, finding yourself equally trapped inside of those iron gates just like the five men who already resided there - but you couldn’t allow yourself the peace of giving in to your situation. Nothing you did around the castle had no meaning, whether it was when you were being escorted from the Beast’s chambers after having awoken there after the accident or when you were being escorted to the dining room for the group meals.

You had to remain on alert, while you could no longer claim that the Beast had kidnapped you (instead he gave you a general warning and refused to explain anything) you also knew that there was no safety. Hyunjin, the painter who had escorted you from his chamber’s that morning after you awoke, had divulged you in some brief answers for your questions. Explaining that they had all been cursed, though he never mentioned why, and it was the reason you were unable to leave - though he didn’t answer why your father was safe to go through the magic barrier on the gate.

Your planned methods of movement, like that of the queen piece on the chessboard, lead you to where you stood at the current moment. Watching the Beast in his human form as the sunlight illuminated a constellation of freckles on his cheeks, his hands decorated in a multitude of rings as they moved the rook forward. He had done nothing to ward you away from him, to give you any fear of him, besides the day he told you that you couldn’t leave, but you couldn’t help your hearts yearning to see more about him.

Just from your brief looks in his sleeping chambers, all you had were questions that absolutely no one in the castle was wanting to answer. All you would be told is that they can either not tell you, or in Minho’s case that the Beast had refused them from telling you much about him. So you had to coordinate your own plan of attack to better know the man who kept a portrait, that Hyunjin had admitted to being the artist of, covered in a dirty sheet with a single rose held under a glass dome on the table below it.

Thus far, all you had learned about the reclused beast was that he enjoyed reading literature, he had a rather similar taste in books to yourself you had noticed, and he enjoyed chess. He was very rarely outside of his chambers, especially when the moon was up and meaning his form as a beast was back once again, and the times when he was - he would avoid people, well, more accurately he would avoid you. Jeongin was required to bring his nightly meals to the large chambers hidden away in the west wing of the castle, and then his meals during the daytime were spent alone in the library while the rest of you all sat at the large palace table.

You weren’t entirely sure why your heart detested not having him there to join you and the four others in the banter and dark comedy surrounding your lives now stuck in the castle. Perhaps, it was because of how the Beast was so obviously the one to be most greatly affected by the enchantress’ curse Hyunjin had told you of, or because you had been informed by Changbin of how the Beast had always joined them for meals and participated in group activities… before you came to the castle. Your guilt had to have been the reasoning behind why you were so solemn, if that was the correct feeling, regarding his chosen isolation from his loved ones.

“You’re awful at hiding,” his ringed fingers moved a bishop across the board and you noticed his enchanting brown eyes looking over at where you stood hiding behind a shelf of books. Was there a way for you to disappear through the tiled library floors? If there were such things as an enchantress who could bewitch a palace and the five men who were unfortunate enough to be stuck inside at the time to a life of isolation then couldn’t it be possible? “You are not supposed to be in here.”

It was too late for you to run out of the library, the Beast already knew that you were there, and he was correct - Jeongin and Minho had both reminded you constantly that if he was in the library you should never go inside it. Not for your protection, but rather because of his orders for the men to keep him away from you. 

You walked out from the shelf of Shakespeare books, wanting to remind yourself that the collection of all his works was there and free for you to read without judgement of the villagers you lived with, and went toward the chess board and its occupant. “I know that you have ordered the men to keep me away from here when you are inside,” you sat down at the empty chair opposite him, the partially played with black pieces scattered before you amongst the Beast’s whites. “It only made me want to enter more.”

He huffed with a small grin, which you watched the Beast quickly attempt to hide, “I should have expected that - mystery only makes the heart yearn for more.” He moved a pawn forward and watched you with analytical irises, as though trying to assume what your next move would be. You continued to keep eye contact with the Beast, despite the thumping of your heart and knowing all of his attention was in fact on yours, and moved forward the black bishop and took that exact pawn from him, letting it fall against the board and create a resounding echo.

“I’m glad that you can also see such a thing, Beast,” you took the pawn from the board and awaited his next move. He looked over the board for a quick second, his brown eyes darting from one side to another as he decided on the next move - ultimately picking up one of his knights and successfully taking a rook from your side. The bang of the piece hitting the hollow board echoed through the silence of the room, still swirling in your ears as the Beast took the piece from the board. 

He looked at you with a lazy smirk, you greatly disliked how rapidly it made your heart beat, and sat back in his seat in a subtle show of relaxation. The Beast looked at you with sharp eyes as he waited for your next move, drinking in how you leaned forward in your seat to analyse the board, though you could still see that despair you had found in his eyes that first night you met still drowning his brown eyes. “A Beast, am I?”

You settled on just moving a black pawn forward, knowing the chance of him using a white rook to come and take your piece sitting in your mind. “What else shall I call you then? You have forbidden anyone from telling me anything about you and practically hide from me whenever there is a chance you know I will be around.” It was darkly comedic in your mind, had it been anyone else in your position you were sure that they would be the ones terrified of the Beast and wanting to hide from him whenever the option presented itself. “Would you prefer I refer to you as my kidnapper then?”

“Minho had told me you’d given up on believing this to be a kidnapping,” he leant forward and moved the rook to steal your pawn just like you had assumed he would. You doubted that he had even checked over the board to see if it was a part of your plan, considering the black knight ready for your next move to steal that rook still being there… perhaps he was far too intrigued in your conversation? You too found yourself more focused on the talking, trying to press the Beast subtly for information just like you had been with the others the past week. 

You hummed and pushed over his rook with your knight, watching it fall with a small smile upon your lips, “He would be correct, but it is not as though I have many options on what I shall refer to you with.”

“Even then, the term ‘beast’ is not exactly heartwarming…”

“Then why not tell me your name and we can both be saved the trouble? You already know mine, though once again no one is telling me how.” You had made your own assumptions as to how the Beast and his friends had known your name before you were allowed to share it - such as how it had to do with the curse placed upon the castle. But even then, you would much rather be given definitive answers than just your assumptions.

He sighed and moved his queen to the other side of the board, saving it from your oncoming knight. “As much as I would enjoy hearing you say my name, I cannot do that.” The Beast’s face had fallen at his own words, even those beautiful freckles seeming to flatten at his misery, and his brown eyes slightly welled up with tears. You were unsure of how to respond, to both the words and unshed tears as the Beast indulged himself in memories before you. 

Though all it did do was make you more desperate to learn about the Beast and the curse. Just how did he know your name - had he heard or even spoken it before? Was that what he was thinking of right now, you saying his name? Why would someone want to hear it so badly? Was that why he only said your name a few select times while the others said it as though it was more important than breathing?

You couldn’t imagine yourself ever forgetting someone who looked like the Beast before you, whether he resembled the freckled, blonde-haired man or the, well, beast. No one in the village, both the one you were first born in and your curr… old village where your family was, looked like him. A unique appearance doubled with that of a unique voice. Though you understood that magic was something that broke any rules, you still felt like it would have had to be impossible to forget such a beautiful man.

“Then,” you moved forward your knight and set it up for stealing his rook the next move, “I shall continue to refer to you as the Beast until you find yourself ready to let me know.” Sitting back in your seat, you watched as the tears in his eyes slowly went away and he regained his sense of just where he was and proceeded to look over the board as though nothing had happened. How often did the Beast find himself losing himself in memories? You knew that when you indulge yourself in memories, those both clear and hazy, you took lots of time to regain your sense of self - being able to immediately do so was impossible in your eyes. 

Unless, of course, one does the task more often than they stay in the reality of the world. Which, if your suspicions were correct, you could not blame the Beast for wanting to live in a happy past than live in the pain of reality - you had detested the ending of Romeo and Juliet for such reasons anyway. You would prefer to live in pain for a happy ending than the other way around. 

“And I feel that because I did not ask you why you feel that you ‘cannot’ tell me that I should be told about why sooner.”

He laughed and a small smile grew on his face. “You never were one for subtly, I am glad to see that hasn’t changed.” Your head began to pound as the Beast’s smile grew. Though the smile before you never reached his pretty brown eyes, all you could think of was that bright smile that haunted your dreams every night as you could never quite picture it correctly. 

Your head throbbed and your heart clenched, how was it you had been haunted by the Beast’s smile despite the curses assuming control over your memory? Why was it that he kept saying all these things which made it seem like he remembered you? How could he remember you from a life you had no recollection of ever living?

The Beast fell into your plan, taking your knight with his rook just as you had hoped he would, leaving you free to take his piece with your bishop. Everything seemed familiar; the smile, the library, even the game of chess playing out before you - you could only try and convince yourself that you had never been there for so long, and you were quickly running out of that delusion. A craving grew in your gut, that yearning you always held at the unknown growing so much stronger while your fingers hovered over your bishop piece.

You picked up your bishop and knocked over the rook, letting its resounding echo on the hollow board fill the silence between you both. “Why is it that you are not surprised by a woman knowing how to play chess?” In your village, no one knew how you (yourself included) knew how to read, how to play the role of the ‘man’ in your life. Such as how you had no idea how you suddenly knew how to read overnight, playing chess was something that you were taught seemingly overnight. 

Perhaps another thing for you to blame on the curse until you figured out your answers alone, none of the men nor the Beast were about to provide you with any answers.

“I learnt to stop being surprised by things a long time ago,” a vague answer to suit the misty gaze which grew in his brown eyes. His lazy smile, albeit growing sadder as the seconds passed, remained as he watched you remove the fallen white rook from the board and waited for his move. He analysed the battlefield of chess pieces laid out between you both on the mahogany table, eyes watching each piece as he made his decision for the next move.

You sat back in the chair and straightened the skirt of the dress, one which had been in hanging in the wardrobe of the chambers the Beast claimed was yours. The dress surprisingly fit you well, though was a little tight on your torso, and the colours complimented your appearance well - in your own opinion at least. “Well, thank you for providing such a detailed answer.” He moved the queen piece to sit beside his king, looking up at you with that still lazy, forlorn smile. “I am sure that one of the novels in this library could provide me with more information than you.”

“Do you enjoy reading then?” 

A simple move of a pawn two steps forward, “It is one of my favourite pastimes.”

His eyes stared into yours and with a look you could only describe as hopeful he asked, “How did you learn?” More questions flooded into your mind as the Beast also moved forward his pawn, hopeful brown eyes never leaving you while he did so - but you could only bring yourself to tell him of the truth. You simply did not know how you knew to read, no one ever admitted to having taught you and you certainly were unable to be gifted with education like the men in your village. 

The hopeful expression and the brown eyes full of yearning fell, sorrow and dismay taking over his features. It hurt you to see the hurt cast over him, but you buried that down in your gut and instead moved your queen to the corner of the board.

The Beast moved that same pawn forward again, “May I ask who your favourite author is?”

“Shakespeare.”

You took his bishop with your knight, “A lady of taste I see,” the sad yet hopeful smile returned slowly to his face at your answer. His ringed hands knocked over your knight with his queen, letting the piece fall as his smile grew. “He too is my favourite author, though I will admit that it has been a long time since I could bring myself to read his works.” You were desperate to ask him why, but you bit your lip and watched as the Beast looked at you with those enchanting eyes. “What is your favourite story of his?”

With a hum of acknowledgement, you slid the bishop back to where your king stood. “That is a rather heavy question to ask someone - all of Shakespeare’s works that I have read contain both flaws and strengths. Though I can say that the original play of Romeo and Juliet is one I wholeheartedly detest for its ending,” all you wished for was the copy of the play which had been gifted with a new ending someone had written for you.

His smile continued to grow at your words. “It is a tragedy for a reason, you couldn’t have been expecting the ending to be satisfying. The pair were never destined to end up together despite the love they held for one another.” A weird sense of familiarity once again washed over you, you were sure that you had held a very similar conversation to the current one playing out before you. “Were you expecting otherwise?”

“Not at all, I am simply not a fan of horrible endings,” the Beast stole the bishop from in front of your king, “I am the type to prefer a life of pain for a happy ending than live in bliss to have it all taken away from me.”

The Beast nodded, “That is a fair opinion to hold.” He took that bishop in his ringed fingers and lazily smirked at you, your mind throbbing at the sight before he knocked over your king. The resounding thud played through your ears and you focused back on the game before you rather than the memory of your ending for Romeo and Juliet. “Checkmate.”

“The Red Moon festival is next week, correct?”

The Beast was sat on the opposite end of the table, his enchanting brown eyes staring you down while Changbin repeated his question for the second time - all of which went ignored by you, far too preoccupied with staring right back at the beast before you. The moonlight was shining through the large windows of the dining room and illuminating the dark fur of the Beast’s animalistic form, complimenting the warm glow of the numerous candles you and Jeongin had lit before the dinner.

It was the first dinner he had spent with the rest of you since you had first become stuck with them in the castle, one week and two days earlier. You had hoped he would have joined earlier, especially after your unspoken agreement of peace after the chess game two days prior, but he had still been requesting for Jeongin to take his meals to his chambers. You were unsure of what had convinced the Beast to join you all for the dinner tonight, but you decided it would be best to not risk his leaving by questioning him aloud.

So, you settled for having a staring battle with each other over the long castle table, while the four other men remained clueless to your silent challenge of wits. Or perhaps they were aware and simply did not question it because they too didn’t want the Beast to spend another night alone in his chambers. You hadn’t bothered to try and check with them, the staring between you and the Beast was far more intriguing in your heart.

Changbin grumbled and clicked his fingers in front of you, making your staring snap to him while you tried not to scream about how it meant you had lost the contest of wills between you and the Beast. “The Red Moon festival is next week, correct?” He repeated to you, and you nodded while looking down at the grand spread of food that Minho had prepared for you all.

“Yes, it is,” you had plans to be with Chan and Seungmin through the entire festival, as you always had been doing since you were children. Whether it involved the three of you hanging around Chan’s mother and annoying her with your antics or taking part in the traditions of the village - you three were always together for the celebrations.

Though not anymore.

Changbin turned to the others and turned his head upward with a grin, “Does anyone else plan to partake in the festivities or are we having another year of sulking around this godforsaken castle?”

The annual Red Moon festival was something that the small town celebrated as much as one could. There were activities for the children to partake in, dances for the others to celebrate as well as constant little stands for the people to share foods with everyone - your personal favourite was the baker’s dessert stand. Chan would always take you to it during the festival and purchase five macaroons for you both to share while Seungmin would help his parents sell their food to the plethora of tourists who would come to your small village for the festival.

“I was planning to see Jisung,” your head snapped toward Minho in shock. There was only a single man in the village named Jisung, the future owner of Han’s Apothecary and one of the only people who would dare be seen with you in public. You were not the greatest of friends but you shared many nice memories with him from your shared childhoods.

“Wha-”

Hyunjin interrupted your sentence as he placed some more meat upon his plate, “Of course, you are Minho, need to make sure he hasn’t replaced you as his best friend after all these years?”

“Best frie-”

“You say that as if you’re not going to be off playing with that blasted horse - what was its name again?”

“His name is Kkami and if you talk about him like that again!”

“Kkami-”

Jeongin slammed his hands on the table and everyone, well Minho and Hyunjin, stopped their bickering - everyone, including yourself, froze at his actions while the Beast continued to watch you with, what you had to assume, was a smile. A large toothy grin presented opposite you. “None of you quite realise just who is sitting with us, do you?”

Both Minho and Hyunjin turned to you, with the former’s expression showing off his lack of care that he had been talking about something which you were sure to be impossible (especially after your last escape attempt) while Hyunjin just looked awkward at the predicament.

Minho shook his head and took another bite of the, admittedly delicious, meal. “She needs to know these things,” the Beast turned away from you, the first time since he had sat down at the table, and you felt wrong without his brown eyes watching you. Your heart had been smothered in his attention so having it gone only made you yearn for more, “especially since she’s stuck here now.”

“That is enough Minho.”

“You must be joking! She’s stuck here now and we can’t do anything to stop it,” Minho scoffed, “look at yourself! You’re a beast because of that bitch and yet you’re still trying to protect her from learning the truth!”

“Minho!”

The Beast and Minho stared wildly at one another - when it had been you and the Beast he did stare at you, yes, but nowhere near with as much frustration. As much fury as what he directed toward his friend. Changbin, who was still sitting beside you, nudged your seat with his hand and slowly moved his seat to slide backwards, silently asking you to follow his actions. Which you did… if one of their friends was wanting to leave then you would of course follow his choice.

Minho stood up abruptly from his chair and held his arms on the dining table, leaning forward to glare down at the giant beast, whose snout was still tilted high and an obviously clenched jaw of sharp teeth. “We could be saved from all of this, all you need to do is fucking talk!”

“Not if it means she is still in danger!”

“Get over yourself, Felix!” So, that was the Beast’s name… Felix. You felt it suited his sunshine human appearance quite well, even his beastly self was adorable when not glaring as though he was plotting the murder of the shouting man. It felt sweet on your tongue when you whispered his name to yourself, a sweet sense of familiarity tingling your tongue and creating a pounding in your head at the knowledge. “Just telling her the truth about why we’re stuck here, why you got turned into an animal, will not mean death!”

Felix himself stood up to mimic Minho, though his stance was much larger considering the towering height and muscle of his beast form. If it had been you he was glaring at with such fury, you would have cowered under his stare or run away with tears in your eyes - even now, you weren’t under his gaze and yet you were preparing to run with Changbin to protect you.

He went right up to Minho and stood nearly chest to chest with the man, “I told you that we wouldn’t be putting her at risk. I don’t care if she hates me for it, I need to know that she is safe.”

Minho chuckled and gestured with his head to where you and Changbin stood, at the doors of the dining room with Jeongin quickly on his way - though he had prioritised grabbing some bread for the three of you instead of immediately leaving. “Well, that’s noble of you Felix, because right now she’s terrified of you.”

Perhaps choosing to sneak into Felix’s room in the middle of the night, after two days of him ignoring everyone in the castle, was not your finest idea. And yet, you found yourself walking through the west wing of the castle, your heart taking over your mind and corrupting it with thoughts of just wanting to see if the beast was okay.

The doors to his chambers were comedically large, a dirty scarlet red colour that had faded after many years, and lots of marks against the wood. Whether they were claw marks or even some etchings in the wood of initials. Even if you hadn’t been escorted from the chambers over a week prior, you would still assume the haunting doors to belong to Felix’s room.

You pulled the two doors open by their handles and once again you were looking into the personal space of the Beast Felix - only this time he had no idea that you were there. 

All the walls of the chambers were cast in the darkness from unlit candles and drawn curtains over any windows that may be. The only glass showing, paired along with the only curtain left open, had an associated balcony and provided a place to watch over the entire forest. When you walked past that glass door and noticed a warm light emanating from far away… your village.

Had they noticed you were gone? You knew that Chan, Seungmin, your family and perhaps even Jisung had noticed you weren’t around in the village - but would they try and find you? Would they collect the other townspeople to save you from the cursed palace? Or would they end up trapped there too, you would hate it if they ended up stuck here beside you.

Felix was asleep in his large four-poster bed, his hulking furry body laid under a knitted blanket - the sight of the blanket only reminded you of your mother. She loved to knit, whether it was clothing, toys for kids or, her personal favourite, blankets. You still had one on your bed in the little cottage, and you knew that your friends also had one that she had made for them.

You took a step toward the large bed, the castle floor creaking under your slipper and subsequently causing you to regret every decision you had made that lead you to his chambers. You had seen what Felix looked like when he was angry, you weren’t a fan of what you had seen, and the last thing you wanted was for him to start screaming at you. Someone who couldn’t even have the defence of remembering knowing him before the curse, unlike the four other men who still did. 

So, you braced yourself for the screaming of a beast who had been rudely awoken by someone sneaking into his chambers.

Instead,  when Felix opened his eyes - he let out a scream and proceeded to pull the blanket over his chest, as though he were naked. Which, he technically was, you realised with a burning sensation across your cheeks, but the fur barely allowed anyone to look. Not that you wanted to, but rather just a simple fact.

He cleared his throat after realising that it was you standing before him, though still a ways away from the bed he lay in, and you kept your head turned away to provide him with some modesty. The painting Hyunjin had told you he’d painted was still hanging on the stone wall, still covered in the tarp to prevent anyone from watching it and that single rose under its glass dome was still placed atop the table below it. The rose itself was emitting a slight glow, had you not been witness to magic the previous week you were sure that your eyes would appear to bulge out of your head.

Jeongin had mentioned the day prior that the enchantress, still refusing to break Felix’s rules of completely letting you know of the truth, had tied the curse to a flower - to the rose. He had briefly explained that once the final petal of the rose falls, the curse would be permanent and they would be forever destined to stay alone in the castle.

When you had asked if there was a way to stop the curse, to save you all, he merely looked away and said ‘Yes,’ before walking away. While you would have chased him for more answers, you couldn’t lose the only one who told you about the situation you accidentally found yourself in and he looked sick at the mere thought of the solution.

“What are you doing in here?” His voice was deeper than you had ever heard it before, most likely from his previous sleeping state. You looked away from the glowing rose and back to Felix, who was rubbing sleep from his eye yet refusing to stop watching you. You felt your heart flutter slightly at how he seemed to not entirely care that you had interrupted his sleep, would anyone else get away with that or just you?

You cleared your throat and walked toward his bed, doing your best to not seem as intimidated (and flustered) as you were. “You’ve been avoiding everyone these past two days,” hesitantly, you sat down on the edge of his bed, narrowly missing Felix’s feet - you still weren’t sure if you should refer to them as paws when he was in his beast form - while he watched you do so with wide eyes. “Your friends are hurting, Felix.”

His eyes snapped from your seated position to look you deep in the eyes, the sorrow once again returning, though you felt it was from your audible use of his name. He had said that he enjoyed hearing when you said it, though he was the only one of you both to remember such times. At least from your assumptions that were the case, not even Minho was telling you anything despite his objections to Felix’s rule.

“My friends have been blatantly ignoring my order,” he grumbled and crossed his giant furry arms over his chest. 

You wanted to roll your eyes at Felix’s immaturity, but instead, you moved slightly forward on the bed - successfully making Felix go back to staring at you with wide eyes. “They just want to stop the curse affecting all of us,” and you were sure it was affecting the palace too. From the numerous little hints dropped by Jeongin and Minho as well as your assumption regarding how a village could never notice such a large castle beforehand, it wasn’t that hard a solution to come across. “Just from what I have witnessed they want to see their loved ones again, have them know who they are.”

“And I don’t? Do you not think it pains me that I cannot step a single foot outside of this castle to try and find my parents? That seeing my friends only be able to leave one night a year, and then not even being able to have their families recognise them if they do.” Why was it that the enchantress gave Felix such different rules for his curse? What just was her problem with him - he had seemed like a perfectly fine person when you actually talked with one another! “I want to have this curse end too, now more than ever, but I cannot risk the lives of anyone here. Much less you.”

Your heart cried at his words, both in despair for what Felix admitted to going through and in yearning for him to want to state his want to protect you once again. “How can I be protected if I do not know the truth about what is going on, Felix? I know very little and that will only cause me to be further at risk of getting hurt - do you not remember that first night I was here? I could have been greatly injured from the impact of the barrier!”

“I know that,” his voice was quiet and Felix looked down at his lap. You moved closer to him again, placing a comforting hand upon his giant leg to show that you were there to listen to him - though, your action made Felix only shiver as he stared down your hand. “I just cannot have you hating him because I told you the truth.”

You furrowed your eyebrows and looked into the sad brown eyes that longingly watched you. “Who is this he that I may hate because of your telling the truth? Because unless he is the one to have done this to you, which I know is not true because you all spoke of the enchantress as a woman, then I will not hate anyone.”

“I know that too, I only fear that you will react with hatred because he is one of the only people to benefit from the curse.”

With a tense jaw, you tried your best to smile to reassure the shaking Felix that it was okay to tell you just what had happened to him and the others in the past. From how much Felix was trying to deflect from telling you about just who he was, you felt as though he had to have been one of the few tolerable men in the village - only you weren’t entirely sure who. None of them were happy, none of whom seemed to have benefitted from having a woman place a curse on a group of friends to forever be alone. “Please, Felix, tell me who he is?”

His eyes were shining through a pool of unshed tears, and he looked away from you to the balcony door to look at the night sky and its many stars. “Bang Chan.”

“Chan is the one who is benefitting from this curse?” The last you had seen him, he was trying to propose to you so that the village women would leave him alone and that he would be prevented an excuse to no longer be the constant first call whenever something was heading to the village. Chan was a tired man whose only happiness came from his mother and his friends - Chan who would buy you five macaroons to share from the town baker because he knew they were your favourite food. How could he be involved with such malicious things? “Does he know about it or is he as oblivious as the rest of my village?”

Felix shrugged his shoulders. “I cannot say for certain whether he does or doesn’t - all I know is that it was his mother who created the curse.”

You felt as though you had choked on the air in your lungs at the admittance of who the enchantress was. She was one of the nicest women in the village, one of the only ones who did not judge you for your ‘manly’ personality and he always took care of you and your sister when your father was travelling and your mother was ill. You would have believed Chan to be involved in the curse over her! 

At least you knew why Felix had been so hesitant to inform you of information regarding the curse, why he had ordered the others to not tell you anything - he knew you would barely believe it. But, if that was the case, then Felix wasn’t aware of just how open-minded you had grown since first finding the castle, though you were sure that anyone who witnessed a beast turn into a man at the rise of the sun then they too would become more tolerant of magical things.

So, you took a deep breath with your eyes closed to bury that feeling of disbelief and pain in your gut, there were multiple sides to a single story were there not? “Why did she do such a thing, Felix?”

His eyes continued to well up in tears as Felix got caught in his memories once again, it seemed that was all he did since becoming the beast. You reached up and placed a hand on his cheek, satisfying one of your more mundane questions of whether his fur was soft (it was) or not, and caused him to look at you properly through his unshed tears.

“It was only meant to be me in the castle, but Changbin, Minho, Hyunjin and Jeongin were all inside the ballroom with me when she came. You, as well as Seungmin, Jisung and Chan, were also meant to come but she had sent you off on some stupid chore to keep you away from the castle.” This explained why the curse was more prevalent on Felix, with him being the only one to transform bodies every night, and why the only parts which affected the four were the wards on the castle. The very wards which affected you from leaving too. “She had been so angry at me, didn’t even realise that they were in the room as well, and was screaming about how I had ruined her plans. She wanted me to suffer because I had intruded on Chan and, well, you.”

“Oh, Felix…”

“She wanted me to live a life cursed as a monster, a life of solitude, but Minho tried to attack her before she could finish the curse. It’s why I am only this,” he gestured to his form as the beast, sniffing as more memories rolled through his brown eyes. For a man who wore his heart on his sleeve, though you weren’t sure how you had known so, Felix did hide many of his thoughts and emotions, “this thing, at night. She escaped before we could do anything to stop her and she ended up cursing the palace as a whole.”

You nodded along with his words as though getting the dump of information so quickly was not going to overload your mind, surprising it hadn’t completely cried out in agony at the answers you were getting. “Is that why no one in the village even knows this palace exists? That there was a whole kingdom we belonged to?”

“Yes, originally the whole village was one of many that belonged to my parent’s kingdom, but after the curse, the whole kingdom was forgotten from the world - to where everyone even moves around the kingdom when travelling past on horseback. The only reason your father found his way here was from the fear he had of the wolves around him.” Felix slid out from under the knitted blanket, from the information he had told you, you found it safe to assume that it was one of the ones your mother enjoyed making for people. “Though when she cursed the kingdom, she hadn’t realised that it was the night of the Red Moon, leaving my friends free to travel out during the festival. Only if they are unable to be back in the palace by sunrise then they will die. I cannot, I was cursed to remain here forever.”

You followed Felix to where he stood in front of the glowing rose and the covered painting, a luminescent petal slowly falling to the table and making Felix sigh. “So, would I be able to go home on the Red Moon festival then?”

“Only for the night I’m afraid, there is no promise that it will be any different to you because you weren’t in the castle originally.” He looked up at the sheet, you were sure he was imagining the painting behind it rather than the dirty cloth.

“And how is it that my father could leave?”

“Like I said that night, your father is not who she wants - you are.” He scoffed darkly and looked over you, you could see the malicious glint in his eyes at the irony of your situation. “She wanted then, and I’m sure she still does, for Chan to marry you. Not because of happiness or anything, but because she wants the village to be safe from others.”

You scoffed just as he did, eyebrows once again furrowing. “And how exactly will my marriage to Chan ensure the best for our village? All it would do is leave us both unhappy!”

“But he is the strongest man in the village and you are the smartest woman, it makes logical sense,” Felix watched the rose once again, solemn eyes watching the fallen petal and how its glow slowly dissipated. “And a mother always wants what is best for her son, at least that is what she told me that night.”

Though you had been gifted with information regarding just what had happened to Felix and the four friends you had surprisingly made in your thirteen days trapped in the castle, you still found more questions colliding in your mind with their urgent need for answers. “But why? We were only friends, correct?” He looked over at you with a sad gaze, shaking his head slowly. “We were more than friends then?”

“I loved you. Well, loved wouldn’t be the correct word to describe it - for I still do and most likely always will love you more than I ever could myself. From when I first saw you walking in the village bookshop but being unable to read any of the titles, to when I saw you and Seungmin running along the streets together during the first Red Moon festival you were in town.” 

You could remember both times, though they were slightly hazy from age, and your head throbbed in agony as you tried to picture if Felix was there. That stupid curse had more power than you had realised, though you had thought you were living with those headaches since birth. 

“All you wanted to do was read, and so I taught you how to. I made sure you read Shakespeare because he was my favourite and I wanted to share that with you. Then, because you had wanted to make it up to me, you taught me to play the piano and now it is a haunting activity that I would love to do but could never make myself because I get haunted by thoughts of you.”

That was why you knew to read, why you couldn’t remember - a curse that took away memories of someone who wanted you to be happy. You weren’t sure whether to laugh or cry at the realisation.

“You had shown me the beauty of roses when we helped your father build the bridge over the little river from your family cottage to the kingdom. And when I pricked myself immediately on a thorn, you took care of it instantly and even kissed it better. Then when you finally read Romeo and Juliet, you rode to the palace simply to throw the book at me because I had told you how it was one of my favourites. So, for your birthday that year, I wrote a new ending for you and a note in the beginning for your eyes only… I still do that. Nearly all the books in the castle library have words I had wished to tell you since I became the beast and right now, all I want to do is show you so that I can see your eyes dance over the page. You always loved to see my notes for you.”

You were unsure if you should interrupt his speech by informing him that you still had many of the Shakespeare books with inscriptions all for you written on the front page. That your favourite book was the version of Romeo and Juliet that he had written for you, the original can rot to death in your opinion, and you would often read it during the nights you couldn’t sleep. That all the years he had lived alone in the castle and reminiscing on memories of when his parents knew who he was and all of his friends would spend their time with him, you were still trying to find the person who wrote those notes and whose smile haunted your dreams.

And you found them both in the one beast before you, the beast who was still pouring his heart out as though there would be no other time for him to do so.

“So, yes, we were more than friends. I was going to tell you everything that night, under the red moon because it has always been your favourite time of year, but the curse had happened before I could get the chance. I never thought I would ever be able to see you again, to be able to tell you of these things that have haunted me since that fateful night five years ago, but here we are.” Felix walked away from the painting and the rose, his claw dragged the dirty sheet from the painting and revealed two people elegantly dancing together. The inscription of your name and Prince Lee Felix placed in gold along the frame.

“Felix,” your voice was soft as you placed a hand on his shoulder, a hard task considering his giant frame when in the beast form, “how do we stop the curse?”

He sighed and rested his large head on top of your hand, practically shaking in the slight contact that you provided him. “I’d have to kill her.”

The Red Moon was bright above you, casting a rose-coloured glow upon the forest and illuminating the still-falling snow. The four had left the second the moon had settled in the sky, practically cheering the second they had passed the ivy-covered gates, while you elected to stay at the palace with Felix. Both to keep him occupied and because you knew that if you went back for one night you would never want to leave them again, even if it did mean death.

You were on the castle grounds, Felix in his usual beast form standing beside you and shivering from the cold of the falling snow, making a giant snowman together. You had felt horrible about not being able to remember life with Felix, while he was haunted by it, so you had made it your mission that night in his chambers to try and create more memories together that Mrs Bang would be unable to make you forget.

He had kept telling you that it wasn’t necessary, that he would rather remember the love than live in ignorance toward it - but all that did was make you more determined to create memories for you to also have. There had been no plans for anyone in the castle to try and stop the curse afflicting you all, but from the more steady speed of petals falling from the enchanted rose it was getting more necessary for you all to come up with one.

“Top hat or scarf?”

“My love, it’s summer.”

You rolled your eyes, “And yet all it does is snow here, now tell me… top hat or scarf?” It was an important question, you couldn’t have the poor snowman freezing in the summer snow, could you? 

Felix playfully tapped a clawed finger against his snout, a crooked head mimicking that of people in deep thought. He tapped that same finger three more times before suddenly gasping as though he had figured out the best solution for the very pressing matter of your snowman’s clothing. “A top hat and a scarf.”

You smiled playfully, “You have a brilliant mind, Beast.”

“I thought that we had moved past that name you had for me? It still is not the most heart-clenching thing for one to hear.” Felix’s slight smile, though it was tense from his beast form, grew as he walked up to you to hug you from behind. You had been surprised at first, tensing up in his hold, then quickly relaxed and fell into the comfort - since he had told you the truth regarding the curse, Felix had become very much obsessed with touching you. The first time that he did hug you, you had nearly slapped him in shock, but you had gotten used to the surprise hugs. “I much prefer to hear you say my name.”

You rolled your eyes and rested your head on Felix’s chest, “I know that you do, but seeing your absolute love for my nickname for you, how could I not want to call you that every time we see each other?”

“If you enjoy it so much, then I shall slowly learn to love it as much as I lov-”

Your little peaceful bubble of only you and Felix - a bubble where no curses were affecting your memory and affecting his being - was interrupted by the iron gates opening to reveal six familiar men riding on horseback, one of which being a scared-looking Seungmin atop Kkami. Then there was Minho and Jisung sharing one horse, as well as Hyunjin, Changbin and Jeongin all atop their horses.

However, they all shared the same scared and worried expression as Seungmin.

Felix continued to hug you as the six rode up to you both, you had partially been expecting him to yell at the four for bringing Jisung and Seungmin into the castle ground but the rules were perhaps different on the night of the Red Moon. “What’s wrong?” His deep voice asked them all from behind you, arms slightly tightening around your waist as they all began stammering an explanation.

“There’s a mob!” Minho finally shouted, and you felt Felix tense behind you as your eyes widened at his words. “Her father recognised Changbin and I - then that devil woman started a mob to come here a slay ‘the beast’. These two were the only ones who believed us.”

“Where’s Chan?” You were unsure if your question came across as such, the panic building in your mind and sinking in your body doing too much for you to realise. Why wasn’t he there with them? Was he alright - or did he truly know about the curse his mother had created? 

Jeongin looked away from you as he quickly dismounted from his horse, “He stuck with his mother.” You felt like bursting out in tears at his words, Chan had to have known about the truth then. Was anything real? You had been friends according to Felix, but still, how could you be certain that he wasn’t using your lack of memory against you? “But, he did seem hesitant to do so. I think he just wants what’s best for you.”

“He always has,” you pushed yourself away from Felix’s warmth and back into the falling snow, the weather creating a slight halo around your hooded head. “Now come on we need to prepare for battle, it seems.”

The snow that always fell around the castle had turned into a storm of thunder and rain. It was dangerous for anyone to be outside, so when you had seen Felix and Chan move to the roof of the deteriorating castle with his mother following suit, you were desperate to try and stop them. Before either of them got hurt even more because of her and the dreaded curse. 

But first, you needed to get out of the embrace of your father and sister’s husband as they tried to drag you out of the castle and back to the village. “You don’t understand!” You screamed at them while they continued to pull you away from the staircase to the roof. “Let me go!”

You were kicking at the two and punching them whenever you were able to get your wrists free, but they were too strong in their united force to ‘protect’ you. Though this was not a protection in your eyes, rather it was a kidnapping. “Darling, we need to get you home and safe,” your father whispered while you cried out for help from any of your friends.

“I won’t be safe, father! I need to help him!”

“That thing is a beast!” Your sister’s husband regarded. Usually, you were a fan of his, he had always treated your sister with the respect and love that she deserved, but as of that moment you would have wished to simply punch his head in. “It does not need your or anyone’s help.”

You kicked at them both once again, “He does! They’ll kill him!”

“Which is what it deserves.”

You called out for help once again, receiving a shout of your name from Minho as he ran into the attic space of the castle, you could just picture his eyes turning into that glare directed at the two men who attempted to carry you away. Your father had paused when Minho appeared, muttering to your sister’s husband about how Minho was one of the men who worked for the beast.

Who aided in Felix’s supposed kidnapping of you.

“I would like to apologise for my future actions now,” you heard Minho mutter. Though before you, or the two men holding you, could think of what he meant - Minho’s fist collided with your brother-in-law’s cheek, making the man let go and your father freeze up. 

You took the opportunity that Minho gave you, worming from your still-shocked father and sprinting up the stairs that accessed the roof of the castle. Rain soaked through your cape and the dress underneath it while thunder shook the building, and yourself, with its echoes. You could hear Felix and Chan fighting, the unfamiliar sound of sword hitting against sword only making the sinking feeling of something horrible happening sink lower. 

The two were fighting against the edge of the roof, each making lunges to try and stab the other, while Mrs Bang watched them both from the top of the roof, her hands holding onto a piece of railing. She had a dark look in her eyes and an evil smirk at the scene playing out before her, as though it was not her son that she was wagering a life with. It made your stomach churn to see such maliciousness in a single person.

You called out to Felix, subsequently gaining the attention of all three roof dwellers - where Felix was worried, Chan was shocked and his mother was glaring at you as though you had interrupted her favourite play. Felix took the opportunity of Chan’s surprise to push him down, a grunt leaving your friend as his back hit the slippery roof tiles, and he rushed over toward you.

Only, Mrs Bang did as well.

Furry hands grasped your cheeks as Felix checked you over for any wounds, those enchanting brown eyes making your body tingle with warmth despite the freezing storm playing out around you both. Snow had joined in with the storm, the white blankets already beginning to cover the dead grass of the palace grounds, and it intermingled with the rain to make you shiver before Felix’s eyes.

He pulled the black cape further around you to try and keep your skin from the cold weather, pulling the hood up to cover your cold ears, and he tightened the material to keep it there. “Aren’t you two adorable?” Her tone was so cold, nothing like you had ever heard Mrs Bang talk with before - her voice laced with venom and disdain. “But I warned you about this, did I not Felix? I told you what would happen if this idiotic girl was to learn of the truth!”

You felt Felix clench his fists, while you stood there trying to keep yourself from arguing with the witch - she had meant for you to become engaged to her son based on your intellect. “You won’t be doing anything to her,” he growled.

“That is correct, your highness, I won’t be doing anything.” The witch grinned like the devil, before screaming as loud as her lungs could allow. Crying that you were in cahoots with the beast, that you were to be killed just as he was. “They’ve got my son! Please come save me!”

Your fury built in waves, “How dare you use Chan in your games! He doesn’t even know of the curses, does he?”

Mrs Bang rolled her eyes, stopping her screaming for a single second to answer you. “Of course, he doesn’t! Chan is far too nice for the cutthroat world we live in - I have to protect him.” And with that, she returned to her crying for help from one of the cursed villagers who did not know any better than to believe her, unfortunately, you knew that if you were in their place you would listen to her just the same.

It was your father who answered Mrs Bang’s calls for help first, you had to assume that your brother-in-law was far too occupied with fighting off Minho, and his doubtful eyes met yours. You wanted to cry out for him to believe you, but once again, you understood how much easier it was to believe Mrs Bang over you. 

His internal conflict was reflected in his eyes as they jumped from Felix to yourself - why was it he could not remember how Felix had saved his life back when he had been attacked by wolves? The red light of the moon reflected against the rain-covered roof tiles, as well as making the malicious look upon Mrs Bang’s face that much more terrifying.

“Father, I promise you that Felix is not dangerous!”

Your father looked over at where Chan still lay, his eyes still shut from the force of Felix pushing him against the roof and knocking him out. Mrs Bang, ever the actress, cried out when he did so, claiming for Felix to have murdered her son right before her - even though it was obvious to everyone there that he was still breathing. 

He still did not move from the top of the staircase, instead, watching everyone as though they were all a part of the play and he was the audience. Of course, he didn’t know who to believe; his daughter who had been ‘kidnapped’ for two weeks and therefore could have been manipulated or the woman who screamed for your death along with the beast’s. 

There was a sword grasped in his hand, and you could see your father constantly readjusting his grip on the handle of it - something he always did when in thought. Though you could only remember him doing so with the tools he used for making the bridge, when he was thinking about the small details he wanted to integrate into the bridge, never something so serious as involving a human life. His daughter’s life.

“Please, father,” you cried, rain sliding down your face as the snow collected upon your hooded head. You tried to take a step forward, but Felix held you tightly so that you wouldn’t move - a precaution considering just who stood between you and your father. “You know me!”

“I do, darling, but look at what it is you’re protecting! It’s a monster!”

“He is my friend! More than that, but because of her none of us can remember him!” you shouted, “We are standing in a giant castle, father, how could no one ever notice this place before? The entire village has been told tales of wolves and creatures in the forest, but who was the one to spread these stories? Her!”

While there were wolves in the forest, the likelihood was rare that one was to ever come across it, Felix had told you. Considering the previous constant travelling between the kingdom and the village, wolves and other animals tended to avoid certain areas of the forest - and yet the entire town was always terrified of something trying to take them away in the night.

“He saved your life father! You could have died had it not been for Felix!”

“He kidnapped you!”

“It may have seemed that way, but I promise you father he was protecting me. I tried to escape almost instantly, you should have expected that father, but I nearly died from Mrs Bang’s curse upon the castle!” The wind whipped your hair despite the black hood covering most of its access, and you felt more rain tangle together with your salty tears. Felix continued to hold your waist, but you pushed away from him and walked toward your father. “She has done all of this! Before she seemed happy to watch Felix and her son fight along the edge of the roof!”

Mrs Bang snapped, stealing the sword from your father and lunging it toward you. “That is enough! I wanted my son to be happy - and for some reason, he felt that you were going to do so - but I will not tolerate this any longer!” You moved to the side to try and avoid her sword, and while you had managed to protect part of your body, you were too slow and the blade of the sword went through the right of your torso. “I will handle this myself from now on.”

You collapsed to the wet ground of the flat portion of the roof, your father running over to you while Felix cried out in agony - more than you had. Blood began to stain through the fabric of the gown you wore, and you had barely a second to process any of it before Mrs Bang was yanking the sword from your side and going for Felix. You leaned your falling head to the side, the pain burning fire through the right side of your body, and tried to see what was happening.

There was a fight between Mrs Bang and Felix, the witch proving to be a rather great swordsman while Felix was too caught in emotions to process anything properly. He most likely blamed himself, which was not true at all - he had been subtle with his hints to stay beside him but you did not listen, once again.

You doubted there would be another time for you to learn from your mistake.

Chan grunted from the slanted rooftop, pushing himself up slowly while the two continued to clash blades against each other, none even realising that Chan was awake. You wanted to call out to him, but once you had opened your mouth to do so, you ended up coughing on blood, which made your father call out for help. 

The slow man walked over to where you were lying on the ground, completely ignoring the battle as Felix managed to corner his mother against the edge of the roof. Chan fell to his knees beside you, the grazes of a sword against his face already beginning to leave scars along his eyebrows and nose. “Did she do those things?”

“You had no idea,” more coughing of blood stopped your sentence, the blood ending up landing on Chan’s knees and staining his pants. Some part of your heart was happy to learn he had no idea about it all, to know one of your best friends wasn’t some malicious person, and it made you softly smile despite the grim situation you were in. “She took away everyone’s memories of Felix and his, our, friends.”

Chan sighed and ran a hand through his messed-up hair, you were sure that any of the village women would have loved to witness him do such a thing. You hoped that he would find a way to be happy in his life, hopefully, he would find a way to be given a break from fighting invisible demons that plagued your town. You just wanted him to be happy - wanted everyone you loved to be happy.

Felix lunged his sword forward, landing it right in the centre of Mrs Bang’s chest making her choke in surprise. He proceeded to pull the sword from her chest and used the force to push her from the slippery roof of the castle, watching in fury as she fell down and onto the snow-covered castle grounds - Felix had killed his mother right before her son.

Though he didn’t seem to care, instead he ran over to you while the red moon made his body seem like it was glowing a gorgeous scarlet. Felix cradled your face in his slowly shrinking hands, watching you with those teary brown eyes as you attempted to smile at him. “I’m sorry,” you choked.

“I got to see you again.” That painful headache that always came when you tried to recall hazy memories settled into the forefront of your mind - and from a glance at your father and Chan, they too were in the same boat. “For that, there is nothing to apologise for.”

The furry head and its connected snout shrunk to the freckled face that you knew as Felix’s true self, messy blonde hair and all. He seemed to have not even processed the change, though the bright red glow from the moon was still illuminating him more than anyone else, far too occupied with watching you bleed before him. Felix’s hands, his human hands, stroked your cheek as you nestled your face in his lap.

All at once, that headache built up to ultimately disappear, and your mind was invaded with the stolen memories finally returning. The times when Mr Kang would read to you all as children, there you sat between Felix and Hyunjin and listening intently. That day when you and your father were working on the bridge and you invited Felix to help you plant your favourite flowers around the edges, and the subsequent injury that he obtained from the thorns. You both danced together at the final Red Moon festival before the curse - all of it was back.

And, slowly before you, the storm of rain and snow dissipated into the night. For the first time since the curse happened, the rising sun shone freely on the palace and filled it with warmth.

You walked through the village, humming peacefully to yourself with your head stuck in your copy of Romeo and Juliet. The villagers all bid their morning hellos to one another as you walked, your eyes far too preoccupied with the handwritten ending that always warmed your heart far more than the original. No longer did it end in the tragic double suicide that had caused you such heartache upon first reading it. Instead, the story ended with Romeo being gravely injured but Juliet saving him. It had a magical ending of true love’s kiss, which made you cringe, though you loved the ending and what it meant far more than anything else. It wasn’t every day someone would rewrite the ending of a play for you, purely because it made you cry.

Jisung, Seungmin and Minho waved to you, the pair preparing the town apothecary for the day. You looked up from your book and smiled at them all, fingers dancing in a weak wave to acknowledge them. Minho and Jisung had always been so close since you were all children running around the town and wreaking havoc for everyone, it was no surprise they would go to business with one another. Though, when Seungmin joined in, it shocked you all, only he did confide in you that it was purely to get cheaper products. You were sure that they both knew of his dastardly plan, but they either didn’t care or had their own plan of revenge. 

You would have to remember to wish Seungmin luck if it were the second.

Next were Hyunjin and Kkami - who you begrudgingly returned to him. He combed through his mane, singing a soft tune to keep Kkami calm, as well as serenade the three women who would follow Chan around like puppies. Chan, himself, was also with Hyunjin, though tending to his horse Berry instead. You waved to them all as you walked past, the woman ignoring you while the men smiled at your passing form. Changbin and Jeongin were together beside the singing Hyunjin, the two hopelessly attempting to flirt with the women and accidentally stumbling over one another. You giggled at the two, noticing that the women seemed to (for some reason) hang on to their words despite the clumsiness.

You adored your friends. Though they annoyed you to no end, you were so thankful to finally have them back in your life. To have them all back in your life. And yet, they were not who you were wanting to see on your morning trip to the village. 

You closed your book and placed it inside your satchel, walking alone on the village road and admiring while the townsfolk busied themselves around you. Bakers gestured plates filled with treats toward you, mothers hurried past you with their children and fathers all boasted to one another about their latest hunt. It was not different to the life you had all lived before, still just as vacant and lifeless despite the hurried nature.

Though, you felt so much more alive with your mind fully back. Your body, while still recovering from the wounds of that night, felt light with every step and your heart was pumping in a romantic melody. Let the people all look in distaste because you had been taught the matters of men, they never stopped you before, and they certainly would now. Because, this time, you had the one who had taught you all those things in the first place.

Prince Lee Felix.

He stood outside the library, smiling at passersby who all whispered and gossiped over the royal walking through town like a simpleton. You wanted to admire him for a moment, though he quickly turned to face you with those enchanting brown eyes, ruining your plans. He smiled, wide and bright, running up to you and embracing you in a tight hug which you eagerly returned. 

“You took far too long to meet me, my love.”

You giggled and rolled your eyes, removing yourself from his hug and kissing his cheek. “You waited five years for me, surely you can wait five minutes.” 

Felix shook his head and pressed his forehead against your own, hands on your cheeks and cupping them. You were sure that gossip surrounding you and the prince had already spread throughout the entire town, it always managed to travel fast when it concerned you, though you were far too focused on the man currently holding you as though scared you would disappear.

“That is just it. I lost you all those years, and now that I have you back… I have no plans to let you go.”

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© COMET-FALLS 2022

[redlightsallnight]

so cute omgomgomg

i love the way this connected to the skz lore

Felix Navidad || Felix x Reader

Pairing: Felix x f!reader

Summary: You keep seeing Felix around. First he falls in your courtyard on Christmas Eve, then you see him hiding chocolate eggs in a park, and then he appears on the staircase behind your apartment, in the middle of the night. It’s unusual, and you have no idea what it means. What you do know, though, is that you’re absolutely fascinated by him, who he is, and the light and joy he seems to bring with him everywhere he goes. Even if you have no idea who or what he is, all that you want is to find out more — and get to spend a little more time with him.

Word count: 16.4k

Genre: Strangers (to Friends) to Lovers, Christmas Evel!au, fluff, angst.

Warnings & Tags: a number of references to a dead parent, sfw, kissing, language, mentions of insecurities, some anxiety on the part of the reader, hypothermia (don’t do what OC does!), everyone makes a cameo.

A/N: Merry Christmas to all those who celebrate, and happy holidays to everyone! So this little Christmas-themed piece is what I’ve been working on this non-stop (not really, but close enough) for the past two weeks. It’s my first piece for Stray Kids and for Felix, and it’s been a lot of fun to do. I would love to get your feedback, and I really hope you’ll enjoy your reading ^-^

The first time you see him, it’s the middle of the night, on the 24th of December.

Well, technically, it’s late enough that it’s the 25th, but your mom used to say that the new day started at sunrise, and since this is her favorite time of the year, you follow her rules for once.

Was. Was her favorite time of the year.

You keep forgetting.

It’s three am, and you’re throwing out the trash. You’ve been cleaning up your apartment, because tonight is as good a night as any to clean, especially since you don’t have to get up in the morning. You can see the colored lights of the Christmas decorations that have been set up in the street flashing on and off against the buildings, but you can’t admire them, because you’re standing in this sad courtyard, frowning in disgust, just wanting to throw your bag in the already stuffed dumpster and get it over with. When you get back into your apartment, you’ll probably watch movies until you pass out.

That’s the best use of your time you can think of on Christmas night.

For now, though, you’re trudging through grayish, melted snow, and bitterly regretting that you didn’t bother to put on shoes before going out. You’re probably ruining your slippers. You’re also freezing cold, the air icy on the tip of your nose, but you only need to be outside for a few seconds, a minute tops. You’ll be good. You’ve thrown a coat on, but you’re only wearing your pajamas underneath, which is fine, because it’s not like you’re going to be meeting anyone outside on Christmas Eve at this time of the—

And then there’s a scream.

Keep reading

[redlightsallnight]

woah guys

i’m so in love with the victorian steampunk setting of this and the way it’s written is so so good

Matters of the Head and Heart

Synopsis: Mechanical hatmaker Mr. Felix Lee finds himself being charmed by your flirtatious antics towards him. However, you being an upper class young lady means nothing will come out of it. Right? Steampunk-ish AU set in 1850s Victorian London. Historical accuracy not guaranteed.

Warning: none

Word Count: 13.1k

Pairing: fem!reader x hatmaker!Felix

Mr. Felix Lee, having been an apprentice and a hatmaker for several years, is no stranger to the odd request or so, but the one he receives today is by far the most peculiar.

“A tea party?” he repeats. He eyes the cream colored envelope you delicately hold out before him, still trying to comprehend the unusualness of it all. “And I’ve been invited?”

“Yes, Mr. Lee,” you say with a smile. “It’s a short notice, I understand, but the hostess would be delighted if you attended.”

He elects to stall for time while he makes sense of it. Why is he invited? Surely, it is unheard of for a hatmaker to partake in a ladies’ tea party. “If I might ask, who is the hostess?”

“A good friend of mine, Miss Shin. She is quite the hat enthusiast and has been inquiring about the designer of my mechanical blooming rose one.”

“That would be me, I suppose,” he dumbly says. He remembers the challenge of your headdress. The flower petals were meticulously arranged and joined together so that they would furl and unfurl. It was quite the endeavor to craft, so he can hardly blame Miss Shin for wanting to learn more. He takes the envelope from you and sets it down on the counter, accepting the invite. “Who else has been invited?”

“She would not tell me about the others, but I think she’s planning her debut ball soon.”

Felix sagely nods. A young lady’s coming out into society is a grand affair, and Felix has heard the stories from fellow craftsmen about the intricacies demanded. If he’s fortunate, maybe Miss Shin, apparent hat enthusiast, will order something from him. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Nothing else, I’m afraid. Good day.” You curtsy and turn to leave, your wide skirts brushing against the sides of a display table.

Felix is feeling rather bold after all that, so he asks the back of your dress, “Will I see you there?”

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[redlightsallnight]

this is so cute guys i cried

hey, hey, golden boy! | lee felix fic

pairing: childhood friend!reader x popular boy!lee felix | friends to lovers (alternatively: basketball club manager!reader x basketball player!lee felix)— a little bit of reader x juyeon (the boyz) as well genre: fluff, angst, high school au, mutual pining(?) word count: 11.0k (whew!) warnings: nothing much, some small mentions of physical violence. (also me not knowing how basketball works but accidentally incorporating too much of it in the story) synopsis: deep down you knew that things won't always be the same as it was when you were kids. as you grew up, felix became more and more popular compared to you, who remained invisible in the crowd. although you took this as a sign of drifting apart and denying your feelings for your childhood bestfriend, felix did not.

networks: @ficscafe

a/n: this gif makes me weak (edit: accidentally put "juyeon from ateez" in the title bc im big dumb who got confused)

"felix! over here!"

"you're the best, lee felix!"

cheers erupted from the gymnasium thanks to the current basketball game ongoing. though you had zero interest in the world of sports, you were not one to flake from supporting your bestfriend just because of it.

despite the fact that felix was just asked last minute to fill in a spot for an injured player, there was no doubt that he suddenly became the star of the show, with the air being filled by the sound of his name. you'd think that the actual basketball team would be jealous except they weren't, because felix was also leading them to victory.

he was the resident golden boy after all.

perfect looks, perfect grades, perfect personality.

he had it all.

you, on the other hand, did not.

"dude, felix absolutely knocked it out of the park. he should've just been in the basketball team from the start!" your friend said, recounting the details of last week's game.

thanks to felix, the school's team was able to make it to regionals and you couldn't be more proud.

"hmm, yeah, probably." you agreed mindlessly, not wanting to say something like 'he always liked soccer more.'

you see, you've been bestfriends with lee felix since you were both in diapers, and it's safe to say that you both knew the ins and outs of each other.

your families were so close that they all even decided to transfer to a different city together so that you'd all still be neighbors. so, in junior year, you and felix found yourselves transferring to a new school together. but unfortunately, it also coincided during a time of teen angst and budding social constructs brought upon who does puberty best, making junior year also the phase where felix skyrocketed to high school fame, leaving you behind in the shadows.

so when you were both offered a chance to start afresh due to the move, you begged if you could both pretend to not know each other, it ended up blowing into a huge argument, one you've both never had before but it definitely got you what you wanted.

"we've been bestfriends for so long, why do you suddenly want to act like strangers?"

"because!! just let me have this, felix, please."

"i just don't get it, y/n..."

"can't you just leave me alone? stop asking about it, you know we won't be kids who'll be stuck to the hip forever!"

"fine. have what you want, y/n."

you felt bad about how you two ended. how senior year started in your new school and you both avoided each other in the hallways, two bestfriends acting like they've never known each other at all.

but you couldn't tell him it's because you felt inferior to his sudden glow up. he grew taller than you, lost baby fat, developed a deep voice that brings chills to anyone's spine, and everyone started noticing him. he's always been a ball of sunshine who loved joining extracurriculars so having him noticed with a spotlight was inevitable— it helped a lot that he was cute too.

his rise to popularity was more so a question of when and not if. unlike you, he was everything put into one. a symbol of perfection. especially when he decided to dye his hair blonde— matched with his sunkissed freckles, he looked like the epitome of a happy summer day.

he wasn't just amazing at the things he chooses to do, he's also sickeningly sweet and nice. even when you two ended up not talking to each other for a week after your argument, he was still the first to climb the window to your room and apologize with a bunch of snacks.

he apologized, when you were the one at fault.

how much perfect can he be?

because of that, you realized that you at least owed him an explanation.

"what?! y/n, that's not true! you're smart and kind and pretty—"

"ok ok stop!" you waved him away, trying to hide the creeping blush on your face, accidentally pushing him off your bed. felix is a sweet talker, and you know that that's just how he talks to everyone in general. the compliments meant nothing since he could turn around and say the same things to somebody else right now.

"—ah y/n!!!"

"sorry!!" you tried to help him up but since you couldn't stop laughing at his demise, he ended up overpowering you and pulling you down with him.

"ugh i hate you!"

"what? you don't get to say that, you pushed me off first!" he just put you in a chokehold as you laid on top of him, despite pulling you on the floor with him, he still made sure to cushion your fall, bursting into fits of laughter together.

"look, y/n, you're my bestfriend and i don't want to lose you so i'll do what you want. but if you ever need anything, i'm always here. so please, let's stop fighting already."

"mm, okay." you just answered, snuggling to him on the floor as you felt his soothing breathing on your hair.

that was almost 5 months ago and although you two were still close at home (and sometimes in public when you felt brave risking it), you never approached him at school.

this made felix sad, of course, but he wanted to keep his word, and soon enough, he got used to it.

"you called for me, mr. kim?"

"ah yes! y/ln y/n! just in time, have a seat." you tried to hide your dubious face as you sat down in front of the club advisor's desk, eyeing him carefully.

"umm... is there something wrong?" you fiddled with the ends of your sleeves anxiously, the act of being called to teachers' offices always sending a shudder down your spine even when you were confident that you did nothing wrong.

"oh! no no! not at all. sorry for scaring you, ms. y/n but the basketball club actually needs a favor."

"oh... i don't think i'd be much help with that, sports isn't my umm.."

"ah, worry not ms. y/n, we're not asking for you to shoot some hoops in court. the male's basketball team actually needs a manager."

"a manager?"

"yeah, basically you watch over them and stuff. i don't know if you've heard but dahyun, the original manager, had been suspended from club activities because her grades were falling down. and now that the guys are set for regionals, they need a manager now more than ever."

"i'm not sure sir..."

"please y/n. it's only until dahyun gets her grades back up, you're our best option right now. you're in perfect academic standing and you don't drool over these sweaty teenage boys, gah! you won't believe how many applications we received of girls just wanting to get closer to mr. lee felix— he's not even actually in the basketball club!"

you wanted to laugh but also felt bad for mr. kim, so you couldn't stop yourself from caving in. "alright—"

"yes!! you're a lifesaver y/n! don't worry, i'll make sure to give you some compensation in terms of extra credits. i'll make sure that this isn't a waste of your time."

"that would be great sir, thank you."

"no, thank YOU."

although it felt nice having the promise of extra credits and helping, you soon felt queasy as you left mr. kim's office. he told you that dahyun would show you the ropes so you could efficiently fill her spot but dahyun was a former basketball varsity whilst you couldn't tell the difference between a tennis racket and a badminton racket.

you didn't know the first thing about managing a basketball club so with the remaining one hour left before club activities started, you did what you do best: study. you binged on guides to playing basketball and the terminologies, how the rules work, etc.

but cramming wasn't really your style, so you ended up jamming too much information than your brain could handle, making it all mixed up in your head.

"y/n, right?" dahyun immediately greeted with a smile when you entered the school's gymnasium.

"yeah, sorry, i don't know what i'm supposed to be doing."

"pshh, it's fine! as long as you're not one of those girls who climbs up the gymnasium windows to catch a peek at the guys then you're already great!"

"mm, yeah no, definitely not." you cringed, not realizing people were taking it to the extreme. you knew that good looking guys were always popular but you didn't know that they were that popular.

dahyun handed you her files and made you a checklist of what to do (which you rewrote because of how messy it looked), she showed you the way to the court and where the balls are kept. she told you which member liked what flavor of sports drink and which ones needed more pampering than the rest.

"spoiled boys." she rolled her eyes as she recounted having to baby one of their forwards, haechan.

she also told you most of what she does— watch them practice and take note of their playstyle: who scores the most, who plays their position well, etc.

it was a lot to take in but you were somewhat able to keep up. this was a favor which you weren't obligated to do but with your hardworking persona, you wanted to make sure you deliver a good performance. not that dahyun would be submitting a performance review afterwards.

"but most importantly, if they're being annoying, just smack them across the head." she smiled mischievously, and just as your crash course had ended, the club members finally started filing in.

you were just starting to be more comfortable around dahyun but now that you're gonna be doing the real thing, your nervousness came back to its all time peak. especially since your mentor was going to leave you alone.

"ok dumbos, listen up. as you may know, i will be taking a break from being manager—"

"because your grades are ass, we all know." someone piped and dahyun just glared at him, making the guy shut up which they all laughed at.

"—ANYWAYS, shutting up an idiot named wong lucas aside, someone else is going to be filling in for me. everyone, meet y/n, y/n, meet the stress inducers of my life."

you meekly greeted but they all introduced themselves politely. amidst the situation, you weren't able to notice how felix brightened up at the back of the group, happy to finally have a reason to be close to you in school.

"i'm chan, i'm the team captain, i'm currently just co-coaching right now since i'm busy with college applications and will be retiring as captain soon—but if you need any help, let me know!"

"i'm lucas, i'm the center, both in court and the looks department." he winked and you just awkwardly smiled, not knowing how to return the energy. dahyun made a barfing sound beside you whilst chan smacked the taller one on the head.

"i'm haechan, not to be confused with chan, i'm the small forward!"

"soobin, fellow small forward!"

"lee minho. point guard. co-captain."

"i'm juyeon, shooting guard."

"hi! i'm felix, i'm not an actual member but i'm standing in for xiaojun as the power forward until he's back from the hospital."

you nodded along everyone's words, keeping track of their names but it was helpful that dahyun already gave you a list beforehand, all that's left was to put faces to the names.

"umm, i'm y/n. i don't know anything about basketball, i was just forced to do this but i'll try to be as helpful as i can." you bowed, and they all suddenly burst out laughing, making you look up at them with wide eyes.

"she's so formal!" lucas cracked.

"d-did i say something wrong." you whispered the question as you turned to dahyun and she just shook her head with a laugh, patting you on the back.

"no no, you're honest, we like that— be good to her, idiots, i'll be off now." she gave them a small salute before cheering you on as she exited the gym.

now that the bubbly energy of dahyun was gone, you were left standing awkwardly in front of everybody, the dead silence being cut short by chan's clap.

"alright everyone, let's not make y/n's life any harder. it's time to practice for regionals!" he said and gave you a thumbs up. you immediately pulled out your notepad as you took a seat on the bench, waiting on their play. the six guys broke off into rival teams of three, including chan even though he said he wasn't much of a player anymore.

in the meantime, soobin took a seat beside you, offering you a kind smile.

"are you not playing..?" you asked curiously and he shook his head with a laugh.

"no, i'm a sub." he answers and you just nod, still not knowing what that means though it seems like he still caught your unsure face. "it means i'm not that good enough to be the first one in, i fill over haechan whenever he gets tired—which happens a lot but i don't normally get switched in until the last half of the game."

"that's not true, you're on the team, that means you're good enough to be in it, right?" you didn't really get the whole economy of it all but soobin just nodded beside you. you felt kinda sad thinking about how the boy just sits down and watch his teammates do their best knowing that he wants to be a part of it too.

"i guess that's one way to think of it."

you started to relax in soobin's presence as time went on, he helped you take notes and teach you more about the mechanics of the game. he also helped you distribute refreshments and take care of haechan and his god awful stamina because you felt awkward fanning the boy and wiping his forehead as he laid on the cold wooden floor.

"sorry y/n, this boy doesn't know how to conserve his energy at all." chan said, trying to kick haechan off the floor, making the boy roll over with a whine. "if you keep going like that then you're going to get used to doing it even in regionals."

"but that's why soobin's here ughh—" you didn't know whether you should feel bad or laugh at haechan but you found his antics kind of cute. though you bet he's probably in pain right now so you crouched beside him and patted his back.

"why don't you rest for now and let soobin fill in?" you offered, glancing at him and soobin with a shy smile.

"really~? you'll let me do that? dahyun never lets me rest until the third quarter!"

"well i'm not dahyun so.."

"thanks y/n! you're my favorite manager!" he immediately pretends to doze off, snoring on the floor and minho had to drag him by the feet away from the court, haechan protesting but couldn't break free from the stronger man's grip.

you signaled the start of the last session with a firm whistle, giving them an encouraging smile as they headed back in court to practice. you felt a small swell of pride in your chest, knowing that you did great for now.

"that was really nice of you, y/n." felix piped from beside you as you both mopped the gymnasium floors together.

"hmm? what do you mean?"

"letting haechan rest and letting soobin play."

you shrugged at his words, "i don't know, i just thought it made sense."

he nodded at your words, looking at you with a certain adoration that you couldn't quite understand, "yeah, but dahyun pushes haechan to the max to train his stamina, though the team could tell that it hasn't been working great for him. it also makes soobin feel like he's less of an asset to the team so i'm sure he's happy that he got to play for longer."

you just listened to him, taking in his feedback so that you'd be able to better your manager skills. you really hadn't been paying much attention to the game earlier, moreso just relying on soobin's commentary on what scores to put on whose names. when haechan switched with him, you were too shy to ask the resting boy so you moreso just winged it with the information that soobin had left you.

although you made a lot of mistakes on the sheet, chan just excused your faults, finding all the question marks written on the paper to be quite funny.

"you should've just asked me~! i was right beside you the whole time! you were so quiet i thought you didn't wanna be distracted so i didn't talk to you." haechan said when you all ended today's practice.

all in all, everyone seemed nice and welcoming. aside from minho who seemed to have had a naturally cold exterior. everyone was also very skilled at playing, watching them with a newfound wonder as you imagined what it feels like to have such a talent in sports.

for the next practice, you promised yourself to be more assertive and accommodating, so you spent all night reaserching and chatting with dahyun to know the personal ins and outs of the members.

although you felt bad for distracting dahyun with her studies, the girl was more than happy to catch a break.

so that night, you found yourself slaving away in the kitchen as you listened to basketball lessons on youtube.

you made a refreshing pitcher of lemon water for everyone as well as a sandwich basket. you know felix loves brownies so you added a few baked goods to the mix. but mostly you tried to keep it in the healthy track, cutting up a bunch of fruits and arranging them neatly into a container for everyone to snack on.

although you can't offer grounded wisdom about the gameplay like dahyun, you wanted to make them feel supported and taken care of. the least you could do was make sure they're eating well and not burning away their strength from strenuous practice since you could tell that this is a big deal for everyone.

especially juyeon, who you heard was aiming for a basketball scholarship.

it made you see felix in a more different light as well, seeing how he was talented enough to be pulled in last minute and play amongst aspiring athletes who've spent most of their lives playing basketball. meanwhile, felix had always been more of a taekwondo and soccer nut, though he had the natural skill for sports, being good at basketball was honestly something he didn't expect from himself.

you guess it was simply how some people are: favored by the gods.

when you had came over for the next training period, everyone seemed more than happy with your brigade of food and refreshments.

"i wish dahyun fails chemistry again so we can have y/n as a manager for good!" haechan quipped which earned him another smack from the club captain.

"y/n if i gain a few extra pounds i'm going to blame you for it." lucas snided jokingly but quite obviously is the one fishing for most of the food.

"thank you for this y/n! we really appreciate all your hard work." felix commented with a bright smile as he munched on the brownies. it was his favorite, especially when you were the one who made it. although he has had in countless times in his life before, it never fails to make him happy.

"hey! how come felix is the only one with brownies??" soobin mentioned.

"oh? does ms. manager have favoritism?" juyeon laughed as he eyed you suspiciously but you just shook your head vigorously.

"you guys can have some of it too!" you quickly saved but felix was too fast for any of them.

"nope! all mine! i love y/n's brownies, you guys didn't take some earlier so now it's too late." he stuck his tongue out as his other members chased him across the gymnasium, with lucas just settling on throwing his shoe towards the freckled blonde— and in true basketball player fashion, he was a good shot, hitting felix square on the back of his head.

"alright, children, that's enough!" chan bellowed but in amusement as he watched his teammates, getting the attention of his rowdy members. he looked like a fond father watching over his chaotic kids.

the day continued with them hunkering down to practice seriously. watching them is thoroughly enjoyable. seeing the way they interact and goof around off-court, like they're all close friends just playing a game together. but once they step inside the court, they all change into a different person— all serious and motivated with a drive to win. even the goofiest ones like haechan and lucas quiet down when it's time to ball.

haechan and soobin also seem a lot happier and relaxed now that you've split the time evenly between them: haechan gets to rest then soobin gets to play more.

it's been a couple weeks since you've become the basketball club's manager and you've already started to become closer to the boys.

most of all felix. he was so excited that you guys finally had a chance to "naturally" develop a close friendship in school so gone are the days that you two act like strangers. because now, if people asks, you guys could just say that you grew close during club times. he was so so happy, and it showed.

especially with the way that he insists on walking home together now, almost all the time. at first you were a bit apprehensive but he managed to convince you with his puppy dog eyes and adorable pout.

"pleaaaaseee, y/n? we could just say that we found out that we live in the same area so it's more convenient for us both!" he whined so you couldn't exactly say no.

aside from the basketball team who seemed to be conspiring behind your backs on shipping the two of you together because they found the sudden closeness a bit suspicious, there were also a number of students that noticed the growth: namely, felix's "fanclub."

"what's your relationship with lee felix?" one of the cronies asked.

"ummm, we met on the basketball club while i'm temporary manager."

"are you guys dating?"

"no?"

"well, do you like him?"

"i don't." you said with confidence. you've said the same answer ever since you were young and felix has had lots of girls having crushes on him. meanwhile, you didn't want any conflict so you made sure to get out of their way as much as possible. although every time the answer comes out of your mouth, slowly you start to feel like it's becoming more and more false.

the days pass and your previous invisible position in social circles started to break, people started noticing you more and more as you hung out around the basketball team. they spared glances your way, glaring at you, some envious, some curious, but all were thinking how such a random nobody got the close adoration of the most popular boys in school.

"y/n~~~ you're making food again right?" haechan said as you met on the hallway.

"only if you guys do well later."

"i'll last the whole four quarters!!"

"haechan that's not what i—"

"see you ms. manager!"

you rolled your eyes fondly at the boy's antics. although you weren't as technical as dahyun and weren't able to give them sports insight (so you leave it to the actual coach to do so), you've never had any moments of low morale. soobin has improved a lot and haechan were now able to last longer without having minho drag his limp body off the court.

overall, their close bond worked wonders in their team play and communication. even felix who was the "outsider" of the group was able to move in sync with the other members.

you were proud whenever you watched them. they were such beasts in the court and it made you wonder how they'd possibly be able to lose.

well. maybe you shouldn't speak too soon.

felix: i have extra curric work today, can't go home with you :((( you: it's fine, i can wait if you want?? felix: no no! this is probably gonna take long, i wouldn't want you to wait for me :( you: alright, get home safe later. felix: i should be the one saying that >:((( you: pfft kk. talk to you later. felix: <3

you put your phone on your pocket as you decided to head on first, but meeting a familiar face by the gate.

"y/n?"

"juyeon?"

"no felix today?" he gave you a knowing smile as he wiggled his eyebrows and you just rolled your eyes at him.

"he said he was busy today."

"ah yeah, that guy's got a lot going on in his plate. kinda amazing how he still had the time to spare to help us out but i'm glad that he did. i don't think we would've gotten this far without him."

you widened your eyes at him, "what? no way! you guys are great, i mean, i haven't seen you guys play without felix but i'm sure you would've achieved it all the same. getting to regionals, that is."

"wait wait wait, you haven't seen us play without felix?"

you shook your head no.

"did you just watch our game for the first time because felix was there?"

you opened your mouth to say no but you couldn't bring yourself to lie nor think of a good excuse.

"w-well um uhh— no? my friend just uhhh.... forced me to go? coincidentally?"

he gave you a knowing look, bumping your shoulder with his. "a felix fangirl huh? maybe i should tell the others that hmmm?"

"hey! not true!" you smacked his arm as you both laughed, not even noticing that you were following his walk.

"well you seemed very close now and you watched our game because of him soooo...?"

"ugh fine, can you keep a secret?"

"of course y/n, i definitely won't tell the whole team that you're whipped for our resident golden boy." he totally would've but you just rolled your eyes again.

"it's not that, juyeon. we're actually bestfriends. we've known each other since we were kids."

"wait really? you guys don't act like it."

"yeah.. that's kinda on me. i told him i wanted to act like strangers."

"ok weirdo."

"please— it's hard being in his shadow all the time, back in junior year there would be girls coming for my back and also use me as a message deliverer."

"pfft, i take it that's such a drag?"

"very. i was used to it but since we get to have a new start i thought, why not have a change of pace, you know?"

"valid valid. so you don't like felix?"

you shook your head, or at least, you think you don't. "i mean, we've just been friends for so long." that part you know is true. you've been friends for so long that the feeling could easily be a misplaced feeling of familial love. maybe you're just comfortable around felix, not because he makes your heart beat but because you've never been apart.

a comfortable silence fell on the air, you didn't even realize that you two had started walking until it had become quiet. you immediately turned to face juyeon, getting ready to say goodbye. "oh, i should probably head home now."

"well, ms. manager, since your prince is still currently stuck in the castle, why don't i give you a ride for today?"

"please, he's not my prince. do you drive?"

"well then, i'll be your prince for today. i have a sick horse." he winks at you with a playful smirk as he points towards a motorcycle at the school's parking space. "you scared, y/n?"

you shook your head, taking the helmet that he had handed you as he assisted you on hopping onto his motorcycle. he tied his sports jacket over your waist to provide you a bit of modesty that would be gone with your uniform's skirt flying all over the wind. you mutter a quick thanks with his chivalry.

"just hold on tight if you start feeling nervous, it's alright."

"i probably won't but okay. my house is at—" you told him your address and he nodded.

"actually, can i take you somewhere else first?"

you shot your eyebrows up at his offer. "uhhh...sure? where?"

he threw you another playful wink, "somewhere that may or may not be a date."

"what—?!" before you could even mutter any follow up questions, the engine roared to life, blasting you both through the wind. "juyeon!!!" you shouted as you instinctively held onto the back of his uniform.

"yes princess?" he laughed, amused that you decided to hold on.

"you're going too fast!!!!"

"i thought you're not scared?"

"yeah if you weren't going a hundred miles an hour!"

he just laughed but you could feel the motorcycle slowing to a proper pace, you finally braved to let go of his coat and put your hands at the back instead. "this is better."

"but i wanted to make you feel the wind, y/n."

"i can feel it plenty enough, thanks."

you both arrive at a quaint little establishment— a small coffee shop adorned with plants and fills the air with the smell of freshly brewed caffeine and old books. the interior was cozy and felt a little like a better version of home; plush couches, red brick wall, just the perfect temperature.

"this is a nice place." you uttered to juyeon.

"yup, it's a bit out of the way so not a lot of people go here. it's my secret spot."

you scoffed amusedly at him, "and let me guess, i'm the first person you've ever brought here?"

"what? no, i bring the basketball guys here all the time." he laughed at your embarrassed expression, "did you want me to be a cliché, y/n? i'll go look for another secret hangout spot and then bring you there right now."

you waved his ridiculousness away, "whatever, juyeon." but you did feel embarrassed for getting ahead of yourself. not that you could blame yourself much when he's the one who said that this may or may not be a date. which, honestly, sounds confusing.

"what's your poison?" he asked as he led you to the counter, he greeted the barista and true to his word, he seems to be a regular at this place.

"i would like—" "—wait no no no, on second thought. i wanna guess."

you looked at him dubiously but didn't protest when he led you to sit down, trusting him with ordering for you. what you didn't know, however, was that this was juyeon's way of getting you out of the cashier area so that he'd be able to pay for you without doing the wallet tango. for some reason, he feels like you'd be the kind to insist paying for yourself.

a few minutes later and he comes back, "ummm, what'd you get?"

"you'll see when it arrives."

as you waited for his order, you both conversed about different kinds of things. your life before transferring, his life around basketball, etc.

you found out that there's a lot of expectation around him to snag that ivy league athlete scholarship— because that's the only way he could get into a good college. they weren't rich nor did he think he was smart enough to get some other kind of scholarship.

"i can tutor you!" you immediately said and he just smiled.

"well, i wouldn't want to add more to your plate but if you have time to spare then i'd love that."

you gave him a thumbs up but told him to focus on regionals for now.

"you've been a great manager, you know that?"

you shook your head no. "hours before the first day meeting, i was binging on basketball-for-dummies youtube videos because i don't even know anything about it!"

"pfft, well you learn fast."

as the conversation slows down to occasional banter, the order finally arrives. the barista hands juyeon a regular cup of coffee then proceeds to hand you a cup of cocoa with whipped cream and chocolate shavings on top— along with a whole box of strawberry shortcake that says "thank you" on top.

"going all out, i see."

"the boys pitched in for this but it was supposed to be a surprise for tomorrow, the final day of official practices— but you know, i wanted to have you for myself so i'm giving it early as an excuse."

you scrunched your face at his attempt of flirting but he just kicked your leg under the table, which resulted in you kicking him back.

"hey! you can't injure your mvp! that's basketball managing 101."

"too bad i don't know how to be a good manager then."

juyeon took you home near dark, not expecting for you both to take this long outside, but it was time well-spent. you enjoyed your time with him outside that you forgot to check your phone the whole time.

[5 texts and 3 missed calls from felix]

felix: omw out, did you get home safe? felix: y/n, your mom told me you're not home yet, where are you? felix: please reply if you're safe! i'll wait for you in your room. felix: y/n please be okay ;(((( felix: haechan told me he saw you leave with juyeon.

you made a beeline towards the kitchen, putting in the cake in the fridge before going straight upstairs.

"yah, y/n! where have you been?" your mom greeted from the counter.

"i was out with a friend."

"well stop worrying that boy too much, he's been pacing around this whole time that i sent him to wait upstairs because it was distracting."

you wanted to laugh at that but felt bad about making felix worry. he probably would've been blaming himself had you been put in a dangerous situation because it's the first time that you two hadn't gone home together in a while.

"felix?" you called out softly as you entered your room, and true to your mom's words, he was indeed pacing around.

he abruptly stops when you show up and he stops on his tracks. he looked like he wanted to envelop you into a big hug but also chew you out for causing him stress.

"you worried me."

"sorry, i was out with juyeon. i wasn't checking my phone."

he sat down on your bed, just waiting for you to come in. "did you guys have fun?" he asked with a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. you couldn't read his expression but you passed it off to just him being tired.

"yeah, he took me somewhere nice." you said, joining felix on your bed but instead of sitting, you lied down beside him.

"was it a date..?" he asked hesitantly as he followed your lying position and you shrugged, looking at him in eye level now as you faced each other.

"i'm not sure. he said it may or may not be, it's confusing."

"well, did you want it to be a date?"

you averted your eyes from his intense gaze. you've never really seen felix this serious. you wondered if he was mad at you for not answering his texts and making anxious.

nonetheless, you shrugged once again. "i don't know. i'm good with either."

felix didn't know what to say. he's not stupid, he knows what jealousy is when it comes but he has never felt it before, or at least, not as strong as this one. he should've expected it— you were kind, smart, and pretty, soon enough, somebody else was going to see the amazingness that is you. he just didn't expect that you'd have eyes for someone else too.

he always gave small hints under your nose, but it seems like you always turned it away or passed it like some joke. but one thing is for certain: it's that felix wants you. he's always had.

and if it's going to take more than small hints to get you to notice, then he'll do his best. he promised himself that he'll finally tell you how he really feels and stop keeping his love for you under wraps.

but for now, regionals.

you were on the bus alongside the other boys, on your way to the rival team's school. dahyun was going to be late due to classes still ongoing for her so you were stuck taking care of the guys again. but you didn't know how to rally them up pre-game. you could tell that they were all on their nerves. you could tell that chan was trying to ease their mind but for the members like juyeon who was aiming for a scholarship and had heard that a scout would be watching— this was all or nothing.

even haechan hasn't cracked a joke in 30 minutes, which worried you a ton. being nervous meant that this is important for them, and that nervousness could translate to fighting spirit. but it could also get to their heads.

you gave haechan an encouraging pat on the back before walking to the front of the bus, facing all of them. though you weren't one for public speaking, you tried your best to calm them down. "ummm... i've seen you guys practice almost every day for a month and a half, and even when there weren't any official training hours, some of you still went to the court or train all alone. i know how hardworking everyone is and how skilled you are at playing basketball so don't be scared to kick some ass. i know you guys can do it!"

they all let out a content sigh, taking in your encouraging words as you instilled confidence in their veins. even ice-cold lee minho offered you a gratuitous smile.

"thanks for taking care of us, y/n." soobin piped up and you waved him off, telling him it's no big deal.

"no seriously, we all know you were just forced to deal with this because coach didn't trust anyone else to not just take advantage of the situation and drool all over me— i mean, everyone." lucas said, earning him a smack from minho. "yah! lee minho, you're lucky i'm sitting down, it's the only way you can reach my head."

"what did you just say?" the man in question now holding his hands in fists.

in a single second, everyone managed to turn the gloomy atmosphere into a rowdy one like always. felix shot you a thumbs up, proud of you for doing so well.

in the corner of your vision though, you see someone still in their head. wanting to laugh along but so visibly tense.

"hey, you good?" you asked juyeon, joining him in his seat.

"yeah, just.. you know, scared."

you rolled your eyes at him, "you're the best player i've ever seen, don't be so glum."

"yah, y/n, if you don't stop rolling your eyes at me i'll poke that off." you both laughed, easing his own tension.

"want me to sit here with you?"

"that would be nice, yeah."

"i always listen to music to calm my nerves, here." you offered him your other earbud.

"y/n, you have shit music taste."

"i'm throwing you off the bus."

felix isn't the only one who took notice of this, the others have also seen the way you and juyeon had grown closely.

and as the others watch the way felix stared intently at the back of your heads, face unreadable, chan tried to distract the freckled boy by cheering him on for the game. though felix offered a small smile, one could obviously tell that he wasn't feeling the greatest. especially not when he could plainly see the girl he has loved for so long slowly be enamored by someone else.

as you guys arrive at the rival school, everyone was back to their serious facades, putting their game faces on as you were all led to your own backroom in the gymnasium.

"oh? you guys got a new manager? finally got tired getting chewed off by dahyun because you're so bad at playing?" a long haired blonde greeted, wearing the other school's jersey. your eyebrows rose at his douchey comment, about to retort when chan just held you by the shoulder.

"nice to see you too, hwang. dahyun is just busy. we'll see you in court." your team captain said as he ordered for everyone to focus and just go straight inside the room, not to mind the taunts of their opponent.

"who was that?" you asked.

"hwang hyunjin. their shooting guard." juyeon answered, seething at the guy who seems to be his arch nemesis.

"he seems like a douche." you commented, making them snort.

"well yes, he is, but he's got the skills to back it up. he's also in line for a scholarship and rumor has it that only two will be able to get it from the ivy league that juyeon was shooting for." you nodded at chan's explanation.

"then if hwang hyunjin gets it then surely juyeon would be the other one!" you said which made chan nod, juyeon shrugging.

"i don't know, i mean, they could take lucas or someone else from the other team."

"hey hey hey, i'm not gonna steal your thunder man, you know i want to be a model." lucas said, raising his arms in surrender. "but i'm flattered to know that you think i'm good enough to steal your spot."

"don't let it get to your head, wong."

"too late." the taller smirked.

you all shared meaningless banter while they warmed up, with haechan jogging calmly in place as to not expend unnecessary energy so early on. while they prepped, you learned about the enemy team.

hwang hyunjin goes against juyeon. they always seemed to have a silent competition between both of them and no one has won yet.

haechan (and soobin) goes against han jisung, the wild card. compared to haechan, jisung has energy that could go on for days and he was completely unpredictable in court.

lucas goes against choi san. "i'm much more handsome." the tall one quipped.

"that's not the competition, dumbass." minho said.

apparently san was well-known to play dirty, and although he was hiding it within jokes, you could tell that lucas was a bit nervous to go against someone with an infamous reputation.

minho was going against jung wooyoung. "piece of cake, that guy's a sissy." and you wholly believe that minho can hold his own. you don't think there's anything that can go against lee minho and win— except for cats.

felix was going against jeno, "just an average dude." haechan commented.

all in all, despite the wacky mix of characters, this team progressed to regionals for a reason.

"chan, i think you should enter first before me." lucas said as they discussed team strats.

"lucas, we trust you. don't let san get to your head." soobin commented.

"haechan, at any time that you're getting out of breath, just call in, don't try to match han jisung." the team leader advised. "most importantly, nobody leave your posts."

the bell signified the start of the first quarter. everyone was cheering and shouting, the air was mixed with hyper support for their fellow schoolmates. although you were in rival territory, your school's fighting spirit didn't allow to be drowned out by the other's.

you sat down beside chan and soobin on the bench, your knees shaking up and down in anticipation as you watched the game unfold. it's barely been 10 minutes but everyone was already head to head.

chan put a gentle hand on your knees to relax you, "don't worry y/n, this is what we've all been preparing for." you nodded at him and tried to relax, though your knees had stopped, you still kept squirming on your seat every time the opponents scored a shot.

the first quarter ended with your group being 5 points ahead. it was nice to see but it wasn't enough, it would be easily overtaken.

"haechan, you still good?" you asked as the game took a breather, everyone huddling up by the benches.

"yes, han jisung's been taunting me to chase him but i won't bite, he probably thinks i'm stupid." haechan spat, glaring at his enemy's head.

"san seems to be behaving right now, maybe it's because there are scouts watching." chan observed.

"they have good teamwork, but not as personally close as you guys, hwang seems to be the only one pulling most of the work. you got this!" you cheered and they all just looked at you. "d-did i say something wrong?"

soobin shook his head, "you've learned how to observe the game well, y/n. we're also proud of you."

you blushed at his compliment swatting him away.

"any advice for us, ms. manager?" felix smiled at you sweetly, despie his labored breathing, he still seemed calm, his stare making your heart swell. it feels nice that they hold your word to a similar regard even though you don't know anything about basketball. perhaps you've learned a fair sum.

"do your best?" they all laughed.

"you were being overly ambitious with that question, golden boy." minho nudged felix who just laughed.

the second quarter started and this time, hwang's team were able to catch up and overtake the team by 15 points. a higher margin than what your team had set in the first quarter but not an impossible chase. this time, it seems like they've started to divvy up the work. this time you can see wooyoung stepping up, being able to butt heads with lee minho's strength.

jisung still kept running around, instigating a wild goose chase with haechan but he wasn't having it. he kept his eyes on the ball. but for all it's worth, han jisung was ridiculously good at slinking in between spaces and blocking the ball.

but jeno still couldn't hold a candle to felix. your bestfriend being too dexterous in game, it was highly enjoyable watching felix play. no matter what he does, there was a certain air of elegance around it, he moves like a fairy, his limbs filled with gracious motions that's akin to the way he dances. everyone couldn't help but gaze at him, even hearing the rival school's students whispering about the golden freckled boy that they've never seen before. you even hear some of them arguing who was the better blonde: hyunjin or felix. in your heart, you know exactly what the answer to that is.

the second quarter finished and your team was now down by 37. although it seemed like a wide gap, it wasn't anything they couldn't catch up to. gone were the boys filled with nerves, they were now just filled with a fighting passion, a drive to win. lucas and haechan were now switched with captain chan and soobin.

the other team seemed to deny switching places with anyone else, you marveled at how they could all last for so long but you suppose it was the same with your team as well. you always just thought that it's because they didn't have anyone to substitute for them but perhaps they're really just talented enough to hold their own.

with a few minutes of rest in between quarters spent strategizing, you made sure to accommodate their rest. giving them cold towels, water, you name it.

third quarter started and dahyun had sent you a text that she's going to be late, but she was already stressing out with the current state of the game. she wanted to offer some advice but with the way that she couldn't see what's going on, she couldn't really do so.

but with the entry of chan and soobin, things were starting to go back up to your favor. the margin started getting lower and lower until by the end of the third quarter, it was down to 11. time seemed to flow faster and you didn't even realize that the game was on its final match. you see dahyun burst through the gymnasium doors and go straight towards the team.

"please tell me we're winning." she said.

"we will be." lucas gave a thumbs up as he leaned on the bench, just enjoying a juice box.

"did you tap out early? you're our best blocker!" dahyun asked and the boy just shrugged.

"he didn't want to deal with choi san." chan explained and dahyun nodded.

"did he try anything funny so far?" the team shook their head.

"probably trying to look good in front of the scouts." haechan pointed towards the sleek dressed men in the front of the audience.

"no way, they all know hwang's the one getting that scholarship, i bet he's just biding his time."

"stop being so negative, dahyun, we're only a few points away, we can do this!" felix cheered, trying to calm everyone before dahyun's words get to them.

a bell signified the start of the last quarter, everyone's on their toes, everyone's thrown away every tense nerve to replace it with a do or die attitude.

"come on guys, take it home." you heard dahyun mutter towards you.

as the time ticked by, the points hiked up, they were able to close the gap with 2 points away.

haechan held yours and lucas's hands squeezing it in anticipation so you took dahyun's at your side as well.

with fifteen seconds left on the clock, this was their last chance to victory. they had to make this shot count.

you saw juyeon barreling his way to the opponent's net, shaking off hwang hyunjin whose cocky attitude had been wiped off a quarter prior.

but the enemy team had probably seen this coming, with juyeon being too good and your side's teamwork being unmatchable, they suddenly pulled their wildcard.

han jisung and choi san both left their posts, instead making hwang hyunjin face against the two that they had left behind— soobin and chan. with the guy's height and innate talent, he was able to spin the two around his palm.

san had thrown his dirty play into the mix, trying to incapacitate juyeon's shot. it all happened in a blink. juyeon was down to the floor and despite the shouts and protests of the people around the gym, the referee didn't call foul play.

you could hear your friends cursing under their breaths as han jisung snatched the ball away from a downed juyeon before attempting to run towards the other end of the court.

what they didn't expect was your team's trump card. the appearance of your golden boy. felix had left his post, risking leaving jeno open to face han jisung. he fell to the spot naturally, and despite jisung's tricks, the freckled blonde was able to undermine the boy and take the ball away.

it was two points left. felix had to make it count. he was never one for risks, but this time, he didn't want to play it safe. although overtime will be granted for a tiebreaker, your bestfriend sidestepped everyone's attempts to stop him as he went towards the three-point line. as he bent his knees to prepare for a shot, everything had turned into slow motion— he spared a glance towards your face before moving his eyes back to the net, letting go of the ball in his palm as he aimed towards victory.

5..

4..

3..

2..

1..

and that's a match.

"LEE FELIX YOU ABSOLUTE BEAST!" dahyun immediately shouted as the boys got back to the bench.

with his last shot making the hoop, felix had brought victory to the school's name, his immense risk of the last second decision under pressure is a play that will be ingrained at your school. he truly was the golden boy.

chan was so happy he had carried the smaller boy over to his shoulder, making him bask in everyone's attention as your whole school had sent compliments and flowers to his merry way. you could tell that he was feeling shy with the attention but he was happy to have won the game for his team.

"everyone did great as well! we couldn't have caught up to them without everyone's help." he said modestly as chan set him down. "i'm sorry i left my post, chan."

"dude, no need to be humble, you absolutely killed that." lucas patted him on the back, even minho was nodding with acknowledgement.

"felix you have to sign my jersey now." haechan joked and felix just smacked his jersey away.

"alright alright, let's get you off those sweaty uniforms." dahyun said as she pushed everyone to the backroom. "in a few moments, that crowd's gonna be brave enough to approach ya'll and then we won't be able to leave."

although dahyun wanted to stay, she still had schoolwork to worry about, so she left you to wait outside the guys' room while they changed. she was utterly delighted with the win and would try to join the post-celebration party once she's free.

as you waited for them to finish, a man approached you from the stands. you immediately took notice of his sleek attire, a professional polo topped with a tie, remembering that this was one of the scouts watching the game.

"excuse me, you're the manager right? is the team inside?" you nodded at his words.

"yes, ummm, they're changing but i think you could just come in." you knocked before opening the door for him, "someone's here to see you." you shouted, not wanting to take a peek inside.

the man thanked you before heading in, and you curse at the fact that you can't hear anything beyond the door. but this was good, right? this means that juyeon's gonna get his scholarship! you felt giddy at the thought, making a mental note to make him a congratulatory cake.

the scout left the room, giving you a nod as he smiled at you, complimenting the team's amazing play and you just bowed at him politely with a thank you.

you risked going inside, debating that they're probably done getting dressed now.

with a huge smile, you went in, about to say congratulations to juyeon but instead you see him pinning your bestfriend to the lockers by his shirt.

you stopped on your tracks, not knowing what to say but nobody seems to have noticed your presence, they were all busy holding juyeon back as he seethed towards your freckled boy. chan and minho was trying to hold his body whilst haechan was trying to free his grasp on felix's shirt. soobin and lucas was nowhere to be seen, presumably still in the showers.

"you're not even part of the team— yet you took this opportunity away from me!"

"i-im sorry! i didn't mean to! i could just reject it—"

juyeon scoffed, "you're turning a full ride athletic scholarship away? how much of a fucking idiot can you be?! do you get some sort of high from shoving it into people's faces how you're better than everyone? feels nice doesn't it? being the golden boy, talented at everything, everyone worshipping the ground you walk on."

"juyeon calm down—" he shoved off chan who was trying to hold him off.

"my future depends on this scholarship while you just suddenly show up, take it away from me, then have the audacity to tell me that you're just going to reject it? am i a joke to you? are you trying to prove how you can get whatever you want in the snap of your fingers even when somebody else has been working for it their entire life?"

"that's not true—"

"is it because of y/n? you feel threatened that i'm getting closer to her so you steal this away from me?"

"stop jumping to conclusions, man." minho warned.

"don't bring y/n into this, i didn't mean to take this away from you!"

"don't think that i didn't notice your eyes whenever we'd hang out, golden boy. but it's not my fault that you're too much of a pussy to tell her how you really feel about her. don't you think it's kind of shitty for you to keep pretending that you're still just bestfriends even after years? even though you don't look at her with the same innocent eyes of friendship anymore? don't you think that's a bit deceiving? she thinks you're still while friends while you want something more." juyeon continued to taunt, "and now that i'm taking away the one thing that you love the most, you fight back like a snake instead of facing it like a man."

"that's not—"

"y/n?" before felix could continue, soobin called out to you as he stepped out of the showers, suddenly, all pairs of eyes land on your position by the door. the momentary surprise enough for haechan to remove juyeon's grip and chan successfully prying him away from felix.

you opened your mouth to speak but no words come out. instead what came out was labored breathing.

felix... likes you? or loves you? as more than a friend?

"y/n..." he started, but you looked back at him with the eyes of a deer caught in the headlights. as he tried to step closer gently, you immediately bolted out of there, not wanting to reel in everyone's awkward stares.

running towards nowhere in particular and it wasn't until your feet started to ache that you suddenly remembered you weren't in your own school. your team won the game, but at what cost? you know how important the scholarship is to felix— and speaking of, he likes you. you didn't know what to feel. you love him, sure, but he was always worlds away from you. any sort of romantic prospect thrown out the window because you know you'll never amount to how good he is.

you walked around the field, trying to figure out where the exit is, hoping to just catch a bus so that you don't have to ride with the team and sit in the awkwardness.

with your mind spinning around in wanders, you almost fell to the ground when you felt yourself bump into someone. "woah woah, didn't think you'd be the one falling for me." hwang hyunjin snided with a wink as he caught you by the arm, making you gag in your mouth.

"what do you want, hwang."

"why so snarky? you're the one who bumped into me."

"sorry then, i'm going home." you started to walk away but he stopped you in your tracks.

"that's not the way out, you know."

"fine, can you please point me to the exit." he just shrugged and motioned for you to follow him.

"i heard the freckled lee got the other scholarship." he laughed.

"what's so funny?"

"because i got the other one. so i don't care if we lost the game, at the end of the day, i was able to one-up juyeon. i may have lost the fight but i won the war."

"isn't it kind of sad that that's the first thing you think about? is that your motivation for this? trying to one-up others? is your self worth just based around the loss of other people?" you said as you glared at him, a bad taste in your mouth at the thought of juyeon losing something he had worked for tirelessly, competing with hwang wasn't something in his mind, all he wanted was to make his family proud. meanwhile, this reincarnation of a cocky attitude just spits it out like it's nothing.

"watch your mouth, manager. you don't know who i am, and you're in my territory." he stopped as he towered over you, glaring at you with a powerful gaze. you felt a chill run down your spine but you weren't one to back away.

"leave her alone, hwang." the tall blonde tore his gaze from you to look back at the voice that you recognized.

"congrats on the scholarship felix, see you in college." he smirked as he walked away, ignoring the sharp stares the you two are planting on him.

once he was out of earshot, felix risked getting closer to you, and from the heat of the situation you forgot the awkwardness that started to bubble in your stomach, now being too late to run away from him once again.

"are you okay, y/n? did he do something weird?" you were dumbfounded at his closeness but you could tell that he was wary on touching you, not wanting to overstep his boundaries now that you've heard how he felt about you.

you shook your head, "no, no, i'm fine, he was showing me the exit."

"let's go home together?" he asked meekly, looking at you with the same soft eyes that he's always given. and now you notice that you've never seen him give the same look for someone else. those affectionate eyes, the fondness that holds you within. it has always been just for you.

you nodded, making him lead the way. the trip back home felt awkward, and you missed the comfortable silence that you two always shared. this time, you could feel that there was an unaddressed situation that none of you seemed to wanted to take initiative in crossing.

he walked you to your door, giving you a smile before heading back to his own house— that was the first time he'd done that, always walking you all the way up to your room and hanging out before leaving. this time, he'd left you with a small emptiness.

as you went up to your room, the heaviness settled to your core after plopping on the bed, tears slowly streamed down your eyes.

you didn't know if it was because you felt bad for juyeon, or because you were happy about hearing felix's feelings although it didn't come directly from his mouth. perhaps you felt bad because you don't think you deserve him.

but one thing's certain: you loved him back. you've stopped yourself from feeling anything special towards him to the point that it hurts.

but now that the dam was broken, you can't stop yourself from falling, and now with the way felix had left you alone, you weren't sure whether there's still anyone who'd catch you.

with eyes heavy from tears, you fell to a deep slumber.

you woke up at the sight of your bestfriend shaking you awake, your mind felt groggy, your eyes a bit heavy.

"hey, your mom told me you skipped dinner."

"what time is it?" you asked as you rubbed your eyes awake, seeing the moonlight shine inside your bedroom.

"12 AM." he answered.

"then why are you here?" you asked him and he just sat beside your bed.

"i talked to juyeon... he also said he couldn't reach you so he was worried, so i came to check on you. i also got you food." you nodded at his words, seeing the takeout bag in his hands.

"are you guys good now?" you sat up awake, finally getting your bearings back as you stared at felix.

he shrugged, "hopefully, but i think we'll still need some time."

"i see.. that's understandable.."

"but i'm not here to talk about juyeon."

you swallowed, preparing yourself for the next words you're about to hear.

"i love you, y/n. i've always had. i was mad that you wanted to pretend like strangers because i didn't want to lose you to anyone else. i was so used to having you by my side and going to school without you made me realize that i can't spend a day separated from you. i know the way you found out isn't exactly the best situation ever but my feelings for you are real. i was jealous when you were hanging out with juyeon but i know how much the scholarship means to him, i didn't take it away on purpose because of you. i respect your friendship with him and i know you're also sad for him— so please, y/n, i hope you don't think of me any differently."

he just held your hand through his words, nervousness apparent in his voice as he squeezed your hand affectionately. he was anticipating your answer, scared but prepared.

you felt overwhelmed but you knew you couldn't deny it any longer.

"i love you too— and not just as a friend, i've always thought you'd drift away from me because—" you couldn't even finish your words as he trapped you in his embrace. the familiarity of his natural scent mixed with his cologne delightfully filling your senses and turning your brain into mush.

he held your body in his arms and your heart in his eyes as he stared down at you.

and this time, you both risked a shot as your lips softly collided with each others.

basking in the moonlight as you conveyed your true feelings through gentle motions of your lips.

it was soft, sweet, and it felt like a happy summer day.

lee felix was the manifestation of the sun, but he shined only for you.

he was your golden boy.

mastertag: @leagreenly @geniejunn @90s-belladonna

[redlightsallnight]

Guys this series is so good omg and the one shots related are also *chef’s kiss*

I fear I am a whore for Siren Jeongin so this series made me incredibly happy even though he wasn’t a love interest (waiting for that oneshot, dear author)

Anyways loved this!!!

Ciao

Light in the Dark Final

Parings: Vampire Chan x Female Reader Word Count: 6.4k Genre: Vampire au, soulmate au, angst, fluff Warnings: Swearing, suggestive themes, character death, inaccurate witchcraft

a/n: I'm sorry this took so long but it is finally here xx

Free of magic you find yourself finally feeling as though you are back to yourself and can make your own decisions about Chan but how does an immortal and a human relationship actually work?

Forever, that is what Chan had said to you that night all those months ago and although at the time you had believed him when he said it you now knew unconditionally that it was truth. You had returned home to your parents and grandmother, who had been sternly reprimanded by both of them, and the life that you had always been used to. Only now there was a whole new side to the world, as you got used to not wearing the amulet you had grown to appreciate the Oddinary world so much more. The creatures you had met through the bookstore were now so much more vivid than before, so much friendlier to you, and of course more interested. Of course Chan had been beside you for all of it and had helped with how to keep yourself safe from anyone who appeared to have ulterior motives now that they could all sense you, the real you. After every day ended and you began closing up the shop either Chan or one of the others would come to wait for you, it was a luxury that you loved having, and they would walk you either back to your place or theirs making sure you were always protected. You knew eventually they would stop doing it but you enjoyed it for the time being getting to know them all so well.

Chan had also met your parents, who naturally adored the stupidly handsome Vampire, and he began seeing you properly as he called it, taking you on various dates around the city as you progressively became a very normal couple. From dinners in fancy restaurants, dinners he cooked for you, movies, picnics in the park and midnight strolls you had been thoroughly spoiled by him and what began as and intense white hot feeling had evolved into a deep love for him that you knew you would never find again. Although there were still things you needed to figure out everything had been perfect, except for the lingering voice in the back of your head that kept reminding you the Chan was immortal, he was totally ageless, and you were very much mortal.

Sitting in the parlor while Felix and Innie teased Changbin was always hilarious to you, they would imitate his workouts from somewhere upstairs loudly and he would end up chasing them until he caught at least one of them. You sat laughing on the couch while Han helped Minho with his research.

"You know it gets more ridiculous each time because you find it so funny" Minho sighed deeply as the shrieks got closer.

"Yeah I know but it will always be funny" you shrugged watching the annoyance on Minho's face. Just then Felix burst through the door followed immediately by Changbin who was red in the face and looked irritated. Felix launched himself over the couch ending up behind you clutching your shoulders

"You can't do anything now!" Felix sang sticking his tongue out like a child "Chan will be mad if she gets hurt" you rolled your eyes knowing full well that he was only saying it to make a scene.

Changbin grumbled something low in his chest which you couldn't really make out so you just cocked your head at him watching him closely as he seemed to be making a plan of what to do next.

"Innie isn't in here though" you prodded causing a wolfish grin to appear on his face as he sprinted from the room.

"Oooh Innie thinks he's the favorite too he will be devastated you sold him out" Han chuckled waiting to hear the shriek from upstairs.

"Hannie I don't have favorites you know that" you scolded playfully and Felix sat himself down and sprawled out on the couch beside you, his head falling into your lap. A high pitch shriek sounded upstairs followed by loud thumps, a slamming door and a very low rumbling growl which stopped the noise instantly.

"I guess that's game over then" you smirked as Felix giggled, stopping as soon as Chan entered the room, before he righted himself so he was no longer in your lap and now sitting further from you. You quirked your eye brows at Chan who shrugged taking your hand and pulling you to your feet.

"Indulge me in following me, my love" he whispered into your hair making you nod as you walked from the room and up the stairs to his study where he pulled you into his lap on one of the armchairs.

"What's wrong Chan your tense" you murmured resting your head against his hard chest.

"I wanted to talk to you about when you feel you would be ready to take another step with me" he murmured back smiling faintly although his eyes were worried.

"Like me moving in here?" you asked blinking at him like it would be obvious that you would agree to it.

"The next Oddinary step sweetheart, marking you as my mate to be precise" He almost faulted as he uttered the words his nerves obvious. Your eyes involuntarily widened as he stroked his long fingers along you arms.

"How would you mark me Chan?" your breathe hitched as you spoke feeling both nervous and excited at the idea.

"I would feed on you baby, it would leave a scar on you somewhere that was obvious if anyone looked, but where would be up to you of course" Chan soothed holding you close to him as you thought about it.

"Will it hurt a lot?" you asked pulling out of his grasp slightly and moving to straddle his legs, you wanted to look at him while you had this conversation even if it was only so you could remain calm about it. Chan cupped your face carefully his fingers moving your hair away from your face.

"It shouldn't hurt you, not really" He explained gently "I would only ever have to do this once, and I will try to make it as fast and painless for you as possible. I can mark your neck, your wrist, your shoulder it would be up to you" his reassurance helped to make you see that he was also nervous about the whole idea too.

You and Chan had not taken many steps into a physical relationship yet making out in his room when the other were out was as far as you had ever gotten, when you asked him about it he had told you he was concerned he would lose control with you and accidentally hurt you but you were unsure if that had just been an excuse at the time.

"I love you Chan" you whispered as you pressed your lips to his sweetly "I trust you to mark me wherever you want to" you smiled at him watching him mull the idea over in his head before he grinned and pulled you back against his lips. His normally soft kisses were rougher, needier this time making you gasp against his mouth which he took as his advantage to slip his tongue into your mouth dancing with your own. Moaning into his mouth you found yourself sliding further down his legs to seat yourself directly over his crotch..

"Not right now though my love" Chan groaned moving you in his lap to prevent any further friction between you both causing you to pout as him "I'll make sure the boys aren't home first" making you sigh in defeat.

"Channie what happens after you mark me? Does it change anything?"

"Other Oddinaries will know you are mine, that you are taken, it shouldn't cause you any problems humans don't normally even notice them" He explained seeming unsure of what you actually wanted to know.

"Will it change me in any way?"

"What do you mean my darling, what is it you need me to say?" his brows were now furrowed and his eyes started at you almost pleadingly.

"It's just me being confused about it that's all Chan, Oddinary things are still strange to me sometimes" you smiled hoping to cover what you actually wanted to ask feeling embarrassed about the idea of bringing up your mortality. If Chan had noticed he didn't press it instead pressing a kiss to your forehead.

That night you struggled to sleep your mind just would not shut off to allow you to relax, just circling back to the same fact that is Chan wanted to mark you it meant he wanted only you but how would your mortality make it all work. Would he stay with you until you eventually died? What would happen to him after that? Would he move on afterwards or would he just be alone from that day on? It was starting to upset you, your chest was growing tight with each cascading thought, sighing frustrated at your own mind you got up and went downstairs to make a cup of calming tea that you knew would always help you too sleep. Pottering quietly as you waited for the water to boil you distracted yourself by staring at the moon and completely missed that your grandmother had appeared in the doorway to see what you were doing at such a late time of night.

"What troubles your mind child?" She broke the silence after the kettle boiled and you still hadn't moved, you sighed lowering your head "Your secrets have always been safe with me this time is no different, I was once young too remember" she smiled wryly busying herself by making your tea for you as thought.

"I don't know how to explain it properly" you grumbled softly frowning as you tried to find an explanation she would understand.

"Follow me child, we will take tea in my room" picking up a tray of cups and the teapot she led you from the kitchen to her bedroom come workroom, gesturing for you to sit one one of the chairs by her work bench. Smiling you remembered all the times in your childhood you had sat in the same chair watching and helping as she weighed and mixed herbs for teas and herbal elixirs, always telling you about the plants and meaning behind them. You looked at her meeting her eyes and staring as she held your gaze still as steadfast as the young woman she had been all those hundreds of years before although she seemed to have become frail.

"How do I make this work?" You asked finally picking up your tea cup to take a sip.

"I assume you mean you and your paramour" she smiled her knowing eyes twinkling "Well that depends on what you want my child" placing her teacup back in its saucer she took your hands in hers "Once he had marked you as his mate you will be his until you decide otherwise I have seen how the poor boy looks at you, he will never want to let you go"

"That is the problem Grandma, I don't want to let him go either I don't think my heart would ever let me but one day I'll die wont I, what happens to Chan after that?" You're voice may have been tentative but you knew she could see how serious you were about the words you had said.

"Ah, your mortality is what is causing you pain my child. There are two options that you can take the first is to ask him to turn you, he can do this although I fear he would not like the idea as it is a risk to your life" she explained slowly letting the information sink in "The other still gives you immortality but at a cost you may not wish to pay but I would be grateful to give to you, my child".

"I don't understand Grandma" you blinked watching her closely.

"I will show you my dear" She stood slowly walking stiffly to the chest at the end of her bed as she rummaged through you notice for the first time how much older she seemed compared to before all this started. As she returned to you though you could see her holding the oldest book you had ever seen wrapped in faded and battered brown leather and held together with a piece of ribbon tied around it tightly.

"This is the original that was given to me all those years ago and if you agree it shall be yours" she placed it into your hands and you turned it over in your hands to looks at the damaged symbols that covered it. "It is the grimoire that I was given when the pact was formed and it is what I would offer to you should you wish it".

"What does that mean Grandma?" your question felt heavy on your tongue as though something in you knew but didn't want to say it out loud.

"This is the book of the Morrigan, it is what gave me my vengeance many ages ago and it is what will grant you your wish for immortality" he voice was calm as she explained what you were beginning to understand was the high cost she had mentioned "I will grant you the Morrigan, to use as you see fit, until the end of time and in exchange I will finally rest"

"You mean die Grandma? you want me to take what is keeping you alive?" you had to stop yourself yelling at how easily she spoke of her own death.

"My duty to your bloodline has been fulfilled it is only a matter of time before my body begins to fail further than it already has, the Morrigan will then be lost to this world. My oath in exchange for this power was based on justice and revenge once your oath is done the Morrigan no longer sustains immortality it seeks a new home, a new oath" Her voice wavered as she spoke but you could feel it in your blood that she was telling the truth and it caused tears to start flowing immediately

"You're already dying then?" you sobbed loudly the pain in your chest so sharp you could feel it running down your arms and into your fingers making them ache terribly. Her arms wrapped around you soothing you as best she could her soft coos barely registering in your ears before she left the room momentarily returning with more tea and Chan in tow.

"Chan?" you hiccupped as he pulled you into his chest his strong arms holding you tightly as you sobbed into his chest

"What happened?" His voice was low and agitated but you knew it was only from his worry about you.

"I offered her a gift, but she has realized the cost of that gift" your grandmother answered pouring another cup of tea for you.

"What gift would cause her this level of pain?" He growled you could feel him trying desperately not to tense too much while holding you.

"The Morrigan" was all your grandmother said before silently finishing her tea.

"What? why?" Chan's tension melted as the confusion in his voice became obvious as he just stared at your grandmother waiting for a answer.

"The child, wants immortality so that she may walk at your side" Chan's jaw dropped as he watched your grandmother speak "I am dying young Vampire, the Morrigan will be freed upon my death and I would rather gift her to my grand daughter instead of her leaving this world forever" your sobs had subsided as you listened to them talk.

"Grandma, I don't want to lose you" you sniffed

"You will never lose me my child, I will live on in you always, through this power you would have me with you for all time" she patted you hair on the side that was not pressed to Chan's chest "With your blood and this power you would never need worry again, you would remain forever, ageless and free to so as you please"

"But you have not remained ageless" you blinked at her trying to stop more tears coming.

"No I have not, to use the power of the Morrigan is to age that is why she is passed from one soul to another, I used her to keep you safe with her power, you need not do that" Now it was your turn to looked shocked unable to really reconcile the idea that she aged only to protect you and all the women in for family before you.

"So regardless of what her decision is you will still die Morrigan?" Chan asked slowly regarding her once again.

"Yes, so rather than risking her life by turning her she could have this power" the tiredness in her voice was beginning to bleed through. You pulled yourself from Chan's arms and kissed her forehead

"You need rest Grandma" seeming in a daze you started leaving the room Chan following close behind you until you made it to the kitchen and almost collapsed in his arms.

"Right, you are coming back with me and Minho is going to look you over" Chan stated before scooping you up and starting the trip home. You remembered everything the trip back to Chan's, the fuss when he came bursting through the door carrying you, him yelling to Minho and the others all rushing down to see what had happened but you couldn't even speak you were struggling to even keep your eyes open at that point.

"Why is she always fainting?" Changbin whined looking at you with with his head tilted.

"She is even more dramatic than me" Hyunjin smirked at you and you desperately wanted to flip him off but you couldn't.

"She's had a lot to deal with give her a break" Felix snapped before Chan could even begin to tell them off his voice far sharper than normal.

"What did you do this time?" Minho sighed looking at your eyes.

"I didn't do anything" Chan groaned.

"So this isn't from blood loss?" Minho huffed sending out a small blueish spell around your body. The snarl that ripped from Chan's throat sucked the air out of the room leaving even you slightly wary in your own hazy way.

"Morrigan told her that she is dying, offered her to become the next Morrigan to give her immortality. She was in so much fucking pain and then she just collapsed" Chan ground out his jaw still clenched angry that most of them were not taking this seriously

"I'm sorry what?" Seungmin faulted frowning deeply. Minho recovered quickly from the information and sent out a few different spells to get you to come round faster while you lazily blinked up at him from where you laid on the couch.

"Blinking is good right?" Felix whispered taking the hand that wasn't in Chan's and instantly going wide eyed and stricken. "Han...help" Han vaulted the table he was standing behind and took your forearm in his hand while next to Felix. Between the two of them influencing you, Chan's grounding you and Minho's magic you started to feel better but only marginally.

"Sleep please" you moan quietly shutting your eyes fully. Chan scooped you up with immense care and took you upstairs the others all following suit watching as Chan placed you on his bed and put a blanket over you. Chan ushered everyone into Minho's study at the further down the landing leaving you in silence to sleep.

"What exactly did Morrigan say?" Minho quizzed searching his shelves rapidly

"She is dying" Chan sighed rubbing his face and flopping down into Minho's chair "she used up all the power that the Morrigan gave her if she dies before she passes it on it disappears but if she passes it on then that person becomes immortal as long as they don't use the power. She wants her to have it so she can become immortal rather than the other option she has"

"Morrigan doesn't want you to turn her then?" Hyunjin nodded understanding at least some of what Chan said

"I had no intention of turning her" Chan sighed "But I also didn't realize how big of a deal she was making about the whole mortal, immortal thing either she never mentioned it"

"Or you just didn't catch it" Seungmin added looking at Chan pointedly.

"Does she want you to turn her?" Jeongin squeaked feeling stressed about what that would do to you.

"No I don't think so, she's already nervous about me marking her" Chan looked to Minho who was now flicking furiously through an ancient looking book.

"You haven't marked her at all?" Hyunjin chocked on his own breath "It's been months Chan"

"Why do you think one of us gets her from work every day?" Changbin glared smacking Hyunjin on the back of his head "If she's scared of it why would he?" The others turned to look at Changbin surprised who jut shrugged like it was obvious.

"She should take the power" Minho interrupted looking at Chan who raised his eyebrows waiting for a further explanation "If what Morrigan says is true, and I assume it is, it would give her more power than any of us will ever have which keeps her safe and in theory us safe too"

"How would it keep us safe?" Felix inquired

"All Oddinaries can sense power, you can tell Chan is more powerful than other Vampires in a moment, combine her blood with the Morrigan and she would be one of the most powerful Oddinaries in the world" Minho elaborated like it was obvious and they were all dim witted causing nearly all their eyes to widen.

"Would you be happy to speak to Morrigan about how safe this will be?" Chan slowly asked watching Minho who nodded "I'm going back in to watch her"

You had slept for two days only waking to eat and use the bathroom as the boys each took turns either watching you or bringing you food. Chan was with you most of the time but occasionally he would be out and you would find Felix, Jeongin or Seungmin in his place. On the morning of the third day you awoke to the sound of your grandmother's voice as she softly lectured someone just outside the open doorway.

"I know you care for her little one, she will be fine once she wakes you will see her return to normal" she almost cooed

"But she's my friend and I'm worried" you heard Innie whimper

"We all worry Innie" Chan reassured him quietly "But she is safe with us"

"That is what I am depending on" your grandmother replied before bustling into the room with a tray "Good my child, you are awake"

"Am I?" you muttered skeptically "why are you in Chan's house?" at the sound of your words Chan and Innie came into the room and you could hear thundering steps from outside

"Your paramour worries child, as does his family" she smiled coyly smoothing you hair and handing you a drink

"Chan worries about me on the daily that doesn't explain it" your groaned snidely "What are you hiding?" without turning you could hear Innie and Felix giggle softly "Grandma!"

"The time has come my dear one" she sighed deeply "A choice must be made for my time is running out and I would see you become the new Morrigan before my last breath" a sad smile graced her face as you flung yourself into her arms

"I don't want you to die Grandma, what will I do without you?" you sniffed as tears fell rapidly down your cheeks and onto her blouse

"If you accept my gift you will never be without me, I will remain with you" she soothed softly while you continued to cry into her shoulder "my life will end regardless of this offer my child, accept it and you will be happy with your paramour, the way I once was in ages gone by"

You held onto her for what seemed like hours but no one seemed to mind, you knew she was right, you knew that there was nothing you could do to stop it and at least if you accepted her gift she would be happy before she left. When you eventually sat back up you steeled yourself for what you had decided to do

"What do I need to do Grandma to become the next Morrigan?" you whispered feeling distraught but also determined.

"There is very little you need do, you are already strong and you have proved that many times over. There is little risk to you" she smiled sagely "As you do not seek vengeance or blood the Morrigan should lie calm within you. Not all of us who receive her have needed to use her for that"

"When will this happen?" you swallowed hard knowing the answer was likely to be very soon.

"The new moon is tonight it would be better for you if complete it tonight" she rose from the bed slowly her leg shaking slightly under her as you moved quickly to stabilize her.

"How long have you put off telling me about all of this?" you questioned knowingly.

"Since the first night you came here" she smiled as you helped her towards the bedroom door "Since the young warlock broke the oath spell I began to wither" You escorted her slowly down the first flight of stairs meeting Hyunjin on the landing.

"If I may, my lady" he smiled bowing his head to your grandmother who shook her head exasperatedly.

"Very well, little demon" she sighed letting go of your hand and taking a step towards Hyunjin who promptly swept her off her feet and began down the stairs towards the parlor. You followed in stunned silence as he deposited her in front of the large arm chairs by the fire letting her get herself comfortable.

"Grandma how have you managed to charm an entire house of creatures you previously insulted?" your bewildered expression making her laugh as you took a seat on the floor at her feet.

"Easy my child, I'm dying and we found common ground between us" she chucked

"What common ground?"

"Our love for you, child" she rolled her eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world "But they do fuss more than is needed". You narrowed your eyes skeptically at her but said nothing further as Minho appeared with Chan the former carrying a mug of hot tea which he gave to your grandmother with a warm smile. Chan just looked at you before he dropped a kiss to the crown of your head and left again presumably to prepare for what was coming.

"Lady Morrigan, would you like anything else?" Minho inquired genially

"No thank you young one" she beamed taking a sip of the hot tea he had given her.

"Where will this whole thing happen?" you asked looking at her wistfully knowing that every second with her mattered.

"We will need to be in the moonlight so young Minho has suggested the roof of the house, however I would prefer the little island in the lake of the park, it holds great power that place many of the elder magic users have traveled there to perform more difficult magic" she explained "I will need assistance to get there but it is the best place for the ritual"

"All the kids want to come with you so you will have all of us to assist you my lady" Chan added as he walked back in with a tray of various biscuits and cakes with Felix and the others hovering close behind.

"I am grateful to leave her with you, she has found a greater home here than I could have ever believed her to find. That is why I have fought for her, protected her, she is a rarity among humans" her hand reached out to you and you took it kissing her palm tenderly as you blinked back tears.

"Grandma, tell me about your husband?" you whispered clearing your throat you needed to hear her voice for as long as you could as you looked at her pleadingly.

"My Edwin, he was but a wisp of a boy when we first met, tall and blonde, he worked as a stable hand at the inn caring for horses was the one thing besides out daughter that made him truly happy" she exhaled her eyes crinkling as she spoke "By the time we were wed he had become a strapping man shoulders as wide as a doorway and almost as tall as one, kind and strong and honest he was a good man until the end" she trailed of softly looking fondly at you. Your could feel the woman you saw in front of you fading and as much as it broke your heart you also could see she was ready for it to end after all this time.

"Do you think you will see him again?" you knew it was a foolish question but you wanted to say something anything to bring you some comfort and to ensure that she was happy, that she was content to leave you and this life.

"I would like to hope I so, my darling girl" she breathed out tiredly her breathing seeming slightly more labored. "We should begin out journey before I loose anymore strength" slowly she attempted to pull herself up only the have Felix interceded and help her up.

"We will ensure we get there my lady" he smiled helping her towards the front door, Chan took your hands in his pulling you to your feet and wrapping his arms around you helping to keep you as calm as he could.

"We are all coming baby, you will not be alone through this" he murmured into your ear. Nodding you allowed him to walk you from the house and towards Minho's car with your grandmother already seated in the front you climbed in behind her your hands remaining on her shoulders as you made your way to the the island in the lake.

Parking at the nearest entrance Minho quickly moved to help your grandmother from the car while Chan continued to lead you along watching, and feeling, as your nerves and pain started to climb within you, it was Seungmin and Jeongin who met the two of you at the bank on the lake Seungmin moving to assist your grandmother and Jeongin turning to face you.

"Want to see something cool" He grinned toothily at you as you nodded wide eyed at him, turning back to the water he crouched down and softly sang the most beautiful song you had ever heard. The water swelled slightly and as he stepped forward it moved away forming a totally dry section of land that seemed to intuitively move as he did.

"What is that" you gasped watching in wonder as he took another step forward making the new path longer.

"I'm a Siren, the water and I are part of each other I can ask it to help us get across. Cool huh?" He looked so excited to show you something unique to him and you were in complete awe of it.

"I am honored you would assist me young one after all I have done" your grandmother bowed her head to Seungmin breaking the silence you had been bathed in "You are far greater a creature than I"

"My lady, you are my friends grandmother, the woman who has chosen to give her a gift that will make her and my brother happy, it would be remiss of me to not be here to assist you" Seungmin replied formally showing his pleasure in how pleased your grandmother looked at his words.

"We must make haste now I will not be able to go much farther" she almost whimpered as she made to step forward only to be stopped and lifted effortlessly by Seungmin as Chan shepherded you onto the dry patch on land beside Jeongin.

The walk across the lake took almost no time with your grandmother being carried by Seungmin and once across the weight of what was about to happen hit you like a ton of bricks but there was no way to change things now your grandmother had been so very happy that you were going to accept this last piece of her help. You saw Minho standing in a small stone circle using a spell to light a fire in the center, the circle seemed to be surrounded on all sides by century old trees slightly gnarled in their old age, stepping closer you could feel the power that lie in the circle it almost pulsed with its own heart beat.

"We must stand together in the circle, my child you on one side of the flame from me hold my right arm in yours and repeat everything I tell you too" Your grandmother's voice had grown stronger as Seungmin placed her in the circle and you nodded and followed her request.

The wind picked up slightly as you grasped her right forearm your hand clasped firmly by her elbow and her hand clasped around yours she began to chant softly at first as each of the boys stepped back from you almost to the line of the trees. Her chanting grew louder and her grip stronger her fingers feeling as though they were trying to pierce your skin it was uncomfortable but you didn't dare move or look away from her. The wind blew harder still and the flame between you hotter and brighter after a few minutes of this finally she stopped.

"Repeat after me, child, I make this bond, I make my oath, I give you blood, I give you flesh, I will carry this blessing, I will carry this right" she instructed intently

"I make this bond, I make this oath, I give you blood, I give you flesh, I will carry this blessing, I will carry this right"

"O Morrigan I bind you to me, I bind your soul to me, I bind your power to me" Her voice grew desperate as she continued

"O Morrigan I bind you to me, I bind your soul to me, I bind your power to me"

"Keep repeating it child" she gasped her grip now growing weaker "When I let go you may stop"

"I make this bond, I make this oath, I give you blood, I give you flesh, I will carry this blessing, I will carry this right, O Morrigan I bind you to me, I bind your soul to me, I bind your power to me" you repeated the chant a half dozen timed before your grandmother's hand let go of your arm and she sunk to her knees weakly but smiling triumphantly. You gasped as you felt as if you had been embraced too tightly but lovingly as you heard a voice from somewhere in the back of your head telling you it was done you were one and hundreds of images danced behind your eyes of all the lives that had come before you.

"It has worked" she croaked her voice beginning to fail

"Grandma!" you rushed to her side helping her to a more comfortable position half laying in your arms "I love you, thank you for everything, I love you" You muttered into her hair in between kisses as tears once again fell down your cheeks.

"I am happy for you my dearest girl, you were all I could have hoped for" she whispered before her breathing began to fail, you held her for the last few moments giving her all the comfort you could as your heart shattered you at last lowered her to the ground her eyes now lifeless. Chan approached you slowly along with the other boys unsure of what was going to happen or how you were going to react. You stood gracefully stepping out of the circle as you heard her in the back of your mind whispering to you "I am always with you, child". You watched on as she began to turn to ash crumbling to the ground and blowing away softly in the breeze. Turning to Chan you smiled sadly before the boys came in one by one to hug you giving you their care and comfort.

"How did it feel to absorb that kind of power?" Minho asked cautiously "As a human you did exceptionally well"

"Strange it was like being hugged too tightly, then I saw too many things to comprehend of all the ones who came before me, then the first Morrigan spoke to me and it was done. I honestly thought it was going to hurt" you inhaled deeply before letting the air out slowly feeling quite unusual.

"We should get you home then" Chan interrupted before you could get too carried away "It has been a very intense day love" You nodded allowing him to pick you up to carry you back across the lake even though you didn't actually need his help you were drained emotionally but physically you felt more alive than you ever had. They all followed Jeongin and Chan back across the lake making jokes and lighthearted comments to make you smile.

"You know I owe Hyunjin money now" Changbin nudged your shoulder playfully after Chan lowered you back to the ground. "I was sure our little human was going to faint again"

"I'm sure your little human would have fainted" you giggled turning to look at them all lovingly "How much did you lose?"

"$100 and what do you mean 'would of'?" Hyunjin blinked raising his eyebrow "I was sure you would be fine by the way" you laughed properly at his confusion.

"Boys I'm not a human any more I'm now no different from you" you explained easily watching as some of them instantly got your meaning while some didn't "I'm an Oddinary now".

Fin.

a/n: This is the final part of Chan's Creatures of Chaos story there will be others related to the other members eventually but they are all works in progress currently. Thank you for taking the time to read them all it means so much to me to have your support.

All reblogs, comments and likes result in me sending you my undying love and hope that you eat delicious cookies 🍪

Taglist: @lotus-dly @thegoddessharmony @indelicate-macalino @k-ajla12 @jumunna @cutiepie25162 @pusangmamon @3sriracha @christopher-bangnaldoskzz

[redlightsallnight]

Ok guys

I’m currently sobbing aggressively but that’s finee hahah… ha…

Anyways this was a really great series and I cannot recommend it enough! It mixed so many tropes and genres and UGH it was just so good!!!!!!

Anyways love y’all

Blood Red Skies

mafia Stray Kids x mafia Ateez x Y/N

Warnings: guns, knives, weapons, gore, blood, death, graphic description of gore

notes: this is the last chapter for the series, this is the first ever series I wrote and I’m very proud of myself. Special thanks to @jin-neck-shaft and @scuzmunkie for cheering me on for every update. I really appreciate you guys💚

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