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starrynightgyu · 9 hours ago

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IM LATE BUT HERE ARE ALL MY FAV PARTS OF CHAPTER 1:

It had been a year already without exchanging more than what the corridors and shared classes required — brief flickers of coincidental glances, not even nods. It was meant to stay that way until you took your last breath, until you could forget what he’d asked of you with those eyes, what you gave in return without ever saying yes. But here you were, standing just a reach away from him, again. THIS PARA IS SO DELICIOUS???

"No one’s going to believe you anyway." THATS SO HARSH "If you’re confident," you said quietly, laced with the barest edge of challenge, "then say it again. Tell me to leave, to walk out of here bearing witness to your pitiful state, trusting that blind hope of yours that I’ll just let it all vanish. Go on, Soobin. Tell me." I really really like how mc said it . THEIR DYNAMIC IS SO AWKWARD BUT I STILL FEEL THE CHEMISTRY??? IDK HOW TO EXPLAIN IT BUT YOU PROTRAYED IT SO WELL. ALSO THE TITLE REFERNCES INTO THE SCENES WOFJEFBEKBWLS

but truthfully, these two lines take the cake for me:

You were always being watched before you were known.

And he was always being looked at, but never really seen.

CHAPTER PNE WAS SO GOOD I CANT WAIT TO READ THE NEXT PARRTSDBDSK tysm again for writing this!!

Manacled Hands, Shared Sins || Choi Soobin

i. CHAPTER ONE

.☘︎ ݁˖ Back to story ml .☘︎ ݁˖ Event masterlist

Being a Slytherin was never about villainy – it was about survival. So when you stumble across Choi Soobin, Ravenclaw’s golden Head Boy, accidentally ripping a hole through reality itself, you do what any sensible person would: you make it his problem.

Unfortunately, you’re also a witness to the ritual. Which means if this whole mess comes to light, you’re just as screwed as he is.

⊹₊⟡⋆ 11.7k/ ?

Ravenclaw!Choi Soobin x Slytherin!afab!reader

[NOTE that: Specific warnings will be listed before every chapters || Check the story masterlist page to get the genre + whole warning section] chapter warnings: hogwarts college/uni au, characters are 20+, except for the first part of this chapter - the entirety is written in flashbacks, prejudiced system, reader and soobin starts with a rocky relationship (they're both emotionally constipated and just trying to survive), mild description of nosebleed and fainting, dual pov

MHSS is finally here oh my god this fuckass fic made me pull my hairs out and crash out on a daily basis. It's totally on me for making such a detailed plot back when I dropped the teaser I'm ngl don't even know what was going through my head when I came up with the storyline. I'd like thank my moa friends for this chance and allowing me to bring this story to life <3 ily all so much. The story will be updated weekly! Hoping you like this story as much as I hated writing it <3 Reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated! © filmsbyun ── please do not copy, translate, or repost my work without permission.

Tonight, everything had the chance to change.

After a failed heist of the Marauder's Map from the caretaker’s office, you were compelled to take an improvised detour.

It was supposed to be a perfectly well planned infiltration of the said office to get the magical tool before anyone even realized something was missing. It should have gone without a hitch.

But then Choi Yeonjun, in all his infuriating recklessness, knocked over a lamp with the crook of his elbow.

There was no time to think, let alone breathe. The fast approaching footsteps of the caretaker and his cat reverberated into your bones. You spun on your heel and cast one murderous glare in Yeonjun’s direction, one that said you’d personally transfigure his organs the next time you see him, and then darted into the hidden passage behind the filing cabinet. You didn’t need to tell him where to go — he knew. The two of you split, vanishing into separate secret tunnels that curved beneath the stone walls like veins.

It was an old maneuver in the textbooks — splinter the team to fracture pursuit. Let the enemy scramble. Let them guess which way you’d gone and lose time deciding.

You ducked beneath low beams, boots scraping against damp stones, and emerged somewhere near the third-floor Charms corridor. It was dead silent. You took a moment to press a palm against the wall, steadying your breath, your other hand clenched into a fist.

You felt the irritation bloom in your bloodstream. You hated disruptions to your perfectly constructed plans. More so if the plan promised you nothing but the desired result in your desired way. You despised the unpredictability of someone else’s incompetence.

The map should’ve been yours tonight. You could’ve had one of the greatest magical tools in your very hands if Choi fucking Yeonjun didn’t fuck up.

Hexing him in your mind wasn’t enough. You needed to see him writhe and squirm and regret every breath he took from the moment he decided to knock over that damned lamp. You wouldn’t stop until he begged. Until the arsenal of curses in your vocabulary bled dry.

Tonight, everything had the chance to change.

You didn’t know what it was exactly but suddenly you felt uncomfortable inside. If your senses weren’t keen, you would’ve almost missed it. The air felt uncharacteristically colder, a dip so slight it could’ve been passed off as a draft. Especially during this time of the year considering summer was fast approaching. Yet here, in this corridor, the air felt wrong. Not just cold, but cutting in a way that made your skin tighten beneath your robes. Your eyes narrowed as you stared ahead.

It was not safe to stay outside now considering the caretaker is well aware someone is breaching the curfew hours. You should’ve doubled back the moment you reached the junction. You should’ve taken the route back to the Slytherin dorm long ago.

But instead, you found yourself walking toward the far end of the corridor. It felt like something magnetic was pulling your being to it. It was as if a vicious voice in your mind telling you to see what you could find in there. You stood in front of the door, now feeling the chill biting into your skin through your robes.

Turn around. Leave.

Magic tainted the air and the darkness that surrounded you, but it was almost foul. It reeked of something utterly bestial.

Just before your hand gripped the doorknob, you paused. You stared at it, eyes slightly narrowed and one single thought planted itself in your mind: But what was the point of going in? There was no logic to this, and definitely no reward waiting on the other side. You didn't even know what was behind that door. If you had the map, perhaps you would’ve had some semblance of direction. Instead, all you had was this knot of frustration curdling in your stomach and a bitter aftertaste crawling up your throat reminding you of your failed heist.

Out of spite, your hand twisted the knob.

Locked.

Your head tilted slightly. There was a strange tension in the air that clung to your skin the moment you touched the door. Magically sealed.

Colloportus, probably.

Someone was inside. Now that tickled your curiosity.

“How useless,” you muttered under your breath before fishing out your wand as you stepped back half a pace, “Alohomora.”

The enchantment peeled away with a faint metallic creak. The door opened, spilling cold, stale air into the corridor like breath from a tomb. Your instincts made you grip your wand tighter, the tip barely alight, casting only a faint glow that brushed against the floor.

As you stepped inside the door shut softly behind you, muffling out the corridor. At first, the light seemed distorted, your vision struggling to orient itself to the strange hue tinting the air.

You didn’t know what you were expecting on the other side. An unused room with dust-slicked furniture, perhaps. Rows of forgotten bookshelves or peeling chalkboards — the leftovers of a classroom that no longer served a purpose. At worst, a Gryffindor huddled over some misguided prank, ready to bolt at the sight of whoever crossed them.

Anything, really. Anything but this.

Tonight, everything was going to change.

Anything but him.

You could've sworn your heart stopped beating for a moment. The hand holding the wand slowly dropped to your side as your eyes adjusted to the dark — hoping you were seeing things.

A rift in space, like a violent slash through the air itself. The air around it warped, sucked inwards and shuddered out, like the room was caught in a perpetual gasp. Blackness spilled outward from it in slow drips, thick tendrils of darkness stretching and recoiling, disappearing again, only to return seconds later with renewed intent. The edges shimmered faintly, like oil catching low light, and the space around it throbbed with unnatural pressure.

And standing before it, back to you, head tilted upward like he was staring into the maw of a god in utter defeat was—

"Soobin?" His name slipped out of you before you could help it. A bewildered recognition punched out of your chest.

Choi Soobin flinched like you’d hexed him.

His body twisted sharply as he turned to face you, eyes wild and trembling. There was a pale sheen on his forehead and a terror in his gaze that had nothing to do with being caught and everything to do with what stood — what moved behind him.

You stepped back instinctively, wand lifted a little higher now. Everything was supposed to change tonight but not like this. You were never supposed to find him, let alone come near him.

“Soobin… what are you doing?”

A little over one summer ago, your world unexpectedly collided with Choi Soobin.

You always steered clear of situations that never concerned you. It wasn’t indifference; rather, it was a necessity. It was a rule you clung to with the kind of desperation only survival breeds.

From the moment you were sorted into Slytherin, your name had carried a shadow. You had no freedom to define yourself because everyone else decided who you were before you had a chance to be anyone.

Peers assumed the worst — that you were manipulative and power hungry. Even the smallest act of kindness from you was met with suspicion, as if it were part of a larger scheme. You still remembered a moment in second year — offering to help a Hufflepuff carry a stack of books, only to watch them recoil like you’d threatened them. You remembered thinking to yourself, what would a twelve year old possibly do?

In group projects, Slytherins were the ones no one wanted to be paired with. In duels, you were expected to go too far, and so you held back until it was dangerous to do so.

You learned fast that there was no benefit in trying to prove yourself otherwise. No matter what you did, your actions would always be dissected under the same poisoned lens. This prejudice, this reputation that Slytherins couldn’t escape sometimes baffled you. You had to learn to lean into the mask they gave you just so you could quietly survive. The unfairness you faced didn’t soften with time; it calcified. Hardened into something dense and cold in your chest. It was rage, maybe, but rage so familiar that it settled inside you like second skin.

Therefore, you began to adapt. If the world expected you to be dangerous, then at least you’d make sure they were right to be scared. You started giving them what they wanted. You built a shell so tight around you that you could breathe without fear of anyone getting too close. You developed a habit to always make sure you’re the one in control.

Because being in control meant being safe. Control was how you survived. In this twisted, prejudiced system that you’ve come to resent so deeply, you had to make sure you played the game cunningly. People always assumed Slytherins were power-hungry. They never realized that power was just another word for safety — one you were forced to cling to, because of how the world decided who you were before giving you a chance.

The House prejudice. The biased professors. The way people assumed light was good and dark was evil — you despised all of it. But instead of trying to break the system, you chose to play it better than anyone else. The only power you craved was the kind that let you live without compromise.

And maybe that’s why people like Choi Soobin made no sense to you.

He existed on the other end of the spectrum, where people assumed the best instead of the worst. Head Boy. Top of the class. House of blue and bronze. Teachers adored him. Students respected him. To them, he was the golden standard, someone whose light could not be touched by shadows. You’d always watched him from a distance, not out of envy, but as a way to study the architecture of privilege. The kind of boy who never had to prove he was good — people just believed he was.

You had always seen him as the perfect, pristine model of a student — without a hint of fault, always so thoroughly put together that it seemed almost unnatural. His uniform never bore a crease, his hair always neatly styled and his dimpled smile which was entirely too charming — was the sort that teachers favoured and classmates admired. His record gleamed with achievements, badges, merits, and praise. It was only natural, then, that you saw him as one might look upon an altar, some polished figure placed far above your reach, never faltering and never flawed.

He always looked so unbreakable.

Until that summer of your freshman year, when you pushed open an unused storage room’s door on the outskirts of the castle, you found him hiding away with tears running down his cheeks. And just like that, everything you thought you knew began to fray.

The summer sun flared behind you, casting a wide spill of golden light across the dusty floor, stopping just short of where he sat crumpled in the dark. That spill of light caught his face, and for the first time, you saw Choi Soobin — utterly shattered.

He was crouched down, knees pulled to his chest, shoulders trembling as though whatever composure he usually clung to had slipped completely from his grasp. His face was flushed and puffy, neat hair now askew and those lips — bitten and swollen — looked like he’d tried to hold the sobs in until it hurt.

Your eyes widened on instinct, mirroring his, except his were glassy and bloodshot, and the moment hung between you like glass waiting to hit the floor — your breath stuck in your throat, his faltering in his chest.

The tear tracks that streaked his cheeks glistened faintly in the scant light ought to have made your stomach twist with empathy. But that sight of him — this pathetic, crumpled version of Choi Soobin — sent a rush through your bloodstream so sharp and immediate you almost didn’t recognise it.

It slithered through your chest like a thrill you had no right to feel, a bitter sort of satisfaction rooted not in cruelty but in the cruel symmetry of it all. Because right in front of you was Choi Soobin with a crack in his polished shell. How lucky were you to catch it? Alone, and by sheer accident?

A strangled sound left his throat as he stumbled upwards, hands fumbling to steady himself against the wall. One arm reached out towards you as though bridging the space might undo what had just occurred.

"Why are you here — no, it doesn’t matter. You—!"

Your heart kicked to your stomach at the sight because of what it meant. He was going to plead. You could see it forming in his panicked eyes, in the way he was reaching out slightly, from the shadows he curled in, towards you who stood at the threshold in the light.

It was ironic, almost cruelly so. All this time, you had been the one forced into shadows while he basked under everyone’s approval. And now, here he was, desperate and cornered in the dark, with you holding the door. That image clung to your vision, tipped the balance of your thoughts.

"Please," he rasped, voice hoarse and shaky. "Don’t tell anyone. You didn’t see this. Alright? You didn’t see me. Please."

Because even as your heartbeat quickened, even as your mind raced through the possibilities this encounter had suddenly opened, a low, grim voice inside your head reminded you that this was someone breaking. You weren’t supposed to feel satisfaction watching it happen. It came with an edge of shame, twisting itself around your ribs. You weren’t cruel. You never had been. But the balance of power had always been something you fought to claim, and now that it lay squarely in your hands, warm and alive and real — you couldn’t pretend you didn’t want to close your fist around it.

He said it again, almost tripping over the repetition, each plea more frantic than the last. His tone was splintered with desperation, barely stitched together by what little dignity he had left to himself. He sounded as if the very idea of you walking away with this memory terrified him more than being found in this state by anyone else.

Because you were the one person who’d say nothing, and mean it. Unless you didn’t.

And oh, the way your heart picked up with each of his pleas. This wasn’t the sort of power you clawed tooth and nail for in the face of prejudice. This was power handed to you, freely, through the very act of witnessing. He had no clue what you might do with it — and that, more than anything, made him panic.

A part of you recoiled at the sensation and as much as that part of you that still remembered the sting of loneliness wanted to offer him mercy, the part that had learned to survive by staying three steps ahead… it could already see the leverage hanging between you.

For years, you’d learned how to hold your tongue, when to manipulate a conversation, how to survive being judged before anyone saw the green and silver snake emblem — after all the side glances, all the mistrust, and all the assumptions it was like the universe had thrown you a bone.

Golden, rule-bound, Head Boy Soobin, asking for your silence.

You didn’t need to think very hard. If he didn’t want this moment to exist, then you held the power to erase it — or hold it like a noose. You wondered, idly, what it would feel like to have him caught in your palm. What might he give for your silence? What could you make of that control if you truly chose to keep it?

"Why?" you asked, your tone cutting through the charged air. "What’s in it for me?"

Soobin froze, eyes widening, clearly taken aback by the question. His mouth parted, searching — no, scrambling for something, anything to say in return. But for a few seconds, he came up empty, lips working soundlessly until his gaze flickered to the floor. The apparent defeated breath which slipped past his trembling lips ruefully had you claiming your victory. You should’ve known better than to think you could easily seize up a Ravenclaw like him.

You watched the change wash over him like it was a spell. He straightened up fully, the trembling in his frame gradually pushed aside by the sharper angles as if remembering the role he was supposed to play. There it was again — that mask. Neatly pulled back into place, only this time you knew how easily it cracked.

"Forget it," he said sharply, though his voice cracked slightly around the edge, betraying the rush with which he reclaimed control. "Just go. If you’ve got what you wanted, then go on. Walk out. It won’t matter either way, will it?"

You blinked once, your brow twitching in surprise that slowly bled into caution. There was something in the way he said it, a calculated precision that felt as though it had been honed under pressure. It was meant to cut.

"No one’s going to believe you anyway."

With two long strides, his frame came close enough but still maintained a safe distance. He towered above you in height, his shoulder far above where yours stood, and you took in the way that if you had stood a little more close to him — his lips would have easily brushed your forehead if he so much as leaned in. Yet, your chin stayed level. Your feet didn’t budge.

But the meaning behind the words struck harder than you anticipated. You’d heard that before too many times, from too many people, in too many forms. Like he’d plucked it directly from the mouth of every person who'd instinctively blamed your house for bruised egos.

The implication that your voice held less weight simply because of the house you’d been sorted into. He meant it as a bluff, a wall of indifference to hide the very real fear he’d shown before. But those words scraped across old wounds, and the sting made your fingers twitch.

A breath caught in your throat, then left as something closer to a scoff. You've played this game too many times to lose your balance now. You gave him a look that teetered on the edge of disbelief and smiled, or rather, allowed your mouth to curl into something too restrained to be mirth.

"Are you sure about that, Head Boy?" The title left your lips like a mock coronation stripped bare. "Because not long ago, you looked frightened out of your skin over what I might do after seeing you like… this. Doesn’t seem like such a throwaway moment now, does it?"

You stepped forward slowly, one foot after another, until there was barely an arm’s length left between you both. Soobin didn’t move but his throat bobbed with a swallow, jaw clenched — and your gaze stayed level with his, unshaken.

"If you’re confident," you said quietly, laced with the barest edge of challenge, "then say it again. Tell me to leave, to walk out of here bearing witness to your pitiful state, trusting that blind hope of yours that I’ll just let it all vanish. Go on, Soobin. Tell me."

His jaw ticked, eyes flickering with too many thoughts at once, and for a long, stretched-out second he simply stood there, every inch of his tall frame taut with conflict. Then, lethargically he dragged a hand across his face. His fingers pressed hard into his brow, then down over the curve of his cheek, wiping off the exhaustion with those long drag of his fingers.

"What do you want?" he asked, finally.

This was him giving in — not to you personally, but to the situation. And that’s when you get to decide the terms of how this arrangement will proceed. You took a moment yourself to think over what you truly wanted.

You didn't hold any personal vendetta against him nor do you want to hurt him. You never wanted to hurt him in the first place, only sought to solidify the leverage he himself presented in front of you. Having the Head Boy tethered to you — even by circumstance — might one day tip the scales in your favour. And right now, you weren’t above playing the long game.

Your gaze flicked briefly to the scuffed floor beneath your shoes, your expression falling into one of mild, almost disinterested contemplation, though your mind raced through possibilities with exacting clarity. After a few moments, you let your lips curl into the faintest semblance of a smile.

"Hmm. I’ll think about it," you said at last, voice low but audible. Then, meeting his eyes again, you added, "Until then, our hands are manacled."

Your smile had barely faded, the echo of your words still hanging in the air —

"Until then, our hands are manacled."

— when you made the turn, prepared to let him go, to walk out and leave the silence to stitch him back together. You had no intention of dragging it further, no desire to bruise what dignity he still had, only to mark the moment, to keep the upper hand. But before your foot could land into a stride, his fingers closed around your wrist.

They weren’t rough or bruising, but they held just enough insistence to halt your step and to command your attention. Your head turned sharply. He was looking at you not with that frantic panic from earlier but with a kind of stillness that unsettled you. The flush had left his face, leaving behind a pallor that did not suit him, and his breath came shallower than it should have.

"I don’t like to be in anyone’s debt," Soobin said, and though the words came soft, there was nothing weak about them. They were steady enough to sound like a decision had been made. “So whatever it is you want — name it. Just say it, and you’ll have it. Then we’ll be done.”

You blinked at him, momentarily caught off-guard by the vehemence in his voice. You weren’t sure what surprised you more — that he still had it in him to bark terms, or that he thought this was a simple trade to finalise and forget. You studied his face, the stubborn tilt of his chin clashed with the dampness at his temples, the taut lines around his mouth, the sheen over his skin. Your eyes flicked to the point of contact between you — your wrist, small in his hand — and you gave it the faintest twist, more a signal than a struggle.

"Let go," you muttered.

But before you could follow through, before you could wrench your hand back fully, your gaze caught on a detail that hadn’t been there seconds ago. A line, red and stark, had begun its slow descent from his nose to the curve of his lip. You blinked once, processing it.

"Soo—"

Your attempt to speak his name fractured mid-syllable as his expression shifted — eyes unfocused and jaw slackening. His frame swayed alarmingly, head tilting forward but he looked at you mustering all of his might one last time.

“Please,” he managed to breathlessly croak out. His grip, which had held you fast only moments ago, tightened just once, a brief flare of strength as if trying to hold onto something, anything. Then it went slack completely.

In a heartbeat his knees buckled and the full weight of him collapsed forward.

Soobin woke with a start, lungs dragging in air that felt stale and far too cold against his damp skin. His chest heaved once before he shot up onto his elbows, eyes darting around with a vague urgency as though he couldn’t quite piece together where he was. The dimness of the room pressed in on him, shadows stretching long across the stone floor. It was only when he caught sight of the small, rectangular window near the ceiling — its glass tinged with the bruised hues of dusk that it clicked. He was still in the storage room. The sun had gone down. How long had he been unconscious this time?

He shifted slightly and saw a robe, folded neatly and placed beneath his head like a makeshift pillow. His own had been draped over him, now pooled in his lap where it slipped down when he sat up. His brows furrowed, and he was about to straighten up further when a voice made him flinch.

"You’re up?"

His gaze snapped across the room. You were sitting against the opposite wall, legs stretched out in front of you. There was nothing pointed about your tone, nor any warmth either.

At a loss he turned his head slightly, taking in the storage room with a fresh glance but the abrupt movement sent a sharp throb blooming behind his temples and he winced.

"Don’t move around too much," you said, uncrossing your arms and getting to your feet with minimal fuss. "You passed out from exhaustion."

You crossed the room in even strides before crouching down beside him — not too close, but near enough that he could see the faint sheen of sweat on your collarbone, likely from the stress of the situation rather than the air itself. His eyes tracked your movement before narrowing slightly.

"Why are you still here?" he asked, tone lower than usual, roughened by wear.

Your eyes rolled over to his with a sardonic tilt to your brow. "Surely you weren’t expecting me to lug you up to the Hospital Wing, were you?" There was a dry slant to your voice, and your gaze flicked once to his tall frame, your meaning crystal clear.

He had the decency to look slightly confused.

"I nicked a few healing potions," you added, pulling a small vial from your pocket and turning it over in your hand. "Didn’t use a Reviving Spell because you looked too comfortable knocked out cold."

But Soobin just blinked at you, frown deepening as he shook his head faintly, strands of hair brushing against his forehead. "No... that’s not what I meant. I meant—" he faltered, eyes narrowing again, "—why didn’t you leave?"

You stilled, the potion vial cooling in your palm. You looked at him squarely then, and a soft sigh pushed from your chest as if the answer, though simple, was too tangled to unpack in full. You let your gaze fall away for a moment, tracing the dull lines on the stone floor, before you leaned forward and offered the vial towards him.

"Why were you crying?"

The question came out quiet but not tentative, as though you already knew the answer — which you did — and were just daring him to name it aloud.

He didn’t take the vial nor did he answer, rather his eyes dropped to his fists, now limp against his lap. He stared at them for a moment, before murmuring, "I thought I said I don’t like to be in anyone’s debt."

You chuckled, the sound soft and lacking any real bite, though it made him glance up with mild surprise. It was clear then that he hadn’t expected that reaction. You, on the other hand, were beginning to see him more clearly with every passing minute.

The perfect version of Choi Soobin in your mind had long since shattered. And now, as he sat there frowning at his own hands like they’d betrayed him, you could finally admit that he was no different from you in the ways that mattered.

You gave the bottle a small shake and then dropped it into his lap, where he fumbled clumsily to catch it.

"You won’t be in my debt," you said evenly, and got to your feet again without waiting to see whether he drank it or not.

Soobin's fingers tightened slightly around the healing vial in his hand, knuckles paling as his eyes lifted slowly, gaze steady in that way of his — still somewhat guarded, but no longer openly confrontational.

"For what?" he asked, a rasp still clinging to the edge of it. "For your silence? Or the fact that you helped me?"

You paused in your step, then turned just enough to glance down at where he sat. The rigidity hadn’t left his posture, and you could see the way he was still watching you like he expected the other shoe to drop. It struck you then, how similar it looked to the way you’d spent half your life waiting, anticipating, calculating. It almost felt like staring at a mirror.

And for once, you couldn’t fault him for it.

"You’re still on guard," you observed, your tone level, not accusing. You turned back to face forward again, keeping your gaze on the opposite wall as you spoke. "Can’t blame you. I’d be, too."

Soobin didn’t respond straight away. But then his voice came, a little rough, the words spoken slowly like he wanted each one to land. "You asked what was in it for you. So how do I — why should I — trust that you’re not just doing all this because it benefits you somehow?"

You didn’t look at him right away. Your gaze flicked to the dim slit of the window, the last strips of sun thinning out like paint against the castle wall, and you exhaled slowly before finally meeting his eyes again.

"You’ve every right to be cautious," you murmured. Then, quietly, as though confessing it more to yourself than him, "I might’ve wanted a transaction earlier. I’d be stupid not to. But I’m not heartless. I couldn’t walk out and leave you there, knowing full well I could help."

The question in his eyes was still there, though fainter now, as though his certainty was beginning to wear thin. And maybe that’s why you said what you did next.

"I’m not what they make me out to be," you said. "Most times, I’m not even close. And you of all people should know what that’s like, shouldn’t you?"

That made his brows draw in, and the crease between them deepened just slightly. You knew he’d caught the implication.

"People see what they want, right? They call you perfect because it suits them. Just like they look at me and see trouble. A Slytherin must be scheming. I’m used to being doubted. But you—" Your voice softened just a notch, not in pity, but in recognition. "You get doubted for the opposite. No room to slip up because you’re the one everyone bets on."

"You don’t know anything about me," he muttered at last, gaze dropping and away from yours.

"I could say the same," you replied without hesitation. "Besides, I’ve seen plenty already."

You watched the storm gather behind his eyes again, but it wasn’t the same as before. There was less bite in it, more weariness. With a sigh, you stepped closer and crouched beside him again, retrieving the vial he still hadn’t opened. "Drink it," you said, holding it up in front of him. "It’ll help. You’re still half out of it, and it’s getting late. They’re probably already wondering where you are."

He hesitated, but finally took it and drank, his throat working through the bitter liquid. You waited, arms draped across your knees. When he lowered the bottle, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, you didn’t bother sugar-coating the next question.

"Why don’t you want people to see you like this?"

He didn’t look at you, just stared down at his hands. Then, almost like the words slipped out without meaning to, he said, "My worth only matters if I come out on top."

Your head tilted, just slightly. The pieces had been falling into place from the moment you found him, but now they were slotting in too perfectly. You didn’t say anything for a moment. Slowly, you exhaled.

You were beginning to think there wasn’t much point in keeping him leashed by some hollow agreement. He was just as misjudged as you. So you shifted back, sitting on your heels, and said, "Look, I know trust isn’t a word people use around Slytherins. I’m not asking for that. But if it’s fairness you want, then here’s my offer. You agree to help me out when I ask — and in return, I keep this between us. That’s it. Just an even trade."

You watched him closely, saw the flicker in his expression as he tried to process your offer, the way he was weighing the edges of your words. And maybe you should’ve been more idealistic, more kind-hearted, but that wasn’t how you’d learnt to survive.

You hoped he’d say yes — not just for your sake, but because it meant he’d started to see you as more than the house stitched on your robes. But even then, deep down, you knew better than to let your guard down. Because in your world, trust was a currency far more dangerous than gold, and if he ever turned on you, you’d have to do what you always did: survive.

“Alright.”

Soobin couldn’t recall the last time he’d slept properly. His days began far too early, long before the rest of the castle had stirred, trudging into duties that he never had the heart to refuse. The badge stitched into his robes caught the sunlight just right, glinting with every step, as though reminding him of what was expected. He ticked every box, filled every space that others left behind. It was never enough to simply do well; he had to do more. He had to be more.

By the time evening fell, Soobin had already run himself ragged. His nights were riddled with broken naps, eyes shut only to be startled awake by the persistent tug of responsibility. More often than not, he’d catch the sunrise from the dormitory window — bleary-eyed, blanket kicked to the floor, still in uniform from the day before. If he did sleep, it was never for long, and it was never uninterrupted. And yet, every single morning, he would rise and reapply the polish on the version of himself that the world had come to know. He’d fasten the buttons on his robe, draw his tie straight, and pull that mask on with both hands — the one that made people proud of him. The one that made them believe he had it all figured out. The one that hid the parts of him that no one cared to ask about.

He hadn’t even realised, until recently, just how long he’d been wearing it. It had grown into his face like a second skin. He often told himself that he was doing it all for his own sake. That the pursuit of perfection was something he wanted. But if he peeled back the layers, if he really sat down and looked the truth in the eye, he knew it wasn’t that simple. Since he was a child, affection and approval had come tethered to achievement. A good grade earned praise, a trophy won applause, an honour badge earned a pat on the head. It didn’t take long for the boy to understand: his value was conditional and was tied directly to success. And so he adapted. He became whatever was needed of him. The world taught him that love and worth were things to be earned.

So, every morning, he told himself again: this is for me. But behind that mask Soobin was already rotting.

The real him — the raw, tired, fallible boy that existed beneath the accolades and expectations had long been buried beneath a veneer of perfection polished so thoroughly that even he struggled to remember what lived underneath. It wasn’t that he wanted to fool anyone, but the thought of letting that image slip, even by a thread, left him dreading what might be left behind. The fear was always there, crouched at the back of his mind: if he stopped producing, if he slipped up, even once, would he still matter? Would he still be worthy of the praise he’d spent his entire youth collecting? Each day they asked more of him — more excellence, more responsibility, more poise and each day, Soobin gave them all of it with a smile that never reached his eyes. He gave until he had nothing left, and still, the asking never ceased.

No one had ever managed to break through the mask he wore — not classmates, not professors, not even his closest acquaintances who only ever saw the version of him that smiled at the right time, performed when needed, and never once faltered. The hollow part of him, the part hidden behind tired eyes and rehearsed words, had been left untouched. Until you appeared with a sledgehammer and hit it square on his face, cracking the mask in one go.

You, who were supposed to be a stranger.

Soobin hadn’t known what to make of you. He knew your name, of course. You’d both walked the same corridors for years. Sat in the same exam halls. Existed in the same world but it had never collided. He had always been far too consumed with perfecting himself to ever stop and consider the people around him. While yours seemed untouched by that particular strain of madness, carved from a quieter kind of resilience.

He thought you were the sort who liked to be alone, someone who kept to the shadows by choice. Maybe he hadn’t cared to look beyond the lines he’d drawn in his head. He had never paused to wonder what you might be like beyond the stories told in whispers between students, never thought your paths would cross in a way that mattered.

And now, in the wake of a single moment that had slipped past control, you were there, woven into the edges of his thoughts, tethered to a side of himself he’d worked desperately to conceal. You had seen a part of him that he hadn’t even let himself look at for too long. And Soobin, for all his cleverness, didn’t know how to untangle that without losing hold of the rest.

“Soobin?”

The voice cut clean through his thoughts, sharp enough to pull him back from wherever his mind had wandered. He blinked, turning his head toward the Ravenclaw prefect standing beside him with an expectant look. Right. They were in the middle of an inspection. A lost artefact, supposedly one of the older enchanted trinkets tucked away for display, had gone missing over the weekend, and somehow it had turned into a full-blown investigation. Not that the item held any real threat or value; if anything, Soobin thought the whole affair had been blown grossly out of proportion. He cleared his throat, mustering a faint smile as he straightened up.

“Sorry — what were you saying?”

The prefect, arms folded and brow creased, let out a sigh. “I said we ought to check the dungeons next. The Slytherin prefects have been acting shifty ever since we mentioned rounding up their lot for questioning.” Another groan followed, the boy’s voice carrying an exaggerated drawl. “Honestly, I’ve seen them slinking about corridors they’ve no business being in. Always somewhere they shouldn’t be. Isn’t it obvious who we ought to start with?”

Soobin listened, the words floating past him like smoke, leaving behind only irritation. It had been three days since that afternoon in the storage room — three long days filled with restless thoughts, unspoken questions, and your voice echoing in the corners of his mind: "I’m not what they make me out to be." — "You of all people should know what that’s like." And he did. Merlin help him, he did.

“No,” he said, voice clipped but not raised, the change in tone enough to make the prefect blink. “Leave the Slytherins out of it. Unless you’ve got solid proof, there’s no cause to single them out. You told me the last magic trace showed the artefact was by the lake, didn’t you?” He raised an eyebrow, the smile now gone from his face. “Then if you’re so eager, go dive in and see what you find.”

The prefect’s face coloured with disbelief. He opened his mouth to object, but Soobin cut him off before a single word could leave his lips.

“You’re dismissed.”

The prefect faltered then turned on his heel and stalked off. Soobin’s eyes drifted to the window at the far end of the corridor, to the grey skies outside. Three days, and yet your words still stirred something uncomfortably real in him.

Yes, this was what his mind had become in the aftermath; an utter disarray because of you.

To clear his mind, Soobin had taken to sorting potions in the classroom long before any of the junior students were due to arrive. The room was still and faintly lit by the slanted sunlight pouring through the narrow windows, and for a short while, that silence had granted him the illusion of peace. He busied himself sorting through labelled vials and rattling jars filled with potion ingredients, meticulously aligning them according to the Professor’s usual arrangement, hoping the orderliness would somehow impose itself upon the growing disorder in his mind.

Anything to stop his mind from drifting back to that moment three days ago. Anything to stop thinking about you. And of course, as if summoned by thought alone, the door creaked open.

He froze mid-reach, heart lurching with the sharp recognition that some part of him had known it would be you. You paused in the doorway, your own expression unreadable, but you masked your surprise more effectively than he did. Glancing around at the empty classroom, you ambled in and let a few vials drop onto the surface with a clink.

"You following me now?" you said, tone dry but teasing, your eyes flicking toward him with a faint quirk of your brow.

Soobin, throat dry, feigning a disinterested scoff and muttered, "Don’t flatter yourself."

You smirked faintly, then leaned back against one of the desks. "Word is, someone’s lost a trinket and now the castle’s having a meltdown over it."

He watched your face more than he listened to your words, wondering if you, too, had already been on the receiving end of those narrow-eyed stares and baseless suspicions like the rest of your house? He wouldn’t put it past them. Slytherin had always made for convenient scapegoats. He didn’t know if anyone had singled you out yet, and he wouldn’t ask — but the thought made his chest tighten regardless.

"I’m looking into it," he said at last, hands fiddling with a cork that didn’t need adjustment. "I’m doing what I can to stop people jumping to conclusions. But — well — I mean, I just hope —"

You snorted and held up a hand, cutting him off without needing to raise your voice. "Don’t pity us. Told you, we’re used to it by now. Frankly, it’s getting funny. Watching them scurry around like rats thinking they’ve uncovered something worthwhile. But I will say this — you’re wasting your time rounding us up."

You reached into your robe and pulled out another small vial, turning it over between your fingers before tossing it lightly to the desk beside him. He watched you cross the room with an unhurried gait before you leaned your side against another desk, tilting your head slightly as you continued. "One of your prefect lackeys cornered me yesterday, asked if I’d been out past curfew. Couldn’t lie — of course I had. Have you seen our dorm? Feels like a cupboard on the best of days. Sometimes I need air, that’s all."

His eyes widened, caught off guard by the ease with which you admitted to rule-breaking, and you laughed at the expression he wore.

"Lucky I was out, though. I had such a magnificent view of the Great Lake. You might want to check with the Gryffindor Quidditch lot."

He blinked, processing your words. "Are you sure you saw —"

You shrugged, straightening up, brushing past him with a careless grace. "Up to you, Head Boy. Whether you believe me or not, that’s your decision."

Just before stepping out, you gave him a languid wave over your shoulder. Just like that you were gone, leaving him standing there amidst the shelves and sunlight and questions.

Soobin stood unmoving for several long moments, your words echoing louder than he’d expected. There was no logic in doubting you — not when everything you’d done until now pointed away from manipulation. Besides, you had every reason not to help him. Perhaps it was your way of keeping the suspicion away from your house, now that you had him at a disadvantage. Or were you truly doing it because you simply could?

Either way, the more he thought of you, the less sense you made, and the more you occupied his thoughts.

But for now, he had to take a chance. A risk, yes — but one rooted in instinct. By mid-afternoon, he had assembled his group of prefects and approached the Gryffindor Quidditch team. What followed sent a ripple through the castle by sundown: sure enough, buried beneath spare brooms and scattered playbooks, the artefact was found, tucked into a leather duffle that bore the team’s crest.

The case, to the astonishment of many, was closed within hours.

In the Great Hall, under the enchanted ceiling dimming into evening stars, Soobin had been summoned to the front of the room and praised, his name ringing out across the four long tables amid applause and murmured admiration. He bowed his head politely, offered the required responses, accepted the accolades — but it felt hollow.

Because the truth sat heavily in his chest: the success wasn’t his. It all felt wrong because it wasn’t his doing.

As his eyes swept over the Slytherin table, he found you seated among the others, your chin propped on your palm, your expression as unreadable as ever. But you were watching him. He held your gaze, his shoulders slumped with the breath leaving him in a slow sigh. If his eyes could speak, he hoped they’d managed to say the words he couldn’t voice aloud, not here.

You did this.

You smiled faintly, a small twitch of your lips before you looked away.

The applause continued, but Soobin could no longer hear it properly over the ringing in his ears. The recognition refused to sit right. Praise meant nothing when it was built on someone else’s truth. If the system failed to acknowledge how to recognise the likes of you, someone had to.

Because he, at least, knew the full story — and he wasn’t about to forget it.

For as long as you could remember, sleep had never been something that came easily to you. It was a fickle guest at best, arriving uninvited and leaving without warning, more often absent than present. There were stretches of time where your nights blurred into each other, endless hours spent staring at the ceiling of your dormitory, thoughts circling like vultures over carrion, refusing to give you peace. On nights when the insomnia bit harder than you could handle, you would find yourself wandering beneath the stars, seeking calm in the open air and high arches of the Astronomy Tower. It had long since become your refuge, a haven away from the noise, both external and internal.

Draped in shadows and starlight, the tower had always felt like another world entirely, a secret space far removed from the buzz and bustle of daily life. Up there, it was just you and the sky, the stretch of it so vast it made your problems feel smaller, if only for a little while. Over time, the late hours had become sacred, a carved-out slice of the day that belonged solely to you. You knew the patrol schedule of the prefects by heart, memorised the patterns of their rounds and adjusted your movements accordingly, weaving yourself between the gaps they left behind. It was a routine that had served you well for years, earned and protected with vigilance.

So when you reached the floor just beneath the tower that night, bleary-eyed from another restless stretch and wrapped in your usual cloak of solitude, it came as a rude jolt to realise your calculations had, for once, failed you. The faint scuff of approaching footsteps told you someone else was near, and your brain kicked into high alert, racing to concoct a plausible diversion or escape plan that might buy you time. But your mind never had the opportunity to come up with a plan.

A strong hand caught your arm, and before you could so much as draw a breath, you were pulled into a narrow alcove, swallowed by shadows. Another hand came over your mouth firmly and you froze in alarm. Your heart thundered in your chest as your back hit the cool stone of an alcove wall. You blinked trying to restore your disoriented vision in the dark and when your vision steadied, you saw Soobin.

He was pressed close, his body angled between yours and the faint light spilling in from the corridor, and he looked at you with a warning glint in his eyes as he brought a finger to his lips, silently urging you not to make a sound. You stared at him, stunned into silence, and after a long beat, he slowly withdrew his hand from your mouth and stepped back. The sudden lack of contact made the air feel colder somehow, and you drew in a sharp breath as if recovering from a plunge underwater.

From where you stood, tucked away in the shadows, you listened to him speak with another prefect. His tone was levelled as he dismissed her presence with a few convincing words about being on patrol and already checking the area. Eventually, the sound of footsteps receded down the staircase.

You remained still until you were certain the coast was clear, then turned your head toward him. He leaned against the entrance of the alcove, arms crossed over his chest, and for a moment there was something almost rueful in the way he looked at you.

"Had a feeling you’d be here tonight," he said, voice softer than you expected.

You eyed him warily; instinct dictated your response. Your brow arched, tone dry as ever. "So you are following me."

To your surprise, he laughed — a proper one, soft but genuine, and you found yourself momentarily thrown. It wasn’t the reaction you’d expected, and as the sound settled, you noticed how it pulled deeper creases at the corners of his eyes. His dimple deepened, and though you’d never admit it aloud, your gaze lingered on it a moment too long.

He motioned his head toward the staircase. "Come on."

You hesitated for a heartbeat before following him up the remaining flight, steps silent against the worn stone. When you reached the top, he didn’t speak immediately, simply moved to one side to let you pass through the archway that opened into the Astronomy Tower. The wind tugged faintly at your hair, and above, the sky stretched wide and blinking with stars.

"I was wondering," he said eventually, glancing sidelong at you, "if you wanted to seal our transaction."

That caught your attention. You regarded him with narrowed eyes. "Oh? What do you propose?"

He exhaled slowly, as though choosing his words with care. "Top floors are part of my patrol area. I usually take the tower last, so it’s clear most nights. You could use it — whenever you like, really."

You tilted your head, assessing him, weighing the truth in his words against the instinct that had long since taught you to doubt everyone. He seemed to sense it because his voice softened, the bravado peeling back just slightly.

"It’s my way of saying thank you. And... I’m sorry. For the things I said back in the storage room. The way I looked at you then. If using the tower brings you any kind of peace, then maybe it’ll bring me some too. Knowing I could give you something in return."

You scoffed at his words, startled perhaps, but far too practised at hiding it to let the slip show for long, and as always, you reached for the oldest armour in your arsenal: deflection. “You do realize I didn’t do anything grand for you, right?”

Soobin didn’t so much as blink at your reply. If anything, he looked rather resigned to hearing it, offering a soft nod that seemed more of a confirmation to himself than a response meant for you. “Yep. Had a feeling you’d say that,” he murmured, then he held out a hand, as though proposing a treaty. "Truce?"

Your gaze dropped to his outstretched hand, studying it as though it were a foreign object before your expression twisted with incredulity, arms crossing in front of your chest in a motion that was part self-protection, part calculated provocation. “And access to the Restricted Section whenever I need it. You’ll cover for me,” you bargained smoothly.

One of his brows arched, and though his expression remained composed, there was the faintest flicker of exasperation in his eyes, perhaps even reluctant amusement at your audacity. “I don’t even have permission to enter that place myself,” he replied, the protest lacking any real conviction.

You only shrugged, unbothered. “Yes, but you’ll be let off the hook far more easily than I would, wouldn’t you? I’ll take advantage of that,” you said, voice light but the meaning underneath it anything but.

A long sigh escaped him, and he brought his fingers up to rub at his temples as though your very presence were both a headache and puzzle. You raised your hand with theatrical flair, interrupting him with a disarming smile that hinted at mischief rather than apology.

“I think that evens out the weight of our deals. I’m being so terribly generous by keeping your secret, after all. Surely you can manage this much for me in return. Unless —” You tilted your head, letting the smirk curl lazily across your lips. “Your saintliness is repulsed by my sins?”

That drew a comical snort out of him, and he shook his head, shoulders dropping a touch as though conceding the match, if only this round. He turned without answering, crossing the space to where a weathered satchel lay slumped against the stone wall of the tower. From it, he pulled a book bearing the tell-tale signs of having been plucked from the shelves no ordinary student was meant to touch.

When he held it out to you, you didn’t move to take it right away. Your brows drew together, gaze narrowing as it moved between the book and his face. “You don’t have permission to enter the Restricted Section, you say?” you asked slowly as the implication sank in.

Because it was obvious now — to get that book, he would have had to slip past more than one barrier, and likely break more than a few rules. The smile on his lips told you he hadn’t borrowed it under anyone’s good graces. He’d gone in himself, without approval and permission.

He didn’t look the least bit remorseful. If anything, there was a flicker of pride in the way he stepped closer, extending the book again, as though this too were part of the truce. “As you can see, I’m no saint,” he said with a soft laugh bordering on irony. “You already know that, don’t you?”

Then came the grin again, lopsided and strangely genuine in a way that didn’t suit the polished Head Boy the rest of the school had come to revere. “We’re sharing sins.”

You looked down at his hand again. The very hands that had been manacled to yours by shared sins and lighthearted transactions, as though the pair of you had sealed some farcical pact made in jest. Who could have predicted that those same hands would soon find themselves bound in matters far graver, knotted into secrets far more treacherous, tangled in deeds that could not be wiped clean with a simple curfew excuse or concealing secrets?

You shook his hand once, a simple act that now bore the full weight of a promise neither of you could have fully understood at the time. That was where it began — the point from which everything gradually, almost imperceptibly, began to shift. What started as necessity quickly became habit, and habit became familiarity, until even the strangeness of it began to fade into routine.

It surprised you, how quickly the pattern formed. The corridors would be vacant by the time you arrived, just as he had said, and you no longer had to move with the same guarded tread or cast furtive glances over your shoulder. He would appear after his patrol, and there would be a brief exchange of acknowledgement before you two went into your bubbles.

Most nights passed in that strange parallel silence, with the only sound being the occasional turning of a page. He studied a lot, not just schoolwork but obscure texts filled with difficult incantations, ancient theory, and dense paragraphs even the professors didn’t bother assigning. Sometimes he muttered to himself, testing wordless charms under his breath, barely more than a whisper of intent and flicks of his wand. Other times, he simply fell asleep.

You would watch, faintly incredulous, as his posture would slacken and his chin drop slowly to his chest. There were nights he barely lasted twenty minutes before nodding off, and you had to wonder if he really lacked that much awareness or if he was just that used to trusting no one would disturb him.

Or worse, if he thought you would be kind enough to rouse him when it was time to leave.

He’d be disappointed if he thought you’d be that nice. You weren’t his minder. Yet each time, as if on cue, you found yourself going back to your words; fingers tapping his shoulder or nudging his arm with a muttered, "It’s time."

The days rolled into weeks. There were nights when the silence gave way to words without preamble. One such night found you with your back resting against the cold surface of a column, head tilted back to peer up at the invisible sky beyond the high windows, while Soobin lay sprawled nearby on his back, his arms folded over his midriff. The silence between you transformed into something so harmless now that when he spoke, it didn't feel jarring.

"Mind if I talk?" he asked, not so much seeking permission as gauging whether your presence was receptive to it tonight.

You said nothing, only glanced down at him briefly before returning your gaze upwards, and by now, he knew you well enough to take that for a yes.

"I don’t reckon I’ve slept properly in weeks," he murmured after a moment, as though he didn’t expect an answer, and perhaps didn’t even want one.

You wanted to respond — your nights hadn’t been restful either, not for years now — but instead you stayed still, allowing him to continue.

"There’s always something more to revise, more to commit to memory, more to get just right. If I’m not top of the class, it’s like I’ve failed — like I’m squandering the whole bloody point of it, whatever 'it' is meant to be."

There was a note of distance in his voice now, like he was repeating something someone else had once said to him, or perhaps something he’d told himself so often it had begun to lose all meaning. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling, but they weren’t really seeing it, and when his hand came up to drag across his face, it was with a weariness that seemed to sit in his bones.

"I don’t even know what I’m chasing any longer," he said, pressing his fingertips beneath his eyes, as if he could force back the shadows clinging to them. His voice had lowered further still. He took in a breath, one that hitched slightly at the end. "I reckon most people think I enjoy it — the marks, the badges, the praise. That I live for it. I’ve never said otherwise, have I? That’s probably my own fault." He gave a shrug then, though it looked rather more like his shoulders were folding in on themselves than offering any real dismissal.

Maybe no one had ever asked. You didn’t reply, but you did shift slightly, sock-covered toes flexing beneath your robe as your thumb found the edge of a loose thread at your knee. You rolled it between your fingers, not to fidget, but to keep your hands occupied while your thoughts tangled around his words.

They weren’t revelations, not really — not anymore. Over the course of these late nights, in snatched looks and half-conversations, you had begun to fully piece together a version of Soobin that didn’t match the one paraded around the castle like some living trophy. He’d carried the image so well, you supposed people had stopped asking what lay beneath it. You weren’t even sure if he could see over it himself anymore.

You’d suspected as much weeks ago. Merlin, you’d known from the moment you found him in that cramped storage room, folded in on himself with tears slipping down his face like he was trying to shed everything that made him human.

He wasn’t held together by certainty or pride, but by the sheer pressure of never being allowed to fall behind. He lived in a world of ‘musts’ and ‘shoulds,’ where stepping out of line meant failing entirely. And you — well, you had come to see it far more clearly than you’d intended.

"If I stop," he said, voice thinner now, barely carrying across the distance between you, "it’ll look like I’ve given up. But if I keep going like this, I’ll fall apart." He said it as a truth he'd long since resigned himself to.

So you picked the option where no one notices. You didn’t say it out loud, but the thought crossed your mind anyway, bitter still not untrue.

You glanced at him though all you could really look at were his hands. One brushed a loose string on his sleeve, then curled into a fist. They were restless. He hadn’t looked your way once.

“You’re not very good at taking your own side,” you said eventually. Your voice wasn’t cruel.

He gave a brief snort, as though the truth of it didn’t surprise him. “I’ve not the faintest clue how,” he said, voice dry. “I think — I think I’ve only ever been taught how to win. No one ever mentioned what to do if I decided to lose on purpose. Or if I just lost.”

You shifted again, rolling your head to the side to look at him, your cheek pressed to your forearm, eyes sharp in the shadows. The air was beginning to bite more now somehow, the stone floor colder beneath your robes, but you didn’t move beyond that small adjustment.

"That sounds like a miserable way to live."

He remained silent, then softly, "It is."

No words were shared for a few minutes. You sat with everything he said, not sure whether to add anything, or whether adding anything would cheapen it. It felt like he took a part of his heart out and forced you to hold the bleeding piece. And now it sat in your hands, raw and uncomfortable, a truth so vulnerable you didn’t know if you had the right to hold it. Your hands were now tainted.

His titles and image walked into rooms before he did. His perfection gave people something to admire, but it never gave them a reason to look closer.

“I’ve got people saying they admire me,” he added eventually, the words shaped around a humourless laugh, “saying they’d always be there if I needed. But do I really have anyone I can rely on?”

He said it like a question, but you weren’t sure he wanted an answer. He was lonely. Far lonelier than you’d guessed.

“Is that why you were crying that day?” you asked carefully.

He smiled, if only faintly. “Had no one to talk to. So I tucked myself away till I couldn’t take it anymore.”

He turned then, rolling onto his side to face you properly, one hand folded beneath his head. That smile remained, though it didn’t touch his eyes. “What about you?”

You frowned. “What about me?”

“Why do you always seek control?”

“To survive,” you answered plainly.

But it was enough for soobin. Because he wasn’t a fool, and the truth had been clear to him for a while now. Ever since those strange, shared hours in the storage room brought your paths colliding, he’d had to confront a version of you that defied every assumption he’d once held. You, who always seemed self-possessed and untouched by opinion, had wormed your way into his orbit without propriety, and now, there you remained: fixed and constant and increasingly difficult to ignore. You were in his periphery in ways you hadn’t been before, cropping up in spaces he’d never registered you in, though now, he wondered how he could’ve possibly missed you.

His gaze had become trained on the people around you — he observed the way others spoke to you, the glances exchanged in corridors, the narrowed eyes in classrooms and he noted the subtleties most others overlooked. The treatment wasn’t always cruel, but it was pointed, and it was frequent. Soobin, who had lived much of his life under the soft glow of admiration and expectation, found it easy to see the difference. And in those differences, he understood you better than he expected to.

And you, though less willing to admit it, had started seeing him too. Not just in this shared nightly hour you had, but in your own time, when you caught yourself glancing up in the corridors to find him already there, or letting your gaze pause just a fraction too long when he passed by your table in the Great Hall. He seemed more present now than before, more noticeable, though you weren’t sure whether it was him changing or you. Your eyes knew to find him. And perhaps his had done the same.

You didn’t quite know how to feel about it all. The change wasn’t entirely uncomfortable but it made you wary. That was a more simple way to put it. You, who had learnt better than to give in to soft comforts, couldn’t help but question it. After years of distrust, of guarding yourself against shallow kindness and false smiles, how could you begin to allow anyone in? Even someone who had, bit by bit, begun to pull away at your corners without trying.

For Soobin, it was different. The change felt like breathing for the first time in too long. It confused him, yes, left him reeling in the early days, but it also peeled back that internal tautness he never quite realised he lived with. You with all your blunt remarks and unreadable silences had given him a kind of space he didn’t know he needed. You saw him when he didn’t have anything to offer. You didn’t praise him, didn’t expect him to prove himself, and didn’t look away when the cracks showed. And that had shaken him. Because it meant, for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t terrified of not being enough.

You were always being watched before you were known.

And he was always being looked at, but never really seen.

There was a sharp clarity in it now, the way you mirrored one another in temperament, in guardedness, in how you both wore your defence mechanisms like second skin. He had begun to see through yours, just as you had peeled back his. He knew you kept your heart barricaded not because there was nothing within, but because you had been given far too many reasons to lock it away. And yet, there it was, beating still.

He thought, perhaps selfishly, that if you'd let him, he could be someone you could rely on — just as he had slowly come to rely on you.

“Thank you for listening to me,” he said at length, and though his tone lacked embellishment, there was a sincerity to it that caught you off guard, not because you doubted its truth but because you rarely knew what to do with such honesty when it landed so plainly.

Your eyes snapped toward him, but by then he had turned away, flat on his back again, his face tilted towards the terrace and eyes closed as if he’d already begun to retreat from the moment. Your chest tightened, a discomfort blooming somewhere near your ribs. It wasn’t just his gratitude that disarmed you, but the fact that he meant it and it wasn’t something you were used to.

The air around you tightened. Though you rarely backed down from anything, your mind recoiled before you could think better of it.

“I’m heading back early tonight,” you said briskly, already rising on your feet. There was no sharpness to it, just a faint breathlessness. “Goodnight, Soobin.”

Soobin didn’t question it. He merely nodded once, eyes still closed, and let you go. Maybe he understood. Or maybe he didn’t care. You weren’t sure which would’ve unsettled you more.

Your steps echoed slightly as you made your way down the spiraling stairs, one hand pressed to the stone wall to keep balance, not that it mattered — it was your breath that threatened to slip, your thoughts that began to fray at the edges. You didn’t know what this meant or what tonight would become, if it became anything at all — but as you slipped down into the darkness, one thing had been made clear. Whatever had passed between you tonight, it was not the sort of thing that vanished come morning.

Whether you spoke of it again or not, you’d both remember.

To be continued.

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starrynightgyu · 10 days ago

Text

Muted Desires || Choi Beomgyu

A Gryffindor who radiated light and laughter, yet craved the solace of quiet moments. A Slytherin who wore a mask of unshakable composure, concealing a heart warmer than anyone could guess.

Your friendship had always teetered on the edge of something more—a connection that felt too fragile to name.

But when a trip pulled you closer than ever, the boundaries began to blur. When Beomgyu stumbled into your orbit one night, bruised and battered, the distance you've maintained dangerously faltered.

As you tended to his wounds in the hushed intimacy of your hotel room, in that quiet, fleeting moment, the months of yearning and longing began to unravel, threatening to upend everything you’ve had carefully built.

⊹₊⟡⋆ 24.4k

pairing: gryffindor! Choi Beomgyu x slytherin! afab! reader

warnings: hogwarts college/uni au, characters are 20+, og character, slight slowburn, sort of modern setting? they use phones, not your typical gryffindor-slytherin toxic relation, mention of other idols, amortentia, yearning and lots of yearning, tensions, drinking games, drinking, depictions of injury, physical fighting, wound care, probably missed some eh

[MDNI] smut warning: explicit sexual content, dry humping, fingering, kinda switch!reader, beomgyu is mostly dom!, multiple orgasms, slight pain kink, making out with a split lip, slow sex, a lot of feelings, protected sex (huzzah!)

I'm aware it's not the 13th anymore, but that's alright. Happy birthday to my aubade Choi Beomgyu. Reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated!

You were afraid of many things, but nothing frightened you more than how little you knew about him, yet the gentle smile he’d give you always managed to shake you off your orbit.

It wasn’t the bright, boisterous grin he wore like the stars when surrounded by others, no—it was rather a quiet, small downward curve of his lips—a smile that only ever seemed to find its way to you. As if it carried a secret, a silent gravity pulling you closer despite the careful distance you maintained. It was something muted, something that felt like both a promise and a question, drifting between you like a thread waiting to be pulled.

The more you tried to look away, the more you found yourself drawn in. It was a dangerous feeling—the kind that settled beneath your ribs and grew roots before you even noticed. You should have known better. But when he looked at you like that, like he saw something in you worth knowing, worth staying for, your resolve wavered.

Your path with Beomgyu would have never intertwined if not for the entanglement of mutual friends. It was through them that you learned his name wasn’t just a name, that his reputation wasn’t just a reputation. It was through them that you found yourself in a space where his presence became an inevitability, where the quiet corners you once occupied alone were now shared.

Ever since Kai had stumbled upon the Room of Requirement, it had become your group’s refuge—a place that bent itself to your needs, where walls shaped themselves around whispered conversations and laughter softened by candlelight. You liked the quiet comfort of it, the way it allowed you to exist among others without being swept away. And yet, no matter how much you tried to stay on the fringes, Beomgyu was always there, impossible to ignore.

He was the kind of person who filled a room without trying. The kind whose presence was a gravitational force, pulling people in, setting them alight. His laughter rang out like the chime of a bell, his energy infectious. Charming. And yet, despite all of it, he never overwhelmed you. He never demanded your attention. He never reached for you. But somehow, he already had you in his orbit.

You weren’t sure when you started watching him the way you did. When admiration turned to curiosity, when curiosity turned to something far more treacherous. But once you noticed the cracks in his brilliance, the moments where exhaustion tugged at the edges of his expression, where laughter faltered just a second too soon—you couldn’t stop noticing.

The way his shoulders drooped ever so slightly after a long day, as if the weight of his own shine was something he carried alone. The way his fingers found the hem of his sleeve when praise was given too freely, pressing into the fabric like a tether. The way his gaze sometimes drifted, unfocused, as if he were somewhere else entirely, somewhere only he knew how to reach.

These were the things no one else seemed to see. But you did. And that, more than anything, terrified you.

Across the room, Beomgyu laughed, leaning back in his chair in that uncurbed way he always did, balancing it on its hind legs like gravity meant nothing to him. The others hung onto his every word, drawn into whatever story he was weaving, their delight feeding off his light. And you—you sat with an open book in your lap, the words forgotten, your gaze betraying you each time it sought him out.

Then, as if sensing it, Beomgyu looked up. The world didn’t stop, not really. But for a breath, it felt like it did. His grin softened, just enough that it wasn’t for them, but for you.

And then it was gone. He turned back to his audience, spinning another tale, the moment slipping away like sand through your fingers.

Despite everything, to you, Beomgyu remained just out of reach. He was there, always there, and yet—not quite. Like something ephemeral, like light breaking through water—close enough to touch, but never enough to hold.

Later that night, long after the room had emptied, you found him before the fireplace, his usual exuberance dimmed to something quieter, softer. He sat cross-legged on the rug, a pencil in hand, sketching into a worn notebook balanced against his knee. The firelight painted golden warmth onto his face, casting shadows beneath his lashes, softening his features.

You had seen him in a hundred different ways, but this—this was new. This was a Beomgyu stripped of performance, lost in a world of his own making. You wondered—if you reached for him, if you spoke his name now, would he finally let you in?

You hesitated by the doorway, caught between the pull of curiosity and the instinct to retreat. He hadn’t noticed you yet, absorbed in whatever he was sketching—it made you feel like you were intruding on something intimate, something not meant to be seen.

“Are you coming?” Yeonjun’s voice broke the stillness. He stood a few steps down the hall, arms crossed, watching you with mild curiosity.

You turned to him, and plainly said, "Go ahead. I forgot something inside."

Yeonjun’s gaze flickered toward the room, then back to you. He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press either. “Alright. Don’t take too long,” he said before turning away, his footsteps fading into the corridor’s hush.

The silence settled again, broken only by the faint scratch of pencil against paper. You dallied a moment longer, watching the way his hand moved fluidly over the page. You found yourself losing into the abyss of mesmerization.

“I thought you were going to stand there all night.”

His voice cut through the quiet, as if gently holding your hands and pulling you back on your feet from falling off. Heat rushed to your ears, but you kept your composure, stepping inside as if his words hadn’t fazed you. "Shouldn’t you rest?" you asked softly, shutting the door behind you. "We have Potions in the morning."

He huffed a quiet laugh, far from the bright, unrestrained laughter he shared with others. “Needed some space,” he admitted. “Gets tiring being everyone’s entertainment.”

That was the first time you had ever heard him say something like that—openly acknowledging the burden behind the persona he carried so well for everyone. He glanced up at you then, and for the second time that night, his expression softened in a way that wasn’t meant for anyone else.

You hesitated before settling into the armchair nearest to him. “So this is what you’re like when you’re not stealing the spotlight.”

“Disappointed?” he teased, but there was no sharpness in it.

“No,” you said, more earnestly than you meant to. “It’s... different.”

He considered that, his fingers absently tracing the edge of the page. The moment stretched, and something about his silence made you self-conscious, so you added, a little softer, “A good different.”

His lips curved slightly. "You think so?"

You nodded, fingers curling over the armrest. “It suits you. This side of you.”

Beomgyu’s smile turned faintly self-conscious. His gaze dropped, as if he wasn’t used to hearing that. “Most people wouldn’t agree,” he murmured. “They’d probably think something was wrong if I wasn’t bouncing off the walls.”

You tilted your head slightly, watching the way his hand fidgeted with the edge of the notebook. “Then they don’t really know you, do they?”

The words had left you before you could think twice, and for a moment, you regretted it—because how well did you know him, really? Yet, across from you, Beomgyu stilled. His fingers no longer toyed with the page. He seemed caught off guard, as if you had touched on something he hadn’t meant to share.

“I suppose you could say that,” he murmured, almost to himself.

The fire crackled softly between you. You felt an unexpected warmth—not from the hearth, but from the softness of his gaze. Your throat felt dry.

“What are you working on?” you asked, breaking the silence before it could stretch too long.

He blinked, like you had pulled him from some far-off thought, and then he held up the notebook. The sketch was rough but intricate—a cluster of flowers, their petals curling at the edges, almost lifelike in their detail.

“You’re an artist?” you asked, surprised.

“Not really,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just draw sometimes. It’s nothing special.”

You leaned in slightly, studying the page. The flowers looked as if they could be plucked straight from the parchment. “It’s good,” you said. “More than good. Why do you downplay it?”

He let out a breath, closing the notebook with a quiet thud. “Habit, I guess. It’s easier to pretend it doesn’t matter than to let someone see that it does.” His voice was levelled, like he was testing the words.

You studied him, again realizing how little you actually knew about him—how much of Beomgyu was wrapped in layers you’d only seen hints of. The loud, playful version of him you’d become so used to was just that—a version. Here, in the firelight, he felt like something else entirely. The Beomgyu who carried more than he let on. The one who, despite his light, had shadows of his own.

He reminded you of an aubade. The thought came unexpectedly, lingering in your mind like the echo of a half-remembered song. Beomgyu thrived in the daylight, filling every space with his presence. But now, in this quiet, he was something softer. A melody that didn’t demand to be heard but stayed with you all the same.

You didn’t realize you’d been staring until he tilted his head slightly. "What?"

You hesitated, the words caught on the tip of your tongue. But something about the way he looked at you—unguarded, open in a way you rarely saw—made you brave enough to speak. "You remind me of an aubade."

His brows knitted together. "An aubade?"

“It’s a poem or song for the morning," you explained. "Not just loud or bright—it can be quiet too. Steady. Beautiful in a different way."

Beomgyu’s expression shifted, the confusion giving way to something else. You braced for teasing, for a dismissive remark, but it never came. Instead, he looked at you like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with your words.

"You think I’m like that?" he asked, voice softer than before.

You nodded, your fingers tracing the seam of your sleeve in idle thought. "When you’re like this, yeah."

A quiet breath of laughter escaped him, small and surprised. He glanced away, thumb idly running along the edge of his notebook. "No one’s ever said anything like that to me before."

“It’s how I see you,” you said simply, surprised at how easily the words came. You turned toward the fire, suddenly aware of its crackling embers—but when you looked back, your breath caught. His gaze was on you, intense and intrigued, and for a moment, you wondered if he was studying you to understand what was beneath your facade, just the way you’ve been trying to understand him.

“You aren’t like what they say about you,” he said quietly, leaning back slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. “You have a warm heart.”

You exhaled a soft laugh, shaking your head. You knew what he meant. Your reputation had long preceded you, tangled in the legacy of your house. A Slytherin, one of the best in centuries, they said. Ruthless in duels, a prodigy in Defense Against the Dark Arts. People admired you, envied you, feared you. They spoke of you with awe or with caution, rarely anything in between. You had grown used to it—the wary glances, the hushed whispers, the way admiration and fear blurred so easily in their eyes. You became someone to either idolize or keep their distance from.

Even among those who considered themselves allies, there was always a distance. A line no one dared to cross. And though you had long learned to live with it, a part of you had always wondered—hoped, even—that someone might see past it. That someone might look at you and not just see the expectations, the legacy, the carefully maintained facade.

Maybe that was why Beomgyu’s words settled so deeply. Why, in that moment, you realized something you hadn’t before.

Perhaps you and Beomgyu were not so different after all.

The fire crackled softly. Beomgyu rested his chin on his hand, watching you with newfound curiosity. "An aubade," he repeated, testing the word. "I kind of like that."

His gaze lingered for another moment, and you swore the space between you shrank. But then he leaned back, breaking the moment with a quiet chuckle, his smile still carrying that touch of sincerity.

"I’ll have to remember that one."

When you returned to the Slytherin common room, Yeonjun’s waiting figure greeted you from the leather sofa. He pinned you with a blank stare as you passed, but you felt no need to share what had happened with Beomgyu. Some moments weren’t meant to be spoken aloud—they were meant to be kept. They were meant to be held close in your heart.

That night, you dreamt of gentle smiles and the hush of dawn’s song.

The library was unusually peaceful today—no hushed giggles from gossiping students, no rustling of hurriedly flipped pages. You took the opportunity of such a phenomenon's mercy and indulge yourself in reviewing your upcoming final’s notes. Though Transfiguration was a subject you didn’t quite dislike, it was still one of the hardest ones for you, hard enough to make you lose sleep over it trying to get everything perfect.

Then, as if summoned by some cosmic force designed to disrupt your calm, a figure slid into the chair across from you, the deafening screeching of chair legs against the floor entirely unapologetic.

“Guess where they’re taking us for the vacation trip?” Yeonjun’s voice cut through the silence like a blade wrapped in silk, brimming with barely restrained excitement. His smirk was all mischief, eyes glowing under the dim light. “To Paris!”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. You hadn’t even heard the professors announce anything yet. Which meant only one thing.

“How do you know that?” You narrowed your eyes at him, though you knew the answer.

Yeonjun tapped a finger to his temple, his grin widening. “I have my ways.”

Of course, he did. Slytherins always did.

With a sigh, you shut your book, methodically packing your things. “That’s nice,” you murmured, slinging your bag over your shoulder as the two of you slipped into the corridor. “I’ve always wanted to go to Paris.”

Yeonjun let out a dreamy sigh, stretching his arms behind his head as you walked. “Ah, the city of love. Romance in the air, the Seine shimmering under moonlight… you, me, a rendezvous at a charming little café.” Then, after a beat, the corners of his lips tugged up revealing his canines into a sly smile, he drawled, “And maybe you’ll finally find love there.”

You didn’t even glance at him. “I’m actually looking forward to finding some good chocolate croissants.”

Yeonjun snorted. He had a way of reading people, of slipping between their defenses with the ease of a snake in creeping waves. He never pried—he teased, but only when he knew you could handle it. And when he sensed something deeper, he didn’t push. He just gave you space to reveal what you wanted, when you wanted.

The corridor stretched ahead, bathed in golden afternoon light that streamed through the high-arched windows. Outside, past the courtyard, the Great Lake glimmered. Amidst the scattering of students, Beomgyu stood by the Great Lake with a few Gryffindors, chortling at something one of them said. They gathered around him, drawn to him, the way leaves surrendered to the wind.

“Sup, buddy!” Yeonjun called, raising a hand in greeting.

Beomgyu glanced up. His hand lifted in greeting, but the moment his gaze found yours a new, slow smile graced his lips. You had expected it by now—watching the way the mirth in his expression dimming into something more private.

You returned the wave, your own lips curving faintly, the warmth in your chest unfurling before you could push it away.

Yeonjun made a low noise beside you, a hum that bordered on amusement. “That guy will be with us on the trip,” he mused, his tone light, but his gaze sharp. “It’s going to be a lot livelier.”

You turned back to Beomgyu, watching the way he had already slipped back into conversation, laughing so brightly that drew his eyes in crescents. You took note of the contrast between that and when he wears the rare quietness around him like a comforting veil, when his eyes quietly shine like the full moon; and everyone knew that crescents could never rival the marvellous beauty of the full moon.

It wasn’t hard to imagine how Paris would be for him—always surrounded, always with someone calling his name. You wondered if he’d have a moment to himself at all.

As you stepped into your next class, that thought lingered. You found yourself hoping that, somehow, in the midst of all the noise, he’d get the chance to enjoy the trip in his own way.

A week before the trip.

Most of your exams were done, with only two remaining—Transfiguration among them. The mere thought of the library now, packed wall to wall with frantic students, made you cringe. The idea of fighting for a quiet corner, the hushed but ceaseless whispers fraying your patience, was enough to send you elsewhere. So instead, you chose the Room of Requirement, as you often did when solitude was a necessity.

Tonight, the room had shaped itself to your liking—a warm fireplace crackling softly, its amber glow licking at the dark wooden walls. Two comfortable couches sat near the hearth, but you preferred the floor, parchment and ink scattered around you in careful disarray. The lighting was warm and unobtrusive. Just the way you like it.

You had just settled into a focused rhythm, quill scratching against parchment, when the door creaked open. Your eyes flickered toward the entrance—a little too quickly—and you froze in place.

Beomgyu stepped inside, dark hair still damp, strands clinging to his forehead in careless disarray. He took in the room before his gaze landed on you, and that damn gentle smile surfaced. You blinked, raising a brow at his sudden unannounced appearance. You didn’t hate it, though.

“Yeonjun told me I’d find you here,” he said, voice laced with something almost sheepish. “I need help with Transfiguration.”

Ah. That explained it.

You made a mental note to have a word with Yeonjun. His tendency to play messenger was starting to feel suspiciously intentional.

Still, before you could voice a response, your gaze betrayed you, drawn to the damp mess of Beomgyu’s hair—dark, soft, tousled in a way that shouldn’t be worth noticing. And yet, you couldn’t look away, caught in the way the dim firelight accentuated every stray lock, made them seem almost soft, and an overwhelming urge to run your fingers through them engulfed your mind.

Did he just come back from Quidditch?

"I did." His voice broke through your reverie, as he answered your unspoken question without a second thought.

Your stomach twisted in brief confusion. How did he—

Then you realized. You had said it aloud.

Mortification crept in, a slow, creeping heat crawling up your neck. You busied yourself with your parchment, adjusting the edges as if they needed perfecting. Anything to regain the upper hand. Anything to make it seem as though your thoughts hadn’t strayed.

Beomgyu dropped to the floor beside you with a quiet groan, stretching his arms overhead before flipping open his textbook. You wondered where he got such energy from to study right after his grueling quidditch practices. You yourself would have to take at least half a day break after slytherin’s quidditch practices before you gained back the motivation and will to even get up from your bed.

"What can I help you with?" you asked, finding your voice again as you focused on your notes. The thought of helping him with Transfiguration wasn't so bad, you told yourself. There was no reason to turn him away—he was a friend, and if he needed your help, then so be it.

"Professor says my conjuration spells are correct, but my wand movements are off. It’s frustrating. I know the theory—I just can’t seem to execute it properly." He admitted, rubbing his temple.

You glanced at him. "Show me."

He raised a brow but obeyed, adjusting his grip on his wand. With a precise flick, he muttered the incantation under his breath. A flicker of magic pulsed in the air, but the form wavered, incomplete.

You caught the flaw immediately.

Shifting onto your knees, you moved toward him, your hand brushing over his wrist to adjust his stance. He stilled under your touch.

"Your wrist is too stiff," you murmured, guiding his hand into a looser hold. "You need to let the magic flow, not force it. Try again."

His gaze flickered to you—close enough that you could see the way his lashes fanned over his cheeks, the way his lips parted slightly, as if about to say something. But he only nodded.

He cast again, this time smoother, the flick of his wrist was more fluid. A bright shimmer sparked at the tip of his wand, and within seconds, a parrot materialized—vibrant green feathers ruffling as it stretched its wings before promptly flapping up and perching itself atop your head.

Beomgyu choked on a laugh, biting down on his bottom lip.

Unamused, you sent him a flat look.

"Real mature," you deadpanned, though the corners of your lips threatened to twitch.

"Sorry, sorry," he wheezed, not looking sorry at all. "Guess he likes you."

With a resigned sigh, you raised your wand, smoothly transfiguring the parrot into a sleek black hat, which dropped into your waiting hands. Then, with another flick, it morphed into a mirror, its polished surface reflecting Beomgyu’s grinning face. Finally, you uttered ‘Evanesco’, Latin for ‘disappear’, countering the conjuration spell perfectly with vanishment.

He let out a low whistle. "That was impressive."

You gave a small smile, gathering the scattered parchments. "You’re getting there. Your movements are still a little stiff, but if you keep practicing, you’ll be fine."

You were beginning to relish in the moments you shared with him, and the thought both startled and thrilled you. If you told yourself this a year ago, you'd have refused to believe it. You’d never have guessed that you’d find yourself drawn to him like this, looking forward to every small, fleeting moment spent in his presence. But now… now, you couldn’t quite explain it. The idea almost seemed unfathomable. You wanted this. It had become a guilty pleasure to feel the warmth spreading in your chest whenever you were alone with him.

Sorting through your parchments, you quickly gathered the notes Beomgyu would need. It only took a few minutes to explain the key points he needed to focus on, pointing to the sections in your notes. As you spoke, his eyes remained focused on you, nodding occasionally, though his attention seemed distant, as if his mind was elsewhere.

Once you finished, you returned to your place on the floor, skimming through your notes one last time. You stretched, arms lifting above your head, trying to shake off the tiredness creeping in from hours of studying prior to his appearance.

It had been a little over half an hour, but as your gaze shifted toward Beomgyu, you couldn’t help but notice something was off.

He was slouched against the couch, legs crossed beneath him, eyes half-lidded and glazed over. He blinked slowly, as if trying to fight the heaviness pulling at his eyelids, a soft sigh escaping his lips. His posture was slumped, shoulders weighed down with exhaustion. He’d just come back from practice, after all. His body was likely sore, muscles still humming from the strain of the game. No wonder he hadn’t made much headway on his notes.

His head lolled back against the couch, gaze fixed on the ceiling before his eyes slipped shut. You observed him for a moment—the subtle tremble of his lips as he exhaled, the exhaustion etched into his features. It was rare, seeing him like this.

With a quiet sigh of your own, you realized the inevitable: Beomgyu wasn’t going to get any studying done in this state.

Without a word, you stood and moved toward him, crouching beside his scattered papers. He didn’t notice you at first, lost in the pull of his own fatigue.

It was only when you began to gather his notes that his eyes fluttered open, his expression softening in surprise. You said nothing, just continued tidying up his things because—well, you simply could.

“I didn’t mean to doze off,” he muttered, his voice rough from exhaustion.

Your fingers paused over the parchment, but your expression remained steady. “Let’s take a break.” Your voice was quieter than usual. “Do you read books?”

Beomgyu blinked at you, caught off guard. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then shut it again, as if uncertain how to respond to something so simple.

You didn’t wait for an answer. Reaching for the storybook you always carried, you settled beside him, mirroring his crisscrossed position. The proximity sent a subtle flutter through your chest, but you pushed it aside as you opened the book and held it between you both.

Beomgyu leaned in slightly, his eyes narrowing to read the page. The boldness of your actions surprised you—how naturally you had done this, without hesitation. But when his gaze flickered with interest, a spark of curiosity lighting his tired features, you realized it didn’t really matter.

Moments later, the story had you both engrossed, the silence settling around you like a comforting blanket. You hadn’t noticed the change at first, but the now-dried strands of his hair brushed lightly against the side of your left cheek. He had his legs stretched out in front of him, while you remained crisscrossed, and that difference in position somehow brought you even closer together.

He was close enough now that you could catch a faint trace of his scent. Even though the sweat from practice had long since dried, his cologne mixed with the residual warmth of his skin, and the combination was... distracting. Not unpleasant, just overwhelmingly intimate.

For a moment, you became acutely aware of how close he was—too close. You hesitated to even breathe, afraid that the smallest movement might draw attention to the space—now barely there—between you. You turned your head slightly, curiosity winning over restraint, and—gosh, he was beautiful.

Lashes fluttering with every slow blink, casting delicate shadows over his cheekbones. The curve of his nose, the soft part of his lips, the quiet, almost dreamlike expression he wore as he read beside you. Heat rose to your cheeks before you could stop it, the urge to look away overwhelming, but you couldn’t.

Trying to steady your hands, you set the book on your thigh. Before you could focus, you felt the faintest brush of warmth—his fingers grazing the other side of the book. He stifled a yawn with his free hand.

“You can rest your head on my shoulder.”

The words left you before you could stop them. Careless in their honesty. You hadn’t planned to say it, but now that you had, there was no taking it back.

Beomgyu stilled. It was as if your words had broken through the fog of his exhaustion. He sat up slightly, and in that small shift, his warmth—his presence—seemed to pull away from you. A strange absence, one that left the air colder than before.

For a fleeting second, you regretted saying anything at all.

He fumbled with his words, the usual Gryffindor confidence slipping, replaced with hesitation. But before he could say anything, you patted your shoulder lightly, a small, reassuring gesture.

“I insist.”

There was a brief pause. Then, with a quiet sigh, Beomgyu gave in. Carefully, almost as if unsure of himself, he leaned in. His head came to rest on your shoulder, and just like that, his warmth seeped back into you.

Beomgyu stretched his legs out fully, another yawn slipping past his lips. “Thanks for helping me,” he mumbled, feeling sleep taking over him. “And for everything you did.”

You didn’t understand what he meant. You didn’t try to decipher his words either, because you couldn’t trust yourself with your words—not when Beomgyu was so close, not when he was being so vulnerable.

You simply settled with a hum. “Anytime.”

That night, you let him nap on your shoulder as long as he needed. By the time he woke up, you had finished reading the storybook twice. The goodbye was hasty, drawn out with apologies, thank yous, and reassurances—but beneath it all, neither of you really wanted to leave, hesitating, unwilling to go back to your respective common rooms. Unwilling to leave each other so soon.

“What’s going on with you and Beomgyu?”

The Slytherin tent was silent. The pre-practice hustle and bustle had yet to begin, leaving only you and Yeonjun in the dimly lit space. You had just finished fastening the last buckle when his voice cut through the quiet.

Your hands stilled momentarily before turning, lifting a brow. “You need to be a bit more specific than that.”

Yeonjun didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. The slow, knowing smirk stretching across his face was enough to make your brow twitch in mild irritation. You had known Yeonjun for almost your entire life. You were well-versed in his tactics, and had learned how to counter his cunning approaches with equal cunning. But despite your best efforts, there were still moments when he managed to slip under your skin.

You exhaled, pulling on your gloves. “If you’re going to make a point, make it.”

Yeonjun hummed, following your movements as you moved through the tent. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with him,” he said, not unkindly. “Alone.”

You shot him a dry look. “He needed help with Transfiguration. Wasn’t it you who told him to come to me?”

“I was curious.” He leaned against one of the support beams, arms loosely crossed. “Wanted to see if I was right.”

You adjusted the strap on your glove, feigning disinterest. “About what?”

“That you’d let him in.”

Something in your chest tightened. Yeonjun took the pause as permission to continue, his voice quieter now, edged with something that almost sounded like understanding. “You keep people at arm’s length. Always have, haven't you? But him?” His gaze softened. “You’re different with him.”

You forced a scoff, shaking your head. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Yeonjun didn’t sound convinced. “You watch him when you think no one’s looking. You listen—to every little thing he says, even when it has nothing to do with you. And when you talk to him, you’re not just speaking. You’re—” He made a vague gesture. “Letting him see you.”

You had to turn away. “Yeonjun, you’re overanalyzing.”

“I don’t think I am.”

The air felt suddenly too still. You liked Beomgyu’s presence in your life. That much had never been a question. And the meaning of your feelings wasn’t lost on you. What you hadn’t realized, however, was just how long Yeonjun had been watching. Observing. You weren’t sure if him knowing that made your unease kick up more, or lift the anchor of burden that had sunk deep in your heart. Either way, a gnawing hollowness formed in the depth of your chest.

“I like his company more than I thought I would,” you admitted quietly.

It wasn’t much. Just a handful of words, barely even spoken aloud. You don’t explain anything either. But in the stillness of the tent, that transparency—the muted confession—must have caught Yeonjun off guard. His smile flickered, something akin to excitement sparking behind his eyes before melting into a fond softness.

Then, voice uncharacteristically gentle, he said, “You know I never mix friend circles,” he began, “Before you got into this big social network with Beomgyu, I practically raised that guy.” His lips quirked, something warm and distant crossing his features. “If it eases your ailing, just know that he’s a good person.”

You knew that already. But hearing it from Yeonjun—who knew him in ways you didn’t—made it feel different. It was quite childish, but you felt a pang of jealousy at that moment. You wish you knew Beomgyu better, too.

“And don’t worry,” he added, the gleam of mischief returning. “Paris, the city of love, has a way of pulling people closer—”

The solid thud of your broomstick whizzing through the air smacking him in the back cut him off. Yeonjun stumbled forward, yelping as the broom settled neatly into your grip.

You sighed, dryly lamenting, “So sad. And here I was, giving you the benefit of the doubt that you’d act like an adult.” You shook your head in mock disappointment. “Truly, truly tragic.”

The corners of your lips barely twitched upwards before you turned on your heel and strode out of the tent. Behind you, Yeonjun let out a disgruntled noise, jogging after you. “Paris is going to be a lot more interesting now,” he mused to himself, as he caught up easily, matching your stride as you neared the practice field.

It was the day of departure, and Beomgyu had been awake since four in the morning.

He wasn’t particularly tired—on the contrary, he felt well-rested for the first time in what felt like forever. It was strange, the absence of stress gnawing at his mind, the deadweight of exams and Quidditch matches momentarily lifted from his shoulders. He had been looking forward to this trip for days. The idea of finally escaping Hogwarts, of wandering through unfamiliar streets of Paris, of watching the world stretch beyond the castle walls—it had been a comforting thought, something to hold onto when things felt suffocating.

But that wasn’t the only reason he had been looking forward to it.

He sighed, shaking his head as he swung his legs over the bed, his feet meeting the cool floor. No use sitting around. He might as well make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything.

By the time the rest of Gryffindor began to stir, Beomgyu was already dressed, double-checking his trunk with the kind of precision that felt almost excessive. The common room grew livelier as everyone prepared for departure, the excitement palpable in the air. And by five, they were all at the station, the cold biting at their skin as steam from the train billowed into the sky.

Beomgyu adjusted his muffler, his breath visible in the crisp morning air as he glanced around the platform. The Slytherins hadn’t arrived yet, but he knew they would soon. His fingers tightened around the fabric of his coat, yet it wasn’t the cold that had set a restless energy thrumming beneath his skin.

“Morning, Beomgyu.”

He turned to find Chaeryeong beside him, her hands shoved into her coat pockets. She grinned, tilting her head slightly.

“Morning,” he greeted, his voice still thick with lingering drowsiness.

She exhaled, glancing around. “Feels weird, doesn’t it? Knowing we won’t be seeing Hogwarts for a little while?”

“It’s been this way every winter vacation,” Beomgyu murmured. “Guess it hasn’t really hit me yet.”

“Well, you better start getting excited,” she teased. “It’s not every day we get to go to Paris.”

He hummed in response. Her voice morphed into white noise in Beomgyu’s ear as he zoned out, unable to find himself focusing. Instead, his gaze kept flickering around on every new face toward the station entrance, only looking for you.

Just then, he saw the Slytherins arrive. He filtered out all the faces that aren't yours, and when he finally found you, his heart lurched. There was a feeling of anticipation recoiling in his stomach as he contemplated whether to walk up to you and say hello.

“Oh, she made it.” There was a note of relief in Chaeryeng’s voice. “I was worried she wouldn’t join us.”

“What?” Beomgyu’s brows furrowed.

She turned to him, blinking. “You didn’t know?”

He didn’t like the way those words sat in his stomach. His head snapped to your direction once more before prompting her to explain. “Know what?”

Chaeryeong hesitated for half a second, then said, “She got hit by a Bludger the other day. Some Ravenclaw beater sent it her way by accident. It got her right in the side. Heard she was in pretty bad shape.” She winced as if she recalled seeing you. “Yeonjun looked pissed the whole day.”

The cold suddenly felt sharper, needling into his skin. His eyes darted back to you, and now, it was impossible to ignore. The slight hesitancy in your gait, the stiffness in your posture, and Yeonjun carrying your bag while his hand held your arm, supporting your steps.

You, however, immediately scowled and swatted his hand away. It prompted Yeonjun to let out a long-suffering sigh, but his gaze flickered to you every now and then.

Beomgyu was already moving towards you, mind occupied by sheer urgency and each of his steps pulled him closer to you like a magnetic force. Yeonjun was the first to notice him. The older Slytherin softly snorted a laugh, shaking his head before giving you a small smile.

“I’ll go find our compartment,” Yeonjun muttered to you, slipping away from your side the moment Beomgyu stopped in front of you.

You noticed him a second later, eyes flickering toward him, surprised by his sudden presence. The Gryffindor’s wide, doe eyes searched you—for any sign of pain or discomfort, his nose and cheeks a shade of peach from the cold. The muffler wrapped around his neck looked warm, but on the inside, he was feeling anything but warm—his blood ran cold.

“Are you alright?” It took everything in him to not stumble over his words. He was sure the worry in his voice overflew but he couldn’t bring himself to hide it. “I just heard what happened,” he added, already taking a small step forward closer to you, but he faltered and stepped back at the last moment.

You stared at him, eyes slightly wide—like you weren’t expecting that level of urgency from him. For you.

Your gaze softened when the realization seeped into you. Beomgyu was worried about you? It rattled your heart against your ribcage more strongly than the bludger that hit you. The latter brought you immense pain, however, the former brought pain that hurt good.

“I’m fine.” Your voice carried a gentle touch to it. “You don’t have to look like that.”

Beomgyu exhaled sharply through his nose, glancing away for half a second before shaking his head. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve known sooner.”

“You couldn’t have.” Your reply came quickly, almost urgent. “I didn’t tell anyone.”

You were sure you caught his eyes glow for the faintest moment, but it was gone as quickly as it showed up, fooling you into thinking you must've misjudged it. Eitherway, you felt your lungs constrict from the way his gaze was locked onto yours. It was compelling you to look away, yet at the same time, it was pulling you in. You had to hear it from him.

“Were you… worried?” Your voice was cautious, trying not to show the expectations laced within before offering them to him.

“I was.” He did not hesitate the slightest.

The raw sincerity of it all, the honest admission caused the fire in your chest to only burn brighter. He swallowed before continuing, quieter this time. “I was looking forward to this trip because…” He hesitated, but only for a second. “Because you’d be here. It’d be a shame if you couldn’t go on the trip with us.”

He didn’t know what kind of reaction he was expecting, but the gentle smile that graced your lips wasn’t one he was prepared for. It was small, barely there, but enough to make his breath hitch. Enough to make his fingers twitch with the overwhelming urge to brush them against your cheek. The thought startled him, and he buried his clammy hands deep inside the pockets of his coat.

And then, without a word, you reached out.

Beomgyu stiffened as your hand met his head, the warmth of your palm seeping through the strands of his hair. The touch was brief, barely more than a ruffle, but it left him completely, utterly frozen. He blinked at you, wide-eyed, feeling the exact moment his brain short-circuited.

You didn’t say anything about it—just let your fingers slip away. “Thank you,” you mumbled softly, as earnestly as you could muster it.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Of course.”

You grinned, placing a hand over the right side of your torso where you got hit. “I’m really fine. The Bruisewort Balm did its magic. I only feel a little worn out but I plan to sleep through the journey anyway, so I know I should be fine.”

Hearing your assurance, Beomgyu could only nod. Because at that moment, he didn't trust himself with words.

Before either of you could say anything else, Yeonjun’s voice rang out from across the platform. “You two done? We need to start getting in the cabins.”

You let out a small breath, closing your eyes briefly before turning back to Beomgyu. You let your voice fall a little lower. “I hope you enjoy this trip, Beomgyu. You need it.” And then, just like that, you were gone, disappearing into the crowd with Yeonjun at your side.

Beomgyu remained where he stood, the lower half of his face burying into his muffler—an attempt to hide his red cheeks, the phantom of your touch lingering in his hair.

He wasn’t cold anymore.

You had dozed off almost the moment you settled down in your cabin, exhaustion weighing heavy on your limbs. The chatter from outside had faded into the background, a distant murmur of excitement. Someone had passed by the door earlier, exclaiming in utter confusion, "How is the train gonna take us straight to Paris?" only for another to scoff in reply, "Bro, this is the Hogwarts Express. Be so for real now."

Sleep had come easily after that.

When you woke, the daylight had shifted. Afternoon light slanted through the windows, golden and soft, casting warm hues over the compartment. A lingering grogginess clung to you, your head muddled with sleep, body heavy from hours of stillness. Blinking, you sat up, only to freeze.

Yeonjun and the other Slytherin were gone. Instead, across from you, Beomgyu sat with a book in his hands—the same storybook you had read with him the night before your Transfiguration exam. He got himself a copy of that?

He glanced up at the movement, his dark eyes skimming over your face before he asked, "How are you feeling? You were out for a while."

You sighed, running a hand over your face. "Shit," you admitted, voice rough with sleep, "but not in pain."

His gaze pinned on you, as if assessing the truth of your words. Then he shut the book with a quiet thud. "Yeonjun went to hang out with your friends," he explained. "I figured I’d watch over you in his place."

You eyed him, searching his expression for any hint of reluctance, but there was none. Only a calm acceptance laced with assurance that he was here now. You murmured a quiet thanks, and he only nodded. The silence between you settled naturally, undisturbed, until your mind wandered back to what had happened before boarding the train.

Your gaze drifted, drawn to his hair again. The memory of ruffling his hair carved into the skin of your hands, still far too easy to recall. You looked away before the feeling could consume you whole.

"You should eat something," Beomgyu said after a while. "You missed lunch."

You waved a hand. "I have emergency snacks. Don’t worry."

You stood, reaching for the bag in the overhead compartment, but the moment you tilted up on your feet, the train jolted. The motion threw you off balance, a sudden wave of dizziness washing over you from your long rest.

"Careful," Beomgyu’s voice was low, close—too close.

Before you could stumble, your back found solid warmth. His chest pressed against you, his grip firm but cautious as his fingers curled around your arm, careful to avoid the bruised side of your torso. His other hand braced against the overhead compartment, effectively caging you in.

Your breath hitched. The heat of him seeped through the layers of your clothing, the closeness dizzying in a way that had nothing to do with sleep imbalance.

"Sit down," he murmured. "I’ll get it."

His hold loosened just enough to guide you back to your seat, and only when you were settled did he step in front of you again, reaching up with ease.

You found yourself at eye level with his waist, his sweater lifting slightly as he rummaged through the bag. A sliver of skin peeked out, warm against the dim afternoon light. You swallowed, forcing your gaze elsewhere.

Beomgyu pulled out the box of treacle tart Yeonjun had packed for you, setting it down before offering you one. With a quiet sigh, you took it, splitting the portion between the two of you as you leaned forward, the box balanced between you.

The sweetness wasn’t something you typically enjoyed, but after so many hours without food, the pastry felt awfully good. Your body slowly regained energy, the light conversation between you keeping the moment steady.

"Do you have any plans for Paris?" he asked eventually.

You chewed thoughtfully. "No idea yet. Yeonjun’s probably going to drag me around. If it gets too much, I might shut myself in my room or sneak off for a solo adventure."

Beomgyu huffed a small laugh. "Yeah. I’m not sure what I’ll do either. I might get swept up by people and won’t even be able to look around freely."

You watched him for a moment, taking the last bite of your tart. "If it gets too much," you said, voice quieter, "you can come find me. Or Yeonjun. Or both of us." There was a pause before you added, softer, "If you can’t, then I’ll come find you."

Beomgyu stilled. His lips parted slightly, something unreadable flashing behind his dark eyes before he quickly stuffed the last of his pastry into his mouth, chewing hastily. The action might have been smooth—if not for the streak of cream now smudged at the corner of his lips.

You noticed instantly. "Oh—" you started, reaching up with your thumb. "You have something—"

The compartment door suddenly slammed open. Yeonjun stood in the doorway, a pair of oversized, obnoxiously flashy sunglasses perched on his nose.

You and Beomgyu both froze.

Yeonjun, his eyes hard to read behind the dark lenses, tilted his head. Then, in an eerily delighted tone, he drawled, "Oh, look at that, Beomgyu. You’ve got my treacle tart’s cream on your lips!"

Before either of you could react, he whipped out a tissue from absolutely nowhere, lunged forward, and grabbed Beomgyu’s head with one hand. Beomgyu screeched, his voice resonating against the walls of the small place.

Yeonjun ignored it, cheerfully wiping his mouth with the other hand like a mother cleaning up her child. "There we go, nice and clean," he chirped, voice laced with exaggerated fondness.

Beomgyu struggled, half-laughing, half-indignant. "Get off me!" he yelped, swatting Yeonjun’s hands away, but the damage had already been done.

Yeonjun stepped back, inspecting his work with great satisfaction, hands on his hips like a proud parent. "Perfect. Now you won’t embarrass yourself in front of anyone."

Beomgyu groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I hate you," he muttered, but the pink at the tips of his ears betrayed him.

You sat back, watching the spectacle unfold with great amusement, while the train rumbled on, Paris drawing closer by the minute.

The rest of the journey was a blur of raucous laughter and camaraderie, your group huddling together in the cramped chair car of the express, swapping secrets and gossip like your lives depended on it. Someone had smuggled in a portable speaker, leading to impromptu karaoke battles and dramatic sing-alongs. At first, you joined in, allowing yourself to be swept up in the energy. But as the hours stretched on, your stamina waned.

With a quiet excuse, you slipped away, accompanied by a few others who were also tired of the noise. Before you left, your gaze flickered toward Beomgyu. He was still immersed in the chaos, laughing brightly at something Kai had said. But beneath the mirth, you caught an exhaustion you had come to recognize. Still, he kept the atmosphere alive, playing his role seamlessly. The image lingered with you long after you shut the compartment door behind you.

The Hogwarts Express pulled into Paris at the crack of dawn, the city stirring to life under the first blush of morning. From the window, you caught your first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower, its iron lattice tinged with gold as the sun crested the horizon. The Seine, dark and languid, snaked through the city, bridges arching elegantly over its waters. Rows of Haussmann-style buildings stretched along the boulevards, their cream-colored facades bathed in the soft glow of street lamps not yet dimmed.

Before disembarking, the professors gathered the students for a final briefing. "No magic in front of Muggles," they reminded sternly. "You are free to explore, but remain in groups and report any trouble immediately. Most importantly—enjoy yourselves. You deserve it."

The hotel was an opulent blend of old-world charm and modern luxury, its grand foyer boasting marble floors polished to a mirror sheen. Chandeliers dripped from the ceiling like frozen waterfalls, casting prisms of light across the gilded moldings. The professors had booked two separate hotels side by side—one for Slytherins and Gryffindors, another for Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Their reasoning? "You should have learned how to get along by now." Naturally, friends among the houses protested, claiming they were getting along just fine.

Your stomach turned slightly at the arrangement, the thought of running into Beomgyu in the lobby or hallways setting your nerves alight. When room assignments were handed out, relief flooded you upon seeing Yeji’s name beside yours. She was a Slytherin senior. The alternative—rooming with a stranger, or worse, a Gryffindor who resented you—was unthinkable.

Your room sat high above the city, its floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking panorama of Paris. The Eiffel Tower stood proudly in the distance, framed perfectly against the morning sky. Sheer curtains billowed softly with the breeze as you stepped inside, the scent of fresh linen and polished wood filling the air. The room was a study in elegance—high ceilings adorned with intricate moldings, deep emerald velvet armchairs positioned near a sleek black coffee table, and two queen-sized beds with crisp white sheets that looked nearly too pristine to disturb.

Yeji whistled lowly, dropping her bags by the door. "Well, this isn’t half bad."

You huffed a quiet laugh, tossing your coat onto the bed before making your way to the en-suite. The bathroom was just as extravagant, the walls lined with marble, a rainfall shower glistening behind glass panels. You let the hot water wash away the fatigue of the journey, steam curling around you like a cocoon. By the time you stepped out, refreshed and awake, Yeji had already sprawled across her bed, flipping through a fashion magazine.

"I’ll meet you downstairs," you told her, slipping into your shoes.

Yeonjun was already waiting outside the breakfast lounge when you arrived, one hand in pocket as he scrolled through his phone. He barely looked up as he greeted you. "Took you long enough. I was about to starve."

The two of you found a quiet table, the scent of freshly baked pastries filling the air as waiters flitted about, balancing trays laden with croissants and steaming cups of coffee. You glanced around at the Muggles, feeling oddly at ease in the absence of magic. The clinking of silverware, the hushed murmurs of morning conversations—it was comforting in a way you hadn’t expected.

As you ate, Yeonjun rattled off a list of places to visit, swiping through his phone. "There’s the Louvre, obviously. We have to go at night—it’s insane then. Oh, and this bookstore, Shakespeare and Company. You’d love it. We could—"

His voice faded into the background as voices rang out from the Gryffindor table. You turned instinctively, gaze landing on Beomgyu.

Ah. He had already been swept away by the crowd.

Yeonjun followed your gaze, then turned back to you with a smirk. "You should help him escape, you know. Whisk him away somewhere quiet, just the two of you—"

You shoved a piece of bread into his mouth before he could finish, ignoring his muffled protest. He choked out a laugh.

But as your gaze found Beomgyu again, lingering just a second too long, a thought flickered through your mind. You had considered that scenario before, hadn’t you? The thought of stealing him away, just for a moment, just for yourself. Of finding a quiet corner in this city meant for lovers, where no one could pull him away from you.

And the sight of him in your mind—hovering above you, close enough to count each delicate lash framing his deep brown eyes, close enough to feel the softness of his lips—

—Well. That was a pleasant thought, indeed.

Yeonjun observed your face for a while, then shook his head with a groan. Yeah, no, he absolutely did not want to know what was going on in your head.

After breakfast, your group meandered through the city, between narrow alleyways lined with quaint cafés and antique bookshops. Your circle had morphed together naturally, though you were close to only a handful. The others were good acquaintances, but they didn’t carry the same comforting company as the ones by your side.

The morning air in Paris carried the remnants of dawn, crisp yet mellowed by the sun climbing its way over the horizon. The city was awake by now—cobblestone streets damp from the morning drizzle, the scent of freshly baked bread curling through the air as bakeries opened their doors, and wrought-iron balconies adorned with trailing ivy swaying ever so slightly in the breeze.

The Louvre loomed ahead, a masterpiece in itself, its glass pyramid gleaming against the grandeur of the historic façade. The vast courtyard was teeming with tourists, some attempting to take forced perspective photos, others craning their necks to admire the sheer scale of it. The air carried the song of different languages, a medley of awe and excitement.

At some point, the group naturally dispersed in smaller clusters, everyone absorbed in their own conversations. You found yourself walking beside Beomgyu, the world around you fading into a pleasant hum.

A soft bark caught your attention. You turned, eyes lighting up at the sight of a fluffy white puppy trotting alongside its owner. “Oh,” you cooed, crouching slightly as the tiny creature wagged its tail in excitement. “Look at you. Aren’t you the cutest?”

Beomgyu watched you with a fond tilt to his lips. “I didn’t take you for a puppy person.”

You glanced up at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. You just seem like you’d have one of those dramatic-looking cats that sit by the window and judge people.”

You let out a soft laugh, straightening. “I’ve always wanted a puppy as a kid, actually.”

He hummed, eyes flickering with something thoughtful. “I had one. Sort of.”

You turned to him in surprise. “You did?”

He exhaled, a breath of nostalgia woven into his tone. “My brother and I begged my parents for a dog for ages. We finally got one—on my mother’s birthday. So we named him June, after the date," he said, smiling fondly as if reminiscing a happy memory. "But two days later, my parents decided we couldn’t keep him. Said we didn’t have the time to take care of him properly.” He let out a quiet chuckle, though there was something wistful in his eyes. “I held him and cried for nearly eight hours straight.”

Your chest ached at the image. “That’s—” You paused, unsure how to phrase it. “That must’ve been really hard.”

He gave a small nod, then brightened just a fraction. “We ended up finding Toto instead. A Turquoise Fronted Amazon parrot. My mom could take care of him even when she was alone at home.”

You smiled at that. “Toto,” you echoed. “That’s a cute name.”

“He’s kind of a menace,” Beomgyu admitted, shaking his head with a fond grin. “But he’s family.”

The revelation settled somewhere deep within you—a new piece of Beomgyu you hadn’t known before. And it made you irrationally happy.

The wind picked up, teasing at the hem of your coat, threading cool fingers through your hair. A few strands whipped across your face, catching on your lips, your lashes. You lifted a hand to push them away, but before you could, Beomgyu reached out first.

His fingers brushed against your cheek—something he’d been wishing to do for a while—as he tucked a loose strand behind your ear. You felt it in the way your pulse stuttered, your eyelashes fluttered as you looked up at him. He looked as if he wanted to say something.

Beomgyu hesitated, his gaze soft yet you couldn’t quite read his eyes as he looked at you. His lips parted, a thought poised on the edge, trembling like the wind itself.

You look beautiful.

The words never left his mouth. He swallowed them down, an ache blooming in his throat. Perhaps he feared what saying them aloud might mean. Perhaps he feared you wouldn’t know what to do with them.

And so, in the end, neither of you spoke. The spell broke when the Louvre loomed ahead, its glass pyramid gleaming against the gray-blue sky, and the moment dissolved into the crisp air.

Inside the Louvre, the grandeur of history stretched in every direction—endless halls adorned with masterpieces, the hush of reverence echoing in the vast spaces. Your group wandered between exhibits, pausing at paintings and sculptures, some making exaggerated interpretations just to get a laugh, others attempting to recreate poses of the statues with varying degrees of success.

At one point, Yeonjun challenged Beomgyu to a ridiculous game of “who can stare at the Mona Lisa without blinking the longest,” which resulted in the both of them getting scolded by a museum staff member. You and Yeji exchanged amused glances, shaking your heads as the boys feigned innocence.

Hours melted away in seamless enjoyment, the museum becoming a maze of stolen moments and shared laughter. And through it all, you found yourself drawn to Beomgyu, the wordless exchanges between you growing heavier, stealing glances at each other while laughing, and even when the other wasn't looking.

By the time you returned to the hotel, exhaustion settled into your bones, but the day had left something lingering—something you weren’t quite ready to shake off just yet.

As you reached your hotel room, Beomgyu passed by, his own keycard in hand. He paused, glancing toward you. You met his gaze, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

“Goodnight,” you murmured, voice softer than you intended.

His lips tugged at the corner, but there was something else in his eyes now, the glint that you once caught. “Goodnight.”

Neither of you looked away immediately. The hallway felt too silent, the space between you far too charged for such a simple exchange. And then, with a slight nod, he disappeared down the lobby, leaving behind an inexplicable warmth curling in your chest.

The next day, the group scattered across Paris, some weaving through boutiques, others lingering in quaint cafés, savoring the city’s flavors. Beomgyu had brought a camera, the strap looped around his wrist as he snapped photos of everything that caught his eye. Often, students from other houses approached him, asking him to take their pictures, and he obliged with a small smile, adjusting angles, stepping back to frame them against the golden morning light.

You had drifted toward the glass display of a pastry shop, your breath lightly fogging the surface as your eyes traced the delicate layers of a chocolate croissant. Beomgyu watched you from afar. You’d mentioned wanting to try one back on station, and you were so focused on it now that you didn’t notice him approaching until he was beside you.

“Come,” he said, tilting his head toward the entrance. “It’s on me.”

You turned to him, brows drawing together in surprise. “That’s not necessary.”

Beomgyu huffed a quiet laugh. “Please, I insist. It’s a token of my appreciation.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“For helping me with Transfiguration,” he clarified, though something about the way he said it felt like an excuse. “And because I feel like it.”

You exhaled, a soft sigh slipping past your lips. “You really don’t have to—”

“I know.” He nudged the door open with his shoulder and shot you a look, something playful but insistent. “Come on.”

A sigh of resignation, but you stepped in anyway, the scent of butter and sugar wrapping around you. True to his word, he paid for the croissant before you could even consider arguing further. The two of you lingered at the glass counter, surveying the intricate rows of bite-sized pastries lined neatly on silver trays. One of them particularly caught your eye—a tiny bear-shaped pastry, its icing ears round and slightly lopsided, giving it a look of perpetual confusion.

“That one,” you murmured, pointing.

Beomgyu followed your gaze. “The bear?”

“It’s so stupid,” you said flatly, head tilting ever so slightly as you examined it. And then, without thinking, you tapped the glass with a single finger, voice barely above a whisper. “…Cute.”

You didn’t seem to notice the way his gaze traced over your face, too busy scrutinizing the bear as though you were sizing up an opponent. Wordlessly, he bought two bear pastries; your protests falling deaf to his ears.

As he handed you one, you turned it over in your hands, brushing a thumb against its soft edges. It was adorable in a ridiculous way. Then, you reached up and tapped one of its icing ears.

“Boop,” you said.

Beomgyu felt his world stop. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until the moment passed. Something unfamiliar curled in his chest, something that made his fingers tighten around the little pastry in his own hands. It wasn’t just the act itself—it was the way you’d said it, and the unguarded smile that graced your lips afterwards, like you’d forgotten to keep your walls up, just for a second. But there it was—an utterly unfiltered moment, so fleeting yet so wholly you that it nearly knocked him off balance.

He took a bite, if only to distract himself. But even as the sweetness melted on his tongue, his thoughts remained tangled in the sound of your voice.

You took a decisive bite as well, nodding to yourself as you chewed. “You okay?” you asked suddenly, glancing up at him, licking off the remnants of crust on your thumb. “Is it too sweet?”

“No,” he said, too quickly. His gaze fell on your thumb in between your lips, the sight making him wet his chapped lips. He swallowed, clearing his throat. “It tastes alright.”

Your eyes narrowed just the slightest at his sudden avoidance of eye contact.

“Let’s catch up with the group,” he muttered at last, stuffing his hands into his pockets. And with that, he turned, already striding toward the door.

By evening, the Seine stretched before you, silver ribbons of water reflecting the glow of streetlights and distant bridges. Boats drifted lazily along the water, their lights flickering like floating stars.

A few of the students gathered along the stone walkway. Someone groaned about nearly using wizarding terms in front of a Muggle, looking horrified at the memory. A Muggleborn student cackled, shaking their head. “I wonder how the purebloods are doing.”

“The purebloods are living their best lives, thank you very much.” Yeonjun chortled and scoffed, crossing his arms.

Laughter rang through the night air. Someone suggested taking pictures, and naturally, Beomgyu lifted his camera, angling it as the others huddled together.

You watched him, the way he stepped back, adjusting the focus, snapping a few quick shots before lowering the camera. His fingers lingered over the buttons, and you realized he’d stopped taking pictures after only a few frames. His gaze flickered briefly to the group before shifting away again.

“Beomgyu,” you said, and he glanced at you. “You should be in one, too.”

He shook his head with a small smile. “I’m usually the one taking the pictures.”

You didn’t bother arguing with him. Instead, you turned toward a passing stranger, gesturing toward the camera. “Excuse me, would you mind taking a group photo for us?”

Beomgyu looked at you, taken aback, as the stranger agreed. You pushed him lightly toward the group. “Come on.”

He hesitated but relented, slotting in beside you as everyone squeezed together. The camera clicked, and just as the shutter went off, your hands brushed—brief, a touch so light it might have been an accident.

But when you turned your head slightly, he was already looking at you. And in that moment, with the Seine behind you and Paris stretching endlessly beyond, you thought to yourself—maybe you’d been wrong about how much a single touch could mean.

“How’s it going with Beomgyu?”

The hotel lobby was quiet at this hour. You sat into one of the sofas, an empty cup of coffee resting before you, long since forgotten. The book in your hands had begun to blur at the edges, your focus slipping every few pages.

You glanced up when Yeonjun settled onto the single sofa beside you. A sigh escaped your lips as you closed the book, resting it on your lap. “I don’t know, honestly.”

It was the truth. You had noticed something off about him lately—but you weren’t one to jump to conclusions. Maybe it was the comfort you offered him that he mentioned to you once. Maybe that was all it was. And yet, deep down, you hoped it wasn’t.

Yeonjun hummed, studying you. “He’s been acting weird, though, hasn’t he?”

You glanced at him, considering. “You think so too?”

“I have eyes, don’t I?” He scoffed.

Before you could retort, the hotel doors swung open, and a trio of Gryffindors stepped inside. You recognized them immediately—Beomgyu’s Quidditch teammates. The one in the center, Yoo Jaekyung, was their Seeker. And he was also someone who never missed an opportunity to make his distaste for you known.

Your brows twitched. Whether his hostility stemmed from the house rivalry or your direct competition as Slytherin’s Seeker, you still weren’t sure. But the disdain in his gaze whenever he looked at you was clear enough. Prejudice ran deep in people like him.

He caught sight of you and Yeonjun, his steps slowing for the briefest second before something smug flickered across his face. With a smirk, he changed course, making his way toward you.

Yeonjun muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. You braced yourself.

Jaekyung stopped just short of your seat, tilting his head in mock concern. “I heard about your little accident.” His voice was honeyed, far too sweet to be sincere. “Nasty hit from that Bludger, wasn’t it? Are you feeling better?”

You met his gaze, unfazed. “I’m fine.”

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head as if in sympathy. “Accidents like that—well, they’re bound to happen when you’re not skilled enough to avoid them. You should be more careful. Can’t have Slytherin losing their star player, after all.”

Yeonjun made a sound of irritation, he rose to his full height, towering over Jaekyung with ease. “Right. Are you done acting like a child, or should we wait for you to throw a tantrum too?”

Jaekyung’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before snapping back into place. You, however, placed a hand on Yeonjun’s arm, stopping him before things escalated. Your voice was even. “Let’s hear him out. It’s rare that he has something to say.”

Jaekyung’s smirk deepened, mistaking your patience for something else.

You tapped a finger lightly against your knee, feigning contemplation. “Though, that does raise a problem.” You let your voice drop just a fraction, letting the next words land sharper. “Because in every match against me, you’ve never managed to catch the Snitch.”

The satisfaction of watching the vein in his temple twitch was almost enough. His jaw clenched, the forced smile doing little to mask his irritation. “Get well soon,” he bit out, before pivoting on his heel and striding away, his teammates trailing behind him.

Yeonjun dropped back onto the sofa with a groan. “Merlin, people get so bloody ass-hurt over everything.”

You only shrugged, offering him a small smile. You were used to it.

“I have some dirt on Jaekyung.”

A new voice cut through the air, causing both of you two to startle. Yeonjun flinched, nearly spilling his drink. “Bloody hell—Jeongin—” Yeonjun swore, hand over his heart. “What is wrong with you?”

The Hufflepuff only blinked, expression blank as ever. He crouched down beside you, voice dropping into a conspiratorial murmur. “He’s used charms to win a few matches. There is proof latched within his broomstick.”

Beside you Yeonjun went on a spiteful rant about Jaekyung being an absolute bloody asshole and a sore loser. But all you could think of is, where did Jeongin get such information? Your brows lifted slightly in curiosity. “How do you know that?”

Jeongin shrugged. “I just do.” Then, casually, “I thought I’d tell you. Might be useful one day.”

You studied him, taking in his innocent demeanor, the unbothered way he delivered the information. A Hufflepuff, the Sorting Hat had declared. And yet, in this moment, you couldn’t help but wonder if it had made a mistake. Still, you chose not to voice it. Instead, you simply nodded, filing the information away for later.

“Duly noted.”

The next two days slipped by in a blur, the hours spent trailing behind Yeonjun through cobblestone streets and warm-lit bookstores, occasionally merging into the chaos of group hangouts. Someone’s room always seemed to be the designated meeting spot for the evening, where everyone sprawled across beds and armchairs, playing muggle games with the kind of reckless abandon that came with being far from home. Cards flicked across the floor, dice rolled under furniture, and soft music hummed in the background as someone recounted a ridiculous story from earlier in the day. These nights were filled with a quiet kind of joy, but you couldn’t ignore the gnawing awareness that something was missing.

You had been seeing Beomgyu less. Not because of chance, but because Jaekyung made certain of it. You weren’t stupid. By now, it was obvious to you that others had taken notice of your closeness to him, none more so than Jaekyung himself. The Gryffindor Seeker carried himself with the pathetic confidence of someone who always got what he wanted, and lately, what he wanted was to keep Beomgyu occupied. He made a game of it—boasting that the Gryffindor Quidditch team deserved their own exclusive outing, and whisking him away before you could say otherwise. Beomgyu never resisted, never even seemed to notice the way your eyes lingered when he left, and that, more than anything, made your stomach curl in something uncomfortably close to irritation.

So you spent your time elsewhere. Yeonjun, ever attuned to your moods, filled the space Beomgyu left behind without needing to be asked. He took you to the bookshop he’d promised, where the scent of papers and new books curled into the air like something sacred. You wandered between the shelves, tracing the spines of books with absent fingers, letting your mind get lost in stories that weren’t yours.

The afternoons were spent shopping with Yeji and the girls, their laughter drifting through the streets like birdsong, but in the quieter moments, you found solace in your room. With its sprawling balcony overlooking the Eiffel Tower, it felt like something out of a dream. You would curl up with a warm cup of coffee, watching the city shift from golden daylight to dusk.

On the fourth day of the trip, a campfire was arranged by the banks of Seine.

The fire crackled in the cool evening, its soft amber glow spilling over the group of friends gathered around. You sat at the edge of the circle, your gloved hands wrapped around a steaming mug of cocoa. You aren't cold exactly, but the crisp air nipped at your cheeks and the tip of your nose.

Your gaze drifted toward Beomgyu, unbidden, as it often did. He was seated across the fire, leaning back on his hands, the sight tugged at something deep in your chest. His hoodie—a deep gray that seemed impossibly soft—hung loosely around his frame, the hood falling slightly over his hair. It looked so comfortable, so warm, that you couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to be wrapped in it.

Or more accurately, to be wrapped in him.

The thought came suddenly, without warning, and it made your breath catch. You took a small sip from your mug, trying to focus on the heat spreading through your fingers instead of the ache settling in your chest.

It was a silly thought, really. The idea of stepping closer, of tucking yourself into the space between his arms and resting your head on his chest—it felt so vivid, so painfully out of reach. Your heart ached as the question echoed in your mind like a prayer.

Why was Beomgyu so unreachable?

You perhaps made the error of thinking he let you in. Because at the end, he wasn’t yours to lean on like that, to hold onto when the air felt too cold and the world too distant. And he never would be. You stilled as the last thought settled in the crevices of your brain, eyes widening slightly.

Oh, God.

You were in love with Beomgyu.

Love was the swelling, hopeful feeling in your chest every time you saw him. Love was the way you could forget about everything when you were with him. Love was the catch in your breath when he looked at you in his intense way. Love was the way you could be yourself around him.

You thought you were the one saving him from the world’s relentless grasp by offering him a piece of solace in your company, but it was Beomgyu who had been your saviour all this time.

You risked a glance at his way, which you immediately regretted. Seeing his smiling face lit up with the golden glow of the campfire, you realized how much you've missed being near him these two days.

And then you knew that you could become homesick for people too.

The room buzzed with anticipation as Heeseung's impromptu gathering took shape. Students lounged on beds, sprawled across the floor, and perched on chairs. You had attempted a discreet exit upon hearing the mention of "truth or dare," only to have Yeonjun snatch your wrist and haul you back with an exasperated, “Oh, come on, don’t be boring. Loosen up a little.”

Resigned, you had settled into a corner chair, trying to blend into the background. You counted down the minutes until you could leave.

Your stomach twisted when your gaze involuntarily drifted to the doorway as Beomgyu entered, his presence immediately lighting up the room. However, your mood soured when Jaekyung and his entourage flanked him, steering him to the opposite side before he could acknowledge you.

The game commenced with the dreadful spin of a bottle, its neck pointing to various participants amidst cheers and playful jeers. First, it landed on Yeonjun. He chose dare, of course, and was promptly ordered to step onto the balcony and scream at the top of his lungs.

He did so with theatrical flair, gripping the railing and shouting into the Parisian night, “I AM SEXY AND MYSTERIOUS, COME FIND ME IF YOU DARE—” before a professor’s sharp voice echoed from somewhere below, “Whoever that is, get back inside before I hex you!”

Yeonjun scrambled back into the room to the sound of uproarious laughter, dramatically clutching his chest. The next victim was Kai. He picked truth, and someone immediately asked, “Who was your first crush?”

Kai groaned, rubbing his face before mumbling a name. A chorus of “No way!” and “I knew it!” rang through the room, followed by a good-natured shove from his friends.

The bottle spun again.

And this time, it stopped on Beomgyu.

The room erupted in cheers and anticipated exclamations. He chuckled, running a hand through his hair, and after a brief moment of deliberation, chose truth.

Whistles and mischievous laughter followed, then someone finally asked, “When was the last time you cried the hardest?”

The question sounded innocent, yet you couldn't help but sit a little upright as you closely inspected Beomgyu. He seemed to consider his answer for a few seconds, tapping a finger thoughtfully against his chain. But before he could even speak, Jaekyung took the lead.

“Oh, that’s easy,” Jaekyung cooed. “Our golden Gryffindor boy cried like a baby when he heard his mother was sick.”

Your body went rigid, blood boiling dangerously underneath. Something akin to anger and speechlessness glinted in your eyes as you glared daggers at Jaekyung. But he did not stop there. Instead he continued, making matters worse.

Jaekyung made a face, mock-pouting, and cooed, “A real mama’s boy, aren’t you?” He even had the audacity afterwards to wrap his arms around Beomgyu’s neck.

People around laughed, others with coos of mock sympathy. Beomgyu laughed along with them, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Too forced.

You saw it immediately—how could you not? The way his shoulders tensed under Jaekyung’s arm, the way his fingers curled subtly into the fabric of his pants. His gaze dropped to his lap, then for the briefest moment when he looked up, you saw him searching around the room—and found yours.

Your vision shook, breath choking in your throat when you saw the look in his eyes. It was quick, barely perceptible, but in that single glance, you made out the absolute desperate look of pleading. The dim lighting caught the faint sheen in his eyes before he blinked it away, tearing his gaze from yours and smiling even wider, like it would drown out everything else.

You had to get him out of here.

And so, you tilted your head, feigning idle curiosity. “You know, Jaekyung,” you mused, just loud enough for everyone to hear, “I heard an interesting rumor about you the other day.”

The sound of your voice quietened the entire room in an instance. These were the times when you relished in the power of your reputation; whether it was because of your deliberate participation in such a crowd, or the fact that it was a showdown between the two rival Seekers, either way you had the attention of the entire room on you.

Jaekyung turned, brow raising. “Yeah?”

People perked up, eager for another potential story.

You hummed. "Mhm. It’s funny—I wasn’t even going to mention it. But now that I think about it, it really was hilarious.”

Someone leaned in. "Oh, do tell."

You shrugged, taking your time. “Something about a certain game of Exploding Snap gone terribly wrong. Something about you running down the corridors with a sack covering your head and screaming for your life.”

"That was you?” One of Jaekyung’s lackeys burst out, turning to him in disbelief.

People erupted into conversation, overlapping voices piecing together the memory, adding their own exaggerated details. Jaekyung stiffened as someone reenacted his supposed sprint through the corridors. Amidst the overexcited bunch, Jeongin let a small smirk tug on his lips that went unnoticed by everyone.

Chaos ensued as another fit of laughter erupted, now mocking Jaekyung who remained awkwardly laughing, trying to prove his innocence. And just like that, the attention was diverted, Beomgyu completely forgotten.

From your place in the corner of the room, you caught a sight of a figure slipping through the doors. You exhaled softly, relief barely settling in before you felt the eyes of Yeonjun. When you turned to him, he smiled at you, an encouraging nod followed.

That was all you needed to follow Beomgyu out the door.

Out in the dimly lit hotel lobby, you scanned the space with quick, searching eyes, your pulse hammering against your ribs. The adrenaline of what happened back in the room still pressed against your skin, but you pushed it aside, thinking only of where he could have gone. Then, a memory surfaced—Hogwarts, late at night, when curfew had long since passed. More often than not, you would find him alone in the Astronomy Tower, sitting in the hush of the night sky. Back then, neither of you spoke, only acknowledging each other's presence in the quiet. And so, trusting your instinct, you turned on your heel and made your way to the rooftop.

The night air met you with a crisp bite as you stepped onto the rooftop terrace. The city stretched beneath you in a glittering sprawl, the Eiffel Tower casting its golden glow against the dark. There, sitting on the steps with his back to you, was Beomgyu. He was still, unmoving, save for the faint rise and fall of his shoulders.

He didn’t notice you at first. You stepped forward carefully, pausing when you heard it—barely audible, but unmistakable. A sniffle. Your heart twisted at the sound. You made your arrival known when the ground beneath echoed your approaching steps.

"That was very brave," Beomgyu's voice broke the silence, rough with an attempt at humor. "And also very stupid. He’ll make sure to get back at you now."

You watched his hunched figure before finally speaking, voice quiet. "We Slytherins are brave, yes. But not stupid,” you murmured, looking skyward. “Given the choice, we'll always save our own necks."

He turned then, looking at you in the low light, something unreadable shifting in his gaze. "Is that why you're here?" His voice was quieter now. "Did you follow me to save yourself?"

It was only when he faced you that you realized how much you had missed seeing him up close. How much distance had settled between you these past few days. And perhaps that was why, without thinking twice, you descended the last few steps until you were right in front of him. Then, slowly, you lowered yourself onto your knees, meeting his eyes. The tension in your chest unfurled as you shook your head.

"No," you admitted softly. "I told you, didn't I? That I'd find you when you couldn't."

His bottom lip trembled, throat clogging up as he let his head fall, eyes squeezing shut. He fought against it—fought against the weight pressing against his ribs, the storm brewing behind his eyes. But his entire world seemed to stop when he felt it—the warmth of your arms wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him close. His breath stuttered. And then, before he could stop himself, his body caved into yours.

"I'm sorry for not asking first," you whispered, your breath fanning against his ear. "But I figured you might need this hug."

That was all it took for his resolve to shatter. A choked breath left him as he curled into you, his hands gripping the back of your shirt. His shoulders shook, the quiet sobs muffled against your skin. You felt the tremor of his body against yours, the sadness seeping into your own bones. Your throat burned, but you stayed still, holding him tighter, refusing to let go, refusing to let him drown in that pain alone.

Distance meant nothing when the person meant everything.

You didn’t speak for a while. This wasn’t the scenario you imagined when you so desperately wanted to hug him. However, you didn’t complain. You’d hold him whenever he wanted it, whenever he needed it, and you would continue to do so as long as it required. His sobs quieted eventually, though the quiet ache remained.

When his breathing evened out, you murmured, "How’s she now?"

His arms remained around you, but his voice was steadier when he answered, "It was a long time ago. She’s fine and healthy now, but..." He swallowed thickly. "I guess it was the memory that made it feel like it just happened all over again."

Your gaze softened. Fondly, you reached up, brushing away the single tear trailing on his cheek with your thumb. His eyes fluttered shut at the touch. "I don’t want to sound rude, but... you need a change in friends."

Beomgyu let out a breath, something like a half-laugh. "I despise Jaekyung, actually."

You blinked. "Oh."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "My acquaintance with him is... necessary. Because of Quidditch. But most of the time, I wish I could rip his head off."

You hummed in amusement, lips twitching. Then, after a beat, "I saw a fair in the city earlier today,” you said, eyes brightening a little as the thought came to you. “Do you want to go? If you'd rather head back to your room, that's fine, too."

Beomgyu was quiet for a moment, as if contemplating your offer. Then—"No. I don’t want to go back yet."

You nodded with a smile. "Alright then, let's visit the fair."

But just as you started to stand, Beomgyu’s hand found yours, and the sudden contact froze you in place. His fingers tightened around yours—a little reluctant, but firm. Then, in a voice so small you almost missed it, he said, "Thank you."

You barely had the chance to respond before he exhaled a quiet laugh, gaze dropping to where your hands remained clasped. "You know," he said, his tone light but distant, "I always thought you were a bit too unreachable for me."

Your breath stilled. The world tilted, the ground beneath you shifting. A quiet, electric tremor shot down your spine. Beomgyu thought you were unreachable?

It was absurd. It was ridiculous. Because all this time, you had thought it was him who had been just out of reach. That no matter how close you got, no matter how many nights you spent at his side in quiet companionship, there had always been something unattainable about him—something you dared not long for because it had never been yours to have. And yet, here he was, speaking as if you were the one perched on some distant pedestal, as if he had been the one looking up all along.

A breath rattled in your chest, the weight of the realization crashing down with a force that left you reeling. Every glance, every lingering moment, every ache in your ribs that you had swallowed down without question—had he felt it too? Had you spent all this time yearning for something that had been yearning right back at you?

And then, even softer, as if he was only speaking to himself—

"Where have you been all my life?"

Something inside you curled tight, heat coiling in your chest, in your throat, in the very marrow of your bones. You felt lightheaded, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a sob. You forced yourself to your feet, swallowing hard.

"The fair," you said, voice even despite the hurricane within you. "Let’s hurry before everything closes."

You made a quick stop at your room to grab your jacket and wallet before heading back out. When you reached the elevator, Beomgyu was already there, leaning against the wall with his hands tucked into his pockets. His eyes were a little puffy, a trace of exhaustion lingering in them, but the warmth in his smile softened the edges of his weariness.

Paris at night had always been breathtaking, but there was something different about seeing it like this—with him. The glow of string lights stretched above, casting golden halos over the cobbled pathways. The scent of caramelized sugar and roasted chestnuts drifted through the cool air, mixing with laughter and the distant strumming of a guitar from a street performer tucked into the corner of a square.

Beomgyu nudged your arm, tilting his head toward the rows of stalls ahead. “Where to first?”

You scanned the fair, the swirl of activity pulling at your attention. “Food,” you said. “You barely ate today.”

His brows lifted, feigning offense. “Are you keeping tabs on me now?”

You shot him a look, but his grin only widened, dimples pressing into his cheeks. With a scoff, you turned toward the nearest stand, and he fell into step beside you, his shoulder brushing yours in the moving crowd.

You both settled on crepes, their warmth seeping into your fingers as you took the first bite. Beomgyu, instead of eating his, watched you, waiting for your verdict. When you nodded in approval, he finally took his own bite, eyes flickering shut as a low hum of satisfaction escaped him.

“Good?” you asked, a trace of amusement lacing your voice.

“Mmh,” he murmured around another mouthful before swallowing. “I think I just fell in love.”

Your lips twitched despite yourself. As you wandered further, the fair unfolded around you—a blur of color, the rise and fall of laughter, the clinking of game tokens. Beomgyu tested his luck at a stall, missing the target on his first try. His brows furrowed, lips pressing into a thin line as he rolled his shoulders, preparing for another attempt.

But before he could, you nudged him aside and took your own shot. The ball hit dead center, toppling the target with ease.

His jaw slackened. “No way,” he breathed. “That was pure luck.”

“Skill,” you corrected, reaching for the small stuffed bear the vendor handed you. You turned, pressing it into his hands. “Here. Since you tried so hard.”

He stared at the plush toy, then back at you, his fingers curling around the soft fabric. Slowly, the corners of his mouth lifted. “You’re mocking me, aren’t you?”

“Of course not,” you said, entirely unconvincing.

He shook his head, tucking the bear under his arm as you strolled onward. The night stretched around you, a haze of laughter and playful ribbing, of moments that lingered just a second longer than they needed to. Eventually, you both slowed near a stall adorned with ribbons, clips, and various hair accessories, their silk and satin edges fluttering under the glow of the lanterns above.

The vibrant flowers and intricate designs caught your eye, drawing you in. Your fingers traced over a delicate floral piece—soft ivory petals tinged with a faint blush. It was simple but striking.

Beomgyu followed your gaze, then reached forward, plucking the ornament from its place. His fingers brushed yours in the process, a brief touch that sent a ripple through your senses.

"This would look great on you," he mused, voice light yet sincere.

You hesitated, glancing at him before shifting your focus back to the clip. "I don’t know if I’m really the flower type."

He tilted his head, considering you. "I think it would suit you."

Before you could protest, he stepped closer, lifting a loose strand of your hair between his fingers. His touch was featherlight, his fingertips warm against the cool night air. The motion almost absentminded as he tucked the flower into place, adjusted the clip with an almost delicate sort of care.

"There," he murmured. "Perfect."

He was close enough that you could see the faint exhaustion beneath his eyes, the way the streetlights cast a glow in his hair. When he pulled back, his gaze lingered, as if admiring his work.

Under his intense gaze that pinned you to the ground, you glanced away, feeling your airways constricting. You looked at yourself in the small mirror the vendor offered, grazing the ornament.

"You’re beautiful," he said, soft but certain.

Your eyes widened. Turning your gaze back at him was a bad idea because the blood from your cheeks earlier which had subsided, rushed back immediately. He was watching you with such a dreamlike, dazed smile. The words settled somewhere deep, unshaken by embellishments, and yet they held a weight that left you grasping for balance.

"You know," the stall owner chimed in, smiling knowingly, "if you're looking for a couple's discount, I can give it to you for the matching set."

A startled breath caught in your throat. Your hands shot up waving as you opened your mouth, your voice coming out far less composed than usual. "Oh, no, it’s not like that—"

"We’ll take it," Beomgyu cut in smoothly, reaching for his wallet before you could finish.

You turned to him, eyes widening. "Wait, what are you—"

He waved you off, handing the cash to the vendor without missing a beat. "Consider it my gift," he added, his voice laced with satisfaction.

The stall owner chuckled, handing you the packaged clip. "A good choice," she remarked with a wink. "It suits her perfectly."

You exhaled, the warmth creeping up your neck, but Beomgyu only looked pleased, a victorious gleam in his eyes.

"Tonight was supposed to be about you," you sighed, holding the small package in your hands. "Why are you the one giving me gifts?"

Beomgyu held up the stuffed bear you had won for him earlier, his lips curling into a smirk. "You already got me this," he pointed out. Then, more quietly, "Besides, you brought me here. You made sure I was alright. A small gift is the least I can do."

You had no response to that.

"Accept it," he added, nudging your shoulder lightly. "For my sake."

A single snowflake drifted between you, catching the golden fair lights as it fell. Then another. And another.

Beomgyu tilted his head up, watching the first snowfall of the season settle over Paris. The world around you seemed to hush, the fair’s glow casting a warm halo over the descending frost. A slow smile spread across his face, something wistful in the way his gaze traced the sky.

"I want to see the Seine."

You glanced at him, the request unexpected. He turned back to you, eyes shining. "That day we visited, I couldn’t really take it in—not properly, not with everything else going on."

The quiet honesty in his voice softened something in you. "Then let’s go."

The walk to the bridge was slower, the fair’s noise fading behind you as the Seine stretched before you in its midnight stillness. The river carried the reflection of the city’s lights, a gentle shimmer under the falling snow. Beomgyu leaned against the railing, his hands curled over the frost-kissed iron, the glow of the streetlamps painting his profile in gold and shadow. Snowflakes clung to his hair, caught in the sweep of his lashes, but he didn’t seem to notice.

You watched him take it all in, his shoulders rising and falling with a quiet breath. He turned to you then, his exhaustion evident in the way his body carried itself—but there was warmth in his gaze, something that made the air between you shift.

"How are you feeling now?" you asked, voice softer than you intended.

His lips parted, hesitation flickering over his features before he finally answered. "I feel much better." His eyes didn’t leave yours. "Thank you."

And you tried—God, you tried—not to say that you loved him. Tried to swallow it down, push it away, because tonight wasn’t about you. Tonight was about him, about making sure he was okay.

But then he reached up, fingertips ghosting against your cheek, light as snowfall. The warmth of his touch burned through the cold. Your breath hitched, caught somewhere between restraint and surrender. He was close, close enough that the city blurred around you, close enough that his gaze flickered down—to your lips, then back up, eyes locking with a silent plea—

“Shit.”

—Beomgyu’s foot slid against the fresh snow, his arms flailing as he yelped. The moment snapped, the sharp bite of reality returning all at once. Instinct took over—you reached out, grabbing his arms before he could stumble further, fingers tightening around the fabric of his sleeves.

Your pulse was a riot against your ribs. "Beomgyu—"

And then, as if the universe itself was conspiring against you, your phone buzzed loudly in your pocket, Yeonjun’s name flashing on the screen.

You hesitated, the moment still hanging between you like an unfinished sentence. Beomgyu exhaled, something obscure passing over his expression before he turned back toward the river.

When you hung up the call, your voice felt foreign in your throat. "They’re making rounds. It’s time to go back."

The walk back to the hotel was silent. You didn’t meet his eyes when you reached the entrance, didn’t look back when you passed a very curious Yeonjun, locking the door behind you as soon as you stepped inside your room.

That night, sleep did not come easily to you.

Beomgyu was losing his mind.

Sleep had evaded him, slipping through his fingers like sand, and now, as the pale morning light filtered through his curtains, his thoughts remained tangled around you. He dragged a hand over his face, exhaling sharply, but it did nothing to ease the restless ache in his chest. Last night’s scenes replayed behind his eyes in an unrelenting loop, haunting him, taunting him. What was he thinking?

His mind reeled back, drifting to the first time he had truly seen you—not as the girl everyone whispered about, the cold and cunning Slytherin, but as someone real. The flickering glow of the fireplace in the Room of Requirement had softened your sharp edges, revealing a warmth beneath the frigid surface. That night had unraveled everything he thought he knew about you. Without even realizing it, he had begun craving your presence, finding solace in it, drawn to the peace that rested between you.

Since when had you become his safe haven?

Beomgyu closed his eyes and draped an arm over them, lying motionless against the mattress. But the memory of you persisted. The way your arms had wound around him on the rooftop, the way your scent had lingered against his skin—soft florals, a trace of vanilla, and something that was just you. Maybe it was exhaustion clouding his mind, or maybe he had simply stopped pretending, but he wanted to feel your lips against his. The thought struck him like a force of nature, leaving him breathless in its wake.

His spiraling thoughts were abruptly shattered by the creak of the door. Heeseung sauntered in first, voice already animated as he recounted how he had caught two professors making out last night. Jeongin followed behind him, slipping onto the bed beside Beomgyu without a word.

Heeseung, noticing Beomgyu’s silence, slowed his chatter, his tone shifting. "What Jaekyung did during Truth or Dare—I'm sorry, it was very low of him."

Beomgyu sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "It’s fine."

"No, it’s not. Did you see me laughing?" Heeseung pressed. "Yeah, exactly. None of us found it funny. Jaekyung knew he messed up. He barely said a word the rest of the night. Well, specifically after that revelation."

Beomgyu let out a small breath, forcing a half-smile. "Really, it doesn’t bother me."

Heeseung wasn’t convinced. He studied Beomgyu, his sharp gaze flickering over the dark circles beneath his eyes. "You look awful, man. You sure you’re good? You had a long night, huh?"

Beomgyu hesitated. It wasn’t about Jaekyung. It wasn’t about what had been said. The truth sat heavy in his chest, but he couldn't tell them that. Because the real reason for his unrest was you.

Heeseung, ever oblivious, started rummaging through the room, muttering about finding anything to help. But Jeongin, who had been silent all this time, finally spoke.

"Wanna see something?"

Both boys turned to the Hufflepuff as he casually reached into his sling bag and pulled out a small vial. He held it up, letting the light catch on the iridescent liquid inside.

Heeseung nearly choked. "Dude, is that—?"

"Amortentia."

Beomgyu sat up abruptly. "How the hell did you manage to sneak that into Paris?"

Jeongin only grinned, his fox-like eyes gleaming with mischief. "I just did."

"You’re a Slytherin in disguise, aren’t you?" Beomgyu gave him a pointed look.

Jeongin merely shrugged, shaking the vial slightly. "So, do you want to take a whiff or not?"

Beomgyu hesitated—he had smelled Amortentia before, but that was a long time ago. The things he had loved back then surely couldn't compare to now. Slowly, he took the vial, uncorking it with careful fingers. The moment the scent reached, a laugh threatened to break out from him.

Because of course, it was you.

It had always been you.

Your scent filled his lungs, weaving into his very essence, curling into the spaces between his ribs, settling in the marrow of his bones. The delicate trace of your floral shampoo, the warmth of vanilla that clung to your skin, the bittersweet coffee that lingered on your lips. And beneath it all, something intangible—something that wasn't just a scent, but a feeling. A muted gravity pulling him home. It filled him like the hush of the tide against the shore, constant and inevitable.

Beomgyu had spent his life bending, shifting, molding himself into what others needed him to be. Always laughing, always the light, always the reflection of what others wanted. He had blurred the lines of himself so many times that he feared there was nothing real left underneath.

But here, now, he knew.

Because for once, he wasn’t afraid of what he wanted. For once, he wasn’t running away. He was running toward it—toward you.

Beomgyu loved you.

And it was the truest thing he had ever known; the truest he had been to himself.

You weren’t doing any better.

When Yeji left for breakfast, you refused to leave your bed, burying yourself deeper into the sheets. Time passed in a haze until Yeonjun dropped by, setting down a tray of food with an expectant look that left no room for argument. He made sure you ate, his gaze watchful as if he could see right through you. And in the end, he did.

With little effort, Yeonjun coaxed the truth out of you—the tangled mess of last night, the words unsaid, the emotions left raw and aching.

"Wait," he blinked. "You’re saying—I cockblocked you?"

You groaned, shoving a pillow over your face. His choice of words made you cringe, but in a way, he wasn’t wrong. Instead of confirming it, you merely grumbled in protest.

Yeonjun only laughed, ruffling your hair in a rare display of fondness. "It’ll work out," he said, voice softer now. "You two just need to stop being idiots about it."

“Easier for you to say,” you muttered bitterly, throwing another pillow.

He caught it easily, his laughter carried by the wind that visited through your open balcony. Moments like these reminded you why you were grateful to have him in your life—not just as a friend, but as family.

Today, though, you weren’t in the mood to go out. You hadn’t slept a wink last night, and exhaustion pulled at your limbs. So, as the world carried on beyond your window, you curled back under the blankets, surrendering to sleep.

But before you drifted off, a decision settled firmly in your mind.

Tomorrow before leaving, you will talk to Beomgyu.

Beomgyu didn't know who he was expecting when he opened the door, but it certainly wasn't Jaekyung.

His face remained blank, devoid of any welcoming expression, though irritation simmered just beneath the surface. Jaekyung, with his usual cocky nonchalance, stood there holding up two beer bottles as though they were old friends sharing a casual drink. "Let’s have a chat over drinks?"

A bitter taste coated Beomgyu’s tongue. He didn’t want this conversation, didn’t want to spend another second in Jaekyung’s presence, but with the inevitability of Quidditch matches and shared spaces, dragging this out seemed more of a hassle. Exhaling sharply through his nose, he stepped aside, wordlessly agreeing.

That’s how he found himself on the rooftop of the hotel, the night air crisp against his skin, the city lights sprawling endlessly beneath them. Jaekyung popped open his can, tilting his head back for a long chug before sighing, relishing the bitter taste. He started talking—about last night, about how he hoped Beomgyu didn’t take it to heart, how it was all just a joke, how he hadn’t meant to hurt Beomgyu’s feelings or disrespect his mother. The words tumbled out in a half-hearted apology, as though he expected Beomgyu to nod along and laugh it off.

Beomgyu remained silent, his grip loose around his own can, having only taken a single sip. He wasn’t really here to make peace, just to tolerate the moment until it passed.

Jaekyung scoffed, took another sip, and muttered, "That Slytherin bitch really had to ruin shit for me."

Beomgyu’s fingers tensed against the can. His brows furrowed as he turned his head, eyes sharp. "What?"

Jaekyung exhaled in exasperation. "You heard me. That girl—she really has some nerve. If she hadn’t butted in, everything would’ve gone fine for me. But no, she just had to stick her nose where it didn’t belong." He clicked his tongue, shaking his head as if disappointed. "You should be careful around her, Beomgyu. I mean, come on. You know how those Slytherins are. Always scheming, always looking out for themselves. Who knows how dirty her hands are? Wouldn't be surprised if she's dabbled in the Dark Arts."

Beomgyu’s grip on the can tightened, metal bending under the pressure of his fingers.

Jaekyung let out a dry chuckle, swirling the beer in his hand. "Hell, I wouldn’t even be shocked if she ended up killing someo—"

The words couldn't fully leave Jaekyung’s mouth, Beomgyu’s fist curled into the front of his shirt, shoving him back with enough force to slam him against the wall. The dull thud of impact echoed in the night air. Jaekyung’s beer can clattered to the ground, spilling its contents across the concrete.

The moment stretched, heavy with unfiltered rage. Beomgyu’s chest rose and fell in deep, controlled breaths, his knuckles white against the fabric of Jaekyung’s shirt. His heart pounded, his vision blurred in a haze of fury.

Jaekyung, momentarily stunned, let out a breathless laugh, his lips twitching into a smirk despite the pressure against his collar. "Don’t tell me you like her?" he taunted, his voice dipping into something almost mocking. "Do you even know what you’re doing?"

Beomgyu’s jaw clenched, his grip tightening. "Say another word about her, and I swear to God, I won’t hold back next time," he warned, his voice low, deadly.

Jaekyung only grinned wider, eyes glinting with amusement. "You’re ruining Gryffindor’s image by hanging around with that filthy Slytherin."

That was all it took.

His fist snapped forward, knuckles colliding with Jaekyung’s jaw in a brutal, sickening crack that rang through the night. Jaekyung’s head jerked to the side, his smirk wiped clean as he staggered, nearly losing his footing.

Beomgyu didn’t care about the consequences. Not the whispers, not the wary glances, not the tarnish on his image this could bring. If it meant protecting you—from slander, from the storm of false assumptions, from people who spat on your name without knowing the first thing about you—then his reputation could burn.

By the time you woke up, the sun had already begun its slow descent beyond the horizon, painting the sky in muted shades of amber and violet. A dull throbbing pulsed behind your eyes as you pushed yourself upright, the remnants of sleep still clinging to your limbs. Blinking away the haze, you scanned the room, your gaze landing on the empty space where Yeji had been. Her absence was quickly explained by the neatly folded note left on the bedside table.

Spending the night with the girls. Don’t wait up!

You sighed, rubbing at your temples before swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. The headache lingered—a dull, persistent ache that made deciding between coffee and painkillers a heavier task than it should have been. Eventually, you settled on coffee, craving the warmth more than anything, but you shot Yeonjun a quick text anyway, asking him to grab some medicine on his way back.

At that moment, Yeonjun was at a bar with his friends. His phone buzzed just as Heeseung announced he was heading back to the hotel. Yeonjun barely glanced at the screen before catching Heeseung by the wrist.

"Hey, do me a favor? Grab some painkillers from the pharmacy on your way back and drop them off for her?"

Heeseung, already halfway out the door, gave a lazy salute before disappearing into the night. The city lights flickered against the polished streets as he made his way to the nearest pharmacy, the mild buzz of alcohol in his veins making everything feel a little lighter. The store was nearly empty save for one other customer browsing the aisles, and in his attempt to maneuver past them, Heeseung’s shoulder clipped theirs, sending both their purchases tumbling to the ground.

"Shit, my bad," he muttered, hastily gathering his things. The stranger offered a muttered reassurance, but embarrassment burned at the tips of his ears. Before he could make a bigger fool of himself, he all but bolted out the door.

By the time he reached the hotel, the sky had deepened to a velvety blue, the streets humming with the distant sounds of nightlife. He knocked on your door, shifting on his feet as he waited. When you finally opened it, brows furrowed in confusion, Heeseung only grinned.

"Yeonjun’s gonna be late, so he asked me to drop this off for you."

You blinked at the offered packet before reaching out to take it. "Oh. Thanks, Heeseung. You should get some rest."

"Yeah, yeah," he waved a hand dismissively, then let out a sheepish chuckle. "Almost didn’t make it in one piece. I crashed into some poor stranger at the pharmacy and sent both our stuff flying. Thought they were gonna curse me on the spot."

You shook your head with a small laugh, watching as he sauntered off down the hall before shutting the door. Tossing the packet onto the bed, you turned your attention to the half-packed suitcase waiting for you. With your departure set for tomorrow night, you figured it was best to finish now, leaving only the essentials untouched.

By the time you were done, you were exhausted. You turned off the lights to ease the dull headache, leaving the room bathed in the faint glow of the city beyond the balcony doors. Drawn by the cool night air, you stepped outside, letting the gentle breeze carry away the last remnants of your lingering headache. The trip had been a blur of moments, each one folding into the next, but despite everything, your thoughts inevitably drifted back to Beomgyu.

You hadn’t seen him all day. Not since last night on the bridge.

Heat rushed to your cheeks at the memory, and you groaned, dropping your face into your palms. Shaking your head, you turned away, desperate for a distraction. That’s when your gaze landed on the packet resting on your bed. Right. You should put it away.

Grabbing it, you tore it open with little thought—only to freeze. There were no painkillers inside. Instead, a mix of unfamiliar medicine stared back at you, along with—

Your stomach dropped.

—several packets of condoms.

For a second, you just stared, unable to process what you were looking at. Then, realization struck like a slap to the face.

Heeseung must've picked up the wrong packet. Oh god.

A strangled sound crawled up your throat as you dragged a hand down your face. There was no way you were keeping this. You had to return it. Now.

Exhaling sharply, you marched toward the door, and yanked it open—only to stumble back in surprise.

Beomgyu stood just outside, equally startled, his eyes widening as yours did the same. Your breath caught, pulse stumbling over itself as you took another step back.

He looked as if he’d been caught red-handed, lips parting slightly before snapping shut, his fingers twitching at his sides. For a moment, neither of you spoke, both frozen in place, the tension crackling between you like a frayed wire. Your heart pounded, his gaze settling heavy in your chest, leaving you breathless in a way that had nothing to do with surprise.

Your eyes widened, and then widened even more when you took in his face—a deep bruise darkening his right cheekbone, his lower lip split and raw. The sharp inhale you took was nearly drowned by the surge of panic crashing through you. Without thinking, you stepped forward, reaching for him, but the movement seemed to shake him from his daze.

“S-Sorry, I should go back—” Beomgyu stammered, already taking a step back.

Your fingers caught his wrist before he could slip away, your grip firm despite the hammering of your pulse. "Get inside."

Beomgyu hesitated, but the authority in your voice left no room for argument. You tugged him in, shutting the door with more force than necessary before turning on the lamp atop the dresser. The warm glow cast soft shadows across the room, illuminating the damage on his face. You exhaled sharply through your nose, frustration simmering beneath your skin as you pushed him onto the bed.

He let you, watching in silence as you crouched before him, scanning his injuries with an expression that left no space for anything but raw, unfiltered concern. He should have been saying something—assuring you, maybe—but he found himself caught instead, watching the way your brows knit together, the way your fingers twitched as if resisting the urge to touch him.

Beomgyu didn’t know what came over him after the fight with Jaekyung, but he was sure of one and one thing only—he needed to see you. That was why he let his feet take him to your room, but as he was about to knock, he woke up from his daze. Caught in between the dilemma of letting his desire to see you win or turn away and go back to his room, he spent more time standing in front of your door than necessary

“Who did this to you?” The question left you in a voice steadier than you felt. But you didn’t wait for an answer. You already knew. “Jaekyung?”

Beomgyu's hand shot out, grasping yours before you could rise. “Listen to me. Please.” His voice was hoarse, his grip warm. “I started the fight.”

You froze, stunned. He sighed, lips pressing together before he spoke again. “He said some things about you he shouldn’t have. I couldn’t just let him run his mouth when he assumed the worst about you.”

Something in your chest twisted—something sharp, something ugly. Your pulse thrummed as a thousand thoughts warred within you. Was this your fault? Did he feel like he had to defend you? Anger flared, not at him, but at the situation, at Jaekyung, at the bruises marking Beomgyu’s skin.

Without a word, you pulled away, heading for the bathroom. You needed something—anything—to fix this mess. But you found nothing, except opting for a bowl of water from the basin. Frustration burned as you muttered a curse under your breath. You yanked open your bag, grabbing your wand and a handkerchief instead. You threw a Mufffliato charm at your door before getting hold of the dresser stool.

Returning, you dragged the stool in front of him, sitting so close your knees brushed. His fingers curled against his lap, his gaze heavy as it followed your movements.

“Are you upset with me?”

“No.” The clipped response did little to ease him. His fingers found yours again, tentative this time. “Don’t be upset,” he murmured, and the quiet weight in his voice sent something quivering through you.

You inhaled deeply, then exhaled. “I’m not upset,” you whispered. “But I need you to let me take care of you.”

You may have appeared frigid outwardly as you pulled your hand away from his and worked to wet the cloth with water, but inside, you were trembling. Your emotions threatened to spill over, pressing against the tight control you struggled to maintain. You chose silence, but the longer Beomgyu stared at you with those dark, blazing eyes, the harder it became to hold everything in.

Beomgyu, as if sensing it, tried to assure you that he was fine.

“Stop.” Your voice wavered despite your best efforts to keep it steady. You refused to meet his gaze, focusing instead on the bruise marring his cheekbone as you brought the cloth to his skin.

The moment it touched his wound, he went rigid, eyes squeezing shut, a strangled groan escaping his lips. The sound shouldn't have sent a shiver down your spine, but it did, settling uncomfortably in the back of your mind. His hand found your thigh, fingers curling into the flesh. Your breath became uneven, hands trembling, but you carried on, ignoring it.

You wrung the cloth in your hands, the fabric twisting between your fingers. "Do you think this changes anything?" The words came measured, steady despite the storm within. "Do you think I care what Jaekyung says about me?"

You dabbed at his wound again, perhaps a little too firmly. Beomgyu hissed softly, but he didn’t pull away. His grip on your thigh tightened instead.

"If he spreads shit about me to the entire Hogwarts, it wouldn’t matter." You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as you dipped the cloth back into the water. "I’m used to it." The tremor in your fingers betrayed you as you wrung it out again, your knuckles paling from the force. "Nothing would have made a difference."

You pressed the cloth to his skin once more, frustration bleeding into every action.

Beomgyu’s breath hitched, his fingers twitching against your leg.

You swallowed, hands tense as you tossed the cloth aside. "You didn’t have to act so rashly," you muttered, softer now, though no less strained. Your grip on your wand tightened. "You didn’t have to taint your hands for me." Your lips parted, but the words felt heavy on your tongue. You inhaled sharply, forcing them out anyway. "I’m already in ashes."

The weight of it all pressed down on you, suffocating. Still, you forced your hand steady as you lifted your wand. With a muttered, "Episkey," the bruise on his cheek faded, healing instantly under the glow of magic.

You finally looked at him then, your eyes searching his face. Beomgyu held your gaze, the fire in his own unwavering.

Your hands curled into fists in your lap. "Why?" The question slipped out, quieter than before, like it had been torn from somewhere deep inside you. "Why would you go this far for me? When doing so now will destroy your reputation?"

A shaky breath left you as you ran a hand through your hair, then buried your face in your palms. Silence stretched between you, but it suffocated you and dragged you down as if drowning in the deep sea with no hopes of swimming back up.

Beomgyu watched you, his jaw tightening. Even now, you were worrying about him rather than feeling any anger over being disrespected. How could you be so selfless? How many years of cruel judgment had it taken for you to be this nonchalant about people dragging your name through the dirt?

Regret wasn’t something Beomgyu felt tonight.

He exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re cute when you’re worked up.”

Your head snapped up, eyes narrowing in disbelief.

Beomgyu only offered a lopsided smile, tilting his head. “Did you really think I’d just stand there and let that son of a bitch talk about you like that?” His voice was quiet but firm. “You don’t deserve that.”

You felt waves of gratitude wash over the shore of frustration and guilt, mixing into a cacophony of intangible emotions in your chest. To know the person you loved so dearly saw you for who you were and stood up for you even at the risk of being ruined—it was getting harder to fight back the clog in your throat, the sting behind your eyes.

“But will you ever let me do the same for you?” The words tumbled out before you could even think, slipping past the restraint you had been holding onto.

He stared at you for a moment, his face softening in the dim light. “I didn’t think you needed to,” he said at last, voice quieter now.

“I do,” you said quietly, your voice steady despite the vulnerability in your words. “I want to.”

You held your wand up to heal the split in his lip, but he caught your wrist again, stopping you before the spell could form. You froze when he leaned forward, resting his forehead against the curve of your neck.

“You already do,” he murmured, his voice no louder than the snow drifting outside. “I don't think you realize how much you change everything just by being here.”

His scent was dizzying, warm and intoxicating, pressing into your senses until it became difficult to think of anything else. But nothing could have prepared you for the wildfire coursing through your veins when his lips grazed the skin just above your collarbone. A quiet gasp slipped from you before you could swallow it down. Your free hand moved on instinct, gripping his bicep, feeling the firm muscle beneath the fabric of his hoodie.

“Beomgyu,” you managed to breathe out, mind unraveling at the fact that such a simple touch from him had set your entire body ablaze. You weren’t sure if you were trying to stop him or yourself.

You felt it then—the shudder that passed through him, as though he was holding back something just as consuming as what had taken root inside you. He didn’t move away. Instead, his grip on your hand tightened slightly as he lifted his head, eyes finding yours. His gaze was heavy, dark with restraint, his breath uneven against your lips.

“And I don’t think you understand how hard I’m trying to resist.”

Your chest ached. Because he had been holding back, all this time. And you had, too.

The realization unraveled you. It wasn’t just tonight. It had been every moment before this one—every touch avoided, every glance turned away too soon, every night spent swallowing words that threatened to spill. You had forced yourself into stillness, even when everything inside you begged to reach for him.

But now, with his words settling deep, breaking apart the last of your restraint, there was nothing left to stop you.

Your hand trailed from his bicep, slipping into his hair, fingertips threading through the strands. His lashes fluttered, and then, like he couldn’t help himself, he leaned into your touch, his eyes slipping closed as though savoring the warmth of your palm. A breath escaped him, quiet, shivering.

Your heart pounded. Your emotions curled tight in your chest, coiling, pressing, threatening to consume you whole.

And so you kissed him.

His lips felt soft against yours. The touch was careful, lasting for just a few fleeting seconds before you pulled back, shamelessly breathless, searching his face for his reaction. Beomgyu remained still, gaze lowered, lips parted as he lifted a trembling hand to touch where your lips had been. His fingertips brushed over his busted lip, smearing the faint trace of blood left behind.

“More.”

The word was barely a whisper, but the desperation in his voice sent a spark skittering down your stomach. He let go of your hand, his palms cupping your face instead and pulled you in, crashing his lips onto yours with more intention this time. The sheer intensity of it clawed out a tattered whimper from the back of your throat as you tumbled forward into him.

The taste of blood mixed into the kiss, coppery and intoxicating, the sting of his split lip making him hiss against your mouth. It should have made you pull away, should have given you pause, but instead, it only fueled the heat roaring between you. Your tongue swiped over the wound, drawing a sharp, shuddering moan from him. You noted how he liked the pleasure that came with pain before sliding your tongue deeper into his mouth, claiming him.

He met you with equal fervor, his tongue tangling with yours in a battle for dominance. But you refused to lose. Your body moved on its own, pulling him even closer as you straddled his waist. Your fingers tugged at his hair, drawing a broken moan from him, and just as you felt him start to crumble beneath you, you pushed him back against the mattress.

Beomgyu let out a quiet yelp, eyes wide as he stared up at you, dazed and breathless. Your heart stuttered, not expecting it to be so utterly, devastatingly adorable.

Your gaze flickered over him, your breath shaky, heart thundering in your chest. You had wanted this for so long—to feel him like this, to have his scent clinging to your skin, to taste his lips, even if they were bruised and tinged with blood. It felt surreal, intoxicating, overwhelming in every sense.

A fond smile ghosted your lips as you reached out, fingers brushing through his tousled hair. His skin was already covered in a sheen of sweat, the winter air failing to cool the fire blazing between you. His chest heaved with each breath, his throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly.

“Are you still upset with me?” he asked, voice hoarse, breathless.

You shook your head, reaching for his bruised knuckles. Bringing them to your lips, you pressed a soft kiss against them.

“Just promise me you’ll never let yourself get hurt for me.”

His fingers curled against yours, before he lifted his other hand, tangling it in your hair, pulling you down to him. He sealed the promise with another searing kiss, one that stole the breath from your lungs and ignited every nerve in your body. He flipped you over in one swift movement, deepening the kiss.

This time, it was fervent, consuming—his lips moving against yours like he’d been starving for this. His body slotted between your parted legs, pressing against you entirely. Your eyes flew open when you felt him grinding his hips against yours, his hardness rubbing against your torrid core—and despite both of you being clothed, the scorching pleasure it was bringing was mind numbing. A broken gasp spilled from your lips as your back arched against him.

Beomgyu pulled away just enough to look at you, watching the string of saliva connecting your lips before it disappeared. His gaze darkened at the sight of you beneath him—lips swollen and red-stained, face flushed, hair framing you so perfectly that it made his breath hitch. His entire body burned with the need for you, an ache so deep he could barely think.

God, he needed you.

So badly it was nearly unbearable.

“I need you,” he almost pleaded, his hips kept grinding against yours, making your sanity crumble away further. Your mind had nothing left but his name chanted over and over again like a prayer. “Can I have you? Please let me have you?”

You nodded through your haze, because how could you refuse?

He pulled his hoodie and shirt off over his head in a quick motion, and your eyes, heavy with lust, trailed down his body, his flexing muscles as he threw the clothes across the room. Beomgyu dipped down to press his lips to yours once more, his arm wrapping around your head, the other hand tugging at the waistline of your pants. "You're so beautiful," he mumbled against your skin, trailing kisses down your jaw, your neck, your collarbones before biting down on the supple flesh, eliciting a strained moan from you. "So perfect."

Beomgyu groaned against your pulse point when his fingers slid in between your folds, collecting your arousal before lathering all of it in an up and down motion over your slit, each time bumping against your clit and applying just the right amount of pressure on the bundle of nerve. It sent jolts of pleasure through your body as your nails dug around his shoulders, your back arching into his body. When his name came in the form of a broken melody past your lips, he pushed two fingers in your waiting core, curling them deliriously against your sweet spot that had you seeing stars.

Your hips stuttered, grinding up to meet his thrusting fingers as you writhed underneath him while Beomgyu’s torrid lips drew wonders on your neck, leaving behind a trail of fire. It felt so good, your lips caught between your teeth, your head buzzed with unfathomable ecstasy at the feeling of his long, thick fingers massaging your walls. You only could wonder how his cock would feel inside you. The thought alone had your thighs trembling.

The familiar sensation of heat coiling in your lower stomach began to embrace you, and you knew Beomgyu knew, because your walls clenched around his digits. He lifted his head to lock eyes with you, as his fingers picked up their pace, encouraging you to come undone. “You’re doing so good for me,” he coaxed. “You’re doing amazing, love.”

“Beomgyu,” you whined, voice trembling and gasping. “I’m—I’m almost—”

The relentless pace along with his sweet praises sent your senses into a euphoric haze as you cried out, your walls fluttering around his fingers. Beomgyu ran his fingers through your hair, soothing your scalp as you came down from your high, chest heaving with every breath you took. The sinful sight of him wrapping his lips around his fingers, licking and sucking off your arousal from them made you glance away.

“Sweet. How do you taste so sweet?” His thumb pressed against your bottom lip before pulling it down. His tongue pushed past your lips, the feeling of your arousal melting into your mouth was so overwhelming that it drawled out a groan from you.

Your mind was already so fucked out that you had to snap yourself into reality when Beomgyu repeated his question. He cooed, gently caressing your cheek when you blinked up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“Do you want to keep this on?” he tugged on the hem of your shirt, eyes trailing the skin of your arms where goosebumps have risen. The goosebumps didnt come from the cold, no—it was the mere effect he had on you, so you shook your head, propping yourself up just enough to tug your shirt over your head, leaving only your bra on.

Beomgyu swallowed thickly, sitting back on his heels as his eyes roamed around your body—over the soft swell of your breast, the dips of your collarbone, the curves of your sides—and he kept wondering how he managed to get so lucky. His hand glided up the small of your back and with nimble fingers he unclasped your bra before letting it join the discarded clothes on the floor. Pulling you flushed against his chest, Beomgyu peppered soft kisses on your shoulder and he inhaled your scent. Gosh, he was going crazy—absolutely, maddeningly insane for you.

Your bleary gaze fell on the outline of his hardened shaft, waiting and beginning to be pulled out from its restraints. With shaky hands you reached out to tug on his sweatpants, expectantly looking up at him. Beomgyu wasted no time working on his pants, strong hands pulling you closer to him before his leaking cockhead grazed your clit. The choked moan that escaped from the back of your throat made you wonder if it truly was your voice.

“Protection?” he asked, his voice momentarily cutting through your heady haze.

You nodded, looking at the packet that, now thanks to Heeseung’s clumsiness, came in handy. Beomgyu followed your gaze, reaching for the packet before emptying its contents on the bed. Even if he had any questions, he chose not to voice it as he silently tore one packet with his teeth and rolled the thin rubber over his shaft, giving it a few pumps.

The anticipation that coiled within your stomach crawled up to your throat and through your chest, gathering all your oxygens from your lungs on its way. Beomgyu shuddered over you, hands roaming, fingers mapping out your skin like he was committing every inch of you to memory. He lined the tip of his cock against your entrance—then suddenly stilled all his movements.

Your heart stopped as your eyes searched his face, looking for any semblance of discomfort—or worse, if he was thinking it was all a mistake, if he was thinking of backing out at the last moment. Beomgyu closed his eyes, brows knitting together as he exhaled sharply. The silence felt too thick for you to disturb it. You could only wet your chapped lips—a futile attempt to ease your nerves.

Finally, in a low whisper, he said, “I think I might be a terrible person.”

For a split second, you believed him—you thought he was about to confess something unforgivable. Then you realized that we all think we might be terrible people. But we only reveal this before asking someone to love us. It is a kind of undressing.

You let out a shaky breath. Was it relief? Perhaps. Perhaps it was also the love that you felt for this man. He was already so deeply tangled in your soul, you weren’t ready to let go of him so easily. Not in this lifetime, not in the next, not in any lifetime to come.

You cupped his face, tilting it to make him look at you. You tried to pour all your love, your admiration, your desire into the way you gazed at him. With a fond smile, you murmured, “I’m a terrible person too. And I want you. I just want you—all your flaws, your mistakes, your smiles, your jokes, everything.”

He kissed you, so deeply, so fiercely, that the gasp you let out when you felt him stretching you was entirely devoured by his mouth. Fingers clawing his back, you couldn't decide where to focus—the sheer euphoric wave of pleasure engulfing your body, or the way Beomgyu muttered apologies in your ear.

“Does it hurt? I’m sorry—ah, I'm so sorry, love,” he whispered softly, giving you time to adjust as he slowly sank into your aching core. He gritted his teeth, jaw clenching as he had to fight the urge to cum from just feeling your tight walls clench around him. “I promise, it will feel good. I’ve got you.”

The bed creaked beneath you as he pulled out slowly before pushing back in, setting the pace into deep languid thrusts that had you gasping and moaning with every movement. Beomgyu tried to hold onto the last bit of his sanity when he felt your hand trail up to the hair on his nape, curling and tugging on a fistful. He buried his face into your neck, strained moans filling your ear deliciously as his hips snapped against yours. You didn't notice his arms buckling, one of his hands having to brace the mattress beside your head, fist twisting into the sheets.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, trying to bring him even closer to you—as if such an act of desperation could alone imprint every pattern of his body on yours. The depraved sound of skin against skin along with your mingling groans and gasps resonated off the walls of the room. Your already sensitive cunt throbbed with pleasure with every shallow drag of his cock, reaching unfathomable places inside you.

It wasn't the cold air that sent a shiver down your spine but rather his featherlight touch over your hardened nipple. You squirmed at the sensation and he immediately moved his hand away. “Too much?” concern laced his voice as he let his hand find purchase on your hips instead, massaging the soft flesh. His consideration and care towards you knocked the air out of your lungs, chest constricting painfully.

“Kiss me,” you pleaded breathlessly, “Beomgyu, please kiss me.”

He didn't need to be told twice, stealing your breath in a slow, languid kiss that matched his pace. His lips moved against yours with aching slowness, savoring every second, every press, every stolen breath. His hand from your hip trailed up your sides, leaving a searing path in their wake, fingertips pressing into your skin as if he needed to reassure himself that you were real, that this was real.

All the whimpers and moans that spilled from you—he swallowed them down greedily, a low hum of approval vibrating against your lips. He broke away only to pepper kisses along your jaw, down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “You drive me insane,” he murmured between kisses, voice thick with desire, each word punctuated by his shallow thrusts. “I don’t think I could ever get enough of you.”

His words sent a tremor down your spine, and when he found the pulse point beneath your jaw, sucking lightly, you let out a soft gasp, fingers tightening in his hair. You felt your high approaching you again, your whimpers getting louder by the seconds as your eyes rolled back to your head. He groaned at the sensation of your walls spasming, the sound reverberating against your skin like a plea, a promise, a confession.

You were his undoing—and he was yours.

“Let go, love,” he muttered in a strained voice as you clenched around him like a vice, your body quivering when you finished, his name spilling from you so sinfully that it drove him over the edge. He helped you ride out your orgasm, seeds spilling inside the condom but the warmth seeped into your walls, making you bite down on your lips harshly.

There was a beat of silence as you both chased for air. Beomgyu moved first, helping you sit up with the same gentleness and care as before. When he returned with a damp towel, he pressed it softly against your skin, wiping away the sheen of sweat. His eyes, dark yet brimming with unmistakable adoration—something tender, something irrevocable—never wavered from yours.

You took in the quiet love in his gaze, the way it mirrored your own, and let yourself smile. Your fingers brushed against his bruised lips, tracing them with featherlight touches. "Remind me to fix this," you murmured.

Beomgyu chuckled, a boyish grin breaking across his face before he tugged you down with him onto the bed. He pulled the covers over both of you, cocooning you in warmth, in safety, in him.

For a fleeting moment, you still thought it was a dream. If it was, then it would be the happiest one you've ever had. But the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the rhythmic beat of his heart against your skin, and the way his body heat shielded you from the bitter Parisian winter told you otherwise. This was real. Every second of it was real.

"I love you," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

You tilted your face up, capturing his lips in a tender kiss, sealing the words against his mouth before murmuring them back to him.

And then, like an echo in your mind, Yeonjun’s words from before resurfaced—that Paris, the city of love, truly had a way of bringing people together.

The morning air was tinged with the scent of freshly baked bread and coffee as you walked through the narrow streets lined with breakfast cafés. The quiet hum of Paris waking up surrounded you, but your mind was far from the charming scenery. Your hands remained tucked in the pockets of your coat as you thought back to the last message exchanged with Beomgyu—your simple note telling him not to wait for you, that he should go ahead and get breakfast without you.

You slowed your steps as you neared a particular café, your gaze settling on the man seated near the window. He hadn’t noticed you yet, too lost in his own world—perhaps nursing the remnants of last night’s misjudgment.

The bell above the door jingled softly as you stepped inside, your presence unnoticed at first. You made your way toward him with unhurried steps, pulling out the empty chair across from him with an ease that belied the tension hanging between you.

“Good morning, Jaekyung.”

Your voice was pleasant, smooth—almost sweet—but your eyes held none of the warmth your tone suggested. The cruel amusement dancing in them, however, was impossible to miss.

Jaekyung stiffened, his expression shifting the moment he looked up and met your gaze. He stared as though he had seen a ghost. A reaction you found deeply satisfying.

You leaned back against the chair, taking in the damage Beomgyu had left on his face. A slow smile curled your lips. A shame, really, that Beomgyu’s fist had gotten to him first. You had so much more to say.

Jaekyung recovered quickly, forcing an unimpressed scoff as he crossed his arms. “Are you looking for more trouble?”

Your brow lifted at his audacity. For all his bravado, he didn’t seem as comfortable now. When you didn’t immediately respond, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, wincing slightly at the movement. “Look, if this is about your boyfriend, then I have nothing to say. He hit me first, so obviously, I had to act.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, tilting your head slightly as if considering his words. Then, with the same polite smile, you spoke. “Jaekyung,” you said lightly, “if I were you, I’d choose my next course of action very carefully.” You let the words settle, your gaze never breaking from his. “Specifically with the amount of dirt in your hands.”

His fingers twitched against the ceramic cup, his brows knitting together as his body stiffened. His voice dropped slightly. “What do you mean?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you leaned forward just enough for your presence to fully command his attention. “Between you and me,” you murmured, voice carrying the air of something far more dangerous than idle threats, “I think we both know who truly has tainted hands here, don’t we?”

Silence. A thick, suffocating pause where the realization dawned in his eyes.

You watched him struggle to formulate a response, but you had already grown bored. You pushed back your chair and rose to your feet. You adjusted the cuffs of your coat, smoothing out an imaginary crease as if this entire encounter had been nothing more than a passing chore.

Before turning away, you allowed one last look at him—one that stripped away the pleasantness in your smile and replaced it with something far colder.

“Take it as a word of advice.” You paused. Then, with a sharpened edge that left no room for misinterpretation, you added, “Or better yet—a warning.”

You turned on your heel and walked away, the quiet sound of your departure swallowed by the morning bustle outside. Behind you, Jaekyung remained frozen in his seat, the reality of your words settling deep into his bones.

When you returned to the hotel, you found Beomgyu seated in the lobby by the fireplace, a book in his hands—the same one he had been reading on the train. The sight of him made your heart swell, a warmth unfurling deep within you.

Sensing your presence, Beomgyu lifted his head, his lips curving into a gentle smile—the one he reserved only for you. His face was free of bruises now; you had tended to them carefully that morning before he left your room, making sure every mark was soothed away by your touch.

“You’re back,” he murmured, rising to his feet. His hands found your face, cradling it with the kind of tenderness that made the world around you disappear. Then, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering just long enough for you to feel the muted words between you.

A loud gasp shattered the moment.

Oh. Right. You had completely forgotten that your friends were still around.

You turned to find Heeseung standing a few feet away, his mouth comically wide open. Beside him, Jeongin looked positively delighted before promptly dragging Heeseung away, muttering something about giving people privacy. You didn’t miss the way Yeonjun smiled at you from where he sat across the room—there was something genuine, something deeply affectionate in his gaze, as if he was truly, wholeheartedly happy for you.

Beomgyu’s thumbs traced soft circles against your cheeks. “Do you want to go somewhere else?” he asked, his voice barely above a murmur, as if this moment belonged only to the two of you.

You shook your head. “No. Let’s stay here. It’s warm here.”

You tugged him back to the sofa, the flickering fire enveloping its warmth around you. As you settled in beside him, a playful smile ghosted your lips. Lifting the book in your hands, you turned to him and asked, “Do you read books?”

The same question you had asked him weeks ago, back in the Room of Requirement. Back when you had lent him your shoulder, when he had dozed off beside you as you read together.

Beomgyu huffed out a soft chuckle, recognizing the memory you were drawing upon. Tenderness and something softer flickered in his gaze as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“Yes, love,” he murmured, smiling against your skin. “Yes, I do.”

And as you sat there together, wrapped in the soft glow of the fire, you couldn’t help but think that Beomgyu was exactly like an aubade—a gentle reminder of all the warmth and beauty that could be found in unexpected moments, lingering long after the night had passed.

THE END.

Taglist; @dawngyu @gyu-tori @xylatox @hoefororeo @imlonelydontsendhelp @caratcakemoa @flowzel @weaknerv @kejingken @ewsnup @somiaw @bamgeutori @whatblop @hanhani29 @lilbrorufr @melmochii @slut4gyuu @no1likemybbgcharlie @izzyy-stuff @wonderstrucktae @virtaideen @viciousdarlings @rprpilynj @hyukarma @heejamas @beomkyum @fancypeacepersona @jich3nle @beommieternity @fatbixchwithanopinion @frankghgr @xodidarks @thelastairbend3r-blog @nagyu @90steele @kyukyustar @xai-mery @heretoreadshi

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starrynightgyu · 12 days ago

Text

𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐑 ── ⟢⸝⸝

Metamorphosis || Choi Beomgyu

pairing: Choi Beomgyu x afab!reader

⊹₊⟡⋆ estimated wc: 10k [don't trust me WAHAHAH]

warnings: parental abuse (both verbal and physical), beomgyu's adoptive father isn't portrayed in the best light and do keep in mind this is a work of fiction, reader's background is vague, depiction of murder, side character death, a little bit of reference to Icarus, the entire story is full of metaphors, beomgyu's pov centric, ambiguous ending, doesn't contain much heavy theme [if any of the warnings trigger you, please step back from this story right away. i am not responsible for the content YOU choose to consume, thank you.]

[MDNI] smut warning: explicit sexual content, dry humping, cowgirl position, cum eating, snowballing (ohmygosh), unprotected sex (not huzzah!), pull out method (not good bro)

𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐞: 1ST AUGUST, 2025

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒;

He was a boy trapped like a bird in a gilded cage, of ruined brushes and swallowed screams, living in a house that smelled of money and rot, where even love had to tiptoe. The only warmth he ever knew was the tired embrace of a woman not by blood, but by heart, and yet even that fragile comfort couldn’t bury the hunger blooming in him, the desperate prayer whispered into pillowcases and paint-streaked hands: for a life beyond the rot disguised as legacy, for a new beginning he never truly believed would come.

You were an uninvited presence in his decaying world, dressed like salvation. But were you truly his salvation, or the temptation that would lead him to ruin? A shadow sent to watch him rise just to see how far he’d fall? And yet if he was to fall, like Icarus chasing the sun he should have feared, then at least he would fall knowing he’d flown.

⋆.☘︎ Yun's 💬

This bad boy is actually sitting in my docs, ready to be posted but I've decided to release it once I'm done with my ongoing projects WAHAHAHA. Fun fact, I've written this piece for a writing competition and won first place, never told anyone (family and friends) about it, locked this beauty in the dungeons (google docs) and didn't let it see the light of the day for God knows how long.

The taglist for this fic and my permanent txt taglist is OPEN, so if you’d like to be added, leave a comment below or send an ask!

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starrynightgyu · 3 months ago

Text

𝓟𝑳𝑨𝑻𝓕𝓞𝑹𝑴 ９¾ এ 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗈𝗀𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌' 𝗌𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗂𝖼 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖻𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝖺𝗋𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆 9 ¾. 𝖻𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖺𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖺 𝗌𝗉𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖺𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗂𝖼 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾.

◞ coming 𝑗𝑢𝑛𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 ... props & credits to all authors!

ׄ 　۪ ravenclaw soobin & slytherin reader ╱ @yunverie 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗌𝗅𝗒𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗏𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗒 — 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗏𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗅. 𝖲𝗈 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝖺𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗂 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗂𝗇, 𝗋𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗐’𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝗈𝗒, 𝖺𝖼𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗂𝗍𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽: 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗆. 𝗎𝗇𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗎𝗇𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒, 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝖺 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅. 𝖨𝗇 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌, 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝖼𝗈-𝗈𝗐𝗇𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖺 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋. 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗂𝗇’𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗒, 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗂𝖽𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗆𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝗅𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗒 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗏𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗄𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁.

ׄ 　۪ slytherin yeonjun & slytherin reader ╱ @apeachty 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝗐 𝗎𝗉 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗄 𝗂𝗍. 𝖺 𝗀𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗁, 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗅𝖿-𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾—𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖻𝖻𝗈𝗋𝗇 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁, 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾. 𝗇𝗈𝗐, 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇, 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖿𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗑 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗂𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇—𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗋𝗒.

ׄ 　۪ hufflepuff beomgyu & gryffindor reader ╱ @hyukascampfire 𝖻𝖾𝗈𝗆𝗀𝗒𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌. 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗅. 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗒𝖺𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗆. 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇: 𝖻𝖾𝗈𝗆𝗀𝗒𝗎 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗈. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗂 𝖻𝖾𝗈𝗆𝗀𝗒𝗎 𝗂𝗌 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗂𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝖽. 𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗋𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗍. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗌, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈𝗈.

ׄ 　۪ ravenclaw taehyun & hufflepuff reader ╱ @heesmiles 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝖺𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖽, 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗋𝖺𝗋𝖾, 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀…𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝖾𝗁𝗒𝗎𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗂𝗍. 𝖨𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝖾𝗑𝗍𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗏𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗉𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌, 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗀𝗈 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖽𝖺𝗆𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗈𝗀𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝖼𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗌. 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗉𝗎𝗍 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗍𝗈 𝗂𝗍…𝗂𝖿 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈𝗉.

ׄ 　۪ slytherin kai & gryffindor reader ╱ @dawngyu 𝗄𝖺𝗂’𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝖼𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝖿𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗉 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗌. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗂𝗍; 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗂𝗍. 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽, 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗐𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇. 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝗂𝖿 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗈 𝗂𝗍? 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗍: 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝖽𝖾, 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗒 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝖼𝗋𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀; 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌, 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗁, 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾. 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗌𝗇𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗈𝗒, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗆. 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝗂𝗆. 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍.

(🕯️) how's this for a cute little event? we're super excited even just to post this event masterlist, which means that the fics are gonna be magical. with this line up, how couldn't they be? hehe. love you guys!

think you'll be taking the train at platform 9 ¾? ⤷ comment to be added to the taglist, or send an ask. this taglist goes for each fic, not just any specific one. we hope that you enjoy your time at hogwarts! @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @lickingan0rchid , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @hyucktapes , @bewitchless , @prince-jjae , @blankliving , @yaoizee , @stormy1408 , @missychief1404 , @izzyy-stuff , @miukuui , @lunesdesire , @sunoolver , @cherricola-star , @xylatox , @filmnings , @hearteyes4hobi , @hyunj00 , @taebatu , @caratcakemoa , @biteyoubiteme , @dawngyu , @hyunruhi , @heesmiles ,

#THIS IS CRAZYYY #txt x reader #beomgyu #beomgyu txt #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu x you #choi beomgyu #reumrecs!#stray kids #tomorrow x together #txt

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starrynightgyu · 3 months ago

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NEW HP FIC FROM YUN WE ALL CHEERED

𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐑 ── ⟢⸝⸝

Manacled Hands, Shared Sins || Choi Soobin

pairing: ravenclaw!soobin x slytherin! afab!reader genre: hogwarts au warnings: hogwarts college/uni au, characters are 20+, ??? to friends to ???, graphic description of injury, poor attempt at humor/crack (warnings are subject to change) [MDNI] smut warning: explicit sexual content (more to be added)

𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐞: June 1st, 2025

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒;

Being a Slytherin was never about villainy — it was about survival. So when you stumble across Choi Soobin, Ravenclaw’s golden Head Boy, accidentally ripping a hole through reality itself, you do what any sensible person would: you make it his problem.

Unfortunately, you’re also a witness to the ritual. Which means if this whole mess comes to light, you’re just as screwed as he is.

Now you're stuck with Soobin — irritatingly brilliant, maddeningly hot, and somehow even hotter when he’s panicking — hunting down a fear-eating creature loose in the castle, invisible to everyone except the two dumbasses who watched it crawl into existence.

In other words, you’re co-owners of a disaster against your will. Between Soobin’s fraying sanity, your rapidly dying patience, and a creature that smells fear like blood in the water, you’ll be lucky if you survive long enough to kill each other before it kills you both.

⊹₊⋆.☘︎ Yun's 💬

I am stoked to be able to write another HP au and it is all thanks to the anons who've been manifesting the HP collab! Truly happy to be working alongside all these extraordinary writers and be a part of this magical collab <33

Check out the full masterlist HERE.

The taglist for this story is OPEN

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starrynightgyu · 3 months ago

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green gables. (m)

pairing: e2l!jaemin x afab!reader

words: 22.9k+

summary: your search for a family lands you at green gables, where you learn to adapt to the new challenges that come your way.

genre: fluff, angst, smut

warnings: takes place in the late 19th century, mentions of death, mentions of bullying, bigdick!jaemin, creampies, fingering

inspired by anne of green gables, anne of avonlea, anne of green gables (1985), anne of avonlea (1987), anne with an e

For your entire life, you dreamed of having a home to call yours.

Your parents passed when you were only an infant, leaving you to be handed off to the local orphanage who barely had enough funding to keep their heads above water. Most of the adults who came to visit were only looking for boys that could help around the house. It was rare for anyone to come in and request a girl, unless they were a newborn mother who couldn’t handle the constant screaming at night.

Still, despite every year passing with no sign of a couple willing to adopt you, your optimism never wavered. You imagined a great big life with green pastures and parents who wanted to shower you in the utmost adoration.

Until that day comes, you’re forced to face the reality of your current situation.

A mop drops in front of you, cracking at the base and standing on its last leg. Mrs. Baek gruffly orders, “Go clean up the kitchen. One of the boys was nauseous last night and it’s starting to smell rancid in there.”

“Yes, Mrs. Baek,” you reply obediently, taking the mop from the floor and trudging off to the kitchens.

Another downside of not being adopted yet is the constant onslaught of chores. Being one of the only grownups left in the orphanage, tasks were assigned off to you in lieu of the other younger children. Mrs. Baek always reminds you that she only has to pay for your housing for another year before the government allows her to start collecting dues. You try not to think about how you’ll possibly locate the compensation, hoping someone will come to take you into their home before then.

You clean up the sick from the kitchen floor, pinching the bridge of your nose to stop the smell from invading your senses. Mrs. Kim pops in, eyes narrowing at you. The elderly woman has never been very fond of you, blaming your lack of adoption on your incessant need to dream. She thinks if you were a little more grounded in reality, an expecting mother would have hired you into her household by now.

She calls your last name with a huff. “Put that down and come with me. A request has come in for you.”

Your heart beats rapidly in your chest. A request could mean two things — a mother finally caved in and asked for a helping hand or a family has decided to come rescue you from your misfortune. You skip to Mrs. Kim’s office happily, grinning at her when you take a seat across her desk.

“A pair of siblings have called in, asking for a farmhand to help around their estate,” she informs you, unbothered by your excitement at the prospect. “We’ve agreed to send you, as they need an older girl with more labor intensive experience. You’ll depart for the station tomorrow.”

“Oh, Mrs. Kim, thank you, thank you!” You leap up, rushing around her desk to envelope her in a hug. She grunts at you, pushing you away with a sneer.

“Don’t get yourself thinking this means they’ll adopt you. They could very well change their minds after hearing you talk for an hour,” she grumbles. “Now go pack your things and prepare for bed. You have a long trip ahead.”

You decide not to bother her any further, running back to the sleeping area and grabbing your suitcase. The other girls in the orphanage don’t care much for you, loathing your sheer positivity, which contrasted against their evident cynicism. You used to mind it when you were younger, lamenting over not having a close friend as they all deemed you too odd. Now, however, you’ve grown accustomed to fending for yourself.

“And where do you think you’re going, princess?” Ara mocks, watching as you lay your suitcase open on your bed. You grab what little clothes you have and shove them inside. “Off to your make-believe castle?”

The other girls echo her laughter, but you don’t allow their comments to dig under your skin. You focus on the joy of living with a new family, even if they decide not to keep you.

Anywhere is better than here.

“Oh, look girls,” Ara says as she jumps down from her bed. She dangles one of the strings of your tank top on her finger. “Maybe the little miss is off to find herself a boyfriend.”

You glare at her. “Give it back.”

She smirks when she pulls the reaction she wanted out of you. “Why? Need it for your date tonight?”

You lunge at her and she screams, attracting the attention of the caretakers in the next room over. They find you wrestling with Ara on the floor, the both of you resorting to a screaming mess as you yank at each other’s hair. The other girls cheer at the spectacle, forming a barricade around your blurry figures before Mrs. Baek invades the scene. She grabs the back of your shirts and hauls you apart, panting as if she ran across the orphanage just to break up the fight.

“That is it! I’ve had it with the both of you!” She growls, eyes darkening to a frightening shade of black as she looks at you. “I have every nerve not to send you off to your new family tomorrow.”

Your jaw drops at her words and Ara follows suit, albeit for a completely different reason. “She got adopted?” Ara shrieks, flabbergasted by the thought.

You smile proudly while Mrs. Baek replies, “Yes, she did. And if you had only held your tongue for another day, you wouldn’t be cleaning the washrooms tomorrow.”

Ara grows flustered at being disciplined in front of everyone. It’s enough to keep her mouth shut. Mrs. Baek yells that it’s time for lights out, and some of the girls complain due to not having their dinner yet.

“Then you should’ve been fretting over your empty stomachs rather than inciting this ridiculous squabble. For heaven’s sake, most of you will be of the age next year where you have to earn a sufficient wage on your own. I’m horrified by the thought.”

She ensures the room is tucked into bed before closing the door and shutting off the lights. You dig your head into your pillow, the corner of your lips twitching upwards at the thought of boarding a train in the morning. You’ve never been on a train before, and you wonder if it’s as glamorous as they say. Your eyes flit downwards to check on your suitcase stuffed under your bed, which was hastily packed by Mrs. Baek before she barked at you not to cause any more trouble. You feel Ara’s glare from behind you but you ignore it, dreaming of your new life away from here.

—

Your new family is late.

It concerns you quite a bit but you make an attempt not to show it, speaking to the policeman at the train station with much fervor. You rattle on about your first experience on the train and how it was dazzling to see all of the passing views of nature. He nods politely at you, allowing you to talk as freely as you wish.

The clock continues to tick slowly by, but you assure the policeman that your new family will be here to collect you soon.

The last train departs before you see a haggard man walk up the steps, a slight limp in his left leg. Your hope rises that this may be the new man who will whisk you off to his home. However, he stops and asks the policeman you were conversing with earlier, “Excuse me, sir. I’m looking for a young boy.”

“No boy here. There’s a girl sent from the orphanage down south. She’s been waiting since midday.”

“A g-girl?”

You jump off the rickety bench, gripping your suitcase tightly in one hand and strolling up to the questioning man. You put on your best smile for him as Mrs. Kim taught you.

Keep your hands folded together and bow your head kindly. It shows you’re going to be a good girl for them to host.

You offer him your name. “It is such a pleasure to meet you. I have been waiting awfully long and worried you were injured along your journey. But then I got swept up in the cherry trees we passed on the train ride… Oh, have you ever ridden a train before? It was quite a lovely experience, you see, and I’d love to tackle it again if given the chance.”

The man blinks heavily at you while the policeman’s eyebrow quirks up in amusement. The man clears his throat, his wrinkled hands wiping away the sweat building from his brow.

“I’m Ilnam of Green Gables,” he introduces, glancing at the clock hanging nearby. “Let’s get going then. I’ll help you take your bag.”

“I got it!” You reply cheerfully. “I’ve got all my worldly goods from the orphanage here, but it isn’t heavy. They didn’t give me much.” You bid goodbye to the policeman and follow Ilnam to his buggy parked nearby. You continue to ramble even though you know Mrs. Baek would be scolding you by now for not understanding social cues. “Mrs. Kim from the orphanage told me it would be a long drive to Green Gables, isn’t that right? About ten miles. I don’t mind, honestly, as I love rides where I can get to fully invest my thoughts into the surroundings. Oh, I’ve heard Green Gables has beautiful trees around the estate, is that true?”

Ilnam gives a curt nod, gently placing your luggage in the back as he helps you into the buggy. You notice he’s not a man of many words, but you deem it to be fine considering you have plenty of words to share yourself.

You provide him a reprieve from conversing for half of the trek, admiring the blooming fauna around you. When you’re only two miles away from Green Gables, you reach your hand out to brush it against one of the trees covered in white snow, slowly melting due to the seasons changing.

“What do these trees remind you of?” You ask him, eyes sparkling.

He turns to look at you, both of his hands still gripping the reins of the buggy as the horse trots along. “What?”

“The trees, Ilnam,” you say softly. “Don’t they remind you of a winter wedding? A bride dressed head to toe in white, trying not to shiver as she walks down the aisle to her lovely groom? And as soon as her father gives her away, her husband-to-be whispers that she’s just as beautiful as the falling snow?”

He chuckles. “You’ve got one hell of an imagination.”

“Thank you,” you reply proudly, beaming at his acknowledgement. “The other girls at the orphanage didn’t care for it much. I’m glad I can settle in with a new family who appreciates it.”

At your words, Ilnam tenses suddenly, but you fail to notice it as your eyes are drawn to a shimmering lake over the hill.

“Oh, how beautiful!” You exclaim, nearly toppling over the buggy as you lean forward to take a look. Ilnam grabs the back of your dress to block your fall. “What is that lake called?”

“That’s Noh’s pond,” he says, keeping a stray eye locked on you in case your clumsiness pops up again.

“What a dreadful name,” you state with a frown. “Not very creative at all. I think we should call it the Lake of Shining Waters. Yes, that’s it! That’s a better suited name, don’t you think?”

He shrugs. “Better than Mr. Noh’s pond, I suppose.”

“And who is Mr. Noh?”

“He lives just up that hill,” he answers, gesturing to the great big house with his chin. “He’s got a daughter around your age, ready to graduate next year. Her name’s Hyojung.”

“Wow,” you murmur under your breath, sweeping yourself away in fantasies of Hyojung rushing over to Green Gables and declaring you to be friends. “I hope we’ll get to meet one day. It would be decadent if we could eat near the Lake of Shining Waters.”

“There’s Green Gables, up ahead,” he remarks.

You stretch your neck upwards, carefully balancing yourself on the seat of the buggy to not give Ilnam another fright. A grin stretches from ear to ear when you see the white house dressed with a green-gabled rooftop and window shutters. It sits on acres and acres of land, all with well-maintained grass that you assume Ilnam has been taking care of.

He brings the buggy to a halt when you approach the entrance, and a grey-haired woman dashes out, a scowl on her face when she spots you.

“Seo Ilnam,” she says condescendingly. “What took you so long? And where is the boy?”

Your heart falls when you recollect Ilnam’s earlier questioning to the policeman. Had they not been expecting you?

“No boy,” Ilnam replies gruffly, hopping down from the buggy. “I went to the station and there was only her.”

“No boy?” The woman repeats in exasperation. “There must have been a boy. We requested a boy.”

“No boy. Only her.”

You dig your face into your hands, erupting into sobs. “You don’t want me! I should’ve known that Mrs. Kim made a mistake. Of course you don’t want me! You want a boy!”

The woman clicks her tongue, holding the end of her dress as she comes around to you. She helps you step down and chides you. “Now we will have none of that,” she says, taking your hands away from your face. “We’re not going to turn you away for the night. We’ll bring you back to the station in the morning to get this sorted. What’s your name?”

You tell her despite your mouth feeling like it’s been shoved full of rocks. She guides you inside the house, and you would normally marvel at its beauty, but you’re so caught up in wallowing in your pain that you don’t get a chance. Now you’ll have to return to the orphanage and hear Ara’s speech about how you’ve never been destined for a family.

“My name is Ilkyung,” the woman introduces herself, sitting you down on the long dining table. She pours you a cup of milk. “Tell me exactly how the orphanage sent you here.”

You sniffle, staring down at the cup pitifully. “Mrs. Kim specifically mentioned you requested a farmhand to help around the estate. They decided to send me since I’m one of the older girls there.”

“There wasn’t a boy they could send?”

Your bottom lip quivers. “All the older boys have already aged out, ma’am. The oldest one we have now is only seven years of age.” She swears lightly, shaking her head and sitting across from you. You try to vouch for yourself. “I can be a good farmhand, ma’am, for you and Ilnam. I’m a good cook and I can learn how to work in those fields.”

Ilnam enters the house, giving Ilkyung a look that you can’t quite detect. She stares back at him with narrowed eyes, and you realize they’re having a wordless conversation. It brings a smile to your face.

“It’s exquisite to have a kindred spirit you can speak to without really speaking,” you comment. Both siblings turn their attention to you. “I’ve never seen it before, only read about it. I-It’s nice.”

A few moments of silence passes before Ilkyung sighs. “We’ll eat supper and then I’ll show you to your room for the night. I’ll bring you to Mrs. Park to discuss this ordeal in the morning.”

Your dream of having a home to call yours crumbles around you.

—

Mrs. Park is not a very pleasant woman.

She brushes off Ilkyung’s complaint swiftly. “Ilkyung, I told the orphanage what you directed me. Word for word, line for line. It’s not my fault they sent a girl to your quarters.”

Ilkyung has the patience of a saint, which you quickly learned after she handled your pathetic cries the entire night. She places her hands over your shoulders.

“I understand that, Hwayoung. No one is shifting blame here. I simply want to get the issue corrected with the orphanage.”

You shirk at being referred to as an issue. Mrs. Park exhales, taking a break from cleaning the buckets on her front porch. You don’t even want to ask what used to be contained in them, the smell being enough to ward off your curiosity.

“Well, if you don’t want her, I could use another hand around the house. My girl just gave birth to another son,” Mrs. Park says just as a sharp cry rings from inside the house. A girl slightly older than you stumbles out, hair sticking up in different directions and her clothes in disarray. She pleas for Mrs. Park to take care of the baby upstairs. “No need. Mrs. Seo is offering us a girl who will help.”

You look at Ilkyung with wide eyes and she understands your concern.

“Now, Hwayoung, I didn’t say that we wanted to give her away-”

“Ilkyung,” Mrs. Park scoffs. “Your eagerness to waste my morning is truly astonishing. Either leave the girl here or return to Green Gables. I don’t have the time to write to the orphanage again for you or dawdle while you decide whether you and Ilnam want to keep her.”

Ilkyung smiles tightly. “Have a good rest of your morning, Hwayoung.”

You don’t question Ilkyung’s decision as you travel back to Green Gables. You keep your mouth shut for the first time, perpetually worried she’ll turn the cart around and force you to live with Mrs. Park and her numerous grandchildren.

“Tell me about your time at the orphanage. I would like to learn,” Ilkyung requests as you come up to the Lake of Shining Waters.

“I was dropped off at the steps when I was a baby. They say my father was a bank worker and my mother was a gardener. Don’t you think that’s so romantic? She was probably planting roses when he came by from his shift at the bank,” you murmur happily. “Mrs. Baek says they were as poor as church mice as my father made very little wages. I would like to think we would’ve come across a great fortune if the fever hadn’t taken my mother so poorly. I was only three months old when she passed and my father handed me to the orphanage. I don’t blame him in the slightest — what was the man to do when the love of his life disappeared and he had no coins in his name to take care of their child? Frankly, I just wish she lived long enough for me to remember calling her my mother.”

“I’m sorry she didn’t,” Ilkyung says apologetically, but you beam at her.

“Oh, it’s no worry at all! I know she would have loved me. Mrs. Baek at the orphanage was the one who raised me, and I was taken into another house when I was eight to help a mother raise her children. She had so many twins, three sets of them! It was such a beautiful thing but she didn’t have much time to look after them. I told her firmly that she mustn’t keep having children as it was growing too much, but her husband was always drunk and didn’t take kindly to me.”

“They didn’t treat you well?” She asks, disturbed by the idea.

“They meant to, they really did! I could tell they wanted to treat me well but it wasn’t easy for them to divide up their attention, you see. The babies were always crying and taking up most of the day. They were good people, I just know it.”

Ilkyung swallows at your positivity, holding the reins of the buggy tighter. “And did they put you through school?”

You shrug. “It wasn’t a priority for them, which I understand. I learned to read at the orphanage after the family moved away and decided they didn’t want to keep me. It’s been my favorite pastime when I’m not assigned chores.”

“Well, as long as you’re living under our roof, I’m putting you through your proper studies,” she says definitively.

A spark of hope blooms in your chest. “Oh, does that mean you’re keeping me?” You clasp your fingers together, pinching yourself in case this turns out to be another dream.

She stutters over her reply. “I’m surely not allowing you to stay with Mrs. Park to raise her grandchildren. We will run a test trial for now, as long as you display good manners and listen accordingly. And I won’t have that imagination of yours running wild every second of the day, you must promise to be focused and attentive.”

“Yes, yes, thank you, Ilkyung!” You yell as you launch yourself at her, wrapping her in a firm hug. She gasps at the sudden contact but pats your back assuredly. “I won’t let you down, I promise! I’ll bring you and Ilnam the best grades in school, I swear it.”

She peels you away. “Now don’t promise what you can’t guarantee. We’ll start off small — you’ll help me in the kitchen before assisting Ilnam with the lighter tasks around Green Gables.”

Your dream begins to rebuild itself.

—

You slowly adjust to your new life at Green Gables.

Ilkyung teaches you how to sew in the mornings before you help Ilnam with the livestock in the afternoons. Then you assist Ilkyung with preparing supper in the evenings, allowing you to brush up on your cooking repertoire that you picked up on at the orphanage.

Ilkyung never voices her concerns directly, but you know she’s worried about you attending the local school. You’re coming in quite late in the year, and the students have already grown up with each other and are ready to embark on the next chapter of their lives. To assimilate you, she brings you over for tea at the Noh residence, where you have a direct view of the Lake of Shining Waters.

Mr. Noh is a stout man with a curly mustache. He has a wife and two daughters, who all look like they should be on display at a beauty parlor. Mrs. Noh greets you with a smile, kissing both of Ilkyung’s cheeks.

“It is so nice to see you, you and Ilnam never come around for tea,” she murmurs.

Ilkyung rests a hand on your back. “Apologies for our absence, we’ve been busy with running Green Gables. I wanted to introduce you to our new girl.”

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Noh says as she turns to you. Ilkyung fashioned you a new dress just for this occasion, and although the greedy part of you would have liked it to have puffy sleeves, you didn’t put up much of an argument. Mrs. Noh examines you carefully, assessing if you’re the right fit to mingle with her daughter. Ilkyung warned you that the town had certain assumptions when it came to adopting orphans, but you take it in stride. “It is very nice to meet you. Hyojung has been waiting for your arrival.”

Hyojung shyly smiles at you, her hands folded over her stomach properly. Her long black hair reaches her waist, tied up neatly in a giant blue ribbon. Her matching blue dress has the puffy sleeves that you adore, and you try not to sulk at your own frumpy brown dress. Her sister, Chaeyoung, is at least ten years younger as she stares off with a bored look. She’s dressed very similarly to Hyojung, except her ensemble is in pink.

“Why don’t you two take a walk through the gardens?” Hyojung’s mother suggests.

Once you’re outside, Hyojung has a hard time finding the right words to say. You, on the other hand, seem to be saying all the wrong things.

“-I’ve just never had a friend of my own before. It’s odd, I know, but the girls at the orphanage despised me and mocked me endlessly. But I can already tell you’re nothing like them. Do you happen to know what a kindred spirit is?” She shakes her head and you grin. “Ilkyung and Ilnam are kindred spirits. They can sense what each other is thinking without having to say it out loud. Their souls are more attuned to the other, intertwining in this beautiful harmony. I-I’ve never found a kindred spirit of my own, I must confess, but I was hoping it could be you.”

“M-Me?” She stutters, laughing softly. “Oh, I’m not too sure. I’ve never been someone’s kindred spirit before.”

“It’s easy!” You say, taking her hand and leading her to the Lake of Shining Waters. “What do you see when you look out here?”

Hyojung shrugs. “A lake.”

“Not just any lake, the Lake of Shining Waters! See, look at how the sunlight beams across the water and reflects into a million dazzling lights. Doesn’t it make you think of a picnic in the summer, feeling the breeze nip at your face while the birds chirp around you?”

She giggles at you. “That sounds nice.”

“It is nice, Hyojung. And that’s what the lake represents — the happiness you feel when you see the shining waters.”

She purses her lips before looping her arm through yours. “I think we will be great kindred spirits. You should know the hierarchy of the classroom before your first day though. Soeun runs a tight ship and she has a crush on Na Jaemin, so don’t even bother looking in his direction. She can sense it.”

“Who’s Na Jaemin?” You inquire with furrowed eyebrows.

She scoffs. “Who’s Na Jaemin? He’s the most desired guy in our year. Top of the class, good looks, heading off to medical school next year… he’s everything a girl wants. Soeun’s been trying to win his affections since we were children, but it hasn’t really been working out for her.”

“Well, I’ll do my best to stay far from him.”

The Noh family dines you and Ilkyung for the evening before you’re finding your way back to Green Gables. When Ilkyung asks you if you’re getting along with Hyojung, you excitedly relay to her how you’ve finally discovered your kindred spirit. It eases her worries regarding your isolation from the rest of the other students.

You walk arm in arm with Hyojung on your first day, not revealing to her how you stayed up the whole night speculating on the different ways today could go wrong. Ilkyung reminded you over breakfast to hold your tongue and be mindful of when others need to speak their turn.

“I’ll introduce you,” Hyojung whispers to you as you step inside the schoolhouse, hanging up your hats together. “Soeun might make a fuss, but she’ll get used to it.”

The classroom is small, nearly the same size as the dining room of Green Gables. There are sixteen tables total, divided on each side of the room for the girls and the boys. The girls are already huddled into a circle in the middle while the boys throw around a ball in the corner. Each eye turns to you as you enter, and Hyojung squeezes your arm in reassurance.

“Girls, meet our newest member,” Hyojung says as she introduces you to the group. The girls assess you with an inquisitive raising of the eyebrow, and the one with the frilly yellow bow in her hair speaks first.

“We heard you came from the orphanage.”

“Soeun,” Hyojung scolds. “Where have your manners gone?”

“It’s fine,” you say, resting a hand over hers as you watch her scowl at Soeun. “Yes, I was orphaned when I was an infant after my parents passed. But now I live at Green Gables with the Seo’s, and I would much rather focus on the present than the past, don’t you think?”

Soeun narrows her eyes but doesn’t utter another remark about your upbringing. “Anyways, we were just talking about how Mark plans on asking Sookyung if he can walk her home.”

The girls in the circle squeal while one of them blushes beet red. She hits Soeun’s arm playfully and whines in embarrassment.

“And what about you, Soeun? When is Jaemin finally going to ask you out?” Another girl asks.

Soeun waves her off. “We still have time. Don’t you girls worry about me.”

The teacher starts the lesson and you scramble into your seats. Hyojung smiles at you when you occupy the seat next to her, and you offer her a grateful grin in return.

“Today, we will be discussing the history of the late war,” your teacher drawls, his eyes sunken in and bored by the sound of his voice. He begins reciting whatever’s written in the text in his manual while you take notes on your blackboard slate. You hang onto his every word, intending to fulfill your promise to Ilkyung to bring home the best grades in the class.

The local community of mothers was the one who decided whether or not to bring you into the schoolhouse. There were doubts due to you being an orphan and slowing the rest of the students down. Ilkyung attended many meetings to vouch for you, and it relieved some of the members to know you already learned how to read and write. You were set on not only proving them wrong about their initial presumptions, but also showing up at the top of the list compared to your fellow classmates.

When you’re dismissed for lunch, the girls are a giggling mess, curling in on themselves over the stray crumbs dusting the teacher’s mustache. You join in on their fun as you gather around outside, opening your lunch boxes and conversing together. Soeun and Sookyung dance around in a circle, recreating what they believe your teacher gets up to in his after hours.

You chortle as you sit at the end of the line, watching them with gleeful eyes. You’re about to jump up and join them when an apple suddenly rolls in front of you.

“Sorry,” a tender voice apologizes, leaning down to pick up the lonely fruit. Your eyes raise to meet ones that sparkle just like the Lake of Shining Waters. His smile stretches from ear to ear, radiating the most gorgeous features you’ve ever seen in your life. “The boys never watch where they’re throwing-”

“Jaemin,” Soeun murmurs, abruptly ceasing her hopping.

He snaps his head up to look at her as the reality of his name crashes down around you. You scurry away from his figure as if he’s burned you, and he glances back down at you in confusion.

Hyojung senses your cry for help. “Um, girls, perhaps we should head back inside.” She gives them an aggressive nod of her head before they all get her message, following you inside the schoolhouse while leaving Jaemin and Soeun to their own devices.

You fail to recognize Jaemin’s eyes trailing you the entire way, only focused on the fact that you dodged a bullet out there with Soeun. The other girls are whispering to themselves about the possibility of Jaemin and Soeun getting together. When Soeun comes back in with flushed cheeks, she refuses to tell the rest of you what occurred outside. Jaemin floats in shortly after, eyes locked on you. You rapidly dart your gaze away, sitting ramrod straight in your seat.

The day passes by successfully, and you nearly believe you’re in the clear until the last lesson of the day. You’re so excited to recant to Ilkyung about your new friends and your ability to hold in your tongue like you promised. It’s all thwarted when a singular piece of chalk gets thrown at your head.

“Psst,” a voice hisses, and despite only hearing him talk once, you can already guess who it is. The teacher’s back is turned, writing a few arithmetic equations on the board. A couple of the boys chuckle at Jaemin. “Hey, psst.”

Another piece of chalk is flung from across the room. Hyojung gives you a concerned look. You ignore it, drilled in on solving the equation in front of you.

“Hey, princess.”

You’re instantly swept in a flurry of bad memories of Ara taunting you.

“Aw, girls, look at this! The poor princess has her nose in a book again. You can keep reading but no prince is going to jump out and save you.”

“Do you see that, girls? The princess here is dreaming of a big white castle with a family at the end of the rainbow.”

“What’s the matter, princess? Did the big scary monster come to assign you chores?”

Before you can fully register your actions, you find yourself striding to him, bringing your slate down over his head and cracking it in pieces.

“How dare you!”

The entire classroom falls into a deadly silence. The girls are covering their mouths to prevent a gasp from escaping while the boys are snickering to themselves. Your teacher spins around, eyes blazing with fury. He growls out your name.

Before he can reign fire down on you, Jaemin stands up with dust littered in his hair as he says, “It was my fault, sir. I was picking on her.”

“To witness such a temper stem from a pupil of my own astounds me beyond belief. Go stand on the platform in front of the blackboard for the rest of the day.”

“But sir-”

“And I’ve heard enough from you, Na Jaemin. I expect more from our top student.”

You shamefully spend the rest of the day standing in front of the blackboard. You keep your eyes planted on your feet, curling your fingers into your palm until your nails dig into the skin. When class is eventually released, Hyojung rushes over to you, handing you your book bag. You keep your head held high while you walk away, disregarding Jaemin’s attempts to apologize.

“I really am sorry, I didn’t mean to get you in trouble. Let’s not hold grudges.”

You huff and tug on Hyojung’s arm, declining to look in his general direction. Hyojung mumbles your name. “Come on. You can’t be mad at him forever. Jaemin makes fun of all the girls! Soeun’s not even upset with you over it.”

“I shall never forgive Na Jaemin,” you tell her with certainty. “Until the day I die, the iron has entered into my soul where it shall remain forever.”

“Oh, you’re so dramatic.”

—

The school days with Na Jaemin don’t grow any easier.

By the third week, due to you running late from Green Gables, your teacher forced you away from Hyojung and sat you directly next to Jaemin. The boy was kind enough not to pester you, keeping his attention on the lessons at hand. However, every now and then, you often find a tiny heart-shaped candy underneath your arm that only he could leave behind for you. You usually throw them on the ground in front of him and dig your heel into it until it crumbles into powder.

He even manages to hold his top spot in the class with you right below him.

You complain to Ilkyung about it constantly, who does nothing but stare at you fondly. “He is the most aggravating boy I have ever met in my life! Everyone thinks he’s a saint, Ilkyung, but I know better! That Na Jaemin is nothing but a troublemaker out for my blood. He plans to use my sorrow to dangle my failure in front of everyone, I just know it. He’s at home planning my demise as we speak!”

“You’ll do better in your studies if you focus more on your books than the likes of Na Jaemin,” Ilkyung advises with a knowing look in her eye. Ilnam walks in, brushing off the snow starting to come in on his jacket. “Ilnam, tell her how she should be emphasizing her attention in school rather than boys.”

Your jaw drops open. “I do not enjoy your implication! Na Jaemin is not just a boy, he’s… he’s…”

“Mr. Na is a good man,” Ilnam comments, not fully registering Ilkyung’s ask paired with your frustration. “His boy is alright as well from what I’ve heard. Decent head on his shoulders, top of his class, and it would do the town some good to have a well-bred doctor in such close proximity.”

You throw him the most menacing look you can conjure. Ilnam clears his throat.

“B-But of course, he’s nothing compared to you, sweetheart. Smartest girl I’ve ever seen, isn’t that right, Ilkyung?”

Before you can unleash another set of choice words against Na Jaemin, Ilkyung instructs you to help Ilnam sort through the hay in the barn. You pout as you work, imagining all the ways you’re going to study hard enough to beat your enemy.

Ilnam tries again while you’re raking through stacks of hay. “As much as I love you bringing home good grades for us, I hope you’re not losing any sleep for the Na boy.”

You sneer. “He wishes I was.”

Ilnam smiles. “You know, when I was younger, there was a girl my age who didn’t like me very much. She always thought I was too quiet and hiding behind Ilkyung’s coattails. I never understood why she despised me until she got engaged. She told me she wished I was the one who proposed.”

“Oh, Ilnam,” you squeal, clutching your fingers together. “That is so romantic. Did you sweep her off her feet and pick a fresh bouquet of daisies for her? Tell her to leave the other man and run off with you in the sunset?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “No, I told her it was a good idea to marry him. I had to take care of matters at Green Gables after our parents passed, and I had no time to entertain her fantasies. But the point is that she treated me poorly because she didn’t know another way to convey her feelings.”

You furrow your eyebrows, about to question what he could possibly mean by that statement before Hyojung rushes in the barn. She’s panting, holding her chest as she gasps, “Chaeyoung is sick! S-She keeps coughing and can’t breathe and I don’t know what to do! Father and mother have gone into town and there’s no one to call for the doctor.”

You drop your rake and bolt to Hyojung’s side, holding her shaking form. Ilnam is immediately throwing on his coat before mounting one of the horses in the stables.

“He’s going to fetch a doctor,” you say to Hyojung as Ilnam rides off. “We’ve become such kindred spirits that I can read his thoughts. It sounds like Chaeyoung has the croup. What have you tried to cure her?”

Hyojung hiccups between sobs. “I-I don’t know. Our aunt, Nayoung, is in town and she’s opened all the windows to help with C-Chaeyoung’s breathing.”

“You mustn’t forget I used to care for multiple pairs of baby twins. They got croup all the time. Let me find a bottle of ipecac in the house and we’ll head to Chaeyoung straight away.”

Ilkyung yelps when you burst through the door and rifle through the medicine cabinet. “Chaeyoung’s sick with the croup,” you explain to her while Hyojung continues to cry in the doorway. “I’m going over to help and Ilnam’s gone into town to get the doctor. Hyojung’s parents are out having dinner.”

Ilkyung inhales, dusting her hands over her apron as she turns off the stove. “Well, someone needs to inform her parents. I’ll take the buggy.”

As soon as you locate the clear brown bottle, you grab Hyojung’s hand and throw a scarf around your neck. You race towards her house, your boots crunching against the snow as you sprint. You find Chaeyoung releasing weak coughs as she lays on the Noh’s living room sofa. Hyojung’s aunt, Nayoung, hovers over her with a worried expression.

You swiftly get to work as Hyojung clarifies the situation to Nayoung, divulging about your past with caring for small children.

“Hyojung, go boil some more hot water for Chaeyoung. Miss Nayoung, please add more wood to the fire, she’s grown too cold,” you instruct as you twist the cap of the bottle in your hands. You elevate Chaeyoung’s head and pour a few drops of ipecac down her throat. She groans at the taste but you force her to swallow.

The rest of the night is filled with much uncertainty. Hyojung and Nayoung kept to their tasks, with Hyojung serving her sister and Nayoung filling the fireplace with new logs of wood at every given chance. By the time Ilnam returns with the doctor two hours later, the worst of Chaeyoung’s sickness has passed.

You jump up when they enter, rapidly explaining the story to the doctor. He kneels down to check on Chaeyoung’s temperature as you say, “Her cough was getting worse and worse and I had great fear due to the bottle of ipecac running out. I didn’t want to worry the others but I was not certain of her state when I gave the last dose. Luckily, she started to cough up the phlegm immediately afterwards and has been recovering since then.”

When Mr. and Mrs. Noh return with Ilkyung in tow, the doctor swears that if it wasn’t for you, Chaeyoung would have been in a state he’s not sure he could’ve saved her from. Mrs. Noh envelopes you into her arms with a sharp cry, thanking you over and over again for saving her child.

Exhausted beyond belief, you smile and tell her, “It was nothing. I would do anything to help your family.”

Before Ilkyung and Ilnam escort you back home, Nayoung gives you a firm pat on the shoulder. “You’ve done great work here, girl. Please come visit me in the city any time you wish.”

And when you sit at your desk the next day, Jaemin murmurs to you, “I heard what you did for the Noh family. How did you ever think of using the ipecac first?”

Thinking he’s making a show just to point out your flaws, you raise your chin high in the air as you reply, “I’ve had experience with the croup before. Many children in the orphanage caught it during this time of year.”

He grins. “Well, I think you’re brilliant. I certainly would’ve never thought of it first.”

Your shoulders deflate as you let your walls down slightly. “Really? But you’re going to be a doctor.”

He winks. “I won’t say anything if you don’t.”

You clear your throat and return your attention to your blackboard, ignoring the way your stomach erupts in butterflies.

—

Your first Christmas morning with the Seo’s is perhaps the most delightful holiday you’ve ever had.

Ilkyung and you have been cooking for what feels like a week, preparing to host the Noh’s. The morning, however, is just for you, Ilkyung, and Ilnam.

Although Ilkyung warned you that they may not have the funds for gifts this year, Ilnam hands you a beautifully wrapped box. You blink at him with wide eyes from your spot on the floor in the living room as they sit on the couch.

He smiles and nods sheepishly. “A C-Christmas present for you. I know you’ve never had one before.”

“Oh, Ilnam,” you wheeze, feeling as if your heart is about to beat out of your chest. “You didn’t have to do this. Thank you.”

You unbox the gift, slowly peeling back the wrapping paper before gasping when you see what lays inside. The dress is the same shade of brown Ilkyung uses to sew your current wardrobe, but it has the gorgeous silk lining you see in Hyojung’s dresses with a fanned out skirt and a lacy ruffle neckline. The sleeves are the best part, puffy and pleasing to the eye.

You burst out in tears, alarming Ilnam. “Do you not like it?”

“Like it? I can never thank you enough for this. I’ve never owned something so exquisite in my life. I really do believe I could never be happier than I am right now.”

“It’s a wonderful gift, even if it did cost more than expected,” Ilkyung says, raising an eyebrow at Ilnam. “Dry up your tears, child. The Noh’s will be here soon.”

The Noh’s arrive in the middle of you hugging Ilnam to death, thanking him over and over for his gift. Ilkyung chides you as she pries you off of him, lecturing for you to say your proper greetings. Once the adults are off setting the breakfast table, you squeal to Hyojung about your new dress.

“That is perfect,” she replies with sparkling eyes. “Because Aunt Nayoung was here a week ago and she left you a gift of her own.”

“What? For me?”

Hyojung passes you a ravishing pair of silk-covered heels, pointed at the toes and embroidered with a soft lace. You’ve never seen a singular piece of footwear look so fine.

“Hyojung, my gosh…”

“I know, aren’t they so elegant? She wanted to thank you for all your help with Chaeyoung. She said she felt quite useless until you arrived, and she’s never seen someone so brave,” she giggles. “They’ll couple so nicely with your new dress.”

“I’ve never been given so many cherished items at once. I’ll remember this day forever, I swear it to you.”

The rest of your Christmas afternoon goes off without a hitch. Chaeyoung is teetering with excitement, a contrast from her fragile form weeks ago. Ilnam shows Mr. Noh the horses in the stables while Ilkyung teaches Mrs. Noh her pie recipe. You and Hyojung converse gleefully in your room, discussing your plans after schooling.

“My mother wants to marry me off so I can run my own household,” Hyojung remarks, balancing her chin in her palm as she stares out your bedroom window. “I only hope I marry a man as good as my father. He doesn’t have to be handsome. I just want him to be kind.”

“I would never allow an evil man to wed my kindred spirit,” you declare while you sit criss crossed on your bed. You chew on your lower lip. “Will you really not pursue your studies any further?”

“Not all of our parents are as open-minded as Ilkyung and Ilnam. My mother’s raised me a certain way since I was a baby, I hardly think she’ll relent on her ideals now.”

“I’m not one to sit idly by and let you become engrossed in embroidery,” you huff. “You know what? We’ll start a book club. It’s about time the women in this town got their fair share of education.”

“That’s a splendid idea! Mother barely lets me rifle through our history books and- Is that Na Jaemin?”

Your head snaps up. She looks out the window, squinting slightly. “My word, that really is him.”

You dash down the stairs, and something deep in your chest flutters when you see Jaemin standing in the doorway, handing Ilkyung a fresh plate of cookies. “They’re my mother’s recipe,” he says with a grin. “I’m not as good of a baker as she was, but I didn’t want to come over empty handed for the holidays.”

“These are just lovely, Jaemin. Thank you,” Ilkyung says before gesturing for him to come inside. “It must have been a long walk for you, I’ll make you a cup of hot cocoa.”

You and Hyojung stand at the bottom of the staircase facing the door, wide eyed at the sight of him. He’s wearing a turtleneck green jumper, paired with black slacks and a long heavy coat. You didn’t even know that he knew where you lived, but you suppose in a town as small as this one, it isn’t that difficult to figure out. He discards his boots by the door and unwraps the scarf from his neck, beaming when he sees you.

“Merry Christmas, ladies,” he greets. “Have you been staying warm?”

At your sudden bout of silence, Hyojung pipes up, “Merry Christmas, Jaemin. What brings you all the way to Green Gables?”

“My father and I always bake cookies and hand them out to our neighbors. It’s a Christmas tradition,” he shares.

Hyojung nudges you in the back, ripping you from your daydreams as you state, “But your house is miles from here. Farther than the Lake of Shining Waters and the school.”

“The Lake of Shining Waters?”

You purse your lips. “It’s a nickname.”

He nods as a faint blush colors his cheeks. “W-Well, the walk was good for me. Cleared my mind and everything.”

Hyojung’s eyebrow quirks up. “You’ve never come by my house to give my family cookies.”

“That’s because- That’s, um-”

“Girls,” Ilkyung interrupts, laying a hand on Jaemin’s shoulder and handing him a cup of hot cocoa. “Don’t pester our guest. We’re very grateful for his decision to trek over here.”

You help her prepare the table settings for supper. Mrs. Noh happily displays her roasted chicken in the center while Ilkyung fills the empty space with her side dishes. Ilnam and Mr. Noh sit at the heads of the table and you take your seat next to Hyojung, startled when Jaemin immediately slides into the spot next to you.

“What are you doing?” You hiss lowly at him.

He blinks twice. “Sitting?”

Mrs. Noh claps her hands to gather everyone’s attention, freeing Jaemin from your inevitable wrath. “I want to say a huge thank you to Ilkyung and Ilnam for allowing us into their home this Christmas. And of course, I’m indebted forever to their dear one, who saved our Chaeyoung from her terrible illness,” she says with her hands clasped together, glancing at you with shining eyes. You smile softly at her. “We would have been in such a wretched heap of despair if it wasn’t for your brilliance.”

Jaemin begins to clap and the rest of the table follows in pursuit. You laugh shyly, shaking your head at their gratitude. You look up to see Jaemin smirking proudly at you and you swallow nervously, wondering what you could have possibly done in your previous life to deserve such acclaim from him.

“Please, it was honestly a return of affection for everything Hyojung’s given me since I arrived at Green Gables. I could have never believed I would arrive in this town and make a home. It’s been a dream come true.”

The table smiles at your statement, and you catch Ilnam wiping his tears away out of the corner of your eye. Ilkyung jokes for everyone to start eating before the food is covered in tears.

While you’re dining, Jaemin quietly asks you, “What type of field are you striving for after school? I think you would be a great addition to the local college here.”

You put away your supposed hatred of him for this one exchange. “I don’t think it’s in our budget right now,” you say, recalling Ilkyung’s earlier remark about your dress. “But I did want to pursue teaching, and try to write if I have the time.”

“They’re always giving scholarships away. With your grades and talent, I’d be shocked if they didn’t give it to you on a silver platter.”

You cough awkwardly at his blatant praise. You try to divert the subject away from you. “D-Did your father not want to join us for supper?”

The question has his expression falling slightly. He pokes at the chicken on his plate. “He’s under the weather. Didn’t want to bring the mood down, that’s all.”

Hyojung pokes at your side. “If you’re done flirting with Na Jaemin, can you please pass me the potatoes?”

You glare at her, ignoring her teasing giggle.

After supper, you say your goodbyes and escort the Noh’s to the door. Hyojung kisses your cheek, making you swear to start the book club as soon as the holidays are finished. Jaemin trails behind them, wrapping his scarf back around his neck.

“It really was a tasty dinner, thank you for having me,” he says to Ilkyung and shakes Ilnam’s hand. He swivels around to you. “And I hope you like the cookies. I can make more if you ever need it.”

“O-Okay.”

When Ilkyung shuts the door, she throws you a suggestive look. You scoff and occupy yourself with cleaning the table.

“Come join us in the living room. We have something to share with you.”

When you gather together, they stand you in front of a large book perched on a stand in the corner of the room. It’s flipped open to a page full of names, with Ilkyung and Ilnam’s being the last ones.

“We’ve been speaking with the orphanage these past few weeks,” she says, brushing your hair away from your face. You inhale at the revelation. “And finally got your adoption paperwork settled. This book has been passed down in the Seo generation for centuries. Every new child signs their name when they come of age. We saved a spot for you right here.”

She points at the blank area below Ilkyung’s name. Your eyes well with tears, overwhelmed by the thought of being accepted into their family. Ilnam chuckles, patting your head affectionately.

“Go on, sweetheart. Seal the deal.”

As you shakily pick up the quill pen and inscribe your name, Ilkyung and Ilnam wrap you in a warm hug. It’s then that you officially decide you’ll never have a better Christmas.

—

“You have to be the one. There’s no way I’m getting in that boat!”

“You’re such a coward, Soeun.”

“Then why don’t you try it, Sookyung?”

“You’re all ruining the vision,” you scold, gripping a handful of daisies. “We’re supposed to be girls who have been widowed by our one true love. We’ve succumbed to our tragedy, accepting our fate by floating out into the river, where the Earth will decide how to dispose of our bodies.”

Ever since Soeun’s uncle passed away shortly after the new year and the poem you’re reading for your book club discusses the fate of a widowed bride, you’ve all become obsessed with glamorizing death. In the poem, the girl sealed her devastating fate by climbing into a boat, holding a bouquet of flowers, and drifting away into the night. She was never heard from or seen again.

The girls insisted on recreating the moment, leading you to the lake. Hyojung borrowed a small canoe from her father and Sookyung picked the flowers from her mother’s yard. However, once you got to the final step, all of them chickened out of actually playing the role of the widow.

“I’ll be her,” you proclaim, and they exhale in relief. “But you must say the lines, and with fervor. It’s only right that we recreate the scene exactly. Wait for me at the other side of the river.”

With help from Hyojung, you step into the canoe, laying down as you rest your hands over your chest. You close your eyes when Soeun begins the rehearsed dialogue.

“Sister, farewell forever,” she murmurs, throwing dried flower petals over your form.

“Farewell, sweet sister.”

“And she lay as though she smiled,” Hyojung finishes, giving a small push to the canoe.

You start floating down the river, exactly like the poem describes. You marvel at the solitude, listening to the birds chirping in your ear. It’s all straight out of a novel if you’ve ever read it, but it’s abruptly disrupted by a stream of water soaking your dress.

You shriek, eyes popping wide open as you sit up. Water continues to fill the boat, progressing fast enough where you understand you won’t possibly make it to the other side. As you come up to the nearby bridge, you quickly grasp the foothold, holding onto it tightly as the canoe sinks.

You hear the girls begin to scream loudly when they don’t see you return. You ponder on if they’ll get help and save you from this uncomfortable experience, but another boat slowly comes up beside you.

Na Jaemin says your name with amusement. “I must say, I did not expect to find you here on my Sunday afternoon.”

You roll your eyes. “Are you going to just sit there or help me like a gentleman?”

He laughs before extending his hand. You take it gratefully, stepping into his boat. You sit across from him, drenched from head to toe. You cross your arms over your chest and don’t utter a single word to him.

“So you’re not going to explain-”

“No,” you gruffly reply. “But I am very much obliged to you.”

He sighs. “I don’t want you to feel obliged to me. Can’t we be friends already? You know I was only joking with you on your first day. I didn’t mean to mock you by calling you a princess, even if I think you look exactly like one. Let’s forgive and forget, please.”

You stare at his hopeful countenance, remembering how kind he was to you over the holidays. You also craved his cookies for weeks after, resisting the urge to walk over to his house and ask for another batch.

“Fine. Friends. And friends only.”

He beams at you, grinning widely. He begins to row the boat back to shore, and you avoid his inquisitive gaze. The girls are in hysterics when you arrive, pulling you out and hugging you tightly.

“We thought you had drowned and died,” Hyojung sobs into your shoulder. “It wasn’t romantic at all! Nothing like the poem.”

You assure them with gentle pats, and Jaemin anchors the boat to the dock. Soeun perks up when she sees him.

“Oh Jaemin, were you the one who saved her? A true knight in shining armor, indeed!”

He nods. “I’m happy to help.” The girls move to take you away and leave Jaemin and Soeun on their own, but he clears his throat to stop you. He addresses you by calling your name before questioning, “B-Before you go, I wanted to ask if you had any plans for Valentine’s Day.”

Hyojung and Sookyung’s jaws drop while Soeun acts as if someone just stabbed her in the back.

You stutter. “I- That’s- I’m not-”

“She’s going to my Aunt Nayoung’s annual Valentine’s party. You should come too, Jaemin. It’s at her big mansion in the city,” Hyojung invites.

You shoot her a bewildered look while he replies, “Are you sure? I wouldn’t be imposing?”

“Of course not. She would be happy to have you.”

He smirks. “Perfect. I’ll be there. Now if you ladies don’t mind, I have to get back to fishing.”

When he drifts away in his boat, Soeun stomps away from you, grumbling to herself. Sookyung throws you an apologetic look before following after her. You pinch the bridge of your nose in exasperation.

“What was that?” You bark at your best friend. “How dare he ask me that in front of everyone like- like-”

“Like he likes you?” Hyojung finishes.

You glare at her, still soaked from the lake. “No. And how could you invite him to your aunt’s party? You know I haven’t even asked Ilkyung if I can go yet.”

“She’ll let you, come on,” Hyojung insists as she helps you trudge back to Green Gables. “If not, I’ll have my mother convince her. Plus, how can you not see how head over heels Jaemin is for you? That boy looks at you constantly and Christmas? Don’t even get me started. His house is miles from here, there was no other reason for him to stop by than to see you.”

“I won’t let you go on any longer. I have never harbored any affection for Na Jaemin and I never will. Have you forgotten about my dreams, Hyojung? I don’t want to be the wife and mother. I want to write and teach and earn enough income so that Ilkyung and Ilnam can retire comfortably.”

“Silly girl,” she murmurs as she nudges you playfully. “You can have all of that and Na Jaemin too.”

When you arrive back to Green Gables, Ilkyung gasps in shock as Hyojung escorts you in. “What in heavens have you done to yourself, child?”

You narrow your eyes as she grabs a towel to dry you off. “Hyojung got me into a giant mess.”

“Don’t listen to her, Ilkyung,” Hyojung says. “What she meant to say is that my Aunt Nayoung invited us to her Valentine’s party next weekend. Could we please go together? My parents will be tagging along, and Aunt Nayoung already approved of her staying for the weekend.”

A worried expression falls over Ilkyung’s face as she swaddles you in one of Ilnam’s jackets. “I’m not too sure. Your parents will be there the whole time?”

“Yes,” Hyojung confirms. “I won’t take my eyes off her, I promise.”

Ilkyung exhales. “I suppose you are old enough…”

“I really don’t have to go, Ilkyung, if you think I shouldn’t-”

Hyojung pinches your forearm and you squeal. She smiles at Ilkyung.

“I’ll come pick her up next weekend!”

—

Ilnam starts to cry when you walk down the steps of Green Gables, wearing the ensemble gifted to you on Christmas.

“Oh, please don’t cry,” you say, watching as he blows his nose into his handkerchief.

“He’s a big teddy bear for his daughter,” Ilkyung remarks with an affectionate head shake. She swipes a light pink powder over your cheeks. “Be on your best behavior for Hyojung’s aunt. And I want to hear all about your adventures when you return.”

You ride with the Noh family in their huge buggy to Nayoung’s estate. It’s as lavish as Hyojung described, with massive gardens and towering columns. Hyojung told you on the way that her aunt never married, settling by herself in her big house. She was also very fickle and quick to anger, which is why Hyojung guesses she’s chosen to be alone for the rest of her life.

“There you are,” Nayoung mumbles as she walks down her long hallway to greet you at the door. Her cane taps loudly against the wood flooring. “Kept me waiting long enough.”

“Sorry, sister,” Mr. Noh says, offering her a kiss on the cheek.

She waves him off. “Nothing to do about it now. Suyeon will show you to your rooms. The party begins in an hour.”

You and Hyojung yelp joyously when you’re placed in the same room. You jump on top of the bed in a massive giggling fit.

You look at her mischievously. “What if tonight’s the night you find your dashing suitor? I can picture it now — the clock will strike midnight while you two are dancing in your own little world. Nayoung will tell you the party’s over but he won’t be as willing to part from you. He’ll drop down on one knee right there and demand for your hand in marriage.”

“You’ve been driven to lunacy,” she says, tickling your sides as you erupt in laughter. “Pure lunacy. Nayoung would never invite that many men close to our age. Her friends are more of the decrepit type, standing on their last good leg. I believe the only viable suitor attending this party will be Na Jaemin.”

You scoff, pushing her away. “I still cannot fathom the reason why you invited him.”

“You have to dance with him if he asks.”

“I will do nothing of the sort, Noh Hyojung!” You heave, appalled by her pronouncement. “Just because I agreed to be friends with him does not mean I will follow him down the aisle. He’ll probably get wed to a sensible, well-bred girl with a massive fortune to her name. It seems rightfully in character for him.”

She catches the forlorn look in your eye. “You’re jealous! You’re jealous of a girl who might not even exist.”

“Not true!”

“So true!”

“And what might you ladies be discussing here?”

At the sound of Nayoung’s voice, you both spring up from the bed, smoothing out the fabric of your dresses. She analyzes you with an uptick of her eyebrow.

Hyojung stammers, “O-Oh, nothing of importance, Aunt Nayoung.”

“You better run downstairs. The guests will be arriving soon,” she says. Hyojung scuttles off and you shadow behind her, but Nayoung stops you with the tapping of her cane. “I was delighted to hear your mother allowed you to come today.”

You graciously smile. “I was thankful to be invited, Miss Nayoung, and I must express my appreciation for the gorgeous pair of shoes you sent me for Christmas. I’ve never owned something more divine.”

“You have a brilliant mind in here,” she says, knocking lightly on your temple. “I hope Ilnam isn’t treating you like my son is with his daughters. A girl with your brains should be more than a housewife.”

“I plan on a higher education, ma’am, if the fates will allow. A scholarship would be the only way I could afford to go,” you reveal. “Ilkyung and Ilnam pour every ounce of themselves into maintaining Green Gables and selling off necessities to the market in town. They didn’t exactly plan to adopt an orphan girl and pay for her schooling.”

“Easy solution then. I’ll pay for your schooling.”

“W-What?”

Her expression shifts into something more stern. “I have a large fortune and no nieces to spend it on. Hyojung and Chaeyoung will be betrothed to good families and I want to make sure you are taken care of. I’ve never seen someone so young step up to such a big challenge like you did that night. It should be rewarded.”

“Oh, Miss Nayoung, I really can’t-”

“Protest all you want, dear. It won’t change my mind. Now get downstairs and dance with that boy you’re so keen about.”

The party is already in full swing downstairs. Most of the guests have arrived, chatting avidly to one another over their glasses of champagne. You spot Hyojung in the corner, attempting to keep Chaeyoung under control. Then, as soon as you reach the end of the staircase, Jaemin walks in.

He’s wearing a black suit and tie, handing off his coat to the worker nearby. You inhale, slowly making your way across the room. The bottom of your dress drags over the floor and you scan your puffy sleeves out of the corner of your eye, verifying that they are indeed still there.

When you land in front of him, his jaw drops open. “W-Wow. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you reply curtly, trying not to show how much his statement affects you. “You don’t look half as bad yourself.”

He glances down at his ensemble before chuckling. “Thanks. W-Will you save me a dance later?”

You swallow. “Sure. That’s what friends do, right?”

He smiles. “Yeah. That’s what friends do.”

When you try to catch your breath at the refreshment table, Hyojung eyes you in a superior manner. “I thought you said you wouldn’t accept a dance with Na Jaemin if he asked?”

“I recommend keeping your smug comments to yourself, Noh Hyojung.”

A few of Nayoung’s friends request a dance with you, only being able to sway slightly back and forth due to their arthritis. The older women inquire about your studies, and some of them question you regarding your previous life at the orphanage. You even observe Hyojung speaking to a young gentleman out of the corner of your eye. A blush spreads across her cheeks the longer they converse, and the red hue only deepens when he takes her out on the dance floor.

“Ready for our dance?”

You nearly spit out the contents of your punch when Jaemin appears in front of you. He’s holding a singular rose, half-shy as he extends it to you. You’re about to accept it when he breaks off the stem, tucking the flower behind your ear and admiring you. Your face grows warm underneath his touch.

You take his hand and rest your palm on his shoulder, ignoring the way your heart pounds in your chest when he wraps an arm around your waist. The string of the violin fills your ears as you twirl around the ballroom with him.

“I wanted to thank you for saving me down by the lake,” you say to him, lost in his unrelenting stare. “I wasn’t as appreciative as I should have been that day, and I acknowledge that. I probably would have been left hanging on that bridge until one of the girls had the sense to call someone for help. Then I really would’ve gotten in trouble with Ilkyung.”

He laughs, giddy as he spins you around. “It was my pleasure, really. There haven’t been many days since your arrival that you’ve asked me for help. I cherish those moments more than anything.”

“Why are you so nice to me? I’ve given you nothing but grief since I arrived at Green Gables, yet your enthusiasm has never wavered.”

“I like you, is that so hard to believe?”

His eyes pierce through yours and you start to feel that pull you’ve read in your romance novels. A string of fate ties your heart to his, urging you closer to the man you once vowed to hate. The looming thought of grades and graduation slip from your mind as the jabbering of the crowd fades away. His gaze flickers down to your mouth, and you find yourself leaning in-

A body abruptly slams into yours and you gasp, clinging onto the lapels of Jaemin’s suit to ground yourself. An elderly man apologizes to you for his clumsiness, but the moment between you and Jaemin has already passed. You scurry away from him, trying to calm the adrenaline spiking through your veins.

“I-I should go check on Hyojung,” you murmur, wiping the sweat from your brow.

“Yes, o-of course,” he stutters, quite pink in the cheeks himself. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Na Jaemin.”

—

“I can’t look! Please, just seal my monstrous fate and allow the Earth to swallow me whole. It’s my destiny, and I should very well accept it at this point.”

“I’ve never met another soul as dramatic as you,” Hyojung says with a roll of her eyes. She holds your letter between her fingers, and you shut your eyes in fear of its contents. “We all know you’re a shoe in for the girls’ college. I don’t know why you insist on giving yourself such a fright.”

“Just open it, Hyojung. Tell me if my fortune ties me to a state of devastation.”

She breaks open the seal, fanning out the paper in front of her. She scrutinizes the first few lines before jumping up and down, her shrieks echoing throughout the schoolyard.

“You did it! You got in!”

The rest of the girls circle around you, laughing and squealing at your victory. Tears fill your eyes, running down your cheeks in happiness. You had been waiting for the results for weeks after your entrance exam. You walked in with confidence after learning you secured first place in class, skimming by Jaemin with half a point higher.

“Congratulations,” Soeun says. She forgave you concerning the Jaemin incident once Lee Donghyuck began showing an interest in her. Since then, you’ve speculated that she’s even forgotten Jaemin’s name. “I think you’ll be one of the first girls to attend college from our town in years!”

Mark approaches your group with his hands stuffed in his pockets, and Sookyung straightens her posture at the sight of him. “Hey guys,” he says with a timid smile. “Happy last day of classes.”

“Oh Mark, do tell us where Na Jaemin has gone. We must share the news of his so-called rival,” Hyojung teases, and you elbow her playfully.

“You didn’t hear?”

Your merry expressions falter at his somber tone. Sookyung speaks up, voicing the question you’re all dreading to ask.

“Hear what?”

“Jaemin’s father passed away last night. He was sick for a long time, but was trying to hold on until graduation.”

Your stomach drops at the news. Hyojung immediately glances at you in concern. Soeun and Sookyung gasp, and you realize no one actually knew how ill Jaemin’s father was.

You excuse yourself from the group, dashing to Jaemin’s house as fast as you can. He lives the furthest out of all your classmates, but you’re determined to reach his place before sundown. A nagging voice in the back of your head scolds you for not checking in on him. Another part of you grapples with the idea that he’s been harboring this grief with himself for years.

When you knock on his front door, you panic slightly. What if you were completely crossing a line and he didn’t want to see you? What if he was in the middle of his mourning period and you were disrupting his reflection time?

As soon as he opens the door, you blurt out, “I’m sorry.”

He’s startled when he sees you, but a kind smile spreads across his face. “So you heard,” he remarks, his eyes baggy and red.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry, Jaemin. I had no idea he was that sick.”

He gestures for you to step inside. His home smells like him, as odd as that sounds coming from you. The scent of pine needles and embers from the fire waft through your nose. His dining room is small, having nothing but a long table and a kitchen with dirty dishes stacked high in the sink. Stacked boxes fill the hallway leading to what you assume used to be his father’s bedroom.

He rifles through the fridge while you take a seat at the table. “Apologies about the mess. I’ve been trying to sort through dad’s stuff over the past year but it hasn’t been easy.”

“It’s fine, you don’t need to apologize to me,” you say as he pours you a cup of orange juice.

“So did you get your results yet? Come on, don’t leave me hanging,” he chuckles.

“Oh, it’s not that important-”

“Not that important?” He scoffs, sliding into the seat across from you. “You’ve been working for this all year. Of course it’s important. And you finally accomplished your goal of getting to first place.”

All of those end objectives seem insignificant now compared to the problems Jaemin’s been dealing with. But he stares at you like he wants nothing more than to hear about your results, forcing you to reveal, “I got in.”

He slams his hand down on the wood table cheerfully, rejoicing loudly. “That’s wonderful! I knew you would get in, I never doubted it for a second.”

“Jaemin, I really am awfully remorseful over what happened to your father. To think that we are celebrating my achievements while you have been going through this all alone-”

He speaks your name firmly. “I have known for years that my father would one day pass. It is a tragedy, yes, but I know how hard you’ve been striving for this and I’m not going to let it overshadow your moment. Please, for today, can we focus on you? I can mourn my father all I want at his funeral tomorrow.”

You hesitantly agree to his terms and somehow find yourself roped into an ordeal of teaching him how to bake Ilkyung’s famous peach pie. You snigger when he continuously pours too much flour into the bowl and cuts his hand trying to slice the peaches.

“They say you’re brilliant in the classroom but I guess no one’s seen you outside of your studies,” you joke, pulling stray flecks of flour out of his hair.

He narrows his eyes at you before throwing a handful of flour at your face, causing you to squeal at his attack. You look at him with your jaw dropped open while he snickers at your predicament. You reach into his bowl of peaches, smushing them in your palm and launching the mess into his shirt.

You giggle. “Oops.”

He gapes at you before his kitchen becomes the site of a chaotic food fight. Eggs and butter splatter against the walls and flour coats the kitchen floor. You know Ilkyung’s going to give you a hard time when you return home about the stains in your dress, but you’re feeling so euphoric that you can’t be bothered to care.

You find a way to combine your leftover ingredients into a pie, and Jaemin takes it out of the brick oven when it’s nicely browned at the top. He hands you a fork to taste, and when you both dig your utensils in and scoop it into your mouth, your faces twist in horror.

“That’s awful!”

“What in God’s name did we put in there?”

You take one look at each other, with you seeing his hair covered in flour and specks of eggshells painted on his shirt. He finds you with dripping egg yolk in your hair and dried peaches clinging to the skirt of your dress. You burst out in laughter, clinging to your stomachs as you double over.

“Y-You look l-like we put you i-in the oven!” You pant, cheeks hurting from your hysterics.

“Me? You look like you rolled into a bakery on the wrong side of town!”

When your giggling fit dies down, he flings you a pensive expression. “Promise me we’ll hang out this summer before we leave. I-I don’t want to lose touch with you as soon as we go to college.”

You grin. “I don’t want that either. I promise to hang out with you all summer.”

His vision drifts down to your lips, and you’re thrown back to Valentine’s Day, when you almost kissed him. There’s nothing stopping you now, and the silence of the house surrounds you.

“Jaemin,” you murmur, and his hand snakes around your middle, pulling you to his body as his mouth envelops yours.

Kissing is much more sensual than you originally thought. The books you read describe it as a slow, languid action with enough time to breathe. You discover that’s not true at all as Jaemin backs you up against the table, lifting your hips onto the wood. He rests his palms on both sides of your legs as his tongue swipes over yours. You moan into his mouth, tangling your fingers through his hair as you let him devour you.

Your conscience screams at you that this is not a good idea, but the longer you feel Jaemin’s hands on you, the longer your common sense is muted.

His fingers hike up your dress, exposing your bare legs for him to view. He kisses down your jawline until his teeth graze your neck.

His hands grip the inside of your thighs as you release a breathy, “We shouldn’t.”

He shushes you gently. “Don’t think about anything else. No grades or college or parents. Just you and me.”

You empty your mind per his request, closing your eyes as you savor his hands freely roaming your body. He tugs down your undergarments before unbuckling his own set of trousers. A part of you is terrified by the act of sex, only having seen explicit diagrams in medical journals. But you also trust Jaemin and you understand the boy would never hurt you willingly.

You chew on your lower lip when he unsheathes himself. You’ve never encountered the opposite sex’s naked lower half before, but his cock stands proudly, longer than several inches and thicker than you imagined. His tip is red and leaking, desperately asking for attention. He wraps a hand around his base and lines himself up to your entrance.

“It’s going to hurt,” he warns, analyzing you carefully. “I’ve read it doesn’t always feel good for women, and I apologize about that.”

You smile shyly. “It’s okay. I trust you.”

Fire blazes underneath your skin as he pushes into you. The pain is excruciating but you clench your jaw and power through it, not wanting to ruin this moment with him. He distracts you with kisses, lips intertwining as he slides into you inch by inch.

When he bottoms out inside you, you swear you’ve never felt more full. It’s powerful — the way he towers over you in this moment yet subtly ensures you that you’re in complete control of the situation. His eyes search yours in assurance, finding nothing but a reflection of lust and hunger.

You hold him close as he thrusts into you, whimpers spilling from your mouth at the sharp spike of pain. “What can I do to make it better?” He questions, groaning lowly. “I wish you could feel how I do right now.”

“I-I don’t know.”

He tries different angles, scattering love bites across your neck, but it isn’t until his hands wander down to your core and circle around an area that has you gasping.

“Here?” He asks, pressing his thumb down harder over your clit. You squeak and nod, the pain shifting into blinding satisfaction.

It's the combined chaos of Jaemin rutting against you while you grind down on his hand, chasing your highs together. The unfamiliar sensation has your head spinning, and the pent up frustration in your stomach begins to unravel.

You whine his name. “I feel- I feel-”

“It’s okay,” he soothes, sensing your panic. “I’m right here, it’s okay.”

You dig your nails into his broad shoulders, yanking him close to you as you gush around his cock. The heightened pleasure leaves you a mewling mess, moaning and whimpering into his ear as you bury your head into his neck. He swiftly pulls out of you, jerking at his length until he spills white over your thighs.

Clarity strikes you. You blink away the aftershocks of your intense orgasm, registering the consequences of your actions. You push him away, startling him as you locate your undergarments.

“What’s wrong? What are you doing?”

You shake your head, redressing yourself as tears sting your eyes. “We shouldn’t have done that! We’re going off to college soon and we’re not even together-”

“Then let’s be together,” he states, frowning as you jump off the table. “I want to be with you, I thought I’ve made myself clear. You’re the only one for me.”

“Jaemin, don’t.”

His expression turns sour. “So what? You’re going to pretend that this hasn’t happened? I love you! What’s so wrong about us being together? I was ready to marry you yesterday!”

“Stop it,” you wheeze, combing down your hair in an attempt to regain your composure. “Jaemin, just stop it. You’re not supposed to marry me. You’re supposed to wed a beautiful girl from the city, a well-bred woman with a good head on her shoulders. I’m supposed to finish my schooling and help Ilkyung and Ilnam with Green Gables. I’m not destined to become a housewife.”

“No one’s asking you to! Do you really think that low of me to believe I would request for you to give up your future to stay at home?”

You rush to the door, wrenching it open and dashing down the steps of his home. He calls after you the entire way but you keep your feet moving, not stopping until you’ve run across the town and to Green Gables.

Later, when Ilkyung scolds you for the state of your dress and you rid yourself of the evidence of your passion between your legs, you vow to never accept a proposal from Na Jaemin.

—

“I can’t believe you’re married.”

Soeun smirks as she twirls in a circle, the train of her dress eagerly following behind her. “I know!” She remarks in a high-pitched giggle. “Oh truly, girls, I hope the rest of you experience this kind of happiness someday. You deserve it.”

Hyojung side eyes you with a look that says, Can you believe she just said that to us?

Donghyuck proposed to Soeun shortly after graduation, and due to his bride’s eagerness and her parents' insistence, they were wed only a month later in her backyard. Soeun was over the moon, corralling the three of you into wedding planning for most of the summer. You assisted with every detail, from the flowers down to the flavor of the cake.

The wedding party also acted as a pseudo farewell gathering for you, as you leave for the girls’ college in the city the following day. Hyojung was in shambles over it, pleading for you not to bring it up until reality finally strikes her.

“Oh look, there’s Jaemin,” Sookyung murmurs, and the statement has your blood running cold. You all raise your heads to see him across the garden, a cup of tea in his hand as he speaks to Soeun’s cousins. “Why, I haven’t seen him since his father’s funeral. He must have been secluding himself since graduation.”

“Can you blame him? You know his father didn’t leave him much in his will. Jaemin was probably working all summer to put himself through college,” Soeun says.

You look away in shame while Hyojung eyes you warily. You’ve kept a tight lip regarding the subject of Na Jaemin, leading her to believe something occurred after the end of term. You never confirmed her speculation, mortified by your actions.

Jaemin wrote you a letter everyday since your entanglement, prompting Ilkyung and Ilnam to raise their eyebrows every time they returned from town with a stack of letters. You never replied to him, afraid of encouraging his fantasies of you ending up together.

“I should go,” you state as Jaemin’s consistent presence makes you wary. “It really was a lovely ceremony, Soeun. I have to help Ilkyung with packing up the rest of my belongings.”

Hyojung begins to tear up at the mention of your departure, and you roll your eyes and pat her back teasingly.

“I will see you tomorrow before I leave,” you laugh, and she grumbles as she wipes away her tears.

You say your goodbyes to the rest of the party, exiting the gardens and locating the shed where they’ve kept the buggys. You find Ilnam’s old horse, giving him a soft pet to his snout and untangling his reins.

Before you can climb in, a voice hollers out, “You look beautiful.”

You purse your lips. “Thank you.”

His front presses against your back and you inhale at the close proximity. He swipes your hair away from your neck, nudging his nose against your skin. You tightly grip the reins in your hands, knowing you should get inside and steer far away from him.

“Jaemin,” you say in warning.

His hand draws around your waist, playing with the ribbons of your corset. “I’ve dreamt of you every night, thinking about you when my mind gets too greedy. Do you think about me too?”

“I leave for the girls’ college tomorrow,” you say through gritted teeth, trying hard to contain your desire. “And my thoughts haven’t changed. We can’t be together.”

“I heard Hyojung’s engaged to Lee Jeno. You don’t think less of her for wanting to marry, do you?”

“Of course I don’t,” you bite back. “But this is different. You know it’s different.”

“Tell me that you think about me too. I need to hear it,” he mumbles as he mouths kisses over your skin.

Your heart beats in your chest rapidly. “I never wanted to make you care for me so. I kept away so you wouldn’t.”

He sighs at your stubborn nature. “The medical school’s accepted me for their fall term.”

You spin around at his revelation. Pride flutters in your chest. “Oh, Jaemin, that’s wonderful!”

He rests his forehead against yours, clutching your hands. “I’m sorry for all the letters over the summer. I only wanted to show you how much I care,” he says, his eyes locked in on yours. “Maybe you don’t think I’m good enough for you now, but I will be someday.”

You shake your head. “That’s not it at all. You’re a great deal too good for me,” you say, stroking his hair back and relishing the way it runs through your fingers. “You need a girl who’d be happy just to hang off your arm, who will build a home for you and dote on you faithfully. I can’t be that girl for you.”

“That’s not what I’m looking for at all-”

“We wouldn’t be good together. We’d end up fighting all the time!” You say to convince him, but he doesn’t look moved by your spiel. “I’d end up regretting falling in love with you, and you’re not a person I would ever want to regret.”

He stands firmly. “I can’t go away knowing that if I had just tried a little harder-”

“I promise I’ll always be here for you,” you say. “Good friends are always together in spirit.”

“You also promised we’d hang out the entire summer before we went away,” he recalls, taking a step back from you.

“Don’t do this, Jaemin.”

He bites down on his tongue like he’s holding back the tears threatening to spill out. “I can’t just be your friend. I love you too much to torture myself like this.”

“Jaemin, please-”

You choke back your sobs when he strolls out of the shed, refusing to hear your pleas. You climb into your buggy, attempting to pull yourself together as you tug on the reins. You loathe your tearful ride back to Green Gables, and Ilnam watches you approach from his spot in the fields. His lips curl downwards when he helps you out, wiping your tears away.

“I’ve done it again and messed it all up,” you tell him, crying into his chest. “Oh Ilnam, when will I ever do something right?”

“Sweetheart,” he coos, stroking your back in comfort. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve never done a single thing wrong since I’ve known you.”

His blatant lie forces a chuckle out of you. Ilkyung steps out of the house, hands on her hips as she examines the situation. “What are you two doing?” She questions sternly. “We have less than twenty-four hours before we need to be on that train.”

Ilnam mutters, “Go inside before she has both of our heads.” Before you depart, he grips your hand passionately. “You’ll still write to us every week?”

You detect the hesitation in his voice and you kiss his cheek in affirmation. “Of course. I’ll write until you grow tired of my stories. My hands will ache from the repetition but it can’t stop me from keeping close to you.”

The sides of his mouth wrinkle when he grins at you. As you help Ilkyung in folding your clothes upstairs, you wonder if she’ll miss you as much as Ilnam will. She’s always been the tougher one to crack in terms of displaying her emotions, and for the past few days leading up to your departure, she’s barely said a word to you that hasn’t been laced with venom. You suppose it’s her way of coping with change.

“Have you ever been in love?”

She’s taken aback by your question. “I hope this isn’t regarding the Na boy. My arms still hurt from carrying his letters back home.”

You sit on the corner of your bed. “I used to think love was something you didn’t feel until you were older and more mature. In all the stories I read, loving someone so young ends in an unexplainable tragedy. It’s completely selfish of me, Ilkyung, but I couldn’t stand it if he found someone else. I think it would break me, yet at the same time, I know there’s someone better out there for him. A girl who won’t squabble with him over being called a princess.”

She exhales as she places your dress in your suitcase, walking over and taking a seat next to you. She tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, smiling softly.

“When I was your age, shortly after I also finished my education, I befriended a boy who became my closest confidant. His name was Na Juwon.”

Your head snaps up. “Jaemin’s father?”

She nods, her face twisting into a grimace. “Yes, that’s him. We got along very well, and most people even called him my beau,” she says with a nostalgic look in her eyes. “But we fought, and back then, I wasn’t so quick to forgive. Letting him walk away is one of my greatest regrets. I wish I had just pushed aside my headstrong personality for one second to see the bigger picture. We ended up losing touch and he fell in love with someone else.”

“You never told me that,” you say. “I-I didn’t know you were so close with Jaemin’s father.”

She takes your hands in hers, squeezing them tightly. “Some advice for you, child — a letter can go a long way when you’re separated for that long. He may be cross with you and you may be stuck on your ideals now, but you’ll both learn that a love like yours isn’t easy to find.”

“Thank you, Ilkyung.”

She kisses your forehead. “Now let’s finish your packing. I can’t believe my girl is heading to college tomorrow.”

—

September 12th

Jaemin,

Is it safe to assume the girls at this college dream of me making a complete fool out of myself? I hardly think they have to dream for long considering I’m doing such a great job of it on my own. For women so properly educated and professional, I never imagined most of them haven’t ever picked up a romance novel. I spent the first twenty minutes of my class babbling about the forlorn monologue of the reader and how it translates to her unrequited love before I realized no one agreed with me.

I know we left on bad terms, but I can only hope this letter arrives to you safely. A response is not required, yet I’m obliged to tell you I miss the sound of your voice.

October 22nd

Jaemin,

I’ve been writing again recently. A habit I disregarded briefly to focus on my studies, but as I’m certain you’re well aware, my imagination urges me to capture my visions on paper. It’s nothing fancy, simply romance tales I’ve been daydreaming about. I honestly don’t believe anyone could understand them except for you and Hyojung. Have you heard yet that she and Lee Jeno are to be wed next month? I never thought when they met on Valentine’s Day that their betrothal would come so quickly. She told me she sent you an invitation, but I know you’re probably too busy in medical school to attend.

Do write back to me if you get the chance. I would love to hear how you’ve been.

December 2nd

Jaemin,

Ilkyung told me you won the scholarship for your spring term. I offer my best congratulations to you. I can’t think of anyone more deserving of the award. My hats off to you since I already know you worked so hard for it. I plan on returning to Green Gables for the holidays. Ilnam has taken up a fever and Ilkyung’s growing worried about his health. I’m not sure if I’ll return for my spring term if he’s not well.

I tried submitting my writing to be published in the local town newspaper, but was swiftly rejected due to my stories containing too many embellishments and not enough relation to the character. I think it’s a sign that my writing is not destined beyond Green Gables.

Will you be coming home for the holidays too?

February 25th

I apologize for my late reply. Thank you for your continuous letters. My studies have kept me preoccupied as of late, but I know it’s a horrid excuse for my absence.

I was sorry to hear of Ilnam’s passing during the holidays. I tried to make it out to Green Gables to see you but the trains were blocked here due to the heavy snow. I’m wishing you and Ilkyung all the best.

As for your writing, I’ve always thought you were a spectacular writer. You’re correct in assuming I would most likely be one of the only ones who could understand your romance folly. I think you should write about Green Gables. Your story deserves to be heard by many around the world.

I’m also writing to inform you of my engagement. It’s sudden, I know, and I want to apologize for my foolish behavior last summer. You were right about us, and I see it now.

Regardless, I miss you always, princess.

—

“Don’t lift that, Ilkyung, it’s too heavy. Let me help you.”

You take the box of milk bottles from her hands, setting them on the dining room table. Ilkyung sighs, resting on a nearby chair and pinching the bridge of her nose. She wipes away the dust coating her eyelashes with the back of her hand.

“You have to take it easy, you heard what the doctor said,” you say sternly, narrowing your eyes at her. “It’s why we hired Jisung to help. You’re supposed to call for him if you need anything.”

She waves you off. “I’ll call him when I’m dead.”

“That’s not funny, stop it,” you reply, holding back the onslaught of tears that spring up.

She hears the quiver in your voice and exhales, standing up and teetering over to you. She wraps her arms around you, and you lay your head on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I’ve become very insensitive to your feelings. I know it’s been difficult for you without Ilnam here,” she murmurs, stroking your hair gently. “He would be very proud of you.”

The front door creaks open and Jisung’s head pops in, grimacing when he observes your fragile state.

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“It’s okay,” you dismiss, wiping away your tears. “Come in please. Ilkyung needs help with taking the milk bottles to town.”

Jisung obediently follows your directions, grabbing the heavy boxes and loading them into the buggy outside. You hired him shortly after Ilnam’s passing when you registered that Ilkyung’s health was also deteriorating rapidly. She got constant migraines that impaired her vision, forcing her into bed for most of the day. With Ilnam gone and no one to care for Green Gables, she considered selling the house before you decided to move back. She protested, of course, and you fought for weeks until she relented.

She despised the fact that you dropped your studies but you were not going to allow your first home to be auctioned off like careless livestock. You took a teaching job in the city that provided you enough time to care for Ilkyung accordingly. It also offered you enough time to start writing again. During this go around, fueled by no longer having Ilnam’s presence around, you write about Green Gables like Jaemin suggested.

…And Na Jaemin. You don’t even want to begin to think about the headaches he’s caused you.

Once Jisung departs for town, you begin making supper and instruct Ilkyung to lie down. A knock on the door interrupts your cooking and you’re surprised to see your heavily pregnant best friend behind the door.

“Hyojung!” You scold, helping her inside. “You’re supposed to be resting. The baby’s due any second now.”

She scoffs at you. “He expects me to be a sitting duck at home and I can’t stand it! I need to get out and talk to another human that isn’t my husband.” You help her rest by the fire to keep warm, fetching her a cup of tea. She chews on her lower lip carefully before blurting out, “Soeun saw Na Jaemin walking around with his fiancée in town.”

You pause your slicing of vegetables, raising your head to look at her. She smiles sadly at you.

“That’s- um, that’s wonderful. I’m happy for him,” you say, swallowing your nerves.

“You never told me what occurred between you and him. Every time someone utters anything related to his engagement, you clam up and refuse to speak. From what I recall, the last time we spoke you were letting your petty grudge go and finally starting to be friends with him.”

You sigh, throwing the handful of vegetables into the pot on the stove and stirring carefully. “I have forgiven him, Hyojung. That childish banter is in the past.”

“Then what is it? What has you so on edge around him?”

A flash of breathy whines and heavy groans plays across your mind, along with the heat of Jaemin’s touch and his mouth on your skin.

“It’s nothing. Please, Hyojung, just drop it.”

She lets the subject go for the rest of the night, not owning the same willingness to fight you as she once had due to her pregnancy. She stays for dinner, and Ilkyung walks downstairs to greet her briefly before the lighted candles in the kitchen grow to be too much for her migraine. After eating, you escort Hyojung back home, where Jeno is pacing in worry over his wife.

“Christ, Hyojung. You can’t walk out like that and not inform anyone about your whereabouts,” he says, helping her walk up the steps of the staircase. He smiles politely back at you. “Forgive my crass language.”

You shake your head, waving him off. “No worries. I wanted to see that she made it home safely. I hope you two have a lovely night.”

“She’s going to have a lovely night dreaming about Jaemin!” Hyojung calls when she’s already up the stairs, and Jeno throws you another apologetic look.

You leave the couple to their own devices after rejecting Jeno’s suggestion to stay the night in their guest room. You trudge back to Green Gables, wrapping your arms around yourself as the wind nips at your cheeks. Your mind drifts to Jaemin the entire way, much like it’s been doing since you returned home.

When you received that letter from him in February, in the midst of still grieving over Ilnam, it felt as if he punched you in the gut. You weren’t so shocked to learn he was engaged to someone else, knowing he was making himself a fine catch in medical school and the girls nearby had to be swooning over him. Regardless, the revelation stung. It reminded you of Ilkyung’s story, where she lost Jaemin’s father due to her own stubborn nature.

You contemplated if you were repeating history. If perhaps you and Jaemin are destined to be together, yet the only thing preventing it from coming true is you.

A rough hand tugs on your shoulder and you gasp, spinning around to face the assailant.

Jaemin holds his hands up to profess his innocence. “Sorry. I was calling your name but wasn’t sure if you could hear me.”

“J-Jaemin?”

He chuckles at your astonishment. “Hi,” he says awkwardly, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his coat. “We came into town yesterday and I wanted to come see you. Ilkyung said you were walking Hyojung home.”

You blink in rapid succession, still trying to register that he’s actually in front of you and not a figment of your imagination. You pinch your upper arm just to double check.

“Y-Yes,” you stammer, unable to form coherent sentences. “She’s pregnant, you know? About to pop actually. Jeno’s been like a hawk watching her but you know how Hyojung can be. I mean, I guess you two aren’t really that close but-”

“Are you okay?” He asks, examining you with concern over your verbal incompetence.

You laugh clumsily. “Yes! I apologize, I must be tired. It’s been a gruesome day.”

“I won’t keep you long then. I heard that you stopped attending college to restore Green Gables?”

You nod in affirmation. “I felt it was only right to, especially after Ilnam left us. Jisung has been a great addition, he’s our new farmhand.”

“I want to help finance you.”

“W-What?”

“I’ve been earning my keep with a local doctor while pursuing my studies. He’s been paying for me to shadow him, provided if I assist him where needed. I want to give the money to you so you don’t give up on your dreams.”

You purse your lips, ramming against his shoulder as you begin walking away. “Absolutely not, Na Jaemin.”

He follows after you. “Don’t act this way, please. I want to help you! You can’t give up on college, you’ve worked too hard for it.”

“Nayoung has already offered and I have refused. Besides, what would your fiancée think? Using your hard earned money on a girl you barely know.”

“Yoojung would understand,” he reasons, and you visibly recoil at her name. “And how can you say that? Of course I know you.”

“Do you?” You scoff. “My unanswered letters say otherwise.”

“I apologized for that already. Please, let me take care of you.”

You spin around, digging your finger into his chest. Your eyes blaze with fury, and he flinches at the sight. “You have no right to take care of me. I have never needed your help, and I certainly won’t be requesting it now. So run back to your fiancée and spend your money on your wedding, like a true gentleman would.”

His hand wraps around your upper arm, holding you in place. “Have your feelings changed since the summer?”

He has that optimistic look in his eye, the same one from the night he took you on his dining table. You squash it immediately, enraged by his carelessness for a fiancée you’ve never met.

“No. And you’re a fool for thinking they have.”

You hike up your dress and stomp away from him, ignoring his cry of, “You can’t throw away your dreams! I won’t let you!”

—

“I could stare at his crying face for hours and he would still be the most adorable baby I’ve ever seen.”

Hyojung laughs at you. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you had to hear him wailing relentlessly.”

She lays on top of her shared bed with Jeno as he presses a cloth to her forehead to wipe off the remaining beads of sweat. Chaeyoung had dashed to Green Gables as soon as Hyojung’s water broke, startling both you and Ilkyung as she screamed at the top of her lungs that the baby was coming. The nearest midwife in town rushed at the news after Mrs. Noh pounded on her door furiously.

The newest baby Lee arrived safely into the world, surrounded by a love you could only dream of having. Half of the women in town gathered at the Noh doorstep to offer baked goods and words of comfort to the new mother. Overwhelmed by the influx of support, she only allowed you inside the room, and you held her hand the entire way of delivery.

You shush the sweet child in your arms, whispering softly to him about how you’re going to cherish him forever. Jeno leaves briefly to handle the incoming guests downstairs, and Hyojung stares at you.

“How come I’m the one who’s just given birth yet you look like the most disastrous one here?”

You sigh, knowing she can see the huge bags underneath your eyes, which are slightly red from the crying. You had been relaying your conversation with Jaemin in your head all night, scolding yourself for once again treating him so poorly. You still stand firm on your decision to not take any of his money, yet the heartbroken look on his face after you rejected him lingers.

“I just couldn’t sleep, that’s all.”

“Mrs. Park, could you please give us a minute?” Hyojung asks, and the midwife in the room nods patiently, exiting and shutting the door behind her. Hyojung glares at you. “Give me my baby and start explaining.”

You stride over to her, handing her the small bundle of joy. You take a seat on the chair next to her bed, twiddling your thumbs nervously.

“I ran into Jaemin on my way home.”

Her head snaps up, eyes widening. “And?”

“…Something happened between us last summer.”

“I knew it!” She whisper-shouts, being mindful of the sensitive ears of her new son. “Gosh, I knew you had been keeping it a secret. You acted as if he brought on the plague whenever Soeun mentioned him. What happened?”

You chew on your lower lip. “Everything.”

Jeno strolls back in, giddy as he carries a basket of fresh bread. His smile falters when his wife scowls at him.

“Jen, I love you more than anything and I’m so thankful we brought this child into this world, but I need you to leave us for at least ten minutes. And guard the door so we aren’t disturbed by anyone else.”

Your best friend’s husband gapes at the instruction, but darts his eyes between a heartbroken you and his determined wife. He awkwardly leaves the room.

Hyojung surveys you with the quirk of her eyebrow. You disclose it all to her, from the night in his kitchen to his proclamations of love in the summer. She listens to you with an open jaw, in pure disbelief by your connection with him.

“I’m not going to take his money, Hyojung. I can’t. For heaven’s sake, can you imagine what his fiancée would think? It astounds me that he didn’t even consider her feelings regarding the matter. If I didn’t accept any type of financial compensation from Nayoung, he’s a dunce for believing I would take it from a struggling medical student.”

She grins at you. “You love him.”

You frown. “Is that truly all you heard from that story?”

“You love him and you’re hurting yourself by not confessing it to him. What’s preventing you from finally seeking your true love? You read about love, you write about love, and you dream about being loved. Yet, when it’s served in front of you on a silver platter, you run from it. How is that going to solve anything long term?”

You shake your head. “He has a fiancée. I’m not going to become the woman in the story that intrudes on the heroine’s happy ever after. Why, I’d be no better than the poem where the town watched as the beautiful woman succumbed to her sorrow for her unrequited love. How could I allow myself to become that person, Hyojung?”

“He wouldn’t have offered to pay for your schooling if he didn’t still care for you. Even if he has betrothed himself to another, his heart calls for you. And only you.”

The sharp cry of her newborn has her exhaling, and Jeno enters the room hesitantly. Hyojung nods at him and the man circles the bed, taking the babbling child from her arms. You decide to offer them a few minutes of privacy, brushing off the heated stare Hyojung throws at you that indicates this conversation is far from finished.

She spends the rest of her evening thanking her guests for stopping by. It provides you enough time to slip out unnoticed, even by Ilkyung, who chats with a few other women in the kitchen. You pass the Lake of Shining Waters as you find your way back to Green Gables. You settle into bed but sleep doesn’t find you so easily.

You toss and turn as memories of Jaemin swirl in your head, refusing to quiet its intensity. The sudden flash of a dining table has you squeezing your thighs from arousal, leaving you ashamed of fantasizing about a taken man. You swallow down the feeling as your hand snakes down your lower half, slowly brushing over your throbbing core.

You shut your eyes and dig your teeth into your pillowcase, grinding your hips downwards as you think about the ridge of Jaemin’s cock stretching you out. You gasp silently as you replay his grunts in your ear, breathless from the way he takes you so roughly, like you belong to him. You feel him peppering kisses down your neck, cooing softly in your ear and encouraging you to welcome the pleasure.

You clench down around nothing as you heave, whimpering to yourself in the empty room. You blink heavily as you maneuver through your lust-filled haze, empowering the mortification to seep through.

You shove aside the guilt to provide space for your drowsiness, your mind abruptly settled after entertaining the delusions of Jaemin’s love.

Over the following months, Hyojung doesn’t get another chance to interrogate you. She’s caught in a whirlwind of caring for her child, who hasn’t adjusted to a normal sleeping schedule. Jeno and her are constantly invited to new events held by other mothers in town, desperate to make connections and expand their club to the new generation.

You’re thankful for the reprieve, slightly regretting informing Hyojung of the whole ordeal in the first place. You spend your time caring for Ilkyung and assisting Jisung out in the fields. You fret over her declining health, begging the heavens above to grant your family a break from the stress. You often find yourself sitting in the living room late at night, speaking gently to pictures of Ilnam and hoping he can somehow hear you.

“Ilkyung tells me she’s fine but her migraines are getting worse,” you murmur to the framed photo in front of you, stroking its ends and staring at the solemn gaze of your father. “I don’t know how to discipline her. She won’t relent, you know how she is. I can’t lose her too. I wish you were here to yell at her. She would have called you ridiculous but I know she would’ve listened to you.”

You pause, checking the kitchen to ensure Ilkyung’s not lurking nearby. “You were right about Na Jaemin. I care for him more than anyone else, and he’s a good man. I deluded myself into thinking my feelings could easily vanish, but I know now that isn’t the case. It’s far too late to admit my wrongdoings, for he’s engaged and last I heard, thriving in school. He’ll graduate in the spring and it’s definite he’ll be a married man by then. I’ve accepted my fate to resign as a single woman. It’ll do me some good to look after Green Gables, and I’m almost finished writing my book about the town. I’m not sure it’ll get published, but I must say I believe it to be the best piece I’ve written to date. I wish you here to read it.”

You sniffle, wiping away the stray tears that have fallen. You set the frame back on the table, picking up the candle lighting the room and heading towards the staircase to go to bed.

A knock on the door interrupts you. You’re surprised to see Jisung standing on the other side, smiling awkwardly.

“Jisung? What are you doing here? It’s nearly midnight.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles with a blush painted on his cheeks. You learned over time that the boy tends to grow embarrassed quickly. “I was in town and the postmaster said you’ve been receiving urgent letters. He didn’t know who else to give them to.”

You take the pile from his hands before reprimanding him for staying out so late. He runs home with flushed cheeks while you fan out the letters across the dining table, the candlelight illuminating the ink splattered across the front.

You furrow your eyebrows when you realize most of them are addressed from the girls’ college. Multiple envelopes spanning over different dates. With Ilkyung’s illness boarding in full force, you haven’t had enough time to swing by town and grab the mail.

You open the latest one first, sent only a week ago.

This is the third notice to the Seo household regarding the spring term. Payment has been received and a spot has been reserved. Please reply at your earliest convenience with confirmation of attendance.

Your blood runs cold. You rip open the other letters, each detailing a similar notice for you to arrive at the girls’ college for the spring term, which begins in less than three weeks.

The last envelope, however, is smaller than the others and you recognize the familiar handwriting. You shakily pry the seal off, already guessing what lies underneath.

Don’t be upset. A nurse is set to arrive to care for Ilkyung the week before you leave. I’m not letting you give up.

You crinkle the paper in your palm, laying your hands on your forehead as you take a deep breath.

Why, oh why, did Na Jaemin have to fall in love with you?

—

“Alright, ladies, please pair off and discuss the latest chapter. We’ll regroup before the end of the hour.”

Doyeon turns to you, a grin stretching across her lips. You already know what she plans to ask, letting her wrap an arm around your wrist and race to the back of the room.

As you set your books down and sit far away from the teacher, she continues where she left off before class began. “And then he asked if he could court me officially. I wasn’t exactly in a position to say no.”

“We’re supposed to be discussing the latest chapter,” you remind her. “I, for one, think the hero was far too arrogant to be flaunting his wealth in front of the local commoners.”

She glares at you. “The fact that you still do the reading astounds me.”

“I have people counting on me.”

The three weeks after discovering Jaemin’s secret plot were filled with heated arguments with everyone involved in your life. Ilkyung and Hyojung were pleading for you to take the opportunity and go, insisting the only way you could fulfill your dream of writing was to finish your education. You refused to spend Jaemin’s hard earned money, but the fare for the train ride you needed to get to his medical school to confront him cost too much. You wrote him many strongly worded letters that never received a reply.

It wasn’t until the live-in nurse arrived to care for Ilkyung that you realized you didn’t have much of a choice. Jaemin had already paid her wages for the entire year.

Nayoung even traveled down to knock some sense into you, lecturing you about the need for more female academics. She threatened to write a check that tripled the amount of Jaemin’s if you were really so bothered by him being the sender.

You returned to the girls’ college and resumed your studies at the start of the spring term. You devoted twice as much time as you did in your first term, worrying that Jaemin’s efforts would turn out to be futile. You received the top marks in every class, and a part of you yearned to have a smiley boy sitting next to you, fueling your need for competition.

You finished writing your book about Green Gables after spring had come and gone. You spent weeks speaking to multiple publishers in town, shocked by the popularity of your work and their eagerness to disperse it. By the time classes resumed, you were nearly done finalizing the contract to officially publish your book.

On the other hand, your roommate, Doyeon, had only been sent to college because her parents believed it would market her as a better match for potential suitors. She cared very little about her work, but she became a great friend to you when you needed someone to loosen you up.

“The girls are heading to this parlor after class,” she giggles. “You have to come.”

“I have to finish my essay after class.”

“Come on,” she whines, tugging on your arm. “Just this once. Indulge me!”

She drags you into town that afternoon, pulling you into a circle of girls chatting in the middle of a tea parlor. All of them are dressed in colorful gowns with puffy sleeves, wearing hats with obnoxious feathers decorated on the top. You awkwardly attempt to cover your brown ensemble, with sleeves not as puffy as theirs and no hat in sight. You recognize a few of their faces from your classes but some are unfamiliar to you.

Doyeon sits you down and forces you to make conversation with those around you.

“It was simply tragic,” a girl murmurs from beside you, her hand delicately balancing the saucer under her teacup. “I mean, I felt bad for him but I was not about to become a widowed girl before I turned twenty years of age. Can you imagine the pressure I was under?”

“You’re so brave,” another girl replies, the feather in her hat blocking the view of her right eye. “He was perfect on paper for you.”

“Girls,” Doyeon interrupts cheerfully. The circle turns their attention to her. “I finally convinced my roommate to join us.”

One of them gasps. “So this is her! The esteemed author!”

You stare at your roommate, dismayed by her lack of filter. She smiles sheepishly at you.

“That was meant to be a secret,” you say, laughing shyly. “The book hasn’t exactly been published yet.”

“Oh, but it will be soon, won’t it?” Another person pipes up, eyes sparkling. “Can you believe this, girls? We’ll actually know someone famous.”

You shake your head nervously, bashful at the sudden attention. The girl next to you nudges your side.

“What was your name again?”

When you provide your answer, the group falls into a sudden hush. The girl next to you stiffens completely, her fingers nearly breaking her porcelain teacup. Doyeon is just as confused as you. “What’s happened?”

“You’re her,” the girl beside you whispers. “You’re the girl.”

Your bewilderment only grows tenfold when she stands and sneers down at you. “What’s it like to receive a free education?”

“W-What?” You stutter, taken aback. You haven’t told anybody about your ordeal with Jaemin or the real reason why you’re attending college. How is it possible that this stranger knows your circumstances?

She scoffs in disbelief at you. “Do you know how much pain you’ve caused me? How much heartache you’ve brought to my family?” At your continued hesitation, she snaps. “Does the name Choi Yoojung mean anything to you? Or how about Na Jaemin?”

The puzzle pieces click together. The woman in front of you is Jaemin’s fiancée — the beautiful girl who he fell in love with after you broke his heart. You had assumed they married months ago, but by the way venom drips from her voice when speaking his name, you guess it didn’t go as planned.

“Yoojung,” a girl speaks gently, trying to calm her down when she identifies the fear flash across your face.

She doesn’t relent. “Congratulations to you. He’s driven himself to death in his mission to take care of you. Now neither of us can have him.”

A chill rushes down your spine. You stand, staring at her as your demeanor switches into something more serious. “What are you talking about?”

She snorts. “You didn’t even bother to check on him, did you?”

“I write to him every week,” you retort, curling your lip. “He never responds.”

“Because he’s working! He’s always working. He never stopped because you needed the money,” she snarls. “He only quit when he contracted typhoid fever last month and returned home. I imagine he’s been dead for weeks already.”

You swear your heart stops beating. Doyeon grasps your hand in concern but you shrug her off. You struggle to control your breathing, panicking at the thought of Jaemin slaving himself away at the hospital just so you could go out for tea on a midday afternoon. Doyeon places her hands on your shoulders, troubled by your anxiety.

“Yoojung, back off,” she warns.

The girl listens, gathering her things and storming out of the parlor. The other women follow in pursuit, leaving only you and Doyeon.

“I have to go home,” you say, feeling as if your heart has plummeted three stories down. “I-I have to see him.”

She has no idea who you’re referring to, probably lost for most of your conversation with Yoojung. Regardless, she nods and helps you to the door, rubbing your back soothingly. You pack your belongings in record time, locating the money you have as an advance from the publishing company for a train ticket home. Doyeon calls for her buggy and gives you a ride to the station, and you kiss her cheek and thank her for her assistance.

You spend the entire journey exhausting yourself with images of a sickly Jaemin, but you force your thoughts not to stray to the notion of his death. Once you offboard, dread sinks in when you register that you have no ride back, not giving Hyojung an indication that you would need a buggy at the station.

The universe seems to save you when you spot Soeun and Donghyuck carrying their newborn through the train platform.

You call her name desperately, and she spins around to face you. Her expression lights up. “Oh! I didn’t know you were back in town-”

“Is it true? About Jaemin?”

Her face falls and she glances at her husband with apprehension. You repeat her name, glaring at her with one of the strongest looks you can muster.

She caves in. “Hyojung told me not to say anything, I swear! We didn’t know how bad it had gotten until a week ago.”

“Is he alive?” You ask, your heart thumping furiously in your chest in anticipation of the answer.

“…Yes. But I’m not supposed to tell you-”

“Take me to him.”

Soeun and Donghyuck allow you to squeeze into their buggy, making the expedition to Jaemin’s home and dropping you off. She gives you a pitiful look, kissing your cheeks gently in farewell.

You take a deep breath as you walk up the steps, knocking on the door. The house has perished quite a bit over the years, with grass growing out of the floorboards of the porch and the paint slowly peeling. When the door opens, however, it still smells exactly like Jaemin.

An older man stares back at you, eyebrows furrowed. “May I help you, madam?”

“Na Jaemin. I’m here to see Na Jaemin,” you say, breathless and choking back tears.

He smiles. “Ah, you’re her. I’ve been waiting for someone to inform you. He wouldn’t let me.” He ushers you inside, helping you place your luggage aside. He outstretches his arm to take the book in your hands but you clutch it tighter to your chest. “I’m Dr. Lee, I’ve been Jaemin’s mentor since he began his schooling. I put a pause on my practice to nurse him back to health.”

You sniffle, disregarding your manners out of impatience. “Is he here?”

He smiles softly in understanding, gesturing his head towards the back of the house. “He’s in his father’s room.”

You swallow as you walk down the hallway, the flickering candlelight illuminating the dusty room. You inhale sharply when you see Jaemin splayed out on the bed, face completely drained of color. He’s tucked completely in the blankets of his father’s tiny bed, barely big enough to fit him. You rush to his side, gripping his hand tightly in yours.

He blinks lethargically at you before mumbling, “Princess?”

You wipe your tears away. “You’re an idiot. The most reckless person I know.”

A smile spreads across his chapped lips. “I’ve missed you.”

You quell the urge inside you that begs to argue with him, to scold him for not taking care of himself and putting his life at risk. But you don’t want to waste your precious moments with him by fighting, so you show him the book in your arms instead.

“I finished writing about Green Gables, just as you said I should,” you mumble through blurry vision. “I’ll be a published author soon. I dedicated the inscription to Ilkyung and to Ilnam and… to you.” You open the first page of the book, unveiling his name. You choke out, “I was planning on sending it to you as a wedding gift.”

“There’s something you should know,” he croaks. “About me and Yoojung.”

You shake your head, swiping back the hair matted to his forehead. “I already know,” you say. “W-We had an unfortunate run in.”

“You understand now then. You understand that there’s never been anyone for me but you.”

You shut your eyes tightly, bending down and pressing your forehead against his cheek. You rest your hand over his chest and feel the way it rises and falls. “You have to get better,” you say sternly. “You have to get better so I can tell you how I really feel.”

You make a home out of Jaemin’s room for the next few weeks. Dr. Lee and you take turns watching over him, and he locates a spare cot in the storage closet for you to sleep on. You set it up right next to Jaemin’s bed, holding his hand as you doze off. You feed him and read him stories, although his number one request has been to hear your book.

Dr. Lee recounts his memories with Jaemin, and how he’s never met a student more hardworking. He reveals that Jaemin always spoke about you, referring to you as the smartest girl he’s ever known.

By week four, Jaemin regains the color in his cheeks and is able to sit up in bed on his own. You’re attempting to spoon a hearty soup into his mouth but he’s making it into an impossible task.

“You said you would tell me how you feel if I got better,” he whines. His hands snake around your waist, pulling you closer to him as you gasp, trying not to spill the piping hot bowl on him. “I kept up my end of the bargain.”

“Jaemin,” you huff, scooting back before you’re sitting on his lap. “You’re still not back to complete health. Can you please finish your dinner?”

A knock echoes on the door, and you turn to see Dr. Lee smiling at you both. He’s carrying a suitcase in his hand and has a coat draped over his frame. “Well, it’s been a joy to help my young prodigy, but I really must return to my practice.”

Your eyes widen. “You’re leaving?”

He chuckles at your reaction. “He hasn’t shown any symptoms for three days, which leads me to believe the worst of it is over. All he has to do now is get plenty of rest and drink lots of fluids. And luckily, he has a beautiful nurse here to help him.”

Jaemin beams, grinning while you look away in embarrassment. “Thank you, Mr. Lee. I owe you a great deal.”

“Nonsense,” the doctor brushes off. “Considering you fell ill on my watch, I would declare I owed this to you.” You walk him to the front door, thanking him for watching over Jaemin. He winks at you before he climbs into his buggy. “You’ll take even better care of him, I’m certain.”

You observe as he rides away, waving his hat in the air as a salute to you. You smile before returning inside, gasping when you see Jaemin leaning on the dining table.

“What are you doing out of bed? You can’t be strolling around the place just yet-”

You’re effectively silenced when he boxes you in, his lips descending over yours. You crumple up the fabric of his sweater in your palm, relishing the way he runs his tongue over your bottom lip.

Your nagging continues as he peppers kisses down your jaw. “You really should not be out of bed right now. You need to save your strength and energy for recovery.”

You whimper when his fingers sneak underneath your dress, stroking your clothed core. He props you up against the table, and you’re suddenly thrown back in time.

“J-Jaemin, we shouldn’t-”

“Unless you plan on confessing your feelings for me, I would rather not hear another peep out of you,” he says, swallowing you with his frame. “I’ll make exceptions, of course. Like this.”

His fingers press harder against your folds and you whine, arching into him. It’s not long before your undergarments are discarded on the floor. You haven’t been intimate with someone since Jaemin, causing goosebumps to rise over your skin when his digits brush over your entrance.

“Tell me,” he grunts lowly in your ear. “Tell me how you feel. I need to know.”

Two fingers slide in easily, and you immediately clench down on him, your mind swirling in exhilaration. He pulls back to watch your reaction, smirking when he sees your jaw dropped open. He leans forward to capture your lips in his again.

“Tell me,” he whispers in between his tongue exploring your mouth.

He curls his digits, rubbing against your walls perfectly. You’re ashamed to hear the sound of your slick filling the room. His other hand works at untying your corset, loosening your dress just enough to expose your breasts for his viewing.

“Jaemin,” you exhale when he takes the hardened bud of your nipple into his mouth, sucking gently. You grind down onto his hand as the pleasure begins to strike in full force. The combination of his fingers caressing you and his tongue flicking over your stiff peaks is enough to drive you to the edge, mewling loudly as you soak his digits in your arousal. You pant as you confess, “I love you.”

His head snaps up, grinning wider than ever. You squeak when he launches himself at you, spreading your back across the wood of the dining table. You giggle as he attacks you with an onslaught of kisses.

“Say it again,” he says, quickly pulling his length out of his trousers.

When he thrusts inside you, a moan falls freely from your lips, accompanied by another “I love you.”

It’s swift and desperate, the way he harshly ruts into you as you sing sweet noises for him, praising him while his cock abuses your pussy. You’ve never wanted anyone the way you crave him, keeping him as close as possible in fear of him leaving you. He assures you with the skin of his teeth, grazing your neck as he marks you as his.

When he spills inside you, you swear you’ve never been this happy before. He doesn’t retract from you, burying his head into your shoulder as he wraps himself in your scent.

“I’ll make you a promise,” he murmurs. You tangle your hand through his hair, scratching his scalp affectionately. “I’ll let Nayoung pay for your schooling and I promise not to work myself to death at the hospital. But after graduation, we take our vows and move back to Green Gables. We start a new life with each other.”

You laugh, giddy over the thought. Just last year, you were convinced you would retire as a lonely spinster, reminiscing over your lost love. Yet now he lays on top of you, fulfilling your dream of forever in a great big home.

You nod. “That sounds beautiful.”

—

A scream erupts throughout the house and you pinch the bridge of your nose in exasperation. Hyojung sits next to you in her rocking chair, chortling with glee at your misery.

Ilkyung strides by, carefully balancing herself with her cane. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you,” you call after her, watching as she corrals your two toddlers in the kitchen.

“Five children is just too much,” Hyojung remarks with the click of her tongue. “How could you let Jaemin talk you into another one?”

You stare down at your growing belly, resting your hand over your bump. “He’s very convincing.”

Your husband barrels through the front door with your six-year-old son attached to his back while your eight-year-old daughter curls around his leg. He’s laughing, pretending to make them fly as your two other toddlers rush over to him, eager to join the scene.

You married Jaemin shortly after graduation, sealing your vows next to the Lake of Shining Waters. Ilkyung was delighted when you chose to move into Green Gables as Jaemin landed a position as the town’s new doctor and your second book was about to be published. You finished the girls’ college with high marks, securing a teaching spot at the best college in the area.

You lived in pure bliss. You kept the nurse who looked after Ilkyung in your absence, and she eventually became a helping hand to your rowdy family. Jisung still assisted you and Jaemin with maintaining the farm, even stepping out of his comfort zone every now and then to chase your children around the yard.

You thank the universe everyday for granting you a second chance at happiness. Jaemin constantly dotes on you, fretting over your every need. He’s a perfect father, never losing his temper with the children and cooing at them in soft voices. It’s perhaps why you’re so inclined to keep giving him more.

He staggers over to you after he manages to pry your rambunctious children off his body, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips.

“Are you two enjoying yourselves?”

Hyojung smiles. “We would be if your wife’s feet weren’t swelling enormously, Dr. Na,” she says with a teasing tone. “You should rub her feet to make her feel better.”

He’s quick to follow orders, sitting on the carpet and getting to work.

“Anything for my princess.”

You throw Hyojung a look. “Now you’re just misusing our power.”

You glance over at your children, who are flocking towards their grandmother and asking her for a snack. Then you look at your beaming husband and your mischievous best friend, the true kindred spirits of your heart. And it’s all topped by the puffiest sleeves a girl’s ever owned, sitting proudly on your arms.

Your dream of having a home to call yours has finally come true.

this fic was posted for early access to the $5 tier on my patreon, which you can access here!

#tbr #nct smut #nct x reader #jaemin smut #jaemin x reader #jaemin

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starrynightgyu · 3 months ago

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by a string (teaser)

summary: Yeonjun’s got a lot on his plate. Not only does he have to worry about being a star student, but he also has to be the city’s web-slinging hero. And a lab intern. And a semi-decent roommate. And a little bit in love with you.

pairings: yeonjun x fem!reader

word count: ~20k (350 in the teaser)

tags: fluff, some angst, smut (mdni), spiderman!yeonjun, college au, jjun is a charming nerdy awkward little guy, blood, physical violence, potentially inaccurate science-y stuff, more to be added

notes: as a #real spider-man fanatic and yeonjun luvr, this fic is sooo fun to write. estimated release date for this is in early may but i’ll update u on that lol. let me know if u want to be on the taglist for this fic!! just make sure u have an age indicator on ur page <3

You look over your shoulder when Yeonjun reaches you, staring up at him and squinting your eyes to shield from the sun. “How’d I know you’d come find me?” you ask, half-amused.

Yeonjun gives you a short laugh, unsure of himself as he sits on the grass beside you. It feels a little like he’s invading your space. He’s seen you sitting alone on this field as if it was all yours so many times.

“I thought I should thank you again,” he says, a little shy. He feels like he owes you a lot for last night. The whole city probably owes you a lot for saving him, honestly.

You look at him with a small smile, leaning your head on your bent knees. “Mhm. Shouldn’t I be thanking you, Spider-man?” There’s a teasing quality to your voice, and it makes Yeonjun laugh nervously. He should probably address that.

“I really hope you won’t tell anybody.”

“I won’t. I’m still finding it hard to believe anyway,” you say. Your sentences are all laced with a tiredness and exhaustion that Yeonjun can’t help but to feel at fault for. “It’s just weird to know it now.”

Yeonjun hums. He can sympathize with you on that—it must be really bewildering to know your classmate is the one swinging around town shooting webs at criminals. He just hopes you can forgive him for dragging you into this.

“Spider-man’s a little less cool now, huh?” he jokes, keeping his voice quiet even though no one’s around.

Your smile is full and genuine, and Yeonjun’s heart skips a beat. “I always thought he was a little lame,” you answer. Yeonjun’s ego bruises at that. You continue, “But I think he’s kind of interesting now.”

He can only hope that you don’t see the blush that takes over his face. He looks away to hide it, but he feels your gaze on him. “I don’t know if I’m that interesting,” he says, acting all humble. It’s clearly bait, and he hopes you’ll catch it.

“I can be the judge of that. Let me get to know you more,” you offer. Yeonjun bites his cheek to stop himself from grinning at this massive win.

#txt x reader #yeonjun x reader #txt fic #yeonjun fic #txt smut #yeonjun smut

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starrynightgyu · 3 months ago

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💪😊

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starrynightgyu · 3 months ago

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𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐑 ── ⟢⸝⸝

A Prince's Respite || Yang Jeongin

pairing: prince! Yang Jeongin x head pharmacist! afab! reader warnings: royal au, childhood friends, a little inaccurate portrayal of royal/court affairs, kidnapping, shameless smut (more to be added and warnings are subject to change)

𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐞: May first/second week

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒;

Lately, Prince Jeongin has been plagued by relentless nightmares and sleepless nights. As the kingdom’s head pharmacist—and his oldest friend—you’ve tried every remedy in your arsenal, but nothing seems to bring him peace. So, you take it upon yourself to craft something entirely new, a cure never attempted before. What begins as a quest to help the boy you’ve always cared for quickly turns into something far more complicated. You only meant to ease his nightmares, but you end up getting more than you bargained for.

⊹₊⋆.☘︎ Yun's 💬

It was about time I made my official debut in stayblr. I had this bad boy sitting in my drafts for a while and I finally have the motivation to work on it. It was a great dilemma between prince!jeongin and demon!jeongin, but since I already have a wip with devils/demons I decided to roll with the royal au instead. This is slightly inspired from one of my fav animes Akagami no Shirayukihime so the tone of the story is pretty lighthearted with serious stakes.

I'm a little insane about Yang Jeongin and you should be too.

The taglist for this story is OPEN as well as my permanent taglist for stray kids! Lmk if you wish to be added in either <3

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starrynightgyu · 3 months ago

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there can only be one sun

#*jeongin #yang jeongin #stray kids

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starrynightgyu · 3 months ago

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YOU'RE WELCOME AND YOU DESERVE IT. Do you perhaps have any plans to broaden this au? As in write for other members and their stories as a series? Or maybe a further look into Beomgyu and mc's life?

JUST CURIOUS BECAUSE ID LOVE TO READ MORE OF YOUR TAKES ON THE HP X TXY AU NO PRESSURE THOUGH