#Ex-Date | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

saeun · 5 months ago

Text

⟡ 𓂃 SAME OLD HABITS . . . SAME OLD LOVE. ex!nanami kento ⊹ female reader.

exes? somewhat: your relationship with nanami now is... complicated. you aren’t together, but you’re somehow always with each other. your son is a factor, yes, but you also can’t refuse nanami. same goes for him.

( ﹫note 2 self : dont fuck ur ex who’s also ur baby daddy! )

+ love, ‘un: results may vary if u try this at home with ur ex ⸝ fngering and f!receiving oral: mature content, 18↑ only! ⸝ son’s here for a bit (he's 3)

Text me when you’re finished.

You sighed at the pop-up notification, contemplating whether to reply or let it collect dust.

Your relationship with Kento withered throughout the years. The differences between you two were akin to the final pieces of a jigsaw puzzle: in theory the pieces snug together perfectly, fitting into the curves of each other, yet in practice both pieces weren’t for each other; edges colliding instead of interlocking.

Kento pursued you — it was a known fact to anyone who’s made connections with him. He wasn’t embarrassed to deliver bouquets during your working hours, he never hesitated to make reservations for the table awarded with the best view, he was never ashamed to show his devotion towards you. Chivalry’s embedded into Kento. He’s the textbook definition of a gentleman, be it to strangers or friends. It’s one of his qualities that drew you into him.

Kento was yours, proudly, and you were his. The time spent with him left an imprint on you. He witnessed your highs and lows, he took everything from you and gave it back in abundance. A part of you believes that Kento tied his soul to yours, stealing a piece of your own when he left. It had to be — it’s the only plausible explanation.

It was a “mutual” breakup, both agreeing on co-parenting and scheduled visits. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t colour Kento’s history with you black and build a new painting over it. There was a three-year-old boy tying you to him — not just in name, but in blood as well. He resembled his father in every way possible. He’s a respectful young lad, waving to passersby with a cheerful “hello!” wherever he goes. He was sociable — much more than Kento — it’s at least something he got from your side.

“Mommy, I want yogurt too.” Little Kento said, pointing at the iron man packaged yogurts in the chilled section.

“We’ll come back for it after mommy’s cleared her list, okay?” You reassure him, ruffling his hair.

You keep your eyes on the phone screen, extending a hand out to grab the closest bologna sausage. During the monthly restock you never leave your son home. Despite skyrocketing your bill with his unnecessary snacks, he helps keep your mind busy with constant chattering or ignoring his requests to be put down instead of sitting in the trolley.

Simply guiding a trolley through lanes and filling it with items costs you $500 — VAT excluded. Everytime you’re met with the consequences of not restocking until a month later you promise to never let it happen again. Deep down, you know it’s just a white lie to ease yourself.

Readjusting your handbag on your shoulder, you gather the handles of the plastic bags together, giving the lightest one to your son before you walk away from the cashier.

“Sweetie, come here,” you called out to him, halting your movements and placing all the bags down at your feet.

He listens without fail, copying what you did. However, standing still isn’t a child’s favourite thing. He fidgeted until he couldn’t — running in an oval shape around you to entertain himself while your fingers hovered over the screen, hesitating to press send.

Hey, we're finished. How long till you’re here?

Ten minutes. Wait at the front, I’ll be there soon.

Your eyebrows raised, you weren’t expecting Kento to reply within milliseconds. Shoving your phone into the back pocket, you bent down for the bags, lifting it up with an exhale. They’re heavy, but manageable.

“Let’s go, daddy’s coming.”

—

Kento’s used to picking you up after your errands. What he’s not used to is not being able to replace your name with a petname. It’s been 2 years yet his habit remains the same. You never corrected him, unsure of whether the action comforts you or not.

“Put him in the car seat, I’ll finish packing.” Kento says, swapping the bags from your hand to his. Due to the height of his vehicle, it’s a challenge for Little Kento to do it himself.

You obeyed, lifting the younger one into his carseat, securing the seatbelt before giving him a peck on both cheeks.

“Do you want anything before daddy closes the trunk?” You asked, tilting your head towards Kento’s position.

“No. I wanna watch Paw Patrol.” He indirectly demanded for your phone, even stretching his palm out for the device.

Sighing, you give in, switching YouTube to kids mode so he doesn’t accidentally stray far. Once Little Kento’s comfortable, you seat yourself in the front, immediately pulling the sun visor down from the windshield to do a quick check in the mirror attached.

Compared to when your son’s absent, the drive to yours isn’t silent. In terms of talking, no one’s talking but the radio and silence from you and Kento is overshadowed by a Paw Patrol marathon booming at max volume. It’s not awkward — you’ve spent years with Kento, but you also don’t feel like engaging in meaningless chitchats after a grocery run.

The only time you do talk with Kento is after you’ve settled in and packed the groceries where they belonged. Kento offered his assistance but you refused, urging him to check on Little Kento instead. Somewhere along the drive back he fell asleep, the Paw Patrol marathon being used as background noise to lull him to sleep.

“Finished already?” Kento questions, softly closing the door to the boy's room and planning his steps to stand beside you.

“Mhm,” you nod, stretching your arms upwards to relieve tension.

He remains silent, soaking in your physical appearance instead. Your eyebags are what his eyes remain on — the most obvious sign of exhaustion. You can’t lie your way out.

“You should get some rest.” He suggests.

“I don’t want to sleep yet.”

Kento deadpans. You’re denying the easiest way to get your energy back. Although you’ve both grown, you kept your old habits — something he’s secretly thankful for.

“Want me to help?” He offers his services, making eye contact with you.

Your mind runs into the past, remembering how Kento usually dealt with your stubbornness. You want to deny it, arguing that a shower would rejuvenate you, but an agreement already slipped past your lips without thought.

Kento’s quick on his feet, muttering a “jump,” so he can wrap your legs around his waist. Your hands clasped behind his neck, head laying on the crook of his neck while your fingers played with his hair.

Your house is relatively new, yet he’s already familiar with the layout. The walk to your bedroom came naturally, and so did the locking of your room door. Kento gently sits you down on the edge of the bed, placing his hands on your shoulders to lightly massage them. Your head leans slightly to the side, a content sigh being your only vocal response.

“Can I take this off?” His hand lowers to the hem of your shirt, slipping his thumbs underneath.

You nod, raising your arms to allow smooth sailing. Once off, he navigates behind your back, undoing the hooks of your bra to remove it. Kento eyes your body, making a mental note of how your bare upper half looks. It’s been several months since you’ve last fucked, his memory got a bit hazy.

“Lay down, sweetheart.” He orders, removing his glasses from his face and placing them near your face-down phone on the bedside table.

You somewhat obeyed, leaning back but propping yourself up with your elbows. Your eyes tracked Kento’s movements, landing on his not-so-hidden bulge.

“Already?” You tease, surprised at how easily he gets excited with you.

He doesn’t bother responding, instead sliding the sleeves of his sweater above his elbow before he kneels down in front of your dangling legs. You keep your eyes on him, pressing your cheek against your shoulder. Kento’s hand parts your legs wide enough for him to shuffle in between. He works his hands around the waistband of your jeans, pulling them completely off along with your underwear.

A chill runs through your body. You’re completely bare while he’s fully clothed; not to mention, you’re already wet. You attempt to press your thighs together, but Kento’s body prevents it.

He lifts a finger to press it on your clit, dragging it down until he reaches your hole. Slowly, he pushes it in until it’s halfway covered. You clench around his finger, sighing at the loss when he pulls it away. Eyeing his finger, Kento watches it glisten under the light, bringing it into his mouth shamelessly.

“You’re dirty.” Your eyes widen.

“You’re sweet.” He hums, moving one hand to lift your thigh onto his shoulder while the other faces its palm upwards before entering two digits. He argues the repositioning allows him to finger-fuck you deeper.

His eyes attach to your core, watching his digits disappear and reappear coated in your slick each pump. You couldn’t resist grabbing his arm, nails digging into the skin to ground yourself. His free hand moves from your thigh to your clit, rubbing gentle circles and synchronizing both hands to how you like it.

“K-kento, ‘m close.”

You didn’t need to voice out anything, Kento knows your body like it’s his own. From the way your eyes screwed shut, mouth slightly opened, and hips twitching upwards tells him that you’re nearing an orgasm.

Your thighs squeeze against his body, nails digging into your own palm and Kento’s arm simultaneously as you whimper the closer your orgasm comes. It’s not long before it dominates, your juices coating Kento’s hand, damping the bed sheets. Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth, a desperate attempt to soften your moans. Kento kept thrusting his fingers in you slowly, urging you to ride out your orgasm but all it does is overstimulate.

“W-wait,” you say breathlessly, tapping on his bicep three times — the safe word (that’s not a word) you settled on.

Kento slides his fingers out, giving you some time to calm down from your high. He watches your chest rise and fall, guessing that you’re trying to stabilise your breathing — which you are. You’re also clenching around nothing in a rhythm similar to a pulse, already missing the feeling of his fingers filling you.

“Ready?” He softly asks, massaging your leg.

You hum in response, laying flat against the bed. The after effects of the high left you unable to keep yourself propped up on your elbows.

This time Kento places both your thighs on his shoulders, wrapping his arms around it and dragging you closer until you can feel his breath on your core.

A shaky breath leaves you, eyes closed and head turned to the side as you feel Kento’s tongue lick a long strip against your heat. Your hands wrinkle the bedsheet between your fingers when he latches onto your clit, sucking at the bundle of nerves like it’s his first meal within months.

Your hands find themselves on his head, fingers tangled in the strands of blond. Your back arches off the bed, a mewl of Kento’s name going into his hair and translating straight to this dick. This time he doesn’t allow you to move as you like, his arms tighten around your thigh, significantly stopping your squirming. Occasionally, his tongue slides into your hole to refresh the taste of you.

“Kento, Kento, Kento.” You chant his name, voice dripped in honey and bliss as you tug his hair, unsure if you’re trying to pull him away or push him closer.

Kento continues sucking on your clit, using his fingers to fuck you once more. The combination of him working on your clit like he’s making out with it and his fingers pumping in you, you couldn’t stabilise yourself. Your hips thrust pathetically into his mouth, chasing the euphoric feeling the faster your second orgasm builds up.

In seconds it washes over you, making your already sensitive body twitch violently. One hand moves to fist the sheet, then to grab Kento’s bicep, digging new crescents into his skin.

Your hand on his hair falls limp, eyes closed as you free your now bruised bottom lip from between your teeth. You try to catch your breath, ignoring your hair sticking to your forehead and the sides of your face due to sweat.

Kento removes your thighs from his shoulders, placing them down to grab the towel. With gentle swipes against your skin, he cleans your wetness from your thighs, the sweat from your face, then your slick from his own face. The sheets and clothes can be dealt with later. Once you’re cleaned up to his standard, he leans down to you, planting an arm at the side of your head.

“Should I run the bath,” he cuts himself off, caressing your cheek after he moves some of your hair behind your ear. “Or should we continue?”

“Huh?” His question falls deaf on your ears. You’re still recollecting yourself after two back-to-back orgasms.

Kento laughs, planting a kiss on your forehead, “Bath it is then.”

#. ae-generated: jujutsu kaisen #date ended with gojo who gets no play now im married to ex nanami #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento smut #jjk x fem!reader

1K notes · View notes

daechwitatamic · 4 months ago

Text

You Think You Might - Chapter 1 || csc

(banner by @itaeewon)

You Think You Might (masterpost) Seungcheol x fem!reader angst smut fluff fake dating!au, kind of sort of exes to lovers? Fake exes to lovers? I guess?

NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: Seungcheol agrees to be your fake boyfriend at your sister’s destination wedding, under the condition that it “stays there”. You didn’t expect it to hurt when he holds you to that promise.

WC: 54k total, this chapter 8.5k

Warnings: angst, reader working through some Stuff, language, drinking, Soonyoung is reader’s biological little brother, family drama, kissing, scoups and his ex are mutually toxic when together but neither is villainized, full warning list on the masterpost A/N: thank you to @sailorsoons and @eoieopda for beta-ing, and @kkaetnipjeon for naming almost every background character and teaching me about the Levels of Noona.

May

“Noona? Hello? Are you in there?”

It takes you a second to realize that your little brother Soonyoung is calling you, not snapping out of your reverie until he nudges your knee with his socked foot.

“Huh?” You focus back on the room around you - Soonyoung’s living room, cast in blues from the LEDs along the ceiling’s perimeter and the television, which is currently flashing brightly as his friends Seungcheol and Wonwoo work the controllers in their hands furiously over on the couch. “Sorry, what?”

Soonyoung gives you a little frown. “Chan asked if you want a beer.”

In the kitchen, Chan - Soonyoung’s roommate who is essentially a second little brother to you - waits for your answer, the refrigerator door held ajar.

“Oh. Sure,” you say belatedly. “Thanks.”

Soonyoung’s frown deepens. “You’re being weird today,” he accuses.

“Sorry,” you say immediately, taking a deep drink from the cold beer Chan placed into your hand on his way back to where he’d been sitting. Both Seungcheol and Wonwoo complain loudly - “Yah! Get out of the way!” - as he passes between them and the television screen.

Soonyoung watches your face carefully for a minute, and the scrutiny makes you itch.

“I’m fine,” you insist. “Stop looking at me like that.”

His eyes narrow knowingly. “Is this because of keun-noona?”

He’s got you. Your mind wanders back to the reason you’re so distracted tonight: a thick, silky-feeling, navy blue envelope with silver embossed lettering.

An invitation to your older sister Nayoung’s wedding.

You haven’t seen Nayoung in person in years, nor have the two of you held a conversation of any length since you were a child. A good deal older than you and Soonyoung, she’d moved out for college when you were nine and never looked back.

Part of you doesn’t blame her.

Part of you resents her for getting away before things got bad.

Most of you hates her for including you in the things she chose to leave behind.

You hadn’t opened the invitation, just left it on top of the pile of bills and advertisements, a problem for future you.

“Yes,” you admit. You’re aware of Soonyoung’s friends in the room, but Seungcheol and Wonwoo are deep in their video game and probably not listening.

Chan is, though.

“Are you talking about the fancy wedding?” he asks, perking up.

You roll your eyes. “You got your invite too?” you guess.

The question is for Soonyoung, but Chan answers instead; you’re used to this.

“Yes!” he whines. “I want to go! Did you know she’s paying for the whole family and their dates to stay at the resort? You only have to buy your plane tickets!”

And the dress, and the shoes, and the accessories, and the food, and the drinks, and…

You keep your mouth shut, keep your negativity to yourself. The deal is generous - you’re just salty. “I did know,” you admit. But not because you’d opened the invitation - because your mom had been bragging about it on the phone for weeks now, ever since Nayoung told her the plan.

On the coffee table, a rattling vibration startles everyone, and Seungcheol leans forward to pick up his phone. His expression darkens and he mutters, “Be back in a sec,” before disappearing through the sliding glass door onto Soonyoung and Chan’s tiny balcony, the door sliding closed behind him.

You all exchange looks - you’ve seen this routine for years. Jieun. His on-again-off-again ex, the gift that has kept on giving for years now. You’d all gone to university together, and this was nothing but par-for-the-course.

Chan clears his throat. “Noona, you’re not excited for it? The resort looks really nice.”

You drink more of your beer, suddenly very aware of everyone’s eyes on you. You’ve become the center of attention at guys’ night, and you don’t like it.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” you say quietly, lowering your gaze to the carpet beneath you.

Chan opens his mouth like he’s going to push the issue, but Soonyoung interrupts.

“Okay,” he says easily. “Hey, did anyone hear about the comet that’s coming?”

“Oh yeah,” Wonwoo says, snapping his fingers once as he leans forward to join the conversation, since he’d paused the game when Seungcheol stepped out. “I heard about it at work today. They said it’s a once-in-a-lifetime event.”

You send your brother a grateful smile, thankful that he changed the subject for you. Soonyoung is a good kid.

He’s only a year younger than you, but it’s always felt like more. He’s always been your baby brother, yours to protect from everything until he got big enough to fend for himself. Even though he’s taller than you, and weirdly muscular now, it’s hard not to see him as the little boy you’d drag under your bed with you when your parents’ fighting led to door-slamming and plate-breaking.

It was you dragging him away from the noise and the anger, always you - never Nayoung. You held this truth like a bitter little treasure in your greedy hands: you’re the sister who was there with him, you’re the sister who held his hand through it. Where was Nayoung during those fire-fed years? Long gone - off living her new life, away from it all. Away from you. Away from you both.

And now you’re supposed to fly across the fucking ocean to watch her - this sister you text happy birthday once a year to fill your annual communication quota - marry some guy you’ve never even met?

You only know the wedding is across the ocean because it’s all your mother has talked about for the last week: Nayoung’s destination wedding at the beach, and how generous it is of her and her rich fiancé to pay for her family’s stay at the resort, and how beautiful her gown is, and -

Your sullen tirade is interrupted when the sliding glass door opens again, and Seungcheol slinks through, taking his place on the couch and picking up his discarded controller like he’d never even left.

The guys just stare at him, waiting. It takes a minute for him to realize everyone is frozen around him.

“What?” he demands, though there’s not much bite to it. When everyone just stares back at him, he deflates with a sigh. “What?” he repeats, but it’s much more resigned this time.

“You heading out?” It’s Chan who asks this, and so delicately that you’re surprised. Chan isn’t usually the one who handles the delicate conversations. Then again, you’ve always thought Seungcheol had a particularly soft spot for his younger friend.

“In a little bit,” Seungcheol admits, and you can feel the tension in the room, thick and uncomfortable.

“We were talking about the comet,” you pipe up, hoping to diffuse it. “Did you hear about it?”

His eyes flash to you, grateful. Soonyoung had gotten the attention off you minutes ago - you might as well pay it forward.

“Yeah,” he says, as Wonwoo restarts the game they’d paused. “You think we’ll be able to see it from here?”

Soonyoung hums like he’s considering this. “I’m sure we can see it,” he finally says. “But I wouldn’t argue that the view would be better from the countryside.”

“We should rent a place,” you say, though you know it’s a fantasy that won’t come true - Soonyoung’s group of friends (yours, by proxy) have such different schedules and financial situations and travel preferences that they’d never once made any kind of friendcation work out. But it’s nice to imagine getting out of the city together to somewhere slower and quieter, laying out in the grass with the people you’re closest to and watching something that you don’t fully understand pass your little planet by.

“The good places probably booked up weeks ago,” Wonwoo says, not taking his eyes off the tv screen. “Everyone’s gonna have the same idea.”

“True,” you sigh. “Well… it was a fun thought.”

Seungcheol’s phone buzzes on the table again, and he visibly rolls his eyes, jaw tightening. This time he steps out into the hallway instead of the balcony. You can hear his voice, loud and angry, but you can’t make out exactly what’s being said. You don’t need to - this is old news. The only time things are actually calm for Seungcheol are the weeks or months where he and Jieun aren’t speaking. Once they’re speaking, whether they’re actually back together or just fighting again, it’s always like this.

“This is probably it for the night,” Wonwoo says, a little glumly, tilting his chin at the wall that Seungcheol’s phone call is hidden behind. He closes the game they’d been playing and starts looking around to gather his things. “Thanks for the beers.”

“Yeah,” Soonyoung says easily. He fist-bumps Wonwoo goodbye on his way out. As the door opens you can hear Seungcheol’s voice, loud again, and then it’s gone as the door clicks shut.

You and your brother and Chan look at each other in silence for a second. Then, Chan gives a little sigh and starts picking up discarded beer cans from the table, heading past you into the kitchen.

“Hyung, I’m going to use the shower, okay?” he asks, as he disappears into the kitchen.

“No problem,” Soonyoung says, and waits for Chan to disappear down the narrow hallway before turning back to you. “Did you open it? The invitation?”

“No,” you mutter. “I’m pretending that if I don’t open it, I don’t have to go.”

“You don’t have to go,” Soonyoung says easily, like this is actually true. For him, it could be true. He could get away with not attending. After all, he was only eight when Nayoung moved out; he has even less of a relationship with her than you do.

“I wish that were true,” you grouse. You flop backwards, resuming the position you’d abandoned earlier - starfished on his living-room floor, staring at the ceiling fan. “Mom would never forgive me if I didn’t go.”

Soonyoung watches you, a tiny frown on his face. “Will it really be that bad?” he asks, and you know that he wants to understand but genuinely doesn’t. “At the end of the day, it’s a free stay at a beach resort.”

“It’s different for me,” you explain, not for the first time. “You just get to show up and be the cute baby brother and drink and dance and relax and go home again!”

“And you have to build a village with your bare hands?” He raises an eyebrow.

You toss your empty beer can at his knee, but miss. It skids next to the couch and you both leave it there.

“There’s a lot more pressure on me,” you insist. “Mom doesn’t use you as her emotional crutch the way she does to me. With her and Dad both there… she’s gonna be on her worst behavior, and I’m going to be the one responsible for cleaning it up.”

Your brother grimaces. “I’ll try to help,” he offers. “I can try to keep Dad on the other side.”

You purse your lips to display your doubt that this will be enough - but it’s nice of him to try, so you don’t say anything contrary. Instead, you add, “Plus all the distant family - people ask you about college, and your dance crew, and what you want to do next. They ask me why I’m not married with two kids. Like something’s wrong with me.”

Soonyoung winces. He knows it’s true.

You heave a frustrated growl, getting yourself worked up as you imagine the days of family events leading up to the wedding. “When I show up dateless…” You trail off. You don’t even have a good description for how all the aunties and cousins will treat you. You wish you could just be invisible - there in spirit, but immune to the looks and backhanded compliments.

There’s also a sick, tiny part of you that wants to show up Nayoung - look, I turned out great. Look, it doesn’t matter that you left us, I have everything I want. Look, I did just fine without you, look how good I’m doing.

Soonyoung shrugs. “Bring a date, then. Bring Chan!” He snaps his fingers like he’s just solved every problem.

You give him a look. “That’s worse. Can he even drink legally?”

Chan’s voice, muffled, floats down the hallway, shouting something defensive.

“Okay, not Chan then.” Soonyoung is eternally unbothered. “But, seriously - bring someone! They’ll be a lot more chill if you’re there with a boyfriend.”

You hadn’t heard Soonyoung’s door open again, but suddenly Seungcheol is flopping back onto his spot on the couch, his expression dark. You feel yourself flush immediately, embarrassed that he may have heard any of this conversation, and you try to shoot Soonyoung a warning look to drop it.

Unfortunately, the damage is done.

“Boyfriend?” Seungcheol repeats, and you wish the floor would swallow you whole.

You cover your face with your hands as Soonyoung fills him in. “I’m trying to talk noona into taking a date to Nayoung’s wedding.”

Seungcheol looks at you with a small frown; you peek back at him between your fingers.

“You can’t go alone?” he asks. “It’s 2025. Strong, independent women and everything?”

You sigh, uncover your face, and sit back up. This conversation is clearly happening.

“My family are vultures,” you try to explain.

He raises an eyebrow at you, perplexed. From down the hall, something buzzes, loud and demanding. Next to you, Soonyoung pushes himself to standing.

“That’s the laundry,” he says apologetically. “You guys good for a few if I go -?”

“Of course,” you say easily. “Can’t let everything get all wrinkly.”

“You get it,” he says sagely, and vanishes down the hallway, past the kitchen. For a minute, there’s no noise in the apartment except the faint sounds of Chan singing in the shower.

Then, Seungcheol says, “So. Vultures?”

You flush again. “We don’t need to talk about it,” you say. “You’ve got your own shit going on. I can handle my problems.”

He shrugs. “I don’t mind. I’d rather hear about your problems than think about my own right now, actually.” He chuckles dryly at this.

You chew on your bottom lip for a second, unsure.

“What harm can it do?” he asks. “Worst case scenario, you’ll feel better for getting it off your chest. Best case scenario, maybe I’ll have some advice.”

You consider this. It’s vulnerable, letting him peek into your family dynamic, showcasing the parts that hurt you, pointing out the bruises.

“I don’t really know where to start,” you admit. “It’s… there’s some context.”

"So," he says, "start at the beginning."

You take a deep breath. And then you do as he says.

You tell him how Nayoung left when you were nine and Soonyoung eight. How, after, she'd become a once-a-year figure in your life, as elusive as Santa Claus. You tell him about your parents' ugly divorce when you were eleven, the years of broken porcelain and promises that preceded it.

You tell him the truth: that your extended family blames your mother for the split, and (whether it’s true or not) they see your singlehood as evidence that you're just as fundamentally fucked up as she is.

Your voice chokes a little when you say it, and you realize this is something you’ve never articulated to someone else before. But you’re alone in Soonyoung’s familiar living room, and Seungcheol’s gaze on you is serious and careful. It just feels… okay to let this thought out.

"Soonyoung said that if I could get someone to agree to..." You struggle with what word you want. "…to pretend with me, he'd help uphold the lie. Just to, like, make this slightly less shitty for me."

Seungcheol doesn't speak for so long that you get self-conscious. You worry at your bottom lip with your teeth and then murmur, “Sorry. Was that… too much?”

He shakes his head. "I'm just thinking," he explains. Then, he taps his fingertips on his unlit phone screen. “Want me to do it?”

You almost choke on your own spit. “You to - what? To be my pretend boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” he says, lips downturned as he seems to turn this possibility over in his mind. “I mean, you can say no. I’m not trying to be presumptuous. I’m just saying… if you need a friend to help you out, I could.”

You let out a disbelieving little laugh. “Why would you do that? Why - for me?”

His eyes find his phone, as if this is an answer. And, in a way, it is. Jieun. What would this be, for him? Just an escape, a distraction? A way to make her jealous? All of the above?

“We’re friends,” he says, even though before tonight you’re not sure you would have called him your friend - you would have called him Soonyoung’s friend. “You need someone to help you. I think I could handle it.”

You lapse into silence, looking at each other, both thinking.

“I don’t know, Seungcheol,” you say finally. “I really appreciate the offer, but it feels like a big ask. We’d have to like… really fake it. Like, pull out all the stops, not make it weird when we have to act all in love or whatever. I’m not sure I feel comfortable asking that of you.”

He’s looking at you, but the corner of his mouth ticks up, like he’s amused.

"If you think about it,” he says, “It’s actually a pretty good deal. All I have to do is pretend we're in a relationship and pay for my airfare?"

"You probably need a tux," you add quietly.

Seungcheol taps on his mouth as he thinks. “Honestly,” he says slowly, “the idea of four days at a beach resort is really appealing right now.”

“I feel like there’s a but coming.”

Seungcheol smiles, something sheepish about it, like he didn’t mean to let it slip, his dimples peeking at you as he glances sideways as he appears to cross a street.

“But," he says playfully, “I mean, I’m assuming you want to be convincing… I’m figuring it’ll be more than sitting next to you and holding hands sometimes. Right?”

“Yeah,” you admit, thinking about this. “We’d probably have to… kiss and stuff.” You feel like your face is on fire. You clear your throat and then add, “Is that going to make things weird with us? Or with you and Soonyoung? I don’t want to…” Mess everything up.

“I’m not worried about that,” he admits. There’s something in his tone that you latch onto.

“What are you worried about?” you ask, eyes narrowed.

He nods, looking at his hands instead of at you for a minute. “When we come home, it’s back to normal, right?”

The question takes you aback. “I mean, yeah,” you say uneasily. “That’s the whole point. It’s pretend, just for a few days.”

“It’s just,” he huffs, pulling the black beanie off his head and ruffling his hair so that it falls to frame his face before pulling back on, “it’s important to me that we agree ahead of time - all that stuff stays there. It stays pretend.”

This makes you frown. “I think I’m offended,” you say seriously. “What, are you scared I’m going to fall in love with you, Seungcheol? Please. I’ve heard you fart, right here in my brother’s living room.”

He drops his phone and goes scrambling for it, and behind you Soonyoung re-enters the room with a basket full of laundry. He plops it down in front of the chair he’d been in earlier and starts folding. Out of habit, you reach over and grab a few items to help.

“If any of this is Chan’s,” you say seriously, “I don’t want to know.” Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as Seungcheol straightens back up, phone back in his hand, his face somehow both mortified and outraged.

You think about his offer. Could it work? Doesn’t this always, always go wrong? Doesn’t it always start with “don’t fall in love with me” and end with someone crying? Even if that didn’t happen - could you fake being lovey with Seungcheol?

Could you hold his hand, kiss him in front of your family, call him oppa and make googly eyes across a table? Could you ever go back to normal after that, or would you want to go up in embarrassed flames forever, every time you saw him again?

Probably. Right?

You regard him calmly with one eyebrow raised. “It stays there,” you tell him. “It’s only four days. We should be okay.”

Soonyoung looks back and forth between you, something knowing dawning on his face.

“Alright,” Seungcheol says finally. “I think I might be in. Text me the dates?”

“Sure,” you say, adrenaline starting to rush through you, along with relief. "And… thank you.”

Soonyoung’s head still looks like he’s watching ping-pong.

“If you wanna repay me,” Seungcheol says, a sneaky smile crossing his face, that dimple deepening, “you can cover half of my plane ticket.”

A laugh startles out of you. “Done,” you agree.

Soonyoung’s eyebrows fly up, and he’s able to suppress himself no more. “You’re doing it?” he asks, looking at you even though the question is worded for Seungcheol. “You’re going together?”

“I guess?” you say. “Maybe?”

“We can talk more about it,” Seungcheol says, but this is directed at you. He stands, sliding his phone into his back pocket and grabbing his keys from the coffee table. “I have to go, but… I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” you say. “Sure. Thanks.”

He gives you a quick smile, knocks Soonyoung’s shoulder in goodbye, and heads out.

In the silence he leaves - Chan’s done singing down in the bathroom, apparently - you let out all your breath and flop back onto the carpet. You can feel Soonyoung’s gaze on you, so you peek sideways at him.

“What?” you snap.

“What?” he asks innocently, shaking out a pair of slacks and folding them along the seams.

You shake your head. “I really don’t know about this.”

He scowls at you. “Don’t be like that. It would take some of the pressure from the aunties off, and you might actually - gasp - have fun some of the time.”

You scowl back. “None of this is going to be fun.”

“Not with that attitude, it’s not,” he quips. Then, “I think Seungcheol-hyung could really help. And you know I won’t blow your cover.”

And do know that. He’s a good kid.

You leave the envelope unopened. Work gets busy; you lose yourself in your routine until your mother brings up Nayoung’s nuptials again, letting you know that she received her invitation and inquiring if you received yours.

You don’t tell her that it’s sat unopened on your kitchen table for over a week.

June

You text Seungcheol with some regularity for a few weeks. You send him screenshots of plane times and ticket prices, he sends you tux options, you send the resort’s website, he sends memes. Then, as the actual logistics get settled and handled, it slowly drops off until you’re back to not texting at all.

When you can delay it no longer, you fill out your RSVP card and send it back to your sister, indicating that you and your plus-one will both attend. You should have expected her to rat you out, but you’re somehow caught by surprise when your mother calls five days later and demands, “So who exactly is this date you’re bringing to Nayoung’s wedding?”

Panic floods you. “What do you mean?” you ask, mostly to buy time. You take a big breath, will your heart to quit pounding, and try to think clearly. The best way through this is to stay calm and immoveable.

“You sent in your RSVP card indicating you are bringing someone named Choi Seungcheol?” your mother asks, her syllables clipped and irritated. She’s mad, you’re sure, that she doesn’t know who this is.

You’re about to make her more mad.

“Yeah?” you say, trying to keep your tone light, as if you’re confirming something obvious. “What’s the question?”

Your mother lets out an aggravated huff of breath. It crackles through the phone, makes you wince. “Well, who is he?”

You let a silence fall between you - as if you’re confused by the question. “Mom,” you say finally, acting like you’ve never acted before, your tone just bordering on confused, “that’s my boyfriend.”

Now the silence on the line isn’t forced. It lasts for so long that you eek out a timid, “Mom?”

“Your boyfriend,” she repeats, flatly.

“I thought you knew,” you say, trying to sound unbothered.

There’s another long silence, one that you don’t like at all.

“Sweetheart,” she says finally, and you almost shiver from how threatening the endearment is. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” you retort hotly, and the feeling of indignation is so strong in you that it’s easy to forget that… yes, you are.

You can hear her roll her eyes.

“You’ve never mentioned a boyfriend,” she says flatly now, and you hear it for the accusation it is.

“You didn’t ask,” you point out.

Another silence. You wait this one out. When she speaks again, voice still cold, she says, “Well. I look forward to meeting this young man.”

“We’re looking forward to it, too,” you say, and then silently congratulate yourself for the automatic we, something that you’d probably do with a serious boyfriend.

She doesn’t talk to you for the next six days, but you take what you can get.

Then, about a week and a half before the trip, Soonyoung texts you.

Brother of mine: so how did you and hyung start “dating” Brother of mine: whats the story

You stare at your phone blankly, part of you wondering how you hadn’t realized you’d need to get your story straight, and the other part wondering how your dumb little brother did.

You: it has been brought to my attention that we might be asked questions about… “us” Seungcheol: 🤔 You: idk things like how we “got together”, how long we’ve been together, that kind of shit Seungcheol: youve been secretly in love with me since freshman year of college, obviously You: sure sure but when YOU realized you were secretly in love with ME how did you make your move? You: weren’t you worried that my brother would kick your ass? Seungcheol: TELL ME THAT’S A JOKE

You catch yourself laughing out loud. Then you send, “so how long have we been together? six months? a yr?”

Seungcheol: let’s say it’ll be ten months soon? feel like thats less suspicious You: you gonna propose soon? Seungcheol: ok calm down

You laugh again, then flush with embarrassment as if anyone were there to catch you.

You: we saw each other around soonyoung’s place a lot until you finally asked me out? Seungcheol: why do i have to do it You: my family knows i’m a chicken lmao

You nail down the details of your first “date” (an outdoor concert and then a walk along the river, complete with food from the streetcarts), as well as a few other key details.

Seungcheol: your mom won’t think it’s weird that she didn’t know you were dating someone? You: seungcheol… are you admitting that you’re a mama’s boy?? Seungcheol: i told my mom about you after the first date 🥲 You: she asked me about it when I sent in our rsvp card, actually. I told her you’re my boyfriend but she didn’t ask any follow-ups. You: honestly i dont think she fully believes me but… we can handle it Seungcheol: lay it on extra thick around your mom, got it Seungcheol: my mom LOVES you, by the way

You catch yourself snickering again and try to school your face back into neutrality, scolding yourself silently. You never knew that talking with Seungcheol could be this easy - you seem to be much on the same wavelength. It’s pleasant, and kind of interesting.

You: if we get asked anything that we didn’t cover, just let me answer Seungcheol: what if i’m alone You: oh that’s easy You: never leave my side :)

July

“Fancy meeting you here.”

You turn in your seat at the airport bar just in time to see Seungcheol drop into the empty spot next to you, dropping a black backpack into the small space between your seat and his.

You can’t help but smile at his teasing. “Flying makes me nervous,” you admit. “And before you start to tell me that flying is safer than driving or whatever, I’m not scared of the plane crashing. It’s just all the people. I hate crowds.”

He squints at you a little, reaching up to push his hood back an inch on his head. “I’m starting to think I’m just here to be your people buffer.”

You squint back, mocking. “I thought I made that very clear. Certain people specifically.”

You keep up this pretend face-off until the bartender comes over, and Seungcheol orders a beer.

“You’re also here so I’m not drinking alone,” you say, smiling. “How was the traffic?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “There was an accident or something… we were just sitting there. My Uber driver literally jumped a curb to get us around it.”

“Jeez. I’m glad you made it.”

“I take my people buffer duties very seriously.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. You sip at your drink, looking at him out of the corner of your eyes. He looks good today, as usual, and you wonder how awkward it will be when you have to start the fake shit.

When your boarding time rolls around, you amble together towards the gate, patting your pockets and checking for phones and airpods and wallets.

“Got everything?” you ask, as you join the back of the line of your boarding group.

He nods, popping in one of his earbuds, fixing his hoodie absently. Then, he reaches the other bud towards you, an offering.

Giving him a tiny smile, you reach out and take it.

You’re about halfway down the plane when you find your row. You glance at the boarding pass on your phone and realize you’re the aisle seat. You glance behind you, where Seungcheol is keeping a polite distance, his eyes scanning the row numbers.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, coming a little closer, “do you mind if we switch? I like to be on the aisle - the inside feels too cramped.”

You slip into the row and take the window seat as requested, fighting a little smile as you slip your bag under the seat in front of you.

“What?” he asks as he slides in next to you, clocking your little smile.

“Nothing,” you say. But you’d been about to ask him if you could have the window. He’d beaten you to it.

When the plane takes off, your stomach swooping as the earth detaches beneath you, you lean back against your seat and close your eyes happily. Bass-heavy music thumps in your left ear, and you glance over at Seungcheol, grateful for all of it - his companionship, his music, his presence.

“Hey,” you say.

He glances over, one eyebrow quirked.

“What’s your favorite color?” you ask.

Seungcheol laughs quietly, aware of the people around him. “You think someone will ask you that?”

“Probably not,” you admit. “But I realized I don’t know.”

He indulges you for a little, trading little details - dark blue. jajangmyeon. winter. gaming. seventeen, but I tell people fifteen. - until you lapse back into silence. You look out the window for a while, fingers tapping on the tops of your legs to the music playing in one ear, watching the light at the end of the plane’s wing flash on and off in a steady rhythm.

You don’t notice when Seungcheol falls asleep, but when you glance at him after a while he is - eyes closed, mouth open just slightly. You smile - it’s kind of cute - and when the snack cart rolls by you ask for a second packet of pretzels in case he wants them when he wakes up. You’re surprised into stillness when he shifts in his sleep, his shoulder coming to lean heavily on yours, but you don’t move away. You just flick a finger up the lone earbud he’d given you, turning the music up one notch, and close your eyes, still smiling faintly.

—

Seungcheol’s sleepy blinks when the plane touches down - jostling you both so hard that you grab his arm for a second before letting go just as fast - make something flutter below your diaphragm. You staunchly ignore it, instead offering him back the earbud he lent you so he can slide it into the case with his own.

It takes a long time to actually deboard the plane, and you both walk in silence through the airport, following the baggage claims signs. He’s quiet because he’s still waking up, you think. You’re quiet because you’re one step closer to seeing your family, and your heart is starting to thump in advance.

You two exist quietly through the whole process - waiting for the bags to come out on the carousel, waiting for a driver to pick up your ride, the twenty-minute drive to the resort during which you can’t see anything outside the car’s windows due to how dark it is outside.

You text Soonyoung that you’re pulling in as your driver pauses at the resort’s security booth, giving the name of Nayoung’s fiancé. The gate lifts and the car glides in, coming to a stop at the front door.

“Room’s under your name?” Seungcheol asks quietly, as you thank your driver and head through the resort’s main entrance.

“Mhm,” you say, glancing at your phone to see if your brother has answered. He hasn’t.

You go to the front desk, where you’re greeted brightly. You give your name, and then your credit card for incidentals. Once the front desk worker has talked you through everything you need to know - breakfast hours and location, how to connect to the wifi, etc. - you lead Seungcheol to the elevator bay. You don’t realize you’re showing your nerves, but he must catch the way you exhale slowly to expel your anxiety, because he bumps you with his elbow.

“You good?” he asks.

You smile sheepishly, embarrassed at being called out. “Nervous, I guess. It’s starting. We’re here. It’s too late to say just kidding - we have to go through with this.”

The light comes on above Elevator 4 and you shift closer to the metal doors. The elevator slides open and you both wheel your bags inside. Once the doors are closed, Seungcheol meets your eyes in the mirrored wall.

“What are you most nervous about?” he asks, something almost gentle in the question.

Getting caught in the lie, you think immediately. Getting called out on it. My family seeing right through the bullshit because they know I can’t be someone’s partner, not the way we’re pretending.

You simplify. “Getting caught,” you admit.

He nods, like this is very fair. Maybe it is. “We won’t get caught,” he says.

He sounds sure, but you know he can’t promise that. “You don’t know my family,” you say reproachfully.

“We’ve got this,” he promises. Then, inexplicably, he reaches for your hand and gives it a squeeze. “I am fully planning to wife you up someday, and not a soul here will doubt it.”

The shock of this makes you laugh, and that’s all it takes for the anxiety to release its death grip on you, to simmer down into something more ignorable. You shoot him a grateful look. “Are you prepared to talk me down for three more days?”

“Two and a half, I think,” he teases, as he releases your hand. “You’ll be okay once we head to the airport on Sunday.”

“That’s true,” you agree. “I might actually be fun by then.”

“You’ll be fun before that,” he says, giving you a small, sideways smile. The elevator dings, the doors slide open, and the moment dissipates. You take a breath and grab your bag, heading into the brightly lit hall.

Inside, the room is great, with a bathroom bigger than you have at home and an oceanview balcony. The only setback is the bed - one solitary King-size - but you’d both known this ahead of time and had talked it out, agreeing on making a Blanket Wall in the middle and being grown-up about it.

You unpack a little bit - plugging in your tablet, tossing your toiletries bag onto the bathroom counter, and then wander to the sliding-glass door that leads to the balcony. You crack it open and slip through, greeted by the sound of crashing waves.

You feel instantly more at peace. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you check it to see that Soonyoung and his date (whom you realize you know nothing about) are at one of the resort bars on the main level. You text him that you might join, and go back to breathing in the salty sea air, feeling calmer than you have in the last six hours.

“Hey,” Seungcheol says, and you realize he’s hanging halfway through the doorway, holding onto the doorframe for balance. “Neither of us had dinner. Should we try to find food?”

Your stomach growls on cue.

“Soonyoung is down at one of the bars,” you say. “Want to see if their kitchen is still open?”

You change shirts in the bathroom just to get the airplane smell off, and then the two of you wander back to the elevators, following signs that lead to the bar.

This particular bar has some indoor seating but seems to open out onto the resort’s private beach. You spy Soonyoung perched on the outside half, a drink with a pineapple slice and a little blue umbrella in his hand. Then you spy who’s next to him and you stop short.

“You brought Chan?” you yell.

Beside you, Seungcheol is giggling wildly. “Bro, I thought you two were joking!”

Soonyoung is laughing so hard that he’s snorting as you approach. The two of them, idiot roommates, are practically laying across each other they’re laughing so hard. You wonder how many pineapple-garnished drinks they’ve each had already.

“What else was I gonna do, bring a Tinder date?” he asks, still chortling.

You and Seungcheol settle in next to them, the guys immediately launching into a conversation that doesn’t necessarily interest you, and you scan the food menu instead.

You feel much better after you eat, perking up considerably. Soonyoung talks you into one of the umbrella drinks (it’s fucking delicious), and Chan orders a round of shots for the four of you (“only one, I have to function tomorrow,” you insist). By the time you order one final cocktail, you’re feeling fully unfurled in a good way - nice and loose, relaxed and almost happy.

It lasts until you hear a vaguely familiar voice call your name, and then your brother’s. You all swivel to see your cousin Mijin heading towards you, her husband - whose name you don’t remember- in tow behind her.

“Fuck,” you whisper. Then you point a sharp finger at Dumb and Dumber and hiss, “Don’t fuck this up. Remember - Seungcheol and I have been dating for almost a year. Let us answer any questions she asks about it.”

Chan and Soonyoung both stare at you, wide-eyed and glassy, which doesn’t instill much confidence in you. But Seungcheol scoots his chair closer to yours, snakes an arm around your waist and tugs you minutely closer to his body, and says assuredly, “We’ve got it under control.”

Mijin greets you with open arms, a big smile, and shriek that you aren’t sure you deserve - you’ve never been close - but you swivel in your seat to return the hug, feeling Seungcheol’s arm retract from around you in the mess of limbs.

“You remember Jiseong?” she asks, as she backs up from the hug, nodding her head behind her. You reach forward to shake her husband’s hand.

“A little bit,” you say, as she moves on to hug Soonyoung, cooing over how he’s grown since she saw him last. “When did you get in?”

“We landed this morning,” she tells you, coming to take empty seats on Chan’s other side. “How about you?”

“We just got here a few hours ago,” you say, and then realize you haven’t introduced anyone. “Oh, this is our cousin Mijin and her husband Jiseong. This is my boyfriend, Seungcheol, and that’s Soonyoung’s best friend Chan - all four of us are friends from college.”

Mijin’s smile doesn’t shift but her eyes sharpen. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” she says, voice light. “Have you been gatekeeping him from your socials?”

You shrug and let yourself laugh. “Kind of,” you say, like you’re admitting something. “You know how nosy the family is.” You let yourself smile sideways at Seungcheol, who winks at you, smirking. “I kind of like keeping him to myself.”

She looks between you, that smile plastered in place. Seungcheol casually sips at his drink and reaches an arm around your shoulders, unbothered. Or, pretending to be.

“Well,” she says finally, her voice bright. “So happy for you! Soonyoung-ah, how’s your dance team doing?”

With the heat off of you for a minute, you sip on your drink and sneak a glance sideways at Seungcheol. His body language is relaxed - he’s settled back in his chair, that one arm still draped around you, and he watches the conversation with friendly interest. When he catches you watching him, his mouth quirks and he bumps your knee with his.

We’re fine, he seems to say. Or, maybe, lighten up and have some fun.

“So, not to be nosy,” Mijin says, turning her attention back to you, and beside her Chan visibly grimaces, “but what’s the story with you two? Have you been together long?”

“Just shy of a year,” Seungcheol says, before you can answer. “Big anniversary coming up. How about you - how long have you been married?”

The tactic works - Mijin sends her husband a sickly sweet smile over her shoulder and launches into their own history. Hidden behind the bar, you reach over to Seungcheol’s knee and give it a grateful squeeze. He doesn’t acknowledge this, but one of his dimples pops.

When Mijin’s drink becomes only clinking ice cubes, she turns to look at her husband. “Ready to head in?” she asks, and he nods amiably. They rise, telling your group goodbye and heading up the lit path back towards the rooms.

You wait until they’re out of sight and then mutter, “One down, six hundred to go.”

“I think that went fine,” Soonyoung says.

“I feel like I’m waiting for someone to straight up tell me sounds fake, but okay,” you admit.

Soonyoung snickers. “Only Mom would just say it like that.”

“And she might,” you point out darkly.

“I honestly don’t think anyone is looking that closely,” Seungcheol tells you seriously. “Your family isn’t examining us for cracks, you know?”

“I assure you, my mother will be,” you grumble, and Soonyoung nods, lips twisted. He knows.

You all nurse your drinks in silence for a little, and not much later Soonyoung and Chan rise from their seats, claiming they saw the sign for an arcade room inside.

Left alone, you and Seungcheol take in the newfound quiet. The ocean breeze carries the smell of salt past you, and Seungcheol sighs happily. “It’s so nice out,” he remarks, his eyes on the beach beyond the bar. “Do you want to walk a little before we head up?”

“That sounds really good, actually,” you admit.

You carry your shoes, reveling in the soft, silky sand running over and under your feet as you walk. Seungcheol stays close, his hands shoved in his pockets.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” he asks.

You shrug. “We’re supposed to have breakfast with Mom tomorrow - you and me and Soonyoung. And Chan, apparently. But you don’t have to go if you’re uncomfortable, I can say you don’t feel great after the flight and you wanted to sleep -”

“What’s the point of me being here if I don’t go to the things with you?” Seungcheol argues lightly.

“Yeah. I guess that’s true,” you say quietly, turning your head to watch the stars flicker above the ocean. You can hear the faint thumping of club music - there must be a place for dancing somewhere on the sprawling resort property.

“Brunch will be harder than tonight,” you tell him, a warning. “My mom will be trying to poke holes in the story - she’s already accused me of fabrication.”

“Fabrication,” Seungcheol echoes, his voice wavering with a laugh.

“What?” you ask defensively, but you’re smiling too.

“Just say lying,” he says, smiling over at you. “This is a conversation, not an entrance exam.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Leave me alone,” you complain.

“Mmm,” he says, mock-thoughtfully, “I’m pretty sure that’s the direct opposite of my directions this weekend. So what’s the game plan for her? What’s our strategy?”

You laugh a little. “You have such a gamer brain,” you observe.

“It’s going to work in your favor,” he promises.

“Just be ready for a barrage of questions,” you tell him. “Try not to get defensive. Try not to let me get defensive.”

He nods, then asks, “How much of a show are we putting on?”

When you look at him blankly, he clarifies, “Do you want me to, like… walk you into the dining room holding hands? I guess like - how much of a show do you want? What are the boundaries? If I’m acting like your boyfriend, I guess I need to know what you’re okay with. Like… should we kiss goodbye and stuff?”

You stop walking. He gets two more steps and realizes you’re not next to him and he stops too. It’s very dark on the beach, but you swear you see a bit of a blush on his face.

“Can I just say,” you say slowly, “bless you for even asking me first? You’re a good kid.”

“I’m older than you.”

“By four months.”

“Still older.”

You smile at him, enjoying this little game. You laugh when he pretends to scowl at you, and then you get serious, thinking about his question. “I guess we probably should. If you’re okay with that.”

He holds your gaze and nods seriously. “Okay,” he says, and then neither of you say anything else.

“Should we… kiss now?” you ask, heart suddenly thumping against your ribs.

His held tilts. “No one here to trick,” he points out. But it’s not no.

“Yeah, that’s my point,” you explain, hearing how breathless you sound and hating it. “Maybe our first kiss shouldn’t be… in front of an audience? So if it’s weird, we can deal with it now?”

He licks his lips. You don’t think he realizes he does it. “I think…” he says slowly, “I love the way your brain works.”

“Don’t flatter me,” you manage to breathe, before his hands are cupping your jaw, his mouth meeting yours firmly, not shy or hesitant in the slightest.

It’s good - nothing weird about it. He tastes like the shot you’d all had back at the bar, and his hands feel amazing - strong - as one cups the back of your neck and the other slides to the dip of your waist. You fall into it, barely holding back a noise as his tongue sweeps across your lips, seeking entrance.

You clutch at his biceps as you open for him, knees going weak when your tongue meets his. His mouth is firm against yours, moving in ways that make you want to gasp for breath, your skin tingling when he leaves your lips and trails his teeth and tongue along your jawline.

When he pulls away, breathing a little heavily, he murmurs, “There. Won’t be weird next time.”

You breathe out a quiet laugh. “No,” you agree. “It certainly won’t.” You realize you’re still clutching his arms and you relax your fingers, stepping back.

The sea breeze suddenly feels a whole lot colder, a foot away from his tall form, and you shiver.

“We should go back,” he says, and it warms your cheeks to hear that he’s a bit hoarse.

“Sure,” you say. “Big day tomorrow.”

And even though there’s no one here to fool, he leads you by the hand back towards the hotel’s glittering lights, your fingers intertwined with his. You hold tight until you’re in the elevator - just in case you run into anyone from your family again.

No other reason.

—

Back in your room, you stand near the foot of the bed, trying to decide what you need to do.

“I think I’ll take a quick shower,” you think out loud. “I smell like airport.”

“You smell fine.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll go after you,” Seungcheol says easily, and flops on one side of the bed, his phone in hand. “Don’t use all the hot water.”

“Maybe I will, just because you said that,” you tease.

Is this flirting? Part of you wonders. And if it is, is that wise? Will it help your mindset, help with the bit? Or will it complicate things down the line?

And if it is flirting, why? Did a single kiss get beneath your skin so quickly? Or is this just normal for you and Seungcheol, the natural rhythm of what friendship with him would look like? You’d never spent time alone together - he had always been Soonyoung’s friend, just your acquaintance.

You tap the shower knob bit by bit until it’s almost too hot to bear, the questions burning off your skin and slipping through the drain.

When you emerge, in pajama bottoms and a hoodie, Seungcheol is in the same position, except with a little grey toiletry case next to him.

“Your turn,” you tell him, and he glances at you gratefully as he rises and heads into the bathroom. When you hear the shower turn on, you turn off all the main lights in the room and close the curtains over the balcony door, sliding into your side of the bed. It feels like heaven to stretch out and lay down, and you very nearly doze off, startled awake when Seungcheol turns off the bathroom light and re-enters the main room.

“Sorry, were you sleeping?” he asks quietly.

“Not entirely,” you say, and then notice that he’s hovering awkwardly near the bed. You guess at the reason for his hesitation. “Time to make the Blanket Wall?”

He laughs a little, like he’s embarrassed to be caught. “Yeah. What do you want to use, the sheet?”

Once you have it all figured out and situated, Seungcheol climbs into his side.

“You can do whatever,” you tell him. “Like, if you wanna watch tv or be on your phone, it won’t bother me. Don’t feel like you have to be quiet for me, okay?”

“I’ll probably be on my phone for a while,” he admits. “But I’ll use my airpods.”

“No problem,” you say, reaching to turn out your little light, leaving the room cast in blues from his phone screen. “Sleep well.”

“Sleep well,” he returns quietly.

You lay there for a while, settling in, adjusting to having a person near you in bed. You’re facing away from him, and you feel hyper-aware of his presence behind you, just inches away, separated only by a sheet rolled up like a taquito. Eventually his movements, every tiny shift or heavy breath, stop alarming you, and you feel yourself starting to drift off. He smells good, some defunct, mostly-asleep part of your brain observes. Then you’re pulled under, the thought barely registering at all.

Next ->

thank you for reading!!!

631 notes · View notes