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alwaysyeppi · 29 days ago

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SEVEN SUMMERS AFTER

"i wasn't chasing the feeling anymore—i was living it."

𖦹 pairing: childhoodfriend!sungho × glowedup!reader 𖦹 genre: non-idol au, university au, reunion au, summer nostalgia, slow burn, fluff, angst, smut (mdni)𖦹 word count: ~4k words (one-shot) 𖦹 featuring: jaehyun, taesan, jiyu 𖦹 warnings: explicit smut, unprotected sex, emotional confrontation, mature themes, first-time intimacy 𖦹 a/n: heavily inspired by the summer i turned pretty! i watched the show recently and thought there were similarities between conrad and sungho. i wanted to make my version, but with a better version of conrad... 𖦹 lowercase intended

synopsis: seven summers ago, you left the sea breeze, childhood memories, and sungho—your best friend—without a real goodbye. now you’re back, grown and changed, only to find the past waiting at the shoreline. what begins as a quiet reunion stirs everything you tried to leave behind: the what-ifs, the unspoken words, and a love that never really faded. between shared memories and stolen glances, you both realize some summers never truly end.

—

“park sungho!” i called out, breathless but grinning as i stumbled behind him, the soles of my sandals slapping wildly against the boardwalk.

the boy in question didn’t stop running, but he did glance back with a smirk — hair ruffled by the sea wind, glasses crooked from how fast he’d taken off. even with them halfway down his nose, he looked like the lead in a summer drama.

“you're not even trying!” he called, laughter threading through every word.

“i am!” i shouted, already winded. i had the legs of a runway model and the stamina of a potted plant.

the others — jaehyun, taesan, and jiyu — had already shot past us, racing each other toward the surf like they were auditioning for a sports drink commercial. i trailed behind them like a tragic afterthought.

“hey, y/n!” sungho twisted mid-run, jogging backward now like this was light work. “how’s the tallest girl in town running the slowest?”

“how’s a boy with glasses so cocky?!” i shot back.

he only laughed — bright, full, unapologetic. that laugh that always made my stomach do weird things, even when i didn’t understand why.

sungho caught up with jaehyun at the water first. i finally arrived at least three minutes later, half-dead and dramatically panting.

i barely had time to breathe before jaehyun launched a splash of cold seawater right into my face.

“what the hell, mj?!” i shrieked, wiping salt from my eyes.

he grinned like the menace he was. sungho let out a full-body laugh, the kind that curled at the corners of his mouth before it broke free. then he joined the attack, flinging water like he was born in it.

jiyu screamed. taesan scoffed but didn’t move fast enough. the water war began.

in the middle of the chaos, i heard him.

“y/n! stay behind me!” sungho shouted over the waves, spinning to block an ambush splash from jaehyun with his own body.

he grabbed my wrist — warm, steady — and pulled me in behind him like it was instinct.

that moment — his back shielding me from water, the breeze curling through our hair, laughter ringing like music — stayed burned into my memory like a sunprint.

that was what summer felt like back then.

not a season.

a feeling. a place.

him.

until it wasn’t.

—

“y/n! how’s a tall girl running so slow?!”

he said it again, just like always.

but that time, it didn’t feel funny. it didn’t even feel like teasing. it felt like goodbye wearing an old joke’s clothes.

we ran toward the beach — again. but the air was different. like the sand knew. like the ocean was pulling us into one last memory before it let us go.

sungho turned around when i called him. he threw the race. he smiled like none of it mattered.

but it did.

it mattered so much, i thought my chest might split open from it.

that evening, while the others played volleyball and stuffed their faces with barbecue, i sat at the shoreline, twisting the hem of my shirt, rehearsing my lines.

i’m leaving.

the flight is tonight.

i won’t be back for a long time.

but i never got to say them.

because he found me first.

“y/n.”

his voice was soft. familiar. i turned, and there he was — hands in his pockets, the sea breeze tugging at his shirt, eyes red in that way that meant he’d been holding something in too long.

“i overheard our parents,” he said simply, sitting beside me.

just like that, every word i’d practiced disintegrated.

“you’re moving,” he continued. “australia, right? tonight?”

i nodded.

he didn’t cry.

but his voice cracked.

“i was gonna win that race, you know,” he said with a broken grin. “but then you said my name.”

“you’re such an idiot,” i whispered, an attempt to hide the tears welling up.

then he hugged me.

tighter than ever before. no pat on the back. no shy distance. just... all of him, around all of me. like he didn’t care how long we stayed like that.

like he needed to remember what i felt like.

his chin rested on my shoulder, and i felt it — the tiny breath, the slight tremble.

he didn’t cry.

but i think his heart did.

—

he didn’t come to the airport.

he didn’t have to.

that hug was goodbye.

and it was too much already.

i watched the shoreline disappear through the plane window and wondered if memories could make it through customs. if you could pack them in your shoes, in the corners of your suitcase, between a seashell necklace and a summer you never wanted to end.

australia wasn’t just far.

it was other.

the people moved fast. talked loud. laughed differently. i was too tall, too quiet, too foreign. i spent weeks feeling like a misplaced postcard.

but time has this way of remaking you.

the braces came off.

someone asked me to model for a local brand because they “needed a tall girl.”

that one shoot turned into another. then another.

i learned how to hold my posture. how to smile with my eyes when i wanted to cry. how to wear confidence like lipstick.

i learned how to shine for strangers.

but i never changed my number.

never blocked his account.

never stopped checking those tagged photos.

every summer, i’d scroll through the blur of my camera roll and wonder:

did he still remember?

did he ever look back?

did he miss me?

seven years blurred by. but the beach—that beach—never left me.

—

the night before my flight, my room was a tornado of memories. half-packed suitcases, campaign polaroids, old sketchbooks, childhood tokens. i found a seashell necklace. i couldn’t wear it. but i couldn’t leave it behind either.

then, a ping.

jiyu: can you believe it? we all got into the same uni. i’m starting to think our moms cast some kind of friendship spell.

a winking emoji.

i stared at it like a prophecy.

my fingers didn’t type a response.

they didn’t have to.

the plane ticket was printed.

the dorm assignment was emailed.

my heart was already halfway home.

i was going back.

to my friends.

to my memories.

to him.

—

“i’m nervous. why am i nervous? jiyu. seriously. feel this.” i grabbed her wrist and pressed it over my chest. “tell me i’m not dying.”

jiyu didn’t even blink. “if you die, can i have your shoes?”

i groaned and flopped dramatically in my seat, the citrus-scented air freshener swinging like it, too, was judging me.

“you’d think after seven years, i’d be cooler about this.”

“you? cool? since when?” jiyu said with a perfectly-timed side eye. “also, chill out or i’m swerving into that tree over there.”

“you’re too calm for this.”

“one of us has to be,” she smirked. “besides, i already talked to the boys. wanna see what sungho oppa said?”

she passed me her phone like it held state secrets.

sungho: i’ll try, but i can’t promise i’ll be there.

“ugh,” i rolled my eyes. “sorry, did architecture plates gain sentience and start biting people?”

“right?!” she screeched. “everyone else sent party emojis. this man sent a vague ‘maybe’ like we’re applying to his calendar.”

i scrolled up. jaehyun: five fire emojis. taesan: “if jaehyun gets dramatic again, i’m swimming home.”

classic.

but sungho’s message—it stung. even if it was casual. even if i’d changed.

“he’s still like that,” i murmured.

“like what?”

“like… soft. but confusing. the worst combination.”

“you mean your type.”

i didn’t argue.

“he’s gonna feel so stupid when he sees you now,” jiyu said, narrowing her eyes at me like i was a transformation montage.

“yeah, okay,” i rolled my eyes. “relax.”

“i’m serious,” she said, poking my arm. “braces off, glow up applied, height maintained—you’re the main event, y/n.”

when we reached the campus gate, it hit me all at once: the nerves, the memories, the weight of everything i didn’t say seven years ago.

our dorm was on the second floor. sunlit, cozy, and already half-unpacked thanks to jiyu’s early arrival. she’d claimed the bed near the window. of course.

we dumped our luggage and collapsed for a moment of fake peace.

then she sat up abruptly. “guess where the architecture building is.”

i didn’t answer. i knew.

she pointed dramatically toward the glass pane. “right across from here.”

still, i said nothing.

“you’re not even pretending to be cool.”

“i’m extremely cool,” i lied.

“you’re sweating through your hoodie.”

before i could defend myself, she gasped. “oh my god.”

“what?” i sat up straight.

“he’s down there. hair in the breeze like a sad ballad. i’m going downstairs.”

“jiyu, no—”

but she was already halfway to the door. i tripped over my own panic trying to follow her.

we rushed down the stairwell, my heart pounding faster with every step. i made it to the landing just in time to see her step outside.

“hey! sungho!”

my soul left my body.

i ducked behind the doorway, mortified.

“make him leave!” i whisper-yelled. “say it was a different sungho. lie. invent a twin!”

she turned toward him, made a weak shooing gesture. “oops. go away.”

he looked up, squinting, confused—and then smirked.

his gaze lifted to the entrance where i was barely peeking around the corner.

“i see you, y/n.”

my breath caught.

his voice still had that tone—low, warm, familiar—like velvet laced with amusement.

“come out.”

i did.

slowly.

his eyes scanned me, top to bottom, and something unreadable passed across his face. then—

a smile.

crooked. soft.

“look who made it back from the land down under,” he said.

“look who almost didn’t show up,” i replied.

he held up his hands in defense. “plates. i’m swamped.”

“tragic. is your professor gonna draw blood?”

he chuckled, then actually sighed through his smile. “you’re still the same.”

“i’ve changed a lot,” i said quietly.

“i can see that,” he replied, eyes lingering for a second longer than they should have.

the silence that followed felt charged. like the pause between a question and its answer.

then, gently, he reached out and ruffled my hair.

“good thing we’ve got a whole year to catch up.”

—

the beach smelled the same.

salt. sun. a little bit like vanilla from the melted sunscreen in our bags.

jiyu and i got there early, lugging chairs, snacks, and a bluetooth speaker that only worked when you smacked it. we laid out the old blanket with the faded sunflowers—our moms’ legacy.

but i wasn’t focused on the setup.

i was watching the road.

waiting.

hoping.

“what the hell!” jaehyun’s voice shattered the quiet as he barreled down the path, dragging a cooler behind him like a trophy.

“who’s this goddess?!” he yelled, arms outstretched. “y/n, you eat vitamins or vengeance?! you look criminally hot.”

“and you’re criminally loud,” taesan said from behind him, cringing.

i rolled my eyes. “hello to you, too, mj.”

jaehyun threw an arm over my shoulder like nothing had changed. “still the prettiest girl here.”

“and the most deaf,” jiyu muttered. “volume control, jaehyun.”

“y/n, i’m gonna say this once,” jaehyun whispered. “if he doesn’t show up tonight, i will punch him. and then i’ll cry about it in the group chat.”

i laughed. but my eyes were back on the road.

he wasn’t here.

until my phone lit up.

sungho: come out for a bit. i’m at the parking lot.

sungho: don’t tell the others yet.

“restroom,” i said to the others, already grabbing my phone and walking.

—

the sun was sinking low, bathing the parking lot in amber. only three cars sat under the slanted light. his was the one with the windows down, engine still humming like it knew i was coming.

he didn’t look up right away. just rested his cheek on his palm, elbow on the windowsill like he had time to wait forever.

“hi,” he said, smiling like it was the most natural thing in the world. “get in.”

i slid into the seat, closing the door with a soft click.

“you came,” i said.

“i did,” he replied.

i leaned back, stealing a glance at him. still that same maddening smirk.

“what?” i asked, half-laughing.

“nothing.” he shrugged, then reached over and gently pinched my cheek. “i missed you.”

i blinked.

he reached over again — so casually i didn’t flinch — and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

then, before i could say a word, he raised his phone.

click.

“did you just take a picture of me?”

“yup,” he said unapologetically, angling his phone again. click.

“sungho! stop!”

he dodged my hand like a child, shifting seats just to get another shot.

“delete it.”

“no. it’s for me.” he angled the phone away, grinning. “you always look different in candid light. realer. not the you in magazines. just... you.”

i stilled.

it was so simple. so sincere. and it made my chest twist in a way i wasn’t ready for.

he leaned back, folded one leg under the other, and gave me the kind of smile that made you forget what language was.

“you’re not gonna face me?”

i turned, just enough to meet his eyes.

his tone softened. “you’ve been quiet since i saw you. not like... funny quiet. more like ‘processing everything at once’ quiet.”

“i’m fine,” i lied.

he didn’t push. he just let it hang.

“remember that summer you scraped your leg and screamed like it was the end?”

“you’re never gonna drop that story, are you?”

“you called me first,” he said. “not your mom. not your dad. me. you always did.”

he looked at me again — longer, this time.

“even when you hated asking for help, you still trusted me first. i never forgot that.”

the air in the car turned too quiet.

“sungho.”

he tilted his head.

“sungho oppa,” i corrected, softer.

he smiled. “you stopped calling me that.”

“what are you doing?”

“hm?”

i hesitated. “you’re acting like... like you like me? and i—” i swallowed. “i can’t tell if it’s real. or if it’s just nostalgia playing tricks on both of us.”

he blinked.

then his smile faded.

“you think i’m playing?”

“i think you’re being... careless with the way you look at me. like you still know how i felt and you’re testing if i still feel that way.”

he didn’t flinch.

but the hurt in his eyes was clear. not loud. not dramatic. just... there.

“i’m not testing anything.” his voice was soft. “but i guess you’d rather believe that than admit what you already know.”

“and what’s that?”

he stared straight ahead now.

“that i’ve always cared about you in a way i couldn’t explain when we were younger. and now that i finally can, you're acting like i’m still the same boy who never said anything.”

silence. thick. awkward.

then—he opened the door and stepped out.

but he didn’t leave.

he just stood by the hood, his back to me, hands shoved in his pockets.

like he didn’t want to go.

but didn’t know if he was still welcome to stay.

—

i couldn’t sleep.

jiyu’s even breathing filled the room. the fan clicked every few seconds. the waves were louder than usual tonight — or maybe it was just my heart.

i stared at my phone for a long time before typing.

you: are you still up?

you: can we talk?

his response came quickly.

sungho: at the beach.

i slipped out into the night.

the beach was quiet. the tide low. a soft breeze skimmed across the sand like a secret.

he was standing by the water, barefoot, hands in his pockets, staring at the horizon like it owed him answers.

i stopped a few feet behind him.

“sungho.”

he didn’t turn.

but he spoke.

“i don’t like fighting with you.”

that almost broke me right there.

i stepped beside him.

“i’m sorry.”

still, he didn’t look at me.

so i kept going.

“i panicked. i didn’t know what to do with the way you’ve been acting. it felt like you knew you had the upper hand.”

he turned, slowly. “there is no upper hand. not with you.”

his voice cracked slightly. just enough.

i stared at him. at this boy — this man — who was always so calm, so composed.

“so why now? why flirt? why bring it all back?”

he took a breath.

then another.

“because i thought you might be strong enough now to handle it.”

i blinked.

“handle what?”

his eyes glistened.

“me. wanting you.”

silence.

“i didn’t tell you before because i knew you had to leave. you were young. you cried when your flip-flops broke.” a faint smile tugged at his lips.

“but you were also the first person i ever wanted to protect. even from myself.”

he stepped closer.

“i waited, y/n. i didn’t say it before because it didn’t feel right. and then when it finally could’ve been — when we grew up — you were already gone.”

i said nothing. my throat had closed around the words i wanted to say.

“and now you’re here. and i don’t know how to be casual with you. i don’t know how to go back to being a childhood friend when i never stopped seeing you as something more.”

tears pricked at my eyes.

“why didn’t you say anything?” i whispered.

his voice softened.

“because i didn’t want to say it too late. or too early. or too loud. or not loud enough. i just... i didn’t want to ruin you for me.”

i looked at him — really looked.

his face was the same and different. like mine. changed in quiet ways, but holding onto the same core.

“do it now,” i said. “say it now.”

his gaze flicked to my mouth, then back to my eyes.

and he did.

“i love you. i’ve always loved you. i just didn’t know how to say it then.”

i choked out a laugh, tears slipping.

and then he kissed me.

and the world quieted.

it was everything.

—

his lips didn’t rush.

they pressed against mine like they were meant to. like he wasn’t just kissing me — he was holding me in it.

we were standing under the moonlight, the ocean folding behind us, quiet and steady. i leaned into his chest, fingers curled into the soft cotton of his shirt. my pulse buzzed.

then he pulled back slightly, just to speak.

“let me know if we're going too fast.”

i nodded. my voice had disappeared somewhere between his breath and my skin.

his hand found mine. no hesitation. just warmth and quiet assurance.

he guided us down slowly onto the blanket — the same one from years ago, only now it felt like new ground. he sat first, then gently pulled me into his lap, arms wrapping around my waist, our foreheads brushing.

“i’ve wanted this,” i whispered, almost afraid to say it.

he looked up at me, so steady. “me too.”

i leaned in and kissed him again — and this time, i didn’t hold back.

i shifted to straddle him, our hips aligning, the heat between us sparking fast. his hands slipped beneath my shirt, his touch soft and open-palmed, warming every inch he touched.

when his fingers paused at the clasp of my bra, i met his eyes and gave a single nod.

he smiled.

not smug — tender.

his hands moved with care, unhooking the clasp, peeling my top up and over my head. the fabric joined the sand beside us, and i watched his eyes drag across my bare chest, like he couldn’t believe i was real.

like he refused to forget this view.

“you’re...” he started, but trailed off, breath hitching.

i blushed, arms instinctively moving to cover myself, but he stopped me — one hand gently guiding mine back down.

“don’t hide,” he said softly. “please don’t.”

and then he kissed me there — my collarbone, the center of my chest, one breast, then the other.

he didn’t rush.

his mouth was warm and slow, his tongue teasing as he sucked gently, his fingers caressing where his lips weren’t. he learned my reactions like they were sacred. what made me gasp. what made me writhe. what made my fingers clutch at his hair and beg for more.

when i arched into him, he moaned — like the sound was pulled straight from his chest.

i pulled him closer, whispering his name, and that seemed to unravel something in him. he shifted, laying me back on the blanket, the soft dip of sand beneath cushioning my body.

his lips traced a path down my stomach, each kiss lighting sparks under my skin.

and when he reached my shorts, he looked up at me one more time.

“yes,” i whispered.

he pulled them down slowly, sliding my underwear with them. my legs trembled beneath his touch — not from fear, but from how seen i felt.

he kissed the inside of my thigh first.

then again, closer.

and then his mouth was on me.

i gasped, hand flying to his hair, hips twitching at the sudden heat and pressure of his tongue. he worked me open like he wanted to, not just to make me feel good — but to know me this way, too.

every moan from me pulled a deeper one from him. he hummed into me. whispered my name against me. and when he slid two fingers inside and curled them just right — i broke apart.

“sungho—”

he didn’t stop until i was shaking, thighs clenching, eyes shut tight as pleasure rolled through me in waves.

only when i was breathless did he kiss his way back up to my mouth, tasting like salt and something sweeter.

i tugged at his shirt. he sat up and pulled it over his head in one easy motion.

and god —

i had seen him laugh a thousand times, but i had never seen him like this.

shirtless, chest flushed, eyes darker now. his body was lean and sculpted, not bulky — the kind of strength that looked lived-in. my fingers trailed over his chest, down his abs, and he shivered under my touch.

he looked at me like i was doing things to him i didn’t even know i was doing.

“can i... be with you?” he asked. not like he didn’t know i wanted it — but because he cared about the asking.

i nodded.

and it was everything.

he stood briefly, pushing his pants down, then came back down over me, aligning himself slowly, one hand cradling the back of my neck as he kissed me again — gentle, deep, certain.

the first stretch was tight. new. real.

he paused.

“you okay?”

“yes. don’t stop.”

and he didn’t.

he was moving inside me slow at first — deep, steady strokes that lit up every nerve.

his hands cradled my hips, keeping me close. his forehead pressed against mine, breath warm against my cheek.

we didn’t speak.

we didn’t need to.

but i could feel it — the way his body stuttered just slightly when i tightened around him. the way he swallowed back a moan every time i whimpered his name.

“you’re driving me insane,” he whispered, voice rough with restraint.

i cupped his cheek, guiding his lips back to mine.

“then lose your mind a little,” i breathed into him.

and he did.

he picked up the pace, his hips snapping harder, deeper. the change in rhythm made me gasp, my nails digging into his back. he groaned — low and desperate — like every thrust was pulling something deeper out of him.

my legs wrapped tighter around his waist.

“you feel...” he couldn’t even finish.

just a choked-off sound in his throat as he rocked into me.

every push hit deeper. every slide was wetter. my whole body was buzzing, legs trembling, breath catching with every roll of his hips.

“sungho...” i moaned. “i’m close.”

he nodded, kissing the corner of my mouth, down my neck, then back to my lips like he couldn’t bear to stop touching me.

“come with me,” he whispered, like a plea.

his hand slipped between us, fingers finding that spot that already throbbed from everything he’d done to me. he circled gently — once, twice — and that was all it took.

i broke.

my back arched off the blanket, a cry escaping me as i clenched around him, body pulsing, wave after wave crashing through me until i couldn’t breathe. my hands scrambled for something — his arms, his hair, the air.

“i got you,” he whispered, breathless.

then he followed.

with one last thrust, deep and hard, he groaned my name against my mouth — voice cracking open with it. his body trembled above me, hips twitching as he spilled into me, face buried in my neck.

he stayed there for a long second, breathing hard, sweat at the nape of his neck, heartbeat thudding against mine.

then he pulled back slightly, kissing my cheek, then my collarbone, then the space over my heart.

“still okay?” he asked softly.

i nodded, still dazed, still floating.

he smiled, brushing hair from my face. “you look wrecked.”

“you’re not exactly looking steady either,” i whispered.

we both laughed — breathless and warm and so, so full.

he kissed me one last time — not rushed, not hungry.

just whole.

then he laid down beside me, pulled me into his arms, and held me like i was the only thing that mattered.

because in that moment, i think i was.

—

a few days later, we found ourselves on the beach again — all five of us.

the sun was higher this time, but the breeze still carried the same salt, the same laugh-filled air. the blanket was the same, too — faded sunflowers, sand tangled in the fabric, just like always.

i sat curled up beside jiyu, watching jaehyun try to build a sand tower taller than taesan’s. it kept collapsing. he kept yelling.

“that was sabotage!”

“that was gravity, idiot,” taesan muttered, not even glancing up from his own tower.

“you two are literally children,” jiyu sighed, pulling her sunglasses down her nose just to give them her mom-glare.

and next to me — sitting so close our knees touched, our fingers linked over the sand — was sungho.

he looked over, smiling at the chaos, then leaned in and said, “this is weirdly romantic. in a fourth-grade field trip kind of way.”

i snorted. “better than when jaehyun used to throw seaweed in my hair.”

“i still can.” jaehyun threatened, grinning like a gremlin.

jiyu casually lifted a sandal. “try it and i’ll launch you into orbit.”

we all laughed. for a second, it really did feel like nothing had changed.

but i had.

and so had they.

so had he.

later, when the sun began to dip and we all lay scattered like driftwood, i turned toward the ocean. the waves rolled in quietly, the same way they had all those years ago.

“it feels different,” i whispered.

sungho glanced over. “yeah?”

“like it’s still the same beach, the same air, the same people. but we’re not the same kids anymore.”

he hummed. “no. we’re not.”

“do you miss it?”

he thought for a moment. “i think i did. for a long time. but now? now i think i like this version of us better.”

i looked down at our hands — how his thumb rubbed circles over my skin without thinking.

“we grew up.”

“and glowed up,” he added, helpfully.

i laughed. “yeah, speak for yourself.”

“i am.”

then he kissed the back of my hand. quick. simple. warm.

jiyu caught it and made the most dramatic gagging noise in history.

“no pda while i’m eating, i beg.”

taesan didn’t even look up. “have you forgotten you’ve been rooting for them?”

“let me have layers, taesan.”

jaehyun tossed his unfinished tower at her feet. “here, i’ll help you have layers—”

“finish that and you’ll find sand in your cereal.”

it was stupid. ridiculous. perfect.

later, we all stayed to watch the sunset — wrapped in blankets, passing around half-warm snacks, sharing stories we didn’t know we remembered until someone brought them up.

and somewhere between taesan roasting jiyu and jaehyun’s failed attempt at a group selfie, i realized:

i wasn’t just back.

i wasn’t lost anymore.

this was more than a return.

it was a start.

a start with sungho — the boy who turned into a man i could fall in love with again.

a start with the friends who saw all the awkward, uneven years and still stayed.

a start with me — the girl who once tripped over her own legs and now walked tall, unafraid.

seven summers had passed.

and this time...

i wasn’t chasing the feeling anymore.

i was living it.

"hey, sungho, race you to shore?"

—

written with love by @alwaysyeppi. please don’t repost or steal! ♡

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