andluv

[andluv]

LHS. ᝰ is writing — "it's completely normal to like your wife you know?"

vol 8. — after the distressing breakup of your five years long relationship you finally decided to settle down and marry the infamous disciplined family friend and the heir of Lee Corporation. What you did not expect was a shy tall guy who stammered three times while saying one sentence and looked at you with stars in his eyes.

𖧧 ָ࣪ 𖧵ֹֺֽ໋໋݊ arranged marriage, strangers to lovers, angst, fluff

note: don't let the synopsis fool you

ʚĭɞ if you liked this don't forget to check out my other works in library

Your friends expected it. Your parents braced for it. But when your long-term boyfriend of nearly five years packed his bags, left your shared apartment, and walked out of your life with nothing but a muttered apology and a shadow of regret in his voice, you didn’t shed a single tear.

Instead, you stood by the door, fingers curled around your sleeves, heart thudding like a dull drum inside your ribs as you watched him go. The soft click of the latch felt louder than thunder. And yet, the silence that followed was even louder.

That was the worst part.

Not the betrayal. Not the abandonment. Not even the mess of memories he left behind, the cracked photo frame he bought you in second year, the shared playlist you couldn’t bring yourself to delete, the faint scent of his cologne in your closet.

No. The worst part was how quiet you became afterward.

You, who once painted the world with laughter, you, who danced barefoot in the rain and burned cupcakes on purpose just to see how far disaster could stretch, you, who used to fill empty rooms with your presence before even speaking.

You disappeared slowly. Like fog rolling into the ocean.

It took months before you left your childhood room again. You’d returned home after graduation, saying it was temporary. That you needed to "rethink things.” Your parents didn’t push. Not when they saw the dark circles under your eyes or the way you flinched when the phone rang. You still hadn’t told them the full story. You couldn’t. How do you explain to your mother that the man you were ready to marry simply changed his mind? That he said you were “too much” one day and “not enough” the next?

That he left without a proper reason. Just a goodbye.

You had just curled up with a blanket and an old journal when your mother knocked on your door.

“Y/n-ah,” she called softly. “Come downstairs.”

You didn’t move. “Why?”

“There’s someone we want you to meet.”

You let out a quiet sigh. “Not today.”

“It’s important.”

You sat up slowly, fingers tracing the corner of your blanket. “Who is it?”

“Lee Heeseung.”

Your breath caught.

The name felt familiar in a distant, foggy kind of way, like a song you once heard in the background of someone else’s life.

Heeseung. The boy with perfect grades, perfect posture, perfect life. The son of your father’s business friend. You remembered vague stories about him growing up, the golden heir. Always abroad. Always busy.

Why would he be here now?

Before you could ask, your mother added, “Just for a few minutes.” And for some reason, you listened.

You expected a stiff man in a starched shirt, radiating cold ambition and forced smiles. What you didn’t expect was a man standing awkwardly in your living room, holding a mug of tea like it was a fragile artifact, and looking more nervous than you felt.

He turned when you walked in and paused. You saw the subtle shift in his breathing pattern.

His eyes met yours, and for a brief second, time bent around the space between you. You noticed the way his gaze softened, then darted away quickly, almost embarrassed. The tips of his ears flushed faintly pink.

You blinked. Interesting.

He bowed slightly. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said.

You gave a polite nod, sitting across from him. “You too.”

You didn’t speak much after that. Your parents carried the conversation, polite chatter about the market, mutual friends, old memories. Heeseung answered like a proper gentleman, straight laced and careful with his words. You watched him more than you listened. There was something oddly... stiff about him. Like he hadn’t been in a room with a stranger in years.

He caught you watching once and looked away quickly, clearing his throat leaving a warmth pooling in your stomach as you directed your eyes at your palms resting on your stomach.

They dropped the bomb after dinner. An Arranged marriage. With Lee Heeseung, the heir and future CEO of Lee Corporation.

“Just think about it,” your father had said, his tone soft, his eyes more so. There was hope in them, but it was cautious, almost tentative, like he wasn’t quite sure whether it deserved to be there. Next to him, your mother looked everywhere but at you. She twisted her wedding ring around her finger as if it were a question she couldn’t answer.

And across from you, Heeseung sat.

Tall. Composed. The collar of his button-down crisp, the sleeves of his dark blazer pushed back just enough to show a silver watch that gleamed under the dining room light.

He didn’t look surprised.

He didn’t look anything.

Only when he spoke did something shift “You don’t have to decide now,” he said gently, voice as even as his expression. “We can meet a few more times. Talk. See if it’s something you’re open to.”

You stared at him.

Not because of what he said, but because of how he said it like he already knew how this story ended. Like he’d already accepted whatever answer you might give, even if it was a no. He didn’t plead. He didn’t push. He wasn’t playing the role of the desperate suitor or the charming stranger trying to win your favor.

If anything, he seemed… resigned.

And you?

You were so damn tired.

Tired of grieving a love that had left you in pieces. Tired of pretending you were still the same girl who once believed in fairytales. Tired of hearing your friends get engaged, move abroad, fall in love again while your life stood still, wrapped in a fog you couldn't shake off.

So you nodded. Not because it made sense. Not because it felt right. But because, in that moment, anything was better than standing still.

The wedding was simple.

Elegant in the way a gentle breeze was elegant, soft, intentional, and fleeting. There were no loud colors, no over-the-top displays of affection, no extravagant celebrations. Just muted tones of white and beige draping every corner of the small private hall. Golden hour light filtered in through sheer curtains, making everything seem like a daydream. A few strings of fairy lights hung above your heads like stars that had descended for just this moment. The music was soft, almost distant, like a memory trying not to disturb anyone.

Only family and a few close friends were invited. That was the way you both preferred it — quiet, contained. No crowd to force a smile in front of. No strangers to pretend for.

You stood at the entrance, your hand gently clutching the silk of your ivory dress. It clung to your frame delicately, elegant in its simplicity. Your hair was pulled back, and gold earrings brushed against your neck every time you moved. They had once belonged to your mother.

And across the aisle, waiting....was him.

Heeseung.

He wore a slate grey suit that fit him too well, paired with a navy tie that brought out the deeper shades in his usually unreadable eyes. His posture was rigid, but not from arrogance. From nerves. His fingers twitched at his sides. His lips parted slightly when he saw you.

And he didn’t stop staring.

You walked toward him slowly, trying to ignore the way your heart thudded against your chest like it didn’t remember this wasn’t a love marriage. This wasn’t the fairytale. It was an arrangement. Something practical.

But then why did he look at you like that?

As though something about you had caught him off guard.

His gaze didn’t lower or flicker away, even when you stood right before him. Even when the officiant cleared his throat and began the short ceremonial script. Even when you reached out your hand. His hand met yours with a tremble.

Just a flicker. Barely there. But you felt it. Both of you felt it actually.

When the rings were exchanged and the final blessing was offered, the photographer gestured gently, asking for a hug for the photos. A staged embrace, a brief moment of closeness for the sake of memory.

You hesitated, and so did he. But you stepped forward anyway, lifting your arms with quiet grace and sliding them around his waist. His body stiffened instantly under your touch, like he hadn’t prepared himself to be held. Like he didn’t think you would do it.

But then slowly you felt him breathe. His shoulders softened.

His arms came up, unsure, before settling loosely around your back. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t passionate. But it wasn’t cold either. It felt… human. And when you pulled away, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, you saw it.

The faintest blush spreading softly across his cheekbones, like the sun peeking over the edge of dawn.

You bit your lip, amused. A giggle slipped out before you could stop it. It was light, airy, and very real. The kind of laugh you hadn’t heard from yourself in a long time. Heeseung’s eyes widened slightly, clearly not expecting it. But then, something shifted in his expression. Not quite a smile but something close. His lips twitched at the corners, and he looked down, embarrassed.

You didn’t know why, but your chest warmed.

The first night in your shared apartment was quiet. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just unfamiliar. A silence that allowed space to exist between two people without demanding they fill it. You both stood in the living room for a moment, bags still at your feet, before silently choosing opposite doors. You unpacked in your rooms. No drama. No awkward hovering.

Well you didn’t expect to be comfortable anytime soon.

But it wasn’t as strange as you thought it would be.

Heeseung knocked softly after a while, standing at your doorway like he didn’t want to intrude. “Are you hungry?” he asked, voice tentative.

“I was thinking of making something,” you replied, brushing off your hands from folding clothes. “Do you want to help?”

He seemed surprised. “I—I mean, I can. If you don’t mind.”

You didn’t.

So you both ended up in the kitchen.

It wasn’t big, but it was clean. Minimalist, like the rest of the apartment. The kind of space that hadn’t yet been lived in. You gave him the task of slicing the vegetables while you heated the oil. It was an ordinary moment. Too ordinary. But he tried his best to keep up. He worked in silence, furrowed brow, bottom lip tugged between his teeth.

And then

“Ow.”

You turned immediately. “What happened?” He lifted his thumb sheepishly, where a thin line of red had appeared. “It’s not bad.”

A spurge of panick rose as you stammered to find anything you can, fortunately heeseung had his emergency bix ready for moments like this. You grabbed a tissue and dabbed it with alcohol immediately, clicking your tongue. “You’re hopeless,” you muttered, gently pressing it to the cut.

He winced.

“You ever held a knife before?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He looked genuinely guilty. “Not often.”

That made you laugh almost. The corners of your mouth twitched, but you suppressed it. Barely.

Dinner turned out decent. Slightly over-salted, but edible. You both sat at the table across from each other, clinking spoons occasionally. Heeseung ate slowly, carefully, complimenting the food like he was afraid of insulting you otherwise. When the dishes were cleared and the clock ticked past ten, you curled up on the living room couch with a light blanket, journal in your lap. Random dates, random events, random thoughts. Writing helped. It always had. It made you feel like your thoughts were being listened to.

Heeseung settled into the chair across from you, laptop open, fingers dancing over the keyboard. A pair of glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, making him look softer, more academic than corporate. His brows furrowed again as he read something on the screen. You watched him for a moment. The way he adjusted his posture every few minutes. The way he chewed the inside of his cheek when something didn’t make sense. The way he pushed his glasses up with his knuckle.

He was handsome, yes. Way too much handsome from what you've seen till now.

But he was also strange.

Like a puzzle you didn’t know you were supposed to solve. You tore your gaze away and focused back on your journal until the question slipped out of your mouth.

“You always this serious?”

Heeseung paused mid keystroke. His eyes slowly flicked toward you, clearly startled. “Huh?” You leaned back, head tilting playfully. “Or are you just pretending to impress your very pretty wife?”

A beat of silence.

Then he blinked.

And blinked again.

His face flushed. Not pink. Red. An unmistakable crimson that painted his ears, cheeks, even the base of his neck.

You watched it spread with fascination.

He looked away quickly, clearly flustered. “I, uh—I’m not pretending.”

You grinned, unable to help it. Gotcha

And then you laughed. Finally

Not the soft, polite kind. But a laugh that shook your shoulders. A laugh that sounded far too much like your old self. One that tasted like freedom. Like lightness.

Heeseung stared at you wide eyed, confused, but not unhappy. And in that moment, something inside you cracked open.

Not completely.

But enough to let a little light in.

Enough to remember that this whatever this was didn’t have to be cold or lonely. Maybe it could be… different.

Maybe. Just maybe.

After dinner you followed him, heart awkward in your chest. “We’re married,” you said quietly.

He looked at you. Eyes crinkling a bit “We are.”

You bit your lip. “How does it feel?”

“Like I’m going to pass out.”

You laughed. So did he. And just like that, the room warmed.

You both fell asleep that night, not in each other’s arms, but in the same room. Two souls still cautious. But not strangers anymore. Somewhere between the silk sheets and the soft rustling of fabric, you felt his fingers brush yours again. This time, neither of you pulled away.

The days that followed weren’t perfect but they were real. You cooked breakfast. He cleaned the dishes. You danced alone in the living room. He watched, pretending not to smile.

You fought over the last slice of toast but he shared it anyway.

One evening, he returned early and found you on the balcony, feet up, journal in hand.

He stood there, watching you, quiet.

You glanced over. “You know, for someone who likes his space, you hover a lot.” He gave a small smile. “You’re easy to hover around.” Your heart thumped against chest your walls as you closed the journal.

Heeseung walked closer, placing a cup of tea beside you.

You turned to him, a silly expression playing on your lips “You know...I do notice how much you blush every time I touch you.”

He froze. “No I don’t.” You raised a brow. “You just did.”

His ears flamed. “I’m—That’s not—You’re very—” pretty. He stopped. “Never mind.”

You giggled. “You’re cute when you malfunction.” He groaned into his hands. “I’m regretting this marriage already.”

You reached over, gently flicking his forehead. “Liar.”

You were quiet. Not shy. Not submissive. Just... still. And Heeseung had thought, Perfect. No dramatics. No chaos. No endless talking that led nowhere. You seemed like someone who wouldn’t get in the way of his routine. Obedient. Low-maintenance. Easy to manage.

But stillness, he would later learn, was not the same as simplicity.

You weren’t “easy” in the way he first assumed. You were surviving. He just didn’t see it yet.

The first time you touched him, it was nothing. Really, it was nothing. Just a brief adjustment to the collar of his shirt before a family photo. The fabric was crooked, and you, dutiful, distant, fixed it with all the care of someone folding a stranger’s laundry.

But his throat closed.

And later that night, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, he found himself staring at the spot your fingers had grazed. Like it had left a burn.

Heeseung loved that. He loved that he was starting to notice things.

The way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were nervous. The way your voice softened when talking to plants, like they were old friends. The way your eyes darted around the room when you were overwhelmed but trying not to show it. He hated how easily his heartbeat betrayed him.

Once, you fell asleep on the couch wearing his hoodie. He had walked into the room to ask if you wanted tea. Stopped. Stared.

And nearly had a cardiac arrest.

You looked smaller somehow, curled into the armrest, face turned into the fabric that used to smell like him. The hoodie dwarfed you, sleeves swallowed your hands, and you breathed so softly he thought you might disappear if he blinked.

He didn’t touch you. Didn’t dare. Just stood there and watched you sleep like an idiot, pretending it meant nothing that you’d chosen his hoodie over the dozens in your wardrobe. He told himself it was fine.

Until it wasn’t.

Because one evening, you hummed while watering the plants near the window, barefoot in your pajamas, and something twisted painfully in his chest.

You looked… light.

Like whatever darkness you were dragging around had loosened for a second.

And he thought, She still has it. That light. It’s just buried.

But then someone flirted with you at a company party. Some friend of a friend with too many teeth and not enough respect. The guy leaned in too close when he spoke to you, smiling like he knew you, fingers brushing your elbow as he laughed.

And Heeseung saw red.

He was across the room, drink untouched, shoulders tense. The man’s hand hovered near your lower back, and Heeseung didn’t even remember moving, just that he was suddenly there, standing beside you, one hand on your waist, his tone calm but sharp enough to bleed.

“She’s taken.”

The man backed off. Quickly. You glanced up at him, startled. “I was handling it.” But inside you were going absolute nuts. THAT WAS SO FUCKING HOT WTF.

“I know,” he said, eyes never leaving yours. “Didn’t like watching.”

You fell in love with Lee Heeseung. You weren’t sure if it was real, if your brain was just weaving comfort into romance. But the way he looked at you made you feel real. Grounded. Heeseung didn’t flirt. He didn’t chase. But he remembered. He remembered the one time you said you hated sleeping with the door closed. He remembered your favourite scent was lavender, not rose like everyone assumed.

He remembered the time you offhandedly said you always wanted to stargaze, but no one ever took you.

And he remembered you. Even on the days when you couldn’t remember you.

You sat at the breakfast table, spooning cereal into your mouth, pretending not to notice how Heeseung kept glancing at you over the rim of his coffee mug. You were wearing his hoodie, not for sentiment, but because it was soft and smelled like cedarwood and something vaguely comforting.

He cleared his throat. Loudly.

You blinked at him. “Yes?”

He tensed. “What? Nothing.”

“You’ve been staring for five minutes.”

“I wasn’t—” He cut himself off. “You just have milk on your lip.”

You wiped your mouth while giggling “That’s your excuse today?”

He went red. “You’re imagining things.”

“I’m imagining you blushing every time I breathe?"

He said nothing. Just took a long, slow sip of his coffee and looked away. You leaned your chin on your hand. “It’s okay, you know.”

“What is?”

“Liking your wife.”

He choked on his coffee. You handed him a napkin, laughing, and Heeseung groaned into his palm. “Why are you like this?”

You smiled. “Because you like it," and god.... poor Heeseung swore if his gorgeous wife doesn't stop terrorising him anytime soon.

The day began like any other. Soft sunlight filtered through the lace curtains as you flipped the page of your journal, pen poised above the paper. A list of dates stared back at you. Appointments, grocery items, a friend’s birthday next week. There were tiny corrections in the margins, crossed out reminders, swapped days and scribbles you didn’t remember making.

You blinked at them, brow furrowed.

You always kept your journal close. It wasn’t just a habit anymore, it was a lifeline. Your memory had been slipping, barely noticeable at first. A word forgotten. A date misremembered. But lately, the fog had thickened.

You tapped the pen against your palm, trying to recall what you’d written five minutes ago.

“Y/n?” Heeseung’s voice came from the hallway, sleepy and warm. He peeked into the room, his hair tousled from bed. His tie hung loose around his neck. “Did you see my cufflinks?”

You pointed to the dresser. Heeseung stepped in, brushing a kiss over your temple without a second thought. You smiled, heart tugging. His affection had changed. He’d become gentler, softer. He didn’t look at you like he was tolerating a contract anymore, he looked like he was slowly learning how to love.

And you… you were starting to believe in it.

“I’ll make us coffee,” you said, standing a little too fast.

The world tilted sharply and you didn’t even register the fall.

You woke up to beeping machines and Heeseung’s panicked voice floating somewhere near your ear. His hand gripped yours like a lifeline, tight and trembling.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, over and over. “You’re okay, you’re okay.”

Doctors ran tests. Your blood pressure, blood sugar was normal. Heart rate was stable. CT scan was clear. They told you it might’ve been a stress induced fainting spell. Nothing serious.

But it felt serious. You could see it in Heeseung’s eyes. The quiet way he watched you that night, tucking you into bed, fingers ghosting against your forehead. You felt it in your bones too. Something had shifted inside you. And it wasn’t just fatigue.

That night, as you lay beside him in bed, your voice broke the silence “I used to think love was something safe.” He turned his head to you, still half-awake, droopy eyes slowly meeting yours. “But it’s not,” you whispered. “Not always. Sometimes… it just leaves you.”

Heeseung didn’t say anything. But his fingers found yours beneath the covers and squeezed, tender.

“It left me once. Completely. And I’m scared if I ever feel it again, it’ll do the same.”

Your throat closed, you didn’t tell him you were in love with him. But your eyes did. They searched his, trembled with quiet confession, and Heeseung… oh, he was unraveling from the inside. He said nothing. He only gathered you into his arms and held you so tightly, so fiercely, that your breath caught.

And then he kissed your forehead like a promise.

Like he’d never leave.

The warmth didn’t last forever. A shadow crept in slowly, just as your memories began to slip through your fingers like grains of sand.

You fainted again three days later.

This time, it wasn’t dramatic or alarming in the way most people imagined fainting would be. There was no dizziness or shortness of breath. Just silence. Just a quiet, mundane moment, laundry on your lap, socks in your hand, sunlight spilling through the windows like everything was perfectly normal, and then…

Black.

A blink later, you were waking up to the sound of footsteps thundering down the hallway. Heeseung’s voice, frantic and cracking at the edges, shouted something unintelligible into his phone. There was desperation in his tone, something close to begging, and when you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was his silhouette pacing like a man unraveling thread by thread.

You groaned faintly, and the sound jolted him. “Y/n!” The phone clattered to the floor as he dropped beside you, his knees hitting the hardwood. His hands hovered over your shoulders, afraid to shake you too hard, afraid to touch you too softly.

You tried to speak, but only a croaky sound came out.

“Jesus, don’t do that again,” he breathed, brushing a stray hair away from your face with trembling fingers. “You scared the hell out of me.” You blinked at him, mind still foggy, body weak. And then perhaps to deflect the weight in his gaze, perhaps to avoid your own rising dread, you smiled faintly and said,

“Maybe I’m pregnant.”

The words hung in the air like they didn’t belong there. Heeseung stilled.

“Preg—what?!”

You blinked again, suddenly aware of what you’d just said. “I was joking—obviously—I mean, we haven’t even—oh my god—”

His entire face flushed crimson. He scrambled upright, running a hand through his hair like the heat on his cheeks could be shaken off. “Why would you even say that?!”

“I don’t know!” you blurted, still breathless. “I was just—I don’t know—it slipped out!”

“I—okay, well—” He turned away for a second, then turned back just as fast, blurting out, “Would you… want to?”

Silence.

You blinked again, a faint blush creeping on your cheeks this time “What?” you asked softly. He cleared his throat, swallowed, tried again. “I mean not now—not like this, I just–if we ever did...you know like if we were ready—would you want to have a kid with me?”

You just stared at him. Eyes round, heart skipping, stare that peeled you open from the inside and left every thought exposed.

He panicked. “Shit–I didn’t mean it like that. I just–God, I sound like a lunatic. I’m sorry—”

“No,” you interrupted, and your voice, though small, was steady now. “You don’t.”

Heeseung’s breath caught.

You reached forward, hand brushing over his where it hung awkwardly by his side. Slowly, you entwined your fingers, tugging gently until he let himself sit beside you on the couch. He didn’t speak, neither did you.

The silence felt soft this time, tender, warm in its own way.

“I see a future,” you murmured. “And you’re in it.”

He inhaled sharply, chest rising like he’d just been given permission to breathe again. His hand tightened around yours instinctively, and then without another word he pulled you into him. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, and his around your waist. He held you like you were something fragile and precious. His chin dropped to your shoulder, and you felt his lips press into the crook of your neck, featherlight. Then the top of your head. Then again and again.

The crown of your skull. Your temple. Your hair. Tiny kisses, barely there, like he couldn’t help himself.

His hands moved up and down your back, long strokes, slow and careful like he was trying to memorize every inch of you. Like he wanted to trace your shape into his memory forever. You leaned into him, pressing your cheek against his shoulder, listening to the way his heart thudded so loud it echoed through his chest.

“Heeseung,” you whispered.

“Hmm?”

“You don’t have to be scared.”

He said nothing for a long moment. Then, softly, “You’re the only thing I’m scared of losing.” That’s when you knew...he meant it. Every trembling, terrifying word. It wasn’t just affection. It wasn’t just comfort. He loved you. Quietly, desperately, in the way only someone who’s afraid of not being enough ever could.

But you couldn’t say it back.

Because something in your chest twisted whenever the words reached your throat. You wanted to. God, you did. But how could you, when a part of you knew you might forget the weight of those words one day?

So instead, you just pulled him closer.

Let his warmth anchor you. Let your silence be love. And he accepted it like it was all he needed.

For now.

You weren’t supposed to forget things like this.

It started with little slips. You misplaced your favorite pen, the one you always kept clipped to your journal. You put milk in the pantry instead of the fridge. Called Heeseung’s PA by the wrong name, twice.

You told yourself it was stress.

But you started writing everything down. Grocery lists. Things to do. Things you’ve done. Just in case. You didn’t tell Heeseung. Not yet. He’d been watching you more carefully lately, even after the hospital said you were fine. Normal vitals. Normal bloodwork. Just a little fainting from low blood sugar, they said.

You smiled at Heeseung when he brought you tea in the mornings. Laughed when he’d forget his tie and you’d fix it for him before he left for the day. Kissed his knuckles goodbye.

And then, at night, when he was asleep next to you, you wrote.

Remember: His coffee is black with half a sugar. He hums when brushing his teeth. He hates losing control. He loves order. But he loves you, even when you’re chaos.

Your handwriting trembled some days.

You couldn’t afford to forget him.

Until something happened which shook your whole world. You were out for a small grocery run, just around the corner of your cozy apartment.That afternoon, the sky had been unusually dull for mid spring, kind of gray that made everything feel quieter. You were reaching for a carton of oat milk when someone said your name.

A voice you hadn’t heard in years, soft, hesitant. Drenched in familiarity

“Y/n?”

You froze mid-motion. Hand halfway to the shelf. The fluorescent lights above flickered like they always did in that dingy corner aisle. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

But you did anyway.

Jongseong.

There he stood. Your ex. Five years of history packed into one lean frame and a stupidly familiar jawline, he hadn’t changed much, still wore that same brand of denim, still had his hair pushed back like he hadn’t really tried but somehow looked effortlessly put together. Still had that look in his eyes, like he was constantly on the verge of saying something meaningful. You wished you could’ve walked away, wished your feet moved. But your body betrayed you. You stood rooted, staring at the man who had left you broken on the bathroom floor that night so many years ago.

“Hi,” he said, cautiously, as if testing the waters.

You let out a shaky breathe, recovering. “What the hell are you doing here? ”

His lips curved into that apologetic smile, the one that once made you forgive things you never should have. “Shopping. Just moved back last month.”

Of course he did. A painful silence settled between you, thick like humidity before a storm. You hated how your heart still reacted, a strange, erratic beat that had nothing to do with affection and everything to do with trauma. You glanced down at your cart. Laundry detergent, a bag of oranges, ice cream you knew Heeseung would pretend not to like but eat anyway.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said, voice low. “You look…”

“Don’t.”

That shut him up. He nodded, eyes darting around. “I heard you got married.”

You responded by muttering a quiet 'hm' and stepping back. “I—I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said finally, breath hitching. “For how I left. For all of it. I was a coward. I know that now.” You closed your eyes for a second. Let the words wash over you like cold water. They didn’t heal anything. Didn’t change the nights you’d spent alone wondering what you did wrong.

“I don’t need your apology,” you said, quiet but firm.

He took a step forward, then another. You didn’t move. You should have, but it was too late. He pulled you into a hug before you could protest. His arms wrapped around you like old muscle memory. You felt nothing.

No heat. No pain. Just a dull ache — like pressing on a bruise that had already begun to fade.

You let it happen.

Maybe out of shock. Maybe because you needed to feel nothing for a moment. Then you pushed him back.

“Don’t do that,” you said, voice sharp.“I just—” He looked desperate now. “I miss you, Y/N.”

“I don’t.”

He recoiled like you’d struck him. And maybe you had.

Your hands were still trembling when you stepped out of the grocery store. The air outside was thick with city noise, buses hissing past, horns blaring somewhere in the distance but everything around you felt strangely muted. As if the world had taken a step back, blurred its edges, dulled its colors.

He had touched you.

He had hugged you.

And you had frozen. Stiff, shocked, disgusted. You didn’t even know what scared you more, the fact that he dared to wrap his arms around you, or the fact that, for a split second, you didn’t pull away fast enough. You could still feel the ghost of that hug clinging to your skin like grease. You wiped your arms with your sleeves again and again as you walked, as if scrubbing the moment off could make it disappear.

It didn't.

Halfway back to your apartment, your vision started to blur. The world tilted to one side. Your legs stumbled, heart racing in your chest, a noise ringing faintly in your ears.

And then nothing.

You woke up under hospital lights, too white, too sharp, sterile brightness. A cold breeze hummed from the AC. Your wrist had a hospital band. Your head throbbed.

“Miss?” the voice of a young nurse stirred beside you. You nodded.

It was third time in one month. And the last two times you’d brushed it off, too little sleep, maybe low blood sugar, maybe stress. But this time felt different. Your limbs still felt heavy. Your memory hazy. You sat up slowly as the doctor entered, young, calm, and professional, with a clipboard in his hand and a thoughtful expression behind his glasses.

“We ran some tests while you were unconscious. Vitals look stable, but I want to ask a few questions.”

You nodded absently, already reaching for your journal. The leather cover had softened from overuse. You opened it and began jotting something down under the last entry, the date, the name of the hospital, a reminder to track symptoms.

The doctor noticed.

“You carry that with you often?” he asked.

“Always,” you replied, not looking up. “It helps me keep track of things. Sometimes… I forget details. Or what day it is.”

He tilted his head. “How long have you been doing that?”

“For months....more than half a year to be exact...”

“And before that?”

“I....don't remember ” you said simply.

The next ten minutes passed in quiet tension as he asked you a series of questions. Your age, your name, your address.

Easy enough.

Then what day it was, the current year, who the president was.

You fumbled. You knew it. You did. But in that moment, it slipped away like mist through your fingers. You blinked hard, tried again. But your mouth stayed still.

The doctor’s voice was gentle. “Y/N… I’m going to be honest with you. Some of the signs you’re displaying memory lapses, spatial confusion, fainting episodes they’re consistent with early onset Alzheimer’s disease.”

You stared at him. What?

The words didn't make sense. Not at first.

That was something older people got. Grandparents. Not someone in her twenties. Not someone like you.

“That's not possible,” you murmured. “That’s not—people my age don’t get that.”

“It’s rare,” he agreed, “but not impossible. Especially when there’s a genetic predisposition or trauma involved. We’ll need to run more scans, cognitive assessments, but... I’d advise preparing for the possibility.”

The room closed in.

You were still holding your pen. You hadn’t even finished your sentence in the journal “What happens now?” you asked, your voice brittle.

“You be careful,” he said quietly. “You start documenting everything. You let someone close to you know. And… you prepare. Because things might start getting messy from now on.”

You nodded.

You didn’t cry. Not yet. There was a storm going inside you. What happens now? Instead, you turned to your journal and wrote everything down.

Because if your brain was going to fail you…you needed your words to remember.

Heeseung noticed the emotional shift before anything else. You became quieter, guarded again. It reminded him of how you were when he first met you, polite, careful, full of silences that hurt more than shouting.

He didn’t understand why.

You weren’t pulling away physically. You still reached for his hand, still leaned into his chest on the couch. Still smiled at his stupid jokes. But something behind your eyes had dimmed.

Heeseung didn’t press. At first. Then, one afternoon, he caught you staring blankly at the laundry machine. You’d loaded it three times and hadn’t turned it on.

You didn’t even notice him standing behind you until he touched your arm.

“Are you okay?”

You blinked. “Yeah. Just... zoned out.” He didn’t believe you but he nodded anyway. That night, you sat on the balcony with your journal in your lap. The stars were faint, the city always swallowed most of them. Still, you looked up and whispered to yourself

“I hope I remember what the sky looks like.”

Heeseung’s promotion came two weeks later.

CEO.

The letters barely held any weight in your mind, but they meant everything to the company and to him. It was the culmination of years of dedication, late nights, near flawless discipline. He had been groomed for this position since the day he stepped into his father’s office, and now he finally stood at the top. There was a celebration, of course. Lavish, gleaming, all sharp suits and champagne glasses. You were expected to be there, not just as his wife, but as his partner, the quiet, polished figure beside the man of the hour. A photograph for the headlines. A name in the caption.

And so, you helped him get ready.

He stood in front of the mirror while you adjusted the lapels of his charcoal suit, the one you had picked for this night months ago, long before the diagnosis, long before your world started folding in on itself. It had a clean cut, regal structure, and a dark sheen under warm lighting. He looked like a leader. Like someone people would follow.

Like someone who deserved everything good in this life.

You moved closer, fingers brushing over his shoulders as you smoothed down the fabric. Then the tie — a deep navy silk one that complimented his skin. You looped it slowly, methodically, the way you’d done a hundred times before, but today your hands were a little shakier. When you finished tightening the knot, you adjusted the collar, folding it just right.

And then… you met his gaze.

He was looking at you the way he always did when he was proud of something. Eyes full of stars. That small boyish smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. The kind of smile that made your heart ache because he still saw you not the version that was slowly slipping through cracks, but the version that had once walked into his life like a spark.

“You’re really good at this,” he said, lifting an eyebrow. “Should I be worried? You might have a secret career as a stylist.”

You chuckled weakly “Only for you.”

Heeseung grinned, a hint of pink on his ears as he lowered his head shyly. He had always been like this, confident in the boardroom, decisive in crisis, but hopelessly soft around you. “When are you getting ready?” he asked “I mean, not that I want to rush you, but… should I help you with your dress too?” It was teasing, yes. But the sincerity in his tone turned it fragile. Tender. As if he wanted nothing more than to make you feel cared for.

You couldn't meet his eyes anymore.

Your smile felt forced, stretched across your face like something stitched on. You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips quick, light, almost mechanical then pulled back and murmured, “I’ll go change now.”

You walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind you.

Locked it.

The moment you turned around, the first sob escaped before you could stop it. Your back slid against the door, and you dropped to the floor, your knees folding beneath you.

You cried.

Not the loud, guttural cries of heartbreak. These were quieter. More dangerous. Cry that hollowed you out from the inside. The kind that didn’t shake the walls but carved themselves into your ribcage like scratches from within. Because how could you stand beside him tonight? How could you wear a smile and pose for photographs next to someone so perfect, so capable, so destined while you were falling apart in silence?

You didn’t deserve to be in those frames. You didn’t deserve the warmth in his voice or the light in his eyes. Heeseung wasn’t just beautiful, he was good. A man who’d carry the weight of the world and still ask how you were doing. He deserved someone strong. Someone helpful. Someone who would hold his hand and not forget the reason why she loved him.

Not someone who would make his life harder. You pulled your knees to your chest, pressing your forehead against them, biting back the next wave of sobs. Tears soaked through the fabric of your dress before you even realized.

And then came a knock. Gentle, hesitant.

“Y/N?” His voice. Muffled through the door, but heavy with concern. “Are you okay?” You panicked for a moment. Could he hear you crying? Could he feel it through the wood? You scrambled to your feet, wiping your face with trembling hands. “I’m fine,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just… changing. I’ll be out in a minute.”

A beat of silence.

“Okay,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced. You heard his footsteps retreat, but slowly. Like he was still half-listening. You turned to the mirror.

Your eyes were red. Your lips were trembling. Your heart was still fractured in your chest.

But you smiled. You forced it. You fixed your face, did your makeup, washed your cheeks with cold water. You put on your dress, the one he loved and stepped into the role you needed to play tonight.

His wife, His person. And maybe a ticking clock he hadn’t heard yet.

Everyone at the office practically worshipped him that day. Heeseung stood on the stage like he was born for it, tall, composed, every line of his suit sharp, every word he spoke deliberate. The perfect heir, finally crowned. You watched him from the back of the room, fingers loosely threaded in front of your dress, the heels you wore pressing too hard against your ankles. He scanned the crowd with those piercing eyes of his, unreadable as ever, until they landed on yours. His gaze softened. Just a flicker a small, private moment no one else caught.

You smiled. Clapped along with everyone else. Even mouthed a “congratulations” later, when he walked off stage and found you again.

But it ached.

The pride did. The smile. The applause. The knowledge that this moment belonged to him, but not fully to you.

Because you’d seen it all evening.

That woman Heejin, his PA hovering just a little too close. Laughing at his jokes like she’d memorized the rhythm of his humor. Knowing the stats, the reports, the number of interviews scheduled, the name of the board member’s wife who just had a baby. She touched his arm like she had every right. Whispered in his ear and was so dangerously close to adjust his tie like it was second nature.

You told yourself it didn’t matter.

Heeseung was with you throughout the whole event. When he wasn’t being pulled away to speak with department heads or board directors, he returned to your side. He introduced you formally. Called you his wife. Smiled that same smile that always softened at the edges when it was just the two of you. Still, it felt like a storm was swelling beneath the chandeliers.

The whispers began slowly, it curled around your ankles and trailed up your spine like a chill. Faces half turned. Brows raised. Smirks too subtle to name. For a moment you thought you were imagining it.

Until Heejin, heels clicking, ponytail high made her way to Heeseung and whispered something in his ear while holding her phone to his face. His jaw tensed. The sharp intake of his breath wasn’t loud, but you felt it like a slap.

He didn’t say anything. Just handed the phone back, eyes suddenly blank. You took a step forward, concern prickling in your chest, but before you could reach him

Your own phone buzzed.

One notification. Then another. Then another.

You froze as the screen lit up with a forwarded image and a text chain that had clearly been passed from one employee to another.

A picture.

Of you and Jongseong.

Your arms around each other in the middle of a grocery store aisle. His head tilted, mouth close to your ear. The caption was cruel —

"The new CEO’s wife already bored? Guess Heeseung’s cold heart wasn’t enough to keep her warm."

The room spun for a second. You gripped your clutch tighter, your breath lodged in your throat. You remembered that day. Every nauseating second of it. How you’d walked out of the store in shock and disgust that you’d let your ex touch you. How the encounter made your stomach churn. How you’d fainted halfway to your apartment the third time in a month. How you woke up in the hospital, and how that day changed everything for you.

But none of that was in the photo.

Just a snapshot. A second. A cruelly timed frame that looked like you were holding someone you still loved.

You barely made it through the rest of the event.

when you returned home, Heeseung was quiet.

Too quiet.

He removed his tie slowly, hands shaking in the low light of your shared bedroom. You stood by the dresser, unsure whether to speak first. The silence between you throbbed, thick and pulsing like a bruise.

“I didn’t know about the picture,” you breathed out, finally. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”

He didn’t look at you. Just nodded. “Okay.” But that okay was hollow. A placeholder. You stepped closer. “I didn’t know someone took it. It wasn’t a… moment. It was nothing. I told him to stay away.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, still not meeting your eyes. “Did you?”

You blinked. “Yes.”

He licked his lips, exhaled. His voice cracked when he spoke. “Do you still love him?”

The question hit you like a punch.

“No,” you said too quickly. His eyes finally lifted to yours. Red rimmed. Vulnerable in a way he rarely showed. “Then why did you look like you did?”

You hesitated. “I didn’t. That photo—”

“No,” he interrupted gently, almost apologetically. “I’m not blaming you. I just… I don’t know how to ask this without sounding like I’m accusing you, but… was I not enough? Am I… not enough for you?” It broke your heart to hear him ask that. To hear that insecurity come from someone who had always seemed so sure of himself so composed, so precise. “You’re more than enough,” you said. “God, Heeseung, you’re everything. That day… I was in shock. I didn’t want him to touch me. I felt disgusted the second he did. And after that— I—" you stopped, more like the words abruptly run out of your brain. What exactly happened after that? You wanted to reach out to your journal but at this moment it felt like a foreign subject in that room.

He stared, breath caught in his throat “after that what?”

You opened your mouth. But nothing came out.

So instead, you reached for him. Sat beside him. Took his hand in yours “I felt like I didn’t deserve you,” you said honestly. “You’re… perfect. And I’m not. I’m going to ruin your life.”

He shook his head, eyes stinging. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” you whispered.“No.” He squeezed your hand. “I’ve ruined every relationship I’ve been in because I’m quiet. Closed off. I tried to do better with you. I tried to laugh more, talk more, open up. I don’t know if that scared you. Maybe I overwhelmed you—”

You didn’t let him finish. You pressed your mouth to his.

Soft at first. Like reassurance. Like apology.

But it didn’t stay soft. Your lips opened. His hands found your waist. Yours slid to the nape of his neck. He pulled you into his lap, clutching you like he didn’t want you to vanish. It was desperate. Heated. His mouth moved against yours with all the frustration and confusion he couldn’t put into words. His tongue tasted of hurt, of longing, of too much and not enough all at once. Your hands explored his jaw, his chest, the familiar planes of his body.

You gasped into his mouth when he gripped your thigh, and he caught the sound with his own lips, like he couldn’t stand to be away from you for even a second.

Clothes shifted. Hands wandered. You both chased each other’s warmth, each other’s breath, each other’s forgiveness. Your bodies tangled, your mouths pressed again and again, as if trying to remember what this meant what you meant.

When it was over, you lay against his chest, both of you breathless.

He held you like you were something breakable. You clutched the fabric of his shirt in your fist like he was your anchor.

Neither of you spoke.

Because sometimes, silence wasn’t emptines.....sometimes it was healing.

You stayed like that until sleep found you, nestled in the wreckage of that night, hearts still beating wildly but at least for now still together.

The next morning, he woke up alone.

Your pillow was cold.

Your phone was gone.

So were you.

Heeseung tore the apartment apart. Every room, every drawer, every closet. He called everyone. Checked hospitals. Airports. Police stations.

Nothing.

It was like you’d never existed.

Except for one thing

Your journal.

You’d hidden it behind the books on the shelf. It fell when he yanked the entire stack down in a frenzy. He opened it with shaking hands. Inside, he found pages pf him. Notes, memories, doodles of his face, stupid jokes, coffee orders, days he looked happiest, days he looked tired, the way he kissed your temple after work, the time he asked if you wanted kids and you couldn’t stop laughing.

But nothing about you.

No fears. No timeline. No diagnosis.

Until the last page.

Your last entry....probably

If you’re reading this, I probably forgot to tell you...I didn’t mean to leave like this. But I was so scared, Heeseung. I’m still scared. Alzheimer’s, That’s what they said. I’ll forget my name. My home. Maybe one day… even you. But I wrote you down so I wouldn’t. Because how could I forget the only place I ever felt safe?

He found the prescriptions next, right in between the pages, crumbled hard truth. His hands were shaking and he dropped the journal.

You weren’t in any of the places that made sense. Not your mother’s. Not your childhood home, the hospital where they gave you that impossible diagnosis, not even that quiet little beachside cafe you loved as a teenager, the one you once told Heeseung you’d run away to if life ever got too loud.

Heeseung checked them all. He didn’t stop looking. His PA begged him to rest and his board of directors hinted at taking a leave. Tabloids started speculating that you had disappeared because of him but that was not enough to make him stop looking for you. He ignored it all.

You were gone.

And all he had left was a journal where you remembered everything about him… but not a single word about yourself.

It destroyed him.

Every scribbled sentence felt like a goodbye in slow motion.

You wrote down his allergies, his favorite tie, the way he bit his lip when he was nervous. You even wrote down the first time he ever said your name like it meant something. But nothing — nothing — about when you first forgot your keys. Or when you got your test results. Or when you decided that loving him meant leaving.

Heeseung knew you did it to protect him.

But he didn’t want protection.

He wanted you.

At nights, Heeseung found himself on the beach. The sky quiet, no stars and too much cloud. Just the sound of waves, soft and endless. He remembered what you said once about wanting to see stars

“I feel like I belong to the sea. It forgets everything and still keeps going.”

He stared at the ocean for a long time. Then whispered, “I won’t forget you. Even if you forget me.”

Back in Seoul, your disappearance became public. Someone leaked the hospital records. Someone else found the journal. It was only a matter of time. Suddenly, the narrative changed. You weren’t the runaway wife anymore.

You were tragically sick. Young. Beautiful. Doomed.

The world grieved you like a ghost while you were still breathing somewhere. Heeseung hated it.

He hated that they mourned your memory while he still clung to your toothbrush. Hated that your name became a headline when it used to be a whisper only he was allowed to say that gently. And through all of it, the noise, the press, the pity he kept looking.

Weeks passed.

The world moved on.

He didn’t.

It was almost six months later when the knock came. A strange, hesitant rhythm, three soft raps, then silence. It wasn’t the knock you get from someone delivering mail or asking for a favor. It was the kind that came burdened with weight. With grief. With something you weren’t ready to hear. Heeseung opened the door, expecting a stranger. And he was though somehow, not entirely.

The man looked about his age. Disheveled, eyes filled with exhaustion and rimless glasses around them, lips trembling like he’d rehearsed this moment too many times only to still not be ready.

“Are you… Heeseung?” he asked, voice rough, tight. Heeseung blinked. “Yes. Can I help you?”

The man swallowed, then took a deep breath like it hurt to say her name. “I’m Jake. I—

I’ve been taking care of Y/N.”

Heeseung didn’t register it at first. But then the words unfurled inside his chest like shrapnel.

“I found her,” Jake continued, “about six months ago. On the street. She had fainted. Hit her head pretty bad.”

Everything around Heeseung went still. His fingers gripped the door tighter.

“You what?”

Jake nodded, frantic now. “I tried to help her. I brought her to the hospital. I wanted to call you—believe me, I did. But she… she begged me not to. Said you’d worry. Said she just needed a moment away.”

Heeseung felt his world turn inside out. “So she’s with you?” Jake’s expression shattered. “Yes...but I can't do this anymore. ” He stepped forward, desperate now. “Please, can I come in?”

They sat in silence for a moment on opposite ends of the couch. Jake’s fingers trembled around the cup of water Heeseung handed him. “I’m sorry,” Jake murmured, voice cracking. “I didn’t know what else to do. I don’t know if there’s a right way to explain any of this.”

Heeseung nodded stiffly, not trusting himself to speak. Jake looked down. “She didn’t remember much that day. Just bits and pieces. She kept asking for directions to a bakery that closed years ago. She was mumbling about… socks, a couch, stars. It didn’t make sense at first.” He paused to take a breathe “But there was something about her. Something… delicate. She didn’t want to be seen as fragile, but she was. She had this quiet kind of sadness. Like she was running from her own mind.”

Heeseung’s throat felt like sandpaper.

“I brought her to my place,” Jake continued, wiping his eyes. “It was closer than the hospital. She stayed for a few days. Then… weeks. And I just… let her.”

There was guilt in every syllable.

“I should’ve called you. I know that. But I—she asked me not to. She said she wasn’t ready to go back. That she needed time. And after everything she told me—or tried to tell me—I didn’t want to force her.”

Heeseung finally found his voice, low and raw. “Told you?”

Jake let out a weak laugh. “Pieces. Fragments. She kept scribbling on papers. I read one by accident one night when she forgot where she hid it.” That hit Heeseung in the chest. “She still wrote?”

“Obsessively,” Jake whispered. “Dates. Events. What you wore. The first time you laughed during breakfast. The time you hugged her when she thought no one would.” He looked up at Heeseung with a hollow sort of respect. “She didn’t write about herself. Just you.”

The silence that followed was cruel.

Then Jake broke it, voice cracking open. “I didn’t plan on falling for her. But it happened.”

Heeseung’s fingers curled into fists.

“I think… I think I fell in love the moment she offered to fold my laundry. She said she couldn’t sleep unless the room was organized, so she started arranging things, my books, labeled my kitchen spices.” He gave a humorless laugh. “She even asked me one night what tie I’d be wearing the next day. I told her I was a kindergarten teacher—I don’t wear ties. I don’t even own one.”

Heeseung looked at him, and something inside him twisted.

Jake’s next words came with a crack.

“She said she loved me once. Looked me straight in the eye and said it. But I knew—God, I knew—she didn’t mean me.”

Heeseung's chest ached.

“She looked at me like she loved someone. But there was no warmth in it. No spark. Just muscle memory.” Jake’s hands trembled harder. “Every day, she did things I knew weren’t meant for me. She’d ask me if I remembered the constellation we saw last December. I’ve never gone stargazing with her. She made tea the way you liked it. She even called me 'Seung' once.”

Heeseung felt the blood drain from his face.“I tried to be enough,” Jake whispered. “I told myself if I loved her hard enough, it wouldn’t matter that she was forgetting. That I wasn’t the one she loved. But I’m not strong enough. I can’t keep lying to myself. I’m going crazy.”

His voice finally broke. “She’s still in love with you.”

Heeseung sat frozen, pain slicing through every nerve. Jake covered his face. “I didn’t come here to fight. Or to beg. I came because I can’t hold this anymore. She’s slipping, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to keep her grounded.”

He looked up, red-eyed. “But maybe you do.”

Heeseung didn’t sleep that night. Jake left after an hour. Not because he wanted to, but because he said staying longer would feel like he was asking for permission.

Heeseung wandered back into the old room you used together. It still smelled like you. The scent hadn’t left, even though you had. He sat at your desk and opened one of the drawers.

And there it was.

Your journal. The one with the frayed corner and ink blot on the back. His hands shook as he turned the pages.

February 3rd – Heeseung laughed today. Actually laughed. I think it was because I burnt the toast and blamed the toaster, but I want to believe it’s because he’s starting to feel safe around me.

March 19th – He looked at me like I was someone worth choosing.

May 1st – I told a joke. He didn’t laugh. I think I messed up. I think I’m slipping again. Heeseung, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry. I wanted to remember. I wanted to stay.

Heeseung pressed the pages to his chest and let himself cry.

Because you didn’t run away. You simply… forgot your way back. And now he had to find you before the memory of him disappeared too.

The storm had passed, but the ruin it left behind still trembled beneath Heeseung’s ribs. The next morning, sunlight spilled pale and cold over his apartment floor, but there was no warmth in it. Just silence. Thick. Suffocating. Jake had left the address on a wrinkled piece of paper, scrawled in shaky handwriting like his hands were trying to outrun guilt. Heeseung held it tight as he stood in front of the door now, frozen not from fear, but something worse.

What if you look at him and see nothing? He didn’t knock. He just stood there for a second. Then another. Then the door opened from the inside. You stood barefoot, hair pulled back loosely, wearing a familiar oversized cardigan. His cardigan.

But the eyes that met his weren’t familiar at all.

You frowned.

“Who are you…” your head tilted, voice uncertain. “Why do you look so sad?”

It wasn’t a joke anymore. It wasn’t teasing. Your voice was too sincere, too puzzled. Heeseung’s heart dropped into a bottomless void.

He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even breathe. So he stepped forward and hugged you. He didn’t ask. Didn’t wait. He just pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly it nearly broke both of you.

“I missed you,” he whispered, voice trembling against your ear. “I missed you so goddamn much.”

For a beat, you didn’t move. Then your fingers clutched his shirt. And you began to cry.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” you said, voice cracking. “But you… you feel familiar.” He nodded into your shoulder, gripping you like an anchor in a storm.“You’re warm... but so familiar ” you mumbled, cheek pressed against his collarbone now. "Heeseung...why are you sad?”

His tears spilled freely now.

Behind them, Jake watched from the hallway, shoulders stiff, arms crossed, mouth quivering.

When you turned slightly and met Jake's eyes

You blinked. Shifting suddenly,Then asked, “Who are you?”

Silence.

Jake’s lips parted. But no sound came.

A second passed. Then another. He blinked once, twice, swallowed the storm threatening to choke him.

“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered.

Heeseung didn’t speak. Didn’t turn.

Jake’s eyes glistened. But he smiled anyway, as if giving you up was the easiest thing he’d ever done. He turned away and went into the other room. A silent retreat.

That night, Heeseung stayed. He didn’t sleep. Neither did you. You curled against him on the couch, wrapped in past like a quilt. He tucked you into his side like he had never lost you. Your hand rested on his chest, fingers twitching every so often like you were trying to remember something with touch alone.

In the silence, you whispered, “I want to go.”

He turned to look at you, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Where?”

You shook your head, confused. “I don’t know. Just… away.”

“Away from what?”

“I don’t know that either,” you said. “But I want to go. With you.” Heeseung kissed your forehead, gently. “Okay.”

Jake woke up to an empty house. No voices. No breathing. No you. He called out once. Twice. Silence answered.

His heart seized.

Then he saw it, on the dining table. A phone. No, not a phone. A voice recorder. The kind Heeseung used sometimes when working through business proposals aloud.

He pressed play. And heard Heeseung’s voice. Soft. Tired. But steady.

“Jake…I know you probably hate me right now. Maybe you should. But I need to say this before I go.

Thank you.

Thank you for finding her when I lost her. For caring for her when I didn’t know how. For loving her in the quiet ways that kept her alive.

I read the journal.

I know now that she didn’t leave because she wanted to forget me. She left because she was scared I’d forget her. Or worse, that I’d watch her forget me. But Jake… she remembers something. Somewhere deep down, in the part of her soul untouched by time or illness or fear...she remembers love.

And I’m going to remind her. Every day. Until the stars go out. I’m taking her away. Just the two of us.

She wanted to go. So I’m taking her where the sky’s clear and quiet. Where the world slows down.

I’m going to show her the stars.”

The recording stopped. Jake stood there for a long, long time. He didn’t cry right away. Instead, he sat down at the kitchen table. Fingers trembling, he reached for the cross that hung from his necklace.

Clutched it. Pressed it to his lips. And closed his eyes.

“Take care of them,” he whispered. “Please.”

And then he cried. For you. For Heeseung. For himself. For the cruel poetry of loving someone who never truly belonged to you.

THE END

©sunishake

[andluv]

hello all! i used to be holyhaech, but i have rebranded my tumblr to be more &team focused! i will be updating my jo smau this saturday (and hopefully every saturday after that)

my summer aus are sadly still in progress…

pls stay tuned!

[andluv]

does anyone have tips to get over writers block because i haven’t been able to add to these sion, sohee & wonbin fics for like 3 weeks…🚬

HELP ME PLSSSS

[andluv]

Could you plz upload any riize x reader fics

hi anon! i currently have only one (anton) posted but the other 2 (sohee/wonbin) are a wip! i’m gonna be working on them more and more now that i am #unemployed

[andluv]

shouldn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t —

⚡︎ .ᐟ boy-next-door!haechan x reader—where they weren't supposed to kiss. or call. or catch feelings. too bad they suck at rules.

⚡︎ .ᐟ inspired by NIKI's "shouldn't, couldn't, wouldn't"—i love her so much plz give the song a listen if you haven't yet!!

⚡︎ .ᐟ suggestive content, and waayyy too many late-night feelings. (11.2k)

· · ─ ─ · · · · ─ ─ · ·

moving day was a disaster waiting to happen, and surprise—it happened. three hours of sleep, zero caffeine, and enough bad decisions packed into one tote bag to make a reality show jealous.

all you had to do was survive moving day without collapsing, crying, or accidentally making eye contact with a neighbor you'd have to avoid forever.

spoiler alert: you would fail at all three.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

shouldn’t

moving day was already the worst.

you were sleep deprived, under caffeinated, and sweating through your tote bag. you had just barely managed to drag a heavy suitcase to your apartment door before realizing the key was on the very bottom of your backpack. beneath a book, a half-eaten granola bar, and your crippling regret.

he was sitting across from your new apartment, cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by half a bag of cheetos and the loudest facetime call in the world. from what you could hear, his friend was yelling something about a suspicious rash.

he looked up just in time to catch you drop your bag, trip over it, and slam your forehead lightly into your own door.

there was a long pause.

then he muted his call and clapped.

“10 out of 10 entrance,” he said, still chewing.

you stared at him from the floor, holding your dignity in both hands like a fragile egg.

“thanks,” you deadpanned. “been rehearsing that fall for weeks.”

he grinned like this was the highlight of his day.

and to make things worse, he was stupid hot. like—should not be allowed to have a face like that—hot. tousled brown hair, warm skin, golden chain resting against his collarbone. and of course, the stupid frog socks.

“you moving in?” he asked, like that wasn’t obvious from the five boxes labeled ‘sad kitchen stuff’ next to you.

“no,” you said. “i just like loitering in random hallways. adds spice to my week.”

he tilted his head. “you’re funny.”

“you’re nosy.”

“you’re in my way.”

“you’re still staring.”

you blinked. looked away so fast your neck almost cracked. he was still grinning, smug, stupid, and gorgeous.

“i’m haechan,” he offered, finally. “i live across from you. that makes us... hallway buddies.”

“gross,” you muttered. “do not say that ever again.”

he only winked. “you’ll love me in three to five business days.”

later that night, after successfully unpacking approximately one spoon and a broken desk lamp, you found a note slid under your door.

“welcome to the building. hallway buddies 4ever <3 - h”

you told yourself you rolled your eyes. you told yourself it didn’t make you smile.

you shouldn’t.

but the butterflies in your stomach said, good fucking luck with that.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

your room is still half-boxes and unfamiliar shadows while you were on the phone with seol.

“oh, by the way, my cousin jaem invited me over to this pregame he’s having at his place. want to come with?”

you reply, “i think i’m just gonna stay in tonight, honestly.”

“too late! i’m already outside.”

you blink. then hear her knock.

jaemin’s apartment is loud. that’s the first thing you notice. not just music, but the sharp, overlapping noise of too many voices in a too-small space. you barely step inside when the second thing hits you.

and the thing was slouched on the couch in a leather jacket, head tilted back, laughing at something jeno just said. then he sees you.

his whole expression shifts, like a switch flipped.

“well, well, well,” he calls out with a lazy grin. “if it isn’t my hallway buddy.”

you groan. “don’t call me that in public.”

you slide into the empty seat next to him before your brain has the chance to vote. his knee brushes yours. neither of you mention it.

across the room, jaemin tosses you a drink without looking. “new apartment treating you okay?” he asks.

“yeah,” you say, then glance at haechan. “we actually live across from each other.”

seol’s head whips around. “wait—you two live across the hall?”

you nod slowly. haechan just shrugs, taking a sip like it’s nothing. “guess we’re neighbors and now party pals.”

jaemin points between the two of you. “and this never came up before?”

“didn’t exactly come up in the elevator,” you mutter.

the night spins faster after that. drinks. music. renjun attempting to dj in the kitchen using two phones and a bowl. someone breaks out a deck of cards. there’s a group effort to freestyle over a beat that no one can agree on. laughter bounces off the walls.

you lose track of time—until you somehow end up crammed into a corner during never have i ever. haechan’s shoulder presses into yours, his voice low near your ear.

“small world,” he says. “hallway, party, now, a fun little drink game territory”

you raise your cup. “should’ve stayed home.”

he clinks his drink lightly against yours. “you’d be bored without me.”

you don’t answer.

because he might be right.

“never have i ever hooked up with a neighbor,” jeno said, smirking.

haechan looked at you.

you glared at him.

“i haven’t!” you protested.

“yet,” he said under his breath.

you blinked.

your ears got hot.

you told yourself it was the tequila.

later, in the quiet chaos of 2 a.m., you were helping him find a spare charger in jaemin’s room. mostly because you didn’t trust him not to steal one if left unsupervised.

“you’re fun,” he said suddenly, watching you from the doorway.

“i’m also emotionally unavailable and extremely good at ghosting,” you replied, digging through drawers.

“perfect,” he said, grinning. “my type.”

you stood up. too close. his eyes dropped to your mouth for half a second too long.

i should step back, you thought.

but you didn’t.

he leaned in slightly. just enough to test a theory.

you stared at him.

then laughed—too loud, too fake, too “please don’t let this be real.”

you cleared your throat.

“we should go,” you said quickly.

he hesitated. then stepped back.

“yeah,” he said softly. “we should.”

once it was time to go home, he insisted on driving back to your place. the drive back home was quiet. and once you’ve arrived at the building, none of you chose to speak. you walked, in silence, with your shoulders brushing.

you didn’t say anything when he opened the door to your building for you. you didn’t say anything when he held the elevator.

“you ever think,” he said, not looking at you “that maybe we’re just avoiding something?”

you blinked. “like what?”

his lips twitched. “something we shouldn’t do.”

you didn’t answer.

you didn’t have to.

the silence said enough.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

the texting started as a joke.

haechan had left a post-it on your door that said:

“you left your dignity in the hallway again. i’m holding it hostage. - h”

you: u have the worst handwriting in the world 😬

DNI!!: shut up >:( that’s not what u said when u saw my handwriting on ur heart

you had no response to that. not a good one anyway.

after that, the texts never really stopped.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

DNI!!: hey, u up?

you: if this is a booty call, i hope u step on a lego

DNI!!: 💔

DNI!!: u’re no fun

you: ?? i am SO much fun

DNI!!: prove it. come out

you: is this another hallway hang

DNI!!: unless u’re scared.. 😮

you opened your door exactly sixty seconds later.

he was already leaning against his, hoodie up, a box of ice cream sandwiches in one hand and the smirk. the one that said he knew he was your worst idea—and your favorite one.

“ice cream truce,” he said. “for your wounded ego.”

“from what?”

“from not kissing me that night at jaemin’s.”

you blinked. he was too close again.

“what makes you think i wanted to?”

he raised a brow. “didn’t you?”

you looked away. “just give me the ice cream.”

you sat in the hallway. backs against the wall. knees brushing again.

“so,” he said between bites, “what’s your tragic backstory?”

you laughed. “you first.”

he grinned, lazy and warm. “gemini. commitment issues. abandonment issues.”

“wow. the holy trinity.”

“and you?”

you shrugged. “recovering situationship survivor.”

he winced. “yikes.”

“you?”

“commitmentphobe with a god complex.”

you scoffed at him. “wow.. you’re actually self-aware?”

“only after 2 a.m.,” he said. “and only with you.”

you told yourself it was a joke. you told yourself the way he was looking at you didn’t make your heart do something stupid.

“haechan…” you started.

“yeah?”

“we’re not doing this.”

he paused.

“doing what?”

you glared. “this. flirting. late-night ice cream. emotional trauma swap. whatever this is.”

he nodded slowly. then smiled again. “yeah. no. definitely not. hallway buddies only.”

you both laughed.

but the silence after wasn’t light. it was heavy. like something was being buried beneath the joke.

when you got up to leave, he didn’t stop you.

because this—whatever it was—was exactly what you both knew you shouldn’t be starting.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

you had a face mask on, hair tied, brooklyn nine-nine playing, and had just settled into your comfort burrito blanket cocoon when your phone buzzed.

DNI!!: can’t sleep

DNI!!: door’s open

you stared at the screen. then stared at your reflection. you looked like someone who’d lost a bet.

you told yourself you wouldn’t don’t go.

then grabbed your hoodie and went anyway.

his lights were dimmed, just one lamp glowing in the corner. the tv was playing some terrible reality dating show—a girl was crying because her man of two days chose someone else during a “trust fall challenge.”

“wow,” you said, sitting on the edge of his couch. “art.”

“masterpiece,” he agreed. “shakespeare could never.”

you watched in silence for a bit. you felt him watching you.

“you didn’t knock,” he said softly.

“you said the door was open.”

he nodded, eyes still on you. “just saying. you used to knock.”

“you used to be less cryptic,” you muttered.

he smiled. “i’m still cryptic. you’re just getting better at reading me.”

you laughed nervously. then fell silent again.

on-screen, someone yelled, “he can’t even define the relationship!”

you scoffed. “DTR,” you said. “men fear it.”

“yeah,” haechan muttered. “i’ve always sucked at that part.”

you glanced at him. he was looking at the floor. “why?” you asked, before you could stop yourself.

he shrugged. “because... once you define it, you can’t pretend it’s not real.”

you didn’t know what to say to that. so you didn’t say anything.

the silence stretched. not awkward. just heavy.

he was sitting closer now. when had he moved?

your knees touched. neither of you pulled away.

you looked at him. he looked at you.

and in that one, too-long second—your whole body went still.

he leaned in. just enough. slowly. like he was giving you time to stop it. your heart felt like it was trying to escape your ribcage.

you knew this was the line.

you knew you shouldn’t.

and still—your hand moved on its own, resting lightly on his knee.

that’s when he froze.

“if we do this,” he said, voice low, “everything changes.”

you swallowed. “i know.”

another beat.

“so, are we—”

you exhaled sharply. stood up. paced toward the door.

“we’re not doing this. we can’t”

he stayed on the couch, silent.

you didn’t turn back.

you didn’t see the way his expression crumpled just slightly.

you didn’t see how he watched the door long after it closed.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

you were just on your way back from seol’s, high on caffeine and gossip, with a paper bag full of banana bread and a playlist queued for the walk upstairs. you didn’t expect to find him standing in front of your apartment door.

hoodie again. hands in pockets. that same boyish look that screamed, “i swear i’m trouble, but you’ll like it.”

“you forget your key?” you asked, unlocking your door.

“no,” he said. “just forgot what it felt like to be around you.”

“what?” you said, laughing awkwardly.

“that sounded better in my head,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

you tilted your head. “why are you here, haechan?”

he didn’t answer right away.

just looked at you like he was trying to memorize your face before doing something stupid.

“i think i’ve been trying to find excuses to see you,” he said.

you went quiet.

he stepped a little closer.

“i think i’ve been trying to forget you, too,” you whispered.

he stopped.

“and how’s that going?”

“terribly.”

he smiled—not the usual cocky, smug one. this was smaller. sadder. almost hopeful.

“can i come in?” he asked.

you didn’t trust yourself to answer with words.

so you opened the door.

and he followed.

you didn’t even turn the lights on—just tossed your bag on the counter and leaned against it, heart hammering like it knew what was coming.

haechan stood in your kitchen like he’d done it a thousand times.

“you want tea?” you asked, trying to buy yourself time. sanity.

“only if you’re making it shirtless.”

“you’re unbelievable.”

“you say that like it’s new information.”

you rolled your eyes. “you want tea or not?”

“nah,” he said softly, walking up behind you. “right now, i only want… you.”

your breath caught.

you turned around slowly. he was too close. too warm. too everything.

his hand lifted—not to grab or pull or take—just to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“if we do this,” you said, barely audible, “we can’t pretend anymore.”

he nodded. “i’m tired of pretending.”

“we said we shouldn’t.”

“we also said we wouldn’t.”

you paused. “but right now?”

“we couldn’t not.”

that was all it took.

your mouths met halfway. desperate. months of lingering glances and almost-kisses finally unraveling like thread. your hands tangled in his hoodie. his fingers dug into your waist like he’d die if he let go.

it wasn’t graceful. it wasn’t planned.

but it was real.

too real.

somewhere between the kisses and the way he whispered your name like it hurt, your brain screamed that this is a mistake.

but your body? your heart?

they didn’t care.

on your couch, beneath the dim kitchen light, you let him see the version of you you’d kept guarded. and in return, he gave you the one he never let anyone else hold.

when it was over—when your breathing slowed and the silence returned—he traced lazy circles on your bare shoulder and murmured,

“i don’t want to go back to pretending.”

you didn’t say anything.

you didn’t need to.

because you were already too far in.

and somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew.

this was the beginning of something you wouldn’t be able to walk away from.

couldn’t

“you couldn’t DTR, wouldn’t it be nice if we could stay friends?”

you woke up to the sound of the kettle whistling.

for a second, you thought you were dreaming. your place was never that quiet in the morning—usually it was just the hum of your phone alarm and the silent screaming of your soul.

but this time?

there was someone in your kitchen.

and he was humming.

you sat up slowly, hair a mess, shirt barely clinging to your shoulder. it smelled like him. which was unfair. because now you couldn’t even wear your own clothes without remembering last night.

you padded out to the kitchen, barefoot and sleepy-eyed, only to find haechan pouring hot water into two mugs.

he turned at the sound of your yawn, grinning.

“morning to you too,” he said, sliding one of the mugs across the counter. “tea. not made shirtless. sorry to disappoint.”

“wow, you made me tea?”

“i did,” he said. “don’t worry, i didn’t poison it. i only do that on the third hookup.”

you snorted, reluctantly smiling. “so this is a hookup?”

he paused.

the room felt too still.

“i mean,” he started, “unless you’d prefer we call it a… spiritual bonding ritual or something.”

you gave him a look.

“kidding,” he said quickly. “honestly? i don’t know. i just… i wanted to make you tea. that’s all.”

you sipped it. still warm. still slightly sweet.

“you’re weird,” you muttered.

he leaned against the counter, watching you.

“and you kissed me back.”

“well, you kissed me first.”

“you moaned.”

“you’re lucky i didn’t bite.”

“..you did bite.”

you choked on your tea.

he laughed.

god, why did he always laugh like that? like it came from somewhere deep in his chest. like he wasn’t scared of anything.

but you were.

scared of this. of him. of how this already felt like something you couldn’t name without ruining it.

“you’re still here,” you said quietly, setting your mug down.

he tilted his head.

“did you think i’d leave?”

you shrugged.

he didn’t say anything. just stepped forward, gently taking your hand in his.

“i meant it,” he said. “last night. i don’t wanna pretend anymore.”

you swallowed hard. “and what exactly are we doing?”

he didn’t answer right away.

instead, he pressed a kiss to the back of your hand.

then your wrist.

then your shoulder.

your breath hitched.

“i don’t know,” he whispered. “but i do know i’m not ready to stop.”

and neither were you.

so when he kissed you again—slow, soft, full of unspoken things—you kissed him back.

not because it was a good idea.

not because it would end well.

but because you couldn’t resist.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

the second time it happened was thursday.

because, of course, it had to be thursday.

thursday was supposed to be uneventful. boring. uneventful-boring-thursday. but then he showed up at your door again, hoodie down, smile up, eyes bright like he knew you were going to let him in.

you didn’t even ask why. just stepped aside and said, “you know the drill. shoes off.”

he toed them off dramatically and flopped onto your couch like he paid rent.

“you’re lucky you’re cute,” he said.

“you’re lucky i’m lonely.”

he clutched his chest. “ouch. right in the fragile male ego.”

“you have an ego?”

“only when you’re around.”

he had a way of saying things that sounded like jokes but felt like truths. you hated how easily you blushed. how fast your heartbeat got when he looked at you like that.

“i brought chips,” he said, pulling out a bag from his hoodie like it was contraband. “and the ramen you like.”

you narrowed your eyes. “are you trying to seduce me with carbs?”

“is it working?”

“...yes.”

and just like that, thursday was ruined.

or maybe, saved.

because the next thing you knew, he was in your kitchen again—badly boiling noodles and dramatically sneezing from the spice, and you were sitting on the counter, swinging your legs like a teenager with a crush.

you weren’t dating.

but you weren’t just friends.

you were something in-between, something unnamed, something filled with stupid inside jokes and unsaid feelings and late-night cravings that weren’t just about ramen.

after dinner, he sat a little too close. your knees touched. your pinkies brushed. he let his hand rest on your thigh and didn’t move it.

he kissed you again—slow, teasing, like he had all the time in the world.

you didn’t talk much that night.

you didn’t have to.

you both lay there in your bed, barely under the covers, silence pressing between you like a second body.

“do you want to sleep over?” you asked, almost too quietly.

he blinked. “i mean… yeah. if that’s okay?”

you nodded.

and he stayed.

after that, it just became a thing.

he’d show up.

sometimes with food. sometimes with excuses. sometimes with neither.

you stopped asking why.

he’d tease you when you wore his shirt around the apartment, and you’d throw a pillow at him when he called you “cutie with commitment issues.”

“takes one to know one,” you always shot back.

“i’m not one for titles, in other words, terrified. that p*ssy kept my words out the door”

you didn’t talk about what you were doing. you didn’t make rules. but there were rules.

1. no sleepovers unless it “just happened.”

2. no texting first (but replying fast enough so it didn’t look like you cared too much).

3. no kissing in public.

4. no getting caught.

and the most important one: no feelings. ever. not even a little.

but feelings were slippery.

feelings showed up when you watched him fall asleep on your couch, curled up like a cat.

feelings showed up when he brought you cough drops and orange juice the second you said, “i feel kinda off today.”

feelings showed up when he danced with you in your tiny living room to a dumb commercial jingle and said, “see? we’d win ‘so you think you can dance: emotionally unavailable edition.’”

you laughed, but your heart skipped.

because deep down, you knew:

you weren’t emotionally unavailable.

you were just emotionally terrified.

you told yourself this was fine.

you weren’t one for titles, anyway.

but one night—a random wednesday—you caught yourself staring at him for too long.

watching him fold your laundry like it was normal. like he belonged here.

and it hit you.

you’d memorized him.

his dumb jokes.

his bad habits.

the way he’d shut down when he needed you the most.

you knew him better than you were supposed to.

and worse?

you didn’t want anyone else to.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

one night, while he was getting dressed after—hoodie half on, hair messy, lips still swollen from kissing—he paused in your doorway.

“you ever think about what we’re doing?”

you blinked. “what do you mean?”

he shrugged. “i dunno. like… do you ever wish it was more?”

your chest tightened.

“haechan…”

“i’m not saying we should,” he said quickly, waving his hands. “i’m just saying… wouldn’t it be nice?”

your silence was the only answer he needed.

he left a few minutes later, same as always.

but something had shifted.

something you didn’t have the words for yet.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

you shouldn’t have gone.

you knew it the second you stepped into the apartment.

because there he was. already wearing that stupid smug smile. already making himself way too comfortable on jaemin’s beanbag like he wasn’t half the reason your knees were still sore.

“look who decided to show up,” haechan said, raising his brows.

you kept your expression neutral. “someone had to make this room attractive.”

“and that someone’s obviously me,” he shot back.

jeno raised a brow. “you two flirting or fighting?”

you both answered at the same time.

“fighting.”

“flirting.”

everyone groaned.

“we get it,” renjun muttered. “sexual tension. unresolved. like literally every drama. can we watch the movie now?”

you sat as far away from him as possible. on the floor. next to seol, who immediately gave you a look.

“you good?” she whispered.

you nodded. liar.

she leaned closer. “you sure you’re not sleeping with him?”

you blinked innocently. “who?”

“don’t ‘who’ me. that look he gave you just now? that was either i’ve seen you naked or i plan to very soon.”

“seol, shut up,” you whispered, face heating.

across the room, haechan was very obviously not watching the movie. his eyes kept flickering to you.

he stretched lazily, arm brushing jeno’s shoulder.

“this movie’s mid,” he announced.

“you were the one who suggested it,” jaemin said.

“yeah, and now i regret it.”

you were trying so hard to focus on the screen. but you could feel him watching you. every glance burned. your fingers twitched.

seol’s eyes narrowed. “girl, your ears are turning red.”

“i’m fine,” you hissed.

haechan got up a few minutes later. “bathroom,” he muttered. but the second he passed behind you, his hand ghosted over your back. quick. featherlight. like he just had to touch you.

your breath caught.

seol glanced between you two.

“…nope. they’re definitely f—”

“back in a sec!” you blurted, hopping up and heading toward the hallway like your life depended on it.

it kind of did.

he was waiting.

not in the bathroom.

but leaning against the wall in the hallway, arms crossed, like he knew you’d follow.

“you know,” he said, voice low. “we could’ve just stayed home.”

“we’re being normal,” you said, avoiding his gaze.

he stepped closer.

“this isn’t normal,” he murmured.

“we’re trying to be.”

“trying isn’t succeeding.”

you were breathing too fast.

he moved again, backing you up against the wall.

“they’re literally in the other room,” you whispered.

“you think i care?” he said, smiling like the devil himself. “you looked at me like you wanted me to care.”

your eyes fluttered shut. “this is a bad idea.”

“so was the first time. and the second. and the fifth. but you keep kissing me anyway.”

you swallowed hard.

“you said we wouldn’t do this again.”

“you said that,” he said, closing the gap between you. “i never agreed.”

and then he kissed you.

like the world didn’t exist outside that hallway.

like every “we shouldn’t” was just foreplay for “we will anyway.”

his hands were under your hoodie. your fingers were tangled in his hair. the sound of the movie barely reached you—the real noise was the one in your chest, that loud, crashing ache of god, i want you, but god, i shouldn’t

his hand brushed against your hip, a deliberate, teasing touch that sent a shiver down your spine. you bit your lip, pulse quickening as you fought the urge to press yourself against him.

the sound of laughter from the living room seemed to fade into the background, drowned out by the pounding of your heart. you knew you were playing with fire, but the risk only added to the allure. you tilted your head, meeting his gaze.

"you know," you said, voice barely above a whisper,

"we're not exactly being subtle."

he smirked, his confidence unwavering.

"who said we need to be?" his fingers traced the edge of your hoodie, his touch light but deliberate. "they’re too busy with their own drama to notice us." his words were a challenge, a dare you couldn't resist.

your resolve wavered as his hand slid up your side, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin just below your ribcage. you leaned into him, body responding to his touch with a mind of its own.

"and if they do?" you teased, voice trembling slightly.

"then they'll see what they've been missing," he replied, his tone daring.

before you could respond, he cupped your jaw, pulling you closer. his lips brushed against yours, a fleeting touch that left you breathless. the kiss was soft, almost tentative, but it ignited a fire within you that you couldn't ignore.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing yourself against him as the kiss deepened. his hands moved to your waist, pulling you tighter until there was no space between you.

the hallway seemed to shrink around you, the world narrowing to just the two of you and the heat of your desire. you moaned softly into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair as you surrendered to the moment.

his hands moved lower, sliding over your hips and down to your thighs. he lifted you effortlessly, pressing you against the wall as he kissed you with a hunger that left no doubt about his intentions.

you wrapped your legs around his waist, your heart racing as you felt the hardness of his body against yours. the thrill of being so close to getting caught only heightened the sensation, the risk adding an edge to your passion.

then jeno’s voice rang down the hallway. “bro, what’s taking you so long? are you pooping or—”

you broke the kiss, breathing like you’d just run a marathon.

“back in a sec!” he yelled, way too cheerful.

you pulled away from him, fixed your hoodie, hair a mess, face hot, and mouth swollen.

he winked at you. “so… movie?”

you glared. “i hate you.”

he grinned. “you couldn’t.”

and you didn’t deny it.

“i could take more shots or i could take you off your blouse”

the party was already a mistake.

not because it was boring—but because the second you walked in and locked eyes with him from across the room, everything else just turned into background noise.

haechan was already leaning against the kitchen counter, red cup in hand, loose black shirt and smug grin fully deployed.

you hated how he looked at you like he had a secret.

you hated it more because you were the secret.

you didn’t approach him.

you did what any self-respecting person would do.

you mingled, you laughed at renjun’s sarcastic commentary, you complimented someone’s fake fur jacket. and you ignored the way your skin buzzed under his stare.

seol noticed first.

“he hasn’t stopped staring at you,” she muttered over the music, sipping something suspiciously green.

“he’s looking at the chips behind me.”

“right. and i’m looking at the dip.”

you rolled your eyes, but when you turned around, he was gone.

haechan had disappeared.

and somehow, that made it worse.

because now you were aware of him—like heat at your back, like footsteps you couldn’t hear yet. like a ghost you definitely had unfinished business with.

you wandered down the hall, claiming you were looking for the bathroom.

you weren’t.

you knew exactly where you were going.

and there he was.

in one of the empty rooms, door cracked open just enough for you to catch a glimpse of him sitting on the desk, legs swinging, cup still in hand.

he didn’t look surprised.

he just tilted his head.

“looking for something?” he asked.

you stepped in and closed the door behind you. and locked it.

“you left without saying hi.”

“well, you seemed occupied.. pretending not to know me,” he said, voice amused.

you crossed your arms. “we said no hooking up at parties.”

“we also said no feelings,” he replied. “and yet here we are.”

“this is different.”

“is it?” he slid off the desk, walking slowly toward you. “or are we just really bad at rules?”

your breath caught when he reached you.

“don’t look at me like that,” you whispered.

“like what?”

“like you’re gonna do something reckless.”

he leaned in. “define reckless.”

you didn’t answer.

your lips already did.

the kiss was hot and desperate, all the tension from earlier spilling over. his hands were on your waist, yours fisting in his shirt like you needed to anchor yourself.

he lifted you onto the desk like you weighed nothing. like he needed you closer. like he didn’t care who walked in.

“someone could come in,” you mumbled against his mouth.

“door’s locked.”

“people are literally outside.”

he grinned. “guess we’ll be quiet, then.”

your laugh was breathless. “you are never quiet.”

“watch me,” he whispered, and kissed you again.

it was fast. messy. intense. the kind of kiss that made your knees weak and your heart angry with you. because you knew better.

but you didn’t want to do better.

you hadn’t even had a drink.

you didn’t need one.

he was already intoxicating.

“this is so bad,” you moaned,

“the worst,” he agreed. “we’re going to hell.”

“we said we’d stop.”

“we say a lot of things.”

“and what are we gonna say after this?”

he met your eyes.

and for once, he didn’t joke.

“nothing,” he said. “we don’t have to say anything. we never do.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

you were at his place.

again.

for “homework.”

because apparently, two people who have the self-control of soggy toast thought they could survive a full hour of proximity without pouncing on each other.

“seriously,” you said, dropping your bag on his bed. “we’re gonna study. like, for real. no distractions.”

haechan raised both hands in fake surrender. “no distractions. i swear.”

you narrowed your eyes.

“no weird comments. no staring. no—”

“sexually suggestive jokes? i would never.”

“haechan.”

he smiled, all teeth. “fine. serious face. hit me with the notes.”

ten minutes in, he was already failing.

you were mid-sentence, reading off your notes, when you noticed it.

he was staring at your lips.

you didn’t look up. “stop it.”

“stop what?” he said, all fake innocence.

“you’re doing that thing where you pretend to listen but you’re actually thinking about making out with me.”

“no i’m not,” he said. “i’m thinking about undressing you with my teeth.”

you dropped your pen. “jesus christ—“

“what?” he laughed, leaning back against the wall. “you said no weird comments, not no honest ones.”

“you’re impossible.”

“and yet, here you are.”

you glared. “this is why we can’t do normal things. like sit. and study. and exist without humping.”

“not my fault you look hot when you’re focused.”

you turned to him, exasperated. “you promised.”

“i promised nothing. you said, ‘let’s study,’ and i nodded while imagining you in nothing but a t-shirt.”

you stood. “i’m going home.”

“no, you’re not.”

“watch me.”

“you say that every time, but then—” he stood too, walking toward you like you were prey and he was seconds from pouncing—“you remember how good we are at not studying.”

“we said we wouldn’t do this again.”

he paused in front of you. close. too close.

you hated that you were already leaning in.

“we shouldn’t do this again,” you corrected.

“yet, we couldn’t not,” he whispered, brushing his fingers down your arm.

you stared at him.

this was supposed to be simple.

but now, he was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that made sense, and your heart was doing that thing again, that stupid, fluttery, traitorous thing—

you grabbed his face and kissed him.

and he laughed into it, breath hitching, like he’d known you’d give in.

like he’d always know.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

you woke up tangled in his sheets.

his arm slung over your waist. his face buried in your neck. your phone buzzing somewhere beneath your discarded jeans with three missed calls from seol

seolace: u said “just homework”

seolace: be so serious rn

seolace: r u . still . at his place .

you threw your phone under the pillow and turned to face him.

he was awake.

“hi, baby” he mumbled, voice scratchy.

“we’re not doing this again.” you said—ignoring the tiny somersault your stomach just did

he smirked, eyes still closed. “totally.”

“i’m serious.”

“mhmm.”

you sighed, brushing a strand of hair off his face.

you both knew you were lying.

but for now?

you didn’t care.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

you were up late, preparing for midterms, when your phone suddenly buzzed next to you.

DNI!!: hey, are u up?

DNI!!: not in a ‘come over’ way

DNI!!: okay. maybe in a ‘can i come over’ way

DNI!!: but also.. i brought food

you: if it’s just fries again i’m blocking u

DNI!!: c’monnn babee it’s fries AND ice cream

DNI!!: pleeaaasseee )): u know u love me

DNI!!: fries* 😊

you opened your door three minutes later in mismatched socks and a shirt that—may or may not—have been his.

he looked at you like you were ridiculous.

you rolled your eyes, tossing him a napkin. he didn’t sit on the floor this time—instead, he plopped onto your bed like he lived there. like it was normal. like this whole setup was normal.

“you look tired,” he said through a mouthful of fries.

“midterms,” you replied.

he frowned. “are you okay?”

you nodded. “just a little burnt out.”

he reached over, brushing his thumb across your cheek like it was nothing. like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“you should rest more,” he said, soft.

you blinked.

haechan wasn’t… sweet. not like this.

he was chaotic. loud. reckless. he made fun of you for having a notes app titled ‘reasons not to text him.’

he wasn't supposed to care.

you cleared your throat. “you’re being weird.. again.”

“no i’m not.” he looks at you confused.

“you’re being like… thoughtful.”

he rolled his eyes, shoving a donut in front of your mouth. “fine. next time i’ll throw fries at your face instead.”

you smiled, biting into the donut. “thank you.”

he shrugged. “don’t mention it.”

but he stayed. longer than he usually did.

you watched a dumb movie. you argued about which side of the blanket was yours. he dozed off halfway through with his head on your shoulder, arm slung across your stomach like it belonged there.

you didn’t move.

you just stared at the ceiling, heartbeat doing laps in your chest.

this wasn’t just casual anymore.

you both knew it.

and when he stirred in the early morning light, blinking up at you with sleep in his eyes and a softness in his voice that made your throat ache—

“do you want me to go?”

you almost said no.

but you smiled instead. like always.

“probably.”

he nodded.

but he didn’t move.

“it’s not anything you said, it’s everything you didn’t”

it was raining.

not the dramatic, movie-style kind—just a steady, quiet drizzle tapping against your window as the afternoon faded into blue.

you hadn’t planned to see him.

he hadn’t planned to show up.

but at some point in the day, you’d both ended up in your bed again, sharing your last bag of popcorn and making sarcastic commentary over a romcom neither of you were really watching.

you were lying on your stomach. he was on his back beside you, fingers lazily scrolling through his phone, feet nudging yours every few minutes like a bored child.

“how is it,” he said suddenly, “that you always smell like vanilla and bad decisions?”

you kicked his leg. “how is it that you always sound like a red flag wrapped in a hoodie?”

“it’s a gift.”

you laughed, eyes fluttering shut.

he was quiet for a moment.

“i like this.”

you peeked at him. “the movie?”

“no. this,” he said, waving vaguely at the space between you. “us. being here. it’s... nice.”

you tried to play it off. “don’t get sappy on me now. i will physically throw you out.”

he smiled, soft and slow. “i mean it.”

you looked away, heart thudding in your chest in a way that was not normal. definitely not casual. it was the kind of thud that reminded you that this whole thing—whatever it was—had gotten far out of hand.

“you’ve been acting unusual lately,” you said.

“you always say that when i’m not trying to get in your pants.”

“because… it freaks me out.”

“good. fear keeps things spicy.”

you scoffed.

then, silence.

not uncomfortable. just… full.

full of things neither of you were ready to say.

finally, you broke it.

“you ever think about how we shouldn’t have started this?”

he didn’t look at you.

but he nodded.

“yeah,” he said. “all the time.”

you turned to face him.

“do you regret it?”

he glanced at you then, eyes unreadable.

“no,” he said. “but sometimes i wish it didn’t feel like this.”

“like what?”

“like… if we keep going, one of us is gonna get hurt.”

you swallowed hard.

you knew he was right.

you also knew you weren’t ready to stop.

you reached over and touched his hand—just barely, just enough—and whispered, “stay. just for a bit.”

he did.

no touching. no kissing. no jokes.

just you, him, and the rain outside.

and all the things you still weren’t saying.

“you go and shut me out, figures, you gemini”

it had been one of those nights—the kind where the weight of the world seemed to settle on your shoulders, and the only remedy was to dull the edges with a bottle and a bad rom-com.

but just as you were about to surrender to sleep, the sharp buzz of the doorbell jolted you back to reality.

you groaned, setting the glass down with a thud. who the hell would be at your door at this hour? you weren’t expecting anyone, and the only person who ever showed up unannounced was him.

and the thought alone made your stomach twist. you hesitated, debating whether to ignore it, but curiosity—or maybe something more stubborn—got the better of you. you dragged yourself to the door, flipping on the hallway light as you went.

there he stood, leaning against the frame with that infuriating smirk plastered across his face. his hair was tousled, like he’d run his hands through it a dozen times, and his shirt was half-tucked, as if he’d thrown it on in a rush.

“forgot my charger,” he said, his voice low and casual, like this was the most normal thing in the world.

you crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes. “at midnight? really?”

he shrugged, that smirk widening. “figured you’d be up. you’re always up this late.”

you wanted to slam the door in his face. but instead, you stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in.

“it’s in the living room. take it and go.”

he didn’t move. just stood there, his gaze locking onto yours, and for a moment, the air between you crackled with something unspoken.

you knew you should’ve pushed him out, should’ve kept your distance, but before you could think, you were closing the gap between you, your lips crashing against his. it was reckless, impulsive, and entirely against your better judgment. but it was also familiar—too familiar.

he didn’t hesitate, his arms wrapping around you like he’d been waiting for this moment all along.

stumbling backward toward the bedroom, the world narrowing to just the two of you. clothes were discarded, excuses and self-control unraveling like cheap thread.

you didn’t want to think about why this was happening again, why you kept letting it happen. you just wanted to feel something—anything—other than the emptiness that had been gnawing at you all night.

“i hate you,” you whispered against his mouth, your breath hot and uneven.

he chuckled, his hands sliding under your shirt, tracing the curve of your waist. “you love me,” he murmured, his tone teasing but his touch anything but.

you didn’t correct him. you didn’t say anything. instead, you let yourself get lost in him again—in the way his lips moved against yours, in the way his hands seemed to know every inch of your body.

it was the kind of kiss that made your head spin, the kind of touch that felt like it was trying to memorize you. the kind of closeness that always made you forget how much this wasn’t supposed to matter.

but then—right in the middle of it, when your heart was pounding and your skin was flushed and your mind was a blur of want—he spoke.

his voice was low, almost a whisper, but it cut through the haze like a knife.

“god, i think i’m in love with you.”

you froze. just for a second. but it was enough.

he didn’t notice. or maybe he did. but he didn’t stop. his lips kept moving against yours, his hands kept roaming, like the words hadn’t just dropped between you like a grenade with the pin pulled.

you let him kiss you again. let him touch you like nothing had happened. like the words hadn’t changed everything.

but they had.

later, when it was quiet and you were lying there in the dark, your back to his chest and his arm around your waist, you whispered, "did you mean what you said?"

he was quiet.

too quiet.

"haechan?"

he let out a soft exhale.

"no," he said. too quickly. too carefully. "i didn’t mean it."

you nodded.

but you didn’t believe him.

he didn’t believe himself either.

but neither of you said anything else.

and in the silence that followed, you both realized something terrifying.

this thing you swore wasn’t real?

it was starting to feel like the only real thing either of you had.

“you wonder why suddenly i’m comin’ off indifferent. what you don’t seem to understand is..”

the next time you saw him, it was as if nothing had happened.

you opened the door, and he was standing there in his stupid hoodie, holding a bag of chips and some sour gummies like that could fix whatever this was.

“snack delivery,” he said, way too cheerful.

you raised an eyebrow. “you don’t even like sour gummies.”

he grinned. “you do, though.”

and just like that, the air shifted.

you stepped aside and let him in.

you sat beside each other on your bed—a little farther apart than usual. the movie played. the snacks sat between you. and the silence was louder than the speakers.

“so,” he said eventually, “you seen that tiktok where—”

“haechan,” you interrupted, voice quiet.

he looked at you.

you didn’t even know what you wanted to say. only that something was caught in your throat and it was killing you not to ask.

but instead of saying “you told me you loved me” or “did you mean it” or “what are we doing,” you just said, “why are you acting this way.”

he blinked. “you’re the one who’s acting.. strange.”

“no, you are.”

“i literally brought you snacks.”

“yeah, you’re being fake nice.”

he frowned, leaning back on his hands. “you’re being fake mean.”

“and you’re being fake fine.”

and there it was.

silence again. thick. awful.

you sighed, “can we not do this?”

“do what?”

“this thing where we pretend we’re mad at each other so we don’t have to talk about last time.”

he bit the inside of his cheek.

you were right.

and you were mad. just not at him. not really.

you were mad at yourself. for letting it get this far. for letting it matter.

but what were you supposed to say? that you heard him say he loved you, and then heard him take it back? that you wanted it to be real, even though it shouldn’t be?

he reached for the bag of gummies and started eating like it would fill the silence.

you let him.

but you didn’t move closer this time.

and he didn’t either.

“it’s not always peachy, look, love ain’t that easy”

you hadn’t seen him in a week.

not because he hadn’t tried.

he had—three calls, four texts, one passive-aggressive meme, and a “u left ur hoodie btw” that you knew was just an excuse.

you didn’t reply.

you couldn’t.

because it wasn’t just about the hookup anymore. it hadn’t been for a while.

you were catching feelings, and he was pretending not to. and the truth was—you couldn’t keep pretending too.

so when he showed up again—hands in his pockets, chewing gum like this wasn’t the first time he’d stood outside your door with something to say and no idea how to say it—you almost didn’t open.

almost.

you cracked the door open.

“i don’t want to do this anymore,” you said.

no hello. no smile. just the truth.

he blinked. “okay. wow.”

you nodded, bracing yourself.

he looked away, jaw tight. “you could’ve at least answered.”

“what was i supposed to say?” your voice was low. “we were hooking up, and then you said you were in love with me—and then you acted like it didn’t matter.”

“you asked if i meant it,” he said. “what was i supposed to do?”

“you could’ve told the truth.”

he was silent.

and that said everything.

you swallowed. “you know what hurt more than hearing you didn’t mean it?”

he looked at you, eyes suddenly soft. guarded.

“what?” he said, barely above a whisper.

“you didn’t even ask how i felt.”

he opened his mouth. closed it again.

and that pause—that silence—said more than anything he could’ve.

you stepped aside. you weren’t sure why. some part of you still hoping, still stupid.

he walked in slowly, looking around like the place had changed. like you had.

you followed him into the living room. it felt smaller with him in it. heavier.

he sat on the edge of the couch but didn’t speak. just looked at you.

you crossed your arms. “don’t say it again.”

his brows knit. “say what?”

“what you said last time.”

he leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped like he didn’t trust them. “why not?”

you shook your head, voice flat. “because it doesn’t change anything. because we both know this—” you gestured between the two of you, the tension, the mess. “this isn’t real.”

he was quiet for a moment. then, with more force than before, he said, “feels pretty real to me.”

you stared at him. hard. “you always make it feel real. you say things like that, and you look at me like this is everything. and i let it get to me. i let myself believe it means something.”

“maybe it does,” he said, standing. “maybe i mean it.”

you searched his face, hoping for something steady, something solid. but there was only more uncertainty. more wanting.

“then why does it still feel like i’m the only one who’ll get hurt?” you asked.

he didn’t answer.

not right away.

and maybe that was the answer.

“you couldn’t define the relationship,” you said, voice low and shaking now. “you couldn’t say what you wanted.”

he took a step forward.

you took one back.

“don’t,” you whispered.

“y/n—”

“we shouldn’t have started this,” you said. “and now i couldn’t stop even if i wanted to.”

his face softened. “then don’t stop.”

you almost laughed. almost.

but instead, you stepped back toward the door.

“you need to go,” you said, quiet but clear.

he didn’t fight you. just nodded slowly.

“fine,” he said. “but we’re not done talking about this.”

you didn’t reply. just opened the door and waited.

he paused for a second. then walked out.

you didn’t slam the door.

you just closed it gently.

finally.

then you leaned against it, your chest tight, your mind loud. you knew you’d made the right decision. you knew it was the only way to protect yourself.

but still, his words lingered in the silence like smoke.

and something in you knew that nothing would be quite the same again.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

renjun was telling some dumb story about how jaemin got kicked out of a 7/11 for trying to microwave his socks.

the group was cracking up. seol was doubled over. jeno had tears in his eyes. and haechan—haechan was laughing too, but his eyes kept flicking to you.

you didn’t laugh.

you smiled, sure. nodded. even chimed in once or twice. but your body was angled slightly away from him, arms crossed over your chest like a shield.

he noticed.

you noticed him noticing.

and seol definitely noticed both of you.

“what’s wrong with you two?” she asked suddenly, cutting through the noise like a knife.

you and haechan turned at the same time, startled. “what?”

“you’re acting weird,” she said, squinting. “like... not the funny, flirty weird. like actual weird.”

“we’re fine,” you said too quickly.

“yeah,” haechan added, forcing a laugh. “totally fine.”

the silence that followed was awkward enough to kill the entire room’s vibe.

jaemin blinked. “damn. now it’s weird for us, too.”

jeno cleared his throat. “anyone want more chips?”

you stood up. “i’ll help.”

haechan stood up too. “i got it.”

you both reached for the same bowl and your fingers brushed. it was nothing. a second. a spark. but it felt like being burned.

you flinched.

he did too.

and when your eyes met, it was like looking at a stranger wearing the face of someone you used to know too well.

“you good?” he asked quietly.

“mhm,” you lied.

he nodded like he believed you. like you were both pretending this didn’t hurt.

you took the chips and walked back to the others.

he stayed behind.

renjun watched him from the couch.

“not that deep, right?” renjun said casually, like a joke.

but it wasn’t.

and haechan didn’t answer.

because it was deep.

and it was drowning them.

“you don’t pick up when i call, unless i call you mine”

you don’t remember who called first.

it didn’t matter.

and then—quiet knocks. familiar eyes. the kind of silence that meant everything.

he stepped inside like he didn’t know what he was doing.

you let him in like you didn’t either.

no words. not at first.

you were both so tired of pretending. so tired of brushing shoulders in rooms full of people and pretending you didn’t notice how the distance hurt.

you kissed him.

and it wasn’t frantic this time.

it was careful.

like maybe, just maybe, if you kissed him gently enough, it wouldn’t break your heart.

his hands found your waist. yours tangled in his hair. the kind of kiss that tasted like forgiveness, or something dangerously close to it.

“you don’t have to say anything,” you whispered, breaking the kiss to breathe.

he shook his head slowly. “i want to.”

but he didn’t. not yet.

he touched you like it was the last time. like he wanted to remember everything. how your skin felt under his palms. how you sighed when he kissed down your jaw. how you looked at him when your guard finally dropped.

every movement was slow. like a secret unspoken. like you both knew this wasn’t just hooking up anymore, but neither of you wanted to say it out loud.

because saying it would make it real.

because if it was real, it could end.

he kissed every inch of you like he owed you an apology. like he wanted to say sorry for every moment you doubted him. for every night you stared at the ceiling, wondering what the hell you meant to him.

you looked up at him, breath catching. “haechan—”

“i meant it.”

your heart stopped.

“that night,” he said softly, pressing his forehead to yours. “when i said i was in love with you. i meant it.”

you blinked up at him, stunned. raw. silent.

“i just—” he exhaled. “i didn’t want it to be real. because if it was, then this... this thing we had? it couldn’t stay casual anymore.”

you swallowed. “and now?”

his voice cracked. “now it’s too real to ignore.”

you kissed him again. longer this time. deeper.

and when your bodies moved together, it was less about need and more about knowing.

knowing that this was never just lust.

that underneath the sneaking around, the laughs, the tension—there was always something more.

you both just tried so hard not to see it.

but now, in the dark, there was nothing to hide behind.

it wasn’t much, but it was enough. for now, it had to be.

the afternoon light spilled softly through the curtains, wrapping the room in a golden hush. you closed your eyes, breathing him in, letting the stillness wrap around you like a promise.

his heartbeat pulsed steady beneath your ear, a quiet rhythm that told you—he was here. this was real.

and yet, as the sun sank lower and shadows stretched long across the floor, a fragile ache bloomed in your chest. it felt too perfect, too fleeting.

his presence, his warmth, felt like something borrowed—something beautiful the world might decide you weren’t meant to keep. you wanted to ask him to stay. to whisper don’t go. but the words tangled behind your teeth.

so instead, you held him tighter. your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like they could root you to him, like you could stop time if you just loved him hard enough.

and he felt it—somehow, he always did. his hand found your cheek, tender and knowing, his thumb tracing soft, grounding circles on your skin.

“baby…” he said softly, the word brushing against your heart more than your ears. he tilted your chin up just enough for your eyes to meet his.

“it’s okay,” he whispered, voice thick with something unspoken. maybe he meant this moment. maybe he meant you. maybe he meant the both of you.

you didn’t know. but with his arms around you and the world held at bay, you wanted to believe it. even just for now.

it was quiet when it ended.

your head on his chest. his hand running slowly down your back. breaths slowly syncing. hearts still racing.

and for the first time, he didn’t leave.

and for the first time, you didn’t ask him to stay.

he just did.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

the morning light came too fast.

you woke up before he did. you didn’t know what time it was. you didn’t care.

he was still beside you—breathing slow, chest rising and falling like nothing was wrong.

but something was.

something always had been.

you stared at the ceiling for a long time. longer than you meant to.

you wanted to stay like this—in the warmth of the sheets, in the comfort of his arm still lazily thrown across your waist, in the silence that hadn’t turned heavy yet.

but the second he blinked awake and looked at you… it hit you again.

this wasn’t yours.

not really.

he smiled, groggy and soft. “morning.”

you nodded. “hey.”

he leaned in to kiss you. and you let him.

but your hands didn’t reach for him the way they used to.

“you okay?” he asked, voice thick with sleep.

you hesitated. “yeah. just tired.”

you got up. slipped into your shirt. searched the floor for the rest of your clothes.

“you don’t have to rush out,” he said behind you. you paused. “i know.”

he sat up, rubbing his eyes. “did i.. say something wrong?”

you shook your head. “no. that’s the problem.” he frowned.

“you didn’t say anything,” you continued, still not facing him. “you didn’t say what this was. what we were. you didn’t ask what i wanted. or tell me what you wanted.”

“and i kept waiting,” you said softly. “for you to define it. for you to say something. anything. and you never did.”

“i didn’t know how,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

you finally turned around, arms crossed, heart exposed. “i know. and that’s okay. but i can’t keep doing this if we’re just gonna keep pretending it’s not something real.”

he looked at you, eyes searching. “but last night—”

“last night was real,” you said. “this morning... this is real too.”

“we’re not always peachy,” you said, echoing the words you both used to laugh at. “love isn’t that easy. but it also shouldn’t be this hard.”

he didn’t argue. instead, he nodded slowly. “i know.”

you slipped on your jacket. picked up your phone. opened the door.

you hesitated—one foot out the door, heart still inside.

and just like that—the door closed.

this time, for good.

“i drank too much tonight, to not try to call you up. i mean, that’s what our phones are for”

you didn’t mean to pour the second glass. or the third.

but it was quiet in the apartment—too quiet—and the clink of ice in the glass felt like the only sound that wouldn’t make you flinch.

you sat on the kitchen floor, back against the cabinet, knees pulled in, sipping something too strong just to feel something soft. it burned going down. not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you you were still here.

the playlist was still playing. his playlist.

you hadn’t touched it in months. maybe you thought deleting it would be too final, too much like deleting him. so it stayed, buried somewhere in your phone. and tonight, it just… started. autoplay, maybe. or fate.

you weren’t sure which hurt more. you laughed once, sharp and bitter, as the first tear slid down. you didn’t wipe it. what was the point?

because this wasn’t about missing him anymore. this was grief. not over him exactly, but over the version of you who once believed love—real, chaotic, aching love—could fix things.

you were wrong.

and he… was quiet now. no more late-night texts. no more inside jokes. no more “u up?” that really meant i miss you.

and he was wrong too.

haechan sat on the steps, a half-empty bottle dangling from his fingers, the night wind brushing over him like a ghost. he didn’t know what time it was. didn’t care.

he hadn’t called. hadn’t texted.

not because he didn’t think about it—he did. every night. especially tonight.

but because he knew you meant it this time. you were done.

and for once, he didn’t fight that. he let the silence stretch. he let it break him.

he tipped the bottle back and swallowed hard. it didn’t make the ache go away, just blurred it at the edges.

your name sat heavy on his tongue. your laugh echoed somewhere between his ears and his ribs.

he remembered the way you used to pull away after, like you were protecting yourself from wanting too much. but your eyes always lingered. you always looked back.

he closed his eyes. and quietly, like confessing something to the dark, he said, “i’m sorry.”

no one answered. but maybe somewhere, over the hum of that old playlist and the clink of your glass hitting the tile, you heard it anyway.

wouldn’t

“so,” seol said gently, handing you a mug of tea, “you wanna tell me what happened now, or do i have to sit here pretending i haven’t been waiting weeks for you to say something?”

you stared down at the steam. then, slowly, “we ended things.” she didn’t flinch. didn’t gasp. didn’t say finally like most people would’ve. just nodded.

“it wasn’t supposed to happen, you know? like… we weren’t even friends. we were just messing around. and i knew—god, i knew it wasn’t a good idea. i knew we shouldn’t.”

she hummed, sipping her tea. “but?” “but we did,” you whispered, bitterly. “because we couldn’t not.” seol reached over and squeezed your wrist gently.

“and he told me he loved me,” you said, voice barely audible now. “and he took it back. like it was something to be ashamed of.”

“i don’t think he meant to hurt me. i think he’s just scared. i think he’s used to everything being temporary. and i let that be enough for a while. i let it be enough that he stayed.” your laugh was dry. empty.

“but it wasn’t. because i kept waiting for something—anything—to make me feel like i was actually his. and he never gave me that. he never said it. and it’s not even the words i needed, it’s the fact that he didn’t try.”

she looked at you. “what would’ve made you stay?” you smiled, a little sad. “if i had his heart. that’s it. if i really had it, it wouldn’t have been this hard.” she set her tea down and pulled you into a hug. you let yourself fall into it, finally soft, finally tired, finally allowing yourself to feel the weight of it all.

“i loved him, seol,” you whispered into her shoulder. “i really did.”

“i know,” she whispered back. “and i’m proud of you for walking away anyway.” you nodded, blinking up at the ceiling like maybe it’d have answers. it didn’t. but she was right.

you walked away. and that had to count for something.

“you know i was never good at this,” haechan said, toeing the leg of the coffee table with his socked foot.

they were at jaemin’s place, eating stale pizza and drinking flat soda, because of course haechan only decided to talk about it at 1 a.m.

jaemin leaned back against the couch. “so, are you gonna tell me what happened with y/n or am i supposed to guess from your playlist getting weirdly depressing lately?”

haechan looked away, his jaw clenching. “we haven’t talked since… since that morning.” “the morning she walked out?” “yeah.”

jaemin didn’t say anything, letting the silence settle.

haechan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “i didn’t know how to tell her i loved her. i know that sounds stupid. i mean—i’ve said it before, to other people. but with her? it was different.”

“different how?”

haechan let out a low laugh. “like if i said it and she said it back, that meant i’d have to stop running from it. like it’d be real. and that scared the shit out of me.”

“but you did love her,” jaemin said. not a question. “yeah,” haechan said, eyes somewhere far. “like, all the little things. the way she acted like she didn’t care but would always bring an extra charger for me just in case. the way she’d make fun of me for being a gemini and still sleep in my shirt.”

jaemin snorted. “you are the most gemini person i’ve ever met.”

“don’t remind me.”

“so what happened?”

haechan leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “i didn’t give her what she needed. i kept making her guess. kept dodging the questions. like, every time she asked what are we, i answered with a joke or a kiss or a let’s not ruin this.”

he shook his head, voice quieter now. “she deserved more than that. she deserved more than… more than someone who couldn’t DTR.”

jaemin’s brows furrowed. “DTR?” “define the relationship.” jaemin blinked. “oh god, you really couldn’t even say it.”

haechan laughed, almost bitterly. “i know. and now she’s gone.” he fell silent again. the tv played something neither of them were watching.

“do you miss her?” jaemin asked after a while. “every day,” haechan said without hesitation. “but it wouldn’t be fair to go back. not if i still don’t know how to be what she needs.”

“so that’s it?” “yeah.” he looked up at jaemin with a soft, crooked smile. jaemin didn’t say anything. just leaned forward and nudged him lightly with his shoulder.

“you know,” jaemin said eventually, “you might not have said the right things. but you felt them. and that counts for something.” haechan swallowed hard. “yeah. just not enough.”

and for once, he didn’t try to joke it off. he just sat with it. with the ache of losing someone who had all of him—even the parts he never figured out how to give.

“wouldn’t it be nice if we could stay friends? but we shouldn’t.”

you were out on a tuesday.

one of those forgettable ones—no rain, no heartbreak, just a coffee run like any other.

until it wasn’t.

he looked the same. maybe a little older. hair longer. hoodie too familiar.

standing in line like he hadn’t once memorized your order.

like he hadn’t once whispered stupid jokes into your neck at 3 a.m.

he didn’t see you at first. too busy scrolling. you could’ve left. you almost did.

but something in you—that soft, reckless part—waited.

and then he looked up.

three people between you. two quiet months apart. his eyes widened, just barely.

fingers froze mid-scroll. and for a second, the silence between you felt louder than it ever had when you were together.

he didn’t smile. didn’t say hi. didn’t step forward. and neither did you.

and now, he just looked at you like a memory that still stung.

you were first to look away.

and when the bell above the coffee shop door chimed behind you, you knew—

you shouldn’t. you couldn’t. and now, you wouldn’t.

──── ☀︎ ──── ☀︎ ──── ☀︎ ────

💌: if you made it all the way here, thank you sooo much for taking the time to read this fic!! 🥹 i seriously can’t believe how much love my little stories have gotten so far—i mostly just write when a random idea smacks me in the face, so seeing people actually enjoy them?? unreal 💞

i wasn’t expecting to finish this one so quickly, but.. i may or may not have been thinking a lot—maybe too much—about a past relationship lately, i guessss that’s why this poured out of me so fast 😬

this is also the longest fic i’ve written yet! honestly, shouldn’t and wouldn’t were meant to be even longer, but guess who didn’t know tumblr has a 1000 text box limit 🫠 had to chop them down a lot ): still, i really really hope you had fun reading!!

p.s. please—don’t you dare settle for someone who won’t define the relationship. you deserve so much better 😤🫶

thanks again for all the support, and feel free to come scream about fic stuff or just say hi anytime 🧸 ‘til next time !! xx

[andluv]

my youth, shared with you

l.cy x fem!reader (fluff, really sappy, inspired by let down by radiohead)

once you hit rock bottom, you can only go up. right?

you would’ve never believed it. i mean, it’s called rock bottom for a reason. you never thought you’d make it out alive. that you’d live to see yourself thriving, enjoying life once again.

it takes time, like all good things in life.

what people don’t tell you, is that one person can speed things up exponentially.

you don’t even have to seek that person out.

the universe will send them to you when you need them most.

you didn’t believe in soulmates, it’s a tired cliche.

but you do believe in the boy the universe sent you at 15.

the little boy who, whilst running from the same world you were, managed to stumble right into you.

he crashed into your orbit and never let go.

anton lee. the love of your life. the life in your love.

you look to him now, seeing him in all his glory. he hasn’t changed too much. he’s still the same gangly, awkward boy you’ve always known. but there’s something different about him, about both of you, matter of fact.

you’ve healed. no longer wasting away in the shells of your bodies.

no, the universe knew what they were doing when they sent him. whether he be the boy you met in sophomore year, or the man who now stood before you at end of the aisle.

you walk slowly, looking around like it’s your first time living.

it’s not your “first time living” per se, but ever since you met him it’s been the sequel. the revival of your life, the way it was meant to be.

as you look to anton, you struggle to find the words. there’s so many things you could say, yet no words are enough to truly express how you feel.

he came into your life as an anchor. now he’s your lily pad, sitting as a part of your pond, like he was always meant to be here. like you two were always meant to find each other.

he’s a part of you, and you’re a part of him. what did plato say? “god split humans in half, and now their halves are trying to find each other.”

well you did it. you found him. your other half, your soulmate.

lee chanyoung.

you made it. you’re alive and well, looking forward to everyday you get to share with the love of your life, your life partner, your soon to be husband.

“any last words for groom?”

“i hope we found each other in every life.” you say sentimentally, unshed tears glossing your eyes over.

you kiss him like you did at 15, and like you will continue to do so until you are 105.

nothings changed since you first met anton that fateful fall evening, yet everything’s different.

in the midst of the never ending chaos of life, one thing remains constant. your never ending love.

before you fall asleep, you close your eyes, thinking to yourself.

thank you anton lee, for letting me be apart of your life, and for always being apart of mine.

i love you eternally,

yn ln.

masterlist

[andluv]

𝕲𝖊𝖙𝖍𝖘𝖊𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖊 || 𝕮𝖍𝖔𝖎 𝕭𝖊𝖔𝖒𝖌𝖞𝖚

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ pairings ➥ underground boxer!choi beomgyu x investigative journalist!fem! reader ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ genre ➥ strangers to lovers, angst, fluff, smut [MDNI] ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ word count ➥ 23.7k ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ warnings ➥ dark themes [violence, murder mention, stabbing, gunshot mention, vague sex-traffiicking mention], heavy religious motifs, exploitation, smut warnings [semi-public, oral (f. rec.), fingering, unprotected sex]. ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ inspired by ➥ gethsemane [sleep token],  missing limbs [sleep token], blood sport [sleep token], moral of the story [ashe]. ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ synopsis ➥ gethsemane /ɡɛθˈsɛməni/ a garden at the foot of the Mount of Olives in East Jerusalem, where Jesus Christ underwent the Agony and was arrested.  Places often reminded you of persons, and he—he was your garden—your Eden and you?—You were his Gethsemane. Parallels that didn’t quite meet. Golgotha became your cursed haven—a bitterly sacred place. You never imagined that your journey would lead you here—cuffed, standing at your own Calvary, with a love that never saved, only one meant to break. You sought to grant salvation, but in the end, it was you who needed it the most. Was salvation something you deserved—or had your own betrayal already condemned you to a life beyond redemption?

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ adeline's ✉︎ 𖹭.ᐟ - It's finally out! I added a bit more to the end at the last minute and I still think it's a piece I'm proud of overall. I know I can still improve certain aspects of my writing but for right now this is okay and I'm good with that. Anways I hope you enjoy(❁´◡`❁)

Act I || At the Foot of the Hill

They say that the Garden of Eden was a place, but to you, it was Beomgyu—a person too pure for the world. A victim of the lingering serpent, compelled to consume the forbidden fruit he offered—a fruit that unlocked a part of him that was supposed to remain hidden. Unleashing a darkness that should have never surfaced. And if Beomgyu was like Eden, then you were the Garden of Gethsemane—a betrayer—like Judas, the cause for his silent agony.

The weight of truth and sleep pressed heavily behind your eyes as you blinked it away, forcing yourself to focus on your laptop before you. The cold air from the AC gently kissed your neck, a stark contrast to the boredom that settled in. You enjoyed being an investigative journalist, there was a particular thrill you gained from uncovering corrupt stories that made you feel alive, free—as if life truly held meaning. But lately, when the most interesting news was a fireman rescuing a cat from a tree—an overused cliché—you wondered if journalism still called for you.

The office wasn’t particularly quiet, but it wasn’t extremely noisy either. There was a soft buzz around you, gentle whispers and frantic typing woven neatly into the atmosphere, broken every now and then with an occasional hopeful ring of a phone. Then, a ping from your inbox flashed on your screen, preventing your mind from wandering.

Taehyun: Got some interesting intel for you; an underground fighting ring. There’s something interesting going on, so Boss wants you on it. Bringing you the details now.

Taehyun, your best friend and colleague. You always worked on cases together, something you were appreciative of, not only for his insight but also because he was the more level-headed one between you too, often preventing you from putting yourself in even more danger. You were excited for a more interesting case, something to get your mind buzzing and free from the confines of the office.

“Here,” Taehyun said, sliding a manila folder onto your desk as he appeared beside your cubicle. “It’s right up your alley. Boss wants you to work on it ASAP. Said it's a big one.”

You raised an eyebrow, skimming through the details. “He said that last time too. And all that turned out to be was just some petty spat between shop owners. I wouldn’t trust him.”

“Maybe this time’s different,” Taehyun smirked. “You never know what goes down in that ring.”

Your brows furrowed deeply, “It’s for the rich?” you whispered. “I thought people just did this to make easy money.”

“That’s exactly why it’s interesting,” he replied.

That night, dressed in outfits that cost more than your monthly salaries combined, you and Taehyun stood outside where the supposed underground fighting ring hid. According to the intel, this underground club was meant for people of a certain calibre. Thank God your boss was really banking on a big scoop and decided to generously fund every aspect of the investigation.

“Are you nervous?” Taehyun asked as you descended an inconspicuous flight of stairs.

“Me? Never.” 

At the bottom, you’re met with a small bar—quaint—its ambient lighting setting an intimate mood. Clearly (and thankfully) your intel was credible as the patrons within the bar were well-known faces; from famous wealthy businessmen to celebrities were littered across the bar, each doing their own thing. The entrance to the underground fight club wasn’t as discreet as you expected it to be. The door was made from a dark mahogany, carved into it The Creation of Adam while being adorned in golden accents. Beside it stood a guard—tall and buff—dressed in a proper suit as patrons whispered a secret code before he opened the door for them. He was a clear warning but also a very obvious sign of where you needed to be.

The man barely spared you and Taehyun a glance when you made it to the entire, his rough voice cut through the air, “Code?”

“Judas,” Taehyun replied smoothly, eyeing him with intent. 

For a heartbeat, surprise flickered in the man’s eyes before he bowed deeply, opening the door for you both. “Sir and Madam, welcome to Golgotha. Please, enjoy your stay.”

You exchanged a glance with Taehyun as you stepped through the grand doors. “What is it with them and the biblical references?” you murmured.

“Rich people.”

Golgotha’s atmosphere left you at a loss for words. Its ambiance mirrored that of the earlier bar, but it felt as though you were transported to an entirely different place. The vaulted ceiling was high—impossibly so—stretching overhead like the nave of a cathedral. The walls were simple, a soft beige that bore various religious paintings, a solemn contrast to the activities that took place. In one corner, there was a small bar that served patrons’ drinks out of lavish gold and red chalices; in another corner had a towering marble sculpture of the three crosses mentioned to be at Golgotha in the bible, a sign of their dedication to the theme.

Seating ranged from simple velvet floor lounges to overhead VIP enclosures with a stage like no other as its glorious centerpiece. Unlike the typical ring, this one was elevated in such a way that it resembled a stone altar, each of its corners with a praying angel standing tall, as velvety blood-red rope weaved through its hands making it secure for the performance. Above it hung a single chandelier—large and made of crystal, one that illuminated the entire space with a warm and inviting glow.

“What the hell is this?” you whispered in awe, overwhelmed with the surroundings.

Amidst the sea of tailored suits and glamorous gowns, there was him. He stood out from the crowd, catching your eye. He was buff—rugged and raw—dressed in a simple tank top and shorts. His eyes were fiery with quiet defiance and his knuckles were wrapped tightly in tape, old scars from previous battles peeking through. A fighter, you thought. And a gorgeous one at that. His hair was slightly tousled as it cascaded along his neck. He was talking to a man beside him, his boss you presumed. His eyes seemed more fiery then as he nodded at whatever the man was telling him. In that moment you knew your story was no longer just about uncovering the secrets of Golgotha but also about him and how he came to be.

A man came to the stage, like everyone else he was dressed nicely in a suit. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming out tonight. As the first act of the night is about to begin, we’d like to welcome our performers. On our left, Xavier, a fan favourite.” The patrons clapped and some enthusiastically threw money onto the stage. It was odd, you thought. The way fighting was being treated as an act—a performance—instead of something fighting for their life. “And to our right, Beomgyu, a reigning champion.” The crowd was eerily dead then, a stark comparison to their previous behaviour. Though there were a few claps, it was drowned by the deafening silence.

Choi Beomgyu. Even his name felt hot against your tongue. It rolled off with ease, a forbidden thrill that sent a shiver down your spine. “Enjoy the first act of the evening.” With that, the host stepped back, and the lights dimmed. A sharp gong echoed against the walls, the crowd hushed instantly as Beomgyu and Xavier moved onto the stage.

The moment the referee gave the go-ahead Beomgyu immediately stepped forward with a fluidity that exhibited raw power. This was his altar, his battleground as he seamlessly fought Xavier with ease, dodging his punches with grace. Your heart quickened as you leaned in closer to Taehyun. This wasn’t just a fight—it was a spectacle to the crowd—a performance drenched in sweat and blood. But to Beomgyu, it was more than that—desperation clung miserably to him, with every throw, every dodge, his story waiting to be revealed.

The match ended in a final, breathtaking exchange with Beomgyu as the victor—his knuckles bloodied and bruises blooming like flowers across his body. The crowd was clearly disappointed with the outcome but cheered nonetheless. 

“Thank you for enjoying the first act ladies and gentlemen,” the host started as he found his place back on stage. “We will now have a performance by one of our artists. Please enjoy the refreshments as the altar is prepared.”

“Hey, you okay?” Taehyun asked, breaking the silence between you.

You nodded slowly, voice barely above a whisper, “Yeah, more than okay. I think…I think I need to know everything about him. About this world they’re in.”

“Just be careful,” Taehyun pleaded softly, “I don’t want you getting hurt again.”

You ignored the way his words got to you, weaving your way through the crowd and entering through the door Beomgyu had disappeared into. The voices of the crowd still echoed faintly as you stood in the quieter room within Golgotha. It was simpler than the main space, dimly lit with plush carpeting on its floors. There was a small table with refreshments and like the main room, the walls were adorned with religious decor. In the corner, there was a leather couch where you found him, a lit cigarette in his hand as smoke curled around him. 

His eyes flickered towards you. “I don’t sleep with men’s wives,” he said, his eyes sharp and unforgiving as you made your way in front of him.

You raised an eyebrow, and the corner of your mouth twitched into a teasing smile. “Well, since I’m no one’s wife you'll make an exception for me, right?”

A small smirk coated his lips. Without answering, he exhaled a ribbon of smoke toward you, playful yet challenging.

“That’s a dangerous game you’re willing to play,” he said after a beat.

“Maybe I like the danger,” you shrugged, leaning in slightly, enjoying the tension that rose between you.

Before the moment could deepen, the door swung open. A man entered frantically.

“I swear to God, Beomgyu. A little heads-up before your match is appreciated. You’re so lucky I didn’t have a night shift or else I wouldn’t know who would tend to your wounds.” The man stopped as he saw you, glancing between you and Beomgyu. “Sorry, he doesn’t sleep with patrons,” his tone clipped as he knelt beside Beomgyu, his hands moving with purpose as he began to tend to the damage from earlier.

“Don’t worry about her, Soobin. She’s fine.”

Still, Soobin eyed you suspiciously, “Whatever the case is, you’re playing with fire. Be careful not to get burned.”

You watched as Soobin tended to Beomgyu’s wounds with ease, delicately wrapping his bruised knuckles. Shamelessly, you stared at Beomgyu as his eyes silently challenged you. You felt the weight of Soobin’s gaze on you, assessing you, almost as if he could see right through your intentions.

“So why is a new patron like you so interested in Beomgyu?” Soobin asked as he packed away his materials in the corner.

“How do you know I’m new?” you asked as you took a seat next to Beomgyu.

Soobin sighed exasperatedly before giving you a pointed look, “It’s obvious you’re a new face. And besides, everyone knows Beomgyu doesn’t entertain them. So, what’s your deal? Why him? And as a matter of fact, how did you even get into Golgotha?”

“Word of mouth,” you said simply. “And Beomgyu? He interests me.”

“I’d appreciate it if you both stop talking about me as if I’m not here,” Beomgyu spoke up as he flicked away the remnants of his cigarette.

Just then, there was a soft knock on the door before Taehyun came in. He gave the two men a nod of acknowledgment before he said your name softly. “I think we should call it a night.,” he gave you a knowing look. You pouted for a moment before you turned to Beomgyu, “Guess that’s my cue to leave. I’ll see you later, Champ.” Before you left, you leaned closer to Beomgyu, kissing him on the cheek. “A reward,” you whispered, “for winning your match today.” 

Beomgyu watched as the door clicked softly behind you, his cheek tingling from the kiss you left him. He pulled out another cigarette, frustrated. Your departure left a tight, uncomfortable ache in his chest.

“What was that all about?” Soobin asked, “You never let patrons get that close.”

He inhaled sharply, letting the cigarette’s warmth encapsulate him. “She’s different,” he murmured with uncertainty, “I don’t know why yet. But I have to have her.” As he exhaled, Beomgyu watched the smoke dance around in the air, under the dim light.

Soobin shook his head, unconvinced, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t trust her. What if Kwang-soo put her up to this? To control you even further?” 

Beomgyu’s jaw clenched at the name. Kwang-soo, that bastard, he thought. His boss, someone who was part of his life for too long, someone who only sold him a bittersweet dream.

Beomgyu’s gaze hardened. “Soobin. She’s not like that.”

Soobin scoffed under his breath, “You’ve barely known her for a night, what do you know?”

Beomgyu didn’t flinch, but his voice came quieter. “She didn’t look at me like I was just a performance.”

Soobin frowned, “But what if she is like the others, but smarter? Then what?”

He crushed the cigarette into the ashtray, its hissing, a silent warning. “Then I’ll deal with it.” 

Soobin  rolled his eyes, arms still crossed, but something in his stance softened. “You’re not a child anymore,” he said. “Don’t act like one.”

 Beomgyu didn’t respond. He just sat there, his eyes gazing at the ceiling. You weren’t like them, he thought. He was sure of it; he could feel it. Or maybe he just wanted to believe it. Either way, he was already going in too deep. And if you were playing him…maybe he didn't want you to stop.

As soon as the door shut behind you, the buzz of Golgotha returned—almost bringing you back to your reality, but not quite. You mindlessly followed Taehyun until you were by his car, the cold evening breeze raising goosebumps along your arm.

“You’ve got that look again.”

You blinked, still riding the high of Beomgyu’s presence. “What? What look?”

“The ‘I’m about to ruin my life for a guy with bloodied knuckles’ look,” Taehyun said dryly. “Had the same look when you started seeing your ex, remember?”

You looked away, wrapping your arms around yourself. “That was different.”

“Yeah,” he said, opening the door for you. “Beomgyu has better biceps.”

He did have better biceps.

You swatted his arm playfully as you sat inside, a small grin on your lips.

“He’s not like him,” you said as Taehyun took his seat.

He rolled his eyes, “You said that last time and look where that got you.”

You stiffened. “Can we not talk about him right now, Taehyun? Please?”

Taehyun sighed, looking at you sadly. “Anyways, while you were busy giving Beomgyu the bedroom eyes, I actually did some digging.”

You sat up a little straighter, “What did you find out?”

Taehyun glanced at you for a moment before focussing on the road, “Turns out the exploitation, at least, at surface level is true. Kwang-soo, Beomgyu’s boss, is notorious for that kind of behaviour for years. Fed the patrons lies and pocketed most of the money when Beomgyu just started out. It’s only when Beomgyu actually learned to fight things got easier for him.”

You frowned, “So he’s a survivor.”

“More like a pawn who fought back,” Taehyun said with a nod, his expression darkening. “He’s valuable but dangerous. And Kwang-soo? It’s more than exploitation.”

“There’s more?” you asked.

“Yeah,” Taehyun sighed, running his hands through his hair at a red light. “Rumours say that Kwang-soo had the last guy under his wing killed. Not sure how true it is right now, but patrons said the guy was stabbed during a match—no rules in Golgotha, just performance. Everything right now is just rumours though, and no one is willing to talk. We’ll need to dig deeper.”

You frowned, “We have to. For Beomgyu.”

Taehyun raised a brow, “For Beomgyu? What about the story?”

“It’s more than a story now. It’s someone's life.”

  You laid wide away that night. The ceiling above you blurred, but it wasn't the room spinning, it was your thoughts. You thought back to Beomgyu. He wasn’t just magnetic, he was fiery—a man forged in violence. A man who built a wall to protect himself from a world that hurt him one too many times. His eyes were the only thing you saw in your mind, the way they bore and tore apart your soul.

You sighed. Unable to sleep with the swirling thoughts, you got up, taking with you a voice recorder. The night was eerily still, perfect to begin recording your findings.

You hit record. The sound of the click was sharp, cutting through the stillness of the room.

“Day 1. Investigation; Underground fighting ring. The first subject, Choi Beomgyu, participant in underground fighting events at Golgotha. His boss is Kwang-soo, a primary suspect in the investigation.”

You cleared your throat, trying your best to keep your tone neutral and focussed—reminding yourself that it wasn’t about feeling but about fact.

“Beomgyu has an established reputation at Golgotha for being a reputable fighter but in his earlier days, Kwang-soo took advantage of his lack of skill to reap profits. But as his fighting skills developed Kwang-soo began seeing a loss. This is all for now pertaining to their relationship, but Beomgyu is a clear victim of exploitation, to what extent? That is yet to be known.”

You paused for a moment, reviewing the details in your head.

“Further discussion with Taehyun suggested that the suspect had a prior fighter before Beomgyu. Based on rumours from the patrons, it seems he had premeditated his death. Currently all the given information is purely based on rumours. More investigation will be done to confirm these claims.”

You thought back to the night once again, recalling the eerie feeling Golgotha had given you. You felt the hairs on your arm rise, this was more than a spectacle, more than a performance. There was something truly evil about there and you were going to get to the bottom of it.

“Golgotha is a place like no other. The rich revel in the exploited fighting for their lives on their behalf. All in the name of performance. There is something deeper than this. With time, the truth will be revealed. This is the end of Day 1.”

With a final click, the recorder went silent. You wanted some form of recording to keep yourself grounded. You had no clue what this story would bring, but you knew that you had no choice but to be prepared for it either way.

“Well?” your boss’s eyes flicked between you and Taehyun. The two of you sat across him in his poorly lit office, the AC working overtime as he intensely gazed at you both. “What do you have?”

“It’s only been one day, sir,” Taehyun said as he leaned forward, his face calm. “We only have information based on word of mouth. There’s no tangible proof just yet.” Your boss’s face hardened.

“And I don’t care, Taehyun. Any information is good information. A story is on the line!”

The atmosphere thickened. Your boss wasn’t one for small talk, nor was he one of patience. He valued information, and he valued it fast. He didn’t care by which means it was given, once it got done.

“Sir,” you started “I have a recording for the first night. We can fill in any excess details after if we believe anything was left out.”

He gave you a small nod of approval. “Good, let’s hear it.”

As your voice played out in the room, you relived the moments again—relived Beomgyu. You remembered his gaze on you, the proximity, the way his natural scent mixed with his cologne of choice that night. You felt it then, and you hoped he felt it too—the undeniable pull between you, something unexplainable.

Your boss’s features spoke for itself; it was a familiar gaze he’d given you when you failed before. “The stakes are higher now.” He said your name harshly, “You’ve been on thin ice before, and I won’t let your decision drag me down again. I don’t care what it takes, but you will get that story. Do not mess up. Do I make myself clear?”

You stiffened, biting back a response. You gazed at Taehyun beside you who watched you with worry coating his features. He knew the mistakes of your past and the inevitable spark that would form between you and Beomgyu, he just didn’t know what decision you’d make this time.

“Do I make myself clear?” your boss asked again, his voice clipped. 

You nodded, swallowing a lump in your throat. “Yes, sir. Understood.”

He gave another small nod before his features tightened. “Don’t come back until you’ve got something solid. No rumours, just the truth.” With that, he stood, dismissing you both without so much as a glance back, turning his back before either of you could speak.

Taehyun’s eyes met yours as you came out of the office. “Will you be okay?” he asked, “with Beomgyu?”

You didn’t respond right away, the recorder in your hand felt heavier than before.

“I just…have to use Beomgyu for the truth. I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“It’s more than just a story to you,” he continued “I hope you’re able to make the right decision when the time comes.”

Maybe you would be ready, maybe you wouldn’t. But for now, you decided to live in the moment—exploring another’s life, another story. And maybe, just maybe you would find love along the way.

Act II || Your Forbidden Fruit

From that moment on, things were in full swing. Every night, like clockwork, you found yourself at Golgotha, with or without Taehyun. It wasn’t that the world was magnetic—no—it was more than that. You strived for the idea of living another life, one that wasn’t confined to the walls of the office, one where you played a more confident version of yourself, a version that could dance with danger.

Three months passed and frustratingly your relationship with Beomgyu remained the same—tense and unmoving. Every time you felt as though progress would be made, and a story would unravel before your eyes, Soobin always remained nearby. Like a watchful guardian, his presence served as a constant reminder of the imaginary boundary you dare not cross. But Soobin, as much as he tried, couldn’t always be there.

That night, everything changed.

Taehyun didn’t join you then. Despite his involvement in the case, other stories at the office took precedence, especially with no progress being made. You wore a simpler gown, sleek black, one that hugged your curves beautifully and its dramatic open back that left for a pleasant surprise.

As usual, you met Beomgyu in his locker room after his match. He was graceful as always, a definite force of nature. Even as blood trickled down his lip in his victory, he looked damn good.

“Beomgyu, good fight as usual,” you said as you entered. He was on the couch as usual, medical supplies in hand as he tried to patch himself up, his eyebrows furrowed as he concentrated.

“Is Soobin not coming tonight?” you asked, taking a seat next to him.

He grunted in response. “Has a late-night shift tonight. So, I gotta do it myself.”

Your eyes filled with worry. “Here let me help. You can’t possibly do this on your own.”

Beomgyu watched as you took the supplies from him, a glint in his eyes. “Do you even know how to clean someone up? Can’t afford to have your pretty rich hands getting dirty now.”

You looked at him, determined. “I think I can do an okay job.”

“Alright,” he said softly, “Patch me up.” 

Gently, you soaked the cloth in antiseptic before brushing it against his bruised cheek, his skin, smooth against your fingertips. He hissed, leaning into you as you cleaned the cuts, the scent of sweat and alcohol mingled in the air.

“You’re…surprisingly gentle,” he murmured. “Not like I thought a rich girl would be.”

You smirked, but heat rose to your cheeks. “Maybe I’m not what you expect.” Beomgyu’s gaze softened ever so slightly. His eyes no longer felt like a raging fire but had a tenderness to it.

Slowly, your hand moved to his slightly swollen lip, cleaning away the remnants of blood that dries on the corner. He leaned into you, the warmth from his body felt overwhelming against yours. You glanced up at him, searching his eyes for something, anything. 

Suddenly, he pulled you even closer, his breath warm against your ear. “I don’t let anyone get so close,” he confessed. “What is it about you that makes it so hard to be away?” Then, without warning, he kissed you. Softly. Tenderly. A stark contrast to his rough exterior. You tasted him—salt, sweet and smoke mixed together with the faintest trace of metal. Your hands found their way into his hair, pulling him closer. The only thing that mattered was the way his lips felt against yours.

The kiss deepened, becoming fiercer, more desperate as Beomgyu’s hands found their way on your waist. As he pulled you onto his lap, the moment felt unreal. The liveliness of Golgotha disappeared into the background, leaving you two in a world of your own.

“Beomgyu,” you breathed against his mouth, almost begging for more. He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark and intense, lips smeared in your lipstick. 

“Ah, what do we have here?” A new voice entered, shattering the moment. Your body froze, but Beomgyu’s grip tightened on your waist, holding you in place.      

“Kwang-soo,” he growled, “What do you want?”

So, this was Kwang-soo, you thought. His gaze was sharp, his eyes flickered around the room like a predator. There was something about him that felt off, you weren’t sure what it was but the way he moved felt unnatural, too calculated, too deliberate.

“Wanted to talk business,” he said, his eyes lingering a moment too long on you. “But it seems like I interrupted something.” He smirked. “Lookin’ to sponsor him, sweetheart? He’s worth it. Can guarantee you’ll double your money.”

Beomgyu’s grip tightened even more, his eyes returned to their fiery state as Kwang-soo stepped closer. “Not interested,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

“C’mon darlin’. One match, you’ll be richer than before. I promise ya.”

“That’s enough Kwang-soo,” Beomgyu interjected. “Go and scheme someone else out of their money. Leave her out of it.”

Kwang-soo sighed, giving you a lingering, almost predatory look. “Alright, alright.  But if you ever change your mind…” He winked at you, before turning on his heel, leaving the room.

You shivered. Gross. 

Beomgyu rested his chin on your shoulder. “Don't worry about him,” he whispered. “He's just my boss.”

“Your boss?”

Beomgyu hummed, his lips grazing your neck. “Yeah, I hate him.”

“Why?”

“He exploited me for years,” he murmured against you. “Made my life hell.”

“Then why not leave?”

“Sometimes it's hard to leave the hand that feeds you,” he murmured.

You looked down at him, your heart tight. “I’ll be here to listen if you need me to.”

Beomgyu’s hand glided along your back, the coolness of his fingertips sending shivers down your spine. “I'll tell you everything, pretty. In time.”

With his lingering touch, you leaned into him, listening to his heart beat against his chest slowly. This was more than a kiss, this was a choice. This was you consuming your forbidden fruit. No matter what you said to try to convince yourself, you couldn’t deny it anymore. Beomgyu was temptingly sweet.

“You’re mine now,” Beomgyu whispered, caressing your hair softly.

You nodded. You had chosen this. And now, there would be no going back.

Since that night, everything between you and Beomgyu shifted—subtle but undeniable. You found yourself at Golgotha even earlier, savouring his presence before matches, enjoying the tender kisses that became more frequent with each passing day. As always, you visited him after each match, sharing a lingering kiss as a reward for his victory before Soobin came.

But it was only a matter of time before the secret moments blurred into everyday life, regardless of who was there.

The first time you kissed him in Soobin’s presence, the tension was so thick, not even a knife could cut through it. It happened so unconsciously. One moment you were laughing over something ridiculous after his match and before you knew it, your lips were on his, the kiss soft but lingering.

Soobin froze. His hands stilled in midair, his medical supplies clattering to the floor as the scene played out before him. He didn’t even spare you a glance. Instead, his gaze was solely fixed on Beomgyu, sharp and unreadable. His jaw clenched tightly; his body taut with barely contained frustration. 

“Are you serious, Beomgyu?” his voice strained, disbelief and anger evident. “Really? Her?”

Beomgyu didn’t flinch, seemingly unaffected by the tension or his words. He simply smirked, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you closer, deliberately testing Soobin’s patience.

“What, Soobin? You gonna beat my ass?” Beomgyu teased, a playful edge evident in his voice.

Soobin’s lips quivered in annoyance. “She just pops up out of nowhere, gives you a bunch of sweet words and you just give in? Just like that? Are you stupid?”

Beomgyu’s smile dropped, all playfulness gone. “That’s not any of your concern, Soobin. What I do with her isn’t any of your business.”

“But it is!” Soobin stood up in anger. “You’re my best friend and I can’t watch you get used by 

some rich whore.”

Your heart broke at his words. You knew Soobin was speculative of you, hell, he had a right to be, but hearing him speak like that, even if your true intentions weren’t pure, felt like he meticulously stabbed a knife in your chest. Before you could defend yourself, Beomgyu’s voice cut through with a coldness only reserved for Kwang-soo.

“Enough, Soobin. You can say all the other shit you want, but don’t call her a whore, that’s going too far. You don’t know her.”

“And neither do you!” his voice cracked. With a sharp breath, Soobin finally turned to the door. “I can’t have another person use you,” he said softer before storming out of the room, slamming the door with a resounding bang.

Beomgyu pressed a soft kiss against your shoulder, his way to silently comfort you. “I'm sorry about him. He'll come around soon, I'll promise.”

“I'm not sure about that,” you laughed softly. “He really doesn't like me.”

“He's just protective. And this is not me excusing his behaviour. Just wanted you to understand his perspective.”

You gazed at him softly, “I know, Beomgyu. I understand.”

Eventually, Taehyun also noticed the way you became, more avoidant, more silent. The tension that night was higher than usual between you, Taehyun didn't talk as much, as if his mind was distant.

He said your name softly. “I'm going to ask you something and I need you to be honest with me.”

“Okay. Is everything alright?” you asked.

“When were you going to tell me?”

You stopped. Your heart started to race. You didn't like where this conversation was headed.

“What are you talking about?” you asked defensively.

Taehyun rubbed his temples, saying your name harsher this time. “Don't do that to me. I'm not stupid.”

He sighed before continuing, “When were you going to tell me that you started kissing Beomgyu?”

You felt your heart drop. You definitely did not like where this conversation was headed.

“Taehyun I—”

“No. You don't get to apologize. I understand that you had some weird connection to him but you're going to get yourself hurt.”

“It's for the story,” you defended.

“You and I both know that's bullshit.”

His words were harsh, there was no room for comfort. You knew why he did this, but it didn't hurt any less.

“You don't get it, Taehyun,” you said.

“I don’t get it?” Taehyun looked at you as if you were stupid.

“I do get it. I was the one who saw you live through it. The rush, the trill, the way you think you’re so desperately helping him but you're only going to hurt yourself again.”

“You think I don’t know that?!” the words tore from your throat before you could stop them, raw and jagged at the edges. “You think I don’t remember what happened? It happened right in front of my eyes, Taehyun. I killed her.”

Taehyun’s face faltered for a second. His breath shaky as he took a step closer. His voice dropped to a whisper, “You didn’t kill anyone. But the man you fell in love with did.”

The world felt as if it was spinning. You didn't even realize you were crying until you felt the salty taste of your tears brush against your lips. You squeezed your eyes trust, desperately trying to keep the past buried but it crashed in with the force of a tidal wave, pulling you under.

You could still see his face—the fear, the betrayal—as the police stormed in. The gunshot still echoed in your ears as the victim crumpled to the ground. He hadn’t meant it. He really hadn’t. But it didn’t change the fact that he killed her. 

Everything felt like a blur—the way you rushed to the victim, her warm, sticky blood coated your hands and soaked through your clothes—but his eyes were the only thing that remained. It was always the eyes. His weren’t fiery—no—they were cold, afraid, betrayed. You were his Judas, his demise and in some sick way, he was yours too.

“I just wanted to fix him, Taehyun,” you sobbed, your voice breaking. “I thought I could make things right.”

“And you think you can do it again?” Taehyun asked softly, his hand brushing against your shoulder.

You nodded. No matter how much you thought about it, there was no saving him, he was already too far gone.

You were naïve then. A doe-eyed 21-year-old ready to take on the world. It was your first big-girl case, an investigation into the corporate world. And your target? Lee Dong-wook—corporate heir on the Forbes 30 Under 30 list. His name was everywhere, the epitome of success. He was the kind of man everyone wanted to be or be with.

You should’ve known something was wrong when he so easily welcomed you into his world—his unavoidable charm and charisma reeling you in effortlessly, setting you ablaze. “You have potential,” he had told you the first time, but something darker hid beneath the surface. “Glad to see a beautiful, young investigative journalist like you, make your mark in the world.”

You thought it was pure genuineness at first, but every praise was a calculated move, involving you seamlessly into his world until you were too far gone. It was the small things at first, from the late nights to the drinks at high-end restaurants, the conversation never stayed on business, just you.

Then, there was a crack, and the hidden part of his world revealed itself. His eyes were no longer warm; they were icy cold. The darkness creeped in gradually before it consumed you entirely. He showed you the other side of his empire—the drugs, the shady dealings, the trafficking, the girls.

Those poor girls. Just like you, young and naïve.

 It wasn’t part of his plan, for him to fall in love with you so deeply, and maybe that was the worst part. You were never meant to be anything, just another casualty.

You remembered the first girl you saw, eyes wide with fear, pale as if she was a ghost. She didn’t belong there, but he made sure you belonged.

Dong-wook's grip tightened on your wrist, pulling you away from the girl harshly. “Remember what I told you, sweetheart,” he muttered. “No paying attention to them. They’re insignificant.”

You hated yourself for it. For gathering the evidence, for getting the police involved so hastily. But it wasn’t just the investigation. You were scared—scared that more girls would’ve become like her—lost, broken, used.

You wanted to save her. You wanted to save him. You wanted to save yourself.

But in the end? No one was saved.

You were on temporary layoff after that. The company faced severe backlash when news spread that you had mishandled sensitive information and escalated the situation by getting too involved with the suspect. The world seemed to turn against you, but they never understood that you were a victim too caught between what you thought was right and the sweet lies he fed you.

Days had blurred, the only that remained was the guilt, the regret, the nightmares. Therapy and Taehyun were the only things that felt grounding, but even then, it wasn’t easy. Reliving the moments to understand what you went through was tortuous—maddening—when you realized you deep you had allowed yourself to fall into it.

Taehyun tried his best to be there. He wasn’t assigned to the case directly, only able to watch from the sidelines, but you shared every detail with him. You had been his partner before the storm hit, and after? You weren’t even sure you were yourself. 

But Taehyun tried, he tried so hard to keep you afloat, refusing to let the guilt of the case consume you. No one but you could’ve fixed this, no matter how hard anyone tried, only you had the capabilities to save yourself from well…you.

It took some time, more time than you’d like to admit, but for that very first time, you remembered how to float, how to breathe again. Pieces of yourself were broken then, and there were still some broken pieces now. But now, you could breathe.

You heard Taehyun calling your name, his voice breaking through the fog. Slowly, you became aware of your surroundings. You were back in the parking lot. Your senses felt heightened—tears had long since stopped falling but your legs ached. You somehow ended up crouching, knees pressed against your chest. The cold air against your skin jolted you back to reality, reeling you in from the dark corners of your mind. 

“Hey, you okay?” Taehyun’s voice was soft now, laced with concern. “I’m sorry if I was too harsh. I just… want to protect you. I’m not saying Beomgyu is like Dong-wook. You just need to think of all the possibilities when faced with the unknown.”

You knew he meant well. Taehyun always meant well. But you couldn’t bring yourself to respond, not because you didn’t want to, but because of the lump stuck in your throat. So, you simply nodded.

Months passed. Slowly pieces of confirmed information came to light. Golgotha was surprisingly very thorough when it came to protecting their information, maybe the number of high-profile clients involved had something to do with it.

“Day 153. It's been roughly five months since I’ve started unveiling the secrets of Golgotha. But things have been…slow. Golgotha is very particular with the information they have pertaining to clients and staff. We were able, however, to get our hands on the file of Kwang-soo. We hope to find more information on the mastermind behind this, but for now, this is what we have.”

You paused. The last five months felt terribly stagnant. The mastermind behind Golgotha was careful, perhaps a bit too careful. You watched as the rain condensed against your window. You had a feeling something bad was coming, but you didn’t think much of it—hoping it was just the anxiety talking.

“The file confirms that Kwang-soo, Park Kwang-soo, is in fact known to be the primary person within Golgotha to exploit his workers, at times, leaving them to live in sub-par conditions. Additionally, the file also indicates that 10 years ago, he had Chu Jung-Hwa, his last client before Choi Beomgyu murdered as he played him at his own game, exploiting him of his own money. This further solidifies that Kwang-soo is not only a suspect, but also a threat to Choi Beomgyu. This is all the information for now. With time, the mastermind will be revealed.”

With the familiar click of the recorder, you concluded another day. You hoped things became more interesting soon, something to shatter the monotony of everything. And to clarify, you loved the time you spent with Beomgyu, you were just scared you lost yourself even worse this time.

And things became more interesting indeed. Just…not in the way you hoped. An unlikely friendship formed between Soobin and Taehyun, both bonding over their shared protective nature for Beomgyu and you, respectively. 

It was almost comedic to witness. Soobin would glare at you suspiciously, his eyes narrowing, only to turn around and happily engage in conversation with Taehyun. And Taehyun? He was no better. He hardly spared Beomgyu a glance, focusing instead on his budding friendship with Soobin, whom he deemed “the only other sane, sensible one in this symbolically religious hellhole.”

Both you and Beomgyu smiled at the absurdity of it all—thankful that in the midst of Golgotha’s chaos, a common ground had been found. You just hoped that when the truth began to unveil, the formed friendship would remain the same.

“Let’s go for drinks,” Soobin had suggested to Taehyun one night. You and Beomgyu were cozying up on the couch while Soobin and Taehyun sat on another—a recent addition to the room. Soobin watched you both, eyes narrowing before muttering, “You guys can join too, I guess.”

Golgotha was lively as always with patrons enjoying the performances of the night. But in the corner of your eye, you saw red. Bright red hair. His smile was unbelievably confident, and a charm that was sure to turn heads. He made immediate eye contact with you, one that read “Jackpot”. 

“Soobin. Beomgyu,” he greeted. He stared at Taehyun, who received only a polite smile, clearly uninterested before he turned to you, eyes glimmering with intent. “And who might this lovely lady be?” When you said your name softly, he took your hand, kissing it gently, “The pleasure is mine. Yeonjun’s the name.” He flashed you a charming smile, the smile becoming even larger when Beomgyu wrapped a protective arm around your waist. 

“Back off, Yeonjun,” he hissed. “Don’t even think about it.”

Yeonjun smirked, unfazed. “C’mon Beomgyu, lemme have her. Everyone knows you don’t associate yourself with patrons. Gotta know if she’s willing to sponsor me.” He winked at you, clearly hoping you’d get the hint.

“Sorry,” you said softly, “I don’t sponsor fighters. I just like Beomgyu.”

Yeonjun looked at you in shock, “Him?! I can offer you so much more, sweetheart.”

“Yeonjun,” Beomgyu interjected, his town sharp. “You go through women like they’re cheap underwear. Leave my girl alone.”

Yeonjun’s smirk somehow grew even larger. “Your girl, huh? Well…if you ever want a change…” he trailed off, waving goodbye, going God knows where.

Soobin and Taehyun exchanged amused glances, watching Beomgyu with barely concealed grins. “What was that about?” Soobin spoke up, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Just shut up and let’s go for the dumb drinks, Soobin,” Beomgyu grumbled.

“So, I’m your girl, huh?” you teased, leaning into him. 

He smiled as he looked down at you, warmth in his gaze. “Of course you are.”

“Who was he though?” you asked, curiosity piqued.

“Rival,” Beomgyu grunted. “He’s the only person in Golgotha that has the potential to beat my ass. He’s just annoying in the ring. Don’t mind him much.”

You rested your head against Beomgyu’s shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath. Taehyun and Soobin ignored you as usual, enjoying their own world, leaving you two alone. Beomgyu held your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over it slowly as you waited for your drinks to arrive.

Something felt off.

The warmth of his touch should’ve been comforting, but there was a strange unease twisting in your chest. The sound of his heartbeat only seemed to summon the raging storm called your thoughts —your past, present and future overlapped—overwhelmed with possibilities, of things that could have been and the things that could be.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him. 

At first, you deemed it nothing, just a flicker—a flash of movement. But said movement lingered, cold eyes staring at you, his cold eyes. It was dark, but the features you made out could have only belonged to one person.

Dong-wook.

He should have been in jail, you thought. There was no way he’d be there. It shouldn't have been possible, not after everything. But the longer you stared, the more you became convinced that it was him.

Adrenaline rushed in and your throat closed up. Your heart pounded aggressively against your chest, trying to escape. Your body tensed. This shouldn't be happening right now. 

“Hey, you okay?” Beomgyu’s voice broke through, laced with concern. His other arm tightened around you, almost as if he sensed your panic. “You suddenly tensed up. Is something wrong?”

The eyes stayed. No matter how much you blinked, Dong-wook's icy cold eyes never seemed to disappear. 

“It’s nothing,” you said softly, forcing a weary smile. “Just thought I saw someone from my past.”

Taehyun’s ears perked up at your words. His gaze immediately shifted to you.

“Where?” he asked, his conversation with Soobin long forgotten. The moment Taehyun looked to where you pointed, his eyes were gone.

“There’s no one there. Are you okay?” 

You waved your hand dismissively, “I’m fine, really. I probably just need some sleep.” 

Taehyun stared at you a touch longer before he turned his attention back to Soobin while Beomgyu gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “You sure?” he asked, “I can fight, baby. Just say the word.”

You nodded again, more firmly this time. “Don’t worry, Gyu. It’s alright.”

He didn’t seem convinced but chose not to push you further.

Despite wanting to convince yourself that it was okay, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was there. The shadow of your past was back, and he was closer than you thought.

Act 3 || Flesh and Fire 

Beomgyu leaned against a wall in his locker room, smoking a cigarette as the sound of Golgotha simmered beyond the walls. Nothing was special about today’s performance, but for some reason he felt more tense than usual. He exhaled the smoke, its warmth doing nothing to alleviate his unease.

He needed to focus, to block out everything else. But his thoughts kept slipping back into a past he wished he’d forgotten. Beomgyu closed his eyes, but the thoughts seemed to fester more. 

Kwang-soo

The name made his jaw clench. He had promised him then. At eighteen and desperate to make a living, Kwang-soo appeared with flowery words laced with thorns, promising an easy life, easy money. What bullshit that turned out to be. Kwang-soo was nothing but a greedy bastard who cared about no one but himself. Carving a profit out of the pain Beomgyu was left to suffer.

Things were hard then. Seven years ago, Beomgyu was nothing but a punching bag in the ring. Every punch, every fall, every bitter taste of defeat was seared into his memory. Week after week, he was knocked down, a terrible fighter, barely able to hold himself up. Yet with every loss, Kwang-soo’s pockets grew heavier. Like Beomgyu, the patrons succumbed to Kwang-soo’s words, betting millions on him, just to lose it all in the end. 

And Beomgyu’s share? Pity scraps that barely covered his basic needs.

But with every loss, he learned. Ached. Grew. Came back stronger. Not because he wanted to, but because he needed to. It was no longer about money, but survival. Slowly and painfully, he started winning. Eventually, Beomgyu started placing small bets on himself—not openly, of course. Kwang-soo would never allow that. He asked Soobin to do it for him and eventually his money flowed back to him. Not because of fighter insights, but because he was just that good.

Still, the fools kept betting against him. Chasing pity miracles, hoping to one day see his fall from the grace he had bled to reach. And Kwang-soo? He hated every minute of it. But staying true to his greedy nature, he switched sides—taking a cut from his winnings. A cut that no longer left him bleeding.

But that wasn’t the worst part. 

The worst part was that Beomgyu had allowed it. Allowed the bastard to profit off his pain. For so long, Beomgyu had been his puppet. But not anymore; it was his playground now.

His mind flickered to you, pulling him out of his spiral. It always seemed to be you these days. Seven months. 213 days. Beomgyu had come to know you in seven months and life hasn’t been so good since. He thought you were like every other patron at first. But now? You had become so much more.

It didn’t happen all at once, it was gradual. Despite your initial interaction, despite the pull he felt, Beomgyu heeded Soobin’s words, keeping you at an arm’s length. But you were persistent. Not in a domineering kind of way—you didn’t treat Beomgyu as if he was just another part of the act. You showed genuine interest in him, something that wasn’t seen among people of that stature, especially when it came to people like him.

You came every night, never missing a moment to truly talk with him. Even during the days, he barely spared you a glance, you stayed—choosing to keep quiet in the corner of the room, quietly smiling at his interactions with Soobin. With time, you melted his ice and by the time he blinked you became an integral part of his life.

You became his light, his reason—offering him something he once lost—his humanity. He lost himself once before, when the anger and resentment consumed him. But now, he had you—his guiding light among the dark and terrible sea of manipulation and greed. To him, you were the biggest anomaly.

Now that he had you, Beomgyu feared he’d lose you. People fed on betrayal, greed—using others for their own gain. There was some part in each of us that reeked of Judas—not necessarily in a literal sense, but as a reflection of human imperfection. He just hoped that you were the latter.

Not now, he thought. He couldn’t afford for his mind to wander to you now. Not before the match. Beomgyu drew in a deep breath, shaking off the weight of past memories and you. He needed to get through this fight, the last one for the night before his mind could have you.

He finished his cigarette, crushing the remnants under his shoe before taking a deep breath and making his way to the main room. His eyes immediately found your face in the crowd, but his jaw clenched. Yeonjun. So that was the reason he felt tense, he thought.

Yeonjun found his way back to you, his grabby hands around your shoulder as you both laughed. You seemed to be enjoying it. Beomgyu hoped you were just being polite, for Yeonjun's sake. It wasn’t like him to be jealous. But his stomach twisted in unease at the proximity between you. He hated it. Beomgyu refused to admit that jealousy was present. He didn’t want to acknowledge the unfamiliar heat that rose in his chest. 

He needed his match over. Now. His hands were antsy to do something, anything to get his mind off Yeonjun’s touch contaminating you. He felt temporary relief as the host announced his match, thankful you found your way back to his side of the ring. You gave him a knowing smile. You had a mischievous glint in your eyes, almost as if the entire scene was a deliberate means of testing his very thin patience.

He gritted his teeth as he stepped into the ring, barely registering the liveliness of Golgotha in his ears. All that mattered now was getting the match over with. He almost felt sorry for whoever was going to receive the brunt of his annoyance.

Yeonjun entered the stage. He had forgotten he was fighting him—now, he felt no remorse.

The gong rang and Beomgyu’s body sprang into motion. Focus. That was his mantra. All he did was focus on you—your smile, your laugh, your everything—just you. With each thought, his punches landed faster, harder, stronger. 

Yeonjun. That fucking smile. The way he touched you. And the way you let him.

Beomgyu’s knuckles cracked against Yeonjun’s ribs, the sound barely registering to him as blood flowed through his ears. The only thing running through his mind was the way fingers were against you. Yeonjun staggered, but Beomgyu didn’t stop, landing another punch, stronger than the last. 

Despite the punches Yeonjun took, he had the audacity to smirk, taunting him with that dumb confident look on his face. Beomgyu’s blood boiled, dodging Yeonjun’s shitty attempts at punches, slamming a fist straight into his face. 

But that wasn’t enough. Beomgyu needed him down. He wanted to break him, destroy him for even thinking he could touch you that way. And with a final blow, his fist kissed Yeonjun’s jaw, sending him crumpling to the ground. The gong rang again, bringing him back to his senses. 

He didn’t care for the host’s commentary or the patrons' applause. His eyes immediately searched the crowd; all he wanted was you. He climbed out of the ring, making his way to you—his chest feeling full, having finally found you.

Before you could even react, he grabbed your face, crashing his lips against yours, possessive and urgent. This was his message. Every ounce of jealousy oozed out of him as he savoured your taste. You were his. And if you didn’t know that before, now you knew.

The kiss was raw. There was no gentleness, no easing in. This was pure need. Possession. He couldn’t explain it—not to you, not to himself—savouring the way you whimpered against him.

“You’re mine,” he rasped as he pulled away for air. He watched your eyes intensely, seeing the way you gasped for air. “You’re fucking mine. You hear me? No one else's.”

“And what a beautiful conclusion to such a wonderful performance, ladies and gentlemen,” the host concluded as he and the fellow patrons watched on.

Without giving you a chance to speak, he dragged you through the crowd, ignoring the surprise on your face at his very forward action. His grip didn’t loosen once, aggressively opening the door to his locker room as he yanked you inside.

Beomgyu’s eyes darkened. If you were going to act like you didn’t know, Beomgyu was going to make damn sure that you understood that he owned every single inch of you.

Fuck, you thought. You were royally fucked, and quite literally at that, but it’s not like you had mind.

You savoured the way Beomgyu’s lips found their way back on yours as the door to his locker room closed behind you. The kiss had a different kind of fierceness to it—one you didn’t experience before, one that ignited an inextinguishable fire within you. He had you up against the wall, trapped, with no room for escape. He pulled away from you, his eyes bleeding with a fiery passion. “You belong to me,” he growled, “No one else. Only me.”

His hands gripped your waist tightly as he kissed along your neck, determined to mark every inch of your skin as his. You whined, dizzy with pleasure as you felt the heat radiating from his body. Every part of you that he touched burned with desire, longing, a desperate need for more.

“Beomgyu,” you moaned as he left passionate marks on your neck’s sensitive skin. Each hickey was just the start of his possessive claim of you. He trailed his mouth downward, the fiery kisses became a touch softer, leaving more trails between your chest, your low-cut dress giving him ease of access.

Beomgyu ripped your dress off with a vengeance. “You could afford another one, can’t you?” he murmured against your chest. You shivered as the cold air caused your nipples to perk up, holding back a moan as Beomgyu took your breasts into his hands, massaging them as he returned to your neck once more.

“Come on, love,” Beomgyu whispered against your neck. “Don’t hold back. Let me hear you.”

And just like that, your moans began to echo off the walls. There was no sense of time here—just the two of you stuck in limbo. With ease, Beomgyu picked you up, the sweat from his skin dripping onto you as he moved you to the couch. 

“I need to remind you of who you belong to,” Beomgyu said as he spread your legs open, leaving more kisses along your thighs, each one sending a gentle shockwave through you. The more Beomgyu kissed every inch of you, the more your core throbbed, eager to have him in indescribable ways. He slipped a finger through the delegate fabric of your lingerie, tracing along the edge with a slow deliberate touch.

He chuckled darkly before he nudged the fabric to the side, pressing a teasing kiss against your core. “This is about my pleasure,” he grunted as he looked up at you, his eyes filled with hunger and possession. “I need to teach you a valuable lesson.”

As his lips met with your core, he worshipped you with a sense of reverie—savouring every inch of you—your taste—his holy communion, his bread and wine. He gripped your thighs open, his tongue honouring every one of your folds. 

“You’re so wet, baby,” he murmured before going back in again.

Each wave of pleasure that coursed through you felt like different parts of your higher self were being unlocked. His tongue traced slow, deliberate patterns, flicking gently, teasing you as you so desperately whined, begging him for more.

Beomgyu pulled back, pulling your face down, capturing you in another searing kiss. His tongue danced with yours, the salty-sweet of you mixed with the flavour of his cigarette smoke. “Savour your taste,” he whispered against your lips, “Don’t let this moment go to waste.”

His fingers traced your body once more, your sensitivity even more than before. He rubbed his fingers against your core teasingly, looking up at you with a mischievous look on his face before he slowly slid a finger inside you. He moved with deliberate, slow movements, teasing you as you adjusted to the new sensation inside you.

You whined, your body desperately wanting more. “Look at you,” Beomgyu tutted as you squirmed under his gaze. “Such a desperate slut,” he teased as he slid another finger inside you, curling his fingers just enough, finding the perfect spot that made you shiver uncontrollably. You whimpered, helpless beneath his touch, your mind hazy with pleasure as his fingers continued to pound rhythmically into you.

Your moans grew louder, your body arched with need as you felt your climax building up. His eyes locked unto yours, dark and teasing as he slipped his fingers out of you. A smirk spread across his lips as you whined, aching and undone.

“Not yet,” he whispered, “You can only cum while I'm in you.” Beomgyu’s gaze never left yours, his body tracing your curves once more before he began to strip away his clothes, his length becoming even more apparent, girthy—desperate for you. With one fluid motion, he lined himself up with you, teasingly rubbing his tip against your swollen clit. You whined.

“You’re mine,” he reminded you again. “No one else will ever feel you the way I do.”

Beomgyu then buried himself into you slowly, tortuously. The sensation of him buried inside you sent hot pinpricks cascading across your skin—your body was on fire. Your body instinctively arched as every inch of him found a home inside you. His fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head back as his lips found your neck once more.

His pace was slow and deliberate, a rhythm that consumed you—raw and unrelenting. “Beomgyu…” you whimpered. “Faster, please.” He pulled back, his passionate eyes locking with your lidded ones—doubling the sensations you felt.

“Not until the way I feel inside you is ingrained into you,” he growled. “Not until you know every inch of me.”

You felt everything. Every nerve ending sent an electrical signal throughout your body. Your mind was hazed as Beomgyu’s tip kissed your cervix. 

“Say it,” Beomgyu growled low, “Say you’re mine.”

The words tumbled out of you like a rushed confession, “I’m yours, Beomgyu.” Tears pricked at your lash line, threatening to spill over—the pleasure was overbearing. “Fuck, I’m yours.”

“Good girl,” he smiled darkly as his pace quickened—each thrust a fierce claim, an increased sense of urgency. Your breath quickened; the waves of pleasure crashed into you unapologetically. Every aspect of Beomgyu was intoxicating, from his musky sent to the way his skin glistened and stuck to you—the moment felt unreal.

This was your sin—not from the tree of knowledge but one of the seven. Lust—it was undeniably sweet—and in some symbolic way, he was your Adam and you, his Eve. Succumbing to your desires, surrendering to the intoxicating allure of lust, submitting to each other.

“Fuck,” Beomgyu groaned, “you’re so fucking tight.” Somehow his pace intensified, pushing the limits to how deep he can be inside you. Your body shuddered beneath him, trembling as your pleasure built up. 

As Beomgyu’s grip on you tightened, you felt him tense and twitch inside you. With a sharp, guttural sound, his climax hit—his cum spilled, hot and sticky, a primal mark of possession that sent even more heat through your veins. The sensation triggered your own release crash through you, loud and fierce, like a tidal wave, a perfect echo to his.

Beomgyu picked you up again, resting your body against his as he sank onto the couch, his cum spilling out of you slowly. His breath was heavy and uneven as his lips crashed onto yours, the raw, possessive desire still present. 

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice low and husky.  His hands traced your trembling body, “in every breath, every touch, every moment. No one else will ever have you like this.” 

He pulled back strands of your hair that stuck to your face,  “Especially Yeonjun,” he whispered before kissing you softly, his gentle promise to you.

Only your breathing filled the silence, the two of you wrapped in the hush of what had just transpired. The air was heavy, a sacred, still moment suspended in time. This was your garden—your Eden—before the fall, before the crash; a time that would soon fade into a distant memory.

Suddenly the door swung open, and Beomgyu’s grip around you tightened. Soobin entered, focusing on his supplies as he talked. “Beomgyu! I heard your fight with Yeonjun was a hit among the patrons. Something about what you did at the end. What was it…” he trailed off, looking up, his eyes widened in shock at the sight before him, the both of you naked and entwined.

His hands immediately covered his eyes as he groaned. “Ugh, you guys are disgusting!” he exclaimed, a deep crimson rising to his cheeks. “Could it not wait?”

“Sorry man. Had to teach her a lesson,” Beomgyu spoke up, the smirk evident in his voice.

“Gross! Just call me in when you’re decent.”

“Uh, Soobin,” you called out, feeling embarrassed. “Could you grab me a change of clothes?”

He peeked through his fingers, “What happened to your clothes?” he asked, his tone in disbelief.

“I destroyed it,” Beomgyu said, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.

“Of course you did,” Soobin mumbled, shaking his head in disbelief as he turned to leave.

You turned to Beomgyu as the door closed, both of you grinned in amusement. The moment shifted, becoming softer as Beomgyu gazed at you lovingly. He leaned in and kissed you again—this time not with hunger, not possession— it was raw, genuine love. It was slow and deliberate, the kind of kiss that said everything for words that hadn’t been found yet.

And if you succumbed to the Judas within you in the end, you’d make sure to savour these moments—because when the day of crucifixion came, you'd become undone on the cross, offering everything for the sins that could never be undone.

Guilt wrapped itself around you, threading through your fingertips, causing your hands to tremble. You promised yourself to do this—you had to. Telling Taehyun you slept with Beomgyu wasn’t ideal. Nothing about it was. But sooner or later—one way or another—he’d find out, and who better to tell him than you, right? Wrong.

You knew what Taehyun would say. You knew the protocol. Yes, you’d become too involved, that was obvious from the start. But how could you help it when Beomgyu loved you in a way you never thought you’d experience?

You picked at your lip as you stood outside of Taehyun’s apartment. Showing up unannounced wasn’t unlike you, but if you thought about it any longer, you wouldn’t be able to go through with it at all.

With the ring of his doorbell, you heard him call, “Coming!” muffled by the door. Your anxiety spiked with the sound of his voice. You prayed Taehyun would understand your complexity of the situation.

He opened the door, his doe eyes widening in shock as he took in the sight of you standing there. His expression shifted to confusion as he softly spoke your name. “What are you doing here? Not that I don’t want you, but you never show up unannounced.” He studied your face, searching for some kind of explanation. “Are you okay?”

You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat, unable to find your voice for a moment. “Taehyun, I—I need to tell you something,” the words stumbled out, fast and breathless. “Can I come in?”

Taehyun's eyes widened in surprise. “Of course!” he said, quickly stepping aside, gesturing to you to come inside. His gaze softened as he sensed your anxiety. “Do you want anything?” Water? Juice? Cider?”

“Water’s fine,” you replied softly, wrapping your arms around yourself; a failing attempt to calm yourself down. You offered a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thank you.” 

“Take a seat. I’ll be right back.”

As you sank onto the couch, the weight of the moment stayed beside you. The case lost its true meaning long ago—the moment you kissed Beomgyu, you knew it was never the same. And sleeping with him? That only solidified it—there really was no turning back now. You stared at your hands, the tremble was still there, the weight of your own guilt made it hard to breathe.

“Here,” Taehyun said softly, handing you a cold water as he settled beside you, cider in hand.

“So,” he said, his voice getting a little quieter, “What’s going on?”

You took a deep breath, feeling the heaviness settle in your chest. This was it.

“I slept with him,” you confessed, voice barely above a whisper. “Beomgyu.”

“...What?” Taehyun’s voice cracked slightly as hurt flashed across his features. His hand froze mid-air, the cider forgotten as your words left him confused.

You saw the immediate shift in him—the way his posture stiffened, the subtle way he tried to pull back emotionally, but the shock was still there. He placed the cider aside and looked at you. He was mad, but not his usual outward anger. No, this was different. This anger was silent, and that's what made it terrifying. 

Taehyun sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Why?” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Why him?”

The words hung in the air. You knew the answer to it, and you knew that he knew too; but saying it out loud would mark a change in your relationship forever.

Taehyun wasn’t looking at you, his gaze fixed on the floor as if he couldn’t bear to look at you anymore. 

“I—” you started, but your voice faltered, breaking under the weight of what you were about to say.

He lifted his head slowly, his eyes finally meeting yours, and in them you saw something that made your heart drop—hurt. A raw, sharp kind of hurt but there was something deeper to it, something you weren’t sure you could fix. 

“Say it,” he whispered, almost pleading. “Admit it.”

You opened your mouth again, but no sound came. It wasn’t until your heart caught in your throat, constricting your chest that you whispered, “I love him.”

Taehyun laughed in disbelief, “You love him?”

You nodded. It was eight months of knowing Beomgyu and five months loving him. It might seem rushed to others, but love didn’t conform to the rules—love, love worked in mysterious ways. And with Beomgyu, it wasn’t planned, it just crept up on you like a thief in the night.

“Does he even know how you like your coffee?” Taehyun asked, his voice surprisingly calm. “Black, two sugars with a touch of cream?”

You blinked, taken aback by the shift in conversation. The question felt like an unwilling razor against your skin.

“How about the way you rip off your tags from your clothes?” he continued. “Does he even know how uncomfortable it makes your skin feel?”

Your breath hitched. Taehyun casually listed little things about you—things you barely remembered about yourself.

“Or the way you carry a journal with you, to sketch and write poetry? You always loved connecting with art and nature, always mentioning how grounding it was.”

He sighed. “And what about your real identity?” his voice lowered. “Not the rich girl in Golgotha. The real you. The one beyond the case?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but nothing came out—the words were tangled in your throat. What could you say to Taehyun that wouldn’t hurt him? The truth? The truth that you never felt this way before? You always believed love should follow a certain process, but now that you were in it, you realized that love just happened. There was no correct time frame when it came to falling in love.

Taehyun’s eyes softened, but the pain was still there. He ruffled his hair in frustration as his eyes searched yours for something—something to stop him from pouring his heart out to you.

“...I’m sorry, Taehyun,” you whispered. “I can’t help who I fell in love with. It just happens.”

Taehyun laughed softly, almost bitterly. Tears glistened in the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t let them fall. Instead, he stared at you, all the brokenness scattered across his sleeve. “I know,” he murmured softly, his voice thick with emotion. “The worst part is I can’t get mad at you… because I know.”

He took a deep breath, “I know because that’s how I feel with you.”

Your heart dropped—blood rushed to your ears in shock. You blinked at him confused, as if he grew a second head. The weight of his words were undeniably heavy—no chance for you to carry.

“What?” you asked, the disbelief evident in your voice. “You love me?”

The frustration was engraved in Taehyun’s features as he stared at you—stared at your soul. “Yes. I do. And I always will.” His words became heavier, more than you could ever bear. “But I never had the guts to say anything. Not when I saw the way Dong-wook left you.”

His voice became softer as he continued, “You needed a friend, not a lover. I couldn’t let my selfish desire get in the way of you—your recovery. I couldn’t do that to you.”

“...I’m sorry, Taehyun.”

He looked away, his jaw tightening as he held back his voice. “You aren’t,” he murmured coldly. “You can’t be. It’s not like you knew.”

He sighed, his frustration transforming into exhaustion. “And you know what's even worse? I have the authority to pull you off the case. To tell Boss you’re emotionally compromised, but I won’t.” His voice faltered again, “Because you’re lucky. I am lucky that I love you.”

He continued, his tone softening despite the raging storm inside. “As much as I hate it… I can’t take that love away from you.”

“Taehyun…thank you,” you whispered, tears spilling from your eyes, “Thank you.”

“Just prove to me that this love you have isn’t a mistake,” he said coldly, “Prove me wrong.”

Your heart twisted at his brokenness, “But…what happens to us?”

“Nothing,” he said simply. “Despite all of this,” he gestured between the both of you, “I just want you to be happy. And if that happiness is with Beomgyu, then so be it.”

Then, without thinking you hug Taehyun, wrapping your arms around him as you whisper guilt-ridden apologies—not for your feelings, but for the mess that the situation had become. 

But what broke you down completely was the sound of a quiet sob escaping his lips, the way his breath hitched, and the tremble in his arms as they tightened around you.

His tears soaked your shirt, the warmth of them seeping through the fabric—a clear testament to the feelings he had been holding back—to the words that could have never been said. 

You confessed to finding love that day. And Taehyun? He confessed to losing it.

And yet, despite the pain, life still moved on. It always did. The world kept turning, whether or not you were ready to face it. But sometimes, moving on wasn’t about letting go, it was about surviving. And in that moment, that’s all you could do. Survive.

Weeks passed and everything blurred together. Time became a series of disconnected moments—half-hearted conversations, strained smiles, even barely recognizing yourself. You didn’t know if Taehyun treating you the same made things better or worse—the way his smile hadn’t shifted, staying the very same—even when he saw Beomgyu by your side. 

The investigation had another pregnant lull—no progressions, no breakthroughs, nothing. After confirming Kwang-soo’s role, after seeing his eyes in the darkness, it felt as if the secrets of Golgotha were closing in. Whoever or whatever, was watching you didn’t want you uncovering the truth.

But the funny thing with secrets was that they always had a way of revealing themselves, didn’t they?

You were nursing a drink at the bar that evening, waiting for Beomgyu to finish cleaning up before you spent the night at his apartment—another obvious shift in your relationship. The drink burned your throat—the alcohol—your only current semblance of feeling. There was a man across the bar, a pair of unfamiliar eyes staring at you. His gaze was sharp, almost knowing.

 You weren’t sure when he came in, but his presence thickened the air, something unspoken, something you don’t think you wanted to know. He leaned against the bar, his posture too relaxed for someone who was a clear higher up. His gaze was like no other you had encountered that night, sharp and calculating.

Before you could turn away, the stranger approached, his presence imposing. He slid onto the stool beside you, his words instilling an unimaginable fear within you. “So, you’re Dong-wook’s girl?” 

Your stomach churned, bile and alcohol rising up your throat. “Pardon?” you choked out, your heart skipping a beat. “Dong-wook?”

He nodded slowly, as though confirming something already obvious to him. “Are you not her?”

You shook your head aggressively, the words tumbling out in a panic. “I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong person. I’m…Beomgyu’s girl.”

He didn’t seem convinced, his lips curling into a half-smile, something dark, something far too knowing. “Once you’re Dong-wook’s girl, you’re always his. Boss doesn’t forget. He never forgets. Especially with you.” 

Your blood ran cold. There was no way the past could be resurfacing, not now, not ever. “Don’t worry though,” he added with a sly smile. “Boss has his plans for you.”

The man walked away without sparing you a second glance, leaving you alone with the sickly taste of his words lingering in the back of your throat. You forced your attention back to your drink, trying to drown out the feeling of being watched—but it didn't leave you. 

It felt as though the world around you began to close in. The hair on your neck rose, anxiety bleeding out your veins. You couldn’t shake the feeling—the weight of someone’s eyes on you. You turned around, and there they were. Those eyes. Cold, calculating unblinking. Fixed on you. Watching. Waiting. Studying.

It was impossible to look away—not when you felt the weight of their scrutiny pressing into you, as if they knew everything about you. And that? It scared you.

Before you could make sense of the spiralling thoughts, a familiar warm touch found its way around you—Beomgyu. He placed a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead before gently cupping your cheeks, kissing you sweetly—without missing a beat.

“My beautiful girl. Are you okay?” he asked quietly, his voice full of concern as his eyes searched yours for an answer, instinctively sensing something was off. You blinked, his presence immediately putting your body and mind at temporary ease.

You nodded, even if it was only half-true. “Yeah,” you murmured, “The vibes are just a bit off tonight.”

Beomgyu’s eyes searched yours once more, before conceding, offering you a gentle smile. “Then let’s get out of here,” he said as he slipped his hand into yours—his touch—a protective shield around you as the lingering eyes faded in the distance. 

You didn’t remember the drive to Beomgyu’s apartment, your mind dazed as the cold eyes remained engraved in your mind. The only thing that kept you grounded was Beomgyu’s hand in yours as he drove, opting to let the silence fill the void.

“Sorry if it isn’t up to your standard,” Beomgyu mumbled, embarrassed as he jiggled his keys in the door. He held your hand as he opened the door, turning on a light and guiding you in. He nervously glanced around his small, cozy apartment, “I know isn’t much but…it’s home,” he smiled softly at you.

You inhaled deeply, taking in his apartment—it was everything you lacked in your life—safe, secure, perfect. Every aspect of his apartment felt like him—from the guitars hanging from the wall to the pictures that hung up on his walls, everything had a piece of Beomgyu. It was a stark contrast to the heaviness of the outside world. Here, there were no shadows, no one to judge. Just you and Beomgyu in his little corner of the world.

Beomgyu gauged your reaction, his voice uncertain, “I know you’re used to fancier places than this. If you want to—”

“Beomgyu,” you interrupted softly, squeezing his hand gently in reassurance. “It’s perfect.”

He led you to his room and you felt even more overwhelmed—the feeling of home even more present. It dawned on you then that you never truly felt at home where you lived. It was a house, yes, but not a home. Beomgyu’s however? It was the ultimate definition of one. Despite his struggles, Beomgyu managed to make this place his—his home—his sanctuary.

Beomgyu’s presence soothed some of the noise in your head, but you couldn’t silence it completely. You were tangled in a web called your thoughts, the anxiety of the investigation, the mastermind behind it all, the weight of Taehyun’s confession and Dong-wook. It felt as though everything was spiralling, and you didn’t know how much longer you could hold everything inside.

“Here,” Beomgyu said softly, handing you a change of clothes, the soft fabric comforting against your skin. “Change into something comfortable,” he suggested.

You nodded silently, thankful to have that moment—a space to breathe. You slipped into the bathroom, slipping into Beomgyu’s clothes—his oversized shirt swallowing you whole—making you feel small, vulnerable. And the moment you stepped back into the bedroom, everything crashed in. The tears, the stress, everything you had been holding in broke free, hot and uncontrollable.

Beomgyu’s arms immediately wrapped around you, his warm touch comforting. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, “Just let it all out.” Your tears seemed to fall harder with his words; your breath shaky against Beomgyu’s chest as he held you a little tighter. 

He pressed a soft reassuring kiss on your temple as he pulled you into bed, holding you close as your tears slowly began to subside. “I know there’s so much more to you than you let on,” he said quietly, his voice filled with understanding. “I’m not asking you to tell me anything. I trust you. No matter what, I will always be here.”

Guilt gnawed at your bones—how much more were you going to be able to protect him? You knew your time was closing in, but this time, you couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.

“Look at me,” he murmured, his voice steady. “I love you. I don’t care what secrets you’re holding. None of that can change how I feel about you.”

He paused, his hand cupping your face tenderly as his thumb brushed over the curve of your jaw, grounding you. “Even if my body ceases to exist,” he confessed softly, "my soul will still be in love with you.” 

You knew love came in various ways—was expressed differently, but Beomgyu’s love was like no other. There was an indescribable fervour about it—one that felt like the sun’s warmth on a summer’s day, even during the darkest of days, his warmth wouldn’t be swayed.

You didn’t have the strength to speak; the weight of the last 8 months finally took a powerful hold on you. But in that moment—that night—you understood what his love was. His love wasn’t earned; it was given—wholeheartedly without question. In the end you realized you were wrong. Beomgyu wasn’t like the Garden of Eden, he was Boaz—like him, he loved you with patience and generosity, despite the secrets you kept hidden, he loved you without question. And you? You just had to wait and see if you were really like Judas after all.

Beomgyu listened to your breathing as it steadied, soft and rhythmic as you fell asleep. A feeling of tranquillity washed over him as he watched your features relax—the steady rise and fall of your chest, your tear-stained face softening in peace.

Beomgyu had noticed it all. He wasn’t blind to the truth. Your existence in Golgotha had always been strange—you lacked the selfishness that permeated that world. But the real giveaway? Your curiosity. No one from that world of the rich would spare a glance at the fighters; they were all just part of a performance. But you? You wanted to know too much—and that curiosity, Beomgyu knew, could be your downfall.

Still, he chose to ignore it—accepting the way you loved him, without hesitation, even if it was temporary.

He remembered that day, it wasn’t long after you had your first kiss—probably a few days later. You were in the parking lot with Taehyun—his voice sharp and unforgiving. Beomgyu had stood in the shadows, behind a wall, unable to tear his eyes or ears away. He knew it was wrong; he shouldn't have listened. But there was so much more to you than you were willing to share that Beomgyu just wanted to know.

And maybe, it was better not knowing. 

Because when Dong-wook’s name slipped past Taehyun’s lips, Beomgyu’s blood ran cold.

Dong-wook, the creator of their hell—the owner of Golgotha. He was a man shrouded in mystery; one they only ever spoke of in whispers. Beomgyu was told he disappeared after his last empire crumbled, only to resurface with something stronger—safer—it became Golgotha.

The real story behind its origin, Beomgyu never knew. What he did know was that the place transformed from an empire of trafficking to a sanctorum for the elite—a place filled with bloodshed and violence—a place—of performance. There was so much more to the eye than it seemed. On the surface, a place for the rich to lounge, but below?   

The darkness hadn’t disappeared—it transformed. Changing shape. Some fighters were bought, others stolen, some participated willingly and finally there were those like him, exploited, caught in schemes run by men like Kwang-soo, loyal stray dogs to a master that should’ve never returned.

Beomgyu remembered the way you stiffened against him months ago, dismissing your own behaviour, blaming it on tiredness. But when you stared at the corner with a fear that couldn’t be displaced, he knew there was more to it. And tonight was the true confirmation of your connection to Dong-wook. He had watched you at the bar, he saw the way the higher up approached you—a man not meant to be there. He saw the way you stiffened when he called you Dong-wook’s girl, correcting him, saying you were his—Beomgyu’s.

But the man knew. And from the way you faltered…he knew you did too. 

Even as you slept in his arms, Beomgyu’s thoughts kept spinning. He knew that somewhere between the folds of this story, there was a part you didn’t share—the part with Dong-wook. Beomgyu didn’t know the truth, not completely, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to. Not now, not ever. 

“I love you,” he whispered, as he pressed a soft kiss on your forehead. “Whatever it is…I still do.”

And as he held you a little tighter that night, Beomgyu let himself believe that the fragile, borrowed peace was enough.

Act 4 || The Apostate’s Kiss 

They say patience is a virtue—ruled by the angels, the embodiment of divine order.  But you? You were no angel. And your patience? It had worn thin. 

Ten months.

It had been 310 long, excruciating days spent inside that sanctified hellhole. And quite frankly, you were over it. 

Beomgyu was the only thing that kept you grounded—your anchor among the chaos. Without him, you would’ve lost yourself a long time ago. 

Tonight, Golgotha felt different. There was a cold, eerie stillness in the air—unnatural for a place that fed on the patron’s energy. It was as if the walls were holding their breath, watching and waiting. You stood at the corner of the bar with Taehyun, savouring the comfort of his presence despite everything that took place between you.

“Madame,” a voice interrupted, drawing your attention. A man came up to you—the same one from before, his smile too wide, too knowing—a smile that created an anxious hole in your stomach. “Boss wants to meet you. I am meant to be your escort.” 

You and Taehyun exchanged a glance—yours was fear; his curiosity. “Go on,” he said quietly. “Just…be safe. I’ll let Beomgyu know where you went.”

You gave him a small nod before turning to the man who waited, his arms folded in front of him as he eyed you with intent. Without a word, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a blindfold.

Your stomach dropped. This can’t be happening. You looked at him in disbelief.

“You can’t be serious,” you said.

“It’s protocol,” he shrugged. “Boss doesn’t want guests remembering the way.” 

As the fabric slipped over your eyes, the darkness that encapsulated you felt uncomfortable. The warmth of Taehyun’s reassuring hand on your shoulder was replaced by the cold, iron grip of the escort, guiding you forward.

Two lefts. A right. Then a decent twenty steps down a hallway large enough to cause your heels to echo against the floor. You committed each turn, each footstep, to memory.

Finally, you’re pushed into a room on the left. You stumble inside and there’s silence. You hear footsteps approaching you slowly and your heart quickens—a part of you wishes it isn’t who you think it is, but a part of you knows you aren’t wrong.

The man’s cold hands caressed your arms, and it made your skin crawl, made you feel dirty. “Angel,” he said lowly as he removed the blindfold from your eyes. “It’s wonderful to see you again.” As your eyes adjusted to the bright light in the room you felt sick. Dong-wook. You expected this. But even then, it still felt surreal seeing him before you.

He looked the very same as he did all those years ago. 

“Dong-wook,” you said coldly. “It’s really you.”

Your fists clenched the moment he stepped closer. His calloused fingers cupping your chin with a firm, possessive grip.

“Still so sharp,” he whispered. “So full of life.”

You recoiled, pulling away. “Don’t touch me.” 

He chuckled, soft and maddening. “It’s funny. You would’ve begged for the opposite back then.” Then after a beat, “Glad to know the world hasn’t broken you yet. That’s the fire that I remember.”

“You’re not meant to be here,” you seethed, “how is this possible?”

He began to circle around you slowly, like a wolf with its prey. “Some parts of you are still so innocent,” he mused. “The world is run by money. It was easy to crawl back in.” His tone shifted. “As for Golgotha,” he said, casually brushing dust from his sleeve, “I started that seven years ago. Just another exploitation ring. Another profit.”

Then he faced you, the glint in his eye made your stomach twist.

“But then I met you.”

You froze.

“You were young, gorgeous and with a dream,” he said, his voice drenched in false compassion. “You were supposed to be nothing to me. Just another girl. Just another name to erase. To be stripped and sold.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You knew that was the truth, but it didn’t hurt any less coming from his mouth.

“And yet, you tempted me. Like the devil,” he whispered, “You were the devil, and I loved every minute of it.”

“I rebuilt Golgotha for you,” he said. “The symbolism, the velvet, the power, it wasn’t for the clients. It was for us. Your devil inspired me. This was meant to be our empire.”

“But then,” he said, his eyes cold, “you betrayed me.”

He sat in his chair, drumming his fingers on the armrest. There was a heavy silence between you until he chuckled lowly, almost amused with the memory that crossed his mind.

“She reminded me of you, you know. The last girl.”

You were going to throw up.

“She had your eyes. Same fire, same bite.” He shrugged, “Shame she fell so easily though. Tell me, did it haunt you? Her blood on your hands?”

Your knees felt weak, but you forced yourself to stand tall.

“Then, I brought you back myself.”

“The intel—” you choked out.

“ —was bait,” he finished for you, smug. “I’ve been watching you. And your boss? Easy to fool. It was easy to get you here.”

He tilted his head, looking at you with multiple layers of disgust. “But what I didn’t expect was him,” his words, soaked in venom. “Beomgyu.” You couldn’t respond—you couldn’t bring yourself to. The only thing running through your mind was he had been watching you.

“Disgusting,” he spat. “What can that low life give you? Money? Power?”

He stood, even more angry. “ I can give you an empire. All built in your name. What can he give you that I can't?!” he shouted.

“Love,” you said softly. “He gave me love, Dong-wook. All you fed me were obsessions and false beliefs.”

“I would’ve given you the world.”

“I didn’t want the world,” you said, voice steady. “I wanted to be seen. But you never saw me.”

His features hardened, “Let’s see how your little toy feels when his face hits the floor.”

Your expression faltered—and he smirked. 

“He’ll meet the same fate as the girl,” he said coldly, holding up a folded paper between his fingers. “This is the fight list,” he said simply. “And I choose his next opponent. One of mine. I’ll make sure he won’t come out of that ring alive.”

“Don’t,” you warned, but your voice broke.

Dong-wook rose from his seat, leaning into your face, his breath sour with power. “A divine sacrifice,” he whispered. “Now wouldn’t that be poetic?”

You tried to step back but he immediately gripped your wrist. “Unless…” his voice laced with faux tenderness, “You come back to me.” 

His other hand slowly wrapped around your throat. His cold fingers applied steady pressure. “Don’t make the same mistake twice, sweetheart.” His hand squeezed tighter, “Come back to me,” he whispered. “Be my queen.”

The world was spinning by the time you were shoved back into the main hallway, the blindfold once again covered your eyes, but now it was tighter—suffocating. You didn’t remember the turns again; you didn’t have the strength to. Even though your legs moved, your mind remained stuck there, trapped beneath Dong-wook’s gaze.

As the blindfold came off you saw Taehyun waiting for you, his eyes filled with worry.

“Hey,” he caught you before you could stumble. “Are you okay? What did their boss want with you?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You scanned the room, the only person on your mind was—

“Beomgyu,” you called out, your voice panicked and uneven. He was talking with Soobin near the bar but turned at the sound of your voice.

“Love...” he said softly, “Are you okay? What did the big guy want?”

“When’s your next fight?” you asked breathlessly, grabbing onto his arm.

“What?”

“When…” your voice cracked. “When’s your next fight?”

“In three days,” he said confused, his eyes scanned yours with worry. “...Why? Baby, what’s going on?”

Your breath hitched. “Three days…” you mumbled to yourself, the bile rising in your throat. That wasn’t enough time. 

You let go of him, turning toward Taehyun, and held his wrist. “I need to talk to you. Now.”

Beomgyu called your name out, but you couldn’t look back. Not yet. Not until you found a way to save him.

  The cold burned—your skin was on fire and your lungs felt as if they were filled with water. You crouched on the floor as the walls of the world seemed to close in around you.

“Hey,” Taehyun called out, crouching in front of you. His voice felt as if it was underwater. “Hey. Focus on my voice. Follow my breathing.” You looked up at him, tears in your eyes as you tried to match your breathing with his.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, picking you up. “Now tell me, what’s going on?”

You gave yourself a moment, taking a deep breath and regulated your thoughts.

“He’s going to kill him, Taehyun,” you whispered. “If I don’t stay with him Beomgyu dies.”

“Who?” Taehyun asked, his jaw tightened.

“Dong-wook.”

His name burned on your tongue—as if you were being force fed poison and finally had the courage to spit it out.

Taehyun froze. His eyes widened at your words. “What?” he asked. “How?”

“Money passed,” you said. “He took the time and rebuilt Golgotha. He baited us with the intel. All so that he can get me back.”

You looked at him terrified.

“He wants me to be his queen, Tae. I can’t do it. I don’t know what we can do, I have to save Beomgyu, I—”

Taehyun pulled you into a hug. “Listen to me,” he said, wiping the tears that fell from your eyes.

“Let me handle it. Do one last recording for today and give me all of them. Notes, footage, everything. All of it.”

“What?” you blinked through your tears. “What are you going to do?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got it. The less you know, the better.”

“But why?” you asked.

“I lost my love,” he smiled sadly. “I won’t let you lose yours too. I promise.”

Today was D-Day, and quite frankly, you were terrified. You’d spent the last 3 days at Beomgyu’s side, clinging like it might be the last. He noticed, of course—the way your hands lingered just a little longer, how your eyes memorised the curve of his smile each time you kissed him. Whenever he brought up that night, you brushed it off.

“Just a tough matchup,” you’d say, your smile not quite reaching your eyes. And each time, he chose to believe you—whether it was trust or fear, you weren’t sure.

Golgotha was more alive than you’d ever seen it—almost bursting at the seams. The atmosphere was buzzed with energy and the haze of drugs consumed by the patrons. Their laughter silky rich, thick with anticipation for the night ahead. You knew the turnout was probably Dong-wook’s doing, a grand finale of sorts.

And maybe that was the most unsettling part—just the sheer number of powerful faces crowding the room, eyes eager on the altar for Dong-wook’s sacrifice.

“Heard Dong-wook is making an appearance tonight,” Taehyun muttered beside you, loud enough for only you to hear. “He’s really going all out for this.”

The only thing that was on your mind was Beomgyu—his eyes, his nose, his lips—his everything. You wanted to see him; you needed to see him. You didn’t know how this night was going to end, you just hoped Taehyun’s plan worked out after all.

“Hey sweetheart,” a voice called out to you. 

Yeonjun. 

You turned your expression neutral. “Yeonjun,” you said politely, “What can I do for you?”

“Still in love with Beomgyu?” he asked, smirking. “I’ll give you one last chance.”

Your eyes narrowed, “What are you going on about?”

He let out a soft laugh, “Back when I asked you to sponsor me. That was your chance.” Then he leaned in just enough for his breath to brush your ear. “Shame you chose the wrong side, and I always liked you too.”

He stepped back, smiling coldly. “But you chose the stray dog. And now I’m tasked with putting him down.”

You frowned, “You work under Dong-wook?”

Yeonjun’s eyes twinkled with amusement at your realization, “Last chance, sweetheart. Make things right.”

Your blood ran cold, “Fuck off Yeonjun.”

His smile dropped slightly, his eyes softened with something that didn’t quite look like pity, “See you at the altar, angel.”

You pushed through the crowd, trying your best to ignore Yeonjun’s words—but with each step the weight of them lingered. You really hoped that tonight didn’t end in bloodshed.

Beomgyu stood near the stage, the light casting a soft ethereal glow on him. His hair was slightly damp from his warm-up, his eyes lighting up the moment they found yours. And his smile—soft and warm—but this time, it broke you.

“Love,” he said, kissing you tenderly. “I’m so glad to see you.”

You couldn’t form the words to respond—not when he looked at you like that, not when you thought this would be your last. Your fingers brushed against the apples of his cheeks, savouring the warmth of his skin before pulling him into another kiss.

“Hey,” he whispered. “What’s gotten into you? You aren’t one to display affection like that.”

“Beomgyu,” you hesitated, “I need to tell you something.”

“Let’s talk later, okay?” he smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you too.”

“But Beomgyu, Yeonjun, he—”

“You tried to scare me these last few days!” he laughed, shaking his head. “I fought him before, babe. It’ll be fine.”

You shook your head desperately, but he didn’t pay you any mind.

“After this victory,” he said, "I'm treating you to dinner. Just you and me.”

He rested his forehead against yours, his voice soft, as he gazed into your eyes lovingly. “I love you,” he whispered as he kissed you again.

And for the first time, it didn’t feel like a gift-wrapped promise. It felt like an agonizing goodbye. 

The gong rang once causing the atmosphere of Golgotha to shift—becoming colder as the host stepped forward. The crowd fell into hushed reverence, anxiously waiting for the commencement of the night’s event.

“Ladies and Gentlemen.” the host began, his voice smooth. “Tonight, we are blessed with the presence of The Anointed. He will deliver the greeting.” 

As the host stepped aside, Dong-wook emerged, cloaked in dark crimson and black, his garments resembling a cassock warped by sin. His presence was domineering, magnetic—like a false god entering a temple. 

“Dominus vobiscum,” he intoned, his voice deep and chilling.

The Lord be with you. What an odd way to begin a greeting, you thought.

The crowd answered as one, “Et cum spiritu tuo,” the response echoed through the room.

And with your spirit. Your skin crawled at the twisted devotion. The theatrics of it all were too much.

“We all have gathered here for the Final Act,” he declared, his eyes sweeping the room before settling on you, staring at your soul. “Their last performance reached into your depths—so a final act has been summoned.”

He smirked at you from the stage, the knowing glint in his eyes. “Let us bear witness to a divine sacrifice.” 

He turned his gaze to Beomgyu and Yeonjun before continuing, “Upon this altar, one of these men shall rise as the Redeemer—” 

A deliberate pause.

“ —and the other shall fall as the Sacrificial Lamb. 

He outstretched his arms to the crowd like a preacher. “A lovely performance is among us.”

The gong rang a second time—feeling its vibration deep in your bones as the host and Dong-wook stepped back, marking the beginning of the final act.

Beomgyu stood across from Yeonjun, body taut with confidence and an unparalleled focus. He moved with precision and accuracy, an animalistic glint in his eyes as the patrons watched in anticipation. The tension was thick—it left you holding your breath, each movement in the ring made your heart race.

You felt horrible as you watched helplessly, anxiety taking over. Taehyun placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder and for once it did nothing to quell your worries. Yeonjun’s ribs cracked under the impact of Beomgyu’s fist—a breathless, painful gasp escaped him as he staggered back, steadying himself for an attack.

The punch seemed to awaken something in Yeonjun as his eyes flashed with something darker—terrifying. Beomgyu’s gaze met yours for the briefest of moments, his lips moved with a familiar movement. “I love you,” he mouthed before he launched himself at Yeonjun again. Yeonjun’s speed increased, terrifyingly so as he dodged Beomgyu’s attacks—a speed that caught Beomgyu off guard. There was no stopping them, and that made you feel worse—knowing Beomgyu’s fate was sealed and there was nothing you could do about it.

“Beomgyu,” you whispered his name like a hushed prayer, hoping to a God that was already dead. His chest rose and fell with a rhythm, his cheek slightly bruised from a punch Yeonjun landed on him as he tried to gain his balance. Yeonjun knew no remorse—striking again, but this time he reached into his pocket, a faint glint of steel caught your eye. A flash of silver. A knife.

You couldn't shout, couldn't scream, couldn't warn your love of the consequences he was about to reap. And it was as if time stood still—only the sickening sound of the blade piercing Beomgyu’s side was heard. Beomgyu staggered back, his hands instinctively clutching his side as blood seeped through his clothes, staining the white fabric of his shirt. He faltered as his faced etched in pain and surprise.

 The patrons gasped in surprise, watching in awe as his blood slowly dripped to the floor. And Yeonjun had a crazed look in his eyes—a deranged smile as he got closer to Beomgyu.

“No,” you whispered, pushing forward, only to be stopped by Taehyun’s firm grip on your arm.

“Not yet,” Taehyun warned. His eyes were locked on Beomgyu, “It’s not over.” His voice was calm, too calm, as if he knew something you didn’t.

 You heard him murmur something under his breath—barely audible to you, but your mind was too cloudy to make out the words.

Just as Yeonjun prepared to strike again, a deafening crash resounded—the door of Golgotha slammed open and the SMPA stormed in. The patrons gasped, some screamed, and others tried to escape in fear, but it was no use, the SMPA had already blocked all possible exits.

“This is the SMPA! Everyone in this room is under arrest. You are all under suspicion of partaking in illegal activity. Please comply with the authorities.”

You didn’t pay attention to the officer’s words after that—forcing yourself out of Taehyun’s grip and rushing to Beomgyu’s side, kneeling beside him, one hand trembling as you cupped his face and the other desperately placing pressure on the wound.

“Beomgyu,” you whispered as tears streamed down your face, “please, stay with me.”

He chuckled painfully, “No wonder you were worried. It’s as if you had a prenotion of what was about to happen.”

“You shouldn’t talk,” you sobbed. “Just focus on your breathing.”

“I love you,” he breathed in painfully. “So much. More than you’ll ever know.”

The ground beneath you trembled as more SMPA officers descended making their way to the stage. One of them moved toward Yeonjun and cuffed him in one fluid motion, another advancing on Beomgyu. You tried to hold onto him helplessly as they pulled you away.

“Please,” you begged, desperation thick in your voice. “Please help him…” 

But the officers didn’t hear you. All that remained was the weight of the cuffs, their cold steel biting into your wrists—a suffocating sense of agony was all that persisted.

This was Golgotha. A place where salvation was never meant to exist.

The office was cold, at least that’s what Taehyun’s mind told him—perhaps it was playing tricks on him. Laid across the table was a recorder—your recorder, your footage—everything. All the work you did for the past 310 days, everything that led him there.

Taehyun subconsciously held your recorder in his hand, brushing his finger along the edges, hoping it would bring you closer to him. The weight of the situation had finally dawned on him with your past rearing its ugly head, Taehyun knew that everything he was doing right now was for you. 

Every cell in his body screamed—screamed that this was the only way for you to truly put that part of you behind closed doors. And even though you’d never love him in the end, Taehyun didn’t mind because your presence taught him how to love, and for now, that was enough. 

The door behind him creaked open, pulling him from his thoughts—Kai, a long-time friend and seasoned tactical officer of the SMPA entered. Kai’s reputation for leading high-risk operations preceded him. A selfish thought crossed Taehyun’s mind; had Kai been involved in Dong-wook’s takedown years ago maybe things would’ve been different, maybe you wouldn’t have met Beomgyu and maybe you would've—

No. Taehyun shook the thought away. There were just some things that were just not meant to be.

Kai smiled at Taehyun for a moment before his face turned serious as a wooden judge. “Taehyun, you ready?” he asked.

Taehyun glanced up, locking eyes with him before nodding with assurance. “Let’s do this.”

It felt like an eternity, sifting through evidence, listening to your voice echo off the walls of the room before it finally dawned on them. There was no safe way out of this.

“We can’t use any of the evidence,” Kai sighed frustratedly, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but you didn’t have authorization to gather it. It’s inadmissible in court.”

Taehyun rubbed his temples, feeling a headache creeping in.

“Sorry man,” Kai continued. “Even if I wanted to, Dong-wook’s attorney would almost exercise the exclusionary rule. You know how this works. I don't want us or the team to face legal consequences for using evidence that was technically illegally obtained.”

Taehyun’s shoulders sagged as he huffed in irritation. The evidence you worked so hard for—now rendered useless in a matter of seconds.

“Then what the hell can we do?” Taehyun asked with a bite in his voice.

Kai looked him in the eye for a moment. “I know this isn't ideal, but Beomgyu has to get attacked before we can invade.”

Taehyun's heart dropped. “Is there really no other way?”

Kai shook his head, “I know it’s brutal but without legal evidence, this is the only option. But we can give you a discreet earpiece. The moment Beomgyu is stabbed, you give us the go-ahead. You’re our eyes. You’ll signal us once the moment comes.”

Taehyun didn’t speak for a moment—his mind wandered to you, knowing the way you’ll protest at the idea, begging them to find an alternative way.

Kai nodded then said your name softly. “What about her, why isn’t she here to hear the plan? She was a big part of this too.”

“She doesn’t need to know,” Taehyun said quickly—too quickly. “We thought it was best for her to not be involved. To make the entire thing more believable, at least.”

Kai's eyes narrowed at Taehyun, “You weren’t even sure what was going to be done, Taehyun.” Kai continued after a beat. “She’s not emotionally compromised, right? She isn’t involved with Beomgyu or worse, Yeonjun, right?”

Taehyun dismissed it quickly, though his voice lacked the usual confidence. “No, we’re good. We’re just being extra careful. The last incident with Dong-wook is still fresh in her mind—especially with his involvement in this as well.”

Kai hesitated, eyeing Taehyun closely. Then after a long beat, he nodded slowly, “If you say so. But Taehyun, listen to me, if things go south, you need to be sure she’s safe.”

“Always.”

Kai stared at him for a moment longer before leaving the room and returning moments later with the earpiece. It felt heavy— the weight of responsibility in Taehyun’s hand.

“We have one chance at this,” Kai said seriously. “Let’s not mess this up.”

The world felt unreal. 

Looking back at the life you lead, you never thought you'd be here in this moment—handcuffs biting into your wrist, adrenaline surging with nothing but pure agony. As the officer began dragging you away, Taehyun stepped forward, his voice too calm for the moment at hand. 

“Officer, she’s with me.”

 The officer asked, surprised. “Oh, you’re the partner they mentioned?” He unlocked your cuffs without hesitation. “Sorry about that! Your acting was good, you seemed genuinely distraught. You rubbed your wrists, but relief never came. Acting? You thought, confusion clouding your mind.

“Uh…thanks?” your voice shaky as you struggled to stay focused.

Then the officer who detained Beomgyu approached. 

The sight of him stole a breath from your lungs—pale, bleeding—his breath ragged as he barely held himself upright.

“Do you know this man, ma’am?” the officer asked, his gaze locking onto you. 

You didn’t know what to do. Admit to knowing and possibly be charged with failure to report a crime or deny the allegation and pretend you didn't know him at all? All the possibilities ran through your head and unfortunately, fear won.

“I…I don’t,” you hesitated, a lump forming in your throat.

The officer’s gaze shifted between you and Beomgyu, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face. “You don’t know him?” he asked again, his voice sharp, as if he was waiting for your admittance.

“No,” you said, blinking back tears. “I don’t.”

“Are you absolutely certain?” he challenged.

“Yes,” you said, sharper this time, glaring at him. “I was just part of the investigating team with Taehyun. I have nothing to do with him. You’re doing nothing but delaying the help he needs. He’s bleeding. Hurry up.” 

The officer seemed taken aback by your forceful tone, but after a brief pause, he nodded. “Very well.”

The moment the thirst denial slipped from your lips, your ears rang—the ringing—sharp and unforgiving. The sound was deafening, ruthless, a relentless force you couldn't escape. Beomgyu’s eyes were the only thing carved into your mind—dark and wounded—your denial cutting deeper than the blood spilling from his wound.

All this time, you believed you were suppressing the Judas within you—avoiding betrayal for thirty measly pieces of silver. But you were never him. No, you were Peter—denying him to protect yourself—denying your love when he needed you most. 

And now, in the wake of your lie, you weren't sure if that made you a coward or a traitor.

Dong-wook’s voice shattered the silence.

“All that for a fucking stray dog?” he snarled, his body thrashing against the officers that held him back. His voice was venom itself and his eyes burned into you, full of scorn—hatred.

He let out a laugh, bitter and full of disbelief. “I can’t believe you did this shit again. Really?” You didn’t respond—you couldn’t. 

“I hope your fucking dog bleeds to death,” he spat. “I should’ve killed you. I hope you fucking bleed out too. It’s what you deserve.”

Everything felt as if it was crashing down on you—his words chipping away at the last bits of sanity you had left. The guilt you felt didn’t suffocate you; it consumed you, his words echoing louder the further he was dragged away.

Bleed. Bleed out. Just like you deserve.

“Hey,” Taehyun’s voice broke through the haze. His expression softened, but the concern in his eyes lingered, “You okay?”

You looked at him, tears welling in your eyes. “Okay?” your voice cracked, hoarse and raw. “Beomgyu was stabbed, Taehyun. Of course, I’m not okay.”

Slowly, the crowd in Golgotha dissipated but the tension still hung heavy in the air. You should be happy with the way things turned out to be, but as you remember the way his breath slipped through your fingertips all that remained was the hollow echo of the man you loved most. You followed Taehyun without thinking—legs heavy and mind numb—every step felt like you were being dragged further into the abyss of unforgiveness.

“Hey, Taehyun!” a voice called out. Without a word, Taehyun took off a sleek, discreet earpiece and handed it to the man. 

“Here,” Taehyun said smoothly, “Thanks for all the help, Kai. I really appreciate it.”

Kai accepted the earpiece with a slight nod. “It’s not a problem,” he replied, his tone light. “I’m just glad the entire operation went smoothly.”

He turned his gaze to you, his eyes softening with a quiet understanding. “Good job out there,” Kai said, his voice warm. “And thank you for all the evidence you gathered. We can’t use it legally, but our team can get a warrant to bring in proper evidence. You’ve done enough. Get some rest.”

You nodded, but the words felt distant—hollow. No part of you believed you were deserving of any praise. Not when you failed and let go of the man who needed you most. “Will he be okay?” you managed to ask.

Kai looked at you, his expression heavy with pity. “He’ll be okay,” his voice steady. “ I’ll make sure of it.”

The cold air seemed to be the only thing that gave you some semblance of feeling that evening as you left Golgotha. Standing in the car park one last time felt surreal—surreal knowing that this was the end of everything.

“I'm sorry,” Taehyun whispered. “There was no other way to save him.”

“You could’ve still told me, Taehyun,” you whispered. “I may be emotionally involved but I’m not fucking stupid.”

You wanted to scream—cry—to shake him until he understood the pain that blossomed in your chest. But nothing you would've done would change anything. And that was the shittiest part.

“I think he should've known. At least then he could've minimized the damage.”

“I just wanted to protect you,” Taehyun said softly.

“And I just wanted to protect Beomgyu,” you snapped, your voice trembling with anger and hurt. “ I guess we both didn’t get what we wanted.”

Taehyun opened his mouth as if to say something, anything to ease the tension between you, but the words never came. You didn’t want his words—not when you were so torn, conflicted.

“God…” you whispered, “I’m such a fucking coward.” The admission stung but you made your choice. Denying knowing Beomgyu, a truth that hit you in the gut.

“Hey…” Taehyun said softly. “You’re human. That fear you felt? It’s valid. This is law enforcement we’re dealing with. You have to protect yourself too.”

You shook your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You saw his face when I said it, Taehyun. I can’t help but hate myself for being the cause of that look. He was so broken.”

Taehyun remained silent for a moment before his lips parted again. 

“Then, hate me.”

You blinked, confused. “What?” you whispered, “Why would you want me to hate you?”

“Because despite your relationship with Beomgyu. I still selfishly love you,” he admitted. “And that's all I have left to offer you. Hate me, if it helps you. Get the feelings out. You need to keep yourself together, for you, for Beomgyu. As much as I hate to admit it, that’s the only thing I can give you now.”

No matter how angry you felt, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate Taehyun—not when he loved you so unconditionally, even without reciprocation. The weight of everything still crushed you, but in that moment something small shifted inside you. You couldn't afford to let yourself get back in this space, not for you, not for Beomgyu. The hollow space that was once your heart was filled with hope—hope for Beomgyu, that he could forgive you despite everything. Any maybe, just maybe there was some hope that you could forgive yourself too.    

Act 5 || The Weight of Tomorrow

Beomgyu had lost track of how many weeks had passed, each day bled into the next, forming a never-ending loop. The sterile beige walls of the detention centre were all he saw—blank, lifeless, monotonous— and if that didn’t send him mad, then he would himself. The physical pain after the surgery had long since faded, instead replaced by something far worse—a gnawing emptiness in his chest that refused to go away. That was the real torment, and it was you.

You were the only thing on his mind, were you okay? Were you happy? And the most important one, were you safe? 

The nights were the worst part—that’s when your voice got louder, echoing in the back of his mind, sweet and sharp like a blade. It was haunting. Too many times Beomgyu lay awake staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plaster, wondering if you were sleeping soundly or if you were haunted like him.

Despite everything that happened, there was no way Beomgyu could have hated you—sure, he was disappointed with the way things turned out and yes you lied about your identity, but that didn't change the fact that you were the same person he loved. Beomgyu knew he could never stop loving you, regardless of what Soobin told him when he visited—his love for you was a boundless ocean and he just hoped that your love was the same for him.

He was sitting in the visitor’s room now, confused. Soobin wasn't supposed to visit for a few more days and Beomgyu had no one else—well, except you. And you know how that story goes.

“Beomgyu,”  Taehyun’s cold voice said as he entered. He didn’t sit, opting instead to stand rigidly by the glass separator, barely sparing him a glance.

Beomgyu’s brows furrowed, “Taehyun? What are you doing here?”

Taehyun looked around the small room in disgust, almost as if it had offended him to be there. He shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable. “This place doesn’t suit you,” he muttered, avoiding Beomgyu’s gaze. “But I guess Golgotha didn’t either.”

Beomgyu blinked. Unsure if his words were laced with sympathy… or just pity.

Taehyun cleared his throat. “We got you a lawyer. A good one. They got your case pushed forward. The hearing’s next week, so if you get lucky you might get out soon.”

Beomgyu’s heart raced. The news was great, but something still gnawed at him, something far more urgent—you. Where were you? Why weren’t you here? Were you afraid? Or worse, did you no longer love him? The uncertainty clawed at his insides.

“I— I mean, that's great. Thank you, Taehyun,” Beomgyu said, his voice shaky. But a more important question burned at his lips. “But you don’t exactly like me. So why are you doing this… and what about—”

“This isn’t out of my own goodwill,” he interrupted coldly, folding his arms across his chest. His eyes softened subtly before he said your name only in a way love can. “She’s the one who made me come tell you about the lawyer. That, and well, she doesn’t want to see you.”

Beomgyu’s breath caught in his throat. “...What?”

Taehyun’s gaze softened briefly before the walls were put up once more. “It’s not because she hates you. She just…thinks you hate her after everything. Thinks you’re better off without her.”

“No,” Beomgyu whispered, his hand hitting the glass separator.  She thinks I hate her?” 

His voice cracked. “I don’t. God, even if I tried, I couldn’t. She's the air I breathe. Please, Taehyun. I need to see her. I can’t live without her,” he begged, desperate.

Taehyun’s expression flickered for a moment, as if he wanted to say something but he closed his mouth without muttering another word. Slowly making his way toward the door, his pace slow and deliberate.

“Please,” Beomgyu said softer, his voice barely a whisper as he tried to grip the glass. “Tell her I still love her. I don't care about what happened. I just need her here.”

Taehyun’s gaze flickered to him for a split second, his eyes unreadable, “...I’ll see what I can do. But I can’t make any promises.”

“Thank you,” Beomgyu said, his voice was low but sincere.

Taehyun hesitated just before leaving, his back still turned. “I’m not doing this for you,” Taehyun said flatly, his voice colder than before. “I’m doing this because I know she can’t live without you.”

Beomgyu’s chest tightened, the weight of Taehyun’s words sinking deep. As Taehyun left, Beomgyu sank into the chair, the emptiness in his chest was a little heavier now. He closed his eyes, his breath shallow as he prayed—prayed to a God that he didn’t believe in that you would come back. Even if it would be the last time, he prayed for you to come back.

The drive to the detention center felt like a blur—the anxiety gnawed at your insides, eating you alive as your hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles turning white from the tension. It had been over a month since you last saw Beomgyu, and his face from that day seemed to be the only thing that replayed.

You hated the way the nightmare played out the same every single time. The two of you were in his bed, sharing a moment before the world collapsed and you were transported back to Golgotha. The way his face warped with hurt and pain as the denial rushed past your lips was forever engraved in your mind as if it were a branding.

Then you fall. And it seems endless, the deep kind—the one that makes your legs feel like jelly. That is until you land in a pool of blood—his and hers—mixed. The last thing that always haunts you is Dong-wook’s voice, cold and merciless, so full of hate. 

Bleed. It's what you deserve. 

Then you wake up—sobbing, drenched in sweat, praying to a God that was already dead to end the torment, to end the pain.

You barely remembered the check-in process, only recalling the way your hands trembled as you signed the visitor’s log and handed over your ID—ignoring the way officers looked at you with either pity or disgust almost as if you were a criminal yourself.

Each second you waited felt like an eternity, the ticking of the clock slowly being your painful demise. So many questions ran through your mind; Did he hate you? Was he okay? Would he even still love you, the real you? Your fingers tightened around your wrist as you fought the urge to run—to act as if you weren't there in the first place.

“Visitor for Choi Beomgyu, you’re up.”

Your heart dropped as you followed the officer—feeling more vulnerable with each step you took. The closer you were, the tighter your chest became. You nearly turned around twice but your feet were adamant, dragging you forward as if it knew something your brain didn’t. 

The grip of your fingers hurt. Beomgyu was finally going to see the real you. There was nothing to hide behind now. Not here, not anywhere. This was no longer Golgotha.

“You have 30 minutes,” the officer said coldly. “Make the most of it.”

You swallowed hard, nodding without a word, your heart stopping as your eyes met his. Behind the thick glass partition, he was still him—still your Beomgyu. He was thinner than you remembered, his features more drawn but his eyes—those warm eyes of his remained the same, so full of love, everything you could have dreamt of.

“Beomgyu…” you whispered, your throat tightening at the mere sound of his name.

His eyes glistened slightly as he watched you, “Baby…” he said softly. “You came.” He leaned forward, his hand resting on the glass as he tried to get close to you. 

The nickname simultaneously wounded and soothed your heart, all at the same time.

“What happened?” he asked. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tears welled in your eyes before you could even stop them, your heart breaking for the man you still loved so much. “I wanted to,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “ I really did, but I didn’t know what to do. And Taehyun…he was the one who had the entire plan. I’m sorry.”

“I just wished he decided to cooperate with me,” he sighed. “Would’ve made things easier.”

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, “I’m sorry I denied knowing you. I was scared and I didn’t know what to do.”

Beomgyu's eyes softened, “It’s okay. It hurt at first, but I get why you did it. You were scared and you’re human. It’s your default that you protect yourself.”

“Still,” you cried softly, “I still lied to you, Beomgyu. I betrayed you.”

“Love isn’t always perfect,” he said quietly. “It’s about being real and despite everything you were always real with me. I don’t care about the mask you wore. I care about who you are underneath it all.”

You bit your lip, fighting the urge to break down completely. “I never meant to hurt you. I truly just wanted to keep you safe.”

“And you did,” Beomgyu reassured. “This is just a tiny detour and that's okay. I just need you to know that I still love you, all of you.”

The anxiety, the guilt, the fear; still lingered, but something began to take root inside you—a tiny, fragile seed of hope. Seeing the way Beomgyu remained unchanged, loving you the very same made all the difference.

Your eyes flicked at the timer. Ten minutes. 

“We don’t have much time left,” Beomgyu said softly before he smiled a bit wider. “Hi, my name’s Beomgyu, I was an underground boxer and I’m desperately in love with you.”

You laughed softly, wiping away your tears, the sound a mix of relief and disbelief. You said your name softly. “I’m an investigative journalist and I’m desperately in love with you too.”

And for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could finally breathe again.

  The detention center had become your new normal. Every week, you went through the same process, signing in, waiting, and then walking down the cold corridor to the visiting room. Each time you saw Beomgyu, you slowly got to know each other again—not some persona, just raw, genuine persons in love with one another. 

Some days were quiet, filled with tear-stained faces and heartfelt apologies. Others, laughter, to the point where the officer complained about it being a disturbance. You talked about your dreams, your bad habits—you without various masks on, the you behind closed doors.

Sometimes Soobin accompanied you after Beomgyu mentioned your visits. At first, he wasn’t keen on the idea, your persona in Golgotha was still fresh in his mind. But as the weeks passed, he saw the real you, and eventually a tiny friendship formed. It was still awkward—no surprise there—but you were both trying. And for now, that was enough.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence one afternoon, your voice broke the stillness, sounding more serious than usual. “You know I can’t act as a witness for you against Kwang-soo right?” you said quietly, meeting his gaze.

Beomgyu blinked, confusion flickering across his face. “What? Why?” 

“Because it can be used against you in court since she’s too emotionally involved with you,” Soobin interjected beside you. “Kwang-soo’s lawyer will destroy any credibility she has in court. Will just make things worse for you.”

You nodded. “He’s right,” you said. “Sorry, I can’t do more, Gyu.”

“It’s no big deal.” Beomgyu’s brows furrowed. “But what about Dong-wook?” his tone serious. He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Are you going to testify against him? Considering the intricacies of your past relationship, would it still be considered biased… but in a negative way?”

You winced at the question, your heart raced as you remembered your last interaction with him. “Yeah,” you said dejectedly, rubbing your temples. “I don’t have a choice then though.” You ran your hand through your hair, trying to push the thoughts of him aside. “There was never a court ruling for the last incident with him and someone has to testify on behalf of the girls. None of them want to, they’re too afraid.”

“That’s nice of you though,” Soobin said, gazing at you. “To fight for them even though it makes it disadvantageous for you.”

“It’s the least I can do for them.”

You felt the weight of your decision settling over you as the days passed—nerves gnawing at you as the court date loomed over you like a shadow. It wasn’t the thought of facing Dong-wook again that terrified you—it was the sheer weight of his influence, the way he had always been able to hurt so many people and get away with it.

The trial day arrived quicker than you had imagined, and honestly, most of it felt like a blur. You didn’t say it out loud, but the idea of being in the same room as Dong-wook again made you sick. His voice never stopped echoing in your nightmares, angry and bitter at your final decisions. As much as you hated to admit it, he still owned a small part of you—the part once manipulated by the words, the part that once believed he could be saved.

But now, you only wanted closure. You wanted peace.

You had rehearsed your lines, packed the certified documents Kai gave you to testify—photos, phone records, everything that tied him directly to all his underground operations. You were prepared to refute every claim yet some part of you wasn’t ready for the way Dong-wook’s cold eyes would follow you.

Outside the courthouse was swarmed with the press and fans, eagerly waiting for the verdict. Inside, the air was thick—a suffocating coldness prevailed filled with a mix of individuals; those who loved Dong-wook and others who hated him. You were thankful that amidst the nervousness eating away at you, Taehyun and Soobin had accompanied you, their presence being the silent support you needed.

You barely remembered testifying. The moment you entered the witness stand, your responses were automatic, as though your body had gone into autopilot, recounting every painful detail and presenting all the evidence. No matter how much his lawyer tried to strike you down and refute your claims, it was no use. You didn't back down and the truth was out, and Dong-wook would finally get the treatment he deserved.

“The verdict has been determined,” the judge’s cold voice rang out, slicing through the tense silence. “Lee Dong-wook, you have been found guilty on charges of murder to the second degree, sex trafficking, exploitation, and racketeering. You are hereby sentenced to life in prison on all counts.”

You couldn't remember exactly what happened afterward—only the sensation of Taehyun and Soobin enveloping you in a tight hug, their warmth a stark contrast to the coldness you felt inside. But the only thing that clung to your mind were the last words Dong-wook had whispered to you.

“It’s not over,” he had said, his voice icy with hatred. “Don’t underestimate my influence. I hope that stray dog can protect you.”

The court case might have been over, but the battle wasn’t completely won. You had fought for the girls, exposed the truth, and for now, justice was served. Now you had to try your best to leave Dong-wook’s influence on you in the past, to keep that door shut and locked—no matter how many times his words crept up on you. You finally had the time to focus on you.

The courtroom’s heavy silence hung in the air long after Dong-wook was led out, but your thoughts were already shifting. The fight wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot. Beomgyu’s trial was next and while his circumstances were far different, you still held onto the hope that somehow justice would be served.

Like Dong-wook’s hearing, there was a vast amount of media coverage for Beomgyu’s. Thanks to your article Golgotha: Life From An Outsider’s Eyes, Beomgyu had the public’s sympathy on his side—the abused fighter rather than the criminal mastermind. He was no longer seen as a ruthless participant, but now a boy who just wanted to make a living. You just hoped that your words would be able to make a difference.

You watched the judge—her expression unreadable as she shifted through the last pages of her ruling. Despite the murmurs and the shuffle of papers filling the space around you—everything felt still, quiet. Beomgyu was beside you, his warmth doing little to ease your comfort. The silence was deafening. His hand tightened around yours and your heart raced.

“The verdict is in.”

This was it—this was either going to be the beginning or the end.

“Choi Beomgyu, while your involvement in the underground operations was undeniable, the court acknowledges the circumstances of your exploitation under Park Kwang-soo. Due to the overwhelming evidence of coercion, the public’s support, and your efforts to minimize illegal involvements given your condition, you are hereby sentenced to one year of probation and community service with counselling.”

Relief crashed into you like a tsunami, drowning out the noise of the courtroom around you. For a moment, everything felt distant—the people, the cameras, the world beyond this room—it all faded away leaving just you and Beomgyu. His eyes were wide and they met yours, his face frozen as if he hadn’t quite processed the news.

He was free. 

Free to live the life he deserved, without the looming shadow of the ring, without anyone pulling at his strings. Just free.

Before anyone could speak, Beomgyu turned to you, his face softening into an expression of pure gratitude and love. He didn’t wait—he couldn’t—with a tenderness that made your heart race, he cupped your face gently and with the weight of everything finally lifting off his shoulders, he kissed you, right there in front of everyone.

The world faded back in with the clattering of the judge’s gravel as she moved on to Kwang-soo’s verdict, but you no longer cared. There was no more pain, no more uncertainty.

“Thank you,” he whispered as he pulled back, his voice thick with emotion. “For loving and believing in me.”

It wasn’t just a kiss of celebration—it was a kiss of freedom—a testament to everything you had been through, everything you had fought for. A kiss to seal the end of one chapter and the start of another. Finally, the future was yours to shape—together.

Who knew a year would pass by so fast when you’re in love? Days that were once heavy with guilt and dread had now transformed into something brighter, sturdier—real.

Beomgyu was no longer bound by probation and was free of the chains of Golgotha. He had successfully built a new life for himself—one rooted in hope and purpose. His new boxing ring and gym gained a lot of traction from the youth and became a dedicated space to teach kids the proper ways to defend themselves—to become strong and resilient in a world that tried to tear them down. Beomgyu’s success was undeniable, creating the sanctuary he had always dreamed of.

You followed a similar path, deciding to step away from the world of investigative journalism to pursue a quiet, simpler life—one offering a different kind of thrill for you to experience. Your cafe strived alongside Beomgyu’s gym, and the popularity of your story was still present to this day. The cafe and gym became a cornerstone of the neighbourhood—your personal testament to growth.

Together you moved in—not into a house, but a home—one filled with different aspects of yourselves, creating a safe haven of happiness and bliss, one you enjoyed together. Taehyun and Soobin always spent time with you too—your friendship with Taehyun had been restored and your friendship with Soobin managed to blossom even more.

As the last customers trickled out of the cafe that evening, the scent of fresh coffee still lingered in the air as you cleaned up. You glanced over at Beomgyu who came in moments before, his gaze unwavering as he made slow, deliberate movements towards you. You wiped your hands on your clothes, your heart full with the typical giddiness Bromgyu’s presence had on you.

“I’ve been thinking,” Beomgyu started, his voice cutting through the comfortable silence.

Your eyes shone with mischief. “About what? It’s dangerous when you think.” You teased.

Beomgyu smiled at you gently before his face turned serious. “About us, what we’ve been through. I’ve made my mistakes and you’ve made yours.” He continued, stepping closer to you until there was no space left between you, “But I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life than I am now, in this moment.”

The tenderness of his words washed over you as nervousness of what may be happening crept up on you.

“I can only see my future with you. Not just today or tomorrow, but forever. So…” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. You froze and he dropped to one knee, holding your hand as your breath caught in your throat. “My soul had become bound with yours. Will you marry me?”

The box flipped open revealing a simple yet elegant silver band, the diamond catching the light from the cafe. You couldn't believe that this was happening. The man who had fought for his freedom, who had rebuilt himself, the man who loved you despite it all wanted to build a future with you. Your eyes swam with tears—those of disbelief, those of joy, those of relief.

“You don’t have to ask,” you whispered, your voice heavy with emotion. “Of course, Beomgyu. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

He grinned, relief flooding his features as he stood up, carefully sliding the ring onto your finger. His hands shook just slightly, this one gesture changing everything for you both. “I can’t wait for this new chapter to start with you,” he whispered, the tremor present in his voice. “This is for us and our new future together.”

You smiled through your tears and he kissed you, thankful that all the pain was worth it. You both knew that this new journey wouldn’t always be easy, but together you would conquer the challenges life would inevitably throw at you.

As you gazed at the new ring on your finger, you were reminded of his promise. The ring wasn’t just a symbol of your love—it was a symbol of everything you had overcome. A promise of what was to come, a future that belonged to you.  It represented the start of a new journey, another chapter in your story.

And for the first time, you were no longer Peter, Judas, or even Eve—you were just you. And you were exactly where you wanted to be.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ adeline's ending ✉︎ 𖹭.ᐟ - If you've made it to the end, thank you so much for reading! It means the world to me that you read it. I'd love to know which moments were your favourite(❁´◡`❁)

special taglist⭑.ᐟ -  @filmsbyun, @dawngyu

permanent taglist⭑.ᐟ - @izzyy-stuff, @just-nc-tea, @flowerkeu

taglist⭑.ᐟ - @filmnings, @demidelulu, @neobeomjii @ramdomheyl, @melmochii, @mwahvvis, @beomiracles, @i-am-not-dal, @immelissaaa, @orangyuuuu, @fatbixchwithanopinion, @fancypeacepersona

[those in bold couldn't be tagged!]

[andluv]

RIIZE MASTERLIST

o.st

tba

s.es

tba

j.sc

upcoming...

p.wb

feel it.

h.sh

tba

l.sh

miners on the town (myrtle beach edition)

**might turn this into a series of ynhee road trips hmmm idk idk

l.cy

my youth, shared with you

[andluv]

never just friends

ᯓ friends to lovers, hyuck & reader are both graduating, and both pining ☻ 5.3k wc!

ᯓ this one is inspired by one of your requests! but as someone who just graduated, it also draws a bit from my own daydreams, of having a high school or college sweetheart to walk across the graduation stage with :p

──── ☀︎

an interview. two chairs. one camera. and all the words they never said.

they both want to fix it. neither knows how

but if there was ever a moment to try again, it’s now—before the caps are tossed, before the goodbyes, before they go their separate ways for good

because sometimes, endings are just new beginnings waiting to happen

──── ☀︎ ────

the first snowfall of the semester comes early, blanketing the campus in white, like the sky is trying to cover up everything you’ve tried not to feel

you’re late. again.

the lecture hall door creaks open, and thirty pairs of eyes glance your way, but only one glance really lands

haechan.

you hesitate, just for a second. it’s not because you’re surprised to see him, of course he’s here. he always was. it’s the way he looks at you, like he’s trying not to feel something either. and just like that, ten months of silence feels like it never ended, like it’s still hanging in the air between you, thick and unfinished

the only empty seat is next to him. of course it is.

you make your way down the row, slow and quiet, and slide into the chair beside him. your hands grip your pen too tightly, like maybe it’ll hold you together

“wow,” he says under his breath, not even looking at you. “out of all the seats in the universe.” you don’t skip a beat. “trust me, i’m just as thrilled”

the professor starts talking. you try to focus, to pretend you can’t feel the weight of his presence next to you, but then your arms brush. just for a second. and neither of you move

it shouldn’t feel like anything. but it does. ten months ago, he was your best friend. now, he’s the guy you don’t talk to, or even look at

outside, the snow keeps falling. soft, steady, like the sky knows something you don’t. and for the first time in a long time, you let the thought drift in, uninvited but welcome– maybe this isn’t really the end.

*flashback* it’s nearly 2 a.m., and the campus is asleep, except for you and haechan. you’re both lying in the middle of the quad on a cheap picnic blanket he stole from his roommate. the sky is clear, a velvet canvas dusted with stars, and the cold grass presses through the blanket, prickling your back. but you don’t care. not when you’re laughing like this

“i’m serious,” he says between gasps, “if i ever become famous, i want my wikipedia page to say i invented ramen grilled cheese. that was a cultural reset” you snort. “you nearly set the kitchen on fire.” “greatness requires sacrifice”

you turn your head toward him, grinning in the dark. his eyes are already on you, soft and bright beneath the moonlight. this is what it used to be like– easy. effortless.

you’d tell him anything. he’d listen like it mattered. and he’d always, always find a way to make you laugh, even on your worst days.

“remember when we were fifteen,” you say, “and you swore we’d drop out of college to become youtubers?”

he groans. “okay, first of all, you said we’d be a duo. you were gonna do baking, and i’d handle commentary.” you nudge him with your elbow. “and you were going to get us cancelled in week one.” “that was part of the brand”

you both laugh again, the kind that starts small and builds into something uncontrollable. it fills the quiet night, echoing between empty buildings and forgotten dreams. and somewhere between the laughter and the silence that follows, you realize how much you love him

not in a dramatic, fall-to-your-knees kind of way. just in the way your heart settles when he’s beside you. in the way the world feels less sharp. in the way you want to pause this moment and keep it in your pocket forever.

but you don’t say it. you never do

instead, you breathe in the night and whisper, “let’s not grow up too fast.” and he, still watching the sky, replies, “not if we can help it” *end of flashback*

you don't even remember how you got roped into it. one second, your friend from the media club was rambling about their "senior spotlight series" something about legacy, friendship, full-circle moments, and the next, you're sitting on the cold steps of the old library waiting for him

because apparently, when people think of iconic friendships on campus, they still think of you and him. the best friends. the duo. they don’t know the story stopped a while ago. quietly. like a door that never fully closed

he arrives five minutes late, with that same careless swagger he’s always had, like nothing touches him, not even time. he meets your eyes for a second before looking away

“didn’t think you’d actually show,” he says, voice light, but not teasing. you shrug. “didn’t think you would either”

the media team gives you a quick rundown. photos first, then a short filmed interview. “just a few questions about your friendship,” the girl says cheerily. “how you met, favorite memories, what you’ve learned from each other. that kind of thing”

you want to laugh. or maybe scream.

instead, you sit beside him on the stone bench, pretending your skin isn’t on fire just from being near him again. the camera clicks. once. twice. and then the girl says, “okay, now look at each other”

you hesitate. he does too

but you turn. and for the first time in what feels like forever, your eyes meet– and stay.

and there it is. the weight of the silence. the things you never said. the laughter that used to be effortless. the memory of a night under the stars when you almost told him you loved him– and didn’t. “perfect,” the photographer says, completely unaware. you look away first

a few minutes later, you're sitting in front of a camera. someone asks, “what made your friendship so special?” you blink. haechan stays quiet

and all you can think is: do we even get to call it a friendship anymore?

the lights in the small studio hum quietly, the camera lens trained on you like it’s trying to see straight through your chest

the interviewer smiles, warm and expectant. “so, what made your friendship so special?”

you glance sideways at haechan. his jaw is tight, but his eyes hold a flicker of something, maybe nostalgia, maybe regret

you breathe out. “it was easy,” you say finally. “like… no matter how bad the day was, or how messy everything got, we somehow made each other feel like it was okay to just be ourselves”

the camera keeps rolling, the red recording light blinking like a heartbeat and haechan shifts in his seat, and when he speaks, his voice is softer than you remember. “we knew all the worst parts, and we didn’t run”

you want to say that’s what makes it different now, that you both ran, or maybe froze. but you swallow the words

“did you have a favorite memory together?” the interviewer asks. your mind flashes back, the quiet quad nights, the laughter spilling over like a tide

“the night we stayed up until two in the morning, just talking,” you say, voice catching a little. “we didn’t have a plan. we weren’t worried about anything except being there. it felt like time didn’t exist”

his eyes find yours, and for a moment, it’s like the space between you isn’t so vast

“yeah,” he says, “like the world was smaller with just us in it”

the interviewer smiles, clearly moved. the camera clicks off

you both sit in the sudden stillness, the kind that stretches between people who used to be so close it hurt

neither of you says it– but both of you know it’s true. maybe this is the first step to finding your way back

the interviewer steps away, giving you both space, but the air still feels tight, like a held breath neither of you knows how to release

you shift in your seat, fingers twitching. then, almost without thinking, you glance down at the stack of papers in your lap, the notes from the interview questions

one slips and flutters to the floor. before you can reach for it, haechan’s hand is already there, picking it up. his fingers brush yours for a second as he hands it back, and it feels electric. you both freeze.

then, without looking up, he murmurs, “can’t believe you still remember that night”

your heart twists, and you nod slowly. “how could i forget?” he laughs. soft, genuine, and unexpected “guess some memories don’t fade,” he says

you want to say something. anything. but the words catch in your throat. instead, you smile. just a little. and for the first time since this whole mess began, it feels like maybe, just maybe, you’re not so far apart after all

*flashback* you never imagined that something as small as a grade could break you

it was the week of midterms. you and haechan– both top of your class, the golden duo of the liberal arts department, had always pushed each other to be better. friendly rivalry, or so you told yourself

but that week, it wasn’t friendly

the final paper was due on a friday. you stayed up all night, pouring everything into it, hoping your research would outshine his. you saw it as a challenge, and maybe a way to prove who was better

when the grades came back monday, he had a perfect score. a hundred. you had ninety-seven

you felt the sting more than you expected.

later that day, you bumped into him in the library. you tried to joke it off, something like, “congrats on beating me.” he smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “you almost had it. next time”

you nodded, but inside, the competitiveness twisted into something bitter. that evening, you found out he’d told your classmates you weren’t serious enough about your future, that you cared more about winning than learning.

you confronted him the next day, heart thudding in your chest. “why would you say that? you know it’s not true.” he looked away, frustration lining his face. “maybe you do care more about being the best than about us”

the words cut deeper than you expected. “you’re making this into something it’s not,” you snapped. he shook his head. “maybe it’s exactly what it is.”

the argument spiraled– voices raised, accusations flung, pride blocking every bridge back. by the end, you weren’t sure why you were fighting anymore– just that you couldn’t stop

that night, you didn’t text him. he didn’t text you.

and that was how it began. *end of flashback*

you meet ryumi and yuki at your favorite campus café, the cozy warmth a stark contrast to the cold tension you’re carrying

ryumi orders a chai latte; yuki grabs a black coffee. you’re just trying to focus on the steam curling up from your own cup

“so,” ryumi says, leaning forward with that gleam in her eyes, “what’s really going on with you and haechan? sitting next to him in class? that must’ve been... something”

you take a slow breath, staring down at your cup. “it was weird. like, we used to finish each other’s sentences, and now we barely talk. it’s like there’s this wall between us that neither of us knows how to climb”

yuki frowns, “do you want to fix it? i mean, you guys were inseparable. it’s hard to imagine it all just... ended” you shrug, voice soft. “i don’t know. i want to. i guess i just don’t know where to start. we both got hurt, and maybe we’re scared of getting hurt again”

ryumi reaches out and squeezes your hand. “sometimes the hardest part is just saying it out loud. maybe you need to talk to him. like, really talk” you glance up, meeting their encouraging eyes. “yeah. i think you’re right”

yuki grins. “we’re here for you.” you smile, feeling a flicker of hope light up inside. maybe this winter isn’t about endings after all

──── ☀︎

the camera’s red light blinks steadily as you and haechan sit side by side again, the earlier awkwardness softened into something quieter, something more real

the interviewer smiles gently. “you’ve already shared some memories about your friendship. but i’m curious, what’s something you’ve learned from each other that you didn’t expect?”

you glance at haechan, and this time, his eyes meet yours without hesitation.

“i learned that vulnerability isn’t weakness,” you say slowly. “haechan taught me that it’s okay to show the parts of yourself you think might scare others away. he’s not just this confident guy everyone sees, he’s brave enough to be himself, even when it’s hard”

haechan clears his throat and then nods. “and from y/n, i learned patience. she has always been steady, even when i was reckless or stubborn. she showed me that sometimes, the best way to handle things isn’t to charge ahead, but to wait and listen”

the interviewer leans forward, intrigued. “is there a moment that stands out, something that changed how you saw each other?”

you swallow the lump in your throat, “there was a time when everything between us was breaking apart,” you say. “but even then, he never stopped caring. he was the first one to reach out, even when i pushed him away. that made me realize how much he truly meant to me”

his smile is soft, almost shy. “yeah… i guess sometimes you have to lose something to understand how much it matters”

the room feels warm despite the chill outside, and for a fleeting moment, you both sit with the unspoken hope that maybe, just maybe, this story isn’t over

the interviewer finally shuts off the camera, and the sudden silence feels heavy, but not in a bad way. more like the kind of quiet that settles after something important has been said

you breathe out, feeling the tension in your chest loosen just a little. looking over at haechan, you catch the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips

“didn’t expect that to go so... deep,” you say, half-teasing but mostly amazed. he shrugs, eyes still fixed on the floor for a second before meeting yours

“yeah. feels weird, but good. like peeling back a layer you didn’t know was there,” he says, and you nod, cheeks warming. “i guess sometimes it takes a camera and a stupid interview to say what’s been stuck inside”

haechan’s gaze lingers on you a moment longer, his voice low. “maybe it’s not so stupid after all”

you want to say something, something that might change everything, but the words get caught in your throat. instead, you just sit there, side by side, the space between you feeling less like a canyon and more like a bridge

outside, the winter sun filters through the window, promising something new. and for once, you both believe it just might be true

──── ☀︎

haechan flopped onto his dorm bed, rubbing the back of his neck as yangyang tossed him a bottle of water

“man, you’ve been stuck in your room all day,” yangyang teased, plopping down on the floor. “you need to get out, clear your head”

him and his friends were scattered around the room, lounging in various states of exhaustion from midterms

jeno nudged renjun. “there’s a party tonight at dery’s place. might be good to blow off some steam”

jaemin grinned. “yeah, come on, haechan. you’ve been avoiding everyone since that interview with y/n”

haechan stiffened a little, the memory of the interview still fresh. “i’m not avoiding. just… thinking”

yangyang raised an eyebrow. “thinking or overthinking? you were practically glowing after you guys finished. that was new”

“yeah,” jeno chimed in, “it was like you finally said some of the stuff you never could before. been rough, huh?”

haechan sighed, glancing out the window. “yeah, it’s complicated. we haven’t been ‘us’ for a while. but maybe… maybe that interview was a start”

renjun nodded thoughtfully. “sounds like you two have some unfinished business. party might be good for a break, but don’t lose sight of that”

jaemin smirked. “or you could end up at the party, thinking about her the whole time.” haechan chuckled softly. “yeah, probably”

yangyang stood up and stretched. “well, party or no party, you gotta do what feels right. but a night out could be just the distraction you need.” haechan nodded slowly. “maybe you’re right. i could use some fresh air”

jeno tossed him a set of keys. “then what are you waiting for? let’s go.” as the group headed out, haechan took a deep breath, feeling the mix of nerves and something like hope swirling inside. tonight wasn’t about fixing everything–it was just the next step

the bass thumped through the crowded dorm common room, a chaotic swirl of laughter, music, and chatter filling every corner. haechan weaved through the crowd, a drink in hand, trying to focus on the easy conversations around him, but his mind kept drifting back to you, being lead to the point for him to convince himself that he’s hallucinating as he laid eyes on you. he hadn’t expected to see you. especially tonight

and yet, there you were, near the snack table, laughing with a group of friends. his breath hitched for a second as your eyes caught his across the room

for a heartbeat, everything froze– the noise, the people, the flashing lights– all faded into the background

you looked surprised, then smiled, a small, genuine curve of your lips that made something inside him unclench

haechan swallowed the lump in his throat and made his way over, each step feeling like a mile. “hey,” he said, voice quieter than he’d intended. you looked up, startled but pleased

“haechan. didn’t expect to see you here”

he shrugged, trying to keep it casual. “yangyang dragged me out. figured i needed to get some fresh air… or whatever this is.”

you laughed softly, the sound warm and familiar. “yeah, i needed the same”

there was a pause, neither of you quite sure what to say next. finally, you broke the silence. “so… how did the interview go? i saw some clips online” he smiled, a little sheepishly. “honestly? it was harder than I thought. talking about us, about what we lost”

you nodded, eyes searching his

“but maybe it’s a start.” he met your gaze steadily. “yeah. maybe it is.”

the music throbbed louder, but this moment, this unexpected meeting, felt like the quiet in the storm. and for the first time in a long time, haechan thought maybe things could really change

for a few minutes, the conversation flows easily, memories, jokes, small smiles. then, like a shadow slipping through the light, the topic shifts

“so,” you say, voice careful, “do you still think about… what happened? why we fell apart?”

haechan’s smile falters. his eyes darken just a little. “all the time”

you look away, heart tightening. “it was such a stupid fight. over grades, of all things.” he laughs, but it’s bitter. “yeah, who knew academic competition could wreck everything?”

the music pulses around you, but all you feel is the fragile thread between you– stretched, but not broken. and somewhere beneath the tension, hope flickers

the tension lingers, thick but no longer suffocating. instead, it feels like a wall just starting to crack. haechan exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to shake off the weight of months. “i don’t want to keep pretending none of this happened. or that it didn’t hurt.”

you meet his gaze, “me neither. maybe… we owe it to ourselves to try again. to actually talk, not just compete or hide behind silence.” he smiles, small but real, the kind that reaches his eyes. “yeah. maybe this time, we don’t let pride get in the way.”

the music shifts to a slower song, and the crowd moves around you both, but all you feel is the space shrinking between you.

“want to get out of here?” you ask quietly.

“definitely ,” he says, offering his hand.

as you take it, a surge of something hopeful blooms inside– a fragile, beautiful chance to rewrite your story. and maybe this time, you’ll finally get it right

──── ☀︎

you’re curled up on the worn-out couch in your favorite campus coffee shop, the smell of fresh espresso and cinnamon swirling around you

your friends are gathered close, their eyes warm and expectant. “so,” yuki says, grinning, “spill. how’s the whole ‘reconnecting with haechan’ thing going?” you bite your lip, fiddling with the sleeve of your sweater. “it’s… complicated”

they exchange knowing looks. “come on, you can tell us” you take a deep breath, heart pounding. “the truth is… i never really stopped liking him. not just as a friend. maybe it was there all along, but i was too scared to admit it”

ryumi reaches over and squeezes your hand. “girl, we’ve been waiting for you to say that forever. it’s so obvious to everyone but you.”

yuki chimes in, “you guys were perfect together. you owe it to yourself to fix this before we graduate. what if you never get the chance again?”

you glance down, feeling both hopeful and terrified. “yeah, but what if it’s too late? what if we’re too far gone?” they shake their heads firmly. “no way. you’re not giving up on something that means this much. not now”

their faith feels like a lifeline, and suddenly, you’re ready. “okay,” you say, voice steady, “i’m going to try. for real this time”

your friends cheer, clinking their coffee cups together. “to fixing what’s broken,” they toast.

and for the first time in a long time, you believe it just might be possible

later that night, your room is bathed in the soft glow of a desk lamp. outside, the campus is still, the world muted beneath a blanket of stars

you sit on your bed, your heart feels heavy, tangled with memories and “what ifs.”

what if you had been braver? what if you hadn’t let pride get in the way? what if you told him how you really felt back then?

a sigh escapes you. but somewhere beneath the regret, there’s a flicker of something new– a fragile hope that maybe this time, things can be different

you stare at your phone, thumb hovering over the message app. your heart is pounding like a drum in your chest, but you know this is the moment. no more hiding, no more silence.

seconds feel like hours. then, a reply: "yeah. i’d like that.”

taking a deep breath, you type: “hey, can we talk? i think there’s a lot we need to clear up.” you hit send before you can change your mind

relief floods you, warm and sudden. the night air is crisp and quiet when you arrive at the quad. the familiar stretch of grass, the faint glow of distant street lamps– everything feels the same, yet charged with possibility

moments later, haechan appears, his expression unreadable but softened by the low light. you both stand there for a beat, the weight of months hanging between you

“i’ve been thinking about that night a lot,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “about how easy it was... before everything went wrong.”

he nods slowly. “me too.”

you take a step closer, the cold grass crunching softly beneath your shoes. “maybe we can find that again.” haechan meets your eyes, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “yeah. maybe this time, we won’t let it slip away.”

and in that quiet moment, under the stars where it all began, you feel the first real hope of something new

after that night in the quad, things didn’t suddenly get perfect. but somehow, once you broke the silence, every day felt more at ease—little by little.

most afternoons, that’s where you ended up— the quad, the place where everything used to feel effortless. you’d bring some snacks, maybe a playlist on his phone, and just hang out

one day at the library, you studied side by side, textbooks open, but honestly, you barely focused. you’d throw playful jabs back and forth about who’d get the better grade on the next paper. when you got stuck on a tough question, he reached over to help, and your hands brushed for just a second. and that little touch felt like a spark

nights became your thing again. you’d walk the quiet campus paths under the stars, talking about things you’d never said out loud before. your hands bumped, lingered, and no one pulled away

the silence wasn’t awkward anymore. it felt like something waiting to happen. and for a second, it felt like you were just kids again, no past hurts, no tension, just the two of you

it wasn’t instant or perfect, but day by day, you were finding your way back. and honestly? it felt better than you could have ever imagined

──── ☀︎

“graduation’s coming fast.”

“too fast,” he agreed. there was a pause before he added, “i think about walking across that stage and not having you beside me. and i don’t want that. not again.”

your heart thudded, slow and loud in your chest. “i don’t either. we’ve come too far to go separate ways again.” he looked at you–really looked– and something in his gaze felt like an anchor, grounding you both to this moment. “what we have… it’s not just something we stumbled back into, is it?”

you shook your head. “no. we chose this. we’re choosing it every day.” he reached out then, his fingers brushing yours, and this time you didn’t hesitate. you tangled your hand in his, holding tight

“i want to walk with you,” he said softly. “not just at graduation, but after. wherever we’re going, wherever life takes us.”

and under that star-scattered sky, you squeezed his hand and smiled. “then don’t let go.”

──── ☀︎

graduation week arrives in a blur of last papers, goodbye hugs, and the kind of bittersweet laughter that seems to echo longer than usual. there’s a countdown hanging in the air, not just to walking the stage, but to the end of this chapter, of this version of your lives. you feel it in every corner of campus. but when you’re with haechan, somehow, it still feels like home

he waits for you after class with your favorite drink in hand, like clockwork. walks you back to your dorm. teases you about crying at rehearsal. everything you used to do, but different now. warmer. closer.

that night, the sky is clouded over, the quad quiet but not cold. you’re sitting on the blanket again, this time under a string of fairy lights your friends strung up for some end-of-semester picnic. most of the crowd has cleared out, leaving just you two. a little music hums from someone’s portable speaker a few feet away, distant and slow

he’s lying beside you, arms tucked behind his head, his voice low. “do you remember our first night out here? not the ramen-grilled-cheese night. before that.” you nod. “we had no idea what we were doing. you told me you wanted to be a novelist.”

“and you told me i’d probably write your acknowledgments because i talk too much.”

he laughs softly, eyes shifting toward you. “i think i just liked the idea of doing something worth remembering… if it meant you'd be there.” the quiet stretches between you, and this time it’s not soft, it’s full

he sits up slightly, propping himself on an elbow, face suddenly closer than it’s been in weeks. your breath catches

he doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you in the kind of silence that feels like something tipping. the kind that always comes before a first kiss

“i think I’ve been falling for you since the second time we sat here,” he says finally, voice barely audible. “but i didn’t say it, because i thought i already lost you once.”

you blink, heart pounding.

your hand finds his cheek, and he leans into it so naturally, like he’s done it a thousand times in dreams. and then, slowly, without any of the usual drama or panic, he kisses you

it’s soft at first, like a question. his lips move against yours carefully, like he’s still afraid you’ll vanish. but you kiss him like you never will again. like this is your answer to every quiet moment you never spoke through. every almost.

when you part, foreheads pressed together, he exhales against your skin. “we’re really doing this.” you smile. “yeah. we are.”

that night, he walks you home, fingers laced with yours the whole way. you don’t say goodbye at the door, not really. just a kiss goodnight, a promise, and the quiet comfort of knowing this time… neither of you is walking away

──── ☀︎

the ceremony is over, but your head’s still spinning. there are too many hugs, too many camera flashes, too many people crying while confetti falls from nowhere

someone’s blasting a graduation playlist from the speaker. a champagne cork flies past your shoulder. and yet, through it all, you only see him

haechan, laughing in a sea of caps and gowns, eyes scanning until they land on you. and then he’s moving toward you, weaving through friends and faculty like the only place he wants to be is next to you

and when he reaches you, neither of you says anything at first. you just smile, tired and teary-eyed and overwhelmed in the best way.

“hey,” he says, breathless. “you did it.”

“you too,” you reply, voice thick with emotion. “we did it.”

he lifts his hand slowly, hesitates, then brushes your tassel back from your cheek, his fingers lingering. “can i steal you?” he asks.

you nod. he takes your hand without asking this time, and the two of you slip away from the noise, around the back of the old library, and across the campus you’ve memorized together, to the quad

it’s quieter here. golden. the sunlight’s softer now, dappled through the trees. the grass is warm under your feet, and the stage feels far behind you. you sit down, still in your gown, heels kicked off, hearts thudding

“so…” he starts, playing with the corner of his sleeve, “we graduated.”

“we did.”

“and we kissed.”

you laugh. “yeah. that too.”

there’s a beat of silence, and then he looks at you– really looks at you– and you feel it in your chest, how serious this is. how long it’s been building

“y/n..” he finally breaks the silence,

“i’ve loved you for years,” and this time, there’s no hesitation. “even when we stopped talking. even when i hated myself for messing it up. i never stopped”

you don’t answer right away, not because you’re unsure, but because your throat is tight and your heart is full and you’ve waited so long to say this

“i loved you when we were fifteen and thought youtube fame was our calling,” you finally whisper. “i loved you when I didn’t know how to show it. and i love you now.”

he leans forward, forehead resting against yours, eyes closed like he’s soaking up the weight of your words. “so what does that make us now?” you smile, brushing your thumb across his cheek.

“whatever we want to be. we’ve got time now.”

he kisses you again– soft and certain, like there’s no turning back. and when he pulls away, he’s still smiling. “okay. then let’s start with this: i’m yours.” you take his hand again, lacing your fingers through his. “and i’m yours.”

around you, the sun keeps setting. the quad begins to empty. and as the last chapter closes behind you, a new one begins, quieter, sweeter, and filled with everything you never had the words for before

and as the world shifts around you, futures unfolding, time pulling you forward, his hand stays in yours, steady, warm, familiar.

no more pretending.

no more almosts.

just you and him, in the place where it all began, hearts speaking the truth your mouths had once been too afraid to say

because some love stories never needed to start with a kiss to be real. some love stories were written long before the first chapter

and this one? it was never a friendship gone wrong. it was always a love that took the long way home.

because the truth is— you were never just friends.

[andluv]

thank you all for 100+ notes on my nicholas one shot! if you have any other &team recs with a prompt (any NORMAL!!!! prompt) pls send them my way!! i want to write more for &team but i have zero ideas up here in my brain. THANK YOU AGAIN!!

side note: gimme nct wish prompts too pls & thx, I don’t want riku to feel lonely in my masterlist ❤️‍🩹

side side note: HAPPY PRIDE!!! 👅👅👅👅

- cait

[andluv]

NOW PLAYING: fuckass lilo and stitch

sundays always go one of two ways.

super slow, like fall asleep behind the counter slow.

or

randomly busy for no fucking reason at the 6:30-7:30 shows.

which one would you rather pick?

you thought you preferred super slow sundays. triple S if you will.

ERRTTTT

WRONG.

you’re left holding on to your last moments of consciousness chugging your iced coffee from hours earlier, that is DEFINITELY watered down. you don’t care.

kei said he was going to let you close up early, yes. BUT. it all depends on when his date comes to pick him up.

that loser pokemon guy better be punctual you swear to fucking god.

it’s been 7 hours, but it has felt like 2 weeks.

the discount stealer better be here before 10, you think to yourself before you drift off.

——

you’re awaken by a snap in front of your face.

as you fade back alive you hear voices belonging to some boys your age.

“damn who falls asleep standing up?”

“i knew we shouldn’t have got here late!”

“it’s only 10:03pm, you cannot be serious.”

“damn she’s conked out.”

you open your eyes.

“good morning beautiful.” the pink haired one says with a shit faced grin, to which the short blonde one quickly slaps off his face.

“sorry about that.” says the tiny blonde one.

you come back to your senses after scowling at the pink one, shaking your head.

“nah man you’re good, i didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“i sure hope you didn’t.” the tall kid with crazy eyebrow game says, to which, once again, the blonde one hits him in the shoulder.

you sigh and head to your register.

“what can i get you three?”

“four, actually, jo’s in the toilet.“ the pink one interjects with a finger raised.

“okay, four people for…?”

the blonde one clears his throat.

“we’re here to see final destination.”

“no?!” the boy with the eyebrows says.

this time it’s the pink hair boy who hits his shoulder.

pink boy sighs loudly, like they’ve had this conversation before.

“for the last time, no one wants to see fuckass lilo and stitch, maki!”

the boy pouts like a child and start arguing.

“this is isn’t fair! jo said he would!!”

“well too bad! jo is busy shitting out his ice cream in the boy’s room!!”

the blonde boy, who you’ve now realized is the leader of this little shindig, turns around, holds his nose bridge and says “yuma, you can see final destination with me. maki, you and jo can watch lilo and stitch.”

you look back and see that both boys now look satisfied. the one with the eyebrows, maki, fist bumps the air and puts his arms around his chest. pink boy, yuma, nods his head with a “hmph” like he won a debate.

“ok great. 2 for final destination, 2 for lilo and stitch. correct?” you ask.

“yes, we also want food.” the little leader replies.

“yeah! i want a tub of popcorn.” yuma says.

the blonde boy immediately interrupts him with a blunt “no.”

“harua!!” yuma turns to the newly identified leader with the biggest puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen.

he starts to plead at the boy next to him in the middle of the lobby.

“harua. pwetty pwease? harua i will literally beg on my knees.”

harua stares at yuma incredulously. “get off the floor!!!” he whisper yells, not unlike a mom reprimanding her child in a grocery store.

yuma gets up off the floor with a frown. “i need my popcorn!!”

“you can get a kids pack!” harua responds, exasperated.

“are you deadass??” with yuma’s sweet persona gone, he glares at harua.

“my ass is in the grave, yuma.”

maki interjects this time.

“me and jo will get one tub please!” maki turns to yuma and sticks out his tongue.

“WHAT??! THIS ISNT FAIR!”

“you should’ve seen fuckass lilo and stitch then.” maki shrugs.

you are exhausted just listening to these boys bicker back and forth.

you start typing in the kids pack and popcorn tub into the register when you hear footsteps coming from the bathroom.

please say this one’s normal, you silently plead to the gods above.

you make eye contact with who you presume to be jo. 6’1, short black hair, with a hoodie and jeans accompanied by some black high top converse.

holy shit. this boy is FINE SHYT. alarms start going off in your head. MUST FLIRT WITH FINE SHYT. you turn them off.

as he’s walking over to you and his friends, you bury your head back into the register.

harua starts talking again.

“can i add a junior mint to my order?”

you stutter over your words now that jo is watching you. “y-yeah sure.”

harua raises his eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.

maki requests 2 large drinks for him and jo. harua grabs a bottle of water from the mini fridges displayed.

“okay, your total is $76.75”

“HOLY SHIT.” yuma blurts out.

harua goes to pay, but jo steps ahead and hands you his card.

the boys talk amongst each other about venmo-ing jo back, in the midst of this, you write your # on the receipt with a note: to fine shyt, you know who you are. you hand them their tickets and receipts and they go off on their way.

——

you finally check the time on your phone. 10:15pm! you could’ve closed one box already. you head back to the office to check if kei is still here.

you knock on the office door to no avail.

you take that as a sign that kei is, in fact, on his date.

damn it. you fell asleep when pokemon guy came in. you could’ve grilled him like you actually care about kei’s wellbeing! rats!

you text taki.

taglist @bbykaixx @conwunder @222brainrot

note: im so sorry abt leaving my smaus unattended for like months. i’m graduating on friday. YIPPEE. I can’t wait to post more for this smau #luné for life.

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[andluv]

now playing: happy anniversary!

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a/n: hello holyhaech nation i have returned on this fateful sunday afternoon. i will be posting more regularly i hope. i love &team and my brain has been full of them lately. everyone needs to love &team im so srs. anyways, next chapter will probs be written somewhat. LIFE UPDATE: i start my student teaching placement at my local elementary school (5th graders..) they are so brainrotted but it’s okay bc so am i 💜. anyways bye - willow

taglist @bbykaixx

[andluv]

now playing: luné cafe’s finest

jo asakura. first year art major. very shy, quiet guy. also a dweeb. his best friend has been yuma since middle school. met nicholas when he was in high school.

fuma murata. manager of luné cafe. parental figure for his employees similar to kei. but unlike kei, he actually likes his employees! just like kei, he is lovingly referred as “unc”. has a major crush on kei, but won’t do anything abt it bc it’s “unprofessional” 😒.

yuma nakakita. first year business major. jo’s partner in crime whether he likes it or not. been friends with jo since his middle school days, the yin to his yang. works the front with harua while jo bakes in the back and maki works register.

harua shigeta. senior in hs at luné high. student council president, head of nhs, 4.5 gpa. this guy does it all am i right? in taki’s head, they are fighting. in harua’s head, they are flirting. who’s brain is telling the truth? i bet money it’s the smart, 5’7, bunny-looking, genius. (but you didn’t hear that from me 🤫)

maki. senior in hs like taki & harua (he skipped a grade). major theatre nerd, but not a theater kid, DO NOT get it confused. has been friends with harua since freshman year because they take the same honors classes. he’s also in all of the same orgs as harua. he’s the real enemy in taki’s head, who is convinced maki is going to “steal his man” 😭🫵. works register at luné cafe.

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[andluv]

HOLY MOLY A RENJUN SOULMATES AU WOWZA!! im such a whore for a good soulmates au..sigh you’ve done it again eli 🙀💞

the threads of us

in every universe, through every lifetime, their souls are bound by an invisible thread, drawing them back together no matter the time or place.

(renjun x fem!reader ) ─── genre ⸝⸝ fluff / soulmate au ♫

word count. 7.3k ⋆.˚ library  !

— universe one .ᐟ

the city always feels a little different in the rain. the usual hustle and bustle of people rushing from place to place slows down, softened by the steady patter of raindrops against the pavement. the streets shine, reflecting the neon glow of the nearby shops. it’s one of those days when everything feels peaceful, almost dreamlike, as though the world is in a quiet lull.

y/n is huddled under her umbrella, her pace brisk as she walks down the crowded sidewalk. her mind is elsewhere, lost in thoughts of work, plans, and the weight of the week ahead. the umbrella begins to wobble in her hand, the wind picking up in sudden bursts. before she can react, a gust blows it inside out. y/n lets out a frustrated sigh, trying to flip the umbrella back to its normal shape.

“careful,” a voice says, warm and familiar, though she can’t place it.

she looks up, startled, and her breath catches in her throat. standing in front of her is a guy about her age, his features soft but striking. his dark hair is tousled from the rain, and his eyes, bright and kind, shine with an almost mischievous glint. he’s wearing a navy jacket, the hood pulled low over his head, but his smile is wide and comforting.

“let me help you with that,” he offers, reaching out and steadying the umbrella with his hand.

y/n blinks, slightly flustered. “oh, um, thank you.”

he laughs softly, a sound that seems to warm the air between them. “no problem. i’ve got a thing for broken umbrellas.”

her chest tightens, though she’s not sure why. there’s something about him, something about the way his eyes look at her, like they’ve shared a million moments even though this is the first time they’ve met. she shakes the thought away, smiling awkwardly.

“i’m renjun,” he says, his voice light and easy. he steps a little closer to her, adjusting the umbrella so it shields them both. “do you need help getting somewhere?”

for a moment, y/n feels an inexplicable sense of comfort from his presence. it’s like they’re already familiar, even though they’ve never spoken before. maybe it’s the way his smile makes her feel like everything is going to be okay, even on a rainy day.

“i… uh, i’m just heading to a café,” she says, her voice uncertain. “it’s not far.”

renjun nods and grins. “great, i know the place. i’ll walk you there.”

they walk side by side through the rain-soaked streets, the sound of their footsteps blending with the rhythm of the city. the world feels quieter with him, even though they’re surrounded by people. their conversation flows easily, casual at first—talking about the weather, their favorite spots in the city, and their mutual love for coffee. but as the conversation deepens, it’s impossible to ignore the pull between them, like there’s an invisible thread tying them together.

“are you new here?” y/n asks, glancing at him curiously.

he laughs, a soft, melodic sound that makes her smile. “kind of. i just moved back to the city a few months ago. i’ve been wandering around trying to find the best cafés. guess i found a good one today.”

y/n laughs, her gaze drifting to the café they’re approaching. “i know a great spot just down the block, if you’re ever in the mood to try somewhere new.”

he looks at her with a knowing expression. “i’ll keep that in mind.” then, more softly, as if he’s just realized something, he adds, “you seem different.”

y/n frowns slightly, not sure how to respond. “different? how?”

“like… i don’t know,” he says with a small shrug, his tone uncertain. “like i’ve met you before.”

the words hang in the air between them, and y/n feels an odd tightening in her chest. she turns away quickly, feeling her cheeks flush. there’s no way he could have met her before, right?

“maybe you just have one of those faces,” she jokes, but even as the words leave her mouth, they don’t feel right.

renjun grins again, but his smile is softer this time, more contemplative. “yeah, maybe.”

they reach the café, and renjun holds the door open for her, stepping aside with a flourish. “after you.”

y/n steps inside, the warmth of the café enveloping her. the rain outside continues its steady rhythm, but here, in this little haven, the world seems different—softer, quieter, as if time slows just for a moment.

as they sit down at a table near the window, sipping their drinks, y/n can’t shake the feeling that something significant is happening, something she can’t quite put into words. there’s a familiarity to the way they speak, to the way they laugh, to the way he looks at her. it’s all so natural, as if they’ve known each other far longer than a few minutes.

“i’m glad i ran into you today,” she says softly, her voice almost a whisper, as though speaking too loudly might break the magic of the moment.

renjun looks at her, his gaze intense yet gentle. “me too. maybe i’ll see you again.”

the words feel like a promise, and y/n can’t help but believe them. she smiles, but it’s bittersweet, like she knows this moment won’t last forever, even though she wants it to.

when they part ways outside the café, renjun waves goodbye, his figure disappearing into the rain. y/n watches him go, feeling an overwhelming sense of loss, as if something is slipping away. she turns, heading back to her apartment, but that feeling doesn’t leave her—it follows her, lingers in her chest, gnawing at her.

— universe two .ᐟ

the kingdom of thalrith is a land of vast forests, ancient ruins, and sprawling castles. its people are proud, resilient, and deeply connected to the magic that flows through the land. but in recent years, that magic has started to fade, and the kingdom has found itself on the brink of war. y/n is a knight-in-training, one of the last few defenders of the kingdom. she’s young, determined, and always eager to prove herself, though the weight of the world seems to press against her shoulders with every passing day.

it’s late afternoon, the sky painted in soft hues of pink and orange as the sun begins to set. the forest is quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves as y/n checks her gear for the journey ahead. she’s been tasked with a dangerous mission: to retrieve an ancient artifact from the ruins deep in the forest, one said to hold the power to restore the kingdom’s magic. the mission is perilous, and y/n knows she can’t afford to fail.

she adjusts the straps on her leather armor, her thoughts focused on the task ahead, when a soft melody drifts through the air, catching her attention. she freezes for a moment, wondering if the sound is just the wind. but as she listens more closely, she realizes it’s the faint strumming of a lute.

curious, she follows the sound through the trees until she finds him—a young bard, sitting on a stone outcrop with his back against a moss-covered pillar. his fingers move deftly over the strings of his lute, producing a song that feels almost… familiar. the melody tugs at something inside her, something she can’t explain.

the bard looks up as y/n approaches, his eyes sparkling with amusement. there’s something about his smile—warm, inviting, as if they’ve known each other for years. his appearance is striking, with wild, dark hair and an effortless, carefree air about him. he’s wearing simple clothing, a tunic and trousers, nothing like the heavy armor she’s wearing. but the way he holds himself is different from the others—he’s calm, confident in a way that makes her feel strangely at ease.

“ah, a knight-in-training,” he says with a playful grin. his voice is soft, almost musical, and it seems to blend with the quiet rustling of the forest. “are you lost, or are you here for a bit of entertainment?”

y/n frowns, a little startled by how comfortable he seems in this strange, dangerous place. she’s used to being on her own, to the weight of her responsibilities, but something about this moment feels… different. almost as if she’s been here before.

“i’m on a mission,” y/n replies, her voice steady, though there’s a hint of hesitation. “i need to find something in the ruins.”

the bard raises an eyebrow, his smile never fading. “a mission, you say? sounds like you could use some company.”

y/n opens her mouth to refuse, but something in his gaze stops her. there’s a pull between them, something deep and unspoken. it’s not just the song—there’s something about him that feels… destined, as if their paths were always meant to cross.

“how do you know i’m not just trying to get some peace and quiet?” she asks, unable to hide the curiosity in her voice.

“because,” he says, standing and strumming a few more chords, “i’ve heard that the true path to success always comes with a bit of… unexpected help.”

y/n watches him closely. he’s not like the others—he doesn’t look like someone trying to prove something. there’s no agenda behind his words, no pretense. just a gentle, unwavering presence.

“i’m renjun,” he adds, offering her a soft, almost knowing smile. “and i think the forest would be much more pleasant if we traveled together, don’t you?”

for a moment, y/n hesitates, unsure of whether to trust him. this is a dangerous journey, and she’s been trained to trust only herself. but something about him—his warmth, his calmness—makes her wonder if perhaps this is a sign that she doesn’t have to shoulder everything alone.

“fine,” she says, her voice quiet, as if the decision has already been made for her. “but we’ll need to move quickly.”

renjun’s smile widens. “lead the way.”

they journey deeper into the forest together, the trees growing thicker, the air growing cooler as night begins to fall. the melody from his lute continues to echo in the distance, a soothing sound that contrasts with the ominous feeling in the air. despite the tension of the mission, y/n finds herself growing more and more comfortable with his presence. it’s easy to talk to him, to laugh at his jokes, to share stories of their respective lives. with him, the world feels just a little less heavy.

as they reach the ruins, a sense of foreboding settles over them. the structure is ancient, crumbling, with vines creeping over the stone like a living thing. the air around the ruins is thick with magic—wild, untamed magic that seems to pulse with life. y/n steps forward cautiously, feeling the weight of the artifact’s power drawing her in.

but before she can take another step, renjun’s voice calls out to her. “you know,” he says softly, “you don’t have to do this alone. not everything has to be a fight.”

y/n pauses, turning to look at him. his gaze is soft, filled with understanding, and for the first time in a long while, y/n feels a sense of peace. the mission still feels important—critical, even—but somehow, with him by her side, it doesn’t feel so daunting.

she takes a deep breath and smiles. “maybe you’re right.”

together, they step into the ruins, the weight of the world forgotten for just a moment. the connection between them is undeniable, like the magic of the land itself is guiding them forward. and though they’ve only just met, y/n can’t shake the feeling that they’ve been here before—together, in this same place, at this same time.

the mission may be dangerous, but for the first time, y/n doesn’t feel alone. and that, she realizes, is the greatest gift of all.

— universe three .ᐟ

the school bell rings, signaling the end of another long day, and y/n can feel the weight of the day pressing against her shoulders. she quickly gathers her things, slipping her books into her bag with a practiced hand. high school has been a whirlwind—studying, grades, the constant pressure to fit in—and as much as she’s tried to get used to it, she feels like an outsider more often than not.

she’s been a part of the drama club for a while now, but something’s always felt missing. the people, the performances, the pressure—it’s all so… fleeting. even though she loves acting, something inside her always feels like she’s pretending to be someone she’s not.

as y/n walks toward the drama club room, she hears the familiar sound of laughter and chatter spilling from the doorway. the club is getting ready for the next big performance, and the tension in the air is palpable. she’s almost there when someone stops her.

“hey!” a voice calls out.

y/n turns to see a familiar face: renjun, one of the stars of the drama club. he’s standing by the lockers, his usual bright smile lighting up his features. he’s always been charming, effortlessly so, with his easy-going nature and the way people gravitate toward him. he’s popular in a way y/n has never quite been—friendly, approachable, and always in the center of everything.

“hey,” she replies, her voice a little quieter than usual. “what’s up?”

renjun’s smile widens, and he takes a step toward her. “i was just about to head into the club room. you coming in, or are you going to hide behind your books again?”

y/n rolls her eyes playfully, but her stomach flips at the mention of the club. she’s not as involved as she could be—she likes being backstage, observing, but the idea of being in the spotlight has always made her uncomfortable. renjun, on the other hand, thrives in it, and she’s always admired that about him.

“i don’t know,” y/n says, glancing at the club room door. “i’ve just been… busy. a lot of things going on.”

renjun raises an eyebrow, sensing the hesitation in her voice. “you’re not getting cold feet, are you? you’ve been in drama club longer than most people. we’re all waiting on you to take a bigger role.”

y/n feels her cheeks heat up, though she can’t tell if it’s from embarrassment or something else. renjun’s words have a way of getting under her skin, making her both nervous and excited at the same time.

“yeah, well, i’m not sure if the spotlight’s for me,” she admits, her gaze drifting down to her shoes.

renjun’s expression softens, and he steps a little closer, his voice quieter this time. “you don’t always have to be the center of attention to make a difference. you know that, right?”

y/n meets his gaze, startled by the sincerity in his eyes. there’s something about his presence that makes her feel seen, in a way that she doesn’t often experience. it’s like he’s always paying attention, always noticing the little things about people—things that others might overlook.

he shrugs, as if to ease the tension between them. “but, if you ever do want to take the stage, i’ll be right there to support you.”

there’s something comforting about his words, a sense of safety and reassurance that y/n hadn’t expected. it’s easy to get lost in the noise of high school, to feel like she’s blending into the background. but with renjun, there’s a strange pull—a feeling that she’s meant to be seen, to be understood, just as she is.

y/n hesitates for a moment longer before offering a small smile. “maybe i’ll give it a shot.”

renjun grins, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “that’s the spirit!”

they walk into the drama club room together, the chatter of the other members fading into the background as y/n feels the weight of the moment settle into her chest. renjun guides her to the center of the room, where the group is gathered around, discussing lines and stage direction. his presence beside her makes her feel grounded, as if she’s not facing this world alone, no matter how intimidating it seems.

as they rehearse for the upcoming play, y/n starts to realize something she hadn’t quite put into words before: she’s not just here for the performance. she’s here because of him—because renjun makes everything feel more real, more meaningful. every time he smiles at her, every time he says something that makes her feel like she matters, she can’t help but feel a deeper connection to him.

they spend the rest of the afternoon rehearsing, and renjun doesn’t let her hide in the background. he gently encourages her, nudges her when she hesitates, and always makes sure she’s part of the action. by the end of the rehearsal, y/n feels a sense of accomplishment she wasn’t expecting. it’s not just the lines she’s learned or the character she’s brought to life—it’s the bond she’s beginning to form with him, a bond that feels like something she can’t ignore.

later that evening, as y/n is packing up to leave, she finds renjun waiting by the door, leaning casually against the frame with a playful smile.

“you did great today,” he says, his tone easy and warm. “see? i told you that you had it in you.”

y/n blushes, her heart fluttering at the compliment. “thanks. i didn’t expect to have so much fun.”

he gives her a soft, knowing smile. “you never know until you try. and next time, we’re going to make sure you have even more fun.”

as she heads out of the club room, she feels a little lighter than she did when she first arrived, as if the world isn’t quite as heavy as she thought it was. the connection between her and renjun has started to deepen, and though it’s still new, she can’t shake the feeling that this—this chemistry—is something real.

for the first time in a long while, y/n feels like she might just belong.

— universe four .ᐟ

y/n is sitting in a quiet café, sipping her coffee, as she scrolls through her phone. it’s a regular sunday afternoon, the perfect time to unwind and relax. the café is warm, cozy, and bustling with the hum of quiet conversations and clinking mugs. she loves the atmosphere here—everything about it feels like an escape from the chaos of life. the soft jazz music playing in the background, the smell of freshly brewed coffee, and the soft murmur of patrons all add to the sense of calm that fills the space.

today, however, she’s feeling a little more restless than usual. she’s been putting in long hours at work, and her mind feels foggy, overwhelmed by the constant pressure. there’s a part of her that just wants to forget about it all, but the weight of her responsibilities keeps pulling her back. she exhales slowly, rubbing her temples in an attempt to ease the tension.

she’s lost in thought when the sound of a chair scraping across the floor interrupts her. looking up, y/n is startled to see a man standing in front of her, his hand resting on the back of the empty chair next to hers.

“i’m sorry, is this seat taken?” he asks, his voice smooth, calm, and surprisingly familiar.

y/n blinks a few times, unsure of why his face seems so familiar. he’s tall, with dark hair and bright eyes that seem to sparkle with mischief. his smile is easy, almost contagious, and it sends an unexpected rush of warmth through her. but there’s something else about him—something that feels like a pull, as if she’s been waiting for this moment, even if she didn’t realize it.

“no, it’s free,” y/n replies, offering a polite smile and gesturing to the chair. “i’m just here for some peace and quiet.”

the man sits down with a soft chuckle, clearly at ease in the quiet atmosphere. “i can relate. sometimes, all you need is a little break from the world, right?”

y/n nods, relieved that he’s not trying to start a lengthy conversation. she’s not in the mood for small talk, but there’s something about his presence that doesn’t feel intrusive—more like a gentle comfort.

“i get it,” y/n replies. “it’s hard to find time for yourself these days.”

the man glances at her over the rim of his coffee cup, and for a moment, their eyes meet. there’s a spark there, an unspoken understanding that neither of them says out loud. it’s like they’re both on the same wavelength, even though they don’t know each other.

“i’m renjun,” he says, breaking the silence, his voice casual yet sincere.

y/n smiles, a little shy. “i’m y/n.”

“nice to meet you, y/n.” he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “you come here often?”

y/n nods. “yeah, i do. it’s one of my favorite spots. quiet. comfortable.”

renjun grins, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “well, if you come here often, i guess i’ll be seeing you around. i come here a lot too. it’s kind of my escape from... everything else.”

there’s a playful energy in his voice, but it doesn’t come off as forced. in fact, it feels genuine, like he’s not trying to impress her—just trying to make her feel comfortable in this little moment.

“i’m sure i’ll be back,” y/n says, taking another sip of her coffee. she can feel the tension in her shoulders ease just a little. the conversation is simple, yet something about it feels right. like she’s found a moment of peace in the chaos of life.

for the next few minutes, the conversation drifts between light topics—how they both enjoy coffee, their favorite places to relax, the latest books they’ve read. there’s no pressure, no heavy topics weighing them down. but as the conversation continues, y/n starts to notice something—there’s an undeniable pull between them. it’s not just the fact that they’re having a pleasant conversation; it’s the way they connect, how their words flow effortlessly, as if they’ve known each other for years.

renjun seems to notice it too. he leans in a little, his eyes twinkling. “you know, i don’t usually talk to strangers like this,” he says, his tone teasing but also genuine. “but something about you makes it easy.”

y/n feels her heart skip a beat, and for a moment, she’s unsure of how to respond. it’s not often that someone makes her feel so at ease, especially with how closed off she’s been recently. but with him, it feels like the world outside the café doesn’t matter. it’s just the two of them, sharing this quiet moment.

“i feel the same,” she admits, her voice soft but steady. “i don’t usually talk to people like this either.”

renjun’s smile softens, and there’s a quiet understanding between them. it’s as if they’ve both found something in each other, something unspoken but deeply felt. a connection that goes beyond just this moment, beyond the words they’ve exchanged.

as the conversation continues, y/n realizes that, for the first time in a long while, she doesn’t feel like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. with renjun, it’s like she can just be herself, without any expectations or pressures. it’s simple, comfortable, and more than she ever imagined she’d find in a chance encounter at a café.

when it’s time for y/n to leave, she feels a sense of reluctance. the connection between them is still new, but it’s already starting to feel like something real.

“thanks for the company,” she says as she stands up, her hand resting on the back of her chair.

renjun stands up too, his smile warm and sincere. “it was really nice meeting you, y/n. i’m sure we’ll run into each other again.”

“i’m sure of it,” y/n replies, her heart fluttering in a way she doesn’t quite understand.

as she walks out of the café, she can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted. maybe it’s just the coffee, or maybe it’s just the conversation—but somehow, she feels lighter, more hopeful. like this was the beginning of something worth waiting for.

— universe five .ᐟ

y/n has always loved art galleries—the quiet hum of whispered conversations, the scent of oil paints lingering in the air, and the way time slows down when she stands in front of a beautiful painting. tonight, the gallery is hosting a special event, showcasing the works of an up-and-coming artist. she isn't sure why she decided to come alone, but something about the invitation had pulled at her.

the moment she steps inside, she’s enveloped by the soft glow of warm lights illuminating the paintings. people move around her, murmuring about brushstrokes and color palettes, but her focus shifts as she catches sight of a single painting across the room.

it’s a portrait—of a girl standing under a cherry blossom tree, her eyes gazing into the distance. there’s something hauntingly familiar about it, as if she’s seen this moment before. the way the girl’s hair flows in the wind, the tilt of her chin—it feels like looking into a mirror of a memory she doesn’t fully recall.

“that one’s my favorite,” a voice says beside her.

y/n turns her head and meets the eyes of a young man with paint-stained fingers and a quiet, knowing smile. his gaze flickers between her and the painting, something unreadable in his expression. he’s handsome—effortlessly so—but what catches her off guard is the strange sense of familiarity settling in her chest.

“did you paint this?” she asks, her voice quieter than she intended.

he nods. “yeah. it’s part of my collection.” his lips curve into a small smile. “i call it familiar strangers.”

something inside her stirs. “why?”

he hesitates, studying her face carefully before speaking. “i don’t know. it’s like i’ve been trying to paint someone i’ve never met before, but i know her. like i’ve seen her in my dreams, in the faces of passing strangers.” he lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?”

y/n’s heart pounds in her chest. “no,” she whispers, her gaze returning to the painting.

for some reason, she can’t look away. the longer she stares, the more a strange sense of déjà vu washes over her. as if she has been in this exact moment before, in another time, another life. the brushstrokes, the colors, the way the girl in the painting seems to be waiting for something—it all feels like a message from the past.

or maybe from him.

“i’m renjun,” he says, his voice breaking through the spellbinding moment.

y/n turns back to him. “y/n.”

his eyes light up, as if the name fits perfectly into a missing space he’s been trying to fill. he nods, like it makes sense. like everything makes sense.

for a moment, neither of them speak. they simply stand there, in the middle of a crowded gallery, staring at a painting that seems to hold all the words they don’t know how to say.

and somewhere deep inside, where logic and reason don’t quite reach, y/n knows—this isn’t the first time they’ve met.

— universe six .ᐟ

soft notes drift through the air, weaving an invisible thread of emotion through the dimly lit concert hall. y/n sits in the audience, her fingers gripping the edges of her coat as she listens to the music that fills the space. the grand piano at the center of the stage gleams under the spotlight, and at the keys sits a young man, his fingers gliding effortlessly across the ivory, painting a story without words.

there is something achingly familiar about the melody.

it isn’t just beautiful—it feels like a memory she can’t quite grasp, like the ghost of a song she’s heard in a dream. the music swells, then softens, and a shiver runs down her spine. it tugs at something deep inside her, something unnamed, something known.

she watches the pianist’s expression as he plays. his dark eyes are closed, his lips pressed together in quiet concentration. he looks completely lost in the music, as if he’s searching for something in the melody, trying to reach out through the notes.

as the final chord lingers in the air, the audience erupts in applause. y/n claps along, but her heart is racing, her mind spinning. she has to know.

after the performance, the hall buzzes with murmured conversations as guests slowly make their way out. y/n hesitates before slipping backstage, following the faint sound of a piano being played once more—softer this time, more hesitant.

she steps into the practice room and finds him there, seated at the piano, absently pressing down on a few keys. up close, he looks even more familiar.

“you played beautifully,” she says before she can stop herself.

he looks up, startled. then he smiles—soft, almost hesitant. “thank you.”

for a moment, there’s silence. then, he tilts his head slightly. “do i know you?”

y/n’s breath catches in her throat.

because that’s exactly what she was about to ask him.

she swallows, shaking her head lightly, but she knows the truth in her bones.

“no,” she says softly. “but it feels like we’ve met before.”

the pianist watches her for a moment, his fingers idly pressing down on the keys. the melody he plays is the same one from the concert—but slower, gentler. like an echo of something lost and found again.

he exhales a quiet chuckle. “strange.”

she takes a step closer, drawn in by the invisible thread between them. “why?”

his fingers pause on the piano. “because this song… i don’t know why, but every time i play it, i feel like i’m looking for someone.” his gaze meets hers, and it’s filled with something she doesn’t quite understand—but she feels it. deeply.

he lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. “maybe i’ve been playing it for you all along.”

y/n’s heart stutters in her chest.

because suddenly, the melody doesn’t just sound familiar anymore.

it feels like home.

— universe seven .ᐟ

the observatory is quiet at this hour, save for the occasional beeping of computers and the soft rustle of paper as y/n flips through her notes. above her, the massive glass dome stretches toward the sky, revealing a universe full of stars.

she’s always loved the night sky—its vastness, its mystery, the way it makes her feel both small and infinite at the same time. but tonight, there’s something different in the air. a strange anticipation hums in her veins, though she can’t quite explain why.

“still here?” a familiar voice says from the doorway.

y/n turns, already knowing who it is.

zhong renjun leans against the doorframe, hands tucked into the pockets of his lab coat, a smirk playing at his lips. he looks effortlessly at ease, like he belongs here among the stars. like he was meant to stand beside her in this moment.

“you’re still here too,” she points out, raising a brow.

he chuckles, stepping inside. “couldn’t sleep.”

y/n smiles knowingly. “thinking about the theory again?”

renjun hums, crossing the room to stand beside her. his gaze flickers to the telescope, then to the endless sky beyond the glass dome. “yeah. you ever wonder if the stars remember us?”

she blinks at him. “what do you mean?”

he shrugs, turning his head slightly to meet her gaze. “like… what if we’ve been here before? you and me. what if, in another life, we stood under these same stars, asking the same questions?”

a shiver runs down her spine. because that thought—it doesn’t feel impossible.

it feels true.

she doesn’t know why, but when she looks at renjun, it’s like she’s known him forever. like the universe has been pulling them toward each other across lifetimes, across galaxies.

“that’s a pretty wild theory,” she murmurs, but her heart is racing.

renjun grins. “and yet, you’re not disagreeing.”

she exhales a soft laugh, shaking her head. “maybe because it doesn’t feel so crazy.”

for a moment, silence stretches between them, filled only by the sound of the stars breathing beyond the glass. then, renjun lifts his hand, pointing toward a bright star near the horizon.

“that one,” he says. “bet we made a wish on it before.”

y/n follows his gaze, staring at the distant light. and suddenly, she can almost remember—a night just like this one, a voice whispering the same words, the same warmth standing beside her.

she swallows. “what do you think we wished for?”

renjun turns to her, eyes glinting like stardust. “to find each other again.”

y/n’s breath catches.

because somehow, she already knows—

the wish came true.

— universe eight .ᐟ

the city is alive with the scent of rain, the pavement glistening under the golden glow of streetlights. y/n tugs her coat tighter around her shoulders as she rushes down the sidewalk, dodging puddles and people with umbrellas. she hadn’t meant to stay out so late, but something had kept her lingering—maybe the way the air smelled fresh after a storm, or the way the neon lights reflected off wet streets like scattered dreams.

and then—

she sees him.

standing at the edge of the sidewalk, just beneath a flickering streetlamp, renjun is drenched. his hoodie clings to him, raindrops trailing down his face, but he doesn’t seem to care. his hands are stuffed into his pockets, and he looks lost in thought—until his gaze lifts and meets hers.

time slows.

it’s ridiculous. she doesn’t know him. and yet, everything inside her screams that she does.

for a moment, neither of them move. the rain falls between them, a curtain of silver threads weaving them together. y/n’s breath is unsteady as she steps forward, drawn by something she doesn’t understand.

he watches her, eyes searching, like he’s trying to place a memory just out of reach. then, a soft laugh escapes his lips, barely audible over the rain.

“funny,” he murmurs.

y/n tilts her head. “what is?”

renjun’s smile lingers, wistful. “i feel like i’ve been looking for you.”

her heart stutters.

and maybe she’s crazy, maybe this is reckless, but she smiles back and says—

“i think you found me.”

and in the pouring rain, in the glow of the city’s heartbeat, something clicks into place.

like they’ve been here before.

like they’ll be here again.

— universe nine .ᐟ

y/n always loved quiet places. the kind where the world seemed to fall away, and all that remained was the peaceful hum of solitude. it was why she often visited the library late at night—when the fluorescent lights were dimmed and the shelves stood like ancient sentinels, guarding knowledge and secrets in their worn bindings.

she was walking down one of the quieter aisles, her fingers trailing along the spines of books she had no intention of reading, when she noticed him.

renjun was sitting at a table in the corner, the soft glow of his lamp casting a warm halo around him. he wasn’t reading, though. he was sketching.

y/n had never been the type to be drawn to artistic expression, but there was something captivating about the way his pencil danced across the paper. his brow furrowed in concentration, his lips slightly parted as if he was lost in a world of his own. it was like the world around him had fallen away, leaving only the soft scratch of lead on paper and the flow of his thoughts.

she didn’t mean to stare, but something about him felt so familiar—like she had been here before, in this exact moment, watching him create.

when he finally noticed her, a flash of surprise flickered in his eyes before it melted into something softer. a quiet smile spread across his face, and he gestured to the chair across from him.

“do you mind if i ask you something?” his voice was low, gentle, almost as if he wasn’t sure she’d answer.

y/n hesitated before nodding. she was curious now, drawn to the quiet intensity in his eyes.

“do you believe in connections?” he asked, his gaze never leaving hers. “in meeting someone, and just knowing them without words? like you’ve met before, but in a different time, a different place?”

the question struck her like a chord played just right. she felt the familiar pull in her chest, the same pull that had led her to him in every universe.

“i think i do,” she said softly.

renjun’s eyes softened, a warmth spreading across his face. “i knew it.”

for a moment, there was only silence between them. the kind of silence that was comfortable, like two souls understanding each other without needing to say anything more.

he reached for his sketchbook, and y/n couldn’t help but lean in a little closer. she saw what he had drawn: a simple line sketch of two figures under a streetlamp, their faces obscured but their connection clear. the lines were delicate but full of emotion, as if he had captured something unspoken.

“you’re in my drawings,” he murmured, almost to himself. “you’ve always been.”

y/n’s heart skipped.

“i think… i think you’ve been in my life too,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

— universe ten .ᐟ

the scent of old books and coffee fills the air as y/n steps into the small, tucked-away bookshop. it’s the kind of place that feels like a secret, a little sanctuary for those who still loved the weight of a physical book in their hands. she always finds peace here, wandering the aisles, losing herself in stories both old and new.

today, though, there’s a difference in the air—a small, quiet hum, like the world is holding its breath.

as she turns a corner, she collides with someone.

“ah—sorry!” she says quickly, looking up at the person she’s bumped into.

it’s him.

renjun stands in front of her, a stack of books in his hands, his hair messy and his eyes wide with surprise. for a second, neither of them says anything. his gaze locks with hers, and y/n feels that same, unmistakable recognition.

“are you alright?” renjun asks softly, his voice filled with that quiet curiosity that always seems to pull her in.

y/n nods, a smile tugging at her lips. “i’m fine. i didn’t mean to—”

“no, i’m sorry,” he interrupts with a soft chuckle. “i wasn’t looking where i was going.”

he carefully sets the books down on a nearby shelf, then turns back to her. “i’m renjun,” he says, a gentle smile spreading across his face.

“i’m y/n,” she replies.

“i know,” he says, his smile widening with a knowing look. “i think i’ve known you for a while now.”

y/n blinks, confused for a moment. “what do you mean?”

“i mean,” he says, stepping closer, “i think we’ve met before. somewhere. maybe not here. but somewhere. maybe in the stories we both read. maybe in another time.”

her heart skips a beat. the way he says it—like it’s not just a passing thought, but something he’s carried with him, something he feels deeply—strikes her to the core.

“you’re right,” she whispers, barely above a breath. “it feels like we’ve been here before.”

renjun doesn’t say anything, but his gaze softens, and he steps closer again, closing the distance between them. he picks up one of the books from the shelf and hands it to her.

“it’s funny,” he says, his voice quiet but warm. “this book—i feel like i’ve read it with you. in another life. but you don’t remember, do you?”

y/n looks down at the cover. it’s a story she’s read before, and yet, it feels different in her hands now.

“i don’t,” she says softly, “but i think i want to read it with you.”

renjun’s smile deepens, and for the first time, she feels like she isn’t just part of this world—she’s part of something bigger, something that spans across time, across universes. and this time, maybe, she’ll remember.

their fingers brush as they hold the book together. and somehow, y/n knows—this is only the beginning of a story they’re meant to write together.

— universe eleven .ᐟ

the sky is painted with shades of gold and pink as the sun sets, casting a warm glow over the quiet park. y/n stands at the edge of the lake, her breath visible in the cool evening air. it’s one of those rare moments where everything seems to still, where the world is holding its breath in anticipation, and she feels… connected.

but to what?

to the land? to the water? to the stars above her?

to him.

she turns, the faintest smile tugging at her lips, as if the pull she’s always felt—an invisible thread that’s led her here—is finally tangible. there, standing beneath an ancient oak tree, is renjun.

it’s always been him.

no matter the time, the place, the universe—they have always found each other. but tonight, something about it feels different. deeper. more profound.

he steps toward her, his presence quiet and grounding, his gaze full of something she can’t quite name, but understands in every part of her being.

“i used to wonder if it was real,” he says softly, his voice a low melody that wraps around her heart. “this feeling. the one that says we’ve been here before. that somehow, no matter what life we live, we always find each other.”

y/n doesn’t answer. she doesn’t need to. the words have already been spoken between them a thousand times, in a thousand different ways. she feels the truth of it, pulsing between them, filling the space like a quiet symphony.

renjun reaches out, his hand gently brushing hers, and the moment their skin touches, the world around them seems to fade. the sound of the birds, the rustle of the leaves, the gentle lapping of the water—all of it is drowned out by the steady rhythm of their hearts beating in sync.

“i know you,” he whispers, as if the confession is both new and ancient. “in every universe, in every life. i’ve known you before the moment we met. and i will know you again.”

y/n’s breath hitches, her chest tightening with an emotion that feels too big to name. “you’re right,” she says, her voice breaking slightly. “i’ve always known you. i think i’ve always loved you, even when i didn’t remember. even when i couldn’t see it.”

for a moment, they simply stand there, hands tangled together, hearts intertwined in a way that feels timeless. the air between them is thick with something deeper than just love—it's like the very fabric of the universe itself has woven their souls together, stitching them through every existence, every reality.

“you don’t have to remember everything,” renjun murmurs, his forehead gently resting against hers. “you just have to remember this moment. right here. right now. that’s enough.”

her eyes close as she inhales deeply, the warmth of his presence filling her to the brim, the knowledge of his love surrounding her like a blanket. the world outside may shift and change, but this—this connection, this thread that binds them—remains unbroken, eternal.

“i will,” she whispers back. “i will remember. and i will keep finding you, no matter where we are.”

the wind stirs the leaves above them, and in the distance, a single star twinkles into existence, shining brightly in the twilight sky.

in this moment, there is no past, no future—only the now, and the feeling that everything is exactly as it should be.

because they’ve always been here, together. and they always will be.

the endless thread that ties them is never truly broken—it is woven through time and space, an unspoken promise, a love that never fades.

nct dream perm tags @ayukas @chenlezip @mrkified @holyhaech @bananinhazz @nanaleehyuck @tsupermax0502 @onyourmaaark @thevirginsuicidenotes @ppeachyttae @pradajaehyun @chenlesfeetpic @nctrawberries

[andluv]

we can't be friends (wait for your love)

non-idol!nicholas x fem!reader (highschool au, childhood friends to lover, angst, miscommunication)

it's hard to lose a friend.

you and nicholas had been best friends since the fifth grade. every core memory you had, he shared. you two were “joined at the hip” you could say.

love.

it didn’t click at first. how could one learn the difference between platonic and romantic love, when they had no experience with it? well, it started small.

you were confused when your first homecoming dance came up, and suddenly your other half was everywhere but next to you.

you went to the dance without a date, instead with a couple of friends. but you felt it, the missing presence at your side. you watched from across the room as he danced with her. you didn’t know her name nor did you want to learn it.

you left early. after all, nothing kept you there, sitting with this unnamed weight on your chest.

you would still see each other in biology class at the end of the day, though the conversations were kept to a minimum. whether you were too busy working, he was asleep, or you two were off talking to other people, the distance was growing.

every time you watched him talk to someone new, it stung. just seeing how he could put in the effort to keep a conversation with everyone, except you.

you started picking up on more details. the way you would eye contact in the cafeteria, only for him to quickly divert his eyes and ignore you. how he would turn the other direction in the hallway after spotting you, though you knew he had his class right next door. it made no sense.

why was this the only thing you could think about? what had you done to him to make him hate you so much?

you consulted your deepest confidant, the internet. every website told you the same thing. MOVE ON. IGNORE HIM.

so that’s what you did, there was nothing left to hold onto, anyway.

———

high school went by in a blur. and you moved on! you met different people, dated different guys. but nothing stuck. you could feel the missing piece in your heart. you missed him, your best friend, your first love.

you went to senior prom, dancing your heart out to the one direction blasting from the speakers. caught up in the music, you don’t notice someone behind you, until you knock him over.

you profusely apologize until you meet his gaze. its him. nicholas. you avert your gaze and get up to head back to your friends when he grabs your wrist with a simple plea “please.”

you stop in your tracks, finally taking in the eyes you tried to erase from your memory. thse same eyes that were now red, puffy, and tear-stained. but for once, they were looking at you. not away, not down, not up, just looking at you.

“what do you want nicholas?” you ask, exasperated, refusing to make eye contact with him.

he takes a shaky breath, before speaking

“why do you always turn away from me like i disgraced your family? what did i do to deserve that?”

you scoff in disbelief. now he cares? now he wants to talk?

“i’m just acting the same way you have been for, i don’t, 2 years now?” you bite back.

he stares back at you with a puzzled look.

“what?”

now your patience was running thin, was he always this DUMB? you can feel your friend’s eyes watching your interaction with nicholas go down, and all you want to do is end this conversation.

“ARE YOU DENSE?? everytime i would go to talk to you or look at you, you eyes focus on anything but me. you refuse to talk to me, barely forming sentences. am i that repulsive? that you can’t stand looking at me? that you can’t even form the words in your mouth??”

realization hits him. he fucked up. big time.

“oh my god.”

“nicholas, i’m done, i’m leaving. my friends are waiting for me, just like, i assume, yours are too.”

your words snap him back to the situation in front of him.

“wait, please don’t go. you’ve got this all confused.”

“i don’t know nicho, it’s pretty fuckin clear how you act around me.”

he facepalms.

“yes i do those things. but its not because you disgust me or you’re repulsive!!” he says, panicked.

“oh really, what is it then?” you say, dripping in sarcasm and cynicism.

he takes a breath, before gathering the words to speak.

two minutes pass by in silence, as he tries to form the words in his mouth but they refuse to come out.

“see! you’re doing it again! i can’t keep doing this, nicho.”

you turn around and begin to walk away.

shit, he thinks. i’m losing my chance.

as you’re halfway back to your friends, he shouts

“I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU YN LN!”

you almost snap your neck from the speed at which you turn your head.

your jaw drops to floor as you stare back at the boy who just confessed to you. in front of the whole school, mind you.

“WHAT?!” you squeak back to him.

he runs up beside you, looking shy.

“please don’t make me repeat it yn, i beg.”

you look back at him.

“why didn’t you tell me?!”

“i’ve always been a coward yn, you were always the brave one.”

memories pass through both your heads.

you remember riding rollercoasters with nicholas passed out, clinging to you. you cheering nicholas on as he rides his bike for the first time. nicholas asking for your advice to ask out a girl in middle school.

nicholas is reminded of the time he’d grip your arm while riding a rollercoaster, the fear inside him as he pedaled his bike being replaced by your cheers in the background, the time he tried asking you out but pretended it was for another girl.

you both look at each other. it clicks.

“i guess that’s true. but i was tired of chasing, nicho.”

“and you shouldn’t have had to! i’m sorry for not telling you sooner.”

you stare and then just bust out laughing.

he looks back, confused.

"what's funny? if you're going to reject me please get it over with."

you smack his shoulder.

"you idiot! i've been in love with you since freshman year."

now it was his turn to be shocked.

"WHAT?!" he squeaks out.

"god we're both so stupid." you laugh again.

he joins in laughing with you, albeit hesistant.

in the background, slow dancing in the dark by joji starts playing.

you both look at eachother,

"yn ln, will you give me this dance."

"yes i will, nicholas wang."

you both head over to the dance floor where your friends are awaiting you.

you take his hand in yours and dance.

afterwards, he goes to talk to his friends, as yours come over and begin their interrogation.

"sooooo, he finally confessed."

you blush and nod.

"yeah. wait, what do you mean finally?"

"girl, he's liked you since i've known you"

"well that's makes two of us."

you feel his eyes on you from across the room. you turn to meet him, smiles lighting up both of your faces.

i guess we were never meant to be friends.

[andluv]

CRUSH DIARIES. lee jeno

pairing. idol!jeno x youtuber!reader

genre. social media au, idol au, friends to strangers to lovers, romance, humor

warnings. swearing, alcohol mention and usage, sexual jokes, kys jokes, etc..

synopsis. you were a growing youtuber that posts interesting content about your life. you remember a trend that was blowing up a few years back, but you had always been too nervous to do it. it was the viral “sending a quiz to every boy i’ve had a crush on.” you honestly weren’t expecting to hear back from anyone, but you thought it was worth a shot. what happens when you actually do hear back from all of your crushes? what happens when fans try and figure out who all the anonymous crushes are? but most importantly, what happens when one of your crushes, who is now a famous kpop idol, reaches out to you after so many years?

notes. welcome to another stuckonmark smau! this has been in the works for awhile and is of course inspired by the old youtube trend “sending a quiz to every boy i’ve had a crush on” and the infamous “to all the boys i’ve loved before.” i am so excited and hope you all enjoy! replies, likes, reblogs are greatly appreciated! i’d love to hear back from y’all in my asks!

taglist. open!

status. coming soon !

no boys allowed!!! (except mark) — the dream team — the crushes

01. just do it

02. should we go to sm and riot

03. my legs appear to be spread OPEN

04. speculation and what not

more tba..

[andluv]

FINALLY UPDATED

now playing: a love story

an asakura jo smau

non idol!jo x fem!reader

feat: &team ot9

summary: yn has always dreamed of love like the movies, but don't tell anyone that. there's one slight problem in the equation, however. she's just a tad bitchy closed off. few have managed to break down the walls of yn wang, with 3 being her coworkers and 1 being her literal brother. when nicholas sets her up on a blind date with one of his mutual friends, everything goes wrong. but to everyone's surpirse, jo doesnt give up. determined to break down yn's defenses, he starts coming up with excuses to see yn at work and uni.

playlist

about: swearing, yearning (jo), yn's lowk an asshole (SHE HAS HER REASONS), kys jokes, nichojoo are boyfriends, nicho is yn's older brother, most of the plot takes place in an amc theater, set in the us (i dont think they even have amc abroad)

updates every monday

comment to be added to the taglist!

profiles

1. yn’s multiverse

2. luné cafe’s finest

chapters

1. tba