csbenthusiast

[csbenthusiast]

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐃𝐄 - 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈 𝐁𝐄𝐎𝐌𝐆𝐘𝐔

IN WHICH after waking up to a song playing outside of your window as if you were in a corny romance movie, you get to meet Choi Beomgyu, a boy so desperately in love that he drove across town to confess his love, just to find out he did so outside of the wrong house.

pairing– Choi Beomgyu x fem!reader

featuring– txt members, original characters, Heeseung and Jake of enhypen

genre– fluff, angst, suggestive — mature talks, topics, but no explicit smut

contains– band member!Beomgyu, nerd!Beomgyu, nerd!reader, school setting BUT EVERYONE IS OF AGE, reader works at a convenience store, Beomgyu has a crush on someone else at first, party + drinking on said party, reader lives with her parents, both parents mentioned, reader is mentioned to be a virgin, reader is able to play basketball, reader wearing a skirt, 10 things I hate about you mentions

word count– 18.2k

↪ izzy speaks... ahh my baby is finally here! I love writing fluff, it's how I was made to be—a girl that writes happy stories. I really think serenade is a cute one, and I'm so glad I decided to do it with Beomgyu, my love <3 I want to say thank you to Mae again for helping me with editing this, you saved my life <3 I also want to thank Adel—for always listening to my yaps about my stories and helping me sort out my thoughts. And everyone reading this. My stories happen because of y'all. :3

playlist | masterlist

It’s been a while since you’ve had a good night’s sleep. However, you knew that the moment your face hit the pillow and the exhaustion from the long week settled in, tonight was going to be the day. There was no need for you to wake up early tomorrow, and you were going to take advantage of that, ready to sleep throughout the entire morning. 

But your plans on catching up onto your messed up sleep schedule fail once again when the guitar reaches your ears, stirring you awake. Then, the soft voice follows right after, making you rub your eyes with the back of your hand, glancing at the time on your phone. 8:12. There goes your dream of sleeping in. 

You make it out of the bed, searching for where the sound is coming from. It couldn’t be your house, you’d have to own a guitar for that first. Once you reach your window and look outside to see a boy with a guitar, it all starts making sense. 

Well actually, it makes even less sense. 

You scan his figure, watching his brown hair fall in front of his eyes as he plays the instrument, a bike lying right beside his feet. You blink confusedly, listening to the soft melody you don’t recognize. And even though you can’t seem to wrap your head around why he is standing outside your house and singing a love song, it does sound amazing. His voice combined with the soft chords of the guitar warm your heart, causing you to open the window fully to see and hear better. 

As soon as you do, his eyes lock with yours and he freezes. The song stops, his fingers stilled on the guitar strings as he scans your face, quickly looking around as if he was searching for someone. You both blink confusedly when your eyes meet again, trying to see what the hell is happening. He clears his throat first, awkwardly running his hand through his hair. “Is– Uhm, is Yuna here?” You frown, narrowing your eyes at him. “Who?” You question, watching his cheeks turn red, probably from embarrassment. “Kim Yuna? I uhm, isn’t this her house?” 

Suddenly, it all makes sense. Of course this poor boy is confessing his love under your window for a different girl. You don’t know him, obviously, but it still manages to hit. “Are you from Haneul Academy?” You scan him all over again, getting your answer in the form of a slight nod. You nod as well, everything falling in pieces together. Kim Yuna, the one person you despise. Yeah, she definitely doesn’t live in your house. 

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but no. She doesn’t even live on this street.” If his cheeks were red before, he doesn’t want to know what his face looks like now. It’s so utterly embarrassing. What was he even thinking about? Riding the bike with a guitar on his back on a Saturday morning to sing a love song for someone he wasn’t dating was already stupid enough, but this? This was terrible. 

He moves around busily, grabbing his bike so quickly that his guitar almost breaks as it bumps into it. You open your mouth to say something, anything really, but you can’t find the right words. What are you supposed to say? Hey, it’s all good, at least you didn’t embarrass yourself in front of anyone else? You sigh, watching him get on his bike while mumbling soft, messy apologies without looking you in the eyes. He almost manages to fall off it when he fixes his guitar, but quickly gets himself back together, running away as if he’s just robbed a bank. 

You watch him go from your bedroom window, your eyes softening just slightly. You feel bad for him, honestly. You’re sure he feels embarrassed, you would too, but a part of you thinks this might actually be better for him. 

You know Yuna briefly. You’ve never talked to her outside of school, and even then, it was just when she wanted to borrow your notes before a test, but you still knew enough. A social butterfly with friends everywhere she looks, always around someone, no matter who it is. Her grades aren’t anything impressive, just average, and still, people seem to love her for a reason unknown to you. She’s pretty, you have to give her that, but you always believed in looking for more in a person, which leaves you confused on how it’s possible she is always dating someone. 

Maybe she isn’t a bad person, you can’t know that, but you know she cheats her way through exams every semester, that she’s got a few upper classmates wrapped around her finger enough for them to always get her into the front of the line at the cafeteria, that she has started the ‘pretty contest’ in her first year just so the guys could rate girls at school for their own pleasure, and that much was definitely enough for you to dislike her. 

You step away from the window, lingering for just a second before jumping into your bed again, your hands resting on your stomach as you stare at the ceiling, replaying the song in your head with a soft hum of the melody. You close your eyes shortly after, falling back into the dream realm, where you see the unknown boy again, singing a song only you could hear. 

You regret signing up for an afternoon shift as soon as you step inside the store, your manager barely greeting you before running off, mumbling something about not being able to wait to get home and watch the football game. You settle behind the cash register, stretching your arms above your head. 

It’s shortly after that the real work starts and you see customers walking in. It feels okay until people start asking you for help while you have a line at the cash register, trying your best to explain to them where they can find the product while scanning items of the person in front of you. They’re usually understanding, letting you do what you need and willing to wait a while, but there are also occasions where you get yelled at for being too slow or being a mess, making you clench your jaw. It’s not a hard job and it pays you good money, that’s why you like it so much, but people like that always make you want to quit. 

Thankfully, it slows down before you can lose your mind and never come back. You breathe out in relief, sitting down in your chair and unlocking your phone. There’s ten minutes left before you can leave and you just pray no one else comes in. If you’re lucky, the manager gets here earlier and lets you leave even before your shift fully ends. 

But of course, it’s not the manager that walks in. You raise your head and place your phone aside, your eyes widening when you see the same black zip up hoodie you did this morning. His hands are in his pockets, his feet leading him to a ramen alley before he can even notice you. 

You watch him from your place, debating if it’s better to leave him alone and hope he doesn’t recognize you or approach him. Eventually, when he walks to the cash register to pay, you settle for the latter. “Hi,” you greet him awkwardly, scanning his cup of ramen. His eyes meet yours and his cheeks immediately turn pink, making him avert his eyes again as he greets you back. You smile, hoping to make it somehow less awkward while telling him his total. He places the exact amount in front of you and grabs his food, hesitating for a second. “I’m sorry, again,” he mumbles, raising his head again. 

Your eyes soften a bit when you catch the blush hiding behind his glasses and messy hair, obviously still flustered. “I didn’t…did I wake you up?” He wonders when he remembers you standing in the window in your pajamas with your hair slightly ruffled from sleep. You shrug, putting the money away into the register before turning your head back to him. “Yeah but it’s fine, I wanted to wake up early anyway,” you lie so he doesn’t feel even worse, watching him hum in response. 

“Can I, uhm, do you want anything from the store? Like coffee or ice cream? I…feel bad,” he admits, his eyes more sincere than you thought possible. You think about it, trying to see what the correct answer is, but when you figure there isn’t one, you just nod. “Coffee would be nice,” you agree, and before he can walk away to find a cup, you extend your hand towards him, your name slipping past your lips. He smiles, still awkward, as he shakes your hand, repeating your name inside his head to memorize it. “Choi Beomgyu.” 

Your manager steps inside the store just as you collect the money for your coffee from Beomgyu. You smile at him, stepping out and making space for him at the register so he can lock it. It’s been around a year since you started working here and for some reason, he still doesn’t want you closing. At first, you found it weird, worried about what you did wrong, but then you learnt he is like that with every one of his part timers, no matter how long he’s known them for. His trust issues are bad, but honestly you can’t blame him. He’s just being careful. 

Beomgyu stands on the side awkwardly, debating if this was his cue to leave. Your manager seems to catch onto that because his eyes flicker from him to you before sighing. “Yeah, you’re all good for today. Feel free to leave with your little boyfriend.” There were so many things wrong with the sentence, but you didn’t have a chance to correct him before Beomgyu hands you your drink, offering to walk you home since it’s dark outside. 

You walk side by side, sipping on your coffee without a single word. You’re not sure if he minds or not. With his hands in his pockets again and his eyes glued to the ground beneath his feet, it’s hard to tell. “You don’t have to walk me home,” you mumble, making him look up. “It’s okay. I know where you live now anyway,” he jokes, but his laugh doesn’t sound entirely convincing, more like regretting. 

“How did you end up there?” You wonder, watching the corner of his mouth twitch slightly. You narrow your eyes, trying your best to read him. “I’ve got the address from one of Yuna’s friends—Jia. I asked her for it last week, I doubt she moved out in the last few days and you started living there instead, though.” He kicks a few rocks on the ground and you nod. “Lived there my whole life,” you let him know and he hums. “I was stupid,” he shrugs like it’s no big deal, like it’s something he expected deep down. 

You’re not sure what to say or do. People never have a right or wrong answer, but most of the time, you can still tell what they expect from you or what they want to hear by the tone of their voice, by the way they stand, or any other body language. Beomgyu doesn’t give you any clues, though. 

“Do you…like her a lot?” You ask instead, the words feeling sour on your lips. He seems to think for a second, weighing his pros and cons. “We’ve spoken twice,” he mumbles, blowing some air on his forehead to get his hair out of his eyes. “I don’t exactly know her, to be honest, but yeah, I do like her.” 

“Why?” The question comes out more judging than you’d want it to but either he doesn’t notice, or simply doesn’t care. “I don’t know,” he shrugs. “She was nice when we spoke. It surprised me. I never expected a girl like her to look my way, let alone ask me about music and when our performances are.” 

“A girl like what?” You frown, quickly masking it by taking another sip. “A pretty girl,” he says casually, and when he senses you quiet down, his eyes widen, quickly shaking his hands in the air to correct himself. “Which isn’t supposed to mean that the girls that do talk to me normally are ugly. Not that many girls talk to me. I– uhm– I think everyone is pretty, in their own way. She just is kind of out of my league, you know? And that makes me even stupider for thinking there would be a chance but–” 

“Calm down,” you interrupt his panicking, a snicker escaping your lips. He’s blushing again and it’s honestly kind of cute. “If you think you’re stupid, then you probably have a chance with her, she likes that kind.” He rolls his eyes at your comment, shaking his head with a soft chuckle, making your lips curl up into a smile. You’re glad he understands a joke and doesn’t attack you immediately—which is something you’re sure all of the boys she keeps around herself would do. 

“Sorry for the rambling. I don’t exactly know how you’re supposed to talk to girls,” he admits, making you chuckle. You let the conversation settle into a comfortable silence again, thinking about everything he’s said until now. The longer you spend with him, the less he makes sense to you. He’s nice, calm, quiet, innocent and pure, so why does he look at someone like Yuna? You can’t wrap your head around it. There’s a specific type of guys she’s dated, from what you observed, always the exact opposite of what Beomgyu is. 

“The song is really nice by the way,” you proclaim, finishing your drink. “What song?” He asks confusedly, processing your sentence for a second before he connects the dots, his eyes widening. “It’s cringe,” he corrects you, averting his eyes again in embarrassment. “Do you really think that?” — “Yeah,” he nods, but you don’t believe him. To you, it seems more like he’s building up a wall in case you were going to agree, change your mind and say it’s the worst song you’ve ever heard. 

“Well, I think it’s really good,” you assure him. “It’s been playing on repeat in my head.” 

“Really?” He blinks hopefully, your smile widening as you nod. “Yeah. You wrote it, right?” 

“I did,” he agrees, biting back his smile. “It’s stupid, though, isn’t it? Writing a song for a girl that I know will reject me.” 

“You keep saying that you’re stupid and that what you do is stupid,” you mumble, shaking your head slightly. “But I don’t think that’s right.” He seems caught off guard by your words, struggling to find the right answer. 

“I’m not stupid,” he says finally, tilting his head slightly with a sigh. “But I make decisions like that, sometimes.” 

“You think liking her is one of them?” He doesn’t even rethink his answer before nodding, mumbling something about a hierarchy in popularity and the slim chances of her liking him back. When you ask why he decided to confess then, if he’s so sure he doesn’t have any chances with her, he tells you about how his friends boosted his ego the night before and he ended up believing in himself more. You listen closely, thinking about how it’d feel to be in his position. 

After learning about Beomgyu’s crush and the way he sees Yuna, you naturally shift the conversation to something lighter, something that you’ve been wondering about and you know he won’t mind talking about—music. 

He tells you about his band, the process behind his song writing and how he got into music at first, making you smile as you listen to his story on your way home. Honestly, you could have been home at least ten minutes ago, but for some reason, you didn’t want to leave. You enjoy talking to him, seeing his viewpoint on certain stuff and listening to his soft voice, making you take a longer route just to be with him longer. 

You don’t think he minds, his laugh and stories making you think he likes being around you just as much as you do. 

Once you do finally reach your house, Beomgyu stops mid step, smiling awkwardly again as he stands in the exact same place he did this morning. You smile back at him, glancing at the house, the soft light in the living room window letting you know your parents are there. “Thank you for the coffee.” He shakes his head slightly, brushing it off like it’s nothing. “Thank you for liking my song. Possibly more than the person it was meant for.” Somehow, he doesn’t sound sad. In fact, it’s almost like he’s making fun of the situation now. 

“Good night, Beomgyu,” you smile gently, his lips forming the same grin. “Good night.” 

You feel exhausted by the time lunch comes around on monday, the lack of sleep from the previous night finally getting to you. Still, it feels worth it when you know it helped you do well on today’s tests. Sometimes, you question if it’s really necessary to do all this for some grades, but after another success, your worries wash off and everything makes sense again. 

You walk through the full cafeteria, looking for a table to sit at, when your eyes fall to a familiar face, his lips turning into a soft smile when he notices you. You smile back at him but don’t move, still trying to find a table—preferably one that is empty. You’re not sure what Beomgyu’s smile means, if it’s an invitation to sit with him and his friend, but you don’t want to risk the embarrassment if it’s not. 

But no matter how closely you look, you find nothing, your feet slowly bringing you to his table anyway. “Mind if I sit here?” You ask carefully and Beomgyu doesn’t hesitate moving to create space for you. You slide beside him, smiling awkwardly as a form of gratitude. “Sorry for interrupting– Taehyun?” You blink when your eyes land on the boy opposite you, recognizing him from one of the math competitions the school held just a few weeks ago. He greets you warmly, even though the confusion in his voice is obvious. 

“Oh, wait,” his eyes widen in realization, flickering between you and Beomgyu. “Are you the girl he ambushed?” — “I didn’t ambush anyone!” Beomgyu argues immediately, his cheeks turning red after realizing how loud he must have been just now. “Of course not,” Taehyun scoffs. “You just sang a love song–” 

“Alright, shut up,” Beomgyu interrupts him, glancing at you apologetically. You shake your head with a light chuckle, brushing it off. “I’ve already told you it’s fine.” 

“He’s lucky it was you, honestly,” Taehyun comments between bites. You raise an eyebrow, blinking confusedly. He simply shrugs, “There are hundreds of students here, if Jia gave him the address of, like Minseo, a video of him would be trending all over the internet by now, and he’ll never have a chance again.” Beomgyu buries his head in the table, practically hiding under it with a groan as his friend continues embarrassing him. You do think he has a point, though. Meeting you was definitely on the lower side of all the embarrassing scenarios that could have happened. 

“You both seriously need to shut up before the whole school finds out,” Beomgyu grumbles, looking around as if to check if anyone was spying on you. You shake your head, opening your mouth to tease him further, but before you can, he kicks you under the table. You hiss, but instead of yelling at him, you confusedly watch his face turn redder and his eyes follow someone behind you. You carefully turn around, watching Yuna walk past to her usual table. You look at Beomgyu again, your eyes softening when you manage to read his eyes—broken, desperate, lost. 

A heavy sigh leaves his lips when she disappears from his sight, his eyes focusing on you and Taehyun again. You both give him a knowing look that he doesn’t seem to understand. “What? I’m just… I was looking for Soobin!” He comes up with an excuse quickly, making Taehyun scoff. “I completely forgot he doesn’t have lunch for another hour.” 

“Right, as if.” Beomgyu closes his mouth again, knowing arguing with him is pointless. Beomgyu knew he was smart, always on top of the class, but Taehyun was on a different level. It was no use trying to outsmart him. 

You hesitate, rethinking the situation again before finally placing down your utensils, turning to face Beomgyu. “I’ll help you,” you state, his eyes scanning your face confusedly. “With?” — “With your crush.” 

He doesn’t have time to ask you what you mean before you continue, the confidence in your voice scaring him slightly. “I think there is a chance for you. We just have to work on some things.” 

“Like?” Taehyun urges, the tone of his voice giving away that he doesn’t believe in what you’ve planned. “Getting him into things she likes,” you say confidently. “If they have more things in common, it’ll be easier for them to talk, ergo he needs to find out what she likes and then apply it to himself. Think of it like a test. If you prepare well enough, you won’t need to worry about failing.” 

When you put it that way, Beomgyu doesn’t think it’s completely impossible. And even though you can see Taehyun doesn’t agree, as long as Beomgyu does, you can be useful. “I have a group project with Minseo,” you inform them, frowning slightly at the thought. Group projects were never something you loved, especially if you were paired with people who didn’t care about their grades. On the very first day it was assigned, you asked Minseo when she was free to research information and she straight up asked you to do it on your own, mumbling something about her head hurting every time she thinks for too long. 

You hated being paired up with her, but it could be useful now at least. “I can figure out what Yuna likes through her. It won’t be too hard.” The hard part will be convincing her to meet with you. But once you do, you’re certain to get the information out of her. After all, she’s always been known to be an open book. 

“Good luck with that,” Taehyun shakes his head, getting up. “Don’t turn him into a completely different person in the process, I’d hate to be his friend if he turns into one of the football jocks she seems to be dating all the time.” Beomgyu doesn’t seem to be paying him any attention, barely mumbling a bye back as his eyes find Yuna again, watching her laugh with her group of friends a few tables away. 

“Let’s do it,” he agrees, turning his head to you again. “Let’s try what we can.” 

Getting Minseo to meet up with you was actually easier than you expected. She did have a bunch of excuses at first, but after you told her you would buy her ice coffee and take care of the presentation fully on your own, she agreed. 

So now, you were sitting in a campus café, waiting for her arrival with Beomgyu a few tables away. You told him you would handle it alone, but he insisted, saying that he needed to know immediately. You didn’t see a point in arguing with him, letting him tag along if that was what he wanted to do. You could see that he was nervous, fidgeting with his fingers on top of the table. Seeing him like this was what made you want to help. Because even though you couldn’t say you would wish Beomgyu someone like Yuna, you do think he deserves to be loved just like everyone else. Who he chooses to be loved by is not for you to decide. 

It is Friday now, almost two weeks since you’ve met him for the first time. You’ve learnt that he isn’t as shy as you thought he was at first when he started greeting you in the hallways as if you were friends for years, inviting you to sit with him, Taehyun, and occasionally Soobin every day for lunch. He was nice, and whenever he talked about his music like it was the love of his life, you found yourself smiling, listening to every word. 

You sip on your coffee, eyes locked onto the iced latte opposite you. She was five minutes late already. Taking out your phone to text her and ask her if she is on her way, you notice a different message, from no one else but Beomgyu. You look his way, telling him to shut up with your eyes. He’s telling you to sit still and hold on for a while longer, reminding you that girls like Minseo don’t care about other people enough to be on time but will always show up eventually. You can see that he’s worried you might just get up and leave and this whole plan would go to vain, and you hate that he can read you so well because that’s exactly what you wanted to do. 

You sigh, putting your phone face down on the table and staring a hole into the café door, waiting for your project partner to show up. 

When she finally turns up, your coffee cup is almost empty. You watch her walk in with a smile on her face, one so fake you want to pretend it’s not directed at you. But she sits down on the chair opposite you and you can’t pretend she’s not there with you anymore. “Hey,” you offer a soft greeting that she brushes off, taking a sip of her latte. “This is good, is that vanilla?” She wonders, watching the glass with amusement. “I– yeah,” you blink. “You asked for vanilla when we talked yesterday.” 

“Right,” she nods, narrowing her eyes at you as if she was trying to remember who you were. It was annoying. “Why am I here actually?” Minseo tilts her head slightly, a small gesture that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s weird talking to her like this, even more so knowing that the first real interaction you have with her is being watched by someone who believes in you more than he probably should. 

“I wrote the paper and I know your head hurts when you study for too long, but I just need you to read it to have a general idea of what it’s about and sign yourself under it so we can say you contributed to the work,” you explain just like you prepared earlier with the guys at lunch. She hums, not saying anything in protest as you hand her the two pieces of paper. You can see the disgust in her face but as long as she doesn’t say anything, you won’t either. That’s not really why you’re there anyway. 

You start the conversation slowly, asking her about a boy from the basketball team you heard she’s been seeing. At first, you were worried it wouldn’t work, that she would think you were weird for asking her about things like this as that’s what you would do if a stranger asked you about your personal life, but she casually starts answering your questions, the excitement in her voice when she has an excuse to stop reading the paper obvious. 

You don’t have to do much as she naturally shifts the conversation from herself to the other girls, gossip falling off her lips like it’s her second nature. You must say, you never heard so many disturbing things about people you didn’t know before. 

As soon as she mentions Yuna and her obsession with athletes, your ears perk up. “Oh really? I didn’t know her type was that simple,” you comment casually and Minseo takes a sip of her coffee, the paper long out of her hands, laying untouched right beside her cup. “Oh no, athletes aren’t the only thing she is into. You know Jinho from the swimming team? He definitely wouldn’t make the cut,” she shakes her head like it’s the most obvious fact. You frown slightly, trying to remember him. When you realize you can’t put a face to the name, you figure that’s why he doesn’t fall under her type. She doesn’t like people whose names others don’t know. 

“It’s someone like Yeonjun that she’d kill for. She’s been trying to get him ever since our first year. Weirdly enough, he isn’t interested.” Yeonjun is a name you do recognize. A star of every party that mattered, someone who was always surrounded by other people, just like Yuna. If it was by choice or not wasn’t your business. He was handsome, you could see why girls would like him, but he wasn’t your type. You’d much rather have someone who could solve a math problem than a guy who could drink a bottle of beer upside down. 

“I see,” you hum. “So what would you say her type is?” It’s a simple question, that’s what it’s meant to be, but to your surprise, it’s also a question Minseo could talk about for hours. Hadn’t you known better, you would think she was still talking about herself. “She loves fashion, you know? Like there’s something so hot about a guy that can dress,” she says, looking around the café quickly. “See? That guy right there. It’s so hot,” she points at a guy in his twenties ordering a drink, waving with an innocent smile when he notices her. He looks flustered. 

Even though you don’t want to admit it, you must say she is right. The rolled up sleeves of his button up that reveal his forearms are hot. You shake your head to snap out of your thoughts quickly and take a proper look at what he’s wearing. It’s the opposite of what Beomgyu has on himself right now. Yet, it’s not something you think he wouldn’t be able to pull. 

“Oh! And him!” She whisper-yells, pointing at another guy who just walked in. When you see the black shirt and gray sweatpants he has on, you roll your eyes slightly. In his case, it’s definitely not the clothes she is attracted to but the muscles beneath them. “What else is there?” 

Minseo thinks for a second, finally averting her eyes from the unknown boy and looking back at you. “Someone popular,” she states the obvious. “Who has connections, and like a bunch of followers.” You fight the urge to scoff at the simplicity of the girl. You weren’t exactly expecting her to say someone nice and kind, but a part of you still had hope until now. “He also needs to go to parties with her, you know her,” she laughs. It’s the same laugh she always gives her friends at lunch and it makes you think if she’s always this fast at befriending people. If that’s what you can call whatever this is. 

“I was so surprised when she told me this, but apparently she also likes when guys get soft or whatever. She talked about emotions so much it made my head spin. She said a soft but popular guy like in the movies would be the best combination. I don’t necessarily agree though, I like them without all the emotions and shit.” — “What about you?” She tilts her head and you quickly blink in shock to make sure you’ve heard her right. “Is there anyone I could help you with?” Her smile widens at the idea, leaning closer to you. “If you want my recommendation, Minho from the football team might have been the best sex I’ve ever had.” 

Your cheeks flush and you quickly shake your head to stop her. “I think– I think I’m good. I don’t really, uhm,” you avert your eyes, glancing over to Beomgyu for a brief second to see if he was still watching. Thankfully, your eyes don’t meet as he is busy texting someone on his phone. “Oh my, are you a virgin?” That question caught you off guard even more, your eyes widening. When your eyes shoot back to hers, it's enough of an answer for her. “Don’t worry, we’ve all been there,” she laughs, but to your surprise it doesn’t sound like she’s laughing at you. “Maybe you should try your luck with Yeonjun then, I’ve heard he likes virgins.” 

“I see,” you nod, your voice shaking slightly. It’s embarrassing. This whole conversation, sitting there in front of her and talking about things like these. “But what did you say your type was again? Maybe I know someone better.” 

You open your mouth to answer and then close it again. You’re not sure what she wants you to say, if she expects an honest answer, if she wants you to say athletes just so you could fit into her group, or if she simply wants to make fun of you and there’s no right or wrong answer. 

After giving it a second thought, you open your mouth again. “I like kind people. Ones you don’t have to worry will judge you or make fun of you. I like when they are able to hold a meaningful conversation and have their own opinions on stuff,” you says, searching her face for any sign of not liking where you were going with this. When you don’t find anything, certain that she’s still listening, you continue. “I also like when guys aren’t scared to show their girl off, I think that’s very cute—when a guy proudly talks about his girlfriend.” 

“I see, you’re one of those,” she giggles, leaning back in her chair. “How about looks?” You think about it for a second but then just shake your head. “Someone taller than me, I guess? I don’t know.” She shakes her head as well, but her smile never falls off. “I like you,” she proclaims, your surprise turning into a soft giggle when she messes up your name. Still, it’s something. “It’s bad you never attend any parties, you’re not only smart but also nice to talk to. Do you drink?” 

“Sometimes, I guess,” you nod and her smile widens. “You should come to my party then. I haven’t told anyone about it yet but I want to do one next month, make sure you’re free. The girls and I can help you find someone, I’m sure you’ll be able to pick one of the guys there.” You don’t refuse her, you don’t say anything really. You’re not sure what you should say. So you just nod slightly, figuring that she’ll probably forget about this in a few days anyway. 

She stretches her arms above her head, her yawn informing you that this was the end of her attention span. “This was really great,” your name is still a mess, but it’s closer this time, making you think that the next time you see her she might actually get it right. “But I should go now. The paper, uh, looks awesome.” You smile, nodding even though you know she hasn’t read a single word of it. It’s fine, you didn’t expect her to in the first place. 

Minseo get’s up from her chair, giving you one last smile—one way less fake than the one you received when she came in—before walking off. You sigh, leaning back in your chair and closing your eyes. When you open them again, the chair opposite you is occupied again. “God, since when do you walk like a ghost?” You ask, exhaling sharply. Beomgyu chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Looks like you’ve made a new friend. I didn’t know you were into gossip and all,” he teases you, making you roll your eyes. It’s crazy how quickly he got comfortable around you, turning from a mumbling and blushing mess to an annoying smartass. 

“Don’t laugh too much, the work starts now. We need to buy you new clothes.” 

Your eyes scan the rack of clothing in front of you, searching for what might suit Yuna’s style. If it was up to you, what Beomgyu was wearing now would be ideal. You shake your head at yourself, picking up a dark blue jacket you’re sure you’ve seen Yeonjun wear in a different color. 

You turn around to show the piece to Beomgyu, seeing him holding up a pair of jeans himself. You narrow your eyes. “It’s the same one you’re wearing right now,” you point out and he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, shrugging. “I like my jeans, why not buy another pair if I’m comfortable in them?” He’s right, you can’t argue with that. You sigh, brushing it off and handing him the jacket for him to try on. He takes it without another word, looking around and browsing for more. You do the same, leaving him to do his thing while you go look through the other side of the store. 

You walk around, trying to figure out what could look good. You’re not sure honestly, and the more time you spend at the store, the more you question if you’re fit to be the person helping him. You had your own style that you liked and didn’t care if others found it stylish or not, barely keeping up with the latest trends unlike Yuna. At the end of the day, you and her were the complete opposites, so how were you supposed to get him to fit her style? 

When you meet Beomgyu again near the changing rooms, his hands are full. You smile, glad that he found it so easy picking out something that would fit both his and Yuna’s preferences. It’s only when you sit down and watch him come out in the first outfit that you realize he didn’t even try picking up clothes that weren’t in his usual style. 

“This is nice, right?” He asks, doing a small spin so you can see. Baggy, ripped jeans and a comfortable hoodie. You scan his outfit, raising your eyebrow. It did look nice. It was similar to what he wore normally — except for the backwards cap on his head — so you couldn’t say you wouldn’t like it, the opposite actually. 

For some reason, he looked different standing in front of you now. It wasn’t the same boy you’ve met outside of your house, it wasn’t the boy that walked you home from work the same night and talked about a girl he likes, it wasn’t even the same boy that you got comfortable around so quickly. The Beomgyu standing in front of you now felt like a boy just for you. 

With his soft smile and glasses framing his face, he was just a boy you wanted to get serenaded by. 

“It’s totally a boyfriend vibe, you know?” He fixes his hat, looking into the mirror to check himself. “What do you think?” You blink quickly, nodding. “Yeah, it looks great,” you agree, swallowing a lump in your throat as the memory of Beomgyu singing outside of your window comes back to you. 

“Right? Taehyun and Soobin need to stop arguing with me about having a better style. I’m the best,” he laughs, disappearing into the changing room before you can say anything else. When he comes out again, he has a new pair of jeans on—black ones this time—a simple white shirt and the jacket you picked up before. 

Your eyes widen just slightly, biting the inside of your cheek as he steps closer to you, watching himself in the mirror beside you. “I didn’t think this would suit me too well,” he mumbles, hiding his hands in the jacket pockets, smiling. “But it actually looks amazing. I think I’ll get this.” 

“Yeah, you should,” you nod, mentally slapping yourself to snap out of it. You need to focus, not think about how well he looks. “I’m sure Yuna will like it,” the words come out broken but you’re not sure why. You do think she will like it. It’d be stupid of her not to. He looks amazing. 

“Okay, I have one more outfit there,” he says, fixing his hair quickly. “Come on.” 

“Where?” You blink confusedly, slowly standing up. “I chose an outfit for you as well.” Your eyes widen as you follow him inside one of the cabins and he hands you the clothes. You don’t get the chance to say anything before he closes the door behind you, sliding back into his cabin. 

You stand there for a second, not moving an inch while listening to his soft hums of the song playing on the store speakers. As soon as your mind processes what has happened, you take a look at the clothes you’re holding, making a mental note that he likes the color pink. 

You step out while fixing your hair, Beomgyu already waiting for you with his back turned to you. You clear your throat and he immediately turns to face you, his eyes widening for a brief second. You feel a bit awkward as he watches you, his eyes scanning your whole body as if he saw you for the first time. 

He has a neat, light blue button-up, half of the buttons undone, revealing a white tank top beneath it. His pants are black, formal, something you didn’t think you’d see on him. The more you watch him, the more you question if there’s something he doesn’t look good in. 

“I… you look amazing,” he compliments you, finally averting his eyes. His head falls low as he buttons his shirt, focusing on anything but how you look right now. He closes his eyes, trying to snap out of his thoughts, but the only thing he sees when he does is you again, standing right there with your innocent eyes and the clothes he picked up. 

While looking for his clothes, he stumbled into the women section, his eyes immediately landing on a pink sweater. He isn’t sure why, but the first thought that popped up in his mind was about how nice it would look on you. He knew he was shopping for his clothes but he couldn’t help it, ending up browsing the women’s section for something to go with the sweater. And he did find something—a white skirt. He thought it would look cute on you, what he didn’t know was that it would look this cute. 

The skirt was shorter than he expected, revealing more skin than he was ready for. Just seconds ago, he was thinking about how good he looked in his clothes and now, he was a mess. He shakes his head, avoiding looking at you again as he swallows a lump in his throat, asking you what you think of his outfit. 

“You look handsome.” 

The words come out before you can stop it, making you avert your eyes as well, your cheeks lightly flushed. 

You both stand there, avoiding meeting each other’s eyes from embarrassment as if you’ve just walked in on him naked. It’s irrational if you think about it from a different perspective, but you can’t look him in the eyes, no matter how much you try to. 

You’d rather not look at him again if it’d mean getting your heart to calm down and not making you feel like you’re going to get a heart attack any second. 

You’d rather not meet his eyes again than admit a part of you wishes he was dressing up like this for you instead of Yuna. 

Beomgyu walks out of the store with two plastic bags—one for himself and the other for you. You did like what he picked out, and as soon as you said it out loud, his eyes met yours instantly, putting his embarrassment aside and saying he’ll buy it for you. You tried arguing at first but gave up halfway, letting him do whatever he wanted. 

“Is there another thing we could check off the list today?” He wonders, walking through the mall with you by his side. 

“Aren’t you tired?” 

He hesitates for a second, shrugging. “No, not really,” he mumbles. “I don’t have anything else to do tonight.” It’s a small lie if he’s honest. He could find what to do. He has his guitar, his band that is waiting for him to compose another song they could play at the spring festival the school holds, and there’s the game he’s been promising Soobin to play for the past few weeks. Still, he doesn’t want to go home just yet, doesn’t want to close himself in his room for hours with music when he could hang out with you. It’s the first for him. 

Beomgyu was always someone who loved music. No matter what it was—the sound of a guitar, his old music teacher teaching him her favorite songs, the sound of his pencil drumming against the desk when he was bored in class, or even the birds singing in the morning when he woke up. 

He wasn’t sure why spending time with you suddenly sounded better than music but he didn’t want to question it. 

All he wants to do is enjoy the rest of his day, preferably by your side. 

“Sure,” you nod, looking at your phone to see the time. “We can watch a movie together,” you offer, already sending a quick text to your mom to let her know you wouldn’t come home alone. “Yuna likes romance movies.” 

He hums, listening to your every word as you talk about all the possible movies that come to mind at the moment, giving a quick commentary to each of them so he could picture them. 

“Do you have a favorite?” You think it through, remembering exactly how you felt watching each movie you’ve just mentioned. “10 things I hate about you,” you answer finally, confident in your response. There were so many good ones you could watch, but this one holds a special place in your heart. “Let’s watch that one then.” 

The light is on in the living room when you reach your house, Beomgyu awkwardly hanging behind you as you walk inside, a loud “I’m home,” leaving your lips. You peek into the living room, waving at Beomgyu to come closer when you see both of your parents cuddled up on the couch, watching your mom’s favorite reality show. 

“Good afternoon,” Beomgyu greets them nervously, pushing his glasses up when they slide down his nose. “I’m Choi Beomgyu, I go to Haneul Academy with your daughter.” Your parents glance up upon hearing the unfamiliar voice, your mom’s smile widening immediately. “Oh my,” she quickly stands up, motioning for your dad to follow as she makes her way over to you. 

You shake your head slightly as you watch your mom extend her hand towards him, introducing herself with a smile, your dad mirroring her actions. “You’re handsome,” she comments, nodding as if she was approving. You shoot her a look but she ignores it, offering Beomgyu something to eat. 

“I, uhm, thank you,” he smiles, chuckling nervously. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

“We’re going to watch a movie,” you inform them, getting their attention back to yourself. You’d rather not scare him away immediately. “Have fun,” your mom beams, glancing at your dad briefly. “I’ll get you something to eat as soon as our show ends.” 

“Thank you.” 

Beomgyu follows you into your room while you mumble apologies but he just shakes his head, brushing it off over and over again. “Your parents seem really nice.” You nod, closing the door behind you. “They are, but I get it if my mom seems like a lot right now.” 

“She’s nice,” he repeats, assuring you it’s okay as he carefully sits on your bed. “Besides, even if she was an evil witch, it wouldn’t be your responsibility to apologize for her behaviour.” You bite back your smile, averting your eyes from him again and grabbing your laptop from the table. 

“You’re really nice as well, you know,” you mumble, sitting down and placing the laptop on top of your thighs. 

You’re really nice. The words echo in his head, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He opens his mouth to say something but closes it again as the movie starts playing, the sentence stuck in his throat. The intro music plays and he has to force himself to take his eyes off you and focus on the movie instead. 

You soon learn Beomgyu can’t shut his mouth for longer than a few minutes, not even while watching a movie. 

“This makes no sense. He can’t actually be that stupid, can he?” — “As you can see, some guys don’t have more than one brain cell,” you laugh, watching Joey pay Patrick as if it was his idea all along. 

“Your eyes have a little green in them.” You smile, a soft giggle leaving your lips when she throws up right after that. Beomgyu beside you chuckles as well, glancing at you. “I’m starting to get it,” he says and your eyes meet. “Oh?” 

“Yeah, I mean,” he clears his throat as if he was embarrassed. “They are cute together. It’s nice seeing them,” he mumbles, averting his eyes. “And it’s easy to imagine myself in there.” 

“Yeah? Who would you be if you were there?” You question, your eyes flickering between the screen and the boy beside you. “Cameron,” he answers without hesitation and your smile falters for just a second. “I assume I know who Bianca would be.” He shrugs, not meeting your eyes again. 

It doesn’t surprise you. You can see him in the position, pining over a girl while she flirts with the popular guy, playing around with him until she realizes what she’s missing out on. It’s funny, how just the thought of Beomgyu and Yuna makes you feel sick in the stomach even though you were the one offering your help with his crush. 

The movie playing on your laptop along with a few soft laughs at times is the only thing that fills the room after that. You stay quiet, ignoring the way your shoulder brushes against his, watching in silence as Patrick and Kat get together, as Cameron and Bianca start seeing each other, even as Kat finds out she’s been played and Beomgyu starts asking questions, wondering if they are going to be okay. 

“Is it that bad?”

“You mean being lied to and finding out he wasn’t interested from the start?” You raise your eyebrow and he closes his mouth again. “I get that just…you can see it in him that he loves her, right?” 

“That’s true,” you nod slightly. “And that’s why they’re not going to stay apart forever.” That seems to quiet him down, eyes focused on the movie again. 

As soon as the movie finishes, you shift in your place, Beomgyu’s eyes falling to your figure. “So? What do you think?” You ask to break the awkward silence. At least that’s what it seems like to you. “It’s really good,” he nods, his voice quiet. You want to ask if he’s okay, what is he thinking about and if he wants a glass or water or anything, but before you can do so, he is already on his feet, fixing his pants. “I should go now,” he says and you notice he doesn’t look you in the eyes. “It’s late and my mom is probably waiting for me.” 

You nod, unsure of what to do. A part of you wants to stop him, ask him to stay longer and talk with you—about school, your part-time job, anything he wants—but you know you can’t. So instead, you stand up as well, leaving the laptop on your bed as you walk him out, watching him say his goodbye to your parents and them returning it with such a bright smile you’d think they’re talking to your best friend. 

You linger at the door as Beomgyu walks out of your house, a plastic bag with his new clothes swinging in one of his hands. He looks back just once, your eyes meeting for a brief second, a spark flickering in them before he gives you one of his soft smiles, waving at you before disappearing into the dark. 

You’re not sure what it is that had him running out of your room so quickly, but you know one thing—spending the day with him changed something. 

Something you couldn’t quite name yet. 

There has to be a logical explanation for the sudden change, and you doubt it’s the different clothes. 

Taehyun seems to think the same, his eyes narrowing as he glances between you, Beomgyu, and the girl standing near the table, a smile on her face. Your eyes lock with his and he immediately wonders what’s happening. You shrug, as confused as he is. Soobin besides you doesn’t look as fazed, his eyes focused on his food, completely ignoring the situation happening around. 

He wasn’t always eating lunch with the three of you but he knew about the situation. Beomgyu’s crush wasn’t a secret, and because they were best friends, there was no need to hide his plan from him either. 

“Thanks for the help with the english homework,” Yuna smiles, making you roll your eyes. When you see Taehyun scoffing opposite you, you smile as well. You’re glad you’re not the only one feeling this way—like her whole presence near you is an irony. 

“No problem,” Beomgyu answers with a shy smile. “Anytime.” 

“This soup is really good,” Soobin interrupts and you’re not sure if he can’t read the room or just doesn’t care. Either way, Beomgyu glares at him, ignoring his comment completely. 

“Okay,” she giggles gently, a sound so perfect you can see why Beomgyu would fall for her. Despite your differences and your disagreement with her actions, you get it. Deep down, you understand. She’s pretty, with long shiny hair and glossy lips. Her skin looks as soft as she sounds when she speaks, and her laugh sounds more beautiful than you expected. 

“I’ll see you around then,” Beomgyu smiles at her awkwardly as she walks off to her table of friends, humming instead of answering. You wouldn’t consider this a real conversation or progress but when you see his eyes, you can’t say it out loud. He looks too proud of himself for that. “Did you guys see that?”

“No, not really,” Soobin says, not bothered at all. Beomgyu rolls his eyes at him but his smile doesn’t fall off his lips. “I’ve seen it. It’s weird,” Taehyun frowns. 

“It’s not weird.” 

“It is.” 

“You don’t think it’s weird, do you?” Beomgyu looks at you, making you blink quickly. Your eyes flicker from him to his two friends, searching for help. Because honestly, you’re not sure. 

“You like her,” you shrug, brushing the question off. Beomgyu raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything else, the topic slowly drifting to something no one minds talking about—their band practice. 

Taehyun tells you about a new song they’re working on, complimenting Beomgyu’s work on the music—which makes his neck turn red—and laughing as he remembers how Kai’s legs got tangled with the cables and he knocked down a bunch of instruments. You gasp when you hear the story, worried about him and all the instruments that must have been damaged. Thankfully, Taehyun assures you no one got hurt, not a single guitar or band member. 

“Have you prepared for the spring festival yet?” Soobin wonders, munching on his food. “There’s a month left and you’re performing, right?” 

“Forty days,” Beomgyu corrects. “And…not really. I’m working on it, I promise. I told the manager we’d be performing three new songs so I need to make that happen,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Inspiration has been avoiding me lately.” 

“What normally works for you?” You ask, watching his eyes widen slightly. He thinks about it, his mouth falling open and then closing again multiple times. “I’m not… I’m not sure actually. It usually just appears out of nowhere, I don’t think there’s a pattern or something that would make me write good music.” 

“Relaxed mind,” Taehyun speaks up. “And memories. That usually works for me.” 

You nod, glancing between the three boys. It’s true that ever since you went shopping with him, he’s been out of it. Sure, he still talks like he is on crack a lot of the time, his brain working faster than yours ever could, but every time you mention his music, his smile seems to falter for a second. And now that you know he hasn’t been able to write anything lately, it starts to make sense. 

“Alright. We should do something then. Relaxed mind and memories? I think I know of a way to connect that with our little mission,” you smile gently, ignoring Taehyun narrowing his eyes at you, studying you, and only focusing on Beomgyu, his lips turning into a soft smile you’ve grown to love over the past few days. “Have you ever played basketball?” 

Athletes were one of the most obvious things on Yuna’s like-list. Her dating history said enough. It was only natural for the next step of your plan to be something to do with sports—but Beomgyu certainly didn’t expect to be playing on the school court with the captain of the basketball team. 

“You’re late,” he comments, looking at a non-existential watch on his hand. “Wasn’t Jake supposed to be here?” You ask instead of answering, walking closer to Heeseung, one of your old friends from middle school, Beomgyu following right after you. “Change of plans,” he shrugs innocently. “He had a chore to run to and I wanted to check out who you were so eager to teach basketball to.” There’s a hint of amusement in his voice that makes you roll your eyes because you know exactly what he’s referring to. The last time you asked him and Jake to play basketball with you was when you wanted to introduce your boyfriend to them, but this was a different situation. 

A completely different one. 

“Heeseung, meet Beomgyu. Beomgyu, Heeseung,” you introduce them briefly. “He wants to impress a girl and needs to be good at sports for that.” Beomgyu shoots you a look immediately, a silent plea not to tell on him completely. It’s enough that he has to listen to Taehyun’s constant ranting about how stupid it is and Kai’s teasing, he doesn’t need it from a stranger as well. 

“Nice to meet you,” Beomgyu extends his arm awkwardly, a brief smile on his lips. Heeseung shakes his hand without a second of hesitation, his smile much wider. “Who’s the lucky girl?” He wonders and before Beomgyu can answer, you turn to him. “He always wants to know all the gossip to have a clear picture of others in his head but he doesn’t tell others. You don’t have to worry about anyone finding out.” 

Beomgyu nods. “Yuna,” he admits, quickly looking around to check no one else was in. It’s kind of cute. It would be if he wasn’t talking about the one girl you don’t want him to talk about. You think it might feel a lot better if it wasn’t someone so different from you—if it was someone you didn’t compare yourself to so often. 

Heeseung whistles, laughing softly. “That’s a tough one.” — “Do you think it’s not worth it?” Heeseung tilts his head slightly, taking a proper look at the boy in front of him. “That’s something you have to decide on your own. I don’t think you’re a bad guy, otherwise she wouldn’t be talking to you,” his eyes fall to you quickly before he looks back at Beomgyu. “And that alone gives you a chance with anyone.” 

Beomgyu narrows his eyes at him, glancing at you. “I don’t think that was an encouragement.” Heeseung laughs at him, shaking his head. “If you want my insight, Yuna is not someone everyone can deal with. And I’m not one to tell you if she’s good for you or the other way around.” 

You shake your head. “Just tell him it’s all worth it. It better be when we are putting so much effort in for her,” you laugh, the sound bitter. Heeseung raises an eyebrow at you, eyeing you up and down but before he can ask anything, you tell them to start playing already because you don’t have the whole day for them. It’s a lie. Once you knew you’d be spending the afternoon with Beomgyu again, you cancelled your shift and free-upped the rest of your day. 

You don’t want to be time limited. Not when you’re with him. 

 Heeseung throws the ball to Beomgyu, daring him to show off what he is capable of. He hesitates, eyes flickering between you and Heeseung before he starts dribbling, trying to get around the captain. But this is Heeseung’s arena and he doesn’t let him win easily, stealing the ball the first chance he gets and running to the other side of the court, scoring perfectly. 

It goes like that for a while, Beomgyu slowly getting used to the pace and learning when to try going through Heeseung and when not. It’s not easy at all but that’s something he expected. Playing with the captain couldn’t be easy. 

“You’re good,” Heeseung praises, scoring another point. Beomgyu scoffs, pushing his sweaty hair back. “You learn fast and are confident.” 

“I haven’t scored even half as many times as you did.” 

“Yeah but I’ve been training my whole life,” he says, running around Beomgyu again before calling out to you. You raise your eyebrows confusedly, your eyes widening when the ball comes to you. You catch it, questioning what that was for. “Let’s play,” he explains simply, wrapping his arm around Beomgyu’s shoulder. “You haven’t gotten out of your form, have you?” 

“You play?” Beomgyu asks confusedly, his eyes wide. You smile, dribbling slowly as you walk closer. “It’s impossible not to when you’re surrounded with people that do,” you shrug as if it’s the most obvious thing ever. “But I’m not any good, don’t worry.” 

“That’s a lie,” Heeseung leans closer to Beomgyu, chuckling. “I always ask her to play against our newbies to see how good they are. She never loses,” the praises leave his lips as if it’s his second nature, making you roll your eyes. However, when Beomgyu smiles at you, saying he wants to play with you, a smile tugs at the corner of your mouth as well. “Let me take my glasses off first, they’re pissing me off.” 

You watch him take them off and hide them inside his bag, your eyes never leaving him. It’s the first time you’ve seen him without them and a part of you is grateful for that. It’s really hard to focus on anything when he looks like that—absolutely gorgeous with his big brown eyes sparkling with excitement. Yeah, this wasn’t good for you at all. 

Running around the court, sweating your ass off, was never something you enjoyed a lot. It was the main reason why you never wanted to play basketball for a club. But running around with Heeseung and Beomgyu by your side was something completely different. You were laughing, your stomach hurting from how much. Your hair was sticking to your forehead and you were sure it wasn’t a pleasing sight, but you couldn’t care less at the moment. Not when your eyes were focused on the sweat on Beomgyu’s forehead, his laugh addicting. 

If it was with him, you could run forever on this court. 

“Timeout, timeout,” Beomgyu repeats over and over again, his breathing heavy as he leans forward, his hands resting on his knees. Despite the exhaustion, he is still laughing softly, trying to collect himself again. His whole body feels too heavy all of a sudden. He falls to the floor, laying on his back and closing his eyes. Heeseung beside you laughs while you slowly walk over to him, sitting down beside him. 

Your own breathing is unsteady but you’re still doing better than him, resting your hands on the ground beside you and blowing air up to your forehead in a lame attempt to get your hair out of your face. 

“I’m not turning into an athlete,” he states, visibly exhausted. You chuckle. “You’d be good at it.” He shakes his head, still not opening his eyes. “Absolutely not. I think I have asthma.” 

“Well then, it’s good you’re so smart,” you mumble and he prompts himself up on his eyebrows, watching you curiously. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You panic slightly, shaking your hands in front of your face. “I mean, you don’t have to be sporty! You are, obviously, uhm, I–” 

His soft laugh interrupts you, a sigh full of relief escaping your lips. “I’m just teasing you. I’m glad I’m smart as well,” he assures you, glancing at Heeseung who is still standing up, a bottle of water in his hands now. You’re not sure where he got it but you need one as well, extending your arm towards him and asking him to pass it over. “Not that anything would be wrong with being an athlete, obviously.” 

“Obviously,” Heeseung laughs, handing you the water. “You’re good,” he shakes his head, joining you on the ground. “That was fun, though. You do have a talent,” he assures him and you smile again, agreeing. Beomgyu grins proudly, mumbling something about always knowing he’d be good. It makes you laugh again. It’s amazing how easy it is for him to make you laugh but you definitely don’t complain. 

As you’re collecting your things from the ground and saying your goodbyes to Heeseung, he pulls out his phone, telling you to wait. Both you and Beomgyu look over, questioning what he needs. “Let’s exchange numbers.” 

Beomgyu smiles, quickly pulling out his phone and handing it to Heeseung for him to put his number in. “I’ve got a few pictures when you two were playing, let me send it to you.” You frown confusedly but Heeseung only smirks at you, Beomgyu’s phone lighting up with a new message instantly. “I think they are good, you should post them.” 

There’s a bunch of photos of the two of you playing and laughing, some solo shots of Beomgyu, and even a picture of him laying on the ground just a few minutes ago. His smile widens, an idea sparkling in his head. Beomgyu quickly turns towards you, showing you a picture of him with the ball, his forehead sweaty, hair falling into his eyes. “Yuna said she likes big followings, right? I should start posting anyway, and this one is good, right?” 

You freeze for a second, nodding slightly. “Yeah,” you mumble, biting your bottom lip to make sure you don’t say anything else. The words, “Can’t you do something just for yourself and not her?” hanging dangerously on the tip of your tongue. 

“Alright, I see you around,” Heeseung says, sensing the sudden shift in your energy. “Call me later, yeah?” You nod, smiling awkwardly, holding tightly onto your bag. “I will,” you agree, meeting Beomgyu’s eyes again, hoping he can’t see how broken you feel over something so stupid. “Let’s go?” 

When you get home you notice Beomgyu’s new post. The same picture he showed you earlier. When you scroll to another picture, he’s laughing with you and it makes you smile. The last picture he posted is of him laying on the ground, exhaustion visible. You think back to the moment and even though it’s only been minutes since you last saw him, you find yourself missing him already. 

You want to spend more time with him, create more memories and laugh with him. But as soon as your eyes fall to the like button under his post, the silly wish disappears because you know you can’t ask for that. Not when his eyes are already on someone else. 

Liked by yunaluxe and others. 

You turn your phone off, throwing it beside you on the bed and burying your face in your pillow, a loud, regretting groan leaving your mouth. 

The club room is loud, the electric guitar shaking the walls when Beomgyu walks in. Taehyun doesn’t notice him at first, his eyes closed as he plays, his grimace making Beomgyu wonder what he’s thinking about. It’s been long since he heard him play like that. Taehyun was usually calm, keeping his troubles to himself in order not to bother others. 

“Hey,” Beomgyu greets him, Taehyun’s fingers stopping mid move as his eyes flutter open. “Hey. Sorry that was,” he tilts his head and swallows a lump in his throat, his brows furrowed as he thinks about how to explain himself. “I needed to cool off for a second.” 

“Everything good?” 

“Yeah, don’t worry,” he shakes his head. “Just a rough day. Math and all,” he brushes it off and even though Beomgyu feels a bit uneasy, he nods, getting his guitar out of the case. “Yeah, math sucks,” he plays into it, smiling as he joins his side. “It completely tired me today as well. Should we play it off together?” 

Taehyun’s lips turn into a smile, “Sure.” 

Kai laughs awkwardly as he walks into the club room, making both Taehyun and Beomgyu turn his way. The two of them are sitting at a table in the corner of the room now, chatting about nothing in particular while waiting for their third member. He’s late, which isn’t usual for him. 

“You got lost or what?” Beomgyu asks with a light laugh, his smile falling off when he notices another figure behind Kai. “Kind of,” he chuckles, a teasing smirk on his face as he steps aside for the two boys to see. “Oh.” 

“Hi,” Yuna smiles warmly, fixing her skirt in a way that has Beomgyu thinking she wants him to look. He clears his throat, glancing at Taehyun instead. “I’m going to absolutely embarrass myself,” he whispers, his eyes screaming for any sort of help. Taehyun just rolls his eyes at him, jumping down from the table. “What brings you here?” 

“I saw Huening in the hallway and asked him about you,” her eyes briefly flicker to Beomgyu, his neck turning red under her gaze. “And when he said you’ve got practice right now, I asked if it would be possible to join you.” 

Beomgyu pulls a chair for her, unsure if he should yell at Kai or be thankful. He feels like a mess, with no idea what to do. There has to be a right and wrong answer but he can’t find them for some reason. So he simply grabs his guitar, squeezing it tightly as he waits for his band mates to prepare as well. 

It’s awkward. He avoids meeting her eyes as much as possible while her gaze lingers on his figure in a way he didn’t think was possible. A part of him feels excited, but the other is just tensed, insecure, and intimidated. Sure, they’ve played for others before. The three of them stood together on a podium in front of a bunch of people since middle school, but this was different—intimate. 

“Okay, uhm, let’s start with spring,” Beomgyu looks over his shoulder at Kai behind the drums and then back at Yuna, sharing an awkward smile with her before his fingers gently move over the strings, one hand holding the pick and determining the rhythm while the other switches between different chords. 

As the soft melody echoes through the room, his eyes close, focusing on his voice as he starts with the first verse. Spring is an old song from four years ago they play to this date to warm up. It was also one of the first songs Beomgyu has written, and even though he knows he has improved a lot since then, he still feels proud. 

“Should we do Wake up next?” Kai suggests as soon as the song comes to an end. Beomgyu’s eyes widen, anxiety running through his whole body. “Yeah, let’s do that,” Taehyun agrees without hesitation, ignoring Beomgyu’s panicked look. Wake up is a recent song, one he wrote with Yuna in mind. It’s embarrassing on its own, even more so when he’s supposed to play it in front of her. 

“Oh, is that a new song? I haven’t heard of that one,” Yuna asks excitedly, her bright eyes catching him off guard. It feels like he is talking to a completely different person. Just a few weeks ago, he was convinced there wasn’t an universe where she would like him back and now, he felt like he was in a dream. Beomgyu from a month ago would be jealous of him now, absolutely excited to play a song for her. 

But now, he doesn’t feel that. He feels lost and confused as his voice fills the room because it’s not Yuna or her pretty smile that his mind drifts to. 

It’s you, the girl he’s spent so much of his time with lately he can’t see a reality in which he doesn’t talk to you. 

His fingers slip. The chord misses. His heart stutters, faster than the tempo, his head clouded with memories of everything you did together. It’s weird, wrong. He’s supposed to be thrilled, jumping from excitement that he gets to show off his music in front of Yuna and possibly get closer to her, so why is it only you he can think of while playing a love song he wrote? 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Beomgyu shakes his head, stopping before the song ends. Taehyun and Kai stop their movements as well, watching him confusedly. “My head is elsewhere,” he admits, mentally slapping himself to snap out of it. “It’s okay,” Taehyun assures him, his voice giving away that he is confused. This hasn’t happened before. If anyone was out of it during practice, it was Kai. Beomgyu was always focused, relaxing with the music and getting his mind off any unnecessary thoughts. It was weird. 

“We can take a break,” Kai suggests, anxious when he looks at Yuna. He brought her in because he wanted to help Beomgyu and make them closer, he’d hate for this little mistake to cause the opposite. Thankfully, she doesn’t look disgusted like he expects her to, the same warm smile on her lips that calms him down a bit. “Sorry,” Beomgyu mumbles again, placing his guitar on the stand. 

“It was really great,” Yuna says softly and Beomgyu’s eyes finally meet hers. “Don’t worry about it, the song sounds amazing.” — “Right,” he nods slightly, jumping up on the same table as before, his feet swinging in the air. “It’ll be better at the spring festival.” It’s a light promise that causes Yuna’s smile to widen, nodding happily. “I can’t wait to listen to it. I should go now, Minseo needs my help with getting alcohol for her party,” she giggles, the sound sending a shiver down Beomgyu’s spine. “You’re all coming, right?” 

The guys exchange a look, unsure of what to say. Beomgyu only heard of the party when Minseo was talking to you about it in the café and honestly, he completely forgot about it. He didn’t think he was invited anyway, he never was. “You have to, it’ll be fun,” she encourages them, grabbing her hand back from the floor and standing up. “I’ll see you there,” she grins before any of them even answer her, not giving them a choice. And just like that, she walks away, leaving the three boys alone in the room. 

Kai blinks confusedly, trying to figure out what just happened. He thought something was up right when Yuna approached him and asked him about their practice, but this was on a completely new level of insane. He turns his head towards Beomgyu who is as lost as he is, his gaze lingering at the door. 

But for some reason, he doesn’t miss Yuna, doesn’t look there and imagine her figure. No, all he can think about is how wrong it felt playing the song for her, and how much he wishes it was you sitting on the chair in front of him, laughing with them at the stupid jokes Kai made or the way he messed up the chords. 

Because with you he doesn’t feel the same pressure as with Yuna. 

With you, it just feels easy. 

“You haven’t forgotten, right?” You blink confusedly, looking up to see who’s talking to you. Your confusion only grows when your eyes meet Minseo who you haven’t talked to since the day in the café. “About…?” She gasps, shaking her head in disappointment. “The party, obviously! You have to come.” The fact she’s talking to you doesn’t surprise you as much as the way she finally says your name correctly does. 

“I…when is it?” You ask carefully, hoping she doesn’t yell at you. She simply sighs, opening her phone to show you something. “Have you lived under a rock until now? It’s bold on here,” she turns her screen towards you, your eyes quickly scanning her story with the time and address. It is clear and you’re sure everyone knows about it already. It’s your fault for not following her. 

“Tell me you don’t have anything today. We talked about this a month ago already.” 

“I, no, I’m free,” you nod, a little uncertain. Parties weren’t exactly your thing, but you didn’t know how to tell her no. It was the first time someone out of her circle talked to you about anything other than homework they needed help with, and even though you knew it was pathetic holding onto it so much when you complained about their lack of intellect a lot before, you didn’t want to miss out on your chance to prove to them you weren’t just a nerd who didn’t have any hobbies outside of studying. 

“Then it’s settled,” she claps her hands happily. “Bring whoever you want with yourself as long as they’re fun, I don’t care.” You nod, someone popping into your head immediately. She grins, waving at you slightly before walking out of the class, already chatting with someone else. 

You brush your hands on your skirt awkwardly, trying to get them to stop sweating as you step out of the car, Beomgyu and his two friends right behind you. Kai’s older sister quickly wishes you to have fun, telling Kai to call her once he needs a ride back before driving off, leaving the four of you at the sidewalk. 

“This is so weird,” Taehyun comments, looking at the already full house. Some people are in the garden, laughing around the pool while one of Minseo’s friends stands behind the DJ pult, mixing songs in a way that gives away that she is definitely not supposed to touch the device. 

“Tell me about it,” Beomgyu mumbles while Kai just grins, way more excited than the three of you. “Oh, come on. It’s going to be fun!” 

“Or extremely embarrassing.” Kai rolls his eyes, wrapping his arm around Taehyun’s shoulder and walking towards the house, yelling how lame you and Beomgyu are. You watch their back in disbelief, glancing at Gyu beside you. He’s wearing one of his ripped jeans with an oversized band shirt, looking as handsome as ever. He also isn’t wearing his glasses, and so when he turns his head towards you, his eyes meeting yours, you feel weak in the knees. 

“Let’s go,” he smiles and you avert your eyes, squeezing the bottom of your skirt as you gaze into the ground beneath your feet. He seems to notice your uneasiness, wrapping his hand around your shoulder and pulling you closer into a brief side hug. You raise your head again, surprise written all over your face as you watch him, eyes wide. “You look amazing,” he assures you, thinking that’s what’s bothering you. “I told you when we were buying the clothes and I’ll tell you all over again until you believe it.” 

It’s incredible how easy it is for Beomgyu to have your heart racing. His words echo in your head, his cologne reaching your nose as he slowly walks with you towards the house as well, keeping you close. You look down on your clothes again, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you stare at the white skirt and pink sweater—the same clothes he bought for you a few weeks back. 

Beomgyu grabs a drink for you and him as soon as you get inside, finding a space in the corner of the room. He tells you about a new show he’s been watching, how his new song has been going, and even about his failure at cooking dinner last night. You laugh, slowly getting comfortable again and forgetting about everyone else, your world only having two people in it—you and him. 

You’re not sure where Kai and Taehyun disappeared or if they were having fun but it’s what bothers you the least at the moment, unable to focus on anything that wasn’t Choi Beomgyu and his soft voice. 

But your little bubble is interrupted when your eyes meet Yuna’s behind Beomgyu and she walks over, greeting you with the same annoyingly beautiful smile. You take a sip of your drink and a small step back to make space for her, Beomgyu mimicking your movements. “Hey,” he greets her back, introducing you to her as if you didn’t already know who she was. “Oh, yeah, my bio girl, right?” She asks and you grit your teeth, nodding. 

It’s ridiculous. You’ve been in her bio class for two years and she always came to you asking for help or homework answers, often cheating off your tests as well, so how were you still only labeled as her bio girl? It made you feel like a joke. 

“I didn’t know you two knew each other,” she mumbles. You bite back the insult you want to say and simply smile, letting Beomgyu answer. “Yeah, we’ve been friends for a while,” he nods, glancing at you. There’s a flicker of something you can’t name in his eyes, making you blink confusedly. Haven’t you known better, you think it’s pain, regretted behind those words. Does he not see you as his friend? 

“Oh, right, I saw you on Beomgyu’s post when he was playing basketball, right?” You nod again, shaking it off and focusing your attention at Yuna again. “Well, it was nice meeting you,” she says, shutting you out of the conversation before you can say anything else. “I don’t have anything to drink, mind grabbing something with me?” Beomgyu opens his mouth and closes it again, his eyes flickering between the two of you before he nods hesitantly, letting her wrap her arm around his and pull him away, leaving you standing there alone with just a cup of vodka in your hands. 

You’d be lying if you said you don’t feel like shit but there’s nothing you can do, watching them from your corner while sipping on your drink, looking like someone drained life out of you. Minseo seems to notice when she walks over to you to greet you, her smile turning into a frown as she asks what’s going on. You don’t answer. Can’t. But she figures it out on her own, her eyes following yours and finding Beomgyu and Yuna chatting near the drinks, both laughing over something he said. 

“Oh,” she breathes out, standing in front of you to cover the sight. She raises her cup, unsure of what to say to make you feel better. “Yuna is… I didn’t know… I mean,” she clears her throat, feeling the pain in her gaze. You shake your head, raising your cup as well and forcing a smile, drinking with her. Your eyebrows furrow when the bitter taste fully settles in, the grimace you make making Minseo laugh. You’re glad at least one of you is able to laugh at the moment. 

“You know, I’m not as stupid as everyone thinks,” she says suddenly, glancing back at them again. “So I really enjoy talking to you because I know you’re not stupid either.” — “Thanks?” You interrupt confusedly and she sighs. “My point is, I wanted to have a friend who was smart and also could talk about stupid boys with me so I wanted to help you get a boy, I told you that, right?” You nod, trying to see where her monologue is going. “But he’s…I can’t really help you when Yuna wants him as well. You understand, right?” 

Your eyes widen, your lips shaking a bit as you try to answer her. But what is it that you’re supposed to say? Yeah, no worries, I get that she wins every time? Oh thank you for being such a great friend, Minseo? 

Instead, you brush it off, changing the conversation before she can say anything else and make you feel even worse. She seems to prefer it that way as well. Her smile returns and she tells you about the boy she is seeing at the moment, complaining about him not showing up today before she drags you with herself towards the center of the room, introducing you to a few people as if you were really her friend. 

You sit down on the couch right beside her, fixing your skirt when it rolls up higher than you’d want. One of the guys offers you his drink but you refuse, saying you’re good. It’s only when you see Yuna holding Beomgyu’s hand and pulling him with herself for a dance that you grab the drink from him, gulping it down in one go. There’s a few whistles around you and cheers but they don’t reach your ears. The only thing you can hear is Minseo telling you to be careful before you receive another cup with who knows what. 

You’re not sure how long you’re sitting there, drinking and chatting with Minseo’s friends but it does help make you feel better. You push Beomgyu out of your head for a while, thinking about getting home and watching a movie with your mom instead of the boy that keeps breaking your heart over and over again without knowing about it. It feels nice to be able to focus on something else for once, but with your luck, it doesn’t last long. 

“Here you are,” Beomgyu’s voice is a little panicked when he finds you, sounding as if he was looking for you all over the house. His breathing is unsteady as he looks around the group of people surrounding you, frowning. It’s an unusual crowd to say the least, especially when it’s Minseo of all people telling you to stop drinking because you’ve had enough. Your eyes flicker to him, your smile falling off. “Oh, hey.” 

“Hi,” he greets you back even though he doesn’t understand, your name gentle on his lips. “Are you okay?” He asks, worried as he comes to stand beside you. You nod, smiling again. “Peachy.” 

“She drank quite a lot,” Minseo tells him, making you roll your eyes. They’re acting as if you were wasted, unable to hear them. But you’re sitting right between them, annoyed with both of them. “The last time I checked I was able to drink however much I want,” you mumble, asking for another drink. Yeonjun who’s sitting opposite you reaches over and offers you his cup. You grab it without hesitation. 

Beomgyu says your name again in a poor attempt to stop you but it only makes you want it more. You need to drown the pain he causes you. Need to shut his voice out before you start crying in front of everyone without even knowing why. 

“Come on, we should go. Your mom will be worried,” he tries again and you shake your head. “I think she’s perfectly fine here,” Yeonjun interrupts him with a teasing smirk, leaning back in his seat. “Right, princess?” You nod, ignoring the nickname. “I’m sure her pretty little head can think for herself. And either way, there’s nothing to be worried about when she’s with us.” 

His words make Beomgyu even more uncertain, his blood boiling when he watches Yeonjun’s eyes trail down your body. It’s disgusting, really. He stands between you without hesitation. “Let’s go,” he tries again, watching your cheeks turn red as you look up at him, hoping for the couch to swallow your whole so you could disappear. 

His eyes are pleasing and part of you wants nothing more than to leave with him right now, but it hurts. It hurts so fucking bad. 

Beomgyu grabs your hand before you can speak, pulling you up so you’re standing in front of him. You watch him confusedly, opening your mouth to argue with him and tell him you want to stay. However, he interrupts you before you can even do so, his empty hand cupping your cheek as he leans closer, pressing his lips against yours. 

Your eyes widen, feeling your heart is about to jump out of your chest when he tilts his head slightly, his eyes closed as he tastes your lips, his other hand moving from your to your waist, keeping you flush against him. 

You’re out of breath when he pulls away, the loud cheers around making you snap out of your thoughts and realize what’s going on. Beomgyu holds your hand again, his eyes soft as he looks at you. “Can we go now?” You nod this time, squeezing his hand tightly as he pulls you away from the crowd, getting out of the house without looking back once. 

You don’t look back either, your eyes fixed on your intertwined hands, unable to think straight as he pulls you towards Lae’s car, Taehyun and Kai already waiting inside. 

He holds your hand throughout the whole ride without a single word, only letting you go when the car stops in front of your house and you step outside, your gaze lingering on him until Lea drives off and you’re finally able to break down, tears slowly rolling down your cheeks. 

You don’t want to get out of your bed the next morning, frowning when the light from outside reaches your face. You hide your head under your blanket, groaning. You reach your hand out, trying to find your phone somewhere on the bed. Once you do, you’re left disappointed when you see it’s dead, slowly rolling out of the bed to charge it. 

It feels like someone beat your head the whole night but you force yourself to get out of your room and find something to eat, trying your hardest to ignore the sickening feeling in your stomach that reminds you just how poor your decisions were last night. 

“You’re awake,” your mom smiles from the kitchen counter, already handing you a glass of water and some scrambled eggs. You smile as you grab them from her, sitting down at the table where your dad is drinking his morning coffee. “Did you throw up last night?” He asks and you shake your head immediately, assuring him it wasn’t that bad. 

“Beomgyu came by earlier,” your mom says as she settles into a chair beside you. Your eyes widen. “Asked if he could talk to you but you were asleep so I sent him back home. Did something happen?” You hesitate as you take a bite of your breakfast, remembering the way his lips felt against your last night. There’s a few things from last night that are blurry. You don’t remember how much you drank or what it was, but you remember this clearly. 

“No, nothing happened,” you shake your head in the end. “It probably wasn’t that important, don’t worry about it.” 

Nothing important. You try to convince yourself of that as well but as soon as you’re done eating, you rush back to your room, grabbing your phone immediately. Your lips curve into a smile when you see new messages from Beomgyu, feeling like for once, maybe life is going your way. 

Beomgyu: Are you awake yet?  Beomgyu: Can we talk?  Beomgyu: I’m on my way to your house Beomgyu: Your mom said you’re still sleeping, just call me when you wake up?  Beomgyu: I need to talk to you Beomgyu: And preferably see you as well Beomgyu: I miss you

He’s adorable. You rush to press the call button but freeze when you get a new notification. Yunaluxe shared a new story. 

You click on the notification even though a part of you knows you shouldn’t. Your stomach immediately drops when you see a picture of her and Beomgyu from last night, her arm wrapped around his waist while the other holds up a drink. He is smiling, his arm around her waist as well. You feel sick as you read the caption. Love finding future celebrities before they’re famous. 

You turn your phone off again and let it charge, jumping back into bed and closing your eyes, Beomgyu’s messages staying there unanswered. You can’t talk to him. Not when you know he thinks last night was a mistake. He likes Yuna, right? There’s no reason for him to talk to you. 

Life never goes your way. 

It hurts avoiding him, but it hurts even more seeing him. You turn away every time you catch just a glimpse of Beomgyu in the hallways, avoiding all his messages and calls. It’s been four days since you properly looked at your phone, not wanting to see what he texted you. You can’t. You’re sure that if you read his messages you’d cry again, and you’ve had enough of that. 

So instead, you buried yourself in work. You took a shift every day of this week and once your classes ended, you ran to the basketball court immediately to be with Heeseung and Jake, making sure there wasn’t a minute you could meet or think about Beomgyu. 

It worked. 

At least until it didn’t. 

You hear your name from behind, squeezing your eyes shut at the familiarity of it. You want to run away and pretend you didn’t hear him but before you can do so, he grabs your hand and your eyes widen. You slowly turn around, pulling your hand away from him. “Hey,” you greet him awkwardly. 

He sighs. You expect him to accuse you of avoiding him, be mad, or even yell at you. Instead, he does the complete opposite. “Hi,” he says simply, his voice as soft as you remember it. You meet his eyes hesitantly, your heart shattering into tiny pieces when he smiles at you. “Can we talk?” 

He doesn’t give you the chance to refuse, pulling you aside so you don’t stand in the way of other students. You’re both quiet for a while, unsure of what you’re supposed to say. An apology hangs at the tip of your tongue but the words never come out, the nervousness building up more and more the longer you stand there. 

Eventually, you break the awkward silence. “It looks like your wish became reality.” His eyes widen, looking at you confusedly. You clear your throat, looking away. “Yuna likes you, it’s super obvious. You’ve been talking to her, right? I’m sure it’s going well for the two of you.” 

“What? No– you– are you serious?” Now this is more in the tone of how you expected this conversation to go, the annoyance in his voice clear as day. “This has nothing to do with her. I wanted to talk to you. To you, about you.” 

“Did Taehyun get used to her yet? I’m sure she’s also eating lunch with you now, right? I hope he isn’t making it too hard for you,” you say as if you couldn’t hear anything he said. 

“Can’t you hear me?” He questions, taking a step forward. “This is not about Yuna or anyone else, I don’t care what Taehyun thinks of her. And no, she is not fucking eating lunch with us, which you would know if you weren’t running away from me. Seriously? Can’t you just talk to me, please.” 

His voice breaks at the end and you have to bite the inside of your cheek. No, you can’t talk to him. It’s too hard. Too painful. You need to run away from him, this conversation, everything he makes you feel. 

“I can’t,” you admit, focusing everything you have left on making sure your voice doesn’t break. If it did, you’re sure you’d cry. “I can’t, Beomgyu. Please, just go be happy with her and let me get over you in peace. I want to be your friend, I really do, but I need to be alone at first to be able to do that.” 

Beomgyu opens his mouth to argue, tell you how stupid it all is and that he doesn’t want you to do that, that he needs you closer than ever now. You walk away before he can do so, breathing heavily as you turn your back to him. It’s not fair. 

It’s the only thing both of you can think about. It’s not fair. 

It’s not fair he gets to walk around all happy with his dream girl liking him back while you have to watch, every word that comes out of his mouth breaking you in a different way. 

It’s not fair you get to walk away and look for closure while he is left standing there alone, unable to do anything but watch you as he regrets everything that happened in the past few weeks. As he regrets everything except for you. 

Beomgyu doesn’t need to speak for his friends to know something is wrong. As soon as he walks into the club room and sits down, it’s obvious he isn’t okay. Taehyun and Kai exchange a quick look before walking over to him, sitting beside him without a word. 

“Is everything…good?” Taehyun asks awkwardly, immediately shutting his eyes closed and regretting how off he sounds. “Perfect,” Beomgyu mumbles, only confirming their worries. “What happened?” 

Beomgyu hesitates, staying quiet for a while and repeating everything inside his head. Yeah, what did happened? When did everything go so fucking wrong? “We kissed,” he admits with a sigh. “Who?” Kai frowns and Taehyun immediately slaps his shoulder, shaking his head. Beomgyu rolls his eyes, your name leaving his lips before he can stop it. “On the party. And as you might have noticed, she’s been ignoring me since.” 

“Wait, slow down, you kissed her? I thought you wanted Yuna?” Kai asks confusedly, the surprise in his voice obvious. “Dude, it was so obvious they have feelings for each other,” Taehyun says and Beomgyu immediately turns his head towards him. “You think she has feelings for me?” He wonders, a little too excited. 

“I know she does. Have you seen the way she looks at you?” 

A smile forms on his lips, but it disappears as quickly as it appeared when he remembers you don’t want to see him right now, even if you do like him. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter now. Nothing matters now. She doesn’t want me around and says I should be with Yuna.” 

“Wasn’t that what you always wanted?” Beomgyu glares at Kai and the poor boy raises his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying, you can’t blame her when Yuna has been the only thing you’ve been able to talk about for weeks.” 

“That’s not true,” he argues even though he doesn’t believe it himself. 

“It’s slightly true,” Taehyun nods. “But it’s definitely not lost yet,” he assures him quickly when he sees the pain in his eyes. “I know you and I know her, you two are way too good friends to be able to stay apart for so long. I’ve known you for years, Beomgyu, and as long as I’ve known you, Soobin was always your best friend. But after meeting her? It was so painfully obvious you like her the most out of all of us. I wondered all the time if you only see her as a friend. And she looks at you the same. Like you’re the whole world.” 

Beomgyu doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know how. Silence takes over the room again and Taehyun wonders if he said something wrong, nervously glancing at Kai. 

“Do you want to cancel practice today? We don’t have to have one. We are basically perfect,” the youngest asks carefully but Beomgyu just shakes his head, standing up slowly. “No, we should practice. The spring festival is in a few days and we can’t mess up. I’ve heard some recording companies will be there.” 

They don’t argue with him, following him to their instruments without saying anything else. The silence is weird, uncomfortable, and it makes Taehyun and Kai uneasy. It’s the first time since they started playing together that their practice was this quiet. 

Beomgyu grumbles as he keeps messing up the chords, his head too loud compared to the silence in the room. It’s unbearable. But he pushes through anyway, not wanting to bother his friends with something so small as a failed crush he realized he had too late. 

It’s only when Taehyun suggests playing a different song that he finally manages to play somewhat stable. The right melody finally echoing through the club room. And as Taehyun starts singing and Beomgyu prepares for his verse, his mind drifts off again. He sees you, standing right in front of him and cheering him on with your big eyes, watching him like he is the star. 

And in that moment, it feels like all of his pain vanishes, only the happy memories he has with you remaining. 

“I need to go,” he blurts out all of a sudden, quickly packing his guitar. His friends watch him confusedly, blinking as he runs off without another word, unsure of what to do now. 

Beomgyu doesn’t care. Doesn’t care that it was he who insisted on having this practice or that he was a complete mess until now. There’s something more important to do at the moment than to drown himself in sadness. He has a song to write. 

You’re not sure about this. You stare down at your outfit, thinking if you should change again. You’re wearing a light blue dress that you’d normally love but for some reason can’t seem to feel good in right now. 

“You look gorgeous, I promise. Beomgyu is going to fall to his knees when he sees you,” Heeseung assures you, watching you from your bed. But it’s not about whether he’ll like it or not, you don’t even know if you want him to. Jake turns off his phone and looks at you as well, a soft smile playing on his lips as he shakes his head at you. “It’s beautiful. No need to stress it. We’re going there to have fun, not for some dumb dude. What was his name? Beomhuj? Or something like that.” You giggle as Jake playfully winks at you, making you feel better without having to try much. 

You’re glad they are going with you. You don’t think you’d be able to go alone. When you met Soobin in the hallway two days ago, he offered to go with you and you doubted he knew anything about what happened with you and Beomgyu so you simply rejected his offer softly. You weren’t going to go anyway. Just last night, you were set on staying home and laying in bed with your comfort movies, but then Heeseung and Jake came over, also set on something—making you go with them. 

You weren’t in the mood to argue with them and so you got dressed, letting them convince you. 

And now, you’re standing right behind the barricade with each boy on your side, awkwardly looking around the empty podium. You told yourself you weren’t excited, that you were there simply because your friends made you, so why were you searching for a certain boy with your eyes the whole time? 

Beomgyu, Taehyun and Kai walk on the podium shortly after, the cheers and whistles loud around you. Even though you’re supposed to feel sad, mad even, all you are at the moment is proud. They are incredible. You know how hard they worked up to this point and seeing the crowd cheering for them makes you giddy. They deserve this, no matter what anyone else says. 

You watch Beomgyu introduce their band, his eyes nervously scanning the whole crowd. It might be just your imagination but you swear you catch a glimpse of his smile when his eyes finally land on you, clearing his throat as Kai starts playing the drums and music takes over the place. 

You smile as you listen to their music, all the sadness and emptiness you felt before washing off. You can’t help it. Even though a part of you wants to run away and hide so you never have to see him again, your other half heals when you listen to him. It always had. 

The song comes to an end and Beomgyu glances at his bandmates quickly before wrapping his hand around the mic, smiling at the crowd. 

“This is the first time we’re playing this song and it’s quite fresh, so I’m sorry if we sound a bit off,” he laughs awkwardly. “I wrote it at my worst and best at the same time. This one is for, uhm, a special someone,” he proclaims, avoiding eye contact as he thinks over his words. “It’s for the girl who makes me feel so much at once I’m unable to think straight, someone who has been there with me even when I was so oblivious it hurt her,” you see him glance at you briefly, his eyes saying everything you wanted to hear after accepting the fact you like him. You swallow a lump in your throat, shifting nervously and glancing at the two boys beside you. 

“This one is called Because of you. I hope you like it.” 

You blink confusedly as the melody surrounds you, the excitement in your eyes obvious as you look at Heeseung to make sure you’re not dreaming. He has a playful smirk on his lips, nodding as if he could read your mind completely. 

“You laughed at things I couldn’t say, And made them rhyme inside my chest,  I thought I’d lost the words one day, But with you, I found the rest,” 

Beomgyu’s voice makes you melt in an instant, your eyes glued to his as he sings his song, a song just for the two of you. You get your serenade, you realize. A song he wrote for you and no one else. Your smile widens, cheering him on with the rest of the crowd, causing his grin to widen as well. 

“Because of you, I raise my voice, Not to impress, but to rejoice, You turned the noise into a song, And showed me where my words belong, I used to run, now I stand through, Because of you,” 

The words play in your head the same way the first song you’ve heard him play did, the melody already stuck in your head as you hum along, singing with him as if you’ve known the song for years. Maybe it’s because it’s him, maybe because it’s the two of you, but you don’t care. Not when he stares at you throughout the whole song, even though you know Yuna is somewhere in the crowd as well. 

As soon as the song ends, Beomgyu glances at Taehyun for reassurance, giggling when he sees the proud nod he gives him. He rolls his eyes playfully when he sees how excited Beomgyu is, shaking his head. “Do I need to tell you everything? Get down there,” he encourages. 

Beomgyu turns towards the crowd again, laughing awkwardly. “If you guys excuse me for a moment.” He doesn’t wait for their answer, doesn’t wait for anything really as he puts away his guitar and rushes down the podium to the barricade. You watch him with amusement, giggling softly as Jake claps beside you. 

“Hi,” he smiles as soon as he stands in front of you. You giggle again, hiding your face in your hands. “Hey.” Beomgyu holds your hands and brings them away so he can look at you, an annoyingly beautiful smile spread across his lips as he pulls you closer and connects your lips with his again. 

It’s the kind of kiss that leaves you wanting more, making you feel absolutely drunk on him. You kiss him back without hesitation, smiling. If every kiss with him feels like butterflies exist in your stomach—you want to kiss him forever. 

He pulls back a little breathless, resting his forehead against yours. 

“It’s you. Deep down, I knew it’s always been you.” 

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[csbenthusiast]

𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 | 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗂 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗂𝗇 : ̗̀➛

summary: when global idol Choi Soobin returns to his quiet hometown for an unexpected hiatus, the last thing you expect is to run into him—the boy you once shared everything with...until you cut him off without a word.

you swore you’d never let yourself want him again. he swore he’d stop waiting for you to look back. but this time, neither of you is quite ready to walk away.

cw: sub!soobin, dom!reader, idol!au, angsty!!, fluff, slow and i mean slowburn, friends to lovers, mentions of death, implied depression, mental health issues (pls take care of urselves), unprotected sex, smut, reader just can't process emotions well

wc: ~30k... forgive me...or love me idk....

i was really inspired by netflix's new kdrama called "our unwritten seoul" and their friendship to lovers dynamic but was also gobsmacked at txt's new tour dates announcement after writing this so...PERFECT :DDDD. this is basically both of those things. you can tell because of the humidifier mention. like bro it's so random.

part one | part two

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the space as sunlight filters through half-open blinds, casting a warm glow on the cluttered desk. You, dressed in a cozy sweater and gingham pajama pants, sit up right on your bed, losing track of time as you doom scroll on reels. Your cat, Peanut, curls up beside you, purring contentedly.

You pause, glancing at the clock—8:45 AM. With a sigh, you set your phone down and begin your morning routine which basically just consisted of just washing your face. As you make your way to your living room, you begin to tidy up last night’s dirty dishes that sat on top of the coffee table.

Your house is modest but filled with personal touches: framed illustrations, a collection of obscure game discs, and a bookshelf overflowing with novels.

After you get yourself dressed, you step outside for a walk, your sneakers hitting the pavement in rhythmic thuds. You pass by the local café, where the barista waves at you, and the bookstore, where you stop to browse the new arrivals of manga. Afterwards you take the bus to the nearby hospital. 

This had become your routine every Wednesday—a bit repetitive, perhaps, but it was what you enjoyed. The endless stretch of countryside outside your window had never been the life you envisioned in your twenties.

You had imagined a high-rise apartment in the city, a high-paying job, and a life surrounded by people who didn't know your name—all amidst the buzz of urban life. But circumstances have kept you here, in your hometown.

At first, the monotony felt suffocating. The same roads, the same faces, the same small-town rhythm. Yet, over time, you began to find comfort in the predictability.

The quiet mornings, the familiar greetings, the slower pace—it all started to feel like home. You had traded the city's chaos for the calm of rural life, and while it wasn't the life you had planned, it was a life you were learning to appreciate. In the simplicity of the countryside, you discovered a deeper connection to yourself and the world around you.

You hated it from time to time, sometimes cursing and beating yourself up for staying with what feels familiar, but what could you do? 

—

As you stepped into the sterile hospital corridor, the faint scent of antiseptic mingled with the soft hum of distant conversations. With a sigh, you adjusted the strap of your bag and made your way to room 307. As you approached the door, you noticed it slightly ajar. 

Pushing the door open, you see your mother first, who seemingly is having a conversation with another person in the room. Upon opening it further, you found that it was your mother’s best friend, Mrs. Choi, sitting beside the bed and chatting animatedly, that was keeping your mother entertained. Mrs. Choi looked up, her face lighting up with recognition. 

“There you are!” she exclaimed, rising from her seat to lead you to your mother’s bed. Her eyes flicked to the bags of home-cooked food hanging from your elbow and the two iced Americanos wrapped around your hands. “Looks like your mom will be eating for two all week!” she teased, taking the bags from you and placing them alongside her own on the bedside table. 

You let out a soft laugh, extending your arm toward Mrs. Choi. "This is for you, Mrs. Choi. You must've gotten up early this morning." You bowed slightly, politely offering her the other coffee in your hands.

“Oh dear, it looks like I’ll be having a caffeine rush today!” She joked, which made your mother let out a laugh as well. You look at both of them confused, yet still wearing a smile on your face.

You see her lift up an almost empty cup of coffee, one that was exactly from the same place where you got yours. “Ahh~, I see…” Your murmur. Mrs. Choi already bought coffee for herself. 

You set the other coffee down by the bedside table and turned to your mother, who was propped up on the bed, flipping through a magazine you had gifted her last week. "How are you feeling, Mom?"

Your mother looked up, offering a reassuring smile. "Better now that you're here." You smiled, sliding your hand down her cheek, your heart melting at the tender moment you were sharing.

Just then, the door swung open, and a nurse entered for your mother's morning check-up. You stepped aside to let her pass and shared a glance with the two ladies inside the room before making your way out to the hallway.

You always left the room during these times, finding that you became queasy when you saw the numerous needles they attached to your mom and the way they conducted diagnostics as if she were a machine.

Sitting down on one of the seats outside your mom’s room, you pulled out your phone to respond to some emails and refresh your news feed. A new headline caught your eye: “TXT’s Soobin to Temporarily Halt Activities Due to Health Reasons.” Your stomach sank as you skimmed the preview.

Curious and concerned, you clicked the link and quickly scanned the article, completely unprepared for what you might read. The piece confirmed that he had recently visited the hospital after showing signs of being unwell. Medical staff had advised him to take time to rest and recover.

As a result, Soobin would be absent from several upcoming events, including big awards and fan events. You scrolled down, hoping for more news, more updates. And then you saw it. A handwritten letter from Soobin himself.

Reading his words, you felt a mix of emotions—concern for his well-being, admiration for his dedication, and a deep sense of connection to someone who had been a part of your childhood for so long, despite losing contact several years ago. 

The article had been published just two hours ago, but you knew that Mrs. Choi (and assuming your mother), was already aware of the news. Why they had kept it from you, you had some inkling.

The last time someone took a break for health reasons was your mom. The doctors had said she just needed some time to rest, that she was overworked and needed a break from physical labor.

The very next morning, she had gotten a fever, and her sickness never went away—just slowly eating her up from the inside out. You had been so young then, too young to understand the gravity of it all. Now, as an adult, you couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu. 

Soobin, your childhood friend—the person who had unknowingly been your anchor during the darkest times, was now facing his own battle. And you were left here, unable to support him or ask how he was even doing. 

You leaned back in your chair, closing your eyes and letting out a deep sigh. As you relished the silence of the sterile hallways, the occasional sound of footsteps and doors opening and closing punctuated the stillness. 

Then, you felt it—the unmistakable presence of someone standing before you. Without lowering your head, you slowly opened one eye, cautiously scanning your surroundings.

What you never expected was the very man whose face you had seen on your phone less than five minutes ago—standing there, staring down at you.

You jolted upright, your phone nearly slipping from your lap. Rubbing your eyes, you looked up at the man standing before you, his presence both unexpected and surreal. You shook your head, trying to dismiss the impossibility of it. But why would he be here? What reason could he have? The stress of the past week—no, the past months—had taken its toll. You wondered if this was just another symptom of your exhaustion, a moment of derealization. 

But this felt different. This felt real.

—

TWELVE YEARS AGO

It was a hot summer afternoon, the kind where the sun sat high up on the horizon, casting its hot rays over the neighborhood. The summer fair was in full swing, with the distinct smell of water from popped balloons hitting the pavement and street foods wafting through the air. Children darted between booths, their laughter mingling with the distant hum of pop music.

You and Soobin, inseparable since you were both knee-high and full of dreams, strolled leisurely through the fairgrounds. Your hands brushed now and then—not quite holding, but never far apart. Every few steps, you pointed excitedly at something: a glittering ring toss booth, a caricature artist drawing wide-eyed portraits, a balloon animal vendor with a long line of sticky-handed kids. The scent of nostalgia hung thick in the air, and the moment felt impossibly alive.

Then you saw it: the talent show sign-up booth, marked by a colorful hand-painted sign fluttering in the breeze. A flyer, curling at the edges. "Are you sure?" he hesitated, his usual confidence "Absolutely!" you insisted, grabbing the pen and signing both your names.

The day of the talent show arrived, and nerves set in. You and Soobin had decided to perform a duet—his favorite song at the time, "Twinkle," by Girls' Generation. You had practiced tirelessly, but now, standing backstage, doubt crept in.

"I can't do this," Soobin whispered, his usual smile replaced by a nervous frown.

“I’ll buy you endless Kara merch if you do,” You placed your hands on his shoulders, shaking him like a soda can. “Seriously. Light sticks. Albums. Posters. Even that ridiculous towel.” A beat passed—and then, like magic, his eyes lit up. “Really?”

You watched as Soobin sat up straighter at the mention of the girl group and you couldn't help but let out a huff at how easily he was convinced. “Wow...” You shook your head, exasperated. “Remind me to never call you if I get kidnapped.”

Soobin looked up at you with furrowed brows, as if genuinely puzzled. “Why not?”

“They’d probably ask for your merch in exchange for me. Knowing you, you'd choose the merch.” He smirked, shrugging nonchalantly. “Of course.”

His nonchalance only fueled your annoyance. Without missing a beat, you grabbed him in a playful headlock, ruffling his hair. “Idiot,” you muttered, though a smile tugged at your lips despite yourself.

When your names were called, you stepped onto the stage, the bright lights blinding you momentarily. The audience's murmurs faded into a distant hum as the music began. Soobin's voice filled the air, and your nerves melted away. You sang your heart out, treating the talent show as if it were just a playful karaoke session. Soobin, however, seemed to belong on that stage. When the final note faded, the crowd erupted into applause—parents, teens, kids, strangers all clapping like they’d just watched something special.

You turned to Soobin.

He stood there, beaming, the mic still clutched in both hands like a prized possession. Then, without a trace of shyness, he bowed. A real bow. You stared for a moment—because in that instant, he wasn’t just your goofy best friend. He looked like someone born to be on that stage.

You stepped back, letting him shine.

That performance became a cherished memory, a testament to your friendship and Soobin's budding talent. Little did you know, that day planted the seed for his future in music.

–

“You're back.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, more a whisper to yourself than a question to him.

Soobin stood in front of you, barely resembling the old version of him that you always saw him as. Just his outfit alone–meticulously chosen, each piece exuding a quiet luxury. It wasn’t something you thought you’d see him in in a million years. You were accustomed to seeing him in school uniforms, always looking youthful despite being six months older than you. But the Soobin now before you was undeniably an adult.

His gaze swept over you, lingering just a moment too long. "You look..." He paused, as if searching for the right words. "Different."

The simplicity of his statement stung more than you expected. You had changed, hadn't you? But had it been for the better? You met his gaze, a playful smirk tugging at your lips despite the fluttering in your chest. "You look horrible yourself, too," you teased, trying to mask the unease creeping in.

Soobin chuckled, the sound warm and familiar, yet distant. "Fair enough," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken words. You wanted to ask him everything—about his life, his experiences, the years that had passed—but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you stood there, two people who once shared everything, now separated by time and circumstance. Soobin shifted, his hands slipping into his pockets, his eyes never leaving yours. "It's been a while," he said softly.

"Yeah," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "A while."

The soft click-clack of the nurse’s cart rolling outside your mom’s room broke the comfortable silence between you and Soobin. Only then did you notice the small electronic device in his hands—so tiny it looked almost out of place in his grasp.

“Humidifier?” you asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. He shifted uncomfortably, his cheeks flushing slightly. “It’s a gift... for your mom. I went and filled it up with some water” he said shyly, as if embarrassed to be seen with such a thoughtful gesture. You couldn't help but smile at his bashfulness. “She’ll love it,” you reassured him, nudging him gently toward the door.

As you both entered the room, the familiar scent of antiseptic and the soft beeping of medical equipment filled the air. Your mom looked up, her face lighting up at the sight of you and Soobin together, briefly exchanging glances with Mrs. Choi. 

“Look who’s here,” you said, your voice filled with warmth. 

“I already saw him, honey,” she said with a playful smile, her voice tinged with that familiar teasing warmth, then gestured toward the table beside her, where several bags were neatly stacked. “He helped bring those in earlier,” she added, nodding toward the tall figure behind you. 

You looked behind at Soobin, who was already crouched near the wall, carefully plugging the humidifier into the outlet. His broad shoulders were hunched slightly, the soft fabric of his sweater bunching at the elbows as he adjusted the cord, making sure it didn’t tangle with the IV stand nearby. He handled everything with the kind of quiet precision you’d come to associate with him—gentle, but steady. 

The little device gave a soft mechanical hum as it came to life, a faint mist beginning to rise from the spout. Soobin straightened up, brushing his hands together as if completing a sacred task, then glanced at your mom with a nervous half-smile.

"I set it to low," he murmured. "So it won't be too much, just enough to keep the air from feeling dry."

Your mom tilted her head toward the thin ribbon of vapor swirling in the air, a flicker of surprise and gratitude crossing her face. "Thank you, Soobin," she said, her voice soft but steady. “I’ve been feeling like my throat’s been made of sandpaper.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks turning a little pink again. "It’s nothing, really. I just… thought it might help." You watched the way your mom looked at him, her gaze lingering for just a second longer than usual—gentle, assessing, as if seeing him act like this reminded her of the old times and that made her quietly glad. 

Your mom’s eyes softened as she glanced at Soobin, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “You’re very thoughtful,” she said gently, reaching out to adjust the humidifier’s mist.

Soobin shrugged, looking a little sheepish. “I just wanted to help.”

You caught the faintest shadow across your mom’s face—a quiet mix of pride and something else, something like a wish she could say aloud. But instead, she chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Well, you’re doing a good job at it.” As if hinting at more than just showing gratitude for the gesture.  The mist from the humidifier caught the light, casting soft shadows on the white hospital sheets, and for a moment the sterile room felt just a little more like home. 

–

Before you knew it, time had slipped by, the way it always does when you're avoiding looking at the clock. The room had grown quiet again, the only sounds were the soft whir of machines and your mom’s slow, steady breathing. You stood, brushing nonexistent wrinkles from your clothes, more out of habit than anything else. Soobin followed suit just like always, moving a half-step behind you, like he wasn’t quite sure if he was supposed to leave yet.

Outside, the corridor was still and cold under the harsh fluorescent lights. It smelled faintly of antiseptic and something else—something tired. You walked side by side, just close enough to feel his presence but not enough to brush shoulders. The silence sat between you, not uncomfortable, but not easy either. 

“So,” you said, voice catching slightly in your throat. “When did you get back?”

He glanced over, offering you a small, almost sheepish smile. “I assume you know?”

Right—the headlines. You’d seen them without even trying to. His name had been everywhere for days. It was hard to avoid when your past suddenly became the world’s news. You nodded slowly. “Yeah. I saw.”

He let out a short breath of laughter. Not a real laugh—one of those quiet ones that feels more like a sigh. “They really don’t let you disappear quietly, do they?”

You wanted to say something reassuring, but nothing came. What could you even say? That sucks? I’m sorry? I read every article twice, looking for signs you were okay? Instead, you settled on, “Looks like you’ll be around for a while.”

His shoulders lifted in a shrug, but it wasn’t light or offhand. There was a drag to it, something unspoken anchoring the gesture. “Yeah. Forced break.” 

You raised an eyebrow, hoping a little teasing might soften the edges. “Forced break? Sounds like a long vacation.”

He gave you a half-smile, one side of his mouth curling up. “If only.”

The silence crept back in as you continued walking, your shoes squeaking faintly against the polished floor. It should’ve felt comfortable—you’d walked like this before, years ago, without needing to say much. But now? Now it felt like stepping around the edges of something you both weren’t ready to touch. You stole a glance at him. The curve of his jaw was more defined now, his hair a little longer than you remembered. He still walked with that same quiet presence, like he was trying not to take up too much space. But there was something else, too—something a little more closed off.

You swallowed. “So... what now?”

He looked over at you, not stopping, just watching. “I don’t really know,” he admitted. “I’ve never had this much free time before.”

You let out a soft huff of air, unsure if it was a laugh or just a release of tension. “Weird, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he said, then after a beat, added, “kind of uncomfortable, honestly.”

You nodded, because you got it—maybe not in the same way, but close enough. You understood what it was like to be stuck between chapters, unsure what comes next or who you're supposed to be without the thing that defined you. For a moment, you considered saying something real. Something like, I missed you or you don’t have to pretend around me, but your throat tightened. You hadn’t earned that kind of closeness anymore.

So instead you said, “Guess it’s a new kind of challenge.”

He gave you a look—mild, but maybe grateful. “Yeah. But... maybe not the worst kind.”

You nodded again, lips pressing into a thin line. And still, the things you wanted to say hovered behind your teeth. You wanted to ask how he was really doing. If it felt like everything had stopped too suddenly. If he was scared of what came next. But none of that would come out right, not with all this space between you.

The silence settled again as you both neared the elevator, the hum of lights overhead a constant backdrop.

“So,” you said, trying to sound casual but failing, “where are you staying?”

He shifted his weight slightly, glancing over at you with a small smile. “Uh... just down the street, actually. Back in my parents’ place for a bit.”

You blinked. “Wait. Seriously?”

“Yeah.” He let out a short breath. “Kind of surreal.”

You scoffed, the sound too sharp but real. “So... we’re neighbors again.”

He laughed, a real one this time. “Guess so.”

You nodded, trying not to smile too much. “Weird.”

“Definitely weird.”

Another pause. Another silence. But this one wasn’t so stiff. It settled more naturally between you, like maybe it didn’t need to be filled.

You both stood there, not really moving, not really sure what to do next. Just... hovering in that space where familiarity and distance existed at the same time. Where you wanted to say remember how easy this used to be? but knew neither of you quite had the words.

Maybe it would take time. Maybe it would stay awkward like this for a while.

But still, there was something in the quiet that felt like a beginning.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, but neither of you moved.

You thought that was it—that this was the part where you’d say goodbye with a tight smile and an awkward promise to “catch up later.” But instead, Soobin turned, leaned his shoulder against the wall beside the elevator, and said, “Want to walk for a bit?”

You blinked. “Around the hospital?”

His mouth tugged up slightly. “We’ve had weirder hangouts.”

That was true. Once upon a time, your “hangouts” included hiding in stairwells during school festivals and playing cards in the back of the library while pretending to study. So maybe walking quiet halls and dodging nurses wasn’t that strange after all.

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I better go, lots of things to do today.” 

He nodded. Then, with one last glance at you—long enough to hold, short enough not to ask too much—he turned and walked down the hallway, his steps slow, like he wasn’t in a rush to leave.

You stayed where you were, hands in your pockets, the echo of his words still lingering in the air.

It had been a while since you last saw Soobin. And you'd be lying if you said you hadn’t looked him up that very same night you saw him again. After that day, it was like something broke loose inside you—some quiet restraint you’d kept for years.

You found yourself scrolling endlessly through his performance videos, one after another, chasing something you couldn’t quite name. Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was your way of making up for all the time you’d forbidden yourself from watching them.

It wasn’t because you resented him. Not really. But it had always been easier to pretend you weren’t curious than to admit the truth: watching him chase his dream made something twist in your chest. Not bitterness, exactly—just jealousy.

A quiet, aching sort of envy that you never wanted to confront. He had gone out there and done what he said he would. He lived it. All while keeping you completely in the dark. Not a message, not a word—not even a hint of what his life had become.

And maybe that’s what stung the most—not that he left, but knowing it was your fault he never reached out. 

You remembered the night he left. You didn’t know it was the last time you’d see him, not then. He said something vague about having a “big audition” coming up the previous week, and you, always the loyal friend, had smiled and wished him luck, unaware that he would succeed to the point where he was at now. You hadn’t known that "audition" would become the beginning of a chapter that didn’t include you.

At first, you hesitated. You told yourself he'd text first. Call. Drop by. But days turned into weeks, then months, and eventually, you stopped refreshing your messages, stopped checking your phone late at night like a fool and stuck your nose into your studies. 

The only person who stayed by your side, from your father passing, through your mother getting sick, was now gone. And you couldn’t bring yourself to be the one who reached out first, fearing that you would only receive the silence you thought you deserved. 

So you buried it. Packed it into the same mental box where you kept all the “what ifs” you never wanted to admit you had. You stopped watching his interviews, muted hashtags, scrolled past his face without letting your eyes linger. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That people grow up, they move on. That it was nothing personal.

But seeing him again, in that hallway outside your mom’s hospital room, had cracked something open.

You hadn’t realized how much you still carried. How much weight was tied to his name, his voice, his smile. And now, after that one encounter, you were spiraling—late into the night, alone in your room, your screen glowing softly in the dark as you watched him perform with the same boyish intensity he’d always had, only now refined, polished. A professional.

There were moments when he’d show a dimpled smile between lyrics, or toss his hair a certain way, and you’d see glimpses of the boy you once knew. The one who used to walk you home after school. Who used to text you dumb memes and write notes on the edges of your notebooks when the teacher wasn’t looking. The boy who once promised he’d tell you everything.

But he didn’t.

And maybe that was the cruelest part—he had become someone the whole world knew, but not you. Not anymore. You didn’t deserve that chance. 

You set your phone down eventually, the videos still looping on autoplay, the sound dim. You stared at the ceiling, trying to reconcile the person on the screen with the quiet boy who used to sit beside you at lunch. Trying to figure out where the thread had snapped—and if there was any way to pick it back up again.

You weren’t sure. But part of you hoped—achingly, stubbornly—that he came back not just to rest… but to remember.

To remember you.

—

The next time you saw Soobin, it was raining on a Wednesday. 

Not the cinematic kind of rain that comes with thunder and dramatic declarations. Just a light drizzle that blurred the edges of the world and left your jacket damp where it clung to your shoulders.

You’d just finished your shift at the café near the hospital. You weren’t technically supposed to be working while your mom was still admitted, but she’d insisted—said the distraction was good for you. And truthfully, it was. It gave you something else to focus on besides white walls and the sound of machines beeping in the night.

You had your headphones in, your hood up, eyes on the sidewalk—when someone stepped into your path, blocking your way.

“Hey.”

You looked up.

Soobin.

He was holding a paper bag in one hand, a bottle of something green poking out the top. His hoodie was damp, darkened around the seams, but he looked almost amused by it. Like the rain wasn’t a bother. Like maybe it reminded him of something.

Your headphones hung limply around your neck now. “You stalking me?” you asked, only half joking.

“I swear I’m not,” he said, lifting the bag. “I was headed to the hospital. Thought your mom might like these.”

You glanced at the label on the bottle. Herbal tonic. Your lips curved upward despite yourself. “She’ll roll her eyes when she sees this. But this is good, she needs these.”

He grinned. “Good. Then mission accomplished.”

You hesitated. You should’ve said goodbye, should’ve kept walking—but you didn’t. Something in the way he was standing, not quite stepping forward but not walking away either, mirrored exactly how you felt. Stuck in the middle. 

“Want to come up with me?” you asked finally. “She’s been asking about you.”

His expression softened. “Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that.”

You walked side by side again, like no time had passed—but with every footstep echoing on the hospital floor, you felt the gap between who you were and who you’d become. And still, he matched your pace without question.

Upstairs, your mom greeted him with a tired but genuine smile. You watched her lit up face switch over to a disgusted one in an instant as he handed her the tonic, made her laugh with something dumb, and you realized how easily he still fit into the spaces you thought time had sealed off.

Later, when she fell asleep and the lights dimmed around her bed, you and Soobin slipped out into the hallway again. It was quieter now. The storm outside had tapered into silence, and the air smelled faintly of rain on concrete.

He leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets. You stood a few feet away, arms crossed loosely over your chest, the distance between you filled with everything unsaid.

“She still makes that face when she doesn’t want to take medicine,” he said, glancing at the door behind you.

You smiled faintly. “Some things never change.”

He looked at you then, really looked. “You did.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s what happens when you’re not around for eight years.”

His mouth tugged to the side in something between a grimace and a smile. “Fair.”

There was another beat of silence, but this one felt warmer. You glanced down the hallway, watching a nurse wheel a cart past the far end, the soft rattle of it fading into the hum of fluorescent lights.

“You know,” he said after a moment, quieter now, “your mom was always really kind to me.”

“She likes people with manners,” you replied, then added, “and people who eat her leftovers without complaining.”

“She used to pack extra, just for me,” he said, eyes distant now. “Even when she said she didn’t have time.”

“She did that with people she loved.” The words left your mouth before you could decide whether or not to say them.

Soobin looked at you, and for a second, you almost couldn’t hold his gaze. It was too much. Too real.

The hallway buzzed faintly—the dull drone of fluorescent lights, distant intercom announcements, the occasional footsteps echoing down the corridor. Somewhere, a nurse’s soft laughter floated through the air.

The moment settled like dust, thick and heavy.

“I missed this,” he said finally, voice rough but steady. “Not just your mom. Not just the neighborhood. You.”

You didn’t answer right away. Your fingers picked at a loose thread on your sleeve, twisting it between your fingertips like a lifeline. He turned his head slightly toward you but didn’t push you for a response.

Instead, he said, “Can I show you something?”

You glanced over, curious despite yourself. “Now?”

He nodded, pulling his phone from his hoodie pocket with a slow, deliberate motion. He flipped through his gallery, swiping a few times, then handed it to you. A video.

Not one of the polished concert clips uploaded for fans, but a raw, shaky recording from a recent show. The camera was angled toward the crowd, thousands of tiny lights flickering like stars. Then it shifted to the stage—him, standing at the microphone, eyes closed, singing a slow, acoustic song. Your breath caught, chest tightening. He must’ve seen it on your face because he said softly, “Wrote it the week I moved to the city. Never released it.”

You watched the video again, seeing a side of him you hadn’t seen in years—vulnerable and unpolished. The words carried little references, tiny fragments of shared memories—a phrase you’d said once, a place you’d both known, a worn bench you’d sat on together.

“It was about you,” he said quietly. “Still is.”

Your fingers curled tighter around the phone, heart pounding in your ears louder than the soft hospital hum. You handed it back, not because you wanted to stop watching, but because it felt too much to hold all at once.

Another silence bloomed. But this one felt different, like the air between you had shifted, charged with something fragile and new.

He stood slowly. “I should go. Don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

You didn’t try to stop him, but as he turned, you called out softly, “Hey.”

He paused, looking back over his shoulder.

You gave him a small, tired smile, the kind that held hope and history all at once.

“Next time… don’t bring tonic. Bring peaches. She actually likes those.”

He laughed—a sound that was still boyish, warm, and real.

“Got it. Peaches.”

He walked down the hallway, the soft squeak of his shoes echoing behind him.

You stayed seated, staring at the empty space beside you, wondering how many more times you’d find the courage to let yourself take one step closer. 

—

It had been a long week.

You’d spent most of it moving between home and the hospital, the lines between day and night beginning to blur. Your mom’s condition hadn’t worsened, but it hadn’t improved either—and somehow, that was its own kind of exhausting. Hopeful. Heavy. Endless.

So when the knock came on your door that Saturday afternoon—three quick taps and a pause—you almost didn’t answer.

But then you remembered the way he knocked.

You opened the door.

“Delivery,” Soobin said, holding up a brown paper bag like it was a peace offering. “One bottle of overpriced juice, and…” He pulled out a small carton with a mock ceremony. “Peaches. Fresh. Not those disgusting canned stuff.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow. You really took the note.”

“I aim to please.” He grinned, wide and shameless. “Also, the guy at the fruit stand said these were ‘kissing sweet,’ which made me deeply uncomfortable. So I had to buy them.”

You snorted, stepping aside to let him in. “That’s the dumbest reason I’ve ever heard for buying fruit.”

He walked in casually, already toeing off his shoes like second nature–- like he’d done it a hundred times. “What can I say? I missed your mom’s high standards. And your judgment.”

“Both still going strong,” you said, accepting the bag. “You want coffee or are you planning to make a dramatic exit again?”

He shot you a look. “That exit was graceful and respectful.”

“That exit was weird and full of emotional tension.”

He tilted his head thoughtfully. “So… par for the course?”

You tried not to laugh, but it slipped out anyway.

He sat on the edge of your couch, glancing around like he was taking inventory. You watched the way his eyes lingered on the bookshelf, the stack of hospital visitors passes on the table, the blanket still folded from when you'd last crashed there after a long night.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” he said. “Very... ‘haunted by fatigue but still trying.’”

You grinned. “That’s actually the theme of the whole apartment. You should see the bathroom.”

He laughed again—an easy, warm sound that made your ribs feel too tight.

You went to the kitchen, opened the bag, and found not just the peaches and juice, but a pack of sweet rice crackers tucked at the bottom.

“Are these for me or for her?” you called.

A beat.

“...Yes,” he replied.

“She’s going to eat all of these and then yell at me for letting you spend money on her.”

“Let her yell at me instead,” he said, already settling onto your couch like he owned the place. “I can take it. I survived our high school math teacher. Your mom has nothing on that woman.”

You smirked. “That teacher made you cry.”

He gasped. “I teared up. Once. And it was allergy season.”

“Sure it was.” It had been a strange comfort, having him around again—even if it was awkward most of the time.

“Thanks,” you said, shrugging and avoiding his eyes. “for not bringing tonic this time.”

He chuckled. “Hey, I learned my lesson. Peaches or bust.”

A silence passed. But it wasn’t heavy this time. It sat lightly between you, like an old friend resting its elbows on the table.

“So…” he said slowly. “You going to the hospital later?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just after dinner. They changed some meds, so they want someone to watch her overnight.”

He nodded, fingers curling around the mug. “Mind if I come with you?”

You looked up. Not because he hadn’t offered before. But because this time, he said it differently. Gently. Not just wanting to visit—but to be there. 

“…She’ll be happy to see you,” you said. “And if you bring those crackers, she might even be nice.”

He smiled, setting his mug down.

“Oh, and by the way,” you added, pretending to inspect a peach like it was under review. “She only likes the white ones. If you brought yellow—”

“Don’t insult me,” he said, already pulling a peach from the bag and rolling it across the table toward you. “Do I look like someone who would buy the wrong kind?”

You caught it mid-roll, lips twitching. “I don’t know. You’ve been gone a while. You could’ve turned into someone completely unreliable.”

He leaned back on the couch, arms stretched along the top cushion, looking maddeningly smug. “I’m still me.”

You turned the peach over in your hand, pretending not to notice how warm your cheeks felt.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I know.” 

—

NINE YEARS AGO

The living room was a mess. A good kind of mess—snack wrappers littered across the coffee table, cushions scattered like casualties, your shared laughter still lingering in the air like static. It was the Friday before the weekend, Soobin had waited for you to finish your badminton practice to walk you home to spend the rest of the afternoon with you. 

Soobin was on the floor, one leg stretched out and the other tucked underneath him, controller in hand, glaring at the TV screen with the same intensity he used when talking about stage lighting or choreography.

“You’re cheating,” he said flatly. You didn’t look away from the screen. “I’m not.”

“You’re button-mashing,” he accused, pointing at your hands like he was building a legal case. “That’s not skill, that’s chaos.”

You grinned. “Chaos works.” A second later, his character flew off the edge of the map with a dramatic final explosion. KO. Soobin dropped his controller and flopped backward onto the floor like he’d just been shot. “Unbelievable. I come here in good faith and get demolished.”

You leaned over your knees, stretching out your arms with a satisfied sigh. “Maybe you just suck.”

He peeked at you through narrowed eyes. “I’m rethinking our friendship.”

“Because I’m better at Smash?”

“Because you’re a smug button-masher with no honor.”

You laughed, the kind that curled your shoulders inward and left a small warmth in your chest. This was easy. Ridiculously easy. Soobin had always been like this with you—quick to tease, slow to anger, all soft jabs and boyish huffs. Like a habit you never had to think about. He could go hours and hours just bantering with you about the most unimportant topics. 

You reached for the plastic bag sitting on the coffee table, rifling through until you found what you were really after. “You want the last peach?”

He didn’t even hesitate. Sat up like he’d been summoned from the dead. “I do. Really. Deeply.”

You held it just out of reach, twirling it by the stem. “Then admit I’m better than you.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then no peach.”

“You’re evil.”

You were about to answer—probably with something smug, possibly with another insult—when he lunged forward.

It wasn’t even a real lunge. More like an exaggerated grab, like he was trying to be ridiculous on purpose. But you misjudged the distance—he was faster than he looked—and suddenly he was right there, fingers overlapping yours, and the peach tumbled from your grip, rolling a few inches before coming to a stop between you. 

You both reached for it at the same time.

And then you were touching.

Just barely—his knuckles brushing yours, the pad of his thumb catching the back of your hand. Your knees bumped, one of his legs tangled slightly with yours from the way he’d thrown himself forward. The closeness was sudden. Clumsy. And absolutely still.

The peach sat in both your palms now, soft and overripe, a little dented from the fall. But you weren’t looking at the peach anymore.

You were looking at him.

He was looking back.

For a second, neither of you spoke. You could feel your heartbeat shift—quicker, louder. Like your body realized something your brain didn’t want to name.

He was close. Too close. 

There was something different about the way he looked at you just then. Like he was searching for something—confirmation, maybe. Permission. Or maybe he wasn’t searching at all. Maybe he was just seeing you, for the first time in a way that wasn’t casual or safe or platonic. You told yourself to laugh. To say something to break it. But your mouth was dry and your fingers were still curled around the stupid peach.

God, you thought, this is just a moment. It doesn’t mean anything. Don’t make it mean something.

Because if you made it mean something, you’d have to face the fact that everything would change between you two, and you weren’t ready for that. 

And worst of all—you didn’t know if he wanted it too.

So you were the first to let go.

“Fine,” you said, easing the peach into his hands, forcing a smile. “You win. Peach privileges restored.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you for a second longer, then pulled back, sitting cross-legged again, the fruit cradled like a trophy.

“You’ll regret this,” he said, voice light again. Too light. “I’m going to crush you in the next round.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and smirked. “Big talk from someone who just got obliterated.”

He took a bite of the peach—flesh soft, juice dripping slightly down his wrist.

You looked away.

Because watching him eat a peach had absolutely no right being that distracting.

“You’re quiet,” he said after a second.

“Just letting you enjoy your victory,” you replied, folding your arms.

“Mm.” He chewed, then added through a mouthful of fruit, “This is the taste of justice.”

You grabbed a pillow and lobbed it at his head.

He laughed, muffled but warm, like it lived somewhere behind his ribcage. Like it was meant just for you.

And later, after he’d gone, after the controller had been set aside and the cushions lazily put back, you sat on the couch and stared at the empty spot where his leg had touched yours.

It was nothing, you told yourself.

But your heart wasn’t convinced.

—

It had been three days since Soobin last came by to accompany you to the hospital. 

Not that you were counting.

Your mom was still in the hospital. Her condition was stable, but “stable” was the kind of word doctors used when they meant unchanged, when the machines still beeped and the days still blurred, and you didn’t know how to exhale without guilt.

So you kept your head down. Worked your shifts. Folded laundry. Refilled the humidifier in her room. Then, one quiet evening, your phone buzzed.

Unknown: You up?

You stared at it for a second too long, the number was foreign to your contact list. The number wasn’t saved. But the timing, the tone—it could only be one person.

Another message came in.

Unknown: This is Soobin, by the way.

Of course it was.

You: No. I’m sleep-texting. You

The three dots appeared. Vanished. Then came back again, like he was typing and deleting and thinking too much—just like always.

Soobin:

Maybe. Or just bored.

 Wanna walk?

You didn’t answer.

Fifteen minutes later, you were outside. Hoodie zipped to your chin, hands in your pockets. The air was cool, kissed with the hush that only lived in your neighborhood at night.

A faint breeze moved through the trees overhead, the streetlamp buzzed quietly, and the sidewalk stretched out ahead like a question you didn’t know how to ask.

He was waiting by the gate. Same hoodie from the other night. Same hands buried in the front pocket. His hair was a little messier now, falling into his eyes like he hadn’t bothered to push it back. He looked like someone trying not to look like he was waiting.

When he saw you, he straightened—not all the way, just enough to seem like he hadn’t been pacing.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft like he wasn’t sure if it would reach you.

“Hey,” you replied, tugging your sleeves over your hands. And then you walked. Not toward anything in particular. Just forward. Side by side. Close enough to hear the other breathe.

The silence wasn’t awkward. If anything, it felt… familiar. Like this was a rhythm you both used to know. Like your feet still remembered how to fall into step with his even if your hearts hadn’t caught up yet.

After a while, he spoke.

“I’ve been writing again,” he said, just above a whisper.

You glanced at him. His eyes stayed on the sidewalk. “Yeah?”

“Mostly bad stuff,” he added with a breath of a laugh. “But… some of it feels honest.”

You nodded. “That’s the hard part.”

There was a pause.

“I used to write when I missed home,” he said.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to. But he kept going anyway, his voice quieter now. Like if he said it too loud, it would sound like a confession.

“I stopped for a long time. Everything started to sound the same. Even the stuff I wrote just for me—it didn’t sound like me. It sounded like someone trying to remember what real felt like.”

Your chest pinched. Because you recognized that feeling, even if it wore a different face.

“You mean the industry?” you asked, your voice gentler than you meant it to be. He nodded, hands tightening in his sleeves. “The schedules, the shoots, the interviews where they ask you how you’re doing and expect you to say you’re grateful.”

You looked over. His face was still turned ahead, but his jaw was set—like he was fighting back something that had been building for years.

“It looks big,” he said. “To other people. All the lights and cameras and screaming fans. But most of the time, it felt… small. Like I was inside this beautiful box I couldn’t leave. Like I was shrinking in a place everyone said I was meant to grow.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Not at first. Because it was Soobin—your Soobin. The one who used to doodle lyrics on his wrists during exams. The one who used to talk about Seoul like it was a promise.

And now he was here. Telling you the promise didn’t keep.

“I used to envy you,” you murmured.

He turned his head slightly, startled. “What?”

“You had direction. Purpose. You left. While the rest of us stayed behind wondering what we were doing. You knew.”

“I didn’t,” he said quickly. “I pretended I did.”

You exhaled, eyes on the path ahead.

He slowed, enough that you had to slow too.

“I didn’t reach out,” he began to answer your life’s biggest question, “because I was afraid if I told you how bad it was, you’d tell me to come home.”

You stopped. Right there on the path.

“And that would’ve been so awful?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even. “Me wanting you to come home?”

He looked down.

“It would’ve made it real,” he said. “Made me feel like I failed.”

The ache that had been sitting under your ribs stretched, deep and familiar.

The wind stirred again, carrying the sound of distant cars and rustling trees. Then, your voice dropped. “You know, Soobin… you did a good job.”

His eyes shot up to meet yours. Cautious. Almost confused. You let the words settle before continuing.

“I mean it. You chased something you believed in. You worked hard. You got somewhere people only dream about.” You swallowed. “You just… never took a second to see how far you’d gone. You kept running like someone was going to take it away from you.”

His mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out.

“You should let yourself rest,” you said. “You deserve to breathe.”

He looked at you like no one had ever said that to him before. Not in the way that mattered.

And maybe no one had. A silence fell again, but it was different now. Thick with emotion, weighted with years of distance and grief and care that had nowhere to go.

Soobin stepped forward—not enough to cross the space between you, but enough that you felt the warmth of him again.

“I’m trying to be better,” he said quietly. 

Your throat tightened.

You didn’t know what to say. Not yet. So instead, you reached for the edge of your hoodie sleeve and twisted it around your fingers, grounding yourself in the way you used to back when emotions felt too big to hold.

And beside you, Soobin just stood there.

Not asking to be forgiven, not like he had to. 

Just… asking to stay a little longer.

–

The hospital room was quieter than usual.

Your mom was asleep, or at least pretending to be. Her breaths came soft and even, her fingers curled loosely around the edge of the blanket. The late afternoon light filtered through the slats in the blinds, painting thin gold bars across the white walls. Outside, the city buzzed softly beneath the window, too far away to touch.

You sat by the bed, elbow propped on the armrest, chin resting in your hand. The chair creaked when you shifted. You’d meant to read. Meant to answer that message from work. But your mind kept drifting—backward, sideways, toward things that hadn’t happened yet but already pressed too heavy on your chest.

Soobin hadn’t texted since the walk.

Three days wasn’t long. Not really.

But you found yourself reaching for your phone more than usual. Pausing at the sound of footsteps in the hallway. Imagining him leaning on the doorframe again, holding some half-thought-out excuse to stop by. You hated how easily hope made a home out of silence.

Your mom stirred, just slightly, eyes fluttering open. “You’re still here?”

You smiled faintly. “Where else would I be?”

She looked at you for a beat longer than usual. “You’ve been coming earlier,” she said, voice scratchy from sleep. “Staying longer, too.”

You shrugged. “There’s not much else to do.”

“Mm.” She turned her head to the side, watching you now. Not like she was accusing—more like she was waiting. “He’s been coming around again.”

You didn’t respond right away. Just stared at the window, at the sky that had turned that in-between color of fading blue and soft orange.

“Yeah,” you said eventually.

“He’s been good to you,” she added, gently. “I see it.”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, heart doing that stupid thing again—like it couldn’t decide whether to clench or melt.

“He’s not staying,” you said. Your mom didn’t answer right away. That kind of silence said more than any reply.

You leaned back in the chair, eyes flicking up to the ceiling. “I don’t know why it matters. It’s not like we’re… anything.”

“But you want to be?” she asked softly.

You didn’t look at her. “It wouldn’t make a difference.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You exhaled, long and slow. “It doesn’t matter what I want. He came back because of his health. Because he needed space from all that. He’s not… this isn’t forever.”

And if you let yourself want something more like last time—if you gave it a name—what would happen when he left again?

She was quiet for a long time. Then, just as you were about to change the subject, her voice returned. “You know,” she said, “I think the hardest kind of love is the kind that feels temporary.”

You blinked. “This isn’t–this isn’t love.” You protested.

She didn’t argue. Just gave you a look that said she’d been your mother long enough to know when you were lying—to her or to yourself.

You shook your head, staring down at your hands. “It’s not like I’m holding onto something that could actually last.”

“But you’re still holding it,” she murmured.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because yeah. You were.

You were holding the way his voice sounded in quiet places. The way he never pushed when you went silent, just waited with that kind of patience that only people who’d known you for years could manage. You were holding the way he remembered the things you forgot you ever told him. The way he looked at you like he didn’t know how to stop.

And it scared the hell out of you.

Because people leave. Sometimes they come back. But rarely do they stay.

Your mom reached out, her fingers brushing yours. “It’s okay to be scared,” she said gently. “It’s not okay to pretend you don’t feel anything.”

You didn’t respond.

You just stared at the sunlight crawling across the linoleum floor, and wondered how long you could keep pretending that what you felt was nothing.

–

The engine made a low, confused noise as Soobin turned the key. You braced your hand against the dashboard. Soobin sat up straighter, lips pursed like he was preparing for war. You couldn’t help watching the way his knuckles tensed on the wheel, the way he kept muttering to himself like this was more of a concert performance than a suburban test run.

"Okay," you said cautiously. "Brake. Check your mirrors. Put it in drive—no, that’s reverse. Reverse is—Soobin—!"

The car lurched backward, an alarming jolt that made your seatbelt dig into your collarbone.

“Okay! Okay! Got it!” Soobin slammed the brake, and the car shuddered to a halt. Your heart was somewhere near your throat.

“You almost ran over a mailbox,” you hissed, hands clutched tightly on your seat. “My mailbox!” 

He winced. “It’s still standing.”

“Barely.” He shot you a look. “I told you I didn’t finish my license! You didn’t have to volunteer your car for this.”

“I didn’t think this was what we’d be doing when you said you wanted to ‘catch up.’

“Out,” you ordered. “Switch seats.” He didn’t argue.

“You’re lucky I like you,” you grumbled, turning the key and reversing smoothly out of the lot.

“Aw,” he said, smirking. “You like me.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

You looked at him. He looked back.

There was a beat of silence.

You circled back around the block, only to end up parked in front of your house once again. Soobin spotted the shed that sat behind your house, most importantly, what’s next to it. 

“No way,” he said, rushing ahead.

Sure enough, there they were. Your old bikes. Rusted at the chains, tires flat, but still recognizable.

“I can’t believe you kept mine,” he said, brushing off a handlebar like it was a relic.

“My mom was too sentimental to throw it away. She thought you’d come back.”

He paused.

The air shifted.

“Guess she was right,” he said softly.

You didn’t respond.

–

A few minutes later, you were riding through town—laughing, breathless, avoiding potholes and startled pigeons. Soobin’s bike creaked horribly, but he insisted on pedaling like he was racing someone only he could see.

You took the long route, past the bookstore where you used to loiter, the convenience store where he once bought you a yogurt drink with his last few coins, the bus stop where you used to sit until the streetlights flicked on.

Then he slowed. You turned to look—and watched, helpless, as his front tire clipped a curb and sent him flying.

“Soobin!” He landed with a thud, half in the grass, half on the sidewalk.

You dropped your bike and ran to him.

“Oh my God—are you okay? Why weren’t you paying atten–”

He blinked up at you, dazed. “That bus stop looks exactly the same.”

“You fell off your bike because of nostalgia?!”

He groaned. “I got caught off guard.”

“By a memory?”

“You looked back at me…,” he mumbled.

You stopped. The world stilled for half a second. Then you shoved that away. 

"You're bleeding," you said, kneeling next to him, choosing yet again to overlook the deeper weight hidden in his seemingly innocent words.

It wasn’t bad—just a scrape at his temple, but the sight still made something twist low in your stomach. You pulled a tissue that you luckily had in your pocket and dabbed at the cut. 

“You’re so dramatic,” you murmured, dabbing at the cut with soft fingers. “What if you end up with a scar? Your fans might actually riot.”

He winced, sucking in a breath.

“You’re enjoying this,” he said, eyeing you suspiciously.

“I’m not,” you said, lips twitching.

“You’re not even trying to be gentle.”

“I am,” you lied—though your touch grew just a little softer.

But your hands had slowed. And now that you were this close, you couldn’t help but really look at him. His hair was a little damp, curling slightly at the edges. There was a faint smudge of dirt on his cheek, and the cut on his brow was still fresh—but none of it dulled him. If anything, it made him feel more real. Not the polished idol with perfect lighting and stage smiles, but Soobin—your Soobin. 

The boy who used to race you home on bikes, who got grass stains on his knees and laughed until he fell over. And maybe that’s why your breath caught, just a little, because his eyes weren’t darting away this time. He wasn’t teasing or laughing. Just looking. Steady. Unafraid.

It felt like the earth was tilting under you.

He reached up, fingers brushing your wrist—soft, tentative. But you stood up before the silence could grow teeth.

“C’mon, head injury or not, we’re riding back. You can’t die dramatically knowing that it was a curb that took you out”

He laughed, clutching his ribs. “You’re such a comfort.”

You didn’t tell him that if he’d looked at you for one more second like that, you would’ve forgotten how to breathe.

Because your pulse still hadn’t returned to normal. And your heart didn’t know if it was from the fall…

…or from him.

—-

The rain started halfway through the ride home. Not a drizzle, not a soft mist. No, the sky decided to absolutely open up on you.

“Seriously?!” you shouted up at the clouds as you and Soobin coasted to a slow, skidding stop under a half-dead tree. Soobin was already laughing, clothes plastered to his skin, hair dripping into his eyes. “This is kind of perfect, though. Right? Very K-drama of us.”

You glared. “I’m going to get sick. You’re going to get sick.”

“I already feel stronger. This is character-building.”

You groaned and dropped your head back. “I hate you.”

“You keep saying that,” he said, wheeling his bike alongside yours, “but I’m starting to think you just like having an excuse to say my name angrily.”

You opened your mouth, ready to shoot something back—but a particularly angry clap of thunder cut through the air. You both jumped.

“Let’s just go home...” You muttered.

By the time you made it back to your house, you were soaked through—shoes squelching, hair matted to your cheeks, laughter still catching in your throats between shivers. You tossed your bike on the porch without care, unlocking the door as quickly as your frozen fingers would let you.

“Leave your shoes by the door,” you told him, kicking yours off with a squelch. “And try not to drip everywhere.”

Soobin peeled his hoodie over his head with a groan. “That’s an impossible task. I’m basically a human sponge.”

You grabbed a towel from the bathroom and threw it at his face. “Here. Dry off, Mr. Sponge.”

“I’ll need a medal for surviving this ride.”

“You’ll get a warm meal and some dry clothes, and you’ll like it.”

He grinned, following you into the hallway. “Wait. Dry clothes?”

"Yeah. I think I still have one of your old sweatshirts lying around" you said over your shoulder, stopping just outside your room. You glanced back at him, standing awkwardly in the hallway, damp hair dripping and clothes clinging to him like a soggy afterthought. He looked like a miserable, oversized puppy.

"If it even fits..." you mumbled under your breath.

Because looking at him now, you weren’t so sure. He’d always been tall, but somewhere between the boy who used to sprawl across your couch and the man standing there now, he'd filled out—broad shoulders, long limbs, that quiet weight people carry when they've grown into themselves. It was weird. Familiar. 

“You still have that?”

You shrugged, trying not to overthink the warmth crawling up your neck. “It’s a good sweatshirt.”

“Can I have it back?”

“No.”

He laughed, and you disappeared into your room, pulling out the hoodie in question—still soft and oversized—and a pair of sweatpants you knew would be way too short on him, but it’d have to do.

You handed him the clothes and pointed him toward the bathroom. “Go. Change. And hang your stuff up unless you want it smelling like mildew forever.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, mock saluting.

When he disappeared behind the door, you exhaled. Why did this feel like something?

You pushed your wet hair back and padded into the kitchen to grab some water, heart still annoyingly thudding. Rain tapped against the windows like impatient fingers, and somewhere in the background, the bathroom door creaked as he rummaged through a drawer for a comb, a towel, who knew.

After changing into dry clothes, you settled onto the couch, towel in hand as you ran it through your damp hair. Without thinking, you reached into your pocket for your phone and opened reels—more out of muscle memory than intention.

You scrolled for a good minute before pausing.

There it was.

A video of Soobin. Blonde Soobin. All black suit, legs spread like he owned gravity, eating some sort of sour candy in that dazed, effortless idol way that did things to people.

The sound was some kind of slowed-down R&B  track. The caption read: “what do you mean he’s not my boyfriend??”

You snorted and shook your head, tapping the screen like you meant to scroll past it.

“You watching fan edits of me?”

You jumped, your heart skipping a beat.

Soobin was standing just behind the couch, freshly changed, a towel draped loosely around his neck as he rubbed at his damp hair. His cheeks were flushed pink—not from embarrassment, but from the lingering warmth of the shower. The faint scent of your soap clung to him, familiar and comforting.

You scrambled for words, panic rising in your chest. “N-no.”

He raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow, the hint of a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “You’re a terrible liar.”

You bit your lip, trying to steady your voice. “It just popped up on my For You page!” you insisted, your tone shooting up an octave in protest.

“That’s not how the algorithm works,” he teased, eyes sparkling as he leaned in a little. “I can literally see you liked it.”

You huffed, flinging your phone onto the couch as if it had personally betrayed you. “I didn’t save it or anything.”

“I’m flattered,” he said, grinning as he walked slowly around the couch and flopped down beside you. The heat radiating from his body made the space between you feel smaller, cozier.

“I didn’t know you were into the blonde era,” he added with mock surprise.

You tried not to look at him, but it was impossible. His warmth seeped into you, grounding you in a way that made your chest ache with something tender and unfamiliar. He smelled like your soap—clean, soft, and utterly real.

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, crossing your arms defensively, “you looked ridiculous.”

He laughed—a low, easy sound that made your heart flutter. “You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

You risked a glance at him—and made the mistake of meeting his eyes.

Something electric passed between you, and it wasn’t from the static of the hoodie. It was heavier. Warmer. Your breath stuttered. You could say this, right? You were friends, right?

“You know,” you started, voice quieter, “it’s kinda unfair.”

He tilted his head. “What is?”

You picked at a loose thread on the couch cushion, pretending not to notice the way his thigh was pressed against yours.

“You look like that, even if you’re just eating.”

He blinked.

The teasing fell out of his expression like someone had pulled a thread loose. You looked at him—really looked.

And there it was again. That thing that hung between you like a held breath. That invisible thread that pulled tighter and tighter every time you got close enough to see each other clearly.

His hand caught your wrist just as you were about to step away.

You froze, startled by the gentle hold, your heart skipping a beat.

His hand closed around your wrist—gentle, hesitant. Like he wasn’t sure if he had the right to touch you but couldn’t let the moment slip away without trying.

You froze.

Not because it was dramatic or shocking, but because your body had trained itself to notice every tiny shift around Soobin. The way his fingers were warm against your skin. The way his thumb hovered just slightly, like he thought about brushing it across your wrist but didn’t.

When you looked at him, really looked, he was already looking away—blushing.

His ears were a little pink at the tips, and the expression on his face was… shy. Maybe even a little self-conscious, like he was trying to laugh it off before you said anything that would make it worse.

“That clip you saw…” he said, clearing his throat, his voice softer than usual. “It’s not really me looking good or anything.”

You blinked. “What?”

He scratched the back of his neck with his free hand, still not letting go of you. “That livestream—the one with the blonde hair and the… uh, the sitting posture.” He made a vague motion, embarrassed. “We were just coming off a performance. Everyone was still in stage makeup, and the stylists kind of go all out when there’s press watching. It’s not really how I… look. Normally.”

He wasn’t even making eye contact now, suddenly fascinated with a dent in the hardwood floor.

“I mean, they style us a certain way. The lighting’s good. The outfits are picked for us.” He glanced up, almost sheepish. “It’s not real-real.”

You didn’t answer right away. You were too busy staring.

Because here was Soobin—not the idol, not the polished version beamed out to millions—but your Soobin. The one who got defensive about reverse parking and couldn’t cook instant noodles without supervision. The one whose hoodie sleeves still hung past his wrists, whose hair was a little damp from the rain, whose voice always got smaller when he was trying to be honest.

And he didn’t know. He didn’t know that the moment he tried to downplay it, you somehow liked him even more. Your heart was doing something dangerous. Something stupid and fluttery. And warm. You smiled, just a little. “So what you’re saying is… the Soobin in that clip is false advertising?”

He huffed a laugh—still nervous, still a bit pink. “Exactly.”

“Well,” you said, pretending to think it over, “I guess I’ll just have to get used to this version of you, then.”

He tilted his head, eyes meeting yours at last. “This version?”

You nodded, trying to act nonchalant even though your pulse was kicking wildly in your throat. “The version that wears wrinkled sweats and drips water on my floor and thinks too much about livestreams from six months ago.”

He smiled, small and real. “That version’s not very cool.”

“Good. I like him better.” You shrugged. “He reminds me of an old friend.”

There was a pause—just long enough to feel like a held breath. His hand was still on your wrist, warmer now. Closer. And even though neither of you said it, something shifted.

He lingered a second longer, still holding your wrist, his thumb brushing your skin in a barely-there touch. Neither of you moved, as if breaking the stillness might shatter something fragile between you.

And then, almost offhandedly—like it wasn’t the kind of thing that would stick with you for days—he said, “You look good too, you know. Even after all these years.”

Simple. Uncomplicated. But it cracked something open in you all the same.

You turned away first.

“I’m gonna go make dinner,” you said quickly, already halfway to standing. “Before I say something else embarrassing.”

He let go, fingers slipping away from yours slowly, reluctantly.

And you walked to the kitchen with your heart in your throat.

Dinner was on the stove.

But it wasn’t the only thing simmering now.

—

You stood in front of the pot, stirring with more intensity than necessary, trying very hard not to think about the compliment Soobin had just casually lobbed at your entire existence. His words still clung to your skin more stubborn than the rain had.

"You look good too."

What did that even mean? You were in an old hoodie, hair still damp, socks mismatched. You looked like a soggy couch cushion with a pulse.

Still. He’d said it. Earnestly. Like he meant it.

You stirred the pot a little too aggressively.

Behind you, Soobin leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching you like he had nowhere else to be—and no desire to be anywhere else. He looked so at ease there, like he belonged in this space, in your space. The hoodie he wore—the one you’d cut around the collar back in high school during a brief “DIY fashion” phase—hung slightly off one of his shoulders now, exposing a sliver of collarbone. Your brain short-circuited every time your eyes drifted that way, completely unprepared for how something so small, so casual, could feel so intimate.

His eyes drifted toward the stove, then to you—quiet, lingering. He wasn’t staring exactly, but it was close. Like he was watching something he couldn’t quite name. Something small and domestic and too warm to look at directly. And when you caught it, just barely from the corner of your eye, it sent a shiver straight down your spine.

He dropped his gaze instantly, toeing at the rug with the tip of his sock like it had personally offended him.

“What… uh, what are you making?” he asked, voice soft. Like raising it too loud might break something fragile.

You tossed chopped onions into the pan with a hiss. “Soup,” you said. “It’s quick. It’s easy. And you probably won’t die eating it.”

Soobin gave a little laugh—short and breathy. “That’s a really strong endorsement.”

“I’ve seen your cooking, Choi. This is already an upgrade.”

He gasped, hand clutching his chest like you’d mortally wounded him. “You don’t forget anything, do you?”

“Three different instant noodles. All undercooked. All aggressively beige.”

“That was years ago!” he protested, a smile tugging at his lips. You nudged him with your hip as you passed behind him. “Just don’t set anything on fire, and we’ll call it a win.”

“I can be helpful,” he mumbled, already reaching for the cutting board. “You just… never let me.”

You glanced at him, amused. “You’re the one who told me not to let you near knives.”

“Right, but like…” He shrugged, scratching at the back of his neck. “That was before.”

You handed him a block of tofu and the world’s dullest knife. “Okay, Chef of the Year. Tiny cubes. No bleeding.” He took it with an exaggerated sigh. “No faith in me at all.”

You turned back to the stove, only to hear the distinct sound of tofu being… destroyed.

You looked. “That’s a massacre.”

“I panicked,” he muttered, eyebrows drawn together like he was concentrating on defusing a bomb. You stepped beside him without thinking. “Here,” you said, adjusting his grip. “Like this.” Your fingers curled gently around his hand, repositioning his hold on the knife. Your chest brushed his arm. He stilled.

The silence bloomed wide. You felt his breath catch—just barely. Like a sound he wasn’t sure he should let out. When he turned his head, your faces were closer than they’d meant to be. Too close.

“I think I’m messing up on purpose,” he said, voice so low it barely reached you.

You blinked. “Why?” He hesitated. His eyes flicked to your lips, then away again, like he didn’t mean to. “Because, uh… getting corrected isn’t so bad?”

Your heart stuttered.

And for one wild second, you thought he might actually mean it. Not in a joke way. Not in a “we’re just friends messing around” way. But in the kind of way that stayed with you, long after it passed. You pulled back quickly, your voice higher than it needed to be. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You totally are,” he mumbled, looking weirdly pleased with himself. You turned back to the soup before your face could fully betray you. “Dinner’s almost done.”

“Smells good.” The way he said it—it wasn’t loud or performative. Just warm. Quiet. Like he meant it and didn’t know how to say much else.

“I can, um… I can set the table,” he offered after a beat, fiddling with the towel draped over the chair. “If that helps.”

“It’s just two plates.”

“Still,” he said, moving toward the cupboard. “Feels like the least I can do.”

You watched him open drawers like he didn’t remember where anything was—even though he’d been to your kitchen more than once. Even though this version of Soobin—the soft one, the one who tiptoed through domestic spaces like they were breakable—was getting harder and harder to pretend didn’t feel different.

By the time you both sat down, your pulse still hadn’t settled.

He waited until you took your first bite before speaking again.

“This feels nice,” he said, toying with his chopsticks. “Like… familiar.”

You looked up. “Familiar how?”

He hesitated. “Like, I don’t know. Like we used to do this all the time. Even if we didn’t.”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. I get that.” There was a pause. He tapped his chopsticks together gently, then added, “Not like this, though.”

Your stomach tightened. Because you knew what he meant. Not with the late rain tapping at the windows. Not with the soft glow of the kitchen light, the quiet between bites. Not with the way his leg brushed yours under the table like it didn’t mean anything… except it kind of did.

He looked down at his bowl, then back at you, cheeks faintly pink. “It’s probably dumb. Sorry.”

“No,” you said quickly. “It’s not dumb.” You both sat in the quiet that followed, tension settling like steam in the air between you. Soft. Warm. Unspoken.

And still—he glanced at you again, eyes lingering a little longer this time.

“This,” he murmured, almost to himself, “is the part I think I missed the most.”

You didn’t trust yourself to ask what he meant. So you took another bite instead. But your fingers itched where they’d touched his. And you could feel the weight of the moment, real and quiet and waiting for someone to name it.

So neither of you did.

You just stayed like that—two bowls between you, hearts too full for your mouths to keep up.

—

It had been a while since you last saw Soobin. A month, at least.

His mom had mentioned he was out of town visiting family—some cousin’s wedding, maybe. You didn’t ask too many questions. Just nodded, said “ah,” and tried to pretend your chest didn’t ache a little every time you passed his house, reminding you of how alone you felt the first time he had disappeared. 

In his absence, the days blurred. You slipped too easily back into your old routine—working, grocery store runs, folding laundry half-awake, hospital visits that drained more than they gave. You didn’t have time to miss him. You barely had time to be anything other than tired.

But that night… that night was different.

The doctor had been gentle, but that didn’t soften the words. Your mom’s condition wasn’t worsening—but it also wasn’t improving. They’d be moving her into a more intensive unit, “just to keep a closer eye.” That was what they always said. A closer eye. As if that made it better.

You left the hospital numb, your body moving through the motions—bus ride, walking home, dropping your keys in the dish like muscle memory. You kicked off your shoes and sat on the edge of your bed without meaning to.

And before you knew it, you were opening your laptop. Not the mindless doomscrolling of nights past. Not some clip appearing on your for you page by accident.

You typed it out yourself this time.

Soobin. Variety show. “Faves Fave.”

Intentional.

The screen filled with thumbnails—bright, curated images of him laughing, grinning, clutching his stomach as he teased his guests. You clicked one. Then another. Then another. It was like oxygen after two weeks of holding your breath.

He looked… the same. Familiar and not. Confident, magnetic, a little shy around the edges if you knew where to look—which, of course, you did.

And then you found that episode.

The one with the “dating coach” guest.  Just a cute concept—flowers, mukbang, the whole club presentation skit . You watched with your chin in your hand, blinking slowly as he fiddled with his sleeves and answered questions with his soft, hesitant smile.

Until the girl leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, and asked with a teasing lilt, “Soobin-ssi, what’s your type?”

He laughed first. Ducking his head, already shaking it. “You’re gonna make me get in trouble…” The staff cackled. The guest encouraged him.

“Someone who… leads?” he finally said, face pink and gaze darting away. “I’m more… I think I’m usually… the follower type.” The camera zoomed in. He rubbed at the back of his neck, looking utterly sheepish.

You sat frozen, mouse hovering over the pause button. Your stomach did something ridiculous.

It was the way he said it—like it wasn’t meant to be scandalous. Just honest. Earnest. And yet your brain short-circuited.

He wasn’t lying.

Over the next few days, you found yourself spiraling. Not in a dangerous way. Just… quietly. Internally. You kept replaying his words—the shy, almost whispered confession that he liked being led. That he was the follower, not the leader. It was a simple thing, but it hit you in a way you didn’t expect.

You found yourself wondering what that really meant—how it would feel to be the one guiding him, to be the person he trusted enough to follow. It was strange how just thinking about it made your chest tighten, your skin buzz with something like electricity. You tried to tell yourself it was just the stress, the exhaustion, the endless waiting for your mom to get better. But you knew better.

When you saw him again, it was like the air between you had shifted, though nothing had really changed. You were hanging out like usual—talking, laughing, stealing quick glances at each other—but now every look carried weight. Every casual brush of your hands or accidental touch sent your heart racing.

Soobin was the same—soft-spoken, a little awkward, but somehow more open, more vulnerable. He wasn’t joking when he said he liked being led. You could see it in how he deferred to you on small things, how he hesitated before making decisions, like he was waiting for your cue. And you? You were barely holding yourself together inside.

The doorbell rang just as you were finishing up dinner—your hands still a little flour-dusted, the kitchen smelling faintly of garlic and rosemary. You wiped them on your apron, heart skipping in a way that was maybe more than just nerves about having company. 

When you opened the door, Soobin was there, standing with that familiar, slightly sheepish smile that always made your chest tighten. His hair was a bit tousled from the wind, and his eyes held that soft, tentative look you’d come to know so well.

 “Hey,” he said quietly, voice low like he was trying not to disturb the calm. 

“Hey,” you replied, stepping aside to let him in. 

He kicked off his shoes like he always did—neatly, side by side by the door, like a good guest. Like someone who belonged.

You didn’t say anything, just followed him with your gaze as he wandered into the kitchen, peering into the pot on the stove.

“Ooh,” he said, drawing out the sound, his voice lilting with approval. “It smells like… actual food. I thought you were just gonna microwave ramen.”

You rolled your eyes, your heartbeat thudding annoyingly fast. “Excuse you. I am a cooking god.”

He was joking. You knew that. Just Soobin being Soobin—soft and playful and a little smug without realizing it. But the way he leaned against your counter, arms crossed, sleeves pushed up, collar loose…

Yeah. This was going to kill you. Because he had no idea.

No idea that you’d spent two nights watching him on screen—smiling, laughing, stupidly talking about his ideal type like it was just another throwaway question. Like it hadn’t rearranged something inside you.

“I’m usually the follower type,” he’d said.

And maybe it was stupid, the way your brain latched onto that. The way your body responded like it had been waiting for an excuse. You turned away quickly, grabbing bowls from the cabinet with more force than necessary. Focus.

“So,” he said behind you, “what’s the occasion?”

“What?”

“You cooked. For me. Without bribery or threats involved.” He leaned over your shoulder, just barely, just enough that you could feel the warmth of him at your back. “Should I be worried?”

You forced a laugh. “Maybe I missed having someone around who bugs me while I’m chopping onions.”

“Ah,” he said with mock solemnity. “So I am but a tool for your entertainment.”

You could feel the heat of him behind you—just barely there, just enough to make it impossible to think straight.

Tool for your entertainment, he’d said.

You nearly dropped the ladle.

God, he had no idea what that did to you.

Your brain, already frayed from too many late nights watching his interviews on loop—watching him smile at someone else, laugh at someone else's joke—now seized on that one line, innocent and offhand, like your nervous system needed a final push toward collapse.

"I’m the follower type."

Most people would’ve let it pass. A throwaway comment. But not you. Not after hearing the way he’d said it—voice low, almost shy, like it had slipped out by accident. Like it meant something.

And now here he was. In your kitchen. Wearing your hoodie. Joking about being your “tool,” like the universe had a twisted sense of humor and was testing your ability to not spontaneously combust.

“Sure,” you managed, ladling soup into a bowl with what you hoped was a steady hand. “An incredibly useful tool.”

He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Wow. I’ve been demoted to household equipment. I used to be someone.”

You bit your lip.

Don’t laugh. Don’t think about what he said. Definitely don’t think about what that would look like.

You turned to hand him the bowl—and instantly regretted it.

He was close. Too close. Close enough that you could see the faint sprinkle of freckles near his collarbone, the soft curve of his throat. Close enough to feel the warmth of him. And worse—close enough to see his smile up close, the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes in a way that felt entirely, devastatingly sincere; his dimples on full display. 

You passed him the bowl with a shallow breath, eyes on anything but his face. He took it gently. But didn’t step away.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice softer now. Too soft. The kind of softness that pried things loose.

You looked up. Mistake number two. His brows were slightly furrowed, gaze searching—not teasing this time, not even curious. Just… concerned. Like he could feel the ripple of something under the surface but didn’t know where it led.

“I’m fine,” you said too fast, too light. “Just tired.”

He didn’t argue, but the way he looked at you made it clear he wasn’t buying it completely. Still, he nodded, letting the moment settle.

You grabbed your own bowl and sat down quickly, needing the table between you. Needing space. Needing something solid to keep you from doing something stupid like saying the actual thoughts screaming in your head.

He sat across from you, legs tucked up like always, like your living room wasn’t any different from his. Like no time had passed at all. Like he hadn’t just accidentally unraveled you with a single joke and a borrowed hoodie.

Like he belonged here.

And you let him. Of course you did. Even now, even with your pulse skipping and your thoughts stuck on that clip. The one where he’d smiled, soft and unguarded, and said “I don’t mind being told what to do,” and the room had laughed, but you hadn’t.

Because it hadn’t felt like a joke to you.

It had felt like a truth. One he hadn’t meant to share. One you couldn’t unhear.

And now it sat in your chest like a secret too big to hold. A glowing ember you couldn’t stamp out.

He slurped a spoonful of soup and let out a satisfied hum. “So what’s in this? Other than the tears you shed while I was gone”

You swallowed hard, fighting for focus. “Garlic. Herbs. A careful measure of what’s left of my sanity.”

He snorted. “Well, it’s seasoned perfectly.”

You gave him a weak smile, cheeks already warm, though it had nothing to do with the stove.

Because this wasn’t just banter anymore. This wasn’t normal. It was familiar, yes—but in a way that felt dangerous now. Because the more he settled back into your life, into your house, into the clothes you used to sleep in—the harder it became to separate who he used to be from what he was starting to mean now.

He had no idea. None. He didn’t know that every casual smile, every soft laugh, every offhanded comment was completely undoing you. You glanced up—and found him already watching you.

You froze.

“What?”

He blinked like he hadn’t meant to get caught. “Nothing,” he said quickly. “You’re just… quiet tonight.”

You looked down at your bowl.

“Yeah,” you said again. “Just tired.”

He didn’t press, but his gaze lingered, and in the stretch of silence that followed, you wondered—just for a second—if he saw it. The shift. The crack in your composure. The storm is blooming just beneath your skin.

But then he took another bite. Casual. Comfortable.

And you sat there, across from the boy who was quietly ruining your life, wondering how much longer you could pretend it wasn’t happening.

—-

EIGHT YEARS AGO

It had been the class field trip to the mountains—the last big outing before graduation.

Everyone had been buzzing about it for weeks: a whole day out of school. You hadn’t planned on going at first—too many people, too much noise—but your friends insisted. And somewhere deep down, beneath your careful excuses, you knew Soobin would be there.

And yeah. Maybe that was the real reason you said yes.

The day itself was easy. Light. The sun shimmered across the water, laughter bounced off the docks. Soobin had helped pass out life jackets, sleeves rolled up, hair pushed back by the wind, that easygoing smile on his face. He was joking with everyone, relaxed—but his eyes kept finding you. When he thought you weren’t looking.

You caught him once. Watching.

He smiled. You looked away.

It should’ve felt warm. Comforting. Safe.

But then, later—when everyone was crowded around a picnic table, eating soggy sandwiches and swatting mosquitoes—you overheard it.

Two classmates, sitting a few feet behind you. One of them is his friend. The other a notorious gossip.

“I’m telling you,” one said, tearing into a juice pouch. “Soobin was gonna ask her to the lake.”

“Her? Seriously?”

“Yeah. Said he’d do it if she said yes to coming. But then he got all weird. Said she shuts down whenever he gets close. But, like, you can tell. He does everything she says. It’s kind of sad.”

You froze, a sandwich half-bitten in your hand.

He was going to ask you. You hadn’t imagined it. The quiet tension, the soft attention—it had meant something. And maybe, just maybe, it still would have meant something.

But then came the second realization. The one that burrowed deeper.

He would’ve done it just because you came. 

Because you said yes.

Because he always listened.

Because he always followed your lead.

And you couldn’t breathe.

Because if he liked you like that—really liked you—then that meant being wanted. Being chosen. Again. And what had that ever brought anyone?

Everyone you loved either left or got sick. That wasn't a coincidence. That was you.

You had started to believe, somewhere in the quiet dark, that maybe you were the problem. That maybe there was something inside you—ruinous and invisible—that made people go. Like you carried a sickness only the people closest to you ever caught.

And Soobin? Soobin was the kind of boy who would’ve followed you straight into the storm, no questions asked.

He didn’t deserve that.

So you shut down.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. You avoided his gaze. Didn’t laugh at his jokes. When the canoes got pulled out, you volunteered for the group on the other end of the lake. You didn’t even sit near him on the bus ride back.

And the texts, later that night? Left unread.

When he approached you in the hallway the next week, worry in his eyes, asking if something was wrong—you shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said. And then walked away.

You never told him why. Never told him that your silence wasn’t about him. It was about you. What you believed you did to the people who loved you.

He didn’t chase after you. Not out loud. But you saw him watching you in class a few times after that. Quiet. Like he was waiting for a sign that never came. The last time you saw him was three days after the hike. He was standing by the bike racks after school, bag slung over one shoulder, kicking gravel. He looked up when you walked out with your friends.

You paused.

He straightened. Took a half step forward. “Hey.”

You stopped. Barely. “Hey.”

“I just wanted to ask if I… said something wrong?”

He looked so unsure, so open, so soft. All you wanted was to walk back toward him. Say something. Say everything.

But you didn’t.

You gave him a weak smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

“Don’t worry about it.” Then you left.

No final goodbye. No explanation. Just silence.

And that was the last time you saw Soobin. Before the auditions, the debut, the lights and cameras and screams and fame turned him into someone the whole world watched. You’d think about that moment by the fence. About how he would’ve done anything for you, if you’d only let him.

But you hadn’t.  Because somewhere deep down, you still believed you were the thing that made people sick. And you couldn’t let him catch it too.

So instead, you let him go. Quiet. Clean. Cowardly.

And the worst part?

You were never sure if he even hated you for it.

—

The soup was gone. The dishes were rinsed, half-drying on the rack.

The living room was dim now, only the lamp in the corner still on, casting long golden light over everything. The night had settled in soft around you—quiet, still, deceptively calm. Soobin was sprawled out on your couch, legs long and socked feet hanging off the edge like he forgot how tall he was. You sat on the floor with your back against the coffee table, scrolling through a playlist on your phone, pretending like you weren’t hyper-aware of his presence. Of the warmth of his thigh brushing the cushion where your elbow rested. Of the way his eyes followed you when he thought you weren’t looking.

You were looking.

“Wanna watch something?” you offered, keeping your voice casual. “You haven’t seen the new season of that show you liked, right?”

“Hmm,” he hummed, quiet for a second. “I kinda just wanna sit like this.”

You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t, really. Your mouth had gone dry. Because the way he said it wasn’t teasing. It was simple. Earnest.

Like this.

With you. In your space. With your things and your scent on the throw blanket and the memory of your hand on his guiding a knife hours ago. He turned his head a little, resting his cheek on the back of the couch.

“You’re really quiet tonight,” he said again. “Not just tired, quiet… It’s like…you’re thinking too much.”

You stared ahead at the wall, the grain in the wood, the dust in the lamp’s halo of light.

“I’m always thinking too much.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “But this feels different.”

You drew your knees up to your chest, arms wrapping around them.

“I just…” You hesitated. “I think I’ve forgotten how to be around you.”

He blinked. Sat up straighter. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” you said, trying to laugh, trying to swallow the tension, “we hang out like this and it’s supposed to feel easy, but it doesn’t anymore.”

He looked at you carefully. Slowly.

And then, softer than before: “Why doesn’t it?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

He let the silence stretch a beat longer, then got up.

You thought maybe he was going to leave. But instead, he walked over and sat beside you on the floor, shoulder-to-shoulder. Close. Warm.

“Can I ask you something?” he murmured.

You turned your head. “You just did.”

He gave you a look, but there was no bite to it. Only hesitation.

“Did I do something?” he asked.

Your heart thudded.

“No,” you said quickly. “No, it’s not—” You exhaled hard. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Then what is it?”

You turned your face toward your knees, hiding your expression. But his voice followed, low and careful.

“You didn’t do anything,” I say again, quieter this time—almost a whisper, like if I say it soft enough, maybe it’ll unravel the knot tightening in my chest.

Soobin stays still. Not a word. No response. He just waits.

And somehow, that silence makes everything harder to bear.

I press my cheek against my knee, voice muffled and uneven. “It just got me thinking… back in high school. That field trip to the mountains.” You don’t know why you’re bringing this up now. 

I feel the faintest tilt of his head, a subtle sign he’s listening, but he doesn’t meet my eyes.

“After that trip…” I trail off, twisting the sleeve of my shirt around my fingers, the fabric rough beneath my skin. “I don’t know why—” The words catch in my throat, and the room feels heavy with unspoken things. I swallow hard. “I don’t know why I stopped talking to you.”

Lies. Lies. Lies. Because I know the truth, but it’s too fragile, too raw to say out loud.

Finally, I steal a glance at him—just for a moment.

His face softens. There’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes, maybe something else too. Something like understanding. Or forgiveness.

And in that quiet exchange, it feels like a small crack opens in the wall between us—fragile, but real.

He shifts beside me, the couch groaning beneath his weight. Then, softly:

“I didn’t know,” he says.

His voice is different now. Not teasing. Not soft for the sake of comfort—but careful. Honest.

“I thought…” He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck like he always does when he’s nervous. “I thought maybe you didn’t like me. That I was too much.”

My heart stutters.

“You weren’t,” You say quickly, instinctively. “You weren’t too much. You were just…”

You falter again. He looks at you now—really looks at you—and you feel like he’s seeing through every version of you you’ve built up over the years.

“I overheard some guys talking about you,” You keep going, twisting the sleeve of your shirt around your fingers. “They said you were going to ask me out, maybe confess something.”

So much silence. 

“And it just... freaked me out.” 

You don’t say it lightly. You say it like a confession, like a weight lifted from your shoulders but also like a wound reopened. Because it costs you something to admit.

“I didn’t know how to deal with it,” You admit, voice catching a little. “The idea that you might like me... that I might have to say it back.”

You finally glance at him—just for a second. His face softens. A flicker of surprise, maybe something else.

“So I did the worst thing,” You confess, taking a shaky breath. “I avoided you.”

You swallow hard. “I told myself it didn’t matter. That I’d forget. But I never did.”

He stays quiet longer than you  want. You think maybe You’ve ruined everything.

“You know,” he says after a long moment, “I used to think about that field trip a lot.”

You turn toward him.

“I kept wondering if I said something wrong. Maybe I embarrassed you.”

“You didn’t.”

He nods. “I know that now. But back then…”

His voice drifts. There’s a different kind of sadness in it. Not bitter. Just the kind that comes from remembering a version of yourself who didn’t know better.

“…I guess I needed you to say this more than I realized,” he finishes.

You both don’t say anything for a while after that. The silence between you isn’t empty—it’s full of things finally said, finally heard.

Then—like the Soobin you’ve always known—he cracks a crooked grin, glancing sideways at me.

“So…” he says, light but sincere, “now that we’ve established we were both emotionally constipated teenagers…”

You snort. “You’re the worst.”

He nudges your shoulder again, softer this time. “Just saying. We had a lot of potential for a coming-of-age drama. Tears, longing stares, tragic misunderstandings.”

“And a bad soundtrack,” you say, trying to keep your voice light, though something twists in your chest. “You would’ve done well with a sad ballad.”

“Oh, definitely,” he murmurs, looking forward now, like he’s watching a movie that only he can see. “Fade to black. Cue emotional credits.”

You smile faintly at that. Or maybe you try to. Because the warmth between you—the comfort, the quiet—it feels like something that could settle. Something that could stay.

But then the silence stretches again. Not like before. This one sharpens. Something shifts in the air, almost imperceptibly, and you feel it before you hear it. The way Soobin suddenly exhales, the weight in his shoulders changing.

You glance at him.

He’s not smiling anymore. His eyes darken with something unsaid—an emotion too raw to voice but too heavy to hide.

In that moment, the space between you changes. It’s no longer just a shared past. It’s a crossing point.

A line drawn. Between what was… and what could be.

And somehow, without words, you both know it.

This is the turning point.

The moment everything begins to change. His eyes darken, intense and searching, as they lock onto yours. The world narrows until it’s just the two of you—breath mingling, hearts hammering in sync.

guys...i reached the 1000 word block GO TO PAHT TWO

[csbenthusiast]

summary: soobin and yours love language is teasing each other.

author's note: enjoy this little drabble TOTALLY INSPIRED by that clip of soobin holding the door close with one hand and beomgyu fighting for his life at the other side. like man, hold ME down pls. (jokes, jokes).

warnings and tags: sfw content • a tiny teenie bit suggestive? idk, it's soobin man, dude says unhinged things all the time • strength kink? DON'T CALL ME CRAZY OK.

word count: 0.7k.

you’re being annoying. 

his words, not yours — but to be fair, you’re also definitely doing it on purpose.

you don’t even remember how it started. something stupid, probably. the wrong ramen flavor. a teasing comment about his laugh. maybe the fact that he took your charger again and claimed it was his. it doesn’t matter. what matters is that you’re on the offense now — sulking dramatically, pacing around the dorm like a cat with its tail in the air, tossing petty little jabs over your shoulder just to see if you can make soobin crack.

he doesn’t.

he’s sitting at the kitchen table, one elbow resting lazily on the wood, his long legs spread too far apart and one brow raised like he’s watching a mildly entertaining drama. the other boys are around too — beomgyu on the couch watching with a bag of popcorn like you’re the newest episode of TXT’s to-do, yeonjun passing behind you once with a muttered “oh, it’s one of those nights,” and taehyun shaking his head from the armchair like he wants to be surprised but simply isn’t.

you and soobin. five weeks into your very new relationship and already obnoxiously comfortable with each other. you bicker, you flirt, you get on each other’s nerves in a way that somehow just makes the boys trust you more.

they’re over it. they love you, but they’re over it.

especially when you declare — very loudly — “i am going home,” and march straight toward the hallway with your hoodie half-on and your dignity half-gone.

“you’re not going anywhere,” soobin says.

“watch me,” you shoot back.

you grab the doorknob. twist. pull.

it doesn’t open.

you frown. tug harder. nothing.

then, a slow creak as the door swings halfway back inward — just enough to reveal soobin’s tall frame standing directly behind it, one hand pressed flat against the wood. his expression doesn’t change. he doesn’t even look winded.

“you’re not leaving until you apologize,” he says, voice low, measured, like it’s the easiest thing in the world to hold you hostage with one goddamn hand.

you blink at him.

“soobin—”

“use your words.”

“i am using my words—”

you throw your whole body into it now, pushing against the door with everything you’ve got. and he just stands there. one hand. one hand. he might as well be leaning on a counter, the way his weight doesn’t shift an inch. the smirk playing at the corner of his mouth is barely there — but it is there.

somewhere behind you, beomgyu mutters, “this again?”

“last week she locked herself in the bathroom,” yeonjun adds. “he carried her out like a bag of rice.”

taehyun doesn’t even look up. “bet he’s using his left hand too.”

but you don’t hear them. you’re too busy panting, pushing harder, because this is now a matter of pride. the audacity of him. the ease. the way your feet skid back on the floor while he just… watches you.

then, without warning, the resistance drops.

you stumble forward as the door swings open freely — and before you can crash to the ground, soobin catches you. two hands this time. one at your waist, the other at your wrist. steady. warm. still way too calm for someone who just flexed every muscle in his upper body like he wasn’t born to do it.

you glare up at him. “you let go on purpose.”

“you’re welcome.”

“you’re a jerk.”

“you’re cute.”

you blink. then stare harder. “you can’t just— compliment me after— that’s manipulation.”

he leans in. very close now. his hands haven’t left your waist.

“would it work?”

you hate how fast you go quiet. hate the way your heart trips in your chest. you hate him. you want to kiss him so bad your brain shuts down for a full second.

then, from the living room, kai calls out, “can you two kiss already so i can finish this game in peace?”

you nearly jump.

soobin doesn’t even flinch. he just steps back, finally — smug, victorious, insufferable — and offers you a soft little shrug like what can you do?

you stomp past him into the hallway. but you don’t leave.

and later — after you’ve cooled down and shared your stolen hoodie with him on the couch, pressed into his side while the movie plays — beomgyu throws a pillow at your head.

“you’re lucky we like you,” he mutters.

you grin, unapologetic. “i know.”

soobin just pulls you closer.

and maybe — just maybe — next time, you’ll test him again. just to see if you still can.

author's note: i deserve a trophy for only writing canon soobin bc TELL ME THIS MAN WOULDN'T REACT LIKE THIS IRL. (this is very much a joke, i don't actually know him, thank you). anyways, enjoy me being crazy for this man!!! send me a request • my masterpost

[csbenthusiast]

prove it. — yeonjun x fem!reader

cw. yeonjun is implied to be an idol but it's not super relevant to the story, reader is jealous of another woman, established relationship, chubby!reader implied, friends to lovers implied, kissing, cunnilingus, nipple play, fingering, use of a butt plug, penetration (protection not mentioned), eating ass (f. receiving), a bit of exhibitionism, multiple orgasms, hickeys, marking, edging, masturbation, joi, "fat" as a positive descriptor, "I love you," pet names (baby, babe, love, my love), swearing, lube, mostly porn w little plot tbh, aftercare. notes. hello! i haven't posted in forever and i feel like i haven't written smut in a while so i may be a little rusty, lol. wc. 6.3K

Looking down at the city through the glass railing that lines the rooftop, you draw your knees to your chest. No matter how hard you try, staring at the city isn’t enough of a distraction to divert your mind from the images of them. But your jealousy is unwarranted; you know that. You weren’t even dating him at that time, but he knew how you felt and he felt the same way about you, but the timing simply wasn’t right. You were about to leave for three months and that’s no way to start a new relationship. He did anything and everything to try and get you off his mind—drinking, partying, sleeping with strangers, dyeing his hair, and…dating her.

Thinking about you sitting in endless hotel rooms, longing for him while he was kissing, hugging, fucking another woman is too overwhelming. That’s why you’re here. You’d wanted to surprise him after a long work day, but instead of finding your Yeonjun taking a coffee break alone in a dance studio while he scrolled Instagram, you found her all over him. 

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. It didn’t matter if he was calling after you. You just ran and found yourself on the roof. But he knew where to find you. He explained he was trying to put a stop to it, but it still hurt. You couldn’t stop yourself from asking who she was even if you tried. But he always told you about his relationships and dates. He was your best friend; you told each other everything. But he kept her a secret from you.

“We never overlapped, did we?”

“Of course not. You know I wouldn’t do that.” Reaching for your hand, he brushes his thumb across your knuckles and asks, “You okay?” You nod, but he knows you too well. “Stop lying.” 

“I dunno…” you shrug. “I can’t sit here and say I didn’t hook up with anyone while I was gone, but I never dated anyone. Just kinda stings.”

“I’m sorry,” he says seriously. “Listen,” he sighs. “I know it’s weird I dated her then, but I love you more than anything. You have absolutely nothing to worry about.” And you want to believe him, really you do. Especially while you look into his eyes only a few inches away from yours while on the rooftop of his agency, stories above anyone else, alone as the breeze chills your nose and he looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

“Prove it,” you say softly. He hums. “Prove it. Prove you love me more than anything.” 

Seconds pass before he pulls you by your ankles, wrapping your legs around his waist and his lips fall into yours, kissing you so amazingly. His kisses still make you dizzy. Then he guides your body to lay on the ground, trailing his lips down your neck and chest, pulling down the hem of your shirt to access your skin, all while working at the button of your jeans. 

“What if someone sees us?” You ask, breath heavy. There’s a low chance of that happening, but you can’t help but think about it. 

“Let them.” Fully pulling your jeans off your legs, goosebumps prick your skin as it makes contact with the cold air. Stuffing his nose into your pussy over your panties, he inhales while his hands wrap around your thighs. Shaking his head to dive deeper, his nose teases your clit. 

“Yeonjun…” you groan, letting your head fall back while his hair slips between your fingers. He’s not wasting a single second. Desperately moving your panties to the side, he spreads your pussy lips, dragging his tongue up your pussy so deliberately you may faint. The tip of his tongue teases your clit forever, never quite touching it.

When he finally flicks his tongue over your clit, you gasp and your back arches off the roof while your hip rolls accompany his movements. God, he’s so fucking good at eating you out. Sometimes you can’t believe it. It’s genuinely the best oral you’ve ever had. Slow at first, getting you all worked up and wet, then he dives right in, making your head reel. 

Then he slides two fingers inside you, curling them up, perfectly hitting the exact right spot. He is absolutely gonna be the death of you. You moan, blissfully watching as a plane goes by thousands of feet above you. Can they see you? You’re not quite sure. Either way, it’s thrilling to think about. A couple hundred people watching as the sexiest guy in the world makes you feel like the sexiest woman in the world. 

“Oh my fucking god,” you say, your chest heaving. He comes up for air, but doesn’t take his fingers out of you. As he makes his way back up to your face, he kisses you slowly, letting you taste yourself on his mouth, and finishing it off with a lick across your bottom lip. 

“Let me take you inside,” he suggests. “I wanna worship your body for hours,” he whispers against your lips, nudging your nose with his own. “Wanna show you how much I love you. How much I crave you. How much I need you,” he says, punctuating each power word—love, crave, need—with a stroke against your g-spot. “Wanna make you feel things you’ve never felt before. Wanna make you forget every word you know except my name,” he keeps adding on to this incredible list, leaving wet kisses all over you. “Wanna make you so wet you drip all over my bed. Wanna make you cry from how good I’m making you feel. Wanna make you cum so many times you’re begging me to stop,” he says. “And then I’d make you cum again. Wanna taste every inch of you.” Finally taking his finger out of you, he sucks and licks every last bit of you up. “Wanna leave marks on you that stay for days so you never forget how much I love you.” 

Which is more delicious? Him whisking you off to his bedroom to fuck you raw or him fingering you on the roof? The way your heart races at every glance of each glowing window across the street is almost too good to give up but the thought of him filling you to the brim with his cock is too tempting. And when he pulls his face away just enough to look down at you with those gorgeous-as-fuck eyes and his black hair barely hanging in front of his face and asks—

“Is that okay?”

Your body crumbles to dust. That contrast of whispering the dirtiest shit you’ve ever heard along with the sweetest form of gaining consent—literally asking—is overwhelming. Part of you scoffs at how something so bare minimum, something so basic decency as consent, turns you on so much. 

But fuck you need him more than ever. 

“Fuck yes,” you say confidently. 

He barely gives you enough time to slip your jeans back on before lifting you to your feet to lead you to the roof access door, down the elevator, into his bedroom, and onto his bed. 

While you wait on his bed for whatever’s about to happen, you watch as he takes his time unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. What shall he do with you? So many parts of him want to rip your clothes off and ravage you with fast, hard, and dirty sex; cover you in spit and sweat and cum until you’re trembling and begging for rest. But another part of him wants to do exactly what he said: worship your body for hours. Slowly, carefully, intentionally, tenderly. 

Ditching his t-shirt, he smiles at you—not in an I’m gonna fuck you so hard way, but in a You’re perfection kinda way. Letting him take your clothes off so carefully like he’s unwrapping a vintage book waiting to be adored is one of the best parts of it all. Showered in love and kisses and attraction and compliments for who knows how long. 

“I love your body so fucking much,” he says as his lips brush your collarbone, but his hands are everywhere else—your tits, tummy, hips, ass, thighs. Taking a beat to look into your eyes, he says, “I meant it.” You nod. “I’m gonna worship your body for hours.” 

“I don’t know if I can wait that long to come, babe…” you trail off. 

“Hm…” you can feel his smile against the sensitive skin under your breast. “Who said you have to wait? You can come as many times as you want.” 

Relief floods every part of your body. You could already tell you weren’t gonna last long but he absolutely loves making you wait. Edging you until you’re begging him to let you—wait. His words from earlier, Wanna make you cum so many times you’re begging me to stop—echoes in the back of your mind. A couple orgasms is exactly what you need right now. 

“Lay on your tummy, love,” he says gently. Face down, you hear him rummage through his bedside table drawer. The smell of eucalyptus lavender massage oil fills the air before his strong hands work through your tense shoulders, back, and ass. Perhaps you dozed off because the next thing you know, he’s turning you over to lay on your back. Then his fingers work through your arms, kneading your tits so good your breath hitches in your throat, then up and down your waist. 

As you start to drift off again, his hand carefully slides up your thigh to gently cup your pussy—nothing vulgar or pushy, just resting his hand there while his other hand brushes all over your skin. You succumb to him, letting your hips roll as gentle as his touches. Then your body slowly welcomes his middle finger inside, no deeper than his first knuckle. 

Are you floating? Flying? Spinning? You can’t tell—just that it’s warm and dizzying and that you can’t get enough of it. Then his fingers spread your pussy lips with slow precision and your breath catches. Your eyes burst open, but he shushes you, brushing his thumb across your brow, coaxing your head back onto the pillow. Your lashes flutter closed, the weight of everything melting under his hands. You ache at the loss of his finger from inside you, only for him to circle your pleading clit with a maddening patience. The touch is slick and deliberate, then his other hand finds your breast, palm gliding over your nipple in slow, teasing spirals. Every nerve is tuned to him as everything shrinks and dissipates like he has all the time in the world.

No more than three lazy circles later, he stops teasing your clit. One thumb stays on your nipple, warm and firm, while he leans down to flick his tongue over the other. Oh. He knows how much you crave this—how nipple play drives you crazy—and this time, he’s drawing it out. Every touch, every word, every slow stroke leading up to now has left you raw in the best way, so keyed up you don’t know whether to squirm away or pull him closer.

It doesn’t take long until you’re gasping, rolling your body involuntarily, and feeling so on edge you’re about to fall off something. And all he’s doing is playing with your nipples—rubbing then circling, biting then licking, teasing then soothing. Spit covers your nipple before he backs off, blowing cold air to perk it up. Gentle bites flicker your body like sparks, subtly like fireflies. Internally begging for something—his cock, his tongue, his fingers, anything to be inside you—but you don’t say a word because this alone feels too good to stop. 

Then it sneaks up on you, a shiver that starts somewhere deep and unnamed. You’re holding it, but only for a second. Then you let it overcome your entire being. It crashes over you, an orgasm so strong it’s hard to believe it came from nipple play alone shocks you until you’re seeing stars. But it’s no longer those gentle fireflies. It’s lightning—bright, electric, and unstoppable. 

While you catch your breath, he waits patiently and silently, not daring to ruin this moment. Giving you space to relax for a moment while he hums against your collarbone, skating his lips across your skin while he leaves tiny kisses that make your ears burn. 

And fuck. It finally sinks in. You came. Just from him playing with your nipples. He’s never gonna let you live this down after tonight. And you know he’s gonna beg you to try it on him. 

Right now, though, he doesn’t care about himself. You’re the only thing on his mind. And he’s ready to get back to it. 

“That’s my girl…” he murmurs, smug and low. “You’re so fucking sexy like this. I want to memorize every way your body falls apart for me.” And fall apart you do. Your legs are still trembling from the last orgasm, but he’s already bringing you back up for another. “I just want you to feel good for me,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. “That’s all I care about.” His middle finger finds your clit again, slow and careful, drawing soft circles that make you melt all over again. “You feel that?” he asks. 

But there’s no way you can form a sentence, but he doesn’t really need an answer—he can feel it in the way your body responds. You simply nod with a blissed out, closed-mouth smile across your lips and he chuckles, basking in how right he is—he makes you feel so fucking good. 

It’s almost embarrassing how much you crave this: slow, gentle, sweet, simply caring for you in the best way possible. Is it selfish that you want this to last all night long? Are you not allowed to be selfish once in a while? And it’s not like he’s not enjoying this—you can tell he loves this from how hard he is alone. But his subtle hip thrusts make that even clearer. 

“Baby…” you whine pathetically. 

“What is it, love?” He asks sweetly. “I’ll do anything you want, just tell me what it is.” 

“Your mouth,” you murmur. 

“Of course,” he hums, placing a gentle kiss to your shoulder, then your arm, and makes his way down toward your pussy where your clit is begging for his tongue all on its own. It doesn’t take long before you’re edging on euphoria again. You’re chanting his name, which then makes you chuckle as his Wanna make you forget every word you know except my name, plays in the back of your mind again. And you suppose he noticed too because you feel the smile tugging at his lips against your core.  

How was he able to get you here again so quickly? Your body craves his touch and it surrenders to him every time. The heat builds low and fast, curling and billowing in your stomach like a firework ready to fire. There’s no point in holding back. Not only has he proved how much he loves you, he’s proven he can pull another orgasm out of you like it’s nothing. 

But that doesn’t make this one any less intense. It’s sharp and deep and crashes through you in an insistence that leaves your fingers clawing at the sheets and your breath caught in your chest. The fireworks fill your body like a night sky—sudden, bright, and everywhere at once. 

“How many orgasms are you planning on giving me tonight?” You ask breathlessly. 

“Hm…at least five,” he says. Can you even handle five of his orgasms in one night? You’re not even halfway through and you’re exhausted. But who are you to say no? “I’m just trying to figure out what to do with you next.” 

Still breathless, you mumble, “My plug—” trying to support yourself on your elbows, but he slyly encourages you to lay back down; he’s not letting you lift a finger tonight. 

“Oh…” he says cheekily. “Oh, fuck,” he chuckles. You hum in question. “Just thinking about it in your little asshole. Made my cock twitch,” he says matter-of-factly as he starts looking through his bedside table drawer. It doesn’t take him much time to find it but first, “Get on your knees, my love.”

You do as you’re told, shaking your hips to put on a bit of a show. Well, as good of a show as you can give when your legs feel like jelly. Then his big hands grab your hip fat. To simply feel and squeeze. You can’t hear, “I love your body so fucking much…” enough. Your heart flutters every single time as if it's the first time you heard it. And, “I love you so fucking much, baby…” 

And he’s continuing to prove it, you’ll give him that. Then he spreads your cheeks, shoving his face right between them while his tongue circles your hole, earning an insatiable moan as you resist the urge to double over in pleasure. How do you always forget how good it feels when he eats your ass? 

It’s simply so vulgar—going from him worshipping your body in such a loving way to absolutely devouring your asshole with his strong hands on your hips, squeezing so harsh you’re certain he’ll leave marks and groaning as if you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. 

He’s always had a thing for your taste, even outside of the bedroom. Can’t help it; you’re too yummy…he’d whisper after licking your neck once the elevator door closed you off the world. Or leaving the tiniest kitten lick on the back of your hand before a kiss. Just a little secret between the two of you. But when you’re in bed, his fascination is on full display. So many parts of you glisten with his spit—tits, thighs, collarbone, lips, clit. One harsh spank to your asscheek wakes you up again, fueling the need for more. 

“Baby, please…I feel so empty.” 

He chuckles—low and amused—and you hear the soft click of the lube bottle opening. A beat later, the coolness hits you as he rubs the gel around your hole with his thumb. It jolts you, making everything feel hotter in comparison—your skin, your breath, his body behind you. But he’s not rushing. He never does. You picture his face: focused, patient, and just a little smug.

Then you feel him shift, and you know he’s slicking up the plug, almost certainly more than necessary. You relax as best you can, bracing for what’s about to happen. It always takes a bit of time. There’s the stretch, the sting, that moment where your body wants to resist—but he knows how to help you through it. And fuck, it’s always worth it in the end. The way it makes you feel full, needy, desperate—like he’s taking care of you in the filthiest way possible. 

“Tell me when it hurts, love.”

“I know,” you say with a smile, voice soft but sure. He always checks, always looks out for your comfort. He presses in slowly, carefully, the plug stretching you open millimeter by millimeter. At first, it’s fine—just pressure—but then the burn edges in and your breath catches. “Okay…hurts a little,” you murmur, not quite wincing but close. 

Immediately, he pauses and pulls back just a bit. “Take a few deep breaths for me,” he says, his voice low, grounding. One hand stays on your hip, steadying you, the other rubbing soothing little circles along your lower back while you focus on your breath. 

It becomes a rhythm. A slow, patient dance of pushing in, holding still, easing out, and beginning again. Each time he sinks in a little deeper, your body adjusts a little more, until the edge dulls and gives way to something warmer, thicker, heavier. Then it’s finally fully seated inside. You let out a sigh of relief, giving yourself time to adjust to the feeling of it with more breathing and relaxing. He’s perfectly content watching the shimmer of that cute pink heart gem poking out of you.

Then he rubs soothing strokes down your hips and asks, “What now, hm?” 

“I told you I feel so empty,” you whine. 

“I’m not fucking you yet.” A strangled noise escapes your throat, unintelligible yet unmistakably disappointed. “You’re getting at least one more orgasm before I’m inside you.” Rummaging through his side drawer again, you know he’s going for a dildo but—

“I don’t want anything else inside me before you,” you say. “I want the first thing I feel with the plug in to be you—just you, nothing else.” Moving awkwardly behind you, he’s unsure of himself for the first time tonight. “Guess you’ll have to figure out another way to make me cum…” you sing. 

“Get on your back,” he says, voice smooth but firm. His hands trace the curve of your hips, obviously killing time while he brainstorms. “Hmm…” His eyes search everywhere, and you can’t help but giggle. You’ve got him stumped. But then that smirk appears, slow and wicked. “Touch yourself.”

“What?” Your voice is higher than you’d like, breath catching in your throat.

“You heard me.” He tilts his head, eyes darkening. “Touch yourself.” Heat blooms across your skin, embarrassment and arousal twining together. You haven’t felt this flustered since the very first time he undressed you—that same nervousness, that same raw vulnerability. “Don’t be shy.”

You bite down on your lip, dragging your hand lower, fingers trembling. You’re caught in that delicious limbo, equal parts exposed and excited, your face hot as you fight the urge to hide under the covers.

“It’s okay, baby,” he coaxes, voice low, a little rough. “Why are you nervous?”

A shaky breath escapes and you look away. “I dunno…I liked you being in charge,” you say, the words slipping out in a rush. 

“What if I told you how to touch yourself? Would that be better?” Reaching for your dominant hand, he kisses your palm, closing his eyes to savor the feeling of your skin against his lips before turning your hand over to kiss the back of it. Once he flips it back over and his lips meet the pulsepoint of your wrist, your spine tingles. Then he sucks on your thumb before letting spit pool in his mouth to douse your first two fingers, making them slippery and wet. “As if you need any help getting wet.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask with a laugh. 

“Touch your nipples for me,” he whispers, dodging your question while you do as you’re told. With the fire your body’s been feeling all evening along with the shyness you feel, they’ve become soft and tired. But, under your touch, they spark back to life, pebbling once again. “That’s it, baby.” It’s silly how much of an affect those three words have on you. “Look at you…” he groans, tilting his head to look at your pussy. “Check.” 

“Huh?”

“I made you so wet you’re dripping all over my bed,” he says, casual as anything. “Just checking that off my list from earlier.”

You roll your eyes, a smug smile playing on your lips. “Pretty sure I did this to myself.”

“The first two orgasms didn’t contribute?”

You shrug, playing coy. “Nah. You just warmed me up.”

He snorts, brows lifting. “Oh, is that right?” He moves like he’s about to stand, brushing his hands off dramatically. “Well, if you’re so good at it, I guess you don’t need my help.”

“Wait, come back,” you say, the words slipping out before you can catch them. He turns around immediately, grin wide and shameless. “You’re still missing something off your list.”

“What’s that?”

“You haven’t left any marks. I might forget how much you love me.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he says, drawing it out, his eyes bright with that mischievous gleam. “You want me to leave some marks while you touch yourself?” You nod, perhaps a little too eagerly. His grin widens as he leans in, his lips a whisper away from your neck. “You’re not touching yourself yet, are you?” he asks, voice all slow and syrupy. You hum, shaking your head. “Good,” he says, sinking his teeth into the soft curve of your shoulder. 

He takes his time, leaving one dark mark, then another, each hickey followed by a slow, soothing lick. “Start moving your hand down to your pussy,” he says. “But don’t touch yourself yet.” He nips at your ear, hot breath making you shiver.”Just drag your fingertips across your skin.” Your stomach jerks at the tickle and it makes your breath hitch. “Now the insides of your thighs.” Your hand inches closer to your center, your breath coming out in shallow, shaky puffs. 

“Tell me you love me,” you gasp. 

As his expression softens, his thumb traces slow circles over your hip. “I- love- you-” he says, each low and velvety smooth word punctuated by a kiss. He closes the gap between his lips and your neck again before whispering against your skin, “And I’m gonna make sure you don’t forget it.” He sucks gently, then harder, a deep, deliberate mark blooming just above your collarbone. His tongue soothes over it, slow and lingering. “Want everyone to look at you and know how good I make you feel,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

“Can I touch myself yet?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whimper.

He pulls back just enough to catch your eyes, his gaze heavy and intense. “No. Not yet.” He pauses, his thumb stroking over that fresh mark. You nod in defeat. “Remember earlier when I pressed my palm over your pussy, baby?” You nod again. “Do that again.” You follow his instructions, your palm pressing down, letting relaxation spread through your body as you sink deeper into the mattress. His lips are a paintbrush, each hickey blossoming like a petal against your skin. Some marks are soft, faint as the blush of a rosebud. Others are darker, deeper, rich as crushed violets, spreading slowly beneath his mouth like flowers unfurling in the dark. “Feel how wet you are.” 

“I’m so fucking wet for you,” you say, a whimper escaping you. 

“I know you are,” he says. “Cup your pussy again,” he whispers. “Grind your hips against your palm,” he says, telling your body exactly how to move. “But that’s still not what you want, is it?” You shake your head. “I know,” he soothes. “I’ll get to your clit in a bit.” 

Clenching your jaw, it takes everything in you not to touch exactly where you need most. He chuckles evilly. “Please…” 

“Not yet, babe,” he chuckles. “Touch just around your clit, not right on it. I love hearing you whine and beg for me.” He takes a few deep breaths, trying to steady himself.

“Baby, please let me touch my clit. Please…” 

“Go ahead. Touch your clit.” You finally indulge in yourself, letting your moans and body rolls roam freely. “That’s it.”

“God, you feel so good,” you say, throwing your head back.

“That’s all you,” he coaxes.

“I love it when you talk to me like this.” The knot in your stomach tightens—his voice along with your fingers are delicious. “I’m so close,” you say, close to being out of breath.

“Don’t stop,” he insists. You don’t change anything—you don’t need to. You know your clit better than anyone and the way he’s playing with your body and leaving marks adds that much more pleasure. 

“Cum so good for me,” he says and you push yourself over the edge for the third time that night, moaning loudly through gritted teeth, letting the sparks fly, lighting your whole body ablaze once more. “Just like that,” he praises, along with all kinds of sweet things. 

“I could do this to you forever…”

“Look how well you listen…”

“You’re such a good girl for me…”

When you finally open your eyes, your vision is hazy, your body weightless above the sheets. His gaze is waiting for you, dark and warm. He’s leaning over you, hair tousled, chest heaving like he’s just as wrecked as you are.

“That was fun,” you say, a breathless laugh spilling out, caught between a moan and a sigh.

He smirks, his thumb tracing one of the love bites on your chest. “Yeah?” he asks, voice dipping low. “Liked being good for me, huh?” You nod, a shiver running down your spine when his thumb presses a little harder, enough to remind you how each mark got there.

Two more left. 

And thank fuck because he’s  finally on top of you, stroking your pussy lips with his hard cock. If you thought he’d finally jump straight into it, you’d be wrong. He teases you with his words and hands, brushing your most sensitive spots and whispering dirty shit to you. 

“Can’t wait to feel you squeeze around me like you don’t want to let go…”

“I’m so lucky I’m the only one that gets to make you feel like this…”

“You belong to me and me alone…”

But he’s still just teasing. “How long do you think I should make you wait again?” He hums, watching you writhe. “How long should I keep my cock from you?” You whine while he circles your clit with the tip of his cock. “Right there?” You shake your head. “No? You were begging me to let you touch your clit ten minutes ago and now you don’t want me to?” He tsks. 

“Please,” you practically shout. “I can’t take it anymore…”

“Yes you can, baby,” he smirks. But he places his cock right at your entrance and his own confidence falters, groaning at the slightest touch of your pussy. “Shit,” he chuckles. His hips inch forward so slowly, letting his head inside, his mouth falling open. Already full from just his head and your plug, you feel everything just that much more. Then he pulls back out. You groan again, throwing your head back in a fit. 

“Fuck you,” you laugh, resting your forearm over your eyes. He snickers but doesn’t know if he’ll last much longer than this himself. But you’ve still got two left. Either he needs to get you to cum as fast as possible—which might be difficult after three orgasms already—or he needs to pace himself significantly. Teasing you again, he lets his head prod your pussy, but then he finally pushes in as slow as he can physically force himself. It’s exhilarating and sensual and romantic and dirty. 

The way the plug makes you feel along with him inside you is incredible, perhaps a bit too much but in the best way possible. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so full and so his. Your eyes go wide at the sudden intensity, your body caught off guard by how overwhelming it is. But then you exhale slowly and surrender to it and let yourself bask in the feeling, relaxing all your muscles to feel everything—the shape of him inside you, the way his cock presses onto your plug, his hands on your hips. 

The muscles in your body melt like glass in a fire, slowly and gently as you relax into the sensation of the thick weight of him inside you. The plug is tight inside, pressing just right while his cock shifts and nudges against it with every slow thrust, sending sparks through your spine. His hands are firm on your hips, grounding you, guiding you, worshipping you. 

Speechless. That’s the only way you know how to describe this. You let him fuck you slowly and deliberately, succombing to the feeling of him and nothing else. Your body is slack as you let your throat react by itself, not holding any sounds back—you can’t even hear yourself over the immense amount of pleasure he’s giving you. 

There’s this intense sense of trust and security in it, in letting him overcome your body; you know you can let your guard down with him. He’d never do anything you wouldn’t want. Everything is sparks and glitter and sugar. You can’t even hear him, if he’s even talking at all.

Then he rubs your clit with his thumb and you wake back up. “Fuck—” you gasp. It must’ve been a bit more sudden than you realized, because it made him pause, but it wasn’t long before he started back up with a smile. When he adds his other thumb to your nipple, that’s it. An echo of an orgasm is in the distance, like he’s calling you from across a valley, urging you to jump, telling you you’ll fly. 

And you believe him. You answer him, doing what he’s asking by jumping off your cliff, but you don’t fall. You fly just like he said you would. Your orgasm is swift like a tornado and carries you through it, gusts of pleasure and want and need swirl around you as you let yourself trust him in the rawest way possible. 

The tornado settles into a gentle breeze, bringing you back down as he holds you there, letting you feel everything gently, knowing exactly when to stop pushing your buttons so you don’t get overstimulated and it becomes impossible to make you cum again. 

“How was that?” You can only muster up a lazy nod. “Can you give me one more, baby?” He asks, rubbing soothing strokes up and down your thighs. Blissed out, you nod happily. “Of course you can.” 

He might start out slow, but once you’ve adjusted again to the feeling of him sliding in and out of you, along with the plug stretching you comfortably, he picks up speed, finding the speed that both of you like. The way his demeanor shifts once he’s taking what he needs takes your breath away. His eyes darken, his brows furrow, and his jaw is clenched tight with desperation. 

It’s fast and rough and downright nasty the way he fucks you. He’s got your legs spread wide open while he holds them in his arms, thrusting into you fast and hard, skin slapping on skin making it sound that much more desperate, and he’s breathing so fast you know he’s not holding himself back any more. 

And this new dirty way of fucking you makes your pussy and ass feel so full and sensitive and overstimulated after the four orgasms tonight. Your nipples are tired and spent, clit’s worn out and puffy, lips swollen and red from kissing, hips and neck and chest covered in hickeys and love bites, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want more, more, more. 

It should be impossible to come again after all that’s happened tonight, no? How the fuck does he do it? How does he still make your pussy clench around his cock after hours that should’ve left you immobile? You can’t help but give credit to the amount of care he’s taken with you. Not just tonight, but every single time you’re together. The way he looks at you—it’s the same whether you’re across the room or spread open right underneath him: an aching adoration that you feel in your core. Like literally nothing could ever tear you two apart. 

But it overcomes you once again. Bursts of pleasure whip around your body as he fucks you right through your fifth orgasm that night. Five. What the fuck? Sometimes you don’t even cum five times a week, let alone five times a night. And to make it even more delicious, he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t stop thrusting into you until his hips stutter while he spills inside you, filling you with cum while his mouth drops open, groaning like it’s the best he’s ever felt. 

And it very well could’ve been. Fuck, edging himself for hours to lead up to one of the best orgasms he’s ever had. It was all so worth it, worshipping your body for hours, showing you just how much he loves you and can’t imagine being with anyone else but you. 

You’re still coming down from your high when he pulls out, the sudden emptiness makes you miss him already. His hands are firm on your hips, but these are gentler squeezes this time. The room is thick with the scent of sweat and sex, the silence heavy before he presses his forehead to yours, still slightly out of breath. He says confidently, “I love you so much, baby.” You may be the giddiest you’ve been all night—doesn’t matter how many times he’s said it tonight.

It doesn’t need to be said how exhausted you are. You whimper as he eases the plug out of you, and his hand immediately returns to your thigh, steadying, soothing. “I know,” he murmurs, voice thick with something more than lust. “You did so well.” It’s worship in its quietest form—soft touches and whispered reminders that you’re his favorite person in the whole world. He moves slowly, gently. Not just because you’re weak and spent, but because you’ve given him everything, and he knows it.

The towel is warm and damp when he presses it between your legs, and you can’t help the soft sigh that escapes you. “Up,” he says gently, patting your leg, and you groan in protest. “I’ll carry you if I have to, but you’re going to the bathroom.” You try to glare at him, but your body is too soft, too pliant, too thoroughly taken apart. Still, you shuffle up onto wobbly legs, bumbling to the en-suite. 

By the time you’re back in bed, he’s already waiting, holding out a glass of ice water and you can’t help but think that maybe this is what true love really looks like—your body aching, your heart steady, your mind blissfully blank—because he knows how to care for you even when the sex is over. Especially then.

You curl onto your side, and he’s there immediately, pulling you back to his chest, tucking you into the warmth of his body. You belong here. His fingertips trace lazy paths along your arm, slow and soothing, like sand slipping through fingers—gentle, rhythmic, grounding.

Up and down. Over and over.

The world fades. Your muscles unwind. And with his breath against your neck and that soft, steady touch guiding you, you sink into sleep—safe, satisfied, and loved all the way through.

[csbenthusiast]

ᝰ　CHILDHOOD　( 최수빈 )

genre fluff , parent au , soobin focused (very little mention of reader) , girl dad!soobin   cw babies/small children , everything seems like a big deal when you're a little kid , crying , not proofread   wc 1481   request yes   note oh how i love girl dad soobin :(   net @kstrucknet

Soobin’s daily life quickly changed from late nights gaming with his friends and lazy mornings to strict bedtimes and a longing for sleep that he could never attain after his first daughter was born. They say you can never truly be prepared for kids, and Soobin could attest to that. Parenting hit him like a truck, leaving him scrambling to get back up on his feet without time to think. 

Every action, reaction, and decision had consequences he couldn’t quite predict when he stared into the big boba-like eyes of his eldest, Dahyun. While there was nothing he loved more than holding his newborn in his arms and watching her little face scrunch into a million different emotions, the happy moments just as easily turned into a thunderstorm in the blink of an eye. 

The first time Dahyun got sick, at just a few weeks old, Soobin swore that his heart was going to stop on him. He had never been so sick to his stomach worrying, and it only got worse when she had to be admitted to the hospital. You had never quite seen your husband as distraught. Your strong, stable, calculated Soobin who always seemed to have the answer to every problem was anxious enough to make your stomach churn. 

You learned then just how far out the limits of his love were. Soobin loved his daughter more than anything in the world, and you weren’t sure whether you were quite ready to see it every day for the rest of your life. His love, which you thought was already boundless and uncountable, doubled after the birth of your second daughter. 

With a bit more experience and a fraction more confidence than when Dahyun was a newborn, you watched Soobin with his second daughter even more intently than you had with the first. The smiles he shared with her, eyes always finding their way back to you. Little Dabin’s features, which Soobin swore resembled yours perfectly, were remarked on daily by Dahyun’s discerning eye. Her love for her younger sister was automatic, and you were sure that it would never fade every time she proudly told you that while she would always be daddy’s favourite, Dabin was her favourite.

While Soobin sometimes brought up trying for another child, you knew your little family was complete the moment Dahyun ran to you in tears one night, crying over the realization that Dabin would not be two forever, but that in just a week, the little girl would turn three. No amount of assuring or explaining could calm your little five year old, even with the help of your husband’s sensical arguments, and you decided at that moment that your two daughters already completed the household. Your husband easily agreed. 

Dahyun had been a morning person from the time she was a year old, and Soobin still struggled with her early mornings. She had always been a quick learner, leaving your husband tripping over himself to keep up with her. She took her first steps at just eight months, and started speaking in semi-complete sentences by the time she was two. Her sassiness and independence made you both proud and worried. She didn’t like depending on anyone but herself, even when she was too little to know what was best. Soobin had to work twice as hard to make sure she knew he was always there when she needed to fall back on someone. 

Dahyun hated reminders of her own incapability. Like how at six years old she still wasn’t able to reach the microwave. Her tiny socked feet struggled, standing on their highest tippy-toes. Even with the few weeks of ballet lessons she had taken when she was four, she still couldn’t get enough height to reach the handle or press the buttons. Her bowl of cold oatmeal stayed neglected on the counter, and Dahyun fought the reality of her current situation.

She had already told her dad that she would have absolutely no trouble preparing her own breakfast. She knew exactly how much butter and sugar she liked in her morning oatmeal, and she had watched you operate the microwave thousands of times. She was so confident in her own abilities that the thought she physically wouldn’t be able to reach the appliance to complete the task had never crossed her mind. Admitting she needed help would be admitting defeat; admitting she had been wrong; admitting that she had overlooked something so simple and so obvious that it would strip her of her own perception of her intelligence. 

Dahyun had far too many thoughts for the regular six year old, and worried twice as much as the average adult, and Soobin was well aware of his daughter’s propensities. 

Which is why when she had boldly stated that she would fix her own breakfast with a big smile on her face, Soobin only bit back his own dimpled one and encouraged her with a trustful gaze. But, as soon as Dahyun tromped towards the kitchen with determined steps, Soobin followed her immediately, Dabin in tow, anticipating when he would have to step in and remind his eldest that she couldn’t do everything by herself just yet. 

“Can’t reach, Dahyun?”

Dahyun turned to the voice of her father, dark eyes that mirrored her fathers more and more as she grew older, growing teary at the sight of him.

“Dad, am I dumb?” she asked with a trembling voice. 

Soobin furrowed his brows, his hold on Dabin loosening slightly. He watched as a tear rolled down Dahyun’s cheek, quickly followed by a second and third.

He was no stranger to the fussiness of kids, whether it was Dabin sobbing after getting put down for a nap when she was a newborn, Dahyun’s tantrums as a very stubborn toddler, or her upsets during school. But something about this was different, and it hit Soobin’s chest hard. Seeing his daughter questioning her own intelligence in tears at just six years old was too much for him to handle. 

He let go of Dabin completely, grabbing his eldest instead and wrapping her up in his arms. The hug was tight and safe, and it made Dahyun sob harder. 

“Why would you think that, sweetie, hmm? Because you can’t reach the microwave?” Soobin kept his own voice from stuttering, trying to treat the issue at hand like any other upset, and not panic his daughter further by how worried he was at the words leaving her mouth. 

“If I can’t even get breakfast by myself. What will I do when Dabin starts school? I promised her I’d make breakfast for us on her first day!” Dahyun cried, hugging her father tighter.

“You’re not dumb, Dahyun. You’re so smart, and thoughtful, and kind. And you’re the best big sister to Dabin. You don’t need to be able to make breakfast to be considered smart, or capable, or a good sister, okay? Especially not at six years old.” 

Dahyun mulled over the words for a moment, sniffing back a few lingering tears. Her eyes glanced towards Dabin who immediately smiled at her. There was no one as obsessed with Dahyun as her little sister, thanks to how closely they had been since she was born, and if anyone was able to cheer her up, it would certainly be Dabin.

Soobin noticed the little spark in Dahyun’s eyes return and her demeanour calm a bit. She looked up at the microwave again, still clearly hurt at the fact that she couldn’t reach it, but less down on herself because of it. Soobin smiled.

“Do you still want to make breakfast yourself?” he prompted. Dahyun nodded eagerly, looking at her dad as if he had all the answers. While he didn’t have all of them, he did have the one that would solve the current problem. He pulled out a little step stool from the closet and unfolded it. 

“I know you’re a bit scared of heights but this will help you reach the microwave. I’ll make sure you don’t fall,” he reassured her, his heart warm as she stepped up and was able to reach the handle of the microwave. 

Her joy was contagious when she pulled out the bowl of warm oatmeal and stepped down from the stool. Even Dabin started to giggle seeing her sister so proud of what she had accomplished. She carefully placed a piece of butter on top of the steaming oats, followed by a spoon of sugar. She set the spoon in the bowl delicately like she was garnishing a michelin star meal, and after all that, her eyes still wandered up to her father’s face in search of his approval. And just like always, there was that adoring smile that Soobin always gave to his daughters no matter what they were doing. But this time, it held a bit more tenderness.

txt taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @90steele,, @ddeonudepressions,, @cham3li,, @wolfmoonmusic,, @98-0603,, @weird-bookworm,, @candewlsy,, @blossominghunnie,, @amara-mars,, @wccycc,, @seunghancore,, @ujisworld,, @sobun1est,, @bananabubble,, @talkingsaxy,, @sxmmerberries,, @talking-saxy,, @nicholasluvbot,, @cupidslovearrows,, @50-husbands,, @yudaies,, @stannwjnss,, @gong-fourz,, @nonononranghaee,, @forever-atiny,, @stantxtforabetterlife,, @loserlvrss,, @lexeees,, @cupidslovearrows,, @hyukabean,, @nicholasluvbot,, @i03jae,, @lilbrorufr,, @tmrwsuns,, @sea-moon-star,, @hanwoolvhs

[csbenthusiast]

Under the curtains

Pairings: Mc! Choi Soobin x Mc! Reader

Warnings: Kissing

Genre: Fluff

You were nervous to say the least, I mean you were going to be an mc with one of the hottest idols recently. Choi soobin, killer looks, killer voice, killer everything. Every girl in his presence melted away by just seeing him. And now you have to interact with him? Oh it’s gonna be hard.

Your manager had tried to reassure you, saying something along the lines of “He’s nice, really down to earth kid, you’ll like him!”

But your manager wasn’t the one saying the MC cue line while looking into those deep brown eyes.

You glanced at your reflection in the mirror, taking a deep breath and trying to calm down, muttered your intro again under your breath and tried to ignore the forming knot on your stomach.

Then, the door creaked open, and there he was.

Soobin stepped in tall and lean and impossibly present. Like he hallway light had done him a favor. He smiled when he saw you, a warm, friendly one, showcasing his dimples, and your brain short-circuited for a moment.

“Hey” he said, giving you a casual wave. “You’re my new partner right?”

Partner. That did something to your stomach.

You stood up, quite stiffly. “Uhm yes- I mean, yes!I’m–Hi”

He chuckled, a bit amused by your reaction but not in a mean way regardless. “nervous?”

You gave a sheepish laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only a little” he said, finally walking further into the room. “Don’t worry first day’s are always weird, but don’t worry, I’ll help you. We’ll have fun.”

He gave you a grin that made you almost lose your balance.

Fun huh?

Fun was one word for it.

Rehearsal started shortly after. You’d barely have time to register and talk with Soobin before you were rushed onto the brightly lit stage, now buzzing with stagehands and producers adjusting mics. The cue cards fell slippery in your hands from how sweaty you were. You told yourself it was just the gloss coating and not your sweaty palms.

You and Soobin took your marks. His presence next to you was like standing beside an actual heater, warm and oddly comforting, but also a little overwhelming.

He leaned in slightly, whispering from the corner of his mouth, “If you mess up, just smile like it was a joke. Works every time.”

You turned to look at him and instantly regretted it. His face was so close. And those eyes? Even more intense under the stage lights. You quickly looked away, heat crawling up your neck.

“Got it,” you said, barely above a whisper.

The director called for a run-through. Music played. Lights flashed. And somehow, you managed to keep it together. You stumbled once on your line, tripping over the group name of a rookie boy band with too many syllables, but Soobin picked it up smoothly, his voice flowing in without pause. He gave you a slight nudge and a reassuring nod. You smiled, genuinely this time.

When the rehearsal ended, Soobin turned to you, still all relaxed charm. “Not bad for a first time.”

“Thanks,” you replied, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “You made it easier.”

He raised a brow. “I have that effect on people.”

You blinked, caught off-guard. Then he laughed, showing that full, heart-stopping smile again. “Kidding. Mostly.”

Oh no. He was funny, too? You were doomed.

Later, in the green room, you found yourself seated beside him on the couch, going over the cue cards one more time. Soobin’s leg casually bounced next to yours, occasionally brushing against it. It was doing weird things to your focus. You hoped he didn’t notice. Spoiler alert, he definitely noticed.

“So…” he began, turning toward you, “do you want to run the intro again? We’ve got time.”

“Sure,” you said, grateful for a reason to focus on literally anything other than his knee brushing yours.

You cleared your throat and started: “Hello everyone, and welcome to—”

“Wait,” he interrupted, holding up a finger. “You’re too stiff. Try saying it like you’re greeting a friend you haven’t seen in forever.”

You gave him a look. “So… more casual?”

“Exactly. Like this.”

He straightened up, smiled at you, and in an exaggerated, overly-friendly tone said, “Hey girl! It’s been forever! You look amazing, have you been working out?”

You snorted before you could stop yourself.

He grinned, clearly proud of the reaction. “See? Now you try.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile on your face. “Hey girl, you’ve been thriving! Love that shirt. Very… mint choco chic.”

Soobin clutched his chest in mock offense. “Wow. You just roasted my outfit and called me ice cream. I’m hurt.”

You both dissolved into laughter, and for the first time all day, the nerves loosened their grip on you.

By the time the live taping started, you were still nervous, but it wasn’t paralyzing anymore. Soobin stood next to you, steady and calm, his voice warm in your earpiece during commercial breaks. Each time the camera turned red, he glanced at you with that reassuring spark in his eyes, and your lines flowed smoother than they ever had in rehearsal.

As the final segment wrapped up, the two of you waved at the camera, faces full of energy. The moment the “cut” was called, the tension broke. You let out a sigh and turned toward him.

“Finally, we’re done.”

He offered you a high five. “Told you we’d have fun.”

You slapped his palm, laughing. “Okay, okay. You were right.”

Soobin tilted his head slightly, his smile turning a little softer. “You’re good at this. You just needed a push.”

You looked up at him, heart skipping a beat. “Thanks… for being that push.”

“Anytime, partner.”

That word again. Partner. But this time, it didn’t make you want to crawl under a table. It made you want to keep going.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all.

Or maybe it would be. Just… for a different reason now.

Because if Soobin kept looking at you like that, with those soft eyes and secret smiles…

You weren’t just in danger of tripping over your lines.

You were in danger of falling.

Hard.

He was still watching you, his hand slowly dropping from the earlier high five, but not lowering completely, then his gaze fell into your lips.

Your breath caught as you sensed it, then his eyes fell back to your eyes. It was like all the sounds had muffled now, like it was just you and Soobin.

Then his voice dropped low.

“Can I do something kind of crazy?”

You blinked “like what?”

He didn’t answer with words, no.

Soobin leaned in slowly, giving you the time to back off, to pull away. But you didn’t, instead your breath hitched and your eyes fluttered shut.

And then, his lips met yours, soft and a bit hesitant at first. Like he didn’t want to rush it. But when you leaned in too, when your fingers curled just slightly into the fabric of his jacket, the kiss deepened, still gentle.

It wasn’t long, just a few seconds, and yet he still made you feel tingly and weak.

When you pulled back, his eyes were still closed as if memorising the feeling.

Then he smiled and opened his eyes “maybe..not that crazy”

You blinked, catching your breath “maybe not”

“Guess we’ll have to work on our stage chemistry,” he teased gently, voice silky. “Wouldn’t want people thinking we’re too believable.”

You smiled, unable to help the way your cheeks ached from it. “Too late.”

And just like that the nerves you had were long gone now.

[csbenthusiast]

— centimeters

summary : as your game night with the boys reached an unusual peak in boredom, huening kai suggests a few rounds of the pepero game to get the dopamine pumping. however, what kai didn't consider was the several-month long crush that you had on soobin, and what you didn't consider was the fact that soobin would choose you as his partner. at the end of the night, when the tension is suffocating you and your mind is swirling with "what-if's," soobin offers to give you a ride home. you accept, not realizing in the moment just how mutual that tension was. pairing : choi soobin x fem!reader genre: friends to lovers, mutual pining, non-idol au, smut, fluff wc : 7.8k warnings : pwp (like 50-50), unprotected sex, oral + fingering (f receiving), some pet names (baby, honey), multiple orgasms, creampie, both reader and soobin are really horny but especially soobin <3

a/n : i haven't written smut in literal years so this was purely driven by how whipped i am for choi soobin <3 inspired by txt playing the pepero game bc it's been on my mind ever since that vid dropped. never been so jealous in my life. txt masterlist .

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“how about the pepero game?” kai suggested, earning varying kinds of stares from the group.

for the last ten minutes or so, you and the boys had been bickering in kai’s living room about which game was next to tackle on your game night list. you had already exhausted all the games kai had on his switch, as well as almost half the board games he found tucked away under his bed. you were on a roll, and had no means of stopping quite yet; but there was no remaining game that anyone could agree was exciting enough to satisfy your boredom.

that was until kai piped up amongst the chatter, anyway. taehyun gave him a blatantly disgusted look, his brows furrowed and his eyes widened slightly, while yeonjun and beomgyu immediately jumped at the idea with loud agreements and wide smiles. they had gotten a few drinks in them by now, it was only a matter of time before they got reckless.

you, however, were nervous. the point of the pepero game was to make the stick as short as possible, but the real reason people played it was just to see how close two people could get to kissing. that wasn’t exactly what made you so nervous, the thought of a near-kiss actually didn’t phase you. you saw your relationship with the guys as entirely platonic, nothing more than friends – at least, for all but one of them.

a few months ago you started developing some sort of feelings for soobin, a tall, handsome, and sweet character, and it’s only been growing and festering ever since. it started with small fleeting moments of adoration, just letting your gaze linger for an extra second or smiling softly when he entered a room. you realized you might have felt something real for him when you anxiously wanted to be around him, even though your heart would pound if you got too close. eventually he became all you could think about, your thoughts filled with fantasies of what it would be like to feel his embrace, his lips on yours. to feel his one of his large hands on your hips, the other wrapped so firmly around your neck.

god. that’s why you were nervous – even with the slimmest chance that the two of you would be paired together, what would you even do? how were you supposed to control yourself?

you laughed along with the guys for now, but your gaze quietly shifted over to soobin, sitting quietly on the other side of the room.

your heart jumped.

your eyes met, and neither of you looked away.

at first, you were just testing him; trying to figure out if it was just a coincidence or you had caught him staring. you got your answer when his dark eyes didn’t flinch when you looked at him, his expression calm and composed even though you felt like your heart was about to leap right out of your chest.

you could only take so much before you looked away, turning your attention back to the rest of the group in a daze. why was he already staring at you? why did he look so calm? what was he thinking?

“then who wants to go first?”

yeonjun’s voice grounded you in reality again, your mind suddenly coming back into focus. you didn’t even notice how the some guys had joined you on the floor, sitting in a circle, or how kai had opened a couple of boxes of pepero, keeping one for the game while dispersing the others.

“we’ll go first.”

your eyes immediately flicked to soobin at the sound of his voice, your heart sinking deep into your chest as your eyes met once again. he took on of the sticks from kai’s hands, slowly standing from the couch and making his approach.

he chose you.

the loud cheers and and laughter that came from the rest of the group was drowned out by the onslaught of thoughts that came flooding into your mind. half of you was convinced that he would make it quick, only opting to have you as a partner since you were close, and probably more bearable to work with than anyone else. at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel that nervousness settle back in. what you thought was a slim chance of happening was now becoming a reality, and you already felt the heat rising into your cheeks before he was even within two feet of you.

as he knelt down in front of you, his eyes never left yours. his expression was still serious at first, until his eyes flicked down to your cheeks. the corners of his lips tugged up into a small smile, and immediately you knew you were caught. you silently prayed that the other guys were too drunk to notice your embarrassed flush, too.

soobin lifted the stick in his hand to your mouth, his smile widening.

“here, take it.”

your heart fluttered, eyes never looking away from him as you silently obeyed. his hands reached out to gently grip your shoulders, his warm hands sliding ever so subtly up the sleeves of your t-shirt so that he was touching your skin.

“just go already. your score is gonna get beat anyway.” yeonjun chirped, but you were far to enveloped in soobin’s gaze to listen.

“i wanna take this seriously, actually. do you think i’m playing to lose?” soobin looked away from a moment, shooting a grin towards yeonjun before immediately turning back to you.

before anyone else could complain, soobin turned his head and slowly started biting down on the stick you were holding so tensely between your teeth, not being able to stop yourself from squeezing your eyes shut. you wished for something like this, maybe even dreamt about it. his face mere centimeters away, large hands holding you still as he drew his lips closer to yours; but you didn’t want this. you wanted to be alone, to have him to yourself. you didn’t want anyone else to see how easily you lost yourself in his touch.

you felt the weight between your teeth become lighter and lighter, your heart pounding at the thought of just how close soobin would already be if you opened your eyes. but you kept them shut, hands clasped tightly in your lap as you desperately wished that you two were alone. you wished that he could stop being so polite and proper for the sake of the game, your desperation only getting worse as you felt soobin’s hot breath against your lips. you thought maybe he would really do it, maybe he would close the distance and secretly wanted the same thing you did.

but you were sorely disappointed when his breath disappeared and he pulled away, your eyes opening wide as soon as he did. you watched as soobin held up the stick to the ruler in yeonjun’s hands, a proud expression washing over his features as he turned back towards you, hand shooting into the air.

“1.2 centimeters. not bad, right?” he beamed.

you agreed, suddenly breathless.

did he have any idea what he did to you?

that question haunted you for the rest of the night as the boys satisfied their dopamine craving with a couple more rounds of the pepero game, followed by a couple more rounds of drinks between yeonjun and beomgyu. it was only when they started getting out of hand that kai cut the night short, fearing for the cleanliness of his apartment, taehyun taking on the burden of driving them both home.

with taehyun now in charge of babysitting two drunk men and kai busy cleaning up the mess they left behind, you figured the best plan of action was just to call a taxi. you didn’t live far, so whatever the fee was wouldn’t be too much of a hassle to pay. as you stepped out of kai’s apartment building and into the street, however, a tall, familiar figure waited for you.

“y/n- you’re not actually gonna call a taxi, are you?” soobin’s eyes watched you carefully as they landed on you. the way you perceived those eyes, the way the looked at you and met yours so carefully, was utterly distorted now. all you could think of now when he looked at you was the way he stared you down earlier that night, holding the stick to your lips and shamelessly asking you to just take it.

“it’s no big deal, it’s not like i have to go that far.” even though you didn’t want to, you tore your eyes away from soobin, eyes searching the city streets instead.

“there’s not many drivers around at this hour, though. it’s cold, and it’s getting late.” you could feel soobin still watching you, the sound of his car keys jingling filling the otherwise quiet air.

“let me drive you home.”

you didn’t make any snappy movements. you didn’t flinch or flick your head up at the sound of his words. you just stared blankly at the other end of the street as your heart fluttered, head slowly turning up to finally look at him again.

“you don’t have to, really. you live in the other direction, anyway-”

“please. i insist.”

there was something different about the tone of his voice. something spilled out, something that was overflowing and threatening to unravel, even though he seemed to be doing such a good job with keeping it in check. or maybe your delusions were getting the better of you. maybe your feelings for him were twisting reality, and you were starting to ignore the facts just to believe what you wanted.

logic was telling you that soobin had given you a ride home several times in the past, and this was just him worrying about you as your friend – but your feelings were telling you that this was a chance you couldn’t pass up.

“okay, okay.” you smiled, following him to his car. “let’s go.”

the first few minutes of the car ride were silent. not uncomfortably so, but part of you still felt tense, somehow. there was an inkling of a thought pacing back and forth in your head, making you wonder as you glanced over at soobin.

god, he was beautiful. the slight curve of his nose, his pouty lips, the pale glow on his skin. the way his jacket accentuated his shoulders, the way his hand so leisurely held the bottom of the steering wheel. if you focused hard enough, you could smell the faint scent of his cologne spreading through the air, filling your lungs and clouding your senses.

you wondered: were you really imagining things, or did he feel it too?

“i didn’t make you uncomfortable, did i?” soobin asked, glancing briefly at you. “during the pepero game.”

“no, not at all.” your mouth went a bit dry as you spoke, the question catching you off guard. “why do you ask?”

“you just seemed so tense. your cheeks were flushed and you were gripping your hands so tight your knuckles turned white. you know, you could’ve said no if you didn’t want to do it.” he chuckled lightly, but there was a sense of worry evident in his voice.

“oh, that?” you looked back out the window, mentally scolding yourself for making yourself so obvious. the worst part is that he interpreted your tension in the complete opposite way – you wanted it. in fact, you didn’t get nearly enough of it. if only the other guys weren’t watching it all happen, maybe you could have made that clearer.

“sorry, if that’s how it came across.” regaining your composure, you looked back over at soobin. “i was just nervous, that’s all. it kind of awkward doing that while everyone was watching, don’t you think?”

soobin grinned, letting out another light laugh, “definitely. but it was kind of fun, wasn’t it?”

you smiled to yourself, but couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread settle in your stomach. the way he talked about it was so casual, as if his breath against your lips and his hands so carefully holding your frame was a normal occurrence – but it wasn’t normal, not to you. didn’t he see that? didn’t he notice how hot he made you feel?

“soobin.” his name slipped out from your lips before you could even stop it. there was so much you wanted to say, and all the words you had been working so hard on keeping under wraps were threatening to burst right then and there.

he hummed in response, and from the corner of your eye you could see him periodically glancing over at you. he was waiting for you, like he was asking you to continue, and for some reason you wanted nothing more but to make it happen for him. you submit, each and every one of your secret thoughts beginning to spill out one by one, his gaze making you too weak to stop it.

“i was nervous, and it was because everyone was watching,” you paused, trying to swallow the dryness in your throat, “but i.. i wanted it, you know. i wanted to kiss you.”

the couple of seconds of silence that followed your words seemed to stretch out for hours. you could’ve sworn that you felt the air in the car shift, turning tense and heavy, the weight of it nearly suffocating you. your mouth opened as you rushed to reverse the damage, but the words died in your throat as soobin spoke up first.

“really?” he asked, though there was a certain softness to his words. there was a smile in his tone, and as you looked over at him, you could see how the corners of his mouth seemed to lift after your confession. it made your head spin.

“well-” originally, you were going to take it all back, snatch your words right out of the air and bury them somewhere not even you would remember; but that damn smile of his was urging you to keep going. “yeah, really. and you seemed so competitive that i thought maybe you would really do it, even if it was just for the game. but you pulled back last second.”

a few more seconds of silence, then soobin spoke again, “the guys wouldn’t have stopped talking about it if we did. i couldn’t do that to you.” he chuckled, and so did you. he had a point.

“but i was nervous, too. i think that’s why i ended up pulling back, it felt like my chest would explode if i didn’t. but i wanted it, too.”

..he wanted it, too?

the subtle beat of your heart started to pump harder within your chest, so excited by the mere words soobin was speaking that it flipped and turned every which way. your eyes didn’t turn away from him; they watched and studied his expression, and that’s when you caught it. the pale red shade that rose into his cheeks, making him adjust himself in his seat and nervously fiddle with the steering wheel. he was just as nervous as you were.

your voice softened as you carefully tread the conversation, fearing that one wrong choice of words could shatter all the progress you’ve made.

“do you still want it?”

your eyes locked for a second, only a second, but that was enough to get a glance into him. you saw the way his eyes widened every so slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to ask such a question. but with the way that rosey flush spread into his ears, his mouth shifting as he bit the inside of his cheek, you could tell he liked it.

the car came to a slow as soobin skillfully pulled in front of your apartment building, one hand pulling off the wheel to put the car in park. finally, he looked over at you properly. the nearby streetlight shone through the windshield, illuminating his features perfectly. you could finally look into his eyes again, watching his gaze soften and seem to sparkle slightly in the light.

“even if i say yes, how will i get it?”

his question made your heart skip a beat. there was a shift in his tone; it became a bit curious, a bit suggestive. his eyes glanced between your eyes and your lips, and he didn’t seem even slightly ashamed when you caught him. you even noticed how he seemed to lean in just a bit closer, the scent of his cologne stronger. he wanted a certain answer from you, even if he didn’t say it.

and you were going to give it to him.

“can you stay for a bit?”

the walk to your apartment floor felt like it lasted hours, the thick tension between you two palpable. you weren’t rushing to leave the elevator or to grab your keys out of your bag to unlock your door, even though you felt like that was more appropriate than slowly and silently strolling through the hallways. it was starting to drive you crazy – but then again, you would rather do this than do anything rash. what if he pushed back, what if he was scared away?

you pushed open the door to your apartment, soobin hovering behind you as you slid off your shoes and shrugged your coat off your shoulders. that was until, suddenly, your coat was properly lifted off your frame, your head spinning around to see soobin had taken it in his hands. he hung it on the hooks you had near your door, next to his.

but he never looked away from you. he looked at you in a similar way to earlier, in a way that nearly made your legs buckle beneath you. slowly, he approached you. your head gradually tilted up to meet his eyes, as his tilted down to meet yours. one of his hands gently took hold of your shoulder, and you wondered if he could feel the goosebumps on your skin as he traced down your arm. he took your hand in his, while his other hand reached up to your face, gently cupping your cheek. he held you so gently, as if holding you too tightly would shatter your skin.

“is this okay?” his voice whispered into the dark, silent air. you nodded, and in response his face slowly started to draw closer to yours. unlike earlier, you didn’t close your eyes. your muscles didn’t tense and you didn’t squeeze your hands into tight fists. you watched him come closer and closer, until he stopped mere centimeters away from your face.

“this is where i stopped, during the game.” you could see a small smile grow over his features, as if he was proud. “you really want this?”

you chuckled at the fact he was even asking you that. you could feel his hot breath against your lips. the scent of his cologne flooded your senses, clouding your thoughts and dizzying your mind. you felt extra sensitive to his touch, even the slightest movement from him sending a chill down your spine. he was driving you crazy, and he didn’t even know it. that’s what made his question so ridiculous.

“more than anything.” you whispered, and his smile widened. he must have been playing with you, or he wouldn’t have looked so smug as he closed the gap between the two of you.

the feeling of his lips pressing against yours was like a sweet release, a weight being lifted off of your chest. you had wanted this for months, although they felt like years, and it was beyond anything you could have possibly imagined.

the taste of his lips was sweet, intoxicating you and getting you hooked on the flavor. he felt soft, almost fragile. he kissed you carefully, memorizing the way your lips danced and paying close attention when the rhythm changed. he leaned deeper into you, and you leaned back. your tongue grazed his teeth, and he granted you permission to enter.

without quite realizing it, the small entryway of your apartment became hot with the warmth radiating from your bodies. you felt it in your face, where soobin’s hands were touching, and especially where you wish he was touching. the gentle kiss you two started with devolved into something hungry. needy. the hand soobin had been using to so carefully hold your face was now on the small of your back, pulling you close until there was no distance left between you.

your hands reached up from where they had been resting on soobin’s chest to instead tangle themselves in his hair. he kept leaning into you until you had no choice but to stumble back against your wall, and for a moment he pulled away. his hands moving to snake down your sides until they hooked under your thighs, lifting you up so effortlessly it sent a wave of heat straight to your core.

“where’s your room?”

his question practically knocked the wind out of you as you breathlessly answered:

“door on your right- there.”

you pointed to the door just ahead of your entry way, soobin following where your finger guided him. as he shoved the already ajar door completely open with his shoulder, he continued pressing deep kisses into your lips, the breathing between you two getting heavy and ragged.

within seconds you were being laid down onto your sheets, one of soobin’s hands supporting your back as the other pressed into the mattress, caging you in. you were waiting for him to lean down and allow you to intoxicate yourself with the taste of his lips, but for a few moments, he didn’t move. he merely hovered over you with half-lidded eyes and his pouty lips agape, waiting for something to say.

“i wanna do more than just kiss you, y/n. i want so much more..” he confessed, butterflies swirling in your stomach at his words. you knew by the lustful glint in his eyes that his intentions were sinful, naughty; but the way he spoke so softly felt so pure.

you almost felt giddy – if only that giddiness wasn’t being so loudly overtaken by a burning desire.

“i won’t stop you.” you whispered, your arms snaking around his neck as your hands found their way back his tousled hair, “i want it, soobin. i want you.”

it was only after your words that a switch seemed to flip in him, like the mutual desire between you too was finally understood. he let out a shaky exhale and dived into you, placing a kiss onto your jaw before latching onto your neck. you gasped at the sensation of sweet, gentle kisses being pressed into your skin, your neck craning to give him more space to work with.

“you smell so sweet.” he muttered between kisses, making you smile, “it’s driving me crazy.”

as soobin nipped at your neck, you did something you had been waiting so long to do: just touch him. your hands left his hair as they traced down his chest, sneakily making their way down to his waist. he was wearing a white, perfectly loose t-shirt, which gave you the perfect opportunity to slip your hands under the fabric, the ghostly touch of your fingertips barely grazing his skin. you felt him shiver, catching him gasp right beneath your ear. 

but your movements didn’t stop him as his kisses got rougher, hungrier. devolving from soft and sweet pecks into starved sucking as he marked the space below your collarbone. one of his hands slid down your waist, taking hold of the hem of your shirt and pulling it up. he pulled back, letting out a heavy breath as he pressed kisses on your chest, then your ribs, then your stomach – you were almost sure he would have been able to feel your heart pounding through his lips.

“soobin..” you mewled as you watched him lean back, eyes trained on your center as his fingers traced the waistline of your jeans.

you watched him undo the buttons and hook his thumbs around the waistline, pulling down your jeans in one single movement. his hands every so slightly pushed your thighs up, encouraging you to spread them open. you obeyed, although your cheeks burned with embarrassment at just the thought of how soaked you probably were.

“oh my god..” he practically groaned at the sight of you, his fingers laying flat against your pussy and sliding up. you whimpered in response, shocked at just how sensitive you felt to his touch. his eyes flicked up to you.

“you have no idea how bad i wanted this, baby.” his voice shifted into a husky tone as his body moved down, getting a pathetic whimper out of you. his arms hooked around your thighs as he pulled you to the edge of the bed, firm and decisive. his expression was almost desperate, his eyebrows turned up and his cheeks flushed, as if he was on his knees to start begging you for pleasure. it made your head spin.

as his hands grabbed and pulled at the hem of your panties, carefully yet quickly taking them off and discarding them, your legs practically shook with need. his hands held your thighs and spread you open, exposing you fully to him. mildly embarrassed, you turned away, averting your eyes from the lewd scene beneath you.

it was then you felt the warm, wet sensation of soobin’s tongue lick your slit from the bottom up, ending with a small peck against your sensitive clit. you breathed out a moan, your hands reaching up and taking hold of your sheets, as if to prepare for what was to come.

“eyes on me, honey.” he requested, and without even thinking you looked back at him, completely forgetting the bashfulness that overtook you a second ago. you nearly gasped at the view beneath you, how soobin’s gaze was wide and doe-eyed, staring so sweetly at you from between your thighs.

“there you go. want you to watch me, okay?” those words and the hint of his smile was enough to make you cum right then and there, but the dream of that was quickly cut off as soobin dove into you.

he tried to be patient, he really did. he started with shy licks and kisses, like he did on your neck, but it barely lasted a minute before he was sloppily lapping at your pussy. it was like he was thirsty for it, the way he thrusted his tongue between your folds and sucked at your clit.

“s-soobin, oh my god- fuck-“ you quickly unraveled into a moaning mess, knuckles turning white as you gripped the sheets and desperately tried to keep yourself still — but it was no use. you were squirming in his grasp, your hips shyly bucking into his face as the knot inside of you grew tighter.

“god- just like that, y/n. don’t stop.” soobin groaned into your cunt, as if he was getting off on it just as much as you were. using the brief moment of separation, two of his fingers brushed against your entrance before slowly sliding their way in. you both moaned at the sensation.

“you’re so tight-“ he practically whimpered, fingers thrusting at a steady pace right into a spot that made your back arch. “are you close, huh? you wanna cum all over my fingers, baby? can you do that for me?”

his senseless rambling into your cunt on in between his tongue lapping at your clit on top of his fingers keeping you full was making you see stars. this deep, burning desire that you had for soobin had been festering for so long, and the fact that it was finally being fulfilled was almost too much for you to handle. but even as your legs shook and you moaned shamelessly into the air, you wanted more. you needed more.

“i-i need-“ you gasped between your moans, your noise barely covering the sound of soobin sucking at your dripping cunt. your hips were moving completely on their own now, shame flying out the window as you slid up and down soobin’s tongue, “s-soobin, i’m gonna-“

“give it to me,” his groans sent vibrations up your body, making you tremble, “let it go baby, please. just give it to me.”

as if on command, the tight knot that had been stretching thin within your stomach snapped at his words, a blinding euphoria completely washing over your body. every limb, every muscle of yours shook with overwhelming pleasure, your entrance desperately tightening around soobin’s fingers as they slowed. he worked you carefully through your orgasm, pulling his mouth away to rub gentle circles on your clit.

“holy shit-” you breathed out, breathless as your eyes, previously squeezed shut, carefully opened. your vision gradually came into focus as a lightheadedness settled into your skull. you felt weak, your body limp against the mattress as you realized the sudden cramping in your fingers from so tightly holding onto your sheets. you had never experienced anything like that before.

but even as the orgasm soobin gave you with nothing but his mouth and fingers left you utterly stunned, your fantasies about him never stopped at foreplay. you needed more –  and not only did you know it, but you could feel it. the second soobin’s fingers carefully left your entrance, it was already begging for them to come back. it clasped and twitched around nothing, burning and pleading as it longed to be filled again. to be filled by him.

“god- i can’t wait-”

you gathered the strength to prop yourself up on your elbows as you looked down at where soobin had been kneeling, only to find he was already up on his feet. you felt a heat rush down your spine and fester at your core at the sight of him.

“you have no idea how bad i need you-” his words came out in breaths, “d’you even know how hot that was?”

he had already taken his t-shirt off, the subtle definition of his body practically glowing in the dim moonlight. his hands, still stained with your slick, anxiously fiddled with the buttons of his jeans before undoing them. even through the tight material of his jeans, there was an extremely evident tent in the fabric. you felt your breath catch in your throat as he pulled down both his jeans and his boxers in one swift movement, his long, thick erection springing free.

soobin climbed onto the bed and resumed his position where he hung over you before, one hand by your side while the other slowly pumped his cock. you couldn’t help but watch as his thumb circled his flushed tip, barely able to catch the glisten of the pre-cum that he spread over the top of his shaft.

but the sight of his face made you just as hot. you met his eyes, and in an instant you recognized that you were seeing a completely different side of soobin. his face was flushed, eyes drowsy and half-open as if he was in a trance. soft pants escaped his open mouth every so often, his lips wet with a mix of your juices and his saliva.

he was needy. just as needy as you.

“do you have any condoms? where are they?” the words rushed out of his mouth, like anything that wasn’t fucking you was just a waste of time. you would have laughed if your mind wasn’t so overridden by desire.

“just forget that-” your tone hinted at a whine as your hips wiggled beneath him, your legs moving up to loosely wrap around his waist. you barely pulled him in, but you could already feel the tip of his cock brushing against your clit. you shivered at the sensation.

“wait, y/n, are you-”

“it’s okay, i promise,” you felt your heart pound in your chest, your core tighten and squeeze. your hands moved up into his hair again, your hands tangling in his locks. “just put it in binnie, please? i can’t wait either..”

although he looked like he had something he wanted to say, his hips responded first. he pushed his length against the lips of your pussy, not to enter, but just to slide up and down the wetness of it. you whimpered at the action, a combination of both impatience and sensitivity from your orgasm making you dizzy with need.

“i’m not gonna go slow. i can’t.” he said, the words phrased as a rule. a non-negotiable. “you okay with me being rough? sure you can take it?”

you rapidly nodded, biting back the pathetic sounds you so desperately wanted to make at the feeling of his length against your heat.

“tell me, baby.” he whined, “can you take it?”

your throat went dry.

“yes,” you breathed, “i can take it.”

a dazed, lazy smile spread over his features.

soobin leaned back, his large hands sliding up the back of your thighs as he spread you open wider, his eyes glued to where the two of you met. his brows furrowed and his mouth let out soft breaths as he slid over your clit just a couple more times, before pushing firmly into the heat of your entrance.

you moan in unison as just a portion of your desires are finally met, and you swear for a moment you saw stars. you could feel how tight you were around him, the massive size of him making you unbelievably full.

“fuck..” soobin let out a drawn out moan as he bottomed out inside of you, fingers pressing deep into the soft skin of your thighs. he already started to grind into you, your walls sucking him in each time he dared pull back.

“you don’t know how bad i wanted this, y/n..” he said, your heart jumping at his words. for just a moment, you debated what he said. you were shocked at the implication that he wanted this for longer than just a moment, making you wonder just how long the two of you waited before satiating a now mutual hunger.

but you couldn’t think about that too deeply yet – not when you could barely speak, let alone think about anything else but the delicious feeling of soobin steadily pounding into your burning cunt. not when the only thing that left your mouth was high-pitched moans and needy whines, occasionally interrupted by whispered swears. you had been waiting for, dreaming, of this moment, and you were going to lavish in it.

the steady pace that soobin started at rapidly devolved into fast, desperate movements. his hips would pull almost all the way back, leaving you with nothing but the head of his cock before slamming right back into you. he moved at a relentless pace, the lewd, merciless sound of skin slapping against skin leaving no room in the air for silence. the only thing competing with its volume was the sound of your own moans, shameless and explicit.

and amidst it all, soobin’s eyes never left yours, his head tilted to the side as he watched you fall apart beneath him. watching as your hands reached out and pawed at the skin of his arms, studying how your eyes briefly rolled back every time he hit the sweetest part of you; but, strangely, it didn’t feel like you were just being observed. you were being admired. idolized. worshipped.

“you look so pretty like this.” soobin cooed breathlessly, “so so pretty.. and so wet for me- so wet and so fucking tight-“

“soobin-“ all you could think to do was cry out his name in response. while you both seemed utterly drunk on the feeling of each other, soobin had been mindlessly rambling ever since he got the chance to touch you, while you couldn’t put together a proper sentence for the life of you.

it felt so good, almost too good, as tears stung the corners of your eyes and that euphoric tension tightened inside of you again with a vengeance. it didn’t help that all the words you tried to say to convey that message only came spewing out as fucked-out nonsense.

“you okay, baby? not too much for you, right?” soobin suddenly asked, a hint of concern in his voice despite the reckless speed of his hips slamming against yours. it didn’t seem like he could stop, even if he wanted to.

you anxiously shook your head. “n-no, please, don’t stop-“ you managed to choke out, your fingers wrapping around his forearms and tugging him towards you. he understood, leaning down and pushing your knees close to your chest with his arms in order to close the gap between the two of you. the new angle made you see stars, and if soobin hadn’t pressed his lips passionately into yours, you knew it would have enough to rip a cry out of you.

he shoved his tongue between your lips as he rushed to get a taste of you, the quiet murmur of your mutual moaning getting muffled by it. you surrendered completely to him, letting him bite at your lips and tangle his hands into your hair.

although you succumbed to him, however, your entire body remained tense. every muscle in your body squeezed tight, especially where it was wrapped around soobin’s length. your moans became more high-pitched and whiny, your breaths in-between more ragged. your hands had found their place on soobin’s back, desperately clawing and dragging against his skin.

“i-i’m gonna fucking cum, soobin-” you mewled as soobin pulled back, resuming his previous position to tower over you, your legs spread open so obediently for him. “don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop- please don’t stop-”

your hurried blabber only encouraged soobin, each one of his thrusts hitting the deepest parts of you with a fiery passion. each one told you that nothing would be better than this. that you were ruined for any other man. that you were his.

“go ahead, baby, ‘s okay..” he said, speaking with a softness, “let me see you fall apart all over me.”

at his request, your second orgasm of the night hit you like a freight train. it was twice as intense, euphoria repeatedly striking you directly at your core before sending shockwaves down your body. you threw your head back into the pillows, stars scattered across your vision as a lewd, pornographic moan ripped from your throat. the sensation of your orgasm rippled around soobin’s cock, forcing him to breath out a drawn out moan and string of whispered curses.

“just like that, honey,” soobin’s moaned from over you, “so good.. so, so good..”

while the orgasm itself hit you twice as hard, it felt like the aftermath exhausted you ten times as much. you couldn’t control the way your legs shook in soobin’s grasp, or the way your chest steadily rose and fell in an attempt to catch your breath.

but coming down from such a high proved impossible as soobin continued to hammer into you, his pace only slowing when your orgasm made it too difficult to move.

“s-soo.. bin- wait- ‘s too much!” you cried out to him, watching through the blurry lens of your vision as he so mercilessly pounded your sensitive cunt.

“i know baby, i know..” he panted, “‘m sorry, i can’t stop- til your pussy’s stuffed full, i can’t stop-”

you were so spent already. every inch of your skin was covered in a thin film of sweat, your heart thundered relentlessly in your chest, and there was a thick scent of sex filling the air of your room. your legs felt so limp that you could barely feel them at all, the sweet sting of where soobin had dug his fingers into being the only reminder. and your head – you could have sworn that you were dreaming based on how lightheaded the rapid sense of overstimulation made you.

but, despite that, you didn’t dare stop him. you didn’t push him away or beg for a break – you laid there and took it. you let tears gather in your eyes, overstimulation wracking your body as your limbs quivered and pussy ached around soobin’s cock. your hands found their place in your sheets once more, tightening and gripping onto the fabric as if it was somehow going to save you. and your voice, raw and ruined, knew nothing but the feeling of soobin’s name being ripped from your throat.

and he fucking loved it.

“you’re so hot, y/n, so fucking beautiful. d’you even know what you do to me? how long i wanted to pound your pretty pussy like this?” as soobin rambled on, his voice gradually became more out of breath, more desperate. his moans became whiny, high-pitched.

“needed you so bad it was driving me crazy- but you needed it too, huh, baby? did’ya wanna get pounded like this?”

his words made your head spin, a fresh wave of desire washing over your body and sending heat rushing to all the right places. he loved how he took you apart piece by piece, and you loved seeing how drunk he got on it.

“i-i needed it so bad, you have no f- fucking idea-” you cried, “it f-feels so good-”

his thrusts started to get sloppy, losing the ruthless rhythm he had started with. he fell to his elbows, his hands snaking up your arms and peeling your fingers away from the bedsheets. his hands intertwined with yours, holding your shaking frame against the mattress. 

“y/n-” soobin’s lips hovered over yours, barely able to feel his hot breath against your skin, “lemme fill you up, huh? you want it? want me to fill you up nice ‘n full?”

“p-please- give it to me, binnie. want your cum-”

as if your permission was the trigger, soobin only lasted a few more thrusts before he bottomed out inside you with a high-pitched groan, the feeling of his warm seed instantly settling into your core. the feeling of it, however, was just as much of a trigger for you, your third orgasm of the night hitting you before you could even prepare for it – and all you could do was lay there and let it.

you pressed the knuckles of soobin’s hand – which were still intertwined with yours – against your lips, barely containing any of your pathetic whimpers and moans that your ruined orgasm forced out of you. your legs squeezed around soobin’s waist in an attempt to keep still, but there was no use against the sensitivity that overtook your body.

soobin, who had buried his face into the crook of your neck, breathed out a string of soft yet forceful moans, his stilled cock still twitching within your sensitive walls. every now and then his body shook, waves of pleasure shocking his body almost perfectly in sync with you, your orgasm no doubt heightening his own.

for a few moments, the two of you laid there; breathless, sensitive, unmoving. the silence that followed one of the loudest nights of your life was one of comfort. it wasn’t weird or awkward, like you almost expected it to be, but relaxing. like you finally felt a sense of relief after the past several months of undisturbed tension.

but the stillness of the room only lasted so long, soobin being the first to move. with a sharp wince he slowly pulled out of you, his cock carefully dragging through the walls of your throbbing pussy. even as spent as you were, you missed the full feeling.

he lifted his head up, but only enough to look you in the eyes again. he studied you carefully, his gaze scanning over every detail of your expression until you realized the way it made your heart pound. his hand reached up, and you didn’t dare move as his fingers so gently brushed some sweat-soaked strands of hair out of your face.

“i meant what i said. you’re so beautiful.” he said, his voice suddenly lowered to a whisper.

you laughed at his words, your voice coming out hoarse. “really?”

“really. seriously.”

you swallowed down the dry feeling in your throat, carefully picking out the words for a question you dreaded.

“did you mean it when you said you wanted me, too? when you said how long you wanted me for?” your voice shrank, “or did you just want sex?”

the question clearly caught soobin off guard as his eyes widened, the hand still intertwined with yours tightening slightly.

“what? y/n, are you serious?” a light chuckle escaped his lips, but he knew by reading your expression that the question was genuine. his free hand reached up and cupped your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin.

“i like you. and it’s for so many more reasons other than sex.” he confessed carefully, “for so long i wanted you all to myself – and i mean it, when i say it.”

you felt butterflies swarm your stomach at his words, unable to hide the smile that spread over your features. you lean into the touch of his hand, partially hiding your face in it at the sudden shyness that came over you.

but in response, soobin turned your face to look right back at him, emphasizing the impact of his words with yet another kiss. this one was similar to the way the night started, with soft presses and sweet touches. you felt him smile into the kiss, and you smiled back, a powerful wave of sheer joy swelling in your chest. you felt complete.

soobin’s gentle smile beamed down at you as he pulled back, shy giggles being shared between the two of you.

“so.. does this make us official?” you asked bashfully, to which soobin responded with the soft drag of his hand, his fingers tracing down your chest and to your waist.

“well i’d hope so.” he grinned, moving to press a kiss onto your neck, “no way am i letting you go to anyone else. you’re all mine.”

as soobin enveloped you in his touch, his arms pulling back to snake around your waist and pull you into a warm embrace, he moved to lay on his side, properly able to pull you into his chest. your arms wrapped around his neck, your hands rubbing gentle circles onto the marks you left in his back earlier, and you could feel him relax just as much.

“i thought it was a stupid idea at first, but it’s good kai picked the pepero game, huh?” soobin muttered against your shoulder.

you grinned, “yeah, but it was only a matter of time until i got you to myself. i would’ve gone crazy if i didn’t.”

soobin chuckled into your skin, pressing on another kiss, “me too.”

within moments, as if you two had been doing it all your lives, you settled into each others warmth. an intimate silence filled the air as you laid there, the tense centimeters of distance that you had dealt with just hours ago finally being absolved into nothing.

god- if you had known then that this was how a round of the pepero game would end, you would’ve played it way sooner.

[csbenthusiast]

⋆˚࿔ perfect match 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 5

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / part four / part five ୨♡୧

pairing: rentalbf!soobin x fem!reader genre: fluff, comedy? (debatable), fake dating au summary: desperate to escape your friends matchmaking, a small lie spirals out of control. soobin—your charming, professional, rental boyfriend—the perfect answer. but what if the hardest part won't be fooling your friends? what if it’s reminding your own heart it's all fake? w/c: ~3k warning: not entirely proofread, fluff (might be cringe), an attempt at humor. a/n: last chap guys! i'm sososo happy. i literally have every single comment and every reblog tag screenshotted on my phone. i literally can't thank you enough for all the kind responses (ง ื▿ ื)ว see you next time!<3 taglist: @saccharinezennie | @soobinz-wife | @mental-hollows | @bunniwords | @lonendly | @soobinieswife | @slipawaylrh | @taysfairies

the neon lights of the restaurant blurred as you stumbled back to the table, the taste of soobin still lingered on your lips—mint and something faintly sweet, like the caramel syrup he'd stolen from your dessert earlier. your fingers twitched at your sides, still aching from where they'd fisted in his shirt, still trembling from the way his hands had cradled your face.

soobin walked beside you, his usual effortless grace replaced by something tenser, his shoulders rigid under his stupidly perfect white button-down. his hand settled at the lower part of your back, fingers pressed just a little too hard into your spine—steadying you, or maybe steadying himself. the warmth of his touch burned through the fabric of your shirt, branding you with the memory of his lips onto yours.

that wasn't part of the act—it couldn't be.

the thought clawed at you, sharp and insistent. his fingers hadn't been clinical when they tangled in your hair. his breath hadn't been measured when it hitched against your lips. and the way he looked at you afterward—like he'd just woken up from a dream he never wanted to end—

no.

you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly too tight.

were you being delusional?

across the table, your ex's jaw was clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitch under the golden glow of the overhead lights. his girlfriend—poor, oblivious thing—was still chattering away, but his eyes were locked onto soobin with a venom that made your stomach twist.

and soobin—

soobin was perfect.

he laughed at the right moments, low and easy, his thumb tracing circles over your knuckles where your hands were laced together on the table. he refilled your water before you could ask.

was he that good at his job?

mina, meanwhile, looked like she was about to combust from excitement.

"okay, what was that?" she hissed softly the moment you sat down, her nails digging into your forearm, physically restraining herself from screaming.

you forced a laugh, reaching for your glass with a hand that almost didn't shake. "what was what?"

"don't play dumb!" she whisper-yelled, smacking your shoulder. "you two were making out in the hallway like—"

"we got carried away," soobin interjected smoothly, his fingers lacing through yours on the table. his thumb traced slow circles over your knuckles.

play along.

but when you dared to glance at him, his eyes weren't on your friends, or your ex, or the table.

they were on you.

and for the first time all night, he looked just as wrecked as you felt.

the bill came.

mina lunged before anyone could react, snatching the bill with a victorious grin. "our treat!" she declared, waving her card like a victory flag. "consider it a celebration of love." she wiggled her eyebrows at you and soobin, completely unaware of the storm raging inside your chest.

you forced a smile. "thanks."

soobin's hand squeezed yours once before letting go—slowly, reluctantly—as he reached for his wallet out of habit. but mina was already handing her card to the waiter, and the moment passed.

across the table, your ex stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "we're heading out." his girlfriend blinked up at him, her spoon hovering midair over her half-finished sundae. "already?"

"yeah." his smile was tight, his eyes locked onto soobin. "wouldn't want to overstay our welcome."

soobin didn't react. not outwardly. his posture remained relaxed, one arm draped over the back of your chair, but you saw the way his fingers curled into a loose fist on the table, the way his shoulders tensed just slightly.

the second the door swung shut behind them, the air in the room shifted. mina sighed dramatically, slumping back in her chair. "finally. i thought he'd never leave."

jia snorted into her drink, rolling her eyes. "god, he was insufferable tonight." the ice cubes clinked as she set her glass down, her smirk sharp. "watching him getting mad over you two was the best part."

you swallowed hard, your fingers gripping the edge of the table.

what now?

the dinner was over. job was done.

soobin had played his part perfectly—better than perfectly, smirking at the right moments, his touches calculated but tender, his words weaving a story so convincing even you had almost believed it. he'd made your ex seethe, made your friends believe, made you—

no.

you swallowed hard, the taste of caramel and something bitter clinging to your tongue. you couldn't think about that.

because the contract ended tonight.

the walk to the car was silent.

soobin's hand found the lower part of your back again, guiding you through the crowded sidewalk, his touch warm and steady. it was the same touch he'd used all night—protective, possessive, perfectly boyfriend-coded. but now, with no audience left to convice, it didn't feel like part of the act.

it felt like a habit.

your mind raced.

what happens now?

the contract ended tonight. the performance was over. would he just—

—disappear? would he text you tomorrow like nothing happened? would he send an invoice and a polite thank you for your business and never speak to you again?

the thought made your chest ache.

you stole a glance at him.

his profile was sharp under the flickering streetlights, his lips pressed into a thin line, his brows slightly furrowed. he looked... troubled.

not like the soobin who had smirked his way through every rehearsal.

just... soobin.

so this is what the reviews meant—felt like a real relationship, yet bittersweet.

the moment you stepped away from the noise, from the prying eyes of your friends, the act faltered. the silence between the two of you was thick, suffocating.

soobin's fingers flexed at his sides, his usual confidence replaced by something tense, uncertain. he could still hear beomgyu's voice echoing in his head, that infuriatingly knowing tone.

"you use this job to avoid getting hurt, but what if the real thing is worth the risk?"

his jaw clenched.

"what's the point of protecting your heart if you never let anyone in?"

a muscle feathered in his temple.

"just don't regret letting her go because you were too scared to try."

damn beomgyu and his stupid, inconvenient wisdom.

he exhaled sharply, his breath curling in the cold air between them. the streetlight above flickered, casting shadows across your face—your lips slightly swollen from the kiss, your fingers twisting the hem of your sleeve.

"hey." his voice was quiet, rough around the edges.

you looked up at him—eyes wide.

he hesitated, then exhaled, his breath curling in the cool air between you. "you okay?"

no.

"yeah," you lied. "just... tired."

he nodded, but his eyes searched yours, like he was trying to find something—anything—to hold onto.

then he opened the car door for you, his fingers brushing yours as you slid into the seat.

a spark.

a question.

a goodbye?

the drive home was suffocating.

the silence between you was thick, heavy with everything unsaid. the only sound was the low hum of the engine, the occasional blare of a horn from the streets outside. the city passed by in a blur of light and shadow, the reflections dancing across soobin's face in fleeting patterns.

your phone buzzed in your pocket—once, twice. mina, probably. or jia, gushing about how perfect soobin was, how happy they were for you, how they couldn't wait to see the two of you again.

you didn't check it.

because what were you supposed to say? oh, actually, we broke up. right after that hallway kiss that looked like something out of a drama. right after he held me like that. right after i—

your stomach churned.

soobin's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles whitening for just a second before he forced them to relax.

"you're quiet," he murmured. his voice above the hum of the car.

you laughed, but it came out hollow. "just thinking."

"about?"

you. the kiss. the way your hands felt in my hair. everything.

"about how to explain this to my friends when you're gone," you admitted softly, staring out the window so you wouldn't have to see his face.

the words hung in the air between you, sharp and final.

soobin's jaw clenched. the car rolled to a stop, the engine idling outside your apartment. his fingers drummed once—a nervous, restless gesture—against the steering wheel before stilling.

then quietly, "we'll figure it out.

we.

the word hit you like a punch to the chest.

what did that even mean?

your breath hitched. you swallowed, your throat tight. the contract was clear. the job was over. there was no we after tonight.

your fingers curled into the fabric of your jeans, nails biting into your palms. the silence stretched, suffocating.

"so," you forced out, voice too light, "invoice me whenever. i'll settle the rest of the payment."

soobin's grip on the wheel tightened. a muscle in his jaw feathered.

"right," he said, clipped. "the payment."

the words hung between you like an accusation.

you hated this. hated the way your chest ached like someone had reached in and carved out a piece of you. hated that you couldn't tell if the kiss had been part of the act—if he'd done it to sell the lie to twist the knife in your ex's ribs, to win.

or if, for one reckless moment, he'd forgotten it was pretend too.

"i should go," you muttered, reaching for the door handle.

soobin moved faster.

his hand caught your wrist, warm and firm. "wait."

your pulse stuttered beaneath his touch.

he didn't let go. his thumb brushed over your racing pulse point, slow deliberate. his gaze dropped to your mouth—just for a second—before flicking back up.

"the contract," he started, voice rough.

your stomach dropped. here it comes. the professional distance. the polite thank you for your business.

but then—

"it says no falling in love with the client."

your breath caught.

soobin exhaled, his grip tightening. "i think i broke that rule."

the world tilted.

the hum of the car's engine faded into white noise, the dim glow of the dashboard lights casting shadows across soobin's face—sharp angles softened by the quiet confession hanging between you. your pulse roared in your ears, a frantic drumbeat against your ribs.

what?

you stared at him, lips parted, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. his eyes were dark, earnest—no smirk, no practiced charm. just raw, unfiltered soobin, the one who'd kissed you like he was starving for it.

his fingers, still loosely wrapped around your wrist, tightened just slightly—an anchor, a plea.

"you—what?" your voice cracked.

this time he didn't hesitate. leaning in, his free hand cupping your cheek, fingers trembling—just faintly. his palm was warm against your skin, his thumb brushing the curve of your cheekbone in a slow, deliberate stroke.

"i'm saying i don't want this to end."

your mind froze. this wasn't part of the script. this wasn't supposed to happen. the contract had rules—no blurred lines, no real feelings, no messy complications.

"but the contract—"

"i don't care." his voice was rough, edged with something desperate. his thumb traced your cheekbone again, lingering this time, as if memorizing the shape of you.

you searched his face for any hint of a lie, any trace of the polished professional facade he wore so well. but all you found was the same person who held your hand under the table when your ex tried to cut you down.

the one who'd kissed you like he meant it.

"soobin," you whispered.

he swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing. his grip on your wrist tightened.

"tell me i'm not the only one."

you didn't answer with words.

you kissed him.

not like before—not for an audience. this was slow, aching, real. his breath hitched, a quiet, broken sound, before his hands slid fully into your hair, pulling you closer like he couldn't bear an inch between you. his lips moved against yours, warm and insistent.

when you finally pulled back—just enough to breathe— his forehead rested against yours, his breathing ragged.

then, a soft chuckle escaped him, breathless and dazed

"okay," he murmured, lips brushing yours with the ghost of a smile. "that's a good answer."

and just like that—the contract was broken.

the cafeteria buzzed around you—clattering trays, the sharp scent of burnt coffee. sunlight streamed through the windows, but you barely noticed.

yeonjun sat across from you, his usual air of effortless chaos. his dyed red hair was mussed from where he'd run his hands through it one too many times, his leather jacket slung over the back of his chair.

yeonjun's coffee cup hovered halfway to his lips, frozen mid-sip. the condensation dripping onto his fingers, but he didn't seem to notice. his eyes wide, disbelieving—locked onto yours like he'd just witnessed a crime.

"wait. wait."

he slammed the cup down, liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. a few heads turned at the noise, but yeonjun didn't even glance their way.

"you're telling me," he said slowly, voice dripping with disbelief and enthusiasm. "you actually fell for your fake boyfriend?"

you groaned, slumping into the cafeteria's chair. the plastic squeked under your weight, and you dragged your hands down your face, your cheeks burning.

"it's not that simple—"

"it's exactly that simple!"

yeonjun jabbed a finger at you, his grin stretching ear to ear. "i set you up with a rental, and you somehow turned it into a rom-com." he leaned in, lowering his voice to a theatrical whisper. "did you at least get a discount."

you kicked him under the table.

he yelped, jerking back but his laughter burst out anyway, loud and uncontained. he threw his head back, his shoulders shaking. "oh this is gold. i'm framing this story on my desk."

"you're insufferable."

The living room of soobin's apartment was bathed in the golden glow of the afternoon sun. the faint scent of vanilla from a half-burned candle mixed with the lingering aroma of takeout containers still scattered across the coffee table. you sat curled into soobin's side, his arm draped lazily over your shoulders.

and then—

chaos.

beomgyu, who had been sprawled across the armchair, suddenly launched himself upright, his socked feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. his eyes—wide and gleaming with unholy delight—darted between you and soobin, his mouth already curling into a grin.

"i knew it!"

the declaration was loud enough to startle you, your shoulders jerking slightly as soobin's fingers tightened instinctively around yours. beomgyu slammed his hands onto the coffee table, rattling the empty soda cans, before pointing an accusatory finger at soobin.

"i told you! i called it!" his voice cracked halfway through, but he didn't care, already bouncing on the ball of his feet like a kid who'd just been handed free candy. "you owe me so much food—"

soobin groaned, his head tipping back against the couch. "you didn't call anything," he muttered, but his cheeks were already turning pink.

beomgyu gasped, clutching his chest like he'd been personally wounded. "i literally said, 'you like her', and you said—" he dropped his voice into a terrible imitation of soobin's voice, "'i like getting paid.'"

he gestured wildly at the two of you—at the way you were tucked so comfortably against his side. "and now look at you!"

soobin rolled his eyes, but his thumb brushed your knuckles. "shut up."

"nope. never." beomgyu plopped back down, grinning. "this is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

you raised an eyebrow, fighting back your own smile. "you're not the one dating him."

"no," beomgyu agreed. "but i am the one who gets to tease him about it forever." beomgyu's grin turned wicked. "so. who made the first move? was it the kiss in the hallway? because damn—"

soobin lunged.

one second, he was beside you, warm and solid. the next, he was launching himself at beomgyu, sending the coffee table screeching across the floor as they collapsed.

you burst out laughing, watching them wrestle like kids fighting for candy, and realized—this was the real soobin. the one who bickered with his best friend, who got shy whenever you complimented him, soobin who got excited after convincing you to play video games together.

the cafe smelled like roasted beans and burnt sugar, the hum of chatter and clinking cups filling the air. you'd been here a dozen times before, but today was different.

because today, soobin quit his job—he wasn't your fake boyfriend, or anyone's fake boyfriend.

he was just... soobin.

—and just soobin, as it turned out, was a mess.

you spotted him behind the counter—soobin, his dark hair slightly tousled under the cafe's ridiculous little paper hat, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the lean muscles of his forearms as he wrestled with the espresso machine. his brows were furrowed in concentration, tongue poking out slightly between his teeth—the same expression he'd made when trying to remember the fake backstory you'd rehearsed for your disastrous dinner.

except this time, there was no script. no act.

just him.

and he was losing.

"hey," he hissed, leaning over the counter toward his coworker—a bored looking guy with a nose ring. "how do i—wait, no, that's steam—oh god, that's steam—"

a sharp hiss erupted from the machine, and soobin yanked his hand back like he'd been burned. his coworker didn't even blink, he just reached over to flip a switch with the ease of someone who'd given up on a life years ago.

"you're hopeless," he muttered.

soobin pouted. "i'm learning."

you bit back a laugh, sliding into a seat at the counter.

soobin's head snapped up, his eyes widening when he saw you. a slow, charming grin spread across his face—the kind that made his dimples pop. the kind he never used during rental dates.

"hey," he said, voice warm, wiping his hands on his apron. "you're early."

you propped your chin in your hand, grinning. "wanted to see the professional at work"

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "i've been here three days and i've already set a towel on fire."

"what?"

"it's fine," he insisted, waving a hand dismissively, though the flush on his cheeks said otherwise. "it was a small fire. very contained."

you burst out laughing., the sound bright and unfiltered, and soobin's expression softened.

this wasn't soobin from perfect match rentals—the polished, effortless boyfriend who knew exactly how to charm parents, impress friends, and make exes jealous.

this soobin—spilled oat milk on his shoes and cursed under his breath in a way that was definitely not cutomer-service appropriate.

this soobin forgot which syrup was vanilla and which was chocolate, squinting at the bottles like they'd personally offended him.

this soobin knocked over a stack of cups and then tried to play it off by saying, "i meant to do that."

and yet—

when he finally slid your latte across the counter, he drew a lopsided heart in the foam.

your chest did something stupid.

then—

he sneezed halfway through the heart

the heart smeared.

"no—" he stared at the cup in horror. his entire face draining of color. "this is a disaster."

you took a sip—it was too sweet, the foam was uneven, and the caramel had sunk to the bottom in the sad little clumps.

you grinned.

"it's perfect."

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / part four / part five ୨♡୧

© bangtanbeom 2025

[csbenthusiast]

IVE BEEN WAITING ALL WEEK FOR THIS

⋆˚࿔ perfect match 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 5

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / part four / part five ୨♡୧

pairing: rentalbf!soobin x fem!reader genre: fluff, comedy? (debatable), fake dating au summary: desperate to escape your friends matchmaking, a small lie spirals out of control. soobin—your charming, professional, rental boyfriend—the perfect answer. but what if the hardest part won't be fooling your friends? what if it’s reminding your own heart it's all fake? w/c: ~3k warning: not entirely proofread, fluff (might be cringe), an attempt at humor. a/n: last chap guys! i'm sososo happy. i literally have every single comment and every reblog tag screenshotted on my phone. i literally can't thank you enough for all the kind responses (ง ื▿ ื)ว see you next time!<3 taglist: @saccharinezennie | @soobinz-wife | @mental-hollows | @bunniwords | @lonendly | @soobinieswife | @slipawaylrh | @taysfairies

the neon lights of the restaurant blurred as you stumbled back to the table, the taste of soobin still lingered on your lips—mint and something faintly sweet, like the caramel syrup he'd stolen from your dessert earlier. your fingers twitched at your sides, still aching from where they'd fisted in his shirt, still trembling from the way his hands had cradled your face.

soobin walked beside you, his usual effortless grace replaced by something tenser, his shoulders rigid under his stupidly perfect white button-down. his hands his hand settled at the lower part of your back, fingers pressed just a little too hard into your spine—steadying you, or maybe steadying himself. the warmth of his touch burned through the fabric of your shirt, branding you with the memory of his lips onto yours.

that wasn't part of the act—it couldn't be.

the thought clawed at you, sharp and insistent. his fingers hadn't been clinical when they tangled in your hair. his breath hadn't been measured when it hitched against your lips. and the way he looked at you afterward—like he'd just woken up from a dream he never wanted to end—

no.

you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly too tight.

were you being delusional?

across the table, your ex's jaw was clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitch under the golden glow of the overhead lights. his girlfriend—poor, oblivious thing—was still chattering away, but his eyes were locked onto soobin with a venom that made your stomach twist.

and soobin—

soobin was perfect.

he laughed at the right moments, low and easy, his thumb tracing circles over your knuckles where your hands were laced together on the table. he refilled your water before you could ask.

was he that good at his job?

mina, meanwhile, looked like she was about to combust from excitement.

"okay, what was that?" she hissed softly the moment you sat down, her nails digging into your forearm, physically restraining herself from screaming.

you forced a laugh, reaching for your glass with a hand that almost didn't shake. "what was what?"

"don't play dumb!" she whisper-yelled, smacking your shoulder. "you two were making out in the hallway like—"

"we got carried away," soobin interjected smoothly, his fingers lacing through yours on the table. his thumb traced slow circles over your knuckles.

play along.

but when you dared to glance at him, his eyes weren't on your friends, or your ex, or the table.

they were on you.

and for the first time all night, he looked just as wrecked as you felt.

the bill came.

mina lunged before anyone could react, snatching the bill with a victorious grin. "our treat!" she declared, waving her card like a victory flag. "consider it a celebration of love." she wiggled her eyebrows at you and soobin, completely unaware of the storm raging inside your chest.

you forced a smile. "thanks."

soobin's hand squeezed yours once before letting go—slowly, reluctantly—as he reached for his wallet out of habit. but mina was already handing her card to the waiter, and the moment passed.

across the table, your ex stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "we're heading out." his girlfriend blinked up at him, her spoon hovering midair over her half-finished sundae. "already?"

"yeah." his smile was tight, his eyes locked onto soobin. "wouldn't want to overstay our welcome."

soobin didn't react. not outwardly. his posture remained relaxed, one arm draped over the back of your chair, but you saw the way his fingers curled into a loose fist on the table, the way his shoulders tensed just slightly.

the second the door swung shut behind them, the air in the room shifted. mina sighed dramatically, slumping back in her chair. "finally. i thought he'd never leave."

jia snorted into her drink, rolling her eyes. "god, he was insufferable tonight." the ice cubes clinked as she set her glass down, her smirk sharp. "watching him getting mad over you two was the best part."

you swallowed hard, your fingers gripping the edge of the table.

what now?

the dinner was over. job was done.

soobin had played his part perfectly—better than perfectly, smirking at the right moments, his touches calculated but tender, his words weaving a story so convincing even you had almost believed it. he'd made your ex seethe, made your friends believe, made you—

no.

you swallowed hard, the taste of caramel and something bitter clinging to your tongue. you couldn't think about that.

because the contract ended tonight.

the walk to the car was silent.

soobin's hand found the lower part of your back again, guiding you through the crowded sidewalk, his touch warm and steady. it was the same touch he'd used all night—protective, possessive, perfectly boyfriend-coded. but now, with no audience left to convice, it didn't feel like part of the act.

it felt like a habit.

your mind raced.

what happens now?

the contract ended tonight. the performance was over. would he just—

—disappear? would he text you tomorrow like nothing happened? would he send an invoice and a polite thank you for your business and never speak to you again?

the thought made your chest ache.

you stole a glance at him.

his profile was sharp under the flickering streetlights, his lips pressed into a thin line, his brows slightly furrowed. he looked... troubled.

not like the soobin who had smirked his way through every rehearsal.

just... soobin.

so this is what the reviews meant—felt like a real relationship, yet bittersweet.

the moment you stepped away from the noise, from the prying eyes of your friends, the act faltered. the silence between the two of you was thick, suffocating.

soobin's fingers flexed at his sides, his usual confidence replaced by something tense, uncertain. he could still hear beomgyu's voice echoing in his head, that infuriatingly knowing tone.

"you use this job to avoid getting hurt, but what if the real thing is worth the risk?"

his jaw clenched.

"what's the point of protecting your heart if you never let anyone in?"

a muscle feathered in his temple.

"just don't regret letting her go because you were too scared to try."

damn beomgyu and his stupid, inconvenient wisdom.

he exhaled sharply, his breath curling in the cold air between them. the streetlight above flickered, casting shadows across your face—your lips slightly swollen from the kiss, your fingers twisting the hem of your sleeve.

"hey." his voice was quiet, rough around the edges.

you looked up at him—eyes wide.

he hesitated, then exhaled, his breath curling in the cool air between you. "you okay?"

no.

"yeah," you lied. "just... tired."

he nodded, but his eyes searched yours, like he was trying to find something—anything—to hold onto.

then he opened the car door for you, his fingers brushing yours as you slid into the seat.

a spark.

a question.

a goodbye?

the drive home was suffocating.

the silence between you was thick, heavy with everything unsaid. the only sound was the low hum of the engine, the occasional blare of a horn from the streets outside. the city passed by in a blur of light and shadow, the reflections dancing across soobin's face in fleeting patterns.

your phone buzzed in your pocket—once, twice. mina, probably. or jia, gushing about how perfect soobin was, how happy they were for you, how they couldn't wait to see the two of you again.

you didn't check it.

because what were you supposed to say? oh, actually, we broke up. right after that hallway kiss that looked like something out of a drama. right after he held me like that. right after i—

your stomach churned.

soobin's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles whitening for just a second before he forced them to relax.

"you're quiet," he murmured. his voice above the hum of the car.

you laughed, but it came out hollow. "just thinking."

"about?"

you. the kiss. the way your hands felt in my hair. everything.

"about how to explain this to my friends when you're gone," you admitted softly, staring out the window so you wouldn't have to see his face.

the words hung in the air between you, sharp and final.

soobin's jaw clenched. the car rolled to a stop, the engine idling outside your apartment. his fingers drummed once—a nervous, restless gesture—against the steering wheel before stilling.

then quietly, "we'll figure it out.

we.

the word hit you like a punch to the chest.

what did that even mean?

your breath hitched. you swallowed, your throat tight. the contract was clear. the job was over. there was no we after tonight.

your fingers curled into the fabric of your jeans, nails biting into your palms. the silence stretched, suffocating.

"so," you forced out, voice too light, "invoice me whenever. i'll settle the rest of the payment."

soobin's grip on the wheel tightened. a muscle in his jaw feathered.

"right," he said, clipped. "the payment."

the words hung between you like an accusation.

you hated this. hated the way your chest ached like someone had reached in and carved out a piece of you. hated that you couldn't tell if the kiss had been part of the act—if he'd done it to sell the lie to twist the knife in your ex's ribs, to win.

or if, for one reckless moment, he'd forgotten it was pretend too.

"i should go," you muttered, reaching for the door handle.

soobin moved faster.

his hand caught your wrist, warm and firm. "wait."

your pulse stuttered beaneath his touch.

he didn't let go. his thumb brushed over your racing pulse point, slow deliberate. his gaze dropped to your mouth—just for a second—before flicking back up.

"the contract," he started, voice rough.

your stomach dropped. here it comes. the professional distance. the polite thank you for your business.

but then—

"it says no falling in love with the client."

your breath caught.

soobin exhaled, his grip tightening. "i think i broke that rule."

the world tilted.

the hum of the car's engine faded into white noise, the dim glow of the dashboard lights casting shadows across soobin's face—sharp angles softened by the quiet confession hanging between you. your pulse roared in your ears, a frantic drumbeat against your ribs.

what?

you stared at him, lips parted, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. his eyes were dark, earnest—no smirk, no practiced charm. just raw, unfiltered soobin, the one who'd kissed you like he was starving for it.

his fingers, still loosely wrapped around your wrist, tightened just slightly—an anchor, a plea.

"you—what?" your voice cracked.

this time he didn't hesitate. leaning in, his free hand cupping your cheek, fingers trembling—just faintly. his palm was warm against your skin, his thumb brushing the curve of your cheekbone in a slow, deliberate stroke.

"i'm saying i don't want this to end."

your mind froze. this wasn't part of the script. this wasn't supposed to happen. the contract had rules—no blurred lines, no real feelings, no messy complications.

"but the contract—"

"i don't care." his voice was rough, edged with something desperate. his thumb traced your cheekbone again, lingering this time, as if memorizing the shape of you.

you searched his face for any hint of a lie, any trace of the polished professional facade he wore so well. but all you found was the same person who held your hand under the table when your ex tried to cut you down.

the one who'd kissed you like he meant it.

"soobin," you whispered.

he swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing. his grip on your wrist tightened.

"tell me i'm not the only one."

you didn't answer with words.

you kissed him.

not like before—not for an audience. this was slow, aching, real. his breath hitched, a quiet, broken sound, before his hands slid fully into your hair, pulling you closer like he couldn't bear an inch between you. his lips moved against yours, warm and insistent.

when you finally pulled back—just enough to breathe— his forehead rested against yours, his breathing ragged.

then, a soft chuckle escaped him, breathless and dazed

"okay," he murmured, lips brushing yours with the ghost of a smile. "that's a good answer."

and just like that—the contract was broken.

the cafeteria buzzed around you—clattering trays, the sharp scent of burnt coffee. sunlight streamed through the windows, but you barely noticed.

yeonjun sat across from you, his usual air of effortless chaos. his dyed red hair was mussed from where he'd run his hands through it one too many times, his leather jacket slung over the back of his chair.

yeonjun's coffee cup hovered halfway to his lips, frozen mid-sip. the condensation dripping onto his fingers, but he didn't seem to notice. his eyes wide, disbelieving—locked onto yours like he'd just witnessed a crime.

"wait. wait."

he slammed the cup down, liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. a few heads turned at the noise, but yeonjun didn't even glance their way.

"you're telling me," he said slowly, voice dripping with disbelief and enthusiasm. "you actually fell for your fake boyfriend?"

you groaned, slumping into the cafeteria's chair. the plastic squeked under your weight, and you dragged your hands down your face, your cheeks burning.

"it's not that simple—"

"it's exactly that simple!"

yeonjun jabbed a finger at you, his grin stretching ear to ear. "i set you up with a rental, and you somehow turned it into a rom-com." he leaned in, lowering his voice to a theatrical whisper. "did you at least get a discount."

you kicked him under the table.

he yelped, jerking back but his laughter burst out anyway, loud and uncontained. he threw his head back, his shoulders shaking. "oh this is gold. i'm framing this story on my desk."

"you're insufferable."

The living room of soobin's apartment was bathed in the golden glow of the afternoon sun. the faint scent of vanilla from a half-burned candle mixed with the lingering aroma of takeout containers still scattered across the coffee table. you sat curled into soobin's side, his arm draped lazily over your shoulders.

and then—

chaos.

beomgyu, who had been sprawled across the armchair, suddenly launched himself upright, his socked feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. his eyes—wide and gleaming with unholy delight—darted between you and soobin, his mouth already curling into a grin.

"i knew it!"

the declaration was loud enough to startle you, your shoulders jerking slightly as soobin's fingers tightened instinctively around yours. beomgyu slammed his hands onto the coffee table, rattling the empty soda cans, before pointing an accusatory finger at soobin.

"i told you! i called it!" his voice cracked halfway through, but he didn't care, already bouncing on the ball of his feet like a kid who'd just been handed free candy. "you owe me so much food—"

soobin groaned, his head tipping back against the couch. "you didn't call anything," he muttered, but his cheeks were already turning pink.

beomgyu gasped, clutching his chest like he'd been personally wounded. "i literally said, 'you like her', and you said—" he dropped his voice into a terrible imitation of soobin's voice, "'i like getting paid.'"

he gestured wildly at the two of you—at the way you were tucked so comfortably against his side. "and now look at you!"

soobin rolled his eyes, but his thumb brushed your knuckles. "shut up."

"nope. never." beomgyu plopped back down, grinning. "this is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

you raised an eyebrow, fighting back your own smile. "you're not the one dating him."

"no," beomgyu agreed. "but i am the one who gets to tease him about it forever." beomgyu's grin turned wicked. "so. who made the first move? was it the kiss in the hallway? because damn—"

soobin lunged.

one second, he was beside you, warm and solid. the next, he was launching himself at beomgyu, sending the coffee table screeching across the floor as they collapsed.

you burst out laughing, watching them wrestle like kids fighting for candy, and realized—this was the real soobin. the one who bickered with his best friend, who got shy whenever you complimented him, soobin who got excited after convincing you to play video games together.

the cafe smelled like roasted beans and burnt sugar, the hum of chatter and clinking cups filling the air. you'd been here a dozen times before, but today was different.

because today, soobin quit his job—he wasn't your fake boyfriend, or anyone's fake boyfriend.

he was just... soobin.

—and just soobin, as it turned out, was a mess.

you spotted him behind the counter—soobin, his dark hair slightly tousled under the cafe's ridiculous little paper hat, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the lean muscles of his forearms as he wrestled with the espresso machine. his brows were furrowed in concentration, tongue poking out slightly between his teeth—the same expression he'd made when trying to remember the fake backstory you'd rehearsed for your disastrous dinner.

except this time, there was no script. no act.

just him.

and he was losing.

"hey," he hissed, leaning over the counter toward his coworker—a bored looking guy with a nose ring. "how do i—wait, no, that's steam—oh god, that's steam—"

a sharp hiss erupted from the machine, and soobin yanked his hand back like he'd been burned. his coworker didn't even blink, he just reached over to flip a switch with the ease of someone who'd given up on a life years ago.

"you're hopeless," he muttered.

soobin pouted. "i'm learning."

you bit back a laugh, sliding into a seat at the counter.

soobin's head snapped up, his eyes widening when he saw you. a slow, charming grin spread across his face—the kind that made his dimples pop. the kind he never used during rental dates.

"hey," he said, voice warm, wiping his hands on his apron. "you're early."

you propped your chin in your hand, grinning. "wanted to see the professional at work"

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "i've been here three days and i've already set a towel on fire."

"what?"

"it's fine," he insisted, waving a hand dismissively, though the flush on his cheeks said otherwise. "it was a small fire. very contained."

you burst out laughing., the sound bright and unfiltered, and soobin's expression softened.

this wasn't soobin from perfect match rentals—the polished, effortless boyfriend who knew exactly how to charm parents, impress friends, and make exes jealous.

this soobin—spilled oat milk on his shoes and cursed under his breath in a way that was definitely not cutomer-service appropriate.

this soobin forgot which syrup was vanilla and which was chocolate, squinting at the bottles like they'd personally offended him.

this soobin knocked over a stack of cups and then tried to play it off by saying, "i meant to do that."

and yet—

when he finally slid your latte across the counter, he drew a lopsided heart in the foam.

your chest did something stupid.

then—

he sneezed halfway through the heart

the heart smeared.

"no—" he stared at the cup in horror. his entire face draining of color. "this is a disaster."

you took a sip—it was too sweet, the foam was uneven, and the caramel had sunk to the bottom in the sad little clumps.

you grinned.

"it's perfect."

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / part four / part five ୨♡୧

© bangtanbeom 2025

[csbenthusiast]

assigned to you

summary: in a dystopian future where the government enforces arranged marriages to combat plummeting birth rates, you’re assigned a husband—choi yeonjun, a stranger you’ve never met.

pairing: yeonjun x fem!reader

genre: dystopia, slow burn, romance, angst, smut, fluff.

warnings: explicit sexual content, soft breeding kink, language, forced marriage system, emotional vulnerability, pregnancy, domestic intimacy, power imbalance due to forced pairing, first time sex, creampie, dirty talk, oral sex,

wc: 19,1k

notes: hi everyone! ✨ so recently this idea popped into my head—i’ve been wanting to write something with an arranged marriage trope but the whole cold ceo x neglected wife thing was starting to feel a bit repetitive, especially since i’ve already written something in that genre (which i still LOVE btw, but i just wanted to try something new) 🥲 then i remembered this anime called koi to uso — it’s about this dystopian world where the government assigns you a partner and yeah… i never finished it because it turned super harem-y and that’s not really my vibe AJSJHSKJJH but the concept really caught my attention, so i thought hmm maybe i should give it a try 🫣

hope you guys enjoy it!! 🫶

everything begins the day you turn twenty.

you wake up to the faint noise of birds outside your window, sunlight filtering through the pale curtains, painting quiet shadows across your bedroom floor. your mother is already in the kitchen, humming lowly, but there’s something off in her tone. a tremble, maybe. or maybe it’s just you. maybe you’re imagining it because today’s the day you have to register.

the day you officially surrender your right to choose who you’ll love.

in this country, love is not a decision. it is a number, an equation, a state-mandated obligation for survival. for years now, the country’s birth rate has been plummeting. desperate to avoid demographic collapse, the government instituted the pairing system: when you turn twenty, your data—genetic markers, temperament, emotional intelligence, compatibility rates—is run through the database. the algorithm does the rest. your match is chosen, your future locked in, and within the year, you are expected to marry and attend compulsory family planning. you have one job: produce offspring.

love is banned unless sanctioned by the state.

you walk into the government building with your hands shaking, your mother squeezing your fingers too tightly, her eyes red-rimmed but dry. she’s been crying in secret, you know. she didn’t want this for you. no one does.

and yet—there is no other choice.

the registration is swift. a photo, a signature, your blood drawn for one final compatibility cross-check. they tell you the letter will arrive in three to five business days. the envelope will be yellow. unmistakable.

“please return home and prepare for assignment.”

you try to keep your days normal after that. university lectures. cafeteria lunches. walking home with your head down, ignoring the couples holding hands across campus, each one with an official barcode tattooed on their ring fingers—a symbol of government approval. your own hand feels heavy just looking at them. branded love. manufactured desire. they never really chose each other.

sometimes you wonder if any of them are happy.

three days later, the yellow envelope is in your mailbox.

you freeze when you see it. fingers trembling, breath caught, skin going cold. the paper almost burns in your hands. you don’t open it right away. you walk straight to your room, lock the door, sit on your bed with your heart racing so violently you think you might throw up. and then, slowly, carefully, you tear the seal.

your eyes skim the top. the official logo of the bureau of demographic affairs. your name, your assigned number. and then:

assigned partner: choi yeonjun. age: 20.

a small, passport-sized photo is attached to the right side of the letter.

you stare.

he’s... beautiful.

cat-like eyes, tilted just enough to make him look a little wild. dark lashes, long and thick. a soft, upturned nose with a gentle slope that suits the elegant structure of his face. lips—full, plush, the kind that look perpetually kiss-bruised even in monochrome. his jaw is sharp but not too much, softened by a slight pout in his mouth. he’s unnervingly symmetrical. there’s a balance to his features, a harmony, like he was designed—crafted—to be attractive.

your throat feels dry.

beneath the photo, there’s a line of text confirming the date of your preliminary meeting—next friday at 2 p.m., government center, family conference room 2B. both sets of parents are expected to attend. your wedding will be planned based on that meeting’s outcome.

you lie back on the bed, letter pressed to your chest, and stare at the ceiling.

it feels... wrong to think this—but he’s attractive. unfairly so. and that terrifies you even more. because you were always taught not to feel. not to dream of fairytales or meet-cutes or falling for someone in the rain. love at first sight is a myth now. it's forbidden. it would disrupt the system. too much emotion, too much unpredictability. and yet—

yet here you are, cheeks warm, heart skipping, staring at the grayscale face of a boy you’re about to marry.

a boy you’ve never met.

friday. 2:00 p.m.government center, family conference room 2B.

you’re early.

your dress is navy, modest, but it hugs your figure in a way you wish it wouldn’t. you didn’t pick it to be pretty—you picked it because it was formal, appropriate. your mother insisted on curling your hair, and your father didn’t speak the entire ride over. only your little brother tried to smile at you, but even his usual mischief was subdued. he kept playing with the sleeves of his hoodie in the backseat, pretending not to be upset.

the building is tall and silent, cold in a way that doesn't come from the air conditioning. it's the sterility of a place that sees life as a series of documents and laws. a place that doesn’t care about dreams.

you sit on one side of the long glass table, your family beside you. your mother keeps wringing a tissue in her lap. your father’s jaw is clenched, his hands crossed tightly. this is the last time they will sit with you like this—before you are someone else's.

and then the door opens.

you hear his voice before you see him. low, warm, laughing quietly at something one of his parents said. and when he walks in, it’s—

it’s hard to breathe.

he’s wearing a black suit that fits too well. slim, tailored, crisp like a page never touched. his hair is pushed back, soft and styled, a few strands falling delicately onto his forehead. and his face—his photo didn’t do him justice. his features move with his expressions, eyes gleaming like obsidian, mouth curved just slightly at the corners as if he’s always on the edge of a smile.

choi yeonjun.

his mother is elegant, her hair in a low twist, expression unreadable. his father looks composed, dignified, already halfway through a handshake with the government official present. this isn’t their first pairing. you remember reading his file—third son. they’ve done this before.

you feel like you’re being auctioned off.

“this is my assigned partner?” yeonjun asks, voice lilting, curious—not judgmental. he’s looking straight at you. and then he bows.

you stand and bow too, polite. your voice stays caught in your throat.

“you’re pretty,” he says softly, once he straightens. “i’m glad.”

it shouldn’t affect you. it shouldn’t. and yet your stomach flutters, just for a second, before you kill the feeling dead.

you don’t say anything. not because you’re rude—but because this isn’t real. this is a performance. this is a sentence.

the government mediator begins to speak, outlining the stages of the arrangement: the preliminary meeting. the planning process. the mandatory cohabitation. the one-year marriage trial before reproduction is expected.

you zone out after a while. your mother is crying again. your father’s voice is hoarse when he answers the legal questions. your little brother won’t look at you. and across from you, yeonjun looks like he’s done this in another life. calm. collected. but not cruel.

then, the mediator clears her throat.

“now, if the parents could please give the pair some time to speak privately. it is customary.”

your mother hesitates. she squeezes your hand until her knuckles turn white. she whispers something—"don’t let them take your heart too, okay?"—and then lets go.

and just like that, you are alone with him.

just the two of you, in a silent room that smells like paper and polished wood.

yeonjun exhales once your families are gone. his shoulders relax a little.

“wow,” he says. “that was intense.”

you nod. your hands are in your lap, clutching the fabric of your dress.

“you don’t talk much, huh?”

you glance up at him. he’s watching you with a soft kind of curiosity. not the kind that pries. more like he’s observing the weather—trying to guess if rain is coming.

“i do,” you say finally, voice quiet. “just... not today.”

he smiles. “that’s fair.”

a pause. he sits across from you again, legs crossed, posture easy, like he’s not under the weight of state surveillance. like this is his decision.

“i know this is strange,” he says. “i’m not gonna pretend it’s not. they pick someone for you, give you a name and a photo, and you’re supposed to start building a future. it's... a lot.”

you say nothing. you’re watching the way his fingers tap on the edge of the table. rhythmical. patient.

“i’m not here to make this harder for you,” he says, gentler now. “i know some people get assigned to assholes. i promise i won’t be one.”

your brows knit together, surprised.

he leans forward, elbows on the table, chin resting in one palm.

“if we have to go through this, we might as well not suffer through it.”

and you look at him then, really look.

his gaze is steady. not forceful. not manipulative. he’s not trying to make you like him. he’s just... honest.

"you’re used to this,” you murmur.

his smile falters. “not really. i’ve just watched my brothers go through it. and i learned what not to do.”

there’s something about the way he says it. like he’s seen what happens when the system doesn’t pair people right. like he knows how love can die before it’s even born.

you swallow, throat tight.

“i didn’t want this,” you admit.

he nods. “me neither.”

silence settles between you again. it’s not awkward. just full. like both of you are trying to breathe in a place with no air.

“but...” he says softly, after a while. “i think you’re interesting. and you’re easy to talk to. even if you don’t say much.”

your cheeks flush, and you hate that you can feel it. he notices, of course. but he doesn’t tease you. he just smiles to himself, quiet and pleased.

“so,” he says, tilting his head. “can i know something real about you? not government data. just... you.”

you blink.

he waits.

slow burn. that’s what this is. he’s not rushing. he’s not playing pretend. he’s offering you a chance to make something human out of something cold.

and even though everything in you is screaming don’t trust it— you speak.

you tell him a little. not much. just enough.

and he listens. attentively. sincerely.

maybe that’s how it starts. not with a kiss. not with a confession. but with someone sitting across from you, asking who you are when no one’s watching.

two weeks later.

the wedding is on a thursday.

you don’t get a white dress. there’s no music, no flowers. no ceremony beyond a document and a pen and the sterile voices of government officials making sure everything is binding and accounted for.

you wear beige.

yeonjun wears black again. no tie this time. his hair is messier, like he didn’t bother too much. he looks good anyway, like he always does. like someone who never had to try.

the room is almost identical to the one where you met: glass, steel, a flag in the corner.

your mother sobs quietly during the signing. your father doesn’t let go of her hand. your brother tries not to look, but when you lean down to hug him goodbye, he hides his face in your shoulder and mutters a broken, “please don’t forget us.”

and that’s when you finally cry.

not loud. not messy. just silent tears running down your cheeks as you sign the paper that says you no longer belong to them. your name next to yeonjun’s. your status: married. active participant in national repopulation initiative.

they even stamp it. a red seal. final. absolute.

you don't remember the ride to your new shared apartment. only the sound of the car, the blur of the buildings, your hands gripping the hem of your coat in your lap like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

yeonjun doesn’t speak for a while. and when he does, it’s soft. careful.

“you don’t have to pretend around me,” he says, eyes on the road. “i know this hurts.”

you don’t answer.

he pulls into a residential complex. government-provided. modern, quiet. two bedrooms, a shared kitchen, everything fully equipped. it smells like fresh paint and new plastic. not like home.

your boxes are already inside. so are his.

the apartment is... neutral. beige walls. grey couch. chrome kitchen. there’s a small balcony, but it faces another building.

you walk into your assigned bedroom and close the door without saying a word.

and to his credit, he doesn’t follow you. not right away.

but now, days pass like fog.

there’s a schedule pinned to the fridge now. a printed routine from the bureau: acclimation period, cohabitation adjustment, health preparation. underlined: mandatory hospital check-up before family planning begins.

you go to the hospital together a week later.

the nurse greets you by your couple ID number.

yeonjun jokes to break the tension—something dumb about feeling like a robot in a factory—and you don’t laugh, but you glance at him sideways. just a little. he notices.

you both go through blood work, fertility testing, infectious disease screening. the nurse asks personal questions. too personal. about cycles and hormone levels and sexual history— you flinch.

yeonjun speaks for you when you freeze.

“she’s not comfortable,” he says simply. “ask me first.”

his voice is calm, but there's steel beneath it. the nurse adjusts her tone after that.

on the ride home, you stare out the window. he drives with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping his thigh, nervous energy he never shows in his posture. it’s the little things you’re starting to notice.

“you didn’t have to speak for me,” you say, finally.

“i know,” he answers. “but i wanted to.”

and again—there it is.

that kindness you didn’t ask for. that warmth he keeps offering, even though you haven’t given him much back.

nights are the hardest.

you pretend to sleep early, even when your eyes stay open in the dark for hours. the room feels too still, too foreign. the bed smells like the laundry detergent they gave you in the relocation kit. the ceiling fan turns slowly, quietly. your chest feels tight, like grief has found a home inside your ribs and refuses to move out.

sometimes, you press your ear against the bedroom wall. you can’t hear much. just the occasional soft shuffle, the hum of yeonjun’s voice when he speaks on the phone in hushed tones. he never speaks long. never laughs out loud. not anymore.

you miss your mother’s voice echoing from the kitchen, your brother’s heavy footsteps running down the hallway. the scent of warm rice and grilled mackerel. the sound of your father clearing his throat before calling everyone to eat.

now, there’s only silence.

until one night, a knock.

not loud. not urgent. just... present.

“hey,” comes his voice through the door. “you don’t have to open. i just wanted to say... i know this feels like the end of everything, but it isn’t.”

you sit up slowly. your hand hovers near the handle but doesn’t reach it.

“i know we didn’t choose each other,” he continues, voice low and careful, “but maybe that doesn’t mean we can’t choose to be good to each other.”

you swallow. your throat feels raw.

after a pause, your voice comes out in a whisper, hoarse but steady. “okay.”

you don’t open the door. but you walk to it, lean your back against the cool wood. and then—almost imperceptibly—you hear the sound of him lowering himself on the other side. sitting with you. just like that. no pressure. just presence.

you stay like that for a while. breathing the same air, separated by a few centimeters and a thin barrier. but somehow... it feels closer than anything else has in weeks.

you don’t talk more that night. but when you finally slide back into bed, you sleep without crying.

that’s a first.

the next morning, there’s tea waiting on the counter.

he doesn’t say it’s from him. but he’s the only other person here, so you thank him anyway.

a nod. a tiny smile. you sip it, and it’s sweet.

from that night on, something shifts. neither of you says it aloud, but the air is different now.

you start having breakfast together. simple stuff—toast, boiled eggs, fruit. you sit across from each other at the tiny kitchen table and talk about nothing. weather. uni schedules. news updates.

one afternoon, you both arrive home soaked from the sudden rain.

you were out grocery shopping. he met you on the walk back by chance. no umbrella. you ran together. you laughed—really laughed—for the first time since being assigned. your clothes clung to your skin, your breath short from the sprint.

in the elevator, he looks at you and says, a little breathless, “you’re kind of cute when you’re mad at the rain.”

you blink at him. cheeks warm. you don't know what to say.

that night, he passes you a hairdryer through your door.

“so you don’t catch a cold.”

you murmur thanks. he lingers in the hallway a moment, like he wants to say something else. but then he leaves.

the next few nights, he knocks more often. never asks to come in. just talks through the door. sometimes you join him on the floor again, your backs pressed to opposite sides of wood. you start to open up. a little at a time.

one night, just past midnight, you both end up in the kitchen again.

you couldn’t sleep. neither could he. you make tea, he brings a packet of cookies.

the city outside is asleep. your apartment is bathed in soft fridge light.

you find yourselves sitting on the floor, backs to the counter.

he asks, voice low, “did you ever fall in love before all this?”

the question feels heavy. you stare into your cup.

“no,” you answer honestly. “i didn’t let myself. what was the point, if it was forbidden? if we were all going to be assigned anyway?”

he nods slowly. you notice the way his eyes flick toward the window, as if remembering something far away.

“i did,” he says finally.

your heart stirs.

“in high school,” he goes on, “i fell for this girl in my class. she had this ridiculous laugh and used to bring snacks for everyone. i liked her for three years. never told her. i thought... i don’t know. part of me really believed she’d be assigned to me.”

you watch the way his lips twist into something halfway between a smile and a wince.

“i used to daydream about it,” he admits, almost embarrassed. “our names printed together on the envelope. hers next to mine. like it was meant to be.”

you don’t say anything. you let him speak.

“and then she got married last year. to someone else. she posted a photo with her husband and... i laughed. like, really laughed. because it was so stupid. how much hope i’d put into something that was never mine to decide.”

you imagine it. the version of him in a classroom, heart racing every time she turned around. young, hopeful. painfully innocent.

you don’t know her name. you’ll probably never meet her.

but you hate her a little.

you hate that she had his love, his dreams, his belief. something you were too scared to even touch.

and you hate that your chest aches when he says her name without saying it.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper. “that it didn’t work out.”

he looks at you, and there’s something tender in the way his eyes soften. “i’m not,” he says after a beat. “i wouldn’t have met you if it had.”

the silence after that is heavy, electric.

you don’t answer.

but you stay there with him. knees almost touching. the scent of tea between you. eyes a little too full. hearts slightly ajar.

the email arrives quietly, with the mechanical ding of a notification breaking the silence of your morning. it’s nothing dramatic—just a government seal, a cold subject line: YOUTH EMPLOYMENT PROGRAM FOR NEWLYWEDS.

you’re still in your oversized sleep shirt, hair loosely tied up, your fingers wrapped around a warm mug of barley tea as you sit at the small kitchen table. the place smells like toasted bread and laundry detergent. yeonjun walks in a few minutes later, yawning, dressed in sweatpants and a faded university hoodie, a slice of toast clenched between his teeth. he glances over your shoulder to see what you're looking at.

you click the email open. it’s from the ministry of social and familial affairs—another mandatory policy. another thing the government arranges for you, like you’re pieces on a board.

“because both parties are currently enrolled in higher education,” you read aloud softly, “the government will provide access to part-time employment opportunities and offer a financial subsidy for essential living expenses during the first year of marriage.”

you don’t say anything for a long while after that. the words hover in the air, bureaucratic and impersonal. but somehow, they make this life feel more real. more permanent. like you’re not just living in a temporary dream—you’re expected to stay here. build something.

“well,” yeonjun finally says, mouth half-full, “that’s... something. we should check it out later.”

you nod, even though your stomach feels hollow.

you still think about that night. the night he told you about his first love. about how he spent three years loving her in silence, convinced she'd be the one fate would give him. the girl with snacks and a bright laugh. the one who got married last year. not to him.

and no matter how much you tell yourself it’s ridiculous, it still gnaws at you sometimes. there’s this faint, irrational heat in your chest whenever she crosses your mind. you don’t even know what she looks like. you don’t know her name. but something about the way he talked about her—with such tender resignation—makes something sour rise in your throat.

you hate that it lingers.

you hate that it hurts.

that night, the rain starts late.

it begins with a steady tapping against the glass, the kind that would normally soothe you—white noise for your thoughts. but then the wind picks up, howling through the narrow alley between your apartment and the building next door, and you know what’s coming.

the first clap of thunder makes you freeze.

your fingers curl around the blanket. your chest tightens. you try to breathe slowly, like your therapist taught you when you were younger. but then comes another one—louder, deeper. it shakes the walls. it shakes you.

you’ve always hated storms. they made you cry as a child, and when you were too old to crawl into your mother’s bed, you forced your little brother to sleep beside you just so you wouldn’t feel alone.

now you’re in a place that doesn’t smell like your mother’s laundry, that doesn’t hold your brother’s sleepy warmth.

you’re alone again. except you’re not. not really.

you don’t think. you just move.

barefoot, your steps light across the cold floor, you open your bedroom door and cross the hall. you knock on yeonjun’s door twice, already feeling embarrassed, but unable to stop.

he opens almost immediately, wearing a gray t-shirt and sleep-tousled hair. his eyes are soft when they meet yours.

“are you okay?” he asks gently, already understanding.

you hesitate. “can i… stay here tonight?”

there’s a beat of silence. he nods, stepping aside without a word, and gestures for you to come in.

his room is dim, smelling faintly of his cologne and clean linen. it’s warmer than yours. there’s a stack of books by his bed, an open laptop with half-written notes still on the screen, a navy blue hoodie slung over the chair.

he grabs an extra blanket and starts to lay it out on the floor, but you shake your head, already trembling from another rumble of thunder.

“i… don’t want to be alone,” you whisper.

yeonjun pauses. and then, slowly, he walks back toward the bed and lifts the corner of the blanket for you.

you crawl in on one side. he lies down on the other. space between you, but not coldness. not indifference.

“i’ve always been scared of storms,” you murmur into the dark. “when i was little, i’d run to my parents’ room. then i made my little brother stay with me. i thought that when i grew up, i wouldn’t be scared anymore. but i guess… i still am.”

you feel the bed shift as he turns onto his side, facing you. his voice is low, almost a hush.

“nothing’s going to break tonight.”

those five words feel like something heavier than comfort. they feel like a promise. and they make something fragile inside you twist.

you’re quiet for a long time after that. the silence is heavy but not uncomfortable. it’s the kind of silence that lets your heartbeat slow. the kind that feels full of something new—something you don’t have a name for yet.

you fall asleep to the sound of rain and his breathing, even and steady beside you.

and when you wake up in the early morning light, his hand is resting over yours.

you slept like a baby.

it's the first thought you have when you blink your eyes open, bathed in the pale light of morning seeping through the curtains. the room smells like faint detergent and something unmistakably yeonjun—warm cotton and the slightest trace of his cologne. the air is quiet now, no more thunder shaking the walls, no rain tapping restlessly against the windows. and your chest feels… calm.

it surprises you, how rested you feel. how deep your sleep was. how safe.

you remember all those nights with your younger brother, clinging to him as the storm rattled outside, whispering stories or counting sheep until your mind shut down from exhaustion. sleep was never easy back then. it was something you wrestled for, clawed your way toward, until it finally overtook you like mercy. but last night... last night, it came softly. it held you.

and now you realize why.

yeonjun’s arms are around you.

not tightly, not possessively—just gently draped, like he forgot to move in the night, like his body instinctively curved around yours in sleep. one of his hands rests over your wrist, the other loosely against your waist, warm even through the thin fabric of your sleep shirt. and his face is so close, calm and boyish, lips slightly parted, his breath even and soft against your skin.

your heart pounds immediately, panic fluttering low in your stomach—not because you’re scared, but because this is unfamiliar. because you don’t know what to do with this kind of tenderness.

you want to pull away. you should. you really, really should.

but instead you stay.

you stay because there’s something about this moment that feels too fragile to break. something inside you, some cracked place, is being filled just by existing in this quiet closeness. and you realize—though you’ve never wanted to admit it—that you’ve been touch-starved for a long time. that there’s a part of you that’s been aching for connection, for warmth, for someone.

his fingers twitch slightly in his sleep, adjusting against your hip, and your breath catches. the movement is innocent, unconscious—but your skin reacts like it’s been branded. you swallow hard, trying to still the storm inside you, even though the one outside is already gone.

you stay like that for several more minutes, listening to the soft hum of the apartment, watching the way the sunlight plays over his features. you trace the line of his brow with your eyes, the soft curve of his lashes, the shape of his lips. he looks so peaceful like this—unguarded, almost boyish. and for a second, you wonder what he’s dreaming about. if he ever dreamed of something like this.

he stirs eventually, a sleepy sound escaping his throat as he blinks slowly awake. his gaze is unfocused at first, but then it lands on you, and something warm flickers in it.

“…morning,” he mumbles, voice still gravelly from sleep.

“morning,” you whisper back, suddenly aware of how close you are, of how your bodies are still tucked together like pieces of the same story.

neither of you moves.

there’s a pause where his eyes search your face, slow and unreadable. and then, with a sleepy smile tugging at his lips, he lets out a soft breath.

“you didn’t run away in the middle of the night. that’s a good sign.”

you laugh quietly, your cheeks burning. “i slept too well to even think about moving.”

he hums, pleased. “me too. i usually toss around like crazy, but i guess… you were a good influence.”

you want to joke. to deflect. but instead you find yourself whispering something real.

“i felt safe.”

his eyes soften.

you don’t say anything else. you just lie there a while longer, not moving, not rushing. there’s a peace in the way your bodies still fit together, in how neither of you seems quite ready to let go.

but the world, eventually, pulls you back. responsibilities, the clock ticking louder in your head. breakfast. classes. life.

yeonjun stretches lazily and finally pulls back, giving you space without question, his smile sleepy but kind. “i’ll make us coffee.”

you nod, watching him slip out of bed, hair tousled, shirt riding up slightly at the back. you press your hand to where his body had been, still warm, and you sit there a little longer, your thoughts spiraling in slow, confused circles.

because even though last night was about fear and storms… this morning feels like the beginning of something else entirely.

the waiting room smells like antiseptic and soft lavender, a strange combination that doesn’t manage to calm your nerves. you sit side by side with yeonjun on a sleek government-issued bench, your fingers clasped tightly on your lap, trying not to let your knee bounce with the anxiety pressing into your chest.

he seems more composed than you are—back straight, hands relaxed, legs slightly spread in his usual confident posture—but when you glance sideways, you notice how he keeps licking his lips, how his jaw clenches just a little every few seconds.

the appointment with the planning officer had been scheduled right after your wedding—clinical, efficient, emotionless, like everything else in this system. you hadn’t talked about it. hadn’t even wanted to think about it. but now it’s here, and there’s nowhere to hide.

“choi yeonjun. choi y/n,” a nurse calls softly from the doorway, clipboard in hand. “follow me.”

you walk side by side into a white, spotless office where a woman in a pale beige suit greets you from behind a desk. she looks to be in her forties, composed, direct, her nametag reading ms. kang – reproductive health officer.

you sit across from her. the air feels heavier now.

“so,” she begins, smiling in that polite, unyielding way government workers do, “you’re about a month into your union. how’s the adjustment been?”

you blink, unsure how to answer. yeonjun speaks first.

“we’re getting used to it. slowly.”

“good,” she nods, tapping something on her tablet. “you’ve both passed the health screenings, no genetic flags or fertility concerns. so the next step is to begin trials of compatibility-based conception.”

you shift in your seat. trials.

“have you already begun your sexual relationship?” she asks, her tone calm, like she’s asking about the weather.

your breath catches. your eyes widen slightly, and your face goes hot. “uh—no. not yet,” you manage, your voice too soft, almost guilty.

yeonjun straightens a little, eyebrows twitching, his tone sharper. “we’ve only been married a few weeks. there hasn’t been time.”

ms. kang doesn’t flinch. she only nods and types something on her screen. “i see. while it’s natural for some couples to take time, we recommend initiating intimacy soon. it will help establish the rhythm of your connection and allow us to track progress for planning interventions if necessary.”

your ears are burning now. her words play back in your head like static: initiate intimacy, track progress.

you glance at yeonjun without meaning to, and he’s already looking at you—but his expression is unreadable. his jaw is tight again.

“we’ll… take that into consideration,” he says curtly.

the rest of the appointment passes in a blur. you nod and agree to things you barely hear, accept pamphlets on fertility monitoring and hormonal optimization. by the time you walk out of the clinic, your skin feels too tight for your body.

you don’t speak on the way home.

you sit beside him on the train, trying to focus on the passing buildings outside the window, but your thoughts keep circling the same place. the way she said it. the expectation of it. and worse—the idea of it.

because the thing is… you’ve thought about it. even before this meeting, in the quiet moments, in the space between shared breakfasts and brushing past each other in the kitchen, in that night you slept in his arms like you belonged there.

you’ve wondered what his mouth would feel like pressed to your neck.

you’ve wondered how his hands would move if he weren’t just offering comfort.

you’ve wondered how his voice would sound if it wasn’t so composed—if it cracked with want.

but that was all private. safe in your imagination. not something stamped into paperwork. not something tracked by government programs and fertility logs.

and now you can’t not think about it.

when you finally get home, it’s too quiet. you move around each other like magnets unsure if they should attract or repel. you both pretend you’re just tired. that it was just a long day.

but the silence drips between you, thick and unspoken.

you head to your room without a word, tossing the clinic folder on your desk like it burns. you try to sleep. but the image of yeonjun, tense and handsome in the cold clinic light, won’t leave your mind. his voice, defensive. his fingers, twitching on his knee. and most of all, the memory of his arm around your waist from that night—the heat of his skin under your palm.

an hour passes. maybe two.

you shift in bed, restless. you toss the blanket off. put it back on. stare at the ceiling. you hear footsteps in the hall.

a soft knock at your door.

you sit up, heart hammering. “come in.”

yeonjun stands there, messy hair and hoodie half-zipped, eyes unreadable in the dim light. he doesn’t come in right away. just leans against the doorframe and runs a hand through his hair.

“sorry,” he says after a moment. “about earlier. the clinic.”

you nod. “it’s okay.”

he looks at you then, longer, and something flickers in his expression—something caught between curiosity and hesitation.

“they make it sound like it’s supposed to be… mechanical,” he murmurs, crossing the room slowly. “but it’s not, right? it’s not supposed to be.”

your breath catches.

he stops by your bed. close enough for you to see the flutter of his lashes, the nervous line between his brows. close enough that you feel the heat radiating off his body.

you don’t know who moves first. maybe it’s you. maybe it’s both of you at the same time. but suddenly, the space between you disappears.

his hand brushes your cheek, soft and hesitant, and you lean into it without thinking.

“i don’t want it to be just… a task,” he says quietly, voice barely a breath now. “not with you.”

you don’t answer. you just let your forehead rest against his chest, your heart beating too loudly, your breath catching in your throat. and when he wraps his arms around you again—warm and strong and familiar—you feel the storm rising again.

but this time, it’s not outside.

it’s you. it’s him.

and it’s not fear anymore.

it’s something else entirely.

you don’t kiss that night.

you could’ve. maybe you almost do. there’s a moment where his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth and your eyes lift to meet his, and you feel it—that shift, like the world holds its breath. but then he steps back, gives you a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and says goodnight in a voice that’s too soft, too careful.

he leaves your door cracked open behind him. and somehow, that’s worse than closing it.

after that, the tension lingers—thick and quiet like smoke.

in the mornings, you find yourselves together more often than not. your coffee mugs sit side by side now. sometimes you forget whose is whose. he steals sips from yours and you pretend to scowl, but your heart trips every time your fingers brush when you both reach for the sugar at the same time.

you fall into a rhythm. not romantic. not domestic. but something else. something intimate in a quiet way.

when the job placement emails come through, you sit together on the couch, scrolling through them on your shared government-issued tablet. yeonjun lands a spot as an assistant at a community cultural center downtown—flexible hours, reasonable pay. you get placed in a local library, part-time shelving and cataloguing.

it’s not exciting. it’s not your dream. but it’s… stable.

“at least we won’t starve,” yeonjun says one evening, his arm slung lazily over the back of the couch behind you. “thanks, government.”

you snort. “maybe next year they’ll assign us a kid and a dog, too.”

he laughs—really laughs, loud and full—and something about the sound makes your chest ache. it makes you want to say something dumb just to hear it again.

but what sticks with you, what haunts you, is that night after the storm. not because of what happened—because of what didn’t.

and what happened at the clinic. what the officer said. what yeonjun said after.

you think about it too much. think about him too much.

and you think about her.

the girl he loved once. the one he talked about in that quiet, midnight voice, when the rain had softened and you were wrapped in his hoodie like armor.

you remember how his gaze turned distant as he spoke of her, how he confessed that he truly believed she’d be the one assigned to him. that he waited. that he hoped.

how the disappointment burned when he found out she wasn’t.

and you shouldn’t feel anything about it. it’s in the past. he told you that.

but sometimes, when you catch him staring into space or fiddling with that little leather bracelet he always wears, your chest twists a little. and you don’t know why.

you’re not in love.

you’re not supposed to fall in love.

yet it keeps slipping in—quiet and slow. like water through cracks.

one evening, it rains again. not a storm, just a steady drizzle that makes the air smell clean. you’re both tired from work and university, but neither of you wants to be alone in your room.

you sit on the windowsill together, knees touching, sharing a bowl of strawberries yeonjun bought on the way home. the fruit is sweet and cold against your tongue.

“i used to love the rain,” he murmurs, watching it trail down the glass. “when i was a kid, i’d sit on the porch for hours just listening. it felt like… everything else stopped for a while.”

you glance at him. his profile is soft in the dim light, his hair falling slightly over his eyes.

“it used to scare me,” you admit quietly. “storms, i mean. as you may know...”

he smiles without turning to you. “you were scared.”

“yeah.”

there’s a pause.

“you weren’t scared the other night,” he says. “not with me.”

you shrug. “you made it easy not to be.”

the silence that follows is gentle. not awkward. just… full.

“do you think it’s still possible?” he asks suddenly. “to fall for someone? even with all of this?” he gestures vaguely, and you know he means the system, the laws, the matching algorithms and fertility checkups and pre-written life paths.

you don’t answer right away. you don’t know how to.

“i think we’re not supposed to,” you say after a long pause. “but maybe… that doesn’t stop it from happening.”

his eyes find yours then, and they don’t look away.

your heart stumbles.

neither of you speaks. the air feels like it’s crackling again—not with lightning, but with something just as dangerous.

the next night, you fall asleep on the couch together. not planned. not anything.

you were watching something. you don’t even remember what. but you woke up with your head on his chest, his arm wrapped around you, heartbeat steady against your ear.

you don’t move. you can’t move.

it feels too good. too right.

his shirt smells like laundry soap and skin. his fingers shift in his sleep, brushing lightly along your back. it makes you shiver. it makes you think about things you shouldn’t.

you stay there until the sun begins to rise.

you pretend to be asleep when he finally stirs and lifts his head slightly, blinking at your face. you feel the weight of his gaze.

but he doesn’t move either.

and neither do you.

because something’s changing. you both feel it.

you just don’t say it. not yet.

not until it’s too loud to ignore.

and maybe that moment is coming faster than either of you is ready for.

you try not to overthink the moments.

you try.

the accidental sleep on the couch becomes less accidental. the next week, it happens again—this time during a shared late-night study session. you're both exhausted, papers and notebooks strewn across the coffee table, half-finished cups of coffee gone cold.

you wake up tucked under the same blanket, the light off, the tablet blinking low battery on the floor. yeonjun is beside you, his legs tangled with yours, his breathing soft against the crown of your head.

he doesn’t say anything when you open your eyes. he’s already awake, watching you, and when he sees you stir, he whispers a faint “morning” like it’s a secret.

you nod, throat dry. “morning.”

neither of you moves.

and maybe it’s the silence. maybe it’s the way his hand is resting lightly on your hip, not possessive, not bold—just there.or maybe it’s because of the way your name sounds in his voice lately—gentler, more familiar, too intimate for two people who were supposed to be strangers made spouses.

whatever it is, it roots itself deep in your chest, wraps vines around your ribs, and refuses to let go.

but things are still complicated.

you remember the appointment at the family planning center far too clearly. how the sterile walls and uncomfortable chairs felt like a sentence being handed down. the woman at the desk, clipboard in hand, speaking in clinical terms while smiling too much. the questions.

“have you two begun sexual relations yet?”

your body stiffened so fast it hurt. you’d shaken your head, cheeks burning.

“no,” you said, barely above a whisper.

and then yeonjun.

his voice didn’t waver. didn’t shrink. but there was a hint of something—offense, maybe, or just discomfort buried beneath practiced calm.

“not yet.”

not yet.

those words echoed for hours after.

the woman nodded, unbothered, flipping her pen in one hand.

“you should consider beginning soon,” she said, checking off a box. “intimacy will help strengthen the emotional bond and allow us to begin identifying which fertility path will suit your needs. the government recommends couples begin within the first ninety days of union.”

you had never wanted to disappear more.

the walk home was silent.

yeonjun didn’t mention it. you didn’t either.

but it sat between you like a stormcloud, buzzing with electricity, waiting to crack open.

you catch him watching you more after that. not in a bad way. not in a way that makes you feel unsafe. no—it makes you feel too safe, and that’s somehow worse.

he’s careful. always. but he’s still a boy. and you’re still you. and your bodies know things your minds are afraid to say.

the small space you share only makes things more dangerous.

his cologne clings to your pillows. your lotion starts appearing on his arms. he hums the songs you listen to in the shower. he buys your favorite snack without asking.

you start wearing his shirts to sleep without realizing. you only notice the third time it happens—when he stops in the hallway and his eyes dip, linger, then flick back up with a quiet clearing of his throat.

“is that mine?”

you glance down at yourself. it’s an old oversized gray tee. soft. worn. familiar. his scent baked into the fabric like sunlight.

“uh… yeah. sorry. it was just on the chair and—”

“keep it,” he says, not letting you finish. “looks better on you.”

you go to bed that night with your skin buzzing.

and things only build from there.

he starts cooking more, pulling you into the kitchen with an easy “help me” that really means just stand here while i talk to you. you lean on the counter while he cuts vegetables, while he stirs sauces, while he tells you about his classes and how boring statistics is, how he almost fell asleep mid-lecture. you laugh and call him dramatic. he grins and tells you it’s your fault for not waking him up when he left.

“you’re supposed to be my wife now. you have responsibilities.”

he says it like a joke. you laugh like it is one.

but your heart stutters anyway.

one night, it rains again. not a storm, just heavy and constant, soft thunder echoing in the distance. you find yourself awake at midnight again, restless, curled on the couch in the living room with your knees tucked to your chest.

yeonjun finds you there.

he doesn’t say anything—just sits beside you, close but not touching, and watches the rain drip down the windows.

“can’t sleep?” he asks.

you shake your head. “not really.”

“you okay?”

you nod, even though you’re not sure.

the air between you hums. it’s familiar now. this closeness. this heavy, unsaid thing growing slowly between shared silences and sidelong glances.

you lean your head on his shoulder, unsure why. maybe it’s because the rain feels lonelier tonight. maybe it’s because it feels like something is shifting again.

his breath hitches almost imperceptibly, but he doesn’t move away.

“do you think they’re watching us?” you ask softly. “the government, i mean. checking how fast we fall in love. how fast we sleep together.”

he’s quiet for a moment.

“maybe,” he says finally. “but they can’t measure the parts that matter.”

“like what?”

he tilts his head toward yours. “like this.”

you feel the words like fingertips down your spine.

you close your eyes, and his shoulder under your cheek feels like solid ground.

this is the moment where maybe everything could change.

but you don’t kiss. not yet.

you breathe in together.

and for now, that’s enough.

the power cuts out a little after ten. it happens suddenly—an abrupt flicker, followed by darkness swallowing the apartment whole.

you blink, heart skipping, your body already tightening with reflex from the sound, from the silence that follows too quickly.

then the soft sound of rain begins again.

but unlike the last time, this one is gentle. no thunder, no flashes of light through the windows. just rain, steady and calm like fingers tapping against glass. it’s the kind of rain that makes the night feel softer than usual. quieter.

yeonjun lights a candle he keeps in the drawer near the kitchen, its flame swaying in the center of the living room table, casting shadows on the walls. he brings it over to the couch where you sit curled up under a blanket, your knees pressed to your chest, already waiting.

he joins you without asking.

“guess we’ll have to pretend we’re in the 1800s,” he murmurs, glancing at the candle.

you laugh softly. “at least you’re not reading me poetry.”

“don’t tempt me,” he grins.

the silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. it rarely is now. something about the rain, the flicker of light, the way you’re seated side by side with your shoulders barely touching, it all feels… close.

your gaze drifts to the window, where the raindrops race each other down the glass. and before you can stop yourself, your thoughts start circling again. you’ve been doing that more and more—ever since that night. ever since yeonjun told you about her. the girl he loved in high school. the one he thought would be assigned to him.

you swallow. your chest tightens, not with pain exactly—more like an unfamiliar ache. something raw you haven’t named yet.

“can i ask you something?” you say, voice quiet.

yeonjun hums, eyes still on the candlelight. “of course.”

“i haven’t stopped thinking about her.”

he turns to you, brows faintly furrowed. “who?”

“the girl you were in love with.”

his expression doesn’t change much. he just blinks slowly, watching you. “why?”

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “i don’t know. maybe because… i’m jealous of her.”

that makes him laugh—soft, surprised. “jealous?”

you nod, heart pounding. “yeah. i guess it’s stupid. but… she got to be your first love. she got all of you when it meant something. and now, i’m just—”

“my wife?” he cuts in, still smiling, trying to lighten the air. “you’re my wife now. kind of a win, don’t you think?”

but you don’t smile back.

you turn to face him, the dim light catching on your lashes, your jaw tight. “it’s not the same,” you say softly. “i know this is supposed to be a marriage, but it doesn’t feel right… hearing about your past like that. it’s not fair. it’s not fair that i have to be the one who came after.”

yeonjun’s smile fades. the playfulness drains from his face, replaced by something heavier. something slower. he looks at you like he’s really seeing you now—like maybe he’s been seeing you all along but didn’t know how close you were to unraveling.

“hey,” he says quietly, voice low and careful. “you’re not after anyone.”

you try to look away, but he catches your chin between two fingers, guiding your eyes back to his.

“she’s the past,” he murmurs. “but you—you’re the present. you’re the one who’s here. who sleeps beside me. who leaves hair ties on the bathroom sink and wears my shirts and steals my side of the bed.”

your lips part, but no sound comes out.

“don’t do that to yourself,” he whispers. “don’t compare. it’s not the same because this is real. and growing. and you—”

he leans closer.

“you make me forget her name.”

you blink, breath catching. the air feels different now. the candlelight flickers between you, but you can barely see it. all you can see is him—his face inches from yours, his voice warm and deep and trembling just enough to make your pulse race.

“yeonjun…”

“can i kiss you?” he breathes.

you nod.

slowly, his hand slides to your jaw, his thumb brushing the soft skin beneath your cheekbone. he closes the space between you inch by inch, giving you time to pull away, but you don’t. you lean in.

when his lips finally meet yours, it’s not fireworks. it’s gravity.

you sink into it, into him, into the warmth and tenderness of it. it’s careful, at first—testing, soft, a question asked in the silence. but then you tilt your head, fingers finding the collar of his shirt, and he answers with a deeper kiss, one that pulls a sound from the back of your throat you didn’t expect.

it’s too much. it’s not enough. it’s everything all at once.

when you finally part, you’re breathless.

he presses his forehead to yours. the candle crackles gently nearby. the rain keeps falling.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper.

“don’t be,” he says, brushing his nose against yours. “i should’ve known. i should’ve said something sooner.”

you shake your head. “no. i needed to feel it. to say it. i think i’ve been holding everything back since this marriage started.”

“me too.”

you both fall quiet again, but this time, it’s different.

you’re not two strangers trying to survive a system anymore.

you’re two people finally reaching across the space that was never meant to last.

and outside, the rain sings soft lullabies to the city, and the candle flickers like a heartbeat, and in his arms, you no longer feel like a second choice.

you feel chosen.

the next morning, something has changed.

it’s subtle. nothing overt. not at first.

you wake up earlier than him and find yourself just… watching him for a moment. the soft rise and fall of his chest. the curve of his lashes against his cheek. how he frowns slightly in his sleep, like he’s still half in a dream. you should look away—you’ve always looked away before—but now your eyes linger.

when he stirs, blinking against the light, he sees you watching. he doesn’t flinch. he just smiles, sleep-warm and real, and your heart does something uncomfortable and sweet in your chest.

“morning,” he murmurs, voice rough.

“morning,” you whisper back, your voice catching a little.

he reaches out lazily, his fingers brushing your arm beneath the blanket, and even though it’s nothing, just that, your breath hitches. you tell yourself it’s the closeness. the aftermath of the kiss. but the warmth in your chest says something else.

and then the day goes on—but not quite the same.

at breakfast, he sits closer than usual. your elbows touch when you both reach for the sugar. he doesn’t apologize like before. doesn’t pull away. just grins and bumps your shoulder on purpose this time.

you roll your eyes. “you’re annoying.”

“you kissed me last night,” he says, way too casually. “you don’t get to call me annoying anymore.”

“you asked first.”

“still counts.”

the banter is light, teasing, familiar. but under it, there’s a new current. an awareness. every glance feels heavier. every touch lingers a second longer than it should. when he hands you a dish, his fingers brush yours, and neither of you lets go right away.

the silence between you becomes something else entirely. no longer filled with obligation or awkwardness. now it feels like a question that neither of you is brave enough to answer out loud.

until it happens again. in the kitchen, late at night, as you’re washing dishes and he comes up behind you. at first it’s innocent—he says something dumb, you laugh—but then his hand finds the small of your back, and you freeze, not because it’s wrong but because it’s not. it feels too good. too natural.

you turn, slowly, water dripping from your hands, and he’s already looking at you like he wants to kiss you again.

he doesn’t. not yet. he just leans in and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. his fingers graze your cheek, his eyes drop to your lips, and then—he walks away.

you stand there for a moment, heart pounding, wondering how the hell he keeps doing this to you.

a few days later, you’re invited to visit your family.

it’s your first time back since the marriage. your parents had called to check in, of course, had even video called once or twice, but nothing replaces being home. your mother’s cooking. your father’s quiet warmth. your brother’s chaotic energy.

the moment you walk through the door, your mom pulls you into a hug so tight you almost cry again. your dad claps yeonjun’s shoulder, awkward but trying. your brother, now twelve, looks like he’s grown taller.

he eyes yeonjun up and down, squints a little, then smirks at you.

“so, are you pregnant yet?”

you freeze.

your dad chokes on his tea. your mother lets out a gasp so sharp it could cut metal. yeonjun’s eyes go wide—like someone just yanked the floor out from under him.

“yoonho!” your mom yells, already reaching for the nearest dish towel like it’s a weapon. “you can’t ask that!”

“what?” your brother yells as he runs from her, laughing like a maniac. “i just wanted to know if the government system’s working!”

your dad is still coughing. you’re standing there redder than a tomato. burning with mortification.

yeonjun, after a stunned beat, laughs. really laughs. full chest, head-tilted-back laughter that’s so contagious you can’t help but giggle through your hands.

“don’t encourage him,” you say, smacking his arm lightly.

he grins down at you, eyes sparkling. “i’m sorry, that was—really something.”

“he’s an idiot,” you mutter, still mortified.

“he’s your idiot,” he says, voice softer now.

you glance up at him and smile, something warm spreading in your chest. it surprises you, just how much that smile feels like home.

and even after the chaos settles, even after your mom manages to drag your brother back by the collar to apologize properly, even when you sit around the table laughing and eating and telling stories—there’s a small, secret current running beneath it all.

the way yeonjun’s hand grazes your lower back when he leans past you to grab a dish. the way you lean into him just slightly when your mom starts talking about your childhood, and he listens like he wants to know everything.

and when the night ends, and you both return to your apartment, it’s quieter—but it’s a good quiet. that kind of peace you only feel when someone’s truly, finally getting under your skin.

the drive back home is quiet, but not in a bad way. it’s the kind of silence that lingers after too much laughter, after too much emotion crammed into too little time. the windows are fogged slightly from your breaths, and the hum of the road is the only sound between you. outside, the city lights blur in soft halos, the streets wet from the rain earlier in the day, reflecting neon and moonlight.

you’re leaning against the car door, eyes heavy, body full from dinner, from memories, from everything. your family had insisted you stay the night, but you knew it would’ve made leaving harder. too emotional. too permanent. so you thanked them, smiled through the tightness in your throat, and left.

and now, here you are, beside him. yeonjun’s one hand is on the wheel, the other resting between the seats, fingers tapping idly against the console. you glance at it once. then again. his profile is calm, a faint curve to his lips like he’s still smiling at your brother’s chaos.

you break the silence first.

“sorry about today… my family can be a lot.”

he lets out a soft chuckle. “i liked it.”

you turn to him, a little surprised.

“really?”

he nods. “they’re… warm. chaotic, yeah, but it felt real. like they love you so much they don’t even try to hide it.”

you press your lips together, looking down at your lap, suddenly blinking back something stinging in your eyes. you weren’t expecting that answer. or maybe you were, but not the way it made your chest ache so gently.

“thanks,” you whisper.

you don’t realize you’re still staring at him until he speaks again, this time softer.

“and your brother…” he smirks a little. “i can’t believe he said that.”

you groan, hiding your face in your hands. “please don’t remind me.”

“i’m serious,” he laughs, and then looks over at you, his gaze lingering longer this time, “you were so red.”

“because it was embarrassing,” you shoot back, but your voice is lighter, warm with the trace of a smile.

his eyes flick down to your lips.

“you’re cute when you blush,” he murmurs, and it’s so quiet you’re not even sure he meant to say it out loud.

your breath catches. your heart stutters. suddenly the space between you feels smaller. the console is no longer an arm’s length—it’s a breath. the air is thicker. hotter.

you look at him, really look at him—his jaw sharp in the glow of passing streetlamps, the tendons in his neck tense, his grip on the wheel a little tighter now. he looks back, just briefly, but it’s enough. something electric pulses between you.

and then he pulls over.

not far from your building, not quite home yet—but enough to be alone. enough to pause. the engine hums low, a steady heartbeat in the silence. he doesn’t look at you right away, just stares forward, fingers tightening, loosening, tightening again on the wheel.

you feel your pulse in your throat.

“i…” he starts, then stops. he turns to you, eyes darker than before. clearer. “can i ask you something?”

you nod, heart racing.

“why did it bother you?” he asks quietly. “about the girl i told you about.”

you stare at him. that familiar heat returns to your chest, crawling up your neck. you bite the inside of your cheek before answering.

“i don’t know,” you lie at first. but then, you sigh. “maybe because it was real for you. maybe because… you had someone you wanted, once. and i never did. and now i’m supposed to just… live with that. pretend like i’m not wondering if she would’ve made you happier.”

he watches you for a long moment, expression unreadable. then, finally, he leans a little closer, voice low.

“do you think i’m not happy?”

your throat dries.

“are you?” you whisper.

he exhales slowly, shaking his head like he can’t believe he’s about to do this. and then he shifts, fully turning toward you. his fingers reach up, brushing lightly against your chin, lifting your face to his.

“you’re not her,” he says. “you’re you.”

and then, without waiting, without asking again—he kisses you.

it’s not urgent. not rough. it���s slow, deliberate, tender with something sharp hidden beneath. like he’s been holding it back for too long and now that it’s happening, he’s pouring everything into it. his hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek. your lips part before you even realize, and his tongue grazes yours, soft, testing, like he’s still asking if this is okay even now.

you melt into it.

your hand slides up his arm, gripping his bicep, grounding yourself as heat spreads through your veins. your bodies don’t move much, still confined by seatbelts and space, but it’s intimate. intense. and when he finally pulls back, breathing harder than before, he rests his forehead against yours.

“you’re not her,” he whispers again. “and thank god for that.”

you sit there, breaths mingling, skin flushed, hearts racing in tandem. your hand is still on his arm. his thumb is still tracing your cheek.

and this time, neither of you says a word. because you both know—something just changed again.

you’re not lovers. not yet.

but your hands brush again on the way to bed. he holds your gaze a little longer. and when you lie down, back to back, you find yourself pressing closer, just enough that your spine feels the heat of his chest.

you fall asleep like that.

and neither of you says a word.

you both had an appointment early in the morning. the ministry of civil labor had sent a formal notice last week, listing the available part-time positions for couples still enrolled in university, and now you were seated across from an administrative worker who barely looked up from her screen as she explained the contracts. yeonjun was placed in a logistics department for a government-run supply chain—something with inventory and system inputs. you were assigned to a small local archival center where they'd digitize old birth and marriage records, which felt ironic in a way that made your stomach twist.

“you’ll receive your first schedule by the end of the week,” the woman said without emotion, and you both nodded, signing at the bottom of the page, pens scratching the paper in tandem.

walking out of the building, yeonjun nudged your shoulder with his and whispered, “look at us. signing contracts like a real married couple.” and you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the smile pulling at your lips.

“you mean we weren’t real before?” you asked, raising a brow.

he smirked, unlocking the car and opening your door. “we were married on paper. now we’re married... and employed.”

you both laughed, climbing into the vehicle, and the warmth lingered even after the engine hummed to life. it was a quiet kind of happiness, soft and simple, like the feeling of your bare thighs against the leather seat, like the sun warming the dashboard. you wore a dress that day—casual, nothing too fancy, but it clung lightly to your frame in the breeze when you walked out earlier, and you caught the way yeonjun had looked at you from the corner of your eye. not blatant. just... noticing.

the road was mostly empty. the hum of tires on pavement filled the silence as the laughter faded, replaced by something thicker. something weightier.

at a red light, he stopped the car smoothly, one hand still on the steering wheel. the other lifted, slowly, casually, and without looking at you, he placed it on your thigh.

he didn’t squeeze. he didn’t slide his fingers higher. just let his palm rest there, warm and firm, like it belonged.

your breath hitched.

you tried not to move, tried not to tense up, but the sensation crawled up your spine like wildfire. it was such a simple touch, so ordinary, but it landed somewhere deep in your belly—hot, twisting, coiling. your skin tingled where his fingers barely pressed into the flesh, and your thighs felt suddenly, achingly aware of how little separated them from him.

he said nothing.

neither did you.

but your body betrayed you—the way your chest rose a little faster, the way your knees shifted slightly, as if trying to find an answer to the question that touch had asked.

the light turned green.

he drove on.

his hand didn’t move.

the silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. it was charged. heavy with something that neither of you dared name yet.

you exhaled, slow and shaky, and he glanced at you briefly, lips curving—not into a smirk, but something softer. something fond. he rubbed his thumb in a slow arc, barely there, and your fingers curled around the hem of your dress to keep from shaking.

by the time you got home, the tension had woven itself into your skin like a second layer. you both stepped out of the car and walked toward the apartment quietly, but the air buzzed with every step.

inside, the routine resumed—shoes off, bags down, water poured into glasses—but your thoughts were nowhere near the surface. every time he passed behind you, you felt his presence more than you saw him. every brush of his hand, every graze of his arm felt like a firestarter.

you stood near the sink, rinsing the cups, when he came up behind you. didn’t touch you. just stood close enough that you felt the heat of his chest on your back, close enough that your breathing stuttered.

“need help?” he murmured, voice low, mouth near your ear.

you shook your head, but your body leaned slightly into him anyway. traitorously.

his hands didn’t move—not yet—but his presence surrounded you, a quiet pressure that built with every second. you turned your head slightly to glance at him, and the proximity was enough to make you both pause. your lips weren’t touching, but they could’ve. your noses almost brushed.

and then he reached for the cup beside you, taking it slowly, deliberately, his fingers brushing yours. your breath caught again.

“thanks,” he said, voice still low.

you watched him walk away, your hands trembling under the water, and you knew—tonight, you wouldn’t be able to pretend this tension didn’t exist. it was burning its way into your bones.

that night, everything felt like it was humming. the silence between you wasn’t really silence—it was full of what hadn’t been said, of what hadn’t been done but nearly was. the ghost of yeonjun’s hand on your thigh still lingered, burned into your skin. your legs still tingled from the pressure, the weight, the heat. and when he brushed past you in the kitchen again after dinner, it felt deliberate. or maybe you just wanted it to be.

your heart hadn’t settled since the drive home.

later, after you’d both changed into your sleep clothes, you met again in the hallway, the light above you casting a golden hue that made his skin look warm and soft. you paused at the same time, eyes locking. your breath caught in your throat, because he wasn’t just looking at you—he was seeing you. seeing the hem of your shirt, the way it clung slightly to your waist. seeing the bare stretch of your legs, your collarbone, the fine line of your neck.

you thought he’d say something.

he didn’t.

he just stepped past you, heading to the shared living room like usual. the storm from earlier had passed, leaving a cool breeze in its wake. you followed, drawn to him like always. you both sat on the couch, feet tucked beneath you, shoulders close but not quite touching. it was dark. the power had gone out temporarily again, only the soft blue emergency lights casting faint shadows across his face.

“you’re quiet,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“just thinking,” he replied, his tone low, almost distant.

you turned your head toward him. “about what?”

he hesitated. “about earlier... the car. and how it felt.”

you sucked in a soft breath. “me too.”

silence again.

and then, slowly, as if guided by instinct, he reached over and touched your hand. fingers brushing the back of yours. the contact was small. barely anything. but it was enough to pull the air from your lungs. you turned your palm and laced your fingers with his.

it felt dangerous.

he looked at your joined hands like he didn’t recognize his own, and then back at you—his eyes darker than usual, hooded, like he was holding back a tide. you weren’t sure who moved first. maybe it was him. maybe it was you. but one second you were sitting apart, and the next your bodies were angled toward each other, your knees brushing, your breaths tangled. his hand cupped your jaw gently, fingers trembling against your skin, and he leaned in, close enough that his lips nearly grazed yours.

your pulse roared in your ears.

his mouth touched yours like a whisper—featherlight, testing.

you responded before you could think, lips parting for him, heat blooming low in your stomach like wildfire. the kiss deepened slowly, wet and slow and dizzying. his tongue brushed yours, cautious at first, then more certain, like he needed to taste you, like he was starved. your hand curled into his shirt, tugging him closer, and he groaned softly into your mouth, deep and breathless.

his hand slid down your side, fingers skating over the thin fabric of your sleep shirt, and you gasped when they reached your hip. he pulled you into his lap, your thighs straddling him, bodies pressed together too close to ignore. the heat between you crackled—your hips shifted without thinking, and you felt the hardness of him, solid and hot beneath you.

his lips broke from yours for a second, his breathing rough. “fuck... y/n...”

his hands gripped your thighs, sliding up, thumbs brushing the edge of your underwear. you whimpered, pressing closer, grinding down gently. it was heady. dizzying. perfect.

and then—

his phone rang.

the sound shattered the moment like glass.

you both froze.

you were on his lap, panting, trembling, your lips swollen from the kiss, your heart pounding like a war drum. he didn’t move for a second. then he cursed under his breath and gently lifted you off him, muttering a strained apology as he reached for the phone. his voice cracked when he answered, trying to sound normal.

you stood there, stunned, breathing hard, still tasting him on your tongue.

after the call, which only lasted a few seconds, he didn’t look at you.

“i think... i’ll sleep in my room tonight,” he said quietly.

you blinked. “oh.”

he didn’t explain.

he just walked away.

and something cold settled in your chest.

you crawled into your bed alone, wrapping the blanket around yourself tightly, but you couldn’t sleep. not when you still felt the ghost of his hands on your body. not when your lips were still tingling from the kiss. not when he had looked at you like he needed you, and then walked away without a word.

you turned over. again. again. and again. your heart ached with confusion. was it too much? did he regret it? had you done something wrong?

you couldn’t take it anymore.

you got up, padded down the hall to his room, and raised your fist to knock.

but then you froze.

because you heard it.

soft, muffled sounds, irregular breathing. your eyes widened.

a low groan, deep and drawn out.

then a quiet, wet sound—rhythmic, unmistakable.

your breath caught.

you didn’t mean to listen. but you couldn’t move.

then, you heard it.

“y/n...”

your name, moaned out—quiet but desperate. raw. like a confession.

your knees weakened.

another moan, louder this time, almost a whimper.

and then—your name again, breathless, almost broken, followed by the sound of skin slapping softly against skin, faster now.

he was close.

he was touching himself.

thinking of you.

you pressed your palm to your mouth, trying not to make a sound, cheeks burning, body trembling. you shouldn’t be here. you shouldn’t hear this. but your legs wouldn’t move. your breath came in shaky gasps, your heart thundering as heat rushed between your thighs, pooling heavy and hot.

you didn’t know what this meant.

but you knew one thing.

he wanted you.

and now, you didn’t think you could ever look at him the same again.

you didn’t mean to lean closer.

you didn’t mean to press your ear too tightly against the door.

but your balance faltered—just a second too long standing on your toes, your weight shifting, your breath too shallow—and suddenly your foot slipped on the edge of the smooth hallway floor. a soft, startled sound escaped your throat as your body tilted sideways, your hand fumbling for the wall, failing.

and then—thud.

a soft crash, your hip hitting the floor, your palms slapping down just in time to soften the fall. you gasped and quickly clamped your hand over your mouth, praying he hadn’t heard, that you hadn’t been loud enough—but inside, panic bloomed like fire. your chest heaved as you tried to stay perfectly still, your cheeks on fire, the oversized t-shirt—his t-shirt—riding high around your waist from the fall.

then you heard the shuffle. footsteps. hurried. a sudden rush from the other side.

“y/n?” his voice was sharp. worried. confused.

before you could react, the door swung open.

and there he was.

yeonjun.

bare-chested, sweat clinging to his collarbones, his hair disheveled, lips swollen and flushed, his hand still adjusting the waistband of his boxers as if he hadn’t had time to fix himself. and then he saw you.

on the floor.

his shirt up around your waist.

your bare thighs. your panties exposed.

your hand covering your mouth, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

time froze.

he stared at you, blinking once, then again. his mouth parted, but no words came out. his gaze dropped—just for a heartbeat—but you saw it. the flicker. the hunger. the tension that snapped into existence like a spark to gasoline.

you scrambled to tug the shirt down, cheeks burning, breath caught.

“i—i slipped, i wasn’t—i mean—”

“were you listening?” his voice came out low. rough.

you opened your mouth, then shut it. your throat tightened. your heart was pounding so violently you felt it behind your eyes.

“y/n…” he whispered, stepping closer.

your breath hitched.

“i heard you,” he said, his voice strained now. “outside the door. you… you heard me too, didn’t you?”

you nodded slowly, like it was all you could manage.

he knelt beside you without thinking, his hands hovering for a moment before one slid to the small of your back, the other cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin gently, eyes searching yours. “you heard me… say your name.”

you couldn’t speak.

“fuck,” he whispered. “i didn’t mean for you to know. i tried to walk away because i couldn’t control it. i thought... if i gave us space—”

“why?” your voice cracked. “why did you walk away after kissing me like that?”

his jaw clenched. “because i wanted more. i wanted too much.”

your lips trembled. “me too.”

something inside him snapped.

he surged forward, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that was no longer restrained. this wasn’t careful. this wasn’t gentle. this was weeks of stolen glances and soft touches and building need exploding all at once. his mouth was hot, possessive, his hand slipping to your thigh, then gripping, pulling you into him as you moaned against his lips.

you tasted everything—desperation, desire, the salt on his skin from sweat, the sound of his breath ragged and wild. you clung to him, your fingers digging into his bare shoulders as he leaned you back slowly onto the hallway floor, his body covering yours, fitting against you perfectly. your thighs opened for him without thought, welcoming the pressure of his hips between them, the hardness of him pressing directly against the wet heat soaking your panties.

“fuck, y/n,” he groaned against your mouth, “you have no idea what you do to me.”

his hand slid beneath the hem of the shirt—his shirt—the one you wore to sleep every night, the one that smelled like him. his palm caressed your waist, your ribs, then cupped your breast softly over the fabric of your bra, his thumb teasing the sensitive peak until you whimpered, arching up into him.

“you shouldn’t be here,” he rasped, but didn’t stop. “i’m trying so hard to do this right. to be careful.”

“then don’t,” you whispered back, your voice broken, needful. “don’t be careful.”

his eyes burned into yours.

his lips kissed down your jaw, your neck, biting softly at the tender skin just below your ear. “you’re gonna make me lose it,” he growled.

“maybe i want you to.”

his hand slipped lower, over your stomach, fingers grazing the band of your panties—when suddenly—

a sharp knock on the front door shattered the moment.

you both froze.

his chest rose and fell against yours, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

another knock. then a voice from outside.

“government delivery. lights restored. system check.”

“fuck,” he hissed.

he helped you sit up, both of you breathing like you’d just run miles.

you looked at each other.

your lips swollen. your skin flushed. your bodies aching.

you wanted to scream.

but instead you swallowed it down, tugged the shirt over your thighs, stood on shaky legs. he followed you in silence, running a hand through his messy hair, still visibly hard, still clearly affected.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered.

you didn’t respond.

because you weren’t sure you wanted him to be.

you weren’t sure what you expected when you whispered, maybe i want you to. maybe you thought he would pull away, maybe he’d laugh and tell you to go to bed, that you were just talking nonsense, caught up in the tension of it all. but he didn’t. instead, the room stayed still, save for the thrum of the rain against the windows and the sound of his breathing, which was slow, deep, heavier now, as he looked down at you with something dark and burning in his eyes.

his voice was low, but not soft. "do you know what you're saying?" he asked, barely above a whisper. you nodded, your throat too tight to speak. you could feel his body, warm and solid, pressed against yours as he leaned in again, and this time the kiss wasn’t tentative. it was hungry, deeper, drawn out, and you could taste the restraint in him, the way he held himself back even as his hand gripped your waist tighter.

you barely noticed how he guided you back onto the mattress until your head hit the pillow. your fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt, the same one you'd stolen from him to sleep in, and now it was twisted between your hands as he kissed you again and again, lips trailing down the line of your jaw, the hollow of your throat, your pulse fluttering under his mouth.

every touch was slow, deliberate. when his hands slid under the hem of the shirt you wore, it wasn’t rushed—it was reverent. he looked at you like you were something sacred, something he’d been aching for, something forbidden and now finally his. his fingers traced the line of your hip, the soft skin just beneath your navel, pausing just above the waistband of your panties. you shivered beneath him, your body responding before your mind could catch up.

"tell me if you want me to stop," he murmured, his forehead pressed against yours. you shook your head immediately, a breathy no escaping your lips before you could second guess it. and something in him broke. or maybe it snapped into place. he kissed you like it was the only thing keeping him alive, his hands roaming, learning the shape of you, the softness of your thighs, the arch of your back as you gasped under his touch.

he took his time. he whispered how beautiful you were, how long he had wanted you like this, how the thought of you in his bed had driven him insane since that first night the storm pushed you into his arms. every kiss lower was met with a pause, a glance, asking, confirming, cherishing. his hands didn’t fumble; they explored, gentle and firm, his mouth hot against your skin.

you had never felt like this before. it was more than arousal—it was a kind of unraveling, a melting of all the fear and restraint you had carried for so long. the rules, the systems, the cold logic of the world outside—none of it existed here. here, in his arms, you were just a girl wanting a boy. no laws. no assignments. no duties.

just him. just you.

and when he finally touched you, really touched you, the moan that escaped you was soft, stunned, your fingers digging into his shoulder as he kissed the side of your neck. you were wet, aching, needy in a way you hadn’t even known your body could feel, and yeonjun seemed to know exactly how to handle you—teasing, stroking, whispering your name like it was a prayer.

his own self-control was fraying at the edges. you could feel it in the way his breath hitched, the way his voice broke when he groaned your name against your collarbone, the way his hips rocked against your thigh without even realizing it.

"you make me crazy," he whispered, biting gently at your shoulder. "since that kiss. since that first night. fuck—i think about you all the time. you wearing my shirt, you laughing in the kitchen, you sleeping next to me—"

"yeonjun," you gasped, your back arching as his fingers slid beneath your panties, finally, finally touching you where you needed him most. he cursed under his breath, kissing you again as your legs parted naturally for him.

he kept you on the edge, slow, patient, as if he was memorizing every sound you made, every breath you took. he didn’t rush to have you—not yet. this was still the prelude, the first taste, the careful unraveling. but you were close. too close.

and then.

he leaned over you again, lips brushing your ear, his voice hoarse. "can i make love to you?"

you nodded, heart pounding. "yes. please."

every movement after that was reverent, every sigh swallowed into a kiss, every tremble in your limbs steadied by his hands. he helped you out of your panties, gently, and shed his own clothes with a kind of urgency that was quiet, controlled, but full of need. when he settled between your legs, he paused, eyes meeting yours with a question so full of tenderness it made your chest ache.

his hand wrapped around himself, and your breath caught in your throat. he was thick, long—too much. your eyes widened without meaning to, and he noticed, chuckling softly as he kissed the corner of your mouth.

“it’s okay,” he whispered, but your voice came out shaky when you murmured. “it won’t fit…” he hushed you gently, his palm stroking down your thigh.

“we’ll go slow,” he promised, though the way his jaw clenched told you even he was struggling to hold back.

the stretch was new, unfamiliar, but he moved slowly, letting you adjust, kissing you through the discomfort, murmuring praises against your lips. he held you like you were fragile, like the world would stop spinning if he hurt you, and when you finally relaxed around him, he moved with a rhythm that spoke of restraint and reverence, yet underneath it burned a fire he could barely contain.

it was gentle, yes, but not shy. it was soft, but not without heat. the way he groaned when your nails scraped down his back, the way he whispered your name like it anchored him—it was everything. his hands never stopped touching you, his mouth never far from yours, and the way he looked at you made you feel like you were the center of the universe.

the pace picked up only slightly, but the angle shifted when he gently maneuvered your body, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before whispering, “turn around for me, baby.” your heart skipped as you obeyed, rolling onto your stomach, your cheek resting against his pillow, flushed and dazed, breath hot against the fabric. he settled behind you, large hands caressing the curve of your hips, his voice low and rough against your ear. “you look so good like this… fuck, i could lose my mind.”

you felt him guide himself back in, slower this time, deeper, and the gasp that left you was nothing short of a whimper, your back arching instinctively. the new position had him hitting that spot—the spot—with a precision that made your eyes roll back, your mouth dropping open against the pillow. “yeonjun—oh my god—” you choked, voice muffled, and he groaned above you, one hand gripping your waist as the other gently turned your face just enough so he could kiss your parted lips. “look at you,” he breathed, panting, watching your blissed-out expression with dark, desperate eyes. “you feel so fucking good—so tight around me… you were made for me, weren’t you?”

your voice came out broken, shaking. “it feels s-so good… i can’t—yeonjun, i—” but you didn’t need to finish. he could feel it. your body clenching around him with every slow, deep thrust. he bent over you, chest pressed to your back, skin to skin, and whispered filth in your ear in between kisses down your spine. “such a good girl,” he rasped, “taking me so well… fuck, i’m close. i can’t—i need to pull out…”

you nodded weakly, barely able to breathe, trembling as he gave one more thrust, then another—and with a strangled moan of your name, he pulled out and spilled his release onto the dip of your lower back, hot and heavy against your skin, dripping down to your ass. he groaned, his forehead against your shoulder, panting hard as he tried to come down from the high. “fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmured, voice ragged. “so fucking perfect.”

when he collapsed beside you, he didn’t pull away. his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest, both of you still catching your breath. the rain still tapped gently against the windows, the room now full of the scent of sweat and skin, of something new, something sacred.

"i’ve wanted you for so long," he murmured against your hair.

"i know," you whispered back, curling into him.

and for once, you didn’t feel cold. you didn’t feel alone. you didn’t feel like someone forced into something by a cruel system. you felt wanted. chosen.

his.

yours.

the morning came too quickly, the sun bleeding gently through the curtains, casting a golden warmth across the tangled sheets. your body still ached in the most delicious ways, and your skin was marked with soft reminders of his mouth, his hands, the way he held you like you were breakable and wanted all at once. you hadn’t said much when you woke. yeonjun had only kissed your forehead, helped you get dressed, and now you were sitting in the waiting room of the ministry’s planning clinic, the air sterile and overly bright.

the doctor, a warm-looking woman with gentle eyes and an enthusiastic tone, greeted you both like old friends. “ah! newlyweds,” she smiled, scanning her clipboard. “i see you’ve finally started your sexual life together. that’s wonderful news!”

your cheeks flamed immediately, and beside you, yeonjun coughed, suddenly fascinated by a poster about prenatal vitamins on the wall. “uh, yeah,” you mumbled, barely able to meet her gaze.

“good, good,” she said brightly, motioning for you to follow her behind a curtain for a quick checkup. “we need to make sure everything’s healthy and progressing normally. it’s still early, but we want to optimize for fertility, yes?”

you nodded, letting her guide you onto the examination table. her hands were professional, but the whole thing still made your stomach twist. you were sore—still a little tender—and she noticed, humming under her breath.

“you’re fine,” she reassured you, adjusting her gloves. “some sensitivity is natural after a first experience. but you’re healthy, everything looks good.” she smiled. “do you track your cycle, darling?”

you nodded slowly, fingers tightening on the edge of the table. “yes… i keep a calendar.”

“perfect. when was your last period?”

you told her, and she did some quick math on her tablet before her smile brightened. “then your most fertile window should be starting in about four days. if you’re trying to conceive—and you should be, of course—it’s best to be active every other day during that period. that increases the chances significantly.”

you wanted to sink into the floor. “o-oh.”

“don’t be shy. this is natural.” she patted your knee, then stood. “you’re young and healthy. your compatibility score is ideal. You just need to be consistent now. and relaxed. it should be something enjoyable.”

you weren’t sure what your face looked like when you stepped out, but yeonjun blinked and stood instantly. the doctor gave him a little wink and whispered something about keeping the environment fun, and you could practically feel the tension coil between your ribs as you exited the building together.

the ride home was quiet for a while. the hum of the engine, the soft buzz of traffic, the way your thighs were pressed together beneath your dress. he tapped the wheel with his fingers, sneaking glances at you out of the corner of his eye.

finally, you exhaled. “she said i’m entering my fertile window soon.”

his hands stilled on the steering wheel.

“in four days,” you added, your voice too high, too soft.

“oh.”

another silence.

“and she said we should—uh—every other day. during that window. for higher chances.”

“right.” he adjusted his grip again. “makes sense.”

but neither of you looked at each other. because the thing was, last night hadn’t felt like a scheduled duty. it hadn’t felt like a requirement, or a step in a plan designed by the state. it had felt messy, desperate, slow, sweet, and hungry. it had felt human.

and now the idea of doing it again, like you were just checking off boxes on a clinical list, felt… weird.

“does it feel weird?” you blurted, staring out the window.

yeonjun looked at you, startled. “what?”

“this. talking about it. like it’s a chore or something. when last night—” you trailed off, cheeks heating.

he nodded slowly. “it feels weird because it wasn’t just about the system. it was… about us.” his voice was quiet, unsure, but honest.

you twisted your fingers in your lap, the weight of his words settling between your thighs like the lingering ache from last night. you didn’t know how to act now—how to go from that kind of vulnerability to pretending you were just following instructions.

“i want to do it again,” you admitted, so softly it could’ve been mistaken for a breath. “but not because of the calendar. because… i liked how it felt. with you.”

his knuckles tightened on the wheel, his jaw clenching as he looked at you again. something in his eyes flickered—warm, molten, restrained. “good,” he said roughly. “because i haven’t stopped thinking about it since i woke up.”

your breath caught.

the red light ahead turned green, but neither of you were breathing normally anymore.

this wasn’t just about reproduction.

not anymore.

and neither of you knew how to navigate that yet—but the thought of exploring it again?

set your blood on fire.

you didn’t even make it past the front door.

as soon as it clicked shut behind you, he turned to you like something had snapped loose inside him—like the silence in the car, the weight of what had been said at the clinic, the image of you squirming in your seat all flushed and embarrassed, had pushed him past the edge. his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you in with a force that made your breath stutter, his lips crashing into yours with none of the hesitation from the night before. it was need—pure, undiluted need—and you melted into it like you’d been waiting all day.

your back hit the wall, your fingers clawing at the hem of his shirt, dragging it up over his abs while he kissed you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. his hands found your thighs, lifted you slightly, pressing your hips together in a rhythm already too hungry for the softness of conversation.

you moaned into his mouth, and that was it—he growled low in his throat, carrying you the few messy steps to the living room, collapsing with you onto the couch in a tangle of limbs and breathless gasps. you straddled him instinctively, the dress you wore bunching at your hips, and the way you ground down against him made him curse under his breath, hands tightening on your waist.

"fuck, baby, you're driving me insane," he muttered, kissing down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, dragging the straps of your dress off your shoulders as his thumbs traced soft, dizzying circles into your skin.

"then do something about it," you whispered, breathless, rocking your hips again just to feel him buck up into you, so hard already it made your mouth go dry.

he didn't need more encouragement.

he kissed down your chest, taking his time, pulling down the top of your dress to reveal more skin, his mouth hot and greedy as he licked and sucked at your breasts, tongue flicking over your nipple until you were gasping his name. his fingers pushed the fabric higher, baring your panties and the damp patch growing darker by the second, and he groaned, burying his face between your thighs like he needed to taste you just to stay sane.

you cried out, your hands tangled in his hair, legs shaking as his tongue worked slow, devastating circles against your clit, sucking gently, teasing you with the edge of release only to pull away. “so wet for me already,” he whispered, voice thick, lips glistening. “you’ve been thinking about this since the car, haven’t you?”

you nodded, eyes fluttering shut, and he rewarded you by sucking harder, his fingers slipping inside to stretch you just right, his other hand holding your hips down while you rode the edge again and again until you whimpered, begging, thighs trembling.

“please, yeonjun… i need you, now.”

he didn’t make you ask twice.

he pulled you onto his lap again, kissing you deep, letting you taste yourself on his lips. and then he stood, shifting you onto the couch, turning your body gently, hands guiding your knees onto the cushions, your chest pressed to the armrest, your ass up for him—offered, exposed, throbbing.

"you’re so fucking perfect like this," he whispered, one hand sliding up your spine, the other gripping your hip as he positioned himself behind you, dragging the tip of his cock along your slit, teasing, wet and hot.

you whimpered, pushing back slightly, and when he slid in, inch by inch, you gasped—eyes rolling back, the stretch sharp and addictive all over again.

“fuck, you feel even tighter like this,” he groaned, sinking in all the way until your ass met his hips. “you’re gonna ruin me.”

he started to move slowly, the position letting him hit deeper, every thrust punching little moans from your lips. the slap of skin against skin echoed through the room, his hands gripping your waist, your thighs, your hair. and still, he kissed your spine, leaned over you, whispered filth against your neck.

“you like this, baby? you like being fucked like this?”

“yes—yes, fuck, yeonjun—it feels so good—”

he reached around, rubbed slow circles against your clit as he fucked into you deeper, faster, making you cry out into the pillow, your body arching under him, thighs shaking again.

"let me see your face," he panted, one hand turning your head slightly so he could kiss you, so he could see your expression—your flushed cheeks, your lips parted, eyes unfocused.

“you’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he growled. “you’re gonna make me come just looking at you.”

you felt it building again, heat coiling low in your belly, your body tightening, trembling, your moans turning desperate as he kept you right on the edge, hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over.

“yeonjun—i’m gonna—”

“me too—fuck—i need to pull out—”

but you reached back, grabbing his hand, voice shaking. “don’t. please. come inside.”

he choked on a moan, hips stuttering, and then he was spilling into you with a groan so deep it made your toes curl, holding you tight as he filled you completely, shaking from the force of it. your own climax hit just seconds later, white-hot and blinding, and you collapsed onto the couch, boneless, his body draped over yours, both of you gasping for air.

his come dripped slowly down your thighs, warmth spreading between them, and he didn’t move—just pressed gentle kisses to your shoulder, your back, your spine, whispering your name like it was the only word he knew.

neither of you said anything for a long time.

but you both knew.

there was no going back.

the following days slipped into a blur of aching need and restless nights. you both tried to keep the doctor’s advice in mind, to space out your moments, to give your bodies time to recover, but desire doesn’t listen to calendars or rules. every morning, before you left for university, you found yourselves tangled together, breathless and desperate, fingers tracing familiar curves as if memorizing every inch again and again. afternoons after classes weren’t any different; the moment you closed the door behind you, yeonjun’s hands were already on your waist, pulling you close, his lips claiming yours with the same fierce hunger that never dulled.

the days were a patchwork of stolen touches and whispered promises, of quick, heated moments before rushing to your part-time jobs—him with the university’s cultural center, tutoring students in language and literature, and you at a small café nearby, pouring coffee and smiling through the haze of exhaustion and longing. you came home exhausted but your body still hummed with anticipation, the ache of missing him settling low and deep, urging you back into his arms. your skin grew sensitive, your senses sharper; even the smallest brush of fingers sparked a fire beneath your skin.

and every time he pulled you close, you let him come inside you—every time—forgetting the cautious rhythm the doctor had suggested, letting your bodies rewrite the rules in the heat of the moment. the cool logic of planning was swallowed whole by your hunger, your need to be closer, to feel him deeper, to lose yourselves entirely in the mess and sweetness of this forbidden, stolen intimacy.

sometimes you’d catch yourself wondering if the doctor would be surprised—or scandalized—to know how little control you really had, how much your hearts raced and how your bodies begged for more. but in those moments, all that mattered was yeonjun’s warm breath against your neck, the way his hands shaped you like a secret only he was meant to know, and the way your own voice trembled when you whispered his name.

it was messy, it was frantic, but it was yours. and for the first time since everything began, it felt like freedom.

you were wiping down the counter when one of your coworkers, a woman named hana, leaned over with a gentle smile. she was older than you, maybe 35, and had a quiet confidence about her that made people listen. she lowered her voice just a little, as if sharing a secret.

“you know, i was assigned a husband too. i thought it would be awful, honestly. i was scared. but it turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me. at first, i wasn’t sure if i could love him, or if he even cared. but slowly, i saw who he really was. and now, i’m so happy. we have two kids, and we’re thinking about a third. it’s scary, getting older, but i go to family planning a lot, trying to make sure it’s possible. the government even recognized me for wanting to keep repopulating. it’s strange, isn’t it? how these arrangements can lead to something real.”

you nodded, the thought settling deep inside your chest. could yeonjun and you be like that someday? sure, you cared for him. he was your husband, your partner in this harsh world. you pictured mornings waking up next to him, the soft light catching his face, the two of you building a life, maybe even raising children together. but love — real love? you had never felt it before, not like this. the feeling was foreign, like a story you’d read but never lived. still, yeonjun was everything to you, and that was enough for now.

later that day, when your shift ended, yeonjun was waiting by the door like always, leaning casually against his car. you slipped inside and immediately started talking about your day, the small victories, the tiring moments. he listened, eyes bright, then shared his own stories, laughter in his voice. the rhythm of your lives syncing quietly, comfortably.

and then, on a quiet street, just as the light ahead turned red, you suddenly blurted out, “do you love me?”

the car jerked slightly as yeonjun slammed on the brakes, both of you moving forward with the momentum. the question hung between you, heavy and unexpected.

he was silent for a moment, gaze fixed on the road ahead, and you could almost see the weight of the thought pressing on him. love was a strange word, loaded with promises and fears. but then his eyes met yours in the rearview mirror, steady and sure.

“i do,” he said slowly, voice low but certain. “maybe not like the stories you hear — wild and all-consuming — but i love you. from the moment i saw you, from that first kiss in the storm, from every day since. every laugh, every touch, every quiet moment. it’s real. and it will only grow.”

your heart fluttered in a way that was both new and familiar, and when the light turned green, he eased forward, hands gripping the wheel a little tighter.

back at the apartment, the world outside disappeared as yeonjun pulled you close. the night was gentle but full of fire, his hands exploring with a tenderness that spoke of trust and deep desire. lips brushed your skin with reverence, soft whispers mingling with quiet moans. you traced the curve of his neck, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. every touch was a promise, every kiss a new discovery.

he took his time, patient and caring, making sure you felt cherished, safe. the moments stretched between you, slow and delicious, as if the world had paused just for this — for the two of you, tangled in sheets and warmth, sharing something sacred.

and as you finally melted into him, the love he had spoken of filled the space between your bodies, unspoken but undeniable.

“congratulations,” the doctor said, her voice warm, glowing even, as if she had just handed you the entire sky. “you’re pregnant.”

the world stilled.

you blinked, lips parting, heartbeat stuttering in your chest. yeonjun, who had just stepped inside the room after waiting anxiously outside, froze beside you. his eyes darted from your stunned face to the doctor and back again, like he was trying to make sure he’d heard correctly.

“what?” you breathed, voice barely there.

the doctor smiled, gentle and knowing, like this was her favorite kind of moment to deliver. “you’re about six weeks along. everything looks good so far. the symptoms you’ve been experiencing — the nausea, the cravings, the mood swings — they all point to a healthy early pregnancy. we’ll begin prenatal care from today.”

you felt yeonjun’s fingers slip into yours, holding tight, like he needed to anchor himself. like you were both floating. he didn’t say anything right away — his throat worked around words he couldn’t seem to find — but his hand trembled slightly in yours.

the tears came slowly, not from fear or sadness, but from something else entirely. wonder. disbelief. awe.

a baby.

your baby.

with him.

“i…” you started, then shook your head with a small, breathless laugh. “i thought it was just stress. i didn’t want to hope.”

“and yet, here we are,” the doctor said kindly. “your next steps will be regular checkups, nutrition monitoring, and continued intimacy when you feel comfortable. you’re doing great already.”

you could hardly focus after that — her voice faded to a background hum as your eyes lifted to meet yeonjun’s. he was already looking at you, completely undone. his gaze was soft, watery, reverent. like you were something holy.

he squeezed your hand. “we’re going to be parents,” he whispered, like saying it out loud would make it real.

and it did.

you nodded, blinking away fresh tears. “we’re going to be a family.”

the drive home was quiet, but not empty. yeonjun kept stealing glances at you at every stoplight, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real — like he couldn’t believe the little life beginning inside you was real. his hand never left yours on the console between you, thumb tracing absent-minded circles over your knuckles.

when you stepped into the apartment, he didn’t let go. he guided you gently to the couch, like you might break if he wasn’t careful. and then he was kneeling in front of you, both hands now on your stomach, even though there was nothing visible yet — just warmth. just possibility.

“thank you,” he whispered. “for this. for you. for everything.”

you touched his hair, carding your fingers through the soft strands, heart swelling. “i didn’t do this alone, junnie.”

he leaned forward, lips brushing your still-flat belly, and then rested his forehead there, breathing slow and deep. “i’m gonna do everything i can to be good to you. to them. we didn’t choose this world, but i’ll choose you every day in it.”

you’d never felt more seen. more loved.

later that night, he held you closer than ever in bed, your back to his chest, one hand cradling your stomach, the other tangled with yours. the rain tapped gently against the window again, just like it had the night everything between you shifted.

and now it had shifted again.

you weren’t just husband and wife anymore.

you were parents.

you were a beginning.

and wrapped in his arms, with his heartbeat pressed against your spine, you let yourself dream — not of what the government wanted, not of duty or numbers, but of soft mornings and tiny fingers, of lullabies and laughter echoing through the walls.

of a future you hadn’t dared imagine.

but now, it was here.

growing inside you.

growing between you.

and it was love.

the apartment smelled of cake and laughter. pink balloons were tied to every chair, streamers hung slightly lopsided from the ceiling, and tiny frosting handprints decorated the corners of the tablecloth. your baby girl — chaeyeon — had turned one.

she was currently asleep in your arms, a little drool soaking into your blouse, her tiny chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. you'd never seen her smile so much in one day, or so determined to wobble around on her chubby legs while everyone clapped for her.

your parents had cried. yeonjun’s mother had brought enough food to feed an entire village. your brother had looked absolutely horrified when asked to hold chaeyeon and had instead stood frozen like she was made of glass. yeonjun’s older brothers had been more relaxed — juggling their own kids, swapping parenting tips with you and yeonjun, their wives giggling over how much yeonjun had softened in just a year.

it was a blur of love. of family. of a happiness you never expected from a life that had once felt forced upon you.

now it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

when the door closed behind the last guest, you let out a long breath and leaned against it. yeonjun was on his knees collecting bits of wrapping paper and cupcake crumbs, his sleeves rolled up and his hair a bit messy from carrying hana all afternoon.

“i think i have frosting in places i didn’t know were possible,” he muttered.

you giggled and padded over, gently placing a hand on his head. “she’s finally asleep. like… deep asleep. miracle of miracles.”

he looked up at you and smiled, slow and soft. “we survived our first birthday party.”

“barely.”

you both laughed, exhausted but giddy, and after tidying up the last of the chaos, you shuffled into your shared bedroom — the one that now held a rocking chair, a baby monitor, and the scent of lavender oil and baby lotion.

you sat on the bed, back against the headboard, and looked at yeonjun as he pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside. his skin glowed faintly from the sweat of the day, and his eyes were crinkled with something tender when he looked at you.

“hard to believe we’ve made it here,” you murmured.

“i know.” he crawled onto the bed beside you, resting his head against your shoulder. “long time ago we were just trying to figure out how to be in the same room without losing our minds.”

“or jumping each other.”

he snorted, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “that too.”

you fell quiet for a moment, fingers brushing through his hair. “when they told me we were being assigned… i hated it. the system felt so cruel. mechanical. like love didn’t matter.”

“me too,” he admitted, voice low. “i kept wondering who you’d be. if you’d hate me. if i’d hate you.”

“and now… i can’t imagine waking up without you next to me.” you turned your face into his hair, breathing him in. “you’ve become everything.”

he lifted his head, eyes dark with something more than just love. “you gave me a family. you gave me her.”

“we gave her to each other,” you whispered, lips brushing his.

he kissed you then — slow, deep, familiar in a way that made your toes curl. and when he pulled back, eyes half-lidded, he murmured, “i need you.”

“then take me,” you breathed.

you barely finished speaking before he was on you, lips claiming yours again, more urgent this time, tongue teasing, his hands slipping beneath your shirt to cup your breasts. you gasped, arching into his touch as he rolled a thumb over your nipple.

“fuck, i love how sensitive you still are,” he muttered against your neck, biting softly before soothing the skin with kisses. “you get wet the second i touch you, don’t you?”

you nodded, already trembling as he dragged your panties down your thighs, fingers grazing your slick folds. “you make me like this… only you.”

he groaned, dipping two fingers inside you, curling them just right, his thumb circling your clit until your hips were grinding against his hand.

“look at you,” he said, voice rough, “needy little wife. always so eager for me. i could fuck you for hours and it still wouldn’t be enough, would it?”

“never enough,” you panted, nails digging into his shoulders. “please, junnie—”

he flipped you onto your stomach, lifting your hips until you were on all fours, head turned into the pillow. “you know what this does to me, seeing you like this,” he growled, running the head of his cock through your folds before slowly pushing in. “fuck, still so tight for me.”

you moaned, face burying into the pillow as he filled you to the hilt, rocking his hips with slow, brutal precision. his hands gripped your waist, pulling you back to meet each thrust, hitting that perfect spot that made your vision blur.

“tell me how good i make you feel,” he said through gritted teeth, fucking you deeper.

“so good—oh god, junnie—right there,” you whimpered. “you fuck me like you own me.”

“because i do,” he hissed. “you’re mine. every inch. every breath. and this pussy? fuck—this was made for me.”

your cries were muffled into the pillow, tears prickling at your eyes from the pleasure building impossibly fast. he bent over you, pressing kisses to your back, your shoulder, your neck, never stopping his rhythm.

“gonna come, baby?” he whispered in your ear. “cream on my cock like you always do?”

you nodded desperately, clenching around him, your orgasm ripping through you with a strangled moan.

he followed right after, cursing low and dark, emptying himself inside you with a final thrust. “fuck—gonna fill you up again. maybe give chaeyeon a little sibling.”

you both collapsed onto the bed, boneless and breathless, his arms wrapping tight around you from behind.

and in that moment, as the warmth of him settled over your back and your heartbeat steadied with his, you smiled.

because this was the life you never asked for — and yet, it was everything.

and now, there was no one else you’d rather be loved by.

[csbenthusiast]

Closet Affair - Choi Soobin x F!Reader

You came to support your sister as maid of honor—handle the prep, give a sweet speech, maybe share a dance with the best man. Babysitting with him? Definitely not part of the plan.

cw : strangers to lovers, making out, sex in closet and it wasn’t on the seating chart, but damn was it worth it.

You were here to support your sister as her maid of honor. You pictured yourself helping with last-minute wedding prep, giving heartfelt speeches, and maybe even stealing a dance or two. Babysitting was definitely not on the agenda.

But here you were, stuck in the living room, keeping an eye on your wild little cousin, the ring bearer, while everyone else was out celebrating her last night as a single woman.

You glanced around, heart pounding a little. You weren’t great with kids. Honestly, you found them exhausting and unpredictable. This one was already testing every ounce of your patience, darting between chairs and snatching cupcakes off the table like a tiny hurricane.

Your fingers twisted nervously around the hem of your dress. You were supposed to be calm and supportive—maid of honor material. Instead, you were on edge, trying not to lose it while the kid zoomed around like he owned the place.

A sudden shift in the room made you jump. You hadn’t even noticed someone else had come in. “Hey,” said a calm voice beside you. You turned, startled, to see a tall guy leaning casually against the doorway, hands in his pockets and a small, amused smile playing on his lips.

You blinked, trying to collect yourself. “Hey. Uh… wait, who are you? And why are you here?”

“I’m Soobin,” he said quietly, as if that was supposed to make everything less chaotic. He nodded toward the tiny tornado tearing through the room. “Looks like we are on babysitting duty, we’ve got our hands full.”

“I’m really not great at this,” you admitted.

The kid zoomed past again, nearly knocking over a vase, and your nerves tightened.

“Okay,” you said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s do this.” 

The kid wasn’t making it easy. Every time you thought you had him cornered, he slipped between your legs or darted behind the couch, giggling like this was all a game.

“So,” Soobin said, crouching down, “what’s his weakness? Candy? Toys?”

You shook your head, breath catching as the kid zigzagged past again. “I don’t know what if he gets extra screen time, maybe he’ll calm down.”

Soobin grinned. “Perfect. Let’s bribe him.”

You both knelt, and Soobin called out, “Hey, kid, want to watch one more cartoon before bed?”

The kid’s eyes lit up. “Yeah!”

You exchanged a relieved smile as Soobin flicked the TV on and settled the kid between you on the couch. The little guy’s energy slowly drained away, his heavy eyelids drooping as the cartoon played softly.

Within minutes, his head lolled onto Soobin’s shoulder, and he was fast asleep.

Soobin looked over at you, quiet but kind. “I’ll take him to bed.”

Before you could protest, he gently scooped the kid into his arms, careful not to wake him. You watched as Soobin carried the sleeping boy down the hallway, soft footsteps barely audible on the carpet.

You stood there for a moment, heart a little lighter than before, realizing that babysitting with Soobin might not be so bad after all.

You were still standing by the couch when Soobin reappeared, his footsteps soft, his presence even softer. He gave you a little smile as he padded back into the room, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck.

“He’s out cold,” he said, voice low. “Didn’t even stir.” You smiled, easing back onto the couch. “You’ve got a touch, apparently.” He shrugged with a humble grin, then glanced toward the kitchen. “Wine?” You hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Why not?”

He disappeared for a moment, returning with two glasses and a half-full bottle of red. He handed you a glass, their fingers brushing, brief and electric. Neither of you mentioned it. The TV played on, low and forgotten, as you sat side by side, sipping slowly. The warmth of the wine settled in your chest, and the quiet between you shifted—no longer awkward, but charged.

Soobin looked at you over the rim of his glass, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re not so bad at this babysitting thing either.” You chuckled. “Thanks, I think.”

There was a pause. Not empty. Full. His gaze lingered, darker now. You met it, not quite ready to look away. “Hey,” he said quietly, voice lower than before. “You’ve got something on your lip.” Your brows furrowed, but before you could wipe it, he leaned in—just enough. His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth.

And he didn’t move away. Neither did you. The air between you tightened like a string pulled taut, and when he leaned in that last inch, you didn’t stop him. His lips found yours, warm and hesitant at first, then deeper, firmer. You melted into him, tasting the wine on his mouth, your fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve.

But then—

The sound of the front door opening shattered everything. Laughter. Voices. You and Soobin sprang apart like you’d been electrocuted. His hair was a little messy. Your breath was unsteady. You both sat stiffly, trying to look as casual as two people who definitely weren’t just making out in the living room.

Footsteps approached.

“I’ll, um…” You stood quickly, setting your glass down with more force than necessary. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He looked up at you, still slightly breathless, eyes searching yours. You gave him a quick, almost sheepish smile before turning and heading toward the hallway. Your footsteps were fast, your heartbeat faster. The soft click of your bedroom door was the only sound you allowed to linger. 

The morning of the wedding was a blur of curling irons, zippers, and soft panic. You kept your hands busy, tying ribbons, fixing veils, touching up your sister’s makeup. Doing anything to avoid thinking about last night.

But your thoughts betrayed you every time. The press of Soobin’s mouth. The way he’d looked at you right before. The way he’d looked after. And the fact that you had fled the room like your own heart was something to be embarrassed about.

Now, standing near the altar in your dress with the bouquet clutched tighter than necessary, you tried not to scan the guests for him. Tried and failed. Soobin wasn’t hard to spot.

Tall, stupidly handsome, perfectly disheveled in his groomsman suit. He was talking to the groom, smiling casually like he hadn’t completely scrambled your brain the night before. Like he hadn’t kissed you with enough heat to melt the air between you.

And when his eyes finally found yours, it was instant. That jolt again. He gave you the smallest smile, subtle but just for you. You looked away quickly, cheeks burning, heart stuttering under your ribs.

Throughout the ceremony, your eyes kept brushing his. During the speeches, the toast, the dinner...you could feel him across the room like gravity. And he wasn’t even trying to hide it.

You tried to focus on the celebration, on your sister glowing as she danced with her new husband, but every glance from Soobin made it harder to pretend nothing happened.

Later, after the first dances, while guests were laughing and drinks were flowing, you were grabbing a fresh drink from the bar when his voice cut through behind you, smooth and far too close.

“You ran off pretty fast last night.”

You turned to face him, your breath catching. “I—yeah. It was… late.” His eyes twinkled. “Is that what we’re going with?” You gave a small, nervous laugh, fiddling with the rim of your glass. “I didn’t know what to say.”

“I could tell,” he said, not unkindly. “But… just so you know—I don’t regret it.” That silenced you. Not because you didn’t believe him, but because you didn’t know how to say that you didn’t either.

Then his voice dropped, a little lower, a little rougher. “Want to get some air?”

Your heart skipped. “Air,” you echoed, dumbly. “Yeah.” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. You hesitated, then nodded, pulse already racing. Soobin reached for your hand, brushing his fingers lightly against yours in a way that made your whole body aware of the contact. It wasn’t full-on bold. But it was enough to make your breath stutter again.

He didn’t take you outside, though. He led you quietly down one of the side hallways of the venue, then paused in front of a supply closet. You raised your brows.

“Seriously?”

Soobin grinned. “Unless you know a better hiding spot in mind.”

He opened the door, peeked inside, then gestured. You stepped in, heart pounding, and he followed, shutting the door behind you. It was quiet. Dim. Your back brushed against a shelf full of extra linens. You were pretty sure there was a broom poking your calf.

“This is ridiculous,” you whispered, half laughing, half mortified.

He leaned against the door with a crooked smile. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” you lied, voice shaky. Soobin stepped closer, just close enough to make your breath hitch. “Good. Because I kind of want to kiss you again.”

You swallowed hard. “In a closet?”

“So… is that a no?” Your fingers curled at your sides. “no.”

His hand rose slowly to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing gently over your bottom lip. His gaze lingered there, full of something raw and reverent.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he whispered, like it was a secret meant only for the quiet between your heartbeats.

His other hand found your waist, drawing you to him until your bodies touched. It was warm, alive, trembling with anticipation. He moved in gradually, his breath ghosting over your lips. You tilted your face up to meet him, offering the smallest nod of permission, your pulse thundering like a war drum.

His mouth found yours.....soft at first, exploring, savoring. A kiss that tasted of wonder and need. But soon, it deepened, turning desperate, hungry. He kissed you like he was drowning and you were his only breath.

“God, I need you,” he rasped, pulling away just enough to speak, his forehead resting against yours. “Last night… the way you tasted, the way you moved beneath me, I've been thinking about it nonstop. It's driving me insane.”

His hands slid down to cup the curve of your ass, lifting you slightly as he pressed you gently back against the shelving. The closet was cramped, shadowed and secret, but you hardly noticed. All you could feel was him.

“Soobin…” you gasped, your head falling back as his lips trailed down your neck, warm and open, his teeth grazing your pulse. “We shouldn’t… not here…”

“Shhh,” he murmured into your skin. “Let me take care of you. No one’s going to find us. Just you and me, sweetheart.”

His fingers gathered the hem of your dress, sliding it up with reverence, exposing your thighs to the cool air. His touch was firm, purposeful, yet gentle as he parted your legs and stepped between them, cradling your body as if it belonged to him.

You whimpered, torn between reason and need, but when his mouth found yours again, every hesitation unraveled. He kissed you like he meant it, like you were his salvation.

He guided your hand down to the front of his pants, letting you feel him twitching beneath your touch. “Feel that?” he groaned. “That’s all for you. I’m aching for you, baby.”

He rocked his hips against your center, the friction enough to make your breath catch and your knees weak. You clung to him, the hunger in your body coiling tight like a spring, ready to snap.

“Please…” you breathed. Whether it was a plea for more or for restraint, you couldn’t say.

But Soobin heard what you truly meant.

He freed himself with a few hurried motions, his cock thick, flushed, and glistening at the tip. You gasped at the sight—at the weight of what was coming.

Still holding your gaze, he shifted your panties aside with one hand and rubbed the head of his cock through your wet folds, teasing, testing.

Then, with a single, aching thrust, he filled you completely.

“Soobin—” Your cry was swallowed by his kiss as he buried himself to the hilt, stretching you open, claiming you.

Without breaking the kiss, he slid his hands down the curve of your thighs and bent slightly. “Hold on to me,” he whispered, voice low and rough.

You barely had time to react before he lifted you effortlessly, his strong arms hooking beneath your thighs. A gasp escaped your lips as your body rose, and your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips, locking behind him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, forehead pressed against yours. “You feel unreal. So warm. So tight. So perfect.”

His hips began to move, slow at first, savoring every inch. You held onto him with everything you had, each thrust sending a fresh wave of pleasure through your trembling body. His hands gripped your thighs, grounding you, as the rhythm between you grew faster, more desperate.

Every movement was worship. Every breath was shared.

“So good,” he panted, mouth hot against your jaw. “I can’t… I’m not going to last. I need to feel you cum for me. Need to fill you up.”

His words made you moan, your own release spiraling closer, tighter.

“Yes—yes—don’t stop—” you begged, your voice breaking as your body surged forward into ecstasy. You shattered around him, your walls clenching, pulling him deeper as pleasure bloomed from the center of your soul.

Soobin cried out your name, and with one final thrust, he came hard, burying himself in you as he spilled deep inside—pulse after pulse of heat filling you. His entire body trembled with the force of it, arms locking tight around you.

The world stilled. You held him. He held you. Only your breaths remained—shaky, tangled, real. He pressed soft, reverent kisses to your cheeks, your lips, your hair. “That… that wasn’t just sex,” he whispered, voice hoarse and true. 

You kissed him back, slow and lingering, your body still trembling from the aftermath. When your lips finally parted, he rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes.

“Stay with me tonight,” he murmured. “Don’t go. I need you next to me.”

And the way he said it...the vulnerability in it made your heart ache in the best way.

Because you realized…You needed him too.

© 2025 gyunotes

[csbenthusiast]

⋆˚࿔ perfect match 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 3

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three ୨♡୧

pairing: rentalbf!soobin x fem!reader genre: fluff, comedy? (debatable), fake dating au summary: desperate to escape your friends matchmaking, a small lie spirals out of control. soobin—your charming, professional, rental boyfriend—the perfect answer. but what if the hardest part won't be fooling your friends? what if it’s reminding your own heart it's all fake? w/c: ~3.3k warning: not entirely proofread, fluff (might be cringe), an attempt at humor. a/n: sorry for the long wait guys! please bear with me ;-;. i wasn't feeling well lately and couldn't find the energy to continue writing. i'm still having trouble with writing a little, my head is a mess. BUT im happy with the positive responses, i'll work hard to finish this and make it enjoyable :) <3 taglist: always open! @saccharinezennie | @soobinz-wife | @mental-hollows

the fluorescent lights of the office hummed overhead as you pushed yourself through the glass doors, the usual morning chatter of keyboards clacking and hushed phone conversations filled the space. but the moment you stepped into the office—

yeonjun's head snapped up from his desk like a predator catching a scent.

oh no.

you barely had time to drop your bag onto your chair before he was already swiveling his chair toward you, his sharp eyes gleaming with mischief as they locked onto you like a target.

"well, well, well," he drawled, popping his chin in his hand, elbow digging into his desk. "look who survived her practice date."

you shot him a warning glare. "don't"

"don't what?" he blinked innocently—but the grin tugging at his lips ruined the act. "don't ask how it went? don't ask if you two held hands? don't ask if he—"

"yeonjun."

"—kissed you goodnight?"

you nearly choked on your coffee. "we didn't kiss—"

"oh?" he leaned forward, his grin widening. "so there was a goodnight?"

you groaned, slumping into your chair. "i hate you."

"no, you don't." he rolled closer, unfazed. "come on, details. was he as annoyingly perfect as his profile?"

you hesitated. the truth was, the night had been... surprisingly okay. less awkward than you'd expected. maybe even—dare you say it—fun. but admitting that to yeonjun would mean giving in.

"it was fine," you muttered, turning your attention on your computer screen with exaggerated focus. "we practiced. we ate. we left."

yeonjun gasped, slapping a hand over his heart like you'd just confessed a crime. dramatic. "you ate together? how romantic."

"it was a dinner practice for a fake date—"

"did he pay?"

"that's your question?"

"it's an important one!" he wagged a finger, grinning. "a gentleman always pays."

you scoffed. "it's a business transaction. of course he paid."

yeonjun's grin widened. "so he is a gentleman."

you buried your face in your hands, your voice muffled. "why do i even talk to you?"

"because you love me." he poked your shoulder. "and because you secretly enjoyed yourself."

you lifted your head just enough to glare at him. "i did not."

"liar." he smirked. "you're cheeks are red."

yeonjun, miraculously, dropped the subject—for approximately three hours. then, during lunch, he struck again.

the two of you sat at a small corner table in the company cafeteria, the noise of clattering trays and overlapping conversations muffled in the background.

"so," he said casually, picking up a piece of sushi with his chopsticks, "when's the next session?"

you narrowed your eyes. "why?"

"just curious." he shrugged. a grin played at the corner of his lips as he added, "you know. as your friend and favorite coworker."

"you're not curious," you countered. "you're nosy."

"same thing." he popped the sushi into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. after swallowing, he leaned forward. resting his elbows on the table. "i'm invested now. this is better than a drama."

you groaned, tilting your head back toward the ceiling as if begging for patience. "it's not a drama." you insisted, dropping your voice lower as a group of interns passed by your table. "it's a fake relationship. with a contract. and boundaries."

"uh huh." he leaned in. "and how many of those boundaries have you almost crossed?"

your chopsticks froze mid-bite, the rice grains crumbling slightly under the sudden pressure.

yeonjun's eyes lit up. "oh my god. there is something."

"there's nothing—"

"you hesitated!" he pointed accusingly, his chopsticks nearly grazing your nose. "spill. now."

you exhaled sharply through your nose. "nothing happened, but maybe i'm... slightly less awkward around him now." you relented, crossing your arms.

yeonjun gasped. "progress!"

"but!" you held up a finger. "it's strictly professional. he's good at his job. that's all."

"sure." yeonjun nodded wisely. "and i'm sure him being tall, handsome, and charming has nothing to do with it."

soobin: practice date #2. tomorrow. 7pm. we're doing a double date to stimulate group pressure. dress casually but nice. no flinching when i touch you.

you: who said i flinch?

soobin: you literally elbowed me in the ribs when i put my arm around you at the bookstore.

you: reflexes. also you deserved it.

soobin: noted. try to resist assaulting me in front of your ex, though. bad for the act.

you: no promises.

soobin: i'm adding "combat training" to your invoice.

you snorted, locking your phone before yeonjun could peer over your shoulders—again.

"oooh, is that mr. perfect boyfriend?" yeonjun sing-songed, swiveling his chair toward you with a grin.

you shoved your phone in your pocket. "it's none of your business."

"that's a yes." he clasped his hands under his chin. "so? what's the plan? romantic stroll by the han river? cozy movie date? kissing practice—"

you snatched the nearest pen off the table and hurled it at him. he dodged with a yelp, the pen clattering against the wall behind him. "we're doing a double date simulation. to practice group dynamics."

yeonjun wiggled his eyebrows. "uh huh. and how many of these practice sessions do you need before you admit you're enjoying this?"

"it's fake." you hissed, rolling your eyes. "he's literally being paid to do this."

"and yet." yeonjun's grin widened as he pointed at your face. "you're blushing."

"i'm annoyed."

"sure." he flopped back in his chair, spinning lazily. "keep telling yourself that."

you stood in front of your closet, staring at the outfit you'd laid out on your bed for the fifth time in ten minutes.

casual but nice.

that's what soobin said.

you held up a silky blouse, then an off-the-shoulder top, then a dress you hadn't worn in months.

too formal. too plain. too... desperate?

with a frustrated groan, you grabbed the first thing that didn't make you second-guess yourself—a light-colored knitted sweater. simple.

you checked your reflection one last time, adjusting the neckline, smoothing your hair, and grabbed your keys.

your phone buzzed.

soobin: don't panic when you see beomgyu. he can be intimidating, but he's just a playful puppy in human form.

deep breath. you got this.

the drive to the restaurant was too short. your fingers drummed against the steering wheel, the lights blurring past as you rehearsed everything in your head.

bookstore. together for two months. no flinching.

you pulled into the restaurant's parking lot, your stomach twisting as you spotted soobin leaning against the entrance, scrolling through his phone.

you stepped out of the car, and his head lifted instantly, his eyes locking onto yours. a slow, knowing grin curled at the corner of his lips.

"took you long enough," he called out, pushing himself off the wall.

"i'm five minutes early," you shot back, crossing your arms.

"and yet, i've been waiting." he closed the distance between you, his voice dropping as he leaned in. "you look nice, by the way."

"thanks," you muttered. "you look good too, i guess."

he chuckled, the sound low and warm. "you ready?" he said, then held out his hand.

you hesitated.

his fingers twitched, waiting.

this is what you're paying him for.

you slipped your hand into his. his grip was warm, firm—reassuring, even.

"remember," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "no flinching."

you exhaled and nodded. "i'll try my best."

the moment you slid into the booth across from beomgyu and his girlfriend, you understood two things.

beomgyu was in fact like a playful puppy—energetic, unrestrained, and radiating chaotic charm. his grin was instant, wide enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes, and just a little unhinged.

his girlfriend was terrifyingly observant. her sharp eyes flicked between you and soobin like she was already analyzing the act, her gaze lingering just a second too long on the way soobin's arm brushed yours as you settled in. her lips curled faintly—not quite a smile, more like a quiet satisfaction of someone already piecing together a puzzle.

"finally!" beomgyu clapped his hands together, the sound sharp in the hum of the diner. "we've been dying to meet you. soobin never shuts up about—"

soobin kicked him under the table. a swift, unmistakable thud under the table cut him off. beomgyu yelped, shooting him a wounded look before seamlessly recovering.

"—how great his job is," beomgyu finished smoothly, grinning.

you shot soobin a look. really?

soobin's expression didn't change, but the toe of his shoe nudged yours under the table—play along.

"so," beomgyu's girlfriend said, resting her chin on her hand. "how did you two meet?"

ah. the first test.

you opened your mouth, but soobin's hand settled over yours on the table, his tumb brushing your knuckles. "we fought over a book," he said, his voice warm with amusement.

beomgyu gasped. "romantic."

"he reached for it first," you added, relaxing into the lie. "but i may have elbowed him out of the way."

soobin scoffed. "she definitely elbowed me."

beomgyu's girlfriend smirked, and soobin squeezed your hand—good job.

by the time dessert arrived, soobin had already passed three levels of the unspoken couple habits—and you were almost keeping up.

first, the hair tuck.

it happened so casually you almost missed it, when the waiter had just cleared the plates and the air was thick with the scent of caramelized meat and lingering spice—the brush of his fingers against your temple, the fleeting warmth of his knuckles grazing your cheek as he tucked a loose strand behind your ear.

you slightly stiffened, shoulders tensing for half a second, but soobin didn't react. he just leaned back in his seat, one arm slung over the backrest.

"you had something," he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear.

"liar," you muttered back.

his lips twitched. "prove it."

then second, the kimchi pancake.

soobin speared a perfectly crispy bite with his chopsticks and held it out to you, eyebrows raised in challenge. "babe. try it."

the pet name still sent a jolt through you, but you refused to let him see it. you leaned forward, maintaining eye contact as you took the bite from his chopsticks—only to immediately regret it when his smirk deepened.

"good?"

"overrated," you lied, even though the flavors burst on your tongue, savory and tangy.

revenge came as you shoved a spoonful of ice cream toward his face. "your turn."

soobin didn't hesitate. he caught your wrist, fingers circling lightly but firmly, guiding the spoon the rest of the way himself. his lips wrapping around it in a way that was absolutely unnecessary—slow, deliberate.

and unfair.

"sweet," he said, tongue darting out to catch a stray drop.

across the table, beomgyu fake-gagged.

the third, where you stood up to go to the bathroom, sliding out the booth with a murmured excuse.

soobin's hand settled on your waist, his touch light but undeniable, his fingers just enough to press into the fabric of your shirt—it was possesive yet casual. boyfriend-coded.

and—

you didn't flinch.

progress.

the dinner ended with beomgyu dramatically clutching his chest, letting out an exaggerated gasp. "i take it back," he announced, pointing between you and soobin. "you two are disgusting. i've lost my appetite."

you blinked, lowering your fork. "what?"

beomgyu groaned, slumping back against the leather booth. "the looks," he insisted, miming a swoon. "the little hand squeezes under the table—don't think i didn't see that. and the way he feeds you—"

soobin kicked him again. harder this time.

this time, beomgyu yelped loud enough that a few heads turned at nearby tables. his girlfriend just smirked, swirling her drink with a knowing look.

"you two are good," she mused, her sharp eyes flicking between you and soobin. "almost too good."

you stiffened, but soobin just laughed, his fingers lacing through yours on the table. "jealous?" he teased, squeezing your hand tightly.

beomgyu groaned again. "i can't take it. can we leave before i lose my will to live?"

soobin rolled his eyes. "drama queen," he muttered under his breath.

as you all stood to leave, beomgyu slung an arm around soobin's shoulder, whispering something that made soobin shove him off with an exasperated sigh.

outside the restaurant, beomgyu's girlfriend pulled you aside while the boys bickered over the bill. "for the record," she murmured, "he's never brought a client to meet us before."

your breath hitched. "this is just practice."

"sure." she smirked. "but if you were real? i'd definitely approve."

beomgyu and his girlfriend lingered for a moment, exchanging final teasing remarks before waving goodbye.

"see you at the next one," beomgyu called, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at soobin.

soobin rolled his eyes, shoving him lightly. "go home, gyu."

beomgyu laughed, throwing an arm around his girlfriend's shoulder as they walked away. "good luck with your client," he sing-songed, just loud enough for you to hear.

soobin sighed, rubbing his temples like he was already exhausted by the mere thought of beomgyu's antics.

soobin lingered beside you, his hands tucked into his pockets, the glow of the streetlights casting long shadows across his face.

"you survived," he mused, glancing at you sideways.

"barely," you muttered, rubbing your temples. "beomgyu is... a lot."

soobin chuckled. "understatement."

a comfortable silence settled between you, the kind that didn't feel forced—just two people decompressing after an eventful evening.

this was a performance. you'd seen the way he slipped into his role so easily—the way his voice softened at all the right moments, the way his gaze lingered just a second too long to make you feel special. it was flawless.

"do you ever turn it off?" you asked before you could stop yourself, breaking the silence between the two of you.

soobin blinked, his expression flickered for half a second. "what?"

"do you ever get tired of being everyone's dream guy and never yourself?"

he barked out a startled laugh, but was hollow. "that's not what i'm hired for."

"that's not an answer to my question."

the streetlight caught the tension in his jaw as he looked away. for the first time tonight, he seemed different—like you could see the layers unraveling behind his mask, like you'd pulled a thread he didn't want loose.

"it's easier this way," he said finally, voice quieter. "no surprises or disappointments."

you recognized the words for what they were—a shield.

he was too good at his job because he did care—just not in a way that ever left him vulnerable. his reviews praised him for being 'the perfect boyfriend', but you wondered if anyone ever asked what he got out of it—besides the money. if he ever felt like an actor in everyone else's story, but never the main character in his own.

"must be lonely," you said softly.

he stiffened. "i don't—

he cut himself off, exhaling through his nose. for a second, it seemed like he might actually say something real—something raw—but then his shoulders listed in a practiced shrug.

"it's just a job." the words were light, but the way he avoided your eyes betrayed him. "you shouldn't worry about me, i'm here to help you."

before you could press further, your phone buzzed in your pocket—a sharp, unwelcome sound in the quiet between you. you fished it out, half-irritated, and glanced at the screen

yeonjun: so??? how was the double date, did he feed you dessert?

you huffed and rolled your eyes, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

you: shut up. it was practice. nothing more.

soobin peeked over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of the screen before you could hide it. his lips curled into a smirk. "work husband checking in?"

you snapped your phone shut. "work what—?"

"yeonjun," he said, nodding toward your phone. "the coworker who booked me for you. sounds like he's invested."

you snapped your phone shut, but not fast enough. his smirk was already in place, smooth and effortless—the perfect mask sliding back on.

"he's just nosy," you grumbled, shoving your phone into your pocket.

soobin's eyes crinkled at the corners. "mhm. sure."

you elbowed him lightly. "don't start."

he laughed, the sound warm and rich in the cool night air. "wouldn't dream of it."

you fished your keys from your bag, the weight of them familiar in your palm—your escape route, your reminder that none of this was real, no matter how convincingly you'd played the part tonight.

soobin walked behind you, hands tucked lazily into his pockets, the fabric rustling softly with each movement. his shoulder brushing yours as you walked toward the parking lot.

the parking lot was quiet, the hum of distant traffic filling up the comfortable silence between the two of you.

you hesitated, keys jingling in your grip, clicking the unlock button on your key fob. the car chirped in response, the headlights flashing twice—bright, impatient almost like a silent plea. "so. that went... okay?"

soobin tilted his head slightly as he studied you. "better than okay. you didn't flinch once."

"yeah well," you said, swinging your car door open, "i had a decent teacher."

his grin widened, slow and pleased. "aw. was that a compliment?"

you raised your eyebrow. "don't let it go to your head."

you slid into the driver's seat, but before you could shut the door, soobin's hand caught the frame, holding it open. he leaned down slightly, the streetlight casting shadows across his face, his voice dropping to a softer tone. "seriously. you didn't even flinch once. even when i—"

his fingers brushed your wrist where it rested on the steering wheel, then reaching toward your face, swiftly tucking the loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"—did that."

then he straightened, stepping back with that infuriating smirk—radiating his usual confidence. "see you at the dinner, babe."

the door clicked shut before you could retaliate.

you groaned, gripping the wheel.

just two days left.

"do you ever turn it off?"

soobin's fingers tapped restlessly. your voice clung to him, sharper than the cold air outside.

"do you ever get tired of being everyone's dream guy and never yourself?"

no one had ever asked him that. his chest tightened by the surfacing memory.

clients didn't pay for real. they paid for better—better than their exes, better than loneliness, better than whatever hollow version of love they'd settled for before. and soobin was good at giving them that. flawless, even. five-star reviews across the board.

you didn't ask for better.

you wanted honesty, the raw truth of what was behind the mask, the shield.

he dragged a hand down his face. he'd almost answered. for one reckless second, when your eyes held his under the flickering lights—sharp and seeing too much—he'd wanted to tell you, the raw truth.

but it shouldn't matter. that wasn't what you were paying him for.

the whole point of his job—no attachments, no complications. just a transaction. a role.

but you kept asking things that weren't on the script.

"how many of these fake relationships have you done?"

a question most clients asked, but not like that. not like they were counting how many times he'd pretended to care—not like you.

the neon sign of the late-night convenience store buzzed overhead, casting flickering pink light across soobin's face as he leaned against the brick wall outside. beomgyu had dragged him here under the urgency of needing late night snacks, but the way his friend was now smirking at him—chip bag crinkling in his grip—told him this was an interrogation in disguise. "so," beomgyu drawled, tossing a chip into his mouth. "when's the wedding?"

soobin let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "shut up."

beomgyu grinned mischievously. "i'm serious, the way you looked at her?" beomgyu fake gagged. "i almost threw up my kimchi pancakes. digsusting."

"it's called acting," soobin retorted, rolling his eyes at the dramatic antics of beomgyu.

"acting my ass. you've never looked at a client like that before." beomgyu shot back with a teasing grin.

soobin hesitated, the silence stretching for too long. beomgyu's smirk faltered when soobin didn't immediately fire back. his voice softened, just a fraction. "no way—wait. do you like her?"

soobin flicked his gaze away, taking a slow sip of his drink. the carbonation burned his tongue. he shrugged casually before answering. "i like getting paid."

there was another silence. then—

"bullshit." beomgyu crumpled the empty chip bag and lobbed it at his head. "you're a terrible liar when it comes to these stuff."

soobin swatted it away, scowling. "there's nothing to lie about. she's a client. end of story."

beomgyu studied him, uncharacteristically serious. "you know what your problem is? you're so used to playing the perfect boyfriend for strangers that you don't know how to be real with someone who actually sees you."

soobin's jaw clenched. "that's not—"

"you looked at her tonight," beomgyu pressed. "not the way you do with clients. the way you used to do, back when you still—"

"drop it, gyu."

a sharp pang twisted in soobin's chest.

beomgyu sighed, but didn't push further. "look, all i'm saying is—if you keep acting like you don't care about anything, eventually you won't

soobin rolled his eyes. "since when are you the wise one?"

"since always." beomgyu grinned, slinging an arm around his shoulder. "now buy me more snacks. my advice isn't free."

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three ୨♡୧

© bangtanbeom 2025

[csbenthusiast]

— SOOBIN AS YOUR BOYFRIEND ! 💭

➙ boyfriend soobin thoughts

pairing: choi soobin x gn!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: lowercase intended, not proofread, soobin being so boyfriend that it is in fact lethal, this just got longgg because I can’t stfu about how perfect soobs is

a/n: it doesn’t get more boyfriend material than soobin in txt, go argue with a wall

we already know choi soobin is one of a kind

im probably the biggest advocate for bf soobin agenda

like bf material = choi soobin!!

he’s tall, funny, pretty, hot, cute, smart

it’s giving cute college bf every girl dreams of

I genuinely could go on and on glazing him im afraid

BACK HUGS are a major yes >>>

you could casually be doing anything and he will just wrap his arms around your waist and snuggle his head between your neck letting his body heat radiate to you

most occurrences being when he’s just woken up, still feeling sleepy and you aren’t next to him so he goes on to find you and just hold you and close his eyes again

the second being while you both get ready for the day in the morning or for bed at night together

he may not be super clingy but he just loves the physical intimacy between the two of you

the sort of boyfriend you just can never shut up about and you probably have thousands of different wallpapers of him already

and im saying this coming from a place of how effortlessly bf this man looks in all his pictures

he’s caught you recording him on multiple occasions but he just lets you and he gets flustered but that just makes him look cuter in the pictures and videos

you both have highlights dedicated to each other, he’s constantly on your instagram stories too

just as much as you’ve got so much content on him, so does he on you

but a lot of it is candid and when you’re not paying attention because he’s tryna be slick

90% of his gallery consists of pictures of you either sleeping or mid laugh because that’s when he thinks you look the cutest

members have caught him smiling at himself like a dork looking at pictures of you whenever he’s away from you and misses you

he has mentioned on multiple occasions that he’s the passive type that “likes to be dragged around” or lead by his partner

and I can soooo see that

he would just be down for whatever if that’s what you want

if anything, your outward boldness was probably what drew him to you in the first place

“hey guys so im dating someone now.” soobin tells his friends

“dude what-“

“they came up to me and said I was cute and wanted to go out on a date. The waiter got me the wrong order and they called them out for it.” he explains shrugging his shoulders

everyone was too stunned to speak but he thought you were a badass and he has been head over heels since then

bake for him and you have his heart

and to those that aren’t the best in the kitchen, that’s okay too but as the saying goes, “a way to a man’s (soobin) heart, is through his stomach”

so I just think he would find it so cute and would be touched if his partner ever cooked or baked him anything

the type to give you piggy back rides and carry you

whenever he’s with you and he notices you getting tired, he just props down in front of you silently and waits for you to get on his back fighting back a small smile

if not that, usually at home when you’re tired or fallen asleep on the couch, he will just carry you up to your bedroom bridal style before tucking you in and kissing your forehead

small acts of service that sometimes you don’t even notice or you’re oblivious to

bending down to tie your shoelaces, carrying your bag for you, walking on the outer side of the pavement near the road, buying you medication whenever you’re sick, giving you his jacket when you’re cold, etc

the judgemental bf

and if you’re a hater then you can be judgey together!

it’s giving, he makes the face and you say it (soulmates)

he absolutely cherishes quality time

probably one of his biggest love languages might I add (alexa play love language by txt)

as previously mentioned, he is so down to do whatever you wanna do but he also loves the small moments where he just gets to cuddle you, play games together and watch a movie or a show with you

he also gives the warmest cuddles known to man

it’s like hugging a big teddy bear because he’s so warm (and squishy?)

in moments where he thinks you’re asleep while you both cuddle you catch him whispering sweet and soft words of affirmations to you

simply expressing his love and telling you how absolutely amazing you are and he’s just so lucky to have you

as much as he could tell you this consciously, he just gets too shy to say it to your face a lot of the time

he loves cheek kisses sm

be it giving or receiving (mostly receiving because he’s soft like that)

and just whenever you cup his cheeks or poke his dimples make him get all shy and feel all giddy

whenever you do touch his cheeks, he has gotten into the habit of leaning in into your touch and placing his hand on top of yours before kissing your palm (I want this so bad, I am unwell)

if you are a bit on the shorter side (which atp everyone is cause mans is HUGE) he would love the height difference

this also makes him love seeing you in all his clothes because of how much bigger they look on you and just swallow your frame

take all his hoodies, he would die from the cuteness aggression

and just to revel in that fact more he loves bending down to be at eye level with you while looking deep into your eyes before smiling with his dimples full on display

he knows very well that makes you weak in the knees and he loves that

the type to carry your favourite necessities with him in case you forget your own (eg. an extra hairband, lip gloss, anything of that sorts)

probably has a cute keychain you got him on his bag too that he gets teased about but he flaunts it like a badge of honour because it’s from you and so he loves it

always yapping to his friends about you and finding a way to bring you up into the conversation

“wow i heard this place has great pasta.” taehyun says looking through the menu

“that reminds me of this one restaurant I went to with (y/n) and they loved the pasta there…” and he just goes on and on yapping their ears off

he’s just a man that loves his partner and wants everyone to know that too

[csbenthusiast]

NOOOOOOOO NOT THE CLIFFHANGER AGAIN😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

I was so dying to read part two and silly me thought for some reason it’d be the last part😭😭😭 however!!!!!! Very interesting very mindful very demure very made my heart beat so fast I thought I was going to pass out

I can’t stop grinning I’m giggling and kicking my feet

⋆˚࿔ perfect match 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 2

୨♡୧ part one / part two ୨♡୧

pairing: rentalbf!soobin x fem!reader genre: fluff, comedy? (debatable), fake dating au summary: desperate to escape your friends matchmaking, a small lie spirals out of control. soobin—your charming, professional, rental boyfriend—the perfect answer. but what if the hardest part won't be fooling your friends? what if it’s reminding your own heart it's all fake? w/c: ~3.9k warning: not entirely proofread, fluff (might be cringe), an attempt at humor. a/n: um hello my fyp is all kai and soobin kissing (ง ื▿ ื)ว heehuehueh. i was struggling a lot with continuing this one. i kept writing stuff, but it didn't do anything for the actual story line so i had to delete everything again and start over :c but here we are >:) taglist: always open! | @soobinz-wife | @saccharinezennie

the evening air was cool against your flushed cheeks as you stepped out of the cafe, soobin holding the door open behind you, his tall frame casting a shadow across the pavement. somewhere in the past hour, the nervous knot in your stomach had unraveled—replaced by something lighter, calmer.

"you're sure about the bookstore story?" you asked, turning to face him under the glow of the streetlamp.

soobin tilted his head, the light catching the subtle curve of his smile, the way his dimple creased just slightly. "unless you'd prefer we met in a more dramatic way, a near-death experience, perhaps. you saved me from a runaway trolley."

you chuckled. "trolleys don't run in seoul."

"fine," he concluded, eyes gleaming with amusement. "a rogue electric scooter, then."

laughter bubbled unexpectedly, and you pressed a hand to your mouth to stifle it, shoulders shaking slightly. soobin's eyes crinkled at the corners, his satisfaction evident in the way he leaned just a fraction closer, pleased with himself.

"you're ridiculous," you said, shaking your head, though the grin tugging at your lips betrayed you.

"and yet, you're hiring me." he pulled his jacket tighter against the evening chill. "speaking of—should we practice before the dinner?"

you blinked. "practice?"

"couple things." he counted off on his fingers. "pet names. how we hold hands. whether you're the type to steal fries off my plate."

"i—i don't think that's necessary."

soobin raised an eyebrow. "so when i put my arm around you in front of your ex, you won't stiffen up like a startled cat?"

you opened your mouth, then closed it. he had you there.

"...okay. maybe one practice session."

your phone buzzed as you stepped into your apartment.

yeonjun: how'd it go?

you sank onto the couch, exhaustion and something else—anticipation? maybe.

you: better than expected. he's easy to talk to.

yeonjun: good. that's what you're paying him for.

you chewed your lip, then added:

you: we're doing a trial run before the dinner. to make it look real.

yeonjun: smart. text me if you need back up. and have fun while you're at it ;)

you stared at your reflection in the mirror, adjusting the collar of your sweater for the fifth time.

it's just practice. a trial run. nothing to freak out about.

except, you were freaking out. because today, you and soobin were going to reenact your fake first meet—cute in a bookstore, like some kind of rom-com side plot. the absurdity of it made your stomach twist.

your phone buzzed.

soobin: running 5 mins late. save the last copy of 'the giving tree' for me.

you groaned.

you: that's the book we're supposedly fighting over? really?

soobin: it's poetic. tragic. romantic.

you: it's cliche.

soobin: exactly. no one questions cliche. they just sigh and say "aww."

you rolled your eyes but couldn't fight the twitch of your lips. annoyingly, he had a point.

the bookstore was quiet. soft, golden light spilled from the iron lamps, casting a warm glow over the wooden shelves that stretched toward the ceiling. the air thick with the scent of aged paper and ink wrapping around you as you browsed the fiction section. you'd already located the giving tree—just one copy left, exactly as soobin had planned—and now you were psyching yourself up to pretend to reach for it when he arrived, rehearsing the script in your head like a bad actor preparing for an audition.

god, this is stupid.

a hand—warm and deliberate—brushed against yours just as your fingers grazed the book's spine.

"oh—sorry," came a familiar voice, warm and amused. "looks like we had the same idea."

you turned, and there he was.

soobin looking unfairly effortless, bathed in the soft glow of the bookstore lights his cream-colored sweater loosely hugging his frame. the fabric slightly rumpled in that perfect careless way, as if he'd just thrown it on without a second thought. his dark hair was tousled, falling slightly over his forehead, and his fingers lingered near yours on the book. his expression was the perfect mix of surprise and interest, like this wasn't a meticulously staged moment.

you, on the other hand, froze. completely. like a deer in headlights.

"uh," you said intelligently.

soobin's lips twitched. "you're supposed to flirt back," he murmured under his breath.

right.

you cleared your throat. "i—guess great minds think alike." you offered weakly.

great minds think alike? you wanted to kick yourself.

soobin, thankfully, didn't laugh at you. instead, he tilted his head, studying you with exaggerated curiosity as if you were the most fascinating person in the room.

"you know, i've been looking for this edition forever. but..." a pause, deliberate. his thumb brushed lightly against the edge of the book, his fingers still so close to yours. "i'd hate to take it from someone who appreciates it as much as i do."

his voice was smooth, so earnest. his smile was easy—like he actually believed this ridiculous scenario.

meanwhile, you were pretty sure your face was flashing sheer panic.

"i—uh. we could share?"

the second the words left your mouth, you regretted them.

but soobin's eyes lit up, bright with joy. "i'd like that." he said, soft and sure, as if the idea had never occurred to him before this moment.

and just like that—with a shared glance, a staged touch, a scripted lines—the scene was set. your fake first meeting, now "officially" established.

the moment you were out of earshot of other customers, you exhaled sharply through your nose, the tension in your shoulders finally releasing. "that was terrible," you groaned, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes as if you could physically erase the memory of your stilted performance.

soobin grinned, flipping idly through the book he'd just bought—for authenticity—his expression far too pleased with himself. "you were adorable."

"i was awkward." you corrected, shooting him a wilting look.

he shrugged, unfazed. "same thing."

you shot him a glare, but he just chuckled, the sound low and warm, like he found your frustration endearing rather than irritating.

"look," he said, lowering his voice as he steered you toward the cafe section of the store. the scent of freshly ground coffee beans and warm pastries wrapped around you. "the whole point of practicing is so you don't panic at the dinner. right now, you're overthinking."

"because this is weird," you hissed under your breath. "we're strangers pretending to be in love. that's not something you just rehearse."

soobin shrugged. "sure it is. actors do it all the time."

"we're not actors."

"aren't we?" he tilted his head, studying you with a look that was far too perceptive. then, leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. "you're playing a part of someone who's moved on. i'm playing the guy who helped you do it. the only difference is, we're writing our own script."

you frowned, crossing your arms. "you're way too good at this."

"i told you—it's my job." he took a sip of the iced coffee he'd just bought, watching you over the rim with an infuriatingly knowing glint in his eyes. "but if it makes you feel better, most of my clients don't argue with me this much."

"i'm not arguing. i'm adjusting."

"mhm. sure." the smirk playing at his lips told you he didn't believe you for a second.

you scowled, but there was no real fury behind it. annoyingly, he was right—you were overthinking. but that didn't make it easier to act natural when every touch, every glance, felt like a performance.

"okay," soobin said, setting his cup down. "next step."

"there's a next step?"

"couple habits. the little things that sell the act." he reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear before you could react. "like that." his touch was feather-light before dropping away.

you stiffened. "what was that?"

"something boyfriends do." his fingers lingering near your cheek for half a second too long before dropping away. "too much?"

yes. "no," you lied. "just... warn me next time."

"warnings aren't realistic."

"this isn't realistic," you muttered.

soobin sighed. "you're resisting on purpose."

"i'm not—" you cut yourself off, frustrated. "fine. what else?"

he studied you for a moment, then nodded toward your hands. "hand-holding."

you hesitated, your fingers twitching at your sides before you reluctantly offering your hand. his palm met yours, warm and steady, his fingers sliding between yours with an ease that felt practiced—natural, even.

his thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, a small, absent-minded gesture that sent an unexpected shiver up your spine.

"see? not so bad," he said.

"right." you muttered.

the cafe table between you and soobin suddenly felt too small as he leaned forward. the warm glow of the overhead light cast shap shadows across his face, highlighting the careful calmness in his expression. his voice low and professional.

"we should talk about physical boundaries," he said, fingers laced together on the table. his thumb tapped once, twice against his knuckle.

you stiffened. "what do you mean?"

"the contract allows kissing if necessary. with consensual consent, of course." his tone was clinical, like he was discussing a business strategy rather than kissing you. "but we should establish what your comfortable with before the dinner. no surprises."

your fingers tightened around your coffee cup, the coldness of the cup lingering onto your palms. "i don't think that'll be necessary." you said, a little too quickly.

soobin raised an eyebrow. "your ex is going to be watching us all night. if he's as much of a jerk as you say, he'll be looking for cracks in the act." he pointed out.

"we can sell it without that." you insisted, but your voice wavered on the last word.

"maybe." he shrugged, leaning back slightly. the leather booth creaked under his weight. "but if he corners you alone and asks why your boyfriend hasn't kissed you all night, what's your answer?"

you opened your mouth—then snapped it shut. damn it, he had a point.

"fine," you muttered, staring resolutely at the condensation forming on your iced coffee. "but only if it's absolutely necessary."

"agreed." the corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but something close to amusement. "i don't exactly go around kissing clients for fun."

"good to know," you deadpanned, finally meeting his eyes again.

"now, pet names," soobin continued, flipping open his notebook, like this was some kind of tactical meeting. the afternoon sunlight streaming through the store.

you groaned. "do we have to?"

"yes." his tone left no room for argument. "couples use them. especially in public." he scanned the list. "i was thinking 'babe' or 'love'. nothing too cringey, but enough to sound natural."

you shifted in your seat, the fabric of your jeans suddenly too rough against your skin. the idea of him calling you anything intimate made your skin prickle—not in a good way. it wasn't because of him.

and then there was the other thing.

the last person who'd called you babe had been him—your ex—his voice dripping with that same casual sweetness right up until the moment it wasn't sweet at all. the memory still left a bitter taste in your mouth.

"let's just stick with our actual names," you said tightly.

soobin studied you for a second, then sighed. "look, i get it. this feels forced. but the whole point is to make this believable. if i call you by your name all night while every other couple is using nicknames, it's going to stand out."

you gritted your teeth. "fine. but not 'love'. that's too much."

"deal. 'babe' it is." he smirked. "ready to test it?"

"no."

"too bad." he reached across the table, his hand slid across the table, his fingers brushing yours before his thumb grazed over your knuckles. "so, babe, what do you want to order?"

the word rolled off his tongue so easily, like he'd said it a thousand times. meanwhile, your brain shut down. it wasn't bad—that was the worst part. it was just... strange. a stranger's voice wrapping around a word used to mean something.

you pulled your hand away. "that was awful."

"you flinched."

"because it was awkward."

"it won't be by the time we're done practicing." he leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. "again."

you glared at him. "you're enjoying this."

"i'm professional," he corrected, but the glint in his eyes said otherwise.

by the fourth attempt, you'd stopped cringing when he said it. by the sixth, you even managed to fire back with a dry, "sure thing, babe," just to see him falter for once.

he did. victory.

a small hitch in his breath, the slightest widening of his eyes before he recovered.

but then soobin took it up a notch.

his arm slid around your shoulders as you stood in line for another drink, his touch casual but deliberate, his palm warm through the fabric of your shirt. his voice dropping near your ear. "you're doing good, darling."

your spine went rigid. "we didn't agree to this."

"we didn't not agree to it." his breath tickled your temple, warm and teasing. his fingers face your shoulder a light, reassuring squeeze. "relax. i'm not going to bite."

you elbowed him lightly—just firm enough to make him exhale sharply through his noce. "i might."

he laughed—a real, unfiltered sound, rich and bright, the kind that turned heads. the barista glanced over with a smile. like the two of you were just another cute couple in caught up in your own little world.

the realization made your stomach twist.

it's working too well.

the evening air had deepened into a soft indigo by the time you and soobin stepped out of the bookstore, the city lights flickering to life. he walked beside you, hands tucked into his pockets, close enough that his sleeve occasionally brushed your arm—just once, twice—each graze sending an unwelcome spark of awareness through you.

too close.

"so," he said, nodding toward a place down the street—a cozy restaurant with warm light spilling from its windows. "next phase of rehearsal."

"ugh." you groaned. "there's more?"

"of course." he shot you a side long glance. "how do you think couples sit? side by side? across from each other?"

you hesitated. "...side by side?"

"depends on the couple." he slowed his steps, turning to face you. "but for our purpose? you'll want to be close enough so that i can—" his hand hovered near your back, not quite touching. "—guide you to your seat. maybe steal a bite of your food. all very normal boyfriend things."

you narrowed your eyes. "you're really committed to this method acting."

"i'm thorough." he corrected, reaching out to tug gently at the sleeve of your sweater. "come on. time to prove you won't get flustered if i hold your hand in public.

you swatted at him, but he dodged, already stepping backwards toward the restaurant, grinning.

the restaurant was dimly lit, amber lighting that made everything feel just a little more intimate. the hum of conversation and clinking silverware filling the space between you and soobin as you picked at your pasta. surprisingly, the conversation had been... easy. no awkward silences, no stilted exchanges—just normal, almost comfortable small talk.

progress.

"so," soobin said, swirling his wine glass. "what's your favorite movie?"

you narrowed your eyes. "why?"

"because if someone asks me what my girlfriend likes, i should know." he smirked, leaning back in his chair. the candlelight caught the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lips. "unless you want me to make something up."

you sighed. "fast and furious."

"really?" he tilted his head. "i totally called you as a rom-com person."

"why? because i'm a girl?" you shot back, voice dry.

"no, because you're clearly a masochist who enjoys emotional suffering." he gestured to himself. "case in point: you hired me."

you snorted despite yourself. "wow. self-burn."

"i'm self-aware." he took a sip of wine. "your turn. ask me something." he added, setting the glass down.

you hesitated, swirling your fork in the pasta absentmindedly. "why do you do this? the whole... fake boyfriend thing."

soobin's fingers stilled on his glass. for a second, you thought he wouldn't answer. then he shrugged. "money's good. hours are flexible."

"that's it?"

"what else is there?" his tone was light, almost teasing, but there was something guarded in his expression.

you studied him. "most people don't fall into jobs like this."

"and most people don't hire fake boyfriends to spite their exes." he arched a brow. "yet here we are."

the waiter came by to refill your water, and soobin took the opportunity to slide his hand over yours on the table—casual, effortless. like he'd done it a hundred times before.

you tensed.

"relax," he murmured, thumb brushing your knuckles. "we're supposed to look like a couple remember?"

"i am relaxed."

"you're gripping that fork like you're about to stab me." he observed, nodding toward your white knuckled hold on the utensil.

you loosened your fingers with a huff. "this is weird for me, okay? i'm not used to—" you gestured vaguely at your joined hands. "—this."

"i noticed." he leaned in slightly, voice dropping. "you're my most difficult client yet."

"sorry to ruin your perfect track record," you muttered, resisting the urge to yank your hand away.

soobin chuckled. "don't be. it's kind of refreshing."

you blinked. "what?"

"most clients are too eager. they forget this is pretend." his gaze flicked over to your face. "you? you don't even want to like me."

a flush crept up your neck. "that's not—"

"it's fine." he squeezed your hand once before letting go. "makes my job easier."

by dessert, you'd almost—almost—gotten used to the way soobin's arm draped over the back of your chair, his fingertips occasionally brushing your shoulder.

"okay, next test," he said, nudging your foot under the table with the toe of his shoe. "what's my favorite color?"

you frowned stabbing your fork into your cake. "how am i supposed to know that?"

"you've been dating me for two months," he said, stealing a bite of your dessert. "you should know these things."

"ugh. fine." you eyed him. "blue."

"wrong."

"green?"

"nope."

you groaned. "just tell me."

soobin grinned, licking a smear of chocolate frosting from his thumb. "i don't have one."

"that's not a real answer."

"sure it is. some people don't have favorites." he stole another bite, unfazed by your glare. "but now you know."

you swatted his hand away. "you're impossible."

"and you're stubborn." he leaned back. "but we're making it work."

the night air had turned crisp, the streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement as you as soobin stepped out of the restaurant. the dinner had gone surprisingly well—no major slip-ups, no awkward silences, just two people who were almost starting to feel like friends.

but now, as the reality of the evening settled in, you hesitated at the curb, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself.

"i'll just call a cab," you said, already pulling out your phone, the screen's harsh glow illuminating your face in the dark.

soobin frowned, glancing at the time on his watch. "it's almost midnight."

"and?"

"and i'm not letting you take a cab alone this late." he dug out his keys out of his pocket, nodding toward the parking lot. "i'll drive you."

you stiffened. "that wasn't part of the plan."

"neither was you nearly choking when i called you babe in front of the waiter, but we adapted." he raised an eyebrow, the streetlight catching the amusement in his eyes. "come on. it's just a ride."

you opened your mouth to argue—then stopped. he was right. it was just a ride. and yet, the idea of being alone with him in the close confines of a car, the quiet intimacy of the shared space, made your pulse skip in a way you didn't want to examine.

"fine," you muttered. "but only because cabs are expensive."

soobin grinned. "whatever you say."

the moment you slid into the passenger seat, you were hit with the quiet intimacy of his space. the interior was clean but undeniably lived-in—a faint scent of coffee lingering in the air, a half-empty pack of gum in the cupholder, its wrapper slightly crumpled from frequent use. the stereo screen glowed softly, displaying a playlist with familiar-sounding titles, the kind of music that had clearly been played enough times to become a habit.

it felt strangely personal, like stepping into a part of his life he hadn't rehearsed for you.

you buckled your seatbelt, hyper-aware of the way the leather cracked under your weight.

"address?" he asked, tapping the gps screen.

you hesitated, curling your fingers into the edge of your seat. "you don't have to do this."

"i know." he glanced at you, fingers hovering over the screen. "but i'm going to. so."

you sighed and rattled off your address, watching as he typed it in with quick, efficient movements. the gps chirped to life, calculating the route, and then the engine rumbled beneath you as he pulled out onto the road.

silence settled in between you, the kind that was neither comfortable nor tense—just there, filling the space like a third passenger.

you fiddled with the hem of your sleeve. "thanks. for the ride, i mean."

soobin kept his eyes on the road, one hand resting loosely on the wheel. "don't mention it."

another silence. the city lights streaked past the windows, painting his profile in flashes of gold and shadow—the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lower lip, the way his lashes cast faint shadows under his eyes.

"you're quiet," he said finally.

"i'm tired."

"liar." he smirked. "you're overthinking."

you shot him a look. "you don't know that."

"i do." he mimicked an exaggerated thinking face, wrinkling his brow until you snorted despite yourself. "you get this little crease between your eyebrows."

"okay, fine. maybe i'm overthinking." you slumped back in your seat. "this whole thing just feels... surreal."

"which part?"

"all of it." you gestured vaguely. "the fake dating. the practice dinner. the fact that i'm in your car like some weird, reverse first date."

soobin chuckled. "it is a little backwards, isn't it?"

"a little?"

he shrugged. "most people get to know each other before they start pretending to be in love."

"yeah, well. most people don't hire professionals to make their exes jealous."

"true." he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "but for what it's worth, you're not the worst fake girlfriend i've ever had."

you rolled your eyes. "wow. high praise."

"take the compliment."

the gps chimed, announcing a turn, and soobin smoothly switched lanes, the car gliding through the night. you watched his hands on the wheel—long fingers, relaxed grip—and wondered, absurdly, how many clients he'd driven home like this.

"you're staring," he said without looking at you.

you quickly averted your gaze. "i was zoning out."

"sure."

another silence, this one heavier.

"so," you said, desperate to fill it, "how many of these fake relationships have you done?"

soobin exhaled through his nose, amused. "that's a very personal question."

"you know everything about me at this point," you pointed out. "it's only fair."

he considered that, then shrugged. "enough to know what i'm doing."

"that's not an answer."

"it's the only one you're getting."

you huffed. "you're annoying."

"and you're nosy." he shot you a sidelong glance, the corner of his mouth tilting up. "but i'll tell you this much—you're the most persistent client i know."

"is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"haven't decided yet."

the car rolled to a stop outside your apartment building, the engine humming softly beneath the hood as it idled. for a moment, neither of you moved.

"well," you said, unbuckling your seatbelt. "thanks again."

soobin nodded, his fingers still resting lightly on the steering wheel. "don't forget—we've got one more practice session before the dinner."

you groaned, tipping your head back against the seat. "another one? do we have to?"

"yes." his tone left no room for argument. "we're not risking all this effort because you get flustered when i hold your hand."

"i don't get flustered—"

"you absolutely do."

you shot him a half-hearted scowl, though the effect was ruined by the way your lips twitched, fighting a smile. "fine. just one more."

"good." he smirked—infuriatingly smug. "i'll text you."

you hesitated, hand on the door handle. something about the moment felt... unfinished. like there was more to say, but you didn't know what.

in the end, you just nodded. "night, soobin."

"night, babe."

you shot him a glare, but he was already grinning. the streetlights catching the mischief in his eyes, the curve of his mouth.

shaking your head, you pushed the door open and stepped out into the cool night air, the sound of his laughter lingering behind you like an echo.

୨♡୧ part one / part two ୨♡୧

© bangtanbeom 2025

[csbenthusiast]

Guys I’m cooking

[csbenthusiast]

I AM CRYING THIS IS WHAT I NEEDED RO READ TBH

The quiet between us

pairings: Soobin x fem!reader Summary: On a quiet night, Soobin seeks comfort in the one place he feels safe. As the silence between them deepens, so do the feelings they’ve both been too afraid to name. word count: 1.6K tags: angst, fluff, best friends to ?, soobin is v quiet, this man just needs to be held tbh a/n: currently in my angst era apparently lol my own spotify playlist ain't helping very much tbh.. I just needed to write this with our gentle giant eeeeek couldn't really get this idea out of my head so please suffer with me <3 (not proofread!)

It was nearly midnight when your phone buzzed softly on your nightstand.

You were already curled up in bed, the lamplight beside you casting a warm glow on the pages of your book. You weren’t expecting any texts, especially not this late, but when you glanced at the screen and saw Soobin’s name, something in your chest tightened.

binnie 🐰: are you still awake?

You sat up a little, thumbs hovering.

you: yeah, i’m up. everything okay?

The typing bubble appeared right away, then stopped. Appeared again. Then finally:

binnie 🐰: can i come over?

That was all it said. No explanation. Just those five words — but somehow, you understood more than if he’d sent a whole paragraph.

you: of course :)

You slid out of bed, placing the book you were reading on your nightstand. You quietly paused the playlist you were listening to and headed over to the living room. 

Ten minutes passed, then a soft knock sounded at your door.

When you opened it, he stood there in an oversized gray hoodie and joggers, the strings of his hood pulled tight around his face like he was trying to disappear into it. He didn’t say anything — just looked at you with that kind of tired that doesn’t come from lack of sleep.

You stepped aside wordlessly, and he walked in with the quiet familiarity of someone who’d done this before, someone who knew you wouldn’t ask for more than he could give.

“Hey,” you said gently as he kicked off his shoes.

“Hey.” His voice was rough, low, barely audible.

You didn’t ask what was wrong. The question hung in the air between you, unanswered but understood. Instead, you offered him a small smile, one hand brushing his elbow lightly as you passed him.

“Come in,” you said in that soft tone he always seemed to relax into. “You hungry? Thirsty?”

He shook his head. “I don’t really want anything. I just…” He hesitated, then looked at you for the first time since walking in. “I didn’t wanna be alone tonight. And you were the first person I thought of.”

That quiet honesty made your heart ache. “I’m glad you texted me,” you replied. “We don’t have to do anything. Just be.”

He nodded once, slowly, and followed you down the short hallway to your bedroom. You returned to your spot, curling back up on your bed with the same book in your lap, giving him space without pushing him away. He stood for a moment at the doorway, like he didn’t want to intrude — but then, without a word, he crossed the room and sat down cross-legged at the edge of your bed, hands buried in the sleeves of his hoodie.

You watched him from the corner of your eye, flipping a page though you weren’t really reading. He wasn’t fidgeting like he usually did. He wasn’t humming under his breath or tapping his foot. He was just still — like something inside him had stopped moving.

You glanced over gently. “You okay if I put the music back on?”

He nodded just once again.

You reached over to your speaker and let the playlist resume where it had left off earlier. Soft instrumentals, slow vocals — the kind of music that filled a room without overpowering the quiet.

–

Soobin didn’t cry. He didn’t speak much more that night. But he didn’t need to. The silence between you was full — not empty.

You watched him for a while, your book now resting forgotten on your nightstand again. His eyes were trained on the ceiling, unfocused, lost somewhere far beyond your four quiet walls. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a faint shadow under his eyes, highlighting how tired he looked — not just physically, but in a way that went bone-deep.

Slowly, without saying a word, you reached for his hand. You didn’t rush. Just gently brushed your fingers along his, waiting to see if he’d pull away.

He didn’t.

In fact, he did the opposite — he let your hand settle in his, and a moment later, you felt his long fingers thread between yours with a kind of hesitant purpose. Like this, he was answering you without words.

Your heart ached, full of love and worry and quiet understanding.

“Soobin…” you whispered, barely louder than the rain outside. “Do you want a hug?”

He didn’t look at you. His eyes remained fixed on some invisible spot on the ceiling, his breath shallow.

For a few seconds, he didn’t respond. Then, finally, a small nod again. Barely there. Like he had done the whole night. But it was enough.

You squeezed his hand and shifted slowly, guiding him with you, letting your bodies move together as if it were the most natural thing in the world. You leaned back against your pillow and tugged him gently by the hand until he followed, letting himself be pulled down beside you. He didn’t resist, didn’t say a word — just let his body fold into yours like he’d been needing this more than he could admit.

His head came to rest against your shoulder, his hair tickling your collarbone. One of your arms wrapped around him instinctively, pulling him closer, while the other softly traced circles against the back of his hoodie.

For a few seconds, he stayed still.

Then he exhaled — long and shaky — and you felt the moment he melted. His arms slid around your waist, slow and tight, like he was anchoring himself to you. He didn’t say thank you, but you felt it in the way he squeezed you. A small, quiet gesture.

–

Your fingers ran gently through his hair as you lay there, humming quietly to the song playing from your speaker. It was something slow and warm — soft guitar, layered harmonies, lyrics you’d both heard a hundred times but suddenly sounded different in the quiet of your room.

Soobin hadn’t moved in a while, and his breathing had evened out. You assumed he’d finally fallen asleep, wrapped around you like he’d found somewhere to rest, somewhere safe.

But just as your eyes began to flutter shut, you heard his voice. Quiet. Shaky.

“Sometimes I feel like no one really sees me.”

Your heart stilled.

“I mean, I know people look at me,” he went on, slowly. “Every day, I’m… visible. All the time. There are cameras and fans and friends and people who care. And I’m grateful, I really am. But still, I feel like—like I’m walking around half-invisible.”

You didn’t speak. You just listened, giving him the space he clearly needed.

“There’s this one person,” he continued, after a breath. “Someone who does see me. Or… almost. I feel like they’re the only one who could really see me for who I am. But I’m not sure they do. Not in the way I wish they would.”

That admission landed softly but heavily in your chest. Something about the way he said it — that ache behind his words — made your mind reel quietly. You wanted to ask who, but something held you back. 

Still, you asked gently, “Do they know how much you care?”

He hesitated. “I don’t know. I’m… not good at saying things like that.”

You nodded slowly, your thumb brushing along the curve of his wrist, and then, with a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, you whispered:

“Well, if they don’t see you the way they should, then that’s on them. Because anyone who really knows you — I mean, really knows you — would never let themselves look away. You’re… Soobin, you’re kind, and thoughtful, and patient in ways people don’t even notice. You don’t ask for much, but you give so much.”

You felt his arms tighten ever so slightly around your waist again, as if your words were holding him together.

You swallowed and let your voice grow even softer.

“I think if I were them… I’d feel pretty lucky to be the person you looked at like that. I’d want to hold onto that kind of love. I wouldn’t want to miss it.”

A long silence passed between you, thick with everything unsaid.

You hadn’t said it outright — not quite — but the words hung there, suspended in the quiet between your bodies, suspended in the hope that maybe he understood what you meant.

Then, after a few seconds, you felt him shift slightly. Not away — just closer. The tip of his nose brushed your collarbone as he let out a soft hum, barely audible.

“You would?” he asked quietly. So quiet you almost thought you imagined it.

Your body tensed just slightly — a subtle stiffening of your shoulders. Panic flickered in your chest. Had you said too much? Had you pushed the boundary without meaning to?

But you didn’t retreat. Couldn’t.

You breathed out slowly, a small puff of air against his hair. “Yeah,” you said, voice low but steady. “I would.”

There was no going back now.

He didn’t respond right away, but you felt the shift in him before you saw it — the tiniest curl at the corner of his lips. Then, with his voice still warm against your skin, he murmured, “Good to know.”

And that was all he said.

But it was enough.

a/n: Thank you for reading!! lmk what you think :)

[csbenthusiast]

The quiet between us

pairings: Soobin x fem!reader Summary: On a quiet night, Soobin seeks comfort in the one place he feels safe. As the silence between them deepens, so do the feelings they’ve both been too afraid to name. word count: 1.6K tags: angst, fluff, best friends to ?, soobin is v quiet, this man just needs to be held tbh a/n: currently in my angst era apparently lol my own spotify playlist ain't helping very much tbh.. I just needed to write this with our gentle giant eeeeek couldn't really get this idea out of my head so please suffer with me <3 (not proofread!)

It was nearly midnight when your phone buzzed softly on your nightstand.

You were already curled up in bed, the lamplight beside you casting a warm glow on the pages of your book. You weren’t expecting any texts, especially not this late, but when you glanced at the screen and saw Soobin’s name, something in your chest tightened.

binnie 🐰: are you still awake?

You sat up a little, thumbs hovering.

you: yeah, i’m up. everything okay?

The typing bubble appeared right away, then stopped. Appeared again. Then finally:

binnie 🐰: can i come over?

That was all it said. No explanation. Just those five words — but somehow, you understood more than if he’d sent a whole paragraph.

you: of course :)

You slid out of bed, placing the book you were reading on your nightstand. You quietly paused the playlist you were listening to and headed over to the living room. 

Ten minutes passed, then a soft knock sounded at your door.

When you opened it, he stood there in an oversized gray hoodie and joggers, the strings of his hood pulled tight around his face like he was trying to disappear into it. He didn’t say anything — just looked at you with that kind of tired that doesn’t come from lack of sleep.

You stepped aside wordlessly, and he walked in with the quiet familiarity of someone who’d done this before, someone who knew you wouldn’t ask for more than he could give.

“Hey,” you said gently as he kicked off his shoes.

“Hey.” His voice was rough, low, barely audible.

You didn’t ask what was wrong. The question hung in the air between you, unanswered but understood. Instead, you offered him a small smile, one hand brushing his elbow lightly as you passed him.

“Come in,” you said in that soft tone he always seemed to relax into. “You hungry? Thirsty?”

He shook his head. “I don’t really want anything. I just…” He hesitated, then looked at you for the first time since walking in. “I didn’t wanna be alone tonight. And you were the first person I thought of.”

That quiet honesty made your heart ache. “I’m glad you texted me,” you replied. “We don’t have to do anything. Just be.”

He nodded once, slowly, and followed you down the short hallway to your bedroom. You returned to your spot, curling back up on your bed with the same book in your lap, giving him space without pushing him away. He stood for a moment at the doorway, like he didn’t want to intrude — but then, without a word, he crossed the room and sat down cross-legged at the edge of your bed, hands buried in the sleeves of his hoodie.

You watched him from the corner of your eye, flipping a page though you weren’t really reading. He wasn’t fidgeting like he usually did. He wasn’t humming under his breath or tapping his foot. He was just still — like something inside him had stopped moving.

You glanced over gently. “You okay if I put the music back on?”

He nodded just once again.

You reached over to your speaker and let the playlist resume where it had left off earlier. Soft instrumentals, slow vocals — the kind of music that filled a room without overpowering the quiet.

–

Soobin didn’t cry. He didn’t speak much more that night. But he didn’t need to. The silence between you was full — not empty.

You watched him for a while, your book now resting forgotten on your nightstand again. His eyes were trained on the ceiling, unfocused, lost somewhere far beyond your four quiet walls. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a faint shadow under his eyes, highlighting how tired he looked — not just physically, but in a way that went bone-deep.

Slowly, without saying a word, you reached for his hand. You didn’t rush. Just gently brushed your fingers along his, waiting to see if he’d pull away.

He didn’t.

In fact, he did the opposite — he let your hand settle in his, and a moment later, you felt his long fingers thread between yours with a kind of hesitant purpose. Like this, he was answering you without words.

Your heart ached, full of love and worry and quiet understanding.

“Soobin…” you whispered, barely louder than the rain outside. “Do you want a hug?”

He didn’t look at you. His eyes remained fixed on some invisible spot on the ceiling, his breath shallow.

For a few seconds, he didn’t respond. Then, finally, a small nod again. Barely there. Like he had done the whole night. But it was enough.

You squeezed his hand and shifted slowly, guiding him with you, letting your bodies move together as if it were the most natural thing in the world. You leaned back against your pillow and tugged him gently by the hand until he followed, letting himself be pulled down beside you. He didn’t resist, didn’t say a word — just let his body fold into yours like he’d been needing this more than he could admit.

His head came to rest against your shoulder, his hair tickling your collarbone. One of your arms wrapped around him instinctively, pulling him closer, while the other softly traced circles against the back of his hoodie.

For a few seconds, he stayed still.

Then he exhaled — long and shaky — and you felt the moment he melted. His arms slid around your waist, slow and tight, like he was anchoring himself to you. He didn’t say thank you, but you felt it in the way he squeezed you. A small, quiet gesture.

–

Your fingers ran gently through his hair as you lay there, humming quietly to the song playing from your speaker. It was something slow and warm — soft guitar, layered harmonies, lyrics you’d both heard a hundred times but suddenly sounded different in the quiet of your room.

Soobin hadn’t moved in a while, and his breathing had evened out. You assumed he’d finally fallen asleep, wrapped around you like he’d found somewhere to rest, somewhere safe.

But just as your eyes began to flutter shut, you heard his voice. Quiet. Shaky.

“Sometimes I feel like no one really sees me.”

Your heart stilled.

“I mean, I know people look at me,” he went on, slowly. “Every day, I’m… visible. All the time. There are cameras and fans and friends and people who care. And I’m grateful, I really am. But still, I feel like—like I’m walking around half-invisible.”

You didn’t speak. You just listened, giving him the space he clearly needed.

“There’s this one person,” he continued, after a breath. “Someone who does see me. Or… almost. I feel like they’re the only one who could really see me for who I am. But I’m not sure they do. Not in the way I wish they would.”

That admission landed softly but heavily in your chest. Something about the way he said it — that ache behind his words — made your mind reel quietly. You wanted to ask who, but something held you back. 

Still, you asked gently, “Do they know how much you care?”

He hesitated. “I don’t know. I’m… not good at saying things like that.”

You nodded slowly, your thumb brushing along the curve of his wrist, and then, with a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, you whispered:

“Well, if they don’t see you the way they should, then that’s on them. Because anyone who really knows you — I mean, really knows you — would never let themselves look away. You’re… Soobin, you’re kind, and thoughtful, and patient in ways people don’t even notice. You don’t ask for much, but you give so much.”

You felt his arms tighten ever so slightly around your waist again, as if your words were holding him together.

You swallowed and let your voice grow even softer.

“I think if I were them… I’d feel pretty lucky to be the person you looked at like that. I’d want to hold onto that kind of love. I wouldn’t want to miss it.”

A long silence passed between you, thick with everything unsaid.

You hadn’t said it outright — not quite — but the words hung there, suspended in the quiet between your bodies, suspended in the hope that maybe he understood what you meant.

Then, after a few seconds, you felt him shift slightly. Not away — just closer. The tip of his nose brushed your collarbone as he let out a soft hum, barely audible.

“You would?” he asked quietly. So quiet you almost thought you imagined it.

Your body tensed just slightly — a subtle stiffening of your shoulders. Panic flickered in your chest. Had you said too much? Had you pushed the boundary without meaning to?

But you didn’t retreat. Couldn’t.

You breathed out slowly, a small puff of air against his hair. “Yeah,” you said, voice low but steady. “I would.”

There was no going back now.

He didn’t respond right away, but you felt the shift in him before you saw it — the tiniest curl at the corner of his lips. Then, with his voice still warm against your skin, he murmured, “Good to know.”

And that was all he said.

But it was enough.

a/n: Thank you for reading!! lmk what you think :)