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havenhyunjin · 3 months ago

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i read this back in christmas break, and it had me on the edge of my seat. i randomly thought about it recently and went back to re-read it and it was somehow better than i remembered. i loved this hyunjin, my beloved!

the writing is impeccable from the very first one shot, and the emotions truly do envelop you in your reading experience. you truly are able to understand the characters, and yearn in the same way that they do.

this is definitely a worthwhile read, as the rest of straywrds works are!

forever remembering matcha cheesecake, maraschino cherries, bonnie the bunny, and i hope our cherry loving girl gets her ring. <3

december sunsets | i only see you part two.

pairing: hyunjin x f!reader | word count: 25.7k | genre: romance, exes to lovers, smut | warnings: angst ; themes of breakup/heartbreak ; regret and guilt ; forced proximity ; mutual pining ; hurt/comfort ; fluff ; reunions ; confessions ; drinking and games | this chapter contains explicit sexual content and adult themes as well as strong language. find nsfw warnings here. i only see you is a direct sequel to the one-shot just stay with me that i released two years ago.

After all, if it was over—if he did not love you and maybe had never really wanted to be with you, there was no risk of him reentering your life whatsoever. Meaning that there was no risk of getting your heart shattered by him another time, something that you would certainly not survive.

It was the beeping of appliances that woke you up the next morning when the power came back.

What time is it? was your first thought but it was quickly erased, replaced by something far more urgent.

You were warm yet you no longer heard the cracking of logs in the fireplace, suggesting they had turned to embers overnight. White light was filtering from behind the curtains—it seemed like it was sunny and bright outside. You couldn’t move to go look.

You couldn’t move because you were wrapped in Hyunjin’s arms—his chest was flush with your back and his face was buried somewhere in the crook of your neck. His breath caressed your skin there, steady and slow.

You let out a faint gasp, your eyes widening, your entire body swallowed by flames. Your first reflex was to see whether the others had seen you and it was with relief that you realized they all seemed asleep, except maybe for Seungmin who rolled over, his slumber lightly disturbed by the beeps that rang. Jisung was sleeping on his side, his back facing you.

Hyunjin hummed in his sleep and pulled you even closer until he was embracing you completely with both of his arms, one leg over yours.

You froze, completely stunned as your heart raced in your chest. Oh god, you thought as your fight-or-flight response raised about two hundred alarms, blaring directly into your ears. DANGER DANGER DANGER!!! HYUNJIN IS DANGEROUS!!! HEARTBREAK! DESOLATION! YOU HAVE NOT BEEN OKAY NOT EVEN ONE DAY SINCE HE LEFT YOU! HE BROKE UP WITH YOU! HE BROKE UP WITH YOU ON VALENTINE’S DAY. GET AWAY! DANGER DANGER DANGER!

But there was something else, something that was not yelling. Something that just tasted sweet. Something that made you want to never leave this very place again. This bed. His arms. He smelled so good. He was holding you so close, like he was holding on for his life. He held you just like he used to when things were still good.

And there was one other thing.

A rush of heat coursed through your body, flowing to your core like lightning cracking in a stormy sky—your breath halted when Hyunjin moved again, nuzzling into your neck, pressing you into him. You felt it on your lower back—the warmth, the stiffness of it, too. Hyunjin was hard. He was fully hard, his concealed erection squeezed between your bodies.

It felt as though you were skydiving—you must have jolted because Hyunjin shifted in his sleep and one of his hands fell over your chest, his fingers dangling over one of your breasts, sometimes caressing your hardened nipple. You clenched around nothing as your heart pounded in your chest hard enough that you were certain it might just wake him up.

This means nothing, you told yourself. Maybe he got cold during the night and his body naturally sought warmth by being closer to you. This was just morning wood, a natural bodily response. This was nothing. It was getting you wet but that also meant nothing—you were touch starved, nothing else. And if Hyunjin hadn’t lied to you last night, if he had indeed remained celibate all this time, it was the same for him.

“GOOD MORNING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

You’d swear everyone jumped two feet in the air—Minho appeared atop the staircase, arms wide open, still in his night clothes but much more awake than you were. “THE DAY OF FESTIVITIES BEGINS!” he went on, descending the stairs like he was god himself visiting the mortal plane, slapping the walls and stomping, making sure to be as loud as he possibly could.

It was instantaneous—Hyunjin pulled away from you like you two were magnets whose poles repelled one another. It felt cold then without him around you but you did not have the courage to look behind you yet and see the expression on his face. While your body was cool, your face was quite the opposite—warmth emanated from it and you were certain your cheeks were flushed.

“Did you singles sleep well? All alone? Totally not with someone else in your bed?” Minho asked with a mischievous smile on his face—he wasn’t looking at you but you knew him well enough to be fully aware he was teasing you. He must have seen Hyunjin and you before waking you up and it made you want to disappear. “You’re off cooking duty today,” he added, turning to you this time and you could barely see him because you were hiding behind your covers. “Chan will help me, you have to rest your foot.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” you retorted as Jisung, Felix, and Seungmin were sitting up, rubbing their eyes and yawning. It wasn’t exactly true—of course, your ankle felt sore and it hurt when you moved it, but you could not fathom sitting on your ass all day with nothing to do other than remember how it felt to wake up with Hyunjin’s hard-on pressed against your ass. “We said Chan would have the entire weekend away from a kitchen,” you reminded him. After all, as the head chef at the restaurant, he was inside one all year and deserved some time off.

“We can help too,” Jisung offered as he pushed himself up.

“Let’s go make coffee,” Seungmin added, following Jisung into the kitchen.

Felix got up as well and began putting his pillows and covers in a pile on the couch. Minho helped him—clearly, they intended on clearing the living room and removing the mattresses, meaning you had to get your ass up. You took a deep breath and dared a glance behind you only to see Hyunjin sitting with his knees up, arms around them, staring with dead eyes at the window right in front of him. Jisung had just pulled the curtain open, showing a stunning day with a bright blue sky.

More people were joining the main living area, sleepy yet joyful.

“So what’s the plan then?” Minho asked and it took you a few seconds to realize he was speaking to you directly.

You blinked, turning to him—he was offering you a hand to help you up, which you accepted. The whole ordeal of standing hurt your ankle but was not as bad as you imagined it would be. “Do we need a plan?” you retorted while regaining your balance.

It seemed to you like the plan had been laid out a while ago when Minho asked you if you could be in charge of the desserts for the Christmas dinner this weekend and you offered to help him with the meal in its entirety, finding it kind of him to want Chan to be completely off cooking duties. He’d had a big year with a brand new menu at the restaurant and he deserved it, after all.

“Turkey, japchae, dumpling soup with bone broth,” you went on, enunciating everything you could remember from that one phone call with Minho. Focusing on food helped clear the noise in your mind and all the voices whispering or screaming things at you. “Cucumber salad, fish cakes, roasted sage potatoes, roasted brussel sprouts, cranberry sauce, Christmas cookies, and cheesecake. There’s your plan. Let’s get to work.” A lot of the preparation had been done already—you had brought your stuff in a cooler yesterday—but there was still a lot to do.

Minho raised an eyebrow, chuckling. “Alright then.” He looked behind you. “I’m sure Hwang will offer his help considering your injury.”

“I’m al—”

“Sure I’ll help,” Hyunjin cut you off, causing you to turn around. He was up too, standing next to his mattress and holding his huge pile of blankets over a strategic spot, hiding him from his lower stomach to above his knees. You averted your eyes, blushing again.“I’ll just get some of the stuff upstairs and be right back.”

“The games will start in half an hour,” Minho warned the entire room. “Each hour, someone will get their Secret Santa gift, so we’ll decide whether we pick people randomly or follow an order.”

One thing that you had always admired about Minho was his sense of organization. It also drove you insane, but it was remarkable. You always imagined him with an actual, tangible daily planner in his brain.

You chose to follow Minho into the kitchen—it sounded like the best option for you right now if you wanted to put some order into your thoughts. You sat down on a stool by the counter while Minho was quickly chopping off some fruit with cheese, saying you both needed to eat before cooking all day.

You dared a glance over your shoulder, not minding the conversations around you, just staring as Hyunjin hurried upstairs. You wanted to follow him and ask him if he had done it on purpose. Holding you. Breathing into your neck. Igniting the fire within you again.

You wanted to follow him and ask him if he had liked it. Waking up like that, just the way you used to.

But then he would see. Then he would know. The things you craved secretly. He would see your longing. And it had become such a significant part of you that you reckoned there wasn’t much else to see, and he would not like that. It would not make him fall in love with you again. It would not erase the past year. It would just be humiliating.

Instead you remained in the kitchen, eating the snack Minho had prepared and drinking coffee. All this time you had dedicated about 75% of your energy to keeping certain memories at bay, the ones that would make you suffer the most should they ever resurface. Such a thing could be difficult to do in the beginning but after a while it became background noise—it still drained you but at least it was happening automatically and you no longer had to actively work on it.

Like the night of Hyunjin’s birthday. His mouth still tasted like the cake you had made for him with a hint of the amaretto he drank with it. He kissed you the whole time he was making love to you except for a few seconds here and there where he was whispering beautiful and, in hindsight, tragic things. Telling you you were the love of his life. His soulmate. Telling you that nothing had ever felt as good as that, as you, right now, your mouth, your pussy, you. That you were the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen. That you were the best thing that had ever happened to him, and that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you.

That one day, he would marry you if you let him.

Maybe it wasn’t about his morning wood or impromptu cuddling that you wanted to question Hyunjin, after all. Maybe you just wanted to ask him if he had meant all those things when he said them, or if he was just amaretto or pussy drunk. Maybe you just wanted to know if it had been more wishful thinking than a promise.

But you did not. Because neither response would bring you peace, and it wouldn’t make a difference anyway.

It took Hyunjin a long while to calm down. He tried sitting down and meditating but when that didn’t do anything, he opened the door leading to the balcony by his room and let the cold winter air hit him fully but that still did not work.

Maybe he should just take a cold shower and stand in there until his fucking dick chilled or whatever.

Of course, what he wanted to do was to bury his hand into his pants and touch himself, squeeze himself, relieve that pressure in his balls, the tugging in his lower stomach. This morning was barely any different than other mornings when he woke up in his own bed. Not necessarily when he was the most depressed, but after he took medication for a while and his mind cleared a little, his sex drive slowly came back. You weren’t anywhere near him but that did not stop him from waking up rock hard and wishing you were there, that you were in his arms.

It wasn’t exactly a conversation he’d ever had with other guys but he wondered if they remained still so attracted to their ex after the breakup. If they still jerked off to the thought of her. And if so, what kind of thoughts?

He did not want to do that this morning—it felt wrong, somehow. Perhaps because at some point between the moment he fell asleep and when he woke up, he had wound up on your mattress, completely intertwined with you. That had felt everything but wrong. He would kill to experience those few seconds of bliss again, when he was still half-asleep and didn’t quite remember that you two had broken up. Just a few seconds.

Hyunjin had chosen to chastise himself. And the truth was that it would be too weird if he jerked one off and went back downstairs—he would not be able to look you in the eyes. Yet his self-control was being tested because each and every one of his movements made the fabric of his pants brush on his sensitive cock and tempted him.

It did happen more frequently than he’d want to admit. It seemed more common in the morning or at night, perhaps because he was in his bed then and remembering all the time he spent there with you. And this was what he wondered the most. If others did touch themselves to the memory of their ex—was it rethinking about the sex they had? Or fantasies they shared?

Because what made Hyunjin so hard it felt sore was just the intimacy there used to be between the two of you. And being in his bed reminded him of that. At one point, his therapist even suggested Hyunjin buy a new bed with a new mattress and everything but he had not been able to get rid of this one. The one where he made love to you.

He used to lay in bed with you for hours, back when either of you still had the time to do that. The Let’s go to bed early tonight was always just an excuse to exist together, to share the same intimate space. You two would have a conversation to decide what to watch, and sometimes a little snack was involved, but not always. It soon became a habit not to watch TV shows or movies you were actively following because it soon became obvious that there was very little watching taking place.

So you’d put on a documentary or something and miss most of it because you were making out or fucking or sleeping. Sometimes you two would be talking way past midnight. About anything. About nothing. About everything. Nothing else existed. That was what being with you was like. The rest of the world mattered so little—there was only you.

It might have been a mistake to let you become his world. In theory, Hyunjin agreed that nobody should ever do such a thing. It was too risky and it was not logical. Only it had happened before he could even realize it had and there had been no turning back from it.

It made everything worse. Because he had been the one to set fire to his own world. He had been the one watching it turn to embers, completely ineffective at stopping the blaze.

And now what did he have? He had a bar for which he felt very little but resentment because he blamed it for what had happened. He had friends but Hyunjin was barely able to be human around them. He had his apartment but everything inside of him reminded him of you. The dining table neither of you used, preferring to watch TV as you ate. The kitchen where you’d bake sometimes and he would do his best to cook meals for you. The shower where he sometimes lathered your hair and your body under the hot water.

The bedroom where he made love to you.

Hyunjin had come to realize something, and it wasn’t a pretty thing. It was rather ruthless—not the kind of thought just about anybody can admit to themselves, let alone live with.

Everything in life had a weight to it. Everything. Pursuing a dream, buying a loaf of fresh bread, listening to your favorite song. Watching a sunset. Losing your favorite t-shirt. Unloading the dishwasher. Making a new friend. It all had a weight to it, and a person was much like an antique scale, the kind that required weights to use, in the middle of it all.

Life was about what one had vs. what they did not have. So, on one side of the scale was what Hyunjin had and on the other side, on the other pan, was what he didn’t have.

The scale was not tipping in his favor. It was far from having reached an equilibrium. Not even Nightcap was heavier than the void you left behind, so he was stuck on that pan, dragged down by the weight of it, condemned to look at the other side of the scale, the one up high. He could not even see what was on it—he was too low to see it from this angle. He could only see the bottom of the pan that held all the things he had.

Because nothing compared to the love he had for you. To how much he missed you. Each molecule of his body was begging for relief because being too far away from you caused them harm.

Nothing was as heavy as that. As your absence. As the love he could not give you.

It took Hyunjin a cold shower to regain most of his senses. His mind was still in bed with you, holding you, playing with your hair. By the time he managed to get his dick to go down and to get dressed, half an hour had passed and Minho was talking about games downstairs. There would be a Phasmaphobia tournament hosted by Felix. He put it together at the last minute but Hyunjin was confident it would be a success, especially considering that the first prize was gift certificates for a fancy dining restaurant downtown.

Chan and Soren had prepared a trivia game centered on pop culture. They had hinted at it last night and Hyunjin had to admit it sounded fun—he might give it a try. Chan had said he would cook one meal personally for the winner, at home, and it included wine.

Changbin and Jisung had apparently scoured the internet to devise a drinking game. They had looked for dozens of questions with different levels of intensity—people would be asked questions and they could choose to answer it or take a shot. Answering truthfully would give points and while taking a shot did not, not drinking would cause people to lose points.

The plan was to decorate a little Christmas tree, play those games and prepare dinner all at once.

Hyunjin’s mattress was waiting for him by his door, left there by whoever had been kind enough to bring it back upstairs while he was… busy. He put it back in its place before making his way downstairs, forcing himself to take deep breaths. By the sound of it, the Phasmaphobia tournament had already begun—he could hear Jisung begging Ha-ri for help while others were laughing their ass off.

It got a chuckle out of him but Hyunjin did not linger by the table where the laptops had been laid out. He wanted coffee. Coffee was in the kitchen. And so were you. So maybe he just wanted to see you.

“Took your sweet time there,” Minho said playfully when Hyunjin approached. “How can you even stay that long under the water? Doesn’t it get boring? How long does it take to wash yourself?!”

Hyunjin gulped. He considered denying having been in the shower for the whole half-hour but realized that it would probably prompt Minho to question him further and he did not need that. Instead, he shrugged and sat on the stool that was nearest to the coffee machine. It just so happened that you were working very close to there, too.

You glanced at him briefly, keeping your head low as you were chopping some berries into small pieces. The blackberries were staining your fingertips and he could swear he knew exactly what it would taste like if he put your fingers into his mouth to lick them clean. After kissing and biting it quite often, he knew the taste of your skin by heart.

He cleared his throat, intently watching his coffee as it dripped from the machine. “So what are you making?” he asked you as nonchalantly as he could. He felt bad. He did not want to make you uncomfortable.

“Cheesecake,” you retorted. “With blackberry and raspberry purée.”

Something punched Hyunjin in the chest, forcing him to inhale and even spill a little coffee as he reached for his mug in the machine. Of course—cheesecake was one of your favorites and something that you executed well.

Years ago, you had made him one for his birthday. And he remembered that vividly because he had thought long and hard on what to wish for when he blew the candles. In the end, he had wished for you to make him the same cake for his next birthday, too.

And his wish had been granted. You were his girlfriend by then and you hid at the restaurant to bake him that very same matcha cheesecake to surprise him a whole year later. He would never forget the sound of all his friends singing Happy Birthday and the sight of the cake in front of him, the raspberry coulis reflecting the flames of the candles.

He had thought about his wish then, too. Maybe he had been cocky with it. Maybe he had been greedy. He had run out of luck—not only had his wish not been granted but the exact opposite had happened.

And then came his latest birthday. Just a few weeks after Valentine’s Day, so at his lowest, truly.

There had been no matcha cheesecake. No cake at all. There had been nothing, only a deep, dark wish to be erased from this Earth just so he would not have to live without you for too long.

“Are you okay?” You clicked your tongue, immediately dampening up a cloth to wash the hot coffee off his hand. He hadn’t even noticed the burning sensation before you touched him, before you made him burn from the inside.

“Sure, sure, it’s not that hot,” Hyunjin managed, taking the cloth you offered him and washing up the coffee that had spilled on the counter as well.

“No, I mean…” You paused, hesitating before you put the knife down and stared at him with your head tilted to the side. “Do you not like cheesecake anymore?”

“What?” The question surprised him. “Why would I not like cheesecake anymore?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. You seemed disappointed just now when I told you.”

You had always told him that he was not good at hiding his emotions. He could not always express himself well but you had always been able to know he wasn’t feeling well just by looking at him.

“Oh, no no, it’s not that,” Hyunjin replied, taking a sip from his coffee after blowing on it to cool it off. “I mean, I just… I mean I like berries, but the other cheesecake you made was so good, I—”

He had no idea what the hell he was doing. Instead of digging his grave any deeper, Hyunjin drank more coffee, pulling his phone out to scroll mindlessly on social media feeds. Just to have something to look at. You were still in your sleeping clothes and you were still wearing his hoodie and it was making him feel things.

“The matcha cheesecake, you mean.” The wording of your sentence suggested a question, however, your intonation made it sound like a statement.

“Yeah, it was so good.” He drank more coffee, blaming it for his heart flutters. “Those were the two best birthdays I ever had,” he went on in a low voice, muttering to himself more than anything.

Minho shot him a knowing glance and Hyunjin straightened up in his chair. Had he gone too far?

You stared at him with an unreadable expression on your face. If he was bold, Hyunjin would say you were feeling relief. Not in a bad way, not really. More as in, relieved to find out that he was hurt, too—genuinely so. Relieved because maybe he missed you. And perhaps you missed him too.

That had not been his intention coming here. He wanted to see you again but it was to apologize for his shitty behavior, to make sure that you knew he had not cheated on you. Did he want to be with you once again? Yes, fucking Christ, yes. He desired it more than anything. But he did not deserve you, not after the way things had turned out.

“It’s just a cake,” you offered as a response but clearly, you weren’t sure it was the right thing to say.

“To you maybe,” Hyunjin replied honestly. “It means more to me than you seem to think.

You grabbed the knife again and got back at cutting the fruit, only Hyunjin kept a watchful eye on the blade. “So you know better than I do what I think?”

He frowned. “Of course not!” He defended himself. “I just mean—” He sighed, choosing to ignore Minho’s stupid omg tea face. “It’s the cake that you made for me twice. I still remember it and the wishes I made, too. I… That last birthday, without it and without… you…” He did not even say it—you—he only breathed it. “It was empty.”

You were still focused on your task and Hyunjin took those few seconds to relax. Instead, he looked behind him to watch everyone having fun in their own way. How badly he wanted to be like them. How badly he wanted to be whole again.

“What cake did you have on your birthday, then?” you asked, your voice a little higher-pitched than it had been earlier.

“None. I worked, but it was a Wednesday so we closed early and I just went home. I watched a documentary or something.”

It was your turn to frown. “You were alone on your birthday?”

The words came out before he could stop them. “With who was I supposed to be?”

“I don’t know, Felix, Changbin? Someone?”

“I didn’t feel like it. It was, arguably, the worst birthday of my entire life. I don’t want to talk about it. I just wanted to say the matcha cheesecake was good.”

Your motions came to a stop. You put the knife back on the cutting board, staring at the blackberries and at the stains they’d left on it and on your fingers. Hyunjin wanted to ask what you did on your birthday exactly but before he could, you left to grab a bowl from a cabinet, returning immediately to collect the blackberries and put them inside it.

“Min,” you started, “does your beloved wife still drink matcha?”

Minho, who was slicing cucumbers carefully, raised an eyebrow at you. “Yeah, she’s addicted to the stuff. Why?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious why,” you replied, rolling your eyes. You turned to Hyunjin as an uncertain but bright smile painted itself on your lips. “I’ll make the matcha cheesecake. You can consider it a thank-you-for-not-cheating-on-me cake.” You put the bowl of blackberries before him and walked away—your gait had a bit of a limp but it was much better than yesterday. “SI-YEON?” Minho’s wife was nowhere to be seen so you went towards the stairs. “CAN I USE YOUR MATCHA? SI-YEON?!”

Hyunjin’s heart filled with something as beautiful as it was dangerous—hope. He could almost taste it on his tongue. The creamy matcha filling, the crust, perfect every time, the sweet and tart flavor of the raspberry coulis. But it didn’t even matter. Or rather, it was the only thing that mattered.

Hyunjin always imagined it was that first time you made that cake for him—back when the two of you were barely anything more than coworkers—that he fell in love with you, really in love. He did not know you well yet but that gesture told him everything he needed to know about you. He just fell in love. Like that. And his love had only kept growing after. Every day he was a little more certain that you were the only person he had ever loved and that he would ever love, too. There would be nobody else. He would spend the rest of his life alone, remembering the sweet taste of the matcha cheesecake and the even sweeter taste of you, longing for it.

He wondered if he could make a wish even though it was not his birthday. He wondered if it would still count. Because he knew exactly what he wanted to ask for.

After all, weren’t you what he had wished for all this time? From the very day he met you up until now as you returned to the kitchen with Si-yeon, a large smile on your face while watching her get the matcha from her stuff.

What else could he wish for if not for your happiness? It was all that he wanted and truly, he would give his life if it meant you would live a peaceful existence until the rest of your days, unburdened, your heart warm and light forever.

Hyunjin was smiling, too. He took a piece of blackberry, holding it between his index and his thumb, letting it stain his skin before he popped it in his mouth. It was sweet with just a little bit of tartness.

For the first time in a long time, Hyunjin was feeling alright.

“OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!! THIS IS THE BEST GIFT! IS IT REAL? IT’S REAL RIGHT IT LOOKS SO REAL!! OH MY GOD!!!! WHO IS IT??? WHO?????”

Seungmin was not one for loud displays of his feelings so you could not help but feel excessively proud as his calm demeanor left his body when he unwrapped his Secret Santa gift. He looked alternatively at the signed shirt and at the rest of the room, trying to figure out who could have given him that. You did your best to conceal the grin that you wanted to sport, choosing to drink some coffee while he showed everyone his present. Half the fun was to guess who had given the gift though, so you kept your mouth shut.

Two people were unwrapping a gift each hour—it was late afternoon by then and you were returning to the kitchen after a break and also participating in the video game tournament. It had not gone well for you but you didn’t mind that at all since it was so much fun. You had also spent some time outside as Chan was roasting chestnuts in a fire he built. Hyunjin had made some hot cocoa for everybody, resulting in the entire group sitting either in the snow or on whatever surface they could find around the fire and just chatting.

Your hot cocoa came with whipped cream just like everybody else, but only you had a maraschino cherry on top. It warmed you up more than any fire could. Hyunjin was teased plenty about it, causing his cheeks to turn pink. In the end he sat next to you and told Changbin, “Well, it’s because cherries are good for ankle sprains and I don’t see anyone else with this injury here.” Si-yeon and Ha-ri hid behind their hands to laugh, and while Soren was smiling, she didn’t seem too sure if she should laugh or not.

So you spent the entire afternoon chatting with Hyunjin, eating freshly roasted chestnuts and drinking hot cocoa. Just catching up. And there was so much catching up to do. Apparently, Hyunjin’s dad had spent some time in the hospital, twice, for heart issues.

While he had recovered well and his condition had been stabilized with medication, it had frightened Hyunjin and his mother. Of course it had—Mr. Hwang was a good man, a kind man. “I wish I could have been there for you guys during this difficult time,” you found yourself admitting to Hyunjin. You were becoming more comfortable around him. It felt more… like before. Like you were friends and always had been, no matter the time spent apart.

Hyunjin chuckled at that but there was no joy on his face. “Mom wanted to beat my ass when she found out we weren’t together anymore. She came to my place to scold me.”

To your surprise, you let out a maniacal laughter. Your relationship with Hyunjin’s mother had always been good—she had always made it very clear that you were a good addition to the family, often siding with you against her own son for trivial little arguments. “Sorry—” But it was hard to stop laughing. “I just have the image in my mind…”

But Hyunjin laughed with you.

It was the best afternoon you had in a whole year.

And now you were back inside and Seungmin was still admiring his gift and Minho was with you in the kitchen. You were preparing gravy for the turkey which had been in the oven for a while, slow-roasting, filling the cabin with a delicious aroma.

You made your way to the fridge, wincing when your ankle felt like it was about to twist, causing you pain. You had removed the wrapping earlier to apply more ice and while the bruise made it look awful, the swelling wasn’t as bad as you’d expected.

“Careful there,” Minho warned. He was preparing side dishes. “Why don’t you sit down for a while?”

“I sat down most of the afternoon,” you reminded him, pulling open the fridge door. “And I still need to make the potatoes.”

There it was, cooling exactly where you had left it earlier. The matcha cheesecake. Hyunjin’s cake. You felt it carefully with your fingertips to make sure it was cooling well enough and when everything seemed alright, you grabbed the butter you needed and closed the door again without looking away from the damn cake. Hyunjin could not imagine what it meant to you. That he missed the cake.

That he missed you.

You had not mentioned his desire to sell the bar yet today and it was on purpose. Perhaps to let him ruminate over how bad of an idea it was. Or maybe because you still couldn’t process what he had told you yesterday—how this beautiful dream of his had lost its meaning after you left. You had never really thought about the space you occupied in his heart. Could it be that you were just as important to him as he was to you?

“I can do the potatoes!” Hyunjin had magically appeared in the kitchen and yet you could swear that one minute ago he was still playing video games with the others. “Come here, sit down.” He pulled a stool for you, motioning towards it. “Just send me your recipe.”

“You know I don’t cook with recipes,” you reminded him, rolling your eyes. “I’m fine anyway, I—”

In excellent comedic timing, your ankle had a moment of weakness again when you returned near the stove—you held onto the counter, biting your lip to fight through the pain. Maybe you had pushed yourself a little more than you should have. Maybe you should have taken more breaks, but there was no way you would have let Chan approach the kitchen.

Hyunjin walked around the counter and came to wrap his arm around yours. “Come sit down please. You’ll need ice. And you can talk me through the whole thing. I’m now responsible for the potatoes.”

You clicked your tongue, reluctant to admit defeat but amused nonetheless. “Alright, Mr. Potato. I’ll sit.”

And so you found yourself sitting on an armchair right by the kitchen, your legs stretched on a cushioned footstool, a bag of ice over your painful ankle. Not two minutes later, Hyunjin was delivering a glass of pomegranate and watermelon juice with, of course, a couple of cherries floating on top. You held your glass with both hands, drinking from the fancy straw, pretending to be disinterested when in fact you were watching Hyunjin intently.

“I’m going to assume I’ll wash the potatoes,” he told you, ripping the bag open without waiting for your instructions.

“Wow, you’re so smart,” you replied sarcastically. “Chef Hwang over there. Min, you might want to consider hiring him. I hear he’ll be looking for a job soon.”

Hyunjin’s smile disappeared but he turned away after throwing the baby tomatoes into a strainer to wash them in the sink.

Minho gave you an appraising look. “Ah, so he told you,” was all he said, clearly up to date with Hyunjin’s recent decisions. Hyunjin had straight up told you last night but you could not believe Lee Minho would let Hyunjin give up on his dream just like that.

“Wait, you knew? You really knew?” You sighed. “Tell me you told him he’s insane.”

Minho shrugged, still preparing the food. “I understand his reasoning,” he said.

“His reasoning? You understand his reasoning? You? Who worked so fucking hard on God’s Menu, who built this restaurant from nothing and made something impeccable out of it? No way in hell you’d ever fucking sell it.”

Minho took longer than he needed to verify that the dressing he was making tasted right. When he put his spoon down, he raised his eyes, observing you for a few seconds. “You’re right.” He put the spoon in the sink. “I persisted when I encountered issues. When I questioned myself—and there was a period where I was seriously questioning everything—I went all in on Menu. Looking back, it was the right thing to do. To keep going. And for us two to break up.”

Hyunjin dropped something in the sink—at the very same time, your heart dropped in your chest. A whirlwind of emotion took over you and it was so intense that you felt a strange trembling sensation coursing through your body.

“I don’t see how that is relevant in this conversation,” you retorted. It was a little bit of a lie. The truth was more that the implications of what Minho had said were almost too good to be true. As in—maybe it had not been the right thing to do for you and Hyunjin to go your separate ways. Maybe it was not what was meant to be.

Because that was exactly how you felt this whole time. Like it was wrong to be without him. Like something was missing.

“You keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.” Minho turned to Hyunjin, looking at the potatoes in the strainer. “Dude, I think they’re plenty clean.”

“Oh, yeah—” Hyunjin stopped soaking and washing the potatoes, draining the water out before bringing them back to the corner of the counter that was closest to you. “What should I do next?”

You didn’t care about the potatoes. You wanted to ask Hyunjin, straight up, if he still felt anything for you. If the thought of going back with you had ever crossed his mind. It was insane. It would be completely insane. He may not have cheated on you, but he hurt you nonetheless.

“Cut them in halves,” you explained, your voice shaking a little. “After that, use paper towels to dry them as much as you can.” You paused, taking a sip of your sweet mocktail. “What would you even do if you sold Nightcap anyway?”

“I said he could come back to work for me,” Minho replied in Hyunjin’s place. He was washing his hands and proceeded to dry them. “Look, I know you think you’re helping him right now. I can see that. But the man needs you to respect this decision.”

“I’d respect it if it made sense.” But Minho wasn’t even listening to you anymore—he was making his way toward the living room where everyone’s names had been put in a bowl for the Secret Santa game.

“Alright, the next person to open their present will be…” Minho put his hand into the bowl, taking a small piece of paper from him. “Drumroll, please.” Changbin took care of the audio effects, making smiles appear all across the room except on this side. When he saw the name on it, he paused. “Well. I’ll let you guys guess, just for fun. The next person to get their gift is a little strange but has a good heart. A heart better than her ankles, if I may. She asks too many questions but we all like her anyway. So?”

You rolled your eyes, annoyed, while the small crowd chanted your name. Minho went into the pile of gifts, grabbing the one with your name on it before taking it back to you. He left it on the small table next to the armchair.

“I’ll open it after we’re done with the potatoes,” you told the rest of the room. “I’m not allowed to make them, so…” You tried to punch Minho in the arm while he was still close, but he evaded you easily to return behind the counter. “And who the hell are you to call me a little strange?”

Minho shrugged, choosing to focus on the video game that was restarting on the other side of the room.

You sighed. “Alright, Hyunjin, it looks like they’re dry enough. Now, grab the fresh sage in the fridge. It’s already been washed, but you have to chop it as finely as you can.”

He did everything you told him to. He melted the butter and added the garlic and sage, and a tablespoon and a half of dijon mustard. A tablespoon and a half exactly, no more, no less, since you insisted it made the whole difference. He squeezed a little bit of honey and added the rest of the seasoning before pouring it on the potatoes.

“You have to mix really well,” you explained. “Make sure each potato is coated.” You grabbed the gift bag that Minho had left near you—it was rather light, but the bag itself was very pretty. It had an elegant floral pattern on it and was held closed by a velvety dark blue ribbon. “Once that’s done, spread them on the cooking pan and make sure you turned on the convection setting of the oven before you put them in there.” The kitchen was impressive with two ovens, a large stove, and more storage space than what would ever be needed.

“Alright,” Hyunjin said. The more time passed, the fewer words he spoke. It made you regret doubling down on him about Nightcap, but what else were you supposed to do?

You carefully pulled on the ribbon adorning the gift to undo it. It was smooth to the touch so you set it aside to keep it, figuring it could be of use at some point. It would be too bad to waste it. The wrapping and tissue paper used in the bag impressed you just as much as the exterior—everything was of very high quality, a lot better than you would have expected for a Secret Santa gift. The simple little box in which you had put Seungmin’s gift now seemed terribly bland.

Some of your attention was still on Hyunjin as you unwrapped everything—the secret to perfectly crispy potatoes was to ensure they were laid out well on the cooking pan. Then your hand met something strange yet familiar so you took a look inside it.

Immediately, your eyes filled up with tears as you pulled the contents out of the bag, speechless.

When you were little, your father had to leave to work overseas. The contract would last one year and a half. You were five years old then, too young to understand why he couldn’t come back home for a while. He had tried to make arrangements to visit on Christmas but it had not been possible—it was a rather gloomy Christmas for you, a little girl who missed her dad.

Until your mom brought you a box. It was not wrapped in colorful paper—instead, it was wrapped in brown kraft paper, and it had your address on it like it had been sent in the mail. “It’s from dad,” your mom explained. “He can’t be here with us, but it was important for him that you had this.”

In the box was a plushie toy. A rabbit, by all means very normal looking. It was gray and had long ears, and its fur was the softest thing you had ever touched. It wore a little floral dress and even had a bow of the same fabric on one of its ears. The toy box—read by your mother—claimed that the rabbit’s name was Bonnie and that she was a bunny, and so it was how you named her. And you’d almost always say all of it. Bonnie The Bunny, not just Bonnie. In the box was a simple note from your father also, which said I miss you, see you soon x.

Bonnie The Bunny followed you for the entire time your father was away. You brought her with you to preschool. She sat on the counter of the bathroom while you bathed. She had a place at the dining table. She kept you company at night. Then your father returned and while you needed Bonnie The Bunny less, you still loved her dearly. But you were growing up, so she earned herself a space on a shelf in your bedroom. Then you grew up a bit more and you weren’t a child anymore so you just couldn’t have toys all over the place, so she went into your closet. By the time you were sixteen, she was in a plastic container with other belongings from you and your parents, stored somewhere in the spare room.

Your parents moved out just before you started college. To make the story short, Bonnie The Bunny was misplaced or lost in the process. Truth be told, you didn’t mind much at first. It was only several years later—and not so long ago—that you had wondered if they still made toys like that. Naturally, they did not, and it was impossible to find that specific model online either. Apparently it was some special edition or something, and you had no interest in the other versions because they weren’t yours. So you accepted the fact that you would never see Bonnie The Bunny again.

And yet today you were holding her.

She was still in her original box and while the box was not sealed, it looked brand new. Pristine. She had the same little dress and the same little bow and the same gentle eyes. Too stunned to speak, you set the box down on your knees to stare at it further. You could not believe it.

You felt the same warmth and comfort that she had brought you all those years ago. It invaded you, soothed pieces of you that you didn’t know needed soothing. It was only then that you realized she wasn’t exactly like the one you owned in your childhood. Or rather, it really was, but something had been added to her—she wore a necklace, a real necklace, around her neck. The necklace had a delicate silver chain with a colorful pendant that made it plainly obvious who the gift was from.

The pendant was cherry-shaped. A single cherry that looked like it had been coated in syrup.

You looked up—the entire room was staring at you but you paid them no mind. Instead you stared at Hyunjin who was staring back at you. Next to him, Minho had an impressed look on his face but you ignored him just as you did the others.

“Where did you find it?” were the first words that you managed to say. “How? I—It was discontinued so long ago, I—”

Hyunjin cleared his throat. He, on the other hand, seemed to mind the others very much. He made his way toward you so he could speak to you quietly. “Remember the night you told me that story?”

You did. It was rather early in your relationship, during a night out together for some drinks and then dinner. You told him about Bonnie The Bunny then, and how frustrating it had been to realize you’d never see the toy again.

You nodded.

“I started looking for it that very night. It took months. Literally.” He chuckled but more in a self-derogatory way, like he was recalling something funny but silly, too. “I called museums. I called toy collectors all over the world. Someone had one but it was not for sale. I asked where they’d gotten it and apparently his dad used to work for the toy company. So I called the toy company. Many times. At first, they told me there was nothing they could do for me. Then one day I spoke to the right person I guess and he directed me to a private collector who also used to work for them. This guy was willing to sell it to me. There was not a price too high for it. I wanted you to have Bonnie The Bunny again.”

You looked at him and then at the box and at Hyunjin again. A faint frown appeared on your brow as you were making calculations. “But… when did you…”

He bit his lip, leaning closer to you to talk near your ear. “I’ve had it at my place for a long time. Before that, I hid it at Felix’s. It was supposed to be part of your Valentine’s Day gift.”

A warm tear rolled down your cheek, quickly followed by another. Hyunjin gently wiped them for you while you opened the box to retrieve your old friend. It was even more moving to touch her—her fur felt exactly the same and it was bringing back so many memories. Some good, some bad, but all of them vivid, all of them a part of who you were now. You left the box on the ground, quickly hugging Bonnie The Bunny close to your heart, just the way you used to.

There were more tears but Hyunjin made them disappear instantly. There were only you two. The others were there but they weren’t. This moment was yours. And Hyunjin’s.

This moment meant everything.

You looked into his eyes then. To read them. As though Bonnie The Bunny was some sort of cipher that would allow you to decode Hyunjin finally. To understand him—and yourself, too. All this time you had told yourself that Hyunjin did not care. That it had been a good riddance for him to just dump you. That he didn’t love you. It made you feel better, perhaps, in some way. To diminish the love he’d had for you. It had made things feel finite, which was cruel but also gave you a false sense of safety. After all, if it was over—if he did not love you and maybe had never really wanted to be with you, there was no risk of him reentering your life whatsoever. Meaning that there was no risk of getting your heart shattered by him another time, something that you would certainly not survive.

But you saw it now. You understood. You understood him and the lies he told himself and you understood yourself and the lies you told yourself.

“Please don’t cry, I wanted to make you happy.” Hyunjin offered you a half-smile, still on his knees next to the armchair.

“I’m very happy.” You took a deep breath to calm down. “I don’t know what to say.”

His smile became full as his eyes disappeared, turning into shining crescents for an instant. “You don’t have to say anything. I think I’m as happy to give it to you as you are to receive it.”

Hesitating, he gave you a friendly pat on your arm before he walked away. You were still holding Bonnie The Bunny over your heart.

You closed your eyes for just a few seconds. There was something on your mind—something that you had not allowed yourself to think of. Ever. But that thought was breaking free, escaping the chains you made it a prisoner of.

You still loved him. Hyunjin. You had never stopped loving him. You would never not love him. In some ways it felt like everything you had ever done had happened so that you would one day love him and be loved by him. And you had been too afraid to hope that he felt the same. Hope was such a tricky thing. But it was resilient.

You still loved Hyunjin.

And now you were admitting it to yourself.

You stood up as carefully as you could, testing your ankle a little before deciding it could hold your weight. With Bonnie The Bunny still in hand, you followed Hyunjin who was returning to the kitchen.

“Wait—”

He stopped, pausing one second before he spun on his heels to face you. His beauty hit you like a December sunset, when the sun was very low on the horizon. Blinding but too beautiful to look away from. Illuminating a monochrome world, making it colorful again, coating it with warm light. Your gaze immediately fell onto his plush lips, but maybe it was to avoid his intense stare.

“Thank you,” you said in a low voice. “Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure.” Hyunjin had a flat smile, his eyes trailing all over you. “I should have given it to you earlier, even if we’re broken up. So you wouldn’t be alone.”

There were no words that could express how you felt and you had no desire to speak anyway, so you let your body decide for you. You wrapped your arms around Hyunjin’s neck, hugging him tightly, and while he seemed shocked by the gesture, his arms were quick to embrace you back, one hand pressing your head into the crook of his neck.

“This is the best gift I’ve ever had. And that I will ever have, too,” you whispered. “I owe you so much.”

“You don’t owe me anything at all.” He held you a bit tighter, resting his chin on the top of your head. “I just want you to be happy. I know I didn’t treat you right and that nothing will ever undo that.” He paused, then said it again. “I just want you to be happy.”

You had forgotten it. Happiness. You forgot how it felt. How it happened so suddenly in one’s life. Just like that, almost surreptitiously. As in you never really expect it, but one day it’s just there.

And sometimes it recedes like waves at low tide. And then you forget.

But this. Hyunjin, and his arms around you and his warmth permeating through his clothes and yours and his heartbeat, which you could hear. Just this.

Sometimes happiness visits you again. And then you remember.

“I think I’m capable of showering on my own,” you said with a sigh, rolling your eyes. “I do not believe that an ankle plays an integral role in the process of a shower. Besides, I’m not even alone. I’ve got Bonnie The Bunny with me.” To emphasize your point, you waved the plushie that you were holding.

“My point was just that if you slip and fall in the shower,” Jisung retorted in a sarcastic tone, “you could hit your head on the tub and get brain damage. And then you might even forget me. How could you live your life like this? Without the memories of your bestest friend?”

You pushed Jisung away—he stumbled enough to fall on his ass on the couch behind him, causing a few laughs around the room. The entire cabin smelled like the delicious food Minho, Hyunjin, and yourself had prepared and you were starving. Now that everything was ready and just needed to finish cooking, it was finally your turn to wash up before dinner and you could not wait for that shower.

“I actually thought you were serious, dumbass.” You clicked your tongue. “Like I thought you had genuine concern for my well-being.”

“But my worries are genuine,” he insisted, batting his eyelashes.

You ignored him, shaking your head playfully as you attempted to climb the stairs. It was the first time you tried to go up there since last night and you weren’t quite sure how it would go—naturally, it was awkward, but you held tight onto the railing.

Despite the banter and joking taking place in the living room, you heard footsteps behind you—both Hyunjin and Minho were following, also eager to shower the day away and get ready for the big Christmas dinner that you had made.

“I’ll supervise what I can,” Hyunjin told the group. “After all, it’s my fault she hurt herself.” He had made sure to remind everyone all throughout the day, keeping his promise to maintain your pride intact.

“Creep,” Seungmin commented from downstairs—you were about halfway up by now. “Literally stalks his ex and then makes her sprain her ankle so he’d have an excuse to kindly accompany her in the shower. Careful there,” he added for you, “for all we know, Hwang Pervy put a camera in that plushie toy to watch you.”

Even you could not resist—you almost collapsed as you burst into uncontrollable laughter. The awkwardness was long gone and not just between Hyunjin and you. The whole group seemed comfortable with having the both of you in the same room, having even reached the point where they made jokes. As the day progressed—and as people drank more and more—the self-censorship was evaporating.

Minho had to stop mid-way on the stairs, falling to his knees, holding his stomach from laughing too much. “HWANG PERVY!!!!!!!!!”

“I literally hate all of you,” Hyunjin said, trying very hard to suppress his smile. “Especially you, Kim. This isn’t over.”

“I know it’s not,” Seungmin replied with his usual savage tone. “Talk to you after your deviant activities up there.”

Minho was still joking with the others downstairs when you made it to the top step—you made your way to your bedroom which you hadn’t seen since yesterday. Hyunjin had left your bag on the table by the window but otherwise, everything was the same.

“Seriously though,” Hyunjin said, lingering near your door. “Are you sure you’ll be alright to keep your balance? The tubs in the bathrooms are kinda high…”

“They can’t be that high,” you replied, making your way inside to reach the adjacent bathroom.

Hyunjin quickly followed you but by the way he went to stand behind the door, it was quite obvious he was simply trying to evade Minho who was now coming up the stairs, still laughing. He even waited until he heard him close the door to his own bedroom before coming out of his hiding place.

All the while you were studying the bathroom layout—you hadn’t really noticed it yesterday. Or maybe it was just because the last time you saw this bathtub, your ankle did not threaten to betray you every two minutes. The showerheads seemed luxurious enough that you could not wait to stand underneath them and yet Hyunjin hadn’t even exaggerated because the tub reached a little over your knees.

“Told you,” he said simply with a shrug. “I’m not a pervert,” he added then, more seriously now. “I could go get someone else for you. I… I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. It’s just that today was so…” He sighed. “I think sometimes I forget we broke up.” He turned shy, his cheeks flushing a little.

“I think I see what you mean,” you admitted, leaning against the sink behind you. You thought about it for a few seconds. “Don’t tell him I said that, but I’m glad Minho invited you. He was right. We did need to talk.”

“Don’t worry, I have no wish to stroke this man’s ego.” Hyunjin smiled—he, too, leaned against the wall. “It’s been so great, I… I really do miss you. I’m sorry if I acted too… familiar with you. I didn’t want to make anything awkward for you. And I swear I wasn’t being a pervert.”

You giggled, moved and yet endeared by him. You looked over at the other room where Bonnie The Bunny rested on your bed. You truly understood what Hyunjin was saying because there were moments today when you forgot that he had ever broken your heart. One minute or two minutes and sometimes even up to three—for a while then your chest would feel empty but not like a void, more like a sun-filled room. So not really empty. Just not quite full like it used to be.

And you never imagined that. You never imagined living without this pain that you carried, not even for five seconds. But it was puzzling—the reason that you had this pain in the first place was also the reason you were healing from it. And you couldn’t quite figure out if it made sense or if it made no sense at all.

“It’s fine, Hwang Pervy,” you said, sticking your tongue out with a laugh. “It’s not like you’d be surprised. There’s absolutely nothing here,” you motioned at yourself to emphasize your point, “that you haven’t seen before.”

For just two seconds Hyunjin seemed a little uneasy but then a smile painted itself on his pretty lips. “God, we did spend so much time naked, didn’t we? Was that even normal?”

That might be one of the things you missed the most with Hyunjin—all the skin to skin contact you had. Both of you were addicted to it like a drug. Being naked wasn’t just about fucking. Well, there had been quite a lot of that too, but there was so much more to it. A shared shower in the evening and then staying naked in bed and existing together. It largely helped that Hyunjin had the body of a young god—you never got tired of looking at him or being embraced by him. Feeling him close to you.

He used to caress you. All the time. Somehow. Either he was playing with your hair or he was gently rubbing his thumb on your hand if he was holding it. Or he was just letting his fingers trail gently on your sides. It used to feel like he painted his love onto you. And now the color was all gone.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Hyunjin added immediately, straightening up. “Call me if you need though, I’ll keep my phone close.”

“Thanks, Hyunj—” But he was already gone. By the time you spoke his name, he had closed the bedroom door behind him, and you felt empty again.

The bathroom seemed colder—you shivered as you started peeling your clothes off, almost shy to do so in a room where Hyunjin had been just moments ago. You turned the water on in the shower to let it warm up and glanced at the adjacent room while you waited, your eyes always landing on Bonnie The Bunny. Crazy things were happening in your head, almost like people were yelling at you the most improbable, dangerous rumors.

Like that gift wasn’t just any gift. It was the gift he wanted to give you before he broke up. It was the plushie toy that represented your childhood and Hyunjin, all these months ago, had wanted you to have it again. And he still did. He wanted you to have it despite everything that had happened.

You did not want to allow the words to pierce the defenses of your mind—that precariously thin wall that separated your brain and your heart. The two entities depended on one another yet should never be allowed to feed each other information. It was treacherous. You had learned to compartmentalize. Perhaps because of the breakup or maybe because of the suffering that had led up to it.

But those words were just too powerful to resist the weak fortifications around your mind, and so your brain and your heart had a little conversation while you were testing out the water temperature.

What if he still loves me, too?

Of course not. Idiot.

But everything he said made it look like he did. He said he was selling the bar because it had lost its meaning after I left. He said that he missed me.

Of course he does. And of course a part of him still loves you. You two were good together, it was true love. It can’t ever be completely gone, but it doesn’t mean it isn’t dead. Love can be a dead body that you carry around.

BITCH! He literally spooned us! We slept in his arms! We woke up with his HARD dick on us!!!! HE GAVE US BONNIE THE BUNNY!!!!!!!!!!

Maybe he misses fucking. He said he hadn’t been with anybody, after all. He feels bad about what happened. He’s actually a good guy, even I can see it. Besides, dudes wake up with morning wood all the time. It means nothing.

…

See? I told you. You learned well—you used to be so hard to convince. Doesn’t what I say make perfect sense?

Yeah, it does. I just… Well I miss him, and I thought that maybe..

Maybe he would want to get back with you? Seriously? Look, let’s pretend for a minute—and it really is just a hypothetical situation—that he is ACTUALLY still in love with you and that he’d want you back for some reason. Are you really gonna do it? Be with him again? Are you any better than you were the last time? Would you be able to support him this time around, or would you just fail him again? What if he sells the bar anyway and resents you for it forever?

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking about all the times he told you that he loved you, and how he wanted to spend his entire life with you. He meant it when he said those things, but it was before you let him down. Can’t you remember? He stopped saying these things after a while, when things weren’t so good anymore. And he did keep Haley around for weeks, months. What if he was thinking about her when he touched himself? She said he was checking her out. You can’t blame him. She had great tits. I bet he was imagining fucking her throat and then finishing on them.

No no no no no not this. Not again. Can we not? I can’t take it. Not tonight.

Then shut the fuck up. Just because he put a few maraschino cherries in your drinks doesn’t mean you’ll get your happy ever after. You had your chance and it didn’t work out. Now shower and let’s get tonight over with so that we can hopefully leave this place asap.

It was almost a daily occurrence. These thoughts—genuine exchanges between what you imagined must be the two hemispheres of your brain or something. You mentioned it to Eric who gently suggested that perhaps you should speak to a specialist. He seemed to believe none of this was normal. But you thought there was nothing weird about it.

It had broken you. This whole thing. Loving Hyunjin this hard and then losing him. How could it be expected of you to function normally?

Your first attempt at climbing into the shower almost resulted in a catastrophe so you quickly pulled back, eyeing your phone. Hyunjin did tell you to call if you needed help, and your heart wanted you to do it. Your heart was telling you that he would come here and help you and maybe catch sight of your collarbone or something and maybe he would kiss you passionately.

But your mind simply reminded you that you were a graveyard where this lifeless corpse of a love was buried and rotting.

So you sat on the edge of the bed to enter the tub safely and you showered. You showered for longer than you needed to, scrubbing your skin as though it would rid you of these feelings you had. You wanted to turn the water off and be a new woman, one without a heart.

Instead you turned the water off and you shivered from the cold and the same gouging hole was there in your chest.

But you dried yourself, toweled your hair and made your way back to your bedroom where your dress for the evening was waiting for you in its plastic cover, hung in the small closet. You bought this dress almost as soon as you accepted Minho’s invitation for the weekend. It was the first dress you bought since Hyunjin—the first nice piece of clothing you bought since your heart was shattered into a thousand pieces. Something other than an oversized tee or a pair of jeans. As though it meant nothing to dress up if Hyunjin wasn’t going to see you and spend all evening telling you that you were beautiful.

Now you had to deal with the fact that he would see you in the dress but that he would say nothing at all about it.

It was a cocktail dress, all velvet except for loose sleeves that reached your elbows, which were made of lace with a pretty floral pattern. The fabric was this rich, dark green color that you couldn’t resist when you saw it despite the ginormous price tag. Small quartz gems adorned the skirt, making it shimmer under the light like a starry sky.

Deciding to get ready first, you put on a t-shirt while you did so—you did the hair first, just doing your best to make it look nice so that the dress wouldn’t look too out of place on you. You even put on some mascara, something you had to stop doing when you became inclined to cry on a daily basis. You even bought lipstick for the occasion, one in a shade that was a lot bolder than anything you were used to.

Then you made your way to Bonnie The Bunny, holding her close to your chest again before putting her back to take the necklace around her neck, the one with the cherry pendant. You would wear it and it really was just because you had forgotten to bring your nice necklace. There was no other reason.

The dress came last—you could hear others coming to change in the rooms around you as you were getting ready but the second floor was quiet again as you slipped into the green velvety cocktail dress. You hadn’t seen yourself in it since trying it on at the store and it shocked you, like you couldn’t recognize the woman in the mirror.

Except you couldn’t zip it up. You managed to pull the zipper up halfway but going any further might have resulted in shoulder dislocation so you let it go. You returned to the hallway, looking around. “Si-yeon? Are you still up here? Soren?”

“What is it?” It wasn’t a feminine voice who responded—it was Hyunjin.

The door to his bedroom opened and he appeared in a simple outfit consisting of a white button-up and black trousers but it took your breath away nonetheless. The shirt hugged him at just the right places, emphasizing his toned body, same with the pants. You felt the cold from earlier leave your body instantly, replaced by flames from hell. Hyunjin looked beyond handsome tonight.

“Are you o—” he started but he stopped when he came face to face with you in the hallway, his lips remaining open as he gave you an appraising look. His eyes danced all over your body in a way that made your heart skip a few beats. Your mind and your heart were bickering again but it really fucking looked like he was checking you out.

“I—I—Wow—You—” Hyunjin stuttered, taking a step back, running his hand in his hair. He cleared his throat. “I—You look so…” He took some time to choose his words. “You’re beautiful.”

OH HELL NO !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He covered his mouth immediately, his cheeks darkening and you could imagine that you were looking flushed as well. Your skin burned from all the blood rushing to your head.

“I’m sorry,” Hyunjin added immediately. “It was inappropriate. I don’t want to be disrespectful.”

Maybe it was like muscle memory and the words just escaped him out of habit. Right?

“You look really classy yourself,” you heard yourself reply and a smile even painted itself on your red-painted lips. “I bet they’re going to call you Mister Hwang Pervy, now.”

He clicked his tongue and laughed with you—humor seemed to melt the tension that may or may have been there just a few seconds ago. “I even brought a tie but I couldn’t make it work, so it’ll have to do,” he said with a shrug.

“Goddammit Hyunjin, how many tutorials did we watch? Bring it here.”

He rolled his eyes but his smile did not leave him as he returned to his room to fetch the tie—soon enough he was handing it to you. A nice, black velvet tie. You put it around his neck and began tying it to the best of your very limited ability but your heart jumped every time your fingers brushed against him.

And your clit throbbed every time his warm breath caressed your hands.

What a wonderful idea it had been to bring that vibrator. It would be greatly needed later. Maybe you were just horny and there was no sexual tension between the two of you. None at all. You just needed to get off.

“I’ll need you too,” you said as you were finalizing the knot. “I can’t zip myself up.”

“Sure.” Hyunjin licked his lips. “The necklace. I like it a lot on you.” He was just looking at the necklace and not at your cleavage. Right?

You gulped. “Thanks. It’s very pretty.” You secured the knot once and for all, adjusting it so it looked smooth and nice. “There you go, fancy pants.”

“Your turn, now.” Hyunjin made his fingers spin, asking you to do the same.

You had to bite hard into your lips when you felt his hand carefully push your hair away from your neck and over your shoulders. Sometimes he would do it—exactly this way, unhurried, gentle—while he was fucking you from behind. He liked to see the back of your neck, either to leave kisses or love bites there.

The scent of his cologne made you dizzy already but you turned lightheaded when his hand found your zipper and began creeping up on your back, zipping you up slowly. He was taking his time so as not to break the zipper but he might as well have been edging you from how heat pooled between your legs. The scent of his body wash was just as hypnotizing.

“All good,” Hyunjin muttered when he was done. He put your hair back as slowly as he had touched it before and pulled away.

“Thanks,” you managed. “Let’s go then, they must be waiting.”

Hyunjin said nothing but he helped you down the stairs—it turned out that climbing them had been a lot easier than going down was, so it took a little longer than you wanted it to. It also meant the nice shoes you had brought couldn’t fit with your swollen ankle so you were just wearing thick, woolen socks.

When you reached the last step, Hyunjin went to let go of your arm, only he didn’t, not really. He let his hand trail down until it reached yours—he took it and squeezed it carefully, looking right into your eyes like he was trying to tell you something but couldn’t find the words.

You imagined a parallel universe in which the two of you were still together, and how you would walk hand in hand on your way to the table to share a delicious dinner with all of your friends.

Instead Hyunjin gulped, letting go of your hand, and while you walked together, there was a considerable distance between your bodies. You had never imagined that. You were aware of the void, the emptiness inside of you but you hadn’t realized there would be more of it on the outside too, in all of the places Hyunjin wasn’t touching you.

Dinner was delicious.

You and everyone else enjoyed every dish and the wine that was served with it. It was a long meal, spread out over several hours where people played Jisung and Changbin’s drinking game. They nicknamed it The Honesty Game because only half an hour in, several shocking revelations had been made. You now knew that Felix had slept with one of his college professors, that Chan was deeply afraid of the dark, and that Ha-ri once had sixteen orgasms in the span of twenty-four hours just for the fuck of it. “It was before Bin. I’m definitely not cumming sixteen times a day anymore,” she added for precision, causing so much laughter that several guests had to leave the table to breathe.

The savory dishes were emptied, enjoyed cheerfully by everyone. It was well past ten in the evening when you went to the kitchen to get the cake ready. Jisung was giving you a hand by placing on a tray the citrusy cookies you had baked before coming here.

“It’s your turn,” Changbin told you—he was now the one holding the jar in which all the questions could be found, just waiting to be picked. “Disappearing in the kitchen won’t work.”

Disappearing was one hell of a stretch considering it was an open-space room but you ignored that.

“Do let me know if you guys don’t want dessert and I’ll come right back,” you replied with a wink. You were pretty much done—the raspberry coulis was covering the cake in a smooth, dark red layer.

“You’re a capable woman, you can do two things at a time,” Changbin said before diving a hand into a jar to retrieve a piece of paper from which he read immediately, not waiting for another of your witty remarks.

There was a pause and then what might have sounded like the wail of an animal in pain—when you looked up, you saw Changbin’s face had turned red from how hard he was laughing. Chan, who was sitting beside him, was laughing just as much, punching the table. Your heart dropped in your chest, wondering what the fuck was so funny.

“Oh, oh this is going to be interesting,” Changbin started, wiping tears from the corner of his eyes. It took almost a minute before he could speak. “I’ll ask the question that applies to you,” he specified—some questions came in two versions, especially the overly dirty ones, to accommodate everyone’s preferences. It did not look good for you. “So, among the people you slept with, who has the biggest dick?”

Chaos took over the entire room—everyone was at different levels of drunk and just having a good time, feeling comfortable. Some laughed, and others—once again—collapsed from their chairs to lie down on the floor as though it would save them from the pain of laughing.

Almost at the same time, Minho spat the sip of beer he was drinking and Hyunjin choked on the red wine he was swallowing.

You felt a mix of playfulness and shame tickling your insides. “FUCK NO!” Your mouth had fallen open and your cheeks were hot to the touch.

“You don’t have to answer,” Jisung reminded you, but he was laughing just as much as the others. “Bin, how much is this question worth?”

“It’s a big 50 points,” Changbin replied, prompting you to look over at the whiteboard where Chan was keeping track of the points. 50 would make you jump from the sixth to the fourth position, giving you a chance to maybe reach the top three. “Not answering and not taking a shot would make you lose 10.”

“And how much would dying give me…” You buried your face into your hands, welcoming the coolness of them after you held a cool bowl from the fridge for a while.

You must have been drunk because you didn’t even feel ashamed or anything—you were just shy and you felt a little bit bad. Because if you were to give an honest answer, one of the two guys currently in the room that you had sex with would be disappointed and possibly humiliated.

“Size doesn’t matter all that much,” you replied, fanning yourself with an empty plastic plate. “Right?”

“I don’t care what matters or not.” Changbin crossed his arms over his chest, a cocky smile on his face. “Tell us at least—is it one of these two dudes?”

If Hyunjin could disappear under the table, it looked like he would choose that option. Minho’s face was bright red and Si-yeon was telling him something comforting, but she was laughing as well.

“Yes.” The answer spilled from your mouth before you could stop it. You reached for your drink—cranberry juice, amaretto, and freshly squeezed clementine juice with maraschino cherries on top—and downed the rest of it.

“Is it him?” Changbin nudged Minho, pointing at him.

“I’m not saying! I can’t!” You grabbed one of the ice cubes from your glass to roll it over your cheeks. It was melting in record time.

“Is it him? Is it???” Changbin lifted his chin toward Hyunjin, sitting across from him at the table.

You couldn’t help it—your gaze lingered on Hyunjin a little longer than they should, remembering how… sizeable he was. You were too drunk for this because you were now picturing him with his pants off and…

“Look at her face, it’s obvious, oh my god,” Seungmin gasped, motioning toward you. “Damn you, Hwang Pervy!!!!”

“IT’S NOT—IT’S—I—” You fanned yourself harder. “IT’S NOT A COMPETITION!” After all, Minho had been good to you and had pleasured you a lot more than anyone… Well. Anyone except Hyunjin.

“50 points,” Chan called, erasing your score to write the new one. “I’m giving them to you despite the silent answer. Deserved.”

“You betrayed me,” Minho said, standing up. His face was still red but, surprisingly, he was smiling. “I invite you here, I pay for everything, and you dare spread slander on my name. I won’t have it.”

You shrugged, biting your lips. “I didn’t say a word, Min.” You winked at him but immediately, Jeongin attracted some unwanted attention when he stood from the floor where he had collapsed, howling in laughter, almost causing the entire Christmas tree to fall down on top of him.

You seized the opportunity to return to the dining table—not without splashing some cool water over your face—and bring the cake with you, setting it where there was enough space for it. You sat down on your chair again, on your own for a few instants before Hyunjin came back from the bathroom. He had taken the seat next to yours earlier but you suspected he, too, wanted to cool off his cheeks. His ears were still flushed.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. “They took me by surprise…”

“It’s fine. I mean…” He chuckled, his ears turning one shade darker. “I should be thanking you, I guess.” He was looking somewhere between his knees and the table but you could see his smirk.

“Don’t get cocky!” You elbowed him, clicking your tongue. “Besides, I insist, I didn’t say a word.”

Hyunjin gave you a non-committal shrug. As he went to turn to you, his eyes fell on the cake you had just brought. “Oh, wow.” His smirk disappeared. “It looks delicious. Thank you so much for making it.”

“Told you it’s your thank-you-for-not-cheating-on-me cake. You earned it, after all.” You pulled the cake closer to you, carefully carving a slice of it to transfer it onto a small dessert plate. You hadn’t made it in quite a while but you were satisfied with the results. “There you go,” you added, sliding the plate in front of Hyunjin.

He stared at it like he didn’t know what to do with it. You were staring at it too but for entirely different reasons. You were remembering what he said about his last birthday and how alone he was. Even you—despite the breakup, despite everything, you had spent your birthday with a few friends. And you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to celebrate anything but Jisung and Chan insisted, taking you out to see a movie and then at the arcade. You still cried yourself to sleep that night, and you had been lonely as hell. But you had not been alone.

Your eyes found one of the many mini candles on the table. It was almost running out of wax as it had been burning for a while with the others, providing intimate lighting and a cozy feel to the table.

“Hold on.” You grabbed the closest candle and carefully removed it from its small candle holder before putting it on Hyunjin’s cake slice. “Here. Make a wish, Hyunjin.”

He looked at you and then at the cake and back at you. “What?” A frown stitched itself on his brow.

“You said you didn’t celebrate your birthday. It isn’t fair.” You pushed the plate closer to him. “Quick, before it melts all over your cake. Make your wish.”

You did not expect this so it forced the air out of your lungs—Hyunjin’s eyes filled with tears and he quickly looked away, staring quietly at the small flame dancing before him. He stayed there for a few seconds, his chest rising and lowering to the rhythm of his steady breathing. Many of the other guests had returned around the table and were pretending they weren’t seeing you. Others were in the kitchen helping themselves to the spiked punch Hyunjin had made earlier.

“Alright, next question! Next question!” Felix called from the other side of the room where he was helping Jeongin apply a band-aid on the small cut he somehow got on his forehead.

The order of the game, since the beginning of dinner, had simply been to go clockwise around the table, which meant Hyunjin always answered his question after yours.

You saw him inhale deeply—then he blew the candle. His eyes were closed as though he had genuinely made a wish. He almost looked like he was praying. When he opened his eyes again, something had changed in him. He seemed more at peace, almost. He turned to you with a coy smile and hurriedly grabbed his fork to taste the cake.

Ecstasy wrote itself all over his face. “Holy sh—Fuck—” He sounded almost like he was fucking. And you would know what he sounded like when he fucked. He groaned, content, discarding the candle and eating more, properly stuffing himself. Hyunjin was not at all the kind of person to do that so it meant something. “Oh my god, fucking yes—”

You couldn’t help but smile. “So it’s not too bad?”

“Not too bad? Are you kidding?” He ate some more. “I don’t know if it’s because I haven’t had this cake or any of your baking in so long, but it’s even better than it was.”

You giggled, drinking from your glass of water to make the knot in your throat disappear. It was all the things you didn’t want to allow yourself to think. Like, for example, how you wished that Hyunjin’s wish had been to get back with you. Which was greedy and stupid.

“Hwang Pervy! You’re next!” Jisung grabbed the question jar and randomly picked a piece of paper from it.

When the actual question didn’t follow, you looked at the other side of the table where Jisung was sitting, one cookie in hand, the piece of paper in the other. He was staring at it, visibly uncomfortable. Without a word, he put it down and went to get another from the jar.

“No skipping questions dude, it isn’t fair! What the fuck!” Seungmin sighed, stretching his arm to grab the discarded question.

Felix, who was closer, was the one who caught it. He, too, read it for longer than he should have, concern—with a pinch of sadness—all over his face. He handed Jisung the question back, nodding as though to give him permission to grab a second question.

“Nuh-huh,” Hyunjin said from behind you, his mouth full of cake. It was not elegant but it was endearing. He swallowed it and chased it with the espresso martini he had been drinking. “Give me the first question. I’m not a pussy.”

Jisung sighed, shrugging. “Alright then.” He cleared his throat and read, “If the world was ending in one hour but you could choose to spend that hour with whoever you wanted, who would it be and what would you do?”

Silence fell over the table much like snowflakes floated in the sky on a winter night. The loud kind of quiet. Quiet but with a tangible aspect to it. You looked to your left where there was exactly one bite left of cake—Hyunjin must have been scraping it from the plate when Jisung spoke because he was frozen there.

Something shook within you, like an earthquake—you felt it as it arrived, as it traveled all the way through your body before it resonated in your chest, sending your heart off-track, making your breathing shallow and difficult.

It was very simple. The part of your brain that had seen many romantic movies wanted Hyunjin to say your name. It wanted him to admit he had never stopped loving you and that he would continue to love you until the world ended.

Or something like it.

“That one’s easy,” Changbin called from the other side of the table in a tone that strongly suggested he was only trying to diffuse the tension. “He would want to spend that hour with me at the gym.”

It made people laugh—Minho was quick to offer another round of wine to those who wanted it and Jisung said he was going out for a few minutes and that anybody who wanted to smoke some weed was welcome to follow.

A few came to help themselves to the cake, complimenting you on it or on the cookies, but soon enough, the dining room was mostly empty, save for Felix, Chan, and Soren who were having a conversation while eating dessert. Minho wasn’t far—he was in the kitchen with Si-yeon and Ha-ri, putting leftovers in plastic containers to store them in the fridge.

Hyunjin twisted his neck until he was looking at you but you could not read him. So you just observed him. His honey skin, his deep, brown eyes in which the flames of the candles reflected. His silky hair and the way it framed his perfectly sculpted face. His lips. Plush and inviting.

“I think I ate too quickly,” he muttered. “I’ll go… I’ll—” But he didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, Hyunjin pushed himself out of his chair and disappeared by the door Jisung had just walked out from.

You didn’t even move, stunned or sad or disappointed or all of those. You had a few minutes while he was out there to find something to say. Maybe you ought to have a very real conversation. Hell, you were there, drunk on a dangerous mix of different liquors, thinking that maybe you should just tell him that you still loved him. Maybe Hyunjin deserved to know that he was loved and that he had been loved all this time. He had made mistakes but those mistakes were bigger than him, and so he hadn’t been able to control them. It did not mean you felt any less for him.

It just seemed, in that instant, that you would implode if you kept it all to yourself. You wanted to tell him that if the world were to end, you would want to watch it burn with him. You wanted to tell Hyunjin you thought about him every day. That you had never loved anyone or anything as much as you loved him.

Minutes passed. Your hands began shaking in anticipation, resembling almost a panic attack. Your body had turned cold and you could barely breathe. You tried telling yourself that you were drunk and that if you were sober, you wouldn’t be planning a confession in the middle of a crowded dining room while Chan had to explain his wildest fantasies to the group or else he would need to take a shot.

Jisung, Jeongin and Hyunjin came back inside, bringing with them a gust of cold wind that went through you like lightning. You watched as Hyunjin crossed the room, coming to stand not too far from the table. He did not look at you.

“I think I had a few too many, I’m kinda dizzy,” he said. “Just wanted to say goodnight. And thank you for the great food.”

“Hey, come back when you feel better!” Felix urged. “Need help getting up there?”

“No, no it’s fine. Bye, guys.”

In theory, it sounded like such a good idea. To go to him. To tell Hyunjin how you felt. So why weren’t you doing it?

Maybe you were frightened. Or maybe it was the glance he had for you just before he disappeared upstairs—there was a darkness to it, something foreign and familiar at once. It reminded you of the way he was looking at you while he was breaking up with you.

You did not go after him.

The night was quiet but your mind was not.

Your phone told you it was 1:39 in the morning. You put it back on your stomach where it had been for the past hour or so as you lay on your back, staring at the ceiling of the bedroom, thinking this over.

The rest of the evening had gone quite smoothly—Felix asked you to make Hyunjin’s late-night mulled wine because ‘you know the recipe better than any of us’ and the others cleaned up the kitchen while you did so. You stood by the stove, stirring the wine distractedly, your mind at war with itself. Go upstairs. No, don’t go. Yes, go now and tell him everything. No. It’s stupid. So you sat with the others in the living room for a while, silent, drinking spiced wine and waiting until it was a reasonable moment for you to head upstairs and disappear.

You sighed, burying your head under your pillow as though it would quiet the thoughts. It did not. Not at all. You grabbed Bonnie The Bunny instead, holding her to your chest as you rolled over to your side to try and get some sleep.

Sleep did not come.

Maybe he hadn’t answered the end of the world question not because he wanted to say your name but because of the opposite. He said he missed you. He said all of those things. But it didn’t mean he hadn’t met someone new. He said he hadn’t been with anybody else since the breakup but it didn’t mean he didn’t want to. What if he had a crush on someone? The barista where he went to get his coffee? A regular at Nightcap? What if he wanted to sell the bar to put the bad memories behind him and start a fresh new life away from anything that reminded him of you?

It appeared to you then, almost dramatically.

Yes. Maybe it was the case. Maybe there was someone else. Maybe there was nobody else at all. It was fine—all of it. It was fine if his not-birthday wish had been to become a millionaire or to fuck or to marry a pretty girl he met last month.

It was fine. You just needed to know. It was stupid because he had already broken up with you but you needed him to tell you again or else you would never move on. And you would never fully move on anyway, but if you wanted to reach a semblance of peace, you needed to hear the words come out of his mouth.

You pushed yourself up and exited your room like you were escaping a fire. You wasted no time, crossing the hallway to make your way to Hyunjin’s room. You raised your fist to knock but it was at this moment you realized the door wasn’t fully closed. It had been left ajar so you had very little hesitation before you pushed it open, expecting to find Hyunjin sleeping in his bed.

The bed was empty—a small reading light dimly illuminated part of the room. With a frown, you invited yourself in, also checking the bathroom, but Hyunjin wasn’t there either. You waited for a few seconds, wondering if perhaps he was in someone else’s room. But as you gave up and made your way back to your room, you heard a noise coming from downstairs, and your instincts told you to go check it out.

So you went. One step down, two. God, going down the stairs was so much worse than going up. But you kept going, trying to make as little noise as possible, listening to what was going on downstairs—it seemed like whoever was there was helping themselves to stuff from the fridge.

“Fuck—” You inhaled through your teeth when your ankle threatened to give out as though it was unable to hold your weight. You came to a stop about halfway down the stairs and the noise stopped.

Then you heard the familiar sound of a plate being put down, followed by footsteps.

Hyunjin appeared down the stairs, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. “What are you doing?” he asked, visibly surprised.

The lighting was low—he had turned on only one light in the kitchen.

You stood there, stunned, in nothing but your oversized shirt and underwear, the question taking you by surprise. And yet you responded honestly. “I was looking for you. I went to your room but you weren’t there so…”

Hyunjin took a deep breath, licking his lips. Then he joined you, wrapping his arm around your waist. “You should have stayed upstairs,” he said. “It’s bad for your ankle.” Still, he helped you downstairs nonetheless, one step at a time, his hand warm, his touch comforting.

He didn’t let go of you, leading you to the kitchen and helping you sit on a stool by the counter where he was apparently enjoying a snack. In the form of an impressive slice of cheesecake.

He smiled when he followed your gaze, biting his lip. “Yeah, I—Well, I felt like I hadn’t had enough.” He offered you a shy smile. “Do you want anything?”

“I’m thirsty,” you replied, and Hyunjin got to work.

You watched as he made you a glass of lemonade from scratch, starting by squeezing one lemon and one lime. He sweetened it with honey and crushed a few fresh blackberries at the bottom of the glass before adding the ice cubes and diluting everything with spring water. With a smile, you stretched your arm to grab the glass but Hyunjin gently nudged your hand away.

“Are you insane? Come on. You know me better than that.” He was looking at you as though you had said something shocking. He tsked you, shaking his head, and went to get a familiar jar from the fridge.

Carefully, Hyunjin added three maraschino cherries to your lemonade before he handed it to you.

You tasted it—as usual, Hyunjin had managed to make something delicious effortlessly. You took some time to drink while he was putting all of his ingredients away in between bites of cheesecake.

“Thanks,” you said after a while, shaking your glass to make the ice cubes in it clink together. As though it would distract you from your rapid heartbeat. “It’s delicious. Does it have any special properties I don’t know about?”

Hyunjin took the last bite of his cake with a smile. He swallowed it, drinking some water. “Yeah. It makes you tell me why you were looking for me. And also why you came all the way down here with a sprained ankle instead of texting me.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and waved it at you with a smirk.

It did not seem appropriate to be outright honest with him at the moment. “I just wanted to talk.”

He stopped wiping the counter, his head tilting to the side. “Talk about what?”

You shrugged. “Just…” How were you even supposed to do this? This must be how it felt to skydive. Those few minutes on the plane before. Right? Your brain scrambled to find something believable to say. “You said that Bonnie The Bunny was part of my Valentine’s Day gift. Can I know what the other part was?”

Hyunjin let go of the cloth he was holding, throwing it in the sink. “No.” He rinsed out his plate and put it in the dishwasher.

For some reason his lack of hesitation surprised you. “W—What? Why not?”

“Because it would hurt you. And I think I did enough of that for ten lifetimes. So if it’s okay with you, I’d rather we didn’t talk about it.”

“I’ll tell you something in return. You can ask me any question and I promise I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Please?” The mystery was driving you nuts—that was not a lie.

This got Hyunjin’s attention. He leaned on the counter, visibly thinking deeply. It lasted long enough that you finished your lemonade by the time he stood up straight again. “No. Sorry. I can’t tell you.”

“Then why did you tell me it was only part of it in the first place?” Anger was rising in your chest and you did not like it. It was just wind, not the full storm, but it was there nonetheless. “It isn’t fair, Hyunjin.”

He sighed. “I know.” He lowered himself a little so as to look you in the eyes. “This was the best weekend I’ve had in months, thanks to you. I don’t want to ruin it. I owe you an answer—I know I do. Just not today. Please.”

You couldn’t deny that his logic made sense. You also could not deny the flutters in your heart. “Alright then. Am I allowed to ask something else?”

“Sure thing.” Hyunjin walked around the counter to join you, only he did not sit down immediately.

“The game earlier. The question you didn’t answer.” The cabin was quiet already but that silence turned heavy, thick enough that it was hindering your breathing.

Hyunjin’s face contorted in a strange, pained expression. Darkness appeared in his eyes and he tensed up.

“No,” he said again. “Now you’re not being fair.” He gulped. “I think it’s best if I just go back to bed.” He went to leave but stopped immediately. “Do you need help back upstairs?”

You stood, speechless for several seconds. “Are you kidding me?”

“I’m not? Why would you say that?” He looked upset.

“You say all these things—that you missed me, that you’re selling your whole ass bar because I’m not there anymore.” Oh no. Oh no no no no. History was repeating itself—it was exactly like Valentine’s Day. Hyunjin’s defensive attitude and that accumulation of all the things you hadn’t said suddenly spilling out of you. “But when I’m asking questions, then you close yourself. It’s just like before.”

You had slapped him on that awful night. Not something you were proud of, just a reaction your body had. You had never forgotten Hyunjin’s face and the way he looked at you after. Like he knew he deserved it but he had hoped you would use kindness instead of violence. The slap had not hurt him as much as the reason why, and the context around it occurring.

He was looking at you with the same eyes tonight. Disappointed in himself. Hurt by you. Hurt by himself for hurting you.

You covered your trembling lips. “I’m sorry—”

He gave you a stiff nod. “I’ll just go.”

Hyunjin walked away, leaving you in the kitchen with tears in your eyes and regret all over your heart. You didn’t really mean it. Only a little maybe. It was true—Hyunjin just closed himself instead of facing his feelings and reality. Hadn’t that been at the core of the very reason you two weren’t together anymore?

“Wait—” You went after him but he had already disappeared, his long legs giving him the advantage over your injured ankle. “Hyunjin, wait, please. I’m sorry. Please, can we ta—”

You did not finish your sentence—by the time you made it to the top of the stairs as fast as you could, you had put too much strain on your foot and you collapsed on your knees there, taken by surprise by your ankle’s sudden weakness.

Hyunjin was standing near the door to his bedroom. He closed it back and came to see you instead, hurrying. “Are you okay?” he whispered. His eyes were wet.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said,” you replied instead. “Hyunjin, I swear, I’m so sorry. I know… I know you keep your heart behind a wall. I knew it before too, I was just upset that I wasn’t the one you wanted to allow past your defenses.” You took a deep breath—it felt like some of the burden on your heart had evaporated. Finally.

“Come here, let’s get you up—” Hyunjin muttered, holding you to help you up, but you weren’t bothered one bit by this situation or by the fact that he was seemingly ignoring what you were saying.

“I was so… I was so angry that you wouldn’t let me in. Really in,” you went on as Hyunjin was guiding you toward your bedroom. You kept your voice low so as not to wake everybody. “I was so angry that you didn’t love me as much as I loved you that I just—”

Hyunjin came to an abrupt stop, pulling away from you to look at your face in confusion. “What? What are you even saying?” he interrupted you, raising an eyebrow, looking at you like you were in psychosis. “I’m sorry but that’s bullshit.”

“Bullshit?” You scoffed. “You’re the one who ended things, Hyunjin.”

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t love you. It doesn’t fucking mean I did not love you.” He didn’t get angry often, but he was now and it frightened you. Not because you feared for yourself, but because he was clearly upset and you hated seeing him like this. “I fucked up. I did. I’ve had to live with it since then. Isn’t it obvious? Why do you think I came here in the first place? Because I don’t love you? How would that even make sense? Every day since February 14th I’ve wanted, desperately, to go back in time and undo it. I wanted it to never have happened. I prayed, begging for time travel to finally become a thing so that I could erase that very night.”

You stood, not quite in your room, watching Hyunjin as he unleashed his indignation, trying to process the words he was saying. Wondering if anybody was waking up in the other bedrooms. Wondering why you were having this conversation with him. Why he had said love and not loved.

“I’ll tell you. You know what? I’ll just tell you,” Hyunjin added, visibly agitated. “Hold on. Don’t move.”

He disappeared in his room momentarily—you heard noises, zippers mostly, and then he was back.

“No, it’s not like last time. Because last time I was trying to save our relationship and even though I was failing at it, I was still trying. I was keeping you away because I thought it was the best thing I could do to protect you and I didn’t want to lose you. But now I have nothing left to lose, do I? So I’ll tell you, since you want to know so badly.”

He inhaled deeply, running his fingers through his hair to get it away from his eyes. His other hand was closed in a fist. The hallway was dark, and the moment felt like an out-of-body experience.

“You want to know who I’d want to spend my last hour on earth with?” he continued, his voice trembling yet assured. “You. It’s you. It’s always going to be you. And you know what? It was always you. Your Valentine’s gift? It was supposed to be a part of the game you came up with at the bar. I was gonna give you a Free Drink ticket but when you’d go to exchange it, they would have given you the box with Bonnie in it. But it wouldn’t have been the cherry on the necklace. It would have been this.”

With that, Hyunjin opened up his fist, laying his palm flat for you to see. Now, it was rather dark but you could see very well what he was holding.

You just couldn’t believe it.

A ring. It was a ring. A simple one, delicate and dainty, yet stunning.

“And before you ask: yes, I carry it with me everywhere I go, but not like a lucky charm. It’s a reminder of what I lost. Which is everything, by the way.”

A ring. A ring was just a ring. Right?

This didn’t look like just a ring, though.

He said, It’s always going to be you.

“So now you know,” Hyunjin breathed, his face contorted with sadness. “In a crowd of all these people I haven’t seen for months—or even back then, at Nightcap or at the restaurant before that. I only see you.”

Your back hit the wall behind you as you found yourself practically unable to stand. Your legs began trembling and your arms and hands followed. You covered the bottom half of your face in shock, your eyes fixated on the small piece of metal in Hyunjin’s hand. It felt neither like your heart was going too fast nor too slow—rather, you were just too aware of it. It was beating stronger than it had in months. In years maybe, you weren’t sure.

The thing with Hyunjin is that he had always been very good at reading you. For just an instant, you wondered whether he had known since he arrived here. No matter how hard you had tried to conceal it, to pretend like it wasn’t there. To pretend you weren’t hurting. To pretend you weren’t missing him in the way somebody who needs a heart transplant misses the organ they do not yet have.

He answered your question before you could even ask it.

“I’m not good enough for you. That’s why I wasn’t sure I should come here at first. I hurt you and I should pay the life sentence that I deserve for it. But I wanted you to know that yes, I still love you. I never stopped, not even for one second, to love y—”

He was not able to finish his sentence—you had wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him into a kiss. It was not a thought-out move, it was, rather, an automatic response. As though there were only two options before you: either you kissed him or you imploded right then and there.

So you kissed him.

And Hyunjin kissed you back.

His mouth took yours, warm, wet, eager. You tasted the raspberry coulis on his lips, pulling him even closer, your hands losing themselves in his silky hair, closing into fists to keep him there, only he wasn’t leaving. His arms came to embrace you, pressing you flush against him, molding you to him or him to you. Two bodies reunited.

He kissed you harder, moaning into your mouth, pushing you so hard against the wall behind that he might as well have been trying to break through it. His hands found your waist, holding you there.

“I miss you,” he kissed into your mouth.

Heat filled you entirely. Heat replaced your insides as you melted into nothing. Into everything. He was there. It was really him. Hyunjin. Your Hyunjin. He was kissing you and holding you and breathing into you. Chills cascaded from your neck all the way to your lower back, settling to your core, creating a distracting pressure there.

It was really him. Hyunjin.

And he still loved you, too.

You pulled him into your room and he took care of closing the door, only leaving your lips so he could descend onto your neck, leaving a trail of spit behind as he kissed every inch of your skin that he could. You kept backing into the room, vaguely guided by Hyunjin, and soon enough your ass met the desk in the corner. Hyunjin lifted you onto it, almost shattering the lamp on top of it to the ground.

You closed your knees around his waist, resting your head on the wall behind you.

Hyunjin stopped—he suddenly became still, his plush lips somewhere in the crook of your neck, suckling at your skin. You heard him gulp and he pulled away, but not too far. He came to press his forehead against yours while one of his hands pushed your hair behind your ear.

“I broke up with you because I wasn’t good enough for you,” he whispered. “I’m not any better than I was. We can’t do this. I don’t want to hurt you again.”

Little jolts of electricity danced all over your skin just from having him so close, from the ghost of his lips on yours. “You shouldn’t have made that decision for me, Hyunjin. I was more than able to decide for myself what’s good and what’s bad for me.”

“I was bad for you,” he insisted, closing his eyes.

“Then you don’t know how much I loved you. How much I still love you.” Your voice was strained—you realized that you were on the verge of tears. “If you think that being without you would hurt me less, then you have no idea. I failed you. I failed at making you feel loved.”

Hyunjin raised his head a little, looking into your eyes, his shoulders dropping. He stood there for a long time, his gaze dancing from yours, your lips, or your hardened nipples, which he often returned to despite the shirt covering them.

“No. No you did not fail me. I failed, on purpose, at letting you make me feel loved,” Hyunjin uttered, locking eyes again. “Because I felt like I didn’t deserve it. None of it is on you. Do you understand? None.”

You reached for his face, cupping his cheek, taking in the words he had spoken, watching tears dance in his eyes under the faint light emanating from your nightstand at the other side of the room.

Your other hand found his, the one that was still closed into a fist. You forced his fingers open, feeling the metal of the ring before holding it between your index and your thumb and raising it between the two of you.

“Was this just a ring? Or was this something more?”

He let out a weak exhale, his lip trembling. “It was something more. I planned so far in advance that I guess I was hoping I would somehow deserve you by the time I proposed. I did the exact opposite instead and I ruined my life.”

Carefully, you put the ring on a small shelf to your left, returning your attention to Hyunjin. “Ask me if I still love you.”

He gulped. You saw it in his eyes—that he tried to resist. That he wanted to punish himself, still. But something else won. “Do you still love me?”

“I never stopped.” A faint smile appeared on your lips as you pulled Hyunjin close once more. “Now, ask me how I feel about what you told me.”

He frowned. “How do you feel about what I told you?”

You held his face in both of your hands. “I feel like you had no right to decide for me whether I should or shouldn’t be with you.”

He averted his gaze. “You’re right.”

You pulled him higher until he was looking at you once more. “Now, ask me what I want.”

Hyunjin took your hands in his, inhaling them, kissing your fingers. “What do you want?”

“I want us to have another shot at it. I want us whole again. And don’t tell me that you’re not good enough for me,” you added when he went to speak. “Before was different. I want you to keep the bar. And I want us to try again. I want us to be happy. And someday, I want to wear that ring.” You motioned towards the shelf where it rested. “But it has to be for real. Hyunjin, you have to really want it too. I think that if I lose you again, I’ll die.”

“I want it. I want you.” Four seconds passed. “I love you,” Hyunjin breathed. “My angel, I love you.”

Your heart, this time, did jump out of your chest. Those words, the very words you were once used to hear every day. You watched as Hyunjin spoke them, you noticed the shape of his lips as he confessed, the way his love-coated breath caressed your skin. At that moment, his voice sounded like the first day of Spring, when the sun felt warm and heated up the air.

Hyunjin, carefully, pressed his feverish lips onto yours once more, taking them, savoring the kiss. He kissed you like you were the most delicate porcelain cup and he was drinking rare, expensive tea. Taking his time, exploring, tasting.

Blood rushed to your lower stomach when, in one swift movement, Hyunjin spread your legs further to pull you as close as he could, your core pressed onto him, the fabric of your underwear brushing onto his sweatpants and his hardening cock.

Your body went limp—you buried your face into his neck, breaking the kiss, feeling yourself getting wet and soaking your underwear. You needed him. It had been so long, too long. You left little kisses on his jaw, inhaling his scent.

“I love you, too.” You kissed his chin. “I love you.” Another kiss on his lips, your hands sneaking under his shirt, feeling his toned abdomen and playing with the waistband of his pants.

Hyunjin lifted your head, his index finger underneath your chin. “Are you sure? That you want this? Because I don’t think I’ll be able to walk away if I kiss you even one more time.”

You stared into his inky eyes. They were dark and soft, a brown so beautiful you swore he came from another world. “I’m sure, Hyunjin.” And you kissed him, sealing your fate.

His hands moved slowly, languidly, caressing you through your loose shirt. Your waist, your thighs, your back. He cupped your breasts, groaning into your mouth when he felt how hard and sensitive your nipples were. He flicked them—so, so gently—with his thumbs as he kissed secrets into you.

“Baby…” Hyunjin moaned when you dug your fingernails into the skin of his back when he deepened the kiss. “We can wait, we don’t have to.”

Baby. Your clit throbbed upon hearing it. You were lightheaded and desperate and in love. You were so happy you weren’t even realizing that you were, as though you had forgotten how to process those things.

“Do you want to wait?” You would if he wanted to, but he grew harder against you with each second. “I don’t.”

“No.” He gulped, leaving your tits to push your hair out of your face. “So I have permission to fuck you?”

You gave him a nod, something tugging at your insides. “Please,” was all that you managed, but it was good enough for him. Time did not matter. You could have been away from him for ten, twenty years that it wouldn’t have made a difference. Your body knew his. His body knew yours. Because of the souls inhabiting them, and the bond between them.

Perhaps that had been the reason for the pain, and why you meant it when you said you wouldn’t survive should you lose Hyunjin another time. That bond was unbreakable. It was not something that time or distance could damage or even alter, it would always stay exactly the same. You would just have to be apart from him. To be without him. And it would be like living without a piece of your soul.

“You don’t even know…” Hyunjin muttered, positioning you to his liking. “How beautiful you are.”

Your cheeks flushed from how intensely Hyunjin was looking at you, at your body. He tugged at your shirt, looking at you with question marks in his eyes—you nodded, giving him your approval, your body trembling from anticipation.

Slowly, he pulled the shirt over your shoulders, ridding you of it, exposing you to him. The shirt was discarded, forgotten even before it touched the floor.

You felt vulnerable even in the relative darkness of the room. Vulnerable but not scared, not really. There was a distant part of your reason that was still trying to hold you back, trying to remind you of all the worst feelings that had ever inhabited your heart. But Hyunjin hadn’t been the only one to make mistakes. Both of you made the same one, which was to diminish the love the other one had for them. Unintentionally or not, the result was the same.

But you were breaking free of that, the chains tethering you shattering one by one. Each kiss, each word, each touch was not just restoring your freedom. You were discovering the true extent of it for the first time.

Hyunjin loved you. He loved you in the very beginning. He loved you every day after that. Those weren’t just words anymore, they were truths that were merging with your DNA so as to become an intrinsic part of you, changing you, altering the chemistry of your brain and the one of your heart.

And, here’s the thing—the lack of lighting in the room did not prevent you from seeing the same phenomenon happening to Hyunjin. The shift in his eyes, the way he held himself, the rhythm at which he breathed. That changed you again, all over, making you a new woman. There was an entire universe between now and the person you were just a few moments ago.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Hyunjin whispered, one hand trailing on your thigh until it stopped at your knee, nudging your legs open. “Look at that…”

His other hand found its way between your legs as he pressed two fingers flat on your slit, not minding the thin layer of soaked underwear between you and his skin. He felt you, applying just the right amount of pressure, sparking little fires inside you, your breath hitching as he caressed your most sensitive spots. Driving you crazy, dizzy. Making you roll your hips so you could rub yourself onto his hand. Desperate. Eager. Impatient.

You had been without him for months—you might as well have been starving, now looking at the most generous, delicious feast.

Hyunjin pushed your panties to the side, proceeding to lose his mind—he let out a raspy moan when he teased your entrance with his digits. The kiss that followed was especially wet, as though he was drooling—his lips devoured yours like there was no tomorrow while he probed at your cunt, rediscovering this place he had once made a home out of.

His head fell when you clenched, his forehead pressed hard on your shoulder, letting you be his anchor. You observed, studying him, lost in pleasure, as Hyunjin looked down, as he watched himself touching you, feeling your pussylips, your entrance. “I missed your body, baby. This. You.” He let his fingertips linger at your entrance and you clenched again, like a plea that didn’t need words.

Blood rushed between your legs when he pushed one, then a second finger into your hole. Almost timidly. Almost like he was asking for permission. You fucked yourself onto his fingers, your slick coating his hand and his wrist, your sweet scent permeating the small space between your two bodies.

“I want to do the thing that we liked so much,” Hyunjin whispered into your ear, grazing it with his teeth. “Can I?”

Memories of passionate nights resurfaced after you had spent months doing your best to bury them so as to spare you the pain of remembering. It never got old, not with Hyunjin. He liked to fuck you. He loved it. Sometimes he would ask you to pleasure yourself for him, and he would watch, not even touching his straining cock. Just looking at you. Other times he spent entire nights fucking you, eating your pussy between rounds. He fucked you hard. Or slow. He made love to you, every time.

You pressed your thighs together, overwhelmed by the memories but even more by the gentle massaging of your inner walls, locking Hyunjin’s hand there. But he didn’t seem to mind—he did not let it stop him from fingering you slowly, languidly, making sure that no corner of your intimacy was left untouched.

“Yes, god, yes—” Your voice was little more than strangled sobs, the ache between your thighs becoming fierce and profound.

Hyunjin gave you a kiss as a thank you for the permission you granted—not that it required a sacrifice on your part. He had quite a few tricks up his sleeves—after months spent together, enjoying each other, learning to know one another, there had been a few things that both of you liked to revisit.

One thing that you liked—that you really, really liked—was when Hyunjin stretched your hole. Really stretched it. And he liked it just as much.

He let go of your pussy for a moment so he could take his pants off, tossing them aside, freeing his cock. Finally. Finally. You could not look away, from how smooth it was, so hard. Straining. Leaking from its flushed tip. You could cum to the sight of it. God, it had been too long. You needed him. You needed him even if it caused your demise.

Your body’s response was instantaneous—one look at that cock and your legs spread wide open again, inviting him to ruin you.

“I really won’t last long,” Hyunjin warned you, kissing your nose, your lips, your earlobe as he got rid of your stained panties.

“Do it. Fuck me.” You took his lips, biting at them, kissing him deep, with tongue, moaning into his mouth.

You didn’t need to tell him twice yet Hyunjin still took some time, guiding himself between your legs, massaging your clit with the tip of his cock, sometimes teasing your hole with it. Your head filled with fog, but not in a rainy day kind of way. It was more that you couldn’t see where your body began and where his ended—the two of you had become one.

You reached between his legs to feel him, giving his balls a gentle squeeze—Hyunjin throbbed at that, his breath hitching. “They’re so full, aren’t they?” you smiled, biting your lip, squeezing him again. “Can I have it? Please?”

Hyunjin had always been one to enjoy dialogue during lovemaking so you always made a point of speaking to him. It seemed like his tastes hadn’t changed—he pressed his cock harder against you, using his thumb to guide himself at your entrance. You let go of his straining balls to hold onto him—it felt as though you were standing on the edge of a precipice.

He buried himself inside you unhurriedly, leisurely, giving you his cock, lighting you on fire as he went. He met resistance at every centimeter despite your slick leaking around his length but he filled you more and more. Stretching you. Stuffing your tight cunt with cock.

He whined when your walls fluttered around him. “Holy shit you’re tight.” His voice was trembling. “You gotta stop clenching, baby. I’m gonna cum.”

You couldn’t stop because you had no control over it. More of your sanity evaporated when Hyunjin held your waist, pulling you closer, pulling you onto his cock so that you would take all of him. He bottomed out, causing the sting of it and the pleasure caused by it to blend into something dangerous, a cherry red kind of feeling coursing through your veins.

Hyunjin gave one tentative thrust—it was evident that it was himself he was testing, perhaps fearing he would blow right then and there. And he almost did, pulling out to prevent it, your slick and his precum spilling all over the desk underneath. You vaguely felt regret and shame at the thought of making such a mess but it was quickly erased when Hyunjin pushed himself into your cunt a second time, pumping in and out of you in slow but calculated thrusts.

He stretched your hole as though he was claiming you again, making you his. And nothing felt as good as that. As knowing that you were loved. As being filled by the man you loved in return. As Hyunjin molding your pussy to accommodate his cock.

“Aah—” Your chest heaving as you adjusted to his size, you held onto him tighter. “You’re big…” You had sworn that you had never forgotten how it felt to be fucked by him but you were realizing that remembering him and being actively stuffed with cock were two entirely different experiences.

“Apparently so,” Hyunjin retorted with a smirk, remembering the scene from earlier. He emphasized his point with a few powerful thrusts and lewd, wet sounds filled the room as he fucked you.

Your body went limp as Hyunjin ravaged you in the most delightful way. He bottomed out again. And again. And again. He wasn’t lying when he said he wouldn’t last—you could tell he was close. You remembered him like one remembers their childhood home. Like time apart didn’t matter. You would never forget his body.

He grunted every time he drove his cock into your cunt, his eyes rolling at the back of his head. Your pleasure was a slave to his—it followed Hyunjin’s imminent orgasm, the knot inside your stomach expanding until you couldn’t even breathe.

But you resisted him. You fought it, focusing on the feeling of his thick cock massaging your hole.

“You’re sure I can, my angel?” Sweat was pearling at Hyunjin’s temples, his hair sticking to the skin there and on his neck.

“Yes.” You pulled him closer, or tried to, your knees resting on his waist. “Don’t—pull—out—” Talking was becoming near impossible as his fucking became erratic and relentless.

A glint appeared in Hyunjin’s eyes. He adjusted himself, fucking you deeper. “You really didn’t change, didn’t you?” He chuckled, watching as he sank within you, watching your slick coat his cock, watching your pussy hug his length. “You’re still my pretty, pretty cumslut.”

You throbbed at that, your mind going blank.

“It’s okay baby, I got you.” And Hyunjin slammed hard into you.

Once. Twice. He started cumming at the third time but fucked you through his entire orgasm, whimpering every time you met his motions with rolls of your hips, milking him. This was heaven, right? With each second that passed, the sounds his cock made as it fucked into you became wetter, louder just from how much cum he gave you, pulsing into you, making sure to spill himself as deep as he could.

This was just part one of this series of events that you liked—the anticipation of knowing what was to come was exhilarating.

Hyunjin kissed you deep, not pulling out but lifting you from the desk. “Hold on to me,” he managed, eyes glazed over from the hormones released by his orgasm. He simply lay you down on the bed just two or three feet away, climbing with you, staying right there.

Until he pulled out. Quickly, he lowered his head between your legs, observing for just a second. “There’s a lot,” he commented. “It’s so pretty, leaking out of you like that.” He nudged your knees to spread you open and wasted no time pressing his lips onto your hole.

His tongue swirled as you writhed in pleasure, pushing the oozing cum back into your throbbing cunt, saving as much as he could. He gave your pussy a few kitten lips, tasting himself on you, moaning at it. Bliss overcame you and you melted onto the bed, pressing a hand over your mouth to cover your uncontrollable cries.

Hyunjin pushed his hair behind before properly burying his face into your cunt, his wet tongue working miracles. He remembered you, flicking his tongue at your clit just the way you liked, suckling at it, too. Savoring you, commenting on your taste every ten seconds or so. It was delightfully dirty. His mouth was warm, wet, and skilled.

He made eye contact with you when he used one hand to part your pussylips open, ensuring that you watched as he fucked you with his tongue, kissing your pussy, speaking sins into you, tilting his head to reach deeper. The look on his face would have been enough to make you cum.

Hyunjin pulled away, his lips coated with your creamy slick and his own cum, gazing at the masterpiece he had made between your legs. He finally took his shirt off, allowing you to see his body as your eyes had fully adjusted to the darkness. His cock was not even soft despite his powerful orgasm—it was hardening again, bobbing heavily as he repositioned himself. You took in the sight of him. His chest, chiseled. His broad shoulders, his arms, strong and toned. You reached for him, feeling him, touching him, filling your head with him while Hyunjin was tickling your cunt with two fingers.

He buried them within you, meeting no resistance after he opened you up. “Don’t hold back,” he pleaded.

You shook your head. You didn’t even know what those words meant anymore. Your skin was quickly covered in chills when Hyunjin proceeded to finger you, knowing exactly where to go, curving his fingers up to massage your most sensitive spot immediately. You listened to the sound of it, noticing the feeling of your juices running down your thighs and your ass, letting it add to the pleasure overstimulating you.

It was becoming hard to think.

He fucked you with his fingers, always returning to that spot, worshipping the rest of your body too. Feeling your sensitive tits. Caressing your left side, your right, tickling your waist. Returning to your tits, teasing your neck, pressing fingers at your throat but barely.

You clenched around him. Hard. His face returned between your thighs, embracing your clit with his plush lips. He did not stop fucking you with his long fingers. And, god, they were so long.

The combination of the two tugged at the knot in your abdomen, the familiar pressure descending. You recognized it because it felt a little like you were going to pee and like a thousand angels were kissing you all over. It possessed your body, inside and out, dissolving you into nothing except ecstasy, the ache between your legs unbearable.

Hyunjin lapped at you sloppily, moaning as he savored you. “So wet,” he kept saying, the soundwaves of his voice on your sensitive clit sending you closer and closer to rapture. “So sweet…” You couldn’t move anymore.

You couldn’t even warn him, not that he needed a warning anyway. “That’s it baby,” he praised in between sessions of slurping you like a feral, starving animal devoured its prey. “Wish you could see your pussy right now.” He gave it a little kiss. “I put all my cum back inside you, but you keep pushing it out.” He giggled, returning to your clit, pressing his tongue flat on it, licking you relentlessly as his fingers massaged that one spot. “Make a mess for me, baby.”

It was just for formality purposes—Hyunjin didn’t need to tell you. He said it, perhaps, because he knew he was seconds away from making you squirt, visibly revelling in that knowledge.

For an instant—very briefly—you thought about how unprepared for it you were—no towel, nothing. But the thought escaped as quickly as it had appeared.

There was a tremor within you as that knot undid itself, then you just couldn’t take the pressure anymore. It was like looking at the sun with the naked eye.

Then everything was so wet. You surrendered—to Hyunjin, to his tongue, to his fingers, to his love. You surrendered and let yourself topple over to reach your orgasm, waves of pleasure invading you as you squirted all over Hyunjin’s skilled hand, spraying his pretty face too as he deliciously tortured your sensitive spot to ensure he would get as much from you as he could. You couldn’t contain your moans at the sight and at the freefall it all felt like.

When Hyunjin pulled away, he looked at his hand and how it was dripping—he licked his fingers clean and climbed up until he could kiss you. His hard cock rested somewhere onto your still fluttering pussy as he explored your mouth, sharing your combined tastes with you, rubbing himself onto your soaked, sensitive pussy. You felt it. How hungry he was for you.

“Don’t we taste good?” he smiled against your lips, guiding himself at your entrance once again. He kissed your jaw, your bare shoulder. “Can you go again, baby?”

Insatiable. You were insatiable. You would never have enough of him. “Fuck me hard, Hyunjin.”

He did. He fucked you hard.

Hyunjin buried his cock into your swollen pussy, his movements made easier by the inhuman amount of arousal dripping from you. His face in the crook of your neck, he slammed into you at a frenetic pace.

“Harder,” you begged.

“I know baby, I know.” Still, he listened to your plea and forced his hard cock deeper into you, holding you in place so he could easily pump in and out. “You take my cock so well.”

The praise only worsened your brain fog—your head was spinning, your body convulsing with each thrust.

Hyunjin was fucking you like a pornstar. Like a young god. Like he was desperate, and maybe he was. Your heart raced in your chest, tension coiling at your core.

“I’m not pulling out,” he warned you, slowing down, changing to a languid pace, allowing him to speak into your ear. His cock took up all of the space inside you. You were no longer empty. The void was being filled. “I’m stuffing you again.”

Blushing, you clenched around him and he throbbed in response as your nails sank into his strong back. He was losing himself in you and you in him.

“You love cum a little too much,” he went on, leaving kisses all over your tits. “I bet sometimes you secretly wish your birth control failed and I’d breed you.”

He was truly pulling out the big guns—Hyunjin was well aware that any mention of this secret breeding kink that you had developed would drive you crazy.

You almost came, your voice filling the room with pretty staccato moans, Hyunjin quick to kiss you, muffling the sound of it. But he was taking his sweet time fucking you.

And you did want his cum.

You nudged him—when Hyunjin didn’t get off you, you pushed him harder, the two of you rolling on the bed until you were straddling his thighs. His cock had slipped out in the process but it took you only one second before you wrapped your hand around his base, guiding Hyunjin where you wanted him most.

“Ahh—Ahh—Yes—” Hyunjin whimpered as you descended onto his shaft, taking all of him. He rested his hands on your waist, pushing you down, keeping you right there.

You rolled your hips, riding him, moving onto him, aware that this was perhaps not the best idea for you, not with that sprained ankle. But you ignored the pain and moved again, undulating to the rhythm set by your most primal desires, which meant that soon enough, you were bouncing on his cock.

Hyunjin writhed under you, fucking you from below, sometimes taking one of your nipples between his lips, other times caressing your clit. Sometimes he just stared at you and called you beautiful.

“Take what you want,” he begged. He was sensitive, too sensitive. His legs were shaking—you could feel them.

It was right there. Your orgasm. It hovered, threatening to strike at any moment. Hyunjin fondled your ass and you lowered yourself to kiss him. Because you wanted to cum while kissing him.

“Take it,” he repeated between kisses, panting. “I’m yours. Always—Always—Been—”

He was close. Then he was cumming, bliss taking his breath away, arching into you, hips stuttering as his pulsing cock flooded your cunt. You kept riding him, chasing your high, basking in Hyunjin’s—he looked desperate under you like this, emptying his balls, filling you. He looked beautiful. He looked like the love of your life.

You came too, with him, abandoning yourself, collapsing onto his chest, letting your body follow its instincts. Your orgasm carried you, splitting you open, the peak of it so intense you blacked out for a few seconds. There was nothing but you and the pleasure coursing through you. There was nothing but Hyunjin and you. He held you. He held you as you came, whispering into your ear, praising you.

When the last of your aftershocks receded, Hyunjin kept you right there, tucking your hair behind your ear so it wasn’t in the way. He pushed onto your chin and you looked up. It was with a smile that he kissed you, a simple kiss, a good kiss. It tasted like cock and pussy and love.

You lay your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. You would never be whole without him. You knew that. It was a scary thought, and yet you welcomed it today. When his cock softened, it slipped out of your fucked out cunt and his cum dripped down all over you and him. And it was nasty. And you loved it, and he loved it just as much.

You were drifting to sleep, content and drained and yet so full of light. It felt like a dream—you did not want to fall asleep. You tried fighting it for as long as you could just in case you would wake up and none of it would be real. God, it would be so cruel.

But exhaustion got the best of you.

You woke up later in a sun-filled room, your pussy sore, your body sticky and sweaty. And your bed wasn’t empty. Hyunjin slept on the other side, his expression serene, his hand holding yours. Things were exactly the same as before, except they were not. Sometimes, one has to make mistakes so they can learn from them. And sometimes those mistakes hurt and leave scars, but what matters more is what they do about them.

Hyunjin shifted in his sleep, humming as he woke up. He didn’t open his eyes but he did pull you close, wrapping his arms around you, burying his face in your hair. “Good morning, angel.”

Your heart skipped a few beats. It didn’t even feel real—none of it did. You were still afraid that you would somehow wake up from that dream, lonely, alone. “Good morning, handsome.” You kissed his forehead, playing with his hair.

The two of you stayed peacefully like this, embracing, just living the moment. Perhaps he, too, needed time to process that it had happened at all. He only moved when he heard the text notification on his phone somewhere in the room—the device had stayed in the pocket of his sweatpants, still on the floor.

He quickly went to recover it and you were able to see him in all of his splendor. You studied each little area, every inch of skin. His thighs, his ass, his back. How elegant he was, graceful, and yet unexpected. His beauty was unique.

“Oh my god,” he mouthed from the other side of the room, a hand covering his lips as his cheeks turned several shades darker.

You sat up in the bed, frowning. He had the expression of somebody who left their stove on at home and just remembered about it. He found his way back, sitting on the mattress, but his eyes did not leave the screen of his phone for a few more seconds. He turned the device toward you, burying his face into his large hand.

There were four notifications, all texts.

Felix: dude, just a heads-up, y’all were NOT quiet last night and most heard a lot of it. except maybe those who slept in the basement.

Felix: that being said though. i’m happy for you man

Changbin: i actually bet hanji $50 that it would happen. he didn’t believe it would. thank you dude, i’m richer this morning

Minho: we collectively agreed to pretend like no one heard a thing to save ourselves from the embarrassment so you two can come downstairs for breakfast whenever. hey, DON’T fuck it up this time, hwang pervy

You, too, hid your face by burying it into the pillow nearest to you. “Oh my god kill me. Hyunjin just kill me now.”

Hyunjin joined you, lying down by your side, discarding his phone to hold you as close as he could. He giggled nervously but you were just trying to swallow the gigantic embarrassment stuck in your throat.

“It’s okay baby, it’s not like we’re the first ones it happens to,” Hyunjin reminded you. You remembered very well when Jisung brought his ex to the restaurant once, after closing time, and locked himself in his office with her. “Besides, they cannot expect you to be quiet when you’re being stuffed by my monstercock, can they? Now that they know—thanks to you—they will understand.”

This made you laugh, your shame evaporating almost entirely. You had forgotten what it was like to love someone enough that you let them comfort you.

Things were exactly the same as before, except they were not. Because both Hyunjin and you knew the pain of being without one another and neither of you ever wanted to live through that again. Because now, you knew that Hyunjin loved you. And you were pretty sure that he knew that you loved him too. That you really loved each other, with all of your souls—because, maybe, soulmates did exist.

“COME ON!!!!!!” Hyunjin honked at the car before his, sighing with despair.

“There’s traffic dude, chillax,” Jisung, sitting on the passenger seat, told him, lazily scrolling his phone.

“Chillax? Are you seriously telling me to chillax right now?!”

It had to be today, right? Today out of all days. His birthday.

His day started well because it started with you in his bed, which was now, again, your bed. After Christmas, the two of you had sat down for a very serious conversation, deciding that it was probably best to take things slow. Not that you could erase the past, but taking your time just sounded reasonable. So you kept your apartment and he kept his, and he took you on dates. All that stuff.

It lasted maybe a month. By the end of January, you had moved back in with him. Is it going too fast? You asked him one night. He understood what you meant, he felt the same. He was scared, too, but he couldn’t control the need he had to be with you. Maybe to make up for all that time lost.

It just didn’t feel right when you weren’t by his side. Nothing did.

But it felt very right this morning when you woke him up by squeezing his cock gently and whispering Happy Birthday, baby into his ear. It felt very right when he made love to you in the bed that he shared with you.

You had to work at the bakery and felt bad about not being with him for his birthday, but Hyunjin didn’t mind too much. The bar was closed today anyway and he had the entire day to himself to relax—well, until Han Jisung showed up at his doorstep and asked if he wanted to go check out that store they talked about the week before. It was in the next town over, but it was a store with bar-related and cocktail-making supplies.

And, of course, since you had convinced him to keep Nightcap on the long term, Hyunjin was more than interested in visiting the shop.

You truly were the best thing that ever happened to him—and he told you every day.

Everything was fine until sometime in the late afternoon. After visiting the store, Jisung invited Hyunjin out for lunch for his birthday and then they went to see a movie. Just as they exited the movie theater, Hyunjin got a notification on his phone from the bar’s security system, alerting him that part of the bar was without electricity due to a malfunction.

It happened. It was a rather old building and sometimes the wiring just needed a little love. Hyunjin had an excellent electrician and texted him immediately. I’ll meet you there, he wrote.

It took Hyunjin an eternity to get to Nightcap. He checked his phone after he parked his car in the empty parking lot behind, smiling when he saw that you had responded to his text.

You: don’t worry too much baby. I’ll go there right after i’m done here and then we can go to dinner together. i want to spoil you a little

His heart full, Hyunjin typed his brief but meaningful response. Love you, angel.

Jisung followed him toward the back door, lighting Hyunjin’s keyring so he could find the right one. His fingers were cold by the time he managed to unlock the door and enter.

There was power here and everything seemed normal—the bar, empty, was quiet and just as he left it the night before. Still, Hyunjin went to investigate the storage rooms with a frown on his brow, ready to text the electrician in case there had been a mistake with the alarm system.

“That’s weird,” Hyunjin commented, walking down the hallway, entering the kitchen. Here, too, everything was just fine.

Jisung gave him a non-committal hm hm, still following him as Hyunjin made his way toward the main room. He pushed on the door leading there…

… and arrived face to face with a room full of people.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Hyunjin’s heart stopped in his chest as he processed everything, or at least tried to. The room was brightly lit and decorated with balloons and streamers and garlands and banners. Everyone was here. All of his friends, his employees, the bakery’s employees too, with whom he had become acquainted. Even his parents were here, wearing stupid party hats like the rest of them.

He almost cried, too surprised, too happy.

All of the people he loved began singing him Happy Birthday—the cacophony was delightful and made the knot at his throat a little bigger. Sometimes, he’d hear a distant ‘Happy birthday Hwang Pervy’ instead of the real lyrics and knew that Kim Seungmin must be around, but his focus was on something else.

You appeared from somewhere in the crowd, holding a plate on which was your matcha cheesecake with several lit candles on it. Carefully, you made your way behind the bar to join him, leaving the cake on the counter.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAAAAAYYY HYUUUNNNJIIINNN,” the others kept on chanting, Chan and Minho apparently trying to be opera singers. “HAAAPPPYYYY BIRTHDAAAYY TOOOOO YOOOOUUUUU!!!!”

He stared at all of them, an arm around your waist. He looked around him, at his bar that he had worked so hard for, at all those people he loved. He turned to you when you kissed his cheek. Your smile was brighter than the sun—you were his light in the dark in the sense that he couldn’t even see the shadows, not when he was with you.

“Happy birthday, baby.” Your smile grew wider. “You’ve got to make a wish now.”

A wish?

He only had one wish—it would remain with him until his last breath. There was only one thing he wanted, and he was standing right next to it.

Imagine holding the best, most beautiful gift life could ever give you. Imagine feeling its weight in the palm of your hand, the texture of it too, and its warmth. Imagine it scurrying along your arm to bury itself in your chest, making a home out of your heart. Imagine waking up every morning overly aware of the things you could lose because you are intimate with that feeling.

Imagine having this light in your heart and cherishing it, imagine being loved by it, imagine loving it back. Imagine the light growing stronger and brighter every day.

What you would see is the state of Hyunjin’s heart.

He had it all. He had it all because he had you.

He made his wish—it was the same that he made during that Christmas weekend at the cabin a few months ago. But when he looked at you again and at your eyes full of joy and at your heartfelt smile, Hyunjin knew that his wish had come true.

The End.

Note: Happy New Year everybody! I already wrote my wishes but I really want to thank every body for the love you have given me this past year. I also want to thank you for being interested in this story & for being so moved by it. I tried to write this ending as well as I could, and I hope it made you happy a little.

Thank you to those who take the time to interact meaningfully with the content that they like—it is beyond appreciated. I'm late at answering asks and will get to it tonight and tomorrow! I read all of you guys, don't worry. Life was just very busy and weird for me.

Lots of love! And be kind to yourselves in 2025.

Permanent taglist:

@abiaswreck ; @accalus ; @aimeexx ; @anylady-fics ; @b4kuho3 ;

@binstitsweat ; @byeobie ; @cb97percent ; @chans1aptop ; @chartrucewhore ;

@compersian ; @cybergracie ; @hanjingin ; @hwan-g ; @hyuneyeon ;

@hyunfruits ; @hyvneluv ; @hyunnie4ever ; @hyunjinswifeee ; @hyunniethepooh ;

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#haven.recs #haven.favs

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havenhyunjin · 3 months ago

Text

“maybe we end up in the neighborhood of where we’re meant to be, but the exact house? the one with the red door, or the one with the leaky ceiling? i think we choose those.” 🤍

what a wonderful soft piece! oh to have the privilege and honor to love chan, and be loved by him.

𐔌 방찬 .ᐟ ꒱ ─ stay a little longer

BANG CHAN! ⓘ when you're in the quiet of midnight, tangled in music, moonlight, and a love worth fighting for.

⌣ ﹒ ✿ ﹕ idol𝑏f!chan ₊ ‎ ‎ 𝑓em!reader ˙ . ꒷ g. fluff, angst, comfort, emotional ! 6600wc. ⎯⎯ ᒪIᗷᖇᗩᖇY ⟢ cw. pure love, slight crying, intimacy, family pressure, some jokes, lightly forbidden love? ┆ 🍡 ⋮ drabble, timestamps .ᐟ

𝑦𝑎𝑛𝑖'𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑙 𓈒 𓈒 ⭑ christopher... my baby, my love, my everything. :[ i love this man so much. i love love so much (2). i genuinely teared the fuck up while drafting this. i feel like this may be one of my favorite fics i've written, ever, honestly. sucker for channie, angst, and love !!!! happy reading <3

skz studio, jype building. 12:41 am. tick, tick, tick..

the room is dim, lit only by the soft amber of the desk lamp and the dull blue glow from two computer screens, their pixels dancing in sound waves. the speakers hum low, a heartbeat of synths and snare, looping a melody that hasn’t been named yet. it’s slow. dreamy. a little unfinished—just like the two of you.

the air smells faintly like fabric softener and coffee from hours ago, now cold in the cup beside his keyboard. you’re curled up on the studio couch, legs tucked beneath you, wearing one of chan’s crewnecks that swallows your hands. the cotton is worn soft from too many washes, oversized and comforting, and it still holds the ghost of his cologne—cedar, musk, the kind of scent that lingers long after he leaves a room.

he’s quiet.

not in the brooding way, not in the overthinking-every-note kind of way either. just… quiet. his fingers tap lightly against the desk as he listens to the loop again and again. his chair is tilted back just enough to see you in his periphery, and you know, because he’s been stealing glances between each pass.

you pretend not to notice.

instead, you let your fingers trace invisible patterns into your thigh, resting your cheek on your hand as you watch him from under your lashes. the way his black hoodie bunches at the elbows. the curve of his jaw when he’s focused. his mouth, slightly parted. the tip of his tongue resting in the corner, a habit. the faintest scruff on his chin from a day he forgot to shave. or didn’t care to.

you sigh, almost smiling. “you’re squinting again.”

chan’s head tilts. “huh?”

you point lazily at him. “your eyes. when you concentrate. you look like a suspicious grandpa decoding secret messages in morse code.”

a laugh bubbles out of him—short, breathy, surprised. “wow. thanks.”

“you’re welcome,” you say, smug, leaning into the armrest. “you should really consider reading glasses.”

he narrows his eyes at you on purpose now, making a dramatic point. “i will literally end this song right now.”

“you won’t.”

“no, but i’ll pretend i did and pout about it for forty-five minutes.”

“pouting’s a great look on you,” you hum.

you expect him to roll his eyes. maybe throw a crumpled napkin at you. but instead, he just leans back in his chair, legs stretched out, arms folded across his chest—and looks at you.

fully.

the studio is quiet except for the looped track. and chan’s gaze? it softens. like the way light filters through curtains. gentle, warm, and far too much.

“what?” you whisper, feeling your face heat.

he shrugs, lips twitching into a small, sleepy smile. “nothing. you’re just really pretty when you’re bullying me.”

you squint back at him. “you’re not even trying to win this argument.”

“that’s ‘cause i like losing to you.”

your heart stumbles. you mask it by pretending to cough into your sleeve. he sees right through it. smirks wider. turns back to the screen like he didn’t just ruin your entire nervous system.

“asshole,” you mumble.

“mmhm.”

he slides his headphones on again, adjusts a few sliders, then clicks the spacebar. the track starts over. he listens. edits. rewinds. rests his chin on his palm.

you let yourself stare a little longer this time.

there’s something about watching chan work that feels like worship. he’s quiet with it—not boastful, not performative. just intensely focused, endlessly curious. you can see him thinking—layers of intention behind every adjustment, like he’s shaping sound into something that can hold meaning.

you never feel more drawn to him than in moments like this.

“c’mere,” he says suddenly, pulling one side of his headphones off.

you blink. “why?”

“just for a second.”

you raise an eyebrow. “this is how you trap me.”

“yup.” he doesn’t even deny it.

still, you rise, stretching your arms over your head with a small yawn, then pad over to his chair. he grabs your wrist lightly and tugs you down, guiding you gently into his lap like he’s done this a hundred times before. like your body fits there. like it’s second nature.

his arms wrap around your waist automatically.

you settle back against his chest, your head resting beneath his chin, your legs slotted between his. the sound from the speakers is low now—background music to the quiet closeness you’ve both fallen into.

“this part’s new,” he murmurs near your ear, hitting play again. “i wrote it thinking of you.”

you freeze just a little. then slowly glance up at him.

he’s looking at the screen like he didn’t just casually say that.

“…chan.”

“mhm?”

“you wrote the chorus with me in mind?”

“pre-chorus, actually,” he says, lips twitching. “the chorus is about ramen. but the pre-chorus? that one’s you.”

you lightly smack his chest, laughing. “you suck.”

“do not.”

“you literally labeled the file ‘yn_ver2_emotionsfix.wav,’” you accuse, voice barely hiding your grin.

chan gives a dramatic sigh. “it was either that or ‘track_56_final_final_real_final_edit.wav.’ i went with art.”

you shake your head, settling into him again. he smells like warmth—like cotton, and hours of focus, and something softer beneath it all. his hands splay against your hips. secure. careful.

you close your eyes.

“you tired?” he asks quietly.

you nod against him. “but i don’t want to sleep yet.”

“why?”

“‘cause you’re not done loving me tonight.”

that catches him off guard. you feel it in the pause of his breath.

then—arms tighter around you. his chin tucks into your shoulder, and his voice is low. honest.

“i don’t think i’ll ever be done, y/n.”

the song loops again. a soft echo in the dark.

and neither of you move.

“something like home.” (12:59 am. still just the two of you.)

your feet are bare.

there’s a stray thread at the hem of your sleeve, and chan’s fingers have been absentmindedly twirling it between his thumb and forefinger for minutes now. the song plays in soft loops, fading into the walls like wallpaper music. you’ve stopped noticing it. or maybe it’s become a part of this moment.

you’re still in his lap, curled into his chest like the world forgot to pull you apart. he doesn’t seem to mind. his chin rests on your shoulder, and his hands are warm on your sides. his thumb strokes lazy, back-and-forth shapes over the fabric—like a lullaby with no melody.

you yawn. then mumble something.

“what?” he whispers.

“i said… i think i’m starting to melt.”

he chuckles, the sound low against your back. “melt?”

“mhm.” you nudge your nose into his hoodie. “i’m too comfortable. i might dissolve. evaporate. just… become one with the hoodie.”

chan hums, tilting his head to press a small kiss into your hair. “then i’ll carry you in my pocket.”

you pause, smiling into his chest. “you’re such a sap.”

“you love it.”

you twist just enough to look at him. “you say that like you’re not the clingy one.”

“i’m not clingy,” he says, indignant. “i just… like you close.”

you raise an eyebrow.

he holds up a finger, serious. “okay, hear me out. i didn’t ask you to stay over because i’m clingy. i asked because—”

“you missed me,” you cut in, sing-song.

he scoffs. “no—well, yes—but—listen. i knew you’d be annoying about it. that’s the real reason.”

“wow. you invited me over just to be bullied?”

“you’re better than caffeine.”

you blink.

he grins, smug. “and cuter.”

your chest does that thing again—that quiet, involuntary ache. like your ribs are expanding too fast for your heart to keep up.

you try to hide your face in his hoodie. “stop it.”

“no,” he says softly. “not when you look at me like that.”

you glance up. “like what?”

“like i’m the whole night sky.”

there’s a beat. long enough for your throat to close around it. you laugh, a soft, shaky breath. “that was corny.”

he kisses your temple. “did it work?”

you don’t answer. you don’t need to. the way your fingers curl into his sleeve is loud enough.

you eventually slip off his lap, legs stiff, your body slow with sleepiness. but you don’t go far. just settle beside him again, letting your head fall onto his shoulder.

chan shifts, pulls the blanket from the couch, and drapes it over your legs without a word. then he leans forward and clicks a few keys. the track pauses.

“what happened?” you ask, voice small.

he shrugs, adjusting the volume. “nothing. just wanted to sit here.”

you smile. “is the genius producer taking a break?”

“genius producer,” he echoes, a grin playing at his lips. “i like how that sounds.”

“it’s true,” you say, poking his cheek. “you’re brilliant. even when you forget to eat dinner.”

“someone’s trying to soften me up,” he teases.

you lean closer, your voice a playful whisper. “is it working?”

he turns his face toward you—slow, like the moment stretches around the movement. his eyes flicker between yours, soft and unreadable.

“yeah,” he says quietly. “too well.”

you don’t kiss him yet. but the space between your faces is small enough to feel the promise of it.

“can i tell you something weird?” he asks a little while later.

you nod, half-drowsy, eyes fluttering shut.

“i think…” he hesitates, then laughs under his breath. “god, this sounds stupid.”

you look up at him. “nothing you say to me is stupid.”

he’s quiet for a beat. then-

“i think my heart memorized you before my brain did.”

it’s barely a whisper.

but it slices through the quiet, delicate and sure. your breath catches.

“i don’t even mean that in a romantic movie kind of way,” he adds, rubbing the back of his neck. “just… every time i see you, even if i’m tired, even if the day sucked, something in me just—relaxes. like it knows. like you’re what it was waiting for.”

you don’t respond with words.

you just reach out—touch his face gently, like he’s something precious. your thumb runs along his cheekbone. then down to his lips.

chan closes his eyes under the touch.

“you always say these things like you don’t realize what they do to me,” you murmur.

he opens them again. they’re deeper now. fuller with something unspoken. “what do they do?”

“you make it really hard to breathe.”

“then hold on to me,” he whispers.

so you do.

“in the quiet, i love you” (1:17 am. again, just the two of you.)

it’s late. but that kind of late where the world feels paused. no ringing phones. no outside noise. just the low hum of equipment, a single dim lamp in the corner, and chan’s hand resting over yours like he’s scared the moment will slip away if he lets go.

your head is against his shoulder again. his hoodie sleeve is bunched between your fingers, and you’ve long since stopped trying to pretend you’re not holding on like he’s your anchor.

“wanna know something?” you say softly, tracing small shapes into his palm.

“always.”

“i used to think love would feel loud.”

he doesn’t speak. just waits.

you smile at the ceiling. “like fireworks. or movie kisses in the rain. or fighting, dramatic, over-the-top things. but this—” your hand squeezes his. “this feels like… the space between notes in a song. quiet. but there. and if it were gone, you’d hear the difference.”

chan swallows, his voice a hush. “you’re gonna make me cry in my own studio.”

you giggle, turning toward him, noses almost brushing. “no tears allowed. you’re the genius producer.”

he fake-sobs dramatically. “the genius producer is in shambles.”

you cover his mouth with your hand, laughing now. “stop. you’re gonna ruin the mood.”

he grins under your palm. then kisses it. soft. warm. so soft it makes your throat catch.

“wanna hear a line i wrote today?” he asks, voice lower now, fingers lacing between yours.

you nod.

he glances at the monitor like he’s nervous, then looks back at you. “it’s not for the track, just… a thing i wrote.”

he clears his throat.

“if i could fold myself into your pockets i’d live there quietly, beside your pulse where your heartbeat becomes my soundtrack and time forgets how to hurt.”

your eyes sting.

“chris…”

“it’s dumb,” he says quickly, eyes darting away. “just a line. you don’t have to—”

you cut him off with a kiss. it’s soft. barely there. just the press of lips against lips, the kind of kiss that says, i understand you even when you think you don’t make sense.

when you pull back, you’re both blinking too much.

“was that okay?” you whisper.

his voice cracks when he speaks. “i don’t think i’ll ever forget it.”

the next hour passes in fragments.

you try on his headphones and gasp when you hear how clear the track sounds. he records you saying random phrases to sample your voice—half of them silly, the other half secretly tender.

“say something sexy,” he grins, mic already on.

you squint at him. “like what?”

“i don’t know. just say whatever comes to your mind.”

you lean in close to the mic, lips parted. “christopher, i swear to god, if you don’t drink water within the next ten minutes i’m turning off your computer.”

he throws his head back, laughing so hard it shakes his shoulders.

“you menace,” he wheezes.

“you asked for it.”

“not the hydration threats—oh my god.”

you’re both giggling too much to care what time it is. he turns the mic off, pulls you back to him, and presses his forehead to yours like it’s instinct.

“hey,” he whispers.

“yeah?”

“i don’t think i’ve ever felt like this before.”

you meet his eyes.

“i think…” he pauses. “i think i trust you with parts of me i didn’t even know i had.”

you nod, tears threatening again.

“you can keep them,” you whisper back.

later, he reaches over and grabs his phone, unlocking it with one hand, still holding you with the other.

“what are you doing?” you murmur, sleepy now, blinking slowly.

“i want a picture.”

“no,” you groan. “my face is puffy. i’m tired.”

“you’re beautiful,” he says immediately, no hesitation.

you glare. “you can’t say things like that so easily.”

“but they’re true.”

“still.”

he snaps one anyway—your face buried in his hoodie, his hand covering half your cheek, both of you in soft shadows. when he looks at it, he smiles like he’s looking at the beginning of something.

“can i post it someday?” he asks gently. “not now. but when it’s not just ours anymore.”

you nod.

but neither of you say when that might be. because for now, the secrecy is sacred. the studio is a sanctuary. and this—this hush, this touch, this late-night wonder—belongs to you both.

right?

“we talk about everything, and nothing, and it all matters.”(01:58 am. the world is asleep, but you’re still here.)

you’re half on the couch, half on chris. the blanket has migrated around both your shoulders now, pooled at your waists like it’s tucking you in on behalf of the moon.

the studio lights are dim. the glow from the monitors is faint and flickering. the music is paused. you aren’t.

chan’s fingers are threaded through yours again, resting on your stomach, your hands fitting like they’ve known each other longer than you’ve been alive. his head is tilted back. yours is on his chest, listening.

every so often, his heartbeat skips. you never point it out.

“do you think,” he says suddenly, voice hushed like he’s afraid to wake the air, “that people always end up where they’re meant to be?”

you pause. “you mean, like fate?”

he nods, slowly. “yeah. or something like it.”

you think for a second.

“i don’t know. i think maybe we end up in the neighborhood of where we’re meant to be,” you say softly. “but the exact house? the one with the red door, or the one with the leaky ceiling? i think we choose those.”

he hums. “i like that.”

“why’d you ask?”

he’s quiet for a moment. “i just keep thinking.. if i hadn’t chosen this path—music, the hours, the pressure—i don’t know if we’d be here. but sometimes i wonder… if it’s too much. if i’ll burn out.”

you lift your head slightly to look at him.

his gaze is on the ceiling. like he’s asking the stars above the insulation to answer for him.

“i think about it too,” you admit.

his eyes flick down to you. “you do?”

you nod. “not just about you. about me. about everything. what i want. what i’m allowed to want.”

the way you say allowed makes him tense just slightly, but you don’t dwell.

you rest your cheek back on his chest. his hand finds your shoulder, slow and soothing. “tell me,” he says gently.

you take a breath.

“i used to think i had to be perfect,” you say, voice low. “or at least harmless. make everything easy for everyone. be sweet. be smart. never ask for too much. never make things complicated.”

chan’s hold on you tightens almost imperceptibly.

you keep going.

“but i’m learning that love… real love… lets you take up space. even the messy parts. even the loud parts. i’m still trying to believe i’m allowed to ask for things. to say ‘i want this.’ even when it’s scary.”

he’s silent, but you can feel the emotion rising in him. his fingers brush your hair back from your temple with a kind of reverence.

“i’m glad you said that,” he whispers. “because i want you to ask. always. for anything.”

you nod, eyes stinging again.

after a pause, you murmur, “what about you?”

he exhales. “i think… i used to believe i had to earn love. like, i had to constantly do something to deserve it. be productive. be valuable. make music. fix things. be strong.”

you shift slightly to see his face. his eyes are unfocused, turned somewhere inward.

“but lately…” he goes on, “with you, i’m starting to believe that maybe i don’t have to prove anything. that maybe i can just be. and that’s enough.”

you press your lips to his jaw, a soft silent thank you for letting you see that part of him.

you stay like that for a while.

just breathing.

just existing.

“i want to grow old with you,” he says suddenly.

you blink.

“like—not in a cliché way. not just the cute stuff. i mean i want to still know you when we’re tired and wrinkly and grumpy and our backs hurt when we laugh too hard.”

you smile against his hoodie.

“i want that too.”

he looks down at you. “you do?”

you lift your chin just enough to meet his gaze. “i want to see what kind of old man you become. i bet you’ll still wear these black hoodies and cry when the guys bully you for actually being old.”

he groans. “don’t expose me.”

you giggle, tucking back into his chest. “you’re adorable.”

you both fall into a comfortable silence again. the kind where the silence isn’t empty—it’s full. of safety. of things you don’t have to say.

and then…

“hey,” you whisper.

“yeah?”

“if we ever get a dog, can we name it something stupid like toast?”

he snorts, nearly choking. “why toast?”

“i don’t know, it’s cute. imagine yelling ‘toast! come back here!’ in the park. it even matches with berry. like.. berry toast.”

he’s laughing now, full and quiet and real. “okay. so berry can bond with a new sibling then. over names. well.. toast it is. but only if i get to name the next one pancake.”

“deal.”

eventually, you both go quiet again.

there’s a weight to the room now—but not heavy. just… full. like the whole place is holding its breath around you, content to let you exist in each other.

you listen to his breathing. he listens to yours.

you both listen to the invisible thing being written between your hearts— soft and slow and definitely.. real.

“the song you weren’t supposed to hear.”(it’s still the middle of the night. and his heart is ready.)

the night has settled into the kind of stillness that only exists between 2 and 3 am—where the world outside is paused, like it’s holding its breath just for you.

you’re both now completely on the studio couch, your legs lazily tangled over his, the blanket from earlier now messily draped across your laps. the air smells faintly like jasmine from his candle stash and whatever conditioner he uses that clings to the collar of his hoodie. you’ve been tracing little nothing shapes on his arm, neither of you talking for a while—not because there’s nothing to say, but because being this close is already saying enough.

chan’s fingers have been fidgeting. not nervously, just… thinking. tapping little beats into the fabric of the couch like he’s composing something in his head he doesn’t want to forget.

you’re the first to break the silence.

“your brain’s loud again,” you murmur, smiling without opening your eyes.

he huffs out a quiet laugh. “always is, when you’re around.”

you lift your head, eyebrow raised. “is that a compliment or are you blaming me for your overworked neurons?”

chan grins. “little bit of both.”

you roll your eyes affectionately and nudge his shoulder. he watches you for a moment—eyes soft, dimple barely showing—and then he shifts. gently untangles himself from you and gets up, barefoot steps soundless on the floor.

you sit up slowly, watching as he walks over to the computer, clicking something open with a hesitance that’s uncharacteristic of him.

he hesitates a second longer, one hand on the mouse, the other in his curly hair.

“can i show you something?” he asks, voice low, unusually careful.

you straighten. “of course.”

he doesn’t look at you when he speaks next. “i wasn’t gonna. i wasn’t ever going to, honestly. but i feel like… if i don’t now, i’ll never get the courage again.”

your heart stirs—soft, curious.

he opens a folder.

one you’ve never seen.

the name of it is just a single word: "maybe."

he clicks on a file. the project loads slowly. your eyes flick over the screen. it’s dated from almost two years ago.

the first out of a gazillion track's name? “she’ll never know (demo)”

he doesn’t look at you. just presses play.

the room fills with the sound of chan’s voice. not the polished, practiced version. not the stage-ready delivery. this is raw.

the acoustic guitar is gentle, almost sleepy. like the song was written late one night, maybe one just like this, with him hunched over his desk and the words falling out of him before he could stop them.

and then— the first line.

"she walks in like the sky turned soft just for her—""doesn’t notice the way she makes silence feel warm."

your breath catches. your boyfriend doesn’t turn around. he’s sitting at his chair now, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor as if it held answers to his shower thoughts.

the song continues—delicate, bare-boned. there’s a melody that rises like a question and falls like an answer. his voice cracks a little in the second verse. not from poor singing. from too much truth.

"she calls my name like it was made for her mouth—and i swear, i’d give her every version of me she asks for."

you bring your hand to your chest without realizing it.

your throat is dry. your eyes aren’t.

and then— the bridge.

it’s not perfect. the production cuts slightly. but the lyrics?

"if she knew i wrote her into every song i couldn’t finish,would she stay long enough to hear the chorus?"

you don’t breathe.

he lets the track end without speaking. the silence that follows is thick and tender.

and finally, finally, he turns to look at you.

you’re still holding your hand to your chest. you can’t find words.

“i wrote that before,” he says, quietly, “before i knew if you’d ever… look at me like that. before i thought i’d get to call you mine. i wasn’t gonna play it. felt like—it was too much.”

you shake your head, eyes glassy, voice cracking. “no, chris. it’s not too much. it’s—god. it’s beautiful, channie.”

you cross the room slowly and kneel beside his chair, hands reaching for his. “you loved me then, didn’t you?”

he nods. “i think i always did.”

the air feels like it might break from the softness.

you press your forehead to his. close your eyes. he does the same. his hands slide around your back, pulling you into him like he needs to feel you breathing.

“can i ask you something?” you whisper.

“anything.”

“when you wrote it… did you ever think i’d hear it?”

his voice is almost inaudible. “no. but i wanted you to feel it. even if you never knew.”

you kiss him. not rushed. not fiery. just… full. full of every quiet word you’ve ever shared, every moment your bodies spoke before your mouths did. full of everything that’s always been there.

when you pull back, you whispered.

“thank you for writing me into your world.”

he smiles, presses his lips to your hair.

“you are my world.”

“you and me, in a song.” (almost 3am. but none of you seem to care.. because it's just you two.)

your knees are folded up on the studio couch now, hoodie sleeves past your hands, hair a little messy from where he’d had his fingers in it. chan’s laptop is dimming from inactivity. that song—the one he never meant to play for anyone—is still echoing in your chest.

there’s something quiet between you two now, but it’s not tension. it’s the kind of silence that follows honesty. like the air has finally settled after a truth landed and made its home here.

he’s lying on the floor now, one arm tucked behind his head, the other outstretched, hand palm-up like he’s waiting for you to hold it. you do. of course you do.

“you’re still thinking too much,” you say, squeezing his fingers gently.

he gives a tired smile, turning his head toward you. “i know, baby. i can’t help it. my brain doesn’t have an off switch, y'know.”

you glance down at him, at the boy you love who writes heartbreak into bridges and hides confessions in chord progressions.

“wanna distract it?” you ask softly.

he raises an eyebrow. “you got something in mind?”

“let’s write something,” you say, voice picking up in excitement. “together. something stupid and sweet. corny. cheesy. but something that sounds like us.”

he sits up, instantly intrigued. his eyes are sleepy but alive now, warm like melted chocolate in low light. “you sure you’re not tired?”

“i’m very tired,” you say, already reaching for a notebook, “but i’m also in love, and this feels like something we’ll remember.”

he exhales a quiet laugh. “okay,” he murmurs. “let’s make it ours.”

the guitar is perched on his knee now, and you’re tucked beside him, the notebook resting across both your legs. you can barely see the lines under the yellowish desk lamp glow, but that somehow makes it feel even more intimate.

“okay,” he says, strumming a slow, dreamy chord. “tone check. what are we going for?”

“something soft,” you say. “not too polished. something that sounds like—like a sleepy love letter or something?”

he nods, repeating the chord progression, slower this time. “mmm.. like this?”

you hum in approval. “wait, yeah. genius! that feels like us. okay, first line.”

he laughs at the page. “you go.”

you pause, chewing your lip. then, with a grin..

“you looked like a dream at 3 a.m., with sleep in your eyes and my name on your lips.”

your boyfriend's pen freezes.

he blinks.

then he gives you the kind of look that belongs in poems—stunned, a little helpless, a lot in love.

“that’s not fair,” he mutters, writing it down. “you’re gonna make me fall harder than i already have.”

you smirk. “your turn, loverboy.”

he strums a chord and speaks more than sings.

“you whispered forever in the way you laughed, and i started believing it might be real.”

your heart flutters.

you grab the pen and underline that line twice. “you’re disgusting,” you whisper with a grin.

“i learned from the best,” he grins back.

you spend the next hour like that—passing the pen, trading verses, scribbling out and rewriting lines until your fingers are smudged with graphite and the paper is creased from how many times you’ve folded it to your chest in giddy disbelief.

at some point, chan turns the mic on. just to catch what you’re doing. just in case.

he doesn’t warn you when he starts singing.

you’re halfway through doodling stars and hearts in the corner of the page when his voice fills the air again, soft and sleepy and devastatingly sweet.

he sings the first verse.

your verse.

you look up at him, startled.

his eyes are on you, and he doesn’t look away when he reaches your line:

“…with sleep in your eyes and my name on your lips.”

you smile, caught.

when he finishes the chorus—messy and still incomplete—you exhale slowly. “you made it sound beautiful.”

chan shrugs, pretending to be casual. “t'was already beautiful. i just put a melody on it.”

you reach for his hand again. he lets you take it, always lets you take it.

“is this the first song you’ve written with someone you’re in love with?” you ask quietly.

he pauses.

then smiles, shy and soft. “yeah. and i hope it’s the only one.”

you press your forehead to his shoulder.

“i think we just made a cheesy memory,” you whisper.

he turns slightly to kiss the top of your head. “then let’s keep making them. cheesy and all.”

the clock reads 4:12 a.m. now. the first version of the song is saved in a folder called “us.” it’s not finished. it might never be. but it doesn’t need to be perfect. it just needs to be yours.

you curl into the corner of the couch again, eyes fluttering shut- not to sleep, but maybe to rest them. chan hums the chorus under his breath beside you, fingers mindlessly playing the chords like he’s serenading the night itself.

before you drift off, you mumble one last thing:

“you’re my favorite song, chris.”

and he whispers back. he always does.

“you’re my reason for every one of them.”

“the part i never said out loud.”(a still hour. 4:41 a.m. the quiet isn’t peaceful anymore—it’s holding its breath.)

he doesn’t notice it at first. the way you’ve gone quiet. maybe you were asleep.

but it was not like before. not sleepily. not wrapped in awe from a new lyric or his voice in your ear. this silence is different. it’s sitting heavy on your chest. and he only realizes when he reaches out to run his thumb gently over your knuckles and you flinch—barely, but enough for him to notice.

he turns to you slowly.

“hey,” he says softly. “hun, you okay?”

you blink at him. you were looking at the studio wall—at the sound panels, the gold record in the frame, the corner where your folded lyric sheet sits untouched. you weren’t really seeing any of it.

“yeah,” you say. but your voice betrays you. too thin. too quiet.

he sets down the guitar and shifts closer. his brows furrow, but not in frustration. it’s concern. that same warm, earnest gaze he’s always given you.

“you can tell me anything,” he says. “you know that, right?”

you nod. and then you nod again. because it’s true. you know it’s true. you believe him with your whole heart.

that’s exactly why it’s so hard.

“i didn’t want to ruin tonight,” you whisper, “but i… i think i’ve been avoiding saying something.”

he doesn’t rush you. doesn’t press. just waits. lets the silence expand around you until you’re ready.

you take a breath. and then another.

“it’s my family,” you say finally. “they don’t… they don’t like that i’m with you.”

chan’s head tips slightly, like he didn’t hear right. “what?”

you wince.

“they think it’s unstable. unrealistic. that… that i shouldn’t be dating someone in the industry. that i’m just a phase to you. or that it’ll always be long-distance and lonely and that i’ll be the one waiting while you live a life i can’t be part of.”

you can’t look at him.

“they think loving you is… irresponsible,” you say, voice cracking.

for a moment, there’s nothing but the soft buzz of equipment around you. the hum of the silent studio. the absence of sound.

and then—his voice. low. steady.

“do you think that?” he asks, gentle but serious.

your eyes snap to him.

“no,” you say immediately, like it physically hurts to even have him wonder that. “no, god, never. i love you. i love you more than i even know how to explain. i just—”

you break off, pressing your palm to your forehead.

“i hate that i feel like i’m betraying them just by choosing my own heart.”

he doesn’t interrupt. he doesn’t get defensive. he doesn’t ask for promises or ask you to pick sides. he just reaches out and cups your face in his hand, thumb resting softly against your cheekbone.

“you’re not betraying anyone by being honest about what you want,” he says. “and if that’s not me, i’ll understand.”

you finally cry.

not hard. not dramatic. but silent tears spill, and you don’t even try to stop them.

“but it is you,” you whisper. “it’s always been you. that’s the whole problem.”

chan pulls you into him then, holds you so close it feels like maybe you can hide there for a while. maybe forever.

his chin rests on top of your head as your hands grip the fabric of his hoodie. you can feel his heart against your cheek.

“then we’ll figure it out,” he murmurs. “whatever it takes. i don’t care what the world says. you’re my home.”

your breath stutters.

“i don’t want to lose you,” you say.

“you won’t,” he replies, like it’s fact. “even if the world ends. even if i’m across the globe and you’re under a hundred rules, i will still be yours.”

you don’t realize how hard you’re clinging until his arms tighten in response.

“i’m so scared, channie,” you whisper.

“i know, baby. i know.”

and then, quieter.

“but i’m not scared. not if i’ve got you.”

somewhere between the crying and the quiet, you fall asleep against him.

your dreams are a blur of chords and warmth, of light through a studio window that doesn’t exist. you dream of melodies that sound like safety.

and even though the world outside might never fully understand it—might never fully approve—you wake up knowing.. this.

your heart knows where it belongs.

and it’s right here, in the quiet thrum of a boy who wrote your name into every note before he ever said it out loud.

“no matter the ending, it’s you.”(the sky is beginning to lighten, barely. that liminal hour between night and morning. somewhere between dream and day, where truth feels soft enough to hold.)

you wake up first.

chan’s head is tilted toward you on the couch, cheek pillowed in the mess of your hair. he’s asleep — properly this time, breath slow, mouth just barely parted, hoodie slightly askew around his collarbone where you clung to him in your sleep.

the studio is still quiet. the monitors are off now, the soft blue light from the mixing board the only thing illuminating the room. your bodies are half-covered by the denim blanket he keeps for emergencies, the air conditioner humming gently in the background.

and your heart — somehow — is steady.

not because the fear is gone. not because the world has changed overnight. but because you’re still here.

and so is he.

you lift your hand and gently brush a strand of hair from his forehead. his lashes flutter. then, without opening his eyes, he whispers, still half-asleep:

“are you leaving me?”

you smile, sad and sweet, your thumb tracing the shell of his ear.

“never,” you say softly. “even if i have to pretend in front of everyone else. even if i have to keep you a secret just a little longer. i’m not leaving you.”

his brows twitch — a quiet expression of protest even in sleep.

“you shouldn’t have to pretend,” he murmurs. “you deserve to be loved out loud.”

you press your forehead against his.

“i am loved out loud,” you reply. “by you.”

that makes him stir. he opens his eyes now, sleepy and glassy and gold in the low light.

“you’re sure?” he says.

you nod, then softly: “i’ve never been more sure of anything.”

he sits up slightly, blinking, hair a ruffled halo.

“you don’t have to protect me from your world, y/n,” he says, voice gravelly. “i’m strong. i’ll stand there with you. whatever people say. whatever your family thinks. i’ll wait however long you need. i’ll earn every inch of your life.”

your throat tightens.

“i don’t want you to wait,” you say. “i want you in it. not waiting at the edges. just… just give me time to show them. that it’s you. that it was always you.”

he leans forward and presses the softest kiss to your temple.

then, he says the same thing he whispered into your hair the first night you ever stayed this long in the studio, months ago, when he was shy to admit how badly he wanted you to stay:

“i’ve got all the time in the world.”

you let out a breath. a small one. a real one. and for the first time in days, the ache in your chest eases.

you end up sitting side by side on the studio floor with mugs of tea he brewed on the tiny electric kettle under his desk. you drink in silence for a few moments, legs pressed together, heads leaning against the wall.

then you speak, softly, barely louder than the hum of the outside wind through the sealed windows.

“do you think this lasts?”

he doesn’t ask what “this” means.

he just looks at you. and smiles.

“i don’t think love ends,” he says. “not the real kind.”

you swallow, slow.

“even if it changes?”

“it might change,” he nods. “it might grow, or shrink, or stretch itself around the seasons of our lives. but it doesn’t disappear. and mine for you… isn’t going anywhere.”

you close your eyes.

“i want forever,” you say, and you mean it. not in the dramatic, fairy tale way. not as a fantasy. but as a promise. as something simple and raw and real.

and he reaches out and takes your hand like it’s instinct. like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“you have it,” he says.

outside, the world begins to stir. trains groan in the distance. the city starts to wake.

but in here, in the little universe you’ve made with him under dim lights and scattered lyrics and the leftover scent of jasmine tea, everything is still. everything is soft.

and maybe the world still won’t understand.

maybe your family will take time.

maybe you’ll both carry the weight of being two people in love who don’t fit the boxes you were given.

but you’ll carry it together.

and that’s all you need.

𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑛𝘵 𝘵𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝘵 ୨ৎ @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger @woozarts @katsukis1wife @shotngun @reignessance @peskybirdysya @honeyybbuubblleess @ellemir2404 @4ng3l-ch1ld @urlocalmultigroupfan @its-stayville-forever @ashtxrie @minlixyaoi @shuuporanglinos @bobaluvzz @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie @mhluvie @channieschocco @m-325 — fill out this form to be added !!

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